Draekon Warrior

by Lee Savino

  This is the woman who spoke earlier, the one who thought that I was brutal and dangerous. Her accent is strange, and her dialect is difficult to follow, but not impossible.

  I nod.

  “You have been in stasis for over a thousand years.”

  Impossible. Shock slaps me. A thousand years. Everyone I know would be dead. The Supreme Mother, the scientist who created us, is no more. Her fellow scientists. My friends and my enemies. All of them are gone.

  A more practical thought intrudes. My muscles should have atrophied from disuse. They must have put me in a healing tank before waking me. They want something from me.

  I wait silently for the scientist to continue.

  “My name is Raiht’vi.” She leaves out her house name. “We are in the fifty-eighth year of the reign of the High Emperor Lenox. In the thousand years you’ve been in stasis, the Draekon gene has infected the general population. Every Zorahn in the High Empire now carries Draekon genetic matter in them. The gene is dormant in most Zorahn.”

  A dark sense of satisfaction fills me. They hunted us. They exterminated us as if we were insects. And yet, we have endured.

  “To the Zorahns, blood purity is sacrosanct,” one of the men says with a bitter twist of his lips. “The scientists believe that the Draekon mutation contaminates the Zorahn race. At least, that’s what they say. I think they’re just afraid of us.”

  My dragon is powerfully built, with a wingspan that rivals the largest spaceships in the Empire. My scales are invulnerable. When I breathe fire, entire cities burn. They are wise to be afraid.

  “Every year, they test every citizen in the High Empire,” the man continues. “If the Draekon gene is active, the citizen is exiled. Or, often, sent to a secret lab for study.” He fixes me with a stare. “You know what that’s like.”

  Yes. Yes, I do. Agony. Torture. That is what the scientists inflict on their unwilling subjects.

  “I am Commander Tarish, leader of the Rebellion. We have many dreams, many goals. But for right now, we rescue Draekons before they are exiled.”

  The claws of the rathr rake through me. I ignore the flood of pain that fills my head. They pulled me out of stasis. I can guess why. I am a weapon of destruction, a blade destined for battle. I have waded through rivers of blood. In my dreams, the screams of the dying ring in my ears, and the stench of carnage fill my nostrils.

  They want me to fight.

  Raiht’vi gestures to the other woman. “Olivia Bucknell is part of a sentient race called the humans. They are from the planet of Earth. Earth is located in the Neutral Zone.”

  I wait for them to get to the point. My silence must unnerve the scientist, because she swallows hard and turns to the human. “Olivia, do you want to take over?”

  The small woman steps forward. “Hi,” she says.

  She’s speaking a strange language. I shouldn’t be able to understand her—I’ve never met someone from a neutral zone planet, much less had their language implanted in me.

  Except I do understand her. They’ve upgraded my implants. A tendril of rage sparks to life. What other modifications have they made to me while I was unconscious?

  The woman gives me a tentative smile. She’s trying to be friendly, conciliatory. She wants my cooperation. “I’m Olivia Bucknell.” She indicates the men that flank her. “These are my mates, Liorax, and Zunix. What’s your name?”

  The Supreme Mother’s voice echoes in my ears. Names are for people. You are a soldier, created for battle. You do not have a house, nor a bloodline. You have not earned a name.

  And yet, in defiance of the Supreme Mother’s edict, I named myself. I am Kadir ab Usora. Warrior, born from the Light. I’ve never spoken it out loud. No one knows it, not even the other Draekons of the Crimson Force. It is mine alone.

  “I don’t have a name,” I reply. “I am a soldier. You may refer to me by my designation. I am Second.”

  The human, Olivia Bucknell, is shocked and angry. “They didn’t even give you a name?” She takes a deep breath and forces calmness over her emotions. “Let me fill you in. The Zorahn approached my planet seven months ago. They wanted healthy women. As best as we know, two ships, each loaded with ten women, took off from Earth. The ship I was on crashed on the prison planet. You know it as Trion VI.”

  Trion VI. The planet in which I was created. If I never see it again as long as I live, it wouldn’t be too soon.

