Tyche's Flight (Tyche's Journey Book 1)

by Richard Parry

  Hell with it.

  Grace decoupled her boots from the floor and took ten quick steps to the sword.

  She almost made it.

  Grace was close — fingertips a handbreadth from the hilt of the sword — when a shipping crate big enough to hold an acceleration couch hit her mid-sprint. She didn’t even see it coming, felt the rush of surprise and confusion as her entire body was knocked sideways. Her teeth jarred and she bit her tongue, falling hard. No tuck-and-roll with this one, the weight of the crate having slapped her like a giant’s hand. If Kohl had thrown that, he was strong, stronger than a person should be. Stronger than a person could be.

  Grace looked in the direction the crate had come from. Her vision wasn’t clear, sight blurry with the aftereffects of the jump, or being hit in the head, or both. But she saw the big shape of Kohl stomping towards her. He stood above her, breathing hard and fast.

  “Kohl,” she said.

  “Bitch,” he said.

  Like that, is it? “Kohl, this isn’t you.”

  He laughed, then stopped as he swayed. Not because the Tyche under thrust; he was caught in some wind only he could feel. “It might not be the old me, but the new me feels great. Strong.” He breathed in, his massive shoulders rising and falling. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

  “I’ve got some idea,” she said. Her vision was clearing, and she saw something in his hand. A hypo. “You on the juice again?”

  “Better,” he said. “I don’t need the juice. This here,” and he raised the hypo, “is for you. Seems fair.”

  “Do not touch me with that shit,” she said.

  “C’mon Grace, it’ll be fun,” he said. “I use this stuff on myself all the time.” He reached a hand down to her, and she tried to scramble away, but something in her back snared, and she gritted her teeth. Then cried out, as Kohl lifted her up. “You’ve got no idea what’ll happen to you, do you?”

  GRACE.

  TOGETHER.

  That voice, coming from Kohl, but … not Kohl. Something inside the man? She tried to reach a hand out to him, to push him away, or to feel what was wrong, she wasn’t sure, and he gave her a shake, like a dog with a toy.

  “Grace. Grace. We know each other too well for tricks, don’t we?” Kohl’s lips were moving, but Grace wasn’t sure what was talking anymore. The thing inside him, or the man above it?

  “Kohl,” she said. “You’ve got to fight it. Get control of it. It’s going to eat your mind.”

  “Aw, hell, Gracie,” he said. “They don’t want my mind. They want yours.” And he slammed the hypo home, the hot bright starburst of sensation as the tip entered her chest above the left breast. Above her heart.

  Her heart kicked in her chest. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, of pain or pleasure she couldn’t tell. Not that it mattered, the drug made both sensations feel the same. Her fingers curled into claws, grabbing at Kohl’s suit, her eyes wide. The room was bright, bright, so bright, and the light was loud, like a hurricane. She felt her heart stop, then start, then stop again.

  A gasp, a great shuddering breath, and then she couldn’t breathe.

  “Yeah,” said Kohl. “Quite a rush, innit?” And then he threw her across the cargo bay.

  She tumbled through the air, feeling the individual hairs on her head stroke her face as she passed through the air. They were moving so slow, and they felt so soft. Grace had never thought of her hair as soft but it was, silky, like the dawn when it left the night. When she hit the back wall of the cargo bay, it felt gentle, the flash of pain/pleasure rolling up her back, her teeth grating together in bliss, and she tumbled towards the floor.

  In the great, impossible distance before she hit the metal decking, her heart started again. In that impossible distance of two meters, it pumped in her chest once, twice, three times. Five. Ten. Ten beats before she hit the ground, her feet under her, her landing perfect, one hand’s fingertips stretched out like a net to touch the same metal her feet rested against. Rested, because gravity was tiny, small, and she could beat it with every step.

  “You’re gonna fucken die,” she said, her heart shuddering inside her, frantic, wanting escape.

  “Come get some,” said Kohl, opening his arms wide.

