by Loren Walker
His mind turned. They were going to visit their grandmother. Family reunion. Rented a private transport. Meklos. Good cover name too. Sounded good with all their names. It was something to hold onto.
He finally found the rental packet, slid it under his arm and ran for Sydel’s room. Everyone was gathered inside, staring as Renzo streaked past and banged his fist on the far wall. The hidden door slid back, revealing the sensory deprivation tank within, a tall metal cylinder wedged into a small five-by-five foot space.
Renzo pointed to Cohen, and then CaLarca. “In there,” he mouthed. “Now.”
“There isn’t enough room,” Sydel whispered.
“There’s no time!” Renzo hissed back. “Cohen, pick her up.”
Cohen flushed, and stalked over to the bed. But when he went to slide his arms beneath CaLarca, she slapped him across the face. The sound resonated through the room. Sydel recoiled with a gasp. Renzo lifted his hands, trying to calm his brother. “Easy, Co,” he mouthed, even as he pushed down his own fury. There wasn’t time for it, for any of this.
His right cheek red, Cohen snatched up CaLarca in his arms. The woman gasped in pain, clawing at his back. As Sydel squeezed herself between the tank and the wall, Cohen climbed up the ladder. As he swung his leg over the edge, Renzo could sense the water rising. He was so much bigger and heavier than Sydel. Renzo prayed for it to remain contained; if the officer came in and saw a water trail….
But Cohen was finally in the tank, straddling the diameter, feet on a ladder on either side, Renzo knew. The brim of the tank came up to his hips. He shifted his grip, and held CaLarca’s squirming body high up on his shoulder. His face was red, glaring down at Renzo.
Then the door slid shut, and Renzo ran. At the exit, he took a moment to breathe, smooth down his hair, and make sure his glasses were clean and straight on his nose. No sounds followed him; by his ears, the Arazura sounded empty. Steeling his nerves, he opened the door.
The officer was waiting on ground level, peering up.
“Good morning,” Renzo called down. “What’s this all about?”
“Drop the stairs, please.” The woman’s voice was like gravel.
“You’re law?” Renzo stalled.
“Detective Ozias,” the woman said. “As I already stated.”
He couldn’t wait any longer. Renzo flicked the switch, and the stairwell unfurled. The edge settled right by the officer’s toes. She didn’t flinch. “You’re the owner of this ship?”
“No, ma’am,” Renzo said. “Rental.”
Ozias raised her eyebrows. “Really.” The word was drawn out.
Taking a step down, but keeping one hand on the railing, Renzo held out the rental packet. Ozias reached up and took it, flipping through the pages. Her eyes were dark blue, and flicked up to Renzo every few seconds. Finally, she snapped the book shut. “Didn’t catch your name.”
“Ray Meklos,” Renzo said.
“That so?”
“What’s this about?” Renzo asked, trying to keep his voice normal.
“I’m looking for Cohen Byrne.”
It took every ounce of bodily control for Renzo not to react. And even with every cell straining, he wasn’t sure that a flicker of fear wasn’t visible. “Cohen?”
“Byrne,” Ozias said. “About six-foot-two, two hundred and fifty pounds, short brown hair, nineteen years old. He was a friend and student of Aeden Nox, one of the victims in the Kings Canyon. Apparently, they had a business relationship in the weeks before. Byrne was also seen leaving the scene of the crime in a transport of this description. Know him?”
“This is a rental,” Renzo reminded her. “I’ve only had the ship for a couple of days. Picked it up in Daro.”
“For what purpose, I wonder?” The snide way that the officer said the words was like a game.
“Going on a road trip. To the south, to see family. Waiting for my friends, now actually,” Renzo added quickly. “They’re showing up any time.”
Ozias nodded. “I’d like to look inside.” She took one step up.
“Is that necessary?” Renzo objected, a spasm of panic in his stomach. “Like I said, we’re already late and a long way to go.”
“And who else is in there?” Ozias questioned. Was that a hint of a smile on the woman’s face?
A cold trickle of sweat went down his spine. He didn’t know what to do, if he should just give up, if he should make a scene.
