#K.C. Skywrote

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Here's my mock-up cover for Dissonant Constellations, a web serial published Wednesdays and Saturdays! I'm really excited about this project, and I hope you all join me for the ride!

This story will also be posted on Royal Road.

Synopsis | Chapter 1 | Latest Chapter

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Dissonant Constellations Chapter 11

Date: July 13, 2116 Time: 11:32 p.m. Location: The Dolos, Miril Nebula

Doctor Rebecca Roets really regretted resurrecting her boss.

Well, technically reviving, but given the extent of his injury, and the amount of time he’d had without a pulse, the distinction was a bit blurry.

As a process, it had been easier than she’d expected. They were lucky to have made it to Doctor Hammond’s office: the hidden space behind the rear wall was basically a second med room, as well as a place to store their classified medical records, samples, experiments, and specimens in stasis. It was cluttered, but well-stocked with medical supplies. Mundane, and...experimental.

Rebecca used to think Hammond was paranoid.

But six days after their subject’s rebellion, Rebecca sat in her corner of their cramped hideout, glanced down at the dried brown blood spattered across her white coat, and glared across the room as the man hungrily bit into one of their dwindling ration packs.

He was caked in even more blood than she was: it streaked and spattered the front and back of his white coat and dress shirt; matted the back of his blond hair into a reddish brown mess. The first day, he’d cleaned his face and throat with some of their drinking water, and she’d scrubbed the scarlet from her hands...but for obvious reasons, they didn’t waste any more water on the rest.

It was ridiculous.

How could someone be so cautious about guarding the passcodes to a secret room in a secret base, but be so utterly unprepared for a real worst-case scenario?

At least they had a portable sterilizer...they didn’t need to add disease to the list of their problems. But how had he not bothered to pack a change of clothes or two in this place?

How could he only include a single crate of emergency rations? Rations that would only last a month for one person under normal conditions, let alone...this?

She let out a small huff of bitter laughter; pushed a stray lock of red hair back into her bun; rearranged some of the bright red shock blankets that comprised her makeshift...well, nest was the best term for it...against the rear wall of the panic room. They didn’t add much cushion, but they were better than nothing.

Unfortunately, nothing was what Hammond had done about planning for a bathroom—or even a freaking waste collector—in a sealed space meant to potentially safeguard living, breathing, eating, pooping Humans for days at a time.

Thank god their rations didn’t actually need to be stored in a crate. 

And thank god the repurposed crate was resealable. 

The panic room’s isolated environmental filters could only do so much.

Rebecca grimaced at the thought of the foul smells they’d have to endure the next time one of them needed to reopen that crate.

She couldn’t do this much longer.

She needed out.

But she wasn’t the one with the code to the door.

“If we don’t try to leave today, then we’ll need to switch to half rations from hereon out,” Rebecca said quietly out of habit, but still loud enough for the asshole to hear. “That will give us another week at most, and then you have to––”

He rolled his eyes; gave a silent groan.

Rebecca ignored it; pushed on as respectfully as she could still muster. “Doctor, we’re out of options. If help hasn’t come by now, what are the odds it will? I know it’s a risk, but you have to open the door. Please.”

Hammond simply touched his throat; winced; shook his head.

She’d expected that response, but still, Rebecca leaned forward. “It’s been six days. Why would she still be out there?”

Another shake of his head.

Rebecca slumped; rubbed eyes that were strained from the bright panic room lights she had no ability to turn off. “Look, you and I have both read her file. The subject is a technical specialist. She can fly almost any type of ship imaginable, and knows how to make a personal skipper from scrap. If she knew about this room, she would have forced her way in by now. And if she doesn’t know about it, then why would she possibly still be around?”

He glared at her again, but she could see the fear rounding the edges of his green eyes.

She understood why he was so scared. Who wouldn’t be, after having their throat sliced open by someone who was supposed to be sedated and secured? And she wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing the horrors in Hammond’s office again.

But fear and shame didn’t change the facts.

“Either we leave soon, or we will die in here.”

At least, one of them would.

There was one empty stasis pod in the left wall of their hideout, and there was nothing in the universe that would compel Rebecca to empty any of the other three so she and Hammond could both seek that particular refuge for a last ditch effort at survival. 

Phoenixes were too precious to sacrifice.

Even for her own life.

...She prayed that devotion would hold out far longer than the rations.

But it didn’t have to come to that. She was sure of it.

“You can just open it long enough for me to slip out, and lock it again behind me,” Rebecca bargained. “I’ll take all the risk. I’ll search the whole ship, and send out a distress signal. I can let you know if it’s safe to––”

He threw the ration wrapper at her.

It dropped in the middle of the storeroom floor, too light to actually make it to its target, but close enough to piss Rebecca off.

She didn’t remember standing; wasn’t even fully aware she was on her feet and moving forward until she kicked the wrapper back at him.

“Just open the fucking door, you ungrateful ass,” she seethed. “I’m not starving to death in a reeking hole in the wall because you’re scared of an empty ship.”

Her boss scowled up at her, then fished around in the pile or ration wrappers in his corner of the storeroom; produced a tablet that had initially been meant for inventory. He’d used it a lot the first couple days of their confinement, but then seemed to lose interest in giving Rebecca more than yes or no answers about their situation. 

She didn’t know why, and she didn’t really care. He’d never been the best company, even when he could talk. But maybe he wouldn’t have sulked so much if talking things through was still an option?

Wasn’t like she’d actually had the time to save his vocal cords. But she wasn’t sure he was convinced of that.

Regardless, she felt a flicker of hope at the tablet’s reappearance; especially when Hammond actually started typing on it.

Was he giving her the code to the door? Or maybe directions to send out a distress signal remotely? Or maybe––

He flipped the tablet’s screen towards her; her excitement faded as she read.

“Tomorrow.”

That was it.

That was all the tablet said.

Rebecca heard her heartbeat.

...Nope.

Not good enough.

“Today,” Rebecca demanded, her voice rising louder than she had let it in nearly a week. “Now. Let me out of here, or if our rescue finally shows up, I will tell them all about your pet experiments on the subject. I will tell them everything, including exactly how you had enough of that enzyme on hand to save your life. And how a week ago, you decided to see what would happen if you pumped half of your samples back into the freaking subject all at once? What do you think they’ll do when they hear that?”

He stared at her, bright blue eyes suddenly seeming not to know whether to show more surprise, confusion, or fear.

After a moment, Hammond began typing again; paused; deleted something; took a deep breath; then typed something else, and showed her the screen.

“How did you know?”

Seriously?

Rebecca gave him an incredulous look. “I was the one in charge of monitoring the rate her wounds healed. You think I didn’t notice how dodgy you got when I asked about the changes? And after what I’ve seen that enzyme do to you, there’s no doubt in my mind what happened. You know there won’t be any doubt in theirs either. Not when I give a full, thorough statement about what led to her escaping containment. So just open. The god. Damn. Door.”

His eyes narrowed; his pale face flushed red.

Hammond rose slowly, and Rebecca slipped her hand into her lab coat’s front pocket; gripped the handle of the small knife hidden inside.

If he attacked, she could fight back. She hadn’t spent six days in hell to die covering for that man’s incompetence.

Of course, she couldn’t kill him if she wanted out, but he didn’t need to walk, or even use more than one hand––

The man began typing on his tablet again. Sharp, pointed jabs at the touchscreen.

When he shoved the new message in her face, Rebecca froze.

“Will that include what you did to Rick?”

...Well, fuck.

She hadn’t thought he remembered that.

Maybe it was just a guess? Maybe he didn’t actually know what…what she’d done.

After all, Hammond had been nearly unconscious by the time she and Rick had half-carried, half-dragged him to the office. It had taken him three tries to open the door to the hidden room...and they almost slipped in his blood on their rush to get inside, and settle their dying boss into a position where they could hopefully perform emergency surgery.

...And that was when she and Rick seemed to notice the same nightmarish thing, at the exact same time.

Hammond had left a bright red trail of blood behind them, all the way from the laboratory...and straight to the panic room.

The subject was highly intelligent. That was a fact. But it would not have taken a genius to follow that.

And what would the subject have done if there wasn’t a body to explain the blood?

She hadn’t had a choice.

Hammond, the paranoid asshole, was the only one of them with the code to open the door. And although any of them could technically temporarily slide it shut, he was the only one who could actually lock it from the inside. And the only one who could activate the sensor-masking, life-saving lockdown system...and the only one who could deactivate it to let them out without a rescue party...or an assailant...cutting it open.

Abandoning him wasn’t an option. The subject would easily access their sensors, and search for survivors. They’d needed a locked, sealed, masked door between them and her, or they’d all have been slaughtered.

But there had to be a reason for the blood trail. One the subject would accept.

They needed a body.

She hadn’t had a choice.

Besides, Rick had been about to do the same to her. He was the one who dove for the knife under Doctor Hammond’s desk...he just wasn’t expecting her to knee him in the groin as he brought it out.

Really slowed the man down.

As did the desk lamp to the top of his head.

It went quickly after that. One shaky slash, and suddenly there was an explanation for the blood that she’d prayed a Phoenix with limited education in Human anatomy would accept.

And, given that it had been days since the disaster...the subject clearly had accepted it.

Rebecca was going to live through this. She’d seen to it herself.

And she wasn’t about to let her coward of a boss change that.

