“Go ahead with your query,” DeAnders said to her, leaning far to the left to type something in the two-meter long keyboard.
“Ennui, I’m going to describe feelings, sensations, and visual data,” Jaeia said. “I need you to help me narrow it down to potential places and species.”
“Go ahead, Commander.”
With as much detail as she could remember, Jaeia described the vision as Ennui floated up and down in the Hub’s projection field, nodding his head and changing the axis of his body’s rotation.
“Yes, Commander. The subject you are describing has a 64 percent probability of being the species known as Canis lupus, and when cross-matched with the probable location, the probability is 99.5 percent.”
“Probable location?”
“Earth,” the Hub replied. “Original homeland of the human race. Oftentimes referred to as ‘Old Earth.’”
Earth. The revelation threw her mind into a spin.
“Somewhere dead,” she mumbled, remembering what Triel had said. It all makes sense now.
Earth was the birthplace of the fighting rings, and she had heard that wolves and stray dogs were used to “clean up” the leftover stragglers. Furthermore, the cross she had seen in Jetta’s dream would make sense on that world. That’s most likely a crucifix, a relic from an ancient human religion.
“Jetta must have gleaned off of a wolf—but that means she’s in the fighting ring,” Jaeia thought aloud. She gripped the armrests of the chairs, panicked. “I can’t feel her anymore.”
“I’ll make a report and send it through the chain of command,” DeAnders said, compiling a dataset.
“Yes,” Jaeia said, bolting up from the chair and heading for the door. She stopped before she exited. “Thank you, Ennui.”
“A pleasure, Commander. Oh, and Ennui is not our real name. It is simply how we are,” the Hub said.
“What do you mean?” Jaeia said, looking at DeAnders, but his eyes stayed trained on the interface.
The Hub saluted her as DeAnders shut down the system.
“What did the Hub mean?” Jaeia asked.
DeAnders pursed his lips. “The Hub says a lot of things we don’t understand.”
Jaeia reluctantly pushed the issue aside; she would have to address it later. Right now there were much more pressing matters.
“How did she end up jumping there?” DeAnders inquired, following her as she rushed out the door. “More importantly, how did she ever survive the jump? The atmospheric firestorms on that planet have been known to tear apart most spacecraft.”
“I don’t know,” Jaeia said, calling the senior staff for an emergency meeting on her uniform sleeve. “I just hope we’re going to be able to get her back out.”
TRIEL WAS PROGRAMMING the ship’s search parameters when she noticed the bluish-green tinge to her veins. Her skin, usually silky and white, had taken on a grayish cast.
“No,” she said out loud.
“Please repeat command,” stated the onboard computer.
“I’m not talking to you!” she yelled.
Tilting her head back, Triel took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. As much as she tried to find balance, the discord flowing through her veins, the polarizing push and pull that divided her thoughts, injected anger into every heartbeat. I’m out of control.
Reht and the others are all I have left, she tried to reason with herself. I have to find them.
Nostalgic feelings pushed down her anger for a brief moment. Reht, my first love; the man who rescued me and gave me a home. Phantom fingers traced the curve of her hips; she felt his chapped lips on her cheek. I miss you.
But by following him, she was abandoning her duties to the displaced telepaths of the war, along with Jetta and Jaeia.
Jetta, oh Gods. How could I leave her now, in a time of need? Triel pressed her hands into her chest, trying to stifle the ache. Jetta is one of the few people who listens to me and asks for nothing in return. She is always there when I need it, whether I know it or not.
Thinking of Jetta, the Healer realized a deeper truth: I’ve not only grown accustomed to the tune of Jetta’s mindscape—
Comforting warmth spread across her chest.
—I long for it.
(But she left you!) said an ugly voice inside her, stripping away her joy.
Jaeia’s voice popped through her thoughts. Earth! She’s on Earth! Help me find Jetta. Come back; she’s in danger. There is nothing you can do for Reht and the others right now...
