Part X: Nematocyst Blast

The sound of heavy footsteps reverberated out of the cellblock and entered Jyra’s dull mind. Her legs no longer shook. She remained hidden behind the desk as the guards strode toward the exit. Through her welling eyes she saw only a swimming mixture of white and gray. She felt the sensation of warm moisture on her arm, as well as on her cheeks, as the blood flowed from the wound like tears. When Jyra registered the red soaking through the sleeve of her topcoat, one of the guards spoke.

“What’s that?”

Jyra lifted her gun from the floor and inched toward the edge of the desk until she could peer around the corner. Her joints and limbs were stiff. She wiped her eyes and saw the guards crouched near the open door. Jyra’s stomach lurched as she noticed a drop of her blood on the floor halfway between the desk and the guards. A similar spot of crimson must have dripped from her wound when she sneaked into the room. The guards had spotted it and it wouldn’t take them long to find her.

“We’ve got to get the radar online again,” the second guard said. “Another Nilcyn strike force might land and we wouldn’t know.”

Jyra slid over to the far side of the desk and pulled herself up from the floor. She approached the guards from behind, careful to stay out of their peripheral vision. Jyra raised her gun. Sweat glistened between the trigger and the finger poised to pull it. She stopped a couple paces from her targets. Her arm extended and she shot the first guard through the neck. The second guard yelled and he instinctively dodged the gunfire. He had no cover and Jyra put a bullet in his head with a second shot.

The gun slipped from her fingers. Jyra stared at her hands, ignoring the dead men in the background. Her arms were steady. All understanding and purpose fled from her body as she sank to the ground. Voices cried out of the earpiece. Jyra slowly raised an arm and plucked the device from her ear. The acrid stench of the fired gun filled her nose and comprehension rushed into Jyra’s mind like water into a sinking boat. The cognitive grasp of her circumstances failed to jolt her into action.

“I need to go,” Jyra mumbled to herself.

She leaned forward to grab her gun. It took several tries before she forced it back into the holster. Her eyes were fixed on the door and she stood, knowing she needed to leave. A glance over her shoulder convinced her otherwise. Jyra walked back into the dim cellblock, unsure of what directed her steps.

The sight of the bodies of her parents caused her knees to fail. Her kneecaps slammed onto the hard floor with a heavy thud that was drowned out by Jyra’s wail. She held her left arm over her eyes and pounded the bars with her right fist. The volume of her cry surpassed the crashing of the metal. Her parents had been in separate, but adjacent cells. Tadwin’s right hand held Sherlia’s left. Jyra realized he must have reached for his wife after the guards shot them; their grasp would have been broken when they fell by the horizontal bars.

Overwhelmed, Jyra rolled onto her back as her tears ran over raw skin, washing the grit from her face. Her eyes hurt when they were open. She closed them and saw the faces of her family. TF had destroyed them all. She forced herself to look at the bodies again. Both of them had worn a business suit today. They had landed facedown, but Jyra knew both of their jackets had the TF logo embroidered on their chests. She stared at her mother, who was closer, and saw a fine gold chain on the back of her neck. Jyra hesitated, then reached through the bars. She took hold of the chain and gave a firm tug. The clasp gave way easily. Jyra pulled the necklace from under Sherlia and a locket came trailing into view. She picked it up, but couldn’t tell much else because her eyes were flooding again. Jyra put it in her pocket and thought she needed to say something aloud.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” she choked. “I’m sorry I ran away.” Jyra stopped talking as she remembered the final exchange she had with her parents. The guilt alone was enough to silence her. She sobbed for several minutes as her mind wandered, recollecting the rage she felt toward her parents for the contract they made with TF as well as the fights she had with them in the past that no longer mattered. Then she found herself remembering listening to her mother’s last words before the guards opened fire. Sherlia had been working to destroy TF, too.

“I’ll do it,” Jyra said. “Once we get Derek back, we’ll finish what you started.”

She wiped her nose and prepared to stand, but once again found herself immobilized. Her lip trembled and she resisted the urge to breakdown again, but couldn’t suppress it. She remained with the bodies, her head bowed in mourning.

