Triorion Omnibus

by L. J. Hachmeister

  “You’re going to be the first one,” she whispered.

  “Oooohhh,” the others guffawed, egging him on.

  As the man closed the distance between them, Jetta absorbed his presence, wanting to sense his every emotion, every thought, as she took him down. I want to feel your last breath as I bleed your heart dry.

  Sensing he would strike out with his right hand, Jetta side-stepped and parried the blow, rendering the attacker off balance. She threw herself at him, tackling him to the ground.

  “Come on, Wally, stop messin’ ‘round.”

  In the darkness of their struggle, she found his face and pressed her thumbs into his soft eyes until she felt them pop, spraying warm goo on her fingers. He screamed, bucking wildly, breaking her hold.

  “My chakking eyes—my eyes!”

  Keeping her attackers in sight, Jetta rolled off the injured man and kept low, readying for the next assault.

  “Now we ain’t playin’, kid. You’re dead,” one of them snarled as they continued to close in on her.

  Adrenaline pumped through her veins, spreading liquid fire throughout her body. She wanted more than to physically harm the Northies—she wanted to use her forbidden power. And without Jaeia there to interfere, she knew she could take it farther than she had ever taken it before.

  “This is your last chance,” she said, though she wasn’t trying to deter them.

  They came at her from all sides. She didn’t struggle; she let them grab hold of her limbs and allowed the fifth to place her in a chokehold.

  “Pearly, you hurt Wally pretty fierce. I think the only things’ fair would be for him to borrow ‘em pretty eyes of yours.”

  “You want to borrow my eyes?” she squeaked out from her constricted airway. “Fine. I’ll let you see.”

  Closing her eyes and submerging in the borrowed emotions of the Dominion, Jetta allowed her forbidden power to break from captivity and surface to the forefront of her mind.

  (Finally,) a voice within her whispered. (I am free.)

  All five of them let go of her, and she fell to the ground. Her perceptions changed; everything in the physical world seemed to come to a crawl, as if time itself had been affected.

  In the low light Jetta watched their shadowed figures seizing on the ground, bending into impossible shapes. Guttural noises, like strangulated screams, sang from their lips.

  Jetta picked herself up off the ground and stood over them, transfixed. As her talent burrowed into their minds, their pain leaked into her, bringing her visions of their terror. One of them feared fire after being burned as a child—

  Skin charring black, body aflame, nothing to extinguish this pain—

  (MY GODS, SAVE ME)

  —Another feared dogs after being attacked in a junkyard.

  Long, sharp teeth

  Hot panting

  Sinking into my throat, tearing away

  So much blood dripping—

  (DON’T HURT ME)

  —One of them had been beaten by an angry mob—

  Teeth splintering against the asphalt

  Angry shouts deafening, ribs breaking against steel-toed boots—

  (PLEASE STOP, OH PLEASE STOP!)

  She closed her eyes, stumbling backward, wrenching herself away from their nightmares. “Now you see...”

  Something warm hit her cheek, and she dabbed it with the fingers of her right hand. The liquid felt slippery between her fingers, and stained her clothes. She traced the source to the split skull of one of the men still writhing on the ground. Captivated, Jetta leaned in, holding up her hands to shield her eyes from the hot spray.

  Jetta—

  The voice came from nowhere, bringing her to her knees.

  “Jahx, I—I—” she stuttered.

  Her hold on the men fractured, and the intensity of her emotion faded away. A tide of sickness washed over her as she looked over her work. This isn’t me—why would I do this?

  (I didn’t defend myself—I used my powers to cause suffering.)

  “W—who are you?” one of the men said as he clawed at his throat.

  None of them will live, she realized. She felt the precursor of death, the empty numbness as she and Jaeia had named it back on Fiorah, eating its way through the core of their psyches.

  Jetta knelt next to the closest one and bent down close enough to see his face in the moonlight. His eyes were open but unseeing, his body arched in pain. In his contorted face she saw her own reflection, and she knew what she had become.

