Star Marque Rising

by Shami Stovall

  “Not everyone. Just individuals I find amusing. I figured you and I would have things in common.”

  I leaned back and breathed deep. Even in an artificial environment, the air was still sweet.

  “Oh, and how have we not talked about you hitting on Lysander?” Sawyer asked with a lifted eyebrow.

  “You know about that, huh?”

  “I would've paid to be there in person. You're Lysander's least favorite person.”

  “We were having a moment,” I said with a shrug. “And I'd just stumbled out of the healing vat. And I was desperate. All the pieces lined up. But yeah, now that I think about it, not the best play I've ever made.”

  Sawyer laughed. She took a good, long time doing it, too. I waited because I liked her laugh, and she eventually said, “You really are a horndog at times, aren't you?”

  “Well, I wouldn't have to be if someone had accepted my advances.”

  She settled down and looked away. “I'm sure you'll find company at some point.”

  In the quiet that came between us, I knew that Sawyer wouldn't answer my ultimate question—why wasn't she being honest with me? She was afraid of something. Some detail she wouldn't reveal, even after I'd showed her all those wonderful koi fish. Maybe I should have stopped trying. If she was that adamant about not telling me, then it was a wasted effort.

  “Endellion said we have two missions to accomplish,” I said, my gaze set on the vegetation. “But she hasn't told me the details. You know what they are, don't you?”

  Sawyer nodded.

  “Tell me.”

  She returned her gaze to me. “Would it be okay if I… touched you?”

  Wait, what? That was an odd request—and phrasing. No wonder people thought she was weird.

  I snorted and laughed. “You have carte blanche to touch me any way you see fit.”

  Sawyer pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on my side. I bit back a growl and stopped myself from grimacing. She'd placed her head right on my goddamn injury, but I didn't want to scare her away and risk breaking contact. I just soldiered through. I would be bleeding by the end of the conversation, but it was worth it.

  I really was getting desperate. Even painful pressure on an injury was better than nothing at all.

  “The Star Marque will be assigned to put down some rebellion thugs,” Sawyer whispered. “And then you and Endellion are going to assassinate a superhuman. Emissary Barten, to be specific.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  VICE-CAPTAIN

  It would take us four days to reach our destination—a section of space by Outpost Station. That was where we would find our rebellion smugglers and thugs.

  Lysander yelled something to the enforcers, but I didn't catch his words. Instead, I focused on the girl in front of me. She was one of Endellion's ground enforcers, going through the training motions to develop muscle-memory. We were mock-sparring, training for when the enforcers had to physically brawl with someone while they were on duty. I liked sparring. It was a good distraction. Too bad those fruit loops weren't a challenge for me.

  The girl swung with her left, and I leaned away, dodging the blow. We took things slow—because Lysander wanted everyone to learn the correct form, rather than power—but it made the matches so fucking boring. I could have read one of Sawyer's technical manuals in the time it took for one punch to follow the next.

  “Am I doing this right?” the girl asked between heavy breaths.

  “Pivot with your rear foot and rotate your hips,” I said, trying not to reveal my boredom.

  “All right.”

  She punched again, better this time, but still slow. I couldn't really tell her to get faster. Some things were just impossible. She would never be able to give me a challenge in a stand-up fight. Well, she could have pulled an Endellion and augmented her capabilities. Maybe I should have told her to do that.

  Just thinking about Endellion reminded me of the assassination. Sawyer didn't know much about it, and I hadn't had a chance to ask Endellion, but something told me she wasn't going to say much. If we were caught murdering a Vectin council emissary, the whole crew of the Star Marque would be charged with treason or worse.

  Why would Endellion do such a thing? She'd risk everything—and everyone—with one mission.

  I dodged a few more strikes, barely seeing anything around me.

  Who the fuck was Emissary Barten, anyway? I remembered hearing his name at the pre-hearing, but just once. Ontwenty had talked about him. Was he the man who was attempting to open trade deals with the rebellion? Yes. That was it. And Ontwenty loathed the idea of selling her medicine to a group of thugs who wanted her dead.

