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.