Freeforce: The Gryphon Saga

by L. E. Horn

  Mood swings? Lianndra wondered.

  A streak of red shot through the body, and faster than the eye could follow, something launched from among the tentacles. The Gryphon reacted wickedly fast, leaping clear as a thin tentacle slapped the Pit’s wall where she’d stood moments before. She didn’t leap away but rather toward the blob, one foreleg snapping out to strike at the crown. Before she could connect, a tentacle slapped her claws aside.

  In an instant, both combatants separated again, having tested their mettle with the opening salvo. The watching Farr howled their approval. Lianndra wondered if they had preferences for who won the match. Likely it doesn’t matter as long as there’s lots of blood spilled.

  For over an hour, the two aliens tested each other, doing no damage other than a lacerated tentacle on the Jelly. The Farr grew restless, hissing and shouting insults. Finally, the priestess stood, signaling for silence. She said something in their guttural language, and the Farr yelled their support. The Gryphon stared at the hovering cube, and her neck spikes sagged as the priestess addressed her.

  The spotlight detected movement at another Pit entrance where a second Gryphon entered the arena. Lianndra and Andrea gasped. This one could have been a child—it was a third the size of the other, with spikes consisting of tiny nubs and a highly patterned hide. It walked toward the big one as if unsure of what to do.

  The Jelly flashed red. The adult Gryphon shrieked before launching herself between the flying tentacle and the childlike Gryphon. For the first time, the tentacle struck home, lashing across the muscled hindquarter, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. They heard a high-pitched scream, then the Gryphon stood at the far end of the Pit. She pushed the small one behind her against the wall, well away from the Jelly. The injured hind leg buckled when the Gryphon tried to use it; the tentacle must have had venom in its strike.

  Hatred for the Fang swelled within Lianndra, and by the tension in Andrea’s body beside her, she knew her friend felt the same. For all its brutality, the Pit possessed its own code of honor, kept sacred by the fighters themselves. This battle had just crossed a line obvious to everyone except the Fang.

  The Jelly seemed willing to win at any cost. Lianndra would like to think that in the Jelly’s place, she would choose death over such dishonorable conduct. But she knew nothing of the circumstances surrounding the capture of these aliens. Perhaps Gryphon slaughtered its entire family. Yet does anything justify attacking a child in such a way? I don’t want to watch, but how can I not? I need to know if they live.

  The injured hind leg disabled the Gryphon. Out of necessity, she dropped onto all six limbs, dragging the one hind as she circled the Pit, keeping herself between the Jelly and the smaller Gryphon. Her spikes bristled aggression and her tail arched.

  This time, when the Jelly flashed red, the small Gryphon reacted to an invisible signal, leaping away while the other charged. Screaming, the big Gryphon took the tentacles’ full brunt across her shoulders as she barreled into the Jelly, slashing with her claws. The two aliens disappeared in a maelstrom of dust and flashing color. Lianndra and Andrea were on the edge of the bed, clutching each other’s hands, horrified eyes locked on the screen. Around the Pit, the Farr erupted, screaming their support of the carnage with their guttural cries.

  The dust settled to reveal the Jelly and the Gryphon so intertwined it became difficult to determine where one started and the other ended. Neither moved. The small Gryphon paced forward into the Pit before beginning to keen, a high-pitched sound of sorrow piercing Lianndra to the heart. Several Farr emerged from the Pit’s entrance to corral the grieving Gryphon and begin the cleanup.

  Lianndra kept the screen on until the little Gryphon disappeared, presumably taken back to the alien ward. She wiped tears away as she turned off the monitor. A temporary reprieve only. The Fang won’t hesitate to torture and kill the little Gryphon, even if it’s a child. I hate them.

  “My God.” Andrea choked back tears. “The Gryphon . . . she sacrificed herself to save the child. It was so, so . . .”

  “Human,” Lianndra whispered. I’m going to have to reassess my opinion of aliens. They’re not all like the Fang. It’s been so easy to throw them together as unfeeling and essentially evil. Us versus Them. Human versus Alien. For the first time, she felt a connection between herself and a nonhuman, alien-based life form.

