Lonely Shore

by Jenn Burke

  Nuts.

  “Yeah, nuts. I entered that flavor too. Well, I chose Figlice Tree nuts. They’re kinda spicy, but no more so than the pickled squid.”

  Zed didn’t answer that and as Felix replayed the echo of the word nuts in his head, he realized Zed hadn’t answered him then, either. A stiff glance revealed why. Zed had gone. The arm around his waist was slack.

  “Zed.”

  Felix tried not to panic, for his sake and for Zed’s. He worried his fear would filter through and possibly throw him deeper into the Zone. But ignoring the clawing sensation in his chest proved very hard. He strove to find the distance he’d achieved at the window—the screen that blocked out the mist, or beckoned it within, used it as a barrier between him and the clear and cruel world. But he’d lost it. He’d been rambling on about chip flavors and ice cream and Zed had slipped away from him.

  Would this be how it happened? The final—

  “Zed!”

  He reached around to grab hold of Zed’s shoulders. He swung a leg over Zed’s so that he sat across his lap, performing the dual function of trapping him and keeping him close. Leaving one shoulder pinned beneath his hand, Felix reached for Zed’s cheek and stroked it, pulling his skin so that it moved, teasing a crease into the stiff fold by his mouth.

  “Zed. Fuck, fucker. Come back. We can talk about it…that…anything you want. Just come back. Please.”

  Zed had Zoned dozens of times over the past week or so, but this instance felt different. Deeper, more profound. Was it the ashie drug?

  Felix folded himself in against Zed’s chest and hugged him tight. A part of him railed against his apparent uselessness, at the fact he could do nothing but just hold the blank body beneath him. Another part thanked all the stars Zed hadn’t flipped into combat mode.

  A third part, which seeped into the other two like some pervasive germ, flopped and flailed. Or maybe that was his heart.

  “Don’t go yet…please? Come back. I’m not ready.”

  He hadn’t been ready a week ago and he wasn’t now. He’d never be ready. Ever.

  Arms banded across his back and Zed’s chest moved beneath him. Rumbled. “I’m here, Flick. I’m here.”

  Chapter Twelve

  A soft tap drew Flick to the door of their room. Zed remained on the bed, trying to remember if he was due another examination today. Rhyniche had already given him the daily dose of the neural inhibitor—he was pretty sure, anyway. Unless he was remembering yesterday’s hypo-syringe, which was entirely possible. The days had started to blend together, thanks to the holes in his memory that were not getting smaller and the drowsiness that came with every injection. He slept, he received a shot, he slept, he was examined, he slept, he was poked, he slept. Sometimes he Zoned—deep, so deep and long that the pain in his head afterward was excruciating, an unexpected side effect from the neural inhibitor. But the instances of Zoning had diminished. That was a win, sort of.

  He gave up trying to put a number on the day. Counting down to the end just seemed morbid and a waste of energy. Every lucid moment was what mattered—his main focus was making sure Flick would remember the good times. Zed pulled out all the fun memories he could as they lay in bed together, trying to get Flick to laugh. He hoped that, someday, Flick would look back on this time and understand what Zed had been trying to do—care for him, just as he cared for Zed every hour of every day.

  Tomorrow he and Elias would sit down and discuss…other things. Things Flick didn’t want to hear, things Zed knew he wouldn’t be able to handle when the time came to handle them. Eli was a step removed, though, and he’d take care of everything. Including Flick.

  The door closed and Flick leaned his head against it, his shoulders slumping. Zed hated seeing him look so defeated, and Flick was getting worse at hiding it.

  And it was getting harder and harder to care about that. He was so damned tired of fighting, of trying to get his brain back online every time he woke up from one of his naps. The need to not quit burned through him, but even that fire was growing less intense.

  Flick straightened and looked at Zed. “I’d ask if you were up for company, but I don’t think our visitors will take no.”

  “Visitors?”

  “AEF reps.”

