The Covlax Deception: Part 4
The first riff of the refrain to She Blinded Me with Science thundered through the cockpit of the Killer Qu’een. “It’s Chester,” Matt said, without glancing at his Ran’dyl. “We have to answer.”
“No, we really don’t.” I leaned over, swiping my fingers against his wristband, attempting to initiate the ignore feature. Matt jerked his wrist out of my grip, glaring at me.
“He was bound to figure out we’re gone. Do not climb the pilot while flying.”
“I’m not climbing you,” I protested, rising from my seat and bodily reaching over him. “What’s with the ring tone?”
Matt jerked the ship sideways, tipping me back into my seat. “Look what you made me do. And Tyler changed all my ringtones.”
I pulled myself up into a more dignified position. “You did that on purpose! Wait, did you say Tyler?”
Matt thumbed his Ran’dyl, silencing the dulcet tones of Thomas Dolby. “We were drunk. And yes, Tyler.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but it’s Chester.” The aforementioned looked less than amused as his bust hovered above Matt’s wrist. “Where are you guys?”
“Out for a joyride around Renmig on the Qu’een,” Matt said easily. It was good that one of us was a decent liar. I was certain I would crack the moment Chester turned his gaze on me. “The family drama gave me a headache and,” Matt lowered his voice, “Gretchen needed some space.”
I punched his arm out of the Ran’dyl’s view. “Don’t use my mental health as a scapegoat.”
“I can hear you, Gretch,” Chester said. “I don’t blame you for wanting a break. I want one. Have either of you seen Fleetwood?”
Matt and I glanced at each other. “Not recently,” I said. The words came out at a normal pitch and volume only because they weren’t exactly a lie. Fleetwood had disappeared into the ship’s shag-carpeted armory to work on something for the mission almost ten minutes ago. So I hadn’t, technically, seen her recently.
“You need anything?” Matt adjusted his arm so that Chester would better be able to see us both.
“Nah.” Chester shook his head. “I just wanted to let her know that I told the Vic I would need to send a ship ahead of my arrival containing my luggage and some time-sensitive experiments I can’t leave unattended. If someone was on that ship who happened to be able to get in, get Zerin, and get out before my time on the planet is up...well.” He shrugged, his nonchalant grin slipping into something unmistakably devious. “Mey-ran’s already sent the clearance codes and coordinates for his private docking station.”
“Sugar boos,” Fleetwood’s voice carried into the cockpit as the door dematerialized. She strode in, holding a perception distorter in each hand. “My beloved showed me how to program these, and I thought I remembered, but I am missing a stair. What are we to do?”
“You could just ask him?” I joked (more like choked) into the immediate and awkward silence.
Fleetwood froze, staring at the miniature, disapproving Chester glaring at her in stunning 6D, or whatever, from Matt’s Ran’dyl. The lights of the disco-style floor highlighted the panic dancing across her face. “Chester, dearheart, I can explain.”
“You snuck away and left me with Azo’lah as bargaining collateral in case your half-assed extraction of Zerin goes south,” Chester surmised darkly, his face a tempest of resentment and hurt. I traded an edgy look with Matt. If Azo’lah and Fleetwood fighting was hard on us, Fleetwood and Chester at odds would shoot the team directly in its brilliant, sparkly heart.
Chester’s shoulders dropped. He removed his glasses and pushed his beanie up to massage his forehead. For a moment, he was the picture of a man carrying the universe on his back, and my stomach churned with shame. He returned his glasses to his nose and gestured abortively. “I’m going to temporarily forget that we didn’t plan this as a team until you’re back with Zerin. Matt, I’ll send you Mey-ran’s clearance codes as soon as I’m done talking to Her Royal Highness. And when this is over, we’re all going to have a nice sit down as a team and discuss the importance of honesty, trust, and communication.”
Matt held out his wrist to Fleetwood, who tapped her Ran’dyl to Matt’s as if it were a live bomb. Immediately the hologram of Chester transferred. Fleetwood left the cockpit, heading toward the common area. Even her twin buns seemed to droop in contrition.
“God, I hope they make up.” I slumped in my seat, staring at the bleakness outside the cockpit. The space around Renmig was a dull, dusty black as if the planet could no longer contain the damage done to it, and it was slowly leaking into the universe.
“If those two can’t forgive each other, there’s no hope for anyone.” Matt adjusted the controls. His deft fingers flitted along the panel as though searching for something to do to keep him busy. “Let’s just hope it’s quick because we’ll be entering Covlax atmo within the hour, and we’ll be blasted into smithereens without those codes.”
“I think I’d rather be a smithereen than deal with all this conflict,” I sighed. “Smithereens don’t have to deal with anything. Except how dumb their name is.”
Beside me, Matt snorted lightly and kept course toward Covlax.
“Atmospheric Entrance Patrol, this is the Killer Qu’een requesting permission to land at Station 2,” Matt broadcast over the ship’s comms. Even though I expected it, I still started when the deep voice of a Covlax air-traffic—space traffic?—controller sounded with alarming clarity in the cockpit. Fleetwood, who was standing behind me, leaned her chin on the headrest of my seat and placed her hands on my shoulders. Neither of us dared to breathe.
“Repeat your destination,” the controller requested.
Matt obliged. “Station 2.”
“Is Vic Mey-ran with you?”
“Negative.”
The controller laughed. “Then you’ve got the wrong station number. No one has ever been given clearance to the Vic’s private docking station since he came of age.”
Well, then. Chester was the first person the Vic had invited unaccompanied to his private residence. And wasn’t that something.
“Someone has now,” Matt retorted. “Sending clearance codes.”
With the way Fleetwood was digging her chin into my head, I was beginning to think her mandible was pointy enough to be used as a weapon in an emergency. I imagined her and Mey-ran chin battling for Chester’s hand and had to stifle a giggle.
Like a toddler finding a room full of toys on Christmas morning, the Covlax controller squealed in disbelief. “Your mother’s left-most venom sack—”
“What?” I whispered.
Matt explained, “Covlax swear.”
“This is Vic Mey-ran’s personal code. It’s not even a guest code. Who are you again?” the controller asked.
