Page 21

As time wore on and the hunt for the core Sweeper base continued, Jos lost track of the number of battles his dal ground through, the number of meals and rest periods, few and far between, and the scars they accumulated along the way. The bonds connecting him to Tyelu became, like his implant, an inseparable component of his being, an unseen limb as necessary to his existence as breathing.

During encounters with the Sweepers, those bonds were suppressed by battle meds, though never to the point of disappearing. When the meds faded and he had a spare moment for a meal or sleep, he came to rely on his connection with her to reassure him of her wellbeing.

He’d tried a dozen times to compose a message to her, something more than “I’m fine” so she’d know his heart, and could never find the words beyond a simple reassurance. So, in those rare moments when his attention fell free from attack and counterattack, he allowed the thin, steady stream of her emotions to soothe him. They, as much as anything, succored him during the never-ending stream of battles thrown at his dal.

They had, by now, chased the Sweepers across the sector to the edges of a largely unpopulated nebula. The region was too unstable for settlement and had been eschewed by humans and their alien allies alike. Intel from Q Command, gathered by scout ships and elsewhere, suggested that the Sweepers had a possible regrouping point somewhere inside the nebula, where they fled jump by jump from the accumulated might of Q forces.

As they approached the nebula, Emler, his chest plate and repair kit in hand, sat down on a bench near where Jos was cleaning his armor’s seals, in the room devoted to their armor. Jos greeted him with a nod, then turned back to his own repairs. He hadn’t had a chance yet to approach Emler about anything other than work since claiming Tyelu and didn’t know what to say now. Emler’s loss had hit them all hard. They’d watched him implode when his mate died, crumpling into himself from a pain so deep, none of them could fathom it.

Jos was beginning to understand now. And still, he couldn’t find a good starting point to talk about his mating with Tyelu or Emler’s loss.

Emler muttered a foul curse. “Harak borrowed my hand laser again.”

“Borrowed or stole?” Jos said as he retrieved his repair kit and passed it over to Emler.

The d’ga snarled, making Jos laugh.

They worked in silence, each absorbed in the task before them. Emler repaired the faulty circuitry that had glitched in their last encounter, itself a replacement for a comms relay that had been crushed when a Sweeper threw Emler into a wall. The armor was tough, the dented chest plate easy to reform in the melder, though nowhere near as strong as when it was first crafted. Emler’s bruised sternum was healing under the steady attention of Medical and nanos.

That circuitry kept glitching.

Jos frowned as he finished working over the seals around his helmet. They’d lost a supply ship early on, to a child ship that had misjumped away from the battlefield. Q Command had adjusted, but as the conflict ranged farther and farther from Q, supply lines stretched to the breaking point. Emler needed new armor. They all did. But there was no time for a refit, no time for the armorers to assemble and custom-fit pre-forged armor.

Disgusted and more than a little tired, Jos switched out the pieces of his own armor and began a careful inspection of the seals.

“How’s Tyelu?” Emler asked.

Jos glanced up and found his dal mate staring impassively at him. “Fine. She went back to Abyw for a meeting.” Her message had caught up with Apedemak only that day. And again, a substantive reply eluded him.

“The bond?”

“Holding steady.” Jos slid a finger over the next seal, found a burr, and pulled his repair kit back across the bench. “Oddest thing when the meds kicked in that first time.”

“Disconcerting,” Emler agreed. The hard lines of his mouth flickered into a faint smile. “Sarai panicked that first time. I got half a dozen messages from her when we uplinked again.”

“Civilians.”

Emler huffed out a laugh, his focus on the chest plate. “She was the best of me.”

Jos said nothing, could find nothing to say that would ease his friend’s pain.

“Tyelu,” Emler continued. “She’ll not panic. You’ll see.”

He returned the hand laser, took the chest plate and refitted it into his armor, his back to Jos.

“Sarai was a good woman,” Jos said.

