“Predated the United Starways Coalition. It was an autocratic society founded by the conservatives of Ios and Sirian over a thousand years ago. Eventually it became democratic after the two planets were colonized by the new wave of Trigonian and human colonists. But there’s a lot of people out there that want that sort of thing, especially after the Dominion Wars and the Deadwalkers.”
“Absolute right and wrong, absolute answers,” Triel echoed.
“Exactly,” Jaeia whispered.
“Commander,” a soldier said, popping his head through the double-doors. “There’s an urgent message from the ACS.”
Jaeia hunched forward, her gaze drifting off.
Oh no... Triel thought, sensing Jaeia’s dread. As much as the Healer tried to rationalize any other reason for an urgent message from the Alliance Central Starbase, Jetta’s odd behavior during her last visit only solidified their mutual inference.
“Don’t worry,” Triel whispered, hiding her own fear as best she could. “She knows how to protect herself.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Jaeia responded, covering her mouth with the back of her sleeve. She gave herself a moment before going over to the terminal interface near the holographic fireplace. After logging in, the message, encrypted with a code known only to Jaeia, scrolled down across the virtual field, the red light casting a shadow across her carefully composed face.
“When did they report her missing?” Triel asked, staring out the window. The crowd outside was more dense than before. Protestors and demonstrators screamed at one another while crowd-control police waved their shockwands to maintain control.
“After she missed her shift call, they couldn’t locate her signal on board the Gallegos. She’s not registering in regulated territory.”
Jaeia must have come to the same conclusion, but Triel said it out loud anyway. “You know she probably removed the biochip. She couldn’t have gotten that far out of the Homeworlds in a single jump, though.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Jaeia said, sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the ground. “I know where she’s going.”
“What can I do, Jaeia?” Triel said, approaching her and kneeling by her side.
Jaeia shook her head. “The last time she ran it nearly cost my life, hers, and the Exiles’. And this time around she’s learned how to do more damage.”
Triel didn’t know what to say. All three of them were in a precarious situation. One Prodgy and two unschooled telepaths of unknown origin with uncertain powers made the Alliance and the public nervous, but it scared her even more.
Falling back into old habits, Jaeia rubbed the inside of her right upper arm. “I don’t want to follow her, but she is my sister.”
“Well, you don’t have to go alone.”
Jaeia looked at her directly, the steely composure in her gray eyes betraying her feelings. “I hope you don’t mind the heat.”
JETTA SCRATCHED AT the base of her neck as she wound her way through the crowd in Newpara Square. The dermaband had stopped the bleeding, but the itchiness from the adhesive felt worse than the initial pain of cutting out the biochip.
Dr. Kaoto’s warning played out in her mind: “Improper removal of a biochip can cause hallucinations, seizures, paralysis—even death.”
“Yeah, well, I’m about to risk a lot worse,” she muttered to herself as she passed by the city’s four-tiered fountain.
A Teller, sitting cross-legged on his prayer rug next to a group of beggars, popped up and grabbed at her arm. “You’re in need of a guide!”
Jetta shrugged him off without looking at him and picked up her pace. The solar mask of a Wamarus, a photosensitive Sentient, provided adequate cover for her face, but her height and weight made it look suspicious, even with all the extra clothing she wore.
Keep going, she told herself as she turned on to the trade streets. No chance to go back now.
As the sun slipped behind the mountains, Trigos’ market district bustled with last-minute transactions. Alliance troops, stationed at various checkpoints, performed their flash sweeps with biosensors, looking for criminals and marked citizens amongst the masses. Staying in the thick of the crowds, Jetta used numbers to her advantage. Plenty of Sentients had refused the biochips, so she wouldn’t be flagged—at least not until she tried to leave the planet. Orbital checkpoint scanners, more sensitive than the handheld devices used by the troops, would pick up on residual markers from old biochips.
(Like the one I just cut out,) her subconscious screamed.
“I should have never agreed to have one in the first place,” she whispered, giving the wound another scratch.
“It’s required for all members of the Alliance military,” she remembered the Military Minister saying. “Besides broadcasting your vital signs and location, the chip is programmed with all your medical information. It’s for your own safety, Commander.”
No, it’s a tracking device, she thought angrily. Just another means for the Alliance to keeps tabs on me and my sister.
Thinking of the sleek black and red four-wing Yamazuki cruiser waiting in the docks, Jetta promised herself things were about to change. She had taken a late-model cruiser and completely redesigned the interior and engine based off the gleanings from the Alliance’s top fighter pilots. Equipped with the latest jumpdrive, phase-inversion weapons and shielding, the mid-size cruiser had enough fighting power to take on a warliner.
The Alliance won’t be able to stop me, she thought. No one will.
A quieter voice inside her whispered: (Jaeia was right about me.)
Tightening her fists, Jetta tried to keep cool as she walked stiffly down the block, avoiding vendors and salesmen shouting their final sales. But as much as she tried, the truth chipped away at her conscience.
So what if I bought the cruiser thinking that it would rally my sister to find our aunt and uncle? she argued with herself. I had to do something.
