by Rhonda Mason
She put the canteen to her lips and drank deeply. The fire of it going down couldn’t burn away the pain in her heart. Why did it have to be Aarush? Why did it have to happen to him? His beautiful face—ruined. That amputation would put him in a chair for a very long time; getting around the base would be a nightmare.
And Mishe.
She stroked the blanket beside her as if she could wipe away Mishe’s trauma. He’d always been pretty. Ethereal. Striking in a way that stole your breath the first time you saw him. He wasn’t a fighter and he’d been born without psi powers. He believed in the rebellion with all his heart, and served the best way he could—infiltrating the imperials as a whore, gathering crucial secrets from pillow talk and unguarded datapads.
What it did to him, though…
Cinni hung her head. He kept it all inside, never complaining, but his eyes… It was always there, silent, in his eyes.
She took another drink, and as she did she heard the sound that haunted her day and night, waking and sleeping. The blast of her ion pistol firing, unloading its full charge into her mother’s chest. She heard it over and over.
Blast.
Blast.
So loud in her ears, it sometimes drowned out everything else. The stench of charred flesh accompanied the sound, as did the last look of surprise on Hephesta’s face when Cinni killed her.
Hello, Mother.
Blast.
Damnit. She should have taken a dreamer before she came here. Mishe wouldn’t have any in his room, he never touched the stuff. She took another sip of the oblivion. Nasty, brewed in the base, and powerful as all get out.
She laid her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
“Where are you, Mishe?”
She needed him tonight, needed her best friend.
He finally arrived at his room and flicked on the lights. It was blinding and she squinted against the spike of pain in her skull. Mishe instantly dimmed them to almost nothing.
He didn’t look surprised to see her. They had open invitations to each other’s rooms, each seeking the other out for comfort at every odd hour. Each time Mishe came back from a night out, he sat in the chair in her room in the dark, not speaking. Sometimes she talked for both of them. Sometimes she even slept. He just needed to be near someone who understood.
Mishe joined her on the bed, sitting beside her, shoulders touching, leaning his back against the wall. She offered the canteen to him wordlessly and he shook his head. For the best. Tonight she might need the whole thing.
They sat side by side in near darkness for an unknown amount of time, not speaking, just being there. The world blurred around her, thanks to the oblivion.
“How is Aarush?” she finally asked.
Mishe’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “The same. Mostly sedated to avoid the worst of the pain. Desperately angry and terrified—but stoic.” He said the words with tenderness. Cinni could imagine Aarush holding it in, not wanting to burden anyone. Typical Aarush.
“You’re good to see him.”
Mishe said nothing.
“I can’t make myself go in there. I try—”
“You should go.”
“Can’t.” She took another sip from the canteen.
“You know, Cinni, sometimes it’s not all about you.”
That brought a bitter laugh. “You sound like my mother.” Blast.
Mishe sighed and reached for the canteen. “Might as well share.” He took a sip, then coughed. “That shit is wretched.”
That was her Mishe. She smiled.
Time slipped by in the dark as they passed the canteen back and forth between them, not saying a thing. She didn’t need words with Mishe.
Her head fell to his shoulder. He tilted his head onto hers. They’d emptied the canteen some time ago.
Sleepy. So sleepy. And snuggly. She curled into him, wanting his warmth. Needing it. Needing him. Everything else in her world was ruined. Gintoc was dead, her mother was dead, Aarush might as well be dead.
But not her Mishe.
He was so perfect, so beautiful. His face hadn’t been burnt, his gorgeous eyes still worked. “So perfect,” she whispered.
She turned into him, put her hand on his chest, felt his heart beating. The pulse of it drowned out her mother’s death.
He was so beautiful and so close and so alive.
And hers. He would always be her Mishe.
She shifted enough to nuzzle his neck. He lifted his head and she moved closer, lips touching that pale, perfect skin, tasting him. Her Mishe. Her hand slid down his chest to the flat of his abdomen and he drew in a sharp breath, fully awake now.