The door to the corridor opened. Jyra noticed, but it was as though she heard the sound while submerged in a pool. She remained still, bound by grief. Whoever entered gasped, reacting to the slain guards.

“Hello!” a voice called, high and terse.

Jyra started to turn to greet the newcomer. Her hand brushed her weapon as she rotated in place. She could still smell the aroma rising from the firing chamber. It was the scent that banished the temporary shock brought on when her parents had been murdered. She didn’t want to look out of the cellblock. Whoever had arrived, Jyra knew the dead guards were still there, too. Instead of the faces of her departed family swimming in the blackness, she suddenly saw the image of the guard falling in Mastranada’s engine room after Berk shot him.

Footsteps in the cellblock returned Jyra’s attention to the hard floor. She willed herself to speak.

“I won’t hold anything against you if you kill me now,” she whispered. The person behind her drew closer. “All I want is to be with my family. Help me see them again.”

“Jyra, are you all right?”

She spun around and looked up into Craig’s pale face. He was trembling as he returned his gun to its holster.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice higher than usual. He knelt down and Jyra fell into him, carried by another wave of misery.

“They killed my parents!” she shouted into Craig’s topcoat. She heard him about to say something then felt his head swivel so he was looking into the cells.

“Why…? How…how could they?” he stammered.

“My mom,” Jyra said in a quivering voice. “She was passing information to the Nilcyns. Both of my parents wanted TF destroyed.”

“Did the guards hurt you?” Craig said. Jyra shook her head.

“Craig we need an update!” Neeka’s voice said through Craig’s earpiece.

“I’ve got her,” Craig replied. “We’re moving out.”

“It’s getting messy out here,” Neeka said. “Hurry!”

“Should we...?” Craig began, looking troubled. “Do you want…?”

“Leave them,” Jyra said. “Let’s go.”

Craig stood, helped Jyra to her feet, and the two of them left the cellblock. As they passed the fallen guards, Craig slowed his pace, eyeing the rifles. Jyra kept her gaze straight ahead and pulled Craig onward.

“Just keep moving,” she said stiffly.

“Right,” Craig said. “We got Derek out,” he added.

Jyra had imagined freeing Derek many times since she witnessed his capture. She always figured she’d feel a rush of elation. Everyone in the resistance would celebrate his safe return to their ranks. Jyra knew the importance of Derek’s rescue, but she couldn’t access any of the feelings that should have accompanied the success.

They made it to the stairwell with no trouble and started climbing back to exit the same way they came in. A door above them clanged shut and they heard voices.

“Into the corner,” Craig hissed, pulling Jyra against him. He freed his gun and they waited, listening to the footsteps drawing closer. Shadows rose in the light on the landing above them, the hinges of the door squealed, and the voices were gone.

Craig and Jyra continued upward. They paused at the door and saw a platoon of guards marching away from them down the hallway beyond. Shards of glass glittered on the floor.

“What’d they break?” Jyra mumbled.

“An air mask reserve,” Craig said. “I saw a bunch of empty compartments that used to hold them when I checked my location. All the clean air in the complex is escaping from where the missile hit.”

They made it back to the exit door without encountering anyone else. A carpet of dust had already gathered on the floor, blowing in through the warped doorframe.

“Where are the others?” Jyra said.

“Hopefully back on the ship,” Craig said. “You ready?”

Jyra nodded. Craig opened the door and they plunged into the punishing storm of dirt and smoke.

Night was falling and neither of them could see for a moment. They choked on the foul air and felt their way along the building. Gradually, Jyra’s eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings. She stared up and saw a torrent of burning debris shooting toward the earth. By the time she and Craig reached the corner of the complex, the deadly projectiles smashed into the ground, raising clouds of sparks and more dust.

“Run!” Craig shouted. He began coughing as he started down the gentle slope. Jyra sprinted after him. Clods of earth, sent airborne from the impact of a steel beam, pelted her as she staggered and coughed, fighting to stay upright.

