by Jenn Burke
Part of him wanted to insist that—fuck, he couldn’t even remember why her words both comforted and rankled. He decided it didn’t matter and followed her docilely out into the hall.
*
Felix blinked and sucked in a breath as he jolted out of sleep, instinct warning him to remain still and silent. A second later, he realized he couldn’t see. He blinked multiple times, looking for the rippled gray triangle of lamplight that usually arced across the ceiling of his quarters during the night cycle when main lighting was dimmed. Not there. Panic tickled the base of his throat like a misplaced heartbeat. He hated the dark. He didn’t simply fear it—the absence of light terrified him. He couldn’t think in the dark. He could only feel the prickle of horror creeping across his skin as memories slithered from the most distant corners of his mind—confinement, imprisonment, close and damp darkness, the clang of tools, mocking laughter, the rattled breath of his stin captors, the fear of never seeing the sky, the stars again.
He rolled to the side and a hand clamped down across his wrist. Felix bucked and pulled against the restraint. “Zed?” His harsh whisper echoed in the darkness.
The fingers of his left hand lacked the strength and dexterity to work Zed’s hand free from his wrist. His abused knuckles screamed into the dark. “Let me go. Please…” He hissed and pulled again. “The light, turn on the light!”
Another hand pressed against his lips, catching his mouth half open. Felix bucked and yelled as he struggled to pull free. What the fuck? Zed wouldn’t hurt him. Zed would never hurt him. Pain sliced across the back of his hand—a derm patch pulling loose.
“Shh.”
The sibilant whisper offered no respite. Felix tried to bite the hand across his mouth. Panic arched his back. He thrashed against the hold of both hands, then pulled his knees up and kicked out. Zed’s strength and bulk defeated him. The taste of Zed’s soap collected at the back of his throat, bitter and sharp.
Felix continued to struggle, not understanding why Zed would hold him down. He knew Felix hated the dark. He’d joked about having to sleep with the lamp on. His ribbing had always been gentle, though. Understanding always warmed his words. This…this was a waking nightmare.
“Hostiles in the vicinity. Keep your head down and shut up.” Zed’s dry monotone drove another spike of terror through Felix’s chest, and a new fear emerged from the smothering darkness: had Zed Zoned in his sleep?
Knowing he couldn’t fight Zed, especially not when he Zoned, Felix stopped struggling. Breathing against the impenetrable black, he lay still, skin itching with all he held on to—fear and sanity. The pressure of Zed’s hands eased almost instantly, then both withdrew.
Oh, thank God.
Felix sat up, automatically reaching to rub his newly mangled wrist. “What the f—” Zed’s hand smacked across his mouth again. Felix fell back, away from the offensive touch. “Zed! Snap out of it.”
He was angry now, but he still needed light, or he’d risk losing his marbles and his temper. He rolled toward the end of the bed and slid off onto the deck, jumping away from the feel of the other man, the looming darkness within the darkness. He sought the small pinpricks of illumination with which to navigate his quarters—the LEDs of the comm panel, the soft glow of the message light on his bracelet. Neither gave off much light and before he could reach his desk, a strong arm caught him around the waist and lifted him from his feet.
“Goddamn it. Let me go!” Felix found he couldn’t even twist in the hold.
“We need to stay in cover.”
“Why?” Kicking back, Felix attempted to wriggle free. Zed’s arms might as well have been tungsten carbide.
Breath tickled his ear. “They’re just over that rise.”
A horrible weakness radiated out from Felix’s core, churning through his gut, weighting his limbs. He’d almost accepted that Zed had slipped into the Zone, and if he could find a rational moment, Felix might be able to say he’d expected it. He was so still at night, he might well have been Zoning in his sleep for some time. But for Zed to move from blankness to madness, for his trips to start reflecting the degradation of his mind—it was too much.
Despair and dread were uneasy allies and neither was interested in helping him. Not right then.
Think, Felix. Think!
“I’ll duck down.” A soft quaver betrayed his distress. “I’ll be quiet.”