  They ran at each other. The deck moved under Grace, a ship on the ocean, as the Tyche started thrusting. It didn’t matter where it was going, or how it would get there, because by the time it made it, Kohl would be dead. He reached for her, teeth bared, and she ducked under his grasp, hammering a knuckle in under his ribs. A second strike found the soft spot in his solar plexus. Her third strike was into the naked, vulnerable spot in his armpit. Kohl was still swinging at her, so she went low, legs wide as she brought an elbow up with explosive power into his groin. Those four strikes should have dropped the man.

  It didn’t even slow Kohl down, and one of his swings hit her in the side of the head. She fell sideways as something in her jaw clacked out of place, her head rebounding against the decking with a clang. Grace felt the thunk as her jaw popped back into its socket at the same time as she saw the bottom of Kohl’s boot coming for her face. She caught the foot in both hands, twisted, and sent the man tumbling away. Her feet scissored around her and she was back up and on her feet, her mouth open. Grace wanted to bite, to chew, to rend the man.

  She would have her way.

  “Gracie,” said Kohl. “Can I call you Gracie?”

  Grace blinked at him. “Can I call you asshole?”

  “Gracie,” said Kohl, “here’s the thing. The drug? It won’t last. And then? We can be together. But it’ll be great! It’ll be … hang on, need the right words. Outstanding? Yeah. Fucking outstanding because finally you’ll understand that your whole damn species are soft. No hard shell, you know?” He rapped on his chest, as if there was an exoskeleton there. Something made of chitin. “We won’t need words soon. Just you and me, Gracie.”

  “We won’t need words,” she said, “because you’ll be dead, Kohl. Except you’re not Kohl, are you? You’re…” She faltered. He’s not Kohl. You’re not fighting Kohl, Grace Gushiken. You’re fighting something that’s taken his mind and put it in a box.

  If Nate were here, he’d say something like Kohl’s family, and we don’t kill family.

  Fuck that. Kohl was gonna die. He was gonna die, and he was gonna die ugly. She wiped drool from her chin and charged again. Grace ran right past the sword sticking out of the decking, because she didn’t need that frail piece of steel. She had her hands, and if they broke, she had her teeth. He wasn’t running at her this time, his stride catching — maybe those crushed testicles are slowing the fucking insect inside him down — but he met her anyway. This time he went low, a kick sweeping at her legs, but she almost danced over the top with ridiculous ease. As she landed, she spun, raising her foot on the way, and catching Kohl under the chin with the heel of her foot. His head rocked back then snapped forward again. His eyes didn’t even blink, he just slammed a fist into her kidney, fast as a piston, hard as a jackhammer. Grace felt that, even through the drug, the shock of it rocking up her spine.

  It felt good.

  He hit her again — she’d let herself get distracted by the pleasure of it all — so Grace grabbed his hand, wrapping around him like a python. One leg snaked over his shoulder, the other around his chest, and she torqued her body around the arm. Kohl spun in space, his frame crashing into the deck, and she saw two teeth pop free, tumbling through the air like beautiful red and white pearls.

  Grace bounced back, one hand on the deck as she somersaulted free and clear. As she went through the motion she saw the decking, really saw it, the soft, beautiful grey of the metal, the imperfections where a hundred footsteps had scuffed it. A bright line scoured across the surface as something heavy had scraped it. As she found her feet again, she saw Kohl rising, his grin bloody.

  Her heart kicked in her chest again. Stopped. Started. Stopped.

  “Yeah,” said Kohl. “The more you use it, the f
aster it wears off, you know? You get a … I don’t know, you get practiced with it. Learn when to use it. But it’s your first time. The first time is always rough.”

  Grace felt the weight of the Tyche’s thrust for the first time in what felt like hours. Her feet slid out from under her. Her lungs wouldn’t work. They were locked up with some kind of vice, and that vice was—

  Pain. My God, the pain.

  —the feeling returning to her body. To her back, her kidney. Her jaw. Her face, the side of her head.

  Her heart had stopped, and she was going to die.

  “Gracie,” said Kohl, all the way up now, wiping the back of his arm across his mouth, “now’s where the real hurting starts.”

