“I don't know if I can do that,” said Jolo.
“You got two choices: A BG prison planet where they'll work you until you're dead. The whole time you’ll wish you were dead. Or this.” Barthelme reached into his jacket pocket. “Hold this in your hand and see if you don't start to feel like your old self again.”
Jolo reached out and put his hands around the wooden handle of a gun. His gun.
He closed his eyes a felt the thing, the weight of it, the way the wood was cut. It fit perfectly in his hand and it was as if his arm was ready to go even if his mind wasn’t. Some small part of him turned on, came alive. Jolo stood up and went to place the gun in the holster, but there was no holster.
“See,” said Barthelme. “Go now and be Jolo. Listen to me carefully. There's an old dump boat at dock seven about 4 km away from here. You've got to cover the ground on foot. You’ve got to get through that first patrol. Get to the boat on dock seven, bay twelve. It's an old trash boat. They won’t expect that. It's a scheduled run just like always. And that will get you off planet. I'll try to get you help after that, but the best I can do right now is to get you off this rock.”
Jolo stood up and Barthelme held out his good left hand and they shook and said goodbye. Then Jolo stepped into the corridor, looked to the left: two guards were lying on the floor.
“Wait,” said Barthelme. And then he took a large cutter from his bag and put it up to Jolo's neck. “The moment I cut this you got 30 seconds. Go out the door of the elevator and they'll be a guard waiting near the exit. Take him out then head down the elevator. Run straight across the plaza toward the trees on the other side.”
Just before Barthelme cut the collar, Jolo grabbed his arm. “The girl, Jaylen Voss, do you remember her? She was under you in engineering on the Jessica.”
The big man stopped for a moment, and slowly shook his head side-to-side. “No, I'm sorry, I don't remember her.”
“How could you not?” said Jolo.
Barthelme put his hand on Jolo’s shoulder. “Go now,” he said. And then he put the cutters up to Jolo's neck and snapped the collar off. Instantly the jail cells flashed red as the warning klaxon went off. And then Barthelme ran into the corridor, stepped over the two guards, looked back once, and again yelled, “Go!”
Merthon
Bakanhe Grana Homeworlds
Warumon 5, Humanoid Synthesis and Production Facility
Merthon ran straight for the birthing room the moment he got the news. There had been nothing to hope for in so long. Nothing to dream about. At night his mind was filled with nightmares about what cruel method the BG would put him and Jamis to death once the emperor no longer needed them. But at last there was some small triumph in his delicate plan that he had to share.
He flew past several lesser warriors and mumbled apologies in his mangled Bakanhe hoping he’d said something to the effect of: “Minor emergency in the birthing room.” He found Jamis and nearly knocked him down.
“He’s there, in Sol!” Merthon whispered.
“Who?” said Jamis, not looking up from one of his beloved tanks. He was siphoning fluids into a vial for testing. Always testing. It was just like him to play coy and pretend he didn’t care. To pretend he cared about the creatures he was growing.
His reply pained Merthon and put him on edge again. “Don’t spoil it, you Frog.”
“Ok, then,” said Jamis cautiously. “What’s got you running your skinny legs all this way for?” He looked up from the tank and then their eyes met and they didn’t have to speak. Jamis knew.
“Are you sure it’s him?”
“Yes.”
“He was in the hospital on Sol and there is to be an inquisition.”
“That does not bode well, then,” said Jamis.
“He’s there. He’s there, you fool. And it’s him. We chose him carefully. He will come.”
“Hope is a dangerous thing in the pits of Hell, my dear Merthon.”
“He will come. He has to,” said Merthon.
Jamis put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You’ve done well. But you must also consider the odds against us. Were it just the imbecile humans, that would be one thing, but the—” At this he stopped and lowered his voice. “The black bastards have sunk their alacyte claws into the Fed system.”
Merthon was undeterred. He would not let Jamis, who was acting like his father, steal his tiny moment of hope and joy. But Merthon suddenly felt like a child trying to save his people by releasing a toy boat into one of the great Vellosian oceans.
“I don’t even know if there was enough of him left,” said Jamis, pulling more water from the next tank.
“Who are you talking to?” said Merthon, now more offended than woeful. “Of course there was enough left. What kind of talk is that? I am a creator.”
“Yes, and a brilliant creator is Merthon,” said Jamis. “But I fear you putting all of your hope into one human pulled from the tanks a tad early.”
“He will come,” said Merthon, his face sad and beaten just like it was before the news came. “If there were anyone to tell, I’d tell them you were an ass.” And he padded off to his work in the birthing labs.
Flight
Federation Home Word: Sol.
Plaza of the Planets.
Jolo stepped into the corridor still wearing the orange jumpsuit. The entire jail section flashing red and white. He walked towards the door to the elevator but before he got there a young Federation officer came running
