Darkness Falling: Soldiers and Slaves

by R. R. Willica

  He was met only with silence.

  Normally when anything exciting was happening the other test subjects would act out; yelling, banging the bars or glass of their cells. The quiet was even more unnerving than the usual outburst.

  “Hello?” Dreger said again, slowly stepping forward to give himself a better view of the room.

  The Extractor blocked much of his view of the cages when standing in the doorway. As he changed his position he began to count; one, two three, four, five. All of the subjects were in their proper cages. Relaxing a little he moved a little faster, noting the infected subjects within the glass cells were all awake. The woman crouched against the far wall; the young man peered out from the blankets of his cot, eyes searching for something unseen. The final subject, a middle aged man, stood right against the glass, snarling.

  As he approached, Dreger noticed that all three subjects were covered in red lesions, some of which were oozing a green puss. He leaned in closer to the glass to inspect the man’s abdomen. With his attention focused he began to feel the uneasy sensation of someone standing behind him. The hairs on the back of the scientist's neck stood up. He whirled around to see that he was alone.

  “Sssssttt!” the man behind him hissed menacingly.

  Spinning back, he was caught in the gaze of the male slave; red eyes glowing from within.

  “This is a fascinating change,” Dreger said to himself, half intrigued and half terrified.

  From his pocket, he removed the small camera that he carried around for documenting such changes. He took a quick picture of the slave’s face. The flash blinked brightly in the dim lab and the slave howled, throwing himself backward and covering his eyes.

  “What was that?” A confused voice shouted from the corridor.

  “I don’t know, hurry,” said a second voice followed by the sound of running.

  Dreger's two remaining assistants, Neyl and Sam, burst into the laboratory, eyes wide. They paused, panting, and turned to look back into the corridor. Already enthralled by the new symptoms exhibited by his subjects, Dreger had already forgotten his own fear and quickly disregarded their behavior.

  “Come look at this,” Dreger called to them.

  The two young men hesitated, but finally came forward to inspect the subjects.

  “They weren't like that when I locked up last night,” Sam said defensively.

  “I know, I know,” Dreger said absently. “Observe.”

  He took another picture, this time of the woman. She shrieked, clawing at the wall in an attempt to escape. The young man ducked under the blanket sobbing, but the older man rushed forward in anger to pound on the glass.

  “It appears they've grown sensitive to bright lights,” Dreger waved his hand toward Neyl, “write that down.”

  His assistant scrambled to find a notepad.

  “Doctor,” Sam tapped him on the shoulder. “Have you noticed the others?”

  “What?” Dreger shook himself away from his observation as if waking from a dream.

  Turning his attention to the cages he saw the telltale signs of the plague reappearing in the vaccinated slaves; yellowing skin, reddening eyes, and lethargy. They were also covered in small red welts.

  “This new symptom spreads rather quickly,” Dreger was astonished. Yesterday the subjects in the wire cages tested negative for infection. “We need to quarantine them as quickly as possible.”

  “Where?” Neyl asked. “All of the quarantine units are occupied.”

  Dreger considered their options. The lab itself could be locked down until further notice, but that would greatly limit their ability to observe the new mutation. There was only one possible solution.

  “Put them together with the others. Three groups; females, young males, elder males,” he pointed to each cell in turn.

  His assistants exchanged an uneasy look.

  “But, Doctor, the quarantined subjects have been hostile.”

  “True, but that hostility is only towards us and not towards each other. Besides, it may be an opportunity to investigate the range of psychological disruption caused by the illness.”

  He actually liked the idea more the longer he considered it. Neyl and Sam did not share his enthusiasm, and continued to stare at him nervously. Seeing that he was going to have to initiate the process, Dreger pulled on his protective suit and mask. Neyl and Sam reluctantly did the same.

  “More subjects are easily obtained. The streets outside are teeming with them,” Dreger reassured them, completely misunderstanding their apprehension.

  Unlocking the first cage, the frail young woman inside turned her head to stare at him through cloudy eyes.

