Triorion Omnibus

by L. J. Hachmeister

  The bar owner’s voice was a little too relaxed, a little too smug.

  He knows.

  Body tensing, Reht readied for assault. He scratched his left ear to signal his Talian warrior.

  “I came for the package I asked you to keep safe for me six months ago.”

  Guli leaned back and crossed his arms over his jiggly belly. “Is that right?” He looked over his shoulder and then immediately back to Reht and Mom, clearly signaling someone in the crowd.

  Dropping his hand below the bar, Reht clicked off the safety to his gun. As his hand returned to the bar’s surface, he sported a casual smile. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t come back for it, did you?”

  “Her kind’s still not welcome, Jagger. It would be unwise to make a move now.”

  Something told Reht that Guli wasn’t advising him on the political state of the Starways. When Mom brushed his shoulder, Reht knew he’d picked up on it, too.

  “I brought you some sweet and dirty hard cash as a token of my sincerest appreciation,” Reht said, opening the flap of his jacket to show Guli the stack of money tucked away inside. With uncommonly quick reflexes, Guli plucked the money from his pocket. He brought the cash to his nose and inhaled deeply.

  “Come with me,” Guli said, motioning for them to follow him behind the curtain separating the main bar from the kitchen.

  Passing by the cooks attending to their bubbling pots and pans, Reht tried to ignore the molding spills or worms hatching out of steaks left out overnight. He had eaten at Guli’s before, and while it wasn’t the dirtiest joint in the outerworlds, he didn’t want to know exactly had been spicing up his meals.

  Long stairwells winding through a maze of basements and subbasements revealed the true nature of Guli’s world. Sentients laying down working girls or sleeping off benders on broken slabs of furniture didn’t bother Reht as much as the interrogators pumping their victims for information.

  “Please—Gods—I don’t know anything!” a bloodied humanoid wailed as two thugs held him down.

  The interrogator approached, bat resting on his shoulder, taking his time. “Oh, you’re gonna remember something for me, boy!”

  “Quite the system you got going, Guli,” Reht said as he stepped over a drunken Toork crying to himself on the stairwell. “I’m impressed.”

  Guli shrugged. “I get by.”

  They finally came to a door guarded by two of the largest henchman Reht had seen in Guli’s establishment. “These are guests of mine, Chezi, Mari. Let us pass, please.”

  Reht eyed Mom, who emitted a low growl. They followed Guli through a hallway lit by old fluorescent tubes and into a boiler room littered with broken bricks and tiles. Mom crouched to avoid hitting his head on the pipes as all of their attention went to the dusty trap door in the center of the room.

  “For your inspection.” Guli handed Reht a key. The guards followed their boss closely, trading steely looks with Reht’s warrior.

  “Hope you don’t mind them,” Guli said. “I always have my associates present when I close a transaction.”

  “Whatever.” Reht shrugged.

  Mom stepped between his captain and Guli’s men, flaring out the tips of his claws. The henchman grinned like feral animals.

  Key in hand, Reht found himself hesitating. Not all the fear behind the Dissembler Scare was unwarranted. Then again, he reasoned, if anything was the least bit out of sorts, none of them would be standing there now. At least not with their guts intact.

  Keeping Guli and his men in his peripheries, Reht dropped to his knees and unlocked the door. It swung open easily, affronting them with the smell of mold and mildew. Covering his nose with his hand, Reht peered inside. A single candle barely illuminated the room below, enough for him to see his dirt-floor landing. Reht nodded to Mom to stay on top as he dropped down.

  Even by his standards, the hideaway wasn’t fit for habitation. His stomach churned as his eyes passed over the room’s contents. A mattress crammed with wheatgrass, crawling with bugs. Empty food cartons, stacked neatly in the corner, buzzing with little black flies. Corkboard shelving, sagging beneath the weight of an old television, ready to collapse.

  “Starfox,” Reht whispered when he spotted the dark-haired woman curled up in the corner of the room by a crude latrine. She turned her head, the blue of her eyes catching the candlelight, but her gaze slid past his. He recognized the behavior; he had seen enough of it in the war camps as a child.

  “I came to get you,” he said, kneeling down next to her. “It’s still not safe, but we need you.”

