by Mick Fraser
Gaelan’s shade flashed briefly darker. “Do’vah wants you. In the common room.” She sounded tired, defeated.
Was this her life now? To be summoned to and fro whenever they felt like it. Was she not allowed to grieve for Rathe because she hadn’t known him as long. “Why? What does he want now?”
The Avellian narrowed her eyes. “For the funeral. He seems to think you ought to attend.”
Angela felt instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, Gaelan.”
“Whatever, Earthborn. Just get a move on.”
Gaelan didn’t bother to wait for her, so she made her own way down to the common room, staying on the green line. The bright-lit corridors felt cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature; Rathe had been more than just a crew-member here. He’d been the Shadowstar’s conscience, her heart – and often, as he had said himself, her rudder. His death was in everything, as though the ship felt it, too.
As she neared the common room she heard raised voices. Illith, of course, arguing with Drenno, Six-Tails and Gage. She stopped just outside the doors, opposite the mess, listening. Drenno’s voice wasn’t just angry; he was incredulous: “...for something he believed in. You want to shit on that?”
“What if he was wrong?” That was Gage. “What if she’s not worth the trouble? You want to gamble more lives on that?”
“Since when have you been afraid to take a risk?” he countered.
“I’m not afraid, Drenno. I’m done. Rathe was the reason I’m here. Without him, without what he promised me—”
“I haven’t forgotten the damn promise—”
“It is not your promise to honour!”
“The hell it’s not!”
“Enough!” Illith barked, and they fell silent. Then: “Get in here, mystraal.”
Angela straightened. How the hell did the Silsir know she was there? She took a deep breath and pushed the door pad. She felt like she was stepping through a curtain of ice, noting in particular the stares of Gage and Gaelan. Six-Tails and Dizzy looked crestfallen, Drenno looked tired. She almost jumped when Shimmer appeared beside her, reaching out her slender arms and drawing Angela into a tight body hug. She almost choked up, almost, but pulled quickly away.
“I’m sorry, Angela,” Drenno said. “I didn’t ask you here to see us fight.” Gage began some scathing cut-down but he halted her tongue with a raised hand. “I asked you here because Rathe would have wanted you here. He liked you.”
The Auton wasn’t to be silenced. “And he paid for it.”
Angela looked towards her and she sat back, arching her neck like a cat.
“How are you?” Angela asked her, at which she scoffed, rolling her eyes and looking away. Angela’s patience went taut, snapped. “I didn’t ask for this, you know?”
Gage’s glowing white eyes grew noticeably darker. Dizzy rose to his feet, holding up a placating hand. “No one is blaming you, Angela.”
“She is.”
Gage held her eyes. “I am.”
“Hey!” Illith’s voice cut through the tension like a laser beam.
Angela turned towards the back of the room, where Illith stood beneath a huge HD screen displaying a picture of Rathe some ten or fifteen years younger than he had been when Angela met him. He was handsome, his beard shorter and better kept, his jaw stronger, skin less lined. But his eyes were the same: bright, honest, brave.
“This is why we are here,” Illith reminded them. Angela watched their expressions; even Gage had settled down, now staring silently at the floor. “And I do not just mean today,” Illith went on. “I mean here. On this ship. He brought us together. He put himself in harm’s way for all of us. This was always how Rathe Massai was destined to die, because it is also how he lived. For others. I do not blame the Earthborn girl. She did not choose this.” She faced Angela squarely. “But here she is, nonetheless. And now, Tess Evayne has spilled fresh blood to add to the old—” she looked at Drenno, “—and we have choices to make once again.”
The Captain removed his hat. “Illith’s right. Evayne stirred this up again, not us. Maybe we asked for it. Hard to break old habits.” He raised the data-key Paryx had given him. “The coordinates on this key will lead us to something Evayne wants. Might lead to some answers, too. But dispel your illusions: they will also lead us directly into harm’s way. You weren’t all a part of the rebellion, but you know we lost people. Friends, loved ones, family...”
