by Gun Brooke
“One larger escape pod from the Paesina’s infirmary is intact. We heard from Dr. Gemma Meyer. She’s unharmed and they are being towed to a rescue vessel as we speak.”
“Gemma. That’s great news.” Kellen liked the CMO she’d known since the day Rae took her into custody at the Gamma VI space station. “Sensors?” Kellen struggled to keep the door to her fear firmly locked.
“Another promising thing. We are reading scattered life signs pretty much everywhere around the blast site.”
“Rae can be one of them.” Dahlia sounded like she was praying. “She’s resourceful. Fast.”
Kellen drew a trembling breath. She also knew that Rae would give her own life to save another’s. She would surrender her deep-space survival suit to a junior crewmember, just because she’d consider it the right thing to do.
“That’s right, Dahlia,” Ewan said, his eyes kind and sorrowful. “I’ll get back to the bridge and see what’s happened. I’ll relay news to you as soon as I know anything.”
“Thank you. The moment you hear something.” Dahlia shuddered. “Please.”
“The moment.”
The image of Ewan flickered and turned into the SC Unification of Planets crest.
“Kellen. Kellen?” Dahlia shook Kellen’s arm gently. “We have to keep working as well, or we’ll drive ourselves crazy.”
“I concur. I need to work off some…energy, before the next meeting. I’ll be in the gym and then I’ll meet you planetside. This time, I’ve arranged for the security detail to be twice as large as the other day.”
“Yes, Protector,” Dahlia said with a wan smile. “I don’t blame you for using extra caution. We do seem to have a knack for getting into slimy circumstances, don’t we?”
“We do.” The understatement made Kellen smile, very faintly and only because she knew this was what Dahlia hoped for and needed. “Ayahliss, will you spar with me?”
“Of course.” Ayahliss bowed politely, as custom dictated.
“I’ll meet you at the gym.”
Going by her now-empty quarters, Kellen changed into her Ruby Red gan’thet leather suit. She pulled her hair down, the familiar movements somehow calming as she arranged her long, blond hair in a tight whip of a braid. She tied the leather ribbon so tight it pulled at her hairline, but the small discomfort only seemed to add a tiny sense of normalcy.
Kellen tucked the gan’thet rods under her arm and left her quarters. Halfway to the lift, she wondered if it was her outfit or her expression that made ensigns and crewmen practically become one with the bulkhead as she passed. She rode the lift down to deck four where the gyms were located. She was just warming up when Ayahliss walked inside. Also dressed in a Ruby Red suit, she looked confident and expectant.
“Warm up,” Kellen said, and began a series of solo exercises. She whirled through the air, one leg stretched out in front of her, the other bent. She landed, agile as a feline, and twirled on her toes while crouching. Using the muscles in her calves, she pushed from the floor and rolled to her left, producing her rods in a lethal cross. She repeated the two exercises until she could execute them perfectly.
“I’m ready, Protector.” Ayahliss stood in a respectful position, baring the inside of her wrists as she held out her rods.
Kellen approached her, inspecting the suit and the rods, and eventually Ayahliss’s expression. “Good. Let’s start with the veya mo’desh pattern.”
“Veya mo’desh pattern? That is for beginners.” Ayahliss looked disdainful.
“Beginners or not, let’s go.”
Kellen assumed the position that characterized veya mo’desh: the left rod in an offensive pose just above her head, the right diagonally in front of her chest. Planting her feet with one leg bent and the other extended behind her, she shifted her weight until she was ready. Ayahliss mimicked her pose, her eyes shimmering.
“Gajesta!” Kellen called out, her voice dark. Fight! The ancient battle cry echoed in the gym as well as in Kellen’s head. She moved fast, with Ayahliss following lithely as she pressed forward. She jumped and gained momentum as she quickly sidestepped Ayahliss and hooked one rod behind her knee. She went down in a roll, avoided Ayahliss’s rods by a hair, and came up behind her to her left. Ayahliss pivoted, her leg sweeping just above Kellen’s knees, which gave Kellen the chance to use her rods to trap her left leg.
