by S M Briscoe
Traug could understand the elimination of an unproductive link in the command chain, of course. That was just good business, but the elimination of so many of the wasteland refugees had left him with a sour taste in his mouth. He had not come away with anywhere near to what he would have considered reasonable compensation for the information he’d delivered to Durak. He dared not let his dissatisfaction with the outcome of the raid be known, however. In the High Commander’s current state, Traug knew that even his own life could easily be traded for a brief moment of primitive gratification. It was a near miracle that Durak had allowed any of the refugees to live at all, especially considering his mood at the time.
Durak had flown into such a rage after learning Orna had escaped his grasp, that Traug had thought it best to remain quiet and let the tantrum pass before divulging any more of the information he had of her next destination. At the time, the High Commander may have just ignored his words and had him vaporized for speaking at all. He continued to hold his tongue still because to reveal her whereabouts now would gain him nothing. Why give the information away when Durak was no longer offering anything for it?
So, for the past several hours they had simply waited in orbit around the small moon, detaining any off world bound vessels in a vain, and so far, fruitless attempt at capturing their elusive target. The true depth of her importance was still unknown to Traug, and that fact did not sit well with him. He did not like to be in the dark about anything, especially when he had a stake in the outcome.
The ship captain, Malik, Traug recalled, caught his attention as he passed by and approached Durak’s command seat, appearing surprisingly calm considering the High Commander’s mood. He came to an abrupt halt and saluted, Durak regarding him without removing his gaze from the view screen.
“What is it, Captain?” he grumbled.
“Sir,” Malik began. “One of our reconnaissance squads on the surface has located a crashed vessel matching that which the target was witnessed boarding during our raid on the wasteland outpost.” Durak turned from the viewscreen at that, his demeanor changing considerably. “What of the target? Does she live?”
“No remains were found, sir,” Malik answered. “It is reasonable to assume the target is still alive and on the surface.”
Traug silently cursed the bad turn of luck. If Durak was to capture Orna now, he would gain nothing at all for his trouble. He had been counting on her having escaped the moon’s surface, in which case, knowledge of her destination would become quite valuable. Right now, with Orna trapped on the surface, it was worth absolutely nothing.
Durak stood up from his command seat. “Prepare troop carriers. I want all available soldiers scouring every inch of that moon.”
“Yes, sir,” Malik replied.
His final chance slipping away, Traug spoke from his seat on the bridge. “If I may, High Commander?”
Durak and the captain both turned to face him.
“You could capture your target now,” he began slowly. “But then you would not learn of who her conspirators are.”
“Her conspirators are dead,” Durak replied. “And those who helped her escape our raid will soon join them.”
Traug stood up from his seat and took a careful step forward. “But what of the grander scheme, High Commander? The anarchists whom Orna was to be delivered to. Would it not be wise to let her lead you to them so that they may be extinguished at the source?”
Durak seemed to think about this for a moment before speaking. “And how would you have me do this? You suggest I allow her to escape? How then am I to track her to these anarchists when I know not where she is going?” Durak took a step closer to Traug, towering over him. “Is there some bit of vital information which you have withheld from me?”
The High Commander’s tone was threatening and Traug knew that this could very well be his undoing. He would have to choose his words carefully.
“Withheld . . .” Traug echoed, “. . . until there came a use for it.”
When Durak’s threatening demeanor did not change, for better or worse, Traug continued. “Until now, the information would have been of no use to you.”
“Why is that?” Durak asked.
“Because,” Traug began, “until now, Orna’s fate was unknown, and without her to lead you to the source, knowing their general whereabouts would be meaningless. Now that we know Orna is still alive, and still on this moon, she can be allowed to leave and rendezvous with her fellow conspirators . . . where you will be waiting.”
Traug knew that he was gambling with his own life now. All he could do was wait and watch while Durak stood silent for a long moment, most likely contemplating whether or not he should just dispose of him for holding the information back at all. There was much more that he still knew, of course. Even without Orna, he could lead Durak to the conspirators who were waiting to rendezvous with her, but divulging that now would be suicide. No, he had played his hand. Now all he could do was wait to see if Durak would buy into it or not.
Finally, the High Commander spoke. “I trust your information is accurate?”
“Extremely,” Traug answered.
Durak bent down so that his face was closer to Traug’s, or at least as close as it could be, considering their substantial differences in height. When he spoke, his baritone voice was low and threatening, reminding Traug of just how thin a line he was walking.
“So tell me, what do you know?”
Chapter 6
Elora peered out into the darkened landscape around the group’s makeshift campsite, trying in vain to see any signs of danger through all the blackness, their small fire providing little illumination. She glanced back over to where Jarred was crouched next to the fire, adding to it some broken branches he’d collected from the dried up vegetation surrounding the campsite.
They had come to a rockier area as it began to grow dark and the plant life, though sparse, provided them with something to burn for warmth. A good spot of luck, she thought to herself, or else they might have had to burn some of their own supplies. Jarred claimed to know where he was going, but who knew how long it would take to reach the spaceport, and the night here was freezing.
