Part XX: Focus

Craig is up to something. He must be telling the others about how I doubted Macnelia. Never mind that he didn’t take the shot that might have saved her. The man on Drometica was right about Craig: “You’re not the type who shoots and moves on. You agonize over the decision.” If he hadn’t hesitated, Macnelia might still be alive.

Jyra’s stomach contracted, interrupting her stream of thought. The memory of the guard Berk shot in Mastranada’s engine room took command of her focus. The guard’s body must be buried under the shattered mountain, a tumble of broken rock, all that remained of the resistance base on Drometica.

How many guards did we kill on Orasten? But they were attacking. They wanted to kill us. And they did get one of us.

Jyra sat up on her bunk, shaking her head and staring around her dimly lit room that had become a cell. The door refused to open and no one came to unlock it. The air vents were too small to accommodate her. She could do nothing but wait. Her thoughts returned to her home world. Jyra hoped to save it through her involvement in the resistance, but the heat on Tyrorken was rising and there was no way to stop it. In a few months, she wouldn’t be able to survive on its surface.

“How did I end up here?” she said aloud, pushing herself off her mattress to resume pacing. She pushed her hair out of her face with an incredulous smile. There was no other way to acknowledge her peculiar circumstances. She had spent her life on Tyrorken, dreaming of exploring space while working as an apprentice mechanic. She had never thought of killing anyone, let alone rationalizing such an action. Yet here she was on an enemy ship the resistance commandeered (by chance), locked up by a former friend, with no explicit reason given for her imprisonment.

What do I do when they let me out? Jyra wondered. No matter the explanation, how can I properly serve some cause when, at any moment, someone might decide to lock me up? Jyra realized it was possible others had been sealed in their quarters too. Except Berk. If he ran out of whiskey, he’d smash his way out. He could probably manage it even if he had plenty to drink to keep him in check.

Jyra knelt on the floor and pressed her fingertips to the cold metal. She didn’t feel any vibration and supposed the engines were silent. For now, it seemed the resistance wasn’t rushing back to destroy TF ships. Jyra returned to her bunk and huddled under her blanket. She stared at the picture of Dario she had retrieved from Macnelia’s room. The frame had several deep scratches and some of the paint had chipped away.

Without thinking, Jyra stretched out her hand and picked up the picture. She turned it around and bent open the backing tabs. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but she certainly didn’t think a piece of paper and another photo would fall onto her mattress. The back of the photo of Dario was blank along with the backing. Jyra set the frame aside and picked up the loose photo. It was the picture Macnelia had taken of Jyra and Craig together in front of Mastranada before the bomb run. The smell of her neighborhood burning filled Jyra’s nose through memory. She half crumpled the photo and threw it aside onto her blanket. Her attitude toward Craig now couldn’t be more different from the moment Macnelia snapped the picture. It captured another time, not long past, though it felt as if years intervened.

 Jyra turned her attention to the piece of paper and turned it over with trembling fingers. Jyra couldn’t even read for a moment, overwhelmed with the joy of seeing her brother’s words again.

The feeling didn’t last long as she began reading:

My dear Macnelia,

I hope the mountains are treating you well. My parents and I are looking into employment opportunities for me at TF. It looks like I might be working out on the rigs. It’s not the safest thing to do, but it will get me into the company. My sister’s worried enough for both of us, so don’t you get nervous either.

I talked to Dad about the drilling compounds for the Drometica mission. He’s not sure why you’re having trouble figuring out what they are. Normally they’re clearly marked. He told me some of them are likely more aggressive than the usual solvents, so be careful with them.

They’ve finally got the supply ship crash site mostly cleaned up. Even so, I went into town today and there are still lines of people outside the medical clinics.

Stay safe. Next time you see me, maybe we’ll be coworkers.

All my love,

Dario

Jyra got to the end of the letter and recognized how much she marveled at her brother’s handwriting; she had been too distracted to absorb any of the content. She reread the letter and folded the paper in half, realizing Macnelia must have contracted her illness during her work for TF on Drometica. Dario was trying to protect her by identifying the chemicals she had to use. For some reason, they weren’t labeled.

