Something about Daith.
“Valendra, I don’t want to alarm you, but what if the Aleet Army hadn’t disappeared completely after Jacin’s death, but instead went into hiding?”
“For what reason? Only my father had special abilities. There would be no point in keeping the army together without someone like him running it.”
Lightning thoughts flashed through Torrak’s mind. He closed his eyes, steadying himself from the dizziness. They would need someone like Jacin. Someone with his abilities.
What if those abilities had been passed down to Daith?
Torrak stood. “I know you want—but the Aleet Army might—not unthinkable—check on activity...” Torrak stopped at the look of confusion on Valendra’s face. He forced himself to slow and started again. “I know you want to deny it, but maybe involvement of the Aleet Army isn’t that farfetched. It may not seem plausible, but I think this is worth looking into.”
“I don’t see why,” Valendra said.
“I know this is difficult, but you do have a sister. You just can’t remember her. I think she’s been a part of your life the whole time you were on the run from the Aleet Army. I think they’ve been trying to find her again. And I think they took her three standard weeks ago.”
Valendra’s lip quivered. “Torrak, what are you saying? I have a sister I don’t know about? How is that even possible?”
“I think someone erased your memories of her.”
Valendra sunk back into her chair and drew her knees into her chest. She closed her eyes, breathing shallow breaths.
Torrak crouched in front of her, wishing he could make her feel better.
The breaths slowed and Valendra opened her eyes. She smiled. “I’m sorry, I must have dozed off for a moment. What were you saying?”
Torrak frowned. “I was saying how I think someone erased your memories of Daith.”
“Daith?” Valendra blinked. “Who’s Daith?”
*
Lieutenant Commander Cenjo left the simulation room with a grunt. He’d just finished a training session with his most seasoned trainees, but they were mediocre at best. Half didn’t seem to have an interest, only there because Commander Xiven required it, and the other half simply didn’t have time to practice. Cenjo knew they had hectic schedules since they ran the ship with a skeleton crew, but they couldn’t expect to keep their bodies in prime condition if they didn’t practice on their own time.
Cenjo’s fingers combed through his slicked, black hair—the fingertips digging in to relieve some of his headache. It wasn’t fair to the trainees. They couldn’t help their schedules. Xiven simply refused to hire anyone else and with his lack of forgiveness and easy dismissal of crew members, their numbers had diminished significantly in the past few weeks.
Now the commander wanted him to get Daith involved in training sessions. The crew barely wanted to associate with her already. She represented a ticking bomb.
But orders were orders. At least for now.
The door to his office swished open and Cenjo entered, leaving the lights off. He made his way to his desk under the dimness of a three-dimensional holographic picture that hung from the center of the ceiling. The piece rotated slowly, showing each side of a red and orange sphere, splashed with currents of gold that wound their way like rivers through the solid borders. The lights reflected off his shiny metallic desk and darkened vidlink station. Datapads, stacked on one edge, mirrored the light in warped waves.
Staring for a moment at the piece, Cenjo admired the artistic take on his homeworld, Katala. His younger sister, Brial, had designed and created the art. It had hung in her bedroom in secret for weeks before she’d revealed it as a gift on his birthday. She’d blushed at his genuine admiration of her work.
He blinked, hard. His chest tightened at the thought of her.
Cenjo sat at his desk below the swirling globe, his thoughts returning to the day’s work, away from the painful memories of his sister, when the chimes to his office rang.
“Come in,” he called out.
The door opened with a hiss. She stood there, framed by the entrance.
“Daith?” he asked, half standing in surprise. “What are you doing here?” The lights from the artwork danced across her pale face. He clenched his hands under his desk, fully aware of how much she reminded him of Brial. “Computer, lights.”
The harsh, white lights hummed to life, dominating the room. Daith stepped forward and the door slid closed behind her. Her emerald eyes flickered around the room, resting momentarily on the sphere above them.
“Nice artwork.”
“Thank you. It was a gift.” He gestured for her to take the metal seat across from him. She plunked down onto it, its frame creaking.
“How are things going?” she asked, her voice jagged—void of its usual melodic quality.
“Fine.” He paused. “Is there something I can help you with?”
She twisted her fingers through her long, brown hair. “No. I’m just…”
“Bored?”
“Frustrated,” she countered.
“With what?”
“I don’t know. Everything. Lack of progress. Lack of knowledge. I mean, I want to help you all deal with the Controllers, but what good am I going to be when we reach them? Unless they want a bunch of melty datapads.”
Cenjo shifted in his chair. “I can’t say I know what Trey expects you to do. Truth is, he may simply be happy you’re on our side.”
“But I want to do something,” she said, pushing away from his desk. “They killed my family. They are responsible for my memory loss. And they murdered Dru. I can’t be useless. Not with all this power.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you do some sparring with me later this afternoon in Simulation Room Two?”
Daith snorted. “Sparring?”
“You never continued classes after that one time you joined us.”
“That’s because I broke someone’s nose using my mind before you’d even finished telling us what the warm-up routine would be.”
“True…but she did kind of deserve it.”
“No one deserves that. My power got out of control.”
