Resilience

by Fletcher DeLancey

  Erik picked up the plain brown uniform. The shirt had BRIG spelled out in letters half the height of his back. There would be no hiding in this.

  “I’m not well enough to leave,” he said. “It still hurts to breathe.”

  Cox’s smile was not friendly. “Unfortunately for you, that’s not the criteria for a transfer. The question is whether you need ongoing and onsite medical care. A nurse will be checking on you once a day. In your cell. With multiple guards.” He crossed his arms. “Get changed.”

  “Can I have some privacy?”

  “No.”

  Not even a lecture on what his privacy rights were.

  Erik didn’t try after that. It was too obvious that Cox wouldn’t engage, wouldn’t be manipulated.

  The transfer involved cuffs and four security officers in addition to Cox, and the lift went directly from the medbay lobby to the security office. From there he was marched down a corridor and through a locked door to the brig, then through another locked door to his cell. There was zero opportunity for escape.

  He was screwed. He had failed the assignment, and Sholokhov was not a forgiving man. The only possible salvation would be if he could complete the job.

  So he waited, and he listened. Security staff were like anyone else; they loved to gossip with each other. And they didn’t always pay close attention to who might overhear.

  He learned that Cox was hoping the alien freak would work in his section, and that not all of his officers approved. Some had a grudge against her since she had flattened them in a fight. For a while, he thought he might be able to use that, but when three separate attempts ended with scathing looks and slammed doors, he gave up. He hated to admit it, but Fleet security staff were better trained than the goons he was used to.

  He heard about the new aliens, even freakier than the Alsean, when the security staff was sent running all over the ship trying to find them. Then Captain Serrado made an all-call announcement, so it was serious. Some poor slob got his head eaten because the aliens liked the taste of blood. Two others were attacked and one of them would have suffocated, except Dr. Wells had figured out a cure for alien face goo. And security didn’t find shit.

  Of course it was the Alsean who did. A freak who invaded your mind probably had something in common with brain-eating monsters. And now, he heard, she was collecting the damn things from all over the ship in preparation for taking them to hydroponics. To save them.

  When the lights went out in his cell, he jumped to the door and peered out the window. Red emergency lighting came on, illuminating the spaces as far as he could see into the main office.

  A golden opportunity.

  He positioned himself, took a deep breath, and screamed.

  “Help! It’s in here! There’s one of them in here! Get it out, get it out! Help!”

  Two sets of footsteps came running down the corridor. “Stand back from the door!”

  “I am back from the door, I’m in the fucking corner! That thing is after me! Shoot it!”

  The magnetic lock disengaged with a clunk, and the door slid open.

  He was on the guard before she was halfway in, grabbing her wrist in a pressure hold and wrenching the weapon out of it—a baton, unfortunately. He had never seen the guards carrying phasers back here.

  Still, it was a weapon, and it only took one blow to put her out. The second guard tried to rush him, but Erik jabbed him in the stomach with the baton, then sent him back with an upward swing to the jaw. That cleared him out of the doorway.

  He stepped over the prone officer and went through his pockets, searching for the magnetic key card. Once that was in hand, he stripped the man’s uniform jacket and put it on over his shirt. It was tight in the shoulders and a bit short in the sleeves, but it hid the telltale BRIG lettering.

  Swiftly he dragged the officer back into the cell and dropped him next to the woman. Then he pulled out their coms.

  “Shit,” he said, glaring in disgust at the man’s com. “Clean your ears once in a while.”

  He closed the door on them and threw the coms into a far corner.

  The key card handily unlocked the brig door, which—like his cell door—opened manually on slides. He thanked the Seeders that Fleet security didn’t use electronic doors, palm scanners, or facial recognition in the brig. Too insecure in a power outage—what an irony. Not that he would have had an issue dragging one of the officers here to satisfy the exit requirements; they didn’t have to be conscious for it. But it would have taken precious time.