  Some of them could be just like us. She rubbed her aching head with both hands. The universe just got more complicated.

  EWTK’FISK RAN HER TALONED FINGERS along the list. Behind each number, she had entered a human name, something new for her. Her people used numbers for slave identification. Names are superfluous. Or so I used to believe.

  As she perused the list, anger burned within her. Harvesting the valuable Tier-5s before they could reach maximum potential offended her. The humans were a valuable species, and the Tier-5s represented generations of hard work. Now the geneticists are meddling with them as adults, she thought. This directive is troubling from many perspectives. The recent war added impetus to the rapid mutation and manipulation of more than a few slave species cultured by the Tlok’mk. More than we have ever done before. It is an inefficient use of resources.

  The latest subjects of the Tier-5 initiative were the ones listed on the console awaiting her approval. Arranging for the last phase fell under her jurisdiction, and the plans were complete. She waited for signs that each Tier-5 human subject had responded to the preliminary serum and therefore initiated their mutations. The serum should yield results along a certain genetic plane, with a small margin for error. Such manipulation could mimic an evolution taking many generations to occur naturally on their home planets. Renowned throughout the universe for their ability, the Tlok’mk geneticists manipulated genes in many diverse ways. The extrapolations and inclusions of new genetic materials were most effective if the subjects contained similarities at the genetic level, such as often existed between species that share a world. Many alterations included in the human genes came from other species on their home planet.

  It was no longer an option for the Tlok’mk to use related species from their own home world to enhance or repair their genetic makeup—they lost their planet, and its diversity, long ago, well before Ewtk’fisk’s time. There were many theories about what went wrong, and the historical records surviving their planet’s destruction contained gaps that time had not filled. In the end, rebel insurgents were blamed for the civil war that pulled their civilization apart. Ewtk’fisk studied enough history to doubt this theory. The extensive modification of the Tlok’mk genetic makeup after their planet’s death lent credence to other, more insidious, causes. But the cause now mattered less than the permanent effect on the lifestyle of her species.

  Condemned to drifting through space in their massive Motherships, the Tlok’mk’s entire existence centered on the conquest of other species. Respected as slave traders, the Tlok’mk’s customers appreciated their ability to genetically manipulate species into specialized roles. Her people even filled special requests for elite clients that took generations to achieve.

  This ambitious war for a single planet has interfered with our slave trading function and called on too many of our resources, she thought. The Tlok’mk needed to resolve this war, or they would face a crisis not only financial in nature.

  Deep in contemplation, Ewtk’fisk tapped the console before her. Thanks to the rebellion, she now knew something about these Tier-5 humans to which few of her kind were privy. Her job required patience and close monitoring. When it came time to act, she would have to do so smoothly and efficiently in order to not raise suspicion.

  How ironic the fate of my species might rest with a small group of human slaves.

  Chapter Eight

  LIANNDRA DRAGGED HERSELF OUT OF bed, groaning. Drenched in sweat, she wondered if she had a fever.

  This has been going on too long, she thought. I wonder if I’m allergic to the supplement. She Danced in three days. At this rate, I wo
n’t be able to make it to the lowest platforms.

  It took her a long time to shower and stagger down the hall to the medic’s quarters.

  Tania didn’t seem concerned. “Some people react to the vitamin supplement this way,” she said. “I’ll take blood just in case, but you should be better by tomorrow.” She took the sample, sliding it into a large machine that sucked up the tube. The Fara techs analyzed the blood. Tania’s responsibilities ended with administering medicines, healing injuries, and taking samples.

  “I have three days,” Lianndra said, alarmed.

  “You’ll be fine by then,” Tania replied.

  Bloody medic has lost her mind, Lianndra thought as she left the room. A bad performance wouldn’t shortlist her for a private party—her reputation would hold her for a while. But permitting the Farr to win too fast might cause worse injuries, not to mention that she hated letting a Farr have easy blood.

  Lianndra had just left the medic’s office when everything in the hall went kaleidoscopic, radiating colors in a spectrum that drove spikes into her brain. Lianndra staggered and bounced off another woman who smelled of crushed lilacs.

