Author Archives: Kyler Barton

Jyra opened her eyes and sat up, startled. One hand went to the locket hanging by her collarbone. The other hand lashed out and grabbed the corner of her bedside table. The smell of earth filled her nose and her room in the Allied Resistance base appeared.

Dreaming, Jyra thought. None of it happened. The attempted rescue mission, her capture by the hospital, her escape…her mind spun faster, unable to process the sudden surge of consciousness. She heard Kip’s voice but it sounded far away.

“Kip Deleanor. That’s my full name.”

The name sounded familiar…she knew she had some association with it, even before she knew Kip.

“Jyra, can you hear me?” a voice asked.

The speaker came into view as Jyra stared toward her bedroom door. Someone was sitting near the foot of her bed in a chair. The long hair meant it wasn’t Kip. The figure spoke again, leaning forward.

“Jyra, it’s me.”

The person came into focus and Jyra felt her lips peel apart from each other as she replied.

“Serana. What’s going on?”

Jyra heard her own voice in her ears as she spoke, the effort to speak obvious in her lagging speech. What happened to me? Why can’t I remember…what’s the last thing I remember?

“There’s a lot to say,” Serana said, standing up to pull her chair closer. Her long hair swung toward Jyra as she reseated herself by the bedside table. Some of Serana’s eyeliner ran in streaks toward the downturned corners of her mouth. All traces of her enthusiastic smile were gone.

“What happened?” Jyra asked. The urgency of the question brought new energy to combat her fatigue.

“Kip and Tony are safe,” Serana said, holding her hands together between her knees.

It took Jyra a moment to remember Tony, but she recalled the shape of his face, the bandages that covered his burns. But none of that happened, she reminded herself.

Then Jyra noticed the fresh cut on the back of her hand Matala had carved. Clarity yielded to a mental onslaught as the memories of everything since leaving for the rescue mission to escaping from the hospital rushed in at once.

“The battle,” Jyra said, her voice suddenly hollow. “The one outside the hospital. What happened?”

“Disaster,” Serana mumbled. “Failures every step of the way. Scouts overlooked entire platoons of hospital reinforcements. Several of our leading ships were ambushed immediately.”

“You rescued Kip and me,” Jyra said. “We got Tony back, too.”

“Minor victory in the greater context,” Serana said looking for at her feet. She sighed and ran an agitated hand through her hair.

“We lost nine ships and nearly seventy resistance members,” she said, still avoiding eye contact. “After the botched mission, there’s no way we can save any survivors. All the hospitals are on high alert.”

The news buried any optimism Jyra might have shared beneath despair. She turned the underside of her wrist upward so she could confirm the absence of the inked code, a permanent mark identifying her as an Allied Hospital patient. The skin remained clear as ever.

“What happened to me?” Jyra asked, trying to move the conversation away from the failed attack. “I remember boarding a ship. It was crowded, but quiet. After that, I don’t know how I ended up back here.”

She rubbed the smooth bedspread and glanced at the familiar walls of her subterranean quarters. Serana didn’t answer for a long time; her head was bowed and she seemed to be collapsing under an invisible weight.

“We ran some tests and discovered a muscle stimulant in your system,” Serana explained, placing her hands on her knees. “It’s not uncommon for new patients to lose consciousness.”

“Is that what Drenal said?” Jyra asked.

Serana bit her lip and shook her head.

“No.” Her voice shuddered as she spoke. “He was part of the attack. Enemy fire hit his ship.”

“Why aren’t we trying to rescue him?” Jyra demanded. “Even if they’re on high alert the hospitals know who he is. They’ll torture him or worse.”

She was about to kick the blanket back, but Serana’s defeated posture made her pause.

“Multiple witnesses saw it,” she mumbled. “No one ejected before the whole ship exploded.”

Jyra felt the darkness from Serana drift toward her with the grim news and coil around her heart and mind.

We rescued him right before I was captured, she thought, struggling to deny Drenal’s death. Rather than throw off the bedspread, Jyra picked at one of the frayed corners. She and Serana sat in silence. MS-231 was the least of Jyra’s concerns as she realized Drenal’s name would be broadcast throughout the base announcing his passing, unless it had already happened. Once again, Jyra was unaware how long she had been in bed, but it didn’t seem to matter now.

Minutes or hours passed. Although she couldn’t see beyond her door, Jyra could sense the inaction beyond her room. All the ships that made it back from the mission were parked in their hangars. No secret rescue operations were planned. The stillness of mourning permeated the entire base.

“I owe many people an apology, especially you,” Serana said, leaning back in her chair.

“What do you mean?” Jyra said.

“I’ve allowed my ego to get the better of me,” Serana said, fixing Jyra with her piercing stare. “I’ve been selfish and my inflated sense of self-importance has hurt the entire resistance.”

“I still don’t understand why you need to apologize to me.”

Serana grimaced and rubbed the knee of her flight suit.

“There’s a sort of rivalry that goes on here, a competition. You remember I said you are the only person I’ve saved from the hospitals? It mattered because I’ve had that failure held up to my face too often. There are people in this base who have helped hundreds of people escape the hospitals and they aren’t shy about sharing it. By the time I saved you, it was hardly for your benefit, but rather my own.”

“It seemed like everyone works together here so well,” Jyra said. “The moment I entered this base, it felt so unified. Everyone is working for a common goal.”

“We are, but it doesn’t mean we all get along,” Serana said. “In a resistance this size, it’s impossible for everyone to treat each other with respect.”

“That’s true of small groups as well,” Jyra said.

“I’m sorry I treated you like a prize,” Serana said. “And I’m sorry I took you on the Liberation mission. Again, ego interfered with better judgment.”

“I was happy to assist.”

“You still had to use a crutch,” Serana said, her eyes locked on Jyra’s again. “No one with common sense would ever ask anyone in your position to do what I asked of you. I pressured you into it. Just like I urged others to participate on this last mission.”

Serana gulped and stared at her lap.

“His eye had barely healed,” she whispered and Jyra knew she was talking about Drenal. “And I insisted he come along. I’ve ruined so many lives.”

“You didn’t fire the rounds,” Jyra said. She wished she could help Serana, but she knew from experience that it wasn’t easy to banish self-blame. Misery only made things worse.

“It’s kind of you to say,” Serana said. “But the fault still lies with me. Tony has been reunited with his sister and you and Kip are alive, which is a relief. Even so, I have to answer to the other friends and families who wonder why one of their own is now dead or missing. Even when it’s not a mission I organized, I must meet them. And there’s nothing quite like facing the accusation that you value one life over another.”

“Everyone you call for a mission has a choice,” Jyra said. “They chose to stand against the real enemy.”

“Grief changes people,” Serana said. “No matter how a person looks on the surface, grief sinks deep within and there are some things you can never see the same way again.”

“Like what?” Jyra asked.

“In my case, stunt skiffs,” Serana said. “As much as I love them and miss them, one crash nearly killed me and, before that, my mother died after her skiff went down. I can’t help but think of her every time I fly Detritan.”

“I’m sorry,” Jyra said. Something about Serana’s attitude reminded Jyra of Macnelia. A driven leader struggling against herself, her memories, Jyra thought.

“What’s the worst part about facing the families of those who are missing?” she asked.

“The exposure to their judgment and distress,” Serana said. “And nearly all of them mention the abuse of my position, which, in their view, I only get away with because of my father.”

Serana glared at the wall, taking several deep breaths. Jyra sensed she didn’t want to talk anymore, at least about this topic. But she was wrong. Serana stared at her hands again and took another long breath.

“I haven’t told you about my father,” she said. “I showed you nearly every corner of this base except for his quarters.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated, but the biggest reason is because he started the resistance.”

Jyra raised her eyebrows and shrugged, indicating an absence of understanding.

“He started the resistance, everyone knows that, and many people don’t like taking orders from me, especially the older crowd he recruited in the early years,” Serana said. “They see me as a subordinate controlling them or members of their families. It bothers a lot of people.”

“Why should it matter?” Jyra asked. “You do important work and you’re capable.”

Serana shook her head to interrupt.

“Not anymore,” she said. “I proved the exact opposite with this latest mission, and the one before that. But I’m not about to let my own failures eclipse the mourning for those we lost. I don’t want to be that person.”

She stood up to leave and lifted the chair away from the bed.

“I don’t blame you for anything that happened,” Jyra said. “In fact, now that I know what the hospitals are like, I’m even more appreciative of your efforts to keep me away from them.”

“Didn’t quite work though,” Serana said, with a pointed glance at the cut on Jyra’s hand.

“What can I do to help?” Jyra said.

“You can help yourself by keeping your distance from me,” Serana said, taking several strides toward the door. “Thanks for your part in the rescue. I have to go meet with some very angry people now.”

Jyra couldn’t speak before Serana disappeared into the corridor beyond. In some respects, she felt more puzzled than before she woke up. Jyra flexed her fingers, wondering if the stimulant was still in her body. She pushed back the bedspread and noticed she wore the same outfit from when she escaped the hospital. Even her boots were still laced around her ankles. Jyra stood up to stretch, when something occurred to her. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered how she hadn’t addressed it sooner. Of all the topics to discuss with Serana, Jyra’s safety should have been at the top of the list.

It had been easy to assume that being back at the resistance base meant she was safe. Jyra, however, had learned firsthand how that could backfire. What if people decided to harm Serana’s friends as some form of punishment?

Jyra couldn’t decide whether to stay in her room where possibly everyone in the base knew to find her or if she should go find a hiding place.

I need to find Kip, Jyra thought, but she had no idea where he might be. She started toward the door and felt a spring in her step. For weeks, she had imagined what it might feel like to walk again without a crutch. The severity of the circumstances precluded any sense of elation. Jyra had to focus on finding Kip. She heard his voice in her head again.

“Kip Deleanor. That’s my full name.” Why did her mind cling to that introduction? Jyra thought of the guard Berk murdered in the engine room on Mastranada, and then her mental quandary dissolved. The captain of Orasten had the same last name as Kip. It didn’t seem possible given the vastness of space, but she couldn’t deny that Lyle and Kip must be related. They had the same dark hair and build, although Jyra knew she didn’t recall much of Lyle’s appearance given the hostile circumstances of their meeting.

Jyra opened the door and poked her head into the corridor. The lights were dimmer than usual, which suggested night had fallen. After staring each way for several moments, Jyra was certain no one else was in the passage. She walked quickly, simultaneously marveling at her healed leg and fighting the anxiety that she might encounter someone. Sadness for Drenal, worry for Serana, and anticipation of finding Kip left little room for Jyra to think about much else.

She did pause at a crooked steel buttress and place her hands on either side of it. Try as she might, Jyra could not straighten the twisted metal. If MS-231 was still in her system, it wasn’t affecting her the way it used to.

Thoughts of Drenal distracted her further and Jyra struggled to push him out of her mind. Her hands were covered in rust from touching the buttress. She wiped them on her trousers and continued down the passage. The main cavern was up ahead. Jyra wasn’t sure if she should go there, but she reasoned that as long as more people where around, it would deter a select few who might otherwise harm her.

As the passage descended beneath her feet, Jyra finally came across a small wall screen that informed her it was nearly midnight on the last day of the month. She wished she could remember what day she had been summoned to rescue Liberation.

The main cavern was far emptier than usual, but no one seemed to notice Jyra as she cut through, keeping close to the wall. The lights were dimmed and everyone spoke in quiet voices. Jyra tried to ignore the similarity of the prevailing atmosphere of Dario’s funeral. She gazed across the consoles in the middle of the cavern, each occupied by at least one person, staring at a screen reflected in their eyes. How many of them had lost a friend or family member today? It occurred to Jyra that someone in here could likely look up when she departed on the Liberation mission, but she thought better of it; she didn’t want to be any more conspicuous than she already was.

She reached the elevator and stepped inside. When the doors opened again, she entered Hangar B. It no longer smelled of Tony’s wrecked ship. In fact, Jyra was surprised to feel a chill breeze on her face that had nothing to do with the air supply system. The lights upon the arched ceiling were off, but the dull glow of emergency beacons added a blue glow and deep shadows that stretched across sheer metal walls. The hangar seemed much smaller after seeing the one that sheltered Detritan.

Someone was sitting on the edge of the platform at the ship entrance to the hangar. As Jyra approached, she recognized the back of Kip’s head by his dark hair, though she noticed he’d shaved his whiskers. The wind felt even colder against Jyra’s skin. The air stuck in her lungs as she glimpsed rocky cliffs that seemed to pour like a churning river far beneath Kip’s legs, which dangled over the platform, swinging back and forth. Jyra sat down quicker than she intended.

The two shared silence, staring across the valley, the edges of which gradually gathered and rose up to form another mountain peak. For a rare moment, Jyra’s mind went blank. She forgot about Serana and the resistance. She forgot about Drenal and the tragic loss of many others. Even her family escaped her thoughts. All she saw was the dark landscape before her. She felt the wind on her face and hands. Despite her time in the mountains of Drometica and here on Silanpre, she missed the heat of Tyrorken. She listened to Kip breathing beside her, his legs alternately kicking back under the platform, teasing boulders below.

“A quiet night,” he said, after ten minutes of their silent, spontaneous vigil. He spoke slowly and his voice sounded thicker than usual.

“It seems like it always would be from here,” Jyra said.

“It usually is,” Kip said. “I come here often. The view always puts me at ease. It’s not working tonight.”

For a moment, Jyra felt an urge to ask questions, to find out what happened to Kip in the hospital, if he knew anything she didn’t, but the desire passed. Jyra sensed Kip didn’t want to discuss such matters and, as she considered it further, she didn’t either. She marveled at how easily the urgency faded, allowing the moment of peace to persist. Even though she felt the weight of her mother’s locket on her chest, which usually triggered Jyra to mentally scrutinize the past, she felt no need to do so.

“When you were younger, what did you think you’d be doing at this point in your life?” Kip asked.

“Piloting a ship,” Jyra said, without hesitation.

“Not a stunt skiff,” Kip clarified. “You wanted to be a spacer?”

“I guess,” Jyra said. “I wanted to travel to other planets. Explore the galaxy. See beyond the limited experience of my home world.”

“But you’re here,” Kip said. “You’re more of a mechanic than anything.”

“I am here,” Jyra nodded. “But a mechanic is only a small part of who I am.”

“Fair enough.” Kip returned his gaze to the valley below. He inserted a hand into a chest pocket and hastily glanced back into the darkened hangar.

Jyra predicted what was about to happen and thought of Berk as Kip produced a silver flask from his flight suit. Alcohol wasn’t permitted in the base, though Jyra had heard a small internal black market ensured a steady flow of spirits and other contraband to resistance members. Perhaps that helped explain why it might be so easy for hospital infiltrators to get inside the base if alcohol flowed so easily under the watch of authority.

