The Covlax Deception: Part 2
Chester collapsed onto the sofa beside me. “We really should’ve seen this coming.”
“How? How could any of us have seen this coming?” My voice echoed against the common room’s smooth gray walls. I missed the Killer Qu’een’s smaller but cozier lounge. Usually, it was no trouble at all for our crew’s usual ruckus and laughter to fill the larger living spaces aboard The Gold Dust Wo’man, but today it felt like work.
Across from us, Fleetwood was stretched artfully across the chaise lounge like a fainting maiden in a period drama, palm-to-forehead and all. Matt reclined in one of the plush arm chairs, systematically draining a glass tumbler of something amber-brown and viscous. Azo’lah paced between us, a pinball of tightly controlled frustration with nowhere to direct her aggression.
“It’s us, Gretch,” Chester wearily wiped the lenses of his glasses with the hem of his red and blue plaid overshirt. “Of course, we commit one tiny offense, and the Covlax Vic can’t let it go.”
Matt snorted into his glass. “One tiny offense. That’s cute.”
“We bungled things quite spectacularly, beloved,” Fleetwood told the ceiling, “and now the wickets are coming home to roost.”
“Chickens,” Matt, Chester, and I all corrected.
“It is useless complaining about our past mistakes. It does nothing for us now,” Azo’lah inserted as she walked behind Matt. From the decanter on the table to his left, Matt filled a new glass and held it high overhead, offering it to her. I tilted my head in concern as she accepted it and downed the alcohol in one go. On one hand, it was good to hear her say that. Hopefully, continued sessions with her Soul Healer would help her move on from the J’olpri disaster. On the other hand, Azo’lah rarely drank and never while on a mission. She wasn’t technically on duty, but it still worried me.
I caught Fleetwood’s gaze across the room. A slight head shake was all I needed to know that she shared my anxieties about her cousin’s headspace.
Azo’lah pressed the empty glass into Matt’s waiting fingers and said, “We need a way to find out where Vic Mey-ran has taken Zerin.”
“Then devise a way to extract him,” Fleetwood pushed herself onto her elbows. She had caught the scent of potential adventure in the air and was prepared to chase after it.
“The Vic might be reasoned with,” Chester suggested.
I snorted. “Seemed real reasonable while chasing Ryan and me through J’olpri pointing very sharp weapons and paralytic stingers at us.”
“Even if the Vic could be reasoned with,” Matt said, “it isn’t as though we have the first idea as to how to reach him. There’s not exactly a public comm line to the Covlax palace.”
“You don’t have contacts who might know how?” Azo’lah asked, her brow scrunching.
“Burned every bridge on that side of the galaxy when I broke Ovlas off a Covlax ship,” Matt replied.
Azo’lah turned toward our couch. “Chester?”
“I’ll see what I can dredge up.” Chester tapped his Ran’dyl, which was pinned to the edge of his gray beanie. A holographic cube of binary code projected into the space before his eyes. “This could take a while.”
I leaned close, inspecting the numbers. “What the hell is that?”
“Intergalactic dark web,” he replied. I was too afraid to ask if he was joking or not.
“I will converse with my Myax sisters,” Azo’lah said. “Ascertain their level of knowledge of the Covlax. Fulyiti, perhaps you can comm the Auhtula, leverage—”
“I’m not comming Mother,” Fleetwood said. At Azo’lah’s frown, she held up her Ran’dyl and added, “She is already contacting me.”
Fleetwood pulled herself into a fully upright position before answering the call with a tap of her finger. A miniature holographic bust of Auhtula Ty’uria, resplendent as always, burst to life above her wrist. “Greetings, Mother.”
“Kezira,” the Auhtula sighed her daughter’s name, “what in the name of the seven stars have you gotten yourself into?”
“Nothing,” Fleetwood replied too quickly for it to be anything but an automatic reaction. Though I couldn’t see the Auhtula’s face from my position, her head tilt was that of disbelieving mothers the universe over. “Truly,” Fleetwood added. “We are searching for Zerin, as promised. Azo’lah hasn’t even allowed me to leave the ship since leaving Destyr.”
“And no one else in your crew has gotten into trouble?” Auhtula Ty’uria pressed.
Azo’lah stepped behind Fleetwood and into her aunt’s sightline. “Your Majesty, we have done nothing remiss since we left Thal.”
“Then why exactly is the Covlax Vic requesting a secure communication line to your ship?”
All five of our spines straightened at the mention of Vic Mey-ran.
