by Anna Carven
I walk out into the blazing sunlight with my hand around her waist, sixteen-point-three billion Earth credits in my pocket, and a raging hard-on
CHAPTER NINE
Abbey
The sun is high in the sky and it’s freaking hot by the time we leave the Commercial District. I’ve got what I came for; the back of the terrain vehicle is packed with boxes of diapers, both the regular and self-cleaning types, baby clothes, fluffy toys, booties, a self-assembling crib and my favorite thing of all; a tiny holographic projector that attaches to the ceiling, sending out a stream of luminous stars as it plays soothing music.
It was fun to be able to place our order and watch the synth-bots come to life, producing our custom-ordered items in minutes.
Now, we’re back in the terrain vehicle, heading towards the property, driving over barren terrain. Whatever roads existed in this place have long ago become degraded, leaving random chunks of eroded bitumen here and there.
The Kordolians are all miserable, wrapped up in their scarves and sunglasses like desert raiders, melting under the blisteringly bright sun.
And even though I love this sort of dry heat, I’ve taken care to wrap myself in a shawl and one of dad’s old cooling vests, mindful of the baby. I sip a chilled pineapple smoothie as we leave the outer limits of Teluria and enter the flat expanse of the desert.
I curl my legs up on the seat, cradling my belly. Little Monster is quiet again after the excitement of the morning.
“… should have taken Darkshadow,” Tarak mutters under his breath. From the stiff set of his shoulders, I can tell he’s unhappy.
“Here.” I grab a chilled bladder of water from the satchel at my feet. “Hydrate.” I pass water to Zyara and the soldiers in the back. They offer appreciative murmurs of thanks as we roll across the dusty ground, stirring up a red plume behind us.
No smoothies for them; Kordolians, I’ve found, hate the taste of anything sweet.
Tarak lifts his scarf, puncturing the self-degrading disposable water bladder with his fangs and taking a deep drink of water.
He stops mid-way, glancing over his shoulder.
Somehow, he maintains the speed of the vehicle, driving forward even though he’s looking back.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. But he ignores me, looking at his soldiers, particularly at Lodan, who’s seated directly behind him.
He says something to them in Kordolian. I can’t make out a word of it above the rush of the wind and the roar of the engine.
Dammit, he’s doing it again. That whole ‘action now, explain later’ thing.
Then, several things happen simultaneously.
Tarak jumps from the driver’s seat, leaping out of the vehicle.
“What the-?” I yell, turning my head, my hair whipping about my face.
Lodan has somehow slipped into the driver’s seat and taken control of the vehicle.
Tarak starts running, moving parallel to us, but getting farther away as we drive on. He’s sprinting incredibly fast.
Zyara puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “He’s just going to check something out,” she says as we speed across the desert. Remarkably, Tarak is keeping pace with the terrain vehicle, but at a distance. It chills me to realize I still have no idea what Kordolians are truly physically capable of.
Tarak’s abilities seem particularly monstrous.
“Check out what?” I ask. There’s nothing out here. For hundreds of kilometers, it’s flat and dry. What could have possibly caught his attention?
I squint as his dark figure becomes more and more distant, still keeping parallel to us, but getting further away.
“Don’t worry about him, my lady.” One of the soldiers, Jeral, I think his name is, tries to reassure me. “He is only going to check on something.”
He speaks Universal in an oddly formal way.
That’s the second time a Kordolian’s told me that. I’m not buying it at all.
Something’s definitely up. The two Kordolian soldiers sitting in the back have their hands inside their robes, and I’m guessing they’re holding onto their weapons. They turn their heads, staring off into the vast desert as we speed along, heading for home.
I realize I can’t make out Tarak anymore. Where the hell has he gone?
Tarak
I sprint across the dry ground, drawing out my exo-armor, discarding my civilian clothes as I pull the short sword at my side from its sheath.
The sensation of being followed wasn’t just my imagination.
As I drove the land vehicle, I’d caught a familiar flash of white in the corner of my vision.
It could have been nothing; an Earth creature perhaps.
But I have been around too long to vainly dismiss the things that stir my instincts.
I trust my battle-sense; it has never failed me.
As I get further away from the land-vehicle, I see the very thing that gives our stalker away.
Footprints in the red dust.
Tiny puffs of dust rise from the ground as the figure runs, veering away from me.
Whoever this individual is, they are using some highly advanced camouflage technology, and they are running very fast.
The runner has to be a Kordolian, and of the Kordolians I know, only a few would be capable of such feats.
The runner is fast, but I am faster.
I pump my legs, the nanites of the exo-suit propelling me as I come alongside the camouflaged figure.
I can see his outline now. He appears to me as a faint shape, covered in the shifting colors of the desert. The colors flow and move over the runner’s body, trying to adjust to the changing background.
Close-up, the illusion is good, but not perfect.
I run even faster, the short Callidum sword in my right hand. I consider shooting the runner, but I want to take him alive.
I have questions.
A blue bolt of plasma comes at me, seemingly from nowhere. Still moving at full-speed, I shift my body to the right, allowing it to fly past. At the same time, I swing my blade, catching the runner in the back of the thigh.
