by Vicky L Holt
“One of my brethren was separated from the group after we left them.”
I gasped. They were all impossibly strong. “What happened?”
“They fought a pack of pazathel-nax.” He paused. “Your VELMA tells me they are similar to prehistoric wolves on your home planet.” His head bent a moment. Then it rose again. His red eyes glared at me. “Hivelt disappeared after facing one of the pack leaders. They had not heard from him when we last spoke.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. I remembered Hivelt. He was the biggest of them all. “I wish I wasn’t sick. I want you to find Hivelt.” I quirked my mouth. “Although he did almost try to kill me.”
Naraxthel laughed. “Hivelt has the anger of a roaring mountain. I would not have allowed him to harm you. He gave me this,” he said and grazed the scab on his top lip with a claw. The scab my finger had caressed not so long ago. “But he could not hurt a female.”
“What did you tell him? To make him let me go?”
He peered at me a second then caught light from the window. I could make out the tendons and musculature of his neck. He shrugged. Did he not want to answer? He met my eyes. “I spoke with my brothers when you were asleep. They are continuing on the expedition.” He gestured out the window. “Underground.” He stopped. “We will catch up to them when you are well. And once we have collected the Holy Waters of Shegoshel and the woaiquovelt, we will all return to Ikshe, bearers of great gifts, and legends of bravery and heroism.” He pounded a fist on his chest.
My eyes lingered on his pronounced pectorals and carved shoulders and upper arms. Strange scars dotted his sage-green skin, creating patterns and designs. I wondered what they meant and what sorts of battles he had survived over the years to collect such injuries. I blinked, still feeling the effects of the medicine.
“But what about me?” I hated that my voice sounded so little.
He crouched. I stared at his hands. They were strong and lithe, the same pale-green but with black claws. His actual claws were not as long nor as sharp as on his armored gloves. He touched my face with his knuckles. My breath caught, and my heart leapt in my chest.
“I remain with you, Yasheza Mahavelt. My people will reject me once they learn you are my companion.”
Um. What?
My heart galloped out of control. “Companion?”
“I will not leave your side until you are well,” Naraxthel said. “This,” he gestured between us, “is not done. Companionship between males and females.” I watched his brow fold in consternation. He traced my hand with a claw. He tilted his head. “In my world, the males seed the females to create children. But then we part ways. Our queen, the Ikma, and her younger sister, Kama, do have consorts. But as for the rest of us, we live always alone.”
My mouth worked, but I didn’t know what to say. It sounded like a lonely existence.
“There is a myth about the heart and heart-home,” he said, but then stopped. “It is nothing. I thought perhaps you wished to sleep. You are restless when you walk in the fields of Shegoshel.”
“The fields of Shegoshel?”
“Sleeping,” he explained, “and dreaming. The suns give us all. Life, water, daylight and night, waking and sleeping. And dreaming. It is why the Waters of Shegoshel are so prized. They give healing sleep, and sometimes, healing dreams.”
I tried to sit up, but my restraints held fast. “Oh my gosh. The dreams.”
He tilted his head and let his brows draw together. “The Waters of Shegoshel gave you dreams?”
“Um. Did they?”
He touched my temple, but said nothing, scowling.
VELMA did say there was a trace of a hallucinogenic drug in my system. Maybe it was like those ancient Native American customs where they smoked some herbs and then had visions. Except I didn’t have visions. I had two vivid dreams. Hallucinations? I’d only eaten from VELMA’s approved list, too.
“VELMA, is there any sign of that Salvia stuff in my bloodstream?” I assumed she would have checked it when I was out. Numerous times, judging by the discomfort at the IV port in my left arm.
“Not precisely,” VELMA said. “The bacteria resembled the chemical makeup of Salvinorin A but did not act as an agonist in your neuroreceptors. Therefore, I have reclassified it as a cyanobacteria of this planet.”
“When did you give me these special Waters?” I asked Red. I lost feeling in my toes and fingers, a bone-deep fatigue coming over me. I wanted to stay awake to hear everything, but I was so tired.
