3013: PRIMAL

by Laurie Roma

  Following the lieutenant to the back of the small, dimly lit room, Vane cringed at the prospect of being trapped in such a primitive existence. “How long?”

  “Two of their Earth weeks. It is not an experience I hope to repeat—ever.”

  “I’ll never understand why you like them so much. They’re barbarians.”

  After they’d settled the sphere atop a crate in the back corner, Xavian wiped his hands against his dark, leather pants and chuckled. “I think they’re fascinating. Humans are a young race, but look at everything they’ve already accomplished. Imagine what they can do in another thousand years.”

  Nodding, Vane scratched the stubble along his chin and grunted. “That’s what worries me. I’ve never known another race so determined to annihilate themselves.”

  “Maybe, but you have to admit they do it with style.”

  They both laughed, and Vane had to agree. Whatever their faults, humans continuously amazed him with their imaginative, albeit reckless, inventions.

  Revenge and retribution seemed to be powerful motivators on Earth, and some of the most creative devices had been born from the desire for vengeance. For the love of the galaxies, they’d even written songs about it—a lot of songs.

  A low buzz echoed throughout the room, followed by a crackling in the air. “Well, I guess that’s it,” Xavian mumbled as the track lights along the tops and bottoms of the walls came to life. “It seems night has officially arrived.”

  “So it seems.” Something felt wrong. Vane couldn’t place the source of his concern, yet it surrounded him and raised the hair on the back of his neck. “Do you feel that?” He rubbed his right forearm through the sleeve of his black, fitted uniform top and surveyed the room.

  Xavian looked around the room as well and lifted his right shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “It’s just this place, man. Don’t let it get to you.”

  “That’s not it.” Surveying the artifacts through narrowed eyes, Vane rested his palm on the hilt of the dagger strapped to his left hip. “It feels like someone’s watching us.”

  In such a small space, the likelihood of someone hiding behind a crate or shelf was virtually non-existent. Everything looked as it had when they’d entered the room, only a little brighter since the lights had been activated.

  “I don’t feel anything.” Laughing, Xavian extended his arm to clap Vane on the shoulder. “I think you’re being a little paranoid, blondie.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Vane didn’t react to the ridiculous nickname, and he didn’t move, either.

  True, the night didn’t make his nether regions tingle with excitement, but he didn’t fear the darkness. Over two thousand years of patrolling Pandora had prepared him for just about anything, and Vane had long ago learned to trust his instincts.

  Right then, every inch of him vibrated with the certainty that something wasn’t right. Paranoia and anxiety had no place within the halls of the compound, but just because he couldn’t pinpoint the source of his concern didn’t mean there wasn’t a problem.

  “C’mon, brother, let’s get gone. I’ve starving.”

  Despite himself, Vane laughed. “You’re always starving.”

  Smoothing his hand down the black fabric of his shirt, Xavian patted his flat stomach and smirked. “What can I say? I’m a growing boy.” The smile faded as he looked around the room again and gave a visible, full-body shiver. “Seriously, though, let’s beat feet.”

  “Go on, Xee. I’ll catch up in a minute.”

  “Vane…let it go.” Turning toward the door, Xavian bushed a stray lock of dark hair out of his eyes. “There’s no one here. Nothing is missing. It’s not like someone broke in and stole an artifact. Where would they even go?”

  Frowning at the oddly specific reassurance, Vane shifted toward his friend and widened his stance. “Xee, look at me.”

  Xavian stiffened, turning to face him in slow, halted increments. The pale, blue light from the runners glinted off a silver chain that draped around his neck, a chain that definitely hadn’t been there when they’d entered the room.

  “Do we have a problem?”

  “You tell me.” Vane reached for his dagger again, this time removing it from its sheath, but still holding it low near his hip. “That’s a nice piece of shine you got there.”

  The guy looked like Xavian. He even sounded like Xavian, but a cold, hollow pit settled in Vane’s gut when he looked into his friend’s eyes. Instead of the dual-colored irises—one green, one amber in Xavian’s case—that marked every Nekros, the guard stared back at him with eyes as dark and cold as the night.

  The imposter held his hands out to the side, his elbows bent and his palms facing forward. “No one has to get hurt here.”

  “Well, now, I guess that depends on you, Morphling.” Vane kept a loose grip on the leather-wrapped hilt of his dagger as he maneuvered toward the exit. “Who are you? What did you do with Xavian?”

  “Don’t worry,” the fake Xavian answered smoothly. “He’s alive, unharmed…for now.” He didn’t reach for a weapon, nor did he appear concerned about being cornered with no means of escape. “Put the knife away. No one wants a mess.”

  Typical Morphling, always cocky, even when they had no hope of winning. “You’re really prepared to die for a single bauble?”

  With an arrogant smirk, the Morphling shivered from head to feet, shaking his head as his skin rippled. Tiny horns sprouted from his forehead near his hairline as his disguise melted away to reveal his true form, and his skin darkened to a mottled ebony.

