by Frankie Rose
“Ah. You’re awake. About damn time.”
I spin around, breathless. The maelstrom of emotions that overtook me a second ago vanishes, leaving behind an empty, hollow abyss. Col stands in the corridor, carrying a small tray in one hand and a pair of boots in the other. My boots. Clean and polished. There are crew members on The Nexus who are meant to prepare my clothes, shine my boots and clean my quarters. I’ve always refused their terrified offers of help, though. I prefer working the cloth into the leather of my boots myself. The mindlessness of such a rote task is an escape of sorts. I can switch off instead of constantly analyzing, scanning, assessing and calculating. Every night, when I sit on the end of my bed, working the polishing cloth in tight circles, I can switch everything off. I can just…be.
Col thrusts the boots out at me, slamming them into my chest. An incredibly fake smile stretches across his face, tight around the corners of his eyes. Unpleasant. “You nearly killed me,” he says airily. “Thanks for the extra broken rib. Could have done without that.”
I take the boots, scowling. “You’re welcome. Next time you’ll know better.”
“I don’t normally blaspheme, but I’m beginning to think the seers were wrong about you, Jass Beylar. They have to be high. Or maybe the water supply’s contaminated down here or something. There could be an explanation for all of this, but personally I’m struggling to believe you’re a redeemable type of guy. And the idea that we’re going to be friends is, well…” He scoffs, his head rocking back on his shoulders. He seems exhausted. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and his skin is drawn and ashy. He probably needs a good sleep and a blood transfusion, but instead he’s here, alone, hurling abuse at me in a hallway.
I rub the sore point at the back of my neck. “Who was your friend? The one who shot me? And where might I find him?”
Col laughs under his breath. “He’s one of the surface sentries. He’s gone back to his duties. I sent him to another outpost, where you wouldn’t be tempted to hunt him down and hurt him.”
“Clever.” I would have done exactly that. I would have kicked the guy’s teeth down his throat for daring to tranq me. Shame Col’s thought ahead. I could really use a punching bag right now. “Is that food for me?” I ask, eyeing the tray in his hand. Two small rolls of bread, some cheese, a strange looking fruit and a tall glass of water sit on top of the tray, the purple and green orb, a fruit I’ve never seen before, rolling all over the place whenever Col moves. Col sighs, obviously disgusted, holding out the tray to me. “You’d better eat fast. The chancellor of this sector is coming to tell us who we need to meet with next. We’re not welcome here, apparently. Your presence in the sub city is causing a great deal of unrest amongst the higher ups. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
I take the tray from him, my stomach twisting—I had no idea how hungry I was until I smelled the food. Hunger is a base bodily response that doesn’t normally trouble me. Construct ration packs are small but loaded with absolutely everything the body needs. One every five or six hours is more than enough to fuel a man. And on the rare occasion that a raiding party takes a little longer than anticipated and I find myself without food, the constant, if small, dose of Light I have flowing through my system at all times staves off any appetite I might have. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at a plate of food and felt any sort of excitement over the prospect of eating it. “I didn’t ask to come here, Pakka. I didn’t ask to be drugged and taken. As far as I’m concerned, we can leave as soon as we have the information we require. Where is my bag?”
Col frowns, head tilting a little to the left. “Bag?” A dawning realization transforms his expression. “Oh. Right. The bag you were looking for when you left me to suffocate in the biggest storm this planet’s seen in a generation. It must have burned up in the crash. The apprentices who went out to search for salvage said there was nothing but ash and fused plasticast left of your ship. Sorry about that.” He doesn’t sound sorry at all. He sounds like he doesn’t give a shit, which makes me want to punch my hand right through his face.
No bag. There is no bag. Which means no Light. Which means…
I shudder, not wanting to consider that yet. I dosed two days ago; less than a full forty-eight hours have passed since I pressed the stem needle into my arm and I allowed myself to float away on the cloud of bliss that followed. That means I have at least another full day before it feels like my veins are hardening beneath my skin. One day to find the girl and take her with me, away from this arid, bland, featureless planet. Is it possible that I’ll be able to find some Light down here on Pirius? Doubtful. The Construct created the drug in their labs, tinkering and toying until they perfected the formula to stimulate the body and the mind in equal parts. I have no idea what goes in it, and neither did the lab techs on The Nexus. I questioned them a number of times, scouring their minds when they claimed they didn’t have the information I requested, and they were telling the truth. Shipments of the individual compounds that went into the Light arrived in random, varying intervals, and in random, varying amounts. Unlabeled and unmarked other than a process number stamped into the vial lids, the separate ingredients were combined in small flasks, heated to a high temperature, then refrigerated for a period of seventy-two hours. I could have taken some of the Light I stole from the labs and had it processed, picking it apart on a molecular level, but unlike The Nexus crew, the ship itself was not something I could easily manipulate. It’s one thing wiping someone’s mind, or forcing them to unwittingly turn a blind eye, but every single diagnostic run on board the Construct’s primary base is automatically recorded and sent to the elders. Perfect record keeping, by very suspicious minds. I wouldn’t have even had the opportunity to delete the scan data before Regis knew what I was up to.
