Tyche's Flight (Tyche's Journey Book 1)

by Richard Parry

  Back to back.

  Nate could feel Grace through his suit. Her body, next to his. Both of them, facing outward. His blaster, her sword.

  An Ezeroc drone came at him, slavering, chittering, and he blew chunks out of it. Behind him, the snick-crack of the sword.

  Something fell at him from above, one of the smaller Ezeroc, and it clattered against his helmet, blocking the view from his visor. All he could see was legs, and those claws, searching for a way in, seeking his skin. Nate smashed it with his metal hand, knocking it free. He felt Grace move against him, and he turned with her, her sword making short work of the drone. He in turn fired at two running towards them, bright arcs of plasma lighting up the night, charring and burning. The blaster snap-crackled with each squeeze of the trigger. He didn’t hit every shot, but when they got too close, Grace was there.

  A flash of movement from his right side, and he turned in time to be knocked through the air — again, come on! — by the big Ezeroc crab.

  He impacted against the building — again — and lay dazed for a second. In that second, as he watched Grace pivot around the big crab’s legs, her sword clanging against its armored body, he thought if the big one’s alive, and it’s controlled by the Queen, where the fuck is the Queen?

  More movement from around the corner of the building, and there she was, clawing herself along. More of the smaller drones surrounded her, there must have been at least five scuttling towards Grace. She still moved and spun, but he could see she was getting tired. Or she’d started tired, and was getting to breaking point.

  And here you are, asshole, resting against this wall.

  He got up, took aim down the iron sights of his blaster, and put five shots into the queen. Five shots, one after the other, into the head of the creature, or what he guessed the head was. The battery on his blasted pinged empty, fell to the ground, and he put a new one in. Last one. Make it count. Turned back to Grace, to help her with the giant Ezeroc, but it had stopped moving with any kind of purpose, just walking around the small clearing.

  One of the smaller Ezeroc landed on his arm. He tried to shake it loose, but it was held firm, pincers around his wrist. The claws pulled back, then slammed home, piercing his suit glove. Nate screamed in pain, raised his blaster and blew it to pieces.

  Silence.

  The warrior drones were pulling back into the forest. No more of the smaller fuckers either. Grace looked to have dropped a couple more, but the air was free of them. She walked to him, concern in her eyes. “Nate,” she said. “The claws.”

  “Hurts like a motherfucker,” said Nate.

  “It’s how they infect you,” she said. She raised her sword. “Look, I can try and cut the arm off. I can—”

  He laughed. Bent over, hands on his knees, and laughed.

  “Your crazy,” she said. “It’s already infected you. I have to, I, uh … Nate? Tell me it’s still you,” she said.

  “Grace Gushiken,” said Nate, pulling off his suit glove, and holding up his metal hand, “it’s still me. Except for the bits that aren’t.” The metal skin of his hand had been pierced by the claws, the creature putting God knows what into the inside. But it was metal, and plastic, and ceramic, and wasn’t a part of him. It couldn’t infect him.

  Probably.

  “It’s just,” said Nate, “they tried to make the hand real, you know? So, I can feel things with it. Like an alien sticking parasitic goo into me. That’d be uncomfortable, if it was the other hand.”

  “They know,” said Grace, “that you’re the captain of the ship.”

  “How,” said Nate, “do they know?”

  “Because of me,” she said. “Because of what I am.”

  “Oh,” said Nate. “That’s … great news.”

  “It just … wait, what?” she said.

  “Well,” said Nate. “They think I’m the captain of a ship they’ve infected with alien DNA or whatever it is, right? And they’ll let me back on the ship, to ’infect,’” and here, he gave little air quotes, “my crew. The way I see it, they’ll leave us the fuck alone for a while until that happens. A quiet hike, back to the Tyche.”

  “I … hadn’t thought of it like that,” said Grace.

  “Less things trying to eat our faces,” said Nate.

  “I think I’ve got it,” said Grace.

  “You know,” said Nate. “No killer death roaches or anything.”

  “Really,” she said. “I’ve got it. I’ve really got it. You can stop talking.”

  They walked back towards the forest. “Do you think,” said Nate, “that the Queen would have been wise to this whole thing?”

