Reht collapsed heavily against the side of the bar, trying to catch his breath as Mom skinned the shrieking Yumin. It stank of gunfire and fresh blood, but he didn’t have the energy to vomit.
Femi popped her head over the table and surveyed the area. Carefully she crawled over to Reht, her words fast and high-pitched as she looked over his wounds. She tried to separate the burnt parts of his shirt from his skin, but he stopped her.
“Hey, leave it—it’ll be fine. Chicks dig scars, right baby?” he laughed. He noticed a pack of crumpled smokes on the ground and pulled out a cigarette. One of the plasma discharges had left a burning hole in a broken chair, and he leaned over and lit his smoke, then took a long, slow drag.
Mom stooped down beside him and offered his arms.
“No, mate, I’ll walk. Just give me a hand,” he said. Before he knew it Mom had catapulted him to his feet. He wobbled at first, but Mom caught him by the waist.
“Jeezus, Cappy,” Ro said as he reentered the bounty board. He whistled when he saw the dismembered, skinned corpses of the Yumins.
“Hey—this ain’t good,” Cray said, inspecting the slaughter. He pointed to the camera mounted in the corner. “Could be pinned back to us. Gotta burn the whole thing.”
“You’re always lookin’ for an excuse,” Reht chuckled. But Cray was right. Better to burn the evidence than let anyone sniff through it.
“Fine. Be quick about it then,” Reht said as he hobbled to the cab. Femi latched onto his side, looking back nervously at Ro and Cray, who were laughing giddily as they torched the bounty board. Mom, too big to fit inside the cab, hopped on the back and held onto the roof.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Reht said, watching the smoke starting to filter out the front door. Ro and Cray ran out and crammed themselves into the back seat as Bacthar hit the accelerator.
“That was a chakking riot,” Ro snickered as they turned sharply around a corner. “You get the cash, boss?”
Reht opened his jacket. A few stacks had holes burnt through them. “Mom’s got the rest. Some methoc too.”
Ro and Cray exchanged glances. Tech and Bacthar were silent.
“There’s more, trust me.”
“What about her?” Ro said, eyeing Femi.
Femi squeezed his jacket, pulling as close to Reht and away from the others as possible. Reht debated a moment. The smart thing would be to throw her in the pot with the rest of the money and drugs, but his boys didn’t play very nice.
And then she kissed him. Her soft brown lips were warm against his, her tongue the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. The entire cab hooted and hollered, but he didn’t hear them. Her caress ignited his loins, and he forget everything else.
“She’s with me,” he said, putting an arm around her.
“That ain’t enough then, Cappy,” Ro said. “I want my cut.”
“I promise you’ll get yours. Let’s just get to the Wraith.” Reht changed the subject. “Hey, how’d you get the wheels?”
Bacthar looked at him through the rearview mirror. “I asked nicely.”
“Right,” Reht said, seeing the blood stains on the steering wheel.
They ditched the cab two kilometers from where the Wraith was docked, scrapping it for parts and, in keeping with the theme of the night, burning the rest. They had docked her behind an abandoned warehouse in an empty parking lot on the east end of town, and her rusted, battered hull was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
“Want me to clean you up, boss?” Bacthar asked as they boarded.
The burns were starting to get to him, but he knew better than to let the rest of the crew see him babied when they just got stiffed.
“Catch me later. Let’s get down to business.”
Having been gone, Reht expected to find the ship completely wrecked, but to his surprise he found nothing worse than the usual mess. “Nice work, Mom,” he said as he waded through a pile of beer cans. “The place ain’t torn apart.”
Mom grumbled and started to drag Femi to a holding cell.
“Whoa—whoa!” Reht said, taking her hand. Femi hid behind him, away from his Talian. “She can stay in my den.”
He knew the look in Mom’s eyes, but he couldn’t concede. “Hey, mate, it’ll be alright. She ain’t gonna do nothin’. ‘Sides—I think she likes me,” Reht joked as Femi wrapped his arms around her.