  It all came together now. Ontwenty had asked Endellion to handle the situation, to make sure the deal never happened. In exchange, Endellion would solidify her place as one of the next planet governors.

  “Demarco,” Lysander shouted, an edge to his voice that betrayed his frustration.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Are you paying attention to anything I'm saying?”

  “No.”

  A round of chuckles washed through the other ground enforcers. We were in a group of 50, so the laughter spread quick, but it didn't amuse Lysander, not one bit. The man glared at me, his arms crossed.

  “What is it?” I asked. “Am I not up to your standards or something?”

  “We're moving on. You and—”

  Lysander cut himself off, his gaze set on something behind me. I turned around and tensed. Endellion waited on the sidelines of the sparring mats, standing with the other enforcers waiting to take their turn. She was in her casual clothes again, dressed much like everyone else in the room.

  “Clevon,” she said. “I thought I told you all training will be done with me from now on.”

  What was I? A child being reprimanded? Silence followed her statement, like everyone else held their breath, waiting for me to reply.

  “I didn't think you meant this kind of training,” I said with a one-sided smile. “This is group tactics and procedures. Stuff you couldn't practice with just one other person.”

  Endellion glanced to the enforcers, then the mats, and then back to me. “Seems like you're sparring. That's something we can easily replicate.”

  “You want to spar?” I couldn't keep the excitement from my voice. Everyone in the room must have heard it, too, because murmurs started circulating.

  I had been waiting for the offer. I wanted to see Endellion at her fullest. No holding back. My corded muscles versus her cybernetic implants. She talked a big game, and I'd never had interest in the other enforcers, anyway.

  Endellion stepped onto the mat. My old sparring partner hustled into the crowd, leaving me alone with our captain. My pulse doubled.

  “If this is what you want,” Endellion said. “We have time for a quick match.”

  “Is this really a productive use of our time?” Lysander asked as he emerged from the crowd and onto the mat. “Demarco just got out of the healing vat.”

  The chuckles that followed the statement only spurred my desire to have the match.

  “You think I can't handle this?” I asked.

  “I think we shouldn't even find out. When I was in the HSN Corps, the superior officers never fought against new recruits or trainees because—”

  “Everything is under control,” Endellion interjected. “Clevon and I are both accustomed to fighting. It'll be a friendly match.”

  “How friendly?” I asked. I didn't want it to be too gentle.

  “Until one of us yields.”

  Oh, so, not friendly at all. Not if our goal was to force each other to submit. No one wanted to lose in front of a crowd, and Endellion sure as fuck didn't want to look weak to her crew. She was that confident she would beat me? She would be surprised. I had been improving ever since I'd set foot on the starship.

  Lysander opened his mouth, and then shut it, obviously torn between speaking and compliance. After a moment, he exhaled
and backed off the mat, allowing the match to happen without further protest. Silence suffocated the room, but there was one last thing I needed to check before we got our party underway.

  I stepped close to Endellion under the guise of shaking her hand, but in a whisper, I asked, “Are you sure? I might cut that pretty face of yours.” It was more threatening than I'd wanted it to be, but given her history with even the tiniest of blemishes—and her fear of judgement—I just had to make sure.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “We're on the Star Marque with a competent doctor under my employ. I think I can handle a few scrapes in this environment, should they happen.”

  We broke apart, and I took my side of the mat. There was no need for bells and whistles. The moment we locked eyes, I knew the match had begun. She stepped forward, and so did I.

  Endellion swung with her right at speeds the others couldn't comprehend, but when I moved away, she backhanded with a left. Her knuckles caught me above the brow, and I lived through the moment in slow-motion, spotting the smirk on her face as she coiled for a second round.

  Her hit hadn't hurt, but when I tensed to lunge, a steady flow of blood got into my eyes. Her knuckles must have been angled and sharp, and she'd used the force of her strike to slice open my forehead. Instinctively, I lifted my hand to stop the bleeding, which was just what she'd wanted.

