Grixaz. I hadn’t heard my father’s name in years. I hadn’t seen him since I was five. To be honest, I didn’t remember much about him except a vague feeling of warmth and safety. Really, the feeling everyone had around their parents.
“Your father?” Bor exclaimed. “You mean to tell me your father can do magic? Does that mean you can? How–”
“Bor,” I said slowly. “Was Mylak a jahen?”
His babbling stopped abruptly as he realized what he was saying. “No. No, he wasn’t.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. They moved weirdly without my eyes to anchor them. “Right. My father is a jahen, the same as me. And I’m certain Mylak did not do magic, because there is no such thing.”
“Sorry. I got a little carried away there. I don’t know what came over me.” If I could see him, I would have guessed Bor looked sheepish. His voice certainly sounded like it.
“You’ve had quite the month,” I said. I added dryly, “Besides, it’s not every day you see someone come back from the dead.”
He chuckled at that. “No, I can’t say that I have.”
The room fell silent as we thought of something to say. Bor spoke first. “What did B’honnes have to say about your condition? When are they going to let you out?”
An itch developed on my thigh. I resisted the urge to scratch it. “It’s not looking good. I’ll heal, but it’ll take a while. Getting stomped on by an Irgh is not the best for your health.”
“So you’ll be stuck in here for a few months? It could be worse. I sure all the cute nurses who have been walking by won’t mind keeping you company.”
“What?”
“You haven’t noticed th…” he trailed off. He had forgotten that I was blind. I suppose I’d have to get used to that too. And the polite sympathy from beings who had no idea what I experienced.
“It’s alright,” I said, “it’ll take me some time to get used to it, too. What were you saying about cute nurses?”
“Uh, well, just in the last few minutes alone, several rather attractive nurses have walked down the hallway outside your room, trying to get a glimpse in. They try to act like they aren’t, but I know how a female acts when she’s trying to hide something.” Poor Bor. He thought he knew. But what he said was interesting indeed.
“Oh? It’s probably nothing like you think. What happened was that they heard about someone who survived an Irgh to the chest, and they’re just interested in seeing how that’s possible.”
Bor laughed loudly. “Tedix, you might know a thing or two about fighting, but females are an entirely different matter. Trust me,” he said as his voice grew nearer and softer, evidently leaning in towards me, “they don’t care that you survived something that should have killed you because of the impossibility of it. They’re far more interesting in the fact that you fight Irghs and survive. You’re one of the most famous beings in the Rebellion, you know. All the Bandits are, but you and Clint especially.
“And to the female mind, that makes you very attractive. They’ve heard stories about you two, how you’ve travelled the galaxy, saved hundreds of beings, fought across the stars. Besides,” Bor said in a sly tone, “it’s not like you’re a bad looking specimen, either.”
“I’d say I’m quite bad at looking, but that’s just me.” I don’t know where that came from, but the best way to deal with personal issues is to joke about them. That’s what my ex-wife told me anyway.
Bor was silent. “Laugh, damn you,” I said. “I know I’m blind, and I’m going to have to deal with it for the rest of my life. I can joke about it if I want.”
It took me a moment to realize he actually was laughing, but he was laughing so hard that he was breathless. All I heard were faint wheezes. After Bor managed to catch his breath, he said in somber voice, “I’m going to miss you, Tedix. It just won’t be the same without you in the Bandits.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I told him. “Maybe Mylak will come back and ‘magic’ me some new eyes.”
“That would be great,” Bor said. “If he can bring you back from the dead, he can cure your blindness.”
The door opened, clicking against the wall, and I heard a faint pattering across the floor. “Sir,” said a light, feminine voice, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. Mr. Jaku needs his rest.”
I disagreed. “No, I’m fine. He’s not bothering me.”
“I’m sure of that,” the voice said in an accent I couldn’t quite place, “but you need your rest regardless. You should have been asleep hours ago.”
“But–” Bor protested before she cut him off.
“There will be no argument.” Her voice was firm and commanding. If Clint Stone had been female, and about a hundred and fifty pounds lighter–based on the voice–I imagine that’s what he would have been like. “Shoo. The best thing you can do for your friend is let him rest.”
