The Lazarus Particle

by Logan Thomas Snyder

  “He made a planet?” Orth asked, breaking the silence they were all laboring beneath.

  “Fascinating,” Ndeeldavono said, drawing out the word.

  “A small planet, technically. But yes. It’s the only logical explanation, sir.”

  “Holy fuck,” Hondo muttered. “How is that even possible? He’s literally playing god.”

  “Who cares how it’s possible?” Itzin countered. “How do we even fight someone with that kind of power? Who knows what he can do?”

  “Let’s not get too carried away, people,” Trufant advised in a rare display of well timed leadership. “Ensign, do you have any estimation as to how long it would take to do what you are claiming occurred here? Any timetable at all?”

  Pruitt looked off as if calculating some unseen equation. “I would say at least a few weeks,” he said after a few moments. “Certainly not overnight. Probably Major Wilkes had this location mapped out well in advance as a potential test site before deciding to go on the run. It just happened to be his luck that Commander Orth’s yacht provided an ideal staging platform. My guess is that he changed out a torpedo payload with some of his nanites, then guided it toward the densest part of the belt and initiated a controlled detonation to release them. Afterward, they would have had plenty of time to seek out the Free Planetary Irregulars while the nanites fulfilled their programming and constructed the planet.”

  “Amazing,” Trufant allowed, and truly it was. Pruitt had gone over the data several times before he could deliver the news confidently. “And what of those unusual fighters our intercept squadrons were chasing before they were engaged by the wing the Irregulars abandoned in their retreat?”

  “Ah, yes. We of course have little experience dealing with the Free Planetary Irregulars, so I shall defer here to Lj Rejvollori, whose team has had the opportunity to observe and dissect the combat footage recorded during the recent engagement with the Irregulars. Would you do us the favor of summarizing your findings, my Lj?”

  “Of course, Ensign Pruitt. The craft itself is incredibly nimble, exhibiting characteristics consistent with your own proprietary ultralight ceramic engines. These fighters gave chase but appear to have been unarmed, as they went to great pains to avoid direct engagement with either of our forces. As a result, we cannot extrapolate any findings as to their combat capability from this film. In summation, having consulted with several other clans, we can find no previous instance or engagement in which the Coalition of Free Planetary Republics and their Irregulars made use of these craft against our forces.”

  “Thank you, Lj Rejvollori.”

  “Exhibiting characteristics consistent with our own engine technology,” Orth paraphrased as the looped footage began anew.

  “Meaning they somehow managed to reverse engineer the original yacht stolen from your station before loading it with the nuke used to annihilate Clan Kerikeshaala,” Trufant observed.

  “Apparently so, sir. From there they most likely used the base schematic information to program the nanites to produce a new, cutting-edge fighter based upon whatever parameters they fed into it. Certainly our engine tech would be one component. It would explain why the squadrons had such a difficult time locking in on them.”

  “Is there any indication they have more of these new fighters?”

  “No, sir, but they’ll be producing them quickly, I would think, especially given how we ambushed them.”

  “Do they have pilots capable enough to fly them?” Stannick wondered.

  “Hard to say, though from what I understand, Ohana Cassel was very accomplished. If she’s been turned to their cause, we have to assume she’ll have told them all she knows. We have no choice but to prepare for all eventualities.”

  “Or we would, if we had any notion of their next destination.”

  Here, Ndeeldavono smiled. “As a matter of fact, we believe we may have known all along.”

  “I would hope you do not plan on keeping us guessing, my Zj,” Trufant prodded.

  “Why, the very planet where we earned that blade, Commander.”

  Pruitt knew. He had already deduced the nature of the ‘enemy’ populating Ndeeldavono’s story. An enemy so savage as to draw the everlasting wrath of the Tyroshi? A planet and people nuked to the brink of extinction? A group of fugitives and freedom fighters—including a Shih’rahi huntrex and commandant of the Free Planetary Irregulars—who just happened to be in possession of seemingly all-powerful nanites?

  No matter the math, the equation had only solution.

  “Shih’ra,” he found himself saying almost involuntarily.

