Unless...
(I have to use my talents.)
She looked to Agracia and Bossy, who sat motionless in their chairs, no longer jubilant as they faced the certain loss of their investment. She cracked up the visor of her helmet so only her lips were visible.
“Please,” she mouthed, pointing to her head.
The ankle cuff powered down.
Before she could react, the black wolf swept her off her perch. She crashed hard into the sand, little black motes dotting her vision. Another set of teeth gnashed into her shoulder as she tried to scoot away.
Knife still in hand, she thrust her weapon at the closest attacker. The white wolf yelped as the blade sunk deep into its hip, making the others draw back.
Jetta dizzily got to her feet, waving the knife in front of her. The wolves circled around, lips writhing, fangs dripping, readying for their next meal.
“You will not have me!” she shouted.
Teeth bared, she stretched out her mind, connecting with the animals that hunted her. But she had never touched the mind of an intelligent wild animal before, and she was wholly unprepared for the experience.
Jetta dropped to her knees, her eyes blind to the world around her. She fell backwards, feeling teeth close down on her neck, the black veil of death upon her.
JAEIA SAT IN THE OBSERVATORY under the light of the stars, trying to remember a peaceful time. There was a brief period after the Final Front where she and her sister celebrated hope and, strangely enough, their newfound celebrity and wealth, but it wasn’t what stood out in her mind.
Closing her eyes, she chose to reawaken her happiest memories.
Before Lohien was taken away and Galm withdrew, she thought, going back to their days on Fiorah. And Jetta, Jahx and I weren’t sick and forced into endless labor.
Seeing her ragtag family again in the back of her mind made her smile. She heard the sound of her aunt and uncle preparing dinner in the kitchen as she and her siblings tore through the first apartment playing another made-up game.
It didn’t matter that we were poor, she thought, remembering the strong feel of her uncle’s arms as he helped her up to the kitchen counter to sample the stew. We were together.
Jaeia took a deep breath and flipped open her remote interface pad, redirecting her thoughts. She had come to the Central Starbase’s observatory so she could investigate what she had absorbed from Triel in privacy. I have to know who or what “Rion the Abomination” is.
Using the remote system was not as easily traceable as it would have been in her quarters, but she didn’t want to take too many chances. After creating a false identity, she patched into the wave network’s datastream, knowing that she would have limited time to surf undetected before the Alliance safety nets stopped her unauthorized query.
Rion, the Abomination, she entered into the search engine.
Nothing came up.
“Okay,” Jaeia said, typing in a new search. Folklore, Algar.
Limited hits came back. Records from Algar were few, but she had hoped that the Homeworlds’ historical societies would have tried to preserve some of its people’s history for public access.
Not expecting much, she clicked on the closest hit. A brief summary of a Prodgy legend filled her screen.
In the year 100 LL, the Prodgies of Algar faced an unstoppable enemy with the power of the Gods. By uniting their tribes, the Prodgies drew upon their communal strength and defeated their nemesis. The colossal victory broke the cycle of violence that had reigned over Algar since the dawn of time. The Gods, pleased with the people, granted them the gift of healing.
Jaeia bit her lip. I have to know more. She ran searches on the final battle on Algar and the Gods, but they returned nothing useful.
“Tell me about this ‘enemy.’”
One hit. She clicked on the journal logged by a graduate student at the University of Trigos at Sinani on the origins of telepathy. Most of it was what she already knew about the evolution and mechanism of telepathy. But the student also touched on another topic: the myths of Algar.
“My Continued Research on the Origins and Myths of Prodgy Talents” by Antonne Delphius: 3033.011
...Despite the strong evolutionary support for the adaptive function of telepathic powers, the Healers of Algar maintain that their powers were gifted to them by the divine. The history of their people is strongly guarded, and outsiders are strictly forbidden from learning the origins of their healing abilities. Even younger members of the tribes are limited in their knowledge, and to speak of it is punishable by death, a law that contradicts the pacifist nature of these people.
