“Who is this?” Sela asked. It did not seem right to talk above a reverent whisper in front of the frowning giant.
“Sela Tyron, meet Helio Veradin.” Veradin’s voice hitched in guilt or sadness, perhaps both. “The man who raised me. My uncle.”
“Helio.” She rolled the name over her tongue, like a forbidden taste.
“You would have liked him, Ty. He enjoyed bossing me around, too.”
Sela nudged him with an elbow, but turned away slightly to hide her grin.
Veradin stepped closer. “My parents died. I don’t remember them. Erelah was an infant. We lived with Uncle after that.”
Here was another rare glimpse of her captain. Sela panned the torch over the remainder of the enormous alcove that was the Veradin Kindred tomb. There were six other statues, smaller in size. Half were male. Half were female. All carved in similar states of repose, and all wore dour expressions. A gentle ambient light slowly filled the vault, making it easier to see the rich detail of the room. She realized that they must have tripped a sensor on their approach. The corridor seemed to be warming as well.
“They look really…” Sela could not think of a word that would not insult.
“Solemn?”
“Upset.” They looked pissed that anyone would want to stuff their corpse into a stone box and then put it on display.
“I guess anyone would be, considering how the Council of First treated them for believing the Humans could have been the palari.” He turned to her. “Imagine your whole life worshiping something, only to find out you were wrong.”
“Are your parents here too, sir?” Sela asked. The one called Uncle looked nothing like her captain.
“They were just servants, Ty.” The light of his torch picked out script near the shoulder of Uncle. “But their names are there.”
Sela swallowed. “Read it to me.”
He took her hand. This time she did not pull away. With her fingers, he traced the shapes in the stone as he read the words.
“In memory of those lost: Jonah and Meredith. Miri guide you home.”
A sadness filled his voice, as if he had forgotten something vital. It made her chest tighten. She realized she had been staring at him. Sela cleared her throat and regarded the visage of Uncle.
“Is his body really here?”
“No. He was cremated and rests in a tidy little urn in the gallery of First. I imagined as some sort of example against renegade Kindred. I’m sure his eternal spark is tormented by that fact.”
Sela frowned. They had burned him.
“It’s not like he was alive when they did it, Ty,” he said with a dry chuckle once he saw her expression.
Embarrassed, she looked away, panning the light across the room’s other eternal occupants.
Veradin placed his hand on the crest decorating his uncle’s chest.
“My boy, what have you done?”
They both started at the disembodied voice. Sela’s rifle was in hand instantly. She bodily moved Veradin behind her, backing him against the wall of the crypt.
“Identify yourself!” she challenged, searching the dim corners.
“Stand down, Ty.” Veradin guided her arm down to train the weapon on the floor.
The hum of a hologrid crackled to life on the floor before Helio Veradin’s statue. A male form, identical to the likeness of Veradin’s uncle but more realistic in stature, flickered once and then solidified.
Sela felt suddenly foolish for over-reacting—after all, it was only a program. But still an urgent sense of danger jangled her nerves. This was wrong, different beyond any forbidden glimpse into the world of her superiors.
“An avatar?” Sela spared a glance at her captain.
At the sound of her voice, the avatar’s simulated gaze trained on her.
Its tone was flat: “Identity of second presence is unknown. This message is secured. This message is intended for Jonvenlish Onid Veradin, Son of House Veradin.”
On a basic level, Sela was not surprised. After all, she was just a breeder. Somehow, this thing had recognized her as that.
“Bloody Uncle,” Veradin muttered. He stepped forward. “I’m Jonvenlish Veradin, Son of the Veradin Kindred.”
“Confirmed.”
Her captain held out a beckoning hand to Sela. She stepped to his side with the plasma rifle still ready.
“Identify second occupant as non-hostile,” Veradin said.
She snorted. Now that was funny.
Veradin shot her a warning look before turning back to the avatar: “Identify second occupant as Commander Sela Tyron, soldier of the Regime.”
“Jonvelish Veradin identified. Second occupant identified.”
The posture of the avatar relaxed, returning to a more lifelike stance. Head tilted, it regarded Sela before looking to the captain.
“The soldier cannot be here, Jon. What I have to say is only for you and Erelah to hear.”
It looked back at Sela. “Commander Tyron, you cannot remain. This message is not for your ears.”
Sela instantly turned to leave. She’d had enough of strange crester customs and insults for one day. But Veradin sighed and grabbed her good arm.
“Command override,” the captain groused. “Authorization seven…velda—“
“Command override does not exist.”
“Commander Tyron is an ally of the Veradin Kindred,” her captain snapped, before adding a comment in High Eugenes.
The avatar replied in the same language. More nonsense words to Sela. Then her captain’s posture changed, sagging. It was plain he would not get his way.
“You can’t be here, Ty.” He looked down at the floor, defeated.
“Yes, Captain.” Sela said quietly. “I’ll go back to the ship.”
“Ty.” He turned to look at her. “I’m sorry.”
Sela granted him a terse nod before moving into the corridor. As the dimness of the corridor enfolded her, she felt her throat tighten under alien tears.
