by M. G. Herron
The hairs on the back of Kira’s neck and arms stood on end at the same time as the chip in her neck heated up. She noticed Harmony’s lights materialize in the hallway as the AI asked, “Are you certain?”
Nevers blinked at the AI. “I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but yes, I’d bet on it. Whatever’s happened has changed him, but… I know that face. It’s Captain Ruidiaz. He’s not dead after all.”
The hallway suddenly tilted and Kira found herself on the floor, the geode rolling between her knees. She brushed a hand across her smooth crop of white hair. Her palm came away slicked with a cold sheen of sweat. Security guards rushed in.
“Sir!”
“Admiral! Are you okay?”
“Stop crowding her!” Captain Osprey barked. “Give her some space to breathe.”
Kira swatted away the hands that didn’t immediately jerk back. Her anger gave her strength. After a moment, she rose to her feet. Captain Osprey, Captain Nevers and the guards were all watching her with concern wrinkling their brows… She hated that look, hated seeing the pity in their eyes. It made her feel weak and small. It made her feel like she did when she’d lost him. Since his death, her every waking moment had been dedicated to doing everything in her power to never feel like this again.
Kira squared her shoulders. “I was there when Captain Ruidiaz sacrificed himself to save us all. I attended his funeral. I grieved him—for years. I’ve visited his grave, for Earth’s sake. Whoever Subject Zero is, it’s not Omar Ruidiaz.” Her voice cracked when she spoke his full name. She took several deep breaths, waiting for someone to challenge her. No one did. “Omar is dead.”
Kira turned sharply on her heel and marched away. She didn’t want her officers to see her tears.
Twenty-Nine
While he was shaken by Admiral Miyaru’s reaction to the mere mention of Omar Ruidiaz, Elya gave the geode over to the security guards willingly enough. They let him tag along as they brought the artifact not back to the bridge, but to a secure vault located behind the bridge, itself situated within a detachable lifeboat known as the Ripcord.
The Ripcord had the ability to separate from the Paladin and transform into an autonomous stealth spacecraft, should the need arise. No captain worth her salt would abandon her ship, which was why this detachable unit was not part and parcel of the ship’s bridge. The units had only needed to be used a handful of times in the Fleet’s history. Each story of precious lives saved, of cargo delivered, was attached to a medal of valor or aluminite-plated memorial on Ariadne.
Once the relic was safely stowed and the door sealed, Elya realized he’d come to a decision. He had no interest in making history. He didn’t want a plaque engraved with his name. The events of the past two days had helped him realize just how much he wanted to keep on living. It felt good to frag some Kryl drones along the way—any of his squadmates would heartily agree—but he wanted to live long enough to see the difference his efforts made in the galaxy. Not be turned into some mad science experiment for the Kryl and their insatiable hunger. He shuddered to imagine what would have happened to him had Osprey not found him. Or what might have happened to Hedrick, had Subject Zero been able to finish the transformation.
Or what was going to happen to those who had been left behind.
As for Father Pohl, somehow the priest had survived getting tackled by a sentinel. Elya had seen the priest stagger away from the violence clutching his gory eye socket. Charlie and his buddies had shot their way out over the bodies of dozens of dead groundlings. He hoped they’d brought enough ammo and power cores to last them a while. Without the artifact, they were screwed.
With these heavy thoughts for company, Elya paced through the halls of the Paladin, Hedgebot tailing him quietly. He was exhausted and, at the same time, still too wired up to sleep. The gunmetal gray corridors, curved slightly inward, seemed not to choke him, like they had before, but to unfurl before him, an endless path. He meandered aimlessly for a while, criss-crossing the ship as he took in the familiar sights and noises. He bobbed to music that drifted out of berths, inhaled the faint smell of soy and grease in the mess hall.
Until finally, he paused, looked up, and felt a huge grin spread across his face.
