by M. R. Forbes
Things started to get a little more active as they moved closer to the center of the outposts. The lean-to stalls turned into rounded huts dug halfway into the surface, with signs hanging outside to inform the visitor what they had to barter. Food, clothing, drugs. Not weapons. There probably wasn’t much need for them out here. It made her wonder if their cover was the best choice.
Benhil had said Drune was a shithole, and he was right. He said there was nothing here, and he was right about that, too. The place looked like it was on permanent life-support. There was little worth trading here. Little worth coming to buy. The individuals who lived here had to be either stupid or on the run from something. With all of her experience, she couldn’t guess how there could be another option.
And how was it that there was a building here that was nearly one hundred meters tall, rising from the ground and ending almost beyond the lousy visibility? It was the source of the spike they had seen from above. The transmission tower. It sat in the center of the colony, a beacon to everyone who lived and visited here. It was as dirty and worn as the others, but it was also brightly lit on the inside, and there was a flow of traffic in and out of it.
“I wish we knew what Yalom looks like,” Benhil said. “Take your pick of Skinks.”
It appeared that Drune was a popular destination for the lizard-like humanoids. Out of thirty individuals who went in and out of the central building, nearly half were Skinks. Thin, lean, covered in scales, with rounded, nearly featureless heads and faces and clawed hands and feet. They looked a little less downtrodden than the others. As though they enjoyed the dust.
“I don’t know if this is better or worse than Hell,” Abbey said.
“Yeah, Hell’s just hot. This is depressing.”
“Well, you’re the expert on the Outworlds. Where’s the most likely place to find Yalom without looking ridiculously suspicious?”
“I’m not sure that’s even possible after seeing the colonists. Every settlement, no matter how big or small it is, has a place where everyone goes to relax and be social. We’re all social animals, you know? Every intelligent species out there.”
“On a planet like this, the individuals go where the water is,” Abbey said.
“You’re as sharp as you look, Queenie.” He turned in a slow circle before pointing. “Follow the vapor condensers.”
They did, tagging along behind a pair of Skinks who were also headed to the condensers. Abbey wished she had a full TCU and helmet; it would have let her eavesdrop on their conversation more easily. Instead, she settled for catching words and short phrases and staying extra alert for their target’s name. Neither of the Skinks had mentioned it by the time they reached the dispensary.
There was a guard at the door, a large-bellied Terran holding a rifle that put Gant’s creation to shame. He let the Skinks in without question but barred them from entering unchallenged.
“You come in on that bigger ship, looks sort of like a bird?” he asked.
“You know what a bird looks like?” Benhil replied. “I didn’t think there were any here.”
“There ain’t,” the guard said. “I’ve been to the Fringe. I’ve seen birds.”
“We’re from that ship, yes,” Abbey said. “We’re looking to do some trading.”
“What have you got?”
Benhil held out the rifle. “An example,” he said.
The guard smiled. “We don’t get too many dealers out here. Market’s pretty small, but supply and demand means you can get a pretty good price. You make a deal inside; house gets ten percent.”
“For what?” Benhil said.
“For arranging a place to meet. Otherwise, you’d be chasing a sale every which way. Ten percent.”
“It isn’t a problem,” Abbey said, smacking Benhil on the shoulder before he could argue again.
The guard laughed. “Your wife is feisty. By the way, you saw the other two ships when you came in?”
“Yes,” Abbey said.
“One of them belongs to a Fizzig named Plusom. He might be in the market.”
“Thanks for the tip.”
“Why not? Helping you helps me.”
He stepped aside, allowing them in. The dispensary was four steps down and through a narrow archway that opened up to a larger space inside. It was simply organized. Tables along the walls, pillows, and rugs in the center. Clear pipes carried water along the ceiling and down to each of the sitting areas, and more standard drinks were being served from behind what looked like the remains of a crossbar from a Republic battleship.