  Endellion kicked at my undefended side, bashing my ribs right where I had been stabbed previously. Too fast. I didn't see it in time to dodge. I was healed—thanks to the mother cells—but the memory of the agony was still fresh in my mind. Her shin had the sting of metal. I might as well have been hit by a girder.

  Two seconds into the match, and I had blood weeping into my eyes and a cracked rib.

  Fuck me. I hadn't realized she would play dirty.

  When she kicked a second time, I lunged close, getting hit, but it wasn't at the end of the arc, and I used the fraction of a moment she was open to elbow her in the gut—the one place she didn't have reinforced steel bones. Sure enough, my elbow sunk into her abdomen and sent her tumbling back.

  Unfortunately, the blood on my face was too much. I either had to fight blind or sacrifice a hand to keep my vision clear. And since I couldn't risk not seeing her, I kept one hand up.

  Endellion didn't take long to recover. I rushed in, hoping to bring her to the ground. If we'd have grappled, being blind wouldn't have been as much of a disadvantage. But she pivoted, the force and speed enough to tear the mat. I clenched my jaw, overthinking the situation, knowing she had the same mental zeal as I did.

  Then she grabbed my shoulder. Her eyes widened as I whipped around, elbowing her again, this time to the side of the head. I pulled back on the force, fearing I would disrupt the cybernetics in her spine. She didn't let go of my shoulder, but blood spilled onto her neck from her shattered ear.

  The gasps around the room invigorated me.

  In one brutal motion, Endellion threw me down onto the mat, my back hitting it hard. She punched me across the face, her strength augmented by the machines. For a second, all I saw was white, my hearing flooded with a single sharp note.

  She'd busted my nose. I would be smelling blood for a week.

  But she'd made a mistake. I was strong enough to flip us both over, despite the fact she was twice my weight—thanks to all that internal metal—and I slammed her underneath me, my vision returning gradually.

  I pressed down into her neck—my elbow digging deep into her throat—and held one of her arms down with my knee. Endellion tightened her grip on my shoulder. Her fingers acted like knives, and her grip was stronger than any normal human's. She wasn't limited to the muscles of her hand and forearm, not with the cybernetics throughout her entire body. When she squeezed, she had the force necessary to pierce through my muscle and rip out a chunk of my shoulder.

  But would she do that before I choked her out?

  I guessed we were going to find out.

  Her fingers penetrated my arm, gouging out holes and covering the mat in slick, vital fluid. Pain flared, but it faded into the background of my mind, washed away by pure adrenaline. I strangled back a yell, and it half-mixed into a chortle. Endellion smiled up at me, like she was ready to take it to the next level. I smiled back as she wrested her other arm free and grabbed my side—just under my ribs—her knife-like fingers right over my vulnerable kidney.

  She could have taken me apart, doctor and healing vat be damned.

  I knew it. The heat between us was real.

  I loved it.

  “Enough!”

  Lysander jumped onto the mat and grabbed me by the arm. I was half-tempted to shake him off and continue, but a few more enforcers hustled in to separate us. I got off Endellion, and she stood with ease, taking only a moment to brush off her clothing and wipe the blood from her ear. Her hand looked like a gore zone, however. My shoulder might as well have been mauled by a rabid animal.

  “You never disappoint,” Endellion said.

  I smile. “I aim to please.” I rotated my good arm and held back a wince when agony ran down my spine.

  The crowd of enforcers chanted Endellion's name. She smirked, seemingly unfazed by the match. I did look the part of the loser—and I was seconds from having my organs vivisected—but no one lasted forever without blood flow to the brain, and her neck wasn't designed like a superhuman's. I could have choked her out.

  Lysander ran a hand over his face. “This is unacceptable. There's nothing to be gained from ripping each other apart. This didn't demonstrate any of the techniques we learned, nor did it—”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Save it for when I'm not losing so much blood. Shouldn't you take me to get some medical attention? That's what a proper overseeing officer would do.”

