Ghosts & Ashes

by F. T. Lukens

  Rosie shook her head and shifted. “Didn’t say much. An emergency with one of their crew.”

  Ren crackled.

  “Be on your guard, though,” she continued. “I may trust Rowan, but who knows what is going to be on the other side of this walk.”

  “And if it goes south?”

  “Protect yourself. Kill who you have to. Take the cargo.”

  “Maybe we should do that anyway.” Ren zeroed in on the speaker—a tall man with freckles across his nose, a tattoo on his neck, and half an ear. “Forget the niceties.”

  Rosie smirked. “I wouldn’t say no to that.”

  The group laughed.

  Ren snapped back into his body. He staggered backward, released the railing, and almost fell on his backside. While he’d drifted, Millicent had wandered away, and Rowan had joined Asher and Ollie on the bay floor. She had her weapon, but the other two were unarmed.

  They were unarmed.

  Ren jolted upright, gathered his shaky legs under himself, and stumbled down the metal steps.

  “Don’t let them come aboard,” Ren shouted as he tripped his way to the trio. “They’re armed. They want the cargo. Why don’t you have weapons?”

  “Ren? Are you okay?” Ollie asked, grabbing Ren’s arm as he barreled into their group. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Hatfields are armed to the teeth. They were talking about killing you and taking the cargo.”

  Rowan’s eyebrows shot up, but Asher’s expression turned dark.

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  Ren shook off Ollie’s grip. “I heard them.”

  “By using your power after I specifically said to stay out of the way and out of trouble. I told you that you were not to do anything to add stress to this situation.”

  Ren clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes. He was not going to be scolded like a naughty child for trying to protect his friends. “Are you seriously lecturing me when I’m trying to warn you? The Hatfields are dangerous.”

  “We know, Ren,” Rowan said, voice quiet but harsh. “We aren’t going into this blind.”

  “But, they said—”

  Asher sighed, cutting him off. “Look, there is trade etiquette going on here your little duster self doesn’t understand, which is why I didn’t want you here. Not to mention your erratic behavior the last few weeks. We don’t need you spouting accusations at people we’re trying to do business with.”

  “Hey, guys,” Lucas’s voice came over the shipwide comm. “They’re approaching. Be ready to open the airlock.”

  Rowan nodded toward Ollie, who left the group after a worried glance cast Ren’s way.

  “Go sit down on the stairs, Ren,” Rowan said, and it was an order, not a suggestion.

  Ren took a step back. “But—”

  “Go. Or are you disobeying a direct order from your captain?”

  Ren slunk away, head down, shoulders hunched. His stomach churned. He knew what he’d heard, but what if he had misunderstood? Rowan was confident. Ollie was intimidating by merely standing there; his bulky form was heads taller than most men. And Asher had military experience. He wouldn’t allow Rowan to walk into a dangerous situation.

  Ren sighed as he settled on the stairs. Ren spotted Jakob and Penelope on the overhead walkway, overlooking the proceedings. Jakob had a pulse gun in the crook of his arm, and Penelope had a small gun peeking from her tool belt. Ren winced when he realized the rest of the crew had had a plan all along.

  One they hadn’t shared with him.

  Ollie opened the airlock, and the seal hissed as the group from the Hatfield ship walked into the bay. They paused on the other side of the threshold. Rosie was in front as the three men fanned out behind her.

  Ren focused on the man who had joked about foregoing niceties and taking their cargo. The man observed Ollie, sizing him up, as Ollie resealed the door. His eyes twitched, and his mouth set in a frown. And he held his body in a way which suggested a familiarity with these types of situations. He was dangerous. Ren saw it in the missing piece of his ear, the tattoo of a wildcat on his neck, the nicked body armor, and the ease of his steps. Ren’s chest burned.

  “Rosie Hatfield,” Rowan said, with a forced smile. “Welcome aboard.”

  “Thank you, Rowan Morgan.” Her smiled wasn’t overly friendly; the corners of her mouth barely lifted. “Long time, no see.”

