Rebirth (Cross Book 1)

by Hildred Billings

  “Right… so what do the mercenaries do to try and stop him?”

  “Their job is to find the Relics before Master Dunsman does.”

  “But wouldn’t that have the same affect?”

  “It’s very delicate. Ultimately, they would be out of Master Dunsman’s hands, and he would not be able to destroy them.”

  “Who has Earth’s Relics now?”

  “We are not at liberty to share that.”

  “I see. Now, these mercenaries, they were originally citizens of Cerilyn, Master Dunsman’s first target with sentient life on it, correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Cerilyn was a planet whose entire population was mostly comprised of mercenary ‘soldiers for hire’ tribes, often looked down upon as barbarians by other members of the Federation, but hired by many as free armies. They were especially popular during the Interplanetary Wars that occurred nearly one thousand years ago, but their entire existence was blanked out when Master Dunsman claimed the planet. And, as we know, both of Master Marlow’s hired mercenaries were high-ranking members of the Second Tribe and considered to be among the best of the best. What were their names?”

  “Sulim di’Graelic and Sonall Gardiah.”

  “Those sound like noble names. I believe the di’Graelic line still exists in the form of d’Graliric, the family that controls half the planetary parliament on Germaud. And the Gardiahs were once prized horse breeders before the Second Tribe stole the information. Correct?”

  “I’m not a genealogist, but I wouldn’t be surprised. Many mercenaries were picked up as children during raids of families of status. I don’t doubt the mercenaries we speak of were any different.”

  “An interesting possible connection, to be sure. Why have they failed so much?”

  “Various reasons, I would suppose. We always hope that this time will be different.”

  “But what if it isn’t?”

  “I guess Earth is literally history.”

  “Comforting.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Jilarah, I pose this next question back to you. We’ve also been getting reports that Master Dunsman has retained a new employee on Earth. Possibly a criminal. Do we know who that person is?”

  “We have a few leads.”

  “Like who?”

  “This shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, but our prime suspect is Syrfila Tograten, the Federation’s current number one bounty aside from Master Dunsman himself.”

  “Really? So, we know for sure that she’s hiding on Earth?”

  “We already guessed so. But now we know why we can’t locate her – she’s probably being protected by Master Dunsman in return for her services.”

  “Now, this is the criminal charged with destroying a planet herself, right?”

  “Yes, except it was not a planet, nor was it really destroyed. She made a moon uninhabitable and killed most of the people living there. Before we could transport her to her trial, however, she managed to escape and, as we now know, ran to Earth.”

  “Still, the idea of them working together does not sound like good news for anybody. Are there any plans to evacuate Earth-born citizens?”

  “Beyond those who are Federation citizens or their known descendants? No. That would be impossible.”

  “A shame, but it can’t be helped, I suppose.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So that leads us to our next and probably most important question: why Earth? Either one of you have an answer for that, Lanelle or Jilarah?”

  “No.”

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “There are many, many theories about that one, but quite frankly, we don’t know. The obvious guess is that he’s attacking our pet Colony as a big giant middle-finger fuck you to the Federation government. Let’s not be surprised if there’s a next time and he comes after a Federation planet larger than Earth. Possibly Terra III itself.”

  “That would be…”

  “Pretty disastrous, yes.”

  “Well, Lanelle, thank you for joining us, but that’s all the time we have right now. You can be sure that we’ll be following this story as it unfolds, and I think I speak on behalf of everyone that we’ll be praying for the safety of Earth. Thank you again, Lanelle, and you too, Jilarah. Next, we’ll be talking with…”

  ***

  Marlow the Master julah was too angry to be of any help to his pair of failing mercenaries. As soon as an exasperated call from Lanelle came through – she swore she did everything in her power to enact damage control with the public – both Devon and Danielle knew it was time to leave. Devon went first. Danielle took her time, not looking forward to what may await her at home.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The hour was late, which left time for a brief shower before slipping into sweats and sliding into bed. Danielle lay with her head sideways on the pillow, thinking of nothing until some form of sleep could overcome her. Her eyelids were heavy and her mind full of crap.

  Too full.

  As her short-term memory shuffled through that day’s events and converted facts into long-term memory, some things got… convoluted. At one point, Danielle was back in that humid elevator. She was not alone. Miranda was also in the dream, a svelte vixen who was as bold as she was brazen.

  She took Danielle’s hand and let her trace the cuts on her back.

  The scars were fresh. The blood dripping. Pip. Pip…

  “Ew! Don’t touch it! You might get it infected!”

  Danielle withdrew her hand and looked around, no longer in the elevator. Instead, she looked down a dark hallway clouded with dead ends and the stench of blood.

  Someone is crying. Someone I know.

  “It’s not too deep,” the physician says.

  I look into the dormitories.

  A young woman lies face down with her arms dangling on either side of the bed. Her back bleeds sheets of fresh blood. Nobody is perturbed by it. It’s a part of our lives.

  I keep walking.

