by Nick Cole
“I’m Leenah,” the princess said.
There was a certain impetuousness in her voice that led Keel to believe that, deep down, perhaps she truly did identify as a princess. He made a mental note to keep using the titles. “Her majesty is a member of my crew. Mechanic.”
Leenah blushed, her pink skin growing scarlet at her cheeks.
The Dark Ops commander surveyed the princess, and then gave a fractional, approving nod. “Right. Endurian princesses.” He gave a two-finger wave. “Hey, Leenah.”
Leenah gave an awkward, half-wave at the man. “Hi.”
Owens focused his attention back on Keel. “I’m beaming jump coordinates. Victory squad will be awaiting extraction from a Naseen light freighter. Expect the situation to be hot. And no more shooting leejes. You’re back in.”
Keel shut his eyes, seeking to temporarily blackout the universe. “What comes after I make the pickup?”
“After that,” Owens said, a grim smile on his face, “you’re headed to Tarrago Prime. More details once Victory is on board.”
“This about what I reported? About Devers?”
Keel could see from the corner of his eye that Leenah reacted to the word “reported.” She hadn’t expected him to have been actively reporting to the Legion all this time. His mind drifted for a moment. He wanted to stand up and soliloquize about the Legion, the Republic, and liberty. To just… explain. For his own benefit as much as Leenah’s. To remind Owens that he’d been a true legionnaire. A son of freedom in a galaxy diseased beyond repair.
And when he saw him, to tell Chhun and the kill team the same.
Owens’s reply came before the rushing patterns of Keel’s thoughts could form into articulated ideas.
“Is this about your report?” repeated Owens. “Yes and no. You found the big bad wolf, I’m sure of that. This Sullus guy is exactly who Andien was hunting. We just didn’t have a name until you provided it. We believe he’s leading some sort of evolved rendition of the MCR.”
“How about Devers?” Keel asked, aching to hear that justice was coming for the worthless point. Confirmation of what he already knew in his heart: Whatever Devers was doing there, it wasn’t good.
Tell me that a kill team—that someone—is picking up where I failed, Keel thought to himself, as if willing Owens to speak the words.
Owens shook his head. “Let it go, Ford—“
“Call me Keel,” the captain interrupted. “I’m not… I’m not quite ready to be Ford again. Y’know?”
“Well that doesn’t give me the warm fuzzies,” replied Owens. “But sure, Keel. Look, hardly anyone in the chain of command even knows what we’re doing. I ran it by Legion Commander Keller—who’s in charge of the whole show now if you hadn’t heard. And there’s nothing we can do. No proof of anything beyond a meeting, and with the House of Reason giving their points the authority to negotiation with the MCR, that won’t go far.”
“I should have let Exo put him down on Kublar.”
“Hindsight,” said Owens. “But look, even if you had holos of him going over plans to load up his super destroyer with koobs and zhee to take over Utopion, nothing would come of it. And you know why. He’s the Republic’s golden boy. The handsome, smiling face of the Republic military industrial complex. The right people won’t believe us or won’t admit to believing us. Then they’ll send in their favorite pet Nether Ops agent to find out how we found out, and they’ll seek to shut our little Dark Ops cell down. And you can believe me on that. The Republic wants to shut down or bring the Legion under its full control as soon as they get the chance. Whatever Devers is up to, just gotta let it happen. He’s not the big sol-fish, anyway.”
Everything Owens said made sense to Keel. But they both had to know that a man like Devers, a man out only for himself, was up to no good. And somehow, he was again free of consequences. So what if the Republic gave its points authority to negotiate. Keel was sure that what he saw in the crosshairs before Tyrus Rechs committed suicide in his starship was a Republic parlaying with a murderous warlord who’d attacked the Republic without provocation or warning.
And your blaster bolts weren’t real? Keel asked himself. You weren’t participating in open hostilities against the Republic, MCR, and anyone else who got in your way?
But that was different. It had to be.
