Heart of a Traitor

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  With a whirring moan the traitor fell motionless to the ground, thick blood spilling out onto the bulkhead as the man inside struggled, unable to move without the aid of the suit’s musculature.

  Nariko tapped her pistol and as her vision returned to normal she realized there was a shadow all around her. Looking up, she saw the fourth traitor standing above her, his huge armored leg raised, ready to crush her like a bug.

  He flanked me.

  In one fluid motion, Nariko jammed the hilt of her sword into the ruined floor and rolled away.

  The traitor stomped down heavily then roared with pain as he realized that he had impaled his own leg onto the sword. He instinctively jerked backwards, the hilt poking out from the bottom of his foot, the tip exiting out through his knee. His arms spun and gyros whirred, attempting to keep his balance. Nariko leapt at him, landing a double-footed kick right into the center of his armored torso. Her muscles strained as she pushed with all her disgust and fury. The extra force was just enough and he fell with a mighty crash, shaking the room and splintering the metal floor beneath him.

  Nariko holstered her pistol and ran across the room toward one of his fallen companions, where his boarding weapon lay fallen on the floor. It would be too heavy for her to pick up, but with a little struggle she could scoot it around to aim at the prone warrior and finish him off.

  As she approached the rifle her arms were forced to her sides and she was plucked off the ground by invisible hands and held tightly in the air.

  Fusho! He’s a sorcerer.

  Nariko tried to yell but the air was crushed out of her lungs. She was spun around and pulled backwards toward the traitor’s outstretched hand as he brought himself up on one foot.

  Nariko was pulled into his grip. He latched onto her arms and shoulder with his massive armored glove and cruelly applied pressure. Servos whirred and the bones in her shoulder gave off a sickly crunch. Nariko’s head whipped back and forth, her entire world alight with pain. The edges of her vision became dark. He readjusted his grip on her broken shoulder and the fabric of her filthy uniform and null-suit tore away, unveiling a violet light from underneath.

  Nariko tried to muster all her hate to force herself to act, but it collapsed in on itself as her world grew dark. Her struggling lessened and she had the vague sensation of a heavy barrel being placed against her forehead.

  The air screeched with charged particles and a blast of energy slammed into the back of the traitor’s boarding suit, vaporizing the armor and the man inside. The traitor slowly fell over; splintering what was left of the holo-projector, Nariko’s limp body rolling free of his grip.

  From where she lay gasping weakly for air, Nariko could see the form of Don Kielter holding a jewel-encrusted ion pistol in his hand. A couple others dug themselves out of the rubble and scurried over to where Nariko lay, quite surprised that any of them had survived the utter ruin of the command deck.

  Nariko cradled her shattered shoulder and coughed up some thick globules of black blood. Clearly visible with the fabric of her uniform torn away, directly on her right collarbone, was a dark, glowing symbol. At first it appeared to be a tattoo, but on closer inspection it was more like a brand burnt deeply into her flesh. It glowed dimly with a light of dark amethyst, as if it were just at the very edge of human vision. The symbols on the mark seemed to shift and writhe and those who looked upon it found themselves growing nauseous and were forced to turn their heads away to regain their balance. Don Kielter, however, found it strangely enthralling and could not take his eyes off of it.

  The only part of the symbol that seemed to remain in place was located at the center, written in the kanji language of Correll. As if reacting to their viewing it, the central symbols rearranged themselves into the common tongue. Don Kielter read aloud the simple phrase, “I, Drak’Nal, name thee Nariko.”

  Don Kielter reached out to pull off the leather eye patch from her face. Nariko tried to pull back, but she was far too weak to stop him. The patch came off, revealing a perfectly functional and uninjured eye underneath. Not even the slightest scar remained from her previous injury.

  “Just what are you?” Don Kielter asked in repugnant fascination.

  “She’s a traitor,” Kathlair said as he strode in with a group of Technologists, their normal cybernetic implants swapped out for combat prosthetics, sporting all manner of wicked saws and blades. “She claimed to me earlier that her master had been Sousuke Iwwata, but at first I couldn’t find any record of him anywhere. That is because he died almost three hundred years ago when his planet, Correll, became a demon world.”