“You want some?” Kip asked after taking a long sip. Jyra realized she was staring at the flask, more surprised than anything to see it in a hand that didn’t belong to Berk.

“Sure,” she said. The flask felt half full. The liquid was warm and it seared Jyra’s throat. “I didn’t think this stuff was allowed,” she added, giving the flask a cursory appraisal.

“Well you kept your eye on it long enough,” Kip replied, accepting the flask and taking another swig.

“Just reminded me of someone,” Jyra said, leaning back to look at the sky. “He drank a lot.”

Somewhere out in space, or maybe on a nearby planet, Berk was likely still on the move, certainly still drinking.

“Did you love him?” Kip asked abruptly.

Jyra felt something catch in her throat that had nothing to do with what she just drank. She coughed and shook her head.

“No, definitely not,” she said.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Kip said defensively. He gave a quick gesture at the view before them.

“The scenery makes me think of relationships.”

“How so?” Jyra asked, intrigued, but skeptical.

“The way the valley comes together, for example,” Kip explained, pointing out the ridges below. “The features rise toward a common purpose and create a mountain.”

“Berk was enough of a mountain on his own,” Jyra said. “I’ve never seen anyone his size. I do miss him.”

“But you never loved him?” Kip asked, taking another sip.

“I’ve never loved anyone, except for my family,” Jyra said. “What about you?”

“Two short attempts without success,” he said with a sigh. “I grew up on Eriah. It’s close to Silanpre, but it’s a tiny planet. A lot of traffic passes through ports on Eriah, but it’s the final destination for very few travelers. It’s hard to get to know someone enough to love them when they ship out within days of your first meeting.”

“That wouldn’t make things any easier,” Jyra said, clutching the flask as Kip offered it again. She took a long drink to give herself time to consider her next question.

“You’ve been here a while. Does anyone interest you in the resistance?”

Kip didn’t answer, but only stared into the valley. He looked younger without his whiskers. Jyra leaned toward him to pass the flask.

Kip glanced at her and shifted his body closer. His mouth found Jyra’s. Kip’s lips felt warm compared to the surrounding chill. The kiss lasted mere seconds before he broke away, catching his forehead in his palms.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I don’t know why I did that.”

“I don’t mind,” Jyra heard herself say, trying to recover. “Was that an answer to my question?”

Kip was already shaking his head.

“No, it’s not that,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

His wrists quivered as he hunched on the edge of the platform, his eyes shut and mouth turned into a frown.

“For a moment, I thought…it seemed as though you were someone else,” he said. He chanced a glance at Jyra, who was too perplexed to react. She was surprised to see tears gathering in Kip’s eyes. They glistened in the starlight, but Kip hastily returned his gaze to the valley, struggling to swallow before he spoke.

“I first saw her in the main cavern,” he said. “She was from Eriah, too.”

She’s part of the resistance, Jyra thought immediately, her anxiety flaring. She liked Kip, but considering the disastrous rescue, Serana’s despair, and rehashing her hospital imprisonment, the last thing Jyra needed was to interfere in a couple’s relationship.

“I never introduced myself,” Kip continued and Jyra’s confusion returned. “Her hair reminded me of home. It’s like mine. I only noticed when she was working out here one evening.”

Jyra didn’t understand what he was talking about until he tipped his head toward her. What Jyra had thought were gray hairs amid the predominately black crop were actually silver; they reflected the light of the stars, creating a glowing array across Kip’s scalp.

“Only those native to Eriah have it,” Kip said. “No one is certain what causes it, but my parents and brother have the same hair I do.”

He took a deep breath and swallowed again, pushing himself to keep talking.

“I saw her a few times, but never worked up the courage to speak to her. I thought of her while I was in the hospital, determined to make it back here to see her again. Then I found she had volunteered…”

He gulped and lowered his head, unable to continue, but Jyra understood what must have happened. The woman from Eriah had joined the failed campaign and she didn’t return.

“I wish I had said something sooner,” Kip said, taking another long swig of whiskey. “Met her and talked to her. Or if I hadn’t gone on the Liberation mission, things would be different.”

It all made more sense now. The valley didn’t remind Kip of relationships half as much as sitting on the platform where he witnessed someone from his home world. Despite her falling out with Craig, Jyra couldn’t help but think of the advice he’d shared with her months ago.

“Someone suggested to me once to not regret the things I didn’t do,” Jyra said. “It’s too easy to blame ourselves for the actions we take. And every action taken erases hundreds of others. Why suffer the burden of all the other choices? If we took time to consider all the consequences, we’d have no time left for living.”

“What did they regret, the person who told you that?” Kip asked.

Jyra hesitated as she remembered the common tragedy she and Craig shared.

“He didn’t save his family,” she said, the words chilling her in a way the night air never could.

Kip passed the whiskey back to Jyra, who took a larger gulp to banish the encroaching cold.

“Time left for living,” Kip repeated. “What are you going to do with the time you have? Besides explore space?”

In another context, Jyra might have thought Kip was being flippant or even sarcastic. But his misery only bolstered his sincerity. It was her turn to consider the valley while she searched for an answer. She imagined snow covering the scenery before her and how the landscape would resemble the mountains of Drometica.

Jyra remembered lifting her head from the snow after leaping clear of the doomed ship she and Craig used to escape Tyrorken. She saw people emerging from the face of the mountain to help her. Now, she glanced over her shoulder at the mouth of the hangar. The current and former resistance movements simultaneously entered her mind and she felt a smile curving on her face.

“I’m going to start my own resistance,” she said.

“Against what?” Kip asked.

“The company that killed my family and my home planet,” Jyra said. “Unlike the first movement I served, mine will destroy the entire corporation.”

Kip nodded slowly, taking the whiskey back and tipping the flask almost vertically into his mouth.

“It’s certainly a life’s work,” he said. “When will you begin it?”

“Well I’ve only just thought of it,” Jyra said. “Besides, I’m still committed to this cause.”

Kip crossed his legs on the platform and released a heavy sigh.

“Don’t ignore your pain,” Jyra said gently, aware that Kip was likely only asking questions to distract himself. She had done the same thing after the tragedies in her life. Kip gave a stiff nod and bowed his head, staring at the flask in his hand.

Jyra scooted away from the edge of the platform before she got to her feet. She gave Kip’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“We’re still here,” she murmured, as she walked toward the hangar elevator. She remembered telling herself that on Valiant Conductor II. Even at a dark moment, the notion still brought her comfort. The sting of whiskey on her tongue seemed to seep into her brain. She hoped that, in some way, her presence had been useful.

As she stepped back in the elevator, Jyra recalled she had been trying to go somewhere besides her room for her own safety. Kip had enough going on right now that she didn’t want to burden him. She smiled as she thought of their kiss, though she felt guilty after understanding what motivated it.

The whiskey had also pushed discussing the captain of Orasten from Jyra’s mind, which was probably for the best. She wasn’t prepared to admit her involvement in killing someone who was likely Kip’s relative. He mentioned he had a brother and, upon recalling that information, Jyra felt her stomach contract.

The elevator doors parted, revealing a group of people spilling from a room off of the main cavern. Some were either overwhelmed with grief or rage as they split apart, heading for different parts of the base. Jyra crossed to the room, hoping to find Serana inside.

She sat at the center of three tables, arranged in a U formation. Jyra had never seen Serana’s face so pale. Her hands rested on the table, also drained of color. Chairs were scattered against the wall or otherwise tipped over.

“How’d it go?” Jyra asked, walking up near one of the tables.

“I need to see my father,” Serana said, slumping further in her chair.

“Is it all right if I come along?” Jyra asked. She hoped she didn’t have to explain not feeling safe in her room. Serana didn’t look as though she could take more bad news.

Serana opened her mouth and Jyra could tell she was going to say no. But instead she nodded.

“Sure,” she added with a hollow tone. “I told you to keep your distance from me, but I could use some forgiving company.”

As they set off, Serana shook her head and clutched her hair with one hand.

“Crisis fatigue,” she muttered.

“What’s that?”

“An extreme case of despair that overrides logical thinking,” Serana said. “I know it affects me to a degree, but it’s got a firm grip on everyone that came to the meeting. Nearly all of them want rescue missions initiated now,” she said. “I tried to explain any mission would end just like the last campaign. They’re all threatening to walk away from the resistance if I don’t take offensive action.”

“Is that why you decided to invite me along?” Jyra asked. “To make sure none of them harm me to get back at you?”

“That’s part of the reason,” Serana said. “I didn’t want to scare you by mentioning that danger specifically, so I’m glad you worked it out on your own.”

She paused before they stepped through a door and Serana looked at Jyra in the eye.

“One of these days, I won’t fail you. I haven’t been the leader I should be, but I hope to change that. More to that point, I’ll overlook the whiskey on your breath for now. Next time bring me some please.”

A shadow of Serana’s usual smile flashed on her face and Jyra turned ever so slightly away as she exhaled.

“You’re dad won’t smell it, will he?” she asked, her voice etched with concern.

Serana shook her head as they passed through the door.

“He won’t be able to tell.”

Matala cowered against the wall beneath the medical equipment, clutching her wounded finger. It took almost all of Jyra’s concentration to keep the scalpel from shaking. While maintaining eye contact with Matala, she grabbed her mother’s locket and pulled it over her head with one hand.

“You’d do better to run,” Matala said, her dark eyes narrowed with hatred.

“My offer’s still open,” Jyra said.

“And your throat will be soon,” Matala said. “We still have uses for patients after they die.”

Jyra took several strides and knelt next to Matala, holding the point of the scalpel an inch from the doctor’s right eye. The blade shook in her hand now, but she didn’t care. She felt stronger as she saw Matala’s back stiffen against the wall.

“You…you don’t know what you’re doing,” Matala said, a vocal quiver distorting her firm tone.

“You’re my doctor so tell me what I’m doing,” Jyra commanded. “What did you give me?”

“It’s temporary,” Matala said.

“What did you give me?” Jyra shouted. The tip of the scalpel shook so badly it cut Matala’s eyelid.

“MS-231 ,” Matala said. She tried to lean away from the blade, but her head hit the wall.

“What is it?” Jyra demanded.

“A muscle stimulant,” Matala said. “We’ve been developing it.”

Jyra thought of Berk, remembering when he’d described what happened to him at an Allied Hospital. She had asked him if he knew what formulas or chemicals had been used to alter him and he said he didn’t know.

Jyra had told him that if the same thing had happened to her, she’d want to know what they were.

“Well I’m glad it’s not you then,” Berk said.

Perhaps that’s no longer the case, Jyra thought. Her eyes met Matala’s again. She stared into the two glistening pits; they resembled two clumps of tar.

“Have you developed any artificial eyes?” Jyra asked.

“Please don’t do this,” Matala begged. “Your personal belongings are across the hall. I can get them for you.”

She stopped talking as Jyra pressed the scalpel closer. She turned her wounded hand around so Matala could see the cut she made, still leaking blood.

“I can make that right,” Matala stammered. “Just give me another chance.”

“You can make it right,” Jyra nodded, suddenly aware of the adrenaline building near her navel. “But my parents never had another chance right before they were murdered. Someone like you doesn’t get chances.”

The moment she finished speaking, whatever energy was in her stomach cracked loose. It radiated into her limbs, surprising and rejuvenating her simultaneously. Jyra was aware that Matala had started to move, likely to escape or to attack, but Jyra was quicker. She jabbed the scalpel twice and leapt back, her mother’s locket thumping on her chest. Matala’s screams filled the room as she thrashed in agony on the floor, her world as dark as her eyes had been.

Jyra wiped the scalpel on the bedspread and hurried to the door. Her legs quaked as she walked. It was hard enough to block out Matala’s howling, let alone think about what to do once she opened the door. For all she knew, a team of hospital agents might already be lined up in the corridor, waiting to apprehend her.

Curiously, changing back into her proper clothes was Jyra’s chief concern. After all, she would certainly be detained for walking the corridors in a hospital gown, especially in this part of the facility where patients were bound in their beds. Nevertheless, she paused with her finger over the door button, surprised at the hierarchy of concerns assembled in her mind. The fear of an ambush in the corridor, perhaps even being killed on the spot, were all but inaccessible. How could finding her clothes be the top priority? Jyra took a deep breath, ignoring the sound of Matala’s fingernails scrabbling at the floor, and pressed the button.

The door slid open and Jyra slipped through it as soon as the gap could accommodate her. The corridor was inexplicably empty. The high walls were covered in dark gray paint and terminated against the exposed metal ceiling trusses. Wires and pipes wound overhead through the framework. Like the walls, everything over Jyra’s head was coated in gray. Even the long light fixtures were painted, except the lamps themselves. The floor felt solid and smooth under Jyra’s bare feet. It had been scuffed and scratched in many places, but its color hid all but the largest imperfections.

As the door continued to open to Jyra’s room, Matala’s screams and curses grew louder. Jyra heard pounding footsteps approaching from either end of the curved passage. Any moment, hospital staff were going to round the bend and see a patient standing in the hallway, dressed in a faded gown and clutching a scalpel.

Matala had said Jyra’s belongings were in a closet across the hall from her room. Jyra saw only one narrow door nearby. She tried the handle and discovered it was locked. She gave a firm tug, certain nothing would come of it, but instead, the handle came away in her fingers, cracked clean from the door. The latch still kept the door shut, but Jyra leaned against it and the entire metal door began to flex as she dug her feet into the floor.

Jyra fell out of the passage as the door gave way. She landed on her side and kicked the door shut immediately. Seconds later, multiple pairs of feet ran by. None of them noticed the door had a gentle crease extending its full height nor that the handle had been broken off.

Jyra got back to her feet and found herself surrounded by shelves of small white crates of personal effects. The closet wasn’t too large, and Jyra assumed it must just serve this floor or the nearest cluster of rooms. A single overhead fixture provided enough light to read the labels affixed to the crates. Though the ceiling was not as high as that of the corridor, the closet had been painted the same gray color.

One look at the labels made Jyra’s mouth go dry. A bar code took up most of the space on the label and several numbers were printed beneath it. Jyra suspected one of them might be a room number, but she realized she didn’t know what hers had been. Then she let out a slow breath as she caught sight of her wrist. Without a mark herself, her crate wouldn’t be marked either. On a bottom shelf, she found three crates with blank labels on them.

She pried one crate open and saw pair of boots along with a black flight suit. Jyra nearly closed the lid, before she realized this was Kip’s crate. Matala had said he was in next room over from Jyra’s, but there had been large sliding doors to the right and left so she wasn’t sure which room Kip was in. Jyra considered that she couldn’t trust anything Matala said, but she hadn’t been lying about where her clothes were stored.

Jyra found her outfit in the last crate she opened. The second crate contained only a watch that wasn’t running and it smelled a little like smoke. Her clothes had been washed in something sweet and the aroma filled the closet. She tore the gown free and dressed quickly; the door wasn’t as secure as it used to be. Jyra finished tying her boots and wadded up the hospital gown to cram into one of the cargo pockets above her knee.

