by Loren Walker
“We can't stay here any longer,” the cousin, Jetsun, was saying.
“I'm all for moving somewhere safer,” Phaira said. “Can he be moved? Is that safe?”
“That's not the only issue,” Jetsun sighed. “We need muscle. We can't physically carry him and protect him at the same time. Maybe I should call one of my men.”
“I’m a guy, and I'm standing right here,” Renzo pointed out.
“You are shorter than me,” Jetsun shot back. “What if you drop him? What if he falls?”
“Good thing that news gets around, then,” came a booming voice.
Everyone turned. Then Phaira let out a funny, girlish squeal, and then she ran, leaping into her brother Cohen’s arms. He swung her around, like they were kids, his red beard shining in the fluorescent light, his head thrown back in laughter.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Phaira exclaimed. Her joy shifted into fear as she grabbed her younger brother by the shoulders. “Why did you come?”
“Because you should have told me sooner,” Cohen said, “when you first made this crazy arrangement. I owe the guy, too, y’know. Of course I’d come.”
From behind, Sydel heard Jetsun huff: “How many people are in this family?”
Then she felt Cohen’s gaze on her. His gray-green eyes were calmer than the last time she’d seen them. “Hey, Syd," he called over. "You look good.”
“So do you,” she admitted. And he did, healthy and strong, and strangely foreign. Perhaps he saw her in the same way. They were a long way from the days when they first met, when she was stumbling through Osha in Jala dresses, with braids wound around her head. Her stomach fluttered. But she was warm for the first time in weeks.
“Emir treating you well?”
“He’s been wonderful,” she confirmed. Then she added, “How is your grandmother?”
“Same as always. Stubborn and bossy. A family trait, I think.” He winked at her, in that old Cohen way.
Her nerves tied up her tongue.
"If you're done catching up," came Jetsun's shrewd voice. "Inside. I need a strategy, now."
Cohen made a face at Sydel, jerking a thumb at the cousin. Delighted, Sydel held back her giggles.
Inside the hospital suite, the discussion resumed.
“Sydel, we need to know what you need to have at hand," Phaira instructed, pacing the room. "If we should bring anything along.”
Or if there's something we should steal from this hospital. The thought floated through Sydel's mind. How things had changed.
“You shouldn’t need anything,” Jetsun said. “The Mazarine has a medlab inside - ”
“The what?” Renzo interrupted.
“You got a rental waiting outside?” Cohen asked.
“No, Theron had one built,” Jetsun explained. “Weeks ago. It's parked - ”
“Since when?" Phaira exclaimed, a curious note of anger in her voice. "Why didn’t he list it when I asked about resources? How am I -"
“Doesn't matter, Phaira,” Renzo interrupted, before turning back to Jetsun. "How many people can it fit?"
What about the Arazura?” Sydel asked. “I thought Anandi was able to save it. We aren't going back to it?
“I am,” Renzo said. “Can't fly it yet, there's some damage to repair, but when I'm done, we can switch back and forth.”
“Wait, if you're going off to fix your ship,” Jetsun interrupted, “then who will pilot the Mazarine?”
“I will.”
CaLarca didn’t react to the gaping faces, her expression as cool as ever.
“You?” Phaira sputtered.
“Since when can you fly?” Cohen demanded.
“I’ve learned a great deal over the past weeks. Your brother has been generous with his time and instruction.”
Everyone glanced at Renzo, who raised both shoulders defensively. “What was I supposed to do? You guys leave me all alone for weeks; I needed some help. Yeah, I trained her. And yes, she should be fine as pilot. She can always call me with questions.”
“Questions!” Jetsun scoffed.
“Jet.” That scratchy drawl again. They all turned to the bed. Theron was awake. With visible effort, he lifted his hand. “Let her do it.”
Okay, so Ren deals with the Arazura,” Phaira said. “And the rest of us all go - ”
“Well, actually, I need Sydel to come with me,” Renzo interrupted. “Just for a couple of hours. You all get Theron settled, then, CaLarca, you fly his ship to -”
“She’s. The. Healer,” Cohen drew out the words. “She needs to stay with the guy who’s hurt.”