The officer’s foot remained on the first step. She didn’t ascend or step back. In fact, the woman didn’t move, or even blink.
Seconds passed. Nothing changed. Renzo stared down at her, confused.
Go.
The voice floated through Renzo’s mind. He jumped, looking over his shoulder. No one was there.
Go. I can’t hold her much longer.
It wasn’t Sydel’s voice, though. It was CaLarca’s.
Ozias’s lips twitched. Her eyes bulged. She was frozen in place.
Renzo stared. It was very, very wrong. But it was the break they needed.
Renzo slammed his hand into the control panel, recoiling the stairs and locking the exit. At the same time, he activated the Arazura’s engines through the Lissome in his pocket.
Running into Sydel’s quarters, Renzo recoiled as the secret door slid open. Cohen burst out, tossing CaLarca onto the bed with one heave. CaLarca cried out as her legs hit the bedframe.
“Don’t ever ask me to touch her again!” Cohen roared, scratch marks across his arm and face.
Sydel wandered after him, drenched from the waist down, fresh marks on her arms, too.
“What the hell happened in there?” Renzo demanded, listening with one ear for the sound of the engines. Shouldn’t be more than thirty seconds total…
“Cohen. Stay back.”
Renzo turned at the sound of Sydel’s tight voice. The girl moved in front of Cohen, one damp arm raised as if to shield him. “CaLarca cannot stay here,” she said evenly.
Cohen’s mouth dropped open, as did Renzo’s.
“No, please,” CaLarca sputtered. Her hands roamed over her legs, again and again, in a nervous motion. “I did it for your safety.”
“Wait, why? What did she do?” Cohen asked, looking between the green-haired woman and Sydel.
“She restricted that detective’s movements,” Sydel said. “I sensed it.”
“Like mind control?” Cohen exclaimed. “You people can do that?”
Slowly, as if turning a crank, Renzo’s mind cycled back to that day in the Kings Canyon, when the mercenaries turned on each other, stabbing, shooting, murdering each other in a blind fury. If CaLarca could freeze a man in place, could she force him to attack, too?
There wasn’t time to think. They had to get out of there.
Renzo pointed to CaLarca. “Seal her in, don’t talk to her, don’t touch her. That goes for both of you.”
“Fine by me,” Cohen snapped, darting past Renzo. “You should just toss her to the detective, let her answer some questions for once.”
“I’m not opening that door to anyone,” Renzo shot back. “We deal with her later.”
CaLarca’s face was streaked with tears. Sydel was trembling. But she followed Cohen into the corridor. Renzo ducked through the threshold, past the two, and ran for the cockpit. When he entered, the engines began their familiar rumble. Renzo slid into the seat and demagnetized the landing gear. At the same time, he checked all the screens for the videofeed surrounding the Arazura. The first step was to get as far away from that Vendor Mill and the surrounding area as possible. When that detective snapped out of that trance, or whatever it was, she would come after them. Would she cross jurisdiction, though, into the East?
A call was coming in. Renzo panicked - it had to be that detective. But it was a different cc. He connected, his fingers hovering.
Then his heart leapt at the sound of Phaira’s voice: “We’re clear. Trouble, but at the end-point now. Keep offline for now. Guards up.”
Renzo inhaled sharply, desperate to know about the warrants on Anandi and Emir and what was happening, but she disconnected before he could say anything.
He pushed the throttle forward, giving the thrusters all he could. Clearing the garage exit in a burst, he yanked the Arazura into the sky. From behind, he could hear surprised cries, the sounds of thumping in the corridor. He hoped Cohen had the sense to strap Sydel down, and himself too. For a moment, he wondered if CaLarca had fallen on the floor. If she had, he didn’t feel bad about it.
Gripping the controls, Renzo swerved around one skyscraper, and then another, pulling the Arazura into a near vertical lift to clear yet another. Ozias wasn’t catching the Arazura, not with Renzo at the helm. Law transports weren’t made for maneuvering, only for speed in a straight line.
*
The ship took another violent turn, sending Cohen into the wall. Cursing, Cohen dragged himself to the common room’s console and buckled himself in. Instinctually, he checked to see that Sydel’s safety belt was holding.
