The Lazarus Particle

by Logan Thomas Snyder

  Just as quickly as it had begun, the firefight came to an abrupt halt. The deck was wreathed in silence, the air smoking with the stench of burnt cordite and ozone. Someone moaned nearby. Vichante waited for the sound of killing shots to start ringing out, but none came. Instead, a shadow passed over him, turning him urgently onto his back.

  “Commander? Commander Harm?! Are you alright, sir?”

  “Fine,” he answered, though his ears were still ringing. “I don’t think I was hit. Who the hell are you, soldier?”

  The woman hovering above him was short but broad-shouldered, with a hard, slightly pinched face and dark, coffee brown eyes. She reached down, and for the second time in as many days he allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. “Sergeant Rios, sir,” she said, checking him for any obvious signs he’d been hit in the close-range exchange of fire.

  “You in charge of these men?”

  “Am now, sir,” she said once she finished. She gestured with a nod to a body sprawled a few feet behind him. From its positioning, it was obviously that of the man who had struck him. “That’d be First Sergeant Garland. Always a bit of a hard-ass, but I never thought he… that it would come to this. We had no idea how fucking crazy these lunatics actually were, sir.” She glared down at Gatz and Poe, the two of them cowering shamefully beneath the leveled rifles of two of her men.

  “That’s not important right now, Sergeant.” The First Sergeant was dead, along with four others from the dozen that had streamed in with Gatz and Poe. That didn’t mitigate what he could only imagine was happening even now, though. “I need your two best men to go find and secure Alexia DeCoud. You saw what we all saw; you know how much danger she’s in.”

  “God damn right I do,” she hissed. “Breed, Torrance, hop to! Non-lethal force, preferably. I have a feeling Miss DeCoud is going to want to have a word with Mr. Dumphy after all this.”

  “Understood.”

  “Copy that.”

  Breed and Torrance lined up on either side of the double-doors, checked each of their sight lines methodically, then set off at a careful but purposeful clip. This assignment clearly fell well within their wheelhouse.

  Vichante looked to Rios. “Your men are loyal, no question, but how about the others? What’s your reputation among the grunts?”

  “Not to brag, sir, but I believe I command a certain amount of respect. With yourself and the command staff in tow, I think most everyone else will fall in line. We can sort out the true-believers from the fair-weatherers once we have the station back. With your permission, I’ll be the first one to submit to review afterward, sir.”

  “When the time comes, Sergeant. Who’s your second?”

  “Sir, that would be Specialist First Class Capazian.”

  “Specialist Capazian, step forward.”

  “Sir.”

  “Would you second your Sergeant’s assessment of her pull with the grunts?”

  “Sir, yes, sir. Sergeant Rios is a soldier’s soldier if ever there was one. Speaking only for myself, I’d follow her to hell and back.”

  The surviving majority of what was now Rios’ company offered a clamorous grunt of approval. Vichante waved them down, though the enthusiasm and the veracity of their support was as good as any shot of adrenaline. “Good to know; I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

  “We stand ready, Commander Harm. Tell us what we can do to make this right.”

  Vichante gratefully accepted the weapons he had been stripped of just minutes earlier, the weight and feel of the lethal hardware as intimately familiar as Soroya’s embrace.

  Soroya…

  “Let’s get the rest of the command staff out of immersion and see them armed. They’re not going to want to miss this party.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Remember,” he told Rios and Capazian, “they’re probably going to come out fighting, so when you pop the hatch, stand well clear. Of any of us, I stand the best chance of getting through to them. We’ll start with the Commandant.”

  Rios and Capazian nodded, positioning themselves to open the first chamber. He gave them the signal to go ahead.

  Soroya came leaping—practically screaming—out of the chamber. He stood in taut anticipation thanks to their many sparring sessions, pivoting into a sideways stance as she launched herself at him. Catching her in midair, he pushed off and tumbled her safely onto her back. She seized beneath him, struggling all the more fiercely for the moment it took to recognize the smell and taste of her lover. Then she transitioned into an elastic state wavering equally between cautiously relaxed and deliberately tensed. “I should have known it would be you,” she whispered against Vichante’s mouth. Her lips grasped at his hungrily. “Are we still under duress, my love?”

