by Mark Harritt
“Okay, I’ve got KwikClot on the wound. What’s his blood pressure like?”
“It’s low.”
“Heartbeat?”
“Not good.”
“Okay, I have some ringers lactate in the bag. I need an intravenous kit.”
“On it Mickey. Here you go.”
“His blood pressure’s dropping.”
“Fuck you Rob, you ain’t gonna do this to me.”
“Rob, you listen to me. Michelle’s waiting for you. You have to fight. You can’t leave her. You have a baby on the way. You gotta stick around to meet your baby. You can’t leave her alone.”
“He’s not breathing!”
“Fuck, lay him out. Everett, do chest compressions. Mike, you breathe. Tom, you keep pressure on the wound. I gotta get the needle in.”
“One … Two … Three … Four … Five … Six … Seven … Eight … Nine … Ten … Eleven … Twelve … Thirteen … Fourteen … Fifteen, breathe!”
Jarni Mig couldn’t see anymore. He couldn’t breathe. He coughed, blood splattering across his face. Footsteps sounded next to him. The knife was beautiful, long shiny blade, white bone handle. He felt it slice into his neck. Jarni Mig didn’t feel anything, anymore.
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Epilog
“He’s here, Dostori Rev.”
The light from the window was muted by the soporific smoke that wreathed the room. Naked boys lay in narcotic repose on the giant round bed. In the middle of the bed, the Dostori Rev lay naked, running her hand through the brown curls of one of her slaves, his head lying on her breast. The wane light did nothing to mute her shimmering hair as it lay against her red skin.
Dostori Rev’s eyes narrowed to slits as she received the news, “Why is he here now?”
Chidea, well aware of her mistress’ mercurial temper, stared at the floor in front of her, “I don’t know, Dostori Rev.”
Dostori Rev examined the girl. Chidea’s body language showed deference, submission. Dostori Rev preferred her servants docile, even the ones she bedded. She studied Chidea long enough to make her uncomfortable. Once she was satisfied that Chidea was compliant, she waved the servant away, “Show him in.”
The girl bowed, “Yes Dostori Rev.”
“Well? Go!”
Chidea hastened out of the room. Minutes later, Om Varee stepped through the door into the bedroom.
Dostori Rev watched him enter. He was dressed in a loose shirt and loose pants, beige in color. Round face, a shock of brown hair. His skin was almost the same color as the clothes that he wore. There was nothing that stood out until you looked at the eyes. The eyes were different, deep black, sharp and attentive. Nothing escaped his gaze.
Now, he looked at boys lying around the room, all of them deeply drugged. Her toys, they would go to the pit for other, more deadly entertainment once they displeased her. Om Varee’s face remained neutral, showing neither approval nor disapproval.
“Why are you here, Om Varee?”
Om Varee bowed, “I thought you would like a status report on Lord Caen Rathon’s efforts.”
Dostori Rev’s interest was piqued. Rumors had reached her about the situation on the far side of the continent.
“And?”
“Thirty-nine dead, an entire pod of Cree automatons destroyed,” he replied.
Her languorous eyes changed to ice. This was . . . interesting and unwelcome news. She moved the drugged boy’s head to the side and slid out between the sleeping bodies to put her feet on the floor.
She stood, motionless as she contemplated the impossible. The faint light highlighted her curves, golden hair falling to her waist.
She looked at Om Varee, “What happened?”
Om Varee spread his hands, “Unknown.”
That answer was unacceptable to her, the fury in her eyes displaying her displeasure, “I pay you to know these things.”
Om Varee bowed, “You do, Dostori Rev. Unfortunately, I currently have to rely on reports from the Lord Caon.”
His explanation didn’t mollify her anger, “You don’t have your own operatives with the Lord Caon?”
“Things are in flux right now. The Lord Caon just arrived at the location of the massacre. He’s busy beating his staff into submission.”
“Turinzoni fool!” Dostori Rev’s fury drove her, she couldn’t stay still. Her anger overwhelmed her composure. She walked to the table in the corner of the room and poured wine. She took a draught, hoping the narcotic infused wine would take the edge off of her anger. It didn’t help. She threw the glass across the room to shatter against the far wall.
The noise of breaking glass made a few of the naked boys shift as they tried to process the sound, but they quickly settled back into their indolent slumber. Their lack of reaction increased her fury.
“Rotha!”
A male servant came running. He knew this mood well. He sank to his knees in front of his mistress, his head pressed tightly to the floor, “Yes, my Dostori Rev?”
She snarled, snapping her fingers, pointing at the torpid figures sprawled around the room, “Drag them out of here! Take them to the pit!”
“Yes, my Dostori Rev.”
Rotha hurried out, and quickly came back with other slaves to carry out the drugged boys. Murmurs of displeasure escaped from the lips of the somnolent boys as they were disturbed, ignorant of the bloody fate that awaited them.
