by Renee Rose
“I don’t need to be part of the on-planet extraction team.” My hands tremble and I clench my fists. “Send me along to navigate. I will stay on board once we arrive and guard the craft.” I have to do this. It’s my destiny.
Static, then he barks orders, clearly on the open channel to all fighters. “Team A: Lanz, Domm, Mirelle, and Hektor, report to Dr. Daneth immediately for advanced hyperdrive preparation and instructions. Team B: Arc, Bow, Sparr, scramble backup and prepare to hang at the Sector B border in case your help is needed. Stay tuned for further instructions.”
My personal nav beeps, and Master Seke’s voice rings out. “Mykl: Join crew A at Dr. Daneth’s quarters. But if you have any hesitation when it’s time to go to manual navigation, you abort the mission immediately. Is that clear? I will not lose some of my best warriors for an uncertain mission.”
“Understood.”
I make my way to the health dome, where my friends are already undergoing injections and transfusions. Accepting breathing masks and kits of devices.
It’s dangerous, but everyone on our planet knows that when we hear about Zandians, male or female, we go get them. That’s part of our mission, our honor, our lives.
Maybe I’m not the warrior I should have been. But I can help direct, and then—when we rescue the Zandian female—I will mate her and fulfill the promise to my father.
I should be thrilled. I am thrilled.
Aren’t I?
Mykl
* * *
“Veck, that was the most horrible hyperjump I’ve ever done.” Lanz’ voice is foggy. He shakes his head and his tone improves. “Stars, that was violent. Team check in. Everyone good?”
“Fine.” Domm’s voice is firm.
“I’m fine.” My voice sounds far away, but evens out as I continue speaking. “All good.” My chest feels tight. I haven’t been on a jump in many solar cycles, and I’m not used to it. I just hope my body and lungs will hold out on the auction planet, where the thin atmosphere and higher content of flourinated gasses are difficult for even the top notch fighters to handle with ease.
“I’m fine.” Hektor, the other member of our team, chimes in.
“Clear.” Mirelle’s voice is even. “For me it wasn’t that bad.”
“It’s your softer physiology.” Lanz turns to her. “Once humans acclimate to hyper, they excel at withstanding the pressures when they have the proper preparations.”
“Thank the stars for Dr. Daneth.” Hektor clears his throat. “That was brutal. Can’t imagine how we’d survive it without his help.”
“Gonna need you at the controls now, Mykl. Entering the solar bands.” Domm’s voice is neutral, but I see the urgency in his eyes. “Remember what Master Seke said. Any hesitation, we abort. No shame, no repercussions. This is a very dangerous mission and we won’t risk our lives.”
I nod. “I’m fine and I can do this. I’ll adjust the auto when necessary. I have the maps memorized. Especially the part where we need to fly manual to get into the Segron air territory.” My fingers fly across the console, and the only thing I feel is eager anticipation.
“Segron is popular with the Finn. Dr. Daneth gave us masks to wear in case they release toxic nerve gasses during our rescue. I just hope they haven’t injured our female out of spite.” Domm’s voice is low and serious. “None of us should get our hopes up. She might be… non-salvageable.”
I never get nervous. But the mention of nerve gas and spite, Zandians rendered useless, makes my head spin. For a second, I’m back in that school as a youth and I’m breathing in the thick, noxious black-green smoke. My lungs burn and I’m dying and—
“Veck.” My eyes blur over and I rub my face in my hands.
I look back at the screen. To my horror, my concentration is entirely shot. My eyes skitter across the solar bands, unable to focus.
I suck in a breath.
Mirelle is by my side in a flash. It’s uncanny the way this human can read Zandians. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t focus. I just need a second to adjust.”
“We don’t have a second. We need you on point now.” Her voice is firm. “If you can’t do this, you need to abort.”
“I can do this.” My voice rises. “I just—”
“What’s the issue?” Domm looks over my shoulder.
I growl. “I can’t focus on the screen.”
“Well, you need to figure it out,” he says. “Or abort. We have about two minutes before we need to make the call.”
