The resistance gathered at the airlock to release Macnelia’s body into space. Jyra wasn’t sure how long everyone stood in silent vigil. Another Mourning Mark smudged Jyra’s forehead. Beneath her sadness, she felt anger festering. She glanced sideways at Craig and her jaw tightened.
“Peace for now and always,” Leonick said. Everyone repeated the words and Berk pressed the button to open the airlock.
Neeka clutched Derek’s arm and shook with grief where she stood. Shandra wrapped her arms around Craig and the two of them held each other in silence against the wall of the corridor.
Jyra left the group. It was easier to feel alone in solitude rather than in company. She followed the corridor back to the main hangar. The next thing she knew, she had returned to Macnelia’s quarters. Chairs were still drawn around the bed. The blanket was missing from the mattress; Berk had wrapped it around Macnelia’s body before carrying her back to the airlock.
Jyra crossed to the bedside table and looked in the open drawer. She saw two more bottles, but neither bore any clues about what ailment the contents were supposed to treat. At the very bottom of the drawer, Jyra found something far more interesting. She pulled out a framed picture of her brother. It had been taken around the time Dario began working at TF. His dark hair hung across his forehead, hiding his eyebrows. His eyes, however, gleamed against his suntanned face. Jyra pulled the picture against herself, as though it would bring her closer to her departed brother.
Macnelia had rejoined him somewhere. Jyra remembered when Leonick discussed the idea of galaxies parallel to Kaosaam. In one of them, perhaps Dario, Macnelia, and her parents still existed. The thought provided Jyra little comfort, because it only reinforced how terrible things had become in her galaxy.
Jyra caught herself thinking about Craig again and tried to push him out of her mind, but for all the good it did, she might as well try to bring her family back from the dead. She hated herself for letting thoughts of Craig distract her in a time of grief. She knew she had been at odds with Macnelia lately, but she was positive it wasn’t all her fault. Something had happened to Macnelia before the bullet hit, but even her behavior in her last moments had been odd.
Jyra remembered her discussion with Berk and her own words filled her head. “The way Macnelia’s been talking about this assault, it’s as though she wants it to be the final one. It seems she doesn’t care if it kills her.” Unrest on Tyrorken and an inability to assess conditions on the planet had prevented the initiation of the assault. Even now, Jyra wondered how Macnelia planned to attack the TF fleet with two ships, one of them unarmed.
The sound of footsteps interrupted Jyra’s obsessive analysis of the feasibility of the assault. She tucked the picture into her jacket then turned to see Leonick in the doorway. His expression forlorn, he entered and sat in a chair on the opposite wall of the room. Seeing him reminded Jyra of the way Macnelia looked at him with her smile as she lay in Orasten’s hangar, her life leaking away. Jyra felt tears searing her cheeks as she spoke, but her voice was quite even.
“She seemed relieved,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t understand why.”
“I can,” Leonick said without hesitation.
He picked up one of the bottles from the edge of the bed where he’d left it.
“Berk was not the only one who ran out of a remedy,” Leonick said. “This bottle held a nerve anti-degenerative. This pill is manufactured to treat a specific disease. Being from Tyrorken, I assume you are familiar with the illness.”
Jyra drew a blank until she remembered Craig’s parents.
“Somasteria,” she said, wiping her face dry as a chill swept over her.
“Correct,” Leonick said.
“Did you know?”
“Not until I saw the bottles when I treated her right before she died,” Leonick said. “I too believe she was relieved, but it does not minimize the sadness.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Jyra said. “I can’t imagine living with a disease like that.”
Leonick drew out his flask, and took a long sip. He offered it to Jyra and she accepted, thinking of her father drinking from his flask after Dario’s funeral.
“When did she get sick?” Jyra asked, cringing as the liquor burned her throat.
“It is difficult to say,” Leonick said. “Not everyone sufferers from the illness in the exact same manner. Some symptoms last longer, shorter, or do not occur at all. The only way to know is if she gave someone that information.”
Jyra immediately thought Berk might have known. Although, when she had asked him directly about Macnelia’s strange behavior, he didn’t mention anything besides stress as a possible cause. Jyra didn’t think he would have lied to her. She felt her mind starting to analyze again and she struggled to ignore it, wanting to hold Macnelia in her thoughts.
As though he sensed Jyra’s mental conflict, Leonick asked a question, which helped to center her.
“What is the significance of the Mark?”
