Havoc

by Linda Gayle

  Elion handed him the sterile box of samples, sliding it into his grip from a plastiseal pouch. Even his fingerprints wouldn’t be on it. “This is your chance to set things right, then. And we’ll do our part. We fly everywhere in the SenVerse—Conflict Zone, Rim, Dregs. If we hear anything else, I’ll contact you. But, Lowan, I can’t stress enough. No one must know we gave you these samples. Otherwise any future information we might have been able to feed you would be gone.”

  “Of course. My handlers will question me, but it is acceptable to conceal sources. Even within the EFC, there is dissent.” His gaze dropped as if he’d caught himself before he said too much. “Elion, walk with me to my ship.”

  With a nod to Kels, Elion slung the strap of the pulsar over his shoulder and fell into step beside Lowan. The planetoid’s strange, spongy ground gave beneath his boots. It was the closest private place to meet within range of their waning fuel supply. Lowan said nothing until they were out of Kels’s hearing. The assassin turned to him when they reached the side of his ship. “I’ve thought of you often,” Lowan said, putting his hand on Elion’s arm.

  “And I, you, my friend.” Elion returned the grip, feeling the iron-hard muscle beneath his fingers. “You’ve been well?”

  “I’ve been busy. The Conflicts are tearing the fabric of civilizations; many civilizations, not just human. They’re spreading out of control.”

  A chill settled over Elion. “But I heard the war was moving toward the Ordinals, away from Earth.”

  “We’re convinced that’s only so that the Pakkat Union can regroup and recruit other life forms farther from the core.” He shook his head, his mouth grim. “It will never end. And the Primes”—he dropped his hand and fisted it—“they play one side against the other, giving technology to us, to them. It’s a vicious game.”

  “Saints…”

  He tucked the sample box into a safe compartment inside his ship, then turned to Elion, the hard edges of his expression softening. “You’re still with that drunken captain of yours.”

  “Yes.” Elion couldn’t stop one side of his mouth from twitching in a smile. “And he’s still a handful. But I love him.” Lowan had to know. Had to know Elion would never be with him, not the way he wanted.

  Lowan grunted and ran his callous fingertips down the side of Elion’s neck. “Then if I kissed you farewell now, he’d be angry?”

  “Kels? No.”

  “Good. Because I need to.”

  He leaned into Elion and took his mouth brutally. Despite Kels’s watching, Elion couldn’t help but respond. His and Lowan’s brief relationship had been worlds apart from what he had with Kels, or with Sayal for that matter, but his heart broke for the assassin, living such a lonely, isolated life. Lowan had once said Elion had saved his soul.

  Knowing Lowan would go back to his singular existence, Elion cupped his lean face between his palms and gentled the demanding kiss, rubbing his lips over the assassin’s, sliding his tongue between them. By the time they parted, Lowan’s pupils had spread like black pools, and he breathed raggedly. Elion started to speak, but Kels’s shout stopped him.

  “We have incoming,” he yelled, waving Elion toward the Nova. Lowan swung into his Lance and punched up the sensor array.

  “Yes, three drones. Run, Elion. I’ll hold them off.”

  “No, get out of here. The samples are everything.”

  The assassin nodded, though regret filled his eyes. The canopy slid closed, and Elion spun toward the Nova.

  Already the drones wailed toward them, buzzing through the thick air, three pale blue arrows firing on them. The soggy soil erupted in great clods that flung up around Elion and the Lance. He slipped to one knee before he could gain momentum. Alien moisture soaked his pants leg. Kels charged toward him, the idiot, firing his blaster at the whistling drones.

  “Get back,” Elion screamed. He could make it on his own. Lurching to his feet, pulsar clutched to his chest, he hurled himself forward. The thrumming whine of the Lance’s engines filled the air around him, and the ground rippled with vibration as the small craft lifted.

  Above Kels, the three drones spread formation and dropped. Kels wheeled and fired, the blaster coughing, the drones too far out of range for the weapon. Elion aimed the pulsar as he sprinted across the yielding ground, his boots slipping. The blue beam of the pulsar caught the tail of one drone. The three-meter machine burst with fiery sparks, spun, plummeted toward the ground. The impact threw up a tsunami of oily moss, mud, and hot metal shards over Elion. He shielded his head and ran blindly, his legs pumping.