Through the gloom, Jyra glimpsed the fuel storage tanks. Craig leapt aside as a sheet of engine cowling lodged into the ground nearby. Jyra dove behind it to avoid a barrage of bolts and flames as an engine landed to her right. Despite the shelter, she felt the wave of heat blow over her skin. Jyra and Craig reached the fuel tanks, but an incoming projectile distracted them. Craig realized the danger first and grabbed Jyra’s arm, wrenching her toward Mastranada. The projectile hit the nearest storage tank, ricocheted, and spilled flames over the dirt. Jyra saw the leaking fuel pooling and spreading across the soil. She understood Craig’s renewed sense of urgency.

Dust blasted from beneath Mastranada and the howl of the launch thrusters roared over the wind. The door opened, hands reached out, seized Craig and Jyra, and pulled them inside.

“Go!” a voice nearby shouted. Jyra felt the ship lurch into the air.

She lay in the corridor staring at the ceiling and gulping the fresh air. Everything smelled like dirt. Jyra coughed again and a cloud of dust issued from her mouth like smoke. Craig leaned against the wall, wheezing and pushing his hair back. His sweat turned the dust on his forehead to a slick wash of mud.

Mastranada banked suddenly to the left. A low growl like thunder filled the ears of everyone on board. It reminded Jyra of the explosion that destroyed the mountain base.

“Fuel tank blew,” Craig said. “A couple more seconds on the ground and that blast would’ve been the end of us.”

He caught Jyra’s eye and muttered an apology as his faced reddened. Jyra knew he didn’t mean to be insensitive, but she couldn’t help thinking her parents had already met their end. Part of her wished she were still outside, choking on dust and falling to her knees, unable to think about anything other than her burning lungs and dry throat.

“What’s going on?” Shandra said. Jyra saw her leaning against the wall opposite Craig; she had been one of the people who helped them aboard. Jyra coughed again, both from dust and emotion before she spoke.

“TF guards killed my parents,” she said. “I was in the detention facility when it happened.”

Despite her exhaustion, Jyra’s inner dialogue continued unabated. Why didn’t you do anything to stop it? it said. You were so close, you were armed, and you did nothing.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Shandra said, taken aback.

“Me too,” Jyra said. “I wish I’d stopped it.” Craig detected Jyra’s tone.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t blame yourself. I saw the rifles those guards had. You wouldn’t have stood a chance attacking them in the cellblock. I can’t believe you managed to kill them.”

“I surprised them,” Jyra said. “I’m sure I could have taken them before they shot my parents.”

“I don’t want you to regret something you didn’t do,” Craig said. “I know what it’s like.”

“No you don’t!” Jyra shouted. She stood up and stalked down the passage, wiping the tears away as they fell, simultaneously feeling anger toward Craig and shame for how she treated him. The path to her room was empty. She threw herself onto her cot, too tired for frustration or grief. Jyra pulled off her topcoat, rummaged in her duffel, and retrieved a small aid kit. She wiped her oozing wound with a sterilizing pad then tied a clean sock around it. Exhausted, she leaned back and fell asleep, fighting to ignore the faces of her departed family.

                        *

Jyra woke to the sound of tapping at the door. She noticed she was sleeping under the blanket Craig had given her and felt worse for losing her temper with him.

“Come in,” she said thickly, expecting to see Craig, but Macnelia pushed the door open. She still wore her topcoat. Her skin and hair were coated with dust. Her mouth turned into a small frown.

“I heard what happened,” she said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” Jyra said. She didn’t feel any reassurance from the words and dreaded hearing similar sentiments from the others. “Where are we?” she added.

“We found a supply tank and managed to pump a little fresh water into the ship. We’ve landed to the north, beyond the combat zone. Folks are cycling through the shower and resting up.”

Jyra didn’t have the best sense of smell, but even she was suddenly aware of the odor of sweat that permeated her quarters.

“How’s Derek?” she said.

“Alive,” Macnelia said wearily. “Neeka’s looking after him in her room. Bastards didn’t treat his wound at all, but Leonick got the bullet out. His leg’s infected, but the antibiotics seem to be taking care of it. TF guards beat him up, but he’ll recover. Just needs rest now.”

“When are we dropping the bomb?” Jyra asked.

