I’ll have to figure this out later, she thought, putting it back in her pocket.
A voice behind her made her snap to attention. “Where is she?”
Jimmy!
Agracia turned the corner, trying to put some distance between them. This is way too coincidental to see both Jimmy and Jade in the Spillway. Something’s up.
(Something that will not turn out in my favor—)
“Hey!” Jimmy shouted, trying to get her to slow down.
Agracia picked up her pace, feeling for her weapons.
“Gracie Waychild.” Eddie stepped in front of her, and his boys closed in from behind. “So good to see you. I thought you’d never show your ugly face in the Spillway again.”
Without Bossy she didn’t have the muscle to take on Eddie and his boys, but she played her hand as if she did. “Step off, Eddie, or I’ll do to you what I did to Mexi.”
The smile left Eddie’s face. “Your little dog-friend, Bossy, did that. Mexi still eats from a tube, ratchakker. I think it’d only be far if we got one for Mexi.”
“Back off, assinos.”
Agracia turned to see Jimmy carrying a 9-VM assault rifle, something that couldn’t be bought on Old Earth. The market crowd took notice, people scattering and screaming, vendors and storekeepers slamming shut their doors and windows.
“Chak, man—where’d you get that thing?” she said.
“Back the chak off, assinos,” Jimmy said. He tried to sound intimidating, but Agracia heard the nerves in his voice. Fortunately, the 9-VM automatic did all the talking for him.
“I won’t forget this,” Eddie hissed as he took a step back.
“Thanks, man,” Agracia said, trying to turn away.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he said, grabbing her arm. “Follow me.”
“You’re gonna wish you killed me, you chakking little baech!” Eddie shouted. The rest of his gang joined in, threatening to commit acts worse than murder as Jimmy and Agracia backed away.
“Gonna take your eye out and put it you-know-where!”
“We’ll pull your guts out nice and slow and feed ‘em to the Necros.”
Once clear, the two sprinted down an abandoned street, winding their way down a flight of stairs and through another junction tunnel into a bustling thoroughfare.
“Straight ahead—the Watering Hole. Now,” Jimmy said, not letting her slow down.
Still holding the 9-VM automatic under his jacket, Agracia did as she was told. She entered the bar, ignoring the surprised looks of the patrons as she and Jimmy headed to the back.
“Chak you, Jimmy,” she said as he sat her down in a candle-lit booth.
“No, chak you, Agracia. You shorted me and Jade, and now it comes to this. Me and her been waiting for this for a long time.”
Agracia snorted. “Come on, man—you’re going to kill me? String me up? Sell me? Who gives a rat’s assino?”
“I do.”
Eyeglasses glinted in the shadows as a man emerged from the booth across from them. Agracia picked up the scent of his aftershave through the yellow haze of cigarettes and booze.
Gods, what is that? she thought, reminded of something old and debonair.
“Don’t tell me you’re working for a stiffie Tourist, Jimmy,” she said, trying to force out a chuckle despite the hollow pit forming in her stomach. Why is this old geezer making me nervous?
“How I’ve wanted to meet you, Agracia Waychild,” the man said, resting both hands on a black cane. “You’re quite the legend on Earth.”
She rolled her eyes. “Cut to the chase, alright? I don’t have the time.”
He smiled, but it didn’t look natural. Squinting in the low light, Agracia tried to figure out what was wrong with his face as he took a seat across from her. He looks human, but his skin is tight and shiny like plastic. She guessed he was probably rich and had some heavy cosmetic work, but not very well done.
“Thank you for your time, Jimmy,” the old man said, throwing him a purse. “Please give the other half to Jade.”
“My pleasure. Though I’d off this little rat for free,” Jimmy said.
Agracia laughed. “Come on, you nearly pissed yourself holding that 9-VM. And, jeezus, the chakking safety is still on. Good thing those thugs didn’t know a godich thing.”
Jimmy flushed, and his finger moved to the trigger, but the other man interceded, smacking his cane on the table between them.