Her hands opened and closed on her lap. Her hair lifted at the edges, like she was filled with static electricity. She was staring straight ahead, unseeing.
“Syd?” Cohen put his hand on her arm.
He jerked back: her skin was scorching, her body’s heat like a microwave, pulsing outwards.
Her head dropped back. Her mouth moved. She was whispering something under her breath, that same hissing noise, the same consonants again and again. Just like Kings, he realized, when he and Phaira found her in a melting room, Keller Sava mangled in a pool of blood.
She was going to explode.
“Syd, stop,” he pleaded, trying to catch her eye. “You’ve got to calm down.”
She didn’t react. Now her hands were in tight fists. And he swore he saw the faintest glow around her body.
Shaking, Cohen connected to the cockpit. “Help! I need help in here!” he hollered into the microphone.
“Hold tight!” Renzo’s voice came through the soundsystem. “Just hold on, I’ll get us clear as quickly as I can!”
“We don’t have time!” Cohen yelled. “Sydel is blowing up!”
“She’s WHAT?”
“I can stop it,” another voice interrupted. “Cohen, bring her to me. Don’t hesitate. Hurry!”
He hated her. But he had to do something.
Bracing for balance, he undid the latch of their security belts. As Cohen hoisted Sydel into his arms, her skin seared into his. Sweat poured off his forehead. He gritted his teeth, and ran for Sydel’s room.
Inside, CaLarca was on the floor, her legs splayed and useless, her hands gripping the bedframe with white knuckles. “Against the wall,” she commanded.
Cohen slid on his knees and released Sydel, pushing her shoulders to the paneling. His palms screamed with pain.
CaLarca dragged herself to the girl’s spasming body. Bracing herself with her right hand, her left fingers balled into a fist, the middle knuckle jutting out.
Then she plunged her fist into Sydel’s abdomen.
Sydel drew in in a ghostly, sucking inhale. A white light burned around her body for a split second, blinding Cohen.
Then it faded. He could see the two women again. Sydel was breathing in little shuddering gulps. CaLarca’s hair stood on end.
Long seconds passed. Finally, Sydel slumped over with a moan. When she hit the floor, she curled into a fetal position and went still.
She was a conduit, he realized. CaLarca pulled out the Nadi energy.
Horrified, Cohen scrambled over and touched Sydel’s arm. It was cold. Her hair was stringy with sweat, but she was alive. They all were.
Then the green-haired woman collapsed.
PART TWO
I.
Sand coated the inside of her mouth. It threatened to choke her, but she held firm, ignoring the sweaty flailing of the battalion leader beneath her. She gritted her teeth so hard that they hurt, until his body grew lax.
Through the clouds, Phaira could see the others in her unit: Brande, Machen, Carruthers. Nox’s freckles even darker in the sun, yelling, arms reeling back to throw something. They couldn’t see her through the sand clouds. Phaira rolled away, but caught the edge of a white-hot explosion, sand raining down over their heads. When she hit the ground, Phaira felt something snap in her back. The automatic compression of her nanotube suit around her chest.
As she struggled to get to her feet again, gasping for breath, a volley of bullets sprayed the sand in a half-circle. One bullet ricocheted off her helmet, making her reel back as another high-tech bullet went into her right shoulder, in between the armor plating and into her flesh. Pain exploded through her side as warm blood started to soak the material of her suit. Immediately, the nanotube material around the wound tightened, but her arm was useless. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. This was the end. Everything went silent. The sky was burning.
Strong hands slid under her arms, jerking her backwards. Phaira coughed violently, trying to twist away, but looking up into the face of Nox.
“I’ve got you.” Nox said through his clenched teeth. “Come on. Feet up. I’ve got you.”
“Hello again.”
The voice startled Phaira from her reverie. The Macni, or “Mac” rail station bustled with travelers, but Emir Ajyo had managed to find her against the wall, near the restrooms. He held out his hand to shake.
“Hello again,” she managed, through the fresh waves of guilt. They’re manageable, she soothed herself, cold but manageable, as Nox’s face hovered at the edge of her mind.
“Not feeling well?” Emir asked, holding onto her hand with his warm one.
