Return

by J. A. Huss

  The village is busy that night. From my house, specifically from the bedroom, I can see the center square. All the High Order live in vast apartments around the perimeter of the square, with the exception of that geneticist, Gib—where he came from and when he got here is still a mystery to me, but he lives at the genetics plaza. The slaves erect the crosses for the customary sacrifices. Planting and harvest festivals are celebrated with sacrifices to the High Order. The natives are allowed to choose who among them will give their lives. Typically it’s a young girl. They occur at sunrise and I made a point to sleep late on Planting and Harvest Day. I have yet to appear for the killing they perform in my name. I stay away from the front windows and terraces until it’s over.

  But tonight I sit on my bedroom terrace and drink a dark ale that Rache’s servants learned how to make after he switched his staff to the new genetic line. It’s quite good.

  Amelia is already asleep. I shift in my chair and look past the billowing white curtains to find her form on the bed. Her bare legs peek out of the light covers, and her arms are both above her head, sprawled out like she hasn’t a care in the world. I set the beer down and go back inside. I’m crazy to be out here alone when she is so close. I strip off my clothes and climb into bed next to her, pulling her up to my chest. She moans a little and her lips twitch as she wriggles against me, making me want to take her body. I lean down and kiss her neck, right where the life blood pulsates through the artery under her chin.

  She’s so perfect. I have to remind myself every day that’s she’s made, not grown, because it’s quite easy to forget. She has no outward signs that she is machine. Not one. I insisted that Gib do a complete medical workup and explain all the intricacies of her design to me before she came home. He’s genius. Genius. How he got off the home world with that talent, I’ll never understand. They do give us a geneticist, but never one so talented. They do not like them to leave the home world for fear they will create unsanctioned life.

  There is no possible way Gib is here under sanctioned orders and no doubt he’s created more unsanctioned life than any High Order being in history.

  I only need to look at Amelia to see this. She is creation science perfection.

  And she is so illegal. As long as she lives I will never go home, because she would be killed instantly. And I am a rather low rank when among all my brethren. Just another High Order son. Not like here, where I’m afforded all the protections and privileges that only the High Beings receive.

  Aesin could kill Amelia—he has the right to try. But because she is mine, if he should kill her it would give me power to take something equally important from him.

  This is how we check each other’s power. Aesin is not supposed to dictate. And for the most part he does not. He does kill my workers, and I could fight him over it and get retribution from Rache, but it’s not worth the effort. Pick and choose your battles carefully. That was our clutch motto and those who survived took it into Fledge and then out into the population. If you fight, that fight had better send a message. There is no room for blind violence.

  What message is Aesin sending with these slave killings?

  It’s never made any sense to me. Why bother?

  Amelia pushes her ass up against my thighs and I growl a little. “You’re asking for it,” I whisper. But she’s completely asleep, she’s not asking for it at all. She’s just trying to get comfortable. I lie on my back and tug on her until she slips her cheek against my chest. My fingers thread through her hair and I pull the long strands high above her head and then let them fall.

  I could live like this.

  I could live like this for a very long time, I believe.

  Amelia is the definition of content for me.

  I am in love.

  I fall asleep with her on my chest… satisfied.

  When I wake, the bright morning sunshine of Harvest day is pouring through the open terrace door and the sound of people gathering outside filters in.

  Amelia is gone.

  A figure moves on my terrace and I sit up. “Amelia?” But I already know it’s not her before the whipping sheer white curtains flutter open in the wind and reveal my visitor.

  “No, son. The machine is gone.” And then Aesin steps into my room, his fangs fully extended, his blades fully extended. “But don’t worry,” he says with a gleam in his eye, “I’ll make sure you see her one more time.” He laughs as his razors morph into blades.

  I’m so stunned that he’d pull out that weaponry on me, I actually hesitate. And then I’m pinned to the floor, completely naked, my father’s knee pushing down on my back.

