It took a couple of hours to sort everything out and clean up most of the chaos the pirates had caused, but they managed it. The signature radiation from a hyperdrive jump confirmed that the Night Terror had well and truly fled, leaving its captain and a handful of the crew behind. Fredrichs showed them to the cells to keep their mysterious stowaway company. The dead and wounded were gathered up and sorted; on Inferno’s side, there were five dead and twice that number with varying injuries. Barnes had given that tally with a tremor in his voice, and Marissa could tell it hurt him more than any physical wound. The only consolation was that they’d taken out a fair number of pirates, although more death was not something Marissa would openly celebrate. The bodies were placed into cryogenic storage in a far corner of the cargo hold, to be preserved until they could be returned to their families. In spite of what had happened, Cassandra visited Narsh in his cell to ask what he wanted done with the bodies of his crew.
“Burn them,” he’d grumbled, his broken wrist held against his chest by a sling. “No free man wants to die, but if we must, we prefer to go out in a blaze of glory. Cremation’s the closest you can get to that after the fact.”
“And the ashes?”
“Space ’em,” Narsh replied with a shrug. “There’s plenty of junk out there already—a little more can’t hurt.”
The Rashani helped where they could, although Mela was insistent that the kids stay away from any bodies. Cassandra assigned them to the medical room to act as assistants to the medics. Marissa swung by there when the bodies had been dealt with, watching the two work. The girl, Nue, tended to the patients in pain, seeming to dull their agony with a touch of her hand. The boy, Vis, was less comforting, tending to minor wounds looking as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was a bit of a curiosity to many of the crew; Marissa and many others had thought only women could become Rashani.
Once things were relatively stable, Cassandra called for a meeting with the Rashani and the commanders in the cafeteria. To Marissa’s surprise, the captain approached her personally and asked her to join them. Sitting at a single table, they told their stories. There was no point in hiding behind falsehoods; the Rashani were living lie detectors, so Marissa shared almost everything, right down to the mysterious circumstances of how she’d received the map that she’d hung all her hopes on. Only Coach went unmentioned, because she didn’t want to seem completely insane.
Mela gave an explanation of her mission in response. They had been tasked by both the Rashani Council and the Alliance government to investigate the attack on the Consortium and determine the whereabouts of the missing individuals. She stressed the search for her fellow Rashani, making it clear that this Alis was her priority. Nue was there as a student, to learn by example and demonstrate her abilities. She neglected to explain Vis’ place in their group, simply saying he was there to assist. He and Nue leaned close together, whispering back and forth through the whole story.
“As I suspected, we share a goal,” Mela concluded.
“More or less,” Cassandra replied, clearly on edge. It was just part of that Imperial upbringing; the Rashani didn’t offer their services to Emperor Bythos, probably fearing they’d be pulled into his warmongering, and so the Imperials told stories to make them seem like monsters. Apparently even a more knowledgeable Zulkar like the captain still held some superstitions.
Mela took Cassandra’s coldness in stride and pushed on. “Both of us want to find those who attacked the Consortium, and find any survivors they might have taken prisoner. While we may be seeking different individuals, our destination is the same. With that in mind, I think it would be best that we work together.”
That was an opportunity that Marissa couldn’t have even dreamed of when she’d stepped aboard the Valiance. She’d expected the Rashani to stay long enough to make sure the ship was safe before taking off to go do Rashani things, but this was too good to be true. With their skills in combat and their strange magic, one Rashani was usually enough to protect a whole colony, and they had three.
Cassandra didn’t share her giddiness, her face taking on a cautious grey colour. “That is a possibility. However, the crew of this ship are all trained professionals, and I don’t know if they’d appreciate having outsiders disrupting their procedures.”
Fredrichs leaned towards Cassandra, fixing her with a scrutinizing look. “You take a bump on the head, Captain? We’ve already been working with them the last few hours, and cleaned up pretty well because of it. If they want to help us, I say let them. We’ve already got a gladiator on board, so why not someone who actually knows what they’re doing?”
Marissa let the jab go and smiled. Yes, let the Rashani help; she would take every advantage in order to save Arc. They’d lost a few mercs in the pirate attack, and allying with the Rashani would more than make up for that.
But Cassandra remained hesitant, rapping her carefully manicured claws on the table. “Are you in agreement, Lieutenant-Commander?”
“I follow the commander’s lead on these decisions, but I’d still be for it otherwise,” Barnes replied.
Cassandra’s eyes wandered across the expectant Rashani faces. “We won’t be able to pay you.”
