The J’olpri Black Market: Part 3
We ran to the escalator, Ryan chivvying me down the steps. “Pick up the pace, Gretch!”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” I bit out. I side-stepped an alien with SUV-sized shoulders, protecting my numbed arm from further damage. If the venom was triggered by movement, then I needed to keep my arm as still as possible.
We were almost to the next floor when the escalator came to a jarring halt. I lost my balance and toppled forward, Ryan’s quick hands catching me around the middle. “Fucking shit,” Ryan shouted. We did an ungainly dance off the escalator, my blood-slicked boots failing to find traction against the grimy floor.
“What now?” I asked. Ryan grabbed my chin, directing my attention to the top of the escalator, where one of the Covlax bodyguards was crouched. Four of her stingered-tails were arched over her shoulders like rocket-launchers. Her fifth stinger was drilled into the escalator’s mechanisms.
Ah, so that’s why the escalator had stopped.
Pushing my head down, Ryan shoved me into the jostling masses on the twelfth floor. Unaware of the chaos our crew had incited, the rest of J’olpri was still operating as usual—a miniscule advantage that might provide some cover for our escape.
“Azo’lah! Fleetwood! Where’s that back-up?” Ryan yelled as we ran for our lives.
“We’re coming,” Azo’lah replied.
“Come faster!” Ryan held out an arm like a linebacker to clear our path. “Gretchen got hit with a Covlax stinger—”
“What?” Chester interrupted. “She got stung? Shit, shit, shit. Covlax venom is a paralytic poison, it invades and destroys every bodily system—”
“Fleetwood, Azo’lah, move faster. We need to get Gretchen out now.” Ryan did not allow me to think about what that meant for me, for us, or our chances of getting out of here. Instead, they determinedly pushed me down a corridor filled with smoke, shouting, and laughter. The usually delectable smells of roasting meat and warm, spiced wine wafted from the food stalls we passed. My stomach contracted, a painful dry heave made all the worse by the fact that I couldn’t stop moving.
Apparently, nausea was a side-effect of Covlax venom.
“Keep moving for the rendezvous point!” Chester’s voice finally replied. “We’re coming!”
“Oh-okay,” I slouched further into Ryan. Now I was a literal burden to my friends, not just a metaphorical one.
Behind us, someone shrieked, “Covlax!” The crowd scrambled for the exit on the opposite end of the hall. As a group of five-eyed aliens tripped past us, one of them went sprawling across the ground.
Ryan helped him to his feet with a pat on the back. “Watch yourself, friend.” They tugged me close, tucking a flash of silver into their waistband as they created a protective cage around my stung arm. But no matter how hard they worked to keep others from bumping into me, my arm kept getting moved, the venom seeping further into my system. I attempted to rotate my arm from my shoulder. Nothing happened.
“Ryan, Ryan, stop.” The fingers of my good hand tightened in their sleeve. “I can’t feel my shoulder.”
Their blue eyes flashed dangerously, their mouth hooking into a feral sneer. If what Chester said was true, and the venom kept invading my body at this pace, there was no telling how quickly it would paralyze my lungs and my heart. Soon, too soon. The thought should have sent me into an anxiety attack. Instead, I felt nothing. Wait, did Covlax venom numb brain chemistry, as well?
Gretchen Myaxi, Azo’lah’s voice rang through my head, fierce and firm. We do not give up, remember?
Ryan hitched my good arm over their shoulder, taking even more of my weight. “Get your shit together, Borowicz. That’s an order.” They shuffled us forward, and I forced my feet to work, to help propel us. My eyes caught on the bloody trail my numb arm was leaving behind us, as good as bread crumbs. Ryan bellowed down our comms, “We’re on the twelfth floor, just past the food court. We need a route or a—”
“Take your next left,” Chester urged. “It’s a service corridor, shouldn’t be too populated. There are stairs at the end of that hallway. FleetMerc, I’m rerouting you and Azo’lah that way. I’ve got an idea.”
“Roger dodger,” Fleetwood replied.
“Next left? Fuck.” Ryan veered hard to the left as we almost bypassed the turn. My injured arm clipped the metal wall in what would have been a painful collision were I able to feel it.
Chester had been right, the service corridor was empty. And for good reason.
“Ugh, nasty,” Ryan choked out. From beginning to end, it was lined with overflowing containers of waste. “The garbage hallway, Chester? Really?”
“Well, this mission is turning into a straight-up dumpster fire,” Chester snapped, “so I thought it fitting.”
I giggled, the movement jostling my bad arm and shoulder. “Don’t make me laugh. The paralytic...”
Ryan readjusted their sweaty grip on me as we shuffled down the hall. Their voice strained with exhaustion and concern as they said, “It’s spreading. Gretchen’s running out of time.”
“Halt!” I turned my neck enough to find the Covlax Vic standing at the end of the long hallway. One of his guards stood at his side, her nostrils flaring like a shark sensing wounded prey.
We were halfway to the stairs, but with the Covlax this close, it could’ve been a lightyear for all the good it did us.
“Ryan, go without me.” I twisted my good hand into theirs and squeezed. I wanted them to know that I would be okay even if I didn’t have the words. “Azo’lah will come get me.”
Ryan stubbornly kept dragging me forward. “We’re almost there! I’m not fucking leaving—”
“Well, what do we have here?” asked an appallingly familiar voice.
I recoiled into Ryan as a breath that wasn’t there ghosted along my cheek. “Sadrilla.”
From the shadows of the stairs—our escape—Sadrilla emerged like a cotton-candy nightmare. She flaunted J’olpri’s “no weapons” rule with guns strapped to her thighs and poles crisscrossing her back.
“Okay, this isn’t awesome anymore,” Ryan huffed. They backed up against the wall. They settled me to the ground as gently as possible, propping me against one of the refuse bags. Impossibly, it smelled worse down here.
“Guys, we’re—” I gagged as my stomach convulsed violently and the world spun. I knew I only had minutes left to get Ryan out safely. “We’re trapped. Sadrilla, the Vic—”
“We’re almost there!” Chester promised in my ear.
From beneath the back of their shirt, Ryan produced a gun, their thumb flicking off the safety.
“Where the hell did you get a gun?” I asked.
“Stole it off that guy that fell in the food court earlier.” Ryan swept their arm back and forth between Sadrilla closing in on us on one side of the hallway and the Vic and his bodyguard prowling closer on the other. “Stay back, both of you!”
Sadrilla clicked her tongue scoldingly as she moseyed down the corridor. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, pointing a charged weapon at the Covlax Vic, do you, little human?”
“And who are you to speak for me, mercenary?” the Vic’s dark eyes narrowed at Sadrilla. The Covlax guard tapped her stingers menacingly against the metal floor to emphasize the point.
