Lycus managed to look humble and brave next to him, and David placed a hand on Gella’s knee to stop her leg from tapping the floor. To his surprise, she grabbed his hand and held it.
“My friend and second Secretary was injured during the fight, but her bravery means that justice will be served today.” Cleomen motioned towards Lycus, his face softening. “As a witness, she cannot preside. This responsibility falls on my shoulders. It’s a heavy one, but one I take on gladly.”
The clerk handed him the e-lib, and Cleomen pressed his thumb on the screen. “Defendants, state your name for the record,” he said and slumped back on his chair as Gella and David rose to their feet, followed by their attorney.
“Gella Mazel.”
“David Rivera.”
“How do you plead?”
“Not guilty,” their attorney said, barely hiding his frustration at his clients’ stubbornness.
Cleomen’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. “I see. Do you have anything to say before we move to the witnesses?”
“We’re innocent,” Gella blurted out. “Lycus—”
“if you can’t control your clients, I’ll have to remove them from the room,” Cleomen growled, rapping his fingers on the mahogany. David sat down, pulling Gella after him.
“It’s okay,” he whispered to her. “Let me handle this.”
“I fight my own fights,” she hissed, her dark eyes betraying her fury.
“Not this time. Please,” he added, and her face softened a little.
“Fine.” She crossed her arms and legs, leaning back into her chair.
“Madam Secretary, will you describe what happened in your own words?” Cleomen asked, motioning Lycus to stand before everyone. She did so reluctantly, as if burdened by the task.
“Like you, I’m shattered by the treachery shown by Miss Mazel,” she started, then turned to the onlookers. “I had the pleasure of serving alongside this woman. She was our best in everything, and a dear friend of mine. Many a time I had protected her from those jealous of her successes, and I will never understand why she attacked me like an animal, turning against her friend.”
Once again, David grabbed Gella’s knee. If her leg thumped the floorboard any harder, it would probably crash through.
“I had heard of the crime she had committed,” Lycus continued, then corrected herself. “I’m sorry, you may think I’m referring to Ephia.” A few jeers were heard behind them. “No, I mean the blasphemous theft of Themis’ candelabra. But like everyone else, I had no idea she had stolen not one, but two candelabras. Not only that, but she’d hidden one of them inside the most sacred of places: my very office! The office once owned by her own father.” Her eyes sparkled for a second. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that he had anything to do with this terrible sacrilege.”
Gella’s jaw tightened and loosened, as she ground her teeth. David squeezed her knee tighter.
“I’m sure there are a number of explanations as to how the stolen candelabra ended up hidden in my office. Why, Miss Mazel accused me of hiding it there myself!”
Her easy, charming laughter was picked up by everyone in the court. Even the surly clerk raised a hand to hide his chuckle.
“But this trial isn’t about her father and his part in all of this. Perhaps a future one will examine this, but for now we have to deal with the thorny question of how to handle two envoys. This is a Scorpion issue, many of you will say, and you have a point. But dare we upset our friends in Anthea? I know that many of you will ask me, ‘what has Anthea ever done for us?’ Unlike the Capital, a steadfast friend through thick and thin, Anthea has been a capricious friend at best.” She pushed her index finger at the crowd to stress her point, then relaxed. “This is not the time to think of the treacherous nature of our allies, though.” She swivelled on her seat to face Cleomen, opening her hands in plea. “And I beg you, Mister Secretary, to ignore the fact that a crime against Scorpio was committed in Scorpio by one of our own. Since Gella is here as Anthea’s envoy, I ask you to treat her with the leniency her envoy status deserves.”
“Let me worry about that,” Cleomen said, his voice warm with sympathy. A feeling not reflected in his stormy eyes. “Will you now describe the events for the court?”
“Gladly. I was just returning from the morning’s audiences, when I heard voices from within my office. I stepped inside—”
“Why didn’t you take your guards with you?” Cleomen interrupted her.
“I can handle myself in battle,” Lycus said with indignation, raising her arm as proof.
