Nemesis Boxset Page 25

  “You manipulated me,” she spits, her hazel eyes dark and hard with the familiar look of betrayal. “Again.”

  She stalks toward the exit, her shoulders raised like a dog’s hackles.

  “Vega, come on,” I call after her. I get to my feet but trip over a bean bag I couldn’t see out of my left eye. My wrist bends the wrong way when I catch myself on the floor, but Vega doesn’t even pause at my cry of pain. She keeps walking, out the community center door.

  Claudia comes in shortly after and sees me cradling my wrist. She drops the wooden box—Vega’s would-be gloves—to examine me.

  “It’s broken,” she declares. “What happened? Where’d Vega go?”

  “She’s being an idiot.”

  Claudia rolls her eyes and lifts my good arm over her shoulder. “Come on, troublemaker. Back to the med bay.”

  After setting my wrist at the med bay, Claudia lets me sleep in her room. She prefers to be on her own, so she claims one of the small platform tents. It’s about the size of a pistol holster, no bigger than ten by ten feet, but there’s a decent bed and a stocked mini-fridge, so Claudia’s pretty happy with it. She offers me a cold protein shake before kicking off her boots and falling fast asleep, leaving half of the bed for me.

  I drain the protein shake. It tastes like rich chocolate fudge. Claudia definitely must have stolen a box of them off Harmonia before she returned here. I take off my gloves and tuck them in my boots like Claudia’s done. Then I lay next to my sister and doze off.

  The blaring buzz of speeder engines startles me out of a dead sleep the next morning. Claudia’s already gone, and by the look of the sun leaking through the holes of the canvas tent, it’s nearly lunchtime. Beyond Claudia’s makeshift room, commotion reigns supreme. When I stick my head outside, all I can see is the camp members running to and fro, radiating frantic and panicked energy. I put on my clothes from yesterday—barring my IA vest lest I get attacked for it—and join the chaos in camp.

  “Hey!” I grab a passing camper. “What’s going on? Why’s everyone freaking out?”

  The camper, a teenage boy with a jagged scar across his scalp, pulls free of my grip. “Get off me, Holmes. Ask someone else. I don’t talk to potential traitors.”

  The teenager runs off and bumps into his friends, who all glance over to get a good look at me. I give them the IA salute, and their eyes go wide with fear before they disperse. Everyone’s heading toward the center of camp, so I join the wave of people coming from the dormitory areas. Broken chunks of dialogue reach my ears.

  “They’ve done it, I heard—”

  “Lowered the shield!”

  “Man, the galaxy is screwed.”

  “I don’t want to be alien chattel!”

  When I reach the center square, it’s packed tight with Veritas agents, their families, and whoever else might live on Adrestia. I’m shoulder to shoulder with every person I pass. I look up at the sky, breathing in the air above me to get a break from the herd. I miss space.

  Another speeder cuts through Adrestia’s atmosphere, aiming for the landing strip a few miles from camp. One of its engines emits a plume of black smoke, trailing behind the speeder like death’s breath. As the camp watches with bated breath, the speeder’s engine explodes. The speeder gets knocked out of the air. It nosedives into the black sand and goes up in flames. The crowd lets out a mutual terrified scream.

  Halley arrives, stepping out of the community building with controlled haste. She wears an all-black combat ensemble, but her mask is in her hand rather than on her face. As she passes me, I see why she wears it. Half of her face is gone, from an explosion or some other trauma. The bones in her jaw and cheek are missing. Artificial skin protects what’s left, but the muscles of her mouth are visible through the thin synthetic layer. I gawk at her as she rushes by.

  “What are you looking at?” she snaps at me. She flips the mask into place with a practiced gesture and steps up on the stone fountain in the middle of the square. Everyone turns their attention to her. If they know Halley’s face beneath the mask, it doesn’t affect their respect for her. She cups her hands and calls over the crowd. “Listen up, everyone! What we’ve feared for some time has finally happened. The International Armament has lowered the Patch Shield protecting our galaxy.”

