Part XV: Risky conviction

Leonick spent the next two days in Mastranda’s engine room, making small adjustments and repairs. Everyone else chose new quarters in Valiant Conductor II. Despite Leonick’s best efforts, there were some things he alone could not improve. Although she would fly true, the water supply tanks on Mastranada were nearly empty. They would likely run dry before they could be refilled.

On Valiant Conductor II, Jyra unpacked her duffel bag in a spacious room located across the hall from Derek and Neeka’s quarters. All of her clothes fit into one dresser drawer out of the five built into the wall. As she laid her final shirt in place, she thought of her dresser in her room on Tyrorken, its contents turned to ash along with the rest of the house. She glanced up at the mirror mounted in front of her.

TF has taken everything from me she thought, tucking her hair behind her ears. But I’m still here.

Even the rare glimpse of satisfaction couldn’t distract Jyra from her surroundings. Her new quarters were more accommodating and comfortable than they had been on Mastranada, but the sterile, angular aesthetics reminded her of the TF complex. She remembered the sound of the rifle shots that killed her parents and she tore her gaze from the mirror.

“This is where I belong,” she told herself firmly. “Vengeance is only made better by destroying the enemy with their own machine.” Not even her own voice could silence the doubts that festered in her head. Attacking TF ships was by no means a surprise; Macnelia had made that a clear objective and the onboard laser cannons were ready to open fire. The idea that the resistance would imminently face enemy ships in battle preoccupied Jyra more and more.

She found memories of her family leading to thoughts of the coming assault on the enemy fleet, which were followed by a slew of worries. Valiant Conductor II disguised the resistance as a TF associate, but it would only last until they attacked the first ship. How well were the TF ships fortified of battle? What had happened to the Nilcyn fleet that attacked TF at the same time the resistance broke into the complex to save Derek?

The Nilcyns were perhaps Jyra’s greatest concern because no one in the resistance seemed to know why they had attacked TF. Did their offensive overlap with the resistance assault simply by coincidence? Neeka had discovered a common code between TF and the Nilcyns, but no one had been able to draw any conclusions from the mysterious connection.

It didn’t help that thinking of the Nilcyns reminded Jyra of the man she and Craig encountered in the stock room back on Drometica. When she asked him what the Nilcyns were, he’d told her they were trouble.

“You’ll want to watch out for the Nilcyns,” he’d said.

Tired of having only her thoughts and memories for company, Jyra left her room and knocked on the door across the hall, self-conscious about disturbing a couple in their own room.

“Come in,” Derek called after a moment. Jyra entered and discovered that Neeka wasn’t there.

Derek was propped against the wall in his bunk staring a screen mounted on a swiveling arm on one of the footboard bedposts. The wounds on his face were finally healing up, but he still looked as gaunt as ever since the rescue. He smiled when he saw Jyra and motioned for her to take a seat on the other bunk, which was still made.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“Plenty,” Jyra said. “You look terrible,” she added with a smile, keen to keep the conversation away from her worries.

“At least you’re honest,” he said. He shifted his wounded leg and wiped his brow. “The last thing I need is false hope and empty encouragement.”

“Is something wrong?” Jyra said, trying to keep her voice even.

“Not according to Leonick,” Derek said. “It’s just a matter of time until I heal, but it could take a while. I know everyone’s worried about me and I don’t like it. The worries of others won’t help me get better.”

“I’m certain your leg’s going to recover,” Jyra said. “I don’t want your attitude to suffer, too.”

“Neeka’s helped me stay occupied,” Derek said, nodding toward the screen. “She hacked into a newsfeed from Tyrorken. TF claims the Nilcyns attacked them.”

“If the Nilcyns haven’t been able to disrupt the feed, maybe that means TF defeated them,” Jyra said.

“Neeka’s up the bridge right now, trying to figure out what happened to them,” Derek said.

“That’s a relief,” Jyra said.

“What do you mean?” She couldn’t avoid her thoughts now.

“It’s just strange, isn’t it?” Jyra said. “The Nilcyns attacked TF the same time we did. And there’s that code Neeka found linking the two. It seems like there’s more going on that we know about, but we should know. We’re about to engage in ship-to-ship combat with the TF fleet. What if the remaining Nilcyn ships fight for them? We’re already outnumbered and if we have to face a second fleet as well…”

“As I understand it, we’re going to hit as many TF ships as we can and then run,” Derek said. “A blitz.”

“Macnelia said we were going hunt down every TF ship,” Jyra said.

“I think that was something of an exaggeration on her part,” Derek said gently. “I’m sure it could be done, but it’s far too risky. This resistance has worked by executing campaigns that hit hard and fast. Lingering to wipe out a fleet with two ships, only one of which is armed, isn’t practical.”

Jyra found the question on her tongue again. Leonick didn’t have an answer, but maybe Derek would.

“Has something happened to Macnelia recently?” she asked.

“Can you be more specific?”

“Well, she just seems a little more distracted than usual.” She didn’t want to reveal she’d eavesdropped on Berk and Macnelia so she named another example.

“You heard about when we left Drometica and destroyed the base there?”

“Yes,” Derek nodded. “If the detonation came a couple minutes sooner, that would have ended it all. The TF agents would have killed me by now.”

“She didn’t seem like herself that day either,” Jyra said.

“I see what you mean,” Derek said. “All I can do is guess. She’s under a lot of pressure and she harbors much hate toward TF.”

“Don’t we all?” Jyra said.

“Yes, but we’re not all leading this resistance,” Derek said. “If I were you, I’d ask Macnelia yourself.”

“I’ll need to come up a more specific opening question first,” Jyra said.

“Yes, that wouldn’t hurt,” Derek said. He glanced at the screen.

“Anything new?” Jyra asked.

“Just more footage of what’s left of the complex.” Derek turned the screen with the foot on his uninjured leg so Jyra could see more clearly. It was nearly impossible to tell how enormous the building had once been. The footage had been captured from the air and clouds of smoke occasionally obscured the view.

“Not much left,” Jyra said.

“That’s as it should be,” Derek said.

The footage cut to a wrecked Nilcyn ship on the ground, covered in flames. Through the fire, Jyra could see the insignia on the side. She remembered seeing it for the first time on Drometica.

“Why do they mark their ships?” she said.

“Solidarity,” Derek said. “And for intimidation. Organized fleets like them are taboo in the galaxy. Even so, the insignia bears a certain degree of cowardice.”

“What? Should the “N” not be capitalized?” Derek shook his head.

“They’re applied with a paint that fades in a day or two,” he said. “They mark their ships right before an attack. Soon after they depart, they split up and the insignias become as clear as glass on their hulls. It’s one of the main reasons they’ve managed to exist for so long.”

“If Neeka has their code or a code they use, couldn’t she disrupt it?”

“You’ll have to ask her,” Derek said. “She went up to the bridge about an hour ago to look into that code more. I think she’s acting on Macnelia’s orders. And I know Macnelia wants to know what the Nilcyns are up to as well. She may be angry and under pressure, but I think she’s still got us on the right path.”

“Thanks for the talk,” Jyra said, standing to leave.

“Time and talk is all I’ve got,” Derek said. He smiled, but he didn’t look as though he wanted Jyra to go.

                        *

Valiant Conductor II had come about so Tyrorken was visible from the bridge. The ship was locked at its coordinates to maximize the accuracy of the radar readings. Most of the lights were still off, although there wasn’t any ship close enough to tell the difference. Jyra glanced at her home world and then, through the gloom, spotted Neeka staring at a monitor. She approached and took the empty chair next to her.

“How’s it going?” Jyra asked.

“Slowly,” Neeka said, heaving a sigh.  The code paraded across the screen. Every few seconds, a vertical line of characters cut through those that marched horizontally.