Until she saw it in the letter, Jyra had completely forgotten about the TF ship that crashed on Tyrorken, carrying drums of drilling solvents. Flames burned for days at the crash site, belching smoke the color of crude oil into the sky. The ship had gone down near a small suburb and within few weeks, every resident reported to medical clinics. After hearing about Craig’s parents and living through Macnelia’s death, Jyra was sure she knew what illness they had caught.

Maybe in the wake of the ship crash and the resulting threat to public health, TF started removing the labels so workers wouldn’t know if they were using harmful substances. Jyra rolled over, resting her head on her pillow and allowing her thoughts carry her to sleep.

She woke up, aware of a fading dream of the black smoke from the ship crash billowing upward. It mixed with the clouds and spread across the sky, moving with the wind. Even when a part of TF literally crashed and burned, it still brought the planet closer to death. Jyra hadn’t been able to accept the reality that Tyrorken was beyond saving. Even before Berk confirmed it, Macnelia had told Jyra TF was killing the planet. It seemed farfetched at the time, but it was happening and Jyra could do nothing to stop it. Until she could leave her room, she had no way to even know what was going on. She kicked the blanket off, her dream replaced by questions she couldn’t answer.

                        *

A muted clicking noise caught Jyra’s attention. She was sorting through her duffel bag on the floor and turned around, looking for the source of the sound. The door to her room slid back halfway and Leonick entered hastily. He immediately slid the door shut and let out a long breath.

“What’s happening?” Jyra asked, keeping her voice low.

“Craig,” Leonick said. “He had you sealed in your quarters. He has made some serious accusations against you.”

“Do they involve anything about how I thought Macnelia wasn’t fit to lead the resistance?” Jyra asked.

“Yes,” Leonick said. As usual, his face was impossible to read. “He also said you accused him to letting one of the ship guards shoot Macnelia.”

“He’s exaggerating,” Jyra said. “I told him I was worried about Macnelia. As it turned out, I was right to be worried. Am I the only one locked up and does he intend to keep me here while we try to wipe out the TF fleet with one ship?”

“Yes. Craig seems to have assumed the role of leader,” Leonick said.

“How? Why? I’ve never understood how that role is filled,” Jyra said, aware that her voice was growing louder. “Did he just claim it? Did everyone vote to grant him that position?”

“Things are certainly more charged than usual,” Leonick said. “He is telling people what they want to hear.”

“But you can see through it,” Jyra said. “We both can. There’s a difference between taking a wise path forward and waging a reckless attack. You’re opinion matters, too. What does Berk think?”

“I do not know what Berk thinks.”

“But you two are friends,” Jyra said.

“Sometimes,” Leonick said. “We have traveled together awhile, but Berk is not always himself. I believe he is more vulnerable now and considering following orders.”

“What are they? What does Craig want to do?”

“He wants to head toward Tyrorken and, depending on the risks, start firing on TF ships.”

“What about the cameras?” Jyra asked. “You told everyone about them. Whatever ship you destroy makes you the next target.”

“Craig wants me to build a device that will send out a frequency that disrupts the cameras.”

“Can you do that?”

Leonick shrugged.

“Until I get something built, we cannot begin the assault,” he said.

“The attack still seems like a bad idea,” Jyra said, dropping back onto her bunk. “It’s like you said: agitated minds do not create sound plans.”

“I think I am underestimating how the loss of Macnelia is affecting the others,” Leonick said. “It could be the reason Craig and his plans appeal to them now.”

Jyra took a deep breath before she asked her next question.

“Do you believe what Craig said about me?”

“I do not,” Leonick said. “But I was struck by you comparing the resistance to the enemy we face. You are the only person aboard this ship who seems to have recognized the importance of distinguishing us from them. Craig’s desire to fight is a consequence of a general loss of focus.”

