by A. R. Knight
“You heard me,” Aurora said. “Go, now. When you’re done, come back to the bays. I don’t think Renard’s on that ship.”
Sai looked like he might press the argument a little longer, but the man always followed Aurora’s orders, and now wasn’t any different. With a huff, Sai lifted Rovo, still limp, still silent, onto his shoulders and took off down the concourse. Eponi watched them run until Aurora held her hand down.
Eponi eyed the offered, bloody fingers and palm, “You want me to grab that thing?”
“You’re not looking so hot yourself,” Aurora chuckled, somehow hoarse and wet at the same time.
“Been a long day,” Eponi said, getting her aching muscles into action enough to stand. “What’s on the bridge?”
“I want to see what you and Sai pulled off,” Aurora replied. “And I need to know if Deepak’s alive.”
Thirty
Partners
Coming back into consciousness upside down, the world bouncing along with someone else’s footsteps, had Rovo pushing through his all-body aches and pains to flail around like a caught fish. His carrier stopped at the movement and swung Rovo up and over, planted the rookie on the cold, hard, comforting floor.
“Hey Rovo,” Sai said, crouching with a cautious smile. “You back with us?”
“I don’t know,” Rovo replied, blinking at the crimson concourse light and tracing the litany of nerves making themselves known. “What happened?”
“The transport shot you down. Eponi saved your butt, and now I’m trying to get you to the med bay,” Sai nodded down the corridor. “C’mon, we’re almost to the lift.”
“The med bay? Yeah, that’d be good,” Rovo said. “Don’t think the surgeon’s going to be happy to see me again.”
“Not your biggest problem.”
Rovo held out an arm and Sai picked the rookie up. Rovo’s legs weren’t exactly strong, but he could walk, and together the two went towards the lift. The concourse had people in it now, squaddies that gave Sai and Rovo looks as they went past, running back towards the docking bays. Bots whirred along too, seeking out opportunities to repair, to find anyone in dire need of medical attention.
Sai had to keep waving those off.
“You could let them take me, you know,” Rovo said. “Then you could help Aurora.”
“Not happening,” Sai said. “The agents launched in their transport, but Aurora thinks there might be some left onboard. You know where Kaia is, which means you’re their most valuable target.”
“Not just me,” Rovo replied. “An agent sent out a message. They know what planet she’s on.”
Sai laughed, “Planet? That’s all? Don’t know if you’ve ever seen a planet, Rovo, but they’re not that small.”
The man had a point. Rovo only had to think back to Dynas—which felt like a million years ago—to know, even with a target’s precise location, things could go way wrong before you ever reached the goal.
“She might leave, too,” Rovo said.
“What?”
“Kaia. There’s no saying her father wouldn’t hop on another transport going farther away. Wexer wouldn’t have many options, but Gillane Four?”
“More than a few.”
Two squaddies stood outside the lift, holding rifles, and giving Sai suspicious looks. Rovo couldn’t really fault them for it, as neither he nor Sai wore DefenseCorp uniforms, and the Nautilus had been put on watch for agents.
Sai and Rovo both put up their free arms, Rovo wincing with his motion, as a peaceful indicator. That didn’t stop one squaddie from lifting his rifle while the other went forward to greet them.
“Want to use the lift?” the greeter said. “I’m going to need identification.”
“Call Lamya,” Rovo said. “She’ll clear us. Rovo and Sai, Sever Squad.”
The squaddie nodded, raised his wristlet, and the lift door opened behind them. The squaddie with his rifle raised wheeled towards the opening door and faltered. Rovo couldn’t see what lay inside, but he could see the rifle squaddie lift up and fly across the concourse, a sudden motion that slammed the soldier into the far wall with bone-crunching force.
The tossed man’s partner didn’t fair much better, turning around and starting a shout before something picked him up and threw him over to his fallen friend. Sai pushed Rovo back, sending the rookie against the near wall. With his right hand, Sai drew the katana and faced off against . . .
A blur? A ghost?
