Purple Haze (Aliens in New York Book 2)

by Kelly Jensen

  “You do not know what I want!” Vagnan gestured to the side. “Obele—”

  Lang leaped forward. “No! This isn’t right! You can’t take people at a whim.”

  “Whim?”

  “He’s not clan, he’s human.”

  “With an extremely powerful and rare clan talent. It is his duty—”

  “It’s not!” Lang cried. “How can you not see that? It is not Dillon’s duty to serve. It’s his duty to be human, to be himself. He doesn’t belong here, and—”

  A cold wind swept down from above. Lang gazed upward, to where a section of the roof had retracted to reveal a square of lavender sky.

  “The airlock is open, Elder,” Arayu’s AI reported. “You are clear to leave.”

  Lang couldn’t stop staring at the sky. “Why isn’t it blue?”

  “I do not understand the question, Steilang,” Upero answered.

  “The sky. It’s not blue.” For a world-shaking moment, Lang thought he’d been deceived. That Arayu had somehow brought him to Jord—though the logistics made no sense. The serene shade of lavender overhead was the wrong color, though. Not the deep purple he remembered from home.

  Home?

  “The current time is twenty-two hundred hours. The sun is nearing its lowest point. When it begins its ascent, the sky will become blue again, assuming the weather remains clear.”

  Lang glanced at his smartwatch, struggling to take in Upero’s meaning. Then it hit him—not with a life-changing slap, but an affirmative click. He was home—and maybe that was the problem.

  Obele had halved the distance between them, her shock baton out in front of her. Behind Lang, Arayu spoke urgently to her AI.

  Dillon tugged on his sleeve. “Lang, come on.”

  Lang shook his head. “No.” He raised his voice. “I can no longer be a part of this.”

  Vagnan tilted his head. “You mistakenly believe you have a choice. Perhaps you have been on Earth too long, Steilang Jord’Skov. Perhaps you should also prepare for transport to Jord.”

  Relief coursed through him. He could be done. His long vigil ended. He and Dillon could travel together—

  As soon as the thought occurred, it died. His return to Jord would not be a gift, and he’d likely never see Dillon again. Skov and Wren did not share the same habitats. And what would his purpose be, aboard Herrera Station? The clan wouldn’t send him on another mission. They would consider him compromised. If he were lucky, they’d put him to work transcribing the records of his sojourn to Earth. Then they’d take a sample of his genetic material and…

  A cruel smile pulled at the edges of Vagnan’s mouth. “Your genetic profile may not be viable, but it would make an interesting study.”

  Lang’s eyes widened. How had Vagnan known what he was thinking? It couldn’t be a coincidence, not something so precise. Then something stirred, deep in his consciousness, and as it pushed against Lang, he recognized the touch of another mind. Vagnan. There was none of the warmth of his and Dillon’s connection. None of the optimism or the feeling of being surrounded by love. Vagnan was definitely there, though. His presence surgical and precise.

  Lang’s legs trembled, threatening to spill him to the floor. After everything that had happened over the past day, the past month, the knowledge that his thoughts and emotions were open to the Wren slammed into him with the weight and devastation of a rogue asteroid.

  “Lang!” Dillon tugged his sleeve. “What’s happening?” Dillon yelled at Vagnan: “What did you do?”

  “It’s a trick,” Lang whispered. “All a trick.”

  “What do you mean?” Dillon sounded angry and confused.

  “Steilang.” Arayu’s voice held a note of warning.

  Vagnan remained silent, but when Lang checked, the elder was watching him.

  “It’s just a trick,” Lang said again. “You’re no better than me, no more deserving of a higher genetic profile. You were designed, the same as I was. Only instead of a propensity for data and figures, you were given the power of influence.” Lang flung a loose arm out to the side. “Arayu knows where we are, you tell us how to feel, and you want Dillon to do the same. What I don’t understand is why? What is it all for?”

  “For the clan.” Vagnan’s tone was defensive. “Everything we do is for the clan. You should know this. Your very mission was for this specific purpose.”