Oh yes. This is what she needed.
She turned and pressed into him, breasts against his arm and chest, her lips moving up to trace his jawline as her fingers slid to the latch of his pants.
“Cinni,” he said, catching her hand.
She ignored the quiet warning. He wanted her, she knew it. He was her Mishe.
“Cinni, stop it,” he said in his soft voice. She loved that voice. “You’re drunk.” He tried to push her away and she suddenly felt frantic to have him. She crossed her leg over his lap to straddle him, reached for his face. If she could just kiss that luscious mouth.
He tried to move back. The wall held him there and she slammed her lips to his.
He thrust her away by the shoulders, sending her sprawling backward off the bed and onto the floor.
“What the frutt, Mishe?” She pushed herself off the floor.
He jumped to his feet, his hands in fists at his side. “I said no, Cinni.” The breath rasped in and out of him, hot and hard.
Fury erupted in her chest. “What, you’ll whore for the rebellion, but not for me?”
The second the words were out she knew she’d gone too far. The harshness of them struck her flat in the face, knocking her dead-sober.
Blast. The sound ricocheted through her mind.
Mishe froze, the blood rising in his face. “Get the frutt out of here, Cinni. You’re drunk and looking for an Aarush surrogate.”
“What would you even know about it?” she flung back, horrified at herself, unable to stop. “You’ve never been in love. You don’t even know what I’m going through.”
Mishe took an angry step forward. “You think you’re the only one who cares about him? You don’t even visit him! You’re too selfish, thinking only of how his injuries affect you. How about how it affects him?” He stabbed his finger at her. “Have you ever, for one second, thought about his needs?”
Mishe’s rage rolled out like a tidal wave, crashing into her, battering her with the truth.
Mishe is in love with Aarush.
“Get out,” Mishe growled, and Cinni fled.
* * *
Somehow Cinni made it back to her room. She couldn’t quite remember the journey. She only knew she was lying on the floor, half-covered in a blanket, her face wet with tears and snot and an empty pack of dreamers beside her. She floated in and out of consciousness. Faces appeared before her, hovering above her.
Her mother—eyes wide and surprised in death.
Mishe—devastated, furious.
Aarush—burnt and unseeing.
Every time she thought she might finally escape the night in sleep, a blast in her mind shot her wide awake.
Stars. How many dreamers did I take? And the oblivion?
She struggled to a seated position, leaning miserably against the edge of her bed. What the frutt was she doing? What were any of them doing? Rebels? What, a single busload of people against an army that controlled all the utilities, the power grids, the travel on the mainland? Covered the planet with warships?
She spat, wiping her mouth, and then her nose, with her sleeve.
The rebellion was suicide. Everyone she loved was hurting or dead. The crew of the Yari was crazy. For all she knew, Gintoc could have been building the galaxy’s largest teapot over there. The royal family was back from the dead, but one of them
didn’t speak, one of them wanted nothing to do with Ordoch, and one of them was so bloodthirsty Cinni knew she’d get them all killed.
Cinni pulled her ion pistol out of its holster on her hip, stared at it. She hadn’t used it since she killed her mother.
Maybe she’d never use it again. Maybe she’d quit this whole thing, run away with Mishe—
Oh gods, Mishe. She buried her face in her hand, tears coming again.
She finally subsided into hiccups, swiping angrily at her wet cheeks, smearing everything. The pistol wavered before her gaze.
Hello, Mother.
Blast.
Cinni flipped the safety off and the gun hummed to life, drawing a full charge.
Maybe she’d use it just one more time.
She tucked the muzzle under her chin, seeing her mother’s dead face.
“Well hello, Mother.”
Cinni squeezed the trigger.
Blast.
34
ARDIN’S STARCRUISER, FALANAR
Kayla woke when someone tried to rip off her arm.
“For frutt’s sake, I need that,” she grumbled.
