The Lazarus Particle

by Logan Thomas Snyder

  Four and a half minutes after the assault began, the station’s reactor went critical mass. What was left of the station was quickly ripped apart by a chain of massive breaches, explosions, and critical failures. All that remained afterward were the handful of escape pods still scrambling to synchronize and verify emergency jump coordinates.

  The Zj had no sympathy for them whatsoever. They could burn in terrible fires or freeze in the cold recesses of space for all he considered his part in their fate. How they died did not matter so much as that they did. Every soul was one more weighted against the loss of an entire clan and the sheer, unrivaled power that would have come from the binding of their fleets.

  Yet it would never be enough to settle the balance.

  The deck rocked sharply beneath the Zj’s feet, staggering him. Klaxons squalled at the unheralded violation. Emergency lighting flared overhead, bathing the deck in neon orange. “Report!” Ndeeldavono barked, regaining his footing in time to avoid taking a header over the helm.

  “Three Arbiter-class destroyers, my Zj! Perimeter defense forces, most likely,” the helmsman shouted back over the klaxons. “They’re targeting the engines!”

  The deck rocked again, slightly more sustained.

  “Return fire at once!”

  “It will take a moment to reset firing solutions.”

  “Other vessels maneuvering into position…” The communications officer was fielding overlapping reports from each of the fleet’s vessels, sorting and prioritizing and responding on the fly. “Damnit! They cannot fix solutions without risking our own vessel in the process.”

  A series of sustained, guttural rumbles sounded through the very core of the ship. The explosions that followed radiated through the lower decks like a seismic event.

  “We’ve lost power to one of the primary engine nacelles!”

  “Order the others to return fire regardless of the risk! Tell them that is a direct order from their Zj!”

  The rumbling subsided gradually, but Zj Soliorana was under no illusions. They had sustained serious engine damage.

  “Lj Urena has a solution. Firing…” An anxious second passed before the communications officer added, “Indirect hit to the destroyer’s forward weapons array. Light to moderate damage.”

  “Keep firing!”

  The deck shook again as the destroyers made another raking pass of their engines. “Damage to another primary nacelle,” the helmsman reported.

  “Tj Exxekorony reports seriously damaging a second destroyer’s sensor array. Surely this will affect their ability to target our—”

  “My Zj!” the helmsman interrupted incredulously. “My Zj, they are retreating!”

  With five quick steps, Zj Soliorana cleared the deck. Hovering over the helmsman’s console, he followed the slowly fading digital contrails identifying the course of each of the Arbiter-class destroyers. Each of the contrails was tacking away from the Tyroshi fleet, their tales fading behind them.

  In the blink of an eye, the destroyers vanished. The contrails followed a moment later, their pixels evaporating into the digital ether.

  “They have jumped away, my Zj.”

  Zj Soliorana allowed himself a moment for the thrill of battle to give way to the verve of command. “Report!”

  “Primary objective destroyed,” Lj Rejvollori informed him. “All secondary targets have fled or were destroyed.”

  Damage reports began streaming in. The worst damage was to engineering, though other areas had suffered minor damage or injuries as a result of the cascading explosions that all but shredded the first primary nacelle. He received these reports with conflicted interest. On the one hand, he was incensed by the severity of the damage inflicted upon his command vessel by the aged Arbiter-class destroyers, even more so by the manner in which they had ambushed the ambusher. He had been so obsessively determined with raining death upon the orbital station that he neglected to account for the pitiable defenses typical of such farflung installations.

  On the other hand, he could not help but admire the bravery and battle instincts of the orbital station’s vastly outclassed perimeter defense fleet. They had capitalized on his oversight to the fullest, lancing in quickly and striking to cripple rather than kill. It took them little more than a minute, all told. Another pass, another deep cut, and they were gone. The strikes had been placed so efficiently, so precisely and punishingly, they were effectively stranded. Most likely it had been a diversionary tactic, but in so doing they had marked his command vessel.

  In so doing, they had marked him.

  The remainder of the fleet was largely undamaged. At his order, they assumed a phalanx defensive posture surrounding their wounded command vessel.

  He would not be caught off guard again, no matter how damaged his ship nor wounded his pride.

  27 • KALIFKA BAZAAR

  “C’mon, Dell!”

  “You’ve got this, man, you’ve got this.”

  “One more! Just give me one more!”

  Dell could barely hear the voices cheering him on over the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears. His legs shook, threatened to fold and betray him before he even attempted the last rep. Slowly, he began to let the weight down, bringing his knees back into his chest. Holding it while he gathered himself for the final push. Here was the real test. Every muscle burned with outrage, threatened rebellion and revenge. Now or never. Bearing down hard on his own jaw, eyes squinched shut and nostrils flaring, Dell fired his legs upward with one last burst of adrenaline to a chorus of raucous cheers and applause. Torrey and Breed were there immediately, quick to rack and secure the weight. That done, Torrey offered Dell a hand. He took it without hesitation, gratefully allowing his sister’s boyfriend to haul him onto rubbery, uncertain legs. Not that Torrey had any intention of letting him fall. Breed handed him a towel and a water bottle straight out of the cooler.

