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.

Part VII: Core work

The vast frontier of space appeared through the cockpit glass. Jyra leaned back in her seat, searching for Tyrorken amid the stars. Though she scanned the depthless view, her tan-colored home world eluded her eyes.

“You won’t see it yet,” Berk said, entering data for a course to Tyrorken into Mastranada’s nav computer. “Drometica’s facing the opposite direction and both planets have orbited away from each other.”

Jyra realized he must be right. Her ears and toes sensed the gentle hum of the engines. She only noticed it when she focused on the vibration. Berk pushed his matted hair back with his thick fingers and released an agitated sigh. Jyra didn’t have to ask what bothered him; it became apparent when Macnelia stepped into the cockpit behind them.

“She flies well,” Macnelia said, running her right hand up and down her camera strap.

“For a ship that escaped being crushed by a mountain,” Berk said. “When did you program the battery bomb?”

“What?” Macnelia said. Jyra watched her reaction closely. Her hand stopped on the camera strap, but her eyes widened with genuine concern.

“The countdown on the bomb,” Berk said. “You seemed to think it was set to go off in eight hours. Did you feel the blast when we took off? If we had been there a moment longer, the explosion would have swallowed this ship and all of us.”

Macnelia glanced briefly at Jyra, expecting to see some clue regarding Berk’s behavior.

“You think I deliberately tried to sabotage the entire resistance?” she said, bristling and taking a few steps farther into the cockpit.

“I think you haven’t answered my question,” Berk said.

“I set the bomb for eight hours,” Macnelia said, gritting her even teeth. “When we took off I felt a pulse in the air, but I thought it had something to do with the engines.”

“When did you start the time ticking?” Berk said.

“When you were flying the ship to clear the snow,” Macnelia replied. Berk fixed her with a scrutinizing look then turned back to his monitor.

“You don’t believe me?” Macnelia said.

“Unless you took a photo of the timer after you set it, no I don’t,” Berk said. He finished inputting the coordinates to the nav computer, stood up, and continued speaking as though the exchange with Macnelia hadn’t happened. “At least we’re heading in the right direction now. The ship’s on autopilot.”

“Everyone’s picking out rooms,” Macnelia said. “I want you both to get some shuteye during the trip. I think you need it,” she added, glaring at Berk.

Jyra left her seat and tried not to exit the cockpit too quickly, though she was eager to be out of the middle of the bickering. Berk’s boots tromped behind her.

The excess heat from the engines finally began circulating through the ship, but the large cargo bay still held the chill of the mountain air. Jyra only spent the amount of time necessary amid the crates to locate her duffel in the cold surroundings. As she moved down the main corridor, she could tell most of the rooms were occupied based on the scuffling sounds behind the closed doors.

She tapped on a promising door and heard no reply. The room behind it was almost entirely empty, except for an old wooden chair in one corner and a cot in another. Jyra stepped inside, wishing she had grabbed a heavy coat or blanket from the cargo bay. Before she could shut the door, Craig whispered her name. He was in the room directly aft from hers. She stepped out of the way so Craig could enter her quarters.

“All these rooms are rather uninspiring,” he said, taking a seat in the chair, which creaked under his weight.

“Just like the crew in some ways,” Jyra said, setting her duffel down. She explained the argument between Berk and Macnelia .

“Berk thinks Macnelia set the bomb to go off sooner on purpose?” Craig said, after hearing about the exchange.

“Seems that way,” Jyra said. “It’s hard to believe Macnelia would go as far as killing everyone, including herself, but she was acting weird. When I met her in the main cavern before we brought her luggage up she was taking pictures and she mentioned that she wouldn’t blame us if we left her behind.”

Craig leaned back in the chair and rubbed the whiskers sprouting around his mouth, considering the significance of Jyra’s revelation about Macnelia.

“This is a difficult time,” he said, dropping his hands into his lap. “You know me. I’ve known about the resistance plan for a while, but I’m still questioning what we’re doing. We’re taking the resistance to the next step, but bombing TF headquarters makes me uneasy. On the other hand, I feel like we’re avenging Dario’s death as well as saving the lives of everyone on Tyrorken who can’t escape when the planet becomes inhabitable.”

Jyra felt her stomach muscles clench at the sound of her brother’s name.

“That’s…strange,” she said, speaking as the thought entered her mind. “Macnelia said something similar. She tried to explain how what happened to Dario changed her outlook on the resistance.”

