The Return of the Rightful One: Part 1
“Can we please stop beating this dead horse? I am going,” I said, slow and emphatic. I eyed the two-pronged serving fork wedged in the fruit bowl in front of me. Maybe, if I stabbed it into my forehead, I could finally get some relief from my three-day-long migraine and this pointless conversation.
“I am unsure what a horse is,” Azo’lah snapped, cutting off Chester, who was clearly about to explain an Earth horse was most similar to a Destyrian reune, “but you will most certainly be dead and probably beaten if you go to Vas Roya now.”
The entire crew of the Killer Qu’een, including my cat, was seated at our usual places around the dining table in Fleetwood’s suite. It was the tensest meal we’d ever had to date as a crew–which was saying something as, only a few days ago, three of us were dosed with sex pollen.
Ryan pinched the bridge of their nose. I couldn’t tell if they were also experiencing a persistent headache or trying to prevent themselves from popping off in a very un-Captainly way. “Borowicz, an unknown technopath, tried to murder you. You just underwent brain surgery to replace your implant. Surely, you can stand to take a few days off.”
“Archaeology waits for no one,” I joked lamely.
Azo’lah swore under her breath–an ancient Destyrian curse I was sure meant something extremely offensive that she had yet to teach me. Not that it looked like she would have chances to do so in the future since, hey, she might be the iz’waij trying to kill me.
“I don’t know how to say it any other way!” I resisted the urge to itch the metallic curving lines of my three-day-old tattoo that I’d been required to get as part of the ceremony where I became Azo’lah’s Favored. Which I was actively refusing to think about because then I would start thinking about how we had kissed--NOPE.
I loved my friends dearly, but with all of their heightened attention on me, I wanted to slither under the table and hide. “I’m going.”
“No, you’re not,” Azo’lah spat.
Fleetwood, who had been methodically petting Sebastian throughout this whole farce of a meal, planted her face in his fluffy black fur and groaned. It was a mark of how much my traitorous cat liked her that he only let out a plaintive mewl of protest.
“Gretch,” Chester said, reaching out to place a gentle hand in between Fleetwood’s navy space buns. “Could you just explain why you’re so adamant about going?”
“Because it’s my fucking job!” I retorted. I winced at the volume of my own voice, took a deep breath, and forced myself to at least sound composed. “Sorry, Chester, but you and I worked really hard to secure this funding from Auhtula Tyuria–”
Matt leveled me with an all-too-knowing stare over his cup of vy’tal. “Gretchen, you know that’s not actually an issue.” He glanced meaningfully at where Fleetwood was slumped in her seat, her head resting against Chester’s shoulder, with Azo’lah pacing behind them. The usually very close cousins were actively avoiding looking at each other. “What is an issue though–”
“Is that there is an active threat on Gretchen’s life!” Azo’lah yelled. “And not a single one of you seems to be aware of the severity of the situation as we are arguing over whether or not she can leave the safety of the palace to go play with hunks of rock and old crystals.”
An abrupt and loaded silence fell. It took everything I had not to let the sob that was threatening to bubble over out. I turned it, instead, into an awkward cough. I would not cry because Azo’lah had just belittled my job as Royal Archaeologist. She might be secretly trying to take my life, but she sure as shit wasn’t going to take my pride in my work–which was one of the only things I ever felt good about.
I tried a new tactic. “Ryan, aren’t you the one always going on about how we have to maintain a facade of normalcy? Well, now that the Festival is over, what’s more, normal than me returning to Vas Roya to work?”
And getting away from all of my problems for a couple of days, I kept to myself.
“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Nyc’arra drawled from where she stood at the wall behind me. I flinched, already anticipating Azo’lah’s vitriolic response.
“An excellent idea?” Matt asked, ignoring Azo’lah’s incredulous glare. “Why?”
“The palace is busy. The capital is still crawling with stragglers from the festival. Vas Roya is abandoned and ignored by the other four continents except for the spring pilgrimages for the rare believers in the Ancients,” Nyc’arra shrugged. “The only people usually on Vas Roya are Gretchen, her assistant, Chester, and a team of engineers. All are vetted and have little reason to attack Gretchen. If one of them is an iz’waij, it will be obvious very quickly.” Nyc’arra looked at Chester. “You can scan the air space around the planet. If a ship comes in, I’ll get Gretchen to safety.” She leaned forward, placing her hands on my shoulders, no doubt goading Azo’lah with a vicious grin. “There’s no reason to fear for Gretchen’s safety. I will be there to protect her.”
