Interlude
The lab where Dr. Balet had been working on the soldiers somehow smelled worse than the last time Lord General Kerrigan had
been down there.
He walked through the halls, dozens of Iron Retinue soldiers and prisoners tied down to beds. Some writhing, some still, some . . .
screaming.
His hands were clasped loosely behind his back as he perused what Dr. Balet had been working on the last few weeks. Word had
gotten back to the capital that Sir Saoirse had been killed in a clash with Hugo Venton—and Lord General Kerrigan wasn’t happy
about it.
The lord general felt his blood boil as he thought of the man, a man he’d seen such potential in. A man he’d trusted with
the rebellion and plucked out of a long line of fellow rebels for leadership in this great new empire. A man he’d made a commander—a
man who had betrayed him. Anger didn’t cover the depth of the hatred Kerrigan had for Hugo.
“Lord General Kerrigan,” the mousy Dr. Balet said, skittering over from one of the dark alcoves. “What can I help you with?”
“I have heard news of Sir Saoirse.”
Dr. Balet waited for him to continue, dried blood flaking under his fingernails as he picked at the stained apron he wore.
Lord General Kerrigan knew that it was going to take sacrifice and bloodshed to create the soldiers they needed for the war
to come, but he didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t disgusted by it. “She was killed,” was all he said.
Lord General Kerrigan watched the doctor get lost in his thoughts like he frequently did, but he didn’t have time to wait
for the doctor to think of an excuse for his soldier’s poor performance.
The lord general grabbed Dr. Balet’s throat and shoved him against the wall next to them, nearly knocking him into an unconscious
soldier strapped into the alcove beside them, skin graying and waxy. “Your work is supposed to give me an undefeatable army,”
Lord General Kerrigan hissed.
“My work is . . . still in progress,” Dr. Balet choked out as he gasped for breath.
Lord General Kerrigan would have once felt bad for the mousy man, but Dr. Balet had been the one to convince him that only
he could deliver the soldiers Astra needed. He had been so confident.
“My patience is waning,” Lord General Kerrigan said, squeezing harder and feeling a jolt of satisfaction as the skin and muscle
flexed and strained under his strength. He had been too cooped up these past years, just like before the uprising. He let
go abruptly, the doctor falling to the ground in a heap as he sputtered and coughed.
Lord General Kerrigan walked over to the soldier lying on his side on the cot beside Dr. Balet, who was slowly picking himself up off the ground. He pulled a dagger out of his sleeve and stabbed it into the back of the sleeping man’s head, leaving it there.
“No, no, Lord General Kerrigan.” Dr. Balet coughed as he tried to stop him. “This soldier is not ready for testing.”
“This is how Saoirse died.” Lord General Kerrigan gestured at the dagger. “I’m replicating it so you can figure out how to
prevent it. I expect a solution when I come down to this dungeon next,” he snarled.
Lord General Kerrigan would get his army. The danger that was coming needed so much more than fragile humans to fight it.