Jyra leaned back against the wall. Although she had been cooped up in her room, she felt exhausted. She remembered how she felt after hearing that her home planet was lost. Never had she been so gripped by despair. Even following the deaths of those closest to her, Jyra had been able to act, to somehow respond to the atrocities.

“The resistance failed me,” Jyra muttered.

“I understand,” Leonick said. Jyra wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but rather than find out, she asked a broader question.

“Why are you here?” she said.

Leonick crept back to the door and placed his ear against it for a moment. Then he walked across the room to stand in front of Jyra. He stared squarely into her eyes as he spoke.

“I am here to give you choice.”

                        *

Jyra didn’t know what to say in the wake of Leonick’s elaboration. One thing was clear: if Craig held his position as the leader, Jyra couldn’t hope to be involved in the resistance.

“I have no certainty about his long-term plan,” Leonick said. “That said, I would not be surprised if Craig tries to leave you at the next port, whenever or wherever that may be.”

Every time I think about the resistance, I think about its futility and weakness, Jyra thought. The idea didn’t trigger the usual mental misgivings or rationalizations. She accepted it and took a deep breath.

“I joined the resistance to bring down TF,” she said. “We destroyed their main complex, but wiping them out completely will take much longer unless we recruit more members. I don’t see that happening if we launch an attack we’re not ready for. The resistance won’t survive if Craig doesn’t make that a priority.

“I got into the resistance following my brother’s death. During the mission to rescue Derek, I heard my parents die. Now Macnelia’s dead. I can’t be surrounded by loss anymore, especially if I’m a subordinate to someone who wants to lock me in my room.”

“I understand,” Leonick repeated. “And I agree with you. Death is not easy to cope with, but I hope you find your way to the peace you need. You have a strong spirit and when TF eventually falls, I expect you will have a part in its demise.”

“If I had my way, I wouldn’t kill anyone ever again,” Jyra said. “I can’t imagine passing such misery to others.”

“I do not speak of taking the lives of people,” Leonick said. “I do not do that myself, but I have no qualms about ending an immoral organization that is responsible for thousands of deaths.”

“So my choice is to stay here or leave,” Jyra said heavily. “Are you suggesting I wait for Craig to pitch me out on another planet?”

“I figured you would choose to leave, which means you can depart whenever you wish.”

“You told me Craig is retrofitting Mastranada with one of the laser cannons,” Jyra said. “I can’t take that ship.”

“Nor would I advise it,” Leonick said. “No need to make Craig any angrier with you.”

“Well I don’t want to throw open a door and go for a walk in space. It’s cold out there and there’s nothing to stand on.”

“I thought a crisis capsule might serve as a better way to exit the vessel,” Leonick said.

Jyra hadn’t thought of that, but it made sense. She could fit everything she needed in one and, for the second time in her life, leave everything she knew behind.

“I don’t get it,” she said, shaking her head. “How come you aren’t leading the resistance?”

Leonick smiled his small smile.

“I am too smart for that,” he said.

“No seriously,” Jyra said. “Why aren’t you?”

“The position has been filled,” Leonick said, then his smile disappeared. “More to the point, I am not equipped to be an effective leader of this resistance. I would have to give orders to take lives. I have only chosen to kill once. That experience changed me, not for the better, and I do not plan to ever do anything like it again. Pack your things.”

                        *

Ten minutes later, they met in the corridor that led to the crisis capsules. Leonick presented Jyra with a heavy package wrapped in paper.

“Put it in your duffel if you can,” he whispered. “And be careful where you use it.”

“What is it?” Jyra asked.

“You will find out later,” he said. “We must hurry.”

They moved down the corridor, their ears straining to hear anything besides two pairs of footsteps. Once they rounded the first corner, Leonick spoke in the same whisper.

“Do you have any weapons?”

“A dagger.”

“Better than nothing,” Leonick said. “All the guns are secured now so I could not get one for you. Remember, there is no telling where you might land. It could be in a city or the wilderness. Take time to get your bearings.”

