Triorion Omnibus

by L. J. Hachmeister

  Reht squeezed his eyes shut. Those weren’t his father’s words, just the ones he imagined him saying. Through bloodied, lifeless lips.

  (I didn’t know, I DIDN’T KNOW!)

  Reht thrust himself up and into the electrical conduit, careful to keep away from the black cords that snaked their way down boxed channels. The glow from the grounding lights showed the hairs on his forearms standing at attention as he grazed past the charged housing units.

  Voices came from up ahead. He crawled on his hands and knees until he could hear them more clearly.

  “Chak you, you godich assino!” a young female voice shouted.

  “This datawand is damaged. You’re lucky enough I paid you ten percent.”

  Cold indifference to the girl’s rage, a hint of arrogance.

  Shandin.

  “Hey man, we risked our necks out there,” a second girl said. This voice, deeper but still young, tried to mask her fear with a cool attitude. “You got what you wanted—now give us our payment.”

  Reht scooted underneath a deck-divider and positioned himself above a slatted vent. A terrible smell wafted up, but he could see Shandin clearly, and the backs of the two girls talking to him. The shorter one had her hair in pigtails and her hands on her hips in a provocative manner. In stark contrast, the other slouched, her body language bored and lax.

  Touching the tip of his right contact with his finger, Reht initiated the recording device embedded in the lens and secured the direct upload to the Nagoorian. As much as he hated wearing Pancar’s recording tech, he had no other choice if he wanted to keep his end of the bargain.

  The implant in his ear vibrated as soon as the taller girl turned around and spat on the floor, giving him a full face-shot. “Reht—is this really what you’re seeing?”

  “Yeah,” Reht whispered. “What the hell, man? I thought we were keeping this channel closed unless there was an emergency?”

  Silence over the com.

  This is something serious, he thought as the residual static buzzed in his ears.

  “That is Agracia Waychild. She is a high-priority retrieval,” Pancar said.

  From what Sebbs told him about the Nagoorian, he seemed like an honest chump who wouldn’t deal well with bartering. All the more reason to push when the stakes are high.

  “A high-priority retrieval, huh?” he said, licking his lips. “Sounds like you’re going to up my payment.”

  “Ten thousand, my only offer. But she has to be alive and unharmed.”

  Reht took umbrage to the Nagoorian’s emphasis on keeping his package intact. The girl was cute, with a tomboyish, punk look, but her friend, at least from the backside, seemed much more his style.

  As the younger one turned around to flip off a Johnny, he caught a glimpse of her face.

  “What the—?”

  Where have I seen that face before? he thought as the girl sucked on a lollipop and twirled her hair with her fingers.

  Ash’s puppet.

  Nah. They look alike, but this one is too surly and crass to be in the same serial as the others.

  A Meathead snuck up behind her, and she proceeded to defy all the rules he knew about puppets. Wielding sharpened fingernails, she attacked at the thug’s face, stabbing him in the eye. He screamed and fell to the floor as he tried to scoop back the clear goo that oozed between his fingers.

  “Sucker!” the little girl shouted.

  More Johnnies descended upon the duo, but the puppet moved quicker than any of them, tearing arms from sockets and gouging eyes faster than Reht could register.

  If Shandin’s gonna double-cross them, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more Johnnies.

  Oncoming gunfire rattled him inside the conduit. With new urgency he shimmied ahead, unconfident that the thin metal housing could protect him from a stray bullet. He heard the girls’ shouts as the battle unfolded, catching only brief flashes of their ordeal through the slatted breaks in the conduit. Pigtailed ire. White bone splintering through tattooed flesh. Skin yielding to sharp, pearly teeth. Spurts of blood. Thumbs locked over a windpipe, crushing down. An abraded leg corkscrewed backwards.

  His stomach lurched as his mind tried to reconcile what he saw. Puppets are programmed for blind compliance, not merciless aggression.

  “Better make it twenty thousand,” Reht said above the racket. “He friend is a real brat.”

  The Nagoorian grunted. “That’s Bossy. I don’t have to tell you to be careful.”

  “What is she?” Reht asked, watching her decapitate a Johnny with her bare hands.