Emler’s hands paused and his back stiffened. “The best.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Leave it.” Emler’s hands fell from his armor and he half-turned toward Jos, his expression shadowed in the half-power lighting. “She’s gone now, Jos, and I have to live with that. Every day, I have to live with this hole in my heart, where she used to live. Every day, I wake up wondering where she is, but you know what? I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” He ran a hand down his throat over the mating tattoos inked into his skin. “No regrets there, but hear me when I say that we’re bringing you back to Tyelu in one piece, even if I have to drag you out of hell to do it. She won’t have to feel you die the way—” He shuddered, his hands hard fists at his side. “Don’t walk into the next battle without telling her how much she means to you. You won’t want to live with yourself if you do.”

A warning siren sounded, then a ship-wide alert went out. “Battle stations. Sweepers detected. Contact imminent.”

Jos stowed his repair kit and briskly donned his armor as the rest of the dal filed in and slipped into theirs. Then they were assigned orders and he had no more time to dwell on Emler and regrets and words left unspoken.

They filed into the transport deck one by one and stood on the pad awaiting orders and the quickly approaching battle. Jos received a steady stream of intel through his implant. The size of the nest, the estimated number of enemy combatants, distance to the target, his dal’s role in the coming fight.

His gaze settled on his dal mates, studying each one in turn: bright haired Magda, his right hand and oldest friend; Emler, who’d nearly died when Sarai had been taken from him; burly Harak, their demolitions expert; graceful, savage Seni, whose medical expertise had saved more than one of them; flirtatious Gav, a genius comms man; and quiet Zhu, the dal’s best marksman. Jos noted the dinged armor, the scars worn openly without complaint or comment, the resolve shining brightly in each d’ga’s eyes, undimmed by the fatigue plaguing them through weeks of continual combat.

And he wondered, as he always did, if this would be the day…

He shunted that thought aside as viciously as he would a Sweeper’s tentacle and hardened his own expression.

“Listen up,” he said. “We’re pairing up dal by dal and ‘porting into a child ship. Once cleared, we’ll ‘port to the mother ship and mop up. Any questions?”

Gav jiggled his blaster. “Got me a giant frekking mop right here, Q’Mhel.”

Harak groaned. “Frekking smartass.”

“That’s Handsome Mr. Smartass to you,” Gav said, winking.

“All right, kiddos, that’s enough,” Magda barked. “Helmets up. Time for our daily ration of pew pew.”

“Eyes up, guns out,” Jos added. “We go in as one, we come back as one.”

His helmet expanded over his head as his d’gas uttered resounding battle cries. Needles pierced his skin, administering battle meds, and his focus sharpened. A countdown outlined in red popped up in his helmet display, in a lower corner where a steady stream of data flowed.

Three. Two. One.

The world around him dimmed in a dizzying rush and popped back into focus as he materialized into chaos. Sweepers screamed around him, already enraged, their metal-tipped tentacles flaying each other and the Q-mercs indiscriminately. One slapped into Emler’s chest, flipping him into Seni. They both went down in a tumble of limbs as their health and armor stats flashed urgently across Jos’s display, fed through their implants and armor inputs.

Jos was already firing, steadily maneuvering through the tight press of bodies to take up a defensive position over the downed d’gas. Idly, he noted that the number of enemy combatants had been grossly underestimated. The thought slid by, joining a hundred other assessments in a quiet corner of his mind.

These Sweepers were ill-equipped to defend themselves. Few wore the metal-spiked leather jackets that seemed to absorb blaster fire. Many were young and undersized, their delicate tentacles unprotected by armor of any kind. His dal automatically targeted the tougher Sweepers first. Emler and Seni rejoined the battle almost as quickly as they’d been downed, and together, the d’gas made quick, efficient work of the Sweepers without any major damage beyond Emler’s glitching comms and another dent in his chest plate.

The moment the last Sweeper fell, Jos initiated a check-in. One by one, his d’gas gave him the a-ok. They swept through the ship, clearing it of any strays, making sure downed Sweepers stayed down. Then they gathered in a clear space and Jos requested a group transport via Apedemak into the mother ship.

The ‘port seemed to take longer this time. They materialized inside an empty room. Bare metal, roughly square, and ominously quiet. Unease twisted through Jos’s guts, despite the emotion suppressants coursing through his blood.