Somehow, I had a sinking feeling that whatever we said would be all over the control base in minutes and known to the whole planet by the time we landed. “We’re just couriers,” Matt answered. “We’re dropping off some supplies for the Vic’s diplomatic guest before his arrival. We’ll take that as permission to land. Killer Qu’een out.”
“Heaven in a handbasket,” Fleetwood exhaled, pressing her forehead to my shoulder. I didn’t bother to correct her. The sentiment still stood.
“I’ve got nothing against the Qu’een,” Matt said as we broke through the atmosphere and into the lilac sky of Covlax, “but maybe we ought to look at getting something a little subtler. We always seem to end up sneaking around, and stealth is not our crew’s strong suit.”
“Apologize to her,” Fleetwood demanded, pointing at the dashboard. “She’s as much a part of this crew as I am. You’ve busted her mojo and harshed her groove.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist because I’m right.” Matt, unable to see Fleetwood’s expression, grinned.
“If one more person assumes their judgment is superior to mine today, I can assure you my reaction will lack all the subtlety you say I do. I’m not stupid,” she said, making for the door.
“Fleetwood!” I stood, starting to go after her.
“I’ll be in the armory,” she called over her shoulder. “I require a cold second.”
“Fuck,” I hissed the moment the door rematerialized.
“I didn’t realize she was serious,” Matt said. “I mean, she rarely is.”
“I think she may be serious more often than we realize, and Chester is the only one who knows the difference.” I tucked my legs up onto the chair and folded into myself, burrowing my forehead into my thigh. Like if I pressed hard enough, I could move us back in time to when our crew was not falling apart. “God, I’m a shitty friend.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Gretch.” Matt patted the top of my head then tugged on my ponytail. “We’ll work it out once we’ve rescued the royal hostage from this James Bond-level lair.”
I sat up and craned forward to get a better look. The Vic’s sprawling personal estate seemed to favor chic minimalism in its hexagonal design. It was a black and glass structure with clean lines and sharp edges. Improbably, it appeared to work organically with the natural landscape of ruby-red foliage. It was elegant in the way that only houses in movies with expensive budgets seemed able to pull off.
“Where are all of the people?” I asked. “This can’t be the seat of the government.”
“It’s not,” Matt explained, guiding us toward the empty docking station. “It’s his private residence. The government’s located in the capital on the other side of the planet.”
Matt pulled off another one of his signature landings: so smooth, I wouldn’t have known we had parked if not for the gradual silence as the engine powered down. We made our way back toward the armory, where a nondescript Destyrian man stood, wearing the colors of House Fuiq. Fleetwood had already activated her perception distorter. A hover cart was beside her, with two woven, lavishly decorated boxes. I recognized the ancient glyphs for safe travel. Chester’s fake luggage then.
Initially, we’d planned to program the perception distorter to look like Covlax guards but had altered the plans after Chester’s brilliant ploy to send a ship ahead. Three Destyrian couriers with permission to be there would draw far less suspicion than three Covlax guards no one at the compound had seen before.
“Here,” Fleetwood said, handing us each a bundle of silver and navy clothing and our own perception distorter. She turned to face the door. “Change quickly.”
“Are these mine? Where did you find clothes to fit me?” I asked, ducking into the armory for privacy, while Matt proceeded to strip off his jacket and shirt right there. “Am I being disguised as a child?”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. You are too short to be a Destyrian adult,” Fleetwood explained, stepping out of the armory. The door rematerialized.
Great. I didn’t even get to be something cool for this extraction.
When I emerged, Matt was disguised as a plain-looking, Destyrian teenager. Probably to compensate for the fact that he was about five inches too short to be fully grown by Destyrian standards. It made me feel marginally better.
What made me feel worse, however, was the stilted way Fleetwood held herself, completely apart. She didn’t bestow her customary pre-mission embrace on either of us. Instead, she murmured a very unenthusiastic, “Let’s red light this operation.”
The ship’s gangplank lowered. I recoiled into Matt’s shoulder. As we had gotten ready, four large female guards had surrounded the ship’s entrance, their five tails poised in deadly arcs directed at us.
“Identify yourselves,” one barked as Fleetwood stepped out into the ruddy glow of the Covlax sunlight filtering through the trees.
Fleetwood gave a short bow. “Greetings,” she said, her voice taking on the vaguely British accent my implant translator provided. I assumed she was speaking in Destyrian to maintain our ruse. “I am Tol’fip, Chief Courier for the royal House of Fuiq on the Central continent of Destyr. I have the luggage of Fulyiti Kezira’s Favored, Chester Leon. We were instructed to deliver it ahead of his arrival, upon request of the honored Vic.”
Fleetwood directed the hovercart down the gangplank. “You are welcome to inspect the cargo. I am able to transfer our diplomatic identifications. Of course, we are unarmed, but we will submit ourselves to inspection if deemed necessary.”
One of the guards snorted at that last part, lifting the lid of the box, while the one I assumed was her superior offered her forearm to receive our information. Fleetwood tapped her Ran’dyl against a slight protrusion beneath the guard’s skin—the implant the Covlax used for communication and translation. Fake identification information, along with 3D renderings of our programmed disguises, appeared above the guard’s arm.
The boxes were full of clothes raided from Chester’s room on the Qu’een. I really hoped Fleetwood had permission to include those pairs of sneakers because if Chester lost part of his beloved collection on top of everything else, I might consider just staying on Covlax myself.
“What is this?” one of the guards asked. She pointed into the box with one of her stingered tails.
“Laboratory equipment,” Fleetwood replied. I caught a glimpse of Earthen kitchenware, three pairs of drumsticks, a hover stool, and other miscellaneous items hurriedly snatched from the Qu’een. Laboratory equipment, indeed. “Chester, her Favored, requested we bring the necessary tools for his time-sensitive scientific endeavors.”
After another moment of inspecting the drumsticks, the guards nodded to each other. “Very well. We’ll have this sent to his rooms.”
“If I may accompany you? The scientific experiments in progress, as detailed on the included cargo manifest, are quite fragile. We have been instructed to make sure that they are unpacked and ready for her Favored’s arrival. We were told the Vic had given his permission to do so.”
