by Rhonda Mason
Would it come again?
Maybe it was a motor firing, groaning to life to maintain the correct nitrogen-oxygen levels on this floor.
Bang bang bang—pause—bang—pause—bang bang—pause—bang bang bang—pause.
The sound shot through him, raising his hackles. That was no automated generator.
He shielded with his psi powers. Wouldn’t do shit against a plasma weapon, but hey, he was the one holding that, at least.
He crept down the hall as the eerie banging continued. The way it reverberated defied all attempts to pinpoint it. Above? Below?
Without closing his eyes he sent his senses outward. His mind flowed like silk over everything, filling the hall like water, breaching metal barriers. He reached outward and upward and downward in a cloud of mental taste and touch, seeking, seeking…
There. A touch. Ice cold. An icicle stabbed into his brain and the sense was lost.
He was alone again in the corridor.
But he was not alone on these abandoned levels. Not by a long shot.
Vayne checked the charge on his bullpup. Full. He crept forward again, shining his light in every conceivable crevice. The banging had become syncopated, its nonsensical rhythm messing with his head. What the frutt had he wandered into?
He rounded the corridor and stopped dead. A door had been breached. The oval slab of metal hung on perfectly balanced hinges, the entire piece of molychromium leaning away from its ruined lock to gape open into the corridor. Thirty degrees of darkness grinned at him from the opening while the pipe pounded away, ringing in his head.
I should call someone. Who? Ida wouldn’t answer his questions. Anyone could have busted this door open. It could have been one of her own crewmembers, after decades of curiosity, if she refused to tell even them anything more than “is protocol.”
Vayne approached the door, feeling that he was about to slip in over his head. The beam of his flashlight fell on the gouged and twisted metal of the door’s lock. Impossible to tell if it had been jammed, filed away, melted or all of the above. One thing was certain—
The door’s lock had been compromised from the inside.
He toed the door open and peered in.
His light fell on a scene of chaos, of passion and insanity and genius and filth. It was indeed crew quarters, judging by the bed—standard size for an imperial female, which would accommodate males fine—the storage unit built into the wall and the ravaged desk.
The overpowering stench of the place made him drop back for a second, gasping in clean air from the corridor before entering the room. The sheets, standard military issue, were torn and twisted, knotted into something that resembled a quipu—a primitive record-keeping system, with many of the strands appearing to be dyed.
The floor, walls, and in some corners, the ceiling, were covered in scribbling. No, not scribbling, diagrams. Battle plans. Star charts. Escape plans. It was like a mad scientist had been locked in this box for a dozen years and made use of every available material. While the floor, walls and ceiling looked to be covered in etchings, the surface of the desk had been pulled from the wall and covered in impermanent markings, used like a primitive tablet or notebook. Based on the stench rising from the thing, the writing medium used was feces.
Vayne covered his nose and mouth with his sleeve and studied the rest of the room.
A portable food synthesizer had been installed in one wall. Below it, a stack of trays waist-high, some still crusted with what appeared to be food, waited for no one. The legs of the desk had been snapped from their frame and were shaped into everything from a spoon to a stylus to a shiv. He looked to the inside of the door.
They apparently made an adequate crowbar, as well.
The sanitary unit was the main source of the stench, though Vayne had his own suspicions about some of the materials used to dye the strands of the sheet quipu. The door to the sonic shower was broken, the fixture ripped off the wall, and the sink had suffered a similar fate. Water, such a precious commodity in a closed system like a spaceship, dripped wastefully from a busted spigot. The privy was filled to overflowing with shit, and the waste dribbled and oozed onto the floor. Five seconds in the putrid space was all Vayne could stand before he ran out into the hallway, kicked the door closed and vomited.
Being outside the room wasn’t far enough.
He strode meters away from the cesspool before retching again.
Halfway down the corridor, far enough away he couldn’t even see the room, the queasiness finally settled. Vayne collapsed against the rose-gold wall. The banging had stopped, replaced by the sound of his blood roaring in his ears.
Whatever they’d held in there, for however long they’d held it, had escaped.
He had to call someone. He shakily reached for his comm and pinged Tia’tan. “You have to come see this,” he said, when she answered. “And bring a weapon.”
