Jaeia urged her to set her back down, and Jetta did so as gently as she could.
“The Prigs attacked. I was about to be killed when something awful happened. My worst fears... too real...” Jaeia saw the look on her face and her gray eyes widened in revelation. “No... You didn’t...”
“They were attacking you. They killed Dinjin, and I had to protect you. It just—it just was... too much to control...”
Listening to herself try to explain her actions only made her feel worse. Why do I always end up hurting the ones I love? Jetta hung her head and dug her nails into her thighs. Because I am a monster.
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me or the others, Jetta,” Jaeia said, reading her thoughts. “Don’t.”
Digging her nails in ever deeper, Jetta closed herself off to her sister, suddenly angry.
“We need to help the Exiles, Jetta,” Jaeia said, pointing over to the bodies of the Grand Oblin and Senka a few meters away. “They’re hurt badly and—”
A coughing fit seized the rest of her sister’s words. She covered her mouth with her hands, but blood trickled out between her fingers.
“We’re not going to last much longer ourselves, Jaeia,” Jetta said, removing her sister’s hand from her face. Looking over at Senka and the Grand Oblin, Jetta sensed thready pulses of life in their crumpled bodies. They’re going to be dead in minutes. If only I had medical knowledge—
(Hopeless.)
(I am so sorry—I didn’t mean to hurt any of you!)
“What are you doing?” Jaeia said.
I can’t help Jaeia or the Exiles.
(There is nothing left.)
“Wait—Jetta—no!”
With an unexpected burst of energy, Jetta stumbled down to the lab and through the winding tunnels toward the white noise. The pool of murky water smelled rank with the Liiker’s blood, but her nausea quickly turned to rage.
She slowed as she approached it. The fleshy machine screeched and clicked as she neared, kicking wildly with its backwards leg.
(Kill the monster)
After hacking up a wad of blood and mucus, she grabbed the Liiker’s head in her hands. The flesh felt like rubber, the metal exoskeleton cold and slimy. It lashed out its serrated tongue at her and squirted its digestive lubricant, but she held its head away from her face.
“Even if I die today,” she said, arms trembling with anger and sickness, “I will end all those who have taken from me.”
With a quick twist of her arms and upper body, she snapped its neck. Jetta dropped the Liiker into the water, blood and water splashing her face. “I’m more than Volkor.”
Chapter VI
“Do you have any medical training?” asked the medical chief.
Triel of Algardrien squeezed the webbing between her fingers to calm herself. The chief reeked of his loathing, and even when she closed off her mind, the bitter aftertaste of his physical presence remained.
“Yes, but I’m not up to date with some of your technology. I haven’t formally practiced the interarts in a few years.”
“The interarts—is that what your people call it? The mixing of sorcery with medicine? I thought your tribe cut ties with the modern world when that gorsh-shit was finally outlawed by the Core.”
Triel fought to keep from showing her discomfort. She hated this type of confrontation; it infuriated and frightened her at the same time. “I was different. I didn’t follow the path of my tribe.”
The chief medical officer swaggered toward her. Despite measuring a quarter-meter shorter, he still got up in her face. “This is my ship, and my staff. If you so much as look the wrong way, I’ll have the guards take you down. I don’t trust leeches, and I certainly don’t trust one that associates with dog-soldiers,” he hissed.
Triel held his gaze unflinchingly, though she trembled inside.
“Doctor,” Triel said as the chief turned to go back to his office. “Won’t you be attending during the rescue?”
He reeled around and shot her a cold glare. “I’ll watch you from the monitors. You couldn’t pay me to be in the same room as a Prodgy during one of your ‘episodes.’”
Inside the medical bay, Triel looked at her support staff—two trauma surgeons, two technicians, three infectious disease doctors, and two critical care nurses. They did not feel the same disdain for her as their supervisor, but the old fears stirred up during the Dissembler Scare still lingered. Their anxious faces reawakened all the disgust and isolation she had felt during the beginnings of the Dominion Wars, making her stomach lurch.
