Jahx complied but reached for Jaeia’s hand. “Can you bring her here?”
“Of course,” Jaeia said, squeezing his hand before turning to leave.
“Wait,” DeAnders said, stopping her in her tracks. “I want to know what’s going on. There is no way that’s your brother.”
“That is Jahx, I promise you,” Jaeia said, wiping the tears from her face. “I don’t know how he did it, but he did. This is going to change everything.”
“Wait here,” DeAnders said, typing commands into his uniform sleeve. “I’m calling Commander Kyron down here now.”
Jaeia returned to her brother’s side as the team worked to stabilize his system. Beneath youthful skin his new body struggled, but her focus was on the possibilities that were almost too frightening to conceive. For the first time in her life, there was a chance that they could be three again, and that maybe, now that Jahx was back, her sister might forgive her for the awful choice she had to make during the last war.
“Jahx,” Jaeia whispered, intertwining her fingers with his. “I’m so happy.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” DeAnders said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “We’re having a tough time stabilizing him, Commander, and we need room.”
“What do you mean?” Jaeia asked, sensing his fears.
“Just wait in the observation deck and let us do our jobs,” Dr. Kaoto said, turning his back to her as he injected something into Jahx, making her brother’s eyes close and his mind slip away into a deep cavern of sleep. “We’re trying to save his life.”
With her hope and fears at the pinnacle of her awareness, Jaeia stumbled her way back to the observation deck. She watched as the medical and research teams worked in tandem, a steady chaotic parade of movement around the still form of her brother.
“Please,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to the observation glass. “Not again.”
TRIEL DRIFTED IN AND out of consciousness, faintly aware of the steady montage of images and sounds that floated past. Dim figures discussed her fate, but she didn’t really care. She felt good, her mind swimming in an ecstasy of chemicals.
She saw faces that didn’t belong—her father, Reht, brothers and sisters, Jetta and Jaeia—as the lights passed over her in regular intervals, one after another, unending.
“Don’t move!” someone shouted.
Pain seemed to branch out from her hand, routing through every nerve fiber, torching her entire arm. She screamed, but hands held her down.
“Hey—wake up!” someone shouted in her ear.
The room spun in every which direction, and when her eyes finally focused, she found herself in some kind of infirmary.
“My name is Captain Usin,” said a man with scales across his face standing at her bedside. “You’re on the starship Mercury outside the Vadis nebula. Do you remember how you got here?”
Triel shook her head, unsure of what he was talking about, but then her memories slowly trickled back.
The Alliance. Stealing a ship. Trying to find the crew of the Wraith. Then her mind went blank.
Her mouth felt parched, full of sand. “Who... who are you?”
“How is she, doctor?” Captain Usin asked. “How bad are her injuries?”
“Not too bad. Concussion, minor abrasions, burns. Nothing serious. I’ll have her patched up in no time,” responded the dark-skinned man standing to her left. He bent down and inspected her through an intraphase camera affixed to his left eye. “I haven’t seen a Healer in years. And your ship had Alliance markers. You must be Triel of Algardrien—the last Healer of the Starways”
The captain and a few other crewmembers took a few steps back while the doctor beamed at his discovery. Triel was used to such discomfort, but it didn’t make it any easier. “Yes,” she sighed. “I am.”
“Well, don’t worry, you’re safe now,” the captain said, walking over to a terminal and interfacing with the projected keypad. “Your ship jumped right into the orbit of our mining arms and you had a nasty collision. Had a hell of a time getting her free—the motherboard was completely fried and the engine was blown, so remote navigation was impossible. But I think we can tow you back to the Alliance Central Starbase for repairs.”
That doesn’t sound right, Triel thought. I don’t know why, but I can’t believe that explanation.
“How long have I been here?” she asked, sitting up. Even the slightest movement made the room wobble and dip as if she were at sea.
The captain exchanged glances with the doctor. “A few days. You were pretty banged up when you got here. Doctor Nka says that memory loss is common, but I’m sure it will come back to you.”
