The single bulb in the living room flickered as she timidly peeked around the corner. There he was, sitting in his usual spot in the ratty armchair. Tendrils of smoke rose from his hand where a cigarette burned red in the shadows. In the other hand tipped an almost-empty bottle of Half and Half, 20-20, his favorite drink.
His speak was slurred, but she was used to deciphering his inebriated words. “So, you’re alone again.”
No, she thought. She didn’t want to relive this memory.
He chuckled and took a swig. “There’s always one in the family. Always one.”
His mind wandered, and Jaeia followed his thoughts as she had several years ago: Left behind. Unnoticed. Discounted. Forgotten.
“Where are the other rats? Why are you always left behind?”
Galm had taken Jetta and Jahx with him to the market to try and sell some of their clothing for food rations. He didn’t have enough transport fares for the four of them, so he asked one of them to stay behind. Maybe it was because Jetta and Jahx had already readied themselves to go, or maybe it was the way Jetta looked at her from the corner of her eye, but she sensed that Jetta wanted her to stay so she could go with Jahx.
Jaeia swallowed the aching lump in her throat. Being thrust back into the memory made her come face to face with the question that had quietly festered inside of her for her entire life. She knew it was irrational and stupid, probably only paranoia and jealousy, but she had always secretly felt like she was the odd one out. Jetta and Jahx were fiercely close, and even though they all shared the same bond, Jaeia knew Jetta and Jahx shared something very special between them. Maybe it was because they were so polarized, or maybe it was because they felt the need to watch over each other so closely. Whatever it was, Jaeia wasn’t a part of it.
(No,) she whispered.
Yahmen cackled again. “You know what I say? Those gorsh-shit eating bastards deserve to pay for what they’ve done. You should make ‘em pay!”
(No!), she cried. The vicious yearnings of his heart flooded her mind: He wanted her to act on her anger, to destroy their apartment and what few possessions they had left, and then take it even further. He wanted her to hurt her brother and sister.
Yahmen seethed with the idea of revenge. “You’re pathetic and useless. You’re just gonna sit there and cry like a little launnie.”
He whipped his bottle of booze at the wall, bits of glass and alcohol spraying everywhere. Pointing a finger at her, he stumbled over in her direction. “I was never weak. I always—ALWAYS—got what I deserved!”
He grabbed her by the collar. Jaeia gagged at his breath and turned her head to avoid the flying spittle. “They will look at you and laugh if you don’t take them. Take them!”
Jaeia cupped her face in her hands. Yahmen was right. She was the odd one out. The one who looked after everybody else but who seldom got noticed—at least not in that way.
(I am alone.)
Her heart ached like never before. She no longer considered that she was being irrational, or that she was in the caves about to be shot by a Prig, or that perhaps this was all an illusion. Loneliness and jealousy burned its way into every corner of her being. She didn’t want to exist like this anymore. She wanted any escape for her torment—
Death, lurking in the shadows, whispered promises of sweet release.
(Take my pain away,) she projected. Something cold and invasive wrapped around her skin, and the world faded to gray. Her heartbeat became erratic as she slowly detached from her body.
As her last ties to the mortal world unraveled, another part of her, one that she never knew existed with such fervency, called out from within. (I have to live... for my sister.)
ADMIRAL UNIPOESA COULDN’T remember the last time he had slept as he lay in his bed on top of the covers, still dressed in his battle uniform. When the image of Tidas Razar formed on his desk, he wasn’t sure if it was the real Minister or just a projection. He stumbled to attention, but the Minister was more concerned with other matters to notice.
“There’s a silent movement in the works; the people are talking. I would hate to think that there is a traitor among us leaking classified material to the public.”
Unipoesa sighed. “If I hadn’t given those representatives enough information, they wouldn’t have a voice against the General Assembly. If I could sway the General Assembly, then you’d have a chance to take down Li for me.”
Razar popped his jaw forward and reset it with a click. “You’re a clever man, Damon, but you’re taking a huge risk for the Alliance... and for yourself.”