Triel smashed her fist against the console. This is all Jaeia’s fault, not mine. She pushed Jetta away.
The ugly voice added vitriol: (And she could have done so much more to secure Reht’s safety, but she didn’t.)
That’s not entirely true, Triel thought, trying to pull back from her anger.
The radar blipped, diverting her attention. Triel pushed her thoughts aside and studied the reading. The signal is weak, but it originated from the north pole of an orbiting body of this star system’s fifth planet.
From the constant running and hiding of her dog-soldier life, she knew it was a simple strategy that ships employed to evade standard radar. And luckily for her, she had stolen a beta-class fighter, a ship with the technology to detect even a minor fluctuation in the planet’s atmospheric readings.
Good thing they were so afraid of me, she thought, remembering the fear in the eyes of the Alliance soldiers when she threatened to liquefy the organs of anyone who tried to stop her from stealing the vessel. They believed me—that a Healer could be that perverse.
(But I could.)
She swallowed hard and reexamined the data. Boosting the receiver by rerouting her shields helped her to read the residual signal from the ship, and from there she extrapolated what she needed.
The ship’s registry has been erased, she realized. The make of the vessel, which she cross-referenced in the dataport she had taken from her office, was definitely Alliance, though a retired class of starship.
“Someone doesn’t want to be detected,” she muttered.
Closing her eyes, Triel let her head rest against the back of the chair. She stretched out, calling to Reht, feeling for him, for the tune frequency that had guided her across the stars far better than the aid of her navigational or scanner systems.
“Reht!” she gasped, sensing his familiar presence. Her stomach knotted when she felt his weak and disharmonious psionic rhythms. He was hurt—or worse. Something had changed in him. I need to get to him quickly—at any cost.
Plans formulated in her mind, dangerous ones that would only draw her closer to the brink of the Fall.
This is not my fault; the Alliance has left me with no other choice. The Algardrien Healer flexed her hands, feeling the hard knob of anger rise in her chest. Finally, I can fight for what I believe in instead of taking the passive stance.
Letting go of her corporeal tethers, Triel allowed herself to fall back and in to the minds aboard the unregistered vessel.
She felt the other presences surrounding Reht and reached out. Their life-cords pulsed and throbbed in her hands, so fragile, so easily crushed.
(Too easy—)
Chapter V
The Grand Oblin persisted in his efforts to keep Jahx from drifting off. He questioned him about everything from his life on Fiorah to his days on the Core ships, even his terrible experience with the Motti. Jahx gave him all the answers he could, but fatigue was taking its toll. The apartment shrunk with each waning heartbeat, brittle walls collapsing into dust.
It won’t be much longer until I fade away with it, Jahx thought.
(What to do, my boy...) the Oblin said, tapping his walking stick on the ground.
Jahx sighed and sat down next to the old man. It’s too late for me. I should just tell the old man to leave before it’s too late for him, too.
A green thread coming off of the priest’s robes caught his eye. (Your robe—it’s unraveled. Look—) Jahx said, following a long string around the c
orner and into the front entrance. (It’s going out the door.)
(Why yes,) the Oblin said. He gave it a yank, but it remained unbroken. (I must have snagged my robe when I came in. Would you be a good fellow and free it for me?)
Jahx tried, but the thread was too thick for his hands to tear, and his teeth didn’t even fray the exterior.
(Hysian silk from Trigos,) the Oblin said. (Very rare. You’ll have to trace it back to where it was caught.)
Exhausted beyond the point of rational thinking, Jahx obliged. He opened the front door to his apartment and stepped out, expecting the hallway. But in his deteriorated state, his psionic presence abruptly ended at the front door.
Jahx fell into the vast chasm, unfolding into the nothing. As he spiraled downwards, inwards and outwards, the solitary light illuminating the old number 9 apartment faded into shadow. He flailed, trying to find purchase, anything that would stop his descent.
