Part XXV: Bound and cut

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.”

 

Part XXVI: MS-231

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.

 

Part XXVII: Crisis fatigue

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.”

Part XXVIII: Spy

The overhead lights in the room beyond were so dim, Jyra wondered why they were on at all. The earthen walls curved and twisted, eliminating any true corner. It felt like she stepped into an enormous empty snail shell. Thin banners hung from the flat ceiling. Messy piles of paper threatened to completely obscure the desk on which they were stacked. A dresser stained so dark it nearly blended into the wall hunched at the foot of a wide bed. Two nightstands flanked the even wider headboard. Jyra noticed a number of empty water bottles and medication vials on the closest nightstand.

A man reclined on several pillows against the headboard while he stared at the ceiling. Slowly, he brought his gaze to the two women. Jyra tried to keep her expression passive even as she discerned the scarred skin on his face and an eyepatch through the low lighting.

“How are you, Twenty-Six?” Serana’s father asked. “I’m glad you’re here. I was about to contact you to advise that you stay in your quarters.”

It sounded as though he had two voices mixed together. Several syllables rumbled deeply, breaking the otherwise hollow and delicate delivery. He extended his right hand toward Serana who took it in both of her own.

“I’m fine and we have a lot to discuss, but first I want you to meet someone.”

She and Jyra sat on two wooden chairs that creaked in protest. Jyra’s father sat up on his pillows and offered his hand to Jyra.

“I’m Jarrow and you must be Jyra,” he said. His voice seemed at odds with the enthusiasm on his battered face, but Jyra smiled just the same.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I heard you started the resistance.”

“Twenty years ago,” Jarrow nodded. As he shifted back onto his pillows his left arm swung into view, although it ended just below the elbow.

As though sensing her gaze, Jarrow gave a rueful sniff and lifted what remained of his arm a little higher.

“Organizing the resistance was easier when I wasn’t bedridden,” he said. “I survived something that killed many others today from what I hear. Six years past, the hospital shot me out of the sky, but all the twisted metal and fire didn’t kill me. My partner returned several rounds, took out the gun that hit me, and got me back to base to Drenal. I was sad to hear we lost him today. He was an excellent doctor and good man.”

“He helped me recover after my emergency pod crashed here,” Jyra said. Having seen what happened to Tony and Jarrow, Jyra realized how lucky she was to have walked away from two crash landings.

Serana shifted in her chair, likely as another surge of anxiety pressed around her.

“This is my fault,” she said. “If I hadn’t rushed into the rescue mission, none of this would have happened. Field reports haven’t been updated and several new cannon bunkers were overlooked because of that. Those batteries were the first to shoot our ships down. I’ve been so busy with damage control the only other thing I know is messages from scouts on the ground were contradictory.”

Jarrow leaned over to his nightstand and retrieved an oxygen mask. He took several labored breaths. Then he fixed his eye on his daughter.

“I’ve received a full briefing on the crisis already and though you organized the mission, you are not entirely to blame,” he said. “At least one, possibly two, spies gained access to your operations.”

“I thought spies couldn’t contact the hospital from inside the base,” Jyra said.

“They didn’t need to,” Jarrow said. “In fact, traffic logs revealed a command from our base that altered the fleet flight path right over those new batteries. They certainly played a part in the failed mission.”

Serana ran a hand through her hair. Her downcast demeanor switched immediately to anger and she leaned forward so quickly, Jyra thought her chair might collapse.

“Please tell me we caught them,” she said, but Jarrow shook his head.

“They’re reviewing the security footage now, but nothing has come up so far. Everyone in command is accounted for,” Jarrow said. “Search teams are ready to comb the base the moment recognition is confirmed. This is why I want you someplace secure. I’m happy you chose to come here.”

“It probably wasn’t the safest choice to hold the meeting with family members right off of the main cavern,” Serana said. “Some of the higher donor families are threatening to abandon the resistance because of this catastrophe.”

“You’re my daughter and I love you dearly,” Jarrow said, clutching Serana’s hand in his own. “But these families have a right to be angry with you. After the Emarand Liberation mission and this latest disaster, it might not be a bad idea to reassign you for some time.”

“What did you have in mind?” Serana asked.

“I was thinking something outside the base,” Jarrow said. “Something has to change and I believe this is the best possible way. When the hospitals build another battery, I expect you to be the first to alert base.”

Serana let go of her father’s hand and sat back in her chair, a skeptical expression on her face.

“You want me to be a scout?”

“I didn’t say I want you to, but I think it’s the only way to move forward,” Jarrow said. “Those donors you spoke of will continue grieving certainly, but they’ll be doing so in this base. Scouting is risky work, I know, but you might be in more danger here and I can’t protect you like I used to.”

“I came in here expecting you to turn me loose,” Serana said, rubbing her temples with both palms.

Jarrow smiled and the corner of his eye crinkled before he lurched forward, coughing heavily.

“Not long now,” he said, once the fit subsided.

“Don’t say that,” Serana said.

“All I’ve ever sought and defended is truth,” her father said. “You can’t ask me to deny it now.”

“But we haven’t won yet,” Serana said.

Jarrow stared at the ceiling, just as he had been when Serana and Jyra entered his room. He closed his eye and drew another hallow breath. After several moments of silence, he turned back to his guests.

“I never really thought how long this resistance would last when I started it. On the one hand, it’s comforting to know something of mine will last after death, but on the other—” he lifted his missing arm and the flash of Serana’s wry grin appeared on his face—“it’s hard to admit the fact that the resistance still hasn’t achieved what I set out to accomplish.”

He took his daughter’s hand again.

“I wouldn’t turn you loose,” he said. “No matter what those closest to me say, they can’t get as close to me as you. Besides, your mother wouldn’t have allowed me to kick you out.”

He leaned over and placed a kiss on Serana’s forehead.

Jyra remembered the prickle of her father’s whiskers on her forehead when he kissed her goodnight years ago. She felt her mother’s locket around her neck.

Serana ducked away from her father, smiling.

“I wouldn’t get that close,” she warned. “I haven’t washed my hair in days.”

“Not a problem,” Jarrow said. “I can’t smell anything anyway.”

A sudden beeping noise issued inside the nightstand. Serana opened the drawer and handed her father the com.

Jarrow fitted the device in his ear.

“Jarrow here,” he said. He listened intently. Serana and Jyra exchanged glances.

“Lucky enough, I have two people right here who can check into it. Thank you,” Jarrow said, before removing the earpiece.

“Dad,” Serana said quickly before Jarrow could explain, “can it wait? I brought Jyra to meet you so–”

“It can’t wait, I’m afraid,” her father said. “It was great to meet you. Please come back soon,” he added in a rush to Jyra. “But some unusual activity is going on in Hangar B. Cameras aren’t working and there’s a locker entry alarm activated. Graze is head of the deck and command can’t reach him.”

Jyra felt lightheaded from the whiskey and for a horrifying moment, she felt as though her entire upper body was revolving as she sat at Jarrow’s bedside. Then she registered what Jarrow just said.

“Hangar B!” she blurted.

“What about it?” Serana said, taken aback by the outburst.

“Kip is up there.”

“How do you know?”

“I was with him there about twenty minutes ago.”

“Well you don’t know who is there now so be careful,” Jarrow said. “Take the passage, not the elevator. You won’t encounter anyone along the way. I just need you to be the eyes right now. If something serious is happening, hit an E button. There’s no time for further discussion. Go now.”

The women made for the door.

“We’ll continue the discussion when you get back!” Jarrow called.

“Deal,” Serana said as the door shut behind her.

Serana and Jyra ran down the passage, the row of sconce lights blurring together as they headed toward the main cavern.

“Where are the stairs we need?” Jyra asked.

“To the right here,” Serana said as she led them into another passage. “This connects all the service stairs to the cluster of repair hangars. We’ll be there soon.”

“I’m glad I got to meet your father,” Jyra said. “But why did you have me come along? I felt like I was in the way the entire time.”

“I figured I was going to lose my position and I was going to suggest you take my place,” Serana said. “If this issue hadn’t come up, we’d probably be discussing it right now. I’ve thought about it the last couple days and it seems like a good idea.”

“I still don’t understand what you see in me,” Jyra said.

“I’m not exactly sure either,” Serana confessed through short, heavy breaths. “But I can’t ignore your determination. Even the Allied Hospitals couldn’t restrain you. Call me selfish, but so far the potential I see in you is all that’s going right for me.”

Jyra didn’t know what to say and then realized how hard it was to breathe. Her heartbeat didn’t seem to be confined to her chest. She felt it in her neck. Then it thudded in her head. She even sensed the pulse in her thighs as she sprinted down the curving passage.

“Here,” Serana said, squeezing the word between gasps. They paused at the base of a stairway that branched off from the corridor.

They charged up the wooden steps into the sloping shaft. The lights were spaced further apart and they stumbled several times during the ascent. Just when Jyra was about to request a break, her feet found a wooden landing and a door appeared before her.

Serana reached over and pulled the lamp from its socket on the wall so that the light wouldn’t give them away. Jyra listened as Serana’s hand glided down the door and found the handle. The women slipped into the hangar, but heard nothing. They crouched behind several large scrap bins, checking for suspicious activity beyond. The eerie blue lighting cast its bizarre shadows upon the walls. Jyra couldn’t tell if Kip was still out on the platform.

A rustling sound drew their attention to the left side of the hangar. A shuttered door had been lifted and someone was feverishly working underneath it. Then the figure began tugging. Something heavy slid across the floor. Jyra stared hard and saw handlebars silhouetted in the blue light. Though much smaller and simpler than Berk’s, it was definitely a personal transport pod.

“Whoever it is, they’re trying to leave the base,” Jyra whispered.

Serana nodded and glanced around them. She crawled toward an E button mounted on the wall, but as she reached for it, her arm bumped a pipe sticking out of a scrap crate. The clang hardly reverberated in the hangar before a gunshot superseded the noise. Sparks flew above Serana as the bullet blew the E button apart. Both women froze in place, but Jyra’s mind did the exact opposite.

The person looked too tall to be Kip and—Jyra smiled as she thought of it—their hair wasn’t glowing. Besides, if Kip was such a marksman, Jyra would have let him handle the firearm back in the hospital.

Several tense moments of silence followed after the gunshot noise faded. The rumble of the pod, however, filled the hangar next. Just over the chugging engine, Jyra heard metal sliding against metal. She looked over to see Serana drawing the pipe that provoked the shot from the crate.

Jyra didn’t have a chance to stop her. Serana leapt from behind cover, holding the short length of rigid water pipe like a sword.

She became a silhouette herself. Jyra watched as gunfire flashed again, but the bullet missed; Serana bore down on the mysterious figure. She swung her weapon and struck the firearm from the shooter’s grasp. Jyra selected her own fragment of pipe as the figure leapt away from Serana. In the blue light, their adversary looked like a middle-aged man, his shadowy features set against his dark, graying hair. His clothes were dark, a long sleeve shirt and slacks. They advanced and he circled around, leading them back toward the stairway door. Then he turned and ran, giving himself time to reach the bin to pull out a scrap weapon of his own.

“Three can play this game,” he said, cocking the pipe to his right side in a defensive pose.

Serana and Jyra glanced at each other, both immediately understanding neither had sparred before.

