“You flew circles around those enemy fighters,” Quinn said, going out of her way to tap my chest.
Yuan nodded. “Crazy. You're not sick? You didn't pass out? Are you even human?”
“I couldn't believe Endellion wanted you as her wingman, but you pulled it off. I guess I'm a pretty great training instructor, right?”
Everyone laughed at the end of Quinn's statement, and I couldn't help but chuckle along. Quinn held out her fist, and I stared, confusion growing with each passing second. She knocked her knuckles against my loose hand.
Ah. We were buddies now.
I balled my fist. She tapped it and slammed her shoulder into mine. Lee hugged and shook me, his spare energy enough to power the whole damn ship. I didn't stop him this time, however. Everyone wanted a piece of me, apparently—and who could blame them?—so I let them have their fun. They joked and congratulated me over and over, until it almost lost meaning.
“Where's Noah?” I asked, glancing around.
Quinn shrugged. “I don't know.”
“I'll go get him.”
Out of all the fighter pilots, he and Endellion were the two I most wanted to celebrate with.
I walked away from the others and headed down the hall and around the corner. Noah's fighter was docked on the other side of the ship, but still on the same deck. It wouldn't take long to reach him, which meant it shouldn't have taken long for him to reach us.
When I strolled up to his fighter, I spotted the open hatch. Noah sat inside, barely moving. I leaned against the side and peered into the vehicle. Damn, those things were small. I supposed it was to maximize torpedo capacity, but what did I know?
“What're you doing?” I asked. “It's happy hour. We've earned the right to get wasted tonight.”
He gripped his jumpsuit at the torso, his fingers twisting into the fabric. His breath came short and ragged. He avoided meeting my gaze. Lysander wasn't lying when he'd said Noah experienced pain.
“Go on without me,” Noah said in a tiny voice. “I need… to sit here for a few minutes.”
“Give me your hand. I'll take you to the infirmary.”
“I can get there by myself.”
So, he was ashamed. That took some of the stress away—I doubted a man on the verge of death would be worried about appearances. He was suffering, but I suspected the medics would have something for him. He probably didn't want me to see him like this. I didn't blame him. I wouldn't want people to see me struggling to stand, either.
“Hey,” Quinn said as she walked up to the fighter. “What's going on? Us starfighters have done our job. Now it's time to relax and let the ground enforcers do their thing.” She gave Noah a glance, and her eyebrows knitted together. “Everything okay?”
I grabbed her upper arm and turned her away. “He's got vertigo,” I said. “Don't make a big deal of it.”
“Oh?” she asked. “All right. I'll see you in the mess hall.”
“Sure.”
She walked away, offering Noah one last sideways glance before rounding the corner. I knew she was aware of his condition, but that didn't mean Noah wanted it to be his sole defining feature.
“Give me your hand,” I said.
“I… don't think I can walk,” Noah said.
“Then I'll carry you.”
I didn't know why, but I didn't like the idea of him sitting around in silent agony as everyone went off and got their booze. If I took him to the infirmary, I knew I would be able to enjoy myself. At least then he would be in the hands of a medical professional. I had to help him, especially after the stunt he'd pulled when he shot the debris out of my path. The kid had been looking out for me.
Noah held up his arm, and I slid it over my shoulders. It was easy to lift him—I was already strong, but a few months of training had made a bigger difference than I'd imagined. When I went to scoop him out of the fighter, Noah shook his head.
“Let me… at least pretend to walk.”
I helped him out and supported most of his weight on my shoulder. He used what little strength he had to “walk” alongside me, one arm clutched over his stomach, like he was holding in his intestines.
“Is it always this bad?” I asked.
“No. I just pushed myself a little too much…”
We reached the infirmary without running into anyone else, and I practically heard Noah sigh in relief. The sole medic on duty looked up from her computer terminal and rushed over—though she didn't appear to be panicked, which was a good sign. If she was confident she could handle the situation, I was sure Noah would be fine.
