“Why?” Jetta screamed as medics struggled to administer another round of sedatives.
“Jetta, please—you’ll hurt yourself,” Jaeia tried as Jetta grabbed at imaginary enemies.
“You made me kill Jahx,” she hissed, turning her head to Jaeia. Green eyes, filled with rage, projected hellish visions. “You are not my sister.”
Even as she pulled away from the caustic repercussions of the memory, Jaeia could not help but hear her greatest pain spoken across the bounds of time: (It was my voice that guided Jetta’s deadly hand, and if it hadn’t been for Triel, my talent would have not only killed Jahx but destroyed my sister...)
Stop this, she told herself. Focus.
“Come about—mark 41.99.577,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
She watched in silence with the rest of the crew as the debris and wreckage from the ships drifted out of the cloud.
“Life signs?” she finally dared to ask.
“The anomaly is still too dense to scan, Sir,” the helmsman answered, “but preliminary data suggests no survivors.”
No, there wouldn’t be, she thought, hope crumbling. Infected by her words, Urusous Li had commanded all four starcraft to fire, even though they were blind and their missile-locking system could potentially target each other.
(But I only intended to confuse Li!)
Stolen memories and sentiments from battle-worn officers surfaced. (Death and sacrifice are a part of war.)
Still, they did not assuage her pain. If my talents lead to murder, then they are a curse, she decided.
(What I am is unnatural, perverse.)
A terrible reminder surfaced to the forefront of her attention. Triel’s voice, frightened and absolute: Rion... Harbinger of Death and Destruction...
Jaeia rubbed her hands along the armrest hard enough to abrade skin. “Any contact?” she asked, refocusing herself.
The crewman manning the com looked at her. “We’ve lost the transmission signal from Li, Sir.”
Jaeia thought about it. “I bet it was hubbed into one of the starcraft.”
“I can try and retrace the signal—”
“Don’t bother,” Jaeia said, pressing her fingertips against her temples. “He didn’t want to be traced, so there won’t be anything to find.”
Slumping heavily in her chair, Jaeia reached out to her sister, but the same murkiness clouded the connection. Jaeia grimaced. There shouldn’t be interference if Jetta had made the jump as scheduled.
“Any calls from the Telluron?” Jaeia asked, hoping that her sister had reported her position.
“Negative, Sir.”
Jaeia touched the laceration on her forehead but quickly retracted her hand. I can’t forget my duty.
“Are you still tracking a cargo ship near the asteroid belt?” she asked.
“Confirmed, Sir, and we have a visual on them, but no registry,” the ops officer said. “It looks like ‘Ultio’ is painted on the broadside.”
“It’s stolen. Its design is from Jue Hexron, Barrak district,” she said, zooming in and flipping between the bow and stern, noting the crescent accents on the bowsprit. “They never travel out this far.”
“They’re altering their course; heading mark 28.44.929.”
“Course correction—intercept that ship,” she said. Silently, she called out to her sister. Where are you?
“Sir, our primary engines are shot; we’re running on backups. If they decided to run, it’ll be a short chase—and we’ll be stranded,” the engineer reported.
“Continue on course heading,” she said. “We’ll just make sure they don’t run.”
As soon as her orders left her tongue, an old, borrowed memory from over a hundred years ago reawakened:
Two old men, drunk and full of bitterness, were recalling the good ol’ days of war in a gloomy underground bar. She settled behind the eyes of a retired admiral, one who was missing more than his leg.
A knobby finger poked her in the chest. “Remember the time you ordered the Fleet to engage the Tarkns at their starbase? Crazy bastard!”
“That’s nothing!” the other officer slurred, spilling his drink. “Remember when you used that chakking sticky trap on the Musoditti? How many did you kill? Forty-thousand?”
Their inebriated laughter faded away as she reemerged.
“A sticky trap...” she whispered, considering the maneuver.
Diving in again, Jaeia weaved back through time to the actual event. In a fraction of a second she relived the admiral’s battle, witnessing his masterful tactic. She pinched herself, pulling out of the stolen lifetime.
