by Edward Zajac
“You keep saying that,” said Zagarat, looking perplexed. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“Sorry,” said Fletcher. “Force of habit. Aurora tends to blame me for everything.” He reached out his hand, helping Zagarat to his feet. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” said Zagarat, squinting at the pain. “I think so.”
“Good,” said Fletcher. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
“Command issued a shipwide alert for your capture. Preferably alive, but not necessarily alive. I don’t what you did, but it really pissed Xena off.”
“Why do you automatically assume it was my fault?” said Fletcher. “How do you know they weren’t tracking your,” he motioned towards Zag’s hybrid computer, “whatever the hell that is?”
“Because if they had, they would have come looking for me,” said Zagarat, becoming irate. “But they didn’t. They’re after KweeKore, you sunning lunatic!”
Fletcher licked his lips as he considered the notion. “Good point.” He picked Betty up from the ground. “Get on your computer thingy and see what else you can learn. I’ll be right back.”
Holding Betty beside his right ear, Fletcher typed in the door’s code and then dove out into the hallway.
he lights in the conference room dimmed and flickered before surging back to life.
“What the stars was that?” said Xena, clutching the armrests of her chair.
“Give me a moment,” said Leevee, his fingers dancing across his PCD. “Stars and Suns. Engines one and three have just failed.”
“How is that possible?” said Xena. “This ship is brand new.”
“I don’t know,” said Leevee, continuing to manipulate his screen. “Engines two and four are still nominal. But one and three are gone.”
“How bad is this?” asked Xena. “Do we need to abandon ship?”
“Give me a moment,” said Leevee. His eyes darted from side to side as he scrolled through his screen. Then he sighed. “No, we’re fine. All the safeguards are in place. The stasis fields are holding. We’ll be fine, for now.”
“Good,” said Xena, heaving a sigh of relief. “Get some engineers down there as quickly as possible. Hopefully, we can fix it ourselves.”
“I’m on it,” said Leevee, his fingers moving with alacrity.
“Excuse me,” said Dahlia, sheepishly. “I know this isn’t a good time, but may I be excused. I’d like to check on the Weiylans if I may.”
“Of course,” said Xena, waving her hand absently. “Go.” She turned towards Gevron, ire gleaming in her eyes. “Tell me we have that fellot.”
“The guards are trying to apprehend him now.”
“Show me.”
A transparent hologram appeared in the middle of the conference table. Four guards were lying motionless on the ground, while another eight guards were standing outside the storage room, weapons at the ready.
“Where is he?” asked Xena.
And then Xena learned where he was—in the hallway.
It all passed in the blink of an eye. The door opened and something slammed into the first two guards, sending them flying into a far wall. Then there was the flash of laserfire and the other six guards fell to the ground, wisps of smoke rising from the pulseblasts in their chests.
Only one sentient remained standing.
“KweeKore,” said Xena, hatred dripping from every syllable. She turned. “Leevee, Eclipse him. Now.”
“I’m on it,” said Leevee, working his digital magic. Then he suddenly stopped.
“What?” said Xena concerned. “What is it?”
“According to this, KweeKore hasn’t left that storage room for hours.”
Xena slowly rose to her feet, her eyes set on the hologram. “He’s not KweeKore.” The hologram suddenly shimmered and dissolved. “What happened now?”
“We lost all our camera feeds,” said Leevee. “I’ve got nothing.”
“Send every guard we have after him. I want him dead. Do you hear me? I want him dead!”
ime had no meaning for Zagarat. He might have been standing there a few seconds or possibly a few hours. He didn’t know, and he didn’t care. All he cared about was getting the suns out of there. Getting back to his mother. Getting back home.
But he didn’t know if that was even possible. Not only was the ship on full alert, now engines one and three were out of commission. And soon, he might be as well.
Zag looked down at his trembling hands. They never mentioned this part in the Ginley Aust novels either. The utter fear that coursed through his body like a runaway skip without a skipper.
