Fire & Soul

by Siobhan Crosslin

  I gasp and throw my head back. "I was—ah—projecting at Mikscn."

  His laugh sounds startled out of him, coming from his belly. I sigh and let my body go loose, tensing and relaxing over and over as he pushes deeper and rubs.

  "Are you ready?"

  "Yes," I grind out, trying to even out my breathing.

  He urges me to roll onto my side, pressing my chest almost flat and urging my leg up. He breaches me slowly, his hand on my hip preventing me from shoving back to take him in faster. I try to muffle my low groan at the stretch and slight burn, but he tugs on my hair and pulls my head back so I can't hide. I realize abruptly why he wanted me like this—I can't get any leverage to control the pace. And with that, I finally relax, my muscles trembling as I let go and stop trying to control the situation.

  It takes forever for him to fill me completely, but once he's fully seated, he immediately rolls his hips, and I bite down on my lip at the sensation.

  "Good?" he grunts as he thrusts in hard, and the only answer I can muster is a broken whine. It hurts but feels good at the same time, like he's trying to overwhelm me with sensation, and all I can do is take it until he works a hand over my cock, his grip a little too loose and slick, but perfect as I tense and come. I tighten around him, under him, and he groans as he curls over me, his teeth digging into my shoulder.

  We lay gasping together, sweat-slicked and panting. Mikscn sends encouragement and a sense of immediacy my way, and I open my mouth to tell Jye that Mikscn's headed back, but never quite get there.

  *~*~*

  I wake up to a light touch running up and down my side. I turn into Jye's hand, enjoying his warmth and the solidness of Mikscn curled against my front. They're murmuring to each other, too low for me to understand. I stretch and bury my hand in Mikscn's hair, scratching lightly.

  "How do you feel?" Jye asks.

  "Good," I rumble, grinning when Mikscn tugs at my hair. "How long was I out?"

  "Couple hours," Mikscn says. "You didn't miss much."

  I frown. "I need to apologize to Emery."

  Mikscn shakes his head. "No need. He said he won't accept an apology anyway."

  "But—"

  "It's my fault," Jye says. He sits up and I roll so I can see him. "I asked you to trust me, but I didn't take care of you the way I should've. I knew you were stressed, but I thought it could wait. I should never have let things sit for so long."

  "It's not a blame thing," Mikscn says. "We're … still figuring things out." He tries to hide a grin, but I know it's there anyway, and the way Jye's looking at us, I get the feeling he knows, too.

  "After this is over," he says, leaning over and petting his hand over our faces, "I'm taking time for just the three of us, and I'm going to learn everything I possibly can about you two."

  I smile, Mikscn laughs, and Jye descends on us with kisses, nimble fingers and soothing warmth.

  *~*~*

  The planet is a riot of green and blue, vast white clouds stretching out over wide landmasses. Dark forests cover large expanses of the continents, and a ring of islands splays off a long coast.

  "It's beautiful," I say, and Mikscn murmurs his assent.

  "Sir, the Dayster is hailing us," Jack says.

  "Put them up," Bastien says. "And hail the Novasky."

  A man appears on the screen, with black hair and green eyes. "Hey," he says. "Thought you'd like to know Cherian made it to us okay."

  "Thank you, Dabhan," Bastien says. "Did he—"

  "Go through with his insane plan to kidnap his commanding officer?" Dabhan laughs. "Yeah, mission accomplished. The Vrah'di military's right on our ass; apparently the guy's kind of important. We'll lead the descent."

  "Roger that." Dabhan disappears and is replaced by—

  "You're Talfryn Om'she," I say, gaping.

  "Holy shit," Mikscn says.

  "My name is Bryn," the captain snarls. "Talfryn's my bullshit formal name." The screen zooms out to show the entire bridge of the Novasky, and right next to Bryn is—

  "Gresham Om'she," I say. "Brother of Sé Om'she, Royal Concubine to Liam—"

  "Om'she, yeah," Bryn snaps.

  "—King of the Dae'mchnach." I can't believe it.

  "You're royalty," Mikscn says.

  "Related to royalty!"

  "Why are you pirates?" Mikscn demands.