  If Zed’s brain hadn’t decided to clock out at increasingly frequent intervals, he might have been expecting the AEF to show up on Ashie Prime.

  “Huh,” he said, pushing himself into a sitting position, his legs folded over the side of the bed. “Why?”

  Flick shrugged, but his jaw was tight. “To make sure you stay decommissioned?”

  “Huh.” God, his brain was slow. “Did I already see Rhyniche today?”

  Flick’s gaze softened. “Yeah, babe. More tests. You got your shot too. We got back about an hour ago.” He blew out a breath. “Look, I’ll tell them you’re not up to—”

  Zed rose from the bed, the weird disconnect between the fatigue in his brain and the energy of his body something he was almost used to. He made his way around the strange bed to Flick’s side. “Stay with me and I’ll be okay.”

  Flick grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard before letting go again. “Not leaving you. Ever.”

  They stepped through the door to see three AEF uniforms seated in the center of the communal area, with Elias, Nessa and Qek hovering at the edges. Rhyniche and Banqueler stood nearby as well. The tension pouring off Elias and Nessa was easy enough to see. From the lack of wrinkles in Qek’s face, she was not happy, either, and the other ashushk seemed displeased as well. The soldiers all blurred into one grumbly entity as he stared at them.

  Except for one. A man who stood a little apart from his contingent wore the rank of a general on his epaulet and a scowl on his face, one etched in so deeply it had to be a permanent state of being. No—Zed knew it was. He’d never seen that expression lift completely—though how he knew that without knowing who this man was…

  Muscle memory drew his feet together and his right arm upward in a perfect salute. “Sir.”

  The general returned his salute. “At ease, Major.”

  “Yes, sir.” Zed fell into a parade rest, his chin up, gaze straight ahead.

  “I hear things have been rough for you.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle, sir.” The words left him by rote. He’d said them so many times before, to this man, even.

  The general stepped forward and Zed braced himself for a dressing down. He’d fucked up. He shouldn’t have jeopardized the mission in order to rescue those civilians, but he couldn’t have walked away knowing they were all going to die. War was all about the strategy, though—sacrifice a few for the sake of the many. He knew that, damn it, and still…

  Hands tugged his face downward. “Come back to me, Zed. Come on.”

  Worried eyes searched his. Beautiful, perfect eyes. Flick. “Felix Ingesson.”

  Flick smiled, the expression shaky but there. “Yep.”

  “Never going to forget that again.”

  “I know. I know.”

  A cleared throat tugged Zed’s gaze upward. He squinted as the movement jarred the renewed ache in his skull. The general had moved back to his contingent and his scowl had softened. “Do you know me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s my name?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  The scowl deepened, his eyes growing darker. Zed recognized that look too. He’d seen it enough. Frustration—not anger, though it had taken him a good year or so to figure out the general wasn’t going to blow like a volcano when those brown eyes seemed to grow almost black. No, it was the stillness you had to watch for, when the general seemed to stop breathing and just watched you.

  The general sighed. “I need you to come with me, Major.”

  “What?” Flick stepped in front of Zed, as though his body could act as a barrier. “No!”

  Elias pushed away from the wall and positioned himself a few feet in front of Zed beside Flick. “As his captain, I d
eserve to know why the AEF is suddenly interested in him.”

  The general gritted his teeth as he looked around the room. Evaluating. His gaze stayed on Zed for a moment before coming to rest on Elias. “The AEF never stopped being interested in Major Anatolius, Captain Idowu. He is a weapon—”

  “You asshole, he’s a man!” Flick shouted.

  “—that we can’t risk falling into enemy, or ally, hands.” He cast a look at the ashushk who were present, almost in apology.

  “Should’ve thought of that before you cut him loose, then.”

  Zed caught one of Flick’s arms before he could tear across the room.

  “That wasn’t my choice, Lieutenant,” the general said, his voice low. “I pushed to have Major Anatolius and his team contained in a facility where they could have lived out the remainder of their lives in peace and comfort. I was overruled.”