Jyra stared at the two fingertips that still bore the dark stain of charcoal. She could feel the powder sticking to forehead.
“It’s a tradition on Tyrorken,” she said. “The idea is we come from darkness and we must return to it eventually. The Mark makes the feeling into something visual. It helps keep memories alive of those we’ve lost, but who we still love and care for.”
Leonick considered the information for a moment and nodded slowly.
“Wear it well,” he said, pushing himself out of the chair. “I think I need to lie down.”
“Me too,” Jyra said, following Leonick from Macnelia’s room.
Alone in her bunk, Jyra stared into the darkness, wondering when she might follow her family into it. She rolled over, willing herself not to think about it. Before she fell asleep, she wondered if Leonick practiced any customs for the death of a friend.
Jyra still smelled the smoke from the gunfire when she awoke; the odor had settled in her clothes and hair. As her grogginess subsided, she remembered Macnelia had been killed and it became harder to sit up. Hurried footsteps outside her door stoked her curiosity, though. She dressed quickly and made for the bridge, certain that’s where the person had been headed.
Neeka was looking over Berk’s shoulder at Berk’s computer. Berk smelled strongly of whiskey (more so than usual) and his hair stuck out in all directions. The skin beneath Neeka’s eyes sagged and she looked exhausted. It appeared as though both of them had dressed quickly.
“What’s going on?” Jyra asked, striding toward them.
Neeka glared at her, but Berk answered, not taking his eyes off the monitor.
“We’re losing the planet,” he said.
“What?” Jyra said. Did he mean TF was gaining the upper hand against the Nilcyns?
“I should have seen it earlier when I was planning the assault,” Berk said. “I studied all those weather maps and didn’t make the connections. The wind readings threw me off.”
“What?” Jyra repeated.
Neeka left Berk’s side and walked toward the exit ladder.
“Tyrorken’s dying,” Neeka said, her voice hollow and strained. “The pollution’s overwhelming the atmosphere.”
“How?” Jyra demanded, grabbing a chair and sitting next to Berk. “How can you tell?”
“Projection,” Berk said. “Look at the temperature history. It’s been climbing for months. TF has access to this information, but I’ll bet there are few souls on Tyrorken who can map weather so precisely. The temperatures are increasing much faster now. Soon, you might only be able to survive on the surface with a protective suit, and not for long even then.”
Jyra placed her head in her hands and stared at the floor. She remembered looking at her fragile world through the sight on the laser cannon. She couldn’t save Tyrorken any more than she could save her family. Then words, thoughts, and feelings failed her. TF had taken her family, Macnelia, and her home planet. She stood up, and placed a hand on the back of Berk’s chair to steady herself.
“There’s…no way to reverse it, is there?” she said, realizing Berk probably expected her to say something.
“I don’t think so,” Berk said gently. “I’m sorry.”
Jyra felt her hand slip from the chair. Her mind went blank again and the next thing she knew, she was stepping off the bottom of the ladder into the main passage. Given all the hardships Jyra faced—losing her brother, fleeing her home planet, hiding mere feet from her parents when they were shot, to watching Macnelia die—for the first time, she felt hopeless. She would have preferred to feel nothing.
Jyra heard someone coming up the passage and Craig appeared, walking at a brisk pace.
“I just saw Neeka,” he said. “She said Tyrorken won’t be habitable much longer.”
Jyra gave a dull nod.
“What’s going on?” Craig asked.
“Nothing,” Jyra said. “My family’s dead along with my home world and Macnelia too.” She walked past him.
“Don’t say that,” he said. Jyra looked at him over her shoulder.
“I’ll say what I please,” she said, her mind working fast as she recalled the food supply run she and Craig had made on Drometica. “It’s just like the man said when he had the gun on you in the stock room. You struggle to make decisions, and even when you do, the consequences of the decision haunt you. Is that why you froze in Orasten’s hangar? Is that why you couldn’t take the shot that might have saved—”
“Stop!” Craig shouted advancing on Jyra, who fell silent.
“I’d advise that you quit verbally attacking resistance members,” Craig said. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done it, and I can promise you it will be one of the last if you keep it up. This resistance doesn’t need help from traitors.”
Craig spun on his heel and climbed up the ladder before Jyra could say another word.