He pulled a bottle and small box from inside his coat and handed them to her as they walked side by side.

“Food and water,” he continued briskly. “If you run out of water and you are outside civilization, finding fresh water is your top priority. If there is an ocean nearby, do not drink from it.”

Jyra nodded stiffly. Each step she took toward the capsules reinforced what she was about to do.

“What planet I’m likely to land on?” she asked.

“Silanpre I think,” Leonick replied. “It happens to be orbiting about as close as it gets to Tyrorken.”

“Isn’t that where Berk is from?” Jyra asked.

“It is,” Leonick said shortly.

“Does everyone believe what Craig said about me?”

Leonick didn’t answer immediately. At that moment, the crisis capsules appeared as the rounded the next corner.

“Neeka and Shandra seem to agree with his point of view,” Leonick said as Jyra set her duffel on the floor. “Derek defended you a few times but ultimately fell silent. I could not figure out what Berk was thinking. I suspect he still respects you.”

“I wish I could say good-bye to him,” Jyra said.

Leonick nodded and bowed his head ever so slightly.

“Too risky,” he said. “But I will pass the word along.”

“At least I can tell you good-bye,” Jyra said. “And thank you. We both know where I’d be if you didn’t come along. Why did you?”

Leonick paused again, but his face betrayed nothing about what went on behind his eyes.

“I do not know what Craig intended to do with you,” he said. “Locking you in your room was not a promising start. The way I see it, if someone is working against TF in any capacity, that grander cause is better served by keeping such a person out of confinement. Besides that, I think you are persistent and your ambition is bigger than this resistance. That is why I gave you a choice.”

“Persistent?” Jyra asked, raising her eyebrows.

“You are still here,” Leonick said. Jyra remembered telling herself that, but a ship wide broadcast interrupted the memory.

“Jyra, I know you can hear me,” Craig’s voice blared out of the nearest speaker. “I need to speak with you in the main hangar. Please meet me there in five minutes.”

“All significant choices have tests,” Leonick said, uncharacteristically rolling his eyes at the speaker. “But you haven’t lost focus,” he added as Jyra approached the nearest crisis capsule.

She pulled the access lever. The door dropped down and revealed the inside of the tiny spacecraft. The interior was painted gray. The small control console lit up beneath a porthole filled with far away stars. A single seat complete with a built-in safety harness, sat in the middle of the capsule. A small storage locker had been framed into the wall next to the door and Jyra managed to stuff her duffel inside it and secure the latch.

“You can figure out how to control it,” Leonick said. Jyra wasn’t sure if it was a statement or question.

“I can’t exactly navigate, can I?” Jyra said.

“A couple thrusters can push you left or right to avoid obstacles during landing. Aside from that, the capsule falls where it falls.”

“Why overcomplicate something like falling?” Jyra said, hoping the sarcasm would settle her nerves. She placed the food and water on the floor next to the seat, and noticed the water rippling in the bottle. She stepped back into the corridor for a final good-bye

“If I land in the ocean, what do I do?” she asked.

“There is a raft in the locker with your duffel,” Leonick said. “The capsule should come to the surface and remain there for about fifteen minutes before it sinks so get out as fast as you can.”

Without another word, Leonick opened his arms and pulled Jyra into a brief hug. She felt his greasy shirt and caught the aroma of stale whiskey, suddenly struck by how much she was going to miss it.

“Thank you again,” she said. “Good luck with the time machine.”

Leonick only smiled. Jyra turned her back to climb into the capsule. She cinched the harness around her and took a deep breath. She almost forgot about the provisions next to her on the floor; she scooped up her water and food and secured them in a compartment next to the console.

Jyra placed her palm over a yellow button, its blinking light throwing an amber glow onto the walls, and dropped her hand. The capsule began to vibrate and Jyra heard the launch drive winding up. The door hissed shut, the cabin pressurized, and the dynamo roared, spitting the capsule from the ship and taking Jyra into space with it.

