The Lazarus Particle (20 page)

“What the actual fuck,” Alexia heard Commander Harm mutter from nearby. “One of our own? What do you suppose that means?”

It’s going to change everything.

Several strained minutes passed before the audio crackled back to life.

“Free Planetary Base, we’ve got a live body on board here! Definitely one of yours! Stand by, stand by, stand by… scanning for his chip… got it! Personnel data coming your way now…”

The entire room fell mute as the face of a dead man lit up the left half of the screen. It was his enlistment photo. His face was earnest and humorless, a far cry from the devil-may-care troublemaker of a baby brother Alexia remembered growing up with. On the right half of the screen, his vitals were stacked tight one on top of another. Each and every one registered distinct, if distant, signs of life.

The room heaved with silence for a beat before exploding into activity as the implications of what they were witnessing became clear.

“Priority landing, Bay One!” Soroya barked. “Clear the decks and get a Med team down there on the double!”

Alexia was already tearing down the corridor, nearly colliding into, of all people, Torrey.

“Hey,” he said, cheerfully oblivious. “I heard you got the all-clear from Medical. I was just coming—”

“They found him!” she blurted, grabbing his hand without even realizing it and pulling him along forcefully. “They found my brother!”

Top-notch commando that he was, Torrey had no trouble adjusting on the fly and keeping time with her. At least physically. Her news, not surprisingly, threw him for a bit of a loop. There was only one reason she could possibly be so excited. “Wait, you mean—”

“Alive, yeah, now come on!”

They reached the landing bay just as the sleekly imposing Morgenthau-Hale Command-class yacht finished touching down. As the ramp descended, Alexia was tempted to rush straight up into the guts of the thing and carry her ailing brother out herself. Instead, reason prevailed and she let the gathered Med team do its job. They were the professionals. They were who Dell needed the most in that moment.

And then there he was, surrounded by medics and so swaddled in thermal blankets she could barely see his face. It was him, though. Her beloved baby brother.

She had barely finished wiping her eyes when Commandant Soroya and Commander Harm appeared on scene. “Go,” was all Soroya said, and Commander Harm nodded.

Beside her, Torrey squeezed her hand. “Ma’am. Sir. With your permission—”

“I think we can manage without you for a day or two, Corporal Torrance,” Soroya said. “It will be difficult, granted, but we shall make do.”
 

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Corporal. Now if you will excuse us, we have to extend a warm welcome to some new friends who have come a very, very long way.”

22 • COLLABORATION

Vichante was of a melancholy state of mind as he watched Specialist DeCoud and Corporal Torrance hustle after her brother’s keepers, the medics who would no doubt keep him technically alive. Beyond that, though…

“Do you think she knows?” Soroya asked quietly from his side.

“She will. Soon enough. For now, though, best to let her have a little hope, I think.”

“I am not sure I agree.”

“Either way, we have larger matters to attend to.” He nodded toward the yacht. Its fugitive crew was just emerging from within. “Time to meet our new friends.”

“We seem to be making a lot of those lately.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

“Oh, not at all, love. Not at—” Soroya stopped mid-sentence, her eyes narrowing and her jaw tightening. Vichante was about to ask what the trouble was when Trouble spoke for itself.

“Surprised to see me, ‘Roya?” the woman last down the gangway asked. She bore a striking resemblance to Soroya. It was so uncanny Vichante couldn’t help looking between the two of them as if to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating. Neither of the women seemed to notice.

Soroya seemed to thaw somewhat upon her doppelganger’s approach, shaking her head and smiling wanly. “Now that you mention it, not at all. You really do know how to make an entrance, ‘Neci.”

“You two…?” Vichante began, still eyeing the newcomer with wary interest.

Xenecia half-smiled, half-frowned—a facial gesture he was thoroughly convinced only the Shih’rahi were capable of perfecting—as she leveled her gaze upon Vichante. “Who is this one, then?”

“My husband, thank you. Flight Commander Vichante Harm.” Soroya threaded her fingers through Vichante’s for emphasis. “And yes,” she added, speaking to Vichante. “We are sisters, of a sort.”

“
Husband
?” Xenecia’s mirrored lenses seemed to shine especially brightly as she appraised Vichante, with all his coffee skin and gunmetal grey eyes. “He is a great warrior,” she said with a note of approval, still eyeing the man critically. Almost hungrily.