*
Jyra had fallen asleep fuming from the latest interaction with Craig. She knew she shouldn’t have provoked him, but she couldn’t help feeling justified that it showed what he thought of her. How had she fallen out of favor with him so quickly? She remembered when she told him that she questioned whether Macnelia was fit to lead the resistance. Once she had convinced Craig she was only concerned for Macnelia’s welfare, he mentioned the difficulties she might have encountered if the conversation had been with another member of the resistance.
“You’d really be in trouble then,” Craig had said. Though his tone was lighthearted, it sounded more foreboding in Jyra’s memory.
A knock on her door roused her. Berk waited in the passage. He had done nothing to tame his hair and looked as haggard as before.
“We’re meeting in the main hangar in ten minutes,” he said, after taking a swig from his flask. “The resistance needs to get its bearings.”
“Do you feel well enough to meet?” Jyra asked, hoping she didn’t sound rude.
“My head’s killing me,” Berk said, clamping his palm to his forehead. “I had to…overindulge to rebalance my body. Sorry if I scared you during the fight.”
“Not at all,” Jyra said. “You just surprised me. I didn’t know you could fight like that.”
“I don’t know where the strength comes from,” Berk said. “I can’t do it all the time. You’ll have to ask the hospital, I suppose.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Jyra said, her spirits slightly elevated by Berk’s presence. She could see the impact of Macnelia’s death in his slumped shoulders and drooping eyelids. Even so, she gave Berk a small smile and assured him she would be at the meeting. Berk set off down the corridor, leaving Jyra to wonder how she would handle being in the main hangar with the rest of the resistance, particularly Craig.
Jyra assumed everyone had slept after Macnelia’s memorial, but, like Berk, they all looked spent. Neeka was trembling. Derek tried to comfort her, but his arm seemed strained just by supporting its own weight. Shandra’s skin was paler than usual and Craig stared at the floor, unwilling to lift his chin above his shoulders. Leonick sat down on the floor of the hangar, barely hiding a heavy sigh. Everyone else followed his example, forming a small circle on the floor.
“I thought it would be a good idea to gather and discuss what’s happening now and what we’re doing next,” Berk began. “Hopefully, we’ll establish our future actions and goals by the time this meeting’s over.”
He paused. Jyra wasn’t even sure he had completed his thought, but Neeka spoke up.
“Don’t we already know what we’re doing?” she said. “We’re going after TF ships.”
An uncomfortable silence followed and Berk spoke again.
“Recent discoveries suggest that may no longer be a wise course of action,” he said. “According to the weather instruments aboard this ship, which are some of the most accurate you can get anywhere in the galaxy, Tyrorken is succumbing to the high levels of pollution in its atmosphere. A general estimate gives the planet about two months before it becomes uninhabitable.
“The second discovery,” Berk said, lowering his head for a moment, “is Leonick found medication in Macnelia’s quarters that indicate she’s been suffering from Somasteria.”
Jyra saw Craig look up, his eyes narrowed. She wasn’t sure what caused it, but Jyra suddenly realized she didn’t want to hear anything Craig had to say, so she spoke before he could.
“I’ve been concerned about Macnelia’s behavior,” she said, suddenly aware of how insensitive she sounded. “She was a strong leader, but it might be worthwhile to revisit her plans and discuss whether we should pursue them.”
“If I understand you correctly,” Craig said, and Jyra heard the anger in his voice, “it sounds like you’re saying if someone has Somasteria, their ideas are subject to more scrutiny or should be discredited entirely.”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Jyra said. She cast about in her mind for a way to direct the group’s attention elsewhere. “But I will say I think it’s a concern when a couple people destroy another ship without consulting the rest of the resistance.”
“An enemy ship!” Neeka cut in sharply.
“TF and the Nilcyns kill without a second thought!” Jyra yelled. “What you did shows we’re no better than them!”
“Careful,” Craig said sarcastically. “I can’t tell if it’s you or an illness talking.”
“Enough!” Berk roared, his voice echoing around the hangar. “No more pointless bickering. I’m sure we all have the best intentions for the survival of the resistance.”
Jyra heard the words, but realized she couldn’t agree with them. The resistance was all she knew, but her last statement replayed again and again in her head.
Why was the resistance any better than TF or the Nilcyns? The resistance had taken out the TF complex on Tyrorken, saved Derek, and acquired a TF ship. But it hadn’t been able to save Tyrorken or Macnelia, the leader of the resistance. The moment Macnelia had been wounded, Neeka had taken it upon herself to destroy the enemy ship and Craig joined her.