  My nerves tighten as I progress down the quiet hallway. The rooms on either side are crude dormitories, the occupants the chief’s top junior mercenaries. Hmph. More like the chief’s personal collection of special trainees. I might be one of them. One day I’ll be the heralded mercenary the Federation history books talk about. Right now, I’m just some dumb trainee who gets hazed every other day while the chief nods in approval.

  I follow the sound of tears.

  A door is ajar. Lantern light seeps in and spares the room of darkness. I freeze. This is it. The room I’m looking for. The source of the crying.

  I hang outside the door, gathering the strength to go inside. I don’t want to face this. But I don’t know what else to do.

  Darkness. A mass of blanket is curled up on a coat on the right side of the room. The body beneath heaves up and down with each muffled sob. Blood mars the floor and the sheet. Those same splotches lead down the chief’s private corridor. A wounded animal has come down the hall and is here to lick her wounds.

  When I look up, I see it. The mass of freshly carved scars on the obliterated canvas of her back, globs of congealed blood staining flesh as it pulses with each light cry.

  “Who’s there?”

  I back away from the door before I am detected. Yet my footsteps are no match for the trained mercenary sitting on the other side of the dormitory. She looks at me with dark eyes.

  “You. Get in here.”

  The door opens far enough to let me in. I’m told to shut it behind me. We’re all thrown into a darkness pierced by the sounds of sobbing, but the other mercenary leans forward and lights the lantern between the two cots. I see her. Her face is shrouded in long blond hair, and her sullen countenance makes the crones look like amicable folk. This is a rare intimacy for us. Usually, my seniors wear the plain black garb assigned to us. This woman wears her pajamas, nothing more than tiny shorts and a sleeveless gray top. She’s barefoot.

  “Look at her,” she
mutters, and I hang my head in shame. “Look at her!”

  The sniffling mess of bleeding blanket faces the other wall. Nothing I want to look at, but guilt and shame propel me to face my disgust.

  “I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re grateful. That happened because of you.”

  I cover my mouth with my calloused hand. A hand calloused from hard, manual labor around the fortress of my tribe. From weapon handling. From fending off the people of my own tribe who want to abuse me because I’m young, new, and weak.

  “That was supposed to be you. Don’t deny it – she was after you. You’re so beyond lucky right now. You have no idea.”

  “I… I’m sorry.” My voice shakes.

  “Don’t tell me. I’m not the one who took a blow for you.”

  Biting my lip, I take the two steps necessary to cross the dorm. By now, the sobbing has stopped, but the shuddering continues. Is it because of the stale air hitting the fresh wounds? The room might as well be full of salt and lemons.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, shaking. She’s right. This could’ve been me. It was supposed to be me. “I didn’t want you to do this.”

  “Well, she did.”

  The mound of blood stirs. I look into swollen eyes. For a moment, this young woman smiles. Then she faints into a deep sleep.

  “She’ll kill her one day. It keeps escalating until she won’t be able to contain herself any longer. She’ll kill her. At the rate she’s going, she’ll kill us all.”

  “But…why?”

  “I don’t know. She’s messed up. It’s only a matter of time before she finally gets to you.”

  “Does she do this to everybody?”

  “Only her favorites.”

  “Does she do this to you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what? That it’s not you? You didn’t make that decision, she did.”

  “Why?”

  She opens the door. “Couldn’t tell you. But you’d better lick her like candy for all she’s done for you.”

  The night wore on in silence.

  ***

  Danielle sat at her kitchen counter after work, hand over her mouth and eyes cast down upon the crude note left on her door.

  “I have the other Relic. It’s on the girl, and I’ve got her too. Bring your Relic to the old north section of the Bay Town warehouses Saturday at noon. Don’t worry about her. I’ll keep her alive until then.”

  The enemy had the second Relic, and “the girl” made Danielle instantly think of Alicia. The mere idea of Syrfila kidnapping Alicia and doing God knew what to her made Danielle decide she needed to test this hypothesis before doing anything drastic.

  By the time her call to Devon got through, he was putting dinner in the oven. Pizza would have to wait, however. Even if it meant answering his phone when he was trapped between the refrigerator and the oven with the pizza in his hand.

  “Slow down! What’s wrong?”

  “Have you spoken to Alicia lately? Like since Sunday at all?”

  “No. I have no idea where she is, even though everyone thinks I should.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The friend she’s staying with called me this morning and asked me if I knew where she was. Apparently, she’s run off somewhere.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “What?”

  “That criminal has her. I’ve got a note right here from her. The enemy kidnapped Alicia because apparently she has the other Relic.”

  “What? I checked all her stuff! It was one of the first things I did!”

  “Either they’re bluffing, or they know something we don’t. Regardless, we’ve got a bit of a problem on our hands.”

  “What do they want?”

  “What do you think they want? They want the other Relic, by Saturday, or they’re going to kill her.”

  “Do you think they really will?”

  “These people want to destroy the planet and everyone on it. Why wouldn’t they kill her?”