“You aren’t authorized to be here,” Serana said. “Let alone attempting to fly out of this hangar. You know that is a serious breach of security.”

“We can debate the second and third statements, but the first is definitely false,” the man said.

“Kill the pod,” Serana said, nodding at Jyra. “I’ll watch him.”

Jyra backed toward the idling machine, keeping her eyes on the man. She bumped against the seat and groped for the key, keeping her weapon ready. Her fingers didn’t find what she was looking for and she pivoted quickly to search by sight. The key was located lower than she expected and she turned it.

Just as the pod engine wound down, Serana cried out. Metal crashed on metal. Jyra pushed off from the pod, whiskey obscuring better judgment as she charged toward the fight.

The two pipes reflected blue light and black shadow. Serana shuffled backward, blocking every attack as the man drove her toward the mouth of the hangar, striking with such force that both pipes bent on contact.

In a brief moment of clarity, Jyra tried to come up behind the man while he was preoccupied with Serana, but he spun about and blocked a heavy blow Jyra brought over her shoulder. She fell back and the man continued attacking Serana.

“Give it up,” the man growled, between strokes. “Two of you haven’t stopped me yet.”

Jyra mounted a fresh assault, but the man somehow blocked the simultaneous blows by his assailants again.

“You won’t beat me in my own hangar,” he grunted and Jyra suddenly realized who they were fighting.

“Graze, what are you up to?” she asked.

“I’m only trying to celebrate one of the greatest victories the Allied Hospitals have had against this resistance. The only thing better than the act itself is that I helped execute it.”

He danced away from the women toward the edge of the platform. Serana raced after him, eager to make sure he didn’t have a moment to rest. Beads of sweat glowed on her forehead and she gritted her teeth, preparing to engage.

“If you tell us who the other spy or spies are in the base, we’ll let you go,” Jyra called, lowering the pipe in her hand. She stood about fifty feet from the end of the platform, glancing into the dark corners with concern. Her quick survey of the deck yielded no sign of Kip.

Graze barked with laughter as he dodged an attack from Serana. He managed to strike her across the back. She yelped and tried to dive out of the way, but she didn’t make it far enough.

Just as Graze aimed to strike at the back of Serana’s head, Jyra reached him in time to lock weapons. He smiled and his teeth glittered blue.

“Bad deal,” he sneered through the crossed steel. “I’ll be leaving but not with your permission and certainly not after betraying my comrades. This is my hangar after all.”

“Your arrogance is one of the reasons I never liked you,” a slurred voice said. Graze glanced behind him as Kip cracked the flask against the older man’s forehead. Graze pushed Jyra’s pipe away and spun to attack Kip, but Jyra landed her over-the-shoulder blow this time. Graze staggered sideways, but lunged at Jyra, who barely raised her weapon in time, but she wasn’t prepared for the strength of the stroke. Her pipe slipped from her grasp on impact and clattered to the deck. Graze brought his weapon in from the side and Jyra reacted accordingly. She managed to duck out of the way and felt adrenaline spread through her like her heartbeat had when she was running. The sensation hadn’t dissipated and it reached a climax in her chest. She dodged Graze’s second attack, and seized his wrist.

Her grip was stronger than seemed plausible, her fingers sank deeper than they should have. Graze’s scream was accompanied by the sound of his bones cracking beneath Jyra’s hand. She looked into his eyes, saw only fear, and raised her other hand. Jyra pushed him in the chest, while releasing his wrist and he flew backward with impossible speed. He tumbled over the edge of the platform before his pipe hit the ground at Jyra’s feet; he dropped it the moment Jyra struck him.

Her knees hit the deck first and Jyra slumped forward, her shoulders shaking as her breaths came in short gasps. She stared at the blue glare on the floor, trying to restore calm breathing. Two shadows moved toward her. Serana clutched her back where Graze struck and Kip stuffed his flask into a pocket.

“What just happened?” Kip asked. Jyra noticed his head tipped to one side, but she was too preoccupied to smile. She ran one hand over the other, caressing her arms as Kip’s question circled in her mind.

“Are you referring to the crude swordplay or when I noticed you hitting the spy with your flask?” Serana said, rounding on Kip. Jyra took the opportunity to shake her head, desperate to forget the details of what she did to Graze.

She watched Serana hold out a hand and Kip, whose sheepish posture and expression made him look ten years younger, placed the flask in her palm. Without hesitation, Serana unscrewed the lid and drained the entire vessel before slapping it back in Kip’s fingers. He looked, if possible, even more withdrawn than before.

“I assume this is where you got your drink as well?” Serana asked Jyra, who nodded. “Thanks for leading me to it.”

Serana’s grin appeared for a moment before her features went cold, enhanced by the blue lights.

“To Kip’s point, what did just happen?” Serana asked, fixing Jyra with her piercing gaze.

“Muscle stimulant from the hospital,” Jyra said. “I thought I’d taken care of it, I thought it was gone.”

“What do you mean, ‘taken care of it?’” Serana pressed. Jyra couldn’t tell if Serana was inching back toward her weapon or if it was a trick of her imagination. She had an urge to pick up the battered water line that fell from Graze’s grasp.

“Right after you talked to me in my room, I tried to bend a crooked girder in the corridor. I couldn’t so I assumed the stimulant wore off or that a medical team here removed it.”

“Based on what I saw, I don’t think either of those things happened,” Kip muttered.

“What were you doing up here?” Serana asked him. The tone of accusation caused Jyra to stand to defend Kip, but he spoke for himself.

“Mourning the dead,” he said. Serana went still and silent at his words.

Mourning someone in particular, actually, Jyra thought. Wait, why are we even discussing this?

“Should we be worried at all about the other spies in the base?” she asked.

“Yes,” Serana said. “I need to tell dad about what happened, but I don’t know what to say. How do I explain that Graze ended up on the rocks below?”

“Do you need to be that specific right now?”

“Yes. We need proof beyond the word of any of us of what happened.”

“He fired a gun, didn’t he?” Kip asked, his speech punctuated with slurring. “That’s what woke me up. He got what he deserved just for aiming the gun at you. How did you reduce him to fighting with a used water line, too?”

“Speed and luck that his second shot went wide,” Serana said.

“Search his pod, too,” Jyra suggested. “But I’m more concerned about other spies. Graze did say “comrades” so I guess there’s more than one left. Are they trying to escape, too? They must all know that ships are grounded now. That’s probably why Graze was trying to run.”

“I’ll alert dad, but you need to tell him about what happened eventually,” Serana said. “Once you learn how to explain it, because I certainly can’t.”

She left to locate the com box on the back wall.

“Why’s she so suspicious?” Jyra muttered. “She knows the hospital gave me this stimulant. She knows what it can do.”

Kip knelt and gazed at her, his eyes somewhat unfocused.

“Awareness of potential and watching as it’s unleashed aren’t the same thing,” he said. “The latter, as I just witnessed, can excite and terrify at the same time.”

“Are you always this insightful?” Jyra asked.

“Only when I’m drunk.”

Jyra appraised him out of the corner of her eye before she got to her feet.

“I need talk to you about something else once we sleep off the whiskey,” Jyra said, before she followed after Serana who was already speaking rapidly into the com box.

“You’re sure that’s a wise idea even after what’s happened?” she said, as Jyra came to her side. “All right. We’ll see you some time tomorrow. I’ll get ready.”

She ended the com call, shaking her head.

“He’s aware that other spies might try to escape now so he’s released his personal security detail to monitor all exits in addition to the extra patrols,” she explained to Jyra.

“Which puts him in danger,” Jyra said.

“It does,” Serana said. “That doesn’t concern him though. Sometimes I think–” she paused and it took Jyra a few moments to realize misery constricted Serana’s voice.

“Ever since he crashed, he hasn’t been the same. All of the surgery and medicine it took, and takes, to keep him alive, it bothers him. He hates it and often it seems like he’s seeking death.”

Jyra hesitated as she thought of her family. Though their deaths had caused her great sadness, at least they had gone quickly, unlike Jarrow. Jyra just met Serana’s father and despite the short meeting, he had cavalierly expressed how little time he had left to live. Slowly, Jyra laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Serana looked mildly surprised, but she clutched at Jyra’s fingers with her own.

“Parts of both my father and I died the day he crashed,” Serana said, her words smelling of whiskey. “My obsession with stunt skiffs was already shaken after my mother died when her skiff fell out of the sky. But I never fully understood the consequences of what would happen if I suffered a similar fate. While I continued competing, dad was focused on expanding the resistance. I told myself I played my part by flying, disguising my father’s work in shady taverns and alleys, slowly securing contracts and other resources for the resistance. But he made it to all of my competitions, a time when he was just my father, nothing more, nothing out of the ordinary.

“But everything changed when my port engine blew during a planet-wide skiff match. Dad hardly made it down ten rows of the stands, trying to rush out to the wreckage, before I was loaded into a hospital transport. Not that it stopped him. He tried three times to free me. And the third time is when the hospital shot him down.”

Serana turned to stare down the hangar into the view beyond. The light of morning graced the tips of the peaks and she released a shuddering sigh.

“I can’t imagine what I would do if I couldn’t fly anymore,” Serana said. “Dad and mom were the same way. Despite the fact it has led an early death for both of them, I know dad misses flying more than his eye and arm. And I miss it too. How can I love something so much that has destroyed my family?”

Jyra didn’t know how to answer, but she let her curiosity get the better of her.

“There’s no hope for recovery?” she asked.

“His lungs held together longer than expected,” Serana said. “Between the heat and smoke he inhaled, there’s no way to save them. Transplants could work, except all the surrounding tissue is beyond repair.”

“Should we go back to him now?” Jyra asked. Serana shook her head.

“Not until tomorrow,” she said. “I told him we need some sleep. I’ll make the announcement once we craft it and officially resign my post. The failed mission doesn’t only harm me. Dad is trying to get his affairs in order with the resistance before he dies. His affiliation with me could hinder that endeavor.”

“That’s why he’s putting you out as a scout,” Jyra asked.

“Yep,” Serana said. “And when my father draws his final breath, it’s likely I’ll be forced out of the resistance.”

“That’s not fair,” Jyra said. “Sure you’ve made mistakes, but you’ve put all your effort into this cause.”

Serana shrugged.

“I have, but I’ve always been compromised by guilt. This failed mission certainly didn’t help matters, but I’ve never forgiven myself for what happened to my father. That is my greatest failure. To be captured and used as bait to lure him into their sights.”

Serana stopped talking again and stared at the sunlight that gleamed on the edge of the protruding platform.

Jyra stepped away from her side and walked back to Kip, who had passed out again. She nudged his shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

“Time for real sleep,” she whispered.

They trudged toward the elevator and met Serana at the doors. Kip staggered inside and collapsed into one corner.

“I forgive you,” Jyra said, as she and Serana entered the elevator. “If Kip were awake, I’m sure he would, too.”

Part XXIX: Outsider

 

The blanket felt smooth and warm against her shoulders. Jyra rolled sideways on the bed. Her head felt mildly clouded, but fortunately she wasn’t hungover. The air felt heavier than usual. Jyra leaned over the side of the mattress and glanced underneath it.

