by Tim Marquitz
“Come on, Gran, we need to—”
Beaux didn’t let her finish. His strength was surprising, considering his wounds, as he grabbed Taj’s wrist and peeled her hand loose of him. His other hand, scorched shoulder and all, reached out and pulled at her ankle. Taj froze, wondering what he was doing, and then it became clear.
“Noooooooo!” she screamed, her throat chafing at her ferocity, but there was nothing she could do to stop the old Gran from doing to her what she’d done to her crew.
Her leg pulled out from beneath her, her balance stolen, Taj toppled backward toward the open hatch. She howled as gravity yanked her downward and through the gaping mouth of the tunnel entrance. Wind whipped past her as she fell, and she hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from her lungs.
She gasped, staring upward, trying to gather her wits. A flicker of movement drew her focus, and Beaux’s wizened face blocked her view of the hole in the meeting hall’s roof. In the crook of his wounded arm, he held the two grenades tucked tight against his chest.
“You take care of Merr for me, Taj, and all the others, too,” he told her, meeting her eyes. This time, there was no hiding the tears there—in hers or his. “I’m counting on you to lead them now, to see them all through this, you hear? There’s no one else I trust to do this, ya hear?”
“No,” she shouted back. “Don’t do this! Please!”
He shook his head. “Too late for me,” he said. “Live well, darlin’. I’m proud of you.”
Taj shuddered, suddenly cold, as Beaux reached out with his other arm and yanked the heavy hatch closed. There was an ominous metallic thump as it seated, some shuffling over top, and then Taj was cast in absolute blackness before her eyes could adjust.
Then there was a tremendous boom above.
Dirt and pieces of stone peppered Taj, and she scrambled for cover, deeper into the tunnel as the ground trembled. She stumbled and slammed into the rough-hewn wall, and stars erupted before her eyes. Her sight blurred an instant later by fountains of tears. She folded to the ground, sobbing, clawing at the rock to keep from being swept away by her emotions.
A moment later, the earth stopped rumbling, and Taj slid across the wall and flopped onto her back. Silence washed over the tunnel, and the darkness closed on her once again.
The only sound to be heard was Taj’s weeping.
Chapter Nine
Captain Vort stood before the wreckage of a building, watching black smoke smolder from within the ruins. His soldiers were scattered about the street, heads on a swivel. They looked anywhere except at the bodies of their companions who laid dead in the dirt with holes blasted in them.
Vort went over to the first of the corpses and rolled it over with a callous boot. The soldier’s head had nearly been decapitated by a well-placed blast from some form of primitive energy weapon. The wound bore none of the grace of modern weaponry.
He sighed. “Anyone care to explain why these little savages managed to kill so many of you?” Commander Dard stiffened and made ready to respond, as expected, but Vort waved him to silence. “It’s not you I want to hear from, Commander. I want to hear it from them.”
A nearby soldier inched forward. “They, uh, caught us off guard, Captain. We believed they would not be prepared for us. Not so soon after our arrival.”
“No,” Vort replied, shaking his head. “You only opened fire on a group of them the moment the doors to the Monger opened. Why wouldn’t they be prepared for hostility? Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Sir, if I can explain—”
The captain yanked Commander Dard’s blaster from his holster and aimed, pulling the trigger. The blast tore through the soldier’s visor, turning the metal molten red before it punched through and sprayed what was left of the man’s head across the dirt behind him. His body crumpled to the ground right after, landing with a sullen thump.
“Anyone else care to explain anything to me?” Vort asked. When no one responded, he drew in a deep breath and let his gaze wander across the gathered soldiers. “I didn’t think so.”
He handed the pistol back to Dard and circled around the ruined building, where his men had encountered the majority of the furry aliens. He’d expected to see masses of charred bodies, scattered about the streets and walks. Instead, what he saw was disappointment.
While his men had gone out of their way to lay waste to the tiny village, the evidence of that laying in the buildings that smoldered all over, there were hardly any corpses to claim anything resembling success in the matter. He snatched up one of the dead Furlorians by its scruff and stared at its burnt features. Its wide eyes stared back at him, sightless.
