“You’re next,” De la Cruz says, shaking off his partner as he approaches me. “How do you want to die, Holmes?”
I back up toward the wall. With no weapon, the chances I’ve got of taking both agents down are slim. “If you kill me, you’ll have to report to my mother.”
“I’m not scared of that Intelligence bitch,” De la Cruz says. “I don’t answer to her. Chetri, are you with me or not?”
The other agent—Chetri—checks on Vega’s mother. She’s stopped moving entirely, her hand limp over the edge of the bed. Chetri checks her pulse.
“She’s dead,” he reports. From the floor, Vega sobs. “I guess our mission is complete. No harm in continuing to make the galaxy a better place.”
They square off, advancing toward me with identical grins beneath the face shields of their helmets. I have nowhere to go, and Vega’s not helping.
“Just so you know,” I say, “I won’t go down easy.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” De la Cruz replies.
6
I kick out as the agents lunge toward me. My boot glances off De la Cruz’s body armor. He picks me up under the armpits and pins me against the wall. His hot breath smells like garlic and onions, like they’d stopped for a street kabob near the port on their way to attack us. Chetri holds back, making sure Vega doesn’t summon up a defense. She’s not a threat though. She crawls to the bed and holds her mother’s limp hand, her tears staining the sheets.
“You can’t help her anymore, Vega,” I gasp against De la Cruz’s forearm. “But you could totally pitch in to help me. Just saying.”
Vega’s unreachable, drowning in her sorrow. Chetri looks uncomfortable as De la Cruz presses himself against me.
“Don’t even think about it,” I hiss in his ear.
“Like you have a choice,” he spits back. “Can’t let a body like yours go to waste.”
His hand reaches down to caress my inner thigh. I wait until he thinks I’ve relaxed, then I drive my knee into his crotch. He doubles over with a strangled yell, cupping himself between his hands. While he’s down, I aim a kick to his head. He dodges at the last second and tackles me to the ground.
A third stranger launches himself into the bedroom through the window. Armed with a blaster and a face mask, he fires twice, taking out De la Cruz first then Chetri. The IA agents slump to the floor, and the stranger yanks off the black bandana obscuring his face.
He’s about the same age as Vega’s mother. His chiseled jaw is dusted with salt-and-pepper scruff, and his soft blue eyes contradict the intensity of his gaze. He holsters his blaster and raises his hands at eye level for us to see he’s no longer armed. The Veritas insignia is embroidered on the palm of his glove.
“Come with me,” he says. “I can return you to your speeder safely.”
Vega automatically turns her pistol on him. He doesn’t move when I cross the room and stay her weapon. She sits on the bed, shaking like a leaf.
“Who are you?” I ask the man, my voice hoarse. “You killed two IA officers. That’s treason.”
“Orion Saint James,” he says, offering his hand to shake. “I’m a member of the rebel group, Veritas.” He gently taps Vega’s knee. “So was your mother.”
Vega’s gaze snaps up. “My mother was not a rebel.”
“She was,” Orion insists. He leans over Vega’s mother, his eyes tearing up as he pushes a wayward strand of hair away from her face. “A damn good one too. The council won’t be happy about this loss.”
“She was telling the truth then,” I say. “Veritas is back?”
Orion pulls off his gloves and tucks them in the back pocket of his well-worn jeans. “I’m sorry. I’m not doing the best job of explaining my role in all of this. I’ve been waiting for you to show up here.”
“Yeah, I guess the rebel group would want to recruit IA’s biggest traitor,” I say with a scoff. “What would anyone else want with Ophelia Holmes?”
“Actually, I wasn’t talking about you.” Orion nods at Vega. “I was talking about her.”
“Me?” Vega wipes her face as her voice hitches. “Why me?”
“Your mother was one of our agents,” he reminds her. “When she realized how sick she was, she had no way of contacting you to let you know. IA prevented her from doing so. We tried to get messages to you, but we didn’t hear anything back.”