The box containing her small fortune was where she left it, tucked in the back corner, lonely but not forgotten. Jyra slid her legs from under the blanket and placed her feet on the floor. Her mind slowly assembled the events that preceded this last sleep cycle. The memory of the haphazard sparring with Graze gave way quickly to recollecting how the fight ended. Jyra stared at her hands, rotating them before her eyes, searching for some clue or sign regarding her inexplicable strength. The back of her right hand bore two scars, one created by accident, the other by intention (though not Jyra’s). Her fingers were a pleasant length, proportional to the rest of her hand. Her arms revealed nothing abnormal or concerning. It looked like her skin might be getting lighter; she had never gone so many days without exposure to the heated gaze of the sun.

The image of Graze flying away from her replayed again and again, dominating her thoughts. But even that yielded to the most chilling memory: the expressions she saw on her friend’s faces after she banished the spy from their midst. Serana seemed ready to attack her and Kip’s eyes were so narrow they looked like vertical slits under his hair. She tried to ignore the memory as she stood up and pulled on an outfit Serana gave to her several weeks ago. The stiff gray fabric gave Jyra as sense of mental strength, something she needed now more than ever. She just finished lacing up her boots when someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” Jyra called, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice.

“It’s me,” Serana answered.

Jyra opened the door. Serana didn’t look like she’d slept at all. Her hair was twisted, her eyeliner smudged, the effect exaggerated by the semicircles beneath her eyelids. She glanced right and left down the corridor and hurried inside.

“Pack your things,” she said. “I warned you someone might try to come after you to get back at me.”

“I thought it might be a good idea to relocate the moment you told me that,” Jyra said.

“Agreed,” Serana admitted. “This is partly proactive and partly defensive.”

Jyra tried in haste to repack her duffel. She reached under her bed and did her best to casually slip the heavy box among her clothes and belongings. Her fingers slipped on the duffel zipper when she saw Serana adjusting a gun in its holster on her hip.

“Defensive?” she asked.

“We have reports that Graze and perhaps other spies planted several explosives around the base.”

“Near here?”

Serana nodded.

“We know only of general locations, but it doesn’t seem like they targeted anything in particular. They just want to cause chaos. It’s as good an excuse as any to move you. We’ve initiated some countermeasures. We’ll see if they work.”

Jyra double-checked the nightstand and slung her duffel over her shoulder. It didn’t feel as heavy as before.

Serana led her down narrow, winding passages. Jyra had never walked in any that were harder to navigate. She already forgot how they entered them from the main corridor. Other passages split off to the right and left, diving away into mysterious subterranean regions. Only a single conduit overhead carried power for light fixtures that hung every eight paces or so.

“Where are we?” Jyra asked, as her duffel scraped the wall.

“The original tunnels,” Serana said. “Before the resistance grew too large, these passages served just fine. We’re taking them because no spy would target them if they even know they exist.”

The further they walked, the more Jyra realized the passages weren’t too narrow, but after the wide, meandering corridors these appeared far more diminutive.

“Once you’re moved and we get the bombs located and diffused, we’ll speak with my father again.”

Jyra sensed Serana might ask to explain what she did to Graze. When she thought of Jarrow, however, she remembered something she wanted to ask that might serve as a suitable diversion.

“Why did he call you Twenty-Six?”

Serana paused in the dim passage for a moment before changing course, taking a tunnel on the left.

“It’s the number of our favorite stunt skiff pilot. Her name was Mora Akrino,” Serana said, her voice surrendering to a tone of reverence Jyra hadn’t heard before. “She inspired me and thousands of girls like me to take up stunt flying. She wasn’t the first woman to do it, but she was certainly the first who got everyone’s attention.”

“How?”

Serana stopped again below a light fixture. Even in the semidarkness, Jyra watched as her friend’s eyes grew round with enthusiasm.

“She won every competition she entered,” Serana explained. “Even in the middle of a storm or when other pilots united to block her, she always executed maneuvers to get the points. Sometimes, an evasion tactic coupled with a standard trick won her extra points. But for her, no trick was standard.

“Stunt pilots are trained to take time between maneuvers to prepare for the next trick. Mora used to say the flight between tricks was just as important as the maneuvers themselves. She looked at the totality of her performance. That mindset allowed her to succeed even as other pilots tried to throw her off with blockades.”

“Those disruptions didn’t earn the other pilots any points, right?”

“Correct. A lot of pilots decided to sacrifice their performance just to see if they could cost Mora points. By default, she created an entire separate goal in the sport. No pilot had ever been successful enough to warrant such a backlash.

“Then she crashed,” Serana said bluntly, before turning on her heel to proceed down the passage.

Jyra had been wondering what happened to Mora since Serana began recounting her story. She wasn’t prepared for the succinct conclusion.

“That was it?” Jyra asked.

“An engine blew and she swerved into a skiff that was trying to block her and both ships exploded on impact. The cause of the initial engine failure hasn’t been determined though many suspect someone sabotaged it. It happened eleven years ago and stunt fans can’t stop talking about the sport’s greatest tragedy.”

Serana ceased talking as they trudged onward. Jyra felt the cold stagnant air against her arms as she considered the story about Mora.

She died at the height of her career while living her passion, Jyra thought. She felt envious on behalf of her family, until she considered no matter the circumstances of Mora’s death, it was just as final and just as painful for those she left behind. Not only did her family bear the weight of her loss, but also her fans, like Serana, who drew inspiration from her skill in the air.

The passage curved again and light gleamed through a narrow opening ahead. The ease of toting her duffel had worn off. Jyra stooped as she shuffled onward. Just before she stepped sideways into the light, Serana paused yet again.

“I think about Mora’s death more than the death of my own mother,” she said. “Why?”

Jyra gave a small shrug.

“You might as well question death itself,” Jyra said gently. “I’ve spent hours rehashing the loss of my brother and parents. None of it yielded anything constructive. Even if it did, I’d rather just have my family back. That wish never dies.”

Serana nodded after a moment and stepped out of the narrow passage. Jyra only managed a glimpse of the wide hallway around her, because Serana had already opened a door on the opposite wall.

Jyra hurried inside. The room was smaller, but certainly better furnished than the last one she occupied. The bed, bedside table, desk, and dresser were all constructed of cherry wood, stained dark to nearly match the earthen walls. Two light fixtures gleamed on the ceiling. Jyra set her duffel on the bed and headed back to the door where Serana waited.

“Where’s the nearest reported bomb from here?” she asked.

“A maintenance locker two levels below. I’ll be back soon.”

“I’m coming with you,” she said.

“You’re too important and this is too dangerous,” Serana said, stopping at the door.

“Too dangerous?” Jyra said. “After all I’ve done, all we’ve done together, this is beyond me?”

“You’re stepping into a new role,” Serana explained. “I’m trying to minimize risk and allowing you in range of explosives is reckless. It’s why I moved you here.”

“What does it say about me if I can’t face something like this?” Jyra said.

Serana inhaled, her fierce eyes flaring against her smudged eyeliner.

“Please wait here,” she said. “There have been too many times in my life where disaster supplants success at the last possible moment. I’ve already admitted bringing you on the Liberation mission was a mistake.”

“I’m coming with you,” Jyra repeated. “I will not have a part in the disaster you fear. I’m going to be all right.”

Serana dropped her gaze and shook her head.

“My mom told me something similar before each of her competitions,” she said. Jyra swallowed hard and clutched her mother’s locket against her chest.

“This is different,” Jyra said. “I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I’m not,” Jyra said, sensing her friend acquiescing. “Just stating my intention. Let’s go.”

Ten minutes later, they reached the wide corridor leading to the maintenance locker. An emergency response team had assembled nearby. Their black uniforms resembled a standard flight suit but the fabric was heavier. Helmets and masks hid all but the eyes of the responders staring back at the women. The leader stepped forward to give a brief bow.

“What have we got?” Serana asked, approaching the locker.

“Initial scans are almost complete,” the leader reported. Her face hardly moved beneath her mask when she spoke.

Serana leaned to the right to better survey the two responders who stood before the locker, each operating a small handheld device.

“That’s all so far?” Serana said, her tone neutral. “You were supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago. Why isn’t that locker opened yet?”

The team leader didn’t blink nor did her eyes leave Serana’s face.

“We encountered several thick crowds on our way,” the leader explained. “Slowed us down.”

Serana checked the corridor, ensuring it was empty except for her, Jyra, and the team.

“Interesting, those crowds seem to have disappeared,” Serana said. “Besides, seconds in your work can make a tremendous difference. You can’t afford to let anything waylay the effort. You should have learned that your first day.”

Jyra came to Serana’s side as the leader bowed again and retreated back to her team. The scanners had finished their work on the door.

“Something isn’t right,” Jyra whispered.

“I know,” Serana replied.

The response team shifted, moving apart to opposite sides of the locker. The leader twisted the latch and the door slid back into the wall. The team moved toward the opening, but the leader swept through it with no hesitation. The rest of the responders gave muffled cries of desperation as they all tried to force their way through the narrow door.

Serana and Jyra raced to the locker as well. One of the responders had fallen into the room and into a scuffle with the leader. Everyone began shouting at once. As one responder shifted, Jyra caught a glimpse inside the locker. The responder on the floor barely managing to hold the leader back from an apparatus on the wall.

Jyra noticed several flashing lights next to a red lever on the device, but she lost her footing in the jostling crowd. Serana grabbed two responders and tugged backward. The trio crashed onto the packed floor of the corridor. Jyra pulled the last responder in her way backward, using the momentum to launch herself at the locker. She sailed inside and crushed the leader against the apparatus. Both women landed in a heap on the responder who had restrained the leader in the first place.

Jyra couldn’t even establish her bearings before an arm locked around her throat. She choked as the leader rolled her aside.

“Stop!” Serana shouted.

Jyra obeyed and turned her head just enough to see her friend standing three paces from the doorway, gun aimed directly at the leader, who froze in an awkward crouch facing the wall. She had been pulling herself up toward the apparatus. Serana had stopped her two feet shy of her goal.

“Go ahead and fire,” the leader said, voice laden with resignation. “That’s what you do with spies. Kill them on the spot. One side of the story is all you need.”

Serana nodded at Jyra who slid out of the way. The responder on the floor retreated slowly, remaining on the ground under the line of fire.

Serana kept a steady grip on her gun as she motioned to Jyra.

“Put her on the ground.”

Jyra wrenched the leader backward off the wall. Her helmet cracked against the dirt and she blinked dust out of her eyes.

Serana stepped forward, following her gun, which she kept on the enemy.

“You were about to kill yourself along with the rest of us,” Serana said. “If I pull the trigger it shouldn’t make any difference to you. What’s your name?”

It was hard to read the leader’s expression behind her mask.

“Meriax,” she said.

“Remove your helmet and mask,” Serana commanded. “They won’t help you now. The rest of you–” she addressed the other members of the response team –“line up on the far wall and await further instruction.”

Meriax tugged her mask off letting it rest on her neck and pushed her helmet back. The edges of her mask had dug into her cheeks; the strap hadn’t been adjusted correctly. Her pale hair and skin set off her large blue eyes, which stared up at her captors. Her lips quivered, but her long, gloved fingers were curled into rigid fists.

“Did you install this device?” Serana asked. Meriax shook her head.

“Who did?”

“Graze,” Meriax said. “Several days ago.”

“Specifics please,” Serana said.

“Three days ago,” Meriax clarified.

