Heart of Annihilation

by C. R. Asay

  The door clicked open. Unwelcome warmth blew at her back from the outside. The lab was kept cold for a reason. Not the sterile, metallic cold that encompassed the entirety of Retha but a foreign, damp, earthy cold.

  Her parent’s lab was buried deep underground, and consisted of materials only found in the Third Dimension. Everything about the lab screamed the excessive amount it was costing the DC Council. No one had owned a room this extravagant since the days of former Commandant Ben Attikin. Nowadays equal distribution of capital, and the rules of etiquette and serenity, kept everyone on the same economic level. Except for government-funded munitioners, of course.

  Tap, tap, tap. Caz drummed her teeth together in time with her hammering. Footsteps followed the clack of the door closing and the deliberate turning of the key. The flames from the forge revealed a shadow of another person.

  The walls were a deep brown, made of some kind of wood. Everything in the lab was either stone or wood. Nothing that could conduct electricity, except the tiny shard of metal held between her nichrom tongs and the matching hammer in her fist.

  The archaic lock on the door only reinforced to her the dependency and helplessness of the voltage-wielding Rethans. They could unlock any door on Retha with an electrical charge, but would stand in complete bewilderment at the sight of a key. They were such drones. Caz smiled at the word she’d used as a child. As true today as it was then.

  “You promised you’d be there.” Xander’s voice was flat.

  Caz continued her work. Tap, tap, tap.

  “Did I?” After a moment of silence she couldn’t help adding, “How’d it go?”

  “Vin spent the entire service making wild excuses for you, chatting up everyone he saw, and trying to pawn your kid off on sympathetic relatives. Even spoke with an LRM representative, if you can believe it.”

  Caz paused for one irritated second. Even reference to the Liberated Rage Movement set her teeth on edge. Especially since it was gaining such support from her passionate husband. Freedom from the two laws was tempting, she had to admit, but there was a feverish intensity to their actions that hinted at an escalation she was sure would end in violence. It was better if Vin stayed far, far away from them. She went back her work, pounding out her frustrations on the fragment of metal.

  Xander went on. “He’s very diplomatic, that husband of yours. But what do you expect from a council member?”

  “Did he manage it?” Caz asked. Tap, tap, tap.

  “Manage what?”

  “To pawn the baby off on a relative?”

  “Yes.” The word was clipped. Xander let out a huff. “You know, between having him as a father and you as a mother, it’s a wonder the kid doesn’t shrivel up and die from neglect.”

  Caz stiffened, and then turned slowly. The handle of the tongs cut into her palm. Xander stood behind her. The silver of his eyes caught the flickering of the flames. His breath misted in the cold, damp air. In his arms he held a small bundle. The softness of the blue blanket contrasted with Xander’s nicest, mourning metallics.

  He stomach lurched. There was that feeling again. What was it about this tiny, immature Rethan in Xander’s arms that made her perfectly aligned world seem askew?

  She reached for the child. Her child. Xander offered him up with a sigh. She was sure he hadn’t expected her to show any interest. That was where he was wrong. When the child was born, she was surprised to discover that she liked nothing better than feeling the helpless warmth in her arms.

  The baby was still so tiny, but getting bigger every day. He would take after her father, intimidating everyone with his size and stature. He would make her proud.

  She held him close, inhaling his scent: a mixture of storm clouds and milk. She was held captive by the connection she felt for him. It didn’t make sense in her ordered mind. In fact, nothing about him made sense. And yet here he was, so tiny, so helpless, and so very powerful.

  She became aware of Xander, staring at her with those damnable omniscient eyes of his. His gaze never seemed to leave her when she was holding the child, searching for the motherly instincts he swore she was hiding somewhere.

  Caz stood, and brushed Xander aside. She held the baby tightly with one arm, the tongs still in the other, and made her way to the forge. She nestled the curve of metal deep in the coals, and turned to Xander. The fire heated her back.

  “Did you really come all the way down here to accuse me of bad parenting, Xan?”

