by Anna Carven
She couldn’t see a thing.
There was something terribly savage about the way he pushed her down and tore his claws through her skin. It was species against species, one seeking to dominate the other, to inflict pain, humiliate, terrorize. There was a maliciousness about it all, as if he possessed a deep hatred for humans.
He’d turned vicious so quickly.
Irrational. Unpredictable. He was probably insane.
“Keep still,” the Kordolian growled, his voice growing hoarse with frustration. “It is only a sanitation chamber. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
But Layla just couldn’t stomach the thought of stripping down to her bare skin in front of this monster. Something inside her snapped, and all reason went out the window.
She squirmed harder.
Her arms and back became slick with her own blood, and as Layla struggled, she managed to slip out of his grasp.
The Kordolian unleashed a long string of what sounded like curse-words as he slammed her head into the floor once again.
If Layla could see right now, she suspected her vision would be going dark from the blow to her head, but it was pitch-black, and she was guided by feel alone.
One of her arms slipped free of his grasp, and she reached around to the small of her back, where she’d slipped the knife beneath her waistband.
Please be there. Please be there.
Her fingers curled around a familiar hilt.
Yes!
Somehow, she was able to pull the thing out of its sheath.
No longer was she thinking about survival and patience and endurance. Something raw and primal rose up within her, a savage need to inflict violence on the one who held her down.
To make him stop.
Slipping. Squirming. Struggling.
Breathing heavily. Ignoring his curses and the fire-burn of his scratches. Blood everywhere. Warm. Coppery. Hers.
Desperation granted her an impossible burst of strength. Adrenaline surging. Heart pounding. Hatred burning through her like wildfire, giving her the power to twist around and thrust, even as his claws raked across her face.
The blade went somewhere. Met something hard. Didn’t stick. Flew out of her fucking hand.
Oh shit.
Her heart sank.
Layla couldn’t see a thing, but she knew she’d missed. She hadn’t stuck him in the heart the way she’d intended to, and now her only weapon was lost in the darkness.
The strength drained from her body, and she went limp.
God, he’s so heavy.
The Kordolian was on top of her, crushing her, his blood spilling all over her, and somehow she knew it was his blood, because it was thick and sticky and smelled bitter.
What color is it?
Darkness hid everything.
Wait… blood?
“You fucking human bitch,” he hissed in Universal, before crying out in his native tongue.
She felt one of his arms move… he seemed to be reaching for his neck, but she couldn’t quite tell.
His breathing grew shallow and rapid. Blood trickled over Layla’s cheek, and she couldn’t tell whether it was hers or his until it trickled over her lips. She tasted vile bitterness. His blood!
The alien’s breathing grew shallower, his movements weaker. He rolled off her, and she heard clumsy, staggering footsteps in the darkness, as if he were trying to get to his feet.
He stumbled and fell.
Layla seized the chance and shuffled backward out of the dark chamber, wanting to get as far away from him as possible. She maneuvered herself back into the main chamber, where the dim blue light allowed her to see.
Thank the fucking stars that stupid pain collar wasn’t going off anymore, but she was bleeding all over, from her back to her arms, and her broken rib hurt something fierce.
Lying on her back, she propped herself up on her elbows, sucking in air in great, heaving gasps as she tried to calm down and take stock of her situation.
It was eerily quiet.
The mad Kordolian’s jagged breathing no longer reached her ears. All Layla heard was the faint hum of machinery in the background.
“Uggh.” Suddenly, a specter emerged from the darkness. The Kordolian lurched toward her, holding one hand against his neck. Black blood streamed from underneath his fingers, staining his white robes.
Layla froze. Somehow, her wild, desperate thrust had managed to slash his neck. He was bleeding from his carotid artery—or whatever the Kordolian equivalent was—and there was lots of blood.
Still, he kept coming, swaying from side to side, reaching toward her like a fucking zombie, his face made all the more terrifying because of the dark metal fibers that wove beneath his silver skin. There was a pallor in his face now; his skin had gone from lustrous silver to ashen grey.
The scientist tried to shout, but his voice came out as a hoarse whisper. Battling the pain that racked her body from head to toe, Layla rose to her feet and tried to run, but the best she could do was hobble across the room in slow motion, her bare feet covered in sticky blood.
She didn’t look back, didn’t care what the monster behind her was doing. She just wanted to get away.
Madness.
In the space of a few minutes, she’d gone from terrified captive to cornered animal.
Thud.
She heard him fall. He gasped and wheezed, uttering something malevolent in his native tongue.
Then, nothing.
Is he… dead?
She risked a glance over her shoulder. The Kordolian lay on his back, unmoving, his white robes drenched in blood. His metal arm was outstretched, his claws extended.
Blank, sightless eyes stared back at her, the yellow of his irises appearing weirdly intense against his lifeless face.
Dead.
She’d killed him.
All the strength drained out of her limbs, leaving Layla feeling utterly exhausted. She dropped to her knees, trembling.
Holy hell. What have I done?
She’d just killed a guy, and yet she felt nothing. No remorse, no shock, no fear. She was just numb… and cold, tired, and all alone.