Bor grumbled under his breath, but he did as he was told. As he made his way out of the room, he called back to me and said, “I’ll visit as often as I can, but we’re shipping off to the far edges, so I don’t know when that will be.”
The nurse clicked at him–allowing me to recognize her as a Guen–and Bor left with a hurried goodbye. I sensed that she directed her attention at me as she said, “You need to get some rest. Sleep is the body’s best cure for its ailments.”
“I have a friend who’s coming back shortly. I can’t sleep until then.”
She tsked at me. “They’ll just have to leave a note or come back later. You need to sleep.”
“If I could move, I would be wildly gesturing trying to convince you I’m not tired.”
“You are tired, your body just doesn’t know it yet. Here, I’ll show you. Just relax and just let your mind drift. Don’t think of anything, just float in the waves of your mind.”
I sighed and humored her. I found I couldn’t relax until I mentally closed my eyes. They weren’t there, but I still felt the need to close them to relax. Once I did that, I became aware of the deep exhaustion my body felt. Most of it was covered by the pain, but as soon as I started to feel it, the exhaustion swept over my body and I slipped into a deep sleep.
When I woke up, I was alone. After a while, a nurse came in to check on me, declaring me healthy as could be expected. Breakfast consisted of some strange mush that sat well in my stomach. It didn’t taste half bad, either. After I had finished the bowl, the nurse read me a note that Bor and Clint had left behind. It said that they would be away for an unknown amount of time and they would visit as soon as they could. There was nothing else.
I understood that they couldn’t leave anything specific in the note, but I still wished I could have known what they were getting into, if only to give my imagination somewhere to go. I had never really had a chance to test before, but lying in a bed with nothing to do is incredibly boring. I wasn’t allowed to move more than my hands, nor could I see anything that would provide even a moment’s distraction.
I took to counting to keep me busy, but that only lasted for an hour by my count. I quickly grew bored of that and began to squeeze my hands together, sometimes in a rhythm, other times at random. I tried to engage the nurse who fed me lunch in conversation, but she could only stay for a few minutes before continuing on her rounds. I heard no one else for the rest of the day.
The second day was much the same. I was given meals and brief conversation with the nurses who brought my food, but there was little to do in the way of occupying my time. I slept, mostly, both because I was tired and because it helped pass the time. On the third day, someone kindly thought to give me a puzzle. It was a strange puzzle, a tube inside of a tube. Etched on the inside of the outer tube was a maze of lines and grooves. A single raised piece on the inner tube fit inside, sliding through the maze.
You were meant to solve the maze by rotating and sliding the tubes by touch, because you couldn’t actually see the maze. It was perfect for me. It took me an hour to solve the first time, and by the end of the day I could have solved it with one hand in less than five minutes. The next day they brought me another, far more difficult puzzle. That one took me a whole day to solve.
On the fifth day, I had a visitor.
A knock came on the door. I ignored it beyond the initial notice, because usually nurses just knocked to let you know they were coming in. The knock came again. Turning towards the noise in confusion, I called out, “Come on in.”
With a whispered sigh, the door glided open. I took note of that because it had never made that sound before. Whoever had opened the door walked over to my bedside with light, purposeful steps. “Hello, Tedix,” a voice said.
When one describes a voice, one usually notes the tone, the accent, and perhaps what it sounds like. Clint, for example, sounded like honey poured over rocks, with the honey optional. Bor, in contrast, sounded like water pooling after a rainstorm. I’ve tried to describe voices to others before, but almost no one knew what I was talking about. Only other jahens took note of what a voice sounded like, its subtleties and impression.
Some were rich, some were shallow. Some flew, some smoldered. Solid as the oak or light as a feather, voices resounded, each unique and its own entity. But each of these voices was simply that, a voice. I could distinguish each, and some stood out to me, but beyond that, a voice did not draw my attention. This one did.