  “You really should have, but I think I can forgive you under the circumstances. And no, we’re not. We’ve renewed some friendly acquaintances since you’ve been immersed.”

  “How nice for us. I do not suppose we are entirely alone, then.”

  “Not remotely, I’m afraid. Soon, though. All that stands between us and a more romantic reunion is a little reverse mutiny. Well, probably more than just a little…”

  “Charming. That said, how about—”

  “—a hand up?” Vichante smiled wanly. “My pleasure.”

  20 • FAIR PLAY

  Kerikeshaala appraised the blade of her cutlass critically. Her eyes gleamed brightly back at her like twin molten suns shimmering in a tritillium alloy sky. A ceremonial blade of such precise, exacting craftsmanship, it had been bequeathed to her only on the occasion of the Clansire’s passing. With it came the absolute authority to steer the affairs of the Clan. Absolute—but not undisputed. Oh, there were disputes upon disputes. Would-be usurpers came crawling out of the woodwork like so many writhing, bloated little triggerfly larvae, all intent on denying their deceased Clansire his final decree.

  And swiftly she had sent each and every one of them chasing him into the Aftermire. The better for them to plead and beg forgiveness for their foolish transgressions against his anointed successor.

  “Do you remember the taste of their blood?” she cooed to the blade.

  She could almost hear it whisper back Yes, and she smiled.

  “You shall taste more today.”

  And when she smiled a second time, it was as if the blade was not merely reflecting her countenance, but itself beaming hungrily back at her.

  Slowly she stood, sliding the wide-bladed cutlass within the matte black sheath strapped to her thigh.

  The hour was upon them.

  As if to confirm her prescience, Jskaarl’s voice sounded through the node nestled in her ear. “We are assembled, Tj.”

  “Understood.”

  Marching onto the deck, she could practically feel their eyes boring into her. Some scowled openly, though most did their level best not to make their contempt too obvious. No matter. They would do their duty; the blade riding high on her thigh was a testament to the fate of those who had betrayed her in the past.

  Jskaarl saluted her as she completed the march, a gesture she did not return as she turned to regard the nearly five score of Kerikeshaala clan-kin standing before her. Her Kerikeshaala clan-kin. To a one, she could sense the seething resentment at the realization they had been placed under the direct command of Jskaarl. No doubt each of them believed they and only they were uniquely suited to lead the exchange preceding the ambush. Yet to answer to a fellow clan-kin would have been tolerable, if not preferable. The fact they were made to answer to a lowly ward of a fallen, nameless clan was as execrable and unforgiving a sleight as could be inflicted.

  She would not have had it any other way.

  “Today, we taste victory,” she announced, her hand resting easily on the fire-eye pommel of her cutlass. “Today, our Clan rises to heights thought previously unattainable. We stand on the brink, my clan-kin. Look sharp, for today we shall claim our place among the elite Clans of the Tyroshi Corporate Syndicate.”

/>   There followed a perfunctory grunt of affirmation, and then she turned matters over to Jskaarl.

  Jskaarl, who she had begun to notice looked every inch the warrior in his exo-plated battle suit. He seemed to stand straighter, to carry himself with pride and purpose long lacking. How could it be that in all their time together she had failed to perceive a military bearing in him? He was bred of a great warrior, granted, but he had never shown any sign of inheriting that verve or spirit before now. Still, she could not deny that the energy, the focus, even the authority he exuded as he directed each score of clan-kin to their shuttles was oddly enticing…

  She quickly marshaled her thoughts, accepting a Directed Plasma Charge pistol from Jskaarl. She tucked it into the molded, semi-recessed well at the small of her battle suit’s back. Hers was much like Jskaarl’s and, indeed, all of the clan-kin: a series of overlapping ergonomic plates that could be sealed and pressurized within a matter of seconds. With the seals in place, the suit was capable of withstanding up to an hour’s worth of prolonged vacuum exposure.

