by Tammy Salyer
* * *
A rabble of voices comes from the main benches of the locker room as I push through the door. All I want right now is a shower, some clean clothes, and food. I highly doubt a Corps ship has any good hooch in the galley, but I’m betting I can track down a handful of soldiers—make that ex-soldiers—who’ll have a stash somewhere. I’ll leave that for when I have more energy.
The smell of gun oil and aftershave hits me in a wave. Karl is seated on a bench with Desto and David, who turn their heads as I enter.
“Desto, you look like you were in a fight with a wildcat,” I comment. The scratches covering most of his face, neck, arms, and hands from running through the jungle when the Corps attacked have finally started to fade. David looks only a little better, having been right behind Desto, who broke through most of the brush.
“Honey, I’m looking at the only wildcat I ever want to tangle with.”
I can’t help but laugh.
Moving past them to the shower stalls, I drop my clothes on the bench outside. The water is hot and abundant, and I linger for a while beneath it. I forgot how good this feels—one of the perks of being a soldier on a fleet cruiser my subconscious had conveniently stifled. If not for these little things, mutiny would be a much more common occurrence among the fleet. Or would have been, until the events of late.
After a few blissful minutes, I can’t steal any more time or any more water from the ship’s tanks and turn off the tap. All of the Beachers have been given an assigned locker and extra clothing from the ship’s requisitions. I stand in front of locker 1127 and pull the familiar pieces of uniform on once more. The Corps fatigues and undershirt are soft and loose, probably a batch salvaged from recycling, and I’m grateful for their comfortable intimacy.
By the time I’ve slipped the shirt over my bra, pulled on the cargo pants, and cinched up my boots, the dry air of the ship has sapped most of the moisture from my hair, which is getting long and unruly. I look into the mirror hanging from the locker door as I pull it back from my face and wrap it up in an elastic band. The bruises from my fight with Baker are already faded, and my nose just has a small cut on the bridge, the swelling completely gone.
I pop the door closed and notice Karl standing at the end of the line of benches, the muted lights in the room casting a shadow over his face. I can’t see his expression, but I can see the sparkle of his amber eyes.
“Aly, we need to talk.”
The locker room is full of metal, but his husky voice doesn’t echo. It carries to my ears like a balm made from cherished, yet painful, memories. We’ve been airborne for just over a week, enough time for me to catch up on my sleep and listen to the unbelievable story again and again, waiting for it to feel real. We still haven’t spent much time together, and the moments we have were awkward, neither us capable of saying what we’re really thinking.
“Sure. What’s on your mind?” I turn back toward the locker to hang my wet towel on the protruding hook, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my hand tremors.
After a pause, he comes closer and stands resolutely beside me, centimeters away. I turn to look at him, and his face is fully illuminated by the overheads. I’m almost knocked to the bench by the depths of both sorrow and hope I see in his eyes.
“Look, I know I was wrong. I owe you an apology.”
“Forget it,” I say quickly, my voice too thick, betraying me.
“Aly, I shouldn’t have said the things I said. I…I fucked up. The way I treated you was—you didn’t deserve that. I was just so afraid I was losing you. I didn’t know what to do.”
“It’s all right, Karl. It’s over. I’m not worried about it, okay?” I don’t know how much longer I can take him standing there staring at me like that before I break down. If I let him in again, will it hurt as much as last time? Am I strong enough to try?
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, then puts a hand on my wrist. Its warmth spreads up to my elbow like a burning brand. He takes a deep breath, searching my face, as if what he’s about to say is something heavy that will take all of his strength to utter. “I’m trying to say I’m sorry. When I thought I’d lost you, it felt like someone had ripped me open. I was so afraid of what life would be like without you. For the first time, I realized what you mean to me. Aly, you’re the reason I keep going. You’re the only thing that makes all this shit that’s happening worth it. When I thought I’d never see you again, I realized how I’ve failed you—”
Overwhelming emotion suddenly wells up in my throat and threatens to choke me. I raise a hand to try and put it over his mouth, but he grabs it between both of his and wraps it away like a tiny, fragile gift that he treasures too much to even chance a look. “I realized what you needed from me wasn’t just for me to be around. You needed to know that I love you. I love you. I love you so much.”
