Chapter 8

EIGHT

Z ed leaned against the wall, his usual spot on the bridge, and hoped it wasn't obvious to everyone else just how much he needed the support to stay upright. His head ached, a hard, throbbing pain that his morning dose of painkillers had barely touched. He should ask Ness for more, he knew he should, but he was caught in this weird headspace of wanting to be truthful and wanting to protect Flick from the truth. Though…he knew already, didn't he? Hadn't they talked?

The holes in his memory were getting bigger.

"Ah, Central." Elias looked as if he'd smelled something particularly bad. "I hate this station."

Ness arched a brow. "Too clean-cut for you?"

"Don't kid yourself. Central is just like all the politicians that mill about down on Mars—they look pretty and put-together, but that's just hiding how corrupt and awful they are."

Flick grunted. "Careful, Eli. Your inner anarchist is showing."

Qek's long blue fingers poked and prodded at holos as she guided the ship closer to their destination. "I find it difficult to believe that the station that acts as the gateway to the human government establishment would be as contaminated as you say."

"Absolute power corrupts absolutely," Flick intoned.

She clicked, considering. "A fair point."

Zed thought about adding his input into the conversation—he'd lived on Central for a few months after a shovel to the back of his head had ended his posting on Outrock—but talking about something so inconsequential seemed really not worth the effort. Instead, he just watched the holo display.

Central was more formally known as the Central Alliance of Planets and Stations, which resulted in the stupid acronym of CAPS—so everyone just called it Central. On Mars below, the human government operated out of a secure domed campus that kept the harshness of the planet at bay. Mars had never truly been tamed, but the environment worked as a natural layer in the security system. The only way in or out of the dome was through the station hovering in geostationary orbit. All access to the government proper was monitored and controlled—all traffic had to originate or terminate at either the station or the dome, nothing else. That particular bit of security had been implemented after a terrorist attack following humanity's invitation to the galactic playpen.

The things people would do when they were scared.

"You're sure Agrius doesn't have any operations here?" Ness couldn't hide the worry in her voice. Zed knew she was still shaken up by what had happened on Risus. He saw it on her face whenever she caught sight of Qek's healing bruise. "If it's as corrupt as you say it is…"

"Marnie assured me Agrius has no foothold in Sol," Flick said, his tone reassuring.

"Right. And it's not an Anatolius station," Elias added with a glance at Zed. The fact that the crew was taking his wishes into account…it should have made him feel better than it did. "We'll have time to catch our breath, maybe pick up some jobs in the home system. We could even make a stop at Earth for Qek to go sightseeing again."

Qek's face wrinkled with pleasure. "I would like to see Antarctica. My homeworld does not experience that sort of cold or buildup of ice."

"Yeah, or maybe not." Flick shuddered, then leaned toward the screen, eyes narrowed. "Is that a?—"

Cold fingers sliced through the recycled air of the ship, sinking deep into Zed. Dimly he noted that the rest of the crew was shivering as well, but he was too caught up in the sensation of intrusion. His balls shrank, his gut tightened and the pain in his head spiked—then calmed.

"What the hell?" Elias gasped.

"That was a Guardian ship." Even Qek's voice sounded less steady than usual. "We were just scanned. It appears they are scanning all vessels approaching or leaving Central."

"The peace accord at the Hub." Flick squirmed in his seat, as though he was trying to erase the sense of fingers poking through his insides. Or maybe his balls had made a run for safety too. "They're making sure there's no funny stuff."

A few hundred thousand klicks behind them hovered the gate that gave humanity direct access to the Hub. From experience, passing through it was uncomfortable. Having his molecules transported and put back together—or whatever it was that the gate did—would definitely not help his headache any, so he was glad they were skipping that particular joy for now.

"You mean we're going to have to go through that again when we leave?" Elias looked decidedly green. "Shit."

"Fun." Everyone turned to Zed and he realized it was the first he'd spoken in…a while. He turned away from their scrutiny, leaning his temple against the wall. A flashing light on Qek's console caught his attention. "Message?"

