by C. R. Asay
If there’s one thing I hope for in this life, my daughter, it’s that you learn of your value and harness it to do good in the world.
Don’t sacrifice what you believe to be right. There’s always another solution.
Electricity leaked from my pores. My skin burned, and my hair crackled around my head. I needed to release it. The overwhelming energy was going to force me to free it in a blind torrent of destruction.
You can never be forced to do anything! You always have a choice!
I had a choice.
“I have a choice!” My voice bounced off the walls and ceiling, rebounding around the room.
There was another choice. Another way.
I forced my limp, bloody hand into my pocket. I was barely able to draw out the M-16 tracer round I had taken from Justet’s office not so many days ago and yet two lifetimes. I gripped it between two fingers and lifted it eye level—aiming.
I looked into the commander’s eyes barely three feet away.
What are you waiting for? Caz asked.
“I don’t want to become you.”
How does letting a dimension die in agony make you better? Kill one, save a billion.
I jabbed my thumb on the end of the round, powering a small amount of electricity into the primer, igniting the gunpowder.
The bullet released from the brass casing, throwing my hand backward. My eyes followed the rapid arc of light as it sped into the commander’s chest.
She collapsed onto her side. Her lips parted in dismay. A gurgling cough rose out of her throat. The shine of fresh blood spread across her chest more rapidly than I thought possible. The bullet casing clinked to the stone floor with a soft tinkle.
“Oh.” Her voice was quiet, almost sad.
For a moment I felt a wave of pity and regret. For the pretty young marshal who had cared for Manny when his own mother couldn’t. For her sadness at losing Xander. For her life wasted in chasing a psychopath like me.
Zell’s eyes found mine. “I knew you’d . . . never change.” She coughed, spattering the tiles with blood. “Killer . . . that’s what you are.”
“No!” The word sparked with the last of my energy. “My dad told me a person can resort to violence in order to protect their lives, family, or freedom. I’m a protector, not a murderer.”
“Then protect them from this!”
Zell rested her hand on the Heart of Annihilation and released an enormous charge of white, sparking electricity into it. A smile warped her face. Her eyes turned opaque. Her head dropped to the floor.
In the same second, the Heart’s light amplified a thousand fold, becoming a brilliant whirring sphere.
I instantly felt the drain of my natural energy. My legs numbed. Thurmond’s face was washed out by the blinding brightness. His arm hung across the back of a pew. Rannen sat on the floor, shielding his eyes.
Rannen would die. Thurmond would die. I would die—as well as all the rest of the inhabitants of Earth. Entire cities of people collapsing where they stood, too tired to move or think, watching their loved ones shrivel before their eyes. Trees, grass, flowers, animals. All withered. All dead. Societies built on centuries of toil, love, war, and sacrifice, becoming nothing but ash.
I lay my head on the floor, too tired to hold it up anymore.
Listen to my voice, Kris.
A sequence of numbers rattled across my mind—two, three, six, three, six, three, two—and then again, and again.
The code! With impossible effort, I lifted my head and dragged my heavy body toward the spinning light. I was mere inches away but it could have been miles. Electricity seeped from my skin. The stone floor cracked under my hands.
My body became only a husk of currents. The light was so blinding I couldn’t see the actual object any more. My hands swam through the light before finding the solid mass I was seeking. My fingers slid over the hot surface until they found the grooves making up the half circle and dot—the Rethan symbol for annihilation.
Thirteen numbers coded in the sequence to deactivate it—turn the key, apply the remaining positive currents.
My numb fingers stumbled across the numbers, pressing them far too slowly. Energy surged past me into the Heart of Annihilation. I pulled the sphere into my stomach, curling my body around it to protect my dimension from the deadly vacuum.
I could save them. I could make it right. Like it was before.
I pressed the last six, three, and two, fumbled for the key, and folded it into my palm.