I have to concentrate, she told herself. For the greater good.
(For Reht.)
“I’m Triel of Algardrien, a Prodgy Healer.”
She took a deep breath, trying to mute the sound of their racing hearts in the back of her mind. “When I integrate with the Kyron sisters and begin the healing process, I’ll need you to also monitor my status. We only have one shot at this, so we have to work together.”
Some team members exchanged sidelong glances, while others looked down at their feet and shifted their weight.
The staff doubts me. They worry that I’m not strong enough alone, that I’ll Fall.
Old feelings stirred, threatening her equilibrium. After all, how could she sacrifice herself for Volkor the Slaythe?
(He—no, the twins—murdered my family.)
Triel pinched the webbing between her fingers as hard as she could, trying to keep her thoughts peaceful, but years of suppressed indignation broke through.
(I want those girls to suffer for their crimes.)
No, Triel told herself. That will solve nothing.
Anger turned to grief as she thought of her tribe. The Dominion gave no warning when they set down on her homeworld, Algar, abducting her people and destroying her world. (Do not help the ones hiding behind Volkor’s mask. You will only be helping murderers.)
Another wave of emotion surged through her. Guilt, fresh and unrelenting, carved into her like a dull blade. (I should have never abandoned my people.)
Triel closed her eyes. She had to keep calm. If she was to succeed at this, she couldn’t afford to let her darker feelings even brush her mind. If they took hold, she really would become what they all feared.
One of the surgeons cleared his throat and stepped forward. “What are we going to do if there are other life forms with them?”
Triel wished they hadn’t asked, but they had to know. “Traditionally, Prodgies never heal alone.” Never used to, she thought bitterly. “It’s dangerous. Additional tribe members are always present to help balance out physical, mental, or spiritual impurities harbored by the one the Healer means to restore. To do otherwise leaves the Healer at risk of involuntarily taking on the subject’s pollutants and becoming a Dissembler. To minimize that risk, I can only attempt to rescue the two girls.”
“What guarantee do we have that you won’t turn on us?” the other surgeon asked, eyeing the guards at the infirmary entrance.
Triel shook her head. “It depends on their different states of health, and mine too. That’s why you’re going to be watching me closely. If anything happens—if anything starts to look suspicious—you have clearance to...”
Pausing, Triel looked each of them in the eye, searching for something. Not knowing what it was, nor finding it, she swallowed hard and finished the sentence: “You have clearance to terminate me.”
The medical team talked among themselves, their voices low. Triel turned away and pretended to review a file as she pushed their fear from her mind.
I must be strong. For my friends, for Reht. They’re all I have left.
Getting a hold of herself, Triel turned back to them. “We have approximately ten minutes until the ship is in alignment with the drop site. Everybody should be fitted in their biosuits.”
As soon as her team exited to the lockers, she hurried into one of the private exam rooms and silently wept. She didn’t know if she could save the Kyron twins, but worse, she could
n’t decide if she wanted to.
JETTA COLLAPSED HALFWAY up the tunnel, leaving behind her a mangled trail of Liiker parts.
What was I thinking? she lamented, clutching her wounded side. She tried to prop up on her left elbow and crawl, but her nerve endings screamed, and she fell back down. I shouldn’t have left Jaeia.
Without the fiery pulse of anger, the satisfaction she felt destroying the Liiker evaporated, leaving her exhausted and in pain.
I have to fight this, she thought, refusing to accept the truth. She had always been able to push herself beyond her limits. On Fiorah she had gone a week without food, days without water or sleep—
(My body is dying.)
Jetta tried once more to lift herself by the arms and pull herself up the tunnel, but her muscles spasmed, and she flopped back down.
(I can’t reach Jaeia or save Jahx. I will never save Galm and Lohien. I will never keep any of my promises.)
