by J. N. Chaney
I turned to see the neutronium containment unit cycling open. I only had a split second to react, so I grabbed Dorian and shoved him into an adjacent containment chamber.
The neutronium discharged just as the chamber door slid home. The cargo hold was bathed in the pale blue glow of Cherenkov radiation.
I went to the door and looked out. Marcella was struggling to stand on the far side of the room. “Marcella!” I screamed, pounding the window to get her attention.
She heard me and stumbled to the containment door. “Can I turn it off?” she wheezed through chapped and blistered lips.
“You can.” I nodded. “There’s an input on the control panel. All it needs is the sequence.”
She lurched forward and almost fell onto the open chamber. I recited the numbers her father had given me before I left him in his office.
My heart ached as Marcella’s fingers shook violently as she tried to type the code.
The containment chamber began to close, letting me know she’d been successful. A hiss sounded and radiation neutralizers coated the room in a fine foam. “You’ve done it!” I shouted.
Unable to stand anymore, Marcella sank to the floor, water all over her skin, and she slowly crawled to the doorway.
I opened the door before the containment chamber gave the all clear and knelt next to her as she struggled to stay conscious. Dorian ran past me to the bridge in search of the pilot who’d also received a likely lethal blast.
“I’m sorry...Alphonse. Will you...tell my father—” A fit of coughing stole her next words and I stroked her hair.
“I’ll tell him, Marcella, I promise.” I said, trying not to look panicked by what I was seeing. “You saved a lot of people. You know that, don’t you?”
“Least… I could do…” Her breathing was shallow, and she struggled to speak now. She pulled the shield pendant from her neck with a shaky hand and placed it in mine. “I’m sorry...I...”
Marcella smiled one last time as her eyes grew still and vacant. I felt my throat tense as I stared at her, hoping somehow that she would move again, hoping that I was imagining this.
“Marcella…” I whispered, hardly a thought in my head for the first time in my life.
After another moment, I swallowed and closed my eyes for only a second, and then I stood, the necklace in my hand, and looked directly at Evelyn.
“My gods,” said the woman, and I saw what appeared to be regret in her eyes for the first and final time.
22
I was back on Alara.
Shaw’s office seemed like a distant memory, though I had been in it only weeks before. So much had changed in me that it made everything I saw outside seem new.
The ever proper and enigmatic Shaw stood behind his desk with a broad smile. “It is my great honor to see you in this office today, Tiro Malloy.”
Behind me, Dorian and Lacroan stood dressed in formal uniforms.
I nodded. “The job is done. Evelyn is where she belongs, rotting on an unnamed rock with no outside contact.”
Shaw coughed, or maybe it was a laugh. “Well done. How do you feel now, with that bit of the past behind you?” He turned his back to me and walked to the window.
I could still see his face in the reflection of the window. His motions were less a power move and more about concealing whatever wistful feelings he had for such summations.
“I don’t know. The job is done. We took a dangerous criminal down. We retrieved most of the neutronium. People were hurt and some lost their lives along the way. I may have corrected the mistake I made a year ago, but I didn’t do it before there were consequences.”
Shaw turned back to me and nodded. “That is the game we play here. A long game of consequences, and nobody has all the pieces. We may yet see more unfold from these events in the years to come.”
“As you say, sir,” I agreed.
He walked back around the desk and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Alphonse, you’ve learned something, I think, from all of this, but it bears repeating now. Lives come and go, power comes and goes. Hell, planets come and go. We’ll never be able to save them all. We’ll never be able to solve every case.”
“Then, what do we do?” I asked.
He paused, taking a slow breath and placing a hand on my shoulder. “We save as many as we can.”
I nodded. “I shall continue to work on my training and further my experience.”
“Training?” asked Shaw, raising his brow. He directed his attention to Dorian and Lacroan, who stood a few meters away from us. “You two, what was your assessment of Tiro Malloy?”
Dorian stepped forward. “He did an outstanding job. No other Tiro has been tasked with such a difficult first mission. He rose to the occasion and learned quickly, operated independently, and composed himself with dignity in the field and with everyone he encountered. He treated each situation with a respect that kept him above reproach.”
Lacroan gave a curt nod. “Tiro Malloy saw the gears in motion without disrupting their operation. His light touch will serve him well in the future. The Constables are lucky to have him.”
Shaw turned his attention back to me. “With those recommendations from your mentor and peer, and having completed your final exam, I am pleased to say you have qualified to become a full-fledged Constable.”
He stood at attention and saluted, which I returned.
“Constables strive to operate unseen,” he continued. “As such, no physical recognizance will be given to you. From this point forward, you will receive no official Union rank or title or commendations. The majority of the government won’t even know your name, and should you be captured by the enemy, the Union will disavow all knowledge of your affiliation.” He paused. “Knowing all of this, do you accept?”
I didn’t hesitate. “I do, sir.”
