by Anna Carven
“Stay where you are,” I snap. “Eyes on the landing zone. If you see anything out of the ordinary, mark it but don’t act unless I give you the all-clear.”
They nod in understanding.
I move across to a part of the terminal where the view is partly obscured by a solid section of roof. I take a moment to empty my thoughts, drawing on the symbiotic force that dwells within me.
Countless nano-particles flow in my veins, infected with a virus that makes them responsive to neural commands.
I assemble a mental image of a heat-trace visor. It’s one I’ve gone over millions of times, learning each painstaking detail. There is no room for error, otherwise the entire structure will collapse.
A familiar stretching sensation spreads across my face as billions of sub-cellular nanites are drawn out of my bloodstream, passing through flesh and bone and connective tissue, activated by my mental command.
The process involves a tiny degree of telepathy. The surgery that’s been carried out on my brain has left me with just a small remnant of the telepathic ability all Kordolians possess; the ability that is usually lost to us shortly after birth. It’s just enough that I can utilize the nanites in this way, and it’s the reason I survived the vicious effects of the initial infection.
The suffering I went through to harness these nanites and bend them to my will was immense. It nearly killed me.
There’s a momentary flash of searing pain before the nano-structure settles over my eyes in the form of a heat-trace visor.
I step out of the sheltered area and stare up at the transparent roof, searching for a heat-trace.
There.
It’s faint; barely visible. A less experienced soldier would have missed it. But it’s there.
The faint blue-and-green pattern resembles footsteps. They’re beginning to fade before my eyes.
My suspicions were correct. Someone was on the roof, watching us.
They’re gone now. They must have been very, very good to evade my notice at first. No Human would have been able to carry out such a feat. It had to be another Kordolian.
An Imperial assassin, perhaps.
It is a good thing we are leaving this place.
The thought of an enemy laying eyes on my mate sends a torrent of anger through me. If anyone is stupid enough to keep following us, I will hunt them down and I will kill them.
And if they have been sent by the Empire, I will send their head back to the Empress in a fucking cryo-box, so she may consider herself warned.
Abbey must never suspect a thing. This isn’t her fight; she has done nothing except choose to become my mate.
I won’t have her living in fear or worrying while she has a young one to nurture.
Abbey
Tarak joins me shortly after I board. He’s gone all quiet and broody, staring silently out of the viewing port as we prepare to depart.
The Kordolians have prepared a seat for me, lining it with plush, colorful cushions patterned with intricate motifs. I recognize some of the designs; they’re characteristically Veronian. There’s a neatly folded pale blue blanket on the seat, and as I sink into the cushions, I lay it over my legs, having nowhere else to really put it.
This kind of thing has been happening more and more often lately. Small, exotic surprises have started to appear here and there without explanation or warning; a box of Veronian sweets, a fragrance diffuser emitting a dreamy, relaxing scent, that beautiful kashkan, a finely woven metallic necklace that’s richer than gold and as fluid and light as silk.
I’m starting to suspect that my General could be a romantic at heart, not that he would ever admit it.
We’re sitting in the cockpit area of this sleek, dark craft, and Tarak is to my right, looking over the shoulder of his pilot. The Kordolian medic called Zyara sits on my left. Shortly after I boarded, she cornered me, running her graceful hands over my belly and muttering soft things in Kordolian.
Then, she stuck a blue starfish-shaped device next to my belly-button, telling me it was a monitor of some sort.
Shortly afterwards, it started to glow.
Of course, she hasn’t explained anything to me yet. The old me would have been freaking out. The new me simply accepts that I’m wedged between two less-than-talkative Kordolians with a glowing starfish stuck to my belly.
That is what it means to trust someone completely.
Tarak turns to me as the Kordolian in the pilot’s seat flicks through the indecipherable controls of the flyer.
Everything on the control datafeed is written in the angular symbols of the Kordolian language. I can’t make any sense of it.
One of these days, I really need to pester Tarak to teach me some Kordolian.
As if reading my thoughts, he turns to me. “Co-ordinates?”
“Huh?” I blink.
“Where are we going, my love? Darkshadow is at your command.”
I hate to admit it, but that sounded kind of cool.
Tarak gives me an impatient look, making me feel like a student who’s been asked a difficult question by their teacher in front of the entire class. The pilot swivels in his chair, his orange gaze fixed intently on me.
Is he waiting for a command from… me?
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I’m not used to this being-in-charge stuff. “Co-ordinates? I don’t know the exact co-ordinates of my aunt’s place. In the past I would catch a ride to Teluria Skyport and she’d pick me up in a terrain-vehicle. The property is about an hour’s drive out of town.”
Tarak gives me a blank look, as if he has no idea what I’m talking about.
“It’s in the middle of the Simpson desert,” I add sheepishly, as if that might somehow be helpful. “In the Oceanic Republic, formerly called Australia.”
“You’re being unhelpfully vague, female,” Tarak grumbles. “Have you even notified this relative of yours of our arrival?”
“Not specifically,” I mumble. “She doesn’t have a comm, and she doesn’t trust the Networks. She lives off-grid.”
“Off-grid?” One of Tarak’s pointed ears twitches a little.