  Caz bounced the baby even though he hadn’t made a sound. She wanted to squeeze the tiny form, make him a part of her again. The disconnect had been painful, like losing a precious possession without the ability to ever retrieve it again. Xander stared at her. The deficient light made his eyes black holes.

  “No.”

  “Oh, that’s right, now that’s the lesser sin.” Caz gave a brief bark of laughter, turned back to the forge, and picked up the tongs.

  She loved the way the fire seared her face in an unpredictable dance of heat. The cold lab kept the stockpiles of volatile chemicals and explosives stable. The forge was unable to penetrate such bio-crafted cold, but right here it scorched and burned in such strong contrast to the chill she felt herself divided in two.

  “Say it,” she said. It was coming. Why delay the inevitable?

  Xander shook his head, unable to verbalize his thoughts. Then, “Did you do it?”

  “Do what, Xan? Be specific.” He wasn’t going to get away with a passive, partial accusation. If he wanted anything from her, he was going to have to say it.

  Xander heaved out a resigned sigh. “Did you kill them? Did you kill our parents?”

  She kept her face expressionless, although inside her chest a random bubble of laughter threatened to escape. She batted it down, and when she answered it was with the cool, overly composed voice she used to bully Vin into getting what she wanted.

  “How can you even ask that?”

  “Because you were fighting with them hours before it happened—”

  “I always fight with them—”

  “And you know as well as I that they were never going to let you here into the lab.”

  “Xander, I’m wounded by the insinuation.” She said his name with condescending affection. Xander, who knew everything. Xander, who stood by her side no matter what. Xander, with his staggering and limited view of the world. She narrowed her eyes. “Have you voiced this to anyone else?”

  “Caz—”

  “Because with the marshals asking questions about the deaths, what are they going to think of you naming your little sister—”

  “Caz—” Xander’s voice was insistent.

  “—as a suspect?” She turned from him and worked the tongs deep into the coals. “The work here is too important to allow it to be sullied by conspiracies and false accusations!”

  “Gauss’s law, Caz! The baby!” In two strides he was at her side and wrested the baby from her grip.

  She tried to hold onto him at first, but then let go. What was the point? Xander stumbled back. The heat from the forge had melted the corner of the blanket near the baby’s feet into a black mound. A curl of rancid smoke rose from the charred spot. Xander ripped the blanket off and dropped it on the floor. The baby gave a surprised squall. Xander checked the little feet to make sure they were unharmed. Her son gave another cry, a whimper, and then sucked his upper lip as he fell back into contented sleep. Xander curled him close and stomped to the door.

  The moment she’d shared with his little soul was lost again, just like every time she stopped holding him; stopped trying. She reached for her tongs and removed the tiny curve of metal from the coals. It glowed white-hot. She strolled back to her stool and fitted the curve of metal to the anvil. The key clicked in the lock behind her. Warmth flooded the room again.

  “You’d better watch yourself,” Xander’s voice was a quiet hiss.

  Caz whirled on her stool. Xander stood in the open doorway, gripping the baby to his chest to keep the small l
imbs warm in the absence of the blanket.

  “Is that a threat?” She raised her eyebrows. He wasn’t one to walk such a dangerous line.

  “No!” Xander lowered his voice. “No, Caz, it’s not a threat, it’s . . .” He stroked the baby’s head and looked Caz in the eyes. “It’s me warning you that losing your temper and getting yourself exiled will only succeed in causing your work to fail. Completely! Do you understand?”

  Caz rolled her eyes and turned back to the anvil. She was too smart and methodical to ever get caught.

  “Enjoy the rest of the memorial, Xan.” Tap, tap, tap, turn. “Give everyone who was brave enough to attend my excuses.”

  The door slammed, leaving her with only the tell-tale tendrils of warmth touching her hands. As she tapped away she vaguely wondered who would care for her child until she got home later that night. Vin? No, not Vin. Of course not him. Vin would have important council-member work to catch up on. Or perhaps LRM extracurricular activities. It would be Xander.

