Chapter 2
The reflection wasn’t hers.
Wraith stared at herself in the small, square mirror. The eyes were too hollow, the collarbones too sharp under scar tissue she couldn’t remember earning.
And yet it was. It sure as hell moved when she did. And she supposed it bore some resemblance to the person she remembered. A little. Mostly around the eyes.
Scary what half a decade in a box did to you.
She was standing naked in the tiny bathroom on the space hopper—a small transport designed for short range trips. Major Asshole must have another ship waiting nearby.
The sonic shower had left her feeling uncomfortable. The vibrations made her skin crawl as if infested with insects. Five years without touch, and now even air felt like violation.
She was aware of herself as she hadn’t been in years.
On the small bench sat a uniform. Her uniform, apparently.
Every instinct told her that to put it on was to die. She wanted to kill the three men aboard the ship instead, take it, and disappear.
But she couldn’t.
Her nails scraped over the back of her neck. For a moment she just stared at the blood beneath them.
There, between her third and fourth cervical vertebrae, was a small biochip. She may be out of the cell, but she was still on a leash.
And if she bit the hand that held it? Well, that little biochip wold ensure that her last moments would follow swiftly after—quick, but painful.
Tether.
She spat in the basin.
The technology was created in the early days of the War, when prisoners were commonly used as experimental fodder for the enhancements needed to survive the Inbetween.
A link between prisoner and warden. Another chain, just hidden below the surface.
Go too far from them, you die. If they die, you die. If they decide to press the kill switch, well, guess what? You die.
She hadn’t survived genetic modification, a war, a suicide mission and prison to die now.
At least there was the prospect of food other than nutri-cubes.
She sighed and pulled on the uniform. It hung loose on her too-thin frame, but the warmth surprised her. She’d forgotten what that felt like.
She opened the door and walked across to a bench and sat. One guard watched her, SG pistol at the ready. His left eye twitched—he expected a strike.
The other was piloting. She’d tagged him through the thick, ArmorGlass panel in the cockpit door.
Major Pain was nowhere to be seen, but given the tiny size of the hopper, he must be below deck in the hold. Why, was anyone’s guess.
There was nothing else going on, and nothing she could do about the Tether.
For now.
She shrugged and closed her eyes and let herself drift. Not sleeping, never sleeping, but resting.
And waiting.
Kael stepped back as the case sealed with a hiss, too quiet for regular human ears. But not for his.
The weapons in that chest were horrors. Void take him, he hoped he’d never have to use them. But sometimes, War is Sacrifice. He had to remember that.
Fortunately, both the case and the weapons were keyed to him, so no accidents could happen. Of course, if Captain Raine ever did get her hands on them, it wouldn’t be an accident.
Even though he had been the one to campaign for her release, for the mission, his doubts had grown with every astronautical mile. They had continued to grow since he’d released her.
But what was done, was done.
If they were to have any kind of a chance at defeating the Others. At forcing them back to their part of space, they needed every advantage they could get.
And that meant finding people that could navigate the increasingly unstable Inbetween.
Even if that person had caused the biggest disaster of the War. Even if that disaster had ended it.
He climbed the ladder back up to the main deck.
She was sitting with legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. Hands resting in her lap. Eyes closed.
Brenkoff was watching her like a viper he was expecting to strike at any moment. His finger held over the trigger guard; just three pounds of pressure needed to go from rest to “blow your fucking head off”.
He wondered whether he should remind the man that once they set foot on the Eventide, she would technically outrank him.
Despite moving silently towards the bridge, her eyes snapped opened as he neared, and tracked him. He nodded, projecting unconcern.
But his pulse hammered against his implants. And he had to wonder whether she could hear it.
The short trip had been uneventful. Calm, even. Despite the SG pistol pointed at her the entire way here.
But now it was too bright. Too loud.
Too much.
Wraith stood at the bottom of the ramp in the Eventide’s hangar. She’d stepped to the side, hanging back as panic scraped her bones.
The giant overhead lights stabbed her retinas like needles. Every boot thundered like cannon fire, and the hiss of hydraulics had her wincing.
There were people everywhere.
Her hands flexed, reaching for weapons she didn’t have. Almost desperate for the comforting weight of blade or pistol.
She could feel her pulse racing like it hadn’t done in years. She tried to take deeper breaths, to find the calm in the void, but her breathing remained shallow.
“Captain?”
His voice was too close, she could feel his breath on her ear. She hadn’t heard him. Fuck! How could she hear him over all of… this?
For a second, she could almost feel the Tether stretching between them.
Right now, killing him—and by extension, herself—didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
She turned towards him. Slowly, deliberately. Eyes wide, pupils dilated.
Captain Raine wasn’t at home, but Wraith was alive and well. And if he were to judge—about to have a full-blown panic attack.
How many people would she take with her if that happened?
He smiled at her, warm, reassuring.
“Why don’t we get you to your quarters?”
He gently took her elbow, hyper aware of her next to him. Of her movements. He had to be prepared to act quickly and decisively if necessary.
Her arm felt surprisingly fragile in his hand. Bird bones wrapped in leather that felt like he could snap them with one quick twist.
Not what he’d been expecting. But then, nothing he’d expected had matched up so far.
He calmly walked them through the hangar, ignoring the stares. A few crew tried to come up to them; he shooed them away with a stern look.
“Just a few more steps to the corridor, Captain.” He kept his voice soft, calming. But not pitying. He had a feeling she’d react badly to pity.
The doors slid open at their approach. He turned right, down the much quieter hall, toward the inter-deck lifts.
This was a scenario he hadn’t considered. And he was cursing himself because he should have thought of it.
Five years in solitary confinement and he dumped her in a hangar full of noise and people.
Void take him, he was an idiot.
He needed her to be functional. Sane. Not a spree killer in waiting.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
They stepped into the lift, and he risked a glance at her.
She seemed slightly calmer, but whether that was the “I’m feeling better” or the “I’m going to murder everyone” kind, he couldn’t tell.
The lift stopped at the living quarters deck. He’d decided before even embarking to the prison that keeping her closer was a better idea than having her with the general populace, so he’d put her in the room next to his.
Technically it was designated for the third officer in the ship’s hierarchy, but it had been empty for as long as he’d been on the ship.
Rumor had it that it was unlucky. After the third suicide, no-one was willing to sleep there.
The door slid open and he nudged her gently forward.
People claimed it was haunted.
And now, he was the one putting a ghost inside.