“That’s one of the things that’s making this harder,” Neeka said, tapping one of the scrolling vertical lines. “As it intersects the standard lines, each character completes a phrase or word or who knows what. I can’t believe I didn’t remember where I’d seen this sooner. I never figured out what it meant, but it’s so distinctive.”

“The one that got away can still play tricks years later,” Jyra said.

“Plus it’s easy to lose focus when an obsession’s involved,” Neeka said.

“Can you tell who’s sending this?” Jyra asked.

“It’s still between TF and the Nilcyns,” Neeka said, leaning closer to the monitor. “I think it’s mostly transmissions from the Nilcyns. Whatever it is, they’re posting it quickly.”

“Are they trying to negotiate?” Jyra wondered aloud.

“Could be” Neeka said. The code was moving faster on the screen. “If they keep this up, the encryptor won’t sustain the pace much longer.”

“Will it slow the entire message transfer or will it just pass the raw data through?”

“I don’t know,” Neeka said. “They’ve been careful enough up to this point.”

“Can’t the computers aboard this ship decode this for us?” Jyra asked.

“This is as much as the computers can decode,” Neeka said, nodding at the monitor. “It’d be twice as hard to do on Mastranada’s computer.”

“How’s it going?” Macnelia said, appearing from behind and putting a hand on Neeka’s shoulder.

“About the same,” Neeka said. “I think the Nilcyns are getting frenetic with their transmissions, though. If we’re lucky, they’ll overrun the encryptor soon.”

“Let’s hope they do,” Macnelia said.

She turned to leave and Jyra stood up faster than she meant to, which led her to speaking quicker than she intended.

“Can I ask you something?” she blurted.

“Sure,” Macnelia said. “Follow me. I have to go check on the plans for the attack.”

“Who’s working on them?”

“Berk, Craig, and Shandra started right after they got situated in their new quarters. They’re not too far along I’m sure, but hopefully they have some ideas. But I don’t think that’s what you meant to ask about.”

“No,” Jyra said. “But actually it’s related.”

They climbed down the ladder from the bridge into the lower passage and headed aft.

“Something you said made me think we were going to destroy all the remaining TF ships,” Jyra said.

“Well yes,” Macnelia said breezily. “That’s the plan, but it may not be realistic to achieve in one attack. If we get into this fight and the battle turns against us, we’ll retreat. You can’t fight another day once you’re dead. So we’ll fall back and strike again.”

“What if they chase us?”

“We’ll isolate them and pick them off,” Macnelia said.

“How many ships are out there?” Jyra said. Macnelia finally stopped walking and turned around in the corridor.

“You’re trying to make some kind point,” she said sharply. “Just say it.”

“I’m worried that we can’t pull it off,” Jyra said. Somewhere in the back of her mind she felt the beginnings of relief, having finally spoken some of her thoughts.

“I don’t think we know enough about what we’re up against to organize such a thorough assault,” she added.

“Neeka will crack the code and we’ll be able to contact TF command,” Macnelia said. “We’ll pose as one of their ships returning from a mission and ask for an update on the crisis. Then we’ll know everything we need: ship counts, positions, and anticipated trajectories. And we’ll hit them.”

Jyra’s first thought was how soon Neeka would actually solve the code. At the moment, she seemed completely lost. Macnelia’s lips tightened.

“That sounds better,” Jyra lied. Macnelia didn’t seem to be in much of a mood to talk and she didn’t want her to get upset.

“Excellent,” Macnelia said. The word snapped like belt and Jyra took a deep breath, relieved that she had the sense to end the conversation.

It was a fleeting feeling. It occurred to Jyra that Macnelia had been the one dodging specifics. She spoke as if she had already decided how they were going to attack, yet she was on her way to discuss those very plans. What needed to be deliberated if Macnelia had the final word anyway?

She’s decided, Jyra realized, struggling to keep a level head as the consequences of this fact fought for her attention.

But there was doubt, she thought, recalling Macnelia’s words. “If the battle turns against us...” What does that mean? If she had been quicker, Jyra would have clarified what circumstances would cause the resistance to retreat from the attack. She didn’t want to discuss the assault with Macnelia anytime soon, but maybe she could uncover the details another way.

                        *

The planners weren’t hard to find; they were gathered under the laser cannons, staring at a projection on the floor. The image showed a real-time rendering of Tyrorken in space that even included some of the larger ships positioned around it. The tiny projector had been clipped onto one of the laser cannons, the lens glowed brightly as it cast light and data.

“I think we fly to the far side of the planet and orbit around to meet these ships locked in position,” Craig said, as Jyra approached. She saw Macnelia glance at her but didn’t meet her eyes.

“These ideas aren’t bad,” Macnelia said. “But none of them take into account what might be on the other side of the planet or what might come up from the surface.”

“We can’t know that,” Shandra said. “Leonick was right the first time we were on Tyrorken. The pollution disrupts the radar.”

“Now that you mention Leonick,” Berk said, “he’s been working on restoring Mastranada to full functionality.” Jyra chanced a look at Macnelia. She was frowning slightly and fortunately her attention was on Berk. Jyra knew she didn’t think fixing Mastranada was a priority.

“Some of us could scout with the smaller ship and maybe assess on what’s going on. I know Neeka’s working on the code and she also got that TF newsfeed broadcasting onboard. But the most accurate way to know what’s really going on down there is to use our own eyes.”

No one spoke following this suggestion, but Jyra could tell everyone was considering it. Macnelia broke the silence.

“It sounds too risky at this point,” she said. “Once Neeka cracks the code maybe we can get enough of a preliminary reading to make a couple passes with Mastranada as Craig said. This is a good first step, but we need to do more. The longer we wait, the more time the enemy has to regroup.”

She stood and left the hangar for the bridge without another word. Everyone exchanged curious glances. Craig finally cleared his throat and addressed what everyone was thinking.

“So,” he said looking sideways at Berk. “I didn’t realize we looked so alike.”

The tip of Berk’s flask disappeared into his whiskers as he emptied the contents into his mouth.

“We need to get this done before the stress wrecks her,” Berk said.

“Scouting definitely can’t hurt,” Shandra said, turning to gaze at Mastranada. “Maybe I should check with Leonick and get his opinion on the condition on the hull plates that might have been damaged.”

“You can do that once we get a decent plan formed,” Berk said, setting his flask on the floor. “We volunteered to construct this attack so we need to make a little more progress before we start any side projects.”

“It sounds to me like we were just put on hold,” Craig said, nodding toward Macnelia’s wake. “Neeka needs to find something in the that code before we can even scout.” Berk fidgeted with his empty flask. “I want to figure out how we’re going to take on the enemy, but I don’t want to do it blindly,” Craig added.

“Fine,” Berk grunted reluctantly. “I’m going to speak with Neeka. In fifteen minutes, though, we meet back here.”

“That’s all the time I need,” Shandra said, standing up and heading for Mastranada. Craig followed her and Jyra remained with Berk. He got to his feet and switched off the projector.

“What do you want?” he said, lumbering toward the main passage.

“I want to ask you about Macnelia,” Jyra said. “Something’s not quite right and don’t tell me it’s just stress. It’s more than that. She didn’t even realize she called you by the wrong name.”

“It was kind of Craig to wait to mention that until she was out of earshot,” Berk said, his voice a low growl. Jyra stared at him, encouraging him to continue.

“I don’t know what’s happened to her,” he said, running his fingers through his grizzled hair. “I’ve tried to get a straight answer from her, but it hasn’t worked.”

Jyra didn’t know what to say.

“Thanks for telling it straight,” she muttered. “I mean, it’s about the only comforting part of it all. I just want to help her if I can.”

