Star Marque Rising

by Shami Stovall

  Fortunately, Quinn rounded the corner of the corridor, her eyes lighting up the moment she spotted me. I ripped off my helmet when she drew near. “Demarco,” she said as she placed a hand on my shoulder. “You've finally returned. What're you wearing?”

  “Ask Sawyer,” I snapped.

  “You've heard about the others?”

  “Yeah. I've heard.”

  “Come with us to the mess hall. You're just in time. We're having a celebration.”

  I jerked my shoulder out of her grip. “How can you be celebrating at a time like this? There's not much to fucking celebrate.”

  Quinn brushed her braided hair to the side and gave me a long stare. Unlike Sawyer and Endellion—who might as well have been bricks—Quinn had a melancholy that drew me in.

  She patted my shoulder and smiled. “I've lost a fair number of friends over the years. It hurts, but a life like ours has no guarantees. The celebration is in their honor. You know. Like that poem.”

  “What're you talking about?” I asked.

  “The poem. You know the one. About the first mass transports—the ones that weren't successful. It's called ‘Lost to the Black Tide.’ It's about everyone who's ever died in space. You have to honor their life, ya know? It's already bleak and cold out here. No reason to add to the misery with a funeral.”

  I was vaguely aware of the saying, “Memories are the tombstones for those lost to the black tide”—and I knew it came from a poem or some bullshit—but it wasn't like I'd stayed in school that long. The poem had something to do with a mass transport that was destroyed on its voyage. Hundreds of thousands of people died, their bodies lost to the darkness. It was a failure of humanity, but we had tenacity, because those origin-world bastards tried the transports again, anyway.

  “This is what we do for everyone who dies,” Quinn said, pulling me from my musings. “You should join us. It's important we do this together. We're brothers-in-arms.”

  Although I was uncertain about the gesture, I nodded anyway. If everyone wanted to do it, I might as well, too. I yearned for their company. I needed to be reminded why I'd done all that shit in the first place.

  “Lead the way,” I said.

  * * *

  I'd never known such traditions existed. I wished I'd known sooner. Any reason to drink like I was trying to drown myself was perfect.

  Lee, Noah, Quinn, and 30 other guys whose names I didn't even know sat around in an unused room of the Star Marque, a whole crateful of rum pouches open in the corner. Music blared over the comms, filling the atmosphere with energy. The lights remained low, but the laugher remained at an all-time high.

  “—and she sneezed funny,” one guy said. “That's what I loved about Wisner. You always knew when she was on the comms, ‘cuz of all her weird noises.”

  A round of, “That's right,” echoed between individuals.

  Everyone took turns talking about what they'd loved most about the deceased. We all got a laugh at the good times, and then we moved on to the next one. It might have become depressing if it weren't for the jovial spirit in the room. No one seemed to linger on the Star Marque being smaller than before.

  Forty people had died. That was 20% of the whole crew. Two out of every ten people had died on a single mission. Those kinds of numbers were hard to let go. And when I looked around, I knew they'd hit the starfighters the most of all. Mara, Yuan, Advik, and Endellion weren't there. It was hard not to notice, and I took another drink. Quinn threw an arm over my shoulders.

  “You want to say anything about Advik?” she asked.

  The room quieted a bit, but not much. Everyone still had to yell to be heard.

  “She sent me a picture of a puddle once,” I said with a single laugh. “I still have it on my PAD. One of the best pictures I ever saw.”

  Lee threw back a swing of rum. “She sent me a picture of a nest. You know, like the kind sky-bound animals make? Vectin-14 has a lot. But the nest didn't have any animals in it. Just broken eggshells. She thought it was symbolic. Advik really was unique.”

  Another round of, “That's right.”

  The music soothed my depression. I was sure Advik would have appreciated the celebration.

  They talked about someone else, but I ignored that when Noah slid over to me. The benches around the edges of the room were probably meant for storage—especially since they had belt hooks and fasteners spaced out every meter—but they made for great seating. Everyone chilled around the edge of the room, facing the center, several smaller crates operating as makeshift tables.