Auhtula Ty’uria’s sharp eyes did not miss the change in her daughter’s and niece’s posture. “Ah, so there has been trouble.”
“No, no trouble, Your Majesty,” Chester intervened, traversing the room in three long strides. He sat beside Fleetwood and waved politely. “Vic Mey-ran is...a friend.”
“The Covlax do not have friends who are not Covlax,” said Auhtula Ty’uria.
“She’s not wrong,” Matt whispered into his half-empty glass.
“Well, Vic Mey-ran is our friend.” Fleetwood lied overly-bright. “We met him on our last outing before the wedding.”
“Kezira, Azo’lah, please, whatever this is with Vic Mey-ran,” Auhtula Ty’uria brought her hand up and waved it in a very human gesture of exasperation, “handle it. Then ascertain Zerin’s whereabouts, pick him up, and return home.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Azo’lah replied with a crisp nod.
“Yes, Mother,” Fleetwood whined.
“I will put the Vic through now,” Authula Ty’uria said. She disappeared to be replaced by the fiercely handsome holographic replica of Vic Mey-ran.
“Fulyiti Kezira,” he greeted cordially, and with obvious delight and no small enthusiasm, added, “Chester! It is lovely to see you once more.” I rose from the sofa and joined those clustered around Fleetwood’s Ran’dyl. Upon spotting me, Mey-ran said, “Why, hello again, little thief.”
I fought to keep my expression neutral. I was a grown-ass woman of average human height. It wasn’t my fault everyone else on my crew was taller than me.
“Vic Mey-ran, what can we do for you?” Azo’lah said solicitously with just a hint of judgment. It came across decidedly more regal than Mey-ran’s casual tone. Sometimes I forgot that Azo’lah had probably received a great deal of diplomatic training before she decided to join the Myax.
“I believe it is more of a case of what we can do for each other, Myax,” the Covlax Vic returned, easily matching Azo’lah’s more formal manner. “It would appear as though the House of Fuiq has misplaced something important.”
“Zerin wasn’t misplaced, you absconded with him,” Fleetwood retorted, clearly opting for the direct approach.
“What must we do to get him back?” Azo’lah asked.
Mey-ran chuckled. “The Covlax are not so crude as to negotiate over communication devices. We shall do so face-to-face, as honor dictates.”
“The honor to stinger us in the back if we get too close,” I said.
“Never.” The sharp curve of Mey-ran’s smirk was in direct opposition to his words. “Fulyiti Kezira and Azo’lah Myax, both of House Fuiq, I, Vic Mey-ran, direct successor to Vicerenne Tov-ri, invite you to formal negotiations on Renmig.” Matt’s eyebrows rose upwards, impressed at the mention of this place, while Azo’lah’s dipped dangerously low in aggravation. Mey-ran continued. “I shall relay the coordinates immediately to this communications device. Kindly note that I will be open to returning Zerin of House Fuiq, only if Chester of Earth is present.”
“Wait, what? That makes zero sense!” Chester's eyes crinkled in confusion behind his glasses.
But Vic Mey-ran had already cut the communication. Chester stared bewildered into the nothingness the hologram of the Vic once inhabited. “No, seriously,” Chester said, twisting his neck to meet my gaze, “what the fuck?”
Unable to stop myself after all of the teasing I received at the wedding, I said, “It looks like Vic Mey-ran has a crush.”
“Of course he does,” Fleetwood said, kissing Chester soundly on the cheek. “Who wouldn’t? My Favored is the most handsome on the Central continent.”
Matt drained the dregs of his glass and stood. “I’ll set course for Renmig, shall I?”
“And I will inform my Myax sisters of these new developments,” Azo’lah said.
Matt clapped Azo’lah on the shoulder as they exited into the hallway together. I asked, “What’s Renmig?”
Fleetwood clapped her hands gleefully, performing a strange, half-seated pirouette off the chaise. “It is a ruined planet!”
“Weird thing to feel this much joy about, but okay,” I said.
“It was the final location of one of the last intergalactic wars,” Chester explained. “It was a few hundred years ago. Dozens of planets were involved. Renmig got absolutely ravaged and is to this day completely uninhabitable. But it’s where the Inter-Quadrant Peace Treaty was signed, so it’s pretty historically significant. A lot of planets use it as a negotiation site for symbolic reasons.”
“And Mey-ran wants to meet there?” I asked. “But we aren’t at war! We just want Zerin back!”