  A peek around the corner into the main office showed three officers standing together amid the inactive displays, distracted by a heated discussion. Another advantage: the brig was soundproofed, so security staff wouldn’t be bothered by loud prisoners. Without the security feeds or any communication from the other guards, they had no idea he was loose.

  They still had no idea when he walked up behind them.

  Not one got a weapon out.

  He checked their belts and cursed. Did no one carry a damned phaser around here? They were probably in a weapons locker, and he had no time.

  Still grumbling, he pulled their coms and walked out the door into the red-lit corridor. Hardly anyone was in it, and though his wrinkled brown trousers got a few looks, the security uniform jacket stopped any questions.

  He flicked his wrist, tossing the coms to one side as he walked.

  The power outage meant no security cams. He couldn’t be tracked as long as he stayed in the affected section. Of course, he had no intention of doing that, but it certainly served his purpose now.

  Sholokhov had given him a tool to use for his assignment, a way to move around the ship without leaving a security trail. It was reserved for his escape after the job, Sholokhov had said. Under no circumstances was he to use it before the job.

  Well, he was still on the job, but these were mitigating circumstances.

  He walked past the first two chase entrances, dismissing them as too close to the security office. At the third, he flipped up the access panel—battery operated, because repair crews needed access to the chases at all times and especially during power outages—and tapped in the repair code.

  This code, Sholokhov had said, was unique to the ship and known only to repair crews. It was a backup in case an individual code failed for any reason.

  It worked. The door unlocked, and he spun the hand crank enough to slip through. On the other side, he closed it again and silently thanked Sholokhov. The man was terrifying, but he didn’t make mistakes.

  Neither did Erik. His time spent memorizing schematics served him well now, and he had no difficulties navigating through the chases to the brace shaft they connected to. Only the central shafts spanned all thirty decks; this one spanned twelve. He climbed down to deck twenty-one, passing into normal lighting on the way, then slipped back into a chase and made his way to the corridor.

  From here it was easy enough to stroll through the corridors to the chase entrance nearest hydroponics. Once inside, he found the short side branch that dead-ended at a door opening into the hydroponics bay.

  A wonderfully chaotic scene greeted him, with botanics and operations staff scurrying around as they prepared for the aliens. It was simplicity itself to melt into the background and make his way toward the other end of the cavernous space. The pair of pruning shears someone had left on a bench made a perfect weapon.

  Sholokhov hadn’t known what Sayana’s empathic range was, but Erik had put a great deal of thought into it during his recovery. She hadn’t said or done anything when he greeted the captain, only striking him when he was halfway across the corridor. There were two possible conclusions: her range was limited to half the width of a corridor, or she hadn’t felt a threat until he mentally committed to the kill.

  Regardless, he felt safe at this distance. Approaching her unseen would be easy in this jungle. Approaching unfelt would be more of a challenge, but if he was right about the threat, then perhaps he could create a sort o
f mental camouflage by thinking solely of his next step. First get from here to there. Then to there, and then to there. He planned all of his operations that way; it was second nature to him. Only at the end of his journey, with the target in reach, would he commit to the kill.

  It might not work, but he had nothing to lose.

  Safely apart from the busy personnel and Sayana’s likely location, he scanned the area for the best hiding place and smiled. Who would think to look up in a tree?

  He had barely reached a comfortable fork in the branches when Commanders Cox and Jalta arrived with large crates bearing the Fleet symbol. His high perch gave him a perfect view of the resulting activity. Operations staff pulled the fronts off the crates and took them to sturdy platforms standing next to two large, square tanks full of water. The open crates were now above the tanks, with shallow ramps leading from them to the water.

  He frowned. Rocks? They were doing all this for black rocks?

  “Are we ready?” Commander Jalta called. When the answer seemed to be yes, she said, “Make it rain!”

  A loud horn startled Erik so badly that he almost lost his hold on the branch. The crew members all moved away from the cleared area holding the tanks.