Rovo blinked and tried to make sense of what he saw. Which was, mostly, nothing. The light flickered, twisted in parts, as if someone had put some crinkled plastic over his eyes, with the creases breaking the view. Sai looked a little more confident, squaring up in the concourse middle, katana out front and tracking a target.
Another person left the lift. Shambled, really, much like Rovo himself. The man had taken blows, or laser burns, and his uniform, a high-ranking one, bore blood stains on its crimson. His face had a false quality to it, a surgeon’s mark, and Rovo placed it: the Wexer projection.
“You’ve fought one before,” the man said, looking at Sai. “Where?”
“Rovo,” Sai said, ignoring the question. “Know this guy?”
“Recognize the look,” Rovo replied. “Uglier in person.”
The man curled up a bruised lip, “Vana, let’s move. Every second we waste is a risk.”
Sai flicked the katana left, and something struck it, sparks flying and that classic metal-on-metal sound ringing through the concourse. Sai fed the block into a crossing slash, one Rovo figured earned Sai some distance more than anything else. The swing struck nothing, those flickers giving Sai space.
“His name’s Renard,” Sai said to Rovo, returning the katana to a ready stance. “You want to cap the leader of all this, he’s your target.”
“Don’t think I’ll be capping anyone soon.”
Whomever Sai fought—Vana?—dove into another attacking flurry. Sai whipped the katana around, blocking what looked like two weapons. The blade’s length, coupled with Sai’s footwork, kept the man safe, and again Sai took the deflections and turned them into an attack.
Ditching the crossing slash, Sai stepped into a kick. The shot made a crunching noise, as if Sai had struck a particularly thick paper wad. Light clanks followed as Sai’s opponent rocked back with the blow.
The laser flashed, burning from Renard’s pistol. Sai, apparently reading the room better than Rovo, saw the sneak attack coming and ducked the fire. Rovo might’ve cheered, might’ve told Renard to do something pointed with his own anatomy, except those blurs moved into Sai’s flinch and picked him up, neck first. Dropping his katana, Sai brought up his hands to wrap about what looked like flickering air. His face tightened as he struggled to breathe.
Rovo didn’t have a weapon, didn’t have the strength to get up and throw a punch.
But he could make an offer.
“Stop!” Rovo said, trying to shout but, instead, rasping out a decidedly weak demand. “Put him down, and I’ll help you.”
Whatever held Sai didn’t respond, but Renard, turning his pistol on Rovo, took a step in the rookie’s direction.
“What help could you offer us?” Renard said, and Rovo picked up enough genuine curiosity in the question to find some hope.
“You want Kaia, right?” Rovo said. “I can lead you to her. But only if Sai lives.”
Sai’s struggles slowed, his face developed a purple tinge.
“We already know where she is,” Renard said. “You offer us nothing.”
“You know a planet. I know how to find her on it.”
“How?”
“Put him down, I’ll tell you.”
Renard studied Rovo, and the rookie felt like a book being read. The officer searched for plots, for points of interest, and peculiarities in the wounded man on the floor before him. As much as he could, Rovo tried to project honesty. He met Renard’s eyes with an equal focus, trying to ignore that Sai had fallen still.
“Dro
p him,” Renard said. “We have a different prize.”
The thing holding Sai threw Rovo’s friend across the concourse, landing him in a heap with the two downed soldiers. Rovo tried to sit up, tried to see if Sai moved at all, but before he could get a good look, he felt a hand grip his right arm and pull him to his feet.
“Can you walk?” A woman’s voice in his ear, chilled with purpose.
“With help,” Rovo said. “Slowly.”
Apparently, that answer didn’t qualify. Rovo’s legs swept out and arms caught him, carrying the rookie like a rescued civilian. His carrier didn’t wait for further instructions, marching on down the concourse with Renard shuffling behind, the wounded officer huffing as he worked to keep up.
This close, Rovo pieced together what he saw: a suit that could refract light, or could redistribute it to seem transparent, even if the edges left mars in the visual continuity. Like glass with hairline fractures.
