“How do I get to Pit 822-2? How far away is it?”
Jade seemed to find some kind of hollow delight in her predicament. “A few thousand miles, give or take.”
“Miles?” Jetta repeated. “What kind of system works in miles?”
She shrugged. “It’s the old ways.”
“Alright, fine. How do I get there?” she asked, wiping the perspiration from her forehead. “On foot? I don’t suppose you have any hovercraft.”
Jade shrugged. “There are a few machines up and running around here, but you have to know the right people.”
Sighing, Jetta arched her neck back, trying to give herself even temporary respite from the pain. “What do I need to do to get some help around here?”
She couldn’t see it, but she felt Jade smile. “You’re gonna have to fight, kid. Literally. There’s no other way out for someone like yourself.”
“Fight?”
“Where do you think the fighting rings came from?” Jade said.
Jetta blinked. “I’m in no condition—”
Jade waved her off. “You’ll pull through. The newsreels say you’re one tough bastard. And believe me, once you get a taste of it,” Jade said, rolling up her sleeve far enough to reveal battle wounds criss-crossing lumpy skin, “you’ll never get enough.”
“I don’t fight for sport. Take me to a communications relay,” Jetta demanded.
Jade laughed, rummaging through a storage box next to her and taking out a can of beans. She pulled it open by the tab and sipped the juice before digging the beans out with her fingers. The rank smell made Jetta’s stomach twist.
“I’m going to bet all my money on you. Get some sleep, kid. You’re gonna need it.”
Jade was done talking to her, and Jetta, too exhausted from fighting the pain, decided not to push it. Fighting back tears, Jetta curled into a ball, trying to think of her next move. I’m too weak to use my talents, and I don’t want to risk pissing off my captors.
“Jaeia, please. Please find me. Jaeia,” she whispered. Then she did something she had never done before. She drew in a deep breath as tears squeezed past her closed eyelids. “Triel...”
“YOU WANT MY OPINION?” Damon Unipoesa said. “Tell Jaeia. You need them both on your side. I still don’t understand why you won’t level with them.”
Lip upturned, Tidas Razar looked at him with disgust. Damon had tried to clean himself up since they offered him the deal, but when he saw his reflection in the desk’s mirrored finish, he could understand the Military Minister’s revulsion. The skin beneath his eyes sagged, and his uniform, wrinkled from sleeping in it, looked like it hadn’t been washed in weeks.
Razar grumbled and shoved away from his desk, pacing his office. “They’re still an unknown quantity. I need them leading my teams, not leading revolts, and the analysis says that it’s a strong possibility, especially with Jaeia, now that she knows she’s human. What do you think the other Deadskins will do? What do you think the twins would do if we found what we’re looking for?”
“You’re paranoid,” Damon said. “If we found what we’re looking for, then there would be no need for revolt. There would be a chance for peace. We could all go home.”
“You think the Deadskins would stand for that? You think their handlers, the traffickers, the dealers would stand for that? We would be looking at a full-scale civil war.”
Damon struggled with his reaction. His parents were both Tarkn, but his birth mother was a human surrogate. Without the humans and the quasi-legal breeding and surrogate trade, he wouldn’t be alive. His mother had already had the one pregnancy that Tarkn biology allowed, and those fetuses never made it to full term.
Even though Damon had never met the woman who nourished him in her womb, he knew one thing for certain: that he wasn’t her first pregnancy and surely wouldn’t be her last. It was the fate of all fourth-class, breedable human females.
Damon weighed the Minister’s theory of human revolution. The explosion of human surrogates happened right after the first human refugees reached the Homeworld Perimeter. Bringing with them a bevy of new diseases, the newcomers unintentionally caused a death toll in the trillions. The common cold alone was deemed responsible for the eradication of the Moopi people of Irocos, and the flu wiped out all inhabitants of the moons of Kav and Noloran. Many Sentients called for an end to the human race, but with careful peace negotiations and the promise of restoration, one human set forth a dangerous precedent.