“I saved your life,” Rebecca sidestepped the Rick subject completely. “Don’t waste it by forcing us to starve to death.”

An eye roll.

The jackass actually rolled his eyes at her.

Rebecca pondered the brown-crusted knife in her coat.

Did they have enough of the enzyme left for her to make a point?

...No.

She couldn’t risk it.

It barely worked the first time.

After closing the door between her and the dying Rick, Rebecca had turned all of her efforts to saving the one person who could actually stop a pissed off Phoenix from ripping the doctors apart with her bare hands.

Her boss had slipped into unconsciousness by the time Rebecca had come back, and she’d barely been able to find a pulse.

Fortunately for him, she was a very good trauma surgeon.

And in this trove of top-secret experimental research, they had access to a trauma surgeon’s Holy Grail.

So Rebecca had quickly collected the vial containing their cumulative remaining samples of the enzyme they had isolated from their subject, and injected some of that into Hammond’s throat, as close to the open wound as possible. 

A lot of it probably flowed out with his blood, but even so, it seemed to speed things along. She’d managed to use a tissue stitcher to seal the deep slash in his throat in a matter of minutes.

Hammond’s heart only stopped for three.

Then, she’d stabbed an IV of plasma from the panic room’s emergency supply into his left arm, injected him with a second dose of the enzyme that wasn’t going to leak out of anywhere, and used chest compressions to force the enzyme to actually flow to the places he needed it to go most.

Another few minutes, and a few cracked ribs later, and her boss had come to, gasping, panicking, and in pain.

But, mercifully, unable to scream.

From the approaching sounds of butchery that had resonated even through the closed, but unsealed door at that point in their nightmare...The panic room definitely wasn’t soundproof. And she had no doubt that a crusading Phoenix would have found a way to force the door if she’d realized where they were hiding.

Rebecca was certain that if she’d taken the time to reattach Hammond’s vocal cords before sealing up the gaping, life-stealing wounds in his throat, they’d both be dead.

Rick, on the other hand, would’ve tried to save Hammond’s voice. He was too finicky about his work; didn’t like leaving anything for later. Rebecca was willing to leave that delicate surgery up to an actual otolaryngologist, and just focus on making sure Hammond was simply Not Dead...But Rick? No, he took pride in taking risks, and thought he always knew exactly the right way to fix everything. 

He also had the foresight of a gnat.

Yep, Rick would have patched up Hammond’s vocal cords, good as new, and when Hammond’s scream gave away their then-still-unlocked hiding place, he would have gotten both himself and Hammond killed by a rampaging Phoenix. 

Absolutely, he would have. Not a trace of doubt in Rebecca’s mind.

She...she’d made the right move. 

One dead, verses three. 

Basic math.

She didn’t have to be proud of it to accept it as true.

And here they were again.

...If she could just scare him enough—not even actually hurt him, unless he was really stubborn—but just scare him enough to make him more afraid of staying trapped in this room with her than he was of a hypothetical enemy outside their hideaway...

One terrified or wounded, verses two dead of starvation. 

Basic math.

Rebecca pulled out the knife. 

Hammond’s reaction was visibly visceral. He pressed back into his corner of the room, eyes wide; held the tablet in front of him like a shield. From the looks of it, he hadn’t realized she still had the knife.

She fought back a wave of shame.

She didn’t have to be proud of this. She just needed to live.

“Open the door,” she said it slowly; deliberately; making every syllable a threat. “I won’t ask again—”

Someone knocked.

Cover | Synopsis | Chapter 1 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 12

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Dissonant Constellations Chapter 15

Date: July 18, 2116 Time: 12:35 Human Circadian Standard Location: Spacedock 59

Being towed was a frustrating experience for the entire Nightingale crew. Sam knew that.

But there wasn’t exactly anything they could do about it.

When a ship as large as the Nightingale had to be towed, it was a days-long process. After all, the Apgar was meant to be a small, swift, roving maternity ward, not a disaster-relief carrier like Sam’s pride and joy. The fact that they had the engine power to make the trip at all was a testament to the Responders’ dedication to their mission. But even though they had the engine power, the crew of the Apgar still had to navigate extra-wide wormholes to accommodate both ships without the risk of collision.

Such wormholes didn’t exactly take the shortest routes.

No matter how much Sam wished otherwise.

The trip was made lonelier for Sam, and the other boniest remains of a skeleton-crew that remained aboard the Nightingale for the ride. For their safety, nearly all of the Nightingale’s compliment had to spend the trip back to Spacedock 59 on the Apgar, leaving just enough to monitor the damaged systems, and ensure they didn’t blow up on the way back.

It wasn’t exactly a restful ride.

Not with the stress of maintaining her ship compounded by a continuing grief over the likely permanent loss of her friend.

But they made it.

Eventually.

And after finally coming out of the skip, Sam watched from the bridge of her half-dead ship as Spacedock 59 emerged from the void.

Spacedock 59 was, out of all the hundreds of Responders stations in the void, Sam’s favorite.

That is was the Nightingale’s home port was beside the matter.

The fact that the thing literally looked like a bioluminescent jellyfish drifting through the void was what clinched the title.

Most of the Responders’ stations were heavily nature-inspired, in one way or another.

An end result of necessity, in some ways.

After all, Sam had to assume that if one were to put together a team of the brightest architectural and engineering minds from across the known galaxy — at least the ones willing to leave their homes for months or years on end to live on a cramped construction carriers — tell them to create massive structures that will stand in vivid, highly-visible contrast to the void of deep space, and give them a high budget to build something that will last...well, who wouldn’t be motivated to get creative with the design?

No two Spacedock stations looked the same, but most of them resembled some kind of life form.

Really helped create that silhouette.

Spacedock 59’s jellyfish was truly an engineering marvel.

No matter how brutal or tragic the call, returning to that port, watching the billowing outer drapery of brilliant light beckon ships to a pocket of life in the nothingness, an oasis far from any habitable world...it always made Sam think back to the trips to the aquarium her father used to take her to back on Earth. Holding his hand, and squealing with delight as a cluster of glowing jelleyfish, or a shock of electric eels, or even a manatee, passed by inches from her face on the other side of thick glass. Spacedock 59 never failed to make her feel at least a sliver of that wonder.

Even in the middle of grief, she loved this place.

But she also had a lot of work to do.

Even though she had sent her written report ahead the moment she could access the Apgar’s communications system, her Responders Coordinator on Spacedock 59 wanted to recap it all again in person. So, less than an hour after ensuring her crew was settled into yet another temporary set of accommodations in one of the dock’s tentacles, Sam sat in Coordinator Anya Shuttle’s office on Spacedock 59, and walked through the details of the pirate attack.

Again.

“And she used a personal skipper,” Anya Shuttle shook her head. The Coordinator came from a short, but prolific, line of Humans who had chosen to make the void their permanent home. One whose parents thought themselves quite clever...but really just set their daughter up for a lifetime of bad jokes, and an encyclopedic knowledge of spacefaring culture. “Did she have a Skip suit? Was there any sign of one for Doctor Vond?”

“I don’t know,” Sam repeated. “The ship was dark when she boarded, and no one saw how they left. And I’ve...never actually seen a personal skipper in action.”

“Right, I’m sorry,” Shuttle rubbed her face in her hands. “Just being thorough. Twenty years, and our region’s never had an abduction from one of our ships. We’ve put in so many safeguards...but safeguards can’t stop everything.”

Clearly not.

“She had to have had something,” Sam concluded. “I can’t believe she would take Lukas with her without a way to keep him alive for the skip.”

“It would make sense,” Shuttle agreed. “Unsettling as it is to think about, doctors, nurses and medics are considered valuable hostages. Pirates know that even if they can’t get a ransom, they can usually still...well...put them to good use. Usually for a very long time. So I think for now it’s safe to assume that wherever he is, Vond is still alive.”

For now.

Sam suppressed a shudder.

Alive until he refuses to do some barbaric act his captor demands of him. Alive until he can’t save someone his captor wants him to save. Alive until...well...

There were so, so many variables.

But Sam had to hold onto hope.

“We’ve already passed your report on to the Coalition Guard,” Shuttle continued with a frown. “Although Captain Card claims his vessel did not in fact rendezvous with yours...despite the video evidence to the contrary. He’s claiming it must have been a cameogram.”

“Commander, we logged his ship on our sensors,” Sam reminded her. “If that wasn’t Captain Daniel Card’s Guardship, then someone made an exact replica of it for this ruse. Which seems more likely?”

“I’m not saying I believe him, Sam,” Shuttle put up a placating hand. “Just that it’s going to be hard to prove. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure we can expect a lot of help from them on this.”

The captain heard her pulse in her ears. “So you’re saying Card is actively impeding the investigation?”

“I’m not saying that,” Shuttle said swiftly. “But I’m doubting the Guard is going to openly contradict one of their most famous...and politically connected...captains. There’s too much at risk for them.”

“Risk,” Sam couldn’t stop the bitter snort. “You saw the video, Anya. Whatever happened on the Dolos, Card already knows who did it. If he’d just share that information with us, I could at least give Lukas’ family an idea of why he was taken. We might even be able to help them narrow down the leads. But to be honest, deliberately withholding that information makes me think––”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Shuttle cut her off. “The last thing we need is for the Cards to believe we’re accusing them of something. That’s a surefire way to not only ensure they never open up about the investigation, but also that they try to spin this whole mess as being our fault. People need to trust the Responders, or our entire mission will fall apart. And we can’t have that. Especially not while we’re still fighting back that nightmare plague on Rulia.”