“These are what caught you so off guard?” he asked, casting a sour glance over his shoulder at the remaining soldiers who’d elected to stay back, giving him space. No one replied, and Vort grunted, tossing the alien corpse aside. “Somewhere in this cluster of failure, I’m expecting to hear good news.” He turned, the steamed air in his hoses bubbling, and raised his arms in expectation. “Anyone?”
Commander Dard stepped forward, tapping the side of his helmet. Though Vort couldn’t see his face behind his darkened visor, he could almost sense the man’s relieved smile. “There is word, Captain.”
“Please, share it with me before I’m forced to borrow your pistol again and create my own good news, one shot at a time.”
Dard nodded. “The men have captured a number of the Furlorians who attempted to flee the village. They are bringing them to the town square now for your inspection.”
Vort grinned. “That is good news, Commander. I knew I could count on you.”
The commander waved Vort forward, and the soldiers gathered at their back, following a respectful distance behind as the pair made their way to the center of town. There, Vort sighed at seeing the few dozen furry aliens his men had corralled. It was hardly the numbers scanners had picked up on the Monger’s entry into the atmosphere.
“This is all of them?” he asked, shaking his head. “I’m beginning to think our men might need some measure of remedial training, Commander. Even on this primitive husk of a world, they can’t contain the heathen locals fighting back with bolt weapons and hunting rifles? There were hundreds of these creatures nearby, and yet I can almost compare the number of dead and captured to your IQ. Why is this?”
The soldiers held their silence and forced the Furlorians to their knees in front of the captain. Vort strolled down the line of captives, glaring at each through his visor, watching with grim amusement as each looked away, staring at the ground to avoid meeting his gaze. The captain made three passes, letting his boots stomp heavily as he neared each alien, stirring up dust as he appraised them.
Clearly simple creatures, he assessed each as he walked past, deciding which of the furry aliens were most likely to surrender to Vort’s whims should the creature be pushed. Several stood out as ones more likely to remain steadfast.
Clipped ears, scars across their cheeks or brows, missing whiskers or patches of fur torn loose ages ago, were signs of perseverance amongst the Furlorians. Those who’d undergone pain or cruel lives were far less likely to succumb to Vort’s questioning.
Weak as the creatures appeared, Vort could see the defiance in their stiffened spines. They might not be willing to brave his stare, but there was no lack of courage or loyalty in the little aliens. They would not break as easily as he hoped.
As he made his third pass, he spotted one of the creatures trembling, doing its best to hide the tremors rattling its frame. Captain Vort stopped before the orangish-furred alien and leaned closer. He let out a loud exhalation of breath, his atmospheric filters releasing it with a low, serpentine hiss. He tapped the alien on the head, mussing its wild hair.
“This one is perfect,” he told Dard. “Have it taken to the Monger and prepared for me.” He glanced over at the rest of the Furlorians, who dared to peek past their fuzzy brows to see who among them had been chosen. Vort grinned in response to their curiosity, thoug
h he lamented the fact that they couldn’t see how much their plight amused him. “Find a place here in town to house the rest until I tell you otherwise.”
Commander Dard signaled, and two soldiers split from the group and grabbed the chosen Furlorian by the arms and hauled it away, its feet dragging behind it. Its brethren watched it being carted off as they themselves were herded together, arms bound behind their backs.
Vort marveled at their silence, even in the face of terror, yet he knew such stoicism would crumble once Vort turned his torturer loose upon their companion and they saw what had been done.
Vort knew all too well the locals had escaped his men, using their knowledge of the terrain to slip away, to hide, but he also knew he would find them soon enough. No matter what he had to do, he wouldn’t let these little savages ruin his grand plans. Death would come for them all in time, and Vort would see his future elevated, at any cost.
“Prepare the drill teams, Commander. We’ve a planet to profit from.”