  “I swear, you’re an animal, Dell!” Torrey clapped him on the shoulders, grinning broadly. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Breed nodded. “Me, either. It’s like you never even died, man.”

  “Hey.” Alexia needled Breed with a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Can we not with that?”

  “Sorry.” Breed rubbed his side gingerly. “My bad.”

  “You did great, Dell.” She leaned in close to kiss his still-flushed cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

  “Thanks, guys,” he said, his breath still catching up with the rest of him. He took a sip of water from the bottle, toweled at his face. “So, what’s next?”

  Torrey shook his head. “Nah, you’re done for the day, tough guy.”

  “Aw, c’mon. I’ve still got more in the tank.”

  “Good news for me,” a new voice sounded from the edge of the gym.

  “Commander on deck!”

  “Give us the room, people.” Commander Harm waited until the room was clear of everyone but the five of them before striding forward. Stopping before Dell, he took a moment to size up his protege before breaking into a toothy grin. “Now ain’t this one hell of a sight for some damn sore eyes,” he said, thrusting his hand out between them. “Put ‘er there, son.”

  Grinning back, Dell took his friend and mentor’s offered hand with gusto. “Damn good to see you, too, sir.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Hundred percent,” Dell said, and for a man who had been as good as dead not forty-eight hours earlier, he looked it. “Never better, actually.”

  “It’s amazing, Commander. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Torrey said for the second time in as many minutes.

  “Think you’re ready to get back in the saddle?”

  Alexia blanched. “Commander, no…”

  “Absolutely!” Dell said quickly, overriding his sister’s concern. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet at the prospect. “What’s the mission profile?”

  “Resupply run.”

  “How do we even have the capital for that after being blocka
ded for so long?” Alexia wondered.

  “It turns out our fugitive friends are a bit more flush than we might have given them credit for.”

  Alexia raised a brow curiously.

  “The huntrex—Commandant Soroya’s sister—somehow hustled Morgenthau-Hale to the tune of a cool half-million bitcreds before they made their break.” He raised a hand preemptively. “Don’t ask me how. Point is, she’s agreed to loan us the capital we’ll need to resupply until we can get back into friendly space.”

  Torrey whistled low. “Half a mil? Damn.”

  “It’s good to have friends,” Breed added appreciatively. “Especially resourceful ones.”

  “Well, I can’t say I’m altogether crazy about the interest rate, but otherwise I’m inclined to agree with you both.”

  “Getting back to this run,” Alexia prompted. “It all sounds pretty routine. So, why do you need Dell?”

  “Even with fresh capital, we’re still running on fumes, so to speak. We need food and fuel, fast. Given our position, that leaves us with one option: Kalifka Bazaar.”

  Torrey drew a tight breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. “That place can get pretty rough and tumble from what I’ve heard.”

  “It’s not ideal, granted, which is why you and Breed will be coming along as our security detail. The movement has friendly contacts in the Bazaar who can provide us with the volume of supplies we need to stay operational while we investigate the tactical benefits of this project Fenton Wilkes keeps going on about. As for Dell, he’s the only pilot I trust to get us out of there in a pinch if things go south for some reason.”

  “The only way Dell is going is if I’m going,” Alexia declared.

  “That’s going to present something of a problem.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Besides the fact Kalifka Bazaar has a roaring fleshmarket trade, our primary contact comes from an extremely patriarchal and misogynistic culture. They don’t recognize the independence or equality of the females of their own species, much less those of ‘lesser species’ such as ourselves.”

  “Then I’ll wear a disguise.”

  “Out of the question.”

  “Sir?” Torrey said. “If I may?”

  “By all means.”

  “With all due respect, Commander, I think if anyone’s demonstrated an ability to handle themselves in a difficult situation, it’s Alexia.”

  Breed crossed his burly arms over his chest. “Likewise, sir.”

  “Is my participation in this mission mandatory, sir?” Dell asked.

  “Strictly voluntary. Dr. Perry stressed that as you are still technically under her care, it’s your call.”

  “Then I’m afraid I’m with them, sir,” Dell said. “No her, no me. I can’t leave her here to worry about all of us after everything she’s already been through.”

  Alexia twitched off a small smile as the boys went to bat for her. She quickly buried it when Commander Harm looked her over appraisingly.

  “Alright,” he said, slapping his sides resignedly. “You boys drive a hard bargain.” He looked pointedly to Alexia. “Now for my terms: You wear a disguise and you do not speak under any circumstances, even in the unlikely event you are spoken to. If you are, signal one of us and we’ll handle it. Agreed?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now, let’s move. Dr. Perry wants to put Dell through one last cattle call before she clears him to fly and we need to man you up some.”

