Triorion Omnibus

by L. J. Hachmeister

  Not knowing what else to do, Triel grabbed Jetta’s hand and pinned her back against the pilot’s chair. At first Jetta struggled, but when Triel sank beneath her skin, Jetta froze.

  Triel went through the lacerated layers of Jetta’s muscle and dermis, stimulating cell repopulation and directing her body to expunge the harmful debris. It was a relatively superficial injury, and Triel didn’t need to sink so deeply into Jetta’s internal rhythm to facilitate her recovery, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted Jetta to understand that she didn’t judge her, that she understood why she had committed such an act. Triel had known several of her tribesmen to have unintentionally killed their patients after trying to heal them. It was a sort of self-defense mechanism, a violent allergic reaction to a deeply wounded soul. Triel seeded these thoughts and memories inside Jetta, but she also penetrated further, realizing it wasn’t her only objective.

  Had she imagined what she had seen and felt when she had assaulted Jetta’s mind in the intensive care unit? It usually took the strongest band of Prodgies to save the Falling—and Jetta wasn’t a Prodgy, nor did she know what she was doing. But what Triel felt inside Jetta was pure, powerful, and without parallel to anything she had ever felt from another being.

  “Hey,” Jetta said, pushing her away. “It’s fine. Thanks.”

  The abrupt severance left ghostly afterimages in her vision. “I hate it when you do that.”

  “Sorry,” Jetta said unapologetically as she returned to the pilot’s seat.

  “I was just trying to help,” Triel said. “Even you need it every once and a while, you know.”

  “Thank you,” Jetta said. The look in her eyes was sincere, but her tone warned Triel that the conversation would go no further.

  “Jetta,” Triel said, trying again. “What happened in the intensive care unit?”

  “Not now,” Jetta cut her off.

  “Then when?” Triel said, but Jetta said nothing as she pretended to direct all of her attention on the flight course, green eyes hard set on the projected readouts.

  “Gods,” Triel mumbled, clumsily sitting back down in the nav chair.

  “Zopramine headache?”

  “I guess.”

  “There’s a caffeine booster in the medkit.”

  Triel didn’t want to give up on the conversation, but there were more pressing matters, especially her splitting headache. Jetta watched out of the corner of her eye as Triel administered the caffeine booster. The relief was mild, but it took the edge off. Exhausted, Triel rested her head against the seatback, trying to convince herself that all would be solved once they got to Algar.

  But in her heart she knew that was far from true. She opened one eye to see Jetta guiding their stealth fighter to Iyo Kono, avoiding most of the automated sweeps by cruising through the native planet’s upper atmosphere before docking at the orbital station. Triel had never been to Iyo Kono but knew of its reputation. The exterior structures looked like any other dingy bar and fuel station as they slowly rotated over a central module. However, the true secret of Iyo Kono was housed in the interior superstructures which only the knowledgeable could access.

  “I used to think Fiorah was the worst place in the galaxy,” Jetta said as she finalized the deceleration process and pulled down the visor to her helmet. Twin locking clamps secured their vessel in position as armored commando units and a man clad in a sterile white lab gown came down the portal tube to meet them. “But at least Fiorah doesn’t pretend to be anything but what it is.”

  “Put on that jumpsuit,” Jetta said, pointing to the locker. “There’s an extra helmet in the rear compartment. Follow my lead, okay?”

  Triel tried to conceal the worry in her voice. “Why all the muscle?”

  “Human rights advocates occasionally stop by,” Jetta replied coolly. “Don’t worry—it’s a lot of show, but I wouldn’t test them.”

  Jetta dropped the ramp and motioned for Triel to stay in the cockpit as she met the greeting party. The two commando units were decked out with tactical gear from head to toe. Everything from a trexium-plated exoskeleton and embedded mini-missiles to optic relays mounted on metal faceplates warned of their capabilities. Triel was familiar with the technology since was used in the Alliance military. However, the soldiers inside these superskins rarely left their suits—if ever—once fitted. It was a strange custom known only to Iyo Kono, one that Jetta had explained before, but Triel had never fully understood.