  "Because I thought it'd be fun and we weren't royalty at the time," Bryn snarls. "Can we get the fuck back on topic, dammit?"

  "I prefer Graham," Gresham says, his tone gently chastising. "As Bryn says, those are the formal names given to us when my brother became Liam's concubine. Within the Cabal, we're just Bryn and Graham." His hand is resting on the back of Bryn's chair. The rumors about them must be true, then, that the Royal Brother is the only person who can calm his hotheaded husband.

  "This is what you get," Bastien says, chuckling. The entire crew is snickering, actually, and I realize that—duh, of course—this is common knowledge.

  "Give me back my ship!" Bryn roars. Graham has his head in his hands.

  "It's been six years, too late!" Bastien crows.

  "Sir!" Jack yells. "Two ships just appeared on our radar, and they have Brudeah tags."

  "Shit." People start scrambling on both crews. "Land 'em!" Bryn yells. "The compound's underground, they'll have to come and get us."

  "Aye, Captain!"

  "Get geared up," Bastien says. "You're gonna have to hit the floor running."

  It seems like it only takes us seconds to get kitted out and we wait at the docking hatch as the ship shakes and rocks with Fehr and his three gunners. We land with a thump and Fehr leads us out almost before she's settled. I barely have time to take in the vast, dilapidated hangar, rusted and full of holes, before we meet the crew from the Novasky—

  "Cherian!"

  Mikscn and I collide with our brother and Jye herds us behind the group towards a crumbling freight elevator. I'm torn between Cherian, who's talking a thousand miles an hour and won't let go of my arm, and the deathtrap we're being stuffed into.

  The roar of a landing ship fills the air before the doors slide shut and we drop way too fucking fast.

  "What about the ships?" Jye asks.

  "Shields will be up 100%," Fehr says. "They can't risk firing on the ships without bringing the whole cave down on us."

  I tune them out for a few seconds and grab Cherian's face. "You look just like us," I breathe. Black hair, green eyes, and the smile I see reflected on my brother's face every day.

  "I told you guys not to worry," he says, his eyes bright. "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you—"

  "It's fine," I say, shaking my head. "We understand."

  "You never told me you have brothers," one of the people I don't recognize says, and Cherian turns with a glare.

  "It's personal information, Rowan," he says, and my eyebrows inch up at the sheer amount of bitterness there.

  "Focus, people," Fehr says, and Cherian straightens. "When we get there, Temsha, you and Mikscn will lead. I'll take point after that with Jedn, and Tristen and Magnus will bring up the rear. I want the rest of you spread out and keep eyes on the prisoner." Rowan snorts.

  "The compound will scan you and deactivate the security measures," Fehr continues, ignoring Rowan. "After that, we'll make our way to the database core. The Vrah'di military should be in the atmosphere right now."

  "And if the Brudeah make it down before the Vrah'di?" Mikscn asks.

  Fehr looks meaningfully down at the weapon in his hands. "We'll take care of it."

  The elevator slows, then stops, and the doors open. It's a shock walking into pristine white halls from the decay above. Mikscn and I walk into the hallway cautiously. Sudden fear seizes me. What if they were wrong, and we're not the people they need and our entire race is doomed?

  But there's a low whirring sound that seems to come from the walls, and then a rapid series of beeps and clicks. The rest of the group edges after us, and Mikscn and I approach the plain d
oor at the end of the hall slowly.

  "Good morning, Doctor En'sara." We all jump at the pleasant female voice. "You are cleared for an unspecified number of visitors. Please proceed into the sanctum."

  "You two stay as guards," Fehr says to two of the men from the Novasky, and they nod curtly.

  The door slides open when we get close and we walk into the next room with bated breath. It's a huge room, long and wide with a vaulted ceiling. It's shiny and white, all angles and sterility. There are tables everywhere, boards with writing scribbled on them, memos taped on every surface possible. It looks like the people who worked here have only left for a minute. The air isn't even stale.

  "Bizarre, isn't it?" Instantly, the crew behind us has guns up and aimed at the man standing in front of us. He just smiles pleasantly.

  "It's a hologram," I say.

  He laughs. "Not just a hologram."

  "An AI," Mikscn says, and he—it—he laughs again.

