Renegade ch 9: Stunted by Impatience

Sorry answered nothing. Twi heard the Aylata’s whispered word as he disappeared up the stairs behind Mystis, but it satisfied none of the questions burning in her mind. These competed with the deep ache in her torn shoulder as she stepped into the med-center of Vlavaran Base, a place of billowing curtains and rough rock walls scrubbed until they shone.

Med-aides surrounded her, taking the limp Stevalok from Rifo’s arms and dashing off in one direction while they ushered her in another. Their faces blurred together as she endured their attentions. Lanox’s life-signature caught her focus. The Tala still slept peacefully as machines watched over her.

Now two members of my hrausq are unconscious.

She clenched her fists, short nails digging into her palms. The mechetts scoured away all trace of dirt, but scars and callouses remained, and Twi’s hands had plenty of both. Sinister fire crawled through her arm, but she ignored it. She concentrated instead on reaching toward her pocket, ’netics drawing out the fragments of her ju’wack.

As she spun them above her right hand, light glinted off their melted edges. Owning one of these old and hardy weapons was a privilege. There were only a few thousand left, each one believed to have come to Knalz with the Magni countless generations ago, before the Knalcals even knew what space was. They had called these contraptions Aqkashi. Their modern owners called them ju’wacks.

Now this artifact of her heritage, this strong and graceful tool, sat in pieces in her hand, unable to activate and defend her. Was it repairable?

How did he manage to break it? Even on its more fragile handle, a ju’wack is impervious to others of its kind.

The Aylata’s weapon was similar but not identical.

At their base, each of a ju’wack’s strands was as thick as the distance between her finger’s tip and its first joint. Its widest point, where the tendrils flared, was half the span from her wrist to her elbow. From point to point, the weapon’s length measured sixteen times that width, about Ekymé’s height.

His weapon stretched at least a head and shoulders longer. Its strands were thicker, brighter, and flayed at a greater angle. This left the wide portions at either end looser and the tendrils’ curve to individual sharp points more apparent.

Most curious in Twi’s mind, though, was the difference in handle. The chrome hilt of her ju’wack extended one and a half times the width of her palm and was about the circumference of her wrist. The grooves for each of her fingers, thumb included, had adjusted to fit her hand as it had grown accustomed to her. Though it sprouted searing tendrils from either end, the handle was the heart of a ju’wack and necessary if it were to learn to serve a new master.

Ekymé’s weapon had no handle. Its strands ran uninterrupted from one end to the other, modestly covering all its mechanics.

Then there was the Aylata himself. Whatever the label meant, this one claimed quick reflexes and extraordinary Talents, as would be expected of an Adjuvant with an extreme amount of Magni heritage.

Ekymé was no Adjuvant though. That left a worrisome question.

Is an Aylata a friend or enemy?

No friend would have ignored her warnings and tried so blatantly to kill her, but…

Rifo knew something, but Rifo had gone after Mystis and Ekymé.

As a mechett retracted its tools and wrapped her arm with a blur of metal hands, Twi caught a glimpse of the silvery scabs spiraled around her left arm. Her shoulder felt languid, but the swelling had been chased away by efficient meds. A faint bruise remained, the palest cyan against her creamy skin.

Almost done. Hurry. Impatience pesters me with questions.

As soon as the bandage was in place, she pulled on her jacket and slid off the medical table, ignoring the mechett that ordered she sit back down. She didn’t take orders from mechetts, and Rifo had some explaining to do.

***

Mystis refused to answer Xlack’s questions.

“Why should I explain anything to someone stunted by impatience?”

“Stunted? I’m taller than you, Old Woman.” By a hair maybe. Xlack stood straighter.

Mischievousness emboldened Mystis’ narrow features. “Mentally, you are a midget, and I am a mountain. If you follow me, you must do so at my pace, and your destination will be greater than any you could find on your own.”

Now she had him standing within the Knalcal Embassy in Vlavaran, encircled by a throng of Knalcal officials with expensive-smelling perfume, outlandish dress, and snobby stares.

Fourteen seats surrounded him, each an artwork of stone positioned at the pinnacle of a staircase. The stairs were the radii of the sunken circle where Xlack stood, spotlights dotting the stage and deepening the shadows beyond the amphitheater.