With two simple words, the world faded away for a brief moment. All that was, was that voice. High and clear, like the air around the peak of a mountain. Lithe and elegant, it danced through my ears, skimming its fingers gracefully across the pool of my mind. Complex and intense, the coursing deep waters of a crystalline river. A thousand different notes and tones and minute facets filled the air, vibrating with life. Never before had a voice captured my focus with such utter vigor. I could not have escaped the pull of that siren call even if I had desired.
“Hello, Tedix,” the voice said, “my name is Myxali.”
“H-hello,” I stammered and said the first thing that popped into my mind. “You’re beautiful.”
I heard a slight “oh” of surprise. I was about ready to kick myself. What was I, fifteen again?
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I meant that your voice sounds beautiful. It’s the first thing I’ve enjoyed since being in here.”
She, and it was a she, laughed. It wasn’t a mocking laugh, just a genuine mirthful chuckle. “I wasn’t surprised at the compliment. Your comment just made it seem like you could see me.”
I laughed with her. “No, no miracles in here yet.”
“Yet? Confident, are we?”
My chest hurt when I laughed again. Her voice was enchanting. And there was something there I hadn’t heard for a very long time. A jahen accent. Myxali was a jahen name, and from my own home world, if I was not mistaken. The x in her name gave it away. It was strange to meet a jahen out here, in the middle of Rebellion space. “What can I do for you, Myxali?”
“Actually,” she said, “it’s more what can I do for you. You’re going to need physical therapy to get back on your feet. I’m going to be helping you do that.”
“B’honnes mentioned something about that. What exactly does that mean?”
“Well,” she said, her footsteps indicating her stepping closer, “due to your being in a coma and subsequently bedridden, your muscles have atrophied quite a bit. We need to get you used to moving them again, and get them back into excellent condition. Then there’s your injuries themselves, your chest and shoulder being the main concern.”
“You mean like lifting weights and mobility exercises?”
“Precisely. We won’t be starting your therapy for a few days yet, as your injuries have a bit to heal before we can put stress on them. I’m just here to make an initial assessment.”
If I wanted to, I could have lost myself in her voice for hours. As it was, I was slightly more interested in having a conversation with someone who was just there to check my vitals and feed me.
“What does that assessment include?”
“Essentially, taking note of your current functionality and what might be done to improve it.”
The sound of fingers tapping on a screen reached my ears. I turned my head towards it and Myxali must have noticed, because she said, “Just taking note of my initial impressions.”
The tapping continued. “Where are you from?” I asked. “You’re clearly jahen, and your accent places you on Xuras.”
The tapping stopped. “If I had to guess,” I elaborated, “I’d say…Yxena province?”
“How did you know that?” she said in bewilderment. I shrugged as best I could buried in the blanket and pillows they had given me.
“It’s all in your voice. I’m from Xuras, Nenux province. That’s why I know what someone from Xuras sounds like.”
“Is that so?” she asked. “Your hearing is quite exceptional. I thought I got rid of my accent years ago.”
“I have a talent for voices,” I said.
“I think we can conclude your hearing has not been affected,” she said, resuming her tapping. “Were I testing for that, you’d have full marks in that.”
Myxali tapped away for several more minutes. I remained silent and simply listened. A pleasant tingling started on my scalp as a result of the noise. She stopped tapping and the feeling faded.
“For this part, I need to get a little more hands on. Do you have any objections?” she asked me.
I shook my head. “Just be gentle on my chest. It’s still a bit fragile, so they tell me.”
She chuckled at that. “How’d you end up out here?” she asked as she walked around to the foot of my bed.
“Uh, well, an Irgh used me as a stress ball, so there’s that.”
I felt her pause. “An Irgh?” she asked, a hint of disbelief in her voice.
I nodded. “Sounds crazy, I know. Who survives an encounter with an Irgh?”
“You, apparently. What I intended by my question was how’d you end up way out here in Rebellion space if you’re from Xuras. Not to put too fine a point on it, but jahens aren’t really known for their prowess in battle.”
“Nor are they known for their medical expertise,” I replied. “I ended up here by chance, mostly. Met the right people, ended up in the right places at the right times. Until recently, as you be able to tell.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said. “It’s just that I’ve never met another jahen who did something for others that didn’t benefit themselves in some way.”
