(No!) The Grand Oblin said, shaking his shoulders. (Don’t sleep—not here!)
(Why? What’s wrong?) Jahx said.
The Oblin’s wrinkled hands trembled. (Not to seem obvious, but this isn’t your old apartment.)
(He’s right,) Jahx thought, watching the couch fade and fray as if years had passed in seconds. (This is some kind of temporal fabrication.)
(Your body is dead, and mine is encoded into the network datastream. I think we’re both trapped in a transitional plane,) the Oblin said, his form fluctuating. Jahx watched with interest as the Berroman compacted and expanded into a female form.
(Oh, bother,) the Oblin muttered as she adjusted her robes. (It seems the same rules apply here.)
(You said there were others—why aren’t they here?) Jahx asked.
(I’m not sure about that either. I tried to find them. I was the only telepath of the group—maybe that has something to do with it.)
With great effort, Jahx walked over to the kitchen. He stood on tiptoe, trying to pour himself some water from the faucet, but the handle turned to jelly. Whatever this world is, he thought to himself, it’s not stable.
Exhausted, Jahx leaned against the counter. The tiles and wood gave way, as if made of sand.
The Grand Oblin scuttled over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders and leading him back to the family room. (Just stay awake a little while longer. I promise you we’ll figure this out.)
Jahx nodded and sat back down on the ottoman as various structures of the apartment rebuilt themselves around him and fell apart over and over again.
I don’t want to be here anymore, he thought, pulling up his knees to his chest. If only I could close my eyes, just for a moment...
The Grand Oblin seemed to know his intentions. (Jahx, I know you haven’t seen your sisters in a very long time. Perhaps you’d like to see them now?) she said, extending a chubby hand.
Jahx’s eyelids quivered at half-mast. (Who?)
Somewhere in the depths of him sounded a voice: (Jetta. Jaeia.)
He wanted to reach out to the Oblin, but his hand felt too heavy to lift.
The Grand Oblin sprouted up again, his frame thinning and his back hunching over. His eyes, sagging at the corners, aged centuries in a heartbeat. With a strained effort he picked up Jahx’s hand and held it in his. (My friend, let me show you.)
Psionic light burst forth from the Oblin’s touch, encompassing Jahx and pulling him into the harmonies of the old man’s inner world. After having been alone and guarded for so long, the comfort of another being released Jahx from his own prison.
I had almost forgotten how beautiful—
Jahx clasped the priest’s hand, holding tight as their minds collided. Shared memories exploded across his mind’s eye: the scene of his sisters’ crash site on Tralora and nursing them back to health. Jetta’s outbursts. Long conversations with Jaeia. Reaching out to them, trying to get them to understand the complexities of their situation. The Oblin’s fear as the truth about the Exiles’ circumstances came to light. The old man held nothing back.
(My sisters...) Jahx said, withdrawing his hand. A mix of relief and sadness tugged at his heart. (I’m glad they’re safe now.)
The Oblin spoke with uncommon kindness. (Because of you, dear boy.)
But Jahx could not celebrate the sacrifice he made. His sisters did survive, but seeing them again brought back the realities of the living, and a reminder of the awful truth he had learned before the Motti Overlord had stripped him from his body. He chided himself for being so ready to accept the peace of death when the fate he carved for his sisters would lead them to face the greatest of all evils.
I should have never allowed myself to be taken by M’ah Pae, he thought angrily. Jetta was right about me. I am weak.
The Grand Oblin’s amethyst eyes twinkled. (Don’t despair just yet, my young friend. Your instincts led you this far. Trust them. Besides, I have a feeling there might still be a chance for you and me,) the Grand Oblin said, resting his hand on Jahx’s shoulder. (After all, there is so much left to do.)
Jahx withdrew his hand from the Oblin’s and rested his head on his knees. (I don’t know how much longer I can stay here,) he said breathlessly as the walls of the apartment melted and reformed. The invisible force pulled at his chest and mind, and every moment he remained awake seemed to drag down on his soul. (I just want to rest—)
—and return to the dream.
