by Jess Granger
Soren burned with his rage. “I don’t care about the Union or their rotting technology. All I care about is getting off of this blighted rock, and you destroyed our only hope.”
“My men will come for us. We just need to survive until they get here.” Cyani turned away from him again. He picked up his weapon from the ground, half tempted to use it.
“How long will that take?” he snapped.
“They won’t be able to unscramble the atmosphere shield for about three weeks,” she said over her shoulder, like their situation didn’t concern her at all.
“I can’t wait that long,” he protested. The drugs in his system would be gone long before they were rescued.
“Patience.” She studied the little glowing square floating in front of her eye. “We just have to wait.”
She had the luxury of waiting. He didn’t. Time had deadly consequences. If they didn’t escape soon, there’d be no hope for him. His body would rot on this lifeless rock. He stalked off through the ruins, driven by the urge to get away from her, away from everything.
“Where are you going?” she protested, jogging after him.
“I’m going to Vicca,” he growled.
“You don’t have a holo-map. You don’t know where she is.” She tried to reach him, but he surged ahead of her.
“Keep your infested technology. I can smell her.” He ignored her, ignored his pain, and ignored the new spectrum of light he could see after the kiss.
He reached a wall that had fallen back onto another, creating a small triangular entrance leading into deeper shadows.
Soren squeezed through the hole and felt his way down a flight of steps into a dark chamber. Water trickled nearby. He tried to let his eyes adjust as tiny blue lights from Vicca’s collar flew at him with a joyful bark. He caught her and struggled to keep her down as she squirmed in his arms.
A velvety tongue bathed his face as he sighed and stroked her soft back. “It’s good to see you, too,” he whispered to the fox.
Cyani entered, carrying a lamp that illuminated the room and the chip on her shoulder. She could chew on it for all he cared. He was still angry. Their shelter was nothing but four crumbling walls and a broken pipe hanging out of the far wall. Water trickled out of the pipe into a worn crack half clogged with mud. Vicca jumped down and circled Cyani’s feet.
“Very good girl,” Cyani praised. The fox placed her paws on Cyani’s knee and panted. “Com, analyze water for purity and harmful contaminants.”
Cyani leaned against the wall near the stream of water and let it wash over her hands. “The water is safe, but it might not taste very good.” She gave her hands a quick rub on her pants then retreated to the darkest corner and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes.
The water could taste like pilt rat droppings, and he’d be grateful for it. He dragged himself to the pipe then looked back at Cyani, but her eyes were closed. Half of him wanted her to just leave. The other half wanted her to look at him.
He stepped under the tepid water and let it drizzle through his hair and over his skin. Placing his palms on the cool wall, he leaned his forehead against the hard stone and took several long, slow breaths, waiting for his heart to slow. With one hand he gently rubbed his arms, washing away the dried blood from the slave bands and his chains.
Pain and humiliation still clung to him; it had dug under his skin, crawled into his bones. He didn’t think he would ever get it out. He let his rough hands slide over the skin of his arms, embracing the warm pleasure of cleaning his skin through the burning sting of washing his deep wounds. At the same time, he felt revolted by his state of arousal, like his own body betrayed him.
Soren watched the blood and filth slide down in dark streams in the water. No matter how hard he rubbed, he couldn’t wash away the wounds; he never would.
His traitorous blood flowed hot in his veins. He felt heavy, aroused. For the first time it wasn’t solely the drugs. The deep tug in his abdomen gave him a new pain to ponder.
He just wanted to feel clean again.
A tiny curled lichen clung to a crack beneath the pipe. He gently touched it. Life. There was life here. He was not dead yet. He nudged the crack with his damp finger and exhaled on the tiny symbiotic plant. Two different beings, each one depending on the other to survive. How did it live in the darkness?
He would help it grow.
Cyani opened her eyes and saw Soren standing naked under the pipe with his back to her. She watched the water drip down the golden skin of his back, tracing his muscles with tiny rivulets and washing over the dark bands of skin crossing his shoulders and his darker bruises.