  She shivered and drew her legs against her chest when he reached out to touch her.

  “I am so sorry, Triel. I never meant...” He couldn’t finish the sentence. What have I done?

  Desperate to shelter her after the Dominion massacred her people, Reht had miscalculated just how bad Guli’s could get.

  “I couldn’t come back before—it was too risky,” he whispered, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. He gently touched her cheek, but the coldness of her skin made him retract his hand. Reht had seen her in bad conditions, but nothing like this.

  I should never have left her. What if Guli had—

  Triel turned her head, this time locking eyes. “Behind you!”

  He drew his weapon and spun around, firing blindly at the opening of the trap door, not worrying about his aim. Whenever she was around it seemed like his instincts were keener, as if her telepathic gifts amplified his intuition.

  Mom roared, and after a brief scuffle, something heavy collapsed to the floor.

  “What was that?” Reht asked as Mom stuck his blood-splattered head down through the trapdoor opening.

  Mom pushed the charred remains of a guard down through the hole so Reht could see that his shot had found its mark.

  “I see and smell,” Reht said, covering his nose. “What about Guli?”

  Mom grunted and made a slicing motion across his neckline.

  “Oh. Well, he wasn’t my favorite customer anyway. Let’s go,” Reht said as he typed in the commands on his comlink to alert the rest of the crew of their immediate departure.

  Grabbing his Starfox’s hand, he tried to pull her to her feet, but her legs wouldn’t support her weight. Mom grumbled as he jumped down, but tenderly picked her up and cradled her with one arm.

  As they exited the stairwell, a band of Guli’s men burst out of the kitchen, guns charged and poised. Reht opened fire, taking out several before they had a chance to aim. Mom dropped his claws and laid into the men closest to him with his free hand, shredding any weapons or appendages that got in his way, blood and sinew splattering the walls. Two of Guli’s men managed to fire off a few shots, grazing the Talian’s thigh and shoulder, but it didn’t faze Reht’s warrior.

  After the men retreated into the bar, Mom gingerly set down Triel next to some storage boxes by the sinks. Ripping the industrial freezer from the wall, Mom jammed it into the kitchen door, barricading the entrance.

  “We need a new exit,” Reht yelled over the commotion, keeping his back to sinks. The two remaining cooks, initially frightened, signaled each other with hand motions. One of them gripped a frying pan a little too tightly, and the other, moving around the kitchen island toward the sinks, wiped his butcher knife on his apron with quick, nervous movements. “Can you make me one?”

  With a bellow that shook the walls, Mom charged toward gap between the sinks.

  “Holy—” Reht said, grabbing Triel and rolling out of the way of his warrior. A watery mix of bricks, concrete and broken pipes rained down from above as Mom rammed through the exterior wall.

  “That works,” Reht said, assisting Triel through the resulting hole.

  The dog-soldier captain breathed a tentative sigh of relief as he spotted the Wraith hovering over the bar, ramp down with Vaughn guarding the deck.

  Scooping up the Healer in his arms, Mom ascended the ramp first, Reht covering his back as guards poured out of the front entrance
of the bar.

  “Chak,” Reht cursed, his right arm catching rebound shocks from the gunfire. Hunkering down behind the ramp, Reht waited until Ro and Cray fired off several plasma rounds from the ship’s weapon pits to draw away the attack.

  With a grunt, Reht hurled himself up the ramp. Vaughn caught him by the jacket and helped him the rest of the way into the ship as Diawn pulled the nose of the ship up and away from the assault.

  “Well, that was—” Reht didn’t have the chance to finish his sentence. Diawn floored the engines, sending them all careening backward.

  “Hey, can’t argue with the results,” Reht chuckled as Mom growled and picked himself off the floor.

  “Triel... it’s good... to see you,” Vaughn mumbled while strapping himself back into the navigational terminals. It was the most Reht had heard the ex-con say in months.

  She smiled and spoke with a shaky voice. “Good to see you again. All of you. I didn’t know if you were going to be able to come back.”

  Using his teeth, Reht tightened the bandages on his left hand, trying not to let her words dig into him. “Come on,” he said, wrapping his arm gently around her waist. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

  Diawn’s piloting made the short trip exceptionally difficult. The ship rocked side to side, plummeting hard and then jackknifing upward at a nauseating velocity.