(Don’t give up, Jahx,) the Grand Oblin whispered, holding fast to his shoulder. (Our work is not yet done.)
THE HEALER HAD ALREADY disappeared down the corridor before Jaeia could get any answers from the cleanup crew.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” the officer said, showing Jaeia the flashing message on his uniform sleeve. “Minister Razar gave me strict orders to remove the dog-soldiers.”
“By any means necessary, I see,” she said, looking him in the eye.
The officer cleared his throat and shifted his gaze away from her. “They left me with no choice, Commander.”
Jaeia held angry words back, knowing better of the situation. This isn’t this man’s fault; Reht didn’t play his hand well.
With a heavy heart, Jaeia righted an overturned chair and resurveyed the damaged quarters. Reht wasn’t patient enough—or maybe he didn’t trust that I’d keep my end of the bargain.
She had been planning to strike a deal with the Military Council for the crew’s release, and she was certain she would have accomplished that, especially with the value represented by the Narki technology, but for whatever reason, he had jumped ahead of schedule.
Maybe he knew something, Jaeia thought. Or maybe the Minister did.
“Gods,” she muttered, checking the beeping communications monitor on her uniform sleeve. An alert from the Minister ordered her to take the next available lift. There were no further instructions beyond a Priority Level 5 tag flashing at the end of the message. Something big has happened.
Jaeia rubbed her hands together until her skin abraded. I can’t just leave Triel by herself, especially when she’s experiencing such volatile emotions. But how can I be in two places at once?
Closing her eyes, she waded through the neuroelectric tangle of the starbase crew until she came upon Triel’s psionic signature. The Healer’s normally mellifluous tune rose in a throb of anger and discontent. She had experienced Triel this upset, but never with such stark overtones of loneliness and despair.
(What do I do?)
When she opened her eyes again, she found Priority Level 5 still flashing on her uniform sleeve.
What about my sister—
(I can’t abandon the Fleet)
—or my friends?
Jaeia rarely ever swore, but she found the expletives spilling out under her breath. “Skucheka!”
Squeezing her eyes shut again, Jaeia extended her senses and wrapped herself around the Healer’s signature.
I am here for you, she called, sending waves of reassurance and peace across the psionic planes. Impenetrable ice walls repelled her efforts, deepening her worry. I’ve never felt a psychic barrier like this before.
“Triel, come in, please. Triel!” she said into the com on her uniform sleeve. Crackling static responded.
“No,” Jaeia muttered, spying a lift whizzing down the hall toward her position.
“Commander,” the operator said, stopping the unit by her side. Specialized soldiers flanked him, guns pressed to their chests.
The Minister has never ordered a security detail like this when requesting my presence. Grazing the minds of the soldiers, Jaeia did not sense aggression. This is a precautionary measure.
(The Minister is afraid.)
She had to think quickly, but there were so few people that Triel trusted—that she trusted—at least when it came to personal affairs.
Admiral, Jaeia typed into her sleeve, I’m concerned about Triel but can’t meet with her right now. Please check on her. I will join you shortly.
A
response popped back almost immediately. On my way.
Jaeia allowed herself a hesitant sigh of relief as she boarded the lift. Damon was one of the few people she felt she could really trust. Even Jetta wasn’t completely doubtful of him.
“Please hold on, Commander,” the lift operator cautioned before speeding off.
They covered a distance of almost three-quarters of the post before they arrived at their destination deep in the heart of the Alliance Central Starbase.
“Thank you,” Jaeia said to the lift operator, stepping off the platform. The outer doors of the research lab belched cold, sterile air as they parted. Heavily armored guards greeted her, falling in step with her as she hurried down the corridor.
When she stepped in to the front office, she found Director DeAnders looking over a series of charts and talking quietly with his staff. As soon as he spotted her, he waved her over. “Commander, please follow me.”
