Heart of a Traitor

by Aaron Lee Yeager

  The door to the room opened with a squeak and a crack of torchlight entered the room. The small frame of a slave woman entered the room. Nariko could tell that the woman was the property of Volaf, because she had his name tattooed on her forehead.

  In a moment of panic Nariko grabbed her own forehead, but was relieved to find that nothing had been tattooed there yet.

  “Don’t worry; I was the one who changed your clothes. My name is Jenna,” the woman explained meekly.

  It took a minute for Nariko’s cloudy mind to process the reason why Jenna would have reassured her of that. She sometimes forgot that women had to be much more careful than men in these kinds of situations.

  Slowly, the weight of Nariko’s plight began to descend down upon her. In a single day she had been stripped of her rank, her honor, and now, even her freedom. A great swelling of shame built up inside her. How could she have allowed herself to be beaten by someone like Volaf? She, a Senshi, an elite of the warrior class. What would her comrades have to say if they saw her like this? She felt the tight sting of humiliation and the slow throb of dishonor within her.

  “What time is it?” Nariko asked hurriedly after she realized her chronometer had been taken.

  “What?”

  “What time is it?” Nariko insisted again.

  “Well, they just did six bells, so I suppose it’s about 1920 hours.

  Nariko balled her fists.

  I missed evening prayers. Nariko knelt on the floor and began praying as fast as she could, trying to make up for the lost time, but it didn’t work. She felt nothing inside. The image of the ruins of Jerricus flashed in her mind, but she quickly suppressed it.

  Nariko sat back on her heels. Her heart felt so heavy. It felt like something was dying deep inside her. Some core value that her pride had held together was now exposed and evaporating. She could feel the darkness at the back of her mind watching her. It didn’t have eyes, but she could tell it was watching her. It was an eerie feeling. Nariko wrapped her arms around herself and began to feel afraid. Then the darkness inside her did something it never had before. It stirred. The sensation made her feel instantly nauseous.

  Unable to speak Nariko moved to pray, but there was a flash and her vision became crowded by charts and graphs, thousands of coded messages filled her ears.

  Nariko felt herself teetering, but she caught onto something. A thread in her mind that stabilized her. Something that she still wanted to do, desired even. She didn’t want to miss evening prayers.

  She almost laughed at the realization. It was such a small and silly thing, a habit born from years of tedium and repetition, but she actually wanted to do it. Holding onto that thread, she forced the voices back. She shoved the graphs aside and managed to regain her sense of the room she was in.

  Jenna timidly brought over a small saucer of warm, brown soup. Her movements were slow and silent, like a mouse, created through design or necessity, to elicit no irritation from anyone who watched her. Jenna moved to begin feeding the soup to Nariko by spoon, but she would have none of it.

  Nariko fought against the wrappings and brought the bowl wearily up to her lips.

  “You should not try to move so much,” Jenna meekly counseled.

  “It’s fine. I will be better in just a few minutes,” Nariko said painfully as she took the bowl of soup and began drinking it down. It tasted about as bad as it looked, but Nariko had been trained to eat whatever was available. She took it without complaint.

  Jenna moved to say something, but hesitated.

  “Um, about your shoulder,” she stuttered, finally working up the nerve to speak.

  “I’d really rather not talk about that,” Nariko responded.

  Jenna accepted Nariko’s rebuke without offense and began checking her dressings.

  “When you are feeling better, Master Volaf will give instructions on how you are to spend your time. Until then, you may rest here.”

  “How long have you been a slave here?” Nariko asked as she finished her soup.

  Jenna paused and thought for a moment. “Around eleven cycles, I think. It’s hard to tell time out here.”

  “Have you ever thought about trying to escape?” Nariko asked.

  Jenna smiled weakly. “Where would I go?”

  Nariko lowered her eyes and thought on this. “Is it better to be free, if for only a moment, or to live forever as a slave?” she asked herself.

  Jenna ignored the question and took the empty saucer back out into the hall. She picked up a large tray filled with roast meat, vegetables, and a large mug of fungus-beer.

  “I must take Master Volaf his dinner now,” she said mildly.

  “No, wait,” Nariko said, stretching out her hand, “I’m coming with you.”

  The walk with Jenna up to the command deck was one of the most humiliating journeys of Nariko’s life. Every man they passed looked over her with contemptuous amusement, shouting out obscenities and threatening to get her on loan from Volaf to have their way with her. It was all Nariko could do to restrain herself from verbally lashing out at every last one of them.

  When they reached the command deck, Nariko mimicked Jenna’s behavior. Her movements became small and timid as she approached Volaf and set his tray down in front of him at the counter where he was sitting.

  Volaf smiled at her wickedly; obviously deluding himself into thinking that he had tamed such a wild spirit in so short a time. Boastfully, he plucked off her bandages revealing the deep gash running across her ruined eye and waved them around for the adulation of his friends. Nariko shuddered to think of what he would do with her that night when his shift ended.

  Nariko bowed to him and kept her eye lowered as she reapplied the bandages, then asked for permission to address the Don using the smallest meekest voice she could muster. Volaf generously granted her request, flaunting his benevolence to those around him and received several slaps on the back from his admirers.