  “For your Clan,” Jskaarl said, nodding tightly. The gesture, his assuredness—they were utterly sincere.

  “For our Clan,” she answered.

  He wavered for all of a moment. Just enough for her to detect.

  “What is it?”

  “They do not respect me. Your clan-kin.”

  “They will after today.”

  Jskaarl nodded again, that air of unbridled confidence animating him once more. For the briefest of moments she thought he might do something foolish and irrational, something he would most assuredly have to be punished for, but he merely turned to continue directing the procession of clan-kin. He spent the last few minutes before launch making certain everyone was in their assigned places. Afterward, he escorted her to their own honored place aboard the flagship shuttle.

  The whorl of gravitationally charged rings of cosmic debris shielding the planet Oviddia from more conventional forms of direct assault loomed suddenly and arrestingly before them as they emerged from the hangar. So massive was the seemingly oncoming field of debris that she and Jskaarl tensed instinctively, their biometric readings spiking through the roof.

  “No need to concern yourselves,” their pilot informed them. “Although our ships maintain a more or less stationary orbit around the planet, this debris cloud is constantly shifting. Each time we launch we are required to plot a new course through it, and have taken to navigating by instruments and going to full magnification as soon as we have cleared control. Even now, my navigator is finding us today’s path of least resistance. What you are viewing at this moment is as many as ten to fifteen minutes from our present location.”

  “I find that explanation most reassuring,” Kerikeshaala responded. “My thanks.”

  From departure to landing, the trip to Oviddia’s surface took slightly more than an hour. Most of that was allotted to picking their way through the debris field surrounding the planet. By comparison, the throttling descent through Oviddia’s tumultuous upper atmosphere was far preferable, if only because it indicated progress.

  After clearing the upper atmosphere, the shuttle’s pilot opened communications with their allies on the ground. “Free Oviddian Front Ground Control, this is Command Shuttle One of the Tyroshi Command Ship Imminent Victory requesting permission to land, over.”

  There was a brief hiss of empty static before a crisp voice picked up the line. “Permission granted, CS-One Imminent Victory, and on behalf of the FOF allow us to be the first to say we’re looking forward to your arrival. My sensors are reading five inbound shuttles, is this correct? Over.”

  “Correct, FOF Ground Control. Five inbound, over.”

  “Crew complements?”

  “Say again, Ground Control? Over.”

  “CS-One, please transmit your crew complement.” There was a brief pause before the voice added, more cheerfully, “Just want to make sure we have enough room for the parade we’re about to throw you guys. Over.”

  Kerikeshaala and Jskaarl shared a grin. If only the fools knew.

  “No parade necessary, Ground Control. Complement is two pilots and twenty passengers per shuttle for a total force of one-hundred ten. Over.”

  “Many thanks, CS-One. You just made my job a whole hell of a lot easier. Proceed on course and we’ll meet you at the gate, so to speak. Ground Control out.”

  Jskaarl was the first to notice the bemused look on Kerikeshaala’s face. “Is something not right, Tj?”

  “I am not sure.” She mused on it for a second more. Scowling, she wondered more to the pilots than Jskaarl, “Were they being glib with us?”

  The copilot looked over his shoulder to answer. “I am told humans, even Oviddian humans, are often glib in times of perceived triumph. Especially undeserved triumph. Perhaps that is what you were sensing, Tj Yeleyhi.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps.”

  “One minute until landing,” the pilot informed them.

  Kerikeshaala gasped as they punched through the final layer of clouds and the surface of Oviddia began to clarify itself before her eyes. The densely mountainous, mineral-rich planet was a sight of a whole other kind to behold. It was a wonder, in its way, that life had ever flourished here at all. To live outside the mountains, in the sub-arctic conditions and near ceaseless buffeting winds, was an impossibility. Even now, Kerikeshaala could see her pilots leaning forward just so, compensating for the sudden shift in atmospheric conditions that were simply nonexistent in space. It was a struggle, but one they were not unfamiliar with. In the early days of the struggle for Oviddia they had attempted to carpet-bomb the area suspected of housing the Free Oviddian Front headquarters to no avail whatsoever. The base structure was packed too deep into the naturally fortified mountains to feel more than a distant rumble from their most advanced thermo-explosives.

