by J. S. Fields
Kelm glanced down at the dark head of hair burrowing into hir arm. Xe took the child’s hand and gently stroked hir hair. “Yes, child, a very long meeting. Now it is time for both of us to sleep.” Kelm produced a fake yawn, which had the intended effect of making the child yawn as well. “See? We’re both tired. Let’s retire and see what tomorrow brings, shall we?”
The child nodded, and Kelm scooped Belm up and carried hir to bed. “Dream of a bright future,” Kelm said softly, turning out the light. Xe watched Belm curl into the thick, padded covering and smiled. The oncoming war might be out of hir hands, but Kelm knew xe had to find a way to protect Belm from being on one of those warships. Belm deserved a perfect future, and Kelm would use every resource at hir disposal to provide one.
Chapter 19: Mercy’s Pledge
This is an announcement for all members of the Charted Systems. Travel through the Callis Wormhole is, until further notice, restricted to sheriff purposes only. Interstellar travel will be rerouted through the Alusian Wormhole. In addition, the following materials will now be available in limited quantities due to supply chain disruptions: raw diamonds, titanium, refined methane, copper, and iron ore.
—General network broadcast within the Charted Systems, November 2nd, 2060 CE
“We should be able to see Quinone any moment now,” Neek announced from her seat onboard Mercy’s Pledge. Nicholas watched the tall woman battle fatigue while her fingers continued to fly across the computer screen—double-checking coordinates and maintaining constant communication with several Minoran contacts.
Nicholas stifled a yawn and squinted, hoping to spot the gas giant on the viewscreen. He knew none of the crew had slept much since escaping the Neek planet, to say nothing of having no time to do more than bandage their wounds. The heaven guards had escorted them past atmospheric security all the way to the Neek Wormhole entrance before intelligence personnel alerted the president—still alive, much to Neek’s disappointment. Three additional Neek settees had then relentlessly pursued Mercy’s Pledge through the Neek Wormhole and through the entire Alusian System. These ships were painted burgundy instead of crimson—a distinction Neek refused to elaborate upon, earning him a glare every time he brought it up.
The settees had tried to ground them near Missotona—the second inhabited planet in the Alusian System—but the captain hadn’t let Nicholas fire on the unarmed ships. That bothered the Journey youth more than he wanted to admit. Nicholas understood not wanting to make matters worse, but at some point, self-preservation had to be taken into account. Systems law was pretty straightforward on self-defense, and he’d proven himself with the laser turret. Shooting ferries during a questionable encounter was one thing—trying to keep the Pledge crew alive after both the Neek and the Risalians had tried to kill them was entirely different. He was enough of an adult to make that distinction.
Mercifully, they had gotten a break at Craston, Neek managing to wedge Mercy’s Pledge between two large Oorin drilling ships and flying tandem all the way to the Minoran Wormhole entrance. Neek had also managed to wheedle her uncle into giving her the comm number of Captain Elger Tang of the Galactic Baltec Wind, who happened to be privy to some rather delicate information about a derelict Risalian cutter currently in orbit around Quinone.
Nicholas wasn’t sure, but it seemed like Neek had come back from the dead with a suspiciously high amount of luck on her side. Since there appeared to have been a unanimous, unspoken decision not to talk about Neek’s death, Nicholas had chosen not to make any comments. He was tired of being verbally punched every time he spoke.
“There,” Yorden said, pointing to a glowing speck in the upper right section of the screen. “Quinone is just ahead. Another hour and we should be in orbit.”
“Captain Tang advises that we will need to proceed with caution,” Neek said, and Nicholas noted the strain in her voice. “There are three Minoran liners securing the immediate area around the cutter. They are under orders from the Risalians to block any access to the ship until a Risalian salvage team arrives.”
“We should be able to get an ID on the ship once we’ve got it on screen.” Yorden glanced at Nicholas. “If it’s the ship that has Emn, you’ll be working the laser gun again.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Neek murmured, her focus fixed on the computer monitor before her. “Captain Tang is already speaking with the other liner captains and explaining the situation.”