Sam clenched her jaw. “Doctor McKenzie Alper, Lukas’ wife, is coordinating the vaccination efforts for that plague. How is she supposed to focus on that when her husband is missing?”

Shuttle grimaced.

“I am not trying to cause trouble, Anya,” Sam pressed on. “But why would Daniel Card be so cryptic about his mission? And on an almost more-concerning note, why was the son of a war criminal given an assignment close to his father’s separatist community?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t intentional.” Shuttle’s tone did not match her words. “Besides, he is a sworn officer of the Coalition Guard. If we can’t trust the people sworn to uphold interstellar law, then who can we trust?”

Sam took a breath. That was a can of worms she did not want to get into today.

But if there was a chance the Cards had anything to do with Lukas’ kidnapping, she could not ignore it.

“You and I both know it would not be the first time a Card sibling concealed information to protect their family’s name and fortune. The captain’s sister is on air at least once a week, claiming that the crimes their father clearly committed were fabricated. And his younger brother––”

“Is not Daniel Card,” Shuttle cut in. “I know you’re upset, Healy, but please be patient. We’ll get to the bottom of this, but we can’t have our captains running around making unsubstantiated accusations. Especially not about a Card. Besides, we don’t have any idea what investigations the Guard might be conducting. They might be tracking an entire ring of bio-terrorists for all we know. No one is going to trust us if we wind up sabotaging that investigation with politically-charged accusations.”

Sam bit the inside of her cheek.

She understood that Commanders had to deal with the politics that came with running a contingent of Responders ships, but there had to be some middle ground. Sam couldn’t just sit there while one of her oldest friends rotted away in some pirate hellhole.

She’d pushed him to go back out into the void.

She wouldn’t let it keep him.

“So what am I supposed to tell Lukas’ family?” Sam pressed. “That the Guard’s taking care of it, but don’t ask them for updates, because we’re worried about bad press?”

Shuttle grimaced again. “We don’t know anything, Sam. Everything we’ve talked about here is just conjecture. I promise you, we will do our own investigation, but making sense of random acts of cruelty like this takes a lot more time and evidence than we have right now. If you have anything substantial we can follow up on that doesn’t revert to finger-pointing, I’m all ears. Otherwise, I need you to sit tight while your ship is being repaired. Do not talk about your suspicions with anyone. Especially not Doctor Vond’s family.”

“Why are you assuming it was random?” It fell out of Sam’s mouth before she could fully stop it.

Shuttle raised an eyebrow. “You’re not suggesting this Kel person directly targeted Doctor Vond, are you?”

“With all due respect, Commander, did you actually read my report?” Sam kept her voice calm. “Right before everything shut down, the pirate claimed she wanted our ‘monster.’ Not a ‘doctor.’ Not ‘supplies.’ Our ‘monster.’ What other inference should I get from that, other than this being a targeted abduction?”

The Coordinator blinked; looked down at a tablet on the desk between them; flicked through a streak of text on the screen. “You’re right, your report did mention that. In passing. Do you think this could be a plague-denier? Someone who thinks taking Doctor Alper’s husband will force her to say what they want to hear about AX-579?”

Well, that would explain a lot, but not everything.

“That could be it,” Sam hesitated. “But why would that make Lukas a ‘monster?’ A word like that makes it seem much more...personal.”

Which also didn’t make sense. Lukas was a good man. Sam had known him since elementary school back on Earth, and there wasn’t a single phase of his life where he’d been anything other than dedicated to helping others. Not even at his worst. Not even when…

Oh.

Oh no.

“What if this is about the Cori?” Sam said. “What if this Kel isn’t actually a pirate, but someone who blames Lukas for...for what happened?”

It still wouldn’t explain why Card was being so cryptic, but it still fit.

She wished it didn’t, but it did.

Shuttle tensed; drew a deep breath; let it out. “If that’s the case, Sam, then I don’t think we’re getting him back.”

Probably not.

Water stung at the corners of her vision.

She knew the odds.

But she couldn’t give up that easily.

She wouldn’t.

“I need to call McKen...Doctor Alper after this,” Sam cleared her throat. “It’s been put off for too long already. I can ask if she’s been in touch with the other survivor. See if he’d gotten any threats, or knows of anyone holding a grudge––”

“No, Sam,” Shuttle cut her off again. “You are a Skipper captain, not a detective. You can tell Doctor Alper that her husband was abducted, if the Coalition Guard hasn’t already been in touch. You can tell her to expect a call from them if they haven’t. You can tell her that we’re sharing everything we know with the Guard––and I will pass along your ideas for a personal motive for the kidnapping––but we need to leave the investigation up to the people trained to do it. Understood?”

Absolutely not.

There was no way in hell that Captain Daniel Card, son of that swindling, lying, cult-inciting, fugitive Henry Card had a good reason for denying his presence at the Dolos disaster, and there was no way in hell a real investigation was going to come out of the Coalition Guard if he was running the show.

Lukas deserved better than to be swept under the rug for some stupid political game. Someone had to actually look into this who gave a damn.

But saying that wouldn’t help Lukas make it home.

Sam forced a tight smile on her face, and nodded.

“I understand completely.”

Cover | Synopsis | Chapter 1 | Chapter 14

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Dissonant Constellations Chapter 13

Date: July 14, 2116 Time: 1:28 a.m. Location: Coalition Guardship Fenrir, Miril Nebula

Rebecca had often imagined what it would be like to meet Daniel Card.

To have her lifetime of dedication to their cause be honored by an audience with such a great man. To have his brilliant smile sparkle for her, as he praised her work as instrumental to achieving their Humanity-saving goals. To know, once and for all, that everything she had sacrificed, all those she had cared for and still harmed for the continuation of the Embers’ mission, had been worth it.

That his ship would be the one to rescue her from that hellhole...that the man himself was going to conduct her debrief...it was the stuff of daydreams and romance novels.

But it was real.

She was in the room with him.

She sat in a comfortable chair in a huge office on Card’s glorious Coalition Guardship, in front of an impressive wooden desk, and Daniel Card sat opposite her. His Phoenix guards stood diligently to either side of his chair, vigilant against any possible dangers.

He was as handsome as she’d seen in every recording.

It would have been perfect...if they’d let her shower first.

She couldn’t smell anything, but as a kid she had spent enough time around an aunt who smoked to know that didn’t mean she didn’t reek. No one who spent days trapped in a room without a functioning toilet or shower was going to smell good afterwards.

Now she was feet away from her hero.

Reeking.

“Are you comfortable?” Daniel Card gave her a warm smile. “Need anything before we begin? I can send Aiden out for some drinks? Maybe a mint?”

Oh dear god, how bad was her breath?

Rebecca lowered her head in embarrassment. Maybe if she didn’t point her mouth at him, it wouldn’t reach him as strongly––

“Oh, no need for the sour look.” The captain let out a short laugh; sat back in his luxuriously plush chair. “Aiden? Could you go get those mints? And how about some tea? Would you like some tea, Doctor?”

She felt her face flush as she nodded. Why hadn’t they let her shower first? This should have been one of the greatest moments of her life.

“I’m sorry for the smell,” Rebecca said quietly as the Phoenix guard passed her. She knew how sensitive their sense of smell was, and even if she somehow didn’t smell too bad to Card, she had to reek to Aiden.

“No need to apologize,” Card gave her a dismissive hand wave. “I’m the one who didn’t want to wait for a report. So, let’s get started.”

She hesitated. “Will Doctor Hammond be joining us?”

“Corey is headed to a specialist back in the colonies to have his vocal cords tended to,” Card said with a shrug. “He’ll be writing out his version while he travels, and don’t feel like waiting that long. So, congratulations. You get to walk me through it. Now, what the hell happened down there?”

That was...not a question Rebecca had expected to answer on her own, but she was suddenly very glad to be the one giving the report. Given the chance, she was certain Doctor Hammond would have tried to put all the blame on her.

She was so, so tempted to act in kind.

He hadn’t opened the door, after all. Not until their rescue cleared the entire goddamn ship twice over.

Paranoid bastard.

After that final fucking straw, she didn’t feel like covering for him.

Besides, it really was all his fault anyway.

But then there was Rick.

The source of most of the pooled, sticky blood she’d had to step over as they finally escaped that hellhole.

Hammond knew.

Just like she knew what he’d done.

If one of them told, the other could easily retaliate.

Not worth the risk.

“The subject...Kel...was in Stage Three when the...incident happened.” Best to keep it simple. “We were testing her physical limits, and had yet to find a concrete ceiling. It appears her metabolic and healing abilities are vastly superior to that of any other Phoenix our work has studied. I believe she rapidly gained a heightened tolerance to her sedatives, and managed to break out of her restraints before we could find a viable alternative––”

“Why didn’t you just put her back on ice?” Card cut in.

Rebecca winced. “When I say ‘rapidly gained...’ I mean one day the sedative worked fine, and the next, she was tearing my colleagues to pieces. We had no warning of the change until it was too late.”

At least, most of them hadn’t. Hammond could have warned them. Short-sighted asshole.

“Did she make contact with any of the others?” Card’s voice held a nervous edge.

Rebecca shook her head. “The three other subjects were all in stasis, in the hidden room Doctor Hammond and I secured. Kel was supposed to be the first through Stage Three. She never saw them. They are ready to transport to a non-compromised location whenever you wish to move them.”

