by C. C. Ekeke
The Galdorian guard looked disturbed, but ignored the prisoner.
“Despite the damper on his powers,” Marguliese explained at Nwosu’s side, “Ghuj’aega is—was—able to extract knowledge with a transitory look at his target.”
Ghuj’aega escalated, expanded on details he should not have known. And the UComm guard looked transfixed. Khal couldn’t believe his ears. “Is that what he did to you, V’Korram?” he whispered.
The Kintarian glanced at him mutely. But the vicious look in his green-flecked eyes said everything.
“How does it feel, knowing you could have taken your revenge?” Ghuj’aega smiled with ruined teeth, rocking back and forth on his heels. “But knowing deep down you are a coward, caring more about your honor than getting revenge!”
That had been the final insult. “Shut UP!” The guard croaked a command and the cell’s forcefield dropped. With pulse rifle cocked, he bashed Ghuj’aega upside the head.
The Farooqua laughed, taunting his attacker.
The Galdorian screamed, the butt of his rifle rising and falling. The Farooqua amazingly let out a hideous laugh, like razors shredding his lungs. The Galdorian flipped his rifle and fired—pointblank in Ghuj’aega’s face. The Farooqua went quiet and limp.
An instant later, his body illuminated and the holovid went staticky.
Captain Nwosu scratched the back of his head. “Rogguts.”
“This is a problem, Captain,” Commander Iort stated on the comms. “We have units reaching out to many Farooqua tribal nations. At least half were willing to assist.”
“Indeed,” Nwosu replied, shaking off his surprise. “We’ll need to rethink our approach without Ghuj’aega.”
“Meaning your plan is no longer valid,” Iort decided. “UComm will dictate our new strategy then. You’ll be informed if needed.”
The transmission ended abruptly. Nwosu was seething. But he inhaled a deep breath and let the anger go just as briskly. “If they had muzzled that squit, this never would’ve happened.” He shook his head and turned to CT-1. “We’ll need more data from this alternate Habraum.”
“Alternate” Habraum. Khal was still wrapping his brain around this parallel universe Nwosu in Phaeton’s brig. But it wasn’t the first time he’d seen occurrences that defied explanation.
“I’ll talk to him. But we still need an audience with the Quud.” Nwosu’s hazel-gold eyes drilled through Khal. “Abdullah. Any luck finding Taorr?”
“Nobody can find him,” Khal said, hating that he’d failed.
“If he’s not in Magnasterium, expand your search,” Nwosu snapped impatiently. “We need him to connect us to Mhir’ujiid. Can you handle that?”
Khal felt his cheeks flush, but understood. Everyone was tense. This mission kept twisting and changing at light speed. “Yes, sir.”
He moved to go back to his search like a good soldier, until indicators at V’Korram’s workstation grabbed his interest.
The massive Kintarian was hunched forward, engrossed with whatever he had located. Khal hurried over. The data scrawling across the holoscreens around the workstation told the story.
“Is that what I think it is?” Khal breathed.
“I’m pretty sure,” V’Korram answered, relief flooding his catlike features. He scratched his long mane of stringy dark red locks. “Just need to confirm one more—”
“Captain,” Khal called out. “Dr. Cortes has been located.”
Habraum whirled about. “Where?”
Khal turned to V’Korram expectantly. The Kintarian’s ears flattened, his glower full of poison. “Farooqua Okka territory.”
“Alive?” Tyris inquired.
V’Korram nodded. “She appeared on my sensors not four macroms ago.”
“Are we certain it’s our Liliana?” Khrome asked, his silvery armored flesh gleaming under the halolights.
Khal regarded the Thulican in momentary confusion, then understood. Given how the “alternate” Habraum had appeared, the question made sense.
“Yes,” V’Korram concluded. “I’m detecting her Brigade tracking signature. And…Byzlar is with her.”
“Have you attempted contact?” Marguliese added.
“First thing I tried. No response. Either way, it’s her.”
The Cerc placed a hand on his forehead in clear relief. “Thank the Twins.” He let his hand drop, taking in CT-1. “Let’s get our girl.”
Khal smiled. Cortes was a good egg. He felt glad to have her back.
From the helm, Solrao prepped the Phaeton. Her gestures appeared a bit…loopy from Khal’s perspective.
