by E L Strife
In the chaos, a camera crew had made it out onto the roof. Atana stood and glowered, directing them toward the stairwell where teams were already carrying up the injured. “You need to get to a safe location.”
They walked around her, ignoring the warning. “We are here at the Universal Protectors’ Truth speech, where amidst a deadly attack by an unknown group, somewhat similar to the Kronos we are familiar with, we have been fortunate to witness what appears to be a handful of skilled aliens on our side. Here we have some sort of healer.” The reporter pointed toward Lavrion, who turned away. “And someone with a strange ability to burn things.” He coughed, restraining a gag. “Based on the smoke rising from the victim’s chest. What species is the gentleman on the stretcher?”
The camera scanned to Panton.
Josie pushed the lens out of her face as she stepped in between. Her onyx-and-emerald eyes brightened with fury, the contrast making her hair look a bolder shade of red. “He is human. Now move! His life is on the line, and you’re endangering it!”
She stayed alongside Panton and the medical team as they loaded up onto the transport.
The reporter staggered back and slunk to a corner of the rooftop, his crew following to pan the plaza below.
Tanner and Cutter left to scout the perimeter, throwing unnerved glances in Panton’s direction. The commotion had mostly quieted, leaving a random gunshot every few minutes.
Atana looked down at Lavrion, still sitting, eyes transfixed on the smeared puddle of Panton’s blood. His arms were sticky up to his elbows, his shoulders hunkered and face pale. Her stomach knotted at the sight.
“I’ll be right back.” She jogged to the transport and called up to the onboard medical crew. “I need an MRE and a bottle of water.”
The items were tossed to her in seconds. Returning to Lavrion’s side, Atana tore the beige plastic open, dumping the contents out. Grabbing the electrolyte mix, she snapped the cap off, put a hand to the back of Lavrion’s neck, and directed the nozzle of the pouch to his parched lips. He hummed his approval as she squeezed the gel into his mouth.
His shaking hands reached for it, and she let go to grab the water and twist it open.
“Half of this now so you don’t get sick. Then sip the rest.”
He took the bottle in hand. Pink tinted his cheeks.
“Good, you look a little more human. Crucial today.” She arched a brow, packing the remaining MRE snacks back in the sack and handing it to him.
Lavrion clumsily licked his lips, a soft laugh gargling out. I think you secretly have a sense of humor, sister. A very dark one.
If so, I am just discovering it. She leaned her elbows onto her knees and tilted her head, inspecting his eyes. “You okay to keep working? They might need you down below.”
“Yes, this permits me another twenty or thirty minor healing sessions.” He sputtered, a trickle of water still in his throat. Lavrion wiped his mouth on the back of a sleeve. “After that, I will have to rest.”
“Understood.” Picking up Josie’s dropped e-rifle, she whistled through her teeth at Cutter. “You two have to split up and cover the roof.” Tossing the rifle at Cutter’s open hand, Atana lifted Panton’s bloodied shotgun and eyed her brother. “You know how to use this?”
He gave her a single nod. The propellers roared louder, sending air swirling around them.
Handing him the shotgun, she yelled, eyeing the reporter. “Good. Get this camera crew to a safer location.”
The man in a heather-blue suit, microphone in hand, tilted toward the others. “Hey, isn’t that the gal, uh, you know, the viral video, Blue Bomb, the crashed alien ship?”
Considering the Verros’s use of the blade weapons, and wanting to avoid the reporter’s questions, Atana made an impromptu decision. “I’m going with the Med-Evac. If you need anything, check in with Bennett.”
Lavrion stood. “Will do.”
Climbing inside the transport as the other litters holding shepherds from the lower levels of the building finished loading, Atana slipped Panton’s extra pellet canisters from his belt and tossed them to Lavrion. “Be careful.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His eyes brightened as they stared at each another in the dusty winds. You too. With one last nod from her, Panton’s reloaded shotgun in his steady hands, Lavrion ushered the reporter and his camera crew to the stairs.