Before Mela could speak, Vis let out a very loud, very condescending sigh. “If we wanted money, we would have asked for it.”
“Vis, please,” Mela scolded. She gave him a mild glare, then turned a friendly face on Cassandra. “It’s as he says, though—we have no need for money. We are on a mission to save our Sister, and we will do that with or without you. I simply hoped we could do it together.”
Cassandra faltered under Mela’s gaze, so much that Marissa wondered if some sort of Rashani magic was being worked. The Zulkar sighed, her face flushing a resigned blue, and she turned to Marissa. “What about you?”
That was unexpected, but Marissa seized the moment. “I didn’t realize I was part of the crew.”
Cassandra gave her a tired smile. “You fought alongside Inferno Company against those pirates to defend this ship—I’d say that gives you some say in this.”
“In that case, I say we team up,” Marissa answered, overcome with joy. “If we find this Alis woman, then we find Arc as well. We’ve got nothing to lose.”
That last part seemed to convince the captain; she gave a curt nod, then reached a long arm across the table towards Mela. “Welcome aboard.”
“It is a pleasure to be here,” Mela replied, giving the captain’s scaly hand a firm shake.
* * *
Sorin lay across his bench, trying to ignore the noise from the adjacent cells. Since their imprisonment, the pirates had gone the extra mile in letting their displeasure be known, and it was causing Sorin to actually think wistfully of the near-millennium of solitude he’d spent in the dark depths of space. He’d never thought mortals could be louder than the Deus, but these men with their howling and bawdy songs seemed a match even for Auraphon, the God of Music himself, in volume if not talent. Sorin’s hands found their way to his ears without any conscious input on his part, but even they failed to block out the deep, growling bellows of the Phal captain slumped in the cell directly across from him. Like Sorin, he had been given a cell to himself.
The brig was only remarkable in how unremarkable it was; there were about ten cells, and everything else was not worth noting. Sorin turned on his side to face the plain grey wall, and immediately forgot what the room looked like. Inside the cell, the bench was hard and uncomfortable, and he couldn’t imagine anyone ever getting any sleep on it. On top of that, his Guise was beginning to itch around the collar, and he dare not scratch in case it disrupted his camouflage in front of the rowdy pirates. A sudden transformation would probably cause a panic, which he wanted to avoid. Despite his discomfort, he was thankful the mercenaries had been too occupied with the pirate attack to properly search him. The Guise only simulated the appearance of his armour, and any attempt to remove a single piece would have disrupted the entire illusion.
He should have tried harder to escape. No—he shouldn’t have been discovered at all. His sprint to the bridge had been sloppy, proving that he was sorely out of practice when it came to moving among mortals. Lutus would never let him hear the end of it if he found out. He was in a compromising position now, and he needed to act before he was found out. What could he do, though? He could change his face with the Guise and mimic one of the other crewmen, then claim he’d been locked inside while checking on the prisoner. If he could convince them the real imposter had escaped, they would open the cell and he could slip back to his Chariot.
The hitch in his plan was the gaggle of pirates, especially the Phal, who had a direct line of sight into his cell. The injured mortal cast regular steely glares at Sorin, seeming to put the sum total of his anger into those looks. He could wait until the Phal slept to change, but with the ruckus the others were making, that could be a long time coming. Even then, his story might fall apart if the pirates refused to corroborate this supposed escape. They had no reason to lie for him; their hatred was an almost physical, oppressive force that hovered around the brig.
And then there was the matter of the Rashani. He hadn’t seen them personally, but he’d overheard the pirates babbling about them when they’d first been brought in. Of all the possible rescuers Sorin had considered when he’d sent the distress signal, the Rashani hadn’t even crossed his mind; another foolish mistake to add to the growing list. Hopefully they would stay away from the cells, for everyone’s sakes. Since the conception of the Rashani, no Deus had strayed near Utopia. There were many reasons for it; shame, superstition, and even physical revulsion. They were born from death, the last echo of Rasha’s murderous madness. He held no ill will towards them and what they did, but he wanted no part of it.
A brief, blessed hush fell over the brig as the pirates stopped to breathe, then wound up again for another song. The cacophony of tuneless voices garbled what lyrics there might have been, but it was probably about sex. Most mortal songs seemed to be about sex, or related concepts—quite a few Deus ones as well. The oral atrocity pulled Sorin from his thoughts and had him almost regretting his decision to not take lives.