“Thank you,” Noah said as he was led to a nearby magnetic gurney.
I nodded. “Don't mention it.”
The Star Marque quaked, and it took me a second to regain my footing. Noah and the medic continued as if the tremor never happened, but I glanced around, curious about its source. Sure, things happened in space all the time, but the moment the Star Marque failed was the moment it would become an impromptu graveyard.
“We're docking with the cargo vessel,” Noah said with a weak laugh. “That's what caused the shake. We've got to clear the starship of any corsairs that may be hiding.”
I relaxed a bit, but I could still feel the adrenaline, thick in my veins. “So, we're going to kill all the rebellion pirates on the cargo ship, as well? Damn. Endellion's a lot more ruthless than I originally thought.”
Everyone in the room got tense. I glanced between the medic and Noah, confused by their shift in attitude. They regarded each other with troubled looks before returning their attention to me.
“Endellion isn't like that,” Noah said. “Those rebellion thugs are the ruthless ones.”
The medic nodded. I didn't even know her, but she chimed in with, “They go to all sorts of places, killing everything that moves and stealing everything that doesn't.”
“They just keep fighting the superhumans,” Noah added, “even though the war is long over.”
I chuckled. “I don't think you understand. I like that Endellion doesn't fuck around. If these guys are unstable, there's no reason to play nice.”
The ship's intercoms crackled for a moment, silencing all conversation. Everyone glanced around.
“Clevon,” Endellion said. “Suit up and report to the docking bay.”
Then the intercom crackled a second time, ending the communication.
Noah lifted an eyebrow. “Suit up?”
“I don't know,” I said. “But I'll be back. You just get your shit together and meet the others in the mess hall.”
“You'd better be there.”
“I'm looking forward to it.”
The idle excitement in my system stirred as I ran to my capsule bunk. Why had Endellion summoned me? I didn't know, but I didn't want to keep her waiting. I ripped off my jumpsuit and pulled on my enviro-suit. Its claustrophobic tightness had become familiar, and I didn't mind the sensation as much as I had in the beginning.
Starfighter pilots didn't wear enviro-suits, due to complications. Apparently, the cockpit locked the pilot in place and messed with the enviro-suit's automated environment regulation. The pressure would cause the suit to engage in emergency-system procedures. Not only that, but the helmet—while programmable—didn't have the necessary information for the ship's system. Plus, if the helmet were left in the hoodie position, it would dig into the spine of the pilot at higher G-forces.
But the enviro-suit was a must for all other situations.
Once properly geared, I got into the lift and headed for Deck Five. The docking bay on Deck Five was the entrance and exit for the entire ship. It had the largest decontamination room and space lock, allowing the Star Marque to safely attach itself to space stations, ports, and other ships with ease.
When the lift door opened, I was surprised by the number of enforcers standing in formation. Lysander paced in front of them, waiting for the ship to complete its final scans before opening the connecting bridge to the cargo ship. Endellion waited off
to the side, ready and vigilant. I made my way to her, ignoring the odds glances from the other enforcers.
Lysander spotted me and tapped the side of his helmet until I switched over to the channel with him and Endellion.
“What're you doing here?” he asked, louder than any reasonable person should be.
“I was summoned,” I replied.
“Endellion?”
“It's fine,” she said. “I asked Clevon to accompany me. You take the enforcers through a systematic sweep of every deck.”
Lysander huffed. After a silent moment, he added, “There are a lot of valuable objects and information on that ship.”
I almost offered a solid “fuck you” through the comms, but I bit my tongue. I wasn't going to steal anything. Once he got it through his fat head that I was dedicated to my new career, he would stop insinuating otherwise. At least, that was what I assumed.
“No need to fret,” Endellion said. “Clevon and I will be together at all times.”
“Very well.”