Slinging the door shut, Atana grabbed the bars overhead as the transport launched them for Home. Walking herself to a seat, she strapped in and called out over her wristband. “Bennett, I have to go back.”
“Why? That’s not the plan.” His deep, sonorous voice played smoothly across the crackling transmission.
“I’m sending Lavrion to assist, with Panton’s shotgun.”
“Panton?”
“Yes, perforated lung. I had to cauterize it.” She looked up at the crews as they rushed around their patients. “We’ve got a load of thirty, maybe more. You know I can pull the Linéten metal. I need to be here.”
“Roger. Azure’s in position, Lavrion approaching.”
She raised her voice to the crew behind her. “Any more who won’t stop bleeding even with the clot-fast bandages? Any odd bullets?”
A man tapped her shoulder. She yanked her harness free and squeezed between the seats to put a hand over the torn-open thigh. “The femoral artery in place?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She spread her feet as everything tilted, pulses rumbling through the ship from its guns. A rocket barely cleared the belly of the transport, its fiery tail blasting light through a window.
“Why aren’t the skins up?” Atana barked toward the cockpit. Channeling the energy of her palm downward, she cauterized the tissue.
One of the pilot’s responded over the com, “They are, ma’am. We’re skinned and heat synced.”
What? That can’t be.
The medic hesitated, scanning between her and the shepherd’s leg before grabbing another gauze dressing and signaling they were good.
Atana returned to her seat. How can Linétens see the ship if the chameleon cloaks are functioning?
Bennett’s voice came over the communications bud in her ear. “Coordinator is secure and informed.”
“Copy. Keep me posted. Atana out.” She set her hand back in her lap, swaying inside her harness.
“Found an orb!” A medic shouted as blood sprayed out of a man’s shoulder. “It wrapped around his humerus when I tried to remove it.”
Atana flung her harness off and sprinted along the rows as the transport leveled out. “I need a plastic container with a tight lid to put it in and someone with the balls to hold it steady.” Selecting a pair of tweezers and a pick, she glanced at the shepherd’s nametape. “This will hurt like hell, Sergeant Perkins. You move, you’re dead, understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The man snagged a wooden tongue depressor from the tool stand, thrusting it between his teeth.
When Perkins was freed, passed out, and the first ball in the container, she pulled up the transport logs on her wristband. Four Med-Evacs were loaded and in flight, including hers. The fifth was remaining behind. Hustling over to another waving medic, she sent a message to the P.A.s of the other three. “This is Independent Nakio Atana. If you find any moving metals embedded in tissue, I can remove them at Home Station. I’ll be in the infirmary to assist.”
Grabbing a clean set of tweezers and a pick, she readied herself over the hip of the next man.
A sergeant called back, “Is there any way we can remove it? Some of these people won’t make it to Home Station.”
She tapped her mic button. “You have two options, leave it and let it snap the bone clean, or do it barehanded with the tools and think about death in its most basic form: the absence of energy. If you can’t clear your mind enough, it will come after you. Understood?”
There was a moment of silence where Atana and the medic before her exchanged expectant glances.
The speaker crackled. “Yes, ma
’am.”
Atana looked to the haggard man on the table. “Sergeant Erras.”
“I won’t flinch.” He swallowed. “Don’t have the energy.”
She nodded and readied her tools. “Hang in there. The worst is almost over.”
Twenty-two removals later, Atana stepped back. Three sergeants had gone into cardiac arrest. One lost a hand because she couldn’t free the metal in time. And another died—the metal too deep, rupturing his vena cava.
What the hell is going on? She scanned the hive as she washed and dried her hands. Krage had been kicked out, so Kronos was modeled after Verros. Atana rubbed her eyes. Linétens and Linoans. Metals that melt against conductive surfaces. Metals I can talk to. Metals like Suanoan testing nodes. On Earth.
Checking on Panton again, she watched the IV drip and the blood bags swing over his body. “He starts bleeding out again, or any of the others, you let me know, immediately,” she said to the room.
“Yes, ma’am,” the four nearby sergeants replied in unison.
