The Lazarus Particle

by Logan Thomas Snyder

  Something had to give, she knew. Finally, it did. She thought the loud, reverberating snick-snack that revived her was literally the sound of her mind snapping in two. Alexia started to crack up, about to give herself over to the sweet relief of madness when she realized she could hear herself laughing. Really laughing. The noise she heard wasn’t a long-overdue psychic break but the disruption of the magnetic field locking tight both the door to the chamber and her senses.

  She pushed up from the floor with one hand, shielding her eyes with the other in anticipation of the door opening. The light beyond was tremendously bright after two days in pitch darkness. She hissed through her teeth as it practically barged into the tiny chamber, forcing its way through even her tightly clenched eyelids. They glowed rosy and hot as she stirred, trying by degrees to force her pupils to adjust, but even the slightest exposure was like a spike right through the retina. She mewled softly and balled herself into a tangle of limbs, doing everything she could to keep the light out.

  “DeCoud, get up. We need the space for another troublemaker. Hope you tidied up. Don’t need to hose it out, do I?”

  “Please, allow her a minute to collect herself.”

  “Ain’t got a minute, bud. What I got is a schedule to keep. Why don’t you do all of us a favor and give her a hand out if you’re so concerned about her?”

  “Loathe though I am to admit it, I believe the unpleasant man may be right. Shall we, Gatz?”

  “As you say.”

  The voices registered distantly, like a long-forgotten conversation inexplicably remembered, but the sensation of hands upon her was jarring and immediate. Alexia lashed out, fighting against the hands clawing at her, threatening to drag her into the clutches of oblivion. As weak as she was, this proved a passing outburst. It was driven purely by instinct but otherwise unsustainable. Very shortly she fell limp in the arms of her assailants, breathless and barely conscious.

  With the spell of immersion broken, she recognized the brightly lit but mostly empty brig and the presence of Gatz’s arm looped through the crook of her left elbow and Poe’s through her right. Her stomach lurched as she found her feet pedaling mindlessly beneath her. The sudden switch from autopilot to manual nearly tripped her up, and she was forced to plant her feet awkwardly to prevent from spilling over entirely. Gatz and Poe stopped, allowing her to get her balance. After a moment she pulled it all together and executed a serviceable little bow, glad to have her bearings more or less back.

  She noticed as she straightened up that Gatz appeared to be bleeding from the face. “Shit! Did I do that? I’m so sorry, Gatz, I wasn’t myself.”

  “Precisely why I would not feel correct holding you to account. Consider it forgiven.”

  Alexia frowned slightly. “Still…”

  “Alexia.” Poe took her hands within his. “Condolences, for your brother. His absence weighs heavily.”

  “Thank you, Poe. Gatz.” She wasn’t sure why it was they, the Oviddian civilian administrators, who had come to greet her upon her release. Still, she was grateful nonetheless for the assistance, if not a little curious as to their motives.

  Poe nodded sagely. Gatz took the opportunity, no doubt a staged one, to speak up. “We would have more words,” he said, assuming a discreet octave, “if you are willing.”

  Alexia’s thin blonde brows knit together curiously at the suggestion of a lengthier, presumably private conversation. “What about?”

  Gatz hesitated. “Best left unsaid. Trust me when I say, though, you would have interest.” He nodded once, almost conspiratorially, as if that said it all.

  Maybe all this makes perfect sense, Alexia thought. Maybe I’m just too rattled to realize it. Anyway, no harm in hearing them out. “When?”

  “Two hours?” Poe volunteered.

  She shook her head, her unwashed hair swinging in matted hanks around her angular, almost birdlike face. “Make it four. I’ve got to wash the stink off me and catch up on a few lost meals. I don’t want to rush any of that.”

  Gatz and Poe nodded almost as one. “Well met, Alexia.”

  “You shall receive instructions in your quarters within the hour,” Gatz added.

  Together, they bowed and dismissed themselves.

  Alexia arrived at the meeting place several minutes late but was apparently no less welcome for it. Poe greeted her personally, leading her in as if she were a VIP or celebrity. “We receive you gladly, Alexia. Your presence honors us. I see you are looking much better, as well. A welcome development.” Poe perked up an ear as someone called his name from across the room. “Ah, it would seem I am needed elsewhere. Well met.” Affecting a bow, he shuffled off quickly.