“The most you shall ever lay eyes on.” Soroya nodded over her sister’s shoulder. “And your companions, Xenecia? Are you not going to introduce them?”

“Ah.” Xenecia smirked. “My manners. So sorry.”

Fenton Wilkes. Roon McNamara. Ensign Ohana Cassel. All refugees of Morgenthau-Hale, the latter still wearing elements of the high-collared, hunter green uniform characteristic of its officers.

With some effort and hurried shuffling of personnel, accommodations were arranged for the Irregulars’ newfound allies—though Fenton and Roon pointedly insisted they would be more than comfortable sharing space. For her part, all Ensign Cassel was concerned with was a shower and a fresh change of clothes.

Vichante nodded. “You all go ahead and get cleaned up, get something to eat, stretch your legs. We’re not exactly five stars here, but you’re welcome to share whatever we have.”

Roon smiled wanly. “You have our gratitude.”

“We should meet in a few hours,” Fenton said. “Compare notes, get to know each other better, that sort of thing. We have a lot to talk about.”

“No doubt.” Raising a hand, Vichante signaled for a pair of guards who had overseen the entry of the yacht but were now more or less milling about shiftlessly. “Until then, everyone here is at your disposal.”

Again, Roon smiled. “Thank you, Commander Harm, but we don’t want to put anyone out.”

“Besides,” Fenton added, “it turns out we’re all fairly low maintenance people anyway.”

“Be that as it may, anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. We’ll do our best to accommodate you. In the meantime, Specialists Jareth and Hennery will escort you to your quarters.

“Well, aren’t they a motley lot?” Vichante observed as Jareth and Hennery escorted the other new arrivals from the landing bay. There was a distinct note of amusement to his voice, but also respect. Perhaps even admiration.

“Quite.”

“Also, when were you planning on telling me you have a sister?”

“When it became relevant.” Soroya sighed. “Which, I suppose, it just did.”

“Quite.”

“If you are trying to be glib…”

“Not at all. Just agreeing with you.”

“We chose very different paths a very long time ago.”

“So I noticed. Are those ocular implants?”

“Yes. She is a huntrex. I imagine they are in service of that somehow.”

“A huntrex?” Vichante furrowed his expansive brow thoughtfully. “So why is she keeping company with one of the galaxy’s most wanted corporate fugitives instead of turning him in and laughing all the way to the next system? Furthermore, why the hell are we?”

“That is the question, is it not?”

“I hate it when you do that.”

Soroya fixed him with a sly, teasing tweak of her lips. “Liar. You love it.”

“Maybe a little.”

A low whistling sounded behind them. Vichante and Soroya turned to find Corliss and Rishi ambling in close, admiring the Morgenthau-Hale yacht. A team of engineers and technicians nearly a dozen deep fanned out alongside them. To a man and woman, they looked as if they were staring at a myth, something they had never expected to lay eyes upon in their lifetimes.

“They may be resource-lusting, planet-raping bastards,” Rishi said of Morgenthau-Hale, “but my god do they build beautiful ships.” He looked to Vichante hopefully, almost pleadingly. “Do you suppose there’s any chance we can take some external readings?”

“What do you think I called you down for?” Vichante said. “Scan it from top to bottom, then do it twice more. Better than nothing. And if our new friends are amenable, we’ll get you inside. Maybe we’ll get lucky enough to reverse-engineer this thing. Imagine the advantage we would have going forward.”

Corliss nodded hungrily; Rishi was practically salivating, all but licking his lips at the thought. “Good thinking. Let’s get to it, people!”

Rishi was assigning the techs and engineers to their various duties—‘directing traffic,’ as the phrase around base went—when Vichante looked to Soroya. “Should we check in with Medical?”

“I suppose we should. At the very least we owe Specialist DeCoud our sympathies.”

Walking into Medical, they found Alexia bawling softly, her face pressed tight against Corporal Torrance’s shoulder. Torrey shook his head slightly upon seeing them. Not sending them away, necessarily, just making sure they knew Dell’s prognosis didn’t look good.

“Hey, Lexi,” he said softly against the curve of her ear. “We’ve got company.”

Stepping forward, Vichante just bowed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Alexia. I know you were hoping for the best. We all were. He was a great wingman and an even better man. The best of any of us.”

“Thank you, Commander,” she offered tearfully.

