Marauder Aegus

by Aya Morningstar

  I hear small squads of three or four men each fan out to the left and right. Shit. They are flanking me. They are going around the ridge, and they’ll come around from level ground. I need to kill the ones below me before the others can get around the other side, or they’ll completely encircle me.

  I look down at Anya to steel my resolve. She’s blissfully asleep and unaware, and if I do my job, she’ll awake none the wiser. But if I fail, she’ll wake up to the man who killed her father–alone and unprotected. I can’t allow that to happen.

  I grab the javelin in my hand and pop out from behind the tree.

  I hear shocked cries and spot movement out of the far corner of my eye. It’s the squads moving to flank me–they have run out of cover as they walk along the ridge.

  I throw the javelin using my full strength. It cuts and swooshes through the air.

  Without waiting to see if it will hit–I know it will hit–I dive back behind the tree. Before I’m even behind cover, I hear a roar of gunfire, and suddenly tree bark flies out from both sides. They are unloading their arsenal into the tree.

  I hear a grunt, and the smell of blood hits my nose. My javelin hit, but now I’m completely pinned down by gunfire.

  “Why the fuck is he throwing twigs at us?” a soldier shouts.

  “Twigs? That thing rammed through Chavez’s throat!”

  “But it’s no fucking power armor!”

  I hear rustling at the ridgeline on either side of me. The flanking teams may have decided to cut me off aggressively, figuring I’m totally pinned down without my biosuit.

  I grab a javelin, one in each hand, and crawl on my belly away from the tree and away from Anya. If I want to protect her, I need to draw the fire away from her. If I’m pinned behind that tree, she’s as good as captured.

  When the tree is a few dozen meters behind me, I risk standing up to a low crouch and move parallel to the ridgeline.

  I hear shouts from below–they know I’m moving.

  But before they can pinpoint me, I dive to my belly again and crawl across the foliage like a snake hunting its prey. I smell two men just below me.

  As I near the ridgeline, I pop out and throw the javelin straight down at one of the soldiers. It hits him in the forehead, splitting into his skull and killing him instantly.

  I throw the second javelin, and then dive away from the ridgeline, still low on my belly.

  Gunfire erupts, but I’m clear of their line of fire.

  And then I hear metal friction–the sound of pins being pulled.

  Grenades.

  They couldn’t throw them when I was next to Anya, but now that I’m clear of her, it’s free license to blow me away.

  I hear a grenade land just behind me, and I shift to bear form and run.

  It explodes behind me, and I feel the heat of the shockwave on the back of my fur. Some broken branches and mulch hit me, but I clear the true force of the blast.

  I shift back to Marauder form and run back toward Anya. I need to make sure no one climbs the ridge and grabs her, and I need to get more javelins. Five left, and at least 17 soldiers still standing.

  Shit.

  I crawl back to the tree, and I feel sick to my stomach realizing that Anya’s presence is shielding me from being pummeled by more grenades and explosives, but I’ll use every edge I can to protect her.

  As I grab hold of a javelin, I see someone popping up above the ridge.

  He fires, and a bullet tears into me. I throw the javelin on pure instinct and see him fall back.

  I hear more soldiers climbing, but I see the soldier’s gun laying on the edge of the ridge. I have to risk going for it.

  I drop into a low crawl, and the leaves scrape against my gushing bullet wound. As I crawl, I hear a familiar whirring, and three flyers float up above the ridgeline. Darts hit me from all sides, and I start to feel light-headed.

  I take the knife and slash into my own shoulder, forcing adrenaline and pain to shock me back to full consciousness.

  It works, but I feel unconsciousness threatening to bring me down. I crawl for the gun, and just before I reach it, a soldier pops above the ridge and hoists himself over right in front of me

  I try to get up and drive the knife into him, but before I can slash him, an arrow appears in his chest. He grabs hold of it, gurgles blood from his mouth, and falls backward down the ridge.

  From down the ridge and all sides surrounding the soldiers, I hear...it sounds almost like a Marauder battle cry, but yet it’s different.