“In the cave after you fell asleep,” he answered. “I could not awaken you. When did you have the dreams? My people hold the dreams of the Holy Shegoshel very sacred.”
I swallowed. Closed my eyes. Tried to snatch at the wisps of images that haunted me.
“The first time was in the cave after the big agothe-fax attacked me,” I said, pinching my eyes shut. “When I almost died.” The first time. I needed to remember. It was more than just the peace that washed over me. There were clues and messages in there. Something about the colors and smells and tastes made me think the dreams were more than just the random firing of my neurons.
“My people believe the Goddesses of Shegoshel shine the light of life upon all creation. They esteem life as beloved and death as sacred. The worthy welcome both.”
My head shot up. “The worthy?”
He nodded slowly. “Theraxl can only hope to be found worthy before the Holy Sisters of Shegoshel. Then will their offspring be blessed.”
I gasped as a memory tripped out of my limbic system and crashed into my skull. The two females said they were judging my worthiness. And then they reawakened the events I tried so hard to forget. Blood pounded behind my eyes. What did my history with Chris have to do with anything? And how dare they bring that up?
“You are angry,” Red stated, interested but not troubled.
“I am. I kind of want to kick your Goddesses in the teeth.”
He nodded. “A sentiment we often speak of. It is understood we do not comprehend the ways of the Goddesses. They know that, as well.”
I gave a weak laugh. “You’re saying they don’t mind if we get mad at them?”
He smiled, his fangs gleaming in the ethereal cloud-filtered light through my porthole. “They gave birth to a race of hunters and warriors. Do you not think they are accustomed to our anger and violence?”
Good point.
He grew serious.
“Your sleep was not a peaceful one. You shed many tears for one named Chris. Is this your mate?” I saw muscles in his jaw flex and bunch, and his fangs peeked out from his firm lips. If I didn’t know better…
My heart skipped a beat. Tears sprang to my eyes unbidden.
“No!” I said. “I never want to think of him.” But this planet resurrected his memory.
“Yet your spirit has not let go of him.”
“Oh, like you know so much about my spirit,” I snapped, then clamped my mouth shut, feeling my face go hot. I avoided his eyes. My breaths quickened just remembering. I let my eyes glaze over and murmured to myself. “No one knows how lucky I was to leave.”
I hiccoughed. Used my free hand to wipe away my tears.
I turned my head away. I couldn’t bear to see disgust. Not from Red, who up until now, was my only friend in this insane place.
“VELMA, what’s the status of my recovery?” I asked. The tingling in my extremities continued, and while I could open my eyes and swallow, I still felt as weak as a de-venomed wasp.
“Your body requires a full seventy-two hours to recover from the infection if my treatment is successful.”
I closed my eyes.
Almost in answer, I felt a rumble in the exam table, its deep shaking making my blood vessels throb and bones tremble. I met Red’s scrutiny in alarm.
“VELMA?”
Red spoke, and VELMA translated. “It is a ship from Ikshe.” Red’s brows deepened, and he growled, standing and reaching for a weapon that was not at his side. “How did sh
e find us? Let us see if the Ikma enjoys the sight of her blood spilling upon my armor.”
A spike of adrenaline stirred me. “What’s going to happen? Red?”
“Stay inside,” he said and squeezed my shoulder.
“VELMA, turn on the camera and release the drone,” I said. “Try to stay undercover if possible.”
“Deploying drone.”
I watched the little drone screen inside my pod light up. A mammoth ship lowered itself into the “picnic meadow,” the tall grasses flattening under its engines. I could see creatures fleeing the area, and while I still felt the rumble, my ears also popped.
I tried to gauge Red’s reaction, but he was already through the hatch, meticulously applying his armor. Each piece he put in place caused a grimace to cross his face. What? He caught me staring and said something. The hatch closed.
The view of the ship came on my main screen. The ship was monstrous. Not just in size, but in aesthetics. Its panels boasted sharp violent angles. Horns jutted from the “top”; teeth stood in threatening rows around the bow. Spikes arrayed all over its black glossy surface. A huge round emblem was emblazoned on the side. Two suns, a red one set inside the other yellow, formed the background. Two planets, again, one set inside the other, superimposed the foreground. A single sharp tooth slashed across the image along with a drop of blood. The emblem was as clear as a cocked weapon. Don’t screw with us.