  When they finally reached Bacthar’s infirmary, Triel collapsed into the exam chair.

  “Sorry—Diawn still enjoys testing our upchuck reflex.” Reht shot her a lopsided smile as he removed a med kit from the shelf.

  “Need some help?” Bacthar asked, ducking his head in. He grinned when he saw the patient in his chair. “Well, well—Triel of Algardrien—so good to have you back.”

  “Doc,” she smiled, reaching out to take his hand. The Orcsin gave her a big hug, wrapping his thick black arms and wings around her entire body.

  Reht tapped the surgeon on the shoulder. “I got this one. Maybe in ten, okay?”

  “Okay—I’ll just get some grub for the lady.” Bacthar winked at the Healer and disappeared toward the galley.

  It took him a few moments to work up the nerve as he prepared the dressings, but he finally found his voice. “What happened?” He watched her closely as he soaked a cloth and began cleaning her face.

  “Guli took an interest in me. He never tried to hurt me—he was too afraid. But he was making plans. He started to deprive me of food, sleep. He thought maybe then he could convince me to...”

  Even with tears brimming her lids, Triel didn’t cry. His Starfox rarely broke down, even in the worst of circumstances.

  Reht bit down and tore another strip off his thumbnail, infuriated not only at Guli but at himself. “I’m sorry, Starfox. If Guli hadn’t taken you in, the Core would’ve found you, and you’d probably be a Deadwalker.”

  “A Liiker?”

  “It’s a long story,” Reht said, passing her the cup of warm Mugghra soup Bacthar laid on the counter.

  “You said it still wasn’t safe,” Triel said. Despite what Reht had instructed earlier, Bacthar began to quietly inspect the Healer as she sipped the steaming Mugghra.

  “No, it’s not. But this is important.”

  Triel looked him up and down. “This isn’t regular crew business, is it?”

  Gently, she took his hand, probing his mind. He closed his eyes, allowing her through, remembering just how good she felt. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the electrifying feeling of her essence, or the way his body and mind instantly relaxed when he felt her presence intertwine with his. He had almost forgotten himself and their circumstances, lost in her psionic rhythm, until she squeezed his hand.

  “The things Sebbs said... You’re not joking, are you?”

  “I’m not the joking type, am I, Starfox?” he said, cocking his head and smiling.

  “Reht Jagger,” Triel whispered, “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m doing what I do best,” he said, brushing the wayward strands of her dark brown hair from her face. Her eyes narrowed, and he could see the uncertainty.

  “Well, besides the malnourishment you look healthy enough, Triel of Algardrien. I’m sad to say I’ve seen you worse,” Bacthar reported as he shut off his bioscanner.

  Reht sensed a heavy presence overcast the infirmary and turned to find Diawn leaning against entryway with a sour look on her face. The Healer pulled her hand out of Reht’s, her posture stiffening.

  “We’re safe. I put us on a course for a star cluster where we can take shelter for a while,” the pilot said.

  “Good,” Reht replied. “With Guli gone they’ll be fightin’ over his scraps before they come after us, anyway.”

  Diawn stared down Triel. “We shouldn’t get too comfortable.”

  “Right, yeah, yeah. Di, go check on Billy and make sure he’s not picking up any Alliance signals.”

  Diawn said nothing, but she made a point of locking eyes with Triel once more before she left.

  “She hates me,” Triel said.

  “Nah,” Reht muttered, running a hand through his hair and avoiding her eyes.

  “Don’t lie to a Prodgy, Reht Jagger. She’s hated me since I first came on board. She’s a starky.”

  “A what?” Bacthar laughed, scratching his head with his left wing.

  “Starky. It’s an animal on the planet Marsubeoux known for its strange mating patterns. One female will dominate an entire tribe of males, and any female that enters her territory is killed. I invaded her territory when you took me aboard years ago. She feels threatened.”

  Bacthar grinned. “What kind of books did you have down there?”

  “Odds and ends that Guli didn’t use to roll into smokes, but there were two volumes of an encyclopedia that I liked to read before I ran out of...um, bathroom supplies.”

