Jetta flicked her left wrist very carefully, maneuvering her fighters out of range of the warship but drawing the battleships toward a large asteroid with a strong gravitational pull. She commanded two of her fighters to dump their plasma waste, overriding the computer’s default safety measures.
“What are you doing?” the officer asked, smirking. “Giving up already?”
The two fighters, lagging behind to discharge their plasma waste, came into firing range. Since the waste evacuation didn’t register on his monitors, he didn’t see what was coming. After gathering her remaining three fighters near a large asteroid, Jetta ordered them to engage all engines at full capacity while in lock. It would do nothing against the asteroid itself, but everything would change when the battleships fired their ion cannons at the plasma waste.
“Stupid launnie. I thought you were supposed to be—”
He never finished his sentence. Fire from the battleships ignited the plasma waste, creating the effect that, after the Battle of Greaod, was termed a “slingshot tunnel.” The blast from the engines of her three remaining fighters created the necessary directional push for the asteroid to rocket through the slingshot, demolishing her two fighters, but also his warship and two battleships.
It was over.
The officer fell silent, black pods in the corners chirped. Someone fumbled with a door handle, and she shielded her eyes as light poured in, outlining a tall figure looming in the doorway.
“YOU’LL HAVE TWO HOURS.”
Jetta shook her head. What’s happening?
Her brother and sister sat on either side of her at a supersized Endgame console, the enormous war globe swirling in front of them. Across from them were five rows of heavily decorated officers, each with their own interface modules linking into the holographic globe that spanned almost the entire arena.
The air popped and fizzed with electrical charge from all the machinery, making it smell faintly of burning plastic. Jetta squinted, trying to look through the holographic playing field to get a better view. The officers’ faces, yellowed by the light, appeared indistinguishable one from another. Is that the pudgy Admiral I played a few weeks ago? Or was it months?
All of the senior commanders are here, Jahx shared within their bond.
Rogman came up behind her, writing something on a datapad, mustache in a twitch. “Watch your defensive line. You’re losing points taking wild gambles to get their flagship. Keep your numbers tight.”
Another game. But this one is different. Fighting seasoned officers was hard enough, but lately Rogman had been integrating some impossible obstacles to overcome, or handicapping them with damaged vessels and inferior weapons. This setup proved even more demanding. Instead of one of them playing the game, they each controlled a separate legion of the fleet. The allotted game pieces had also been increased. Jetta’s force alone numbered in the thousands, and as her complement tallied up on console, she held her breath until she thought she would pass out. I’ve never fought with so many pieces before. How are we going to manage them and formulate a strategy against so many other players?
Jetta slumped in her seat. There are so many minds—how am I going to pick apart each one? It took time and stealth not to get caught. They couldn’t fight like they had in the Academy, and she couldn’t be as stupid and reckless as she had been about Drakken. Winning now would require a different strategy.
I’m so tired... Jaeia thought.
Jetta agreed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept—or eaten—or done anything else but play game after game. It feels like this is all we have ever done.
The idea of not playing briefly circulated through their shared thoughts, but it was universally dismissed as soon as it came.
We can’t, Jahx said, inner voice racked with pain. We have to play.
Jetta dared a glance at the Commandant standing over her shoulder. Rogman is dangerous, she thought, feeling his midnight eyes at the back of her head. A feverish warmth took hold, and she pulled at her collar with a trembling hand, trying to get some air. Not playing is dangerous.
The game clock buzzed.
Within seconds, a swarm of enemy ships came crushing down on the triplets’ front line. Jetta moved her fighters out of range, and seeing her siblings’ positions through their eyes, matched their retreat.
Biting her lip, Jetta pushed back her anxieties and the drumming heartbeats of her siblings, and concentrated on the readings scrolling down her console. It didn’t matter where she looked. Swiping through different angles of the battle, she saw only slaughter and defeat.
Look, Jetta offered as they pulled back their forces for a second time, they’re not like us. Their movements will never be as fast as ours; they can’t see the game like we can. Let’s use that to our advantage.
Jahx’s fatigue pulled at the back of her mind. I can’t fight anymore, he said, loosening his grip on the controls. I don’t want to fight anymore...
Please, Jahx, Jetta begged, eyeing Rogman coming up behind her brother. Let’s just win this one. He’ll let us take a break after this—I just know it.
She didn’t know why she thought she could lie to her brother and sister like that, but they wanted to believe it just as much as she did.
“Get your fleet moving, cadet,” Rogman whispered into Jahx’s ear. Through Jahx’s senses Jetta could smell his breath, making her lurch forward in a vain effort to get away from the stench.
Come on, come on, Jetta told herself. Find something. Find their weakness.
Jetta tried to rifle through all the easily accessible knowledge she had stolen, but nothing useful came to mind. The last thing she wanted to do was dig through the slimy experiences of the Dominion Core personnel and synergize a new strategy from their polluted memories.
Rogman appeared at her side as she flew one of her winged complements around the edge of the playing field to get a better view of the game. He knows I’m stalling.
“Why are you holding back?” he whispered in her ear. His breath reminded her of the stink of Galm’s old dentures. “You have already mastered them. Stop playing like a launnie and think like the razor you are. Or maybe you are just a street rat after all...”