Jyra pressed her ear against the door. A babble of voices filled the hall but it wasn’t loud enough to cover Matala’s screams.

“Find her!” Jyra heard her doctor yell.

Jyra knew she should stay put. She might have the strength to bend metal doors, but there were too many foes in the hallway and all she had was a scalpel.

I don’t need to fight anyone, she thought. I just need to rescue Kip.

“Get her to emergency op now,” a gruff voice commanded from the corridor. Jyra listened to the crowd dispersing. The same voice spoke again, but by then he was nearly out of earshot. Jyra thought he said something about doubling patrols.

Soon, nothing could be heard except for the hum of the closet light fixture. Jyra shoved the door open and stepped into the corridor. She crept along the curved wall until she could see the door of her room, which sat ajar. Two guards stood watch, but they were in the middle of quiet conversation.

Jyra’s fingers tightened on the handle of her scalpel. One door was right across the corridor from where she stood. Kip could be behind it or the one farther down the passage. Jyra chose the easier option first.

She crossed the hall to press the button, relieved the guards failed to notice her.

The lighting in the room beyond was dim, but the screens on the wall cast enough light for Jyra to see that the bed was occupied. She stepped inside and tapped the button to close the door. She approached the bed, keeping an eye on the camera in the ceiling.

The patient was bound as she had been. A familiar smell filled her nostrils and Jyra realized it was the same odor that emanated from the watch she had just found in the closet. She paused at the foot of the bed to stay out of the camera shot.

The build of the patient made Jyra think it was a man, but he was larger than Kip. An air mask obscured his face, but his bare scalp was easy to discern against the pillow. Large bandages covered his hands and arms. Jyra carefully raised a corner of the blanket and saw both feet and lower legs were similarly wrapped.

A screen flashed for a moment. Jyra glanced at it, and then stared harder, trying to read the name.

Tony Verral, she read. It meant nothing until she remembered his had been the last name broadcast through the base, confirming he was one of the crew on the wrecked ship. Jyra, Serana, Kip, and others had inspected the remains of the transport. It didn’t seem possible that anyone aboard could have survived. Jyra wondered if other crew members of the doomed ship were alive, but unless they were on another floor, the number of new crates in the closet squashed any hope of additional survivors, if Kip was indeed nearby.

As her eyes adjusted to the low light, Jyra noticed the swath of burns on Tony’s shoulders visible near the neck of his gown. Patches of soot were still smeared on his skin. It was no wonder his crate contained nothing but his watch; his clothes surely burned in the crash.

Jyra slipped out of the room, silently vowing to free Tony once she found Kip. Unfortunately, she forgot about the guards outside her room.

“Hey!” one of them shouted.

“It’s her,” the other guard said, taking a step forward and hoisting a rifle to his shoulder without delay.

The adrenaline reared in Jyra’s abdomen again. With calculating accuracy that outpaced the aggressing guard, Jyra adjusted her grip on the scalpel and threw it end over end. Neither of the guards reacted or indicated they even saw the weapon approaching. The guard with the rifle, however, coughed in shock and dropped his firearm as his hands went to his throat and his knees hit the floor. The scalpel blade lodged in one of his carotid arteries.

Jyra closed in on the second guard who was distracted by the crimson flowing from her comrade’s neck. She had sank to the floor to tend to him and looked up in time to catch the heel of Jyra’s boot on her forehead.

Her handgun clattered from her fingers as she slumped forward, knocked unconscious. Jyra picked it up and automatically pointed it into her old room. Several officials were inside taking photographs and cleaning up the mess near the bed. All the screens were dark on the bed headwall. No one moved as they stared into Jyra’s fierce gaze.

“Anyone opens this door,” Jyra said, hitting the button to close it, “I guarantee others will have to come clean what’s left of you all off the floor, too.”

She moved onto the next room and opened the door. The lights were just as bright as Jyra remembered from her accommodations. Several people were inside, too. They weren’t documenting damage, but rather preparing to move the bed.

“Where are you taking me?” a familiar voice demanded. Kip thrashed on the mattress against his bonds. A fresh cut near his right eye oozed blood. The fine gash seemed as though it had been carved with a scalpel.

“Somewhere safe,” one of the movers answered, fussing with one of the casters.

“I hope that means you’re taking him out of this facility,” Jyra said.

“What’s she doing here?” one of the bed movers asked, alarmed.

“I thought she fled the ward,” a third said.

“Only speculation,” the first bed mover said, standing up from his wheel and raising his hands to shoulder height. “But she’s clever, this one. It seems as though Matala gave you more of a dose than she should have.”

“Jyra, what are you doing?” Kip asked. Though he’d previously been clean shaven, Kip now wore a beard that had at least five days of growth, renewing Jyra’s fears of how long they’d been in the hospital.

“The drug actually gets more credit for the actions,” the man said. “It just needs a body. This body has no idea how to handle a gun. I can tell the way 231 holds this pistol, though. Passable but cumbersome.”

“Who are you?” Jyra said.

“Zeers, chief researcher,” he replied. “Moving patients isn’t one of my usual responsibilities, but this whole building is locked down to aid in the search for you. Tasks must be completed by those close at hand.”

“If everything’s locked down, where are you taking him?” Jyra asked, tightening her grip on the pistol.

“Somewhere safe,” Zeers repeated. “And if you try to harm or stop us, we’ll send your friend into a coma from which he’ll never recover.”

Another mover held up Kip’s IV tube. A syringe was already loaded in the manifold, a thumb prepared to press the plunger.

Jyra swallowed as the sound of a shotgun blast surfaced in the memory. The guard fell from the ladder, dead before he hit the floor.

Jyra shook her head and squinted at the man with the syringe. Then she looked back at Zeers.

“I couldn’t risk that,” she said, staring at his ratlike eyes.

Zeers smiled.

“231 isn’t always rational–” he began, but the shot from the pistol made him squeal.

The syringe lay on the floor, the plunger driven in as far as possible, the needle stuck firmly in the manifold. The IV tube hung over the bedrail, but stopped three feet above the floor where the bullet severed it. The bed mover with the syringe had fallen on his back, blood leaking from the wound in his chest.

Jyra fired three more times, leaving only herself, Kip, and Zeers alive in the room. Kip was gaping under his whiskers, clearly at a loss for what to say. Zeers slumped to his knees as Jyra advanced on him.

“I’ll tell you everything about 231,” he said. “I know everything there is to know about it.”

“I don’t care,” Jyra said, aiming the pistol at Zeers. “And don’t try to make some deal with me. Did you see the last staff member who tried? Because I promise she can’t see you.”

“What do you want?” Zeers asked.

“I want you to help my friend and I escape.”

Zeers shook his head.

“Impossible. I-it’s locked down,” he stammered.

“Or you can die here,” Jyra said. “You’re a chief researcher. You’re smart enough to make the right choice. In fact, you’re smart enough to join the resistance. Isn’t he, Kip?”

Jyra glanced at Kip, who, although startled, appeared mildly dazed by the proceedings. He peered over the edge of his bed at one of the corpses.

“Of course,” he answered. “As long as he gets us out of here.”

“Perfect,” Jyra said, before addressing Zeers. “Release him.” She jabbed the pistol toward the chief researcher.

Zeers clambered to his feet and unfastened the straps that bound Kip to the mattress, careful to keep his eyes off of his fallen colleagues.

“Don’t worry about your friends,” Jyra said. “Matala informed me that even the dead have uses in a place like this.”

Zeers didn’t answer but glared at the camera in the ceiling.

“They are watching us,” he muttered. “We won’t get far.”

Kip climbed awkwardly out of bed. He swayed in place for a moment before shuffling forward several paces.

“Just a little sore,” he said, with a tight smile.

“I hope that’s the worst of it,” Jyra said. “Are you okay, overall?”

“I think so,” he replied. “What about you?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” Kip said, his eyebrows raised. “Last time I saw you, your leg was barely healed. Suddenly, you come bursting in to free me, with an assassin’s aim. What did they give you?”

“A muscle stimulant,” Jyra said. “But I can’t explain it all now. We need to move if we’re going to get out of here alive and we need to get Tony as well.”

“Tony?” Kip said. The dazed, bedridden expression returned.

“Tony Verral,” Jyra said. “He’s probably the only survivor of the fried transport we examined. First we’ll get your clothes back.”

After a quick stop by the crate closet (Jyra thought it best not to mention who bent the door) the trio entered Tony’s room. Kip looked more like himself in his flight suit, despite his beard. Zeers moved with a stiffer gait, likely because Jyra kept prodding his spine with the pistol.

Once they reached the bed, Zeers leaned down to engage the wheels on the bed frame.

“I assume you took out the guards in the hall back there,” Kip said in a low voice while Jyra kept her weapon trained on Zeers. She nodded.

“Strange,” Kip said. “You’d think their absence from radio traffic would attract reinforcements. They’d at least send someone to see about the lack of check-ins. Plus someone knows you just helped me escape my room. They have terrible response time.”

“Well, let’s hope they wait a little longer,” Jyra said.

“Can’t argue with that,” Kip said, placing his hands in his pockets and surveying Tony through the gloom.

Zeers got back to his feet and began maneuvering the bed under Jyra’s command. The group reentered the curved corridor.

“Nearest exit?” Jyra asked.

Zeers hesitated and Jyra raised the gun so swiftly the chief researcher whimpered.

“Don’t even think of lying to me,” Jyra said. “If we get caught, I’ll make sure you die first.”

Zeers guided the bed to the right with his head bowed. Only the sound of their footsteps echoed in the sweeping passage. Jyra felt her heartbeat more in her ears than her chest. Just when it seemed as though they were going to have made one large loop and followed the curving walls back to where they started, a pair of doors appeared ahead. Jyra made Zeers go through first.

The moment Zeers opened one of the doors, the cacophony of sound reminded Jyra of the attack on the TF complex. The whine of overloaded engines, the rumble of heavy artillery mixed with the higher pitched notes of gunfire, people screaming, and the crash of shattering glass all filled the passage at once. Jyra nearly dropped the pistol.

Kip recovered his senses first and rushed forward to hold the other door open. Zeers cowered as kept his door ajar. Kip pulled Tony through so Jyra could keep her gun trained on the chief researcher.

The hallway beyond was the same height as the curved passage, but the walls and ceiling and were finished with white paneling. The new passage ran perpendicular to the curved corridor. Large floor-to-ceiling windows replaced the paneling at each end of the hallway. The nearest window was only twenty paces away and everyone, except Tony who was still unconscious, gazed through it, transfixed by the scene outside.

Through the dust and smoke billowing in the wind, at least five ships were visible. Jyra guessed she was on the third floor, based on the buildings across the street, which were harder to see than the ships. A severed girder crashed against the window and cracked the glass. Zeers jumped, tripped over the door, and fell.

“This explains the lax security,” Kip said. “I’d say they are quite preoccupied with outdoor activities. We need to get out of here before the whole place comes down.”

Jyra cautiously approached the window. She held the gun at her side, but didn’t bother guarding Zeers for the moment; he hadn’t returned to his feet since he fell. Kip might be right about the possible destruction of the building around them. Another piece of debris hit the window with a loud snap that made Jyra flinch.

She leaned forward anyway, careful to stay as far back from the window as possible. While Kip made an important point about their safety in the building, Jyra wasn’t about to rush outside into the middle of a mysterious battle. From here, she had some perspective of the street below and could make a better plan of where to go once they walked out of the hospital.

Unfortunately, the street was hardly visible through the patchy clouds of dust. A bulky cargo ship, bearing the Allied Hospital seal on its bow, hovered over the street, like a vast blimp. Jyra caught sight of cables hanging beneath it. From where she stood, they looked like tiny threads, and the soldiers using them to descend to the street seemed no larger than ants.

Serana had been right. The hospital security was more of an army. Jyra estimated at least five hundred troops swung free of the cargo ship and disappeared into the dust. She wasn’t sure where they were headed, but a fresh explosion redirected Jyra’s attention skyward.

The ships that had been visible outside the window when she had first entered the white hall were locked in battle, more than twenty stories in the air. Three of the transports similar to the one Tony had been in were attacking another Allied Hospital cargo ship and a modified gunner, also marked with the hospital seal.

Jyra was almost certain the resistance was in control of the three transports. The trio worked together, exchanging fire with the gunner and taking shots at the cargo ship whenever possible. The large clumsy ship seemed to be trying to return to street level, but it couldn’t descend while it hovered over the tall building. Jyra just noticed a plume of smoke coiling from one of the cargo ship’s engines, when something else hit the window and the glass gave way, fragments littering the hall floor or tumbling toward the street.

The wind hit Jyra, bearing the acrid smell of smoke and burning steel. Concrete dust filled her nose and she staggered backward as Kip called her name. Jyra made her way to the group.

Zeers still crouched on the floor. Jyra pointed the pistol at him and ordered him back to his feet.

“The resistance is out there,” Jyra said. “Also a cargo ship might crash through the roof at any moment. Quickest way to the nearest exit that doesn’t put us out on that street?”

“No need to ask him,” Kip said, nodding at the window. “It’s broken which compromises lock down.”

Jyra remembered Serana explaining how the resistance often freed patients from the hospitals by extracting them through windows.

“So we just need to get a ship here?” Jyra said.

“We need a radio for that,” Kip said. “Find an isolated frequency.”

“The guards,” Jyra said, her nerves pulsing as they stood in the windy hallway. “Go back and get one of theirs.”

She kept the gun on Zeers as Kip went back the way they had come. Jyra hoped the corridor remained clear and empty for him.

“You’ve got a way out,” the chief researcher mumbled, edging toward Tony’s bed. “You certainly don’t need me.”

Jyra cocked the pistol and re-aimed. Zeers raised his hands again and fell against the wall.

“If you are the best researcher they’ve got, they may as well turn you into a patient,” Jyra said, stepping toward him and away from the window. “This isn’t 231 with the gun, it’s me. I’m still talking to you, which means we haven’t escaped the building. In fact, I wasn’t kidding about you joining the resistance. You’re coming with us. Start by scouting for a nearby ship. We’ll see if we can target it with the radio.”

Zeers approached the shattered window at gunpoint. His footsteps crunched as his shoes pressed the shards of glass into the carpet.

“I don’t know what ship to look for,” he said.

The door behind Jyra crashed open as Kip fell inside, clutching a radio, his face beneath his whiskers whiter than the wall paneling. At the exact same moment, Zeers cried out and fell backward, as a spray of blood appeared near his left shoulder.

“Guards!” Kip gasped.

“I’m hit!” Zeers squawked, his right hand clasped over his left collar bone.