An urgent transmission beep at his workstation drew Khal’s attention away. He did a double take. “The star-spangled hell?”
“Any day now, Sollie,” Nwosu stated, pacing behind his pilot.
“Our request to leave Magnasterium has been denied.”
Everyone turned. Habraum’s eyes narrowed into gold chips. “By whom?”
“Maorridius Magnus himself,” the Ibrisian answered, the concentric rings in her eyes wide with shock.
Khal then stared at the blinking transmission on his workstation’s console. “Captain. We’re being hailed by Maorridius Magnus.”
Nwosu glared at Khal with such intensity, the intel operative had to look away. “Send it through,” the field commander ordered.
“Captain Nwosu,” the Faroor Viceroy’s firm voice filled the bridge. “Apologies for the inconvenience.”
The crimsonborn had no patience for courtesies. “Then correct the inconvenience and let us leave.”
“I will,” the older Ttaunz assured. “After I meet with your combat team privately.”
“With all due respect,” Nwosu stated, his teeth bucked. “I have a teammate that needs rescuing. While I’m wasting time nattering with you, she could be in danger—”
“I would not contact you unless it was urgent, Nwosu,” the Magnus cut the Cerc off firmly. “Once we have spoken then you are free to go. It is regarding my son, Taorr.”
“Sir?” Tyris asked after the transmission ended. All eyes were on Nwosu.
The Cerc blew out a sigh, hands on hips. “Bringing UComm into this will waste more time that Lily doesn’t have.” He sucked on his teeth in annoyance. “Everyone, suit up so we’re ready once this dreg is over. Sollie. Keep the ship running and be ready to get us outta Magnasterium.”
***
For several moments, Liliana felt like she was still drowning. The paralysis from the oppressive cold, the crushing weight of water bearing down on her. And the lack of oxygen. That terrifying sensation of not breathing jolted her back to consciousness. The doctor still wore her grey, red, and black field uniform, dried from her dip into Titanoa’s subzero waters. But why did she still feel cold? Lily swiveled her head about, breathing hard. All she saw was some straw-like hut and rocks. This looked like some Farooqua abode. After her jaunt to Titanoa, who knew?
Am I back on Faroor? Had she returned to some form of normalcy?
“Lily!” The doctor, scrambling back from her name, quickly discovered how exhausted the exertion left her. She looked at the source of the voice and relaxed. “Byzlar?”
The Aesonite crouched before her, his stony features and bony bubbles atop his head just as she remembered. Lily lunged for the PLADECO specialist and wrapped him in a hug, which he readily returned. “Dulce Madre! I’m so glad to see you!”
“I know,” he murmured. “I was worried you’d never wake up. They dragged you in here yesterday.” Byzlar pulled back and studied the doctor. “Where were you?”
Lily instantly deduced his meaning. “Titanoa,” she offered, still thrown by that experience. “You?”
“Faroor, except everything was gender-reversed. Pyton was…still alive, as a she.”
Lily stared at him, her weary brain figuring whether to feel empathy or confusion. “What?”
Byzlar shrugged. “I know!”
As Byzlar rambled on, Lily’s thoughts floated back to the ma
n who’d rescued her—kissed her. Who was he? The being knew her, while she didn’t know him from Adam. Someone from my future, whom I haven’t met yet? Her savior’s identity didn’t matter if Lily remained a prisoner of this Farooqua tribe.
“We need to get out of here.” She stood up and ran into a wall of vertigo. Lily shook off as much wobbliness as she could and pointed her fingers like a gun, aiming for what appeared to be a door. Nothing. “Tattshi,” Lily swore. Her powers were inhibited, probably by whatever same concoction the Ghebrekh had used on her and CT-1 before.
The doctor cased the length of the hut. Her legs were stiff, but the movement helped. “Not sure if I should be relieved or terrified.”
“You should be terrified,” Byzlar muttered.
Lily turned to him and saw his hollowed-out expression. “What is that supposed to mean? We’re back on Faroor. PLADECO and Star Brigade must be able to track us.”
“If the world doesn’t end first,” Byzlar countered grimly. “Or we don’t get eaten.”