“But none of us will be!” Chester removed his glasses and wiped at the lenses with the hem of his t-shirt. He returned them to his nose and turned to me pleadingly. “Are you sure you can’t wait until the next binary cycle when Mey-ran’s back on Covlax and I can go with you?”
Of course, I could wait another binary cycle. The Temple of Aluthua and all of its history would still be there, waiting. I could wait until Fleetwood’s suddenly full roster of Council meetings were over, and Chester’s responsibilities to his politically-important betrothed had ended. I could wait until Ryan and Matt were done investigating the threat against my life.
But I didn’t want to. I wanted space and time and peace. I wanted to do actual archaeology and forget the absolute anarchy my life had devolved into. I needed to pretend, for a few blessed days, that I wasn’t the target of a technopathic assassin or that I’d just become the non-sexual concubine of one of my closest friends, who I was no longer sure I could trust.
My stomach twisted into a Gordian knot at the thought: not trusting Azo’lah was anathema to everything I knew. But a voice in my head that sounded annoyingly like Nyc’arra, reminded me that we knew of no other iz’waij on the Central continent. And if Fleetwood, of all people, was questioning Azo’lah’s loyalty, maybe I should too.
I shook my head. “You’re needed here, Chester. The last thing we want is to make an enemy of the Covlax on top of everything else. If Lija is making moves against me, I can’t afford to slip up professionally and give him more ammo to use. Sav’asa is already packing up all of our gear.”
“You’re just taking Sav’asa?” Azo’lah said, “She’s hardly backup.”
I turned to Azo’lah and glared. “Nyc’arra will be with me every step of the way.”
Azo’lah’s lip curled in a way that stated that that was exactly what she was concerned about. She turned to Fleetwood. “That’s hardly enough. Since the attack, Gretchen has a rotation of half a dozen Myax watching her. Please, at least send some of my sisters–”
“No,” Nyc’arra interrupted. “No other Myax.”
My crew mates stilled.
Ryan fiddled with the small black stud in their ear. “I’m sorry, did you just say that you don’t want any more highly-trained, highly-skilled guards to help you out?”
“You heard correctly, competent one,” Nyc’arra replied. “If I am forced to bring along assistance to protect Gretchen, I will be the one selecting exactly who that will be. I do not know most of those in the Myax ranks these days. The only recorded iz’waij in the galaxy have been Destyrian. Therefore, anyone protecting Gretchen off-planet should not be a Destyrian.”
Azo’lah shook her head derisively. “If those are your parameters then only the humans at this table fit that skillset.”
Nyc’arra stepped forward and her mouth curved up in a horrifying smile. “Not just the humans at this table.”
It took a moment for her implication to sink in but when it did I dropped my head into my hands and groaned. As if things couldn’t get any worse.
“Are you suggesting Shockley and Tyler go with you?” Matt mused.
“Absolutely not,” Azo’lah argued.
“That’s your whole crew,” Ryan said shrewdly. “And you’re mercenaries. You could just double-cross us and fly off to deliver Gretchen into the arms of her assassin without losing a single person.”
Nyc’arra bit back a grin as she assessed Ryan. “Well-thought out, no matter how false. We’ll leave Tyler here, as collateral. He has many skills, but listening to me is not one of them. We may be mercenaries but we refuse to abandon each other. We’ll be back for him in a few days when Gretchen’s done with her work.”
“I approve of this arrangement, so long as Tyler agrees to it,” Fleetwood said diplomatically. “If Shockley agrees to have his translator removed–”
Azo’lah exploded, “Fulyiti, this is–”
“Not your decision,” Fleetwood interrupted, her tone measured though her navy eyes flickered with poorly concealed ire.
A muffled, “ooph,” came from Matt’s side of the table.
“Shockley can go,” Fleetwood continued, “and Tyler may stay.”
