Flotsam

by R J Theodore

  In the confusion, the aliens failed to give way to Meran, and she got her hands on them. Two aliens were reduced to blue puddles. Their cries of alarm echoed in Talis’s ears after they were gone. Abandoned rifles hit the deck and splashed in the puddles their former owners left behind.

  Talis scooped up the rifles nearest her, tossing one to Tisker. She supported hers against her hip and motioned at the aliens in front of her, hoping she was even holding their weapon properly. She kept her revolver up and leveled, just in case.

  There were only two aliens left. They retreated around a bend in the corridor.

  Tisker scooped up his blade, wincing as his muscles flexed under the wound in his arm.

  The soft hum of the ship increased in pitch and intensity.

  “You might find it of interest that the crew intends to leave this port,” Meran said.

  With them on board. Talis frowned. “Which way to the engine?”

  Meran walked calmly, though thankfully with due haste, down the corridor in the opposite direction the aliens had run.

  Onaya Bone owes me a kingdom, Talis thought, as she and Tisker padded after.

  “Lindent curse my eyes,” Tisker swore, once Meran came to a stop and turned to face them. “That’s the engine?”

  Before them was a massive crystal, emerging out of the flooring eight decks below and rising another six above their heads. A giant, translucent orchid-shaped thing, it was narrower at top and bottom, unfolding with crystalline petals in the middle. It hummed with purpose. The vibrations they’d felt in the deck pulsed in sync with the flashing polychromatic hues that moved along its flat surface like blood through veins. It seemed to breathe, like a living thing. Open decks surrounded it at each level. Where they stood was just about midway up, with consoles lining the half-walls. Yu’Nyun characters flashed across the screens, a repeating series of readouts. To their right, a catwalk led out to a scaffolding that circled the pulsing crystal.

  Again, Meran answered Tisker’s question as though Talis had asked it. “It stores power used by the ship’s various functions, but is not the system that propels the ship.”

  Talis shrugged. “Looks important, and that’s good enough for me.”

  From moving through the ship, Talis had almost gotten used to watching Meran carry out her will before she had a chance to say anything. Now the woman crossed the catwalk and leaned over the interior railing to place her hands on the crystal.

  Shouts sounded from above and below as aliens spotted Meran, but Tisker and Talis kept them back against the outer bulkhead with clumsy shots from their alien rifles.

  An electric horn sounded, shrill and staccato, as cracks began to cleave up and down the length of the crystal, shooting from where Meran’s hands pressed flat against its sparkling surface.

  Lights flickered. The alarm’s whine sputtered and then changed its tone.

  The deck began to tremble.

  “That’ll do, Meran!” Talis shouted.

  She grabbed Tisker by his shoulder, ignoring his grimace as she hit his wound, and propelled him back toward the lift.

  Three decks up, they ran back through the corridor to their exit.

  Which was sealed.

  “Gods rot it!”

  “What are the chances we’re still on the ground?” Tisker asked.

  Talis closed her eyes, scrunched her face. “They wouldn’t fly off until they can contain this chaos, right?”

  Meran crossed to a control panel along the bulkhead, flipped down an entry pad, and tapped glowing marks to reach the readout she wanted.

  “The ship is attempting to reroute power from storage cells so that it may engage its propulsion,” she said.

  But not moving yet. Talis took a deep, steadying breath and jutted her chin toward the sealed exterior hatch.

  “Get it open.”

  At a touch on the panel, the hatch spun open. The entry chamber was washed in the green light of Nexus.

  The gangway had been retracted, and the horizon wobbled as the ship attempted to lift away from the ground.

  “Jump?” asked Tisker.

  Talis nodded, stress locking her jaw against reply. It was a five-meter drop. But Wind Sabre was waiting outside, and Talis had never seen anything more beautiful.

  “Not so bad,” said Tisker, putting no effort into the bravado. But at her look, amended, “Well, it could be worse.”

  The ground below them dropped away as the ship started to lift. Readouts pulsed on the displays near the ramp, complaining of something. More angry tones, faster this time, and constant.

