by C. C. Ekeke
As his entrance closed, the Cerc spun to see the boy dressed in black, star-patterned pajamas. “Sprout, why you still up?” Jeremy stepped into the lit foyer, revealing the tearstained cheeks.
Habraum rushed to his son’s side. “What’s wrong?”
“Bad dream,” the boy sniffed, rubbing his eyes.
“What happened?” Habraum knelt down and wiped the boy’s tears.
“It was about Mommy.” Jeremy’s eyes glistened with fresh tears. “She was in my room. I ran to her but she kept walking away. Then I got to her and didn’t remember her face.”
The words shouldn’t have knifed through Habraum so sharply. But seeing his son struggle with Jennica’s death while he cavorted around with someone new gave his guilt a bitter taste. For Jeremy’s sake, Habraum fought to appear rock-steady on the surface.
“Why can’t I remember her face, Daddy?” Jeremy’s voice grew more frantic, his tears flowing anew. “Why?”
“Come here.” Habraum enveloped Jeremy in a loving embrace, as if a hug alone could shield the boy from his grief. But by how Jeremy’s small frame shook in his arms, the Cerc knew it wasn’t so simple. So he repeatedly murmured a gentle phrase in his earthborn father’s native language, one that meant “everything will be okay.” It had always calmed him and his twin brother when they were Jeremy’s age.
As the sobs quieted, Habraum pulled back and took Jeremy by his little shoulders. “As long as we remember how much your mum loved us, she’ll always be here.” His voice caught as he placed a hand over his own heart. “You got me?”
Jeremy nodded and looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” His lower lip trembled.
“Of course,” Habraum replied hoarsely, as there was no need to ask. He gathered up Jeremy and his grief to ascend the stairs briskly.
After a while, the boy finally cried himself to sleep in the Cerc’s arms. Sitting in his darkened bedroom with Jeremy, Habraum’s mind was reliving that horrific day that had nearly destroyed his life.
Almost two years meant nothing. Habraum’s soul still ached for the amazing wife and the unborn daughter that were stolen from him.
He stared off at nothing as silent tears rolled down his cheeks. The gaping hole in his heart, ripped open again, reminded Habraum no amount of acceptance could fill that void.
With only a few orvs of slumber, Habraum led an exhausted Jeremy with his luggage to the hangar bay at dawn, before “Uncle” Rukk arrived. He watched Rukk’s shuttle disappear into Zeid’s emerald billows, a piece of his heart leaving with them.
The Cerc returned to his quarters and found her waiting inside, hair tousled from sleep. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed away his troubles and wrapped her arms around him. Her warm flesh felt so welcome, so incredibly good, that Habraum almost couldn’t bring himself to finally pull away.
Less than two orvs later he was with CT-1 on the command cruiser Phaeton, leaving for Faroor.
Chapter 15
Icy water slapped Taorr awake from a sound sleep. He flailed and sputtered upright in the dark. For a blissful instant, the Ttaunz didn’t know where he was. Then something hard rammed into his gut, dropping him to his knees. The pain reigniting in Taorr’s sore ribs was enough to jog his memory.
“Oh…right.” He pushed sopping hair from his face. Two sets of hands grabbed his arms and dragged him along again. Despite the terror worming through his chest, Taorr did not fight. Resistance only brought pain. If not for Qos’s dim moonlight above, Taorr would have missed the cluster of greyish tents sprinkled across the murky countryside. Still, it was too dark to guess where on Faroor they were.
Soon, they headed over to a smaller tent radiating a ghostly white glow from within. Taorr’s handlers halted just outside then tossed him inside. Taorr landed hard on his back. But as soon as he saw the tent’s other occupant, the Ttaunz scrambled to the furthest edge of the tent.
Ghuj’aega sat cross-legged in the tent’s center, floating a few feet above the ground. The angular, ivory tattoos all over his gaunt physique shimmered, the very source of this tent’s eerie glow. The leader of the Farooqua Ghebrekh took no notice of Taorr’s arrival. Eyes shut, Ghuj’aega appeared to be meditating. The tent looked more like a child’s than that of a wanted terrorist, cluttered with a bizarre collection of items. Some objects were clearly from other Farooqua tribes, while others were so alien Taorr couldn’t have begun to guess where in the Union or beyond they came from. Plus something smelled delectable, reminding Taorr that he had not eaten in over a day.