Mom just shot him a disapproving look before following Ro and Cray, who were arguing over dibs on the methoc, to the bridge.
“I’ll be down in a second,” Reht shouted after him as he led Femi to his den. She paused outside before timidly taking a step inside the squalor. Eventually she made her way to his bed and pushed aside his dirty pile of shirts to make herself a space.
“I’ll be back. Lots of business. Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
She protested when he closed and sealed the door, but she quieted down when the locking mechanism clicked over.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing Tech as he swung by. “Where’s Vaughn?”
“He beat us back—he’s already on the nav.”
“Good. Grab Billy and meet us there.”
“He’s been acting funny,” Tech replied, his ears twitching in his nervous habit. “Don’t know if I trust him lately.”
Reht stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean?”
“H-he keeps cycling through his diagnostic modes—can’t get him out of it. His specs seem fine to me when I ran a manual, but his automated system keeps resetting the program algorithms and I can’t take him offline. At his rate of energy consumption, I’m worried about his central processor overloading.”
“Tech—Holy Mukal—in Common, man.”
Tech dangled from the deck upside-down. “His mechanical systems think he’s sick, but it—or I—can’t find anything wrong. I don’t know where the malfunction is and I can’t shut his diagnostic system down, so he’s gonna burn out.”
“Chak,” Reht said, chewing on the nub of his fingernail. “Just get him to nav.”
“Mom,” he said, punching into the wall intercom. “Get us the hell out of here. And then I want everybody to meet in navigations.”
He was answered with a growl and the rumble of the engines coming to life.
Reht looked at his chest. He had taken several hits from the plasma guns, and the wounds that Diawn had inflicted were angry and red. He needed to get to medical, but not before he learned what was on that chip.
He expected to find Billy Don’t spinning on his back wheels or spewing his lubricant across the floor, but instead he was idling quietly in the corner alongside Tech.
“No way. That’s the first time I’ve seen that kid quiet,” Reht said as he ducked under the monitors. Bacthar chuckled and knocked the little Liiker on the head, but there was no response.
“Yeah, it’s chakkin’ creepy as all hell,” Cray muttered as he crawled up from the weapons pit. Ro hit him in the shoulder, but the play-fighting stopped short of its usual run.
Mom joined the crew, motioning that the ship was on autopilot.
Reht took a deep breath and began. “Alright, well, as you all know, we didn’t get as much as I’d like. That ratchak albino shorted us, but I think I swiped something off of Diawn that will give us more than what we need.”
Tech took the navigational chip from Reht and inserted it into the data port where Billy’s ear canal should have been. The Liiker buzzed for a moment, adapting and then integrating the foreign programs into his own. Vaughn, seated in front of the star charts, watched blankly as Billy dumped the files onto the Wraith.
“What is all that gorsh-shit?” Ro asked.
“Flight patterns,” Tech replied.
“I ganked this signature off of Diawn,” Reht said, reading the numbers to Tech that he had scratched into his arm. “See if tin can over there can figure it out. I’m sure it’s in code, or backwards, or something chakked up,” Reht said, leaning against the console. His injuries were really starting to get to him. Sweat d
renched his jacket and his limbs felt jittery. Bacthar eyed him, but he turned away. Not now—not until he got what he needed.
“Who or what are we going after?” Tech asked, scratching the back of his head with his hind leg.
“Shandin.”
Mom was the only one who reacted, the only one who really knew the significance of that name. His ears flicked forward as he let out a low growl, his canines protruding over his lower lip and his silver eyes slitting with tension.
“Shandin...Shandin...” Cray muttered, twirling his knife with his fingers. “How do I know that name?”
“Wasn’t he some kind of sellout?” Bacthar said.
“Yeah, a chakkin’ two-timing, vedego mu’katha,” Ro said, making a thrusting motion with his hips. “That guy would chak his own mother.”
“Yeah, if the percentage was right,” Reht said. “Look, this guy is serious—he ain’t just any dog-soldier.”
“What’s the bag then?” Ro asked. “I mean, does he have a gold-plated assino or what? Why go after him?”