  Nariko approached Don Kielter timidly, much to his amusement as he sat undignified in his command chair. When she got close enough to whisper to him, however, her tone regained its fierceness.

  “I have a new deal for you, Don. You will purchase me from that fat trog and order everyone else on the ship to leave me alone for the rest of the voyage, at which point you will set me free.”

  Nariko felt a tug on her robes and looked behind her to see Jenna standing there.

  “A...and Jenna too,” she added.

  Don Kielter chuckled heartily.

  “You must be pretty confident in your...abilities...if you think I’ll just buy you from him like that and then let you go.”

  Don Kielter leaned in wolfishly. “Just what is it that you can do for me?” Nariko ignored the innuendo and grabbed Don Kielter by the collar of his filthy shirt.

  “What I can do for you is save your life, by not telling your subordinates that you have been lying to them,” Nariko charged.

  Don Kielter’s eyes were suspicious.

  “I have been to Ardura,” Nariko whispered venomously. “There are no slums there. You didn’t grow up on the streets. Just how big is the inheritance waiting for you when you get back? You’re just some spoiled rich boy out playing pirate because you got into some fight with mommy and daddy.”

  Don Kielter tried to hide it, but the panic in his eyes told Nariko that she was right.

  “When I tell Davones of your deception, he’ll have your head for a trophy rack,” she threatened.

  Don Kielter’s mind raced for a moment and then he relaxed and smiled greatly.

  “Well played, Neareko,” he applauded. “There is something very alluring about a woman with a head on her shoulders for haggling.” Don Kielter slapped her roughly on the rump. “I believe we have an accord.”

  Chapter Seven

  The Burden of Candor

  The stone tablet is the purest of servants.

  It does not question the words that are carved into it.

  It does not alter
the words with the passage of time.

  That is why we will always write on stone.

  -Book of Cerinţǎ, Chapter 20, verses 3-6

  Nariko felt anxious as she checked the chronometer on her wrist. It was two more minutes until morning prayers and weapon drills. She had been fasting for nearly three days now, and the effects of dehydration were becoming quite severe. She noticed that her hand was trembling slightly, and she forced it to stop.

  The Carrion did not have live-fire ranges like she was accustomed to, but Don Kielter had told her about an abandoned cargo bay that she was welcome to use for small-arms practice.

  Nariko brought her hand up to her neck and tugged uncomfortably at the slave collar that still hung there. Even though it had been several days, she still hadn’t become accustom to it. To his credit, Don Kielter had kept his part of the bargain and had given Nariko permission to go anywhere in the ship she chose to, even though she was technically his property until the end of the voyage.

  Her chronometer chirped and Nariko dropped to her knees performing her morning prayers. She prayed harder than she had yesterday, praising the Luminarch and asking for his blessings. She enunciated every word perfectly, inflected every phrase properly. She pressed her hands together, making sure that each digit was perfectly aligned and kept her back flawlessly straight as she knelt on the dusty floor.

  “All service to Him,” Nariko said, clapping her palms against her chest. She waited for several moments before lifting her head slowly. She hadn’t felt a thing.

  This is infuriating. I’ve always been able to hear the Luminarch’s voice before...haven’t I? How long has it been since my prayers came back unanswered like this?

  Strain as she might, she couldn’t remember. Her memory was so full of holes. Had it been days? Weeks? Months? Years?

  Nariko ground her teeth.

  I can’t remember.

  She leapt to her feet determined to perform her morning weapon drills flawlessly.

  I will show you how perfectly I serve you. I will show you how worthy I am.

  Nariko slapped a clip into her weapon and raised it up to her shoulder feeling its weight. Even with her improved vision Nariko could barely make out the distant rust-colored walls of the dark bay, which was filled with piles of metal that were once vehicles of various makes. They were nothing more than vile metal corpses hanging in the position of their death throes. Long strands of solidified mucus hung off much of the wreckage.

  “Disable Drill,” she announced to the room.

  With polished precision, she focused her aggression on the raised arm of a cargo loader. Three loud clacks shattered the silence of the bay. Each shot found its mark at a different joint in the lifter’s arm, burying themselves deeply into the metal before detonating. The destroyed fragments of the arm rained down around the lifter, disturbing the thick layers of dust.

  Look at me, every morning I do this.

  Nariko heard the echoes of the shots returning to her ears off the distant walls as she found a new target, the side of a derelict alien craft.

  “Continuous Fire Drill,” she shouted. She switched the rifle’s setting to automatic and a thunderous barrage streamed out of her weapon. Switching her vision to ultraviolet, Nariko watched the shockwaves from the initial blasts extend in perfect spheres from the surface of the craft. As subsequent rounds were fired at the target point, she altered her aim to adjust for the change in flight path that the previous round would create, minimizing accuracy degradation.

  Look at me, every hour I serve you.

  The thunderous sounds of the gun ended with a metallic slam, informing her of the need for a new clip. Without looking at her weapon, she effortlessly brought the weapon down, spun it around to expose the ammunition clip, removed it, and replaced it with a new one. As she did so she examined the ruined pit on the side of the alien vessel. All of the rounds had impacted within two inches of the target point. This was considered exemplary, but it was far from her personal best.