From my research on the planet conducted from 3030.114–3032.353, I concluded that the development of their healing powers seems to have taken place between 200–50 LL, coinciding with what little is known of their legends.
Although it cost me some hard-earned privileges with my cousin Amargo, I learned of a man named Saol who had been at the heart of the last war on Algar, right before the Healers claimed they were given their telepathic powers. Further research needs to be conducted on this person of interest so that we may understand the evolutionary process of telepathy, specifically those of Healers. My research indicates that the Temple of Exxuthus, a place that it is said no man can reach, will be the primary source of such knowledge.
Jaeia’s sleeve vibrated, diverting her from the journal entry. With a sigh she closed down the remote interface and looked down at her arm. The message on her uniform sleeve, encoded and prioritized, flashed in red.
After taking one last look at the swirling light of the nebulous stars, she accepted the message. It’s probably going to be an assignment for another back-to-back shift or new orders for a Contact mission.
“What?” she muttered. From the structure it appeared to be an internal message, but the length of the alphanumerics riding the link made her think a code had been piggybacked.
Late for dinner again. Sorry. The man on fire knows my excuse.
Jaeia scanned the message for viruses. Negative. She checked the source: unknown sender. If it had piggybacked into the system, then she had no way of tracing it anyway.
Jaeia saved it to her personal files and was about to send it to the chief of security when the message repeated in her head.
Late for dinner again. Sorry. The man on fire knows my excuse.
Is it from Jetta? she wondered. Or one of our intelligence agents?
Jaeia ran her hand along the bench, fingertips rubbing the smooth wood grain. No, it can’t be. She and Jetta had a few dozen secret code languages that they used if they needed to communicate openly, and her intelligence agents never made contact via her personal com-link. This is someone who wants only my eyes to see this message, who needs to stay undercover—somebody who wants me to find them.
The man on fire...
Who do I know who fits that description?
Her eyes darted back and forth as she flipped through a mental list of people that might plausibly contact her like this. Mantri Sebbs possesses an unusual knack for computer hacking. It could be him. After all, he’d want to stay undercover after escaping from the Alliance guard.
Jaeia was about to call up one of her agents when the floor beneath her quaked. She tilted her head at the sound of a secondary explosion in the distance.
“Commander Kyron—there’s been a breach in cargo bay seven,” the duty officer informed her over the com. She let her mind stretch out beyond the observatory, sensing what had happened even before the duty officer finished his report. “CMA Triel stole one of the starships and jumped too close to the base. Part of the science deck has been obliterated.”
Jaeia scooped her hair up and tied it in a knot, readying herself. “Where did they take Reht? That’s where she’s going.”
The officer paused. “It’s classified, Sir; only the Minister has access to that information.”
Jaeia shut off the com and took off for the Minister’s office, ignoring her officer’s
repeated pages. I’ve always played the peacemaker, but not anymore. I want answers, even if I have to force them from the Minister. The lives of my sister and friends are too important to leave to negotiation.
Jaeia took one of the lifts up to the highest level of the starbase, keeping her composure. However, when the Minister’s secretary asked for her to wait for his clearance, she dodged the guards and stormed her way through the double-doors.
Inside, Unipoesa and the Minister Razar hovered over a communications display. They both looked up when she walked in, the Minister shutting off the panel as soon as he recognized her.
“Commander,” the Minister said, stepping out from behind the display. “What are you doing here?”
“If you’re not straight with me, right here and now, I will resign from the Starways Alliance. Where is the crew of the Wraith?” she said, shaking off the guards.
“Leave her. Resume your posts,” the Minister said quietly to the guards. They withdrew, closing the doors behind them.
By the shock on Unipoesa’s face, Jaeia knew that he had had no part in whatever had gone down between the Alliance and the dog-soldiers. However, the Minister, his face cold and hard, lips parted slightly, reeked of deception.