  "Close. Although I'm not surprised that descendants of mine are very bright." He beckons us closer and we all shuffle forward. "I am the consciousness of Doctor Vance En'sara."

  "You're real," I murmur, and he nods.

  "We thought it would be easier for you—whomever you ended up being—if there was someone here to walk you through things." He sighs. "We didn't think it would take so long to get to this point. We didn't think the Brudeah would destroy us so completely."

  "How long has it been?" Jye asks.

  The man—Vance—looks down at his clasped hands for a second before lifting his chin. "Just over one thousand years."

  I feel like I've been punched in the gut. Someone behind us curses. I knew it'd been a long time, knew it had to've been a long time, but a millennium?

  "Our people are called the D'shnk'dta," Vance says. "We've shared our planet, Illisneya, with the Brudeah for as long as we can remember. But where they focused their efforts on warring with one another, we focused our efforts on utilizing the telepathic abilities most of our race are born with." He pauses. "My scans indicate that you two have an advanced degree of ability."

  "Only with each other," Mikscn says.

  Vance frowns. "Not with your third?"

  We glance at Jye. "That's … not something any of us knows how to do," Jye says.

  Vance looks disappointed. "Very well."

  "What happened to us?" one of Bryn's gunners asks.

  "The Brudeah," Vance says simply. "They unified under one banner and came for us. We had no way to repel them. We realized they were going to overwhelm us and retreated here. We gathered everything we could on their conquest, population statistics, pictures of their forces mobilizing, everything. We meant it to be a rallying point for the stragglers, but when the Brudeah joined the Alliance, we realized this could be our saving grace."

  "Enslavement of a sovereign race is illegal," Fehr says, and Vance nods.

  "Exactly."

  "Who is 'we'?" I ask.

  Vance looks shifty. "The remaining people who were our contacts with the outside world before they were either captured or killed, and myself and the other Director of the Project. He is wary of people."

  I want to press, but don't. "So?"

  "So the Project—Project Áed—truly came to be. It means fire, and we meant to burn away the Brudeah's hold on us."

  Sharp laughter fills the air and I flinch despite myself. Jheghda, his personal guard, and Njande come striding into the room, dragging the guards Fehr set.

  "You will never be free of us," Jheghda says. Gone are his silk robes and glistening jewelry, replaced by practical clothes and a long knife, his long hair bound in a braid. Njande immediately separates from the group to walk along the outer edge of the room. Magnus keeps a gun on him, but Njande just grins as the other assassins shove our men at us.

  "We're going to prove we're a sovereign race," I say. "You can't stop us."

  Jheghda scoffs. "We will raze this building before the Vrah'di get here. And you're in our way." One of his men raises a gun, and beside me, Fehr and Jedn lift theirs. I tense, unsure of which way to turn, and the guns click, loud in the still air.

  "The fuck—"

  "All weapons are automatically disabled upon entering the sanctum," Vance says. The silence is deafening for a heartbeat before everyone throws their guns and charges. I yank my spare knife out of its sheath just in time to catch Njande's sword as it comes down above me.

  I grunt with the effort of pushing him away and he laughs as he darts back in. The strike I block rattles up my arm and I grit my teeth, twisting to avoid the kick Njande aims at my knee. I've been sparring with Njande for years, but it was never like this.

  I trip over a body when I back pedal to try and get some room between us and have to scramble out of Fehr's way when he lunges at another of Jheghda's men. I crash into a table and scramble up and over it when Njande's sword comes slashing down. The clash of metal against metal is lost under the sounds of battle and I roll back under the table and lunge at his knees, tackling him to the ground.

  He tries to sit up as I fumble with my knife, but we both slip in the blood coating the floor. He brings his knee up at my chin and my head snaps back, blood immediately filling my mouth. His sword flashes in the light and I shove wildly at his leg and wrap my free hand around his throat.

  "No!"

  "Line up, 14C-6."

  My brothers and I fall into line behind the Overseer. There are men in the room, seated and chatting between themselves. The Overseer walks past us and we keep our heads respectfully lowered, our hands clasped together in front of us.

  "These are the males from the 14C line," the Overseer says. "14C-6-1 through 7 are our sixth crop mean to better suit needs similar to yours."

