by Carysa Locke
The clink of something hitting the table had her opening her eyes. Cannon slid a coffee cup across to her. He sat down, holding his own cup.
“Thanks,” she said. She eyed him critically. He looked terrible. The usual scruff he sported was darker and fuller than usual, and his green eyes were dull and tired, dark circles around them. “Are you sure coffee’s what you need right now?”
“It’s exactly what I need.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Trust me when I say, I won’t be sleeping anytime soon with the emotional turmoil on this ship.”
She winced. She’d forgotten the drawbacks to his Talent and how much more difficult this must be for him. “It must really suck feeling what everyone else feels all of the time. Can’t you—you know.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Can’t I what? Ease everyone’s concern? Take the edge off?”
“Yeah.” She took a sip of coffee, finding her favorite beverage did little to soothe her. It was, however, warm and familiar, the flavor excellent. She relaxed a little.
“I could, but it’s not a long term solution. When people experience a transitory emotion, something that flares and then fades when reason and logic reassert themselves, it’s easier. Anger, fear. Those are not emotional states that tend to linger for long.” He stared into his cup, making no move to drink it. “Uncertainty and grief, at least in this situation, are not transitory. They are unlikely to change until we recover Sebastian or—”
He broke off, but Mercy knew what he’d been going to say.
“Or until we know he’s dead.”
Cannon nodded. “Until this is resolved one way or the other, people are going to have an emotional response to it. Worry, fear, even guilt.”
Mercy didn’t say anything. Cannon watched her, seeing more than she wanted him to.
“It’s not your fault,” he said softly.
She toyed with the edge of her cup.
“Mercy.”
“Some of the blame lies with me. If I’d only paid better attention, Octavia might not even be with the Alpha Queen’s people. Maybe if I’d spent more time with her, she would have taken me instead of Sebastian.”
“And that would be better, how?” Cannon laughed at her glare. “Besides, with Reaper in your bed? It would never happen. That girl is frightened of her own shadow. Reaper terrifies her.”
“Then maybe if I hadn’t been so busy holding Sebastian at arm’s length—” She stopped, frustrated.
“You mean, if he was your second consort, he might have been the one in your bed? So, she may have taken someone else. Would that really make you feel better? No matter how you spin this, someone would be missing.” Cannon shook his head. “Wolfgang was right. You do take guilt to a whole new level.”
She went stiff. “Excuse me?” Had Wolfgang been talking to Cannon about her?
“Relax. Remember, there are no secrets on a ship full of telepaths.” He tilted his head. “Well, there are. But they tend to be very few, and very dangerous.” He pointed at her. “It’s no secret that you have a guilt complex. It isn’t your fault Sebastian was taken. Whatever happens to him as a result is also not your fault. Just as whatever Octavia is going through is not on your shoulders.”
She looked away just as Reaper entered the room. He stopped, looking back and forth between them.
Everything all right? he asked her.
“Fine,” she lied.
Cannon stood, taking his coffee with him. “Take a lesson from your consort,” he told Mercy. “He doesn’t waste time wondering what might be different. If you want to feel guilty about something, focus on the only thing you can control: your own actions. You can’t control what anyone else does. Not Octavia. Not Sebastian. We all make decisions and choices. Sometimes, those put us at risk without us even realizing it. You aren’t responsible for that.”
He nodded to Reaper on his way out the door.
“What was that about?” Her consort asked when they were alone.
“Cannon’s tired of feeling me beat myself up over Sebastian,” she said.
Reaper crossed to the counter and began pulling food out of storage. It looked like he was preparing two plates.
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
He continued what he was doing, not turning around. “You were earlier. Now you’re just letting your emotions rule your physical self. It’s not healthy.”
She scowled when he set a sandwich in front of her. “I don’t need you to take care of me.” She knew she sounded petulant. She couldn’t bring herself to care.
Reaper leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
It startled her so much, it short circuited the sulk she’d been about to wallow in. Reaper had kissed her many times. He’d even done it in a rare show of public affection before. But he’d never kissed her like that, the kind that said you’re being unreasonable, but I love you anyway.
She stared as he sat across from her, taking the seat Cannon had so recently vacated.
“What?” he asked, noticing her expression.
“Nothing.” She looked at the sandwich, and felt churlish for having been irritated. He was taking care of her. It was one of the little things people did for those they loved, and coming from Reaper it was extra special.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now eat.”
Smiling, she picked it up and took a bite. It was good, the bread fresh and soft. A comfortable silence settled between them while she thought about what Cannon had said. And what he hadn’t.
“What?” Reaper asked when he realized she was watching him.
“You guys planned that.”
He raised an eyebrow, saying nothing.
“Don’t give me that. You and Cannon.” She gestured between Reaper and the empty doorway with half of her sandwich. “Feeding people is what Cannon does when people are distressed. He can’t help himself. And yet the only thing he offered me was coffee. Because he knew you were coming in right behind him.” Her eyes narrowed.
How long had Cannon been in here before she’d noticed him? Long enough to pour coffee, and what else? Prep some sandwich stuff, maybe?
Reaper gave her a half smile. “Just finish the sandwich, Mercy,” he said. “It will make Cannon feel better if you, at least, eat.”