Nicholas looked at the captain in confusion. “Do you really expect the Minorans to side with a ship full of criminals over the Risalians?” he asked. The idea seemed ludicrous.
Yorden raised an eyebrow at Neek. “An excellent question. Do we, Neek? Your miraculous return from death has given you a decidedly inflated streak of good fortune. I’d hate for it to run out now and land the Pledge on the bad side of yet another system.”
“Captain Tang assures me that the Minoran government is sympathetic to our situation. She promises that she’ll have responses from the liner captains in another few minutes.” Neek sat up straight and wrenched her eyes from the console, scowling at Yorden. “Would you put the Ardulan on guns already?” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, indicating Nicholas. “Nikki here has a much more successful track record with repairing frayed wires than shooting live ships, and the Ardulan is trained for combat with mechanized weapons.”
The comment stung. He’d shot down more ships than Neek had.
Yorden looked warningly at Neek. “We’ve already had this discussion, Neek. I’m not having an uncommunicative, potentially abused and traumatized woman working our laser gun, no matter how good a shot she may be.”
That was too good to pass up. “You let Neek use guns all the time,” Nicholas pointed out.
Nicholas’s comment earned him a glare from the captain and a snort from Neek. He grinned and shrugged his shoulders. She’d had it coming. “Just an observation, Captain.”
“Apt though it may be,” Yorden responded through clenched teeth, irritation in his tone, “my ship—my rules. The Ardulan stays in the cargo bay. Nicholas is on laser. You, Neek, get to figure out some way to get us on that cutter if it turns out it is the one that took Emn.”
“It is the one that took Emn.” Neek looked ready to argue, but then her screen lit up with a message.
“Captain Tang says the liner captains have agreed to let the Pledge dock on the far side of the cutter. That positioning will hide us from approaching ships.” Neek paused her reading to push a stray strand of hair from her face before continuing. “The Risalian salvage crew is scheduled to arrive in just over an hour and a half. Captain Tang estimates at best a fifteen minute window between our arrival at the cutter and when we would need to depart in order to avoid visual contact.”
“We only get fifteen minutes to access their database?” Nicholas asked incredulously. It’d take them that long to dock. “If they have any type of encryption, we’re in trouble. Any chance you could, you know, sense her or something?”
He’d said the wrong thing. There was no biting retort, just silence from the pilot. Nicholas looked to Yorden, who stared back reproachfully. Unsure how best to apologize, he put his hand on Neek’s shoulder. The muscles tensed.
“I didn’t realize she was gone. I’m sorry.”
It was enough. “Yeah, well, when your god falls in your lap, then is taken from you, you come talk to me.” Her words were acerbic, but he heard the worry beneath them.
“Fifteen minutes to search an abandoned ship for information, when that information is in a language that none of us speak…it seems crazy. We can do it, just, well…” he trailed off.
Neek reached up and pushed Nicholas away, her fingers leaving small, wet spots on the top of his hand. “I died. I get to be a little crazy.”
It was a fair point. Nicholas looked up at the viewscreen. Quinone had grown from a small dot to a fuzzy, yellow planet. Beside it hovered a long, gray rod and three small, gray specks—presumably the cutter and t
he Minoran liners.
“I think crazy is an accurate description of the situation,” Yorden murmured in agreement. “One tramp versus a derelict Risalian cutter, an approaching Risalian cutter, and three potentially hostile Minoran liners.” The captain turned to Nicholas. “Didn’t you say your mother wanted you to be a lawyer?”
“Yeah,” Nicholas responded wryly, thinking back to the argument he’d had with his mom before departing on Journey. She’d wanted him to take the law school entrance exam before leaving. He’d “forgotten” to attend the testing day, choosing to apply for placement on a transport ship instead. She’d found out. “That profession has more appeal with each passing moment.”
* * *
Once the identity of the cutter was confirmed, Yorden ordered the immediate docking of Mercy’s Pledge. Neek performed the maneuver flawlessly, the Pledge shaking only slightly at the connection.