“Of course,” Cleomen smiled at her. “Please continue.”
“Imagine my surprise when I saw the defendants trying to get away with a golden candelabra. I immediately recognized the stolen item, of course, and tried to stop them, but she attacked me. Outnumbered and realising she was going to kill me, I called for the guards. Together, we stopped them from fleeing.”
“I’m sorry you had to relive this,” Cleomen said, motioning Lycus to sit back down. He shot a foreboding glance at Gella. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”
“Yes,” she said, jumping to her feet, but David followed her and faced her, squeezing her hand. “Please,” he whispered. “Let me.” Her hand quivered in rage, but after a long moment she sat down again.
“Mister Secretary, Madam Secretary, my friends.” The crowd expressed its displeasure with boos and hisses, until Cleomen raised his hand. “Thank you,” David continued. “They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. Therefore, I’d like to submit to this court a recording device I carry with me at all times. It’s best if you see for yourselves what really happened in that office.”
He ignored Lycus’ stunned look to fish out the crystal from his sleeve. Sound and images filled the open space. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call for the guards,” Lycus’ voice boomed in the room, as the recording sharpened into her image.
David turned and winked at Gella, then fixed his gaze at the Secretaries. “Our Secretary would make a convenient patsy,” Lycus’ voice said. Cleomen’s face hardened into a mask of fury, while the blood left Lycus’ face. As the recording played out, her wide eyes betrayed something David had never seen there before: terror.
When the recording reached its end, all eyes in the room were fixed on Lycus’ pale face. Her fingers dug into the table, her knuckles white. “It’s a trick,” she cried out and pointed a finger at David. “You can’t believe them!”
“Take her,” Cleomen growled. Two soldiers approached Lycus from behind. When they placed a heavy hand on each shoulder, she wrenched them angrily away and jumped to her feet, shaking visibly as she faced Cleomen.
“This is an outrage! I’m Scorpio’s Secretary,” she yelled at him, spittle landing on his face. He wiped his cheek, expressionless. Only the flame in his eyes betrayed his rage.
“Not anymore.” He turned his gaze away, not bothering to get up. David cried out in alarm as Lycus drew her short sword. Gella shot away from the desk, sending her chair to crash on the floor. Before the guards had a chance to react, she bolted over the table.
Lycus screamed and raised the short sword. Cleomen raised his hands in a futile attempt to stop her. Gella flew over the desk and landed on Lycus. The two women crashed onto the floor, the sword clanging away. With the base of her palm, Gella struck Lycus’ throat, sending her into a fit of coughing. Lycus writhed on the floor, clutching her throat and trying to breathe.
Cleomen raised his head to meet Gella’s gaze. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Thank you, Major.”
Gella nodded and returned to her seat, her face sporting the widest grin David had ever seen. She sat down again, panting. Without a warning, she grabbed him by the shirt and planted a full kiss on his lips. Then she turned her attention back to Cleomen, while David licked his lips, his heart pounding in his chest.
The guards had dragged Lycus away, and Cleomen cleared his throat and stood up, leaning on the desk. “I�
�m glad that we have a chance to clear the name of a dear friend’s daughter. But that’s unimportant, compared to the fact the we removed an unworthy commander from her post. Gella Mazel, you have our gratitude. Allow me to welcome you back to Scorpio with the rank of Major, effective immediately.”
“Does this mean you’ll stay here?” David whispered, alarmed. Gella’s face beamed, but she made no comment.
“David Rivera, thank you for your help in this matter. The city of Scorpio is grateful to you, as well.” David feigned a smile, but his mind was racing. Or was that his heart?
All his years with the Voice, he had felt no need for anyone else in his life. The Voice had been his steady companion, someone who filled his heart. She knew him better than any human ever could, and accepted him completely. Her only need was to be with him, to share his body.
After losing her – and he could only think of the Voice as her, even as he knew it was Lucas – he had felt lonelier than ever before. To lose something so precious almost made him wish he had never had it in the first place, the sorrow greater for the bliss that preceded it. He had often wished he had never met the Voice, regretting the thought almost as soon as it came to him.