He had to get of here. But how? They’d see his every move the minute he left this room.
Zagarat blinked and the ship came into focus. More precisely, his supercomp on the other side of the storage room came into focus.
That was it.
He hurtled over what remained of Fort FletchandZag, sliding across a deusteel crate. It was nearly graceful, save for the slight stumble at the end. He reached inside the access panel, fumbling with the myriad cables until he found the ionic cable he needed. With a triumphant grin, he tugged the cable free of its coupling and then did the same with a red P-80 conduit.
He took a deep breath, holding both cables out at arm’s length. He really hoped Ginley Aust was right about this. If not, then he was about to write a fan sequel to her bestseller BYE BYE, BAD GUY called BYE BYE, ZAG GUY.
“Here goes nothing,” said Zagarat, grimacing.
He coupled the cables together. Then immediately wished he hadn’t.
The pain was instantaneous. A quick jolt of energy the likes of which Zagarat had never experienced in his life. It began in his fingertips, like a billion bolts of electricity pricking every nerve in his hand. Then it traveled up the superhighway of his arm like a criminal fleeing the authorities, skidding past his elbow, careening around his shoulders, and accelerating up the ramp of his neck until bursting through his eyeballs in an agonizing white flash before darkness enshrouded his mind.
Zagarat’s eyes popped open when someone slapped him hard across the face.
“Oh, you’re all right,” said Fletcher, sighing. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Um,” said Zagarat, gazing about the room “I, um, coupled the ionic cable and the… and the… Do you smell bacon? Why do I smell bacon?”
And he couldn’t close his eyes. Why couldn’t he close his eyes?
“Zag!” said Fletcher, shaking him hard. “What did you do? I need to know.”
“I, um, I knocked out their comms. I think.”
“You knocked out their comms?” said Fletcher, sounding amazed. “Completely?”
“No,” said Zagarat, trying to close his eyes and failing. “Just basic communication and camera feeds. I thought it might help.”
“You glorious bastard,” said Fletcher. “I’d kiss you if we had more time.” He pulled out a flak jacket and helmet then handed them to Zagarat. “Put these on. We have to go.”
“Why do I have to put that on?” said Zagarat, finding it hard to do that thing the brain normally did on its own. Think, that was it. Think.
“Because it’ll protect you,” said Fletcher. “And they won’t be able to see your face.”
“Oh,” said Zagarat, unable to find any fault with that plan. “Okay.”
Fletcher helped him change, mostly because Zagarat couldn’t do it himself. He found it difficult to even slip the helmet over his head. But with Fletcher’s help, he did.
“You look good,” said Fletcher, admiring him. “You can’t even see the missing eyebrows.”
The words hit Zagarat like a slap across his cerebral cortex. “I’m sorry. What now? I don’t have any eyebrows?”
“What? No,” said Fletcher, defensively. “I was just kidding. Besides, your hair looks better spiked like that. Now, come on. We have to go.”
Fletcher led the way out into the hallway, scanning the corridor from end to end. Zagarat followed close
ly behind him. Or did until he saw Fletcher’s handiwork.
The hallway was littered with guards. Eight had gaping holes in their chests and foreheads while another two were bent in ways most bipeds weren’t meant to bend without breaking.
“How the suns…”
“Take this,” said Fletcher, pressing a pulesrifle into Zag’s chest. “Just in case.”
“Okay,” said Zagarat, awkwardly taking the rifle.
“You know how to use it?” asked Fletcher.
“I think so,” said Zagarat, charging the weapon just like in UGSK.
“Good,” said Fletcher. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” asked Zagarat.
“To the hangar bay. I just have to find a maintenance shaft that will take us there.” Fletcher brought his finger to his lips. “If I were a maintenance shaft, where would I be?”
Zagarat removed an illumi-tile with a pop, revealing an access shaft behind it. “Here.”
“Stellar,” said Fletcher, impressed. “How did you know that was there?”