Chester’s fingers tapped against the table. “Without Ran’dyls you’ll need a way to communicate with the engineers or if you guys separate in the temple.” He stood, his chair scraping sharply against the marble floor. “Let me see if I can get a walkie-talkie system working for you all.” His eyes went distant as the wheels in his mind began to spin furiously. “Yeah, that could work. If I manipulate the Ancients tech I could get it to operate without you even needing to touch it.”
“Thank you,” I said, reaching out and squeezing his hand as he rushed from the room.
“I’ll go comm Tyler, see if he wants to accompany me on some rounds,” Matt said, clearing his throat. He and Ryan had been conducting ‘rounds,’ walking about the palace and grounds, hiding in plain sight as they attempted to gather any potential intel. “Cap, you want to come with?”
Ryan’s eyes danced between Azo’lah, Fleetwood, Nyc’arra, and me. “No, you got this.”
“Cap,” Matt growled.
Ryan’s face contorted. They moaned as though being pulled away from their favorite episode of Cosmic Conquerors. They stood from the table and straightened their jacket. “Fine.”
Matt and Ryan left the room in step, their heads bent together as they frantically whispered something I’m sure I didn’t want to hear.
Nyc’arra said, “If Gretchen is willing, she can accompany me to the Danger Zone to speak with Shockley.”
I felt the tightening of Azo’lah’s already rigid spine as though it were my own.
This antagonism was too much for me to bear.
I stood and said, “I can’t. I have too much to do in preparation for leaving tomorrow. Just comm him or whatever.”
And without looking back, I stormed from the room, and for the moment, my problems.
“What the hell do you need this many crates for?” Matt groused, directing another hover cart full of crates toward the cargo bay of the Killer Qu’een. Shockley and Sav’asa were already inside, making sure everything was loaded properly. “You’re only going for a week.”
“I always take this many empty crates,” I defended, feeling very Medieval as I crossed things off in my notebook as they were loaded into the Qu’een’s cargo bay. My usual pre-dig departure checklist was on my Ran’dyl, which was buried in some kind of mini Faraday Cage of a container in Chester’s lab. He was under strict instructions from Fleetwood not to attempt to study the technopathic alterations to it, in case they were turned on him. He was most certainly doing it anyway.
“Myaxi.”
I turned, plastering the most brilliantly fake smile across my face at the familiar call. I’d been dreading (and, a traitorous part of me whispered, hoping) that Azo’lah would show up to see me off. Generally, when leaving for Vas Roya, I took leave of the crew at breakfast. My trips were routine, and typically, communication was easy when I was gone. My friends contacted me so often on Vas Roya, I sometimes joked that we should keep a group video call open at all times.
But today was different. My usual farewell hugs were a lot longer post-breakfast, and Fleetwood made Nyc’arra promise to send twice-daily updates on my well-being via ship comms. It was clear they had all wanted to accompany me down to the landing pad, but for the sake of appearances, only Matt had come to see me off under the pretense of “pre-flight safety checks.”
“Good morning, Azo’lah,” I greeted with overwrought brightness. I shot her the briefest of glances before returning my attention with feigned studiousness to my loading crew. They were old hands at this now and hardly needed my instruction. I checked another crate off my list, the motion causing my Favored tattoo to catch the light.
Azo’lah’s elegant, six-fingered hand reached out as if to caress the symbol of her house, but she drew her hand back at the last moment. I tugged my rolled sleeve down to cover the tattoo. I cleared my throat and averted my gaze, only to catch Nyc’arra watching us.
“I wanted to give you something before you departed,” Azo’lah said. She held something out to me. It was a glass pendant with two ket’li flowers embedded inside of it. On either side were tiny blue gems. “Are those from…” I trailed off as I fought down a sudden swell of emotion.
“Our ket’li crowns, yes,” Azo’lah said. I envied the way she could appear so unaffected while giving me the most romantic present anyone had ever given me. I knew it was all in the name of maintaining our ruse, but I had no idea why she was trying so hard. The Favored ceremony was over, the law outdated but very binding. It would be extremely difficult for anyone to try to remove me from Destyr now. Unless they kill you, a malignant voice in my head remarked blithely. My traitorous face flushed. I made the mistake of glancing up, which only made the blush intensify.
Azo’lah’s face bore an almost identical expression to the searching, scorching look she gave me right before she surprise-kissed me at our ceremony. “May I?” she said, holding up the necklace.
