Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2)

by Vaughn Heppner

  Yet how logical was it to expect that? Suppose he never did get a Teleship. What had been his original plan on Earth? After reaching what was supposedly the New Eden system, he’d wanted to skip out of Discovery, with a pretty woman preferably, and start a family on the surface of an Earth-like planet.

  Okay, he was on an Earth-like planet and there was a pretty girl to win, a barbarian princess named Jana. If he couldn’t get back to Earth, would it be the worst thing in the world to live here the rest of his life?

  It wouldn’t be so bad except for the Kresh. They might always hunt for him. Then again, maybe they would stop after a time. Yet even if they stopped hunting for him personally, the humans here were always at the mercy of the aliens.

  He didn’t want to raise a family and have the Kresh stomp them out on a whim. So, if getting back to Earth was impossible, or nearly so, what was the next best option?

  With his stick, Cyrus tapped the dirt in thought. Maybe he should join the Resisters all the way. It was a good fight, a worthy one, and it might be the only hope for his children, provided he ever lived that long. Yet if the Kresh built a fleet of Teleships—

  “Yeah,” Cyrus said aloud. That meant getting back to Earth wasn’t quite as impossible as it sounded. The Kresh wouldn’t attack the solar system right away. They’d first build a fleet. That took time. Years. During those years, he might pirate one of the new Teleships.

  He needed to think a little more long-term. The needle-ship showed it was possible to use a space vessel here provided one was stealthy enough. That meant a possible plan would be to storm a Kresh ship, capture it, and head to the outer asteroids. How long could he wait for that scenario? Years?

  “Maybe,” he muttered.

  Okay. Suppose that was the goal: capturing a Kresh ship. How did one go about doing that? The Anointed One was supposed to be able to do incredible things, right? And a whole host of Resisters were out there ready to lend a hand.

  With the tip of the branch, Cyrus scratched the dirt, making tight swirls. He didn’t see a way to getting onto a spaceship. Well, he might hijack one of the ice-hauler rockets and go . . . where? He didn’t know exactly where they went. Skar had an idea, but the soldier didn’t know for sure. He didn’t really see a way for two men to free Klane from the Kresh down in the alien city.

  Could he do it with Argon? Having the chief monitor along might make a commando raid more possible. Cyrus snorted. He’d rather have the Teleship’s space marines. Now that would be something. Sneaking down into the alien city with the colonel leading the Earth marines. Yeah, he could think about rescuing Klane then. Modern soldiers against the technologically advanced Kresh would give him a chance. Instead, all he had were the primitive Berserkers.

  “They aren’t space marines, that’s for sure.”

  “What?”

  Cyrus spun around as he shot to his feet. Jana stepped out from behind a tree, smiling at him. He wondered how long she’d been hiding there.

  “I heard you talking to yourself,” she said.

  After getting over his start, Cyrus grinned. She looked better than ever with her water-scrubbed flesh and soap-cleaned furs and leathers. The way she walked . . .

  “There,” she said. “That’s what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “Your eyes follow me when I walk,” she said. “Why is that?”

  Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “Don’t others watch you the way I do?”

  She seemed to consider the question. “Yang does sometimes, but he always turns away when I notice.”

  “Sure,” Cyrus said. “The hetman fears you.”

  “That’s foolish. Yang fears no one.”

  “Maybe fear is the wrong word.”

  “You do not fear me,” Jana said. “You watch me. I see the hunger in your eyes.”

  Cyrus’s heart beat faster. This was getting interesting quickly. He’d never been truly alone with her before. If he was going to be spending the rest of his life on Jassac, the sooner he found his woman, the better. With that thought in mind, he took several steps closer.

  Suddenly, Jana drew his stolen dagger, pointing the blade at him. “I do not permit any to touch me,” she said.

  He stopped, and he couldn’t help but notice that the way she was poised made her look even better. “Maybe it’s time to change that,” he said.

  She brought the knife a little higher into an attack position.