“I studied the ship’s schematics while you were off screwing things up.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t screw anything…” Fletcher pushed Zag’s head down, and fired at something in the distance. There was a loud thud. “Up. This one was not my fault.”
Fletcher continued to argue his case as they entered the maintenance shaft, the privateer securing the illumi-tile behind them.
ost sentients might have felt a pang of guilt for having set up Fletcher like that. But not Dahlia. She didn’t feel anything at all. No aching regret or upset stomach. Nothing. After all, Fletcher and the other one meant nothing to her. All that mattered was saving Rama and the Weiylans. They were the closest thing she had to a family. Granted, it was a dysfunctional family where she was the black sheep, or in this case bluish-white sheep, but it was a family nonetheless.
The only family she had now that Qassi was dead.
Dahlia fought back the tears. She had to finish his mission. She had to make them pay for what they did to the Weiylans. They had to pay for ruining her life.
Qassi had been like a father to her. He raised her, took care of her. Suns, she wouldn’t even have Rama in her life if it wasn’t for Qassi. He was a man of honor and they killed him.
She had begged him to stop fighting, telling him that he was too old to start this all over again. But he wouldn’t listen. And now, he was dead.
Dahlia sniffled back the tears. If she had been there, maybe she could have…
No, she reminded herself. She hadn’t killed Qassi. Stann had ordered his execution and since she could no longer kill Stann, she was going to exact her revenge here and blow these bastards back to Dailen, the Weiylan God of all that was evil and unholy. And if that meant sacrificing Fletcher and the other one in the process, then so be it.
Dahlia fought back even more tears. She had done some truly horrid things in order to ingratiate herself into Xena Xa’s good graces. She had tortured and killed, all the while pretending that she didn’t care about the Weiylans. That she was simply a hybrid freak who dreamed of credits, power, and ultimately the respect of all sentients everywhere.
But she did care. For the first thirty days, she silently cried herself to sleep every night until the well of tears simply dried up. Until she became the hard woman she was now.
But it was all worth it when Xena invited her to join her newest venture.
Galustay.
Dahlia happily accepted the assignment, slowly biding her time in order to study the ship. Over the weeks, she learned all of its vulnerabilities. Learned all the escape routes. Learned exactly where to place the explosives. All she needed was a good distraction and her plan might work.
Then, as if sent by the Cosmic Creator himself, came Fletcher Griffin. The perfect distraction. While the guards hunted him down, she and the Weilyans could escape, so long as they made it onto the ship in time.
Dahlia glanced down at her timer. Suns. Only thirty minutes left. She had to hurry.
She recognized the guard outside Hangar Bay A. He was a Lassen named Gilop.
“You can’t be here,” said Gilop as she approached. “We’re on lockdown.”
“There’s been an explosion,” said Dahlia. “KweeKore sabotaged our engines.”
“I know,” said Gilop. “I heard the alert from command.”
“Of course,” said Dahlia, dropping her head low. “My apologies. But then you understand why I am here. I must make sure Madam Xa’s ship is ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“If it was so important, she would have commed me directly, you hybrid binta.”
Dahlia stifled her barbed response. “I’m sure she tried. But the comms are overwhelmed right now.” Dahlia dropped to her knees, hugging his legs tight. “Please let me go in. I don’t want to disappoint Madam Xa. She’s all I have in the universe. Please. Please.”
“Fine,” said Gilop after a moment’s hesitation. “Fine. Just be quick about it.”
“Thank you,” said Dahlia, kissing Gilop’s feet. “Thank you so much.”
Dahlia continued to smile dumbly until the bay doors opened. Then once she was certain that Gilop could not see her, her face morphed from grateful to severe as she walked inside.
Xena Xa’s ship took up most of the small hangar. It was a massive Starlight Excelsis class freighter, its white façade mottled with small black dots. A long gangway led up to the cargo hold, the medical equipment visible even from Dahlia’s vantage point.
She sprinted up the ramp, through the cargo bay, and into the cockpit.
