Star Marque Rising

by Shami Stovall

  I didn't know how Lysander had done it, but he had managed to rig the ignition and fire the plasma rifle without hurting himself. I was impressed, but only for half a second. Then I got to my feet—keeping the knife in my side to prevent bleeding to death—and staggered over to Mara.

  I picked her up, and she behaved no better than a corpse. I motioned Lysander to head for the elevator, the heat in my chest building.

  “You need to stop,” Lysander said. “You're badly wounded.”

  Again, I motioned to the elevator, biting back words because I didn't have the energy for conversation. I held my breath, knowing my genetically-modified body could handle 10 to 15 minutes without oxygen intake. After that, I would pass out—and after that, I would choke on my own blood.

  Lysander complied with my demand and ran to the elevator door. Once open, he held it until I could get in. He gave me the once-over, his stare lingering on the knife buried to the hilt between my ribs. It was an odd sensation to have an object embedded in my body, perpendicular to my spine, but I was lucky I hadn't gotten stabbed in my heart.

  Here was hoping that nothing vital had been struck.

  The longer we went, the more my body grew numb with heat and ice. Holding my breath helped to keep the flare of additional pain low, but the agony persisted. It was hard to think of anything else. My visor flashed warnings about my fluctuating heartrate.

  “You took that hit for me,” Lysander muttered.

  If I could have, I would have reminded him that he was a defect, and I wasn't. As long as we managed to get through this, I would have an easy recovery in the healing vat, but his rejuvenation would come with a hefty price. Taking the hit was the most efficient outcome for the whole of the Star Marque.

  Before Lysander picked our destination, he shook his head. “You and Mara shouldn't be heading toward the fight. I'll take you both to the ground floor.”

  Sweat beaded across my flesh. I ripped off my helmet, needing to feel the air against my skin.

  Lysander took us to the ground level, and while we traveled, he attempted to take Mara from me. I pushed him back and glared. I would take care of Mara. He needed to get his ass to Endellion as soon as possible. He seemed to understand and stopped offering to help.

  The elevator doors opened, and I rushed out. Lysander headed back up after giving me a quick nod.

  Medical personnel stopped in the hall and offered assistance. A few guards rushed over as well, and I got tense. How could I know who to trust? What if they attacked?

  Nothing happened right away, so I handed Mara off and pulled my helmet back on. Once the comms reengaged, I forced myself to say, “The security's in on it.”

  “Demarco?” Sawyer replied. “Don't worry. Quinn and Yuan informed the rest of the facility through the IT office. Outside enforcers have been called in.”

  “Hm,” I replied, more of a grunt than anything else.

  “But I need your help. Come back to the operations room.”

  Sawyer's request struck me. I headed back to the elevator, despite the protests from the medical personnel. I shook them off and hit the fourth-story button. It was a quick ride to my destination. The first thing I noticed once the doors opened was the guy in the hall holding a plasma rifle. Not a security guard—an unloader from the landing pads.

  He hefted his weapon, wide-eyed and shaky. I stepped forward, grabbed it, pointed the barrel away, and then reached out to seize his neck. His workmen's jumpsuit offered little protection from my grip, and it was easy to crush his windpipe. When he kicked, I turned to the side, offering my non-injured ribs up for a few soft strikes.

  “Demarco.”

  I glanced over. Sawyer stood outside the operations door, one eyebrow up.

  She pointed to the man in my grasp. “He's on our side. He fought the assassins when they came from the roof.”

  It didn't take long to strangle a man with a blood choke. Cut off the blood flow from the carotid arteries, and it led to unconsciousness within a matter of seconds. The man in my grip had already gone half-limp by the time I released him, and he staggered into the wall before falling on his ass.

  Maybe he shouldn't have pointed a gun in my face.

  Pain returned when I realized Sawyer wasn't in immediate danger. But she had said she needed help. I walked over, leaving a small trail of crimson droplets on the floor. She gave my injury a glance before motioning to the room.

