Shadows of the Son

by E L Strife

  Paramor peered out at the black sky ahead of them, where Suanoa would soon pour in. He had seen it happen once before as a young man—a story of Suanoan rebellion he would never tell another soul about, one he chose to forget. Plasma had turned on plasma, lighting the sky with the brightest reds and flaming oranges he’d ever seen.

  He’d saved one life that day, inside his shield. Paramor had been in training at the time the Prospector had summoned him. He’d raced through the wreckage, wings straining like red-lined thrusters, searching the bodies for life. There was only one: a baby encased in a fading violet orb.

  He couldn’t bring himself to raise the child after what he’d witnessed and carried him to a distant, primitive star system, somewhere the Suanoa wouldn’t waste their time going. He never forgave himself for walking away, but he couldn’t risk being asked details about the situation. Paramor didn’t want to relive the horrific destruction he encountered again.

  Yet here he stood.

  Untying his cloak, he let the brown burlap fall from his back, exposing his chest to the chill of Agutra. The worn, leather straps across his front strained to contain the mangled wings protruding from his shoulder blades. Orionates were supposed to dwell in the skies with the Prospector. Without a complete pair of wings, his connection to the universe frayed.

  Paramor looked down at the dingy buckles. It had been too long since they had stretched to their potential under the light of the stars. Just for a moment.

  With shaking hands, he released the blackened metal. His scarred halves of wings quivered and extended, hanging limp at his sides from the atrophy. The aching high which followed made him hum and shudder with relief.

  Drawing his sword from the sheath between his shoulders to relieve his back of the weight, he leaned against the window frame. It was the closest he could get to the starscape—his true home. At least he had one last chance to fight with purpose.

  Paramor pressed a hand to the glass. He could never travel like his ancestors or the limited brethren he knew he had left. It was his sacrifice for the Prophesy, for freedom, the future—everything that made the universe what it was, is, and will be.

  He was familiar with the dull pain from his damaged tendons and fragmented bone in his wings. Miush helped, but it was never quite enough. He hung his head, rolling it side to side, stretching the muscles in his neck and upper back. He wished he felt stronger for battle. Come on. Just relax a little.

  Instead of subsiding, the tension grew. And the ache.

  The sensation brought back a flurry of memories from Testing: being flayed open from the backside to study his wings. Searing jolts ripped down his arms, spine, and wings to the knobby ends until his limbs felt immovable and his digits throbbed.

  Pain surged through his body. The sword slipped from his fingers.

  He cried out, crumpling to his knees, his forehead to the floor. Feathers brushed his sides. His skull felt as if it had been cracked open with a digging pick. His hands fell limp in front of him, too weak from the signals screaming through his body to bind up into the angry fists he wanted them to be. As he focused healing energy into his palms, golden-white light illuminated his face.

  Tucking his knees under him, he dragged the stumps of his wings near his head, binding himself in a flaccid knot. With trembling hands, he cupped the scarred carpal joints. His lungs struggled for air between shots of inundating pain. Please, Universe, forgive me for whatever I have done. Bennett is counting on me to fight with Agutras.

  Paramor received no reply. In recent long-cycles, he had come to feel forsaken.

  He closed his eyes, calling out to the Prospector, to any who would hear. Bennett needs you. His spark is too dark. I fear I cannot help him in my condition.

  He must do this alone, a deep voice sang softly in the back of Paramor’s mind.

  Walls wobbled and warped. Gravity felt stronger with every passing breath. Paramor grimaced and fought to solidify his position through the dizziness. But what of my people?

  Indigo light filled the small alcove. Higer’s flumes waved in a lazy spread behind him as he eased closer. “Are you unwell?”

  “I grow weaker every passing hour.” Paramor forced himself to lift his head. Sitting up was out of the question.

  Higer’s eyes widened. “You’re an—” Orionate? “B-but this isn’t how your kind pass to into Halcyon,” He stammered.

  Paramor couldn’t look at the fear and confusion on the male’s face any longer and rested his head between his elbows on the cold, blood-stained floor. “Sometimes, young Prime, the universe has other plans.” Don’t let anyone else see me. You must swear it.

