by Anna Carven
Nothing happens.
Strange. The beeping continues, but I feel fine.
“What is it?” Tarak stands beside me, thunderous and bristling with weapons. He’s in full battle-mode, with weapons strapped to every plane of his body, and he’s magnificent. To all but me, he’s terrifying.
“I… don’t know,” Zharek replies, tipping his head in confusion. “Numbers are fine. Haem-count is stable.” He turns to me. “You are feeling…”
“Fine,” I shrug. “Absolutely fine.”
“Nevertheless, we should hurry.” The medic’s hands are trembling slightly. “Can’t take any chances with a rapidly mutating virus.”
“Zharek, are you all right?” I glance down at his hands. His right eye twitches. He rubs his hands up-and-down the front of his infection suit. He looks… jumpy.
He stares at me as if I’ve just asked the most sensitive question ever. “I-I’ll be in the airlock if anyone needs me,” he mutters, averting his eyes. A distinct look of self-loathing crosses his face.
“You will do no such thing,” Tarak hisses, looming over the medic like a towering stormcloud. “Not until you find out what’s wrong.”
The jungle is everywhere now. It’s a flat expanse of dense canopy. There are no hills and no mountains. Everything’s just flat and green as far as the eye can see.
Zharek is so edgy that I fear he might burst out of his infection suit.
I gently grasp Tarak’s wrist. He’s so full of tension. “Let him go. Just for a siv.” I don’t know for sure, but I suspect the medic needs something; a whiff of this tariss stuff to steady his hands. I don’t want him shaking like a leaf while he cuts open my aorta.
The machine is beeping, but I’m fine.
“Vitals are stable,” Mareth adds. “I don’t know why the alarm is going off. We’ll keep a close eye on her. Anything goes awry, the boss will be the first to know.” He says the word ‘boss’ with an ironic curl of his lips as he offers Tarak a deferent bow.
We all know who the real boss is here.
Tarak exchanges a silent look with Torin. These warriors sometimes communicate with their eyes and fingers. They think I don’t notice, but I know. The other Kordolian nods and points his chin in the direction of the lower decks, pinning Zharek with a meaningful look. “Come.”
Zharek has eyes on him at all times. Tarak isn’t taking any chances.
The medi-apparatus is still beeping. I try and ignore it. I stare out the window in fascination as we graze the thick treetops, heading for a giant expanse of black ground below.
It’s a Kordolian-made clearing. The black stuff on the ground is flat and seamless and light-sucking. It’s a dark hole; an aberration. It commands my attention, forcefully yanking it away from the astonishing jungle. I follow the direction of the black plain to its rounded edges. It just stops abruptly, cutting a brutal line through the thick forest. No tree or vine or weed dares to encroach on the Kordolian runway. It’s as if nature itself is terrified of the stuff.
We’re circling, preparing to land.
Beside me, Tarak has gone still. Actually, everyone’s gone quiet and still. Mareth and Joran are staring out of the viewing port with grim expressions on their faces. Their eyes hold a hollow, weary sense of knowing.
What aren’t they telling me?
I seek out Tarak’s gaze, but he’s not offering it to me. Instead, he stares straight ahead. His face is a smooth, expressionless mask. He looks distant; alien.
He could be carved from stone.
He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently, letting me know that although he might not be able to offer me any warmth right now, he’s here with me. It’s enough. The cabin shakes softly and then goes still. The viewing port offers me a glimpse of towering trees. They’re impossibly tall and wide, like organic skyscrapers. The leaves are strange; some hang down from the tops of the trees like giant mops of shaggy green hair. Others extend horizontally outwards like massive fan blades. Aside from the Kordolian-built landing surface, the environment appears pristine and untouched.
How old are these trees? Hundreds, thousands, or even millions of years old?
In ordinary circumstances, the scientist in me would be completely, utterly fascinated, but I have other things to worry about right now.
Such as: when is the vampire-virus going to attack next, and what’s made these Kordolian boys turn all silent and scary-looking?
Tarak offers me his hand. “Come.”