Chester gave me a tight smile as Fleetwood pulled him to his feet. She grabbed us both by the hand. “We must check my wardrobe. I hope I packed the proper ensemble for hostile negotiations.”
Chester nudged my shoulder with his socked foot. He was folded into Fleetwood’s furry, lime green papasan chair. “Why do you think Vic Mey-ran wants me there?” he asked in a whisper. Out of earshot, Fleetwood swung a many-layered overskirt about her hips. It was the ninth outfit she had tried on since our arrival to her quarters. Every successive outfit got more outrageous yet still somehow suited her perfectly.
From my sprawled position across her ridiculously soft bed sheets, my head hanging upside down off the foot of the mattress, I shrugged.
“What does that even mean?” Chester snarled as he imitated my shrug.
I rolled onto my belly and propped my head in my hand. “This uncertainty is bringing out a lovely side of you.”
Chester frowned and rubbed at his forehead beneath his beanie. “I didn’t mean to snap. I just...don’t like when things don’t make sense. And Mey-ran requesting me specifically doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes, it does, Favored One,” Fleetwood sang as she studied herself in the floor-length mirror. Though her quarters lacked the personal details found in her room aboard the Killer Qu’een, she had smuggled the papasan and a retina-searing blend of plaid pillows, paisley comforter, and chevron sheets to cover her bed. I found the combination oddly soothing to look at. Fleetwood pointed finger guns at Chester via the mirror. “Vic Mey-ran is hot for your bod—”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Chester buried his face in his hands.
“—and if it gets us Zerin back, all the better,” Fleetwood spun before the mirror, her skirts fanning about her. “It is rad, but I’m not sure about this one.”
“You want something you can make a fast getaway in,” Matt suggested from the doorway. His carefully tousled curls were more chaotic than usual, as though he had been thoughtlessly running his hands through them. He leaned against the doorjamb.
“Right you are, Matty-Matt,” Fleetwood agreed, throwing a wild punch at an imaginary attacker. “I must be prepared for any action that may crop up.”
“You do not need to be prepared,” Azo’lah pushed past Matt, entering the room. Her hands were folded at her back as she came to a stop before Fleetwood, her feet shoulder-width apart.
I sat up, clamping my thumb nail between my teeth. I sensed an argument brewing. Confrontation always made me uncomfortable but watching two people I cared so deeply about be at odds with one another consistently was becoming much too much for me.
Fleetwood discarded the fancy overskirt in her overflowing closet, and though her voice remained cheerful, her keen gaze sharpened. “Of course, I must be prepared for action, Azo’lah. The Covlax are hardly known for their submissive nature.”
Glaring out the viewport over Fleetwood’s shoulder, Azo’lah said, “You will not be attending the negotiations. It is too dangerous.”
“I will not be attending,” Fleetwood repeated. My spine itched at the danger laced through her deadpan tone.
“I will carry out the negotiations, not as Myax, but in my official capacity as By’sett of House of Fuiq,” Azo’lah continued. “The Vic will speak with me. He knows of our closeness. Chester and Matt will accompany me to Renmig while you and Gretchen remain aboard the ship.”
I jumped to my feet, Chester rising to stand at my side. “Azo’lah, come on,” Chester said.
“Hold up a minute,” I huffed. “Why do I have to stay back?”
“As the Fulyiti stated, the Covlax are not known for their meekness, and your last meeting with Vic Mey-ran was less than ideal,” Azo’lah refused to meet my gaze.
What the hell was going on with her?
“I would attend by myself with Milyna as back-up, but Mey-ran demanded Chester’s presence,” Azo’lah continued. “Matt has proven himself knowledgeable and useful against the Covlax. He will provide protection and a get away for Chester if needed.”
“Isn’t he wanted by the Covlax?” I turned to Matt. “Aren’t you wanted by the Covlax?”
“Yeah,” Matt said. “It’s fine. I’ll go and watch Chester’s back.”
“No, you won’t,” Fleetwood said, her voice lower and harsher than I had ever heard it. “No offense meant, Matty-Matt—”
Matt held up his hands. “None taken.”
“Chester is my Favored, my chosen family. I protect him.” Fleetwood raised her chin, abruptly imperious and commanding. Terror clenched my heart at the small gesture because in that moment, Azo’lah seemed the smaller of the two. I feared what would happen if Fleetwood ever decided to unleash all of her power on the universe. “You do not get to take that from me, Azo’lah,” she continued. “You may be my Myax, but I am still the second Fulyiti of the Central Continent. I will not only be participating in the negotiations, I will be leading them. As the daughter of Auhtula Ty’uria, I shall speak on her behalf. Understood?”