(Grab on, Jahx!) the Oblin cried out in the back of his mind.
Jahx reached out and found the thread of the Oblin’s robe. It slid through his hands, slicing through his flesh, but he held on tight, winding his feet around the thread until his fall slowed to a steadied descent. The light from the outside of the apartment door became a faint glimmer in the distance, but as he reoriented himself, he realized there was more than shadow in this place.
(Incredible,) Jahx said, not believing his eyes. Remnants of other presences passed in and out of his awareness, scattered thoughts and feelings manifested in shimmering, spectral light. Other points of light, like nighttime stars, gave dimension to the dark substance of this place, fluctuating and fading in his visual field.
Placing hand over hand, he tried to climb back up to the Oblin, but the slippery texture of the Hysian silk made the ascent impossible.
(I can’t reach you,) he called to the Oblin.
(Do not be afraid, Jahx,) the Oblin replied. (This is your time.)
Unable to climb up, Jahx looked down to the glowing, iridescent cloud swirling beneath him. As he drew closer, a pulsing sensation touched his skin, and new energy revitalized his soul. He didn’t know where he was going or what was happening, but he stopped fighting the descent as he immersed in the wonderful feeling.
Jahx closed his eyes, the radiance of the cloud too brilliant. Without letting go of the thread, he allowed himself to slide into this place of electric warmth, into a feeling he had all but forgotten.
I WANT TO GO HOME.
Jetta found herself thinking the statement over and over again as she slowly regained consciousness. It felt like days had passed, even weeks, but when she opened her eyes she was still in the arena, surrounded by the wolf pack and pinned down, fanged teeth sunk into the meat of her neck.
I should be dead, she realized as the murmurs of the crowd rose up over the feedback from the announcer’s microphone.
“Please,” she whispered, pleading with the animal, unable to move as the giant wolf held her down with his paws.
He growled at her, sending vibrations through her body. The animal’s rage charged through her, brutal and unfiltered, like nothing she had ever experienced.
(Or have I?)
I remember, Jetta thought. She had run through their forests, hunted as one of them, slept with the pack. Through the eyes of several generations she had watched as the once-fertile Earth turned to ashes, as her family was scattered and her life turned into a living hell fighting for survival in the rings.
The other wolves barked and circled the gray one holding her in his teeth. He growled again, and the pressure of his bite increased.
What do I do? They can’t understand me.
Her own primal fear bucked at her mind, calling for her to lash out.
That’s it—the animal inside me!
In all her other battles she had evoked her enemy’s fear, brought their worst nightmares to life, but with these creatures she found herself unable to do such a thing. For the first time in her life she wrestled with her talent, struggling against its natural flow, straining to give it a new direction.
Digging inside her own memories, Jetta recalled Tralora in sensations and images: Dense emerald forests and cool mountain air. The orange glow of the sunset, the gentle caress of the northerly wind. It wasn’t Earth, but it was her first wilderness experience, one that despite the harshness of the environment had stirred a strange calling in her own blood.
Jetta remembered her encounter with the infected, reliving the thrill of the fight, the way her instincts guided her. Reaching deeper, she once again relished in how the pain of her injuries paled against the rush of adrenaline as she fought for her life, and how everything inside her felt more alive.
The fight intermixed with other memories of her past—her brother and sister, her attempts to protect them from everything from child laborers to the Deadwalkers, and her inability to control the tide of events that forever altered their lives.
With waning strength, she projected the collection of impressions outward to the four wild minds, tears streaming down her cheeks in the sudden wake of raw emotion.
Jetta opened her eyes again, her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t tell if it was working, or if the wolves really understood her memories, but when the jaws of the wolf slackened, she didn’t waste any time rolling out from beneath him.
The knife was there, and the gun wasn’t too far away, but Jetta didn’t reach for either. She stayed still, crouching in the sand and holding her breath in the silence that had taken over the entire Razor Dome.