Sadrilla’s grin distorted the ink on her cheek. “Only a great admirer of the Covlax, and of you, your grace.”
He scoffed. “Your ilk does not feel admiration, only emptiness.” Sadrilla’s smile fell. The Vic brandished his knife between Sadrilla and us. “What is your business with them?”
“No business,” Sadrilla said, as she came within ten feet of where we were. “I’m just here for the show.”
“Fuck you,” Ryan spat at Sadrilla, firing a warning bolt at her feet. Sadrilla easily side-stepped Ryan’s shot, glaring at the scorched crater that marked where she previously stood.
I tried to stand, but my vision doubled, then tripled. My stomach heaved. Settling back down, I shook my head. The world returned to singularity just as Sadrilla unholstered a gun from her thigh. “Why, you little—”
“Call me little human again, and next time I’ll aim for your body,” Ryan threatened, pushing their sweat-drenched hair out of their eyes. They turned to the Vic. “And she’s a liar. She’s also here for the cloak!”
The Covlax bodyguard dropped into a protective crouch, two of her stingers raised defensively across the Vic’s torso while he withdrew a metal pole from across his back, hidden beneath his cowl. With a flick of his wrist, a wicked-edged blade with a hook extended from the top, turning it into a glaive.
With her free hand, Sadrilla withdrew a short pole from her back, knocked it against her side, and activated it. This one grew thick, sharp protrusions from one end: a double-sided battle axe.
Ryan whispered down to me, “Okay, so this sucks, but space weapons are freaking awesome.”
“I think I’m going to pass out soon,” I murmured as the world darkened around the edges.
The Vic’s guard lunged forward, her stingers extended. And this was it, this was how I died, choking on my own spit on the sidelines of an epic alien showdown. But then, the wall directly across from where I sat, miraculously, opened. I squinted as a light flooded out from an expanding gap, like the doors of an—
“An elevator?” Ryan’s gun-toting arm flopped to their side dramatically. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me there was a damn elevator there the whole time?”
“Because they aren’t particularly efficient in escapes.” It was Chester, gloriously there in the flesh. He was flanked by two humanoid aliens with aquatic features—Fleetwood and Azo’lah, still wearing their perception distorters and dock coveralls, their activated jeweled armor bands situated on their biceps. The only reason I knew who was who because one was deftly spinning Azo’lah’s magenta javelin, and the other was sporting a glowing shield and Fleetwood’s preferred dagger.
Completely ignoring the high-noon shootout situation on either side of him, Chester slid to my side, a gray zippered pouch in his hands.
Fleetwood stepped between Sadrilla and us, shield held high. “Captain Thorley, Gret’chen, are you well?” I had never heard her voice carry so much worry before.
“Sure,” I said, my voice embarrassingly shaky. I hated making Fleetwood worry about me. “Where’s Matt?”
“Getting the shuttle ready,” Chester replied.
“Sorry, you had to come to get us,” I apologized.
The Covlax Vic leveled his glaive at Chester. “Move away. As decreed by the Covlax Code of Honor, this human is to be brought before the Exalted Potentate, Vicerenne Tov-ri, for committing the crime of misrepresentation.”
When Chester did not heed the command, the Vic lunged forward.
Azo’lah met him, her javelin crossing with his glaive. The Covlax bodyguard’s five stingers snaked around the Vic, all of them hovering inches from Azo’lah. My heart hammered at my ribcage. Ryan stepped up to Azo’lah’s side, gun pointed to the floor but finger on the trigger.
Unlocking his glaive from Azo’lah’s javelin, the Vic stepped back, but not far enough. Even with Azo’lah, Ryan, and Fleetwood guarding Chester and me, Sadrilla and the Vic were practically on top of us.
The Vic glared at us over Azo’lah’s shoulder. “The Covlax Code of Honor demands—”
“The Covlax Code of Honor can suck it,” Chester shot back as he opened his pouch and laid out its contents.
I laughed as pieces of computer chips, wires, fuse tape, and a spare Ran’dyl fell across the disgusting floor. “Sorry, Chester, but I’m not a computer,” I nodded lamely to my stinger wound, still oozing blood, “I don’t think your spare parts are going to help with this.”
Chester smiled viciously as he snatched up a sealed packet. “That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Stop!” The Vic yelled. His glaive clattered against Azo’lah’s javelin.
Azo’lah pushed him back into his guard while holding up a protective arm in front of Ryan. She retracted her javelin. “Let us not commit violence that cannot be undone, your Highness,” she said as Chester ripped the packet open and doused my injured arm in a cool, clear gel.
I screamed in pain as his palms directed the gel into my gaping wound. “Chester, what the hell?
“Bilsa Por,” Chester said like those words made any sense to me. “It’s a great, non-corrosive glue for all of my tech since it doesn’t leak or damage motherboards or—”
“Chester,” Fleetwood cut in from where she still stood, guarding us from Sadrilla. Chester pulled a regenerative healing patch from his back pocket.
He applied the patch to my wound, continuing, “The reason Bilsa Por is such a great sealant for repairing tech is because it contains roazalt—”
“Chester!” Azo’lah spat.
“I’m getting there!” Chester returned, voice matching her annoyance. “Let me and science have our moment. Damn, the impatience.”
Gesturing to the angry Covlax prince before them, Ryan asked, “Maybe you and science could take your moment a little later?”
“Bilsa Por comes from the fronds of a fern by the same name,” Chester said, “guess what planet Bilsa Por is native to?”
“The Covlax’s?” I winced as pins and needles sizzled up my arm. Wait. I flexed my fingers excitedly, and pain shot from fingertips to shoulder. “Holy shit, I can feel my arm!”
“Because I’m a genius who reads,” Chester teased. “Roazalt, the protein molecule that makes Bilsa Por such a great non-erosive sealant, is also the only known antivenom to Covlax stings.”
The Covlax Vic’s dark eyes landed on Chester and widened like he was truly seeing him for the first time. “Impressive. How did you happen to learn this, human?”
Chester smoothed over the edges of my patch to make sure no excess Bilsa Por or blood escaped, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Blame the Destyrians for having shitty glue. I needed something that allowed me to fuse human tech with theirs, and nothing they had worked. So I did research. And,” Chester gestured broadly, “viola, information.”
The Vic’s bodyguard hissed, “This is the Vic of the Covlax, human. The greatest warrior in the known universe, you will show him the respect he is due.”
“My name’s Chester, not human.”
“Chester,” the Vic dipped his chin in greeting. “I am Vic Mey-ran, son of Vicerenne Tov-ri of the Covlax. It is an honor to meet one as learned as you, even under such regrettable circumstances.”
“Uh, you too?” Chester rose and held out a hand to me. “You good, Gretch?”
He helped ease me to my feet. My arm was still tingling awfully, but I would take the excruciating pain over slowly spreading numbness any day. I was still nauseous and a bit woozy from blood loss. “Yeah,” I said, determined to be okay.
