Torran

by Leslie Chase

  It wasn’t good food, and it wouldn’t sustain life forever, but it was what we had. Now that the prytheen had taken over, they reserved the hunted meat for themselves.

  “Thank you for backing me up,” I said quietly to Maria as I joined her. She finished programming the nanites and set them to work before turning to me.

  “I know Carrington’s type, he needs to be in charge,” she said, just as quiet. “As long as we give him that, he’ll stay out of our way.”

  Next to us the stump steamed as tiny machines burrowed into it. Over the next days they’d make their way into the roots, tearing up everything and mulching it until it was food for worms.

  That felt like a metaphor for my life. All my hopes and dreams were being ground up to support someone else’s.

  “What do we do past that?” I asked, and she shrugged, surrendering to fate.

  “We do what the conquered always do. We adapt, survive, look for ways to improve things. All of us are better off if the farm runs well, so I will make the best farm I can. And as long as Carrington is content to pretend to be in charge rather than interfering, I can make it happen.”

  Fuck that. I restrained myself from saying it out loud, but there had to be a better way forward. Maria might be willing to surrender to the aliens, but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

  There was no point in fighting about it here though, not with two aliens watching and Carrington close enough to overhear. I sighed and put off any thought of resistance for the time being — there would be a better chance. There had to be a better chance.

  “Show me how to do this?” I asked, looking for safer ground. Learning how to use the tech might be useful. Maria smiled.

  “Of course. It’s easy to do, tricky to do well,” she told me. “The machines must be carefully programmed or we will waste them, and we do not have as many as we need.”

  That was certainly true. The nanites we’d packed on the colony pod were an expensive tool, and impossible to replace on Crashland. Oh, somewhere someone might have a breeder system that made more of the tiny machines, but not us. When we ran out, we’d have to dig up tree stumps by hand and that didn’t sound like fun given how many we’d need to clear.

  Maria showed me the tricks she’d developed to make do with as few nanites as possible, and I copied her custom programming over to Henry who barked excitedly at his new job. I wondered just how many programs I could load into his little AI. Between the medical texts and the nanite controls, his storage matrix was getting full.

  But anything that made me more useful would be good. As soon as Torran was back on his feet I’d have to justify my existence. Hopefully that day wouldn’t come too soon.

  Days passed, most of them spent inside looking after Torran. He spent most of that time asleep or unconscious. Whatever infection ravaged his system kept him from waking, and I struggled to help him.

  Maybe I should have spent more time helping the others clear the forest but every time I thought I could spare the effort, something changed for the worse. Torran’s fever spiked, an infection bloomed, his wound wept, and I had to struggle dealing with it.

  It didn’t help that the autodoc didn’t understand a prytheen body. Torran’s vital signs made no sense, and poor Henry’s programming kept giving contradictory advice until I switched off the error messages and started guessing what to do. The universal antibiotics worked their magic, but his prytheen metabolism reacted weirdly to something in them. And then the infection came back.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted to Henry eventually. He was meant to be a confidant, so I might as well use that function. He looked up at me with his gigantic eyes and somehow that comforted me.

  Padding forward, he bumped his head against my arm, and I realized he’d updated his appearance: my holo-puppy had a holographic stethoscope draped around his fuzzy neck. I snorted laughter at the sight, and he headbutted me again.

  “Okay, that doesn’t actually help, but I feel a bit better,” I said, scratching him behind the ears. “Let’s see what we can get the autodoc to do.”

  Whether I had anything to do with it or not, over time Torran’s condition slowly improved. Or at least settled — it was hard to say when I didn’t know what his vital signs ought to look like. But he seemed to rest easier, and woke occasionally. I hoped it was a good sign. I didn’t want to lose him, and not just because Arvid would kill me if he died.

  Just as I started to think I had the situation under control, more prytheen arrived. I’d relaxed enough to take short breaks outside each day, and I happened to be outside with Malcolm when they showed up.