  The room grew silent and several people backed away from Nariko, fearing to sully themselves by being near her.

  “The ghost of the ether drive refuses to obey us. We have brought down the wrath of the Technossiah upon us,” Kathlair said, a droplet of oily black spittle rolling down his chin, “He favors our enemies because we have defiled his holy temples.”

  “She was working for them all along,” Dargner said as he stepped out of the group, hurt and betrayal on his face, “She led us into this trap.”

  “We will have to destroy the one who has offended the Technossiah, before he will lift the curse that he has laid upon us,” Kathlair intoned deeply.

  The Technologists moved in around Nariko’s trembling form. The floor rumbled and shook with the vibrations of explosions from battles happening in dozens of places all over the ship, but the alarms of the command deck were all silent.

  “I did not lead you into a trap,” Nariko coughed weakly, “I am not a traitor. I hate demon worshipers. I hate them!”

  “Then why did you bring this onboard?” Kathlair asked, dropping Dral’eth at her feet.

  “What is that?” Don Kielter asked, staring wide-eyed at the strange glowing weapon.

  “It is a demon blade,” Kathlair explained, “gifted only to the most favored servants of their Dark Gods.”

  Don Kielter looked at Nariko, searchingly. She tried to keep her face as cold and inscrutable as always, but when they locked their gaze her eyes dropped in shame.

  “So, you say that if we get rid of her the ship will work again?” Don Kielter asked.

  The gathered Technologists nodded in assent.

  Don Kielter shrugged. “All right then. Have at her.”

  Nariko opened her mouth to yell in protest, but her scream was stopped when her head was neatly lopped off from her neck. Her slave collar rolled free and came to a rest at Don Kielter’s feet. Her body twitched for a few moments and then she died.

  A shadow lifted off of the ship and the Technossiah smiled upon it once more. With a lurch forward the Scavenger slipped into the ether, making good its escape and leaving the Geller and the Yorktown behind as their crews were overwhelmed by wave after wave of boarding parties.

  Chapter Thirteen

  To the Victor Goes the Spoils

  The body is a husk, whose worth comes from its potential to carry that which is sacred inside of it. Divine knowledge may be learned, but never copied. Forgotten, but never deleted. To guard the divine from defilement by refusing to place it in artificial receptacles is the very heart of our order.

  -Excerpt from illegal transcription of Puritunis Sect Maşină ceremony, confiscated by the Confederate Marshals 09.02.5499rl

  I died again.

  As Nariko slowly came to consciousness again, she had the distinct sensation of running down a hallway, but she could not feel her legs running. She had the sense that her sword was swinging and her pistol firing, but she could not feel her arms.

  My memories, it feels like they are scattering all over the place.

  Nariko’s eyes were already open. She could not close them. Alarms and sirens were all around her. Emergency lights spun and flickered. Before her was a heavy set of blast doors and a group of traitors placing breaching charges on them.

  “Die traitors!” roared a sensual and spiteful voice.

  Who said that?

 
; The traitors slowly turned their heads, their expressions gradually changing to terror as she approached them.

  What is this? Why are they moving so slowly?

  One of them fired a bullet, which slowly crawled down the hall. Nariko could see it lazily spinning in the air as it passed by her.

  No, it must be that I am moving fast.

  Dozens of bullets casually approached her. Nariko saw her sword come up to block them, each bullet evaporating into a mist as it struck the energized blade of her katana.

  I can’t move my arms. I’m scared.

  Nariko’s blade came down cleaving a pig-faced man from temple to crotch; the two halves of his body slowly falling away as her sword came up, bisecting another at the hip.

  I...I’m being worn, like a suit. Something is wearing me like a suit!

  Blood droplets drifted calmly through the air as Nariko spun around, decapitating two more of the traitors. Already the survivors were turning to run, their weapons leisurely falling to the floor, but she was on them in an instant, her blade slicing left and right, their bodies coming apart like building blocks.

