Unclaimed (The Complex Book 0)

by Candice Gilmer

  Contact with others was so easy, and she had yet to master not gleaning things from arbitrary touch.

  Something she’d never concerned herself with before, but now, even the slightest contact could put her--

  “I’m Ula.” Ula held out her hand.

  “Morrigan,” she replied. “Nice to meet you.” Morrigan reached up, trying to steel her tired mind against another prediction, but as soon as they touched, she felt the immediate connection. Unlike what she’d just experienced with the Human, this was pleasant, softer. A positive sensation.

  She held onto Ula’s hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Ula nodded. “Yeah. And?” She started to pull away.

  Morrigan didn’t let go. “Wait. A moment, please.”

  Ula didn’t look exactly convinced, but she stopped pulling away. “What kind of seer are you?”

  “Shh,” Morrigan whispered. She didn’t want anyone hearing that. It would cause more problems than help if word got out she had that particular skill. Staying away from others was best.

  Nonetheless, when the sensation called, she had to release the information, or it drove her to madness. Whether the information was pleasant or not.

  She closed her eyes and let the sensation take over, swirling around her until a few perfectly cued notes in Ula’s life came up.

  “You’re going to be fine. They’ve decided you’re no longer worth chasing.”

  “Whoa,” Ula said. “Wait. How did you--”

  Morrigan held up a finger to quiet her for a second. If she didn’t get this out right now, it would thunder in her head like Thor’s hammer until she found Ula again and told her everything. “Look for attraction in black, but stay away from red, or your decisions will end poorly.”

  Ula nodded. “I’ve never done well with red things.”

  Morrigan smiled. “Trust your gut. You shall be fine.”

  “Thank you.” Ula wanted to say more, but the intercom addressed them, telling them they needed to get off the ship.

  “Welcome to the Complex,” came a somewhat soothing, mechanical female voice.

  Morrigan wasn’t sure she felt exactly soothed to hear that.

  ~*~*~

  It will be all right, Morrigan reminded herself as she crossed from the sunshine into the shadows of the wide complex buildings.

  The sun, hot and dry, was making her edgy. It was making everyone in line edgy. Smells of sweat from beings who weren’t made to be in this kind of heat for this long added a horrid scent to the already putrid, dry air.

  She hoped the filters will be strong…

  Morrigan missed Valhalla. The clatter of swords, the constant training of the fallen warriors, Odin’s booming voice…

  She missed it.

  Her home. The world she’d fallen in love with all those eons ago.

  Yet where did she find herself? On Midgardian ground.

  Among ordinaries.

  But she could never go back. Odin would never permit her to return to Valhalla’s realm. Not after her choice.

  Do not wallow, she told herself. This is the beginning of a new existence. A mostly Human one, but a new one nonetheless.

  Morrigan knew that she must start over, and in essence, become Human again.

  One among all species…

  She inhaled a breath, her thoughts to appreciate what was around her, but instead, she smelled the growing hostility, as everyone waited in the long lines to get inside the Complex.

  She hoped no one started a fight, though it wouldn’t surprise her. Metas and Humans fought. The Project-Extinction war, or P-Ex as many called it, was proof of that. They couldn’t be kept from waging war for over a decade.

  And now they were expected to live in an uneasy peace here, under this domed structure. To her, she saw more than just the almost-fifty mile high buildings. She saw a melting pot of war and fighting that would bubble to the surface at some point.

  Odin would have loved to be here. The fallen in battle were his favorite, after all.

  She glanced at all the Metas and Humans, and could almost feel everyone’s multitude of reasons for coming. But all had the same anchor.

  They each would earn their one-hundred thousand Seldova coin when they walked out the door at the end.

  They got half walking in, the rest when they left. Morrigan was no different than everyone else here.

  If she made it out alive, it would be worth the money. Enough for a fallen Valkyrie to start a new life somewhere, since she could not go back home.

  And if she could not look back, she must look forward.

  The heat waned as she stepped into the shadow of the massive Complex structures, and she marveled at the massive construction. In the shade, the lines immediately seemed calmer, and they started moving faster.

  Perhaps it was because she wasn’t as hot as she had been.

  Didn’t matter.

  She was moving forward. On with her existence, such as it was.

  Stop that.

  This could work out well…

  She had to remind herself, that while her existence had changed, it did not mean it wouldn’t be for the positive. There was always a reason one endured things and survived.

  They still had a purpose.

  Morrigan must still have purpose, since she’d survived her punishment. Not many Valkyrie could walk away from one of Odin’s punishments.

  She had.

  That was important.

  What it meant, she didn’t know. Unfortunately, she could not see her own fate. Everyone else’s? Of course she could, annoyingly well, as it were.

  But her own was different. A blind future with no direction.

  How did Humans live like this?

  How would she--for the rest of whatever existence she had? That much, no one had told her--no one had expected her to survive after her crimes--so she had no idea how long her life span would be now. Much less what work she could do.

  Everyone had to have a job in order to be a part of the Complex. She hadn’t listed much in the way of skills when she’d applied, and supposedly, she would be assigned a position based on her particular traits.

