Triorion Omnibus

by L. J. Hachmeister

  “One more thing,” Triel said as the admiral got up to leave. “Don’t lie or tell them half-truths, okay?”

  The admiral paused at the treatment room door. “Why do you think I would do such a thing?”

  “Because that’s what you think you have to do sometimes, isn’t it?”

  The admiral didn’t respond.

  “Lying is the worst thing you could do to them,” Triel said. “You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

  “Triel,” the admiral said, typing a code into the door keypad. “Get some rest. You’re not done yet.”

  JETTA COULD BARELY open her eyes. The intense light from above made them burn. Voices exchanged relieved sentiments as she stirred more vigorously.

  “One milligram of epidyaphrine,” said a weary female voice.

  Something pricked her arm, and a powerful rushing sensation filled her chest. Her blood pounded in her fingers and toes and roared in her ears.

  “Good, good, not too much though—yes, there. Keep her systolic pressure at 165 for now. I know it’s a little high, but I don’t want her crashing below fifty again. I’m going to make one more pass at that abdominal wound again. Monitor my vitals.”

  A warm presence encased her body. It wasn’t intrusive, but it was still somewhat unnerving as it intently searched her viscera.

  (I have to, for Reht, for my friends,)

  (Father—)

  (My family is dead.)

  (They do not deserve my help)

  (I know what Volkor is...)

  It hovered over the upper quadrant of her abdomen for a moment and then dissolved. The presence was gone.

  “I think it’s finally closing.”

  “Triel, are you alright?”

  Jetta heard the unspoken words: I am so tired...

  “I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting the admiral to want a total restoration. Look, can you finish patching the job?”

  Something cool was laid over her forehead. For the first time in a long while, she felt completely relaxed. She stopped struggling to open her eyes.

  WHEN JETTA WOKE AGAIN, her eyes adjusted more quickly. Despite the halos around the overhead lights, she made out a man in a lab coat exchanging dataclips with someone dressed in a sterile gown. Panic flared in her chest as she realized she was no longer on Tralora but in some sort of hospital or medical bay.

  “You’re alright, you’re alright,” an attendant said, rushing to her side.

  She ignored him and propped herself up on her elbow to take a better look at her surroundings. Head still swimming, Jetta discerned gray and white walls lined with medical equipment. She could see the end of another table to her right, but a divider curtain obstructed her view. A humanoid man stood next to her, still trying to make her lay back down, but he didn’t seem threatening, so she continued to disregard him.

  Jaeia, where are you? she projected. Reaching into their bond, Jetta felt her sister near, but her thoughts looping in the sinuous patterns of sleep.

  Wake up, she called to her sister. We’re in danger!

  “Gods,” Jetta said, rubbing her forehead. Her head felt like it was splitting in two.

  A tall, slender woman entered the room. Dark hair spilled over broad shoulders. The indigo markings winding their way down the fair skin of her neck and forearms terminated on the palms of her hands. “Please, lie back down.”

  The woman’s piercing blue eyes immediately connected with Jetta’s, and her heart leapt into her throat. Jetta bit back the strange wave of emotion, reminding herself that she and her sister weren’t safe.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Triel. I’m a Prodgy Healer from Algar.”

  Jetta looked at her skeptically while inner shadows stirred up frenetic whispers. She knew without wanting to know that every last Prodgy had been captured or killed by the Dominion. Even so, the woman bore the marks and possessed a strong enough psionic signature to upset her concentration.

  “I’m part of the rescue team that helped get you off of Tralora. You’ve made a remarkable recovery, but you’ll still need more treatment. The extent of your injuries has slowed down your recovery process. I’d like to continue to treat you, but I’ll need your cooperation.”

  Jetta scrunched up the bed sheets in her hands. She didn’t like that the echo of the woman’s thoughts felt so familiar.

  (She’s been inside me!)

  “What do you want? Where is Jaeia?” Jetta asked, feeling the site of her injury with her free hand. The wound had closed, but it was still hot to touch.