  A frothy mix of blood bubbled from his mouth as he drew his last breath. “I am General Volkor,” she whispered into his ear.

  Jetta sat back on her heels, gutted and alienated from her own conscience. In the back of her mind she imagined the icy, inhuman Motti Overlord standing next to her.

  “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.”

  At the time she didn’t understand what he meant. Now she did. He saw the stubborn brutality of her inner animal and how it could not be tamed, how she could barely keep it at bay. With growing shame, she realized why her sister was afraid, and why Jahx had always kept a watchful eye on her.

  I am no different than—

  Slurping sounds and labored breathing. Unrecognizable thought patterns. Something else lurked in the forest shadows. She stood up, nearly tripping over one of the dead bodies as she backed away from the thing slinking out of the trees.

  A tentacle curled and uncurled in the moonlight. Jetta heard a hissing sound, followed by the sound of snapping bones.

  “No, please...”

  Red feelers tapped the ground, and a hairy appendage stepped near one of the bodies of the Northies. She held her breath. A pink and purple tentacle wrapped around the neck of one of the men. Distant sensations of pain radiated from his being as the tentacle squeezed tight. He’s not dead—

  At first she thought to attack the infected creature feeding on the man she had hurt, but her survival instincts pulled her in the opposite direction. Besides, the little voice inside her said, you wanted to kill him anyway.

  “No,” Jetta whispered, “I’m not a monster...”

  His head bobbled back and forth, and then his eyes shot open. He initially struggled against the squeeze of the tentacle, managing to choke out:

  “Please... help...”

  A cold sweat broke out across her forehead, and a painful lump lodged in her throat. With shaky hands she felt her way backward, not taking her eyes off the feeding creature as she slowly edged her way out of the clearing. She knew she should make her break for the forest while the infected was distracted by the Northies, but no matter how she justified it, the guilt dragged tears out of her.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She took off toward the city, rocks cracking against her shins and tree branches slapping her face.

  I have to make things right, she thought, running faster. I have to find Jahx.

  Blinding pain made her forget the world as she struck her head against a low branch. She fell backward, but instead of hitting the ground, she kept falling—

  Her body disappeared, but her ears, eyes, and voice remained.

  (This can’t be possible—how did I get here?)

  Immersed in inky blackness, Jetta’s nose filled with the smell of ashes, depriving her of air. The feeling of suffocation overpowered her nerves, but when she sensed him near, she cried out with all the breath left in her.

  (Jahx!)

  A voice called back with frightening urgency: (Please, oh please, find me, find me—kill him.)

  (Jahx!) she tried again, trying to find him in the soupy darkness as she gulped for air. (Where are you?)

  Other voices emerged, distant but distinctive in their pain, crying out in a thousand different languages.

  (Who’s there?) Jetta called out to the chorus of tortured souls.

  Footsteps rose above the din, marred with the sounds of mec
hanical parts rubbing together, like the discordant symphony of a corroded engine. When she tried to extend herself, the frenetic mass of psionic energy repelled her backward.

  (You must find me and kill him.)

  Without hands to protect her ears against the deafening noise or the means to run away from the bestial thing headed her way, Jetta panicked. Throat stuffed with the bitter taste of ash, her attempts to call out again came out in garbled confusion.

  (Jahx! Help me PLEASE!) she thought.

  Something latched onto her and dragged her away from the monstrosity bounding toward her. She smelled his scent and felt the familiar rhythm of his being.

  (Jahx! Jahx—I found you! Where are we? How do I get you out of here?) she managed to choke out.

  But he said nothing. She could barely make out his outline and the soft white of his skin as he pulled her along.

  (You must kill him. You must KILL HIM.)

  Jetta tried to will the formation of a body like she had done before, but her strength and focus faltered. She spun away, like water swirling down a drain.

  (Jahx, please—how do I find you? Who do I have to kill?)

  Two blue eyes frantic with fear replied:

  (You must find me)

  Jetta came to sprawled out in the bushes, a sliver of moonlight peeking down at her from the thick tangle of trees. Her heart pounded mercilessly in her temples as she tried to steady her breathing.