“Why did you wait?” Serana said. “In the middle of a highly sophisticated mission, which turned into a complete mess anyway, these bombs could have brought the resistance to its knees by further compromising the reconnaissance in the field.”

“We had problems of our own,” Meriax said, her resigned tone returning. “We intended to strike sooner, but the detonators malfunctioned. In any case, I think we did enough to damage to your recon mission.”

“How long have you been spying here?” Serana said.

“Several–three months,” Meriax replied.

“Got trapped in the network like the rest?”

Meriax turned and slowly sat up against the doorframe, her eyes growing, if possible, even wider.

“What do you mean?”

“No one in the resistance is certain how Graze’s death came about,” Serana said, with a trace glance at Jyra who privately agreed with the claim.

“The resistance does not make a point of assassinating the spies in our midst,” Serana continued. “We know there are plenty of you in this base at this very moment and that is the network to which I refer. How could spies with similar goals avoid each other’s company? But the reason we don’t hunt you down is simple. Although escaping from this base is very difficult, it can be done. And it would only take one spy to get back to the hospitals to reveal our location. Therefore, we discourage your attempts to flee by allowing your network to exist. An old saying advises to keep friend’s close and enemies closer.

“Sometimes we even let you place explosives around our base, but none of you have learned that when you try to use detonators they have to be hardwired. We merely pump some of the shield mist into the air systems and it causes remote detonators to fail. Now that you know this, of course, you’ll be thrown into one of the premier holding cells, which not even the spies know about so you won’t be passing along the intelligence I’ve just given you.”

“Someone as paranoid as you makes me wonder why you told me all that in the first place,” Meriax said.

Serena jammed the gun into its holster and lowered herself into a crouch. She seized Meriax by the collar with both hands and pulled her so close, Serana’s fists touched Meriax’s cheeks.

“I told you so that you can abandon the idea that we kill for fun or without cause. The hospital and the resistance both kill but we are more judicious in our approach. Hopefully it gives you something to think about in your cell. That’s about all you can do in there.”

Serana released Meriax, drew her gun, clicked off the safety, and fired a single shot.

The sound of footsteps falling together in time filled the echo of the shot, which had made everyone except Serana jump. A platoon, similarly dressed to the response team, but four times their number, swarmed the scene.

“Take each member of the e-team to processing to debrief their march to this location,” Serana said. “Confirm how many delays they encountered,” she added, rolling her eyes at Meriax.

Two members of the summoned regiment each took an e-team member away down the passage.

“Four of you please escort Meriax to one of the holding cells. Take care that you speak to no one and especially that she speaks to no one on the way.”

The squad leader pulled Meriax off the floor. He unclipped the helmet from under Meriax’s chin and lifted the mask over her head. The strap snagged her ponytail and released it. Her freed hair swung forward around her ears and tumbled past her shoulders. She stared straight ahead, unmoving.

“Other teams report all known explosives have been recovered,” the squad leader said with a stiff nod at Serana as he shoved the prisoner to the side.

Serana gave a cursory glance at the rest of Meriax’s outfit before issuing another order.

“Based on her willingness to take her own life, see that she is fitted with bonded garments. Without loose ends, nothing that can be tied.”

Jyra swallowed hard and glared out of the corner of her eye at her friend. Had this entire threat been orchestrated? The malfunctioning detonators, the regiment hiding just out of sight ready to march at the sound of a gunshot, even (she had to resist putting a disbelieving hand to her head) allowing live explosives to be distributed around the base? Why had Serana tried to keep her away from this mission if it had already been engineered in their favor?

Maybe to hide this side of her from me, Jyra thought. Serana had been handling the situation just fine, but the moment she got in Meriax’s face, something changed. All Jyra could discern at this point was her friend crossed a line, but she wasn’t sure what that line was.

The squadron forced Meriax away. Jyra watched her shuffling footsteps, but returned her attention to the locker as Serana gave her next order.

“The rest of you dismount the explosive from the locker and transport it to the arms department for evaluation. That will be all.”

Without another word, she set off back the way she had come. Jyra trotted after her. They had only climbed the first couple steps of a staircase when Jyra felt the question run through her lips.

“What was that all about?”

Serana paused mid-step and turned around, keeping a firm grip on the railing.

“I explained it for your benefit, not just hers,” she said.

“So you knew she was there the entire time, waiting to blow the bomb?” Jyra asked.

“Not exactly,” Serana said, continuing up the stairs. “We thought a spy might be operating within a deployed e-team. We didn’t have time to check all of them before they marched. But you knew something wasn’t right while we watched the team. I only acted when Meriax jumped into the locker.”

Jyra pondered the statement as they turned on a landing and ascended another flight of rough wooden stairs. Everything Serana said was true, but Jyra realized she wasn’t asking the right questions.

“You did actually allow spies to place those bombs around the base?” Jyra said. “That seems reckless. Not to mention those spies thwarted the recon mission.”

“I did not invite them to plant explosives, they did that themselves. As for the mission, I don’t want to hear another word about it!” Serana said, a cutting edge filling her voice. The tone only made Jyra angrier.

“And what were you doing to the prisoner?” Jyra said, noticing that she was shouting. “Taunting her about suicide and grabbing her by the collar, what were you trying to prove?”

Serana stopped on the stairs again, but this time she spun on the spot and leaned toward Jyra’s face, her intimidating stare full of menace.

“What are you trying to prove?” she demanded. Jyra automatically retreated to the next step below her. Out of nowhere, she remembered the time she hid under her bed when her father was shouting at her brother. His voice still found her, penetrating her bedroom door and swirling beneath the mattress. Now, it broke over her once more, stealing away her words.

“You haven’t been yourself,” she heard herself say gently.

Serana’s shoulders relaxed and she sank in place. Jyra was momentarily distracted, wondering if she had been talking to herself or her friend.

“I’m sorry,” Serana said, shaking her head. “You’re right. I don’t know why I acted the way I did with her. I just…lost control.”

“We both have,” Jyra said, as she recalled Graze tumbling off the edge of the hangar platform yet again. “I didn’t mean to blame you. Sorry.”

“I used to think I had everything figured out,” Serana said. “I knew what I wanted, where I wanted to go . I joined the resistance to help my father after mom died and I didn’t think I’d last here. I guess that will be true tomorrow. The fight against the hospital doesn’t seem nearly as daunting as keeping this operation together.”

“The fight only continues if the resistance does, too,” Jyra said, gesturing for the two of them to resume climbing.

Serana nodded and pulled herself upright, taking the stairs again.

“If the fight I’m worried about within the resistance begins, it will be the end of this entire movement,” she said.

Neither woman spoke again until they reached Jyra’s new room. Serana opened the door. Jyra felt tired as soon as she saw her bed.

“Thank you for your part down there,” she said. “It was foolish of me to even think of requesting that you stay behind.”

“Easier to say once the danger has passed,” Jyra said.

“That danger,” Serana said, her eyes widening. “We’ll discuss the real problems with my father later today. You look like you need some rest.”

Jyra nodded and sat on her new mattress next to her duffel.

“See you soon,” Serana said as she departed. The door closed along with Jyra’s eyes.

*

Three hours later, the two women stepped through the door into Jarrow’s quarters. Nothing had changed. The same rickety chairs were near the edge of the bed, constant observers of the man reclined before them.

Jarrow sat up from his pillows, a smile visible beneath the eyepatch and scars. He seemed more enthusiastic than he had been at their last meeting.

“Well done with the spies,” he said, his voice once again surprising Jyra, despite the fact she was sober.

Serana made a point to clutch her father’s hand in greeting before she took her seat. She had barely leaned into the backrest before Jarrow began speaking.

“I’ve found a scout location for you, Twenty-Six. North end of the city near a major supply artery. You leave tomorrow.”

Jyra could tell the way Serana’s eyes bulged for a second that no matter where she thought she was headed, the finality of the order wasn’t easy to accept.

“That is your decision,” she said and Jyra couldn’t tell if it was a statement or question. Jarrow didn’t seem at all put off by his daughter and continued on breezily.

“It is. I think it will be an excellent fit. I also wanted to congratulate both of you in person for your effort in stopping Graze from escaping.”

Jyra remembered Serana telling her after the fight with the spy that she needed to explain to Jarrow exactly what happened. It didn’t seem any easier to do now than it had been before. He looked at her with his eye and Jyra knew it was coming.

“I heard the battle ended in quite an extraordinary fashion,” Jarrow said with his imploring stare.

“I don’t know what to say except that some of the muscle stim the hospital gave me is still in my system,” Jyra said, keeping her hands anchored on her knees. “I didn’t intend to kill him or–” she had to pause and push the memory away of Graze’s wrist shattering in her grip–“hurt him like I did. The strength isn’t always present. I didn’t feel it today during the struggle at the maintenance locker.”

Jarrow nodded and sat back on his pillows, raising his chin as he thought about what he just heard.

“Very well,” he said. “And that reminds me that I need to thank you both for also unmasking another spy.”

He tried to smile, but a coughing fit ensued instead. Serana stood up and gently struck Jarrow between his shoulder blades as he heaved back and forth.

“Don’t ever get shot down,” he said, once the fit subsided. “Not good for the health.”

Jyra gave what she hoped was a sympathetic smile. Serana helped her father lay back before she returned to her chair.

“I wasn’t able to tell you when we last met that I figured I might not be at the base after the latest failed mission,” Serana said in a rush. “Anticipating that, I thought I should present someone to fill my post.”

Now it was Jyra’s turn to face the inevitable. She felt certain her smile had changed to the look Serana had when Jarrow announced her scout position. Serana had told her right after the first meeting with her father that she thought Jyra should replace her. Jyra hadn’t given the matter much thought, though. For one thing, when she received the news, both she and Serana were sprinting toward the hangar to stop Graze. Not only that, Jyra was still fighting the lull Kip’s whiskey had brought upon her. Before they headed to the maintenance locker, Serana mentioned Jyra would be stepping into a new role.

She wanted to protest. She wanted to leave the room. Why didn’t she discuss this with Serana earlier? Jyra looked up and saw Jarrow still staring at his daughter.

“Who did you have in mind?” he asked.

Not a good sign, Jyra thought. Overlooking me when I’m sitting right here. Serana simply raised an upturned hand, gesturing at Jyra. Jarrow gazed at her and Jyra sat up a little straighter.

“Really,” Jarrow said, and for the second time, it was impossible for Jyra to tell if it was a statement or a question. However, Serana’s pleading tone made it clear her father was going to need some convincing.

“Jyra is smart, strong, and has proven herself capable under stress, even in times of peril,” Serana said. “Plus, she doesn’t have our name.”

“Why does that matter?” Jarrow asked. Jyra knew he was referring to his daughter’s last comment, but she thought it could apply to Serana’s entire appeal. Yes she had been successful, but Jyra wasn’t sure how escaping the hospital exhibited her skills as a leader.

“Many of the resistance members are old friends of mine, friends of ours,” Jarrow said. “The Makrinn name is still respected.”

“Not by the people who matter,” Serana said. “You weren’t at the meeting I had with the donors and their families. No one passed up any opportunity to blame you or I for the flawed operation of the resistance. Your old friends will be guilty by association in their eyes. Jyra is familiar enough with the base but can still be considered an outsider.”