  “We only want to help. Jaeia’s fine. I expect her to be up and about in less than an hour.”

  “What about the others? Did you help the others?”

  The blue-eyed woman looked confused, and there was no sense of deception in her thoughts. “There were no others, Jetta.”

  Jetta lay back down and tried to think, but her head still ached. What had happened to the Exiles?

  “Are you in any pain?” Triel asked, walking alongside her bed and picking up a bioscanner. The sight triggered an immediate terror that seized her mind.

  “Hail Volkor”—

  Yellow hands,

  “—There’s too much resistance—we need more—”

  (If I win, the pain will go away)

  “—long live the sovereignty”

  Jetta slapped the instrument out of the woman’s hand and rolled off the table.

  “I need some help in here,” Triel shouted. Jetta staggered backward, lashing out at anybody that approached.

  It took only seconds for several guards to charge in and tackle her, holding her down by the arms and legs. A booster jammed into her side, and she bucked away from the pain, but the fast-acting medication rendered her muscles useless. She struggled until everything went black.

  TRIEL WAS WORKING ON closing the wound on Jaeia’s thigh when a hand touched hers. She broke contact and looked around, but the other staff members were milling around the terminals, downloading the data they had collected about the twins.

  The Healer looked down at her patient, and two feather-gray eyes stared back at her. Triel felt her trepidation, but also her outreach.

  “You’re okay,” Triel whispered, trying not to alert the other staff members. “My name is Triel. I’m a Prodgy Healer.”

  Jaeia’s eyes darted back and forth, and the question seemed obvious to her even without her telepathy.

  “She’s fine, and so are you. I managed to purge the virus from your body.”

  Even though Jaeia seemed to relax a little, her voice remained shaky and strained. “Where are we?”

  “This is an Alliance ship. You’re safe.”

  “Please...” she began, but her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Feeling her pulse, Triel sensed that the girl was still too weak to have recovered all of her faculties yet, but she admired her persistence. “Please... my back pocket... friends...”

  Triel bit her lip, but in the end she placed her hand on Jaeia’s forehead and saw the meaning behind her words. Fortunately the staff was so caught up in analyzing the twins’ unusual physiological readings that they had yet to search their clothes and personal possessions. Whatever Jaeia thought was so critical, Triel would have a chance to see first. If the object was as important as Jaeia’s thoughts suggested, possessing it would give her tremendous leverage with both the Alliance and the two girls.

  Triel slid her hand cautiously underneath Jaeia’s injured thigh and felt around until she found a small cylinder and an oblong object of about the same size wrapped carefully in the folds of her clothes. Triel transferred the two pieces into her shirtsleeve and slowly withdrew her arm.

  “Your progress, Triel?”

  The doctor caught her unawares, but a brief brush with his mind confirmed that he did not detect her theft.

  “Jetta is fine, just under heavy sedation. She’s ready to be revived at your discretion. Jaeia needs some minor dermabonding, but your technology can take care of tha
t. I’d like to rest now and restore myself.”

  Not seeming especially interested in her well-being, the doctor dismissed her.

  Triel sighed, falling in step with her escorts as she made her way back to her assigned quarters. To her surprise, they let Bacthar catch up and walk with her.

  “Hey—you doing okay?”

  She smiled weakly and nodded. “Yes, just really tired. Could you stop by later and bring me some soup? Nothing works better than a home remedy.”

  Bacthar flicked his ears in response. He might not have been telepathic, but he’d gotten the message. “Sure thing, Starfox. That okay with you, boys?”

  The guards didn’t break their gaze. “You’ll need security clearance from the admiral.”

  “Of course,” chirped Bacthar. He wrapped his wing around her and touched his forehead to hers. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

  After Bacthar walked away, one of the guards snickered. “We want to know something.”

  Triel didn’t bother to turn around, but they continued on anyway.

  “Do you consider yourself a hero or a traitor?”

  Triel palmed the keypad to her quarters but didn’t step through when the doors slid open. “Why do you care?”