The admiral slumped into the nearby chair and covered his face with one hand. “I know the old adage. Don’t burn down your house to stay warm for one night. But it won’t matter if we can’t beat the Deadwalkers.”
Razar’s back straightened. His hologram image was only half of his size, but his presence filled the room. “If there is anything left of us, then we are going to finish the job the Deadwalkers started. This is going to lead to a civil war. Li won’t sit back; he’ll take up arms.”
Damon squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine something calming, like his last shore leave, but when he opened them there was only the cold weight in his chest. “You were the one who wanted me to take the helm again.”
The Minister didn’t blink. “I won’t go down with you, Damon. I wouldn’t have secured your reappointment like this.”
“This was the only way to do it and you know it. This is not the first thing you and I have disagreed about, Tidas, and it’s not the first time you’ve set yourself apart from me so I could take the fall.”
The Minister leaned forward, his image fluctuating as he projected through the corner of the desk.
“Mind your words, Admiral. One day I might take offense to them.”
Damon stared at the Minister. He was tired of fighting, but to end all this, he knew it was going to cost his life.
The image of the Minister readjusted itself on the floor in front of him, resizing to his actual proportions. “Get some sleep, Admiral. I will get the council to back your reinstatement. And when this is through, you and I will settle our personal matters once and for all.”
Rising from his chair, the admiral brushed down his uniform in front of the mirror, and decided he didn’t like the man looking back at him.
“You old bastard,” he muttered, “I know what you’re up to—I know what you’re trying to do. You can’t win Maria back, and you’ll never see Tarsha again. You’re going to pay for your crimes.”
The man in the mirror gazed back at him with quiet indignation.
Before he could reach for his bottle of Old Earth vodka, the admiral exited his quarters and headed to the bridge.
REHT JAGGER EXPECTED more of a challenge on their journey to the Narki homeworld. The Warden of Tralora, a beastly fellow who cut deals with anyone who wanted to dump their enemies on the planet, should have given them a hell of a fight. Reht even ordered Ro and Cray set up the stock weapons for the brawl, but the orbiting watchtower had been long abandoned.
“Whatcha think did it?” Reht said, tossing his pack of cigarettes from hand to hand.
“Bastard took off when the Dominion caked,” Diawn muttered.
Reht’s gut instinct told him that the Warden would have never skipped off just because the Dominion had folded. The job was a pretty sweet one, and surely profitable. He suspected that something had scared him pretty bad to make him want to run.
He leaned over and whispered into Mom’s ear, “Is it possible the Deadwalkers passed through here?”
Mom typed some commands into his console and looked back at Reht. It confirmed his suspicions. To avoid alarming the rest of his crew, he played it off casually.
“Whatever,” Reht said, stretching out his arms and leaning back in his captain’s chair, “I ain’t questioning.”
An encrypted signal brought their transmission receivers to life, and Reht nearly jumped out of his seat.
“Whe
re are they?” Reht asked, looking at Vaughn. The ex-con rubbed the shiny dome of his head as he traced his finger along the display of the planet.
“South pole,” he answered in his usual monotone drawl.
“Ahhh, good ol’ Damon’s feeling dangerous, jumping underneath a planet like that, thinking I wouldn’t see ‘em. They must have upped his meds. Put them on screen!” Reht chuckled.
Diawn, who manned the helm, downloaded the signal from the Alliance ship.
“Captain Jagger,” Admiral Unipoesa said wearily, “I believe you have something I need.”
Reht couldn’t believe the admiral’s appearance. His eyes, dark-ringed and bloodshot, made it look like he hadn’t slept in days. Listening to the admiral rush his words, Reht heard a strain that went beyond typical military stress. This is a man who’s run out of options.
With a smirk on his face, Reht slouched deeper into his chair and waved his hand for Admiral Unipoesa to continue.
