Hey...
You!
Yes, you with the hopeful look in your eyes. You probably swiped to this chapter expecting guns blaza-blaza, Melios burubas, and maybe a daring prison break where Vice kicks down a door and drags Ranyan out by his... well, you know.
Put your excitement back in your pants. Zip it up. Lock it away.
Because right now? The only thing getting banged on the Xeca is our collective will to live.
It has been three days.
Three days since the red dust of Mars swallowed him up. Three days since the gavel came down and that old, wrinkled prune of a Councilor called my big brother a monster. Three days since my hama-hama turned into a hollow, aching gusi-gusi that feels like someone poured liquid nitrogen into my purupin.
We are in the command center. But nobody is commanding anything.
The room usually smells like ozone, cheap coffee, and the electric musk of arousal. Today? It smells like stale sweat and dried tears. It smells like a funeral for a libido that died too young.
I am sitting in the corner, knees pulled up to my chest. I am making myself small. I want to be invisible. I want to be a dust mite so I don't have to look at them.
Navi is in her chair. She hasn't moved for hours. She is staring at the blank navigation screen, her fingers twitching over the console like she is trying to play a ghost piano. She looks deflated. Like a hama-hama doll that sprang a leak.
Chef is on the floor next to the tactical station. She isn't polishing her knives. She isn't screaming about sauce reduction or marinating techniques. She is just... sitting. Her head is resting on her knees. She looks like a soufflé that collapsed because someone slammed the oven door too hard.
And...
Then there is the noise.
Or rather, the yelling.
"You knew!" Vice screams.
Her voice cracks like a whip. It echoes off the metal walls, making me flinch. My purupin tightens, but not in the good way. Not in the clak-clak way. It is a cringe. A recoil.
Vice is standing over Prof. She looks terrifying. Her hair is coming out of its bun, strands of black framing her face like cracks in a porcelain mask. Her red uniform is wrinkled. She hasn't slept. None of us have. We are all running on caffeine and despair.
"You knew the whole time, Prof!" Vice yells again, slamming her hand onto Prof's console. "You knew about the DNA! You knew the transformation was permanent!"
Prof doesn't flinch. She is sitting in her chair, her posture perfect, her face blank. But I can see it. I can see the way her Irita... which is usually tucked away politely, is twitching beneath her lab coat. It's a nervous tic. A stress reaction.
"Correct," Prof states. Her voice is calm, but it lacks that robotic confidence she usually has. It sounds thin.
Brittle...
"And you didn't tell me?" Vice's voice drops to a growl. A low, dangerous sound that usually precedes a Gatling Rose barrage. "I am the Vice Captain! I am his... I am his partner! You let me walk into that courtroom blind! You let him stand there and accept it!"
"It was not my data to share," Prof replies, adjusting her glasses. Her hand is shaking. Just a little. "It was an order. Classification Level Zero."
"An order?" Vice laughs. It is a wet, ugly sound. "From who? Reagalus? Those old men who want to dissect him?"
"From him," Prof whispers.
The room goes silent.
Even the hum of the engine seems to hold its breath.
Xecta, who is curled up in Mommy's lap like a frightened kitten, lets out a small sob. Mommy is stroking Xecta's hair, her rabbit ears drooping so low they are practically touching her shoulders. Mommy looks old today. Older than usual. Her face is gray, the lines around her eyes deep canyons of worry.
"What did you say?" Vice breathes out. She steps back, as if Prof just slapped her.
"Capt ordered it," Prof says, looking down at her datapad. She swipes a finger across the screen, bringing up a holographic file. It glows blue in the dim light, casting long shadows across Prof's face. "He forbade me from sharing the prognosis with the crew. Specifically, with you, Vice."
"Why?" Vice whispers. Her legs give out. She sinks into the Captain's chair... his chair... and curls her hands into fists on the armrests. "Why would he do that?"
"Because he knew you would try to fix it," Prof explains. "He knew you would burn the galaxy down to save him. He knew Mommy would drain herself dry trying to heal a genetic rewrite. He knew Private..."
Prof looks at me. Her silver eyes are sad.
"He knew Private would try to... blast the monster away."
I bury my face in my knees. He knew. My stupid, annoying, giga-giga brother knew I would try to fuck the Krall out of him.
And he didn't want that.
"He wanted to protect us," Mommy says softly. Her voice is thick, like warm syrup that has gone sour. "My boy. My foolish, sacrificial boy."
"Protect us?" Vice snaps, looking up. Her eyes are red, rimmed with dark circles. "By letting himself turn into a Queen? By letting them lock him in Tartarus? How does that protect us, Prof? When he turns... when the hunger takes over... who is going to stop him?"
Prof sighs.
She taps a command on her console.
A new image appears on the screen. It is a 3D model of a chemical compound. It looks angry. Spiky. Red and black molecules twisting together like a thorny vine.
"GX-778-C," Prof announces.
"The stamina serum?" Chef asks, lifting her head from her knees. Her voice is hoarse. "The stuff you gave me and Navi in the gym? The stuff that made me squirt like a fire hydrant?"