“As soon as I fix this to it,” Macnelia said. “I didn’t know if I’d have time to complete it, but I’m glad I did. She pulled a bright orange roll of cloth from under her coat.

It was only about three inches wide, but at least ten feet long. Brown letters had been embroidered into it.

“Back on Jiranthem, I used to be a kite racer,” Macnelia said.

“How do you race kites?” Jyra said.

“You race against others towed by kites,” Macnelia explained. “You stand on a board on the ocean and the kite pulls you along. Whoever crosses the finish line first wins.”

“Were you any good?”

“I won a few trophies,” Macnelia said. “I miss racing, but I figured I’d make a tribute to it with the bomb. I finally thought what to name it.”

She stretched the orange cloth tight so Jyra could read the writing.

“Nematocyst Blast,” Jyra said aloud. “I don’t get it.”

“The part of the sea we raced in sometimes had these creatures that drifted near the surface. A large bulbous part of their body kept them floating and they trailed long, thin tentacles underneath. Those tentacles had cells on them that would, as the term says, sting you if you touched them. It was much more than a sting, though.”

Macnelia hoisted the right leg of her trousers. Above her sock, Jyra saw an area of skin on her calf stained dark purple.”

“That spot is where I got stung, but that color covered my whole leg after it happened” Macnelia said. “As the venom spread, it felt like the veins in my leg were rupturing.”

“Sounds like a good name then,” Jyra said.

“The shape of the bomb resembles the buoy part of the creature and the kites I used to race,” Macnelia said. “I’m going to clamp this tail into the hatch cover, but I wanted to show it to you first.”

 “Why did you race if the creatures were out there?” Jyra asked.

Macnelia rolled up the tail and made to leave, but paused at the door.

“The thrill of racing was worth it,” she said.

She left and Jyra stared at the ceiling, wondering how stepping into an ocean might feel.

                        *

 Jyra pulled her towel off the rack and buried her face in it after her shower. She wiped the condensation off the mirror and inspected her wound in the reflection. The glass had made a straight, deep cut, but it wasn’t bleeding anymore.

The last of the dirt ran into the drain. Jyra watched it, wishing her sadness could flow away just as easily. Even after she had dressed, she felt like something was missing. She brushed her hair, telling herself there was no simply way to escape the grief.

Jyra left the washroom and headed down the hall. She raised her arms to tie back her hair and felt the shooting pain from her wound. Ignoring it, Jyra bound her wet locks into a ponytail as she descended a staircase.

At first, she thought she would go straight to see Derek, but she stopped by her room first to put on her topcoat. Satisfied with her appearance, Jyra proceeded down the hall and rapped on the door of Neeka’s quarters.

The door slid back and Neeka drew away from it, her face softening and Jyra remembered the news of her parents’ death had spread throughout the ship while she slept.

Against the far wall, Jyra saw Derek lying in Neeka’s bed. Though blankets covered his injured body, his face alone had many cuts and bruises.

“Hi,” he murmured. “A member of the rescue mission, I see.” He pointed at the badge on her coat.

Jyra didn’t know what to say. Derek’s black tousled hair framed eyes that were surrounded by dark rings. He had seemed a little overweight when he delivered the letter, now his body looked somehow diminished. He coughed once and sat up against two pillows.

“It could have been worse,” Derek smiled weakly. “Leonick’s got me patched up well enough.”

“How’s your leg?” Jyra said.

“It hurts, but should heal fine,” Derek said. “I’m sorry I didn’t clue you in sooner about what I was up to.”

Jyra knew this had upset her recently. Derek had apologized now and there didn’t seem to be much sense in allowing it to bother her anymore.

“And of course,” he added and Jyra identified the somber tone. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about your parents. It’s too horrific to contemplate. I may be weak, but if you need anyone to talk to, we’re both here.”

He glanced at Neeka, locking his jaw. She gave a sympathetic smile in reply then opened her mouth to address Jyra, but Jyra spoke first.

“Did you ever hear if my mom was working against TF?” she said.

“She may have been, but she wasn’t associated with our group,” Derek said. “I don’t know if Dario mentioned anything to her about what we were up to.”