  “Yayayayayayaya!” The voices shriek in unison, and suddenly arrows, spears, and hatchets are flying out from the trees, sinking into soldier after soldier. The soldiers turn away from me and blindly open fire into the trees.

  The battle cry stops, and the soldiers begin reloading.

  More arrows burst from the forest, and more soldiers fall.

  I take the opportunity to grab a javelin, but when I cock my arm to throw it, I get so dizzy that I drop it and collapse to the ground. The javelin falls into the foliage beside me, and my vision begins to fade. The last thing I see before passing out is Anya breathing softly beside me, and I pray to the pure Seraphic Form that we will awake together–or at the least that she will awake –even if it means I have to die for it to happen.

  11 Anya

  “How do you know this is the Tsarevna?” a man’s voice whispers above me.

  “I’m good with faces,” a woman says. “I recognize her from a photograph.”

  “When did you see the photo?”

  “A few years ago.”

  The man huffs.

  I open my eyes, and I see the man and woman are both pale white, blonde, and naked as the day they were born.

  I’m lying flat on my back, and I’m in some kind of hut made from leaves. I look down to avoid embarrassment, but realize I too am totally naked.

  “Ah,” the woman says. “She’s awake!”

  “My dress,” I say, feeling my face burning. I try to cover my breasts with my hands and cross my legs, but the man doesn’t seem to be looking at me...at least not like that.

  “I told you we should have covered her,” he says. “Look at her blushing! If she really is the Tsarevna, you can’t expect her to walk around naked like we do.”

  “Aegus,” I say. “Where’s Aegus?”

  “Oh,” the woman says. “The purple fellow with the big teal dick?”

  I blush even more at that, but give a slight nod.

  “He’s fine,” the man says. “A tough Viyebnutsa. He took on over twenty Imperial bastards with some sharp sticks and a butter knife. He could easily have run away to save himself...but he held his ground against impossible odds to protect you.”

  I bite my lip, and remember the drone flying up next to me. It must have darted me, and Aegus watched over me the whole time.

  “He killed a full squad of Imperial soldiers?” I ask. “Without any weapons?”

  “No,” the woman says. “He killed a handful of them, but he was pumped full of darts. He was ready to die protecting you...but we protected him.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  My mouth is still dry, my voice hoarse.

  “Could I get some water?”

  They hand me a wooden gourd filled with water. The man squats down next to me, and then helps me lift my head to drink.

  I drink a few small sips of water, and then lay back down.

  “Is Aegus awake?” I ask.

  “No,” they say in unison.

  The woman smiles. “I’ve never seen someone sleep like that. It’s like he’s hibernating.”

  They give me some type of tropical fruit to eat, and I soon have the strength to sit up. I realize I am exhausted, but as the tranquilizer wears off, I realize I’m not injured at all, just drugged and tired. Aegus really did protect me.

  “Can I see him?” I ask.

  I’m still starkly aware of just how naked I am, but neither look at me as if I were, and since they are naked as we
ll, it doesn’t feel as weird as it otherwise would.

  “Oh,” I say. “I’m Anya.”

  I reach out my hand.

  They look at each other, and the woman gives a smug grin.

  “Yes,” I say. “The Tsarina.”

  “You mean...your father is dead?” the man asks.

  I nod.

  “I am Peter,” the man says.

  “And I am Nastya,” the woman says.

  They both look to be about forty years old, though both are lean and muscled.

  Nastya’s hair is dreadlocked and pulled back into a bun, while Peter’s is medium-length, but covered in some kind of plant resin.

  I run a hand through my own long hair, and realize that it’s matted and filthy. My hand can barely move a few centimeters through it before hitting an oily snag.

  “If you’ll be staying with us,” Nastya says, “you’ll probably want to do something about that.”

  “You guys really don’t wear clothes?” I ask.

  “It’s too damn hot,” Nastya says. “We have photos of our great grandparents wearing leaves and stuff, but you figure you can see everything anyway–leaf or no leaf–and I guess we just stopped caring about that somewhere along the line.”