  A gentle hand settled against his back. “We should find a new hiding place if you wish to keep your secret.”

  Regret and confusion sent hot water rushing into Paramor’s eyes. This was wrong. He was supposed to protect Atana and guide Bennett—be a beacon of hope, not a sickly slave who had lost control of their body. He tried to stand, but it felt like his muscles had filled with liquid metal. I don’t want to die without a fight. But I can’t move.

  “I’ve got you, Martiis,” Higer said. “It will be my honor to protect you.”

  A warm blanket of plush, radiant blue threads replaced the cold. Paramor’s vision blurred and faded to black.

  —Sergeant Tanner—

  Chapter 43

  TANNER’S FINGERS FLEW across the oval controls of the collector’s interface as they drifted in space. “Confirm links to mothership Agutra, Hope, and Home Station.” Ships pinged one after another on the laptop he’d mounted to the center of the console.

  The doku sitting in the co-pilot’s seat to his right initiated their linking process with three taps on his main screen. Tanner had come to know the male Xahu’ré as Belcorin. The man preferred Corin and was fast with dive maneuvers through tight spaces in the void. Navy stripes covered most of his body in what other doku called elar na’ii, or night skin. His ancestors lived in the coldest regions of Vioras, needing more thermo-stripes to survive. He didn’t talk much.

  “How are we looking?” Bennett asked over the headset Tanner wore connected to the communication system.

  “Discrepancies in Quadrant One’s connections have been fixed.” Tanner closed his laptop and swiveled in his seat to check on Cutter while Corin monitored their position in the debris field.

  Cutter had taken the position of the gunner in the collector's roof. He sat in a clear, hard-shell bubble that circumvolved with the gun as he scanned the stars. Cutter scanned intently between the barrel and the screen beside him.

  Catching sight of the ship rising into the debris belt to their right, Tanner called over to Krett.

  Krett’s green eyes looked like a pair of hovering fireflies beyond the glass windows. “Go ahead.”

  Tanner rubbed the bare spot on his temple. He’d had to shave to the skin so the mental pairing unit would properly connect. Drawing the chip case out of his chest pocket, he cracked it open and selected the two-centimeter square of resisters and transmitters and teeth. Pressing it to the side of his head, he didn’t give himself time to anticipate the pain before depressing the button on the top.

  Metal tines grabbed skin.

  Heat flared out from the punctures. Tanner let out the breath he held. “I’m ready to pair when you are.”

  “Ready.” Krett’s voice was clear and calm like he’d done this a thousand times. Except, UP had never used ArcStrings before. They didn’t exist until a few days ago. Merging two minds to ensure both ships maintained proper positioning was a programming concept Tanner couldn’t grasp. But Atana had found a way.

  Because of Zephyr Station. Because I’ve been connected like this with Azure, Atana had said.

  Tanner liked her theory of the ArcStrings’ effectiveness: for cuttin’ off heads.

  He selected Initiate Pairing on his screen while Corin eyed him warily from his seat.

  “What is that snapping sound?” Krett asked as Tanner’s finger hover
ed over the Start icon.

  Corin’s oily brows lifted, his gaze darting to Tanner’s hand.

  “Static,” Tanner replied, rubbing his fingertips together. “It’s why I stay away from Cutter’s projects. Why? Is it interfering with communication?”

  “What color?” Krett asked.

  Tanner sat frozen with confusion, aching to press the button and get the merge over with. Color? Of static? He inspected the fingertips of his free hand.

  After an awkward silence, Corin replied for him. “It changes.” His blue irises were larger than most, deep cerulean in the middle with feathery black rings around the outside. He leaned sideways in his seat, braced his face on a finger, and scrutinized Tanner.

  “I won’t flip out if I turn. I’m not like that. Never have been,” Tanner defended.

  Corin didn’t move from his watchful position.

  Growing uncomfortable with the attention, Tanner counted down to the mind-meld with Krett. A thought-puncturing jab shot through his mind, containing images of Primvera and shepherds alike. For several breaths, Tanner clutched the armrests and watched, letting Krett’s memories pass through his consciousness like Atana recommended.