Salty water slips from my eyes to my lips, left, right, left, like disciplined soldiers on the march. His blazing eyes search my face for a response. Gently, I pull on my hand and he lets it slide out of his grasp. Swiping at my face, I say nothing and reach out to grab the sleeve of his jacket and lead him to my bunk.
* * *
“Don’t forget, Medina wants us all to meet her in the command center at 1700,” Karl says as he straps on his boots. His shirt is still off, and my eyes trail along the muscles of his back, his wide shoulders, strong traps, long lats. The familiar pattern of scars on his skin is a roadmap for me in the dark, all I need to find my way to complete happiness. As he pulls his shirt over his head, I make a silent promise to myself that I’ll never lose him again, never fail him again. Or myself.
“I’ll be there.”
He leans down and kisses me once more, then heads out the door to help Mason and Brady sort through the rest of the salvage from the Sphynx. Just before stepping out, he picks up his jacket from where he’d thrown it on a chair, and a scowl crosses his features. He reaches for an inside pocket and pulls out a small box.
Hesitantly, he comes back beside the bed and extends it toward me. “We found this with Cross’s stuff on the Sphynx.”
I take it from him uncertainly, not understanding why he’s giving it to me until I see my name written along the top. “Thanks.”
His eyes linger on my face for a second. “I love you, Aly.”
I smile widely, surprised that those words can penetrate so deeply into my heart. “You too.”
Once he’s gone, I get dressed, leaving the box lying on the bed. Cross’s betrayal had been so unexpected that I still haven’t wanted to examine the full extent of the damage he’d caused. More of me wants to forget about it and never think of it again than deal with it. David hasn’t spoken a word of the situation to me, and I know that he’s feeling just as betrayed and hurt as I am. Cross must have known I’d never have taken him up on his offer to buy a new identity and false citizenship if I’d known what he was up to, but how could he have believed he could hide the fact that he was working for T’Kai?
The box sits there, tugging at me like a tiny black hole, its weight on my thoughts a physical burden. I break down and clean both my Sinbad and then my AK-80 before I finally give in and open it. Inside lays a small recording projector. Not completely sure I want to hear whatever Rob had wanted to tell me, I position it on the edge of the bunk with the lens pointing toward the blank wall across from me and turn it on.
The first image I see is a hand moving away from me, presumably having just turned on the device. As it recedes, I’m looking at the black-shirted chest, and finally, the face of Cross. He sits down—by brain notes that he’s sitting in his cabin aboard the Red Horizon—and looks directly into the lens for several seconds before saying anything. The image is so sharp that he could actually be sitting there in the flesh. Goosebumps ripple up my arms.
“Well, Aly, if you’re watching this, I must be dead.” He almost smiles, the statement evoking some kind of cynical humor that he’d rarely displayed in life. There’s a long pause, and it does
n’t look like he has any idea of what he’s going to say. I almost turn off the device. The man had nearly been responsible for getting everyone I know killed. But somehow, even worse, he had betrayed me. I’d been stabbed in the back by others, like Rajcik, but no double-cross could have ever surprised me, or hurt me, more than Rob’s.
“Aly, I want you to understand what happened. I’m sure you believe I betrayed you, and Vitruzzi and the crew, but I never in a million years wanted that to happen.” He takes a deep breath and continues, “I was busted by Admin security five months ago. They knew about my smuggling. Jesus, I thought I was so smart, but they knew everything.” He runs a hand through his hair, creases appearing around his eyes and forehead as if he’s in pain. Even through the medium of the image, I can see the turmoil writhing just behind his dark eyes. I want to hate him. He deserves nothing but my loathing and contempt, dead or not. But I can’t.