Elya rapped on the metal with his knuckles. The noise echoed in the corridor, then the round door split into petals and slid into the wall, revealing the inside of the berth. A private room in the otherwise empty guest quarters.
“You’re back.” Heidi stood there with a quizzical half smile on her face.
“I come bearing gifts.”
The boy gasped and practically rocketed out of the bunk he’d been relaxing in.
“What’s this for?” Heidi asked.
Elya stepped over the threshold and threw his hand into the air, releasing a small object that glinted metallically. It buzzed with a faint whirrrr and hovered in place.
Hedrick, whose brown hair was mussed from sleeping, stared wide-eyed at the bot’s engines—miniaturized but functional.
“It looks just like your starfighter!” he shouted, hopping and pointing.
“That’s because it is just like my starfighter. It’s a scale model of the Sabre. And you control it with this.” Elya handed a tablet over to the boy. Its corners were sharp, the quartz surface polished and shining. Hedrick accepted the device like it was an ancient treasure—cautiously, with a wide, awe-filled smile. “It’s yours.”
“Don’t you need it?” Heidi asked.
“Nah, don’t worry, I’ve got a backup.”
This was his backup, but he could buy a new one when they got back to base at Ariadne. It would mean he’d send a bit less money home next month, but that was okay. It was for a good cause, one his mom would be proud to support. Yeah, he thought, that feels right.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Heidi whispered. He could tell she was barely holding back the tears.
“I wanted to.”
“Thank you.”
Elya met Hedrick’s eyes, which took a moment as the boy was now circling beneath the miniature starfighter and staring up at it with his mouth hanging open. Elya thumbed over his shoulder toward Hedgebot, who hung upside down from one of the load-bearing struts in the hall behind him. “One more thing. I loaded some tutorials and games on there for you. If you want to learn how to build a bot like Hedgebot, or fly a skimmer, or anything else. There’s thousands of holovids, hundreds of thousands of books. I copied over most of my library. Well. All the stuff you have clearance for.”
The boy’s eyes glistened, and he threw his arms around Elya’s waist, gripping the back of his uniform tightly with his free hand while the other held the tab.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Hedrick whispered.
Elya knelt down to return the hug. He’d been just as grateful as Hedrick, once, to someone who had shown him a similar kindness. And now he knew that the ultimate reward was truly to be found in the giving.
Thirty
Captain Casey Osprey walked into the rec and was greeted by salutes and rough claps on the back. Word had gotten around about how she’d found Nevers on Robichar, and also that she’d been working directly with Admiral Miyaru on some kind of security breach. Though many asked her for details, she declined to comment, following the wishes of her commander that such information be kept private.
At least for now.
She basked in the admiration of her colleagues and made small talk with several of them, exchanging stories of the fight, reliving the thrill of it as she recounted her experiences. Casey felt the joy as a low fire in her chest, warm and welcoming. And, for a change, that was more than enough.
After mingling, she searched again for the rest of her squad. They had promised to meet her here, but she didn’t see them yet. She found an empty table with four chairs. Casey loved being in the rec, surrounded by the noises of revelry and celebration on the heels of a successful (if strange) mission. She decided there was nowhere she’d rather be. She watched the crowd, le
tting her mind drift peacefully.
Suddenly, the whole rec rose to their feet as a unit and began to clap.
Casey stood on her chair to see over the crowd and felt gooseflesh prickle her arms as a smile spread on her face. She whistled loudly and joined the applause as the rest of her squadmates stepped through the doorway.
Ever the showboat, Park raised a bandaged hand and then took an exaggerated bow. Naab had another bandage wrapped around his neck under his flight suit, and there were dark circles under his eyes, making them look bigger, and his face gaunter, than usual. Otherwise, he looked pretty good. Healthy. Alive. With a flourish, he reached into a jacket pocket and took out a hand-rolled spliff. Someone stepped out of the crowd of applauding pilots and sparked a lighter. He inhaled deeply and blew out a cloud of smoke. “I’m back. Now let’s get this party started!”
