“We carry supplies that ensure the health and stability of people living in every inhabited system.” Riston repeated it like the adage it was; that lesson was taught to every Pax child.
Lasalia shook her head, and Cira noticed the bruise-like circles around her eyes. “Maybe, but that’s the same philanthropic shroud governmental and corporate powers use to stay within the letter of the Pax charter. What the PCCSs really do is ensure the governments of those systems have the supplies they need to stretch the war on ad infinitum.”
An idea struck Cira, and she went back into the emergency systems. So far, all she’d managed to do was slow the pod’s ejection down by confusing the system and making it reevaluate the condition of the ship. There might, however, be a way to stop the process. She shifted through files and subroutines of Novis’s core functionality, looking for a way to turn the escape pod into a prison cell while listening to Riston draw confessions out of Lasalia.
“And that’s our fault?” Anger filtered into Riston’s voice. “You’re blaming us for a war that started centuries before our parents were born?”
“No. I’m not. You, Riston, are one of the victims of this.” Lasalia spoke with even certainty. Objectively true or not, there were no doubts clouding Lasalia’s mind. “The systems’ constant battle for control is what leaves so many children orphans and so many parents grieving. On the surface, the Pax fleet promises aid, but nearly everything carried by the ships is only used to quell revolts or build bigger and stronger warships. The Pax fleet might not be responsible, but they’re not helping. Not anymore. It’s our hope that, once you’re gone, the people who profess to be representatives of peace will be motivated enough to work through to a lasting truce.”
Cira ground her teeth as she flicked through commands and menus to dive deeper into Novis’s systems. Lasalia may talk about spreading pacifism, but her group’s actions told a different story. Conspiracies, sabotage, murder, and more—maybe worse—was what Cira saw, and Lasalia had worked to send over two hundred people away from everything and everyone they knew. Her group didn’t want unity of the systems; they wanted control of them.
There was silence from Riston, and it stretched longer than Cira expected. When ze spoke, zir voice trembled with emotion. “Peace? This is really about ending the war?”
“By any means necessary,” Cira muttered.
“No. You’re wrong about that.” A pained edge came into Lasalia’s voice as she asked, “Did…did the child survive?”
“What?” Riston lurched backward. Automatically, Cira’s hand snapped out, ready to catch zem if ze began to fall. She returned to work the instant Riston’s balance stabilized. A second later ze surged forward, furious. “You stabbed him! You left him alone and away from everyone who might’ve been able to help him, and now you want to know if he survived?”
“Oh.” Lasalia looked down, voice faltering. “I thought he’d…he should’ve made it. I aimed where it’d do the least damage—I only wanted him to stay away, to stop following me.”
“He won’t be following anybody anymore.” The growl ze tried to infuse into the words cracked and broke, betraying the pain and loss ze still hadn’t had time to process.
“No one was supposed to die,” Lasalia said. “We didn’t even want anyone to get hurt. In every part of this plan, we’ve done everything we could to minimize loss of life. Unless you disturb the process I’ve already started, you will be fine. The ship will survive the jump, and everyone will live out full lives on board the vessel you already call home.”
“You’ve simply decided we’re not allowed to live out our lives here,” Riston said, voice flat. “Why do you get to make that decision? What gives you the right?”
“Nothing.” On Cira’s display, Lasalia stood straighter and pulled her shoulders back, either pride or defiance in her stance. “No one person can make a choice like that, which is why it was decided we’d only act on a unanimously approved plan.”
“One group set out to destroy another because they believe they’re right.” Riston shook zir head, lips curled in disgust. “Yeah, you’re nothing like the governments at all.”
Cira huffed a weak laugh and then choked on it when an alert popped up on her screen.
Escape pod sealed and activated. Launch in ten seconds.
Lasalia was still talking about governments and failed protections for citizens, but Cira barely heard it. Her focus had narrowed to the screen in front of her and the blur-quick motion of her hands and fingers as they skipped from one command prompt to another. At this point, she didn’t care if she broke the air lock and had to cut the doors open to get Lasalia out.
