Triorion Omnibus

by L. J. Hachmeister

  Tiny’s eyes widened with every whispered syllable. “Victor Paulstine.”

  Agracia’s gut dropped to her knees. “Thanks, Tiny. Be cool, alright?”

  “Give me a hug, Gracie. For old times’ sake.”

  Not one for physical contact but picking up on his Scabber code, Agracia grudgingly gave him a hug. Tiny held on tightly and for many uncomfortable seconds beyond standard etiquette. When he released her, Agracia had all she needed.

  “Wait!” Bossy shouted, trying to catch up as Agracia hurried back down the alleyway. “What the hell just happened back there?”

  Agracia waited until they were out of the alley and back on the streets before answering.

  “Victor spooks him,” Agracia said, showing Bossy her palm.

  The dark horse blinked, taking a second to realize how Tiny got his message across. One of the oldest forms of back-alley communication, signing on someone else’s hand had practically become a Scabber custom, a quick way to deal under tables and away from prying eyes.

  “So?”

  “So, there’s a big shipment of some new fancy stuff. He said Shady Tom had a cut of it.”

  “I hate Shady Tom,” Bossy said, crossing her arms.

  Agracia chuckled. “I know you do.”

  Shady Tom was one of the few people still living that had confused Bossy for a Puppet. In truth, Agracia couldn’t fault anyone who did. Unusually young-looking, the dark horse didn’t look a minute older than the day Agracia met her years ago. On top of that, she held a certain sexual air, from the way she swung her hips to the perfect roundness of her breasts.

  But no Puppet has an appetite for violence like my Bossy, Agracia thought, falling back on old arguments. Or the strength of ten men.

  The few genetically-designed call-girls Agracia had encountered had been void of superior intelligence and lacked any sense of dignity or self-preservation. If nothing else, Bossy was an expert at self-protection, especially for a carnage-loving Jock.

  “He’s just a few blocks up on the North Side. Come on; don’t have much time left.”

  Sticking together, they made their way up to the North side. Despite the danger, Bossy didn’t deny herself the pleasure of giving the finger to as many whistlers and catcallers as she could.

  “Come on, lay off, will ya? I don’t want to get canned up here.”

  “A lady’s reputation is everything,” Bossy said, flipping her pigtails.

  They stopped at the end of the line. Sandwiched between an all-night juke joint and a brothel, Shady Tom’s shop used to be the prime stop-off for Jocks about to make a surface run. One of the back exits to the Pit sat behind his business, and until one of the fighting ring operators carved a better access near the dome on the south side of town, he saw most of the action in town.

  Agracia muttered several expletives and a prayer as she pushed open the barred door to the shop. A little bell jingled, alerting the man sitting with his feet propped up on the service counter. With most of his attention still glued to the black-and-white hologram of a nude dancer, he afforded them a glance.

  “Oh sycha—look what the cat dragged in.”

  With Bossy following in behind her, she stepped into one of the many disorganized rows. Biosuit parts, radiation and plague meds, miscellaneous tools, weapons, and a few outdated rations that were more dust than food lined the shelves. In the back of her mind she remembered his reputation for having maps of the wastelands—real ones, dating back before the Last Great War—but none of her persuasions ever got him to admit whether or not he really possessed them.

  Imagining a chance to loot the last of Earth’s treasures, she sucked on her lower lip. Something like that is worth more than gold.

  Bossy tugged on her sleeve. “Make this quick.”

  Agracia didn’t argue. She almost hated him more than Bossy did. There was something seedy and underhanded about him, more than the other dealers in town. If it meant screwing over his own mother to make a profit, Shady Tom would do it. Even the lowest of Scabbers knew that survival on the dead planet meant some kind universal cooperation, but Tom wasn’t interested in such sentiments.

  “I need your best juice, Tom. Not the gorsh-shit stuff on the shelves, either.” Agracia threw down some of the cash that Shandin had advanced her. “That’s more than fair.”

  The sight of the green and grey stack peeled him away from the holographic nude dancer. Greed lit his eyes, and he took the cash in hand, an ugly grin cutting into his face.

