Shadows of the Son

by E L Strife

  The man paused to inspect his quivering fingers. He sighed. “Fine.”

  “We won’t lose our rhythm. I’ll keep pace,” Azure said, taking over the mating of the missile to its housing unit.

  Cutter started to walk away, then stopped and spun, lifting a finger.

  “I’ve never met anyone by the name of Esmerella, Sergeant Cutter. I’m sorry.”

  The shepherd’s arm fell. “So I am going crazy.”

  Azure shook his head. “Love binds us beyond realms. I think you have seen her. Just maybe not here.”

  Pulling the cart out of the row, Azure pointed it toward the collector setting down and dropping its ramp.

  “How did you do it?”

  Azure looked back. “What?”

  “How did you live for thirteen years without her?” Cutter’s silver eyes locked on him.

  “I had faith I would see her again.”

  “Faith in what?”

  “Her. She is my ituuvia forever. I wanted to give up as I lay dying on Chamarel’s cot. The dizziness and searing itch of the plasma burns was intolerable.”

  “But you survived. Why?”

  “Because Chamarel said her name: Sahara. I will do anything for that name. It is the way of my kind. It is in our instincts, our DNA. I do not do it to create a feeling in myself. It is for her. The promise of forever is for her as hers is supposed to be for me.”

  Cutter vacantly scanned the main hangar filled with the droning vibrations of spooling engines and shouting shepherds and sank into the corner as Azure had recommended.

  By the time Azure returned with the empty cart, Cutter was asleep. He pitied the man. Cutter never let his heartache stop him from doing his job. He never said no. But it was clear this woman he loved meant everything to him. Esmerella was as much Cutter’s lifeblood as Sahara was his.

  When fifteen minutes had passed, Azure was half done with the Collector and right on schedule. He worked double pace, repeating the system in his mind so he wouldn’t make a mistake. Upon sliding up to the next missile to wire it into the frame, Azure noticed another shepherd, in black fatigues, already working on it.

  Let him sleep. Miskaht’s green and violet eyes smiled up at Azure.

  Yes, ma’am. Azure returned to loading as she performed the prep work. They quickly finished the Collector and brought in another. Azure was relieved to have the help. He could slow his pace and feel confident he was connecting everything perfectly.

  “I must ask something of you,” Miskaht said on the ninth missile. Her hands were confident and steady as she tightened the hover ring around its middle.

  Azure grabbed on the cart when she moved to the next. “Anything.”

  “I know Xahu’ré defend their own to the death more so than most species. Let Bennett be one of your own. This is the only family he knows. Hyras has not been accommodating this, but Bennett must not lose sight of what we fight for. The most powerful weapon is the heart of that good man. Take love from him, and he will crumble with the world. I’ve seen it. In him. His father. All of their family. And the woman who was Prospector centuries before them.

  “They find love. They lose love. And this is where they begin. Only after they learn to love again, can they grow into the fully-formed Prospectors they must become. Without love to guide us, we become Suanoa.”

  Azure screeched to a stop on the ramp, disgust churning in his stomach. The man who threatened Atana’s promise to him— she wanted him to be family the same as them, like Kios?

  She looked up at him from the rows of missiles and the wires she held between her fingers. “You are smarter than your instincts, Azure. You know we can use all the prayers, talismans, and help we can get.”

  Azure growled as he pushed on the cart again. Why is my mate always the solution to his problems?

  Because— Miskaht’s voice faded. Her face slacked with fear.

  Cutter stirred in the corner.

  “Enough napping, Sergeant. Back on duty,” she commanded.

  Cutter pushed himself up with a weighted breath. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Azure watched her hustle off to help another collector, dread embedding in his bones. There was a reason. And he wasn’t supposed to know.

  Chapter 33

  CUTTER’S FINGERS DUG into his hair beneath the faded ball-cap. The droning hum of electronics made him dizzy. Minx had been right. It was getting worse. His serum was losing effectiveness, and the thoughts of others invaded his own. Every direction Cutter turned had him watching silent conversations among shepherds.

