by Jaleta Clegg
"You must be one or the other, not both," Corei'Neana's voice sounded in my mind. "You have made your choice. Be happy, Dace."
The broken spot wrenched to the side. Pain ripped through me. My perceptions rippled and twisted.
"So be it," chorused voices of people around me. Their minds faded from my awareness.
The pain ebbed away, carrying with it all trace of power.
"Fare well, in your choice," Corei'Neana said, her voice faint and far away. "Find happiness."
She was gone. They were all gone. The silver mist was gone. All trace of psychic power was gone. I was me, myself, alone in my head for now and for all time. I felt a pang of loss. It was my choice, this time. I could not have lived with them, no matter what they promised. I had a life, a family, friends who waited for me. I would survive.
My consciousness faded until I knew nothing.
Chapter 50
The hatch opened. Everett snapped out of his half doze. The only way to get Paltronis to rest was to promise someone would stand watch outside the hatch of the shuttle. Everett had agreed to stand watch in the rain for the afternoon. He hadn't expected anything to happen, not after watching the stream of strange people walking through the city to the ships.
It was barely an hour later. The hatch cycled open. A woman stepped out. She was short, her silver hair piled high on her head. She looked up at him, her eyes as silver as her hair.
"She has chosen," the woman said, her voice a clear alto, resonant and musical. "I find myself curious about you. She would give up her heritage to become one of you."
Everett was confused. What was the woman talking about?
He didn't have to wait for his answer. A medunit floated out of the hatch, carried on grav units that hummed faintly out of tune. Another woman walked beside the unit. She looked much younger than the other woman. Tiny creatures made of jewels fluttered in her hair, which rose in a wild halo around her head. It was as silver as the older woman's.
The woman walked without speaking towards his ship. Everett shot a confused look at the woman still standing beside the open hatch before hurrying after the other woman and the medunit.
The woman stopped at the airlock of the Windrigger.
"She will be missed, by some of us," the woman said with a sad smile. "She has been gravely injured. The unit will hold her in stasis until you can reach a hospital."
She touched the closed lid of the medunit with a curious gesture. He caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes as she turned back to him. She reached up and unfastened one of the fluttering creatures from her hair.
"Give her this for me?" she asked.
He took the elegant piece of jewelry with a nod. The woman hurried away, back to the shuttle. He watched as she brushed her eyes before walking through the hatch.
He turned back to the medunit, mystified. The jewel in his hand reflected deep blues and greens from its wings. He folded it gently into his hand. He would keep it safe, until Dace was well again.
He opened the hatch and guided the unit through. The status lights on it glowed green. Dace was alive. For now.
Leon and Harouk were the ones who guided the unit into an empty corner of a cabin and hooked it to the ship's power.
Everett gave the orders to his crew to finally prepare to lift. They were only too happy to comply.
The shuttles left before he could. He waited while their antique engines pushed them into the sky. He saw the heat waves dancing across the pavement, turning rain to steam.
"Did Scholar make it?" Paltronis asked behind him.
"He came back early this morning," Everett answered her. "Tilyn refused to let him stay. He's asleep in a bunk."
Paltronis nodded. She looked older, her face showing lines that hadn't been there before. She had dark shadows under her eyes, but it was the shadows in her eyes that troubled him most.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"As Dace told me once, no, I'm not all right," she answered. "But I will be. Someday."
He wisely left that comment alone. Their ship lifted into the rain of Tivor. The planet fell behind them quickly.
He watched until they made the jump to hyperspace. They left Tivor to itself, good or bad, he couldn't have said.
They set course for Besht. It had medical facilities. Everett silently hoped it was still part of the Empire. Even if it wasn't, Dace was part of the Shellfinder Clan. If the Patrol wouldn't take care of her, the gypsies would.
Chapter 51
Lowell sighed as the ship made downshift into Besht. It had been a nightmare trying to find a way back. Viya Station had loaned him a ship, but with no crew it wasn't going anywhere. No one wanted to leave. He'd done what he could to help them rebuild.
