Heritage Lost

by S M Wright

  "Plasovern," Akakios pressed.

  "Out here, it's a high probability, Captain."

  Little conversation followed as they arrived at the prison block; there, a guard escorted them to a small room. Akakios signaled, with a short hand gesture, for Pelagius to remain outside while he and the rest entered a dingy room. Once the door shut behind them, Akakios removed his sunglasses and slid them into one of his outer pockets. He stepped closer to a metal table and the man behind it. The doctor, quite pale, did not so much as flinch when Akakios stood over him.

  "Didn't get far, did you, Doctor?" Akakios rested his hand on the man's shoulder. "Not very smart to run. It suggests you know something or you have illegal connections who tipped you off. If you'd carried on about your business, our visit might've been a mere blip in your life. We only knew our targets came here on a medical emergency. It could've been that you didn't know who came in your door searching for help. Being the good doctor that you presumably are, you helped them out." Akakios cleared his throat; the action carried in the tight metal room.

  "But no, you tried to run after destroying your patients' data, which damns you even more. Because that one action all but says you knew who you were treating; it also suggests you've been treating other individuals you shouldn't have been for quite—"

  Jia spat at the table. "Or maybe I was concerned for my patients' rights to privacy."

  "I doubt you had the same reasoning as most doctors." Akakios tightened his grip on the man's shoulder. "No, you had to protect your patients because of their 'special' activities."

  Charis stepped forward with a projector in her hand, which she activated. The hologram that had launched their mission sprang into the air before being replaced by the week-old photos of the woman and the teenager. Charis circled between the three images while keeping the device level with the doctor's face, its light illuminating the creases forming in his skin.

  "Pay close attention," Akakios said into the doctor's ear. "These people came to you. It might have been this woman, the girl, the boy, or a man—or any given number of combinations. I want know which ones and why they came to you."

  "We all want things," Jia retorted, his voice low. "I would like to be off this station without Oneiroi breathing down my neck, but that isn't going to happen. No, I'm going to be—"

  Ambrosios surged forward, hoisting the doctor from his seat by his collar and slamming him into the room's metal wall. Two solid thuds followed—one, the chair colliding with the floor, and the second, the doctor's head bouncing off the wall. The man's legs twitched as gurgling emitted from his mouth. Akakios squeezed his second lieutenant's shoulder, and he ceased the use of his abilities, though he kept the doctor pressed into the wall.

  "You don't want him to do that too many times," Akakios said to Jia. "While our abilities are nothing to others of our kind, to most other species, the effects are quite adverse."

  "Optic nerves . . ." The doctor coughed. "Thicker than most, tied to the brain, larger than most, with an unnamed part that is undoubtedly unique to the species. The wiring is fascinating."

  Akakios gripped the man by the throat. "What did you do to him?"

  "Stemmed bleeding in the cerebral cortex. Reduced swelling. Applied IV fluids. Addressed additional internal bleeding." The corner of the doctor's mouth twitched. "Scanned him for further damage and to see what makes him and his kind so interesting."

  "Tell me more. Tell me everything."

  Jia chuckled. "A mother and her 'son,' only they couldn't have been that, but I'd already known. She was worried, even though he'd dragged her under . . . needed fixed up; she didn't approve of my interest in his anatomy."

  "How did the injury occur?" Akakios applied pressure to Jia's throat.

  "A fall . . . a throw," Jia choked out as air became scarcer for him. "A comrade . . . got overzealous . . . breaking the kid's spell. Jealous type from the force."

  Akakios released his grip, and Jia collapsed to the ground. Both Akakios and Ambrosios towered over him. Steadying his breathing, Akakios strode to the door. His jaw ached, and a strong urge to punch something—that man—was overwhelming. Charis touched his arm, bringing him to reality.

  Charis's presence echoed through his mind.

  Ambrosios came to stand by them, his hands folded behind his back.

  From the floor, Jia interrupted their conversation. "I'm nothing but an open book, Magistrate dogs."

  Akakios took a step toward the man but stopped when Jia spoke again.