But Renzo was unyielding. “I need Sydel,” he stated. “Can't move forward without her.”
“This is unbelievable!” Jetsun broke in, flinging her hands in the air. “You’re splitting up? And leaving us with the same guardians as before, who have already failed in protecting their client? I should fire the lot of you!”
“Jet.” Theron’s voice made the woman stop short. “Enough.”
Jetsun swallowed. She looked furious, but afraid too, afraid to argue with the man in the bed.
“If something happens…” she threatened Renzo.
Then she growled under her breath, waving her hand. “We get him on his ship first. When he's settled, you can leave. Send the coordinates of where you are. We pick her up in two hours, so you better finish what you need to do by then.”
She pointed to CaLarca. “And you. Come with me. You'd better be telling the truth about being a pilot.”
II.
When confirmation came that the Mazarine was docked outside, the group moved quickly. Cohen looped Theron's arm around his shoulder and eased the giant man from his bed, while Phaira directed his long legs into the wheelchair. Then Phaira took the lead, with Cohen and Renzo flanking, and Sydel did her best to keep up, as she carried the intravenous fluids and the handheld monitor linked to his vital signs.
As they flew through the corridors, no staff spoke to them. Everyone's eyes were downturned, from the doctors to the janitorial team.
Down to the basement, to the loading docks, where a looming, dark blue ship was waiting, hatch open. As Cohen and Phaira hoisted Theron up the stairs, Renzo pushing the wheelchair behind them, Sydel realized that the interior layout was the same as the Arazura, with cabins on either side of a corridor, though less cluttered than the original, to be sure. She wondered what Renzo was thinking, if he was flattered or spooked.
In the meantime, she followed the group into one of the cabins, where an enormous bed took up the majority of the space, and there was barely enough room for her, Cohen and Phaira to squeeze along the mattress and half-drag, half-roll Theron into the bed. Renzo and CaLarca were already in the cockpit area, charging up the engines. Sydel felt the familiar hum of engines through the floor. Could CaLarca really fly this ship on her own?
As Cohen and Phaira left the space, Sydel did a quick scan of Theron's vitals, opening his shirt to listen to his lungs, lifting his shoulder to check the wound in his back, to ensure it hadn't broken open again. Theron glared at her the whole while. She did her best to ignore him. There was no sign of fever or infection, either, but she couldn't be gone for long, just in case. What did Renzo want with her, anyways? He refused to say out loud.
"You're fine," she announced. "Do you need pain medication to tide you over while I'm gone?”
“No. I have a request.”
Sydel twisted at the waist, and hit the panel on the doorframe so the door to the cabin slid shut. “I won’t use Nadi on your wounds,” she hissed as she turned back. “You’re healing well on your own. Now that you’re on board, you can rest properly and complete the process.”
“You’re so adamant.” There was a bite in his rattling breath. “I thought you NINE took glory in your specialness.”
“I’m not a NINE,” Sydel corrected. “I’ve made a choice to be human.”
“A choice,” he muttered. Then, curiously, he avoided her gaze. “I want to ask you somethin
g. But I ask that it stays private.”
She blinked. She couldn’t imagine what he was about to say.
“I’ve had dreams that I can't explain.”
Confused, she waited for him to continue.
“And flashes of something. When I'm awake.” He took quick inhales between sentences. “At first, I thought it was just a shift. In how my seizures presented. But now is there some way to make them stop? Some kind of medication? or - "
“I don't know,” Sydel said, curious. “What are you seeing when they occur?”
“The back of a skull, cut open. People begging me to change my mind.” His amber eyes flicked to hers. “I saw you lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines.”
His words shook her. Was it possible?
Yes, it made sense. Still, she could barely form the words. “You're an Insynn?”
Theron recoiled, as if stabbed. “Don’t say that to me!”
“I’m sorry, but the way you reacted when you grabbed my wrist. I understand. Theron, the first time it happened to me was just as frightening.”