“You may not,” came Nyc’arra’s cold, quiet voice as she practically materialized behind me. I barely stopped myself from screeching. I was never going to get used to Nyc’arra’s ninja ways.
“You may inspect it if you wish,” Azo’lah’s voice was bland, but the set of her jaw informed me it was forced. “It’s merely glass and flowers.”
“You could tell me it was a gem of actual ket’li from the First Auhtula herself, and I still wouldn’t let her have it.”
I wondered if this is what nature documentarians felt like when watching predators face-off in the wild. Staring between them now, it was hard to believe they had ever been in love. I also desperately wanted to escape but didn’t want to draw attention to myself, so I stayed put. “Your gifts,” Nyc’arra sneered, “are dangerous.”
“My gifts are only as dangerous as the use they’re put to,” Azo’lah returned. She looked down at me. “When it comes to Gretchen Myaxi, they are only ever for her good.”
Nyc’arra snorted and ushered me toward the ship’s ramp, where Shockley stood in the shadows of the bay doors, just out of sight of any onlookers.
“Are you even listening to me?” Matt demanded, his arms crossed. “I’m giving you important information. Do not crash my ship.”
“No, I’m not listening,” Shockley admitted with a grin as I approached, “cuz it’s the Fulyiti’s ship.” He jutted his chin toward where Azo’lah stood. “You better go console your Myax there, Majumdar. We’re about to take off.”
Matt rolled his eyes but upon seeing Azo’lah’s blank, steely glare ,decided not to fight it. He hugged me, tugging lightly at my ponytail as he drew back. “Stay safe, Gretch.” He turned and walked down the gangway, calling, “Not a scratch on either of my girls!”
Nyc’arra strode past us, heading toward the front of the ship. I hit the control for the gangway with more force than was warranted, considering it was a touch sensor and not an actual button.
“Mommy and mommy are fighting,” Shockley said with a conspiratory grin, pulling me closer to his side.
“You’re the absolute worst, Maximilian Danger Shockley,” I scowled at him. “I hate you.” He placed a loud, smacking kiss on my cheek.
“I know you’re stressed, Name Police, but there’s no need to be hurtful,” he winked at me as he dragged me to the cockpit. “Or to lie.”
“Let’s try one of these!”
“Careful!” I shouted, grinding my teeth. Shockley giddily hustled across the Archives chamber of the Temple of Aluthua, an orb cradled in each arm. “Max!”
“I am being careful,” he cackled, stopping at Sav’asa’s side, proudly proffering her both orbs. “You pick this time.”
Sav’asa ducked her head as she accepted one, looking to me for approval. At my small nod of concession, she dusted it methodically with a soft brush before placing it into the round slot at the top of the cylindrical reader. The room was bathed in a sunset-orange light as a new sprawl of Ancient Destyrian glyphs scrolled across the far wall.
“Oh, look, another list of unimportant nonsense from thousands of years ago,” Nyc’arra drawled from her ever-present post at my back. I wouldn’t be surprised if my own shadow took on Nyc’arra’s shape since we’d left Thal. “What an astonishing discovery.”
I gently put the orb we had previously inspected into the waiting crate before I elbowed her shin. “It is astonishing. Everything we can learn about the Ancients, no matter how pedestrian, helps us to better understand what life was like on Vas Roya all those–”
“Let’s try this one next!” Shockley plucked an orb off a shelf across from where we were working.
“Max!” I barked. “Stop trying to look at things out of grid order.”
Nyc’arra gestured to the glyphs Sav’asa was currently recording in her notebook. “Can you even read Ancient Destyrian, Shockley?”
“Nope,” Shockley admitted, reluctantly returning the out-of-order orb to its nook. “It’s still cool as hell to see, though!”
“I could translate more if you would find that helpful,” Sav’asa offered meekly.
“Stop distracting Sav’asa,” I said before Shockley could reply. “We’re trying to work.”
I ignored Shockley’s expression, luminous with childlike excitement. Or at least I tried. It was hard not to find his interest in archaeology endearing. “Gretchen, have you come here so often that you’re bored?”
“I’ve only been here twice, and I’m desperately bored,” Nyc’arra offered unhelpfully.
