by Anna Carven
Mean? I raise an eyebrow. I can be cruel, and in true Kordolian fashion I can certainly hold a grudge, but… mean?
I sigh and shake my head. “Taug, wait a moment.”
The boarding ramp stops retracting. Zharek is running as fast as he can, which is slow by our standards. He is no warrior; that is obvious. His face has turned purple from the exertion. In his atmospheric suit, he appears somewhat… comical.
“Wait!” he yells again. There’s a desperate edge to his voice.
I gesture impatiently with my hand. Hurry up.
“I’m running as fast as I fucking can!” He’s wheezing. Finally, he reaches the ramp. “We’re not all perfect specimens like you, Akkadian.”
Perfect? That’s a strange word for an abomination.
“Let’s go,” I growl. I turn to Abbey, sliding my hands around her waist. I want to take her away from all of this right now.
Zharek scrambles into the airlock. The boarding ramp withdraws into the body of the ship with a hiss, and the airlock snaps closed.
“Glad you could make it.” My mate smiles at Zharek.
I glare at him. “If I have any reason to believe you had something to do with this little incursion, you are dead.”
Zharek spreads his hands wide. There’s a resigned look on his face. “Why the hell would I call down the dregs of the Empire on you, General Akkadian? That would be like throwing a betting party and inviting the death-god to join me in a game of winner-takes-all tekkruk.”
He seems genuine, but with Zharek, one can never tell. I glance at Torin. “Watch him.”
“Like a hawk.”
I raise my eyebrows questioningly. Torin shrugs. “It’s an Earth saying. They are superb creatures.”
“When we were on the homestead, Aunt Kenna told me that he likes to watch birds,” Abbey whispers. There’s a conspiratorial edge to her voice, as if she’s discussing something unexpectedly scandalous. “He’s particularly fond of the desert hawks.”
“Hm.” That does not entirely surprise me. Torin shrugs. Like me, he can hear everything.
“Boss.” Taug’s voice cuts through the absurdity. “I’m going to do a rapid exit. Might be best if you all strap in for this one. The stabilizers might not be able to keep up with the turbulence, and we’ll probably get some canopy-strike on the way out.”
I issue orders to my men and guide Abbey through to the secure seats in the passenger pod. Despite everything that has happened to her, she is taking it all in her stride and she is magnificently composed. As I stare at her serene face—the very image of the Goddess herself—my anger starts to melt away. The terrible, all-consuming rage that lurks in my heart; the mad desire for revenge—these things become secondary as I drink in her glorious presence.
I strap her in reverently, carefully pulling the safety restraints across her body as if I’m handling precious cargo. She is anything but fragile, but I enjoy treating her like the queen that she is.
“I will be back very, very soon,” I murmur. I give in a little to my burning desire and taste her lips. She tastes of sweetness and light. These are not normally things I enjoy, but when they come from her, they are sublime.
As Abbey responds hungrily to my kiss, a great booming crash shakes the cabin, overriding the stabilizers. I know this sound. It is the sound of a fighter dropping out of the sky. Nikori must have taken one of them down.
I rake my fingers through her hair, tipping her head back so that I’m staring into her eyes.
She returns my look with one of her own. Her eyes—as rich and warm as the planet Earth itself—are all-knowing, all-seeing, laden with desire, and utterly irresistible. My cock strains against my armor-plate, and it takes all of my self-control to restrain myself from tearing off her clothes right here and now. Her lips curve into a wicked smile. “I have seen your soul, General.”
“And yet you have not disowned me.”
“I want you more than ever.”
“Temptress,” I accuse. “Which devil have you done a deal with in order to gain this unholy power over me?”
“No devil could give me power over you.” She laughs. “I don’t think anything in the Universe can control you, Tarak of Kythia.”
I capture her mouth again, demanding her lips, her tongue, and her complete, undivided attention. She rewards me with a hungry, insistent kiss.
The floor shakes. I growl. With great reluctance, I break the kiss, gently disengaging from her. First things first. I have to get us safely out of this atmosphere and back to Silence, and then there is the small matter of these infernal rebels.
