Rhavos (Warriors of the Karuvar Book 3)

by Alana Serra

  Rhavos looked at the youngling, his gaze level and unflinching. To his credit, Drann did not look away.

  "You believe this is a symbiotic relationship," Rhavos said.

  "Yes."

  "It is parasitic," he contested. "You have given these humans everything. Our technology, our protection, and a great deal of control over some of our strongest males."

  He glanced to Verkiir, remembering just why he’d withdrawn the male’s name from his short list. Hearing the First Guardian had mated with a human was such a disappointment.

  Gold eyes narrowed back at him. "My mate does not control me," Verkiir said.

  Rhavos ignored what was obviously a baseless defense. "We could have taken the resources we needed, even taken females if they were absolutely required—"

  "Barbaric," Verkiir growled.

  "—Instead we have bargained with them; we have given them cause to think us weak. Of course they have exploited their freedoms."

  "The humans have given us a future," Drann said, conviction burning in his bright amber eyes. "One group of extremists isn't a good reason to burn it all to the ground."

  Rhavos scoffed at this. Both at the idea of this so-called future with the humans—of the half-breed, weak kits being born now—and at the idea that he would obliterate the planet's population.

  His was not a position of genocide. When Rhavos conquered a planet, he made its people fall in line. Some were killed, yes, but most were permitted to live under Karuvar rule. They too were granted technology and protection, but they worked for it.

  Humans did not.

  "I think we can all agree that the Freedom Fighters require a firmer hand," Drol'gan said diplomatically. "That is why Rhavos is here, and I trust him to take care of this matter without upsetting the balance we have established on Earth."

  Much like one deployed an assassin to take care of an isolated problem, Rhavos was being dispatched to eradicate this group of humans in a manner that was clean and efficient—and he would not be permitted to do anything else.

  At least, that was the expected arrangements. Rhavos had a few suggestions on that front.

  "I will bring my best men to Earth. We will observe these humans and plan a tactical strike to find and exterminate their leader. We will remain on Earth until we are certain they will not re-organize, and then we will leave," Rhavos said, going over what he and Drol'gan had already agreed upon.

  Both Verkiir and Drann seemed to relax at such compliance, and Rhavos had to control the telltale twitch of his ear that might give away his amusement.

  "I will do these things my way, and I expect any resources I require to be given to me without question," he said. "I also expect implicit trust in the method in which I address this matter."

  "That's not—" Drann began.

  "You have it," Drol'gan confirmed.

  "And when my men and I are successful in this endeavor, Pathfinder, I expect to be given audience with you to discuss changes in the way you deal with future threats."

  "You cannot let him—" Verkiir started, silenced when Drol'gan held up a hand.

  The Pathfinder looked at him, his expression grave. For a very long moment, Rhavos thought he might be denied. But finally Drol'gan smiled. A tight, guarded smile, but a smile nonetheless.

  "You've learned your sire's method of negotiation, I see."

  Rhavos simply nodded.

  "Very well, Conqueror. Handle this matter quickly and quietly, and I will hear what you have to say."

  Rhavos would hold up his end of this bargain. He expected to be on Earth for little more than a week, with only a handful of men at his disposal.

  And when he returned to the Zavellan, he would push for the changes Drol'gan's father would have made; changes that would ensure the Karuvar's future far more than these humans ever could.

  3

  Ren didn't have much time.

  Any minute now, someone was going to find her. One of those red-patched lunatics was going to mess with her implant, and then she wouldn't remember what she'd been doing and she definitely wouldn't make any more progress.

  She'd been lucid for a few days now. At least, she thought it was lucidity. Memories were in short supply, and there seemed to be a huge gap between her days at college and now. So much so that she had no idea how much time had actually passed, she only knew that it had. That was easy enough to see when she looked in the mirror.

  These people—Freedom Fighters, as they called themselves—were not her allies. They may have stood for the same things she did, but the means they used to achieve those ends seemed just as barbaric as the authoritarian forces they claimed to fight against.

  Over the past few days, she'd gotten a good idea of what the Freedom Fighters were really about. They were a para-military organization prepared to take violent actions against anyone they saw as a threat. Every one of them was armed to the teeth, and their entire rhetoric seemed to be that Karuvar and Karuvar sympathizers deserved nothing less than death.

  They didn't allow her to venture topside. Dallas said she was too important—that she was the ace up their sleeve, though what service she was providing, she still didn't know. She'd set up the security system over the course of an afternoon, but pretended to still be working on it so she could go through each terminal's records, one by one, trying to find her comment signature.

  From what she could tell, she'd written a code designed to render implants—the devices both human and Karuvar needed to survive—unusable. She'd created what was essentially a virus that latched onto the biological code and, for lack of a better expression, fucked it all up.

  It wasn't a stretch to say that people could die from this code. For all she knew, people already had. She'd spent so many years learning to code—and then learning to hack—all with the intent of bringing down forces bigger than herself.

  But not like this.

