by Ann Bakshis
After twenty minutes, I turn the water back on, strip the rest of my clothes off, and step inside the stall. There’s a knock on the door from the men’s entrance. Bevan is calling my name.
“Braxton wants to see you,” he says after opening the door a crack.
“Where is he?”
“He’ll be waiting for you outside the eatery.”
I quickly dry off, don the dress uniform, run a comb through my darkened hair, and go down in the lift. Braxton is pacing nervously, his hands clenched behind his back. He walks quickly over to me, taking my arm and gently escorting me back to the lift.
“Here.” He shoves an electronic tablet into my hands. It resembles the one Devlan once gave me. “Bevan got reprimanded for showing you some of their files the other night. He was warned by Holunder that he would be banished from Tartarus if he showed you any more. But with Bevan and Caitrin’s help, I copied those files onto this for you to look through. Hide it somewhere.”
He leaves, going over to the spanner while I go back up to my residence.
Why do they want me to have this? Is there something they know that I don’t? What could be so important that Braxton, Caitrin, and Bevan are all risking everything to give me this?
I’m about to turn on the device when I hear my name over the speakers hidden in the ceiling tiles.
“Trea, please report to the medical ward.”
I place the tablet next to the journal and take the lift down. Ford is waiting for me at the entrance, holding a dress uniform.
“Braxton has asked for you and Jagger to be a part of the ceremony for Lieutenant Keller.” He hands me the uniform, opens the door, and escorts me inside.
“I’m already wearing my uniform,” I say, as we walk down the empty aisle between beds.
“The uniform isn’t for you, my dear, it’s for Keller.”
We proceed to the last surgical room on the right and enter. Keller has been freshly scrubbed, hair washed, and is reclining on a metal table with only a towel covering his waist.
“The way the ceremony goes is that the relative or close friend designates two assistants to help the leader perform the burial ritual. Braxton has nominated Jagger and yourself for this task. Jagger is over on the bridge platform securing the rigging. Your job is to help me dress the body.”
Keller’s body is pale, grotesquely white. I’ve only handled the bodies of those we had to leave on our way here, but I didn’t know them. I knew Keller, which makes this all the more painful and disturbing.
How am I going to handle this? Why did Braxton pick me?
Ford takes the pants of the uniform and begins to slide them onto Keller’s legs. I stand and watch, half mortified, half confused. Once the pants are fastened, Ford takes the black undershirt and carefully extends Keller’s arms through the sleeves then over his head. We both take the top coat, gently maneuvering his torso through it. I fear I’ll hurt him, so I go as gently as possible, though part of me knows he is beyond pain. I secure the tunic on his right side while Ford fetches a roll of sack cloth from the cabinets outside the room.
It takes a half hour to fully wrap and secure Keller’s remains. Finally, he’s covered in a sheet, before being wheeled out of the room. I walk behind the parade as medics push the gurney through the ward and out the door to the spanner. The body is laid out along a board that has been placed over the seats of a carriage. A couple of the medics and I ride in the one behind it. Once in the main building the body is taken up to the hangar floor, placed into the back of a transport while I climb into the front passenger seat, and one of the medics sits behind the wheel. The vehicle is then backed out of its spot and aimed at the heavy metal doors exiting out onto the bridge.
The doors open and we make a slow trek down the expanse. We park next to another transport along the far wall as soon as we’re inside the security platform. The medic hands me a protection suit, which I put on after removing the tunic and before exiting the vehicle. The outfit is baggy and difficult to move in. My vision is compromised by the hood and my feet are heavy to lift. Cool air is circulating within the suit, but I can still feel the heat from the fissure below us. We walk around to the back and remove the board, placing it on the ground.
Jagger, Holunder, and a security officer come up to us wearing the same protective gear, only Holunder’s is black while the rest of us are wearing blue. Jagger and the security officer lift the body and rest it in a wire basket, which is hoisted up and carried down the platform. It veers right and stops above a door on the floor just underneath a viewing screen. The medic opens the door and we’re immediately struck by the heat. Sulfur permeates the air even through the protection of the suit. Holunder turns on the screen and begins to recite a speech he has probably made many times.