The playing field became a frenzy of electric color and sound. Seeing the battlefield from three sets of eyes, Jetta knew that it was going to take something radical to defeat the horde of officers. Outnumbered and outmaneuvered, she would have to face one of her worst fears to pull off a win.
Jetta bit her lip again, this time hard enough to draw blood. The three of them purposely locked away the darker memories of the Dominion Core personnel from their consciousness. Even glimpses of their acts of cruelty—torturing prisoners and slaughtering civilians—left her nauseous and hollowed. And that only grazed the surface of their crimes.
Shivers ran up her spine. Some things just aren’t worth experiencing.
Wiping the sweat from her brow, Jetta told herself she would have to do it. She had weathered awful minds before—why would this be any different? But never this many at once, she thought to herself.
No, she decided after watching her brother and sister fumbling with their game pieces, I can handle it; I’m not afraid of their evil.
“No, Jetta—I’ll do it,” Jahx whispered to her.
“What?” Jetta exclaimed.
He turned to her, his blue eyes resolute and shadowed by the knowledge of the terrible undertaking he was about to endure.
“Jahx, no—it should be me—” Jaeia began, but it was too late.
Jetta’s mind stretched backward as Jahx dissociated from his body and folded into their shared consciousness. She gripped the controls of her console with all her might as her vision telescoped beyond the room and into the space between.
Wait! Jetta screamed, her body shaking violently.
Jahx pulled down both his sisters as he sank into psionic limbo, tearing at the seams of corporeality. While he slalomed through the memories of the Dominion Core offi
cers, Jetta shielded herself from the grisly backsplash.
Please, Jahx, she pleaded. I can’t hold on—
Jetta only saw fragments of Jahx’s ordeal as the visage of the past reverberated through their common bond. Thrust behind the eyes of an officer, she stood over an enemy soldier tangled in barbed wire. The dying man, suffocating as he thrashed to free himself, reached out to her. Jetta heard her own voice reciting the officer’s favorite mantra: “Cruelty commands respect.”
After giving the final order to her flight team to bomb the remainder of the city, Jetta watched from a safe distance as missiles rained down on helpless citizens. Men in blue and black uniforms bludgeoned surrendered soldiers while she sat nearby drinking tea and going over the spoils with other officers. She laughed as a mass execution concluded with cheers from her troops.
Lashing backward, Jetta yanked her mind away from her brother and sister before she experienced more. I can’t bear their brutality—
She heard Jaeia’s cry echo across the expanse, rising in ferocity until it suddenly stopped.
Jetta opened her eyes. Jahx leaned into the hologram, his face distorted by the lights of the projection field, eyes glowing red.
I can see them, he whispered through their connection.
Jahx—what did you do? Jetta said, surprised at her own tears. How could she have allowed her brother to risk himself like that? He shouldn’t have had to bear the burden of so many evil minds. And how could she have abandoned her siblings during their darkest moment?
I’m weak, Jetta thought to herself, mashing her fist into her stomach. It should have been me. The pain felt good, but not as vindicating as she’d hoped.
“Follow my lead,” Jahx said as he silently commanded them to restructure their attack. Looking beyond the field of play, Jetta sensed the buried gleanings her brother had unearthed and synergized into a cohesive, tangible strategy.
Jahx, my Gods—
Every move her brother commanded carved into the enemy forces effortlessly, every action and reaction met with indescribable perfection. He understood the enemy—he saw every possible outcome of the game—and he commanded their fleet to a victory in less than an hour.
Three to fifty minds—or more—and an improbable and unbelievable victory.
“Congratulations,” Rogman said, terminating the game. The hologram canceled out with an angry whine from the soundboard.
Jetta touched her brother’s hand, but it felt cold and unfamiliar. The detachment in his eyes stayed with her long after the soldiers dragged them away.
TIME PASSED BY IN DISJOINTED thoughts and splintered feelings. Through it all there was Rogman and the Endgame. The stupid game never went away, even after Jetta rebelled. When she did, Rogman separated them, and somehow made their voices disappear in her head.
Jaeia, Jahx, she called out, rocking back and forth on the edge of her bed. Please, I need you. Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU?
Silence. A deadness to the world that hollowed her bones and emptied her soul. She curled up in her bed and tried to remember her siblings’ faces, but her mind couldn’t recall a single detail.
Slowly and carefully to avoid the camera eyes in every corner of her grey prison, Jetta scraped her fingernails up and down her arm. She welcomed the pain, and its divine liberation. It provided something real to hold on to, and as a warm wetness trickled down her skin, she felt release.
Rogman didn’t seem overly concerned no matter how many times she hurt herself. Nobody did. A trip to the infirmary patched wounds, and when she returned to her quarters, there were more cameras on the walls, and more frequent checks by the guards at her door.
With her arm screaming in sweet pain, Jetta comforted herself with the only hope she had left. She would see her brother and sister again at game time. Rogman still allowed that. A fragile smile trembled its way across her lips.
For now, the voice inside her whispered.