How could he break Zed free from this shared nightmare? He’d only barely started to recognize the gaps when he was awake—the extended silences, the daydreams that were not dreams. The safest course—the only viable course—might be to play along and make sure Zed knew they were on the same team. Again, Felix stopped struggling.
Zed responded almost instantly, setting him on his feet. Swallowing, Felix listened to the darkness and focused on what might have set Zed off. He heard nothing but his own labored breaths. Beneath, the thrum of his blood shunting through his veins, pursued by cold adrenaline.
“Sit rep,” he murmured, pursuing his chosen course.
“Four bugs at three o’clock. Fully armored.”
Bugs. What they called the stin.
Felix was combat trained, but as a mechanical engineer he had been one step removed from the front line until his capture. Then he’d had nearly four years to put theory into practice, and he had no doubt his military training had been all that had saved him from a withering death in the mines. That, and perhaps his need to be obstinate.
Any mention of the stin stirred fear and anger, usually regimented into degrees of usefulness. But in the dark with Zed pushing him deep into cover behind his bunk, reporting in that flat and lifeless tone, Felix struggled to hold on to what was important. He needed to be strong, and the jerky lassitude pushing at his limbs interfered with that. The images invading his memories didn’t help.
He’d been up close and personal with the tall, insectoid aliens—segmented torsos and appendages armored in gray-green chitin—far too often. He knew their smell, the rattle of their breath, the rustle of their limbs as they moved and gestured. He knew more, so much more, all of it terrifying.
I’m on board the Chaos. I am safe, I am free.
His lungs hitched as he tried for a deeper breath, then relaxed as he managed another. Felix could just make out the outline of the shelf over his bunk. The door to his quarters remained lost in the heavy dusk, but he could see the comm panel beside it, the tiny points of light a beacon. Zed had nudged him against the wall between the end of the bed and the desk. Felix allowed himself to be situated. He could feel Zed next to him—not just his body, but the Zone. It surrounded Zed like a heavy cloak, a miasma of tension, and it occurred to Felix that he’d not actually felt the Zone before.
“Exit strategy,” he prompted shakily, hoping to deter Zed from engaging his imaginary targets—and if they left his quarters, the light of the engineering bay might snap him back into reality.
Zed cocked his head, as if listening for relayed instructions, then directed his focus toward the far corner of the room where Felix’s kick bag hung in the shadows. “Negative on the exit. We are weapons free. Waiting for permission to engage.”
Shit, he didn’t actually have a weapon, did he?
“There are four of them and two of us,” Felix pointed out. Even if the odds were reversed, SOP would be to withdraw from the fight. On the ground, four human soldiers to one stin was the only combination with a projected favorable outcome. The aliens were too fast, too powerful.
“Do we have reinforcements on the other side of that hatch?” Felix indicated the door, hoping the fact they were not actually hunkered down behind a hillock might seep into Zed’s state of consciousness.
Zed jerked to the left, obviously seeking the outline of the door. Then he leaned forward, his attention back on the corner. “Negative. The bunker has not been secured.”
And just like that, the hatch to freedom became a potential hazard. Fuck!
“We were in there before,” Felix trie
d. “It’s been cleared.”
Zed shifted again, his bulk angling toward Felix this time. “Who are you?”
Oh, shit.
“Lieutenant Ingesson, sir.”
As with the Zone, Felix could feel Zed’s uncertainty. Should he have used his first name? How did one play a game with no clear rules?
“It’s me, Zed. Felix Ingesson.”
“Lieutenant Felix Ingesson is dead. MIA in 2261. Declared KIA in 2262.”
“I’m alive, Zed. You’re aboard my ship. Our ship.”
Zed tapped his throat as if trying to engage a sub-dermal mic. When he received no response, his shadow shifted abruptly and then the warm darkness that formed his outline became fluid. He didn’t disappear, he hadn’t phase-shifted, but he moved so fast, his outline blurred, and Felix found himself slammed against the bulkhead. One hand ground his shoulder into the plated steel, the other sought his throat. Felix kicked out, feet seeking belly, rib cage, or lower, that vulnerable point that could take a grown man down. Breath puffed across his face in short grunts as his kicks connected, but nothing rocked Zed back. Calloused fingers grazed his neck, then clamped around his throat.