“Enough. Thank you, Jimmy. Consider your debts and the debts of Jade finalized with Ms. Waychild.”
“Alright,” Jimmy grumbled.
“Later,” Agracia said, waving at him as walked away. Mouthing an expletive or two, the ringside medic flipped her off before exiting the Watering Hole.
“Chak, old man—you don’t need to take care of my business for me,” she said.
Except for maybe his cane, she hadn’t noticed any weapons on him, and he didn’t appear to have any watchdogs. All the other patrons were minding their business, leaving her to wonder what the hell he would want from her, especially given her violent reputation.
“On the contrary,” he said. He paused as he signaled the barkeep. “I assume you drink beer?”
“You assume correctly,” she said, swiping the bottle before the barkeep even set it down. The new voice inside her piped up that it was stupid to consume alcohol during a deal—and an empty stomach—but she shut it up with a giant gulp. “So, ‘on the contrary’ what?”
“You’re the best Jock on Earth, correct?”
She lifted an eyebrow, giving him her best no gorsh-shit expression.
“And you know the layouts of all the major cities around Ground Zero?”
“Duh,” Agracia said, chugging the rest of her beer.
He smiled, revealing the diamond finish to his teeth. The thought occurred to her that she could probably get some money for his teeth and the other implants he probably had in his expensive-looking body, but she wanted to hear him out first, especially since he had gone to some trouble to hunt her down.
He used people I know and bought off my debt, she mused. This is going to be good.
“Well, you have a lot of enemies—too many to kill,” the man said. “I had to buy most of them off. So you see, I’m a very trusting man, investing in you like this.”
Agracia scoffed. “Ain’t my problem.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You don’t know Earth too well, or at least Jocks like me. I don’t give a chak if you paid off my debts—that’s your deal. I got my own gorsh-shit right now. Unless you have a pretty penny to shine for me, I’ll thank you for the beer and be on my way.”
The old man’s smile didn’t change. Agracia’s stomach tightened. She kept up her vernacular and her usual act, but she was beginning to regret her decision. Somehow, some way, she felt like he could see right through her.
“You have a little sidekick, don’t you?” he asked.
“Don’t you worry your pretty face about that,” Agracia said, smacking her lips.
The old man leaned forward, and Agracia caught a glimpse of his suit coat, another item that would fetch her at least a grand. She hadn’t seen silk like that except on commercials.
“What’s this?” Agracia said as the old man offered her a palm-sized portable viewer.
“Play it,” he said, showing her the orientation.
Agracia eyed him and then pressed the top button.
“You chakker!”
The viewer showed an image of Bossy bound and gagged, her head bloodied and her eyes swollen shut.
“Ratchakkers!” Bossy rasped, her voice barely audible.
“Shove it,” Agracia said, getting up to go.
“She’ll be dead by tonight.”
“Chak you,” she said, turning to go again. She wanted to kill him as he sat there all smug, but she’d have to wait until he left the bar and drag him into the alley so the other patrons couldn’t cash in on her kill.
“If her life isn’t enough
, then how about yours? How about I tell you the truth about your parents and brother?”
A strange and sudden pain spiked inside her skull, causing her to lose her balance and bump into a nearby table. Other patrons glanced at her but otherwise paid no attention to the presumably drunk young girl.
She went back down to the booth and stared at the old man, trying to understand what was happening to her. “Who are you and what the hell do you really want?”
“You aren’t a Scabber, Agracia, and you aren’t really human,” he said. “You were meant for so much more than this. But first I need you to find something for me—something very important—and then I can help you.”
Agracia massaged her forehead until the pain slowly dissipated. “You have my friend.”
“I rescued her, too. She found her way into the fighting rings in the Spillway, but the bettors rigged her fight. I saved her, but she was quite brutal despite my hospitality. Those injuries you see were from before we got to her, but we did have to put her in restraints, lest she try to hurt me or my staff again.”