  The horn sounded again, this time twice. With a hiss, water began spraying out of overhead pipes onto the tank area.

  “Excellent!” Jalta said. “Well done, everyone. Thank you.”

  “Time to go,” Cox added. “Everyone out!”

  Erik could not believe his luck. He held his breath, watching every single Fleet crew member march out the main doors.

  He was alone in hydroponics. And the alien freak was coming.

  34

  Salvation

  It took nearly an hour for the solidified Resilere to recover. Rahel felt blessed by Fahla to witness this a second time, and with three participants instead of two. The light show put on by both assisting Resilere was breathtaking, especially when they brought in the third color. As before, red was introduced shortly prior to the first visible twitches, and the joyous hope flooding her senses made her wish once again that others could feel what she did. Lhyn was enraptured, convinced she was witnessing an unprecedented event, yet she was still missing the best part.

  When the two Resilere sped up their bioluminescence to the dizzying dance that indicated imminent awakening, Rahel prepared herself for the emotional onslaught. Two minutes later, the recovered Resilere rose up, its own skin sparkling, and was promptly wrapped in a tangle of arms.

  She closed her eyes, savoring the vivid memory that burst across her mind. Salomen, offering the gift of trust on top of salvation, and her own stumbling words of gratitude . . . but this memory was twice as strong as before. The objective part of her noted that it must be due to both Rez and the final Resilere thanking her, while the rest of her luxuriated in the sensory flood. She could smell the cinnoralis that Lanaril had lit in her study, as well as the spicy scent of Salomen’s skin. She saw the light coming through the tall windows, illuminating the park beyond, and this time she heard Salomen’s voice, choked with emotion.

  “I didn’t ask you for anything because you gave it freely.”

  “How could I do anything else?” she murmured, caught up in the memory. She was certain that if she opened her eyes, Salomen would be here, smiling at her while Lanaril watched from close by.

  “Rahel! Are you all right?”

  The scents, the light, the feel of Lanaril’s study faded away, and she blinked. Lhyn was watching her with guarded concern, a hand resting on her shoulder.

  “You went away for a bit,” she said. “I’m glad you weren’t standing up.”

  Rahel rubbed her eyes and took a deep breath. “That was intense. They both hit me with their gratitude, and . . . whew.”

  “Was it the same memory as before?”

  She nodded. “But twice as powerful. I was there.”

  Lhyn chewed her bottom lip, then offered a wry smile. “I’m so envious.”

  “If there was a way I could share it . . .”

  “I know.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t be greedy. There isn’t an anthropologist or linguist in the Protectorate who wouldn’t sell their grandparents to be here.”

  “Don’t forget the biologists,” Commander Jalta said.

  “Right, those too.”

  “I hate to break up the party.” That was Commander Cox. “But I’m afraid I have some bad news. Erik Helkenn has escaped custody. Ironically, it was that last power outage that gave him the opportunity.”

  “We were hoping to avoid having to tell you,” Captain Serrado said. “But we haven’t found him yet, which means we’re having to take special precautions getting you to hydroponics.”

  Cox came back on. “There are two probable courses of action for him. The most likely is to try to escape. We’ve locked down the lifts, the shuttle bay, and the fighter bays. He’s not getting away.”

  “And the second is to come after me.” Rahel met Lhyn’s worried gaze.

  “I’m afraid so. That’s why we wanted to tell you before you came out to find the full escort waiting here. The safest place for you right now is hydroponics. It’s clear and every entrance is guarded. Even if he knew your destination, which is doubtful, he won’t get in. Most likely he used the computer to monitor your location. I’ve restricted that information, so he’s blind now. But he probably does know you were here when he was last able to check. I’d like to get you out of there.”

  Rahel stood up and offered Lhyn a hand, then pulled on her uniform jacket, now dry. “Then I suppose we’d better package up these Resilere and get them to hydroponics. Who’s in charge of the third tank?”

  “That would be me.” Zeppy stood in the chase, behind the tank that blocked its entrance. “I need to show you how to operate the carts anyway.”