There’s a grunt of pain, but he keeps going.
Black blood seeps through the illusion.
He’s slowing down now, and I use the opportunity to propel myself forward, throwing away the sword as I bring him down with a diving tackle.
We tumble across the dry, rocky ground and the graphic illusion that serves as his camouflage disappears as a plasma gun clatters out of his hand, skittering across the red soil.
“Silent One,” I grunt, anger reverberating through my voice.
What is an Imperial assassin doing on my planet? He is clad in the customary all-white of the Imperial assassins, his face hidden by a blank death mask.
The Silent One, as is his nature, says nothing, instead trying to bring his arm around my neck in an attempt to choke me.
I grunt, pushing against him with brute force.
He is strong.
With his other hand, he tries to slip a garrote around my neck. It won’t work. I’m covered from head to toe in thin, flexible Callidum exo-armor that serves all of my needs whilst being completely impenetrable.
“Do you really think you can kill me?” I grate through clenched teeth.
Of course, he doesn’t say anything in reply.
We grapple in the red sand. The thin Callidum wire goes over my head. He tries to pull the noose tight, but my armor protects me. Enraged, I grunt and roll, flipping him on his back. He squirms underneath me, bringing a knee up to my groin.
It’s a powerful strike, but my armor sustains the blow, protecting me.
In his hand is a short black dagger. He stabs me repeatedly in the stomach, trying to find an opening.
At first, it doesn’t penetrate.
I hold him down, struggling to restrain him.
He keeps stabbing with that infernal hand. If he continues at this rate, he will penetrate my armor. A Callidum blade is the only thing that could do it.
I str
uggle to grab his wrist as he squirms, hitting me in the groin and stomach with powerful strikes of his knee, flailing about like a fucking wild Skzazajik.
He stabs again and I feel the outer layer of the suit give, the point of his dagger penetrating into my flesh.
Sharp pain rips through my abdomen.
I respond with a vicious headbutt, my armored head shattering his mask. At the same time, my hand squeezes his wrist until the dagger clatters from his grasp.
A few drops of blood seep from the wound in my belly, before the nanites swarm in to repair the damage.
I’d rather they wouldn’t right now, because any major healing event sequesters nanites and weakens my armor, but it isn’t like I have a choice.
They’re programmed to prioritize healing over anything else.
One of the assassin’s sightless black eyes is revealed through a crack in the mask. The Silent Ones are wretched creatures, their existence mysterious and steeped in mythical lore. Ever since one of them tried to kill me back on Kythia, I have made an effort to find out more about them.
Now I know why their eyes are black.
From the little information I’ve gleaned, I’ve learnt that their sight is stripped from them at birth, in order to enable them to develop the rare ability of ka’qui; the second sight.
We all have it to some extent, but most Kordolians lose it shortly after birth. In the Silent Ones, the trait is beyond measure.
The are marked and selected out from the day they are born.
“Give up,” I grunt, pressing down on the assassin with all my weight, my hands clamped around both of his wrists. I lock my legs around him in a powerful grip, rendering him unable to move.
The shattered pieces of his mask fall away, revealing a pale face. He is a colorless creature, with eyes as black as deep space, even the whites of his eyes turned obsidian by whatever technique they used to blind him.
His features twist into an expression of pure frustration. He flails under my grip, but I do not give, despite the searing pain that shoots through my abdomen as the nanites do their work, knitting my wounded tissue together.
“You are the first one to wound me in such a way,” I say once he stops moving; once he realizes it’s futile. “For that, I respect your skill. But now you must die.”
The Silent One writhes underneath me. I grit my teeth against the pain, grunting at the sheer exertion required to keep him contained.
“Urgh,” he makes a strangled sound in his throat.
But I know he can’t say a word. He is controlled by a powerful compulsion called a mindbond.
“Cease this,” I order, even though I know he has no free will. His mistress would have ordered him to kill me, and until one of us is dead, he will not stop.
As far as the Empire’s concerned, the Kill Order they placed upon me still stands.
I have no idea how he even managed to come to Earth.
He strains against me, his pale features twisting. His skin is pale silver, lighter than mine, a fine network of black veins visible just beneath it. His hair, by contrast, is deep black, arranged in intricate braids similar to those worn by the Aikun.
I have never seen a Silent One without his death mask. For a Kordolian, his appearance is unusual. I did not think it possible, but could this one be a hybrid of some kind?
It is of no consequence; he is going to die.
“The Empire sent you,” I state flatly. “I know you’re under compulsion.”
Based on the small amount of intelligence I have on the Silent Ones, I know they undergo a kind of psychic imprinting, which binds them to the will of a master or mistress.
“I can release you from this pathetic existence if you cooperate,” I tell him. “Do you wish for freedom?”
He stares back at me, his unnerving black eyes sightless and unfocused.
But I know his mind’s eye can see me with perfect clarity.
Clenching his teeth together, the assassin fights against some invisible force, pulling his head downwards into a sharp, brief nod.
I’ll take that as a yes.
“As soon as I release you, you’re going to try to kill me,” I say softly. “Your bloodlust is so powerful I can feel it.” A breeze whips around us, stirring up a fine scattering of red dust. “You need to fight it. I am your only way out.”