“My dear friends, we gather here today to celebrate the life of a courageous young man who sacrificed himself for the safety of others. Tobias Keller was an honorable officer whose life was cut short.”
As the narration continues, I look around and notice the ceiling by us has several cameras as well as screens. Those who’ve gathered to witness this ceremony are holding hands, some with tears in their eyes. Braxton is hiding behind the crowd assembled in the hangar, keeping his distance, probably in an attempt to conceal his emotions.
“With our love and admiration, we relinquish the remains of our dear friend Tobias Keller to the earth.”
Jagger pushes the controls next to the screen and the basket begins to lower. The sack cloth catches fire, slowly spreading across the body.
I’m so transfixed on the image on the screen that I don’t see the blade until it has punctured Holunder’s chest. The medic drives it deeper, then rips it out, leaving a red gash in the suit, and causing blood to flow. Jagger and the security officer are throwing blows at each other, a Levin gun held tightly in the officer’s hand. The outfit is cumbersome to move in, but I go after the medic before she can inflict another wound. As she raises the weapon to strike the fatal blow I tackle her at her waist, knocking her sideways and off of Holunder who is lying on the floor, dying.
The medic darts at me, blade held high above her head. I roll under her as she jumps at me, but she then changes course and runs down the platform. Her next target seems to be Jagger. I try to stand, but my protective suit has snagged on several metal pins in the floor, preventing me from moving. The suit becomes more entangled as I thrash about trying to free myself. Jagger cries out in pain. I rip the suit off, exposing myself to the incredible heat and noxious fumes.
Jagger is still putting up a fight with the officer as the medic continues stabbing him in the back. I attack the woman, snapping her neck, then shove her body through the door into the fissure. Jagger has his arms wrapped around the security officer, but the Levin gun is pointed at him. He’s hit with the energy blast just below the right shoulder, severing his arm. The security officer backs away at my approach.
“Trea!” I hear Bevan’s voice through the speakers above my head. “He’s retracting the bridge! You have to get out of there!”
I look down at Jagger, his body small and failing.
“Let me die,” he whispers to me.
Tears try to form, but the air is too hot. I know he’s right. He’s hurt too badly for any Quarum to heal him, but I just can’t let go.
The security officer is standing by the emergency exit, which empties out onto a small thin walkway around the platform to the bridge. There’s a second exit on the opposite side. I squeeze Jagger’s hand, secretly telling him goodbye before sprinting for the door. The Levin gun hits me in the back of my lower calf. I see the flash and wait for the pain, only I don’t feel it.
The door is within my reach when the officer takes off in my direction. He brings me down just inches from freedom. My foot finds his jaw, dislocating it. The nozzle of the Levin gun is pressed against my chest. When he fires the energy burns a hole in my black top, but most of the energy is absorbed into my body.
I feel it trav
el down my arms, torso, and legs.
Jamming my feet into his stomach, I throw him backwards, and his head hits the metal floor with a crack. He doesn’t move, but a blinking blue object nestled in his protective suit has caught my attention.
“Shit,” I grumble. “This can’t be happening.”
I open the emergency door and land on burning hot metal. My lungs screech for fresh air, but only burning hot toxins fill them as I race down the walkway. I can feel my exposed flesh searing from the heat. My arms and hands turning black as they burn. I ignore it all, knowing that I have seconds to get enough distance before the Quantum mortar goes off.
The bridge has only retracted a foot, but that distance is growing. I run for my life, hurdling myself over the open pit, and landing hard on my face and hands as my body slams into the metal surface of the bridge. I can’t move. The blistering-hot surface is making my skin adhere to the coating covering the expanse.
