Sulan Box Set (Episodes 1-4)

by Camille Picott

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to my team of beta readers! This book would not be what it is without your invaluable help and advice.

  Arlene Ang

  Cassidy Bryce

  Heidi Garrett

  Mike Huggins

  F.R.R. Mallory

  Theresa Palanos

  Chris Picott

  Dinesh Pulandram

  Allison Bird Vigue

  Ann Wilkes

  And thanks to the experts who were kind enough to share their expertise on a variety of subjects:

  Mario Alves

  Military consultant

  Weapons consultant

  Technology consultant

  All-around awesome beta reader

  Casey Plain

  Math consultant

  All of you have my deepest gratitude for your help in making this book the best it could be. Maybe you’ll agree to stick around for the sequel . . . ?

  Sulan

  Episode 2: Risk Alleviator

  Sulan

  Episode 2: Risk Alleviator

  By Camille Picott

  www.camillepicott.com

  Published by Pixiu Press

  Healdsburg, CA 95448

  Copyright 2013 Camille Picott

  Cover by Joey Manfre

  www.joeyink.com

  Copyedit by Dani Crabtree

  www.hedanicreations.net

  Part 1

  Separation

  1

  Jammer

  Riska is curled on the bed next to Sulan. He looks up as the door opens. Mom, a faint outline in the darkness, peeks in.

  “Riska,” she whispers. “Come here, boy.”

  He swivels black-and-white striped ears in her direction, but doesn’t move. He doesn’t like to leave Sulan. Besides, Sulan likes to resist Mom, which means Riska likes to resist too.

  “Riska.” Mom gestures for him. He merely looks at her before resting his chin on Sulan’s knee.

  “Riska, come here!” Mom’s whisper is curt. She stares at him, one hand on her hip in a posture of annoyance.

  He exhales loud enough for her to hear. He stands up and takes a long stretch, pushing his black wings out to their full length of four feet. Seconds pass as he yawns and arches his back.

  “Riska!” The harsh word cuts through the darkness.

  His mouth closes with a click of the teeth. He walks to the edge of the bed and jumps, flying to her. He lands on her shoulder, digging his nails in a little harder than necessary. She carries him down the hall and into the bedroom she shares with Dr. Hom when he’s home.

  “Just because Sulan likes to ignore me doesn’t mean you have to,” Mom says as she closes the door.

  Riska jumps off her shoulder and glides onto the bed. He curls up on Dr. Hom’s pillow, letting the good doctor’s scent fill his nose. He misses Dr. Hom.

  Mom pulls out her tablet and sits on the bed beside him. In her free hand is a small device with a black button. She picks up Riska’s right foot and rests it on the tablet, then pushes the button.

  Riska’s foot grows warm and emits a soft flash of red light. As soon as Mom sees the light, she picks up a towel and covers Riska with it. He growls on principle, but doesn’t move. Unless she’s talking to Dr. Hom, she always hides him.

  “Sorry,” Mom says. “It’s better if he doesn’t see you. He’s got enough issues.”

  Riska growls again. Sulan would be proud of him.

  Mom taps the tablet. Moments later, a gravelly voice sounds from the small speakers.

  “Morning Star,” says the voice. “I think the commies know about my bunker. They did three fly-bys today.”

  Riska recognizes the voice. Mom talks to the other human often, always late at night like this.

  “We’ve got two minutes and fifty-five seconds,” Mom replies. “The signal jammer goes off automatically. Did you get the weapons?”

  “Did you hear what I said? The commies know about me!”

  “Zed, calm down. If you’re worried about commies, mount that rocket launcher on your roof. Weren’t you going to do that last week?”

  “I’m building camouflage for it. If the commies see it, no telling what they’ll do. They—”

  “I need you to focus, Zed. This is important. Think of Billy. Global is relocating us all in two days. Did you get the weapons we need? The other supplies?”

  “Billy . . . Yeah. Yeah, I got them.”

  “The weapons and the supplies? You got everything on the list?”

  “Yeah. Got them. But what about—?”

  “Did you put them in the locker?”

  “Not yet. I’m making the drop later tonight.”

  “Zed!”

