by Tristan Vick
The first woman had a red stripe running down her right shoulder and breast while another had an elaborate starburst painted on her. The other four had similar geometric designs painted across their bodies. And although it was strange to be surrounded by naked, chanting women, Jegra didn’t feel the least bit disturbed by it. This place had a calming, almost serene atmosphere.
“Where are we? What happened to me?”
“What do you remember?” Sanakar asked in a soothing and sagely voice. She spoke like the Buddhist monks Jegra had met during a rejuvenation retreat she once took back on Earth. Always calm. Always mindful. And always pleasant.
“I remember fighting the red skinned assassin in the hangar. I remember watching her murder poor Ellia. I remember getting stabbed in the side. Then a searing pain so severe I blacked out.”
“You were poisoned by Ishtar Bantu, the emperor’s private assassin.”
“Ishtar Bantu,” Jegra repeated. It was the first time she’d heard the name of the woman in red. A name she burned into her memory.
Although Dakroth had been the one to pull the trigger, she was the willing tool. A sentient weapon that gleefully wreaked havoc and mayhem on others at the bidding of her cruel master. And who, Jegra suspected, enjoyed the sport of it as much as he did.
Jegra didn’t care which order she killed them in, but each of their days were numbered as certainly as both were going to have the unique pleasure of experiencing her fists reach through their chests and tear out their beating hearts.
Her head finally began to clear up and she blinked, looked down at herself, and noticed that she had on what seemed to be a claret two-piece bathing suit. Her stab wound was almost healed, all except for the thin pink line that demarcated a trace of a scar. Although, her hyper-active healing factor–a lucky side effect of the mysterious injection which had turned her into a super-woman–would soon erase even that.
The scar was already healing nicely as it quickly faded from sight, which clued her in that she’d been under for quite some time.
“How many weeks have I been asleep?”
“Nearly three weeks,” answered Sanakar.
“Why so long?” Jegra asked. “I tend to heal more quickly than that.”
“The Kreelak needle spider’s venom is usually lethal, as there is no known cure. But your unique hyper-immune system was your best bet to fight off the effects, if given adequate time to build enough antibodies to counteract the venom’s effects. As such, we immediately had your body chilled to near freezing so that the venom would slow to a crawl, but your immunities would develop exponentially because of your hyper-immune system.”
“Apparently, it worked.”
“You are blessed,” she said with a measured smile that was both wise and kind.
Jegra felt a raindrop, which was strange considering they were inside a large room. Then a gradual mist came down from the ceiling. As water drizzled down her face and body, she tasted what seemed like a saline solution. The slime on her body instantly dissolved and washed away in the runoff. Looking over at Sanakar, she saw the woman’s dress getting soaked. “You’re getting drenched,” Jegra said.
Sanakar stood up and helped Jegra to her feet.
“It’s all right,” she assured her. “Come with me, my child.”
It was weird, Jegra thought, to have someone roughly her same age call her child. But she knew it must be a religious thing. Either that or the universal translator was on the fritz again.
As they walked down the length of the room upon a red carpet that was laid out for ceremonial purposes, a series of rods rose from the ground, running the entire length of the chamber all the way to the large doors at the end.
Each rod, separated by about five feet, had a dozen tiny holes in it and as they passed by the rods, they shot warm air at them, gently drying them as they passed. By the time Jegra and Sanakar arrived at the doors they had been thoroughly dry-cleaned.
“Amazing,” Jegra said as she studied her arms for any signs of leftover goo. But she was completely ‘Spic and Span’.
When they got to the gigantic door at the end of the red carpet, the entrance parted in the middle and the doors pulled away to reveal towering windows looking out onto space. In the distance was another gigantic Nyctan battle cruiser flying in formation alongside them.
Dressed in red cloaks and waiting for them on either side of the entrance were two Nyctan priestesses who greeted them when they stepped out into the ship’s corridor. Extending their arms with garments draped over them, they held out a long, gossamer robe of red with golden floral embroidery patterns for Jegra and bowed reverently as they presented her with it.