The blast from the Quantum mortar does me a favor and blows me off my spot, propelling me forward towards the door to the hangar, which sits wide open. I land just a few feet short, but I manage to drag myself the remainder of the way before the entire bridge breaks from its moorings and collapses.
The entrance to the hangar seals moments later to prevent any outgases from entering. A few more seconds and I would have been on the wrong side of the door. A few sets of hands gently place me down onto the hangar floor, as Braxton and Bevan run towards me.
My eyes have dried out from the heat, making my vision almost non-existent. But I can feel my body healing from the burns, my breathing beginning to return. Braxton is shouting orders, but I can’t tell to whom or what he’s saying.
Medics in yellow tunics swarm around me, lifting me off the ground, and carrying me through the mass of people who have enveloped the area.
“You’re going to be fine, Trea,” I hear Braxton whisper to me.
I feel a pinch in my arm and sleep takes me.
CHAPTER 9
“How many total?”
“Twelve, not including the two assassins on the platform.”
“Where are the rest now?”
“Rafer has them secured in a holding cell over in Building Two.”
“Does Braxton know?”
“No, not yet. Let him sleep.”
The voices come through to me in a fog, but I recognize them as belonging to Ford and Bevan.
I try to open my eyes, however they feel glued shut. My body is drained and unwilling to obey me. After several minutes I’m finally able to move my hand, and sweep away the crud from around my eyes. I move my head to the right, hoping to get myself oriented.
Braxton is sound asleep on a lounge chair. Bevan sits in a chair at the foot of my bed, scrolling through an electronic pad in his hands.
“Hey,” I croak, the burns in my throat still causing me trouble.
“How are you feeling?” Bevan stands, places the device on his chair, and walks up to the head of my bed.
“Stop giving Braxton an injector. He has a nasty habit of knocking people out for days.”
Bevan snickers, but out the corner of my eye Braxton’s mouth curls up.
That man doesn’t sleep through anything. He’s a lot like me in that regard.
“Other than that?”
“What’s this crap all over my eyes?”
“It’s moisturizing cream. Your eyes were almost completely dried out.”
“Are you going to tell me what happened after the explosion, or are you just going to keep asking how I am?”
“You better tell her, Bevan, or you’ll never hear the end of it,” Braxton pipes in, eyes still closed, arms folded over his chest.
“Looks like they’d been planning it for months, just waiting for an opportunity.”
“Was Holunder the main target?”
“Yes…until you arrived.”
My head begins to throb, so I ask for some medicine. Bevan leaves to get a medic, while I try to prop myself up in bed.
“I’m getting out of here,” I mumble, unplugging wires and tubes that are attached to my chest and arms.
“Trea, don’t be rash.” Braxton swings his legs onto the floor, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Fuck you, Braxton,” I shout. “No one’s trying to kill you, so I don’t give a damn what you have to say.”
“I know you’re upset,” he begins, standing and crossing over to the bed.
“Upset! You think I’m upset? I’m beyond upset. I’m pissed as hell. They killed Jagger and Holunder, but I was the main target? What were they hoping to do? Incinerate me in the fissure?”
Bevan walks in with a young female medic, pills in her hand, along with a glass of water. She pales at my outburst, hands the items to Bevan, and runs from the room.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“You scared her,” Braxton says, laughing.
I climb down from the bed and swallow the pills and water. This is the first time I notice that I’m wearing a yellow gown.
“Where are my clothes?”
“They’re in the trash. Most of the uniform was burnt away.”
“Can Grainne bring me some clothes?”
Bevan and Braxton look at each other, pain lines their faces.
“Where’s Grainne?”
“She’s with Mair and Thane,” Bevan replies quietly.
“And where are they?”
“Meg,” Braxton starts, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“You only call me that to calm me down. Where the hell are they?” My temper rises to a boiling point.
“We don’t know.”
I stare at Bevan, eyes glued to his aggrieved expression. “What about Piran?”
“He’s in the room next to yours. Ford had to give him a dose of the Quarum that Braxton brought.”