  “The commies made deer robots. They’re all over out here. I couldn’t get away.”

  Mom is silent for a long moment.

  “How many deer did you shoot?”

  “Five today. I’ve dissected two already. The commies have organic cameras in the eyes. Cutting-edge tech. It’s impossible to see them. Can your husband get me an electron microscope?”

  “Zed.” Mom’s voice hardens. “You’re not focusing. You can’t waste any more time dissecting deer. Billy’s future depends on you getting the weapons and supplies to the locker. Tonight. Zed!”

  “Morning Star.” Zed’s voice is a strained whisper. “Morning Star, I—”

  “Weapons and supplies. To our locker. Tonight.” Mom’s voice booms through the room. “Move, soldier. This is your mission. If the weapons and supplies are not in the designated locker by oh-four-hundred hours, there’ll be hell to pay. Do you understand me, soldier?”

  “I—”

  “Do you understand?”

  The man’s voice abruptly clarifies. “Understood, Morning Star. Zed out.”

  Mom lets out a long breath, pulling the towel off Riska’s head. Seconds later, his foot again flares red.

  “Just in time,” Mom murmurs, flicking off the tablet.

  He rises and shakes out his wings, fluffing his tail at Mom.

  “I’m doing this for Sulan,” she says to him.

  Riska cocks his head at her, then flies out of the room and back to Sulan.

  2

  Dark Blue

  Less than forty-eight hours later, Riska rides on Sulan’s shoulder as she is herded up the stairs by a pack of black-clad human soldiers. He flares his nostrils, smelling them as they go by. He knows them. They smell like Global—like antiseptic and gunpowder.

  They are dangerous. They have hurt Riska before. He bunches his leg muscles, watching them carefully as they hustle by. He is ready to defend Sulan.

  A spike of irritation flares from her. The fur along his spine bristles in response. He turns, searching for the source of her distress.

  Walking beside her is a human boy. He smells like cold metal, gunpowder, and fatigue. He moves like a soldier, even though Riska has never seen a soldier so young.

  Sulan calls him Taro. He is responsible for her sudden change in mood. Riska swipes at him with his minor claws. They are pale yellow, designed to inflict nonlethal wounds. The boy deserves a scratch for upsetting Sulan, but he twitches out of reach and Riska’s claws cut through empty air.

  The boy keeps talking, making Sulan more annoyed. She stalks past him, climbing the stairs toward the rooftop. Riska hisses to echo Sulan’s feelings. He’s rewarded with a pat on the head from her.

  The ripe scent of decay brings him around. The smell is accompanied by a whoosh-whoosh sound. He opens his mouth and yowls, trying to warn Sulan, but it’s too late. She steps onto the rooftop, Taro right behind her.

  In the sky are three Gavs, sunlight shining through their translucent blue-black wings. Yellow-gold drones buzz through the air around them.

  Riska recognizes the Gavs from his time at Global. He knows what they mean: battle. With battle comes killing and death. Riska digs his claws into Sulan’s shoulder, scanning the rest of the scene.

  Below the Gavs are more human soldi
ers, all of them also dressed in black. They’re not threatening Sulan, but Riska knows better than to trust humans that carry weapons.

  One Gav lands on the rooftop. Riska tenses his wings, ready to spring to Sulan’s defense. The side of the Gav peels back, revealing a dark pink interior. A soldier steps out.

  Then Taro shouts something and knocks Sulan to the ground.

  The impact sends Riska rolling across the roof. The harness around his body snaps taut. There is a big sound and a bright light.

  The two airborne Gavs are hit with missiles. They explode. Their insides spew across the rooftop in a reeking red mess.

  The humans start yelling. Sulan grabs Riska’s leash and drags him into her arms. Her fear chokes him, tightening his throat and spiking his fur. He struggles, trying to get into the air where he can protect her. He yowls as she opens her jumpsuit, rams him inside, and zips him into place.

  He rakes his minor claws across her torso, releasing tracking fluid into her skin. The musky scent fills his nose, crowding out the blood, sweat, and fear in the air around him. As long as Sulan’s marked, he can find her.