Jaeia weighed the odds. This is crazy—there’s too much risk to my ship and crew.
No, I can’t be afraid, she reminded herself. I’m always playing the conservative hand. What would Jetta think of me if I failed my mission?
“Lieutenant,” she said, making her way to the engineer’s console. “You’re too young, but do you remember the battle for the Seven Cities of Nareth from your studies?”
The Lieutenant looked at her blankly, then snapped his fingers. “Sticky trap.”
“Sticky trap,” Jaeia repeated, patting him on the back. “Make it happen.”
“But Sir, those calculations—if I’m off by more than 0.0001 then we’re all—”
Jaeia kept the confidence in her voice. “I have faith in your calculations, Lieutenant.”
Still searching for her sister in the back of her mind, Jaeia watched as the cargo ship changed its course again, heading directly into the asteroid belt.
“Lieutenant, are you ready?”
The young man scrunched his hair in his hands as he checked over his work. “Just a minute, Sir.”
“I need it now,” Jaeia said, checking their relative position. The warhawk is much larger than that cargo ship, she thought, cycling through the area scans. So they’re betting that we won’t follow them into the asteroid belt.
Looking over at her pilot, she realized she would have to make a tough decision. He’s one of the best pilots in the Fleet, but he doesn’t have this kind of experience.
But as she prepared to rethink her strategy, she remembered someone else’s experience. Of course, she thought, digging into the knowledge of fighter pilots she had gleaned off of during the Dominion Wars. He might not, but I do.
“Pilot?” Jaeia asked they approached the edge of the belt. “Ship to me.”
The pilot turned around, stunned at her request. “Sir, I—”
“Ship to me,” she repeated more firmly, taking a seat in her command chair.
“Yes, Sir,” he said, relinquishing control of the ship to her position.
Blue and red spherical interfaces appeared on her armrests. Holding fast to the grafted memories of the fighter pilots, Jaeia positioned her fingers within the spheres.
“Ready with the trap, Commander,” the engineer called as she steered the ship around the first obstacle.
“Hold for my signal,” Jaeia said as she partially closed her left hand, pitching the ship to port.
Weaving in and out of the asteroids, Jaeia couldn’t help but admire the enemy pilot with uncommon reflexes and deft maneuvers. Whoever that is, Jaeia thought, they have exceptional skills.
“Oh Gods,” she muttered under her breath as her forward wing clipped the side of an asteroid. Sparks and more smoke poured onto the bridge. She coughed violently, shielding her nose and face with her uniform.
“Clear that now!” Jaeia shouted above the whine of the alarms.
“Ventilating systems offline!” the engineer shouted.
She couldn’t see now, nor could she check the lieutenant’s calculations. I can’t gamble like this—
(Jetta wouldn’t hesitate.)
“Fire the trap!” she said.
Sharp, wailing charges from the gravitational boosters followed the thunderous blast of the ion cannons.
“Trap deployed,” the engineer announced.
Setting the ship to hover
, she removed one hand from the spheres and fanned the smoke from her face. As they waited, the ship drifted amidst the ominous sounds of smaller asteroids striking the hull. If this doesn’t work, I’ll have to abandon pursuit or I’ll lose my ship.
“Sir, the cargo ship is trapped in the Pull,” the ops officer said.
Jaeia allowed herself a quiet exhalation of relief. It’s working; the cargo ship can’t escape from the temporary gravitational pool.
“Amazing,” she heard the pilot mutter.
Not really, Jaeia thought, compulsively flexing and relaxing her hands. I stole someone else’s trick.
“Status report,” she said.
“I’m reading a massive amount of Sentient life signs,” the ops officer replied. “Human, I think. Over five hundred.”
“Over five hundred humans?” Jaeia repeated, pulling up the scans on her armrests. The cargo ship isn’t designed for that kind of transportation load, she thought, losing count of all the points of light indicating a lifeform aboard the ship. They must be packed shoulder-to-shoulder.
“I want three boarding parties ready to go. Hail them,” she commanded.