But the invisible suit didn’t register as Rovo’s big concern.
“Did you kill him?” Rovo said to the woman carrying him, taking a guess as to where her head sat.
“No,” the woman replied, keeping her voice low. “You spoke quick enough to spare his life. Be proud of that fact.”
“I am,” Rovo said, because he was. “Where are we going?”
“To another ship,” the woman said as they approached the docking bays. “I’m going to stuff you inside, and you’re going to cooperate, because if you don’t, you’ll get what your friend didn’t.”
“A friendly hello and some hot coffee?”
The woman stifled a laugh, “How does Aurora manage all of you?”
Rovo widened his eyes ever so slightly before catching himself. The woman knew Aurora? And didn’t speak of her as some rival, or an enemy? Interesting. Something to play with, there.
“Aurora knows what she’s doing,” Rovo said as they reached the docking bays, albeit smaller ones on the edges reserved for private and specialty ships. “Do you?”
“We’re taking chances on changing the galaxy,” the woman spoke like a prophet, purpose throwing its heat into her words. “I don’t think you can ask for more.”
“Don’t think working with a goon like that guy is going to change the galaxy for the better.”
“Sometimes, you don’t get to choose your partners.”
The woman waited while Renard caught up, while the man slapped his wristlet against the docking bay door. The portal slid open, revealing a svelte craft that resembled a leaf, or a tear drop. Its black, speckled panels showcased a design Rovo had read about many times: the speckles weren’t just aesthetics, but instead adopted a physical pocking that played hell with traditional scanners. The irregular texture made the ship look like an asteroid to casual observers, giving it a chance to sneak in and out without much attention.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Renard said, leading the way into the bay. “My very own custom order.”
“Needs more guns,” Rovo quipped.
“Just open the ramp, Renard,” the woman said. “I don’t care about your ship or how you acquired it.”
The officer threw an ugly look towards Rovo, but not quite at him. The rookie figured a thousand insults coursed their way through Renard’s mind and mouth in that moment, but reason—or the possible consequences of pissing off someone wearing invisible power armor—kept him quiet. Tapping on the wristlet, Renard prompted his ship to lower a very ordinary boarding ramp.
Just went to show you could look cool on the outside, be plain dull on the inside. After Calico Max and his crazy vested look coupled with a bog standard family unit on Wexer, Rovo was done giving people credit for their crazy appearances.
Renard’s ship had an interior that did nothing to change Rovo’s philosophy. The man must’ve spent all the cash on the outside, because inside had a couple small cabins, a central area with food storage and a crimson table that folded down from the wall into a space not much larger than the quarters Rovo had to himself on the Nautilus. Renard hiked to the single-pilot cockpit while telling Rovo and the person carrying him to settle in.
“Setting you down now,” the woman said as the boarding ramp closed behind her. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’m half-dead,” Rovo replied as she put him on the crash couch, a thin crimson—always crimson in here—lining the wall opposite the ramp. “Going to be full dead if I don’t get some help before too long.”
Rovo wasn’t sure on that count, but the last numbing bits from his brief med bay dalliance had faded. If Renard and his invisible accomplice wanted to take Rovo hostage, they could at least make him comfortable.
“Renard,” the woman called, “you have any medical supplies on this ship?”
“Check the storage, straight back,” Renard sounded like he could use some help too, choking and coughing through the words. “Should be a case. I’m lifting off now.”
Rovo leaned back into the couch as the blending light suit vanished away. The ship’s engines hummed to lift, and Rovo felt that always-strange sensation as the craft floated up, rotated, and blasted out from the Nautilus.
A hostage.
But, like Sai, Rovo could live with that.
Thirty-One
Messages
This time, Aurora waited for Deepak outside the briefing room. Sever’s own turn for their assignment wouldn’t come for a few hours, but the newly promoted admiral said he’d have a break around now, after dishing off another patrol contract to one of the Nautilus’s younger squads. Those soldiers, looking awful young, looking awful green, passed by Aurora with a few nervous looks at her rank and her hard eyes.