  Any concern or hesitation she might have felt moments earlier was lost in the face of all that defensible grandeur. “Amazing. Short of an all-out invasion and a ten-year commitment on our part, we would never have captured this planet so easily.”

  “A true testament to your leadership and vision, my Tj,” Jskaarl said from her side. His voice carried over his shoulder slightly muffled, as he too was regarding the view from his own side of the transport.

  “There,” the copilot said, gesturing ahead.

  “I see it,” the pilot acknowledged.

  Ahead of them, a small, almost iridescently white strip in the side of an especially fat mountain was widening, expanding, becoming ever larger—until it became obvious they were on approach to a hangar bay carved into the side of the mountain itself.

  The pilot angled their shuttle into the nearly kilometer wide and three kilometers deep hangar bay expertly. The four others followed in a standard V-formation. Each decelerated rapidly but smoothly before gently touching down on deck. A large contingent of the victorious Free Oviddian Front soldiers, pilots, and general personnel had gathered to greet them, squaring off around the margins of the deck as the shuttles were directed into position by the ground crew.

  Kerikeshaala felt a swell of pride flare in her chest. This was her defining moment. She was mere minutes from crippling this pathetic uprising. Soon the mining fleets would enter the system and begin to strip the planet’s surface and its moons of their many mineral-rich layers of rock and sediment and the vast bounty of precious oils and ores buried beneath. At last, then she would see her Clan elevated to its rightful place among the Upper Echelons.

  Gatz and Poe stepped forward as Kerikeshaala and the commanders of the other four shuttles disembarked as one. It was a meticulously choreographed show of force, one she was glad to see go off without a hitch as they came together before their hosts. Their honor guards followed, rifles cradled downward without expectation of conflict.

  “Greetings, most fair Kerikeshaala: Tj Yeleyhi,” said the one she understood to be Gatz. He seemed to be perspiring. While her species did not perspire, she understood it to be
a necessary function of his own. She would regret not paying that observation more mind later.

  “We greet you in the spirit of compromise and cooperation, Gatz and Poe of the Free Oviddian Front,” Jskaarl replied. “You were most worthy adversaries, though we much prefer you as valued allies.”

  Kerikeshaala observed and submitted to the necessary protocols before finally she could wait no longer. “Enough. We would see the prisoners now.”

  “Yes… yes, the prisoners. Of course.”

  The other one was taller, with something of a more striking bearing. “Bring them forward!” he called back.

  The ranks parted and there they were. The march was so unceremonious, so humiliating that Kerikeshaala practically salivated at the sight of it. They were beaten and enslaved, without hope and utterly dejected.

  Kerikeshaala could feel Jskaarl tense at her side. “Something is not right,” he murmured in an octave so low only she could hear.

  “Do not be ridiculous!” she hissed back. “We have them right where we want them.”

  “My Tj, you must believe me when I say—”

  “Silence!”

  “The prisoners,” Gatz announced.

  “Tj—” Against every protocol attached to his position, Jskaarl dared take her by the arm. He was just about to speak when she leveled him with a smoldering gaze. Reluctantly, Jskaarl relinquished his grip. He stepped back, looking both chastised and wary.

  Shifting her attention to the prisoners, Kerikeshaala: Tj Yeleyhi savored the moment like none before as she stepped forward to more closely appraise her prisoners. It felt, strangely enough, like a reunion of sorts. In her own way, she knew these people from the intelligence files gathered against them. There was Corliss Volk, the gruff, hard-living operations officer; Rishi Mon Clair, the erstwhile Galaxy Cup champion turned insurgent cause celebre; Flight Commander Vichante Harm; and, of course, Soroya of Shih’ra, one of those few filthy creatures the Tyroshi had failed to exterminate despite the forcible occupation of their planet. Several others stood with them, lesser staff and administrative personnel. These four, though, they were the true prize.