Once again a tingling wave of anticipation started deep in her abdomen and flared out with a slow, aching pulse. She exhaled and forced her eyes to the floor. She was an untouchable. She shouldn’t react, couldn’t let herself react. But then, no one was standing behind her wielding a teaching whip if she did. The feeling frightened, and worse, excited her.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye. She had seen plenty of naked male species during her service, but they had all been starved slaves barely clinging to life. She had never seen a healthy one. Why was she so unsettled? Was it him, or her?
She pushed to her feet as heat flushed her cheeks again. She needed to secure the perimeter. Who was she trying to fool? She needed to get far away from Soren. She had to protect herself. The bloodline of her ancestor Cyrila the Rebel was notorious—talented, but notorious. She had to resist the rush of satisfaction that spread through her chest each time she did something she shouldn’t. She had been fighting it for half her life. It was a battle she had to win. She’d be killed if she didn’t.
Ducking under the fallen wall, she eased out of their sanctuary and checked for light that would give them away. Convinced that they were well hidden, she explored the ruins, placing sensors for her com so she could monitor their surroundings from the safety of the room.
She craned her neck to see the top of an old Hannolen temple. The cracked columns still stood proud, holding what remained of the open roof, after countless raids. Finding a handhold, she braced her foot against a column then shimmied up the crumbling structure as if it were one of the towering trunks of a great jungle tree on Azra. She swung onto the roof then crouched to assess their surroundings.
She could see the slave cells. They were part of a larger storage structure. An orange glow indicated a fire in the store-houses. She smiled, pleased with the plumes of smoke rising from the shadows.
To the left, about one hundred fifty standard meters away, she watched a stingship land on a flight strip.
Satisfied that they were far enough from anything the Garulen would find interesting, she climbed back down the column, checked the sensors, then started down the flight of stairs. She paused just before entering the room.
“Please be dressed,” she whispered to herself.
Soren still had not moved from beneath the stream of water. Shakt.
She turned to leave the room again, but compassion stirred deep in her heart and she felt a painful ache for what he had suffered while enslaved.
“You okay?” she asked, trying to avoid the terrible thoughts of what he must have endured. She stepped over to the bag she had scavenged from the Union ship and pulled out the ERBs. She had only managed to grab twelve of the dry and tasteless ration bars. “Are you hungry?”
His sigh was nearly silent, but Soren’s shoulders rose and fell in one slow motion. She looked down at the rations and turned her back, giving him some privacy so he could dress. He deserved some dignity.
“These rations aren’t exactly thrilling for the senses, but they are nutritious. There isn’t much . . .”
“Thank you, Cyani.”
She jumped as his voice whispered so close behind her. She hadn’t heard him cross the room. He took one of the rations from the pile and peeled back the wrapping. She tucked the rest of the bars back in the bag and glanced at the pipe. A small speck of lichen hung out of a crack.
It wasn’t there before, was it?
Reluctantly she dared to look at Soren again.
By the mercy of the Matriarchs, please be dressed!
Soren stood in the meager glow of the flare lamp. Water dripped from the light and dark streaks of hair clinging to his neck and shoulders. His bare torso glistened, while the fabric of the shadowsuit clung to his legs, clearly outlining every lean muscle. Great, clothes didn’t seem to help that much. The annoying weak feeling in her legs remained. He took a huge bite out of the square cake of protein and carbohydrates and chuckled. “What are these? Dried mud cakes?” he asked. He took another bite. “They’re still better than what I’ve been used to. Are we safe now?”
“Yeah. They won’t look for us here. I don’t think they even know to look. I’ve placed sensors all around the area. I can detonate them from here if I need to.” She handed him one of the water sacks.
He ate in silence, taking long draws of water from the sack. He would pass it back to her on occasion so she could drink, too.
“Who are you?” he asked after a long silence.
