The Lazarus Particle (19 page)

She grabbed Vichante’s chin roughly, determined to look her prized prisoner in the eye.

To her surprise, when she lifted his face, his eyes were smiling.

Smiling
.

Jskaarl was the first to sense the trap, only just beginning to lift his rifle in no particular direction when a sniper’s bullet collapsed his skull and sprayed his brain matter across the side of her face.

The entire dynamic shifted in that infinitesimal slice of time between the moment the shot rang out and Jskaarl’s lifeless body fell at her feet. She had all of a moment to regard his cold, dead eyes staring up at her, to say nothing of the massive hole in the side of his head, before a soft
plink
caught her attention. Vichante Harm was upon her just as quickly, his eyes blazing with life and victory as he closed his hands around her throat.

The sudden, impromptu battle raged all around them. The people she had taken for prisoners just moments before were now gleefully gunning down her clan-kin one after another. Her own fought fiercely where they could, but that was more for the sake of it than anything else. They were boxed in and badly outclassed; there was only one option.

One loathsome, unforgivable option.

“Surrender,” she managed to voice despite the vise-like hands squeezing the life out of her. She said it again, trying to articulate the word more clearly. “Sur-ren-der.”

Vichante laughed bitterly. His grip loosened. For a moment she thought he was actually going to show her mercy.

Then he lifted his hand again, aiming his massive sidearm straight between the point of her eyes. She sighed relievedly.

The last thing she heard was a tremendous boom. Whatever else transpired, Kerikeshaala: Tj Yeleyhi felt the cold, swift descent of blackness overtake her.

21 • REUNITED

Alexia had already decided she would rather go down fighting than be forced by the likes of Vron. She doubted he was capable of living up to his bluster, but she didn't intend to give him a chance to prove himself if she could help it. She went along passively at first, lulling him into a false sense of security. He jabbered away the whole time, explaining in lurid detail what he intended to do to her. None of it sounded particularly appealing. On the other hand, his vulgar narrative gave her even more motivation to do whatever she could to get free.

He led her into an empty cluster of quarters. Forcing her onto the nearest rack, he reached for the microfiber belt securing his pants. As soon as his hands were off her, she hooked her foot behind his knee and pulled. His balance shaken, Vron fell forward—straight into the heel of her hand. The strike shattered his nose. Dueling streams of blood poured forth from Vron's nostrils as he wailed and rolled to the side. “You bish! Ah’ll fugging kull yu!”

Alexia was on her feet in an instant. Still, it wasn't quite fast enough. Vron caught her by the wrist, turning her into a jab that snapped her head back. Two more followed in quick succession, leaving her woozy on her feet. Somehow she managed to slip the next punch. She countered with a well timed knee to the balls that put a swift end to any thought of Vron raping her. Red-faced and clutching his groin with both hands, he collapsed to his knees—at least until she brought a discarded liquor bottle from a nearby table down upon his head. The bottle didn't break, but she couldn't necessarily say the same for his skull. Either way, he was out for the count.

Two soldiers swept into the room behind her, drawing her attention. She recognized them as part of the group that had arrested her and Commander Harm minutes earlier. Clearly outgunned, she tossed the bottle aside and raised her hands above her head. Neither of them seemed too concerned about her, though. They were appraising the scene. One of them whistled, almost as if he were impressed. Were they hoping she would put up as much of a fight with them? She wasn't sure she had it in her, not after the way Vron had used her face for a punching bag. Not that she was about to let them know that.

“If you boys are here to take your turn, you might as well just kill me now. I've got not intention of making it easy on you, guns or no guns. Just ask that fat son of a bitch,” she said, nodding down at Vron.

Torrance cleared his throat softly, ducking his head. “Commander Harm sent us, ma’am.”

Alexia eyed him balefully. “You’d better not be screwing with me, Corporal. Not after what I just went through.”

“No, ma’am. On my word.”

“Mine, too,” Breed added, standing with his hands clasped atop the stock of his slung rifle. “We answer to Sergeant Rios now. Gatz and Poe are in custody, and we’re recognizing Commander Harm and the FPI command staff. Even so, we’re still a long way off from saying we’ve got this whole thing back in pocket.”