For the first time ever, Gella’s kiss had changed that, making him think someone might fill the void in his heart. He reached for her hand, his heart skipping a beat when she did not push him away. She was staring at Cleomen, her eyes bright with excitement. She had never looked prettier in his eyes than at that moment, and he drank her image with parched eyes, noticing every tiny detail about her. Her strong, yet elegant features. Her short, dark hair, an errant strand kissing her cheek. Her tanned skin, bronzed under the strong August sun and glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. His eyes moved down to her slender hips and long legs. Will she stay here? His heart fluttered with a sudden longing to caress her body; to hold her and keep her with him. When she caught him staring at her he blushed and snapped his gaze away, towards the crowd.
Their animated chatter almost covered Cleomen’s words. The Secretary waited, staring the people down until the murmurs died out. “As for your petition for soldiers to stand with Anthea, our customs are clear on this,” he continued. “Such a decision can only be made when both moons are full.”
David’s heart sank. That would not happen for the better part of a year. Essentially, the wily Scorpion was holding back, waiting to see who won the battle. Scorpio would not be committed either way. If Anthea survived Altman’s wrath, it would be on its own.
“You are free to go,” Scorpio’s Secretary concluded and banged an ancient-looking wooden gavel to indicate the eventful trial’s end.
“I think we should celebrate,” Gella whispered in David’s ear, sending shivers to dance up and down on his spine. All thoughts of Anthea flew from his mind as their guards parted to allow them to leave the courtroom.
“Where to?” David asked.
Instead of an answer, Gella took him by the hand to lead him to their room. She slammed the door behind her. With a hungry look in her eyes, she pushed him onto the bed.
“Wait,” he said. His throat felt scratchy. “There’s something you should know.” She shot him an inquisitive gaze. Her hands paused on his belt. “I’m… This is…” She cocked her head, her brow furrowing. “This is my first time,” he stammered.
“I’ll be gentle,” she promised with a giggle. She tore off his clothes as her mouth melted into his.
City of Oras
Pratin
Assimilating an avatar’s experiences took years and offered a rare opportunity for introspection. New memories were added to previous ones, like fresh snow piling on a glacier. Pratin, however, had skipped the procedure. He knew he had little time to waste, and had only transferred to the new avatar the information he needed to continue on his current path.
He grunted his gratitude as a clone plonked a protein-rich dish on the table before him. Although Pratin had already gone through the process a hundred times before, he always found himself craving a nice, warm piece of coral upon rebirth. A coral that no longer exists on the planet. He huffed with dismay and pushed the dish away.
He raised himself on uncertain legs. The assistant rushed to his side to prop him, but Pratin waved him away, shooting him an annoyed glance. The clone hesitated for a moment, then cocked his head and observed Pratin, who leaned on the table, getting used to the new body shrouding his ancient soul. He sniffed his shoulder and grimaced. The soft, grey cloth draped over his body could not hide the new body smell that made some of his fellow Oras eager for death. However, bodies mattered little. They were fleeting, untrustworthy things.
He stomped one foot to the ground, then the other, enjoying the shock’s travel through his muscular legs and up his spine. It was a good body, a strong one, and he grudgingly nodded his appreciation to the assistant. A hesitant smile played on the clone’s lips. His eyes trailed Pratin as he stomped his way to the door.
“Welcome back,” the assistant murmured, then started to clean the mess out of the cloning pod.
Pratin ignored the comment. One hundred rebirths. Almost a thousand years each life. That’s too many lifetimes. He shook long, grey hair out of his eyes, wishing he had thought to ask the clone for a clasp instead of having to braid it. Stupid hair. What is it for, anyway?
