by Cara Bristol
The only other difference was her uniform. Alpha gray instead of breeder beige. Pants and a shirt instead of a shift. A uniform couldn’t be all that mattered. Could it?
Alphas were born, not nurtured—although testing later verified superiority. If genetics determined alphaness, should not one be able to differentiate between alpha and beta instantly? And male from female? Yet, here she stood, a female juxtaposed to her holographic likeness and the male who was searching for her couldn’t see it.
Were there males passing as alphas who perhaps were not alphas? Could it be alphaness was not innate, and the designation was arbitrary? Urazi had been deemed beta—yet his brawn and strength far outmatched this puny alpha who stood before her.
Could Protocol have promulgated untruths? If no natural difference existed between alphas and betas, then perhaps the teaching that females were an inferior gender suitable only for breeding also was in error. Anika lifted her head and glanced at the females in the nearest conveyance. Not a one met her gaze. They assumed she was alpha also.
Because of the uniform.
How far could she carry the ruse?
In for a gilia, in for a dekagilia.
She adopted the haughty expression Marlix wore on so many occasions. “What crime has the female committed?” She stared down at the male who barely came to her nose. I am taller than he! Emboldened, Anika eyed him in a way she would never have dared in female dress.
“She is the sibling of Commander Qalin’s sworn enemy, and she killed one of his subcommanders.”
Anika considered further challenging him to explain how a member of the inferior sex could get the better of a subcommander, but held her tongue. She would not allow the headiness of her newfound power to result in brashness. Danger—as the warrant on the PCD indicated—swirled around her. She’d already slipped once, better not to provoke any new suspicion by appearing to have undue sympathy for the female gender.
“So you have not seen the female called Anika?” Perce persisted in his inquiry.
If she claimed she had—and misdirected him—she would be subjected to interrogation as he attempted to gather all the facts. Increased scrutiny would not be prudent. “No.” She shook her head. “But I will maintain vigilance as I continue in my travels.”
“To where do you journey?”
“I go where my feet take me,” Anika answered.
Perce squinted at the third conveyance driven by sole beta male. “Perhaps I could convince you to enter into the service of Commander Qalin and help deliver these breeders. We are short one driver.”
When porcine mammals take wing. No way would she participate in the conscription of her gender. And she was hunted for crimes against Parseon! Only a fool would ride on the draft of a dragnet.
Anika started to decline the offer, until Omra’s image intruded. Omra, whom she’d met at the Breeder Containment Facility before she’d been bought by Commander Dak and before her own purchase by Jergan. Omra whose protection had ended with the death of her Alpha. Who’d become a prisoner of war, subject to the whims of a brutal ruler. Was she at Qalin’s domicile? Had he used her? Abused her? Mostly likely, he had. He would take great pleasure in tormenting the breeder of his former rival. It would be sport to him.
If Anika traveled with the convoy to Qalin’s headquarters, perhaps she could find Omra and Miri.
But then what? Rescue them? How? She may have fooled this alpha—and the other males aboard the conveyances, but someone of discernment might become wise. She could not walk out with Omra in custody, even if she could pass for a male.
Could she?
But maybe she might be safer within Qalin’s milieu. She’d had as much inkling that Grogan had been a subcommander as she’d had that the entire Resistance was a front for Qalin. How foolish and naïve she’d been! She shuddered to ponder what might have happened if Urazi had not intervened. However, if he had not killed Grogan, she would not be on the run for a crime she hadn’t committed.
No, I’d be on the run for treason against my Alpha.
If Grogan hadn’t killed her first. Urazi had defended her.
She did not blame him for her situation.
She flicked her gaze to the PCD. Marlix wanted her home. Ilian wanted to breed with her. Qalin wanted her…dead. Alone and on foot, she could not elude capture for much longer anyway. Marlix, one of the most strategic and astute males she’d ever met, often had counseled the best place to hide was under the searcher’s nose. Hadn’t he abducted Tara from the Terran Bazaar within Dak’s province and hidden at Dak’s Enclave? Qalin would never think to search for her within his own abode.
