Before the Shattered Gates of Heaven Part 2: Infiltration Crew (Shattered Gates Volume 1 Part 2)

by Bryan S. Glosemeyer

  Without hesitation she snaked her arm across Daggeira’s throat and her legs across her hips. She pulled Daggeira’s spine against her chest as she clasped hands together, tightening the choke. Daggeira’s firm buttocks pushed into Sabira’s pelvis as she locked her legs around Daggeira’s hips. Sabira focused on controlling her breath even as she squeezed her crewmate tighter. She rolled onto her back so Daggeira was stretched out and off balance on top of her. With Sabira’s backside grinding into the floor, the nine eyes flared across her ribs and spine, but the painkillers in the brew kept it to only a minor irritation.

  “No granks to hide behind now,” Sabira whispered into her ear. “Conqueror sees me this time. You’re going to sleep.”

  Daggeira clawed at Sabira’s arm, trying to create enough space to breathe and grunt out a few words. “If you wanted to drill me, you should have just said so.”

  Shocked, Sabira loosened her grip a little. It was all Daggeira needed. In a sudden explosion of movement, Daggeira twisted hard and fast. Sabira completely lost her grip.

  Now she was flat on her back with Daggeira in the dominant top position. Sabira snapped her legs back around Daggeira’s hips to keep her from gaining an even more controlling angle. Daggeira ground the points of her hips into her while pressing her forearm hard beneath Sabira’s chin. Sweat rolled down Daggeira’s smooth scalp, mingled with the blood smeared on her brow, and dripped and dribbled onto Sabira’s eyes, blurring her vision.

  Sabira clung to the back of Daggeira’s neck, trying to keep her low so she couldn’t pivot up and drop down fists and elbows. But Daggeira didn’t struggle against her to rise. Instead she pressed down harder. Sabira felt the soft pressure of Daggeira’s breasts against her scarred chest. Her mind raced to find a way out and regain dominance.

  More blood and sweat dripped into Sabira’s eyes, forcing her to squeeze them shut. She would have to rely on the feel of her opponent above her until she could wipe them clear. Sabira felt another soft but firm pressure, this time on her lips. Daggeira was kissing her. A moment later the lips pulled from hers and drifted across her cheek until they brushed warm and moist over her ear. The fiery pressure building inside Sabira transformed from rage into something else.

  “Ishkadil Dancer, see me,” whispered Daggeira. “Sabira, see me. I call you forth.”

  Sabira lost her grip, and Daggeira rose. Sitting back on her heels, she released the grinding pressure of her hips and forearms. Sabira took the chance to wipe the blood and sweat from her eyes. She could almost see her clearly now. Daggeira looked down at her with that same knowing smile she had given her in the pens, blood dripping from her curled lips.

  “What are you doing?” Sabira asked, gasping for breath.

  “In three days we may be dead, so let’s show the Gods and Masters how we live,” Daggeira answered, also breathing heavily. She bent down and kissed her again, lips soft and warm and sweaty.

  Sabira kissed her back.

  15.

  “THANK STAR FATHER’S balls, finally a rest shift.” Cannon scrubbed himself dry with the coarse membrane strip as he stepped out of the enzyme showers, his thin, taut frame half-hidden by steam. “And thank Dancer’s tits, I still have pillow deck privileges to spend. Who’s coming with?”

  “What’s the point of privileges if you don’t spend them? I’m with you,” answered Bomb.

  For the last two duty shifts since the rites, Vohg’s crew sweated through hard discipline, preparing for their upcoming mission. They had drilled maneuvering through holo-simulated crowds in full infiltration armor. Subduing and neutralizing armed and unarmed opponents. Endlessly climbing up and down ropes of tangled vine. Then each drill was repeated with the artificial gravity set to varying levels. The six skins of the crew were all exhausted and bruised when they finished up their showers.

  A few short hours after the rites had completed, a Unity convoy had arrived to resupply the two pyramids. Cargo ships unloaded munitions, armor, vats of biomech oils, and foodstuffs. Brig ships took on prisoners of war to take back to the homeworlds. Commerce haulers remained docked to the pyramids for the next two days. Most of the haulers’ decks were strictly for warseers, but lower decks provided varieties of meats and beers, pillows and gambling, for any servant with privileges to spend.