“But you rescued me,” Jyra said, hoping to find a problem, any problem, that might derail her promotion. “That doesn’t look good.”

“That fact only really got through to one other person,” Serana said. “And it was because he tended you when you first got here.”

“And Drenal won’t tell anyone about it,” Jarrow said. “Though I wish he could. I miss that man.”

Jyra was about to ask how Jarrow knew Drenal had been her doctor then she remembered they had discussed it last time she was in this room.

No more whiskey, she thought. Things are complicated enough.

“Is this a position you want?” Jarrow asked.

Even with one eye, his gaze had twice the intensity of his daughter’s, though Jyra could feel Serana’s eyes on her as well.

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me nervous and that I feel prepared and ready,” Jyra said carefully. “Could I maybe fill the position temporarily for a week or two to make sure I’m a good fit?”

She still sensed the stares after she finished speaking. The bed creaked as Jarrow sat up.

“I think that sounds fine, but is it something you want?” he said and Jyra realized she had not in fact answered his question at all. She felt as though Serana’s eyes were going to shoot flames at any second.

“I do,” she said, sounding much more confident than she felt.

“Then that’s settled,” Jarrow said. “I’ll arrange for you to meet with some of the officials to go over basic protocol. Twenty-Six can show you some of the basics as well though apparently she should keep her distance for your sake. Could you give us a moment?” he added abruptly to his daughter.

Serana looked throughly perplexed as she stood and left the room without a backward glance.

Jyra faced Jarrow who pushed himself into a fully seated position. He took several deep breaths before continuing.

“I get the sense that she pushed you into this, perhaps against your will,” Jarrow said. Jyra automatically shook her head.

“I don’t feel that way about it,” she said. “The name argument aside, I don’t know what she thinks I can do better than her.”

“We’ll see during the trial period,” Jarrow said. “But I did want to extend an offer. Serana receives a modest financial sum for her service here, but I’ve kept it lower since she’s my daughter and most expenses are taken care of anyway. However, I’ll give you a more satisfactory rate and an advance to cover the trial period. Shall we say one week?”

“That’s more than I ever expected,” Jyra heard herself say. “And now I wonder what it is you see in me?”

“Determination,” Jarrow said without hesitation. He leaned over to his beside table and rummaged in the drawer. He pulled out a bound stack of currency and offered it to Jyra.

“Consider yourself hired,” Jarrow said as Jyra accepted the money.

“Thank you,” she said, standing and shaking his hand.

“Would you send my daughter in here as you leave?” Jarrow asked. “You can wait for her outside. She won’t be long.”

Jyra nodded and headed for the door.

“Thank you again,” she said and Jarrow inclined his head briefly.

Serana was standing on the other side of the door and Jyra gestured for her to pass. She did and Jyra turned to hide the money from view. She wished she’d stuffed it into her pocket sooner. The door shut once she was in the hallway. Only several minutes passed before Serana returned to the hallway, her face inscrutable.

“Everything okay?” Jyra asked cautiously.

“Yeah,” Serana said and she sounded genuine. “I think so. Ready to start learning about your official new job?”

“I’ve never had one of those,” Jyra admitted. Serana only smiled.

“An outsider for sure.”

Part XXX: Database

Jyra awoke and Ships of the Kaosaam System slid off her chest. It took her several moments to remember the trial period had ended yesterday. It also meant two weeks had passed since Serana left the base. Jyra was now a bonafide mobile commander of the Allied Resistance. She said the title to herself as she tugged on a pair of gray slacks, part of her new uniform. She had never seen Serana wear anything like it, probably because she had the influence to refuse such clothing.

The responsibilities of Jyra’s new post diminished the appeal of her quarters. Stacks of intelligence reports and security briefs littered the desk. Uniforms from the previous week were scattered on the floor; Jyra usually returned to her room late at night, barely able to prepare for bed before tumbling onto the mattress. Last night had been a rare occasion when she was able to read a few pages of her favorite (and only) book.

A refurbished hospital transport in Hangar F awaited Jyra’s inspection this morning. The appointment forced Kip into Jyra’s mind, because she first saw him in a hangar while inspecting a damaged ship with Serana. She hadn’t even talked to him since the night she killed Graze. Once she finished the inspection, Jyra had to report to a meeting in central command to review a new stream of intelligence reports. That meeting alone could last several hours. Maybe tonight she would have time to find Kip.

Jyra finished adjusting the cuffs on her sleeves and stepped through her door, a file on the ship tucked under her arm. The corridors were as packed as ever, but something had changed since Serana left the base. Or maybe it was that Jyra now knew that spies were roaming the base with impunity. When she first arrived, Jyra assumed everyone she saw was working toward a common goal. Even if the spies weren’t present, she couldn’t believe that now. The donors, the chief financial backers of the resistance, were the reason for Serana’s demotion. The rumors circulating in central command were the donors wanted to get their loved ones rescued from the hospitals, but they didn’t seem at all worried about undermining the entire resistance to do it. Jyra hadn’t met with them officially yet. She hoped the rumors were little more than lofty exaggeration.

Jyra noticed immediately upon entering that Hangar F was smaller than most of the others in the base. The steel floor looked like all the rest, shined and polished, but gaps in the wall plating revealed compacted dirt along the right and left sides. The transport looked similar to Emarand Liberation, a ship Jyra helped repair to escape enemy scouts, but both she and Kip were captured by the Allied Hospital forces on that mission.

The hull of the new vessel gleamed under the bright hangar floodlights. Jyra gazed down the ship’s port side before approaching a group of ten resistance members gathered beneath the bow. She recognized a few faces but couldn’t match any to the maelstrom of names circling in her head.

“I don’t see much need to inspect something in such great condition,” she said with an uneasy grin, but she saw the smile reflected by some. “Is the chief of the repair crew present?”

The group shifted and a man in grubby overalls stepped forward. He hooked his grease-stained hands around the straps of his overalls and spoke with a surprisingly soft tone, his eyes cast down apologetically.

“The crew has already been summoned to another job,” he said. “They assigned me to be here if you have any questions.”

Jyra pulled the file out and scanned the list of completed repairs, but she was really thinking how to proceed.

“Did you have any role in refurbishing this ship?” she asked, without looking up.

“I did not, I’m afraid,” he said.

“Then I’m afraid this is a waste of everyone’s time,” Jyra said. “I was joking when I came in, of course. Inspections are a serious matter and if something goes wrong when this ship starts up, we need the repair team here.”

“This is as standard as an inspection gets,” a woman said. “This ship has already completed a trial flight.”

“Sorry,” Jyra interrupted. “Who are you?”

“Charis Biggs, traffic coordinator,” the woman replied.

“I know we are all anxious to get this ship into service, and although I’m the one who signs off the inspection, we are all witnesses to the proper function of this vessel,” Jyra said, with a lingering glance at Charis. Something about her name seemed familiar, but the pressure of the circumstances allowed Jyra no time to ponder a possible association.

“I’m with Charis on this one,” another man said. “I watched the trial. The ship is ready.”

Jyra saw all the heads before her bobbing in agreement. She caught herself picking the edge of the file and thinking about Kip. This might go faster than she initially thought, which could free up time to seek out her friend.

“All right,” she relented. “I’ll do a quick walk around. If all looks good, the pilot–” a third man with dark eyes and a mustache made a brief gesture–“can fire it up.”

Jyra set off immediately. She hated being challenged in front of a group like that. If this is how all inspections were performed, Jyra wondered how many resistance ships crashed because of equipment malfunction. Jyra ran her hand over one engine as she rounded the stern. The metal beneath her fingertips was cold but the new paint job was smooth and immaculate.

After completing her circle of the ship, she sent the pilot to the cockpit and everyone moved back toward the rear wall.

The engines howled to life. Jyra saw the pilot raising his thumb to her when the ship lurched forward followed by an explosion that shook compacted dirt loose from the hangar wall. Flares of fire erupted at the stern. Several people behind Jyra screamed. The pilot disappeared from view. Jyra unconsciously held her breath, waiting for him to emerge from the ship.

“Fuel lines!” he yelled, leaping from the cargo bay. “Computer says there’s a leak!”

Jyra dropped the file and ran at the ship. She hadn’t traveled more than ten feet before she skidded to a halt as a fireball blew out the starboard engine. The explosion kicked the ship forward, which slammed the pilot to the hangar deck, flicking him aside like an insect.

“Come on!” Jyra beckoned to the group. “I can’t save the ship by myself!” Though I wouldn’t have to if the actual repair team were here, she added in her thoughts. She realized more than half the group had fled the hangar; the others made their way toward her, eyeing the leaping flames and smoke rising from the opposite side of the hull.

“What do we do?” Charis yelled over the din of the engines and fire.

Jyra saw the pilot stirring, crawling dazed and disoriented away from the ship.

“You two, see to him,” Jyra said, pointing at Charis and the man who had seconded the idea to expedite the inspection.

“The rest of you get the firehose off the opposite wall. Kill the fire on the engine,” Jyra added.

“What are you going to do?” the mechanic asked.

“I need to shut the ship down,” Jyra replied, breaking into a run. “Go!”

Smoke drifted out of the open cargo door by the time Jyra leapt inside. She peered through the gathering haze and spied a door on the opposite wall. Fighting the urge to inhale, Jyra sprinted across the cargo hold and pushed into a smoke-choked corridor. Jyra took a short breath and gagged on the acrid stench. She felt her way along the wall, squinting against the stinging fumes. Up a narrow staircase and down another short passage, the ship seemed to go on forever.

By the time Jyra reached the cockpit, a coughing fit overwhelmed her and she collapsed in the pilot seat, scanning the console for engine controls through watery eyes. She glanced to the left and immediately saw the throttles locked in starting position. Jyra tugged them back and fell to the floor, taking short breaths. The chill of the metal on her palms reminded her of Mastranada and the first resistance. She thought of Kip and how she told him about the movement she hoped to start. She felt her knees sliding as she slumped on the floor.

Jyra jerked her head up into the coiling blanket of smoke. She coughed and made to dodge the spoiled air but it was no longer possible. She pulled herself upright and charged out of the cockpit, trying to focus on the egress path. Jyra took the stairs too quickly and fell from the last several risers. A coughing fit waylaid her on the floor. As she drew a recovering breath, Jyra tasted smoke and, gasping, she crawled down the hallway, longing to see the cargo hold entrance.

Her hands throbbed and her knees thudded dully against the floor. Jyra veered toward the right wall, knowing the door she sought was on that side. I can’t miss it, she kept telling herself. By the time she reached the door, Jyra had dropped to her belly to stay as far from the smoke as possible. She reached into it to open the door and lurched into the cargo bay, sweating and shaking. Jyra tugged herself to her feet and staggered toward the exterior of the ship, visible at last. Smoke poured after her, but very little had managed to penetrate the cargo bay sooner. Jyra leapt onto the hangar deck and managed to take several more steps before sinking to her knees.

Two pairs of hands took Jyra under each arm and bore her toward the exit. As the unknown people set her down just outside the hangar against the wall, Jyra felt the words in her dry mouth.

“Always inspect,” she said.

*

Several hours later found Jyra in a medical unit. Her throat felt smoother than usual, but the pain in her chest had vanished along with the taste of smoke. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw a freshly laundered uniform hanging on the wall. A sigh came from the other side of the recovery room, catching Jyra’s attention. The figure slumped in a skeletal chair, but sat up at the sign of movement from the bed.