Triel didn’t care about anything else he had to say. Even though they were prospectors under the protectorate of the Alliance and relatively hospitable, she didn’t trust them. With their mixture of human and fishlike Mallok ancestry, they had open, accessible minds, but that did very little to quell her suspicions.
“Can I contact the Central Starbase?” Triel asked.
“Of course,” the captain said, taking his com off of his uniform and handing it to her.
“Do you have a private terminal, perhaps? This is an important matter,” Triel said as politely as she could.
The doctor shook his head. “You’re a bit weak right now—”
Triel scowled and slid off the bed, luckily catching herself on the edge of an exam light. “I’m fine. And I insist. As chief medical advisor, I have the right to a Level 1 secured channel.”
The doctor muttered under his breath as he called for an aide to escort her to his office. When the transparent door sealed shut, Triel input the admiral’s signature into the wave network query.
“Admiral,” she said when his face appeared on the monitor.
“Chief,” he said, bending into the viewscreen. “I’m glad to see that you’re okay. I heard about your accident. The Mercury will get you back within the hour. The Minister and I would like to review the events with you.”
“And I with you. Something’s going on here.”
He paused. “Something is definitely going on. You stole a ship.”
“My friends were in danger.”
He paused again. “When you arrive we’ll discuss these events, and you can contact Reht and the crew. They’ve passed through the communications dead zone, and you’ll be able to see for yourself that they’re alright.”
Triel rubbed the webbing between her fingers. “Will I be sent to the brig?”
The admiral’s face remained carefully neutral. “Report to my office once you’re on board. We’ll review your case then.”
He signed out without another word.
I am in trouble, she thought, but the urgency in his voice—my actions are not the top priority.
Triel rested her head in her hands. Something’s missing; something’s very out of place. It didn’t feel right that she had crashed into the mining arm, but she couldn’t dispute the doctor’s account.
Jetta, Jaeia. I need them, Triel thought to herself. Maybe they can make sense of these feelings.
Thinking of Jetta, her heart sank. My friend... how could I leave her?
Triel signaled to the staff that she was done. The aide and the doctor came through the double doors to help her back to the bed.
“Don’t worry,” the doctor said, trying to reassure her. “Everything is going to be alright.”
Triel thought of Reht, the crew, and Jetta. “I wish I could believe that.”
REHT KNEW THAT THE Alliance was going to screw him over one way or another, and when he saw the Wraith, he knew that something was definitely up. It appeared perfectly intact and unaltered, sitting in the loading dock with a fuel line pumping into her tank.
“You know the agreement,” the red-haired captain said, meeting him at the ramp to his ship.
Reht didn’t care for many Deadskins, but he particularly despised the captain of the Hixon. There was something unusually sleazy and conniving about
him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The feeling was even worse than the one he had gotten around Guli, and that ratchakker had tried to kill him.
“I don’t get all the kindness,” Reht said.
“It’s a hefty favor from the admiral and the Kyrons,” Captain Shelby said. “Believe me, I’d rather you were worm fodder. Just know that I’ll pull the trigger if you ever even graze my radar. Stay out of Alliance territory.”
With a sneer, the Shelby turned his back on him.
“Son of a—”
Reht lunged at the captain, but Mom grabbed him and held him back with his blue-furred arms.
“I know, I know,” Reht said, trying to wrestle out of his first mate’s arms grips. “That ratchakker is just trying to provoke me. Let me go already.”
With a growl Mom released him, but stayed close to his side as they boarded the Wraith.
“We’re getting the hell out of here,” Reht mumbled, shoving past Ro and Cray and heading straight for the bridge.
“It smells in here,” Cray moaned as he inspected the weapons pit.
“That’s just you,” Bacthar muttered as he ducked under a support beam.
“It’s a chakking trap,” Ro said, kicking one of the terminal monitors. “This thing is rigged.”
“Tech, get Billy Don’t plugged in; see if he sees anything in the computer systems,” Reht said, throwing his jacket onto the captain’s chair.