  Thinking on everything Xander said, Caz had to admit to herself that he was right. Again. But she took solace in the knowledge that he couldn’t be right about everything. It was the Heart of Annihilation or the child. Too much work had gone into the Heart to abandon it now. Xander would have to make up the difference in the meantime if he truly wanted to be right.

  CHAPTER 12

  Rose

  I couldn’t understand why my face was burning. I wasn’t even sure if my heart was beating.

  Then there was pain.

  A nauseating thrumming centralized near my right shoulder and burned across my entire arm. My mind wanted to retreat into oblivion. Flashing images of Deuces, rifles, airplanes, pistols, and parachutes trampled out another memory clinging to the surface.

  I clenched my eyes and then slowly blinked them open, terrified of what I might see. The sun blasted hot rays onto my face. I squinted, turning my head to the side. Brown sand covered everything. The only life visible was a handful of scrappy plants scattered helter-skelter. Dark sand. Darker sand. A scorpion standing on wet, bloody sand.

  I felt a strange detachment to the fact that my blood was leaking unchecked across the desert. The scorpion, on the other hand, made me severely uncomfortable.

  Without thinking, I lifted my hand to direct a small electrical bolt into the creature. It popped backward with a fizzle, landing on its back a foot away.

  A jolt of surprise spasmed my body with pain. I stiffened and stopped breathing, afraid to move. Slowly, I let my breath out in shuddering increments.

  I opened my eyes, finding myself face to face with the dead scorpion. Its legs curled over its abdomen where a trail of smoke rose.

  Did I just fry that thing? No . . . yes. That was new. Wasn’t it? I tried to remember.

  The plane. I remembered the plane. The angry faces.

  And Thurmond.

  Where was he? Why was I here alone? I clenched my fist. Something confined my fingers in a sticky claw. I lifted my hand to see a bloodstained chain entwined around my hand. Twin tags clinked quietly together, and my half-circle pendant flashed a reddish-golden color in the sunlight.

  I wanted it. Wanted it so desperately that I had boarded a plane full of hostiles to get it back. No, no. I boarded the plane to save Thurmond. Right?

  Don’t be ridiculous. The cold voice spoke into my mind with calm reasoning. Only one thing on that plane mattered. And now you have it back.

  “Who are you?” I shouted, my voice a hoarse croak. A serrated cackle in my head and then silence.

  In a sudden moment of frustration I tore at the chain with my teeth, gagging on the rusty taste. It didn’t budge. I was alone in the middle of the desert with a bullet in my shoulder.

  You stupid, weak child. The voice hammered the ache above my left ear. Get up. Get up and find help. Save yourself. Save me!

  “Get up,” I whispered. I could do this. I had to.

  All I really wanted was to sleep. No. I wrenched my eyes open. If I slept now there was a good chance I wouldn’t wake up.

  More for something to do than an overwhelming curiosity over my condition, I gingerly touched the moist fabric of my right shoulder. A jagged hole just below my clavicle oozed blood across my chest and shoulder. The entire sleeve of my uniform clung to my skin with sticky, hot blood. If I were to guess, the bullet was still somewhere inside. But as long as I got medical attention in the very near future, I wouldn’t die. I lifted my head with a groan, trying to examine the injury, but the strain of using my neck muscles pulled at the wound. Darkness edged into my vision.

  I couldn’t die. Not here. Not all alone. Not without answers.

  “Dad,” I whispered.

  Your father is not here. No one is here. No one will save you. They’ll all abandon you in the end. There’s only you and me. Get up and save us.

  Some trembling breaths held the darkness at bay. The voice was right. Well, right and wrong. I wasn’t a damsel in distress. I’d gotten myself into this mess. I could get myself out of it.

  First things first. Stop the bleeding. Easier said than done. If I could take off my camouflage top I could use it as a bandage. Of course, that meant pulling it off over the wound. The thought made me sick. What else did I have? My pants? Forget it. I felt the bulges of each of my pockets using my left hand. The search yielded my cap and the brown army handkerchief I used to wipe the sweat from my face. I held my breath and rested the folded cap over the injury. I then worked the handkerchief under my armpit. With every ounce of determination and willpower I possessed, I looped the ends over my shoulder and tied it, using my teeth to pull it tight.