  The guard smirked. “It’s a philosophical—”

  “No, ethical, dumbchak,” the other muttered.

  “Ethical question. Does saving the last remaining telepaths, even though they murdered Prodgies, make you a hero—or a traitor?”

  In the back of her mind she saw the blackened sky as the Core ships entered Algar’s atmosphere.

  We are unarmed—why are they attacking? she wondered. She remembered her father’s words: “Stay, Triel. Be patient. We have survived this long. We are a peaceful people. There will be no need for bloodshed.”

  “Oh, father—we have to run!”

  “Triel, you must obey!”

  Her father fell first, then her mother. The crush of soldiers prevented her from seeing what happened to her siblings, but she could feel their anguish in her mind. Someone tried to take her, to put her in a freezer case, but she fought just as she always had.

  As she ran toward the hills, she turned to see Volkor’s face already infecting their village. The Slaythe, painted on each of the Core flags, proclaimed another conquest. She watched helplessly as the Dominion ships took off with a cargo bay full of freezer cases—her village, her family, her life.

  It didn’t stopped there. Volkor followed her everywhere, mocking her with his martial gaze and perverse slogans of peace on every banner, flag, and newsreel as she fled across the galaxy, trying to escape his reach.

  Triel started to hyperventilate. Those girls massacred her family, stolen everything she loved, and she saved their lives.

  How could I have saved them? she thought. No matter what else they are, they are still capable of genocide.

  (They could easily murder again.)

  “No,” she whispered, her fingers curling into fists. She remembered her father’s words, though they were equally as painful: It is not our place to judge.

  (I promised to make Volkor pay!)

  “No,” she repeated.

  “No, what?”

  “I don’t consider myself either. I am just a Healer.”

  “Just another leech,” one of them mumbled.

  Inside her room, she fell to her knees.

  I was wrong, she realized. Inside of them is all the wickedness of the Dominion Core.

  (How can I forgive them?)

  Pain throbbed inside her skull as she crawled over to her bed and laid a hand across her forehead.

  What have I done?

  ONE LOOK AT THE NURSE checking over her vitals and Jetta saw her chance.

  A Sandscrat. I remember them from street fights on Fiorah.

  The three-legged desert walkers had hardened skin and spiny tentacles, but their weakness lay in natural split in the dermal armor by their neck. With the edge of her hand she chopped at the sensitive opening of jugular venous junction. She caught the nurse by his armpits as he blacked out, easing him down while she slipped over the medical table to the ground. The guards by the door stood with their backs to the scene, distracted by their own conversation, allowing Jetta enough time to silently communicate to her sister.

  Get ready.

  Creeping toward the two guards, Jetta stayed low as they laughed at a dirty joke. Behind the exam curtain, Jaeia cried out, drawing their attention. As the guards moved toward her sister, she leapt out from behind and cracked their heads together.

  Jetta briefly regarded the two unconscious guards before undressing them. (I’m making the same mistakes all over again.)

  “Hey,” Jaeia said, jumping off the table and joining her side. Her sister frowned as Jetta put her legs through the soldier’s long pant-leg and cinched the belt tightly above her hips. “This isn’t a great cover.”

  “It’s better than nothing.”

  “Jetta,” Jaeia said, looking around nervously, “I’m missing my clothes—I need my clothes.”

  Jetta shook her head. “What? Who cares? Come on, we don’t have much time.”

  “I had... I swear I put the device...” Jaeia mumbled to herself.

  “Jaeia, get it together! Get on that terminal and draw up some maps of this place.”

  “What are we going to do, Jetta?” Jaeia said, pressing her palms to her eyes. “Capture their commander and hold him hostage?”

  Jetta grinned. “Wow—didn’t think you had it in you.”

  Jaeia crossed her arms across her chest. “Are you seriously considering that? We don’t know anything about our situation.”

  Haven’t you learned anything? Jetta thought, shoving her aside.