  Lilacs?

  The heavyset woman cursed before pushing her away. Leaning against the wall, Lianndra closed her eyes and the lilac scent faded. When she opened them, everything returned to normal. Well, sort of. Were the walls always a sickening shade of puke yellow? Why hadn’t she noticed the antiseptic smell before now?

  Strange colors and strong smells. Great, I’m turning into a werewolf, Lianndra thought, remembering one of her favorite horror novels. Perfect.

  LIANNDRA WAITED ON THE HIGHEST platform for the Farr to arrive. For once, she Danced alone. No doubles today.

  She still didn’t feel quite herself. Her energy came in fits and spurts, and she’d experienced several bouts of vision impairment as well as nauseating incidences of enhanced smell. As a result, she hadn’t eaten in over a day. Lianndra should have been weak, but instead, she felt curiously buoyant.

  Normally coated in drab colors, today the Coliseum seemed to glow. The reds pulsed with multiple shades, and the metal gleamed with iridescent blue highlights and deep purple shadows. The place reeked as well, and she could tell where each drop of blood shed in the last week had fallen. The coppery metallic stench offended her.

  I am a werewolf, she thought, baring her teeth while picturing herself as a toothy carnivore. Those were some vitamins. Wonder how long it’ll last? The Fang manipulation should alarm her, but if it gave her an edge while Dancing, Lianndra guessed she approved. As long as they don’t take it too far, a little animal juice doesn’t hurt.

  The Coliseum door opened, admitting a huge Farr. Lianndra didn’t recognize him. Larger than most, his torso revealed half-healed scars.

  An older generation Farr. Just in from the war, she thought while crouching on the platform. He’ll be particularly dangerous, smart with fast reflexes. Dancers perished dueling with Farr still jumpy from the front lines. I have no intention of becoming one of those.

  The Farr’s orange gaze swirled with red as he searched for her, his skrin unfurling. Even from her perch high above, Lianndra saw the clear inner membranes flick across his eyes. The Fang substitution for a blink, it usually happened so fast the human eye couldn’t follow it. She also noticed star-shaped pupils, almost invisible within the solid color irises. Lianndra crouched farther down on her platform, her lips peeling back from her teeth in a silent snarl.

  Her heart pounded, but she had no time to consider the weirdness of her new abilities. Lianndra’s eyes met the Farr’s, and the match was on.

  From the first move, everything about this Blooddance took her by surprise. The Farr possessed sharp reflexes, and he came after her with murderous reddened eyes and bared teeth. Lianndra’s responses, however, shocked her. She jumped farther, spun, twisted, and somersaulted as never before. Somehow, she knew what the Farr would do a split second before he did it. The minute twitches of the heavy muscling predicted his moves. She’d never been able to interpret such things before.

  Two hours into the Blooddance, a surprising thought zinged through her brain. I can take this guy.

  The shift in power began with subtlety. Lianndra took more chances, cutting the margins of miss to mere inches. The Farr’s nostrils flared wide as he pursued her. Then there came the moment when their eyes met across a platform, and she saw recognition dawn.

  He knows I’m playing him.

  His fist started to clench, signaling her skrin to betray her. Lianndra leaped, vaulting over his head and twisting to wrap her arms beneath his big jaws. Instead of binding her to the platform, her skrin spun around both of their bodies, binding her to his back.

  Before he could signal the skrin to release again, she sunk her fangs into his neck.

  I have fangs?

  Dark blood welled, and she spat out the putrid liquid. Lianndra tried folding her lips over the long fangs, but with minimal success. The watching Farr howled, all of them, and the one beneath her wrestled free of the loosening skrin, twisting to glare at her, his claws flexing.

  Before he acted, an imperious feminine voice sounded through the speakers. The Farr snarled but halted, baring his teeth. He raised a hand to touch the blood running from his neck.

  The voice from above saved her life. Shocked by this latest development, Lianndra stood frozen on the platform. The Farr could’ve sliced her in two. Instead, he backhanded her. Only the instinctive deployment of her skrin saved her from a nasty fall.

