People of the Sun

by Jason Parent

  “This is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Through her tears, Tryst’s expression turned volatile. Sadness turned to rage, a frown morphed into a scowl. At once, Connor was no longer afraid for her, but of her.

  “All I want is my fingers wrapped around Kazi’s throat.”

  “Then we take our chances with Lieutenant Westfield’s plan?”

  “I suppose. Can he be trusted?”

  “Not entirely, but I think he knows better than to lie to you. Probe his mind for any sign of deceit, and you’ll have your answer. But remember, even if he’s trustworthy, that doesn’t mean those he answers to will be.”

  “I don’t care anymore. I just want Kazi.”

  Connor reached out to her. He stroked her arm as comfortingly and as carefully as he could, keeping on the sleeve of her uniform. He wanted to embrace her. She seemed to need it. He needed it. But it could not be.

  “Be careful,” he said. “And be ready. The army certainly will be. I’m sure you’ll get your chance at Kazi soon enough.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Wearing a black hooded sweatshirt he had stolen from a curbside market, Kazi crept down an alley, heading away from rue Saint Charles and its quaint lodgings and eclectic shops. After walking down a side street then across another alleyway, Kazi found himself in the less tourist-frequented parts of Paris. In the dark of night, he was at home among the city’s human delinquents, forced to hide like them in the shadows.

  But unlike them, Kazi’s hiding would only be temporary. He passed his time there, letting the world ripen for his return. Poorly lit roads were a luxury to Kazi, letting him study his adversaries undisturbed. In the short break he’d taken away from Tryst, Kazi had seen more of the world than most of its natural inhabitants. He’d learned fourteen languages, visited every continent, and sought out Earth’s deepest, darkest reaches, all in the time it takes paint to dry.

  In doing so, Kazi had acquired a wealth of knowledge, learning what he could from various cultures, but leaving before he could appreciate any of them. With but a thought, Kazi was anywhere he wanted to be, anywhere but home. The notion suited him; he no longer had an interest in returning to Symoria. His planet had confined him. On Earth, he had so much more potential.

  But no matter where he went, Kazi’s loathing remained. Humans were all the same—selfish, conniving and lowly. They were a blight worth only of his dominion, those unwilling to submit to his authority deserving eradication. He had made more than a few disappear throughout his travels.

  Yet everywhere he went, Kazi’s thoughts remained with his former companion. Tryst waited for his return. Did she long for it? Had she learned from her mistakes? Would she join him and rule Earth by his side? Or would she persist in her compassion for those unworthy of it, siding with the humans in a war they couldn’t win?

  Kazi persuaded himself to give her time, but his impatience grew with each passing hour. Alone, he was formidable, but with Tryst, he’d be unstoppable. Tryst would need to make her decision soon. Her choice was simple enough: join him or die trying to protect the humans who despised her as much as they did him. He preferred Tryst to choose the former, but he could live quite well with the latter. One more night. She deserves no more.

  Kazi had been so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed the small group of humans approaching. When one shoulder-butted him, he took no offense, more important matters still on his mind. Then, the punk had the audacity to grab him by the arm, wrenching him from his daydreams. Though the human didn’t seem to know it yet, his actions constituted a punishable offense.

  “Bonsoir, Monsieur,” the human said, smiling and sounding amicable. He was Caucasian, tall and uglier than an angler fish, a face not even his mother could love. A lumpy Adam’s apple protruded from his neck like a goiter, round, bulbous and utterly grotesque. Kazi thought he might rip it out, but didn’t want to show the young man mercy.

  Despite his unfortunate looks, the man was clean cut and well-groomed with slicked-back black hair. He appeared respectable, but it was his eyes that gave him away. Even beneath the veil of his hood, casting his own features into shadow, Kazi could see the vile spirit that lurked behind the human’s eyes. There was no need to read his mind.

  “Pourriez-vous me prêter un peu d'argent, s'il vous plaît?” the man asked, trying to peer beneath Kazi’s cowl. Kazi’s distaste for his proximity reached insufferable levels.