  "Muscle mass is deteriorating. Try as she might, she can't combat the disorder like the mother."

  The blood drained from Akakios's face while a tremor traveled up his back. "How do you know that?" He kicked Jia over so the doctor's face was in plain sight. "How do you know about Kallistrate? Answer me!"

  Jia smiled at Akakios—no, at the ceiling. "Kalli-strate. I know nothing of her, or not by that name. But I do know the people who came to me weren't Plasovern, just hapless suckers who got in way over their heads. But don't worry, help is coming to them." He chuckled, almost delirious in nature. "A storm of change."

  "Storm?" Akakios blinked, his mind scrambling through known criminal codes. Then he hissed. "Strom." He yanked Jia up so their faces were inches away. "Where are they?"

  "That, I don't even know. I'm a mere doctor. I patch people up. I don't keep track of them afterward. Nor am I asked to." Jia cleared his throat. "Captain Sarris, you aren't going to beat the storm: It's well on its way."

  Akakios's jaw tightened, some bit of it popping. The dam broke. Jia uttered a muted wail when Akakios dug into his mind, ransacking it for additional information, past care for an insect that'd sought to dissect his nephew like some science project. The doctor launched into a shrieking fit, his mind recoiling from the assault as if it were being bludgeoned, though Akakios supposed the effect of his abilities resembled such an action to the humanoid. Despite it, information refused to come easy, instead taking the form of brief blips and flashes.

 

  Akakios broke the contact with Jia at Ambrosios's prompting—his hand on Akakios's shoulder almost a shock in its odd role reversal. Breathing heavy, he dropped the doctor to the floor, straightening and distancing himself, a feeble attempt to hide his lapse.

 

  Akakios dusted off the front of his suit before yanking out his sunglasses and placing them firmly onto his face, anything to avoid looking at either of his officers.

  Composed, he said to Charis and Ambrosios, "We need to be on our way." Across the connections that bound them, he added,

  Behind them, Jia laid on his back, eyes open but unfocused. He would come around, probably finding himself on a Magistrate vessel, and from there, he’d be swept under the rug. Straightening his collar, Akakios exited the room and came face-to-face with the security officer from before. The man flinched and gave the Oneiroi wide berth.

  "I was coming to see if you need any help, Captain."

  "We're satisfied." Akakios waved two fingers for Pelagius to follow them as they walked back to the Boreas. Over his shoulder, he added, "I apologize for the shape of your prisoner. But he should be fine for trial . . . given time."

  The security officer trailed after them, stating that he should escort them back to their ship. He didn't say anything during the trip through the narrow station corridors, and neither did they. The officer was watching them. Why? Station security—given the opportunity—made it a point to distance themselves from Elite business. Yet here, this one inserted himself when unnecessary. Fear radiated off him, too, visible in his stiff posture and the slight tremor he tried to conceal in his right hand. So, he had been forced into a job he disliked: to watch them. Akakios toyed with the idea of flaunting his rank and dismissing the man, if only to see what he would do, capitulate or resist.

  Ahead of them, the empty corridor grew narrower, much like their search. T
hey weren't Plasovern agents. That information was . . . disquieting, but not unexpected. Their actions were anything but Plasovern in nature. However, it brought forth unpleasant possibilities. What if The Maelstrom had remained a Magistrate vessel? If that was the case, why would the Magistrate effectively burn its crew? Or had it? After all, the crew members' identities had been concealed. A knot tightened in his throat.

  They arrived at the docking section. But their guide did not depart until they prepared to enter the decontamination chamber. Charis activated the door for them; however, Akakios hung back.

  He saluted the security officer. "Thank you for your escort."

  "No problem, Captain. Safe journeys on your journey to . . ."

  "Sergrey," Akakios said. "Unfortunately, the good doctor didn't have any suggestions for a possible destination. We'll regroup and try again."

  "That's unfortunate."

  They saluted once more before Akakios followed his team to the chamber and then onto the Boreas. Once on the bridge, Akakios had Ambrosios initiate the undocking procedures.