  “Too late,” she whispered as Dreger cradled her in his arms.

  “Write that down,” he instructed Neyl, who fumbled with the pen in his thick gloves.

  One by one they moved the slaves to the proper cells, using the camera’s flash to subdue the threat of attack. When it was done they stood back to watch. To Dreger's disappointment there was no interaction between the primary group and the secondary additions.

  “We will continue to monitor their progress,” he sighed. “Shall we get back to our usual routine?”

  Grateful to return to monotony after the events of the morning, his assistants readily agreed.

  * * *

  Fully dressed in her silver gown, Gleyth followed the Enforcers from her apartments into the elevator. Although the moment was not entirely different in appearance from the evening of her celebration, her demeanor was far from enthusiastic.

  Shoulders slumped, head bowed, hands clasped tightly before her; the princess was the vision of a prisoner being dragged to her death.

  During the morning rituals, Gleyth attempted to convince herself it was for the best. Instead of lightening her mood, she found herself sinking into heavy depression. Sorrow settled on her shoulders like a thick blanket, she did not have the strength to shove it off. The White Energy guns strapped to the Enforcer’s backs only darkened her thoughts further.

  The ballroom had been transformed to better suit the purpose of a wedding. Instead of a clear floor at the center for dancing, tables were rearranged to make an aisle on which to parade the High Princess. Enforcers lined the path, all standing at silent attention and reminding everyone that the marriage was a forced affair.

  Ka Harn stood upon the dais. His face was grim. The gathered guests did not applaud for their princess this time. Instead, unhappy eyes and the rustle of whispers followed her as she was lead passed. No music played.

  To her surprise, Fei Arentey was smiling. That was the most unsettling part of all. Didn’t he care that his future wife would be his against her will? She thought that, at the very least, he would be angry. Instead, he beamed at her pleasantly.

  “You look beautiful, my dear,” he said quietly as she was brought to a halt at his side.

  Gleyth wasn't sure how to respond. She couldn't even bring herself to fake a smile.

  “On this day,” Ka Harn began, “We witness the union of two houses; the Fa and Ka. Each clan has a storied history which speaks to their individual greatness. In times of war, the Fa have served as mighty generals and warriors for the glory of the Empire; in times of conquest the Ka have attained new lands with which to grow our mighty boarders. By joining these great clans together, we are acknowledging our hope for the future. State your names.”

  “Fei Arentey Fei’Escareyn, heir to the Fa, future Lord of Rau'Tesche-Enra.”

  Gleyth stared up at her father, eyes pleading. He stared down at her coldly, as if she were not the daughter he had loved.

  “Ky Gleyth Kei'Oren, daughter of the Ka; High Princess of Sa'Toret-Ekar.” the words were flat in her mouth.

  “Join hands,” Ka Harn instructed.

  Turning toward each other, they did as they were told. Arentey continued to smile. Gleyth stared at him blankly.

  “The clans are unified, a solid force against the savagery of the unnamed. Through this unity
may the Empire prosper and grow. So it is done.”

  A dull rustle of applause rattled through the crowd.

  “You are now Fy Gleyth a-Fy'Arentey because you are mine. No longer shall you answer to the name of Ka.” Arentey said the traditional words of a husband to his new wife.

  Gleyth's mouth was dry. “I understand,” she uttered the traditional response.

  She didn't believe that anyone could feel joy or love on such an occasion.

  “The ceremony has ended. Brunch and cake will now be served.”

  Ka Harn turned away from his daughter. Seating himself at the high table, Fa Marden soon joined him along with Ky Thella. This would be the last time Gleyth would sit with her parents for any function. From that moment on she was nothing more than a lady and her sister Kerra was High Princess.

  Seated next to Fei Arentey, her eyes locked with the table. It was the safest place for her gaze. A plate was set before her and she stared at the food without seeing it. Around her, the conversation was just noise.

  She wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Arentey leaned close to her and said “I don't blame you.”