Sanakar gestured to them to help her slip into it and as quickly and silently as their orders they dutifully attended her, wrapping her up as though in a ceremonial kimono and tying off the broad, silken sash. Jegra spun once, taking a moment to admire the lavish dress.
Sanakar motioned for Jegra to walk beside her and they strolled down a long corridor with tall glass windows. Outside was the debris of a catastrophic space battle, and the remains of Dakroth’s fleet glittered in the sky.
“What happened to Dakroth?” Jegra asked.
“Unfortunately, he managed to escape in a shuttle,” Sanakar answered.
Of course he did, Jegra thought. He always had an out. And he probably sacrificed his entire crew just to save his own neck. For although Dakroth was undeniably a great warrior, he was without honor.
“This ship is too big to be the Light Bringer,” Jegra observed.
“You’re aboard the Omikran,” Sanakar replied. “The Light Bringer is currently engaged with three Dagon battle-cruisers at the coordinates of the secret program, Project Zeta.”
Jegra stopped in her tracks and grabbed Sanakar’s arm. Sanakar glanced down at her hand, unaccustomed to being touched in such a casual manner, and then looked up at Jegra. “We have to call them back. Project Zeta is a ruse.”
“A ruse for what, exactly?” asked Sanakar.
“I’m not sure. But there’s nothing out here. Of that much I am certain.”
“If so, why would Dakroth devote so much of the fleet to protect absolutely nothing?”
“My best bet is he was baiting us into a trap.”
Sanakar raised an eyebrow as she mulled it over. But other than the slight pique in her curiosity, she remained unconvinced. “I’m sure Galahad has everything under control. Besides, once the doctors give you a clean bill of health, you will rejoin the Knights.”
They hooked a right at the end of the corridor and got into a mag-lift elevator. Sanakar tapped the control panel and the elevator began to descend at a rapid, unnervingly frictionless speed. Jegra didn’t even know how to explain the sensation of a magnetically guided elevator because it was entirely alien to her. In more ways than one.
“Wait,” Jegra said, realizing they were headed the wrong way. “If I recall correctly, my quarters are on the upper deck.”
“I’m not taking you to your quarters,” Sanakar replied.
“You’re not?” Jegra inquired, a puzzled expression stuck on her face.
“I’m taking you to see someone.”
The elevator jolted to a stop, bobbing up and down ever so briefly before finding its equilibrium, and the doors slid open. They exited and went down a long passage. In the middle there was a door with two guards standing outside. When they saw Sanakar, their sacred oracle, they bowed their heads reverently and let her and Jegra enter the room.
“The brig?” Jegra asked, as they entered a large hexagonal shaped room with six cells. Each cell had one facing wall of glass so guards could see the prisoner at all times, but all the cells were empty, except for one. When Jegra saw who it was she cried out in joy. “Cassera!”
Cassera slowly rose to her feet and staggered to the glass, holding her side. She had a bruise on her forehead, a split-open lip, and looked terribly battered. Jegra went over to her cell and placed her hand on the glass divide.
“What happened?”
“Apparently the Nyctans aren’t above torture,” she replied, shooting Sanakar a spiteful look.
Sanakar, in her perpetually sagely tone, informed them, “I shall leave you two alone.” She bowed her head and slowly drew away from them, allowing them their privacy.
Before leaving, Sanakar hit a panel on the wall and the door to Cassera’s glass cage slid open. With that, she excused herself from the room.
Once she was gone, Jegra rushed into the cell and embraced Cassera. But Cassera was so weak that she collapsed into Jegra’s arms. Slowly, they both sank to the floor and sat together.
“I thought I was going to wilt and die,” she said, breaking into sobs. “They never even asked me any questions.”
“Shhh,” Jegra consoled, hushing her and rocking her in her arms. “I won’t let anything else bad happen to you.”
Cassera placed her head on Jegra’s chest and sobbed quietly as a child would with a mother. It was the first time Jegra had ever seen Cassera emotionally broken down. Although she didn’t like to see her best friend in this condition, she knew that the only thing Cassera needed right now was a bit of love and warmth. And that, she could provide.
