Page 89 of Alien Mercenary's Wife
"No, this is justice." Reese moved closer, herding him toward the chair Eris had positioned beside the interface. "Murder would be quick. This is gonna take months, maybe years. Like it did for all those veterans you condemned."
"Hughes can barely hold a cup now," Eris added, securing restraints to the chair. "Ryans has seizures. Williams went missing because he couldn't live with what you did to him."
Russell bolted for the door. Reese intercepted him in three steps, catching his arm to spin him around. He stumbled, expensive shoes sliding on marble, and crashed into the chair Eris had positioned. Before he could recover, restraints clicked into place around his wrists and ankles.
"This is illegal," he gasped, struggling against bonds designed to hold enhanced soldiers. "I have rights?—"
"So did the veterans you murdered." Eris positioned the neural crown above his head, contact points gleaming in the light. "Funny how rights disappear when you're inconvenient."
"The interface will hook into your nervous system in seconds," Reese explained. "First, you'll feel great. Maybe even better than normal. That's the honeymoon part."
"Then the degradation starts," Eris continued, lowering the crown toward Russell's skull. "Since you don't have the same implants as the veterans, we're using the external interface. Don't worry—it'll do the same damage. Muscle tremors. Loss of coordination. Progressive paralysis."
"Please." Russell's voice cracked. "I can pay you. Whatever you want?—"
"What we want," Eris said, engaging the neural contacts with a soft click, "is for you to experience exactly what you put those veterans through."
The interface activated with a low hum. Russell's body went rigid as the neural connections established, his back arching against the restraints before relaxing as the initial integration completed. His breathing steadied, pupils dilating as the system flooded his brain with artificial stimulation.
"How do you feel?" Reese asked.
Russell blinked, testing his responses. "I... fine. Better than fine. This is... incredible."
"Enjoy it while it lasts." Eris began packing away their equipment. "You've got maybe six hours before the first symptoms start. Tremors in your hands, probably. Then it spreads."
"The beauty of it," Reese added, shouldering her pack, "is that no one will believe you. Corporate executive claims his neural implants are defective? Must be stress. Maybe early-onset dementia."
They moved toward the elevator, leaving Russell locked in his chair with the interface humming against his skull. He struggled against the restraints, but the neural crown's weight made movement impossible.
"This won't work," he called after them. "I have the best doctors, the best technology?—"
"Same technology you gave the veterans," Eris replied without turning around. "Same doctors who diagnosed them with psychological problems."
The elevator doors started to close, and Russell's voice rose to a shout. "You won't get away with this! I'll hunt you down, I'll destroy you?—"
"Good luck with that," Reese said as the doors sealed shut.
They rode down in comfortable silence. The lobby was still empty, the doorman still reading his magazine. They walked out into the night like they'd never been there at all.
"Think he'll figure out how to get free?" Eris asked as they reached their transport.
"Eventually. But not before the damage kicks in." Reese dropped into the passenger seat, feeling a satisfaction she hadn't known since losing her squad. "By the time he gets help, he'll be another rich guy with weird symptoms. And he doesn't have the training to deal with neural loads like we did, so it'll hit him way harder."
"Couldn't happen to a nicer guy." Eris started the engine, already thinking ahead. "We need to get back soon. Don't wanna miss the celebrations."
Reese smiled, thinking of T'Raal waiting for her on the station. Princess. The title still felt strange, but she was getting used to it.
"Definitely. T'Raal will kill me if we're late to our wedding," she said.
As they pulled away from the gated community, Reese caught a glimpse of the penthouse windows high above. Somewhere up there, Max Russell was learning what justice felt like.
She smiled.
Anddamn…it was good to know that.
Draanth.He was getting married.
T'Raal stood at the altar, adjusting his formal uniform for the third time in as many minutes. The ceremonial hall stretched before him like a cathedral of light, walls of crystalline material that caught and refracted the warm amber glow from overhead fixtures.
