by Cheree Alsop
Though her instincts buzzed at the sound of the Ketulans closing in, Liora didn’t flinch. She knew what kind of a target she made and she embraced it. She would draw them away from her army, from her brother, and from the other ships landing in the distance.
The grating, humming sound closed in and the first blade stabbed into her shoulder; another sliced her knee and her legs collapsed. The metal bodies buried her beneath their stabbing forms. The whir of their engines shut out everything else.
Liora’s mind drifted and she saw Tariq standing beyond the dome once more. Instead of glass between them, there were curved metal bars and he held onto the top of the dome while she knelt and stared down at him. The backpack with the bomb was on his back and he held onto the bars with the moss writhing below.
“Live together or die together, remember?” Liora shouted over the sounds of battle that filled the air.
“Forget that,” Tariq replied. At the look of loss in Liora’s gaze, his voice softened. “Liora, live for both of us. Promise me.”
“I won’t,” she told him, shaking her head.
His expression became desperate. “You have to!”
She shook her head again. Her words came out as a strangled whisper. “I can’t.”
Tears filled Tariq’s eyes. He grabbed her hand through the bars.
“Liora, you must. One of us has to make it through this. You have to make it home! Promise me.”
“But Tariq…” she began, her voice cracking.
He shook his head. “Promise me, Liora. Please.”
She couldn’t deny the pleading in his gaze. Her heart ached when she finally nodded.
Tariq pressed his forehead against the bars, pulling her gently down until their foreheads touched.
“You always were too good for this Macrocosm,” he said, his voice thick.
“No, you were,” Liora replied.
Tariq’s lips brushed hers, then he leaned back and let go of the bars.
“Tariq, no!” she shouted.
He fell and she was helpless to stop him.
She watched him plummet toward the floor. His gaze stayed locked on hers. There was a gentle smile on his lips, the one he reserved only for her.
“Tariq,” she whispered.
He hit the moss-covered floor and the pack exploded. Liora was flung backwards off the structure. She closed her eyes as she fell through the air. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel, couldn’t fear the impact that was coming. Tariq was dead. She had watched him die. She would give in to the Ketulans and die with him. Live together or die together.
Liora embraced the pain, the distraction, the impending death from the Ketulans’ merciless blades. She was willing to give up. She was ready to die. She didn’t want to live in a Macrocosm where there was no Tariq. She had given him her heart and she felt the massive hole caused by his death. She wanted to let the Ketulans end her so that she could be wherever he was, and if he was nowhere, at least she wouldn’t have to exist with the pain in her heart that hurt even worse than the metal cutting her skin.
Unfortunately, she was Damaclan, and the Damaclan were unable accept death without a fight.
A growl tore from Liora’s lips. As much as she wanted to give in and let them shred her to pieces, she couldn’t deny her Damaclan heritage. All of the beatings, the punishments, and the hissed threats Obruo had whispered into her ears echoed in her mind.
“Give up and die,” the only father-figure in her life told her. “Lay down your useless life and prove me right. A half-blood mongrel doesn’t deserve the name Damaclan.”
Only she wasn’t just a Damaclan; she was their Queen, and the half-blood mongrel had a weapon the Ketulans weren’t prepared for. If she was going to go down, she would take as many of them with her as she could.
Liora put her hand to the ground and pulled with what remained of her strength. She let the energy from the planet fill her until she felt like she would burst. She lifted her other hand into the air amid the Ketulans who fought to reach her through the writhing metal mass. With the image of Tariq’s hand pressed against the glass foremost in her mind, she released the energy.
The Ketulans above her exploded in a halo of shrapnel. The pieces of metal fell, but the energy acted as a shield, burning the scraps before they could hit her or the ground within five feet of where she stood. More Ketulans attacked and were destroyed by the energy. By the time the last Ketulan burst outward in a violent explosion of parts, the ground around Liora burned with a circle of red fire that sparked where metal pieces lay.
Liora looked through the fire to the warriors beyond. Her gaze met Brandis’. His eyes were wide and his irises reflected the flames. She had done what she meant to do. She had promised her father and herself that she would find Brandis and rescue him from the unknown danger that held him hostage.
The price had been dear. The pain in Liora’s heart that made it hard to breathe told how very much the journey to the other end of the Macrocosm had cost her.
Liora put her forehead to the coarse red rocks that made up the ground. When she closed her eyes, she felt Tariq’s forehead against hers. She knew he would have the smile on his face he saved for her; she wished beyond all desire that she could smile in return.
“You are under arrest for violation of the Interplanetary Protection Treaty.”
The voice was stern and directed at her. Liora let out a slow breath and opened her eyes.
Chapter 14
“That’s ridiculous. You can’t arrest her!” Brandis protested.
“She used the planet’s energy to save herself,” a man with dark purple skin and glowing orange eyes replied.
“She saved all of us,” Korgutan pointed out. “The Ketulans would still be tearing your ships apart if it wasn’t for her.”
