by T. M. Catron
“It's not my place to ask for their loyalty! I am prepared to die.”
“And then who will remember your sacrifice?” Doyle smirked. “The only ones left to remember you will be the hundred or so rogues out there you couldn’t catch. And they will laugh at the mighty Calla who would rather die to prove her loyalty instead of killing them.”
“The rogues won't live long. I made sure of that.”
Doyle nodded. “Then if our mission has been fulfilled, we need to follow our final orders. Don’t forget what happens to the winner.”
Calla tensed. “I don’t believe you’ll take your own life.”
“No, so maybe you better make sure you win instead of me.”
He launched himself at her. Anticipating his attack, Calla stepped aside and swiped at his head. Doyle ducked and circled to face her again.
“A little slow,” he said. “Maybe you’ve forgotten everything I taught you?”
He swung at Calla’s face. She blocked his punch and tried to elbow him in the chest. He leaned back, but she grazed it anyway, just catching him with her elbow. He grunted and grabbed her other arm to twist her around.
Calla swung and landed a blow to his face. In doing so, she opened herself up for a split second too long. Doyle seized the opportunity to kick her leg out from under her. She landed hard on the ground, the gravel biting into her flesh.
Doyle stood over her. “That was too easy,” he taunted. “Get up.” He stepped back and waited. Calla jumped up and settled into the fight.
She drew first blood, breaking Doyle’s nose in one swipe. He met her punch for punch, kick for kick. Perhaps her earlier musings had been correct—maybe they would die locked together in battle. Doyle kneed her sharply in the ribs, bringing her mind back to the fight.
She fought harder. She jabbed at his throat, hoping to crush his windpipe.
But Doyle caught her arm and spun around. He locked an arm under her chin, cutting off her air. Calla flailed a moment until she managed to break two of his ribs with her elbow. His grip loosened a fraction of an inch. That was all she needed.
She had him.
But Doyle’s grip on her arm tightened, and he knocked her legs out from under her with one kick. They wrestled on the ground, Doyle landing on top of Calla. He twisted her arm behind her. Her ulna and radius broke with loud snaps. Then his knee pressed into her neck, grinding her face into the rock. The jagged edges drew blood.
Hopelessly pinned, Calla tried using her legs to throw him off her by thrusting them off the ground. Each movement drove her bald head further into the rock.
Panting, she finally stilled, waiting for the death blow. Doyle would kill her this time. The Condarri must be here by now, perhaps were watching this very minute. They would see her defeat. She burned at this turn of events. At the corner of her vision, Calla saw the woman standing by the side of the hotel, fixated on the fight before her.
She summoned her strength to call to her, laughing as Doyle shoved her cheek further into the gravel. “He’s using you!” she spat out. “And you will die for it! How does that make you feel, human? To die for something you cannot possibly understand!” Calla was raving now, but she didn't care. “Kill me!”
The Condarri were approaching. Calla didn’t need to see them to know they were there. The woman must have seen them though. She shrank back.
Day 110 Flight
AFTER DOYLE HAD LEFT WITHOUT explanation, Mina crept around the side of the building. She had intended on finding Lincoln, had intended on getting out with Doyle.
But when Doyle challenged Calla and they began their duel, Mina couldn’t take her eyes off it. They moved so quickly their arms and legs were a blur. Half the time, Mina couldn’t figure out whose arm belonged to whom, whose leg delivered the kick. She was helpless to do anything but stand and watch.
And she was in awe of Doyle. He fought Calla as he had the Condarri, swiftly and without hesitation. Indeed, if he hesitated, he would die. Theirs was a duel to the death. Mina shuddered now as Doyle ground Calla’s face into the gravel. Would he really kill her?
Lincoln. Where was he? Mina looked around for the first time. The lodgers had scattered. Calla called to her, and Mina jerked her attention back to the fight.
“He’s using you!” she shouted.
Mina ears rang. How dare she? Kill her, Doyle. Then she shuddered at her own thought.