“Billy ain’t right, Captain. Not sure what it is,” Tech said, scratching his head. “He seems a little... flakey.”
“Flakey?” Reht said, watching Billy Don’t spin around like a top. “Isn’t this how chakked up he usually is?”
Tech shrugged. “Can I use the main power circuits and do a complete shutdown/reboot on him?”
“Not now—it’ll waste too much time and fuel,” Reht said. “We’ve got bigger priorities. Just get him jacked in, okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” Tech said, scrambling after Billy. The little Liiker whizzed down the hall on his back wheels, squealing as the mechanic tried to catch him.
“What’s wrong, Vaughn?” Reht said. Vaughn, normally mute, kept his gaze fixed ahead. The scar across his forehead was a reminder of the ex-con’s stint in the prison system’s rehabilitation program, but Reht sensed this wasn’t a result of his “frontal regrouping.” Even before they left the Alliance his brain was screwed up, but now it seemed worse. Vaughn’s eyes, once trained to the navigational systems, seemed unfocused and empty.
“Heyyyy there,” Reht said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Wake up, man, I need you to get us out of here.”
Vaughn turned his head slowly, his pupils pinpoint, lips parted slightly. He stared at Reht for a moment before switching on the navigational controls.
“Bacthar,” Reht shouted into the com. “Headcase is acting up. Get over here.”
“I’m missing half my instruments!” the surgeon yelled over the intercom. “Those military bastards took my instruments!”
“Chak,” Reht said, rubbing his forehead and slumping into the chair. Gods, this headache—it’s almost too much to think.
“Ro, just get us the hell out of here,” Reht said.
Ro had taken over piloting the Wraith since Diawn’s departure, but it was a stretch to call him a pilot.
“Yeah, sure,” Ro mumbled as he hit the throttle. He forgot to unclamp from the loading dock, and the ship lurched forward, catapulting the captain from his chair.
“Oops,” Ro said, correcting the error. The ship took off again, and the captain rolled backwards, smacking his head against an armrest.
“You suck, Ro,” Reht said, climbing back into his chair as the Wraith sped away from the Hixon.
“I ain’t a pilot,” Ro reminded him. “I just kill stuff, remember?”
“Where are we going?” Reht asked, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. Mom came up behind him, assuming his usual perch against the railing.
“Let’s go to La Raja,” Ro said, licking his lips. “I need to relax a bit. This Alliance gorsh-shit has messed up my head.”
“No, let’s go to Vortmor Port and get some action. I haven’t killed anybody in months,” Cray said, scrambling up from the weapon’s pit.
Reht checked his armrest console as he pulled out a pack of smokes. “Aeternyx?” he exclaimed. Vaughn had already laid in the course. “Why there?”
“We need a pilot,” the navigations officer replied flatly.
Reht dropped the pack of cigarettes on the ground and laughed uncomfortably. “Whoa! He speaks! You definitely aren’t feeling okay, Vaughny.”
Ro looked at Vaughn indignantly. “Chak off, Headcase.”
“We need you in the pits, assino,” Reht said to Ro, shooting him a warning as he stuffed the smokes back in his pocket, “so lay off. Besides, Aeternyx—sweet land of eternal night—I bet you boys could find some fun there. And none of the girls will have to see your ugly faces.”
The usual banter erupted, and Cray and Ro got into another fight over who was better-looking, but once things died down, Reht began to wonder: Why Aeternyx? It was on the other side of the galaxy. Yeah, it was a hotbed for up-and-coming hotshot pilots, but there were places they could go that were less dangerous. But he felt almost compelled to go there, like it was the right course of action.
“Gorsh-shit,” Reht mumbled, letting his head rest on his chair. “Bacthar, I need something for this chakking headache,” he said over the intercom.
Ro turned around and offered him a snip of spirits from the flask inside his jacket, but Reht declined when he caught a whiff. “Dear Gods—are you still siphoning off engine fuel to mix with your booze?”
“I likes the way it tastes,” the Farrocoon said, taking a slug.