Jyra stopped talking as the force of emotion constricted her voice. It wasn’t sadness, but rather a fierce sense of bitterness. If only Dario had talked about the resistance. How had he really felt about it? It wasn’t something she could bear to hear from Macnelia, Craig, or, if they rescued him, Derek. She wanted the answer from her brother’s mouth and she couldn’t have that anymore. Craig watched her out of the corner of his eye and Jyra sensed his gaze.

“I wish I knew,” she began, urging her mind to jump ahead of her crawling speech. “I wish I knew if TF deliberately caused his death and what he thought the resistance should do.”

“How would that help?” Craig said gently.

“What happened to him has shaken those in the resistance,” Jyra said. “I understand better than anyone wanting to avenge his death, but without knowing what he wanted, it’s selfish. I feel like it undermines his memory.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Craig said.

“Of course you didn’t,” Jyra said. “No one does because they don’t know how he felt. That’s the point. I think Macnelia’s realizing that. Why are we doing what we’re doing if our motivation for doing so is fractured?”

“Because there’s a greater need,” Craig said. “And I agree that’s what we should be focused on. It’s hard. I’m still stuck on trying to talk Dario out of the oil work in the first place. Then there’s my own guilt of what we’re about to do. Even so, I continue realizing it’s much bigger than all that now.”

Jyra nodded and Craig sat back in the chair again, which creaked into the lengthy silence in the room.

“I just remembered something,” Craig said, adopting a new tone. “You said you’d tell me about Berk and his bullet wound.”

“I’ll tell you on the condition that you get me a blanket then let me get some sleep,” Jyra said.

Craig got up, went to his room, and returned with a blanket.

“Here you go,” he said. “What’s the story?”

Jyra explained Berk’s history on Silanpre and how he’d been held like a prisoner in the medical center.

“So his arm healed up that fast because of experimental chemicals they gave him in a corrupt hospital?” Craig said.

“That’s what he told me,” Jyra said. “And most people don’t have that kind of physique.”

 “That’s true,” he said, standing up to leave. “Thanks for the update. See you in a few hours.”

“See you then,” Jyra said, settling back onto the cot.

                        *

It didn’t take long before Jyra awoke to a knock on the door. She sat up, coaxing her dull muscles in action.

“What is it?” she said.

“We’ve got a problem,” Berk said through the door. “Get up to the bridge as soon as you can.”

Jyra kicked the blanket off and retied her hair. Her head felt twice as heavy as she shuffled into the corridor. She reached the cockpit and dropped into her seat.

Neeka crouched next to Berk’s monitor and Berk was in his seat, draining a flask into his mouth.

“What’s going on?” Jyra said, gazing at the stars, letting the dazzling scene banish the residual feelings of sleepiness.

“There’s a fleet up ahead,” Berk said. Jyra sat straight up at the news and stared intently into space. The gray hulls of ships and the glow of their engines were impossible to miss.

“They’re so exposed,” Jyra said. “What are they doing?”

“They seem to be heading the same way we’re going,” Berk said. “The catch is there’s only one group I can think of that would flaunt their unity so openly in this system.”

“You think that’s the Nilcyn fleet that attacked Horbson?” Jyra said.

“Positive,” Berk said.

“We can’t know that,” Neeka said.

“No we can’t,” Berk said. “If your radar had been working properly back at the base, we would have detected the arrival of Craig and Jyra’s ship as well as identified the Nilcyn strike force.”

“Not that it would have mattered,” Neeka said heatedly. “I told you already. They’ve changed their com frequency so it wouldn’t have been picked up anyway.”

Berk took another swig from his flask and threw it behind him.

“Cut engines,” he said.

“What?” Jyra said.

“I said cut the engines!” Berk said. “I don’t want to catch up to a whole enemy fleet.”

“We don’t know what they are yet,” Neeka said.

“I don’t see any other fleets around here,” Berk said, standing up so he towered over Neeka. “You can confirm what they are later. For now, I’m ordering to stop engines so we don’t get any closer to them now. We have no projectiles on this ship to defend ourselves.”

Jyra leaned forward to switch off the engine thrusters.

“Cut,” she said.

“And Derek keeps waiting,” Neeka said in an undertone. Berk strode out of the cockpit, his boots thumping on the steel floor.