“We all do,” Berk said. “I don’t know if anyone else has picked up on it like you and me, but I think it’d be best not to share it with anyone. Not until we get this last attack out of the way.”

An uncomfortable weight materialized in Jyra’s gut at Berk’s words.

“That’s just it,” she said. “The way Macnelia’s been talking about this assault, it’s as though she wants it to be the final one. It seems she doesn’t care if it kills her, but if it does, then we’re all like to go with her.”

Part XIV: Shields and cores

The ship shuddered gently under the women. Neeka looked up from the monitor at Macnelia and Jyra. They all exchanged smiles as the enormous engines came to life.

“Ready to link engine number one,” Neeka said into the earpiece.

“Initiate now,” Craig’s voice said.

“Coming online,” Neeka said. Several tense moments passed before she spoke again.

“Linked. Onto the second engine.”

It didn’t take long before all three engines were connected to the bridge and responding to the controls.

“We’re looking good here,” Craig reported.

“And here,” Neeka said.

Their voices were drowned as Macnelia lifted a com microphone to her lips and spoke.

“Attention throughout the ship, the engines are online.” Her voice echoed in every room.

“I could barely hear her over the noise down here, but I heard that,” Craig said and Neeka chuckled.

Macnelia smiled as she set the com down, but Jyra approached, grinning broadly.

“I have more good news,” she said. “You can tell them one of the storage bays in the stern is full of food and water.”

Macnelia shot a skeptical glance at Jyra and raised her eyebrows.

“Neeka, ask Craig if there are any crates of food aboard,” Jyra said.

Macnelia’s next ship-wide transmission revealed not only the presence of the food, but also where to find it.

                        *

Everyone reconvened in the main hangar beneath two of the enormous laser cannons. Leonick and Craig had collected some food and water from the storage bay on their way back from the engine room and after sharing mutual congratulations, the group exchanged talking for eating.

Jyra tore into a package of dried apples and gulped some clear water from a bottle. The food was second only to what she’d eaten on Drometica. Even though she knew of richer flavors and purer water, she couldn’t forget the substandard quality of each she’d grown up with on Tyrorken.

As she chewed, Jyra stared at the massive doors on either side of the hangar. For a moment, she wondered if maybe the atmospheric shield on the door that had been closed since their arrival might still work. Then she remembered both shields were powered by the same source.

She took another swig of water and nudged Craig on the shoulder.

“We need to find an electrical schematic for the shield power panel,” she said.

Craig had punctured the vacuum seal on a loaf of bread and just torn into the crust with his teeth. Unable to speak his reply for the moment, he shook his head. When he swallowed, he answered properly.

“I asked Neeka,” Craig said. “According to her, there’s no entry for it on the ship’s computer.”

Neeka looked up from a container of cold soup and nodded.

“I didn’t investigate why it wasn’t there, but I figured it would be something we could probably use to get the shield working again.”

“It would make the whole job easier,” Jyra said. “Do you think Jed could have erased it?” she added to Craig.

“Why would he?”

“Well,” Jyra began, frowning as she tried to see where her reasoning was taking her. “If something was wrong with the shield, the diagnostic computer compares the schematic to the actual device. If any operation between the two conflicts, the computer sends an alert to the bridge. What if Jed deleted the entire shield schematic and overrode the diagnostic processor to make sure no one found out about it?”

Craig took another bite of bread and pondered while he chewed.

“It’s certainly possible, but erasing the entire program and bypassing the computer would take a long time.”

“We don’t know how long he had to sabotage the ship,” Jyra said. “Causing the shield to fail could have been the first thing he did, maybe before it even took off. If that’s how he undermined the ship, then the actual defect to the shield operation system is probably pretty small. It had to be impossible for anyone aboard to find fast enough.”

“So where do we start?” Macnelia asked, setting her bottle of water aside.

“At the control box,” Craig said. “Maybe you and Neeka can find the schematic. I never knew Jed to be too great with computers and hopefully he just stuck the plans in some other location. It might be possible to hunt it down.”

“Can we enjoy our first meal in days first?” Shandra said, setting an empty box of crackers aside while reaching for a second.

“I’m not doing anything until I’m finished,” Berk grunted.

Jyra observed him out of the corner of her eye. Even with his bulky coat, he looked thinner. His beard and hair were as wild as ever, but his eyelids hung lower than usual. His flask hung in his left hand while he stuffed some sort of canned meat into his mouth with his right.

“We’ve got to finish with the laser cannons after we’re done,” Derek said, wincing as he shifted his wounded leg in order to better face the group.

“Careful,” Neeka said, setting her arm on Derek’s shoulder.

“I can turn myself around just fine,” he said shortly.

“How are you doing?” Macnelia asked.

“Fine,” Derek said, but his tone grew stiffer. “Couldn’t be better for someone who’s been shot in the leg.”

Jyra stopped eating, suddenly aware of how Derek must feel amid all activity, most of it beyond his physical capability with his wound. She recalled one of Dario’s friends had accidentally shot himself in the leg. Although the injury was said to be minor, it had taken more than six months to heal. Jyra wasn’t sure how much damage the bullet had done to Derek, but his inability to fully serve the resistance clearly irritated him. Where will the resistance be in half a year? Jyra wondered. Where will I be in half a year?

After the meal, Jyra and Craig made their way across the hangar to the shield control box. They removed the bent cover and after several minutes of studying the wiring, Craig pushed himself back from the wall, shaking his head.

“It looks normal,” he said. “Nothing’s cut or missing.”

“He likely wouldn’t have done anything in here,” Jyra said. “We just had to check.”

Craig wiped his brow before lifting the cover back into place.

“Let’s the check the box for the other door,” Jyra said as she drove the mounting screws in place.

“All right,” Craig said. He sounded skeptical.

“We have another circuit to use for comparison,” Jyra said.

“Hopefully they’ll just dig up the schematic,” Craig said, fighting off the urge to yawn.

“Until they do, other side of the hangar,” Jyra said.

                        *

“This is different.”

“How?”

“The wires here.”

“They’re just on the right instead of the left,” Craig said, staring into the control box for the second hangar door.

“Oh,” Jyra said, her excitement draining. She hated the feeling, but had often faced it while working in Jed’s garage. However much she might enjoy troubleshooting problems, the experience only gave her satisfaction if she solved the issue.

What if they couldn’t get to the bottom of the malfunctioning shield without the schematic?

Craig picked the cover up, but Jyra leaned forward suddenly, pushing a group of wires aside.

“What are these?” she said. “There were two wires entering the other box, but there’re four here.”

Craig set the cover back on the floor and examined the wires between Jyra’s fingers. They reached the conclusion at the same time.

“Of course,” they said together.

Their gaze traveled up to the top of the box, following the wires into their junction clips. One of the conductors had been pulled free.

“That’s it,” Jyra said. “That’s all he had to do.”

“Simple,” Craig said. “Sabotage the system on the opposite side of the hangar.”

“The shields share the same power source,” Jyra said. “I didn’t realize the lines for both sides of the hangar were routed through here.”

“No one figured it out fast enough either,” Craig said, reaching into the control box.

Carefully, he opened the clip and inserted the loose wire back inside it.

“Check it with the bridge,” Jyra said.

Craig jerked his head sideways to activate the earpiece.

“Macnelia or Neeka, update the shield status,” he said. “We may have solved it.”

“What?” Neeka replied.

“Update the atmospheric shield status.” Craig rolled his eyes and Jyra tightened her grip on the control box.

“We’ve got a reading!” Neeka yelled and Craig tore the earpiece free, cursing and holding his ear.

Jyra sank off her knees to lean against the wall, surrendering to a feeling similar to the one she’d experienced when she found the food in the storage bay.

