I’m not going to make it much longer.
Jetta slid down the back of the wall and peeked around the corner. She heard the pins being removed from flash grenades and the whine of charging pulse rifles. Somewhere, Victor was laughing at her.
(So weak. So afraid of what you are.)
Jetta hugged her gun against her chest. They were still outnumbered. Only one way to get past their defenses. Only one way to survive another psionic expenditure. The easy way was the only way.
Time was running out.
Only one way.
I have to stop him.
Jetta closed her eyes and dug her fingernails into her own throat. I’m sorry, Jahx.
—Triorion: Reborn (part II)
For more information go to: www.triorion.com
Triorion: Reborn
Part II
Book Four
L. J. Hachmeister
Prologue
FIORAH: YEAR 3180
Jahx never told his sisters about his secret trips to room 311. If circumstances had been better, Jaeia might have understood, but Jetta would have only given him grief. Sneaking off became exceedingly difficult, and as often as wanted to go, his family, particularly his sisters, kept a close watch on him. And no unattended four-year-old went unnoticed, especially on Fiorah.
He chanced upon room 311 the day they moved into community housing. While Galm comforted Lohien in their squalid new apartment, promising her their situation was only temporary, Jaeia covered for her siblings so that Jetta and Jahx could explore the housing project and look for vending machines and discarded air conditioning units that they could possibly fix.
“Hey, look,” Jetta said, nudging him.
Putting down his collection of plastic bottles, Jahx followed Jetta to the last apartment on the third floor.
“Do you feel that?” Jetta said, her hand hovering above the doorknob.
Jahx didn’t have to say anything.
“Are you scared?” she asked. She hadn’t intended to sound so peevish, but she, like the rest of them, suffered the hunger pangs of three bellies.
“Jetta... Maybe not this apartment.”
But arguing with his survivalist sister got him nowhere.
“It wouldn’t be right,” he emphasized.
Jetta ignored him, testing the lock. Nimble fingers and safety pins did the trick in seconds.
Please, Jetta.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, his sister checked the hallway to make sure they wouldn’t be seen. Aside from the screams of the arguing couple two doors down, the rest of the place felt like a tomb.
Everyone else is either sleeping off benders or making back alley deals, Jetta reassured him.
Driven by need and disgusted by his own poverty, Jahx followed her in. (Stealing is wrong,) his conscience whispered, (especially from 311.)
The place was cobwebbed and blanketed in dust. Cockroaches, surprised by their appearance, skittered toward their hiding places as they tiptoed to the kitchen.
Check the pantry. I’ll check the fridge, Jetta spoke across their connection.
Jahx wavered, feeling the heavy pull in the adjacent room. (This is wrong. We will only find death here.)
Jahx! Jetta emphasized, making his brain rattle.
Careful not to disturb the nesting spiders, Jahx searched through empty tin cans and food boxes. The place had already been picked clean, probably by some other launnies or scavengers in the same situation.
“Skucheka,” Jetta whispered, despondent at their failed mission.
They both jumped as a growling croak came from the next room, rising in pitch. Grabbing her brother, Jetta yanked him toward the door.
“Jetta, wait—”
His sister, stronger and determined, dragged him out into the hallway and back to their new place, not listening to his protests, knowing only the fear that charged her reaction.
“Hey—what was that?” Jaeia asked as Jetta and Jahx caught their breath in the entryway.
“Don’t know. Waste of a trip. Nothing in there but crumbs,” Jetta said, opening her hands to reveal a few stale cracker bits.
The three of them stared at Jetta’s open hands, salivating at the laughable prize. Jetta’s anger and embarrassment throbbed in Jahx’s chest as she divided the cracker bits and distributed them to her siblings.
“Things will get better—I promise,” Jetta said, closing her hand into a fist. “I won’t let Yahmen destroy this family.”
That night Jahx couldn’t sleep. Maybe it was the new apartment, the itchiness of the cots, the sonorous snoring of his uncle or the rats scurrying inside the walls. Or maybe it was something else. Something he had escaped in apartment 311.