“Chester,” Vic Mey-ran said the name slowly, as if testing how it felt in his mouth. “I am afraid your friends and that one,” Mey-ran pointed at Sadrilla with his glaive, “must return home with me to answer for their crimes. The rest of my guards shall arrive shortly to escort them.”
“Will they?” Sadrilla asked coyly. She swung her battle axe artfully through the air as she took a step back. “Apologies, your Highness, but if I were to answer for all my crimes, I’d never have time to do anymore. And sitting around, rotting somewhere, that’s just no fun.” Sadrilla leveled her weapon at Fleetwood. “Isn’t that right, Fulyiti Kezira? Or Fleetwood Mercury, as you prefer to be called.”
Everyone froze. How had she—
“If your weapons weren’t enough of a giveaway,” Sadrilla gestured at the offending illuminated pieces, “your human’s mention of Destyrians would have been enough for me to know who you are beneath the distorter.”
Chester pressed his palms to his forehead. “Goddamn it, Chester.”
As though they had practiced it, Azo’lah and Fleetwood simultaneously deactivated their perception distorters. This pleased Sadrilla greatly if her giggle was anything to go by. “Whether you came to this station for me or for the cloak, Fulyiti, does not matter because you will not leave with either.” Her malevolent gaze swung to Mey-ran. “And neither will you.”
Azo’lah spun on her heel as Mey-ran and his bodyguard redirected their weapons at Sadrilla.
“The cloak has been moved and is now safely sequestered on my ship with my personal guard,” Mey-ran said. “You will not get your hands on it.”
Sadrilla’s grin widened. “Who said anything about my hands?”
“You, your crew, it’s all the same,” Ryan corrected, moving to stand beside Fleetwood.
“You won’t get away from all of us, you dunderwhelp,” Fleetwood promised.
“I think I will, though.” Sadrilla swung her axe at Ryan. Fleetwood lunged to intercept it with her glowing shield, her other arm thrown wide to balance herself.
“Too easy,” Sadrilla tsked and fired the gun in her other hand.
“No!” I cried. Shadows cast by the light of Sadrilla’s bolt played across the walls and rushed toward Fleetwood.
Half bent over in my own aborted leap, I watched Ryan—stupidly brave Ryan—twist in front of Fleetwood. The bolt hit them square in the back, just as their arms closed protectively around Fleetwood.
Ryan thrashed violently, and Fleetwood lost her balance, toppling to the floor. Fleetwood attempted to cradle Ryan against her chest, but they were flailing too erratically. “Captain, Captain!” Fleetwood wailed.
My entire body froze as though stung by a thousand Covlax. My synapses seemed to be misfiring, information processing through my brain on an uninterpretable loop.
Sadrilla made a show of inspecting her gun. “Would you look at that? That setting is much closer to lethal than I thought. Oops.”
Chester sprinted to Fleetwood and Ryan. His hands went to Ryan’s seizing shoulders. “Guys, we need to get them to the ship, to the med bay!”
I turned to Azo’lah, looking for answers, for orders, only to find her planted on the spot, steps behind Fleetwood. Azo’lah’s chin was locked as she bared her teeth at Sadrilla and stabbed her javelin into the wall. “You.”
The floor quaked suddenly. I staggered to the side—memories of the Temple of Aluthua flashed through my mind. Shit, Azo’lah.
The station gave another, violent lurch and the Covlax bodyguard pushed Mey-ran bodily toward the hallway’s exit. The Covlax Vic was resisting, fixated on where Chester attended to Ryan.
The overhead lights flashed. The walls creaked like a soda can compressing. Distant shrieks from other floors of the black market reached us. Warning alarms began wailing.
“Evacuate. Evacuate, hull breach. Thirty minutes until life support reaches minimum levels,” echoed around us in a deep, grunting bark. “R’otils cyt! Lorzaap yowl cor—”
Azo’lah let out a feral scream as she rushed after Sadrilla, leaping over Fleetwood, Chester, and Ryan, her javelin raised high above her head. The station reeled. It lost its artificially produced gravity for a moment, tossing us up like dice from a cup. I tried to grab onto a wall as my body rose.
The gravity returned. Azo’lah touched down with vicious grace. Mercifully, Chester and Fleetwood protected Ryan from the fall, but I landed badly, my knees crumpling. I collapsed to the ground, grunting. My body couldn't take much more before it gave out on me.
Sadrilla, as unaffected as Azo’lah by the temporary loss of gravity, was almost to the stairwell when the station groaned, the unforgiving weight of the universe outside pressing down on its weak shoulders.
More like the weight of a technopath’s wrath.
Azo’lah, thrumming with power and rage, was going to tear this station apart on her quest to kill Sadrilla.
Mere feet from her target, Azo’lah hefted her spear, the magenta-light of the weapon crackling abnormally.
None of us would survive if Azo’lah didn’t reign it in soon.
I hobbled to my feet and screamed, “Azo’lah,” just as she released her javelin. It flew true, but Sadrilla was quick, ducking away just in time. She danced down the stairs, out of sight, her taunting giggles trailing behind her.
The station slanted sideways but this time, did not right itself, stuck in a permanent forty-five degree tilt. Trash spilled across the floor in pungent waves.
“Azo’lah!” I bellowed as I ran to her, my arms held out to maintain my balance. I reached her at the edge of the stairway, unthinkingly grabbing her elbow. “Azo—” I screamed as all the lights exploded.
As the emergency lights wavered to life, she turned her murderous gaze on me. My fingers tightened. “Azo’lah,” I pleaded, “you need to come back to yourself. Ryan needs you. I need—we need you.”
The severe tilt of her jaw lessened, her eyes unfocused, momentarily unseeing. Her gaze landed on my face, understanding creeping in.
“Gretchen.” She said my name like a question as she took in our rapidly deteriorating surroundings.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “We’re all still here, but I don’t know for how much longer.”
“Guys!” Chester waved his hands wildly at us, beckoning us back. “We have to go! Ryan stopped seizing, but I don’t—I don’t think that’s a good sign!”
Azo’lah shut her eyes. My knuckles went white where they gripped her arm, tethering her, her power, and her anger to the here and now. “The best way to help them,” I said, “is getting them to the ship’s med bay.”
“Gret’chen, Azo’lah,” Fleetwood called, tucking Ryan’s abandoned gun into an inside pocket of her coveralls. She hefted Ryan into her arm. “We must ferry Captain Thorley to safety.”
“Coming,” I called. I tugged on Azo’lah. “You okay? Or do you need a minute?”
Instead of answering me, Azo’lah deactivated her jeweled armband, ran to Fleetwood, and took Ryan from her arms. “Myaxi, stay close. Fulyiti, cover our back. Chester, lead us out.”
