Symbiosis

by R S Penney

  Hutchinson narrowed his eyes.

  Now they came to it. It was time for Jack Hunter to meet his maker and see if he was really the man he aspired to be. So focused was he on keeping his nerves steady, he barely even noticed Lauren's scream.

  It all happened at once.

  A potted plant flew across the room and struck Hutchinson in the side of the head. He fell over sideways, his gun going off with a CRACK, and Jack felt a bullet whiz past his belly on the right side.

  A fierce burst of relief lasted just a moment before he turned and saw the Nassai's containment unit. Hutchinson's slug had hit the side of the little gray saucer, punching a hole in the metal. Purple vapour rose from the opening.

  No!

  On instinct, Jack knelt down and covered the hole with his hand, noting the touch of warm moisture against his skin. There was a strange tingling sensation in his palm and then something else. “Oh…my…God…”

  Power burned through him.

  The end of Part 1.

  Interlude

  The little bar was lit by sunlight that streamed in through stained-glass windows, casting patterns of coloured light across the round tables that were spaced out on a black hardwood floor. Odd bits of paraphernalia were hung up on the walls: transit signs, news articles, pictures of famous athletes over a century old.

  Jena Morane took a stool.

  A tall woman in gray pants and a red t-shirt with a white diamond across the chest, she had the face of an eighteen-year-old girl and the hair of a twelve-year-old boy. “Lovely afternoon, Leras,” she said, accepting the bottle of beer that the bartender set down on the counter. “Wouldn't you say?”

  With a quick twist of the wrist, Jena popped the cap and watched thin mist rise from the skinny blue bottle. Chilled to perfection, as always. There were reasons why she came to this establishment.

  The woman behind the bar was tall and slender, dressed in a black skirt and t-shirt that matched her long dark hair. Her face was breathtaking with smooth copper skin and large dark eyes. There were reasons why she came to this establishment.

  Jena brought the bottle to her lips. She closed her eyes and took a long swig, tilting her head back. “Now, that was heavenly,” she said, setting her bottle on the counter. “Just got in from the Outer Systems.”

  “Trouble?” Leras inquired.

  Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Jena winced. “Rounded up a few Flash dealers,” she muttered. “Three deaths before the locals even thought to call us.”

  Leras pursed her lips as she studied Jena. She arched a thin, dark eyebrow. “It took them that long?” she asked, her voice laced with incredulity. “Haven't they received the information packets the government sent out on that substance?”

  Jena bit her lip as she stared down at the counter. She shook her head with a heavy sigh. “They've got it,” she said, snatching up her bottle. “They just don't want to believe any of it.”

  “I know they'd rather be independent,” Leras said with a skeptical expression. “But surely not at the cost of lives.”

  It was all Jena could do not to sigh. That was the problem with Core Worlders: they had grown so used to the comfortable lifestyle they had developed, they never thought to wonder why settlers on the Fringe would crave independence. Gentle, loving Leyria – the caring home world. If the government had its way, it would round up all the colonists who had gone into space and bring them home to “take care of them.”

  Leras, just like everyone else on this planet, had grown up with plenty, and so she understood little of the frontier spirit. Of course, the homeworld had a valid point; far too often, the colonies tried to tackle problems that were just too big for them.

  “Why wouldn't they call for assistance?”

  Jena grinned into her lap, a touch of heat singeing her cheeks. “Politics,” she muttered. “Keepers have a tendency to ride in on a white horse and micromanage the entire situation.”

  “But…”

  Jena frowned, then looked up to fix her gaze on the other woman. She blinked in confusion. “You still see us as the guardians of truth and justice,” she said. “Maybe the Nassai see it that way too. But we have our faults.”

  “Sometimes,” a man's voice proclaimed. “I think you might be a little too focused on those faults, Operative Morane.”

  Having dimmed the spatial awareness that came with a Nassai bond – there were times when you didn't want eyes in the back of your head – Jena had failed to notice the man who had slipped in through the front door.

