Requiem

by E L Strife

  Ronux sent a request through the tabletop screen to medical. “I’m not sure if we have the tiktia weed. Someone in our network might. If we can get it, we’ll disburse it to the medical crews. We’ve never had a solution to that problem before. Thank you.”

  Lavrion dipped his head. “You should know they like to use human shields, preferably children.”

  “We know,” Atana muttered to him. “A lot of our future shepherds are pulled from their arms.”

  “Do the people agree with this?” Terson asked.

  Lavrion shoved his hands in the ratted pocket of his sweatshirt. “Most do not because Krage is like a virus. He takes from everyone, whatever he can for as long as he can until UP pushes him out of a district or there’s no one left in it. A rare few want to join.” He nodded to himself. “They’re confused by the fallacy of ostentatious power Krage advertises, and he doesn’t wait to make use of their naivety and expandability.”

  “Have you seen them use any odd metal like what we found in Cutter’s leg?” Atana asked him.

  “Nothing like that.” His hands visibly knotted together inside his sweatshirt pocket. “Kronos use crude weapons, messy and quick ones. They are brash and don’t have the forethought for technologically advanced materials. I haven’t even heard a whisper in the tunnels of such stuff.”

  Atana urgently addressed the Command members. “Have you read over my lab analysis of the metal?”

  Terson shook his head. “Command is more concerned with what they will say tomorrow. There’s a lot of pressure for the masses to understand our intent and capabilities correctly. Krett hasn’t had time to look at your report.”

  “If they use those devices tomorrow on the people?” Atana asked. “What then? We don’t know how many we’re up against or what artillery they may have at their disposal. We need to know what those things are.”

  “Are you wanting us to pull out of the speech?” Terson asked.

  Atana’s shoulders fell. “No, but—”

  “Command does not operate at your pace, Sergeant Atana. Is the item secure for now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you best figure out a contingency plan and discuss it with your team.”

  “Yes, Command.”

  Terson promptly continued, not giving her pause to object further. Command’s priority was the presentation. “If the crowd does not take the information well, please prepare an appropriate evacuation plan.”

  Her focus was to be on security. She understood—at the moment there was no way to gauge the level of the new threat with only one incidence, however unusual. Unfortunately, their lack of information meant no possibility of a successful countermeasure. The anxious pings in the back of her thoughts over the matter were becoming distracting. And desperate.

  Atana exchanged a wary glance with Bennett. His mouth was side-cocked in an equally skeptical frown.

  “We have five Med-Evac transports designated as Ready status for tomorrow. They will stand by in these clearings outside the city.” Ronux directed their attention to a meadow on the north side of the town, and a large field to the southeast.

  “Yes, Command,” the group replied.

  “We must return to help prepare the speech. Be ready, 0630 hours at transport bays C-5 and C-7.”

  When Ronux and Terson had left, Atana stepped up to the interactive screen to study the Mercy Plaza. She swiped through the designated security teams while the room waited in silence. They were effective selections. “There can be no error tomorrow.”

  “Rule Three is the name of our game, ma’am,” Josie said, leaning over the screens. “Better put the troublemakers on point with Tanner and me.”

  “The ones Dequan is reprimanding?” Atana asked.

  Panton chuckled. “They’re cocky little shits for a reason.”

  “You sure you’re not Xahu’ré?” Azure asked, his arms crossed, eyes trained on the large man. “Sound like us, built like us.”

  “Maybe we’re cousin species?” Panton grinned.

  Atana straightened, unable to focus with the background chatter. She had enough on her mind with the odd weapons, Command’s secrets, and everything weighing on her plan once again. “Why don’t you all get some rest and we’ll review this before departure in the morning. At least some of us need to be one hundred percent tomorrow.”

  Bennett’s team filtered out. Lavrion set a hand on her shoulder, sending a cooling wave through her body.

  “You know where I’ll be.” He pointed up. His touch was calming and left her standing frozen until after he’d left the room.