“They are safe, Commander,” the Minister said. “We merely transferred them to a frigate. They are being transported right now, as we speak, to the outer worlds.”
Despite his stringent Rai Shar, Jaeia detected the half-truth. “What frigate?”
The Military Minister took one step towards her, straightening his back to appear more confident than he felt. “You’ll be able to contact them once they’ve cleared the jump sites.”
“The Hixon,” Unipoesa said, searching a nearby terminal. “They were discharged to the Hixon.”
Jaeia sorted through her mental catalog of ships as Razar shot the admiral a contemptuous look.
“That ship was retired years ago,” Jaeia said, approaching Razar. “It was an old science and research vessel.”
Razar got in her face. “They are safe. Safer now than ever. They are being taken care of, and you will be able to contact them yourself when they’ve cleared the asteroid belt.”
Jaeia didn’t believe him for a minute. “Are you tracking Triel?”
The Minister leaned in, enough so that she had to take a step back. “Our resources are stretched thin, Commander, trying to investigate the matter of the communications blackout on the perimeter, chasing after your sister, babysitting the dog-soldiers—and now finding our resident Healer.”
“I understand that, Sir, but—”
“Oh, and let’s not forget,” he interrupted, “trying to resurrect my dead niece and her companions. In light of this, I would appreciate it if you performed your assigned duties and attended the appointed council meetings. Barging in on our affairs only delays the kind of resolution we are all hoping to achieve.”
“You promised me full access on Reht, and I’ve yet to get those clearance codes, Minister,” Jaeia tried.
The Minister’s face turned severe. “Get out of my office, Commander. You’ll get those codes when the Fleet is secured.”
Despite her frustration, her instincts told her it wasn’t time to play her hand just yet. She withdrew, catching the admiral’s eye before she left.
With her mind on her sister, she walked down the corridor, passing up offers for a lift. As she reviewed her options and her next course of action, a psionic whisper stopped her dead in her tracks.
(The forest is dead. The hunt is dead. There are only ashes. I want to go home.)
“Jetta,” she whispered, falling to her knees. Several soldiers rushed to her aide, one easing her to the floor as her awareness shifted in and out of the psionic connection.
(I want to go home.)
Her eyes are sharp, her sense of smell even sharper. On four legs instead of two, she runs toward an opening in the trees, instincts guiding every move. She scans the mountainous horizon, turning her nose into the wind, detecting the scent of blood. A dense fur coat protects her from the crisp winter air.
“Commander, Commander!” someone shouted.
Time shifts forward. The soft glow of the moon illuminates the treetops of the forest below as she stands on the edge of the cliff. She smells her family nearby and her heart fills with joy. The hunt was good, and her packmates are safe.
She raises her elongated snout to the stars and gives off a cry into the still night air. Soaring upward with eerie fervency toward its apex, the howl fades away and then begins again, this time in chorus with the other voices of her kind. The ancient song, one that she feels deep within her bones, has been sung since time immemorial.
(I want to go home.)
Time leaps forward again. The forest is ablaze, sky blackened by smoke, the world turned to ash. Gunshots and trampling footsteps approach.
(The pack is dead.)
All alone she runs, but there is nowhere left to go.
(Home—)
Something snaps down on her back leg. Struggling only intensifies the pain, but it is all that she can do as the men with guns step out from behind dead trees.
“Get the medic!”
Jaeia tried to break from the link, but it was too strong—
A steel collar weighs down her neck. In the darkness she can barely make out the chain linking her to the bolts in the wall. Panicked, she thrashes about, but to no avail. Giving in to exhaustion, she collapses to the cold floor, very aware of the eyes watching her from the safety of the shadows.
Images blur and reform. Men with clubs appear, taunting and teasing her between beatings, giving her the taste of a hatred she could have never imagined in the forest world.