Gaelan left the room, head in her hands. Angela almost followed her instinctively, but Drenno continued, his eyes lingering on the closing door. “It’s gonna get bloody, and if any one of you wants off, we’ll drop you at the next rock harbour, no guilt, no questions. But if you stay, you stay to the end. I can’t do this without a crew that I can count on to be there no matter what happens. That includes you, Angela. You have to commit; you gotta learn whatever we can teach you. Learn to fight, learn to fly, learn to shoot. You’re coming with us, and we can’t afford to carry you. Golden?”
She nodded, aware of their eyes on her. What surprised her wasn’t the answer she gave, but that she meant it. “I’m in. All the way.”
“Rathe wouldn’t want us to stop,” Drenno said, addressing the crew as a whole. “Evayne won’t, so we can’t.” He half-turned, talking to Illith over his shoulder. “I miss anything?”
“Yes, you did,” she replied, raising her fist. “To Rathe Massai! The best of us!”
“To Rathe!” they chorused.
“Right then,” Drenno said, forcing into his voice a good humour that he clearly didn’t feel. “Now I think it’s customary to have a drink or three, and remember our friend. I’ll see you all in the mess. Angela? Go and get Gaelan, would you?”
“Me?”
He wandered over to her as the rest of the crew headed for the door. He tried another smile; it went a little better than the first. “You know, one thing my daughter never had was a friend her age. Might be that’s why she doesn’t know how to behave around one. Help me out here, would you?”
“Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll try.”
He forced a grimace. “That’s mighty golden of you, kid. Mighty golden.”
CHAPTER 19
~POUR ONE OUT~
ANGELA FOUND GAELAN in her quarters, sitting in the light of a single dim lamp, with the intergalactic equivalent of angsty teenage thrash metal playing over a hidden speaker. She had to knock twice, loudly, before the Avellian finally opened the door and quietened the music.
“What do you want?” she asked, returning to perch cross-legged on her bed as Angela hesitated in the doorway.
“I don’t know,” she said. “To talk?”
“Did do’vah send you?”
“He did. He didn’t send this, though.” She had swiped a bottle of something or other from the mess before leaving, which she now brandished like a trophy.
Gaelan hung her head on one side, then turned away. The door was still open, which Angela took to be an invitation. She went in, looking around for glasses, but Gaelan held out a hand, impatiently flapping her fingers. Angela offered the bottle and the Avellian took it, popping the cap and taking a long guzzle. She shuddered, then almost begrudgingly handed the bottle back. Angela sniffed the murky red liquid; it smelled of hot spices and sickly fruit. She took a deep breath, and took a swallow. The heat stung her throat, but the taste wasn’t unpleasant. She gave the bottle to Gaelan and pulled up a chair.
“So,” said the Avellian. “Talk.”
Angela scoffed nervously. “I’m not very good at this,” she admitted. “Drenno just said you might need a friend.”
Gaelan flushed red, but a ripple of blue danced across her flesh for the briefest moment. Angela made a note to learn what the colours meant. “We’re not allowed ‘friends’,” the Avellian groaned. “It gets in the way of all the stealing and running away we do.”
“I’m no expert on families, but you all seem pretty tight to me.”
“We’re an open warhead most of the time, if
you want the truth. I don’t know how we’ve been together so long, other than that we’ve nowhere else to go. This is all we know.”
Angela looked around the room, noting again the target board stuck with throwing knives. “Practice?”
“Boredom. Throwing blades into things stops me throwing blades into people.”
Angela chuckled, then sighed. “I feel you.”
Gaelan chugged from the bottle, then said, “Do’vah wants Illith to train you.”
“I know.”
“Won’t be easy, Earthborn. Illith isn’t friendly.”
“Yeah. I got that. Why is that?”
The Avellian chuffed as though that was an incredibly stupid question. “It’s not just Illith. I was young when the rebellion happened, and I saw some things I can never un-see. But them? They saw worse than I did. There’s no one on this boat who hasn’t lost someone who meant everything to them. And they’ve – we’ve – all done things we aren’t proud of. Living out here isn’t the same as living planet-side. It’s just existing.”