  “The very same, Ensign,” regarding him with a predatory smile. “At last, it has all come full circle.”

  39 • NEW BLOOD

  Ohana stood with Dell and the rest of Gold Wing, watching in her borrowed Irregulars’ dress uniform as the twenty-four pilots selected to fill the martyred ranks of Liberator’s Red Wing marched forward to receive their wings from Commander Harm. Many veterans of other wings in the fleet had been reassigned to give the new roster some depth and leadership. Several greenhorn wingers obviously fresh out of what passed for the Irregulars’ version of flight school rounded out the assembly. It was a motley assortment, but they would have to do.

  A small voice inside her reminded her that she was hardly one to judge.

  The minimalist ceremony complete, Commander Harm welcomed them aboard Liberator. Then he allowed them to elect their wing commander. The vote proved merely a formality. Rishi Mon Claire won unanimously, having volunteered to give up his command of Blue Wing to his more than competent young second. Red Wing needed leadership, and he was undoubtedly the man to take the reins from its erstwhile commander, the late Drusilla Estes.

  “Congratulations, old friend,” Commander Harm said. “Red Wing brings the heat.”

  “That we do, that we do.”

  Turning from Rishi to Dell, Commander Harm showed the favor he possessed for his protege by crossing the deck to stand before him. “We have a few more new pilots to bestow wings upon, but I think given that they’ll be going to Gold Wing, their Wing Commander should be the one to have the honor.”

  Dell was obviously taken aback by his mentor’s statement. “Sir? I don’t understand.”

  Commander Harm clasped Dell’s shoulder, almost as a father would his son’s. “We’ve come a hell of a long way together, you and I, but you’ve been the heart and soul of this wing for a while now, Dell, not me. Besides, this is no job for an old man like me. For the first time in my life, I think I’m ready to step behind the podium.” He produced a velvet-lined box featuring the pips of a Free Planetary flight marshal. “Promotion came through this morning. I’ll be overseeing all the wings aboard Liberator, as well as those of its support vessels. It would mean a lot to me if you would pin them on me, son.”

  “Holy…” Dell’s hand trembled just so as he took the box. Commander Harm was already removing the pips representing his previous rank. Tilting his head back, he smiled when Dell pinned the new pips to his collar. They saluted, savoring the moment as only mentor and protege could. Then Marshal Harm held out his hand. In his palm rested the two pips commemorating his long standing command of Gold Wing.

  “Sir,” Dell said quietly. “I couldn’t.”

  Marshal Harm just smiled. “Humble as ever. It’s these or nothing else, Commander DeCoud. We don’t exactly have lots of these just boxed up, waiting to be claimed.”

  Swallowing, Dell nodded. “In that case, sir, if you’d do me the same favor?” Dell lifted his chin, exposing his collar and the now obsolete wingman first class pips adorning it.

  “Gladly.” A moment later they were shaking hands, both having taken a great step forward in their careers. “They look damn good on you, Commander. Congratulations, Gold Wing is yours. You’ve earned it. Now, about your new recruits…”

  “Actually, sir, if I may?”

  “Yes, Commander DeCoud?”

  Dell drew himself up straight as
an arrow, apparently emboldened by the commander’s pips on his collar. “We had a talk last night, sir,” he said, indicating the surviving members of his wing. “We feel the best way to honor our fallen brothers and sisters is to adopt their designation. That is, unless Commander Mon Claire has any objections.”

  Rishi smiled in that curiously melancholy way of his. “I think it a most fitting tribute, Commander DeCoud. Consider the designation yours with my blessing.”

  Nodding his thanks, Dell turned to address his wingmen. “They were the bravest among us, always and forever. We’re still here today because they’re not. That was their choice—their gift—to us. Let’s do them proud.” Jaw set, he bowed his head and lifted his fist into the air. His wingmen followed suit, huddling in close. “Red Wing!” he barked. “Sound off!”

  “Red Wing brings the heat!”

  “Again!”

  “RED WING BRINGS THE HEAT!”

  “AGAIN!”

