Freeforce: The Gryphon Saga

by L. E. Horn

  Michael picked up Lianndra’s hand and sat holding it, feeling helpless.

  Hannah sighed before sitting on her heels. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but I’ve stopped the bleeding. I’d like to wash her before I finish the healing. It will make it easier for me to see where I am.” She stood to look around. “I think I noticed a small runoff creek over this way.”

  Drake moved to help lift Lianndra but Michael waved him off. “I’ve got this. You’ve got a rebellion to organize.”

  Drake hesitated before nodding. He moved off toward the verbal confusion Michael heard building in momentum behind them.

  Michael carefully eased his arms under Lianndra and lifted her limp form. She’s so small. He paused long enough to ensure she breathed before following Hannah into the foliage. Something brushed against his leg and it startled him to see a long tail, the bushy end saturated in blood. He’d heard some Healers possessed them but he’d only ever seen Lianndra in the dark. Looking ahead, he noticed Hannah had one as well, although it lacked the tuft.

  They reached the creek, and he immersed Lianndra. The clear spring turned deep red as the running water worked on the blood—with a shock, Michael realized she wasn’t wearing any clothes. What he assumed to be a bodysuit revealed itself in the flowing water as hair—her hair, interwoven all over her body to resemble clothing. As the blood washed away, the hair caught the dappled sunlight through the water. Mottled with the colors blondes naturally have, it ranged from chestnut brown to a color so pale it was almost silver. Only her face, hands, and feet seemed bare. Her elongated toes possessed claws even longer than those on her hands. All that and a tail . . .

  He sighed, holding her head above the water with one hand and gently washing her cheek with the other. So many changes. His fingers trailed over her upper lip where the tips of long fangs gleamed. Where is the girl I rescued from the shark?

  Hannah’s hands ran all over Lianndra’s body, separating real injuries from rodent blood, working on each wound as she found it. Lianndra’s lip curled in a grimace of pain, revealing one long, pointed fang. Then her eyes snapped open.

  And there she was. For Michael, nothing could be simpler. The moment their eyes met, nothing else mattered. Lianndra was there, battered and bloody, changed—but alive.

  He smiled down at her and she smiled back. For a moment, the world fell into balance.

  Busy healing, Hannah failed to notice Michael and Lianndra having a moment. She pulled at hair matted with blood, her fingers probing too deeply into a wound.

  “Ow!” Lianndra struggled to sit. Her eyes widened as they slid from his face to the big hands supporting her. Michael saw her expression turn to one of horror as Lianndra focused on Hannah, who worked on a wound on her tail.

  In an instant, Lianndra jumped to her feet, yanking her tail out of Hannah’s hands. Michael rose with her, reaching for her elbow as she swayed. Hannah grabbed her other arm.

  With a strength she shouldn’t have possessed, Lianndra shook them both off, spinning in a circle, swinging her tail in a flying spray of water to back them away. In a flash of wet golden hair, she leaped into the canopy.

  “Lianndra!” Michael called but received no answer.

  Hannah shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll go after her.”

  “What was that about?” Michael sounded so hurt and confused Hannah turned to him.

  He saw her hesitate. “She has some issues with the way she looks.”

  The revelation confused Michael even more. “What?” He shook his head, staring at the branches where Lianndra vanished.

  “I’ve gotta go. She won’t get far. She’s too weak.” Hannah turned away. “Don’t worry,” she said over her shoulder. Then she sprang for the closest branch to vanish in Lianndra’s wake.

  Michael got an eyeful of shapely butt disappearing into the canopy before he remembered Hannah remained essentially naked even if she appeared covered in red hair.

  This will take getting used to. He shook his head before walking back toward the unit.

  The chatter had died down. He assumed it meant the man, Drake, had things under control. He pushed through the foliage, following the sounds of activity.