  Half an hour later Dell was medically cleared to fly and Alexia had been transformed. The disguise even fooled him for a second, and he’d known her all his life. Thankfully, someone with sense had ignored the obvious temptation to make her as mannish as possible. Given her frame and facial structure, that would have been virtually impossible. (Probably pretty comical, too.) Instead, they had relied upon a shapeless, rough-hewn cloak and cowl to disguise her figure. Some strategically applied makeup and highlighting completed the get-up. Short, cropped bangs up front; darker, thicker eyebrows and slightly hollower cheeks; and finally a dusting of fine metal shavings along her cheeks, chin, and neck to simulate a five o’clock shadow. Taken together, she looked convincingly androgynous. Someone might pay her a passing glance but in a busy market he doubted anyone would bother with so much as a second. Not in that get-up, anyway. Just another face in the crowd.

  “What do you think? Not bad, right?”

  “Sexy,” Torrey teased.

  Alexia snorted. Not exactly the most feminine thing, but under the circumstances exactly what would be required. She was already getting into character. “If you think bound breasts and a wad of gauze shoved down my pants is sexy, I’m going to have to seriously reevaluate the state of our relationship.” Scowling, she shifted uncomfortably against the bindings. “Seriously, Commander, why is all this necessary if I’m going to be wearing the cloak the whole time?”

  “We’re all going to be wearing them. The movement has some friends in the Bazaar, but there’s bound to be plenty of eyes and ears we’d prefer remain as blind and deaf to our presence as possible. Discretion is the better part of valor, after all. There’s also a chance we might be searched prior to entry, so you not only have to look like a man, you have to feel like a man, at least so far as a cursory patdown goes.”

  “Great,” she sighed. “I’m going to be felt up by some scummy gatekeeper. This day just keeps getting better and better.”

  “Still time for you to reconsider.”

  Another snort. “Like hell.”

  “Right. Well, let’s get to it, people. No time like the present.”

  The flight in was uneventful—just as the Kaliffi preferred it. Though somewhat patchwork in its construction, their naval presence was no less fearsome for it. (Several of their vessels would have looked right at home in an FPI fleet, Dell noted with interest.) Not that they were in the habit of turning away potential business. Far from it. Within minutes they were given coordinates to enter the low-orbital queue around the planet. From there they transferred to a skiff and were ferried directly to the checkpoint nearest their specified destination.

  As they disembarked, a man on the other side of the checkpoint presented himself. He was large and unkempt, with a demeanor every bit as unfriendly as the cloying stench that seemed to follow his every move. Several others like him formed a rudely fashioned semicircle behind the man. “Halt,” he said. “Prepare to submit yourself to search.”

  “No need, friend,” Commander Harm said, engaging the head man in an attempt to keep them from being patted down. “We’re carrying and we’d like to keep it that way. Small arms only. Personal protection, you understand.”

  Technically not quite a lie. Dell, Alexia, and Commander Harm each carried a pair of DPC-35s lifted from their former enemies. Torrey and Breed, however, were each equipped with subcompact DPC-58ARs, a vicious combination of concealable size and heavy caliber firepower with virtually no recoil. The look on Torrey’s face when Commander Harm presented he and Breed with the newly acquired hardware was just short of orgasmic, at least according to Alexia. Too much information, Dell had replied.

  “No weapons allowed in the Bazaar. No exceptions.”

  “Oh, come now. You and I both know that’s not entirely true,” Commander Harm said. He produced a pair of chunky metal ingots from within his cloak. Palming them into the man’s hand, he added, “Send one of your runners to Ptsvy. Tell him ‘Cornelius’ sends his greetings.”

  The man deftly accepted the ingots. An instant later they were gone. “Ki’ish,” he said with a quick jerk of his head toward a group of prepubescent boys gathered idly off to the side. One of the boys hopped to, hustling over quickly. The man leaned forward, relaying Commander Harm’s instructions. “Go.”

  The boy took off like a shot, quickly disappearing within the bustling crowd beyond the well manned gate.

  “It will be some minutes before he returns. Please step aside, that business may continue as usual.”

 
“Of course, of course.”

  While they waited for the runner to return with Ptsvy’s imprimatur, Dell watched as a knot of freebooters allowed to enter ahead of them detoured down a narrow artery branching off from the Bazaar-proper. Headed for the fleshmarket and its many brothels, no doubt. Maybe it was just the workout talking, but envy and frustration spiked through him at the thought, jockeying for position within his id.

  Beside him, Torrey raised a brow beneath his cowl. “Something on your mind, Dell?”

  Dell felt his cheeks redden slightly beneath the cowl. He started to speak but his voice caught awkwardly in his throat until he cleared it. “It’s just I, ah, I’ve never really… you know.”

  “Ahh.” Far from the laughing or teasing Dell might have expected, Torrey nodded understandingly. “And since you almost missed out altogether your first time around, you’re feeling a little antsy.”

  “Something like that.”

  Breed was a little more incredulous. Thankfully he at least remembered to whisper. “Seriously, man? You? You’re like the stud of the fleet. You could have any chick you want.”

  “What? You’re fucking with me.”

  “Oh my god.” Breed looked to Torrey, shaking his head as if to say This guy. “You haven’t noticed? Are you kidding me? Dude, all the ladies are crushing on you. You’re like this ripped, adorable back-from-the-dead puppy-dog mascot they all want to cuddle with. How are you of all people not getting laid right now?”