Shaw smiled. “Then let me be the first to welcome you into the fold, my young friend,” he said, grasping my hand in his. “Constable Alphonse Malloy.”
Epilogue
I stared out a viewport at a passing nebula. The colors were beautiful and provided a breathtaking view. After five years as a Constable, even after all the places I’d been and all the systems and stars I’d seen, sights like this still took my breath away. The awe of the cosmos never failed to fascinate me, looking through the stardust that would someday be new worlds, stars, and people.
I considered my reflection. It sent my thoughts back to my graduation and the look that Shaw had in that moment. Maybe he hadn’t been hiding his face from me, maybe he’d simply enjoyed his own internal landscape reflected in the darkness beyond the window. In any case, he’d vacated his post at the Red Tower some time ago. He was an Admiral now, in control of a large fleet, last I had heard.
Thoughts for another time.
I stood on the promenade deck of Doden station. Music streamed from a rare set of live musicians on a stage ten meters behind me. It was both somber and raucous, depending on how you saw such things.
A party was in full swing. Dancers danced. Drinkers downed snifters of colorful liquid. The who’s who mingled and talked and created moments that they would try to deny or relive.
I made my way through the crowd. A quick word here, a feigned smile there, and at last my eyes set on my target, the party host himself.
Horace Girballon.
He was the CEO of a ship-contracting company, overseeing the construction of warships and transports alike. The celebration was his way of giving back to those that had helped him land a recent top-credit deal with the Union’s second fleet.
The man was surrounded by well-wishers. The power shuffle at this tier of the game was something to behold.
I sidled in next to him and then moved to catch his attention as one such influencer finished their thinly veiled congratulatory threats. I offered a hand and he shook it reflexively, even as he struggled to place my face.
I refused to let go of his hand and swept my arm around him. “Mr. Girballon. Pleasure to final
ly meet you face to face. Long-time supporter.”
He pushed back into my arm, but I kept him motivated with a twist of his still trapped hand.
“What is going on here!?” The man’s eyes went just a fraction wider than they had been a minute ago.
I flashed him a broad smile and winked at the bartender. “I’m a business associate, Mr. Girballon. Just here to make sure you get a well-deserved drink.”
He caught the bartender’s eye and tried to not stare at her revealing clothing. They had a history, something in the way of promises made in an office one night and ignored the next. Perhaps useful for later, but I had an agenda.
“Two highballs, please,” I said to the bartender.
Girballon pulled his hand from my grasp and I let him settle into a lean against the bar. “And aside from a drink and the reminder of an unpleasant evening, what can I do for you?”
I smiled, keeping my gaze forward and the man close. “I’m actually here to save your life. There are three assassins in this room who have been paid to kill you. Keep smiling. Good man. Apparently, you did some dirty things to land this latest contract and some people want payback.”
He was already sweating and the color drained from his face.
“See, this is why you need a drink. Cool down and relax,” I said in a friendly tone.
The bartender returned carrying two glasses of a sweetly scented liqueur with bits of fruit floating in them.
“This looks refreshing. Drink yours, fast,” I told him.
He obeyed, then I nodded to the bartender and slapped a large tip on the bar. “If you’ll give us just a minute.”
She smiled at the tip, glared at Girballon, and left the bar.
I turned the rotund man around. “If you look out there, you will see a man behind the cello, yes? He has a silenced weapon cleverly concealed in the bow of the instrument. It will fire a poison dart and you will never see the morning.”
He swallowed.
I motioned to the left to a female staff member trying to move two overly eager dancers away from the crowd. “That woman is an expert martial artist. She knows a dozen ways to pinch you and stop blood flow. The moment she gets near you, you get to feel a nice intense pressure and then have a sudden heart attack.” Her real name was Margaret Duchalles, another Constable like myself, but truly a combat specialist.
His eyes darted around the room, panic setting in.
I turned to the center. “And that man there, the one with the glass eye and the sour expression? He isn’t being paid to kill you. He’s part of a radical front that intends to use your death as a statement for his splinter organization.”
Girballon’s eyes were wide with fear. He was sipping his drink in a panic.
I chuckled and pulled the glass from his lips. “Don’t get too worked up. Don’t want you choking and doing their jobs for them.”
I put the glass on the bar and signaled to the bartender again. The signal wasn’t just for her benefit.
The martial artist bumped into the man with a glass eye, spinning him slightly to the side. As he moved into position, the bass player fired his dart. The man slumped and Margaret pulled him aside. “Oh my, sir, looks like you need some space,” she told him, and proceeded to carry the man into the back room for questioning.
I patted Girballon on the back. “Don’t drink too much. And remember, we’re watching you. From now on, you’ll run a legitimate enterprise, understood?”
“Y-yes,” he stuttered, then hastily sat the half-full drink on the bar top.
I walked toward the rear exit, following Margaret. I had an assassin to question before the day was through.