“I’ll be back.” As the Virdan X begins to rise, I caress her body with my eyes, giving her a long, lingering look. As if on cue, the medics and Zharek shuffle in and take their seats.
I lock eyes with Torin. Watch them.
He nods in understanding, standing between Abbey and the others. I don’t expect anything to happen, but after what we’ve just been through, I’m feeling viciously overprotective.
I do not want anybody else to touch her. If I had a choice, they would not even be permitted look at her. I shake my head. That is excessive. I must not allow myself to be overcome by these primal instincts. My mate is more than capable of looking after herself.
I walk through the narrow corridor, balancing on the balls of my feet as the ship lurches back and forth. As I pass an observation port, I catch sight of thick green vegetation being torn apart. We are breaking through the canopy.
As we leave the jungle behind, the stabilizers kick in and the cabin stops rocking. The Virdan X’s movement becomes seamless.
I reach the bridge. Taug is wearing a neural integrator similar to the one used by Zharek in the surgical bay. Most Kordolian pilots use such devices; the only exceptions I can think of are myself and Lodan. Apparently, integrators do not work well with our modified physiology.
“Taug.” I come to a halt beside the pilot and peer out of the viewing port. “Do you have contact?” We are rapidly ascending. Three stealth-cruisers streak past. One is the Serpen V, the other two are unmarked low-range skirmishers; the kind used for high-speed attacks, especially when quick atmospheric entry is needed. The Serpen V is in hot pursuit of the enemy craft.
“We exchanged words,” Taug says tersely as he banks the cruiser, heading for the stratosphere. One of the skirmishers breaks off and heads upwards, disappearing into the sky above. “Then Nikori shot one down.”
“Where did they come from?”
“No fucking idea, Sir… uh, excuse the cursing.” Taug clears his throat. “Could be the case that they were just assigned to patrol the spaceways around Xar and didn’t get the message that ain’t a good idea to antagonize their new masters.”
Somehow, I doubt this is the case.
Although the Imperial Fleet has been scattered, we are still dealing with pockets of resistance, both on Kythia and amongst the stars. The nobles have fled Kythia in great numbers, taking their vast wealth with them. They still command small factions of the Imperial Forces, but most of the military have either defected or deserted.
Most Kordolian soldiers know who wields real power in the military, and the sensible ones fear me.
Daegan and his warship the Ristval V—the only other alpha-class battle cruiser with enough firepower to match Silence—have disappeared. The Five Commanders of the Imperial Forces have sworn allegiance to me. I command the Fleet Station. The military forces that have been stationed on other planets—either to colonize or enslave—have been offered an ultimatum: relinquish control or face all-out war with the natives, who have been backed by me.
It is a long way from Earth to Kythia. A lot has been accomplished in that time, and I have done it all from the command center of Silence.
Now it is time to deal with this small, irritating pocket of resistance. If there are enemy stealth-cruisers on Xar, then there will be a mothership lurking somewhere in Xar’s orbit. “Initiate communication with the base ship.”
&nbs
p; Taug nods and scans the transmission fields. “Got it.” The holoscreen flickers to life, revealing a familiar face at the bridge.
“Councilor Sivian.” I tip my head in ironic greeting. The former head of the High Council stares at me with hatred in her yellow eyes.
“Tarak al Akkadian.” She dispenses with the formalities, addressing me directly by name. In our culture, this is highly disrespectful, but I am beyond caring about such things. “You have no idea what you have done. I never should have allowed the Council to approve your promotion.”
“And yet you did, because the Council’s blessing was merely a formality. Ilhan wanted me promoted, and what the Emperor wanted, he got.”
“And look where it’s gotten us now.” Her gaunt face twists into a mask of rage. “We will be back to claim our birthright, soori.” She uses the derogatory Kordolian word for commoner.
“You can try.” I bare my fangs.
“I will start by finishing what that fool Daegan was supposed to do.” Sivian’s smile is vicious and smug.