“You’re wrong,” he spat. “I'm not. I'm not one of them.”
He hates the NINE so much, he can’t bear the thought that he might have anything in common with them.
“When did you start experiencing these flashes?”
His jaw twisted. “When the killings began.”
Then he went silent for many moments. “No, not true,” he finally confessed. “Longer than that. But less frequent. Not so vivid.”
“Did it happen in your childhood? Can you think of any time as a child when you had a vision, when - ?”
“I have few memories,” came his response. “Your NINE friends saw to that.”
Growing irritated, Sydel plopped down on the mattress next to Theron, who slid back. “Why don't you tell me what happened that day in Kings Canyon,” she told him. “You clearly want to.”
“You don't know?”
“I know a little,” Sydel admitted. “But nothing from your perspective.”
His chest rose and fell. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow and flat, long breaths drawn between sentences
“I was an only child. Other three were siblings, my cousins. Our parents took us to Kings Canyon. We ran to the edge to look down. Saw people on the canyon floor, fighting. Kuri Nimat, a red-haired girl, and two men. Kuri saw us. My mother starting walking. Tried to catch her, but she went over the edge. Then none of us could move. We could only scream. The last thing I saw was that girl, her red hair in my face. I woke in the hospital. Then I went to live with my grandfather, with my cousins.”
He took in a long, wincing inhale. Sydel stared at him. It was so much more awful, this version.
Impulsively, she reached out to touch his hand. “You know, we all have a past. But we always have a choice what to do with -”
He jerked it away. “You'll learn.”
“But - ”
A knock on the door, and Renzo's call. “Sydel? You in there? We gotta go.”
When Sydel turned back to Theron, his eyes were closed.
* * *
Sydel turned Theron’s story over in her head, as she followed Renzo across the train tracks, into the abandoned storage facility and rusted-over units. What a strange man, she thought. What a strange situation, for all of us. I had no part in the NINE attack, but I feel responsible for so much.
The hanger doors opened with a groan. Inside, the Arazura caught the light, blue and glistening and perfect as she remembered, and for a moment, she was struck dumb, remembering. She had a cabin in that ship, a bed, a medical lab. For a number of weeks, it was her home. As the stairs unfurled, and Renzo entered the ship, Sydel slid her hand along the railing, listening to the quiet echo of her steps.
Inside, evidence of the attack remained in the main corridor: the smell of sweat, copper blood spattered and smeared on the floor and walls. Renzo stepped over the stains, like they were nothing, and stood underneath the hole in the ceiling. Sydel peered up as she crept closer. The metal was ripped, not cut, and inside, coils of wires hung limp.
“Is that where it came in?” she asked. “Was it hiding in the ceiling?”
Renzo grunted in response, brushing his palm down the wall, as if he caressed a loved one. “It dug its way in from the roof.”
Sydel shuddered. “Can you fix it?”
“Of course I can.”
“Then why am I here?”
He gestured around the splattered, broken space. “See if I missed anything before I clean up.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Renzo said, impatience in his voice. “Whatever your brain can pick up, or your senses or energy.”
“Renzo, I have abandoned that way of life.”
“Sydel,” Renzo interrupted, opening his palms to her. “We’re stuck. We don’t know what to do, and we’re all terrified, even if no one is showing it. This thing is far beyond anything we’ve ever seen. If you can provide any kind of insight, anything at all…”
Sydel stared at him as he talked. Was it any different from her debt to Theron Sava? Didn’t she owe Renzo, and Phaira and Cohen as well? Wasn’t that what friends did?
But what if, her mind railed, what if you can’t contain it? What if you hurt someone? You’ve come so close, so many times.
This is different. I'll do it for them, and for only them, she decided, her body already rippling with dread.
And Sydel allowed her mind to part. It was slow to obey, like a rusted-over door, stuck in its hinges and protesting. But the world poured in, regardless, like an ocean rushing over her head. Yes, there were silhouettes brushing past her, tangling together, and voices in the walls, echoing with panic.