  Azure was the last, stopping beside her, tracking Bennett’s fingers as they worked over the map. “If you need anything, Sahara, you message me, immediately.” He tapped his wristband. “I have been summoned to the hangars but will be back soon.”

  With a snort in Bennett’s direction, he pulled the door open and stepped out.

  Bracing her head in her hands, she curled forward to rest her elbows on the table and released a loud puff of air.

  “He acts like he owns you,” Bennett said without looking up.

  “We need him.” Her response was automatic.

  “Not at your sacrifice.” Planting a hand beside the screen, Bennett leaned onto an arm while he scanned the framework of the plaza.

  “The line is hazy between what we were and were not. All I know is how to soften the stress so he can function.”

  Bennett’s voice lowered. “That’s not your responsibility.”

  Atana couldn’t take the head games anymore. “Jameson.”

  He looked up at her, resting his chin in his palm.

  “I can’t process Azure right now.” She waved a dismissive hand to the side. Atana stared at the schematic below her and the countless weaknesses the layout held, drumming her fingers. The magnitude and risk of this public event was nothing she’d ever tackled before. “I need to know if you think this a mistake, the Unveiling.”

  “Nakio.”

  Their eyes met across the table, him studying her, her scrutinizing him, only the faint blinks of symbols on their interactive stations to break the stillness.

  His umber brows knitted downward. “The mistake is Command’s for not being honest with us. Shit’s hit the fan, and we’re trying to pick up the pieces.”

  Her mouth twitched to a side in self-doubt. “I’ve never told Command what to do before.”

  Bennett’s smile grew behind his fingers. “One of the reasons I enjoy working with you. There’s no limit to how far you’ll go to get the job done. It’s also why I have faith this is the right decision, for Earth. It’s far better than letting the Kyras show up to a planet full of unskilled, unaware humans.”

  “Why say it like that?”

  Releasing a breath through his nose, he braced his palms to either side of the map. “If we know what we are, we can at least try to use our unique skills in battle. But it’s not just that. If they’re made aware they’re not from here, that their homes have been destroyed once before, however many centuries ago, they’ll fight harder to protect the one they’ve got. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  She chewed the inside of a cheek, still feeling alone in her conviction. Atana didn’t know the people well enough to predict how they would react. “I hope you’re right.”

  —Sergeant Cutter—

  Chapter 32

  REACHING FOR THE HANDLE, Cutter hesitated. He stood outside S.S.O. debating the implications of his presence. The image of his classification card as he’d studied it alone in his counseling office flashed to the front of his mind.

  NAME: Sergeant Steven Roan Cutter

  CLASSIFICATION: UNK - Ari, NCAM

  PARENTS: Unknown

  SECURITY CLEARANCES: UR: unrestricted

  BLOOD TYPE: Ki- Ari, or compatible O+ Human

  NOTES: Abnormal psychological strength with an affinity for sensing electromagnetic fields. Protective. Detail oriented. To be paired as a guard with Technical Integrations Specialty Ser
geant and trained in munitions systems and psychology.

  Handwritten beside UNK was Ari, NCAM. At some point during his service, Command had figured out what species he was. He’d also become the last viable Ari on Earth.

  To finally know what he was and then lose everything at the same time left his lungs shivering under each breath and his palms cold with sweat. And sensing electromagnetic fields— The humming in his body now had a definition. It was why he had to see Rio, Atana and Bennett’s Instructor, the two sergeants who broke the most rules and hadn’t been retired. If anyone could understand and help him, it would be this man.

  Cutter had used his last vial of serum hours ago. His standard dose muffled the humming, but its strength waned. Feeling such rude awareness of the world—the buzzing of the lights in the hallway, the continuous hum of the coded entry-lock in the door to S.S.O, and the chaotic ticks of the SA node in his heart—made him step inside.

  Rio sat at his desk, a single lamp and the glow from the serum cabinets illuminating the darkened grid of exam tables at 0200 hrs.

  A few lights flickered on to Cutter’s presence.

