by C. S. Wilde
“Mercenaries?” I snort. “I can’t believe the mighty Ah’rbal-ack-to—”
“That’s not my name anymore,” he says, his tone a flat line.
Chuck hates it when I address him by his former name. With a curt nod, I add, “I apologize.”
“It is fine, dear. I’m simply not Ah’rbal-ack-to anymore, nor do I wish to be.” He inhales deeply. “It wasn’t just mercenaries, though. I also had help from a friend back at the base. He turned off the northern hemisphere’s monitors.”
I realize I’m gaping. “That’s an enormous risk, for both you and him.”
“Malfunctions happen all the time.” A roguish grin spreads across his lips.
I give him a quick headshake. “You’d make a great mercenary.”
“I certainly would.” The playfulness in his expression vanishes once his attention falls on James, who now packs a stack of fresh clothes into a crate near the base of the ship.
At first, I found it odd that Chuck had clothes and shoes that fit me and James perfectly, but then I remembered he had a class A ship hovering inside his hangar. He had planned an escape in every single detail. My former mentor might have been many things in his many lives, but unprepared was never one of them.
He keeps watching James with a certain melancholy. I’ve known Chuck for a long time. Even now in his new vessel, this scrawny boy who looks nothing like the fierce essence of Ah’rbal-ack-to, I sense something’s off.
“What’s wrong?” I continue in his mind, making sure to block James. He’s too busy loading the crates anyway, but I don’t want to run any risks. I have a feeling he shouldn’t be hearing what will come next.
It takes Chuck a moment to say, “James needs to stay behind.”
“Absolutely not.” I chortle. “I left him once for his own safety and we both almost died. I promised him I’d never do it again.”
“What if you accidentally dismantle the ship and we’re tossed into the vacuum?” Chuck raises an eyebrow. “He would be dead in a minute.”
I shrug. “We’d be dead too.”
“Yes, but where we’re going, it’s not safe for him.”
I slam my hands on my hips. “And where are we going, Chuck?”
He stares ahead before thinking, “Mak-tahar.”
What humans call the Orion Belt. “There’s nothing dangerous for James there.”
He looks up at me from beneath his scarce red eyebrows, the gravity of Ah’rbal-ack-to pulsing through this child’s green eyes. “I want him alive just as much as you do.”
Is this Chuck’s way to say he actually cares for James? That he doesn’t want my husband to get hurt? A warm and soothing sensation springs up my chest. By the dimensions, is this what happens when a father approves of his daughter’s partner?
Chuck’s voice grumbles in my head, but his lips curve into a soft smile. “Don’t exaggerate, dear.”
Typical Chuck. He’d never admit to caring for others, even though it’s all he does, all the time. Something else that’s typical of him? Being right. If he believes wherever we’re going might be dangerous to James, it certainly will be.
“Chuck, this one’s ready,” James says from the base of the ship before tapping a case twice.
“Do what you please, dear. But if you love him, you’ll make him stay.” He turns toward James and the case floats in the air, then loads itself into the ship.
I take a deep breath as I step toward my mate, finally stopping a little too close to him. I’ll need proximity to make this work. Still, my mind fights between what I want—James by my side—and what’s right—James, alive and safe.
I rub his arms gently and focus. “You need to stay here.”
James starts to chuckle, but when he sees I’m not joking, his nostrils flare and his squared jaw clenches, highlighting his three-day stubble. My mate has a fierce beauty in him when he’s angry.
With a sharp tone he says, “You must be crazy to think I won’t join you. You’re my wife.”
“But James—”
He raises his hand. “End of discussion, all right?” He cups my cheeks and kisses me, his tongue venturing inside my mouth, savoring, and I forget what we were discussing. I wrap my arms around his waist, bringing him closer, pressing harder against his warm body as our lips play with one another.
If it were up to me, this is how I’d spend the rest of my days, however limited they might be.
When our lips part, James breathes, “We’re in this together.” He smacks a kiss on my forehead, then turns around to enter the ship.