The pirates were so loud that he didn’t hear a new guest enter the brig. He instead heard the pirates seamlessly transition from song to derisive shouts, and then Fulmus’ daughter was standing before his cell. She shot the pirates a glare, which only seemed to encourage them. Suddenly, she slammed her fist against one of the metal bars holding Sorin in. The reverberation sang far louder than the pirates, hushing them into stunned silence.
“That’s better,” she said, casually leaning her back against Sorin’s cell. “You know the brig is sound-proofed, right? No one else can hear you, so why don’t you save your breath?”
The Phal lurched towards her, sticking his hairy face between the bars. “You think you’ve won? You’ve put us right where we want to be—in the heart of your ship! From here, we could take this vessel in minutes! Does that send a chill down your spine, knowing that your inevitable downfall might come at any moment? Any day, any second, I might just decide to snap these flimsy bars and come looking for you.”
Fulmus’ daughter rested her chin on her knuckles, her eyes burning with a hint of her father’s old fire. “Just don’t break your other arm doing it, OK?”
The Phal bared his broken teeth in challenge, but the woman simply smiled in return. They stayed like that, eyes locked, until the pirate grumbled something under his breath and stepped back into the dim corner of his cell. Fulmus’ daughter hadn’t even flinched, and she turned to peer into Sorin’s cell without a second glance. If Sorin had still harboured any doubts as to her parentage, that display had dispelled them; she seemed more like Fulmus than Fulmus had.
“Hey there,” she said. “You’re our stowaway, aren’t you? It’s funny—you look like you belong on the Valiance, with the uniform and all, but I don’t recall ever seeing you onboard. In fact, no one remembers seeing you before today.”
Sorin sat up, keeping a level gaze with her. He said nothing; what could he say that wouldn’t land him in further trouble? He was a terrible liar.
The demi-god did not wait long before continuing on. “Fredrichs—that’s the merc commander, by the way—thinks you might be a pirate, like these other smelly jerks.” She paused to spare a wide smile for the sulking Phal. “But the attack clearly wasn’t planned, so how would you know to wear the Inferno uniform in advance? I don’t even know where you got it—none were taken from the bodies, and the extras in the hold are all accounted for. I was pretty confused by the whole thing, and I would have left it to smarter minds, except that I remembered your face. You were the one who bumped into me at the starport, while Cassandra and I were heading for the Valiance. You’ve been tailing us—somehow—since day one, haven’t you?”
Sorin almost spoke, but stopped himself. Anything he said would betray his duty, or be an obvious lie. Silence was the wisest course.
Marissa’s smile faltered, that warrior’s confidence fading. “Who are you? Tell me, because if you’re on our side, I might be able to help you. The merc commander is talking about having a special interrogation just for you, and she’s thinking about inviting the Rashani along.”
Sorin started in alarm. Marissa seemed to catch that, gripping the bars of the cell and leaning in. Sorin silently cursed himself for letting his feelings show, but the thought of Rashani worming around in his head, sensing things no mortal should… It would end badly, and he wasn’t sure for whom.
“You don’t like the Rashani,” Marissa observed. “Why not?”
Sorin fidgeted, holding back on an answer. But the uneasiness, the fear, finally forced him to relent. “They are unnatural. They should not have the powers they do.”
“But you sent the distress signal to them,” Marissa stated.
Sorin shook his head. “I didn’t know who would answer. The situation was becoming desperate—you needed any assistance you could get.”
Marissa bit her lip, impenetrable thoughts going on behind those fierce eyes. At last she spoke, her voice hushed to a whisper. “Are you him? Are you Coach?”
It was a question Sorin had neither expected, nor understood. He shook his head again, which seemed the safest answer.
Marissa drummed her fingers against the bars, and then suddenly brightened. “I didn’t think so, but I needed to be sure. I don’t remember a whole lot about him, but I know you don’t have the same presence.”
Sorin felt a slight tick of annoyance. What was that supposed to mean? He was a Deus—he had plenty of presence! What mortal could compare to him? Only another Deus could even hope to match… Well, that was the answer then; the old War God had mentioned that he spoke to his daughter in her dreams to prepare her for battle. This Coach, if he really did command such a presence, must have been Fulmus.
Marissa seemed to read his thoughts from his expression and smiled triumphantly. “You do know him. I bet you’re that friend he mentioned to me—the one who sent that map.”
“That was me.” No point in trying to hide it; she would believe that fact, regardless of what he said.
“Do you have a name?” She pressed. “I’m Marissa, by the way—but I guess you already knew that. What’s yours?”