“Good,” Card muttered. “Kel’s going to be enough trouble. Don’t need any other uninitiateds running around out there. Speaking of: did you put a tracker in her?”

“We did, but I doubt it’s still working,” Rebecca said. “She’s exceptionally intelligent, even for one of our subjects. She would have thought to scan herself, and...well, her pain tolerance is quite high as well. I’m betting she cut it out before she left. Or at least found a way to deactivate it.”

“But you can’t be sure?”

Rebecca shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. The storeroom jammed all sensor readings going in and out. It kept us alive, and kept the other three subjects concealed, but––”

“But you couldn’t check to see if Kel was still out there, let alone if her tracker worked,” Card let out an annoyed sigh. “And of course, Kel didn’t exactly let anybody send out a real distress signal when she routed you all. Then we couldn’t even start searching the Dolos until that Responders ship was towed away. This is going to be a tough one to track down...”

Rebecca frowned. “A Responders ship?”

“Yeah, apparently Kel sent out a distress beacon of her own,” Card shrugged. “Abducted a trauma surgeon from the first Responders ship that came to help. Not hard to guess why. The rest of their crew is fine, but she left their engines dead in the ether before she left.”

Rebecca blinked. “You let them leave?”

Card shrugged again. “Well, yeah. They’d sent out their position for all the Coalition to see. And I don’t exactly have non-Coalition Guard energy weapons hooked up to this ship. I have to keep this thing inspection-ready. It was either let them go, or have to explain why I blew them up to the next Responders ship that came to check in on them. Get it?”

Okay…it checked out, but it still worried her. That ship sounded like a huge loose end.

But this was Daniel Card.

He had to have more of a plan than he would ever reveal to someone like her.

“Of course sir,” Rebecca nodded. “It would have raised far too many questions.”

“But the captain of that Responders ship still had plenty,” Card shook his head. “Which could be a problem for us, if we can’t find Kel before she does something rash, or if that Responders captain manages to piece something together. Which is actually the second reason I wanted to meet with you today.”

Rebecca blinked. “I...I’m not sure I follow?”

“I’d give the job to Corey if I could,” Card said. “His history would make him a better fit. But he seems to have come out of his ordeal...well, something’s off with him. Beyond just his voice. We can’t reassign him until we’re sure what.”

Rebecca’s heart started pounding in her ears.

They’d find the heightened metabolism.

They’d know what she’d done to save him.

And then they’d start asking questions. Questions that would force her to choose between blatantly lying to her people, or protecting herself. Any minute now, they’d ask if––

“But, we still need a doctor to infiltrate and observe that Responders ship,” Card continued. “One that has already been briefed in this mission, and knows who and what we’re looking for. Are you up for it?”

Rebecca blinked.

A...a field assignment?

She’d never done anything like that before. She was a researcher. She’d never even been anywhere that wasn’t either part of an Embers colony, or an Embers-controlled vessel.

“Are...are you sure you want me?” Rebecca cringed even as she spoke. Who was she to question him?

Then again, he didn’t know what she’d done. He wasn’t working with all the facts.

“Not really a better choice,” Card shrugged. “Like I said, we’re not looking to brief anybody new on this mission. Best to keep this quiet, got it? So will you do us a favor and just accept already?”

A heartbreaking, selfish thought flashed through her mind.

She wasn’t a traitor, but she was sure Hammond could make her seem that way if he needed to save his own skin. And if Hammond turned on her, and opened his smarmy mouth about what she’d done to Rick...

Well, she knew what happened to traitors.

She wasn’t one.

She wasn’t.

Still, this might be her only chance.

She’d never been taught what it took to survive without the benevolence of the Cards. If she could provide useful information to her leaders, while learning what she’d need to start over, hidden somewhere deep in Coalition space, in case Hammond decided to ruin her...that was definitely something she was interested in.

“Of course, sir.” Rebecca smiled. “It would be an honor.”

“Wonderful,” Card grinned, then looked to the Phoenix guard at his left. “Can you take it from here, Fletcher?”

The Phoenix guard gave a short nod. “Yes, sir.”

“Good man,” Card nodded approvingly back, then gave Rebecca a wink. “The Embers are depending on you, doctor. Have fun.”

In a moment that made Rebecca question if she was just hallucinating this whole interaction back in that horrid room on the Dolos, Daniel Card suddenly seemed to...glitch.

Then vanished altogether.

“Cameograms have come a long way, haven’t they?” The Phoenix––Fletcher, Card had said his name was—said. There was a quirk to his left eyebrow the doctor took to be amusement.

Oh.

“I’ve never seen one so realistic,” Rebecca admitted. “But I thought this was the Fenrir? Isn’t Captain Card––”

“Captain Card is a very busy man,” Fletcher sat in Card’s chair. “He had appointments elsewhere that could not be delayed, even for a mission as vital as this. You understand.”

“Of course.” She wanted to be disappointed that she hadn’t actually been in the same room as Captain Daniel Card, but all she could feel was relief that she hadn’t actually filled his nostrils with B.O....

Wait, then what was that mint comment––

“Aiden should be back with those drinks any minute,” Fletcher said. “Along with the necessary documents we will need to modify your background into one suitable for this mission. We’ll need to begin backdating those files as soon as possible. The more time they spend in the First Responder’s systems before your...transfer, the less likely they are to be questioned. And of course, we will need to rehearse your answers to questions you will undoubtedly be asked while undercover. Professional and personal. The next few weeks are going to be long, doctor. And you likely will not be able to return home for months, if not years, once you infiltrate this vessel. Are you certain you are prepared for this?”

Absolutely not.

But she was not dying in prison.

Or worse.

...Likely worse.

“It’s an honor,” Rebecca said enthusiastically.

Then winced as Fletcher wrinkled his nose.

Cover | Synopsis | Chapter 1 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 14

[skywrotecreations]

Dissonant Constellations Chapter 16

Date: July 19, 2116 Time: 4:03 a.m. Location: The Coeus

An alarm.

Quiet, but urgent.

And more than enough to tear Kel from sleep with an agonizing abruptness.

A gun was in the soldier’s hand before she was even fully awake. She reached for the tablet next to her pillow, and silenced the alarm as she kicked her way out from the covers.

Cameras. She needed to install cameras.

The only cameras she had been able to liberate were imbedded inside tablets. Decent quality footage, but tedious to convert into a practical security network. To avoid constant maintenance, they would need to be wired into the ship’s limited power.

Power which she was not certain she could spare at the moment.

But walking out blind was also far, far less than ideal.

Unwilling to expose her position without as much intelligence as she could gather first, Kel made her way quietly through her dark quarters, and pressed her ear to the door.

Something, or more likely someone, was moving outside her room at great speed.

The sound ebbed and swelled, accompanied by a metallic rattle which took Kel a moment to place.

When she did, she could not decide whether to laugh in relief, or shoot him for the annoyance.

Perhaps both would be appropriate.

The soldier waited for Vond’s footfalls to approach once more, then opened the door, and pointed her gun straight at the silhouette of a head.

The doctor gave a startled scream, dropped to a crouched ball on the floor, and covered his head with his arms.

“It’s me!” Vond called from his pathetic position. “Just me! I’m sorry, I––“

“It is four in the morning,” Kel growled as her eyes adjusted to the bright light coming from the infirmary opposite her quarters.

“I’m sorry,” Vond peeked up at her through his arms. “I didn’t know you were...um...I didn’t realize you slept so close––”

“Logic and practicality,” she cut him off; lowered the gun. “There is a sensor above the infirmary door. Every time someone crosses that threshold, I receive an alert. Try to escape, and you will be dead before you reach the end of the corridor.”

“I wasn’t trying to escape,” Vond slowly rose; placatingly kept his hands in front of him. “I’m just having trouble sleeping with the light on. The Human body’s not made to go days without darkness. The corridor’s a bit darker than the infirmary, and I thought that, plus a little exercise, might help.”

“If you need exercise, acquire it inside the infirmary,” Kel made her ire clear. “With the door closed. Come into the hallway for anything other than an emergency again, and you won’t walk for a month. Understood?”

A pained look crossed the doctor’s face. “Can I at least open the door when I want?”

She furrowed her brow. “What would be the point?”

The man opened his mouth; paused; lowered his head with a sigh.

“No point, really. It’s just...well, like I said, less light. And, um, it’s kinda a change of scenery.”

“As would be an airlock.”

Annoyed eyes flicked back up to her own. “I’m not trying to cause problems. I’m just bored. What else am I supposed to do with my time, if you won’t give me so much as a book––”

“It is not your time.” She was not awake enough for this. “But if you insist on bemoaning the fact that I leave you in peace most of the day, I could always find you a companion. Would your spouse be good company?”

Vond froze. “My what?”

“Did you truly think I failed to notice the ring?” She gestured to the simple band around the traditional finger. “Currently, I am limited in my abilities to scour the First Responders Corps’ records for their identity, but if you continue to try my patience, I will put in the extra effort.”

Vond paled. “Please leave her alone. I-I’ll stop. You don’t have to––”

“Close the door, and go to sleep. Now.”

Clearly defeated, her captive obeyed.

Kel mirrored the motion with her own door. Vond was not wrong, the light emanating from the infirmary was far, far brighter than the emergency light used in the corridor, or even in her own quarters. It took a moment for her eyes to readjust to the faint red light.