“They offered me a deal. Keep doing what I was doing and lead them to the more dangerous procurers—the people that actually posed a threat to them, not just random non-cits looking for backup parts for rusted out derelicts. The Admin knows there are a lot of people like that out there, but they don’t care about them. So I did what they wanted, informed on the people I delivered to, people like Rajcik, and I got to keep my ship and stay out of prison.
“But you and Vitruzzi’s crew hit them hard when you blew up the Fortress. T’Kai fed them Rajcik as the most likely culprit. Of course, he knew it was him anyway, but it was a good way of redirecting the inquiries. T’Kai’s back was against the wall. He was responsible for the Fortress’s security and operations, and the Admin lost billions from the station’s destruction. The only reason he wasn’t held accountable was because he had enough evidence to convince them that it was Rajcik. He had security scans from the outpost on Obal 3, from when your team stole the station’s disc. Goddammit, Aly, he even had scans of you and David.”
I suck in a quick breath. T’Kai had been telling the truth about knowing we were part of Rajcik’s team.
“After that, T’Kai changed the game. He wanted me to keep my eyes out for Rajcik and his team, gather intel from around the system, and he showed me the scans. At first, I couldn’t believe it. See, I didn’t know about the research they were doing on the Fortress. I just thought you and David had been part of some massive weapons-smuggling op that turned into a…a mistake. Back when we were in the Corps, you’d always thought the Admin was corrupt; blowing up that space station seemed like just the kind of thing you’d have done if you had the chance. And T’Kai had proof. If I’d known what he was trying to cover up…but I didn’t. What was I supposed to do?
“I only wanted to find Rajcik. But when I landed on Spectra 6 with Vitruzzi’s transceiver parts, you can’t know how shocked I was to find you and David there. That was the last thing I ever expected. It wouldn’t have mattered, I would never have turned you in after you led me to Rajcik, but my crew—Sims, Baker, Montoya—they’re Admin, they’re not mine. They were assigned to me to make sure I did my job and kept my mouth shut. I just wanted to bring Rajcik in, but now T’Kai knows about the footage and the data.”
He looks at something away from the screen and his vision goes distant for a few seconds. Are there tears in his eyes? The skin of his face is tight and shiny with torment. When he made this recording, he already knew there was no way he was going to get out of this, but I can see he’s still wishing he could. Still not wanting to betray anyone.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen, but if it goes bad, you have to know how sorry I am. If it were just me, I’d have taken the bullet for you already. But it’s not. My crew…they know almost everything, and they’re not going to stop, even if they have to kill me to carry out T’Kai’s orders. The only thing I can do is try and find an angle that gets the least amount of people hurt. But shit”—that cynical smile again—“like I said: if you’re seeing this…well, you know.
“Remember this, Aly, whatever happens, I’m not the bad guy. I never wanted to involve you or David in this. Vitruzzi, Brady, Desto, they’re all my friends. It’s just the way of the worlds. It’s a fucking mess and the best we can do is try to survive.” He leans forward and his hand approaches the recorder, preparing to turn it off. Before he does, he adds one more thing. “I’m sorry for whatever trouble I may have caused between you and Strahan, but I never met another woman like you after the Corps. You should know, Aly, I’m going to do—or I did—everything I could to keep you safe.”
And he shuts it off.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting on my bunk staring at the blank wall when someone knocks.
“It’s open.”
David comes in, gets ready to say something and then pauses, looking at me closely. “Everything okay?”
I nod, lacking any certitude that everything will ever really be okay again.
“Yeah, well this shouldn’t upset you too much then—Rajcik and Thompson killed the dock control crew guarding the Red Horizon. They took the ship.”
THIRTY-NINE
We’ve been gathered on the carrier’s flight deck for forty-five minutes watching the reports coming in from all over the system: citizen and non-citizen station casts, Admin-controlled newswaves, even some Corps ships who are still under the Admin’s control. Rajcik flew the Red Horizon directly to Obal 10. When we warned Medina about the Nova being on board the ship and how deeply Rajcik’s anti-Admin motivations were rooted, she’d had other things on her mind and never secured it. There is no way to set up a search-and-destroy mission with the amount of fighting going on throughout the quadrant. Rajcik had slipped through all the nets, sliding by rebel ships who had more important issues to deal with than a harmless transporter, and aided by those still loyal to the Admin for being known to be contracted by, possibly even carrying, T’Kai. He’d breeched Obal 10 airspace an hour ago, using the ship’s transceiver to send one final message to the Admin.