  He was a tall well-muscled fellow in black pants and a gray shirt with the collar open. Dark of skin and eye, Nate Calarin frowned at her. He nodded once. “Sometimes, I think you try to see the worst in us.”

  Red-cheeked with chagrin, Jena bared her teeth. She closed her eyes and let out a soft sigh. “And there are times when you're much too poised,” she shot back. “Come to join me for a drink, Nate?”

  She brought the spout of her bottle to her lips, threw her head back and took a long pull. That was guaranteed to aggravate Nate's Capitol-bred sensibilities. Good! The man needed someone to shake him out of his arrogance.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Nate lifted his chin. He frowned at her but said nothing about the beer. Instead, he tried to change the subject. “I came here to engage in a serious discussion.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” Jena mumbled. “I don't do long-term commitment.”

  “How droll.”

  “I do pride myself on my talent for sass.”

  Nate buried his face in the palm of his hand. He let out a grumble as he rubbed his eyelids. “The Senior Director wants to see you,” he said in clipped tones. “He asked me to bring you to his office.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, Jena quirked an eyebrow. “What does Slade want with me?” she asked cautiously. “I filed my reports on my visit to the Loranos System.”

  “Come with me and find out.”

  Jena sighed.

  This was not going to be pleasant.

  A long hallway stretched on for several hundred feet, illuminated by sunlight that filtered through windows in the wall to her right. At the end of the corridor, Jena saw a set of double doors. Slade's office. In all her years as a Keeper, Jena had met the head of their organization only once.

  She ground her teeth, wincing as she marched down the corridor. “Tell me this guy doesn't creep you out,” she said. “I mean, come on! He's just so smooth all the time!”

  Nate walked along with hands clasped behind his back, chin lifted in the air. “Not all of us have your…difficulties with decorum,” he muttered. “And I would suggest that you avoid voicing such opinions where they might be overheard.”

  For once, she took his advice.

  The office was larger than what would be considered normal for a Justice Keeper, but she supposed being the Senior Director had its privileges. Gray carpets stretched from wall to wall, matched by plush chairs that faced a desk of polished oak wood. A window looked out on the city, revealing glittering skyscrapers in the distance. Of course, this room was not nearly as imposing as its occupant.

  Grecken Slade stood with his back to her, tall and slim in a red coat that dropped to his knee. Long, black hair fell to his shoulder blades and shimmered in the sunlight. She made a note to ask about his shampoo. “Operative Morane,” Slade began. “Thank you for meeting me this afternoon.”

  Folding her arms over her chest, Jena smiled down at the floor. “Oh, it's no trouble, sir,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I was just telling Nate that the one thing that would make life better around here was more staff meetings.”

  Slade turned.

  His tanned face bore a strong chin and tilted eyes that seemed to be sizing you up whenever they glanced in your direction. “Indeed; I've rarely had the pleasure of working directly with you.”

  He waved a hand over his desk. Light sprang into existence over the polished wood, coalescing into an image of the galaxy that rotat
ed slowly. Leyrian Space was marked by an amorphous blue blob about halfway between the Core and the Rim. “Operative, have you heard the rumours about our wayward daughter?”

  “Sir?”

  Grecken Slade lifted his chin as he studied her. He squinted, and Jena felt a shiver run down her spine. “Three weeks ago,” he began, “one of our shuttles departed Petross Station in the Aranis System in pursuit of a man who kidnapped a Nassai.

  “The shuttle's occupants were a Justice Keeper named Leana Lenai and a pilot by the name of Dex Aron. Against my orders, they pursued the perpetrator on a course that took them beyond our borders.”

  At a wave of Slade's hand, a red dot appeared near the edge of Leyrian Space and extended through the nearby starfield to a green blob that Jena recognized all too well. What in the Verse would possess them to go there?