Hiding in an enemy’s stronghold seemed crazy.
So crazy it might work. Anika took a breath. “It would be an honor to serve the Commander.”
“Excellent! You shall drive that transport.” He pointed the third conveyance occupied by the lone beta. “Luka shall assist you,” he said and hopped aboard his vehicle.
Faking a confident stroll, Anika ambled to her transport, conscious of Perce watching her from his seat. She faced no qualms about her ability to drive a beast-drawn conveyance. Females were relegated to the back of the conveyance with the cargo and small livestock such as domesticated fowl and small bovine mammals, but at the Enclave, traditional customs had relaxed, so she often had driven a vehicle to get around.
The caged females avoided her as she passed, except for a bold one who peeked from beneath a veil of hair. But when Anika made eye contact, the breeder ducked her head.
I scared her. Me!
No, not me. The uniform. Males held such authority the sight of their uniform evoked respect—fear. The captured breeders were doing their best to hide in plain sight. Had any of them resisted custody?
Her feet felt leaden by complicity. She was going to deliver members of her gender to Qalin—and for what? To save herself? To possibly free Omra and Miri?
What alternative do I have? Rejecting Perce’s invitation would not change the females’ fate. Anjot would remain roadside while the convoy rolled on to its destination. Omra and Miri would be doomed, and eventually Anika would end up caged.
But if I save myself, perhaps I can save some of them.
The fine hairs on her nape prickled, and she pivoted to find the one female who had peeked at her staring at her again. Anika wondered if her unusual boldness extended beyond stolen glances. Had she resisted capture?
Anika shoved a foot in the boarding stirrup and hopped on. The beta handed her the reins, which she gripped firmly on the left side freeing the right to wield the quirt.
“You are Luka?” she asked.
“Yes, alpha.”
“I am Anjot.”
A sharp whistle split the air and, with a jangle of bridles, the lead conveyance rolled, followed by the second. Anika clicked her tongue at the beasts, snapped the quirt, and her conveyance jerked forward.
Chapter Ten
“I know you from somewhere.”
Anika shook the tent post, found it sturdier than her legs, and pivoted, willing herself not to recoil from the alpha’s swollen, misshapen face. His right eye had all but disappeared in the puffiness, and his left had narrowed to size of pebble.
“You are mistaken,” she stated with ersatz confidence. Perce had commandeered the male’s shelter in the name of Alpha Qalin, but, until this moment, she’d given their host little due other than to cringe at the sight of his infected, disfiguring wound.
While the betas gathered firewood, the alphas had secured the females, manacling them ankle to ankle with heavy chains. Anika could not bring herself to assist, so she’d moved away under the pretense of checking the sturdiness of the shelter she would share with her traveling companions.
She had not expected the male whose camp it was to follow her.
“I never forget a face,” he said.
She forced an examination of his face. A raw abscess zigzagged across his reddened, bloated cheek—as if he had been sliced open by a kni
fe. While right side had suffered the most damage, the infection had spread to the left, causing immense swelling so that his head appeared too large for his body. He lumbered gingerly, keeping his neck and head still. Perhaps they had passed each other on the street—no telling what he might have looked like before the injury had occurred. The degree of infection indicated it had happened a while ago, perhaps a month or two—
Surely he wasn’t—
Before arriving at the guerilla base, she’d stumbled across a couple of alphas. Within minutes of meeting, one of them had robbed her and attempted to use her until the slash of Ramon’s pocket dagger deterred him. Leaving the alpha bleeding, his cheek ripped open, she’d fled.
Let it not be so.
But if it were, it would not serve her to jog his memory by continuing to give him time for scrutiny. Casually, she shifted her gaze away from his and scanned the camp, as if inspecting it.