“Aunt Kenna’s not a huge fan of technology. She’s what we Humans call a ‘disconnector’.”
“Sounds like a foolish notion.”
“She has her reasons,” I say, a little defensively. To some, dear old Kenna might seem like a paranoid ball-breaker, but underneath the rough exterior, she’s a sweet old woman.
“So your relative is unaware of our arrival, and we don’t have the exact co-ordinates for her dwelling.” Tarak sounds skeptical.
“I can probably spot it from the air if we’re in the right place. Otherwise, you’ll just have to land at Teluria Skyport. Surely you have the co-ordinates for Earth’s main skyport in your Galactic Atlas.”
“You are being a little imprecise for my liking, my love.”
“I’m Human,” I shrug. “Not everything’s about exact co-ordinates and calculations, my love. Sometimes you just have to wing it, like you did when you abducted me.”
“Abducted?” He inclines his head. “If I recall correctly, you were rescued, not abducted.”
“It’s all a matter of perspective,” I say dryly.
“I would rather land directly at your relative’s dwelling if the surrounding terrain is suitably flat,” Tarak insists. “Unlike Nova Terra skyport, I have yet to secure Teluria.”
“So you’re going find a way to station your men at Teluria skyport too?”
He smiles enigmatically. “Eventually. It is useful for us to establish a presence at the main ports of entry on Earth.”
“Ah. Takeover by stealth.”
He stiffens. “Although I am the author of the manual on planetary colonization, that is not my intention.”
I raise an eyebrow. “As we Humans would say, you ‘wrote the book’?”
“Indeed.”
“And somehow, you’ve made your guys invaluable to the authorities here.”
“Correct.”
“Just in case, huh?”
“Abigail,” he growls warningly, “do not question my motives. I have told you already, I’m not going to subjugate your planet.”
He seems genuinely offended.
The thing I’ve learnt about Tarak is that he seems to get rather serious when it comes to keeping his word.
Instantly, I feel bad for doubting him. It’s just that when your mate is such a powerful and complicated being, it’s hard to believe he might do certain things just to make you feel comfortable.
He could have us Humans terrified and running for cover if he wanted.
I hate the fact that I keep thinking: there has to be a catch.
So far, apart from Tarak having had to spend long periods of time in space dealing with threats from the Empire, there hasn’t been one.
Maybe there isn’t one.
I realize the pilot is still waiting for my orders. The young Kordolian’s gaze flickers back and forth between me and the General.
“Why don’t you just set course for Teluria,” I suggest, waving my hand around in a nonspecific manner. “When we get there, we can fly around and look for my aunt’s place from the sky. Since we’ll be invisible anyway, it won’t matter how many times we circle the place. I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to spot it from the air.”
Tarak and his pilot look at each other meaningfully, sharing some sort of silent Kordolian male communication, before turning to stare at me in disbelief.
“Very well,” he sighs. “We shall attempt to visually locate the destination.” He turns to the pilot. “Set course for the Human skyport called Teluria and its… surrounds.”
Tarak
The distance covered is not far; it takes us the equivalent of a Human hour to reach the middle of a dry, arid landscape. It’s a true desert, devoid of any meaningful vegetation or surface water. Darkshadow’s cloaking has remained on, but I have no way of knowing for sure whether we’ve been tracked. The fact that the Humans had managed to track us in the first place, despite our cloaking, is unwelcome news.
But even if the Humans have been able to monitor our path, I’m not overly concerned. What are they going to do; start a war?
I look across at my mate, who has fallen asleep. To my relief, the cloaking technology hasn’t affected her inside the cabin.
She’s leaning on a rectangular pillow, her face upturned, her lips slightly parted. Her eyes are closed, revealing long brown lashes.
Even in sleep, she cradles her belly with both hands, at times murmuring soft, indecipherable words to herself, talking in her sleep.
Humans are such funny, ridiculous creatures.
Why does the simple sight of her sleeping make me suddenly feel as if all the battles and wars I’ve fought in my life have been pointless?
I turn to Zyara, who sits beside Abbey. “All is well?”
“Your offspring is healthy,” she whispers, careful not to wake my mate. “Your mate is healthy. You have nothing to worry about, General.” Zyara looks at the sleeping Abbey. “She has approximately one cycle left until she gives birth. Are you sure you want her to stay on Earth during that time? Silence’s medical bay is well equipped to handle any obstetric emergency.”
“She needs to be comfortable. On Kythia, it would be considered disgraceful to hold a birthing on a warship. You know that. I will not do that to her. And Silence is always going to be the first point of attack if Imperial forces return.” I reach across and straighten the blanket across Abbey’s legs. It’s starting to slip. “If she is healthy, as you say, there should be no reason to excessively monitor her. The process of giving birth is as old as the dead star Ithra. Whether she does it in a Human clinic or under your care in a place of her choosing, it shouldn’t matter.”
Zyara studies me, momentarily silent. She seems mildly surprised. “This is unlike you, General.”
“I’m well aware of that.” Usually, I would impose my control on such a situation.
What has made me think like this? There was a time when I would never have considered settling for the Human way of doing things.