With a cry of pain and release I forced the positive currents out of every pore touching the Heart’s surface. My legs, torso, and arms deadened. My heart fluttered, stopped, resumed beating, and then released its energy into another Heart. The light from the Heart of Annihilation diminished and then exploded next to my stomach.
An echoing boom, and then silence.
The light and images around me darkened. My fading mind searched to feel something one last time. I caught a glimpse of Thurmond rushing toward me, his lips mouthing my name. Rannen’s eyes.
CHAPTER 41
Bright light. Noise. Sounds. Fading. Blackness.
More light. Unidentifiable sounds. A voice. A name. Nothing.
This time the light dimmed. Murky images emerged. Sounds assaulted my consciousness. I cringed. At least I thought I did. I couldn’t feel my body.
The images and sounds clarified, but I was having trouble making my mind work. I couldn’t think of who or what I might be. Bright flashes of light drew sludge from my brain.
A hint of memory—something about a young boy with silver hair. The sound around me formed syllables to a language I couldn’t understand. I blinked, trying to wash the fog from my eyes.
The lack of feeling vanished and was replaced by throbbing agony. A spasm of pain jerked through my leg, through my shoulder, through my heart. Voices again. Clearer now, speaking softly in golden whispers. I wanted to scream.
The torturous spasms abated, a dull-pulsing taking their place. My vision cleared. An intense golden light surrounded a figure and a face leaned in close. Golden eyebrows contracted for a moment over golden eyes devoid of pupils, and a word was uttered in a breath of sweetness. Kris.
“Kris!”
The golden light vanished. Only darkness and pain. Lips covered my mouth. Warm breath inflated my lungs. Rhythmic pressure was applied to my chest.
“Kris! Come on! Don’t quit on me!”
The firm, desperate mouth around mine again, and the warm inflation of my lungs.
“Kris!”
Kris.
I gasped. My back arched. Terror at not being able to breathe drew out a panicked fit of coughing. I dragged in ragged draughts of air. My eyes fluttered open. A bulb of white light blinded me. I couldn’t see any faces, only vague shadows behind it. My head was cradled in an enormous lap and I heard, of all things, cheers and laughing.
“Kris!” Thurmond’s voice died away with a tremor of emotion.
I raised a shaking hand, wanting to rub the bleariness from my eyes. Thurmond’s hand caught mine, gripping too tight. I felt the brush of his lips.
“Where the hell is that stretcher?” That sounded like Sergeant Wichman. But he was at the bottom of the bay. Wasn’t he? A blurry figure moved away from the crowd.
“Don’t move, sweetheart. We’re getting help. Just keep breathing, okay?”
I wanted to explain to Thurmond why I’d hit him and thrown him out of a truck, but I couldn’t get my mouth to work.
“Don’t try to talk,” Thurmond said. “And don’t apologize, either. I understand why you did it.”
A spasm jerked through my leg. I gritted my teeth. The pain wasn’t as bad as I thought it should be, and a good sight better than feeling nothing at all. Someone was putting pressure against my leg. The light shifted, and Justet’s red hair and splotchy face came into view. His eyebrows were high, his dirty face gawking at me in horrified fascination while he pressed a bloody bundle of fabric against my leg. I sque
ezed Thurmond’s hand.
The familiar smell of ozone brushed my face. I rolled my head in Rannen’s enormous hands. His lips lifted in a smile, showing me his bright white teeth.
“Of all the women on this planet, I had to get the most selfish and the most selfless one to be my mother.”
“Rannen.” I tried to remember why I felt the need to apologize to him. I tried to sit up.
“What’re you doing? You can’t get up right now.” Thurmond pushed me back.
“I can’t lie here anymore.”
“Rose, your heart was stopped for almost five minutes, and you have a bullet in your leg. Don’t you think you could at least wait for the medic?” Irritation crept into Thurmond’s voice.
“Rannen, can you help me sit up?”
Rannen shook his head. Why couldn’t they understand how important it was for me to see what happened to the Heart and the commander? I looked past Rannen’s large forearm.