“Jyra?” he asked.

She couldn’t have been more thrilled to hear Kip’s voice.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

The chair creaked and Kip’s footsteps grew closer. Jyra looked up and saw his wearied face. How long had he been here? How long had she been here?

“Did you hear what happened?” Jyra asked.

“Only that you were in treatment,” Kip said. “I didn’t want to ask too many questions.”

Jyra shook her head in an effort to establish complete consciousness.

“I know,” she said. “Ever since Serana went into the field, things have changed, much more than her absence should warrant.”

“I’ve been put back on the salvage line,” Kip said. “I mean, I know that’s where my experience is at but I hoped that maybe I could put it behind me.”

He fell silent and stood awkwardly at the bedside, his hands fastened to the rail. Jyra wished he would continue.

“Why am I even complaining? What happened to you?” he asked.

Jyra told him about the ship and the faulty engine. Like her, Kip found the behavior of the group the more intriguing part of the story.

“So, first of all the designated repair team was absent and the inspection went ahead anyway?” he said. “Then the engine blows and the pilot left the ship powered up? None of that makes any sense.”

“And the claim that the ship flew just fine on its trial,” Jyra added.

“The whole thing is weird,” Kip said. “Was it some kind of test? I mean besides the inspection? Do you think the donors might have been setting you up?”

“Setting me up or trying to kill me,” Jyra said.

“That might be the last thing they ever try.”

“What do you mean?”

Kip drummed his fingers on the bedrail, glancing at Jyra out of the corner of his eye, but she maintained her vacant expression.

“Sorry,” he said. “You didn’t get it.”

The moment he said it, Jyra caught on.

“Thanks for reminding me of that,” she said, not sure if she should sound disgruntled or nonchalant of her accidental slaying of an enemy.

“You haven’t–” Kip lowered his voice despite the closed door “–you haven’t done anything like that since, have you?”

“Of course not,” Jyra said, though she wondered if the muscle stimulant had assisted her in apprehending Meriax. “I haven’t tested it or anything. I’d just rather not know.”

“Well it’s not exactly going away is it?” Kip asked.

“Why does it matter?”

“Security. Leverage.”

“What do you mean?” Jyra asked.

“When they come after you, the donors. When, not if,” Kip said. “We’re both close to Serana and when they get impatient enough, the donors will try to coerce us into initiating a mission.”

“What are you talking about?” Jyra asked.

“The donors getting their families back,” Kip said pushing back from the bed and beginning to pace. “They are moving to supplant the resistance, targeting leadership and positions of power.”

“How do you know this?” Jyra asked.

“Serana’s father,” Kip said. “I’ve been receiving his clandestine communication.”

“I haven’t,” Jyra said.

“It’s to minimize risk,” Kip said. “Spread the flow of information so one person can’t be targeted if the intelligence falls into the wrong hands.”

Jyra shook her head and felt the soreness in her neck, likely from coughing on smoke.

“Has the resistance always been this fractured?” she asked, thinking of both the old and new corridors and the hangars. How could an organization so fragile construct such a vast and intricate base?

“It’s been getting worse,” Kip said.

“Do you think it has anything to do with the spies in the base?”

“It certainly could,” Kip said. “Are you trying to give me a hint?”

Jyra realized that she was, though not intentionally.

“You don’t know,” she said distantly, which only led Kip further astray.

“Sorry,” Jyra said. “Serana said there’s a whole network of hospital spies working in the base. The resistance knows about it, but looks the other way since it keeps the spies complacent so they don’t try to escape.”

“That’s some creative logic,” Kip said, raising his eyebrows. “Graze was my boss and I didn’t even know it. They don’t seem to have any trouble assimilating.”

“I don’t know how many there are, but apparently they played a part in sabotaging the mission to free us from the Allied Hospitals,” Jyra said.

Kip stopped pacing and Jyra watched his eyes grow wide with disbelief.

“Serana knew these spies were in the base and she did nothing?” he asked, as though he had somehow misheard the revelation. Jyra only nodded.

“I don’t even know what to think,” Kip said, beginning to the circle the room again. “I get that it’s easier to just let traitors into the base, but certainly there are protocols in place to keep them from interfering with missions?”

“And what would you do to stop them?” Jyra asked. “Round them up and execute them?”

“First I want to know if you and I are on the same page,” Kip said, fighting to keep his voice steady. He returned to his chair and clasped his hands in front of him. “Do you agree it’s a bad idea to allow hospital spies to move freely through the base?”

“I do,” Jyra said, unsettled by the sudden onset of Kip’s suspicion. “But how could we eradicate all the spies? The moment we try to capture one, the rest will move into the shadows. You just mentioned how quickly they assimilate.”

“Okay we don’t round them up necessarily,” Kip said. “But once we identify a spy, we take punitive measures. We can’t just let them keep plotting against the resistance.”

“Then we agree on that too,” Jyra said. “They must face justice of some kind.”

Kip nodded and sat back in his chair. Jyra considered what she just said and then another idea occurred to her.

“You said ‘when not if’ the donors come for me,” Jyra said. “What if I use my new role to start a campaign to identify and punish the spies in the base? How could the donors not support it? Part of the reason their family members are in captivity is because of the interference the spies created in the base.”

“It could work,” Kip said after a moment. “Playing up the spy sabotage could draw attention away from Serana’s shortcomings. Making yourself more visible like that concerns me a little, but I suppose it’s a necessary risk.”

Jyra leaned back on her pillows, a thoughtful finger pressed to her chin.

“What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know,” Kip said. “The donors seem to be getting more and more extreme. I think they wanted Serana kicked out of the resistance completely and they see Jarrow’s maneuver with his daughter as a low blow, a personal insult. Our association isn’t lost on them either.”

Jyra didn’t want to divert the conversation since it was important and she didn’t know when she might see Kip again, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Are you concerned for me in general or because you kissed me on the hangar deck?”

Kip shifted in his chair and frowned for a moment.

“I’m concerned for your safety but since you had to force your curiosity into an otherwise unrelated question, I suspect there’s something you’ve been wanting to discuss with me.”

“It’s all related,” Jyra said, injecting a hint of indignation into her words. “If you don’t care about me then why are you here?”

“I do care about you,” Kip said. “And a lot had just happened leading up to that encounter. I’d had plenty to drink and just got carried away. Sorry,” he added, glancing at the door and rubbing the back of his head. “I didn’t mean to mislead.”

Jyra couldn’t help but smile.

“There’s no reason to apologize,” she said. “I told you then that I didn’t mind and I still don’t. I just hoped it didn’t worry you at all. In case you were wondering, I thought it was a fine moment and I was glad I got to share it with you.”

“Me too,” Kip said, a little too eagerly. “I wasn’t something I thought about, but I’m glad it happened,” he said with a more reserved tone, but he stared at the floor the whole time.

Jyra felt like she could breathe easier in a way that had nothing to do with her smoke inhalation recovery. She didn’t realize how long she had been waiting to talk to Kip about the night on the edge of the hangar deck.

“So far it seems all we’ve disagreed about is the idea that I propose punishing hospital spies within the base,” Jyra said.

“Well I’m just a guy on the salvage line,” Kip said. “I’m sure you can look after yourself, I mean, I know you can. See what you can do about the spies and maybe it will gain you some trust from the donors.”

“Before any of that can happen, I need to know how much longer I’ll be trapped in here,” Jyra said.

“Any ideas where you’ll start on this endeavor?” Kip asked.

“No,” Jyra said, but almost immediately corrected herself. “Wait, I do. Meriax, a confirmed hospital spy, is currently locked in a holding cell. I’ll speak with her first.”

*

The corridor that led to the holding cells reminded Jyra of the original tunnels she had navigated with Serana. It was narrower and much colder than the main passages. Clumps of dirt littered the floor having cracked free of the walls. Jyra coughed several times during the descent in the sloping tunnel. Though the doctor had cleared her to leave, Jyra’s lungs and the back of her throat still felt scratchy. At last, Jyra rounded a bend and faced an iron gate lit by a solitary lamp mounted on the ceiling.

The gatekeeper, an elderly man, sat on the other side of the barrier. His mouth was thin and his wrinkled forehead seemed perpetually pinched, giving him an overly-severe expression. He rose from his stool as Jyra approached and placed his hands on his hips.

“Here to see the prisoner?” he asked gruffly.

“Meriax,” Jyra said. “She’s the only one?”

The gatekeeper nodded as he produced a cluster of keys and fit the appropriate one into the lock. He gave a firm tug on the gate and it squealed open; the hinges were nearly fused in place by rust.

Jyra slipped inside the cell block and the gatekeeper forced the gate closed.

“How many cells are down here?” she asked.

“Twenty-five,” the gatekeeper replied, leading the way. The tunnel appeared much as it had during the long trek to the gate, except cell doors now stood on either side, like metallic sentries. The gatekeeper stopped abruptly and pulled out his keys again. He yanked the door open and gestured for Jyra to enter.

She walked inside and saw someone in the cell next to hers. A row of bars separated her from the prisoner.

“I’ll see you when I’m ready to leave,” Jyra said, as a means to excuse the gatekeeper.

“You’ll have to,” he answered before shuffling off.

Jyra seated herself on a cot and faced Meriax who lay with her back turned. Jyra thought about what she might say to get the prisoner’s attention, but there was no need. Meriax sat up in one fluid motion and crossed to the bars separating her from Jyra. Her blue eyes were as piercing as ever, despite the gloom. Her blond hair had become more tangled. The garments she wore, however, bothered Jyra more than anything else about her appearance. Meriax had been clad in two wide bands of dark metal, locked around her chest and hips. Jyra couldn’t understand how Meriax managed to stay warm.

“What are you doing here?” Meriax asked. Her tone wasn’t unfriendly or aggressive. It took Jyra a moment to remember that was just the way she spoke. Even when Serana had interrogated her, Meriax had remained passive, almost disengaged, with the proceedings.

Jyra had thought about how to begin the dialogue during the entire descent to the holding cells. Her time might have been better spent mentally reviewing details of the latest intelligence reports, because no words came to her now.

“Silence is fine too,” Meriax said. “I’m used to it by now.”

Jyra tried to make eye contact, but she couldn’t stare at the prisoner without blinking. Meriax held her position at the bars.

Why are you letting someone so powerless stop you? Jyra thought furiously. If she didn’t say something soon, this whole errand would be a wasted. She caught sight of the steel band secured around Meriax’s waist and felt her gut clench. She seized on the feeling, realizing she could use it.

“I came to apologize,” Jyra said, maintaining her lowered gaze.

“I’d ask you for what, but I don’t care,” Meriax said, with the same air of indifference. “Words won’t do much for me.”

“The right ones could,” Jyra said. “And I am sorry that you’ve been forced to wear that metal. I’ll see that you receive some proper garments.”

“On what condition?” Meriax asked.

“No conditions and no ulterior motives,” Jyra said. “You deserve to keep your dignity and I to keep mine. Neither is possible when you have been shackled as such.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a humanitarian,” Meriax said, swinging one foot behind the opposite ankle. “How did someone like you get clearance to speak to me?”

She’s trying to throw me off, Jyra thought. A compliment followed by insulting my position.