The three guards looked to their commander, whose jaw twitched with irritation. “Very well, I will escort you to where the Vic’s guest will be staying. Tell me,” said the guard as we fell into step behind her, the luggage hovering behind us, “since when do the Destyrians employ children as diplomatic couriers?”
“Gar’vyn is older than he looks,” Fleetwood laughed, indicating Matt. He is apprenticing with me for the subsequent three binary cycles to see if this line of work suits him. Lac’nir here is his little brother. I had given permission for him to do his school work at our office today since his parents were occupied with pressing matters. We were not expecting to be dispatched.” Fleetwood lowered her voice conspiratorially as she continued. “He was very excited at the prospect of seeing your renowned warriors in person. He practically stowed away on the shuttle.”
If the guard had not cracked a small, pleased smile at this, I might have rolled my eyes. Instead, I plastered on my best awestruck expression when she glanced at me. We entered the estate through the same type of self-sealing glass door as Renmig. I was already wondering exactly how we were going to get out. There were no visible operating controls.
The Vic’s two-story residence was sleek, sharp, and spartan, in a stylish sort of way. As we passed through the different rooms, it looked like each one had been designed to fulfill only one purpose. We passed by a library, a weapons room, and a training room. Each of these opened onto a central courtyard where a large, natural pool rested. Beckoning fingers of steam rose from it, promising comforting warmth. And there, sprawled in the water, his head resting on a silver cushion, was Zerin.
I activated my internal comms quietly. “Zerin, three o’clock,” I whispered as loud as I dared. If overheard, I figured the number would have no meaning to those unfamiliar with Earth since I hadn’t encountered any other species using analog clocks. Fleetwood’s eyes darted to where the inner glass wall had been partially retracted to welcome the heavy, humid air. Matt, who met us after our mind-communication-endowing trip to Vas Roya, did not receive the message.
“Lac’nir, your shoes have come undone again,” Fleetwood sighed as pair of house staff hustled by. “Gar’vyn, help your brother. Why must you insist on wearing those ridiculous human boots?”
I glanced down to the so-called ridiculous human boots that Fleetwood had specially commissioned for me, which were certainly not untied. “I can do it myself,” I pouted, kneeling and hastily undoing the knot on one.
“If you do it, it’ll take the next 456 binary cycles,” Matt argued, crouching in front of me. Fleetwood turned toward the guard and began apologizing for her charges in the long-suffering way of caregivers.
“Zerin is in the courtyard hot spring,” I muttered to Matt as he re-tied my shoes.
“Come again?” His eyes snapped out the window and spotted our quarry lounging in the warm water. He shook his head. “Time to wander off, kiddo. If you get caught, pretend you’re lost. Get Zerin back to the ship. Fleetwood and I will keep the guard distracted and follow once we’ve unloaded Chester’s luggage.”
As Matt moved to stand, I grabbed him. “Do not let Fleetwood leave the sneakers.”
Matt grinned. “Next time, just wear normal shoes, okay?” he added at a heightened volume.
I kicked childishly at his shin. “I hate normal shoes.”
“Enough. We must set up her Favored’s equipment before the charge on the environmental controls on the experiment expires.” Fleetwood gestured to our guard who looked the closest to amused I’d ever seen a Covlax look. “After you.”
As they continued on, I lagged behind further and further until they disappeared into the bowels of the massive house. I backtracked to the room where I’d first spotted Zerin. I jogged through the open wall and into the courtyard, beelining past the incredibly detailed topiaries for the spring. I slipped on the slick paving stones, my arms cartwheeling comically. I landed next to Zerin like a spastic baby deer losing its footing. That was going to leave a bruise.
Somehow, Zerin slept through my spectacularly clumsy entrance.
“Zerin,” I said, prodding him. Was he snoring? “Zerin!” I shook his shoulder.
“Mey-ran?” he blinked, turning around. His navy eyes widened when they landed on me. “Who in the seven stars are you?”
“I’m Gretchen. I’m here with Fleetwood. Come on,” I said, rising to my knees. I decided to table the fact that this was by far the most luxurious imprisonment I’d ever seen, and he was, apparently, on first name terms with his captor in favor of getting us the hell out of there.
“Is Azo’lah here?” Zerin finally obeyed my insistent tugs and rose out of the water. “Why did Fleetwood bring a child?” A better question, in my opinion, was why Zerin was butt-ass naked.
“I’m not a child, I’m human.” I deactivated my perception distorter, forcing myself to keep my eyes only on his face and not indulge my natural curiosity about Destyrian anatomy. “And no, Azo’lah isn’t here.”
Zerin brushed my bangs aside, revealing my translator implant. “Ah, so you are the one from the Temple of Aluthua, yes?”
“Yes. Now would you hurry up before the Vic comes back. And maybe put on some clothes.”
As if summoned by the mention of his name, a frighteningly familiar voice shouted, “Zerin, my friend, I did it! He is coming here for an entire earth week. I must impress Chester. How does one seduce a human?” Mey-ran twirled his way onto the terrace, his arms held wide as though he was seconds away from bursting into song. Instinctively, I backed up—right into the pool.
I surfaced, spluttering.
“Gretchen?” Mey-ran’s beaming smile fell as he stared down at me. “What are you doing here?”
I pushed my sopping hair out of my eyes. “I—uh—I came with the couriers to deliver Chester’s experiments. A couple of them are for my archeology research. So I wanted to, you know, make sure they got here safely and didn’t set us back. Gotta keep that funding from the Auhtula coming.”
“That means Chester will arrive shortly, then?” Mey-ran’s returning smile could’ve powered the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree. “You’ll be leaving with the couriers before, though? I truly want Chester all to myself. You get him all the time, so I’m not being unreasonable.”
“Are you actually crushing on Chester?” I gaped. We had been teasing Chester for days about the idea, more so because the idea was funny, but Fleetwood’s comment didn’t seem far-fetched at all from where I was sitting. Or, rather, floating.
“The Vic doesn’t want to hurt your friend,” Zerin said, from where he stood beside Mey-ran, totally unconcerned with his nakedness. “Far from wanting to crush him, he wants to court him.”
“Sorry, in English, we use that term to mean you’re interested in someone romantically.” I waded to the side of the pool and hauled myself out. I winced at the gross, squishy feeling of soaked socks in waterlogged boots.