“The terms of your proposal cannot be met; the Alliance will not negotiate with a criminal. However, given the situation, I have proposed to the council that, upon your delivery of the Prodgy and the subsequent rescue of the two girls, your recent crimes against the Alliance be dismissed. There will, of course, be strict stipulations that follow regarding your future conduct and liability with this operation.”
Reht read between the lines. The admiral would not provide any reward, or an apology. Like every other criminal the Alliance couldn’t afford to try in court, they’d be forced to flop around in a caged area of federated space where it would be impossible to make deals, make money, or even piss without an Alliance official breathing down their necks, just waiting for an excuse to ship them all to the Labor Locks.
Mom, who stood out of visual range of the Alliance officer, looked at the captain and shook his head, coming to the same conclusion. He typed a quick message into his terminal and sent it to Reht.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Reht muttered when he read his first mate’s warning on the armrest display. That chakker raised his shields and is charging weapons.
Reht scratched his right ear, alerting his crew to ready for battle. Ro and Cray left their posts at the secondary terminals and ducked back toward the weapons pit.
Admiral Unipoesa looked sharply to his left and then returned to the hologram axis with a cheaply forged smile. “Come now, Jagger. Your scrap-metal tugboat is no match for a starclass warship. Lower your defenses and transport the Healer to us.”
“Can’t do that, Damon,” Reht chuckled, pulling at the bandages on his right hand. “That would be bad business. I brought you a considerable gift in such a time of need. I would expect some kind of show of appreciation.”
The admiral did something that Reht hadn’t expected. He sighed heavily, his shoulders slouching forward. “Captain, let’s forget the gorsh-shit for a moment and talk straight about this. All the things you value—your ship, crew, money, drugs, women—whatever—are not going to matter in less than a month. Maybe even a week. Even during the Dominion occupation, you were able to run your business, but Reht—this is different. The Motti don’t want to rule us—they want to eradicate us. Now, I will ask you not as your enemy, but as a fellow Sentient, to give us your Prodgy so we may carry out this mission.”
Reht had not been expecting that at all. Usually during a deal there was considerable banter, a lot of adrenaline, and perhaps even a battle, but never a plea from a hardened admiral who considerably outgunned him. Part of him was disappointed by this change in procedure, and for a moment he suspected an ulterior motive. But when he saw the admiral waiting for his response, eyes unblinking and lips pinched at the sides, he knew it was no trick.
Reht shook his head. “How am I supposed to buy into a deal with no guarantee?”
The admiral choked out a laugh. “Look, Captain—you have my word, if we’re still around after this mess is over, I will stake my own career on winning your crew’s freedom. Hell, if you’re that short-sighted, I’ll send you over the access codes to my account on Trigos. There’s 50,000 credits in there. Drain it for all it’s worth.”
Reht frowned, tightening up the bandages on his hand. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the truth. Clearing his voice he asked what they all wanted to know. “So, those puppets got your snarllies in a bind, yeah?”
“They’re pushing the interior; they’ve obliterated over thirty worlds in less than twenty-four hours.”
Reht rolled his eyes. “Come on, man, I ain’t that gullible—that’s a little extreme.”
The admiral scowled but maintained his tone. “They have bioweapons... and nukes.”
“Nukes?
Then Reht got it. The old Dominion warships.
Sebbs was right. That junkie assino...
“There isn’t much time. I need that Healer, Reht,” the admiral said.
Reht didn’t need any further explanation. He heard the tension and the fear behind Unipoesa’s words and knew that it was no exaggeration.
Diawn kicked him in the back of the leg and whispered: “Chak, Reht, hand her over already.”
The dog-soldier glanced at the rest of his bridge crew, all of whom looked right back at him apprehensively. They know it’s serious, too.
Reht tugged on the ends of the bandages on his hands. He never let any deal go raw on him. 50,000 Starways Alliance credits was a decent take, but not for a job this size. He’d lose the respect of his crew, perhaps even jeopardize their loyalties.