  “No deal,” he said, setting the stack back down and massaging his chin with scraggly fingers. His gaze shifted to her companion. “Not what I want.”

  Agracia couldn’t believe an aging man like him—a waste of bones, pocked skin, and half a mouthful of teeth—could be so brazen. “What then? ‘Cause she’s more than you’ll ever be able to handle. Unless you like pain.”

  Bossy picked up her cue and hopped up on a countertop, lifting her skirt a little while palming her 20-20s.

  Shady Tom wiped his hands on his jacket. “Things are changing ‘round here. Rules aren’t the same. Cash don’t seem to have the same value no more.”

  “What’s more valuable than cash?” Agracia laughed.

  “People. Flesh. Life,” Tom replied.

  Agracia didn’t like the way he said those words, or the hungry expression in his eyes.

  “Got me a side business going. Good profits—no, unimaginable profits. But I don’t have the legs for it,” Tom said, rapping his knuckles on knobby, deformed knees. “At least not right now. Need some help gettin’ started. Interested?”

  Agracia instinctively took a step backward. “I got a big job right now, man. Maybe some other time.”

  “Gonna get me some new legs—gonna get me a new life,” he said, licking his lips. “What say you? Ain’t no money hockin’ junk for Tourists. There’s so much more than this chakking life.”

  Agracia didn’t know why, but Tom’s eagerness for her to ask him more made her very nervous. Even Bossy sensed the odd shift, and returned to her side. “What you up to, Shady Tom?”

  He leaned over the counter, his eyes wide as he whispered the most terrible word she knew: “Roundups.”

  Roundups. A word used in the time of the Eeclian Dominion when their military, the Core, seduced young children into joining their armies. She had also heard it used to describe the mass arrests of telepaths during that same time period. But this is different—something much bigger, she sensed.

  “Who are you rounding up?”

  “Deadskins. Traitors to our people. Those who left us behind.”

  Agracia felt the blood leaving her fingertips. “Who’s your Joe?”

  Even in the otherwise empty shop, Shady Tom looked left and right. “Some Tourist. Some man calling himself Shandin. A real assino.”

  The memory of the trafficking port hit her full force, jarring her senses. She heard Shandin’s voice—

  —“I run a butchery and packaging plant. We distribute survival rations to the poor across the Greatlands.”

  It couldn’t be.

  Just a coincidence, she told herself. No way could they be killing that many humans right underneath the noses of their own kind.

  “The Deadskins didn’t leave us behind,” Agracia started, but Shady Tom slammed his fist on the counter. Bossy jumped back, reaching for a pin on her 20-20, but Agracia stopped her.

  “They sure as hell did. Only those with real money could board those ships, and the rest of us scum were left behind. The war’s forgotten children left to rot in this godforsaken place. Who’s ever come back to save us?”

  “There were plenty of times that—” But he wouldn’t let Agracia remind him of the old United Starways Coalition’s many attempts to relocate the Earth-bound humans. Instead, he continued on his rant.

  “Now’s our chance to get even. I get two weeks every month to scout out new encampments where the Deadskins hide out. I give Shandin the location, and he pays me more in one job than th
e lifetime I’ve wasted in this store. See? So simple, right?”

  “Then why do you need us?”

  “My legs are too bad,” he said, gripping the brace that held together the remnants of his left leg. “Hurts too much. Can’t travel farther than Saturn’s moons. I just need a few more scores to afford the surgery and get off this chakking rock!”

  “You can take that job and shove it.”

  He moved to grab Agracia by the collar, but Bossy batted his hands away and held out a 20-20. “Back off, ratchak!”

  “Just give me some juice for the road,” Agracia replied evenly. “And we’ll be on our way.”

  Shady Tom’s eyes burned with rage. “Get out of my store, you chakking Scab!”

  Then she felt it. Something that wasn’t her—or was it? Normally she would have cold-cocked the bastard and ransacked the store. She didn’t need anything else from him, and she certainly didn’t care who was profiting off of whom for whatever reasons. But an unforeseen compulsion kept her grounded.