Jaeia gently probed his thoughts. The director was eager to show her something, but she sensed a considerable despondency creasing his enthusiasm.
“The Minister is already waiting inside,” he said, guiding her through the maze of the research labs towards the weapons division.
From the stray thoughts she managed to capture, Jaeia anticipated what she was about to see. (A major breakthrough. Revolutionary technology—)
—They’ve managed to initiate the Narki technology.
Though she had poured every detail of her gleanings from Senka into her report, she hadn’t expected the Minister to authorize any trials so soon.
“Were you able to calculate the final mass conversion?” Jaeia asked, opening and shutting her hands, trying to get them to stop shaking. She feared the worst, but she wanted so badly to see her friends safely materialized.
The director didn’t respond, making her more nervous. Instead, he concentrated on entering a sequence of numbers into the keylock by the double-plated doors.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to this part of the starbase,” Jaeia commented, seeing the signage for “Division Lockdown Experimental Lab 1.”
The keylock emitted a series of clicking sounds before an iridescent blue panel revealed itself behind the keylock. The director pressed his thumb into the pad as a retinal scanner flashed his eyes.
“Clearance, Dr. DeAnders,” the computerized voice announced as the doors opened.
Inside the lab was a flurry of activity. Jaeia could barely see over the sea of white-coated technicians running back and forth across the catwalks and staging area. Looking up, Jaeia spotted cylindrical tubes, filled with a translucent orange fluid, suspended in the center of the room.
I remember detailing those in my report, she thought, spotting the large energy concentrators and biofeed tethers attached to the tubes.
Pain and suffering slipped into her mind, dragging her attention away from the realized Narki technology. The rest of the lab faded away from her sights as the Minister’s mind, burning the brightest in the room, became a fiery star in a frigid night sky.
He’s no longer in control of himself, she realized. Keeping his pain a safe distance from her mind, she crossed the room to stand by his side next to the tubes. Only the burden of loss, especially death, could unsettle a mind of one of the most practiced masters of Rai Shar...
(Senka?)
Jaeia placed a hand on the back of his arm. “Minister...”
Keeping his back straight and rigid, he pointed to the center cylindrical tube. “She’s in there,” he said, tone flat and detached.
Swimming in his worries, Jaeia only needed one glance at Razar’s face to see the puffiness in his eyes and the pinched corners of his mouth to confirm her telepathic senses.
Oh no...
Jaeia cautiously approached the tube. Sliding her hand across the glass, she listened, extending her mind out as far as she could. She lost sight of the lab as she traversed farther than she normally dared, straining to hear even the faintest sound in the empty hollow.
All of her hopes quickly crumbled in the vast zeroscape of Senka’s mind. There’s nothing here.
Her friend, floating peacefully in the viscous orange biogel, eyes unseeing and shut, seemed to stare back at her with accusation as she withdrew.
“Physiologically they’re intact,” DeAnders said, handing her a dataclip. The numbers and readings meant nothing to her as her feelings took charge. Did I miss something in my reports?
(Did I kill the Exiles?)
“But we can’t seem to wake them up,” the doctor continued. “For lack of a more accurate term, we’ve diagnosed them all in a comatose state. Well, except one.”
Tilting her head to the side, Jaeia picked up on a psionic dissonance radiating from the tank to Senka’s left. Even distorted, she knew the sound of his tune. The Grand Oblin.
She pressed her hands against the cold glass and stared into the murky orange fluid. Seeing the familiar wrinkled face with eyes closed and mouth slack, she immediately sank beneath his skin.
Greeting her was the well of infinity she had sensed only once before, back when she and Jetta had bridged impossible lengths to locate their brother in limbo. The Oblin’s mind spanned backward impossibly far, farther than she could perceive, his essence stretched so thin she could barely make out its impression against the shifting psionic palette.