  “Right…” she finally said, only in his absence managing to get a word in edgewise.

  Somewhat to her surprise, there were several other people already milling about. She recognized more than a few faces. Friends of her brother, mostly.

  “Ahh, welcome,” a voice purred from the front of the room. Alexia turned as Gatz stepped to its head. He made a gathering gesture with his arms that seemed to draw them all into his orbit almost magnetically. “Welcome, friends, natives. While we are comforted by your presence, and our shared bloodlines, it is known that in our effort to preserve our beloved planet we will soon be defeated. Ours has been a noble effort, and the good people of the Free Planetary Irregulars are to be commended in every respect. We are in their debt. Sadly, it is a debt we will never be able to repay.” Gatz went on to explain, in a most heartfelt and sincere speech, all the particulars that had led the Oviddian Elders to the “hard truth” that breaking the stalemate could only come as a result of drastically changing the status quo.

  It all sounded perfectly fine to Alexia, except that she had no idea what any of it really meant. Gatz, never one to jump straight to the point conversationally, was being even more obtuse than usual.

  That is, until she heard him singling her out. “… We would also welcome and extend our sympathies to a most honored guest, Specialist Alexia DeCoud.”

  Alexia blinked back surprise even as she allowed herself to be nudged forward as part of the center of attention. She still wasn’t even sure what she was doing here. Suddenly she found herself standing shoulder to shoulder with Gatz at the room’s fore.

  Gatz bowed solicitously as she was borne to his side by the current of the crowd. “You have lost much in recent days, Alexia. We feel in you, with respect to this, as well as your recent actions and incarceration, a certain kinship of ideals.”

  “I see…” She didn’t, not really, but she wanted to give the man a chance to show her.

  “Do you agree, Alexia, that if we are to survive this struggle, we must act decisively to shift the paradigm upon which it is so precariously balanced?”

  “Forgive my ignorance, but what the hell are we even talking about here?”

  “Ah. It is I who require forgiveness. I should be more clear,” Gatz said. “I speak of changing the game, as it were.”

  Furrowing her brows, Alexia fixed Gatz with a wary stare. “I’m sorry, but I still don’t understand. How exactly do you propose to do that?”

  “We have already held talks with the Tyroshi. The necessary collateral has been among us all along.”

  “Collateral?”

  “Indeed. Commandant Soroya. Her mate, Flight Commander Harm. Others under their immediate command, as well. The Tyroshi have a standing bounty on each of their heads. Dead or alive.”

  “No shit,” Alexia retorted, missing the point. “They’re good at what they do. Why else would the Tyroshi want them so badly?”

  “We have them alive,” Gatz reiterated more directly, nodding just so as if to emphasize the point.

  “Oh, shit.” Now she understood. “So, let me get this straight…”

  “Indeed.”

  Alexia made a show of giving the unspoken arrangement some serious thought. She looked around the room, noting the faces. Taken together, they constituted a broad swath of the var
ious factions and interests underpinning the Free Oviddia Front. Probably each represented a larger group in their own right, having been chosen by their fellows to report the particulars of the meeting afterward. It was a convincing show of force, she had to admit.

  At length, she nodded. Her mouth was suddenly quite dry behind the firmly set line of her lips. “Alright. Count me in.”

  16 • FATALISM

  “How are the men holding up?”

  “How do you think? Dell was like a mascot to them.”

  “Wingman DeCoud was no mere mascot. He was a warrior, as gifted as any three of our pilots combined.”

  “Of course, Madam Commandant,” Corliss said. “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”

  Rishi shook his head mournfully. “We should never have been that far past the No-Fly Line.”

  “The chatter was legit. We couldn’t just ignore it.”

  “It’s all well and good to talk about what we could have done differently. The real question is, what are we going to do now?”

  “We’ll have to advance the next wave of wingers. Give them their wings early.”