“Normal gravity. No fluctuations,” Seni said. “Atmosphere’s intact and ok for humans.”

“Magda,” Jos subvocalized.

She slung her blaster over one shoulder, dug out a handful of thumbnail-sized mapping drones, and flipped them into the air. Two slid into a vent. The others hovered above Magda, awaiting directions.

Harak checked the room’s sole hatch and found it sealed shut.

“Do it,” Jos said.

The demolitions expert knelt in front of the hatch and applied a thin line of liquid explosives. He stepped back, signaled everyone to move out of the way, and ignited the fuse. Sparks rolled in a wave around the hatch’s seam, the hatch groaned and popped. Harak shoved at it, and it slipped out of its frame and crashed to the floor on the other side.

Using hand signals, Jos directed them out one by one, Magda first with her complement of drones, then the others. He took the rear and stepped into a corridor as his d’gas fanned out to either side.

Magda checked the map unfolding on her arm screen. “We’re three levels below the bridge,” she murmured. “Looks like a new class. No Sweepers so far. No life signs period.”

“Frek,” Gav muttered. “Where is everybody?”

Jos shook his head, sent a query to Battle Command. A terse reply came back almost immediately. “On the mother ship. This is another child ship.” And no one had told him about the change, a serious breach of protocol.

Another message came in on the heels of the first, outlining the change of orders. Jos noted the timestamp. It should’ve reached him before they transported out of the first child ship. The frek?

“Change of plans,” he said. “We’re going to scout this ship. Command noticed some anomalies here and wants answers.”

“Roger,” Magda affirmed. She waved her hand in a go signal, and they spread out, following the map as it unfolded on her arm screen.

The map populated through their implants, all except Emler, whose suit comms were still glitching. Jos relegated his copy of the map to one corner of his helmet display as they carefully explored the ship. They found an access point for the upper decks, ascending as stealthily as their armor allowed. The next deck above them had a smoother look. Again, they fanned out and found nothing. No people, no Sweepers, no equipment, just empty rooms.

Magda whistled low. “Never seen a Sweeper ship like this.”

Jos glanced around. His First was toggling back and forth between her arm screen and her helmet, fiddling with the map until it made sense.

He caught her eye. “Like what?”

“Engines,” she said. “State of the art, if I’m reading this right. No leaky tech here. Correction. Beyond state of the art.”

Gav paused with his back against a bare metal wall. “She’s right. Never seen that configuration before. Let me send this back to…frek. Comm’s down. Command’s not responding.”

The unease in Jos’s gut tightened. “Let’s find the bridge.”

“Up and away,” Magda said, then retrieved her blaster and led the way.

The route appeared on the map growing in the corner of his helmet display via their internal comms. He covered their six as they passed a hollow elevator tube and located an easier access point, continuing upward until they hit the right level. A few moments later, they fanned out again on the uppermost deck, walking through gleaming corridors along slightly bouncy flooring. Here, the doors were graceful curves along the soft white walls marred by blaster residue and occasional but unmistakable flecks of blood. Jos placed his hand against a wall and found a similar material to whatever covered the floor.

A hatch slid back as Magda walked past one room. Harak glanced into it and whistled.

“Looks like a lab,” he said. “Or what’s left of one.”

Jos peeked in as he walked past, his lips thinning into a grim frown. The room was a jumbled mess of broken glass and equipment. A quiet suspicion began to form in Jos’s mind. Whatever had happened here, it happened fast. Ten to one it involved Sweepers.

Clearly, this ship had not been built by Sweepers. Why, then, was it part of their nest?

“This does not feel right,” Gav breathed.

Zhu grunted, the first sound he’d made since the battle started.

Magda stopped at a closed hatch and pressed her fist into what appeared to be a controller. Nothing happened.

“Gav,” Jos said.

The d’ga stepped forward and examined the controller, then snapped the butt end of his blaster into it. The door rolled into the wall, revealing a spacious bridge. As his dal cleared the room, Jos took in the bloodstains on the floor, the overturned terminal, the curved viewscreen displaying the surrounding nebula and the battle slowly raging around them.