Nevers and Yorra, flanking Park, made their way into the crowd behind him.
Yorra got plenty of congratulations, both for helping save Park’s life (despite the commander’s request they not talk about the parasite, it was impossible to keep stories of Naab’s hospitalization from spreading), and for playing a key role in Nevers’ rescue.
Captain Nevers, however, didn’t make it two steps into the rec before he was thronged by curious pilots. He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair as he answered their questions and blushed. He patted the Hedgebot’s metal head, who perched on his customary place on Nevers’ shoulder and emitted a pulsing blue nimbus.
It was twenty minutes before Nevers finally peeled away from the questioners and came to join them at the table. He sighed as he sat down.
“You’re a celebrity now, Fancypants!” Park said. He held an empty fist out, as if pointing a microphone at Nevers. “How’s it feel?”
“Weird. Getting shot down is a dumb thing to be known for.”
“They’re not proud of you for getting shot down,” Yorra said, “They’re proud of you for surviving.”
“I have you two to thank for that. I almost didn’t get rescued, if you’ll recall.”
Nice to hear him acknowledge he didn’t do it alone, Casey thought.
But Nevers’ face was flushed and Casey could tell that while he was uncomfortable with all the attention, something about the experience had given him a renewed sense of confidence. He slouched in his chair and set Hedgebot carefully on the floor. The bot circled up next to his chair and laid his little head on Nevers’ boot to rest. Casey noticed that he’d found a moment to replace the bot’s missing leg with one that matched. His robot companion was whole again.
“Maybe we should change your call sign to Crash,” Park joked. “Oh, wait! I’ve got a better one: Skid—for how you put that Sabre down belly first, skidding across the ground, and because you probably crapped your pants when you did it.”
“I did not!”
“Easy for you to say. There weren’t any witnesses.”
“SKID,” Gears mused, ticking off each word on a different finger. “Survived Kryl In Denial… of pooping his pants.”
The three of them threw their heads back and laughed until tears streaked down their faces. Nevers rolled his eyes and smiled, but didn’t object to being the source of their amusement. He waited for them to catch their breath.
“If it’s all right with you guys, I think I’ll stick with Fancypants.”
“Yeah?”
“What can I say? It’s grown on me.”
“You know, those two refugees must be super thankful,” Yorra said, wiping her eyes, “If it weren’t for you, they’d be goners now. That’s worth something, Fancy.”
“Tell that to the rest of the people who got left behind on Robichar.” Nevers’ eyes focused on a middle distance.
“That’s not your fault,” Osprey insisted. “The priest’s followers had the opportunity to evacuate with the rest of the population. They chose not to.”
Nevers shook his head. “They still think Animus is going to protect them.”
“Maybe. But you can’t worry about that. That’s not on you. If they hadn’t double crossed you and left you for dead, you would have tried to rescue them, too.”
Nevers bobbed his head back and forth. “Yeah, I would have. I wanted to.” He nodded once, firmly. “You’re right. I did everything I could, and a boy and his mother are alive because of us. That counts for something.”
Naab produced four shot glasses from a hidden pocket in his flight suit. He set them down on the table. Gears pulled out a flask and filled each glass up with a rich amber liquid.
“To Fancy,” Park said, raising his glass, “for living to fight another day.”
“To the squad,” Nevers added, “for refusing to give up on me.”
“To Lieutenant Colonel Walcott,” Yorra said, “who gave his life to protect us.”
“To the Fleet,” Casey said, “who keep Solarans everywhere safe from the xeno scourge.”
They tossed back their shots and slammed the glasses, face down, on the table.
Nevers got up and grabbed a cup from the shelves that held all the games. “So,” he said, rattling the dice in the cup, “Who’s up for a game of aleacc?”
Thirty-One
The stone door dissolved into its constituent particles, revealing a golden chamber beyond.
