The Lazarus Particle

by Logan Thomas Snyder

  A chime alerted him to the presence of a visitor outside. “Come ahead,” he called.

  Captain Hondo strode into his former quarters with the air of a man conflicted. “Commander. A word?”

  “As many as you deem appropriate, Captain Hondo.”

  “Sir, it’s just that, this whole business about allying with the Tyroshi…”

  “Yes?”

  “Word is the crews are having some difficulty accepting it. Understandably, I think. Those scaly bastards blew the fuck out of our station. Our home, sir. My people had friends and family aboard that station just like anyone else. So did Itzin’s and Stannick’s.”

  Commander Orth nodded. “I agree entirely. It’s far from ideal and completely unorthodox. But they have vital intelligence they are only willing to share incrementally, so unfortunately we have to play their game if we have any hope of uncovering the chain of events that led to the destruction, as you so aptly put it, of our collective home.” He allowed a beat to pass, holding Hondo’s gaze unflaggingly before adding, “Do we not owe that to all our lost?”

  Hondo nodded slowly. “I suppose we do, sir. How are you going to sell Commander Trufant on this, though?”

  “I plan to tell him exactly what he’ll want to hear.”

  Within thirty seconds of reentering the system, they received an incoming transmission from Commander Trufant.

  “So good of you to rejoin us, Commander Orth.” The haughtiness of his inflection was as affected as ever. It was even more visible on his face as it lit up the projection hub.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Commander Trufant. There were a few loose ends that needed tying up.”

  “While I would love nothing more than to trade riddles with you, Knolan, I feel it incumbent to inform you that I have your Lieutenant Commander Bynes aboard. She’s currently receiving treatment in our medical bay.”

  “Ngaya Bynes is alive?”

  Apparently her shuttle had limped into the designated emergency evac point moments after Orth ordered the perimeter defense fleet to jump away. Besides having suffered severe burns to her left leg and side, the shuttle’s life support systems were badly damaged during the evacuation. Had Trufant’s fleet not been in-system, they almost certainly would have perished. For that, he owed Trufant his thanks. Moreover, he saw a way in which her abrupt and dramatic return might bolster his pitch to Trufant.

  Within half an hour he was at her bedside, along with Commander Trufant and Captain Hondo.

  “After you ordered me to declare the evacuation,” she began from her bed in Leviathan’s medical bay, her voice raw and scratchy, “we abandoned the command deck.” Most of her left arm and leg were swaddled in dense layers of virgin white gauze and bandages. She had been stripped of her uniform, scorched as it was, and given a genderless, overly starched gown in its place. The machine next to her bed pumped a steady stream of oxygen through the clear nasal cannula affixed to her nose. “On the way to the shuttle, something exploded in one of the corridors. Caught me, picked me up, threw me right into the bulkhead. Knocked me into a daze. I remember someone—no, two people grabbing me. Orson and Warfield, I think. They must have carried me the rest of the way.” Her eyes widened. “Are they…?”

  “Everyone aboard your shuttle is doing fine,” Commander Trufant answered. “Most have already been treated and released.”

  She nodded, breathing a tight sigh of relief. “Good, good. Anyway, when I came to, I was here.”

  Orth squeezed her hand, genuinely moved by her presence. And he thought his escape had been a close call. “You handled yourself remarkably, Ngaya.”

  “Except for the part where I got toasted like a marshmallow.” She smiled weakly but made a game effort to squeeze back nonetheless.

  “Many of our people are alive because of your actions. You were able to compartmentalize your fear and act coolly and levelly in the face of tremendous danger. Considering all that happened on your first day on the job, I’d say you were damn impressive.”

  “Thank you, sir. And make sure you thank Orson and Warfield for me. The more I think about it, I’m pretty sure they refused to leave me even after I told them to.”

  “I’ll see to it myself. Now, get some rest, Lieutenant Commander. That’s an order.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” She thumbed the morpho button at her side, sighing contentedly as liquid relief spread rapidly through her veins. After about thirty seconds her eyelids fluttered and she drifted into a heavy, drug-induced sleep.

  “Tough as nails, that one,” Hondo said after she’d checked out of the conversation. “I like her.”