  “Talk to the doctor,” she said. “And then get yourself some medical attention.”

  I would have joked about her lack of concern, but I was struggling to breathe. Not the time.

  I entered the operating room. Dr. Clay stood next to the capsule bed, his arms crossed. Endellion rested inside, under the glass and lying on her stomach. The robotic arms tended to the gaping incision that ran the length of her spine, a cut wide enough to expose the metal, threaded wires fastened along her bone processes. Endellion didn't move, and a clean implant sat next to her body inside the capsule bed.

  “What in the name of gossamer's rings is going on?” Dr. Clay asked.

  Sawyer shuffled in after me. “The doctor refuses to finish the operation.”

  “Now isn't the time for a medical procedure,” Dr. Clay snapped. “I've set the machine to seal her back up. We can reschedule this after we know the facility is secure.”

  With a hand on the bottom of my ribcage, I walked over to the doctor. He took a step back, bumped into the bed, and stared at me with a furrowed brow.

  I switched the comms to vocalize. “Finish it.”

  “I'm putting her life at risk by operating during such conditions.”

  “She knew the risk.”

  “She knew? Are you saying she knew of an attack?”

  I grabbed Dr. Clay by the collar of his coat and yanked him close, holding back a cough. “I said. Finish it.”

  His shaky breath coated my visor. When I did finally hack and wheeze, red spittle coated the inside of my suit.

  “I won't be held responsible for her death,” Dr. Clay said, holding his hands up. “If there's another tremor during—”

  “The rest of the insurgents have been dealt with,” Sawyer stated. “You shouldn't have any further interruptions from explosions.”

  There was no way for her to know that, but she said it with a certain amount of confidence that came across as genuine. She must have taken lessons from the Endellion School of Subterfuge.

  I released the man and pushed him toward the capsule, unable to speak without losing a lung. He must have sensed my desperation because he backed away and offered a slow nod.

  “A-All right,” Dr. Clay muttered. “I'll do it. It's obvious she wants it above all else, or she wouldn't have left her goons to strong-arm me.”

  Sawyer placed her hand on my back. “Demarco. You need medical attention. Right now.”

  I knew.

  I turned, and the edge of my vision went black.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  INNER DEMONS

  Thick mother-cell fluid swirled around me. The LED lights blinked red, giving me enough illumination to see the globs of blood and dead skin cells floating in the goo. I took deep breaths through the breathing tube and attempted to relax, but it was difficult considering the cramped confines of my healing vat.

  I took solace in the fact that I wasn't in overwhelming agony.

  A familiar clink echoed through the fluid. A small hole at the bottom of the vat opened, and the mother cells drained away, spinning the entire way. I didn't think I had fully recovered, not after seven-and-a-half hours. When I grazed my side, I felt a furrow through my flesh, and there was a sting to my touch. It wasn't an open wound, sure, but the healing vats typically restored someone to their full capacity.

  One side of the vat slid down, creating an opening.

  “Rejuvenation 87% complete,” a feminine voice intoned. “Right Rib Five has been reconstructed. The inferior lobe of the right lung has been mended, but dermis, epidermis, and intercostal musc
les are still in recovery phase. Please speak to a physician or resume treatment immediately.”

  I walked out of the vat and yanked the breathing tube from my esophagus. After a few quick snorts and a shake of my head, I felt a little better, but the mother-cell fluid stuck like jelly. It was hard to clear out of every crevasse. I would be sticky all day.

  The med-fac recovery room had 13 healing vats lined against two walls. A cluster of flowers and ferns filled the opposite corner, giving the place a livelier atmosphere than the Star Marque, but the room still had that sterile smell that accompanied all medical facilities.

  Lysander waited by a desk stationed near the door. He poked around at the computer terminal, answering questions that popped up onscreen.

  “What's going on?” I asked through a stressed wheeze.