Careful never to be named in the history books, the private investor announced his discovery that humans were compatible with many of the mammalian species of Sentients, then started a surrogate company with the intention of helping reestablish species that had been driven close to extinction by human disease. The proclaimed intention was to “save lives and improve human-Sentient relations.” Over time, it insidiously grew into something else. Since many species of Sentients were unable to reproduce at a high rate, rich politicians and officials paid large sums to ensure the continuation of their bloodline. However, Alliance intelligence reports had shown that the majority of surrogate investors selling off and renting out female wombs were human themselves.
The human surrogate companies paved the way for other biological investments, such as flesh farming. Although flesh farming was largely responsible for the biomedical discoveries of the last millennia, at least ten billion humans were estimated to have been grown, bred, and sacrificed to the practice. But without their sacrifice, Damon’s father and cousin wouldn’t have survived the effects of Hans-Raiqio disease.
Flesh farm survivors were usually sent to human laborer camps under the supervision of third-class human traffickers, a practice which hadn’t changed in over a thousand years. After all, human laborers proved unparalleled in their profitability. They were cheap to hire, easy to breed and highly trainable. They built the capital skyscraper in the Holy Cities of Jue Hexron, and worked the dangerous mining jobs that no one else would on Karris VII. In fact, a fourth-class human could be found to do just about any job. Without humans, the lowest class of all the Sentients, the Homeworlds would never have achieved its booming affluence.
No, Unipoesa thought to himself, a human revolution isn’t possible. The species is completely divided.
However, Damon could understand where Razar was coming from. If the humans had a reason to unite, especially with leaders as strong as Jetta or Jaeia, and made peace within their own group, then it would spell economic and social disaster for the many governments and planets that relied on the lower class humans to prop up their income and social structure.
Damon rubbed his tired eyes. “I’m due to my post in fifteen minutes. I have a lead on Li; I think he’s running with the Creos. He might be on Jue Hexron.”
“Jaeia was just there. She met Victor.”
“Victor?” Unipoesa repeated, unsure of who the Minister was talking about.
Razar’s eyes shifted away from his. Surprised, Damon didn’t know what to think. I’ve never seen him this visibly upset.
“Victor Paulstine, to be exact,” the Military Minister said. “He hasn’t surfaced in probably twenty-five years. Somebody or something made him come out of hiding. The analysis from Heliron’s imaging data confirms that it is the man we’ve been after.”
“You can’t mean the Victor Paulstine?” Damon said.
“Yes, I do.”
“From what I’ve read, he prefers extreme anonymity.”
“Yes, he’s been a very hard man to trace. But it’s him. I’m sure of it.”
A shiver shot down Damon’s spine. Many political and Sentient Rights groups fingered Paulstine as one of the most notorious human traffickers in Starways history. Allegedly, he bred millions of humans only to sell them to flesh farms, surrogate handlers or the labor colonies. He was supposedly human himself, but a traitor to his own species, having shown his support for many of the human control coalitions. Those who collected intelligence on him said that there was little sentim
ent holding Paulstine back from eliminating the entire race, only the fact that humans were his means of amassing the money to cheat time and death. The Alliance had been trying to move in on his operations for years, but Paulstine stayed one step ahead, making sure to conduct his business under the legal terms of more accommodating star systems.
“Pretty bold move to engage us like that,” Unipoesa said.
“Yes, I agree. Which makes me think he’s got something. He talked to Jaeia on Jue Hexron. I read her report; I suggest you read it too. I want to know what you think. If Li is on Jue Hexron, I would hate to think that he’s collaborating in any way with Victor.”
Damon saluted and left the Minister’s office, his pace quickening with the shock of learning that Victor Paulstine had re-emerged. There were other rumors about him—terrible ones—that, if true, would make him one of the most dangerous Sentients in the history of the galaxy. With the Alliance still recuperating from its last miscalculation of their enemy, he didn’t dare underestimate Victor’s capabilities, especially in light of the fragile state of the Starways.