The next installment will be available on the new website located at: kylerbarton.com Come check it out!

Part XIX: Reckless

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 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 this 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 on 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,” 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 directly 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 helped 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 after 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.

“Ever word I said is true,” 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 a word.

                        *

Jyra had fallen asleep fuming from her recent 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 how much trouble she might have been in 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 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 insisted 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 service, 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. It’s not her fault.”

“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 input is subject to more scrutiny.”

“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, other 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. Everyone should go relax. 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.

Part XVIII: Loss

“Greetings,” Macnelia said, stepping through the airlock into Orasten’s hangar. The boarding party followed and reformed in the neighboring ship. Macnelia lowered her weapon and everyone behind her did the same. A small group of Orasten’s crew waited halfway across the hangar near several large crates. Most of them had their arms folded across their chests, except for Lyle who began walking toward the boarders.

All of the exposed pillars, trusses, and girders were painted gray to match the walls and ceiling. Jyra noticed numerous scratches and gouges in the steel deck and remembered Orasten usually carried supply tanks of O2 that made life on Tyrorken possible.

“Hello,” Lyle said with a stiff salute. Macnelia imitated him and dropped her arm first. Lyle leaned forward ever so slightly and inhaled causing Macnelia to step back half a pace, bewildered.

“Sorry,” Lyle said. “Can’t be too careful even with all the established precautions.”

“What are you talking about?” Macnelia said.

“Nilcyn tactics,” Lyle said. “I’d have thought a patrol ship would have received the latest report about Nilcyn boarders. They keep the O2 levels on their ships lower and adjust to that air.  When they raid other vessels all the air rushes into their ship, depriving O2 to those they attack.”

Jyra understood what it felt like to breathe thin or polluted air. She suspected the tactic wouldn’t work quite as well against Tyrorken natives.

“We’re very busy and don’t have time to stay on top of such memos,” Macnelia said briskly. “I am sorry for the inconvenience of this inspection, but it must be done.”

“Where is Tynisha?” Lyle asked. “I expected to see her.”

“We are the advance guard,” Macnelia said. Jyra could tell that she was thinking hard as she spoke. Lyle didn’t seem to notice. “She’ll be along. Until that time, may we begin our inspection?”

“Please,” Lyle said. He led the way across the hangar. The boarding party followed, while Macnelia asked questions.

“Now that we’re face to face, what is your destination?” Lyle hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Pennetmore,” he said.

“Third moon of Jiranthem,” Macenelia said. “What are you doing there?”

“It’s just a drop point,” Lyle said.

“And what are you dropping there?”

“These crates,” Lyle said. His crewmembers moved aside to expose the unmarked boxes. Jyra suspected it would take about three people with Berk’s build to lift one.

“What’s in them?” Macnelia said. This time, Lyle prolonged his hesitation. A hand went to the back of his head to relieve an itch and he broke eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” Lyle said, a nervous laugh escaping as he spoke. Jyra sensed it coming before he said more. He doesn’t believe us.

“This is an awkward situation,” Lyle continued. “Since you’ve stepped aboard my ship, I feel as though things aren’t adding up. I am told I’ll meet with your captain. Instead I get you. I mention the Nilcyn air-deprivation tactic, common knowledge among TF officers, but that you know nothing about. Speaking of common knowledge, how is it that you don’t know Pennetmore is nothing but a standard drop point? Now you’re telling me you have no idea these are—”

“—Payroll transportation crates,” Leonick interrupted from behind Macnelia. He lowered a finger from his ear as he spoke and fixed Lyle with his standard serene expression.

“Yes,” Lyle said. His voice sounded the same as when Neeka had informed him that she knew he was stoking his engines.

“Please forgive my deception, Captain,” Leonick said stepping forward. “My name is Leonick Enaren, Captain of Valiant Conductor II. If any of your crew are monitoring this conversation elsewhere on the ship, do not bother running my name against the database. You won’t find me there.”

“Then you’re no captain,” Lyle said, his face reddening.

