Relic of Sorrows

by Lindsay Buroker

  “I trust we can find you whenever we wish if we need you,” the man on the other end of the channel said.

  Alisa leaned through the hatchway so she could see which ship Alejandro was communicating with. It wasn’t Tomich’s warship, but it was an Alliance vessel, the research ship.

  Abelardus walked up the corridor from the mess hall, some of Beck’s leftover cornbread in his hand. Alisa clenched her jaw, fresh irritation flooding her and threatening to undo the relaxation from her massage. Her only modicum of satisfaction came from seeing the black mark around his eye. She hoped he realized he deserved it and was not planning any retaliation.

  Abelardus bobbed his head at her, murmuring a subdued, “Alisa,” to her.

  “Captain,” she said.

  “Pardon?”

  “I never invited you to use my name, and I’d prefer it if we kept our relationship professional.”

  Abelardus lifted a finger, a protest on his lips, but then he noticed who sat in the co-pilot’s seat. Leonidas came to his feet, turning to face him, his jaw clenched and his eyes like ice chips. He looked to be undoing the effects of his massage too.

  Alisa grew aware that she stood between the two men, two large and muscular men. If they started throwing punches—or mental attacks—she might end up smashed into a bulkhead.

  But Abelardus did not puff up and glare back at Leonidas. He nodded toward Alejandro.

  “Did they say anything, Doctor?”

  “Just that they don’t think they need us.”

  “They’ll regret that.”

  “I hope so.” Alejandro seemed oblivious to Leonidas towering inches away from him, still glaring fiercely at Abelardus. He dropped his chin onto his fist and stared at the armada. “To have come this far only to watch the Alliance walk away with the prize.” He made a choking sound. “It would be intolerable. That staff could turn the tides. It could—” He glanced back at them and fell silent.

  “I don’t care how clever they think they are,” Abelardus said. “I can almost guarantee it’ll take a Starseer to get into anywhere important, and the staff will be somewhere important. A vault, perhaps. Or even a tomb.”

  “The Tomb of Alcyone?” Alejandro said, reverence in his tone.

  “Her final resting place was never revealed in our histories, but she was known to carry her staff with her late in life.”

  Abelardus turned his attention to the view screen, eyes closing to slits as he watched one of the shuttles flying toward the research ship. Alisa did not find it that fascinating and was wondering if she could entice Leonidas to the mess hall for shared cups of coffee when a white flash lit up the screen.

  “What was that?” she asked, pulling down the sensor-station seat and sitting.

  “One of the shuttles,” Alejandro said. “It just…”

  The light faded, leaving nothing but black space behind it.

  Alisa focused the sensors on the area. “All I’m reading is wreckage.”

  “That’s all that’s left.” Abelardus had that abstracted, distant look that came over him when he was using his mental powers.

  “What happened?” Leonidas asked Alejandro. “You’ve been up here, watching. Weren’t the shuttles just flying back to their mother ships?”

  “That’s what it looked like,” Alejandro said, then turned back to look at Abelardus.

  “I can’t look back in time. I have no way to know what was going on before that explosion occurred.”

  Alisa squeezed between Alejandro and Leonidas and opened the Nomad to all of the common comm channels. Maybe she could catch some unsecured chatter.

  Even as she tried, another shuttle exploded, white flashing on the screen against the black starry backdrop.

  “…stay back,” came stern words on one of the open channels. “Whatever you’ve picked up, don’t bring it aboard.”

  “It wasn’t a disease, Captain,” someone replied—that was coming from one of the three remaining shuttles. “I was in contact with the Gamma Shuttle lieutenant just a moment ago. She mentioned a malfunction.”

  “You’re telling me that two shuttles malfunctioned and spontaneously exploded within seconds of each other?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but it could be something from the station. That place is creepy.”

  “Wait where you are. We’re not letting you back into the hangar bay until we know for sure.”

  “You’re not letting us in, sir?”

  “Not now. Not until we see what else happens.”