Jarred looked up from the fire and returned her gaze for a moment before making his way over to dig through a backpack next to where Ethan lay sleeping soundly beside her.
“Will those things come back?” she asked. “While we’re sleeping?” The thought of waking up to find a screeching radank coming for her was not a pleasant one.
Jarred shook his head negatively. “They only come out in the heat of the day. They sleep beneath the sand at night.”
Elora breathed a sigh of relief at that.
“But,” he continued, “they’re not the only things wandering around out here.”
She was suddenly less assured and saw Jarred grin at her reaction.
“Don’t worry,” he said, reassuringly. “I’ll be keeping watch.”
Elora just nodded, not totally convinced, and looked back out at the darkness around them, hearing the distant scuttling of some unseen desert creature, probably eating some smaller, poor defenseless creature, she imagined. How was she supposed to get any sleep out here, with who knows what crawling around in the night?
“Let’s have a look at that leg,” Jarred suggested, kneeling down in front of her.
She turned back to him, rubbing at the bandaged wound lightly and wincing a bit. “It’s not too bad,” she said, unsure of who she was trying to convince more.
“We’re better off to take care of it now,” he suggested. “It could turn septic out here before you know it. Then you won’t be walking anywhere.”
She kept her eyes on Jarred’s face as he peeled the makeshift bandage from around her leg, not wanting to look at it herself. He removed the field dressing and tossed it into the fire, turning back to examine the wound. His expression became concerned and he glanced up at her.
“What . . .” Elora began to ask what he was doing
, looking down at her leg, and immediately regretting having done so as she felt her stomach twist, a sudden wave of nausea overtaking her. She jerked her head away, trying to dispel the sudden urge to faint or throw up, whichever came first.
“Take off your clothes,” Jarred ordered.
“What?” she asked, her nausea being instantly replaced by something closer to shock.
“I need to be able to see your leg,” he explained. “Their stained in blood anyway. We’ll have to burn them.” He turned away and reached into his pack, removing a fresh tunic and pants .
Elora, a little awkwardly and painfully, began to remove her jumpsuit, covering herself up with only the cloak she had been warming herself with.
Jarred tossed the bloodied garment into the fire and set the new clothes down on the ground, looking back up at Elora. “Just sit still,” he said, reassuringly. Taking her leg in his hands, he gently moved the cloak from around her thigh so that the wounded area was exposed, Elora catching full site of the obviously infected wound again.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she commented, honestly.
“Don’t look at it,” Jarred suggested. “Focus on something else.”
Elora did so, almost immediately catching sight of the tattoo on the back of Jarred’s neck as he bent over her leg. Welcoming the distraction, she spoke, between waves of nausea. “What is that marking on your neck?”
He looked up to give her a quizzical look, reaching to touch the back of his neck. “What marking? I have a marking? What does it look like?”
“Very funny,” Elora allowed with a grin, though she didn’t feel much like smiling at the moment.
“It’s a birth mark,” Jarred answered, setting his focus back to what he was doing.
“A birth mark?” Elora echoed, doubtfully. “That must be the most intricate looking birth mark I’ve ever seen. I mean, I have one myself, not as impressive as yours, but if I stare real hard at it, it sometimes looks like a sand slug.” Pausing a moment, to be certain her sarcasm had come across, and seeing the smirk on Jarred’s face, she continued. “Are you sure someone didn’t give that to you?”
“Not that I remember.” Jarred sounded a bit amused by her questioning. “And it’s not ink or laser burn. I’ve just always had it.”
“Weird,” Elora commented, still feeling a bit light headed.
“Alright,” Jarred said, cutting the abject short. “I’m going to do something now and it might seem a little strange, but . . . you’re going to have to trust me.”
Before she could inquire further on what he meant he began to rub his hands very smoothly around the wound on her leg, Elora becoming much more uncomfortable and more than a bit embarrassed. Taking her thigh in one hand, he placed the other over the wound and, closing his eyes, let out a long steadying breath.
Elora watched him, not at all sure of what he was trying to do. She opened her mouth to speak, but stopped short when she felt the sensation of heat from where Jarred was touching her. Not so much heat, she knew, but a warmth of some kind, as if light itself was touching her, penetrating her body. She could feel the light flooding into her as she involuntarily closed her eyes, a sudden feeling of euphoria overwhelming her. Opening her eyes, she let out a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding and glanced down to see the look of concentration on Jarred’s face, his eyes closed tightly. Her own eyes widened a bit as she saw the faint aura of light resonating from beneath his hand, feeling little tendrils of energy dancing inside of her leg. The feeling wasn’t at all painful, on the contrary, it was quite invigorating . . . energizing. She could feel her heart beating strongly in her chest, but its rhythm felt somehow off, as though it had an echo. It felt almost as if she had two hearts. She looked into Jarred’s face, the realization slowly coming to her. It wasn’t the echo of her own heartbeat she felt. It was his heartbeat.