The mood was quiet. Private. A number of eyes turned their way as they entered, but nobody stopped what they were doing. They were used to travelers here. Used to guns. Used to individuals who looked a little different.
“That must be Plusom,” Benhil said, tapping her shoulder and motioning to a Fizzig in the corner. He had a small entourage with him, two more of his kind and a Terran synthetic that bore a strong resemblance to Ruby. “I never could get into other species.”
“Why do you think he has a synth?” she replied quietly. Xenophilia was considered an alternate orientation, one that mainstream society frowned on.
“Should we go talk to him?”
“No. I want to find Yalom and get the hell out of here. Something about this place is making my skin crawl.” She didn’t mean it figuratively either. Her skin felt like it was moving, the way it had at Mamma Oissi’s.
“There’s a Skink at nine o’clock who’s staring at you like you’re a piece of meat. That could be why.”
She glanced over at the target. He was staring; his small, dark eyes focused on her. She turned and took a step toward him.
The skin at her back began to burn. She spun around just in time to see Benhil crumple to the ground.
Her eyes landed on a tall woman with blue hair, wearing a black softsuit. Her hand was out, palm up. Her eyes were sparkling gray.
Abbey reached for her gun, getting it halfway out before something tore it away from her, pulling it to the woman. She caught it smoothly and smiled.
“Lieutenant Cage,” the woman said. “I’ve been waiting for you. Mamma told me you would be coming.”
50
“Mamma Oissi is dead,” Abbey said. She glanced beyond the woman to where the guard was standing, watching the exchange. He had sold them out. The other bystanders were remaining in their places, not eager to get in the middle of whatever this was going to be. “Is Jester?”
“Benhil Visani,” the woman replied, tapping Benhil’s body with her toe. “It’s Jester now? No. He’s sleeping. I’m aware the Rudin is dead. I saw her body, ten minutes after you fled Orunel. It was a daring escape. Impressive. I’m sorry it turned out to be such a waste.”
“You’re with Thraven?” Abbey asked, not surprised.
“My name is Trinity. Yes. I’m one of his.”
“How did you get here ahead of me?”
“I told you. Mamma Oissi gave me directions, after her demise. It’s part of the Gift, Abigail. May I call you Abigail?”
“Or Abbey. Why not?”
“It’s part of the Gift, Abbey. The Blood of Life.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“I’m willing to bet there are a lot of things you’ve never heard of. The universe is too large for anyone to know everything. The point is, there is more to this existence than you know, Abbey. The true limits of possibility are still stretched beyond what our minds can handle. There is power beyond anything we’ve ever considered.”
“Like reading a dead Rudin’s mind?”
“A simple way to describe it, but yes. That’s one of the abilities that comes with the Gift.”
“If this Gift is so great, why did Thraven need to steal the Fire and the Brimstone? Why didn’t he just wave his magic wand and have them poof right onto his doorstep? For that matter, why does he need a Breaker to help figure out where Sylvan Kett is hiding?”
Trin practically rolled her eyes. “It�
��s a Gift, Abbey. Not magic. There are boundaries. It’s science. Not fantasy.”
Bitch.
“It seems pretty fantastic to me,” Abbey said, holding her temper.
“Isn’t anything we don’t yet understand?”
“Okay. So if this Gift is science, why isn’t Thraven’s tech better? Why isn’t the Outworlds’? Again, why does he need the ships? For what purpose? To what end?”
“Forget the ships,” Trin said. “The ships are inconsequential.”
“Not to me.”
“They will be. You have the first part of the Gift, Abbey. It was given to you back on Hell. I understand that you thought it was an attack, but it wasn’t. It was intended to be an honor. A glorious honor.”
“I was naked and pinned down, and got stabbed with a fragging needle,” Abbey said. “I still don’t feel very honored about that. All I feel is like I have a million worms crawling under my skin.”