Macnelia’s voice suddenly boomed over the com system, reporting the shield was back online.

Except for the two women on the bridge, everyone was in the middle of the hangar working on the laser cannons. Tools fell to the deck with a clatter and cheers erupted, the noise echoing through the cavernous room.

 Craig extended a hand and pulled Jyra to her feet. His eyes gleamed beneath his Mourning Mark. Jyra glanced at the charcoal smudge and gave Craig a small smile.

“Your parents would be proud,” she said. The light in Craig’s eyes faded but he didn’t look away.

“So would yours,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze. His hand glided down her arm, avoiding the wound near her elbow.

Jyra was aware of the approaching footsteps and knew who it was before he started speaking.

“All right,” Berk said. “You’ve got the shield back up so come give us a hand with the cannons. They’re almost ready.”

                        *

Jyra opened her eyes, blinking in the dim light of her quarters on Mastranada. She pushed her hair out of her face and sat up. As she rubbed her eyes, the events before her nap came back to her. She and Craig had restored the atmospheric shield. Then they had helped the others mount and prep the laser cannons. Macnelia and Neeka returned from the bridge and suggested everyone get some sleep.

“Once the fighting begins, there’s no saying when we’ll be able to rest again.” Macnelia’s words filled Jyra’s head and she pulled on her clothes and wandered into the corridor. She wasn’t sure where she was headed, but as she drew closer to engine room, Jyra heard noises.

For a moment, she thought of the guard Berk had slain in the room, but she tried to focus on her fresh curiosity instead. She opened the door and discovered Leonick working at a panel on the wall.

“Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” she asked.

“I do not sleep,” Leonick said. “Especially when I have as much on my mind as I do.”

“You always have a lot to think about,” Jyra said. “What is it now?”

“I am mostly preoccupied with fixing this ship.”

Jyra stared around the engine room and realized that since they crash-landed on Valiant Conductor II, she hadn’t heard or seen any effort to repair Mastranada.

“I think everyone thought overhauling the TF ship was more important,” Jyra said. Leonick dug a flask out of his pocket and took a mighty swig.

“Macnelia thought it was important,” he said, an uncharacteristic tone of bitterness entering his voice. “If something happened to the large ship, how would we escape? Until I get these new fuses in place, Mastranada cannot even power up.”

“Where did you get the fuses?” Jyra asked.

“From the TF ship. They were in a supply locker near the engine room. My point is, we have taken an awful risk staying aboard this ship, and we are about to take an even greater risk by firing on other vessels. I have not been able to convince Macnelia that repairing this ship is vital to our survival should something happen to the TF one during the fighting. I will not let this ship go down inside another.”

Jyra saw him glance at the energy cores behind him. She suddenly remembered the conversation she and Leonick shared in this very room before they bombed the TF complex. She learned Leonick had invented energy core technology. Jyra recalled they way he worked on them. She had never seen anyone approach a machine with such care and delicacy. TF had played a part in barring energy cores from becoming a standard fuel alternative for ships, which is what Jyra suspected motivated Leonick to join the resistance in the first place.

Jyra saw his point about using Mastranada to evacuate Valiant Conductor II in an emergency. It seemed odd Macnelia didn’t view fixing Mastranada as a priority. The odd conversation she recently overheard between Macnelia and Berk surfaced in Jyra’s mind. Macnelia hadn’t sounded like herself, but Berk had suggested she had been pushing herself too hard.

“Has Macnelia seemed different to you at all lately?” Jyra blurted before she could stop herself.

Leonick deftly pressed the fuses into their contacts and wiped his hands on his trousers.

“I cannot say,” he said. “If you are inquiring about her attitude toward repairing this ship, it does not matter because she should be ready to fly again.”

“All you had to do was replace the fuses?”

“There were other tasks,” Leonick said, snapping the panel cover in place. “Several power cables were shaken out of their couplings during landing. I also patched three ruptured air lines.”

He stared around the engine room and his eyes fell on the energy cores again. A look of reverence spread across his face and he laid on the hand on the closest one. Out of nowhere, Jyra realized Leonick’s expression reminded her of how her parents used to look at her and Dario.

“What is it?” she said, surprised that she had trouble speaking.

“These are the last energy cores I know of that actively power a ship,” Leonick said, before taking a long sip from his flask. “To see them and interact with them is a privilege I never expected to experience again. I understand machines and what they require to survive. Every machine I have made is part of me and I do what I can to nurture and support them. To meet again when I thought these cores lost has renewed my commitment to their survival.”

“You speak of them as though they are your children,” Jyra said. Leonick turned his gaze to her and nodded.

“In a way, they are,” he said. “And if we run into trouble during the coming assault, we are going to need them as much as they need me.”

He left the engine room and Jyra followed him into the corridor.

“Have you had any luck developing your time machine?” she whispered after him.

“I do not rely on luck,” he said shortly. “I rely on a systematic approach.”

“Well, have you started building the machine yet?” Jyra asked, still walking after him. Leonick paused and turned, drawing out his flask and unscrewing the cap.

“The first rule about designing a machine is knowing the environment in which it will function. In the case of the time machine, I am still searching for the correct environment.”

“You mean the galaxy parallel to this one in all ways except time?”

“Precisely, but the universe is a big place and I can only search it in small increments,” Leonick said, emptying his flask with a final gulp. “The parallel galaxy may not exist, but I would like to find out one way or the other. If the galaxy I am after is out there, then I will start building the time machine.”

Jyra already how she would answer the question residing on the tip of her tongue, but she had no idea how Leonick would respond.

“Once you build it, would you use it to change anything in your past?”

“I might,” Leonick mused. “But there is no sense thinking about it until the means to act on it are developed.”
His mouth curved into a grin as he entered his quarters and shut the door behind him. Jyra returned to her room and picked up her mother’s locket. She sat in the semidarkness, remembering how the jewelry hung on her mother’s neck. Jyra pulled the blanket over her and fell asleep, imagining what her counterpart might be up to in a parallel galaxy.

Part XIII: Somasteria

A few hours later, Jyra lay on her bed, turning her mother’s locket in her fingers. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Derek had said. It made her realize she hadn’t considered the sacrifices she might have to make to get to the bottom of Dario’s death.

Her life on Tyrorken had been one of perpetual hardship and struggle. It was hard to forget the nights when it was difficult to breathe because of the pollution. As she grew older, her parents spent more time at work. TF even consumed most of the time Jyra would have had with Dario. There was little to be excited about on Tyrorken besides her dream of becoming a pilot.

Jyra knew she couldn’t escape her past experiences, but she could move beyond them. She no longer lived on Tyrorken. It was her home planet, but it wasn’t her home.

Jyra sat up and set the locket on her bedside table. She dug a mirror out of her duffel and examined her reflection. Her dark eyes glittered at her beneath her equally dark hair, which hung past her shoulders. She gave herself a small smile, which disappeared when she noticed no trace of the Mourning Mark on her forehead. She touched the spot where it had been. As she lowered her arm, she caught sight of the cut near her elbow. It no longer pained her, but Jyra could tell a scar would remain; the skin around the wound glistened in the dim light.

It would likely shine for a few weeks just like the scar on the back of her hand. Jyra looked at the white line that began at the base of the knuckle of her index finger. The sight of the scar reminded her of Jed. She couldn’t think of him without considering his message.

Did he carry his grudge against TF into his career with the company? When did he decide to sabotage the ship? Did he act alone? The last thought opened a whole new path of inquiry. If others helped him, were they associated with the resistance?

Though she fought to resist it, the memory of her parents’ murder filled her mind. Just before the killing shots sounded, the guard had said information had been passed to a known enemy. Could that enemy have been the resistance? Tadwin had also said TF had killed Dario. Jyra clutched her head in her hands, straining to recall the details.