I glance back at Chuck, hoping he’ll tell me he found a way to keep James safe, that we can take him with us. But Chuck’s somber stare and crossed arms convey that nothing has changed.
So I approach James from behind. I can’t override the control of his mind over his body without touching him. Manipulating objects is a lot easier than manipulating a conscious life form: things can’t resist one’s command, but self-sentient beings can.
By touching James’ skin, my patterns will mix with his enough to confuse his subconscious into thinking my commands come from him. If I don’t touch him, his subconscious will perceive my patterns as foreign and block me—especially now that he’s stealing some of my telepathy.
Just before I touch him, he turns around and holds my hand through a layer of smudged flannel. “I still can read minds, Mir. You’re not putting me to sleep.”
I had forgotten to block him just now. But it doesn’t matter, my goal has been achieved. “I’m not letting you into that ship.”
His eyelids start closing, and his voice becomes groggy. “W-what?” He looks at my held out hand, not figuring out that I’m touching his left elbow with my other hand, skin to skin, the connections between us faster than thought. In an eye blink, his body is abiding to my commands.
“Mir,” he grumbles. “I’m your anchor. I brought you back, remember?”
“That may be.” My heart stings at the thought of leaving him behind. “But I can’t risk your life.”
His brain fights my orders. If he hadn’t caught a bit of my mind reading abilities, he’d be sleeping by now. “Without me, how will you find…” His eyes close but quickly reopen, and he shakes his head. “How will you find your way back? I need to be there for you, otherwise...” His eyelids half close.
He’s right. Without him, I may never find my way back, but I can’t risk his life, even if it means my salvation. So I force the link.
“Don’t…” He slurs, his eyes closing. “Don’t do this.” His legs buckle slightly. “Don’t go.”
He slumps and I grab him before he hits the ground. Chuck helps with his telekinesis, laying James gently on the ground with his mind. I grab a grey blanket to make a pillow for him. Seizing another blanket with my mind, I kneel by my mate’s side and cover him up to his chest.
Chuck calls Casey using his telepathy. When she enters the hangar, he tells her to put James in their best suite bedroom, take his mobile, and lock the door. “The boy is resourceful,” he adds. “You’ll need to hold him with telekinesis when you leave food for him.” Clothing items fly from the ship’s open cargo door and land in Casey’s arms. “He will have a toilet and clothes, so he won’t need much else.”
If James were any other human, I’d say Chuck was exaggerating. He’s basically jailing my husband. But impossible as the idea sounds, James could figure out a way to find me. He did it before and he could do it again.
Casey nods, but her frown and pursed lips tell me she doesn’t like our plan. “Grandpa, when will you be back?”
“If all goes well, we’ll return in two weeks.” Chuck hugs her, his head reaching only her upper torso. She hugs him back, putting a hand over his head.
After a moment, Casey detaches from Chuck and sniffs back tears. She lays a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You behave, okay?”
“Never.” Chuck lets out a sad laugh, the kind that masks a deep sorrow.
Casey approaches me, kneeling by my side. “Mir,
will you take care of Grandpa?”
“I’ll do my best.” Patting her back, I add, “Your grandpa excels in taking care of himself, though.”
What I’m about to say next breaks my heart into a thousand shards, but it must be said. “If we fail and I’m consumed by…” I swallow dry. “If I don’t return, promise me you’ll take care of James.”
She stares at me, unblinking for a moment before shaking her head. “Just come back, okay?”
“All aboard,” Chuck says, climbing the open platform that leads to the ship.
I hug Casey and she whispers in my ear, “You have to come back, Mir. If you don’t, it will destroy him.”
My heart tightens, because she’s right. I wouldn’t bear it if I lost him either.
“I’ll try,” I say, my tone shallow, unconvinced.
I caress James’ cheeks, carve the peaceful image of him sleeping into my mind. I brush a stray lock off his forehead and kiss his lips, perhaps for the last time.