I force the thoughts of Light from my mind. There’s nothing I can do about it right now. Best to deal with the situation at hand and go from there. I slam my bare feet inside my boots one at a time, and then I take the cheese and bread from the tray, handing the rest back to Col. “Who is this chancellor? And when can we leave?” I don’t mind the sensation of being underground; I can tell we’re deep below the planet’s surface. After being on a spacecraft so many cycles, I no longer suffer from the feeling of being trapped as I used to when I was first taken by the Construct. But on The Nexus, there were view ports. Thousands of them, each one offering a different snapshot out into the infinite stretches of space that surrounded us in every possible direction. Here in the sub city, as Col called it, my view of the universe is very limited indeed.
“Chancellor Farren runs this sector. And he’s not very friendly.” Col’s face, his downturned mouth, and the deep line between his gathered brows says he’s had dealings with the guy before and he clearly doesn’t care for him too much. “He won’t know anything beyond who we’re meant to meet next, so there’s no point torturing him,” he adds quickly. “There’s no point hurting anyone else from this point out. It won’t get you to your destination any quicker.”
The determined, persistent part of me disagrees with that statement. Torturing someone always helps get you to your destination quicker, even if the other person doesn’t know where that is. The ignition codes to a cruiser; local currency; weapons; extra intel that might help you along the road: all of these things could potentially assist us in reaching the girl quicker. I stuff the bread and cheese into my mouth, startled momentarily by the texture of it. Construct rations are hard, chewy, and frankly more pleasant if you swallow them whole and then forget about them. The bread Col gave me is soft and doughy, buttery in my mouth. The cheese is sharp and tangy, making the sides of my tongue buzz with its unusual flavor.
Col supplies me with a tight, warm black shirt he was carrying for me in his back pocket, and then stands silently with his hands balled into fists, leaning against the wall while I pace up and down, grumbling to myself. All this waiting is making me stir crazy. How many nights have I spent thinking about Reza? How many days have
I spent fighting the urge to abandon my post, to head out in my raptor alone to track her down? So many more than I can count. I could never sense her back then in the same way I can now. During the hours I was awake, I knew she was alive, and occasionally I got a glimpse of her thoughts and emotions. At night, it was easier. She called out to me, and I was able to create a place for us to come together. I never knew her exact location, though. She still managed to shield parts of herself from me. Now, I can feel her presence like a burning white-hot poker flaring inside my mind. If I close my eyes, I can feel her thoughts as if they were shadows of my own. Memories. Her hopes and her fears, elusively dancing on the outskirts of my consciousness, only a hair’s breadth away. It’s as if a veil has fallen, a shield dropped, and she’s being revealed to me little by little.
Strange.
Chancellor Farren is dour, cold, and panic-filled. I immediately don’t like him based on the simple fact that he reeks of fear. Not a specific fear, over any one thing. A general, constant fear that affects his thoughts and his actions on a base level. The very worst kind of fear that, in the end, is always a man’s undoing.
“The coordinates are on here,” he says, handing Col a lit up green data chip. Col slips the inch-square chip into his pocket without checking it. Farren sneers at me out of the corner of his eye. “The woman you’re looking for is called Ayah. She’s a storekeeper in the bazaar on Sellarue. She has the next piece of your puzzle. I don’t know what this business is about, but I know it’s bad business, Col Pakka. Who is he?” Farren says, jerking his head in my direction. “Erika sent word that the Commonwealth dispatched him here, but he isn’t Commonwealth.”
“He’s just a man,” Col answers stiffly. “He’s here to help us.”
Ha! Help us. And here I was thinking Col wasn’t even remotely funny.
“I’m no fool,” Farren growls. “This has something to do with those duel visions Erika’s been harping on about, cycle after cycle, I know it does. No one believes her anymore, Col. They think she’s a mad woman, preaching about the end of the world.”
“Plenty of people believe my mother’s visions, myself included,” Col fires back.
Farren grunts, his top lip curling upward. “Erika isn’t your birth mother. She’s not your blood. You’re not Pirian, Pakka. You have as much right to be here as he does.” Farren sends a withering glance in my direction. I raise my head and meet his gaze, my eyes conveying very little, and yet Farren immediately looks away, clearing his throat.
“Erika’s time as chancellor is coming to an end, as well you know. Soon, it won’t matter what she’s seen. Soon, someone else will take her place. All of the scenarios she predicted will be altered. Nothing’s permanent. Just like the surface of our ever-changing, ever-shifting home, the future’s not set. Who knows what’ll happen once she’s gone?”
I angle my head, turning my attention back to Col. This is interesting. It sounds as if his mother, his adopted mother, is about to step down or be overthrown from her seat of power. Col never mentioned he had ties to someone with pull. He also never mentioned that the seers’ prophecies aren’t foolproof and are susceptible to change.