  “You mean if we blow up too?”

  “Stand by.”

  The channel fell silent after that. Alisa left it open in case more words were exchanged.

  “Malfunctions that caused spontaneous explosions?” Leonidas wondered.

  “Perhaps they did, indeed, pick up something from the station,” Abelardus said.

  “Like what?” Alisa asked. “A disease wouldn’t blow up a ship. And what virus could be alive in there after hundreds of years of radiation exposure?”

  “I do not mean to suggest that there’s a disease. Rather, such a valuable artifact is inevitably booby-trapped. If they tried the key several times and were lacking in some particular component, then the station may have deemed them unworthy of accessing the interior.”

  “If that was true, why wouldn’t they have been blown up right outside the door?” Leonidas asked. “The station is back in the other dimension.”

  “I could only make guesses,” Abelardus said. He did not share any of his guesses aloud.

  “Comforting,” Alisa said, running her hand along the back of one of the seats. She hoped the Nomad was far enough away that it wouldn’t be included in any vengeful attacks from the station.

  “No, it’s not comforting,” Abelardus said, “but these accidents could be to our advantage. The Alliance may be asking for our help soon, Doctor.”

  He smiled faintly. It chilled Alisa. She remembered how the Starseers back on Arkadius had caused some of the combat ships attacking their temple to crash. Was it possible Abelardus had done something to those shuttles? That the malfunctions had nothing to do with ancient booby traps?

  She looked at Leonidas, trying to catch his eye. He was also scrutinizing Abelardus. Did he have the same suspicions?

  The comm flashed, and Alejandro answered it before Alisa could.

  “This is Dr. Dominguez,” he said.

  “This is Commander Tomich. I heard you’re offering to help us get into the station.”

  • • • • •

  The second time Tomich’s warship came to visit the Nomad, Alisa did not give Beck any orders regarding meal preparation. She told him to suit up, grab all of his weapons, and join Leonidas in the cargo hold. There would be no casually dropped canisters of gas this time.

  Abelardus also stood in the cargo hold, his staff in hand, and a kit of some type slung over his shoulder. Yumi and Alejandro watched from the walkway, staying near the corridor, where they could duck for cover if needed. Mica was whistling and trotting back and forth from the pile of equipment and materials left in the center of the cargo hold, carrying selected items into engineering. If she worried about needing to duck for cover, she did not show it.

  The warship did not attach to the airlock. Instead, the Alliance sent a shuttle over, one that appeared uncomfortably similar to the two that had blown up. It was a boxy transport with a thick hull, the outside of which gleamed and reflected light away from the craft. According to the nomenclature on the side, it belonged to the research ship.

  When someone knocked at the airlock hatch, Alisa propped a fist on her hip, her knuckles brushing the handle of her Etcher. Tomich wouldn’t have come himself again, would he? If he had, she would be tempted to shoot him.

  Leonidas strode forward and opened the hatch. He looked at whoever was on the other side for several long seconds, his broad armored form blocking Alisa’s view.

  “Is it someone we want to see?” Alisa asked.

  “Doubtful.�
�� Leonidas finally stepped back, revealing Tomich, who now wore a bulky spacesuit, the helmet tucked under his arm.

  “That’s not a nice thing to say about the man who insisted on leaving everyone alive and the ship better supplied than he found it,” Tomich said, meeting Alisa’s eyes. “How are your repair goodies?”

  “My engineer likes them,” Alisa said, as Mica walked toward the pile again, still whistling. “How’s your orb?”

  “Not as pleasing as we had hoped. The admiral believes we got the short end of that trade.”

  “It wasn’t a trade. It was theft. And Admiral Tiang is lucky that Leonidas didn’t break his neck.”

  “I believe he’s aware of that,” Tomich said, “and the admiral to whom I refer is Admiral Moreau, the mission commander. I have to answer to him. Admiral Tiang doesn’t care much about the orb. I believe he’s more interested in studying the dimensional rift.”