“Zed! It’s me! Felix. God…” The fingers tightened. “I’m Flick. Look at me, turn on the fucking light and look at me-hee.” The last came out on a wheeze. As his limbs flailed, his mind scrabbled for purchase. “We’re best friends. Always have been…always…” His throat burned. “I stole your…eight years…Academy…grad…u…” Their combined history came in short gasps as fingers of iron cut off his air supply.
“Love…Zed. Please don’t…”
Chapter Nine
Zed woke up to a nightmare.
Flick’s throat in his hands. Flick’s discolored face. Horrified, Zed let go and stepped back. Pain spiked through his temples as he watched Flick collapse onto his hands and knees, wheezing. He barely sucked in a handful of breaths before he was up again, stumbling through the dark to engage all the lights the cabin had to offer.
Zed staggered backward until his back connected with the wall. His knees gave out and he thudded to his ass, slumping forward, head cupped in his hands. He couldn’t look at Flick, couldn’t bear to see the red handprint illuminated by the harsh lights.
He’d almost…he’d almost…
“Zed?”
He looked up, surprised to see Ness crouched in front of him. Had he lost time again? Flick stood behind her, all but vibrating—from anger, or fear, or worry, Zed couldn’t tell. She offered him her small professional smile—the one she pulled out when shit was really bad. “You with us?”
He shook his head and tried to look down again, but she stopped the movement with the heel of her palm against his forehead. “Uh-uh, look at me.” She shifted her fingers to his chin, holding him still, and shined her damned penlight in his eyes. “You being your quiet and contemplative self, or is it something else?”
He pulled his chin from her grasp, gently, and his gaze rested on Flick for a moment. She had to ask? He’d just woken up strangling Flick. His best friend, his lover, the one person of all people who should be safe in his arms. He’d betrayed that trust, that friendship—not only now, but so many times. When he’d left Flick after graduation. When he hadn’t searched for him when he’d gone MIA. When he’d given up all contact with everyone and didn’t know…
“Zed?” The light flashing in his eyes brought him back.
He squinted, pain flaring again. “I feel off. I’m not…coming back together.”
“Headache?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
Of course he did, it was…Zed’s mouth opened and closed as he realized that he had no idea. “No.”
“Time?”
It was after dinner, wasn’t it? But…how far after…? Fuck. “No.” His chest tightened, as if someone was screwing a band around it.
“What station are we on?”
The first station name that popped into mind left his lips. “Dardanos.” No…shit, that wasn’t right. “Hemera?”
A soft breath escaped Flick. “Ness, stop.” His voice was rough, scratchy.
She ignored him. “What’s your full name?”
“Zander Damianos Anatolius.” That was right. That felt right.
“And his?” She pointed to Flick.
“Flick.” No, that wasn’t his full name. His full name was…was…”I—I know this.”
Ness waited, her expression calm and unaffected, which did nothing to soothe the panic starting to sputter in his chest. When he looked at Flick he knew Flick wasn’t his full name. He knew who he was and what role he filled in his life, what role he’d always filled, but…that one piece wasn’t falling into place.
“Fuck. I know…oh God, why can’t I…”
Flick knelt beside him and reached for his hand. “It’s okay. Shh, it’s all right.”
Zed gripped his fingers tightly. “No, it’s not okay. I know your name! Why can’t I…why can’t….” Fuck! It was…goddamn it, it was…”Felix. Felix.”
“Yeah. Felix.” Flick’s lips curved upward, a brief, brief smile, and he glanced at Nessa before meeting Zed’s gaze again. “Felix Ingesson.”
“I know that,” Zed whispered. “Felix Ingesson. Felix Ingesson.” How could he forget? How could he ever forget? “I’m sorry. Damn it, Flick, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Flick pulled Zed’s hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to a knuckle. “Ness is going to take care of you.”
“As best I can,” she agreed.
