Alien Mine Ch. 14

"When you were taking Bao, your dragon, I could see it." The manifestation of your symbiont, the dragon, I could see it superimposed on you. For a second, I really believed it was a dragon fucking her. Then you bathed her in the fire like you did Leslie when she was dying."

Rhys could feel her excitement. "I don't remember doing anything like that.

"Well, you did; I could see it, and so could Amancia. I'm not sure about the others."

"I don't know," he said carefully, "but both of us know what you and yours wanted."

Sandy looked away, troubled. "I know, I wanted it. The symbiont is just getting started, but I wanted it, Rhys. It's a good thing you marked me and the necklace. It wants, Rhys, I am trying, but it wants."

Rhys didn't say anything but thought carefully about what he was going to say, hoping it was the right decision for her and all of them.

"Leslie's plan," he said, abruptly changing the subject. Rhys lay on his back with his hands behind his head. Rolling over, he pulled Sandy to him, so he was looking into her eyes. "I am going to break up a happy marriage, then I will order Kiania to kill an innocent man, the President so that I can get control to fight the Om. I am not happy about it, but she is right. The Om are expanding; I can't waste any more time. We also need to move on Russia. I suspect we will need to remove the president there as well, perhaps more. China is a longer game, unfortunately."

"What do you want me to do?" Sandy asked, surprised at the sudden change of subject.

We are going to seduce the Governor, of course, but then you will become her lover."

Sandy's eyes sparked as she looked at Rhys with anticipation.

"Yes, we will make her submissive, and she will be yours when her symbiont matures. I am not interested in dealing with another Leslie right now; we have to get this right. I am sorry for her, but I will sacrifice as many as I need to," he said grimly.

Sandy's eyes Let Rhys know what she thought about that, and she leaned in to kiss him. "Are you saying I was right about Leslie?" she asked.

"No, Leslie is what I need her to be right now, though I still don't know what's happening with her and Amancia. But this, well, I need someone who will follow orders and not have to rein them in all the time. She will be submissive, like Amancia, but I want her to answer to you."

"Does this mean I will actually be in control of the country," Sandy asked with undisguised excitement?

"Yes, I need to concentrate on fighting the Om; you will be in charge of the new President."

Sandy's symbiont howled with excitement, the saber-tooth tiger snarling and pacing. "Yes! Thank you," Sandy said.

But remember Rhys said ominously, I am giving her to you. What I give, I can take back, and to get what you need, you will have to give up something.

"Whatever you want," she said with unconcealed anticipation.

"Power comes at a price; if you take this, the chains that bind you will become stronger."

Sandy didn't care. She wanted this; her symbiont wanted it even more. She looked at Rhys and nodded yes, and for a moment, she thought she could see the dragon. Not the sexy kind, but something terrifying. She shuddered at the sight but then it was gone. "Yes, she said, of course.

****

Bao awoke to an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation of a tongue probing at her pussy. She jerked, coming fully awake only to be hit by a wave of building arousal. Just relax, Sandy's voice said in her ear as her legs were pulled apart and Rhys moved in between them. Bao did, giving herself over to the sensations, thinking what a fantastic way to start the morning.

***

Rhys told them of his decision regarding Leslie and Amancia's plans over breakfast. Kiania just said she would make sure the drones were functioning correctly and to let her know when he wanted the President dead. Rhys expected little else from Kiania; she was the soldier and would carry out his orders. But there was little objection or discussion once he had made it clear that they would proceed.

"The economy will need to grow," Sandy interjected, and Miranda should have an excuse to be there. What investments can we make there short term, what leverage can we bring to bear on the State and the governor?"

"We, that is, Leslie and I, have already made plans," Amancia said. After Rhys told us this morning, I began moving capital acquired from drug cartels, the Russian energy sector, and the Chinese sovereign fund. We will invest in mining interests, lumber, and food processing with these. Some of these we will acquire outright as Miranda, others we are buying into under various shell company names. I am also investigating getting control of her husband's food distribution company.