“Come, let’s get you mended,” Jegra said, hoisting Cassera up along with her. They went to the doors, which swished open, and headed out of the brig. As they limped out into the corridor, the two guards shared perplexed glances as they tried to figure out whether this was allowed.
“Ma’am,” the guard on the right said, clearing his throat. “I don’t think you have clearance for…”
Jegra shot him a sharp look that put him in his place. “It’s Sub Commander Alakandra, ensign,” she snapped. “Report me if you wish, but I’m taking this woman to my quarters. She’ll be confined there until further notice. Do I make myself clear?”
The two guards glanced at one another a second time and, not wanting to challenge Jegra on the matter, stepped aside and allowed them to pass freely.
After arriving at her quarters, she promptly secured her door behind them ensuring they’d have privacy. Then, heading over to her bed, she gently set Cassera down.
Cautiously peeling off her clothes from her battered and bruised form one delicate layer at a time, Jegra stripped Cassera bare. When she saw the amount of damage that had been done to her lover’s body she burst into tears.
“Jegra,” Cassera said, putting her arm on Jegra’s shoulder. “I’m alive. And here with you. That’s all that matters now.”
Jegra remembered when Estan gave her the medical scan and rushed to the corner of the room. Feeling along the wall, she fumbled for the release to the wall panel. She hit the buttons at random until the panel slid open; she took out the med-kit and hurried back to the bed.
Inside the kit were several ointments and a device that looked like a mix between a flashlight and a magic wand. Jegra turned it on. It emitted a soothing orange light which she ran across Cassera’s wounds. After several passes, the wounds began to shrink away as her healing was stimulated.
An hour crept by and Jegra had done everything she could. Although she was able to heal most of the cosmetic damage, she knew that Cassera’s insides must be bruised terribly. “Rest,” she said, laying Cassera onto her bed.
Jegra pulled her comforter up and tucked Cassera in and then lay down on the bed beside her. She stroked Cassera’s platinum hair until she drifted off to sleep.
The thought of Cassera’s abuse aroused an anger from deep within Jegra, and she wanted to get an explanation for this terrible act of cruelty. Rising out of bed, she paced the room trying to figure out the best way to go about it. That’s when she saw it; a light bulb went on in her head.
In the corner of her room, Jegra found her armor waiting for her. Even though it took her about three times as long to get into it without servants to help her, she managed to fully suit up. Twisting her arm bracer so it locked into place, the suit turned on and the servos and hydraulic assists came to life.
Jegra looked over at Cassera sleeping and then turned back toward her door. She wanted to march onto the Omikran’s bridge and grab whichever cruel bitch was standing there and choke them until they begged for mercy.
Of course, she knew that wouldn’t go over well, so she stopped in front of her door and let out a long sigh.
All anybody wanted to do in this godforsaken part of the galaxy, it seemed, was dominate one another. Although she had the strength to make them fear her, she knew that it would take a cool head and a fair bit of cunning to prevail.
Out of the blue her door chimed, bringing her back to the present. She had a visitor. Smacking the panel, she opened the door and Azra’il Nun drew back, startled by the unexpected sight of a fully armored Knight standing in the entrance.
“Sub Commander,” she said, her voice a bit shaken by the sudden surprise. “You look well.”
“As well as can be expected,” Jegra replied. Her voice was emotionless. Just cold and to the point.
Glancing over her shoulder at Cassera sleeping in Jegra’s bed, Azra’il Nun said, “I heard you released the prisoner into your custody.”
Jegra stepped to the side, interrupting her line of sight. Forcing Azra’il to look her in the eyes, Jegra said, “You’ve already used the stick, to no avail. It’s time we try the carrot.”
“As you wish,” she said with a coy smile.
Jegra took a step forward and forced Azra’il to step out of her way. The doors slid shut behind her and she glanced at the commander. “Brief me on what we know so far.”