There was a flash of something in Reaper’s eyes, so quick she almost missed it.
“You’re worried about him.”
“He and Sebastian are very close. Some might say as close as brothers.” Reaper shrugged. “You once asked me who makes sure Cannon eats.”
“And you said he was an adult and could take care of himself.”
Reaper didn’t respond, choosing to focus on his sandwich. Mercy wasn’t sure if that meant he was done talking about it, or not. Worrying about other people wasn’t something she’d heard Reaper express, ever.
When there was nothing but crumbs left, he pushed his plate aside. “Over the last year, it has occurred to me,” he said slowly, “that it can be a strength, having someone you know will be there for you.”
A warm feeling spread through Mercy’s chest as he held her gaze with his own.
“It’s a feeling I’d forgotten about. Something I thought I discarded with childhood. But…” He hesitated. “…it’s good. Being there for you, and making sure you eat a sandwich when you need to. And having you there.”
She reached across the table and took his hand in hers, saying nothing. He gave her hand a squeeze and let it go.
“You should rest,” he said. “While you have the opportunity.”
He meant while it was quiet. None of them knew what waited for them.
“I’ll try,” she said, still feeling warm and happy. “If you will.”
And then, with Reaper’s worry fresh in her mind she sent Cannon a message.
I know it’s hard, but you need to get some sleep. Have Reaper knock your ass out if you have to.
A thread of amusement answered her. I don’t need Reaper to knock me out.
Does that mean you’ll rest?
If it keeps you from foisting your consort on me, yes.
Good enough.
Mercy slept through the next jump. But the one after that had them all tense and back on the command deck. It was near the Naval base. No one spoke, the tension in the room thick. Mercy glanced at Cannon, but his brow was furrowed and his focus, as with everyone else, was on the holomap. She couldn’t tell if he’d gotten any sleep.
Mercy held her breath as her stomach dropped. Space seemed to compress, and then the feeling faded. A tremor hit the ship, vibrating the deck beneath their feet. Mercy had been through more than one earthquake on land. She’d never experienced one in the middle of space before. It felt similar to a plasma hit to the hull. Someone’s forgotten coffee cup hit the deck with a metallic clink, fortunately empty.
The proximity alarm began sounding through the room. The holomap flickered and pixelated, becoming blurry and unreadable.
“Titus, report,” Cannon snapped as Declan tried messing with the holomap’s controls.
“Ah, the jump point is compromised,” Titus said. “We’re completely surrounded.”
Ghost cursed, lunging out of his chair and heading for the gunnery station. “I told you not to trust that bitch.”
“This isn’t me,” Feria said, her face pale. “Something’s wrong.”
Ghost started to say something but stopped short at a cutting look from Reaper. Beside his brother, Treon leaned forward.
“Feria is correct,” he said. “Something is very wrong. There are no active minds around us.”
Cannon frowned. “Defense drones, maybe?”
“No.” Declan hit a command and the holomap disappeared, replaced by a digital screen that acted as a viewport. Debris filled the screen, so much of it that Mercy couldn’t see the space beyond it. She tried to make sense of what she was seeing. There was no rhyme or reason to it, just…space junk, all shapes and sizes, a seemingly endless sea of it more than covering the jump point. And they’d jumped right in the middle of it.
“What the hell? Did we get the jump coordinates wrong?” she asked as another tremor shook the ship.
“No,” Titus said, his fingers flying over the nav controls. “We’re right where we’re supposed to be. It just so happens that a few million metric tons of space debris is also right where we’re supposed to be.”
Declan swore, staring at the holoscreen. “Can you navigate through it?”
“This is starting to break up. You can see the drift as pieces bounce off each other — or us — and spin out. It’ll be a rough ride, and our hull will take a beating. Nothing the nanograph can’t recover from with time, but it’s not going to be pretty.” Titus paused, then muttered quietly under his breath. “Would’ve been easier with Sebastian here.”
“Where did it all come from?” Feria asked. She frowned in puzzlement. “The Navy doesn’t just throw its junk out into space, much less into a jump zone.”
That was true. Recyclers should have taken care of all of this, or picked it up if someone had accidentally dumped it. Although Mercy couldn’t fathom this much coming from any regular station garbage. It would take an entire fleet, and even then…
“Wait.” Mercy stepped up beside Declan, peering closely at the holo. She tried to discern shapes as another tremor shook them. “This is like a shipyard scrapheap.” She’s been to Ivaldi once and seen their scrap before the recyclers chewed it all up. A lot of shipyards dealt with their scrap planetside, but Ivaldi had huge nets in orbit that gathered up the debris and kept it contained so it didn’t clutter up planetfall or careen off into space. Recycler drones then processed the debris back into raw materials.
What they were seeing on the holo was exactly what Ivaldi’s scrapheaps would look like without the nets. Except there were no shipyards here. But she was sure a huge piece of hull had just floated past.
A foreboding chill prickled the hair at the back of Mercy’s neck. “Ghost, does any of what we’re seeing shows signs of plasma burns or other weapons damage?”
When he didn’t answer right away, she looked over at him. He hesitated, then retook his seat next to Titus.