  She knew she wouldn't remember. That much was painfully obvious, since she couldn't remember anything else up to this point. So storing the information in her mind wasn't going to do. Instead, whenever she found code she'd written, she added to the comment field, writing in a coded language only she knew—something she’d come up with in school.

  Don't trust them, it said. And on the line below: Fix this.

  She had no idea how to fix it. She could break the code, but if they'd made her type this, they'd just make her do it over to get it working. That thought made her stomach clench; to know she wasn't in control of her own actions, that she was being used as a tool to create these snippets of code… it was almost too much to handle.

  She soldiered on, though, deciding this would be a multi-step process. The next time she woke up, she'd see those comments and she'd learn about the Freedom Fighters' control over her sooner. Then she'd find more information and add to her coded comments, until she could finally piece together a way to undo whatever damage she'd done.

  It was an awful plan, with massive holes throughout, but she had no other options.

  So as the other Freedom Fighters worked to lock down their base and mount a defense against the impending threat of the Karuvar, Ren was busy leaving herself a trail of breadcrumbs. Busy enough to block out the rest of the world for hours at a time. Busy enough that she only vaguely recognized how quiet the floors above her had become.

  The flashing of a terminal caught her eye, ripping her from her work. The security system had been tripped, and Ren expected to hear the pounding of booted feet on the grates above her as men and women rushed to arms in a standoff that would be bloody and unnecessary.

  But she heard nothing. Just the wailing of a distant alarm, and the incessant pounding of what she guessed was the vault door being breeched.

  Pushing back in her chair, Ren made her way to the main security terminal. With a bit of typing, she re-routed the camera displays so that she could see whatever they saw. There were only four throughout the base. Cameras were hard to come by, and usually only found in Waystations, where al
l the technology—new and old—was hoarded.

  That scarcity made it easy for Ren to get a quick look at what was going on, though, and the images that flickered across the screen made her heart drop straight into her stomach.

  There was no one.

  No one in the dormitories. No one in the armory. No one in the main hall. The place was so empty that Ren thought it might be archival footage, taken during the night, when everyone was asleep. Even that was a false hope, as she knew well enough that guards prowled every corridor at night.

  If she'd had any doubts, though, they were dashed by the feed from the fourth camera. This one was placed right near the main hatch, and she could see the metal door bowing inward in time with the banging sounds coming from up above.

  Thick, reinforced steel finally gave way, falling out of the camera's sight and landing with a loud clatter on a grate two floors above her. Large figures with massive horns and scale plating held the tips of spears and swords at the entrance, preparing for a fight that did not come.

  She watched as they descended, violence practically emanating from every part of them. From their oppressive, muscular forms, to the sharpened weapons that were strapped to their backs, to the agitated swishing of their powerful tails.

  She'd heard it said once that a Karuvar male could crush every bone in a human's body with a single blow, and she believed it. They were the very definition of absolute power, and Ren was now faced with one chilling thought: The Freedom Fighters had left her here with them.

  All she could think was that they must have been tipped off to her lucid state, and they were trying to get rid of her in a way that would further incite their already frantic base. She would become a martyr to them, if they had their way.

  But Ren wasn't interested in becoming anyone's martyr. Least of all the martyr of a terrorist organization.

  She moved to another terminal and monitored the security measures she'd put in place. There were several tripwires throughout the base, all still on-line. They were each designed to deliver a shock to anyone who crossed them. Not enough to kill—especially not a Karuvar—but enough to slow them down while she searched for another exit.

  It was easy to tell when the first shock trap was tripped. The lights flickered, the electrical current threatening to overwhelm the grid. Above her, Ren could hear a masculine voice speaking angrily.

  She made her way out of the terminal room as quickly and quietly as she could, searching the halls for another ladder, scanning the grates for some kind of secret exit.

  The next trap was tripped, and the angry shouts grew louder. She could hear heavy footfalls on the grates above her, and Ren's heart started to pound right alongside them.

  Every corner was another opportunity to find an exit—to find her salvation—but each and every time, she found nothing but a cold metal wall. Panic rose in her, and she began to feel like she was eight years old again, trapped in that cellar as war raged above, uncertain if her next breath would be her last.

  The walls shook as Karuvar forces descended the final ladder. Electricity arced, a masculine voice growled in pain and frustration, but Ren could still hear them getting closer. Every door was opened, every room was scoured as the Karuvar followed the same desperate path she had taken.

  She ran then, throwing stealth out the window. No use now, not when they were so close. Turning another corner, she was faced with a long corridor. This time, though, instead of a metal wall, she could see the wheel of some kind of latch.

  A door. She'd finally found a door.

  Summoning all of her energy, Ren ran toward that single exit, reaching out for it like the lifeline it was. She hurtled toward the door, her hands on the wheel as she tried to turn it.

  But it wouldn't budge.

  Panic and instinct forced her to keep trying, to dig deep and find the strength to do it, but a brief flicker of rational thought crept in. She wasn't going to manage this by force. There had to be a panel somewhere.

  Ren found it just as she heard the all-too-close shouts of the Karuvar.

  "There!" one snarled, and she knew they'd seen her.