  The AEF had wanted to wash its hands of what they’d created. Let them fade away, let them disappear, encourage them to do so. Bad PR if it leaked that he and his team had been committed. There’d be questions about why…and no answers. But encouraging them to disappear…eventually they’d be nothing more than a bad memory, hardly mentioned in the history books.

  “I have my orders. I can’t leave you here.”

  “Fuck you and your orders!” Flick pulled out of Zed’s grasp. He marched forward, his fists clenched at his side. The two men who had accompanied the general intercepted him, hands fastening around Flick’s biceps and yanking him back.

  It was as though someone hit a skip-scene button on a vid. The next thing Zed knew, he hand a hand wrapped around the general’s neck and was staring into those familiar dark eyes. Pain slammed into his temple—a migraine, worse than he’d dealt with in ages—and he winced. His grip loosened and the general jerked back and away, a hand rising to rub at his abused skin. Zed fell back a couple of steps and surveyed the room. The two guards who’d grabbed Flick lay motionless on the ground, but their chests moved. Had he attacked them? Seeing as Elias, Nessa and the ashies hadn’t moved, it seemed that way. Flick came to him, and Zed didn’t realize he was shaking until he laid an unsteady hand on his arm.

  God, his head hurt.

  “I’m broken,” Zed said, his voice wavering, and straightened to face the general. “And it was the AEF that did it. I’ll be fucked if I go anywhere with you. Sir. So if you want me, you’re going to need to bring a hell of a lot more than two men. And if anyone touches any of my crew, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

  “Damn it, Zed, do you know what you’re—”

  Zed blinked. He’d heard those words, or very similar ones, from the general before. After the incident that had exposed his team to the media.

  Damn it, Zed, do you know what you’ve done?

  “General Bradley,” Zed said, knowing the name was right when he saw the man’s eyes widen slightly. “Sorry, sir, it just clicked.” He held the man’s gaze. “Doesn’t change my mind, though.”

  “No one wants this to turn into an incident.”

  “Then go. Leave me alone.” Pain flared in his temples. “Please.”

  Bradley held his gaze for a few minutes, then reached up to rub his neck again. “Fuck,” he spat. “Fine. I’ll stall…or something.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Goddamn it, don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

  Zed drew in a shaky breath. That, he hadn’t expected. Bradley had been the one to convince him to sign up for Project Dreamweaver, but he’d never expressed any regret over it—not even when he’d handed Zed his fuck-off papers.

  “I volunteered, sir,” Zed said quietly.

  “No.” Flick gripped his upper arm, his fingers digging in painfully. He glared at Bradley. “You apologize. You and the AEF and everyone who fucked over Zed and Emma and the others on their team. You apologize and you don’t forget them. You don’t forget what they’re all going through, alone, without the family the AEF was supposed to be. I hope y’all go through even one ounce of what you’ve put these soldiers through before you die!”

  “Flick.” Zed brushed a hand over his lover’s rigid shoulder, trying to draw his attention away from Bradley. He groaned softly as the pain in his temple spiked—though maybe not as softly as he’d thought, because suddenly Ness was there, looking into his eyes.

  “Headache?” she asked.

  He grunted an affirmative.

  “Fixer, come on. Let’s get him lying down.”

  Zed glanced over his shoulder as Nessa and Flick led him back into the bedroom, unsurprised to see Bradley watching them. What was a shock was the lack of a scowl on his face. He looked apologetic, regretful—like a man saying goodbye to a comrade who wasn’t long for the world.

  The fact that Zed couldn’t work up any horror over that thought should have bothered him more than it did.

  *

  Zed jerked awake with a gasp, the dream that had chased him out of sleep fading into insubstantial mist when his eyes opened. He patted the bed beside him, seeking the reassurance of Flick’s presence—but found nothing, no sign that Flick had lain beside him. A low murmur of voices from the common area eased his concern. It must still be relatively early. Flick’s voice didn’t stand out from the others, but it didn’t matter. Zed wasn’t going to impose. The crew needed a break from him and all the worry, if only a short one.