The activity of the slaves, and the knowledge of the fate that she’d just condemned her erstwhile lovers to had a calming effect on her temper. She took a deep breath, walked to the bed, picked up a diaphanous robe and pulled it on. She walked back to the table and sat down. Her anger under control, she picked up one of the cut crystal glasses and reached over to the wine decanter. She lifted it and poured the amber liquid and took a drink. She placed the decanter back on the table and studied Om Varee.
Composed, she continued her questions, “How is it possible that primitive thregari can destroy a pod of Cree automatons? How does that happen?”
He stood there unfazed, used to her tantrums, his hands crossed in front of him, and shook his head, “Once again, unknown.”
“Thirty-nine trained Turinzoni soldiers?”
He didn’t say a word.
“Are these Turinzoni incompetent?”
“Not anymore. They’re all dead.”
“What about the Lord Caen? Is he incompetent?”
He shifted his hands from his front to his back, clasping them behind him, “Not according to his records.”
“Records can be manipulated.”
He nodded, “Other people’s records, yes. Not mine.”
Her eyebrow arched, “Your records?”
He nodded, “I prefer my own sources. My records indicate that he is very competent. His record in the Duroth system supports this analysis. Of course, he, and his men, are used to more of an . . . urban environment.”
She processed this information, “You think he can be trusted to find out what’s happening there?”
Om Varee nodded, “For now. He’s mobilizing more forces to put into the area. The public executions of Caens and Carthars seem to have stiffened discipline.” He coughed delicately, placing his fist over his mouth.
She eyed Om Varee, “There’s more?”
He nodded, “There is a complication.”
“What’s the complication?”
“The thregari stripped the soldiers of their weapons.”
She eyed Om Varee. She waved at chair, “Sit down.”
Om Varee knew that this was not a request. He moved to the chair that she indicated.
She continued to sip her drink, “Do you think this threat might be from out system?”
Om Varee thought for a moment, “Doubtful. We would detect the energy spike if any star ships showed in this solar system.”
She ran her finger around the rim of the glass, “You’re sure it isn’t him?”
He nodded, “Yes,
Dostori Rev, I’m positive.
A concerned expression painted her features, “His web is wide.”
Om Varee nodded, “Your father has other interests right now, other enemies to deal with.”
“You don’t think he wants to shift forces here?”
“Lady, he’s hasn’t lost his interest in you. But, right now, he doesn’t have the resources to do so. Besides, we haven’t indicated who you are to others yet. We have countermeasures in effect to ensure they don’t find out.”
She was dissatisfied with his answer. There was a puzzle here that she didn’t understand. She stood up and walked to the window. She slid the drapes back to let light into the room. She walked outside onto the balcony, and breathed in the cool air. Her balcony was set high above the city, her tower the highest building on the flat plain of the valley. Only the mountains around her were taller.
She looked down on her city. The city was small, smaller than she was used to. It was a good beginning. Not far in the distance, a domed cargo ship lifted slowly to space, gravitics warping the light around it. The bustle of activity intruded on her psyche. Her thoughts flitted through the various scenarios. Nothing made sense.
Almost a millennia ago she’d arrived on this planet, weak and close to death. Afraid that she’d be tracked, she’d landed in a remote area with few servants and slowly built her empire. The remoteness of the planet gave her hope that she could evade the long reach of her enemies. She’d consolidated her base, securing the cooperation of the local thregari, using them to further her ambitions. The thregari grew hostile to her machinations and tried to fight her. They’d named her witch, sorceress. In some ways it was true. She manipulated and engineered genetics, chemistry, and physics in ways they could never understand. To the thregari primitives, her capabilities must have seemed like magic. Then, as she outgrew her need for them, she’d turned on them and destroyed them. She’d stormed the planet with biologicals and scoured it of the original thregari.
There were still a few clinging to remote areas. None that could do this. Her Cree automatons had been placed in strategic locations to guard resources, to keep them away from the primitives. Now, those same primitive thregari had advanced weapons.
“How the hell did that happen? If they aren’t from out system, where did the weapons come from?” she thought to herself.
She’d was taking steps to expand her empire, to move back out into the stars and confront her enemies. She’d contacted potential allies, imported assets, and started ramping up her manufacturing and fabrication capabilities. She was still vulnerable.
She turned and looked back into the room, studying Om Varee. He sat, hands crossed on his lap. She made a decision. She walked back into the room, “I want more than ground forces out there. I want your operatives on the ground. I want to know what’s really going on.”
Om Varee bowed, “It will be done, lady.”
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About the Author
The author is currently an over the road truck driver who is frequently found at the end of a 400 to 500 mile day trying to peck out one to two thousand words on a new book. He’s an Army paratrooper with a background in intelligence operations. He spent six years in Iraq and Afghanistan, in uniform and out. Currently, his greatest challenges are black ice, lake effect snow, and uploading word documents to E-reader format, all equally treacherous endeavors. His greatest hope is to write stories that his readers enjoy.
Other Books by Mark Harritt
The Demon Deception
Earth Exiles Series
On Distant Shores – Book 1
Connect with Mark Harritt
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