“So leave,” Angela said, noting from Gaelan’s instant scowl that she had taken it the wrong way. “I mean, you’re an adult, right?”
“And go where? The Shadow’s my home. These fucked-up individuals are my family. I don’t think I could survive without them – which is the really fucked up part. And without Rathe? Jek! Do you know how many times he’s stopped do’vah doing something insane? I’ve lost count. He kind of took over from sinvah on that.”
“Sinvah… Your… mother?”
Gaelan nodded, suddenly looking young and fragile.
“You miss her?”
“Of course I miss her. What kind of question is that? Wouldn’t you miss your mother if she died?”
Angela didn’t snap back, instead she took another swallow. “She did die. Both of them did. Twice. Well, not twice. But, both sets of foster parents. I lived on and off the streets until I was eleven. Never met my birth parents – they left me. In a box, under a bus shelter.” She was shocked at how easy the information came out; she wasn’t usually given to discussing her past.
Gaelan’s face softened a little. “Apologies,” she said. “I sometimes forget that there’s a whole galaxy outside this can where things happen to other people.”
Angela passed the half-empty bottle back, happy to swing the conversation back to Gaelan. “It’s alright. Do you remember her – your mother?”
The Avellian smiled, and her whole face brightened up, flushing deep blue. “Not what she looked like, not clearly. But her spirit – I remember that. She was a warrior. She was legendary. She and do’vah, they were Harlequins – that’s like, the fucking elite. She was the strongest person I’ve ever known. The bravest, too. One hell of a fucking pilot…” she stopped, as though she had derailed her own train of thought, or maybe felt like she’d said too much. “She died. In the rebellion. The Battle of Warden’s Gaze, the historians call it. We call it the fight that finished us off.”
“How old were you?”
“I was ten. She died and left my do’vah to raise me. He’s done his best but, well, it’s hardly been orthodox.”
Angela thought of her granddad. “So what is?” she asked.
Gaelan nodded solemnly before all but draining the bottle. She gave Angela the last drop. “I miss Rathe,” she said suddenly, blinking back tears. Her skin was deathly pale. “So much. It’s not going to be the same without him. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
Angela leaned forward, placing the empty bottle on the floor. Her eyes felt a little loose in their sockets. “Do you think Gage is right to be pissed at me? Do you think he died because of me?”
The Avellian turned to perch on the edge of her bed. “Yes,” she said at length. “And no. Rathe never did anything without a reason. He probably knew, on some level, that we couldn’t all make it. Maybe he did die for you. What fucking difference does it make in the end? Leastways, he died for something. And Gage is always pissed at someone. Usually at everyone – except Winston.”
That made her feel a little better. She placed a hand on the bed and went to stand, but her vision swam and she stumbled, toppling onto the bed beside Gaelan. The Avellian half-caught her and almost fell off the bed herself. Angela wasn’t sure if Gaelan was about to lose her temper, when she suddenly laughed a deep, hearty, infectious laugh, her skin-tone rippling like fire in the dim light. Angela, like a tipsy schoolgirl, burst out laughing right alongside her, dropping backwards onto the bed.
Gaelan sat up, straightening her clothes. “Next time, don’t start the night on Hruskan Red, Earthborn,” she joked. “Water it down first.”
Angela slowly got to her feet. The room followed her up several seconds later. “That’s good advice,” she slurred. “Very good advice. Water. Water would be good right now.”
Gaelan handed her a beaker from her bedside table and ushered her gently but firmly to the door. “Water, and sleep,” she said as she retrieved the drained beaker. “You don’t want to start your training with a headache. I doubt Illith will be sympathetic to that. You know your way back?”
“I’ll manage,” Angela told her unconvincingly. She followed the green line down the corridor, feeling relieved and slightly proud when she found the door to her quarters. She half-staggered to her bed and collapsed on it with zero grace, curling herself up into a ball. Sleep came easy thanks to the booze, and she dreamed of her parents, of Frank Strange, and of a life more ordinary.