“A side effect that we all learn to live with, to accept gratefully for the power that is unlocked. You have had a taste, but you can’t understand the fullness that comes after receiving the second part. You can’t begin to imagine the way the universe changes, the way your interaction with reality and existence changes. That’s why Gloritant Thraven was trying so desperately to find you. That’s why he sent me. To open your eyes to the glory of the Gift.”
“Not so I could break Kett’s mainframe for him?”
“At first, yes. Now? It would be little more than a fringe benefit. You’re stronger than most who receive the Gift, Abbey. You have potential you don’t realize. Thraven can help you understand what you’re capable of.”
“If your Gloritant has designs on the Republic, I’m not interested.”
Trin’s body language spoke of her frustration. She sighed as though she were talking to a child. “That’s not a productive way to look at it. This isn’t about governments and militaries. It’s not about who controls what. It’s about a promise made, and a promise kept.”
Abbey smiled. “Funny, it’s about that for me, too. I promised my daughter I would be home at the end of my tour. Do you know what happened instead? I got busted for trafficking guns to Sylvan Kett, I think. I’m not even completely sure who was doing what. I had no idea what the Fifth was involved in, and that asshole Mr. Davis had nothing on me. It didn’t keep me out of Hell. I was there because Thraven wanted me there. He wants me to be honored for that? He wants me to what? Join him? No. I’m trying to keep a promise, too. One that’s more important than being bulletproof, or waving my hand and making things fly around, or putting individuals to sleep or whatever the hell you did to Jester. So save your bullshit and frag off.”
Abbey stared at Trin, pleased with herself for knocking the woman off her smug pedestal. Why had Thraven sent this woman to her, anyway? All blue hair was managing to do was piss her off. She could tell she had struck a nerve with Trin in return.
“Is it safe for me to assume that this Gift isn’t free?” Abbey asked. “What did you have to agree to in exchange for your enlightenment? What part of your soul did you sell? Are you a follower or a slave?”
Trin froze for a moment, her eyes dropping toward the floor.
“What would you agree to do to save the ones you love?” Trin said. “What lengths would you go to? My husband, Ursan, lost his family to the Republic. He still has nightmares about what he saw and heard. Thraven promised him revenge. I don’t want anything as complicated. I want peace, Abbey, believe it or not. Thraven promised me peace.”
“While he sows the seeds of war?”
“Peace has a price. I’m willing to pay it.”
“You say peace. Are you sure you don’t mean power?”
Abbey noticed Trin’s hand clench into a fist. Had she scored another hit?
“You can be a herald of the Great Return, Abbey,” Trin said, speaking through her teeth, her anger bleeding into her words. “Or you can be nothing more than an escaped convict, a fugitive, a failure. You can die here on Drune, a shitty little rock in the middle of the universe, with no one, not even your daughter, to think of you as anything other than a waste. The choice is yours.”
Abbey felt her anger flare, her body beginning to burn anew. Her skin writhed and shifted, the power she had been given becoming alert. Trinity sensed it, too, taking a step back and raising her hand as though to defend herself.
“Don’t do this,” Trin said. “Gloritant Thraven doesn’t want you dead, but he will accept it if it’s necessary.”
Abbey laughed. A real, solid laugh. “So that’s it? Sign up or die? I seem to be getting that shitty offer a lot lately. Sorry, I already signed the same fragging contract with the Republic. The devil you know, right?”
She wasn’t sure how Trin’s attack was going to come. She wasn’t sure how she would possibly defend against it. Her body was on fire, her skin burning with an energy she had never felt before. Would the Gift defend her? Could she count on that?
She didn’t have a chance to find out. Trin’s hand started to rise, pausing halfway as the side of her head began to smoke.
The laser passed right through it, hitting the wall on the other side of the dispensary and spearing through that as well.
Trin’s body collapsed on the floor beside Benhil.
“Shit,” Gant said. “I think I pushed the power output a little too high.”
51
“We’re nearing the planet, Boss,” Dak said.