“Sir—look!” the ops officer said, pointing to the viewscreen.
Jaeia stood up, fanning the smoke from her face. In the corner of the viewscreen, a cruiser emerged from the cargo ship’s launch doors, jump drives glowing orange with a full charge.
“Oh Gods, no—”
Breath caught in her chest, Jaeia shielded her eyes as white light exploded across the holographics and the viewscreen.
“Full reversal, now!” she shouted, lunging for her terminal as the rip in space-time tore apart the cargo ship.
“Sir, the cruiser’s jump has triggered a massive chain reaction within the Pull,” the ops officer said, clinging to his terminal as blast force and debris struck the ship.
Jaeia shouted commands, but nothing she did could counter the inverse reaction dragging the surrounding objects into the rift. Asteroids, smashing into one another, only strengthened the event.
We’re being pulled in—
Crewmen screamed as asteroids crushed down on the ship from every side, fire and internal explosions rocketing the ship. Tapping into the steely concentration of a thousand years worth of close calls, Jaeia recalled the Alliance Central Starbase location, manually programming it in as the ship around her collapsed. She didn’t know if the jump drives were operational anymore, but it wouldn’t matter in a moment.
As she slammed the emergency jump button, the support beam for the viewscreen came crashing down, knocking her in the back of the head. She fell to the ground and rolled over, something warm trickling down her face. Thinking of her sister and her certain disappointment, her world came undone.
AGRACIA HATED THE SPILLWAY, but it was Bossy’s favorite Pit. Located in the mountainous region of the west, the fighting-ring capital was one of the hardest underground shelters to reach. It took her three days to travel there, selling whatever she had lifted from Scabbers, even hustling one out of his Rover.
This has been too easy, she thought, hanging a lazy hand over the steering wheel of the Rover as she depressed the accelerator to the floor. Scanning the burnt wasteland and cloud-covered skies, she saw nothing. No Necros or rival Jocks—not even a hint of trouble. By now I should have been in about two or three fights, or at least a scramble before the city border. What gives?
Agracia shook off the idea and thought of her friend. Bossy was pissed at her—and she got that—but a few drunken nights and a several good lays later, she was usually approachable.
But to go this far? Doesn’t make sense. Still, Agracia had scoured the Dives and the surrounding subterranean networks. The Spillway is the only other option.
“Chak,” she muttered, momentarily overpowered by the compounding stench of the hazard suit she had stolen.
What was that assino eating? she lamented, cracking open her visor to try and blow away the rancid air. It smells like fat man sweat and rat-sausage farts.
Relieved to see the access hatch to the Spillway jutting out from a denuded hillside, Agracia swallowed her disgust and parked the Rover behind the remains of a fallen billboard. After accessing the Pit and getting down below dangerous radiation levels, she ripped off her helmet and cursed out the previous owner of the hazard suit under her breath. “Doesn’t any chakking Jock ever shower?”
A few passerbys gave her distrustful looks, but otherwise left her alone as she walked the down the subcity blocks. However, the wayward glances from strangers and the occasional whisper alerted her more sharply than she had ever remembered reacting. Fear and anxiety quickened her pace. Is that assino going to jump me? she wondered with every step she took.
Hiking up her shoulders, she thanked the stars that her reputation wasn’t as bad in the Spillway. Anybody who was anybody knew that she was a Jock, and a mean one, but she hadn’t cheated too many folk in these parts. The townies gave her once-overs, but nobody said anything.
Chakking Jetta Kyron, she thought. She did this to me. I was never scared like this before.
Fake memories, real ones—Agracia didn’t know what happened, but seeing a glimpse of a different life had done something to her, thrown her off her game. Now she questioned everything and everyone.
I’m not me anymore, she thought. It’s like a stranger jumped into my skin—
(Or am I the stranger?)
Shaking off the thought, Agracia concentrated on what she did know: The stakes seemed higher now, and without Bossy, she would be targeted and vulnerable.
Better start in the markets, she thought. Maybe someone will cough up some info.
