“I shouldn't have any more hurdles to overcome,” Endellion snapped. “This was supposed to be the last step. Gaining majority approval from 140 individuals could cost me everything. I don't have time to play games with each and every one of them!” She got louder and louder with every word. When Ontwenty didn't respond, Endellion paced the length of the room, her gait slow, her green eyes fixed to the floor.
The acting members of the senate included 102 planet governors, 30 ministers, and 8 undersecretaries to the high governor. Speaking to each one and gaining their approval would be a nightmare, especially given that Endellion would need their approval in less than a year. Not only that, each one was a superhuman, and they could always have a bias against her or ask for something outrageous in return for their support. The obstacles were limitless.
“You know I would voice my approval on your behalf,” Ontwenty said. “My constituents and I would net you nearly enough. We have a substantial voting bloc.”
“But it's not enough,” Endellion said. “You already failed to stop Felseven from changing the requirements. How many votes went in Felseven's direction?”
“64 voted with me, and 76 voted with Felseven.”
A six vote difference. That must have been hard for Endellion to swallow. It would come down to the wire. She might not become a planet governor at that rate. What would she do then? Everything she had done had been for this one, singular goal.
“You're overreacting,” Ontwenty said with a smile.
“After everything I've done, I wouldn't say I'm overreacting,” Endellion replied. “Who knows how many more of the requirements Felseven will attempt to change before the next vote? It's now or never, and I question whether we can work together after this.”
“Felseven is an opponent to both of us. I want you as a planet governor, I made that clear. You've made friends with individuals I would love to have connections with. We can still benefit from a working relationship.”
Their sly game of back-and-forth didn't sit right. Endellion had been underhanded, but it was like we were diving deep into a wormhole of complications, and we were not getting out anytime soon.
Then again, what other option did Endellion have? How would she explain to her crew that she wouldn't be able to keep her promise? They could quit and leave her stranded without a means to complete any work. And who would fill her ship after that? She had a reputation for getting shit done—if she lost that, she would have nothing.
“Do you have ideas to solve this?” Endellion asked.
Ontwenty sipped from her glass. “I do. It might require more of your hard work, but in the end, it would guarantee both you and I come out on top.”
Endellion stopped her pacing. She offered Ontwenty a glare. “You've given this thought.”
“Felseven intends to stop the Stellar Engine, and I refuse to see that happen. It seems you also refuse to see your position as planet governor slip from your fingers, which means we have everything to lose if we give up now. Desperation spurs even a child to confront a madman.”
Endellion had gotten played. Ontwenty had done this on purpose to get the emissary out of her hair, but also, to keep Endellion on a leash.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DESPERATION
The purple skies of Vectin-14 took my mind off the situation.
Lines of defects made their way to Ontwenty's med-fac outpost. They waited for treatment, each signing away their right to sue before reaching the door. Each experimental chem had the potential for life-saving repairs to their warped DNA, but I suspected more than half would either see no benefit or a worsening of their condition. That was what happened on Capital Station. Free chems, but they had to roll the dice for them. If they got anything but a seven, they were fucked.
The Star Marque's enforcers kept the peace around the medical facility. We also watched the line and acted as muscle in case any defects got uppity. It was an easy job while we waited for Endellion to decide on a course of action, but the longer we waited, the antsier I became.
Two men pushed each other in line. One had a lump of flesh hanging from his neck, a grouping of tumors trapped in the flesh sac of his skin. The other stood on a misshapen leg—too small to work well with his other leg—and he toppled over the moment the fight got aggressive.
People in line shouted.
I walked over and grabbed Lump-Neck by the collar of his jumpsuit.
“Keep it to yourself,” I growled.
“That guy was cuttin',” Lump-Neck said.
I picked up the guy with mismatched legs and stationed him in line right where he needed to be. “Either of you assholes start any more trouble and I'll throw you both at the end of the line.”
The wobbly guy frowned. “You can't do that. I need this medicine.”
I hefted my plasma rifle and jutted my chin in the direction of the facility. “I'm in charge here until you get inside, got it? Stay in line like good little children and it won't be a problem.”
Neither of them said anything else.
Good.
The roads around the facility carried the lifeblood of Okoga City. Vehicles of all shapes and sizes transported the workings of industry. Refined metal, food, bio waste, and even sad sacks heading to work. The place felt busier than anywhere else I had been on Vectin-14, except for the space elevator.
I returned to my post. Lee trotted over to me, bouncing with each step, like he had music in his blood.
“What're you doing?” I asked him through the comms.
“Listening to the local entertainment. Good stuff.”
“Entertainment?”
“Yeah. Vectin-14 music plays over the satellite channels. Your suit can pick it up. Doesn't interfere with your comms, either. Well, it's harder to hear, but that's about it.”
“Isn't that against the rules?” I asked, knowing damn well it was. All that ground-enforcer training included a laundry list of what not to do while working. I was sure if Lysander were there, he would have had a little hissy fit.
“C'mon,” Lee said, a smile in his voice. “Just because you're some over-glorified vice-captain now doesn't mean you have to get stern with me. I'm not even a ground enforcer. I'm doing this because there's nothing for an amazing pilot to do.”