CHAPTER 20
~BAD NEWS TRAVELS FAST~
DRENNO LEFT THE mess quietly an hour after Angela, leaving the others to mourn in their own ways. He had learned a long time ago that alcohol weakened the man, not the pain, and drowning himself over Rathe’s death wasn’t going to make him feel any better. The loss of Rathe Massai wasn’t just a blow to the body, heart, or mind; it hurt his soul. Rathe had been there since the start of it all, even before the Rebellion. He and Drenno had saved each other’s lives in so many different ways so many times that without him Drenno knew he wouldn’t, couldn’t, have survived the last nine years.
But he was done crying. He’d cried long and hard over Keera’s death, over the futility of it. A man spends too long crying, he gets bitter, and Drenno didn’t want to end up bitter. Not with Gaelan to look out for. Not with a crew to run. Bitter was suicide. Besides, if Rathe was out there somewhere, watching somehow, he wouldn’t want anyone crying over him. That wasn’t his way.
Drenno headed back to his quarters, situated above the main Habitat, and locked the door behind him. He doubted anyone would bother him, but sometimes you had to make doubly sure. Sometimes you just didn’t need people knocking.
Thumbing the touchpad on his private console, he saw that he had two missed waves. He grabbed a flask of Hruskan Red from the drawer below the monitor and poured himself half a glass, topping it up with water. He tapped the touchpad, hit recall, then immediately cancelled the wave and erased it – along with the two he had missed – from the log. He sat back, crossed his feet on the console beside the monitor, and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.
The console beeped, then flashed, and Emerson Bard appeared on the monitor. The Section Chief of AEGIS was the same age as Drenno to the day, but his blonde hair and green eyes gave him a laughably wholesome look; he was slimmer than Drenno, and his narrow face easily took to looking stern and threatening when it was necessary. His green eyes were hard, and in public he never smiled – but Drenno knew the other side of him, the real side.
He didn’t smile now, at least not with his face. “Shit, Ellys,” he said, “you look like hell swallowed you up and shit you back out. Twice or thrice.”
Drenno ran his palm over his head and squeezed the back of his neck where he felt a build-up of tension. He sighed. “Yeah, well you always were the good-looking one.”
Bard went silent, pursing his lips, and Drenno waited for what he knew was coming. “I heard about Rathe.”
He grunted. “That travelled
fast.”
“Varo brought his, ah, remains back. For Her Highness.”
Drenno took a deep breath. “I conjure she threw him a fucking parade for that.”
Bard grunted. “Actually, no. The opposite. He wasn’t supposed to kill anyone. He was just supposed to bring the Catalyst back.”
“Catalyst?”
“The girl. That’s what Evayne calls her.” He laughed dryly. “Tell me about the part where Rathe strapped a halo to that To’ecc bastard and dropped him on his ass in the Quartz. Rumour says the Cabal made him pay his own ransom.”
Drenno wasn’t listening. Not weapon. Catalyst. Aedhasahr was a mistranslation. The girl really was a part of something greater – and from the sounds of it, she was the trigger to whatever it was. He tried not to dwell on it; there would be time for that later.
“You get the data from my last wave?” he asked Bard.
“It’s cycling now. Evayne’s looking for your source, by the way.”
“So I conjured. If she gets hold of Paryx again, that little weed will tell her everything – Varo will make certain of it. I doubt he feels he owes me any more loyalty.”
“Doesn’t matter. Point of fact, Ellys: if that little shit can get his spindly roots on this data, she can. And she will, one way or another.”
Bard was right: if the data Paryx had given them really was buried deep in the HubNet, Evayne would find it eventually. Drenno downed his drink, didn’t bother to pour another. “So she doesn’t want us dead?”
“Didn’t. She does now. There are... complications.”
“Meaning?”
Bard sighed, as though he didn’t want to say any more. “Meaning… they arrested four protesters this morning on Orren, in Elbia. They were burning the brand, Ellys.”
His mouth went dry, and he ignored the glass, taking a pull straight from the flask. He wiped his lips on the back of his hand. “You’re sure?”
“Believe it or not there are people out there who still believe in what you did. Evayne didn’t want any martyrs. Now she’s got one. A big one. Rathe would be proud.”