“How far does this go?” Jyra breathed aloud, unable to assemble the information into a coherent thought. How had all these different people come to turn against TF? Jed, Jyra’s parents and brother, and all the members of the resistance with Jyra on this ship had a common goal and somehow weren’t aware of it. After witnessing the TF agents’ assault on Derek, Jyra understood the need for secrecy had been of utmost importance. As she thought about it, however, the confidentiality had undermined the resistance more than protected it. If they all had been able to work together from the beginning, perhaps TF would have fallen long ago. Then again, the resistance could have suffered that exact same fate.

Jyra’s thoughts returned to Tadwin’s insistence that TF had killed Dario. He had said it with a conviction Jyra had never heard in her father’s voice. He was often soft-spoken and vague, never one to speak in absolutes.

Before she could consider the idea further, voices in the corridor distracted her. Jyra stood up as quietly as he could and pressed her ear to the door. Berk’s gruff tone was easy to identify, but it took several moments before Jyra recognized that a second, breathless voice belonged to Macnelia.

“Settle down and just tell me what’s wrong,” Berk said gently.

“I’m having a hard time,” Macnelia gasped. She sounded out of breath. “I…I’m not sure what my…our next move is.”

For a moment, all Jyra could hear was the sound of Macnelia taking deep breaths.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Berk said.

“No,” Macnelia said. “It’s not that. We’re adrift in more ways than one. I don’t know what happened back there, but the Nilcyns were already attacking. We need to understand why. And we’ve got to get this ship back online. It’s all we have to further our campaign.”

“What do you want to see happen?” Berk said. Silence followed his question and Jyra strained against her door, listening.

“I want to see Tyrorken restored,” she said. “I want to save that planet and drive TF into oblivion.”

“Well we’re off to a good start,” Berk said.

“And we have a long way to go,” Macnelia continued. She began to sound more like herself. “Taking out their headquarters doesn’t eliminate them. There’s still more to do.”

“Do you feel better?”

“I think so,” Macnelia said, her voice faded with footsteps as she and Berk continued down the corridor.

Jyra returned to her bed, thoughts of her parents and the resistance suspended as she pondered what might be troubling Macnelia.

                       *

After another shift of rest, the resistance resumed work on Valiant Conductor II. Leonick completed his inspection of the engines and insisted they were ready for power. Shandra instructed everyone how to check for damage to a ship’s hull from the inside. Then everyone split off and began assessing different parts of the enormous vessel.

Jyra ventured into the stern below the engine room, making her way toward the starboard hull. “Ships of the Kaosaam System” had indicated this part of the ship would likely consist of storage and power bunkers. An empty cargo bay lay behind the first door she entered off main corridor. The closed door gave her moment’s pause, until she saw the marks from Berk’s hammer that marred its left edge. Members of the resistance had already been through this part of the ship to check and fix the doors.

A number of crates were stacked in the next room, which was dark. Jyra flipped a switch on the wall and several lights clicked on. She began reading the packing labels on the crates, moving between them with mounting eagerness and urgency. “Crackers, bread, oats, rice, pasta” Jyra read aloud, her voice trembling with excitement. Another label listed dried fruit, nuts, and chips. One box contained jars of water.

“There must be fifty crates here,” she said, pressing her fingers into her hair. “This will last us for months.”

For the first time in a long time, a sense of relief spread through Jyra and she sat on one of the crates. The fortune of finding such a large supply of food overwhelmed her. She put her face in her hands, surrendering to her feelings. For a moment, she remembered the feeling of her bed on Tyrorken, the creases in the sheets and the weight of the blankets. She thought of the days before she fled her planet, when her brother and her parents were still alive. It suddenly seemed as though no time had passed since their deaths.

Jyra pushed her hair back and wiped her eyes with the back of her arm. She waited for the relief of discovering the crates to fade, but it remained fixed inside along with her sadness.

Jyra heard footsteps in corridor and stood up to find the label on the crate so she could pretend to be reading it.

“Oh,” Craig’s voice said from the doorway. “I’ve strayed into your part of the ship. What’s in the crates?”

Jyra did her best to keep her face hidden as she tested her voice, wondering if it would betray her emotions.

“Food,” she croaked. “There’s food and water here.”

“Are you kidding?” Craig said, rushing into the room and checking the first label he saw. “I can’t believe it.”

Jyra gave a jerking nod and Craig noticed something was wrong.

“What is it?” he asked, the excitement draining from his words. He approached from behind and put a hand on Jyra’s shoulder.

She turned and pressed her face into his chest so that he couldn’t look at her. They put their arms around each other. One of Craig’s hands traced small circles on her back. Jyra focused on the sensation, managed to quell her tears, and she broke the embrace. She shuffled back to the pile of crates and sat down, staring at her hands in her lap.

“I’ve lost so much,” she said slowly. “For what? We destroyed a building, but TF ships are still out there. I thought the resistance would give me something I wanted.”

“What do you want?” Craig asked, joining her on the crate. Jyra glanced up into one of the lights, thinking.

“Vengeance,” she said dully.

“You don’t sound very convinced,” Craig said with a small smile.

“I know,” Jyra said. “I think it’s what I want, but I have no idea how to get it. When I heard about the plan to bomb TF headquarters, it seemed like the perfect solution. I thought it would satisfy me. But it didn’t and now I’m worried that whatever I want, I won’t be able to get it.”

“It sounds like you need to choose that first,” Craig said. “Once you’ve got a goal, you’ve got something to focus on and achieve. It doesn’t need to be related to the resistance.”

He stopped talking abruptly and stared at the floor. His eyes narrowed and his brow was furrowed. Jyra glanced at him and remembered the only other occasion when Craig had looked that way. It had been Jyra’s first day back at Jed’s Garage after getting stitches in her hand. Craig had arrived late and he wore that same expression when he entered the shop.

“You’re thinking about your goal, aren’t you?” she said gently and he nodded. “What do you want?”

Craig took a deep breath and drummed his fingers on his knees.

“I should start by reminding you of some advice I gave you once. After we got out of the TF complex, I told you not to regret things you didn’t do.”

Jyra recalled the exchange more vividly that she cared to, but she only nodded to encourage Craig to keep talking.

“We’ve both lost our parents to TF, but in different ways,” Craig said and Jyra felt her eyes grow wide with curiosity. “I haven’t done a very good job of taking my own advice. I know I did all I could to prevent my parents’ fate, but it’s easy to blame my efforts, because, obviously, they weren’t enough.”

“What happened to them?” Jyra said. Craig rarely discussed his parents and Jyra had never seen them.

“Have you ever heard of Somasteria?” Craig asked. Jyra shook her head.

“TF has gone to great lengths to keep the disease out of public knowledge. Once someone contracts the illness, TF quarantines them. If they or members of their household are caught discussing it, they are thrown in a medical facility. More of a jail really.”

“What causes it?”

“Somasteria is caused by several of the products TF uses for drilling. Excessive direct contact with skin leads to the early stages of the disease. It primarily attacks the blood, but eventually compromises the nervous system. There’s no cure, only symptom blockers, but within about two years, the victim is completely comatose.

“Both of my parents contracted the disease on a weeklong drilling mission. They weren’t even handling the solvents, but they were exposed to the fumes. Your susceptibility depends on the strength of your immune system.

 “The first symptoms weren’t very severe—lapses in memory and difficulty sleeping—but they got worse as time passed. They had trouble eating and drinking. Forming complete sentences became a challenge. They developed paranoia and night terrors. Even through all that, it wasn’t too hard to look after them, until they began to forget who I was. There was a two-week period where they asked my name each day. At the end of those two weeks, they stopped asking. Not long after that, they just stared straight ahead and never said another word.”