  Despite that, he stepped closer. He couldn’t believe what happened next—she made a stab at him. He barely twisted aside in time.

  She laughed, and said, “If you continue to watch me, I will attack you at my choosing when you least expect it.”

  He studied her, and he saw her lips twitch. Did she mock him or did she goad him to do more? Maybe it didn’t matter which it was: he was going to hug and kiss her.

  She clutched a knife, though, a good one, and it looked like she knew how to use it. He knew it was hard to disarm someone with a knife. Moreover, Jana was a warrior, and she had good reflexes. He needed to trick or lull her.

  “If you continue to watch me, I’m going to do something about it,” she said.

  “Oh,” he said, letting his shoulders slump and looking away.

  She frowned in what might have been disappointment. But she said, “Good. Now we understand each other.”

  At that moment, he decided on his game plan. She had a knife, but he had telekinesis. Cyrus moved in. She sliced at him. It was as if someone held her wrist—that was his psi-power—slowing her speed. Despite that, she cut him along the forearm enough to draw blood. Then his fingers curled around her wrist. Cyrus twisted. Her hand opened and the knife fell onto the ground.

  “No one can outwrestle me,” she said.

  Her eyes told him to try. Even though he bled, he held her. A moment later, his lips sought hers. Jana kissed him hungrily in return.

  Branches rustled then. A hidden girl or a younger boy giggled.

  Jana gasped with shock, and she kneed Cyrus, breaking free. Whoever was watching yelled and took off running.

  Jana stepped away from Cyrus and shook her head, flinging her hair back. “Never do that to me again,” she said.

  He stepped toward her, and she skipped back. He stared into her eyes and saw fear in hers. Would she be in trouble for what had just happened? Would he be in trouble?

  On impulse, he scooped up the fallen knife.

  “That’s mine,” she said.

  “Nope, I claim it.”

  “On what grounds?” she demanded.

  He showed her a cut on his forearm. “Blood guilt ought to work,” he said.

  The fear oozed away from her, and she nodded. “Are you always so clever, star man?”

  Instead of answering, he flipped the knife before tucking it in his belt.

  “I must go,” she said. “Others . . .”

  “I understand,” he said.

  She smiled then. It was a shy thing. A moment later, she dashed away.

  He decided he’d better get the cut on his forearm looked after. There were going to be questions, but the barbarian princess had come to him to get the ball rolling. How about that, eh? With a grin, he headed back for the encampment.

  Yang ruled that the knife belonged to Cyrus. Jana had cut him and she refused to tell anyone why, nor had Cyrus given the reason.

  Most of the warriors of the council grinned upon hearing the tale. Yang even grinned once, although he remained solemn the rest of the time.

  One warrior didn’t grin. He was the brother of Stone Fist, a big man called Grinder due to the strength of his grip. He had spoken against accepting either Skar or Cyrus into the clan.

  A meeting took place at noon, with the small sun shining in the heavens. The warriors sat around a fire, with bosk meat drippi
ng fat that sizzled in the flames. Each warrior, including Jana, sat cross-legged in a circle around the fire. The High Station 3 knife lay on a leather cloth before Yang.

  “This is Cyrus’s knife,” Yang pronounced. It had taken lengthy discussion to reach the verdict. The hetman turned to Grinder. “The former outlander owes you a blood debt. Will you accept the knife as payment for your brother’s death?”

  Grinder had thick slabs for shoulders and rough features. He was good at scowling. He glared at Cyrus now, saying, “I want to fight the outlander.”

  “No!” Yang said, banging a fist against the dirt. “He is a Berserker. You may wrestle with him for rank, but you may not fight to kill. Do you dispute my word?”

  Grinder glared at Yang. “Have you forgotten that they killed three of ours?”

  “They also killed a demon,” Yang said.

  “Does that wash out Stone Fist’s death?”

