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.