Josie sat, strapped in by Panton’s head.
“Ya-Yalina— Is she—” He wheezed beneath the oxygen mask, his voice hollow and weak. His wristband flashed faster, the sharp peeps a warning of his spiking heart rate. Panton’s eyes rolled back and forth in his head.
Josie ran her fingertips over his forehead, toying with his short bangs. “I’m right here, Josh. I’m here. I’m fine.”
The alerts slowed, and Panton’s distant gaze fixated on the roof.
Atana returned to her seat. Through the windows, she could see the mountains of the coastline shrink as they jetted out over the water. The Verros knew far too much about the shepherds’ staged positions, UP cloaks, and today’s event for everything to be a coincidence.
In the background, she heard the pilot. “Are we secure?”
“All patients stable and strapped. Ready for launch,” a medic shouted up.
Atana felt the tug against her body, the five-point harness digging in. She’d felt it hundreds of times—the ignition of the reburners she’d designed—and yet something about this trip weighed far heavier on her like it wasn’t enough. Before they reached Home Station, they would lose one or two more shepherds at least.
She surveyed every illuminated monitor post, skipping those already dark. Mayol, Fibiente, and Sottern had the lowest blood pressure. A Mirramor Security Sergeant, a Kriit Field Guard, and an NCAM Team Leader. Atana absorbed the soft beeps of the medical equipment. Stars know, I wish I could save you all.
Rotating her blood-spattered band toward her, she scrolled through her contacts and, with a quick hack, sent a call through to Command, surpassing Nalli’s switchboard. The video feed of 1-CR popped up, faces whipping at the screen mounted behind the Coordinator’s typical seat.
Terson and Dequan were on sniper teams. Hyras and Ronux were piloting Med-Evacs. The majority of Command had remained at Home Station.
“Sergeant Atana.” A timid voice shook with surprise. Vimno. “How did you get through?”
Really? If she wasn’t so concerned with other things, she might’ve considered it an insult. Do you not remember what I can do?
She drew in a breath to quell her anger and glared into the camera. “Tell me everything you know about Linétens on Earth.”
“What? What are you—” It was a woman’s voice, one Atana hadn’t been introduced to.
She closed her eyes and looked away, cutting them off. “Don’t give me you're protecting us bullshit because it worked for everyone who died today.” She lifted her wristband so her camera would expose the filled Med-bay over her shoulder. “Kronos aren’t trying to control us anymore, just kill us. Since they’re products of the Verros, run by the Linétens, I ask again that you tell me everything.”
Silence fell over the speaker. Miskaht hung her head, and Krett leaned forward, opening his mouth. A fist slammed to the table from a man seated closest to the door. Krett turned to him with an electrifying glower. “I could’ve helped. But you wouldn’t let me because of what I am.”
Atana gritted her teeth.
“You can’t control your energy,” someone else said. “You would’ve exposed your flumes, and we would’ve started the damned war all over again.”
“Gruégon, stop.” Miskaht lifted a finger. “This was never going to be easy. It’s why we put it off so long. But they’re unskinning now, and that’s a problem.”
Nephma ran a hand through her spiked red hair. “We’ve revealed enough. We mustn’t move on this too. Like Sergio said, if we pit sides against one another, we’ll start another war.”
Fed up with their arguing, Atana cut in. “And what about this one?”
The members of Command looked to the screen as if they’d forgotten she was there. None of them offered a response.
“Then I guess I’m on my own. At least it’s nothing new.” She tapped End Call, and the video flickered off.
Leaning sideways in her seat, she buried her face behind the shield of her left hand, her right clawing up on the armrest.
All of them could’ve been prevented if Command would stop protecting the minds of their people. Why won’t they tell me? I’m in the middle of everything. Innocents keep dying because I’m not informed enough. We should’ve pulled in more forces, trained people how to fight back.
“Fuck, it’s getting warm in here,” a nearby medic muttered.