  “The other ship, the Sevril V, was supposedly blown up by pirates.”

  That’s ridiculous. Pirates don’t blow up ships.

  “However, before it disappeared, it made an unscheduled stop on a planet called Misram.”

  Another tendril of rage blooms. They haven’t just tampered with my language implants. They’ve also updated my memory without my permission. I now know all the major events of the last thousand years. Star charts are at my fingertips, as are schematics of spaceships. I know the names of every Senator in the High Empire, their Houses, their allegiances, and their enemies. I see the balance that the three empires of the Triumvirate maintain, and I understand how easy it would be to shatter the fragile peace that has held for hundreds of years.

  “It is my belief that the scientists are holding the missing women,” Olivia Bucknell continues. “Under normal circumstances, we would search for them. However, we are facing a threat of our own. The Draekons held captive in the labs of the scientists are being hunted by an organization called Blood Heart.”

  My newly planted memory supplies the information I need. Blood Heart believes that Draekons are an inferior race, one that dilutes the purity of their blood and weakens the Zorahn. Their mission is to exterminate us.

  “The Rebellion needs to prioritize rescuing hundreds, possibly thousands of Draekons over a handful of humans. But the women are alone in an unfamiliar galaxy.” Olivia stares at me in appeal. “They are lost. I need your help. I need you and your fellow Draekons to find them.”

  Fellow Draekons? My heart leaps. “My squadron is alive?” Why can’t I feel them?

  Commander Tarish waves his hand, and a viewscreen on the wall shows four stasis chambers. I scan the familiar faces. There are only four of them. “One of us is missing. Where is First?”

  He shakes his head with a frown. “Only five of you were found. There was no sign of a sixth chamber.”

  A thousand years have passed. First must be dead. Though my relationship with him was complicated at best, a wave of sorrow washes over me.

  With ruthless will, I suppress my emotions. My grief is not for the eyes of those that will use me.

  “Will you help us?” the human asks. “Please?”

  The rathr stabs, over and over again, the parasite feasting on the pain it causes. My head is splitting open. I had forgotten the agony of existence. My vision blurs, and I almost sway, only to catch myself at the last instant. A warrior shows no weakness.

  They should have left me in stasis. All I want is for the pain to end.

  I consider the human’s request. Slight and weak, she still feels no fear when she looks at me. She speaks to me like I’m an equal. She asked me for help; she didn’t order me to my mission.

  They will wake my squadron. When we went into stasis, Fourth was still in pain from the last battle. Third was filled with rage, and it made him reckless. Fifth was ready to die.

  I have to protect them. I have to knit the wounds and keep us strong. Nobody cares about us. To them, we are nothing but weapons. All that the six of us have ever had was each other.

  Pain drenches me once again. Is this what the scientists will do to the human women in their captivity? Will they subject them to the rathr? I can barely bear it, and I am strong, built to withstand any amount of torture.

  The humans will not survive.

  Nobody deserves to die that way.

  “Yes,” I reply. “I will find the women.”

  And then, no more. This will be it. One way or the other, this will be my last mission.

  Then I
remember the needle that stabbed my bicep when I woke, and hope withers. Of course. They won’t let the warriors walk free. We’re too valuable for that. “What did you inject in me?”

  Raiht’vi meets my gaze. “A slow-acting venom,” she says calmly. “If you are not back at the Rebellion’s headquarters in ninety days, you will die.”

  3

  Alice

  A sharp needle stabs my stomach, and I jerk awake. I open my eyes to see a third trader bent over me, his or her face inches from mine. “What in the name of Baku’s gray beard is this?”

  Oh, God. The alien’s breath wafts over me, and I fight not to retch. Rotting garbage would smell better.

  The two traders who bought me move into view. “They are called hoo-man,” the first one says. “The Zorahn sold them to us.”

  Bad-Breath sticks a finger in my side, poking at my flesh. “Is it food?”

  “No, it is sentient.” The alien smiles toothily. “I thought the pair of them would make a fine gift for the Great One during the time of tribute.”

  “Eee,” Bad-Breath shrieks. “Have you lost your mind? This one is damaged. If you give it to the Great One, you will shame our ancestors.”