Nine.
Lasalia put on the suit’s helmet, securing it as she kept talking. Her words were little more than a hum to Cira as she desperately tried to do two things at once.
Eight.
If Cira could force a new ship scan, the system might note the lack of damage and deactivate the launch. While the scan was running, she also tried forcing the air lock into simulation mode to engage the safety mechanisms that kept trainees from launching themselves into the void. A or B. One or two. Either way, Lasalia wouldn’t make it off this ship.
Seven.
Lasalia couldn’t leave because she had to stop the other countdown happening on Novis. The only person who knew how to safely uninstall the transdimensional drive was about to eject herself into the vast nothingness between inhabited systems, and that could. Not. Be. Allowed.
Six.
“Yes!” Cira hissed when the clamps reengaged with a thunk. She hadn’t overridden the door yet, but what did that matter? Lasalia Nadar—if that really was her name—wasn’t going anywhere. “Keep talking if you want. It’s all being recorded for your trial on Paxis.”
Hopefully, that was true. Cira wasn’t sure. The cameras worked, but Lasalia could’ve disconnected them from the data core.
“I won’t make it back to Paxis.” Lasalia unlatched the seal on her helmet, took it off, and set it gently on the floor. As she straightened, she began to unseal and unhook the suit, too. When she looked up again, she was, inexplicably and unsettlingly, smiling.
“Yes, you will.” Cira left the console to stare at Lasalia without a camera lens and a screen between them. “We’re not like you. We don’t murder people just because they’re in the way. You’ll stand trial in exactly the same condition you are now. I’ll make sure of it.”
Slowly, Lasalia extricated herself from the top half of the vac suit, leaving her in just a black, long-sleeve, fitted shirt with the rest of the white and gray suit hanging from her wide hips. Although nothing in her expression or her movements made Cira think Lasalia had a backup escape plan ready to throw into action, something was putting Cira on edge and leeching the euphoria from what should’ve been a moment of victory.
“I hope one day the quadrant understands why we did this.” Lasalia looked away from the window to sift through the large pocket on the suit’s thigh. When she straightened, the blue light of emergency power glinted off something in her hand.
“What are you doing?” Cira demanded, more confused than scared. The woman couldn’t possibly think a knife would do her any good now.
“No.” Riston’s voice was a harsh, hoarse plea. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry. Close your eyes if you need to,” Lasalia said softly, regret in every word.
Dread settled in Cira’s stomach. “What—”
Cira stopped breathing the second she understood.
Comprehension, though, came too late.
Lasalia Nadar drew her blade across one wrist, a deep and vicious slash that splattered the white walls and floor. Then, as though she had to be absolutely sure no one could save her, she made one more cut—straight across her own throat.
New Entry, Intersystem Public Databank
Name: Anon003
Terra-Sol date 3814.257 at 2622
Everything was done out of order, but my mission is complete. I can only
hope the alterations I was forced to make haven’t endangered lives. My own, I fear, may be sacrificed to circumstance.
Long live Prometheus. May his work finally be enough to destroy the scourge of war.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Riston
Terra-Sol date 3814.258
Resignation and regret slumped Riston’s shoulders, but Cira lurched forward with a wordless cry, hands outstretched as though she could reach through the door and…what? Push the gushing blood back into Lasalia’s body? It wouldn’t help. The woman had already dropped in an awkward, horrible slump. A split second later, Riston slid between Cira and the window, but it was too late to keep her from seeing the destruction. In the blue light of emergency power, the growing pool of blood surrounding Lasalia looked black. Ze flinched at the sight, wrapped zir arms around Cira’s waist, and eased her away from the air lock.
“She—why would she—oh my…” Cira shuddered and swallowed convulsively. When Riston tightened zir hold, she burrowed deeper and clutched fistfuls of zir shirt. She hunched so low that, for the first time, Cira was shorter.