  “Who you trying to trick, Cannon?” asked Daggeira. “You’ll be sleeping like a mine rat on his hen-mother’s tits before your drill even gets hard.”

  “I should have invoked Conqueror on your ass when I had the chance,” Cannon answered. “Besides, better to sleep on a nice soft pillow than to have to hear you snoring like an old cug all shift.”

  “You might have stood a chance, Cans, after I softened her up for you.” Sabira threw her membrane strip in the mulcher and grabbed her uniform. “Doubt it, though.”

  “You softened me up?” Daggeira also threw her strip into the mulcher and turned to face Sabira, both of them completely nude. A dozen scars and prod burns told stories of pain and survival across Daggeira’s flesh. Every muscle, long, lean, and whip-crack fast. “That’s not how I remember it.”

  “Oh Gods, even after the rites you two just can’t stop, can you?” said Hatchita, pulling on her basic uniform tunic.

  “Star Father see me”—Cannon threw the used membrane into the mulcher—“those two are never going to stop. Say Bomb, want switch arms with me?”

  “There’s not enough privileges in this whole pyramid. Let’s go get our hands on some pillows before Mace and his crew snatch up all the pretty ones.” Bomb looked to Hatchet and Hatchita, the other two skins of the left arm. “You coming?”

  “Want to share one?” Hatchita asked Hatchet. He smiled mischievously and kissed her in answer. During the rites, the two of them invoked Dancer, like always, and drilled beside Sabira and Daggeira on the deck floor. Smiling lustfully at each other, Hatchita and Hatchet darted out the door just after Bomb and Cannon. Leaving Sabira and Daggeira alone in the shower room.

  “You want to share one too?” Daggeira turned her back to Sabira, pulled on her basic uniform.

  “No. I’m going to the observation deck for a few hours.”

  “Fine, then. See you back at bunks.” Daggeira headed for the porthole.

  “You could come with me if you want,” offered Sabira. “I’ve got enough privileges for two.”

  “We could be dead in two days, and you’d rather stargaze than drill?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Why there? All that space, like there’s nothing holding you, like you’re going to fall and fall, I don’t . . .”

  “Scared? If it’s too scary for you, being alone in the dark with me, I understand. Attendant Spear said that a lot of skins are scared of the observation deck. Too much to handle I guess. But it’s alright. I won’t even tell Cannon about it.”

  Half an hour later, Sabira was guiding Daggeira into the deactivated observation deck. Daggeira stood in the middle, hands on her hips, casting her gaze around the high blank walls of glass and ceramic.

  “Attendant Spear was right,” Daggeira said flatly. “Deep scared. Terrified.”

  Without a word, Sabira walked to Daggeira. She stopped face to face with her, just before touching. Even after the showers, Sabira could recognize her scent. Memories of the rites flashed through her mind. Electric tingles ran across her skin.

  “It’s not turned on yet,” she said and gestured to activate the holo.

  Daggeira leaped back like a startled zaicha, eyes bulging wide as black void replaced the deck below her feet.

  “Now it’s turned on,” Sabira said.

  Daggeira appeared to regain confidence in the fact that she wasn’t falling through cold vacuum and stared at the starscape engulfing them in a wordless, gaping awe.

  “Understand now?” asked Sabira.

  “Yes, Stargazer, I think I do.”

  “My name is Sabira.”

  “I know,” she said. “But it
’s still who you are—a stargazer. There’s no changing who you are.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Sabira.

  “I mean you’re the Handmaiden’s blood-daughter.”

  “How did you . . .”

  “It wasn’t deep hard to figure out.”

  “Is that why you invoked Dancer with me?” asked Sabira. “Maybe be seen by the Handmaiden? Maybe make rank faster?”

  “I called you forth because I wanted to.” Daggeira turned her back on Sabira to gaze at the light and void all around. “Is that why you wanted to call forth Arrow? Think you’ll make rank faster if you gave him a good drilling during the rites?”