I shove Bevan aside, go out the curtain, and over to the room on the right. Piran is hooked up to several monitors. I know enough to tell that his respiration is low, and his pulse minimal. The right side of his body is badly singed, but healing, slowly. His left arm has wounds created by a Pugio blade. Those are now scarred over. I sense Braxton standing behind me, closing the curtain I’d left open.
“How? Why?”
“All eyes were focused towards the commotion on the platform so we didn’t notice them trying to take the kids. Piran defended himself and the others as best as he could, but they were better equipped. He took a Levin blast to the right side. Since his body isn’t as modified as yours, it didn’t handle the energy blast that well. He’s healed externally from the wound, but his internal organs are taking more time than expected, even with the added Quarum. The weapon had the safety features off. I don’t know if you could’ve handled a hit from it either,” he says, taking a step closer to me.
What Braxton doesn’t know is that I’ve survived a blast from a fully functioning Levin gun. That’s how I got my stream to begin with. But I keep the information to myself for now.
I sidle up next to the bed, and take hold of Piran’s charred hand.
“Why, is what we’re still trying to understand,” Braxton says.
“Take me to them.”
“No. Rafer has them locked down and only the lieutenants have access to them.”
“Braxton,” I begin, as I turn around to face him, “you get me in there.”
“I know you. I know what you’ll do to them if you’re given a chance. I’ve seen you do it before, in Nuceira.”
He’s right. I would kill every one of them before they have an opportunity to tell us anything.
We step out of the room to find Bevan waiting just on the other side. He takes me up to the residence so I can change clothes. There isn’t anyone in the room when I enter, which is probably a good thing. I glance over at Grainne’s bed and begin to cry, rage coursing through my veins. In my drawer, I remove the training outfit, since putting another uniform on feels too confining to me. Not caring what time it is, I walk into the washroom, select my st
all, and get in.
I’ve not had a moment to mourn Jagger. The tile lining the stall is cool as I sit down, pull my knees up to my chest, and weep. Everyone I’ve ever cared about is taken from me.
Why do I keep allowing this to happen? What am I doing wrong that this isn’t stopping?
“Trea,” Bevan calls to me from outside the stall.
“Go away.” I lean my head back, resting it against the tile.
“Ares has called an emergency meeting. She’s asked for you to be there.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t have one when I was sleeping.”
He doesn’t respond, which tells me she did.
“She can have this one without me too.”
“Trea, please, come to the meeting room.” His voice sounds tired, cracking from exhaustion.
I keep forgetting I’m not the only one involved in this craziness, nor am I the only one who has lost friends. He admired Holunder, so that loss has to be overwhelming for him.
“Fine.” I relent so he’ll leave.
“I’ll wait for you by the lift.”
The door closes, I stand up, and begin to scour the ash out of my hair and the soot from my skin. After drying off, I put on my clothes, toss the medical gown down the laundry chute, put on my boots, and meet Bevan at the lift. We ride down in silence. Tension has grown between us. I’m angry at him. I’m angry at Braxton. I’m angry at the world. Nothing can bring me lower.
No one is around as we climb into a carrier and go across to the main building. Braxton is waiting for us outside the door of the meeting room wearing a red tunic with gold stripes. Upon entering, Ares is standing at the head of a new rectangular table wearing a gold tunic.
“Got promoted, did we?” I sneer at Braxton before he shows me to a seat by the windows.
He ignores my jab and takes a seat to Ares’ right. Ford is also sitting at the table, along with Bevan, Caitrin, Rafer, Lehen, and Vier. I feel outnumbered, even with my friends at the table. I feel alone in all of this.
“Thank you, Trea, for joining us. I’m sure you’re very tired and confused about what has transpired while you’ve been in the medical ward,” Ares says, taking her seat. “The leader of the renegades, Iscariot, continues to remain silent, as does his followers. We’ll need to start penalty proceedings immediately if we’re to retain order among the rest of Tartarus.”