As one, we nodded.
With Ryan’s head lolling against Azo’lah’s forearm, we followed Chester down the darkened stairwell and into screaming chaos.
J’olpri looked like I felt—namely, falling apart in every way imaginable.
The emergency lights spasmed as we trampled down the many escalators, fighting our way through the hysterical, fleeing crowds. The angled floors pitched, like a storm-tossed ship. Fleetwood had to catch me beneath my armpits whenever I lost my balance.
“Thanks,” I wheezed, my lungs aching with the effort of all of this physical exertion. My arm and shoulder still tingled, and the station’s jerky, unpredictable movements were not helping my nausea.
Fleetwood hustled me forward. Her voice lacked any enthusiasm as she said, “I’ve got your ass.”
“This way!” Chester yelled over the cacophony of aliens scrambling for safety.
The station stilled for a moment, and everyone aboard followed suit. There was a wail like a banshee as a wall succumbed to the damage done by Azo’lah’s power.
I met Azo’lah’s gaze and knew my rising suspicions were correct.
J’olpri wasn’t just falling apart, it was falling out of orbit.
“Keep moving,” Azo’lah said, resecuring Ryan’s body against her chest. They were still out cold. I wasn’t sure if I should be reassured by that or more worried.
Chester threw elbows to help make space for us. Azo’lah added her considerable height to his battle, and together they forged forward, through crowds of merchants abandoning their stalls and opportunistic thieves filling their hands and pockets.
“How much farther?” I asked, pressing up tight against Azo’lah’s back as an over-sized alien pushed past us, his dozen feet stomping too close for comfort.
The sirens overhead pitched higher as the announcement changed. “Danger! Sw’oal’prix! Fifteen minutes until imminent exposure! Av notse rpsowl—”
“Three more floors!” Chester promised over his shoulder. “Matt’s got the ship waiting for us!”
“Three floors?” Azo’lah asked. “That wasn’t the original rendezvous point.”
Chester tripped around a corner, caught himself on a passing alien as he said, “I know. I moved it. I have a hunch.”
“Is now really the time for hunches?” I asked.
Ahead of us, a panel erupted, showering everyone nearby in sparks. I covered my head as Fleetwood activated her shield over us.
The emergency announcement overhead distorted, elongated. Even the words translated into English made little to no sense to my ears as they glitched into an incomprehensible, repeating mess.
“Keep going,” Azo’lah pressed as Fleetwood grabbed my wrist to guide me. The next stairs were nearly destroyed by the earlier quakes. Fleetwood practically carried me over the gaps. Chester picked his way carefully down, Azo’lah scaling down like a mountain goat at his back.
As we neared the bottom of the jagged stairs, the station rocked. Everyone stilled, fighting for balance.
I laughed as memories from our first mission together on Vas Roya overlaid my current reality. “Anyone else getting a sense of deja vu?”
“Over and over and over,” Fleetwood agreed, setting me back on my feet.
The stairwell spit us into a hall full of shouting, terrified aliens who buffeted us against the walls and each other. The corridor was so crowded, Azo’lah lifted Ryan over her head to protect their body from too many careless limbs. “Almost,” Chester drew out the word for a long moment, “there!”
We exited into a swarming loading bay. Palettes and crates were overturned as aliens raced each other to get aboard evacuating ships.
Ships narrowly avoided hitting each other as they raced out the open, cock-eyed doors into space. At the far end of the chaotic dock was our small, nondescript shuttle.
Azo’lah re-animated her javelin.
“Matty-Matt,” Fleetwood yelled into her Ran’dyl. She traded her shield for Ryan’s gun. “We’re almost home. Open the door, but bring the heat. Potential intruders abound.”
I didn’t hear Matt reply, but as we waded forward—Azo’lah, now in the lead, her javelin sweeping a wide arc to clear our path—I watched the short gangplank lower. Matt stood dead center, arms extended, a gun in each hand. He sent bolts flying, hitting and diverting anyone who came too close to attempting to board the ship.
My legs burned, screaming for rest as I lagged behind Azo’lah. Fleetwood secured an arm around my waist and pulled me forward. “Hurry, Gret’chen. Leave no man alkaline.”
Despite the circumstances, I smiled. “Leave no man behind.”
“Danger! Sw’oal’prix,” the distorted overhead announcement system announced. “Five minutes until imminent outside exposure! Av notse rpsowl—”
“Fulyiti, Gretchen,” Azo’lah yelled as we closed in on our destination. “You go up first! Take Ryan!”
“What about Chester?” I asked as we hustled forward. An alien dropped to his knees as one of Matt’s bolts hit him. I sidestepped his prone form to mount the gangplank.
Fleetwood accepted Ryan into her arms as Matt shouted, “Took you lot long enough!” He shot off half a dozen more bolts before catching sight of Ryan. His face fell. “What happened to the kid?”
“Sadrilla,” I replied, taking cover behind Matt as I desperately sought out Azo’lah and Chester. Why hadn’t they led us up into the ship?
Fleetwood passed us at a sprint. “I am taking Captain Thorley to better cover. Protect Gret’chen, Matty-Matt.”
“Of course,” Matt replied, weapons still raised. “Take care of Ryan.”
“Where are they?” I asked, my gaze sweeping the dissipating crowd on the dock. I spotted them at a kiosk twenty feet away. Chester’s fingers danced across a holographic screen, his Ran’dyl pressed against it. Azo’lah stood at his back, providing cover.
“Chester! Azo’lah!” I shouted over the roar of more ship engines firing up and taking off. The station quaked so violently our shuttle slipped along the floor. “We have to go!”
Chester obstinately fought Azo’lah’s tugging arm. He kept holding up a finger, like a minute was a luxury we had right now.
Abruptly, the ear-piercing siren stopped bringing everyone to a momentary halt. “That can’t be good,” Matt murmured, before shouting, “Chester, mate, we gotta go!”
Azo’lah seemed to agree as she gave up pulling on Chester’s arm, instead lifting him bodily and carrying him. She sprinted across the dock, hurdling over abandoned palettes that littered the ground. “Lift it!” she shouted at us from fifteen feet away.
Matt pounded his palm against the gangplank’s lift mechanism before taking off for the cockpit.
My heart plummeted as the gangplank rose, the lone entry point to the shuttle closing rapidly. Not even Azo’lah could cross the distance left in time.
“Azo’lah!” I shouted out loud and across our technopathic connection.
Do not worry, Myaxi, came the reply and, with an inhuman show of agility, Azo’lah jumped and dove through the opening, Chester clutched close to her, just before the gap got too small to fit through.
Azo’lah rolled onto her back. She took no time to bask in her daring achievement, ordering, “In the air, Majumdar!”
“Already on it,” Matt yelled from the adjacent cockpit.