Cyani shifted. They hadn’t exactly had a proper introduction. “I’m Captain Cyani, team leader of the Union Army, Eleventh Patrol.” She placed her palm over her heart then extended it to him in the Union greeting. He just stared at her hand.
“You take it,” she whispered.
He placed his palm on his chest then brought it to hers. She squeezed it. The battle was over for now. It was time to rest and get to know her new compatriot.
“That’s a strange greeting.” His eyes turned a warm brown flickering with gold. It seemed the fight had drained out of him as well.
“How do you greet one another on Byra?” Settling on the floor, she crossed her legs, and Vicca hopped into her lap. The fox curled into a tight ball, tucked her face under her bushy tail, and purred. Soren eased back on his hip, his long legs spreading out like a trill cat lounging on a branch.
“Soren of Eln. It is my honor to know you.” He pressed his palms together then opened his hands up and out until his palms lay flat before her.
“You don’t touch?”
He shook his head. “On my planet, there are . . . Touching is sometimes complicated. There are social implications.”
She felt her face flush.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know much about your people. I think I like your greeting better. There are social complications to touching for me as well,” Cyani admitted while absentmindedly rubbing her calf. It felt good just to talk to someone. She had often set herself apart when her men got together and teased one another. She had longed to be a part of that circle. She hoped they were okay.
“How will we escape?” he asked, his lids lowering over his dark eyes.
“We’ll wait for my team.” She didn’t want to bring this up again. Her heart was just beginning to return to a normal beat.
“What’s your alternate plan?” he asked. “You don’t strike me as the type to sit and just wait. Especially when we have limited resources, our enemy surrounds us, and rescue is unlikely.”
She had enjoyed the brief reprieve from her worries. She should have known they would not leave her for long. He was right. She would have to try to think of something. Just not right now.
“Right now we need to rest. You don’t look well. How long have you been held captive?” she asked him, longing for that flicker of companionship again.
“I don’t know. I was just entering the beginning of my maturity when I was taken. I had seen seventeen or eighteen growing seasons. I can’t remember.”
“How old are you now?”
He glared at her, his eyes flashing red. “I don’t know.”
Cyani hung her head. She didn’t want to anger him again. She couldn’t take the consequences. Her lips still tingled.
Cyani activated her holo-map. The sensors she had placed glowed green. “Com, set perimeter sensors at five standard meters.”
“We could hide on a transport ship,” he suggested.
“And we’d end up on Krona. I’d rather take my chances here, thanks,” she huffed. “At least the Garulen are stupid. The Kronalen are scary.”
“We have to do something.” His exasperation seeped into his voice and his orange eyes.
“We’re going to rest,” she stated. “We’re going to save our strength. If it gets you off my back, we can figure out a plan tomorrow. The way I see it, there are only two ways off this rock. Either we fly out on one of the Union ships during the next raid, or we fly out on one of the Garulen’s.”
“So all we need to do is steal a Garulen ship,” Soren suggested as he settled down on the floor next to the wall. He rested his head on the cold stone without flinching.
Steal a Garulen ship, sure, one guarded by a whole battalion of troops. It would be easy.
3
SOREN GASPED AND CHOKED. HE COULD FEEL THE LIQUID PUSHING DOWN HIS throat. Hot metal burned his skin. His pores wept sticky sweat. His mind screamed over and over, trapped in his paralyzed body. He thrashed against the drugs and the blackness.
His head hit something hard.
Soren opened his eyes. He couldn’t see. The darkness surrounded him.
“Lakal!” he shouted into the black. “Lakal, where are you?” He sat up and twisted his body, searching for any sign of life.
He could move.
He tried to stand. His body felt heavy, weak. His head spun as he stumbled over something and slammed into a hard stone wall. Where were his chains?
“Lakal?”
Then he remembered. He remembered the hiss of the slave bands injecting Lakal with poison, the look on his friend’s face as Lakal realized the Garulen were killing him.