That chilled Lily’s blood. The Aesonite’s space-crazy talk was scaring her. “I’m not following.”
“Our captors,” Byzlar explained. “They’re the Farooqua Okka.”
The name liquefied Liliana’s innards. Before this mission, the doctor had researched the various Farooqua ethnic groups from large to small. The Okka were considered the most remote, the most savage. Plus—they ate their own dead. Lily sank to her knees under the weight of this knowledge. “Of all the tribes to find us—”
Byzlar opened his mouth to say more when the hut door swung open. He jerked to his feet. Lily scurried backward. Nine Farooqua Okka poured into the cramped space. They weren’t much to look at: shorter, scrawnier, and sparer in physique than other Farooqua that Lily had seen, with patchy bright orange pelts that barely covered their pasty cream skins. But the predatory glares in their bulging green eyes made her rethink any attacks. Two Okka in the rear carried baskets stuffed with what looked like fruits and vegetables.
“Cortes,” Byzlar warned, pressed against the hut’s furthest corner. “Don’t fight. You’ll make it worse.”
Lily gaped at him. “I’m not letting them do whatever they plan to us.”
Two Okka approached, grunting as they grabbed at her. Lily jerked away, settling into a fighting stance.
The first Okka to grab at her again ate a jab to the nose, knocking him on his ass.
“Lily, no!” Byzlar cried. The doctor ignored him and prepped to attack again. Two more Okka lunged forward. Lily landed a few more punches, but these scrawny Okka possessed scary strength. The doctor was quickly muscled down to her knees, the Okka hooking each arm to hold her down. Lily struggled in vain, a healthy dose of fear flooding through her.
She heard Byzlar grunt as they slammed him to the ground. One Okka carrying a food basket waddled forward. The horrifying significance struck Lily then. They want to fatten us up, so there’s more to eat.
Lily fought with renewed urgency born from desperation, catching her captors off guard.
For one sweet instant, she almost shook free.
A quick exchange of gestured kineticabulary between her captors and a third Okka charged. He sank a fist deep into her stomach. The explosion of pain doubled Lily over. A second blow nearly caved in her ribcage. Her attacker hauled off with a vicious slap to the face, leaving Lily seeing stars. She sagged to her knees, head lolling forward. The Okka holding her tightened their painful grip on her arms.
The attacker, green eyes burning, grabbed Lily’s jaw to pry her mouth open.
“No!” she tried to say. One Okka carrying a basket placed it down, a female by her slender physique. The Okka took out what looked like a bluish tomato, and jammed the fruit into Lily’s open mouth.
The doctor gagged on putrid and sour flesh. But she couldn’t retch it out with one Okka clamping a bony hand over her mouth. Chunks of mashed bluish fruit flesh oozed down her neck and the front of her Star Brigade uniform. Lily’s throat burned fiercely, making it hard to breathe.
After an agonizing couple macroms, Lily was forced to either asphyxiate or swallow.
Tears streaming down her cheeks, the doctor forced herself to gulp down the repulsive fruit. Behind her, she could hear Byzlar gag as the Okka rammed fruit into his mouth. But he offered no resistance. Byzlar learned the hard way, Lily realized.
When the Okka were satisfied she had swallowed everything, they grabbed another tomato-like fruit and shoved it down her throat.
The doctor, in no position to resist, chewed willingly. Regain your strength and fight back then, she decided, nauseous as her stomach churned in rebellion. Lily willed herself to swallow the foul produce. And the next one after that.
Chapter 21
“One day.”
Kingston Reyes was too mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausted to decipher what his contact meant. “One day what?”
“One day until I extract you,” the digitally masked voice declared proudly. “I finally worked how I can get the Korvenite off the Hollus Maddrone starbase without being caught. It’ll be tight, but my plan starts tomorrow.”
A few days ago, when Reyes first found this safe house below the depths of Terra Sollus, he would’ve been ecstatic. Now, Reyes stood in the middle of the bedroom, body withering away before his own eyes. After days of being drained by his unwelcome house guest, having his willpower stripped to null, he wanted no part of his friend’s rescue. Every iota of his soul wanted to scream at his contact to stay away.
Don’t. You. Dare, the osvowraith’s oily threat slithered through his thoughts.