Craig pushed himself off the crate and crossed to the opposite wall. Jyra was too stunned to move. She couldn’t believe such a debilitating illness could be hidden from the public, let alone that it had affected someone so close to her. It sounded too horrible to be real. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have her parents gradually forget who she was. Craig’s ordeal seemed even worse because he had been there, watching it happen.

“I wanted to hide them,” he said, turning away from the wall. “I wanted to get them somewhere safe, but they were each in medical beds by the end. There was no way to move them on my own and when the TF doctors came, it was all over. My parents were transferred to the medical facility, beyond my reach.”

“Can’t we go after them?” Jyra said.

Craig gave a hollow laugh and shook his head.

“That brings me back to my point,” he said, pushing his hair off his bowed forehead. “I could try to rescue them. And what would happen if I did? Get myself injured or killed in the process. At the very least, I’d get a company of TF agents pursuing me. The way I figure, even I get out of there with my parents, it’s more of a risk than I care to take. They look at me but don’t see me. Even if they’re still alive, my parents have left their bodies. Sometimes it takes all I’ve got to fight back how I regret not being able to save them from TF. I can regret the things I did, because I could have prevented them. But it’s not worth going through the anguish and grief over things I didn’t do. Life’s hard enough without extra misery anyway.

“Let’s finish checking the hull,” he said after a brief pause. “Then we should head back to our ship.”

“All right,” Jyra said, but before we regroup with the others, we need to do something.”

After completing the inspection and finding no faults with the hull, Craig and Jyra made their way back to Mastranada. They bypassed the cargo bay, ignoring the chatter within.

Jyra entered her quarters and promptly began digging through her duffel while Craig lingered in the doorway. After moving Dario’s dagger and setting “Ships of the Kaosaam System” on the floor, Jyra found the small canister. She stood and beckoned Craig forward. He stood in front of her, eyeing the silver vessel in Jyra’s fingers.

“Close your eyes,” she said, unscrewing the lid.

She dipped two fingers into the charcoal powder and applied the Mourning Mark to Craig’s forehead. Some of the black dust fell into Craig’s eyebrows and eyelashes, disappearing immediately.

Jyra screwed the lid back on the canister and gripped Craig’s arm. He opened his eyes and a let out a deep breath. Jyra extended her fingers again and pressed the Mark and Craig blinked before pulling her into another embrace.

“Thank you,” he said, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“You’re welcome,” Jyra replied. “May you carry their memory with you forever.”

“And you,” Craig said.

                        *

“Well?” Macnelia asked when Craig and Jyra stepped into the cargo bay.

“The hull’s solid,” Craig said.

“In that case, I suggest we prepare to power up the engines,” Leonick said. Berk gulped his whiskey and passed the flask to Leonick.

“Right, let’s get to it,” Macnelia said. “It’s time we had little control over our direction. What do we do first, Leonick?”

“If you mean in order to start the engines, we need to calibrate them and bring each one online and link them to the bridge.”

“Jyra, can you help Neeka and me forge the link from the bridge?” Macnelia asked.

 “Of course,” Jyra said.

“Leonick, why don’t you take Craig to assist in the engine room?”

“I cannot think of reason, so come along,” Leonick said, motioning to Craig.

“The rest of you will work with Berk in the main hangar,” Macnelia said.

“What are we doing?” Shandra asked.

“Getting the auxiliary laser cannons mounted in place,” Macnelia answered. “Once we fix the shield drive, we’ll start hunting down the remaining TF ships.”

Part XII: Repairs

Mereda—Two Tyrorken years earlier:

“You’ll like him,” Craig assured Jyra as they walked toward the shabby building in one of Mereda’s run-down neighborhoods. “He comes on strong at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

Jyra followed Craig toward Jed’s Garage, second-guessing the apprenticeship with every step.

They entered the small office and the door closed behind them with a loud bang. The temperature was at least twenty degrees warmer than it had been outside. A desk covered in invoices, many marked with greasy fingerprints, took up most of the office. Craig and Jyra looked at the man sitting behind the desk. A small bald spot on the top of his head reflected the sunlight streaming through the open aluminum shutters mounted on the window. The man was busy writing, his head bent low, so his eyes couldn’t be seen. The sleeves of his stained work shirt were rolled back, revealing his oil-smeared forearms.

“Jed?” Craig said. Jyra glanced back at the door. Jed was obviously used to the noise it made; he hadn’t so much as flinched when they entered.

“One moment,” Jed replied, stretching the words out as though counting down to the moment they’d have his attention.

He lifted his pen, slammed the point on the paper, and threw himself back in his chair.

“All right,” he said in a booming voice that filled the office and nearly made the shutters rattle. “This is the new apprentice?”

Craig nodded and stepped aside. Jyra took a step forward, extending her hand.

“Jyra, sir,” she said, aware of how soft her voice sounded compared to Jed’s rambunctious one.

“Swap the ‘sir’ for ‘Jed’ and I think you’re hired,” Jed said, standing to shake hands. He caught sight of his own and seemed surprised by the oil. “Guess we should save it for later. Hand’s a little grayer than it should be.”

“My hands will be getting dirty sooner or later,” Jyra said, keeping her arm over the desk. Jed stared for a moment then shook her hand and smiled.

“I like your attitude. Might be a good change around here. Word is I come off as too intimidating. Do you believe that?”

“Hard to say, I haven’t even known you for a minute yet.”

Jed laughed. It was louder than he talked. He stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his overalls, which appeared just as soiled as his work shirt. The whole outfit seemed stretched over his portly figure. Jed’s pale blue eyes glimmered against the tan skin of his round face.

He clapped Craig on the shoulder as he passed him then turned at the door. His smile had disappeared, the gleam in his eye was gone.

“We’re way behind on work,” he said. His voiced sustained the same volume, but it contained a chill that seemed impossible given the stifling conditions of the office.

“Craig, go over what’s what in the shop and then you two get your asses in gear. I’d like to keep the customers we’ve got who aren’t put off my intimidating nature.” The door slammed as he left, as if to fortify Jed’s commands.

“You did well,” Craig said. “Let’s get to work.”

The shop building was more bedraggled than the office. The ceiling sagged and the walls leaned to the left. The front and rear of the shop each had a large articulated door that could be raised on tracks. When Craig pushed them up, Jyra saw the ceiling flex as it took the weight of the doors.

An extra wide skiff occupied both service bays. Two old workbenches ran the length of the shop, one on each side. All the tools and supplies had to be stored below, on, or above the benches since nothing could be kept in front of the doors. The smell of grease-cutting solvent filled Jyra’s nose. The overhead lights buzzed as the lamps blinked to life.

“Not too hard to see what we’re starting with today,” Craig said, closing the cover over the light switches and laying a hand on the skiff.

“Fuel powered,” Jyra declared, walking closer to the machine. “More expensive to run than electric. Who can afford something like this?”

Craig pulled a rag from his back pocket to scrub the grime near the nose of the skiff, which revealed the logo for Tyrorken Fuels.

“I should have guessed,” she said.

“It’s better to not call attention to it actually,” Craig said. “Jed’s not too fond of TF. He’s been turning down repair offers from them for months, but they’ve got plenty of machines that need service and the money to pay for it.”

“Why didn’t he want their business?”

“The same reason most people don’t want to get involved with TF,” Craig said, shrugging and turning toward the workbench to the right of the skiff. “A company that big might start out as a customer, but before you realize it, you’re working for them. Jed’s worried they might take his shop.”