I swallowed, and a little whimper escaped. Red was out there. Probably standing between the door to my pod and whoever was coming in that ship.
Breathless, I clutched at my chest with my free hand. How did I know he was standing guard? Why did that thrill me when I had only known him for a couple of days? I frowned and clenched my jaw. It was nonsense. He was nothing to me. I was nothing to him. Except … I looked at the ship’s teeth and imagined Naraxthel Roika, just as he had stood the first time I saw him, full of war and blood, ready to slay a pack of slavering beasts. I found myself panting. Those teeth could be guns.
I doubted they were saying, “I come in peace.” Schist. I needed a plan. Okay, I exhaled. First, I needed more information.
“VELMA, please patch me into any communication between Naraxthel and the ship.”
“Accessing comms.” VELMA scrolled words in English across my view screen.
“… come bringing word from our Ikma,” a female voice said. “She noticed a woeful lack of sight-captures from Ikshe’s most celebrated hunter.”
“Have not my brethren sent many sight-captures?” Naraxthel said. “Surely the fight with the pazathel-nax was bloody enough?”
“It was indeed,” the voice said. “But it wasn’t you. Our Ikma has cultivated a … fondness, for you.”
“Ikma knows I do not return her ardor, dear BoKama.”
Oh. Was that how he “angered” his queen? My heartbeat picked up listening to their conversation. Did his queen … proposition him? If only I could be out there with him. I wanted to stand beside Red and face who or whatever was coming, but I couldn’t lift my head, let alone a weapon. I flexed my leg muscles and clenched my hands. I felt fatigue layering over me. No! I could not go to sleep now. I might not wake up. I pinched my thigh where my hand was restrained next to my leg and blinked furiously.
“There is something else,” BoKama said. “You haven’t volunteered any information about this pretty little ship I spied on your earlier sight-capture. What is it?”
“I have dealt with it,” Naraxthel said. “It is not a threat to Ikma Scabmal Kama.”
It? Torn, I eavesdropped.
“And yet, I can see through my viewport you will not leave its side, nor will you allow anyone access to its entry, should I send my guards out to you.”
“They will die, should you send them out,” he said. “I suggest you return to Ikshe and tell Ikma all is well on our hunting grounds, that the Ikthekal are on her hasty unjust errand, and will return with more Waters of Shegoshel and woaiquovelt than Ikma’s eyes have ever seen. Our work will go much faster if we do not have to send sight-captures every other tik.”
I gasped. Whoever BoKama was, she was getting a dressing down.
I studied the ship. I couldn’t tell if any of the spikes were cannons or space guns or what. If she decided to just fire on Naraxthel, there wasn’t anything I could do. My blood felt sluggish in my veins and my breathing picked up.
“Do you wish for another dose of pain reliever?” VELMA said.
“No.” I squinted at the screen, fiddling with one of the wires hooked up to my suit. A thought came to mind. “Does the EEP have any kind of weapons system?”
“It is inadvisable to deploy weapons without first attempting peaceful interventions, according to Protocol #205.”
I paused with a cable in my hand. “You mean the EEP does have weapons?”
“According to Protocol #205, all strategies of peaceful resolution should be attempted before deploying the EEP’s ordnance.”
Holy Hematite. Ordnance? What kind of firepower was this baby packing?
“I’m not planning on starting an intergalactic war, VELMA. Look at that ship. But out of curiosity, what kind of ordnance does the EEP have?” And why? I thought IGMC was all about exploration and ore discovery, not aggressive military action.
“The EEP X215 comes complete with three small surface-to-air missiles, a repeating rotator gun with ten thousand rounds of ammunition and a single fractionated quark bomb that can travel up to 150 meters.”
I broke out into a cold sweat. Where in the EEP was this stuff even at?
“VELMA, what’s a fractionated quark bomb?”
“It would have been cost-prohibitive for every single rescue vehicle to carry a full complement of …”
“Um, never mind. So how do I fire any of it?”