“Then start with what you can control—your body. Your determination is great and all, but I still think there’s benefit in using your body physically, too. Getting a little exercise and learning to defend yourself could also help you get out of your brain for a while.”
Daith sat back in the chair, her face thoughtful. “I will, but only if no one else is there. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Her eyes darkened. “At least not on this ship.”
Torrak left Valendra’s house as fast as his not-yet-healed body would let him. Once home, he rushed inside and came up behind Kalil. Startled, the morsel of klaad in his friend’s mouth dropped to the floor. Kalil eyed the spicy, expensive meat-flavored substance and turned, annoyed at the intrusion. His face turned inquisitive at the earnest look on Torrak’s face.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I need to use your computer system again,” Torrak said after he caught his breath.
“Why? Was Daith home?” Kalil asked.
“No, Daith wasn’t there. And Valendra didn’t remember again. I need to find Opute.”
“Opute?”
Torrak nodded as he gulped in more air.
“Wait, you don’t mean Ness Opute, do you? Isn’t he that criminal you sent to jail back on C-Nine?”
Torrak nodded again.
“And what didn’t Valendra remember?”
“Her sister. She forgot her and then forgot her again. It was like something in her mind wouldn’t let her remember.”
Kalil sat quiet for a moment. “Did I miss something? I must have missed something,” he finally said. “Why would her sister not remember her twice and how could anything relating to Daith’s kidnapping have to do with Opute?”
“I think Valendra may have gotten a full dose of whatever memory modification stuff
was used on me. I think it doesn’t let her make any new memories of Daith.”
“And Opute? Why would he help you?”
“He owes me a favor. So can I use your computer again? Or are you going to go back to eating your disgusting klaad?”
Kalil looked longingly at his half-eaten meal on the table. “Sure. Why not?” he muttered. “None of this makes any sense anyway. Might as well find some crazy criminal to help you find a kidnapped girl no one can remember.”
They walked into Kalil’s room, resumed the search program, and typed in the request to find Ness Opute. After several standard minutes, the computer flashed the words REQUESTED ITEM NOT FOUND.
“Of course. He’s not exactly the type to be listed.” Torrak racked his brain for a way to find Opute. “Maybe Lang still knows what he’s up to.”
“Lang?”
“Pierze Lang. He owns a package delivery store on C-Nine.”
Kalil narrowed the search to citizens of the city Ponsunila on the planet C-sector 9, or C-9 for short, and typed in Lang’s name. As they waited for the results, Kalil asked about Lang.
“When I used to work for Central Authority on C-Nine, we used Lang’s delivery store, Zzeress PhthRee, as a courier service. I got to know him pretty well. We kept in contact, but we sort of lost touch this past year.”
“Zee-ress Fifth-what? What language is that?”
“PhthRee.” Torrak repeated. “It’s Fillaniss. It’s Lang’s home language.”
“Oh.” Kalil looked back at the screen, still searching. “Why would he know where Opute is?”
“Because Opute also used Lang’s store for deliveries.”
Kalil’s eyebrows crinkled. “Huh?”
“Remember I told you I got Opute thrown into jail? Well when he got out, he came looking for me. I mean there I was, barely over eighteen standard years old, and the notorious Ness Opute learned I’d found the crucial piece of evidence to prove his guilt. You can imagine how happy he was to see me.”
Kalil smirked at the sarcasm. “What happened?”
“I’d been on my way home from work, rounded the corner of a building and next thing I know, I’m being thrown into a wall. He jammed his elbow into my throat and cut off my air. I thought I was dead. But then, ironically enough, criminals saved my life.”
“Some criminals came to help you?”
“Nope. They were looking for Opute. Three jumped him, knocking him away from me. They rambled on about a bad deal, something about selling them a weaker version of an expensive metal. While they held him down, one of them pried open Opute’s mouth to try to pour the imitation liquid metal down his throat.”
Kalil shivered. “What a terrible way to die. What did you do?”
“I took out my weapon and shot the guy above Opute. It blasted a hole through his head big enough for me to see through. The first time I’d ever killed someone.” Torrak winced at the memory. “The other two scattered, but I called it in to Central Authority on my communications radio. They were tracked down within a few standard hours.”
“What happened to Opute?”
“He said he owed me for saving his life and if I ever needed him he’d back me up. Then he walked away.”
Kalil nodded toward the picture of Lang that had popped up. “How is he involved then?”
“Lang also dealt with Opute. The Zzeress PhthRee handled transactions with discretion. That’s why the government and anyone who wanted to remain anonymous, including Opute, used it.”
“Well let’s hope this Lang guy can help.”
*
Daith lay on her bed, her long, brown hair hanging over its edges, spread out around her head like a chestnut-colored halo. She meant to sleep until her time reader beeped, which would indicate she should leave to meet Cenjo, but rest didn’t come. Not surprising since she slept so rarely lately. Every time she tried to relax, her brain buzzed with thoughts. Whether images of Dru’s death flashing through her mind or self-berating thoughts telling her she would be useless against the Controllers, the inside of her skull seemed to remain a constant torrent of negativity.