Omar Ruidiaz clicked his mandibles, the Kryl equivalent of rubbing your hands together with excitement. The habit had disgusted him when he’d first realized he was doing it, but by now he had grown used to some of the tics and habits imparted by the Kryl half of his altered genes. It still gave him the shivers when his extra legs extended from his back, and even thinking about it now made them twitch where they were folded, hidden, beneath a layer of armored carapace. Fortunately, they only insisted on coming out when he was truly angry or frightened, and that was not the emotion driving him forward now.
Omar shoved the priest into the chamber ahead and looked around for traps. The frail man stumbled forward, favoring his bad leg as he staggered to the angled side-wall, as far away from Omar as the narrowing room would allow. “Here it is. This is what you wanted, right?”
No lasers or spikes sprang from the walls. The room remained quiet.
Omar smiled, which made the priest grimace, so Omar smiled even wider. He enjoyed watching people squirm. He didn’t spend a lot of time among full bred humans these days, and it was one of the things he most enjoyed when he did get the opportunity. He used to do the same when he was hazing rookie pilots in the Fleet. Not all his memories from his life before had stuck with him through his long and painful transformation. The memories that did stick tended to be of people at their most vulnerable—wounded, hurt, or at least deeply uncomfortable.
Father Pohl glared at him. His gaping eye socket had been covered over with a bandage. “I gave you what you asked for, now let my people go.”
Omar shoved down a strong instinct to rip off the gauze and explore the inside of the man’s skull with his tongue. Patience. “I need to confirm the artifact is what you say it is, first.”
The priest scowled, then turned and limped to the dais at the far end of the room.
Omar observed the glyphs carved into the walls, the golden sheen over the stones, the way everything in here seemed to glow, as if the very rock itself gave off light—as if it was made not of sand and stone, but of stardust. He set each foot carefully down in front of the other, tense, expecting a trap. The ancient race of beings known as the Telos had a reputation for being very clever. The other chambers Overmind X had shown him, memories glimpsed through their shared consciousness, had been rigged with explosives, or designed to self-destruct at the first hint of Kryl. Although the Telos vanished from the universe over ten thousand years ago, the booby traps they left behind were as destructive as the day they were planted.
That was, after all, why she had expended so much time and energy on his transformation. Omar’s genetic sequence, Solaran mixed with Kryl, confused the Telos technology enough to let him simply step thro
ugh most of their defenses.
It seemed to be having the intended effect here. Of course, it probably helped that the defensive artifact which used to be kept here had been taken by the Solarans to their ships. Overmind X had been furious that such a valuable piece of Telos technology had fallen into Solaran hands. They could use it to cause real damage, if they woke up to the reality of its true potential. The upside, however, was that the relic’s removal seemed to have left this chamber unprotected.
Omar had the idea that his fate would have been different, had he possessed such a powerful relic. He didn’t know exactly why, or how, he would have used such a weapon to change things, but the thought tugged at the back of his mind, on the tattered fringe of a distant memory…
His thoughts scurried back into the dark hole they emerged from when the priest plucked a stone orb from the carving of a giant pair of hands with too many knuckles, and shoved it at him.
“See for yourself,” he snarled.
Omar was careful to grab the smooth stone with his human—as opposed to his Kryl—hand. He felt it reach its tendrils into his flesh, probing, seeking, verifying…
The orb shuddered. Come on! he thought furiously, trying to get the thing under control. Overmind X would be extremely displeased if this didn’t work. It would have been so much easier if he’d managed to convert the human child. Such a child wouldn’t be encumbered by the Kryl parts Overmind X had been forced to include in Omar’s haphazard transformation. The evolved parasite she’d created afterward was designed to work on children who were still early enough in their development that the parasite could take root and work itself into the genome over time without causing them lasting physical harm.
Just when he was wondering if any of the priest’s other surviving followers were young enough to produce such a child, and how Overmind X might help accelerate the process, the ancient relic in his hand quit trembling and opened for him, its petals unfurling like a flower.