  “How did you know . . . ? Never mind. Whatever. No, that’s not why I was planning on calling him forth. Is that what you think of me?”

  “It’s no less than you thought of me.” Daggeira waved her hand through a band of interstellar clouds.

  “I’m sorry,” said Sabira. “I didn’t bring you here to fight.”

  “Why not? It’s one of the things we do best. Might as well invoke Conqueror so I can beat you once and for all.”

  From behind, Sabira clasped Daggeira’s hand in her own and made a command gesture. The starscape blurred and zoomed until the massive crimson nebula of the Shattered Gates loomed before them.

  “If you’re going to invoke Gods, might as well do it where They can see you,” said Sabira.

  Daggeira twisted her hand and grasped Sabira’s wrist. “And who do you plan to invoke now it’s just you and me.”

  “Let all the Gods watch if They like,” answered Sabira with a knowing smirk of her own. She didn’t try to pull free of Daggeira. Found herself enjoying the tight grasp, the electric closeness of her skin. Remembered the strength of those same fingers inside her, the taste of her sweat-beaded nipple on her lips.

  Daggeira turned to face her again, so close their faces almost touched. She released her grasp and softly caressed her fingertips up Sabira’s arm. “And in two days, should we find ourselves before the Shattered Gates of Heaven, then at least we’ll look familiar.”

  “In that case”—Sabira hooked her other arm around Daggeira’s hips and pulled their bodies together—“let’s give Heaven something worth remembering.”

  16.

  “HOW DO YOU expect the Gods to see you if you don’t even see yourselves? Have you seen this crew—its left and right arms? Have you seen the first drum? If you want to pass through the Shattered Gates marked by conquest, you better see right now.”

  Caller Arrow paced the central aisle of the wrecker ship’s hold, meeting the eyes of each skin as he spoke. They were less than an hour from the target planet. “See yourselves. We who were once the unseen, the unnamed, now we know our place among the stars. We are the creations of the Divine Masters. We are the enforcers of Divine Will. Our lives are weapons for the Gods. See who you are, and see this crew. And if Conqueror sees us, maybe you’ll see tomorrow.”

  As caller, it was Arrow’s duty to make sure the crew was focused and prepared for the mission. The first drum gave the orders; the caller and the third drum made sure the skins executed them. In some crews, the first drum was more direct, but Lance preferred to remain taciturn, though vigilant, with the servants in his charge. He stood with Attendant Spear at the fore of the hold, watching both his crew and the floating holo-display data.

  Luckily, their mission required the wrecker ship, capable of transporting a full task of servants, and they had room enough to get up, walk, and stretch out tight muscles. For a single crew infiltration, they’d normally be in the smaller chisel ship, but since their objective was to bring back the stolen khvazol, as well as vleez prisoners, they needed something bigger.

  They had spent the better part of three shifts aboard the wrecker, almost one full day. The hold had grown steadily warmer with each hour of transit. Sabira’s skin was moist with sweat beneath her armor. Even though the wrecker traveled through the enemy system cloaked in stealth fields, they had to be ready for any contingency and needed to be outfitted in vacuum-ready armor, except helms and gloves, the entire way.

  Earlier, during their second shift of transit, Attendant Spear made his way through the crew, checking in with each rank and skin. Once they were planetside, they would be taking orders from him as well as First Drum Lance, and he had only these few hours to cement their loyalty. Attendant Spear was a natural leader—Sabira saw it plainly. Thousands of servants had followed him into battles and infiltrations across the local cluster. She often wished she had inherited some of his leadership in her blood, and just as often feared that she hadn’t.

  As the newest of the skins, Sabira was the last to meet with Attendant Spear. She mentioned her desire for a porthole to see the stars as they flew past. The hold was little more than a dark, warm box on the bottom of the wrecker. Spending her entire life in underground tunnels and pyramid ship corridors meant that confined spaces were as normal to her as dirt to worms. But she had glimpsed the eternal expanse, and now she craved it like she craved sex.