I take it without hesitation, placing my small fingers into his large palm. Into the darkness we go. I’m as not afraid of the monsters as I should be. I’ve been surrounded by monsters for far too long, and my monsters are scarier than the rest.
What scares me the most is what we might find beneath the thick green canopy of Xar’s forests.
Chapter Seventeen
Abbey
“The recon drones didn’t detect any hostile activity, Sir. The lower levels appear to be uninhabited and intact.” The nameless commander of the Second Division unit bows, the sunlight glinting off his black, featureless helmet, which is identical to my own.
As a precaution against nasties, we’ve all been kitted up in proper spacefaring gear. According to Zharek, Xar is home to a plethora of dangerous diseases. The medic was able to rattle off a long list of incurable viruses and other strange pathogens that are potentially lethal. There are also killer spores here, whatever the hell those are.
That’s why nobody lives here. The whole planet is a death-trap, but at least it’s pleasantly warm.
“Good. We will try and make this quick.” Tarak nods and makes a small gesture with his fingers. “Surround the perimeter. Let nothing in. If anything sets foot on our territory, you shoot on sight, without hesitation.”
“Yes, Sir!” The commander bangs his fist against his chest in a sharp salute. A split-second later, the rest of the squadron do exactly the same, their fists hitting their breastplates in perfect unison. They disperse swiftly, heading for the trees.
I’m starting to understand the dynamics between Tarak and his vast armies. The other soldiers—those who don’t belong to the First Division—treat Tarak and his inner circle with a ridiculous amount of respect, as if they’re gods-of-war walking amongst the mortals.
If it were anyone else but Tarak in charge, this sort of blind loyalty would make me very uneasy.
Tarak turns to his small crew. In addition to the medics and Torin, Kail and Jeral are along for the ride. They wait in silence, looking rather sinister in their full battle gear. Their faces are concealed behind menacing helms which protect them from the sunlight, and all kinds of blades and weapons are attached to their large, honed frames.
In contrast, the medics don’t carry any weapons. Instead, they’re laden with medical supplies—extra blood canisters, monitoring equipment, and a bunch of other stuff I don’t recognize. Even I’m more heavily armed than them. I have a vicious Callidum dagger—Tarak’s first gift to me—sheathed at my waist and a dainty little plasma blaster holstered on the other side.
“I don’t need to remind you of what lies below,” Tarak growls, addressing his men, who respond with sharp nods of understanding. “We go in fast, we stick to the most direct route, and we protect the queen at all costs.”
He’s speaking in Kordolian, but I’m pretty sure I’ve understood the term correctly.
Queen? I shoot Tarak a sidelong glance, narrowing my eyes. I’m no queen. Is that their military code-word for me? Of course, he can’t see my expression, and I can’t see his, so I’m stumped. I roll my eyes. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell whether he’s being entirely serious or not.
Unexpectedly, his sneaky hand grazes the curve of my ass. It comes to rest possessively on my hip. “You stay by my side at all times, amina. If we have to move quickly or over difficult terrain, I will carry you.”
“Royal guards do not carry the queen,” I say haughtily. Underneath my helmet, I can’t help but smirk.
“This royal guard does.” Quickly, stealthily, before anyone can notice, he gently slaps my ass.
Ooh, the nerve. He’s always catching me off-guard.
Before I have a chance to react, he signals to his soldiers and we start to move, walking in the direction of the tree-line. Jeral takes the lead, Torin shadows Zharek, Tarak walks beside me in the center, and Kail makes up the rear-guard.
They set a pace that I find easy to keep up with, even with the medi-apparatus strapped to my back and a line running into my veins. Apparently, the medical monitor’s alarm is still going off. Zharek’s just turned it to mute. They have no idea what’s causing it, and I hope to hell that they fix me before the source of the alarm can cause havoc in my body.
Beside me, Tarak is silent and vigilant. I follow my mate’s gaze, staring up into the treetops. In my seamless black utility suit, heavy black boots, and dark protective helmet—all protecting me from the hazardous outside world—I feel a bit like Darth Vader’s sickly apprentice.