  The crowd gasps and screams. I grit my teeth, unable to contain a sneer. Halley waves her hands to quiet the people, and the chatter dies to whispers.

  “Pavo is now accessible to all manner of alien creatures,” Halley continues. “As you all know, the biggest threat to us is the Revellae. They were waiting just outside the galaxy for IA to lower the shields. We know IA is in contact with the Revellae and currently making deals with them to offer citizens from the galaxy up as breeding material. This is a reminder to contain your alarm. As long as you reside on Adrestia, you will be safe. Neither IA nor the Revellae can reach us here, due to the disorientation shield.

  “However,” Halley raises her voice a notch as another wave of conversation hits the crowd. “The Revellae have already breached several planets, causing multiple deaths and injuries. As Veritas is the only defense for the galaxy, this complicates things for us. Our teams who were out overnight and this morning have already faced a number of Revellae soldiers. We’ve ordered them to return to Adrestia to regroup, but as you can see” —she gestures to the smoking remains of the speeder— “we are woeful about their safe passage. This means loss, people. We’re not sure how many of our agents are down yet, but we’re going to need all the help we can get. I need volunteers to report to the med bay, where Doctor Nova and her team are preparing to treat the incoming traumas. Who will go?”

  A number of hands go up, and Halley portions off a section of the crowd. They bustle off, and everyone else fills in the gaps around Halley.

  “I need rescue teams to report to the airfield to help transfer injured agents back here to the med bay,” Halley continues. “Hands?”

  Another group is assigned and leaves to complete their duties.

  “And I need those who are able-bodied and willing to report to me for combat training,” Halley finishes. “With so many agents dead or injured, I’m afraid our numbers are down. If you are able to fight, please consider joining our forces.”

  Halley steps down from the fountain, and the crowd swarms her. She takes names and information, recording everything with the technology in her gloves. I push my way to the front of the crowd.

  “Sign me up,” I say.

  Halley laughs in my face. “Not a chance, Holmes.”

  Someone tries to step past me to get on Halley’s list, but I body-block them. “Why not?” I demand of Halley. “I already know how to fight. I was trained by IA, then Saint Rita, then Claudia, so I’m pretty much your best shot at a super soldier.”

  “You’re blind in one eye, remember?” Halley says.

  “So what? You’re missing half your face, and you’re ten years younger than me,” I say. “What makes you the better fighter?”

  Halley stares at me as the people in our immediate vicinity stop clamoring to put their names on her list and quiet down to listen to her reply.

  “If we had the time or the resources, Holmes, I would gladly challenge you to a duel,” Halley informs me. “At some point, you have to learn to stop underestimating your opponents. That is, after all, how you ended up with the short stick so many times.” She steps closer to me, her nose inches from mine. “And for your information, my face was torn off by one of your mother’s altered henchmen. He had claws equivalent to a grizzly bear’s, and he made short work of me during an attempted hostage rescue last year. Unlike you, my disfigurement hasn’t affected my ability to fight, so I highly suggest you shut the hell up.”

  “I can fight just fine.”

  She scans me from head to toe. “Holmes, you can barely stand up straight, and from what I hear, you’re half dead from opalite poisoning. I won’t ever deploy you on a mission. Get out of my face.”

  The
other eager warriors-to-be shove me out of Halley’s range, and I get shunted to the back of the crowd. I stand near the fountain and let the others pass. They bump into me, accidentally shove my shoulders, and step on my toes. No one utters an “excuse me” or an apology. It’s like I’m not even there. Why did I come all the way to Adrestia to help Veritas if I’m of no use to them?

  “Hey, loser.”

  Vega emerges from the crowd. She’s abandoned her IA-issued performance vest. Somewhere, she’s gotten ahold of an outfit that lets her blend in with the Veritas citizens: fitted black pants and a loose white T-shirt that flows in the breeze. It’s a perfect outfit for sparring and training, and she looks like a real rebel in it. She has brown leather gloves tucked in her back pocket.