With a careful eye she perused the scene from the safety of an alleyway before making her entry. The Spillway’s commerce came from selling scrap and recycled material from old garbage dumps and salvage operations from the ancient remnants of the metropolis above ground. Jocks hung around the cheaply constructed stalls, making deals with vendors for their next run or selling the idea of a surface tour to a stupid Tourist.
Agracia spied Eddie and Sven, two rival Jocks from other tribes, and slunk back into the shadows. A Meathead, still covered in dirt and blood from the fighting rings, lurked around a junkyard booth not far away from the two surface jockeys.
This isn’t going to be easy, she thought. Meatheads, oversized musclemen with chemically-fueled tempers, were just as bad as rival Jocks. And that steroid junkie might have connections back to the Dives and know about us pulling out of our contract.
If things had played out the way she had wanted them to, Doctor Death would have had three more bouts and made them enough scratch to make a good run of things for a while. But since Jetta Kyron split, and they didn’t show to the next fight, she and Bossy had a price tag on their heads.
“Chak,” she mumbled under her breath, reaching for a smoke. Despite the strong craving, the voice inside her rebuked the idea.
(Smoking is unhealthy and dangerous.)
Confused, she chewed on her lip.
Wait—don’t I like smoking?
The tease of mastication caused her stomach to growl, drawing her attention to the more pressing matter of her empty belly. When was the last time I ate?
Thinking back, it had been a least a day, and food was scarce in the Spillway. Stealing meant losing a hand, and even though she was fast, she didn’t want to risk losing any body parts, especially since she didn’t have backup.
“Agracia,” said a voice behind her.
Agracia slowly stuck her head out of the shadow to see a familiar face emerge from the crowd. “Jade, what are you doing here?”
Scarves hid all but the left side of her face. Seeing her truculence, Agracia tried to make amends. “I didn’t pay you. You got stiffed by your debts. Sorry.”
“Sorry?” she said, grabbing Agracia and throwing her against a wall. “I had to leave the Dives or else I’d be in the rings. I’ve got nothing, and nobody’ll pay for a tramp like me. I’m as good as
dead.”
“Looks like you’re getting by well enough,” Agracia said, freeing herself from Jade’s grip. But then she realized what Jade was probably doing.
The Scabber in Agracia would have laughed in her face. Jade was too ugly and too deformed to sell her chit on the street, and even though she was an expert scavenger in the Dives, she would be lost in the vast and complicated network of the Spillway.
She probably brought some of her most valuable artifacts with her, but was forced to sell them to stay alive, Agracia deduced. Jade, a caretaker, whose oath to preserve Earth’s history transcends her own life, has forsaken her vow.
Jade spat at her feet. “You’re a spoiled ratchakker, Agracia.”
Agracia’s instincts split between extremes, one of survival and the other of a nature she didn’t know she possessed.
(The old bag is done for. Just use her up and throw her out—)
(—help her.)
“Chak,” she muttered under breath, trying to distance herself from the inner battle. “Look, I’ve got nothing, but if you help me, I’ll get you and me some grub.”
“I don’t need your charity—I have a meal ticket. Listen here, kid,” Jade said, grabbing her collar and pulling her close. “If I had the money, I’d hire those Dogs to rip you to shreds.”
With quick, nimble hands the Scabber Jock did what she did best. She didn’t know what she grabbed from within the folds of the woman’s clothing, but Jade didn’t notice, and Agracia shoved whatever it was in her pocket before the woman even set her back down.
“Look, just ‘cause we go way back, I’ll get you money and you’ll get back to the Dives,” Agracia said coolly, breaking her hold of her. “Just keep your panties on and nose down. And don’t chakking touch me again.”
Agracia shoved off of her, ignoring the profanities spouting from Jade’s mouth. As she merged with the market crowd, her fingers toyed with the rectangular piece inside her pocket until she felt safe enough to take a peek.
“What the hell?” she said, staring at the odd-looking datawand with some sort of adapter piece at the tip. From old jobs, Agracia recognized that the adapter was formatted to interface with the ancient computer models from the Last Great War.
Triorion Omnibus Page 78