Sorin hesitated to answer; how much information was too much? Lutus would have said any, but he wasn’t here to provide guidance on the matter. Surely a name, devoid of any real context, couldn’t hurt? “Sorin.”
“Who are you, Sorin? You met my husband—what’s going on with him? Is he all right?” There was a need in Marissa’s voice, a hunger for answers.
Sorin shook his head, already regretting that he’d shared his name. “I cannot tell you.”
“Why not?”
“It is against the rules—our laws forbid even this conversation.”
“Our laws?” Marissa repeated. “Whose laws?”
“I can’t tell you,” Sorin insisted, knowing how unhelpful he was being.
“Can you tell me one thing?” Marissa asked, her voice quiet and pleading. “Is Arc still alive?”
Sorin took in the full force of her expression. Beneath the layer of confidence and bravado he realized there was an inner misery, a sense of helplessness and uncertainty that Sorin was uncomfortably familiar with; it was the same way he’d felt after the death of his mother. He averted his eyes. “Yes, the last time I checked, but that was some time ago. However, I believe his captors are keeping him alive for some purpose.”
A look of relief washed over Marissa, and she stuck her chest out confidently once more. “That’s good. That’s wonderful. All this time I wanted to believe, but I had doubts. Thank you.”
Her sudden gratitude disarmed him, left him at a loss for words. “You are welcome.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me? Like who we’re fighting?”
Sorin held his mouth firmly shut. He’d already said too much.
Marissa frowned, but only for a moment. “These laws must suck, huh?”
Sorin grinned; what a quaint turn of phrase. “At times, yes, they are a hindrance. I will tell you one thing, Marissa Rhapsody, and I promise you it is the truth—we are on the same side. I wish to see your husband and the other diplomat found, and this war ended before it starts. Peace is what I want—what your ‘Coach’ wants.”
Marissa took a step back from the cell and let out a heavy breath. It must be hard, Sorin thought, to know you are different, but not know why. She seemed to mingle with other mortals well enough, but it came at the cost of restricting herself, trying not to stand out too far. Sorin had only spent a few hours in a similar situation, and he could hardly bear it; the fact Fulmus’ daughter lived her life like this was beyond admirable.
“Let me guess—you want me to let you out,” she said, suddenly.
Sorin smiled in reply. The Chariot would still be attached to the Valiance’s hull, and he needed to get back to it before a mercenary discovered it while checking on the turrets. Along with that, all the information the Echo picked up was sent directly to the ship’s computers, and the sooner he returned, the sooner he could catch up with the crew’s plans.
Marissa scratched her head furiously, raking her fingers through her hair. “The others will give me hell for it. Where will you go?”
“Off-ship, but not far,” he replied. “I have my own vessel, and I shall watch from a distance.”
“I think I saw it a couple of times—a gold streaky-thing,” Marissa said. “Will you help us fight, when the time comes?”
Sorin clenched his fists; a part of him actually wanted to say yes. The lives of trillions of mortals might be at stake, and the cost to save them would be a mere handful of others. Cold logic told him he should kill Shodus and his crew and save so many more, but even Lutus didn’t use only logic. No matter how correct the math was, he knew he couldn’t take those lives himself. Maybe that made him a coward, but he couldn’t change his mind on this.
“I will intervene if I deem it absolutely necessary,” he explained, shaking in frustration. “You will have to do the fighting on your own, but from what I have seen of your skill, I am confident I will not be needed.”
Marissa grinned at that. “I hope you’re right.” She stepped forward and stuck an arm through the bars. “Do you promise that what you’ve said is the truth?”
Sorin stood and grasped her hand, marvelling at the strength of her grip. They shook; an old mortal tradition that symbolized trust. When they released, Marissa stared at her own hand, flexing her fingers. “Your hand is really warm.” She shrugged it off and reached back through the bars. Her fingers closed around the door lock and squeezed. She grunted in exertion, and the lock crumpled in her grasp. Behind her, the pirates gawked in disbelief. Would they tell, and would anyone believe them? Sorin couldn’t be sure, nor did he have time to ponder the matter.
Marissa stepped back, folding her powerful hands behind her back and putting on an innocent face. “I’d wait five minutes or so before leaving, so I can deny any involvement. It will look like you broke yourself out.”
“What about them?” Sorin asked, pointing to the pirates.
“They’re pirates—no one trusts anything they say,” Marissa answered. “Goodbye, Sorin. I hope to see you again.” She waved her hand, then trotted out of the brig, ignoring the shouts of angry pirates all around them.