  “It’s good to have you back,” Reht said, trying to avoid a fight. “There are a lot of things I need to get you up to date on.”

  Since he made no attempts to negotiate peace, Triel sighed. With one slender finger she traced the familiar scar running down his left cheek.

  “All this time you didn’t forget about me,” she whispered.

  He bent over and kissed her—softly at first, then more vigorously when she pressed back. The rest of the world forgotten, Reht took the Prodgy Healer in his arms, and fell into her touch.

  “ARE YOU OKAY?” JAEIA asked, touching the Oblin’s sleeve.

  The old man massaged his chest where Jetta had struck him but managed to come up with a smile. “Child, I may look old, but I’m as spry as the next fellow.”

  Jaeia tried to apologize, but the Oblin interrupted her.

  “Don’t,” the Grand Oblin whispered, resting a hand on her shoulder.

  Wiping her eyes, Jaeia breathed a sigh of relief that it was just her and the priest in the cavern. After sensing the impressions of the other Exiles’ thoughts, she couldn’t bear to face them.

  “Here,” the Grand Oblin whispered, plucking a faded square of cloth from the folds of his robes. “This handkerchief is the finest Sali silk, a gift from someone very special to me. The humidity in this place hasn’t been very kind to the material.”

  Jaeia indicated her thanks but did not use it to wipe her face; she didn’t feel like she should.

  “My sister wasn’t always like this,” she said. “Well, not this bad. But then, Jahx was always there to help me.”

  Tears came steadily now, as did all the feelings she had assiduously kept to herself. Losing their parents, then Jahx, and now her sister’s increasingly volatile behavior—

  The Grand Oblin leaned heavily on his walking stick. “You don’t think it’s your fault, do you?”

  Jaeia shivered, though she didn’t feel cold, and wrapped her jacket more tightly around her body. “I didn’t do what I was supposed to.”

  “And what was that?”

  Jaeia chewed on her lip. Another secret I’m not supposed to share.
<
br />   “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” the Grand Oblin said, standing back a little.

  With a sigh, Jaeia brought her knees up to her chest. “You already know so much about us.”

  “On the contrary,” the Grand Oblin said, pointing his stick at her. “I know the things you’ve seen, but that doesn’t tell me much about you. We are how we interpret the world around us, and how we choose to act on those interpretations.”

  Jaeia rested her head on her knees. “I don’t know why I want to tell you. Maybe Jetta is right about me.”

  The Grand Oblin smiled. “I think Jetta does not choose to see the same potential you do, Jaeia.”

  “But what if I’m wrong?”

  “What if you’re right?”

  Jaeia regarded him solemnly. “I made a promise to my brother a long time ago, before things got really messed up. I promised him I would always look after Jetta, but I didn’t. Now I don’t know where she is, what she’s feeling—and I can’t stop her if she decides to...”

  Wait—what am I doing? This was their biggest secret, the one that even Jahx feared would bring them harm if it ever got out.

  “Go on,” the Oblin whispered, his eyes growing wide as his body expanded, retracted, and then swelled again.

  “W—what’s wrong?” Jaeia asked.

  Pressing his fingers into his sternum, the Grand Oblin muttered a few words under his breath. His form stabilized, and he exhaled a long, slow breath. “It is one of the disadvantages of my age, child. My shape betrays me. Please, continue.”

  Jaeia heard past his words. “You’re afraid of me, too.”

  As the Grand Oblin melted into the form of the middle-aged woman, his beard reabsorbed into his face and the silver hair on top of his head receded, replaced by kinky brown strands sprouting from the same roots. Wrinkles filled out until they were merely the creases of middle age, and his frame, once thin and frail, blew out like a balloon as he shrank in height.

  “Well, you know I’m incapable of lying to you,” she chuckled, voice losing its raspy baritone.

  Breast flopping back and forth as she readjusted her robes, the Oblin sighed. “I am not afraid of you, child, but I am afraid for you. It is not safe for a telepath to grow up without guidance, discipline—and it sounds like you and your sister had none. I can’t imagine what it was like to grow up hearing the voices, desires, and thoughts of others and not knowing how to handle them.”