  “RED WING BRINGS THE HEAT!!”

  The moment was electric, bristling with catharsis even for Ohana. She had been out there, too. She owed her life to the former members of Red Wing as much as any of those huddling up with Dell.

  “Marshal Harm,” she said, stepping forward as the huddle broke up amidst much embracing and back-slapping. “I’ve made my decision, sir. I’d like to enlist, here and now.”

  The statement caught everyone by surprise, to say the least. “Say that again, Miss Cassel?”

  “I want to join the Irregulars. You need pilots,” she said, her back ramrod straight as she addressed him. “You’ve let me train them. Now let me fly with them. I won’t let you down, sir. That is a promise.”

  “And who would you fly with?”

  “Red Wing. If Commander DeCoud will have me, sir.”

  Marshal Harm raised an eyebrow at Dell. He responded with a single nod. Apparently that was all it took.

  “Raise your right hand,” Harm said. She did as instructed. “Ohana Cassel, do you hereby swear to uphold the Locus Manifesto of the Coalition of Free Planetary Republics with all your mind, body, and soul?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Do you forsake all previous allegiances and obligations, swearing in the course to be bound by Coalition laws, and to execute the orders of your superiors without hesitation or deviation?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “Do you take this burden upon yourself freely and without reservation or purpose of mental evasion?”

  “I do, sir.”

  Marshal Harm nodded. “Commander,” he said, nodding toward Dell. “Yours should suit her just fine.”

  It took Dell a moment to realize what he meant. Fishing into his pocket, he found his old first class pips. Ohana tried to keep a straight face when he stepped up to pin them on the collar of her now-official dress uniform; instead, they shared an awkward smile, but otherwise played it fairly cool. At least she thought so.

  “Congratulations, Wingman First Class Cassel. Welcome to Red Wing.”

  “Thank you, Commander DeCoud. Red Wing brings the heat.”

  They barely got back to his quarters after the ceremony before stripping each other of their dress uniforms and tumbling onto his woefully undersized rack.

  As fantastic as the sex was, Ohana couldn’t sleep afterward. Mostly because she knew it had to be the last time. She liked Dell. A lot. Maybe because she had saved his life. Maybe because he was cute and funny and the best damn pilot she’d ever laid eyes on (other than herself, that is). Maybe because they made some pretty amazing things happen between the sheets, despite the fact she was his first.

  Maybe all of those things.

  But she couldn’t say she loved him, and she couldn’t jeopardize either of their lives—or anyone else’s, for that matter—over some dumb fling.

  Slowly, she unstitched herself from his sleepy embrace. “Shit,” she muttered, feeling about the floor for her underwear. At some point in the intervening hours they had apparently gone AWOL. By the time she finally found them, Dell was starting to stir.

  “Leaving so soon?” he mumbled, his words still sleep slurred as he reached over to graze his fingers along the small of her back.

  “I have to go.”

  “Why? Neither of us is on duty for hours.”

  “Dell… we can’t do this anymore.” Almost immediately she regretted how bluntly she put it. She felt his fingers practically jump off of her as she winced.

  “What do you—wait, what?”

  “We had our fun, but I’m flying your wing now, Dell. You’re my commanding officer. This has to stop.”

  “I don’t recall my rack having a chain of command,” he teased, the sheets shifting as he made to sit up.

  Swinging around, she pinned him down upon his back, holding his arms akimbo above his head. “Alright, flyboy, try this on for size: We’re in a grinder of a dogfight and I’ve got two bogies right on my ass, but so does your wingman. They’re locked in, we’re both calling mayday, but you only have time to help one of us. Who do you choose?”

  Dell blinked up at her. He started to open his mouth to answer until he realized he didn’t have one.

  “Exactly,” she said, poking his chest roughly. “And now, because of that hesitation, your wingman and I are both dead. Hell, maybe you are, too. Maybe the whole damn wing gets wiped out, all because of that split second. Hesitation kills, Dell. You know it as well as I do.” She released her grip on his arms, sitting upright again. “That’s why we can’t keep doing this.”