As he wiped his mouth and leaned weakly against the molychromium wall, it occurred to him how odd it was that Tia’tan was his first choice.
Kayla would be his primary ally, of course, but she wasn’t here. He felt closest to Corinth second, but he and Kayla shared a goal of shielding and protecting the boy. Five years ago he might have considered Natali or his uncle, but not now. Never again. Of the other Ilmenans, Joffar, the eldest of the bunch, was quiet. Though that was preferable to Luliana, who watched Vayne like he was about to go feral any moment.
Then again, she was probably closest to the truth. No matter how in control he felt—and the word “control” was an overstatement—a fierce animal rage lurked beneath the surface on even his best days.
Cinni wasn’t here, and despite being a fellow Ordochian, he wouldn’t have called her anyway. She struck him as somewhat immature. He liked some of the crew—Benny, Tanet, and even Ida—but none of them felt like allies.
So why did Tia’tan?
She was the one who had gotten them into this mess, who had lied about taking him to safety on Ilmena.
She was also the one he understood best. Tia’tan had taken a chance for a friend, refusing to leave Kazamel behind for dead even though she risked her own mission. He could respect that. She was driven and capable, just like Kayla. With her, he felt almost like part of a team.
The wild, crazy-assed, unpredictable super-psi-power part of a team, but part of a team, at least.
Right now, Tia’tan was the closest thing he had to a ro’haar, though she had never been trained as such. Ilmenans didn’t follow the ro’haar-il’haar tradition the way Ordochians did.
When she arrived, Vayne pointed down the corridor. “Take a look for yourself, fourth door on the left. Can’t miss it.”
He didn’t follow her, he didn’t need to. The horror of the room had imprinted itself on his brain.
When he heard her retching and trying to catch her breath a few minutes later, he called her back. “It’s easier to breathe over here.”
Tia’tan returned and steadied herself with a hand against the wall. “I don’t know what the frutt is going on,” she said, wiping a hand across her mouth, “but we need to confront Ida about it. Now.”
The syncopated banging began again. Was something else down here?
A call to Ida brought her, Benny and Ariel into the corridor like a storm. Ida, furious, ordered Tia’tan and Vayne out of there—and not politely, either. Ariel “escorted” them, vaguely at gunpoint, off the level and back to the command room. Once she’d ordered them to stay put with “wrath of Ida isn’t to risk,” she disappeared again.
Vayne and Tia’tan debated theories about who, or what, exactly, had been locked in that room, only to fall silent when the ship lurched slightly, as if nudged by a giant hand.
The ship’s klaxon blared to life. The Yari’s “high alert” audible could split someone’s head in two. Vayne figured out how to silence the alarm in the command room while Tia’tan found the reason for the alert.
“Shit. The docking hatch.” Tia’tan pointed to a scr
een which showed docking hatch IIJ blown wide open. The Sicerro had been thrust away from the Yari in the blast and resulting depressurization. Tia’tan’s ship rotated slowly, damage visible on its port side where the ships had been linked.
Tia’tan activated a second screen, one keeping track of the Sicerro while the other showed the damage to hatch IIJ. Definitely the result of explosives rather than simple mechanical failure. Vayne didn’t even know what to think at this point.
“We have a serious problem,” Tia’tan said over ship-wide comms. “The Sicerro—”
Exploded.
The ship glowed red-hot, then burst apart with amazing violence. The resulting shockwave rocked the Yari and set off a new round of alarms.
Tia’tan froze, half-bent over the console, gaze locked on the screen that showed her ship flying apart in a million pieces. “That did not happen.” She replayed the feed, watching the destruction a second time.
Vayne checked the weapons log. “No one on the Yari fired at it.”
“Self-destruct,” she said, her voice strangled. She hit the comms again. “For the love of the void, get back here!”
Tanet made it there first, then Ida, Benny and Ariel rushed in. Ariel knocked Tia’tan out of the way and took command of the vid feeds. Tanet replayed the explosion while Ariel reversed the security feed in the docking hatch. “There,” she said, jabbing a finger at the screen.