  They filed out of the forest, battered and injured, looking around with hungry, desperate eyes. Unlike the first prytheen attackers, I heard these aliens approach before they arrived: they lacked Torran’s silent grace in the woods. I counted twenty of them, more or less, and swallowed nervously. That was a lot of extra aliens.

  The journey here hadn’t treated them well — more than one had injuries too fresh to have been from the crash. The Crashland wildlife had taken its toll.

  Arvid greeted the newcomers with formal words that meant nothing to us humans, but one of the new arrivals stepped forward and grasped his wrists in an alien handshake. He was the biggest of the new arrivals, and the only one who looked well-fed. A nasty scar ran from his face down his neck and vanished under the tight black uniform he wore.

  It clung to his muscular body, showing off his perfectly defined abs, and the bulging muscles of his arms flexed as he gripped Arvid’s hand. He looked formidable, almost as powerfully built as Torran. But where Torran’s presence sent a flood of confused emotions through me, this new alien simply frightened me.

  The cruelty in his eyes as he looked at us chilled my soul. Maybe I imagined it? I hoped so, because this man was clearly in charge now.

  The new aliens growled and snarled and Arvid turned to Mr. Carrington, switching to Galtrade. “You, bring food for our guest.”

  The way Carrington jumped to obey, I almost expected him to salute. I ground my teeth, trying to be fair. The man had a family to think about, the lives of three children on the line. He had no choice here.

  It still didn’t look good, the way he scurried off to do our alien masters’ bidding. I tried not to think about it

  “You are the one who shot a prytheen?” The new alien’s voice was as rough as his face, dark and dangerous. Half a smile tugged at his lips, exposing sharp teeth.

  I gulped and nodded quickly, hoping he’d lose interest. His eyes narrowed.

  “Why do you let her live?” He directed the question to Arvid, not me, but he stuck to Galtrade. Probably to frighten me, I thought, and if so, it worked. I shivered as the other alien explained.

  “Torran has claimed her, Gurral. She’s his to kill or spare.”

  Gurral looked me over again, eyes flicking up and down my body as though assessing a side of beef. Something sparked in his eyes, anger or lust I couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter; both options terrified me.

  “As long as he’s alive, anyway,” the alien said, reaching out to brush my cheek with his finger. I resisted the urge to slap his hand away. That wouldn’t help anything.

  Our eyes met and we measured each other. I saw the cold hardness of his will, a cruelty and darkness I didn’t want to test.

  Torran, you’d better get well soon, I thought as I looked down, trying to appear meek and passive and unthreatening. If you die on me, I won’t live long.

  If Gurral tried anything with me I had no illusions about what would happen. I’d fight him and die. Maybe, with a lot of luck, I’d kill him on my way out.

  Gurral grinned, a nasty expression that made me shiver. Turning back to his men he started to give orders, and I took the chance to vanish back to sickbay and get out of sight. The less he saw of me, the better.

  It wasn’t that easy, of course. Now that Torran didn’t need constant care and attention, the aliens weren’t about to let me hide myself away, e
specially when we needed more farmland than ever. Feeding all our new prytheen guests would take a lot more land than we’d planned on, and they couldn’t live by hunting alone.

  Getting the farmland expanded was only the first problem — tending the crops would be a lot of work, even with the genetically engineered super-crops we’d brought.

  It would have been a lot easier if the aliens helped, but no. They were content to watch us work, ‘encouraging’ their human slaves. That worked to an extent: none of us wanted to find out what they’d do if they thought we weren’t working hard enough.

  To be completely fair, they did some work — just not on the farm. But all of the prytheen were happy to hunt in the forests, and while they didn’t share any of the meat they brought home, that kept them from draining our supplies as quickly as they might have. And, perhaps more importantly, it meant that each day there were less of them hanging around the colony. Always one or two, keeping watch on us humans, but the rest vanished to hunt.