“We tend to be a selfish bunch, don’t we?”
I felt a light touch on my right shoulder and jerked out of reflex. The sudden movement evidently startled her as well, because I heard a gasp and “I am sorry, I should have warned you first.”
I waved my hand slightly. “It’s fine,” I lied, sure she could hear my thumping heart over my voice.
“I just need to test your range of motion and reflexes,” she explained. Taking my arm again, she poked and prodded at me for a good ten minutes, moving limbs and muscles in a variety of directions. I told her what hurts, what didn’t, and what was tolerable. Very little didn’t hurt–mostly my legs–and most of the rest was tolerable if I ignored it. Judging by Myxali’s reactions, it should not have been tolerable.
“Are you sure that doesn’t hurt?” she asked, a hint of disbelief undercutting her angelic voice. “Not even a little?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. While the finger poking my side was uncomfortable and sore, it was not like the pain in my chest. “It’s a bit sore, though. Might you stop poking it?”
“Sorry. You’re being truthful? Not just acting tough for me?”
“I’m sure. My chest hurts more when I inhale deeply.”
She snorted. “With as many broken ribs as you have, I’m surprise you’re not a gibbering mess just from breathing.”
I shrugged as far as I could. “After Mountain’s Tear, everything else is kind of…dull.”
Her prodding stopped. “You’ve taken Mountain’s Tear?”
“I wouldn’t say taken. It was not my choice, believe me.”
“But you’ve had it?”
“Yes.”
“That would explain…a great many things,” she said thoughtfully. “Hmph.”
Her prodding resumed. Every motion my body was capable of, and some I had no idea were possible, was tested and recorded. She talked to me during the assessment, explaining what she was doing and why she was doing it. I simply laid back and let her voice wash over me.
“How did this happen?” she asked, gliding her fingers over the missing chunk in my left ear.
“Plasma shot,” I said.
“You certainly have a wide variety of scars. Are all of them from your time with the Rebellion?”
“No, most of them are actually from before I joined the Rebellion, when I was running around the galaxy.”
“I’ve never seen such an impressive collection. You’ll have to tell me their stories in the future.”
We continued our conversation until the end of the assessment and then for many minutes afterwards. Eventually, when a nurse came into to give me my evening meal, Myxali realized the time and excused herself, promising a return the next day. The prospect filled me with joy. Here was something to break the monotony of the day.
Myxali was wonderful to converse with. She was intelligent, funny, and a great talker. We had a number of things in common, as well. In addition to both being jahens in a place where jahens had no place being, we’d both come from the same homeworld, held many of the same interests, and we had both joined the Rebellion for very similar reasons. She intrigued me greatly.
When I fell asleep that night, it was with anticipation for the morrow.
I awoke at the same time I always did, when the nurse came in for her morning tests and breakfast. We chatted briefly, but our conversation did not pass much beyond the pleasantries. I did learn that Nurse Tyjimn had done something rather nasty to Nurse W’ef’aa in retaliation for sleeping with Tyjimn’s girlfriend, but that was not out of the ordinary for the hospital. Nurses and their petty feuds are the glue that held a hospital’s social scene.
I spent the morning fiddling with my puzzle tubes and waiting for Myxali to stop by. I hadn’t been this excited to talk to anyone for about ten years now. The blame lay squarely on the fact that I hadn’t had prolonged contact with anyone for a good week. My brain must have been keeping track during my coma as well, subconsciously adding to that count.
The morning passed agonizingly slow. I knew I had no reason to be this enthusiastic about talking to a physical therapist, but I was. I had solved the puzzle twice and was well on my way to the third when the door cracked open. It was a slow, light noise, as if someone was trying to go unnoticed, but when you can’t see the rest of your senses become better to compensate. And I was never of poor hearing in the first place.
The footsteps crossing the floor were not the light, purposeful steps that Myxali had possessed. These footsteps were heavy, labored as if under a great weight. I turned my head towards them, and they stopped.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” I said. I didn’t know if that was true, but it was not a far leap.
