Her Darkest Beauty: An Alien Invasion Series - The Second Generation

by Patricia Renard Scholes

  Karra noticed by its size that his keyboard included both languages. Nevian language used far more characters than the common Irelli language. She could keyboard the Nevian characters if the notes were clearly written, and had when, on yet another job for Jem, she had worked for a secretarial pool, but that was as far as her access to the alien language extended. She often wondered why the invaders had taken to becoming fluent in Irelli rather than forcing their subjects to learn their language.

  Finding nothing in his office, Karra roamed his many rooms. She found individual meeting rooms, group meeting rooms, and even a few single rooms with bedding, suggesting they were occupied by guests, like herself, who evidently needed care of some kind. People, she guessed, did not live in Gradi’s place long, because she also noticed an absence of personal items in the rooms. The only personal items were kept on the second floor where she found Megan and Gradi’s apartment. On the second floor she also found another storage room mostly for clothing, and a huge pantry. Gradi probably gave away tons of food and clothes to the needy.

  Finally, she decided to slip in the back of his auditorium and listen to the last of his speech. No one noticed her. A couple hundred people appeared to be held in thrall. He seemed to draw people from every level of society. Although most of them were human, the very presence of Nevians amazed her. Also intriguing were the number of Inner City residents identifiable by their more finely woven fabrics absent of any patches or tears.

  His speaking voice also surprised her, considering his well-worn voice of a few hours ago. If he used a microphone, it was hidden in the collar of his longvest. But neither did she see the sound-system speakers he must use to project his voice so well. In addition, she heard no crackling or tinny noises, no volume feedback. Every word was clear.

  “…the path of change. Brothers and sisters, your future lies not in hatred, but in forgiveness and transformation—in the reconditioning of your minds."

  Brothers and sisters. He tickled their ears with grandeur as if the desperate struggle of their lives were no more than the means to glory. Forgiveness! She almost laughed. Karra doubted Gradi would have defended his own culture with the same fervor as her father. Jon Willo had fought, and died, for the tatters of a destroyed culture.

  Disgusted, she slipped out of the room and down the hall. She planned to leave, but not under the bright lights of the unlocked entrance where any enemies could see her. No. She would leave by the side, anonymous, the way she had arrived.

  No one roamed the hall. No one saw her steal into the storeroom, already called "her room." But before she reached the back door, she needed to nudge aside several stacks of boxes. Her injuries forced her to use her good side, saving her arm, but pulling on the thigh muscle stabbed by the knife of glass. It would certainly be easier to leave by the front door, she realized.

  At that moment her foot slipped on a strip of rag. She lunged sideways, twisting to avoid hitting her arm as she fell to the floor on her stomach. Her right hand flew wide and slammed against the baseboard along one wall. She cursed as pain shot up her arm. For an instant she wondered if she had broken her hand.

  Something in the floor gave. Less than a min from her nose, a section of floor swung down. She stared into the hole beneath her eyes.

  For several long minutes she simply lay there, staring. A ladder reached into the gloom below. Another Area secret! She trembled in anticipation. She would explore this hidden room. She would…

  Not now, she told herself as she pulled the trap door closed.

  But tonight, after everyone had gone to sleep, she would explore the hidden basement.

  "She found it," Gradi told his wife that night.

  "You feared she would. So what will you do?"

  "I promised to keep it a secret," he said slowly.

  "You could Force her to forget about the hidden basement and its contents," she reminded him.

  He nodded. "But the coercion would not last forever. She is Talented, Megan."

  Megan looked alarmed. “Is she a wild Talent?” Gradi had told her many stories of wild Talents who used the energies to harm others, and how each one of them had needed to be destroyed. In fact, as the history went, all Nevians of Talent were nearly exterminated until they discovered that when they applied the Discipline while they were still children, when the very first signs of Talent appeared, most would follow the First Rule for their entire lives. Some might still be lawless, but not to the extent that they would throw a ray of energy directly at a person.