  The pangs subsided to a dull ache. Still, Tanner’s head felt twice as heavy. They’d merged once before in Home Station’s Technical Integrations lab to make sure, like the other two pairs of pilots. But being up here, vulnerable, where every decision was life or death, and clarity of mind was critical, made the bond unnerving.

  With each merge, Tanner saw more of Krett’s life. The man was a soldier to the depths of his being, abstaining from love and family to serve. Judging by the sharpness of the edges on the Egyptian pyramids Tanner had seen in memory, Krett was far older than he looked. The sinister flashes of blinding metal and blood were the most disturbing.

  Tanner shook the images from his head, realizing how pathetic his ‘junkyard baby’ life story was in comparison.

  “Count your strengths, not your weaknesses,” Krett said.

  In the reflection on the window, Tanner could see a single green LED illuminate on the chip. He and Krett had private communication. They might’ve been different species, but they had the closest psychological profile matches in all of UP.

  Corin’s stare had grown unnerving.

  Glancing askance at him, Tanner tightened the reins on his emotions. He would do anything to prove he was in control. “I told you, I won’t freak out. Stop worrying about me and focus on the job.”

  Don’t think about it. Krett’s thoughts drifted through Tanner’s consciousness. I’ll hear it.

  Sorry, sir. Tanner quietly went back to aligning their collector with Krett’s. It was a dizzying process at first. His vision overlaid with a ghost of what Krett was doing on his end.

  You know, my fingers spark every time they contact sources of energy, particularly Kilavi drives.

  Tanner inspected his fingers but found only normal human skin. Any idea what my sprinkles of non-human DNA are?

  I could guess, but—

  Tanner’s vision morphed with movements of Krett as he turned to the female Kriit in the seat beside him, pointing at a setting he wanted to be adjusted. I don’t want to set you up for disappointment.

  To their left, another ship lifted into Earth’s orbiting ring of metal and dirt and glass.

  “Not too organized now or it looks planned,” Bennett warned over the coms.

  A silent cloud puffed from a side, and the ship disappeared in the distant debris.

  As the collectors moved into final positions on the screens in front of him and Corin, the rhythm in Tanner’s chest picked up.

  Easy, young one, Krett’s voice hummed with greater depth in his mind, a depth beyond the capability of the Merge-tech embedded in their heads.

  Gritting his teeth, Tanner palpated the transponder half-buried in his head. Every movement sent out stinging waves of distortion across his vision.

  Don’t touch. Krett’s voice faded in and out with the chip’s movement.

  Jerking his hand back, Tanner tried blinking away the irritation in his brain. “Sorry, sir.”

  Bennett’s voice came over the coms again. "The Suanoa were born in the light. They are afraid of what they cannot see, of being in the dark, in this void. It is as ingrained in them as the need to survive. The shadows are the Suanoan weakness. They will not venture there. Here. They must harness the power of science, of Pyraplasma to illuminate their world.

  “La’kian were born in the dark. It is in this darkness that they learned to make their own light, to not fear the shadows but become one with them. This is where we find our strength. Be shadows in the night, and we will win.”

  Corin let out an irritated sigh from his seat.

  Slumping in disbelief of the man’s gall, Tanner glared over at him. They didn’t choose to work together. They were paired that way at Azure’s request. “What?”

  From his slouched position, the man pointed to his face then out Tanner’s window. “Your eyes.”

  Squinting, Tanner searched his reflection.

  A black-violet light followed his eyes as they moved. He tilted, and the light followed. It wasn’t a deflection or an illusion.

  “Fuck!”

  Part 3

  —Blood Kings—

  Chapter 44

  “THREE BUNKERS JUST WENT DOWN!” Sergio shouted over the radio. “Pacific Zone Nine just lost over six hundred civilians. Twenty-nine shepherds!”

  Tanner adjusted the volume lower on his headset, grimacing. Suanoa hadn’t breached the gate, which meant only one thing. Kronos.