Liora could see several of the star-shaped ships behind the man. Holes in the sides were being swiftly repaired by men and women in silver suits.
“Regardless of the situation, the unlawful use of planetary energy for personal gain is against the Interplanetary Protection Treaty,” the orange-eyed woman at the man’s side said.
More of the men and women in silver advanced on Liora. They had laser blasters raised and there were skeptical expressions on their faces as though they expected her to attack at any moment.
“Lower your weapons,” one of the women shouted.
Liora didn’t know when she had drawn her knives, yet they were in her hands. She let go of the knife from the S.S. Kratos and heard the thud when it fell to the ground at her feet, but she couldn’t open the hand that held the knife with the purple gem Tariq had given her. The thought that it was the last thing she would ever have from him remained foremost in her mind. She straightened slowly and met the woman’s gaze.
“Drop…the…blade,” the woman said, her words carefully spaced as if she thought Liora’s comprehension of them questionable.
Liora lifted her chin and met the woman’s glare. “No.”
The woman’s slit eyes narrowed. “Shoot her.”
“No!” Brandis shouted.
Three bullets hit Liora. The thought crossed her mind that the sound of the bullets leaving the guns was wrong, and also laser blasters shouldn’t have bullets anyway. She looked down to see the tufted ends of darts protruding from her chest.
Liora’s knees gave out, whether because of the loss of blood from her wounds or from the darts, she didn’t know. Her palms hit the ground and she stared from them to the red rocks beneath her fingers. It felt wrong that such a harsh landscape was the last thing Tariq saw. The thought that her face had actually been the final thing Tariq looked at lingered in her mind when she collapsed to the ground and surrendered to darkness.
***
“Are you awake?”
The voice was the first she had heard since finding herself in the small room. There was a sensation in the air that told her they were back in space. She couldn’t explain what it was, but there was the knowledge that the ship sh
e was in didn’t sit within the gravity field of a planet.
Liora sat up on the small pallet covered with the black sterile sheet. Every movement made her breath catch in her throat. She rose gingerly and crossed her arms in front of her chest. The motion pulled at the tattered pieces of her Ventican uniform that stuck to her back.
At the lack of answer, the door slid open. A man with pale skin and dark blue scales around his eyes and along his cheekbones entered. His hair was the same dark blue color as his scales. He looked as though he belonged to the same race as Malie, the young woman Brandis had been so adamant that they rescue.
He stopped on seeing her up. The man held a small red box in his webbed fingers. His dark eyes showed his wariness.
“I’m Rist. I was sent to tend to your wounds.”
Liora eyed him up and down. She debated whether she could take him out in her condition, but she didn’t know enough of where she was to make that work to her advantage. The strength it took just to stand was enough to warn her not to push herself.
Tariq would tell her to take it easy.
The thought of his concern brought a pang to her heart so sharp she bit her lip. The taste of blood centered her.
“You’re to meet with the Council tomorrow morning,” Rist told her. “My job is to ensure that you are healthy enough to attend the hearing.”
Liora watched him without speaking. She didn’t care about a council or a hearing. Vague memories of a man with glowing orange eyes preaching about a violation of some treaty were countered by the thought of Ketulans in the air above, a starship crashing down, blocking the door to the dome.
Rist took a step forward, jolting Liora back to the present. She took a step back as adrenaline began to course through her veins. She didn’t have her knives. She didn’t have to look down to know that their familiar weight was gone. Concern for where the knife with the purple gem was burned in her mind. If she lost it because of the people with the purple skin, they would pay dearly.
“I have to help you,” Rist said, taking another step. “It’s my job.”
There was a hint of derision in his words for the position. Liora couldn’t blame him.
“I’ll tend to myself,” she said. Her words felt flat and rough compared to his lilting accent.
As if her speaking gave him courage, Rist took another step forward and the door slid shut behind him.
Liora’s gaze flicked to it and his followed.
“That’s not a way out, if that’s what you want. Trust me. There are so many layers of hallways in the CUOC labyrinth even an adarok wouldn’t be able to find its way out.” He cracked a smile and waited as though he expected her to do the same.
Liora had no reasons left to smile. She met his gaze and his humored expression faded.
“I’ll tend to your wounds,” he said, his words carrying a bit more strength. “If you fall over during the hearing, I’ll never get off this rock.”
He took another step forward and Liora held up her hands. She might not be in the best state to fight, but she wasn’t about to give in.
“Touch me and you won’t have to worry about leaving this rock, ever,” she told him.
His eyebrows pulled together. “You’re barely standing.”
She held his gaze, keeping every muscle in her body tense so she didn’t show him just how true his statement was.
“I can take care of myself.”
Tariq would have made some smart remark about how that was obvious by her condition. The man in front of her merely bent and set the small red box on the ground.
“So be it.” Rist rose and stepped back with his hands up. “You obviously have trust issues.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she muttered.
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond.
She crouched to pick up the box and sucked in a breath at the pain of the wounds along her back tearing open. She backed up to the pallet and sat down so that she didn’t collapse.