  A helicopter arrives. Men in dark blue descend to the rooftop, their faces concealed by cloth masks. Dark blue is a bad color. Doctor Hom taught him all about dark blue. Anyone in dark blue is bad and will hurt Sulan.

  Her terror balloons. He claws at her in a panic, ears ringing with the sound of gunfire. More tracking fluid is released into her.

  Taro goes down under a man in blue. Sulan yanks at her zipper, releasing Riska. Her fear for Taro drives him forward.

  He snaps open his wings and charges. His claws scratch the enemy’s face, tearing off the mask. Riska lets loose a spray of venom. When the man shrieks, he hits him with another stream for good measure, then races after Sulan.

  She is so, so scared. He lands on her shoulder, wings poised. Head swiveling, he surveys the battle around them. Her fear settles into his belly like rocks.

  A thick cable shoots out from the helicopter and wraps around Sulan’s legs. She’s jerked off her feet and dragged upward. Her screams rend the air, tearing at Riska as he streaks after her.

  3

  Data Dump

  He fights the chopper’s wind current, straining through the air after her. She dangles upside down from the rope. Taro, hanging from her outstretched hand, is pulled up with her. Sulan’s face is pinched with terror, and her screams are smothered by the helicopter’s roar.

  Her panic makes Riska wild. His blood surges in time with her screams. He pushes through the rush and snags the back of her jumpsuit, latching on with his claws. The wind knocks his wings back and forth, filling his ears with a steady buzz.

  He inches up her back, pulling himself along with his minor claws. At last, he is within reach of the cable securing her. He stretches one paw toward them. His major claws slide out, glittering like glass. Just before he slices through the cable, he glances toward the roof.

  It’s a long, long way down. Too far. If he cuts her free, she’ll fall headfirst. She might survive, but not without serious injury.

  With a hiss, he retracts his claws and folds his wings against the pelting wind, readying himself for a fight. They are almost to the helicopter. Soldiers, all dressed in dark blue jumpsuits, are waiting for them inside.

  His tongue flicks out, tasting the air. The aroma of the tracking fluid coats his mouth. Tendrils of it infuse his nose when he inhales. Its presence comforts him.

  They are drawn level with the helicopter. Soldiers reach for them. The stench of antiseptic and gunpowder floods his nose.

  Sulan and Taro tense their muscles and prepare to fight. Her courage gives Riska strength. He braces his wings and legs, ready to strike. He works his jaw, pulling venom into position.

  As soon as they’re pulled inside, Taro lunges. Riska springs after him, spraying venom over his shoulder. The liquid hits a soldier in the face.

  A gun goes off. Riska spins in midair. Sulan is on the ground. A man, bleeding from his shoulder, has her pinned.

  Riska dives, unsheathing his major claws. They’re sharp enough to tear through flesh and bone.

  He swipes, aiming for the soldier’s face, but Sulan is quicker. She jams a finger into his shoulder wound. He jerks to one side and screams, Riska’s swipe falling short. Snapping his wings shut, Riska dives, opening his mouth. Another spray of venom hits the man in the eyes.

  He raises his claws to strike. Something dark hurtles across the interior of the helicopter, blurring in his direction. He twists, trying to dive to safety.

  Then it happens. The thing in his head clicks—just like it does every day, always at a different time. Dr. Hom calls it a data dump. The data dump forces his eyes closed. Red light flashes behind his lids. Another click, and his eyes snap open—just in time to see the dark blur smack into him.

  He’s dragged to the floor by a net. The momentum sends him sliding across the floor to the open helicopter door.

  Venom bursts from his mouth and falls on empty air. He yowls at Sulan, scrabbling with all four feet. His eyes meet hers. Her fear fills his nostrils like sandpaper.

  Then he slides over the edge of the helicopter, the net carrying him away from Sulan.

  4

  Trackers

  “Riska!” Sulan’s shout echoes in his ears.

  The rooftop rushes up to meet him. Riska twists as he falls, trying to get his feet underneath him, but his legs are tangled in the net. One wing hangs free. He flaps it, doing his best to slow his descent. He zigzags erratically, finally landing with a thump on his side. Pain explodes across his ribcage.