  What just happened?

  (That was no dream.)

  No, she thought, it was too real.

  Maybe I hit my head hard enough to cause a hallucination, she argued with herself. But wait—I know I heard Jahx before that. He broke my concentration when I was fighting the Northies.

  (Or is it all in my head?)

  I did lose control of myself, she conceded. Anything is possible.

  As she wiggled her way out of the bushes, Jetta realized that needed her sister’s perspective on the issue. And probably the Grand Oblin’s, too.

  I don’t want to go back and waste valuable time, she told herself, but her conscience whispered through: (I don’t want to face them after what I did.)

  Finally free, she patted around in the shadows until she found a tree to lean against.

  “Demei Uo,” she muttered in Fiorahian.

  For the first time in years, she allowed herself to cry. The last time she could remember doing so was when Yahmen took Aunt Lohien away. After that she had vowed to never let anybody make her feel that way again, even if it meant dumping her feelings on others, or release through physical pain.

  But this was different.

  She kicked the tree and raked her hands along the bark, feeling the wood splinter underneath her nails. The pain felt good, but the relief was temporary.

  “Jaeia,” she whispered between sobs. “Help me, Jaeia.”

  With that she opened her mind, reaching out to find her sister across the uncharted leagues of timeless space. Jaeia?

  Nobody answered. Normally her brother or sister waited on the outside of her psionic barricade, ready to dive in and reprimand her as soon as she relented. Gods—I don’t sense her at all!

  Jetta searched for her sister’s psionic tune as she barreled her way back the way she came. When she came to a clearing, she looked to the eastern mountains. In the distance she could hear explosions, and gunfire flashed in the open mouth of the mountainside.

  Without hesitation she ran back toward the caves. Concentrating on the location, she fell in tune with Jaeia’s thoughts and felt her sister’s panic like a hot ball of lead in her stomach. Taking little comfort that her sister was alive, Jetta commanded her legs and arms to pump faster through the biting underbrush and thick growth of the forest, ignoring the pain and rubbery fatigue in her muscles.

  “I may be a monster,” she muttered as she leapt from the grass onto the rocks. “But I will protect you with everything I have left.”

  EVEN WITHOUT HER TELEPATHIC powers, Triel of Algardrien knew the situation was much worse than Reht had been willing to admit. Instead of fighting, Ro and Cray spent their time taking inventory and running diagnostics on the weapons system. When she passed by the engine core, she found Mom braving the dirty washout, growling as he scrubbed the conduits to a sparkle. Tech and Billy Don’t huddled over the jump sequencer, reconfiguring the autodriver for the third time, oblivious to the Healer.

  “This can’t be good,” she mumbled, walking through the empty galley.

  “There you are,” Diawn said, coming up from behind her.

  Triel jumped, but tried to pass it off with a smile. “Diawn—sorry—I didn’t see you there.”

  The Wraith’s pilot scowled as she stepped in a little too close for Triel’s comfort. “You’d better watch yourself, leech,” Diawn said, running one of her lacquered nails down Triel’s jawline. “And don’t get too comfortable.”

  Allow her hatred to pass through you, the Healer told herself as the pilot shouldered her way past Triel toward the bridge. Diawn’s anger simmered beneath the Healer’s flesh, making her feel feverish and tense. Fear and hatred will make you Fall. Let go of poisoned emotions.

  Slowing her breathing, Triel focused on the truth behind her volatile relationship with Diawn.

  Reht Jagger, Triel thought, half-frowning as she hugged her arms close to her chest. Why do you have to be such a heartbreaker?

  Memories of their chance meeting replayed across her mind’s eye:

  On the run after a terrible fight with her father, Triel endured the rancid conditions of a waste management transport freighter, hiding in one of the sludge cylinders for a week. The toxins from the sludge suffused her system, making it impossible to heal herself.

  “Oh, father,” she whispered, swallowing hard to keep from vomiting. “I don’t know why I rebel.”