  I hear it, not feel it, when he cuts my wings off. It’s a slick sound, a displacement of tissue and blood, and then a quick snap as the blades sever my posterior humerus from my scapula. The heat of rushing blood pours out of my body and my vision screen compensates and initiates healing processes before I can stop it. It grows before I can prevent the new limb from replacing the old.

  The pain as my other wing is removed is canceled out by the thrusting of new bone from the healing centers in my back. My father removes his foot and raises my black wings over his head, his maniacal laughter filling the room and spilling out into the commons. People begin to cheer as he appears in the window, still holding my wings like they are a trophy.

  The wing regeneration process momentarily takes my mind off the barbaric reality of what just occurred and I scream as the new bones thrust out of my back.

  He took my wings. He cut them off!

  My next moment of complete consciousness might be minutes or seconds later, I can’t tell. People are still cheering, even more wildly than before, but Aesin is no longer on my terrace. I pull myself up, still naked, and look over my shoulder.

  The bat wings unfurl and the pain is so visceral, so acute and sharp that I vomit on the floor of my bedroom.

  Gone are the black feathers. In their place are the membranous stretched-taut skin of a criminal.

  I fall to the ground on my knees as the revulsion overtakes me, but the scream from the plaza has me on my feet and out on the terrace.

  Amelia is laid out on the sacrificial slab of rock in front of the crosses, Aesin leans over her, my wings in his hand. He leans down and says something to her and she screams again. I port to the cross and stand over him, the entire city gasping at my wings as they stretch out and flap of their own volition. “Stop,” I growl, low and deep. “She is mine. You may not!”

  Aesin slashes Amelia’s back with foot knives and her skin opens up and spills out crimson blood and sparks of circuitry.

  “Blasphemy!” Aesin spews to the crowd. “He created a living machine! He has violated the cardinal rule.” And then he looks over at me and I attack. My knives come out of my foot and swipe him across the face. His screech has my ears popping and the hot blood trickles out from the damage. I spin as he rushes me and drag my talons across his chest, but this time there is no sound from him except the static that comes from a port, and then he’s behind me, his hands around my throat. Choking. My eyes begin to blur and then everything goes black.

  I wake a moment later, the energy restrictor attached to my spine, neck, and cranium. The pain is almost intolerable, calling me back to the darkness, but Amelia’s whimpers pull me back to reality. I’m hanging upside down, I realize, and so is she. We are on the crosses in the plaza. My Archer wings have been sewed onto her back and they fall to the side, limp and lifeless. Dead appendages.

  “You see, Lucifer? She is avian now! Perfect, don’t you think? Your Gib could not have done better.” And then the blades on his hand slice through her neck in one clean swipe and her face bobbles to the ground, her hazel eyes wide and looking up at me, her perfect lips forming an eternal scream.

  “I’ve collected her soul, Lucifer. And I will punish her for eternity for your betrayal. There are always worse things than death, my son.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two—JUNCO

  Lower Dallas, Texas

>   I watch Cora walk off down the dark street, the wind from trains hanging from the ceiling of Low Dallas blowing her pink hair around. She stops when she gets to the corner of the next block and I dial up the vision enhancements on my screen to catch her expression. She salutes me, her mouth a straight line across her face, and then she pivots like a cadet and disappears around the corner of a tall building.

  I blow out a long breath. “Well, Junco, now what?” It’s been a while since I’ve had a moment to myself, it seems. I had all that time when I took off from Sargassum, but I was on a mission back then. Now what? I’d like to see Tier but I’m not really sure where he might be at the moment.

  “Junco!” a voice calls from down the street. “Junco!” he calls again as I turn.

  Vincent. Hand’s father. I wasn’t gonna go in and see them, but since he’s here… I walk down the road and when I get close enough so I don’t have to yell, I call out, “Hey! You got a smoke?”