He doesn’t say anything, because he can’t. The imprinting has also stripped him of his ability to speak.
“I’m going to move now,” I warn him.
I leap to my feet, drawing a Callidum dagger from where it is sheathed at my thigh.
The assassin pulls a thin stiletto blade from somewhere on his body. I’m guessing it’s poison-tipped. He’s going to go for my wound.
Fight it, I urge him mentally, if you wish for the solace of the afterlife.
We lunge at the same time. He is fast; blindingly so, as expected of an Imperial assassin. But at the last moment, he seems to hold himself back, giving me an opening.
I plunge the dagger into his heart.
A great gasp escapes him as he falls to his knees. It is as if he is expressing both agony and relief. I move with him, keeping my hand curled around the hilt as the life starts to drain from him.
I will the helm of my nano-armor to retract, allowing him to see my face as I squint against the harsh sun, my vision blurring. But we’re close enough that I can still make out his features.
“Ah!” He lets out a soft cry, before blinking in surprise. His blood is seeping out of his chest, coating my gloved hand in inky wetness.
“You-” His hand flies to his mouth, as he realizes he’s spoken for probably the first time in his life.
Perhaps the power of the mindbond slips away as his life-force dwindles, releasing its grasp on his speech.
In his last living moments, I have given him something he never had in his short, brutal life.
Free will.
I have been called many things during my long career. I can be violent, ruthless and calculating, but I do not believe I am excessively cruel.
And this being’s existence feels all too cruel.
He slumps against me, his lips turning black, his skin taking on a deathly pallor.
I have seen death in all its intimate forms. His time is very near.
“Th-” He tries to say something as I support him, laying him gently on the sand. Black blood has stained his white clothes. It seeps out onto the red sand.
“Quiet,” I say gently. “The Goddess awaits you.”
He shakes his head weakly. “There is another,” he whispers, forcing the words out. “Stronger than me. A true wraith. He is coming for you.”
“Enough.” I place my bare hand on his forehead. His dark eyes seem to look right through me as his sharp features lose their fierce expression. “Go peacefully now into the arms of the Goddess,” I say quietly, as he closes his eyes.
I am not a religious man, but for his sake, I need to believe there is a Goddess on the other side.
His face relaxes as his spirit leaves his body, his expression turning serene.
I kneel beside him as he exhales his last breath, becoming still.
In the unbearably hot sunlight, I say a quiet prayer to the Goddess; the only one I know, speaking in the Aikun tongue.
The nameless assassin’s face is peaceful in death, strands of his braided hair framing his head like a dark crown.
All around him are the broken shards of the death mask.
I stand and walk away, letting the sun blind me as I leave the assassin’s body to the mercy of the elements.
It is a lonely death, to end a lonely existence.
When they gave him the order to kill me, he would have known he was walking towards his death. It was only a matter of time.
All the while, some part of him desired freedom, and death was the only way he could find it.
I reach up to my neck, mildly surprised that the garrote is still there. As I pull it off, I realize it’s made a small
indent in the surface of my armor.
If I was anything else but a First Division soldier, I would be dead.
CHAPTER TEN
Abbey
In the relative coolness the old house, I watch as Kenna prepares a giant omelette. “So your silver aliens don’t eat sugar or anything from plants, but they can eat meat, protein and fat,” she repeats, managing to flip the entire thing without breaking it.
“Something like that,” I reply, glancing worriedly at my link-band. It’s been almost three hours now, and Tarak hasn’t returned.
He just disappeared into the vastness of the desert without another word. To ‘check’ on something.
Even though I know he’s practically invincible, a small part of me can’t help but worry.
The sun isn’t a friend to the Kordolians, and it has to be about a hundred centis out there.
It’s fucking hot.
I tried to contact him through the strange Kordolian communication device he’d given me, which apparently links directly to him.
But he was offline.
I even went and asked the three soldiers if we should drive back out and look for him, but they didn’t seem worried.
“The General will return,” the one called Nythian had told me, with absolute certainty. “Do not worry, my lady.”
So here I sit, in a kitchen that’s so old and familiar I feel like I’m a kid again.
And all I can do is wait for my Kordolian to return.
“Why aren’t you scared of them?” I ask my aunt, as she chops a juicy looking tomato.
“Huh?” Kenna gives me an odd look, as if I’ve asked a ridiculous question.
“You freak out at the slightest mention of technology, you don’t go into Teluria unless you absolutely have to, you don’t even own a comm device and we haven’t seen one another for years, but when I show up with a bunch of strange aliens, you don’t bat an eyelid.” I shrug. “What gives, Aunty?”
At my feet, Nyx and Zeus lie sleeping, their dark, furry bodies outstretched, their chests rising and falling with the calm rhythm of their breathing.
I run my bare foot over Nyx affectionately.
Kenna leaves her cooking, sliding the omelette onto a large plate. She sits down beside me, wiping her slender, worn hands on her apron. Her blue eyes are intense as she looks at me. “I never told you this,” she says quietly, “but I was in love with an alien once.”