  "There are eight men here," one of the men says, his voice soft.

  "6-8 here is a natural mutation. Normally, we sterilize mutations falling outside a certain tolerance of the genetic code, but every so often comes a mutation the geneticists want to cultivate."

  "What's the mutation?"

  I glance up even though I know I shouldn't, at the man with the honey-sweet voice, and catch his eyes.

  "Oh," the man says. "Come here." His tone brooks no argument and I'm moving forward before I can tell myself to stop. There's a glass of dark wine in his hand, and his long black hair is bound in a braid over his shoulder. His eyes are completely, unrelentingly black. I've never seen eyes like that.

  I drop to my knees in front of the man, close enough to touch. "What's your name?"

  "We don't have names," I murmur.

  "How old are you?"

  "Seven standard years."

  "This is a particularly fast-maturing line," the Overseer murmurs. "We expect a rapid turnaround with little cost to emotional stability and learning rate."

  "You're trained," the man says after a brief pause.

  "Nine kinds of martial art." I let my eyes flick down his body. "As well as other arts."

  The Overseer hisses and I flinch at the sound of his voice. "I apologize, Eminence, this one gets mouthy. If the geneticists decide to cultivate the mutation, that will most assuredly be bred out."

  "It is a remarkable mutation. What are the advantages?"

  "Far superior night vision, and an ability to see in greater detail as well as a three-point increase in memory recall. We suspect an increase in intelligence as well, but further testing is required."

  "Are you intelligent?" the man asks.

  "Very," I say.

  "You're mouthy and disrespectful?"

  "Frequently." I let my pupils change, know they'll shift from slits to round, and surrounded by blue instead of green.

  He pets my hair, scratching lightly at my scalp and I surprise myself by wriggling closer, so close I could rest my chin on his knee if I wanted to.

  The Overseer clears his throat. "Eminence, 6-8 is not for sale. He is merely a demonstration of potential future offerings. As I said, this is a rapidly maturing line."

  "We'll
come to an agreement," the man says without looking up

  "Jheghda, his price would be exorbitant," one of the men seated nearby says.

  "Yes, Eminence, the potential breeding stock alone—"

  "I do believe I don't give a damn." I rest my cheek on his knee so I can stare up into his eyes. My heart's beating heavily in my ears and my face feels hot, but I can't look away. "You're mine," he says, softer, and I nod. "Njande." His voice has the faintest hint of a question, but I know exactly what he's saying.

  "Yes," I say, and my voice is hoarse. "Yours."

  I come back into my own body with a nauseating wrench. Njande is gaping up at me, his pupils round and shocked. "You—"

  "Njande!"

  Njande and I jerk around; Jheghda is fighting with Fehr, but his eyes are on Njande and I realize he's worried. It must look like I have the advantage.

  Njande tries to shove me off to get to his feet, but I slam my elbow into his gut and take his seconds of breathlessness to slam his head into the ground. I know I have to keep Njande away from Jheghda and we wrestle messily, him trying to escape and me just trying to get him to stay.

  "Temsha—" I shove a knee in Njande's solar plexus, cutting him off. Blood from a cut above my eyebrow streams into my eyes, and I hesitate for a split second at the desperate tone in his voice. "He doesn't need to die," he pleads, his hand scrabbling helplessly at my shoulder. My grip on his hair slackens and he strikes, driving a knife into my shoulder. I let go with a shout and he shoves me away, struggling to get to his feet in the blood and bodies on the tile.

  I rip the knife out of my shoulder reflexively, and try to go after Njande, ignoring the pain in my shoulder and the blood. I stand in time to see Fehr get under Jheghda's guard and drive his long knife up into Jheghda's chest.

  Njande screams, the sound raw and desperate. I fall to my knees, my vision graying around the edges.

  Mikscn appears next to me, his hands rough and shaking as he ties a bandage around my shoulder. I look numbly down and realize I don't know what's wrong with Mikscn, don't know why he's shaking, if he's injured or worried or both. The silence in my mind rings through my ears and I watch Njande cradle Jheghda's body, his low keening wail replacing the sounds of fighting as the last of Jheghda's men are either killed or surrender.