“I’m attempting the impossible, I confess it,” Jyra said. “Serving as a leader while clinging to morality.”

“Now I know this is a game,” Meriax said. “You didn’t come down here just to order an apparel upgrade for me. You need information.”

Jyra finally fixed her gaze on Meriax. She could hear the gears turning inside her own head. Meriax had given her an opening. It would cut the meeting short, but make it anything but a waste.

“Actually your apparel is all that troubled me,” Jyra said. “I’ll get something more comfortable down here right away. Until next time.”

She stood up and swept out of the cell before Meriax could say another word. Jyra wished she had been able to interview the prisoner about other spies in the base, but it could wait. Besides, she had sent a strong message to Meriax by actually saying very little.

We’ll see how long she thinks silence is fine, Jyra thought as she approached the gate.

“See that the prisoner is fitted with proper garments as soon as possible,” she told the gatekeeper. “I don’t want her in that steel any longer.”

*

Jyra emerged from the holding cell passage into a main corridor and tried as casually as she could to lean against the wall. The doctor had warned her that overexertion could lead to shortness of breath for the next few days. She straightened up and saw a woman walking toward her. She clearly wasn’t associated with the other masses streaming through the corridor. The woman had bound her hair back in a tight bun and it stretched her forehead upward as well. Her eyes were bright and her thin lips spread into smile. She wore the central command uniform and as she neared Jyra, she nearly broke into a run.

“I’m sorry we haven’t met sooner,” she said, almost too excited to speak. “I’m Dania Verral. You saved my brother from the hospital.”

“Oh,” Jyra said, still trying to regain her breath. “That’s right. Tony.”

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am,” Dania said. “They thought he’d been killed. Nothing was worse than hearing his name among the fallen.”

“I’m glad we were able to rescue him,” Jyra said. She meant it sincerely but hated how awkward it sounded.

“Well there’s more good news too,” Dania said. “I came to inform you that you’ll be recognized for your heroism yesterday.”

Jyra said nothing but realized her face must have gone blank.

“Shutting down the ship before the fuel tanks lit up,” Dania said, with an encouraging smile.

“Yes,” Jyra said. “I was only trying to avert a catastrophe.”

“And so you did and risked your life to do so,” Dania said. “You’ll be pleased to know Jenkins made a full recovery.”

“Who?” Jyra asked.

“The pilot,” Dania said, failing to hide her surprise.

“Sorry, I’m still shaken from the incident I suspect,” Jyra said. “That ship could have crushed him. I’m relieved he’s okay.”

Jyra’s mind raced as she sought to end the uncomfortable silence.

“What sort of recognition are we talking about and when is it happening?” she asked.

“It’s happening when we reach the central command control room,” Dania said. “A ceremony with the other commanders.”

“Now?” Jyra asked and Dania nodded.

Jyra had intended to call a meeting with the donors. Each passing day that she didn’t engage them felt like a failure. And while Meriax felt indifferent to silence, it certainly bothered the donors and Jyra didn’t wish to alienate them.

There was nothing to be done about it now. Dania took Jyra by the arm long enough to steer her into the crowd. They cut to the right into a corridor after ten minutes and climbed several staircases. By the time they paused outside the entrance to the control room, Jyra was nearly out of breath again.

“Are you all right?” Dania asked. The genuine concern clashed with her severe expression, but Jyra only nodded in reply.

Once Jyra recovered, they walked inside. Heads swiveled to the door and everyone broke into applause. The reception surprised Jyra so much that she realized she was only half-smiling, which she assumed must look like a partial smirk. She raised her palms and and lowered her gaze, but almost immediately had to reverse the humble gesture as a woman stepped forward and pinned a small medal on the lapel of Jyra’s uniform and the room went quiet.

“I, Commander Hayes, on this day honor you with the Medal of Courage for your act of heroism and great personal risk you undertook to save the lives of others as well as the infrastructure of this base,” Hayes said, stepping back and offering her hand, which Jyra shook. “Congratulations and thank you for your bravery and leadership.”

Everyone applauded again and Jyra, this time, gave a full smile. It seemed odd that such a ceremony would take place in the control room. The location was no stranger to the extreme moments of delight and despair, but Jyra wondered if any important information might be flashing across the temporarily neglected posts. Commander Hayes made to retreat but Jyra made a hasty approach. Hayes was solidly built with thick arms and wide shoulders. Her mass of wiry red hair stood upright like tongues of flame. She wore a kind smile that softened her otherwise intimidating gaze.

“Commander Hayes, thank you for this honor,” Jyra said, indicating the medal. “If you have a moment, I’d like to discuss the presence of hospital spies in our base.”

“Of course,” Hayes said. “We’ll be a moment,” she added to Dania who gave a brief smile before retreating to the door and standing beside it like a guard.

Jyra followed Hayes to her desk. It sat near the center of the room, surrounded by other desks and consoles. Everyone else had returned to their seats by the time Hayes and Jyra took theirs.

“I assume you refer to the spies roaming freely in the base?” Hayes said in a low voice.

“As far as I know, we have plenty of enemy spies moving unchecked and only one who is imprisoned,” Jyra said. “I’m wondering what your thoughts are on an attempt to round them up. They helped sabotage the mission to free me from the hospital.”

“There’s no doubt they are a nuisance and have caused problems,” Hayes agreed. “But what are you proposing? Background checks on every resistance member? That will take time and the spies will certainly hear about it far enough in advance to cheat it somehow. Word would spread through their network.”

Jyra sat back in her chair. She glanced at the surrounding screens. Her eyes lingered on one in particular with a grid representing the plot of the radarscope. Two blue dots blinked in time with each other within the grid. Looking back on it, Jyra assumed the color reminded her of Meriax’s eyes, but she had no idea how she made the mental leap back to the database of TF officers she saw on Valiant Conductor II. However it happened, Jyra put the two together and listened to herself speak an idea before she barely comprehended it.

“The spies all come from the hospitals, which means there must be a database of them,” Jyra said. “If we can find that database, we can likely get snapshots of faces and track them down ourselves.”

“How do you propose finding such a database if it even exists?” Hayes asked.

“I need to interview our prisoner further,” Jyra said.

Hayes retreated into a brief thoughtful silence before sitting up again and turning back to her computer.

“Sounds worth trying, though that database is likely located in one of the hospitals itself,” she said. “I’ve got a list of mission candidates prepared and you are more than welcome to it if you wish. Also we’ll reschedule the meeting to go over intelligence reports.”

“Thank you,” Jyra said. “I’ll keep all that in mind.”

Hayes nodded to acknowledge their parting and Jyra made for the exit, excited that something might be going right for once.

“Do you need my assistance with anything else?” Dania asked as the door closed behind them. Jyra paused and felt her eyebrows elevate on her forehead. She understood what she meant to Dania for rescuing her brother, but she couldn’t help wondering if Dania had something better to do than trail after her.

“It’s my day off,” Dania said shortly, reading Jyra’s expression, who quickly initiated several coughs to give herself time to think.

“Actually, if you want to accompany me to a meeting with the donors, I would appreciate it very much,” Jyra said and they set off.

“What time does it start?” Dania asked.

“No idea yet,” Jyra said. “We have to set it up.”

*

Jyra assumed Dania would be far more adept than her when it came to arranging a meeting and she was right. They settled at Dania’s desk in the main cavern, composed a short message, and sent it to the donor families. The excitement from central command had worn off. Dania had been chattering away about the meeting but Jyra had stopped listening soon after realizing that she would speak to the donors in the same conference room where Serana had alienated them.

She was nervous enough just thinking about coming face to face with such a powerful and sensitive group of people. The idea of meeting them for the first time with short notice in the place where Serana met her downfall seemed like a mistake. She couldn’t help but think of Kip’s warning about the donors coming after her, but that was one of the reasons she had Dania with her. Some loyal company might help to prevent a major altercation.

The idea of hacking a hospital spy database had been easy to talk about following the ceremony. The notion seemed even more underdeveloped when Jyra considered the first step required getting information from Meriax. She could only hope that the proper clothes and suspense in the darkness would make the prisoner willing to negotiate. If the database existed, that would prompt another mission to infiltrate the hospitals and with the enemy’s heightened security, it wouldn’t be easy. Jyra related all this to Dania who continued typing on her computer, nodding to acknowledge the concerns.

“Maybe you could tell the donors that the strike team would take every opportunity to locate and free their family members,” Dania said. “Give them some incentive to back the mission.”

Jyra swore that if she hadn’t been worrying so much, she would have thought of that, but Dania hadn’t finished.

“For that matter, we didn’t say explicitly what we’re meeting about,” Dania said. “Get a read on the room first. If the time is right to bring up the plan, do it. If not, wait. Explain you just want to meet them and that ought to feed their egos.”

“Or they’ll complain that I’m wasting their time,” Jyra said.

“That’s possible, but that’s on them,” Dania said. “They’re replying,” she added. “Ten so far. I suppose we should head over there and wait.”

Jyra wanted to spend as little time as possible in the conference room.

“Should I bring anything?” she asked, stalling. “Can you get me the latest intelligence reports? Maybe there’s something in there to support a potential mission.”

“I’ll pull them up,” Dania said. “There should be a larger report coming in about half an hour.”

They reviewed the reports for ten minutes but saw little that would justify attempting to enter hospitals again.

“Nothing relevant,” Dania said, straightening up and slapping the report on the desk. “Time to go.”

Reluctantly, Jyra followed. Despite the size of the enormous cavern, it took much longer than Jyra would have expected to reach the conference room. The tables were still arranged in a U formation. Jyra wasn’t sure if she imagined the sudden drop in temperature when she stepped over the threshold. Dania made a quick count of chairs.

“Plenty here,” she said. “Do you need my assistance with anything else?” Dania asked.

An escape plan, Jyra thought desperately. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. Dania, too, fell silent as she took a seat near the door.

Minutes passed. Jyra fidgeted with her medal. She was about to ask Dania what they should do when the door opened. The donors entered single file and circled around the arranged tables. It occurred to Jyra they must be used to meeting in here and, by the looks of it, they assembled outside the door to make a more impressive entrance.

One look at the crowd made it quite clear these people were donors with plenty of money to spare. The men were all clad in suits of heavy cloth in darker shades that ranged from gray to black. Some wore ascots and others sported ties. Some of the boys Jyra suspected were teenagers seemed casually dressed in slacks and blazers when compared to the elders of the group. The women and girls, however, wore immaculate dresses and gowns. They all looked as if they were en route to some intergalactic party with dancing and catered meals, likely featuring exotic meat and fruit.

Jyra didn’t know how she had never seen any of them in the base before. They must dress like this often; they certainly didn’t have time to prepare these outfits for the meeting. As they took their seats, Jyra noticed they left gaps here and there. At first she thought they were splitting up along family lines, which was true, but then she realized they were leaving empty chairs on purpose that must represent those who were captured. Jyra decided it would be best not to make any mention of the gesture.

Two women came through the door toward the end of the procession. Apparently, the donors didn’t dress formally all the time. Though both of the women wore dresses, Jyra recognized one of them immediately. Despite the makeup and elaborate elevated braid, it was still Charis Biggs the traffic coordinator who had insisted the ship inspection proceed despite Jyra’s misgivings. She didn’t have any time approach Charis, because the door swung shut and all eyes were on Jyra, who cleared her throat.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” she said, placing a hand to her neck. “I’m afraid I’m still recovering from the smoke inhalation.”