Jyra rushed to Tony’s bed and wrenched a bar from one of the rails free. She thrust it through the pair of door handles as several bodies struck the other side of the doors. Jyra pulled the bed toward the window, crouching low after what happened to Zeers. The chief researcher rolled on the floor, hyperventilating as his blood ran upon the carpet.

“Relax,” Jyra said. “We’ll get you patched up, but not if you bleed out first.”

The guards pounded on the doors, which hardly swung open before the rail bound them shut. Kip crawled after the bed and turned the radio on, hastily scanning channels.

“Stay back,” Jyra warned him. “Someone is targeting the window.”

Even she dropped to her knees as several bullets blew holes in the ceiling. Zeers continued thrashing on his back, grimacing and hissing through clenched teeth.

“Any luck?” Jyra hollered.

“Interference!” Kip replied. “Signals are jammed all over the place. Whatever’s happening out there is big.”

Jyra leaned against the wall and tucked the pistol into her belt. Zeers was in no condition to cause any disruption now. The guards smashed the doors again. The bar held fast.

“Might have something,” Kip said.

“Get the word out,” Jyra urged, glancing up at Tony, who remained in his deep coma.

“Kip here, Kip here!” Kip shouted into the radio. “Locate my position!”

He stared up at Jyra and shook his head.

“Lost it,” he muttered. “Jammed.”

The guards hit the door again and fired a shot through the gap. It struck the opposite wall, but Jyra saw the bar beginning to bend.

“How many guards?” she asked.

“Plenty,” Kip said, scanning with the radio again. “Ten or fifteen.”

It wasn’t possible to hold off that many with one pistol. Jyra wondered if she and Kip might escape out the window. Even if they could climb the building facade, either a stray or deliberate bullet would find them.

The bar bent further and one guard shot it. The bullet ricocheted but furthered the crease. Several more strikes and guards would spill through the doors. The shots across the hall also kept Jyra and her party from exiting through another door at the opposite end of the hall.

Jyra crawled forward and pulled Tony’s bed against the wall near Zeers, whose efforts to relax seemed to be focusing his attention to his breathing. She beckoned for Kip to come to her side.

He shuffled over, but the left the radio behind.

“It’s nearly dead,” he explained over the roar of the wind and battle. “I can’t search for channels anymore.”

Jyra’s throat constricted. She no longer felt her heart beating nor the sweat upon her palms. She wondered if Dario had known that he was going to die before it happened. Her parents hadn’t been granted such an opportunity.

Who will speak of their memory when I’m gone? Jyra thought. She never imagined she would face her death at twenty-five, but each crash of the doors weakened the bar.

Kip leaned against the wall with Jyra. He gazed past her at the destruction beyond. Then he lifted his arms and pulled the flight suit sleeves back from his wrists.

“At least they didn’t mark us,” he said.

Jyra thought she heard a voice far away as she smiled to acknowledge Kip’s remark, when the doors burst open. The occasional shots the guards fired into the hallway tripled and Jyra closed her eyes.

But something wasn’t right. Despite the slew of gunfire, she felt no bullets striking her. Kip tapped her on the shoulder and Jyra turned to see a ship hovering by the shattered window. The cargo door was open and four people stood with guns, spraying the hallway with bullets. Several guards were already dead as they lunged straight into the onslaught.

Jyra pushed off the wall, stood up, and rolled the bed toward the ship. The shooters nodded at her and kept firing as the guards attempted to counterattack, but the doors provided ineffective cover.

Kip grabbed Zeers and hauled him after Jyra. Two people stepped from behind the shooters to help Jyra lift the bed over the threshold. Jyra didn’t recognize them; she only assisted to bring Zeers and Kip aboard. Then the cargo door slid shut, the gunfire ceased, and Jyra felt the ship silently accelerate beneath her, leaving the hospital behind.

 

The glare of the lights penetrated her eyelids. She would have blocked the imposing beams by placing her arm across her forehead, but she couldn’t lift her hand.

Jyra realized she was lying on her back, so she turned her head to the side and blinked. A wide cuff circled her wrist. A strap secured the cuff to a rail that ran the length of the bed. She could barely touch her thigh before the strap lost all its slack. Her other arm was similarly bound.

Jyra squinted against the lights, wishing they would go out. Then she felt rain striking her face as missiles and mud filled the air. She saw bullets plugging the soaked grass in front of her and heard Kip’s voice. She saw his face, muddy and swollen from where Fritz punched him. The lights grew brighter overhead, wiping Kip from view, and then Jyra remembered the scouts. Next, she realized where she must be.

A flare of panic erupted near her navel as Jyra returned her attention to the cuff at her wrist. She carefully rotated her arm, inspecting the skin. The cuff interfered with her search, but as far as she could tell, no one had given her a mark like the ones Serana and Berk bore on their wrists.

Jyra instinctively tried to touch her neck, but her restraints wouldn’t allow it. Even without the aid of her fingers, she could tell her mother’s locket no longer rested on her chest.

She looked right and left, glancing at the blank walls. The hum of electrical apparatuses and the faint glow of a screen distracted Jyra, but they were all mounted on the wall above her head and it would take too much effort to try to see them.

In desperation, she used her elbows to push herself up to survey the floor. Only then did she see the chair in a corner. Someone had washed her trousers, socks, and shirt, and left them folded on the chair. The locket sat on top of the pile of clothes.

Jyra sank onto her pillows, her breathing short and shallow.

Knowing the locket wasn’t lost eased her anxiety, but it didn’t get her any closer to putting its chain around her neck again. During her struggle, Jyra noticed her ankles were bound as firmly as her wrists.

“Think,” she said, gritting her teeth.

For a moment, she wished she had Dario’s dagger, though if it was on her when she was captured, it wouldn’t have been left within her reach.

She stared at the ceiling, wishing she could retrieve her last memories before she woke up here.

An IV penetrated her arm just above her wrist and a tube ran from the needle to the wall behind Jyra. She jerked her shoulder, trying to dislodge the IV, but it was no more successful than her attempts to break the restraints on her extremities.

A latch clicked across the room and Jyra heard the sounds and murmurs of people passing in the corridor outside. It reminded her of the noises in the Allied Resistance base. She propped herself up again and watched a woman step into the room and press a button on the wall. The door glided shut, cutting off the sounds of the corridor beyond.

The woman’s black hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a white blazer with white slacks—they nearly matched the color of the walls. Her eyes appeared darker than the crude oil Jyra used to see in the open pit mines on Tyrorken. The woman’s skin was, if possible, paler than her outfit.

She approached with short, brisk strides, her hands clasped across her stomach. Jyra had the sense this woman intended to get what she wanted and wouldn’t tolerate anything or anyone impeding that desire. As the visitor stood over her, Jyra silently swore to stymie the woman whenever possible.

The woman placed her fingers on the side rail of the bed and made a long sweeping gaze from Jyra’s toes to her face. Jyra stared back, unblinking.

“How is Drenal?” the woman asked.

Her voice was calm. She seemed to purr rather than speak. Jyra did her best to focus on the sound of the woman’s voice rather than the meaning of the words, which clearly took her by surprise.

How does she know who he is, she thought. They can’t have captured him, the transport got away.

“There’s no need to play games,” the woman said, tapping her nails on the side rail. “You have nothing to hide.” The woman paused and fixed Jyra with a glare so fierce, it felt as though it forced Jyra’s eyes out of her face to the back of her skull. “Because if you do have something to hide, we’ll find it. We always do. Today’s secrets become tomorrow’s common knowledge.

“Then again, I’m not sure why you’re being so defensive,” the woman said with a sigh, pushing back from the side rail and swinging her arms past her hips in some pathetic display of casual indifference. “I just asked how Drenal, your doctor, is doing.”

Jyra only stared.

“Surely you know he used to work for the Allied Hospitals?” the woman said, walking away from the bed, still letting her arms glide like pendulums.

“He was very talented. The only trouble was he made sure everyone knew it.” The woman suddenly turned and slammed a hand down on Jyra’s injured leg, clutching it with fingers that felt like claws.

Jyra couldn’t help but jump. At the same time she saw the woman’s wide eyes flick to the unseen wall. Jyra realized the heart monitor, and likely other data reports, would betray her.

“There’s no need to play games,” the woman repeated, her grip on Jyra’s shin grew stronger.

“I can tell you’re confused so I’ll explain what’s going on. We know about the resistance. We know Drenal is involved, we know he’s your doctor because of the dressing on your leg.” The woman released her grip and pushed away from the bed with another sigh.

“No one else wraps like that. Many of my colleagues here remember Drenal so don’t think for a moment your going to claim he didn’t treat you.”

She glared at Jyra again.

“For that matter, don’t think you get to sit there in silence during your stay. We’ll get something out of that mouth. They’ll either be your words—” the woman leaned toward Jyra’s face and grasped the IV tube between her pale thumb and forefinger—“or your screams.”

She rubbed the tube for a moment before retreating again.

“It may just be fluids to keep you hydrated for now,” the woman continued. Then she smirked. “Not that I’m confirming that’s what it is. For all you know it could be the beginning of our interrogation process. I know we have a whole host of other substances we could introduce to your veins. Some of them might kill you outright, but if we balance the bad with the good we can keep you in a perfect equilibrium of two extremes: vital function and catastrophic pain.

“Then again,” the woman said, swiveling on her heels, “maybe it won’t even come to that. Perhaps there’s some leverage closer at hand. Maybe even in the next room over. Who is your companion?”

Jyra only answered with a vacant expression.

“Don’t pretend I’m making this up. Drenal is your doctor and this other man is connected to you in some way if only because you two were collected together. Or did you two just meet in a forest clearing as renegade ships were taking off?

“Maybe you want to explain why one of our agents punched your buddy in the face? Our scouts picked up the body and a DNA scan showed your friend had some residual skin cells from Fritz’s fist on the large facial bruise.

“We don’t miss anything here,” the woman said. “We pay particular attention to what our patients care about. It might not be Drenal, or your friend.” She paced toward the chair. “But maybe it’s right here.”

She leaned down and plucked Jyra’s boots off the floor. She held them up and Jyra stared before the woman dropped them.

“I didn’t think so. What about this?” She raised a fist and Jyra, feeling despair fall over her like another blanket, saw her mother’s locket swinging at the end of its chain.

The woman opened it and surveyed the photos within for a moment.

“How precious,” she purred. “How much you must treasure this.”

She stepped forward and Jyra’s stare faltered.

“Family matters to you, especially since yours is dead and this all you have left of them.”

Jyra felt her hands turn into fists. This woman wouldn’t break her.

“Of all the difficulties to cope with, death of close family is one of the most challenging,” the woman said. “Not long ago, my sister Eldred turned up dead in one of the coastal forests. We suspect someone from the resistance murdered her based on the bullet  we found in her.” The woman paused and locked eyes with Jyra.

“I’m going to go ahead and guess that you know nothing about Eldred or anything else I’ve mentioned.”

The woman clapped Jyra on the shoulder and walked toward the door, swinging the locket in her hand.

She turned as she pushed the button.

“We’ll meet again,” she said. “If you choose not to cooperate then, we’re going to proceed in one of two ways: we’ll start by either destroying one of these precious photos, or we’ll begin removing parts of your brain. Whatever direction we go, by the time we’re done, you’ll never see the faces of your family again, in these photos or in your mind.”

The door slid shut, leaving Jyra in stunned, terrified silence. She hadn’t felt this helpless since her brother died. Thinking of Dario reminded her of her parents. I could have saved them, but I didn’t act fast enough, she thought. When faced with a challenge, Jyra usually had been able to act. The rage she felt toward her parents for forcing her to work at Tyrorken Fuels caused her to run away. The initial helplessness in the wake of Dario’s death became a catalyst for action once she reached Drometica. Despite the challenges of that TF resistance, Jyra was always able to tell herself that, at least in some way, her involvement meant she was fighting back.

Now, she was imprisoned and isolated in a hospital room. She felt the knots in her forehead as she struggled to think of a plan. That woman had taken her mother’s locket. She had to get out of this bed. This is what she wants, Jyra said, failing to ignore her panting. She wants me to panic.

Her chest rose and fell, her breaths coming in sharp gasps. Her throat suddenly felt dry and then it burned. Jyra coughed and tried to swallow large gulps of air, desperate to douse the dry patch with saliva. Even then, the burning persisted. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t soothe the searing itch and the coughing began in earnest.

Jyra forgot where she was. She was no longer bound in a hospital bed. She wasn’t even on Silanpre. She was back home on Tyrorken. The memory took hold of her consciousness. A massive dust storm swept before her and ravaged everything in its path. People rushed to get indoors. Jyra was nearly ten years old at the time, playing across the main road beyond the trees. She ran back to her street and only reached the front walk when the first wave of dust struck.

She happened to inhale the moment the airborne dirt surrounded her and the coughing fit that followed brought her to her knees. Like a parched traveler crawling toward a trickle of water, Jyra scrambled for the house. She coughed so hard blood vessels ruptured in her eyes and her saliva tasted like iron. She collapsed against the door and fell sideways, limp on the porch. Her father, fortunately, heard the noise, opened the door, and pulled her inside. Ever since then, Jyra had been well aware of the deplorable air she grew up breathing.

Now those memories only made things worse as she coughed in bed. One of the machines behind her started beeping. She automatically tried to raise her hands to cover her mouth but the restraints held fast. As she tugged and pulled, it occurred to Jyra that when the woman touched her on her wounded leg and shoulder, she had felt no pain.

A second round of beeping joined the first. Jyra strained her neck against her pillow, trying to see the source of the noise. She looked straight up and saw half of a sphere mounted on the ceiling. Inside it, Jyra saw the small lens of a camera, rotating as it zoomed in on her face.

That explained how the woman had noticed when Jyra searched for her locket. Unfortunately, the presence of the camera did nothing to ease Jyra’s coughing fit. The door to her room slid back again and this time two people entered. They wheeled a tray before them. They were completely covered in blue suits made of some thin material that rustled as they moved. Only their eyes stared back between the masks that shielded their faces and the hoods that covered their hair.

One of them grabbed the back of Jyra’s neck and tilted her head toward the ceiling while the other dumped a cup of water down her throat. She coughed most of it up, but the burning in her throat lessened.

The gloved fingers released her neck. Jyra spit the rest of the water across the bedspread and exchanged a glare with the two pairs of eyes upon her.

“You’re a quiet duo,” she said. “Nothing to say?”

One of the medics turned the cart around and headed for the door. Jyra heard it opening and the sound of the hall beyond. Without a word, the remaining medic backhanded her across the face.

The stinging sensation lingered on her cheek.

“Why?” she gasped, but the medic only struck her again.

Jyra blinked the gathering moisture from her eyes and saw the medic watching her with a steady gaze.

“Where is the base?” the medic asked. The voice belonged to a man.

“I don’t know this planet. What base are you–”

He slapped her again.