“What the suns is going on out there?” said the Lassen pilot, swiveling around in his chair. “I’ve been trying to comm command, but I can’t get through.”
“Someone’s sabotaged the ship’s engines,” said Dahlia, feigning her very best damsel in distress. She always hated that pathetic persona, but sadly, it nearly always worked.
“What?” said the pilot, pushing himself upright. “Who would do something like that?”
Dahlia grabbed him by the throat. “Me,” she said, squeezing with all her might. There was a loud crunch and the pilot crumpled to the ground.
One down. Countless more to go.
Dahlia scrambled back outside, pausing at the ramp. “Hey!” she exclaimed, waving at Gilop. “Come quick. Something’s happened to the pilot.”
The guard immediately leapt into action, charging his pulserifle as he ran inside the ship. Dahlia followed close on his heels, nearly running into him when he paused inside the cockpit.
“Who did this?” asked Gilop, looking around.
Dahlia answered by shooting him twice in the back.
One more down. A lot more to go.
Dahlia dragged the pilot and Gilop into the corner, piling one lifeless body on top of the other, cold determination burning in her eyes the entire time. She sat down in the captain’s chair, running her hand along the console. It looked like a basic Starlight design, a user-friendly interface that was similar to one she had flown on Feytor Feytor Aye.
Dahlia grinned. She could fly this. This was going to work.
There was just one other matter to deal with.
Helda stood outside the Weiylan hangar, weapon at the ready. Dahlia had never seen the guard’s face before, she always wore a respirator similar to KweeKore’s, but Dahlia was fairly certain it would be cold and austere, if her personality was any indication.
“What is going on?” demanded Helda.
“Someone’s sabotaged the ship,” said Dahlia, desperately. “Madam Xa ordered me to check on the Weiylans.” She dropped to her knees. “Please let me check on the Weiylans.”
“Stop begging, you worthless hybrid,” said Helda. “Have some self-respect.”
“I don’t have any,” said Dahlia. “I only live to serve. Please help me. Please.”
“Okay, okay,” said Helda. “I’ll open the door. Just be quick about it.”
Helda
typed in the code and the doors creaked open. The stench from inside was horrific, instantly watering Dahlia’s eyes. With a shake of her head, she ignored the stench and strode inside.
She looked around. All the Weiylans were inside, smiling at her. All save one.
Rama.
Dahlia swore under her breath. He was late. He was sunning late.
“Is everyone all right?” asked Helda.
“Not everyone,” said Dahlia. She ripped the rifle from Helda’s grasp and struck her hard in the gut. The guard buckled in half, a puff of air escaping her respirator. Tossing the rifle aside, Dahlia grabbed the guard by the neck and waist and carried Helda over to the open deusteel container, hurling her inside as if disposing of a bag of garbage.
There was a loud thump followed by another. Then another. A few moments later, Dahlia emerged from the container. She wiped her hands clean, smearing a dark red goo onto her pant leg.
The Weiylans “oohed” in unison like an expansive a Capella group.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Dahlia, absently. “I know. It’s not Kahpuani.”
Gamma walked directly up to Dahlia, shaking his head. “Dahly non merede. Non merede.”
Dahlia sighed. She had no time for his recriminations now. She had to get them out of here before any guards showed up. “Weiyla ee na,” she said, waving her hands. “Malawa, malawa.”
It took longer than Dahlia would have liked to wrangle the Weiylans onto the ship as each and every one of them felt compelled to admonish her for harming another sentient. By the end, she actually kicked a few in the backside just to hurry them up, which was perfectly acceptable.
Even after all these years, Kahpuani still made no sense to her.
Once they were all safely inside, Dahlia ran back outside. She scanned the area but Rama was still nowhere to be seen.
She took out her comm. “Rama, where the suns are you? We have to go, now.” There was no response. “Rama. It’s me, Dahly. Are you there?”
The comm suddenly crackled. “Ha, ha, Hi, Dahly,” said a craggy voice, soft and weak.
