Psychic Warrior

Chapter Two

She was beautiful. Tall, six feet from her bare feet to her shining blond hair. Smooth skin, very pale, except for a red blush on her cheeks. Icy blue eyes that softened as they looked at him. Her body was exquisite, the breasts those of a nubile young girl, the belly flat, the legs those of a trained dancer, the figure barely sheathed in a white flowing gown that was transparent.

Another figure appeared behind the woman. A dark-haired twin to the first. This one wore only garters and stockings, carrying her body without the slightest hint of modesty.

The first woman circled to his left, the second to his right. He felt himself pressed between them, the hard and soft of their bodies molding into his, but there was a barrier between, more than the flimsy clothes, like a thin layer of warm air. It felt smooth and caressing, but it wasn’t the same as bare flesh.

The woman behind him ran her hands over his chest while the one in front reached over his shoulder and kissed the other, before coming back to kiss him.

Feteror checked the time with irritation as the women continued their caresses. He controlled himself, not allowing his true feelings to surface. He had no choice and it was best to let this event go to its programmed conclusion.

Finally, the two women faded away, disappearing into a fog, the controllers satisfied that they had satisfied Feteror.

He felt full power come back on, the charge flowing into him like a cleansing waterfall, filling the pool of his soul.

“We can change the women.”

Feteror recognized the invisible voice, even though it came through electronic channels. General Rurik, his captor and commander.

“We have a new programmer,” Rurik continued. “He is most skilled. He assures me he can design whatever you desire.” Rurik laughed. “Or perhaps you would like a man? That just occurred to me. You Spetsnatz warriors are a strange breed. Fancy yourself Spartans. But Spartans had no time for women, only each other. This is something perhaps we should consider?”

Feteror’s “eyes” clicked on. He could see Rurik now, standing at the main control console. The general was tall and distinguished looking, with white hair combed straight back. His chest was covered in medals and he walked with a slight limp.

“I am satisfied,” Feteror said. He could hear the echo of his own voice, tinny and raspy, coming out of the speaker. He knew that Rurik could change the voice, make it more realistic, more human, but he also knew the general didn’t to taunt him, to keep an edge.

“Satisfied?” Rurik laughed once more. “You had better be. The good doctor says it is important that you have everything as a normal person should. To keep your sanity, but I doubt if you have ever been sane.” Rurik paused. “Tell me, Feteror. Do you dream? The doctor tells me he puts you to sleep, that you must sleep for your sanity. That you must dream. But if you dream, what do you dream? Of the body that was once yours?”

Feteror heard Rurik but his concentration was on his status. Power was at 94 percent. Good enough. All systems were functioning. He checked the backup programs.

General Rurik’s voice intruded once more. “We need more information. The Ministry is concerned about your previous intelligence report regarding the treaty exchange with Kazakhstan.”

“Concerned?” Feteror would have laughed but there was no laughter configured for his voice program.

“You will do your duty for the State,” Rurik said. “You can access the tasking now.”

The State. What was the State? Feteror wondered. The one that had sent him to Afghanistan years ago and cost him everything? But that State no longer existed. The farce that had replaced it? A husk of the empire he had served so proudly? Where criminals were now more powerful than the government? That was an impotent bear on the international scene?

He accessed the tasking that had been put into his database. As expected, he was to surveil the Mafia and find whether they planned to intercept a shipment of nuclear weapons that Kazakhstan was required to send back to Russia as part of the internal strategic arms agreement between the various states that had once comprised the Soviet Union. In return, Kazakhstan would get several ships of the Baltic fleet.

“There is something else.” General Rurik walked in front of the camera that was hooked to what remained of Feteror. The general’s left hand was on his right wrist, lightly touching a metal band. There was a small green light steadily blinking on the band. That band was Feteror’s leash. On the ring finger of that hand was a thick gold band set with several diamonds.

“One of our undercover men has picked up a report that a Mafia gang is making some inquiries about old research programs.”

Feteror waited.

“We don’t have much information other than that there has been a contact made with a ranking officer in GRU research files. We are a bit concerned and I want you to check this out also.”

“I need more information than that,” Feteror said. “Do you know which Mafia gang it is? My database indicates several operate in Moscow.”

“Yes, the group run by someone with the rather interesting title of ‘Oma,’ ” Rurik said.

“Do you have the name of the GRU officer who has been contacted?”

“No. We are, of course, investigating.”

“Do you know the nature of the research they are inquiring into?”

“No.”

“How do you know about the Mafia group, then, or that there was a contact, if you didn’t get it from your end?” Feteror asked.

“We have an agent inside this Oma group. A man posing as a bodyguard. He knows only that there is a meeting set with the GRU traitor. He doesn’t know where the meeting will occur, but it is to happen shortly. I want the name of the traitor.”

“I will investigate,” Feteror said.

“You may go now,” Rurik said. He signaled to one of the technicians.

A circle of light appeared, a long white tunnel beckoning. Feteror gathered himself then leapt for the circle.

The old man had fouled himself hours ago. There was a steel collar around his neck, attached to an iron chain, welded to a pin set in the center of the concrete floor. He had determined all that by feel, as he was in complete darkness and had been so ever since being thrown into this pit. He had no idea how long he had been here. He estimated about two days, but he was aware that he was very disoriented. His last memory before this hole was of walking down the stairs to the subway in Moscow, going to work at the Institute. Hands grabbed him from behind, something was pressed over his mouth, and then he awoke here in the darkness.

There was a bucket of stale water that he had drunk from carefully, not sure when it would be refilled. No food and no sign of his captors either.

He was naked and cold. The concrete was damp, and there was a dripping noise in one direction, but the chain wouldn’t allow him to reach any wall. Just twenty feet of rough concrete floor in every direction.

He sensed something change. A presence. He looked about but he could see nothing.

He started when the voice came out of the darkness. “Professor Vasilev.”

The old man spun about but could see nothing.

“Professor Vasilev.” The voice was deep, deeper than any voice Vasilev had ever heard, with a rough edge to it that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

The old man wet his lips with a swollen tongue. “Yes?” His voice was weak, quavering, bouncing into the walls and being absorbed. His heart rate increased dramatically as two red objects appeared, about seven feet above the floor, glowing like coals in the darkness. Eyes.

“Who are you?” Vasilev whispered.

“I am Chyort,” the voice rasped. “The devil.”

Vasilev’s gaze was focused on those red dots staring at him. “What do you want?”

“Where are the computer tapes from October Revolution Island?”

Vasilev swallowed. “What are you talking about?”

“The tapes for the phased-displacement generator you took with you when you left.”

“There is— ”

“Do not lie to me,” the voice warned. “There are many things worse than dying, and I am intimate with all of them. Where are the tapes?”

Vasilev closed his eyes. “They were updated and transferred onto floppy first, then CD-ROM three years ago.”

“Where is the CD stored?”

“With everything else. GRU records.”

“Is the program current?”

Vasilev frowned. “Current?”

“Has it been updated to run with current operating systems in modern computers?”

Vasilev sighed. “As of a few years ago, yes, but I don’t know if it is current with today’s operating systems.” He looked up at the two inhuman eyes. “Where am I? Why am I here?”

“This is hell,” the voice said. “And you are here to pay retribution for your sins.”

As the rough, evil voice faded, so did the two coals, and Vasilev was left in darkness once more.