  "Ambrosios," Akakios said from his seat. "Submit a route to Sergrey." Then privately he added,

  Ambrosios did as told, and Akakios addressed Charis. "I want to know where Hedda Strom's been seen recently. That'll give us an area to concentrate on, rather than jumping around hoping to get lucky." He leaned toward her.

  "Strom?" Kyrillos perked at his station, eyes widening at the name.

  "The very same." Akakios activated his slate. "Let me know what pertinent information you find." He messed with its security settings. "We can't let her intercept Sotiris."

  "Would they really send Strom into Magistrate space?" Charis's hands hovered over her console's screen.

  "To get a hold of the defect, I wouldn't doubt it," he replied. "If Jia wasn't lying about these people, they've been backed into a corner and Plasovern's overtures are going to start looking better than their current predicament. If approached, I don't see them rejecting anything. Strom's persuasive . . . she's swayed plenty to her cause.

  "And she's known for passing through Magistrate space and has a reputation of being a chameleon of sorts." Akakios thumbed through his slate's menus. "Intel has suggested she's dabbled in repeated cosmetic surgery. Then again, other sources say Hedda Strom is actually a collection of agents who have taken up her mantel; that theory, of course, hinges on her having been killed during the uprising on Skogarld."

  "The first way," Ambrosios commented, "we'll be able to get a pinpoint; however, if there are multiple Stroms, we're still without a direction to follow."

  "Charis."

  "I'm on it, Captain." Her shoulders tightened as she launched into action, her hands skidding along the flat console. "It'll take a while."

  "Understood."

  All his officers fulfilled their roles, the quiet hums of the machines filling the void. Akakios opened a file on his slate, a photo of Amyntas and Kallistrate. They stood side by side, his brother a few inches taller than his wife, both garbed in the fur garments traditionally worn by their people. It'd been taken some time after the fulfillment of the pair's contract. They both looked so young. Akakios ran his finger across their faces. His mouth contorted, and he closed the photo. In its place, he reopened the files that pertained to the destruction of the Aletheia, this time with new eyes and a creeping sensation tinged with dread. He wanted to crush the feeling and bury it where it'd never be found; though, it'd likely reemerge. His gut clenched.

  The report read clinically, containing location and assumptions of the role played by The Maelstrom and an unknown, assumed-Plasovern, vessel. His chest tightened at the photos of debris, which consisted of torn metal plates. A few blackened, battered metal plates were all that remained of it, a huge A-Class warship. Plasovern lacked the capability. If they had the fire power, the whole galaxy would combust as they went about liberating planets. That left only the Magistrate and Medzeci—no independent system or planet would dare such a move. The reported location put the destruction well within Magistrate space, but still slightly off course from the Aletheia's intended destination to deliver Sotiris.

  A thought, insidious as it was, stirred and rooted itself further in the forefront of his mind. Could they have been farther off course? Had that part of the report been changed? He closed the documents and went back to the photo of Kallistrate and Amyntas. As if examining their captured faces would impart some answer, tell their secrets. Would they have . . .

  "Sir," Charis said. "I've been looking at various streams, and I think I might have an area for us to target."

  "Relay the coordinates to Ambrosios. Do not report our redirection or our hypothesis on Strom." His officers stiffened and shifted toward him for answers. "I want to apprehend them before any other Magistrate officials do. It's the only way I'll ever get the truth of what happened."

  "You're not suggesting—" Kyrillos said before Akakios cut him off.

  "You're right: I'm not suggesting anything at this point." Akakios approached his communications officer. "However, what I do know is that our mission's been purposely complicated from the beginning. Why is the Brass withholding information from us?" He rested his hand on Kyrillos's shoulder. "For now, I want to interrogate these people." Before they disappeared under Magistrate red tape.

  Ambrosios scratched his chin. "But you're starting to suspect something."

  It—that unspoken question, more an answer now—clawed at him: They were traitors. Unwanted, painful but defiant, it refused to be inhumed any longer.