Reht looked at Mom. The Talian’s claws surfaced, and his pupils dilated with anticipation. He had never told the crew about Shandin, never told them how Mom had become his first mate, never told them about the scars on his hands.
Reht ripped the last shred of nail off of his left index finger, letting the throbbing pain keep him steady. “This is personal. I can’t ask any of you to come with me on this unless you want to. My head ain’t right anymore; the Alliance really chakked me up. So this is it. I found the man that murdered my parents, and I want his chakking head on a plate. I can only promise you that when this is over, I’ll give you all what you deserve, even if it means my own skin to sell on the market.”
The room was silent save Billy Don’t’s queer guttural noises as he processed the stolen chip.
“You our Cappy,” Ro said. “We with you ‘til the end.”
“Yeah, the chakking end,” Cray chimed in.
It didn’t feel right. His crew was loyal, but they were still dog-soldiers, and he had asked too much of them over the past few years. He should have gotten the black mark or a knife in the back—not this.
Billy Don’t squealed, and all eyes went to the viewscreen.
“Billy thinks that signature you gave him was a code key,” Tech said, tracing the flight data with his fingers. “Check this one out—when Billy integrates the key, it calculates that Diawn made fifty-two stops here in the last two months.”
“Berish and Mau Imports and Exports,” Reht said, reading aloud the location tag. “That chakker—that was one of his old aliases. Where is that anyway?”
“Old Earth,” Vaughn said flatly, rubbing the scar that ran the length of his shaved head.
The rest of the crew muttered and whined. “Of all the sycha-holes...”
Reht cradled his side, the pain too intense to let him to stand up straight. But he couldn’t give in—not now, not when his sole wish had come true. He smiled and winked at Mom as he gave the command. “Set a course for Earth. Let’s get that jingoga’s head.”
“TRIEL—TRIEL! Emeath Ma’Tau Ini!”
Something sharp pricked Triel’s shoulder, and she shot upright, cursing as her heart labored with the rush of adrenaline.
“Oh Gods—”
“You’re okay—you’re okay.”
She opened her eyes, but bright sunlight made it impossible to distinguish what she was seeing. Two hands gripped her shoulders, but when she looked at their source, she screamed. Black fire burned beneath the skin of some strange, amorphous creature, its flames licking her skin as it leaned closer.
“Triel, it’s me—Jetta!”
Triel lashed out, straining away from the heat of the flames, but the burning sensation had stopped. She blinked, and the fire had dissipated to a few wisps of smoke fading in the warm summer air.
“Jetta?” she asked. Triel tentatively touched her skin, relieved to feel the warm pulse beneath the surface.
Jetta carefully put the syringe back in the medkit. “Who did you think it was?”
“Oh, Jetta,” Triel said, embracing her tightly. “I’m sorry—I thought I saw—”
But then she stopped. What did she see? Had she hallucinated the nightmarish creature she saw unfurl within Jetta’s aura?
Jetta let go, sitting back on her heels. By the pained look on her face, she’d obviously gleaned an impression of her thoughts.
“Hey—it’s me, okay? Please don’t be afraid of me,” she whispered.
“Don’t be silly,” Triel whispered back. It had to have been the shock of the descent—there was no way Jetta could harbor such a dark entity. Jaeia would have seen it—Triel would have seen it—long before this moment.
Something in the intensity of Jetta’s dark green eyes made Triel relax for a moment, allowing her senses to extend beyond the physical barrier between them.She felt only Jetta’s familiar, comfortable presence, the essence that filled her and made her feel cared for—not the shadow creature. Tired, bruised, and mentally exhausted, Triel wanted to reach for it, to embrace her tightly, to feel her warmth, but she hesitated, confused by her feelings and uncertain of their direction.
Triel tried to move the stray hair out of Jetta’s face, but she leaned back and blushed. “Got it, thanks.”
Normally Triel would have been offended by her rebuff, but she was distracted by the burns and cuts on Jetta’s left arm and shoulder. Her skin was pale, her cheeks sunken. “These don’t look good. You don’t look good, Jetta. I’ve never seen your color like this before. I thought it was just the stress, but it’s not, is it?”