“She’s awake,” a familiar voice called. Toble, Malkor’s medic friend. “How are you feeling?” he asked her.
“Touch that arm again and I’ll let you know exactly how I’m feeling.” She opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. Low lighting, medical bed, a pump sending a synthed blood transfusion into her… A ship’s infirmary? “We made it?”
“Was there ever any doubt?” Hekkar said. She turned her head to see him sitting on the next bed over.
“‘Best Damn Octet There Ever Was,” Rigger said, sitting beside Hekkar.
Kayla tried to smile but her face hurt. Actually, everything hurt. “How ’bout a syringe full of pain blockers, Doc?”
Toble shook his head. “I need to know if there’s any nerve damage first. Can you feel this?”
Kayla’s four-letter answer set Hekkar and Rigger laughing.
From the looks of things, they had actually pulled the rescue off. “We made it to Ardin’s flight strip?”
Hekkar nodded. “Carried your sorry ass right outta there without a problem. Soon as Toble’s done patching you, he’s out of here and we’re taking off.”
“Vega?”
Hekkar’s grin faded. “She’s got everything. And it’s way worse than we suspected.”
“Which,” Malkor said, as he walked into the infirmary, “we can discuss later.” He gave his two octet members a “button it” look. “Besides, with Rigger’s virus, we’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Kayla sighed. “I really would have liked to have killed her.”
“It’ll give you something to do next time you visit,” Toble said.
Hekkar and Rigger exchanged a glance. There would be no next time. Everyone understood that once they took off, they’d never be coming back to Falanar.
The room fell to silence while Toble worked. His intense expression unnerved her. She glanced at her flayed arm but couldn’t look for more than a second. The sight of her own lacerated muscle fibers made her stomach lurch and she broke into a sweat, breaths coming quicker.
“You can fix it, right, Doc? Just as good as new?” Her voice wavered.
Malkor came to stand beside her bed and took her good hand. “Course he can.” His confident smile looked forced, especially when Toble made no response. Kayla squeezed Malkor’s hand, needing his strength.
Rigger and Hekkar slipped out of the room. Toble applied an anesthetic to her arm and left her and Malkor alone for a few minutes while it set in. The creeping numbness was almost more disturbing than the pain had been, as if her arm had been severed from her body, the way her role as ro’haar would be severed from her soul if the wound didn’t heal perfectly.
Malkor’s expression turned tender. Somehow his battered face only made him look more dear to her. “You had me worried for a bit,” he said softly.
“Pfft. As if one little biocybe could take me down.” Her heart filled as the reality of their safety hit her. Malkor was alive, alive and safe from Siño, Vega, and anyone else who wanted to do him harm. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back, unable to look away from him. Such a wonderful sight. Everything askew in her world righted itself, now that he was here with her.
“I love you,” she said. She hadn’t meant to blurt it out, they had a dozen difficulties to discuss, but when she opened her mouth those were her only words.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I love you, too.”
Someone cleared their throat awkwardly from the door.
“Go away,” Kayla growled.
Toble re-entered the infirmary. “Malk, your team’s starting the launch sequence. We have to go.”
“‘We’ are not going anywhere. Finish patching Kayla’s arm, then you get home.”
Toble looked at Kayla, then back at Malkor. “A word?”
They moved to the doorway and spoke with voices lowered. The conversation reached her nonetheless.
“I am not dragging anyone else down with us,” Malkor said. “The octet made their decisions, but you—”
“That is not the kind of wound I can slap a regen cuff on and call it done. Did you see the damage? Multiple layers of muscle and fascia need to be sutured and she needs to be closely monitored.” Toble brushed the hair back from his forehead, sighing. “If she’s going to regain full use of her arm we need to reduce the creation of scar tissue, and, more importantly, avoid any denervation of the myofibers.”
Kayla’s heart tripped, then thudded in her chest. “If she’s going to regain full use of her arm.”