  Devon looked to Clyde, who entered the kitchen at that moment. “What do we do? We can’t give them the statue.”

  “Obviously. We… fuck it. I’ll call you back later. We need to think this shit through.”

  She hung up. Devon stared ahead as the news of Alicia’s kidnapping sank in. Only a week before, he would have frothed at the mouth, demanding justice and fearing for his ex-girlfriend’s life. Yet now all he could think was, “Yeah, sometimes people get lost during a mission.” In his old mercenary life, ransoms were rarely paid. But Alicia was not a mercenary, and much like Danielle said Devon would never last in the military, Alicia would likewise never last as a mercenary.

  The phone rang again. Devon answered as quickly as his heart thumped in his chest.

  “Devon?” Jenna greeted. “I know I already called today, but I still haven’t heard from Alicia and…”

  “Don’t worry.” Devon mustered up the confidence to get away with lying. “I heard from Alicia about an hour ago. She said not to worry. She flew back to Boston to spend some time with her family. She said she tried calling you, but she couldn’t get through.”

  “Oh, really?” Jenna sniffed. “I was about to call the police.”

  “No, not necessary.” Devon tossed the pizza over to Clyde, who caught it before it could crash to the ground. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon. Don’t worry about her.”

  “Well, if you hear from her again, tell her I went and got her laundry from the laundromat.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “Thanks, Devon.” She hung up.

  “So,” Clyde said, after putting the pizza in the oven, “ex-girlfriend in a ditch somewhere?”

  “Yup. Probably being terrorized half to death.” Even the sleeping soul within him was a bit perturbed by how blasé he could be. But if he admitted that he worried about Alicia’s well-being, then the rest of the week would be a total mess. Adopting the stoic façade of a hardened mercenary would have to do.

  ***

  Between the alcohol stinging her wounds and the tip of a metal needle scuffing her scabs, Miranda had no idea which caused her to hiss through her teeth more. She knew damn well she should have seen a doctor sometime before the end of the week but, ironically, the hardest part about that was getting clearance to take the time off on such short notice. Contacting her superior, scheduling a replacement since her department could not live without a commander...

  Miranda had long decided to forego a military doctor and instead went to a private practice near her neighborhood. Once she explained her situation – as briefly as possible, since no details were desired – the elderly man managed to work her into late Thursday morning. Miranda lay on her stomach for the better of an hour while he tended to her drying and scabbing wounds.

  The needle nicked into a rare patch of clean skin left on Miranda’s back. She stifled a cry to keep some semblance of honor in that small white room smelling of doctor’s alcohol and her own flesh. This private practitioner did not take her government health insurance, but she was so well-off from her father’s pay-offs that a few hundred dollars to get her wounds treated were but a blip in one of her secret bank accounts.

  “Little bit of good news, anyway,” the doctor said. “Most of this shouldn’t scar too bad, if at all. Small favors.”

  Miranda scoffed. If only he knew. “Good to hear. That shit isn’t something I want to see every time I change clothes.”

  “Nor do I suppose you want other people seeing it.” The doctor shook his head. “It’s so curious, though.” His hands brushed off dried blood. “It almost looks like a symbol carved into your back.”

  “Curious, indeed.”

  “Do you know what it is?”

  Miranda pushed her crossed arms beneath her chin. “Never really looked at it.”

  “I’ve got a mirror around here.”

  Miranda hoped the doctor was facetious. “No, keep doing what you’re
doing.”

  Another half hour passed before the doctor pronounced his work finished and Miranda was free to leave and pay her bill. Chump change. She knew anyone under her command would scoff, cough, cry, maybe even pass out over such a bill, but Miranda could afford it like she could afford her beauty regimens, her house payments in an affluent and family-friendly neighborhood, her expensive health food, her yearly trips to Japan where all she did was get drunk with old friends... her smoking habit, her car payments... it was just money.

  Growing up, she knew poverty. She knew American food stamps. She knew watching her mother go to and from work every day to keep food on the table, but ever since she first encountered Nerilis Dunsman when she was seventeen, she knew extravagant numbers in overseas bank accounts. Work became a formality.

  She wanted to go home, to go to work, to go anywhere than where she was about to go. At that point, she was willing to go to Syrfila’s loft and stare in pity at the poor hostage kept there, half-starved and fearing for her life. But spending nearly a thousand dollars of Nerilis’s useless money reminded Miranda she had other obligations.

  Once home, she withdrew two things from her nightstand. In one hand she held her ring, and in the other she held her gun. She wondered which one was more valuable. She did not have to wonder for long.

  Once she slipped the gaudy blue ring onto her finger, her body tingled and left the room.

  The matter, the atoms of her body rearranged.

  Scents came and went.

  Somewhere, on the other side of the town she had just left, another woman screamed from the spiritual rift cracking across Earth. That’s what happened when an old and sacred object packed with the fears and desires of a thousand years was used as an interdimensional transportation device. At least Nerilis knew his useless progeny would take care of it.