If this was the same place, it had changed. Before it had consisted of one lean-to hut constructed of salvaged scraps. It since had been expanded, converted into a makeshift hostel with several dwelling units. She tilted her head, her eyes riveting on a sign used as roofing material for the largest hut. TERRAN BAZAAR.
She had been here—had inflicted the damage to his face. Her stomach dropped to the toes of Tara’s boots. How much longer would it be before the alpha remembered? And where was his camp mate? If the two conferred, the likelihood of exposure increased. Wishing she could shrink away, Anika stared at the ground—then realized her cowardly posture put her in more danger. She was behaving like a typical female. An alpha wouldn’t try to hide. He would spit at the face of danger. She lifted her chin and met his good eye. “Perhaps we have passed on the roadside.”
“I do not think that is it.” His lips barely moved in his bloated face.
Anika shrugged. “Do you reside here alone?” She clung to the hope that she was mistaken. Perhaps he was a stranger, a wanderer who had appropriated the others’ camp. Perhaps more than one Terran Bazaar sign existed. But if he was who she feared—when he remembered, he would kill her. If by some infinitesimal chance he did not, she would end up in a cage with the other females.
“Yes. I had a comrade, but he and I came to…differences.” His words, coupled with a flat tone, confirmed the outcome if he discovered her identity. “What is it you are called?” he demanded.
“I am Anjot.”
“Anjot means warrior.” He narrowed his eyes. “You do not look like a warrior.”
She ignored the insult. “What is it you are called?”
“Icor.”
* * * *
Anika waited until the moon floated high in the sky and the males snored before she slipped out from under her sleep covering. She tugged on her boots and tiptoed through the camp. Since they’d arrived, she’d been unable to slip away alone even once to relieve herself. Someone had always been with her—most often Icor, who dogged her every move, but, if not him, then one of Qalin’s alphas or betas.
She could not do as they did—walk a few steps out of camp and turn her back.
Under lunarlight, she crept into the woods. Every step jarred her full bladder, but she needed to put distance between her and the others, lest they awaken with the same needs and happen upon her.
Behind a stand of trees, within a small clearing ringed by a thicket of brush, she stopped. Urgency growing by the second, she tore at her uniform. The harsh chill bit at her exposed skin, but cold was the least of her concerns. Dropping to a crouch, she released her bladder and sighed in relief as urine spread in a widening, steaming puddle across the frozen ground.
After her bladder emptied, she wiped with a handful of dried grass, then stood and fixed her uniform.
“You are not alpha, you are female!”
Anika whipped around.
Icor circled her, flexing his arms. The violet Parseon moon radiated a strong glow over them both, and Anika watched in horror as recognition dawned. “You! You did this to me,” Icor accused.
For a male who’d moved gingerly, he struck fast. Pain splintered across her cheekbone, knocking her to the ground, and she struck her head against a fallen tree. The moon blinked in and out of focus.
“Drakor!” he spat.
Anika stumbled to her feet, but Icor grabbed her before she could take more than a step, and spun her around. His fist shot out, but she ducked, and it glanced off her temple.
She wrested away, her guerilla training channeling panic into action. With an uppercut, she jabbed under his chin. His feral howl echoed in the night. She aimed again, but he feinted, caught her wrist and, with a wrench, forced her to her knees.
Murder gleamed in his good eye. A thick white substance oozed from the facial abscess.
“It will be my pleasure to see you beg before I kill you,” he snarled, and twisted her left arm. Anika screamed as her shoulder dislocated. The world fogged. Icor slapped her to full consciousness, knocking her onto her side.
She inched her fingers into her boot.
“Get up!” He kicked her ribs.
She closed her hand around the dagger’s hilt.
“Stand up!” Icor hissed.
Her dangling, useless right arm could assist with no purchase, but she used to her injury as a distraction, staggering to her feet while easing the knife from her boot with her right hand. She shielded the weapon behind her thigh then lunged forward and drove it into Icor’s abdomen.