"Excellent, thank you, Amancia," Rhys broke in. You and Leslie will be working with Sandy on this, he said firmly while looking directly at Leslie, who bristled at his words. "Let me rephrase that you and Leslie will work FOR Sandy on this. She will be in charge of getting this setup. Rhys was deliberately being blunt in giving the commands; he had wanted to see the reaction of the binaries, first as individuals, later when they explored their connection. Amancia was calm, her symbiont happy. Leslie's was the usual; he would have to be careful not to have a repeat of Sandy. One attack was enough; he also noted the reaction of Sandy to his words. It was as suspected, and he would have to be careful; the critical time would be when Anita Blackwell's symbiont matured.

Before the discussion could go any further, he pointed at the two women, and the nanobytes instantly built the connection, and any argument Leslie was about to make stopped as the two were joined. It was time to see what this new kind of connection would do and whether it would be a threat.

Leslie felt the sudden change and the now-familiar disorientation, but it only lasted a second as the two symbionts and minds found each other. Amancia's presence wrapped around her as their thoughts became one, and the world seemed to slow. It was like dropping into combat mode, but different, better somehow. Ideas flowed at lightning speed, and nothing seemed too challenging. In just a few minutes, they had reviewed the plans for the President, examining the details several times as different scenarios were designed and rejected. Finally, settling on the best two options, they turned their mind to other matters.

They felt Sandy's hair wrap around them. "How long are you going to leave them like this," she asked.

"I don't know, keep an eye on them and let me know if there are problems. It would be interesting to see if they break the bond themselves or if I have to."

"Can they?"

"I don't know, they initiated it originally; perhaps they just have to tell the nanobits to stop. I am going to see the new weapons Thea is working on.

***

"How are the repairs coming on the shuttle," Rhys asked Thea while watching Kiania with some kind of long thin sword. Mei and Bao were in another part of engineering, working on a complicated hologram filler with 3D graphs and equations. Bao looked happy; he would stop by and talk to her before he was done here.

"Good," she said, "but we really took a lot of damage Rhys; we were lucky Sandy got back in control and nailed that last missile; otherwise, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation. Another two weeks, and it should be fine.

"I know, it was close," he said with a grim expression. Rhys paused for a moment and looked at Thea while letting his mind analyze her symbiont. After the incident with Sandy, he kept a better eye on everyone, but in this case, he liked what he saw. The control he had extended to her made her more satisfied, but then she was an engineer and focused on building new stuff and deciphering the Drans technology. Thea would eventually lead a much more substantial research team once the Om were taken care of and they were settled on Miranda. That was where the real work would occur, building a fleet that would defend the Earth against the Om.

"What's that?" he said, nodding at Kiania.

"Oh, just something I cooked up for the rest of us until we get our own nanobytes,'' she said with a smile. "I mean, what's a girl supposed to do to get a necklace or a collar," she said with a sexy smile. "Not all of us can turn into a giant tiger or nearly get killed by an Om parasite."

Rhys just looked at her with a smile.

"Ok, Drans smart metal is amazing," she said. "I am still figuring it out, but basically, I programmed a sword with an edge only a molecule thick. It will cut through anything organic and probably anything metallic on Earth. I am not sure about the new Trangrods, but this thing goes through the original ones like a knife through butter. The blade is thin, so it will break if enough stress is put on it, but it should be strong enough for most situations. But there is a reason for the thin blade; watch this." She held what looked like the handle of a large knife in her hand. Rhys watched her point it away from him and squeeze the handle. Out sprang the deadly blade almost a meter long.

"We have learned that since the metal is programmable, it can be in any form. So until activated, it is just a hunk of metal. Squeeze the handle, and the metal takes the desired shape. This design is for your strike team; ours will be controlled by the symbiont.

Rhys held it in his hand, getting a feel for it. Light and deadlier than any hand weapon ever used on Earth. "What about armor," Rhys said, thinking about the slug he took in the leg from the new Trangrod. It had to be comparable to a 30 mm cannon the way it hit him so hard. They had been lucky there were only a few of the new monsters, and attacking one of the new sites Leslie had found would be difficult if they ran into large numbers of them. Sarge and his team were referring to them as alien roaches, which wasn't a bad description. They would be a terror inside tunnels.