“Come on,” she whispered, not ready to give up. “Think of something. You can do this. Think...”
Jaeia... Jahx... I’m so sorry.
And then the memory hit her. An old one—one of her earliest. Something happy. Something unexpected.
“Oh, sweet girl,” Lohien said, voice sweet, almost melodic as she kneeled down and took Jetta in her arms. “What have you done this time?”
“Nothing,” Jetta said, trying to wiggle away.
“Let me see,” her aunt said, prying her hand open.
Jetta hid her face as her aunt inspected her wound. Lohien’s voice turned firm, but not angry. “Jetta, you need to show me this when you get hurt. These splinters are making your skin swell up—you don’t want it to get worse, do you?”
Jetta wrinkled her nose and hid her hand behind her back. She had been playing with her siblings in the shade of the apartment rooftop by the discarded pigeon boxes when she tripped and fell on a pile of broken pieces. Not wanting to stop their game, Jetta kept the injury to herself. But that had been two days ago. Now her hand was red and hot, and she had a hard time concealing the discomfort from her siblings.
“You always have to be the tough one, don’t you?” her aunt said, sitting her on top of her lap as she cleaned her hand with rubbing alcohol.
It stung, but Jetta bit down on her lip, trying to keep from crying.
“You can squeeze my arm if you need to, okay? Let me know if you want me to stop.” Her aunt picked out the splinters as carefully as she could, but the tears came anyway. Maybe it was the pain, maybe it was the stress that had been building inside her ever since Yahmen had told Galm that they would have to move into the community housing projects. Maybe it was knowing then that no matter what she did, Yahmen was going to take everything away from them.
“All done!”
Jetta looked at her hand, neatly bandaged and less painful. But it didn’t seem right. Somehow there didn’t seem to be a point for her aunt to go through all of that. Not for her. Not for the street rat, the reason her parents were made to suffer Yahmen’s anger.
“Come here, my little warrior,” her aunt said, hugging her tightly. “You’re so tough sometimes that I worry about you. You have to remember that everybody needs help sometimes—even warriors. That’s why there’s me, your Pao, your brother and sister. We all love you so much.”
Jolts of pain kept her drifting in and out of consciousness. She heard shouts and boots marching in the tunnels, but she wasn’t sure if it was real.
“We all love you so much...”
(I’m so sorry, Jaeia, Jahx—this is all my fault.)
Someone touched her hand. Aunt Lohien?
She opened her eyes, but what she saw only caused her more confusion. Yellow and orange creatures with bright eyes and flashing sensors crouched over her, talking in voices distorted with static.
“We have the second target,” a male voice announced.
The cavern ceiling swooped all around her as the rocky floor buckled into crashing waves. She wasn’t sure if she was falling or flying away as she flailed about, trying to gain some kind of purchase as several arms picked her up off the floor.
Something sharp pierced her thigh, and her eyelids drooped. Jetta tried to grab one of the creatures, but her limbs were uncooperative.
Through the haze of a half-dream, she floated through the main chamber of the caves, spotting body bags arranged neatly in a row and more yellow and orange creatures milling around the fire pit. She tried to find her sister, but her entire body seemed frozen in place.
One of the creatures bent over, and she saw a man staring at her through a clear protective face shield. “This is Volkor? You’ve got to be kidding me. Looks like a Deadskin.”
Others laughed. Someone shouted orders.
Jaeia—Jahx, she called out silently, where are you?
The man stared at her as her body floated toward the light in the distance. Her eyelids became heavier, and the rocky walls faded from view. Jetta looked back at him, but this time his face changed. She wanted to scream, but her body had detached. She watched in horror as his nose and mouth sucked backward into his face and metal plating drove down over decaying white skin. The yellow and orange spoiled into a slimy carbon black. Spiny legs erupted from the torso, and his right eye bulged impossibly, turning red and oozing pus.
Jetta, the monster hissed, you are mine!