“How’s progress?” Jyra said.

“Slow going,” Neeka said. “Easier without him chugging whiskey next to me. I’ve got their com frequency isolated, but they’ve got layers of protection on it.”

Neeka stood up and sat in Berk’s vacant seat. She sat back suddenly, staring at the code scrolling across the screen in front of her.

“Funny,” she murmured.

“What’s that?” Jyra said, moving over to stand behind Neeka’s chair.

“I feel like I’ve seen this code before somewhere,” Neeka said. Jyra couldn’t make any sense of the red digits flying from one side of the monitor to the next.

“How do you remember something like that?” she asked.

“I don’t know, part of being a programmer I suppose,” Neeka said. “A couple more years and I’m sure all code will look the same.”

Jyra directed her attention to the fleet, which continued to move away from them. Beyond the gray ships she could see her home world, a tiny sphere floating in space like a speck of dust.

“You all right here?” Jyra said, walking toward the exit. Neeka nodded with a half a glance at Jyra. She bent over the keyboard and began typing. Jyra headed aft and saw Shandra walking toward her, wearing a T-shirt and pajama bottoms.

“I heard Berk and Macnelia talking,” Shandra said. “Something about a fleet up ahead?”

“Yeah, it’s there,” Jyra said. “Heading away from us, though.”

“Well that’s much less exciting,” Shandra said. Her arms dropped to her sides and Jyra realized she had never seen Shandra in short sleeves. Scars and burns covered the now exposed skin.

“What happened?” Jyra asked, pointing at the damage. Shandra folded her arms automatically and didn’t meet Jyra’s eyes.

“Work injuries,” Shandra said and immediately turned and walked back toward her room.

Jyra stood in the passage, processing Shandra’s behavior. Where had she worked? Her reaction had been so strong that it couldn’t just be shame of the scars.

The visual presence of Nilcyns, coupled with the encounter with Shandra, had erased any desire for Jyra to go to sleep. She descended the ladder into the lower corridor and decided to visit the engine room rather than return to her quarters. It was brighter and much warmer than before, owing to the heat from the engines and additional lights that blazed through the catwalks and overhead machinery.

It only took a couple footsteps over the threshold before the mixed feelings reared in Jyra’s mind. On Tyrorken, her work at the garage had always been a place to leave her worries behind. The opportunity to focus on mechanical tasks promised to clear her mind of anxiety. Sometimes projects were challenging and painful, such as when she cut her hand on the fuel tank, but the solutions were always within her reach. Beneath the garage roof, she had the tools required to rectify all kinds of damage to a variety of vehicles. Jyra found herself wishing that she could pull out the contents of her mind to sort through them on the workbench, tweaking and adjusting the broken pieces one at a time.

Standing in the presence of the engines, Jyra felt some of the clarity that came from the garage work, but only for a moment. Another feeling rose over the peaceful one like a shadow on a wall, shrouding other sensations from existence. As she sensed the feeling, her eyes snapped to the ladder on the far wall. The bright lights made the floor under the bottom rung impossible to ignore; she had wiped away the even layer of dust that settled over the rest of the room from that spot.

Jyra remembered when she and Berk had taken off and the beverage had spilled. She could smell the tangy odor that emanated from the smashed mug. What if that guard had a sister? She lost him just as quickly as Jyra lost Dario. Death for nothing. Jyra felt her feet falling sluggishly as she began backing out of the room. Sparks flashed nearby and Jyra jumped and stumbled into the wall.

Leonick emerged from behind one of the energy cores. He wore a pair of enormous tinted welding goggles that made his already small face appear even more diminutive. The strap of the goggles also pushed most of his hair upward. Jyra wondered if perhaps he had just been electrocuted. He held a small torch in one gloved hand, a pair of pliers in the other, and his mouth formed an earnest smile.

“Good morning,” he said.

“You startled me,” Jyra said. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

“Did I startle you or did the sparks?”

“Both.”

“Excellent because this is startling work,” Leonick said, ducking out of sight. “It means I am doing it right.”

Jyra had never seen him so willing to interact, or indeed, so excited. She came around to where Leonick had opened a panel at the base of the portside energy core. Wires, as thin as the strands of a spider web, glistened like shards of glass in sunlight. Jyra sensed the anticipation kindling in her chest. It was a familiar feeling from her days of working at the garage. The sensation of nervous excitement that crept in, imposing on her lungs, whenever she began taking apart a vehicle, discovering how it all fit together.