"Give me two weeks, and I will have a major upgrade. Now that we have figured out how to program this stuff, I can make all kinds of things. You are going to love your new executive jet," she said with a smile. It should be done at about the same time as the shuttle. It's a lot more complicated than designing a sword or armor, but the AI is getting good at taking concepts and filling in the details."

Rhys watched as Kiania carved through armor plate twice as strong as that used on the newest tanks. She was graceful but deadly, and the way she moved with the new weapon gave him a hard-on. He didn't know how it worked, but each girl was different. Kiania was a warrior, sexy, but she would scare the piss out of most people if they saw her like this. Her Symbiont enhanced body, a blur, as she carved the steel plate, first with one weapon, then two. She would have to teach the others; everyone needed to learn. Sarge and his men were in for a surprise when they saw this, but they would need it. If Leslie was right and the Om were spreading, they would need everything they had. One thing was sure, he was tired of being on the defensive; it was time to attack.

"Kiania, get the men in here to try this out," he said.

"Wait, I have one more thing to show you; look at this, Thea said, showing him an armored glove. There were at least a hundred small bumps on it, and she held it up so he could see. "Now watch," she said, waving the back of her hand at the metal plating she had set up. Rhys jumped as small explosions covered the target area in flame.

"Tiny darts with flammable heads," she said in response to his look. We were told to burn the parasites; this is an additional weapon, controlled by our symbiont, or by moving your thumb just so," she said, showing him.

"Can I try one?" he asked.

"No, I just fired the only prototype, but I have the fabricators making them now. They will be ready this afternoon."

Rhys picked up a sword to practice hacking at his own piece of armor. It was just amazing, he thought, effortlessly slicing the armor plate in half. Perhaps he needed one of these as well.

***

The Director of the CIA was a man with a problem that he kept working at like a dog with a bone. Too many strange events were troubling to the entire group of intelligence agencies, and they all had one thing in common: his now-former Director of Clandestine Operations. He had officially removed her from the position and wanted her brought in for questioning. He had not heard from her in two weeks, and as Director, he had a responsibility to the country and the CIA itself. He could no longer tolerate a rogue agent, no matter how good she was.

Evidence was mounting that she was involved somehow in the many unusual events; in the Middle East, China, and even the rescue in Africa. In addition, there were the latest incidents here; a body count that was still growing and the strange hole in the ground in southern Maryland, as well as the recent fight in an apartment complex in northern Virginia. They had a positive identification of her from the other residents. Apparently, she had been injured and was carried off by another woman. That was bad enough to get the FBI and others crawling up his ass about it, but the stories from that battle and the eviscerated body of the NSA employee were even worse. He had seen the pictures, bullet holes everywhere, blood splashed across the room, the corpse without any internal organs.

Then the accounts of the woman crashing through the wall into the adjoining apartment and even stranger reports of a creature she was fighting. They could not identify the second woman; there were no pictures, but he had heard the FBI briefing, and whoever it was had broken through a reinforced support structure that should have killed her. Then the woman had crashed into the dining room table, demolishing that, and still killed some sort of creature. Afterward, she burned the remains with some kind of weapon, almost setting the entire apartment building on fire, apparently picked up his injured CIA agent, and disappeared. Despite an extensive manhunt, no sign had been found of them.

So now he was left with a massive problem that pointed at his agency, one for which he had no answer. He hoped Leslie was still alive, but he regretted ever letting Leslie walk out the door. At least it was Friday, he thought to himself as he headed home. The President would be in Camp David, but he was sure the FBI would still be bothering him over the weekend.

The director had a car and a driver, and his vehicle was tracked by satellite up-link, one of the perks of the job. His house was set back from the others giving him a bit of privacy and security. He breathed a sigh of relief as he made it home. His driver let him out and turned around, heading for his own home. Hopefully, he would not have to call him back over the weekend. As he walked to the front door, he wondered where his dog was; he could always hear it barking before he opened the door. As he reached for the door knob, the door was pulled open, and he found himself looking at Leslie Clarke, the cause of many of his problems, and the very woman he was interested in seeing.