Kingston stiffened as any spark of resistance frosted over. “Finally!” he replied to his contact with as much faux excitement as possibly. “Can’t wait to see you.”
A long pause followed. “Is everything alright? You sound…off?” his contact asked.
You know what to say, the osvowraith commanded.
“That’s just fatigue talking,” Reyes said truthfully. “I haven’t slept well in this place, despite its obvious comfort.” Another truth.
“Don’t worry. By tomorrow, you’ll be continuing the Children of Earth’s work elsewhere in Union Space.”
Reyes squeezed his eyes shut, agonized by the falsehood. There was no tomorrow for himself or this friend risking life and career for him. Kingston almost wished he had never rescued his longtime friend a year ago. “Thanks again for all your efforts,” Kingston stated almost robotically, as the osvowraith ordered. “I don’t deserve a friend like you.”
“Please,” his contact scoffed. “This is the least I can do. Get some rest, Kingston.”
After the transmission ended, the osvowraith slinked from the shadows and faced Kingston. The beast looked like half a shadow himself, all lanky limbs and jagged edges. “Convincing enough. But,” he pointed a clawed finger at Reyes’s chest, “do not get such rebellious thoughts again.”
Reyes’s tears fell for the hundredth time. How he had any left amazed him. “Please don’t kill my friend. We’ll help you leave Terra Sollus. Please.” As much as Reyes wanted his friend to survive, by no means did he want to die either.
The osvowraith straightened up. His long, blade-like nose twitched. “And get hunted down by your xenophobic human allies? I think not.”
“You going to drink from me again?” Reyes asked, trembling at the prospect. He had no clue how much more he could endure.
The osvowraith shook its head, its dreadlocks whipping to and fro. “You’re too weak. I need you alive. But I’d rather have a break from your pitiful sniveling.” He lashed out so quickly, Reyes never saw the backhand coming. All he felt was the kaleidoscope of pain crash against his cheek.
Kingston was grateful when darkness washed his terrors away.
Chapter 22
Sam would rather be anywhere else. Like on Faroor helping CT-1 find Lily and defeat this Ghuj’aega motherfucker. Or on Hollus fixing things with Tharyn and confirming if Addison Raichoudry was a mole.<
br />
Instead, she sat in some rinky-dink neo-Americana barbeque joint in the middle of the rural city-state Lincoln, surrounded by the stark plains of eastern Oklorada Basin. She was one of maybe six patrons in “Sweetwater’s Finest BBQ.” All in service of CT-2’s mission to bring down Children of Earth’s paramilitary.
And the only way to conduct this aspect of the mission was face-to-face, like with Europa Hanson.
“At least the food doesn’t suck,” Sam muttered, shoving the last of a juicy BBQ yosk-meat sandwich into her mouth. Things had been so crazy, she’d missed a meal or three. Sam made certain the table’s surface forcefield extended to her lap so the delicious BBQ sauce didn’t spill onto her lap. She’d changed clothes again for this meeting, now wearing a kurthon hide black jacket over a white henley with thin red stripes on the short sleeves, dark leggings, and knee-high boots.
The restaurant door hissed open as a new patron entered, signaled by a soft jingle.
Facing the entrance in her booth, Sam spotted him immediately. At first glance this cuisine obviously wasn’t his usual fare, nor Terra Sollus his homeworld. The Monaskoan’s physique was bulbous, hairless, and pink in complexion, with a scattering of dark spots too large to be considered freckles. His long and well-muscled legs were bent like a grasshopper’s, both arms thick and snakelike yet displaying no visible joints. The top of his head looked swollen and distended, constantly rippling as if possessed. He spied Sam and his O-shaped mouth flattened into a joyful straight line, bulging blue eyes on either side of his face contracting happily.
My lunch date. Sam waved him over. “Hello!” she beamed. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
“Sierra Gordon,” the Monaskoan warbled as he approached. “It has been seven point three-five weeks since we last spoke.”
“Too long, D’Sake,” Sam said in the higher, less throaty voice of “Sierra Gordon,” an Investigator for the Interplanetary Security Agency. That was who D’Sake, a longtime Union Intelligence Bureau contact, knew her as. She tapped her horn-rimmed infoglasses, scanning all aspects of D’Sake’s frame.