Azo’lah’s fists clenched at her back as her mouth worked soundlessly—the physical embodiment of her need to protect Fleetwood and get her brother back at war with her diligent respect to her sworn duty.
“Yes, Fulyiti,” Azo’lah finally responded. Without another word, she gave Fleetwood a stilted bow and strode from the room without acknowledging the rest of us.
“Well, that was rough,” Matt said, wearily.
Fleetwood sagged to the bed like a rapidly deflating balloon. “It was...unfortunate, but necessary.”
Chester went to her, kneeling at her feet. He laced their fingers together. “You good, FleetMerc?”
Fleetwood brought their clasped hands to her mouth and kissed the back of Chester’s hand. “I will be fine, Chester, my Chester.” Her face crumpled, and her eyes went glassy, tears threatening to fall. Matt and I rushed to her side, book-ending her at the foot of the bed.
“Fleetwood,” I started, without having any idea as to what to say next. Matt, clearly more skilled at comforting people, wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“It is difficult to navigate being not only Azo’lah’s family but her charge and also her Fulyiti when her darkness…” Fleetwood trailed off as she struggled for composure. “I wish only to help and support her. But I refuse to allow her to put herself or any of you in danger because she is struggling.”
“We understand,” I promised. Fleetwood loved Azo’lah the way family members were supposed to: unequivocal devotion and understanding paired with not taking your bullshit. “I guess we’d all been hoping that Azo’lah’s sessions with her Soul Healer were helping enough that we wouldn’t need to talk to her about what’s been going on.”
“Is she still considering ducking out on us because of J’olpri then?” Matt asked.
I craned around Fleetwood, wide-eyed. “How do you know about that?”
“We all know,” Chester said from the floor, his thumb ceaselessly rubbing soothing circles across the back of Fleetwood’s palm. “No one needed to say anything. She’s too hard on herself, even when things are good, but after J’olpri…”
Matt said, “She hasn’t forgiven herself for whatever bullocks reason she thinks that clusterfuck was her fault.”
I cleared my throat as I said, “Yeah, whatever bullocks reason.” I hated lying to them, but Azo’lah’s technopathy was not my secret to tell.
“We must have a confederation with her,” Fleetwood said.
Chester gave her a small grin. “Conversation. And yes. But it can wait until we have Zerin back.”
“What will we say?” I asked, already apprehensive about a conversation that wasn’t happening for days.
“That we love her, and that we want her to stick around, but that we also want her to have the help, time, and space she needs,” Chester said.
The corners of my eyes itched. I shut them before anyone else could see the tears that threatened to spill over. Chester was right. If she needed not to be part of our crew for her own mental health, then we would absolutely support her in that choice. But the idea of not seeing Azo’lah everyday, of not making her scowl with my ineptitude, or laugh because of it, sank my heart like a stone.
“Come, beloveds,” Fleetwood said, standing. “Let us fill our stomachs and our hearts!”
Matt lumbered to his feet and offered Fleetwood his arm. “To the galley, my lady?”
Fleetwood’s eyes lit up like the Destyrian suns. She clasped his arm tight. “Why, yes, my lord, indubitably.”
“My lady?” Chester proffered his arm to me, and, impossibly, it drew a chuckle from me.
“There better be some zlatah in the kitchen,” I said.
Chester snorted, “Girl, from your lips to the alien-god’s ears.”
The icy white numbers of my Ran’dyl glared at me through the darkness. My wake-up time approached at an unforgiving rate.
I rolled to my back, squishing my navy comforter and over-fluffed pillows in a futile attempt at a comfortable sleeping position.
A stressful day behind me plus a stressful day ahead of me meant an equally stressful night of trying and failing to sleep. No amount of soft comforters and piled pillows would change that. Muscle memory had me reaching for the empty spot beside me in search of Sebastian. My fingers flexed around cool sheets.
God, I missed my cat.
I threaded the soft fabric through my fingers before giving up the endeavor of sleep altogether. I sat up and groaned. The beginnings of a tension migraine behind my eyes flared to my temples.
Spectacular.
I showered and dressed quickly, strapping my Ran’dyl to my wrist with the 3D schematic of The Gold Dust Wo’man already pulled up. I knew the layout of the floors I used the most: where our sleeping quarters laid, the common room and galley, and how to get to the bridge. The rest of the massive ship’s layout remained a mystery. I had a general idea of how to get to the medbay, having spent a good deal of time at Ryan’s bedside after the J’olpri disaster, but in my brain’s current state of wired weariness, I didn’t trust it to guide me there.