  And tripped over Kels. His friend lay at the end of a long scorch mark of fire, crumpled and unconscious. A large chunk of drone, still smoking, sat embedded in the ground beside him. It must have hit him.

  “No.” Elion gasped. On his knees, he glanced over his shoulder for Lowan, but the agent had gone, as he should have. The two drones wheeled above him, coming in for another attack. Who’d sent them? Who controlled them? He slid his hands beneath Kels’s arms and hauled him over his shoulder in a rescue carry.

  He groaned when he saw Sayal running across the short space between them and the Nova. “Get back in the ship!” Saints… Did nobody listen to him? The hot fire of the drones’ attack sizzled the damp ground around him and burned his skin through his clothing. The sour tang of charred moss filled his nose. Sayal reached them and put her hands on Kels’s back.

  “Hurry,” she cried.

  “I am,” he gritted out. Kels’s added weight made his boots sink. At last they reached the ramp, and he staggered up it.

  “Pull up the ramp,” he told Sayal, then dropped Kels into his chair. Blood ran from his nose and mouth, and his filth-covered face was pale. Saints below… There was no time to examine him further. Elion strapped him in and landed in his own chair to bring the ship to life. Pinging whines screeched across the Nova’s hull like nails dragging across steel.

  “They’re shooting at the ship,” Sayal cried.

  “It’s all right. They can’t hurt her.” He tried to sound reassuring while his entire frame vibrated with adrenaline. The Nova growled; then he heard distinct sucking as she lifted, dragging the landing gears from the soft surface. The planetoid fell away beneath them, and he aimed them toward the deeps. They’d soon outpace those drones.

  Sayal didn’t even wait for them to break atmosphere before she was at Kels’s side, running her hands beneath his shirt, worry puckering her brow. Elion had to force his gaze back to the viewport. Fire streamed over the ship’s nose as they bucked from the planet’s gravitational hold. Within seconds the welcome blackness of space enveloped them.

  “Five minutes to fold,” he said to no one in particular. Before meeting with Lowan, he and Kels had agreed to fuel up on the remote Nulato Outpost, not far from the large station of Savoonga, but far enough they could slip through unnoticed. He confirmed the settings, then pulled up the sensor array. Sure enough, the two remaining drones followed but were falling far behind. No larger ships appeared on the scan, which was passing strange. Where the fuck had the drones come from?

  Elion swiped sticky mud from his face and watched Sayal. “How bad is he? Can you help him?”

  “There’s internal bleeding,” she said, her voice admirably steady, considering the turmoil in her eyes. “I can help him, but can we lay him down?”

  “Yes, of course.” When Elion stood, he realized he was pretty banged up himself. The shrapnel from the exploding drone had shredded his clothing along the left side. Blood mixed with mud and moss. Nothing that would nix him, though. He hauled Kels’s heavy body back over his shoulder and carried him to their small medical bay. Sayal activated the bed from the wall, and Elion stretched Kels upon it. He gripped his side and flinched.

  “You’re hurt too?” Sayal asked. She reached for him, but he brushed her hands away.

  “I’m fine. Take care of him. I have to fold the ship and figure out where in the seven hells those drones—”

 
The Nova dipped. The pulsing wail of the impact alarm reverberated through the ship. The grav sensors overcompensated, and for a few heartbeats, Elion couldn’t move his feet. But then it righted, and he dashed toward the com. Out the viewport, what looked like metal shards sprayed over the Nova’s nose. The sensor array showed a blip, a fucking huge one, and he switched the commands to angle the view.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered, for there in the deeps, waiting for them like a giant, hostile anemone, was the Prime’s liner. Dull silvery blue, a thousand times the size of the Nova, it bristled with antennae and sophisticated sensors. Fucking Prime must have cloaked somehow, long enough to release the drones. Now it spit other objects at them—pulse disruptors, he realized, just as the ship vibrated and the lights dimmed. They’d knock out the power grids, leave them helpless.