“I know that.” My tension rises. But my brain refuses to cooperate. “Veck!” I roar. I’m about to say “abort…” when Mirelle grabs at the controls and pushes a button. Without warning, Kianna’s voice rings out into my headset. “Mirelle? Aren’t you on mission?”
“I’m on mission with Domm, Lanz, Hektor and Mykl. We need your help. Mykl needs you.”
“My help?” Her voice is high and surprised. “Mykl?”
The sound of my name in her voice does something strange to my insides. Like they shift and rearrange. I try to ignore the sick feeling of guilt that comes over me. As if I’m being untrue to my female. I’m not. I never promised her anything. She knows this is the only honorable destiny for me.
“Mykl can’t focus. Talk him through it.” Mirelle’s tone is a little desperate. But also confident.
At first I’m horrified that she’s saying this in front of everyone, including—worst of all—Kianna.
“Kianna’s a tech, Mirelle. Not a fighter. She knows nothing about this!” I slam my fist onto the console.
“She has a gift.” Mirelle touches my shoulder. “She does this thing where she get into beings’ heads and helps them do things. It sounds crazy, but believe me, it works.”
I glance around the cabin. Every being is tense, looking at me and Mirelle. I know how much this mission means to all of us. We can’t get this close and then fail—because of me.
It does sound crazy. But for some reason, I trust that Mirelle knows what she’s doing. She’s not one of Zandia’s best fighter pilots because she makes mistakes. If she says Kianna can help me, then I believe it.
“Tell her what’s wrong. Then do exactly what she says.” Mirelle’s leans forward. “We don’t have much time. If you can’t figure this out, we’ll have to turn back.”
“If we need to turn back, that’s all right.” Domm shakes his head. “We must prioritize our own safety.”
“We don’t have a choice,” I snap. “If we don’t do this now, the Zandian female will be gone. We’ll never get her.”
“Then talk to Kianna.” Mirelle’s voice is soft but firm. “What do you have to lose?”
I nod. “All right.”
I touch my ear, my comm earpiece, as if that will bring me closer to Kianna.
Her voice fills my head. “Mykl, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t make my brain focus.” I can’t describe the problem properly. “I memorized the route through the bands, but now I can’t find it. It’s lost in my head.”
“Okay.” She takes a breath and I imagine how she must look. The little furrow she gets between her brows when she concentrates. The movement of her full berry-colored lips. “Close your eyes. I want you to breathe deeply in and out. Follow mine, okay?”
Over the comm, she breathes audibly, and I track her respiration, matching mine to hers. She’s breathing more slowly than I am, and after a few moments, a sense of calm washes over me.
It’s like she senses it. “Now I want you to breathe even more deeply. In for a count of three, then out for a count of three. Focus on the Zandian star. That’s all you see, right in the center of your forehead, right in the center of your mind. You’re looking at it and just breathing.”
I imagine the star, glowing hot silver and white, brilliant, right in my mind.
Kianna’s still speaking, but her words flow into a soothing mélange of sound, and everything gets quiet as the star pulses brighter and brighter in my mind.
> I’ve never felt closer to her—to any being. For a split second, something inside me balks at the mission. Why am I even out here? Why am I not back there, with her, making her mine? At this point in time, it all seems so clear—she’s meant for me, even if she’s human. How could I ever have doubted it?
When she suggests I think about the solar bands and review the pathways in my mind, it’s the easiest thing to do. There they are, laid out in front of me, as clear and bright as anything I’ve ever seen. The path I memorized is there, obvious, easy. Her voice guides me to them, and then it’s all me. And it’s on.
I open my eyes and grab the controls. We’re at the border and we’re out of time. But I can do this now.
There’s no time to explain how much she helped, but I manage to say, “Kianna, love, thank you.”
I don’t know why I used that word. And I don’t have time to ponder it, because I have to leap into action. “Course adjust to X-7.” My hands dance as I maneuver us around and through the shifting streams of flux. “Adjust to X-8. X012.”