***
“Young miss, the ship has changed its course.”
Prisma rolled over in her bunk aboard the Indelible VI and blinked at the inky darkness. She found KRS-88’s glowing optics in the same corner she’d last seen him before turning off the lights and going to sleep. She didn’t need a night light. Not any more. And that made her feel grown up. Grown up in a way that somehow seemed more noteworthy than losing her parents and then Rechs and surviving conflicts that she had no business in.
Captain Keel had said that the galaxy was full of orphans. He’d told Leenah that. Prisma liked Leenah. She was nice and tried to be motherly, though she didn’t seem to know what it meant to really be a mother. But being nice helped. Skrizz had told Prisma that children always died in wars, and she was lucky to be alive. Or, at least that’s what she thought Skrizz had said. It’s what her bot Crash translated, anyway. But Crash was programmed to lie if that might protect Prisma or her feelings. Because her daddy wanted Crash to make her feel safe. That’s what Garrett, the code-slicer had told her.
Everyone on the ship knew everything. And Prisma was just a kid. A little girl. And that’s how they treated her.
Kids can lose their parents. And kids can live or die in battles. But kids are afraid of the dark. And Prisma was not… so long as Crash stayed with her. As long as she wasn’t alone.
“Crash,” mumbled Prisma, “what?”
“I said that the ship changed course, you miss.” The bots servos whined in the darkness as it moved its head. “I do wish you would better listen.”
Pushing herself up on her elbow, Prisma said, “So?”
“Oh.” The bot’s servos moved again, and it seemed to think about this. “I thought that was interesting. Captain Keel dropped the ship from hyperspace, sat in open space for some time, and then jumped in a different direction. I debated, and decided you would like to know.”
Prisma flopped back down onto her pillow. “No, I don’t care, Crash. I said wake me up if we get wherever we’re going.”
“I see.”
“I’m going back to sleep,” Prisma said, feeling brave. “Why don’t you power down? Your optical lights might keep me awake. I like to sleep in the dark.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed, young miss.” Crash dimmed its eyes. “I would rather not power down at the moment. A diagnostic and recharge would be inefficient given the time of last cycle.”
“Okay, whatever,” Prisma managed, already drifting into sleep as the ship thrummed through hyperspace.
“I could power down for a few hours,” observed Crash, “if it would please you to do so. I did not wish to be difficult if—“
“Fine,” Prisma said, annoyed that her drift into sleep was interrupted. “Shut down.”
“Shutting down, young miss.”
Prisma lay in silence. She looked in the corner, but didn’t see the comforting glow of Crash’s eyes. She pulled her blanket up to her chin and rubbed her heels against the rough sheets of her bunk. Her eyes grew heavy again.
“Prisma.”
The girl jumped as if woken from a dream. “Crash?”
“No, not Crash.”
“Ravi?”
The familiar voice of the hologram answered in the affirmative. “Prisma, you must listen to me. Do not let anyone know we have spoken. Not yet.”
“Why?”
“For your safety, Prisma.”
“How?”
“We are all heading towards unimaginable danger. And unavoidable. Captain Keel and Leenah will want you to stay with the ship, and you must listen to them. You must not let anyone see you.”
Prisma peered into the darkness. “Why
can’t I see you?”
“Because, I am not projecting myself in your room. You are not afraid of the dark.”
Prisma leaned against her headboard. “I’m not,” she said in small voice.
“Do you understand what I have told you?”
“Not really.”
“But you do understand what I’ve instructed you. Stay hidden. Keep our discussion private.”
“Yes.”
“Good. Pay attention, Prisma, I will keep you safe.”
“Ravi, they’re looking for you, you know…”
No reply came from the silence.
“Ravi?”
Nothing, and then… servos whining, and Crash’s optical lights glowing alive again. “Did you say something, young miss?”
Prisma slid her arm under her pillow and lay back down. “No. Go back to sleep, Crash.”
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