  I have given you everything.

  “Prediction Drill,” she called out.

  She aimed at a metal girder resting on top of a pile of crates and let off three shots, each one lower and more to one side. The first shot hit the metal girder and spun it off of its place. The second shot was perfectly timed and hit the girder a second time as it fell, breaking it into two pieces. The third shot hit the larger of the chunks as it fell, bisecting it yet again.

  For hundreds of years, every second of every day.

  All three pieces of the girder came crashing down on top of a pile of filth and dust with an organic crunch. The faint screams of animals rose into the cold air and from within the disturbed pile small, flying bat-like creatures began to scatter into the darkness. A tight smile crossed her lips.

  “Live Target Drill,” she announced, pleased to have something to take her frustration out on.

  She shifted her vision into infrared and the darkness of the hall was superimposed with the bright silhouettes of the creatures as they scattered themselves from their collapsed nest. Rounds streaked out from Nariko’s position, striking the creatures as they flew through the air. Their bodies were too soft to engage the fuse, so the creatures simply disintegrated in mid-air as the shots hit them. The flashes of heat from the exploding rounds strobed in the dark as the remaining creatures dodged and darted through the air.

  What more do you want?

  They followed the instinctive patterns of flight that would give them the best chance for evading their distant attacker. They jinked and dove, accelerated and decelerated, but each time Nariko found her mark. Some would escape four or five shots, while others would escape only one. Either way, the result was the same. Eventually, she found each of them in turn. They were powerless to escape her aim.

  Quickly and fluidly, Nariko brought her weapon down and replaced the spent clip with a fresh one. She focused her aggression on the final creature. It was much faster than the others. It dodged some of her shots almost easily, while others missed it by only a hair’s breadth. At one point, it landed on a pyre and disappeared from her sight, but she released a volley into the base of the pyre causing it to come crashing down and forcing the creature to leave its cover so the hunt continued.

  What more can I give?

  The creature began to move more slowly. It was getting tired. It failed to dodge as quickly as before. A round clipped its wing and it began listing about in the air. Nariko heard the metallic slam of her weapon asking for a new clip. She watched the injured creature as she reloaded her weapon.

  “If you had higher cognitive abilities, you would realize that there is no hope for you now.” She said through gritted teeth. It was tired, injured, and alone. It could barely escape her aim when it was at full strength and now it could barely stay in the air. “If you had the ability to think, you would not continue to struggle to live when there is no possibility of escape. Action without the possibility of result is wasted action.” She recited.

  Nariko raised her weapon and took aim. She almost imagined the creature pleading with her for mercy. This creature had not asked to be her enemy, and yet, it now fought for its life. Nariko squeezed the trigger and her final shot streaked out into the dark.

  She saw herself at the feet of the Luminarch, pleading with him for mercy.

  Nariko felt a tightness building up inside her chest. The image of the young soldier on Tridia came to her mind. She could still remember the way he looked at her, the way he smelled, the way he sounded as he died. A thousand such memories surfaced in her mind and the tightness began to hurt inside her. Those were the Luminarch’s servants, his children.

  Nariko gasped aloud, her breath misting in the cold air as she clutched her chest. It seemed so unbearably obvious now. Why had she not seen it before? Her heart cried out within her but her mind coldly answered. She was tired, injured, and alone and it was pointless to continue her struggle to live when there was no possibility of escape. Action withou
t possibility of result is wasted action.

  She was wasted action.

  Nariko felt frozen in place, considering the full implications of her actions. The evidence against her built up and seemed to crash down upon her like a great wave.

  The round struck the injured creature and destroyed it. Its remains fell silently to the floor of the bay, kicking up plumes of dust that gradually fell again to the ground around its corpse.

  The hurt became a sharp pain, and Nariko found it hard to breathe. The darkness inside her stirred, and her entire being felt rotten inside. Her rifle dropped out of her hand, clattering to the floor.

  No, I must complete my weapon drills!

  She dropped to her knees grabbing the weapon with trembling hands.

  I will not betray my vows to the Luminarch.

  You betrayed your vows long ago.

  She pulled the weapon tight against her chest, breathing heavily.

  I did not ask for this life. I never wanted this life.

  In her mind, Nariko could see something was on her hands. She held them up before her. They were dripping with something. It was blood. The Luminarch’s blood.

  I had no choice.

  You always had a choice.

  In her mind, she imagined the Luminarch turning his face from her and walking away.

  Nariko placed her hands together and prayed again, twice as loud as before. She pressed her hands together twice as tightly, promised to fast twice as long as she already had, and swore through clenched teeth to deprive herself of sleep for twice as many days. She pleaded for mercy until she was practically screaming, her voice echoing off the distant walls of the bay.

  “ALL SERVICE TO HIM,” Nariko screamed, beating her fists against her chest.

  I feel...nothing.

  Nariko did not complete her weapon drills that day.

  Chapter Eight

  Tyrant Sector Command

  The strongest of men can be killed with a single drop of poison.