Fall and Rising

by Sunny Moraine

  “She was insane,” Adam murmured. How much had Sinder sounded like her? How much of her potential for madness lay in him? It was impossible to be sure. Impossible to know what they were dealing with. “Lock, I can’t do this. Not again. Not someone else dead because of me. Tortured because of me. I’m haunted enough. I know he’s just one man, but …”

  “Khara.” Lochlan slapped both his hands down on the console, shoved himself away from it, and stalked across the cockpit. Adam watched him, and what he felt—what superseded the horror and the helplessness that twisted at every part of him—was a profound sense of distance. He couldn’t let himself feel too much. It would destroy him.

  Lochlan whirled. “This again. This again, Adam. You stupid fucking …” He kicked a transparent container that had held some kind of food at some point in the past and it sailed into the far wall. “You wanted to run into their goddamn arms before. You remember that? You remember when Kae got put in the fucking clinic? You remember all those people, dead? You want to make what they sacrificed worth nothing now?”

  “I remember.” Adam swallowed. His throat was tight and getting tighter. Even breathing was becoming an effort, and for all the worlds this fear reminded him of being sick. Of his own body spinning wildly out of control, turning against him.

  He had never been in control of anything.

  “Adam. Chusile.” All at once Lochlan’s face softened, his jaw unclenched, lips parted. He crossed back to Adam and sank into a crouch in front of him, hands on his knees, staring up into Adam’s face with large dark eyes. “Please don’t do this. He’s just … Like you said, he’s one man.”

  “Lock.” It was so hard to remember. “So was I.”

  “That’s not the same. I don’t believe it.” But the look in Lochlan’s eyes told a different story, and by now Adam could read him. “We can still run.”

  “If we try to run, they’ll kill us anyway.”

  “No. No, I could outmaneuver them.”

  Adam lifted his hands and framed Lochlan’s face. He felt an awful smile stretching his mouth, sad in a way that stabbed his heart. “No, you couldn’t. I know you’re good, Lock, but you’re not that good. Neither am I. Not anymore.” He leaned forward, tipped their foreheads together. “Maybe he’ll kill us. But I don’t think he will. If he was going to do that … at least now … he would have done it already. As long as we’re alive, there’s a chance. We might even be able to do some good over there. And I don’t … Please don’t make me watch anyone else die. Not because of me.”

  Lochlan shook his head, despair twisting his features, and Adam knew what he had to say next would make it all even worse. He didn’t expect it to do much. But it had to be said.

  “We should try to get them to let you go. They want me. I don’t know what use they’d have for you. We should at least try.”

  Lochlan stared at him, mouth open, and Adam wished—violently—that he hadn’t said it. As he’d thought, it was useless. Worse than useless. Because what he saw beneath the shock—faint but unquestionably there—was anger.

  “Fuck off with that,” Lochlan breathed. “You … Fuck off with it. I don’t even know why you’d—”

  “I know.” Adam ducked his head. “I know. I’m sorry. I had to say it. I had to.”

  Lochlan let out a breath, clearly dangerously close to a sob. Here it was again, the edge they had been treading for what felt like years. “I can run anyway. I’m bigger than you, you can’t stop me.”

  In spite of himself, Adam laughed. There was something childish about it, so heartfelt, so fundamentally Lochlan. “Yeah, you could do that. But you won’t. You know what I’m saying is true.” He pulled Lochlan closer and brushed their lips together. “We’re surrendering. But we’re not giving up. I promise.”

  Once more, the silence stretched out. They held on to each other, and the dimness of the cabin slipped away. When Adam closed his eyes, it felt as though they were spinning together in the black, nothing between them and vacuum. Just each other. All they had, now.

  Even that was so delicate. So fragile.

  “All right,” Lochlan breathed at last, and then the comm chimed. Adam hit Receive.

  “Well?”

  Adam didn’t hesitate. “We agree. We surrender.”

  “Excellent.” His tone was deeply pleased, and Adam clenched his teeth. Prick. No. No, he wasn’t going to let this man win. “Bring your engines offline and stay where you are. We’ll be sending a couple of ships to tug you in.”