“Congratulations,” JJ, Beacon’s longtime commander, said as he trailed his squad. “Glad Sever’s going to be in good hands.”
“There’s a spot open, you want to join,” Aurora replied, throwing the old standby a threadbare smile. There was always a spot open.
Always.
“I prefer my enemies in front, where I can see’em,” JJ said, clapping Aurora on the shoulder. “Besides, you already stole one of my best. Figure that’s enough.”
“Sai’s a killer. Thanks for letting him go.”
JJ’s eyes flashed, “Sai’s a father. Don’t forget that.”
The Beacon commander gave Aurora a final nod, then stalked off down the corridor after his people. Deepak took his place, measuring up Aurora with a straight look that carried precisely zero emotion.
“Well done, commander,” Deepak said, starting the conversation the same way they’d ended their last: all formalities. “I was happy to see your name recommended for Sever’s top spot.”
“Were you?”
Aurora hadn’t come here seeking a fight. In fact, she’d wanted the opposite. Some reconciliation, some way back from the odds they’d had. With her new position, Aurora couldn’t afford to be on Deepak’s bad side, couldn’t afford to leave anything festering between them. Deepak would be choosing Sever’s assignments as the Nautilus admiral, and anything less than the best for her squad wouldn’t be acceptable.
“Walk with me,” Deepak said, failing to hide a slight smile. “Turns out, being the boss means a busy schedule.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Aurora matched Deepak’s steps as they headed towards the bridge.
“Was I happy to see you’ve made it to where you belong?” Deepak said. “Of course. Any admiral wants his crew where they’ll perform best.” He took a breath, and Aurora braced for the coming, non-official answer. “Besides, I’m sure the extra cash will make you happy.”
There it was. Deepak had a way of coating harsh opinions in sugary, official trappings.
“I’m here because it’s not just about me anymore,” Aurora said, choosing not to engage on Deepak’s terms. Slugging things out in a verbal mud fight could be fun, but Aurora had other responsibilities now. “My squad deserves their chances. We’re ready to go.”
“Noted,” Deepak said as they hit the bridge, its big
doors opening for them. “Honestly, Aurora, business is going strong. I couldn’t stash you and your squad away, even if I wanted to.”
Exactly what Aurora wanted to hear. She’d get the missions, get the cash, and her newer members would get experience. Except, she couldn’t quite get away from Deepak’s last words.
“Would you want to?” Aurora said as they stood on the raised platform jutting into the bridge, a thousand people humming through their tasks as the Nautilus sped through space.
They both knew what Aurora meant with that question. The callback to a life that increasingly seemed ludicrous, couched in a fresh start and the gleeful hope that came with it. Nebula nights and mess hall days. Sneaking through back halls to each other’s cabins. Love’s flicker in dark space.
“I never want to put my squads in harms way,” Deepak said, measured and matter-of-fact. The slightest hesitation after, a moment of silence, perhaps. “Is there anything else I can do for you, commander?”
Aurora watched for a hint without giving any of her own. Deepak kept his official face on, no pearls to find in those eyes.
“No, that’s all.”
“Then congratulations, and I’ll see you at the briefing.”
As a rule, Aurora didn’t spend much time on her history. With Sever Squad, with DefenseCorp, spending too much time on the past—and too much time might be a minute or less—could cost you the future. And yet, rushing down the concourse with all the speed two beat-up, ash-blown people could manage gave Aurora space to run it back with Deepak, with all the years burned in these space-faring halls. Different soldiers crowded them now, standing at checkpoints looking for any leftover agents, but the shiny metal look, the clank of boot on floor, those stayed the same.
Aurora took a wristlet from a junior squaddie, one who didn’t have the stomach yet to say no to someone with Aurora’s now very visible bad-assery. Sever’s commander didn’t have any rank with DefenseCorp anymore, didn’t have a uniform on, but the scared and stunned looks floating her way proved just as effective. Backing them up with her straight-eyed stare and words that brooked no refusing, Aurora took her determination to see the bridge and turned it into a weapon.