  “Welcome to Iyo Kono. My name is Oshiro, and I’m here to assess your needs and verify your passport.”

  The man’s amalgam of features was strange enough that Triel wasn’t sure what species he was. He was impeccably groomed and manicured, and his sleek white gown was fitted to the cuff.

  Jetta handed Oshiro two passports, which he scanned with the underside of his wrist. She didn’t have them when they left Alliance territory, meaning she had acquired the passport while they were docked. Triel didn’t dare think about what lengths Jetta might have gone to obtain them.

  “Amelia Wallace—this is quite the surprise. Has Mr. Wallace accompanied you?”

  “Edgar,” Jetta called.

  Triel stepped into view, fully outfitted from head to toe.

  Oshiro bowed. “Mr. Wallace, your reputation precedes you. This is quite the honor. I promise you full anonymity.”

  “We just need to refuel, actually. Then we’ll be on our way.”

  “But your ship suffered damages,” Oshiro said, pointing to the sizzling forward shield array. “I could have that fixed at a very nice price while you tour our facility. I’ll do it for 45.6 ruthens.”

  Triel heard Jetta curse through their headset com. Triel knew that Jetta would rather fuel up and wait to make repairs until the next jump, but realistically it was better to fix the ship here.

  “I have credit with the Bank of Shiera—will that work?” Jetta said.

  Triel smiled. Jetta, having always been resourceful, had stashed some of her military earnings in a masked account on one of the protectorates. It was untraceable, and easy to transfer.

  “Of course.” Oshiro’s smile was perfectly symmetrical, his teeth the same bright white as his gown.

  They followed Oshiro and his armored commandos back through the portal tube into the reception gallery. The entire color scheme from the walls to the floor was a crisp white, without a fleck of dust or dirt to be found on the geometric furniture. Everything had been meticulously centered around the video projection and perfectly streamlined to maximize viewership.

  “This is where we greet all of our prospective clients,” Oshiro said. Several masked individuals sat far apart from each other, watching the video with concentrated interest. By the vibrations of their thoughts, all were human, which made Triel all the more uneasy.

  The video was merely an introductory message, but Triel knew that Jetta would never stand for it, even if she was trying to pass through Iyo Kono unnoticed.

  “The possibilities are endless,” the female narrator said. “We’re not trying to change you. We’re trying to best represent on the outside how you feel on the inside.”

  Hostesses with unnaturally smooth skin served colorful cocktails and neat little appetizers as the narrator continued to promise a brand new life for a small fortune.

  “We’ve had a long journey, and we are familiar with Iyo Kono. Is there any way we can just get a room while the repairs are made?” Jetta said.

  “Of course.” Oshiro bowed and lead them out of the gallery to the heart of the station, where hundreds of pavilions encased in curved, glass-block windows fanned out against a soothing garden backdrop. An animated waterfall cascaded from the video skyline into a shimmering pool populated with red bamboo and striped fish. It unsettled Triel to see how the designers had fused the organic with the cold sterility of modern technology, as if trying to convince the audience that all of it was sanctioned by the laws of nature.

  “As you know, Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, our main clientele a
re humans, but we are not exclusive. This is a place of rebirth for all.”

  Triel automatically pulled the jumpsuit tighter around her body as her eyes surfed the crowd. White-gowned technicians greeted customers outside nameless clinics as identical smooth-skinned hostesses escorted exiting patients by wheelchairs or hovercart. Most, immobilized and sedated with painkillers, wore fresh scars that ran the length of their bodies. The few still limping through the gardens were bandage-wrapped and trailed by attendants carrying intravenous fluids and vials of serum.

  Synthetic hormones and sterilization fluids were pungent in the air despite the lush rose garden and her helmet’s filter. When they passed the open door of one clinic and the smell of cauterized flesh wafted out, she nearly gagged. But more than chemicals and medical waste it reeked of desperation, a neediness that hung over the place like a wet blanket, hiking her shoulders up. This wasn’t a safe place for either of them, but especially not a Healer.