“Children play games,” the medic said. The mention of games made Jyra think of the woman with the black hair. “Do I look like a child to you?” His face swooped close to Jyra’s as he spoke. He smelled of sanitizing solution. The odor reminded her of the disinfectants used in the treatment rooms at the base.

Jyra shook her head and he pushed himself away from the bed.

“You don’t look like a child to me either. Now that we have an understanding, don’t play games. It just makes things harder…for you.”

The medic drew a syringe from the pocket of his suit. He popped the plastic safety cap free and picked up Jyra’s IV tube. Jyra thought of the threats the woman made earlier as the the medic guided the needle into the tube manifold and emptied the contents of the syringe.

*

Jyra awoke with a start. She felt the cuffs tighten around her wrists and ankles. Sweat covered her back, soaking through her gown into the sheets. Images of her family filled her mind as she stared around the room. Her father had been so close. She felt his thick fingers close around her arm, pulling her from the dust storm. She lifted her head as her mother sank beside her with a full glass. The water within had a yellow hue, but it didn’t matter. Anything to drown the dust would do.

The chill of sweat brought her back to the room. The relentless glow of the lights overwhelmed her. Jyra tried to focus on the camera in the ceiling, but everything seemed blurry.

“It’s hard isn’t it?” a familiar voice asked.

Jyra tried to sit up to face her directly, but she no longer had the strength.

The woman appeared above her again. She hadn’t changed since the last time Jyra saw her: the pristine suit, the bun of black hair, and the bottomless eyes of darkness set above cheeks as white as the bones beneath the skin.

“Who are you?” Jyra snarled, furious that her lower lip trembled as she spoke.

The woman brought her face within a foot of Jyra’s and smirked. Jyra thought her teeth looked sharp enough to chew through her wrist cuffs.

“I’m your doctor,” the woman whispered. “And my patients always do what I say.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you,” Jyra said, trying to ignore a surge of pain that threatened to knock her out. “Give me some space or I’ll make some for myself.”

“Empty threats,” the woman said. “Though we know you’re a fighter. You put up a struggle when they brought you in. We ensured you wouldn’t remember what a fool you made of yourself. Not that it matters. There’s very little you can do in with your present bindings. You can barely touch your hands together.”

The woman stopped talking. Jyra realized it was a pause that preceded bad news. The woman reached into a rear pocket of her suit and the locket swung from the her long fingers, dangling over Jyra.

“If you ever wish to touch this precious necklace again, your going to cooperate now.”

Though closed, Jyra could see all the photos the locket contained. Nothing but memories, she thought. Don’t throw away the future for the past. She wondered if Leonick had made any progress developing his time machine.

“Or,” the woman said as she reached into her waist pocket. “If this no longer convinces you–” she tossed the locket onto the bed–“maybe this will change your mind more than an IV ever could.”

The woman held a scalpel before her. The handle and blade both seemed longer than most. Jyra had only ever seen a scalpel once before when she got stitches for the cut on the back of her hand.

The woman pulled the plastic protector off the blade.

“This is my favorite tool,” she said. “Other doctors favor larger instruments of persuasion, but this can deliver the precise amount of pain I’m looking for, especially for a patient who knows what I want to know.”

The woman seized Jyra’s right hand so the back of it faced the lights and Jyra’s eyes widened.

“Already one scar here,” the woman said, running the tip of the cold blade along the uneven flesh. “I don’t suppose you’d mind another.”

The woman moved the scalpel an inch to the side of the scar and pressed the blade through the skin.

Jyra inhaled deeply and bit back the desire to cry out. She thought of Dario and his dagger, wishing she had it in her hand right now.

Then she suddenly remembered something Dario had said while working on the tree house in their parent’s backyard. They were running short on lumber, and when Jyra mentioned this, Dario shook his head dismissively.

“It’s never so bad that you can’t make the best of what you’ve got at hand,” he replied.

Jyra opened her eyes mid-grimace and smelled the woman’s breath. She had her face impossibly close to Jyra’s again, her eyes staring hungrily at her patient as she dragged the blade.

“Tell me everything you know about the resistance,” the woman ordered.

“If you hate games as much as you claim, you should be ashamed to be part of the biggest one on this planet,” Jyra gasped. “And I told you to give me some space.”

The movement of the scalpel ceased and Jyra seized her chance. She threw her head back into her pillow and used the rebounding momentum in her upward trajectory. Her forehead struck the woman in the nose. Jyra heard the crack of the woman’s ankles as they collapsed sideways, rolling in the high heels.

Jyra sat up and brought her hands as close together as possible. The scalpel tilted out of the flesh of her right hand and the handle fell into the waiting fingers of her left. She managed a clumsy grip, but it was enough to slice through the cuff on her right hand. The scalpel shredded the fabric and Jyra cut her other hand and her feet free in moments.

One of the woman’s hands closed on the side rail of the bed. Jyra kicked the blanket back . When the second hand gripped the rail, she aimed the scalpel and jammed the blade through one of her doctor’s fingers.

The woman screamed. Jyra barely held onto the scalpel as the woman wrenched both of her hands off the rail. She clambered out of bed, ignoring the blood that rushed from the back of her hand and the dull throbbing in her forehead.

Jyra stood over the woman, holding the scalpel in front of her and trying to keep her hand steady. Blood flowed from the woman’s nose and wounded finger. Once she saw Jyra’s bare feet she began scuttling away, but Jyra followed with the scalpel.

“You won’t get out of here alive,” the woman said.“Once they see what’s happened.”

She nodded toward the overhead camera. Jyra realized she might be right, but decided she’d rather die trying to get her locket than letting some stranger use it against her. Now the stranger sat defenseless at her feet.

“I didn’t kill your sister, if Eldred was indeed your sister,” Jyra said. She couldn’t see any similarities between the two of them. “What’s your name?”

The woman paused, but Jyra felt confident that, this time, the answer wouldn’t herald her immediate suffering.

“Matala,” the woman said, cowering on the floor.

“Had I followed Eldred, she would have brought me here,” Jyra said. “If she brought me here, I’d hope that she’d suffer as I have suffered. I shudder to think what happens to the patients of yours who have no information to offer.”

Jyra felt herself stalling. She didn’t even realize she was thinking nor that she was speaking.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Jyra said, trying to latch onto reality. “You get us out of here and I’ll lead you to the person who killed Eldred.”

At the very least, Jyra thought she might discover if Matala and Eldred were related based on how seriously Matala considered the proposition.

Instead, Matala clutched her nose. The blood stained the collar of her pale suit. She glared at Jyra.

“If I refuse?” she asked.

“Then I return the same favors you’ve given your patients, beginning with the rest of your face,” Jyra said, brandishing the scalpel. “Maybe I’ll start with your eyes.”

 

“Jyra Kyzen.” Serana switched off the microphone and replaced it on the hangar wall. Jyra sank further into her chair, hoping no one would ever hear her voice played back.

This hangar was much larger than the one she had visited that morning. It wasn’t much wider but at least four times the length. The center of the hangar was kept clear for service traffic. At this hour, many mechanics had retired for the evening. Four ships were parked on the left wall while three stood on the right.

“This way,” Serana said.

Jyra followed her toward the mouth of the hangar past the line of four ships. Her breaths were short and her heartbeats seemed to echo all around her, reverberating through the cavernous room. Serana glanced back at Jyra and saw her knuckles locked around her wheels, the color draining beneath the skin.

“This ship made it back today,” Serana said, knocking a fist against its hull as she passed it. “We’ll return, too.”

Jyra nodded. She had been through so much. What was different about this mission? Flying into a forest to rescue people seemed much more straightforward than bombing the TF complex.

“I know,” Jyra muttered thickly. Her tongue didn’t want to leave the base of her mouth. This would be easier if I wasn’t in this chair, she thought. Between her feelings in the control room earlier and departing for the mission, Jyra felt more inconvenienced than ever by her wounded leg.

As they neared the end of the hangar, voices obscured the tromp of Serana’s boots.

Three people stood next to a ship that, compared to the others in the hangar, seemed rather small.

“We’re taking this?” Jyra said, hoping her voice didn’t betray her doubt and fear.

“I wouldn’t take anything else,” Serana said with her usual smile before turning to the group.

“Thank you all for coming,” she said. Jyra circled around to join the others, two men and one woman. She parked next to a man who glanced down at her. He was dressed in a black flight suit. The color matched his short hair and eyebrows. His eyes were wide set, but his endearing smile eased Jyra’s fears.

“Ditch the wheels,” he said. Though Jyra hadn’t seen his face before, she recognized his voice.

“Del?” Jyra said, staring at him. His voice sounded different without the hazard helmet altering it.

“Kip Deleanor,” he said, extending a hand. “That’s my full name.”

“Jyra Kyzen,” Jyra said. “That’s my full name.”

Kip nodded and lifted something from behind his back.

“Serana thought you’d want this.”

He passed her a crutch. Jyra couldn’t help but laugh. She accepted it and placed it under her arm. Kip helped her out of the chair and Jyra stood with the rest of the team. She was still nervous, but most of her fears remained with the chair that sat empty on the hangar floor.

“Everyone, this is Jyra,” Serana said. “You’ve met Kip and this is Rina and Fritz.”

They exchanged brief nods before Serana pressed on in a much more serious tone.

“We are initiating a mission to recover all passengers and crew of transport Emarand Liberation. A report indicates enemy rounds damaged the ship and forced an emergency landing. No casualties, though several passengers have medical conditions that require constant treatment. Drenal went with the mission and is doing all he can to assist passengers, but they’ve been on the ground for seven hours at this point. Two hospital scouts are sweeping an area fifty miles north of Emarand Liberation’s location as I speak. They’re closing in.”

“I assume the scouts are too close to send in a ship to collect everyone and abandon Liberation,” Rina said. Jyra noticed one of her fingers compulsively twisting through the ends of her blonde hair.

“Correct,” Serana said. “We can fly in undetected, but the closer the scouts get, the easier it is for them to see us. And because they are scouts, you can bet they’ll investigate any abnormal reading they detect. Liberation has to get out on her own. The scouts will see her, but that’s where we come in.”

“Radar knockout?” Fritz grunted. He was larger than Kip and the deep lines on his cheeks made it look like his frown never left his face.

“Indeed,” Serana continued. “Liberation will get beyond our blast zone and we ensure the scouts get close enough then we can disable their navigation and radar.”

“Any details on what’s wrong with Liberation?” Jyra asked.

“One of the pilots hiked an hour or so away from the crash site to contact us so the signal wouldn’t give away his position to the enemy,” Serana said. “He only got a quick look before he left, but the control lines to the starboard engine were definitely blown away. They lost a stabilizer as well. Aside from that, we don’t know. Any other questions?”

Everyone shrugged or shook their heads.

“All right,” Serana said. “Let’s load up.”

“You’ve got repair parts?” Jyra said, limping up beside Serana.

“Everything we know we’ll need,” Serana said.

“Where’d you store it?” Jyra asked, giving the ship a skeptical look.

The top of the ship curved down toward the cockpit and sloped to the two exhaust ports at the rear. The twin engines attached to pivoting brackets on either side of the ship. A pair of stabilizer fins attached above each engine. The cabin door slid back into the hull, revealing a cramped hold with four chairs and a narrow passage to the cockpit.

“You can say the ship’s small if you want to,” Serana said.

“It just doesn’t look like it’s right for the mission.”

“It was designed for it,” Serana said. “She’s a modified stunt skiff called Detritan. Some of the other ex stunt pilots and I came up with the idea. Stunt skiffs are ideal for gathering intelligence and evading pursuers. Detritan is built a little larger to accommodate crew and supplies. She’s not quite as nimble as a true stunt skiff, but she’s still one of the fastest planet-bound ships we have.”

Jyra managed to clamber into the cabin with some assistance.

“You’re in the cockpit with me. Injured person’s privilege,” Serana said. The others had already taken their places in the compact cabin on the small chairs complete with bulky harnesses. Fritz took up more room than anyone and looked twice as uncomfortable. Jyra wondered if he’d volunteered for this mission or if Serana had coerced him into it.

Jyra limped and ducked into the cockpit. She glared at the harness on her seat as a spasm of pain seared through her shoulder. It won’t happen again, she thought.

Serana flipped three switches and the low whine of the engines coughed to life from the stern. Jyra studied the cockpit, partly to figure out the controls and partly to find a place to stow her crutch. This cockpit looked similar to the ship she had inspected with Serana, Graze, and Kip.

“Sorry,” she said. Serana gave her a curious look as Jyra wedged the crutch between the foot of the console and the rear wall and took her seat. “I have only a general idea of what a stunt skiff is.” It seemed a lifetime ago Berk had explained many stunt pilots lived on Silanpre.

Jyra decided nerves must trigger Serana’s smile. Ever since they entered the hangar, the corners of Serana’s mouth were upturned. They twitched now and then, but it seemed as though she had no choice but to keep grinning.

“It’s smaller than this,” Serana said, taking the cyclic between her knees. She eased the lever away from her and the engines roared. The howl filled the hangar and Jyra was sure the noise would wake half the base. How is this considered a stealth vessel?

Jyra’s skepticism must have registered on her face, because Serana laughed and leaned toward her.

“Don’t worry,” she hollered. “It quiets down once the engines heat up.”

Black smoke billowed around Detritan, coiling and twisting in thick clouds.

Jyra coughed on the smell of the fumes as she identified the nav computer and brought it online. Serana continued preflight procedures and handed Jyra a scrap of paper.

“Punch that in,” she said.

Jyra glanced at the paper and chuckled.

“These don’t look like coordinates.”

“Encrypted,” Serana said. “Standard coordinates in a nav system are easy to hack. Just enter them as they’re written. The ship knows what to do once we’re clear of base interference.”

Jyra tapped the appropriate keys, green lit up the monitor, and the computer set a course.

The engine noise disappeared so abruptly, it seemed as though the whole ship shut down.

“Close the door!” Serana commanded. Kip obliged and Serana glanced at Jyra.

“Now we’re ready,” she said. “Hang on. You’ll never have more fun flying in anything else.”

She pulled two levers back and Detritan shuddered as the launch thrusters fired. Jyra watched the floor of the hangar fall away from the cockpit as the ship rose toward the steel ceiling trusses.

“Watch that beam!” Jyra shouted, stiffening in her seat.

The words had hardly left her mouth before Serana leaned forward. The launch thrusters cut out and Detritan lurched ahead, dropping away from the ceiling and tearing toward the hangar exit.

The floor filled the view from the cockpit. Jyra plunged her fingers into the armrests, certain she was about to rip the upholstery loose.

Serana leaned back, taking the cyclic with her. Detritan leveled out, its belly nearly skimming the last stretch of the hangar floor. Serana brought the ship under the rollup door into a dark cave beyond.