  “Hey,” Bossy whispered, shifting foot-to-foot as she hesitated. “What gives?”

  An unstoppable force rose within her like a tidal wave in her throat until she spoke the words that formed before she could think them through.

  “You sick chakker. You’re throwing me out of your store when I’m trying to make an honest living? Yeah, I’m a garbage picker, but at least I’m not selling out my brothers and sisters to a Tourist. You think our own abandoned us? You wanna know the truth?”

  Tom backed up against the wall as Agracia crawled over the counter and got in his face. The spit flew from her mouth as she screamed every word. “We abandoned our own humanity!”

  That isn’t me, she thought, breaking out in a cold sweat. The back of her neck stiffened, and the base of her skull throbbed. Someone else said those things.

  “Who’s your Joe, then?” Shady Tom whispered. “Huh? Who is it? ‘Cause everyone ‘round here works for the assino.”

  Agracia said nothing, too afraid of what would come out of her mouth, but didn’t back down.

  Shady Tom pulled out a safe from under the counter with Bossy watching his every move, 20-20 in hand, as he turned the lock.

  “Here,” he said, throwing a pill bottle at her before replacing the safe in its hiding place. “Take this.”

  As Agracia turned to go he gave her a long, hoarse laugh. “Stupid Jocks. I hope the Necros eat your faces.”

  Agracia dragged Bossy out screaming, denying her the kill she thought completely justified.

  “What the hell, Gracie? You gonna let him lip off at you like that?”

  “What good would killing him do? He’s working for our Joe now—it’d be bad business.”

  “You never thought twice about a good time before,” Bossy said, kicking the side of the building. “I want the old Gracie back!”

  (I’m not me—)

  Staggering into a pile of trash, Agracia fell to her knees.

  “Gracie!”

  “I’m okay,” she mumbled, rubbing her temples furiously. “Just another chakking headache.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and saw her family crowded in a one-room apartment, but an image of a uniformed man shouting orders at her overlapped the memory.

  “Wasting your time evacuating the ground teams? You needed to drop your missiles!”

  “God—” Agracia cried, rocking back and forth as the voice drilled into her skull in an auger of unrelenting pain.

  “What’s wrong? What do I do?” Bossy said, running back and forth in a panic. Onlookers stopped and pointed in their direction. The last thing they needed was unwanted attention, but Agracia could do nothing to quell the agony.

  In her mind’s eye she saw her mother, shouting at her after she hit one of her sisters—“You are without God’s grace!”

  At the same time, a Tarkn man with thinning hair and a freshly pressed uniform barked harsh words in her face—“You’re a disgrace, candidate!

  Know when you’re defeated!”

  “You can’t help her.”

  Agracia peeked open one eye. Standing in the shadows between the buildings, a familiar figure vibrated in the confusion of her senses.

  “You again!” Bossy shouted, taking out a fistful of 20-20s.

  “I can help her—or you can let her stay that way. It’s your choice.”

  “I oughta—”

  “What?” the voice in the shadows contended. “You don’t have a collar for me now. Put your weapons away and bring her back here before it’s too late.”

  Several more curses left Bossy’s mouth before she complied. The dark horse wrapped Agracia’s arm over her shoulder and hoisted her to her feet, dragging her into the dark passageway between stores. That’s when Agracia recognized the speaker.

  “Doctor Death... God, you look like hell,” she said, giving her the once-over.

  Even though Jetta’s appeared sallow and sickly, the intensity in her eyes hadn’t waned. “I told you I’d return.”

  Bossy wrinkled her nose. “Who are you?”

  A tall, dark-haired woman stood next to Jetta, watching the exchange with a careful eye. She gave Bossy an equally disgusted look. “Triel.”

  “Triel of Algardrien—the last Healer?” Agracia said, pressing her thumbs into her temples. “I thought you was a legend.”

  “Fortunately she’s not,” Jetta replied.

  Succumbing to the hammering pain, Agracia slumped against the composite siding of the brothel.

  “Gracie!”