  “I suggest you remove your hand from my sleeve and keep walking,” he said in English. Kazi found French more fluid, musical and rich, but English was his default language, he assumed because it was the first he’d learned. And coming from the Frenchman standing before him, the Parisian tongue sounded nasally, irritable.

  “American?” The man turned to his three friends, raising his arms as if he were presenting himself in pompous fashion. If he thought he’d hit the jackpot, he was sadly mistaken.

  “He looks like more trouble than he’s worth,” a scrappy girl with matted hair said. This one has some sense. She looked barely old enough to vote. Kazi bet her face was on a milk carton somewhere. She didn’t even have the decency to cover the tracks on her arms with long sleeves. “Besides, I want to go see Andrea.”

  “You can wait a little longer,” the gawky man said. He was obviously in charge. “So can Andrea.”

  Good, Kazi thought, his smile hidden from them. Ask for a volunteer, and one raises his hand.

  “Good sir,” the man said, offering Kazi an obnoxious bow. When he smiled, Kazi could see that his teeth were stained yellow, those that were still in his mouth. “Would you be so kind as to spare a few dollars for the needy?”

  Kazi remained silent. He was beginning to enjoy the show. The other two humans, both males, moved in behind their compatriot. It seemed to make the young man braver. The girl kept her distance.

  “No? How about your entire wallet, then?” The man withdrew a butterfly knife from his vest’s inner pocket and flipped it open with the skill of some street thug from a 70s movie. Kazi laughed. He couldn’t help himself. Part of him wanted to see the thug try to stab him with his tiny blade.

  The man seemed startled by Kazi’s laughter, probably not the reaction he’d expected. This made Kazi laugh harder still.

  “Big mistake, mon ami,” the young man said as he thrust the knife at Kazi’s chest.

  But the man’s hand stopped in the space between himself and Kazi. His arm was extended, still inches away from contacting alien skin. It seemed frozen in place.

  “What are you doing?” one of the goons asked. “Cut him.”

  “I can’t.” The gang leader’s triceps strained, flexing as though they were in use, yet his right arm remained immobile. He tugged at it with his left. He began to sweat, nervousness quickly accelerating into fright.

  “My arm… I can’t move my arm!”

  Kazi watched as the man struggled. His expression revealed his panic. Oh my. It appears the human has lost his swagger. Kazi’s fang pinched his lower lip as he grinned. Perhaps, he finally realizes that it was he who made the big mistake.

  Still, a lesson must be taught. Using only his mind, he opened the man’s hand, unwrapping each finger from its grip around the knife’s handle. The knife fell to the ground, clanging before resting. No one moved. The index finger on the man’s right hand began to bend backward.

  “No, no,” the gawky man stuttered. He cried out in terror. Kazi knew he was trying to fight it. But what Kazi had willed would not be undone. The man screamed, this time in excruciating pain. Bone cracked as his index finger hyperextended. The others watched like gawkers at a car accident, their faces aghast as their comrade’s finger bent nearly flat against the back of his hand.

  Kazi then focused his attention on the middle finger. That one cracked a little louder than the first had. He followed it with the ring finger, then the pinky, sparing only the man’s thumb. On second thought, let’s do the thumb. When it reached its breaking point, the bone beneath
his thumb punctured through the skin of the man’s palm.

  With each of the man’s fingers broken, curled backward and resembling half of an upside-down crab, the man’s screams slowly tapered off. Kazi released him. He fell to his knees, staring at his hand and whimpering like a neglected hound.

  “Run,” Kazi said. The others appeared confused. He removed his hood, roaring with laughter as he exposed his fangs. The three on their feet gulped hard. The trampy girl and one of the goons took Kazi’s advice and ran as though they were Olympians. The third had enough loyalty to help his injured friend to his feet before they, too, took off in full sprint. Soon, Kazi was alone in the dark alley, his laughter trailing off into the night.

  Your time will come soon enough. But first I have one of my own to deal with. Tryst, you had best not deny me.