  “You got a pair,” I say, pointing to them. “How’d you manage that?”

  “I took the oath this morning,” she answers. “When the speeders started coming in with those soldiers” —a shiver takes her over momentarily— “Fee, you didn’t see them. Those guys are all torn apart. The Revellae gutted half of them, injured others, and emotionally scarred everyone. I couldn’t not do anything. You were right. There are more important things, and this is more important.” She jabs her thumb over her shoulder toward the airfield. “I’m going to go help over there. You want to pitch in?”

  “You’re an ass.”

  Vega lifts an eyebrow. “What?”

  “You didn’t give a damn about anyone in here last night,” I remind her. “This isn’t the first time people have died because of IA, or did you forget the time your troops stormed The Impossible and killed almost everyone on it?”

  “Okay, are we keeping a running tally here?” she asks. “Because if you’re counting bodies, maybe you should turn the mirror on yourself, Ophelia. I was never a pirate. I never robbed and killed innocent people because big bad Saint Rita told me to. What’s your problem? I thought you wanted me to take the oath.”

  “You don’t listen to me,” I spit at her. “That’s my problem. I keep telling you what needs to happen—what we need to do—and it’s a damn struggle every time. You don’t pick sides. You never pick my side. Damn, what kind of best friend are you?”

  I can’t stand there a second longer, so I storm off. With only one good eye, I don’t see the low-hanging support beam directly to my left. My forehead slams right into it. The surprise, more than the actual crash, sends me spinning to the ground. I groan and cradle my throbbing head, applying pressure to stem the flow of pain. Apparently all I can do on Adrestia is hurt myself.

  “Get off of me,” I say when Vega tries to lift me up. “I don’t need your help.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  Hot liquid runs into my eyeball and clouds my vision in my right eye. Now, I can’t see out of my left and the rest turns a blotchy dark red. I rub furiously, but it only makes it worse. Vega tugs on my arm, and I let her help me up.

  “I know we’re shitty best friends,” she says as she leads me through the square, careful to protect me from the bustling crowd. “We’ve both screwed up so many times, I’m surprised we still bother to trust one another. Or maybe we don’t trust each other, and that’s the problem. We’re always waiting for the other person to betray us.”

  “I do trust you. Where are we going?”

  “They gave us a bunk when I took the oath,” she answers. “It’s about the same size as the dorm we shared at the Academy. Anyway, all I’m saying is maybe it’s time we start over. We haven’t really gotten to know each other as adults. For instance, do you know what my favorite hobby is?”

  “Pontificating?”

  “Shut up. It’s swimming.”

  “You know what my favorite hobby is?” I ask her. “Handling opalite. I love it. I love the smell of it, the feel of it between my fingers. I love processing it and perfecting bullets. I love loading it into blasters, pulling the trigger, and watching the stuff take down everything in its path.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re a sociopath.”

  “Clearly. My hobby is killing me.”

  Vega drops me, and someone crashes into my side. With half-dried blood coating my eyelashes, I can’t see when I get turned around. Vega quickly rejoins me and pulls me into an alley between the stone buildings where the crowd is less thick and hectic.

  “What did you just say?”

  “I have a severe case of opalite poisoning,” I say, rubbing my eye in an attempt to clear a line of vision. “I wasn’t going to tell you because that’s how your mom died, and I didn’t want you to have to relive that. Halley told half the camp, so it was bound to get to you eventually, and I figured you deserved to hear it from me. Though, according to you, we’re shitty best friends anyway, so feel free to forget I said anything.”

  Vega, stunned, gapes at me. “You’re dying? When?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. “I can’t do anything here, Vega. I came to Veritas to help save the galaxy, and they won’t let me do anything. I can’t fight because I can’t see, and Halley won’t deploy me on any missions because there’s a fifty-fifty chance I might croak before I complete it. I’m better off—oof!”

  The breath gets knocked out of my lungs as Vega throws herself at me. She wraps her arms around me, props her chin on top of my head, and hugs hard. My face is squished against her chest, and I can’t breathe well, but I’m weirdly glad for the steady pressure she exerts.