15
I should not have left him there. That was wrong.
As she cycled the hatch closed to the Cassandra, the words came to Sela over and over, like one of Lineao’s useless prayers.
Something was very wrong here. There was secrecy and shadows. Sela was not a being of nuance and subterfuge. She fed on actions and their ensuing results. In this new realm she would surely starve. Her hands folded into fists. There was nothing to fight here. No target.
My boy, what have you done?
The first words from Helio’s avatar.
The greeting was not exactly a pronouncement of welcome or loving joy left for a long lost relative. The words were filled with admonishment.
Have you done something, Captain?
Muttering a string of directionless curses, she climbed the ladder to the command loft. There were things to do: sys checks, fuel calibration for atmo.
Later. She would think about all this later, she lied to herself. It was one of her favorite bad habits. So, she forced herself to focus on the battered screens of the command loft.
Time crawled past.
Just as Sela’s worry was starting to solidify and she was ready to grab her gear and return to the vaults, she heard the cycle of the outer hatch of the ship’s midsection. Quickly she launched herself down to the common passage.
Veradin entered on a gust of frigid wind. He bent over, taking in the warmer recycled air of the Cass with giant gulps. Eyes shut, he slid down the wall of the pressure lock to rest his forearms on this knees.
“Sir?”
He opened his eyes, but he did not look at her. Instead he stared at the wall ahead.
Broken. He’s been broken.
Sela was struck with the undeniable feeling that although he did not appear injured, Jonvenlish Veradin had been seriously damaged. She stood over him and triggered the hatch to cycle shut. Hesitantly, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sir?”
He flinched as if startled. Suddenly, he pitched forward to hi
s knees. His arms encircled her legs in a clinging embrace and he rested his head against her stomach.
Sela froze. Her hand cradled the top of his head in a reflex. She had never touched him before like this. She had never seen him this way.
“What is it, sir? Are you injured?”
Outside the winds howled like spike hounds looking for a way in.
His voice was muffled against the fabric of her uniform. “Forgive me. I didn’t know, Ty.”
“Forgive what? What’s happened, sir?”
She gazed down at the top of his head. Her heart stammered in time with her brain: Broken. He’s broken.
He pulled away so sharply, she staggered.
“Captain?”
Climbing to his feet, he retreated to the command loft without answering.
As Sela pulled up the small ladder with her good arm, the deck lurched. The engines roared in protest as he forced the Cass into a rapid ascent.
His back was to her as he quickly entered commands into the interface.
“I don’t understand. What’s happened, sir? Where are we going?”
He did not turn. “Stop calling me that.”
“Captain?”
“That! Stop it!”
It stung. A sudden swell of anger eroded her trepidation.
“Then answer me!”
But still he did not face her.
“I didn’t know. I couldn’t have known.”
“Known what? What did that… thing say to you, sir?” Sela jostled his shoulder.
Finally Veradin turned. His eyes were red-rimmed. He drew in breath, hesitated. “Ty, you have to understand. I didn’t know. Uncle never told me—”
The proximity alert split the air. Another ship was on approach.
No.
Sela dove for the sens-con, colliding with her captain.
Not now.
She frowned at the specs on the newly arrived vessel that was just approaching the outer reaches of Newet’s thin atmo. The craft was too small. A ship that size would not be so far from conduit space on its own. It needed a carrier or a base for support. There was nothing like that out here. No way would either have escaped their notice.
“That can’t be right.” Veradin echoed Sela’s thoughts, reaching past her for the controls.
“It’s reading right… sir.” Sela swatted his hand away.
“A ship that small has no range, has no support.”
“Another crester come to look at their dead relatives?”
“I doubt it, Ty.”
Sela studied the specs again. The signature matched a non-velo drive vessel, but the energy reads were enormous.
“Let’s get the mains back on. Fast.” He seemed to have surfaced from whatever crisis had seized him.
Sela flipped to the enginesys and grimaced at what she saw. The smuggler who owned this bucket had been a brave one indeed. The Cass needed serious dry dock time. The velo drives had so far proven reliable, but the sub-light burners were another story. It was as fast a ship as any self-respecting blockade runner would want, but the non-reg upgrades were problems waiting to happen.
“This is going to be ugly,” she muttered. At least if we explode, there will be nothing left to capture.
Veradin ran a hand through his hair, mussing it further. It made him look even more crazed. Perhaps that was why she was not surprised at his next order.
“Do a pass. Five hundred.”
Sela gaped. “So we can do what…. wave at them, sir? Our weapons are antiques.”
He was being irrational. They needed to leave. Now. One stryker could mean a carrier on its way. They needed to evade, not go on the offensive in a poorly armed rust bucket with a cancerous cesium manifold.
“Ty, trust me,” he said.
I did. I do. But her trust was being seriously tested now.
“Call it a hunch, Commander.” A pleading note entered his voice.
A hunch.
She hated it when he used that word. It meant he was guessing. And it often meant Sela Tyron got to be mop up.
With an impatient growl, she made the change.