  “An inventor’s failed attempt at a personalized companion. No synthetics, no artificial parts. She was genetically programmed, grown in a vat with the rest of her lot of puppets. The only switch she has is the one in her head.”

  “How do you know so much about her?” Reht said as the tiny girl overturned and threw a full-sized table at two gunmen.

  Pancar paused. “She was sought out to keep Agracia safe.”

  Reaching a junction, Reht assessed the drop to the ground level. “Ohh, Panny-boy, you know more, dontcha? You and Unipoesa, always got your penjehtos in everyone’s business.”

  “Just tell Agracia when you see her that you’re a friend of Jetta’s. Do not mention any affiliation with the Alliance or you’ll be killed.”

  “Okay, okay,” Reht said, sliding carefully down the tube.

  Once on the ground, he crouched down and peeked through a slit in the access panel into the warehouse where the fight had taken an even bloodier turn. Bossy and Agracia were trapped in the far corner behind a barricade of furniture, as Shandin’s men fanned out to descend upon them from almost all directions.

  “You guys nearby?” Reht called over the com.

  “Yeah. Guards ditched their posts,” Cray said.

  “We got in easy, too,” Bacthar added.

  “Can you find me? I’m in a storage room or somethin’. Smells like a dumpster. Just follow the gunfire.”

  “Sure, Cappy. Are we crashin’ this party?” Cray asked giddily.

  “Have at it boys. Just spare the girls.”

  “Girls?!” Cray repeated excitedly. Reht could hear Ro hooting in the background.

  The hot, steely outline of the Cobra pressed into Reht’s hip. In his mind he could see the gun uncoiling like a living thing, chrome scales glimmering as it snaked up Shandin’s body and wrapped around his neck. Fangs, dripping with venom, sank into the meat of Shandin’s neck. He tasted blood and the sweet tang of poison against serpentine lips.

  Reht snapped himself out of it. Gritting his teeth, he pressed his fists against the panel and shoved. As he broke through, he unslung his gun and fired at the thugs’ backs.

  Don’t you run, ratchakker! he thought, losing Shandin in the fray.

  Smoke and gun flashes added to the confusion as his crew joined in on the surprise attack. Mom bellowed as he sliced open Johnny after Johnny from stem to stern. Something hot and wet sprayed the dog-soldier captain’s face, and the room filled with the smell of copper and sparks.

  As the smoke finally dissipated, Reht did a body count. Fifteen Johnnies dead, all crew of the Wraith unscathed, and two girls still huddling behind barricaded furniture.

  “It’s safe now, lil’ britches,” Reht called, lighting a cigarette.

  Agracia peeked her head out from behind the leg of a chair. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Reht Jagger. Captain of the Wraith.”

  “And why the hell are you getting in our business?”

  Reht blew out a puff of smoke. He liked her already. “Seems as if we have a common enemy. Thought you may be interested in a little cooperative venture between our two parties.”

  “We don’t play with Tourists!” Bossy said, popping on top of the furniture pile. Still sucking on her lollipop, she rolled it from side to side in her mouth as she flipped them off.

  Ro snickered, and Cray made lewd gestures with his hands. “I’ll put that mouth to better use!”


  Reht could tell that the little puppet would have made a move, but she correctly assessed that Mom, with claws fully dropped, outmatched even the likes of her. Instead, she hawked a wad of spit at Cray. The frothy, sugar-laden mess splattered his face, sending him into a fit, but Reht warned him to stay back.

  “How’s that for ya?” Bossy laughed.

  Amused, Reht gave Agracia a wink. She didn’t react. Instead, she studied him with the intensity not found in a wayward young woman, but an experienced hunter.

  She’s no ordinary Scabber.

  Agracia held Bossy back with her arm. “I’m listening, chump.”

  “I want Shandin’s head on a plate. I suspect you want something similar. How ‘bout we give you a lift off this rock when we’re done? Anywhere you choose.”

  Dark eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  Act confident, and a bit stupid. Reht flicked away his cigarette, and looked down the barrel of his Cobra.