  He laughs as he approaches and then when I’m within arm’s reach, he pulls me into a big hug. I groan as he squeezes. They are big-time huggers here at the Hando Compound. Big time.

  “Greta saw you on the security cameras. Hand’s been gone, so we’re taking turns with his shift.”

  “Oh.” My heart sinks. I really wanted to see Hand.

  “He left with Tier last night.”

  “Tier? Do you know where they went?”

  “Will you come in and see everyone before you go if I tell you what I know?”

  I smile. “Of course I’ll come in.” He takes my hand like I’m a little girl and we cross the street. There’s no traffic, like at all, and I’m twenty-one fucking years old, so this is just sorta cute. He squeezes my hand like he knows what I’m thinking and I laugh a little.

  “Feels good to laugh.”

  “You always were happy down here, weren’t you?”

  When we stop at the gate to wait for it to open, I look up at him. “What’s that look, Vince?”

  “Did we take advantage of you?”

  My automatic response would be no. But he deserves a thoughtful answer, so I take a moment and then shake my head. “No, I needed those jobs, Vince. I needed to do those things to get the weapons and stuff. You didn’t.”

  The gate buzzes and we walk through. There are no scans because it’s just us, and the inside vestibule is not dark, like when I came here by myself last time. It’s lit up and the interior door is already open. “There’s nothing to forgive,” I say in a hushed voice as we walk forward to meet her.

  Hand’s mother pulls me in like Vince did and does a little bobble hug that has me swaying.

  “I served your husband dinner last night,” she says in her delightful Spanish accent.

  I almost choke on my spit. “Who?”

  “That big one with the wings. The quiet one.” Then she cocks her head a little and amends her statement. “And the mouthy loud one, too.”

  “Tier and…” I take a guess. “Annun?”

  “Yes!” Hand’s little sister Esma says joyfully. “He’s cute, Junco.”

  I laugh. “You fucking people are crazy, you know that? The fucking world is ending and you’re talking about my fictitious husband and you want a date with my Fledge captain.” I point at Greta and Esma, respectively, and we’re all laughing when I spy her in the back, behind all the siblings.

  Everyone turns to look once they see my eyes train on her. She ducks her head and turns away.

  “Wait!” I call after her. She pivots back and I study her face. It’s the woman John had in the picture on his comm. Her children are older than they were in that image, and she’s not looking as pretty and young, but it’s the end of the world, I probably look like total shit too.

  She stares at me for several seconds, but I lose my nerve and just mumble out, “I’m Junco. Nice to meet you.”

  Her passive face switches to anger. “He left to save you, you know.”

  “That’s not true,” Hand’s other sister Mia says. “Junco, he left to help everyone. Ignore her.”

  But I can’t ignore her. She’s sad. She clutches at her young children, the fear painted on all of their faces. “I can’t be saved. And no one knows that better than your husband. So if John left, it wasn’t because of me. More likely it was because of you.” My gaze tracks down to the kids. “And them.”

  Her face gets red and she wipes her eyes on the sleeve of her dress, then turns abruptly and drags her sad children away.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, suddenly very tired. I look up at Vincent. “Tell me where they went, if you know. I need to see Tier before it’s over.” And before that last word is out of my mouth my eyes are hot and watery.

  “The Stag, Junco. They were going to meet up in the Stag.”

  “But the Stag was blown up, years ago.”

  “Not all of it.”

  His words ring in my ears. It’s still there.

  I’m just… stunned.

  “Do you need a grav bike, Junco?” Vince asks in a low voice.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t need grav bikes anymore.” I look back up to them. “I’m sorry I have to leave so soon. I love you guys, I hope you know that.”

  They murmur affirmations and crowd in to hug me again. When I pull back I spy Hand’s wife standing off to the side. “I’ll tell him to come home, if you want. I can’t promise anything. He doesn’t take orders from me. But I’ll tell him.”

  She just nods, the tears streaming down her face.