"Yes. A ripmail holo for Elias." She clicked. "Would you like to accept it?"

"Who's it from?"

"That information has been withheld."

"Of course it has." Elias sighed. "Yeah, sure, go ahead."

The torso of a man floated in the middle of the bridge. Though the holo wasn't the best quality—thanks to it being a recorded ripmail transmission instead of a more secure and tighter live jazer—Zed could tell the man's skin was darker than Eli's, his eyes a deep brown. His hair was gathered in strict, small braids that curved around the shape of his head and were pulled into a neat bun at the nape of his neck. He wore a serviceable SFT blouse in a muted color that might have been blue or gray—it was hard to tell in the flickering holo.

He smiled for the camera . "Greetings, Captain Idowu. My name is Salataje Nynt, and I am the Grand Moth of Agrius."

"The Grand Moth?" Flick muttered. "Is he fucking kidding?"

"I do apologize for the quality of this transmission, but I did not know if your ship had the capacity to receive a jazer. Though that is neither here nor there." Nynt's eyes seemed to twinkle. Whatever the guy's point—and Zed hoped he made it soon—it was clear he was in a good mood. That might be good for the Chaos. It also might be very, very bad.

"Your time is valuable, so I will not digress further. I wish to negotiate with you on behalf of the Agrius organization. Preferably in person, though I will understand if you do not wish to meet."

"Oh hell no, we're not meeting?—"

"Fix, shush."

Nynt's expression sobered slightly. "That said, I hope you understand that a face-to-face meeting is not something I offer lightly or to many individuals. I will transmit contact coordinates following the holo. Please reply within twenty-four hours to confirm receipt of this message and inform me if you wish to enter negotiations. Thank you, Captain, and may your skies be clear."

Ness was the first to speak after Nynt's image winked out. "I don't even know what to think of that. They want to negotiate? With us?"

"Nope, they don't. It's a trap." Flick leaned back in his seat, his features set into a disbelieving frown. "Total trap. Tell me I'm not the only one seeing it."

Elias tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, his face twisted up into the expression that Zed recognized as his thinking face. "We don't know enough."

"Exactly. Maybe he's not even connected to Agrius. Maybe this is some massive con?—"

"No. Mr. Nynt sent along confirmation of his identity with the contact coordinates," Qek reported, clicking as she scanned the information on the ripmail interface. Her fingers flew over another window and she clicked again. "I have confirmed he is who he said he is—the Grand Moth of Agrius."

"What kind of title is that, anyway? Other than a stupid one?" Flick scoffed. "You're not considering replying, Eli."

Elias scrubbed a hand over his face. "I've got a day to think about it, right? So I'm going to think about it."

"The whole point of coming to Central was so that we were out of Agrius's territory."

"I know, but…" Elias shook his head. "I need to think about it."

Zed didn't miss that no one asked for his opinion. A few days ago, he might have been insulted. Now, though, he was just glad he didn't have to talk. He closed his eyes as Flick launched into another set of reasons why they couldn't trust Nynt's message—and suddenly someone was touching his arm, jolting him back to awareness. The pain between his temples flared, making him squint.

Ness watched him with compassion in her gaze and a slight, sad smile on her lips. "Why don't you go lie down, hon?"

Yeah. Lying down sounded like a good idea. "Can I get another dose?" It was early, but…he needed it.

"Sure." Ness cupped his elbow and guided him toward the door. "Let's get you settled and I'll go get it."

Part of him wanted to insist that—fuck, he couldn't even remember why her words both comforted and rankled. He decided it didn't matter and followed her docilely out into the hall.

Felix blinked and sucked in a breath as he jolted out of sleep, instinct warning him to remain still and silent. A second later, he realized he couldn't see. He blinked multiple times, looking for the rippled gray triangle of lamplight that usually arced across the ceiling of his quarters during the night cycle when main lighting was dimmed. Not there. Panic tickled the base of his throat like a misplaced heartbeat. He hated the dark. He didn't simply fear it—the absence of light terrified him. He couldn't think in the dark. He could only feel the prickle of horror creeping across his skin as memories slithered from the most distant corners of his mind—confinement, imprisonment, close and damp darkness, the clang of tools, mocking laughter, the rattled breath of his stin captors, the fear of never seeing the sky, the stars again.