When Kel last found herself working on the Coeus’ construction, prior to her capture, furnishing true crew quarters had been so far down the list of tasks to complete it had almost seemed laughable.

But with the materials liberated from the Coalition facility, Kel had been able to at least construct a simple, comfortable space for herself.

There were shelves for finished prototypes, and miscellaneous odds and ends she needed for her work, bolted into the wall to the right of the door; storage containers packed with food lined the other. She had even managed to cobble together a miniature cooking unit, which she placed in the corner to the left of the rations.

Kel had almost forgotten what coffee tasted like. Now she had at least eight cups a day. It was wonderful.

The right wall held a comfortable, if small, chair, pulled up in front of a large work desk. The rear right of the room held the door to a fully functioning bathroom. Unlike her prisoner’s facilities, she had taken the time to ensure her personal quarters had hot water at her disposal.

The rear left corner held her favorite extravagance: a bed comprised of multiple layers of supple foam.

She locked the door behind her, and quickly crossed the room again; crawled back under the plush covers.

After so long sleeping––if one could call it sleep––on operating tables and infirmary beds, taking the time to build a proper frame for the stolen mattress had been well worth the effort.

Unfortunately, sleep refused to return. Instead, the soldier’s mind replayed her conversation with her captive.

Had it been too early to threaten Vond’s apparent wife? Threats like that only retained their sting if evidence of their efficacy could be provided. Evidence which she, unfortunately, lacked.

Only one Lukas Vond in the First Responders Corps…but the public records of their employees only included names, positions, awards, and ship assignments. Everything else was buried under so many layers of firewalls and protections Kel dared not attempt to hack her way in. It was not worth jeopardizing her mission simply to track down her prisoner’s wife in more public databases..

But Vond did not know her priorities.

And if she could use that uncertainty to trick him into revealing more information, she might be able to safely narrow the search.

She had to wonder what kind of woman would marry a monster like Vond.

Was she oblivious? Was the man such a master manipulator that his wife truly believed she had found her soulmate in his frail frame?

Or did she know what he was? Did she know about his real work? That his respectable position on the Nightingale was simply a veneer for something far more sinister? Was she afraid of him, wherever she might be?

Or was she complicit as well?

...No.

Likely not.

To assume everyone in Vond’s life was as cruel as he would be to veer into blatant conspiracy theories. His wife was most likely innocent, and Kel would not harm her without evidence to the contrary.

A fact which, once again, Vond did not need to know. Let the man believe the worst of her. Let her have as much leverage as Humanly possible...

A shudder of revulsion passed through the soldier.

She truly hoped his wife was Human.

Disturbed further by that thought, Kel sat up, and collected her tablet. If she could not sleep, there were far more pressing tasks to contemplate than the proclivities of her captive.

Like decrypting more of the trove of data she had collected from the Dolos.

Or checking in on the second virus she had hidden deep within the code of the Nightingale’s systems.

It would not harm the vessel.

It simply allowed her to intercept their communications records, if not the message’s contents. She had, after all, only had a short window to work, and the more complex her virus’ mission, the more likely its detection.

Her enemies tracing the virus’ transmission back to her location was a too great a risk, were that to happen.

And the Coeus was still far too early in its construction to fight off a true attack.

Kel sighed, and rose to make her ninth cup of coffee.

So much work to do.

So many potential leads to explore.

So little time for rest.

Cover | Synopsis | Chapter 1 |

[skywrotecreations]

I think I figured out how to schedule a post, so barring some technical issues Chapter 16 should all be queued up for Wednesday. It will definitely pop up on Royal Road before 9:40 Central, if it doesn't show up here. The cover art there is the same mockup I have pinned here at the moment. Feel free to check it out there too, the link is posted with the cover mocukp as well.

[skywrotecreations]

Dissonant Constellations Chapter 14

Date: July 14, 2116 Time: 9:30 a.m. Location: The Coeus

Perhaps forbidding Vond from turning off the infirmary lights while he slept was cruel.

However, Kel refused to change her mind.

Darkness bred corners where the man could set a trap; potentially incapacitate her with some cobbled-together contraption she had not realized him capable of making from his meager supplies.

The light was better.

The light was...safer.

Besides, it would likely throw off Vond’s circadian rhythm, and his confusion as to when “day” and “night” were in the void of space was something Kel might be able to use to her advantage at a later date. It was a solid tactic.

The soldier strode into the infirmary without any preamble. A bag of supplies she predicted they would need dangled loosely from her left hand. After a short scan for traps, she focused her attention on the shackle still solidly secured around her seemingly sleeping captive’s ankle.

Still there.

Still perfectly sealed.

Some of her tension immediately eased.

As long as that scrap of metal was in place, Vond was unlikely to try anything too foolish. No matter how much his accommodations scared him.

The operating tables had been some of the more difficult elements to transfer from the facility: the solid frames of the Dolos’ few mobile gurneys proved too long to fit in the bubble created by her personal shield, even expanded to its widest and flimsiest protective radius. She only had to dodge one mangled wreck of metal and padding before opting to take a few of the semi-foldable operating tables in the main lab instead. Amazing the difference just a little more flexibility could make.

If Vond did not find them comfortable enough for his liking, he could sleep on the floor.

Although from the looks of it, that would not be a problem.

As Kel drew closer, it became clear that her captive was, in fact, fast asleep. The complete absence of fear or tension in his features; the absolute limpness of his limbs as he lay curled up on his left side, testified to that. His torso swelled and shrank with even breaths, and with the injuries to the left side of his face half-hidden underneath the crook of his good arm, Vond’s visible expression seemed somewhat serene.

Were Kel unaware of his atrocities, she supposed she would have even thought he looked...innocent.

Fortunately, she knew enough to see through that illusion.

Kel grabbed Vond’s right shoulder, and shook hard.

Her captive’s eyes flew open.

He let out a squeaking gasp, and attempted to scramble away.

Kel maintained the firm grip on his shoulder, forced him onto his back, and easily prevented him from falling off of the operating table. He only resisted a moment more, before seeming to come to his senses.

A pathetic reaction, but one she had anticipated correctly.

Kel gave her captive a mocking smile. “Good morning, doctor.”

“M-morning.” His quiet voice shook, the abrupt awakening hindering any attempt to mask his emotions. The motley bruises and fading swelling on the left side of his face enhanced the terror in his eyes.

A decent starting point for their day.

She moved her hand from his shoulder, up into his messy hair, and smoothed it back for him.

Wisely, he kept still.

“Sleep well?”

A tense nod.

Well, that was one of them.

“Good, then we will begin after breakfast.” Kel drew an assortment of five ration bars from her bag, and set them on the bed beside him. “No pineapple, I promise.”

Vond looked hungrily at the food, but his bleary gaze quickly shifted back to her. “What are we doing?”

A billowing cloud of bed breath reached her nostrils; she took a more few steps back; covered her retreat with a waive of a hand at the supply shelves. “Making portable emergency kits. I want three. And explanations on how to use the equipment inside. But eat something first. I don’t want you distracted.”

The doctor’s shoulders relaxed. He nodded, and unwrapped the first ration pack in the pile. Chocolate-flavored, from the color and smell.

His eyes nearly rolled back into his head at the first bite.

Once again, unsurprising. She had not fed him yet. He had ruined that for himself the night prior with his insensitive comment.

But she needed his mind focused for the day ahead, so that punishment had to come to an end.

As her captive ate, Kel crossed to the operating table closest to the storage shelves, set down her bag; then withdrew a tablet from it, and began a check of their inventory.

“Everything had best still be in its place,” she turned her head sharply to give him a threatening glance.

He flinched; swallowed a mouthful of ration. “You said I could treat my arm. So your count’s going to be short a roll of bandages and a bit of surgical thread, and––”

“Right,” she cut him off. She should have performed inventory after allowing him to treat that particular wound, but his attitude had compelled her to allow him to wallow in his pain for a while. “Did you replace the suture kit that you used?”

“Yeah, it’s sterilized, and back on the shelf,” he sighed. “Not like I was going to try to suture you to death...but it’s there.”

It might have been a fair point, but Kel did not put anything past him.

She checked each suture kit in turn; confirmed that every needle, pair of pliers, and set of sharp scissors was in its proper place. Even the smallest needle could do severe damage in the right spot. She was not about to be blinded due to negligence.

As she worked, Kel kept her ears tuned for sounds of clinking metal. It would be nearly impossible for Vond to sneak up on her while trailing that chain, but once again, caution was paramount.

However, she heard nothing, and finished her checks in short order. The seal on a pill bottle of painkillers was broken. But it had been the day prior as well. Given the injuries to her captive’s throat, face and arm, she had expected that. And if she wanted him to be useful, she needed his mind focused on something other than pain.

However, she believed one of the vials containing what Vond had claimed was an antibiotic had a lower level than the day prior. Why, she was uncertain. A simple cut from a blade that had been in her own body before it slashed his was not the kind of thing infections came from. That only happened from truly filthy weaponry.

Perhaps it was different for regular Humans?

She would question him about that, if he did not supply an answer himself in short order.

But everything potentially dangerous to her seemed to be in place, so there was no need for a truly harsh reaction.

Kel crossed back to Vond; frowned as she noticed that, in the entire time she had been going through their inventory, he had only eaten one of the five ration bars which she had supplied. He should have had time for far more than that.

“Aren’t you going to finish breakfast?”