  “Endellion said you can either continue your treatment on the Star Marque or you can join her at the pre-hearing,” Lysander said. He stopped his work at the computer terminal and tossed me a towel. “Either way, you should clean yourself up.”

  I lifted my arm and grimaced. My injury was definitely still raw and deep. If I let my body recover naturally, I was sure to have a scar, but I would live. The real question was: how long would it hurt to move my right arm?

  Lysander leaned against the desk. “Thank you, Demarco.”

  I lowered my arm, slow and careful, before wiping off my face. “For what?”

  “For your teamwork on the roof.”

  “You pulled your own weight. Nice work with the rifle.”

  “They taught us all kinds of field survival techniques in the HSN Corps.”

  I wiped off my neck, chest, and stomach while avoiding the injury. Maybe the leftover mother cells would help it recover faster.

  Lysander sighed. “Listen. I misjudged you when you first arrived. I thought you would be more trouble than you're worth, and you wouldn't put the needs of the Star Marque before your own. And I thought you might be a bad influence on Noah, but he's been better than he ever has since you arrived.”

  “Is this an apology?” I asked, half-smiling.

  “You made it easy for me to assume you'd be trouble,” Lysander snapped. Then he inhaled and relaxed. “But you proved me wrong, and I'm glad you did. I'd rather this outcome than me telling Endellion, ‘I told you so.’”

  I had never bothered to get to know Lysander. He wasn't the type of guy I would have gotten along with back on Capital Station. But that was the past. Maybe he was even the companionship I had been killing myself for since I'd joined the Star Marque. He seemed like a decent guy right now.

  “You miss the HSN Corps?” I asked as I continued wiping myself off.

  Lysander nodded. “My parents both served in the navy. I wanted nothing more than to follow in their footsteps. My father knew how much it meant, and he got a line of doctors to vouch for me—to cover up my defect, basically. I still don't know how anyone found out, especially after eight years of service… but none of that matters anymore.”

  “Your training saved my ass back on the roof,” I said. “I would say it still matters.”

  “Maybe you're right. Endellion does value my understanding of the navy and my ability to train her ground enforcers.”

  “Were you hooking up with anyone before you were discharged?”

  Lysander narrowed his eyes and scowled.

  I replied with a shrug. “C'mon. I already know your questionable past and status as a defect. Is telling me about your love life really worse than that?”

  He huffed. “Yes. I was hooking up with someone, as you so eloquently put it. I had been with her for three years before I was discharged.”

  After I ran the towel down my shoulders, I asked, “Did she know about you? Your defect, I mean.”

  Lysander's gaze fell to the floor. “No. Once I was outed, she left me. I haven't been with anyone since.”

  It wasn't like someone could pass their genetic deficiencies to another—outside of having a biological child—so there was no need to disclose such information right upon meeting someone, but I could understand people's concerns. Lysander had lied to his CO, after all. Maybe the woman had felt he lied to her, as well.

  “Hey,” I said, drawing Lysander's attention back to me, “that's messed up. But I'd never treat you that way.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and gave me a questioning stare.

  I couldn't imagine Lysander being affectionate or flirty—or much fun, really—which were my favorite parts of a relationship, but I bet he would be loyal and dedicated to fulfilling a role. I might as well have tried to engage him and see if he was interested.

  I motioned to myself. “I'm still pretty gooey, you wanna help wipe me off?”

  A long second passed in silence.

  Lysander grew red. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, a deep frown set into his face. “Oh, sweet, Holy Mother,” he muttered into his palm, “what am I being punished for?”

  “You don't know what you're missing out on,” I said. “I've never had a complaint.”

  He replied with a guttural groan, the very definition of disgust. “I never want to hear you say anything like that again. Ever.”

  “What's wrong? Scared?”

  “We're professionals in a professional environment!” Lysander exhaled. “How do you make everything between us so insufferable?”

  How had I made everything insufferable? What warped reality did the guy live in? I was the life of the party.