  Michael discovered that Drake supervised the chopping up of the Fang commander and his bodyguards into small, edible pieces for the scavengers. A gory, disgusting task, but if they were to succeed, all evidence needed to disappear into the jungle. Welcome to the rebellion, Michael sighed. I am so damned far from home.

  SWEAT RAN DOWN THE HUMAN’S face as his shaking fingers pushed buttons on the communications equipment. The reason for his fear leaned over him with swirling red eyes. The Farr already tried to contact the errant unit with just his ear comm, but without any success. Now they were using the bulky box reserved for longer distance communications. Yet try as he might, the equipment remained silent in response to the human’s repeated calls.

  “Is the comm down?” The commander’s thick tongue tangled in the simple English words.

  “No, sir. Interference is at twenty-five percent, which is good.” The slave forced himself not to babble. “There is just no response to our summons.” His back muscles tensed. He felt the Farr’s hot breath on his shoulder. “Perhaps the comm is disabled at their end.”

  “Contact headquarters,” the commander hissed. These days, reporting a lost unit wasn’t for the faint of heart. The war coordinator is not tolerant of mistakes.

  The slave hurried to comply, not wanting any of the Farr’s bad mood to spill onto him. Slaves were valuable in this war but the commander had no qualms about activating the pain nodes in their collars. He loved to see them squirm.

  THE MESSAGE FROM THE FARR commander came in to one of two techs on duty at headquarters. Sark’naek acted quickly to pick it up as her peer dined on a midday snack.

  She listened carefully. The tech’s responsibilities included the summarization of message details before forwarding them to the war coordinator. As messages swamped the coordinator on an hourly basis, this process helped to streamline the incoming information.

  Sark’naek asked for the last known location of the missing unit, and then checked with the Central Intelligence Processor. It registered that the missing unit failed to report in as scheduled, although they were within the period allowed for error.

  “We require more information,” she replied to the voice on the comm. “You are authorized to investigate further.”

  The Farr’s gruff voice signed off and the Fara tech switched modes on her console. Her clawed fingers tapped out a quick message before sending it off.

  The shield interfered with most wireless systems, rendering communication between the Motherships and Tarin difficult. The admin office possessed only one channel, reinforced by a special satellite permitting such communication.

  One channel that they know of. Sark’naek knew of one other, on a special frequency penetrating the shield, set up by allies of the Tlok’mk rebellion. After all, it is their shield.

  She sent a short and concise message: We have reached Level Three. Detection is imminent.

  Chapter Fourteen

  DRAKE POSSESSED A MILITARY BACKGROUND, and it showed. The enlarged rebel group moved so efficiently through the jungle that anyone watching would have sworn they’d been training together for months. For the first few days, Michael watched as Drake assessed the men, moving them around until they fit into suitable roles. The captain assembled small parties for hunting or gathering food, sent the most focused out as perimeter guards or scouts, and assigned the strongest to break trails through tough underbrush.

  To Michael, it became obvious Drake had all the qualities of a good leader, and the freed slaves seemed to agree. The efficiency of strong leadership enabled them to put a good distance between them and the nearest barracks. The rebel’s numbers were now too large to hide. As a result, Drake put a moratorium on freeing any more slaves until they found a secure home base for the rebellion. That meant they had to get out of Fang-oc
cupied territory—they must slip past the front lines, and into the grasslands.

  Michael’s respect for Drake grew with every decision the man made. He agreed with the need for a home base, but to find it, they would have to enter Gryphon-occupied territory. The slaves whispered their reluctance to enter the grasslands among themselves, and Michael found himself in the role of gathering their concerns and bringing the relevant ones forward to Drake.

  Lianndra proposed they trade on the relationship they’d developed with the smaller Gryphon who’d given her the amulet. They all knew that connecting with a particular Gryphon in an army of thousands would be problematic, but no one offered any better ideas. Thus, Drake backed Lianndra’s plan.

