Death Drop (23 page)

He looked at the awestruck Dissenters and winked his big, red eye, which had glints of purple from the blue glow of the navigation controls. Booktu, who had no doubt seen the display countless times, simply laughed quietly to himself until his heavy body shook with amusement.

Otto finally understood the lack of distinguishing names or marks. He looked at Malo, who was standing stone still, peering through huge saucer-like eyes, and Otto raised both of his furry brows.

Rilek depressed the button for the holodex and waited for the tone.

“Engines—full power,” he said into the small, metal box.

“Full power, aye,” a scratchy voice croaked back.

The admiral grasped a large, silver handle with an elaborate carving of a sinewy creature, complete with scales and flowing mane, coiled around its length. As he pulled the lever smoothly back to its stops, Rilek turned over his shoulder.

“You may want to brace yourselves for”

The roar of the engines drowned the end of Rilek’s warning, and Otto was tumbling toward the back of the room before he could reach out to the nearest permanent fixture for support. He hit the back wall with a thud right next to Malo, who was snorting angrily. Both men stood up and braced themselves against the clear panes as the acceleration of the
Lodestar
pulled at their bodies. The sounds of the bridge faded into the background, replaced by the serene rumble of the motors. Both Ensign Nori and Booktu remained unfazed by the tremendous torque of the old girl, and they stood as solid as before the ship’s engines roared to life. Rilek stood stone still at the helm in the center of the conning tower, grasping the large wheel with feathery hands as the stars flitted past them, each one a marker, ticking out their approach toward certain danger.

Chapter 21:
Half Truth

“’e
llo, luv,” Simon said in his carefree manner, as if he wasn’t addressing his captain. “All’s right with the universe and we should be arrivin’ in the Trinity Straits within the hour.”

“Thanks, Simon,” Dezmara said as she paused between blows to the heavy bag swaying on its chain in front of her. The Zebulon was relatively small and had only six rooms: quarters for both Dezmara and Simon, the cockpit, engine room, infirmary, and training room. The latter was where Dezmara spent most of her time when she wasn’t at the helm. She rarely slept and training helped her focus on something other than who or what she was and where she came from.

She leapt off the ground, twisting lithely in the air, and struck the bag with a powerful kick. Her bare feet landed quietly on the padded floor as her hands came up to guard her torso and face before the entire move was repeated with her opposite side. The blow left a noticeable indentation in the bag, and she stared silently at the depression as it swung away from her. Dezmara noticed that Simon was still standing in the doorway and waited for him to say what was on his mind.

“So, like I’ve said, ‘round ‘bout an hour to kill before we load this wreck with our cargo…”

“And?” Dezmara said caustically. “What can I do for you, Simon?”

“Well, we’ve been flyin’ together for nearly three years—reckon you can trust me by now.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, still slightly crouched in an attack stance, and raised both eyebrows in response.

“Right, as I was sayin’, luv, we’ve time to burn and we don’t talk ‘bout nuthin’ ‘cept missions an’ runs, pick-ups an’ drop-offs. I’ve got questions an’ I think we’ve been mates long enough for you to finally come clean with me.”

“Well, by all means,” she said with a trace of sarcasm. “I’d hate for you to go on flying around the universe earning a king’s ransom without having your questions answered.” She became a blur as the knuckles of her left hand slammed into the bag in a vicious, spinning backfist, which she followed with a right hook underneath. The bag let out a deep thud as it lurched backward on its rattling chain and wobbled back toward equilibrium. Simon swallowed hard and then began.

“Who…who
are
you?” he said as delicately as he could. “I mean, why all the disguises and secret whatnots?”

“Simon,” she said, breathing heavily, “this was not part of the deal.” She looked at him firmly as she placed her heavily wrapped hands on her knees.

“I know, luv. It’s just that…well, I’m a smart chap an’ I thought I’d have it all figured out by now, but I don’t have the foggiest idea what you’re hidin’ from or what we’re lookin’ for out”

“What
I’m
looking for out here,” she said icily. “
We
aren’t looking for anything.” Her eyes could have burned through the hull and they were locked with Simon’s big yellow orbs. He wanted to look away, but he was determined to make his stand: he was determined to get an answer this time.