Sydel studied the spots on the floor. Each drop of blood had its own subtle haze of color, marking its source. The one that glowed red, that was the foreign one. She crouched down and stared at it. Her hand dropped to the floor, her fingernail grazing the edge of the stain.
Her vision turned white, then a sick, swirling vision of pink, like blood mixed with paint. She saw Phaira’s face in front of her: choked, bruised, slick with sweat. Phaira’s throat was in her hands, and there were clicks within her, like a clock winding. She felt a surge of strength, a rush of ice, in her veins. Her warped lips brushed against her suffocating metal mask, her jaw pushing out and back. Two syllables, released in a guttural, strangled squeal: URR-EEE-URR-EEE-URR-EEEE.
With a start, the blue-grey interior of the Arazura came into focus. Renzo’s worried face was above her, his forehead in a series of lines, his fingers digging into her upper arms. She was being shaken. “You’re here,” he was saying to her. “You’re on the Arazura, and you’re safe.”
Sydel forced herself to blink and breathe. That horrible screeching sound echoed in her head. She flexed her fingers; it felt like breaking through a frost.
“Show me,” she managed.
“What?” Renzo demanded. “Show you what?”
She reached out, gesturing for him to pull her up. He did, reluctantly, eyeing her over his glasses. She put a hand to her chest, feeling for her heartbeat. It was present, and racing.
“Show me the path it took,” she finally spoke. “From start to finish.”
Renzo grumbled, but he still brought her to the top of the Arazura, to the gaping hole in the roof, where the assassin broke in. Sydel lowered herself down into the darkness, and followed the energetic path of the assassin, crawling and shimmying through ventilation shafts, attacked by vision after vision. The click of metal on metal; the sound of voices, wafting through the pipes; the fainter sound of an alarm, relentlessly beeping; more internal clicks, more shots of cold rushing through her body. Finally, she reached the hole in the inner corridor, and looked over the edge. All the wreckage and bloodstains below, back where she started. Carefully, she lowered herself through, stepping onto the ladder Renzo held below, her mind whirring with all the new images.
“Are you seeing things?�
�� Renzo asked.
Sydel made her way to the floor, and turned to face the entryway to the lower floor, where blood streaked all the way down the stairs. “You all managed to get to an escape pod.”
She noted the claw marks of where it gripped the walls, and the dried drops of red. Sydel closed her eyes and let the memory take over. Flashes of light. The sound of screeching air. Her ears popping, the sudden jostle of metal on earth. Then, bright sunlight, and grasslands stretching in all directions. In front of her, the sun burned and burned, and stayed in sight, even as the horizon dragged and eventually faded.
“Where did Anandi land the Arazura?” Sydel asked, coming back to the present.
“Halfway between Lea and the Mac, in an empty clearing. Why?”
“When it disembarked, the assailant went in the direction of the sun,” she reported, wiping her hands on her trousers, as if to remove the stain of the visions.
Renzo brought up his Lissome. The translucent screen projected between them, showing the map of the East Coast of Osha; a red dot indicated where the Arazura was found. Sydel studied the ripples of mountains and valleys to the west. There, within ten kilometers, a small town: Cardine. When Renzo checked the local registry, there were three listed doctors and a public transit station.
“Any recent reports of violence there?” Sydel asked. “Thievery? Suspicious behavior?”
Renzo smirked, his fingers fluttering over his Lissome. “You sound like Phaira.” There was a beep, and Renzo frowned. “Nothing on record.”
She hesitated, then, with her impulse, uncertain if she really meant it. Yes, she did. “I could go there, and investigate.”
Renzo recoiled. “What? By yourself?”
That assassin hasn’t seen my face.” A second thought occurred to her. “Nor Cohen. We can be your eyes. Go to Cardine and see if any clues are there.”
Renzo shook his head, again and again.
Sydel sighed, and put her hand on his cheek to stop the motion. “Renzo,” she said firmly. “We must do something. You are all stuck in place. I’m not. And if Cohen is willing…”