  “I seriously doubt it. She shows evidence of some form of training that is deeply engrained. No, this child was trained to obey the First Rule: never use a direct blast of the energies to harm others.”

  “Good.” Megan relaxed. “But you still need to find a way to protect the secret in the basement.”

  He stroked his chin. "I will make her protective of it and encourage her to stay to guard it."

  "If she's Talented, she'll be able to resist your suggestions. You won't be able to control her."

  "For a time I could." He sighed. "I wish I could reach her. So powerful, yet so distrustful –such a dangerous combination."

  "Dangerous enough to harm people?" Megan's bright eyes darkened.

  "She already has. This I feel. And she will harm others again, I am positive. She must not use the treasure in the basement for those ends, not to hurt. Too many have already suffered.”

  "It could have been otherwise. It should have been."

  “Yes. What should have been is always the answer. So few understand it is not the power of the gifts, rather the way they are used that reveals who we really are. I failed, didn't I?"

  Megan did not disagree.

  Chapter 14

  The ragged blonde girl hangs back from the rest of the beggars. She watches the bolder children push their way through the constantly moving crowds to approach the ones who seem the richest. The richest, though, never enter this part of the city, Daddy claimed.

  But some of these people have money. Other beggars are getting dit coins.

  “Just tug on a sleeve,” one of the other children tells her. “Hold out your hand for a few coins.”

  Instead, the little girl runs nose-first into the longcoat of a Nevian who taught her what she was “born for.”

  Sobbing, the little girl scrambles backward from her attacker into a small space between two buildings. She follows the gap into an alley that runs behind the buildings. She scampers through the alley to the street, darting among the throngs of people. She races around sellers' stands, over heaps of garbage, among the buyers, thieves, and beggars until her lungs ache for air. Unable to go farther she stumbles to a stop, gasping, bending, holding her stomach and sides in a self-embrace until she can breathe normally again.

  A quick glance around told her she has escaped the Nevian, but her body still shakes with fear and revulsion. He wanted to…

  Wanted to…

  She notices the red five-wen note clutched in her hand.

  She stares at it in horror. The red grows and blossoms from her hand to her skirts, staining the skirt of her dress, sending tendrils of red down her legs. The sight of so much red burns her stomach; she vomits onto the street.

  She straightens slowly and stands, trembling, clutching her coat tightly around her. She takes in her new surroundings. Beyond pushcarts of Illegals hawking their wares, a coiled barrier of razor wire snakes along a chain fence. Within, Security guards pace its perimeter, watchful of both the crowd outside as well as the prisoners they guard. The barrels of rifles point from guard towers spaced at regular intervals toward a string of prisoners. Guards herd them into a transport vehicle.

  Her eyes flit toward the razor wire surrounding the makeshift prison. This day they are transporting prisoners to the permanent prison with its windowless dun walls. Guards usher a new group of prisoners out of the barracks. They form an untidy line as they wait for the next transport. She tries to blur the view, but she knows what she has see
n.

  "Daddy!"

  One man raises his head at her cry.

  She catches a glistening at the corners of his eyes, and knows he weeps. His show of emotion makes her feel absolutely helpless. Her chest burns with unshed tears. Don't cry, Daddy, she wants to plead. Let me. But the tears seem to catch in her throat.

  She knows that if she can rest in the crook of his arm or nestle in his lap, she can let the weight of her tears fall. She takes one step toward the fence.

  A burst of gunfire slices through the line of prisoners, through the crowd, violating life. People scream and run for cover, nearly trampling the child. Her immobile eyes remain on her father, as if she can hold him with the power of her gaze. But he falls anyway, a piece of rag let go.

  Red bleeds under the rag. The thawing earth turns to red and black mud. Streams of red and black swim before, but the child does not move.

  I will protect you, a being within the swirling red promises.