He tapped the collarbone of my suit, and I rubbed the newly-added decorations. A few gold stripes set me apart from the rest. Vice-Captain—I liked the title.
“Fine,” I said. “Just stop dancing like a lunatic.”
“Aye, aye, Vice-Captain, Sir.” He gave me a sarcastic salute.
I turned to walk away, but Lee jogged up to my side and tapped my shoulder. His enviro-suit helmet was up, so all I saw was the reflection of my own helmet in his visor, but his body language spoke volumes. He got in close, as if to whisper, but our comms were set to one-on-one communications, so there was no need for nervous mannerisms.
“Hey,” he said. “What's going on? We've been on Vectin longer than we should have, and Endellion hasn't been seen for the last couple of days.”
“She's deciding our next course of action.”
“Something else is up. I know it. Even Quinn has been acting strange. Did something happen in the Core Symposium?”
The information wasn't hidden. The public could have accessed the Core Symposium records from any all-access computer terminal stationed around the cities. Not only that, but the updates to legislation had been announced in public forums. I'd even heard news about Emissary Barten's assassination while wandering around Okoga City. Sure enough, the news reported rebellion involvement and that they may have used the peace talks as a false pretense to meet with the emissary.
Better than the reality. And the news would blow over soon. Barten wasn't popular, or so it seemed. Most didn't want to acknowledge the United-Earth faction because they were warmongers who hated superhumans, and any reason to see a pro United-Earth emissary gone was a reason to celebrate.
“Demarco?” Lee asked. “Did you hear me?�
�
“What?”
“Did something happen at the Core Symposium?”
“They changed the requirements for incoming planet governors,” I said. “Don't worry. It's nothing Endellion can't handle. She's overcome worse.”
Lee exhaled, and his whole body deflated a bit. “Why couldn't Quinn tell me that? She said everything was fine, but no specifics. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”
I was surprised Quinn hadn't said anything, but perhaps Endellion had told her not to. Made me think I shouldn't have said anything, but it was too late to change it.
“Lee,” I said over the comms as I headed to the mag-lev train. “I'm heading back to our company town. Let me know if anything happens while I'm away.”
“Can do.”
I needed to speak to Endellion, and I knew she was there. Every day she spoke with Ontwenty in private, and then returned to her room in the quaint little house Ontwenty had provided us for our planet stay.
Maybe she needed company as much as I did.
I switched my comms and exhaled. “Sawyer. Endellion is still on the planet's surface, correct?”
“Yes,” she replied, her old tone back in full force.
“Blub okay?”
“I took him to a Vectin-14 veterinarian specialist.”
“You did? Really?”
“Well, no. I had Lysander go for me. The superhuman in charge of the genetically-modified animals at the menagerie isn't someone I want to interact with.”
“Heh,” I said with a huff. “I knew it.”
“Yeah, yeah. You know me so well. Do you want an award? I think I have some gold-star stickers I could put on your enviro-suit.”
Sawyer's good mood did wonders for my own. I had felt off since the fight and assassination, but even a few interactions with the crew had repaired the damage from the mental fray. I wished I could say the same about Endellion.
I entered the mag-lev train with a group of random passengers. The trains ran so frequently and so fast, there was no waiting time. We got on, and then the train exited the station, zipping across Vectin-14. In a few minutes, I stepped off the transport and headed for the company town. The walls stood out against the lush landscape, which made getting lost impossible.
I could have used my comms to speak to Endellion—being face-to-face with her wasn't required—but I wanted our communication to be personal. I'd killed a man in cold blood for her. She'd promoted me to vice-captain and wanted me to pilot the Star Marque once she was a governor. And every night, when I was deep inside her, and we were breathing heavy, I knew we had tangled ourselves together in success. Speaking face-to-face would do us both good.
With a few quick nods to the guards, I headed in. The Vectin star had set in the distance by the time I reached Endellion's dwelling. I didn't bother knocking. I stepped in, switched on the lights, and froze.
For a brief second, the sight coated my veins in ice. The entire front room had been turned upside-down. The couch lay on its side, the cushions torn open. The side table had so many splintered pieces it might as well have been a jigsaw puzzle. A computer terminal—normally mounted to the wall—had been cracked in half.
I ripped off my helmet and ran a hand through my short hair.
“Endellion,” I shouted. “Are you here?”
I jumped over the destruction and rushed straight for her bedroom.
Every millimeter of the building was the same. Destruction and mayhem.
I threw open the bedroom door and took stock of the situation. My gaze landed on Endellion—she stood in one piece—but then I took note of the smashed bedframe, and the ripped carpet. Splatters of blood pulled the whole room together, painting a story of murder, rather than comfort.
“Endellion?”
She stood in front of the mirror, her back to me, her hands flat on the glass. Her standard braid spilled over her shoulder, its tip crested in blood. Although I had the cold focus for a fight in my system, I forced myself to relax. I didn't see any intruders. Her tank-top and pants weren't torn.
Endellion glared at her own reflection, her green eyes unblinking.