  That was definitely better than having the crowd of them staring at us as we chopped down trees and cleared ground. A few days in and the routine seemed almost natural. But the aliens never let us forget who was in charge.

  “You. Boy.” The alien’s words were harsh, brutal, uncaring. I glanced up from my work gathering chopped branches for the matter processor to see one of the prytheen glaring at Malcolm. My brother stood wearily, the pain of long hours working to clear the new fields showing in his tired stance.

  “Fetch me a drink,” the alien said, lounging against the side of the colony pod and watching us. Malcolm’s eyes darted from him to the pod and back, and I prayed he wouldn’t say something stupid. Which, really, would be anything the prytheen could understand.

  “Fetch it yourself, you lazy ass.” My heart nearly stopped, but at least Malcolm said it in Spanish. The aliens spoke Galtrade with us, and some of them were picking up a bit of English. Anything else was as mysterious to them as the prytheen language was to us.

  The alien’s eyes narrowed and he straightened up. He might not have understood the words, but I had the sinking feeling he knew why Malcolm had chosen a language he didn’t speak. As my brother made his way to the pod, the prytheen stepped into his way.

  I tried to think of something to say to stop the looming confrontation, but my mind moved too slowly and things happened fast. Malcolm looked up at the prytheen warrior, tried to step around him. The alien snarled something wordless and backhanded him hard enough to send him tumbling to the ground.

  “Speak with respect,” he said, kicking my brother as he started to stand. The impact drove the air out of Malcolm, leaving him gasping and quivering on the hard soil. The alien rained blows down on him, demanding an apology that Malcolm couldn’t get out through the pain.

  If no one stopped him, the alien would beat Malcolm to death. I felt it in my bones, and my body reacted while I was still trying to think of how to intervene.

  “Stop it!” Before I knew what I was doing, I’d leaped onto the back of the prytheen warrior. My hands battered at his ears and he roared in surprise and confusion.

  The element of surprise carried me for a moment, and I had a heady second where I thought I might achieve something. But then he grabbed me, claws digging into my shoulder, and threw me off him. I twisted in the air, trying to control my fall, and then the ground hit me hard.

  Malcolm struggled up to his feet, taking the chance to run for the pod, but the prytheen wasn’t about to be distracted from him. Lashing out with a kick, the alien monster sent my brother tumbling to the ground.

  “Dead,” he hissed, drawing a dagger and raising it over Malcolm. I scrambled to my feet, feeling like I was moving through treacle as I rushed towards them, and flung myself in the blade’s path.

  Everything seemed to move so slowly, and I could see every detail. Some strange insect flying past. The glint of the sun on the wickedly sharp dagger. The sound of my heart pounding in my ears as he swung it down.

  Above us the sky shone blue. It was a beautiful day to die.

  And then a hand caught the alien’s wrist. A blue hand, a prytheen hand.

  Torran’s hand.

  The blade halted inches from my face, and it was all I could look at. The tip shone bright — almost beautiful — poised to take my life or my brother’s, and pulling my focus away was impossible.

  Torran said something, hard words rough and angry in his throat. The other prytheen hissed a response, pulling his arm free and stepping back. My paralysis broke and I sucked in air as he sheathed his blade and glowered.

  The anger in those eyes told me I hadn’t heard the last of this, but he seemed content to turn away and stalk off. Malcolm pulled himself to his feet behind me, wincing and trembling. Torran looked down at the two of us. For a long breath none of us said anything.

  To my surprise, I was the one to break the silence. “What the fuck are you doing out of bed?”

  It was a ridiculous complaint. Even as I said it I knew it. He’d saved my life, probably Malcolm’s too, and his reward was a telling-off? But my emotions were too complicated, too raw, to keep in check and they boiled out as anger.

  It was safer than fear, which would have had me curl up into a ball and never come out.

  “I told you to stay put, I told you that your wound’ll reopen if you aren’t careful. I don’t want all my work to go to waste!”