  Gee, thanks. Ignoring the reflexive stab of pain, I look around. I’m in an outdoor market of some kind. It looks like a strange, alien flea market. Hundreds of traders are setting up their stalls. Bright banners are being unfurled. Pennants wave in the breeze. Holographic signs go up in front of the tents, the alien version of billboards. Six-legged animals lumber to and fro, their backs laden with goods. Small spacecraft, each the size of a car, circle in the sky overhead, each waiting for its turn to land.

  It’s the most marvelous, most chaotic thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Tanya’s next to me, but she’s still sedated. Why didn’t they wake her up?

  “You think?” The alien frowns. “The Zorahn told me she was a fighter.”

  Bad-Breath screeches with laughter. “A fighter? This thing?” She—I’ve decided the alien is a woman—shakes her head. “Zelae, look at how weak it is. You will dishonor the Great One by suggesting he fight this puny being.” She tugs his braid. “The Zorahn cheated you.” She examines Tanya and pats her hair. “This one is pleasing to the eye. It appears unblemished. You have checked it fully?”

  “Yes. Unblemished everywhere.”

  Oh, you fucking assholes. You pawed us when we were sedated, didn’t you?

  “In that case, give that hoo-man to the Great One.”

  “What do we do with the other?” the second trader asks. “No one will buy it here. Do I take it to Guzek and try to sell it there?”

  “Have you taken leave of your senses, Suhas? You want to waste precious water on this no-good creature? Tie it up now so it can’t cause any trouble. If no one buys it by the time the market closes, you dump it in the gutters of Akan, you understand?”

  Suhas proceeds to tie me up. He wraps the cord around my right wrist and in a figure-eight, pulling it tight, binding it to my left. He doesn’t leave me any slack. The only saving grace is that he’s bound my hands in front of my body, rather than behind. It’s not much of a saving grace, though. The coarse rope bites into my skin, cutting off circulation, and my fingers start to throb.

  The trader moves on to my ankles. When he’s done tying them together, he lifts me as if I’m a sack of grain, and then drops me on the dusty ground just inside the stall.

  This day is going from bad to worse.

  The market gets underway. Hundreds of aliens fill the aisles, the vast majority the same species as the traders. Dozens of aliens wander into Bad-Breath’s stall, but, as the older trader predicted, nobody buys me. They gape, though. They stare at me as if I’m a zoo animal. A small child even pokes my scarred cheek with a stick, and then runs away, laughing.

  Alien kid, you’re a jerk.

  In the middle of the day, the traders wake Tanya from her sedation, give her water, and offer her some gruel. “Hey,” I whisper to my friend. “This isn’t exactly going to plan, but any moment, let’s start shooting, okay?”

  Of course, we can’t start shooting; we have no guns. It’s a thin attempt at humor, the best I can manage under the circumstances.

  Tanya turns to look at me, and for a second, hope flares. Is she responsive? Does she understand what’s going on? Then I take in her expression. Her eyes are blank. As usual, she’s zoned out.

  I can’t say I blame her. Things would be much easier if I too could disassociate from what’s happening.

  Once the traders feed Tanya, they re-sedate her with a shot that Kravex had helpfully supplied. Me, they ignore completely. Why feed the hoo-man you’re going to throw away?

  The day stretches on. When the scorching red sun starts to set, Zelae and Suhas pack their belongings into boxes that they haul onto the back of a six-legged beast. They hoist Tanya up as well. Bad-Breath jumps on nimbly, not even bothering to give me a backward look.

  Then they ride away, leaving me behind. Still tied up.

  The market empties. People look through me, acting like I’m not there. Help, I call out weakly. My throat is parched. It hurts even to swallow. I can’t feel my fingers and toes. Please, someone help.

  I’m speaking English, so nobody understands me. But it’s obvious what I want. I’m tied up. I’m lying in the sun, sweating away precious moisture. I clearly need help.

  And yet, nobody talks to me. Nobody offers me food or water. Everyone in the market acts as if I’m not there. Assholes. All of them.