“Oh, yes, I am interested in pursuing Chester romantically. Very much so. Thank you,” Mey-ran accepted a bundle from a member of his house staff. He handed me a large towel and bestowed a flowy caftan on Zerin.
I peeled off my sodden button-up as Zerin pulled on his caftan. It looked black in a particular light, silver when he moved. I was just grateful that he was clothed. And maybe a little jealous that he could pull it off. I tried my best to wring out my tank top while it was still on me and then used the towel to collect as much water as I could. Mey-ran stared expectantly at me the whole time.
“Well?” he demanded when I failed to figure out what he wanted me to say. “When should I expect Chester to arrive?”
“Soon. Within the next hour or so. I’d best see if the couriers got everything unpacked and hit the road so you can have your big erm...date week.” I edged toward Zerin. “Hey, do you mind if I borrow some dry clothes for the ride home?” I grabbed Zerin’s arm, squeezing painfully.
“Oh, of course,” Zerin said, overly-gracious. He finally seemed to have cottoned on. “I should also change into something for dinner. It may take me a while to find something suitable for you since you’re so short.”
“Wait,” Mey-ran barked. I turned over my shoulder to see that he was looking at a message hovering over his forearm where his comm device was implanted. “Chester just said he was leaving in the morning. But you said he was arriving in an hour. Why would you...unless,” Mey-ran looked at us, his golden eyes heartbroken, “he’s not truly coming.”
“I, um, I’m gonna go, change, really quickly.” I tugged Zerin toward the nearest open exit, breaking into a run.
“Is there a plan?” Zerin asked, jogging beside me as we entered what appeared to be a music room based on the drums in the corner and the slupna hanging on the wall.
“There was. As usual, it didn’t go the way we thought.” As we ran through the room, I picked up a flute of some kind which resembled a hammer to use as a makeshift weapon.
“And now?” Zerin didn’t even sound winded, the asshole. We rounded the first corner, entering a new room, only to find our path blocked by Mey-ran, tail raised.
“Now the plan is to get to the ship and not get stung,” I shouted, pivoting the other way so quickly my water-logged boots squealed against the shiny floors. We ran back through the music room, turning another corner, to find our path blocked again by Mey-ran, who had just crossed through the courtyard.
“Wait!” he bellowed. In what was becoming my signature escape move, I threw the strange hammer-shaped instrument at Mey-ran as hard as I could. As he ducked to evade it, we darted past him through the courtyard center, heading for the exit.
“Fleetwood, Matt!” I yelled into my Ran’dyl. “I’ve got Zerin! Also, the Vic’s here, and he knows, and he’s unhappy!”
“Where are you?” Matt’s voice demanded.
“Courtyard. Gah!” I screamed as Mey-ran, who was fast, emerged from the room in front of us.
How the hell was he navigating this god damned maze of a house so freaking quickly?
Mey-ran lunged forward, his arm extended. “Please, I just want—”
“GOOSE!” Fleetwood shouted over comms. An audible whum was followed by a hair's breadth of silence in which I realized what Fleetwood meant. I threw myself at Zerin as all of the windows in the house crumbled instantly into dust.
Fleetwood, Matt cradled in her arms, came swooping down, balancing on a familiar gold platform of light like a futuristic BMX skateboarder. “Is that my hoverstool?” I gawked, scrambling to my feet.
“It’s the OG!” Fleetwood said. “Let’s go!”
“Uh,” I hesitated, unsure how two more of us were going to fit on the alleged prototype of my hoverstool. “How did you even shatter the glass?”
“A device Chester’s been tinkering with,” Fleetwood explained. “It was meant for dissolving doors in case we got trapped in a temple again! It’s never been tested before. Guess the glass isn’t as impenetrable as we thought. Now, let’s boogie!”
“Hop on!” Zerin knelt smoothly, offering me his back. I practically vaulted onto him, folding my legs around his waist. He leapt up next to Fleetwood, wrapping his arms tightly around her.
“Cousin, you look different. Have you done something new with your hair?” Zerin grinned as Fleetwood tilted forward, guiding the hoverstool through the doorway, navigating around the guards that were flooding the courtyard. Some were giving chase, but others were, surprisingly, falling back as Mey-ran, shimmering with ultra-fine glass particles like rave glitter, shouted something into his implant.
“This may be a pimpled hide!” Fleetwood whooped as we streaked through the shattered estate door and toward the Qu’een’s gangplank. As soon as we cleared the Qu’een’s door, Fleetwood pressed all our weight backward, which stopped the hoverboard and resulted in us falling onto the deck in an ungainly heap.
“Get us out of here, Matt!” I shouted, extracting myself from Zerin, whose caftan robe had flipped up over his head. I tugged it down for him on my way to the gangway control as Matt’s pounding footfalls disappeared toward the cockpit.
I ran to follow him, leaping over the pile of exhilarated, laughing cousins. I was beginning to see why Fleetwood and Zerin got along so well. They were both adventure junkies. “Some things never change,” I heard Zerin say.
God, how I wished that were true.
“Chester, put the Gold Dust on temporary autopilot and stand by to finish docking procedures for the Qu’een,” Matt instructed over comms. “I’m making a run for the bridge to get us the hell out of here.”
“Aw, I can’t drive the getaway car?” I could hear the relief in Chester’s voice despite the joke. The docking bay door on The Gold Dust Wo’man retracted almost immediately. Chester had clearly anticipated Matt’s directives.
“Not from the Covlax, mate,” Matt grinned as he directed the Qu’een into the bay. “Hold this until he gets here.” Matt placed my hands where his had been, jumping out of the pilot’s seat. Chester arrived, scant seconds later, panting.
“Hey, Gretch.” He eased the Qu’een into her docking clamps and powered down the engines. He glanced up to where the glass residue still dusted my hair and clothes. “You look like you just robbed a glitter factory.”
“Without you?” I forced a smile.
“On a scale of one to peeing, how peeing is she?” Fleetwood asked, voicing my own dread, as Chester and I emerged from the cockpit.
“Fucking pissed,” Chester corrected gently, wrapping his arms around Fleetwood. She crushed Chester to her, nudging his beanie up with her nose to press a kiss to his forehead.