Rebirths always made him sentimental, made him long for his old form. The real one. Abruptly changing his mind, he headed away from his chambers and towards the illusion room. He wondered if Oran would be there, perhaps meditating, or training, then remembered that Oran was no longer in the city. He heard no voices as he walked through the long, round corridors. With no one but clones left around, the once busy halls now lay empty. He was finally safe. Unless the clones are already plotting against you, a soft whisper in his head warned him. What servant has not risen against their master?
He recognized the thought as Whisper-driven and grunted his irritation. He had no fear of them, of the whispers in the dark. Wretched, furious echoes of a planet long gone. But they were just as bad as the Orbs, always trying to turn people into their puppets. Was he doing their bidding? Was he under their spell, as pitiful a man as those Newcomers?
He pushed the thought away and paused to examine the soft light emanating from the wall, in an attempt to silence an unexpected pang of guilt and fear. Underground life suited him just fine, and he appreciated this small reminder of the way his species burrowed inside the old planet’s body. Whatever else they had stolen away from them, the Tul-nukas, the Newcomers, had at least stayed on the planet’s surface. The underground belonged to the Oras.
He moved faster now, urged on by a surprising ache in his heart. Thankfully, no one was in sight as he entered the cavernous illusion room. The familiar smell of mould and dampness hit his nostrils, and he drew a sharp breath, exhaling his pleasure with a deep sigh. His feet raised fine dust, his steps echoing in the room as he approached its centre. Once there, he waited for a moment, while the intricate mechanisms hewn into the rough stone of the walls performed their miracle. Reading his mind, his innermost wishes, thought became reality and a cowering shape shimmered into existence before him.
The thin line that was his mouth curled with pleasure at the sight of a hulking, growling beast, covered in a crustacean shell. Our original form. We were so beautiful then. So strong. He glanced with dismay at his hands, the soft skin so different to the hard claws of the beast before him. Dozens of similar creatures, smaller in size, played on a sandy beach at their feet. Their shells were soft and lighter in colour, almost translucent. His nostrils flared at the familiar, pleasant smell of sea that filled the air. Four sets of great claws reached for him. He raised his hand to place his fingers around one of them.
“My love,” he murmured, caressing the rough skin. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. How much I need your strength.”
Women were the strong ones. They produced thousands of eggs, but a male could only fertilize one at a time. Therefor
e, males were too precious to lose in battle. It was women who fought in the first line, only simple skirmishes entrusted to men. Women were bigger, faster, stronger. He needed that strength now. Had to think like a woman.
His wife studied him for a moment, then took a step towards him on thick, armoured legs. The ground thudded under her weight as she cocked her head, making the writhing tentacles that covered her neck sway. Four insectoid eyes stared at him, and he stared back, losing himself in intimate memories of a past long gone. Before the arrival of the humans, whose sickening form they had had to adopt in order to survive. The monsters that had stolen everything from them. His fists clenched at the memory of the human who embodied evil in his mind, wishing he could snap her neck like she deserved. To punish her for turning him into what he was today. The Archon’s own daughter, the real monster on Pearseus.
You must not think like that, Oran would say. The old man had taken him in, a broken shell of a man, shattered by decades of senseless fighting. Like his wife, Pratin had been a soldier all his life. They had fought side-by-side endless battles. But women were the strong ones, the ones born for battle. In the end, he had fought one war too many and his mind had crumbled under the death and destruction he had witnessed. All for nothing. Had we stood together…
He howled in impotent rage, and the children raised their heads in alarm. He pointed a finger at the youngest one. “You’re dead. You died when the continents sank.” His finger moved to the next one. “So did you, and you and you.” He let out a sob as he faced the oldest one. “You, when your mother was away fighting, even before the humans arrived.” He raised a fist to his mouth, trying to control the pain that flooded him. “We were unable to save you. Any of you.” He turned his thumb at his chest. “I couldn’t even save me.” Then he remembered Stripet, the boy he had raised like his own. “I was even unable to save him.” There was little doubt in his mind that Stripet had perished at Malekshei. Nothing could have survived the carnage. He dropped on his knees and his wife followed him, kneeling down beside him, holding him while he bawled like a child. She had always been the strong one.
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