“Admiral,” a soldier said, stopping him on his route to the starbase’s main bridge and handing him a flashing datapad. “Priority message from CMA Triel of Algardrien.”
Damon read the file and erased it quickly. “Inform the bridge crew that I’m going to be late.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Damon picked up his pace once again, this time taking a lift at the apex of the starbase straight down to the medical division. After hopping off a lift, he headed toward Triel’s office at the end of an empty hall.
Razar could have at least moved her office closer to the lifts, he thought. No, the Minister did as the staff requested—put the Healer in a separate office away from the main corridor of the medical division. Separated by an entire wing, her office, an old cancer treatment room, had walls reinforced with antiquantum sealant, a material that some of the staffers and interested committees believed would protect them in case Triel descended into a Dissembler. This just makes it worse, he thought. All their unfounded paranoia only reinforces her sense of isolation.
“I got your message,” Damon said as soon as he passed through the front door of her office.
Triel, lying down on one of the couches next to the far wall, draped her hand across her forehead. “Jetta’s in worse trouble than I thought.”
“You can sense her?” Damon said. “Forgive my surprise, but Jaeia’s having a hard time reaching her. She believes Jetta’s hurt or too far away for her to get a solid connection.”
Brushing the dark hair from her face, Triel turned her head to face him. “I can’t explain it. After Tralora, after healing them, our relationship changed.”
Her bond to the twins is probably adaptive since she’s on her own, Unipoesa reasoned. He offered her a hand, helping her sit up. “Where is she, Triel?”
The Healer shook her head. “Somewhere... dead. That doesn’t make much sense, but that’s my understanding. She tried to reach out to me, but she’s weak—hurt. I need to speak to Jaeia. Maybe the two of us can contact her together.”
That would be dangerous. Damon’s jaw tightened. The Military Minister had informed him of what happened with Reht Jagger and Jaeia, and there would be little he could do to hide that from Triel if the two of them were to speak. But to find Jetta, he would need to have Triel and Jaeia meet.
Triel regarded the markings on the backs of her hands. “You’re about to lie to me.”
“I don’t want to,” Unipoesa said, sitting next to her. “But the situation is complicated, and I think it will be hard for you to understand.”
The Healer looked him up and down, the stark blue of her eyes seeing past his words. “I know they’re hurting Reht. He and I share something special, too, remember?”
“Razar and I don’t always see eye-to-eye,” Damon explained calmly. “I would never condone torture.”
An inner voice surfaced with distinct rancor: But you would follow orders to do so.
Damon swallowed hard to keep from remembering the ghostly faces of his past. Channeling his self-hatred to steady his nerves, he asked her, “Will you still help me find Jetta?”
Triel looked at him, disappointment creasing her forehead. “Yes.”
Damon typed a series of commands into his uniform sleeve, one of them to inform his second-in-command to take over his watch.
“I’ll escort you to Jaeia’s quarters,” Damon said. “Tidas will want to be there, and probably a few of the other chiefs of staff.”
“Fine,” Triel whispered, following him through the door.
“Did you ask the Minister if I could go back to Algar?” Triel asked as they boarded the lift. It took off, the hum of the engines filling the silence as he thought of his answer.
“Yes, I did. We need you here, Triel. That will have to wait.”
Triel didn’t look at him. “My reasons are more important than the Deadwalkers, the Alliance—all of it.”
Damon touched her shoulder, trying to console her, but she didn’t acknowledge him. She felt stiff, cold. He worried what she was thinking—or rather, feeling. “I’m sorry, Triel. I’m doing my best with the Minister. His priorities are securing the homeland first, and you’re our best resource for healing our soldiers and recovering the displaced telepaths. Be patient and I promise you’ll get your chance.”
“Before or after they kill all my friends?”
Her icy gaze cut right through him, igniting a fear like nothing he had ever felt before. Before he could react, the warm blue of her eyes returned.