  “Dead Space,” she said with a curt nod. “The woman has guts. Nobody flies into Dead Space voluntarily.”

  “Nobody flies into Dead Space for a reason,” Slade replied. “The place is littered with abandoned Overseer outposts, some of which possess automated defense systems that attack passing ships.”

  Lifting a gauntleted forearm up in front of her face, Jena studied her multi-tool. The little silver disk blinked at her, indicating that its power cells were almost fully charged. “Multi-tool active!” she said. “Display dossier for Justice Keeper Leana Lenai.”

  A transparent blue rectangle rippled into existence in front of her, followed by the results of her query. Jena found herself staring at the image of a young woman with short strawberry-blonde hair and big blue eyes. Her biographical information was listed next to the picture. Leana Lenai, Serial Number: 5087421, commissioned…last year?

  The hologram winked out when Jena let her arm drop. She couldn't believe this! By the Holy Companion above, what had this man been thinking? “Are you completely mad, Slade?” she found herself saying.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Pursing her lips, Jena looked up to fix her gaze on him. She narrowed her eyes. “I must be going blind!” she snapped. “Because this report can't possibly say what I think it says. You sent a rookie to recover a Nassai?”

  No doubt the girl never thought to question why this assignment had been given to someone with so little experience. Young Keepers were always eager to prove themselves and blind to the political maneuvering of their superiors.

  Grecken Slade frowned at her, his cheeks turning red. It seemed the man was not used to being challenged. “Agent Lenai is quite capable,” he replied. “Her work thus far has been exemplary.”

  “Until she questioned your orders.”

  “You're out of line, Operative.”

  “You sent a child to recover a captured symbiont,” she hissed. “Then you called her back when she pursued the thief beyond our borders.”

  “I was unwilling to put her life at risk.”

  “Then why give her this assignment in the first place?” Jena spun around to find Nate standing just inside the door with a scowl on his face. He shook his head, warning her to back down. “There had to be other officers available. Why choose a child?”

  “I'm not interested in explaining my decisions to you, Operative.” No, of course not. She could tell that her questions were hitting too close to home. Sending an inexperienced pup on a mission like this was beyond idiocy.

  The Nassai would be furious when they discovered that one of their own had been abducted by a human. Not quite furious enough to sever contact, but a few more incidents like this might just do the trick. Every Justice Keeper on this planet would tremble at the thought of such a thing; it would mean the end of their organization.

  Slade knew this, and yet he sent a girl to recover the symbiont. That meant one of two things: either he wanted the girl dead – which was unlikely since he had called her back – or he wanted the mission to fail. Of course, she couldn't say as much. Jena Morane had been reprimanded on more than one occasion for her “conspiracy theories.”

  In the public eye, Keepers were a noble organization, and for most of the people in the trenches, that was true. Good men and women put their lives on the line every day to protect those who could not protect themselves. But there were some in the higher levels of the administration who seemed…untrustworthy.

  In theory, the Nassai were supposed to be a check on such corruption, but theory was not practice. How long had it been since Slade had made use of his symbiont's gifts? They were not necessary for a desk job. Perhaps the symbiont was crying out right now, screaming its objection to what Slade was doing.

  No one would know but the man himself.

  People trusted symbiosis because the Nassai had proven time and again that they were willing to sacrifice themselves to save the lives of innocents. When Slade died, his symbiont would be returned to the Collective so that it could share its experiences with the greater whole. That would expose his corruption as well. But, if he could arrange to die in such a way that made returning the symbiont impossible…no one considered these things. No one questioned what was right in front of their faces.

  Except Jena Morane.

  “Are you just going to stand there, Operative?

  Gritting her teeth, Jena squeezed her eyes shut. “No, sir,” she said, whirling around to face the man. “I assume you've told me all of this for a reason. You want me to go after Lenai?”

  Grecken Slade stood behind the desk with his hands folded behind himself, his face as smooth as the finest porcelain. “We've picked up a distress beacon,” he said, nodding once. “From Dead Space.”