“I’ll go first,” Zerin said, hitting the gangplank control. “Seeing me may help. Let’s hope she’s not armed.”
I stayed at the back of our hodge-podge line as we descended, not at all looking forward to the ensuing confrontation. From my elevated position on the ramp, I could see Azo’lah, framed by the doorway that led to the interior of the Gold Dust Wo’man, somehow imposing even from this distance.
“Sister!” Zerin spread his arms wide, caftan rippling in his self-created breeze as he walked across the barren deck toward her. Azo’lah’s face softened, and at first, I thought we might be in the clear as she bent to press her head to her brothers.
“It is good to see you safe, brother.” She pulled back. “I will speak with you later. Go clean up before you comm our mothers.”
“Fine,” Zerin turned, glittering glass dust falling from his hair with the movement. He mouthed something at us over his shoulder, but it was in Destyrian. I assumed it was something like Sorry or, more likely, Good luck.
“Assbutt,” Fleetwood murmured fondly.
Neither Chester nor I bothered to correct her, for Azo’lah had already started in on us. “Of all the reckless, stupid things you could have done Kezira of Fuiq! How dare you sneak off without your Myax. After J’olpri, after what happened at the wedding, I thought you would have learned, but that has never been your strong suit, has it?”
Fleetwood bristled, her voice changing as my implant recognized she’d reverted to Destyrian. “While you were incapable of taking sound action, I devised a plan. It may not have been perfect, but Zerin is safe, and it stopped you from starting a war by killing the sole Covlax heir. Do not be angry at me for doing what you failed to do yourself.”
“What I failed to do? You failed to keep your word to me! Does your promise mean nothing anymore?” Azo’lah screamed.
“It meant everything until you broke yours first!” Fleetwood fired back, navy eyes brimming with furious tears. She looked poised to either run or punch Azo’lah. I wasn’t sure which one she would have done if Chester hadn’t wrapped his arm around her front, steadying her.
“You are being a selfish child!” Azo’lah continued. “Endangering your friends, putting Destyr at risk, putting your life at risk. You cannot unilaterally choose the paths of others—”
“But you can?”
It wasn’t until Azo’lah turned to me, her face almost humorous in its surprise, that I realized the harsh, bitter voice had been mine. Her towering rage, a hurricane only moments before, diminished as she said, “What?”
“You’ve been making unilateral decisions for the crew since J’olpri,” I clarified. “Which is fucking annoying, honestly, because, guess what, I’m not your charge. I’m a full-grown adult, and if I want to go running off into danger, then it’s my choice to do so. Same with Matt and Chester.”
“Chester is a member of our house. And you could’ve died—”
“I’m only a partial member of the house,” Chester interjected.
I ignored him. I was tired and annoyed, and I was still soggy from my unplanned dip in Mey-ran’s hot spring. I was done with this bullshit. “And you would’ve been crushed under the Temple of Aluthua if I hadn’t gotten you down before the whole thing collapsed, Azo’lah. I didn’t realize we were keeping score,” I retorted. “Yes, you're much better at the kickass, life-saving shit than most of us. But not everything is your responsibility. At this rate, you’ll start beating yourself up because you can’t stop planets from orbiting their suns.”
Azo’lah said, “I am trying to protect the Fulyiti’s life!”
“At what fucking cost, Azo’lah?” I stepped forward, uncaring that I had to crane my neck to look her in the face, nor that I probably looked far from intimidating. I pointed at Fleetwood. “Because it seems to me that all you're doing is making her miserable. Not to mention the rest of us. And the more unhappy she gets, the more freedom you take away, the more likely she is to do something actually stupid. And even if you lock her in some ivory space tower to keep her safe from the world, she might as well be dead because you’ll have taken away everything that makes life worth living.”
“You don’t get to speak to me like this,” Azo’lah fumed.
“Well, someone fucking has to,” I replied. “And since your Myax sisters don’t seem to be willing to tell you, I will. You do not get to take your own struggles with your darkness out on us. Get your shit together, Azo’lah, because all you’ve been doing lately is making choices at the expense of our mental health. Do you want your cousin to experience the darkness like we have? Keep going like this, and she will.”
I shoved my way past Azo’lah, fleeing for the safety of my quarters. The tears had started to roll in earnest now, snaking past the hand I used to try and wipe them away. I couldn’t stop thinking that I’d just had my first and probably last fight with my friends.
I shuffled down the silent corridor, the hem of my overlong sleep pants dragging against the floor. I should have been in bed. I was bone-weary, not just physically but emotionally. Not only had I survived another adventure that defied the odds, I had potentially fractured our already tenuously held-together crew beyond repair. Once showered and burrowed into my soft bed, I should’ve been unconscious—yet sleep never came.
Instead, I gave myself a stomach ache as I tossed and turned with indecision, regret, and anxiety.
Indecision about what to do next. Regret about how harsh I had been. Anxious that I had lost the most important people in my life. That forgiveness was already too far out of reach for our small, improbable family. Abandoning sleep, I found myself pacing the corridor that housed all of our sleeping quarters. I passed Azo’lah’s and Fleetwood’s rooms, Chester’s, then Matt’s. I spun on my bare heel and did it in reverse.
“Just… just do it,” I told myself in a lame attempt at a pep talk. “Pick a door. Any door and apologize.”
I continued pacing, gnawing on my thumb nail for another few minutes until the door on the far right disappeared as I passed by it.
I shrieked as a disheveled Matt stepped into the corridor. “Can’t sleep either, eh?” he asked, tightening the tie at the waist of his amethyst robe.
Instead of answering his question, I gestured to his feet. “Nice slippers.”
The fluffy maroon spaceships bobbed as Matt wiggled his toes. “A gift from Fleetwood.”
“Me too.” I pointed at my shirt. It displayed a shovel and stated Archaeologists Like It Dirty in swirling script.
Matt ran a hand through his curls and sighed, “Best just face this head-on so we can get some proper sleep. Can’t get a wink thinking any of you are angry with me.”
My shoulders sagged beneath the weight of his admission. Just knowing someone else felt the way I did chipped away at the stone that had settled in my stomach.