He rolled to the side and a hand clamped down across his wrist. Felix bucked and pulled against the restraint. "Zed?" His harsh whisper echoed in the darkness.

The fingers of his left hand lacked the strength and dexterity to work Zed's hand free from his wrist. His abused knuckles screamed into the dark. "Let me go. Please…" He hissed and pulled again. "The light, turn on the light!"

Another hand pressed against his lips, catching his mouth half open. Felix bucked and yelled as he struggled to pull free. What the fuck? Zed wouldn't hurt him. Zed would never hurt him. Pain sliced across the back of his hand—a derm patch pulling loose.

"Shh."

The sibilant whisper offered no respite. Felix tried to bite the hand across his mouth. Panic arched his back. He thrashed against the hold of both hands, then pulled his knees up and kicked out. Zed's strength and bulk defeated him. The taste of Zed's soap collected at the back of his throat, bitter and sharp.

Felix continued to struggle, not understanding why Zed would hold him down. He knew Felix hated the dark. He'd joked about having to sleep with the lamp on. His ribbing had always been gentle, though. Understanding always warmed his words. This…this was a waking nightmare.

"Hostiles in the vicinity. Keep your head down and shut up." Zed's dry monotone drove another spike of terror through Felix's chest, and a new fear emerged from the smothering darkness: had Zed Zoned in his sleep?

Knowing he couldn't fight Zed, especially not when he Zoned, Felix stopped struggling. Breathing against the impenetrable black, he lay still, skin itching with all he held on to—fear and sanity. The pressure of Zed's hands eased almost instantly, then both withdrew.

Oh, thank God.

Felix sat up, automatically reaching to rub his newly mangled wrist. "What the f—" Zed's hand smacked across his mouth again. Felix fell back, away from the offensive touch. "Zed! Snap out of it."

He was angry now, but he still needed light, or he'd risk losing his marbles and his temper. He rolled toward the end of the bed and slid off onto the deck, jumping away from the feel of the other man, the looming darkness within the darkness. He sought the small pinpricks of illumination with which to navigate his quarters—the LEDs of the comm panel, the soft glow of the message light on his bracelet. Neither gave off much light and before he could reach his desk, a strong arm caught him around the waist and lifted him from his feet.

"Goddamn it. Let me go!" Felix found he couldn't even twist in the hold.

"We need to stay in cover."

"Why?" Kicking back, Felix attempted to wriggle free. Zed's arms might as well have been tungsten carbide.

Breath tickled his ear. "They're just over that rise."

A horrible weakness radiated out from Felix's core, churning through his gut, weighting his limbs. He'd almost accepted that Zed had slipped into the Zone, and if he could find a rational moment, Felix might be able to say he'd expected it. He was so still at night, he might well have been Zoning in his sleep for some time. But for Zed to move from blankness to madness, for his trips to start reflecting the degradation of his mind—it was too much.

Despair and dread were uneasy allies and neither was interested in helping him. Not right then.

Think, Felix. Think!

"I'll duck down." A soft quaver betrayed his distress. "I'll be quiet."

How could he break Zed free from this shared nightmare? He'd only barely started to recognize the gaps when he was awake—the extended silences, the daydreams that were not dreams. The safest course—the only viable course—might be to play along and make sure Zed knew they were on the same team. Again, Felix stopped struggling.

Zed responded almost instantly, setting him on his feet. Swallowing, Felix listened to the darkness and focused on what might have set Zed off. He heard nothing but his own labored breaths. Beneath, the thrum of his blood shunting through his veins, pursued by cold adrenaline.

"Sit rep," he murmured, pursuing his chosen course.

"Four bugs at three o'clock. Fully armored."

Bugs. What they called the stin.