  “I’ll train you,” she mumbles into my hair. “Okay? I’ll train you and I’ll make sure you get on a battle team. There’s no way Veritas is keeping you out of this fight. It’s gonna be hard, just so you know. You gotta learn to fight with one eye, but you can do it.”

  “Vega, I—”

  “As for the opalite poisoning, you’re still fine,” she blabbers on. “It takes forever for it to affect you, and you aren’t exhibiting symptoms so far. My mom made it into her forties before it started affecting her. You have plenty of time.”

  “Tell that to Halley.”

  “Oh, I will.” She squeezes me even tighter. “Trust me, I will.”

  5

  Weeks pass, and the Revellae wreak havoc across the galaxy. I don’t see any of the battles, but I see the aftermath when the Veritas soldiers return home either injured or in a body bag. All I’m permitted to do is help out around camp. Usually, I find myself trekking into the jungle with the kids to pull tubers and roots from the ground for dinner, but when a particularly gruesome attack occurs, I help Nova and her team at the med bay. I’m accustomed to gore. I thought I saw everything under the sun when I worked raids for Saint Rita—pirates were not the type to kill neatly—but this is different. The Revellae show absolutely no mercy to humans. In a way, I understand their rage. Humans are the reason their species are almost extinct. But as I clean and dress wound after wound, wondering if the victims will survive and make a full recovery, I curse the aliens and the corrupt government who refuse to save its people.

  My first training session with Vega gets postponed when word of a Revellae attack on one of the outer planets comes in. When we reschedule, it gets postponed again due to the memorial service for the agents we lost in the attack. It takes a couple weeks to finally get an opportunity to train with Vega. We trek down to the beach to do it. No one comes out here much when the only resources are sand, saltwater, and driftwood, so it’s an ideal place to practice without the embarrassment of onlookers.

  “Let’s take it easy,” Vega says as she stretches her arm over her shoulder and pins it behind her head with practiced ease. The breeze off the water plucks at her curls. They’re getting longer, falling into her eyes. “It’s been a while for you, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I’m fine.” I swing my own arm up in the same stretch, but my shoulder blade pinches. I wince and try again, this time more slowly. My whole body is tight from disuse. “Have you talked to Halley?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  “Have you ever tried arguing with a fifteen-y
ear-old war leader?” Vega asks. “They’re insufferable. When I asked what the likelihood of getting you deployed was, she laughed. I’m telling you. Insufferable.”

  “Did she tell you what happened to her face?”

  “No, what?”

  “She said one of my mother’s altered henchmen did it.” I switch arms. The left—my non-dominant arm—is even worse off than my right. “Two years ago.”

  “That can’t be right,” Vega says. “Do we really believe Halley was allowed to fight when she was only thirteen?”

  “It’s not her age,” I reply. “I was under the impression that my mother hadn’t perfected a version of the alien DNA serum until this year. What was she injecting people with then?”

  Vega bends over and touches her nose to her knees. Then she jogs in place, bringing her knees all the way up to her chest. “We always kind of knew your mother was experimenting with this crap long before she found a serum that was safe.”

  “Safe,” I mutter. “Yeah, right.”

  She switches to butt-kickers to warm up her quadriceps. I join in. Everything feels a million times harder in the sand. It sucks my boots in, and my legs begin to burn every time I pick up my feet. Overhead, the sun peeks out from behind the clouds. I’m already sweating.

  Vega, warmed up, shakes out her arms and legs. “Ready to go?”

  I roll my neck and shoulders. Nothing about my body feels right, but I mirror Vega’s defensive stance anyway. Staggered feet, fists raised at eye-level to protect the face, knees slightly bent to lower my center of balance.

  I don’t see the first hit. It comes from the left—my blind side—and connects. Vega opens her fist at the last second, slapping my cheek rather than punching my jaw. It still stings.

  “Ow! What the hell, Vega?”