As Calla shouted at her again, the first Condarri came out from behind the hotel. Mina shrank against the side of the lodge. Had it seen her? Then, one by one, at least twenty stone beings walked upright into the parking lot, looking at the fight with cold dark eyes. Their hands ended in claws, and they didn’t wear any clothing. The adarria on their bodies shifted and changed as they approached the duel.
Mina almost fell over with the force of their thoughts in her mind. She leaned against the lodge, eyes closed, hoping the great creatures didn’t know she could understand them.
“Mina.” She heard the whisper to her right and turned her head. Four doors down, one of the red doors cracked open. Lincoln peeked out at her, motioning for her to join him. She shook her head. Going inside would be a death sentence. And if the Condarri hadn’t spotted her yet, they would when she rushed for the door. She jerked her head toward the trees. The invaders had focused their attention on Doyle and Calla.
Mina looked back at Calla motionless on her stomach. Revulsion spun through her. What was Doyle waiting on? Mina looked back at Lincoln who watched the scene from his crack in the door. Alvarez, Carter, and Nelson peeked out from behind the curtains.
Mina shuddered.
Doyle looked around the circle as it tightened. Soon the lodge would be outside the ring. If Mina could just keep her heart from pounding so loudly in her ears. Then she couldn’t see the duelers at all, blocked by a wall of towering golden-gray bodies. Funny how they still sparkled beneath the shadow of the ship.
She gestured to Lincoln. One at a time, he and his team crept out of their hiding place, never taking their eyes off the invaders. They sidled along the outside wall toward Mina.
They were one door away when the sky darkened. Mina’s breath hitched in her throat, then floated away. She couldn’t breathe at all. Trying to remain calm, she leaned back against the wall and struggled against the panic that told her she was suffocating. Deep gloom pervaded the parking lot, whispering through the air as it looked for warm bodies. Silly, thought Mina, to think of the aether looking for something. A choking sound to her right told her one of the others had panicked.
Silence. It pressed into her ears now.
Suddenly sight and sound returned as an explosion of fire shook the other end of the lodge. Screams erupted from those still hiding inside, causing the remaining lodgers to dash for the trees.
Mina bolted for Lincoln. Nelson, Carter, and Alvarez still sat on the ground, trying to understand what was happening. Lincoln and Mina helped them up as another explosion sent chunks of wood and bricks at them. They ran for the trees, passing uncomfortably close behind the invaders who still stood in their hideous circle. As they passed, Mina turned to look for Doyle.
But Lincoln grabbed her arm. “Leave him!” he shouted and pointed into the air.
Mina gasped. Doyle and Calla hung thirty feet in the air, suspended by the aether. Calla’s body was limp. Had Mina missed it—had Doyle already killed her? Doyle still seemed to be fighting, his body struggling against the aether that tried to wrap around him.
“Mina! You can’t do anything for him!” Lincoln pulled on her arm, but she fought against him, never taking her eyes off Doyle hanging above the golden bodies on the ground.
“Doyle!” she screamed. For one moment, she thought he looked at her. One of the invaders turned, its interest piqued by the struggle going on behind it.
>
“Mina!” Lincoln shouted desperately. “Don’t make me force you! Please!” He grabbed her around the waist, preparing to pick her up. Mina pushed him away, finally met his eyes.
“I can’t leave him behind,” she said, her voice almost failing her. “I can’t. He didn’t leave me.”
Lincoln looked at Mina and then up at Doyle. Another fireball rocked the lodge. This time it hit squarely in the middle of the building. The entire structure exploded. A few stragglers ran past.
They were in extreme danger, standing here in the middle of the carnage, but the world seemed to have decelerated. Everything moved in slow motion. Brick and glass and wood slung past their heads. Lincoln ducked, pulling her down with him. When they straightened, a wave of heat rippled the air.
Two Condarri left the circle, heading for them. Lincoln tugged on Mina’s arm, but she didn’t hear what he was saying. Fire roared behind them.