“If I remember correctly,” Dezmara countered, “
you
were just as interested in a ‘no questions’ arrangement as I was when you signed on. Are you breaking our agreement? I’d hate to leave you on the next rock we come across and find myself a new mechanic.” She raised her hands into guard position and began dancing nimbly on the balls of her feet in front of the heavy bag as if to say that the conversation was now over. But Simon knew better. He was the best damn mechanic in the galaxy—probably the universe—and they had been through too much together for Dezmara to let him go that easy. He had been without answers to this puzzle for far too long. He decided to go for broke and call her bluff.

“All right, luv. Have it your own way,” he said as a small smirk of victory edged Dezmara’s lips. “Saloodus isn’t far from the pick-up. If you wouldn’t mind terribly—drop me off on your way…” He paused and looked at Dezmara. She stopped bobbing, steadied the swaying bag and turned slowly toward him. She considered him for a moment. His hands were folded behind his back and his face calm but determined. She let out a deep sigh. He had won. In three years he had never given her any reason to doubt his loyalty, and she would be hard pressed to find anyone as good with the Zebulon. She realized, at that moment, she cared more for the Kaniderelle than she was willing to admit.

“Tit for tat,” she said with a hard edge. “I spill and then it’s your turn. Got it?” The fury was back in her eyes as she waited for Simon to agree. He hesitated in her glare as he wondered if it was too late to dismiss the entire idea as rubbish. After an awkward silence, he realized it was too late indeed, and he nodded soberly in agreement to Dezmara’s terms.

Dezmara let go of the tension in her shoulders and her arms relaxed to her sides. She took a few steps toward Simon, put one ankle over the other, and plopped to the mat cross-legged. She blew the tangle of sweaty hair from her forehead and looked Simon in the eyes again, but this time it was much softer; almost as if she was lost and he was the first being she had seen in a very, very long time.

“I don’t know who I am,” she said quietly, shifting her gaze to the floor just in front of her. “I can’t remember anything before eight years ago. Not who I am, where I’m from, or who my people are, but I think—I mean, I’m pretty sure—I’m…
Human
.” She lifted her eyes slowly to meet Simon’s.

If Simon was like every other person in the universe, he had probably never thought about what a Human would look like—they only existed in ancient legends and stories: stories most people considered nothing more than myths told by old dusters and deep space pilots that had been in the dark too long. But now he was looking at her, head cocked to one side, with rapt curiosity.

Simon stood there as still as stone, and Dezmara could tell he was still reeling with the revelation of her secret—her Humanity—and she kept going before she lost her nerve.

“I’ve never seen anyone else like me—and I know that doesn’t really mean anything these days—but there’s also something else. There’s this…
voice
. It talks to me sometimes—I know it sounds crazy—but
I know
it’s not in my head. Someone talks to me and tells me I’m Human—they tell me someone is hunting me.”

“Do they talk to you all the time? What do they think about you lettin’ me in on your dirty lit’le secret?”

“No, it’s not always there and when it is it’s…distant, almost fuzzy, like we can’t quite tune in to the same frequency, you know? It’s almost always that way…except…”

Simon raised his eyebrows and leaned forward as she trailed off.

“’Cept what, luv?”

“Except…the first time,” she said hesitantly. “That voice is the first thing I remember hearing when I woke up eight years ago. It called to me in the dark. It told me who I was. It told me ‘Wake up, Dezmara. They’re after you!’ That voice brought me to life.”

Simon paused for a moment to consider Dezmara’s last statement.

“I don’t quite understand, luv. Brought you to life how? From where?”

“Eight years ago a runner crew found a derelict floating in deep space. They were charting new routes for runs between Iljin and Nebulanx when they happened on the ghost ship. When they boarded their new-found salvage, they found something they didn’t expect: me in a functional cryo. My vitals were weak but I was alive. I heard the voice right before they came aboard.”