  Corin was still comfortably lounging in his seat. “Just what we need,” he muttered sarcastically.

  “They’re destroying Human Cataloging Offices,” Sergio continued. “Our defense systems are down in Pacific Zone Nine. We need to pull someone! Hyras is on his way with a crew, but they’re still in Tropic Zone Seven.”

  “You’re thinking about it,” Corin said.

  “Yes,” Tanner admitted, fingers drumming on his thighs. He looked past the reflection of his glowing eyes to the other ships hiding in the dark like unassuming asteroids.

  “And if you change?” Corin challenged.

  Tanner pushed the thought out of his mind. “I’ll deal with it. Pac. Nine is right below us. Besides, Kronos is a group of Verros, on Earth, run by this reckless jackoff, Krage, who’s got an insatiable bloodlust.”

  Corin sat forward in his seat, dark skin glistening with the red light from the controls spread around them. “Verros?”

  “I vote we go,” Cutter called out over the coms. “It doesn’t sound like they’re making any useful decisions, and the Kyras aren’t here yet.”

  Don’t even think about it, Krett warned in Tanner’s mind.

  “With respect, sir, you already know I am.” Tanner reached forward and eagerly tapped Disconnect, breaking his bond with Krett. It was nice to have one set of thoughts and images in his mind again. He checked the countdown to arrival on his wristband. “We’ll be back before they enter.”

  “You better,” Krett said. “We’re useless alone.”

  “I’m aware.”

  Corin jerked the straps tight on his harness and promptly had them in a nose dive headed for Earth. “Coordinates.”

  Opening his laptop, Tanner tracked the reports of civilian and shepherd casualties, transferring the location data to the ship’s computer system.

  “Where are you going, Sergeant Tanner? We need your ship up here!” Miskaht barked.

  Hot tides of frustration flooded Tanner’s body. “We’re losing lives for no reason. You expect the rest of us to wait for the Kyras while Krage cuts down our forces? Then you tell me not to be the shepherd you designed us to be. With respect, I hate double-standards. Tanner out.”

  Cutter whooped from his seat behind them, an odd but enjoyable sound in Tanner’s ears.

  Making a few adjustments to their propulsion system, Tanner launched them faster toward the neari
ng surface. His body sank back in the seat. Next to him, Corin focused deeply on the holographic map illuminated across the front windows.

  When they leveled out into Pacific Zone Nine, Tanner took over, knowing Corin felt less comfortable on the surface. Short trees and low-lying mountains flurried past them, opening up to a large valley filled with city buildings and villages nestled against its perimeter.

  A pair of missiles arched up into the sky before them. Streams of flaming gunfire from the ground struggled to take them down.

  “Got ‘em!” Cutter shouted. Two strings of red-orange plasma ripped down from the top of the ship, detonating the enemy missiles.

  Flying over the blasts as they turned to smoke, Tanner searched for the launch vehicle and found an unfamiliar aircraft. It was a primitive design—gray and triangular, with engines booming from banned fossil fuel. It broke course in a loop, and Tanner knew it was circling back for them. “Bogie, nine-o’clock!”

  Clay tiles burst into the air as guns chewed up the tops of buildings in parallel lines heading straight for their collector. Adrenaline fired through Tanner’s muscles as he dipped them toward the streets avoiding the attack.

  Slowing to a hover, Tanner turned them around and surfaced with caution. Cutter returned fire. The repeated whoosh-pop of the guns led to the distant boom of the ship exploding, back to front.

  Corin monitored the attack on his screen. “One down. Two more approaching our tail.”

  A building beside them took repeated fire and crumbled as if made of sand.

  Tanner throttled up and sent the collector racing toward the edge of town. “Cutter, breaking left—now!”

  The collector pulled heavy Gs as Tanner swerved, avoiding the forested mountains at the edge of the city. Rolling the ship onto its side, he brought them into Cutter’s prime zone. The dynamic gunner’s graphics on his screen rocked, a light flashing green around the bubble.

  Warped pops trailed the firelight flashing out from Cutter’s position, filling the cabin.