Page 7 of Her Lawless Prince

“He is breathing,” Yevgen stated. “My preliminary analysis of the situation states that it would be best if he stopped.”

“What is wrong with you?” Payton muttered as she moved to retrieve the handheld unit for herself. She went around the partition to search by the monitors. Finding it shoved on the side of Yevgen’s sling chair, she grabbed it.

The image of a much younger Nyle on the screen caught her attention. His hair was shorter, and he stood rigid, posing for a photo amongst a group of Cysgodian scientists. She recognized no one else.

Payton leaned closer. “Yevgen, what is this?”

As if in answer, the image disappeared to be replaced by bodies lining a street. A fire burned in the background as two men in black jumpsuits carried a corpse toward it. More photos of death followed, which were bad on their own, but it was the people who had still been alive that made Payton want to look away. Their raw grief and suffering went beyond anything imaginable. Sickness had taken hold in them, and they knew they were destined for the funeral pyres.

Payton had heard stories and saw a few pictures the Federation provided when they were pleading with the shifter royals to allow the survivors safe harbor.

“Are these from Cysgod? Where did you get these?” Payton asked. An alien language appeared on the screen next to the photos. “I can’t read it.”

The image flickered, and the words were translated into the Old Star Language so she could understand them.

“All survivors to receive medical screening before boarding the Federation ships for quarantine ride to a new location. General Sten assures the population that all will be cared for with the highest standard possible,”Payton read aloud, only to mumble, “well, Sten’s a blasted liar.”

Nyle’s group photo reappeared.

“Virus transmission linked to scientific laboratories.”Payton frowned.“Citizen evacuations started this morning with several non-medically cleared people left to die without medical staff to tend to the sick. Though I had no symptoms, I was denied entry and escorted to Central Hospital. Within our numbers, Ranald, a technician with Yeven Genetic Cyborgtronics Laboratories, claims that the virus originated in a cyborg tissue-growing facility where he was employed. The goal had been to create superior organs to prolong cyborg lifecycles.

“Though he was unable in his last breaths to give me a full breakdown of the science, he supplied me with this photograph of the lab superiors in charge of the project so that they may be identified amongst any chosen survivors and properly questioned. Also, Ranald gave me a warning. The formulas remain in lockdown at Yeven Genetic.

“Several of us will attempt to destroy the facility so that no other people will be exposed to this virus. With luck, this, my last newspaper chip article, will be sent in time to be within transmission range of the ships. To those who have gone ahead, we who have been left behind wish you peace. May all the Federation’s promises come to fruition. Remember us. Remember us all, and the deaths that did not need to—”

The low tone of the device sounded again, interrupting her.

“Yevgen, where did you find this virus data? Why haven’t we seen it before?” Payton glanced around the partition at him. He wore the wrist device and walked back and forth in the small space, watching the screen.

Nyle still lay unconscious on the ground. Had he been responsible for the virus? Why was he here now? Did he work with the Federation?

Payton carried the handheld toward the unconscious man. She kneeled on the ground and lifted the medic unit next to his temple, only to hesitate. His lids were partially opened. She remembered the feel of those eyes staring at her as they walked the forest path to the city. Instinct had told her things were not right with him and not to fear him. Had it been wrong? At the time, she’d thought he was lost.

“Nova traded her father’s old newspaper chip for information,” Yevgen said as he continued to pace. “It was not a priority as I was instructed to gather information about Federation wrongdoing in Shelter City before their ships arrived.”

Payton pressed the handheld to Nyle’s temple to scan for injury but didn’t wake him up.

Yevgen was right. The Federation’s impending visit was a top priority on the planet. Solving the old mystery of the virus was important, but thirty years’ worth of damage had already been done. Knowing which laboratory to blame didn’t help the shifters keep the Federation from trying to stake claim to Qurilixen territory. Still, they would want Nyle alive for questioning about it.

One problem at a time.

The Federation would want answers as to why the shifters had expelled General Sten and his men off the Qurilixen base—a station that was meant to be temporary. The soldiers had overstayed their welcome, but that was a moot point in the scheme of intergalactic politics. They had claimed the right as guardians to the Cysgodian refugees. Without reason, to kick them off-world sooner would have been an act of war. Now the shifters needed to justify their actions to prevent that war.

The low tone sounded, again interrupting her thoughts.

“What is that thing?” Payton asked. The handheld medical unit indicated that Nyle had a bruise inside his head and that pressure rendered him unconscious. The cyborg had whacked him good.

“It appears to be tracking me,” Yevgen answered, holding the device out and turning in a circle. “I am a red light.”

“I think it found you. Maybe shut off the noise.” Payton again hesitated, not pushing the button that would inject the medicine needed to wake Nyle up. “He knows how to find this place. What are we going to do with him?”

“He is not supposed to be alive. You have my logical vote.” Yevgen reached for the blaster pistol she’d dropped and handed it to her. The low tone sounded again.

Payton closed her eyes in annoyance and took a deep breath. “What the hell did this guy do to you? I’ve never seen you act like this. Did he make you in that Yev-whatever-cyborg lab?”

Yevgen tilted his head in thought. His eyes flashed an array of different colors. “Yes. I suppose this is my creator. I believe he put his blood inside me to make me.”

“Well, put away your thoughts of patricide,” Payton ordered. “We’re not killing him. We’re going to ask him questions. We need to know why he’s here. Why now? Did the Federation send him to stop you from helping us collect evidence?”

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