Willet Smythe had finally reappeared and saved the day. He'd driven a mean bargain, though, Lowell thought in admiration. In exchange for a crew to fly him to Tebros, Will got the ship for the Federation. It was one expensive trip.
Except things at Tebros hadn't been much better. There were some ships flying in and out of port, true, but none were headed inwards. Tebros was solidly in the Federation, along with Viya and a dozen other worlds nearby. Lowell had begged his crew to take him farther in. They had taken pity on him.
They'd taken him to a little backwater of a planet where Lowell had been transferred to another ship, a merchant with little room or comfort for passengers. That ship had taken him in to another system where he'd transferred again to an even more decrepit tramp trader. And two more in quick succession. He was really gaining an appreciation for how well Dace had kept her ship running.
The latest leg was in an ore freighter. The crew had doubled up to give him a shift in the bunk for a few hours at a stretch. The three of them were beyond strange. They had lived together in the ship for so long they didn't quite know how to interact with anyone else. Lowell did his best to be civil. It was hard. The three of them were definitely not humans anymore.
The ship groaned as it slowed and settled on a course that would take them in to the stations orbiting Besht. He flicked through com channels and breathed another sigh of relief. Besht was still Empire. With any luck, he could commandeer a ship here to take him back to Tivor and his long overdue rescue trip. He wasn't going to leave Paltronis and Scholar stranded there. And hopefully, they had Dace with them.
The ship docked, with a maximum amount of creaking and groaning and nasty sounding clanks, at an ore dump station, not one of the commercial stations circling Besht. Lowell bit back his opinion of that. It would definitely not have been civil.
When the last connection had clunked home, the crew turned their stares on him. Lowell got the message. He thanked them effusively, paying them the last of his credit chips. It was not enough, he knew it and they knew it, but he was desperate and they were gracious about it. He picked up his small bag of possessions and made a hasty exit from their ship.
The dump station was little better than the ship. It had not been made to be attractive, it was utilitarian. Rusted pipes crossed overhead in a web that would have made any spider proud. The deck was littered with hoses and connections to the station's vast storage tanks. Lowell picked his way through the chaotic mess to the stationmaster's office.
The man was big and rough and not pleased to see a passenger undocking at his station. He grumbled as Lowell entered the office.
"Whaddya want?" he growled in a deep voice.
"Any chance of catching a connection to one of the other stations?" Lowell asked tiredly.
The man sniffed and wrinkled his nose. Lowell knew he smelled funny, he'd been wearing the dockworker's jumpsuit for three weeks without a chance to bathe. Ore freighters were not known for their amenities.
"This ain't some kind of tourist station," the stationmaster grumbled. But he was turning to his console and scrolling through the ships currently docked.
"I know that and I appreciate any help you can give," Lowell said, not above begging, bribing, or outright flattery to get where
he wanted to go. He had no cash left, and wasn't sure he could access any of his accounts. But better here at Besht than any of the other worlds he'd been at lately. Besht was at least civilized.
"There's Ryullan," the stationmaster said after a long pause. "He might take you over. He said he was headed out on a shopping run."
"Thank you," Lowell said gratefully. "I don't know if I can pay him. If I could access my accounts…" He left it dangling suggestively.
The stationmaster grunted and shifted over to give Lowell access to the console. Lowell leaned in. The stationmaster sniffed and moved farther away.
Lowell's hands flew over the keypad. His three official and personal accounts were frozen for some reason. He didn't do any fishing to find out why, not yet. He didn't want to announce his arrival. Tayvis' warnings had him skittish. He'd been out of touch for much too long. He skipped over to a backup account, one in a different name with no ties that could lead to him. Other than his prints, he thought as he pressed his thumb to the pad. The machine chimed. Lowell pushed his personal chit into a slot on the machine. It clattered a moment and his chit popped out. He stepped back.