  “Alright. But one bad move, Tourist, and I’ll let Bossy have her way with you. And she don’t play nice,” Agracia said, pointing to the headless Johnny lying in a pool of blood.

  Reht snorted. “Yeah. Some puppet you got.”

  “What did you call me?” Bossy shrieked, her eyes blazing, held back only by the will of her companion.

  “Yeah, I know what you are, lil’ britches. Saw the likes of you on Aeternyx. Twice.”

  He didn’t get the reaction he expected. Instead of a slew of obscenities, little puppet wavered, fighting back unwelcome tears. “They’re not all dead?”

  “Huh?” Ro said, confounded by the derailment of the conversation.

  Agracia shuffled her companion behind her. “Yeah, well, let’s get going. Shandin will have plenty of reinforcements in here if we keep dickin’ around.”

  “She’s right,” Pancar said to Reht through the aural implant. “Follow her lead.”

  Popping her lollipop out of her mouth, Bossy went straight to Mom and looked up at him, her neck craning back at the level of his waist. “I ain’t afraid of you, wolfman,” she declared, thrusting her lollipop at his face.

  Mom growled, but the dog-soldier captain heard the slight difference in his vocalization. Reht stifled a chuckle. Awh, Mom made a friend.

  “Why you want his head?” Agracia said, pulling Reht down by the collar of his jacket to her eye level.

  He flashed his incisors. “He broke my heart.”

  And then he saw it. A strange duality he had seen before in another precocious little girl, a glimpse of a dark secret that boiled underneath a veneer of control. “Whatever, freakshow. Just stay out of my way, and if you double-cross me, I’ll let my friend do whatever—whatever—she wants with your ugly hide.”

  Reht smiled. This is going to be great.

  WITH THE ALLIANCE’S fragile grip on Trigos, one less starship guarding the planet weakened their already dismal chances of maintaining authority. Despite this risk, Jaeia commissioned the only working vessel Wren would allow her to have.

  I know what I saw. She recalled Jetta’s distress, and the visions of another world, one that seemed frighteningly familiar and desperate to reclaim her. And what I felt. I have to go to Old Earth.

  “Take us to mark 764-293-44-31 with a descent to eight-thousand meters, ensign,” she ordered her helmsman.

  Rechecking the statistical holographics on the command chair armrest, she couldn’t help but look back at the center viewscreen. The brown planet, congested with soupy clouds and lightning, offered no welcome.

  This is no use, she thought, shutting off her armrest. As soon as we enter the upper atmosphere, the storms will disrupt all of our instrumentation.

  Glancing around, she sensed the heightened tensions of her crew. And they know it, too.

  She stopped herself before doubt could gain a stronger foothold. Most of this crew has served in Jetta’s SMT; they have confidence in her powers, so they must have faith in me.

  (Trust yourself.)

  “Beginning descent,” the helmsman intoned. “Thrusters only. Twenty-thousand meters and holding steady at three by five.”

  Jaeia held fast as the medical frigate slammed into Earth’s upper atmosphere, hitting every air pocket and pressure change. Anything not bolted into the bridge came loose within seconds, batting around the deck.

  Gods, I hate flying, she thought, swallowing hard against the urge to vomit. Under most circumstances she could calm herself by focusing on her mission, but not necessarily when the objective was to survive the rough descent through a polluted, unsafe atmosphere. I swear Jetta does this on purpose.

  “Forward thrusters offline. Switching to secondary,” one of the ensigns called above the noise.

  Jaeia wrapped both her arms and legs around her chair as they hit a bump that sent one of her deck officers flying into the command console, breaking his leg. The whine of the struggling engines drowned out his screams as the ship’s stabilizers fought against the turbulence.

  We’ll be blown apart!

  Blue lightning zigzagged across the screen. A thundering gust knocked them hard to port, triggering an old memory as her ensign announced the loss of their secondary thrusters.

  “In an atmospheric firestorm, it is unwise to engage your drives,” the man standing beside her said. Ranked as a lieutenant commander in the Dominion Core, he sagged at the shoulders and barely made eye contact with her as he flipped through the views of a firestorm on the holographic display. “Instead, allow your gravitational adjusters to stabilize your orientation and gravity sails to guide you to the surface.”