At least two of those sitting appeared kindly and genuinely concerned, less caught up in themselves. He hoped one of them was in charge. He really hoped the man with the perpetual scowl was just somebody’s secretary.

Perched on Xlack’s shoulder, Rell ignored them, attention enraptured by a brittle bone—all that was left of the greasy drumstick Mystis had presented him. His snout shone with its juice, as did Xlack’s shoulder.

“Let me be sure I understand,” a woman with a huge feather coming off her small hat asked. “You want us to release the crew of a trespassing ship you say is yours just because you asked with the word please?”

It was more because Xlack had long since grown tired of saying please and his Ier itched to make an appearance. He sighed, wondering how Spycykle planned to reclaim the Isike. This way was torture.

One of the kinder-looking representatives—a Tala, as told by her softly glittering skin and lack of birthmarks—spoke up. “I must ask you never to mock an Aylata. It is a very unwise course of action.”

A white-lace mask surrounded her eyes, and a long, silken gown dwarfed her. Sweet serenity amplified her presence, though she seemed too fragile to be the source of such power. Her voice matched her appearance, though her accent was Knalcal with the same sharp t’s and hollow l’s as Twi and Mystis.

The feathered hat woman and her supporters frowned at the tiny Tala. “You will remain silent until spoken to, Rep Per’nyé.”

With a sly smile, Per’nyé stood. “Now you’ve spoken to me.” Bowing deeply, she retook her seat. “This miniature committee of the Conglomerate asked for a representative of the Aberrant so you could share our insights. I am simply advising you of what I know.”

The scowling man grumbled, “So, what do you know of the Aylata?”

Per’nyé leaned her head upon her hand, crushing a few curls. “Sir Ekymé, what are you: a Watcher, Messenger, Defender?”

“Protector,” Xlack answered with a smile, glad to see the woman with the feathered hat wasn’t the absolute monarch of the group.

“Then what are you doing here? Protectors protect districts.”

“I’m here to protect the crew of the Isike.” He made up the mandate, but it sounded like a rational reason. How much did Aberrant really know about Aylata? Rifo and Twi hadn’t recognized the title.

“Good answer, Aylata.” Per’nyé turned to the officials, conspiracy dancing in her fiery eyes. “I wouldn’t be happy if someone prevented me from completing my assignment.”

The woman with the feathered hat smiled weakly. “Per’nyé, I advise you to regain your composure and be silent.”

“Or what, you’ll have your guards toss me out?” She grinned, a bellicose mix of sweet and smug. “We both know how well that would go.”

The woman’s fake smile plummeted. Xlack wasn’t sure how this diplomatic stuff was supposed to go with Tala and Knalcals, but to him it didn’t look like it was going too well.

Per’nyé left her chair and strode closer, soft voice cutting through tension in the air. “Aylata, Sir, I will be honest with you. These people have no authority over the fate of your comrades.”

Of course not. Why was he here again? Mystis had conveniently disappeared.

What would a Watcher do? Bow theatrically and excuse himself? Whip out his Ier and make them see how incredibly annoying they were?

Diplomats yelled over one another, accusing their neighbors of being liars and cheats, but they didn’t throw anything. Xlack wanted to throw something.

Rell snatched up his bone and retreated to his favorite pocket lest some barbarian attempt to steal his prize. With no pocket to hide in, Xlack kept a mask of calm and bowed.

“That’s disappointing to hear.”

Did his words find any ears? Seemingly not. Did they need to? Not really.

As he straightened, Xlack slid his Ier from its sheath and snapped it on. Wariness drizzled from every direction, cold and sharp but weightless. It coated everything in silence.

“I don’t care who has the authority,” he announced. “I want the crew of the Isike released to me and, while we’re negotiating so nicely, the ship itself, too. Someone here must know how to get it for me.”

Weapons all over the room aimed at him, but no one dared be the first to fire. Though Per’nyé stood closest to the end of his Ier, its silver glow highlighting the curves of her face, a grin captured her lips, coy and daring.