Felix was combat trained, but as a mechanical engineer he had been one step removed from the front line until his capture. Then he'd had nearly four years to put theory into practice, and he had no doubt his military training had been all that had saved him from a withering death in the mines. That, and perhaps his need to be obstinate.

Any mention of the stin stirred fear and anger, usually regimented into degrees of usefulness. But in the dark with Zed pushing him deep into cover behind his bunk, reporting in that flat and lifeless tone, Felix struggled to hold on to what was important. He needed to be strong, and the jerky lassitude pushing at his limbs interfered with that. The images invading his memories didn't help.

He'd been up close and personal with the tall, insectoid aliens—segmented torsos and appendages armored in gray-green chitin—far too often. He knew their smell, the rattle of their breath, the rustle of their limbs as they moved and gestured. He knew more, so much more, all of it terrifying.

I'm on board the Chaos. I am safe, I am free.

His lungs hitched as he tried for a deeper breath, then relaxed as he managed another. Felix could just make out the outline of the shelf over his bunk. The door to his quarters remained lost in the heavy dusk, but he could see the comm panel beside it, the tiny points of light a beacon. Zed had nudged him against the wall between the end of the bed and the desk. Felix allowed himself to be situated. He could feel Zed next to him—not just his body, but the Zone. It surrounded Zed like a heavy cloak, a miasma of tension, and it occurred to Felix that he'd not actually felt the Zone before.

"Exit strategy," he prompted shakily, hoping to deter Zed from engaging his imaginary targets—and if they left his quarters, the light of the engineering bay might snap him back into reality.

Zed cocked his head, as if listening for relayed instructions, then directed his focus toward the far corner of the room where Felix's kick bag hung in the shadows. "Negative on the exit. We are weapons free. Waiting for permission to engage."

Shit, he didn't actually have a weapon, did he?

"There are four of them and two of us," Felix pointed out. Even if the odds were reversed, SOP would be to withdraw from the fight. On the ground, four human soldiers to one stin was the only combination with a projected favorable outcome. The aliens were too fast, too powerful.

"Do we have reinforcements on the other side of that hatch?" Felix indicated the door, hoping the fact they were not actually hunkered down behind a hillock might seep into Zed's state of consciousness.

Zed jerked to the left, obviously seeking the outline of the door. Then he leaned forward, his attention back on the corner. "Negative. The bunker has not been secured."

And just like that, the hatch to freedom became a potential hazard. Fuck!

"We were in there before," Felix tried. "It's been cleared."

Zed shifted again, his bulk angling toward Felix this time. "Who are you?"

Oh, shit.

"Lieutenant Ingesson, sir."

As with the Zone, Felix could feel Zed's uncertainty. Should he have used his first name? How did one play a game with no clear rules?

"It's me, Zed. Felix Ingesson."

"Lieutenant Felix Ingesson is dead. MIA in 2261. Declared KIA in 2262."

"I'm alive, Zed. You're aboard my ship. Our ship."

Zed tapped his throat as if trying to engage a sub-dermal mic. When he received no response, his shadow shifted abruptly and then the warm darkness that formed his outline became fluid. He didn't disappear, he hadn't phase-shifted, but he moved so fast, his outline blurred, and Felix found himself slammed against the bulkhead. One hand ground his shoulder into the plated steel, the other sought his throat. Felix kicked out, feet seeking belly, rib cage, or lower, that vulnerable point that could take a grown man down. Breath puffed across his face in short grunts as his kicks connected, but nothing rocked Zed back. Calloused fingers grazed his neck, then clamped around his throat.

"Zed! It's me! Felix. God…" The fingers tightened. "I'm Flick. Look at me, turn on the fucking light and look at me-hee." The last came out on a wheeze. As his limbs flailed, his mind scrabbled for purchase. "We're best friends. Always have been…always…" His throat burned. "I stole your…eight years…Academy…grad…u…" Their combined history came in short gasps as fingers of iron cut off his air supply.

"Love…Zed. Please don't…"