by T Y Carew
Chapter 8
The big man was a room and a half away from Xander, Matt, and the handful of other survivors, hobbling down a hallway on his rifle, grimacing with every step. He turned and raised an eyebrow. “You won.”
“We won,” Xander agreed grimly.
The man's grin was sallow and devoid of humor. “Then I turn myself in. Just get me out of this hell.”
They cuffed him, but allowed him the rifle after Xander checked it to make sure it really didn't have any ammo. Whoever he was, he walked side-by-side with Cardew, who looked only straight forward without any sign that she was thinking anything. The Anassos had released its grip on Xander and Matt, but the damage it had wreaked on the doctor wasn't wearing off.
Another two rooms away, Simon sat with a badly injured woman and a flabby man against a wall. At their footsteps, Simon wearily raised a laser pistol in their direction, but lowered it quickly when he saw who it was. His jumpsuit had been scorched in several places by laser fire, his nose broken, and dried blood flaked away from his fingers. In short, he looked nothing like the immaculate playboy they knew.
Without preamble or a hello, Simon stood up, tears rolling slowly down his face as he shuffled towards them. Xander thought for a moment he meant to embrace Matt, a move that rankled him, but Simon passed between the pair and pressed the barrel of his gun to the big man's head.
“Simon, no—” Matt shouted, but it was too late, and a moment later, another body joined the rest of the dead on the station.
Simon turned and held out the gun grip first towards Matt. She took it, gaping as the man she once cared for swiped away the tears from his face with his palms like a child. “He was my bodyguard, but he worked for Cardew. He... he killed Sally.” His tears stopped and he cleared his throat. “I'll stand trial. I'll do whatever I have to do. But he needed to die and it had to be me that did it.”
Xander, completely taken aback, said, “I... we'll figure this out aboard the Exemplar.”
Simon nodded, and along with the man he'd been sitting with, helped lift the woman—Lieutenant Avery Lawson, he said—back to an upright position. Xander volunteered to help them, but the two seemed adamant that the injured woman was their charge, and they supported her right up until the point when Drew and Trey along with the Exemplar's doctor rushed to them with a stretcher.
On board the massive ship, Tyra was focused on helping a row of severely wounded in a makeshift ward in the bunks. Despite the sling cradling her arm, she took in the bandages around Xander's leg and abdomen and the huge gauze bandage wrapped around Matt's chest and back and clucked like a mother hen. That didn't stop her from embracing—gingerly—both of them. The Lentarin led them to the galley.
“The prisoners are all in here,” Tyra said, kicking the door behind her. “Anyone that wasn't on Simon's SOS video, all locked up. I expected them to riot or try to take command again, but they're done. Fight's gone out of them.”
“Too much bloodshed,” Matt said hollowly. Tyra nodded.
They rejoined Trey and Drew on the bridge along with what remained of the ship's command who were able to stand. There weren't many. Xander looked around and grimaced.
“We're going to be taking command of the Exemplar,” he said to the group. “Trey, you'll have command. Drew, you're to act as his second.”
“The prisoners?” Trey said, not bothering to hide his glee from his sister. The two had a long-running rivalry as to who was the better pilot, and any perceived one-upsmanship was ammo for months, possibly years.
“Lock them in their quarters. If you need the manpower, they're to be escorted to and from their duties under guard. Drew, you're in charge of that.”
“Got it, boss.”
Tyra looked more than a little angry at all this. “I can help with the wounded. I should be on board here.”
Xander gave her injured arm a long, appraising look. “No. You haven't even tended to yourself yet. When we drop out of FTL to adjust course, we'll dock with the Exemplar, but I'm not allowing it until you've had rack time.”
“You know, Xander,” Trey said, his grin now turned on his colonel, “Matt might be a big help on board here if we need to keep an eye on the prisoners.”
“Not a chance,” Matt said, glancing meaningfully at Xander. He grinned and started to speak, but she cut in before him, glaring at Trey. “And when we're back in FTL, if any of you contact us for anything short of someone's murder in the first twelve hours, I've thought of some really clever things to do with Adamanta and toilets.”