“Chester first?” I suggested.
We walked the ten paces to Chester’s door. I tapped my Ran’dyl against the scanner beside it, letting him know I was standing outside. A long moment passed. My heart sank at the thought that Chester was too mad even to see me.
The door dematerialized. Chester’s voice floated out. “You are so lucky I’m not in my lab right now,” he said from his desk, his back to the door. His attention was on a hologram projected on the wall showing a series of graphs and tables all labeled in Destyrian.
“We would’ve checked there next,” Matt said as we tentatively entered Chester’s room.
“We?” Chester said, spinning in his seat.
“The Majumdar-Borowicz Apology Tour is in town for the night,” Matt said.
Chester folded his arms across his I Make Horrible Science Puns Periodically tie-dyed hoodie. The green of the hoodie perfectly matched his Nikes. “I’m listening.”
“We’re sorry,” I said, my voice wavering as my eyes burned. “We didn’t mean to leave you out of the loop. We just didn’t want you to end up stuck on Covlax in Zerin’s place—” My breath caught in my throat on a sob.
“Oh, shit, Gretch, don’t cry.” Chester stood from his chair. He pulled me into a tight hug, stooping to tuck his chin against my shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, my tears soaking into his hoodie. “Don’t let me off easy just because I’m crying.”
Chester pulled back and looked me directly in the eye. “It isn’t about letting you off easy, it’s about letting you know that I’m not going anywhere.” Chester reached out and clapped Matt on the shoulder. “We aren’t going anywhere. You guys did a shitty thing, and I’m mad. We’re gonna talk it out, but we’re still us. Right?”
“Right,” I agreed, wiping at my nose with the sleeve of my shirt.
“Of course,” Matt said.
“Chester, we’re so sorry,” I said on a heavy exhale, triggering a new wave of tears.
“I can tell,” Chester said.
“It wasn’t like we consciously wanted to leave you behind without telling you the plan, mate,” Matt said, scratching at the back of his neck. “Fleetwood said she had an idea to get Zerin back and keep you safe, and we just kind of—”
“Got swept up in it,” Chester finished, bobbing his head. “Yeah, I’ve been there. But still...” Chester backed away from me until the back of his legs hit his tidily made bed. He sat, bringing his elbows to his knees. “I appreciate that your hearts were in a place of wanting to keep me safe. I get it, I do. But I’m a grown-ass man, and I can make my own decisions about my safety. More importantly, we’re a team. That means we communicate with each other and we make plans together. You can’t just sneak off with a half-baked plan to a warrior prince’s compound on a dangerous, foreign planet without even telling Azo’lah and me where you are.”
A wave of shame engulfed me. We had acted without fully thinking through the consequences of our actions—not only what would happen to us at the Vic’s compound, but also how it would make Chester feel. So preoccupied with trying to keep our friend safe, we had stomped all over the trust he had put in us. We had treated him exactly the way Azo’lah had been treating us these past months. My hypocrisy curdled my stomach.
“I’m so-so-sorry,” I choked out as Matt looped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side.
“Really sorry, Chester,” Matt said. “We won’t just take off or do anything without everyone on the team agreeing.”
Chester nodded solemnly. “Good. Because fucking-up barely formulated plans is a group activity for us.” Chester’s face broke into a broad smile, “and I refuse to be left out.”
I laughed and sniffled overloud, my emotions clogging my throat.
“Thank God that’s over,” Chester announced as he stood. “Want me to come with you to the next stop on your apology tour? We can make hot cocoa in the galley afterward.”
“There’s hot cocoa on-board?” I asked, wide-eyed.
“Hot cocoa-ish,” Chester amended, grabbing me a towel from his bathroom to wipe my teary face. “Trust me, you’ll love it. But first, I believe there is a certain Myax that you need to cry all over.”
“Do you think she’ll even want to see us?” Matt asked.
“Does it matter?” Chester returned.
I patted my blotchy cheeks with the towel. “What about Fleetwood? Have you had a chance to work it out with her, Chester?”
“Pssshhh,” Chester whistled between his teeth. “We’re Chester and Fleetwood, of course, we’ve worked it out. It wasn’t a fun conversation. But we got through it. There were hugs, proclamations of life-long love and friendship, as well as a dance break.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I asked, tossing the towel into Chester’s clothes bin.
Chester led the way out of his room. “She’s Fleetwood Mercury. If there isn’t a dance break at some point, has she even been involved?”
We reached the door to Azo’lah’s quarters quickly. Matt did the honors of tapping his Ran’dyl to the scanner. A lilting voice announced, “The crew member you wish to visit is not in their quarters. Would you like to leave a comm for them?”
“Do you think she’s down in the training room?” I asked.
“Let me check,” Chester said, tapping away at his Ran’dyl. A 3D hologram of The Gold Dust Wo’man pulled up with our miniscule Chester-selected avatars inside. I spotted my crossed brush and hammer, sitting between a stylized lion face and a tiny fighter jet.
Chester spun the hologram and zoomed in upon where a Myax glyph stood beside a chibi-style Fleetwood. “They’re in the galley.”
“Enjoying hot cocoa and definitely not fighting?” I asked, mock-hopeful.
We quickly made our way to the galley. As we approached, the lack of yelling buoyed my heart. “This is a good sign, right?” I whispered.
“Fleetwood’s quiet moments terrify me more,” Matt admitted.
Chester pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Let’s check things out before we go barging in there?”
Matt and I nodded our assent. We approached quietly, Chester and Matt practically walking on their tiptoes. Chester reached the entryway first, ducking his head around to peer inside. He held up a hand to still Matt and me.
Chester tapped his ear and gestured for us to crowd close. In our hurry to follow his instructions as silently as possible, I collided with Matt’s back sending him careening forward. His spaceship slippers provided minimal grip against the floor. In full view of Azo’lah and Fleetwood, he fell onto his chest, his hands slapping against the ground to prevent a painful faceplant. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stop myself from groaning at my inconvenient clumsiness.
“Matty-Matt,” Fleetwood greeted him, her bright, cheery voice dimmed to a more serious tone.
“Are you well?” Azo’lah asked.