It seemed to Jyra the only person who could answer her question was her slain mother. She felt a wave of sadness, but managed to ignore it.

“Thank you,” she said, distracted by her emotions. Neeka and Derek watched her politely and Jyra realized the oddity of the phrase.

“I mean, thanks for getting me involved in this and bringing me the letter,” she continued. “If it wasn’t for you I’d probably be sitting at home, wondering where they…when they’d be home.”

Derek’s supportive gaze faltered. As she fought to maintain her composure, Jyra noticed the shift in his expression.

“What’s the matter?” she said.

“They showed me footage,” he said slowly. “Your neighborhood was where most of my rig crew lived. The footage showed TF agents burning it.

“I can’t be sure if it’s real,” he added hastily. “They were trying to break me down. I delivered a couple letters to houses near yours.” Jyra swallowed hard.

“Well at least I wasn’t there,” she said after a moment.

“TF is short on time,” Neeka said. “We’ve got the advantage now.”

Derek nodded. Jyra expected to feel cheered by the news. She put her hands in her pockets and felt something metallic. Jyra turned toward the door.

“Feel better soon,” she said abruptly.

“Count on it,” Derek said, surprised by Jyra’s sudden departure.

She made her way back to her room and entered it before pulling her mother’s locket out of the topcoat. She sank onto the cot as her fingers released the clasp. The locket folded open. Two small photos occupied the center and two others, one on each side mounted on hinges, swung onto Jyra’s hands. Her parents stared out of the two central photos with fixed expressions.

The photos had been taken on a special occasion. Jyra recognized Sherlia’s formal dress and the collar of Tadwin’s button-up shirt. The photo of Dario was on the left. She stared at the part in his hair and bow tie that sat crookedly beneath his chin. He must have been about ten years old then. Jyra had to wipe her eyes in order to see the photo of herself. She wore a blouse that seemed large for her. Her wide smile elevated her entire face. She vaguely recalled the photo session. It had been taken at a studio in Mereda.

Jyra closed the locket, catching another glimpse of her younger self. For a moment, she wondered if she would ever look that happy again. Another idea entered her mind, and she shrugged off the coat and left the locket on top of her cot. She headed for the bridge, pondering Derek’s information.

Berk sat before his usual console. He was covered in dust and still wore his topcoat. Shandra leaned back in Jyra’s chair, surveying the monitor. Her hair was wet from the shower and she now wore slacks and the same long-sleeve shirt she’d worn while Jyra briefly helped her stock food in the galley. Berk turned around when Jyra entered the cockpit, approached, and pulled her into a tight hug.

“How are you holding up?” he asked once they stepped back from each other.

“As well as I can,” Jyra replied. “What’s going on here?”

“Macnelia’s been outside attaching the tail to the bomb, then we’re taking off for the attack run,” Berk said.

“All right,” Shandra said. It sounded like an interruption, but Jyra noticed the earpiece she wore.

“Macnelia’s back on board,” Shandra said. “Time to fly.”

“I’m going to beat her to the shower,” Berk said. “See you in a few.”

“We’re supposed to take off,” Shandra said.

“Macnelia needs to shower first anyway,” Berk said. “We won’t leave before that.” He departed, pulling off his topcoat, which sent dust billowing into the air.

“I actually wondered if we could make a stop before the bomb run,” Jyra said.

“What do you mean?” Shandra asked. Jyra crossed to Berk’s chair and took a seat.
“Derek just told me he saw footage of TF burning my neighborhood. I want to see if it’s true. Either way, I’d like to visit my home one last time. After we drop the bomb, aren’t we heading straight into space?”

Shandra thought for a moment. Then she grimaced and Jyra heard a voice coming from the earpiece.

“Turn it off before you yell,” Shandra said before pulling off the earpiece. “Macnelia’s mad at Berk for showering first.”

“At least we can communicate throughout the ship now,” Jyra said.

“I wish Leonick had put these together sooner,” Shandra said. “They would have been a big help in the mountains.”

“Do they have a location tracker in them, too?” Jyra said, finding the technical talk to be a great distraction from her misery.