  It had been centuries since Vane had seen a Morphling up close, not since their home planet of Promena had been conquered and their race enslaved. Those who managed to escape had taken refuge with allying planets, but a few still held a grudge against Nekron for their neutrality.

  Vane was going to go out on a limb and guess this guy happened to be one of those still sporting a grudge-boner for Nekron. “Just hand over the necklace, and we all walk away unbloodied. Trust me, it’s the best offer you’re going to get.”

  The Morphling laughed at him, a sound that lacked much honest amusement. “You think I’m the only one—that’s kind of adorable.” He took a step closer. “You know what I am, what I can do, so you know you can’t stop me.”

  With a last, taunting smile, he melted into the floor, vanishing right before Vane’s eyes in a wisp of smoke.

  * * * *

  No matter how many times Vane had been summoned to the commander’s office, he never could get used to the cold, sterile environment. Pale, blue lights glinted off the commander’s chrome desk, and the surgically white walls gleamed like newly fallen snow. Everything had its place, and nothing was ever out of order, not even a single thread of the lush, burgundy carpet.

  “He vanished?” The commander’s upper lip curled over his teeth as he pinned Vane with a steely glare. “That’s what you’re telling me?”

  “It was a Morphling, sir. Their powers are—”

  “I know what powers they have,” the commander snapped, his eyes—one blue, one orange—flashing with barely controlled rage. “I’m more interested in learning how you let him disappear with a valuable and potentially dangerous artifact.”

  On the inside, Vane cringed, but outwardly, he remained impassive, his carefully schooled expression giving away nothing. “Perhaps if we were allowed to carry guns inside Pandora—”

  “And risk annihilating the entire planet?” Pacing in front of Vane, the commander clenched and relaxed his hands at his sides in increasingly aggravated motions. “There are things within these walls that we can’t possibly hope to understand. All it takes is one trigger-happy new recruit to bring it all crumbling down.”

  Vane kept his arms crossed behind his back and his shoulders squared, looking straight ahead as he nodded. “Yes, sir, I understand.”

  And he did. At one time, the guards of Pandora had been permitted to carry firing weapons. Then some fresh-faced rookie had gotten spooked by a rodent and
fired off a shot that had accidently struck an old vase in Division Six containing Eternal Embers from the planet Jura. The fire had raged for nearly twelve years, destroyed countless treasures, and it had taken more than a decade to rebuild once the flames had been extinguished.

  “You said you have reason to believe he isn’t working alone.”

  Not a question, but Vane nodded anyway. “Yes, he mentioned he wasn’t alone. I can’t be sure, but I think other artifacts may be missing as well.”

  The commander rubbed the back of his neck as he propped a hip up on his polished desk. “We have a team taking inventory as we speak, and the chronicler will be here shortly.” His hand slid up from his nape to the top of his head, his fingers threading through his spiky, blond locks.

  “Has anyone located Lieutenant Tira?”

  Xavian had been his friend since childhood and had fought alongside him in many battles. Vane was still disgusted with himself for not recognizing the Morphling’s deception sooner.

  “He was found at the base of the mountain behind Division One, naked and half frozen.” Some of the commander’s ire melted away, and his gaze softened. “Medical informs me he’s stable, son. He’s expected to make a full recovery with some fluids and rest.”

  Some of the tension in Vane’s shoulders eased, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. “What do you need from me?”

  Commander Bael Schiva looked up through his narrowed gaze. “I want you to do nothing until we know more.” A chime echoed through the room, interrupting anything more Vane’s father might have said. “That will be Cato.” Leaning sideways, he jabbed a finger at the control console in the center of his desk.

  The office doors slid open with a muffled whoosh, permitting entrance to one of Pandora’s most knowledgeable chroniclers, Cato Darrod. The kid couldn’t have been more than six or seven hundred years old, really just a teenager in Nekros society, but he had a proclivity towards details and memorization that few others could match.

  “Commander.” He nodded respectfully. “Lieutenant,” he added to Vane as he rushed past brandishing a holopod. “I have the records you requested.”

  In contrast to the form-fitting, black uniforms the soldiers wore, the clerical personnel, like Cato, dressed in billowy, light-weight uniforms the color of damp moss. The medical staff wore uniforms of pure white, consisting of simple T-shirts and casual slacks, while the maintenance staff and engineers had adopted fiery red jumpsuits.

  Everyone within the compound had their place, much the same way everything inside the commander’s office did. Not just for their protection, but for the safety of the civilian population, Pandora depended upon order and organization.

  “Do we have the reports from the inventory team?” the commander asked.

  “Not a complete report, sir.” Cato shook his head, making his shaggy, chestnut locks bounce around his face. “The team is still searching Divisions Two and Five.”

  “Very well.” Commander Schiva stood straight and rested his hands on his hips. “What do we know so far?”

  Placing the holopod on the commander’s desk, Cato pushed his black-framed glasses up his nose and pressed the glowing button in the center of the pod. A complete and detailed list of artifacts projected from the small, silver disk, creating a makeshift computer screen in the center of the room.

  “A search of Division Eight returned three missing items,

  Cato explained. “The most recent theft, the one Lieutenant Schiva witnessed, was the Jewel of Atrea.”