  Elion threw the ship into a wild spiral, away from the liner, but the heat-seeking PDs kept coming. He had to get the ship to where they could fold. If he kept maneuvering like this, he’d fly them out of fuel. But as he asked the ship for more, he realized the first missile had damaged her. The ship didn’t kick like she should have.

  He watched the sensor grid, holding his breath as the blips that marked the two PDs gained on the glowing bead that was the Nova. The only thing he could do was switch off all power except life support. Better to shut it off than have it fried by the PDs. Then they could play dead maybe and power up again at the last minute, make a desperate break. He’d have to time it exactly to make it look like the PDs had done their work.

  The missiles loomed in the viewport. He clenched his jaw as they raced toward them, then over them. In space, they detonated silently, but the vibrations trembled over the ship. As soon as he felt the first shimmy, he punched off the power.

  There’s no black like the black of space; nothing so silent except the grave. They might as well have been in a floating casket, he thought grimly. Absolute darkness engulfed them as if they’d be dropped down a well. He grabbed a hand light from the side of his chair and felt his way back to Sayal, who still knelt beside Kels.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She nodded, eyes wide in the amber glow of the hand light.

  “Kels?”

  “He’s badly injured,” she said. “But I think I’ve stabilized him.” Her voice shook. He went to her and slid his hand over her head. He shone the light across Kels’s face and bloodied body, crushing down the sorrow that wanted to overwhelm him.

  “We’re going to be boarded,” he said, forcing his gaze to Sayal’s face. “It’s your Prime. He’s found us.”

  She pushed to her feet. “Sorush. Are you sure?”

  “Unless it’s some other Prime.” He lifted a stiff shoulder. “It’s definitely one of their ships out there. He’s hit us with a PD, a pulse disruptor. The ship’s dead for the moment.”

  She shook her head, and he could predict her thoughts, her self-blame, her fear. But she surprised him by saying, “I will kill him.” She balled her small hands into fists. “I will kill him for this.”

  “That would be fine with me.” He’d like a crack at the Prime too. He put his hand on her shoulder and felt her shaking. “But let’s take this one step at a time. The ship’s not completely dead, but if I try to take off now, Sorush’ll just send more PDs after us. Let’s see if we can ride this out, use our heads.” Squeezing her shoulder, he said, “It’s not like we have much choice at this point anyhow.”

  She nodded and leaned into him, and he looped his arm around her. “What about Kels?” she asked.

  He didn’t know. “I imagine they’ll take him too.” He stopped his mind from racing ahead to the grim possibilities that lay before them, forced it into the calm, military mode in which it had been trained since he was a very young child. “In the time we have, Sayal, you need to tell me everything you can about Sorush’s ship. Crew, layout, defenses, weaknesses. You said you knew a way to override the system.”

  The speed with which she gathered her wits and got down to business impressed him. They had only a few moments before the massive liner overshadowed them and drag poles emerged to pull them into its maw. But Elion thought it might be time enough.

  The voice that echoed through the ship’s walls telling them to prepare for boarding was mechanical, but when the ramp lowered, Sayal recognized her tutor, Asheni, dressed in the deep purple robes that marked him as a scholar. Elion stood beside her, hands laced and palms up on his head as instructed. On her other side, strapped to a movable pallet, lay Kels, still unconscious. The Prime’s technology could heal him easily. Unfortunately it was more likely the high alien would kill him. Cold hatred burned away all other emotion. She needed only to get close enough to touch Sorush…

  Yet when Asheni walked up the ramp into the ship, Sayal’s resolve stuttered. He’d never been cruel to her—her teacher. She would have to kill him too perhaps. She began to lower her hands, but he shook his head. In the months since she’d been away, she’d forgotten how eerily perfect the Primes were. Asheni, ancient even by Prime standards, stood erect and well over two meters tall. Hairless except for thin, arched eyebrows, he seemed untouched by time. His skin, more gold than bronze like hers, unlined and taut across arching cheekbones, shone with a faint iridescence. His large, wide-set aqua blue eyes shone with great wisdom and compassion. He was so unlike Sorush in this. He was the closest to a friend Sayal had ever known before she’d escaped.