  “You mean you don’t just push them?” she joked.

  “Do you know how much seven hundred and fifty liters of water weighs? Good luck getting that up and over the ramps.” He pointed at the push bars at each end of the cart. “You can control it from either bar. When you push or pull, the cart will figure out which way you want to go. Buttons are on the bottom of the bar. Left hand is go and go faster. Right hand is slow and stop. Understood?”

  “Did you breathe while you said that?” Lhyn bent over to peer beneath the bar of the nearest cart. “Oh. They’re green and yellow. Why didn’t you say so? That makes more sense than left and right.”

  “But you can’t even see—” Zeppy stopped. “Whatever works for you. Seeder’s balls, there are more Resilere in this one than there is water. Shouldn’t we redistribute?”

  “I’m not about to try to communicate that,” Lhyn said. “It’s only a short trip.”

  Rahel dropped four mineral cubes in the tank with the newly recovered Resilere. Two of them were instantly snatched, while Rez ignored the remainders. “That should keep our two newest arrivals happy. We should all put the lids on at the same time.”

  “Agreed.” Zeppy picked up his lid.

  “Wait! We need to reassure them first.” She crouched down and put a hand against the tank wall near Rez. As before, it matched her gesture. “Lhyn, will you watch the analyzer? I’m going to try to say home.”

  “Watching.”

  She stared at Rez, its eye stalks fully extended and oriented to her, and thought of Dock One at dawn, with the crisp, salty air of Wildwind Bay caressing her skin. She imagined the bells of Whitesun Temple tolling in their deep, resonant voices, and tried to project the unique flavor of joy and contentment that came from being home.

  Rez played a burst of green bioluminescence, and Rahel heard the bells. Only for a moment, but she hoped it was enough. “Did you get it?” she asked.

  “Wow,” was Lhyn’s answer as she tapped her pad. “It’s a new word.”

  “It’s the first word Rez ever spoke to me.”

  “And you managed a repeat. You’re getting good at this.”

  “Tell me that after
we’ve gotten them to hydroponics without terrifying them.”

  “I think we’ll be okay,” she said thoughtfully. “We have friend, and now we have home. Those are powerful concepts. Not to mention that every Resilere here knows you saved them.”

  “We saved them,” Rahel corrected.

  “Group effort,” Zeppy put in. “Half the sections on this ship are involved now. The other half are cheering us on.”

  “You’re the liaison,” Lhyn said. “You’re the one who personally put two solid Resilere in life-giving water. Rez trusted you enough to get in the lift, and that turned out well for it.” She tapped her pad a few more times. “Right, I’m going to send both words to the tank speakers. Then we’ll put on the lids, and then I’ll repeat it. Ready?”

  Rahel picked up her lid and took note of the soft sealant around the inside edges. “Ready.”

  Lhyn tapped her pad, then fetched her own lid. “Go.”

  They quietly slid the transparent lids over the tanks. Rahel gave hers a final push, then tried to nudge it upwards. It stayed firm.

  The Resilere showed no sign of nervousness.

  “So far, so good.” Lhyn looked over at the chase, her forehead furrowed in thought. “If they’re not upset, I think I’ll save the replay for when we start moving.”

  “Then shall we?” Zeppy put his hands on the bar.

  Rahel walked around to the far end of her tank, bringing up the rear of the train. “I’m ready.”

  Lhyn took up her own position with the middle tank. “I feel like I should make appropriate train noises.”

  “Rumors of your adulthood are exaggerated, aren’t they?”

  Looking mischievous, Lhyn said, “A lot of rumors about me are exaggerated.”

  “Me too, probably.”

  “Let’s go.” Zeppy began to pull.

  Rahel couldn’t see past Lhyn’s tank, but she could feel the nervousness bordering on fear from multiple sources. Probably all six Resilere in Zeppy’s tank. “Lhyn, play it now,” she said urgently.