“Leonick said they’d be too much of a hassle to have an adaptable locator program built in, but they can pinpoint the wearers location on the surface of planet. Leonick crunched the numbers using blueprints of the complex to calculate where we were within the complex based on where the earpieces reported we were on planet surface.”

“Even though we were on different floors?” Jyra said.

“The guy has a mind,” Shandra said.

Jyra remembered Leonick talking about time travel and where he had come from. She wondered if he had discussed it with anyone else. Jyra was about to ask Shandra if she knew anything about it, but Shandra spoke first.

“I know you told Craig he doesn’t know what you’re going through,” she said. “But I want to let you know that I do.”

The reality of her parents’ death came rushing back to Jyra and she shifted uneasily in her chair.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I told you I was metalworker,” Shandra said. “I had good job on Jekka as a hull plate sealer. I was one of the top students at the training academy, but that means nothing if you ever make a mistake. And that’s what I did.”

“What happened?” Jyra said.

“I rose through the hierarchy at the shop and soon had some apprentices working under me. A luxury cruiser was in dock for a hull plate job. For whatever reason, my team didn’t prioritize as well as usual. The deadline came up and we were close to completing the job. The starboard aft portion was all we had left and the deadline hit. I took another day to finish it up. A week later the cruiser took off on a sold-out trip to tour the main planets. It broke up in the atmosphere, killing everyone aboard. Analysis of the wreckage revealed a fissure had opened near the engine room on the starboard side. The pressure fluctuation ruptured a fuel tank and all that fuel ignited. My oversight caused that wreck.

“Needless to say, I lost my job and was cut and branded with this mark to ensure I’d never work in the field again in this system.” She pulled her right sleeve back and, just below her elbow, Jyra saw scar tissue in the shape of an X in the middle of a circle of distorted and wrinkled skin. It stood out against the other scars she’d received from common labor.

“The worst part is I found out my parents were aboard,” Shandra said. She paused and dragged a sleeve across her eyes.

“I miss them as you miss yours and maybe you and me could have done things differently to save them, but those are the sort of thoughts that keep you from remembering them as they ought to be remembered. Those thoughts undermine you. It’s been five years and I’m still fighting those ideas.”

Shandra pushed herself out of her chair made for the exit. She stopped at the door and added, “tell Macnelia I support your request to stop by your house before we make the bomb run.”

 Jyra remained in her chair, processing Shandra’s monologue. She didn’t have long to think about it because Macnelia and Craig entered the cockpit after a few minutes.

“What’s going on?” Macnelia said. “Where’s Shandra?”

“She left,” Jyra said. “I’m not sure where she went.”

 Craig fell into Shandra’s vacant chair and looked at the monitor. He navigated away from the earpiece control and checked the radar.

“According to ship IDs, it looks like TF might be gaining the upper hand,” he said.

“I don’t care if he’s in the shower or not, let’s go,” Macnelia snapped.

“I actually have a favor to ask,” Jyra said, wishing Macnelia were in a better mood. She didn’t seem particularly receptive to new plans at the moment.

“I went and saw Derek. He told me he was forced to watch footage of TF burning my neighborhood. I’d like to drop by there and see if it’s true. Shandra thinks it’s a good idea.”

“So do I,” Craig said. “Once we release the bomb, we won’t be able to go there anyway.”

“One more delay shouldn’t matter at this point,” Macnelia said, but Jyra could tell she was angry. “It’ll have to be quick, though. If the battle is favoring TF, we need to get to the complex before they restore its defenses or this will all be much harder. I’m going to take a shower now.”

Macnelia left and Craig swiveled back to face the screen. Jyra stared at the back of his head and cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to say what I said.”

“I know,” Craig replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

                        *

 Berk shifted in his chair, rubbing damp strands of hair out of his face. He and Jyra piloted Mastranada to the east. Jyra had gotten her wish. They were only five minutes from her home or, if the footage was correct, what was left of it.