The doctor gave her an odd look; glanced nervously at the rations. “I...um...one bar’s enough for now. Don’t want to eat too fast. Thank you. I’ll eat the others later.”

Perhaps he was rationing; not wanting to risk going without again. She did not intend to starve him to death, but after well over a day without food, she supposed he had no way to know that.

Regardless, it was his loss.

“Very well,” Kel shrugged. “Go brush your teeth, and take care of anything else you need to take care of in the bathroom, and then we will begin.”

More relief crossed the man’s face. The chain attached to Vond’s ankle clinked noisily as he rose, stiffly made his way to the room at the back of the infirmary, and closed the door as much as the chain would allow.

Kel grimaced as sounds echoed out of that small, metal room.

Perhaps she could take a small slice out of the bottom of the door to allow him to close it fully. She had no interest in hearing his bodily functions, or seeing him in that state should a shift of the chain swing the door open.

Then again, this made it far more difficult for him to attempt to barricade himself in there. And a hole at the bottom of the door would do little to solve the sound issue.

Something to think on later.

Soon, the doctor returned to the main room. He had taken the time to tame his hair into a neat coif. Whether to prolong his time out of Kel’s sight, or out of an innate fastidiousness, the soldier could not yet tell. The effect made the man look far more fitted to his neon green scrubs than the scraggly man who had entered the bathroom.

Still, it was not a perfect effect. The stubble compounded with the bruises on the left side of his face, reshaping it to something which would have appeared deranged or dangerous on someone with a modicum of power. And his uniform was still wrinkled from sleep and the previous day’s excitement.

But, she had not allowed him any way to remedy either eyesore, so she could not reasonably rebuke him for those flaws.

Perhaps this slight disorder was better. It would be a constant reminder that he was not what he claimed to be.

Still, she would need to provide him a change of clothes soon, before the reek of fearful sweat seeped too deeply into his current set to wash out. Kel needed a medic, not a biohazard.

“Alright,” Vond drew a deep breath in. “So, you said we were working on emergency––”

“We will get to that,” Kel cut him off. “First, let me examine your arm.”

Vond hesitated for a moment, but made the smart choice, and held his injured arm out to her.

As it had the day before, his cast pulsed with a violet glow. His fingers looked slightly less stiff, but she did not pay that much attention.

Instead, her eyes shifted to the white bandage wrapped around his forearm.

She seized his arm by the elbow, a little harder than necessary, and began to unwrap the bandage.

“It’s best to keep it covered for at least a day,” the doctor’s voice was shaky, but he didn’t try to pull away. “It helps with healing––”

“How can I have an experiment if I cannot gather data?” She didn’t stop, and he didn’t do anything foolish.

The last few layers of bandage stuck slightly to each other where a red stain permeated the white cloth.

Vond sucked in a breath as Kel made short work of peeling away the remaining gauze covering the actual sutures, but the doctor remained compliant.

Finally, Kel saw them.

A series of small, black loops, neatly connected with a thread of the same material above the skin, forced the edges of an angry red line across the man’s arm to connect. The cut was framed with pink, inflamed skin; crusted over with yellow and red seepage, and in one place it appeared to still be slightly weeping a clear liquid.

...This was how a wound was supposed to look an hour after the injury, not the next morning.

At least, for her.

“It hasn’t healed,” Kel muttered.

“Yeah, I did what you said,” Vond claimed. “It’s not my best work. Hand-sewn sutures aren’t something I use much, and I’m not left-handed, but it’ll hold.”

“Will it scar?” Kel had heard of those.

Her captive sighed. “Unless you let me treat it with more than painkillers and an antiseptic...then yeah. At least for––”

“I didn’t say you could use medications.”

For a foolish, clearly instinctive moment, his arm twitched in her grip, but seemed to quickly realize the futility. “You just said not to accelerate the healing. I couldn’t stitch myself up without numbing it first, and that won’t affect how it heals. And the healing time I gave you was for a sterile wound, not an infected one, so if you really want your...your experiment...to be accurate, antiseptics are part of the process. I thought it was just implied that I could––”

“You inferred wrong.” He had answers for everything, didn’t he? Was this how he explained away his actions well enough to sleep so soundly? “When I give you instructions, I expect them to be followed to the letter, understood?”

The man’s face pinched in confusion. “You said you wanted my hands ‘operational.’ Letting an infection set in is a surefire way to risk that. Antibiotics help prevent infections, which seems in line with what you said you wanted me to do. So how am I not following––”

She slapped him.

Not hard.

Just enough to make her point.

Still, a new red mark began to spread across the doctor’s stubbled jawline. Annoying tears welled in Vond’s eyes; his lower lip began to quiver like an infant’s.

Pathetic.

She grabbed his chin; forced his watery gaze to focus on her.

“Do not argue with me. Understood?”

He nodded stiffly in her grip; she released him; gestured towards the discarded bandages.

“Wrap it again.”

He hesitated; looked towards the back of the room; back to her. “C-can I please use the sterile sink first? And fresh gauze and bandages? It’ll help stop infections.”

Kel thought about it for a moment. In truth, she had no objections to him using fresh supplies, as long as he did not waste them, and he informed her of exactly what he had used, and how much. Mainly, she wanted to avoid the risk of him creating some incapacitative concoction to use on her with misappropriated medicines.

But the fear in his voice when he spoke of infections...well, it indicated that such things were in fact far more dangerous to ordinary Humans than she had initially believed. Perhaps she could find a copy of a Human anatomy text, to compare his claims to the known scientific reality...if she could find the time.

Regardless, Vond had asked politely. And was obediently waiting for an answer.

Best to err on the side of caution.

“Tell me exactly what you use,” Kel ordered. “I will note it in the inventory. The count had better be correct tomorrow.”

Vond wiped his eyes on the shoulder of his neon green scrub top, nodded, and clinked off to the back of the room.

Even her limited medical knowledge, it quickly became clear that the man was not attempting to trick her. At least, not about the appropriate treatment of his injury. The wound was re-wrapped in short order, and the old gauze discarded in a small biohazard bin affixed to the side of the rear sterile sink.

“So, um, what kind of environment are you expecting to be in when you use the emergency kits?” He re-approached her cautiously, but without needing coaxing. “There’s only so much room, so it’d help to know if you plan to need them while working on the ship, or if you’re going to a planet or moon where you might need a specific––”

“What makes you believe we are on a ship?” She kept her face blank.

Predictably, the man winced. “It’s either a ship, space station, or some kind of base. I...well, if the kits are for any of those, then I probably don’t need to know which. They should be about the same.”

Kel maintained her poker face. “Should be?”

“Unless you’ve got some hazards here that I don’t know about, then yes,” Vond claimed. “Just basic kits for basic accidents in a place without dangerous flora or fauna. Stuff to treat a bump on the head, or a cut, or burns, or...well...laser burns? With your...line of work...I’m guessing laser burns would be more common.”

Her ‘line of work...’

Well, this could prove insightful.

Kel tilted her head. “And what exactly do you believe my ‘line of work’ to be?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I’d rather not guess.”

“Oh, so you enjoy being in pain?”

Another wince.

The ring on his left hand glinted as he absently brushed the bruises on his throat. “I...think you’re a pirate. Stealing what you can, where you can...and, sometimes, who you can, to make a fortune off people without your firepower or...or strength. But you’re definitely not with one of the cartel crews. They don’t leave survivors, and you said you didn’t kill anyone on my ship. So maybe you’re pretty new at it, and trying to make a name for yourself by leaving a bunch of witnesses behind, or maybe––”

“And if you are right,” Kel allowed herself to smirk at the misdirection, “then what does that make you?”

A coward. A spineless, weakling tool, too afraid of being injured to refuse her demands. A––

“Your slave.”

Kel blinked. “Beg pardon?”

Vond drew a deep breath; let it out. “That’s what I am, right? I’m ‘whatever you want me to be,’ like you said yesterday. You don’t need to hurt me anymore. I’ll do what you want. I’ll be your medic, and I won’t try to run. I’ll be––”

“No,” Kel glared. “You are not a slave. You are a prisoner.”

The doctor hesitated; then shook his head; spoke slowly; deliberately. “Forcing a prisoner to work makes them a slave. The definition fits, whether you like it or––”

She raised a fist.

He flinched, and stared at the floor.

Kel felt a pit in her stomach.

...Oh.

Oh no.

She lowered her hand.

A few of his points...might...have merit.

But she was still in the right.

After everything he had done, she could be treating him far, far worse, and still be in the right.

And that...word...she refused to believe it truly fit his situation.

After all, if it did, then what would that make her?

“You are a prisoner,” Kel said it like an order. “Understood?”

Vond lowered his arms. He gave her a look that momentarily made Kel believe he was going to continue his foolish argument...but then simply sighed, and nodded. “Understood, Kel. So, emergency kits?”

Better.

“If you would be so kind.”

Cover | Synopsis | Chapter 1 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 15

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Dissonant Constellations Chapter 2

Jill Date: July 8, 2116, Earth Standard Time: 16:43, Human Circadian Standard Location: Nondla Asteroid Belt

There were honest mistakes, and then there were fuck-ups.

Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Sometimes, a string of poor decisions crossed the web-thin barriers between an oopsie, a foreseeable accident, and an...oh no.

Other times, it was as if somebody had decided to do a cartwheel across those lines, through a bed of hot coals, all while somehow managing to chug tequila.