  The voice barked again, and the Farr skrinned his way to the floor before stalking from the Coliseum.

  Shaking, Lianndra found her way to the cube. It carried her from the Blooddance but not from her chaotic thoughts.

  The cube changed direction, and something twigged in Lianndra’s foggy brain. It took her a few moments to realize it wasn’t taking her back to her ward.

  EWTK’FISK WAITED, ARMS HANGING BY her sides and lips folded over her long, pointed teeth. She had learned this reassuring body language from her interactions with humans.

  Just out of earshot stood two Bernaf slaves, a species used by the Fara as bodyguards. Their short, wiry bodies and attenuated limbs possessed soft, pale-gray skin. The aliens’ bulbous heads seemed large for their frames, with enormous, slanted eyes, and mere slits for nostrils and mouths.

  The Bernaf may be a small species, but their stature belied an incredible agility and strength that made them lethal when required. The Bernaf home world was a secret even the Tlok’mk methods of interrogation hadn’t been able to pry loose. The Motherships pounced on Bernaf craft when they found them. These two served only Ewtk’fisk.

  Ewtk’fisk always experienced some nerves when she met with humans. Although Fara rarely made direct contact with the slaves, Ewtk’fisk’s position sometimes warranted it. Today, the assignment increased her angst. Ewtk’fisk knew the Tlok’mk rebels disabled the monitors in this area. They needed her to connect with certain human slaves, and they didn’t want anyone knowing about it. That they could shut down the monitors proved the rebels were more plentiful and more organized than Ewtk’fisk had assumed.

  Her long, taloned fingers rolled a datachrys between them. If discovered, the information recorded on it could doom many of her fellow rebels to instant termination. Not so long ago, the thought of being part of such a conspiracy would have reduced her to a quivering mass of nerves. A rebellious fire now smoldered deep within her.

  LIANNDRA’S HEART POUNDED. THE CUBE’S walls shimmered in iridescent hues as it carried her away from everything she knew. She raised shaking hands to her face, tracing the familiar contours before settling trembling fingers on her lips. Baring her teeth, she touched the long fangs.

  Was it my imagination? she wondered

  The fangs were impressive. She felt raised areas just under the gums, extending above her canine teeth. Her canines had elongated substantially. As she opened and closed her mouth, her lips moved to fold over them.

/>   What the hell was in that supplement? When did I grow fangs? Lianndra didn’t remember if her mouth had felt funny when her entire body had been off-kilter.

  Her hands dropped to her sides as she leaned against the cube’s wall. This couldn’t be good. Dancers that vanished right after a Blooddance never reappeared. Wherever they were taking her, she wouldn’t be returning. The cube halted. Lianndra flattened against the wall, fighting to get control over her body and stifle the trembling of her limbs. She forced herself to stand erect, to face whatever new horrors Fate held in store for her. As the door hissed open, she raised her chin.

  Three figures stood before her. The central alien could only be a Fang Fara, although Lianndra had never seen a live one up close. Now that she had become familiar with the males, the differences between the sexes were clear. Tall and not as muscled, the Fara’s head appeared a different shape with elongated jaws, tapered and speckled with paler dapples over the usual deep violet-black. Judging by the ridges along her lips, her teeth might even be larger than her male counterparts. Her arms were also longer in proportion to her body and the fingers more delicate behind the claws.

  Lianndra noticed two of those claws filed to mere stubs on each hand. Perhaps so they can handle things requiring precision, like computers?

  Altogether, a very different beast from the Farr. The eyes, still coldly reptilian, held a gleam that made her more uneasy than the usual bloodlust of the males. Reptilian this Fara might be, but this reptile radiated intelligence. Lianndra’s attention turned to the figures standing against the far wall. Barely three feet in height, they had enormous dark, slanted eyes, large heads on attenuated necks, and pale-gray skin. With a shock, Lianndra recognized the aliens were the spitting image of those that humans claimed to have encountered on Earth. The common description missed the whipcord strength they wore like a second skin. Their long arms appeared skinny, but they had an elastic energy about them, an ease in the way they stood, which implied speed and agility. Lianndra didn’t think she would want to Blooddance with them.