  “She’ll have her own command one day, no doubt about it,” Orth agreed.

  “Ahem.” Commander Trufant cleared his throat in an effort to reclaim control of the conversation’s trajectory. “You mentioned something about tying up loose ends, Commander?”

  “I did.”

  “That might be a conversation better had in private,” Captain Hondo suggested quietly. “These are some very loose ends we’re talking about here.”

  “Very well.”

  Trufant’s quarters were as much library as living space. Leather-bound volumes practically overflowed from his desk and the various shelves arranged around the generously sized room. A bronze bust Orth knew to be a representation of Trufant’s father—the late Admiral Armand Trufant II—loomed large as usual from the far corner. A macabre tribute, Orth had always thought. Even eyeless as the representation was, he couldn’t help but feel its gaze weighing upon him. Though perhaps that was its intended purpose.

  “So,” Trufant said as he settled behind his desk, making a steeple of his fingers. “Loose ends. Tie them up for me.”

  Orth wasted no time, coming to the heart of the matter immediately. “We have recently been in contact with the fleet that destroyed my station.”

  “Now is not the time for jokes, Knolan. Surely you must know that.”

  “It’s true, sir,” Captain Hondo said.

  “We reached an accord.”

  “An accord?” Trufant gaped.

  “As I said.”

  “And under whose imprimatur did you broker this accord? I don’t recall any mention of an accord in my orders.”

  “Sir,” Hondo started, “it’s complicated—”

  “I don’t believe I was speaking to you, Captain,” Trufant said sharply.

  “You’ll not speak to this man like that in my presence. I will not allow it.”

  “You won’t allow it?”

  “No, Armand, I will not.”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game here, Knolan,” Trufant warned him.

  “It is no game, I assure you.”

  Trufant narrowed his eyes. “Let’s advance this discussion beyond the pissing contest stage, shall we? What is it you propose? Exactly.”

  “I propose we join the Tyroshi fleet in rooting out the exact source of this mistaken attack and making them pay.”

  “You believe you can trust the Tyroshi?”

  “Absolutely not,” Orth said without hesitation. “As soon as we find and destroy whoever is responsible for triggering the attack on the station, we break hard and target the Tyroshi fleet. Mistake or not, they destroyed my station. They deserve to pay an equal share.”

  “God damn right,” Hondo agreed.

  “Out of the question. My orders—”

  “Mean nothing to me.”

  Trufant laughed airily, clearly taken aback. “Excuse me?”

  “You know how the Admiralty will respond.”

  “All-out war with the Tyroshi,” Hondo supplied for insurance.

  “Are they not the ones who bombarded your station?”

  “Indeed they did. But it was the Coalition of Free Planetary Republics, specifically their military wing, the Free Planetary Irregulars, who instigated the assault.”

  Trufant’s lips drew together in a hard line, his eyebrow climbing a tick higher on his forehead. “I seem to recall you saying something to
the effect that the Tyroshi were refusing to share their intelligence with you.”

  “They disclosed to me the identity of those who destroyed Clan Kerikeshaala. They did not disclose to me the sector of space in which it occurred. Given that the Coalition operates across a vast area of non-corporate space, I have no choice but to accede to their demands if there is to be any hope of making the true culprit pay.”

  “Why not bring this information to the Admiralty, then?”

  “There is no proof what they told me is true, yet I have no reason not to believe them. Moreover, we have no quarrel with the Coalition or their Irregulars. The Admiralty would have no reason to engage them to the necessary extent. The Tyroshi, however, have been encroaching on Coalition space routinely for several years, and would like nothing more than to cripple their resistance. I have already convinced them we share a mutual interest in that regard, when in fact my intent is to position ourselves in a flanking pattern that will allow us to strike at the Tyroshi from one side while the Irregulars engage from the other. Once we have sufficiently damaged their capital vessels’ weapons and defenses, we shall disengage and allow the Irregulars to finish them off. We will have avenged the deaths of those lost during the bombardment of O-S Tau as well as prevented all-out war with the Tyroshi.”

  “Are you mad, Knolan? That course of action virtually guarantees war!”