We pass over a giant expanse of dry land, heading towards the Human skyport called Teluria. Our final destination is outside the skyport, somewhere in the desert. We have caught the sun, which is setting across the land, casting a fiery red glow over the barren plains.
Earth’s landscapes are varied and interesting. Few planets I’ve visited hold as much diversity.
“We will retrieve whatever you need from Silence,” I tell Zyara. “I will build a Kordolian medical facility on Earth. There will be no reason to for you return to space until after my child is born.”
Silence is temporarily without a medic, but Zyara’s replacements are on their way from the Fleet Station. By bringing my best combat medic to Earth, I have done a most selfish and illogical thing.
Zyara dares to smile at me, amusement curving her grey lips. “This is most unlike you, General.”
“I am merely adapting,” I reply, wondering what in Kaiin’s name I really mean by that.
Darkshadow banks and as a large Human settlement comes into view, we start to descend.
“We’ve reached Teluria,” the pilot says. “Awaiting further instructions.”
Although I’d like to remain in the sky watching my female sleep, it’s time to wake her. Reluctantly, I put a hand on her cheek. Her breathing is deep and even, her chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.
Her green-brown eyes flutter open. “What?” She looks around wildly, as if she’s forgotten where she is.
“I’m here,” I say gently, forgetting the pilot, forgetting Zyara. Her eyes go wide and unfocused, and then she blinks, rubs them with her hands and fixes her gaze on me.
A soft yawn escapes her. “Are we there yet?”
Sweet, innocent Human.
“Take a look outside,” I tell her quietly. “And tell me where you wish to go.”
Abbey
“There,” I blurt in relief, pointing to a familiar outline of buildings and fences. It’s hard to make it out in the fading light, but once I lay eyes on the haphazard jumble of buildings, I know instantly what it is.
It’s been years since I’ve visited the property, but it doesn’t look like anything’s changed.
Tarak signals to the pilot and we begin our descent.
A hundred kilometers out of the world’s largest skyport is this place, the unofficial Kendricks family ranch. Amidst the dust and sand and ancient, cracked bitumen roads, this place is a hidden oasis in a landscape that’s been largely forgotten since the advent of regular air travel.
There was a time when we Humans used to travel by land across this huge continent.
Not anymore. The small inland towns that were dependent on car traffic have long since been abandoned, and the vast, crumbling networks of roads that were built hundreds of years ago have been abandoned to nature, an echo of a long-distant past.
One of the few people actually crazy enough to still live out here is my Aunty Kenna, my father’s sister.
Darkshadow swoops in, heading for a flat patch of earth. The cabin is eerily silent, despite the huge forces generated by the stealth flyer.
Tarak tells me that’s because of its cloaking technology. Apparently the only downside to this sort of cloaking is that it requires huge amounts of energy to sustain. The visual camouflage alone isn’t so bad; it’s the noise-blocking sucks up all the juice.
As far as Earth’s concerned, we’ve departed Nova Terra and disappeared from their monitors like some sort of unexplained extraterrestrial phenomenon.
I’ll bet that someone in some navigation center on Earth is probably freaking out right about now.
Not that I care. Not that Tarak would ever care.
He’s made it pretty clear that he’s happy to co-operate with Earth’s rules to an extent, but I think he’s starting to get tired of pretending to be a good boy for the Humans.
It’s the nature of the beast, I g
uess. And because of what he is, he’ll always be perceived as a threat to Earth.
A shudder rips through the flyer as we land, coming down vertically. An almighty thud shakes the cabin and then everything stops.
We’ve landed.
The setting sun streaks the viewport with an ombre palette, vibrant orange fading to deep purple as it slips over the horizon.
We’ve ridden in on the most advanced technology in the universe, but I feel as if we’ve stepped back in time to a prehistoric place where there is only the sun and the sky and the endless expanse of the outback.
There’s something so raw and primal about this place, and this time of the day, when the searing heat gives way to the creeping chill, is my favorite.
Tarak hovers over me as we exit, taking my hand as we make our way towards the residence.
Zyara and the pilot and two random soldiers I hadn’t noticed until now follow us at a respectful distance.
The temperature has started to plummet, and the wind whips at my back as we walk. I’m dressed for Nova Terra, not the middle of the desert, where it’s blazing hot during the day and freezing cold at night.
Tarak unfolds the soft cashmere-y blanket I was using on the flight, draping it across my shoulders.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, the wind stealing my voice. But I know he’s heard me. I’ve spent long enough with him to know that Kordolians have near-preternatural hearing.
Not that I have anything to hide, but one actually has to be careful. You never know when he might be listening.
Sneaky, snarky grumblers, take note.
The walk down the dirt driveway to the Kendricks residence is a long one. In the fading light, I have difficulty seeing, but Tarak’s reassuring arm is around my waist, guiding me.
People don’t usually wander around out here after dark. There are rumors of frenzied, virus-infected wolfpacks and dingoes that roam the desert. From time to time, there have been reports of people mysteriously disappearing.
Not that I’m afraid. Why would I be, when I have an apex predator by my side?
As we reach the end of the driveway, I see a warm glow coming from the windows of the old, ramshackle house I once called home.