  After being dumped in a landfill, it took Triel two days to pick her way out of the garbage heap. The entire ordeal caused such significant weight loss that some of her people’s markings faded, but it allowed her to pass unnoticed onto a refugee vessel.

  Disembarking onto the frigid docks of Saelis, Triel made her way to the nearest trash barrel and vomited up her recent meal of Tader worms. That’s when she saw Reht getting into an argument with a local merchant. The merchant had been giving him a hard time until the Talian warrior joined him on the docking platform.

  A fabled blue warrior of Tali, Triel marveled. There weren’t many Talians left after the Blood Dawn Massacre, but those that remained were the fiercest.

  Mom’s immense size struck her; he easily towered over every other Sentient at the docks. Despite his massive, muscular frame, he moved with the same stealth and grace as the elusive mountain wolves of Algar.

  The warrior’s eyes, two discs of shining silver, tracked every movement the merchant made. When the merchant tried to reach for Reht, the tips of his claws protruded through the skin of his hands and arms to give fair warning of what would happen next.

  Finally, when the Talian did not agree with how the business transaction was progressing, he dropped his claws. The merchant shoved a package into Reht’s chest before taking off into the crowd.

  Reht caught her staring at him.

  Run and hide, Triel told herself, but she couldn’t. There was something very strange about the dog-soldier captain. He was handsome yet grizzled; his face was scarred and unshaven, and his hair was a mess of shocking white.

  The bandages covering his hands caught her eye as he squared himself to her. Old and frayed, it looked like he had been wrapping and rewrapping them for ages. Even from afar she sensed he was hiding something beneath those rags, and the mystery only drew her in deeper.

  Triel sensed the mutual attraction as he slowly made his way through the crowd with an overconfident swagger. Nothing deterred him, not her sickly appearance or that she wore the tattered remains of a man’s travel suit. He never lowered his gaze, never lost his smile as he wound his way to her.

  Lost in the mixed coloring of his
eyes, Triel eased her way into his mind. She detected his arrogance, his rebellious nature, but beneath it all, a chink in his armor she wasn’t accustomed to finding in his type.

  “Captain Reht Jagger,” he introduced himself, offering a hand bound in bandages. She took it lightly, not yet sure of what she was feeling.

  “Raina,” she lied, using one of her many aliases.

  Reht smiled slyly. “This here is Mom,” he said jabbing his thumb at the Talian warrior. “He and I were in a bit of a tiff with a local retailer, but that’s all straightened out now. Looks like you’re not feeling so well,” he had said, pointing to the trash barrel. “May I offer some medical assistance on board my luxury cruiser, the Wraith?”

  A luxury cruiser it was not. Triel couldn’t decide whether to laugh or be concerned when she spotted the clunky-looking vessel. With mismatched parts and welding tape to hold down the communications dish, she wondered how it could possibly achieve liftoff, let alone execute a jump. But as she boarded, she spotted the custom upgrades that gave the starship its formidable reputation, even with all the abuse from its dog soldier passengers.

  Triel didn’t know why she trusted him so immediately. Normally she traveled alone and in large crowds. By joining Reht on board his vessel, she had singled herself out and limited her resources. But luck, for a change, favored her.

  The dog-soldier captain took her in, introduced her to the crew, and had Bacthar tend to her sickness. It took a little while for her to warm up to some of the more unusual personalities of the crew, especially the wild duo of Ro and Cray, but they grew on her over time. All of them except for Billy Don’t and Diawn.

  She did everything she could to avoid Billy Don’t. His Liiker mind, a hive of disjointed emotions and white noise, caused her deep-seated headaches when she got too close. Tech explained to her that it was “technopsychosis,” the result of faulty neural-mechanical integration, but this did little to ease the psionic battering.

  “And this is Diawn, the best pilot in the Starways,” Reht said, trying to get them to shake. Triel extended her hand, but Diawn avoided contact, greeting her with a venomous sneer.

  Keeping a low profile didn’t stop Diawn’s from trashing her few personal belongings and stealing her food. After her first night in Reht’s den, things got out of control.