  ●●●

  Tryst hung her arms over the side of the pool. The instrument of Milliken’s death lay dormant, unthreatening, mere inches below her wrists. Since her second crewmate’s death, Tryst had nearly given up on more than one occasion. She had never been so alone before or without purpose. She hadn’t known what it meant to be lonely. It left her hollow inside, an emptiness so bleak, she could no longer stand it.

  She found herself balancing on top of the pool’s railing, wondering how she got there, hoping she’d slip. But her footing remained firm, even if her heart wasn’t. She jumped down to the floor. One thought kept her going: she would see Kazi dead first.

  Surely, an aboveground pool filled with hydrochloric acid and situated on the second floor of an abandoned warehouse would catch the attention of the American soldiers when next they visited. Tryst could sense them nearby, but they didn’t approach, left her to her solitude. Like Tryst, they were waiting.

  Clever, she thought, noticing that Kazi had reinforced the inside of the pool with glass, she presumed to keep the acid from eating away at the lining. She hated herself for giving him any credit.

  The pool itself was a dilemma. Tryst didn’t know what to do with it. Should she dispose of it, erasing the evidence of her own mortality? It seemed wise to do so, but if Jonathan’s plan failed, the pool offered an alternative solution. He had told her his intentions when he returned for Milliken. She was essential to them. Lacking faith in the human, Tryst thought that maybe his plan should be the alternative.

  The only human she did trust had been absent the last four nights. Connor had been ordered to stay away, and Tryst had concurred with the directive. After all, it was for the best. Should Kazi decide to return, the warehouse was no place for any human, never mind a civilian.

  For his part, Connor had been reluctant to leave her. Through her sorrow, his kindness and caring were all the comfort she’d received. Tryst missed his company. More than that, she missed Milliken and Lenyx. On Symoria, she would have been expected to forget them. How can I move on when there’s nothing to move on to?

  Her crewmates, her closest friends, were gone, lost to her forever. Tryst thought herself the last of her kind, dismissing Kazi from her consideration. He was no more than a base animal, unworthy of the same classification. He was no Symorian. He was far more craven, devious, worse than human. The mere thought of Kazi sent Tryst into a frenzy. She found that what little strength she had left was grounded in her hatred for him.

  So, Tryst waited for Kazi’s return. She went without sleep and without solace, her mourning slowly converting to bitterness and anger. With each passing second she spent waiting for Kazi, Tryst became more outraged by his offenses, more vengeful against his deception.

  Tryst thought to prepare for their inevitable encounter, but she didn’t know how. She recalled Second Connecticut Lake, after Kazi had brought about Lenyx’s death, when her fingers were tightening around his throat. She remembered how good it felt. She also remembered how Kazi had been mildly affected by it.

  I may not be able to cut him, but perhaps I can constrict him. If only I could squeeze hard enough. Tryst knew several chokeholds. She looked forward to trying them out. If she managed to lock one of them around Kazi’s neck, she feared she’d never let go, that she’d like it too much.

  Milliken won’t be around to save him this time. She chuckled sadly at the irony. Kazi had seen to that.

  Tryst retreated to what she called her bedroom, an unfurnished, darker room in which she and Milliken had spent most of their time. It still had a roof above it. She’d had enough of the open sky. Despite their beauty, Tryst hated the stars. They seemed to mock her circumstances, constant reminders of a grass less green.

  The closed, empty room was reminiscent of home in its own way. It had none of the creature comforts of a human bedroom, but for a Symorian, it had all that was needed. It was as fine a place as any for Tryst to contemplate her future.

  There, in the dark, she rested. She sat with her back against a wall, her eyes open and her body still. He’d be coming soon. She was certain of it. Kazi would not get the jump on her again.

  And so she waited, but she didn’t have to wait long. A pair of eyes not unlike her own emerged in the darkness. Beneath them, two rows of Symorian teeth appeared, exposed by a sickeningly wide smile.

  “I’ve been patient, Tryst,” Kazi said. She found his voice as sickening as his smile. Tryst thought only of her hands around his throat, his life leaving him as he gasped for that last breath. She bided her time, waiting for Kazi to draw near.