“Hey, I got a headache too, boss” the winged surgeon said, coming up from behind him and offering him medication. Mom growled at the handful of pills.
“I’ll get you something, too,” Bacthar said, nodding to the Talian. “Hell; must have been something in their water.”
Reht didn’t think much of it as they entered the jump cycle. It’s time to get my feet wet again, time to play. He thought of his Starfox, but their last interaction—their terrible fight— had left him bruised and wary. Usually he’d at least try to finagle one last hookup, but impassive and benumbed, his mind told him to move on. What they had might have once been real, but now he felt detached and uninterested.
As the stars sped by on the viewscreen, Reht squirmed in his seat, unable to satisfy a deeper part of himself. I don’t understand what happened; Triel and I have never argued like that. But when he tried to recall details, tried to analyze why they had parted ways so suddenly and so venomously, the need seemed to dissipate.
“It’s time to get back to business, boys,” Reht said, tapping his fist against his armrest.
“Systems check out,” Tech said over the intercom. “She’s spotless. There weren’t any rider programs, worms, viruses—anything that we could detect, even during the jump. If they did something, neither Billy Don’t nor the computer can find it.”
“Alright then,” Reht said as the red and black planet appeared on his viewscreen. “It’s time to find a pilot and have a little fun.”
Getting through customs was the usual hassle, and without Diawn to bribe their way through, Reht had to part with his last remaining stash of narcotic cigars. That made him even more wary that the Alliance was screwing with him. They should have sniffed out the illegal stuff over lesser infractions like Bacthar’s stolen medical equipment. But he couldn’t worry about that right now. Vaughn is right. If we want to get back into the game, we’ll need a decent pilot.
“Night city, we’re back,” Reht said, stretching out his arms as he stepped off the docking platform with his first mate. Neon colors illuminated the city, its constant buzz of electricity and Sentient activity broken by the thunderous noise of the Metalclash stadium located in the heart of the entertainment district. The sun, hi
dden beyond the horizon, offered only a hint of its existence, painting the tips of the rocky spires to the east yellow and orange.
“Eh, more like eternal dusk than night,” Bacthar commented, coming up beside him and taking in the same view.
“As long as it’s dark enough to hide Cray’s ugly face,” Ro laughed as he came down the ship’s ramp with his cohort.
“Chak you, Ro,” Cray said, readying to fight. With one snap of his jaws Mom ended the battle before it began.
Reht remembered his first exposure to Aeternyx, studying the planet’s strange orbital pattern before he ever touched down on the surface. One side of the planet remained forever exposed to the sun, baking the surface to nearly 1,000 degrees Kelvin while casting the other in freezing shadow. Radiation and solar farming were the planet’s only legitimate businesses, masking the true nature of the city that should have never been. Dog-soldiers and private businessmen like himself loved Aeternyx because of its mysticism, the allure of a place so sinful and unbound by law that a man like him could write his own ticket. But there was a certain protocol he had to follow, one that every hustler, streetwalker, dog-soldier, drug lord and pimp knew. Move too slow and get eaten alive, move too swiftly and wind up in a dumpster with your guts cleaned out.
The way Mom looked at him, Reht knew his first officer’s reservations.
“Look, mate,” he said, slapping him on the shoulder. “I hear ya. I know the Alliance probably has us tailed or tagged or something. But we can’t live our lives pissin’ our pants like launnies. We play it safe for awhile, but we still gotta play.”
Mom growled, his claws sliding out from under his forearms.
“If it makes you feel better, we can take the Wraith over to the impound lot and have Lonnie look her over for bugs,” Reht said. “He owes me one after I bailed his assino out of that deal with Mick.”
Mom rolled his eyes, securing what was left of their hard cash in his satchel as Reht signaled for a taxi.
They rode through the city streets, necks craned to the sky, marveling at the explosive displays of lights and noise. Each building rose to a minimum of ten stories, and promoters made use of every available centimeter of space to sell their products and services. Banners and signs projected living colors, and transwave audio tones rang through their heads, advertising everything from prostitutes to illegal weaponry.
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