8
-Miriam-
The ship is all dark metal inside, a huge contrast to its white shell. Some of the walls are missing, showing dark cables intertwined with each other like a nest of black, unmoving snakes.
“You’ve cut a lot of costs,” I say as we walk up three stories to the bridge, climbing a metallic spiral staircase that shakes with our weight. The ship might’ve looked strong and bulky on the outside, but now I’m certain it could dismantle under a strong wind.
“My resources were limited, but the core elements are here,” Chuck says. “Also, mercenaries who aren’t afraid of whisars don’t come cheap.”
I brush my fingers over the cool metal column that cuts the center of the staircase. “Do you believe this ship can handle space travel?”
“Of course,” he says with his back to me. “I made it.”
There’s a shark stamped on his black t-shirt and an inscription below it saying, “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”
I’m uncertain of how to react to that. If I believed in bad omens, I’d say it’s a grim prediction of what’s to come, but I simply refuse to support such irrational ideas.
We finally reach the bridge, a circular room with missing panels and a dark metal floor that feels much more stable than the stairs we just climbed.
Four padded metal seats shaped like eggs face the ship’s rectangular window. A and B-classes have better inertia dampeners than silver stars, so there’s rarely any need for seatbelts, though they’re there—a necessary precaution for evasive maneuvers.
As soon as we occupy the two front row chairs, a small control screen rises from the left side of the seats, just like in human airplanes. Secondary commands.
Chuck quickly starts typing coordinates. He told me his plan before we boarded the ship: he’ll ask his contact at the whisar base to turn off the northern hemisphere scanners. The base can only track objects in the exosphere and beyond, thanks to the Earth’s magnetic field. The ship’s cloaking device will get us unnoticed until then, but after we cross the threshold we’ll be sitting ducks, waiting to be blown to pieces. This is where Chuck’s contact at the base comes in.
Chuck presses a little black dot attached to the side of his chair: a comm.
The thoughts from the whisar on the other side ring in our minds. “Scan control. How may I be of service?”
“Greetings,” Chuck says, his thoughts as loud as if he were speaking. “I’m looking for Zed’phir-lack.”
“Zed’phir-lack was assigned to a mission on Earth.” The voice halts for a moment. “Who’s this? Why can’t I locate your signal?”
Chuck doesn’t flinch or falter as he says, “I’m in secret ops, apprentice. Be wary of how you speak to a superior officer.”
Most of the scanning crew is made of third tier apprentices, since the scanners basically run themselves. It’s very likely that this whisar is no older than I was when I became Chuck’s disciple.
The youngling says, “Please state your code. Now.”
Chuck hangs up before slamming his hands on the armchair. “Damn the dimensions, these younglings get smarter by the year.”
I guess Zed’phir-lack was his guy at the base, and with no one to conceal our signal, we’ll be dead once we enter the exosphere.
My breathing accelerates, blood thumping in my veins. “What’s the alternative?”
Chuck hunches over his knees and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know.”
He lowers his head between his legs, hands clasped behind his neck. He stays that way for a while. Suddenly he sits up straight, eyes wide. He checks the command screen on the side of his chair, forming lines and dots with his finger until he lets out a grin. He presses the screen and a large, pitch-black console shaped like the infinity symbol rises from the floor, only stopping a few inches from our waists. The panel blinks to life: neon-blue lines and circles and letters against a background as smooth as a black pearl. Primary controls.
By the stars, he’s flying manual!
No one does that anymore. If we hit the wrong angle at the wrong time, the ship might get damaged. Leaving the Earth on manual might not be hard, especially for an experienced star flyer like Chuck, but it’s an unnecessary risk.
“How is flying manual supposed to conceal us from the base’s scanners?” I ask with a smooth, even tone, but all I want to do is scream.
“It won’t.” Chuck shapes a few blue lines on the console. “Miriam, time is of the essence. Your changes will worsen, they’re likely worsening as we speak.”
With my heartbeat thrumming in my ears, I croak, “Tell me you have a plan.”
“Of course I do,” he half-mutters, his attention fixed on the console.