“Sir, if the Nilcyn attack has taught you anything it should be not to blindly trust what you see on a computer. Data is easily manipulated, added, or deleted.”

“And why would you want to be deleted from the officer database?”

“If the Nilcyns can get to that database, they can get to you,” Leonick said, taking another step toward Lyle.

“You seem to know an awful lot about the way they work,” Lyle said. The accusation was too obvious to miss.

“Do not be foolish, sir,” Leonick said, in the same steady tone. “If we were Nilcyns, you would be dead already. Though, speaking of ‘the way they work,’ I believe it was you who just informed us of the air-deprivation technique Nilcyns are so fond of using.”

“That came from a report directly from headquarters!” Lyle said hotly.

“This report was delivered to you personally by the one who authored it?”

“Of course not,” Lyle said.

“Exactly,” Leonick continued. “In the current circumstances, there is no way to verify such a report. But whoever wrote it is irrelevant because it does nothing but bolster the Nilcyn agenda.”

Lyle was either too confused or outraged to even ask what that meant so Leonick pressed on.

“The report spreads fear and fear can cause people act against their own interests, sometimes without knowing it. At the very least, fear clouds judgment and leads to rash decisions.”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Lyle said, taking a step toward Leonick.

“I am calling you nothing but Captain, Captain,” Leonick said. “However, the first thing you did upon meeting us was check the air. Clearly, the report influenced you.”

“I suggest you conduct your search and let me get on my way,” Lyle said, his mouth clenched tight as he leaned toward Leonick.

“I detect a note of whiskey on your breath,” Leonick said. “One of my companions has just run out. Could we talk you into releasing a barrel? I see a stash of them against the wall.”

He was right. Several barrels of whiskey were lashed around a nearby pillar. Jyra felt Berk shift anxiously behind her.

“I’m afraid we are charged with its safe delivery to Pennetmore,” Lyle said.

“Why so keen to be afraid, Captain?” Leonick said. “The Nilcyns are not the only thing to fear, nor should you fret about failing to make a delivery. Betrayal is far worse.”

Macnelia raised her weapon and the boarding party followed suit, including Leonick.

“What are you doing?” Lyle demanded, lifting his hands to shoulder height.

“You are a disgraceful officer,” Leonick said. “Spilling mission secrets to anyone who boards your ship. I expect nothing better from a parasitic corporation like TF, but the reality is much worse than the expectation.”

“Step away from the crates and put your hands on your heads. Now!” Macnelia screeched.

Orasten’s crew and her captain shuffled into a corner, covered by Craig and Shandra.

“Grab a crate,” Macnelia said. She, Jyra, Berk, and Leonick all lifted the box nearest to the airlock. They carried it across the hangar and managed to drop it in the corridor of their ship.

They nearly had a second crate through the airlock, when pounding footsteps sounded behind them. Reinforcements were about to enter Orasten’s hangar. The crate fell to the floor with a heavy thud and its bearers raced back to the stack in the middle of the hangar for cover. Even as Jyra slid behind the nearest box, gunfire broke out. Craig and Shandra dropped to their knees. They were still able to contain the captain and the crewmembers, but the crates offered them limited protection from the twelve guards who entered the hangar.

Macnelia threw herself onto the top of a crate before Orasten’s defenders could properly assemble and she shot one. Berk pulled her down as a hail of bullets came her way. Some of the guards were moving toward the captives, but they couldn’t shoot at Craig or Shandra; a stray bullet would likely hit an Orasten crewmember.

The rest of the guards were advancing around the other side of the crates where Jyra had taken shelter. She looked over at Berk just as he turned his face toward her. Something wasn’t right about him. His eyes narrowed and his pupils seemed to swell.

“On your right!” he yelled. Jyra looked back and saw one of the guards who almost had her in a line of fire. She shot at the guard with one hand and the recoil slammed her elbow into the floor. Jyra didn’t know how she managed to hold onto the firearm as she rolled sideways away from the approaching enemy.