Then he saw the source of the smell and barely kept from drooling. On the ground in front of Ghuj’aega were a plate and a tall cup made from bluish terracotta. The cup held what looked like water. But with these Ghebrekh, Taorr could never be sure. On the plate were two steaming clover-tail fish steaks of a purple shade nestled in a heap of long-grain ginger rice, all covered in creamy kurokoos buttermilk sauce. On the side for dessert were two square-shaped goldberry-cinnamon shortcakes.
Taorr wanted to rip Ghuj’aega’s scrawny throat out. Physically torturing him was one thing, but taunting the famished heir with such delicacies… Taorr heard his stomach grumbling.
“Drink. Eat.”
Taorr did a double take. Ghuj’aega spoke to him—in Standard. After getting over his shock, Taorr glanced down again at the meal dubiously.
“Neither is poisoned.” Ghuj’aega opened his ethereally purple eyes, much to Taorr’s discomfort. “Drink. Eat.” Ghuj’aega’s tone no longer sounded inviting. The young Ttaunz began shoveling the food down with his bare hands, forgoing any highborn etiquette. The whole time Ghuj’aega floated and watched. The food was scrumptious. Within five macroms, Taorr’s plate was clean. He downed his water in three gulps, stuffed.
“Thank you,” he said unsurely. Ghuj’aega continued to stare silently.
Taorr shuddered, but saw his chance to discover one thing. “Where’s Zojje?”
“Alive,” was the Farooqua’s curt response.
Unsatisfied, Taorr stood up. “I want to see for myself.” No response.
“Did you hear me?” Taorr strode up to the Farooqua. “I demand to see Zojje—”
Ghuj’aega’s eyes narrowed into bright violet slits. “You demand?” His soft tone took a razor’s edge.
Taorr backed up a step, recalling the last time someone threatened the Ghebrekh. Sucking in a deep breath, he tried another approach. “Why are we here? Just kill me already.”
“You die when I say so.”
The conviction in Ghuj’aega’s words chilled Taorr more than the water he’d been splashed with. The Ghebrekh uncrossed his legs and stood. As he moved forward, Taorr found himself backpedaling. He did not care that he was a head taller and much heavier. Ghuj’aega stopped to spread out his arms. For one hideous instant, Taorr expected to be de-aged into an infant...
Ghuj’aega brought his hands together, never clasping them. The room rattled, accompanied by a low-pitched hum. Taorr looked around at a small sphere enveloping him in reddish radiance. Everything beyond this sphere appeared fuzzy and harsh to behold.
“Wha-What are yooOOOOOOOooOOO—” An invisible hand reached in, juddering Taorr’s insides far worse than the beatings. Even if Taorr wanted to scream, the pressure on his chest stole that option. Outside the sphere, Ghuj’aega’s tent warped and stretched, colors inverting into negative hues. Moments later, the disorientation passed. Taorr dropped to his hands and knees. Aside from a queasy stomach, he was himself again. The Ttaunz turned to Ghuj’aega.
The leader of the Ghebrekh was now crouched. The angular tattoos on his gaunt frame pulsated in concert with his deep breaths. He raised his head, and Taorr shuddered.
Ghuj’aega’s eyes glittered joyfully as he stood up. “I have never jumped this far before, but I did it!”
What is “it”? Taorr caught sight of what lay outside the sphere—a lavish ballroom all fuzzy through a reddish haze. Taorr strained to distinguish what he was looking at. Pil
lars and arched ceilings like the Neo-Ttaunzian architecture in Muunica and Thasque. Blurred figures moved about the hall chatting, but Taorr could hear nothing. His heart skipped a beat. Is this a city-state? After Ghuj’aega’s threats and torturing—was he home? Yet nobody noticed them or the big, glowing ball they were in.
“They can’t hear or see us.” Ghuj’aega gazed around in reverence. “We are a fraction out of sync.”
The smile on Ghuj’aega’s upturned mouth sapped away Taorr’s joy. This Farooqua would never exalt about returning to a Ttaunz city-state.
“Where are we?” Taorr asked, almost wishing he hadn’t. The Farooqua terrorist simply nodded toward some indistinct figures outside of the energy sphere. One walked close enough to identify, and Taorr jumped back in surprise.