  But what skills did they think a grounded Valkyrie had?

  It would be interesting to see, for certain. She rubbed her palm, feeling like the skin itched where they’d installed the cybernetic chip for identification, payments, and communication.

  An awful lot of tech for a small spot on her hand. If she pressed hard enough, she could feel it under there.

  She hoped she didn’t dig the thing out. She scratched her shoulder, and felt the scarred line--where her wings had once been. She glanced around the Complex’s structure. She would have loved flying around in there.

  Ahead of her, Ula spoke to a red-skinned man, and she glanced her way, and then brush the guy off.

  Good girl, she thought. She should certainly stay away from him. Even from here, the Meta with the red skin looked like trouble.

  As she reached the front, she met the officer of this line, and held out her bag, as she’d seen others do, and then her wrist.

  The officer scanned the spot where the chip resided just under her skin before taking her bag for inspection.

  “Morrigan,” the officer said, his voice thick and gruff.

  She nodded as he checked her bag for contraband. Though really, Morrigan had so little, she couldn’t imagine anyone thinking any of her--

  “You cannot bring in a weapon,” the officer said.

  “But I didn’t,” she replied.

  “Then what is this?” He held out a long glistening stick.

  “It’s for my hair,” Morrigan said.

  He raised his eyebrow.

  Over his shoulder, Morrigan saw Ula glancing back at her, her eyes wide.

  “What can a stick do to your hair?” he snarled as he sat it to the side.

  Another officer came over, this one a woman. “What’s going on?” She glanced at Morrigan and then at the officer.

&n
bsp; He held up the stick. “She has weapons.”

  The woman glanced at Morrigan--and Morrigan noticed she had very long hair, bundled tight against her head--and raised her eyebrow. “That’s not a weapon.”

  “Looks like a shank.”

  “There’s another one,” Morrigan said as she undid the clip, letting the long butter nut-colored strands tumble down. “It’s to bundle my hair.” She held out her hand, and she’d show how it worked. It wasn’t a particularly magical piece. It just tied her hair up. Sticks worked too. “If I may?”

  The male Intra officer glanced at his superior.

  “You go take a break,” the superior said. “I’ll finish her.”

  He grumbled something as he walked away.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would be a problem,” Morrigan said. “They’re only to keep my hair restrained.”

  The woman waited until he was gone, and put it back inside her bag. “You’re fine.” She glanced at the pad that was lying flat, next to her bag. Morrigan’s information remained on the display, glowing up at the officer.

  “Here, take your bag.” She handed her a small reader. “Here’s your map and your assignments.” Her gaze ran over her for a second. “Move on.”

  Morrigan shivered.

  She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something about that Climintra officer that made her uncomfortable.

  Chapter Three

  Luke Cadell lifted the crate and put it on the modified zipper so it could be hauled into Main City.

  “Well, look at you handling those food crates like they’re nothing,” Dumol said as she came into the temperate farm zone. “I know those damn things are heavy. I tried to move one the other day when I first got here.”

  “Just doing my job.” He glanced at her. “Ma’am.”

  She smirked. “Figured you’d be done by now. I’m done. Finally.”

  “Everyone checked in?” he asked as he pushed the crates into place with his cybernetic arm. It had the strength of ten times a normal human’s, with the bulk of the average fit man. If he’d known it would be so strong, he would have had them replace his other arm too.

  He wiped his brow. Even with his strong arm, it didn’t mean he wasn’t sweaty and tired from his work. “Now what?”

  She smiled. “Wait for the fun to begin.” She moved closer to him, and he noticed she carried a bag, which rattled with the sound of bottles clinking together.

  As the manufactured daylight dimmed, the veins on his hand were starting to shine. Dumol, who knew why he had cyborg parts, stared at the glowing green.

  Gloves were a good thing.

  He gestured to the bag as he covered his hand. “Contraband?”

  She smirked as she took a seat on the zipper and placed the bag on her lap. “It’s amazing what people tried to smuggle in here.”

  “Intra disposing of the contraband?” Cadell was a soldier. He knew how this stuff worked, in reality. People created heroes out of stories. Cadell had never met a true hero. He’d only known soldiers, and not a one was a hero.

  Sure, some were kind. True. Good beings.

  But not many.

  Most were likely on the take, making a little on the side. Or worse, working to undermine as a sleeper agent or a mole.

  “Intra will be,” Dumol said. “Part of the reason I’m here, actually.”

  He raised his eyebrow.

  She pulled from the bag a bottle. He recognized the label--a good beer from the Human planet Wreston. Didn’t matter how long ago they left Earth, Humans still loved their alcohol.

  She handed him one, and then opened her own. She took a sip and smacked her lips.

  He waited. He wasn’t going to drink anything before he knew what Dumol wanted.

  “That’s good stuff,” she muttered as she rummaged in the bag. “Check out what some idiot tried to bring in.”

  She pulled out a small blaster. Correction--a gun, not a blaster. He stared as she dangled it from her fingers. “Have you seen one of these before?” she asked.