  The beasts lumber into the desert. Spaceships zoom away into the night sky. And I’m alone in the dark, at the outskirts of a harsh and unwelcoming city, in the middle of an alien planet.

  I rub my wrists back and forth, trying to loosen my knots. My stiff muscles scream in agony, but I push back the pain and continue doggedly. I have to get free. Tied up like this, I’m a sitting duck for any predator that comes along. Most of the aliens ignored me, but earlier in the day, a few of them had leered in a manner that fills me with fear. If one of them comes along to see what fucking a hoo-man is like, I’m screwed.

  For what seems like hours, I struggle to free myself. Remember the guy who sawed off his wrist to survive, I tell myself. Another Netflix selection. But I’m not that guy. He was a climber, and I’m a doctor. I can pull eighteen-hour shifts in the ER, but when it comes to hurting myself, I’m a pussy. My skin chafes painfully, and drops of blood dot my wrists, but the ropes remain unforgivingly tight.

  Finally, I give up. Even if I got free, I don’t speak the language, and nobody understands me. I have no money and nothing to trade. I am worthless.

  You are not worthless, a voice inside me says fiercely. Your name is Alice Hernandez. You graduated at the top of your class from Johns Hopkins.

  The litany of self-affirmation has kept me sane for seven months. But this time, it fails. The words freeze in my throat. Tears start to roll down my cheeks.

  Something moves in the shadows. I see the glint of metal in the moonlight. A knife. Fuck. A massive figure appears at the end of the market and starts to walk toward me. “Hoo-man,” it says.

  Three dark shapes—oh, God, where did they come from?—rush the alien. Without breaking his stride, he breaks free of their hold and tosses them aside. They crash into the ground and don’t get up again.

  He’s almost at me. He’s right in front of me.

  For a second, all I feel is panic. Then my fear crystallizes into rage. I don’t know if this alien wants to eat me or rape me, but he’s going to learn that I’m not going down without a fight.

  Bide your time, Alice.

  The hulking alien bends toward me, his massive body filling my vision. He lifts his knife, and with one sharp stroke, cuts the ropes around my wrists.

  Buddy, that was a mistake.

  I clench my hand into a fist, and I swing as hard as I can.

  My punch connects with a strong, masculine jaw. Pain shocks through my wrist, and I yelp. I might as we
ll have hit a brick wall. I’m pretty sure I’ve broken something. You’d think I’d be used to it—daily beatings and all—but it hurts like the devil.

  The alien makes an oomph of surprise and takes a half-step back. “Alice Hernandez?” he says, sounding puzzled, not hurt. “I am here to rescue you.”

  4

  Kadir

  As soon as her fist connects with my jaw, the small human’s face contorts with pain.

  Why did she hit me? It makes no sense. Did she think she could hurt me? I am Draekon. I was made to fight. And now she’s broken her wrist, from the look of it, and I have to heal her.

  Irrational human. Does she not realize when someone is trying to help her?

  Her emotions swirl in a complex tangle. She feels alone. She’s hurt, and she’s terrified of me, the knife in my hand, and what I might do to her.

  She thinks I’m an enemy, and she’s protecting herself.

  Oh.

  Okay. That’s not quite as irrational. It’s still a stupid thing to do—she is a tiny creature, even smaller than the other human, Olivia Bucknell—but it shows that she possesses the spirit of a warrior. She even bears the marks of battle on her face, a thin scar running down her right cheek, all the way from the corner of her eye to her chin.

  I am not here to hurt this human. “Alice Hernandez,” I tell her. Again. “I am here to rescue you.”

  Olivia Bucknell had looked well-fed and cared for. Her mates had hovered protectively at her side, ready to launch themselves at me if I appeared to threaten her in any way. This woman? She’s thinner than the other human. She looks undernourished. Her strange Earth clothing is torn and covered in the fine red dust of the desert. Her hair is stringy and dull. Her expression is wild and untrusting. She is a caged animal, desperate to survive.

  The humans have a gesture. What is it? I search my implanted memories, set the knife down on the ground, and then hold up my palms where she can see them. “I have no weapons.”