“In the meantime,” Torrance added, “let us take you back.”

She had only one question. It came out as a statement instead.

“Weapon.”

Torrance didn’t hesitate. Lowering his head, he shrugged the strap of his rifle off and pushed it into her arms. She blinked down at it through her one mostly open eye.

“This… is a little more than I expected…”

Torrance nodded down toward Vron. His face was caked with blood from the broken nose Alexia had given him. “Someone has to carry him back. Unless you’d prefer we just leave him—”

“Fuck, no!”

“That’s what I figured. So look: I’ll carry him, Breed’ll bring up the rear, and you’ll take point. We cleared every room on the way here, and besides, you’re the most recognizable. Probably no one will challenge you over either of us. If they do, spin a line. The simpler, the better. Say we’re retreating from a late action with last-ditch hold-outs.”

Breed nodded. “Looking like we all do, no one’s going to question that. Shit, they’ll probably run on to try to reinforce our retreat.”

The first part of the comment drew a hard stare from Alexia. Then she realized that both Breed’s and Torrance’s uniforms were flecked with blood. Not theirs, probably. They seemed too lucid, too ambulatory for either to be injured. Had that confrontation of theirs gotten ugly? They mentioned clearing rooms while searching for her, but nothing about any resistance along the way.
 

“Specialist, I’m sorry to have to pressure you, but we need to go. Now.”

“The faster we can get back and consolidate forces, the better.”

Alexia shook herself out of the daze threatening to overtake her. She reminded herself in no uncertain terms that she was still at risk, in the middle of god only knows what kind of horrible internecine conflict. Torrance was right. As grateful as she was for their help, they weren’t out of the woods yet.

“Alright, alright. I’m with you.”

Torrance nodded to the rifle. “Safety’s off, single burst.” He leaned forward. “Look, normally I’m all for fire discipline, but we’re in the dark here. If you see anything…”

“I’m firing a warning shot first,” she finished. She had seen and personally endured enough senseless violence for one day. Not that she wouldn’t put down anyone who attempted to get in her way at this point, but she would give them every opportunity to avoid that fate beforehand. Until it was her or them.

And then it would be them.

He must have read it in her eyes. “Use your best judgment. We’re not out to start another war here, but we’re damn sure not looking to lose one, either.”

“Copy that.”

Alexia moved slowly, checking every open space and minor alcove along the way. Shadows danced and chased one another seemingly at every turn, potential threats looming large in her mind’s eye. But no, they were just products of her fevered, traumatized mind. She didn’t let her guard down, but she did force herself to get it together.

Realizing she was no longer alone helped. True, the men backing her up had until recently thrown in with Gatz and Poe, but then so had she. Who was she to judge, just because she had come to her senses first? That, and they had rescued her from certain death. Hell, one of them had put his rifle into her hands without so much as a second thought. Knowing they had her back gave Alexia the ability to compartmentalize the events of the last several hours and focus on the task at hand.

At length the long, slow march came to an end without incident. The counter counterinsurgency remained a thing undetected.

She was glad to see Commander Harm and the rest of the command staff on their feet and able, even if he did immediately order half their paltry contingent to retake Medical and see to her and the wounded. Alexia tried to protest, to claim she was still in the fight, but just as quickly she realized she would be more of a liability and relented. Commander Harm at least allowed her the dignity of keeping a sidearm, and for that alone she was extremely grateful.

Several hours passed before word came down that they had reclaimed control of the command facilities, with only minor holdouts in nonessential areas. Command control, communications control, and all essential power, defense, and medical facilities were all once again under the command of the Free Planetary Irregulars. They had been successful, with only minimal additional casualties to show for it.

Laying there in Medical, Alexia expected to be arrested at any moment for her role in the first forcible transition of power. She wouldn’t have fought the MPs if they had come for her—she was prepared to accept responsibility for her actions—but they never did.

Someone else came, though.