“Holy shit, Chester!” I dropped next to where he was, breathing heavily on the floor. I slapped his shoulder hard.
“Ow,” he replied weakly.
“You deserved it,” I said, pulling him into an awkward upside down hug with one arm. My free hand sought Azo’lah’s.
She caught my fingers and hers as the engines kicked into gear beneath us. “We are well.”
I stood and moved to the window as Matt safely guided us out of the deteriorating dock, directing us to the other side of the moon where the Gold Dust Wo’man waited for us. Azo’lah and Chester came to stand beside me, and we watched as J’olpri market tore itself apart, its many pieces floating off into the nothingness of space.
I closed my eyes against the glare of the lounge’s overly-bright lights. I wanted to turn my head to the side to further dampen the phosphenes erupting behind my lids, but even the thought was too much for my tired muscles. While Chester’s miracle glue antidote had worked, it appeared the side effects of surviving Covlax venom were extended nausea and extreme muscle fatigue. Everything ached. I was just one giant bruise at this point.
At least the rug was soft.
“Gretchen, what are you doing on the floor?”
I reluctantly opened one eye to find Azo’lah, spotlessly dressed in a fresh crew uniform. “I was going for the sofa, but my legs decided that was too far and just gave out on me.”
“I’ll take you to your room,” Azo’lah said, already stooping to lift me from the floor.
“No!” I protested, pushing up onto my elbow. I groaned and fell back to the rug. “I don’t want to go anywhere, in case the others need me in the med bay. My room’s too far.”
Azo’lah offered me her hands, which I, with great effort, accepted. She tugged, and in one fluid motion, I was on my feet, and with the next, swept into a bridal carry. Damn Destyrian strength.
“You should be in the med bay, as well,” Azo’lah noted.
“Matt brought me my pills, and Chester hooked me up to the synthetic blood regenerator thingy,” I said. “How’s Ryan?” Azo’lah had been the one to tend to Ryan’s injuries, having some emergency medical instruction as part of her Myax training. After this mission, that, along with some self-defense lessons, didn’t sound like bad ideas for all of us.
“I’ve done all I know how to for them. Sadrilla hit their liver, and time is limited. They need care out of our purview.” Azo’lah deposited me on the double-wide chaise lounge. “Fleetwood has notified the Healers to meet us as soon as we land on Destyr.”
I tried to nod but could only move half an inch before quitting with a gasping wheeze. I issued a halfhearted thumbs up instead. “Alright.” God, I was lame even in the aftermath of an emergency. “And how are you?”
“I’ll get you something for the pain,” Azo’lah deflected, turning back in the direction of the med bay.
I caught her wrist and bit my lip against the discomfort. “In a minute. Sit down, please.” I tugged weakly downward. She didn’t move. “Come on, work with me here. Everything hurts. Sit.” Finally, she complied, sitting beside my hip but avoiding my gaze.
There was a long silence. Usually, it would’ve made me feel awkward, but Azo’lah looked so lost that I felt the need to break it, more for her sake than mine. “Are you okay?”
Brows knitted, Azo’lah finally looked at me. “You aren’t going to ask what happened back on the station.”
“Uh, you happened, I thought,” I said, as gently as possible and then, “Wait, was that not you?”
“No, it was.” Azo’lah slouched in defeat, her elbows going to her knees. “It was me.” She knotted her hands, pressing them to her forehead like she could pray her powers away. “How are you not frightened of me?”
“Honestly, I am a little afraid of what you can do,” I confessed. “But I thought if I’m afraid, how scared must you be?”
Azo’lah laughed, a short, brittle thing. “Terrified.”
I picked absentmindedly at the chaise’s woven fabric. “Does that usually happen when you get upset?”
“Not since childhood, and never on that scale,” she sighed. “But I’ve used my powers very rarely, just enough to make sure they were still there. Until recently.”
“Until the Temple of Aluthua,” I surmised.
“Yes. At first, it was out of necessity for the mission, and then, I was happy to have someone besides my mothers that knew. That I could share it with. I’d forgotten how much joy being an Iz’waij brought me,” Azo’lah inhaled sharply like she had caught herself by surprise. “But that’s just it. I forgot. I forgot how easy it is to lose control.”
I struggled into a more stable sitting position. Not sure of my welcome, I gently placed my hand on her knee. When she didn’t brush me off, I said, “Maybe it’s like anything that’s been suppressed, over time it explodes, and you just need more practice. I mean, the Temple of Aluthua tried to kill us too. What was different about today?”
“The Temple’s tech was old but still familiar. J’olpri is an amalgamation of different species’ technologies. I did not have a solid grasp on it. And...my cousin’s life has never truly been in danger before,” Azo’lah choked out.
“You two do dangerous stuff all the time,” I said. “And Fleetwood’s a badass who can take care of herself.”
Azo’lah gave another bitter laugh that sounded close to a sob. She pressed her palms into her eyes as though trying to block out the memory of the last few hours. “Yes, but we have never been in a situation like that, where the weapons were lethal, and I was too far away. Ryan did what I am trained to do what I am meant to do.”
I squeezed her knee. “Azo’lah, don’t blame—”
“I became lax in my duty. I let affection and my selfishness blind me from my responsibilities. Jolail was right, I should not be Fleetwood’s Myax. I will request reassignment—” Her voice broke, the tears coming in earnest.
“Hey, now,” I said, prying her hands away from her face.
“She could have died, Gretchen,” Azo’lah said, her tears falling onto our joined hands, “And Ryan is still a child, and I—”
“I know,” I said, rubbing soothing circles into her wrists with my thumbs, hoping my attempts at comfort weren’t as clumsy as they felt. “But maybe, now is the time to feel everything. Then, later, once the shock has worn off and it's not so overwhelming, you can decide what to do.”
I was fully prepared to talk Azo’lah off the ledge of resigning as a Myax in a few days and involve Fleetwood if I had to. Just once, I was rested and not feeling like a street sweeper ran me over.
“Perhaps you are right,” Azo’lah said, clearing the tears from her face with the backs of her hands. She shifted so that she was reclining next to me. I laid back, our shoulders brushing. After twenty seconds of internal debate over whether it was too much, I turned my palm up to her, a silent offer. She wrapped her long fingers through mine, squeezing gently. And together, we waited.
With an hour left before reaching Destyr, we gathered in Chester’s expansive lab. Cabinets of milky glass lined the walls, along with several ‘sample fridges’ (as Chester called them). Lab tables dominated the center of the room, and of course, Chester’s beloved hybrid technology.
Matt joined Azo’lah and me, where we were clustered around the table closest to Chester’s desk. “I checked on Ryan on my way down. I didn’t understand everything the projection said, but they’re stable, yeah?”