  “I trust your father was able to confirm the information with the recipient.” Rowan wasn’t one for small talk, but was always to the point, especially when it pertained to business.

  Rosie took stock of the hold. Her gaze stopped on Ren before raking across Jakob and Penelope.

  “Yes. We’ll give you ten percent of the take.”

  Rowan arched an eyebrow. “Ten percent? That’s ridiculous. My crew brokered the deal. My ship has taken it over halfway. Ten percent is robbery.” The atmosphere grew tense. Asher shifted. Ollie moved to stand behind Rowan.

  Rosie controlled her expression to look bored, but her gaze flicked to the suspended walk and back. “And?”

  “Sixty percent,” Rowan countered, hands on her hips.

  “Now who is being ridiculous? Twenty.”

  “Forty.”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Thirty.”

  Rosie rolled her eyes, then checked over her shoulder and held a silent conversation with the guy with the tattoo.

  Were negotiations niceties? Ren sat up straighter and watched the exchange, on alert.

  Rosie turned back. “Fine.”

  She held out her hand, and Rowan took it. The handshake sealed the deal.

  “Pleasure doing business.”

  “Likewise.” Rose jerked her head toward the crates laid out in front of Asher. “My brothers will be taking those.” The three large men moved, but Rowan held up her hand.

  “The thirty percent first, please.”

  Rosie frowned. Her fingers danced along the holster at her side. “Thirty upon delivery.”

  “No, thirty now. I wasn’t born yesterday, Rosie. Credits now, then cargo.”

  Rosie twisted her lips, but she reached into her pocket and pulled out a chip. She held it between two of her fingers. “This chip has twenty-five percent on it. Take this now or thirty upon delivery.”

  Rowan tapped her foot. She brushed her blond braid over her shoulder. “Are you crunching me?”

  Shrugging, Rosie spun the credit chip between her fingers. “This is what I got, Rowan. Take it or leave it.”

  Rowan placed her hands on her hips. “Save me from cutthroats,” she muttered. “Fine, we’ll take it. But I’ll remember this.”

  Rosie’s smile grew, but it wasn’t friendly. “I’m sure you will.”

  She tossed Rowan the chip, and Rowan handed it to Asher, who checked it in the reader. He nodded.

  Rosie gestured, and her family stepped forward to gather the crates. The brother approached Ollie. He laughed at an untold joke and pushed Ollie’s shoulder, roughly. It was too friendly and too aggressive, with his mouth twisted into a smile or a snarl, Ren couldn’t tell. He touched Ollie again, on the arm, and his grease-stained fingers wrapped over Ollie’s bicep, his nails making indents in Ollie’s brown flesh.

  Ren’s heart sped up.

  Then the Hatfield brother’s other hand fluttered near his side, and his fingers brushed over the grip of his pulse gun. Ren trembled with fear.

  He shot to his feet. Static filled his head. His vision flickered blue. Ren’s limbs jerked as he crossed the space. His muscles were taut, his eyes were ablaze, and he raised his hand, fingers splayed.

  The star poured from his fingertips and burst from his body in a pulse of blue light. For one chilling second, everything went still. Time slowed to a crawl as the wave of power engulfed the room.

 
Their weapons were easy. He broke them with a thought, all of them—snapped the mechanisms in the pulse guns’ triggers and burned the wires in the prods. He even shorted their comms, keeping them from contacting support. No. They weren’t going to hurt this crew—his friends, his family.

  Ren stalked forward with electricity sparking between his fingers. One of the intruders pulled his inert weapon and, with twisted pleasure, Ren disassembled it. The mechanisms fell like snow to the deck plate, where they pinged. The invading group scrambled back, yelling, screaming, and Ren smiled.

  Let them be scared. Let them run. Let them be terrified. They were bullies—cutthroats as Rowan said. They were dangerous. They didn’t belong on the ship.

  Ren opened the airlock. The metal door banged open, and the Hatfields lunged for it. With his senses tangled in the systems, Ren could hear the conversation through the comms.

  “What is he?” Rosie yelled. “What the stars is happening, Rowan?”