The problem with Kordolian nobles is that they’re too fucking arrogant for their own good.
“Incoming!” Taug barks. The Virdan X rocks to one side as a plasma blast hits us from behind. I shift my weight, remaining upright as Taug employs an evasive maneuver. The rear-vision shows an enemy skirmisher on our tail.
I signal with my fingers. Go high. To Silence.
My child is on Silence. Some might think me completely insane for drawing our attackers towards the battle cruiser, but I am not worried about Ami’s safety.
What I am about to do has a zero-probability chance of failure. That is the problem with nobles; they don’t understand the true capabilities of the warships they pretend to command.
Arrogant to a fault. It is a game to them.
I signal Taug again. Alert Silence. Incoming. Trajectory. Velocity. Co-ordinates.
Taug does all of this while evading another plasma blast.
“You should yield, Sivian.”
“Yield? When I have the advantage? You can’t bluff me like you did the others, General.”
Bluff? I don’t bluff.
A blue streak of plasma shoots past us, dispersing into the blackness beyond the exosphere. We’re gaining velocity and altitude; we’ve reached the nexus between Xar’s atmosphere and the vastness of space.
I would really, really like to hunt for this fucking base ship, but now is not the time. What is Sivian doing here, anyway?
The Councilor’s smile fades. “Why can’t you hit them?” She is speaking to someone in the background. There is a low exchange of voices. “Fire again!”
We evade another plasma-blast. Taug is certainly earning his credits. I will have to reward him for his efforts. Perhaps an extended rec-visit to Earth will suffice. Many of the Kordolian soldiers seem eager to get down to Earth so they can try their luck at luring a female.
As we punch through the exosphere, we gain speed. The skirmisher is following us like a vorchek sniffing along poison-baited trail.
“Why were you on Xar, Akkadian?” Sivian is looking nervous now. We are starting to outpace the skirmisher. I make a stalling motion with my hands, indicating that we should not gain too much distance yet. After all, we want them to follow us.
We will lead them into the jaws of the beast.
“I was looking for monsters,” I lie, grinning savagely. “It seems someone was trying to breed monsters again.” Why else would they have left a small staff of scientists behind? Why else would the stasis tanks be full of misshapen specimens?
Sivian’s gone quiet, but her expression tells me everything I need to know.
A quiet snort escapes Taug. The crew exchange wry looks. I resolve to shove one of my precious fission missiles right down the fucking throat of the Swallowing Pit as soon as we’re back on Silence.
Yol Kruta will not claim any more souls. I will not have it.
“We’re in range, boss.”
The color drains from Sivian’s face.
I signal to Taug. Fire.
He relays the command to Silence, and just like that, the enemy skirmisher disintegrates, blasted into nothingness by a thousand korrs of pure plasma-fire. The Virdan X rocks back and forth, buffeting against the residual shock-wave.
Silence’s perpetual energy ionizers are the most powerful in the Universe. Does Sivian understand what she is dealing with?
Perhaps she does. Her face has turned ashen.
“I told you to yield,” I shrug.
“Fucking soori bastard,” she snarls. “You have doomed our entire race.”
“Have I?” I decide to cut the comm on that note, leaving Sivian with a little piece of ambiguity.
Let her stew and ferment in her own rage for a while before we hunt her down. I close my eyes for a moment and let the rage and tension drain from my body. I will decide what to do with her later. Dealing with these idiots over and over again is becoming fucking tiresome.
Right now, I only want to be with my mate.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Abbey
Now I understand why Tarak slipped away to attend to some mysterious business. We’ve been veering this way and that as we leave Xar’s atmosphere. Now and then, the bright blue bolt of a destructive plasma blast streaks past the observation port. Someone’s trying to hit us.
I should be terrified. Ha. I’m not terrified. After everything that I’ve been through, this is nothing.
A small part of me wants to break down and shudder and howl and bawl my fucking eyes out until I’ve cried out all of the fear and tension, but I keep my emotions in check. I’m barely holding it together, but I force myself to dig deep and maintain my composure. I don’t want to greet Ami with red eyes and a tear-streaked face.