Sorin took her advice and waited twice the time she’d suggested, then gripped the cell door and chuckled as it slid aside with a slight tug. The pirates made another uproar at his miraculous escape, but he ignored them and hurried out into the corridor. He adjusted his Guise, adding a helmet to conceal his face, then nearly ran to the airlock. It was supposed to only be openable from the bridge, but overriding the locking system was rudimentary, and Sorin threw himself into space within minutes of escaping his cell. He grabbed the side of the hull to orient himself, then propelled his body upwards.
He deactivated the cloaking on his ship temporarily before setting down beside it and climbing inside. He lowered himself into his chair with the sort of relief one might feel after a hard day’s work. He was safe, and the spirit of the laws was intact, at least; he’d only stretched them. He booted up the ship’s systems and cued up the Echo’s recordings, seeking out any important conversations the crew might have had during his imprisonment. It would take time, and they were drawing ever closer to their destination, but he would be ready to do what he could.
* * *
“You’re certain you played no part in the prisoner’s escape?” Cassandra leaned down and pressed her hands against the cafeteria table, her scowling violet expression looming over Marissa.
Marissa pushed her seat back to get some space, falling back on her tried-and-true smirk. “Oh, no, I was mistaken. I just forgot that I broke him out.”
The scowl somehow grew deeper, Cassandra’s face taking on the hue of an eggplant. “I don’t think this is an appropriate time for jokes. I have a possible pirate free on board my ship, and no idea where he’s gone.”
Marissa’s smirk faltered as she wondered again if she’d made a mistake. “I don’t think he’s a pirate. When we talked, he just said he wanted to help.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes. “Why did you talk to him? What else did he tell you?”
“Not much,” said Marissa, truthfully. “He kept talking about how he couldn’t tell me anything, and he kept avoiding my questions. He said his name was Sorin, but I don’t know if that’s even a real name. As for why I went to see him, it’s because I recognized him. You were there, at the starport—he bumped into me on our way to the Valiance.”
Cassandra leaned back, her expression twisting in confusion. “I remember something like that, but I don’t recall his face. Are you sure it was the same man?”
Marissa nodded, happy to see the colours of anger fading from the captain’s face. Sorin hadn’t outright said he’d been the one, but the way he’d talked about other things was as good as a confirmation.
“The pirates are being rather talkative—that Narsh fellow says you broke the lock on this Sorin’s cell.”
Marissa forced a smile. “With what, my bare hands? Come on, Captain, I’m not that strong. Honestly, what are you doing listening to pirates anyway? Lying is second—no, first nature to them.”
Cassandra paced to the other side of the table. “So, who do you think he is, and do you know where he might be hiding?”
Two very good questions, neither of which Marissa had a solid answer for. “I think he was the one who sent the map—not a spy, but a third party. Don’t ask me who, though. As for where he went, I’d guess he found a way off the ship.”
“We’re in space,” Cassandra reminded her. “There’s nowhere to go for light years.”
“He got on board, didn’t he?” Marissa replied, trying not to sound too defensive. “He might have snuck on when the pirates attacked, but I don’t think he was riding with them. Maybe he has his own smaller ship, like the Rashani’s Moonsaber. Was the airlock opened at any point today?”
Cassandra’s jaw hung slack for an instant. “There was a malfunction of some sort. It solved itself, so I didn’t pay too much attention to it, but I suppose it’s possible.” She flared her nostrils in frustration. “I’m keeping security on alert anyway. We can’t be certain that he means no harm.”
“Just don’t forget about the actual pirates we have in the brig,” Marissa said.
Cassandra nodded back, the last of her purple tint fading back to pale green. “You may go. And I’m sorry for casting so much suspicion on you—I was hoping we’d gotten past that.”
“We have,” Marissa said, patting her hand. “If you really suspected me, you would’ve asked one of the Rashani here to check if I was lying.” Thank goodness that hadn’t happened. She stood, stretched her arms behind her head, then left the captain to her own devices.
Had she done the right thing? The question nagged at her as she made her way down to the cargo hold for some routine exercises. Maybe she’d trusted Sorin a little too easily, but something about him had reminded her of Coach. She had a gut feeling that Sorin had told the truth and that he really did want to help in the search for Arc, and she was inclined to go with her gut. She hadn’t liked lying to Cassandra, but the captain was clearly a rational person who followed facts, not feelings. If Marissa’s actions had consequences down the line, then she’d just have to go set things right again.