Col clenches his jaw. “You’re right, Farren. But until that day arrives, my mother’s word is gospel. And like any other good son, I’ll obey her.” He turns on his heel and shoves his way past me, body leaning forward, desperate to get away from the other man at all costs. I am left behind with the chancellor for a moment. I close the gap, so there are only a few inches left between him and me, and I study his facial features. Pronounced brow with a line of high ridges; thin upper lip; narrow, hooded eyes. This man’s misery has been life-long, etched into his bone structure and the lines that contour his skin.
“You were born reaching for power,” I whisper to him, “and you’ll die still failing to grasp hold of it. I don’t need to be a seer to know that.”
I turn and follow after Col. The voices of the many millions residing here in the sub-city come rushing at me like a tidal wave, flooding the walkways, filling the corridors from top to bottom. This time, they don’t consume me, though. This time, they flow around me, making room for me.
ELEVEN
REZA
NIGHTCREEPER
“I can’t do this. I can’t. I just…I’m not who you think I am. I can’t force people to bend to my will. I’m just a girl who ran way from the Construct. The galaxy’s full of people who ran away from the Construct. Why should I be any different?”
Darius spins the staff he’s holding around in his hand, pacing slowly around the small, circular training room he’s brought me to. Overhead, a narrow slit window in the roof allows a tall, angled pillar of light to filter down and hit the dirt floor. Dust motes spin and eddy inside the shaft of light, revealing just how choked the air is down here.
“Other people aren’t special simply because they aren’t special. You’re special simply because you are. The universe leads us all on our own paths. There’s no reasoning your way out of it, Reza. Our visions ceased the moment you arrived here. We’ve been able to see for centuries, and then you came and everything stopped. That’s no coincidence. While you’re just a girl, a simple girl, there’s something hibernating within you that makes you remarkable. We need to awaken those skills and fast. One way or another.”
I don’t like how he says that. He’s already struck me with his staff twice on left side and once on my right; I’m going to be black and blue and covered in bruises by the end of the day. If he feels justified in going further than he already has, I’m going to have to start striking back. I haven’t wasted my time here on Pirius. I’ve been learning how to fight, how to survive, and I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it. I don’t want to hurt Darius. The seer’s been kinder to me than anyone else I’ve encountered since I escaped from the Construct. But still…I can only take so much of a beating before I’ll defend myself.
Two days ago, I spent a solid eighteen hours with Erika, practicing how to defend my mind—a difficult task, since Erika can’t read me in the first place, and so I left her sparse library feeling dissatisfied and anxious, unsure if her training will actually accomplish anything when the time comes.
I’m meant to be finessing what I learned with Erika and incorporating it into the physical training I’m receiving from Darius now, but the past two days have felt pointless and underwhelming. I can block most of Darius’ attacks, but it takes concentration to try and maintain the mental guard Erika taught me how to build at the same time. Facing someone like Jass Beylar, someone who’s been endlessly trained and honed into a deadly weapon? I am going to die. There’s no two ways about it. He’s a fierce, experienced predator. My skills are akin to that of a newborn creature, barely able to stand yet, let alone walk.
“You won’t have to fight Beylar,” Darius informs me. “Not yet, anyway. Erika’s sure of that. There’ll be time to finesse and learn. However…”
“However?”
“I’ve created something for you. A way out. A safeguard, in case the sand does end up shifting beneath our feet. My hope is that it will keep you safe.”
“What is it?”
Darius reaches into his robes and withdraws something, clasping it tightly. He opens his fist, and in his palm: a small black capsule. It looks harmless enough, but it isn’t. Darius is a master healer here in the sub city. He’s also a master poisoner. His skills are unparalleled. Commonwealth fighters from all over the galaxy commission him to make suicide pills for them, which can be ingested in a moment’s notice if they are captured. He holds the capsule between his index finger and his thumb, holding it up for me to see.
“Nightcreeper,” he says gravely. “Incredibly hard to come by. Even harder to diagnose. Impossible to cure. You swallow this and there’s no coming back for you, child.”
An awful sense of foreboding digs its claws into my back. “If it’s so deadly, how is it possibly meant to keep me safe?”
“Beylar’s hungry for something. You
must have something he needs,” Darius says. His voice echoes around the inside of the training room. “But how can he claim it from you, if you’re no longer alive?”
TWELVE
JASS
SELLARUE
We journey for days. There are no modes of transportation in the sub city, so we walk, winding our way through the narrow tunnels, passing countless Pirians who stare at us with wide-eyed surprise. Off-worlders aren’t common here. Pirius is one of the last bastions of the Commonwealth, one of the few remaining planets still free from Construct control; outsiders are apparently not that welcome or anticipated. There are no drones or robotics, either. Screens mounted into the tunnel systems flicker and strobe, displaying public announcements in a strange glyph type language I can’t read, but aside from that there are very few signs of technology. According to Col, the sand storms that rage for days on the surface of the planet disrupt electronics of any kind, and prevent signals from being sent altogether. I’m not sure if he’s aware of it or not, but this is the only reason any of these people are still alive. The Construct uses highly sensitive instruments to detect advanced civilizations. If any of the fleet’s exploration vessels had found a significant power signature on Pirius, a team would have been sent down here to root out and destroy whatever they found.