A woman was propped up in the captain’s chair, dried blood flaking away from her forehead. She wore a stark white, skintight jumpsuit and her eyes were closed. Her delicate features lent an ethereal look to her. When Jos neared, he noticed thin wrinkles radiating from the corners of her eyes and around her mouth, and revised his estimate of her age upwards.

Seni checked the woman’s pulse and ran a scanner over her. “She’s alive, barely. Wound on her head looks serious. There’s some bruising, too. Nothing’s broken.”

“Do what you can,” Jos said.

Harak was kneeling next to a center column topped by a clear, rounded dome.

Jos fell in beside him. “What’s this?”

“Dunno,” Harak said. “Looks kinda like a net node, the kind installed on a planet.”

“What’s it doing here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Gonna just…” Harak popped off an access hatch, then scrambled back. “Get out, get out! It’s rigged to—”

Sound and light ripped through the air and a giant hand picked Jos up and flung him against the wall as the world flashed white, then abruptly shuddered into darkness.

In the weeks after the Council of Kafhs, Tyelu buried herself in the demands placed on her time by her father and Taq Zhina. She and Oron were often sent to negotiate support for the forces fighting the Sweepers. Their message was simple: the Q would fight the war so long as the rest of the sector helped finance it.

No one had expected it to last so long, and everyone seemed shocked by the nearly daily reports of Sweepers nests being found and cleared. When would it end? The question was asked of her so often, it began to wear into her, like a parasite wiggling deeper beneath protective flesh. By the end of her and Oron’s first week soliciting help, the question had become, at least in her mind, not when would it end, but when would Jos come home. She had no answers, only a shaky hope as the days marched unceasingly on.

Tyelu felt no guilt whatsoever about subtly blackmailing other planetary governments to chip in. She had only to point to the ravaged cities and outposts left in the Sweepers’ wake. Oron’s efforts were more subtle, though no less effective. Quashing the Sweeper threat once and for all would take the combined support of the entire sector. Given that Q had the largest standing military force, it only made sense that their soldiers were at the forefront, but everyone else must help.

Some planets banded together temporarily and mustered regular patrols to supplement the Q-mercs. Others, like Tersi, which had no space force at all, pledged whatever help they could spare. The Pruxn? were among the former, coordinating with nearby systems to guard cargo routes, though the bulk of the ships they used were like Ryn and Ziri’s ship: poorly armed and ill-suited for anything other than hauling cargo or passengers.

Tyelu saw to upgrading Yarinska ’s arms herself, staunching Ziri’s protests with a firm, “I will not put my family at risk when I have the means to protect them.”

Ziri thanked her quietly, then she and Ryn were off again, the Yarinska pulling double duty as both salvager and sentinel.

During that time, Tyelu regretted not having a ship at her disposal, one she could direct at will. She and Oron traveled so frequently, a dedicated ship would’ve been much more convenient than the never-ending chore of managing passage and accommodations. Fortunately, Oron handled that end of things, but still. Tyelu was aware of the lack.

From Jos, she heard little, though after a while what little she did hear became more substantive. Everything’s fine became I’m sorry I had to leave when I did.

Do whatever you want with the apartment. I trust you.

Stars, I miss your temper.

That one made her laugh. The man must be gone for her if he missed her querulousness.

She kept her missives as unemotional as possible, refusing to mention her worry for him. Instead, she filled each one with news of her family and his, of the friends she’d made on Q—Inisru and Ezo were regular companions—and of the daily household management. Investments, divestments, opportunities. Whatever ephemera seemed interesting, she included in her messages.

She rearranged his apartment and set up a small loom in front of his wall-mounted viewer, for use on the rare occasions when she was there. More often, she picked up her knitting while watching the carefully edited livecasts only available on Q. In the time since Jos left, she knitted him three sweaters, herself one, and cast on a thin summer weight sweater for Oron.

Her knitting, she took everywhere.