  Many in Michael’s unit pointed out that the Healers came from a different perspective. As part of the healing division, they had spent their time well behind the front lines rather than fighting. This meant they hadn’t fought any Gryphon, whereas the soldiers killed the big aliens during their enslavement. They doubted the Gryphon would forgive such actions to forge an alliance.

  Drake wisely held a meeting to address these concerns rather than overriding them outright. Each person stated their thoughts and ideas. Lianndra came forward to tell them about the little Gryphon. The small Gryphon’s speech carried a great deal of weight, particularly her words about the slaves not being responsible for their actions during the war. Lianndra conveyed her confidence that the Gryphon would consider collaboration. Michael had enough faith in Lianndra to accept her idea without question. When Drake also backed her, the others conceded.

  Lianndra showed them the carved winged Gryphon, pulling it from a felted hair pocket and passing it around. Michael handled it carefully before giving it back to her for safekeeping.

  “You know, it resembles a dragon,” Michael stood as close to her as he dared, leaning against a tree.

  Lianndra just glanced at him. She’d become so elusive that some nicknamed her the Ghost. She wouldn’t speak to Michael and rarely to anyone else. Unless someone suffered a bug bite or sprained ankle requiring treatment, she spent her time scouting in the trees with Hannah.

  Michael volunteered to spend most of his days on sentry duty, hoping to run into Lianndra, but only Hannah dropped by to update him. The ground sentries doubled as hunters and gatherers. It took a lot of food to keep this many people supplied, and they hunted while on the move. Sean and he formed an efficient team for hunting. Michael’s tracking ability complemented Sean’s expert marksmanship. For big men, they moved silently through the jungle.

  As the days passed, Michael’s frustration with Lianndra increased. He wanted to tell her the changes in her appearance didn’t matter to him. When Lianndra became even more elusive, he recruited Hannah to pass the message along. It changed nothing.

  Hannah’s activities contrasted that of her friend’s, and she embraced her role as the heart of the unit. During the day, she accompanied Lianndra in the trees. The minute they set up camp, Hannah moved through the soldiers, checking them for injuries, talking with them, and assessing their mental and physical status. Drake often accompanied her. Hannah fostered respect within the unit, even among those considered previously loyal to the Fang.

  Drake wanted all soldiers included in the rebellion. For the most part, those loyal to the Fang had transitioned smoothly. Michael noticed, however, that Drake placed them in positions that didn’t risk the unit’s integrity.

  The days were a blur of activity, and each night Michael retired exhausted. Yet he seldom slept well. His body remembered the sensation of Lianndra inside his bedroll, a curious mixture of softness and strength. He longed to explore her uniqueness, to touch her silky hair and trace her strange, clawed fingers with his own. The modifications made by the Fang added an exotic overtone to a woman he’d always considered beautiful, and her elusiveness tormented him.

  When he spotted her talking to Drake, Michael’s first reaction was one of frustration. Why does she talk to him but not to me? The Healers spent time every night with the soldiers, at first to heal wounds, then to help them deal with those suffering mental trauma. Hannah did most of this work, but Lianndra helped. Even if Michael hovered near, the blonde Healer always avoided him.

  He noticed how some men eyed Lianndra. The obvious connection Hannah had to Drake made her unavailable, which left Lianndra the only female in camp. Even though she never seemed to return their interest, Michael still struggled to contain himself.

  One day, he stumbled upon her talking to a guard. When she glanced at him before doing the usual vanishing act, he felt a surge of anger and barely restrained himself from hitting the poor guy. Michael shocked himself with the intensity of his emotion. This is ridiculous. I’ve got to get a grip.

  He struggled; it would be different if he didn’t think something existed between Lianndra and himself. She has a right to decide whether she wants to connect with me. Michael couldn’t believe she felt nothing when a single sideways glance from her made him weak at the knees. The way she responded to my kisses . . . could I be wrong?

  He squelched his anger and did his best to get over it.