TRIEL WAITED ANXIOUSLY in the infirmary for the rescue team to return, pacing between the exam tables. Because her technique required skin-to-skin contact, she couldn’t wear the yellow and orange protective biosuit.
I feel vulnernable enough as is, she fretted.
The rest of the medical team stood around the receiving tables, unmoving and silent. She wished they would strike up a conversation, even about something trivial, just so the worry in their hearts didn’t fill her mind. They feared the mission would fail, but equally worried about Triel descending from Healer to Dissembler.
(Me too.)
Before she lost her nerve, a hologram of the admiral materialized in the center of the room. Everybody turned in attention.
“We’re ready to receive,” Triel said, assuming he was going to announce the arrival of the team.
Admiral Unipoesa raised his hands. “There has been a serious change in plans. The biosuits are ineffectual against the plague. All of the soldiers are already infected. They were able to load the girls onto the dropship, and the automated pilot is returning them back to port. Triel, because of how serious this is, we’re going to have to evacuate your medical team and then rematerialize the girls directly into the infirmary once the dropship is close enough. You’ll have exactly one hour to cure them both and protect yourself before your air runs out. Afterward, we’ll have to charge the room with pharon particles. With a little luck, we’ll be able to bring all three of you back.”
“Are you sure you can revive the three of us?” Triel asked. “I thought pharon particles were only used in engine decontamination. Even minimal exposure is lethal to most species.”
“No, I’m not sure,” the admiral said frankly. “But it’s the only plan our hazard team came up with. It explains why the Dominion never used the Prodgy to heal their own infected men.”
Triel looked up to see the medical team already filtering out of the contamination room, and gripped the sides of the exam table to keep herself from succumbing to panic. I have to save Volkor—and then I have to entrust my health and recovery to those who fear me?
(I can’t do this.)
“Admiral,” she said. “One condition. I want Bacthar, Reht’s surgeon, to be in on this team.”
“Triel—”
“I can’t do this without knowing he’s there.”
“Fine, fine. Just get it done, Triel,” he said as he terminated the transmission.
Triel sat down on one of the stools and rested her head in her hands, pushing away thoughts of the medical team members observing her from behind the protective glass.
Something between a sigh and a laugh
escaped her lips as she realized the irony. She had always fought her father over Prodgy tradition, but now she upheld one of its most sacred tenets: helping others, unconditionally, in spite of what they had done. And she couldn’t think of two worse Sentients to face, especially as a Solitary. Regardless of the severity of the disease, the twins couldn’t be psychologically balanced. They were Volkor—the mass murderer, the tyrant—the Slaythe. They were exposed to unconscionable evil at a formative age, and they were telepaths, so their minds were already unpredictable to a Healer’s touch. Triel realized it would be their emotional turbulence that would destroy her, not their disease.
I have to try. For Reht.
The receiving alarm buzzed above her head, and she snapped to attention.
“Rematerializing in ten seconds,” the computer announced.
The blue teleportation fields lit up above each exam bed.
She held her breath.
When the afterglow died away, she took a moment for a visual exam. Immediately she noticed peculiarities. They were listed as identical twins in a triplet set, but minor differences in their height and weight, and in the color of their hair, set them apart. They also appeared physically advanced beyond their ages, especially their lean muscle mass, making her double-check her datapad.
“How old are they supposed to be?” she asked to her medical team through the com system.
“Seven standard years.”
“That’s impossible,” she said under her breath. They looked no younger than their early teens.
“Is there any record of growth manipulation?” she asked the team.
“Inconclusive per report.”
“I’d say this is conclusive,” she mumbled to herself.
Triel let the scanner finish reading their biosigns. The girl on her left had severe flashfire burns to her thigh and arm, but the one on her right had taken a close proximity blast to the upper right quadrant of her abdomen and sustained a significant head injury. Most importantly, the infection, widespread in both of them, had yet to do any major damage to their systems.
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