  “Yeah,” said Grace. “She was … smart. Ancient. Young. I don’t know.”

  “Cool,” said Nate, looking back at the smoking ruins of the Queen. He smiled into the dark. “Finally. Something’s going right for a change.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  When Grace looked up, Nate’s arm draped over her shoulder, his weight heavy against her, she was expecting to see the bright, welcoming light of the Tyche’s cargo bay airlock. A hand, held out to her, palm up. A smile. Welcome home, guys. What she saw instead was the barrel of a blaster. It was leveled at her face. It surprised her because of all of Nate’s talk of the ship — the Tyche — being a home, and how they were all a family. With him by her side, she felt it coming off him in waves. How could she not? He’d been so close to her while they’d walked, and then he’d started to drag. He’d still been feeling like he’d been heading to his family when he stretched himself out on the forest floor. Something inside him was broken, and he’d spat out a little bit of blood, said he was fine, just fine and then couldn’t stand.

  Grace had hauled him to his feet, her with a grunt and him with a scream, and dragged him back to the ship. The forest around them was alive, things rustling in the trees, branches swaying like there was a powerful wind. Except the air was still. Grace couldn’t see them, couldn’t feel them, just the hiss in her mind, a kind of static she’d grown to associated with the Ezeroc. It wasn’t static, that was the wrong word, because in the gentle hush of it were words, words she could understand if only she had the wit to listen.

  Last time she’d listened, she’d dropped the damn sword, so she put her barriers back up, those constructed walls of thought to keep her centered. She focused on Nate, on his ragged breathing, the warm weight of his humanity as it touched her side. That physical contact brought more of what he was feeling to her, that friend/not-trust/family/protect/trust, over and over. Grace was buffeted by it.

  It made her feel warm, so she held him tighter.

  She’d believed, really believed she might have a place on this ship. Against all the odds, against what she’d seen, because of what Nate was feeling. Right until she’d slapped a frantic hand on the door controls, the hull of the Tyche cool and solid under her hand. The door had slid open with a low cthunk, and she’d looked up, one foot on the metal of the gangway, the other still on Absalom’s dirt, and had the blaster pushed into her face.

  Looking up beyond the blaster, she saw a hand. Big knuckles, used to hitting things. Grace lifted her head higher, took in Kohl’s face, and said, “Oh, fuck’s sake. Of all the people who could meet us, you’re the one?”

  “Okay,” said Kohl. He turned his face back to someone behind him. “I’m pretty sure she’s still human.”

  “Of course I’m still human,” said Grace. “You asshole. Help me with the captain.”

  “No,” said Kohl.

  Grace looked at his face, at the blaster that hadn’t moved. “He’s human too,” she said. “I’m pretty sure he’s got internal bleeding.”

  “Sounds bad,” said Kohl, not moving.

  “What’s worse,” said Grace, “is that we’re here on the doorstep of fucking salvation and you’re in the way.”

  “Let ’em in,” said El’s voice, from somewhere behind Kohl. The Helm stepped out from behind the doorway, an old, ugly kinetic weapon in her hand. �
�We’ve had worse things here than a little internal bleeding.”

  “Worse?” said Grace. She looked at Kohl, then at El. Looked for Hope. “Where’s Hope?”

  “Yeah,” said El. “Well, that’s the thing.” She turned away, holstering her weapon.

  Grace hauled Nate in with her, pushing around Kohl. She saw the cargo bay, a slop pile of human remains on the floor, and she felt something sick in her stomach. “Is that…”

  “No,” said Kohl. “That, there, is just one less asshole.”

  “Penn?” said Grace.

  “Not anymore,” said El. She cycled the ship’s lock, shutting Absalom’s dangers out. “You’d best see for yourself.”

  • • •

  The sickbay was like Grace remembered. A cheap machine keeping a patient alive. Except this time, it wasn’t Kohl in there, it was Hope, and she was in some kind of coma.

  “It looks bad,” said El. “But I think we got to her in time.”

  “What do you mean by, ’in time?’” said Grace. She was getting nothing from Hope, just background noise. Hope wasn’t dead, but she sure was out to lunch.