  The young woman’s nightmare woke Gradi. He wished he could have seen the faces more clearly. In the dream he recognized them, but after she awoke, he realized that by becoming so involved in her emotions, when she discounted the dream as no more than just another nightmare and pushed it aside, he could not recall it either. Only one thing stood out: the Moloch that had approached her years ago wanted her to notice it.

  Attracted to those with Talent, they always tried to control those with access to the energies. One reason the Talented needed the Discipline was to learn not to be seduced by those foul beings. Masters of lies and delusions, Molochs often tempted Normals as well, but they were especially threatening to people of extraordinary abilities. A Moloch with access to a Talent’s abilities could cause planet-wide havoc, if so inclined. Most of them, however, were small-minded entities who reveled in their control of the person they enticed. Those who wanted planet-wide conquest were too easy to spot by a Discipline Master such as himself.

  Rather than call attention to themselves they often hid within someone like this woman, destroying the person from within until what remained of the person no longer existed. The Moloch, with no physical body of its own, was free to use the shell of the being for as long as the being lived. He dreaded the day that the Moloch controlling Jem would finally get free reign. That one bore watching. But destroying a Moloch also destroyed its host, and Gradi was never willing to sacrifice a host, even when one was as misaligned as Jem was.

  The next morning when he entered the office, he probed for the alien entity. Did it still exist?

  Karra felt a brush of frisson whisper past her mind. She glanced up from her computer and stared at Gradi, knowing that the whisper had come from him. Her guard rose instantly. Never use the energies…Never use…Power Never use…Talent.

  "I want you to attend one of my classes," Gradi said.

  But she knew that wasn’t what he had intended to say. He searched for something. She felt his question in her mind.

  She returned to her work, furiously tapping the keyboard to turn her mind away from him. When he discovered she was a fast and accurate data keyboardist, he had been pleased. Gradi always needed something to be entered, and Megan was no more skilled than he was. They considered her a lucky find. In exchange for her room and meals, she was more than willing to key his entries.

  He touched her hands, stilling them. “I really do want you to attend one of my classes.”

  "I'll think about it," she said, placing her hands in her lap. She did not want him touching her.

  "Why not now? A new class is starting today."

  “I said I would think about it.” She felt a nudge, as if something pushed her from within.

  “No. You don’t understand.” He paused as if choosing the right words. “You need to let people into your life. You have nearly closed yourself off from giving and receiving relationships.”

  “How do you know what I need?” she demanded. “Maybe I just need you to back off!”

  That wasn’t what she meant to say, but something made her pulse beat. She felt the heat of panic rising. How could attending one of his silly classes be so incredibly threatening? At the very least she needed to pay for the handspans she had spent in his storeroom. Evidently he was simply telling her that the computer job was no longer enough. She tried to calm herself.

  No, a voice inside her insisted, flooding her with a fresh wave of alarm. It’s you he wants. He wants to control you.

  Suddenly panicked, she jumped to her feet. The chair crashed to the floor behind her. Next would come hallucinations of her father’s murder…

  Silly child, the voice continued. The drug caused your hallucinations, not me. You’ve always had me. You just never noticed me before. Now be a good little girl and make an excuse to leave.

  But Karra trembled too much to say anything. She tried to shut out whatever entity caused the voice in her head as she edged toward the door.

  Gradi stared at her oddly. "Something else is happening here," he whispered almost too quietly for her to hear. "You are welcome to stay." He said nothing about data entry. "You could bring your daughter here," he offered.

  Megan must have told him.

  No, the voice insisted. You didn’t tell Megan about your daughter. Remember? He knows. And he wants to control you. Leave!

  For an instant Gradi caught a glimpse of the Moloch. So you still exist, you foul servant of evil. You cannot have her! To her he said, "You needn't ever go back to your old life. There are other options."

  The Moloch screamed in rage. Get us away from here!