  What is happening to me? Make it stop! A woman had struggled in the arms of two shepherds, red spikes flaring out of her skin and submerging again. Please, kill me!

  One man did nothing but scream incessantly in his mind-space.

  Sitting on his bed, Cutter closed his eyes and recited his classification data from Command’s private counseling folders.

  Steven Roan Cutter, Ari, born 2872.

  Descendent of the Ari people of Arasou.

  The Ari people were known for telepathic abilities, including but not limited to: overhearing, controlling, and blocking thoughts of others and themselves. Their hierarchy was based on individuals passing tests of capability, empathy, clairvoyance, control of others, and the level of balance within themselves.

  Balance. Control. Cutter sat cross-legged on his bunk, resting his forearms on his knees. He took a breath. Empathy is not something we’re supposed to understand as shepherds. The voices whirling around in his brain made him sway. Definitely overhearing though. He grunted, trying to decipher the mass of chords for the individual notes, but it was futile. Enough. Go away.

  An image of Tanner’s multi-colored eyes popped into his mind as they glanced over a shoulder near the lunchroom outside. The world around him was a blur of grays and pinks. Amianna’s face appeared and disappeared.

  Cutter set his boots on the ground and pressed the creases out of his pants with sweating palms. He leaned forward, burying his head in his hands with a sigh.

  The door opened. Clips snapped open, and Velcro ripped. A heavy armored vest containing Tanner’s laptop landed on the top bunk with a flump.

  “Fuck, I’m tired.” Tanner plopped down beside Cutter. “How are you holding up?”

  “Fine,” Cutter replied automatically, his jaw slacked. Seeing Tanner’s eyes always reminded him of Essie.

  “Bravo Sierra,” Tanner said wearily.

  “Huh?”

  “Bull shit. Tell me what’s on your mind, brother. I’m not stupid.” Tanner leaned forward on his knees and twisted to look sideways at him.

  “I know you’re not.” Cutter’s fingers combed back through his black hair. “I just can’t think anymore.” Dragging his hands down over his face, he groaned. “All I can do is react and hope I’m right.”

  He glanced at Tanner. The man wore his usual lop-sided smile. But this time, it sagged. His eyes were sunken and moved slower than normal. Tanner’s hair was a dirty, oily mess. He had smudges of gear grease all over his uniform and a pinky finger encrusted in blood.

  Cutter outstretched a palm towards Tanner’s injured hand.

  “You’re trying to take on too much yourself,” Tanner said, ignoring Cutter’s motion and concealing his injury.

  Cutter rested his head in his palms, trying to stretch his aching back. “I’ve been working on these last few munitions packages with Miskaht, but the constant interruptions make it hard to finish anything.” He pulled up the diagrams, and the screen in their room flickered to life, showing Tanner what was stored on his wrist-band.

  Tanner stood and swiped through the schematics. “My job doesn’t require me to play head games all day, so it’s easier for me. But I think it was Einstein who said you could think things over 99 times and only find the one answer in silence.” He twisted around and gave Cutter a dance of his brows.

  Cutter smiled a little to himself. If only silence was easy to find. “It’s such slow progress.”

&n
bsp; “Hey.” Tanner patted him on the back. “One day at a time.” He peeled his shirt off, tossing it in the laundry bag at the end of the bed. “You research your type yet?”

  “Nothing on Ari in the databases. Just a few sentences.”

  “Well, I might’ve searched outside of UP—” Tanner waggled his head and shrugged. “Found some info which could help. Old-fashioned sleuthing has its perks.” He grinned bigger this time. “Open the crap-top, under Mining, folder ‘C’.” He gave Cutter a wink and headed for the bathroom.

  “Chat after I get this shit off me?” Tanner asked, yanking his towel from the rack. “I hate the smell of welding slag mixed with sweat. Reminds me of the Braxon junkyard where UP recovered me.”

  “Sure.” Cutter waited until Tanner was in the stall with the door shut before summoning enough energy into his legs to stand and slide the familiar, dented laptop from Tanner’s top bunk.