Detritan’s lights reflected off jagged slippery boulders below. The dingy walls and roof of the cave huddled in shadow. Jyra only caught glimpses of what lay beyond. She couldn’t believe Serana was flying at such speed in close quarters. Jyra tried to keep her eyes shut. Flying Berk’s pod out of the mountain on Drometica had taken seconds. This cave never seemed to end.

“All clear,” Serana said.

Jyra opened her eyes to see damp walls no longer surrounded them. The congregation of stars arranged themselves overhead, casual observers of the forest and mountains below Detritan.

“How did we leave the base?” Jyra asked.

“Through an old lava tube in one of the mountains,” Serana said. “Detritan’s too valuable to be left outside.”

Jyra could barely see the trees beneath them. In the open air, Jyra saw what Serana meant about the near total silence of the engines. Kip and Rina were chatting and their voices alone made it hard to hear the purr of the ship.

“How long until we get there?” Serana asked, keeping the cyclic locked in place.

Jyra checked the monitor.

“Just under an hour,” she said. The number suddenly dropped, then increased. “Hold on.”

“It’s the mist,” Serana said. “Sorry. We need to wait for a moment.”

She glanced to the south. The sky was even darker there, but a distant flash of lightning illuminated the thunderheads.

“The clouds are coming in from the ocean,” Serana said. “Hopefully we don’t get caught in that.”

As Detritan flew west, however, the storm hastened its approach. Jyra didn’t like the prospect of fixing Emarand Liberation in a downpour.

“Couldn’t we shoot down the scouts to gain enough time to get a rescue ship to fly everyone off Liberation?” she asked. Serana shook her head.

“We’ve crossed swords with the enemy too much for one day,” she said. “Every interaction is a risk. The hospital might acquire something that leads them to us. We blow them out of the sky, other ships will take their place. It’s time to give stealth a shot.”

Serana descended until they cruised two hundred feet above the forest. The nav computer finally generated an accurate reading.

“Forty minutes away,” Jyra said. “How fast are the scouts moving?”

“Depends how thoroughly they’re scanning,” Serana said with a shrug. “We might get a visual on them before we land.”

“How close are we?” Kip called from the cabin.

“Forty minutes,” Serana replied.

“I suppose my leg can stay asleep that long,” Rina said.

Fritz only coughed.

*

“Looks like we’re beating the storm,” Jyra said.

“We’d better be,” Serana said. “If we weren’t traveling across its path, we’d have left it behind long ago.

Jyra tapped the monitor as a wave of interference passed across it. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, but before she could say a word, Serana spoke, her voice tense and sharp.

“Hold on everyone!”

Jyra gripped her seat as Serana sent Detritan into a steep dive. The trees below stood still in the tranquility that preceded the storm. Serana brought the nose of the ship up, returning to a cruising course less than fifty feet above the forest canopy.

“Over there,” Serana said, pointing.

Jyra stared toward the hills that replaced the mountains. She had to scan the ridgeline for a few moments before she saw them. Under the stars, two ships each cast a bright white beam of light. They moved methodically, crossing back and forth in front of the other, combing the ground below.

“Liberation is on this side of those hills, right?” Jyra asked.

“It’d better be,” Serana said. “What’s the computer say?”

“Five minutes from the crash site,” Jyra said. “And we need to turn further north.”

“Perfect,” Serana said warily. “That brings us closer to the scouts.”

“Does anyone on Liberation have a radio we can use to reach them?” Jyra said.

“Even if they do, we can’t use it,” Serana said. “Those scouts are already too close. They might hack the signal. Speaking of that, kill the computer.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Serana said. “Take it offline. They might detect it.”

She nodded toward the patrolling beams of light.

“We have to finish the search by sight?” Jyra said, as she shut down the nav software and prepared to switch off the computer. Serana only nodded, her face grim in the dim lighting of the cockpit.

“I plan on being the finder, not the found tonight,” she said.

Detritan decreased speed as Serana limited the fuel supply to the engines. Nearly all the navigation functions were mechanically controlled on stunt skiffs. The cyclic repositioned the engines by way of the pivoting brackets. Tugging a cable activated a set of flaps on the larger pair of stabilizers. Cutting fuel to one engine, while flooding the other allowed the pilot to make sharper turns.

Jyra leaned forward, the better to survey the forest slipping by beneath her. Both she and Serana saw breaks in the forest ahead, but they proved to be either empty clearings or lakes.

“Anything yet?” Kip asked.

“Negative,” Serana replied.

Based on the speed with which the flight began, Jyra didn’t think she would ever have to worry about Serana flying too slowly. Now, however, Detritan’s nose bucked several times, as the ship fought gravity.

Serana gunned the engines enough to turn to the left to sweep over the forest in a new direction.

“Doesn’t hurt to look around,” she muttered. “The computer only gets us in the general area.”

They changed direction again. Jyra realized they were circling back to where they broke off from their original trajectory. Fritz coughed again.

“Keep your eyes open,” Serana said.

A gust of wind surged from the south, bending the trees and pushing Detritan toward the scouts.

“There!” Jyra said, pointing. She couldn’t tell how the trees shifted, but several red lights had been visible beneath the foliage for a moment. Serana brought the ship even lower. Jyra felt the treetops brushing the belly of the skiff. Detritan glided sideways, and the crash site appeared below.

“They must have dropped straight down,” Serana said. “They didn’t leave a landing trail through the forest.”

She took her ship into the clearing, drifted over a small patch of clear ground, and cut the engines. Detritan fell and the launch thrusters caught the skiff at the last moment so that it settled lightly on the forest floor. As the crew assembled outside, they saw two people approaching from Liberation.

A few emergency beacons on the crashed ship were the only source of light, save the stars. From a distance, the ship looked like most of the hospital transports the resistance had stolen.

Rina jumped up and down several times, trying to normalize her circulation. Fritz had an arm inside his jacket. For a moment, Jyra thought she saw a muted red flash reflect off his jacket sleeve. Kip saw it, too.

“What are you hiding?” he asked. Jyra couldn’t tell if he meant the question to be sarcastic or serious, but Fritz didn’t answer.

Instead, his arm lashed from his side, punching Kip to the ground as he wrenched his other arm from his jacket. Jyra’s eyes went wide as she staggered on her crutch. The object in Fritz’s jacket was only a little larger than his hand. A small red light flashed on one end with a frequency Jyra recognized as the rate of a transmission. Fritz was sending his position to someone.

Both Rina and Serana charged at him. Fritz lobbed the transmitter across the clearing. Rina turned, mid-sprint, and planted her feet. Simultaneously, her hand flashed to her hip, pulling her gun loose. The transmitter flipped end over end, the edges glittering in the starlight. Rina fired once. Just before the transmitter plunged into the trees, the bullet blew through it. The red light went dark.

Fritz seized Serana as she plowed into him. He exploited her momentum, using it to flip her over his shoulder and throw her to the ground. Kip kicked from where he lay; his boot crunched into Fritz’s knee. Fritz grunted as he collapsed. His hand caught a nearby tree and he started to pull himself back up, but Jyra had closed in on him by then.

Careful to keep her weight off her injured leg, she gripped her crutch like a sword and struck Fritz in the face once, then twice. His arm clutching the tree went limp from the second blow and he fell face first onto the grass.

Rina helped Serana to her feet. Jyra replaced the crutch under her arm before offering Kip her hand. His cheek was already swollen and he looked dazed as she pulled him up.

“Another spy,” Rina said and Serana nodded, rubbing her back.

“My fault,” Serana said. “I was in a hurry. He didn’t show undue eagerness or fear. They’re getting too good at fooling us. Nice shot,” she added, nodding at Rina. “By the time we located the tracker in forest, the scouts would be on us. If they aren’t here in thirty seconds they didn’t get our location.”

“Is everyone okay?” a voice called. The adrenaline from the struggle had pushed the Liberation crew from Jyra’s mind.

“All clear now,” Serana called. “Approach.”

A flashlight beam flared as two men stepped into view behind Detritan’s engines.

“Pilot Terrance Higgs,” the first man said before indicating the shorter man with the light. “This is my copilot, Dirk Mallard.”

“Serana Makrinn, pilot of your rescue mission,” Serana said. “This is Jyra Kyzen, mechanic, Kip Deleanor, mechanic, and Rina Dranas, security.

“Who’s the ground man?” Dirk asked, aiming the flashlight at Fritz’s body.

“Spy,” Rina said. “I blew his tracker to pieces, hopefully before it beamed our entire position. Cover your ears.”

She stepped forward, gun in hand, and put two bullets into Fritz’s back.

“If his tracker did give us away, they weren’t listening. Let’s get to work,” Serana said, after the last echo of the gunfire faded. “We don’t have much time. Jyra, you can’t carry much of anything. Head to the ship now and begin assessing the damage. Everyone else grab supplies.”

Liberation was ten times larger than Detritan. The moment she limped around the skiff, Jyra could see the dents and smeared soot on the hull of the fallen ship from across the clearing. Once she stood beside it, she saw the engine control lines hung loose as reported, mangled just forward of the cowling. Only the twisted stabilizer mount remained. The emergency beacons didn’t provide enough light for Jyra to examine much else.

The voices from the main cabin distracted her. The door was ajar. She considered looking inside, but she heard the others approaching. Serana and Kip dropped a refurbished stabilizer on the grass.

“We’ll need a ladder,” Kip said.

“Or two,” Jyra said, looking at the stabilizer. It wasn’t heavy, but it would be rather ungainly for one person to handle. Except for Fritz, Jyra thought. Why did he have to be a spy? And why did Rina say “another spy?” What did Serana mean by them fooling us?

The blast of Rina’s gun sounded in her memory. It gave way to the voice of the guard in the shipyard on Drometica. “Converge on number nine’s position! Intruders! Repeat, intruders!” Despite the professional tone, Jyra still heard fear in the guard’s voice. The crack of Berk’s shotgun shook her skull. Even in her thoughts, it drowned out the sound of Rina’s pistol. Jyra clamped a hand to her temple, reacting to the dull thud of the guard’s lifeless body landing on the floor of the engine room.

I wonder how Berk is doing, she thought, trying to push the memories away. She didn’t have time to be thinking these things. Her thoughts about Rina killing Fritz as he lay unconscious threatened to overwhelm her, but she clenched her hand on her crutch with such force it felt like her palm would blister.

A drop of rain struck her face. Rina dumped two toolboxes on the grass and passed Jyra a headlamp.

“You’ll have this ship flying in about ten minutes, right?” she said. She smiled and returned to Detritan to haul more supplies. How is she able to joke right now? Jyra thought, pushing her hair back while strapping the lamp around her head.

One toolbox contained tools and a variety of ship parts filled the other. Jyra dug through the parts box as the sparse raindrops struck her arms and the back of her neck. Despite the storm she experienced when she arrived on Silanpre, the feeling of rain had lost none of its novelty.

At the bottom of the box, her hand closed on a tin canister. She unscrewed the cap with trembling fingers.

“Control lines,” she said, pulling the end of the armored flexible tubing from its package.

“Excellent,” Serana said, falling to her knees as she set a supply crate down. She crawled forward eagerly, shining her headlamp into the parts box.

“Those should be the right diameter,” she said. “We’ll still need the splice couplings. They’re in there somewhere. I’m going to check out the bottom of the ship.”

Serana flopped onto the ground, facing the sky. As she prepared to pull herself under Liberation, she winced. When Fritz deflected her attack, she had landed squarely on her back.

“You all right?” Jyra asked. The glow from her headlamp reminded her of the white beams of lights from the scouts and she fought to ignore a sudden jolt of nerves.

Serana’s eyes gleamed against her eyeliner in the light of Jyra’s headlamp.

“Just another day,” she said, before sliding under the ship. “Get those lines hooked together!” she added just before her feet disappeared.

Jyra uncoiled the roll of control line tubing. It felt as though her hands were pulsing with her heart. Her fingers felt warmer than usual as she cut the lines to length. She caught sight of the scar on the back of her hand in her peripheral vision. First day of work, Jyra thought. That’s what I get for rushing.

Kip set the last supply crate on the grass behind her with Rina’s assistance.

“Give me a hand,” Jyra said, crouching awkwardly on the ground as she slid the splice couplings onto the control lines.

Rina strode forward from the crate toward the ship. She tugged the door back and curious faces poked into view. Several children held their hands out to feel the rain. Thunder echoed in the distance.

“We’ll get you on your way soon,” Rina said, as the people near the door began murmuring questions. Jyra saw most of them surveying the sky. The trees hid the scouts for now. Once they were visible from the crash site, it would be too late.

“Are you in charge of this mission?” a voice asked, but Jyra recognized it.

“Drenal?”

His face came into view, his eyes twinkling in the dull light of the emergency beacons, his smile as wide as ever. When he turned toward her, Jyra saw a deep gash on his forehead. Streaks of dried blood congealed above his eyebrow.

“Are you all right?” Jyra asked, abandoning the last control line on the grass.

“I’m a doctor,” Drenal said. “I can deal with it. How’s the leg?”

Jyra glanced at it and shrugged.

“Feels better since you rewrapped it,” she said.

“That’s my specialty,” Drenal said. “No one knows wound dressings better than me.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Jrya saw someone tugging Drenal’s sleeve and he retreated inside the cabin with a small smile.

“Wrenches,” Jyra said, talking herself back to the task. Kip had already trimmed the ends of the mangled lines so they were ready to bond with the couplings. They tightened the compression fittings over the splices to reconnect the lines.

“Ready to check engine control,” she said. “We need to start on the stabilizer.”

“Hold off on power up tests!” Serana called. “We’ve got trouble under here and we don’t need any circuits getting fried.”

“Not too much trouble, right?” Rina said, jumping out of the cabin. “Those scouts will pick up their sonar waves bouncing off the hull if they get much closer.”

“Hard to say,” Serana said. “We’ve got exposed and severed wires.”

Jyra’s leg prevented her from scurrying under the ship to check the damage herself.

Just as well, she thought, holding one of the lines while Kip tightened it in place. One thing at a time. Finish this and move on.

Kip stepped off the ladder to pick up the next control line. His forehead crinkled as he twisted the couplings. He gave Jyra a small smile, his black eyebrows lifting slightly.

“Once you’ve got that last connection tightened, you can prepare this last line here,” he said.

“How much time do we have?” Jyra asked.

“Not much,” Rina said from above. “They’re moving to the east.”

Rina had been checking the ship’s cabin moments ago. Now, she stood on top of Liberation, her eyes fixed to the north. Her blonde hair shimmered against the gathering gray clouds.

“The east?” Dirk the copilot asked. He walked around the nose of his crashed ship.

“Correct,” Rina said.

“Good,” Dirk said. “I left a distraction behind.”

“What is it?” Rina said, refusing to break eye contact with the scouts.

“I hiked away from the crash site before contacting base,” Dirk explained. “After reporting our position, I dropped a transmitter when I headed back to the ship. That’s probably what they’re tracking.”