The ascending smoke foreshadowed what would be on the ground before the door opened to reveal the damage. Mastranada landed in the middle of the street. On either side of the ship, the houses had been burned down to their foundations. Wrapped in her topcoat, Jyra jumped out of the ship and crossed to the wreckage of her home. Smoke coiled out of the smoldering piles of ash. Odors from oil refineries mixed with those of burned juniper and baked plastic. Distant thuds of explosions echoed across the plains. Berk, Craig, and Macnelia, in a better mood after her shower, followed behind Jyra as she stepped into the charred remains of what had been her living room. She moved to where the kitchen used to be and reached into the rubble.

“Here’s a seventh one for you,” she said, tossing Berk her father’s flask. Her fingertips were soiled with the charcoal that had gathered on the metal. Jyra placed a fingertip on her forehead and smudged a new Mourning Mark there. She saw several bolts kicked together that had once attached the tabletop to its legs. Just days ago, Jyra had sat there when Derek had delivered the letter. She heard the click of a camera and saw Macnelia taking pictures of the destruction.

“Why would they do this?” Craig said, dusting the charcoal off his hands after he picked up a can.

“I think it was to see if they could get more information out of Derek,” Jyra said. “Or to punish my parents. They knew everyone on this block.”

Berk met Jyra’s eyes and Jyra was sure they both experienced the same thought. Berk set off toward the other house sites and Macnelia followed while Jyra continued exploring what was left of her home. She found a dagger in what had been Dario’s room. The weapon was in the remains of a desk drawer. The flames had damaged neither the blade, nor the handle. Nearly everything else was now coals and ash.

“I think we should go,” Craig said. Jyra nodded, placed the dagger in her pocket, and the two of them traipsed back toward the ship. Jyra expected to feel a greater sense of loss, but instead felt somewhat relieved. She couldn’t explain why she felt freer. She and Craig waited by the ship as Macnelia and Berk returned from down the road. As they approached, Jyra threw an arm around Craig and pulled him to her side. Macnelia raised her camera and took a photo.

“A final memory made on this rock,” Jyra said with a weary smile.

They opened the door and climbed back into the ship, welcoming the fresh air.

“Some people were burned in those houses,” Berk said gravely, confirming Jyra’ fears.

“What?” Jyra said.

“Definitely bodies in rubble,” Berk said, taking a swig from his flask.

Jyra sighed and swallowed hard as she began imagining the people who had been barricaded in their homes while TF agents set the houses ablaze. Nearly all of those neighbors were at Dario’s funeral.

“Let’s drop the bomb,” she said.

They all made their way to the cockpit. Berk and Jyra took their seats. Macnelia picked up the earpiece Shandra left on the console and spoke.

“We’re initiating the bomb run,” she said. Jyra and Craig analyzed the radar data while Berk began takeoff procedures.

“The Nilcyns are definitely retreating to space,” Craig said. “TF has increased ground artillery defenses.”

“We can outmaneuver them, I expect,” Jyra said. It was obvious that their attack run would be much harder now than it would have been if they hadn’t visited Jyra’s neighborhood.

Shandra and Leonick entered the cockpit.

“Neeka and Derek aren’t coming up,” Shandra said.

“Understandable,” Macnelia said. “Let’s go.”

Mastranada leapt into the air and flew toward the combat zone. Craig clung to the back of Jyra’s chair, Macnelia to the back of Berk’s, and Leonick and braced themselves in the doorway.

“Switch to the incendiary mount target screen,” Berk said. “We won’t need the radar.”

Jyra pulled up the controls and selected the correct mount. A target request field opened automatically.

“Are we making a pass to see if we should target the shipyard or the complex?” Berk asked.

“I’ve thought about that,” Macnelia said. “What do you think, Leonick?”

“If the bomb falls between the complex and shipyard more to the north, it will provide maximum damage,” Leonick said.

“That’s what we’re after,” Berk said.

Laser bullets and missiles lit up the sky ahead of them. Closer to the ground, they saw ships ascending.

“More TF ships are launching,” Jyra said. “The Nilcyns must be holding their own in space.”

“We’ll for sure soon,” Macnelia said. “We’re close enough to designate the target.”