Jyra couldn’t quell the sense of unease that settled on her as she pondered this information. Her parents, both TF employees, rarely spoke about what they did at work. Recently, they looked more exhausted than ever when they came home. Dario said they were working harder than usual, but it shouldn’t last. Jyra sensed something more to the change than just her parents’ declining behavior. An aura of anxiety seemed to follow them and spread to whatever room they occupied. Their silence in the midst of the vague lurking turmoil only added to the ominous feeling Jyra felt when she woke up every morning.

The clatter of tools freed Jyra from her thoughts. She realized she was gazing at the cracks in the drooping ceiling and the slanted walls. Few things seemed to distract her lately more than a mention of TF.

“Understand I’m delighted to be an apprentice here, but why would TF want this place?” she said, glancing overhead.

“I’m sure they could find a use for it,” Craig said. “Probably be better off tearing it down and starting over, but until that happens we’ve got a few repairs to make.”

They crawled under the skiff and lay on their backs while Craig gave an overview of the work they had to do. He directed his flashlight beam to parts of the machine as he talked.

“Fuel power means more maintenance, but most of that work it purely mechanical,” Craig said. “We hardly need to do any programming on this thing. The work order calls for a larger fuel tank, so you can get started pulling this old one off.” He slapped the side of it and a low metallic note reverberated inside it.

“Where do I start?” Jyra said.

“I’ll get you some wrenches. You’ll need to unhook the fuel lines here”—he indicated the disconnects with the beam of his flashlight—“then you just unbolt it from the frame. Grab that jack over there and put it under the tank so it doesn’t fall when you loosen it.”

The first part of the task went well. Jyra managed to unfasten the fuel lines in a few minutes. She raised the jack until it started to press on the bottom of the tank then she began looking for the mounting bolts. Sand and dirt covered the head of each one, but the large brackets welded to the tank made the bolts easy to locate.

The grime, however, nearly fused the bolts in place. Jyra had to tug on the wrench with both hands to make any progress.

The last bolt was hardly accessible. Jyra had to place the wrench inside a narrow cavity and align her body next to the tank. Anticipating resistance, she yanked back on the wrench. The bolt gave way immediately. Her hands slipped free and the back of her right hand struck the corner seam of the tank.

She crawled from beneath the skiff. When she raised her hands to push stray hair from her face, she felt a warm wet rush on the back of her wrist.

“Oh,” she said automatically. Blood flowed over her dirty hand where it had hit the fuel tank. Craig looked over from the workbench and saw Jyra’s bewildered face before noticing the blood advancing down her arm.

“What happened?” he said, dropping wrenches and rushing around the skiff to take a closer look.

“My hand slipped,” Jyra said. “I cut it on the tank.”

Craig took her wounded hand and examined it briefly.

“That’s exactly what you did,” Craig said, with a sharp intake of breath. “We need someone to stitch you up. Come on.”

                        *

The injury became the most memorable part of the day, so much in fact that Jyra completely forgot about meeting Jed and his attitude toward TF. She didn’t return to the shop for two days on the medic’s instruction. Her hand felt stiff, especially around the wound. Jyra had never before appreciated how much she depended on the flexibility of her skin between her wrists and fingers.

When she was able to work again, Jed was the first person Jyra saw in the shop. Craig hadn’t arrived yet. Jed wore a ratty pair of coveralls and held a stack of papers in one hand and a pen in the other as he circled the skiff, examining it. Craig had finished removing the old fuel tank and the new one now sat under the skiff, waiting to be secured in place.

Jyra stood near the door, not wanting to break Jed’s concentration. He slapped the stack of papers into the same hand as the pen and shook his head.

“Breaking even’s a thing of the past,” he said as he approached. “Write that down. It’ll be on the test.”

“I’ll remember without writing it down if that’s all right,” Jyra said with a small smile.

“Not up for too much writing?” Jed said, pointing at Jyra’s stitches.

“Not at present.”

“It’s tough work,” Jed said. His voice deepened, becoming more serious. “Patching up ships gets harder when you need patching up, too.”

“Sorry, sir,” Jyra said, then remembered. “I mean, Jed. I’ll be more careful.”

“No need for apologies. That’s a thing of the past, too.”

Jyra nodded and glanced at her stitches. Something caught her eye beyond her hand. Jed’s boots were covered in vibrant red dust. Jyra had never seen dirt that color, but she had heard of it from Dario.

“What were you doing out on the Crimen Plains?” she asked. She motioned her head at his boots and Jed lifted one of them.

“My brother just started working on the oil platforms,” Jyra added. The Crimen Plains were full of the rich red soil. As far as anyone knew, it was a natural phenomenon located to the west of Mereda. The brown earth turned red for several square miles. TF had just set up an operation to drill three test wells there. Jed didn’t reply immediately, and when he did, his voice was quieter and he spoke slower than usual.

“I was checking on some opportunities,” he said vaguely. “I’ve been looking for some extra work outside of the shop.”

“Are you working for TF?” Jyra said. Jed looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Then he set his papers down on the workbench and leaned against it with a sigh.

“Much as I hate to admit it, I’ve had to look to the big business for help,” he said. “I thought offering TF shop service here might get ends meeting again, but so far it’s a wash. I went out to see about becoming a field tech.”

Jed frowned and his shoulders rolled forward, tipping him into a defeated posture.

“What wrong with that?” Jyra said.

“TF is what’s wrong,” Jed said, his tone becoming heated. “It’s taking control of this whole world. It’s got the money, influence, and resources to do it. All I ever wanted to do was make a living with my damn garage and now I can’t even do that!”

He stepped back from the bench and kicked one of its wooden legs. Dust billowed off his boot and the tools clattered from the blow.

“Sorry,” Jed said wiping his flushed face with a grimy hand. “It’s not easy being civil all the time when you feel like you have no control over your own affairs. TF is the only source of additional income around here. I hate that company but I’ve got no other choice.”

The door opened and Craig walked in. Jyra thought he hardly looked in better spirits than Jed.

“You made it,” she said, trying to smooth the tension from Jed’s outburst.

“Sorry I’m late,” Craig said. “Trouble with my folks this morning. How’s your hand?”

“It’s been better,” Jyra said, turning it so Craig could see the stitches. He approached and extended a loose fist to her.

“Can you do this?”

Jyra made the same fist with her wounded hand and nodded.

“Great,” Craig said. “That means you can pick up that wrench and get the new fuel tank bolted in.”

Valiant Conductor II—Present time:

Jyra never forgot Jed’s temper and the disdain that filled his voice when he discussed TF. After that day in the garage, she never saw him much, presumably because he had found work in the Crimen Plains. A few months into the apprenticeship, Craig mentioned Jed had received a promotion with TF. This meant Craig had to take over managing the invoices and scheduling repairs for customers—essentially doing all the work Jed used to do.

Not long after Craig undertook his new duties, Jyra thought about how Jed had been promoted so quickly. For someone who despised TF as much as him, it seemed odd that he had managed to make such an impression on management. The way Dario told it nearly every week at dinner, it seemed the Plains were the place to be. The first three wells had yielded more oil than even the loftiest predictions and TF had focused its workforces below the mysterious red soil. Amid all the activity and qualified people, TF selected Jed to advance to a grander position.

Jyra stared at the text on the screen, her mind racing to find words. She was completely transfixed by feelings of loss coupled with disbelief.

“Craig?” she said. The chill of the surroundings crept into her tone.

“What’s wrong?”

“Jed sabotaged the ship,” Jyra said. She couldn’t take her eyes off the screen, reading and rereading the message.

“What?”

“You heard me. He left a note on the bridge. It’s signed with his name.”

“Who is Jed?” Shandra asked.

“My former mentor at a repair garage on Tyrorken,” Craig said. “Jyra worked there as an apprentice. It’s the same garage where we launched the ship that brought us to Drometica.”

“Why did he, or at least why is there a message claiming that he deliberately undermined this ship?” Berk said.