I reached Endellion's side and gave her a quick nod. She returned it, and then motioned me closer. I stood right next to her, the two of us separated from Lysander and the other enforcers. I didn't know what Endellion wanted with me, but it was obvious that she wanted me close.
“The bridge is open,” the computer announced with little enthusiasm.
The connecting door unlocked, and then slid apart, revealing the decontamination room and the long bridge over to the cargo vessel. Gravity shifted ever so slightly the moment the door opened. It got weaker, no doubt because the fields of effect didn't extend beyond the ship.
Sure enough, when the enforcers headed for the cargo vessel, they jumped and then floated across to the other door, traveling the 100 meters like they were in a suspended state of mid-leap. The cargo vessel opened and allowed them inside, each wave of enforcers hitting the bulkheads and righting themselves in the low gravity of the other starship.
Once everyone jumped across, Endellion and I leapt through the bridge. I had experienced 0Gs before—there were a handful of times when Capital Station lost gravity for a few hours—but it still brought a smile to my face. Nothing felt as liberating as the ability to glide in any direction, free of restraint.
I hit the cargo ship bulkhead and got back to my feet. Then I walked up to the entrance of the vessel and entered, the visor of my suit telling me that the atmosphere aboard was a good ten degrees cooler than it had been on the Star Marque.
Lysander sent squads of enforcers to all parts of the ship, ignoring me completely. That was fine. I turned my attention to Endellion, and she motioned for me to follow.
I switched my comms to a private channel with her.
“We're heading to the med bay,” she said.
Endellion hefted her rifle. I did the same, but now I was on edge. Did she think we would be met with resistance? I doubted any sad sack on this hunk of space debris could stand against the both of us, but I couldn't get too cocky. Hubris was the leading killer of extraordinary individuals.
Then again, if there was any talent in these corsair lunatics, they would've given us a better starship rumble.
We started down a corridor, and Endellion picked up speed into a half-run. I kept up, curious about how she knew her away around the rig. Unlike the Star Marque—which had rough edges, visibly apparent weapon storage, and space management for hundreds of people—the little cargo vessel seemed to have its living quarters separate from its work areas. The clean walls, devoid of emergency weapon caches or exposed pipes, had a variety of cubby storage meant for blankets, pillows, and other such luxuries. The place felt like a home, and it probably was for the limited crew.
Or had been. Blast marks scorched the walls and blood stained the floor. The crew had put up a fight. And lost.
I caught sight of a deck map posted on the bulkhead as I ran by. I only got a quick glance at it, but that was more than enough time to process the information. This rig had two decks. Deck One—living quarters and lab. Deck Two—cargo hold. Made for easy navigation, I supposed.
Endellion stopped at a door and typed something into the computer terminal by the lock. I took my place at her side and got a good look at the surroundings. I hadn't seen anyone yet, outside of the Star Marque enforcers.
“Did you know the cruiser captain?” I asked, my thoughts wandering. “Sure sounded like he knew you.”
“I was once a member of the rebellion,” Endellion replied with a hint of disinterest.
“Really? When was that?”
“When I worked on Midway Station, before I became an enforcer.”
I didn't give two shits about the rebellion or their United-Earth agenda. They took to pirating anything the Federation owned and controlled, and it looked like they would kill other humans to do it, too.
“You hate the superhumans?” I asked, antsy. “Is that why you joined the rebellion?” Why hadn't she opened the door yet?
“No,” Endellion replied. “The rebellion was just a rung in the ladder I needed at the time. They served their purpose, and then I was done with them.”
“Those chumps fought like they were rungs.”
Endellion chortled. “Indeed.”
She tapped the screen of the computer terminal one last time, and the door unlocked. Before she opened it, she turned to me. “There are four in the room. Two to the left, and two to the right. They're waiting for us.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I can sense them.”
I almost laughed aloud. Did she expect me to believe that? What was she? Psychic? Only gypsy defects who wanted to take advantage of someone's ignorance claimed to be something so stupid.