Chapter Ten
Hands clasped Taj’s arms and tugged at her. She howled and hissed, baring her teeth and lashing out with her claws. Her blood pumped hot through her veins, and her heart thundered like a storm rolling in over the plains. A loud ringing echoed in her ears, her own voice loud-, as it reverberated inside her skull. The aliens had killed Gran Beaux right before her. They wouldn’t get her so easily.
“Easy, Taj, easy,” a familiar voice grunted in her ear. “It’s us,” the voice said. “It’s us.”
Taj snarled and broke free from her captors, crouching, readying to lunge as her mind shook off the chaos rumbling inside her head. Tears blurred her vision, snot clogging her nose, but she caught a whiff of grease and fur, the familiar scents sending a calmness washing over her. She stumbled back another step and collided with the wall. Only Cabe’s strong hands kept her from toppling over again.
“It’s okay,” he told her, pulling her in tight.
Taj stiffened and pushed him back. “No, it’s not,” she said, her voice raw, the words spewing out like sharpened knives. “They killed Beaux,” she told them, “right in front of me. We need to—”
Cabe swallowed hard and grabbed her arm, reining her in before she could march off. “I know you want to avenge him,” he started, his eyes shiny with barely repressed tears of his own, “we all do, but now is not the time.”
“What do you mean?” she screeched back. “How is now not the time? They’re right up there,” she told him, pointing toward the hatch, “gloating over his corpse. Now is the perfect time.”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not.”
Lina came alongside him, and she, too, looked ready to cry, her lower lip drawn into her mouth.
“Mama Merr is hurt bad, and she needs our help far more than Beaux does,” Cabe said.
“How can you say that?” Taj slapped his hand from her arm and stepped back, growling low in her throat.
Torbon came forward, shaking his head. “You said they killed Beaux, right?”
“They did,” she answered. “They threw two grenades at us, and he grabbed them before he slammed the hatch shut. H-he—”
Lina slipped by Torbon and wrapped her arms around Taj, hugging her tight. “We felt the explosion all the way down the tunnel when we were taking Mama to safety.” She sucked in a deep breath, her chest shuddering as if she were choking on her next words. “He’s dead, Taj. There’s nothing you can do for him now. There’s nothing anyone can do for him.”
“No, he’s—”
“Dead,” Torbon finished for her, biting back his own sob. “He’s dead, Taj, and Mama Merr will be also if we don’t find a way to help her soon. I need to find Jadie, too, as soon as we can.”
Taj hissed at him, the last of it gurgling away into a pained gasp. She’d watched Beaux cradle the grenades to his chest, heard him tell her to carry on with her life despite everything, watched him slam the hatch shut, and knew, without a doubt, the devices had exploded, giving him no time to escape. Not even she could have outrun them, and Beaux certainly couldn’t, slow as he was.
He was dead.
Is dead, her mind corrected, and she hated herself for it.
Gone.
She groaned and felt her legs threaten to give way beneath her, but she refused to fall, refused to surrender to the grief threatening to pull her under. She sunk her claws into the wall, tearing off tiny chips of stone as she righted herself.
Beaux had wanted her to take charge, wanted her to lead their people free of these aliens, to see them through the other side of this attack. He had spent his last breath telling her this, placing the mantle of the Furlorians on her shoulders, much as she hadn’t wanted it. She sucked in a deep breath at the immensity of what she’d been tasked with. Beaux tasked her to lead their people, not the other Grans, not even Mama.
Her.
The weight of that loomed over her, pressing her down. Taj straightened and clenched her fists, ignoring the sharp tips of her claws biting into her palms. She met the eyes of each of her crew in turn, landing at last upon Cabe. Beaux had entrusted the future of the Furlorians to her, and she’d be damned if she let him down.
At last, she nodded, acknowledging that Beaux was gone, and nothing could be done for him except to honor his last wishes. That was how she could best serve him, avenge him, to make sure their people survived and kept on surviving.
“Let’s get Mama,” she told them, wiping her tears and snot away with the back of her hand. She marched down the tunnel in the direction she knew they’d taken her. “Then we can kill these alien gacks for all they’ve done.”