“Of course, I’m not bored,” I said, noting the necessary data about the final orb in this grid unit before we sealed up this crate and moved onto the next.
Shockley dropped into a squat at my side and poked me in the ribs. “What’s next?”
I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply before fixing Nyc’arra with a baleful look. “I’m beginning to think Tyler might actually have been more helpful today,” I said.
Shockley said, “But Tyler isn’t a fellow archaeologist.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You’re not an archaeologist, you’re a—You know what, I’m not having this argument with you again.”
Shockley leaned in close, lowered his voice so that Nyc’arra and Sav’asa couldn’t hear, and said, “Would you rather argue about the weird tension between you and Azo’lah since you guys kissed at your Favored Ceremony?”
It took all of my willpower not to grab an orb and smash it into his smug, handsome face. Lucky for him, the temple chose that exact moment to shift slightly but noticeably beneath us.
Shockley fell out of his squat, catching himself on his hand. “I thought you said this thing was safe?”
“It is,” I assured him. And it was. The stabilization field installed by the Royal Engineers had kept the Temple of Aluthua upright and tremor-free for all of my previous visits. It was probably nothing, but I latched on to the opportunity for some peace. “It’s probably just a glitch with the stabilization field. Why don’t you and Sav’asa go check with the engineers to see if they need help with anything?”
Shockley shook his head. “I’m not leaving you. The entire point of my coming here was to help keep an eye on you.”
“And you’ve done a valiant job keeping me safe while you tore this precious historical site apart like a sugar-high toddler at Chuck E. Cheese,” I said. “Go. Check on it. Make sure it’s safe for us to still be in here. Nyc’arra’s got me. Right, Nyc’arra?”
Nyc’arra only deigned to roll her eyes.
I shoved at Shockley. “Go! It’ll be fine. Take one of Chester’s special Destyrian walkie-talkies so we can check in with each other.”
“I don’t like the idea of separating.” Shockley hoisted himself to his feet and dusted off his hands.
“Your attachment anxiety is getting worse than Tyler’s,” Nyc’arra said.
Shockley snorted. “Doubtful. A hundred Falkirian donats says he’s left over a dozen messages back on the ship.” The temple gave another ever so slight shiver beneath our feet like someone had turned a bass on at top volume for the briefest of moments. Max fixed Nyc’arra with a look. Some sort of silent communication passed between them, and it hit me for the first time, that Nyc’arra and Max might be more than crewmates who trusted and tolerated each other–they might be best friends.
Nyc’arra said, “I’m more concerned with this,” she waved her hand airily as though the potential collapse of the structure she stood inside was nothing but an annoying gnat, “but I gave the Fulyiti my oath.”
Shockley exhaled deeply. “Fine, I’ll go check on the engineers.” I squeezed his calf in gratitude, my fingers flexing against the sturdy fabric of his pants. He reached down and cupped my face, his thumb caressing the apple of my cheek. “Stay outta trouble, Name Police.”
“I’m just going to do my job,” I reassured him, pointing at my bandolier of tools with the brush in my hand.
Shockley took a step back. “I know. That’s what worries me.”
I held up the middle finger on my free hand.
Shockley crossed the room to where Chester’s communication device sat. For all of its sleek Destyrian tech, it resembled a miniature Earth boombox from the 90s (I think that may have been on purpose). I didn’t truly understand how it worked, only that its portability allowed us to use it, and if the iz’waij found us and hacked into it, we would be in minimal danger as it required no touch to work.
Shockley grabbed one of the docked speakers and tested it. His voice echoed through the room, creating a chorus of Shockleys. He holstered it to his belt on the opposite hip from his blaster.
He gestured to Sav’asa. “Lead on, Fearless One.” As she grabbed her bag, Shockley added, “Try not to get locked into any rooms while I’m gone, alright, Gretchen?”
“Oh my God,” I groaned. I pointed to where Sav’asa stood out in the corridor. “Go!”
He gave me a mocking salute and stepped backward into the hallway.
I had to stop myself from collapsing against the floor with relief when the door shut. Finally, peace and quiet. And space from all of the people causing me an overabundance of emotion and anxiety.
I sighed happily to myself and mumbled, “Now, to finally get some work done.” I twisted the orb in my hand, running my brush gently along its convex exterior.