  Cease! Gradi commanded. He needed to be careful. If he banished the Moloch altogether, it could return with others, and her second condition could be worse than her present one. She had not yet developed a protection against such creatures. "Don't let fear control your life," Gradi said, trying to push a wave of calm at her. "Options. Remember, Mirra?”

  "You always say that!" she shouted. "But what if there aren't any options left? Maybe I'm in too deep, or I'm too cold or ugly inside." Carlon’s words. She couldn’t seem to stop them from spilling out. She backed into the hall and glanced around her, blinking rapidly. Her breath came in heavy gasps.

  "Stop!" he commanded the Moloch. "You cannot…"

  She darted out of the door.

  All he could do was force her to forget about the secret basement. He wondered how long the restriction would last.

  Karra ran even after the voice in her head vanished, not noticing the freezing cold or the white clouds hanging low in the sky. Not until snow began to fall did she finally stop. She knew what inaudible voices meant. You’re a freetin’ paranoid schizophrenic, she told herself. It meant she was mentally warped enough to run out into the snow without either a jacket or a place to run to. Security would never need to catch her. She would do their job for them by freezing to death.

  She boarded an airway, as eager to experience its warmth as to code a destination. She would not be the first Area resident to use the airway system for a momentary respite from winter. Yet Karra hesitated, afraid that her old neighborhood would still be saturated with Security. Unfortunately, she knew no other way to get in touch with Jem besides going to Peeti's, and she wondered just how much it was going to cost her to keep Peeti silent.

  She coded a destination two exits away from the one closest to her neighborhood, hoping if the Security did watch, there would be fewer of them at this location. She hoped to get a hint of the degree of saturation from a distance.

  As she stepped out, someone grabbed her arm.

  She swung away, pulling her gun.

  Pedestrians scattered, losing any interest they might have had in boarding this particular airway.

  "Hey!" The man stepped clear and held his hands away from his body. "Hold it!" He continued in a whisper. "I'm a Friend of Jem's, y'know? A Friend?"

  Karra pretended not to understand. "I erren’t got friends."

  "Look, all I have is a message. Jem says to tell some girl with long brown
hair to meet him outside the King's Palace. You have long brown hair, so I'm telling you."

  "You're telling me two handfuls of sass!" She backed away from him toward the airway tube and entered sideways, her eyes fixed on him. Her fingers reached for the buttons and pressed a random code.

  When the bubble stopped, she hid in the warmth of a local shop and watched the exit, just in case the messenger decided to follow her.

  "May I help you?"

  She turned at the sound of the voice.

  The woman who spoke had sounded friendly, but by the time Karra turned, the clerk's face showed alarm. The thickweave clothing, the drawn gun and the knife strapped to the intruder's thigh, all shouted that the store clerk faced someone from the Area.

  "Sorry," Karra said quickly, pocketing her gun. "I'll be gone in a minute or two." The last thing she needed was for an hysterical Inner City shopkeeper to notify Security.

  "You'll leave right now!" the woman insisted, her voice already shrill.

  Karra glanced once more at the airway. The man had not exited so far. "All right," she agreed. "But I meant you no harm, got it?"

  "Just leave!"

  From the woman's tone, the Security was a comm call away. Karra cursed aloud and left the shop, never remembering what goods had been for sale. But she refused to run for cover. As if she owned half the Inner City herself, she strolled casually to the airway to code the King's Palace.

  She hoped the man carried Jem's message. If not, and Security had sent him, she could be riding toward lockaway.

  Still, what choice did she have? If the Friend told the truth, her whole neighborhood was inaccessible, including her hidden apartment. Su did not want her. And for a reason she could not identify, she feared Gradi.

  She knew a couple of other people willing to hide her—at a certain personal cost. And they would let her bring Chalatta. But she shook her head. No, not Snake and Berita. Not yet. Not unless Jem failed to show.

  Light snow blew ahead of her as she stepped off the airway. The dark plaid flannel shirt and brown thickweave pants, although heavy, offered little protection against wind. She shivered and rubbed her arms for warmth.