Ursan was staring out of the Brimstone’s viewport. He could see Kell ahead of them, a green and blue world that reminded him of home.
Except home was gone. A Republic military base was all that remained of it.
“Any contact from Thraven?” Ursan asked.
“No. If he knows we’re here, he isn’t saying.”
Ursan smiled. He had brought the Brimstone out of FTL a few thousand AU beyond the planet, well past the reach of the orbital sensors that would detect any incoming starships. He had then activated the ship’s cloaking mechanism, curious to explore the capabilities of the updated technology. He was surprised to find the power draw was minimal, and that efforts to locate him through standard anti-cloaking scans run by his own starship, the Triune, had failed.
That result had made him bold. Now he wanted to know if General Thraven, for all of his power, would be able to see him coming. He wasn’t planning to betray the one who had promised him the downfall of the Republic, but the General acted as though he was the next closest thing to a God, and Ursan wanted to know if that act was on the mark. Maybe if he could prove the man was fallible, he wouldn’t be so damn scared of him.
“Stay on course,” Ursan said. “Take it slow. We’ll slip past the outer defensive patrol, and if we still don’t get called out, we’ll move back and make a more standard entry.”
“Okay,” Dak said.
The Brimstone eased ahead, her velocity consistent as she drew nearer to the planet.
“What if Thraven is testing us testing him?” Dak asked, glancing back at him. He looked nervous.
“I’ll tell him I was testing the cloaking system to see how effective it is,” Ursan replied. “Maybe he’ll appreciate that I took the initiative.”
The outer defensive patrol was a group of fifty Shrikes, clustered together and sitting nearly dead in orbit around Kell. They were hard to see and small enough that without a larger power signature they were identified by sensors as ordinary space garbage instead of capable attack craft. Once a target moved within range, they would come alive and pound it with everything they had, which was more than enough to take down any Republic ship within a matter of seconds.
But probably not enough to take down the Brimstone.
“Make sure we don’t run into any,” Ursan said, watching them approach.
“I’m tracking them,” Dak replied.
The Brimstone skirted the line, angling around the cluster. Ursan held his breath, watching the Shrikes intensely, waiting for them to react to their presence
or for Thraven or some other officer from Command to put him to question.
It didn’t happen. The Brimstone reached the other side of the first line of defense still undetected.
“I don’t want to turn her in,” Dak said, laughing at the results.
“She’s amazing,” Ursan replied. “But I prefer the comfort of the Triune. Let Thraven have his unstoppable killing machine.” He paused, enjoying the invisibility of the Brimstone for a few more seconds. “Get us turned around and back out. We’ll regroup with the Triune and come back in the clear.”
“Okay, Boss,” Dak replied.
“With any luck, whatever job Thraven sent Trin on will be finished soon, and she’ll be -”
He froze as he felt a sudden chill throughout his body, causing him to shiver. He closed his eyes, a split-second vision crossing behind the lids.
Trinity was lying on the ground.
Dead.
“Contact General Thraven,” Ursan said.
Dak turned around. “What? Boss-”
“I said open a fragging channel,” he shouted in reply.
Dak did as he asked.
“Captain Gall,” Thraven said a moment later, a projection of only his head appearing at the front of the bridge. “You felt it?” He sounded surprised.
“Where is she, General?” Ursan said.
“Where are you, Captain Gall?” Thraven replied. “You’re nearby.”
“I was testing the cloaking systems. I’m in orbit. Tell me where Trin is. Now. She needs me.”
Ursan could feel the panic washing through him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Trinity couldn’t die. She was stronger than him. Smarter than him. He couldn’t accept it.
“Your orders are to bring the Brimstone in, Captain,” Thraven said, remaining calm. “I expect you to follow them.”
“Frag your orders, General,” Ursan replied, forgetting himself. “I saw it. I saw her die. Tell me where she is, or I’m going to plant every torpedo this ship has left up your fragging asshole.”