  Using the codes she gleaned off the guards, Jetta unlocked the computer. “From what the guards said, I’m thinking that we’re on deck nine, and judging by the layout and size, I would guess the senior quarters are on deck fourteen, in forward wing. I would bet anything that the commander of this ship is here,” Jetta said, pointing to the blue screen. “Searching for a com signal... Yeah, someone’s there.”

  “Wait—let’s consider our situation. Someone went through a lot of trouble to save us,” Jaeia said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  Jetta petulantly jerked away from her sister’s touch. “We’re two against a warship right now. If we don’t take charge now we’ll be screwed.”

  The concept silently processed between them, but despite Jaeia’s reservations, she didn’t have the nerve to oppose Jetta.

  She’s weak, Jetta thought to herself. She hated herself for thinking it, but she couldn’t deny the truth. “Get that soldier’s uniform on, Jae. Hurry.”

  Jetta and Jaeia exited the medical bay in the oversized uniforms and helmets, marching in sync. They caught the eye of several passing auxiliary crewmen, but when they tried to access the lift, the guard stationed in the corridor ordered them to halt.

  “You two—stop right there! Show some identification!”

  Ignoring the guard, Jetta hurried her sister into the lift and flipped the switch to shut the doors.

  “He’s altered the mechanics of the lift,” Jaeia pointed out as the lights on the control panel blinked out.

  Anticipating this, Jetta jumped on her sister’s shoulders to unscrew the top hatch.

  “Hold still!” Jetta snapped at her sister.

  With the hatch unscrewed, they swung onto the top of the lift, and Jetta sealed the hatch shut with the multiphasic handgun on her uniform belt.

  Jetta looked up and cringed. The metal-plated lift shaft reminded her of the old air ducts on Fiorah, right down to the smell of oil and rust that carried in the circulated breeze. The memory made her stomach knot, but she pushed it aside to focus on the objective.

  She jumped onto the nearest maintenance ladder, the yellow glow of the emergency lights guiding her ascent.

  This is it. It’s the second door on the right, and I think I saw two biosignals outside th
e commander’s door. Ready? Jetta asked as they clung to the walls outside deck fourteen’s access door.

  Without waiting for her sister’s response, Jetta hit the sensor of the access door. The locks released, and as soon as the doors parted, Jetta shot the two guards from their vantage point inside the lift shaft. When she saw the look on Jaeia’s face, she rolled her eyes.

  “They’re fine, they’re gonna make it. I didn’t kill them,” Jetta said, trying to coax her sister out of the shaft.

  (I am doing it again. I am acting out of aggression.)

  (Why can’t I stop?)

  Jetta ran down the corridor and turned her attention to the keypad on the commander’s door.

  “This is a Forrey keypad, like the ones to the supply closets on the mining ships. I can’t believe they would use this cheap meitka on a warship,” Jetta said, chuckling to herself.

  Galm taught them how to bypass a Forrey when they were only three years old. Yahmen would order them to do work that required the use of certain tools but wouldn’t permit them access to the closets where the tools were stored. The only way they could complete their tasks on time was to break in, use the tools, and then discreetly return them.

  Jetta struck the plate of the keypad with the butt of her gun. The metal border bent out of shape, and she pried the rest of it away to expose the internal wiring. Pinching the orange, red, and indigo lines with her thumb and forefinger, Jetta cut the black and beige wires with the metal border from the keypad and cross-wired them. The commander’s door slowly slid open.

  “Still got it,” Jetta grinned.

  After pushing Jaeia inside, Jetta fired at the keypad and jumped into the room. The doors clanked shut behind them, the sensor relay fizzling as it shorted out.

  Frying the lock will give us some time, Jetta relayed to her twin. In the distance, alert sirens wailed. But soldiers will be here soon to pry open the door.

  Spotting the officer waking in his bed, Jetta rushed over and pounced on top of him, holding him at gunpoint.

  “Please,” the officer asked, putting up his hands in surrender. Jetta pushed him back down on the bed and clicked the gun’s safety setting off.