Jyra tapped the request field and a map of the ground beneath them filled the screen. Jyra zoomed out and located the TF complex.

“Where were you thinking?” Jyra said, turning to face Leonick. He walked forward and squinted at the screen.

“Here,” he said, tapping the screen twice. A box asking to confirm the location opened on the monitor and Jyra confirmed it.

“Two minutes until we reach the target,” she said.

“Hold on!” Berk shouted. Leonick jumped back into the doorway just before Mastranada banked to the right. The flares of two missiles lit up the cockpit as they flew by.

“We’re a target, too,” he said, wiping his brow. “Keep your eyes peeled for incoming munitions.”

“What about the radar?” Craig said.

“Won’t help from this range,” Berk said. “By the time we see it on the screen, we’ll be dead.”

“Closing in,” Jyra said. A detonation nearby rocked the ship and Craig nearly lost his grip on Jyra’s chair.

The TF complex was in sight. They were approaching from nearly the same direction as before.  A plume of smoke from the remains of the fuel storage tanks behind the facility billowed upward.

“One minute,” Jyra said.

“Got a spray of laser bullets coming in from the northwest,” Macnelia said.

Berk sent the ship into a dive to avoid the barrage. Jyra saw the cannon barrels swiveling from a battery on the ground.

“Pull up and turn to port!” she said.

Mastranda groaned as it leapt sideways and shot toward the sky.

“Bring us back toward the target,” Macnelia said.

“Working on it,” Berk said through his teeth. “It’s not a target if we’re not there to bomb it.”

He pulled the ship back on course, bringing it between the shipyard and the complex. Jyra’s fingers hovered over the release button.

“Watch out!” Shandra shrieked.

“I see it,” Berk said, jumping the ship higher.

“Target in range,” Jyra said.

“Do it!” Macnelia ordered.

Jyra hesitated. Craig leaned in from behind her and hit the button. The mount arms parted and Nematocyst Blast tumbled free.

“Mount’s clear,” Jyra said.

“Watch out for that ship!” Leonick said. Mastranada was headed straight for a large TF freighter and they could all see the guns on board aiming toward them. When Berk flipped Mastranada to head the other direction, they glimpsed the orange tail flapping behind the bomb. The ship pulled up and began flying toward the clouds when a flash seared across the cockpit, blocking out everything beyond it. The ship quivered as it rose, riding a massive shockwave from Nematocyst Blast.

Mastranada reached the clouds when another TF ship appeared. Parts of the hull smoldered and it had been heavily damaged in battle. Two of its cannons targeted Mastranada. Berk diverted by heading back toward the ground. Jyra saw a crater and fires burning where the TF complex used to be. Far below, the freighter that had menaced them fell to the ground, overwhelmed by the force of Nematocyst Blast.

“Pull up radar!” Berk ordered.

Jyra did and Macnelia glanced over at the screen.

“That ship’s following us,” she said.

Berk steered Mastranada to face the sky again and gunned the engines.

“It shouldn’t be able to handle another pass into space,” he said. “The stress will break it.”

The enemy ship fired several rounds and missed. Mastranada burst into the cover of the clouds at last. Jyra saw stars glittering beyond. Then the scene of the battle became visible. Debris from ruined ships filled space. The larger pieces were sucked toward Tyrorken and everything else drifted aimlessly.

A TF ship engaged a Nilcyn spacecraft nearby and the glow of the lasers flickered against Jyra’s eyes. Another pair of ships dueled from afar with missiles. A stabilizer, blown free of its ship and spinning as it glided, hit Mastranada.

“Now we just need to get out of here with no one seeing us,” Berk said.

“Or deciding to follow,” Jyra said.

Berk fired the engines when he spotted a possible escape route. Suddenly a round of lasers rushed by the cockpit. Realizing the munitions originated behind them, Berk flew forward to escape the danger, but it was too late. The heavily damaged ship they encountered just below the clouds fulfilled its goal. Though it couldn’t make it back out to space, its laser bullets could. Just as Berk accelerated, a laser struck the stern. The impact threw everyone in the cockpit sideways as Mastranada spun out of control and headed toward a TF freighter.