Jyra leaned over Leonick’s shoulder to peer into the crisscrossed network of wires, but she couldn’t make any more sense of how the core actually functioned.

She remembered Leonick had mentioned something about corrosion, as he switched off the torch and pulled off the gloves.

“What’s damaged about the cores?” she asked. Leonick swiveled on his heels and spoke, filling Jyra’s nose with the stench of whiskey.

“Most of these wires are corroded,” he said, gesturing at the exposed silver conductors.

“Where’s the corrosion?”

“Right here.” Leonick pushed the goggles onto his forehead and brought one of his smooth fingernails right up to the edge of a wire. Jyra tilted her head and, for an instant, saw a clear buildup clinging to the strand near Leonick’s pinky. She repeated the brief duck of her head and again only saw the corrosion for a moment.

“I can barely see it,” she said.

“I can see it better than you can,” Leonick said. “But it is still difficult. You have to learn how to see it.”

“How do you learn that?” Jyra said.

“I did not learn how. I just know how,” Leonick said. “What you look for is what you see.”

“When did you first see corrosion in energy cores?”

“Twenty-two Jekka years ago,” Leonick said.

“Were you a metalworker?” Jyra said. She knew Jekka was home to most of the metalworkers in the galaxy. Spaceports covered the planet because nearly all ships in the Kaosaam System went there to have their hull plates resealed by metalworkers. Apprentice metalworkers had to go through a rigorous training program, but once certified, they had a plenty of work for the rest of their lives.

“I do not have the hands of a metalworker,” Leonick said, holding them up to the light to advertise their smooth skin. “That job is respected throughout the system, but I chose a more interesting path once I understood myself. When I was younger, I discovered that I intuit machines. I started working as a mechanic, but I did not like it. My mind was always elsewhere and it dawned on me that my comprehension of machines was more advanced.”

Leonick stopped talking abruptly to redirect his attention to the energy core. Jyra watched as his hands—each wielding a miniature toothbrush—darted among the silver wires. The bristles grazed the translucent deposits, rubbing them loose. Leonick’s precise movements reminded Jyra of an old flipbook of a flying spaceship she used to own. Overtime, some pages grew limp, while others remained stiff. When she tried to use it, clusters of pages skipped over her thumb and the spaceship seemed to jump from one side of the book to the other instead of smoothly flying the distance. Leonick’s hands moved like the spaceship. The action seemed sporadic, but it was undoubtedly controlled because each stroke with the brushes scrubbed off more corrosion.

The smell of alcohol rose from Leonick again and Jyra leaned back, the odor breaking her concentration.

“Why do you drink so much?” she said before she could stop herself. Leonick’s hands stopped and he withdrew them from the energy core. He began spinning both brushes with his fingers.

“Do you ever get an idea fixed in your head?” he said. “You try to think about other ideas, but the thought remains, no matter what you do?” Jyra nodded.

“That is how my mind works,” Leonick said. “My brain is inventing. I intuit that which exists and that which is yet to exist. My body cannot match the speed of my mind. If it could, I would know peace. If it could, I would relax.”

“Drinking makes you forget,” Jyra said.

“Alcohol interrupts my brain’s activity, which provides the clarity I need to construct my ideas in the world around me. There are two ways I can put an idea to rest. I drink until I can no longer process it or I build it so the thought can disappear naturally.”

Jyra wondered what it would be like to constantly be bombarded with information she herself kept creating. She didn’t think she could stand the chaos.

“What’s something you know of that doesn’t exist yet?” Jyra said.

“A time machine,” Leonick said. “Of course, time traveling already happens to some degree within the galaxy.”

“You mean when someone travels between two planets?”

“Exactly. A day on one world is not the same length as a day on another. A greater difference can be found between galaxies, such as the one I am from. The time machine I have planned would allow true time travel, such as to one’s childhood, for example. The only way to get there now is by discovering a galaxy parallel to this one in every way, same planets, same people, except it is thirty years behind.”

“You’re from a different galaxy?” Jyra said, partly shocked that she hadn’t considered the existence of other galaxies, despite her interest in space travel. The rest of the shock came from knowing she was talking to someone from another system.

“I am,” Leonick said. “The universe is a big place.”

“How old are you by your galaxy’s time?”