The crew grunted their agreement and trailed after, their feet shuffling in the gloomy silence of the tunnel. Every footfall was a dirge.
Taj found Mama Merr in a small cubby hole deep inside the labyrinthine complex of narrow tunnels. Nearby, she could hear the muffled whispers of the townsfolk, voices carrying through the stony corridors. She fought the urge to shush them, certain the aliens couldn’t possibly hear them, even if the whole of the Furlorian survivors shouted or cried out as one.
They were simply too deep to be detected, the makeup of the earth too dense and problematic for scanners to pierce accurately. They would be safe there unless the aliens stumbled across one of the secret entrances, and she had to hope they were hidden well enough to keep that from happening.
“Mama,” Taj mumbled through trembling lips as she knelt beside the old Gran, running a hand over the woman’s sweaty brow. “Can you hear me?”
Mama opened her eyes, a sliver of green showing through her lashes, and offered a shallow nod. “I can hear you, child,” she answered, and to Taj’s surprise, she did her best to force a smile. It was weak, hardly a glowbug’s flicker against the sun’s blazing light, but it was there. “Did we…all make…it?” she asked.
Taj’s throat bobbed in response, battling the distasteful words that wanted to spill free of her mouth. Instead of telling Mama the truth, her eyes roamed the old queen’s body, seeing the unnatural hitch to her back, and Taj lied. Lied like Beaux had.
Despite its justness, the decision would haunt her forever.
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head, fearful she might fall over from her exuberance, the need to sell the fabrication to its fullest. “We’re all here.”
Mama’s smile widened the slightest bit, and while Taj’s heart threatened to burst, her dishonesty an incendiary wanting to go off, she was glad Mama didn’t know the truth.
Taj could tell by the way she looked, the flutter of her eyes, the shallow, labored breaths she took, that Mama clung to the edge of life with a precarious grasp. Were she to learn how many of her people had failed to slip into the tunnels, that Gran Beaux had died helping Taj escape the aliens, it would kill the old Gran quicker than her injuries would. Of that, Taj was certain.
And maybe it was selfish of Taj to keep the truth from her, to lie and extend Mama’s life a little longer for no reason other than that Taj needed,
wanted, her there. Taj knew the truth would steal the last, best part of Mama away before she died: her hope. She couldn’t do that to the old woman. She wouldn’t break her heart.
“We need to get you somewhere safer, somewhere we can better evaluate your wounds and treat them.”
Mama shook her head, her whiskers fluttering. “No, child, I’ve gone as far as I can manage.” She reached out a gnarled paw and set it atop Taj’s. Her claws scraped gently at her fur. “I know you want…to help, but there’s none left for me.”
She sucked in a breath, her whole body shaking at the effort. “My spine…” Mama started, spittle gleaming at her lips, “is broken, child. This here…” she patted the ground beside her, “is where I’ll end my days, I’m afraid. Ain’t nothing to be done about that.”
So soon after Beaux, the world spun about Taj. She dropped to her butt, tears wiping out her vision, turning the old Gran into a hazy blur. The crew gathered around, and Taj could feel their presence looming over her shoulders. They’d all heard what Mama had said.
“No, don’t think like that,” Taj argued, though she, too, knew it to be the truth. They hadn’t had the tech to repair such grievous injuries since long before they’d come to Krawlas. Herbs, splints, and the occasional splurge of energy to fuel the cryogen chambers aboard the freighters to slow a disease’s creeping doom, but that was all there was.
With the aliens burning down Culvert City, the location of the old ships doubtlessly compromised already, they were down to the first two of the supplies. Neither of which would help a broken back, especially not in a queen as elderly as Mama Merr.
“There is no escaping the truth, child,” Mama told her, and Taj nearly broke down at hearing the words so plainly spoken, as if Mama had pried into her brain and had seen Taj’s deception. She clasped her hands about Mama’s, afraid to squeeze but also afraid to let go. “However, while my time might well be coming to an end, there is still so much life for you and the others to live. I-I might not be here to see it, but I’ll know my brood lives on in all of you.”