  She wasn’t sure who was talking anymore. Her mother continued screeching at her as the uniformed man yelled in her face. The faces of her siblings, freckled with dirt and disease, passed before her eyes like mournful ghosts in a forgotten dream. Other children, dressed in uniforms and hunched over consoles, shouted commands and racked up points on a holographic scoreboard.

  “Make it stop... please...” she whispered, rolling onto her side.

  “Do you remember our agreement?” Jetta crouched besides her. “You were supposed to find out more about my tattoo.”

  “I couldn’t.... New job. Had to take it...” Agracia said between the hammer strikes to her head. “Save Bossy.”

  “Fine then. Let me all the way in and I’ll take what I need,” Jetta said, offering her hand. “And I’ll give you back your freedom.”

  “No!” Bossy jammed herself between the two of them. “Don’t chak with her anymore! She was never like this until you leeched her brain!”

  Tension sizzled through the air, but Agracia didn’t want to open her eyes. The few rays of simulated skyline that peeked between the buildings sent bolts of pain through her skull. Still, even if she couldn’t see, she could feel Jetta’s anger.

  It’s getting hotter, she thought, wiping her forehead as invisible cords wrapped around her intestines.

  “I’m trying to help her.” With each word Jetta spoke, Agracia could feel the phantom cords tightening around her gut.

  I’ll be choked from the inside out, she thought, digging at her stomach. From the heavy sounds of Bossy’s breathing, her companion felt it too.

  “Bossy—move. Let her through,” Agracia said.

  Bossy grudgingly moved. The strangulation stopped.

  “Please, don’t hurt me,” Agracia said between breaths.

  Jetta rested a hand on her shoulder. “Then don’t fight me, and this will all be over quickly.”

  Before she could protest, Agracia felt shoved outside her own body. Looking down from above, she watched Jetta pick her apart, sifting through layer after layer of reconstructed memories.

  Images of her mother rippled like agitated water until the hatchet-faced old woman washed away and a man in uniform settled in her place. Their dirty flat, crowded with a half-dozen of her siblings, wobbled and whined and fell away, only to be replaced with a sterile classroom. No more cobwebs and grime. No more screaming babies with unknown fathers and empty bellies. This was a controlled environment, one with a vid
eo feed that tracked and recorded everything she did. Rows of children in gray uniforms sat straight-backed in their chair with fixed, robotic gazes.

  “Cadet Leone.”

  Someone called her to the front of the classroom. If she hesitated, punishment would be swift. She hurriedly made her way to the front and saluted her teacher. “Yes, Sir!”

  “Please outline the specific energy requirements necessary for a starclass ship to make the minimum jump during a battle.”

  Dissecting her every move, the man in uniform stepped aside so that she could use the holosim.

  The calculation is easy, she thought. After all, she had mastered advanced mathematics in her second year. But I know what he’s going to ask me to do next...

  “Now cadet, tell me what you would do if your radiation shielding was deactivated in your forward decks and your damage status was critical.”

  A dark-haired boy with slanted eyes and a cold, calculating gaze studied her with smug satisfaction from one of the front-row seats.

  She stared at the diagnostic readout of the ship. There aren’t just soldiers on board, but families—

  I know what he’s asking me to do...

  I can’t do it.

  Her hands worked quickly as she recalculated new parameters for the ship and executed the sequence. The holosim chirped and displayed her results.

  “Congratulations, cadet. You made the jump, but at the expense of your weapons systems. Now you’re as good as dead when the enemy finds you,” the teacher said, circling her. “Explain what you did wrong to the rest of the class.”

  Shame speared her as she faced the classroom. “I chose to save my entire crew.”

  “And?”

  “And... in doing so, I gave up my arms.”

  “Which would lead to the death of your crew.”

  Agracia’s cheeks felt as hot as embers. “I thought—”

  “Cadet Li!” the teacher barked. “What was the correct course of action?”

  “Disable life support on forward decks and reroute all energy to the jump systems,” the dark-haired boy said. “Save the deck crew and the ship.”

  Urusous Li. That was his name. Her enemy; the boy who wanted her dead.