“What happened?” I asked as I stepped over the debris.
She didn't answer.
It wasn't destruction from a brawl. The longer I stared, the more I saw the imprints of fingernails. Endellion had torn this place apart with her cyborg strength. She must have cut herself on a sharp edge of shattered metal or glass, but that hadn't stopped her.
I stood behind her and ran my hands along the muscles of her back. “You've got anger issues.”
“I'm perfectly composed,” she replied, no emotion in her voice, but her eyes screamed a different story.
“Tell that to your room.” I kneaded her shoulders. The tense muscles underneath didn't ease up. I circled my thumb along her jagged spine, and then I kissed her neck, my panic gone and long replaced with hot lust. “There are better ways to relieve stress,” I said.
Endellion didn't move. “I spoke to Ontwenty.”
“And?”
“She wants me to dispose of Felseven.”
I chuckled. “Which one?”
“The man who runs Capital Station.”
I stopped my massage. “Wait, does she mean—”
“Yes,” Endellion said, cutting me off. “But keep your words to yourself, Clevon. We're not on the Star Marque.”
I gritted my teeth. “We just got done… doing something similar. We can't do it again.”
I couldn't believe Endellion would have even suggested that. We couldn't assassinate another member of the Federation Government. Maybe we were capable, but there was an adage I'd learned when I ran with gangs:“Sooner or later, if you do it long enough, you will get caught.” Even the smartest punks run afoul of bad luck. They couldn't account for that. We would've failed with Barten, had there been even the slightest of slip-ups. We'd almost failed outright when Endellion was prevented from seeing the man. What if I had been prevented, as well? What if Barten had beaten me in the fight? What if the guard in the hall had come in to say something as I was finishing the deed?
For every plan, there were 15 ways it could have been fucked up.
“We can't,” I repeated. “Tell Ontwenty it has to stop.”
“No. I've made my decision. We're heading to Capital Station.”
“And what if we're caught?” I stepped away from her, my movements stiff with tension. “There won't be any trial, let me tell you. Capital Station has its own form of justice, and it's called ‘taking the bitch out back and silencing her yourself.’”
“We won't get caught.”
“You don't know that.”
“I take risks. Calculated risks. I've done it forever, and I'm not going to stop now, even if you fear we might not make it.” Endellion pushed away from the mirror and turned to face me. She was serious. Always serious. Even when risking it all, there was no backing down.
“Felseven won't operate like Emissary Barten,” I said. “He's got hundreds of guards. He lives planetside on Galvis-4. He runs that whole fucking show. We'll never get close to the man, and even if we do, we'll never make it back to the Star Marque. Some things are impossible. We should focus on getting six other votes, for fuck's sake, not this.”
“It's impossible for a poor girl born on Ucova to become a starship captain,” Endellion stated, rigid and icy in every regard. “It's impossible for that same girl to become commodore. It's impossible for a human to ever gain standing within a Federation government run entirely by superhumans. Clevon, I've built my career on impossibilities. This won't be the one to stop me.”
Where did her drive come from?
“It doesn't have to be all or nothing,” I said. “Why not take a safer path? Getting the votes won't end in disaster. We can keep trying even if we fail, but not if we fail doing it your way.”
“I won't fail.” She didn't flinch or hesitate. There was no room for another interpretation.
I rubbed my neck and ex
haled. She hadn't failed yet. How could I even argue? Endellion had made it clear—not even God Himself would stop her plans.
“This will be the last time,” she said.
“You said that about Emissary Barten.”
“This is different. It will be the last time.”
“All right,” I said. “We'll do it your way. But this has to be the last time.”
“Good. Now leave me.”
I glanced around the room. “You're going to stay here? Alone?”
“I need to focus.” Endellion turned around and faced the mirror. “And I'd rather there were no distractions.”
“When will we head out for Capital Station?”
“Two days from now. Inform the others.”
* * *
I watched the defects mill about in line, but my mind couldn't have been farther away.
With each breath, I felt my insides tightening. I never wanted to return to Capital Station. I couldn't believe I would play a part in its owner's death. A year ago, I never would've imagined such a fate.
While I walked around the med-fac building, my gaze honed in on Mara and Noah. They stood together near a long line, both watching over the crowds. I sauntered over, pleased to see Mara had recovered enough to work.
“What're you two doing?” I asked over the personal comms.
Noah turned his attention to me. “Demarco. How're you?”
“Good.”
Mara glanced between me and Noah, but didn't say anything. I couldn't see her face—not with the helmet up—and I wondered about her emotional state. Was it rude to ask? Probably. But who gave a fuck, really?
“You feeling better, Mara?” I asked. “I didn't know you were back on the job.”
“Noah said taking my mind off things would help,” she said. What an odd tone she had with limited medication. Calm. Even. I did miss her ability to make me smile with just a single statement. But it was what she had chosen. I wouldn't have forced her to be something she didn't want to be.
Noah pointed with his rifle, motioning to the far end of the line. “This line doesn't let up. I thought about going inside myself to see if there were any low-risk options, but everyone says those are taken first.”
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