Was this Enki character ever going to come and take her away? A great sense of weariness swept over her, and Layla closed her eyes, fantasizing about a moment that would never come.
This relentless nightmare… it just went on and on and on, and she was fucking sick of it.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, idiot. Move your ass or you’re dead.
She’d just killed a Kordolian scientist in his own lab. A high-ranking scientist, judging from the way he’d ordered that hateful Captain Pradon around. Sooner or later, someone was going to come looking for him. Surely he had assistants or subordinates to run around and do the mundane tasks for him… although Layla had got the distinct impression he’d enjoyed manhandling her.
Creep.
She wasn’t sorry she’d killed him. Not one single bit. But now she had to figure out how to hide, because she thought she could hear voices. Angry ones.
Fuck.
Kordolians weren’t known for being merciful. When they saw what she’d done, they would probably kill her.
Chapter Ten
Enki leaned on his Stealthstalker, hovering just outside the Ristval V’s main airlock. Set to idle, the Stalker made no sound at all as it suspended him in space, keeping him anchored to a single point. The machine was a sleek thing designed for swift, silent infiltration. Its tapered black body housed a small, powerful engine that was capable of propelling the rider through space at impossible speeds. A wide handlebar curved across the front, allowing the rider to control the throttle and navigation with both hands.
According to Nythian, the machine resembled a human land-vehicle called a motorbike.
Enki didn’t know much about human tech, apart from the fact that it was unsophisticated. He’d avoided mixing with the natives on Earth, because humans were irritatingly noisy, and he much preferred his own company.
Why are you waiting, warrior? The passenger chose that very moment to speak, and Enki swore it did that on purpose to annoy him. Sometimes, he suspected the thing derived amusement from irritating him. Those impossible blades of yours can cut through anything. Why don’t you just force your way inside?
Enki sighed heavily, tempted to silence the Tharian with brute mental force. But for once he relented, because it had been the Tharian who gave him the idea of interrogating Relahek, and that is what had led them to this point.
I can’t forcefully breach the airlock, he replied, channeling his thoughts into a kind of mindspeech—a trick he’d learned from Silent One. Any change in pressure would immediately be detected.
Time is scarce. Humans are fragile creatures, are they not? I hope you—
Be quiet now. Distract me later, if you must. I do not want to listen to things I already know.
Wonder of all wonders, the Tharian obeyed. For some reason, it seemed to want Enki to rescue the human.
He sighed through his exo-helm, releasing a small puff of air into the cold vacuum of space. The Stalker had an oxygen port that could connect to his armor if needed, but Enki had decided not to breathe for the time being. Like the other First Division warriors, he could survive for a certain amount of time in space without oxygen.
He pressed his palm against the cold metal of the ship’s hull. Enki was seething with the need to get inside and get moving, because time was slipping away from him, but he had to get this right, had to sneak inside with as little disturbance as possible, otherwise he would blow everything.
So he hung there for some time, waiting, waiting, waiting…
Until a faint tremor rippled through his fingertips. There it is. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, the body of the ship started to unravel, revealing a gaping black hole.
The airlock had opened.
A small black cruiser flew out of the airlock, probably heading for the nearest trading station or neutral planet. Whatever. Enki ignored it, focusing on his task—to get inside without being detected.
He slapped the Stealthstalker’s anchor to the hull and hauled himself up toward the edge of the opening, digging his claws into the Callidum hull. The absence of gravity made it an easy thing to do, and in the space of several heartbeats, Enki was able to pull himself over the lip of the opening, just as the Qualum fibers began to draw closed.
Somewhere in the distance, Nythian was on standby, ready to infiltrate the Ristval V if Enki had to break his cover and send out a distress call, requesting backup.
But that would not be necessary.
You make it look so easy.
I thought you agreed to be quiet.
Merely a compliment, soldier. Relax.
Silence.
As the outer doors wove shut, gravity kicked in, and Enki landed silently on his feet, grateful for the sensation of a solid floor beneath him.
He was almost in.
The only thing standing in his way now were the massive internal doors, which provided the second layer that was necessary to every functional airlock in the Universe.
They were sealed shut.
Enki could wait for another craft to come through, but only Kaiin knew how long that would take. He couldn’t afford to waste too much time here, not when his human charge was suffering at the hands of the medics.
Enki had no idea who was in charge of the medical unit on Ristval V now. After a brief stint on the Fleet Station, that pompous ass Mirkel had gone back to his regular post under Daegan’s command, but there was a rumor he’d been killed by Xalikian.
The thought of a highborn prick like Mirkel laying his hands on Layla triggered a special kind of insanity in Enki. The strength of his emotions surprised him. For someone who didn’t feel much of anything at all, this was… unexpected.
But there was no time to dwell on such useless feelings, because Enki had to get inside without being detected.
Most doors in the old Imperial military fleet would open for Enki. As a First Division warrior, almost all Qualum was coded to recognize his bio-sig, but airlock doors were different. Ordinary mortals didn’t enter warships through airlocks; they were for spacecraft only.