Mirelle ends the comm with Kianna, and I sense the space lessen, as if she was actually here with me, in my arms like before. But there’s no time to think about this, either.
It’s a dance to make this craft move, and all of us work it hard all through the airspace, until the planet looms in front of us, glowing in our viewing glass, with all of its moons and satellites dancing in obit.
We’re here. And it’s time to do this.
Mykl
* * *
“Veck, where are they?” I glance at my wristband comm, over and over, but it remains blank. Silent.
I’m on our craft—still masked, parked in an isolated patch of desert several miles from the auction dome. I’m on sentry duty with Hektor.
But I’m dying inside.
There is a Zandian female here, and I’m not helping rescue her.
“They should have been back by now.” I snarl the words.
Hektor watches the screens for action. “Patience. We don’t know what obstacles they have.”
“You know the protocols. If a team takes more than 1.5X the allotted expected time, we send a backup.”
Hektor looks at his wrist comm. “They’re still within time.”
“It’s not right. Something doesn’t feel good about this.”
I pace the craft, and glance out the windows. “I think they’re in trouble.”
“Commander Lanz specifically told us not to follow unless they maxed out on time.”
I make a decision. “I’m going.” I grab my vest and weapons gear.
Hektor frowns. “We’re both supposed to stay here.”
“They need me. And only one person is necessary as guard.”
I put on the facial mask that has disguising tech so we’re not recognized as Zandians, and the headgear that hides our horns.
I still train hard, fighter or not, and it’s an easy run to the dome.
As I approach, I slow my pace and blend into the crowd of random beings on the small airfield, keeping my eyes down and my pace firm. This is a place where beings don’t ask questions, and nobody wants to interact more than necessary. It’s not hard to act like I belong.
The auction domes always stink—unwashed bodies, fear, and sex. And not in a good way. I haven’t been in one of these in many cycles, and it’s hard to maintain my composure as I push through the door into the vast, dim crowded space.
The cries and abject misery of the slaves, tied up, begging, fills me with an impotent rage so strong that I clench my fists and have to take a deep breath so I don’t start randomly killing slavers left and right.
I have a mission. I mutter an apology to the one true star and scan the area, looking for my partners. For the Zandian female.
I push past a crowd of buyers gathered around a slender green creature shackled inside a rough iron cage. Her owner prods her with a shock stick and she screams; the crowd laughs and jostles, calling out numbers. Stein.
Her eyes are luminous and wet and I look away because if I keep looking, I—veck this place. Veck our galaxy, and the way beings treat each other.
I growl and stride faster, ducking my head down because I think the anger in my eyes will burn like a laser and make it clear that I’m here for one reason only—rescue.
It’s then that I see them. My horns go on alert at the sight of the purple Zandian female.
And I was right—there is trouble.
Lanz is supposed to try and buy her outright using stein—I see him there. Mirelle, disguised as a male, is in the fallback position, and Domm is across the dome.
But the crowd is shouting and pushing, even more frantic than the mob around the green creature, and I can tell that this won’t end well.
I lock eyes with Lanz and see immediately that he’s glad I’m here. We’re going to have to take her and run, because this crowd is out of control.
As I push my way forward, two Middraxians start fist fighting, then one guts the other with his sharp claws.
The scent of entrails rises like a cloud of toxic gas and other beings cough. An Ocretian steps right into the mess with his boot, unaffected, and raises his hand to the owner. Mine.
Others step back, because he holds a long-range stunner and it’s set to high power.
The Zandian female sees me. When our eyes meet, there’s a thrill of recognition. I know she recognizes me as her own—the crystals in our cells call to each other. She’s weak, though—without Zandian crystal to give her life force energy, she’s been surviving on food alone. Which means she’s small, like Master Seke’s two daughters who survived in servitude.
I dart my eyes to Mirelle, Lanz, Dom. Stars, she follows my gaze. Smart female. That doesn’t surprise me; after all, she is Zandian. But it’s still amazing that without words she is already communicating with me.