  “I do not believe so,” Orth said, as much a matter of fact as opinion. “The loss of their two largest clans and accompanying fleets will cripple any ability they have to launch a large-scale assault on our operations.”

  His mouth opening automatically to object, Trufant’s brow suddenly creased in deep thought. The distended effect on his face would have been downright comical if not for the deadly serious nature of the discussion. “An intriguing notion, if true,” he finally allowed. “Perhaps therein lies an opportunity to expand our spheres of influence in the process…”

  Orth stifled a satisfied smile. Baiting Trufant’s avaricious ambition was a calculated wager, one that was paying off handsomely. He could practically see the gears turning in the man’s head, the pieces clicking into place as Trufant worked out the string of fortuitous events and spectacular victories that would propel him to the highest ranks of the Admiralty.

  “We would stand well positioned to seize on any such opportunity, sir,” Hondo added unprompted. “Your battle group is most impressive.”

  “It is,” Trufant agreed, but in the passive way of someone whose mind was elsewhere. Already made up. “It is, indeed.”

  32 • BEDFELLOWS

  The deck purred beneath Ndeeldavono’s feet with a gentle, electric hum. It was warming, almost arousing in contrast to the static impotence of the last several hours. Movement, he had long ago learned, was key to survival. Failure to move, more often than not, resulted in a failure to continue living. As true as this adage was on the ground, it proved even more so in the cold reaches of space, where superior speed, acceleration, and maneuverability often conspired to win the day.

  He found the fact that Commander Orth’s gambit proved a bluff only marginally comforting. The man’s cunning, heretofore unprecedented maneuver demanded respect, despite the fact his Clan’s fleet was never in any real peril. That made Knolan Orth not just a cunning man, but a dangerous one, as well. Ndeeldavono had already determined it was in the man’s best interests to eliminate not just the Free Planetary Irregulars but his own fleet, as well. He was directly responsible for ordering the strike on the man’s station, after all.

  The only question was when Orth would choose to strike. Clearly he was not above gambling against a weak hand, as it were. Yet the addition of Trufant’s battle group dramatically upgraded the disposition of said hand. And despite Orth’s reassurances that Trufant was nominally in charge, something about his nature suggested Orth had a way of seeing his will to fruition, regardless of place or rank. That left him any number of opportunities for betrayal. But if Ndeeldavono had to guess…

  “Zj Soliorana? The engines have been repaired and are functioning at full capacity.”

  His thoughts interrupted, Ndeeldavono found his second waiting expectantly. “Excellent. Make us ready to join the Morgenthau-Hale battle group.”

  “Already done, my Zj.”

  Ndeeldavono smiled. Of course it was. “We shall join you presently, Lj Rejvollori. See that the engineers run one last diagnostic test before we embark.”

  “By your will.”

  He knew it was unnecessary, of course. The sound of his flagship running in perfect harmony was as natural to him as the sound of his own breathing. The delay gave him a moment to gather himself, to stem the slight tremor of his hand. He drained the remainder of the bak’ceba in his cup. The tremors ceased as quickly as the viscous, syrupy liquid passed his tongue. He considered another dose but decided against it; he would need all of his senses sharp for the engagement ahead.

  “Lj Rejvollori,” he said a moment later as he emerged from the lift onto the command module, “we believe the time has come to join our newfound allies.”

  Theirs was a frighteningly beautiful fleet once joined, Ndeeldavono had to admit. (Not quite as frighteningly beautiful as his own and Kerikeshaala’s would have been, but that was neither here nor there now.) Combined, its collective force was capable of challenging the defenses of any planet in the known systems. If they could somehow forge a proper, lasting alliance, they might even challenge the leadership of their own collective organizations.

  But that was completely out of the question.

  Or was it?

  “My Zj?”

  “Yes, Lj?”

  “Ship Commander Trufant for you,” Lj Rejvollori said, careful to enunciate the word ‘ship’ in the man’s title. Apparently it was an important distinction in the Morgenthau-Hale corporate military hierarchy.