On screen, a figure crouched at the base of the hatch, laying down what looked to be blocks of explosives. He or she had matted teal-green hair and wore the official black jumpsuit of the Yari’s crew, torn in a dozen places.
“Who the frutt is that?” Vayne asked. The figure—female, it seemed—kept glancing over her shoulder every few seconds as if expecting discovery. Her furtive motions and twitchy behavior mimicked a wild animal. Ariel reversed the feed farther and the woman could be seen creeping out of the airlock from the direction of the Sicerro.
The crew of the Yari was silent, as if unwilling to admit what happened.
Vayne turned to Ida. Damn if she wasn’t going to answer his questions now. “Who is that? Is she the one who escaped from crew quarters on level C-18?”
Ida, gaze still glued to the vidscreen, nodded. She looked weary. Heartsick.
Tia’tan, in contrast, looked ready to tear someone apart. She paced near the doorway, no doubt in silent communication with the other Ilmenans.
“That’s Itsy,” Ida finally said.
“Oritzi Engar,” Ariel clarified dully, “weapon systems specialist. Became stepa at es time ago.” She tapped her temple with a finger and translated. “Consumed by cryo.”
“So in other words, crazy.”
Ariel nodded.
Perfect. Because what this ship really needed right now was more crazy. “How many other stepa at es are out there?”
“Uncertain to say.” Ida finally looked away from the vidscreen to meet his gaze. “Not all captured, not all alive.”
At least the bullpup protocol made sense now.
::Someone’s here! She hurt Noar and Larsa, I don’t know if they’re dead, and Gintoc’s—::
Corinth’s shout must have hit everyone at once because Tia’tan grabbed the bullpup she’d set down when they first got there and took off down the corridor. Vayne was half a second behind.
Ida left Tanet and Ariel to hold the control room, then she and Benny were right on their heels. It was a frantic race down dark corridors, tight access ladders and one slow lift ride.
“I can’t reach Noar,” Tia’tan said, as they sprinted down the long corridor leading to the engine room. “If that crazy Itsy hurt him—”
“Same for Corinth,” Vayne said. Cold gripped his insides. The last words Kayla said in their recent conversation rang in his head: Keep you and Corinth safe. No matter what you have to do. He was not going to fail her.
Tia’tan waved her RFID at the engine room doors, and rushed through when they opened. She tripped over something and sprawled headlong into the room, her bullpup spinning wildly away from her. As she was kicking free of the dark shapes tangling her feet, Vayne caught sight of faces—Luliana and Joffar, burnt by plasma blasts and still as death. A plasma bolt hit the floor centimeters from Tia’tan’s hand.
Shit. She’s as good as dead, defenseless like that. He threw a psi shield around her instinctively, even knowing it wouldn’t save her from a plasma weapon.
The hover cart full of random engine parts sat just beyond her. It would provide adequate cover, if he could get her there.
With no more thought than that, Vayne leapt over the bodies and vaulted into the room. He ducked low, grabbed Tia’tan under her armpit and dragged her to the cart, every second expecting the fiery burn of plasma to hit him.
“Get her out of here,” Natali hissed, from farther inside the engine room. He could barely see Natali beyond the edge of the cart. She stood in the open, unarmed and disconcertingly calm considering the chaos of their situation. She had her hands out to her sides as if trying to reassure someone she wasn’t about to make any sudden moves.
“Corinth!” Vayne called out.
::I’m here, I’m here, I’m not hurt. But Gintoc—he’s not okay.::
The way Corinth said “not okay” put Vayne on edge. What the frutt had they walked into? He didn’t dare look over the cart. Beside him, Tia’tan was flat on her belly, spreading her fingers out beyond their cover and trying to grab the strap of her bullpup.
Ida, still in the corridor braced against the doors as cover, peeked her head out for a split second to gauge the situation. Whatever she’d seen had been enough to convince her she wasn’t in mortal danger. She gave Benny the command to stay put and stepped into the room. She had her weapon ready, and step by step made her way past them and over to Natali.
“Captain!” Gintoc called. “Three of the enemy down, see?” His strident voice echoed in the huge chamber.