  I rolled onto my side, gagging and coughing as my body tried to expel the pain through my mouth. When I felt like I would not be dying within the next few minutes, I blew out a breath and swallowed. The bloodied chain slipped from my fingers, where I promptly forgot all about it.

  Tears burned my eyes.

  Now get up!

  Yes, get up. I could do that. I didn’t have to save myself. I just needed to get up. As long as I could move, I wasn’t dead. Get up! I pushed myself onto one elbow, drew my knees under me, and held my injured arm close to my side. The weight of something hung down my back. A quick flip through my memory reminded me that it was the rifle. That was good. A rifle and a single round. I was armed against the commander or Justet’s aliens as long as my injury, or the desert, didn’t kill me first. I pulled the shoulder strap gently over my head so as not to brush against my makeshift bandage and gazed at my surroundings.

  To the left everything was flat desert, broken only by subtle hills. In the distance to the right, dry mountains shouldered dark storm clouds. An aggressive breeze flapped my uniform against my body.

  Left or right? According to the sun, left would be south, either taking me toward the Mexican border or Fort Huachuca. The right at least gave a hint of civilization. Electrical towers lined a narrow dirt road, their wires scalloping off toward a substation somewhere. One of the towers standing on a hill looked different from the rest, lopsided with blocky obstructions surrounding it. Something Justet had said niggled at the back of my mind. When he’d spouted about their plan to get the alien’s portal, he’d mentioned that they were using an electrical tower as either a power supply or something else.

  What would I find when I got there? Aliens? Rethans? Dad?

  Keeping the tower in sight, I used the rifle to push myself to my feet. Blood throbbed through the wound. The fingers of my right hand were numb. The sharp edges of the rocks and the individual blades of desert grass fuzzed together into a mesh of color. I used every ounce of concentration to get a lungful of air all the way down the bottom of my lungs. I knew I was still standing simply because I hadn’t fallen, but I couldn’t feel anything but shivery cloudiness.

  Each step was a greater challenge than the previous one. The assistance of the rifle became a burden. I wasn’t sure when I discovered that it was no longer in my hand. My vision grew hazy, but alway
s I kept the electrical tower on the hill in my line of sight.

  CHAPTER 13

  Caz

  1 year pre-RAGE

  Vin’s office in the DC Council building was an extension of everything that drove Caz nuts. The elegant architecture and immaculate décor, with nothing was out of place. Caz stood in the outer office, staring at the blank doorway. She heard Vin’s voice on the other side, engaged in the rise and fall of an argument.

  It had been months since Caz had been to the office. There was no reason for her to show up. Vin didn’t have time for her at home. Why would he have time for her at work?

  It didn’t matter. She didn’t have time for him either.

  Today’s visit, however, had a purpose that was everything to do with the pretty little thing sitting at the outer desk. Her silvery, light-blue uniform specified her as the young marshal assigned to Vin, responsible for everything from the councilor’s paperwork to enforcing the Two Laws when Vin required it. Caz simply knew her from the four other times she’d seen her—spied on her really. A dark surge of loathing filled her stomach.

  “New here,” Caz checked the name on the desk, “Deputy Veella?”

  It was good to finally have a name for her target. Deputy Veella stood upon seeing her, surprise on her narrow face. She slapped her hand to the doorframe, applying a charge to the doorway of Vin’s inner office. A web of electricity leapt across the doorframe, cutting through the voices with a zap. The web was more to control sound than actually keep anyone out. There was too much etiquette floating around to ever warrant the need for protection.

  Caz followed the girl with her eyes.

  “Yes.” Deputy Veella turned to her. “Sort of. I’ve been here a few months, actually.” The girl’s face had been a mask of pleasant neutrality. Now her lips tightened, blunting her surprise. “You can call me Zell. And you must be Mrs. Paliyo.”