“So that’s how you got into the biz, eh? They took you in!”

“Yes,” she nodded slowly as she stared through Simon into her past. “Felix Grinnik took me aboard his ship, the
Serian
, and nursed me back to health. He was the first person I can remember coming into my life, and he was kind to me. When I was finally out of the infirmary, we spent long hours together—him asking questions that might help me remember who I was and where I came from, and me trying to learn everything I could about where he’d been and how I could search the universe to find the answers to his questions. He let me go anywhere on the ship and try anything that the crew undertook, and in a very short time, I knew two things about my life before they found me: I had been able to hold my own in a fight, and I could out-fly anyone in the universe.

“Felix was almost happier than I was the day I took the controls of the
Serian
and piloted us to the fastest time ever recorded from Chalebruex to Kalip 3. He was so excited he insisted on using part of the winnings to buy me my own ship—this ship—to start his fleet. He said I earned it and I was only too happy to accept. It was a secret, of course. He said that it gave us an advantage if no one knew the
Serian
and another ship were working together to win runs. So, because of our secret pact and my mysterious past, we named her
the
Ghost
.

“The crew of
the
Serian
was like family and Felix had become a father to me. And I had become one of them. I felt like I had something—a light to shine into the deep dark of my past and guide me back no matter how far I searched. It was a good life. I was winning every run we entered; pulling my weight and then some. Felix encouraged me to take
the
Ghost
and fly as far as I wanted to look for my home, my people. ‘
The
Ghost
is yours,’ he’d say, ‘and she’ll go wherever her captain dares to take her.’” Dezmara blinked several times to clear the tears that were silently welling in her crystal green eyes but she didn’t try to turn away. It felt good to say the words out loud, words she had never spoken to another living soul in eight long years.

“Then what, luv? Did you tell Felix you thought you were…
Human
?”

“I didn’t know at the time and I never got a chance to tell him,” she said as tears now fell freely to the mat in front of her in large plops. Simon gave her a sympathetic yet puzzled look. “The voice didn’t come back after that first night and tell me I was Human until…after…”

“After what, luv?”

“They’re all gone,” she sniffled. “Berzerkers attacked a little over three years ago during a run from Abanok to Xilun. Felix hailed me from the
Serian
and told me it was a runner ship trying to make a move on my position—I should’ve known better. He said he would run interference so I could win and collect our biggest payday ever. I was so far out in front, I didn’t see the Berzerkers ambush the pack from behind one of the small moons of Logi. It wasn’t until I landed in Xilun that I found out and learned that only two of us survived
—
me and an old duster captain. He said that he’d never seen a ship like it in all his years. Wouldn’t say anything else—no description—just babbled on about how unstoppable it was and how he barely escaped.”

“Sounds like a load of bollocks,” Simon said skeptically. “Attackin’ with one ship isn’t the Berzerkers’ style, luv.”

“Nothing else makes sense. Pirates don’t destroy their quarry—there’d be nothing left to loot. Only the Durax and their twisted puke servants kill runners without mercy…

“I miss them, Simon…I miss him.”

Dezmara pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her forearms, and sobbed heavily. Her body shook as she wept and then her shuddering stopped, interrupted by huge gulping breaths, only to begin again as the engine of her broken heart churned out tear after tear with no signs of stopping.

Simon stepped lightly across the floor and knelt within arm’s reach in front of his bereft captain. He stretched a furry, grease-streaked paw out and gently touched her knee. “’Sall right, luv. Go on an’ let it out, ol’ Simon’s gotcha.”

They stayed like that for quite some time—a confused Kaniderelle and a sobbing Human—one trying to understand the other and one trying to understand herself.

Eventually, Dezmara stopped crying. She emerged from the cover of her damp knees with stormy, red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and she looked at Simon again but said nothing. He looked back expectantly but she stayed quiet—it wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to him anymore, there was simply nothing more to say—she had told him everything she knew about herself. Or so she thought.