Shattered Sun (The Sentinel Trilogy Book 3) by Michael Wallace Page B

and Tolvern frowned. “What do you make of that?”
    The others looked reticent, and she remembered her outburst.
    “I’m sorry, I was really yelling at McGowan, not you. You were caught in the crossfire. Give me your thoughts, all of you.”
    “That bloke is sick,” Capp said. “Must be the trips.”
    “Didn’t look like the trips,” Tolvern said. “I think it’s something else.”
    “Captain, you know what it reminds me of?” Lomelí said. “Remember Djikstra? When he was infected with the mind control chemicals?”
    “Yes?”
    She nodded. “He looked just like that, sir.”
    Capp cursed. Smythe looked grim.
    Tolvern gave it some thought, then shook her head. “No, it’s different. He wasn’t sweating, and he looked more pale than ever, not flushed. Anyway, Brockett thinks Apex has perfected the mind control technique on the Hroom. A Hroom wouldn’t even get sick.”
    Most of the others looked relieved. The only thing that terrified the crew more than being eaten alive by Apex was having their minds taken over by the aliens. The only one who didn’t look convinced was Capp.
    “But don’t that mean we’d never find out?” Capp asked. She gave Nyb Pim a pointed look. “A Hroom could have it and we’d never know them buzzards was pulling his strings.”
    Nyb Pim sniffed. “I have not been infected.”
    “And that’s just what you would say, ain’t it?”
    “I am a Hroom. We do not lie.”
    “Sure, but you got a bird living up here, telling you what to do,” Capp said, tapping her buzzed scalp. “They’ll lie for you, mate.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Tolvern said. “When exactly would Nyb Pim have come into contact with the aliens? He’s been right here the whole time. He doesn’t even take advantage of shore leave when he has the opportunity.”
    “That’s true,” Capp said grudgingly. “Our purple friend don’t have much of a life, does he?”
    “I have plenty of interests,” Nyb Pim said.
    “Aye?” Capp said. “And what would those be?”
    “I paint, I play the warbler flute, I memorize ancient Hroom sagas and poetry. The Righteous Cycle alone takes eighty hours to recite. It is a nontrivial undertaking and quite rewarding.”
    “As thrilling as that sounds,” Tolvern said, “epic poetry doesn’t send you out mingling with strange people in strange ports.”
    “No, I suppose it doesn’t,” the Hroom agreed.
    Capp opened her mouth, like she wanted to say something else, maybe bring up Djikstra being on the bridge, but then shut it. A sheepish look came over her face, and she shrugged.
    “I believe I know what is happening to the general,” Nyb Pim said, “because I went through that very thing myself.”
    All eyes turned to look at him.
    “Mose Dryz is an eater. I was an eater, too. He is showing the classic signs of withdrawal from sugar addiction.”
    Of course. Tolvern had seen hundreds of Hroom take the antidote when she was raising a rebellion on Lord Malthorne’s estates on Hot Barsa. First the pleading, then the shakes and fainting, then convulsions. Finally, recovery. But recovery didn’t come quickly, not in someone who’d been addicted as long as General Mose Dryz.
    One of two things must have happened. Either his fleet had run out of sugar, or he’d decided, for some bizarre reason, that now was the time to take the sugar antidote.
    Either way, the general was unstable. And an unstable general at the head of a fleet of twenty-two sloops of war meant trouble for all.
    A deep breath. “I suppose I’d better go over to his ship and find out what this is all about.”
     
     

Chapter Nine
    Steamy air greeted Tolvern as she popped the hatch on the away pod and stepped into the Hroom loading bay. The light was dim and red, but hot, like she was being cooked under heat lamps. Sweat prickled her brow. The heavy air took her back to Samborondón, to that muggy feeling right before it started raining and giant toads burst out of the ground, mindless in