  “Where are your gods now? Huh? Why don’t they save you?” Nariko bellowed in delight.

  Is...is that my voice?

  As she ran past a filthy monitoring station, Nariko caught a glimpse of the readouts. With no one to steer the ship the Scavenger was listing and gliding inside the ether, drawn along on whatever currents it happened to drift into. Worse still, the boarding parties were taking over greater and greater portions of the ship.

  How long has it been since I died?

  Nariko sprinted around a corner. The hallway before her seemed stretched and elongated, becoming sharp and angular. The air was thick with musk, the pipes and conduits on the walls writhing and pulsating like veins and organs. Before her stood a group of traitors surrounding a shaman who led them in the dark ceremony before their twisted altar, dedicating this part of the ship to their god, Ja’Nicus.

  Nariko leapt onto the shaman, driving her sword directly through his heart, pressing her face up against his, savoring the moment of panic in his eyes as his soul was released from his body and consumed by his patron deity. The thrill of it was so intense that she felt like shouting for joy.

  “Tell Ja’Nicus that Nariko sent you,” she bade.

  I’m being controlled. And it is not just my body, either. My heart feels...

  The circle of traitors slowly brought up their weapons to fire, but Nariko effortlessly slipped behind one of them and grabbed his weapon, aiming it at his comrades as he fired. The traitors jerked and fell backward one by one as Nariko swept the weapon across them. The man she had grabbed served as a shield, his bloated squid-like body wrenching back and forth as his companions shot him in an attempt to get at her.

  I should be feeling terrified, but inside my heart I feel...

  Nariko released her living shield and slashed her sword across, splitting a blue-skinned traitor from shoulder to hip. A trio of bullets crept toward her from one side. Rather than dodging them, Nariko simply grabbed a lizard-skinned sorcerer by the collar and yanked her into the path of the bullets. Her brain pulped long before she had a chance to finish her spell.

  I’m being controlled. Everything about me is being controlled.

  The remaining traitors slowly ran away down the corridor, but Nariko’s pistol found them, severing every one of their foul limbs with brutal efficiency, leaving them to languish and writhe in pain on the floor.

  Try not to oppose the sensations. Once you’ve learned to relish them, those values you hold so dear are bound to change dramatically.

  Nariko brought the heel of her boot down, shattering the black stone of the altar. The spell interrupted, the hallway returned to its normal filthy condition. Nariko spit on the ruined altar and then sprinted off down the corridor in search of more prey.

  Ahead of her, she could feel the vibrations of battle. Before her was the base of the communications tower. If the boarding parties were able to take control of it they could signal their comrades that were, no doubt, searching for the drifting ship at this very moment.

  She approached a dire situation. A handful of priests were huddled behind a makeshift barricade of wall plates and girders, blocking the entrance to the communication tower. Assaulting them were three dozen traitors, armed with a bizarre array of weapons and armor.

  “I just spit on your god, who wants to stop me?” Nariko challenged in a booming voice. The traitors turned and opened fire. The very air was alive with lead, rockets, and energy blasts.

  Nariko swiped her katana in the air, leaving a long arc of black fire hanging before her, then, dropping to the floor, she fired her pistol out from underneath the flames. Bullets evaporated and bolts fizzled as they passed through the black fire, but her shots found their marks, kicking back heads and lopping off limbs.

  This feels so...

  Another volley came down the hall aimed at her prone figure. Nariko made three quick slashes and a triangular section of the floor fell away. With a tight tuck and roll she was down through the opening, the floor being shredded only a moment later when the attacks reached her.

  A section of the floor fell away in front of the barricade and Nariko flipped out from it, landing atop a traitor in a massive boarding suit and plunging her blade down through the helmet.

  Feels so...

  The suit came crashing down, crushing two of his companions as Nariko leapt to the side, lopping two heads off at the shoulders and then hitting two more with quick blue bolts from her pistol.

  A group of traitors fired in unison just to her left. Nariko stood her ground, her blade a blur moving faster than thought as she stopped every single shot sent at her.