  Vichante drew a dark, calloused hand down his lined face as he and his advisors hashed out the events of the previous day. Fresh whiskers scratched against his fingers and palms, even having just shaved the day before. “We have more holes in the flights than warm bodies to fill them.”

  “Then we’ll have to appeal to the natives. This is their fight, ultimately.”

  “Yeah, that we’re losing for them. Hell of a recruiting pitch.” Broad and ruddy-faced with a smashed nose and the devil’s eyes, Corliss Volk was a warrior’s warrior. He and Vichante had served together through a dozen campaigns, saving each other’s lives twice that amount and then some through the thick of it all. Lately the man had taken a shine to chasca. A heady, spiced concoction favored by the Oviddians, it boasted nearly enough caffotine to qualify as a controlled substance in its own right. A steaming draught of the stuff sat within easy reach atop a table a few paces removed from the projection hub.

  Rishi Mon Claire was a force in his own right, a beloved former champion of the Galaxy Circuit and Nova Games platinum-medalist who quite literally dropped everything when the Tyroshi declared his home system and planet to be part of its so-called sovereign resource pool. The fact that he was willing to leave behind his glitzy playboy lifestyle to become a highly prized corporate fugitive living in anything but the lap of luxury made him an instant hit with the rank and file.

  Rishi and Corliss traded conspicuous glances. “How about the rest of you take a breather?” Corliss suggested. “Reconvene in ten.”

  “So,” Soroya said after the room had cleared. “What news?”

  “Word is the Oviddians are considering an offer to move against us.”

  As simple and direct as it was, that statement caught those few remaining in the room like a slap to the face. Indeed, that was the point. Corliss had never been known to mince words.

  “How certain are you of this?”

  “Hard to tell with their lot,” Rishi volunteered. “Keep to themselves, mostly. Still, I think given the seriousness of the threat, we have no choice but to act as if it’s a virtual certainty.”

  Soroya nodded. “Agreed.”

  “Hang on a second.” Vichante could hardly believe his ears. Were these the same people he had fought and bled beside from one end of the galaxy to the other? “A few tongues start wagging and suddenly there’s, what, a revolution in the offing?”

  “This is far more than simple tongue-wagging,” Rishi cautioned. “I believe Corliss is right to be concerned. We should discuss exit protocols should matters come to a head.”

  “Concerned is one thing,” Vichante countered. “What I’m hearing sounds more like fatalism. I think we need a bit more evidence before we start pulling up stakes.”

  “Damnit, Vichante, this is no time to let pride cloud your judgment. We are in a very delicate place. This shit is serious. You should take it as such.”

  “These people petitioned us for our assistance,” he countered. It was a weak argument, as evidenced by how easily Corliss batted it down.

  “And we haven’t delivered. Now they’re looking at us like a steak dinner after a month’s worth of dried protein rations. We’re worth something to them. Underestimate that at all our peril.”

  “God damnit, I won’t abandon—”

  “Vichante! I am your friend and your brother. But I think I have to speak my peace here. These people, they know what we did elsewhere. And we haven’t done it here. They’re upset; they’re scared. They’re searching.” He paused for a moment, just long enough to frame all that was at stake. “Mark my words: If the Tyroshi offer them a deal, someone is going to take it.”

  Vichante looked from Soroya to Corliss and back again, trying to formulate something to say.

  “Put together a team for us,” Soroya said firmly. “Four men at all times. We do not go anywhere without them.”

  “Absolutely not. We can’t be seen to be—”

  “To be living?” Her dark, mercurial eyes practically burned with determination. “I disagree.”

  Vichante looked to Corliss for support. Corliss just shook his head. Friend or no friend, he wasn’t about to go against the woman who both commanded and loved the man. “Fine,” Vichante finally said. “I’ll do it for you. But I don’t have to like it.”

  “That, my love, was never part of the calculation.”

  Ten minutes later they called everyone back, pressed their brains together (for what it was worth), and finally adjourned. The picture was no less clear, but they had to sleep at some point, after all. Sure enough, their new security detail was waiting to accompany Vichante and Soroya back to their quarters. They looked serious enough, decked out in millimeter-thin matte black ceramic body armor and chunky, plainly visible sidearms. To a man they greeted their charges with a tight nod before falling into formation around them.