“Eighty-three,” Leonick said, smiling his small smile as Jyra’s eyebrows jerked upward. “Time moves faster back home.”

Jyra certainly had never considered the time differences in the whole universe. Questions from the new information she learned replaced the clarity she felt watching Leonick work on the energy core.

“How old are you in this system?” Jyra said.

“Thirty-seven,” he replied.

“But you were inventing in your home galaxy?”

Leonick nodded.

“What’s your favorite invention?”

“That I have built or that is in my head?”

“That you’ve built,” Jyra said.

Leonick turned toward the energy core and laid a hand on the paneling.

“This,” he said.

Jyra stared at him and Leonick’s cheeks lifted as he gave a wide smile.

“You invented energy cores?” Jyra said.

“I did,” Leonick said. “Much of the time I spent on Jekka involved manufacturing them, but they are harder to market than you think.”

“But, they’re an ingenious power source,” Jyra said.

“You flatter me,” Leonick said. “The fact remains, as you can see, they are challenging to maintain. I have to use these brushes to clean the conduction wires, otherwise I might bend one out of place. That is all it takes to compromise an energy core. I developed them assuming mechanics that serviced them would do so with my level of patience. I was wrong.”

“You said I could learn to see,” Jyra said. “Couldn’t others learn to maintain energy cores? You can instruct them.”

“Even you should be able to understand my brain is not wired to teach people that depth of understanding,” Leonick said. “As long as simpler forms of energy exist, people will seek the easier approach.”

“But other forms of energy cost more on the front end,” Jyra said. “Mining and refining. I grew up around that. Now we’re on our way to drop a bomb to end those activities that threaten the survival of my home planet.”

“I should say people will seek what they see as the easier approach,” Leonick said with a heavy sigh. “I speak not just of seeing, but also of the depth of seeing. You have experienced challenging truths that most people know of only in their fears. Your depth of sight is greater for it. Would you like to scrub the wires?”

Leonick lifted one of the brushes he twirled toward Jyra. She took it while processing what she had just heard. Jyra sank to her knees next to Leonick, ignoring his smell as she moved toward the open panel.

“Focus on the brush,” Leonick said, his voice dropping to a growling whisper. “Let it guide you.”

Jyra extended her arm to direct the brush through the open hatch at the base of the core. Sweat ran off her fingers onto the thin handle. She stared at the wires, trying to see the corrosion. The head of the brush rotated as she spun the handle between her thumb and forefinger.

“You found some,” Leonick said. The bristles scraped on a wire, wiping a deposit free. Jyra didn’t remember seeing it before she started spinning the handle, but the falling remnants beneath the wire proved she succeeded.

“I still can’t really see the corrosion,” Jyra said.

“You need more practice,” Leonick said. “But first, you need more sleep.”

He stood up and pulled a flask from his overshirt pocket. Jyra continued staring into the energy core, listening to the gurgling noise as the liquor rushed into Leonick’s mouth.

She remembered watching Leonick working on the explosive in Macnelia’s room.

“Did you envision the bomb in your mind?” Jyra said. Leonick lowered the flask and wiped his dirty sleeve across his mouth.

“Macnelia had it mostly figured out. I assisted with the detail work,” Leonick said.

“Do you feel—” Jyra paused to search for the right word “—responsible, at all, for what we’re about to do?”

“I have a difficult time feeling emotional extremes,” Leonick said. “Too much going on already.” He pointed to his head and rolled his eyes. “She asked me to help and I helped. I feel justified destroying part of a fuel industry that lobbied against energy cores.”

“What do you mean?” Jyra said.

“On Jekka, the liquid fuel companies fought the energy core project. They did all they could to block my funding proposals. I do not hold any anger toward them, but it is something I considered while building the bomb,” Leonick said.

Leonick knelt down to refit the panel cover on the energy core. He and Jyra rose together and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you for finding a core-powered ship,” he said. Leonick dropped his arm, set the goggles with the other tools, and walked out of the engine room. Jyra followed him into the corridor and told him to sleep well as he entered his quarters. She headed for her own room, but saw Neeka coming toward her.

“What’s going on?” Jyra asked.

“I decoded the signal,” Neeka said. “It’s a Nilcyn fleet.”

“Are they holding their course?” Jyra said. Neeka nodded.

“In fact,” she added, “I think they are heading for Tyrorken as well.”