She looked up at Doyle. His body had changed. It no longer writhed as if in agony. The aether still swirled around him, but almost as if it came from him, rather than attacking him. Calla’s body dropped heavily to the ground. By the time Doyle floated down, Mina no longer doubted his control of the aether. It swept beneath the ship, attacking the Condarri.
The invaders heading for Mina turned around to join the fray, their adarria changing and spinning wildly as the aether ran over them.
“He did it!” she shouted.
Lincoln stood with her, mesmerized at the scene before him. “What did he do?”
The blaze of the fire billowed toward them, the yellow flames shining on the dark stone above. Mina and Lincoln backed away from it. Condarri shrieked as they fought against the aether that sought to strangle them.
“Come on, come on,” Mina whispered. “Where is he?”
Doyle walked through the invaders as the aether swept around him. As soon as he passed the last one, he broke into a run, stumbling toward Mina and Lincoln as if he were being chased. Mina reached out for him as he got close. The aether followed, shrouding them in gloom again. This time Mina could breathe. Panting with his eyes closed, Doyle still struggled against something Mina couldn’t see. A trail of blood ran from his broken nose down his face and shirt.
“Get out!” he shouted hoarsely. He grabbed her arm and Lincoln’s, then pulled them toward the trees. Since his eyes were closed, Mina steered him toward the trail they often used to climb above the hotel.
“Why can’t you open your eyes?” she shouted above the roars of the fire and creatures below.
Doyle shook his head. “Keep going.”
A glance back told Mina the aether was still doing its job. The area beneath the ship was strangely dark.
“Will they die?” Lincoln asked.
“No,” answered Doyle. “And they will be very angry.”
They entered the trees and climbed swiftly. Ahead, Carter, Nelson, and Alvarez were already turning aside from the trail to avoid detection. Smoke drifted in, turning the day to twilight.
“Doyle!” a woman’s voice screamed. Mina looked around. Suddenly Calla appeared through the smoke, blocking their path ahead. Blood covered the right side of her face, and she cradled her left arm against her body. Yet she stood proudly in front of them, her feet planted in defiance. “You coward!” she spat.
The air tingled around them. Doyle raised himself to his full height and opened his eyes. Mina looked at his face.
Both eyes were pitch black as if his normally dark irises had expanded to five times their normal size. No white showed, and Mina shuddered. Had the aether infected him somehow? Calla paused too, considering this new development. Lincoln backed away from Doyle.
“Stand aside, Calla,” Doyle said. A wisp of aether whisked about them, causing Mina’s hair to blow in her face.
“You can’t hold the Condarri below and fight me with the aether here at the same time,” said Calla.
Doyle’s eyes flashed. The darkness inside them turned golden as if a flame burned there. Then they went dark again. Exactly like it did with the Glyphs, Mina thought. She tightened her grip on his arm.
Calla didn't miss the significance, either. She squared her shoulders but did not back down. “As soon as you release your hold on the ship, it will be here. You cannot escape.”
“Go, Calla,” said Doyle. “Surrender to the Condarri. Let them deal with your dishonor. You had the most dangerous rogue of all beneath your nose and still failed to identify him for what he was. What is it you told me so often? Hybrids need to accept the consequences for their actions. Well, now here’s your chance to put that into action.”
“I will take you with me!” Bloody spit flew from Calla’s mouth. She charged, pulled something from her belt, and hurled it at Doyle. Mina flinched.
Doyle caught it. Blood ran from his hand at the new wound. Then the Nomad hovered above them, and the aether swirled. Mina’s body lifted into the air. She looked over at Doyle who still had black eyes. He refused to return her gaze.
“What about Lincoln and the others?” she whispered.
“I have them, too.”
***
Calla screamed as Doyle and the humans disappeared into the aether. He would not get away. She called to the Nomad, commanding it to close its doors to them. When it didn't respond, she demanded it stay there and wait for her to board. Then she sensed it leaving, flying away from her forever. She could not counter Doyle’s strength.