“For now. The Healers will know how to best help Captain Thorley when we land,” Fleetwood said emotionlessly. She was seated next to Chester at his desk, her legs slung over his lap, her chin resting on his shoulder. The position couldn’t be comfortable, but, by the looks on their faces, the proximity was a necessity for both of them after what we had all just endured.
“Shouldn’t one of us be with Ryan in case they wake up?” I asked.
“We’re keeping an eye out,” Chester tapped his Ran’dyl pinned to his beanie. It brought up a 3D live feed of the med bay where Ryan laid. At my side, Azo’lah tensed. Hidden beneath the table so no one could see, I squeezed her forearm.
Though she didn’t look at me, she exhaled shakily, her rigid shoulders softening.
“The reason I called you here,” Chester shifted Fleetwood’s legs from his lap so he could stand, “was because I found something important.” He came to our table and presented a tablet to us, Fleetwood his too-tall shadow. “When Matt and I hacked J’olpri’s mainframe, I noticed something interesting. Security logs.” Chester’s fingers flickered across the screen, pulling up a log of incomprehensible alien characters. He touched a line, and footage began to play. I immediately recognized one of the dirty, dimly lit docking bays of J’olpri.
Matt grabbed the screen to get a better view. “What kind of black market takes and keeps video surveillance of illegal goods trafficking?”
“I’m guessing it’s an insurance policy against people blabbing.” Chester shrugged. “But the reason I stopped on the docks—”
“Monumentally stupid, mate,” Matt interjected. Fleetwood rounded the table and wedged herself between Azo’lah and me, her arms winding around us.
Chester glared. “The reason I stopped was because the security footage loads to mainframe storage at the end of every day. Which means if J’olpri was going down—and it very much did—the footage from today would be lost, and I had a hunch.” Chester snatched the tablet back from Matt and selected a new video from the log. “And I was right.”
On the screen was another one of J’olpri’s docking bays, and situated, dead-center, was a heavily armored, mid-sized ship.
Azo’lah, who had remained distressingly silent this whole time, leaned forward, her interest piqued. “The Covlaxi ship?”
Chester’s grip tightened around the edges of the tablet. “Just watch.”
I squinted in concentration as I watched dock workers traipse about the loading bay directing palettes and talking to one another.
“No sound?” I whispered. Chester shook his head, jabbing his chin at the screen.
For a long minute, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Then, every alien in frame scattered as two Covlax women thundered into view, weapons drawn. A gleaming crate, the one that housed the cloak of the first Auhtula, was held between them. This must have been while Vic Mey-ran chased after Ryan and me.
I grabbed at my arm as it tingled with the phantom pain of the Covlax paralytic. Fleetwood pressed her forehead to the side of my head.
On-screen, the Covlax guards stood still for a moment, their stingers raised. Their heads swiveled, presumably assessing the dock for threats. Seemingly satisfied, they lowered their ship’s gangplank. However, just as they were about to board, the bodyguard on the right struck, digging all five stingers into the left bodyguard’s back.
“What the hell,” Matt breathed as the bodyguard on the left dropped like a cement block onto the gangplank. The attacker grabbed the crate containing the cloak and hurried backward as four Covlax bodyguards came streaming out of the ship.
“There were more of them,” I gasped. Then I remembered, Vic Mey-ran had called for back-up while Ryan and I fled The Zyssal. They must have been told to wait for the cloak’s safe return before coming after us.
The traitor guard did not seem at all phased as she was surrounded.
Matt’s chair tottered beneath him as he shifted to the edge of his seat in anticipation. “This is going to be ugly. She wasted all of her stingers on that first one.”
But apparently, the traitor Covlax did not need her stingers. She produced a weapon—it moved so quickly, I couldn’t tell what it was—from beneath her cowl and felled two of her brethren in one sweeping arc. The other two put up a better fight, meeting the traitor’s weapon with knives of their own. They attempted to take out the traitor with their stingers, but she was too quick. Ultimately, they were not skilled enough as they joined their sisters on the ground.
The traitor did not bother checking the bodies before she stowed her weapon and hefted the gleaming box that contained the cloak over her shoulder. She swept back across the dock as though nothing had happened.
Chester held up a finger to keep our numerous questions at bay while retrieving another video. This one focused on an empty stairwell.
The lights flickered, and the camera jostled—this was clearly taken after Azo’lah had lost control—as a tall blonde man wearing glasses ascended the stairs and into view. He appeared suspiciously calm, considering the uncertainty that surrounded him. “Anders.” I swore under my breath as we watched Sadrilla’s conman pace the landing. The video lurched violently. Pieces of ceiling rained down on Anders, but he remained unbothered. Waiting and pacing.
He came to a stop and shouted something down the stairs—the lack of audio hadn’t truly bothered me until this moment. He appeared equal parts relieved and annoyed as someone approached. He held out his arms to receive a glittering crate.
“What the fuck.” Matt’s mouth hung open in disbelief. He pointed to the screen where Anders and the traitorous Covlax guard stood close together, the cloak between them. “The Covlax are not traitors, especially not Vic Mey’ran’s elite guard. No amount of money could buy a Covlax. This doesn’t make any—”
But he sputtered into silence as, before our eyes, the Covlax bodyguard changed. Her bones pushed savagely against bubbling skin, her face contorted in obvious pain. She shrunk and paled like a flower wilting beneath gray skies. Then, it was over. Standing on the landing in too large armor and a Covlax cowl was a nondescript man with brown hair and eyes set too far apart.
“Jordan,” Azo’lah named Sadrilla’s second as we all stared, gobsmacked at the tablet.
“How?” I asked as Sadrilla entered the stairwell, like an overdramatic actor, twirling her double-sided axe. She stowed her weapon and said something to her men. They nodded as she took the cloak box from them and then led the way down the stairs, out of sight.
Chester stopped the video as the rest of us sat in stunned silence.
“First space witches are a thing, and now shapeshifters!” I buried my face in my palms. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Species that can shapeshift are rare,” Azo’lah replied. “Exceptionally rare. Most have been wiped-out by exploitation. I’ve never encountered one.”
Matt folded his arms across his chest. “No wonder Shockley avoids Sadrilla more than the Covlax.”
Chester returned to his desk, stashing his tablet into its port. “I have so much research to do,” he said. “On Sadrilla and the cloak and shape-shifting species and—”
“Breathe, Chester,” I reminded him.
“It doesn’t matter how much research you do on her, mate,” Matt said, standing, “Sadrilla and her crew are long gone.”
“Gone but not forgotten,” Fleetwood grinned mischievously. “Big brother is always watching.”
“Fulyiti,” Azo’lah said, a note of warning in her tone.
Chester spun his seat to face his best friend. “FleetMerc, explain.”
“I did a thing.” Fleetwood skipped over to Chester and pointed at his Ran’dyl. “Bring up the tracheotomy appetizer!”