“No, I am not. But I do need to be here.” The voice was male, and it was thunderous. It was not loud, but it filled the room with its presence. The voice sounded almost solid, a physical manifestation of the speaker’s thoughts. It seemed to settle on my body, sinking into the fiber of my being.
“Why do you ‘need to be here’?” I asked.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. “My son, there is much I need to tell you.”
“MOVE, WRENCH MONKEY!” Malx Rhea ducked as a thick pipe flew in his direction. The words weren’t in a response to the incoming whirling metal, but rather the pipe was emphasis for the words. Sadly, that was all too common of an experience for Malx.
Life aboard King’s Grave was not easy for a fifteen year old. Forced to labor with the ship’s Repairmen, Malx had been a virtual slave for years. Ever since the ship he had previously been on with his parents and sister had been attacked and boarded by Zathyre the Dreaded and his pirate crew, Malx had been surviving by the continued good will of his captors.
They pretended he was one of the crew, that he was like a son to many of them, but Malx knew the truth. He was a slave, and he was expected to do whatever the Captain wished. Currently, that meant servicing the boarding pods with Old The’kewa. He was a mean bastard. Malx never moved fast enough, or did well enough to earn praise. The only thing he got was respite from the abuse.
After ducking the pipe, Malx returned to work under the engine of the boarding pod. He liked it there. Machines and their inner workings were his escape from his current situation, and he leap into them with relish. Due to the want to escape nearly every moment, Malx spent most of his waking hours surrounded by machines. He knew them inside and out, could take them apart and put them back together blindfolded. They were his solace and his freedom.
This particular pod was having issues with the fuel and propulsion interconnector. It was a problem Malx had run into too many times to count. While the pods Zathyre employed for his pirate raids were solid machines, they were also old. Old machines didn’t run together as well as fresh ones, all their parts replaced at one time or another. Malx still loved them though. The old ones were the best, each with their own personalities and quirks.
Gripping his omnitool, Malx leaned in, beginning the relatively simple process of disconnecting the malfunctioning part. Before he had touched tool to part, the ship shook. A rocking ship was never a good thing to be intertwined with, seeing as several tons of metal would crush Malx immediately.
“What in the name of the Bloody Goddess was that?” shouted Old The’kewa. Malx realized it hadn’t been the ship he’d been working on that had rocked. It was the King’s Grave that had rocked. All three thousand feet of her.
The lights hanging from the ceiling and embedded in the walls flickered and blinked out. Within seconds, the emergency lights and alarms started to go off. “Are we being boarded?” Malx asked incredulously.
“What was that, wrench monkey? Speak up!” Old The’kewa roared. He had one volume setting. Loud.
“Are we being boarded?!” Malx yelled back at Old The’kewa.
“Yes we are,” came a calm voice behind Malx. Turning, Malx was forced to bend his neck sharply to look into the face of Zathyre the Dreaded. The Dread Pirate Lord was an imposing figure, red scaled face scarred and battle worn. With a gun slung over his shoulder, Zathyre looked prepared to fight off a regiment of invaders.
On his other shoulder, Rhey the Slime burbled and bounced. No one know what exactly Rhey was, but from what little the crew could tell, Rhey was a sentient slimeball that lived off cracker dust and depleted fuel cores. He couldn’t speak, or hear anything that they could tell, but the Captain seemed to enjoy him.
“The’kewa, ready the cannons.”
“Sir, the cannons? They’re not–”
Zathyre turned his cold gaze on Old The’kewa. The smaller ghurk gulped and hastened to his work. Malx turned to follow, but he was stopped by the Captain. “Grab a gun, young Malx. Today, you learn how to kill.”
Malx knew better than to argue with the Dread Pirate, and grabbed a gun off the nearest work table. There were copious amounts of weaponry scattered about the ship, with many in the repair bay for maintenance and upgrades. “Aye, sir.”
“The bastards attacking us have sunk their craft into the upper hangar. You and I are going to–”
Whatever Dread Zathyre and Malx were going to do was lost in the noise and impact of an enormous mass against the side of the ship. The wall buckled under the force, before splitting to reveal the tip of a boarding pod. Malx was knocked off his feet and his head bounced off the floor.