“I know.” Heart aching, Riston brushed the barest of kisses against the top of her head. “It’s okay. You’re okay. There wasn’t anything more you could’ve done.”
“But why?”
Despite the war, Riston thought this might be the first time Cira had ever seen death. Not bodies—no one could grow up in war and avoid corpses—but the actual process of death. Zir first impulse was to lie to her, but ze forced the truth out instead. “Because if we’d captured her, there are ways to get the information we need, no matter how badly she wanted to hide it.”
It took a few minutes for Cira’s breathing to level out and half a minute more for her to loosen her trembling grip on zem and step back. When Riston had nightmares about zir own past, the meat shells left behind weren’t what woke zem in a panic. Watching the vibrancy of a life fade, though… Riston never forgot those moments. Cira wouldn’t ever forget today, either, no matter how badly Riston wished ze could carry the memory for her.
“Sorry.” She bit her lip, maybe in embarrassment and maybe to keep herself silent.
“There’s nothing to apologize for. But if…” Riston shook zir head. The pressure of impending doom hadn’t lessened with spilled blood. Something dangerous and potentially deadly was still lurking in the veins of the ship, and the only person who could’ve told them how to stop it was dead. “If you can, we should start figuring out how to get out of here.”
The look she gave the air lock was haunted, like the memory had already begun to turn into a nightmare, but it also seemed to shake her loose from some of the shock. Slowly, she pulled the posture and mien of a Pax officer around her like a coat, and Riston nearly smiled to see it. In these moments, the potential leader in Cira was so clear. It was also when she most powerfully resembled Captain Erryla Antares.
“Okay.” Cira took a long breath and exhaled. “I guess we’d better get back to work.”
It took two hours for Cira, the officers on the bridge, and a team working one level below them to figure out how to unseal deck twelve. It had been a strange process, with each new piece of information Cira needed blaring into the room through the emergency alert system and accompanied by claxoning alarms. Riston spent every second twitching with barely controlled anxiety, and it wasn’t solely because of the sound. Although she worked at the console farthest from the air lock, giving Riston all the reason ze needed to remain at that end of the section, too, they were still too close to death for zir comfort. Ze wanted more distance. Distance made it easier to think. And to forget.
When the locks on deck twelve finally released, Commander Liddens was the first one through the door. Cira’s eyes brightened as soon as she saw him, and that look held Riston back when impatience was pushing zem to rush through the open hatch and head back to zir friends. Then ze got a good look at Halver’s face and stayed for a whole different reason.
“Halver,” Cira breathed, relief in her voice. The instinctual reaction shifted abruptly into caution. The second-in-command’s beige skin was pale, his eyes sunken, and his black hair shiny with several days’ buildup of natural oils. None of the officers following him in were in better condition, and Riston wondered if there was a single person on Novis who wasn’t on the brink of collapsing from exhaustion. Cira must have noticed the same details. Riston could practically see the memory of everything that had happened since her confession—and her crew’s reaction—rise in her mind. She took a step back.
But Halver rushed forward and dragged Cira into a tight hug. “Your mother has been furiously worried for hours.”
“Furiously, huh?” Cira laughed weakly against his shoulder. “Which one?”
“Both.” He pushed her back to hold her at arm’s length. Worry and pride somehow both danced in his eyes. “Erryla wanted to come for you herself, but I talked her out of it.”
“Is the situation that bad?” Cira glanced at Riston, the same apprehension on her face that ze was trying—and probably failing—to keep off zir own.
“Not at the moment, but…” A faint flush bloomed along Halver’s cheeks. He cast a quick, self-conscious glance toward the other officers, but he didn’t hold back. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. You’re ours, always have been and always will be. I shouldn’t have forgotten that.”
Cira didn’t respond immediately, but the tears Riston could see gathering in her eyes said a lot. Halver smiled, cupping her face and planting a smacking kiss on her forehead.