“The tracking app?” Chester corrected. “Fleetwood, what did you do?”
Fleetwood scuffed her boots sheepishly against the floor. “I, possibly, convinced Captain Thorley to conduct our renaissance mission in the same docking bay as Sadrilla’s ship yesterday.”
Azo’lah’s chair crashed to the floor as she stood. “Fulyiti!”
“Fleetwood,” Chester groaned, smacking his forehead to his desk, “no.”
“Fleetwood, yes!” Fleetwood stomped her foot. “I wasn’t in any danger, I had Captain Thorley as back-up, and I wore my perception distorter. No one knew who I truly was.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Azo’lah cried, fists shaking with restrained fury. “If you’re off taking unnecessary risks, I can’t protect you!”
Fleetwood blinked slowly at Azo’lah, a frown creasing her lips and forehead. She went to Azo’lah, her hands gripping her biceps and their foreheads touching. “Cousin, do not blame yourself for what happened to Captain Thorley. They made a choice. Do not do their bravery a disservice by blaming yourself for what happened.”
“We are not discussing Captain Thorley.” Azo’lah’s voice was much softer as she clasped Fleetwood’s elbows. “We are discussing your inability to follow orders.”
“But if I followed orders, then we wouldn’t have Sadrilla’s ship on the tracheotomy appetizer!”
“Tracking app,” Chester corrected automatically before catching what she said. “Wait, are you saying that you put a tracker on Sadrilla’s ship?”
“It was just there,” Fleetwood reasoned, releasing Azo’lah from her embrace.
“Fleetwood,” I breathed, “that was brilliant.”
She grinned at me. “I know.”
Chester’s hands flew across his keyboard. “If we have a tracker on Sadrilla and her crew, that means we can pass it off to the Myax Order, and they can put together an elite team to go after her and—”
“Bring her to justice for the murder of the Northern Authula,” Azo’lah finished. Purpose was rekindled in Azo’lah’s navy eyes. She strode toward the door. “I need to contact Myax Jolail at once. Chester, please forward the coordinates to my Ran’dyl.”
Fleetwood waved at her retreating back. “You’re welcome.”
Matt chuckled as he checked the time. “We’ll be entering Destyrian airspace within the half-hour. Someone should start getting Ryan ready for transport.”
“Captain Thorley is my responsibility,” Fleetwood said.
“I can help.” I held up my hand. I needed to do something to feel useful.
Fleetwood looped our arms together. “Heavy hands make light work!”
“Yes, they do,” I agreed, leaning into her welcoming warmth.
Fleetwood pressed her forehead to mine. “I appreciated your assistance, Gret’chen.”
“Of course, Fleetwood,” I said. “I always have your ass.”
“Fleetwood, you’re a princess, can’t you just royally decree that I get to stay?” Ryan pleaded. They stared out the viewport at the rather breathtaking sight of Earth from orbit. “I did sorta save your life.”
“I know, and I am forever grateful. But I cannot in good conscientiousness, allow you to stay now that I better understand the traditions and laws of aging on Earth,” Fleetwood said with a bittersweet smile. “Besides, you’re not fully recovered from having the impact to your liver repaired and your small ladder removed.”
“Gallbladder,” Ryan corrected as Fleetwood tucked them under her chin, wrapping them in one of her famous hugs. Ryan hid their teary face against Fleetwood’s chest as Chester and I rapidly blinked our own tears away.
“You might never come back for me,” Ryan said.
Matt rubbed Ryan’s back soothingly, careful to avoid the bump beneath their shirt where their regenerative bandage was. “If you want to come back when you’re a legal adult, we’ll come get you.”
Azo’lah held out Ryan’s cell phone. “Chester and I have modified your sad version of a Ran’dyl so that you may send us messages.”
“Look in the contacts,” I advised, with a wry grin.
“Why would I do that?” Ryan responded but eagerly took the phone and scrolled through the contacts to verify we were all there. “You promise once I turn eighteen, you’ll come get me?”
“Eighteen and graduated,” Chester stipulated.
Ryan rolled their watery eyes. “Fine. But I’m totally making you all watch Cosmic Conquerors as penance.”
“My people will call your people, and we’ll make it snappy,” Fleetwood stepped back and held out an extended pinky. “We now render our solemn oaths as is custom on Earth.” I looked at the other humans, smothering our respective grins. In turn, we all hooked our own pinkys with Ryan’s.
And then, they hopped up onto the platform to stand beneath the metallic arch.
“Azo’lah, you’re acting captain while I’m gone. Look after this lot for me.” Azo’lah gave no indication of her new appointment. Instead, she stepped up to the platform and wrapped her arms around Ryan.
“Thank you, Ryan Thorley, for her life,” she murmured into Ryan’s hair. They nodded. Azo’lah stepped back, between Fleetwood and me.
“Alright,” Ryan said, turning to Chester. “Initiate green beam.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Chester tapped a sequence into his Ran’dyl.
Ryan waved as they descended through the beam and out of sight.
There was a long, protracted pause. I drew in a long, ragged breath. Even though Ryan had been with us only a short time, I’d gotten used to having them around.
“I miss them already,” Matt sighed. “Is that sad?”
“No,” Fleetwood said, throwing her arms around him. “I do, too.”
“I don’t know about you all,” Chester scrubbed at his eyes, “but I think I could use a drink on the ride home.
“Lounge or observation deck?” Fleetwood asked, already heading to the door.
“You can’t beat the view on the observation deck,” I voted.
“I’ll program the autopilot and meet you there,” Matt agreed.
Our steps were heavier as we headed to the observation deck located beneath the bridge. “Who wants what?” I asked, rolling out my wrist. While the Healers had done much to alleviate my muscle fatigue, my left arm was still a little sore from the Covlax stingers.
“Allow me,” Azo’lah stepped in front of me. She pressed her hand into a hidden latch in the wall and a small bar, initially intended for wooing diplomats with alcohol and the impressive view, slid seamlessly out of the wall. “Quapir wine?” she offered, lifting a bottle for our inspection.
“Works for me,” I selected appropriate glasses. Azo’lah added another glass to the four I had pulled. “You’re partaking?”
“Today, yes.” I frowned at Azo’lah, she usually didn't drink on duty. Under her breath, she added, “It may be the last order rule I break.” She turned to me, her smile forced. “Sit, I’ll bring it over.”
I would deal with this nonsense in a few days. Once I had the time and privacy to confer with Fleetwood. When it came down to it, I hadn’t known Azo’lah for very long. Fleetwood, who had been close to her cousin their entire lives, would provide insight into the best way to handle this.
I flopped on the large seating unit next to Fleetwood, who had thrown herself across Chester’s lap.
“Gret’chen, you are too far away,” Fleetwood whined only to be cut off by her Ran’dyl blaring a familiar tune.