  Torran grunted something, annoyance or amusement. Shaking his head, he leaned back against the colony pod and let me shout. My eyes widened as I saw the dark marks on the bandage around his waist. He had torn his wound open. God damn it.

  “Sis—” Malcolm said, and I wheeled on him before he could get anywhere.

  “Don’t you start,” I told him, struggling to keep my voice down. “You nearly got yourself killed. Why didn’t you just do what he said, you idiot? I can’t let you die.”

  There were tears in my brother’s eyes and his arms closed around me in a fierce hug. Sobs shook him and my anger drained away as fast as it appeared. I hugged Malcolm hard, holding him and trying to give him the comfort I lacked.

  “We have to be careful,” I told him quietly, once I thought he might listen. “You’re all I have left, you can’t get yourself killed. Okay?”

  “I’ll be careful, sis,” he said, choking the words out through sobs. “I promise.”

  He meant it. In the moment, at least, he meant it. But I knew my hot-headed brother too well — sooner or later, he’d get an idea in his head again and next time I might not be there to save him. Tears welled in my eyes again, and I pulled Malcolm close so he wouldn’t see.

  A strong hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing. Torran’s touch should have been frightening, but it wasn’t. Somehow it offered me the comfort I needed and the dread filling me faded.

  Torran didn’t talk, didn’t need to. His touch offered me the support and understanding I needed in that moment.

  But that’s not enough. Thanks to him I could think clearly, and that wasn’t comforting. He won’t be around all the time to protect me, or Malcolm. Sooner or later we’re going to get ourselves killed, and maybe Torran will avenge us but that won’t be much comfort to our corpses.

  Having an alien on our side might help, but it wasn’t enough to make this place safe. If I wanted to save my brother, we had to escape.

  6

  Torran

  Fate had been kind. If I hadn’t chosen that moment to stretch my legs, Lisa would have died on Myrok’s blade, and her brother too. That thought shook me far more than it had any reason to.

  It’s the infection, I told myself as I carefully leaned against the wall. That’s all. I’m part delirious.

  I knew it was a lie. My feelings for the human female were stronger than I let myself admit. She turned away from her brother, looked up at me, and I saw the mix of helpless anger and fear in her eyes. And something else hidden beneath them. I wasn’t the only one unable to face what I really felt.

  �
�You must rest,” she said, trying to be stern. I nodded. There was no need to fight, and no use arguing. But when I took a step towards the colony pod, I stumbled and nearly fell.

  The confrontation had taken more out of me than I’d realized.

  Before I could steady myself, Lisa was there, an arm around my waist and her shoulder under my arm. Supporting me, helping me. My weight would be too much for her, I realized instantly, but her touch gave me strength and together we staggered inside.

  Myrok lurked somewhere in the pod, but he kept out of the way. Good. I had no time for him or his dishonorable behavior. Preying on the weak and defenseless was no way for a warrior to behave.

  Unfortunately that seemed to be what we’d been reduced to. I tried not to think about that too much as Lisa lowered me carefully back onto the sickbay bed and let the autodoc examine my injury again.

  “Your fever’s up,” she said, worried, her little hologram padding over my chest as it ran the scan. “You really shouldn’t have gotten out of bed.”

  “I will get up when I choose,” I told her. No need to point out that she’d be dead if I hadn’t — we both knew that.

  A quick smile flashed across her face, there and gone so fast I’d have missed it if I blinked. “It’s not like I can tie you down.”

  I nodded and lay back, letting her give me another shot. This time when she finished with the spray hypo, Lisa dropped it into her pocket rather than putting it back on the shelf. I frowned: I’d never seen her do that before.

  You’ve been unconscious for most of your treatment. It could be perfectly innocent.

  But I knew it wasn’t. Her guilt showed in her studied look of innocence, the way she immediately started to busy herself with something else. As though to distract me from what she’d done.