The furious growl from Ayahliss when she hit the mat made Kellen release a feral smile. She pounced onto Ayahliss, straddling her chest and locking her arms with her knees and crossing the rods over her neck. “Syuve!” Surrender!
“No.” Ayahliss tried several gan’thet patterns to throw Kellen off, but when Kellen merely tightened the hold with her rods and frowned warningly, she relented, lowering her rods at her side. “Syuve.”
“Good. Again.” Kellen jumped up, and for the next thirty minutes, she relentlessly pushed through a rigorous training session that had them both drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Heading for the showers and recyclers, Ayahliss looked cautious rather than furious at having been defeated nine times out of ten.
“Yes?” Kellen said when Ayahliss looked hesitantly at her.
“Vanquished them all, Kellen?” Her eyes glazing over, Ayahliss resiliently did not acknowledge the tears that formed at the corners of her eyes.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your demons. Your fear. Your anger.” Ayahliss raised her chin. “Any or all.”
“You’re not making sense—”
“Yes, I am. Rae is missing and you plow a new ditch in the gym mat with me. I haven’t seen that look in your eyes since Dahlia was missing. This is even worse. Don’t shut us out, Kellen.”
“I’m not shutting anyone out.” Kellen felt her back go rigid enough to crack at the slightest touch.
“Perhaps you don’t see it that way, but you are.”
“And if I am?” Kellen snapped. “I have to function. I have to carry on with the program that will fortify the Gantharian interim government and keep Gantharat free in the future. There are treaties, contracts, laws, rules, regulations—”
“And Rae.”
Kellen felt like a plasma-pulse burst had hit her. “H’rea deasavh! Yes. Of course there is Rae. And Armeo. I haven’t even told him yet. I…can’t.”
Ayahliss pushed off her Ruby Red suit in one flowing movement and entered a cleansing tube. “You shouldn’t tell him anything until we know. You’re doing the right thing.”
Kellen followed Ayahliss’s example and stood in the cleansing tube until the humming sound began to claw at her taut nerve strings. She turned the setting to anti-static, relieved when her hair settled in soft tresses along her back. Outside, Ayahliss waited, half-dressed already. During the silence, Kellen programmed a new SC uniform at the recycler and ran her precious Ruby Red through for cleansing only. She fastened the harness and belt harder than usual, as if she needed the tightness to hold her body and soul together. If only she could do something about her shattering heart.
Chapter Nineteen
The debris field was dense with what was left of fifteen disintegrated spaceships. The light from the distant sun glimmered in jagged metal parts, making it difficult to focus. Even short-range sensor readings came back inconclusive as the antimatter corrupted the data.
Jacelon moaned and shifted in the pilot’s seat. She was still partially in her survival space suit, its lime green sleeves tied around her waist. The makeshift bandage underneath them had begun to seep, and she cursed the fact that the wound was too deep for a layman to try a derma fuser.
Jacelon glanced behind her on the floor, concerned if she had restrained the enemy enough. Facing the instruments again, she tried getting the sensors online, worried for her crew, especially the two young ensigns she’d pulled with her as she’d been the last to leave the bridge. She had more or less dragged them by the collar, as they seemed overcome with debilitating fear, and ordered them into their survival gear. Pushing them to the airlock, she
didn’t have time to decompress properly; she simply opened the hatch and hurled them into space.
Behind them, the Paesina rolled and shook when secondary explosions tore through her. The cloaked missile had hit her belly, which made it possible to evacuate the upper decks, but now the consequence of the weapon was obvious. Paesina was in her death throes and Jacelon could do nothing to save her. She floated in space, among debris and fighting aircraft. Her communicator only produced white noise, no matter which frequency she tried. An emergency beacon was automatically set to go off on her survival suit, transmitting her coordinates, but it would take a while before anyone found them. A human body was very small in the vastness of space.
Jacelon gasped as a large object, part of the hull of a ship, hurtled toward her. It hit her midsection despite her effort to curl up, separating her from the others. A searing pain spread all over her abdomen, and she moaned as she hugged herself. Afraid that it had torn her suit, Jacelon checked the readings on the small computer on her left sleeve; to her relief, the suit was intact. Still moving away from her former position because of the momentum from the collision, she tried to locate the others.