Vega stands up, finally letting go of her mother’s hand. “IA told me she was dying, but they didn’t want me to come visit her. That doesn’t make sense.”
“We think IA was waiting for a good moment to set you up,” Orion says. “They knew she was part of Veritas. My guess is they thought you might be too. Those agents started tracking you as soon as your speeder landed.”
I sit on the bed next to Vega. “It’s all true then. Veritas is rising again. Do you have any traction?”
“A lot more than IA thinks,” Orion answers. “We’re still recruiting, but it’s difficult to figure out who’s loyal to IA and who isn’t.”
“Why though?” Vega asks. “IA’s been running the galaxy since human beings landed here two hundred years ago. They’ve protected us for this long. Why does Veritas feel the constant need to overthrow them? Look what happened last time. The Second Planetary War resulted in thousands of deaths.”
“Do you really think IA is protecting you?” Orion says. “The International Armament only cares about two things. Money and power. It’s an age-old story. You’d think we would’ve learned from our mistakes on Earth, but I guess history does tend to repeat itself. IA is in the midst of an intergalactic conspiracy, and if you believe your government is on your side, you’re sorely mistaken.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying for years.” I take another look at Vega’s mother and shudder. “I don’t suppose Veritas offers funeral services?”
“We cremate our fallen,” Orion says, “and release their ashes into the atmosphere beyond their home planet. Is that what you wish for your mother, Vega?”
Vega gapes at him. “I don’t know you. How can I trust you?”
Orion sighs. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your mother was one of my best friends. She wanted me to tell you the truth if I ever met you, and she guessed you might not be open to the idea of Veritas. If that was the case, she said to call you” —he grimaces— “Pookie?”
Vega’s eyes go wide. “That was my mother’s nickname for me when I was young. She addressed all her letters to Pookie while I was at the Academy.”
“What’s this supposed conspiracy IA’s plotting?” I ask Orion.
“You sure you want to know?” he asks.
“More than sure,” I say. “I defected for a reason. I knew IA was no good.”
“You defected because you’re a coward,” Vega says.
“Semantics,” I reply.
Orion clears his throat to break us up. “You remember the First Planetary War, right?”
“Humans took over the Pavo galaxy, eradicated the alien lifeforms living here, and built a galaxy-wide Patch Shield to keep invaders out,” I recite. “What about it?”
“You probably know there are ways to get around that Patch Shield,” Orion says. “People and outsiders have bored holes through it. Plenty of aliens have made it inside the galaxy, but more want a way in. IA wants to open Pavo to the outsiders in exchange for alien weaponry.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Vega says. “The whole point of the Patch Shield is to keep Pavo safe—”
“Weren’t you listening?” I interject. “IA isn’t concerned with keeping Pavo safe anymore.”
“They never were,” Orion says. “This isn’t the first time IA’s pulled something insane. During the Second Planetary War—are you okay?”
Vega slumps over her mother’s body, her face hidden from view. Her shoulders shake, and her breathing intensifies. I gently tug her away from the bed.
“We should get you out of here,” I say softly. “It’s not healthy—”
“No.” She sh
akes me off and returns to her mother’s side. “I want to say goodbye. In private, please.”
Orion gives us a ride to the port. Before we board the Wasp, he takes off his gloves and gives them to me.
“Keep those safe,” he says. “If you need to contact me, they’ll know how.”
“These are inanimate objects,” I remind him.
He only grins.
We make it aboard the Wasp without alerting the automatic security system or the guard meant to be monitoring it. Vega doesn’t say a word. She straps herself in and waits patiently for me to fire everything up. Orion waves from the ground as the Wasp lifts off, and then we’re clear of Palioxis’s atmosphere. I bump the Wasp to hyperspeed, and Harmonia reappears on the map within the hour.