“Fine, sorry,” Matt replied, popping up to his feet, “didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You are not interrupting,” Fleetwood said, “you should join us.”
“Yes, you should,” Azo’lah said, “as should Chester and Gretchen if they are done hiding and eavesdropping.”
Chester squawked indignantly. “We weren’t hiding. We were trying not to interrupt.”
“You're not contesting the eavesdropping?” Azo’lah queried as we rounded the entryway. She and Fleetwood sat across from one another at the table. They were both wearing their usual sleepwear but, like the rest of us, appeared as though they hadn’t gotten a moment of actual sleep in days.
“What’d be the point?” Chester returned as he swung around the table and dropped into the chair beside Fleetwood.
Matt and I took our usual places at the table, on Azo’lah’s left and right, respectively. It felt equally comforting and disconcerting to be this close to her after our fight earlier. I brought my thumb nail to my teeth and began gnawing on it as Fleetwood said, “It is good you all came. It has been bad news bears between us for too long. Azo-Zo and I were clearing the despair.”
“Clearing the air,” Matt corrected, then tilted his head thoughtfully. “Actually, you know what? Clearing the despair is right here.”
“How’s it going?” Chester prodded gently, leaning his head against Fleetwood’s shoulder. She laid her head atop his, her hand squeezing his arm for a moment. I scrubbed at my eyes as a new round of tears—this time of relief—threatened to fall.
“I was just apologizing to Fleetwood for taking out my darkness on her,” Azo’lah explained, her voice smaller than I had ever heard it. I fought the urge to reach out and take her hand. “I should extend that apology to all of you. I have been treating you all poorly. I have been rash and short-tempered and making decisions when they were not mine to make. I apologize deeply if I made you feel…” she trailed off, her jaw clenching. “If I made you feel as though your thoughts and feelings were of no concern.”
“Cousin, your apology is appreciated,” Fleetwood said, “and you must know we love you no matter how sour you are.”
“Course we do,” Matt said. “You’re our Azo-Zo.”
Despite the morose cast to Azo’lah’s elegant features, the terrible nickname earned a slight upward tick of her lips.
“You just have to talk to us about what’s going on with you,” Chester said. “Not like everything, we don’t want to invade your privacy. But if your darkness is making you feel some type of way, we need to know so we can help and not just give you space.”
Azo’lah nodded. “I know. I, myself, did not realize how deeply my darkness was affecting me until I had gone too far. Ever since J’olpri, I have felt...unsure of myself and my abilities. The incident at the wedding only made things worse. My uncertainty fueled my disagreements with Fleetwood. Then Zerin went missing, and everything felt uncontrollable.”
Fleetwood mimicked the motion of a bomb exploding with her hands. “KA-BOOM.”
“I am sorry that I broke my promise, cousin,” Azo’lah said quietly.
“You didn’t,” Fleetwood said, “though you came quite close.”
“Your promise?” I prompted. “What promise?”
“When we were wee sprites, my eldest sister, Bel’andra, abdicated her claim to the throne,” Fleetwood explained. “Bel’andra’s choice made my other sister, Xi’para, my mother’s heir. It also made me second in line to the throne and Azo’lah third. This is much closer than either of us wanted, but…” Fleetwood shrugged.
I looked to Azo’lah, remembering our conversation when she first explained her Iz’waij powers to me and how much she did not want to be Auhtula. I can only imagine how fearful a young Azo’lah was at finding herself edging closer to ruling the Central continent.
“We made a promise to each other that day,” Fleetwood continued. “Azo’lah, to be my Myax. Not only to protect me but to protect my freedom. And I, to never abdicate.”
“And to never go on an adventure too dangerous,” Azo’lah added.
Chester chuckled. “Really? FleetMerc made that promise?”
“I was a child,” Fleetwood said, “I didn’t know any better.”
The last few months suddenly made much more sense. Fleetwood’s mockingly cavalier attitude and bouts of frustration. The betrayal at thinking that Azo’lah had gone back on a sacred childhood promise strained their relationship to almost breaking.
It made me wish we had had this conversation immediately after J’olpri before these feelings took root and festered.
“I’m sorry, too, Azo’lah,” I told the tabletop, “not about what I said because it needed to be said. But about how I said it. I shouldn’t have been so mean and yelled.”
Azo’lah cleared her throat. “That’s you mean?”
It took me a moment to realize she was teasing me. I smiled, the last vestiges of awkwardness that had clung to us falling away. “I can get meaner,” I promised.
“I am sure,” Azo’lah said.
“So where do we go from here?” Chester asked. “What’s the next step?”
“I am due to speak with my Soul Healer upon our return to Destyr,” Azo’lah said. “Now that I better understand the origin of my feelings, my sessions with her will be more effective.” She tucked a stray strand of brilliant hair behind her ear. “I hope I have not damaged our friendship beyond repair.” Azo’lah turned to me and said, “You all mean a great deal to me.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “You mean a great deal to me—us, too.”
“So, we’re all good?” Matt asked, standing and making his way to the cupboard that housed the vy’tal mugs. “Because I was promised hot cocoa at the end of this Apology Tour.”
“Hot Cocoa?” Fleetwood repeated, her entire body spasming with delight.
“Yes, we’re good,” Chester answered Matt’s question as he stood. “And you,” he directed his words at Fleetwood, “stay in that chair. Last time you helped with the hot cocoa, the floor ended up slathered in chocolate powder.”
“Fine. but I will supply you with sweet tunes as you work, my love.” Fleetwood tapped at her Ran’dyl, opening an upbeat playlist, a familiar but surprising song beginning to play.
“Fleetwood, is that—is that the opening to Hamilton?” I asked, flabbergasted by the music choice. She had played nothing but classic rock since I came to Destyr all that time ago.
“Oh, you know it?” Fleetwood asked cheerfully. “Isn’t it wonderful? Matty-Matt showed me a video on the shoe-cube—”
“YouTube,” Matt and Chester corrected in tandem.
“—of them singing and dancing. I did not know musicals existed,” Fleetwood’s eyes glistened with awe. “The performers are wonderful!” Fleetwood turned to Azo’lah and asked, “Do you like the song, cousin?”
For the first time in what felt like forever, Azo’lah smiled, bright and true. “Yes, cousin, I like the song. Very much. Play me another?”