I have to go back.
Without disturbing them, Jahx looked inside his sisters’ dreams. Jaeia travelled to somewhere unfamiliar, a green and yellow landscape with only one sun. It wasn’t the first time he had seen such a place in her mind, and he delighted in taking an observer’s viewpoint when he had the chance. But now was not the time.
Jahx turned to Jetta. Curled up in a fetal position against the wall, Jetta slept fitfully as usual. Jahx put a hand on her shoulder, trying to draw his sister away from the pain and terror that plagued her sleeping mind. Unable to soothe her without waking her up, he withdrew, giving her one last look before slipping out the front door.
He waited until the underhanders were done with their hallway drug deals before making his way to the last door on the third floor. The drunk wadded up in the corner gave him a confused once-over but fell back into his bottle, singing a maudlin drinking song.
Walking on his tip-toes, Jahx let himself inside 311. Even in the middle of the night, the Fiorahian sunlight streamed through the shredded drapes, giving rise to new shadows and creeps. He noticed the smell this time, probably because his sister’s will was not stifling his senses. Sour and dewy—like decomposing waste.
A desiccated whisper tickled his thoughts. Who are you?
The moan that followed stripped the gumption right out of him. He turned on his heels to flee when a bony hand, reaching up into the thin rays of light in the adjacent room, caught his eye.
Jahx held his breath. One of the long-nailed fingers curled at him.
Come here.
Stronger stenches touched his nose; a smothering rot of old bed sores, body fluids soaking through unwashed sheets. Gagging, his animal instincts bade him to run, but the psionic pull from the bedroom drew him to put one foot in front of the other until he stood at the end of a bed.
An open mouth keened at the ceiling. Quavering hands with paper-thin skin held tightly to the bed sheets. Red-veined eyes, inflamed and blind, hollow cheeks; a face ravaged by time and disease. Jahx could not look away.
Frail and agonized noises came from the old woman, but what whispered across the unseen dimensions felt unfettered by corporeal confines.
Hello.
Hello, Jahx whispered back, surprised he could hear the woman so clearly.
She grunted and sighed, dry tongue caught across stained teeth. Who are you?
Jahx didn’t know what to say. Who was this woman, and why did he feel compelled to seek her out? Death was nothing new to him or his sisters, nor was suffering.
Do not be scared. I am not going to hurt you.
“I am Jahx,” he said out loud.
I am Sister Gailia.
A nun?
Yes. I was part of a missionary group, but most of us were driven away. I am alone now.
Jahx thought to take her hand but hesitated, imagining it crumbling and turning to dust.
The sister released the sheets and extended her fingers to him. Please... I need to see you.
Gently, Jahx touched the tip of his fingers to hers. Light exploded across his inner landscape. He gasped for breath as a shimmering star emerged from her dried out husk.
I see you now. Thank you, Jahx. You are so magnificent.
You see me? Jahx said, still reeling from the si
ght of her.
Two eyes, pellucid as washed-out glass, connected with his. For all time.
He tried to tell his sisters about the encounter with the dying telepath, but they both agreed it was dangerous. With the Dominion hunting telepaths, it would put them at even greater risk to associate with one. Besides, it didn’t take long before Yahmen posted guards to keep a tighter rein on Galm. Even Jaeia agreed with Jetta—“If she can’t help get us food or off this planet, we can’t afford the risk.”
But something told Jahx otherwise.
The day came when he knew it would be his last visit. He was getting slower, weaker, as sickness made his belly grow and starvation ate away his muscles. There was only so much energy he could expend slipping past the guards and evading his sisters’ detection. Yahmen was beating them every day now. Soon, there wouldn’t be anything left of him.
I have enjoyed our talks, Jahx. Thank you for telling me of your family, of your life, the sister whispered. Her breathing was audible now, rasping and thick with mucus. Her hands hung at her sides, gray and stiff. Now I must go.