  Lochlan cut the comm. “So.” He sounded as numb as Adam was. He was still crouched in front of him, leaning against him, but Adam could feel him pulling away all the same. Growing distant. “Should we have some kind of plan or something?”

  “I don’t know.” Adam dropped his face into his hands and just let himself breathe. “I don’t even know what to plan for. Let’s … Let’s let them take us in, see what we’re dealing with.”

  “What we’re dealing with.” Lochlan’s laugh barely counted as one, rough and harsh and utterly miserable. He pushed himself up and turned away, his shoulders hunched. “I’m glad Ixchel can’t see this.”

  Adam sucked in a breath. It was involuntary, pained; it hurt to hear that, as bad as a slap to the face, and he couldn’t hide it. But Lochlan didn’t look back at him, offered no apology, and Adam turned to the console, staring down at it and at his hands, which sat motionless on its surface.

  He had said they weren’t giving up. He wanted to believe that.

  But he wasn’t sure he could.

  Sinder stood in the docking bay, watching as the Bideshi ship was brought in. Looking at it, it was hard to keep back one of those waves of disgust that came whenever he considered anything that originated with them. It was an ugly thing, patched together, a chaotic amalgamation of parts and designs that had clearly been added piecemeal as they were needed. It was a smaller version of their massive homeships, the same kind of structure that scorned order and planning. This was what the Protectorate could become if Yuga was allowed to remain free. He would bring this disorder, him and the Bideshi. A final, lethal treachery.

  The two escort fighters set down on the bay’s deck, and the Bideshi ship lowered itself between them with a hiss and a clunk. There was a pause. Five peacekeepers stepped forward, guns raised and aimed at the ship’s hatch.

  Sinder smoothed his already immaculate suit and cast a glance in Alkor’s direction, satisfied. In truth, he was inviting the woman to be satisfied along with him. It was her triumph as much as his.

  Well. Perhaps not quite as much.

  “Come out, Yuga,” he called. “You and your friend. Come out with your hands in the air and we’ll have this over and done.”

  For another moment, nothing. Then, with a jerk and a creak, the hatch opened and a short stepladder extended. In the hatchway there appeared a slender man of strong build, pale blond, dressed in the rumpled and patched clothes of a Bideshi, but with features possessing the carefully crafted perfection that marked a child of the Protectorate.

  There was his skin, however—mottled, uneven, imperfect. And even at a distance, Sinder could see his telltale eyes, that mismatched blue and green.

  Yuga raised his hands.

  “Come down. Now.”

  He did. Following him, hands also raised, was a taller man dressed in the same kind of disheveled clothing, his skin a rich brown and his head topped by a mass of gaudily beaded dreadlocks. Sinder’s gaze moved over him, noting the complex black ink that wound over his arms, and his lip curled. Marring himself that way—not that his skin was much to boast of …

  This. This person was who Adam had found refuge with. One among others, anyway.

  Shameful.

  “Lochlan d’Bideshi,” Sinder said, allowing him a nod of the smallest degree. The man responded only with an icy glare. “I wasn’t expecting the opportunity to take you into custody, but I have to say, it’s a nice bonus. Captain.” He nodded to Alkor. “Will you do the honors?”


  Alkor stepped forward, her shoulders back and head high, now the picture of Protectorate regality. “Adam Yuga,” she said, “by order of the Protectorate High Command, I’m—”

  “That’s not his name,” the Bideshi growled. “He’s Bideshi now. If you’re going to do it, at least get it right, you stupid fucking raya.”

  Sinder’s eyes narrowed, and he saw Alkor stiffen slightly, but otherwise neither of them responded. Yuga, however, shot the other man a warning look. The Bideshi returned it mutinously, but fell silent again. Alkor cleared her throat and continued.

  “By order of the Protectorate High Command, I am placing you under arrest. You’ll be transported to a detention facility until such time as a tribunal can be assembled, at which point you will be tried and sentenced.”

  Sinder smiled. He enjoyed the formality of this speech, and he would enjoy the greater pomp and circumstance of the trial, especially given that the outcome was a foregone conclusion. Yuga would be found guilty and executed, and likely his Bideshi lover along with him. Then this long, awkward mess would be at an end, and they could get back to the real work at hand: maintaining this exquisitely perfect garden of a civilization. Of an empire.