  He wasn’t moving fast, just taking easy steps in her direction. Casual, like he was out for a stroll on some planet’s crust, a sunny day around him. She watched him come as her vision faded. She wanted her heart to beat again. Grace wanted to live. She’d already had these insects touch her mind, and then got free because someone had come for her. She didn’t want them in her head, not ever again. Grace didn’t want to stop being Grace.

  “I,” she said, then fell to one knee.

  “Yeah,” said Kohl, close to her now. He crouched down in front of her. “Does it hurt?”

  Her heart thudded in her chest. Just once, but it was enough. Enough for now. She nodded, unable to speak.

  Grace Grace Grace Grace Grace!

  Right here and now, after the effects of the drug Kohl had given her, she thought she could see it. Feel it. The thing was curled up inside him, snuggled up to his spine. Small. Tiny even. Smaller than a mouse. Larger than a cockroach. But it was inside Kohl. She couldn’t just grab it. Couldn’t even reach it.

  “It’ll be okay!” said Kohl, his voice cheerful. “Together, right?”

  Grace reached a hand towards him, but he batted it away, almost playful. “I,” she said.

  “Okay,” said Kohl. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna keep beating on you until you’re all the way hurt. That way, you won’t resist so much. Last time, you were still fighting, Gracie. This time, you gotta have no fight left. You get me?”

  “Kohl,” she said, but her voice was a whisper. “I pulled you … back. In here.”

  “And I thank you for it,” he said. His face twitched, random series of movements that couldn’t be called expressions. “We’ll be together soon, and you’ll know how thankful we are.” He stood up, heaved a sigh, then grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet. “I’m real sorry about this. But it’s just gotta be this way.”

  Grace tried to break free, but it was like trying to wrestle out of an industrial press. The usual places where a touch would bring pain did nothing to Kohl. He hefted her up, then tossed her across the cargo bay. She landed, head ringing. Body full of hurt.

  You know, at least you found out what it meant to belong somewhere.

  She closed her eyes. Opened them again, looking up at Kohl coming towards her. Something was blocking her vision, splitting Kohl in half. She tried to focus, reached out a hand. Hissed as it touched something sharp, her fingers cut against the edge of her sword, bright red blood standing out against her skin.

  Grace reached up a shaking hand, her fingers closing on the hilt of the weapon.

  Her breath caught, her heart alive, purposeful. The joy of life, felt through the handle of this weapon of death. The metal of the Tyche, a soft, warm home for them all. The feeling of pressure and movement, a thousand times larger than the largest star. She was everything. She was the universe.

  They jumped.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “What the hell are those circus freaks doing?” said El.

  “They’re aliens, El,” said Nate. “They’re doing alien stuff.” He frowned. “Which is fine, because here we are, hanging in the wind.”

  “Yeah, but they’re just … sitting there,” she said.

  Nate kept his frown going. It felt like the right choice of expression for this particular situation. Not scared, because that wouldn’t help El; she scared easy anyway. Not cheerful, because everyone would mutiny. No, a good, steady frown would do the job just fine right now. “I reckon,” he said, “that they’re wondering what we’re doing.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “What’s the plan?”

  “I want you,” he said, “to get some of that planet between them and us. I would like a lot of rock between us.”

  “On it,” she said. She reached for her console.

  “Hold up,” said Nate. “You know, when you’re hunting a bear or something, and the bear sees you first?”

  “When have you ever hunted a bear?” said El. The sound of some system or other trying not to overheat, a fan working hard to keep it cool, undercut their conversation.

  “Watched a documentary holo on it,” said Nate. “Big show after they terraformed Earth. They had to dredge up all kinds of extinct species.”

  “So they could hunt them?” said El.

  “I don’t think it was the driving force of the holo,” said Nate. “I think they were trying to show how they’d become extinct. Anyway. Doesn’t matter.”

  “People used to hunt bears?”

  “Hell if I know,” said Nate. “I wasn’t there when they broke the world. What I’m saying is—”

  “This story,” said El, all nerves and energy, “would go better if we were away from a giant hostile alien ship. It still feels weird calling it a ship since it’s a flying rock.”