Jacelon kept checking her computer as she floated through space. She couldn’t do anything to stop or slow down. The pain in her side became a slow throb, but she was bleeding. She could feel blood seep around the wound in her suit.
Suddenly she stopped, her entire body flattened against the hull of a small vessel, also drifting. She fumbled for something to hold on to. Small ridges along the hull allowed her to do so, and she dragged herself along it. She searched for an airlock, and only when she had slid all along the side of the ship did she realize it was an Onotharian shuttle.
Not about to panic, Jacelon knew this was her chance. If the ship was drifting, that meant the crew was injured or dead, or the ship was irreparably damaged, and she was about to find out.
The airlock was half-open, and Jacelon squeezed inside, mindful to not tear her suit. She pushed the sensor that would normally close the hatch, but nothing happened. Groaning, she pushed the manual lever. The pain in her abdomen increased exponentially when she tugged at the handle, but the hatch closed and a rewarding thud meant it was locked into place. Fortunately the subroutines for repressurizing the airlock were not compromised. Jacelon still kept her survival suit on as she checked her computer. Cautiously she opened the hatch leading into the shuttle. Relieved that the shuttle’s life-support system was operating normally, she peered inside. She was unarmed and had no idea what to expect.
Two Onotharians lay on the floor, seemingly unconscious, and one other was slumped at the helm in the front. Removing her helmet, Jacelon looked for something to restrain the Onotharians with, in case they woke up.
Eventually she cut through their own belts with their laser knives, fastening each one around their hands and ankles behind their backs. It was impossible to move the large man from the helm. Jacelon merely pushed him onto the ops station and rolled him onto the floor between it and the chair. She had disarmed all of them and kept their sidearms on her lap as she sat in the pilot’s seat. She figured she could keep an eye on the unconscious man on the floor and control him.
Jacelon pushed the survival suit down, quickly examining her injury. Now when she was in a place with gravity, blood was slowly seeping down her legs, saturating her uniform. Not about to waste time, she rolled the sleeves tight and tied them around her. She winced as the pain spiked and took deep trembling breaths. Turning toward the console, she ran a short diagnostic, grateful she knew enough Onotharian to operate the computer. She was surprised to find the shuttle fully functional and initiated the startup sequence. Moving very slowly, she steered the shuttle back to where she had become separated from the two ensigns just after the blast.
Sensors were hard to read, but eventually she picked up two life signs twelve hundred meters ahead. She maximized the magnification on the small screen embedded in the viewport and saw the two figures clasped together, drifting.
“Admiral Jacelon to any SC officers and personnel, come in.” She tried her communicator again. “Admiral Jacelon here. Respond.”
“Ensign…berg here. Drifting in grid…three-three-” The young voice was husky and the connection kept breaking up.
“I have you in my vision, Ensign. Is that you, Hallberg?”
“Aye, ma’am.” The relief in his voice was evident.
“I’m coming in with an Onotharian shuttle. I’ll try to come to a full stop close to you. What’s your status?”
“I’m here with Dgobdo, Admiral…unconscious…ding onto…”
“You’re breaking up, Hallberg. Perhaps I’ll hear you better as I approach. Hang on. Keep an open comm channel.” Jacelon steered the shuttle cautiously and as slowly as possible, between debris and wreckage. She saw bodies, in SC uniforms and Onotharian, floating dead without their survival gear. Her jaws worked and she willed herself to relax her facial muscles. A few minutes later, she tried talking with Ensign Hallberg again. “Jacelon to Hallberg. Do you see the shuttle yet?”
“Yes, ma’am, I think so. A sleek Onotharian shuttle is approaching on a trajectory five degrees to my right.”
“Good. That’s me, Hallberg.” Relieved that the sound was better, Jacelon debated sending out a distress call, but hesitated, since long-distance communication could still be compromised. She might attract help from Onotharians rather than her own people. The SC had won this fight, and they were performing a grid search for survivors. Jacelon knew the SC vessels might fire on this Onotharian ship rather than render assistance, as they might suspect an ambush. Nobody would put it past the Onotharians to fake a distress call. “I see your beacon on short-range sensors now.”