“Think there’s trouble?” I ask Vega as I pilot the speeder toward the Academy. The tip of the sun touches the horizon, skewering the dark sky with strips of pink and orange. No one but custodial staff should be awake at this time, but I’m nervous to touch down in the training bay.
Vega doesn’t answer. She gazes solemnly through the cockpit window. I let go of the joystick to set my hand on her knee. She only moves to activate the bay doors. Silently, I maneuver the Wasp into its proper place. The speeder powers off. I wait for a team of IA agents to barge in and demand to know where we’ve been, but it doesn’t happen. Everything’s quiet.
I tuck Orion’s gloves deep into my jacket pocket as we climb out of the Wasp. We leave the motorbike where it is. There’s no point in going home. In an hour, I have to be in Claudia’s Defense class again. Hopefully, she won’t knock me out this time.
Vega drops me off at the training gym, mumbles an excuse to Claudia about having a headache, and leaves to who knows where. Claudia studies me from across the training floor, but for once, her gaze holds more interest than contempt. I wonder what else Vega said to her.
The class goes as it should. Claudia doesn’t torture me. She doesn’t pay me much attention at all. I partner up with Doug again, since he’s one of the few students who doesn’t look at me like the interloper I am. We’re well-matched today since both of us sustained minor head injuries yesterday. I don’t do anything to draw attention to myself, and the class passes without incident.
“Everything cool, Holmes?” Doug asks when Claudia dismisses us. “You seem pretty mellow compared to yesterday.”
“Got a lot on my mind, Doug.”
“Anything I can help with?”
I can’t help but smile up at the guy. He’s so young and naïve. His personality doesn’t fit IA. He’s not at all high-strung like Claudia and the other students. I clap him on the back.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” I assure him.
He fist-bumps me in return. “Hang in there.”
Doug follows the other students out of the training gym to wash up and head to their next class. Claudia sticks around to spray the mats with disinfectant and put away the training equipment. She struggles to fold up the heavy padded mats. I pick up the opposite end of the one she’s wrestling with and bring it toward her.
“Thanks,” she grunts. Together, we drag the mat to the storage closet and dump it in. Claudia dusts her hands. “I got the rest.”
“Sure.” I turn to leave, but something holds me back. “Hey, Cloud?”
Claudia’s back is turned to me as she shoves the rest of the equipment into the storage closet. “What is it, Ophelia?”
“I’m really sorry. About everything.”
She sighs heavily. “I know you are.”
I take another chance. “Do you know anything about Veritas? The rebel group?”
Claudia’s shoulder stiffens, and a boxing dummy falls out of the closet as she loses her grip on it. “No, I don’t.”
“Are you sure? Because from what I heard—”
Claudia slams the closet shut. “I said I don’t know, Ophelia! Get out of my damn gym!”
“I was just—” I shut up when her hand draws the pistol from her holster. “Okay, I’m going! Relax.”
Outside the gym, I lean against the wall to catch my breath. Watching my own sister pull her weapon on me wasn’t the best way to end the lesson. Sweat drips from my temple, joining the moisture on my soaked collar. All I want is to go back to the house and jump in the pool, but Vega hasn’t returned from her errand to escort me back. I go looking for her instead.
Roaming the hallways of the Academy on my own reminds me of my youthful indiscretions from before I defected. I pause outside a few of the classrooms to listen in on the lessons. The material is similar to what I learned years ago, but it’s been updated to include today’s political agenda. Most of the students give their undivided attention to the instructors, but a few of them slouch low at their desks. I fix their faces in my mind. If what Orion said about Veritas is true, the rebel group is going to need more people on their side. Young IA trainees with good heads on their shoulders and alternate views of the galaxy might be the ultimate information source. It’s probably crazy of me to mount a hypothetical defense against IA from within their very institution, but seven years aboard an enemy pirate ship taught me to plan ahead.
