by Rhonda Mason
He led the way, moving the hovercarts into the center of the large room and securing them to the floor with magnetic locks. Kayla scanned the armory’s contents. Like the small weapons caches found on each level, this armory had a supply of bullpups and hand weapons racked and easily available. The Yari’s molychromium skeleton could withstand several direct shots from these smaller plasma weapons if a firefight broke out on board. The ion pistols were also safe, but the larger plasma weapons, and all projectile weapons, were crated away in large armories like these, and usable for land-based combat only.
Who knew if the stepa would remember that fact…
“This is the last one today,” she said, watching Vayne’s sluggish movements as he set about releasing the clamps holding the first of the giant crates. Truth be told, she was more fatigued than she wanted to admit. Maneuvering in EMUs wasn’t exactly easy, and her body was feeling the lack of fuel. “No skipping lunch tomorrow,” she added. Even if it did take up precious time. He didn’t argue.
While Vayne floated the first crate to the cart, she turned her attention to the smaller weapons that were easily accessible in the racks. Their packaging cartons had been collapsed to the thickness of a datapad and stored in a compartment at the back of the armory. It was the work of seconds to pop them open and restore their rigid shape. She began packing the weapons away while Vayne did the heavy lifting. With this large an armory, it would take them several trips on the freight maglift to empty the room.
She glanced up from her work and caught the tightness of Vayne’s lips as he directed another crate through the air with his psi powers.
“You’re wearing yourself down too much.”
“It’s quicker to move them this way.”
“Maybe, but it’s not entirely necessary.” In the zero-g environment, she could just as easily remove a heavy crate from its moorings and push it into place on the cart, securing it with a magnetic clamp. “It’s not worth you exhausting yourself over.”
He never paused. “We can switch tomorrow.”
Her packing carton started to float away and she snatched it back. She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it. Vayne wasn’t Corinth. He was an adult; he knew his limits. And even if it pained her to watch her twin suffer in any small way, after all he’d been through, she wouldn’t bring it up again.
It was well into evening ship time when they guided their loaded carts down the corridor for the final trip to the maglift. They arrived only to find that the lift wasn’t waiting for them, as it had been all the other times.
Kayla jabbed the button to call the lift. No response. The message LIFT LOCKED displayed on the console screen. She blinked stupidly at it for a second, having been on autopilot for the last few hours of repetitious work.
“Vid?” She commed the upper level where Benny and Vid worked. “Are you guys still offloading that last shipment?”
No way they could be. All they had to do was pull the fully loaded hovercarts out of the lift, slide the previously emptied carts in, and send them down for Kayla and Vayne to fill.
“What are you talking about?” Vid sounded confused. “We sent the lift back after the last batch, about ninety minutes ago.”
Ninety minutes? “We sent crates up no more than forty minutes ago.”
All of a sudden the lift spun to life, the car dropping floors on a faint hum as the console tracked its descent.
“Frutt.” Kayla hadn’t brought a weapon—she wouldn’t have been able to fire it with the bulky EMU gloves. Which meant she was as toothless as she was defenseless, and only the void knew what was coming for them.
Suddenly everything was in motion, including her.
Vayne manipulated the hovercarts, pushing them to the front as he dragged Kayla backward and down behind the carts. In the space of three heartbeats, and without moving a muscle, he had them as safely situated as it was possible to be in the zero-g corridor.
I’m going to frutting murder you all. Kayla thought for the millionth time of the imperial soldiers who had attacked her world and somehow caused her to lose her psi powers five years ago. The soldiers who had made her so useless now.
The maglift eased to a stop on their level, and the doors opened to reveal…
Nothing.
The weapons were gone, and the thieves along with them.
9
“The weapons are just gone?” Natali sounded incredulous, and Malkor couldn’t blame her. It seemed absurd that dozens of weapons crates could vanish in the space of forty-five minutes, especially with Vid involved, one of Malkor’s most watchful agents.