When Malx had forced himself to his feet, a strange scene met his eyes. The pod’s spearhead had opened, and several figures had spilled out, filling the room. Zathyre the Dreaded knelt on his knees before a huge being, hands clasped behind his head. This new being was the most terrifying being Malx had ever laid eyes on.
Over six feet tall and rippling with muscle, the being stood with a pistol held to Zathyre’s head, face twisted in the purest expression of rage Malx had witnessed in his life. The eyes blazed with fire, seemingly hot enough to kill with a glance, and the features seemed to be carved out of stone, using malice and hatred as hammer and chisel.
“Did you kill her yourself?” the being hissed at Zathyre. Malx knew that sound of that voice would be burned into his memory for the rest of his life, however long that would be.
“What are you talking about?’ Zathyre asked. To his credit, not a hint of fear showed in his voice. If Malx had been in his place, he likely would have melting into the floor. The blow that the being with the face of stone dealt to the Dread Pirate knocked him straight to the floor so quickly the sound of fist striking flesh and flesh striking floor was one continuous noise.
Stone Face dragged the Pirate Lord up by his collar. “Lady Night. The Rebellion diplomat on the ship you raided three weeks ago. Did. You. Kill. Her?”
Zathyre spit in the face of stone. “I will not tell you anything.”
Stepping forward, Malx was immediately met with the barrels of three guns, held in the hands of Stone Face’s fellow boarders. He froze, his hands shooting into the air faster than his gun fell to the floor. “Don’t shoot! I might be able to help you.”
“Why would you help us? We’ve boarded your ship,” a hryth with a particularly steady gun hand said.
“Because,” Malx said, savoring the words as they came out of his mouth, “this piece of scum sucking shit murdered my family and forced me into virtual slavery. If I can help punish him, I’ll gladly do it.”
“What do you know?” Stone Face barked.
Malx half recoiled at the harsh fury, but it wasn’t directed at him. “Was Lady Night a pthuni?”
“Yes. What did you see?”
Turning to Zathyre, Malx could not stop the smile from splitting his face. The Dread Pirate, not so Dreadful anymore, saw the expression filling Malx’s face and desperately shook his head, trying to keep Malx from saying the words that would end his life. “Her ship was boarded. She bid for peace and Zathyre accepted a temporary truce. When she opened the door to her ship, he shot her.”
There was a sharp crack that filled the room. Glancing to the side, Malx saw that the gun Stone Face had been holding was in several pieces on the ground. He had clenched it so hard it had snapped. Malx backed away. The look of fury on that face made Malx almost wish he hadn’t said anything.
“You killed her. You will die.”
The calm words were at utter odds with the demented mouth they came from. The look that crossed Zathyre’s face was both satisfying, and pitiful. Faced with death, the Dread Pirate at least met it chin raised. With a roar that nearly deafened Malx, Stone Face lifted his fists into the air over Zathyre and brought them crashing down.
The resultant blow landed with enough force to send shards of skull flying into the air. The fists continued through the body, driving it down into the metal floor, embedding themselves several inches in solid steel. Malx stared. Stone Face remained crouched over the body for several moments before ripping his gore soaked hands out of the floor and storming out of the room. Malx blinked.
His stomach twisted and he whirled away, emptying his stomach against the wall. After emptying his last five meals, Malx felt a hand patting him on the back. Looking up, he saw it belonged to the hryth with the steady gun hand.
“It’s not every day one gets to witness Clint Stone exacting bloody vengeance. He’s not usually like this, you understand. But it seems your Captain here murdered a close companion, and Clint has a hard time with his temper.”
Turning, the hryth gave a signal with his hand and the other boarders fell into position behind him. They had travelled a dozen yards before Malx called out after them. “What am I supposed to do now?”
The hryth looked back at him. “Have you heard of the Rebellion against the Swrun Empire? We could always use more fighters.”
Malx shook his head. “I’m not a fighter. I’m a mechanic.”
“Even better! We need one of those in the Bandits. Come with us!”
Malx considered for a moment. There was nothing else for him in this ship, or anywhere he could go, assuming he managed to get transportation off the King’s Grave. He jogged after the hryth.