“I will tell you a secret, Sir Ekymé,” she whispered. The walls caught and repeated her words, throwing them around the circular room. “The Knalcal scouts, for all their reputed strength, could not take down the Isike. So, they asked for help.”

“From the Aberrant?”

She lowered her head in a slight nod. “The Isike and its crew belong to us now, but they are not priceless. For the chance to speak with you, my superiors would release the Isike, fully loaded with supplies and its entire crew.”

That seemed too easy.

Xlack pointed to a balding man who stood by the woman with the feathered hat. “You, Scribe, make official record of her words.”

With flying fingers on an onscreen keyboard, he did as ordered.

Per’nyé still grinned, bright eyes burning against the backdrop of her dark eyeshadow. “Will you come with me to meet them, Ekymé?”

He gestured with his Ier toward the door. “Lead the way.”

This had trap written all over it, but traps could be turned on their masters.

***

Waiting is a trap. It invites your mind to wander.

Len despised waiting, especially in places like this Knalcal Embassy, where fragile things glittered and stole his concentration. His reflexes were quick, his mind quicker. These were the main causes of his lifelong battle with boredom.

“I see them!” he said no louder than a breath. The mic in the sys clipped to his ear picked up the words and transmitted them across the narrow hallway to his hrausq member, Lyten.

“Keep composure, Len. Not yet.”

Watching the Aylata waltz by and not doing anything was agony. Len avoided the protruding glass artworks as he slipped to his next hiding spot, feet soundless on lush, purple carpet and spine against the charcoal granite wall.

Per’nyé was a drop of elegance, a river flowing alongside a mighty tree. The Aylata was tall in comparison, his movements solid and alert.

“Do you think Per’nyé’s in danger?”

“She’ll tell us if she is,” Lyten responded.

“What was she thinking, choosing that long white gown today? She won’t be able to fight, and the copper swirls on her belt are too sparkly.”

“And not half as stunning as her hair.”

“Don’t say that so wistfully!”

“Both of you, be quiet,” Rrosh rebuked. Len had no idea where she was. As a Zalerit, she could maintain invisibility better than he could, especially in this tricky lighting. The high sconces were programmed to mimic rays scattered through dancing leaves.

What if he treated this as the forest they tried to evoke? Hands light and quick on the glass decorations, Len climbed.

The Aylata’s gaze flicked around the hall. “Someone’s following us.”

More than one someone, sludge-brain. Come on, I came here to see what makes an Aylata able to defeat ten thousand. This guy’s not legend material.

A zap-cord’s pair of ovoids flew from the Aylata’s pocket and straddled an invisible object. Len gulped as their shadowy connection coiled around something long and slender. He had a hunch he wouldn’t like what was about to happen.

The ends met, and he felt their shock from all the way on the ceiling. Rrosh appeared on the floor, bound and semi-conscious.

Len dove for the Aylata. Xlack Ekymé stepped back. Len hit the carpet and rolled as Lyten joined the party, cobalt ju’wack cutting Rrosh free.

Three against one. This’ll be so easy!

Len lunged. Something grabbed the back of his shirt and threw him down the hallway as if he were a discarded fruit peel.

Ier in hand, Ekymé swung at Lyten, driving him away from Per’nyé. She didn’t move, hands loosely holding one another as if she admired scenery in a peaceful field.

The Aylata thinks he’s protecting her, Len realized, keeping his eyes on the battle as he rolled to a stop. He has no idea why we attacked. Wait, why did we—oh yeah, that was me. Per’nyé’s gonna yell at me later.

Per usual, Lyten placed himself between Per’nyé and their foe, ju’wack swinging at Ekymé’s legs. The blow was blocked, strike after strike redirected.

As Len sprinted to rejoin the fray, a large, cloaked figure appeared at the Aylata’s back. She brandished a crescent of glass and lightning—an enershield. Len gasped and tripped. What was Mystis, most infamous Adjuvant leader, doing here?

Wielding a golden ju’wack, Per’nyé leapt at the Adjuvant and was shoved back as Mystis’ ’netics pushed at her fine dress. Per’nyé regained her footing alongside Lyten and Rrosh, the three of them fanned before their opponents.

Headed for Mystis, Rrosh disappeared.