Outside, I cross the lawn from the Defense side of campus to the Intelligence side. I spent more time here than the other students, but not enough to fully understand how Intelligence operates their division. When I walk in, I immediately take note of the differences. The building itself is more suited for office work. Every room is lined with desks and Monitors. I spy a few students working in a virtual reality simulation room. The room mimics everyday scenarios Intelligence operators might have to respond to. The idea is to teach trainees how to respond to intense situations without panicking. We have similar simulations in Defense, but the content is based on a physical reaction rather than an intellectual one.
The bell rings, signaling the end of this hour’s classes. Students flee from their desks and flood the hallways. In some ways, the Academy is just like public school. Gossip flies, cliques unite, and everyone wishes for the weekend. It’s almost comforting. Then I remember IA uses its boarding school facility as a method of building up their army.
Laertes emerges from a classroom, shouting at his students as they break free. “And don’t forget the homework due Friday!” He sighs and shakes his head then notices me in the hallway. “Ophelia, what a pleasant surprise. Shouldn’t you be in training?”
“Got abandoned,” I say. “Do you have a minute?”
“Sure.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Step into my office.”
“Don’t do that. It’s no wonder your students think you’re lame.”
“I reject that hypothesis,” he says, holding the door to his classroom open for me. It’s different than the other rooms in the building. He’s put up some personal touches. A banner from his favorite airball team hangs in one corner. A picture and quote from Noam Chomsky—some ridiculously old dude who lived on Earth a million years ago—graces another wall.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” I tap the airball banner. “But Jupiter United sucks. It’s all about the silver and white.”
Laertes makes a face. “Artemis AC? You might want to check the standings, little sis. Your girls’ team is falling behind.”
“They’ll catch up,” I argue. “They always do. Man, I used to dream of playing for them one day.”
“You could’ve,” says Laertes. “You were good enough in the Academy league.”
“Too bad that’s as far as they’d let me go,” I lament. “Not to mention the shit fits Mom and Dad would’ve pitched if I wanted to go pro in airball. Kill me now.”
Laertes opens one of his desk drawers, extracts something, and tosses it to me. It’s a miniature airball, usually used for control training. The game is a bit of a bloodbath, but that’s why I liked it. I never had to restrain myself. From what I know of Earth games, airball’s a cross between soccer and rugby, but at any time during the game, the arena can forego gravity, causing havoc for both teams. For
grins, I juggle the ball on the tops of my toes, kick it around my shoulders, and try to catch it on my knee. It drops to the ground.
“Not too bad,” Laertes says. “Give it here.”
I kick the ball across the floor, and Laertes scoops it up. He bounces it around on his feet for a minute. He’s got some serious skill, especially for an Intelligence nerd who spends most of his time indoors, but after another couple of kicks, his lungs give out again. The airball rolls across the room as Laertes succumbs to another coughing fit.
“Easy.” I catch my brother when his knees buckle and set him in the rolling chair behind his desk. He feels frail underneath my grip. His skin is loose around his bones, and his bones seem too brittle to support his lanky structure. “Take it easy, Laertes. Try to relax.”
“My meds,” he gasps, pointing to a drawer in his desk. “Please.”
I rifle through the drawer. I don’t see a pill bottle, but I do recognize a medicated inhaler. I place it in Laertes’s waiting hand, and he lifts it to his lips. As soon as he takes a breath from it, his wheezing eases, the coughing subsides, and he’s able to calm himself.
“You weren’t like this when I left.” I sit on his desk and let my legs dangle. “Did something trigger your autoimmune disease while I was gone?”
“Age, I suppose,” he replies. “Not as young as I used to be.”
“You’re pushing thirty, not eighty.”
He grins and pats my knee affectionately. “Maybe it’s because I haven’t had my little sister here to chase around. You kept me in shape.”
“Well, I’m back now.” I study Laertes as he takes his own pulse. “Hey, what do you know about Veritas? I tried asking Claudia, but she’s got a huge stick up her butt.”
Laertes rolls his eyes. “So you’ve heard?”
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