  Setting it on his thighs, he pulled it open and typed in Tanner’s password, the keys illuminating as they checked his fingerprint pattern. Tanner’s screen blinked through multiple windows of the backdoor entrance he’d set up just for Cutter’s fingerprints.

  The screen’s image dissolved revealing the secret files. Cutter found articles written by Planet News on rumors of telepathic people, the clairvoyant, and those with precognitive dreams.

  Described as dark brown or black-haired, silver-eyed, and pale. Few with multi-colored eyes and tan.

  Cutter scoffed. “Physical descriptions aren’t worth much if everyone’s disguised.”

  Doctor performs autopsy on ‘abnormals’ and discovers telepathic brains have larger amygdale, frontal lobes, and an additional pea-sized gland in the mid-web believed to operate as a router.

  Cutter snorted in disgust. Like we’re fucking rats. His reaction made him think of Agutrans.

  He scrolled through a few more pictures of people and stopped. His finger hovered mid-air.

  A blue-hooded woman stood amidst a group in earth-tone cloaks, a hand lifted, offering a pear from a basket she held. Something about the hand, the perfect tan color of her skin, the shape of her slender fingers. The way she grasped the item in her palm.

  Tan Ari are rare. Cutter repeated from the article.

  Blue wasn’t her color. Red was. Still, he stared at the tiny peak of a nose showing through her hood.

  Cutter frantically scrolled further down the images, his eyes darting back and forth as his heart pounded. “Come on; come on. It’s got to be you.” He found another image with the woman’s back to the camera. The caption said, “Royal Ari women congregating for Eramash, known as soul healing.”

  Again, only a hand was visible from the robes. But the curves of her waist were right.

  He scrolled.

  A circle of bare feet showed a tan pair with short toes, just like he remembered, ones that could curl around anything. Cutter could barely contain his excitement.

  The last group of pictures showed explosions and buildings crumbling. No— He leaned forward, scouring the images. Women and children lay strewn along the streets. Then, in one, he saw a blur of blue: the hooded woman looking back as she fled. It was just enough to keep hope alive. He zoomed in on the image. But it was too out of focus for accurate facial identification.

  Tanner came out of the bathroom, dressed in fresh cargo pants and an olive t-shirt. He combed out his disheveled, blond, military cut with his fingers.

  “What’s the date on these?” Cutter asked, spinning the laptop around.

  Tanner typed quickly, pulling up the properties links. “Year is dated 2896, looks like June.”

  “That’s after she died,” Cutter stammered.

  Tanner shrugged then grimaced. “Well, that’s when they were posted. Most of those bombings took place a few years earlier.”

  Cutter’s shoulders dropped.

  “I know, sorry. Just don’t want you thinking something that’s potentially false.” Tanner collected the laptop, studying the image of the woman in blue Cutter had zoomed in on. “You think she’s Essie?”

  “I don’t know.” Cutter buried his face in his hands. “I just want—” to hold her in my arms one more time. To tell her, I’m sorry. To beg her for forgiveness. He clenched his jaw, pushing back the ache in his throat.

  “I know.” Tanner patted his shoulder.

  Cutter looked up at him, startled. Did he hear me? But Tanner’s face was too blank for such an odd concept. Yet Bennett only needed a nudge, and Tanner had sprinkles. His eyes snapped to the telepathy receivers from Agutra, still hanging in the gear closet. “Did you find any other information?”

  Snatching a roll of cloth tape out of the medical kit on the wall, Tanner tore off a piece with his teeth and wrapped up his injured pinky. “Basic sweep. Didn’t have time, really. I did it on a practice flight with Krett. We had to sit up there and let the collectors charge in the sun. Something Amianna said prompted me to do it.”

  Cutter perked up. “About what?”

  Tanner frowned and looked vacantly at the floor. “Something about my eyes. It reminded me of your description of Esmerella. There are so many things Command never told us about ourselves that I was curious what the planet had heard, how well Command had kept things from them, or if they figured it out on their own and were keeping it from us.” He nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “So many possibilities. I started worrying about how safe Earth was for Mia.

  “Anyway, info’s there until you erase it or crap-top finally quits.”