Corporal Gennison Torrance—Torrey, as he insisted his friends call him—took it upon himself to check up on her between shifts. Mostly he chatted with her, keeping her apprised of all the goings-on since the Irregulars had retaken control. When she thought about him, she still couldn’t get over the fact he just put his rifle into her hands. Just like that. All that trust. Really, his life. She could have turned it on him and Breed and that would have been that. And besides, she hadn’t been exactly grateful for their intervention, at least initially. Hell, she had all but accused them of being ready to drag her off to an even more horrible fate. As if they were somehow accomplices to her own physical and mental violation.
 

She’d asked for a weapon, and Torrance—Torrey, she reminded herself—had handed over the deadliest part of himself without question. That, she thought, said a hell of a lot about the man.

Plus, she was starting to notice he wasn’t at all bad looking…

Nearly a day later she was discharged from Medical. At first she didn’t know where her feet were taking her. Then it dawned on her. The route was a bit circuitous, taking her through the corridors uncluttered with drunken partisans and so many potential firefights unrealized, but the destination was unmistakable. Still, she was grateful for the time to reflect. They had been lucky, she knew. It all could have been so, so much worse.

For a moment, arriving on the threshold of Command, Alexia dreaded taking the next step forward. She almost turned tail and ran, anything to get away from all the judgment she knew was lurking behind those doors. But no, she had to do this, she knew. She had to put herself before them, had to show them she wouldn’t shrink from their stares.

Steeling herself, she stepped through the doors to the most anticlimactic reaction possible. Nothing. No one noticed or paid her so much as a passing glance. The entire room was riveted, their attention fixed upon the three-dimensional local system map. She had only to glance at it to realize what had captivated them so.
 

“Is that…” She tilted her head, as if a change of angle might make all the difference. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes,” Soroya said, drawing out the word thoughtfully. She, too, was tilting her head. “Apparently someone is attempting to run the Tyroshi blockade.”

“Crazy son of a bitch,” Corliss added.

Alexia just gaped. “Who would… I mean, is that even
possible
?”

“Theoretically. Not for any Coalition-affiliated vessel, though.”

“We hardly knew ye,” Rishi drawled.

For several seconds the entire room watched in stunned silence as the tiny blip representing the unknown ship bobbed, clipped, and looped through the densely layered Tyroshi blockade. Moments later it emerged free and clear on the other side, barreling toward them unmolested.

Corliss spoke for every man and woman in the room when he deadpanned, “Fuck. Me.”
 

“Is it just me,” Alexia said, “or did that actually just happen?” She wasn’t sure why, but all her hair felt as if it were standing on end. Almost as if she had just witnessed a miracle.

Something is coming
, she heard Dell’s voice say.

“Oh, it happened alright,” Soroya answered.
 

“Wait! Now they’re… hold on, this doesn’t make a bit of sense…”

“What about any of this does?” Corliss again.

“Ma’am… they’re turning around.”

“What?” Soroya asked, incredulous. “Back toward the Tyroshi fleet?”

“Yes… no…”

“Make up your mind, helmsman," Harm said.

“I will when they do, sir!” the helmsman barked back. She was clearly flustered by the unknown ship’s acrobatic flying, something few of them had ever seen before. “Wait… wait! They’re not turning around. It appears they’re executing some sort of looping, descending arc between us and the Tyroshi fleet. I can’t imagine why, though…”
 

“Ma’am!” a voice shouted excitedly from the communications array. “We’re getting a signal over here!”

“Screen, now!”

“Audio only, ma’am. Probably trying to conserve power. Incoming in three, two, one…”

A scratchy, urgent-sounding voice filled the command module a moment later.
“Free Planetary Base, this is the former Morgenthau-Hale Command-class Yacht
Fateful Encounter.
We are unaffiliated and seeking safe harbor. Be advised our pilot is also in the midst of a difficult retrieval maneuver, possibly of one of your own. Do not fire, repeat, do not fire. We mean you no harm and are attempting no action against your present position. Stand by for further updates.”

“Message received,
Encounter
,” Soroya answered. “Free Planetary Base standing by.”