Observation deck one remained silent in the wake of Natali’s question, despite being full of people. She paced in front of the massive bank of floor-to-ceiling viewports. She had to be as tired as anyone there, but her bearing was upright and regal to the point of stiffness. Her pale blue hair was pulled back in a ponytail nearly as severe as her frown.
Every eye in the room was on her, and Malkor was in no doubt that he was looking at the next leader of Ordoch—even in exile.
Captain Janus stood to one side of the viewports, head high, hands clasped behind her back in an “at ease, but still ready” pose. Benny stood beside her in a similar stance. Malkor had found it hard to believe that the captain, master of her ship for five hundred years, had agreed to fall under Natali’s command. That is, until he had seen Natali in her element. She’d come a long way from the glassy-eyed POW rescued from captivity just months earlier. There was so much of Kayla in her—they shared the same fierce determination, tireless drive, and physical prowess. They both burned with the need to free their people, but where Kayla was fiery in her passion, Natali’s scald seemed to come from a core temperature of absolute zero, and something about that put him off.
Or maybe it was just the look of disapproval Natali had given Kayla when she reported the missing weapons that he disliked.
Right now Kayla sat beside her twin on one of the few benches the observation deck boasted. They were both still in the liquid-cooled ventilation suits worn under spacesuits, having come straight from the lower levels. Tia’tan sat on Vayne’s other side.
Malkor stood a few meters away, one booted foot on a bench because he was too unsettled to sit. Likewise, Vid and Rigger had kept on their feet.
“And you don’t know which level they stopped at?” Natali didn’t need to specify who “they” were.
“We couldn’t search the levels via maglift,” Kayla said. “Not safely, at least.”
Malkor chimed in. “Riding the lift to each floor and opening the doors would have been asking for a faceful of plasma shot.”
“With no working cameras on those levels,” Vayne said, “it’s impossible to tell where the stepa took the weapons, or how many were involved.”
Natali nodded. “And so now the stepa are armed against us.”
“Heavily armed,” Kayla added. She especially would be feeling the weight of that truth.
Vid spoke for the first time since entering the room. “We need more people.”
“Not more of your people,” Natali said so quickly that distaste had to be her automatic reaction when faced with imperials.
“Fine, then what of your people?”Vid shot back just as quickly. “If we want to hold the Yari, we’ll need help from Ordoch.”
Malkor agreed. Moving armaments and stored food resources to the levels they could secure was a temporary solution at best. Without knowing the stepa’s objectives or plans, they couldn’t prepare, never mind go on the offensive.
“Have you asked the rebel leader for more troops?”
Natali stopped pacing and faced Vid head-on. “I do not need to ask. By all accounts Wetham did a fine job while I was incarcerated, but I am the rebel leader, now. They are my troops.”
Silence reigned for a second time.
Natali, Malkor mused, had a way of inspiring that.
Vayne finally spoke. “If we’re intent on salvaging the Yari”— and his tone impli
ed he thought that was a bad idea—“then we need to stop thinking of the stepa as crazy.” He turned his attention to the captain. “It took coordination and planning to steal those weapons—people working in a team and under a time constraint. This wasn’t the act of a group of brain-damaged zombies.”
“I not to call them zombies,” Ida said, her lips tight. “But troubles after reanimation their brains are having.”
“ Some of them are having troubles. And Gintoc certainly did. But you’re not.” Vayne gestured to Benny. “Neither are you, or Ariel, Larsa, or Tanet. It stands to reason that if your brains came through unscathed, theirs could have, too.”
“We not to have segregated crew being healthy, Vayne. Only being a last resort.” It was clear the captain resented this line of thinking. Ida claimed she and her crew had quarantined Itsy, along with others, as they became irrational. Locked them in crew cabins for their own good. Once Itsy escaped, Vayne and Tia’tan had discovered that the other cabins were empty as well.