Staring out through the dual-layers of her neon-green spacesuit’s helmet, and the front window of her ambu-shuttle, Jill Hodge, Chief Recovery Expert of the First Responders Corps’ Vessel Nightingale, knew exactly how to categorize the wreckage she was slowly approaching.

An unambiguous, unadulterated Fuck-Up. 

Capital F. Capital U.

There had to be drugs involved. What else could have possibly made the skipper’s pilot decide to treat a known vessel-wrecking asteroid belt like their personal obstacle course? Had they really thought they could just blast a hole through the center of an asteroid, and glide through without a scratch? 

Or were they trying to follow the path made by another ship? One with better weaponry and a narrower stern, that had made a hole and slipped through with ease?

Either way, the result was the same.

From a distance, the wreckage looked a bit crude. A massive, stone fist with a single, metal finger jutting straight out, sheared of everything but the very core of the life-saving passenger capsule.

At least, that was the cleanest interpretation of what she saw.

“Can you see an airlock?” The disembodied voice of her captain, Samantha Healy, asked in Jill’s ear.

“Not a useable one,” Jill responded. “I’m petty sure the main docking port’s about twenty feet deep in that rock...and it looks like whoever designed this skipper cheaped out, and didn’t add an emergency access to the bow. We’ll have to go through the hull.”

“Gotcha. I’ll log the breach. Your team’s good to go whenever you’re ready.”

“Ready now. Heading in.”

Their mission was simple: breach the hull without depressurizing the damaged ship, extract anyone they found once inside, and bring them back to the Nightingale for treatment and debriefing.

But all that relied on Jill’s careful navigation. 

And for the damn skip to stop moving. 

For some ungodly reason, it appeared the captain of the rapidly-spinning obscenity in front of her kept trying to rev the engines. As if, at this point, that could had even a remote chance of dislodging the finger from the fist.

“Sam, can you tell the captain of this wreck to hold still?”

“Already have. Hamid’s repeating it on a loop. We’re not sure if they can’t hear us, or if we’re being ignored. Either way, use extreme caution.”

Jill suppressed a groan.

The Coalition needed to up the regulations on private skipper licenses. Every rich jackass in friendly space thought they could fly the things, and very few actually knew what they were doing. Jill hadn’t joined the First Responders Corps to scrape trust funds off viewscreens. 

But she didn’t get to choose her patients. 

Or their condition.

Finally, after some expert maneuvering that there should’ve been some kind of trophy for, Jill made a solid contact. She then extended the ambu-shuttle’s emergency breach shielding to seal the location she’d chosen for her team’s entry point, and quickly pressurized the area.

She hoped the Nightingale got a good shot of the procedure. It was rare for an ambu-shuttle to need to land directly on the passenger capsule; especially one that wouldn’t stop moving. Odds were, it would make for a good training video.

Given the shape of the wreck, it would definitely keep any trainee’s attention.

Jill glanced back at the other members of her rescue team: Arden, Moe, Tiffany, and Xivis. “You all ready?”

Nods from Arden, Moe and Tif. An affirmative gesticulation of tentacles from Xivis.

She knew they would be. They were a good team.

“Alright,” Jill nodded as she triple-checked the seal and switched off a safety lock. “Seal confirmed. Pressurizing complete. Breach airlock retracting in three…two…one…”

She pressed a button, and the wide airlock in the floor near the back of the ship retracted.

Tiffany hopped down into the void with a plasma-saw, and quickly went to work cutting through the vessel’s thick inner hull.

Out of experience and caution, Jill took a moment to triple-check that her environmental suit’s seals were still intact. Recovery experts were required to put their suits on before boarding the ambu-shuttle, but mistakes happened. 

Best not to let them become fuck-ups.

“We lucked out,” There was a little echo as Tiffany’s voice repeated itself a half-second later through the speakers. “Our breach went through a wall. It’ll just be a scuttle to the left before their artificial gravity kicks in, if it’s still working.”

“Thanks Tiff,” Jill smirked. Coming in through the wall or ceiling always reduced the chance of accidentally cutting through a main system in the process. Most ships tried to pack those systems into the floor...as long as they followed regulations.

As usual, they left Arden in the shuttle to watch for signs that they were going to disconnect from the hull. It was unlikely, given that the shuttle’s retractable, auto-welding breach clamps…but it had happened before.

After one last check-in with Sam, Jill and the team carefully slid into the breach.

The medic’s boots touched down in a corridor illuminated only by the dim blue light of bioluminescent algae canisters embedded in the walls and ceiling. The medic couldn’t help but be relieved by the faint glow: the modified strain encapsulated in Coalition-designed spacefaring vessels was engineered to fluoresce bright pink in the presence of certain kinds of radiation. Although Jill had confidence in the accuracy of her suit’s geiger counter, the swirling blues were always reassuring. 

Plus, it was a good supplement to her suit’s built-in lights.

The RapidScan in her visor detected two Human-sized signatures down the corridor to their left, which matched up with the location of the bridge on a standard skipper’s passenger capsule.

No other signs of life.

Jill hoped that wasn’t a tragedy.

She led her team down the long corridor, listening carefully for signs that the groans and shudders of the mangled vessel were beginning to morph into something far more dangerous.

Fortunately, they made it to the bridge without the ship imploding on them. That was never fun.

“Is the video feed still holding up, Sam?” 

“Affirmative. Your headset’s clear as day. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“Thanks.”

Soon, a bulkhead blocked the medics’ path. With a nod from Jill, Moe stepped forward, and placed a small disk against the metal. A light on it flashed red for a few moments; then flicked to solid green.

Atmospheric pressure confirmed, Jill waited for Moe to pry the disk away and step back; then pressed the “open” button to the right of the door. 

It slid smoothly aside, revealing a room enveloped in darkness, moans and cursing.

Jill looked around at her team, waited for another nod from each Human, and a tentacle-shudder from Xivis, before heading inside.

To her immediate relief, there weren’t any people-smears. Given the exterior of the ship, that had been a real possibility.

There were, however, two people inside, just as the RapidScan had promised: one strapped firmly into a passenger seat; another seated in the pilot’s seat; swearing at the main control console. 

The passenger looked up as they entered, and a pained, but relieved grin spread across their face. 

The pilot didn’t seem to notice. But they were still pushing buttons.

Jill signaled Xivis to head towards the person in the chair, and for Tiffany to find an open terminal. They needed to access the passenger logs before they disengaged. She had no intention of leaving anyone in this wreck while they towed it to the nearest space station. Too big a risk.

She and Moe headed for the pilot; stopped well out arm’s reach, just in case they tried to throw a punch.

The figure didn’t look armed, which was far from a small blessing. First Responder’s environmental suits had a decent layer of body armor built in, but there was never a guarantee that it would be enough against some of the weirder weapons people liked to pack. Better when they could avoid tempting fate.

“Hello,” Jill called out.

The figure jolted, and spun around in the chair as if they’d just realized there were other people on the ship.

Pretty rich, given that Jill could see the “HULL BREACH” alert their entry had caused flashing in bright red letters on one of the screens to the person’s right.

But Jill only had a moment to register all of that, before she recognized the man at the controls.

Given the disembodied curse that popped into her ear, Jill was fairly certain her captain did as well.

There hadn’t been any visible identifying markers on the outside, and the automated distress signal hadn’t given out a callsign. Now Jill knew why. 

“Senator Plyler,” Jill said loudly and clearly. “Are you alright?”

“Took you long enough!” The man had a cut on his forehead; when he turned back to the controls, Jill noticed that his right leg dragged limply along. “Save me the lecture about running off without my security team: a man’s got the right to some privacy. Now help me get this ship out of of this damn rock.”

...Did the man not really not recognize the large, bright-red rod and serpent emblazoned across the chest of her neon-green environmental suit? The Responders made it conspicuous for a reason.

“We’re not your private security, sir,” she kept her voice as respectful as she could. “We’re from the First Responders’ Corps. My name’s Jill. Were there only two people aboard––”

“How did you beat my security team here?”

“I don’t know,” though Jill had a feeling a lot of people were going to end up getting fired after this. Sucked to be them. “But I need you to power down the engines.”

The senator grunted a negative; turned back to the controls. “I can wiggle her out.”

...Seriously?

“Your ship’s totaled, sir,” Jill watched him sway. “And you’re not looking much better. Please step away from the controls, and let us help you.”

“’M fine,” he slurred, and swiveled his chair around again. “This isn’t my first crash, you know.”

Oh sure. Just keep digging.

“Okay,” Jill nodded. “But I still need you to come with me. Your ship’s environmental controls are failing, and––”

“They’re fine too. I just rerouted the power to the engines.”

The medic stared. “That’s not going to help. Your engines are––”

“Don’t tell me how to run my ship!” The man spun to face her; rose; took a few stumbling steps in her direction as he spoke. “I just finished a month-long refresher course on proper flight operations, so I know what I’m...”

His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.

Jill rushed over to catch him, but the man wasn’t exactly light. She managed to guide his fall enough to keep his head from smacking anything, which was far better than nothing.

“Welp,” Jill shrugged. “Can I get a hand, Moe?”

The man pulled a collapsable stretcher out from his suit’s back compartment, and helped Jill maneuver their patient into place. 

Once they had the stretcher’s anti-grav activated and lifted to waist-height, she and Moe divvied up their triage scans.

