by C. Gockel
He cast his burning gaze up at Valen. “You as well! How are you to be trusted with a guard post when you cannot even report for duty on time?”
Guard post? Sela realized: Trinculo did not recognize them. He assumed they were the assigned security detail for stockade.
“It’s my fault, Officer Trinculo,” Valen spouted. “I…uh…made her wait while I finished up in the rec suite.”
Eyes widening, Sela turned her head, just the slightest.
Trinculo took a step back. His face twisted in disgust. “Breeders and your disgusting rutting urges.”
He shoved Sela aside as he moved past them. “Do your duty before you become permanent residents of the detention level. Both of you!”
Sela watched Trinculo disappear into the bustle of the corridor without a backward glance. We are all the same to him.
“Rec suite?” Sela turned to Valen.
He shrugged under the heavy armor of his stolen uniform. “He bought it, didn’t he?”
As they approached, Sela could see Veradin pacing in his cell, arms folded across his unfastened tunic, chewing at the pad of his thumb. A million-mile stare cast out into the passage. At the sight of him like this, so altered, Sela felt something tighten in her chest. She feared her voice would fail her. That was when Valen spoke.
“Captain Veradin. Come with us, sir.”
The captain’s gaze shifted, and he seemed to resurface from some internal mire: “Is it time already?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Trinculo said I could see Commander Tyron before I leave.”
At that moment, she knew Veradin would never come willingly if he recognized them. He would fight off their attempt to rescue him, insist on protecting his sullied crester honor.
Valen stepped in front of her before she could move or act.
“It’s been arranged, sir.” He opened the cell door, gesturing to the passage.
Veradin came obediently, his head down as he offered his wrists for the restraints. Sela willed her hands to be steady as she snapped the metal cuffs on him. Oddly silent, he studied the grating of the deck and allowed himself to be led like a sleepwalker.
Sela resisted the urge to tell him that this was a plan and that all would end well. But she knew it would do little good to bring attention to themselves. Trinculo had eyes and ears everywhere.
By the time they reached the cavernous echo of the hangar and were surrounded by the darkened bulks of inactive skiffs and runners, Sela was starting to believe this might actually work. Perhaps, there was even a possibility Veradin would go along with an escape.
Valen led the way; she took up the rear, and they reached the ship without being stopped.
But as they boarded the open ramp of the Cassandra, Veradin seemed to snap out of it. In the dim light of the cargo hold, he raised his head and took in his surroundings.
Valen granted her a quick nod and walked down the ramp. He would stand watch outside the hangar until the captain was away.
And then…and then…
Sela ignored that nagging thought.
“A Cassandra?” Veradin asked, frowning. “Bit of a relic—”
Sela pulled her helm off and let it clatter to the floor.
Veradin blinked. “Ty?”
“We don’t have much time, sir.”
“Ty?” he repeated, anchored to the spot.
“Here.” She shoved the duty kit at him. He clutched it in self-defense, the action made awkward by the restraints. “Civilian attire. A few provisions. One sidearm. Best I could manage.”
“What’s going on?” Veradin glanced at the kit and then up to Sela.
“I broke into your quarters,” she confessed.
“You did what?” He gaped. “Have you lost your damned mind, Tyron?”
Everyone keeps asking me that. Perhaps I have.
“They’re not transporting you offship to stand trial. First issued a death warrant for you, Captain.”
“Death warrant? Don’t be ridiculous!” He studied her. “How did you…?”
She bit her lip. “Trinculo, sir.”
She reached for his restraints to unfasten them.
He stepped back. “You went to the Information Officer! Ty….”
“Whatever the charges, you are innocent.”
“Exactly!” he said, leveling a finger at her. “If I run, it will only give the wrong message—”
“Yes, I know you believe that, sir! But if you’ve ever trusted me, you’ll listen to me now! First doesn’t care if you are innocent or not. Trinculo said you’re going to die, either way. There will be no trial. Just an execution.”