  “Very well.” He nodded to the hub. The larger than life figure it displayed appeared to be posing for a portrait. He wore a broad, neutral expression designed seemingly to impart confident disinterest. Yet behind that carefully constructed facade, Ndeeldavono discerned a steely cunning lurking in the man’s eyes. Clearly it would behoove him to keep a close eye on the man and his intentions.

  “Greetings, Ndeeldavono: Zj Soliorana,” the man said after an appropriate beat to make certain the transmission was secure. His pronunciation was exceptional; even more impressive, so too was his enunciation. “I am Ship Commander Armand Trufant III of the Morgenthau-Hale Battle Group Vanguard. We stand honored to unite our fleets as allies in purpose and mind.”

  “As do we, Ship Commander Trufant. Might we also compliment your dialectic proficiency. You demonstrate unusual command of the subtle nuances of Tyroshi diction. Most impressive.”

  Trufant allowed the slightest twist of a smile to play across his lips. It vanished just as quickly, his features returning to their previous arrangement. “Most gracious of you to say so, my Zj.”

  Ndeeldavono canted his head forward just so by way of the man’s acknowledgement.

  “If I may ask, my Zj, now that we have seen to the pleasantries, how do you plan to proceed?”

  “Of course, Commander.” At his direction the hub projected a star map of their current system of space. “As you can see,” he said, referencing a brightly glowing waypoint on the star map, “our objective lies here, within the Kalifka Sector.”

  Trufant allowed himself a moment of studied appraisal. “So. It is to be Kalifka.”

  “With all due haste,” Ndeeldavono confirmed. “The intelligence awaiting us is somewhat, shall we say, fluid.”

  “Very well. We shall make ready at once and await your direction.”

  Noting the man’s careful choice of words—direction, not command—Ndeeldavono nodded sharply. “Excellent. Until such time.” Ndeeldavono stared at the glowing blip on the star map representing Kalifka for several minutes after the transmission had ended. Only when Lj Rejvollori informed him the course had been plotted and the rest
of the incidental prep completed did he break from his reverie.

  The time had come.

  “Communications,” he said. “Hail Commander Trufant aboard Leviathan. Inform him we are about to set course.”

  “Contact reports phase one complete.”

  “Understood.”

  Even with Ptsvy’s escorts acting as a human plow ahead of them, the stinking, clamoring press of humanity continued to surge all around, parting only enough to let four pass abreast at a time. This was the cause of many an interminable delay for the column of Tyroshi foot soldiers accompanying Ndeeldavono en route to meet with Ptsvy, but apparently all too necessary given the haphazardly independent arrangement of the bazaar. It was a filthy place, a frenetic hive catering to the basest of humanoid appetites and indulgences. All about them flitted the low forms of life known to frequent such a festering shit hole: conmen and cutthroats, false prophets and flesh peddlers, freebooters and soldiers of fortune, to say nothing of the usual assortment of fugitives, rapists, thieves, and whores.

  And, of course, warlords bearing invaluable intelligence.

  Ndeeldavono would have seen the whole thing razed to the ground and its insufferable cast spread beneath the ashes, given the opportunity. Frankly, he still had not entirely discounted the notion.

  “Contact reports phase two complete,” came the voice of Lj Rejvollori from an encrypted band emanating from aboard the Ndeeldavono flagship.

  “Most good.” His response was but a murmur against the clamor of the Bazaar around him.

  “We arrive at your destination presently,” the head of their makeshift honor guard called back over a bare shoulder bearing a veritable raiment of welts, scars, and brands. “Just a bit farther ahead, yes.” Looking forward again, their escort addressed the gathered throngs in a much less solicitous tone. “Clear a fucking path, you motherless cunts!” he barked. He brandished a steel-capped cudgel before him with sharp, sweeping jerks of his similarly scarred and marked arm. One of those swings was aimed at the shoulder of a man able to dodge out of the cudgel’s path just in the nick of time. Instead, its dented steel cap came crashing down upon the gnarled, balding crown of the doddering crone in front of him. The woman squawked and crumpled instantly, bits of bone and brain spraying those nearest. Only then did the crowd react noticeably, giving the newcomers and their escort a wider berth, more out of shock and anger than any fear for themselves. Even in a place such as this, there were still certain boundaries better left untested.