  “Sayal.” His voice rumbled through her, familiar and not unloved. She threw herself to her knees and prostrated herself before him.

  “Asheni. I beg you, let my friends go.”

  “Sayal, get up,” Elion hissed. His shock and anger arrowed through their bond. He couldn’t understand. This might be their only chance since Sorush would certainly show no mercy.

  Gently, Asheni lifted her and closed his hands over her shoulders. “You know I cannot. And yet I also know what they are to you.” He moved toward Kels and laid a hand on his chest.

  Sayal came beside him. “He was wounded by Sorush’s drones.”

  “Yes.” He drew away and studied her. “I’m aware of your affection for these men. It was I who followed you. I tracked you to Aleut Station.” He glanced at Elion, who radiated hatred like a caged bastion tiger. “These men are bound to you. Sorush will be pleased.”

  “Then…you knew where I’d gone?” As if she didn’t feel enough of a naive fool. “You’re saying you let me leave?”

  “Of course. Sorush predicted both your leaving and your returning. He’s expecting you now in the garden.”

  “It might not be true, Sayal,” Elion said. “They’re mind fucking you.”

  Asheni shook his head. “I assure you, I’m not mind fucking anyone.” He echoed the words with great distaste. “We’re over a thousand years old individually, and as a race, we’re millions of years older than modern humans. The simple truth is, yours is a young and highly predictable species.” He turned back to Sayal. “You needed to be among them to develop your emotional maturity. And I see you have. Passion. Anger. Hatred. Even love. Yes, Sorush will be very satisfied.”

  She swallowed, not sure what to say. “Will you heal Kels?”

  “Sorush will decide.”

  Sayal laid her hands over Kels’s arm and put all her heart into her gaze. “Please, Asheni. Until he decides, will you at least help him?”

  She hoped her old tutor could still be swayed. How many endless hours had they spent walking in the gardens, talking, debating, playing games of logic and strategy. Often she’d been able to coax him into letting her have one more piece of ripe fruit or to pick a precious flower through gentle pleading. While stern about her studies, he’d been an indulgent companion. She couldn’t believe she was the only one who had grown attached.

  Asheni softened at last. He tipped his head and sighed. “That would be acceptable.”

  She smiled, though it was the last thing she felt like doing. “Thank you.” She took Asheni’s hand and pressed her fo
rehead to the back of it like the good supplicant she’d been raised to be. She could almost feel the collar tightening around her neck again. It was supposed to be an honor. Any Dawn Goddess would have sacrificed her right arm to wear it, but Sayal had hated it from the first day Sorush had presented it to her. To think that might be her fate again… Yet if it meant saving Kels and Elion, of course she would do it.

  The Prime turned to Elion. “You may put your hands down, but understand that attacking me or Sorush is not only a waste of time, it would result in very serious consequences for both you and your friend.” He spoke condescendingly, which he usually did. Sayal had just never noticed until now, but clearly Elion noticed, for he bristled. He was smart enough not to voice his opinion, though. She worried for his wounds as well. They’d had time to clean him up a little and give him a shot of Dimextrin, but he needed more healing than that.

  Asheni led the way down the ramp into the heart of the ship. The once-familiar perfume of crushed grass and warm, moist soil enveloped them. For all the naively happy years she’d spent here, Sayal mourned. She watched Elion’s reaction and wasn’t disappointed. His eyes widened, and he turned as he walked to take it all in. Very few humans had ever been inside a Prime transport. They were unlike any other ships in the SenVerse, for they were not only semisentient but ancient.

  Deep green vines as thick as wrists with huge, heart-shaped leaves trailed over walls a hundred meters high, dense enough that the original material disappeared entirely. The vines bloomed with flowers of crimson and gold half a meter across. They soared to a ceiling foggy with humid air. The flooring was soft loam gathered from thousands of planets, blended to support plant life from many galaxies. And this was only the cargo bay…