  “Look at me! Look at me!” someone screamed.

  Triel turned her head to see a woman pawing at her face as medical technicians tried to discourage her from touching the surgical site. Puffy scars ran the length of her hairline, and her artificial nose and lips were still bright pink from the grafting. Triel couldn’t tell what species she was; the reconstructive work was too extensive.

  “I’m beautiful!” she cried. Several other clients laughed and cheered, but Oshiro was quick to steer them away from the commotion.

  “I must say, I am surprised and delighted by your visit. Especially you, Mrs. Wallace—you were so vocal against our facility at the Summit.”

  They passed by a clinic displaying vat-grown flesh in the window. Jetta’s anger was ripe in the Healer’s mind, but she muted her emotions before selecting her words. “Nothing is ever absolute in this universe, is it, Mr. Oshiro?”

  Oshiro smiled but his slanted brows stayed fixed on his forehead. “As you are famous for saying, Mrs. Wallace, ‘we must keep open minds and open hearts if we are to truly come together.’”

  “I just want to know what you do with all the leftover parts,” Jetta said as they passed by a clinician with his arms full of heavy red biohazard bags. He was headed towards a faceless building guarded by commando units.

  Oshiro’s smile didn’t break. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  “The leftover parts you cut off your clients,” Jetta emphasized as the commandos allowed the clinician passage. “Surely you must do something with all that human waste.”

  “We don’t consider it waste,” was all Oshiro offered.

  Oshiro showed them into a building with “New Beginnings Hotel” written above the automated doors in soft blue holographics. Every last decoration or piece of furniture served multiple functions, Triel observed as a hotel attendant transformed a chair into a lift for a member of their clientele who wore dual leg immobilizers. In was clean, efficient, and completely unappealing to her.

  “The repairs could take up to seven hours. I will book you in our best accommodations next to our dining hall at no charge.”

  “A competent mechanic can do those repairs in three,” Jetta said.

  “Mrs. Wallace, let us not mince words. I realize you’ve had a long journey, especially since you’ve somehow found transport in a military fighter. My mechanics will do their best, I assure you, and you’ll be up and running in no time.”

  Jetta kept her mouth shut in response to Oshiro’s warning until they reached their room. After Oshiro left them, Jetta checked and rechecked for any bugs.

  “Who are Edgar and Amelia?” Triel whispered as Jetta threw the bed covers on the ground and pulled the mattress off the frame.

  Finally satisfied, Jetta removed her helmet, dark auburn hair falling around her shoulders. Triel rarely saw Jetta with her hair down, and she found herself staring, but a second later she had pulled it back into a tight ponytail.

  “Edgar was an engineer I met on our last stop, and Amelia was his wife. He gave me supplies, including their passports, to help our mission. But I didn’t know he and his wife had such a reputation.”

  “They must have been pretty outspoken human rights advocates. Oshiro is planning something.”

  “I know, I sensed it too,” Jetta said, lifting up one end of the couch. “Hopefully he can be bought out. Or else he’s going to have to meet me.”

  Both of them jumped a little when the door chimed. Jetta motioned for Triel to stay back as she refitted her helmet and opened the door a crack.

  “Yes?”

  “Hi—my name is Lau. I’m the hotel’s liaison. I saw that you have just arrived and wanted to offer you my services.”

  Through the slitted opening, Triel saw that Lau had undergone invasive cosmetic surgery right down to the marrow of his bones. Though his psionic tune was distinctly human, his entire structure had been altered to resemble the furry form of a Wopporite.

  “No thank you,” Jetta said. She tried to shut the door, but Lau stuck his foot—crafted into a hoof—into the crack.

  “Please, hear me out. I was like you once—hiding behind a human mask, couldn’t get a real job, couldn’t own anything, couldn’t travel. But I found peace here on Iyo Kono. The aestheticians here are renowned throughout the galaxy for their reconstructive procedures. You could be anything you want!”

  Jetta grabbed Lau and pulled him into the room, using his body to slam the door shut.