Vichante nodded once more before turning his gaze to Torrey. “Corporal Torrance? A word?”

“I’ll be right back, alright, Lexi?”

Nodding mutely, Alexia slid liquidly from Torrey’s embrace and into the unoccupied seat next to Dell’s bed. There he was, his chest rising and falling softly. He looked so natural, so alive, yet so utterly vacant at the same time.
 

“Sir? You wanted a word?”

Vichante gave his head a disabusing shake, forcing himself to focus up. This wasn’t going to be easy by any stretch of the imagination. He gestured for the young soldier to follow as he led them a few paces away. “Corporal Torrance—Torrey, if I may—I’m about to ask you to do the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do.”

“I can handle it, sir.”

“I understand you were involved in the battle on the deck?”

“Three kills, sir. Couple wounded, but it doesn’t exactly seem sporting to count those.”

Vichante smirked in spite of himself. “Funny, I never thought I’d have something in common with a ground-and-pounder.”

“‘Scratch-and-dents don’t count for shit,’” Torrey quoted, smirking back just so.

Vichante eyed him closely, only then making the connection. “Torrance,” he said. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Raina Torrance, would you?”

“My aunt, sir. May she rest in peace.”

“Well, doesn’t that just beat all? I flew my first mission doing mop-up for her wing.” Vichante looked off a bit, smiling wistfully. “Those were the days.”

Torrey cleared his throat respectfully. “It’s not something I make a big deal of, sir.”

“Of course, of course.”

“You mentioned a hard call?”

“I did. Now that we have their clan-sire in custody, we'll be negotiating with the Tyroshi soon. Ideally they'll leave the system first, then we will, and the Oviddians will have won their war for survival.”

Torrey nodded. “About the best we could have hoped for, given the situation a few weeks ago.”

“Indeed,” Vichante said, presenting the unvarnished truth. “Once we leave this planet, though, we're done here. After all we've been through this last year, anyone coming with us has to be able to contribute. We've barely got racks and rations for live bodies as it is.”

Torrey's face darkened with understanding. “And that means…”

“Exactly.”

“Sir. Please don’t ask me to do this.”

“It will sound cruel if I’m the one who proposes it.”

“God damnit, sir, but it
is
cruel! She just found out he’s still alive, and now you’re asking me to convince her to pull the plug? No. No, I won’t do it. Throw me in one of those immersion chambers if you have to, but that’s my answer.”

“It was never an order, Corporal. You have every right to refuse.”

“Then I do. I do refuse—”

“You two act like I’m so grief-addled I lost my hearing,” Alexia said from Dell’s bedside. Her voice was thick with sadness. “I get it. Dell isn’t coming back. I just want a few more hours with my brother, okay? Then we can do whatever the hell has to be done.”

“I am truly sorry, Alexia,” Vichante said after an appropriately silent beat. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Me, too,” Torrey said.

“No,” Alexia said, almost pleadingly. “Stay, Torrey. Please?” The look in her eyes could have melted even the hardest soldier’s resolve.

Vichante took note of Soroya’s grimace as they rejoined at the hip. “That did not seem to go very well,” she said.

“It did and it didn’t. The point is, they both understand what has to happen. In the meantime, let’s go see what our new friends have to say for themselves.”

The first question, not surprisingly, came down to exactly how they had managed the feat of running the Tyroshi blockade.

“Engines,” was Ensign Cassel’s one-word assessment. “That’s what M-H ships do best. Outrun and outmaneuver. Oh, and just try to pull that retrieval maneuver in anything less than an M-H boat. Not happening.”

“How is your man, by the way?” Roon wondered.

Soroya sighed, cocking her head to one side briefly before giving it a disabusing shake. “The medics say Dell DeCoud is too far gone. He is alive, but only in the most cursory sense. It is quite distressing. His sister is… well, I am sure you can imagine.”

“That’s awful,” Roon said softly. “We did everything we could for him.”

“Of course,” Soroya said.
 

“How did he even survive so long? He was adrift for what—two, three days?”

Soroya nodded. "Roughly three days.”

“It's been theorized that as long as the cockpit remains pressurized, a pilot could survive on its oxygen and their own reserves for up to seventy-two hours,” Vichante said. “The problem is, the models always put the odds of that happening at less than a quarter of a percent. Statistically impossible.”