“Fritz almost did the same thing to us,” Kip said. “Except he was on the wrong side. Good thinking, though,” he added to Dirk. “You bought us some time.”

Dirk nodded, then turned away when Terrance called him from inside Liberation.

At the mention of Fritz’s name, Jyra heard the gunshots that killed him again.

“How many spies make it into base?” she asked.

“Couldn’t say,” Kip said. “Once they’re in, though, the mist scrambles any transmitters or locators they might try to use. We have stations near the base outside the dead zone to boost our radio traffic in and out. They are mobile and moved often to avoid detection. It’s an isolated system only a few people can access. If a spy is caught trying to contact the Allied Hospitals from base, they get treated much worse than Fritz.”

“Wouldn’t the hospital notice all their equipment losing contact in the area around the base?” Jyra asked.

Kip shrugged as he secured the control line to the hull.

“Most of them would enter the dead zone in ships with shielded cabins in transports like this,” he said, knocking a fist against Liberation and tucking his ratchet into one of his many pockets. “They can’t transmit from inside them either.”

“What if the Allied Hospitals locate base?” Jyra said.

Kip bit his lip then beckoned for the control line Jyra had fitted with the splice couplings.

“If they find it, they’d better have the wisdom to keep their distance,” Kip said. “We have no record of any enemy ships getting anywhere close to us.”

Jyra suspected Kip didn’t want to discuss the matter further. Serana reappeared from under the ship. Thunder growled with a low, extended note. Serana eyed the sky and shook her head.

“Seems I’d be happier under the ship in a couple minutes,” she said, brushing dirt and grass off her legs.

“Really?” Jyra said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s better down there than out here?”

“Not a chance,” Serana said. “I need to grab fluid to refill these lines. There’s a light at the work area down there. Soldering iron and solder should be in one of the toolboxes. Get busy.”

By the time Jyra located supplies, the rain had started in earnest. Jyra didn’t realize she’d paused to feel the drops, until Rina reported the scouts were returning to their standard course.

Jyra crawled under the ship, pushing her tools before her. The glare of the work light negated the need for a headlamp. The smell of smeared grass and dirt mixed with the acrid stench of overheated steel and scorched wires.

Jyra reached the work area and saw what Serana meant. Three panel covers were missing, which allowed several low voltage cables to spill from the confines of the ship like entrails. Liberation had landed on a fallen tree. Unfortunately, the ship hadn’t made a perfect vertical landing as Serana had supposed; it had skidded on the trunk, dragging its wiring right through the pinch point between bark and hull. Jyra noticed insulation from the wires clinging to the lichen in the downed tree.

With a heavy sigh, she rolled onto her back, switched on the soldering iron, and got to work. She could hardly hear the shuffling footsteps in the cabin over the rain drumming on Liberation’s hull.

A plume of smoke billowed from where the tip of the solder touched the heated wire. The smoke coiled and spread against the underside of the ship. Jyra remembered walking into the shed behind her parent’s house to find Dario bent over circuit boards with a soldering iron. The smell in her memory mingled with that of the cooling solder before her.

Jyra worked fast, clutching the two severed ends of a wire together, heating the conductors, and applying the silver bond. Despite her speed, she had only repaired a quarter of the cables when the cuffs of her trousers grew damp as the rainwater advanced under the ship.

Something heavy hit the ground with a splash beside Liberation. Several curses followed the sound and Jyra realized Kip and Serana must have dropped the stabilizer.

“At least it’s waterproof,” Kip said, as he bent to retrieve it.

By the time Jyra moved onto another cluster of small wires, both of her calves were soaked. A cramp developed in her wounded leg. Thunder roared again. The smell of the heated solder filled Jyra’s nose. Water pooled around her elbows, running in from the opposite side of the ship. The grinding noise of an impact gun rose over the thunder and rain.

The moment Jyra started on the last wire, something heavy hit the ground again. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Rina scramble out of the mud. She must have jumped from the top of the ship.

“They’re heading right for us!” she yelled, as another round of thunder covered her words.

Two pairs of feet struck the mud next to the legs of the ladders positioned near the aft end of Liberation. Adrenaline drove its icy knife through Jyra, colder than the water soaking into her clothes.

“Jyra!” Serana shouted. “Tape up what you’ve soldered and get out of there!”

Jyra dropped the iron, which hissed in protest then shorted in a puddle.

“I don’t have anything to reattach the panel covers!” she yelled. Serana fell to her hands and knees to look at Jyra. Her eyeliner streaked her cheeks and her wet hair swung around her face.

“Don’t worry about that!” she said. “You’ve done enough to get this piece of junk in the air. Just tape everything up so no wires get crossed!”

Jyra began binding up the soldered joints as Serana commanded. While wrapping the second to last connection, her skin brushed a bare conductor and her muscles locked. The wire carried live current.

Her head and slipped sideways and a puddle was rising around her lips. The first thing Jyra registered was the soldering iron, half submerged next to her nose.

Then a hand closed around her good leg. That’s right, one of my legs still hurts, she thought numbly. Kip’s voice returned her to reality.

“WE NEED TO MOVE!” he bellowed.

Jyra was drenched. She opened her mouth to speak, but only coughed, spewing muddy water. Kip tugged on her leg and she slid a few feet.

I almost drowned in a puddle, she mused to herself. No one had to worry about that on Tyrorken.

Then she regained full comprehension of what was happening. Rina’s warning about the scouts and Serana’s command echoed in her ears.

“I didn’t finish yet!” Jyra protested.

“It doesn’t matter!” Kip replied. “We’re under attack!”

Jyra felt him dragging her from beneath Liberation. The work light remained behind. In its fading glow, Jyra saw a white burn on her index finger. They powered up the ship without telling me, she realized with a surge of anger. The electrical shock could have killed her.

Suddenly, the hull began to vibrate and a roar, louder than the thunder overhead, filled the clearing.

“What’s happening?” Jyra shouted, feeling another rush of adrenaline course through her.

She couldn’t hear Kip’s reply but read his lips just before the work light blew sideways, shattering its filament: “They’re taking off!”

Liberation lifted into the air. The launch thrusters pinned Jyra to the grass and made it feel as though her eardrums were about to burst.

A missile streaked above the trees faster than the shooting stars Jyra used to watch from her parent’s porch on Tyrorken. It missed Liberation, but Jyra noticed sparks flying from the cables she’d partially repaired. Just make it to base, she thought fiercely.

“Move!” Kip said. Her stood over Jyra with a hand outstretched. He pulled her upright and held her arm around his shoulder. They ran for Detritan, but couldn’t see it through the downpour, nor could they see the second missile.

A cloud of fire, water, and mud materialized as the projectile detonated on impact with the ground. Jyra screamed and Kip automatically collapsed, pulling her down with him, knocking her headlamp free. Metal and soggy earth tumbled around them. Jyra never heard the explosion, but the whine of Detritan’s engines filled her ears instead.

“Wait!” she shrieked, but Serana and Rina were already in the air. Another missile struck where the modified stunt skiff had just been. Jyra struggled to her feet, waving her arms at the departing ship.

“Get down!” Kip shouted, but it was too late. The same beam of light Jyra had seen from afar fell upon her.

She sank onto the mud, shielding her eyes against the glare, which grew brighter. Jyra tried to crawl, but bullets struck the earth right in front of her. Kip seized her leg again and she turned to see him shaking his bruised and mud-spattered face.

“It’s no use,” he said, his eyes blinking away the rain. “They’ve got us.”

The skin beneath the cast was intolerably warm and moist. Jyra kicked the bedspread back with her good leg. She sat up in the darkness and dug her fingers beneath the rigid armor that kept her tibia immobilized.

It had taken several weeks underground before Jyra was used to the absolute darkness while she slept. The brown clouds of Tyrorken had been visible, night and day, except during dust storms. Even the evenings in the mountain on Drometica hadn’t prepared Jyra for the utter solitude she experienced in her recovery room. The noise of traffic in the hallway rarely reached her ears.

Serana had shown her around the base as promised. It was far larger than Jyra could have imagined. Tunnels extended into the very foot of the mountain for miles. Excavation never stopped; additional space for equipment and people was always needed. The resistance on Silanpre had been active for twenty years, recruiting members, expanding their base, and fighting the Allied Hospitals.

“What exactly does the resistance target?” Jyra had asked, as Serana wheeled her out of one of the main control rooms.

“We use a number of tactical strikes and, depending on the circumstances, we can rescue certain patients,” Serana said.

“How do you determine which patients to rescue?”

“Usually we just need enough information. For example, if someone has a friend or family member taken into the hospital, they can provide details about the patient’s condition and location in a facility. If the patient’s room is above the ground, we can assemble a team to break them out.”

“A ground force?”

“By air,” Serana said. “Fly in, blow open the wall or, if we’re lucky, a window gives us access. Get the patient onboard and get out. It’s getting trickier though. The last time we tried, the hospital shot the team down.”

“The hospital has that kind of the artillery?”

“When I say they’ve taken over, I mean it. The hospital security force dominates local police all over Silanpre. We’re up against a private entity with unlimited resources and its own army.”

Jyra rubbed her leg in the darkness, thinking about the conversation. Despite the daunting challenge of opposing the hospitals, everyone she saw in the corridors moved with purpose, smiling at people they recognized and even laughing.

This is what Tyrorken needed, she thought. This many people to fight for it that believed they could succeed. She stared at the ceiling she couldn’t see. Somewhere above, her home world still spun. Jyra relaxed back onto her pillow, wondering if Tyrorken still supported life.

Sleep came and went. Jyra rolled over, smelling the food before she saw it. Once she turned on her lamp, she saw the chicken sandwich waiting on her beside table. A handful of deep purple grapes and a jug of water accompanied the sandwich.

Jyra sat up too quickly and felt the pain course between her shoulder and ribs. She ate one-handed, relishing each bite. The chicken was tender and seasoned with rosemary. The grapes were sweet and their thin skins split between her teeth. Until she came here, Jyra never had memorable meals. Now she found herself reminiscing about yesterday’s breakfast of wheat cakes and strips of bacon.

Once she finished her meal, she slid off the bed into her wheeled chair and tucked the plate on the rack underneath the seat. She clicked her lamp off at the door, remembering Serana’s request to minimize power consumption. Keeping the lights on throughout the base while protecting the location from the hospitals was no easy feat. Electrical surges had to be directed toward different parts of the base to mimic tectonic activity.

“Does that really work?” Jyra asked, after Serana explained it.

“We haven’t been discovered yet,” Serana had said.

Jyra wheeled through the corridor, leaving her plate in the same collection bin she visited after every meal. She knew her way through the passages, turning left, then right, staying close to the wall. Her wounded shoulder throbbed gently as she pushed the wheels. Drenal confirmed during her last visit that the muscles were healing well, but residual soreness could persist for the rest of her life.

Jyra braked next to a door and knocked. She scratched her leg near the top of the cast while she waited. Serana opened the door and greeted Jyra with a smile.

She wore a gray flight suit and a pair of worn leather boots. Her hair was pulled back and her eyes, framed with eyeliner, gleamed in the light of the corridor. Jyra hadn’t ever seen Serana without makeup and they’d spent nearly every day together since she arrived.

The walls and floor of Serana’s room were covered in clothes, sheets of paper, and an assortment of greasy ship parts. Jyra hadn’t been able to examine any of it in detail since her chair couldn’t fit in the narrow aisle that wound through the clutter.

She rolled backward as Serana stepped into the passage and shut the door behind her.

“Thanks for the sandwich,” Jyra said.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Serana replied. “It’s one of my favorites. We just got an order of chicken and some fresh produce, so I thought I’d take advantage of it.”

“Who supplies the food?” Jyra asked, as they set off toward the center of the base.

“We work with a variety of outlets,” Serana said, tucking her hands into the waist pockets of her suit. “We try to rotate through different vendors to keep the hospitals off our trail. Sometimes, of course, we take what we can get.”

“Stealing?”

Serana’s smile reappeared. “We think of it as redirecting,” she said. “The hospitals stopped transporting their goods in marked ships, but we can still identify their encrypted signal. If conditions are in our favor, our forces will take down a hospital ship and put their supplies to better uses.”

Serana’s smile widened as she fell silent. Jyra noticed then how Serana’s eyes maintained their sharp appearance, regardless of what the rest of her face expressed. They remained the same shape, never squinting or crinkling at the edges. She’s always determined to get what she wants, Jyra thought, as the passage floor became a descending incline. An unbidden thought of how the TF resistance might have operated if Serana had been in charge borrowed Jyra’s attention as she coasted deeper underground.

The lights in the corridor grew brighter as they approached the center of the resistance base. Jyra slowed down as the passage walls leaned away to either side, opening into the vast central cavern. Control panels and cubicles spread across the floor and onto rocky outcroppings on the walls. The metal banding used to brace the earth in the hallways had been reinforced with a network of steel mesh and beams all around the cavern to keep it from collapsing. Jyra couldn’t even see the ceiling of the massive chamber. Lights, power cables, data lines, and signs hung far below it, shrouding the top of the cavern in dust and shadow. The main vessel control center for routine operations sat in the middle of the cavern beneath the large banner that read Allied Resistance. The first time Jyra saw it, Serana had told her it hung in the room of the first meeting of the resistance. In such a large space it looked rather diminutive. Serana plunged into the crowd, clearing a path for Jyra, who never wished to be able to walk as much as when she entered the central cavern. Navigating through the throng of bodies was often tedious and always stressful.

Once they pressed into the first ring of cubicles, the congestion relaxed, but Jyra still had to fight the floor incline, working her wheels to keep from striking cubicles and thick cables that spilled over the dirt before rising toward the distant ceiling. They finally reached the commander’s post.

“Where are we today?” Serana asked loudly to announce her presence.

Jyra could barely see over the console in front of her but everyone behind it looked heavily absorbed in their work. One of the women pushed back from a screen, stood up, and crossed to where Serana waited. Her hair was pulled back so tightly, Jyra was surprised the woman could still blink. Her tone was no warmer than her expression.

“Hangar B,” she said brusquely. “Survey the damage to the vehicle involved in last night’s mission. Report major damage and repair minor damage as encountered. That is all.”

“Understood,” Serana said, inclining her head in acknowledgment. She clapped Jyra on the uninjured shoulder and they made for the nearest elevator on the edge of the cavern.

“She’s wound a little tight today,” Jyra said.

“She is,” Serana said, clearing a path for Jyra again. “Her brother was on last night’s mission.”

Jyra forgot about her pain as she pushed herself the rest of the way to the elevator. She immediately thought of Dario, imagining herself as the curt woman in command.

“What went wrong?” Jyra asked as they entered the elevator.

Serana didn’t speak until the doors closed, blocking the sight and sounds of the cavern.