  “You had to say it,” Talis said, finding her voice. “Okay, ready?”

  He gave her a look that didn’t say yes.

  Meran pushed past them, walked to the edge of the ramp, and jumped down as if the distance were no more than an arm span. She landed softly on her feet and jogged toward Wind Sabre.

  Talis tried to envision the best landing that would look dignified but not destroy her knees. Decided to aim for a roll. She inhaled. Her legs tensed, knees bent.

  The air went red. Her vision striped with black and white.

  Heat burned her, a physical force that came up and shoved against her back. She was propelled forward. Never mind the graceful landing.

  She struggled against the force of the blast to get her arms up to protect her head. Saw between them as the gritty texture of the ground came rushing toward her.

  In detail, she felt the entire contour of the revolver in its holster under her arm as she landed on her side. Stars exploded in her vision. Her breath burst out of her, and her lungs spasmed, refusing to refill.

  She rolled onto her back in time to watch a fireball consume the Yu’Nyun ship.

  Wreckage spat out in every direction, and she had to roll again, her lungs burning from heat and smoke, to avoid a large chunk of what used to be gleaming hull. The black-scorched metal landed where her legs had been.

  More metal and fire rained down around her, smacking into the sand and smoldering until the fuel was consumed.

  Gasping for air, Talis tried to get up into a crouch. Tears welled in her eyes, against the pain in her chest and the stinging fumes of burning fuselage that rippled the air. Tiny breaths were all she could manage.

  The ring lay in the sand. She grabbed it, and crawled to where Tisker had fallen. He was facedown, fresh blood from the wound in his arm soaking his jacket sleeve and the sand beneath him.

  She dropped to the ground, and pulled him over, resting his head on her knees. Patted his cheek a few times, gently at first. When he didn’t respond, she struck with more desperation.

  He gasped and blinked hard a few times. She felt like she could breathe again, too.

  Squinting up at her, the sand on his face stuck in the lines of his expression, he looked two decades older.

  “Hey, Cap,” he said. “We dead?”

  “Not for lack of effort,” she said, and couldn’t help grinning. Then she winced as a stabbing pain in her side reminded her they still had a few chances for that fate.

  “Come on, tie that wound off. Let’s get out of here.”

  He sat up with a groan and checked himself over, air hissing through his teeth as he probed his knees and his wrists. He tore a strip of his shirt hem off and wrapped it around his arm.

  The ground was littered with the odd shapes of wrecked Yu’Nyun fuselage. The air was filled with dark smoke, and visibility was jack-all. She pushed up to her feet. Wobbled a moment. Tried to take a deep breath and cursed at the pain.

  “Broken rib,” she said to Tisker, response to the concern on his face. “At least.”

  Among the wreckage she saw more than one pale body from the alien ship. Most of them in pieces. Some of them charred. Others painted in sapphire blue.

  Then there was movement. A silhouette approached t
hrough the billowing smoke.

  She called out the simula’s name, but the chuckle that echoed back was too familiar.

  “Rotting hells,” she and Tisker said simultaneously.

  Talis moved for her revolver, but the pistol in Hankirk’s hand was already up and aimed at her heart as he emerged from the smoke.

  Chapter 30

  “Well, Talis,” said Hankirk, with a smile that made her want to throttle him, “I see you finally changed your mind about selling that ring to the aliens.”

  Talis balled her hand into a tight fist. The ring was a strange weight on her finger. The scorched remains of the Yu’Nyun ship smoldered around them. Heated metal popped and spat as the flames ran out of fuel, dampened by the dry sand. She fought against the instinct to cough as the smoke tortured her throat, wanting nothing more than to spare her ribs the torture.

  “Doesn’t mean we’re of the same mind,” she said.

  She hated Hankirk. Hated him as he stepped forward and held out his hand. He was dressed in his service finery again, though he hadn’t shaved since sometime before Subrosa. She wanted to spit at him. His ship must have been following them. Scooped him up out of the storm and tracked them to Fall Island.