“You kill the two on the right,” Endellion continued. “I'll get the other two.”
Instead of arguing, I nodded. “Alright.”
She opened the door and stepped aside. We waited a few seconds before turning together and firing into the room from the cover of the doorframe. In the fraction of a moment, I saw the entire medical lab. I took note of the injured man in the corner—one of the men on the right side I was supposed to be killing—and the other was a guy in a white enviro-suit with a plasma pistol. I shot the pistol-toting thug through the chest, my plasma bolt digging into the bulkhead before frying out, but I refrained from shooting the other. The injured guy had his helmet down, his face and neck lacerated by shattered glass, and he cowered in the corner, his knees to his chest.
Endellion killed the others before I was done taking stock of the situation. She regarded the injured man with a quick glance, and then turned to face me. Neither of us said anything. After three heartbeats, she walked into the room and headed straight for the computer terminal, ignoring the man in the corner completely.
I also left him. It felt wrong to gun him down when he had already surrendered to fear.
Endellion peeled back her helmet. Her braid uncoiled and fell against her back. To my surprise and fascination, she unbuckled the fasteners of her suit and allowed the sleeve to slide off her left arm.
Most cyborgs had scars—tons of them, from all the surgeries and injuries that came from having metal under the skin—but Endellion had a smooth purity to her skin unlike even a normal individual. No scars. No tarnish. Somehow perfect, like the enviro-suit kept her fresh.
She held up the PAD on her forearm. The thin computer sucking the heat from her body could have easily fit under the snug confines of an enviro-suit, but why had she brought it? I stared, unmoving and without comment, as Endellion pulled out the connecters from the computer terminal and attached them to her PAD.
I ripped my helmet off and frowned. “What're you doing?”
“Copying the medical research the ship is carrying.”
She said nothing else.
“Forgive me for sounding like an infant,” I said, “but isn't that stealing?”
Endellion matched my gaze. “Yes.”
“But—” I cut myself off and took a breath.<
br />
Didn't Lysander just say that I shouldn't be on this mission because I would steal something from the ship? Surely Endellion didn't have the authority to do this. I almost couldn't believe this was happening. Wasn't this superhuman research? Wasn't she risking everything by doing this?
“Do you have a problem with it?” Endellion asked.
“I thought you would,” I said.
“And if I don't?”
“Well…” I glanced at the computer while I mulled over the situation. “Isn't this research about… genetic defects?”
“Yes.”
“Can we use it to help Noah?” I shrugged. “And Lysander, I guess?”
“We could.”
“Then fuck it. Copy all the information.”
Endellion smiled and returned her attention to the computer. “I knew taking you aboard was the right decision. We see eye-to-eye, Clevon.”
Well, she was tall enough to see eye-to-eye with me, that was for sure. But I hadn't known she'd wanted someone with flexible ethics. Maybe that was why she hadn't hesitated to bring a criminal into the fold.
“Can we use this right away?” I asked as I motioned to the computer terminal.
“I'll need a doctor. An actual doctor, not a medic I inherited from another crew. Someone who can expand upon complicated research and reach a logical conclusion.”
“The Star Marque doesn't have a doctor like that?”
“Not yet. But soon.”
Endellion sucked in her breath and grabbed at her forehead with her right hand. I lifted an eyebrow and took a step closer. She rubbed at her eyes, and then her temple, her brow furrowed.
“Another reason I need a competent doctor,” she muttered.
From my peripheral, I noticed the attack, but didn't have enough time to deal with it. I leaned away, but the attacker's swing wasn't for me. He swiped at Endellion. Despite her closed eyes and the pain in her head, she managed to step to the side. But the PAD on her arm jerked her back—it was still connected to the computer, and she didn't pull it free in time to fully dodge.
The injured rebellion fighter clipped her shoulder with a knife-like fragment of glass. He drew a thin line into her skin, cutting enough to bleed but not enough to get down to the bone.
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