I take a deep breath and glance at my companions. Zharek is staring at me. He’s removed the helmet of his infection suit, and his long hair cascades over his shoulders. The piercings on his pointed ears glitter in the dim light, and the two raw black points at his temples indicate that his horns have recently been cut off. Ouch. That must have been painful.
He doesn’t look like a brilliant scientist at all. He reminds me of a rock star.
His hands are moving. He unseals a compartment on his suit and fishes something out of it. “Abbey, catch.”
A tiny black object flies towards me. Before I can pluck it from the air, Torin’s arm snakes out, and he catches it. He opens his hand and peers suspiciously at the object. “What is this?”
Damn it, my minder is a little bit overzealous with this guarding business.
“Datacube,” Zharek shrugs. “It’s obviously harmless. Just give it to her.”
Torin rolls the object between his thumb and forefinger, inspecting it carefully. “What’s in it?”
Zharek smiles enigmatically, but doesn’t say anything.
“Torin,” I sigh, holding out my hand. “Give it to me. It’s just data. It isn’t going to kill me or anything.”
Apparently satisfied with his examination, Torin shrugs and tosses the thing to me. “Information can’t kill you. Well, not directly, but…” A hint of emotion flickers across his face, but it’s quickly concealed.
The datacube lands in my hand. Zharek’s smile widens. “To answer your question… memories.”
“Memories?” If he’s saying what I think he’s saying, then this is fucking monumental. Hope sparks within me.
“Akkadian and I aren’t on good terms, so I’m giving it to you for safekeeping, because you’re sensible.”
“How can you store memories inside a—“
Zharek waves his hand dismissively, as if explaining a simple concept to a child. “Before I did the mind-wipe on your mate, I made a complete neural map of his memories and uploaded it to the Collective Intelligence in the deep labs. All of his memories are in there. He won’t be able to download them directly into his mind, but he can review the data and re-learn his past… if he chooses to.”
A th
ousand questions are burning the inside of my skull. Mind-wipe? Collective Intelligence? Neural mapping? Whoa. “Everyone keeps talking about this mind-wipe thing. What exactly did you do?”
Zharek’s talking to me, but his eyes are on Torin. The warrior returns his gaze, but his expression is unreadable. If this is all some great big surprise to him, he doesn’t show it.
“The Empire wanted them brainwashed,” Zharek explains. “Idiots. What they asked of me was impossible. They wanted them to be completely subservient and yet independent enough to be creative killers. They wanted them to be able to carry out difficult field missions by remote-control. Tch.” He shakes his head. “Impossible. I couldn’t do it, but I didn’t tell them that. What I did instead was a partial mind-wipe, temporarily inactivating certain neurons. Once the initial process wore off, their long-term memories were gone, but their core personalities remained. As time went on, certain characteristics began to re-emerge. You can’t erase personality. You just can’t. I explained all of this to Tarak after I did it. I thought he might use the knowledge to his advantage, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that he would go this far.”
“Do you regret it, then?”
“Not at all. Tarak did something that made it all worthwhile. He saved my clan-sister.” Hidden secrets swirl in the depths of his golden eyes.
I frown. Clan-sister? This might not end well, because Zyara has already found her mate back on Earth. “What is she to you, Zharek?”
“My clan-sister. My pupil. While my brothers were obsessing over preserving their lineage, I was secretly teaching her the art of healing. In our society, females aren’t supposed to learn the sciences, but I didn’t want her intelligence to go to waste. She is a far better medic—a better healer—than I will ever be.”
“So you and her weren’t…” I make a suggestive gesture with my hands.
Zharek seems a little horrified. “Kaiin’s Hells, no. I can’t turn on sexual attraction just like a tap. I don’t see her in that way. She was my student, but before that, she was the only one who showed any emotion when I tried to jump from the top of the clan tower. My clan-brothers just found it amusing, but she tried to talk me down, and eventually she succeeded.”