  She slipped the ring off her finger, hesitated before holding it out. The images of what Meran had done on board the Yu’Nyun ship replayed in her memory. If that had all been a response to Talis’s command, then handing over the ring to Hankirk was suicide at best.

  But Hankirk had no idea what the ring could do. Or even about Meran. He still thought this was the same prize he’d been chasing since the beginning of this mess.

  “Captain,” Tisker hissed, as she let Hankirk approach.

  Bless him for not saying more, she thought, but shot him a warning look anyway. Hankirk didn’t seem to notice. His brown eyes sparkled, focused on his prize.

  “We’ll get it back,” she said. It sounded more confident than she felt.

  Hankirk chuckled, “You’ll have to tug those prayerlocks extra hard. Your luck has run out, Talis.”

  “All our luck,” she said, putting some serious gravity into the statement.

  Hankirk raised an eyebrow.

  Talis hated to do it. Hated for Tisker to find out like this. No idea how she’d have preferred for him to find out. But not like this. She still had the ring. She needed a distraction, then she could rush Hankirk. Disarm him, get them out of there.

  “Silus Cutter is dead,” she said.

  There was silence, in which only the burning wreckage dared mutter in response.

  Tisker moved behind her. Stumbled, sounded like. But he found his voice. “What?”

  Talis was watching Hankirk for his reaction, ready to pounce when his guard dropped. The corner of his mouth twitched. That was it.

  “You already knew.”

  Hankirk smiled that bastard smile of his and crossed the final distance between them to gently take the ring from her hand. His fingers brushed against the skin of her palm. She dropped her hand back to her side, rubbed it against her pant leg to erase the sensation.

  “The only useful thing the aliens did was save us that trouble.” He held the ring up, gripped between forefinger and thumb. But he was looking at her. “Come with me. Help me finish the work.”

  Tisker laughed. It was an unhealthy laugh, bordering on mania, until it ended in a coughing fit.

  I still have to get us out of here, she thought. Before he kills us, or this nasty smoke does.

  “What part of being stranded on a rainy island in the middle of a storm didn’t you get?”

  “You just don’t see.” He took a half step toward her. Lowered the gun. Saw her tense to move at that misjudgment, and brought it back up again.

  But he wasn’t going to use it, she realized. Not today. He wanted her to do as he told her, but he wanted her alive.

  “Silus Cutter is dead, and we’re all fine.” He looked at her, head tilted and smile faltering. Like she was missing something obvious and he didn’t know how to explain.

  Tisker barked another laugh.

  “Haven’t felt quite fine since we found out,” she said, speaking for the both of them.

  “But you didn’t feel it. Didn’t fade away to nothing. It’s been almost a year, Talis. A god died, and no one missed him.” He tucked the ring into his jacket’s inside breast pocket. “We don’t need the gods, any more than we need the aliens. They all just hold us back.”

  “Except it looks like you needed the Yu’Nyun to finally get a start on those plans of yours.”

  “It moved our timetable up, that’s all.” He ran his free hand across his crown, down the back of his head, around to rub his chin. He grazed his thumb across the stubble that had formed there. “Don’t you get it? Aliens came from the stars. There are other planets out there, other ships that are going to show up unannounced. The gods did nothing except demonstrate their mortality. Their fallibility. But the rings are stronger than their alchemy. Something we can use to protect Peridot.” He waved his free hand loosely to indicate the rubble around them. “You know this. You’ve already used it, haven’t you?”

  Talis smirked. “Sure. Big triumph for me. One little alien scout ship. Except there’s an invasion armada on the way.”

  That came as a surprise to him. His smile faltered for a moment. His mouth parted a bit, but he failed to produce the smarmy answer she expected.

  It was the opportunity she needed. She didn’t waste it.

  She barreled him over and had him pinned on the ground before he could react to her charge. Stars blinded her vision for a moment as her knees came up and compressed her ribs. Something grated, bone-on-bone, stabbing her breath away. But Hankirk’s gun fell from his hand and skittered out of reach.