Soren collapsed to the floor and pulled his limbs in to his chest to try to soothe the ripping pain there. Lakal had fallen. Soren had cradled his friend’s head as life faded from Lakal’s bright copper eyes. “This is not the end,” his only friend whispered as his last breath left his body.
It was my fault.
Soren slammed his fist into the floor as he shivered against the cold stone.
The Garulen killed Lakal, and it was his fault.
In his dark misery, he could have sworn he felt the warm, calming influence of Lakal’s power.
“It’s not going to work this time,” Soren muttered to himself in the cold, empty room. Lakal had been tasked with keeping Soren on a mental leash. Soren would have hated him for it, except he knew it ripped Lakal’s soul out every time he had to take Soren’s free will. Extractions were terrible for both of them, what Soren had to physically endure and what Lakal had to suffer mentally because of it. That pain bonded them as brothers. After a while, Soren tried to protect Lakal by enduring extractions willingly, but in the end they both decided Lakal numbing him was best. Lakal would often try to use his power to comfort him. Soren never let him.
A high-pitched bark echoed against the chilling stone.
Soren started and turned toward the noise. Three bright blue lights scampered toward him, then a warm ball of fur crashed into his chest.
It took him a second to remember what had happened. “Vicca,” he called in relief as his waking mind caught up with the present. He was free. Her warm tongue bathed his cheeks as he tried to wrap the wriggling creature up in his arms and smother her in his gratitude. He was free. Lakal did not die for nothing.
“Soren!” Cyani called as their small shelter flooded with light. Soren had to close his eyes against the brightness, but quickly squinted so he could see her.
The watery light of the lamp caught in the dark tendrils of hair framing her face, making them glow with deep green life that reminded him of the gardens of his home. Her large blue eyes were wide with worry as she rushed toward him.
“Are you okay?” she asked, kneeling at his side. She had ripped off the sleeves of her clothing to bind a wound on her arm. He caught her hand and brought it closer to examine the strange markings on her forearms. He needed to touch her
to absorb the chemicals in her skin. Her touch eased his sickness and his grief. She tried to pull away, but he held fast.
Her skin was naturally tinged pale blue from elbow to wrist. A tattoo of a flowering vine danced around the edges of her unusual coloring. It was delicate, playful and feminine, a complete contradiction to his cold warrior. With a forceful tug, she pulled her wrist from his hand.
“You left me,” he mumbled. “I woke alone.” He didn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, but a small part of him stung from an irrational feeling of betrayal.
Cyani hesitated, then briefly touched the back of her hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m fine,” he dismissed, letting his head fall back on the cool wall.
“Soren, you have a fever.” She reached for her bag and pulled out a small machine. She brought it closer to him, and he slapped it out of her hand. It skidded over the floor and came to rest near a pile of stones.
Cyani’s expression darkened from concern to irritation as she scowled at him. “That’s a diagnostic tool. It won’t hurt you.”
“I’m not sick,” he countered as a wave of chills racked his body.
“You’re not?” she asked in a very patronizing tone.
“Asylal en eham.” He looked up at her, knowing the machine in her ear couldn’t translate his words. I am dying. It was as simple as that.
“Now is not the time to play games.” She crossed her arms.
He shrugged, refusing to speak. He wasn’t in the mood to spar with her. He knew she had to do things on her terms, but he didn’t feel like speaking to her. He slowly stroked Vicca’s head as he stared at the lichen clinging to the crack near the pipe. It had grown to be three times its original size. A tiny swell of pride eased the dark anger in his heart.
“Soren.” Cyani’s voice sounded soft, almost pleading, but in a reserved way. “Please tell me what’s wrong. I want to help.”
Soren sighed. It was the first time she had given him such a concession.
“I’m in withdrawals.” He couldn’t bring himself to admit anything more than that. A lingering doubt remained in his heart. If she knew there was no hope for him, would she abandon him? He couldn’t take the chance. Even if he was dying, he didn’t want to be alone.