Are you afraid? Jahx asked.
The nun’s chest rose and fell erratically. The air changed in the room, as if even the shadows held their breath.
No. You shouldn’t be either.
Jahx could feel her eyes inside him, seeing his fear, knowing his infirmity.
Is that why you’ve come here, Jahx? To know what death is? she asked.
When I see death, Jahx said, thinking of the countless bodies laid to waste in the alleyways. I feel only emptiness.
But you do not see beyond the vessel, the old nun whispered. Look into my eyes. Look into all that ever was and shall be.
Leaning forward, Jahx looked into membranous, unseeing eyes. He tried to stop himself, but he pitched forward, beyond the limitations of his own perceptions.
I see... Jahx said, standing over the well.
An old man with Jahx’s face sat against a tree wearing a bearded smile. Children laughed somewhere ahead. His name was spoken by many voices. Old eyes filled with joy. He rested his head against the tree trunk, relaxing into the warm summer’s embrace.
Do not be afraid of death, Jahx, the nun called as the last of her breath sighed out of her lungs. Something in the room with them exhaled with satisfaction.
Jahx saw himself one last time from within her sight, drowsing in the sun.
“Now I know.” He drew the bed sheet over her head. “There is no such thing.”
Chapter VII
Agracia felt much better around Bossy. No more strange headaches, no more inner conflict. Back to her old self, she bantered with her companion and harassed passersby that gave them any sort of look as they made their way to the center marketplace in the Spillway.
“This place gets more boring each time,” Bossy lamented, thumbing her weapons belt.
“It’s ‘cause you’ve already hustled half the city.”
Bossy snorted. “Well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ a little action now and then.”
“Whaddaya lookin’ at, sucker?” Agracia flipped up her middle finger at a sour-faced vendor before returning her attention to her friend. “See, this is why we gotta get out of here. Not a single Scab has an ounce of common courtesy.”
This is the real me, she decided, taking in the dank smells of the underground city. Whatever memories Jetta Kyron had uncovered were in the past, something that used to be her but was no longer relevant. Getting off Earth was relevant. Making money was relevant. Old starships, uptight Skirts, and somebody else’s war games were no longer a part of her life, and as far as she was concerned, she was better off without those half-remembered truths floating around her head.
“Hey, you got one hour.”
A beefy hand slapped down on her shoulder. Agracia had almost forgotten the two thugs escorting them to the edge of the marketplace. With Bossy at her side, she didn’t take anything too seriously, even a job for a snake like Victor.
“Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone,” Bossy said, batting her eyes at Shandin’s men.
“Go chak yourself,” one of them muttered.
Bossy licked her lollipop and stroked a grenade, baiting them to step up, but they walked away. “Pussies!”
“So anyways, we’d pro’lly best to ask Tiny,” Agracia mused, standing at the crossroads. Old sewage treatment pipework and the mish-mash parts of tanker trucks gave the subterranean city its own distinct, ramshackle ambiance. “He always knows where to find the best juices.”
The flow of people moved around them indifferently as they decided which direction to go. Slightly east was the Hexers district where practitioners of European paganism and Prodgy fundamentalists performed their magic tricks. Agracia hated going there. All the old witches, dressed in a gloomy amalgamation of nineteenth-century clothing and modern gothic, flicked their nails in her direction, spouting off strange chants until she passed by their stalls. Bossy loved it, always dragging her down to see what unfortunate animal was boiling in their pots or what strange smell was coming from the backs of their shops. Potions, herbs, and anything weird and unorthodox could be found down that street, but nothing practical.
North of their location were the black market avenues where most of what she needed could be found, but they didn’t dare venture down there unless absolutely necessary. The Scabbers that dealt on the north side were notoriously vicious, and even with her dark horse she didn’t feel comfortable even setting foot on the unpaved roads.
“So, you get things straightened out in your head?” Bossy asked as they headed down an unmarked alleyway between shops.