  “You’re human! You’re not a Wopporite! Why would you do this to yourself?”

  “Hey, chak you! You try growing up in a relocation camp and then give me your leftist, free-world gorsh-shit!”

  And then she felt it—Jetta slipped, her entire essence pulled down into Lau’s mind without either of their consent. Telepathic exchanges happened in only a fraction of a second, a lifetime absorbed in the blink of the eye. Even as Triel grabbed Jetta and pulled her off, she knew that Jetta had already seen all of Lau. Her anger was expanding, relentless, and as Lau fumbled to understand what had just happened, Triel did everything she could to hold Jetta back.

  “It’s not his fault. It’s not your fault,” Triel whispered, pressing both hands against Jetta’s chest. Her heart was pounding beneath the uniform, and every pulse carried seismic rage. “It feels like an assault, I know, but it was an accident.”

  “He doesn’t deserve his skin,” Jetta whispered back, wrapping her hands around Triel’s wrist.

  “Chakking Deadskins,” Lau spat. He was smart enough to make a quick exit, his tail barely escaping the door as it slammed behind him.

  “Let it go, Jetta,” Triel said, tearing off her own helmet. She tried to remove Jetta’s, but she shouldered Triel away.

  “What do you want me to do?” Jetta said, tossing off her own helmet, eyes ablaze. Triel winced as Jetta grabbed her wrist. “These people—I don’t want them inside me!”

  Triel didn’t know what else to do, and the action came naturally. She pulled Jetta close and kissed her, reaching beyond the softness of her lips and through her white hot anger to the complex threads of her emotions.

  “What are you doing?” Jetta cried, but Triel didn’t let go so easily this time. There was something more there, something inside Jetta that she had never experienced in all their mergings, and she had to know what it was. Invisible fingers of electricity traced her spine as Triel wrapped her arms around Jetta and inhaled her breath.

  “Triel!” Jetta spun away, breaking Triel’s hold with her military training.

  Triel coughed; all of a sudden her throat was very tight. “Jetta—I thought that—” But she stopped there. Jetta wasn’t angry at her; it was another emotion entirely that radiated from her mind. As soon as Triel tried to home in on it, it was gone. Jetta was quick to shuffle it behind her psionic guard, leaving not even a hint of emotion exposed.

  “I was just trying to help. I care about you, you know.”

  Jetta blushed and turned away, busying herself with straightening her uniform and checking her equip
ment. Her hands were shaking, her voice unsteady, but the rage was gone.

  “Look, Lau will be back, and this time Oshiro will have an excuse to detain us. We need to go.”

  Triel swallowed the hot lump in her throat. Had she made a wrong move? Did Jetta not feel anything for her? Maybe it was just the shock that had broken her anger. No—she knew that wasn’t true. What she felt was undeniable. But then why did Jetta turn so cold when she tried to reciprocate any kind of affection?

  She sighed deeply, resolving to set aside the issue but not let it go. “I noticed two alternate exits on the way in.”

  “Me too. I also saw that their primary energy source is on a grid. We just need to create a big enough short and the entire station will go down for about three minutes until the backups kick over. Hope you don’t mind the dark.”

  “Yes, but won’t that affect the gravity wells?”

  Jetta walked over to the nearest lounge chair and played with the remote. The lounge chair flattened out and illuminated, hovering off of the ground. Two white panels flickered to life, ready to display vital sign readings. “We can ride on this.”

  “That looks like a stretcher,” she said as Jetta steered it behind the protection of the bed.

  Jetta raised a brow. “This isn’t a hotel.” She broke apart the overhead light fixture and bed frame for parts, bending the mental like it was straw. But she wasn’t as quick as usual, her breathing heavier and her movements more deliberate.

  She’s probably exhausted, Triel thought, but it didn’t satisfy her instincts.

  Pale and sweaty, Jetta pulled the back paneling off the butt of her firearm and reversed the feed. She routed the wires from the light fixture into the gun and through a wall socket, then secured it with the metal from the bed frame.

  “Stand back,” Jetta warned.