  “Demarco,” Noah said. “I've got to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “All that training. I never would've made it without that.”

  “You insisted on training, remember? Thank your damn self.”

  “No, you don't understand. It was the attitude. I—” Noah stopped himself for a minute, his eyes falling to his lap.

  The kid did look different. Muscular. Put-together. Even if he had to go to the infirmary after the fight, he didn't show it. He almost looked like he could have given Lysander a challenge if they sparred, and Lysander had been a ground enforcer for over a decade. Funny how much effort will change a person.

  Noah sighed. “I had a problem before. I don't think I had it out there, during the dogfight. Yuan and I, well… we were the fighters assigned to the starboard side. There were so many missiles and enemy fighters. Yuan wasn't herself. I could tell. I figured I had to be the strong one, to pull through, and maybe she'd get her confidence back.”

  Obviously, it hadn't happened. Yuan really hadn't been in the mindset to fight. Should Endellion have kept her from the fray? I didn't know. I wasn't sure what I would've done as captain.

  A dark thought struck me.

  Maybe Endellion had wanted her to die.

  But I shook my head. No. She wanted all the starfighters she could get.

  “So, thank you,” Noah said again. He leaned back against the bulkhead and took another drink from his pouch.

  I threw back a mouthful of rum and listened to the words of my fellow Star Marque enforcers. Everything mixed together into a white noise that eased my depression. I grabbed another pouch and downed it as quick as the last. The laughter did me good.

  * * *

  Celebrating death for five hours straight had taken a toll on my stamina.

  Half-drunk and completely exhausted, I ambled my way to the lift. Noah accompanied me, nowhere near as inebriated, but just as tired. We were a few days from Midway Station. Soon we would return to Vectin-14, and until then we had no responsibilities. We had to rest while we still could.

  Noah patted my shoulder. “I'm glad you made it.”

  “I was worried you'd died in the fight,” I said.

  “Honestly?”

  “You are the worst pilot.”

  Noah cocked an eyebrow, and I laughed. Before he could say anything, I punched him in the shoulder. He joined in the laughter. “You don't have to be a dick about it,” he said.

  “Ah. You're fine. Unlike your brother, you have a sense of humor.”

  “I can't hold liquor like he can, though.” Noah rubbed at his gut. “I might go vomit before I go to sleep.” His blanched face and shaky hands told me he wasn't lying.

  “I didn't know you had two defects,” I said with a smirk.

  “Ha, ha,” Noah replied. “How can you drink three times more than me? And you're still standing? Gross.” Before I could respond, Noah stumbled down the corridor in the opposite direction. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. See you then.”

  Once he was gone, I entered the lift and stared at the options. Maybe I was just a drunk slob, but I contemplated them longer than I should have. Deck Three would take me to my capsule. Deck One would take me to Endellion. I had been shacking up with her before the assassination—just for a few days—but did that mean I had an open invitation to return to her?

  I wanted someone right now. Not just for a hookup.
Someone who knew me.

  I hit the Deck One button and waited while the lift took me to my destination.

  Deck One had the comfort of a walk-in freezer. The entire deck had a hollow feeling—undoubtedly, from the lack of personnel—but I pushed that from my thoughts until I reached Endellion's quarters. The door to her room blended with the ship's bulkhead, and it took me a moment of fucking around to find the door's controls. I buzzed for entrance.

  Endellion answered a few seconds later, dressed down in casuals. She gave me the once-over. “You've been drinking.”

  “Nah,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “I was celebrating. Big difference, apparently.”

  Endellion stepped aside before I could even ask to enter. “I've been waiting for you.”

  “Have you?”

  Her statement eased some of my doubt. I walked in and shed my enviro-suit, desperate to return to a state of normalcy. Once undressed, I threw myself onto her bed and stretched, my attention set on the ceiling. Endellion stripped and got on the bed. She was warm, and I enjoyed the way she crawled on top of me, but it was hard to focus.