The stationmaster leaned in to read the screen. "I prefer cash," he muttered. Then he caught sight of the amount Lowell had just gifted him. It was three days pay for him. He glanced up at Lowell in surprise.
"I'm really very grateful for your help," Lowell said with a smile.
The stationmaster punched the buttons that called up one of the docked ships. "Ryullan, pick up the com."
It crackled with static and cleared. "What?" a sharp voice demanded.
"I got a passenger for you, wants a lift to one of the other stations."
"I'm not some friggin passenger ship."
"It will be worth your time, trust me. Have I ever led you wrong?"
"There was that investment in ore futures at Herifan." The com crackled for a moment of staticky silence. "You sure this is worth my time?"
"You're going anyway, ain't you?" the stationmaster asked. "One little old man who ended up where he don't belong and wants to go back. He's got the money to pay."
"And I'll bet he's standing right next to you listening to everything," Ryullan shot back. "Send him over. It's a short trip, I think I can stand it. He's riding on the floor in back, though."
Lowell nodded. Anything to get back to civilization. Running water, real food, clean clothes, he could hardly wait. And information. That was what he really wanted more than anything else.
"He'll be there as fast as he can run," the stationmaster promised. He clicked the com off. "Dock seventeen, way on the end," he said to Lowell.
"Thank you," Lowell said sincerely.
"Better hurry, Ryullan don't wait around much."
Lowell ignored the grin on the other man's face as he hurried out of the office. Docking bay seventeen was around the curve of the station. Lowell hurried as fast as he dared through the noisy dock. He reached the end of the dock and wondered if the stationmaster had been playing him for a fool. He peered around a metal plate blocking most of the dock and breathed a sigh of relief.
Seventeen, along with eighteen and nineteen, were afterthoughts, small bays for insystem shuttles. The only one showing a green light was seventeen, and that light was flashing. Ryullan was preparing to undock. Lowell broke into a run, unwilling to miss this flight.
The hatch slid open when he knocked. He hurried inside. It slid shut on his heels. He picked his way forward even as the shuttle was undocking. It was a personal craft. The back area where passenger seats were usually installed, was full of crates webbed to the walls. A narrow aisle led forward.
"Grab a spot of floor," Ryullan shouted back at him.
Lowell barely had time to sit before the shuttle shot away from the station. There was no artificial gravity field. Lowell clutched at the webbing on a crate to keep from floating around. His stomach protested the change to null gravity. Acceleration shoved him backwards.
"Be there in half an hour," Ryullan called back as the ship settled on course.
The engines throbbed. Lowell pulled himself forward to the cockpit. "You sure you don't have an extra chair somewhere?"
Ryullan glanced back at his green face and reluctantly shifted over so Lowell could squeeze into the cockpit. There was another chair, a small foldout one designed for the backup pilot that obviously didn't exist. Lowell strapped himself in.
"Greenie," Ryullan muttered. "What in blazes are you doing out at an ore station?"
"Trying to get home," Lowell answered. It was close enough to the truth.
"What direction you coming from?" Ryullan asked as he leaned forward to adjust a control.
"What used to be the Outer Worlds," Lowell admitted. "It's all Federation now."
"Then you were probably better off staying out there," Ryullan said. "Besht isn't what it used to be. Refugees been pouring in for weeks."
"Refugees?"
"From the attacks. Federation ships blasted half a dozen worlds. Viya Station was blown clear out of space."
"Not entirely. I was there when it happened. And it wasn't Federation. Or Patrol. Pirates, out for a quick profit, nothing more."
"Whatever you say," Ryullan answered.
He didn't talk again until the ship was docked at Five, the utilitarian station orbiting Besht.
"Thank you," Lowell said. "I can pay you."
"I don't want your money," Ryullan snapped. "I want you out of my ship."
Lowell didn't waste time wondering what he'd said to offend the man. He thanked him again as he picked his way past the cargo to the hatch. Ryullan didn't follow him, he stayed in the cockpit. Lowell made a mental note to find a way to pay the man anyway.