Breathing heavily, he decided it was best not to respond. He wiped the sweat from his brow and let the railing hold him up, hoping that what he had just experienced was not what they all feared could one day come true for the lone Healer.
FIXED IN PLACE BY AN invisible force, Jetta watched helplessly as Yahmen’s blows came crashing down on Jaeia and Jahx. As her siblings cried out to her, Yahmen’s back split open at the spine. Mechanical legs broke through callused Cerran flesh, spraying the room with black ooze.
Jetta tried to scream, but her mouth fused shut. There was nothing she could do as the apartment walls melted into pulsating capillary beds covered in slick yellow mucus. Yahmen’s face distorted, his two eyes congealing into one that burned a fiery red. The broken bodies of her siblings re-formed themselves into upright stalks fixed to feeders, flesh and machine indistinguishable underneath the biosynthesized jelly.
Her uncle’s voice came through over M’ah Pae’s mottled gray lips. “You said you would come back.”
The Motti Overlord smiled, his gums oozing something thick and yellow, voice changing again. With a flick of his front pincher, the voice changed to that of the Healer’s. “You said you were my friend.”
Her siblings, with dead, glassy eyes that stared into the terrible nothingness, cried out to her with mechanized voices: “You said you would protect us!”
Something sharp stabbed Jetta’s left ankle, jarring her from one nightmare right into the next.
“What are you doing?” she screamed, shoving Agracia off of her. The Scabber tumbled into a pile of boxes stacked in the corner. Before Jetta could retaliate further, Agracia pressed on a remote in her right hand, and a strange sensation seized Jetta’s body, rendering her rigid and numb. She involuntarily flexed backwards, back arching off the ground until the sensation stopped.
Breathing hard and fast, Jetta collapsed from exhaustion. It took her several minutes before she worked up the energy to sit back up. When her eyes caught sight of the gray cuff around her left ankle, she immediately tried to remove it.
“Don’t bother,” Agracia said, standing and adjusting her headphones. She tapped out the beat of her music on her chest as she spoke. “It ain’t comin’ off.”
“I’m a commanding officer in the Starways Alliance,” Jetta yelled. “Take this thing off!”
“Look, we gonna get you all healed up, and then you’re gon’ make my
money back. And since you never been to Earth, I’m going to give you the real flavor of it,” Agracia said, stooping down next to her.
Given Jetta’s injuries, Agracia couldn’t have anticipated her speed, or her strength. Jetta grabbed the Scabber Jock by the throat with her good hand and yanked her down so that her knee smashed into Agracia’s chin. The sudden movement whiplashed the remote out of her hand. But before Jetta could collect her prize, the prickling numbness hit her again, and she went stiff.
“There be two remotes!” Bossy announced, not taking her hand off the button as she hopped on top of one of the crates in the center of the room.
Something snapped like a twig. Pain, incredible and fierce, stole her breath away. The terrible feeling intensified until Jetta felt as if her muscles would tear themselves apart. Fingernails dug into palms and vertebrae tested the limits of their own flexibility.
“Quit it,” Agracia said, getting back up, milking her sore chin where Jetta’s knee had connected. “She gets it.”
Every muscle in her body stayed tense for what felt like forever after the pint-sized Scabber let up. When Jetta’s jaw finally relaxed, she tasted something like metal shavings in her mouth.
I think I bit my tongue, she thought, testing the swollen tissue against her teeth. For the moment, that felt like the worst injury caused by the seizure-like episode Bossy induced. Even as her muscles jumped and jittered, making her prior injuries protest all the more vehemently, she knew that she had probably only experienced one of the device’s lower settings.
“Listen here, leech,” Agracia said. “I bet you real mad right now. Real mad. I bet you want to fry my guts.”
Something like that, Jetta thought. Dark whispers came from the depths of her, promising swift and satisfying revenge if she would use her greatest talent on her captors. In her pain and exhaustion, the temptation to submit to a psionic assault prevailed. But as she relaxed into the grip of the shadowy bloodlust, the cuff buzzed.
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