  “So sorry your dinner date didn’t turn out the way you wished,” Alisa said, peering past him to movement in the airlock tube. He’d brought a squadron of soldiers along with him. They wore combat armor rather than spacesuits, very nice, high-powered armor like Leonidas’s. Probably radiation-resistant too.

  Suspecting some of them were the same men who had made a mess of her dinner party, Alisa curled a lip in their direction.

  Tomich looked back, lifted a palm toward the men, then faced her again. “We weren’t sure what our reception would be so I brought troops.”

  “I’m surprised you came yourself. Beck is thinking of stripping you down, putting you on the grill, and slathering you with sauce.”

  “Which sauce?”

  “The blue one.”

  Tomich shuddered visibly, which had to be difficult to do with all the padding of that suit.

  “The blue one is good,” Beck said, managing to sound plaintive through his faceplate. “Nobody gives it a chance.”

  “My men and my Starseer are ready to go with you,” Alisa said, feeling strange taking possession of any of them except perhaps Beck. “And the doctor up there is willing to go along too. He’s done a lot of research on certain Starseer artifacts.” She didn’t mention the staff in case they didn’t know what it was that they were looking for. She had no idea if it would even end up being inside of the station.

  “Actually,” Tomich said, raising a finger, “we need all of you to come.”

  “What?” Alisa asked.

  Yumi’s eyebrows lifted. Mica paused in the middle of one of her treks, a crate of bottles in her hand.

  “What?” she echoed Alisa.

  “And I’m afraid I’ll have to insist,” Tomich said. “Admiral Moreau’s orders.”

  “Insist?” Leonidas asked, his voice dangerous.

  Alisa walked forward to stand next to him and so she could more effectively frown at Tomich.

  “I’m the pilot,” she said. “Why would I leave my ship? Why would we all leave my ship? You’re not planning to hijack it, are you?” Who would even want her old freighter?

  “We’re not that desperate for ships.” Tomich smiled.

  Alisa was not amused. “Then what’s the ploy?”

  “No ploy. We—Moreau—doesn’t want your team to grab valuable artifacts and run. If all you have is our short-range shuttle, that won’t be possible.”

  “I don’t want any artifacts.”

  “Others here do.” Tomich looked to Abelardus and Alejandro. He had them all figured out, did he? “And they seem to have the disturbing ability to influence you.”

  Alisa almost snapped and said nobody here except Leonidas could influence her, but she doubted that would be a good thing to admit.

  “Fine,” she said, “I’ll go with you, assuming you have a way to keep me from keeling over from radiation sickness. But Yumi and Mica can’t fly the Nomad. You can leave them here. They’re not going to take off on their own or swoop in to pluck us off the station.”

  “Nobody stays,” Tomich said firmly.

  Alisa scowled at him.

  “I have my orders.” His visage softened slightly. “Believe it or not, this is a better scenario for you than Moreau wanted. I argued on your behalf.”

  “What’d he want to do? Torture us for what we know?”

  Tomich did not nod or say yes, but his expression grew grimmer.

  “Glad to know the Alliance isn’t adopting imperial policies,” Alisa said.

  “Will you come? I know you can make trouble if you want to.” Tomich eyed Leonidas who was eyeing him right back. “But I advise against it. My warship isn’t far away.”

  “Oh, why not?” Alisa asked. “I’m sure this will be fun.”

  Judging from Yumi’s perked ears, she was interested. She might have been the only one.

  Mica’s whistling had halted, and she glared over at Tomich and Alisa. “Is this a joke? Give me new tools and materials, and then take me off to die before I can use them?”

  “I’m hoping we’ll all live,” Tomich said.

  “There are a lot of previously hopeful people in graveyards.”

  “Your Starseer and your doctor implied they have the knowledge to get us in and out.”

  Mica waved toward Alejandro and Abelardus. “Do those look like the faces of honest people?”

  No, Alisa thought. Neither of them had been completely forthright with her. Maybe that was why neither of them appeared offended by her question.