“What? No, I’m fine,” Phaira shook her head, embarrassed as she pulled away. “Sorry, I was just caught up in thought.”
“Not very good thoughts, by the look of it,” the older man said. “You’re worried, I’d say. And very anxious about something.”
“What, are you an Eko all of a sudden?” Phaira half-joked, hoisting her satchel over her shoulder. She noted his own duffel bag at his feet, neat and compact.
“Well, since you brought it up, and we’re alone, I’m curious. What is your issue with Sydel?” Emir said quietly. “Why don’t you trust her?”
Phaira blinked, taken aback. In her shock, though, her mind considered the facts. She was far away from the Arazura. Emir had nothing at stake in this. It was the perfect moment to expose Sydel’s ability to generate an explosion strong enough to kill those in proximity. It was only by the protective HALO headgear they wore that she and Cohen survived the blast in Kings. But the detonation was the catalyst for the base collapse, shredding its foundational structure. The collapse that killed Aeden Nox, Huma, and so many others.
“Where’s Anandi?” Phaira said instead.
“Coming. She’s finishing up a few matters, transferring her projects over to a friend. I’m trying to convince her to let it go.” His eyes crinkled. “She’s having some difficulty.”
“Well, I know how hard it is to give up control,” Phaira replied. She looked Emir up and down. “What is this disorder of yours, anyways?”
“My body doesn’t generate platelets,” Emir said. “I have a mutation that thins my blood to the point where, without constant infusions, my heart could stop. Or I could begin to bleed internally.”
“And what will this treatment do?”
“It’s a series of treatments, actually, to clean the blood, remove the mutation and stimulate platelet creation,” Emir explained. “It’s a lot of stress on the body, though. I’ll be placed into a medical coma.”
“Dangerous, then.” Phaira concluded. Her heart fluttered. What was she going to witness?
“Quite. I’m an old man. We aren’t as hardy,” Emir said. Then he shrugged. “But I have to try. And you’re here, so at least I know Anandi will be protected.”
Phaira went to reassure him, but a warm body suddenly flung into hers. Anandi’s hair was shorter now, black tendrils curling around he
r ears, swept across her forehead. She was enormous in a tiny Lissome screen, but tiny in person, just over five feet tall. Despite her size, though, more than once she’d been instrumental in saving Phaira’s life.
“I can’t believe you’re coming!” Anandi was joyfully saying. “This is so great. I feel better already! I’m really nervous, you know. I mean, for my father, of course, but there’s a lot of prying going on after Kings, and being out in the open.”
“Okay, okay,” Phaira said, gently removing Anandi’s hands from her neck. “Don’t worry. I’m happy to keep watch.”
“Not just that,” Anandi chimed in. “Didn’t you tell her, Father? It’s not just doom and gloom. It’s my birthday. We have to stop at my grandmother’s anyways, before we get to Liera, so there’s going to be a tiny party.”
Phaira glanced at Emir, who stroked his beard with a faraway look in his eye. “Really?” she asked him, incredulous. “Shouldn’t you get to treatment as soon as possible?”
“One day will not make a difference,” Emir said. “Besides, I want to see her happy before I go under.”
“Under, but not out,” Anandi said, her smile fading. Now Phaira could see the worry behind the facade.
“Never,” Emir grinned at his daughter. “I’ve got too much to teach you.”
“Oh!” Anandi exclaimed. “Is that so? Well, I - ”
“Fine,” Phaira interrupted their exchange. “That’s fine, I guess. You have your party, I will just stay low and wait until you’re ready.”
“Don’t be silly,” Anandi said, looping her arm through Phaira’s. “I want you to be my date. It’ll be fun. You can be whoever you want. A countess. A faraway cousin.”
“A countess!” Phaira exclaimed. “I doubt that. And your grandmother will know I’m not a cousin.”
“Oh, it was just an example,” Anandi scoffed. “Please? It’s just a couple of hours. Then back to business. For me?”
The girl is unreal, Phaira thought, amused at the dramatics. But entertaining, at least. Why she is so fixated on me, I have no idea.
“For you, then,” Phaira concluded. “You lunatic. Fine. Count me in.”