Of course her throat hadn’t been bothering her at that moment, but she was able to take a quick read of the faces assembled before her. Perhaps a couple expressions of fleeting concern, but nearly everyone maintained their steady stare. One woman had glanced at her watch.

“I apologize for not calling this meeting sooner and I hope you’ll forgive the short notice,” Jyra said. She hoped a few demonstrations of vulnerability might make an impressive contrast to her bold plan. At the very least, it should help keep the donors off balance. Jyra’s brief pause, however, was all they needed.

“I trust you didn’t call us all here just to meet you,” a woman said, her voice tinged with disdain. Jyra glanced around the tables and realized it was the woman sitting next to Charis.

“I didn’t, but I’m Commander Jyra Kyzen and what’s your name?” Jyra asked.

“Crina Biggs, wife of Terrence Biggs who is currently held by the Allied Hospitals,” Crina said. It sounded like a line she’d rehearsed. Pure hostility replaced any trace of disdain.

“Excuse my interruption,” a white-haired man said, pushing one of his arms forward on the table. Jyra couldn’t tell if the cape he wore over his suit elevated his status or lowered it. “It’s nice to meet you, young lady–” Jyra felt a sense of horror as she automatically made the face she used to make when she caught the stench of open bitumen mines on Tyrorken –“but I must echo the concern of my colleague. We are all very busy, now more than ever, and I implore you to cut to the core business of this meeting.”

“Your name sir?” Jyra prompted.

“Isaac Mertram.”

Jyra bit back the urge to address him as “old man,” though she had to give him some credit for not listing how many of those dearest to him were captured.

“Very well, Issac,” she said, placing her hands at the head of the nearest table. “I’ll cut right to it.” She glanced at Dania, who pressed her lips together and gave the slightest hint of a nod.

“I understand some present have family members currently bound by the hospital,” Jyra said. “I have come up with a plan that could substantially advance the cause of the resistance and give us an excellent opportunity to free those taken by the enemy.”

“How?” Crina demanded. Her impeccable appearance–the flowing dress, her curled hair, and flawless makeup–stood at odds with her behavior. She looked ready to vault the table to charge at Jyra like a crazed wild animal. “We have been working on our own plans to infiltrate multiple hospital buildings, but resistance intelligence always shows enemy security is too strong.”

“As I said,” Jyra said, “this single mission would relieve two major setbacks for us. The safe return of those dearest to you is of paramount importance, of course. But the tactical purpose of the mission is to hack into a database of hospital spies. That way we can identify the spies in our base and attack them in one swift campaign. If we only capture a handful at first, it will send the others into hiding.”

“How do you propose to beat the defenses and where did you learn about this database?” Charis asked.

Jyra wished she could grab Charis by the shoulders and demand to know why she had suggested proceeding with the inspection. The nerve of her to play the skeptic now.

“I have a source, but I should remind you all that mission that led to the capture of your family members as well as the mission I took part in before that, were both sabotaged by hospital spies in this base.” Jyra hated sounding defensive. “You are all aware that there are enemy spies walking freely among us?”

“You just told us about them,” Isaac said, with an impatient wave of his hand.

“Did you know about them before I told–?” Jyra aborted the question and decided to bring up Meriax.

“My source is the spy we put in the holding cells.”

“So not the one you killed?” Isaac murmured and several others chuckled. Jyra conjured up a calming vision of grasping the old man by the head and slamming his face into the table. She wanted to ask if anyone thought their missing family members were a laughing matter, but that would certainly lead to a messy argument.

“I’ve been interviewing Meriax,” Jyra said, ignoring Isaac. “I intend to press her further about the spy program if you all think this is worth pursuing.”

Jyra hadn’t meant to seek the donor’s approval to question Meriax. The joke had thrown her off.

“So you don’t know if the database even–?” Charis nearly completed the question, but a shrill voice interjected.

“The latest intelligence report is arriving!”

It took Jyra a moment to realize it was the woman who had checked her watch near the beginning of the meeting. Jyra looked to Dania who gave a hasty whisper before departing.

“It’s the larger report I told you about. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Jyra nodded and faced the room alone. She picked up where she left off.

“An educated guess,” Jyra said. “The Allied Hospitals are large enough, bureaucratic enough, to have a database of all their spies. If Meriax has any information that might lead us to it, it’s imperative we get it. Beyond the database, she could even help us free our captives.”

“So you’re suggesting we trust an enemy to help us defeat that same enemy?” Crina asked, every word soaked with incredulity.

“In order to reverse major security breaches in our base and potentially gain new information to defeat hospital defenses,” Jyra said.

“Where do you come from?” a man asked.

He wore a plum-colored ascot and suit jacket. His dark hair was combed and parted to frame his round face, which seemed to be cursed with a perpetual sneer. It took Jyra a moment to recover. She was beginning to understand what Serana must have gone through with these people. No matter the discussion, if the donors weren’t following it or disagreed with its direction, one of them interjected. It was impossible to maintain a clear mind.

“Tyrorken,” she said shortly.

Crina and Charis both sat up a little straighter, but no one else reacted.

“Never heard of it,” the man said.

“What’s you name please?” Jyra asked.

“You may call me Dovens.”

He must have observed what happened to Isaac. It had to be a great indignity not to be addressed by your surname.

“Tyrorken is a planet, Dovens,” Jyra said. “It’s actually quite close to Silanpre. But I think we have strayed from the point.”

“How will you get the information you need from this Meriax?” Dovens asked, his tone becoming much more direct.

“The same way she went in and out of the burning ship,” Charis said. “Sheer force of character.”

Jyra heard the braying laughter, watched the bodies shaking with mirth. These people had been impossible to read: challenging her at one turn and joking at the next. Even if it led to an argument, Jyra knew she couldn’t let the donors get the best of her, certainly not at their first meeting.

“This is what you think of your captured loved ones?” Jyra said, raising her voice. “You think this is a joke? You think I am a joke?”

The room fell silent.

“How can we trust you?” Dovens asked after several moments.

“If you have to ask, you can’t,” Jyra said.

“Well, if I don’t trust you, then you shouldn’t be planning my mother’s rescue,” Dovens said, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest.

“You can’t trust a murderer,” Charis said.

Jyra bristled as she gripped the end of the table. She glared at Charis, one eyebrow raised, running the words through her mind to make sure she heard them correctly. Charis stared back, but her gaze was more relaxed almost as if she had lost interest. Jyra unwittingly recaptured it in an instant.

She wasn’t sure exactly how she did it, but one moment she had been clutching the table and the next moment, the laminated material crumbled beneath her fingers and palms. Those nearby reacted first and the effect rippled around the room as everyone pointed or stood to see the mangled end of the table.

Jyra took several steps back and opened her hands. She didn’t look down, but felt the crushed remains of the table peeling loose from her skin and pattering on the carpet. She saw Graze disappearing off the hangar deck again, but reality wasn’t far behind. It crashed back into place and Jyra realized she was striding up the middle of the tables. She was aware of donors rising on either side of her, but they couldn’t obstruct her advance.

She stopped in front of Charis and leaned down to address her directly.

“We are at war,” Jyra snarled. “And when we are at war, we need to be careful about using words like ‘murderer’ when discussing the death of an enemy spy. And just to clear this up, I did my duty in Hangar F, except for allowing the inspection to proceed. That was a mistake. But running into the ship was me simply doing the pilot’s job for him. In the future, don’t rush inspections and this won’t happen again. Understood?”

Charis gave a stiff nod from her chair. Jyra slowly became aware that everyone else was standing. She heard the door open behind her and made a fluid turn to see Dania with a modest stack of new intelligence.

“Perfect,” Jyra said. “You can give them to–” Jyra searched for the woman with the watch and, locating her asked–“name?”

The woman said nothing, shocked, along with the rest of the donors, into silence.

“Her,” Jyra said, pointing.

Dania walked down the wall, her normally taut forehead wrinkled with curiosity. She placed the stack in front of the woman, but kept several pages, whispered something to the woman, and nodded at Jyra, who had already returned to the front of the room. Dania joined her and only then noticed the crumbled edge of the table. She started to point, but Jyra interrupted the gesture.

“Not to worry,” she said, taking Dania by the arm and heading for the door. “They made so many allusions about my strength I just had to demonstrate. I think we’re done here for now. Nice to meet you,” Jyra added to the stunned room as she and Dania stepped back into the main cavern.

“What is it? What happened?” Dania asked. “I was only gone for a few minutes.”

“Not here,” Jyra said. “Let’s at least get back to your desk.”

They set off across the cavern. The conference room only had the one exit and Jyra had enough exposure to the donors for one day if not the whole week. The more space she put between herself and them the better.

“Review this as we go,” Dania said, shoving the report at Jyra. “I expect action is already being taken.”

Jyra accepted the report. The first few sentences slowed her pace before she stopped entirely.

“Back to the control room,” Jyra croaked. “We need a recon team assembled and ready to move out.”

She clutched the report in her fist and broke into a run. Her lungs protested, but any delay could only make the situation worse. When they reached the control room, it had changed drastically since the brief ceremony for Jyra. All the desk chairs were empty but twice as many people filled the room, shouting commands and inputting orders into computers. Jyra wasn’t sure how such chaos could accomplish anything useful. She spied Hayes in the fray and pushed to her side.

“Status?” she wheezed, trying to steady her breathing.

“Two teams en route,” Hayes said. “Hospital forces are combing the region too so the teams will land at a safe distance and hike in.”

“How bad were they hit? Why didn’t we see it coming?”

“A stream of bunker strikes. No report yet on other artillery or explosives.”

Jyra sensed Hayes’ impatience but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Serana was placed there, wasn’t she?”

Hayes leaned back from the desk and laid a heavy hand on Jyra’s shoulder. She gave a brief nod.

“We’re doing all we can,” she said. “If you want to help, you are more than welcome. Radar is tracking enemy ships in the area. Monitor that station and if any of them land at the site, let me know immediately.”

Jyra nodded in reply; her mouth had become too dry to speak. She sat down and focused on the screen, remembering what it was like to lose Macnelia. Dania settled in a nearby chair. Jyra placed the crumpled report on the desk, doing her best to relax. The hospital forces glided in and out of the radarscope. The frequency didn’t necessarily indicate a large presence of enemy ships, but rather just the same six or seven patrolling in a pattern.

As Jyra settled into the chair, she realized Hayes hadn’t answered one of her questions. How had the hospital managed to strike with total surprise? The resistance almost always detected enemy attacks, anywhere between hours or minutes ahead of time. Hayes was obviously preoccupied with multiple duties and Jyra knew she couldn’t be expected to address every concern at once. Even so, the thought stuck firmly in Jyra’s mind and held part of her attention as she tried to focus on the screen

“There might be another complication with the donors,” Dania interrupted.

Jyra didn’t want to think about them at all now, or ever again for that matter, but she turned from the monitor and gazed at Dania.

“When a scout base is hit as bad as this one, it’s protocol for all scouts stationed there to return to base for evaluation. That includes Serana.”

“Yes it does,” Jyra said briskly. “At least we already have a list of complications with the donors. Adding one more can’t hurt.”

Stay tuned for Part XXXI