“FleetMerc, why is your Ran’dyl ringing? And why is the tone Danger Zone of all things?” Chester looked like he already knew and disliked the answer to his question.
“I comm-ed frenemy Tyler,” Fleetwood explained, accepting the communication on her Ran’dyl. A three dimensional, high definition bust of Tyler Bautista, complete with a backward bright orange snapback, emanated from the Ran’dyl. I blinked at the quality—it was like Tyler in miniature had joined us in the room.
“Fulyiti Fleetwood!” Tyler enthused. “What’s good, baby girl?” Fleetwood smiled sunnily in greeting. It was like they had completely forgotten the time we’d tried to trap each other in a killer temple, vying for the first Auhtula’s cloak.
“I was almost part of an assignation !” Fleetwood crowed, sitting up. Glass shattered. I looked over at Azo’lah and the shards of glass at her feet. She swore, bending to pick it up. I moved to help her, but Fleetwood held out her arm silently, stopping me.
“Assassination,” Chester corrected softly.
“Someone tried to take you out?” Tyler’s brow furrowed. “Who’d be stupid enough to stir up that shitstorm?”
“Sadrilla,” Fleetwood supplied.
“Fuck.” A disembodied hand and forearm tipped Tyler’s hat out of the way to rub at his forehead. “She’s bad news, princess.”
“I am aware,” Fleetwood said. “I placed a...tracking beacon on her ship,” she looked briefly at Chester to check her word selection, “but I do not expect it to go undiscovered much longer.”
“Sick,” Tyler said. The faint halo of the background behind him shifted like he was walking through the halls of the Danger Zone. “Where’s she headed?”
Fleetwood glanced at Chester expectantly.
“Looks like toward Abell 2667,” Chester supplied, glancing at the readout on his Ran’dyl.
“We’re headed toward that neck of the woods, but we’ll sure as hell steer clear of her.” Tyler wagged a finger at Fleetwood. “And you should too if she’s out to kill you.”
“Will you keep your ear to the pound for us, at least?” Fleetwood asked, her blue eyes beseeching. “Do not engage, but if you have any information regarding her, let me know.”
“Anything to get that bitch gone, honestly,” Tyler said.
“Who are you talking to?” a familiar voice asked loudly.
“Max, man, it’s our frenemies from Destyr! Fleetwood was almost assassinated by Sadrilla.” Tyler turned his wrist, and a perfect rendering of Maximillian Danger Shockley’s stupidly handsome face took Tyler’s place.
“Scuttlebutt is Sadrilla was just on J’olpri,” Shockley said. “Fulyiti, please tell me you weren’t on J’olpri.”
“Whoops,” Fleetwood said.
Shockley’s gaze narrowed. “Is Borowicz there?” I refused to meet everyone’s intent eyes. Why the hell was Shockley asking after me?
Fleetwood swung her arm like a traffic conductor bringing her Ran’dyl up to my face. “Hi,” I waved awkwardly at the device. I tucked a stray hair behind my ear, attempting to lessen my disastrous appearance.
“Could you transfer us over, your Highness?” Shockley’s voice was measured and fairly unreadable. “I need to speak to Borowicz alone.”
Fleetwood tapped her Ran’dyl to mine, seamlessly transferring the hologram of Shockley over to my device. I stood and, ignoring Azo’lah’s narrowed gaze, left the room for the relative privacy of the staircase up to the bridge. I sat on the landing.
“Um, what is it?” I asked. When Shockley’s perfect rendering did little but stare at me, I groaned, “If all you’re going to do is waste my time, I’m hanging up.”
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
“I’m okay. Still sore from the Covlax paralytic-poison and the stingers, but Ryan took the bullet for Fleetwood.” I shrugged, wincing as my left shoulder throbbed.
“Who the hell is Ryan?” Shockley gaped. “And are you fucking insane? What were you thinking? Going up against Sadrilla and the Covlax! Not to mention blowing up J’olpri?”
“Hey,” I defended, “I just wanted the cloak, okay? The rest just sort of happened as a byproduct.”
“The cloak of the First Auhtula?”
“Will you tell me if you hear anything about Sadrilla?” I diverted, determined neither to confirm or deny what I had already, accidentally, divulged.
“She has the real cloak now,” Shockley deduced, looking off into the middle distance on his side of the call. His nostrils flared as he came to a conclusion. “I won’t tell you shit, Borowicz. Sadrilla’s way above my paygrade, and you’re playing in a sandbox that you just threw landmines in.”
I fell back onto the landing, tired and unable to parse Shockley’s ridiculous metaphor. “Whatever.” I heard the faint whoosh of the door dematerializing and quiet footsteps. I knew, without looking, who it was.
“Listen to me, Name Police,” Shockley leaned in, “you and your friends just pissed off every major black market seller by blowing up stockpiles of their hard-won merchandise, along with the only place to safely sell it—don’t think I don’t find that whole thing fishy by the way, because something about the story coming over the backchannels doesn’t sit right. Not to mention,” Shockley’s face contorted with disbelief, “the Covlax Vic has a warrant out for all of you, with a special emphasis on Chester. Only some high-falutin’ Destyrian politics is gonna save your ass on that front. Maybe. And you’re thinking of going after Sadrilla in that clusterfuck?”
Below, there was a sharp inhale of breath. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Azo’lah at the foot of the steps, her fists balled up tight.
Something in my gut decided to play cat’s cradle and knotted itself. I hadn’t realized the long-term ramifications of our actions. We’d been even more colossally stupid than I feared. “Fuck,” I choked out, willing myself not to cry.
Shockley shook his head. “Look. I’ll send you any info I get that indicates Sadrilla’s going anywhere near you or Destyr. And pray that the Myax do us all a favor and put that bitch down. She gives all mercenaries a bad name.”
I rolled my eyes and sat up. “Thanks, Shockley. And,” I added as the thought struck me, “don’t you dare go after that cloak.”
Shockley grinned roguishly. “As long as Sadrilla’s got it, no worries. If she ever loses it,” he shrugged, “well, no promises. See you around the galaxy, sweetheart.” He winked before signing off.
“Bye, dickbag,” I told the empty air, Shockley’s hologram already vanished from existence. I pushed myself upright. Azo’lah was still there, leaning against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, her arms folded across her chest. Our eyes met. “I might’ve fucked up more than I realized.” I laughed hollowly. “Even Shockley’s worried about us.”
“You’re in danger,” Azo’lah said tightly. “All of you.”
I gestured vaguely. “So, it’s a relatively normal day for us. You’ll protect us. You always do.”
“Do I?” Azo’lah’s face went carefully blank. The distance between us suddenly felt much, much further than a flight of stairs. And, as she turned away from me, it truly struck me that, if Azo’lah had her way, protecting us wouldn’t be her responsibility for much longer.