“Yeah. It was all a bunch of gorsh-shit,” Agracia said, keeping her eyes trained ahead. Don’t say nothin’ else, she told herself. Feels like even the walls are watching.
“Good,” Bossy said, counting the 20-20 grenades on her belt. “Didn’t want things to get messy.”
The alleyway was deserted, an unusual find in an underground city that utilized every centimeter of space. But Agracia and everyone else knew better than to loiter in this place. At the very end of the bricked up alley lurked a Scabber with the face of a pit bull and the build of a tank, strapped down with more ammo and firearms than a munitions warehouse. There, under a rusted flood lamp, he guarded one of Earth’s best-kept secrets.
The Cathedral, she thought, imagining the legendary palace decked out in white gold and expensive playthings. Accessible only by invitation and a ride in the city’s lone working elevator, the high-stakes retreat held little interest or investment for Agracia, though part of her wondered what really went on in the most secluded area on Earth.
“’Sup, Tiny. How’s business?”
The man with the pit bull face snorted and looked away from her.
“Hey, that’s no way to treat a lady,” Agracia said, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall. “Thought we was friends.”
“You have no friends, Agracia Waychild,” Tiny replied, still avoiding her gaze.
“You’re right. Just enemies and allies. What are you, Tiny?”
Sucking noisily on her lollipop, Bossy moved in front of her, playing with her pigtails while stroking the pins on her 20-20s.
“Get your lapdog out of my face.” Tiny shoved the butt of his gun at Bossy, but her companion sidestepped his strike and disarmed him with a quick pull and thrust.
“You bigger, but she’s better,” Agracia said, nodding at the petite little girl aiming Tiny’s own gun at him.
Tiny chuckled and blew a kiss at Bossy. “Just give me one night, little missy.”
Face souring, the dark horse clicked off the safety to the gun.
“Don’t got much time,” Agracia interjected. “I need a drop on a good juice shop.”
“Where you headed?” Tiny said. “Don’t tell me you’re going east.”
Agracia smiled.
“Jeezus, Gracie,” he said, pulling a smoke from behind his ear. He never smoked it, just chewed on the end. “No one g
oes there anymore. Necros really have a foothold.”
“Hey man—what’s that?” Agracia pointed to the silver lozenge sticking out of Tiny’s left ear. Deeply embedded in the canal, the inflamed, red tissue that surrounded the device hinted that it had been freshly implanted.
“Nuthin’. Forget you saw it,” he growled.
“What the hell, man? You getting into some crazy business or what?”
Tiny shielded his ear from her. “I said, forget it, okay?”
Bossy finally lowered her weapon and gave it back to Tiny. “Look, forget you, alright? Just tell us where to find the juice, man—we ain’t little kids. We professionals.”
Tiny’s smirk came back. “Just one night.”
“Go to hell,” Bossy said, licking her lollipop slowly with the very tip of her tongue.
“Come on, man. We need this. I’ll throw in five hundred for ya when I make the purse,” Agracia said.
Tiny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Seven fifty. Final offer. Just tell us who’s selling.”
Agracia hated having to pay to know where to find good anti-radiation meds, but the crime lords that ran the cities always sequestered the best stuff. Everything else was contaminated, partial doses, or completely ineffective. At least guys like Tiny knew where the shipments from the Alliance came through and how their bosses redistributed the goods.
Tiny’s eyes flitted to the left. Making sure not to let her gaze drift that way, Agracia caught the edge of something black and shiny hidden under a corroded sign. Bastards. We’re being watched.
“Things ain’t the same anymore, Gracie. With the Alliance gone, we’re under new government aid.”
Aware of the unwelcome eyes monitoring their exchange, Agracia held her tongue, unsure if she should ask anything more to clarify what he meant.
The man with the pit bull face saw her confusion and bit the scar that bisected his lower lip. “Gotta new boss,” he whispered. “Things have changed.”
Agracia looked again at the device embedded in his ear. “New boss? Who? Two Time Rex? Fat Yai? Wait—not Little Cho?”
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