Drew winced. “I'll keep the comms chatter to a minimum.”
Before Matt, Tyra, and Xander departed the Exemplar, they stopped by Simon's room. He wasn't there, but they found him in the medical bay, strapped in next to the sleeping Lieutenant Lawrence. His nose had yet to be tended to at his own insistence. So long as there were other wounded on board, even among Cardew’s people, he didn’t want to be treated. He held the lieutenant’s hand absently, staring at nothing at all. Matt pulled up a chair and sat next to him, while Xander and Trey took up positions around the bed.
“Doc's got her sedated,” Simon said dully. “She'll lose the leg all the way up to her hip. Because of me and my idiocy.”
“Simon...” Matt said.
He smiled bitterly. “I notice you didn't try to tell me I wasn't being stupid.”
“No,” she said bluntly. “I didn't. Some part of you had to know what you were getting into with Dr. Cardew. There's some self-destructive streak in you, some part of you that desperately wants to take shortcuts even when you don't have to. And that part of you made the wrong call bringing her into this.”
“I know,” he said, a degree of petulance entering his voice.
Undeterred, she continued. “But there's another part of you, I think, that really does want to do the right thing. And that part saved this woman. Saved a lot of these people, from what I heard. Hold onto that, Simon. You can do so much good, if you'd just fight for it.”
He stared down at the lieutenant. “What'll happen to me?”
Xander spoke up, keeping his voice quiet for the sake of the wounded. “For the short term, you'll stay aboard the Exemplar. No one here knows her better. You'll assist at the helm, and when you're not on duty, you'll be escorted here or to your room. As for what happens on Netera, it will be up to the people in charge.”
Simon nodded. “All right.” Finally he glanced up at Xander. “Cardew deserves to die too. You know that.”
“She'll stand trial, if the universe is kind. These people, their families, they deserve to see her in a courtroom.”
“Xander Finlay, always the righteous one,” Simon said, but his voice was too weary for sarcasm, and it came across as envious.
***
Tyra reapplied the bandage to Matt's back and rubbed her friend's shoulder. “How is the pain?”
“Much more tolerable. Yours?”
The Lentarin smiled. “Bearable. Trey healed the worst of it. Okay, you can sit up. Shall I get you a new shirt?”
“Please.”
Matt lifted her arms straight up, grimacing as the nasty cut flared. Like Simon, she had insisted that the Lentarin twins help even the most lightly wounded before her, and they'd been too exhausted to do much more than scab the cut over. When Tyra had rested up, she would treat Matt further. Not without a little effort and pain of her own, Tyra dropped the shirt down as gingerly as she could manage, and said quietly, “Not that this matters much. I think you'll be out of it in a few minutes anyways.”
“Tyra!”
The Lentarin chuffed a laugh. “I could not be happier, unless Trey were to find a mate. One I did not want to devour after spit-roasting her on an open flame.”
Matt looked at her, horrified. “That's not... er... you don't really...”
“No, of course not.” The Lentarin cocked her head. “Well... if she were really foul, maybe.”
A snicker escaped Matt's lips and she winced. “Oh, laughing hurts. Eve
rything does, I suppose.”
“I can always tell Xander you need a few days to recover before—”
“Uh, no,” Matt said hastily. “I will, ah, handle that end of things.” At Tyra's lascivious grin, or what passed for one on a Lentarin face, she muttered, “Oh, shut up.”
When she rose, Tyra placed one hand on her shoulder, the same she'd been massaging a second ago. This time, there was some force to her squeeze, and Matt glanced down, surprised. “Do not hurt him,” Tyra warned her quietly.
“What?” Matt asked, laughing.
“I mean it. I love you as a sister, Matilda Adair, but you are wildfire and he is the long-standing tree. I have seen his love for you for a while now, and it is not simple desire.”
“I promise that I love him too. And we'll face that the same as we always have. Head on, probably a bit rashly, usually while stuff explodes.”