Despite the hectic schedule she’d thrown herself headlong into, she often thought of what the future might look like; and during those long, maddening nights when she ached for Jos, she wondered if he wanted the same things she did. They’d had so little time together, so few thoughts of anything beyond their chance encounters. A hundred times, she wished she’d asked him what kind of life he wanted with her, before she’d precipitously dragged him away from the life he’d already made for himself.

Foolish, headstrong girl. Yet he’d proved himself so quickly to be the man she’d always wanted. How could she not have done exactly as she had?

A few months in, as the conflict dragged on and the Sweepers were inexorably pushed away from the more heavily settled parts of the sector, Tyelu was called once again to Abyw for another important meeting among the kafhs. She and Oron arrived the night before and settled into the suite they so frequently used. Her parents and Kodh the Odious had already arrived in rooms they’d booked at an adjacent hotel.

As Oron secured the suite’s outer door for the night, he said, “Do you want to let your parents know we’ve arrived?”

Tyelu checked the time and winced. “They’re probably already asleep. I’ll contact them in the morning.”

Unease tugged at her, though she couldn’t understand why or where it came from. Oron said goodnight, then drifted into his room, and Tyelu closed herself in hers and slipped quickly into sleep despite the oddness of that unease.

She woke screaming, one hand clutching her face, the other her chest.

Oron burst into the room a moment later and cut the light on. “Tyelu! What’s wrong?”

“Jos,” she sobbed quietly, an echo of his pain throbbing through her. “It’s Jos. He’s been hurt!”

“Frek,” he muttered. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

She barely heard him over the roar in her ears. Pain washed over her again, stronger now, and she gritted her teeth against it, even as she trembled and broke out in a cold sweat. Whatever she felt must be a shadow of Jos’s agony. But the pain was good. Where there was pain, there was life. So long as she could feel his pain, she knew he was alive.

Oron rushed back into her room carrying his tablet and dropped down on the edge of the mattress beside her, dressed only in mid-thigh length briefs. “There’s been an explosion. Jos’s dal hasn’t been located yet.”

“They’re in a black space. Enclosed.”

Oron’s head shot up, his eyes narrowed. “You can see it?”

She clutched her chest, hunching into the fist pressed against her heart. “Feel it. Claustrophobic.”

His finger skimmed over the tablet. “I relayed that through the proper channels.”

“Your father?”

“Naturally. Can I get you anything?”

“A ship,” she whispered. “Have to go.”

“Tyelu,” Oron said gently. “We can’t dive into battle. We don’t even know where they are.”

“You can find out where they were supposed to be.”

“And then what? We rush headlong into trouble?”

She shook her head, unable to explain the feelings pressing into her, the urgency and dread, the need to do something, anything , to ease Jos’s pain. Thick tears slid down her cheeks, and she let them fall.

“Supplies,” she said at last. “They’ll need bandages and plasma. Needles. Burn ointment. We have to go. Can’t you see? We have to try.”

Oron drew her into a hug, rocking her gently. “Ok, cousin. Be easy. I’ll book us on a flight back to Q.”

She shook her head against his shoulder. “No, now. We have to leave within the hour, if we can. Two at most. Someone has to have a ship we can use.”

She stilled against him and slowly pushed him away, her eyes wide, the echo of Jos’s pain still ricocheting through her nerves, burning them raw. “Kodh.”

Oron skimmed a hand down his face, cutting off a low string of curses. “He’s as likely to shoot us as help.”

“He’s the only…we could ask Sigun, but no. Kodh is the easiest.”

“Kodh hasn’t been easy a day in his life.” Oron rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes, then dropped them on a heaving sigh. “Alright. Let’s get dressed and see if we can bargain with the devil.”

He made to rise, and Tyelu dropped a hand over his, holding him in place.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t thank me yet, cousin. He may toss me out a window or something.”

“I’ll toss him out behind you.”

Oron rolled his eyes starward. “My hero. Get dressed. It might be better if we present a united front.”

A polite knock at the entrance drew him away.

Tyelu slid out of bed on wobbly legs and forced her limbs to steady. Jos needed her. She just knew it.