  “Ren!” In the vid feeds, Ren saw Asher step into his path. The pressure of Asher’s hands on Ren’s shoulders was negligible. His voice stirred nothing.

  “Stop him, Ash.”

  “Ren, listen to my voice. Listen to me. They’re not trying to hurt us.”

  Ren tilted his head. “Forget the niceties.”

  “That was a joke!” The voice cracked with fear. “I swear. It was a joke.”

  Ren was in the Star Stream. He was in the airlock and in the tunnel. He was in the Family Honor. He was spread between the two ships, in every system, in every nook, and he could do anything.

  “We’re leaving. Keep the cargo and the chip.”

  “No!” Asher held out a hand. “Stay put. Don’t go in the tunnel.”

  “Snap him out of it, Ash!”

  “Ren! Move out of the way, Pen. I can help!”

  Rowan pointed a finger toward the walkway. “Stay where you are, Jakob.”

  “Ren, listen to my voice. Listen to me. Come on.” Asher was close, filling Ren’s blue vision. His grip was tight on Ren’s body, though his touch was distant. “What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?”

  Ren paused. The question didn’t make sense. He couldn’t answer it. Why was Asher assisting the people who wanted to hurt them? He’d kept them from entering the tunnel where Ren could’ve vented them, but no matter. They threatened Ren’s family. He could threaten theirs.

  “The Family Honor is sealed. Crew manifest shows fifteen hands.” He couldn’t vent them, not while they were connected to the Star Stream. He’d have to kill them another way. “Preparing to disable life support systems.”

  “Ash! Stop him!”

  “I can’t!”

  Rowan’s voice was a shriek. Asher pushed on Ren’s corporeal body as paradoxes fell from his lips. The questions made Ren twitch and flinch and stalled him from continuing with his plans. They were annoying, like a vibration, a sticky cog in a machine. Ren pulled his attention from the ships and fixated on Asher.

  His shoulder was tech, metal fused with bone. Ren pushed into it and rendered the apparatus inert, and the arm fell useless to Asher’s side. Asher staggered back; his eyes were wide, and his hand clutched his unusable bicep.

  “Ren,” he whispered, confused, hurt, and afraid.

  And then Ollie arrived in front of him.

  “Sorry, friend,” Ollie said. He pulled back his fist, and Ren didn’t duck.

  His head snapped around, and his vision flickered from blue to normal to spotted black. His jaw ached, and tears gathered in his eyes. Ren’s knees went weak, and he fell to the floor like a rag doll.

  “Can a man drown in the fountain of youth?”

  Ren cradled his jaw in his hand. “Paradox,” he slurred.

  “He’s fine,” Ollie called. “Everything is fine.”

  Ren wasn’t sure about that. His body was limp against the deck, and his face hurt. He closed his eyes and allowed the exhaustion and the force of Ollie’s blow pull him into darkness.

  * * *

  Ren woke to an argument. He was on the couch in the common room, of that much he was certain: for one, it smelled a bit, and two, a spring dug into Ren’s back just enough to be truly uncomfortable. He didn’t move, however, because his head swam and his face throbbed. Feigning sleep seemed a good choice, especially since there was yelling.

  Rowan’s voice bounced off the metal walls, almost drowning out her steps as she paced. “Stars, Ash! When were you going to tell me that Ren has gone completely around the bend?”

  “Rowan,” Ash said, sounding pained. “Can we not go into that right now?”

  “Are you coggin’ kidding me? We can and we will. Did you not see him attack the Hatfields? And they were friendlies!”

  “They were armed,” Asher replied. He sounded weary and troubled.

  “And,” Ollie’s voice came from the other side of the room, “that one guy did push me, and his hand touched his pulse gun. Ren was only protecting us.”

  “That doesn’t matter. He went supernova again, and almost cost us the cargo, the credits, and my reputation, not to mention he almost killed people!”

  There was a scrape of a chair sliding across the floor. “I know. All right? I know.”

  “Why the hell couldn’t you pull him out of it? Why didn’t your voice or the questions work? For stars’ sake, why didn’t you kiss him?”