“You said she’d be dead by tonight,” Agracia said.
The old man folded his hands together, his eyes hidden behind the glare on his glasses. “She won’t eat, drink or sleep—she’s very weak.”
I don’t like the vibe of this old man, ‘specially since he seems to know so much more about me than I know about him, she thought. But I can’t play into his hand, can I?
No, this is gorsh-shit, she decided, angry with herself. I have to save Bossy.
“What do you want?” she said, keeping her tone even.
“I have a bet with an old friend that the very first space jump actually happened 1,128 years ago, right here, on this planet.”
Agracia shook her head. “What?”
His lips upturned at some point between a sneer and a grimace, making the skin around cheeks crinkle. “I want you to get me the launch signature on a ship. The information is stored near Ground Zero, and you’re reputed to be the only person ever to venture into those parts and live to tell about it.”
Agracia shrugged her shoulders. “That’s it?”
“Yes, that’s it. And it comes with two tickets to the Mars colony and a month’s pay.”
Agracia bit her lip. It was a pretty good deal, but she didn’t see the angle. “Why the hell would you want that sycha?”
“Because,” he said, leaning forward again, “I want to give due credit to the man who revolutionized space flight.”
“Whatever,” Agracia said. “Look—you’re gonna give me back my friend, and square with me about this ‘family’ of mine?”
The old man nodded, tapping his ringed fingers against his cane.
“And I want a year’s pay. Nothin’ short. Going out there in the wastelands ain’t child’s play.”
The old man smiled again, his perfect teeth poised to bite into her. “Three months. Final offer.”
Agracia wanted more, but she had no choice. If this man really had Bossy, and had enough money and power to pay off her debts, then she had to let it play out.
“So, what did you say your name was?” she asked as she watched him get up, his body making a queer crackling sound.
Leaning on his cane, the man gave her one last smile, the diamond-finish of his teeth sparkling through the cigarette haze. Her breath caught in her chest at the consuming black of his eyes. “You can call me Victor.”
JETTA CHECKED AND RECHECKED her armrest display, keeping close tabs on the sensor readings. Even though she had hand-selected her pilot and navigations officer, she wanted to make sure they didn’t fly too close to the border as the corvette approached the distortion field.
Making a fist, Jetta told herself to relax.
“You can never relinquish control, can you?” she imagined her sister saying.
This is the best I can do, she argued back.
After the Motti war she had been entrusted with command of the Special Missions Teams, and out of sheer necessity she had learned to trust and delegate dangerous operations to her team members. Now, surrounded by her most trusted soldiers and fellow officers from her SMT, she found herself regressing back into old habits.
This is different, she thought. Somehow, some way; she felt it in her bones.
Looking around at her crew, she realized why. They’re afraid, but they also know just how afraid I am.
“Skucheka,” she muttered, putting on her best face.
Determined to rein in the situation, Jetta flipped through the visual displays on her armrest.
The suspected Motti ship is nearing a remote outpost station, she observed. The site had been evacuated, but Erion, a planet home to billions of Sentients, was next in line. Even though the evacuation proceedings had begun, there was no way to move out the entire population of the planet before the ship came in range.
“Approaching the event horizon,” her helmsmen reported.
Jetta zoomed in on the projection. She could see nothing abnormal, making it all the more disturbing. The stars shone innocuously in the background as Erion’s outpost rotated on its axis, the distant, solitary sun reflecting off its tinted surface.
What’s out there?
Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Jetta thought of Jahx and her sister, of Galm and Lohien, and Triel. She even thought of the people of Erion, remembering that they had been advocates of the telepaths.
I’m can’t let my crew down, either, she reminded herself. Even though she had serious reservations about her superiors and governing bodies, she respected the men, women, and other Sentients that served alongside her.
As her inner conflict grew, she thought of her twin. I wish Jaeia was here.
At the same time, she was glad her twin wasn’t. She didn’t want Jaeia to be in harm’s way, nor did she want her sister knowing what she was about to do.