“Well, someone thought they were sane enough to free them.”
“Or someone being insane enough to think so.”
Malkor broke in before things could become heated. “Neither of which we can determine at present, though I concur with Vayne’s assessment that at least some of the stepa are with it enough to plan the recent events.” He held up a hand to forestall whatever reply the captain had. “The crucial question is: how in the void did they know where we were working at each moment. It is not possible to have happened upon those weapons by accident.”
“They could be monitoring comms,” Tia’tan said, but she didn’t sound convinced that was the whole of it.
“Maybe, but to pinpoint with such accuracy…” It was an uncomfortable thought. Perhaps they should have bypassed the Yari and gone right to Ordoch. Crazy people running loose on the ship was bad enough. But well-armed crazy people—or not so crazy, as the case may be—with access to inside intel? The risks might outweigh the benefits.
“Captain.” Larsa entered the observation deck just then, interrupting. Her gray jumpsuit was liberally stained, crusty in more than one spot from some kind of solvent or epoxy. Her short, blue-green hair was mussed and she wore a look of defeat. Corinth trailed in despondently after her.
“I can’t do it,” she said without preamble. “I’m not being sure it can be possible.”
Natali stopped her pacing dead. “The hyperstream drive?”
“Aye. It being a right muddled mess.” She shook her head in disgust.
::Gintoc’s plans are hard to decipher.:: Malkor heard what he recognized as Corinth’s voice in his head, and the others must have as well. ::He wrote a lot in a shorthand, which is tough enough. Additionally, his schematics keep changing— we think due to the insanity that was creeping in.::
“And being modern parts that rebels bringing us, mixed with old…” The look she gave the captain spoke of her frustration. “I am not thinking it possible. At least not with five-hundred-year-old expertise mine.”
If the stolen weapons infuriated Natali, this news threatened to send her into orbit. “It has to be done. What if you had help? An engineer from Ordoch?”
“I not to be knowing,” but Larsa looked like she did, and it looked like the answer was still no. “Rebels not having access to parts being top of the line, or even compatible at times.”
“I’ll speak to them, we’ll get better parts. Anything you need.” Natali switched from shock to action in seconds. “And I’ll get you an engine expert.” She sounded utterly confident, no hesitation. Her gaze locked onto Kayla and Vayne. “It’s time the ruling family had a sit down with Wetham and his lieutenants.”
* * *
Hours later, Kayla shifted her position on the tiny bunk in Malkor’s cabin. It was the middle of the night and they were tangled limb for limb in a jumble. Her healing arm throbbed dully and her foot was asleep, but every ache was worth it for the warmth that filled her heart. If she could spend every night with him like this for the rest of their lives, she would count herself blessed.
Though, with the way things are shaping up on the Yari, that might not be all that long.
The dark thought intruded on her bliss. By the chronometer’s dim glow, she traced Malkor’s features with her gaze. Every line and plane was dear to her, every scar familiar. That she might lose him, when they’d only just begun their lives together, was too painful to contemplate.
“I can feel you staring at me,” he said without opening his eyes, his lips curving into a grin.
She kissed his brow. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Liar.” He disentangled his hand and cupped her face to kiss her properly. Sleepy kisses in the dark that spoke of love. It was a long moment before they came up for air.
“What has you awake and worrying at this hour?”
“Who says I was worrying?” She threaded her fingers through his and turned his hand so that it lay against her chest.
“The day you stop worrying is the day you stop breathing.”
A true, if depressing, statement. The life of a ro’haar.
“I dislike the idea of staying aboard the Yari.”
“You and me both. Not that the octet can’t handle themselves in dangerous situations, but I’m not keen on putting their lives on the line if it’s not absolutely necessary.”
She smiled. “Trinan and Vid would tell you to stop babying them.”
“As if you’re any better with Corinth and Vayne.”
“Fair.”
“At least they have the added protection of psi powers.”
“Shields are no defense against a plasma blast.”