  He swiped a hand across the projection, enlarging a picture of the blood-red jewel encased in an ornate, silver setting. “The jewel was last worn by the Atrean princess, Nivin, and it was said to bring unfathomable love to anyone who possessed it.” With his back to the projection, Cato recited the information from memory. “However, if the wearer was found to be unworthy, they would suffer grave misfortune.”

  “How grave are we talking?” Vane held his right hand up, creating a small space between his thumb and forefinger. “Like scraping your knee grave?” He increased the distance between the digits and arched an eyebrow. “Or you know, like dead grave?”

  “The last wearer, Princess Nivin, was traveling aboard a charter vessel with her royal guard when life support systems suddenly failed without explanation. The entire crew died within minutes. Her death is what sparked the Atrean invasion of Promena.”

  “The Morphlings killed the crew?” Vane didn’t remember reading that bit of information in any of their history books.

  “It was never proven,” the commander answered, staring intently at the shimmering image of the diamond. “The charter ship was in Promena airspace at the time, and while there was no concrete evidence of Morphling involvement, the Atreans needed someone to blame.”

  Holding sway over the elements, the Atreans ruled their corner of the galaxy as beautiful, godlike creatures. Humanoid in appearance with ivory skin and shimmering dark blue hair, they were known across the universe as fair and majestic. Vane, however, had always thought the Atreans arrogant, greedy, and too eager for power.

  Vane understood how war worked, and he also knew it didn’t need much of a flame to spread like wildfire. It didn’t surprise him that the Atreans had invaded Promena to avenge their princess. Still, the story seemed to lack a few significant details, like why it had been necessary in the first place.

  “So, if the Jewel of Atrea is supposed to bring adoration to the wearer, why did it turn on its own people?”

  “Because Princess Nivin wasn’t an Atrean,” Cato explained, pushing his glasses up his nose again. “Her marriage to Prince Tahl was arranged—a political joining between the Atreans and the Crimnians.”

  Clearly uninterested in the history lesson, the commander cleared his throat, turning to face Cato with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “What other objects were taken?”

  “The Helm of Darkness and the sword Excalibur, both confiscated from Earth.” Cato flicked his finger across the projection, bringing up two more images.

  Vane scratched the stubble on his jaw. “Do they have anything in common?”

  “Yes, sir, they’re all Legacy Relics.”

  “Fuck,” Vane cursed.

  Legacy Relics could only be wielded by the bloodlines for which they’d been created. It definitely explained why the jewel’s power had turned dark in the hands of Princess Nivin. Considering a royal had last possessed the jewel, Vane could only conclude the Legacy bloodline rested with the royal family.

  “Where is the Atrean Legacy?”

  “The original bloodline died out centuries ago.” Shaking his head, Cato produced a number of electronic beeps from the projection as he searched through the database. “Charlotte Rousseau,” he announced, spinning the screen for Vane to see.

  An attractive female with long, raven hair and dazzling blue eyes smiled back at him. “A human?”

  “A halfling, actually.” Slipping his hands into the center pocket of his green, robe-like top, Cato shrugged when both Vane and Commander Schiva stared at him. “She was the last Legacy of the bloodline, but she died, as Earthlings are wont to do, during the early part of Earth’s twenty-first century.”

  Commander Schiva jabbed the center of the pod with his middle finger to close the projection. “Morphlings are going to travel back to twenty-first century Earth to kidnap this female?” He pinched the bridge of his nose while his left eye twitch at the corners. “That’s what you’re telling me?”

  Retrieving the holopod from the desk, Cato held it behind his back with both hands and nodded. “Yes, sir, that’s what I’m telling you.”

  An irrational sense of protectiveness for the stranger twisted in Vane’s stomach. There had to be dozens of other Legacies for them to target. Why they’d choose a seemingly unexceptional human made little sense to him.

  “Why her?”

  The kid smirked at him. “She’s the last of her bloodline and easily obtainable. During her time, Earthlings who believe
d in aliens were largely considered unstable.” His lips stretched wider into a bright, genuine smile. “Humans are fascinating, aren’t they?”

  “The Morphling said something similar,” Vane muttered. He had a bad feeling he knew where this conversational road ended. Turning to his father, he steeled himself for the worst. “Orders, sir?”

  The commander looked down at the carpeted floor for a long time before finally lifting his gaze to Vane. “Find the girl.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He’d rather swim naked in the frozen lake that stretched between Pandora and the Taldor than spend any length of time on Earth. He’d created this mess when he’d allowed the Morphling to escape, and it seemed only fitting that he should be the one to make it right. With a nod, Vane turned to take his leave.

  “Vane?”

  Pausing near the doors, Vane looked over his shoulder, waiting for further instructions.

  “I trust I don’t have to remind you of the rules.”

  They had a lot of rules for time travel, an entire book of them to be exact, but it was all pretty simple. Get in, get out, and leave everything the way he’d found it. With any luck, he’d find the Morph and drag his ass back to Nekron before last call at the Blue Fog.

  “Yes, sir.”

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