From the cockpit, Xander shouted, “Hey, you two, we're about to light the candles, so get in here if you want to watch.”
Tyra leaned forward and hugged her friend, careful not to make her hurt. They rejoined Xander at the controls. In his hand was a detonator, and looming in the distance on their monitors was the Beltine refinery. He glanced over his shoulder and gestured them forward.
“We do this together,” Xander said, and held his free hand over the toggle.
“Together,” Matt said, favoring him with a dazzling smile born out of what she wanted next and the meds helping her ignore the pain in her back.
“Oh, you two are going to be awful on the trip home,” Tyra grumbled, and her hand joined theirs, pushing down hard enough that Xander flicked the switch.
Four of the refinery's honeycombed rooms blew apart. As Drew and Trey had predicted, the rest of the base couldn't handle the damage, and the whole structure began to collapse inwards. Over the comms, Trey, Drew, and the crews of the Everett and Hayward whooped. In the background of the Exemplar was more clapping and cheering, and more than a few sobs.
Once they'd cleared the asteroid field and made the jump into FTL, Tyra retired to her bunk. She really did need rest, lots of it, and Xander had no intent on letting her return to the helm for at least two shifts.
They waited an entire ten minutes before they were on each other. It was all they could manage. Matt rose out of her chair as Xander feasted his eyes on her, hungry and amused all at once. As she began to slide her pants off, he asked, “Are you sure you're up—”
“Xander?” she asked, kicking off the fabric. He winced as Matt climbed on his lap, but she was sure he was up to the task at hand.
He sucked in a deep breath and his hands wrapped around her, touching her in ways she'd only been able to dream about. “Yes?”
“Respectfully?” Matt leaned in and kissed him with all the need that had been building in her for months. She broke away and gasped, “Shut up. Sir.”
As Xander helped her out of her shirt, he muttered, “At least you didn't call me boss.”
Chapter 9
Between General Kelton and Xander, on the table, were two fat manila folders barely held closed by elastic bands stretched to the max. The colonel didn't need to look inside to know what was in there—pictures of the two Anassos aboard the Beltine mining facility along with some quick snaps of the structure's interior, taken by a brave (and in Xander's opinion, foolish) trio of scientists from the Exemplar shortly before the vessel undocked. They'd wanted more time to haul the bodies out, but Xander steadfastly refused and only gave them the go-ahead because Drew and Trey needed the time to adapt to the Exemplar's bridge anyway.
The pictures had been forwarded ahead to the military, and as the two ships flew back to Netera, a think-tank spent days poring over them and analyzing detailed logs of the battle on board the Beltine station. The operation, now known as Cutthroat, was studied and debated endlessly, and the folders were the result. Nearly five hundred pages of speculation sat before the colonel and the general on the Anassos, the facility, the in-fighting among the Dairos.
Kelton poured two hefty tumblers' worth of scotch, and passed one over to Xander wordlessly. They raised their glasses to one another, and Xander downed most of his in two swallows.
“Our team,” Kelton said, holding his glass between his hands, “agrees with Captain Adair that the blind Anassos was some kind of prisoner. Our understanding of the biology of the Anassos as a species is still a work in progress, but judging from the brittle nature of its carapace and some of the discoloration of the flesh underneath, the team thinks it may have been very old.”
“So we're not looking at some new threat?” Xander asked.
“We can't say for certain, but no would be our best educated guess. The battle in the station freed it somehow. Speculation is, and I like this hypothesis, the other Anassos was its keeper of sorts. It has all the appearances of being a veteran, and was probably given the position due to its maimed arm. When the station came under attack, the psionic one managed to slip out of its confinement, gather Kyraos and Dairos to it, and the rest you know.”
Xander nodded slowly. Drew and Matt, heads together, had guessed much the same. “And Simon? Has he lawyered up?”