  “Stone Fist attacked them. Jana—”

  “Don’t talk to me about Jana,” Grinder spat. “She likes the outlander. She wants the outlander’s babies. She—”

  Jana leaped to her feet, and she kicked dirt, spraying a sandy cloud into Grinder’s face. “You filthy monger—”

  “Hold!” Yang shouted.

  Jana whirled toward the hetman while pointing at Grinder. “He insults me.”

  “Do you wish to wrestle him?” Yang asked Jana.

  “I do,” Cyrus said, answering for her.

  “No,” Skar said. “That right is mine.”

  “I will wrestle no one!” Grinder shouted. He put a big hand onto the hilt of his flint knife. The scabbard dangled on his chest. “But I will kill outlanders and I will kill those who kick dirt into my face.”

  “Do you challenge me as hetman?” Yang asked ominously.

  Before Grinder could answer, Cyrus stood. “There’s something I want to say.”

  Yang and Grinder continued to glare at each other.

  “Hey!” Cyrus shouted. “I said there’s something I want to say.”

  Yang scowled, and he turned to Cyrus. So did Grinder. Quietly, Jana sat back down.

  “By standing, it means you challenge me to rule,” Yang said. “Are you challenging me, Earth man?”

  “No,” Cyrus said, sitting. “But I do have something important to say.” He’d been thinking about the Kresh, the crew of Discovery at High Station 3, and Klane. He’d been thinking about strategy and tactics, and he’d interspaced that thinking with thoughts about Jana and him. He also knew that he had one day left before the clan ordered his psi-ability burned out.

  “Is this about Jana or about Grinder?” Yang asked.

  “Neither,” Cyrus said. “This is about the demons and the Anointed One in their grasp.”

  The seeker hadn’t joined the warriors in council, but she must have been listening from a nearby tent. A flap opened and the seeker strode out angrily as she brushed her long hair with a flick of her hand. She wore a bone ring on her middle finger.

  “You cannot speak about hidden things,” the seeker said. “This is blasphemy.”

  Grinder cried out, and he pointed at Cyrus. “The outlander mocks us at every turn. You saw what he just did. The warrior leaped up in a challenge. Yang should have accepted and slain him, breaking his back. The outlander steals Jana’s knife, and Yang agrees he can keep it. The outlander slays our warriors, and we do nothing about it.”

  “No, no,” the seeker said, with her hands in the air.

  “Do not interrupt me while I am in the Warrior Circle,” Grinder said in an ugly voice. “You have no say here, seeker.”

  The seeker turned from Grinder and pointed at Cyrus. “You mustn’t reveal the deep truths.”

  Grinder drew his knife and stabbed it into the dirt.

  Silence fell, and no one moved. Finally, the seeker hung her head, and she took several steps back.

  “Okay,” Cyrus said. “This is crazy. We have a war to the death going on with the Kresh and—”

  “Demons!” Grinder shouted. “They are demons, and you are a filthy outlander!”

  “I am in the Warrior Circle,” Cyrus said. “I demand my say.”

  “Yes,” Yang said. “Speak.”

  “He interrupted me,” Grinder said.

  “Let the outlander—let Cyrus of Berserker Clan speak,” Yang said. “Afterward, you can challenge him to a wrestling match if you desire.”

  Cyrus tried to steady his nerves. He’d been doing some deep thinking on these issues. The Berserker Clan would never accept him, not really. He was too odd, and there wasn’t any way he was going to let them burn out his psi-powers. Could he stand by while they burned out the seeker’s powers? What would happen to the many transfers’ worth of knowledge in the woman’s memories? Could the seeker teach him how to transfer someday? Would he someday give a primitive man the knowledge of Milan, Teleships, space war—?

  Cyrus’s jaw dropped. He blinked several times, and he glanced at the seeker. The woman stood back, with her shoulders hunched, but she was listening. With a glance, Cyrus saw the warriors were watching and listening. Grinder breathed heavily, with his nostrils flaring.

  The answer came to Cyrus. He knew what he had to do. The question was whether he could get any of these primitives to agree. It seemed doubtful—

  Then you’d better persuade better than you ever have in your entire life.