The steel gray of early morning light kissed the mission courtyard. The grass and trees were brown and dead, their energy absorbed by the Heart. My eyes followed the path of light to find the spot where the Heart had been. A charred black hole, not much larger than a soccer ball, was all that remained. The body of the commander was not far from the hole. Someone had covered her face with a jacket, but the gun was still clamped in her dead hand.
Glacial rivers of hate and echoes of terror coursed through me. I shivered and shivered as though being doused with buckets of icy water. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the body and the burned-out hole.
“Rose? Hey, Kris!” Fingers snapped in front of my face. I continued to quiver, mesmerized—horrified. “Someone get a blanket or something! Where the hell is that damn medic?”
Warm arms wrapped around me. A hand caressed my hair. My name was called over and over. Still I couldn’t look away from that dead hand with the gun.
CHAPTER 42
Earth
3 minutes post-RAGE
Anger. Fury. Hatred. Fear. Where there once was power, now there was only overpowering weakness.
A cry leapt from Caz’s throat. Her limbs flailed helplessly about, refusing to respond to the commands she was trying to give them. A bright light pierced through her eyelids. She squeezed them tight. Movement caused her to scream again, not in pain but in frustration at her weakened state.
Caz unleashed her fury into another wail as her body was jostled roughly into a large pair of hands. She blinked her eyes open and stared into the warm, hazel eyes. Her memories scattered like fugitives seeking someplace to hide.
A gentle bouncing movement quieted her rage. She whimpered, trying to remember why she was so mad. Whispered voices bounded across her consciousness, making little sense to her fragile mind.
“She’ll be angry for a while. It takes some time for all the memories to fade.”
“She’s calming down already.”
“Are you sure you want to do this, Agent Rose? We’ve never had a worse criminal incarcerated here. They say her mind is broken. Even RAGE may not be able to fix that.”
“Shhh. She’s falling asleep.”
The bouncing, combined with the man’s soothing voice, made her eyelids droop. She’d forgotten that somewhere on this complicated planet was contentment and peace.
“What’re you going to call her? She can’t keep her same name.”
“I had a sister named Kris.”
The name sounded nice. Like a person who didn’t have to be angry and vengeful. Nothing seemed as important as succumbing to the peaceful voice and calming movement.
Kris. I liked the sound of that.
CHAPTER 43
Rose
A familiar beeping returned me to consciousness. I blinked my eyes open to see white walls adorned with a blasé watercolor painting, an IV pole, and a heart monitor making the regular beeping sound. Apparently I was lucky enough to get a real hospital room this time.
Late afternoon sunlight streamed across my lap. A wide expanse of blue sky, with a light ruffling of clouds and a sea of buildings, created a picturesque scene outside the window.
I let my eyes wander the room while trying to sort through the jumble of recent memories, feelings, and thoughts. The whole week or so seemed like a monster of a nightmare, and I shrunk away from delving too deep.
Past the ugly curtains and closed door, my eyes finally landed on a sleeping figure. Thurmond slouched in an uncomfortable chair, his arms folded across his chest, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. I was struck with a moment of déjà vu as I remembered him sitting this way outside the RV after the battle at the Rethan camp. This time his head rested on his chest, and he breathed with deep peacefulness.
I smiled at the way his chin wrinkled against his chest and the characteristic way his brows furrowed angrily, even in sleep. He was wearing the same clothes I last remembered him in, although the shirt now had a tear in the sleeve and the jeans sported a large reddish-brown smear across one leg. A cut swelled on his lip where the commander had pistol-whipped him, and three deep scratches on his cheek. There was also a thick blue and red electrical burn on his jaw, and the old, ropey scar from the bullet grazing his head. Other than that he seemed fine. I snorted at the relative qualifications of the term.
I wanted to talk to him. But not enough to wake him up. His breathing deepened, and his head lolled.