  “To find my people a new home, yes. But what for? So we can continue to labor beneath the belief we are inferior? That our lives should be lived in service?”

  Vagnan’s eyebrows twitched together.

  Arayu was the one who said it. “We all serve the clan.”

  Though her words were quiet, they settled heavily against Lang’s psyche, giving him the sense he pushed against a locked door. Letting out a long, slow breath, Lang looked the other way, at Dillon, and spent a moment gazing at his lover’s face. The long line of Dillon’s nose, his beautiful eyes. The piercings glinting at his eyebrow, nostril, and lip. Would they let him kiss Dillon one last time before they took him away?

  He shook his head. “Dillon shouldn’t have to serve. He wasn’t born to it the way the rest of us were.” Lang returned his attention to Vagnan. “I will submit. Take me back to Jord, or exile me here on Earth. I will fulfill my duty in any manner that serves the clan. Without complaint.” Not that his feelings accounted for anything. “Just let Dillon go. Please.”

  “Not going anywhere without you,” Dillon said. He gripped Lang’s shoulder and leaned in close.

  Vagnan remained silent for several minutes. His face told a louder story, though. Normally immobile, or at least controlled, his features shifted in unsubtle patterns as if he battled with his thoughts. He managed to remain emotionless, but his entire demeanor cried struggle.

  Perhaps sensibly, Arayu did nothing to fill the quiet, though she shifted her feet several times. At her sides, her hands opened and closed.

  The guards did nothing.

  Dillon rested against Lang’s side, breathing in jerky gasps.

  Then, after settling whatever internal debate held him unmoving for so long, Vagnan passed his sentence. “Your request is denied.”

  Dillon looked from the tight set of Vagnan’s features to the calm obedience of Obele’s expression. Beneath his hand, Lang trembled. Overhead, the wind gave an icy howl. They were out of time. Out of pleas. Out of hope.

  But one last doorway remained open.

  Standing taller, Dillon concentrated. He could already sense the guards. Had connected to each one over the past few weeks. Could he project enough influence from this distance? Could he hold at least one while he, Lang, and Arayu made their escape? Maybe he could simply show them an alternative.

  Dillon gathered his reserves and reached across the transport deck, seeking Obele’s sense of duty. It would be the fastest way in. He hadn’t loved his training, but he’d learned how to find the purple pathway to the core of every clan’s self.

  “Dillon, stop. Don’t…”

  “Dillon, what are you doing…”

  The voices of his companions faded away as Dillon moved nearer to his target, the pull of Obele’s duty growing stronger the closer he got. The other guards were there, too, a miasma of purple forming up on either side of Obele as they angled forward.

  Her mouth moved, and Dillon ignored the sounds coming out. He couldn’t let her talk him down and out of her mind. If he pushed deeper, she wouldn’t be able to talk. He did so, but carefully. He didn’t want to hurt her.

  I am your duty, he thought, or felt, or forced himself to believe. Keeping me safe is your duty. Just me. Focus on me. Don’t hurt my friends. I love my friends. At the idea of love, Obele’s spare emotional state faltered. Dillon quickly replaced the thought. I value my companions. The idea that they were kin wormed its way into his brain, and Dillon sent that, too. Clan valued familial bonds.

  He almost lost his hold as his thoughts veered toward his mother and grandmother. Toward the parents and toddlers in t
he morning classes. The deep connectedness of the retirees in the older classes. Josh and his desire for children. Lang—the man he wanted to be with forever. Dillon pushed those thoughts toward Obele, hoping to make her understand that they were all connected. That to hurt his family would be to hurt herself.

  He had her, but the restlessness of the guards around her threatened to break the spell. Dillon reached for the guard next to her.

  Duty, duty, duty.

  The pull of two minds against his own sent a sharp pain toward the back of his head, and as suddenly as he’d conceived this plan, Dillon decided to change it. They would never let him go. He could calm and confuse and maybe misdirect one or two minds up here in this icy hell, but he couldn’t work the entire station.

  If Vagnan entered the fray, it would be all over.

  If another few guards came up here, he’d be done.