Jetta pressed down on the intercom button. “Attention all hands—hold your positions.”
“Lieutenant Ferraway,” Jetta said, releasing the button and turning to her first officer. “I’m going to try and make contact. If anything happens... you know what to do.”
Her first officer kept his voice low. “Sir, I implore you to utilize our medical staff to monitor your—”
“Lieutenant,” Jetta said sharply, “Mind your post and remember the plan.”
The first officer backed off and faced the front as the rest of the bridge fell into a hush. All eyes locked on the viewscreen where the mysterious ship lay hidden in the depths of space.
What am I doing?
Rational thought tried to intercede: (This is insanity—a death wish.)
But what other choice do I have? she countered.
Jetta remembered her last battle Motti, and the slick feeling of the demon that seduced her—
(With eyes open, they burn)
—and how a dark corner of her mind still hungered to be reunited, even though that thing had nearly cost her not only her own life, but those she held dearest.
No one is here to help me; I have to rely on my own abilities, she tried to tell herself even as the truth unfurled in her mind’s eye: Nightly dreams of the monster slipping back underneath her skin, one part of her reveling in its unimaginable powers as another wilted in terror. Dark yearnings giving rise to strange new appetites. Instead of feeling irritable, impetuous or indifferent in times of stress, finding herself unable to control the power sizzling at her fingertips.
That’s how I ended up on Earth, she realized. Her inner voice finished the thought: (And that’s why I enjoyed the bout with Rigger Mortis, and attacked Agracia.)
Is that why am I doing this? She looked down at her hands, not seeing her own pink skin but the flimsy outer covering an imposter. (What am I becoming?)
For the first time since she had recognized the dark pull inside her, she accepted another truth: There’s a reason I chose this mission—I am drawn to something on that Motti vessel.
Even as the revelation struck fear in he
r heart, she couldn’t bring herself to turn the ship around. I can’t go back now, she told herself. I have to do this—for my family.
Concentrating on the dark space beyond the Erios station, Jetta relaxed her mind, reaching out. White noise, diffuse and static, gained volume and intensity.
“I hear you,” she whispered, sliding out of her chair and onto her knees. Her first officer yelled something, but her vision telescoped away as she detached from her body.
Unlike the realm where she encountered Jahx and the demon, Jetta fell into a place of pure pain, concentrated and precise, shearing like a razor and gutting her from the inside out. Lipless screams echoed across the expanse, speaking of the minds fractured by an agony with immeasurable depth. She wanted nothing more than to run away, but at the same time, the voices, hypnotic in their torture, kept her from turning back.
Flecks of flesh peeled off from her body as she approached a rising halo of light. Its scorching brightness burned her eyes and skin, but she couldn’t look away. Disembodied voices became clearer. She could distinguish language and their numbers, feeling their words—jarring and abrasive—within her bones:
“Ai-lĕ, ime, Ai-lĕ—nos k’etekµe imæ Ai-lĕ”
“Umnïero, Amaroka, f’ro ime nos wrli e”
“Dk’a ovŋĭl sh’dar’o”
Jetta reached out to shield her eyes, but her skin, stripped from her hands, left only melting bones and blood to drip down her arm. Nerves immersed in liquid fire, Jetta dragged herself towards the light, even as the pain surpassed any threshold she could have ever conceived.
Somewhere deep inside her, Jetta knew that there was only one explanation for this place, for the holocaust of pain and suffering she experienced. With everything she had left, Jetta fought to be heard.
(I know what you are,) she screamed, thinking of Triel. (It’s not too late! I know how to save you—there is another.)
The pain intensified, driving her to her knees. She clutched her head with disintegrating hands as her psionic wall crumbled.
(This isn’t real. Oh Gods, this can’t be real—)
Jetta screamed as phantom roots slithered into her mind and dragged her into the burning light. Tasting madness and void, she lost sight of herself and any awareness of her life as the fire ate into her soul.
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