  Lysander turned on his heel, looking anywhere but at me, like he'd just realized I was naked. “Forget it. Keep your inappropriate comments and suggestions to yourself. Endellion is waiting down the hall. Finish up and meet with her.”

  Then he opened the door and huffed off without another word.

  He probably would've reacted the same way no matter who hit on him. He really was a stick in the mud.

  Goddammit. That was everyone. Every single person on our rig. Either they didn't want me, or they were already in a relationship. I had tried. I really had. I'd hit my limit.

  Where was Dr. Rhodes when I needed her? We had been great. I could have gotten along with her for days, yet everyone on the Star Marque treated me like I was their grandmother propositioning them for a good time.

  Left alone, I finished up and walked over to the desk. My PAD and enviro-suit sat waiting, and while Sawyer had taken her time inserting the power cord into my arm, I took the PAD and jammed the wire in, regardless of the sharp pain or blood. I could handle it.

  Suiting up required a bit of wiggling, thanks to my lingering injury, but I could also manage that.

  I exited the recovery room and headed down the hall. A few researchers rushed past me—no doubt still dealing with the earlier event—but they said nothing. Each door had a label etched into the metal of the doorframe, and I stopped at the waiting room. I walked into an argument.

  “—and there's nowhere else on Vectin-14 as equipped as this facility to take care of Mara,” Yuan shouted.

  Endellion shook her head. “I've recruited a doctor from this facility to join us on the Star Marque. He can handle Mara with the tools we have.”

  “There's no reason to wait. I want her back to normal.”

  “She's normal now.”

  Yuan stepped up to Endellion—despite being a third of a meter shorter—and glared with an intensity that twisted her features. “Don't you start with me. You know damn well what I mean.”

  Endellion stared down at the other woman, unfazed by her aggression. “The implant will be fixed in due time. Until then, she can wait in the infirmary. Sedated, of course. To prevent any self-harm.”

  “You'd better hold up your end of the deal. I haven't said anything, nothing at all, so you get Mara the help she needs. If you don't…” With that, Yuan stormed out of the room, her gait a little off, thanks to her stiff leg. I stepped out of the way, and she never acknowledged me. Once the door shut, I returned my gaze to Endellion.

  The look on her face—so cold and con
templative—made me nervous.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  Endellion smiled, dispelling her previous expression. “Of course. If I broke down every time someone threatened me, I never would've been promoted to commodore.”

  “That's your secret to success, huh? Not buckling under threats?”

  “No,” Endellion intoned, her smile gone. “My secret to success is making sure anyone who threatens me regrets it.”

  I scratched at my chin and mulled over the comment. “But you're going to help Mara, right? You weren't lying about that?”

  Endellion nodded. “Of course. It might not be as a fast as Yuan prefers, but Mara is a talented starfighter. I wouldn't leave her in her current state.”

  It seemed like I'd missed something. But I shook the thought away. Now wasn't the time. “Lysander said you wanted to see me,” I said.

  “I want you to accompany me to the pre-hearing.”

  “A pre-hearing?”

  “It's a meeting of Vectin ministers before the official hearing. They discuss all propositions, changes, and laws that will be discussed in the day's open council. Most disputes are handled during the pre-hearing—out of the public eye—so that the ministers can appear to be uniform in their dealings when the time comes to debate them in the open council.”

  “And you want to talk about your petition.”

  Endellion smiled. “Minister Felseven will be there, and I'm certain he'll argue to change the laws regarding who can and cannot become a governor.”

  “Is it filled with procedure and rules?” I knew nothing of that.

  “It's a casual meeting. Nothing with bureaucracy.”

  “All right. I'll join you.”

  She looked away, her expression distant, perhaps lost in thought. Although she had just been in surgery, Endellion didn't appear any different. She was still tall, strong, and capable. No one would have even known.

  “You recovered pretty quick, huh?” I asked, impressed.

  Endellion stared at the far wall, unseeing. “My head still hurts, and with each breath, I feel a sharp string along my spine, but both should clear up within a few days.”