The Aylata concentrated on Lyten, who retreated. Len watched with growing horror as Ekymé led their dance toward a tragic conclusion. Thanks to his Mind Talents, Lyten foreknew an opponent’s moves, but the Aylata had found his pattern, his weakness. One last sideswipe, and—

Per’nyé blocked the blow. Disapproval and calculation ticked in her orange eyes, and Len felt her nudge within his mind. He flowed with it, shrugging on her will like a familiar jacket.

Mystis’ enershield whacked Rrosh, and the electric shell sent her flying. With a lurid thud, she hit the faux stone wall, and her color returned.

Len didn’t like Mystis. She was too full of tricks. He would have to take her down before he could help with the Aylata.

He shook off Per’nyé, disappeared, and charged, but his shoes fell out from under him—her stupid ’netics again!

Rrosh stood up and vanished, calling Mystis’ attention.

Len fell into a front handspring, feet barely missing the end of Ekymé’s Ier. He landing in a squat and dropped back on his hands to duck under the swinging weapons. Rrosh had Mystis. He would go after the Aylata now.

Keeping his eyes trained on the blur of blows above, he kicked Ekymé’s heels.

The Aylata stumbled and somersaulted over Len as Mystis leapt over them both, engaging Lyten. Again, Len had no idea where Rrosh was, but she couldn’t be unconscious and invisible at the same time, so that was a good sign.

Needles jabbed his chest, and he looked down. A tiny bundle of pewter scales clung to him, slender tail swaying and a gnawed bone gripped between sharp teeth. As Len scrambled back, the creature bounded away, climbed up Mystis’ cloak, and perched atop her head.

“Traitor,” Ekymé chided the animal, back to back with Mystis.

“You need to retreat, Ekymé.”

“And miss all the fun?” Laughter lightened his voice, but disdain tethered his gaze to Per’nyé. Had he realized yet that their goal wasn’t to kill him, strikes aimed at arms or legs, intending injuries he could survive?

But Mystis we want dead.

“You run first,” Ekymé told the elderly Adjuvant.

The beastling growled, ugly little thing with drool dripping from its exposed teeth, bone still held tight.

Mystis used the absconding-shoes trick on Lyten, and he fell. He narrowly rolled out of the way of Ekymé’s Ier and crashed into a side blow from Mystis’ enershield. Energy bolts ran along him, and he lay unconscious.

Len yelled, though not even he knew what the word was supposed to be, and slipped away from where Ekymé stood on him. Jumping on Mystis’ back, he wrapped his arms around her neck, a kanaber in his grip. The beastling hissed and slashed at his face.

Mystis grabbed Len’s hand and threw herself down. She was much larger than him, and though, as a Lettaplexal, he had no bones to break, air and sense fled.

The beastling tumbled. It squealed as its claws dug into the dark carpet and it ran back to Ekymé.

Mystis slipped out of Len’s stunned arms and leapt to her feet, enershield at the ready. Her hood had fallen back, and platinum locks escaped the scarf tied over her head. They stuck to her face, contrasting her deep bronze skin and the azure scales swirled over her nose.

Rrosh appeared alongside Per’nyé, and together the girls slapped a pair of lightwhips around Ekymé’s Ier.

Yes!

Len’s brain sent the necessary commands to spring to his feet, but his body didn’t respond.

Ekymé pulled both girls into the air, but Per’nyé still had him. Now held at eye level, her strong gaze stared directly into his.

“Sleep, Sir Ekymé,” she whispered, and he collapsed.

I knew she could do it.

Relief and pride covered Len, effecting a smile as the world dropped away from him.

***

“The world I thought I knew just turned upside-down, and there’s something I think you should see…or not see…or…you’ll understand when you get here,” the mechanic told Twi, summoning her to the underground hangar of Vlavaran Base.

Ekymé’s damaged oha was gone.

“It disappeared while we were working on it.” Mechanic Vian ran a hand through his rigid, short mane. It was dark like Twi’s, his skin just as fair, Knalcal birthmarks platinum and eyes a deep teal.

He was a good friend of Entrycii’s. They both liked to take stuff apart and figure out how it worked. Unlike Entrycii, Vian had hardly any ’netic Talent and no inclination for adventure. He never left the base and never wanted to.

