ALL WILL BE WELL

Krei steps into the hangar and makes a beeline to her bike, until she notices that Wrenches is sitting next to the Firefly, turning over something in his hands with a thousand-yard stare.

“What’s with the long face?” she asks. “I ain’t even started bullying you yet today.”

Wrenches doesn’t respond, continuing to turn over the coin in his hand.

“...hello?” Krei stops, and crouches down to get into his field of view better. “Wrenches? You good?”

He looks up at her, and blinks. “...sorry. You need something?”

Krei cocks her head at him. “The fuck’s up with you? I’ve never seen you like this before…”

Wrenches looks down at the thing in his hand, and then holds it up for her to see.

It’s a little emblem of gear with a hammer on it.

“Found this in the old ship while taking her apart to fix the Firefly,” Wrenches says dully. “...got me thinking about things.”

“What is it?” Krei asks.

“Scrapper emblem,” Wrenches says.

“What, like for a guild or something?”

Wrenches shakes his head. “A gang. Got pressed into being their blackthumb. How I learned the trade.”

“Pressed?” Krei frowns. “Like, forced into it?”

“More or less.”

“So that brought back some trauma, I guess, huh?”

Wrenches shakes his head again. “No. It brought up the fact that they’re all long dead.”

Krei blinks, unsure how to respond.

“The Scrappers haven’t existed for an impossibly long time,” Wrenches says quietly. “My friends and enemies, everyone I’ve ever loved or hated, everything I’ve ever known of human existence, has changed completely.”

“...even the homeworld?” Krei asks.

“Especially the homeworld,” Wrenches replies. “They barely even hold records back that far, and half the people I knew weren’t even on the books in the first place. Nobody ever even know I went missing, because there’s been so many generations that anyone who remembered anyone that knew me has been dead for centuries. Nat and I are ghosts now, stuck out of time.”

Things changing is one thing. Darklings are fluid creatures, Krei can understand and accept that concept.

But losing everything.

Everything.

Stepping into a ship one day, and then blinking, stepping out with your mind only half-repaired, and finding out that any person you knew among your own people is not only dead, but lost to history completely?

That is something an ageless being like her cannot even conceive of, and her mind reels at the concept.

“...sorry.” Wrenches gets up. “I shouldn’t be dwelling on old regrets. There’s work to do—”

“Wait. Wait.” Krei holds up a hand. “...maybe don’t—don’t be so fast to dismiss it.”

Wrenches looks at her blankly, not saying a word.

“...I mean.” Krei shrugs. “...you’re their last anchor, you know? The last person that knew everyone from back then. Maybe it’s…worth remembering them every once in a while.”

Wrenches stares down at the emblem in his hand, then closes his fist around it.

Kassius tosses a data pad at the elf, and goes to stand by the window, sipping his whiskey.

The elf taps on it and scrolls through it. “…how did you get this?”

“The Hegemony has a hand in the process,” Kassius replies, still staring out at the stars.

“How?” The elf holds up the data pad. “This is Rohzian tech! They would never allow a human into the process!”

“You underestimate our influence,” Kassius says. “As do most. This is by design.”

“But this puts a target on your back! The Hegemony cannot defend itself against a power that big!”

“But Lillia can,” Kassius points out. “And Orkaia. And Iryz.” He turns to look back at the elf. “Many hands, many irons, many fires, my friend.”

The elf stares down at the datapad in his hands, eyes wide as he realizes what he just signed on for.

On one hand, he is fairly certain he will have the best job security in the galaxy.

Khaze stares up at Tyr, snarling as he struggles against the chains around his wrists.

“What did you think to accomplish with this foolishness?” Tyr asks coldly. “Did you think it would sow enough chaos to disrupt their operations completely? Surely you know better than to discount how quickly the Spacers adapt to such things. The Houses would be out of commission for a few days at best, and they would be very angry.”

“They would be fighting each other by now!” Khaze snarls. “They would want to—”

“They are not nearly so stupid as to think one of their own would try to blow up one of their major shipyards just to seize power,” Tyr notes. “At best, you would reignite the conflict between them and us.”

“Then we could finish them this time!” Khaze shouts. “You gave us up! Coward! We should have kept fighting! We should have burned that moon! Just like every dwarven planet that ever gave us trouble! But you lose one of your pretty women to them, and suddenly we have to capitulate!”

Tyr picks him up by the collar. “Do you not think for a second that I don’t want to do exactly that? That I don’t want to lead the army that would raze Ryzdren to the ground myself and watch Zoia Pendragon suffer as she watches her people die around her? After all they did, you don’t think I feel a burning hatred for the prisoners that killed thousands of our kin?!”

Khaze stares back silently at Tyr, shaking as the fear of what he’s unleashed finally hits him.

Tyr throws him to the ground where he crumples in a heap.

“The reason I negotiated our surrender,” Tyr says carefully, “is because if I did not, and I let you drag these conflicts on for another century, we would have lost every colony we’ve ever established to the Iryzians. Iryz would have ruined our navy, strengthened their own, and likely gained the full ability to fire mass drivers into our atmosphere. The Empire is already a shadow of its former self. All that is left is to staunch the bleeding. And when people like you go picking at the scabs, the only thing it does is make the wound fucking bleed more.” 

Khaze stares up at Tyr, trying to put on a brave face.

“Admit you were wrong,” Tyr says. “and you’ll be allowed to live the rest of your days in a deep, dark hole. Fail to do so, and I will drag you into the capital’s center, and invite Zoia Pendragon to do whatever she wants to you.”

“...I’d rather you fucking shoot me,” Khaze hisses at him.

“Very well.” Tyr reaches back, draws his pistol, and plugs two bullets right between Kahze’s eyes, with a third in his heart.

The two guards behind him both look at Khaze, dumbfounded, then at Tyr.

Tai claps both hands together in front of his face, and takes in a slow breath, carefully counting up on his inhale, then down on his exhale.

First position. Second. Third. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.

Inhale.

Reset.

Exhale.

First position. Second. Third. Sixth. Seventh. Ninth.

Inhale.

Reset.

Exhale.

First. Fourth. Ninth. Tenth. Thirteenth. Third.

Inhale.

Reset.

Exhale.

He settles into his internal rhythm, stepping forward, pushing forward, stepping fluidly from one move to the next, the sound of his father at the forge swinging a hammer down on a glowing, nearly white-hot sword ringing in his ears, ever-steady, as if by clockwork.

First. Third. Fifth. Sixteenth. Nineteenth. Second. First. Second. Fourth.

Inhale.

Reset.

Exhale.

He takes in a deep breath, turns to the dual statues of the goddesses Droemnada and Lilith across from the door to the room, and gives them both a deep bow.

“I ask only for the will to act, and the discipline to do so rightly by the ways you have laid out for us,” he whispers to them both.

The statues stare back silently, Droemnada with her sword raised before her with stern intent, and Lilith with her hand extended outwards, pointing the way.

Laura Bailey has the Main Character Curse.