The gray wolf growled again. The others reacted to his cues, the hair on the back of their necks bristling, lips pulled back in a snarl. But they didn’t aggress any further, and neither did Jetta.
I hear you. I know what you want, she whispered silently, but they didn’t seem affected.
The crowd grew restless. Some threw bottles of booze at the hotwire, while others started to chant.
“Kill, kill, KILL!”
The lead wolf eyed the knife by her feet, but she kicked it away. She didn’t think he understood her, but she continued the silent conversation anyway.
I am not going to fight.
He leapt at her, claws gouging the skin of her left hip, sending her stumbling backwards. She stood her ground, eyeing the leader, still refusing to pick up the knife. The other wolves circled her, snapping at her from all sides.
“Kill, kill, KILL!”
I know what you want. I can make it real. I can give you back your freedom.
The gray wolf looked at her through yellow, predatory eyes.
Please, she whispered. I know your pain.
The alpha straightened his back. Head held high, he looked at her a moment longer and then turned away. The others followed, no longer interested.
As they fought over the last remnants of Rigger Mortis, she breathed a sigh of relief, only to find herself cursing again as she felt the shock cuff power back on.
“A strange turn of events tonight, ladies and gentlemen—a very strange turn,” the announcer said. “But tune in tomorrow for the exciting conclusion when Doctor Death faces the deadly Banshee Sisters!”
Sirens blared, and the wolves tucked tail and ran to their cages. Jetta followed suit, returning to her cage as men with flame throwers and guns entered the arena to clean up the mess.
“You are one lucky bastard,” Agracia said, lifting the inner door. Jetta shoved her hard against the wall, but before she could go any further, Bossy set off the shock cuff. Her muscles screamed in pain, but at the moment she didn’t care; she needed to get her message across.
“I won’t do that again,” Jetta whispered, rolling onto her side when the punishment had stopped. “You will have to kill me, sell me—whatever you want. I’m not fighting anymore.”
Cursing, Agracia picked her headphones off the floor, but paused before she put them back on.
“What is it, Grace?” Bossy asked.
Once again Jetta caught the unusual hesitation, t
he dread in Agracia’s eyes and the shakiness in her hands. That is the second time in a very short period.
“You’re going to fry!” Bossy screamed at Jetta.
Jetta tried to fight, but Bossy smashed her hand into the remote, sending her into a tonic contraction. As the electricity coursed through her body, muscles exploding with pain, a brilliant aura encircled her field of vision. In the distance she heard a pop and fizzle around her ankle just as it all faded away in a world of black fire.
JAEIA WAS IN THE BRIEFING room of the Star Runner overseeing Acting-Commander Rook’s instructions regarding the rescue mission for her sister when it hit her. A euphoric feeling washed over her like a tidal wave, leaving her weak in the knees and bringing tears to her eyes.
“Commander?” one of the troops said as she held fast to the side rail of the staircase.
“As you were, Marine,” she whispered.
Jaeia kept her grips, unable to let go as her awareness became sharper, amplified. Every voice in the room seemed ten times louder, and every psionic projection rattled her skull. The whole event lasted only seconds before it dissipated.
What was that? she thought, testing the strength of her legs.
“Commander Kyron,” Rook said, offering her the podium on the center stage.
Finally feeling steady enough to let go of the railing, she ascended the stairs and took the podium. Officers and soldiers sat at attention in angled rows, waiting for her to begin her portion of the mission briefing. Still reeling, she started slowly until she was sure she regained all her capacities.
“Despite the efforts of our Intelligence teams, Earth’s atmosphere makes it impossible to locate biosigns or cruiser beacons, so we’re left with very little in the way of leads,” she said, making sure to project her voice to the farthest reaches of the room. “Because of this, we’re sending ground teams to perform manual sweeps. A safe landing will be difficult; the firestorms of Earth only allow brief windows of passage. It is an unpredictable event that could take hours, days, weeks—even months.”
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