Besides, he couldn’t let his woman be taken aboard an Alliance starship. That’s not how he planned things to go down. What if they take her away?
(I don’t want to lose her again.)
“Let me go,” Triel whispered, coming out from behind the structural pillar. “He’s right, Reht. No more games.”
“Starfox,” Reht started, grasping the Healer’s hand as she walked into the visual field of the admiral. “Wait—”
“There isn’t much time,” she said, softly but adamantly as she withdrew her hand from his. Her eyes glistened with tears, lips trembling as she tried to convey her insights. “You have to—for all of us.”
“Seriously,” Diawn said. “Give her over. She ain’t worth it. Chak everything else—let’s just get the hell out of here.”
Reht ran his hand through his hair. The rest of the crew, save Diawn who just wanted the Healer gone, all thought the same thing: As soon as they handed Triel over, they’d be sent to the clink or the Labor Locks.
(I don’t want to lose her again.)
For a moment all Reht could see were the bloated faces of his mother and father, slumped over the breakfast table, murder weapons buried in their backs. He remembered the sweet coppery smell of blood and the way his home, once a happy place, had been instantly transformed into something ominous and foreign.
His hands ached, just as they had so many years ago when they were scarred with acid. Even the pain, incredible and consuming, never erased the guilt of what he had done.
That bastard Unipoesa must know about the death of my parents and the genocide on Elia to chak with my head like this, Reht thought.
(I would rather face the Labor Locks or mutiny. I can’t bear another Elia.)
“You etaho benieho, Damon.” Reht slammed his fist against the armrest. “Send over your bank codes first. Once we get the money, we’ll dock aboard your vessel—but we get our weapons.”
Diawn smiled and turned back to the helm.
“Fine,” the admiral said, “but please, with haste. Our scanners have located them, but the readings are fluctuating.”
“What?” Reht said.
“Someone or something is killing them.”
IT TOOK JETTA A MOMENT to realize where she was. When she opened her eyes, she saw the fresh yellow light of dawn creeping over the mountaintops, and the stars fading in the sky. The wet smell of morning dew and trees touched her nose, and she inhaled sharply.
Slowly she propped herself up on her right elb
ow and then forced herself to sit up straight. The terrible pain in her side didn’t bother her as much as the sight of the two Prigs near the entrance of the cave.
Hugging her injured side, she hobbled over to them only to quickly turn away. The sight of their faces, ugly and malformed, their bodies twisted into impossible shapes, made her cringe.
“I did this?” she whispered, feeling Pletharæð, the Fiorahian term for the morning after binge drinking, drugs, and things she wished she didn’t know about. Most of the miners joked about their moral depravity, and Jetta had always looked down on them for it, but now, in her time of revelation, she understood why they choose not to acknowledge the gravity of their behaviors.
Coughing made her side scream in pain, but she couldn’t stop herself. A feeling of helplessness wracked her stomach when she saw the veins bulging in her hands and felt the swelling in neck and chest.
The sickness—it won’t be long now. Oh Gods, Jaeia! she thought. She probably hasn’t eaten any Macca, either.
But then something more terrifying dawned on her. Jaeia called out to me when I used my talent against the Prigs. She wasn’t trying to stop me—she was begging me to let her go!
She stifled a cry when she saw Crissn face-down behind the energy shield generator and tumbled her way down into the meeting chamber. There she saw what she feared most.
“Jaeia!” she screamed, coming upon her sister’s body lying motionless in a pool of blood. When Jetta touched her face and felt her cold and waxy skin, she knew with utter certainty and despair that her sister was dead.
“I can’t—I can’t—” Jetta started, retracting her hand. She looked for a weapon. If I killed my sister, my twin, then—
“Jetta...”
Jetta gasped. Jaeia’s eyes opened, and her hand moved on top of hers. “You came back.”
“Oh my Gods, I am so sorry, Jaeia,” Jetta said, scooping her into her arms. She kissed her cheek and took her face in her hands. “Are you okay? What happened?”
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