  She slammed her forearm against the panel, tears streaming down her face as she tried to get it to turn green.

  But it never did.

  "Get on your knees, human!" one of them commanded.

  She felt the tip of a weapon jab into her back.

  "Now!"

  Her mother had told her not to resist. If they come for you, she'd said, you do exactly what they say and nothing more, mija. Promise me.

  She'd promised, but only to help her mother sleep at night. Just like back then, Ren was prepared to do whatever she needed to do. If they wanted her to kneel, they would have to make her.

  She turned, finding a spear raised to her throat. Two Karuvar males took up the space in the already cramped corridor. Their faces were hard, their expressions severe.

  Before she could think about it, Ren channeled all of her anger and frustration and fear into two words: "Fuck. You."

  She expected the blow, but the sharp hit of pain as the butt of the spear struck her was still a surprise, followed quickly by blackness.

  4

  Rhavos discovered the location of the vault shortly after docking with Waystation Helios.

  As humans had once lived entirely underground, it was logical to assume these so-called Freedom Fighters were holed up in one of these derelict bases. They were not especially organized, beyond the fact that they evidently had a gifted programmer in their midst, and disorganized groups tended to cling to their instincts. Even non-sentient beasts staged attacks from familiar territory.

  He'd sent scouts ahead to confirm the vault was in use while he'd spoken to the Karuvar who had encountered this group of rebel humans firsthand. Kor'ven was a chief engineer for the Karuvar, but he was not a male Rhavos trusted. Especially when Kor’ven told him to speak to his mate, a human woman named Adi'sun.

  Rhavos had one of his men get a statement from her. Without anything else to pursue, her account of the Freedom Fighters' leader—or at least one of the more imposing among them—would have to do.

  When the scouts reported, Rhavos gathered his men and took a small strike team to the vault. They'd traveled in large, lumbering vehicles that seemed more like glorified wagons than anything else, and Rhavos was treated to a firsthand view of the devastation that was the human world before Karuvar intervention.

  They'd given so much to these humans and had received so little in return. If Drol’gan believed this so-called “Matchmaker” system was going to save their kind, he was delusional. If anything, it had weakened their ranks. So many viable males were now slaves to the whims of human females.

  Rhavos would do this job quickly and efficiently, as promised. And then he would propose a more reasonable code of involvement with the humans to ensure such an uprising did not happen again. It was the best he could do if Drol'gan refused to simply leave the humans to their fate.

  His team of ten highly trained Karuvar arrived in a reasonable amount of time. He set two of them to the task of prying open the vault door, while two more searched for alternative entrances, canisters at the ready. It was perhaps a crude hunting technique to smoke out one's prey, but humans were crude beings who would undoubtedly flee toward the breathable air if faced with a cloud of smoke.

  The door gave his men little trouble, and they took the lead into the primitive chambers. Rhavos followed soon after, wanting a full view of what he would be facing, but the tight, human-sized corridors made it difficult.

  "Surrender or you will be killed," Rhavos called.

  A fair warning, and one his father had always given when he occupied the role of Conqueror. Many thought it was a position requiring a certain amount of bloodlust, but it was easier to allow the people you were conquering to cower beneath your foot than to kill them. Easier, and more honorable. More in line with the Karuvar goal of exploration, and better for Rhavos' own men.

  There w
as no answer to his promise, though. His ears twitched and pivoted slightly, but he did not hear the telltale signs of someone scrambling to press deeper into hiding. Nor did he hear the muster of battle before a defense was mounted against them.

  What he did hear was the vicious arc of electricity right as it shot into one of his men. He watched the bolts travel over the male's skin, drawn upward from the soles of his feet in an unnatural path toward his weapon, arcing out through his fingertips.

  Rhavos rushed over to the male—as much as he could in so cramped a space—and motioned for the healer to join them. There were burn marks upon his scales and skin and he looked visibly shaken, but he waved off medical attention, and Rhavos merely gave a nod.

  His men were strong, and they would not be felled by human traps.

  "Search for the humans," he said. "Bring them to the surface, willing or otherwise. Subdue them as quickly as possible. I will look for this Dal'uzh."

  The human who seemed to hold sway over the others, Dal'uzh was described as charismatic, duplicitous, and unpredictable. Traits that would not help him when he came face to face with Rhavos.

  He jerked his chin, indicating for his second to accompany him. Alien species that lacked in strength tended to make up for it by being especially wily, and Rhavos had no wish to find a blade shoved in his spine.

  So his most trusted warrior, Lovak, accompanied him as he scoured the vault, taking the path opposite of his men. If he was even a little smart, Dal'uzh was already gone. But there was a chance he'd sealed himself off as a captain might in a cockpit. Rhavos simply had to get inside the mind of his prey and think of where that safe haven might be.

  He closed his eyes and allowed his senses to rule him, taking in the smells of this place, the feel of the metal under his skin. He imagined what it must be like to be a human and to feel the fear of facing an adversary far stronger than himself.

  But as he imagined, something else caught his attention. Something that hummed through his consciousness, tingled at the base of his spine and radiated outward, all the way to his fingertips.