"That was a diluted variant," Prof corrects. "A zero-point-five percent solution. This... this is the concentrate."
Prof stands up. She walks over to Vice. She looks smaller without her clones.
"Ragia... came to me a month ago," Prof says. She uses his name. She never uses his name. "He felt the change starting. He felt the hunger. He told me that if he ever... if he ever looked at you, Vice, and saw food instead of a lover... I was to deploy this."
"What is it?" Vice asks, staring at the hologram.
"It is a neuro-toxin," Prof says. Her voice breaks. The cold scientist mask cracks, and for a second, I see the terrified woman underneath. "Derived from his own corrupted sperm cells. It targets the Krall genetic markers."
"And does what?" Navi asks from her chair.
"It kills them," Prof whispers. "And the host."
The silence that follows isn't just quiet. It is heavy. It presses against my eardrums like deep water. It squeezes my chest until my lungs feel like shriveled raisins.
"He made you build a weapon," Vice says slowly, her voice trembling. "To kill him."
"He made me promise," Prof says, tears finally leaking from her eyes. "He said... 'If I turn into a Queen, Prof, you make sure I don't eat my family. You make sure I die as a man, even if I look like a monster.'"
"No!" I whimper.
The sound escapes my throat before I can stop it.
"No!" I scream, jumping up. I stomp my foot on the metal deck. "That is kumkuma! That is stupid! Ranyan wouldn't do that! He promised! He promised we would clak-clak forever!"
"Private, sit down," Mommy says gently.
"I won't sit down!" I yell. I am crying now. Hot, angry tears that burn my cheeks. "He is lying! He is just being dramatic! He wants us to feel sorry for him so he can get a... a surprise bolo-bolo or something! He is not going to die! He is Ranyan! My... brother!"
I run over to Vice. I grab her arm. The fabric of her uniform is rough under my fingers.
"Tell them, Vice!" I beg. "Tell them he is just playing a game! Tell them we are going to go get him and... and bring him home and force-feed him steak until he turns back into a boy!"
Vice looks at me. Her eyes are empty. The fire that usually burns there... the fire that makes me scared and gurumi at the same time, is gone.
It is just ash.
"He planned it," Vice whispers. She isn't talking to me. She is talking to the air. "He planned his own execution. He stood in that courtroom, knowing he was rotting from the inside, and he smiled at me."
She lets out a sound that is half-laugh...
Half-sob.
"He smiled at me, Private. With those lizard eyes. He was saying goodbye."
"Stop it!" I cover my ears. "I don't want to hear it! It makes my wuz-wuz feel bad! It makes everything feel gray and squishy!"
I hate this!
I hate the sadness. Sadness is boring. Sadness is dry. Sadness is the anti-lubricant.
I want the chaos. I want the yelling. I want the smell of clak-calk and danger. I want my brother to walk through that door and make a joke about Uranus and pinch my butt.
But the door is closed.
And...
On the screen, the spiky red molecule spins round and round, like a tiny, poisonous planet.
Prof sits back down. She wipes her eyes with her lab coat.
"The serum is ready," she says hollowly. "If he breaks out... if the Queen takes over... I have the delivery system loaded in the Med Bay."
"You won't use it," Chef growls. She stands up. She looks furious. "You won't touch him with that poison, Prof. I will cook you alive first."
"It was his order!" Prof snaps back.
"Screw his orders!" Chef yells. "Since when do we listen to orders? We are Explorer 7! We are the misfits! We are the ones who wrestle naked and bet expensive wine on our own orgasms! We don't kill our Captain!"
"We do if it saves the humanity!" Prof argues.
"Screw humanity!" Vice roars.
She stands up from the chair. She looks magnificent in her rage. Finally, the ash is gone.
The fire is back.
"If humanity wants to kill him, then humanity is the enemy!" Vice declares. She pulls her blaster from her belt.
The metal clicks into place.
A good sound. A violent sound.
"We are taking the Xeca," Vice announces. "And if I have to turn every Councilor into pink mist, I am getting him back."
"Vice," Mommy warns. "The ship is grounded. The clamps are locked. If we try to take off, the orbital defense grid will vaporize us."
"Let them try!" Vice snarls. "I have a navigator who can thread a needle in a meteor storm. I have a sniper who can shoot the wings off a fly. I have..."
She looks around.
She sees Navi, who is shaking her head. She sees Prof, who is defeated. She sees me, a crying mess.
She falters.
"We can't do it alone," Vice whispers. The fire flickers and dies again. "We need him. We need the Inquor. Without his fuel... we are just... girls. Ordinary girls."
She sinks back into the chair.
The room returns to silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence. The kind of silence that comes after a bad climax, where you realize you are still alone and the ceiling needs painting.
My purupin aches. My heart aches.
I look at the door.
Please, Ranyan. Stop playing. Come out. Come out and fill the hama-hama.
But the door stays shut.
And...
The silence gets louder.