A strange sight greeted her in the hold. More mercs were standing guard duty after the pirate attack, but a small handful of troops remained to run drills and spar. That wasn’t what was unusual; what stuck out was the lone figure leaning against a tall crate off to the side of the activity. He wore a blue shirt with a high collar and a rose emblazoned across his chest. Vis, Marissa remembered, the one she’d mistaken for a girl. He was watching the sparring men with an unsure, faraway expression, looking to the floor whenever they turned in his direction. If the mercs were bothered by the attention, they didn’t let on, and continued with their training as if the boy wasn’t there. Marissa approached the lone Rashani, curious. She had never seen the trainees apart from each other since they’d boarded the Valiance a few days before, and Vis had chosen an odd place to spend his time alone. She’d planned to speak respectfully to him, but the boy suddenly turned a suspicious look her way before she’d opened her mouth, throwing her thoughts off-balance. She tried to recover, wondering how she was supposed to greet a Rashani.
“Uh, hi,” was what she settled on. It had none of the eloquence or intelligence she’d hoped to show in their first one-on-one meeting, but she couldn’t see how it could offend him, at least.
Vis held his expression, slowly folding his arms to accentuate the effect. “Good day, Ms. Rhapsody. Is there something I can help you with?” His tone was a few steps below terse, the space between sentences filled with a long pause. Not a good sign.
Marissa tried a different tack. “Is it true that Rashani are colour blind?”
Vis’s eyes went wide, his composure slipping. “Um, no?” He settled into a smirk. “But you’re joking of course. Forgive me—I haven’t been exercising my senses as much as I should, and I sometimes slip up when reading people.”
“I’ll thank you to not read my mind,” Marissa said, folding her arms in a mocking imitation of him.
Vis gave a little half-bow. “I will be sure to keep all your filthy secrets to myself. I may have need of blackmail some day.”
“Trust me, whatever you’d find is probably public knowledge already,” Marissa replied. “So, what brings you down to this smelly place?”
Vis frowned. “Mela is testing Nue again—I am a distraction, apparently, even if she didn’t outright say it. This place seemed as good as any to spend my time.” His eyes slowly moved to watch the mercs again as he spoke, following their energetic movements.
“Shouldn’t she be testing you as well? Oh! Or do you do it separately?”
Vis’ cold grey eyes met her own and he smiled bitterly. “I think you misunderstand. Mela is Nue’s Sikkat, not mine. Nue is the one who has earned a Lucidil and moved onto the next stage of her training. I’m just tagging along for support.”
“Oh, I thought you were here to learn as well,” Marissa replied.
Vis shook his head. “A Rashani trainee spends years in training with a class of her peers to learn the basics of her abilities, honing her skills until she can muster the mental power to shape a Lucidil. Once that is accomplished, she is assigned a Sikkat for more personal, in-depth training. I have not yet earned that right.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Marissa sensed that she’d stepped into something she shouldn’t have. “If it’s any consolation, you’re closer to using one than I ever will be.”
Vis’s smile widened reluctantly. “That’s not really an accomplishment. You’re not a Rashani, after all.”
“But you are,” Marissa pointed out. “That’s something—I thought all Rashani were women.”
“They are,” said Vis, his voice turning icy again as he refolded his arms closer to his chest. “But I’m going to change that—be the exception.”
Marissa sensed tension there and swerved to avoid it. “OK.”
Vis’ eyes widened, which seemed unwarranted. Had he really expected her to prod at something like that? There was no point in asking why he was the way he was; he’d obviously been born that way. She couldn’t have answered such a question any better if she’d been asked.
Vis lowered his arms a fraction. “Are we closing in on the killers?”
Marissa nodded excitedly. “Based on the coordinates on the map and that Lacus trail you picked up on, Captain Cassandra guesses we’ll find them within twenty-four hours. As much as I hate to say it, the pirate attack was probably a good thing for the crew—everyone will still be on guard for when the time comes to strike.”
Vis eyed the sparring mercs again as he lightly fingered the blade at his belt. “Do you think you’ll be able to fight them?”
That was the big question, wasn’t it? She hid her reservations behind a broad smile. “Of course. Whoever attacked the Consortium would have had to be a small force; otherwise they would’ve been spotted. Unless they’ve got an armada awaiting their return, I think we have enough firepower. We’ve got fortyish well-trained mercs, me, and three Rashani—we’ve got this.”