She will make a perfect mate. Of course, we need to save her, first.
Domm turns his hand in a gesture Master Seke teaches every warrior. It’s the sign for Attack system 4. This means that on his command we’ll swarm in a pre-planned fashion, each carrying out a task. As I’m not originally part of the plan, I will add myself where necessary.
The female widens her eyes. She’s tethered by ropes and chains, but Domm has the tools to cut them. Mirelle has weapons and so does Lanz, and I have myself.
“Go.” Domm speaks in Zandian, and all of us burst into action.
It’s the work of seconds for Lanz to slice the Ocretian’s throat, the one who already has his sharp nails on the body of our Zandian. Ocretians never give up; killing him is the only option, if we don’t want him to follow us tirelessly.
“Hektor, glide the craft and meet us on the tarmac,” Domm barks the order into his comm, then whirls and drops a rabid Midraxxian.
Mirelle takes out the slaver with her roundhouse kick and a scream that has the crowd reeling.
I use my fists and my dagger to clear a path and as soon as Domm frees her bonds, I scoop her up into my arms.
She grabs onto me but swoons, eyes shutting, and I see how frail she is.
“You’re safe now,” I tell her in Zandian, and her eyes fly open. “You’re mine now. I will protect you.” My voice is fierce. “You’re mine. I will mate you and take care of you. I won’t let you down.”
She looks at me with wonder, uncomprehending maybe, then swoons back into my shoulder.
“Hurry.” I start to run, my lungs already burning. I gasp harder, and panic. The others are still fighting off attackers, and I need to get her to the ship. I cannot fail.
Suddenly I know what to do: I remember Kianna. How she talked me through the solar bands. I imagine her soft voice talking about the star. Inside my mind I focus on that bright orb, and think about nothing except making it to the ship. And I fly.
As soon as I clear the dome doors, there’s the glimmer of our craft through my eyepieces—it’s masked to everyone but us. The team follows on my heels.
Once we’re
on board, our escape is quick and effortless. Our craft, so advanced, is impervious to any pursuers, and soon we’ve jumped to hyper and are light years away.
“Are you all right? Open your eyes.” I bend over her, intent. I’m still panting, my lungs on fire.
“Here, use this mask. Heal yourself.” Domm tries to hand me something and I bat it away.
The female opens her eyes. But instead of looking at me, she glances over my shoulder. At Hektor. She gasps and shudders, then passes out, and he growls. Leans forward.
“Put her in the pod!” I’ve never heard him so fierce.
We place her into the healing pod, and crystal energy glows all around her.
I grab the pack from the floor and put it to my mouth, gasping at the healing mixture that soothes my scarred tissue. There’s a reason I’m no longer a fighter—I can’t keep up in these extreme situations. Thank veck for Kianna’s unusual assistance.
Kianna. Why does thinking of her sear so badly?
“Leave her for now.” Domm raises his hand. “We will close the pod for maximal healing.”
As the pneumatic lid hisses shut, the lights glow more brightly, and her chest rises and falls.
“Will she be all right?” Mirelle, wide-eyed, puts her hands on the glass, her face right up to it.
We’re all mesmerized. We don’t see Zandian females often and this one is stunning.
“She’s exquisite.” Mirelle’s voice is hushed. “She’ll be okay, yes?”
None of us speak. Finally, Lanz says, “I think so, yes. She was standing and cognizant when we arrived, just weak, probably from life without crystals. Unless she has severe internal injuries, she should recover and grow strong quickly.”
Hektor clenches his fists. “If she needs it, I will give her my blood. I’ll give her everything.” His voice is tortured.
“I claimed her.” I clench my fists. Again, the searing in my chest. “I spoke to her as I carried her. Told her she was mine.” It was wrong of me to lay claim to her, but I have no choice. My promise to my father must be fulfilled. Even though for the survival of the species, King Zander probably would grant her to no fewer than five males. But I don’t have to petition to mate her. Not with the king’s decree for Zandian Lights.