“I’m not talking about that. The way Fengrathen threw us against the wall like dolls—even unarmed, she could have killed us with little effort. Do you have any idea what an advantage telekinetic powers are in a fight?”
Did she ever, now that she might be fighting psionics instead of just imperials.
He shifted to pull her closer. “Sorry, but you know what I mean.”
“Moving to Ordoch might not be any safer: we’ll be at the same disadvantage.”
“But we wouldn’t be locked in a molychromium can ripe with opportunities for explosive decompression.”
“I don’t see that we have another option. You heard from Ardin, the empire sent the first wave of battleships from Operation Redouble. We won’t win the rebellion without a way to threaten those ships, no matter how many boots we have on the ground.”
“Ilmena’s ships?”
Kayla sighed. “Tia’tan doesn’t think they’re as far along in repairs as they’re claiming. They’d been junkyarded, left to corrode away on one of Ilmena’s moons.” The same was true for Ordoch’s ships, once interplanetary conflicts between the Wyrds became a thing of the past. They were entirely too costly to maintain, especially when they were never needed generation after generation. Once the military was forced out of power on Ordoch, the battleships reached the end of their lifespan.
“There’s no telling when Ilmena’s ships will be ready,” she said, “and it’s crucial that we stop the empire before they establish new military bases on Ordoch.” Or else they would have a long and protracted war that could destroy her world whether they won or not.
“Are the Yari’s offensive capabilities really that powerful? At five hundred years old?”
“Wyrd tech will always be superior,” she answered quickly. Too quickly? Was that reality, or the imaginings of a smug race who thought themselves superior? “I don’t actually know,” she was forced to admit. “Once we secure the Yari from the stepa—”
“If.”
“ Once we secure it,” she insisted, “we’ll go over the exact weapons spec with Benny and compare them to what you know of the imperial arsenal. The Yari was the most confidential project in our planet’s history. Very little detail was released to the public, and then only in carefully scripted propaganda vids.”
Her jaw cracked with a yawn before sh
e could stop it, and Malkor yawned in sympathy. “You need to sleep if you’re going to present a ‘royal face’ to the rebellion leaders in the morning.”
“Ugh.” Just the idea of presenting herself as a member of the “royal family” made her feel pompous. So much had changed in the last five years.
“There will be plenty of time for worrying tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that…”
She lightly slapped his shoulder. “I get it.” With some difficulty she managed to roll over without falling off the bunk. She snuggled back into Malkor’s warm body and did her best to turn off her worries.
For the next few hours, at least.
* * *
Vayne lay on his back in his bunk and stared at the dark ceiling of his quarters. Middle of the night and he was alone with his thoughts—not a good place to be.
It had been decided that he, Natali, Kayla, and Uncle Ghirhad would travel through the Tear, which opened underground on Ordoch near the main rebel base, to meet with Wetham and his lieutenants. Initially, Natali included Corinth in the party, wanting the full might of the Reinumon family represented. Kayla had refused this, and when Corinth argued, Kayla shot Natali so severe a look that their sister ordered him to stay on the Yari, ending the debate.
Vayne had also argued, but in the opposite direction. The Tear was a risk only an idiot would take. The thing twinkled like a long-distance star, its brilliance and size fluctuating with no discernible pattern. Cinni, the girl assigned to travel through the Tear with new parts for the ship—who had subsequently blasted her head off in a drug-fueled fit of depression and remorse—told him it hadn’t done that initially. And that it was getting worse. The Tear could close at any minute, taking them to Ordoch without a way back, or, more likely, disintegrating them.
However, Natali had decided it was important for the Reinumon family to make a formal appearance on Ordoch, not only to reinforce their commitment to the rebellion, but to inspire the troops. And when Natali had looked directly at him, when she had said I need you to do this, every horrible act he had done to her under Dolan’s control rose up between them—every betrayal, every violation—and he could do nothing but agree.