“It is inadvisable to deploy weapons until you have exhausted all peaceful interventions.”
“I’m not going to …” I said and pinched the bridge of my nose. “I’m just trying to figure out what all my options are.”
With my attention fading in and out, VELMA listed the EEP X215’s capabilities and how to execute them.
The fatigue crept up my limbs. Even so, if Red was in trouble at all, I was going to unleash the EEP’s hellfire on that big ship. And then probably die in a massive fireball. I stared at the screen, waiting. Flames of glory versus an invisible infection? No contest.
42
I waited.
The hatch to BoKama’s ship remained closed.
I felt the steady beat of my heart; its strength pushed rich blood through my veins. My breaths were even and deep. I held my hands loose by my sides, within easy reach of my weapons, and I bent my knees a fraction, ready for any movement. I would that Esra’s illness would abate, but I desired she would stay hidden and compliant. As few rotiks as we had known each other, compliant was not a word I would use to describe her.
Still BoKama’s hatch did not open.
The Sisters did not set foot on Ikthe, but BoKama was a formidable one. She often trained with my brethren and her own Consort and sent the sight-captures of her combat across the planet. I would not be surprised if she chose to step onto the soil of Ikthe, to be the first Sister to breathe its sweltering air.
“I spoke with Elder Sister,” BoKama spoke through my comm. “I told her I have not yet found Naraxthel Roika.”
I caught a breath. Younger Sister lied to the Ikma Scabmal Kama. What did this mean?
“Ikma Scabmal Kama sent an envoy to hasten your return to Ikshe. I came in its stead.”
My heart slowed, and blood pounded in my ears. What game was Younger Sister Kama playing at? I had witnessed raxfathe. That was Esra’s destiny if Ikma learned of Esra’s existence—if Esra lived. My hands opened and closed. My mind churned with strategies. I could only think of one reason why she would lie to Queen Elder Sister. But if she were discovered, she risked raxfathe and death. Just as I did, in harboring Esra on this planet.
“I will remain on Ik
the with my brethren until we have gathered the Waters by the barrel and woaiquovelt by the barge-full,” I said. “My queen shall have no reason to doubt her hunter’s loyalty.”
Silence a tik.
“I am coming out, Naraxthel,” BoKama said. “Without my guards or weapons. Stand down.”
My eyes narrowed, but I stood still.
The hatch lowered into a ramp, its gleaming black metal catching the last rays of the second sun set. I watched as BoKama’s slender slippered feet and long legs appeared first, then her swaying hips draped in a leafy green tunic, followed by her navel revealed by the deep neckline, and then her angular chin. Her red eyes came into view as she walked the rest of the way down the ramp, paused at the ground, then stepped onto land. She wore the orange feathered headdress with a gleaming purple cabochon in its center. Such jeweled pieces held sight-capture technology. I saw her wrinkle her nose and contemplate the meadow before studying the gray escape pod. Then she studied me.
“I have never met an Iktheka who dared to defy my Ikma,” she said. She stared at me long enough that the fading light of day receded into nightfall, but we had no trouble seeing one another. “Perhaps we might come to an agreement. You and I.”
My shoulders tensed, and I clenched my hands. My gaze flicked to the open hatch. Were her guards waiting for a command? Was she not then sending a sight-capture to speak of such treason? “You are interested in a portion of the spoils of Ikthe?”
She drew back and scowled at me, fangs bared, and eyes narrowed. “Do not dishonor me with bribery!”
She took a step closer to me, and I stood taller.
“I do not care about the Waters of Shegoshel or more woaiquovelt,” she said, her voice quieter. “I desire to be a weapon for the Goddesses.”
I smelled the wind that carried BoKama’s scent to me. It smelled of the cone trees in the Domed Mountains of Ikshe. She spoke truth. “I am listening.” I would not promise more than that.
“You assume I agree with Ikma’s lifestyle,” she said, her voice dripping with venom at Ikma’s name. “I prize my life. But Ikma has corrupted the ways of Theraxl for thirty cycles.”