“Give me a minute,” he said.
As they waited, another tremor shook them. More debris spun off from them and floated away, before pinging off another large chunk and sending both pieces spinning in a new direction.
“Definitely some plasma burn that hasn’t regenerated yet,” Ghost said. “Looks like a battle took place. And it was recent.”
It would have to be, for the debris to still be jumbled up like this.
“This was a fleet,” Mercy said. She looked at Feria. “That naval base have a fleet stationed here?”
The other woman nodded, her face pale. “It does.” She grimaced. “Did. I — I’ve tried mentally reaching my contacts here, but there’s been no response. I can’t find their minds.”
“That’s because there aren’t any.” Treon’s voice was bleak. “There are no living minds within range except our own.” He looked at Feria. “Your naval base is gone. Destroyed along with any ships once stationed at it. We are looking at what is left.”
A sick feeling settled in Mercy’s gut. “If this much debris is still hanging out at the epicenter, it just happened. Whoever is responsible must have jumped out just ahead of us.”
“True.” Treon considered the holoscreen, a thoughtful look on his face. “Feria, what was this base’s strategic purpose? The Commonwealth didn’t just stick it here out of convenience.”
“Well, it’s a major jump point. From here, there’s easy access to several large systems.”
“Do they put a base at every jump point meeting those criteria?”
“Of course not.” Feria leaned over and touched the command console, bringing up a smaller, secondary holoscreen. A few seconds later it crystallized into a navigational chart. “They couldn’t afford that. But this is within three jumps of another outpost, and the Navy does try to place bases and outposts where they can keep large swathes of Commonwealth territory covered.” She touched the screen, and it zoomed in, showing a lush, green and blue planet with wisps of white cloud cover. “Additionally, one of the planets within jump range is Helios.”
Mercy searched her memory, but other than a vague impression of it being one of the more central Commonwealth worlds, she didn’t know anything significant about it. Most of her knowledge of specific planets focused on the fringes, where Wolfgang’s smuggling operation had spent the most time.
“What’s so special about Helios?” she asked.
A smile twisted Feria’s lips. “Helios is corporate owned. A class-A terrestrial world.”
Class A was the most optimum designation. It required the least amount of terraforming if any at all, possessing the perfect balance to support life. Usually it was considered idyllic for human colonization, and was the most sought after designation of planets. It must have sold for an incomprehensible amount of hard coin.
Mercy snorted, understanding. “A gated world,” she said.
Feria nodded. “Only open to the wealthy and elite, and you have to buy your way in. Wealthy families own huge amounts of acreage, and they live in sprawling estates that often cost as much as a small planet themselves.”
“The perfect target for pirates,” Cannon added, an ironic smile tugging at his lips. “Alas, we have more pressing plans.”
Reaper nodded to the debris field Titus was slowly navigating their way through. “Someone could be targeting them.”
“Someone likely is,” Feria said. She shrugged, the movement graceful and elegant. “The priceless art and personal wealth is one thing, but the real target is likely to be people. What corporations will pay — and do — to get their precious scions back is worth far more than any material possessions.”
“Speaking from experience?” Mercy asked dryly.
Feria rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying if Helios is being targeted, it’s likely t
his destruction was done by mercenaries hired by a rival family. The Commonwealth throne is empty. The government is in shambles. Right now the galaxy’s wealthiest families are all gathering their personal fleets or hiring the best money can buy to be their private armies. It would take a fleet of some size and skill to have taken the base and left this kind of destruction in their wake.”
“We knew the state of things might make this journey more perilous,” Cannon said. “So we get through, and we move on.” He rested his gaze on Feria briefly. “I’m sorry for the people you had stationed here.”
“As am I.” In a nervous gesture, she brushed her hair back behind one ear. “We’ve lost so many to this conflict already, and things are just getting started.”
Like the pirates, many people in Veritas had defected to the Alpha Queen. If that was even the right word. Did they have a choice? A queen could force obedience through the link to her people. To influence so many at once to go against their own wishes was a staggering display of power, one Mercy could hardly fathom.
The ship jolted and the floor rolled. Mercy caught herself against the command console.
“Sorry!” Titus called out. “Should have had you all strap in. We’re almost out.”
The field of debris had finally given way to a clear view of space with a few larger chunks slowly spinning across the holoview, cutting a path through empty space that would continue until the pieces hit something larger. A planet, a moon, a star. This jump point would remain hazardous for some time to come until the pieces had finished drifting out of range.
“Set a beacon,” Mercy said. “Warn any other ships traveling this way that the jump point is closed and hazardous.” She glanced at Declan. “What kind of hull damage did we take?”
“Nothing too bad. The nanograph is already repairing.”
“How long before we can jump again?” This was the part she was most worried about.
Titus grimaced. “Hours. The drive needs time.”
“Can we make a small jump? Just far enough to get us clear of…all this?” Mercy gestured.
Titus shook his head. “Not yet. Not for another hour, at least. Probably more. That’s assuming we can even find a good jump point. Anything is going to be a risk now. We have no idea what we’ll be jumping into unless someone’s set a beacon, like we’re going to do.”