  The Technologists took heart and rejoined the fray, firing their own weapons into the traitors who were now wholly fixated on one single target.

  Nariko charged a traitor sergeant with massive horns, the red bolts from his pistol dissipating harmlessly against her blade. With a howling swipe she split the man in half at the waist and then took out his bodyguards with three quick shots to the temple.

  This feels so good! It’s incredible!

  Another group of traitors fired their weapons, but she effortlessly weaved her body between the slow-moving bullets and rockets. Nariko leapt on top of the nearest one, biting deeply into his throat with her teeth. The sensation of arterial blood spraying into her face was absolutely intoxicating.

  Nariko howled with joy, little droplets of blood slowly flying around in the air. She grabbed a traitor with each hand and slammed their bodies together, relishing the way their frail forms crumpled and crushed in her grip.

  I’m becoming addicted to this feeling.

  The remaining traitors slowly broke and ran away down the corridor, but Nariko pounced onto them puncturing their bodies with her bare hands and tossing their organs against the walls.

  With the last of the traitors dead, Nariko leapt onto the only thing left to kill, the nearest priest. She tackled him to the ground, her sword held steadily before his throat.

  “You? But, you’re dead. I saw you die.” Dargner gasped in surprise. Nariko’s eyes flickered. She remembered him. She fought through the haze and bloodlust. Her mind was so full of holes. Finally she recognized him.

  Dargner, he’s not a traitor. I have to stop it!

  Her body ignored her protests and a wicked smile crossed Nariko’s lips. The other priests could only stand, dumbfounded at what they had just seen. When Kathlair moved to raise his weapon, Nariko dug her knee harder into Dargner’s wrist eliciting a yelp that made Kathlair back down.

  “Please don’t kill me,” Dargner begged pitifully.

  I can’t go on, I can’t resist it.

  Resist? Stop being so dishonest. You love this. You want this. I’ll show you. I’ll release you from my control. Do as you like.

  Suddenly the darkness stepped aside and she was in control of her body again. She could feel the blood an
d ichor dripping off her hands as she held the blade to Dargner’s throat. She felt invincible, immortal, and unstoppable. She felt powerful.

  You don’t want this feeling to end, do you?

  Nariko’s hand trembled as she held the blade. With every fiber of her being, she wanted to continue vanquishing her enemies. She wanted nothing more than to crush her foes and feel the joy of victory forever and ever. Slaughter without end.

  But, he’s a human. Humans are not my enemy.

  Yes they are, they killed you just a few hours ago. Kill your enemy! Kill the human!

  I can’t. If I start killing humans, I...I won’t be able to stop.

  So don’t stop! Live this way forever! Be powerful forever!

  The quivering blade pressed up against Dargner’s throat. He held his breath in fear.

  This isn’t the real me, this isn’t what I really am!

  You still don’t understand, do you? Don’t you know who I am? I want what you want. I feel what you feel. I know what you know.

  Nariko felt the overwhelming hunger inside of her, an indomitable thirst. A craving that shattered all reason and thought, leaving only itself. A vacuous need that existed only to sate its own.

  I AM you.

  The blade began moving, cutting into Dargner’s neck. The boy whimpered pitifully.

  Oh no! M...my hand...I can’t stop my hand!

  Nariko grabbed her hand and tried to stop it, but her own thirst was stronger than she was. As the blade cut, Nariko looked into the boy’s jittering eyes. His breathing was quick and sharp, his face pale with fear. Cold sweat ran down his skin, mingling with his tears. In his eyes she could see her reflection. Her face and hair were completely soaked in blood.

  I...I look like a demon.

  In that moment Nariko remembered the young boy on Tridia and the feeling of elation and power that had come over her became mixed with grief. Slowly, shakily, and with great effort, she pulled her blade back from Dargner’s throat.

  There amongst the remains of battle and carnage, she curled herself up into a little ball and began softly whimpering. Dargner sat up, rubbing the cut on his throat, his expression belying his complete inability to understand what was happening.