Veradin gaped. “That doesn’t make sense. There has to be some kind of mistake.”
Forcefully, she grabbed at his cuffs and unlocked them. “Agreed, sir. That’s why you can’t stay here.”
“But what about you?”
He snatched at her sleeve, but she dodged him and sprinted up the few steps that led from the Cassandra’s cargo bay to the common passage. Veradin caught up and followed her up the short ladder to the command loft. She slid down into the recessed grav couch that served the pilot and navigator consoles. He collapsed onto the seat beside her, still clutching the duty kit to his chest.
“You’re coming with me then, right?” he asked. “Right?”
She ignored him, attention riveted to her task. Her entry codes worked on the first try. The tight knot in her stomach loosened slightly.
Around them, the ship revived begrudgingly. Internal lights sputtered on to illuminate rusted, chipping paint and suspicious fluid leaks. A faint moan from the Cassandra made her cringe as the cesium tanks primed. The velos gave a disconcerting high-pitched squeal before settling down into a low continuous thrum.
New reads appeared on the com-sys screens, and she released a relieved breath. Finally, the carrier’s intraship system opened. There, the Storm King ’s sensory horizon was represented in bits of binary string. Sela had memorized the order sets needed to systematically deactivate the dextir array. The result would temporarily blind the Storm King ’s sensors on that side, according to the instructions relayed by Valen’s tech contact.
Sela did not know what debt Valen held over the head of his Fleet tech, but it must have been incredible leverage. Maybe it was a rec mate that was sweet on him. Whatever the case, she could have kissed him or her.
If Trinculo lets me live that long.
She rose, stuffing the portable interface unit into the pocket of the stolen SSD trooper utilities. Hurriedly, she clambered across the top of the sunken bench of the command loft. She did not bother with the rungs of the ladder that led back to the common way and leaped down.
“Ty, answer me: what about you?” Veradin trailed her. At least he’d left the stupid kit in the loft.
Don’t look at him. Stick to the plan.
She pulled the handheld out of her pocket and held it out to him. When he would not move to take it, she pressed it to his chest.
“The ship’s had a lot of mods done to it. It’s not the most efficient, but it’s fast. We’ve rigged the Storm King ’s external array on the dextir side to fail. It’s a small window. If you leave the ‘King just before the jump, they won’t see you slip into the flexer first.”
He snatched the handheld angrily. A timer on its face offered a staccato soundtrack. The Cassandra was vastly smaller than the Storm King ; the velo spool-up would take mere minutes in comparison.
Sela pressed on. “Even if they do, there won’t be time for them to stop spool-up. The nav-comp has already been pre-logged to fit along the failure. Con-sys has already been programmed. All you have to do is go .”
“Go? Go where?”
“Not much time, sir. Your departure must be precise.”
“Just…just stop for a second.”
“You’ll need to avoid sensor drones. And whatever you do, don’t try to return to or contact anyone in Origin. They’ll anticipate that—”
“We can�
��t do this, Ty.”
She scooped up the stolen trooper helm and turned toward the ramp. The plan was to meet up with Valen in the corridor beyond the hangar.
He clutched her arm as she donned the helm. “What are you going to do?”
“This is the plan, sir, to get you to safety. I’ll be fine.” She had never lied to him before.
“Trinculo will find out. It’s what he does.”
“I’m looking forward to it, sir.”
In truth, she was. Nothing would feel better than to take that smug sneer off that bastard’s face. Admittedly, she would probably never get close enough to him to do it, but a girl could hope.
She did not want to face him. But, finally, she did. Always when she was alone with him, there was a knot of words in the back of her head. Always something that was never voiced, always on the horizon, something she had meant to get to, something she needed worlds of time to chase or explore. There was no more time.
“Captain Veradin, sir, it has been an honor.” Her throat felt too tight as she squeezed out the words. She extended her right hand to him.