“We don’t have much time,” Yorden said. “Grab a respirator from the wall panel on your way out. Who knows what happened to the atmosphere inside the cutter?”
A shiver ran down Nicholas’s back as he snapped the elastic band that held the respirator around his head. The air coming from the gray mouth-and-nose cover smelled stale, and he wondered when the masks had last been recharged. The edges of the mouthpiece were sticky, which meant he knew for certain who had used it last.
“Watch your step!” Yorden called out, his voice muffled from the respirator as he stepped into the cutter. “We’ve got bodies.”
Nicholas’s eyes grew wide as he followed Neek into the cargo hold. There were six Risalians within his field of view, all wearing gray tunics and crumpled in horrible piles either on the floor or over storage bins, their faces frozen in silent shrieks. The floor and walls of the cutter were warped and jutted at strange angles, making it difficult to walk. It looked like one of those old Picasso paintings, and he really hated modern art. Smells filtered through the mask, only slightly diluted from the air scrubbers. There was the distinct smell of campfire and all of its components—seared meat, charred wood, and a lingering smokiness. In the woods, it would have been fine. On a ship, however…it made his stomach turn.
As the crew picked their way through the debris towards the door leading into the main section of the ship, Nicholas shuddered again and tried to will himself not to look at the bodies. Such a horrible loss of life, he thought to himself. The faces he was trying so hard not to look at continued to leer at him, eyes rolled back into their sockets and jaws wide. Nicholas caught himself imagining the screams and hastily tried to think of something else, the sounds his mind matched to the expressions too disturbing to consider.
“Bridge should be through this next corridor,” Yorden called out as the cargo door opened and he stepped into the hallway. His foot broke through a particularly soft area of floor, and the captain fell, cursing loudly. “Thirteen minutes before we need to be back on the ship. Watch your step.”
There were more Risalians in the hallway, some only partly visible from the buckled floor and remains of what appeared to be the ceiling above. All were clad in gray and all had the same horrifying expression on their faces. As the crew moved past briskly, the leg of Nicholas’s flight suit caught on a clubbed hand jutting at a ninety-degree angle from one of the bodies. The sudden resistance pushed Nicholas into a panic. The floor groaned in response as he yelped and jumped, landing just behind Neek. The caught arm tore away from the shoulder, making a crisp rrrrip sound in the silent hallway, exposing cartilage and tendons. A large swatch of skin dangled from the forearm, the inside a much lighter blue than the outside.
“They’re all so dark,” Neek said, not commenting on Nicholas’s shuddery breathing behind her. “Yorden, it’s almost like they’ve been burned.”
Yorden shivered too. “Or electrocuted,” he responded tersely.
“Think something went wrong with the ship’s electrical harness?” Nicholas asked. He’d had to repair the harness on the Pledge several times over the past few months. He’d received several nasty shocks, but nothing that would have led to this. “Maybe they got too close to the planet? What if they—”
Nicholas stopped talking as the crew turned a sharp corner. Yorden stumbled again but caught himself on the wall, which dented under his hand, and then looked down at the body beneath his feet.
“Is that…” Nicholas wasn’t sure he could finish the sentence. The Risalian underneath Yorden was missing the back of hir skull and hir entire nose, but there was no mistaking the face.
“Captain Ran,” Yorden muttered, his voice amplified in the silence. He took several wide steps to stay clear of the remains. “Looks like Cell-Tal’s stock just took a hit.”
“That’s a laser wound, Captain,” Nicholas said. “Do you think…” he trailed off and then tore his eyes from Ran, recognizing the door ahead. They could talk about the whys and wherefores later. Right now, they just didn’t have time, and Nicholas had a reasonable idea of where they were. “The bridge door is just up there,” he called out, pointing ahead. “At least, I think it’s the bridge. That’d be an awful lot of bright markings for a bathroom, that is.” He turned and gestured to Neek. “Hey, Neek, if we hurry we might be able to actually access their…”
Where was Neek? Exhaling loudly, Nicholas left the captain at the bridge door and backtracked down the last corridor. Just on the other side of the turn was Neek, frozen in place and staring down at some nondescript lump on the floor.