“Is there anything in the message about how much he hates TF?” Craig inquired.

Berk and Macnelia looked at each other then both fixed Jyra with a stare.

“Did you know anything about this beforehand?” Macnelia said. Jyra began shaking her head and even though he was on the opposite end of the ship, Craig picked up on the beginnings of an accusation.

“I knew nothing about the message,” Craig said quickly. “But Jyra can confirm Jed made no secret of how he felt toward TF.”

“Could someone please read the message?” Shandra said. It suddenly occurred to Jyra how frustrating it must be sitting in the cockpit of Mastranada listening to the proceedings while being so removed from the action.

Berk read the message. Leonick broke the brief silence that followed.

“If the message is authentic, it seems like we can work out what he did to the ship so that we can go about fixing the modifications, as he calls them.”

“If it’s authentic,” Macnelia said.

“What he mentioned is consistent with what we’ve seen,” Craig said. “Not even the bulkhead doors engaged. He probably loosened the wall panels back here, too. Leonick was right about the screws being removed.”

Macnelia frowned, but Berk nodded.

“All right,” he said. “Our goal here is to get this ship back in order. The message raises new questions, but it’s not something that needs to be resolved right now.

“Wait,” Jyra said. The screen bearing Jed’s words suddenly flashed and the words ‘transmission complete’ replaced the message.

“Transmission to what?” Macnelia said, stepping in front of the monitor. “We need power on the bridge now,” she said. Jyra glanced at her. The way Macnelia spoke sounded more like an order than a request.

“I am already tracing the circuits,” Leonick replied, his voice as level as ever. “The severe atmospheric shift caused most of the breakers to trip. It is a standard safety feature.”

“Just get it done,” Macnelia said, cutting off Leonick’s rambling.

Berk moved to the back wall of the bridge, inspecting it with his flashlight. He opened a hatch in one of the wall panels and flipped a number of switches.

“Local breakers,” he said. “Once the power surges up here, we don’t need it damaging the processors.

After several tense minutes, Leonick’s voice came through the earpieces.

“The bridge should have power restored.”

“We’ll let you know,” Berk said has he leaned into the electrical panel and activated a switch. Lights sputtered overhead, casting a dull glow over the bridge. Berk immediately cut their power.

“Darker is safer for the moment,” he said. “Tell me when the monitors turn on.

The third switch he tried caused all the bridge screens to flash brightly as electricity flowed into them. The hum of the processors filled the silence.

“Got it,” Macnelia said. “Now we can find out where the transmission went.”

The keyboard lit up as the computer came online and she went to work. Jyra couldn’t make any sense of how Macnelia did what she did, but after another few minutes, a list appeared on the monitor.

“Other TF ships,” Macnelia said, the glow of the screen reflecting on her face.

Berk lowered his flask with a telltale swishing sound and approached the console.

“He broadcast the message to the fleet,” Berk said.

“If they believe it,” Jyra said, considering Jed’s words, “they’ll think this ship is lost or at least unoccupied.”

Macnelia pushed herself back from the console with a heavy sigh.

“Hopefully it throws other ships off our trail until this one is ready to go after them,” she said. “Let’s head back to Mastranada, gather our supplies, and get to work.”

                        *

Jed was on Jyra’s mind for other reasons besides his message. An hour later, she was working on routing cables in the engine room back to their original terminals. The task wouldn’t have been so difficult if her arm wasn’t injured. Jed’s phrase filled her head every time pain shot through her arm: “Patching up ships gets harder when you need patching up, too.”

Jed had managed most of his sabotage by crossing wires or unhooking them entirely. Doing so had compromised many of the systems designed to protect the crew in the event of a hull breach.

Leonick was busy inspecting the engines for signs of damage. Jyra caught sight of him occasionally when he crossed one of the catwalks in hurried strides, eyes focused straight ahead. Jyra remembered the disciplined fashion of how he performed maintenance in Mastranada’s engine room. In this much larger setting, Leonick seemed to become part of the machinery, finding his place and methodically completing tasks.

Everyone else besides Neeka and Derek were testing and repairing the doors throughout the ship. Many had been damaged by the relentless pull from space. Sometimes a door just needed to be refitted onto a track or a pair of glides. Others needed several strikes from Berk’s hammer to bend them back into shape.

A small clock in Mastranada’s cockpit was all that reminded Jyra of the passage of time. The resistance worked an entire week, rarely stopping for meals or sleep. Jyra caught sight of Tyrorken through a porthole once her work took her out of the engine room. Her home planet spun against the black canvas of space. Valiant Conductor II had drifted far enough that the ruined ships around dusty sphere were no longer visible. How had such an insignificant world hosted so much pain? Jyra turned away from the porthole, and returned her attention to the panel.

The sound of approaching footsteps caused her to set the soldering iron aside, but before she could meet the person, he rounded the corner.

“Hi,” Derek said, still leaning on his crutches. “Macnelia said I might be able to help you.”

“Maybe,” Jyra said, raising her eyebrows at the crutches.

“I’m healing up just fine now that I’ve got proper care,” Derek said. “Just tell me what do.”

Jyra fought back a slew of questions she longed to ask in order to show Derek what needed to be rewired. They hardly got into the work, however, before Jyra’s curiosity overwhelmed her.

“How did you do it?” she blurted. “How did TF never suspect you?” This wasn’t how she had envisioned this conversation beginning. She had thought of it for so long, imagining different situations when she might interview Derek about what happened. She felt like lunging at him, as though it might help get her questions answered faster.

“Are you all right?” Derek asked, leaning away from her. “You look crazed.”

“I’ve wanted to talk to you since we got you back,” Jyra said. “I’m sorry, I have lots of questions about the resistance, you, my brother, and all of it really.”

“Well, to start with your first question, TF agents definitely noticed something wasn’t quite right about me. It was easier to keep a low profile until I started leading the mining expeditions. Do you—?”

“Macnelia told me about that assignment.”

“Yes. Well about the time that began, I was definitely under close scrutiny, especially after the ship I piloted to Drometica went down.”

“Do you think they rigged it to fail?” Jyra said. Derek nodded.

“That’s when I realized they must know I was up to something. They kept me on Tyrorken after that. I met your brother and he, Craig, and myself began working on an offensive strategy. I knew TF was keeping an eye on me, but we had larger problems. The most significant was a lack of participants and how do you recruit people to rise against the corporation that sustains them? Or they think sustains them,” he added bitterly.

“I had my rig team to draw from, but no matter how loyal they might have been to me, it would only take one detractor to ruin everything. My frustration replaced better sense at this point and there’s no doubt I started making stupid decisions because of it.

“Giving my team the day off for the funeral and coming to see you were the right things to do. They weren’t smart, though, especially for someone like me. I was already on the wrong side of TF, but I didn’t realize how much I lost their favor. They got a tracer on me and the night of the launch, they knew right where I was. They probably even knew I’d gone to your house. I should have been more careful.”

Derek paused and turned back to his panel. Jyra picked up her soldering gun, reflecting on the new information.

“What was Dario’s attitude toward the resistance?” she said, as wisps of smoke blew away from the cooling solder.

“He thought it was a great idea,” Derek replied. “He was working to get the oil platforms networked. If that had happened, a single glitch could cause them all to malfunction. Dario should have been the leader. He had the charisma, the energy, and the gift for getting people to see his point of view.”

“Do you think TF was responsible for his death?”

“I have no idea,” Derek said. “I don’t think we’ll ever know that.”

“I’m going to find out,” Jyra said.
“That might be harder to do now that we dropped a bomb on TF headquarters,” Derek said. He turned and their eyes met. “I’m sorry for all TF has taken from you. I understand your need to do what you must, but I’d hate to see TF consume your life, too.”