  Though it was tempting to let the languor that never left him now pull him back into sleep, Zed had something to do that he couldn’t put off any longer. With a tap, he turned on the bedside lamp and pulled on the gray SFT he’d been wearing earlier. The fabric quickly lost its wrinkles when it registered his body heat. Grabbing his wallet, he settled into a poofy chair by the wall of windows. His fingers shook as he called up the coordinates he’d never forgotten.

  He tried not to bounce or worry as the ripcomm call rang and rang some more. He didn’t know if the connection would appear as belonging to him, given that it was piggy-backing on the ashies’ network. Even if it did come up as “Zander Anatolius,” he might still be ignored—

  “Zed? Zed? Please don’t have hung up!”

  Zed’s breath hitched as a holo of his brother Brennan appeared. His hair, longer than Zed’s but the same color, was mussed, and he kept blinking, as if he was trying to clear away the remnants of sleep. Shit, he’d forgotten they weren’t operating on Standard here on Ashie Prime. He couldn’t even begin to calculate the time difference, but clearly it was a lot later on Alpha than here.

  “Hey, Bren.” Zed tried to smile and even managed a small one.

  “Hey.” Brennan’s breath hitched. “Oh my God, Zed. Oh my God.”

  Zed swallowed hard. “I’m sorry I—”

  “No, it’s okay, I get it, I…I can’t even imagine what you—” His brother’s voice broke. “Look, it doesn’t matter, all right? None of it matters. We love you, Zed, and we just want you to be happy, whatever it takes.”

  Zed swiped at his eyes, trying hard not to break down. He drew in a shaky breath, ignoring the renewed pounding in his head. Not the Zone, this time, just emotions, but it was a reminder all the same. He didn’t have hours to chat with his brother—the Zone could grab him at any point.

  “I’ve got to tell you some stuff and I need you just to listen, all right?” At his brother’s nod, Zed continued, “I made some changes to my will a—a couple of weeks ago.” He thought it had been a couple of weeks. Might have been more. “I changed my beneficiary.”

  “To Flick?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, but why—”

  “I just need you to know.”

  Bren didn’t say anything for a moment, but the holo showed the pallor of his skin easily enough. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “A whole lot.”

  “Zed—”

  He screwed up his lips so the story wouldn’t come pouring out and shook his head. “None of it matters.” And it didn’t, not really, not in the grand scheme. Wha
t was important was taking care of Flick, so that after…after, he would have something to build on. That was the only thing Zed could promise him, the only thing he could make happen no matter what.

  “I love you, Bren. You and Maddox and Mom and Dad.”

  Bren’s eyes darkened. “Why the fuck is this sounding like goodbye, Zander?”

  “Tell them that, okay? And that I’m sorry.”

  “Goddamn it, don’t—”

  “Take care of each other.”

  “Zed—”

  He disengaged the call. Then, before he could forget, he sent the information Elias would need for after to the captain’s attention. The name of his advocate, the banking data, all of it.

  That done, Zed gripped the wallet tight, and slammed it onto the corner of his desk. The thin plastic, hardened by its open position, shattered. Zed swept the pieces into his hands and disposed of them, trying not to remember the last time he’d rid himself of a wallet. He’d just gotten the assignment on the teams and he’d wanted nothing more than to toss away all the detritus in his life up to that point. He hadn’t wanted to feel anymore. He hadn’t wanted to be anything but a soldier.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” he murmured, and crawled back into bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’m going to lose him if you waste any more time with tests!”

  We. We are going to lose him.

  Fuck.

  Felix paced away from Qek, plastered his hands against the weird substance that walled every outside room and tried not to growl. He failed. Pebbles seemed to churn in his throat, the chipped-off bits from the rocks in his gut. The weight he carried everywhere, which made it difficult for him to be grateful, gracious…polite.