Atana’s eyes opened to find the underside of her right hand illuminated with a mini-galaxy of blue stars, white hot at the center and writhing like the emotions she kept locked inside. Her wristband flashed in warning.
Realizing her mistake, her hand clamped shut in an instant, tamping out the manifestation. When she saw the deformed armrest, she knew she was losing her control. Taking another deep breath, Atana summoned the calming image of the ocean waves below Bennett’s beach house and let the hot air out one last time. The alerts stopped, the screen coming back to a steady blue.
Command had never given her all the details. She used to think it was an ever-evolving test of her skills, like the other shepherds. Today was forming other ideas, with one element unchanged.
Always alone, she growled inside.
Chapter 40
“YOU HAVE TO LET GO.”
“No. I—” Josie had held Panton’s hand the entire flight to Home Station. If she let go, Panton’s heart rate dropped, drastically. Atana had watched it enough times: the desperate struggle to bring him back while Josie latched on again, whispering prayers in his ear.
Leaning against a wall inside the infirmary, Atana tried to stay out of the way. The other Med-Evacs, a few minutes out, were reporting embedded metal they couldn’t remove. She’d return to work soon enough.
“We need to get him on a ventilator!” an ER nurse shouted as the doors swung open.
Panton strained to pull in a breath.
Josie’s voice was barely audible over the ruckus. “I don’t know how to function without you.” She hesitated before blurting, “Josh, I-I love you.”
His eyelids lifted for the longest moment since Atana had first seen him slumped on the roof. The medical staff didn’t appear to hear a thing. An assistant tore their hands apart as they wheeled Panton into the surgery room.
The motion reminded Atana of the Rescue—being hauled off by Sensei, watching Azure’s limp silhouette fade, like the sensation of warmth from Bennett Sr.’s body and countless others beneath her. She squeezed her eyes shut, air rushing through her teeth. Failure was not something she liked remembering.
“I’m sorry. You must stay here.”
Atana opened her eyes hearing Josie’s spluttering.
Panton coughed up more blood, coating the mask. The doors to surgery slammed with a whooshing clunk in Josie’s face, sending a few loose tendrils of her hair flailing in the gust. She dashed around the corner to the observation window, tracking every nurse and doctor, her fingers inching toward the glass keeping her and him apart. Unsure if Josie would welcome her pr
esence, Atana followed at a distance.
Life was starting to have meaning again, each passing day earning Bennett’s team more of her concern. Memories were flooding in from Ether thanks to Azure and, with them, ghosts of emotions. A feeling she couldn’t place made her stay within two meters of Josie, observing Panton’s medical stats.
Josie’s gaze fell to the floor, her swollen eyelids slowing every blink. “How do you deal with it when you lose someone you care about?” She twisted just enough for Atana to know the question was for her.
Moving a few paces closer, Atana switched focus to the frazzled red hair on Josie’s head, trying to decide what to say. The woman was emotional, raw inside, and alone. “You don’t deal with it, really. You sort of become a disconnected machine until you find another purpose.”
Josie’s mouth flattened into a quivering line, her fingers rubbing over her chest armor.
Aware her answer had been too rational, Atana added, “Panton’s strong. I’m sure he’s fighting hard.” Emotions and pragmatism rarely worked together.
“I haven’t felt such agony since I was a kid.”
“You’re off serum. This is how life feels.” Seeing the elevator in the infirmary drop, loaded with gurneys, Atana hesitantly rested a hand on Josie’s shoulder. “I have to go. I’ll be back, promise.”
“I’m losing my bearing. I don’t know what to do with myself.” Josie bit a lip, hard, and wiped the tears from her eyes.
“You don’t think you can make it, but you can.” Atana gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Right now, focus on him and appreciate every single breath.”
…
They were always there, taunting her with memories she hadn’t collected. Atana palpated one of the deeper scars on her hands, the marks vividly different from the rest of her skin.
Thirty-eight orbs she’d removed during Panton’s surgery, one from a medic who had tried to remove it from another and failed. It had crawled up his hand and latched onto his arm. Eleven additional units were from D.O.A.s.