  The look on his face was like he wanted me to bleed out on the mat, but he couldn't bring himself to let it happen. Lysander was too easily riled.

  But I hurt. Fire built beneath my skin, killing the rush I'd had previously. I was ready for the doctor.

  “You can train with the enforcers before or after you're with me, Clevon,” Endellion said as she headed for the door.

  Her hand stayed up by her ear, and it trembled when she touched her hairline. No one else seemed to notice—or if they did, they gave no indication.

  * * *

  “How're you feeling?” Dr. Clay asked.

  He didn't even look me in the eye. He stared down at the PAD on his arm, typing away, like he was one of Sawyer's long-lost cousins. Not much happened in the infirmary, yet he acted like he was busy all the time.

  “I'm better,” I said as I rubbed my shoulder. “Can I go now?”

  Dr. Clay ignored me and focused on his own work. If he were anything like Sawyer, he would have been able to hold a conversation and work, but he was just an unmodified human with a flair for medicine.

  Plus, the guy had one speed, and that speed was “fuck you.”

  “Dr. Rhodes had a better bedside manner,” I said with a smirk.

  Dr. Clay snapped his attention to me, a glare set on his angled face, like he'd been born with it. “You were never treated by Dr. Rhodes,” he said. “Her specialty is pharmaceuticals, specifically for use on defects. You're some brute modification, like every other.”

  Then he turned away and continued his work.

  I wondered how he would have reacted if I told him I intended to hook up with Dr. Rhodes the moment we returned to Midway Station. It would have been a dick move, but it would have been a satisfying dick move.

  Whatever. He couldn't keep me in the infirmary. I slid off the examination table, energized, despite my messed-up sleep schedule. Being planetside hadn't helped anything. I had stayed awake for long hours to watch the sky transform from day into dusk, then from night into dawn. Sights like that couldn't be taken for granted.

  I was halfway to the door when a collection of plastic bottles clattered to the floor.

  “Calm down,” Yuan hissed. “You're
not yourself.”

  Mara, dressed in a thin gown, stood on the opposite side of her gurney. She took in a deep breath and brandished a scalpel, her hand trembling.

  “What's going on?” I asked.

  Mara held up the impromptu weapon. “Stay back.” Her weak voice didn't carry far. When Yuan attempted to grab her wrist, Mara slashed, cutting Yuan's fingers. Blood dripped onto the gurney and floor. Yuan took a step back, cradling her hand to her chest.

  “Shouldn't you handle this?” Dr. Clay said, motioning me to Mara. “This is what you were made for.”

  I ignored his bullshit and leapt to intervene. Mara didn't move as fast as I did. I jumped over the gurney, grabbed her wrist, and twisted it backwards, forcing her to drop the scalpel. She struggled to free herself from my hold, but her weak efforts amounted to little.

  “Stop,” she said. “Get away from me! Get away!” Her frantic screaming put me on edge. That wasn't like Mara. At all.

  Dr. Clay walked over with the leisurely pace of an afternoon stroll. He held up a syringe, and Mara jerked and thrashed, her eyes wild.

  “Hold her still,” Dr. Clay commanded.

  I complied, but I had half a mind to release her. I pinned both of Mara's arms and kept her from lashing out with my superior strength. At one point she attempted to bite me, more like a psychopath than someone stricken with depression.

  Dr. Clay stuck the syringe in her shoulder. It didn't take long—a few seconds, tops—and Mara exhaled, her energy leaving with her breath. She slouched, and her eyes fluttered closed.

  “Stop,” she pleaded. “I don't… want…”

  Then she fell unconscious. I held her upright and placed her back on the gurney, her small body small and lightweight. Yuan rushed to her side.

  “What's going on?” I asked.

  Dr. Clay didn't answer. He returned his attention to his PAD.

  Yuan stroked Mara's face with her uninjured hand. “This isn't her. She's not herself. Once her implant is fixed, she'll go back to being just right.” Yuan glanced up. “Tell Endellion I'm getting tired of waiting.”

  “I don't tell Endellion what to do. No one does.”