I should trust his skills at flying this thing and getting us out unnoticed, but… “I have a bad feeling about this.”
He smiles in the way of a madman. “So do I.”
Casey stands at the entrance of the hangar with unconscious James floating by her side. Her telekinesis might not be strong, but it’s enough to lift a person. She waves at us one last time before leaving with him, then the hangar door slides closed.
The need to cry surges in my throat and a bitter taste floods my mouth as I mutter a final goodbye to my husband. Whatever Chuck’s plan is, it’s likely insane, and I’ll probably become stardust a few minutes from now in this unsteady carcass of a ship. Wiping tears hanging at the corners of my eyes, I pray to some unknown deity that James will, one day, forgive me for dying in such a stupid way.
The ceiling of the hangar folds within itself, showing tree crowns that are about to get vaporized, and then the blue sky beyond them. Slowly, the ship shakes and turns in a ninety degree angle, facing the sky. Chuck draws two oval shapes on the console and neon-blue circles pop to life. He slams both hands on the circles and we shoot into the sky. My stomach flings itself against my spine.
The ship quivers as if it’s freezing to death, and a scream swirls in my throat. This vessel will disintegrate anytime now, especially if it keeps shaking like this. “Chuck—”
“I got this!” he yells, his attention trapped on a gigantic puffy nimbus that soon embraces us in a never ending fog, cracked by purple lightning.
If the shaking was bad before, now it’s like a mini earthquake. I can almost envision us falling to the ground inside a burning ball of debris.
Much to my surprise, we’re soon past the nimbus and the clouds vanish to reveal a blue sky that darkens to purple and then dark navy.
Almost there.
The ship slowly stops shaking and I yelp and laugh, because we’ve made it. We’re not dead, yet.
I check the secondary controls attached to my seat, focusing on the next step. “Approaching thermosphere in three, two, one.”
And here we are. The sun outlines the curvature of the Earth in a shiny halo. Oceans extend below, clouds mere specks of dust. Curtains of green light flutter beautifully at the far northern hemisphere.
Chuck watches the figures display
ed in his secondary console. “Crossing into exosphere in ninety seconds.” His hands turn slightly on the primary console and the ship goes right. His muscles unclench and he takes a deep breath.
“Why did you take off manually?” I ask.
“If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to correct the angles just now. Which means we’d be in trouble once we cross the exosphere.” He rubs his hands together. “It was remarkably fun, wasn’t it?”
“I had no idea it was even possible anymore.”
“When will you learn that everything is possible when it comes to me?” Chuck winks. The cockiness in his tone clings alien, almost like it’s not him I’m hearing, but his former master, Werhn-za’har. He continues, “Besides, if you’ve never flown manual, you don’t know what fun is.” He shakes his head. “Younglings these days...”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “What’s next, wonder child?”
“Well, a few years ago, a small piece of abandoned satellite broke through the window of a space bus. It was all over the news.”
“That’s horrible!” A grim feeling seizes my chest. “What happened to the crew?”
“Still in there, I suppose.” He shrugs as if it’s nothing important. “The airbus lies right on the threshold between the thermosphere and exosphere, and it’s the only object as wide as this ship, at least on its wingspan. A stroke of luck, really.”
That’s a terrible thing to say, considering their demise will be to our advantage. But I understand his plan now: we’ll hide behind the airbus. That’s why he needed to correct the exit angles—to align the ship with the airbus’ orbit.
We can’t hide forever, though. We’ll need to leave the safety of the airbus and cross into the exosphere at some point. “How will we escape the base’s scanners?”
“We’ll wait for the perfect positioning and boost toward the sun.” He points to the main console. It shows the sun on the right, Earth in the center, and the moon on the left, forming one line. Chuck grins in that mad scientist way of his. “I wouldn’t have brought you all this way without a plan, dear.”
“You mean the day-side of the Earth is the whisar base’s blind spot?” I murmur. “It can’t be. Once we cross the exosphere, no matter on which side, they’ll—”