  “What?” Gleyth turned her head, feeling angry and confused.

  “I don't blame you,” he repeated, studying the piece of melon he had speared onto his fork. “My father is upset, but I'm not. To be honest, I wouldn't have chosen you, either.”

  Gleyth felt her shoulders relax a little, surprised by her new husband’s attitude.

  “To be fair, I did have a choice but it was minimal. I was given the option between you and Dy Leyla,”

  Arentey nodded in the direction of the young woman seated across the room. She was a scrawny thing with large eyes and a pronounced overbite. Gleyth sighed, disappointed yet again. Appearance was clearly an attribute Arentey valued. It was unfortunate that she would have rather been chosen for her mind.

  “The truth is, though, I would rather not marry into the nobility. I don't really see the purpose so long as we keep the bloodlines within the Named.” He shrugged. “After all, everyone's ancestor has made a contribution at some point, even if it was long ago. But, you know, we've got uphold the political charade.”

  Although his perception was skewed, his reasoning wasn’t completely wrong.

  “What does that mean for our marriage?” Gleyth asked.

  Arentey took a drink from his coffee, savoring it before he answered. “As long as you perform your wifely duties and produce an heir, I'll leave you alone.”

  “That's it?” She felt that could not be the only condition of the agreement.

  “For the most part; you must also allow me free reign when it comes to my amusements. I don't want you to suddenly become the jealous type.”

  “Oh,” now it made sense. “You have other women.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Your brother had one. I have six. That was his mistake, you know. A man needs to have options. It prevents messy situations.”

  Gleyth grimaced.

  “Don't worry,” Arentey assured her, “all of them have been fixed to ensure no children are possible. You won't have to worry about some brat vying for the Fa.”

  That had been the farthest thought from her mind.

  “Basically, I’m going to be another member of your harem.”

  “No, of course not; you'll be Lady of the Tower. Some of them might resent you, but you'll have your own suite of apartments and you can decide on your own slaves. In fact, perhaps your father will allow you to bring your favorites from here so that you feel more at ease.”

  “Perhaps,” she whispered, doubting it.

  Sitting back in her chair she considered the possibilities of Fei Arentey's proposal. It sounded disgusting and selfish, but the reality was she could be selfish, too. If he was of the same mindset as his father, then a single heir would be enough. After that she could be almost completely free of him. She would be alone in Rau’Tesche-Enra, but she could use their agreement for leverage to create her own world.

  “All right,” the words came slowly, “I agree to your arrangement.”

  Arentey sat up straight in his chair, grinning. “Good. You'll see, this isn't quite the catastrophe you've made it out be.”

  * * *

  Sheyra fired a ball of yellow paint down the line of the firing range, barely grazing the edge of the person shaped target. She shifted her weight, trying again. This time she connected with the shoulder.

  “Stand straight,” Therin instructed. “You're leaning to the left.”

  Repositioning her shoulders, she peered down the line through the sight. If this were a real battle she'd be dead from poor aim and hesitation.

  “Take even breaths. Panicked breathing leads to increased nervousness and poor judgment.”

  She concentrated. Firing again the paint hit close to the abdomen. She smiled, pleased with her progress. Glancing over she saw that Keysa had not failed to hit the center of the target with each shot.

  “Looks like we've got a sharp eye here,” Therin noted. “Do you have previous experience with guns?”

  Keysa shrugged, “No, actually. It just seems to make sense to me.”

  Pheyren was also doing well, hitting the target with all three pellets.

  “When are we going to practice against other people?” he asked, “Opposing soldiers won’t just stand there giving us a chance to aim.”

  “You'll be put into mock combat soon enough. First you need to learn the basics.” Therin crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, let's do it again.”

  The targets were replaced with new ones. Therin gave each recruit three more paint pellets. Sheyra raised the gun, firing three times. A neck hit, a shoulder hit, and an abdomen. Sheyra smiled, feeling confident.