  “What have you been thinking about?” she asked.

  “What's going to happen to Mara?”

  The issue remained, but now Yuan wasn't here to contest anything. I wanted the remaining starfighters to make it, and not just through a technicality. I wanted their safety. I wanted to know they would have everything they'd ever wanted in the end.

  “You're still concerned about her,” Endellion said, more of an observation than a question.

  “I don't want to lose anyone else.”

  “You want her returned to normal?”

  “I hate the idea of taking away her choice.”

  Endellion lay across my chest. While most of her was firm with muscle, her breasts remained as soft and wonderful as any unaltered woman's. It wasn't the first thing I noticed, but it lingered in my thoughts, even as we continued our discussion.

  “If you feel so passionately about Mara's fate, you can decide,” Endellion said.

  I glanced at her with narrowed eyes. “Why?”

  “Why what? I just explained myself. Or are you too intoxicated to understand simple statements?”

  “I thought this would be more of a fight. You were so adamant before.”

  Endellion chuckled. “I try to give you the things you want, Clevon. I thought I made that obvious. And you haven't been yourself since our successful operation. Perhaps this will ease your guilt.”

  “And you don't care about Mara's fate?”

  Endellion had argued from a rigid position before. What was I missing?

  “You're the vice-captain now,” she said in a low voice. “I'm delegating the decision to you. Either way, I'll need to find more starfighters. And perhaps Mara won't suffer as much as she did before.”

  I wanted to question her further, but Endellion moved up my body and locked her lips with mine. Although part of me contemplated Mara's recovery, the rest of my body responded to Endellion's advances. I ran my hands along her back, enjoying every millimeter of her. I closed my eyes and relaxed.

  That was what I needed.

  * * *

  Dr. Clay pointed to the infirmary screen, his finger following the graph of Mara's chemical imbalances. “These represent Mara's serotonin, noradrenaline, and dopamine levels. And these lines over here represent an average woman's levels, according to Mara's age and genetic makeup. See how her serotonin levels are low? And how her—”

  “I get it,” I said, holding back my frustration with his matter-of-fact, patronizing tone. “Her numbers aren't the same as normal people's. I'm saying, you should wake her up, so I can talk to her.”

  Dr. Clay exhaled. “Endellion ordered me to alter her implant.”

  “Now I'm telling you—as the vice-captain—to wake her up. How many times do I need to explain it?”

  The infirmary never had much in the way of personnel. Two medics, and now the doctor. All three of them stopped what they were doing to stare. Even Noah, who stood by the door, perked up and lifted both eyebrows.

  “You're the vice-captain?” Noah asked. “Since when?”

  “It'll be announced later today,” I said.

  Dr. Clay scoffed. “I never should've joined this rig if some brute is the best we have for the position of vice-captain.”

  Noah pushed off the bulkhead and stomped over. “Hey. You watch your tone. Demarco risked life and limb for this starship.”

  “So does every ground enforcer when they're deployed for a mission. Do they all get turns at being vice-captain?”

  “Demarco isn't like the guys you know on Vectin-14. He's—”

  I grabbed Noah's shoulder, my fingers digging deep into his muscle. He stopped speaking and took a step back, but I could tell he was still angry just from the way he held himself. How had Dr. Clay ever hooked up with Dr. Rhodes in the first place? He had the charisma of a wet towel.

  “Wake her,” I commanded.

  Dr. Clay replied with a curt nod, and then prepared a small syringe. He stuck Mara in the arm and injected the clear fluid at a slow rate. Noah and I waited in silence. It took only a few moments for Mara's eyes to flutter open.

  “Adachi Mara,” Dr. Clay said, his tone formal. “I am your primary physician aboard the Star Marque, Dr. Clay. Can you understand me? A simple nod will suffice.”

  Mara blinked and turned her head from side to side. When she spotted me, she squinted, her eyes wet and red from prolonged sleep. “Demarco?” she muttered. “Demarco…”

  With a long sigh, Dr. Clay poked at the PAD on his arm. “Apparently no one on the Star Marque can follow simple instructions. Yet another clue the crew may be suffering from a contagious delusion.”