  Rio looked up. “I figured I’d see you at some point today. Come on in, Steven.”

  He motioned to the available chair in his office. Cutter crossed the room and slumped into the seat beside Rio’s desk. Grabbing an extra vial of serum and a pocket pack of tissues from a drawer, Rio swiveled his stool around and dropped level with his eyes. Cutter didn’t like what the items suggested.

  “How are you holding up?”

  Lifting his wristband, Cutter pulled up the CENA logs. “I am within acceptable parameters, sir.”

  Rio’s smile fell. “That’s not what I mean, Steven. Someone brought it to my attention you almost passed out at the last classification briefing.”

  “Atana?” Cutter didn’t blink an eye in case Rio lied to cover for her.

  “No. Sergeant Bennett, while you were resting.” Rio leaned forward onto his knees. “There’s more going on inside of you than anyone knows about because of your species, your past, and the enormous responsibilities to others us counselors carry on our shoulders.”

  Cutter didn’t have the energy to stop the man from wasting his breath.

  Rio hung his head and rubbed his temples hard before hiding his mouth behind a hand.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Standing, Rio switched off his desk lamp. “Will you come topside with me?”

  “Yes, sir.” Cutter forced his tired legs to put him upright, and the two walked to the door. This was something bad, something Rio would tell him that would destroy the last thread. He could feel it.

  Rio locked up his office, calling in his lead assistant on his wristband. “I’m going to step out for a few moments, Maria. Can you pull up the monitors in your room?”

  “Yes, sir,” a feminine voice popped over the speaker.

  “Why topside?” Cutter asked as they walked through the halls.

  Rio glanced over, tired creases sagging his face. “Mother Nature is more comforting than those steel walls.”

  Cutter’s stomach did a somersault when the doors opened, filling his legs with lead. Rio stepped inside. Cutter mirrored him to take the thinking out of what he was doing. His heart thumped in his ears. The pitch of the humming in his body lifted several notes when the doors closed and the elevator pushed against their feet. He tensed his shoulders to keep from twisting his neck in a visible sign of discomfort. Rio already had eyes on him.

  “Steven, what’s on your mind?” Rio interlaced his arms as the cold, harsh lights blipped by. “You aren’t the only one watching out for others who struggle with the feelings inside you can’t discuss.”

  Cutter locked his sweating hands behind his back to keep from fidgeting. “Do you know what you are, sir? Have you always known?”

  “I have. My brother Sensei and I were picked up fairly young. His father believed it a disrespect to conceal what they were, and—” Rio trailed off. “I am human. Sensei was listed UNK and NCAM.”

  “Listed. Command knows the truth, right?”

  The elevator stopped with a soft jolt. “One Command member knows. And I know.”

  They stepped out into the dusky meadow atop Home Station, the gentle breeze rippling their clothing. Cutter pulled his ball cap lower on his head.

  Walking toward the hills, Rio wrapped his lab coat tight across his stomach as the wind tore at the flaps. He raised his voice. “I confess these things to you, Steven, because we understand what the other is going through. I never thought I’d end up a counselor when I started as a biochemical technician. After the serum went into effect, I was constantly surrounded by emotionally broken shepherds spilling every last detail to me before I could complete the injections.”

  Rio paused as he spryly leapt over a boulder blocking the path.

  Winding up into the trees seemed to mimic the twisting feeling building inside Cutter’s gut. Rio was talking far too much for this to be about him. Cutter wished he would get to the point. He had a mission in the morning and needed sleep with the healing his body was doing.

  “Then Sensei and Master Yashina passed, and I took on responsibility for Atana and Bennett because I didn’t feel anyone else was qualified.” He sighed with a shake of his head. “Not being on serum isn’t easy when I’m surrounded by constant suffering. But it is necessary. We always try to do what’s right, never knowing how hard it will be until we’re in too deep. Our conviction and our love keep us pressing on.” He glanced back at Cutter, the moonlight casting a milky sheen over his eyes. “Others count on us. We cannot give up.”