“You need to get me off the ship.”
Flick’s gaze darkened. “No.”
“I’m a danger. I almost—”
“But you didn’t. You snapped out of it.”
“Fixer…”
“Shut up, Elias,” Flick snapped over his shoulder. “We’re not abandoning him.”
Zed lifted his gaze to Elias’s, who hovered near the cabin door with Qek. Elias’s expression was strained, lines etched around his eyes and mouth. In contrast, Qek’s features were smooth and wrinkle-free, a sign of her concern.
“You need your family,” Elias said. “They’ve got resources—”
Zed shook his head, panic rising, his breath coming too quick. “No. I don’t want them to know.”
“Damn it, they could help.”
“Or knowing this could ruin—” Zed broke off with a grunt as the hot spike he’d almost gotten used to poked his brain again.
“What about an AEF hospital?” Ness asked.
“No.” But why not? The words didn’t want to form, but he had to say it, had to explain again because he knew they didn’t really understand, they didn’t really comprehend how thoroughly he’d been left in the wind. God, his thoughts were a mess. “The AEF cut us loose.”
“Yeah. You told us that before. But maybe—”
“No, they cut us loose. They don’t want to treat us. They don’t want to help.”
Elias pushed away from the wall and took a step forward. “I get what he means. They cut them loose, knowing their time was limited, and if he shows up now, like this, they’re just going to help the end come. Am I right?”
Zed heaved out a relieved breath that someone understood. “Yes. That’s right.”
Ness made a frustrated noise. “But your family—”
He scrambled to get up, ignoring the protests from the rest of the crew. Clothes, he needed clothes. And his stash of painkillers. He had enough to—
Fuck. Maybe that was the solution.
“What are you doing?” Flick demanded as Zed searched unsteadily for what he needed.
“Leaving.” Where were his pills?
“Okay, no. Wait.” Ness blocked his path. “You’re not leaving.”
The hell he wasn’t. He grabbed a pair of pants he found on the floor, unsure if they were his or Flick’s until he pulled them on and discovered they fit. “What station are we on?”
“Central,” Flick su
pplied.
Zed paused. “I lived here for a few months.”
“Right, after you took the shovel to the head.”
“I didn’t know he was married at first. I should’ve asked. Why didn’t I ask?” He realized his hands were on the fly of his pants but he couldn’t remember if he’d been fastening them or removing them. “What am I doing?”
“If we try to contact your family for you, you’ll be gone, won’t you?” Elias asked, his voice soft.
Oh, right. That was what he’d been doing. “They can’t know. This isn’t…I’m not…” Damn it, when had words gotten so hard? “Flick?”
Flick swallowed, wincing at the movement, which reminded Zed all over again what he’d done. “I think he’s got a valid worry about his dad. You’ve never met Alexander Anatolius. He’s…intense. In a good way, usually. But if you hurt his family…” He scrubbed a hand over his shorn hair. “I don’t know what to do, but I’m not letting you walk off this ship.”
Qek clicked. “My solution is still viable.”
“No, it’s not,” Flick countered. “It’s too big of a risk. We can’t ask you—”
“You are not asking. I am offering. There is a significant difference.”
Zed frowned. Did he have another hole in his memory? What solution? Ness noticed his confusion and laid a gentle hand on his arm. “The ashies experimented with stin poison too. They might know how to mitigate its effects but going to Ashie Prime could cause Qek to gender.”
“Oh.” Zed blinked, trying to understand the ramifications of that statement. He had a vague recollection of a conversation on Risus about ashie gender—but the details escaped him.
“If you wish to ensure your family does not throw their weight around the galaxy in your defense, this may be your only alternative.”
“The potential cost is too high.” Flick drew close to Zed, and Zed leaned more heavily into his anchor. God, he was tired. He just wanted to lie down with Flick and forget. Forget everything.
“Zed. Zed!”
He blinked, realizing that he was no longer leaning forward but standing upright, spine stiff. Flick had both hands on his shoulders and he was looking into his eyes, a vertical furrow etched between his brows.