“Did you get hit?” she shouted at Berk. She wasn’t sure why his face contorted in such a twisted expression.

“He is out of whiskey,” Leonick said.

The significance of Berk’s physique, his drinking, and the tattoo on his wrist came back to Jyra and she eased away from him as he clutched the corner of the crate. Jyra rolled over and fired another shot (prepared for the recoil this time) to hold off the guards. When she looked in Berk’s direction again, she saw the metal of the crate beneath his fingers buckle. His teeth were locked together as he pulled himself into a crouched position. Jyra sent another defensive shot over the crates as Berk’s back rose into range.

Then he acted. In one fluid motion, Berk stood up to his full height, each of his hands digging into a corner of the metal crate; he handled the box as if were made of cardboard. The spectacle distracted the guards near Jyra, if only for a moment, but it was enough. By the time they aimed their guns, Berk had thrown the metal box at them.

One of the guards jumped right into Jyra’s line of fire to avoid the projectile and Jyra shot him automatically. The crate crushed the other three guards; Jyra had shot the fifth guard in the group earlier with her cover fire.

Leonick managed to hold the rest of the guards from getting close enough to target Craig and Shandra. He sent precise warning shots across the hangar that made an impenetrable barrier. These guards, however, were firing at the crates with greater accuracy than the others; no one behind the crates could get a direct shot at them.

Berk grabbed another crate and began lifting it, his arms vibrating with both the strain and the impact of bullets on the opposite side of the crate. He didn’t stand straight up this time. Instead, he pivoted and threw the crate from his hip. The first level of crates on the floor shielded his lower body. Berk fell directly onto his back and every bullet that came his direction missed.

The second crate caused the guards to scatter. Jyra wasn’t sure how he did it, but Berk was suddenly on his feet, leaping over the rest of the crates. He tore the TF jacket in half to pull his shotgun free of the green fabric. He fell one guard with his firearm and sank his free fist into another guard’s ribcage.

The remaining guards stormed Craig and Shandra, who were forced to turn away from the captive crew to defend themselves. Macnelia stood and aimed at Lyle as he leapt to his feet. One of the guards turned his gun toward her just as Craig aimed at him. Jyra crawled forward to pull Macnelia down. Craig sat hunched on the floor, his gun extended, but his finger frozen on the trigger. The guard fired just as Berk swung his shotgun at him from behind. The blow from the barrel stove in the guard’s skull.

Shandra shot the last guards and spun to cover the captives again. Craig turned clumsily to keep them contained as well. Leonick got to his feet, aiming his weapon at the cowering Orasten crewmembers.

“No one move!” Berk bellowed. Jyra could hardly see him through the smoke that hung in the air.

Macnelia was sitting on the floor, her body propped against a crate. Jyra reached her side, but didn’t realize something was wrong until she saw Macnelia’s gun lying about five feet away on the floor.

“It’s over,” Jyra said quietly.

“I know,” Macnelia said. “It’s been over for a long time.”

Jyra moved around in front of Macnelia and saw the wet patch of blood spreading across the chest of her TF jacket.

Jyra felt her voice catch in her throat and her mind went blank. She lost all awareness of the smell of smoke, the mission, and the ship around her.

“Don’t worry,” Macnelia said. Jyra didn’t hear the words, only the sound of weakness. She reached behind her, struggling to address the crisis.

“Leonick?” she croaked. Her groping hand found his calf. Jyra felt him kneel beside her.

Jyra watched him as he looked at Macnelia’s face with a serene smile and she replied with a strained grin. Then he turned his attention to the wound and gently eased her onto her back.

Berk emerged through the smoke, holding a whiskey barrel under each arm and his shotgun in his hand. He’d opened one barrel and spilled most of it down his front as he consumed it. He dropped both barrels and his gun and fell to his knees at Macnelia’s side when he saw the blood. The open barrel emptied onto the floor as Berk took one of Macnelia’s hands in his own rough fingers.

“We’ll get you fixed up,” he growled.