  He didn’t fail to accommodate her. He moved closer, no more than a few feet away. “Have you made a decision?” he asked.

  As quick as a cat pouncing on a bird, Tryst leapt to her feet and onto Kazi. Immediately, her wish came true. Her hands tightened around his neck like a vice. She shook him as she squeezed. Yet beneath her, Kazi smiled.

  In a flash, they were upside down. Kazi teleported to the ceiling, pressing his back against it. Tryst involuntarily went with him, clinging to his throat like a starving leech. But unlike a leech, she couldn’t stick. She fell, briefly hanging from Kazi’s neck before dropping to the floor. She landed on her feet, her pride, but not her body, wounded. Infuriated at herself for having expected Kazi to fight with honor, she hissed at the Symorian above her. The next time, she’d be ready.

  “Come down and face me,” Tryst said through a growl.

  “As you wish,” Kazi replied. He disappeared from his spot on the ceiling. A half-second later, he drove his fist into the small of Tryst’s back. The force hurled her forward, but Tryst was quick to react. As she spun to face him, she brought a wicked backhand with her. It cut through the air with frightful velocity but struck nothing. Kazi was gone.

  His laughter filled the air around her. It seemed to come from every direction. Yet, Kazi was nowhere to be seen.

  “Fight me, you coward.”

  “You’d really see me dead? The last of your kin?” Kazi’s voice echoed through the warehouse. Tryst couldn’t locate its origin point. He seemed to be nowhere and everywhere at once.

  “You are no kin to me!” she shouted.

  “I see there’s no reasoning with you.” Kazi appeared in front of her, his fist already swinging. It struck her against the cheek. He was gone before she could counter.

  No reasoning with me? His words were lighter fluid on her fire. How dare he act as though she lacked reason? Kazi caused this. Everything that had led them to this point was the result of his machinations. All the madness, the hostility, the death—Kazi was to blame for all of it. It was his turn to die. But to beat Kazi, she’d need to fight him his way.

  “Show yourself,” Tryst commanded.

  “As you wish.”

  Before she could see him coming, Tryst felt her feet swept out from beneath her. She crashed onto her back. Kazi jumped onto her, driving his knee into her belly. She winced, not in pain, but in apprehension.

  Kazi raised his hands over his head. He held something in them, something Tryst couldn’t make out. But it was something he obviously intended to drive into her eye.

  Tryst caught Kazi’s
wrists as they descended, halting the object in its approach. It hovered no more than an inch or two above her right eye. Kazi pushed it downward, leaning his weight into his thrust.

  A dagger? Tryst didn’t understand. Why would Kazi try to stab her with something incapable of piercing her? The dagger’s steel appeared strong, its point sharply honed, but still of human creation. It didn’t stand a chance of passing through her skin, she thought, but she wasn’t about to give it that chance. The fact that Kazi was trying to stab her with it was enough to warrant her concern. Maybe the membrane of her eye was weak enough to penetrate. Tryst had never seen the likes of such a blade before. She didn’t put it past Kazi to find one that could pierce her flesh. She jerked her body onto its side, shifting Kazi’s weight and letting his momentum drive the blade into the floor.

  Tryst squirmed, still beneath Kazi. His legs straddled her torso. He appeared to take pleasure in her resistance. His incessant grin only fueled her anger. Tryst returned to her back and drove her knees into his buttocks, pitching him forward as he tried to pull the dagger from the floor. She shimmied his knees toward her head and punched her hands between his thighs, hooking her arms around them. Her face unprotected, Tryst moved quickly, bridging onto her neck and heaving Kazi over her head. A moment later, she was free and back on her feet.

  Kazi hadn’t been as quick to recover. My turn, she thought, moving in to strike. As she dove at his back, he vanished. She landed hard onto the floor where he’d been. She screamed in anger at his cowardice, cursing herself for not being quick enough.

  “In here,” she heard Kazi call. “Care for a swim?”

  Tryst smiled. Kazi wished to fight her poolside. She couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. His arrogance will be his death. She knew she was the stronger, better fighter, even in her tired and weakened condition. She just had to figure a way past his parlor tricks.