“No.” He took her offered hand but held it. His grip was painful. “It doesn’t end like this. It can’t.”
He pulled her to him. “Ty.”
“You have to go. Quickly. Please,” Sela begged. Here was another first in such a short space of time. First lying. Now begging. “Go now. You’ll never have a chance to prove your innocence if you stay, sir.”
“I can’t let you do this. There has to be another way. Come with me.” He leaned back toward the command loft, tugging her along.
“Captain, you don’t understand.” She dug her heels into the deck. “This is my place. This is the only life I have ever known. This is where I belong.”
Why did he not just go? Why was he so stubborn?
“You know I don’t believe that.” His grip tightened. There was something crushing about his voice. It sounded like fear, not for himself, but for her. “I will not have you suffer because of me.”
“No.” She said. “No, sir. I suffer either way.”
I suffer…There.
The words came from the aching hollowness that took root in her on Tasemar. “I will not lose you and my son on the same day. I will not fail you both.”
“Atilio.” He inhaled sharply with the revelation. Then slowly, his hand moved up to touch her face. “Sela. Forgive me. I didn’t—”
There was a sudden wicked flash at the deck near her foot.
“Contact!” She shoved him up the Cassandra’s open ramp.
Dark helms and bustling armor moved near the hangar entrance. SSD troopers. At least six of them. They were found out. The real stockade detail must have finally shown up.
“Valen!” She tapped her vox. “Status.”
“Boss…get out of—” A hiss of static poured out of her earpiece.
Slow. Everything was so slow. Grabbing her weapon took an eternity. Squaring off, she placed her body between Veradin and the hostiles.
She fired three rounds, trying to gauge her targets against the darkened hulls of the resting ships. Something powerful struck her chest. She staggered back but did not fall.
“Ty!”
Sela doubled over, swallowing a painful bellow. Her chest seized, squeezing the air from her lungs. She collapsed onto the ramp, smelling burning skin and charred fabric.
The world dissolved beneath a bleak and swift tide. Sela drew in a single painful breath and knew no more.
Chapter Eight
There was no air, only darkness and the molten fire carving through her chest.
Here, the pain would not obey training. In the dark, it was her constant companion. It was nothing to be mimicked by broken bones or even the birth of her son.
Atilio. An agonizing emptiness came with that name. Memory surged back.
Atilio was dead.
Sela sat up, inhaling sharply as she surfaced from the black. Her pulse pounded behind her eyes. Her throat was a string of fire. She took in another greedy breath. Fresh pain spread out from her chest and into her shoulder.
She rolled to her side and threw up. Gazing blankly at the resulting mess on the floor, she rested her forehead against something blessedly cool and hard.
Moving, she decided, was a long term goal. Focusing on breathing was better. In fact, this was how she should spend the rest of her life. She blearily took in the dim room: Bunk. No windows. The faint smell of ozone, now mixed with vomit. Everything vibrated at a peculiar pitch.
Something wrong with the ’King’s drives.
Disjointedly she wished that the bloody techs would fix it. The vibration made her head split. Memory swelled around her. This was not the Storm King .
Veradin! She sat up sharply. Big mistake.
“Easy. Try not to move.” Her captain stooped over her.
Where’d he come from?
His hands were warm against her skin. She allowed him to push her back into the bunk. The pain did not let her resist.
“Captain?”
The lights in the tiny room were dimmed, but she knew it was the bunk room on the Cassandra.
“It’s alright, Ty.” His voice was strained, hoarse. His tunic hung open, exposing dried blood on his shirt.
Was he injured too?
He saw her notice it and fastened his tunic closed.
She grabbed his hand. “Tell me, sir.”
“What do you remember?”
“The hangar…” The past surfaced with hideous clarity.
I suffer either way.
“Trinculo’s men opened fire,” he said. “You were hit. Fates…you weren’t breathing. You were dead.”
She could only stare. “Dead.”