  To his credit, Yuga didn’t appear frightened, even when a peacekeeper ran a weapon scanning wand over him and the Bideshi, and Sinder felt grudging admiration. Whatever else Yuga might be, he hadn’t lost all of the spirit that made the Protectorate great. Despite everything he had done, everything he had become, perhaps it was more fitting if he didn’t go to his death shrinking and fainting.

  Alkor gestured to the two peacekeepers who flanked her. “Take them to the brig. Put them in separate cells. It wouldn’t do to have them doing anything …” Distaste flashed across her face. “Anything unsavory.”

  Once again the Bideshi seemed about to protest, but thankfully another look from Yuga shut his mouth. Interesting as this had all initially been, Sinder wanted to be done with it. He had reports to file. Later there could be questions, and that would no doubt be interesting as well.

  “It’s a pleasure to have you on board, Yuga,” he said as the men were led past him, joined by two more peacekeepers. He turned to watch them as they moved toward the bay doors—Yuga’s erect bearing, and the Bideshi’s overtly casual slouch, maintained even when all hope was extinguished.

  Whatever appearances they were keeping up, it would make no possible difference. Yuga, on his way to justice. And one less Bideshi loose in the universe. He gave the captain a smile. “I’d say this is a win all around. Wouldn’t you?”

  Alkor returned the smile, though hers was a good bit thinner than Sinder’s. “Not quite all around.” She pushed past him, not looking back. “I’ll see you on the bridge, Sinder. You can speak to them whenever you want to, I suppose.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” It might not be necessary at this point: it wasn’t as though he needed additional evidence, or a confession of any kind. But there were some things he wanted to know. Things it seemed important to understand.

  One had to know one’s enemy. And Yuga was not the only enemy. There was an entire race of them.

  They too would be dealt with, in their time.

  As they were escorted down a corridor that led deeper into the ship, Lochlan tried to covertly scan their surroundings, checking for any escape routes. But he saw nothing.

  They were flanked on all sides by peacekeepers, their blast shields down over their faces, making them look even less human than usual. And as their group passed other peacekeepers, each one was armed, and where their faces were exposed each one glared, eyes narrowed. Some verged on hateful. The whole crew must know who they were. If they did manage to break free, the entire ship would descend on them.

  They would have to do this quietly. If at all.

  Separate cells. He didn’t like the idea of that, though he wasn’t surprised by it. It wasn’t just that it would make escape harder. The white pristineness of the ship was making it even more difficult, being in a space not only alien but hostile to him and everything he loved. He remembered the same hostile aesthetic from the flagship that he and Adam had boarded in secret, to clear the debt of the credits Adam had stolen before Lochlan found him—and to discover the truth about his illness. Then, Lochlan had been too focused on the task at hand to really notice his surroundings. But now he felt it and saw it, and hated it.

  These people were raya. He knew that Adam still wasn’t completely comfortable with the word, though with him it was always now affectionate, teasing. But he couldn’t think of another that fit Adam’s former people so well. Planet-bound, even though they flew. A slave to their own conventions.

  That might be an advantage. If they weren’t flexible enough … And the Bideshi were nothing if not flexible.

  “Are you taking us to where you’re holding Kerry?” Adam’s tone was casual, though the effort in keeping it so was obvious. “I’d like to see him.”

  One of the peacekeepers on their left snorted. “You’ll see him. You’ll probably dine on bullets together. Won’t that be nice?”

  “Good,” Adam said, as if he hadn’t heard the last two remarks. “I hope you haven’t hurt him too badly. He’s an honorable man, whatever you think of him.”

  “I think he’s a fucking traitor. Like you.” The peacekeeper slapped Adam’s shoulder and shoved him forward. “Keep walking, degenerate.”

  Lochlan knew he shouldn’t. He knew it was stupid, bordering on suicidal. Whereas Adam was important, and he doubted that Sinder would let him die before he had a chance to deliver him to the Protectorate, Lochlan was likely expendable. He was a bonus. Any excuse he gave them to kill him might be enough.