The knock came from management. Someone had heard her scream and lodged a complaint. Oron firmly sent them on their way. Tyelu contacted her parents, waking them, and while every moment seemed to last a thousand years, in reality, they were packed and out the door within a few minutes of deciding to go.

Kodh was waiting for them by the time they arrived flushed and out of breath. The shuttle services had shut down for the night and they’d had to walk.

He met them at the door of his hotel room, scowling, his wide shoulders nearly filling the doorway. “Alna said you wanted to talk.”

“It’s Jos.” When he refused to move, Tyelu snapped, “By Tyornin and Tyel, can we go inside so everyone doesn’t hear our business?”

Kodh’s scowl deepened, but he moved aside and let them in. Alna and Gared were waiting in the miniscule sitting area, both fully clothed and alert, though Gared hid a half-yawn behind a massive fist.

Tyelu nodded to her parents, then rounded on Kodh. “Jos has been hurt. We need to return to Q immediately. I know your ship’s still in orbit.”

“So?”

“So! Let us use it.”

Kodh huffed out a fierce bah . “Same old, spoiled little girl. I’m not jumping every time you snap your fingers the way everyone else does.”

“Kodh,” Gared said, his tone remarkably mild. “Have some care how you speak to your cousin.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Kodh spat out sourly. “Everyone protects her, coddles her, let’s her temper run free solely because she’s a beloved daughter. It’s past time someone put her in her place.”

Oron stepped forward, heat blazing from his eyes. “That’s enough. Whatever you may think of Tyelu, she’s earned her place among you. Earned her place among the Q.”

Tyelu put her hand on his arm, gentling him. “No, Oron. Kodh’s right. For too long, I was an angry, spoiled little girl, especially after leaving the Queen’s Guard. My life held little purpose then and no real direction. I’m afraid I took it out on my family and friends. For that, I deserve censure.”

“But Kodh.” Here she turned to her cousin, seeing in him the bitterness to which she could’ve descended if not for Jos. “I’m sorry for being a brat to you. Truly, I am. Especially in the past few years. Sometimes, cousin, you rub me the wrong way.”

He glowered at her. “You can’t talk your way around this.”

“Maybe not, maybe so.” She inhaled a steadying breath and placed a hand over her heart, where Jos tugged at her. Jos’s love, his pain. He was slipping away from her, and she had to find him, had to do something. “Please, Kodh. Set that aside for now. All I’m asking is for you to lend us your spaceship so I can find my husband. That’s no less than what you would do if our situations were reversed.”

His skin paled, and sorrow sank into his eyes, hollowing them. “It’s not right for you to bring that up again. Old history.”

“I know,” she replied softly. “But what would you have me do? She walked away, it’s true. But if she hadn’t, if she’d stayed, wouldn’t you have done anything for her? Would you have stood by while something threatened to steal her from you?”

“Something did steal her from me, and I’ll never forgive you for reminding me.” He heaved out a great sigh and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Someone has to stay here and attend the council meeting. Tyrl Sigun won’t be happy if we miss it entirely.”

“That’s for me to take care of,” Gared rumbled.

Alna touched her husband’s hand. “I’ll go with Tyelu. I’ve a fair hand with a blaster and I’m not too shabby with tending wounds, though I doubt it will come to that.”

“I’ll pilot,” Kodh said, and rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this foolishness. The man’s got the best military in the sector behind him.”

“They don’t know where he is,” Tyelu said softly.

“And you expect to find him?”

“No. But I want to be there when they do.”

They were underway within the hour, lifting off with special permission from Pr?thum’s spaceport.

If Tyelu thought persuading Kodh to help her was difficult, it was nothing compared to Zhina. Jos’s grandmother stared down her nose at Tyelu through the video message she’d sent in response to Tyelu’s request to travel to the last known location for Jos’s dal. Her reply was short and firm, completely encapsulated in one word: “No.”

The message ended there.

Frustrated, Tyelu appealed to Oron, and Oron spent the rest of the journey to Q trying to persuade his grandmother and father to please, for the love of the stars and heavens, allow them to go after Jos.