  Vichante barely managed to conceal his displeasure. “Have I mentioned I’m not a particular fan of this arrangement?” he grumbled.

  “Your objections have been noted.”

  “It just seems so unnecessary. Not only that, it makes us look weak.”

  “Funny, I do not feel weak,” Soroya answered serenely. “Only prudent.”

  He was about to open his mouth to argue the point further when a sudden fusillade of concentrated fire erupted around them. The shots rang out in near simultaneous time, thumping into the mens’ exposed necks with a series of meaty thwacks, their body armor proving useless as they dropped like marionette dolls released from the cruelty of their bondage. Before they could so much as blink, their entire security detail had been eliminated with bone-chilling precision.

  Vichante’s vision narrowed to a single, all-encompassing pinpoint. His only concern, the single thought that governed all his movements in that split-second, was to protect the woman he loved. Diving sideways, he wrapped Soroya in his arms, carrying her to the ground with the momentum of his own superior stature. Twisting in mid-air, he landed with a splintering, almighty crack on his right shoulder. In spite of the lancing eruption of pain, he managed to roll her so that she was safely protected beneath the broad span of his upper body. “Oomph,” he heard her grunt beneath him. He hoped she wasn’t too badly hurt, though a cracked rib or two would be far preferable to a bullet in the neck. He could already smell the sickly sweet perfume of death as their security detail bled out all around them.

  “Cease fire!” a voice from beyond the firestorm called. “Cease fire!”

  “We need them alive!”

  “Take them! Take them now!”

  Moments later they were surrounded. Vichante felt hands upon him, more hands than any one person could possess. They were pawing at him, trying to pry him off Soroya. He came up fighting like a man possessed, clubbing one man’s temple with a coiled fist and butting the forehead of another so hard the man fell to the deck with a sickening smac
k. The first was merely stunned; the second was left to bleed out while his fellows put all their weight toward restraining the raging Vichante.

  He was still shouting incomprehensibly, kicking and gnashing and writhing against his captors as he was raised to see…

  … The narrow, very serious face of Alexia DeCoud.

  “Commandant Soroya of Shih’ra, Flight Commander Vichante Harm,” she intoned with a grating, almost strangely misplaced ghost of her own voice, “we officially place you under arrest under the authority of Kerikeshaala: Tj Yeleyhi of the Tyroshi Clanocratic Syndicate. You shall hereby be transported to the nearest carrier ship to await judgment. Please acknowledge you understand the situation as it has been presented to you.”

  Contrary to expectations, Vichante didn’t understand a god damn thing that had just happened. It was fast and messy and urgent and didn’t seem to make any sense whatsoever. Even their chosen envoy seemed ill-suited for the task laid upon her. Something was well and truly fucked about the whole situation. Not that he was in any sort of position to address it.

  “Understood,” Soroya said tightly, her breathing labored as she was lifted from the ground after Vichante. “We are in your custody, that much is clear. Assure us that the rest of our people will come to no harm and we shall say or do as you wish.”

  There was something in Alexia’s face. Something faltering and odd and just generally wrong. A flash of rage or pain or both. Betrayal, perhaps. The thought enraged him. Who was this traitorous little bitch to feel betrayed when four of their men were lying dead on the ground at his feet?

  He had little time to consider the question before two cowled figures emerged from behind Alexia. They separated as they stepped forward, flowing around her like water to stand before the captives. The one was easily a head taller than his counterpart, and even before they stopped and simultaneously removed their cowls, Vichante had no doubt.

  Gatz and Poe.

  “It is with regret I must inform you that we are not at liberty to enter into such an arrangement,” Gatz said in that flat yet strangely mirthful voice of his. “Kerikeshaala: Tj Yeleyhi was quite specific. She has rather a…” He seemed to search the air for a moment, as if the phrase had eluded him. Poe leaned in close, whispering something unintelligible. “Ah. Yes. With gratitude, Poe.” He executed a perfunctory bow to his comrade before continuing. “Tj Yeleyhi has rather a ‘laundry list’ of your personnel that we are to deliver. She was quite specific on the matter.”