  "Nothing for sure." He slipped back into his seat. "Increase our speed." He picked up his slate, which now displayed the information Charis had sent to it, all about their destination. "Get us underway."

  Katya bounced Sotiris on her knee in the galley as he did something he hadn't done before: a full-out wail. No matter how she held him, he repudiated any attempt at being placated. And between his fits and tending to their ailing ship and her own wound, she threatened to buckle. Mina winced upon walking in on them, forgetting her own search for food. The girl had spent hours in the cockpit, monitoring the situation there; of course she would be hungry now. And if she were honest about it, Katya would have to admit she was hungry too.

  "What's wrong with him?" Mina asked before shoving a ration bar into her mouth.

  "I don't know. He's been fussing since he woke up." She pointed to the pan of food she'd been warming for the boy. "Can you check and see if that's done?" Overhead, the lights flickered and the burner under the pot ceased before resuming. "Damn it." Standing, she handed Sotiris to Mina, who still had the ration bar in her mouth.

  "Hey!" she mumbled around it.

  "I can't stay with him right now. That"—she pointed to the lights above them—"is a sign I've been out of the engine room for too long. Rein needs help. It isn't a one-person job to keep this ship in one piece."

  Mina swallowed. "Are you sure he's all right?" She poked Sotiris's cheek.

  "Physically, yes. His crib kept him safe during the jump." Katya opened the galley door to exit. "And the gravitational dampeners kept us all from having our insides turned to mush and our bones crushed. Get him to eat. Tell him a story or something . . . I've been telling him a story about a princess and a horse-dog."

  Mina quirked an eyebrow. "Horse-dog?"

  "A horse that acts like a dog," she supplied. "Once you finish up, get back to the cockpit. Someone needs to stay there."

  With the girl's affirmative grunt, Katya trekked down the dimmed corridors to the engine room. The lights blinked on and off, a sign that another system was buckling. She kicked the corridor wall beside her and screamed. Frustration poured out even as pain traveled up her leg. Everything was falling apart and they were out of options, limping through space completely reliant on momentum resultant of the jump. Just waiting for systems to fail.

  Rein had been right.

  She sank t
o the floor, pressing her back against the wall. As her face contorted, she buried it in her knees. Sotiris's original death had returned, and this time they'd share it with him. All their efforts . . . moot, wasted. Really, they'd been no better than mice caught in a cage trap, foolish enough to not see it for what it was. The cards had been fully stacked against them. She sobbed, the sound coming out pinched. Tremors followed despite her best efforts to stifle them. The invisible noose tightened. Rubbing her eyes, she fought to calm herself, but her mind plunged her down all manner of bleak, unyielding routes.

  Papa, I'm so sorry.

  Muted sobs wracked her frame, and tears flowed more readily. In front of her through her obscured vision, the railing to the overlook morphed into bars. There was no way around. And she morbidly couldn't decide which was better: the firing squad or the bars. Her jaw and fists tightened as the lights vanished. "Is this how I raised you?" she could practically hear her father say in that tone he'd used when school assignments had been haphazardly thrown together and received unacceptable marks; it hadn't been often, but those few times lingered. She'd hated the disappointment that resonated from every inch of him.

  Katya pushed herself to her feet. She would burn this deck of cards. Her legs carried her to the ladder as she used her hand on the railing to guide her in the darkness. Valens's gaunt face—hollowed by illness, which also marred his color—joined her father's look of disappointment and crossed arms. She couldn't bear them following her. If she stopped, gave up—Valens had fought his damnedest until a good death had been his only option . . . She'd made a promise not just to her father but to Mina and Sotiris the moment she'd brought them under her wings. Feeling with her feet, she cleared each rung of the ladder before proceeding, hands outstretched, to the engine room.

  She wasn't going to die here. None of them were.

  Tracing her way using her hands and memory, she reached the engine room. There, she found Rein cussing up a storm while he tried to keep them afloat among the growing list of repairs. The room itself was black as tar, excluding the light fastened to Rein's head.