  He slapped her shoulder. “Be grateful. The Masters have crafted their ships with purpose. If Humans get too much of what we want, we grow soft, and when the hour comes the Gods will find us unworthy of service and leave our souls unseen and forgotten outside the Gates of Heaven.”

  A faint smile curled his lip, as if he found something amusing. “There wouldn’t be much to see even if there was a viewport, not while we’re in the egg. The only light you can see at all is coming from straight ahead. And then you’re not seeing any stars or nebula, just a hazy disc of white directly in front. Won’t be much to see till we crack the egg, just outside the planet’s rings. But then there’ll be no time for stargazing.”

  The Servants called the field generated by the aku-vayk engines the egg, earning its name for the shape it took around the ship. Wreckers were too small for interstellar engines. Their ship, along with two other wreckers from the Pyramid Ihvik-Ri, was docked to a nest. Serving as detachable interstellar drives, nests transported ships too small for their own aku-vayk engines.

  Due to the lack of viewports, Sabira never got a chance to see the nest they were docked to, but from her training she knew it looked like little more than a large circle with a line through the middle. That bisecting line served as a docking pier designed to hold up to three wreckers in either half-circle.

  During their third shift, after more than twenty hours in transit, Caller Arrow was making sure their heads were straight and ready for what was coming.

  “Servant Cannon, where will we be landing?”

  “One kilometer north of the city, near an industrial shipping port along the river bank, Caller.”

  “Servant Hatchita, how long will the breather pills be effective?” asked Third Drum Misseila.

  “Two shifts after ingestion, Third Drum. One shift for activation, one shift for use.”

  The Vleez breathed different air than Humans. Whenever a mission brought servants to a Vleez planet, they had to take breather pills to temporarily modify their lungs. The longest a single pill stayed affective was two shifts after ingestion, eighteen hours. Prolonged strained activity or contact with a yarist gem could reduce their effectiveness time considerably. According to Attendant Spear, a servant might wring out another hour of shallow breathing if they could keep themselves relaxed and their heart calm. Not the easy task if you're struggling for every breath.

  “Servant Sabira, how long do we have to accomplish our mission once we land?” asked Arrow.

  “One shift, Caller.”

  “Servant Bomb, what are our tactical protocols?” asked Misseila.

  “Full stealth infiltration. No contact with the locals. Stealth in, confiscate the targets, call in the wrecker to our precise location, stealth out, Third Drum.”

  “Let me make that extra deep clear for you,” said Caller Arrow, “in case Trickster has got your ear. Stealth fields on the entire approach and withdraw. No
contact. No noise. No mistakes. There’ll be time for killing vermin later.”

  “It’s always time for killing vermin, Caller. Extermination is what we do best,” said Servant Hatchet. He and Servant Hatchita bumped forearms and laughed. They were in the left arm with Servant Bomb and sat across the aisle from Sabira.

  “Has Trickster got you, after all, skin?” Caller Arrow turned on Hatchet. “Still got mine dust in your ear? No contact. No mistakes. Otherwise, this mission will fail, and this crew will die. Do you see me, skin?”

  “I see you, Caller,” replied Hatchet, though his eyes looked to the floor. Arrow stood over him a long, uncomfortable moment, the silence filled only with the thrum of the engine and hum of air flow, before nodding to Misseila and walking to the fore of the hold to meet with First Drum Lance.

  “Did the Masters give you an extra scoop of stupid when they made you, Hatchet?” taunted Cannon.

  “Shut your face,” snapped Hatchita. Everyone knew Hatchet and Hatchita were close. One would always defend the other. Sabira thought she would be driven crazy to have someone so close with the same name, even if it was the masculine version. But Hatchet and Hatchita bonded tighter than most.

  Third Drum Misseila loomed over the seated skins in an instant, her voice low but angered. “All of you shut all your damn faces. What under the rocks has Caller been saying? I want all of your mouths on stealth for the rest of the transit. Do you see me?”

  “Yes, Third Drum,” they answered in unison.

  “Now check your armor and your palukai. Last chance before we break the egg. And don’t let me hear another godsdamned word.” Misseila turned and strode back toward the ranks.