  And what was he going to do when he let them all go? Wave, wish them well, and hop on a ship back to New York? They hadn’t solved the problem of him being valuable to the Wren. Too valuable to let go.

  Dillon reached for a third mind.

  Duty pulled at him from all sides now, the purple burning hot into violet. Bright, so bright. Then a strand of something deeper thrust into the center of the seething mass, and Dillon recognized another mind in there with him, searching, feeling, sending, receiving.

  Vagnan had joined the fight.

  Soft shouts buffeted his back—more wind, Lang and Arayu, fierce tugs. Yells. Hands. Dillon forged ahead, working to expand his consciousness to fit Vagnan in there as well. He stretched and plumbed and pushed. Sent the love he had for those close to him, offering it to Vagnan, Obele, and anyone else who would listen. Tried to make them see how this wouldn’t work, could never work. How he only wanted to do good things with his life. Help people. He appealed to the decency he sensed in Vagnan. The hesitation he’d encountered when he finally managed to knock down the elder’s barriers.

  It doesn’t have to be like this, Dillon sent.

  The clan needs you, Vagnan sent back.

  But not in the way my family needs me.

  You are important. You are special.

  I don’t want to be special.

  Vagnan tried. He sent welcome and reverence, all underscored with the ever-present duty. The idea that Dillon owed this to the clan. To their people. Some of it was what Dillon had always wanted to hear. He could be important. Valuable. He could be all but a God. He could be—

  He could never be what they wanted.

  Effort screaming through his body, Dillon reached for the thoughts and emotions of another guard. It hurt. His head was too small a place for the presence of so many others.

  Dillon, stop. It is too much!

  I can’t be what you want.

  He pushed through the pain reaching around to the back of his skull, through the screaming burn across his scalp. Forgot the cold driving icy nails into his skin and embraced only fire. He reached for another guard. An inferno caught in the middle of his mind, roaring across his thoughts until the bright glow of it eclipsed every other color.

  The deck slammed into his knees, reality tilting one way, then another. His connections to the guards shattered, one by one. Obele disappeared with a pop. Only Vagnan remained and was battering at Dillon with mental hands, screaming. No, the screaming came from behind him, and his face was cold, so very cold, and the back of his head hot, and the world had started to spin.

  He was falling, burning, hurting, and then he was left with no one’s pain but his own, and it was lonely in this icy, fiery hell all by himself. So lonely, and dark. He missed the purple. He missed the clamor of other thoughts and emotions.

  He missed Lang. Why couldn’t he feel Lang?

  Chapter Twenty

  “Dillon!”

  Lang dropped to the deck, not fast enough to save Dillon from tipping forward, but there a second after. He scooted closer on his knees, rolled Dillon onto his back, and propped Dillon’s head in his lap.

  Arayu crouched next to him, her fingers tracing the line of Dillon’s limp wrist.

  “Dillon?” Lang patted Dillon’s flushed cheeks. “Wake up, Dillon.”

  “He has a pulse,” Arayu confirmed. She didn’t let go of Dillon’s wrist.

  Vagnan knelt beside them, both hands outstretched.

  “Back off!” Lang hooked his hands beneath Dillon’s shoulders and hauled him higher into his lap. “Do not touch him.”

  “I must ascertain—”

  “He did this because of you!”

  “We do not know what—”

  Lang shook his head. “Yes, we do. If I could feel it, then you could. You were probably in there with him.”

  Unease pinched Vagnan’s brow. “He may not have—”

  “But he wanted to. He doesn’t want to serve. Stars, I tried to tell you. I told you he shouldn’t have to serve, but you didn’t listen. Now he’s—”

  Lang’s throat closed, and to his horror, the next sound to emerge from his mouth was a choked sob. The one after that? A howl of despair.

  Vagnan’s expression shifted from unease to outright distaste.

  “You are—”

  Arayu cut Vagnan off. “Steilang is understandably distressed. As am I. This entire matter has been handled poorly.”

  “As liaison to Earth, this mess will be yours to tidy, Arayu. I will be mentioning your attempt to interfere with the subject’s transport when I make my report. Be sure to address that when you make yours.”