“There’s no need,” Macnelia said. Her breath came up short and she coughed.

“What’s going on?” Shandra called.

“Get back to the ship,” Macnelia whispered. “We got what we came for.”

Berk shoved the shotgun into his belt, picked Macnelia up, and walked into the smoke toward the airlock, kicking the barrel of whiskey as he went. The barrel rolled onto Valiant Conductor II and Berk swung his boot into the crate nearest to the airlock. It glided across the threshold and settled in the corridor beyond.

Leonick and Jyra followed closely behind him, while Craig and Shandra brought up the rear, keeping their guns aimed at the captives.

Leonick broke from Jyra’s side and collected another barrel from the stash.

“He will need it,” Leonick said as he rolled it into the corridor. Craig and Shandra stepped through the airlock and hit the button to close the door.

Berk set off up the corridor, Macnelia hardly visible around his wide frame.

“What happened?” Shandra asked, noticing the heavy silence.

“Macnelia’s been shot,” Jyra said.

“What?” Shandra shouted. She began running after Berk. A dull clang signaled Orasten had detached. Craig kept his eyes on the floor. Jyra was about to approach him, when Leonick dropped a hand from his ear again.

“We have a problem,” he said. “Derek just told me Neeka headed for the main hangar. She saw what happened through my camera and she is going to destroy Orasten. I have to attend to Macnelia. One of you must go stop her.” 

“I’ll do it,” Craig said and he set off at a run.

Jyra followed Leonick toward Macnelia’s quarters, but she could shake a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right about Craig’s behavior. He seemed too eager to stop Neeka. Jyra made for the main hangar instead.

She entered just in time to see the two cannons fire, Neeka operating one, and Craig the other. Jyra ran toward the artillery, skidding to a halt at the base of Neeka’s weapon.

Orasten was already further from Valiant Conductor II than Jyra would have thought possible, her engines facing the hangar.

The lasers converged and disappeared in the glow of the exhaust ports. Then Orasten bucked forward from the impact. Sparks turned into flames and flames became a fireball. Multiple silent explosions tore the ship asunder and the debris floated outward from where Orasten once flew.

“What did you just do?” Jyra shouted.

“Vengeance,” Neeka said, climbing down from the gunner’s platform and fixed Jyra with a fierce glare. “They shot Macnelia.”

“What are you so upset about?” Craig said to Jyra as he approached. “They’re the enemy. Do you care about them more than Macnelia?”

“Of course not!” Jyra shouted.

“I thought you wanted to destroy TF,” Craig said. “Is blowing up an enemy building somehow different than blowing up an enemy ship?”

Jyra turned her back. Everything seemed too overwhelming. Witnessing Berk without alcohol, Neeka and Craig destroying Orasten, Macnelia wounded—Jyra began walking, tuning out Craig and Neeka who continued to holler questions she couldn’t answer.

The door to Macnelia’s room was ajar. Jyra looked in and saw Derek, Shandra, and Berk sitting near her bed. Leonick leaned over Macnelia. Even from the passage, Jyra could tell her breathing was shallow.

She entered quietly and came to Berk’s side. His head was bowed and he was sipping from Leonick’s flask since he hadn’t been able to refill any of his own yet.

“Can someone find another rag?” Leonick asked gently. Shandra opened the dresser. Jyra leaned over to the bedside table and went through the top drawer. She extracted a small towel and several bottles fell out of it. They were all empty, but the labels on the side revealed they had held some sort of medicine at one point. Leonick noticed them as he grabbed the towel.

“What have you got there?” he asked, taking the bottles. He only glanced at them, before setting them back on the bedside table and lowering himself to the mattress. He placed a hand on Macnelia’s forearm.

“I am sorry,” he said. “Peace for now and always.”

Without another word, he left the room. Jyra’s mind felt as empty as when she first noticed Macnelia had been shot. She sank onto the mattress where Leonick had been. Jyra reached out to grasp Macnelia’s hand as she drew a final breath and went still.