  But as long as Lochlan possessed any strength, no one was going to touch Adam. No one. As he lunged for the man, he heard Ying in his head, tired and reproachful.

  Oh, Tommy. Tommy, Tommy, you never had the sense that God gave a glowbug.

  Of course, he never reached the peacekeeper. The butt of a gun flew up and caught him in the mouth, exploding white pain across his vision, and the arm of another peacekeeper hooked around him, turned him, and slammed him face-first against the bulkhead. Blood was sharp on his tongue.

  “Fucking asshole,” one of the peacekeepers hissed from behind him.

  “You do that again and I will fucking kill you, do you understand? I’ll kill you in front of your sweetheart, and I’ll do it slow. Make him watch. You get me?”

  Lochlan didn’t answer and was bucking back against the body pinning him, awash with rage, but then Adam cried out and the pain in his voice froze Lochlan. Not the high twist that came with physical pain. This was longer and closer to a moan. Pleading. Fear.

  “Lochlan, don’t. It’s okay. We’ll be okay.”

  Lochlan squeezed his eyes shut. Okay. Groping for any source of calm he could find, he imagined arms around him, warm and solid, and forced himself to ease. He wouldn’t be any good to anyone if he died before they had a chance to formulate a plan.

  Please don’t make me watch anyone else die.

  There was hot breath on his neck. The man behind him was still leaning in close, lips almost brushing Lochlan’s ear, and in spite of himself, Lochlan shuddered.

  What the fuck was this?

  “Don’t fight,” the man whispered. “Not yet. Trust me, you’ll have your chance. I’m a friend. Be ready.”

  Before Lochlan had a chance to respond, he was yanked away from the wall and pushed toward Adam. Adam reached for him, and Lochlan was once more intensely grateful to whatever power watched over them that their hands hadn’t been restrained.

  As if reading his mind, the peacekeeper who had insulted him sent Lochlan stumbling with a blow to the stomach. He bent over as pain racked him; coughing, he put a hand up to his mouth, and it came away smeared with blood.

  His lower lip felt about three times its normal size. He focused on its throb. It drew attention from the thick, hot coal in the pit of his stomach.

  “If
you’re done,” one of the other peacekeepers growled, “let’s get going. No more of that bullshit or we’ll break your arm.”

  “That was stupid,” Adam whispered, as Lochlan fell into unsteady step beside him, still half-hunched over with one arm wrapped around his middle. Nothing seemed seriously damaged, but the next few hours were going to be reasonably horrible. “That was so fucking stupid, Lock; I don’t know why you—”

  Lochlan touched his arm, shook his head. When Adam fell silent, Lochlan nodded at the peacekeeper who had spoken in his ear. The man was striding along ahead of them like the others, but Lochlan couldn’t keep from studying him for details, any confirmation that he wasn’t like the others.

  Adam mouthed, What?

  Lochlan jerked his head down. He didn’t dare speak aloud, not now, and he was glad that Adam seemed to have adopted the same policy. They would have to find connections other than speech. Their hands were close, almost brushing, but his own were still stained with blood, and that closeness was its own kind of pain.

  He knew what would happen if they touched again.

  He’s with us, Lochlan mouthed back. He says.

  Adam stared at him, eyes wide. Lochlan returned the look, willing him to understand, and gave him a nod. Whether or not Lochlan believed it, he had no idea what reason the man would have to lie.

  The Protectorate were cruel, cold, arrogant, inflexible, selfish, and conceited. But from what he knew, it didn’t seem that they would fuck with someone for the sole purpose of fucking with them.

  “You, there. No talking, or whatever the fuck you’re doing.” One of the peacekeepers behind them rammed the butt of his gun against Adam’s side, hard enough to send Adam stumbling, wincing. Lochlan bit his swollen lip to keep himself from catching Adam, from curling his arms around the man and holding on.

  It would only make it worse for both of them.

  They went on in silence, down another series of corridors, a short ride up in a lift, then another corridor that ended in a heavy locked door. This hissed open to reveal a block of six cells, garishly lit and walled in clear dividers that looked delicate and thin but that would probably be almost impossible to penetrate. A peacekeeper out of armor sat behind a desk by the door, and she stood up as they entered, returning the salute that one of their escorts offered.