Slowly, the echoing began to fade as their heartbeats fell into sync with one another, taking on one rhythm. It was extraordinary. She had never felt anything like it before. It was so . . . intimate, and yet she didn’t feel the slightest bit awkward or uncomfortable. It felt . . . right somehow.
And then the feeling faded, the strange warmth leaving her as Jarred removed is hand from her leg. He let out another long breath, this one sounding far more labored than the first, his eyes remaining closed for a moment. She looked from him to her leg and was astonished to see no signs of it having ever been wounded at all. Rubbing a hand over the spot where the deep gash had been, she looked back up at Jarred, shaking her head in disbelief.
“How did you . . .” She didn’t finish the question, not knowing even quite how to ask it, but just continued to stare at him.
“Get some rest,” he suggested, sounding and looking fatigued. We’ll be moving on at first light.” He stood and walked off a short distance from the fire, sitting down with his back turned away from her.
Elora watched him go, struggling to understand exactly what had just happened. Reaching for the pair of pants beside her, she worked herself into them, and still watching Jarred, lied down next to where Ethan was soundly sleeping.
* * *
Jarred sat with his back to the fire, his head hanging a bit in his weakened state. Healing always left him feeling drained, less so when directed in on himself, but amplified when directed outwards.
Elora had reacted to the experience the way he’d expected her to. Well, not exactly as he’d expected. She was definitely shocked, but something had felt strange when he’d been in contact with her. Something different from what he remembered feeling in the past. Perhaps it only felt that way because it had been so long since he’d directed the ability outwards on anybody, but the contact had felt much more intimate than he recalled it having ever been before.
He had felt vulnerable and knew that Elora’s reaction was a result of having felt the same way. For a moment, a long moment, they had been completely exposed to one another. That thought didn’t sit well with him. He didn’t like feeling exposed, and he definitely didn’t like feeling vulnerable. Those feelings, and most others for that matter, were obstacles to his way of thinking, distracting one from what they were doing or where they were heading. They were a weakness he could not afford.
Jarred cast the lingering feelings aside, clearing the troublesome thoughts from his mind, and suddenly felt a curious pair of eyes on him. He didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“Is there something on your mind, Orna?” he asked, casually looking back over his shoulder at the small being.
She blinked her large eyes at him, a speculative look. “A unique ability,” she began, evenly, betraying no hint of the surprise that had been so obvious in Elora. “Even for a Hybrid, such as yourself.”
Jarred had been waiting for this, knowing that the subject would undoubtedly come up again. He didn’t intend to let it pass this time without pressing for her meaning. “That’s the second time you’ve called me that now. What is it supposed to mean?”
“You do not know?” she asked.
“Should I?”
“Our origins are of great significance to each of us,” she returned. “They are the beginnings of what defines us.”
“And I thought our actions defined us,” Jarred countered.
Orna paused a moment. “And what would your actions say about you?”
Jarred didn’t answer. He couldn’t deny that he had made mistakes in his life. He had his regrets. But he also wouldn’t apologize or punish himself for the life he had chosen. He was by all accounts, a mercenary, but he also had a code. One that kept him on the right side of the lines he had no interest in crossing. In an ever darkening universe, he did what he had to do to survive, but did so in a manner he felt kept him from sinking into the depths of that darkness himself. That was how he squared his actions with himself. He didn’t feel the need to do that with anyone else, including the small being scrutinizing him now.
“I’m beginning to have the feeling you know me, Orna,
” he said, instead, determined to take control of the conversation and steer it down a route of his choosing. “Have we met? I would think I’d remember you if we had.”
“Perhaps,” she replied, blinking her large eyes. “But a man with no past might not recall many things.”
Jarred was actually startled by the comment and he felt his eyes grow wide with surprise. “What did you say?”
Orna’s features remained unchanged and unreadable. She did not respond.
“What is it you think you know about my past?” he asked her, trying to soften the hard edge that was obvious in his voice.
“More than you, it would seem,” she answered. “Does that trouble you?”
“It’s concerning,” Jarred admitted. He was trying to remain composed in front of the strange being, but his mind was racing, furiously. Who was this being claiming to know who he was, and more importantly, seemed to know something of his past? He couldn't help but be intrigued, but he had to remain cautious. He had no idea who Orna was, nor what angle she was working. “I don’t know who would be at ease with anyone that claimed to know more about them than they did themselves.”
“Most beings know very little about themselves,” Orna offered. “It often takes another’s observations to aid them in discovering their own identities.”
“And you’ve been observing me?” he said, less question than statement. “What is it that you’ve seen?”
Orna did not respond immediately, appearing to be gauging him in some fashion, though he could not be sure, as her expression never seemed to change. “Perhaps that is a discussion to had at another time,” she said, finally. “When you are rested and prepared to listen.”