Nyc’arra cleared her throat daintily, then said, “I never understood the appeal of penises, let alone human ones, but Shockley must know what he’s doing with his if you’re willing to put up with how irritating he is all the time.”
I dropped the orb. I cursed loudly as I snatched up the orb seconds before it impacted the floor. “Look at what you made me do!”
Nyc’arra snickered.
I groaned, inspecting the orb's surface for any damage. “Fuck off. I sent Shockley away because I wanted to do my work in silence. I can’t send you away. I think even you, someone who hates me, can admit that I’ve had a hell of a binary-cycle and deserve a little slack. A little space. Some time to myself where I don’t have to think about Wos’kit Pollen sex or pledging myself to be my friend’s concubine to avoid political assassination.”
Nyc’arra said, “I don’t hate you. I don’t particularly like you, but I certainly don’t think about you enough to hate you.”
I held up my hand. “Don’t care. All I’m asking of you is quiet, okay?”
Nyc’arra shrugged.
“Thank you,” I said, returning my attention to my work. The temple shook. This time vigorously enough for the crate to rock onto its edges. Nyc’arra made no comment on it, so I chose another orb to dust.
I got through three before the temple trembled again. I looked at Nyc’arra. Her brow was pinched, clearly sharing my concern. Although the temple was large, Sav’assa knew her way around it, and they should have made it to the engineers stationed outside the temple by now.
Our walkie-talkie crackled to life, Shockley’s voice bursting forth. “Gretchen! Nyc’arra! Are you there?” He sounded alarmed.
Nyc’arra strode across the room and snatched up the device. “Yes, Shockley, we are here. No need to panic.”
“Nyc, we have to go, stat,” Shockley replied breathlessly. “The engineers–there’s something wrong. The engineers are dead.” Though the structure was stable, my knees wobbled as though it had just shaken. Dead? “Sav’asa and I just got to the stabilization field, and they’re all…”
Nyc’arra gestured me to her side. “Can you tell how they died?”
“No. Neither can Sav’asa. But it’s grisly. They’re on the ground, eyes wide and brains melting out their ears.”
A stray memory of Azo’lah’s fingers grazing my temple implant snuck across my mind. No. No, Azo’lah wouldn’t do that.
Nyc’arra snatched at my wrist as she shouldered the comm device. “Get to the ship now, Shockley. We’re leaving immediately.”
I wrestled against Nyc’arra’s grip, reaching for my supplies scattered across the floor. “Wait, my gear! I need to–”
“No.” Nyc’arra yanked me sharply back. “We are leaving now.”
“Hey, Sav’asa,” Shockley’s voice echoed through the speakers, “let’s haul ass outta–oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Let her go!”
Nyc’arra froze. “Max?”
Shockley did not respond to Nyc'arra, instead shouting, “I don’t care! How did you get here? No, don’t hurt her!”
Sav’asa’s pleading cries of, “Please, let me go,” could be heard, but I couldn’t make out any other voice.
“Sav’asa!” I yelled, attempting to yank the device out of Nyc’arra’s hand. “Sav’asa! Max, who has Sav’asa? What’s happening?”
“Why don’t you fuck off instead?” Shockley said. There was a yelp, then Shockley’s voice begging, “No, that’s not what I–trade her out for me, take me instead! No! Sav’asa!”
Sav’asa’s scream lanced straight through my heart. Then there was only silence.
“Shockley, come in, Shockley,” Nyc’arra said.
Attempting to scale Nyc’arra to get to the comms, I bellowed, “Max, if you don’t answer, I’m going to–”
“Nyc’arra, secure Gretchen,” Shockley’s panting voice cut me off. “I’m going to get to the ship. Call Fleetwood. The technopath’s–”
The comms went dead as the temple vibrated around us. Orbs fell from shelves, tinkling against the floor and rolling every which way. Pieces of stone broke from the ceiling, nearly clipping my shoulder. Nyc’arra wrestled me forward, “Go, go, go!”
I scrambled to keep up with her but tripped over one of the rogue orbs, dragging Nyc’arra into the wall. I grunted as we crashed against the stone.
Then I screamed as the wall disappeared behind me, and I fell into nothingness.