  “I was acting in the best interest of my agents,” Arayu returned. She let go of Dillon’s wrist. “And I do not answer to you.”

  As the two elders faced off, Lang worked at controlling his emotions. His breath hiccupped in and out, and a searing pain in his chest stabbed him over and over.

  Thankfully, the guards—those not driven to their knees by Dillon’s… by whatever Dillon had done to them—remembered what to do when people were hurt. A stretcher appeared at Lang’s side, a guard holding either end. They knelt and set it on the deck between them and rocked back on their heels to await further instructions.

  Lang sucked in a wet gulp of air and swiped at his face with his sleeve. He gestured toward the guards. “Can you help me move him?”

  The guards exchanged a glance before darting surreptitious glances toward the arguing elders. Vagnan turned toward them. “Load Dillon onto the stretcher and take him to the transport.”

  What?

  Arayu tugged at her robes and stood. “Take him to the medical facility.”

  “This station is under my command, and Dillon is to be transported—”

  “Your first duty should be to—”

  “Enough!” Lang eased his knees carefully out from under Dillon’s head and waved to the guards. “Put him on the stretcher.”

  Surprisingly, they moved in immediately to do as he asked. Maybe they’d been waiting for clear instruction.

  Drawing up to his full height, Lang faced down Vagnan. “Can you not give up? Dillon is hurt. He is in no condition to travel.”

  “Steilang is right,” Arayu put in. “We must see to Dillon’s well-being before deciding what is to be done.”

  “Whatever injuries he has sustained can be treated during stasis.”

  “You’re not taking him!”

  Vagnan rocked back, away from Lang’s outburst. He began to tilt his head.

  “Don’t you dare,” Lang spat. “My mind is not yours. I know how it feels to be manipulated, and I think you know I am no longer malleable.”

  “Then you will make an interesting case study.”

  “Vagnan!” Arayu shook her head.

  Lang balled his fists at his sides. All of this, and they hadn’t resolved anything. Had any endeavor been this utterly futile? It was like throwing rocks into an ocean, hoping to one day build a bridge.

  “I won’t be of any use to you,” a quiet voice cut in.

  Lang spun around, reaching for the stretcher. “Dillon
?” Dillon’s eyes were open and wet with tears. A moment of solidarity surged through him—he wasn’t the only one crying. Of course, being human, or mostly human, Dillon cried more easily, and he had a good reason right now and— “You’re awake!”

  Dillon lifted a hand. “Just.”

  Lang clasped his fingers. “How do you feel?”

  “Like the back of my head is on fire.”

  Vagnan pushed his way to Dillon’s side and leaned in. “Can you—”

  “No.”

  “No?” Lang questioned.

  Dillon gave a weary smile. “I can’t feel you, Vagnan. Or Lang. I never tried with Arayu, but I only know she’s here because she’s crushing my wrist.” Arayu was on the other side of the stretcher. “Can’t feel Obele or any of the guards. Head fucking hurts, but there’s only me in there.” His expression slid from tired to peaceful to somewhat wistful.

  Lang gripped his hand.

  “We will have to conduct tests,” Vagnan said.

  Dillon’s smile faded away. “No. I’m done. No tests. And if this talent thing comes back, I’m gonna burn it out of my head again. And again. And again. As many times as it takes to sear every goddamned connection in my brain. I don’t want it.”

  “You do not understand what you are giving up.”

  Dillon tugged his fingers from Lang’s and reached for Vagnan’s hand. “Trust me, I do.”

  Vagnan let Dillon touch his palm. The elder closed his eyes. His shoulders sagged. Opening his eyes, he let out a tiny, tight sigh, as though it pained him to express that much emotion. “Nothing. I sense… nothing.”

  “Can I go home now?”

  Vagnan straightened. “There remains the matter of—”

  “Let it go, Vagnan,” Arayu said. “Many errors have been made this day. Let us turn our efforts to rectifying those before we consider making more.”

  Vagnan deflated by another degree, but nodded.