Jacelon began to slow the shuttle, squinting through the debris for the lime green suits. The scattered parts of what had been hulls and decks slammed against the Onotharian shuttle, and she realized she was still going too fast. She set the controls to reverse the engines. Outside, two small green dots appeared and grew quickly.
“I see you, Hallberg.”
“Good. I’m not doing too well, Admiral. Dgobdo is…I think he’s dying, ma’am.”
“I’m almost there, Hallberg. Stay focused. Listen to me. Have you attached Dgobdo’s harness to yours?”
“Affirmative.”
“This shuttle seems to have a rescue arm. I’ll deploy it once I’m close enough.” Jacelon maneuvered the shuttle into position and punched in the command for the arm to move out. Deceptively thin, it emerged from underneath the airlock she’d entered through. She had a good view of where to steer the arm from a visual sensor at its end. She extended it toward Hallberg and Dgobdo, gradually, to not knock them farther away. When she was almost there, one of the green figures reached out and grabbed it.
“Good, Hallberg. Now attach your harness to the arm, if you can.”
“Just pull us in, Admiral. I have a good grip. I don’t dare let go.”
“All right. Let me know if you start to slip.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
Painstakingly slow, when she wanted only to hurry up, Jacelon pulled the two men toward the Onotharian shuttle. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and upper lip. She also experienced shivers, which wasn’t a good sign. If she was already running a fever, her injuries were worse than she initially thought. She didn’t dare take her eyes away from the monitor and the controls. In a moment she would have Hallberg and Dgobdo safely aboard, and then she would attend better to her wounds.
“Nearly there, Admiral.” Hallberg’s voice sounded clearer. “Another three meters to go.”
“Good.” Jacelon pulled them in to the hull and heard the faint thud as the arm folded into its slot. The hissing sound of the airlock recompressing meant she could finally relax. She stood, suddenly light-headed and unsteady, and held on to the bulkhead as she walked over to the hatch. When the readings stated it was safe, she pulled the lever and opened it. Inside, one man, Dgobdo, was lying on
his back, his helmet still on. Next to him, Hallberg sat and removed his helmet. “Good to see you again, Ensign.”
“Admiral. Thank you for coming back for us.”
“Anytime. How’s he doing?” She motioned at Dgobdo.
“Not sure, ma’am.”
“We need to get him inside. Can you help me move him over the threshold?” Jacelon had no way of knowing what lifting Dgobdo would do to her injuries, but they had to try.
Together, they hauled the listless ensign into the shuttle.
“Admiral? These are Onotharians.” Hallberg looked shocked, pointing at the three unconscious men.
“Yes. I found them this way. Not sure what knocked them out. They haven’t moved since I got aboard.”
“We need to secure the third one over by the helm.” Hallberg pulled off his harness with a grimace of pain. “Here, you can use this…” He slumped back, losing consciousness.
“Hallberg? Hallberg? Oh, damn!” Jacelon took the harness and made sure Hallberg was comfortable next to Dgobdo before she tied the third Onotharian’s arms and legs together behind his back. “There.”
Her vision fading, Jacelon barely made it back to the pilot’s seat. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She couldn’t allow herself to pass out now. She had to keep searching for her crewmembers, unless the rescue ships took one look at her and blew her out of the water. This thought made her pull herself together.
She was going to have to reconfigure the shuttle’s identity, make it look obvious that it was under SC control. Pushing her hair behind her ears, Jacelon began to enter commands, hoping it wouldn’t take the search-and-rescue units long to find them. Her time was running out, and if she loosened the makeshift bandage, she might lose what little blood pressure she had. I’m trying, Kellen. I’m really trying.
Chapter Twenty
Weiss supervised the transportation of the ore from the mezzanine, careful not to attract attention by staring openly at Madisyn. They had barely talked the last two days, and Weiss didn’t like how torn up she was about the entire situation. She, who had turned cutting her losses into a fine art, was now lovesick like a youngster, devastated after Madisyn’s rejection. What was she thinking? She wasn’t exactly a good catch.