There was a notification on my pad, and I paused at the sound of it. I pulled the device out as I passed through the door to the kitchen staging area. The man with the glass eye was breathing heavily and his arm was blackened from blood necrosis. The message was from Shaw.
“Are you coming?” asked Margaret, looking up at me with the man’s arm around her neck.
“Give me a moment,” I told her.
She nodded and continued to the back.
I swiped my finger across the pad, initiating the retinal scan and unlocking the message. It was a response to a previous inquiry I had placed, based on something I hoped would serve as my next assignment.
RE: The Nun and the Albino Girl
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Warrior Queen
1
The weather was wild and harsh for the first three days of our hunt, the cold winds and heavy snow beating us back and slowing our work. It wasn’t until the fourth day that our luck finally turned around and the sun came out. Its light reflected off the eternally white expanse, and I had to shield my eyes against the glare as I scanned the valley before me.
It was beautiful, the blanket of snow that covered the world, resting below a wide and open cerulean sky, but as my father had told me once when I’d mentioned such a sight, beauty didn’t bring home supplies.
The landscape lay still and quiet in all directions, clear all the way to the distant mountains where one of the ancient facilities still stood, its broken towers and shattered doors hanging open for all who would come and see. I had only been there once, years ago when I was fifteen and my father insisted it was time I learned to travel. He had taught me how to hunt before, but never so far away from home where the danger was alive and hungry in the vast tundra.
I wiped my nose, sniffling in the cold air as my breath formed in front of me. Without the background of cutting wind and falling snow to conceal our movements, the four of us were forced to communicate using hand signals and hushed whispers. The last thing any of us wanted to do was spook the herd.
Cyril Visaro, the Director and leader of our colony, commanded the small hunting party. He was a tall man with wide shoulders and dark eyes.
He also happened to be my father.
We called our prey frost horns, named for the protrusions that grew out of their large skulls. They were crystalline horns, hard as stone and made of frozen water around a thin scaffolding core of hair. Our historian, Janus, said the Eternal scientists who’d settled here almost two thousand years ago had not considered them important enough to warrant naming, but we did.
The horn could break through thin layers of ice to find stores of water, score branches for out of reach lichen clumps, or spear an attacking wolf. These large animals weren’t known to be overly aggressive, but they would certainly protect themselves, especially in groups.
Most of what I wore now had come from one of the giant creatures. The white fur helped us to blend in with the snowy terrain and almost matched my hair perfectly. This was a convenience for those like me who didn’t care for bulky hoods that tended to get in the way.
I wondered if the scientists would have felt differently if they could see how integral the frost horns were to our survival. Indeed, the animals provided much needed oil, pelts, and bones that we used for crafting utensils and tools.
From the size of the tracks, I estimated the animal ahead to be an adolescent. It was of no consequence. Even a smaller frost horn could yield a worthwhile amount of resources, and any animal was more practice for me to hone my skills as a hunter.
A light crunch sounded behind me and I turned to see my father approaching. I might not have recognized him under his face shield and all the layers of clothing, but his weapon was unmistakable.
He’d scavenged the rifle as a boy of seventeen, the same age as me now, and modified it with a fusion core for his Selection Ceremony project, as was customary for those in the running to be chosen as the next leader.
When the Primes picked me as prospus--a term that meant a candidate or prospect--a few months ago, I’d almost done the same but had decided to work on something more unique instead. With Selectio
n just around the corner, I was nearly finished.
“Stay alert, Lucia,” he warned, pulling me from thoughts of the Prime Regency, whispering so his voice wouldn’t carry. “We aren’t the only ones hunting today.”
I whipped my gaze back to the valley, annoyed I had missed something, but it still looked empty. My father shook his head and pointed to his ear.
The other two hunters in our group had stopped and we all listened intently. My trainer, Alma, was the first to react. She gestured at the frost horn tracks, then indicated ahead and to the right.
Nero and I followed the prints down the base of the valley until they disappeared around a large outcropping of rock.
That was when I heard the clicking.
Only one thing on this planet made that noise. Boneclaws.
I could tell that Nero heard it too, because his form went stiff and his weapon jerked up a hair. It was a practical response. Boneclaws were savage monsters and even larger than the frost horns. Three lethal claws adorned the end of each thickly muscled arm that could strike with astounding speed and rip through flesh with little effort.
It had likely scented our game. With the calf separated from the herd, it would make for an easy meal. We didn’t have enough supplies to stay on the hunt much longer, and if we lost the calf we’d return home with nothing.
Despite that, a little thrill of excitement swirled through me. I’d seen Boneclaws before, but only from a distance. Unless they were dead. This would mark the first time I participated in a kill, and if it went well, there would be lots of praise and congratulations from the people at home.
My father stepped forward and motioned for us to follow. We moved slowly, careful of our steps. Boneclaws were blind but had excellent hearing. To have the best chance at killing it, and saving our catch, we’d need the advantage.