  Despite his friends in the unit, Michael understood loneliness as part of being a soldier, regardless of whose war they fought. The men needed to escape the pain and fear that filled their daylight hours, and they naturally sought solace in companionship once they struck camp every night. Sometimes, the friendships went deeper. For some this was a natural connection, for others it fulfilled a need, helping them to cope with their loneliness and fear. Although Michael had no problem with what others did in the dark of the night, for him, it just wasn’t how he rolled. He’d coped with his loneliness until Lianndra reappeared in his life. Now, things were different.

  Every night he struggled to relax. He focused on one muscle at a time, attempting to get as much rest as possible. It didn’t seem to matter what he tried. His mind, regardless of his efforts, kept returning to one tortuous theme. Michael would wake in the morning bleary-eyed, filled with a frustration for which he had no solution.

  During the day he watched the canopy for any sign of a golden blur. When he caught sight of her, his heart would leap. But when he gave the whistle the soldiers used to call the Healers in for information, Hannah always responded.

  Things were easier before I knew she lived, he thought. I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this.

  THE FARR COMMANDER STOOD IN the center of the chaos. All around he saw trampled foliage and small trees pushed over. His slave soldiers canvassed for any signs of the missing unit. So far they’d discovered nothing but crushed vegetation, a few bloodstains, and some strange metallic feathers.

  Natural dangers filled the jungle, many capable of decimating a unit, even one relatively well-armed. In his experience he’d never seen a unit suffer a natural calamity and vanish, leaving not even their equipment behind. It wasn’t unheard of for a unit to lose its commander, but the collars would hold the slaves to a confined area until another commander or controller took over. Something about this situation had gone awry. He should report to headquarters, yet to report in with no further information was galling and humiliating.

  If only there were traces of what had happened, like a chewed collar or body bits.

  A winded scout approached him. The commander nodded to the slave, bringing his full focus to bear on him.

  “There is a trail, it is narrow, but it looks like there may have been survivors.” The slave gasped.

  The lure of a trail made the commander’s decision easy. He shouted terse directions. The unit reformed, the scouts heading along the trampled trail.

  He would contact headquarters—when he had more information. First, he needed to find the slaves. Then he would get the answers he sought by making humans squeal.

  TO LIANNDRA’S GENETICALLY ENHANCED HEARING, silence did not exist in the jungle. The night’s soft darkness came alive with the activities of the nocturnal flora and fauna, providing a banquet for her sen
ses.

  Humans rely so much on their eyesight they ignore their hearing and sense of smell, she thought as she sat in a massive tree two hundred feet above the jungle floor.

  The stars twinkled through a break in the leafy canopy. Every night, she left the camp after supper and climbed as high as possible. She slept in the huge jungle trees, only descending to the men when they prepared the morning meal.

  Lianndra told herself she liked the isolation, but she knew, deep inside, she avoided human contact. Self-imposed it might be, but she couldn’t bring herself to reach out to anyone other than Hannah. She looked more animal than human, and nothing could change that.

  Even though their physical wounds healed, the freed slaves had mental issues the Healers could do little about. They tried coaching them through their nightmares, and after only a few nights the women felt the strain. Lianndra convinced herself that she needed isolation to rejuvenate and often retreated to the jungle. One person could always find her. A soft sound announced the arrival of Hannah from below. Her friend cradled a large round fruit.

  “Eat this,” Hannah said. “You’re losing too much weight. Drake noticed it today, although he barely sees you anymore.”

  Lianndra obediently took the fruit and bit into it, the tart juice dripping down her chin. Unlike the cloned fruit the Motherships served their slaves, the fruits of Tarin’s jungle didn’t lack for flavor. Hannah stared at her friend until she finished and handed her a leaf to wipe the juices off her face.

  “So, how long are you going to keep avoiding him?” Hannah asked.

  Trust Hannah to get right to the point, Lianndra thought. She shrugged, not bothering to deny anything. “Until he loses interest.”

  “I don’t think that will happen.” Hannah settled herself on the branch, wrapping her tail around it. “He seems interested and you two have a history.”