  “It’s been a while,” he replied. “Seems like my dad had a collection of them, from before.”

  She nodded. “Earth of old, they were popular.” She aimed the gun across the field, toward an empty box.

  Pulled the trigger.

  The firing was louder than he expected. Or was that the crate denting from the bullet? It happened so quickly, he wasn’t sure which sound to track.

  Pretty impressive.

  Though amusing how someone tried to smuggle one in.

  “Well, well, well,” she said, smiling. “Maybe this one is coming home with me.” She took another sip on her drink.

  While he appreciated her bringing him the contraband, he’d seen her like this before. She wanted something.

  He waited.

  She didn’t say anything for a minute, then glanced at him. “I bring you a beer and you don’t open it?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Figures that you’re all about business.” She sighed. “Here’s the deal. There’s a lot of contraband. A lot. And it needs to be stored for, well, future use.”

  He saw where this was going. “I’m a farmer.” He’d been brought in to work maintenance on the four farms in the Complex--grow the food, make sure the mechanical stuff worked like it was supposed to.

  Pretty simple.

  There were probably fifty guys just like him. It was a boring-ass job, but it kept him away from the main populace.

  Probably the best thing for him.

  Logically, anyway.

  He and the others made sure all the farming equipment ran like it was supposed to, and that the food grew like it should. When it was ready, he loaded it up on the modified zippers to take it out to the commerce areas, where it was sold to the businesses in the center of the Complex.

  Simple.

  Easy.

  Now Dumol was wanting to complicate that.

  “You’re also going to have access to some of the best storage in the Complex.”

  He raised his eyebrow. “Doesn’t Climintra have room for that?”

  “Look, I need a place to store this stuff, where I know no one will bother it. Can I trust you?”

  “No.”

  Now it was her turn to look perturbed. “I hear a lot of people trust you.”

  “Don’t know what you mean.”

  “You do too.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Would suck for you if the First could trust you and I can’t.”

  He didn’t move. So, she was in on the game. Fine. He could play that too. “You have no idea who trusts me.”

  She took a step forward. “Soldier, I could kill you tonight. I still have the gear.”

  “Of course you do,” Cadell muttered.

  Why would she ever give up anything that allowed her control over someone else? And he was curious why she had it, if she hadn’t know he was going to be at the Complex.

  Someone was lying.

  “Be a shame to be the first burial in that lovely cemetery out there.” She gestured to the long walkway between the farms and the main part of the Complex. Land had been set aside for cemeteries--there was one between each farm Main City.

  Made for a gloomy ride to work every day. Well, it would for most people, anyway.

  Not him. He smirked.

  Dumol wasn’t impressed. “I’m not kidding. And if certain Metas in here would happily drop the P-Ex Butcher, if they knew where he was.”

  He sighed. “Do you think I expect to walk out of here in two and a half years?” He had known this was a death sentence as soon as he walked in.

  Cadell would never breathe free air again.

  It was only a matter of time.

  And as far as he was concerned, sooner was better than waiting around for it. Probably why he had taken the job in the first place.

  Chapter Four

  Morrigan bolted upright, a scream lodged in her throat, ready to erupt. The voice
s were echoing in the air. She could still hear them.

  Feel them…

  She reached for her shoulders, her hands trembling, and expecting to find the inevitable horrors.

  Yet she patted her shoulders.

  Nothing.

  No blood…

  It took her a moment to recognize where she was. It wasn’t back on Valhalla, being tortured and shamed by her fellow Valkyrie.

  She was on Lorn.

  In the Complex.

  Her tiny apartment--large enough for a small sitting area, a comfortable bed--well, it was once she figured out how to work the customization controls, anyway--and a waste disposal and hygiene room. It hadn’t been created particularly for her, in any case.

  Too confining, at least she thought so. So small and cramped, unlike the halls at Valhalla…

  Stop it.

  “That life is over,” she whispered to herself. “I’m lucky to exist at all. I must stop wallowing in my own pity.”

  She glanced at her wall, where a digital unit displayed the hour--approximately fifteen minutes before her designated wake-up time.

  “Every day is a blessing,” she whispered to herself as she climbed out of her bed.

  Perhaps some of the early breakfast restaurants will be open. Her stomach gurgled, already craving food. Maybe some of that coffee the Humans were so in love with.

  Morrigan adored the smell of coffee. There was something so cleansing and invigorating about it. Made her want to challenge her day and run, swords drawn, lights flashing and attacking the beasts with all her might--

  Her shoulders slumped.

  She would not be doing that again.

  Not in this lifetime, anyway. She quickly took her hygiene shower and fixed her hair.

  Well, she sort of did.

  First she dried it, and she got out her jeweled sticks she put in her hair--the ones the initial Climintra officer tried to take from her.

  But before she wrapped her hair in them, she held them out before her, like blades.

  And was thankful that Intra hadn’t realized the little jeweled sticks were actually weapons. As she waved her arms, the sticks transformed from their tiny thin form into eight-inch daggers, the hilts wrapping around her wrists.