Taorr saw an older male Farooqua, except he stood upright like a civilized being. His head was shaved like Ghuj’aega’s. He donned flowing and stately robes instead of mere loincloth. His bulging eyes twinkled with a worldliness Taorr had never seen in a Farooqua.
More came into view, young and old, male and female, all erect and appropriately garbed—all completely oblivious to him and Ghuj’aega.
“What is this?” A stunned Taorr did not remember getting to his own feet.
Ghuj’aega studied him with cold triumph. “My species’ past and future.”
What did that mean? Taorr almost asked, until Ghuj’aega clapped his glowing hands together again.
“Oh…kaluus,” Taorr swore, right as his whole world warped and twisted once again, along with his stomach. Then it ended abruptly. They were back in Ghuj’aega’s cluttered tent. Only this time, Taorr’s head kept swimming. He was vaguely aware of someone entering the tent, hand signing with Ghuj’aega. Taorr would have looked up to read the exchange, if not for having to keel over to clutch his roiling stomach.
After a few quick motions, Ghuj’aega switched to Standard. “The Narii and the N’noa have lent me their support.” A smug relish hugged those last two words.
His nausea increasing, Taorr reached out pleadingly. “Please, Ghuj’aega…it’s not too late for peace!”
A derisive snort greeted Taorr’s appeal. “Your bid for peace is over,” Ghuj’aega scoffed. “The Farooqua Tribal Nations are taking back our world through blood and fire. The Zenith Point decrees it.”
Ghuj’aega hauled Taorr up roughly by the chin. “Your race is a toxin, one that should not exist.” He gave Taorr a hard shove, and the Ttaunz’s mouth filled with a salty taste.
Abruptly Taorr doubled over and retched out his meal all over the soiled ground.
Taorr’s throat burned as he slumped onto his back. Had Ghuj’aega actually jumped into the past? As consciousness faded, the last thing he heard was Ghuj’aega’s mockery, “Always knew that Farooqua were made of sterner stuff than these Ttaunz.”
Chapter 16
Three days had passed since Kingston Reyes had fled Star Brigade’s ambush. His legs quivered with fatigue and his throat burned from thirst, every breath a torment. Even worse, he was on the last of his nouribar rations and his water extractor bottle was dead from purifying mucky sewage water.
And this deafening racket never stops, he seethed. Every orv, five giant bullet-like machines zoomed down the tunnel, scooping up sewage to convert into clean water for Conuropolis’s citizens. Sewage-processing mechanoids were an outdated purification method for Conuropolis’s more rundown regions, most likely Lakewood District. After days of the same bone-quaking racket, Kingston could barely hear himself think.
Four SPMs had already zoomed by, with one more left before the next orv.
Scratching at the mottled, prickly rash forming on his chest, Kingston knew for certain that prison awaited once he escaped Conuropolis’s sewers. But Kingston knew the rules. Once a CoE strike team was compromised, a communications blackout was put in place between surviving operatives and other CoE units if extraction became impossible.
With that in mind, Kingston thought of his powerful friends within the Children of Earth—friends who owed him favors. After finding an ancient yet operational comm hub in an abandoned part of the sewer system, Kingston started running through his contacts.
Their responses were less than encouraging, most of all from Europa Hanson, former protégé and long-time friend.
“Sorry, Reyes, but I can’t.” The comm station’s tiny viewscreen displayed a human female, dark skinned with stern features. “And I doubt anyone else answered differently.”
Kingston was annoyed. “I’m not asking for sanctuary.” Kingston coughed, choking on the heavy, putrid vapors rising from the sewage river next to him.
Europa frowned in confusion. “Then how do you think I can help?”
“Exfiltration from the Mynar Sector.” Kingston scratched again at the unbearable itching on his chest. “To Galatea or somewhere predominantly human—”
“Kingston…” Europa began, her façade cracking.
“After everything I’ve done for you? You can’t even offer me this?” Kingston realized how rude he sounded and calmed himself. “Please, ’Ro. Bend the rules just this once.”
“I’m under deep cover.” Europa shook her head, looking miserable. Kingston might have felt sorry for her if his life wasn’t at risk. “I shouldn’t even be speaking with you! I’m sorry, Kingston.”