  Dell nodded, settling his hands just above the points of her hips. “Alright,” he conceded. “I get it. I do. But do you really have to go skulking off in the middle of the night? Without even so much as a goodbye? No one’s going to die just because we waited till morning to part ways.”

  “With our luck lately, someone just might,” she countered, her face contorting into a scowl.

  “Okay, I could have said that better. You know what I mean, though.”

  She felt the scowl melting away as he gazed up at her with wide, searching eyes. Biting down hard on her bottom lip, she stared back down at him. “Damn you, Dell DeCoud,” she finally whispered, her voice feather soft as she leaned forward to meet his mouth.

  She knew exactly what he meant.

  “Someone had a long night,” Alexia observed as she plopped down across from Ohana in the galley the next morning. Her tray was piled high with scrambled eggs, biscuits and gravy, six strips of bacon, two hash browns, and half a grapefruit that seemed strangely out of place amidst the rest of all that rich fare. Sensing Ohana eyeing the caloric spread, she just shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Gotta carb up early to make it through a full shift on deck. I’ll work it all off by day’s end. Anyway, spill. What’s up?”

  “With what?” Ohana asked evasively.

  “Please.” Alexia tore a piece from the biscuit, swabbing it through the sausage gravy. “With my brother, obviously. You two are still keeping company, right?” Popping the gravy-saturated piece of biscuit into her mouth, she chewed expectantly while she waited for an answer.

  Ohana scrunched her nose up, making a face. “We’re not really going to talk about your brother and I keeping company over breakfast, are we?”

  “Fine,” she said, swallowing and rolling her eyes. “I know, let’s talk about the weather. Oh, wait, we’re on a spaceship. I know, let’s talk about where we’re going to go today. Oh, wait, we’re on a spaceship. I know, let’s talk about what—”

  “Okay, okay. I get it.” Ohana sighed. There seemed to be no avoiding the subject, either in her own head or with Alexia. “It’s the wackiest thing,” she finally said. After that it all just started pouring out of her as if a switch had been flipped. “Back on Eden Prime, I figured, you know, why not have some fun? I mean, here’s this guy whose life I helped save under the most bizarre circumstances, he’s sweet and smart and doesn’t mind that I’m flirting shamelessly, we’re on this beautiful little planet with virtually no one else arou
nd and nothing better to do. So, yeah, I went for it. Besides, for all I knew, you people were one suspicious move from flushing me out the nearest airlock.”

  Alexia looked up from her tray in mid-bite, her eyes wide beneath stitched brows. She was aghast at the very suggestion.

  “Well, I know you wouldn’t do that now! But, c’mon, at the time I had no idea what was going to happen to me. Anyway, your brother was there for me and he made me feel good—really good—but I figured that’s where it would stop. Except it hasn’t. I know in my head I shouldn’t let it keep happening, but my body refuses to listen. Like last night. I woke up and he was sleeping, and it hit me that I’d just—” Here Ohana took a quick glance around, pitching her voice lower than it already was. “—that I’d just slept with my new commanding officer. So I go to make a break for it, but I can’t find my underwear. By the time I finally do, he’s awake. I try to be distant and withdrawn, to separate myself from my feelings, and still somehow I let him talk me into staying until morning.” Ohana shook her head incredulously. She stabbed at a piece of melon with her fork. “If he hadn’t flung my damn panties halfway across the room when we were undressing each other I could have made a clean break.”

  By the time she finished, Alexia was reduced to clamping both hands over her mouth to hold back the string of giggles desperately trying to become public knowledge. When at last she composed herself, she unconsciously mimicked Ohana’s head shake of moments earlier. “Wow. Who would have guessed my baby brother would turn out to be such a ladykiller?”

  Ohana narrowed her eyes at her friend’s choice of words.

  “Sorry,” Alexia said sheepishly. “Point taken.”

  “No, it’s okay. I just… I don’t understand it, is all. I’ve always been able to compartmentalize this sort of thing before. It’s like something about Dell short-circuits the rational part of my brain.”

  “It’s the pilot in you. Both of you.”