  Ren’s throat went tight. “Because I’m not his anchor anymore. We’re not… he’s not… he doesn’t trust me.”

  Rowan stopped. Ren pictured her sinking into her chair at the head of the table. “We need to take precautions. He doesn’t sleep alone anymore in case he tries to access the ship in his nightmares. And no more using his power. If we need a fix, we have Millicent on board.” Rowan paused. “Where the hell was she when this all happened anyway? Couldn’t she have pushed Ren out? She’s done that before.”

  “Probably hiding from Jakob. They’re not friends at the moment.”

  “Cogs,” Rowan breathed. “Am I running a ship full of actual children?”

  “It’s going to be all right, Cap,” Ollie said. His boots were heavy as he crossed the room. “I’ll move the hammock into Ren’s bunk. Jakob and I will switch off. We’re only a few days out from Erden. We’ll manage.”

  “I hope so. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, Ren included. He’s a kid, and I know he’s doing the best he can. It’s… well, it’s hard to reconcile the thing that can disable weapons and vent a ship with the duster asleep on the couch.”

  Ren’s eyes stung. His insides twisted with guilt and anger and sorrow. He needed to leave the ship. He needed to get home, so he would stop putting everyone in danger.

  Ollie left the room and his steps retreated down the hall, presumably to move the hammock.

  Rowan spoke, voice low. “How’s your arm?”

  “Hurts,” Asher replied.

  “I figured that, moron. Can it be fixed?”

  Asher sighed. “I think so. Ren could. Millicent maybe, too.”

  Ren bit his lip to keep from begging Asher to ask him and not Millicent. He’d fix it. He broke it, he hurt Asher, and he’d do anything to take that back. Just because Ren couldn’t rely on Asher any longer didn’t mean he wanted Asher to be in pain. He wanted Asher to have everything, everything Ren couldn’t give him, and that was one of the reasons Ren had to leave.

  “Be careful,” Rowan said.

  “I will.”

  “What are we going to do when he wakes up?”

  There was a rustle and the creak of a chair. “We’re going to move on. We’re going to take him back to his planet and hope being away from the ship helps him.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “Then we figure out another way for him to be safe. For us to be safe.”

  “Even if it means he goes to
the Perilous Space prison?”

  Ren’s heart clenched as icy fingers of fear wrapped around it and squeezed. He stiffened and begged his body to keep from trembling and giving himself away.

  “We’ll do what we have to.”

  And just like that, Ren knew once he set foot on Erden, he would not be returning with the crew to the Star Stream.

  5

  He was by the lake. His toes sank into the warm sand; the water nipped at his skin. He leaned back on his elbows. The stars twinkled above him. He wasn’t afraid. Ren inhaled the scent of the water and of the fresh green trees behind him.

  “I’m not here, you know.”

  Ren sat up and craned his neck to look over his shoulder at his younger brother. Liam stood behind him with his hands in his pockets, dressed the same as the day Ren was taken from their home.

  “Liam?”

  Liam stepped forward, moving like a ghost with his feet barely skimming the ground. His skin and hair were paler than Ren remem­bered, his freckles were barely discernible in the light, and the red of his hair not as bright: It seemed washed out.

  Liam peered out over the water.

  “Why always here?”

  “What?”

  “You always dream you are at this dumb lake. You’ve been all over now—drifts and ships—and you come to this place. Why?”

  Ren followed Liam’s gaze and watched the lake. In the dark, it was endlessly black; the rhythm of the waves was a living, shifting thing, terrifying and comforting at once.

  “Because it’s home, I guess.”

  Liam shook his head. “Then dream about the house. Or the village.”

  “Because it’s the last place I saw you.”

  Liam stared at Ren, and his gaze seemed to pierce Ren to the marrow. Ren hunched in, pulled his knees to his chest, and protected his core.

  “I’m not here.”

  “I know, Liam,” Ren snapped. “I don’t expect you to be hanging out on the beach when we land on Erden. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to look. I’m going to look for you and find you.”

  Liam frowned. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head.

  The water inched closer as the waves, increasing in intensity, slapped against the shore.