It was a relief to step onto the station. Though it didn't boast the glamorous decorations of the other four stations, its clean light and obvious prosperity cheered Lowell like nothing had for months. He walked across the dock to the shuttle offices. He was almost back. He could almost breathe the air of Besht.
People shifted away from him as he joined the line. He looked disreputable and smelled worse. And it didn't change the grin he wore.
He bought his ticket and waited in the lounge with the other passengers. A few of them left to book another flight. He tried to stay in a corner, but the room was small.
The shuttle was smaller. He had a complete row to himself, though. Everyone else crowded to the front, away from him. He dozed during the flight down to Besht.
The landing field was mostly the way he expected it to be. There were a few more cargo ships than usual, and a lot more Patrol ships. Besht had gone from settled security far from the border to being part of the smaller Empire's frontier. Lowell disembarked with the other passengers. They went straight ahead into the main terminal. Lowell turned left to walk across the wide expanse of plascrete. The Patrol compound loomed a good half mile away.
The walk felt good. He convinced himself of that, because no one stopped to offer him a ride. The day was bright, warm and slightly breezy and smelling of grease and fuel and baking plascrete.
Lowell pushed open the entrance door for the main Patrol building. Its wide expanses of marble floors were not empty, pristine and quiet, not anymore. Knots of Patrol officers and enlisted men moved purposefully through the room. The receptionist's desk had not one but four officers manning it. All of them were busy, looking harried and rushed. Lowell crossed the floor, ignoring the curious stares that followed him. He wasn't exactly dressed the part today. He wore a dark gray grimy dockworker's jumpsuit, complete with Viya Station's logo blazoned on the front left side. He stopped next to the wide desk and waited.
"What do you want?" one of the secretaries snapped at him.
He caught sight of a familiar bob of blond hair down the hall leading back into the maze of offices behind the desk. Paltronis was here? He moved before he could think better of it.
"You can't go back there," he was briskly informed even as the burly Patrol ensign pushed him back b
y the desk. "Not without authorization."
Paltronis glanced back and saw him. She had aged years. Her face was hollow and lined. Her eyes were dark and haunted. He wondered what had happened on Tivor.
"You want helped or not?" the same secretary barked at him.
Paltronis waited just beyond the barred entry to the compound. Her uniform was crisp, brand new, if Lowell was any judge. He wanted her report. He didn't want to bother with the secretary. But he didn't have much choice, at least until he established his credentials.
"Id scanner, please," he informed the secretary.
Paltronis folded her arms and leaned against the wall, watching him.
The secretary lifted the glowing pad to the top of the desk and waited, impatiently tapping his hand against the wooden desktop. Lowell placed his right hand, palm down on the pad. The light blinked red before returning to its normal green.
"Name and rank?" the secretary asked in a bored tone, already mentally moving on to the next crisis.
"Grant Lowell, High Command."
If he'd dropped a charged bomb, it wouldn't have had less impact on the room. Silence spread around them. The secretary's eyes went wide. All other crises in progress were put on hold.
"Identity confirmed," a computerized voice announced.
"Your pardon, sir," the secretary started groveling, "I had no idea."
"I wouldn't have, either."
"What can we do for you, sir?" The tone this time wasn't impatient and harried, it was deferential.
"I'd like a bed longer than five feet, running water that is actually more than lukewarm, a clean uniform, and something decent to eat. In the reverse order," he added. He saw Paltronis twitch her lips, suppressing a half hearted grin.
The secretary typed rapidly for a moment. He smiled across the desk at Lowell. "We can have a room cleared for you within ten minutes."
Paltronis stepped forward. "I'll take him to his room. I'm sure he was going to look for me soon anyway."
Lowell picked up his limp duffel bag and walked around the bulk of the ensign blocking access. The man shifted aside for him, now that his authorization was no longer in question.