Star Wars? Ha. It’s been a while since I’ve watched any classic twentieth-century movies. I haven’t felt the need to since I hooked up with the Big Bad, because my whole freaking life has turned into a second-millennium space-opera.
As we carve a path underneath the thick canopy, the warriors scan the jungle, aiming their plasma-rifles with practiced ease. Despite the grim nature of our mission, I’m utterly entranced by the rich green tapestry above.
I can’t help but stare upwards. This place is incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.
A cacophony of sound engulfs us. On Earth, we’d be immersed in birdsong. Here, distant shrieks and soft clicking noises combine to create an alien-yet-familiar soundscape.
The trees aren’t actually trees, but giant plant-like organisms with thick green stems that gently sway back-and-forth as the wind buffets their leafy crowns. Some of the stems are impossibly tall and wide; they’re as big as ancient California redwoods. Occasionally, I see different organisms. These are impossibly intricate; their trunks are comprised of hundreds of narrow stems bundled together in a dense network of root-like fibers.
The leaves in this place are all wrongly shaped. Some are as fine and wispy as hair, while others look like strings of blue-green pearls that have been painstakingly glued to slender, arching branches.
Deeper down in the canopy, the foliage becomes more uniform. The leaves here are flat and wide, like plates. The colors are more varied, changing from dark green to shades of maroon and deep purple.
I jump as a flock of bright red creatures darts overhead, weaving between the giant ‘trees’. They’re gone before I can clearly make them out.
“Ippikai,” Tarak grunts. His tone indicates that the things are more of an annoyance than anything else.
I’m about to take another step forward when his arm curves around my waist, locking me in place. “Wha-?”
Doof. There’s a weird noise, then bright pink dust starts to rain down from above. The source is a giant clam-shaped thing—is it a flower or an animal?—growing out of one of the plant-stems.
“Killer spores. They can’t penetrate your suit,” Tarak says as he pulls me against him, “but they are irritatingly difficult to remove.” He holds his hand over the faceplate of my helmet as the pink stuff rains down around us.
“I’m guessing there’s a reason they’re called killer spores.”
“They adhere to the skin and burrow into the flesh. The host is invariably killed when they reproduce.”
“Oh.” Sounds awful.
“Do not worry. They cannot live for long outside the bud.”
Some of the spores have stuck to my suit. Great. Now there’s an abstract dusting of neon-pink on the black material. The medics have met with a similar fate. There’s pink stuff all over them. Only the warriors remain unaffected. Their nano-armor absorbs anything organic. Even though I trust them with my life, I still find that aspect of their biology somewhat creepy.
It turns out Xar might not be as pleasant as it looks, after all. What other dangers are hiding amongst the strikingly beautiful foliage? “This is a rich planet,” I say, unable to suppress my curiosity. “Aside from using it for secret, uh, projects, why haven’t your people colonized it?”
“What for? There’s nothing of use here. The creatures are inedible, there are no valuable minerals in the ground, and it is hot, overgrown, and disease-ridden.”
“Surely you could harvest the, uh, plant-things for timber?”
“To what end? Only primitive Humans construct things from tree-stems. We are an advanced, technologically superior race.” There’s dark irony in his voice.
“Advanced? Your whole civilization just collapsed,” I counter. “You collapsed it.”
“I did it for you. And my civilization has not collapsed.” A wry snort escapes him. “We have merely adapted.”
He’s right, of course. The Kordolians had sleepwalked right into a real-life Mars-needs-women scenario. Something had to change, and that change was bound to happen when they discovered Humans.
So Tarak says he brought down the Empire on my behalf? That’s rather romantic, in a megalomaniacal kind-of way.
He releases me with a gentle caress, his fingers grazing my waist. The General who turned Kordolian civilization on its head can be quite gentle when he wants. “Let’s go.” If he’s tense or worried—which I know he is—he doesn’t show it. Instead, he offers me a surprising moment of tenderness.
It’s like a breath of fresh air, sweeping my fear away.