Wearily, he sat on the bunk across from her, hands planted on his knees.
“There was no other way out. We were pinned there. I had to move quickly before the security detail advanced. Trinculo’s men wouldn’t listen to me,” he explained. “I pulled you up the ramp, into the Cass. Got us underway. There was a vivject kit in the medikit. I didn’t know how old the stuff was, but I used it on you. I was afraid it wouldn’t work, but I got you back. ”
“And Valen?” she asked eagerly.
Realization flitted over Veradin’s face. “He was the other trooper, wasn’t he? The one that released me from stockade.”
She nodded. “His vox cut off.”
“It happened so fast, Ty. I don’t know.” Jon shook his head grimly.
Sela sank into the cushions, her gaze downcast, hoping Valen had survived. Although if he were alive, he most certainly would be in custody, suffering Trinculo’s wrath. She had meant to remain on the Storm King and face the consequences with him, satisfied that she had given the captain a chance at being free.
That should be me, not my sergeant.
A renewed bolt of pain shot through her shoulder. Gingerly, she traced the awkward bandage over the left side of her chest and shoulder. Had it not been for the SSD armor, there would have been a not-so-tidy hole burned through her chest.
A second bandage covered her bicep on that side. She frowned.
“Your tracer-ident. I had to take it out,” he explained.
Groggy, she blinked up at him. “That’s been there my whole life.”
In response, he drew up the sleeve of his tunic to reveal a hastily-wrapped bandage on his right forearm. “Dug mine out too. At least you got to be unconscious for yours.”
“Is there any sign of pursuit?”
He shook his head. “We got free just as the ‘King hit the jump. It’ll take them half a day at least to spool back up and come about if they do it at all.”
Would they?
She rolled cautiously onto her side and maneuvered to a seated position on the bunk’s edge. They were deserters now, a status likely to earn them arrest warrants from the Regime. It made little sense to redirect an entire carrier like the Storm King for simple fugitive reclamation. One thing was certain: someone would be comin
g for them sooner or later.
“Sir, we have to be ready.”
The Cassandra was powered down: cold mode. Faint starlight entered through the small oblong portal set into the wall. Sela huddled against her captain on the narrow bench of what served as a common room and galley. Their embrace was born from the desire for warmth more than intimacy, although in another time and place she would not have found it disagreeable.
It seemed a small eternity that Sela kept her arms wrapped around his neck. On and off, she dozed against him. The pain in her injured shoulder woke her with merciless regularity once the pharms wore off. When she stirred, Veradin seemed to sense her discomfort. His warm hand pressed against her waist.
“Pain?” His voice was a tight whisper. Steam marked his breath in the frigid air.
“No. I’m good,” she lied. This trait was coming too easily. Especially in the dimness, when she needn’t meet his gaze. “Is it gone?”
There was a draft of cold air as he shifted. The light of the handheld interface briefly illuminated his features, blue light on cheekbones, eyes intense. He gave a satisfied nod at what he saw there.
“The sensor drone is gone.” He tilted the screen for her to see. “It’s drifted past. Safe range to heat up the engines. That should be the last for this grid.”
Veradin straightened. She missed his weight and warmth. He positioned the blanket over Sela’s shoulders, and she rolled her eyes at his mothering.
Another shifting sound of fabric in the dark. The overheads popped on. Both of them squinted under the sudden glow. Veradin made more adjustments to the interface. A rushing hiss announced the scrubbers kicking on. The welcome sensation of warmed air swirled around her arms and feet.
“I’m frozen solid,” he muttered, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together.
Frozen. A word she understood. Her limbs were made of ice, her fingers tingled with needle pricks even under the gloves. Moves slow and careful, she shifted position on the hard metal bench and squeezed her eyes shut. The dull throb in her shoulder threatened to wrap around her chest.
She swatted away Veradin’s steadying hand. If she had to look at his guilty expression once more, she would shoot him just to see some variety.