  I nod. They are both so white, like relics of pre-Imperial Russia. It’s an odd contrast to the ancient photos of dark-skinned tribespeople in the old rainforests of Earth.

  “I understand,” I say.

  They give each other approving looks, but I sense some nervousness or apprehension beneath the surface.

  ‘What is it?” I ask.

  “Not everyone thinks you should stay here,” Peter says.

  “I understand,” I say. “You’ve already had to fight Imperial soldiers because of us, and they won’t give up.”

  “Oh, uh…,” Nastya says. “We should tell her!”

  Peter nods and beckons to me while pulling up the tent flap.

  I follow him and Nastya outside.

  As soon as I step outside, I see more naked people than I’ve ever seen before. And they are all ghostly white, as the UV rays can’t get through Venus’s thick atmosphere. They are all busy: a small team is carving a long tree trunk, a mixed group of men and women is sorting through a large pile of berries and twigs, and one man is red rather than white.

  He’s covered in blood, though he’s smiling and laughing, so it must not be his blood.

  Everyone looks at me as I exit the tent, but they quickly lose interest and go back to what they were doing.

  “Did he fight against the soldiers?” I ask.

  “No,” Peter says. “That’s boar’s blood. And look at this!”

  He reaches into a woven basket and pulls out what looks like a big purple fruit covered in more blood. Painted on the fruit is a face that’s full of suffering, and there are triangular ears tacked onto the top with wooden skewers.

  “Is...that supposed to be Aegus?”

  “Yep!” Peter says. “We let a few of them live, and our drama guys painted this up in a hurry. We made a big show of throwing him down behind a tree and swinging a hatchet, then we held this thing up and warned them to never come back.”

  “They’ll come back for me, though,” I say.

  Peter reaches into the basket and holds up another bloody fruit, but this one looks vaguely like me.

  “Oh,” I say. “I see.”

  “They will believe you are both dead,” Nastya says. “But we must hold a vote to see if you can stay here among us.”

  I nod, but say nothing. I don’t want to speak for Aegus until he’s awake. I don’t want to stay here, I want to get back to Sankt Petersburg and kill General Bahamut...but I realize also just how unrealistic that is given the circumstances.

  Aegus spoke of his original plan: to recruit the tribes and get them to fight. Maybe that is what we will have to do.

  “What do you call yourselves?” I ask.

  “We told you our names,” Peter says. “Are you feeling dizzy, Anya? Any bruises or tender spots on your head, or–”

  “No,” I say. “Sorry, I mean...your tribe. What is it called?”

  “Oh,” Peter says. “Each jungle has its own tribe...they aren’t big enough to hold multiple tribes, and we make sure to stay harmonious. Trade, war, or conflict between jungles almost never happens. If we ever do need to communicate between tribes, we just call ourselves Vosyem.

  “Eight?” I ask.

  As the Tsar’s daughter, I was expected to learn Russian–to an extent–but that tradition had been more and more diluted over the generations, to the point where I can barely remember how to count. English had become the Lingua Franca of the solar system centuries ago, and almost all the old languages are totally dead...except in isolated pockets such as these floating jungles.

  “Yeah,” Peter says. “I think this was the eighth floating forest they made, so all the tribes just have a number.”

  The eighth one. This must be one of the very oldest floating jungles, which is why all of the tribespeople look so much like a time capsule of the first Venusian colonists from old Russia.

  “You want to see Aegus?” Nastya asks.

  “Yes,” I say. “Please.”

  We are in a large clearing. When I look up, I see we are below the highest part of the dome, so we are in the dead-center of the jungle.

  The empty center of the clearing is where most of the bustle and activity is happening. There are more tribespeople than I can count, and even deep in the forest and high in the treetops I can see what look like the tribespeople’s huts and dwellings.