The Alliance had allowed them to monitor the search parties, but Fiorahians weren’t going to deal with the military even if they were interrogated and imprisoned. Even the undercover contacts she had hired had failed simply because they weren’t Fiorahian, but nobody from the black market planet was trustworthy enough to hire. Fiorah has its own intricate protocol, and if we’re ever going to find Galm and Lohien, I’ll have to do it myself.
“You are in great danger!”
The Teller was back, on her heels. Jetta whipped around, palming the hilt of the blade concealed under her robes.
“I don’t want trouble,” the Teller said, opening his palms and raising his hands. “I just want you to see what I see.”
Jetta didn’t want to speak; her voice was widely recognized nowadays, but the Teller left her no other choice. She cleared her throat, straining to make it sound deeper and raspy.
“I don’t have any money.”
“I don’t want any,” he said. Standing about two meters tall, the lanky Teller appeared around sixty or seventy years old, and the opacity of his eyes suggested blindness. How he had caught up to her and found her in the crowd, she wasn’t sure.
“Then what? I haven’t got all day,” Jetta said.
The Teller closed his eyes and brought his hands to his mouth. “Turn back now before it’s too late, before you lose sight of your true path.”
Listening to the words he did not speak made her pause. This Teller actually knows something; he has talent of some sort—not telepathy, but maybe clairvoyance.
Jetta dug out a coin from her pocket and placed it in the man’s hand. “Another one if you get a little more specific.”
The Teller smiled, stretching out an arm to feel her face. She grasped his wrist, blocking his attempt, but he took hold of her forearm with his wrinkled hand. The hair on her arms stood on end as a sensation like mist sunk beneath her skin.
“Her name is from the mother who saw her life before she was born,” he intoned. “From the ashes she will rise to bring us home.”
Startled, Jetta s
hook him off, and the Teller collapsed to the ground.
“What the hell?” she mumbled, trying to sort out the sudden wash of fear and confusion. But before she could decide her next move, she spotted two guards near a crosswalk homing in on their interaction.
“Get up,” she said, trying to help him back to his feet.
Clinging to her sleeves, the Teller whispered: “He is coming for you now.”
“Who?” she asked.
The Teller’s cloudy eyes glistened in the waning sunlight. “The one who cheats Death. His words are his power, and his soul is the gateway to a world of endless suffering. You are not ready. You must not listen to his lies. And promise me—promise me!” he said, voice rising to hysterics. “Never look behind his eyes.”
One of the guards pointed toward Jetta and the Teller before speaking into the com on his sleeve.
“You have to get up,” she said, holding him by the upper arm. The Teller wobbled on shaking legs.
“Just remember,” the Teller said, his breathing hard and heavy, his legs buckling, “Many names you shall be called, but only one is true. Know this and be reborn.”
Jetta stuffed her hands into pockets and spun away, letting the Teller drop to the ground as guards produced biosensors to sweep her area.
Only twenty more meters, she thought, hurrying toward the peak-roofed transport hub. Steering close to the few civilians milling around the docks, Jetta prayed that the Teller’s fall would provide a decent enough distraction as she approached her destination.
“Don’t turn away now—only the flesh is dead!” screamed the Teller as people walked around and over him.
What a scam artist, she convinced herself, wanting to get as far away as possible from him and his cryptic warnings.
Without looking back, Jetta jumped up, grabbed the arm of a streetlight, and swung herself over the fence.
At least that was easy, she thought, sticking the landing. As much as she hated the reason why she had grown so big and tall, she couldn’t deny the advantages of strength and speed. The only downfall proved to be the emotions and thoughts that came with her increasingly mature body.
Sex and attraction are such hassles, she concluded, thinking through some of the experiences she had absorbed from adults over the years. All that energy and emotional strain spent on “love”—such a waste.
But as much as she tried to distance herself from the idea, inklings of a curious longing broke down her logic and pulled her back. The throes of love and heartbreak, once pitiful to her, now felt ominous.
Don’t think of that right now, she told herself, digging her fingers into the dermaband on her neck to suppress the images of the Healer burning through her mind. Pain zapped down her spine, shocking her back into focus.
(Besides—nothing will come of it anyway.)
Jetta wound her way through the rows of cruisers and other starcraft, keeping a trained eye on the man sleeping in the traffic booth. Finding her vehicle and loading up was fairly easy, but taking off and getting past the perimeter guard with their more attuned biosensors would be a different story. Her best plan was to make the jump while still on-planet, but that would have devastating results, ripping space-time apart and unleashing a shockwave that could easily obliterate ten city blocks. And as overpopulated as Trigos was, especially after the Motti’s destruction of so many habitable planets, there wasn’t a square centimeter of the planet that wasn’t owned and occupied.
After slapping on her helmet, Jetta gripped the throttle and entered in the coordinates to Fiorah. As the numbers flashed in red, waiting for her final punch, her mind wandered back to her sister.
(Maybe I should check in on her—)
No! she reprimanded herself. Stay closed off or she’ll try to talk you out of this.