  As she watched him work the display and listened to his instruction, Jaeia absorbed something more. Even a humanoid in his mid-thirties shouldn’t be prematurely graying—

  —or look so sad.

  “Why?” she asked, standing on her tiptoes to touch the yellow light of the holograms. She cringed and pulled back to attention, expecting vituperation for questioning an officer. Instead, he bent over to meet her eyes and pointed to the tiny ship bouncing around in the blaze of a simulated storm.

  “Look closer, cadet.”

  Despite what he really meant, Jaeia sensed an opportunity. She hesitated at first, but when she felt little resistance, she allowed herself to sneak inside his head, beyond his immediate front. Along with some of his knowledge, she took in two little girls playing in an open field while a woman in a red-and-white apron called them in for supper. She caught glimpses of the man regarding himself in the mirror. The full head of hair and youthful eyes surprised her, as did his doubt about everything he would become.

  As she withdrew, she saw papers in his hand, demanding his expertise in aerospace engineering in service of the Sovereign.

  “Simply put, you can’t fight fire with fire,” he said, turning away from her. “Sometimes, you have to surrender yourself to the unknown.”

  “Cut thrusters!” Jaeia shouted. Internal alarms shrieked and red warning lights lit up all sides of the command console as the ship slammed hard to starboard. “Now!”

  (Trust yourself.)

  The helmsmen punched the console, killing the engines. Within seconds, the ship stopped quaking as the gravitational thrusters adjusted to the varying atmospheric densities. Even though the dangers to the structural integrity decreased, it didn’t quell the see-sawing of the ship.

  Well, she thought, still holding tight to the armrests, at least we won’t break apart.

  “Ensign, I want you to slowly decrease gravitational adjusters in two percent intervals,” she said, as the ship tipped onto its side and then rolled back on its belly. “Don’t adjust for orientation; maintain fixed descent.”

  Waves of nausea made their way up the back of her throat, but she flexed the muscles of her stomach, willing herself not to lose it in front of the crew.

  “Come on, come on,” Jaeia said, waiting for a break in the storm. Violent bursts of red and orange streaked across the viewscreen as they pitched hard against a hot spot.

  “Shields do
wn to 12%,” the helmsmen announced.

  Terror undammed all the fear she had held inside for years. I don’t want to die like this!

  “I surrender,” she whispered, letting go of her iron grips on the armrest, “to the unknown.”

  The internal sirens went silent. Jaeia checked her registry: offline.

  “All nav stations down,” the helmsman said.

  Jaeia looked up at the primary viewscreen. The air, still thick with a brown and yellow haze, was no longer on fire. We broke through.

  “Reengage thrusters at fifteen percent and hold position,” she said, wiping the sweat from her forehead. She gave herself a moment to collect herself, wringing her trembling hands and adjusting her uniform.

  Okay, Jetta... where are you? she said, falling back into their connection.

  Luminescent images of Earth unfurled, its vastness reaching beyond her field of vision. With all the thousands of glimmering lights dotting the gray mists of the psionic landscape, how would she find her sister?

  (I’m here. Tell me where you are.)

  Even with their bond, she could only perceive her sister’s signature as a faint, almost indistinguishable thrum in the commotion of psionic noise.

  (Tell me where you are!)

  Panic leaked in, dominating her senses. She whipped around without any real direction, flinging herself at any visible light. I can’t find her like this—there are too many people!

  A woman with pale green eyes and a sad smile surfaced at the forefront of her panic. My Gods! That’s the woman I saw inside Triel’s mind, in that memory stain—

  “My sweet Ryen.... You are so beautiful.”

  Ryen. The name sent shockwaves through her body.

  My name...

  The dark-haired woman reached out for her, translucent fingers combing tenderly through her cheek. “I am so sorry I could not hold on. I wanted nothing more than to see you with my own eyes.”

  (Mother?)

  “Your sister is too weak to answer your call,” she said, her voice distant, receding into the gray. “You must follow my light...”

  (Mother, wait!) Jaeia shouted, trying desperately to hold onto her, cool mist slipping through her fingers