  Squeezing through a narrow crevice in the jagged rocks jutting up into the stars, the two men dropped onto a small, grassy landing. The winds subsided, leaving silence around them.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they? The ones who give us life, warmth when we are cold, and hope when we’re sad.” Sitting, Rio gestured at the inky sky. “This is my favorite spot. No secrets, no veils, no serum, just me and the universe above.”

  Cutter took a seat in the cool grass a half meter away.

  “This is why I wanted to bring you up here.” Rio reached into his pocket and pulled out another envelope, extending the paper. “I want you to know this isn’t the first time I’ve done this. It hasn’t gotten any easier. I’m here for you, in every way, Steven.”

  Cutter’s fingers slipped the envelope from Rio’s grasp.

  “I don’t know why they didn’t pull her card.” Rio readied the tissues and serum.

  Cutter’s hands trembled as he drew the envelope flap from its pocket, fearing he already knew the name inside.

  In the light of his wristband, he slid the card partially out, reading: Sergeant Esmerella—

  His head fell into his hands. The aged paper felt fragile between his fingers, like her life, and now his. He tried to repress the urges in his chest, but a whimper still slipped out. Hearing his own voice squeezed by anguish snapped his last straw.

  Droplets poured from his scrunched eyes, soaking his palms, dripping through his fingers to land on the soft earth under his tucked-up knees.

  Rio slipped the envelope out of his hands. “You need to breathe slow, Steven.”

  Cutter cried out as he slumped back. He clawed a hand into his chest, his gravelly vocal cords straining out a howl from the ache burrowing through his insides. Her heart-shaped face emerged behind his closed eyelids.

  “Hi, handsome.” Her multi-colored eyes and plush, wine-stained lips smiled. He wound a finger in a soft, brown curl and drew in her perfume-sweet scent. Everything good in life he’d never known could exist had united in her.

  A loud crack sent her stumbling into his arms, her eyes wide in fear. Crimson liquid coated her stomach as her body collapsed, leaving him desperately gathering her against him. “Essie!”

  Command had taken his ability to feel, to have normal friendships until that one, off-serum mission when he’d worked with her. Cutter had justified a shepher
d’s life for the sake of saving others from this misery. But losing the single person he’d ever felt could fill the hole left him toying with the notion death would be less painful and then wondering why it hadn’t taken him yet.

  After several minutes, his sobs calmed to wheezing breaths. He blinked and saw blurry orbs in the sky again.

  Rio grasped one of his hands. “Come on, Steven. You can do it.”

  Cutter lifted his upper body with Rio’s help. His breaths choppy and rapid, he leaned forward over his knees, too confused, too heartbroken, and too sick to his stomach to sit up straight.

  “Just breathe, son.” Rio rubbed a hand across Cutter’s shoulders.

  His movement swayed Cutter’s flaccid body, the energy to hold his position drained dry. Everything was gone. He was the last Ari on Earth. There was no one who would know his ancestors’ customs, no one to help him transition, no hope for a future of his kind, not that shepherds could have children or marry.

  It was the physical impossibility that killed hope. Cutter stared vacantly at the dark earth beneath. Hope was everything to those with nothing.

  His entire world was destroyed the day she bled out in his arms. His life had changed in a week, meeting her, resisting her charm, falling for her, fighting beside her, and falling again at her blood-soaked feet in the Home Station infirmary.

  Rio extended the tissues in the light of Cutter’s flashing wristband. “I’ll clear the code tonight and upgrade your dose tomorrow.”

  Cutter dried his running nose. His eyes lifted at the presentation of a vial of serum. “Thanks.”

  Slipping it in the emergency dose slot, he clamped the cover shut and tapped Inject.

  The numbing serum took flight in his veins, sending cooling waves through his body, simultaneously calming the tremors and the buzzing. After a deep breath, his mind cleared. He asked to see the envelope again. Rio extended it, squinting in empathy.