It was too reckless, Jyra thought. That was the difference. Bombing the TF complex had been planned for a long time. She knew innocent people had been killed, but at least that consequence had been considered. We had time to come to terms with what we were doing. We did it as a group, Jyra reflected. Shooting Orasten was nothing but a thoughtless act of revenge.
Jyra shifted her focus back to the meeting, though she regretted it immediately. Craig was discussing Somasteria and Macnelia.
“You can’t just assume the disease compromised the plans she crafted,” he said. “My parents kept their mental faculties until the very end.”
Jyra bit her tongue, self-conscious of how the group would react if she challenged Craig. But she wanted to because he lied. When he talked to her about how Somasteria affected his parents, Craig told Jyra in the early stages of the illness, his parents had issues with their memories and sleeping.
Her mind drew a parallel so quickly, Jyra felt as though the thought ricocheted inside her skull. When the resistance left Drometica, the time bomb Macnelia set to destroy the base went off much sooner than expected; the blast nearly took out the whole resistance. Jyra found out later Macnelia hadn’t been able to recall exactly what she did that might have triggered the bomb.
Craig’s voice jolted Jyra back to the hangar.
“There’s no reason we shouldn’t keep hunting down TF ships,” Craig said. “Or does everyone want to quit that easily?”
Shandra put a hand on Craig’s arm, but he only returned his gaze to the floor and fell silent.
“This isn’t about dishonoring Macnelia’s intentions,” Berk said. “We’re here to make a new plan of action. Going after TF ships isn’t the most practical approach. We have one armed ship so I think it’s too risky to launch a full-scale offensive.”
“Why didn’t you raise this concern before?” Neeka asked.
Berk took a deep breath before he replied.
“I admit that I didn’t like the plan from beginning, but I didn’t want to dampen Macnelia’s spirits at the time,” Berk said. “I’m not proud of it.”
“It may be risky, but I think Macnelia’s vision is still the best way forward,” Craig said. “TF ships are still under siege by Nilcyn forces. They’re distracted, which means now is the perfect time to strike.”
“Do you know why I sent you to stop Neeka from shooting Orasten?” Leonick asked Craig. He didn’t wait for a reply.
“Most TF vessels are equipped with cameras on their hulls. In the event of rapid decompression resulting from laser blasts or the impact of other heavy ammunition, the cameras snap images that generate a complete picture of the surroundings. One camera usually captures the identification key on the attacking ship. These images are beamed along with a distress signal to nearby TF ships. If Orasten was close enough to them, those TF ships will now know this ship fired on a friendly vessel. I know that a distress package from Orasten went out, because we received it on one of the bridge computers. I meant what I said to that captain about betrayal. TF ships will turn guns locked onto Nilcyn targets toward us if they have the slightest chance of shooting us down.”
Craig shifted uncomfortably on the floor. Jyra didn’t realize she had been holding her breath the moment Leonick began speaking.
“I suggest we take a break,” Leonick said. “We are not making any progress. I think everyone needs to relax for a moment. Agitated minds do not create sound plans.”
*
Jyra lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t clear one thought from her head. Of all the uncomfortable moments in the meeting, she couldn’t get past the realization that she wasn’t sure how she felt about the resistance. Craig and Neeka seemed determined to follow Macnelia’s desire to destroy the TF fleet. As far as Jyra could tell, both Craig and Neeka had ignored Leonick at the end of the meeting.
Jyra stood up and paced in her quarters as memories of the meeting cascaded over her. She hated how she had characterized Macnelia and her illness. She wondered what everyone thought of her now. Jyra didn’t mean to insult Macnelia’s memory, but as she thought about it, Craig was guiltier of that than anyone.
Nearly all his arguments were based on carrying Macnelia’s vision forward, which looked fine on the surface. The more Jyra thought about it, the more worried she became. Craig was very driven. He’d been that way at the garage. Sometimes he would work late into the night, desperate to complete a project. Nothing else mattered until he finished. He’d latched onto a part of Macnelia’s vision and wanted to achieve it, even if it meant ignoring significant warnings from members of the resistance and lying to them.
Jyra stopped pacing and faced the door. She couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself. She had to tell someone. The door to her room, however, wouldn’t open. She tried several times, but it didn’t budge. Jyra pounded on it and called for help. The beats of her fists faded into silence. She slumped against the door, quite certain she knew who locked her in.