“Seriously,” Rist said with a hint of compassion on his face. “Let me help you.”
She stopped him with a glare.
“You can leave,” she replied.
He shook his head, his expression unreadable as he watched her closely. “I can’t. The box needs to be in my possession when I exit this room.”
Liora was torn. She knew how badly she needed the needle and thread among the other items that were no doubt in the box. She had been to the edge enough times to know that the shudder that was starting beneath her skin boded the possibility of infection. If she didn’t get an antibiotic along with antiseptic ointment, she might not make it off the pallet in the morning.
Her Damaclan instincts forbade her from revealing a weakness to her enemy. She was trapped in a cell, and anyone entering without freeing her would be placed in that category. He had been agreeable thus far. Her only course of action was to do the same.
She shoved down the bitter taste of giving in and said quietly, “Will you please turn around?”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Are you going to stab me when I’m not looking?”
She couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Would that get me out of here?”
The hint of a smile touched his lips when he shook his head. “I’m afraid not. If anyone other than me leaves this cell, we’ll both be shot down.” His voice took on a wry tone. “The CUOC takes very hostile views on anyone who dares to think they are above the Council’s command.” He paused, then said, “I’ll turn around.”
Grateful for his willingness to give her some privacy, Liora lifted her shirt. She made quick work of the gashes across her stomach and the shallow stab wound in her side. Neither required stitches, though she had no doubt Tariq would have insisted. He had a thing about stitches.
Angry that every thought led to Tariq made her rough to chase away one form of pain with another. She scrubbed both sets of wounds and slathered them with ointment, ignoring the bandages in the light of haste. She didn’t know how long she could depend on the man’s discretion, and there were worse things to tend to.
Liora patched a few other minor lacerations from the Ketulans. She knew she was stalling. Sweat beaded on her forehead and dripped down her back, creating a stinging trail down her wounds. When she couldn’t put it off any longer, Liora raised a shaking hand to her back.
The feeling of the skin torn in long, jagged gashes made Liora’s stomach turn.
Rist’s head lifted as though he heard the breath she tried to keep steady.
“I can help you,” he offered. “I may not be a healer by trade, but I’ve enough training in wound care to ensure that you’re not going to die.”
Liora glanced up long enough to confirm that he was still facing the door. He held his webbed hands loosely behind his back and stood still. His dark blue hair nearly brushed the ceiling.
His words hit Liora. If she didn’t tend to her back, perhaps she could just face those she met until the infection truly took hold. Her Damaclan instincts forbade her from taking her life, but if she waited, the creatures from the cavern would do it for her.
“Live together or die together,” she whispered.
“What was that?” Rist asked. He glanced over his shoulder.
Liora had already pulled her shirt back down. She pushed the med kit across the smooth floor.
“I’m done.”
He picked up the box.
“Uh, thanks for making my job easy, I guess,” he said.
Liora settled onto her back on the bed. If he saw her wince, he didn’t say anything. The door opened and slid shut again, then she was alone. Liora rolled gingerly onto her side. A tear dripped from her tightly closed eyes. She dashed it away with the back of her hand and gritted her teeth. It didn’t matter what the Council decided; her fate was in her own hands.
Or so she thought until she fell asleep. Nightmares chased themselves through her mind one after the other until she was writhing and fighting on the pallet. She saw Tariq’s d
eath again and again. She told herself in her dream that he would come back to her the way he had on the Cherum planet, but then the images of him being engulfed by the bomb would play over and over in her memory until she felt as though she had only lived that one moment her entire life, the instant when love became a hole in her heart, when everything she lived for was destroyed in the space of a breath, when she stopped existing as herself because the other person who made her whole had been ripped out of her life.
Her hand was pressed to the glass. She knew he would leave, that his hand would become just an imprint until she channeled the strength from the planet and shattered the dome. She wished it would stay. Fingers touched her shoulder.
“Tariq?” she whispered, afraid to break the spell and see him die again.
She heard an intake of breath.
“What have you done?”
It wasn’t Tariq’s voice. It was the voice of the man who had given her the medic kit. His presence meant that Tariq was gone.
“No,” she protested.
“Hold still,” he replied, his voice gruff. “You’re lucky you haven’t bled to death yet.”
She tried to move out from beneath his hands, but they were strong and relentless. He held her on her stomach and she smelled the sharp tang of antiseptic in the air. She pushed up weakly.
“Don’t move,” Rist said. “Every time you do, more blood pours down. It’s a wonder you have any left.”
Liora wanted to tell him to let her die. She almost said the words, but then he stopped her.
“It’s a good thing your brother insisted that I come back up here. They wouldn’t allow it if it was just my request. Apparently, you have some connections in higher places.”
Rist worked quickly. His hands weren’t gentle like Tariq’s. They were coarse and calloused. He had told the truth about healing not being his trade. His fingers were hesitant when he spread numbing salve along her back and she heard the way his teeth ground together when he worked the needle through her skin.