Vayne couldn’t take not knowing where Corinth was. He rose slowly, leading with his weapon. Tia’tan used his distraction to grab her weapon.
The scene that greeted Vayne chilled his soul.
Gintoc stood on the scaffolding surrounding the engine, his arm around Corinth’s chest, holding the boy in front of him. Corinth’s eyes were huge. Gintoc waved a bullpup around while he spoke, gesturing wildly, pointing the gun at Corinth as often as not, though he didn’t seem aware of that.
“Knew Itsy was against us. Over to Ilmena’s side,” he said, waving the weapon like a wild man. “Infiltrated us. Had to kill her.”
“Itsy was sick,” Ida said.
“Not sick!” Gintoc demanded. “Traitor. She harmed my crew!” He swung the weapon around to indicate Noar and Larsa lying on the ground beside the body of Itsy. Itsy’s face had been blown away. Blood pooled beneath Noar’s head, and Vayne couldn’t judge Larsa’s injuries.
“Not my boy,” Gintoc said, tucking the muzzle of the bullpup under Corinth’s chin. “Him I be safekeeping. I save life. I save Corinth.” He gripped Corinth tightly to him, half choking the boy, inadvertently using him as a body shield.
The man was crazy. Full on stepa at es.
Vayne reached out with his psi powers only to encounter a massive shield around Gintoc and Corinth—as strong a field as he’d ever felt. In his panic, Gintoc was pouring all his power into shielding. There was no way Vayne could punch through and pull Corinth away or knock Gintoc unconscious.
Gintoc pointed the bullpup at Itsy’s dead body. “She let them in! Let the Ilmenans board us!” He gripped Corinth tighter. “At least two of the enemy taken out.” He pointed toward the bodies in the doorway.
“Gintoc,” Ida said quietly, “Joffar, Luliana and Tia’tan are not enemies.”
“We to win the Ilmenan War!”
Beside Vayne, Tia’tan choked on her rage, cursing Gintoc. Vayne couldn’t bear to look away from Corinth.
“The war has been over, now, Gintoc,” Ida said. “Remember?”
“Lies. All of you lies
.” He looked at Natali. “Our princess understands. Ask her. Ask!”
“You’re right,” Natali said calmly. “And you did well. We’re here now, and everything’s safe.”
Gintoc’s eyes flashed across the group. “No! None safe. Keeping my Corinth safe.”
Luliana groaned from the doorway. From the corner of his eye Vayne saw her try to rise.
::Stay down:: he ordered her. She seemed oblivious, likely from the pain. Everyone held their breath as she rose on one elbow. ::You have to stay down!::
“See!” Gintoc screeched. He fired two blasts into her back. “See?”
Tia’tan roared with fury and surged to her feet. Vayne grabbed for her tunic but missed as she took aim at Gintoc.
“No!” Natali shouted, flinging out her arm. Tia’tan’s bullpup flew straight into Natali’s hand. The one shot Tia’tan had managed to get off flew wide and Vayne yanked Tia’tan down behind cover as Gintoc returned fire.
“He’s the only one who can fix the engine!” Natali hissed.
::Vayne—help.:: Corinth’s voice was a whimper.
Vayne looked over the top of the cart again. Gintoc inadvertently burned Corinth on the chin when waving the still-scalding muzzle of the bullpup around. His shouting became muddled, his mental state unraveling before their eyes. Ida and Natali answered his shouts about “enemies coming for us!” with words of assurance. Vayne saw only Corinth’s huge eyes pleading with him, and Gintoc’s finger getting tighter and tighter on the trigger.
Keep you and Corinth safe. No matter what you have to do.
::As soon as his hold on you weakens:: Vayne told Corinth, ::run to me. Run as fast as you can to cover, you understand?::
Gintoc, incoherent and enraged, fired another blast into Itsy’s dead body and Vayne took his chance. He surged to his feet without a sound and shot Gintoc straight in the head. No psi shield in the universe could stop the plasma bolt. As soon as Gintoc was struck, the shield dropped. Corinth must have pushed the man away with all his might because the body went flying. Corinth leapt the three meters to the ground from the scaffolding and sprinted to Vayne.