“He’s there,” Jaeia whispered. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I can feel him. He’s still attached to his body, but barely. I don’t know what happened to the others,” she said, hurrying from tube to tube, hearing nothing but the same eerie silence that pervaded Senka’s mind.
Where are you?
“Gods,” Jaeia whispered, biting her lip. If only Jetta was here. With her twin’s help she could extend her psionic reach and maybe find a way to help the Oblin and the other Exiles.
But no. Jetta left me behind. Again. Jaeia blushed and stopped herself. She couldn’t have those thoughts. She’d had enough personal and borrowed experience to know where that kind of thinking led.
“We’ve managed to flash several inorganic objects,” DeAnders said, pointing to the energy pad on the other side of the cylinders. Boxes of tools and miscellaneous engine parts lay in scattered heaps.
The doctor dropped the level of his voice. “We weren’t allotted a time trial of the process on Sentient organic material.” He glanced at the Minister before looking back at her. “We also discovered that their signals were rapidly degrading. Time was our enemy.”
“I understand,” Jaeia whispered back.
“And this rescue operation was given a high priority level,” he added.
Jaeia cupped her hand over her mouth. She didn’t want to react, not in front of fellow officers and soldiers, or in front of other staff. But her stomach started to revolt, spasms tearing through her esophagus, and she ran to the nearest trash receptacle and threw up.
Why did I wait? Why didn’t I act sooner?
Holding out to ensure the safety of the dog-soldiers, the Healer and even their own lives had cost those of the Exiles.
This is all my fault.
All she wanted right then was for the Minister to scream at her, to court-martial her, to throw her in the brig, but he didn’t. The Military Minister, his jaw tight and his mouth pinched, turned on heel and left the lab, his escorts trailing behind.
DeAnders offered her a towel. “Commander, this technology was intended for the transport of armies, and that means the transport of organic material. There are a lot of things we still don’t know, and we’re working to figure out what went wrong.” He adjusted the glasses on his face and cleared his throat. “Don’t take this is a failure yet.”
“No,” Jaeia said, wiping her mouth with the towel and straightening up her uniform. “I don’t. I will review your process and see if there’s anything I can add. When my sister returns we can revisit this situation. Have you asked Triel for her consultation? She can perceive biosignals and psionic rhythms better than we can.”
DeAnders fumbled with his dataclip. Everything about his affect changed. No longer was he accessible; the internal barriers went up in an instant. “I was informed that Triel’s commission is currently under review.”
Jaeia sucked in her breath and held it. “Excuse me? I wasn’t aware of this.”
DeAnders looked over his shoulder nervously. He then grabbed her by the arm and pulled her under a recirculating station where they couldn’t be overheard. “Her behavior has caused some concern. That’s all I can say. You’ll have to speak with the Minister.”
“But this is an emergent situation—is she that critical? Why wasn’t I informed? I’m one of the people who could help—”
DeAnders accepted a datapost from one of the technicians and shook his head. “I have to get back. Check with the Minister—these are not my affairs.”
Jaeia pressed her knuckles together until she heard a pop. The urge was there, alive and dancing in her chest: I can use my second voice. I can get answers.
Jaeia licked her lips. No, she couldn’t do that. I’m upset, and using my talents when I’m distressed is the worst thing I could do. That’s how people get hurt—
(That’s how people die.)
Jaeia willed her legs to take her out of the lab, despite the fierce desires that seethed inside her. She would have to find another way.
(Who are they to control you?)
It was a crazy thought, one she would have been more likely to find in Jetta’s mind, not her own.
Where did that come from?
Jaeia dismissed the thought and placated herself with the survivalist mentality she had fallen into for years. I don’t need unpleasant thoughts tearing me down; I need to focus on more important matters.
As she left the Division Lockdown, a message from Triel beeped on her sleeve. I sent the admiral away. I’m fine. Just need some time alone.
Seconds later a message from the admiral appeared. She wouldn’t allow me inside her quarters, but she assured me everything is okay. I’ll check back with her in an hour.
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