Then, rather abruptly, Halver switched back to professionalism. “Chief Antares is still coordinating efforts to locate and disengage the TD drive and regain control of the systems.”
Cira immediately offered to help, but the very idea made Riston’s fists clench with a rush of impatience. There were so many other places ze needed to be. It’d been too long since ze’d heard anything from zir friends.
Thankfully, Halver nudged them toward the exit. “Neither of you have had any real rest in days, so you need to find a place to lie down. I can make it an order if I need to.”
He did just that when Cira protested, ordering them back to the main section of the ship. They’d have to travel a circuitous route, at least for the first part of the trip, but at least they’d have a chance to sleep soon. Hopefully. As exhausted as ze was, it wasn’t likely sleep would come easily. Ghost may be gone, but they weren’t safe. Still, the very idea of sleep had become a guide star it was hard to turn away from.
“Thank you, sir,” Riston murmured as ze passed the commander.
Something ze almost wanted to call respect gleamed in Halver’s exhausted eyes when he nodded in response before he signaled one of the junior officers who stepped toward the one open hatch. Riston had barely glanced at them initially, and even now it wasn’t until Riston saw the last name Simone printed over their yeocin insignia that ze recognized Iyana. This was the girl Treble had developed such a crush on. Her large eyes, amber skin, and aubergine corkscrew curls were striking, yet Riston thought it was probably the calm competence she exuded that’d so firmly captured Treble’s attention. Riston wanted to ask the yeocin if she’d met Treble yet, but ze held back. Asking would be too much like hoping something would come of the encounter other than heartbreak and disappointment.
Riston was already doomed in that respect. The others didn’t have to be.
Iyana led Cira and Riston back through the tunnels until they were able to exit onto deck eleven. Then, she gestured toward the elevator. Although Cira and Riston gave each other an uncertain look, they followed the silent instructions. To their surprise, the elevator came when called for. A portion of the lockdown must have been lifted. Riston’s heart leapt. Not only would they be able to get back to medical faster, clearly progress had been made. What else had the crew regained control of? Ze and Cira had been all but cut off from everything for the last few hours, trapped alone with a room slowly filling with blood.
When
they stepped onto deck six, Riston expected to head left toward medical. Iyana turned right. Toward the bridge. Questions crowded Riston’s mind and piled up on zir tongue, but ze couldn’t be the first to break the lengthy silence. But the bridge? Ze’d never thought seeing it would be possible. Regulations said noncitizens were never to be allowed into the command center of the ship, yet Iyana led zem and Cira straight into the security office connected to the bridge.
Gesturing toward the bridge door, she finally said, “The captain wants to see you.”
Cira audibly swallowed before nodding and taking three stiff steps toward the door. There was a panel to the side, and she swiped her wrist past the embedded sensors. A second later, the door slid open. Beyond was the bridge, three-tiered, full of flickering colors and bright screens, and absolutely packed.
Riston’s pulse rose until zir blood felt like a tide was rising under zir skin. Clearly the space was designed to comfortably fit a nine-person team, but at least twice that many bodies filled it now. Captain Erryla Antares sat at the center of the highest tier, three holo-displays active around her. Teams of two or three worked at all eight of the stations on the lower two levels. Every screen was active. Every conversation was heated. Noise and warmth struck Riston like a wall, and ze had to force zirself to follow Cira into the room.
It got worse when people began to realize exactly who had arrived. Silence spread outward in a wave. Attention fixated on Cira and zem. The only reason Riston didn’t turn around and run was because the door automatically closed behind them. The pressure of so many gazes on zem at once was too much to bear, which was why it took zem a few seconds too long to notice ze was wrong. Some people were watching Riston, but most were only looking toward zem. It was Cira and the captain at the center of their focus, and the crew looked between the two women with obvious hesitance, like they were waiting for one or the other to explode.
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