(Please, home—)
A new time comes in to view. Food is scarce, and the only way to eat is by killing the men in the ring. The lights stings her eyes and the chanting hurts her ears. Worse yet, the human flesh tastes vile, but it satisfies the anger burning in her heart.
(You are not Jetta. Who are you?) she whispered as another vision formed.
The smell of alcohol and antiseptic is strong, making her nose twitch. She can’t see, but she can feel the prick of the needle and the pain of the injection as several men hold her down. It is like this every day, as is the sickness that shortly follows. But she’s getting bigger, stronger, and the taste of man-flesh becomes a violent need...
As Jaeia came to, she felt her body being lifted onto a stretcher. I’ve never experienced anything like that before.
“Put me down—I’m okay,” she said over and over again until the medics finally relented.
“Sir, I recommend you check into the infirmary,” the lead medic said, stepping in her way as she tried to catch a lift on wobbly legs.
If Triel was there, Jaeia thought to herself, rubbing her blurry eyes. I should never have left her alone. Or Jetta. This is my fault.
She thanked the soldiers and the medics before she caught the lift.
“Where to, Commander Kyron?” the autofunction asked.
Still dizzy from the psionic immersion, she stared at the flashing display, unsure of where to go. I need to report to duty and work on my mission assignment, but I can’t disregard my other priorities. Most importantly, she reasoned, she needed to understand what had just happened to her. That vision was definitely from Jetta, but it was not Jetta’s, and it did not seem conventionally Sentient.
Without Jetta or Triel it was going to be difficult. That left her with only one option.
“Shead,” she cursed in Fiorahian, directing the lift to take her to the Division Lockdown Labs. The only way to narrow it down without telepathic talents was to use the broad access, super-processing “Hub” system.
“Dr. DeAnders,” Jaeia called, hopping off the lift and running down the main corridor of the Defense/Research department. “I need to speak to you!”
DeAnders turned from his computer station, adjusting the secondary scope on his glasses. “Commander—this is unexpected.”<
br />
“I need your help.”
DeAnders lowered his voice, making sure his words didn’t carry. “Commander, I’m sorry, I’m due in the cryostasis labs. We’re trying a new re-feeder process with the datastream to see if we can attempt another download with the Exiles again.”
“It will only take a moment,” she said. “Is the Hub available?”
DeAnders tilted his head, nonplussed. “Considering your previous opposition to the program, Commander, I’m surprised that you ask.”
“I know, but I’m out of options, and this concerns my sister. It might be the key to finding her.”
“You’ll need help with the interface module.”
Jaeia raised an eyebrow. He knew her better than that to assume that she hadn’t already picked up how to work the machine.
The doctor looked at her over the tops of his glasses. “Oh, right. Well, I still need to accompany you for security purposes. Let’s make this quick.”
Jaeia followed the doctor into the lab housing one of the three gigantic computer processors used for complex queries and research programs. Only accessible by select Alliance staff, the experimental Hubs were under top-secret lockdown, kept quiet so as not to alert A.I. watch groups.
Jaeia seated herself in one of the accessory chairs to allow DeAnders space to interact with the computer.
“Welcome, Dr. DeAnders. Welcome, Commander Kyron,” the computer said as it came to life, illuminating the room in hues of green, blue, and red. Imagining itself as a human liaison, the computer projected an image of an old man with an abnormally large head full of wild, fuzzy hair.
“What are we calling ourselves today?” DeAnders said, typing in several commands into the keyboard.
“Ennui,” the computer said, talking with a lisp in a high-pitched male voice. “That’s our name.”
DeAnders looked annoyed as he typed in several more commands.
“It hurts when you do that to us,” the Hub whined as DeAnders checked the circuit links, making adjustments to keep the Hub’s network within definable parameters.
Jaeia had been against the tailoring of the Hub, especially if it was truly evolving into a Sentient being, but since she, like many others, used the Hub to complete critical mission objectives, her arguments for its freedom were typically snubbed.
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