They waited in silence as the Cass glided in closer to the new vessel. Their attention was split between the reads and the forward display on the screen.
The tiny ship seemed to coalesce out of the dim gray of low orbit. It was a very familiar shape, yet there was something different about it.
Veradin muttered something in High Eugenes, his tone sounding incredulous.
Then she saw why.
It was a stryker. The jutting nose and forward arch of the wings were unmistakable. But instead of the customary flat black with green-and-yellow markings, the craft was an uneven silver.
He studied the reads. “The engine signature is… different.”
“No weapons.” Sela found it hard to believe the sens-con. Who would neuter a warship like that? Why?
“A trap. Has to be.” But even as she said it, Sela realized it was absurd. The Regime did not spring traps like this. Even a moderately resourceful Enforcement agent would have long ago made their position and moved in for the kill.
“Vox?” Veradin asked.
“And tell them what, sir?” Sela snapped. “That we’re pathetic?”
He ignored her and reached across her to open a channel.
As the vox flipped in rapid succession through the known Fleet coms, they watched the image relayed by the forward cameras.
“There. The hull markings.” He tapped the screen. The isolated image was enlarged. The red and black standard of Ravstar stood out like a warning. The tiny hairs on Sela’s arms stood on end. In her life as a soldier of the Regime, Sela had never encountered a single Ravstar soldier. The entire division was intrigue and myth. Now the damned emblem was popping up everywhere.
Why here? Why now?
“Erelah,” he whispered.
“Your sister? How? Why here?”
“Jon.” The breathy whisper could have been any errant noise from the vox. More words came through coated in static, this time in High Eugenes.
He reached in front of her again, barring her view of the controls. Sela shouldered him back, capturing his hand against the console. He had triggered something, but she could not tell what.
“What’re you doing, sir?”
“Erelah. That’s Erelah. That’s her voice.”
“What? You have no idea who that is, sir!”
An alert chirped. The Cass’s androgynous voice asked for confirmation to deploy the docking web. That’s what he had triggered.
“If it were Enforcement, Ty, they would have moved in. We’d be dead and you know it.”
Sela studied his face. The fit that had engulfed him when he returned to the ship had evaporated, but the red-rimmed gaze and desperation it left behind were no better.
She sighed. “Sir, this is—”
“Strategically unsound.” He finished her sentence, mocking her tone.
He placed a hand on her good shoulder. Sela shrank away.
“Please trust me.” He stepped closer. “We have to take her on board.”
“I do trust you, sir. Every day. Every second. With my life.” It was her turn to sound desperate. A new thought gripped her. “But this is madness, sir. Is she why they arrested you? Erelah?”
Again, the Cass prodded the tense air with a series of off-tune chimes. The docking web was ready. Neither of them moved.
“I’d explain this if I could, but I don’t have your answers. But that was her voice. You heard it too.”
“I don’t know what I heard.”
Sela wanted her captain back, the one who made sense. There was real danger here. Could he not feel it? It flooded the room with an undeniable current.
He placed his hands on both her shoulders. Gently, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against her. Weariness came off him like radiation.
“We don’t have a lot of options out here, Ty. I can’t tell you what’s going to happen next.”
“Run. Fight. But think. Always think.” Her voice sounded thick, drugged. His closeness did that to her. “You taught me that, sir.”
“I know. And what I did to you wasn’t fair. Bringing you here without a chance to choose. Now you have to trust me. Do you trust me?” The plea in his voice was a rusted hook in her heart. “I need to know that there’s one thing left that makes sense. And that is that you trust me. Do you trust me?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she released a long held breath. “Always, sir.”
His smile was grim. “That’s my girl.”
16
“This whole damn thing is skew,” Sela said unhappily.
She stood at the hatch to the cargo hold and studied the stryker through the small portal. Her fingers worried the webbing of the holster slung around her hips. The pistol’s charge light was a baleful red.
“Understood, Commander,” Veradin replied as he peered over her shoulder through the thick glass.
Their view of the space was limited. The internal cameras to monitor it were non-functioning, something that posed little surprise to Sela. The cargo bay was designed to be large enough to host two troop runners at a time. The ship’s docking web had deposited the stryker closer to the center of the bay. She was glad to see that tactically there was room to maneuver around the vessel.
The voice of the Cass declared hangar pressurization in Regimental. Veradin’s hand hovered over the palm interface to cycle open the lock.
“Be ready, Ty.”
Her nerves were long, tense wires plucked by every sound and sudden movement. She could be no more ready.
The lock opened. The cold air of the hangar swirled past their ankles as it met the warmer air of the companionway. Sela was swift to move. Weapon trained on the canopy of the stryker, she stepped in front of Veradin and led the way down the steps to the hangar floor. She put out a staying hand as they approached the strange vessel. He sidestepped her with an exasperated grunt. Her protectiveness was often an irritant to him. But it was her duty.
Veradin stepped up on the rung just beneath the swooped silver wing of the vessel.
“Sir! First contact dictates—”
“Not now.” He gestured for her to approach the craft’s other side.
Allies and Enemies: Fallen Page 13