  “Oh yeah,” she said, forced to lean in close as she got his wrists under her knees. It came out as a whisper thanks to the agony in her side, but it worked for effect. “They sent a message home. Told ’em Peridot is ripe and ready to pluck.”

  She twisted her knee until the pain broke on his face. She growled, “So your friends had better show up if you’re gonna do anything but watch with the rest of us as they sweep in and take everything we ever worked for. You and me.”

  They both looked up at a click. Tisker had Hankirk’s gun, cocked, aimed. He was trembling.

  Taking the news pretty well, actually, she thought. Better than she had.

  “We’re not going to kill him,” she said, just in time to stop Tisker from slipping his finger over the trigger.

  She stuck her hand into his jacket pocket. When she removed it, the ring was over her finger again. Held it in front of his face.

  “You want to get word to your friends, get them to help hold back the aliens somehow? Maybe I forget you had designs on deicide. But Hankirk? Stop. Following. Us.”

  “A Veritor fleet is already on the way to Nexus.”

  “They know about the aliens?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  She was surprised. He’d confessed to an ignorance on their part. Could have lied, boasted. Even with the gun trained on him, his ego would be the one weapon he’d cling to and refuse to drop.

  Still, she didn’t like the look on his face. Not cocky. Not scared. Just… Ugh, this man.

  “Come on.” She sat up, rocking back to get her feet under her. “Never mind telling your people. I’m revoking your command.”

  She walked to Tisker’s side, forcing a saunter, despite wanting to curl up into a ball. Despite the pain making every movement torture. She took the gun from him without taking its aim off Hankirk while Tisker patted him down. He found a boot knife, pocketed that.

  “You didn’t tell him about the weird robot lady,” Tisker said over his shoulder.

  “Mind his right hook,” she warned as Tisker pulled Hankirk to his feet. “Yeah, he’ll get
to meet our new friend, won’t he?”

  They prodded Hankirk toward their ship, Talis walking behind with the gun at the ready. Tisker could handle himself in a fight, but so could Hankirk. And Tisker had that wounded arm.

  “Old friend,” Hankirk said, looking over his shoulder and speaking to Talis. She could see from his face that he knew something. “She’ll be our very oldest friend.”

  “Okay, no. You know what?” Talis closed the distance between them and knocked him hard on the back of the head with the butt of his own pistol. He let out a grunt, then slipped to the ground.

  “I’m done listening to him. Not going to leave him behind so he can just keep following us, but sure as the count of five, I’m not going to listen to him anymore right now.”

  Tisker’s humor didn’t show in the thin line of his mouth or his eyes, which now looked very tired. But he automatically answered with a characteristic quip. “Was near enough to doing that myself.”

  He hoisted the man onto the shoulder of his uninjured side, carrying him like a sack of potatoes.

  The smoke thinned as they left the wreck behind. She could breathe the air again; nearly killed herself trying to inhale deeply of it.

  “So what’s our next move, Cap?”

  She ran her dirty hands through her dirty hair. Sighed. Next move ought to be a shower. Long overdue.

  “Beyond getting Dug back? Figure we do what we were told. Onaya Bone said she can help if we bring her the ring. Guess that means the simula, now, too.”

  “Seems unpredictable.”

  “Everything’s gone unpredictable, don’t you think? We need to focus on something, stop waiting for the world to return to normal.”

  He was quiet a moment.

  “When were you going to tell us about Silus Cutter?”

  The pain in his voice made her gut hurt.

  “I don’t know. Been a tumble since I found out. Needed you focused on that ship, didn’t I?”

  More quiet.

  “I still need you. We gotta get Dug back next, and that explosion is bound to have the town on tenterhooks.”

  He nodded. It was unsettling that he was so quiet, but she had to trust that he would follow her. Both halves of the payment were on board now, after all. They ought to get paid for all this trip had already cost them. She’d blundered from one mistake to the next. After this, she wouldn’t blame any of them if they took their balances and found themselves new captains as fast as they could.