The smoke and fire below disappeared, recalled into the Condarri ship from whence it came. Calla paced the area. They would be looking for Doyle and for her. She stopped pacing, stunned that she had lost her quarry again. Doyle was correct, of course—the Condarri would kill her this time. No more chances. Already they moved up the slope, searching. A human screamed below as they found his hiding place.
No place would be safe now. Calla sat down to wait. Then she stood again. She would turn herself in, at least, not hide like a scared offspring.
The Sacred Ones reached out to her adarre, demanding an answer.
I am here, she thought. But she chose not to transmit. Why not?
Calla looked at her broken arm, swollen and awkwardly held against her body. She gritted her teeth and set the bones with her other hand, feeling them slide back together.
Why did it matter if her arm was set or not? When the Condarri found her, they would break the other bones in her body as well.
Something flashed in the sunlight below. They were close, combing the hillside for her. The ship glided overhead, casting its shadow over the fading day. Calla cowered beneath dense foliage at the side of the trail.
Why? She was not afraid.
She sat down completely, fear and shame and hatred burning inside her. Doyle. She didn't want to leave her mission unaccomplished. She had been so close. How would the Condarri find him? Surely they would track the Nomad and overtake it. Maybe they had already captured it.
But she didn't think so. If Doyle had fled on the Nomad, he had a plan for evading Condar. What? Think, Calla. But she could not. She had run out of ideas.
Calla closed her eyes and concentrated on remaining still. Why hadn’t they found her yet? They should have already tracked her and landed at this spot.
Why are you thinking of hiding? She should step out and declare herself. I am the most loyal of hybrids. Condar will remember me.
She laughed at herself. No, Condar will not remember me. She tucked her legs up into the dense foliage, crawling into the crook of a mountain magnolia. White blooms covered the outer branches. The faint scent of the flowers would mask her body.
Calla held her breath and emptied her head of all thoughts to prepare for discovery. To prepare for pain. And for death.
Death passed her by.
They didn’t see her. Their mighty forms cast shadows on her hiding place, but they didn’t see her.
Maybe the Condarri thought Doyle had taken her with him. Calla’s wry chuckle almost g
ave away her hiding place.
Long after they passed, Calla slid out of the tree and slipped down the mountain. When she passed a dead body, she stripped it of everything useful. Several of the lodgers had escaped with supplies, but not their lives. She used a shirt to create a splint with a small, sturdy branch. When finished scavenging, she avoided the remains of Springwater Creek Lodge and crept over the parkway further south.
No doubt the Condarri would guard the bunker from now on. Calla had to get to the mine before they burned it. One hundred rogues waited there. One hundred hybrids who hated Doyle. One hundred to command.
***
Lincoln sat on a bunk aboard the Nomad, staring at the stone beneath his feet. Carter lay on the next bunk, wheezing as he slept. Alvarez and Nelson sat in the chairs opposite the bunks, gazing at Lincoln without really looking at him.
“Lincoln?” Mina asked as she came into the room.
He looked up at her. Her hair was in disarray, her jeans and t-shirt stained with dirt. She had wrapped a bandanna around her right hand.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
Lincoln laughed mirthlessly. The question was so simple, so normal. Yet here they sat on an alien spacecraft, piloted by . . . “What exactly is Doyle?” he asked.
Alvarez and Nelson perked up at the question.
Mina sat on the bunk next to Lincoln, her shoulder touching his. Doyle walked in before she could answer.
“Shouldn’t you be flying this?” Nelson asked him.
Doyle turned to Lincoln. “I’m a human-alien hybrid. I was a slave, now I answer to no one.” Then he turned his eyes on the group. They had changed back to normal—white eyes with dark irises.
“Everyone answers to someone,” Nelson said carelessly, his shoulders drooping with exhaustion.
Doyle ignored him. “You’re welcome anywhere on this top level of the ship. Stay out of the levels below. I won’t have anything tampered with.”
“For a slave, you’re good at giving orders,” said Alvarez, glaring at Doyle.