  Through the dark mesh, he sees the helicopter door slide closed. It flies off, carrying Sulan away.

  Yowling, he squirms against the net. He must get to Sulan. He must protect her.

  The net is heaped all over him like a bad smell. His major claws slide out. He slashes. A section of mesh separates, but not enough for him to get free. He hisses and continues to swipe. Pieces of the net fly into the air. First his back legs are freed, and then his forelegs. Finally, his neck and shoulders are loose, and he drags himself out.

  His wings snap open. He shakes his body back and forth, dislodging bits of netting. He flares his nostrils and turns in a half circle. The musk of the tracking fluid raises the fur along his spine. He’s about to fly away when he spots Mom hurrying toward him. Blood is smeared across her cheek and spattered on her jumpsuit.

  “Riska.” Bending down, she scoops him up. She smells like ammunition and death. He mews as she probes his ribcage, but he doesn’t try to bite or scratch her.

  “I don’t think anything’s broken,” she says. “Don’t worry, boy, we’ll get her back. Even if you and I have to take on the entire League by ourselves.”

  Riska mrows in agreement as she transfers him to her shoulder. He spreads his wings and turns in Sulan’s direction, crouching. Time to find her.

  Mom rests a hand on his back, applying slight pressure. “Not yet, boy,” she says.

  He ignores her, preparing to spring away. Mom’s hand closes around his harness. She grips tightly, restraining him.

  He hisses and twists, lunging for her hand. Teeth sink into her skin. He hisses again, major claws sliding out on instinct. Just as they dig into Mom’s jumpsuit, she yanks him off. He yowls, tearing the shoulder of her uniform. She holds him by the harness strap, keeping him at arm’s length. He beats his wings and tries to get away, but she doesn’t let go. He swipes, but he’s not close enough to strike her.

  “Riska, just hold on,” Mom says. “You can go in a minute.”

  She doesn’t understand. The tracking scent is still in the air, but it’s fading. Riska yowls, wishing he had words to explain.

  A soldier in black approaches Mom. He eyes Riska as he thrashes and beats his wings, but all the man says is, “Global backup is on its way.”

  “We’re not relying on Global for this, Aston,” Mom says, giving Riska a shake.

  Aston moves closer to
Mom, careful to stay out of Riska’s reach. Riska whines at him, hoping for help, but the big soldier ignores him. He and Mom stand apart from the rest of the soldiers, who patrol the roof and help the injured.

  “Mr. Winn will turn this into a media circus,” Mom says, speaking softly so no one else can hear. “We’re not risking our kids so he can get press time.”

  “We can’t rescue them without Global,” Aston says. “We need their resources.”

  “No.” Mom shakes her head. “We’re going to get Zed.”

  “Zed?” Aston stares at her.

  “He’s got enough artillery to start his own country. We need him. Besides, that other boy who was taken? That’s his nephew. Zed’s probably already prepping to go after him.”

  “Okay.” Aston nods. “We bring Zed in. You know there will be hell to pay with Mr. Winn.”

  Mom’s eyes flash. “There will be hell to pay if anything happens to my daughter.”

  She pulls a tablet out of her pocket. Dr. Hom appears on the screen, looking out at them.

  At the sight of him, Riska lets out another huge yowl. Surely, he will understand. He will make Mom let him go so he can find Sulan.

  But all Dr. Hom says is, “Li Yuan? What’s wrong?”

  “The League has taken Sulan and Taro,” Mom says. “I need you to pick up Aston and me at our rendezvous point. Can you bring something that flies?”

  Dr. Hom stares at Mom, his mouth hanging open. He closes it quickly and says, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Good. I also need you to activate Riska’s tracking beacon.”

  “How—?”

  “No more questions, honey. I need you to activate the beacon and pick us up.”

  Dr. Hom swallows, then nods. “All right.”

  There’s a soft click. A spot between Riska’s shoulder blades grows warm. It’s not like the click he gets in his head once a day. There is no flashing light, no force that slams his eyes shut, just a soft warmth beneath his skin. Riska pumps his wings, dragging Mom’s arm skyward. She does not let go.