  He switched his gaze to the fire. A drop of fat fell from the bosk carcass, sizzling with a delightful aroma. He needed to think this through.

  No, you need to go for it. This is a verbal knife fight. You win those by acting fast.

  “I know how to defeat the demons,” Cyrus said.

  Grinder snorted rudely. “Boastful words, outlander.”

  “Maybe Grinder is right,” Cyrus said. “Or at least he would be right if we did this the old way. I know how to do this the new way that will give us certain victory. We can throw off the demons and take our rightful place as men.”

  “If you could do this, you would have already done so,” Yang said. “I think Grinder is right. These are boastful words.”

  “No. I couldn’t have done this on my own,” Cyrus said. “That’s just it. The seeker has the knowledge I need and you have the warriors.”

  The seeker’s head whipped up, and she looked at Cyrus with curiosity.

  “The demons are too powerful to defeat,” Yang said. “That has always been so and will always be so.”

  “He’s killed one before,” Cyrus said, pointing at Skar.

  “Yes,” Yang said. “Jana told us. He also wielded a magic weapon.”

  “No,” Cyrus said. “It’s not magic, it’s a gun. It’s as simple in its own way as your spears.”

  “You spout nonsense,” Yang said, as he banged a fist against his right knee.

  “I don’t,” Cyrus said. “You, Jana, Grinder, everyone here but for the seeker—is too ignorant to understand high technology. But that doesn’t make anything magic.”

  Some of the warriors grumbled angrily.

  “Do we have to sit and listen to these insults?” Grinder demanded of Yang.

  “I’m not insulting you,” Cyrus said.

  “I just heard you with my two ears,” Grinder said. “You called me ignorant.”

  “Is a child wise like a warrior?” Cyrus asked.

  Grinder scowled, clearly refusing to answer.

  Cyrus turned to Yang. “Does a child know the same things as a warrior?”

  “You are calling us children?” Yang asked.

  “Do you know about guns?” Cyrus asked.

  “Magic—”

  “No,” Cyrus said. “We came down from space. We know how to use basic weapons. You don’t. In that way, you are like children. The demons—the Kresh aliens—stole the knowledge from you long ago. Your
parents’ parents’ parents knew about guns and spaceships. The demons must have scrubbed that knowledge out of you, or it died out.”

  “You said the seeker understands high technology,” Jana said. “How can that be?”

  “Jana is listening to me,” Cyrus said. “She’s used to using her wits.”

  “We are Berserkers,” Yang said in a low rumble. “We may have lost ancient knowledge, high knowledge. But that doesn’t make us children.”

  “You’re right about that,” Cyrus said. “I didn’t call you children. I said in terms of knowledge you’re like children. If you think about it, there’s a difference, a big one.”

  “How does any of that help us against the demons—against the Kresh?” Yang asked.

  “Very simply,” Cyrus said. “Your seeker remembers the old knowledge.”

  “No!” the seeker said. “You mustn’t speak about that.”

  Cyrus looked up at the woman. “You and your fellow seekers have held onto the old knowledge for a long time. There was a reason for that. It was to keep it intact or alive until the Anointed One was born and made his move. Klane has made his move. We must, or I must, free the Anointed One. I can’t do that on my own. Skar and I together probably can’t do that. I need your help.”

  “You want us to go into the Valley of the Demons?” Grinder asked in a mocking tone.

  “I want you to grow up and remember how to use high technology,” Cyrus said. “You can fight. If you knew about the old ways, why, you’d be as good or maybe even better than space marines. I need them about now, and with the seeker’s help at transfer, I can get it.”

  “You speak blasphemy,” the seeker whispered.

  “With my help, with my psi-power aiding the seeker,” Cyrus said, “I think we can focus the old knowledge. I think there’s a way to do it without the transferring one dying. Imagine it for a moment. If all the Berserkers remember about spacecraft, guns—”