Jetta motioned to the smoldering ship twenty meters behind her. Triel traced the landing back as far as she could see by the scorch marks in the grass. “Well, a blind landing isn’t exactly relaxing. Neither was the fire in the recirculators, not to mention getting us out and trying to salvage the fuel cells.”
Jetta was sidestepping the question, but Triel didn’t let her frustration or suspicion register on her face. She didn’t have it in her right then to battle Jetta’s iron will. Instead she took a few calming breaths and looked toward the sky, allowing herself take in her surroundings.
“It’s weird to be back here. I swore I wouldn’t return,” she said, pulling at the blades of yellow grass.
“Why was that?”
Triel traced the outline of her people’s markings on her arm. “Too many memories. Too many reminders of why I left.”
“I thought you left because of the invasion,” Jetta said. Triel knew what she was thinking—no Prodgy ever left their tribe. Ever. It was against custom, against nature, against the Gods.
Triel shook her head. “It was more complicated than that.”
She changed the subject before Jetta could ask any more questions. “Well, I think I know where we are,” Triel said, shielding her eyes as she surveyed the area. Two mountain ranges converged in the distance, one in the east and one in the north,, their towering blue peaks capped with snow and ice. “If I’m right, there was a village about ten kilometers northwest—the Kingi tribe, if memory serves. I’m sure it’s been resettled.”
Jetta closed her eyes and tipped her head back.
“What are you doing?” Triel asked.
Jetta inhaled deeply through her nose, then looked northeast. “No, I think the resettlement is that way; I can smell fire, fuel—and people.”
Triel raised a brow. “Okay, when did you ever have a sense of smell like that? I would think your telepathic talents would be the first to pick up on any Sentient life.”
Jetta frowned. “Maybe it was... no, it couldn’t have been. I don’t know—but I know I’m right.”
Triel smiled. “It’s the wolf, isn’t it? I felt the intensity of your exchange when I last restored you.”
“What? No.”
Triel’s smile broadened. “There are legends among our people of powerful telepaths who can meld their minds with those of animals. I think you absorbed some of h
is abilities. I might just start calling you lakoba; it means ‘wolf-girl.’”
Jetta crossed her arms. “Not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” Triel said, chuckling. “Alright, alright. Just let me heal those wounds and really check you out before we go anywhere.”
Jetta shook her head and tried to get up. “No. You’re still recovering; you need to conserve your strength. Besides, I need to finish organizing our gear.”
Triel took Jetta’s left arm and placed her other hand on her chest. “Let me take care of you just once without a fight.”
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
But Jetta sat down, looking uncomfortable as Triel slipped beneath her skin and guided her body through the healing process.
The Healer tried to be more careful this time. She went through the normal steps of repair and regrowth, but when she tried to delve deeper she found that Jetta had consciously locked herself away, making it impossible to search for more than just damaged tissue without tipping her off that she was snooping around. But she had to know—what was Jetta feeling? Why had she acted one way in the intensive care unit but so cold and aloof now?
But she quickly put that aside when she uncovered something else. “Jetta,” she said, wavering between her intra- and extra-coporeal perspectives. “Your body...it’s changing again, isn’t it?”
Jetta pulled back a little, but Triel held fast. Something wasn’t right—the tune was familiar, but it was oddly dysrhymic, as if it was starting to fray. She remembered that Jaeia and Jetta had both been feeling poorly for a while, but nothing had been discernible then using either diagnostic tools or her own perceptions. Now she felt it, right down to her bones, that something was gravely wrong, as if the very fabric of Jetta’s cells had somehow been compromised. “You’re—you’re—”
“A chakked up Motti experiment? Yeah, I know,” Jetta said, finally pulling free. Even though the severance was premature, Jetta’s second-degree burns were now healthy skin, her lacerations filled in and smoothed out. “Everything about me is coming undone. So I guess we’d better get moving and not waste any more time.”
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