  Pheyren didn't fare quiet as well on his second round, hitting the target edge once and an arm once. Keysa, however; continued to hit correctly every time.

  Pheyren lowered his gun, annoyed. “Does aiming even matter? If you hit someone with White Energy they're going to die.”

  “Of course aiming matters,” Therin growled. “If you can't connect with your target the blast was wasted. And remember, you'll be facing trained soldiers.”

  Sheyra remembered the way the truck bounced when it was hit with White energy, and the gaping hole that was left behind. She didn't understand how Brosen had survived.

  “Hey,” Pheyren whispered at Keysa, “What's the secret?”

  “I don't know,” she said. “When I aim I just quiet all of my thoughts.”

  Sheyra knew that was her problem; her mind was full. Brosen and Impyra, Lineya, the mysterious light in the sky, the Resistance; too many thoughts vied for attention to allow her proper focus.

  “Don't worry; not everyone has natural talent at this. Even if you are not our best fighters you may yet prove useful in other areas.” Therin said. “Begin again.”

  He passed them each another round.

  Sheyra raised her gun. Taking slow breaths, she attempted to banish her worries. Trying not to think only made her think more. She closed her eyes to steady herself. When she opened them she fired, missing twice before hitting the target's head.

  “Good shot,” Keysa said.

  “Yeah, but I warned him twice.” Sheyra shook her head.

  “With more practice you'll do fine,” Therin said over her shoulder. “That's enough for today. Put your weapons back in the locker and you can head to the galley for lunch. Tomorrow Nakiya will be training you. The Boss has me going with the unit to investigate the light.”

  “Do you want to eat together?” Keysa asked her fellow recruits.

  “Yeah, sure,” Pheyren said.

  “I'm going to go check on my friends first, I'll catch up to you,” Sheyra said.

  “All right, see you later,” Keysa smiled weakly.

  The ship was well organized and easy to navigate. The upper decks housed the training facility. Other than the firing range there was a weight room and sparring room as well as classroom
s. Below were the living quarters, galley, and med bay. Sheyra hurried to the latter.

  Although vaccinated, Lorsen was also being kept for observation. Malnutrition weakened his immune system and his continued exposure to his daughter made him vulnerable to infection. He was sleeping when she arrived. Jairon stood in a corner, looking through the glass of the quarantine at Lineya. The girl lay on her side, staring at the wall.

  “How is she?” Sheyra asked quietly.

  “She’s getting worse,” he hesitated, “she isn't responding to the treatment.”

  Sheyra frowned. She refused to give up hope just yet. It had only been one day.

  “Listen,” Jairon said. “I'm going with Therin and some others to investigate the light. I don't know how long we'll be gone, but I wanted to leave on good terms.”

  Sheyra hadn't expected that. “I thought we'd put our differences aside.”

  “Yeah, but I wanted to tell you that I could have been nicer.”

  “Is that an apology?”

  He didn't answer. “I know you'll take care of them.”

  Sheyra smiled. “Yeah, I will.”

  Jairon nodded and walked out. Sheyra watched as a nurse dressed in full protective gear entered the quarantine from a door at the back. She helped the girl drink from a small cup of thick white liquid. Lineya coughed to the point of nearly vomiting before she collapsed weakly back onto the bed.

  Sheyra fought back tears. There wasn't anything she could do to help. Lorsen rocked his head to one side, moaning in his sleep.

  “Don't take 'er,” he muttered.

  Sheyra wondered if he was dreaming about his daughter or something else. A nurse moved to his bedside, checking the readout of his vitals on a machine he was connected to; she wrote down the data on a clipboard.

  “Do you think they'll recover soon?” Sheyra asked.

  The young woman frowned. “He probably will as long as he remains stable, but we're worried about the girl. There's something different about the strain of plague she's contracted. We haven't seen this before.”

  That wasn't what Sheyra had wanted to hear.

  “Don't worry, they're in good hands,” the nurse smiled sadly. “Go and rest, eat. The best thing you can do for them is stay strong.”