Azra’il began to fill her in on everything that had happened as they headed to the bridge. “We have five cruisers and three frigates left after the battle. Emperor Dagon, however, is down to his last three ships, I’m pleased to inform. Our victory is imminent.”
“What of the Light Bringer?” Jegra asked, inquiring as to the status of her ship.
“Sir Galahad is hunting down the last of Dakroth’s fleet and investigating the celestial object’s last known whereabouts.”
“I know it’s not my position to question your orders, High Commander, but it’s my opinion that this creature poses a risk to us. I think we should regroup and investigate further.”
“Investigate further?” Azra’il chortled. “I thought you were a woman of action, Sub Commander.”
The bridge doors opened with a hiss and they stepped onto the bridge. All heads turned to them and bowed when they saw the high commander and sub commander enter.
“As you were,” Azra’il said, gesturing the crew to return to their duties with a wave of her hand.
In the middle of the room stood Anaïs Nin , her back to them.
“Your grace,” Azra’il Nun said, taking a knee before the administratrix. Jegra did the same.
Anaïs Nin turned to greet them. “Rise, my fierce and loyal warriors.” Anaïs Nin beckoned them to rise and they did. “I’m pleased to see you up and about, Jegra,” she said, smiling at Jegra.
Her black eyes were hard to read, Jegra felt, but she showed the proper etiquette and bowed respectfully. “It’s good to be back,” she answered, slowly rising again.
“I’m afraid your weasel of a husband tucked tale and fled, like the wretched dog he is. But no matter. After we destroy his beloved secret project, the Nyctan Empire will reign supreme.”
“That’s what I’m here to talk to you about,” Jegra said. “Although I’d never question your judgement, I do ask we tread with caution. There’s something not right here.”
“My dear, you just came out of a most terrible ordeal and I fear you’re not thinking as clearly as you would, given the proper amount of rest. All I ask is that you put your faith in me like you always have. In the meantime, I’m ordering you to take some leave. Not long, just a day or two, to better catch your bearings.”
Anaïs Nin took Jegra’s hand in hers and patted it. Jegra nodded, deferring to the administratrix’s superiority.
“Good,” Anaïs Nin said, the
corners of her mouth curling into a manipulative smile. “Now, go get some rest. I want you ready for deployment as soon as the Light Bringer returns.”
Jegra bowed and then stormed off the bridge. She was angry that nobody would listen to her. But, more than this, she had the strangest sensation, like a premonition, that Project Zeta was going to be something terrible.
26
“No! Get away from me!” Cassera shook herself awake and shot straight up in bed.
Sweat dappled her chest and trickled down her back as she trembled with the residue of fear left by the intensity of her nightmare. Her eyes watered with dread induced tears and her breathing was shallow from the anxiety laden distress of her rude awakening.
The nightmare played fresh in her mind. She was surrounded by black eyes and vicious smiling faces. Her Nyctan tormentors gleefully inflicted pain on her with electric batons with which they clubbed and shocked her repeatedly.
She pleaded for them to stop, but they yelled at her to be silent. Called her a “Dagon mongrel not worth spitting on.” They stripped her bare. Doused her in water. And repeated the cruel act of beating and electrocution until she was curled up in a ball on the floor begging them to stop.
But they didn’t stop. They continued to beat her until she blacked out. How long they continued to beat her after that, she didn’t know. She only remembered waking up in the brig, having been denied any medical treatment to mend her wounds. It was barbaric, even by Dagon standards.
The worst thing about it, however, was that it wasn’t a nightmare at all. It was a memory.
Jegra rolled over to find Cassera sitting up in bed, drenched in sweat, and panting for breath as her heart pounded frantically in her chest.
“It was just a bad dream,” Jegra consoled, sitting up alongside her and gently placing a warm hand on Cassera’s cool back. “That’s all.”
Cassera turned to Jegra, tears brimming, and threw her arms around her. Sobbing into Jegra’s neck, she whimpered, “What did they do to me?”
“I don’t know,” Jegra said. “But I promise you that I won’t let them hurt you anymore. Not while I have anything to say about it.”