  “If you hadn’t gone off,” said Kohl, “this wouldn’t have happened. That’s what she means. We’d have had two more guns.”

  “Kohl,” said Nate. His voice was weak. He was slumped on the floor, face gone ashen.

  “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” said Kohl.

  “Yes,” said Grace, “you are.” She was looking at El, who was radiating concern/fear/distrust in about equal measure.

  “I am?” said Kohl. He looked surprised.

  “You’re not saying what Nate’s thinking,” said Grace, “but El’s on message with you.”

  “Hey,” said El, “I didn’t say—”

  “You’re right,” said Grace. “It is my fault.”

  “It’s the fucking Ezeroc’s fault,” said Nate. He tried to get himself to his feet using his sword — Grace had given it back to him — before he coughed, winced, and slumped back. “The aliens—”

  “Oh, so the aliens got her,” and Kohl jerked a meaty thumb at Grace, “to lead you into the forest?”

  “She didn’t lead me,” said Nate. “It wasn’t—”

  “You both left us,” said El. “You left us and we almost died.”

  Grace could feel the situation unraveling, all of them trying not to look at Hope’s unconscious form, all of them trying to find someone to blame for it. Like a pack of too-hungry dogs, nipping at each other. She cleared her throat. “The thing is—”

  “The thing is,” said Kohl, “that you’ve brought nothing but bad luck since you got here.”

  “It’s not like it was her fault that the reactor blew,” said Nate. “It’s just that—”

  “Wasn’t it?” said El. “Our reactor was fine. She gets on board, and—”

  No sword. But she shouldn’t need one. Not here. Because Nate said this was a family. “I—” began Grace.

  “And then,” said Kohl, “we get out here, and there’s a shit show. Aliens. A fucked-up destroyer. A planet with no people on it.”

  “She couldn’t have done that,” said Nate. “Because how? I mean, Kohl, think about it. How would she—”

  “I don’t know,” said Kohl, “but I say we throw her out.”

  “That’s—” said Nate.

  “Because if you hadn’t gone,” said El, “Hope wouldn’t have been caught by that … thing. Whatever Penn was.”

  “Penn was a person,” said Nate, “who got infected by aliens—”

  “I reckon,” said Kohl, “that she’s been infected by aliens. I reckon that your little girlfriend here is infected, or is in league with them. She’s talking to them, Cap, and you can’t see it.”

  “Now hold on, Kohl,” said Nate. “That’s—”

  “He’s right,” said Grace.

  Silence.

  Grace looked at Nate, then at El, and finally, at Kohl. “It’s not what you think, or even the way you think it,” she said. “You’re thinking in straight lines. You’re thinking Penn was just some guy who got unlucky. You’re thinking these aliens are hunting us.”

  Silence, then Kohl said, “So?”

  “Penn,” said Grace, “got the aliens to come here. Lured them in.”

  “Doesn’t explain the Ravana,” said El. “It doesn’t explain—”

  “Sure it does,” said Grace. “The Ravana did a runner. Full sail, straight on until morning. Her captain saw what was going on down there. Her captain didn’t do the stupid thing,” and here, Grace’s internal voice said the brave but still idiotic thing, “of trying to help people. Her captain hauled up the anchor and punched the black. And they died, because they got scared. Just like you are, Kohl.”

  “I ain’t scared,” he said. “I ain’t—”

  “You reek of it,” said Grace. She tossed a glance at El. “I know she’s scared, because she’s always scared.”

  “Hey—” said El.

  “But you? It’s a foreign fucking concept, isn’t it? October Kohl, afraid. Well, get used to it. What did you call it? A shit show? I can assure you it’ll get shittier, like an open sewer. And you’ll get more and more scared.” Grace took a step towards the big man. “What’s really eating at you,” she hissed, “is that you were sleeping. You were helped on to this ship by me,” and here, Grace pointed a thumb at her own chest, “while you put your feet up. While El did the hard stuff. While—”

  She choked. Not because she was a running out of words, but because Kohl had grabbed her throat. The man had moved so fast she hadn’t even seen it coming, his fingers like a vice. He’d slammed her up against the glass window of the sickbay, his face next to hers. She struck out, fingers stabbing at the soft area under the armpit, a kick to his groin, because he was holding her off the ground. He dropped his shoulder against her fingers, her nukite starved of energy, and shifted his inner thigh against her foot. She kicked nothing but leg, and it felt like kicking a tree — the tree just didn’t care.