We move forward, my feet crunching the dry leaf-debris scattered across the forest floor. The ground begins to slope downwards, forming a wide gully that’s devoid of trees. The gully grows deeper and deeper, and suddenly it’s become a ravine. Grey-and-brown root-covered cliffs rise up on either side of us. Streams of water trickle down rocks coated in blue-and-purple moss.
The deeper we go, the taller the trees above seem. As the shadows deepen, the light spears through the canopy in wide, sparkling shafts. The effect is epic. It’s as if we’re descending into a fantasy.
It’s quieter down here, too. A hushed silence has fallen over our motley crew.
Without warning, Tarak’s arm is around my waist again, holding me back. He lifts his plasma gun and fires at something in the shadows. There’s a loud screech, and then something skitters into the light. I catch a glimpse of a familiar horror.
“Xargek?” I yelp in fear.
“No.” Tarak fires into the shadows. There’s another screech, then silence. A disgusting blob of greenish gunk has landed near my feet. I carefully sidestep it as Tarak releases me.
He’s right. That was no Xargek, but it looked mighty similar. It was smaller; about half the size of one of the disgusting insectoid monsters, and it was greenish-brown in color.
“Xargii,” Tarak says, sounding unimpressed. “Much easier to kill, even though their morphology is suspiciously similar to the Xargek’s.”
Up ahead, Zharek clears his throat uneasily.
We continue into the deepening ravine. The ground underfoot changes, turning from leaf-covered terrain into pure obsidian stone. It takes me a few more steps to realize that the stone-looking stuff isn’t natural.
It’s Kordolian.
All of a sudden, it’s everywhere. The ground and the walls of the ravine are made of the stuff. The roots have disappeared, leaving a seamless light-sucking surface.
It feels as if the ground is swallowing us whole.
“What is this place?” I ask in wonder. Maybe it’s just me, but the atmosphere here feels oppressive. The air is heavy and the noises of the jungle are becoming more and more distant. The light is diminishing with every step we take.
“Those who know of its existence call it Yol Kruta—the Swallowing Pit.” Tarak’s demeanor has changed; his voice is clipped. He doesn’t offer me any more information, leaving me to squint in the deepening darkness.
The crixa is attached to my wrist, its flexible b
ands wrapping around twice and weaving together to form a perfectly fitting bracelet. I hold up my arm. “I’m going to activate this now.”
Unlike the Kordolians, I don’t have perfect night-vision.
Tarak grunts in acknowledgement. I can’t see the treetops anymore. The sky is a distant memory. I know he’s got my back, but soon I’ll be completely blind, and that will drive me crazy.
I tap the front of the crixa with my finger.
Whoa. My wrist turns into a blinding flare. Searing white light splits the darkness, revealing a cavernous tunnel.
We’re in a tunnel. A wide, empty, endless tunnel with smooth black walls. The light from the crixa penetrates as far as the eye can see, but it can’t punch all the way through the darkness.
There’s no light at the end of this tunnel. Although we haven’t really gone that far—we’re only several meters from the landing pad—it feels like we’ve walked for miles.
“It has been terraformed to suit our needs,” Tarak says, as if that explains everything; as if terraforming is just an everyday procedure.
A thousand burning questions tickle my lips. “I assume the name Swallowing Pit wasn’t just given by accident. What’s down there?” A shudder courses through me.
“Nothing of consequence,” Tarak says tersely. “Things that are better left in the past.”
He’s been saying that a lot lately.
The others are quiet; too quiet for my liking. It’s as if they’re all in on some big secret. The problem with Kordolians—and I’ve noticed it’s not just the First Division, but all Kordolians—is that they move like cats. They don’t make much noise when they walk. In contrast, my heavy footsteps echo throughout the vast space.
I’m the only one here who’s making any noise.
Abruptly, Zharek stops at a random point and walks towards the wall. “Now, we go down,” he says. “You all know this shortcut, I presume.”
The four Kordolian warriors—my husband included—stare at Zharek. I can’t see their expressions behind their helms, but the way they close in on him is definitely threatening.