"Good evening, sir, and before you hit your panic button calling for security, give me a chance to bring you up to date."

The Director paused; his surprise at seeing Leslie inside his house turned to concern for his wife and himself. What had this woman done! "All right, but this better be good," he said, keeping his hand in his pocket, fingers on the button that would bring security. He was not going to relax until he knew what was going on.

Leslie smiled as she turned and walked back into the Director's house and into the living room. She had hacked and disabled that device before he ever got out of his car. She led him into the room where Rhys, Kiania, Amancia, and Sandy sat with Elizabeth, his wife.

The Director froze as he saw everyone, then relaxed a bit as he took in the scene. His wife was laughing and smiling at a woman he had never seen before, a glass of wine in her hand. Another beautiful woman was standing next to a large man wearing some kind of uniform. He recognized him from the security briefings, Rhys Smith, former Army, former part-time CIA operative. His wife looked fine; there was no sign of alarm in her eyes.

"Let me introduce you to some friends; this is Sandy, that's Amancia, and you probably know that this is Rhys Smith," Leslie said.

Carl, Carl Garcia, he said, shaking hands with the beautiful redhead. First names only, he thought as he took the next one's hand, equally beautiful. He had never met Rhys in person, but he had been the subject of much speculation, and Carl knew his history well. After shaking hands, he turned to Leslie, looking for an explanation. The director was unhappy with the entire situation, even more so that they were in his house and his wife was here. Whether Leslie meant it or not, there was an implied threat, and he didn't like that at all.

"He is unhappy with you, feels threatened, and is concerned about his wife," Sandy said.

"You asked me to brief you because you suspected I was involved with recent events, was not forthcoming, and that I was keeping information from you," she said with a small smile. Well, we are here to come clean, you might say. Why don't you sit down, have a drink, and we can get started."

Carl looked around as everybody else resumed sitting except Leslie, who remained standing. He looked meaningfully at his wife, who smiled back at him. "Perhaps we should take this conversation into my office," he suggested.

"No," said Rhys. "I understand your concern, but this affects her as well, and she needs to hear what we have to say. It's for her safety.

Mentally shrugging, he walked over and sat next to his wife, looking up at Leslie.

Leslie pulled something from her pocket. "Sorry about this," he heard her say, and then everything went black.

The director woke to see a bright pair of eyes belonging to a young woman looking at him. "How do you feel?'' she asked.

"Like shit," he said, shaking his head. "Where is my wife?"

"She's right here beside you," the eyes said, moving out of the way.

He looked over, seeing his wife sipping at a cup of something. She smiled, "I am perfectly fine, dear," she said, surprisingly calm. "I have been having a very enlightening conversation with this young woman," she added, looking at Kiania.

Carl looked around the control room of the shuttle. It was apparent he wasn't in his home anymore. The first thing he noticed was the woman called Sandy. Staring, Carl couldn't understand what he was seeing. Her red hair extended out from her head in every direction, touching the walls, floor, and ceiling. Then he noticed the 'windows' if that's what they were. "Well, I guess I'm not in Kansas anymore," he said wryly, looking hard at Leslie.

Leslie felt herself blush under his gaze. "No," she said, gathering herself, "no, we are just passing the moon."

Carl just raised one eyebrow. Next, he turned to Rhys, who was standing to one side.

"Here, Director, have a drink," Rhys said. It's a very rare scotch and not bad, though I am a bourbon man myself".

Carl took the glass but couldn't stop staring at Sandy, her hair moving in waves, retracting and then extending back out. It reminded him of the mythical Medusa.

Rhys turned to Leslie. "Go ahead, tell him the story."

***

The head of the CIA looked out at the alien ship floating in space. Alien was an understatement; everything about it just looked wrong to a human eye. Proportions were displaced, curves where you expected straight lines. It reminded him of when he had seen what an African termite mound looked like if you stripped all the surrounding dirt away, but this one was floating in space. The story Leslie had told him was unbelievable, but there was evidence he couldn't explain away, to say nothing about the spaceship he was in. His wife was equally awed. She had seen a lot over his career, but nothing like this.