  And then, before I can change my mind, I enter the port. I make it go slow this time, unsure of what’s waiting for me on the other side, but the distance is not far enough to make it stretch on for more than a minute.

  I exit in my room and my stomach clenches up as all the familiar things rush into my forward memory. The bed is still made, although there’s an indentation where someone sat recently.

  My closet door is open, but everything seems to be in order. Like I was here yesterday instead of years ago.

  When was the last time I slept in this room? Never again after I shot Matthew on the sniper range. Over four years ago. I can hear people out in the big room, and a screen broadcasting news. The Apocalypse, I presume. I wonder what’s happening around the world. I’m so oblivious. But I just don’t care. I feel… I feel… hopeless. So totally hopeless.

  I’ve lost everything. My mother, when she walked out on me at six. My father, when he walked out on me at fifteen. My Isten. My Charlie and our baby. Even if it would’ve never lived, it should not have been killed like that. My Aren. He was good to me in cadets that last year, even if he was a clone.

  And I’m not sure about Tier or Gideon. I went against both their orders. They might be very mad at me right now. I tiptoe over to the door. I don’t need to palm my biometrics because the lock’s been blasted, so I just pull it open a little bit and listen.

  The screen is talking about an invasion, but that could mean either avians or Angels, these Earth people don’t seem to understand the difference and no one on the outside seems inclined to explain it to them. It’s like Earth is nothing but the setting, and the humans who live here play no real part in what we’re doing at all.

  My dad’s gruff voice echoes through the hallway outside my room. I peek my head out, but there’s no one. The voices are coming from the big room. My mother’s soft rebuttal starts, but is cut off by Tier’s sharp, “No!” command. “Yer not taking her,” he says as his voice gets closer, then further away again, like he’s pacing. A head stretches up from the couch and I recognize Annun. He looks dead tired though, and drops back out of sight once the reverberations of Tier’s voice cease.

  “Hey,” Gideon says as he enters through the front door off to the right. He passes by without looking down my way. “I got word that Junco was in Low Dallas. Where’s fucking Hando?”

  John grunts from another couch opposite Annun as he reaches for his comm. “Incoming message says she’s on her way here.”

  “W
ell, where the hell is she then?” Tier asks.

  I pop back into my room. Why am I hiding?

  There’s a ton of voices out there now. I catch Tessen, Moju, and Ryse in the fray.

  But instead of going out there and telling them I’m here, I sit on my bed. And then I lie back. And stretch my feet out, boots and all. And then, before I even realize it, I’m curled up with my pillow, which, remarkably, still smells like my childhood.

  My whole body settles, it literally sinks down as my muscles relax, and then all the voices fade as a peaceful calm takes over.

  Home, I think to myself as I drift away. This feels like home.

  Chapter Thirty-Three—JUNCO

  The Stag

  “Junco?” Tier whispers next to my ear. “Junco? Ya awake, darlin’?”

  I tuck my head into my chest and whisper, “No,” so softly, even I barely hear it.

  His arm slides underneath me and then pulls me towards him. He lets out the longest sigh I’ve ever heard and then kisses me on the back of the head. “I love you, Junco.”

  My chest hitches as the tears build. “No, you don’t. You’re going to leave me.”

  He stays silent and this is when it all becomes real for me. He’s leaving. I’m not sure where he’s going or how it will happen, but he’s leaving. He’s not staying, there’s no happy ending for me.

  “Junco, listen—”

  “No,” I say back quickly. “I’m tired of listening to all the bad things people want to tell me. I’m done listening. I wish I’d never come out of the Pillar. I wish I was dead. I wish someone would slice me into little bits and make it all go away. I wish my parents had killed me as a child. I wish I’d just let Matthew do it on the sniper range. I wish—”

  “I wish I could stay, Junco.”

  I say nothing. It’s the final straw for me. To have Tier admit that he’s leaving and there’s no way to stop him is the end of my sanity. I pull away from him and slide over to the wall.