  “Get out of here,” Noah snapped. “If we need a doctor, we'll call.”

  Dr. Clay left without protest. Endellion had said he was a researcher back on Vectin-14, and I could see why.

  The two medics finished their cataloguing and hustled from the room, though I didn't have a problem with their presence. Still, I was sure Mara's case had given them stress. Mara had attacked Yuan, after all. She was unstable.

  “Are you okay?” I asked as I reached out to take Mara's hand. Her palm was coated in a thick layer of sweat, but I didn't break the contact.

  “Where's Yuan?” she asked, her voice raspy.

  “Yuan isn't here.”

  Mara rolled to her side and groaned. “Get away. I don't want to be touched.”

  I let go of her hand. “Listen, I have something I need to discuss with you. Can you sit up?”

  She complied with my request, moving at a slow pace. Once upright, Mara rubbed at her face and hair, combing it back. I had never seen her so disheveled, but it was to be expected after days of inactivity and comatose sleep.

  “I don't feel right,” she muttered. “I don't want to be here. I just… want to be alone. I don't want to see Yuan. Not now. Not ever.”

  “The doctor says you're depressed.”

  Mara didn't answer. She rubbed at her temples and bit her bottom lip, her whole body trembling. The lightweight gown they'd provided her didn't seem to offer much warmth. I grabbed her blankets and tossed them over her shoulders.

  I took a deep breath. “You know you have a cybernetic implant, right?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Did you know it was being misused? That you were being doped-up to remain happy?”

  Mara scrunched her eyes shut and pressed her palms against her face. “I… didn't know.”

  “Well, what do you want to do about it?”

  Again, silence. Mara barely moved.

  Noah took my elbow and pulled me to the side. “Wait, Mara. We'll be right back.” He dragged me to the other end of the room, a look of disbelief written across his face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “She just woke up. What're you going to tell her next? How Advik died? That she's been sleeping for days on end?”

&n
bsp; “She's got to stone up and deal with this. What? You want to leave her in a coma? Or are you like Endellion? You think we should force this on her, one way or another?”

  “I'm saying, don't be fucking callous.”

  I glared at the kid, and he glared right back.

  “Don't you remember?” Noah asked. “Remember the first day Sawyer evaluated us? Lysander thought I should have a similar implant to Mara's. He thought I was too stressed and it was affecting my performance as a soldier. But I dealt with it. Slow, sure, and with limited medication, but without an implant. Federation-standard treatments—along with focus—made the difference.”

  “Yeah, but I helped you,” I said. “And I helped you by yelling at you, basically.”

  “But Mara's situation is different. She's lost everything, Demarco. She doesn't have a brother looking out for her, or a family to impress.”

  And it was obvious her relationship with Yuan hadn't been everything I'd thought it was. Mara didn't even want to see her—perhaps Yuan had known Mara disagreed with her.

  “She doesn't need anyone yelling at her,” Noah continued. “You heard the doctor. She becomes depressed easily.”

  Maybe Endellion was right. Mara would most likely hurt herself, and it would be my fault. Perhaps Dr. Clay should have tampered with her implant a second time.

  “Let me stay with her a while,” Noah said, his voice filled with conviction. “I know what she's going through. I'll explain it to her at a slow pace. I'll stay here and make sure she doesn't hurt herself. And then she can decide what level of medication she wants.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Noah took in a breath, and then shrugged. He looked away and stared at the infirmary bulkhead. “Mara's a fellow starfighter. I should have her back, and I think I'm the only one who will understand her situation. I want to pay it forward. She should be in charge of her own fate.”

  Noah wanted to help Mara? Because of me?

  “I'll be here,” I said. “Endellion thinks this will harm Mara, but… I just want her to have the choice.” I glared at Noah, needing to hear the truth. “Did you prefer having a choice? Or would you have preferred it if Lysander altered you without your knowledge?”