“No. I'm as shocked as you are, Colonel. We aren't interested in taking him to trial, though, and he knows it. If those close to the situation were to explain the facts, the public would undoubtedly side with Mr. Dantos in the murder on board the station. That said, if he's aware of this, and I'm sure he is, Simon is still cooperating with us. He won't see prison, but there will be reparations. Given that he can still be a powerful asset, we’re working with him.” Kelton sipped at his whiskey. “How are your people?”
“Tyra will need a couple surgeries. She came damn close to losing the arm, but her brother healed the worst of it. There's some nerve damage, but the doctors are convinced she'll get most, if not all her range of motion back. Matt is shaken up, but she's strong and recovering.”
“And you?”
“Leg's fine. First time I've ever been a little grateful for some meat on me. The stomach, that might have been bad if it wasn't for the Lentarins. Punctured the intestine, but I didn't know it until I was back on board the Exemplar.”
Kelton gave an appreciative grunt. Xander finally decided to pull one of the file folders to him. He slipped off the elastic band and took one brief glimpse inside. The images of the dead psychic Anassos and its keeper—and he was sure the think-tank was right about the one-armed one's purpose—made him shiver, and Xander closed the folder again.
“What's happening with Dr. Cardew?” he asked Kelton.
The general grimaced. “There's a very small cell with a very tiny window for her.”
***
Matt trudged after the burly nurse. No one working for the military-run mental hospital could be considered small in the slightest, and this man—Corbett, his nametag said—looked as mean and rough as any soldier she'd served with.
A soft lavender scent failed at masking the taint of residue chemical cleanser used on the floors and within the rooms themselves. It threatened to give her a headache, but the task at hand was the only thing Matt thought about. After so long trying to convince the military of the red-haired woman's evil ways, she needed to see Evelyn Cardew's end for herself, just to make sure.
Some irrational part of her mind feared that the Anassos had rubbed off on the doctor somehow, that the doors housing the insane would open as one and she'd be flooded by mentally-controlled patients. She'd read the reports, sent to the Contessa probably illegally by a friend of a friend of Tyra and Trey's within the hospital. Every one of them said the same thing—Dr. Cardew, though compliant with simple orders like “walk,” “stand,” sit,” or “eat,” no longer thought for herself. Her mind was shattered.
Nevertheless, her room was one of the hospital's most secure, and that was saying something, given the fortress-like nature of the place. Very few people were allowed in to see her. Matt's presence was allowed only thanks to that same friend of a fri
end.
“You'll have three minutes,” the nurse said. “If you want to speak to her, use the intercom.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
The nurse grunted something vaguely amicable. Another five doors on, and he stopped at one to swipe his keycard through a slot beside the door. A sharp buzz emanated from a speaker above the frame, and the nurse slid the door open. Inside was an observation room leading to two cells, one empty and pristine, the other occupied by Dr. Cardew. The glass looking in was mirrored—Matt could look in, but Cardew wouldn't be able to see her. Suited her just fine.
Xander had told her what Kelton said about Cardew being in a tiny cell, but the words seemed just that—words. Now that she saw it in person, she realized how truthful they were. There was room for a cot, a sink, and a toilet. That was it. Evelyn had a few feet beside the bed she could use to shuffle around, but the nurse told her Cardew never moved unless she was told to. Now she laid on the bed, her eyes staring dreamily at the ceiling.
Matt stepped forward to a tiny speaker and a single, solitary button. “Just press it once,” the nurse said. “Then again to shut it off.”
“Thanks.” Her finger stopped just a quarter inch from the button as a tiny pang of fear coursed through her. What if that Anassos still had control over Evelyn even after death? What would she do? Fear had never much fazed her, though, and Matt smacked the emotion down as she jabbed the button firmly. A green dot above the button lit up, and she cleared her throat.
“Dr. Cardew.”
Nothing.
“Dr. Cardew, it's me. Matt Adair.”
Still nothing.
“Sit up if you can hear me.”
Dr. Cardew pushed herself up, her limbs moving mechanically as she turned and faced the wall, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her jaw hung open.
“Can you speak?” Rethinking the question, Matt added, “If you can, say your name.”
Nothing.