  “You won’t let that happen.” Cutter laughed lightly, and it felt good. That thing is like a limb.

  Tanner chuckled as he clipped the laptop back over his chest. Slinging the armor-plate of his vest over his head to his back, he pulled the buckles around to his front and cinched the harness tight. He smiled lightly and headed to the door. “See you in the hangars?”

  “Yeah, I’ll be right up,” Cutter replied, running a hand through his hair.

  Tanner slipped out.

  Cutter closed his eyes. An image entered his mind.

  A large wrist-band on a man’s arm. Fingers tapping through CENA stats.

  Rio.

  Black fabric and golden skin, hustling up beside Rio.

  Bennett.

  Cutter stood and opened his door just as Rio lifted his hand to knock.

  Rio’s mouth hung open. “Ari, right.” He gave Cutter a pleasant smile. “May we come in?”

  Cutter glanced at Bennett, whose smile only touched his eyes. When the door shut behind the two, Rio lifted a tiny case. “I don’t agree with this, Steven. Eventually, you will top out like Bennett.” He slid the case open in his palm. “Seven milliliters. This was his regular dose. You are now above regulation. Tell no one.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I must return.” Rio gave Bennett a doubtful look and saw himself out.

  The two men stood in silence for several breaths before Bennett broke it.

  “You get those things made up for me?”

  “Yes. Storage magazine Five Bravo, locked in Cage Three.” Feeling like he needed to explain his need for serum, Cutter drew in a breath.

  “You don’t have to say anything, Steven,” Bennett said, waving between them. “You know I understand. I just want you to be careful. Command would like us to be addicted to it. Rio and I disagree. When you break this level of serum, the crash will be the hardest you’ve ever felt. But I want you to promise me you let the withdrawal phase complete itself, whenever it happens. And then I want you to stop using serum.”

  The thought of being without serum and having to feel the full agony of Essie’s absence from his life was too much. “I-I can’t.”

  “Promise me.”

  Cutter rubbed his temples. “I can’t promise that!”

  Bennett shoved his bruised knuckles deep in his pockets. “You’re running from your problems. I get it. You’re stressed. We’re swamped. Maybe we’ll all perish in the next few days. But promise her you won’t dilute
her memory with this shit. You’re better than this, Steven.”

  Remorse drained the strength from Cutter’s body. He wasn’t trying to change his memory of her, just the feelings attached. But the man had made his point.

  Bennett opened the door and glanced over his shoulder. “If you truly love her, you’ll always put her first, no matter how hard it is on you.”

  —Command—

  Chapter 34

  WIND WHIPPED up and around Hyras and Krett as they stopped at the mouth of a trail on the backside of Home Station’s island. It was a short walk to the cliffs, but a necessary one for safety, Atana had said before marching the ranks outside.

  The sweetness of sun-warm pine trees filled the air. In the distant meadow, on the brink of a cliff, Atana stood in her glistening leather outfit with thirty-three shepherds lined up before her, each armed with an e-rifle.

  “Do you think she’s still as controlled as she needs to be?” Hyras asked, eyeing the three Linétens backed up to the forty-meter drop. Former sergeants Claymor, Dieshi, and Reju were dressed now in prison orange, hands tied behind their backs.

  Krett hummed softly, in thought. “Her loyalty and precision have not been affected by her transformation. But her motivations have changed.”

  “She’s not a mindless machine anymore,” Hyras agreed. “The fire in her spark is unmatchable.”

  “No headshots! Am I clear?” Atana called out as she paced the length of the ranks, her hands hooked together behind her back.

  “Hooah!” The shepherds shouted. The sound punched across the island, echoing through the jagged peaks separating them from Home Station.

  “Except by Sergeant Bennett,” Rio corrected as he walked up behind them and interlaced his arms. “The energy of the universe is in him now too. And Kios.”

  “Yeah. That’s where the problem is,” Krett remarked. “You know the Prophecy changed.”

  Hyras and Rio nodded.

  “Ailé!” Atana shouted. Thirty-three bullets chambered—an angry monster gnashing metal teeth.

  “Command cleared this?” Rio asked.