Serana stared at the dirt smudges on the floor. “Something wrong with a mission is almost always worse than it sounds.”

Once she was strong enough after her procedures, Jyra had been working with Serana around the base. After the extensive tour, she had started helping with ship repair. Though she often couldn’t physically make repairs, Jyra found she had a knack for troubleshooting, even from her chair.

The elevator doors parted to reveal Hangar B. The smells of overheated electronics, scorched metal, acrid smoke, fuel fumes, and spent shells rushed into Jyra’s nostrils and her head swam immediately. Her fingers dug onto her wheels. Serana had cupped a hand around her own face as they stepped into the smoky room.

The bright lights pierced through the haze and Jyra felt sick for the woman in command. She pressed herself back into her chair, hoping it would bolster her resolve. The ship before her seemed more nothing than anything.

It was larger than a skiff, a simple twin-engine transport for ten people or so. Most of the fuselage sheathing had been consumed by fire. The cowling on both engines was charred and, when Jyra rolled closer, she saw they were both hollow. The turbines had been torn out. The seats in the small cabin were all battered and warped by flames. Jyra jerked her eyes away when she saw the bones of a severed hand wedged in a cracked rib of the fuselage.

The leader of the crew surveying the wreck met Serana near the cockpit to give his report. The crew was dressed in hazard suits. The helmet muffled the leader’s voice.

“We’ve been over it twice,” he said when Jyra moved closer to listen. “The reserve fuel tank was leaking everywhere. I can’t believe it didn’t ignite. The main tank fried half the ship when it went. Multiple rib fractures and deck damage are prevalent throughout.”

He paused and pulled off his helmet and gloves and set them on a nearby work table. The leader was middle aged, similar to Drenal. Jyra saw only a couple patches of silver in his otherwise light brown hair. He pushed his short bangs off his sweaty forehead and fixed Serana with his gray eyes, which were round and somber.

“Conduct your evaluation by all means, but I think we’re looking at minimal salvage here,” the leader said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his smudged suit.

“Thanks Graze,” Serana said, turning to stare into the cockpit. “I’m like to agree with you on this. Any idea what hit them?”

Graze shook his head and pointed at an empty and warped cannon mount on one of the fuselage ribs.

“The discharged shells were all onboard,” he said. “Unless an enemy projectile shot in and out of the fuselage, which is highly unlikely. All the powder traces match our ammunition. The cannon itself was gone. Nowhere near the crash site.”

Jyra rolled past Serana, circling around the front of the cockpit. The spars that had supported the reinforced glass over the pilots were still intact, but were bent and twisted. From her vantage point, Jyra was able to see the undersides of the spars, just as if she were sitting in the cockpit staring straight up. Despite the soot from the fire, she noticed a dull silver cut shining against the black on both spars. It looked as if the pilots had taken a file to the spars, but why hadn’t the fire scorched the bare metal?

“Did your crew make these marks?” Jyra asked. Both Graze and Serana came to her side.

“What was that?” Graze said. Jyra pointed at the spars.

Graze didn’t say a word but leaned up against the nose of the ship and stretched his arms inside the cockpit, placing a hand near each cut to approximate the measurement.

“Del, bring that cable we found on the cockpit floor,” he called. One of his crewmembers shuffled over. Graze pulled his gloves on again and Del handed him the cable. It was about an inch thick, and both ends were frayed from where it split from another piece. Soot covered the cable as well, except for two places where the dull gray strands still showed under the bright lights.

Graze held it up near the spars. The marks lined up with the bare parts of the cable.

“Good eyes,” Graze said. “This was the only thing we found that wasn’t part of our ship.” He shook the cable once and handed it back to Del.

“So the attackers fired a cable through the cockpit and were able to pull the ship where they pleased,” Serana said.

“Looks like Del was onto something,” Graze said. Del blinked behind the shield of his helmet and nodded.

“Damage this severe is what you’d expect from reentry stress,” he said.

“This ship is only rated for local travel, though,” Serana said. “It’s not spaceworthy.”

“I think the attackers knew that,” Del said. “This used to be a hospital transport.”

“You think they spent the time and energy to hijack this ship, pull it past the atmosphere with one of their space cruisers, and tow it back just to let the burn up destroy it?” Jyra said.

“It sounds sadistic enough for the hospital,” Serana said, before Del could answer.

“Blowing it out of the sky would have been a quick death,” Graze said. “Reentry burn up, though, isn’t necessarily so fast. Heat, pressure, asphyxiation, and organ ruptures are just a few of the ways you might die. It’s a long way back to the ground, especially when you can feel the hair burning off your arms and scalp.”

“The pilots sealed the cockpit,” Del said through his helmet. He pointed at the thick door that isolated the cockpit from the cabin. “The cockpit would have lost pressure when the cable shot through the glass.”

“I don’t know if we should salvage anything,” Serana said. “If this ship went through reentry, it’s impossible to guarantee the integrity of any part since the entire craft isn’t designed to withstand such temperatures. And anyone aboard during burn up will not have survived.”

Silence met these words. Jyra thought of the woman in command. She had no idea what happened. Her brother is dead like mine, Jyra thought.

She leaned on her wheels and began moving away from the ruined ship, absentmindedly following Serana and Graze. The sound of their voices interrupted her thoughts about Dario.

“I heard the response team initiated family protection from the site before even beginning vehicle recovery,” Graze said, pressing the button to summon the elevator.

“It takes time for the hospital to analyze remains but if they visited the wreck, they’ll have all the samples they need,” Serana said.

“What are you talking about?” Jyra asked.

“Next steps,” Serana said. “Whenever something like this happens and our people are either killed or captured, we have to move quickly to protect those closest to them who aren’t part of the resistance.”

“The hospital only needs to cross reference a few tissue samples before it can identify family members,” Graze added. “Once they have that information, the extortion, blackmail, and forcible commitment begins.”

“The stakes are higher when the hospital detains resistance members. Their families could betray us. We have to deploy missions to get family members to safe locations where the hospitals won’t look for them.”

“So the hospital knows that if it destroys one of our ships, we’ll send more out to protect family members?” Jyra said. “Wouldn’t all those extra missions from the base give away our position?”

Serana shook her head as they stepped back into the main cavern.

“We have ships stationed all over the planet,” she said. “Nearly all of them can be mobilized at a moment’s notice.”

The noise in the cavern had increased. People rushed in and out of central command, carrying folders of reports. The sound of hundreds of voices rose toward the hanging lights, echoing throughout the cavern. The footsteps of those around Jyra erased the tracks of her wheels moments after she created them.

“Tell them,” Serana said.

Graze nodded and pushed away through the crowd. Serana drew back toward the wall and Jyra followed her.

“What’s happening?”

“The name’s of the dead are about to be released,” Serana said.

Jyra couldn’t see Graze anymore, but he must have found who he was looking for, because a deep bell chimed over the speaker system, silencing the noise in the cavern immediately. The names came next, each spoken with a solemn professional tone, but each name had a different voice.

“Grant Bast.”

“Lasset Culver.”

“Colvin Fine.”

“Mitra Roke.”

“Tram Sipstron.”

“Krand Solveil.”

“Olia Tinder.”

“Tony Verral.”

Halfway through, Jyra realized each person must have made the recording at an earlier date for this specific purpose. The bell tolled after each name. When the last voice spoke through the speaker, a single wail followed, rising from central command. It was the woman, realizing she would never see her brother again. A final chime of the bell cued a moment of silence. Some people fell to their knees and placed their hands upon the dirt. Others bowed their heads in prayer, but remained on their feet. Many of them, like Serana, stared straight ahead, their eyes hard and unblinking.

The silence didn’t last more than a few minutes, but time disappeared with the bell. Jyra’s shoulder throbbed, but she did nothing to soothe it. She sat motionless in her chair, repeating the names in her head. Thoughts of Macnelia, her parents, Dario, and even Jed tried to enter her mind. She saw their faces and heard their voices in her memory, but she forced it all aside. Others need my attention now, she thought, mentally running through the list of eight again.

*

Jyra hoisted herself onto her bed that evening. Her joints ached from exhaustion and the weight of her head threatened to overwhelm her neck. She had spent the rest of the day with Serana monitoring the missions to relocate family members of the slain resistance members. Jyra was completely exhausted by the time she left the control room . It wasn’t even the main vessel command center in the central cavern. The control room organized rescue missions and surveillance runs.

The goals of the relocation work were easy enough to understand, but fulfilling them was nothing short of excruciating. The thrill of completing a mission was tempered by the crisis of another ship heading toward an ambush or other perils.

One moment, Jyra remembered Serana throwing an arm around her as many in the control room celebrated when the largest mission of the day safely reached its drop point. The laughter came easily. The cheers buoyed the mood. Then, Jyra recalled how it felt as if her stomach fell through her chair. Three transports came under fire almost simultaneously. The joy evaporated. Tight lips and frowns replaced smiles.

The wheeled chair rarely bothered Jyra as a means to travel except inside the central cavern. It was easy to move around the base by rolling and, once she got used to it, being chair-bound wasn’t that bad. That changed today.

Jyra knew that her ability to stand wouldn’t have altered the outcome of the menaced transports. Even so, the chair only compounded her sense of helplessness. Even when two of the transports arrived with no casualties reported, many in the control room, including Jyra, remained shaken. The third transport had lost radio contact. The resistance still didn’t know what happened to it. A few of its passengers had been receiving undercover medical attention, keen to avoid the Allied Hospitals.

Her leg itched. Jyra sat up to run her nails over her skin near the top of the cast. Another few weeks and Drenal would finally cut it free. She dropped the wounded leg over the side of the bed and inadvertently kicked her duffel. Jyra looked up to make sure she’d closed the door and leaned over to unzip her bag.

The blanket that had been in her quarters on Valiant Conductor II caught her attention. She had bunched it up and stuffed it in her duffel in the haste of packing. Jyra pulled the blanket out for the first time since her escape and a crumpled photo fell out. Without so much as a glance, Jyra picked it up and threw it back in her bag. She pulled out the picture of Dario and gazed at it for a moment before setting it on the bed next to her. She selected the dagger and her mother’s locket next. They sat on top of “Ships of the Kaosaam System.” She extracted the book as well, but opened the locket first.

Her parents and brother, as well as her younger self, appeared in the light of the lamp. Jyra noticed one of her teeth was missing. Her hair was much shorter in the photo. She remembered that Dario had cut her hair to look like his a few months before the pictures were taken. Sherlia wasn’t pleased, but Dario insisted Jyra had wanted him to do it. Jyra backed him up, but Sherlia didn’t believe it and had tried to alter the cut to, as Jyra remembered it, “suit your face better.”

We were siblings, Jyra thought, smiling at the part in Dario’s hair, imagining how it would have looked on her. What suited him should have suited me just fine. Without thinking, she opened the clasp and attached the locket around her own neck.

The topcoat from the mission to rescue Derek and her changes of clothes were all that remained in the duffel aside, of course, from Leonick’s gift. Jyra remembered her parents used to joke they kept their money under their mattress rather that deposit it in the TF employee bank. At least I can keep up the tradition of sleeping over my cash, Jyra thought. She pushed back a flap of the box to ensure the funds were still there.

Satisfied, Jyra returned the dagger, the photo of Dario, and the blanket to the duffel, taking care to drape the blanket over her money. She moved her tin of charcoal and toothbrush aside on her beside table to make room for her book. Jyra used her good foot to slide her duffel under the bed.

Without her money to worry her, the control room memories stole her attention instead. The moment the scene came back to her, Jyra felt her stomach clench and a chill shoot from the back of her neck to her feet. The fear came without warning. Jyra focused on taking several deep breaths, noting that she wouldn’t heal any faster if she felt stressed all the time.

Jyra had gained some confidence helping Serana analyze damaged ships for salvage and repair possibilities. Even so, she wasn’t quite sure what Serana saw in her. She placed value on Jyra for escaping from another resistance. There had to be more to it than that. She didn’t feel like a particularly valuable person to the Allied Resistance. The image of the severed hand made Jyra close her eyes, but it only brought the bones into sharper detail, so she opened her eyes again. I’ll have to develop a stronger stomach if I’m going to make it here, she thought. I need to be stronger.

If she continued to react to the atmosphere of the control room like she did today, Jyra knew she would have to avoid it. But what if other areas of the base started to trigger her, too? Her emotions had never interfered with her life in such a significant way. Her misery in the wake of her brother’s death made sense. Her feelings in the control room did not. The stress had nearly paralyzed her, preventing her lungs from filling with air and threatening to freeze her heart in her chest. Tadwin had told her to get a grip on herself when she upset as a child. Tadwin rarely discussed feelings, but Jyra wondered now if he’d been trying to suggest that she master her emotions.

She sat up with a heavy sigh. Jyra seized the back of her wheeled chair and stood, placing most of her weight on her healthy leg. Her eyes focused on the steel banding on the ceiling. The light glinting off the metal reminded her of the stars, which were scattered in the sky above her, like the tree needles blanketing the ground.

“Grant Bast, Lasset Culver, Colvin Fine, Mitra Roke, Tram Sipstron, Krand Solveil, Olia Tinder, and Tony Verral,” she spoke to the ceiling. If the Allied Hospitals had killed them as Del supposed—using reentry to tear apart a local transport—it seemed the hospitals on Silanpre were as wicked as TF. As she came to the conclusion, Jyra realized her eyes had dried out; she’d been staring at the door across the room.

The moment she blinked, someone knocked.

“Come in,” she said automatically. Serana threw the door open in a rush and crossed to Jyra in five hurried strides.

“We found the third transport,” she said breathlessly.

“Where?”

“Nearby,” Serana said. “Do you think you can come with me?”

“Where?” Jyra said again.

“To the transport,” Serana said. “You and I need to fix it.”

Jyra clutched the wheeled chair harder, half excited, half convinced Serana was joking.

“My leg…”

“I think you can use a crutch now,” Serana said. “Drenal will understand.”

“Will he?” Jyra said, raising an eyebrow. “He has to approve it first, doesn’t he?”

“He can’t. He’s stranded with the transport.”

Jyra felt an instant surge of panic, but fought against it, determined to maintain rational thinking, even though her hands shook.

“It’s dark, though.”

“We have lights,” Serana said. “We need to go now. Two hospital patrols are closing in on the crash site.”

Jyra didn’t even think as she hobbled in front of her chair and sat down.

“Take me to the ship,” she said.

“Always a woman of action,” Serana said with a small smile.

“Don’t you have other people you’re responsible for who could help you?”

“No.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the only person I’ve saved from a hospital patrol,” Serana said, pushing Jyra into the hall. “Maybe we can change that tonight. There are a few others who are coming, but I need someone who can get the transport in the air again in a hurry.”

Jyra nodded and stared straight ahead. Her hand rose to close around her mother’s locket. She gripped it until they turned the corner before tucking it inside her shirt.