A communications tech sergeant put his broadcast on one screen set to loop, and I haven’t been able to look at anything else since the first viewing. Rajcik stands in the ’Rize’s cockpit, staring into the lens of a handheld recording device just like the one Rob had used. His opalescent teeth gleam as he talks, telling the Admin that the time has come for them to reap what they’d sown for so long. Tunis City can be seen through the ship’s viewscreens as the ’Rize approaches it in a full-tilt dive. Rajcik pans the device over the sleek body of the Nova as he explains what it is and what he’s about to do with it. There’s a loud explosion, and the recording jolts violently as a gunship in the area begins pursuing him, someone out there realizing he’s on a collision course with the system’s capital city, even if they don’t know he’s about to annihilate it. But the dive can’t be stopped. The last thing Rajcik does before short-circuiting the ship’s electrical systems and causing an electromagnetic pulse that detonates the Nova is smile his deadly, yet somehow completely sane, smile.
Tunis City is destroyed. Obal 10’s atmosphere is destabilized. Millions are dead. The real war has begun.
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CONTRACT OF WAR
Spectras Arise Trilogy, Book 3
Tammy Salyer
PROLOGUE
FROM THE JOURNAL OF DOCTOR ELEANOR VITRUZZI, YEAR 2727
Yesterday marked 460 days since the system’s civil war began, but sometimes I feel like I’ve been at war my whole life. Only eight years have passed since the Soldier’s Rebellion, and in that time, I now realize, peace was the illusion. When I look up at a rust-red sky filled with grit and chaff from the latest strafing, the smell of burning things, burning bodies…on days like those I can’t remember what life was like before the suffering and fighting. There’s been more death since this all began than anyone will ever be able to tally. Still, how could it have been any different?
When Ra
jcik dropped the Richter Mini-Nova on Tunis City, the war was inevitable. Cits and non-cits predictably divided straight down the middle, but that first year was devastating for those who still called themselves citizens. They were people who’d never known the harsh realities of noncivilized worlds, never had to adapt to bad air and a shortage of food. Except for the ones who’d been soldiers or engineers, they didn’t even know how to get around the DNA signatures that would enable Admin-manufactured weapons to be fired. They dropped like headstones in an earthquake, and for a while it looked like the non-cits, with the help of the former-Corps-now-anti-Admin forces, were going to overrun all the Obal planets with ease.
The soldiers fighting from inside the fleet were another story, however. With Tunis City obliterated and the acceleration of Obal 10’s magnetic reversal causing mass extinction and climate disruption, most of the Admin’s political and military leaders died or disappeared. Like a chicken without a head, order and discipline disintegrated, and the rest of the Corps advanced rapidly into complete self-destruction. Soldiers who had been loyal to the Admin their whole lives suddenly switched sides and started mutinies within their divisions. Others who’d always been fast and loose with their beliefs locked onto the Admin rhetoric and dug in against the mutineers with a vengeance. Battles were waged within ships and between squadrons that most often ended with the deaths of everyone involved. For the first year, the chaos unfolding within the ranks kept the Corps and their weapons and ships too busy with each other to do much about what was happening on the ground. And we stayed busy.
And what’s it all been for? For years non-cits have been thrown to the wolves on the edges of the system, left defenseless and completely at the Admin’s mercy—expendable. There was more than enough festering hatred built up in the hearts of the people living on the system’s eight Spectra planets; when the transmission was broadcast detailing the Admin’s human experimentation, their diseases and plagues, and their utter contempt for human life, it was all the spark that was needed. Non-cits and criminals teamed up on every planet, galvanized by a shared motivation for revenge, and the citizens on the Obals, who never even knew of their own complicity, were systematically, ruthlessly slaughtered.