The squeak of my boots echoed down the empty, pristine hallways as I made my way to the amber light elevator that carried me down to the medbay. With everyone asleep, except for the lone Myax sentry selected by Matt and Azo’lah to oversee the ship’s autopilot and security, the ship was eerily silent.
Just thinking Azo’lah’s name ratcheted my migraine up. Reliable, reasonable Azo’lah was behaving in a way I did not recognize. In a way that felt like she was purposely pushing us away. Even as someone with her own mental health issues, I struggled with the best way to communicate to my friend that I—that we didn’t want to lose her. That our team wouldn’t be the same without her. Not just her skills as a Myax, but her. Her dry wit and snarky smirk and unflinching loyalty.
I found the medbay with minimal trouble and, after digging through a few cabinets, obtained what I needed. I applied a pain-relieving salve to my forehead that provided immediate relief. As I closed the cabinet, the door dematerialized at my back.
“Gretchen Myaxi, what a pleasant surprise,” Milyna said as she strode into the medbay. She was dressed in her formal duty uniform, her gray hair neatly plaited down her back. She spied the cabinet I stood before, and her kind eyes widened with concern. “Are you well? Do you require assistance with what ails you?”
“No, no,” I replied quickly, pointing to my head, “just a migraine. Wanted to cut it off before it could get too bad. Big day and all.”
Milyna nodded as she crossed to the other side of the medbay and ruffled through a drawer. “A big day indeed,” she agreed, the hiss of a fridge opening overpowering her words. She withdrew a small vial which she shoved a syringe into, and then stuck into her thigh.
“Are you—are you okay?” I stuttered, embarrassed, hoping that she understood that my question was one of concern and not prying curiosity.
She smiled at me. “I am quite well, Gretchen Myaxi.” She disposed of the vial and syringe, her smile dipping into a fretful line. “But Azo’lah is not. You worry for her as I do, yes?”
“We all do,” I assured her, my hands gesturing upwards to where my friends were slumbering in their rooms many floors above us. “We just aren’t sure the best way to talk to her about it.”
As we exited the medbay, Milyna said, “She is speaking regularly with her Soul Healer, but her darkness persists. She only speaks of it with us, her Myax sisters, when asked of it. It is strange to feel as though she is hiding something from us, those who know her suffering as intimately as our own.”
My heart thudded against my ribs like a fist. Another person who loved Azo’lah and had no idea about her technopathic secret.
Milyna took my arm gently and turned toward a side passage. Repeated thuds and angry shouts were audible from a chamber at the end. “She cares for you greatly, Gretchen Myaxi. I understand she does not always show it in the ways usual to your kind, but she does.”
I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat. “I know.”
We came to a stop at the end of the hallway, the door dematerializing to reveal a cavernous training hall. Its gray walls and mat-lined floors were lit by soft blue and amber lights. Various weapons lined the walls. Abandoned weights sat in a corner. Opposite the forlorn stack, multiple targets were being pierced by knives thrown with deadly precision.
Azo’lah, dressed in her training tunic and dripping with sweat, launched another assault on the targets with a new handful of blades. Azo’lah could go several rounds in actual combat without beginning to glisten. She must have been down here for hours.
I met Milyna’s knowing gaze and nodded. I entered the room alone, the door rematerializing at my back. Azo’lah ignored my presence.
I approached her slowly, not out of fear but respect. Respect for her space, her pain, her doubt. Upon reaching the mat closest to where she stood, I said quietly, “Azo’lah?”
Her only response was to launch a dagger at the left-most target. It missed the center by a few inches, the only indication that I’d broken her concentration.
“Okay,” I dropped to the mat, crossing my ankles before me. I reclined back on my hands, watching her work. “I’ll be here when you're ready.”
Azo’lah’s next throw went wide, missing the target completely. She exhaled sharply, her stance tightening. I barely heard her as she asked, “And if I’m never ready?”
I shrugged. “I’ll still be here. Even if you don’t want to talk. Sometimes it helps just knowing someone is there, well, here with you in the silence.”
Azo’lah’s navy eyes met mine, the tangle of emotions in them unbearably raw. After a long, silent moment, she resumed her practice. Far fewer frustrated yells punctuated the dull thuds of her blades finding the mark.