His eye bulged with disbelief, and he gasped. He clutched at her hands, but his strength dwindled with his life force, and she held on. Scarlet froth dribbled from his mouth and red seeped through their fingers, warm against her cold skin. His features went slack, and he pitched forward. She jumped away, yanking out the knife, as Icor fell dead.
Bile clogged her throat. Her breath came in panicked gasps. I have killed someone! She gaped at the bloody knife, at the body. I eliminated a threat, a male who intended to kill me. I had no choice. She dropped the knife and stumbled from the body, a starburst of pain shooting into her shoulder as her left arm swung. She pressed it to her side and moved gingerly to a large tree. She took a deep breath, gritted her teeth, and dove into it shoulder first. With a pop, the ball of her humerus snapped back into its socket.
Anika sank to her knees and vomited.
When the retching ceased, she rose and tested her limb. Her injured arm, though sore, had regained function. Her cheekbone, however, throbbed with greater intensity. Anika fingered her face. Nothing broken. But she would have colorful bruises to explain.
But her biggest problem was how to dispose of Icor’s body.
Under the moonlight, she could see steam rising from the spreading pool beneath the corpse. Once the blood froze, she would be unable to eliminate it. She recalled how Urazi had hidden Grogan in a thicket, and she scanned her environs for the densest clump of brush. There. She wished it were thicker, wished for more time to conceal what she had done, but she needed to act before anyone awakened, noticed their absence, and investigated. Their screams and shouts might have carried. Someone could be looking for them already.
She rolled Icor onto his back to minimize the blood trail, then grasped his ankles, and dragged him into the brush. Next, she piled leaves on top of him and blotted the blood as best she could. Anika gathered tree needles and grasses and scattered them about. Not perfect, but better. Leaving the area, she descended the bank to a half-frozen, sluggish stream.
She rinsed Icor’s blood from her hands and the dagger. Moonlight glinted off the blade. An alpha became a warrior with his first kill. Males recounted that rite of passage with long tales of great pride. Anika felt no triumph, only sickness. But she knew she’d done what she had to to defend herself.
Anika slipped her dagger into her boot, rose to her feet, and headed for camp. She would have to find the privacy to change into a fresh uniform and discard the bloodied one.
Woodsmoke permeated the straggly forest, and through the trees she spied the faint glow from
the fire. Sleep would not return this eve; she might as well tend the flame and wait for morning. Hope for the best.
What questions would Icor’s unexpected disappearance raise? Would her traveling companions assume laziness kept him abed when they readied for departure? Would they seek to rouse him to bid him farewell? When they found him gone, would they search? Probably not. But that didn’t mean they might not stumble upon his body. Most of the males relieved themselves just outside the camp perimeter, but other bodily needs might drive them deeper into the wood, and what if she hadn’t camouflaged all the blood? What if animals discovered his corpse before morn and scattered his remains?
Perhaps she should go back and check.
A hand smothered Anika’s mouth, a rough arm clamped her against a hard muscled body, and she was lifted off her feet. She flailed her arms in open air, and screamed, but her cries sounded as mere puffs of sound under the hard, broad palm.
Her captor hauled her back into the wood.
Chapter Eleven
Urazi could feel Anika’s heart battering against her ribcage in terror, but she continued to fight. She beat at him with her fists, and, when her booted heels connected with his shins, he winced. Still, she was so much smaller than he, overpowering her amounted to no great feat.
Then she tried to bite his palm. “Stop it,” he hissed into her ear. “It is I, Urazi.”
She stiffened, uttered a squeaky noise, and then went limp.
When he had distanced them enough from the camp so they could talk without being overheard, he released her.
She rounded on him. “What are you doing here?”
“I have come for you. To see to your safety,” he said.
“Your assistance is not required.”
“Is it not? It was no challenge to carry you off.”
“Because you took me by surprise.” She pressed her lips together and rubbed her hands down her sides, drawing his attention to the way the male uniform molded her hips and thighs.