  Nastya leads me through the clearing and among a maze of huts and naked people. Finally we stop at one of the huts. Outside are two lithe women with spears and scowls. They are not standing rigid like Imperial guards, but even their lounged posture reminds me more of a panther ready to strike than someone taking a break.

  Nastya nods to the women, and they step away from the entranceway.

  “We have to guard him,” Nastya says. “As I said...not everyone wants you here. We have done our best to stay isolated from the civil war, so many think that harboring an alien warrior could bring us into an even bigger war.”

  “And what do you think?” I ask.

  Nastya huffs. “All I know is that this one can fight. I don’t want to send away good fighters.”

  Aegus is lying flat on his back, as naked as ever.

  Nastya grins. “They are calling him Yelda...as a term of respect.”

  “Yelda?” I say. “I’m sorry...but Russian is all but dead in the cities.”

  “It means huge penis,” Nastya says. She points down to Aegus’s big teal dick. “Yelda!”

  I focus on my breathing to avoid blushing. “I thought you didn’t...focus on that.”

  “When something is that big,” Nasty says, “you don’t need to focus on it. It’s just there! Have you ridden it?”

  Now I do blush, my face burning so hot I feel forced to look away from her, as if my skin will melt off.

  “Hmmm,” Nastya says. “It seems you have not. A shame.”

  “No,” I say. “I was forced together with him. This stupid Yelda ruined everything for me, and my life has been a total mess since he stepped into it.”

  Nastya nods, and gives me a knowing look. “Tell yourself what you must, Tsarina, but if you do want to ride this one, you will need to stake a claim on him soon. If he’s allowed to stay, all of our strongest warriors will want to take Yelda into their tents.”

  Stake a claim? Seriously?

  “Nastya,” I say. “Aegus says that half of the Marauder fleet wants to eradicate humanity. Just because you’re on a jungle floating on Venus doesn’t mean you’ll be safe. I’ve only been Tsarina for a matter of days, and I’ve been on the run the entire time...but as Tsarina I respect the tribes’ isolation and autonomy.”

  “Yes,” Nastya says, “But…”

  “But,” I say. “Would you fight to preserve that? Even if the Marauders don’t kill
you, do you really expect someone like General Bahamut to leave you be? Think of what happened to the rain forests on old Earth...what’s to stop that from happening here?”

  “I never said I am not willing to fight,” Nastya says. “Only that many here want no part in these external squabbles. There are those of us who would argue that stripping the jungles for short-term gain would stop the terraforming of the planet and leave the surface of Venus forever out of reach. They would argue that the Empire would not risk this.”

  “It didn’t stop them on Earth,” I say.

  “I only am trying to tell you what you are up against,” Nastya says. “Perhaps I would fight, given the right circumstances.”

  I look down at Aegus, and I can’t even tell if he’s breathing. I put a hand on his neck to feel for a pulse, and only after waiting many moments do I feel a faint sign of life.

  “Is this why you say he’s hibernating?” I ask.

  “Partly,” Nastya says. “But also because we saw him turn into a giant purple bear.”

  Maybe he really is hibernating.

  I see that his legs and shoulders are wrapped in some type of leaves.

  “Was he hurt?”

  “Shot many times,” Nastya says. “But he is healing at a tremendous rate. More evidence of some kind of hibernation process.”

  “Do you mind if I stay here with him?” I ask. “If he wakes up and sees a familiar face, he’s less likely to do something insanely stupid.”

  Nastya nods and smirks at me. She looks down at my breasts and says, “I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you when he wakes.”

  She starts to leave the hut, but just before she throws the hide-skinned flap down, she says, “Don’t forget to stake your claim!”

  The floor of the hut is simply the same packed dirt found in the clearing, but it’s comfortable enough to sit on.

  I have no idea how long it will take for Aegus to wake up, but I’m worried that if he does wake up and is surrounded by strange people, he might attack them on instinct.

  He also nearly died protecting me, and I at least owe it to him to be there and thank him when he wakes.

  I intend to stay awake and wait for him, but my eyelids get heavy. I lay my head down on the ground convincing myself that I will take a short rest.