“Definitely a concussion,” Moe told her as his scanner hovered over the senator’s head. “But it’s a mild one. Also an astonishing amount of alcohol. And something the scanner doesn’t recognize. New stuff. Fun. From the extent of the concussion, I think the loss of consciousness is down to the drugs.”

“That, and blinding pain,” Jill noted as she read from her own scanner. “I’m seeing fractures in his right tibia and fibula, and his right radius and ulna are completely shattered. Also a good handful of ribs. I don’t care how high he is, there was no chance he was walking out of here.”

“I don’t feel comfortable giving him pain meds,” Moe noted.

Jill nodded in agreement. “That’ll have to wait until he’s up on the ship. Let the infirmary do bloodwork to make sure whatever drug he took won’t interact...For now, splint him up, strap him in. Don’t give him any wiggle room.”

As Moe got to work making sure the senator wouldn’t be able to hurt himself even more on the way back to the Nightingale, Jill turned to check in with Xivis on their other patient.

The Noviiiaun medic had already gotten his patient laid out on another stretcher.

“How are they?” Jill asked.

As she approached and got a better look at the patient’s face, a flash of a news conference flicked through the medic’s mind; the name of an activist Plyler had been working with on loosening terraforming regulations clicked into place. The woman on the stretcher had pain lines etched into her face, but thankfully, she was conscious, and seemed to be aware of her surroundings.

“Broken collar bone,” the bubbles and clicks of Xivis’ language were translated by Jill’s earpiece. “And a couple ribs too, one displaced. But she’s stable. Looks like the dampening seatbelt did its job.”

Which all but confirmed Jill’s suspicion that the senator had not been wearing his.

“Good,” Jill nodded. “Anything in her system?”

“Just what I gave her for the pain. There wasn’t anything before that.”

And if that didn’t paint a bigger picture.

“Good,” Jill repeated; then focused on the patient. “Ms. Hill, we’re going to get you out of here. But first we need to know: are there any other passengers?”

“It was just me and Ron,” she said stiffly. “He wanted to test drive his new toy, before showing off to his friends. He invited me along. I...I didn’t know he was going to...”

Jill edited out her first reaction. “Thank you, Ms. Hill. Xivis is going to bring you to our shuttle. From there, we’ll have you up to the Nightingale in just a few minutes. Please don’t try to get off the stretcher.”

That got her a fraction of a nod, so Jill made one more trip across the room; over to Tiffany.

“Tiff, can you power down the engines? Leave life-support on, and nothing else.”

“Already on it,” Tiffany crossed to the main control panel, and within moments, Jill heard and felt the groaning vessel begin to settle. “I’ve downloaded a copy of the ship’s blackbox, and triple-checked the last boarding scans. There were only two people aboard when the crash happened.”

A little tension drained out of Jill’s shoulders at that final confirmation. “Alright, then let’s get out of here.”

The trip back through the sleeping ship was blessedly event-free. Senator Plyler’s eyes fluttered a few times, but he didn’t come to. It wasn’t exactly a good thing, but his pulse was steady and his airway was clear, so they’d deal with the rest back on the Nightingale.

Once everyone was back in the ambu-shuttle, Tiffany collected a heavy, clinking bag from the shuttle’s mesh-lined storage shelves, and hopped down in the hole.

“Heading your way in five minutes, Sam.” Jill said into her mic as she heard sparks from Tiffany’s welding torch. “Finishing the uncoupling procedures now.”

“Thanks, Jill. Doctors Vond and Tehs are making final preparations as we speak. Based on the readings transmitted from your scanners, Vond will take point on the Senator.”

Jill smirked. “Sounds like a good plan.”

It was hard to remember the time when Jill didn’t trust Doctor Vond. A captain pulling an old college friend onto her ship’s crew was the kind of nepotistic tossup that usually landed on the ‘fuck up’ side of the coin. And rumors always flew when somebody with a history like Vond’s hopped back into spacefaring missions like nothing had ever happened. 

But after seeing the guy in action for over three years, the medic had found the trauma surgeon to be kind, adaptable, and with an eye for detail that routinely saved patient’s lives. She’d even put in a glowing note for him when he went for his promotion. Given whatever weird junk was flowing through the Senator’s veins, Vond would’ve been Jill’s first pick too.

“Why aren’t we moving?” Ms. Hill asked quietly. Her voice was a bit stronger; Jill guessed the pain meds were helping with that.

“We need to re-seal the hull first,” Jill explained with a patient smile. “If we undock without sealing up the hole we made, the depressurization of your ship will send us careening through space like a popped wine cork. And resealing also makes it safer to tow.”

“Just leave it here,” the senator’s slurred voice startled the medic. When the hell did he wake up? “It’s a useless bucket of bolts. Why did I waste my money on something that can’t even do a proper barrel roll?”

Jill heard Sam snort in her earpiece.

“Sir, we can’t leave it.” Jill told him. “This area’s known for scavengers, and the Coalition Guard’s transit investigating division will want the ship intact for their investigation––”

“INVESTIGATION?!?” Senator Plyler jerked against his restraints, still seemingly not feeling the deep pain he should’ve been in. “Don’t you know who I am?”

Okay, he was going there.

Time for the ‘fuck-you’ smile. “Yes, Senator, I do.”

“Then you know there can’t be an investigation. Don’t you know what that will do to me? To my movement?”

“Not my problem, sir.”

Now that sent the senator ranting, but Jill was able to tune him out. Not her first antagonistic patient, and it wouldn’t be her last. At least they’d managed to strap this one down before he could hurt anybody else. She focused instead on making sure Tiffany got back inside the ship safely, and then navigating them away from Plyler’s obscene monument to his own ego, and back to the Nightingale. As long as his vitals remained steady for the trip, the senator could complain till he was blue in the face for all Jill cared.

Docking on the Nightingale was a cakewalk, and it was only a quick glide through the quarantine and decontamination room, then down the main corridor from the docking bay to the main infirmary.

As one would expect for a ships whose whole purpose was to act as a floating, portable hospital, the Nightingale had an infirmary larger than their docking bay.

It was not, however, the one they used on a day-to-day basis. Patients, strangely enough, didn’t like feeling like a tiny dot in a massive field hospital, so the Nightingale’s main infirmary for any emergency with only a handful of patients was a cozy clinic with three ORs, five patient rooms, a clinical lab, and a sizable med room stocked with enough medications and equipment to treat a small city. All opening out into a combo triage/waiting room with sections that could be coordinated off on an as-needed basis.

Even that was way, way more than they needed most days. But it definitely made the patients feel more comfortable.

Plyler stopped ranting before they reached their destination. Whether it was because he’d tired himself out, or he was hitting another wave of whatever drug was in his system, or if the pain from his broken bones was finally starting to register, Jill wasn’t sure. Her scans could only tell her so much.

When they reached the main infirmary, Tiffany split off to go deliver the data she’d copied to the Captain; Xivis rushed Ms. Hill to the examination room to the far left, and Jill and Moe guided the senator over to the open door of OR-3, where an already masked, gloved, and ready to go Doctor Lukas Vond, stood waiting.

The man couldn’t keep an emotion to himself to save his life. Only a few inches of a pale, sun-deprived face were visible under his bright green surgical mask, but Jill could still make out the nervous concern in the corners of his perpetually-tired-looking brown eyes. He’d do fantastic once the surgery started, but he wasn’t exactly the best in liminal spaces.

Probably a good idea to lighten the mood.

Jill smirked at him; trailed behind as Moe guided their pouting patient forward, and once she was sure she was out of the senator’s eyeline, signed to Lukas: “He’s your problem now.”

The corners of Lukas’ eyes creased in awkward, slightly-amused acknowledgement; then focused on his patient as Moe brought him over. “Senator Plyler, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Doctor Vond. How are you feeling?”

Jill gave the trauma surgeon an apologetic shrug, and left to go fill out paperwork as the senator started ranting again.

Was there anything worse than an ungrateful, entitled patient?

Cover | Synopsis | Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

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Alright, new plan. Chapters of my scifi/satire/suspense story, Dissonant Constellations, are going up twice a week, not once a week, on Wednesdays and Saturdays. A new chapter is forthcoming.

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About Dissonant Constellations

It has been over thirty years since the Embers of Prometheus left Earth, rejecting the new power wielded by the Coalition over the fate of Humanity for the risks and rewards of complete independence. The Coalition's power has only grown in that time, and the Embers remain ever-vigilant against their cruel propaganda.

Kel, an elite warrior of the Embers, finds herself thrust into the center of a political and personal nightmare. Her status as a Phoenix has, it seems, been discovered by the Coalition, making her a target for capture and experimentation. The alternative explanation, the complete invasion of the Embers' colony, is also not out of the realm of possibility. With no safe way to contact home, lest she risk recapture or the exposure of her colony's position, Kel must seek out allies and aid...willing or not...to save her people from the Coalition threat.

Lukas, a trauma surgeon on a Coalition First Responders Corps vessel, doesn't pay much attention to politics...unless a senator decides to crash his skipper into an asteroid. Then, and only then, is it his problem. Recovering from emotional traumas of his own, as well as a quarantine-induced separation from his beloved wife, Lukas tries to keep things positive, and help anyone who might need it...no matter how suspicious the distress call.

Dissonant Constellations is a serialized story written by K.C. Skywrote. It will post on Saturdays, starting November 2, 2024, on Tumblr and Royal Road. All rights reserved.

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