The rough cave walls appeared as they always did, deep golden brown and swirled in texture. Lights hidden in alcoves and stalactite clusters fought the darkness. A variety of ships were displayed on terraces. The crimson hull of Twi’s own preferred vehicle was only a few paces behind her as she approached the team of mechetts gathered around a clear, oha-shaped space.

The foreign oha appeared absent, but she could still feel it. Throughout her life, she had found that if her eyes told her one thing and her ’netic senses another, the latter were usually correct.

She reached out, and cool metal met her fingers, but still she couldn’t see it. She had never heard of a ship that could be invisible, but the concept wasn’t too farfetched. Zalerits and Lettaplexals possessed the skill of invisibility. With enough effort, surely someone could come up with a way for a machine to mimic that Talent.

’Netics digging through active circuits, she found the ship’s mask and switched it off. The black oha reappeared.

“I wish I could do that,” Vian lamented, nervous hands lost in his pockets. Like many, his scant Magni heritage had led the Aberrant to discard him as an infant.

“I wish I could wear grease-stained coveralls five sizes too big and make it look cool.”

“We all have our strengths, I guess.” Vian laughed halfheartedly, gaze shyly sliding away from her and fixating on the eviscerated engine. He snatched a tool from a mechett and busied himself. “Though I’m not really the one considered eye candy around here.”

Twi frowned.

“I was wondering. Since Sep is…no longer here, maybe—”

“Sep will return.” Her stance stiffened.

“And I completely believe that, too, but in the meantime, if you get lonely waiting for him, I’m always here.”

“And I’m always busy.”

He flinched, shoulders hunched. How could any answer not have stung sweet, dependable Vian aside from the yes she could not give? She did not want to hurt him, but no, she could not afford kindness, allowing weeds of attachment to grow, especially not if he would insinuate himself as a replacement for Sep in her heart.

And it was true: She was forever busy.

Rifo rushed into the cavern hangar, solemnity and worry a heavy cloud tethered to him.

“What’s wrong, Rifo?”

“I don’t know exactly. I was in the Knalcal Embassy with the Aylata and Estiga Mystis. She gave me this datastick with an important message for Estiga Myr.” He flashed the mentioned hardware as he passed, not slowing. Twi kept step with him. “I just came back here to get my oha so I can fly to Lettaplex Six, where Estiga Myr is.”

That cloud of worry sunk into Twi and blossomed. “She sent you without an amaraq?”

“Apparently it’s that important.”

“Is it about Ekymé?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t read it yet, but I have to go.” Rifo climbed the side of his green-hulled oha.

“I’ll send Zeln and Aarex after you. Success to you.” She placed a brief, reassuring hand on Rifo’s forearm.

Vian registered the touch and scowled.

“Ya, too.” Rifo slid into his seat.

Twi retreated as the cockpit closed and the oha lifted into the air. The thick blast doors rolled open, and Rifo flew off out of sight.

She felt Vian’s gaze on her back, his envy, disappointment, and calculation. Anger wriggled deep within her. To Knalcals, a touch was a claim, but not to Rifo. To Tala, a touch was a necessity, like air.

Even if this weren’t the case, Vian had no right to judge.

His jealousy reeked like rotten fruit. “This oha’s pilot, did he follow you home?”

Twi sighed. “I dragged his oha here because it was broken and you can fix it.”

“Which I am graciously doing, though if you deliberately brought him here, I wonder—”

“Analyze the ship, not me!” At his startled look, she softened her voice. “Is there anything different about it, special?”

“Oh, yes. For starters, I thought I had maxed out speed stats on Entrycii’s oha, but this thing would make his seem like a baby learning to crawl.”

“Record that and anything else you find. It’s important.”

Vian saluted, bringing a thumb to his lips, then raising it overhead. “I will perform a full analysis if you promise to read every boring word.”

Cynicism tugged at Twi’s eyebrow. “Just be a traditional Adjuvant and say you’ll do as you’re told.”

Vian grinned. “For you, Milady, anything.”

Continued in Chapter 10: Change is Inevitable

Thank you for reading!