It felt like a different crew that stumbled down the gangplank of the Gold Dust Wo’man. Laughing, arms around each other, jubilant, if still a bit tentative with the newness of our reconciliation.
“Home again, home again!” Fleetwood whooped. “Tonight, we party to welcome cousin Zerin home! I shall have them break out the quapir wine!”
“You shouldn’t reinforce his abysmal behavior with more partying,” Azo’lah chastised, but her eyes, clear and sparkling, showed she didn’t mind. Fleetwood whirled so that she was walking backward, facing us.
“Live a little, sister,” Zerin proclaimed loudly. He wrapped an arm around Azo’lah’s shoulders, flashing a devil-may-care grin. I had a feeling Zerin had learned very little from this experience.
The brilliant light of the setting suns caught the dove-grey glass of the palace, making it look like fire had somehow been trapped in ice. I admired it for a brief moment as we crossed the courtyard to where Azo’lah’s mothers waited.
“You could stand to live a little less, son.” Fionrin had never borne more resemblance to her daughter than she did right now, her stern expression a replica of Azo’lah’s patented pissed-off face. I braced for an argument but, Fionrin’s face cracked into a brilliant smile, mirrored by her wife at her side. They threw out their arms.
“Mothers!” Zerin rushed into their embrace.
“I will condemn your behavior tomorrow,” Do’naya pressed a kiss to the crown of Zerin’s head. “But for tonight, I am too relieved to see you home.” It was hard not to smile as Azo’lah’s mothers pulled Azo’lah in, wrapping their arms around their adult children who were grousing about being squished together, which only made their mothers laugh and squeeze them harder.
“Is anyone else starving?” Matt asked. “We could go to that Xxoli dumpling place in the city.”
“That sounds amazing,” Chester agreed. “I’ll comm them and make a reservation for—”
Fleetwoods Ran’dyl began blaring the ominous overture to The Phantom of the Opera.
Matt chuckled. “Who’s new ringtone is that?”
“My mother,” Fleetwood grimaced. She silenced the comm. “She probably just wants to debrief us.” She gestured airily. “I’ll send her a message.”
Fleetwood skipped over the tiled courtyard path toward her family. Chester swung his arm around me, and I leaned against him, presumably thinking the same thing. That the heart of our little band was happy, and because of it, we were too.
“FULYITI KEZIRA!” The unfamiliar voice was too loud and too panicked in this proximity to the palace. Azo’lah, like quicksilver, placed herself in front of Fleetwood, hand outstretched protectively to hold her back. On my left side, Matt slid into a wider stance, bracing for a fight. The only weapon we had was Azo’lah’s zali’thir, the rest were stored in the Gold Dust Wo’man’s armory…
And then I realized what the strange, anxious voice had actually said. One of the Auhtula’s assistants sprinted toward us, the trailing sleeves of his navy tunic flapping behind him, giving the impression of a rather uncoordinated bird. I felt bad for him and for me. I probably looked like this when I ran, too.
“Fulyiti Kezira,” the assistant panted. He dropped into a short bow. “The Auhtula requires you in the throne room.”
Azo’lah dropped her arm, moving into a more relaxed stance. Fleetwood stepped forward. “What’s good?” she asked, pressing her forehead briefly to the assistant’s, who looked a bit dazed. “You can tell my mother that we’ve got dinner rezzies in the city with both blood and found fam. She’s welcome to join. I’ll give her the lowdown in the a.m. Ta-ta, cherie!” Fleetwood linked her arms with Azo’lah’s. “I hope they still have the seasonal special. That was lit like—”
“It was not a request, Fulyiti,” the assistant practically shouted. “Your crew is required in the throne room immediately. It’s an urgent matter of state. If not, the Auhtula is ready to send her Myax to fetch you.”
Fleetwood and Azo’lah exchanged a look. It was simultaneously comforting because I recognized it and alarming because I recognized it. It was their “shit’s about to go down” look.
Azo’lah glanced toward her immediate family. “Do not worry, faa’le,” Do’naya said, nodding toward Fleetwood. “We can look after ourselves. But do let us know if you can meet us for breakfast tomorrow before our shuttle back home.”
“Of course, Mothers,” Azo’lah smiled, though it looked strained.
“I’ll send you a message when we’re free, Zerin,” Fleetwood said, pointing finger guns at him. “Exit, stage left, Lafayette.”
We followed the messenger, the unease growing as we made our way toward the throne room. Generally, Auhtula Ty’uria met us when we landed to welcome her daughter home from our unorthodox diplomatic archaeology missions. If she was otherwise occupied, we “debriefed” the following morning over vy’tal. This was unusual and, therefore, at least for me, nerve-wracking.
When the doors to the palace’s throne room disappeared, I suddenly understood exactly why this was unusual. For there, outlined in the floor-to-ceiling windows, was a disturbingly familiar silhouette.
“Kezira,” Auhtula Ty’uria greeted coldly. “We have an unexpected guest.”
The guest tilted his head regally in acknowledgment. Vic Mey-ran stood across from us, looking more intimidating than usual framed in the pink glow of the sunset, two guards on either side of him. He was not dressed in his usual all-black warrior ensemble but instead the gray and blue finery of a someday king. The onyx coronet that perched across his forehead was somehow more threatening than his usual collection of guards and weapons.
“The Vic is here,” Auhtula Ty’uria inhaled a deep, bracing breath I recognized from my own mother, “on behalf of his government, who is seeking reparations from our kingdom because allegedly you violated the sovereignty of his planet by breaking into his private—”
“He had Zerin captive!” Fleetwood retorted hotly. Silence rang as loudly as the confession Fleetwood had unwittingly given.
“My mother is willing to overlook these...trespasses,” Mey-ran turned to face us. “That is if you are amenable to a more peaceful negotiation.”
“She is?” Ty’uria looked almost as confused as we were. Clearly, the Vic had been holding something back for however long they had been speaking.
“An allyship between our two kingdoms is preferable over war. And we all know the strongest way for foreign powers to show their commitment to peace with one another.” Mey-ran looked Destyr’s Queen in the eye before relocating his gaze to my right. To Chester. “Marriage.”