A faint pop in Enki’s ears told him the pressure had equalized. If he breached the inner doors now, there would be no detectable pressure leak.
He ran across the wide space to the center of the Qualum seal and drew his longknife, gently teasing the blade into the thick meshwork of fibers. Quickly but meticulously, he cut through the thick Callidum-impregnated material, fashioning a distinctly person-sized hole. In the massive airlock doors, it was little more than a pinprick.
As the Qualum drew together, seeking to repair the defect, Enki slipped through the opening, pushing hard with his legs as the living fibers sought to wrap themselves around his body. Gaining momentum, he slipped through to the other side and broke his fall with his hands. In a heartbeat, he was up on his feet and sprinting across the wide floor of the docking bay, keeping close to the wall. His exo-armor—exactly the same shade of obsidian as the ship’s dark walls—provided the perfect camouflage as he ran toward the exit, keeping low.
He passed rows and rows of stationary cruisers and stealth flyers and maintenance drones. Occasionally, his sharp ears would catch the idle conversation of a maintenance crew as they discussed interplanetary politics and the downfall of the Empire and their own suppressed sexual urges.
Ah, for some, being Kordolian and male was a curse indeed.
Enki flew past them on silent feet, evading detection as he ran faster and faster, his exo-armor moving in perfect synergy, enhancing his speed.
The ship’s sylth might have detected a slight disturbance when he passed through the airlock, but any drone or soldier sent down there to investigate would find nothing.
I’ve been with you a while now, but you never cease to astound me, soldier. Is there anything you can’t do?
Enki didn’t understand why the Tharian had suddenly changed its attitude toward him, and he didn’t care.
Didn’t trust it.
His people had destroyed its entire civilization, for fuck’s sake. What reason would it have to feel charitable toward him?
This is the reason you will never take control of this body. Now, will you shut up and allow me to complete my mission?
He thought of Layla as he ran behind a maintenance grunt who was walking away from the service area. He remembered the soft sound of her voice as he wrapped his arm around the unsuspecting Kordolian’s neck and clamped his hand across the man’s mouth, dragging him behind the wide props of a stealth cruiser.
He tried to conjure an image of her in his mind as he knocked the worker out with a swift, savage blow to the side of the head, catching him as he slumped into unconsciousness.
Working quickly, Enki stripped the man’s uniform—a standard black utility suit with the insignia of the dead Empire embroidered into the collar. The symbols—the all-seeing eye of Kaiin, the seven-pointed star entwined with the merciless heart, and the savage sword—were white, indicating that the worker was of the lowest rank in the military. There was a tool belt too, and a pair of thick knee-high worker’s boots.
Enki breathed out slowly and withdrew his exo-armor, embracing the familiar pain as billions upon billions of microscopic machines dissolved, retreating through skin and bone and muscle, returning to his bloodstream.
He donned the maintenance uniform, taking special care to conceal his weapons—a curved sword, longknife and two plasma guns. He tucked his guns inside the uniform, which was a size too big for him anyway, and slid the sword down his back, summoning a thin armor-sheath to hold it.
Now he looked just like any ordinary maintenance worker—well, a highborn one, but that was acceptable, because even sons of Noble Houses permeated the lower ranks of Daegan’s military.
Enki bent down, lifted the unconsci
ous worker’s head, and slit his throat. As dark blood gushed out, he dragged the body behind the ship’s wide landing prop—a thick metal leg that extended from the hull to the floor. Concealed from view, the dead worker probably wouldn’t be discovered until Enki was long gone.
Typical. He’d been onboard for less than a siv, and he’d already killed someone. And he would do it again and again, because he would not allow anything to compromise this mission.
Leaving witnesses was always a risk.
For once, the Tharian didn’t say anything as Enki emerged from beneath the cruiser. He hunched his shoulders and mimicked the gait of an ordinary Kordolian, deliberately making noise with his footsteps. He cast his eyes downward, trying to look as unassuming as possible.
That was the manner in which he exited the lower docks, emerging into a wide passageway that sloped up to the middle decks. Enki had never been on the Ristval V before, but there was a certain familiarity to it. According to the sylph, it was a mirror copy of Silence, with an identical layout but in reverse.
As he came up to the middle decks proper, he passed several squadrons and even the entire Seventeenth Division. None of them took any notice of him, not even to give a salute of acknowledgement, which was customary amongst all Kordolian warriors.
They saw him as the lowliest class on this ship, and that was good, because it meant his disguise had worked.
And it meant he could make his way to the medical bay without being noticed.
Anonymity was a useful thing indeed, but even though Enki passed through the corridors of the battle cruiser with ease, he kept his senses taut, ready to reach for his weapons at the slightest provocation.
So close. A dark ripple of anticipation coursed through him as he wondered what state the human would be in when he reached her.
She’d be frightened, injured, and probably filled with a deep loathing of anything Kordolian. He was certain Mirkel or whoever was in charge now wouldn’t kill her, because she was far too valuable.
But they could damage her, definitely.
And if they had done anything like that to her, Enki would damage them back, tenfold. No, he would damage them regardless, because they were relics of the old Imperium, and Enki had no love for their kind.