“Captain!” Nicholas called out to Yorden. The captain clomped back over and growled impatiently.
“Ten minutes, people—let’s move!” Yorden began to head back up the hall, but Nicholas grabbed his arm and nodded his head at Neek. Yorden turned, his expression souring. “If it’s a gun, Neek, just take it and keep moving. We don’t have time to linger.”
Neek continued to ignore both of them. The pilot shifted to the side and then knelt down beside what appeared to be a large, oblong plastic casing roughly the size of Nicholas’s torso. Nicholas looked to the captain, who shrugged his shoulders. Unsure what else to do, Nicholas walked over and knelt down as well. Up close, he realized the surface was more like rough cotton, tan and grainy, with a faint shimmer.
“Why are we wasting time with dead Risalians?” Yorden asked. The question was direct, but his tone was softer than it should have been. Clearly Nicholas was missing something. Determined to figure out what, he brought his right hand up and ran his fingers lightly over the top.
“Gross,” he said, a little too loudly, his voice echoing down the hall. “It’s all sticky.”
Yorden knelt down next to Neek, taking her hand in his. “Neek,” he tried again, this time in little more than a whisper, “what is going on?”
Neek’s eyes never left the cocoon. She ran two fingers down its length, her stuk absorbing into the casing upon contact. Nicholas saw a smile start at the corners of her mouth, but it never quite made it all the way across her face. Her body trembled, and she wrapped her arms around her chest, hugging herself.
“It’s Emn,” she said, her voice lilting.
“Huh?” Nicholas looked the casing up and down, trying to figure out what Neek was talking about.
Neek slid her hands under each end of the cocoon and lifted slowly until she was standing upright, the strange beige casing cradled gently in her arms.
“It’s Emn,” she repeated, her voice a wisp of sound. “She’s in metamorphosis.”
Chapter 20: Mercy’s Pledge
And when I saw what beauty lay
Beyond the clear night sky
I lifted up my voice in praise
Of that ephemeral lie
—Excerpt from Atalant’s Awakening, published in the Charted Systems, 235 AA
“We’re out of time!” Yorden called out as he yanked the respirator from his face and headed to the cockpit of the Pledge. “Neek, get the kid to the cargo hold with the other Ardulan and get back up here ASAP. Nicholas, to the laser. I’ll disengage us from t
he cutter and get the engines started.”
Neek paused long enough for Nicholas to remove her respirator before breaking into a sprint, her steps heavy with the weight of Emn’s chrysalis. As she barreled expertly around the familiar curves of the Pledge’s hallways, she searched the back of her mind, hoping to feel a hint of the young presence that had so completely enveloped her when it pulled her out of the soundless void of what she now assumed had been some sort of Neek death-limbo. The death part, however, she was trying not to think about.
Her fingertips slid against the surface of the cocoon as she ran, the mixture of her stuk and the sticky, wet surface making it difficult to gain a firm hold. There was no mental trace of Emn anywhere, just a large, oblong shell that Neek was trying desperately not to drop.
When Neek finally reached the cargo hold, the Ardulan woman sprang to her feet and ran over to Neek, eyes wide.
“I need you to watch her for a while,” Neek said, holding out the cocoon. “I’ve got some flying to do.” The Ardulan nodded, taking the chrysalis into her arms. Neek turned and then hesitated. Reaching back, she ran three fingertips over the surface. Be safe, little one, she sent. She listened for a long moment, hoping to catch a glimmer of consciousness. Nothing came. A heaviness settled in her gut and, after allowing another few moments to pass, she nodded to the Ardulan and resumed her sprint back to the cockpit.
“System is up and ready for you,” Yorden said as he vacated the pilot’s chair. “Nicholas is in position. According to Captain Tang, we have maybe thirty seconds before the Risalian cutter arrives. It’s enough to get us a head start. Do what you can.” The captain brandished an old soldering iron and a handful of extra fuses. “I’ll be on repair call.”