“Europa—” Kingston pleaded desperately.
The transmission ended. He knew the rules, but never thought they would apply to him. “FUCK!” Kingston screamed and cocked a fist to bash in the blank viewscreen…
…until a chill seeped through his skin, into his bones. He winced at that familiar hissing, much closer now.
And hope plummeted. “Thought I lost that thing.” It had stalked him for days, a predatory shadow. Now, part of Kingston just wanted that beast to finish the job.
“No.” He shook his head, clinging to what remained of his crumbling resolve. “C-Can’t give…up!”
Kingston turned away from the hissing sound and sprinted through the dampened sewer tunnels. Only this time, exhaustion slowed him to a near-jog. This monster will catch you, no matter how fast you run.
Kingston tried to consider his next move, except just thinking felt…useless.
That was when the blur barreled at him from the corner of his eyes. Before Kingston could react, something quick and savage smashed into his abdomen. Suddenly, he found himself stunned and on his back. When Kingston looked up into the darkness, he barely choked back a scream.
Crouching over him was a horror that mockingly resembled a humanoid. The creature’s naked body was taut with wiry muscle, its membranous skin a sickly gray pallor. The fingers on both hands were curled back, revealing sharp claws made for shredding soft flesh. Its nose stuck out from its face like a straight protruding spike—no sloping depression at the bridge. The mouth was fixed into one thin line. Long, thick cords resembling hair framed a stretched, sallow face with a pair of snake-like red eyes.
Kingston, despite his fear, knew what this mockery of a humanoid was.
An osvowraith, a monster of nightmarish tales read to children across the galaxy. Except this monster was very real. Kingston and his cell had purchased this osvowraith in the galactic fringe beyond Union Space months ago. From that point on, his group had regularly tortured the beast and withheld sustenance to keep it controllable.
Now Kingston was at the osvowraith’s mercy, too weak to lift even a finger. He suffered now as this mongrel’s victims had suffered from its draining, psychic chill.
Its breath stunk of sickly decay, turning Kingston’s stomach. “Don’t worry,” it hissed with mocking, otherworldly menace. “This won’t be quick.”
The osvowraith’s opened mouth revealed top-to-bottom rows of fang-like teeth. The true horror came when its jaw separated down the middle. Several tapered tentacles slithered out, each illuminating the sewers with an eerie blue. The coils snaked slowly toward Kingston, taunting the helpless human. This was how osvowraiths fed,
latching onto a victim and draining their “bioelectricity.”
I’m done, Kingston realized…
…until he felt something smooth under his hand. His water-processor bottle.
A weapon, the notion lit up the corridors of Kingston’s disheartened psyche. The osvowraith’s coils were almost at his chest to drain him. Kingston swung the makeshift weapon with all his waning strength.
The bottle smashed into the osvowraith’s skull. The nightmarish beast staggered sideways.
At once Kingston felt like his insides reanimated. As he climbed to his feet, the dazed beast teetered perilously close to the sewage river’s edge. Kingston charged with a wild kick. The osvowraith went sailing over the edge—right as a towering blur rocketed by.
There was a sickening smack, immediately drowned out in the sloshing whir of the fifth SPM.
The SPM blew through the sewer and then vanished, along with any remains of the osvowraith.
“Perfect timing.” Kingston gaped at the calming swells of sewage water. Kissing the water processor in his hand with unabashed gratitude, now he had to find a way out of this sewer.
“One contact left,” he muttered, limping back to the comm hub. Kingston felt hopeful, though the itch on his chest was near maddening. “One who can’t refuse me.”
Chapter 17
Bright, blinding starlines streaked on forever around the Phaeton’s dark hull as the command cruiser hurtled through hyperspace. The destination, Faroor, was in the Union’s Vega Sector over a day’s journey away.
On Phaeton’s bridge, Liliana sat beside Marguliese and V’Korram, wearing an unbuttoned grey henley and navy-blue cargo pants. Facing them were Khal, Tyris, and Khrome, while Captain Nwosu stood before them all next to the bridge’s TriTran projector. Phaeton’s rounded bridge had ample space for at least three combat teams. Lily glanced over her casually dressed teammates, unnerved at not seeing Sam among them. She shook off those worries and faced her field commander.