  “Then this mission should be interesting,” Tomich said, tapping the chest of his spacesuit, perhaps to let her know he was going onto the station himself.

  “Interesting,” Mica said, “that’s just how I want to die. Being interested to death.” She glared at Alisa, as if this was her fault.

  Alisa shook her head and walked toward the airlock tube. She didn’t know what else she could do.

  Chapter 17

  “I hope there won’t be bears,” Beck said, his shoulder pressing against the shoulder of the baggy spacesuit Alisa had been given. He, too, wore one of the radiation-proof spacesuits that Tomich had issued them. Only Leonidas and the Alliance soldiers had combat armor sturdy enough to protect them from the intense radiation. Not that Alisa expected combat to be required inside the station. What could possibly be alive to fight?

  “I doubt we’ll run into bears or anything else,” Alisa said.

  “We shouldn’t run into anything living after so many centuries,” Abelardus said.

  He sat across from them, a porthole displaying the stars behind his head. He, too, had been stuffed into a spacesuit, which had required removing his bulky robe and leaving it on the Nomad. If Alisa’s team was going to retake the freighter after this, they would have to do it in their underwear.

  Alejandro sat next to Abelardus, a medical kit resting in his lap. If Alisa got a cut, there was no way she would take off her spacesuit to attend to it, not on that station. The kit itself would be contaminated, as far as she knew. Maybe he had something besides bandages in there.

  “Eight minutes to destination,” the pilot said in a professional monotone voice. He sounded like an android.

  Alisa snorted.

  Leonidas looked down at her. He sat on her other side, his helmet in his lap. She could have used his shoulder for a pillow if he hadn’t been wearing all that armor. Right now, it would be like laying her head on a hunk of metal. Of course, his shoulder wasn’t that different without the armor. She grinned at him, and his eyes closed partway for a suspicious squint.

  “Are you contemplating inappropriate humor?” he asked.

  “Usually. Why do you ask? Do you want to hear it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I was thinking that the pilot should enjoy his job more,” Alisa said. “Add some flair to his announcements. And maybe his flying too. He’s extremely cautious. I think we’re going at the minimum speed possible to keep from going backward.”

  “How would you handle the approach to a dangerous space station that could kill us all?”

  “I�
�d add a few barrel rolls to let the station know I’m not afraid of it. Maybe throw in some jokes about how our destination will soon be a hot new tourist spot in this end of the system and how wise it is to visit now before the crowds show up. If you can’t have fun with your job, you should get another job.”

  “Hm.”

  Alisa closed her mouth. That had been a thoughtless comment to make to a man who killed people for a living—and who spent a lot of time with people trying to kill him. Someday, she would remember to edit her thoughts before they spewed out of her mouth.

  She patted his thigh in silent apology, figuring she could make such gestures now, since they had a relationship of sorts. At the least, she knew the truth about his reticence, and that his subdued interest had nothing to do with her. That ought to make her actions toward him less complicated. Or maybe it would just make them complicated in a different way.

  She searched his face, wondering if he minded the familiarity. Did he even feel her pat through all that armor? She would much rather pat him without it on, without anything on. An action that would ideally lead to him ravishing her.

  He gazed fondly at her, which was promising, but he was probably oblivious to the fact that she was imagining him nude. And daydreaming of being ravished. No, this wasn’t going to be less complicated at all.

  “Do I get my thigh touched too?” Beck asked. “On account of us going into a dangerous situation?”

  “Mica is sitting on your other side,” Alisa said. “Maybe she’ll touch it.”

  “I doubt it. She only touches her tools with that kind of fondness.”

  “Tools are useful,” Mica said. “It’s hard not to feel fondly toward them.”

  “Did she just imply that my thigh isn’t useful?” Beck asked.

  “I’ll agree to that,” Leonidas said.

  “Says the cyborg who sucked down eight sausages for breakfast this morning. Where’s the appreciation?”