Jetta’s smile collapsed, her teeth setting upon teeth in madness. Scrambling to her feet, she tore the sheets and mattress from the bed. After overturning the frame, she stomped and kicked the metal bars until they split apart at the junctures. With no other furniture to destroy, she attacked the grey paneling, repeatedly slamming her fists. She didn’t recognize the metal material, but some part of her knew that she shouldn’t be able to punch holes through the wall.
Exhausted and spent, Jetta finally sat down on the cold tile floor, surrounded by her bloodstained destruction.
Jetta braced her head in her hands. Why is this happening? Where did I go wrong?
On Fiorah she always managed some kind of plan, even if implausible, but concentrating on escape—on anything—seemed impossible. Things only made sense when she played the Endgame. Putting her mind to anything else resulted in more confusion.
This is all my fault...
The lock clicked over, but she didn’t lift her head from her hands. It would probably be the guards and a nurse with a tranquilizer to take her to the infirmary. While I’m gone they’ll repair the damage, and things will just start all over again.
Lights dimmed and heating ducts groaned with strain.
“What the hell?” she said, standing up as a rank miasma impregnated her room. She backed up into the overturned bed when she saw the creature hulking in her open doorway. At first she thought it was a machine—and then she saw the decaying fragments of flesh stretched over the segments of its mechanical body. One bloodshot eye bulged from its organic socket, white jelly spilling from the inner canthus.
She recognized the same psionic energy she had sensed the first time she had visited Rogman’s office. Was this thing there when the Commandant threatened me?
Its spidery feet made a clickety-clack, clickety-clack as it entered her quarters. She shielded her face, thinking the thing would attack her. Instead, it extended one of its legs, offering her something. At first she didn’t accept the ear bud dangling from its pincers, but when it started to speak, its voice shrill and grating, she nabbed it. Wedging the remote translator in her ear, she wrapped her arms around her head to protect herself from the sound of its voice.
“I am M’ah Pae, Overlord of the Motti,” he began. As he reached up with one of his mechanical legs and deactivated the cameras, Jetta noticed that he bore no Dominion insignia. “You are Jetta, one of three. There is respect for you among us.”
Jetta didn’t know how to respond. She couldn’t understand exactly what he felt—or if he even possessed conventional emotions—and the expressions on his face were twisted by the mechanical implants.
“You are a humanoid I do not despise. You are different from the others. You share my disgust for the infectious impurity of the Sentients, for the lesser beings that try to control you.”
“What are you talking about?” Jetta asked, digging her nails into her thighs just to keep from hyperventilating. Jaeia—Jahx—where are you? Help me—
“I know your blood—you are a telepath. And you are Fiorahian. There is nothing you can do to escape your persecution.”
Jetta heart stopped in her chest. He knows our secret. Did that mean that the Core knew about her too? If so, that meant that—
—the thought disappeared. What is happening? Something about a shared disgust.
“The Motti are the same. They call us the Deadwalkers. The Core uses us for our technology, but we are nothing but slaves to them. Just like you. They are using you, too.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Jetta asked.
He smiled, revealing a row of metallic gums and black nubs for teeth. “Play the games as I know you can, and I will give you the power to defeat your enemies and claim what is rightfully yours.”
Jetta gnawed on the inside of her cheek, trying to think clearly. Who or what is this thing and why is he telling me this?
“No... I can’t. I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Rogman is watching.”
The Motti Overlord emitted frenzied mechanical chatter. Is he laughing?
>
“You only need to be shown the power in your grasp. I will show you. Then you will not stop until the universe is cleansed.”
This is a trick. It has to be a trick. Everybody lies. “No,” Jetta whispered.
His face contorted in the oddest way, causing blood to ooze out from the corner of his eye. “If you don’t, I know someone else who will.”
“Stay away from my brother and sister!” Jetta shouted.
She lunged at the creature, but he caught her by the neck with one of his mechanical legs. As she struggled to breathe against the metal grip, he drew her close. His cadaverous flesh reminded her of the bodies she used to find in the dumpster on Fiorah, and her stomach threatened revolt against the stench.
“I do not understand your resistance. Do you not understand what you are? You are better than them. You are the next evolution. But if you will not see, then I will make you see. General Volkor. He will be your eyes. Through him you will find your destiny.”
When he released her she fell and cracked her head against the tile floor. She tried to reach out to her siblings, but the world faded to black before she could find them.
“I UNDERSTAND YOUR CONCERN, but we cannot wait for any more of your trials. They’ve already shown considerably less resistance when separated. There is no need to destroy the other two.”
A voice, shrill and grating, responds.
“The Sovereign himself has issued this ruling. I must follow orders.”
That voice—it hurts my ears.
“Your insistence leads me to believe that you’ve invested too much interest in this project. The Sovereign is paying you for your technology, not your suggestions.”
Rage heats the room. A long pause. Clickety-clack-clickety-clack fades into the distance.
I remember that sound, Jetta thought.
“Filthy abominations.”
Another voice, much deeper and filled with concern. “Commandant Rogman, Sir, this is not the first time that—”
Pause.
“—has suggested that the one of candidates be, uh, ‘converted.’ I think they’re up to something.”
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