  “Stay with me on this one,” said Nate. “If you’re hunting something that can hunt you back, you don’t want to run. If you run, those fuckers just run faster, and they won’t find anything left of you but bear repellant and torn clothing. So I’m thinking how we got ourselves in this mess is we ran, and those assholes,” he said, pointing out the window, “ran faster. I do not want to be a pile of torn clothing.”

  “Can I ask a stupid question?” said El.

  “No stupid questions,” said Nate. “Only stupid people.” She didn’t respond to that, just letting it lie between them with a raised eyebrow. Nate waved a hand. “Ask your damn question.”

  “You want me to run slow?” she said.

  “I want you to fly the ship in a leisurely manner,” said Nate. “I want you to pretend we’re on a cruise, with paying passengers.”

  “We never have paying passengers,” said El.

  “This is why humans are gifted with imagination,” said Nate. “Now you fly, and I’ll try and work out how to keep us alive long enough for you to keep flying.”

  “You’re the boss,” said El, but when her hands reached the sticks they were steady. Calm. Good. The Tyche gave a gentle rumble as her drives came to live with less urgency than before.

  Nate left her to it. A piece of relaxed flying would do her a world of good, and he needed a plan. He worked his console. Resources: what did they have? The Tyche chattered happily at him. Still got 15 good Republic ship to ship torpedoes, for all the good they’d do. The ammunition on the kinetic PDCs came up — that one wasn’t good. Low on all counts. They still had the lasers, but they were a substandard weapon for shooting rocks. Better against inbound ordinance with firing controls they could fry with a little touch of light.

  Hm. Lasers. What could he do with lasers?

  The Tyche reminded him he had unread mail. Because that was the most important thing right now: email from his fans.

  Wait a second, Nathan Chevell. We’ve been cut off from the entire universe since we got here. Who the hell is sending you mail?

  The problem with asking yourself a question was that your brain wouldn’t leave it alone until you answered it. He keyed the mail. A bunch of messages from Hope. She must have sent them while he was out getting his sword back.

  You were getting your crew, Nate. The damn sword was never the reason.

  Okay, here we go. Some files on the Ezeroc. A quick skim suggested they were nasty little fuckers. Infected people through various means.

&
nbsp; Infected people.

  Through various means.

  His fingers hovered over the comm. Keep reading, Nate. There were a few different shapes and sizes they came in. Some guesswork on tech. Ah — pay dirt. Hope had sent him the unlock codes Penn had used on the Gladiator. His fingers twitched on the comm again. “Hope?”

  “I was getting bored down here,” said Hope, the tone of her voice suggesting she was far from bored.

  “These codes for the Gladiator still good?”

  “Should be good to go, Cap,” she said. “Might not be much use. The Gladiator’s just a floating shell. Even I couldn’t fix her. Hah.”

  “Hah,” he agreed. “Thanks Hope.” He clicked the comm off. He stared at the console for a second, then clicked it back on. “Hope?”

  “You’ve got Hope,” she said. “Again.”

  “Yeah, sorry,” he said. “’Hah?’”

  “You know,” she said. “Stressful times.”

  “What are you not telling me?” said Nate.

  “Nothing, Cap,” she said.

  They can infect people through various means. He looked at the comm, then at El. “Thanks, Hope. You go back to making sure we don’t explode, okay?”

  “I’ll try,” she said. “You go back to making sure the aliens don’t destroy the universe.”

  “You got it,” he said, clicking the comm off. The problem you’ve got now is that you’re pretty sure that there’s an alien on your crew. You’re pretty sure it’s got Kohl. But if you check in with anyone, they’ll know you know, and the goose will be well and truly cooked. They will come at you, and come at you hard. He turned to El. “I think we need to go back.”

  “You what now?” she said. “I’ve got everything lined up nice and easy here. We’ll get in the shadow of this planet, maybe tuck ourselves in for the night on the surface.”

  “No,” said Nate. “We’re going to run.” He fired up his console again, readying a line to the Gladiator. There was a significant speed of light delay time at play here. He couldn’t talk to the remains of the destroyer out here, not unless he wanted to wait a half hour for his message to get there and another half hour for it to get back. Life was too short for that shit.