  No sword.

  Kohl’s fist slammed into her stomach and she wanted to curl over, except she was pinned. Grace’s vision was going dark, she only had seconds with the force he was putting on her carotid artery before she blacked out. His face was right next to hers. “Who,” he hissed, teeth clenched together in anger, “is scared now?”

  There was a click and a hiss, and Kohl’s fingers relaxed. His eyes lost some of their glare, and he stumbled back before he dropped onto his ass on the floor. Grace rubbed at her throat, coughing, then looked up. At Hope, and the hypo she held. She was pale, paler than a clear dawn just after the colors of the sun had fled before the coming light of day. She looked at the hypo, then at Kohl. “I don’t know what’s in this,” she said. Her voice sounded faint. “I don’t know why I did that.”

  Grace looked at Nate, who was grayer than three-day-old oatmeal, then at Hope. “Thank you,” she said. It came out as a rasp, her throat burning. She turned to El. “El. Help me get Nate in the damn machine.”

  “I’m not going anywhere near you,” said El.

  “I’ll help,” said Hope.

  “No,” said Grace. “I’ll do it myself. Then we’ll talk.”

  • • •

  “My father,” said Grace, “was one of the Emperor’s Intelligencers.” She said it without emotion, because this was a delicate time, and they needed to make up their own minds. If she was going to gain their trust—

  Grace, Grace, Grace. It’s gone beyond that. You’ve taken their trust, broken it to a thousand pieces, and then tossed it into a star. They will never trust you again.

  “An esper?” said El.

  “An esper,” said Grace. “A strong one.” She looked around the sickbay; Hope and Nate had changed places, Hope on the ground, leaning against a wall, her eyes closed, but she was awake, mind firing and strong.

  “They’re not allowed to have kids,” said El. “The Intelligencers were … experiments.”

  “T
hey were,” said Nate, his voice thick with the effects of drugs, “assholes.”

  “If you can control people’s minds,” said Hope, “rules don’t really apply.”

  “Rules didn’t apply to my father,” agreed Grace. Only to me. “He wanted his own empire.” She nudged Kohl with a foot. Hope had dosed him with a muscle relaxant, so he was awake and online, but unable to choke her out again. “He talked about a Republic of Equals.” She didn’t talk about her mother. Her mother had left her with a gentle name and a memory of tenderness before her father had taken over the controls. He’d wanted her to discard that tenderness like so much space junk. She wished she could still talk to her mother; Grace sent her holos but didn’t even know if her mother got them. That was all one-way. Just like her father. She clamped down on that thought. Not the time.

  “No one was ever equal to the Intelligencers,” said El. She had her arms crossed. “No one.”

  “He didn’t mean you,” said Grace. “He didn’t mean any of you. He meant others. Like him.”

  “The not-breeding thing was supposed to stop humanity being ruled by mind-controlling overlords,” said Hope. “I guess I’m glad they all died in the revolution.”

  “Dear ol’ Dad,” said Grace, “wanted me to be just like him.”

  “Rule the world?” said Hope.

  “Be an asshole?” said El.

  “Be an esper,” said Grace. “Like you can be taught a thing like that.”

  The room was silent, aside from Kohl who sounded like he was trying to say something. Grace didn’t want to hear anything that man had to say, so she nudged him harder with her boot. “Shut it, Kohl.”

  “Are you … one of them?” said Hope.

  “No,” said Nate. “She’s—”

  “Yes,” said Grace. She put a hand on Nate’s shoulder. Rest. “And no. Not like what you think. My mother wasn’t an esper. It didn’t … I didn’t breed true.”

  “De … formed,” choked out Kohl, then made a grating sound, like a tractor failing to start on a cold morning. Grace realized he was trying to laugh.

  “You and my father would have so much to talk about,” said Grace, “if he didn’t turn your brain inside out in five seconds.”