“Such confidence,” said Vis, frowning. “You can’t hide your worry from me, though. You don’t fear for your own life, but you do for others—am I right? I don’t know if this will put you at ease or make things worse, but I doubt Mela will want Nue or myself fighting alongside you, given our inexperience.”
It didn’t make things better or worse, only changed Marissa’s thinking. Mela was right to keep the kids out of danger, but it came at the cost of two potentially valuable assets. “Do you want to fight?”
Vis scratched his chin. “If Nue were to fight, absolutely. But with her safe, I’m not so sure. My stake in all of this is pretty vague, if you ask me—I don’t think I’ve spoken two words to this Alis person we came out here to save. I suppose I should come for the sake of a fellow Sister and my Rashani honour, not to mention for the good of the galaxy, but that’s just a little too abstract to persuade me.”
“I hear you,” Marissa agreed. She’d felt the same way many times before, when Arc’s career began to take off. He was doing good things, not for his own gain but for the sake of people he’d never even met. It was admirable, certainly, but Marissa had never been able to muster the motivation to do the same, much to Arc’s disappointment. It just wasn’t her fight.
A gasp sounded through the hold, and both turned to the sparring mercs. One crouched low, breathing heavily from exertion, his sword cast aside. The other stood before him and let out a cry of triumph. Vis shifted his stance to watch the victor, curious eyes dancing over the scene.
“You looking to spar?” Marissa asked.
Vis lurched back, shaking his head frantically. “No, no. That wouldn’t be proper. I just… I’ve spent my entire life among the Rashani—all women, as you recall. I was just thinking what life I might have lived if I’d been raised as a normal boy, in a more balanced environment.”
“Have you tried talking to them?” Marissa asked. “They’re kinda inarticulate, but I’ve met meaner guys.”
Vis clenched his fists at his sides. “I must be going—hopefully Mela and Nue will be finished.” He showed Marissa a long and proper bow. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Rhapsody. It was an interesting conversation. I wish you all the luck Rasha has to offer.”
“Uh, thanks,” Marissa replied. “If you change your mind about sparring, I’d be happy to be your partner.”
Vis made as if to go, but hesitated. “Perhaps Nue might benefit from that more than I would. I am here partly because of her inexperience with fighting, but maybe you’d be a better teacher than me.”
Marissa shrugged. “Sure, bring her down sometime.”
Vis bowed once more before leaving the hold, and Marissa thought she caught a glimpse of a genuine smile on his face. The mercs shook hands, congratulating each other on a good match as they folded their swords away. Marissa strode towards them, grinning devilishly.
“Either of you up for another match? I’ve got some kinks I need to work out.”
* * *
It took half a day to find their destination; half as long as Cassandra had guessed. After so long, waiting and training for the big event, it finally arrived all too quickly. The call came blasting over the ship’s communications channel: another ship had been detected relatively close, its coordinates within those given on the map, and with the Lacus trail going strong in its direction. Troops were ordered to their positions, non-essential equipment was safely stowed, and Marissa’s presence was requested on the bridge. She dropped what she’d been doing and nearly flew across the length of the ship.
The bridge was packed by the time she got there; in addition to Cassandra, Fredrichs, and Barnes, Mela stood with them. Vis and Nue sat in the corner, anxiously craning their necks to get a glimpse of what the others were looking at. The Moonsaber’s pilot was on the line as well, his chiselled features flickering on the nearest console screen. The screen beside that displayed the starmap with a large red blip sitting what appeared to be a short distance away from their own ship.
Cassandra beckoned Marissa towards her as she entered, then resumed the conversation. “I’m not sure what really needs to be said—the coordinates and the Lacus emissions almost sounded like crackpot theories on their own, but the fact they both lead to the same point leaves me certain this is the ship we’re looking for. I took a risk and deployed a sensor probe—our only one, unfortunately—to have a peek at what we’re up against. It appears to be an old model of military ship, the sort used half a century ago for smaller numbers of personnel. They’ve been obsolete for years now, but I imagine whoever’s using it has updated at least some of its systems. Size-wise, it’s about two-thirds the length of the Valiance.”
“Meaning we might have them outnumbered,” said Fredrichs, without a hint of enthusiasm. “Unless they hollowed out the hull in the revamp, most of it will be taken up by the clunky life-support systems of the time. Were I a less-experienced soldier, I’d say we could win this with numbers alone. So, what weapons are they carrying?”