  “Lenai's?”

  The man pressed his lips together, bowing his head to stare down at the floor. He seemed visibly troubled for a moment. “Yes, it's hers,” Slade admitted. “And the Prime Council wants to send a rescue mission.”

  Jena flashed a smile.

  “This amuses you?”

  “Only the fact that it's obvious to me that you were opposed to such a rescue,” she replied. “Too bad you can't overrule the Head of State.”

  Slade wore a frigid expression as he fixed dark eyes upon her. “You're bordering on insubordination, Operative,” he replied. “There's a reason you've been assigned a series of dead-end missions on the Fringe Worlds.”

  Blushing like the sun, Jena felt her grin widen. She closed her eyes and nodded to the man. “I have no doubt you're right about that, sir,” she said, stepping forward. “Thing is, I like it out there.”

  “Then you will enjoy this assignment,” Slade muttered, turning away from her. He stood before the window, staring out at the city. “You're to board the LMS. Renoko and conduct a search and rescue.”

  “You can count on me, sir.”

  She left the office without another word. So once again Slade had picked the worst Keeper for the job. Well, in actuality, Jena was far better at her job than most people gave her credit for, but her service record wouldn't reflect that fact, and Slade seemed like the kind of guy who put a lot of stock in service records.

  He was expecting her to fail. How interesting. She would have to pull a few strings and have a new ship assigned to this mission. She couldn't trust one that had been picked by Slade. It would be far too easy for him to make a destroyed ship look like the work of an Overseer trap.

  Perhaps she shouldn't have been so overt in her defiance, but then, she was a Justice Keeper. Dying young was part of the job description. This, Jena thought to herself, looks like it's gonna be fun.

  Part 2

  Chapter 16

  Through fuzzy vision, she saw Vincent stand up and march toward her. He pointed the gun at her head. “You've caused my boss all sorts of trouble,” he rasped. “At least he will be free of one more nuisance.”

  Her frantic mind was unable to find enough lucidity, but on some level, she knew she was supposed to panic. She, Anna Lenai, was going to die here, unremarked in some room on some uncharted planet. She, Anna Lenai, had done violence, had inflicted pain on innocent men, and now
she was going to have to account for her sins.

  Would the Bleakness take her?

  Clenching her teeth, Anna felt tears on her cheeks. She turned her face away from the man. “Do it…” she whispered. “If you're going to kill me, then by the loving Companion, hurry up and get it over with.”

  Vincent cocked his head to the side, frowning at her through the mask. “Stubborn even in the face of death,” he mumbled. “I can give you treatment. Join us, Anna Lenai. Help us save this world.”

  The wail of a siren pierced the air.

  Vincent shot a glance over his shoulder, squinting at the window. “No, I don't think I'll kill you,” he said softly. “We win either way; if you die, one more nuisance will have been eliminated, and if you live, the chaos that will come when these primitives discover what you are will be…quite satisfying.”

  He turned on his heel and ran for the window. He dove through the opening like an arrow on course for its target, leaving her alone. Alone and cold. Why was it suddenly so cold?

  Anna wheezed and gasped for air. Her face was cold and clammy, her hair slick with sweat. Somebody help me…she called out in her own mind. Please…somebody help me!

  Lauren Hunter stared down at trembling hands that didn't seem to want to obey her commands. She had just taken down a cop with a potted plant. She had just assaulted an officer of the law.

  When she looked up, she saw the uniformed man down on hands and knees, head lolling. He shuffled his way toward the fallen detective who lay sprawled out upon the hardwood floor. Only the latter man was coming to.

  “I didn't mean to,” Lauren whimpered. “I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me.”

  But she did know. That bastard had tried to kill her brother! She couldn't just stand there and do nothing no matter what sort of trouble Jack had gotten into, and by the gist of their conversation, she had the distinct impression that her little brother wasn't the bad guy here. Not by a long-