If.
Toble tapped Malkor’s chest with a finger. “Do you want to be the one to tell her she might never fight again if I leave?”
Malkor looked back at her, clearly torn. It was all she could do not to beg Toble to stay. She bit her lip to keep quiet, knowing desperation showed on her face.
“Exactly,” Toble said. He returned to Kayla’s bedside and started laying out tools. “Besides, it’ll take a while to get wherever you’re going. Once I’m sure the injury is healing well, you can drop me off at the nearest spacestation and I’ll make a big fuss out of being kidnapped by the infamous rogue octet and pressed into service.” He winked at Kayla. “Let’s get this lunch meat slapped back together, shall we?”
The engines kicked to life, vibrating the hull. Her head throbbed in concert. Still fifteen minutes until launch—Kayla felt likely to pass out before then. Her drooping eyelids lifted, though, when Ardin strode into the infirmary.
“For frutt’s sake, people, the sterile field around this bed is only so strong,” Toble griped.
“I’ll just be a minute.” Ardin joined Malkor at Kayla’s bedside.
“Thank you for this,” Malkor said, gesturing with his hand in a way that encompassed so much more than the ship.
“This is the very least of what I owe you.” Ardin clapped him on the shoulder and they stood, looking at each other a moment, a lifetime of friendship passing between them wordlessly.
“I wish things had gone differently.” Malkor pulled him into a hug, their final goodbye.
Ardin then turned his attention to Kayla. “I cannot repay—”
She shook her head, stopping him. “You gave me the means to rescue Malkor. I couldn’t ask for anything more.” And she meant it. Ardin couldn’t have done anything greater for her.
She reached out her hand to him and he squeezed it.
“Be well,” he said. “Both of you.”
Malkor nodded. “Give us a head start, then report your ship stolen.”
Ardin left with a final wave and a look of deep regret. Malkor gazed at the empty doorway until the ship’s comm sounded.
“Ardin is clear,” Vid said. “Are we go for launch, boss?”
“Let’s do this.”
Malkor pulled a chair beside her bed and sank into it wearily. He took her hand again, his gaze going over every c
entimeter of her as if proving to himself that she was here, that she was real. The sadness in his eyes broke her heart.
“Do you want to watch the city as we launch?” she asked him. “It might be the last time you ever see it.”
He shook his head.
She couldn’t help but feel the depth of his loss. Everything he’d worked for—gone. His reputation—ruined. Any good he’d ever done—erased by Vega and her minions. All his efforts, his status, his influence—his whole world—gone.
“I’m sorry, Malkor.”
“Don’t be,” he said, “I have the most important thing of all—you.”
“Not only me. You have the best damn octet that ever was. Four of the most loyal people you could ask for.”
A tired smile lit his face. “You’re right. And I wouldn’t be a free man without the five of you.”
He kissed her, then rested his forehead against hers, both of them ignoring Toble. Their breathing settled into the same pattern, their hearts found the same rhythm.
“More than that,” she whispered, “you have Vayne and Corinth. We are your family now.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think Vayne likes me very much.”
“He’ll come around, and Corinth adores you.” She lifted her good hand to his cheek. “We’ll make this work, my love.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “Now, excuse me while I pass out.”
* * *
Kayla was alone when she woke, but blissfully, deeply rested. Better rested than she’d been in months.
She pinged the ship’s comm. “Who’s making me breakfast?”
The entire gang entered her room a few minutes later. Trinan helped her sit up in bed and Vid handed her a tray with enough food for three. Malkor took the chair beside her again.
“How long was I out?”
“At least twenty hours,” Trinan answered. “And damn can you snore!”
She chuckled, trying to ignore the fact that she still couldn’t feel her right arm. At least whatever Toble had done was hidden beneath bandages. The food smelled delicious, and she was halfway through breakfast when the gravity behind the octet’s usual teasing became obvious to her.
“Are we being pursued?”