Cassandra tapped the map screen and an image of the new ship took its place. It was a long, spindly vessel, its body tapering down into a spiral nose at the front. Its hull was an ugly mud-water colour, and it lacked any markings designating it as an Empire ship, as they’d all expected. In fact, it didn’t seem to carry any marks of allegiance at all.
“It has six cannons, according to this image,” said Cassandra, pointing to a line of bumps across the top of the vessel. “In regards to firepower, they don’t seem to have much more than we did before the pirate attack. They don’t seem to be active yet—I was expecting the probe to be destroyed, but it’s still out there, unscathed. They must know we’re here, but I’m guessing they’re waiting to see what we do.”
Marissa was bristling with excitement. “So, how are we going to do this? The Valk suits could be good for disabling those cannons, and then we could fly the Valiance in close and board them.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Barnes eyed the image critically. “The distance is too great and the Valks are too fragile. The guns would tear them apart before they were halfway to the ship. On top of that, we can’t risk the Valiance by getting closer. We’ll need something faster.”
The Moonsaber’s pilot grinned at them from his screen. “That’s what you’ve got me here for, right? I can get a force in there without a scratch on us. With Sister Mela’s permission, of course.”
“We will only be able to fit a fraction of your mercenaries on our ship,” Mela added, “but I will consent to using the Moonsaber if all deem it the best course of action.”
“The guns on the Moonsaber won’t be able to dent the enemy’s,” Barnes threw in, cupping his chin. “You won’t be able to dock with the ship without taking a hit.”
Fredrichs nodded. “Right—we’ll have to blow a hole in the hull to enter.”
“No!” Marissa exclaimed. All eyes on the bridge turned to her, wide with surprise. “We’re rescuing hostages, aren’t we? What if you end up killing them?”
Cassandra bowed her head. “She has a point. I don’t recall off-hand where this model has its brig.”
“Exactly!” She stepped closer to the image of the vessel and jabbed a finger at its side. “That’s an airlock on the side, right? Looks big enough to fit a Moonsaber through.”
Fredrichs scowled. “Oh yes, we’ll just knock and they’ll let us right in! We have no means of opening that airlock without blowing it open, which doesn’t solve your problem.”
The communications system began to crackle, like heavy rain on a tin roof. The Moonsaber’s feed vanished from the screen, replaced with a mess of random pixels. When she squinted, Marissa thought she could make out a face within the chaos, but that might have been her imagination.
A voice that was definitely not Othus’ spoke. “The door will be open. Do what you must to get there, but I assure you the door will be open.”
No one seemed to know what to say, each looking to someone else for enlightenment. Cassandra stepped closer to the console, leaning over the screen. “Who is this?”
“A friend,” the intruder replied after a short pause. “I wish to help.”
“How can you open the airlock?” Cassandra asked, refusing to simply accept what she was told.
“The same way I opened yours.”
Marissa started; it was Sorin! She shared a look with Cassandra, who nodded warily back at her.
“How can we trust you?” Cassandra asked. “Why are you here?”
Sorin’s distorted feed vanished, pixel by pixel. Othus’ confused expression took its place.
“Hey, you guys hearing me?” he asked.
“Loud and clear,” Cassandra replied. “Did you get that?”
“Uh, sort of.”
Cassandra gave Marissa a penetrating look. “Can we trust him?”
Marissa thought her answer through carefully. Should they put all their trust in a stranger—one who refused to show his face? There was no real evidence other than his word that he was fighting for them. He could be leading them into a trap. But Marissa had trusted him when she’d freed him, and he’d kept that trust so far. Coach had trusted him as well. Her gut was saying to go along with him.
“He gave us the map,” she said. “We trusted in that, didn’t we? And look what we’ve found! I say let’s do it.”
Cassandra rested a clawed hand on Marissa’s shoulder. “I hope you’re right.”
Barnes saluted. “I’ll pick out some troops for the flight. We’ll need to hit them hard and fast, so give me twenty minutes to find the guys I need.”
Marissa shook free of Cassandra’s grasp and blocked Barnes’ path. “I’m going with you. On the flight I mean.”
She’d expected him to protest, like everyone always did, but Barnes just frowned. “I figured you’d ask. I’ll take you if you’re sure, but you’re under my command and will be following my orders, understood? I don’t want anyone dying out there.”
“Whatever you say,” Marissa replied. She eyed the rest of the room with a touch of defiance. “Any objections?”
There were a few doubtful looks, but no one spoke. They’d all seen her fight; no one hit harder or faster. She gave them all a smile, then followed Barnes into the corridor.