Concern still trickled into her thoughts. The trials and the rising tension between the Alliance government and some of the Homeworld nations and protectorates made it look more and more like a full-scale war would erupt any day. The last thing she cared about was what crimes people thought she committed or if the human colonies were really being exterminated so that other Sentients could have their land. She would have been happy buying a midship and traveling the stars with her sister, away from the Alliance, the Starways, and her memories. But for some reason Jaeia cared, and that had kept her grounded, even spurring Jetta to take up rank in order to placate her sister’s ever-growing need to solve the problems of the universe. Besides, what better way to protect her sister than with an entire armada at her command? At least the military respected her skill and her powers. Even if a soldier or officer didn’t believe in her, they believed in her abilities, and being feared was good enough for her.
But it’s not good enough for Jaeia. She’s still trying to win everybody’s acceptance.
(I have to do this alone.)
Jetta cursed under her breath and hit the accelerator. The traffic operator sprang out of his seat, knocking over his coffee and splashing his newspaper as Jetta’s engines flared to life. She hovered for less than a second before blasting off, taking off toward the outer rim of the city.
“Unauthorized flight plan. Please submit your course to the Trigonian Perimeter Guard.”
The recorded voice repeated the command twice before Jetta silenced her communications system.
As she zoomed through the sky, Jetta couldn’t help but regard the cityscape as the pinks and oranges of the settling sun melted into shades of gray and purple, reflecting off the windows of its countless high-rises and geodesic domes.
(So beautiful.)
No distractions. Keep an eye on your navs, she told herself.
The ride felt smooth in her hands as she searched for the jump site she had vetted earlier that day. Based on what she had gathered from satellite views and area mapping, the grassy hill overlooking half-finished houses and construction machinery would be the best option.
There it is, she thought, circling above the designated plot.
A late-shift foundation worker emerged from under a temporary shelter as Jetta made her final calculations.
Oh no...
After checking her coordinates twice, she came to the same conclusion: I can’t jump higher in the atmosphere or the guards will neutralize my engines with guardian probes.
Three chirps from her scanners alerted her to the scout ships heading toward her position. They’ve flagged my ship. I’ve got less than a minute to make this jump.
Jetta looked at her hands and bit her lip. She hadn’t shied away from the possibility that she might have to kill in order to find their uncle and aunt, but she’d always figured it would be a low-life or two in the Fiorahian underworld, not some poor Trigonian construction worker.
What is one more Sentient life under my belt? It won’t be long until the General Assembly turns me and Jaeia over to the civil courts anyway, she reasoned, wiping the sweat from her brow. We’ll be lucky if we spend the rest of our lives in jail.
Jetta clutched the ignition to the jumpdrive, her knuckles turning white as the engines hummed anxiously, waiting for her final punch.
Do it already, she willed herself over and over again, but her mind wouldn’t let go of the foundation worker.
Paralyzed by her conscience, an impetus arose from the shadows of her mind, whispering in her ear: He is nothing but another obstacle in your way.
Painful images of Galm and Lohien cut through her mind. Her uncle’s arthritic hands and broken gait; her aunt’s wilting figure. I have to save them—
Her fingers convulsed on the punch. The initial surge of power slammed into her right before the engines folded space and time, and she gripped her armrest to combat sensation of falling.
During the brief half-second her surroundings shifted in the illusion of movement that preceded the jump, she caught sight of her pursuers—not the Perimeter Guard’s scout ships, but a pair of phantom fighters. A burst of light shot from their guns, but she had no time to react.
As the
missiles struck her engine core, the world folded in and away in a flash of white light.
DAMON UNIPOESA SCROLLED through the newsreel. Even though Minister Razar had limited his access, he could read between the lines well enough to know what was going on in the outside world.
The Starways is fracturing, he thought, reading the reports on food shortages and rioting throughout the unregulated territories. A new war is coming.
Damon looked up from the newsreel. The Military Minister, Tidas Razar, sat across from him, his belly lumping over the table, studying the Admiral’s face. What does that bastard want from me?
Since Damon’s breakdown after the Final Front at the Homeworld Perimeter against the Motti, his every move was monitored, and his speeches—if he was even allowed a public appearance—were scripted for him. Whatever he wants, it’s got to be something big since he made this a personal visit.
With his hands folded neatly across his chest, and perfectly cropped hair, Razar cast a judging eye on the disheveled admiral. Damon didn’t like the Minister’s new image, but it fit into his post-war agenda for a new military age. “We could use you back, you know,” Razar said.
Damon grunted. A long time ago he thought the Minister might have been a fair player, but Razar had since proven him otherwise.
“Right now the Starways needs a leader,” the Minister said. “I want you on full duty.”
“You can’t make a very convincing argument about needing me when you’ve got me cooped up in here,” Unipoesa sighed, putting down the newsreel. The interrogation room housed nothing more than two chairs and a table, with a solitary lamp shining down on them. Guards stood outside the door, watching their activity. Damon couldn’t tell if they were being recorded or not. “Why don’t you just reprogram me and send me back out on the streets? The Alliance could always use another Sleeper Agent.”
The change in Razar’s face was nearly imperceptible. “It was considered.”
Careful not to break his own stony expression, Damon made the connection: I’ve somehow made myself important enough to be left fully intact. That’s the only reason they’d keep me alive and in possession of my original memories.
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