Her gaze rested on the smooth, grey ceiling. The lights, dimmed seventy-five percent, glowed softly in their snug sockets. Flicking her eyes in another direction, she took in the bare, grey walls. Three weeks she’d been on the Horizon, and her room could have been anyone’s. No personal effects reflecting herself or her life on the ship. Not that she had anything personal. Or at least not that she could remember.
Beeps filled the silence.
“Computer, time reader off.” The noise quieted and Daith swung her legs off the bed to stand. She left her quarters and made her way through the hushed corridors toward the simulation rooms—a path quite familiar to her now. The smooth grey walls and worn carpeting made the area feel lived-in, cozier than if it had been completely sterile and new. It may not be her real home, but she couldn’t remember her real home anyway. The thought both soothed her and pricked her with guilt.
She entered simulation room 2 and found Cenjo inside, his training program already running.
“Glad you could make it,” he said, his tone light.
“Not like I have much else to do.” Daith pressed the heels of her hands into her face for a moment and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she said.
“Sorry?”
She nodded and joined him on the floor. A squishy, yellow mat deflated slightly under her weight. The walls looked like pale strips of wood. Even though the images weren’t real and Daith knew the room changed to fit the needs of the programmer, she appreciated the beauty and detail of the environment.
“I know I’ve been cross lately.”
“It’s understandable. You have good reason to be upset.”
Daith stretched out across her legs. Her quads groaned in protest, but she pressed herself down further until her muscles twitched with pain. Daith could feel Cenjo’s gaze on the back of her neck, watching to see what kind of reaction she might have. She didn’t really want to talk about Dru’s death.
His murder.
Heat bubbled inside her stomach. The energy built up fast lately. She knew anger made her more powerful, but she feared it at the same time. To have something so strong inside her without being under her control, like it had a mind of its own. She knew she needed to embrace her abilities to use them to their full extent, but what if she hurt someone again by mistake?
“I don’t want to be a useless lump.” She sat up straight, reaching above her. “But I don’t know if I’m of use to anyone right now, much less when we find the Controllers.”
“Daith.”
She looked over at him, surprised by the firmness in his voice. His brown eyes narrowed, his eyebrows pulled together.
“Do you want to stop the Controllers?” he asked.
“Well, yes, I mean—”
“Then you will.”
Taken aback by the finality of his tone, Daith sat silent for a few moments.
“It’s not that simple…” she began.
Cenjo stood. “Yes, it is. I’m not trying to belittle you or diminish what you’re going through, but you are more than your abilities. You are an intelligent, creative, clever woman who has come very far in a short period of time. You started three weeks ago with nothing, literally. No memories, no family, no sense of purpose. Now look at you. You’ve discovered a unique world of abilities the rest of us can only dream about. You’ve opened yourself up to possibilities that would terrify others. That’s nothing to scoff at.”
“But Trey—”
“Commander Xiven has been pursuing his quest for a long time. He’d like you to be able to help, but I think he’d continue on, even if you weren’t here.”
“You can’t tell me you don’t want my help just as much as Trey does,” she said, shaking her legs one at a time.
“No, but I joined this cause before I knew about you. We might be more successful with your abilities, but I plan on being successful regardless. Th
e Controllers need to be stopped.”
Daith stood, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Can I ask why you joined the Aleet Army?”
Cenjo hesitated. “My homeworld, Katala, needed help. The man who ran this army came and helped us.”
“So like Trey’s homeworld, Sintaur? He helped stop a war or something?”
Cenjo’s eyebrows pinched together. “Or something.”
Daith felt an ache in her chest, reminiscent of how she felt when she thought about Dru. Cenjo had lost someone close to him. She knew it. She felt it.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“There’s no need to apologize. We’ve all had hard times in our past. It’s what brings us together.” Cenjo’s lip curled into a slight grin. “But right now, none of that matters. Focus on me. And defend yourself.”
Pierze Lang unlocked the front door of his small store and wiggled his heavyset body through the entrance. Zzeress PhthRee, a shipping and packaging supply house on C-Sector 9, sat on the outskirts of the central promenade in the middle of the capital, Ponsunila, and had been in business for over 300 standard years.
Lang sat down behind a green hardened-jelly desk, a gift from his father who had owned the store before him, and entered his access code into the computer system. To his surprise, nothing happened.
Lang entered his access code again and a small black message box appeared on the screen: ACCESS DENIED: SERVICE TO NETWORK TERMINATED. Lang gawked at the screen in disbelief. He hadn’t missed a payment his whole life. There was no reason his computer system shouldn’t be connected to the city’s mainframe network. He started to punch in his access code again when a bass voice behind him stopped him cold.
“Pierze Lang?”
“Yes,” Lang said, turning. “I’m sorry if I left the door unlocked, but the store’s not open yet.” Lang’s breath caught in his throat. A huge, brownish-green creature towered over him, silhouetted by the rays of first sunrise. The creature held a rounded metallic weapon about a fourth of a meter long, aimed directly at Lang’s chest.
“Lang identification confirmed,” the deep voice said. The green shadow shrugged. “Nothing personal.”
Eomix Galaxy Books: Identity (Book 2 of 2) Page 3