A glimmer of light on my shoulder caught my attention. I fingered a strand of hair. I would have liked it to be brown. I was expecting silver. I rolled it between my fingers. The multifaceted shades shimmered a brilliant, metallic gold in the sunlight.
“It’s been like that since you destroyed the Heart.” Thurmond’s voice made me jump. He sat up and ran a hand down his face. “Same with your eyes.”
“Hey, T, how’re you doing?” I smiled. He dragged his chair closer.
“Been better.” He rubbed his jaw where I’d socked him and smiled. “That’s quite the hook you’ve developed.”
“Sorry.”
He shrugged. “Don’t be. It was a smart move. Sometimes I forget you’re a Special Forces trained soldier with brains and brawn.”
“I mean, it worked, right?”
“Yep. Saved Rannen and me from the evil clutches of Sergeant Sanderford.” His smile was brief. His eyes flitted away from my face as he remembered. He picked up my hand and rubbed his thumb across the back.
“How are they, by the way? The guys from our unit?”
“Justet is fine. So is Wichman.”
“Wichman?” My throat constricted. “Yeah, I thought I heard him back at the mission.”
“Yep.” Thurmond grinned. “To hear him tell it, that old bastard is damn near immortal.” Thurmond sighed and the grin wilted. “I guess I don’t have to tell you Sanderford’s dead. He never had a chance. He was so shot up they had to identify him by his tags. Lewis is also dead, as well as about another thirty of the commander’s troops.”
Thurmond shrugged and didn’t continue. He stared at my blankets, absently rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.
I frowned. Those guys put me through a lot, and I really didn’t have any love for them toward the end. But we had at one point been friends and comrades. Why, then, did I feel so doggone neutral toward the fact that they had died a violent death in a large part thanks to (Caz) me?
“Luginbeel’s okay, though,” Thurmond said. “His nose is pretty bashed up, but I have a feeling you know that already.”
I couldn’t help the twitch at the corner of my mouth and didn’t meet Thurmond’s eyes. I heard a small chuckle and cut him a glance. The smirk on his face was all it took. I released a snicker that quickly turned into an all-out, gut-busting laugh. He let me go on for a minute but didn’t seem to be able to join in with much enthusiasm. My laughter petered out, and I cleared my throat.
“Aren’t you going to ask about yourself?” His expression was curious.
“What, you mean besides the gold hair and weird eyes?”
“Yeah, besides that.” He nodded toward my legs hidden under the hospital blankets. “Take a look.”
I flipped back the blanket, exposing the faded, blue hospital gown and my bare legs. My left leg should have been wrapped up tight in a thousand layers of bandages. I stared in stunned silence.
I could see where the bullet entered, a little higher than midway up my thigh, but instead of a raw open wound only a large, ugly scar remained. The hole appeared as though it had been healing for several months, not several hours. I ran a finger across the purplish divot. It was painful to the touch but nowhere near what it should have been.
“Has it really been that long?”
“No. That happened last night.”
“Then . . . what . . . ?”
“You got me. The DLA doctors don’t know either. They think it might have something to do with you destroying the Heart of Annihilation, but they’re just lowly earthlings. A Rethan might be able to tell you different. Same with the hole in your shoulder. It looks like it’s been healing for months, though the millions of other smaller injuries you sustained are as bad as they were last night.” He brushed his hand against my cheek and shrugged.
“Is the bullet still in there?”
“Maybe. There’s no exit wound. They’re going to do an X-ray later to find out.” Thurmond pressed his lips together. I could tell there was something else on his mind, but he just shook his head. He stood and placed his hands on either side of my face. “Kris, you are the most remarkable soldier—the most remarkable woman I’ve ever met.”
He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
I gripped his arm. The IV tugged at my hand. I couldn’t decide whether to thank him for sticking by me through everything, or apologize for getting him involved in the first place. Somehow I knew whatever I said would have me coming off as an unbelievable sap.
He pulled away and sat next to me on the bed.
“The doctors want to try to reinject you with that camouflage serum stuff.”