by Hana Starr
The invader from behind the cart strode forward with the blood pressure cuff she had seen, and he wrapped it around her upper arm as she struggled and hissed. Her heart was hammering and her blood pressure was vey high, judging by the readout on the machine and the dissatisfaction in the invader’s voice as he spoke to the one in charge.
I hope all your results are skewed, Nelly spat internally, knowing that was perhaps the best and worst curse that she could inflict upon these people.
However, their leader merely seemed to make a note of this and then waved one bulky, gloved hand as a signal to keep going.
The cuff was removed, and the one holding her arm made her hold out her index finger while a small clip was attached to the tip. Nelly recognized this device as well, and thought that it was for detecting a pulse. It was one of the very few things she didn’t know in and out; practically applied medicine wasn’t her strongest suit.
When the clip was removed, something was pressed to her chest right over her heart. It looked like a stethoscope, but was attached to a recording device with a blinking red light. After that, things became personal.
The first syringe came out. Nelly snorted, trying to buck with fear as she saw the needle, but she couldn’t break free. When the syringe headed towards her arm, she held still and prayed that it would be over quickly if she didn’t fuss. That wasn’t to be, however. The invader’s gloved hands were clumsy and he had to dig around in the meat of her arm for a full two minutes before finally puncturing a vein. By that point, she was tense and whimpering with pain at the feel of the needle moving around inside her and tearing at her muscle, and her rapid heartbeat caused blood to begin spurting.
Her knees went weak, but they wouldn’t let her fall.
At least they took advantage of it, catching her blood in the vials as it dripped scarlet from her arm instead of poking her again.
Then came the bone scrape. The thing looked like a hole-puncher and when squeezed, it would jab a scalpel very deep into her arm and scrape out a sample from the surface of her bone. As the invader slid it along her elbow, Nelly shook and trembled, every part of her tensed against the coming pain because patients were normally numbed for this. When the pain came, it as every bit as sharp as she thought it would be.
Tossing her head, she couldn’t stay silent any longer. “Please, stop,” she whispered. Tears slid down her face. One was caught, swabbed onto a slide.
Then, she was manhandled onto the ground and given a thorough examination from the top of her head down to her toes. Her breasts and pussy were explored thoroughly with clinical, not-unkind fingers, but she could hardly believe when it was over and her virginity was still intact.
Only in theory, however. On the inside, what had just happened was a violation of her privacy the scale of which she had never experienced before. Even knowing an HD camera watched her every movement in her lab back at NASA had been nothing compared to this. She had expected that level of security, and even appreciated it.
Having cold plastic swish around between her legs was crossing so many lines that she found herself in a territory she hadn’t even known existed.
It was after that, that they let her go. Her terrified, shaking body slumped to the floor and they retreated as though nothing happened.
Nelly could barely think, curling against her blanket and cradling her wounded arm against her stomach. Her chest heaved like a startled bird’s as she watched the invaders reverse their entrance: instruments cleaned, disposable parts discarded, and then returned to whence they came. Screens were turned off. The samples were loaded up into boxes, and then carried out by hand.
Within fifteen minutes, Nelly was alone again. It took much longer after that for her to get herself under control again, and she did it in the only way she knew how: slipping deep inside herself, she thought of a random subject and began to mentally list very specific facts. This time, it was lemons.
As her breathing slowed, she listed all the countries where lemons grew. And when she ran out of countries, she named all 50 varieties from the sweet Meyer to the Volkamer grown in Italy. By the time she finished with those, she was able to sit up and her shivering had stopped. The mental exercise left her feeling a little more aware, and she was able to take a few sips of the water which remained miraculously unspilled despite all her fevered struggles.
It’s time to think.
Even if Rornak was dead, she still had to find a way to escape. She knew enough of the Akait customs to be familiar with their methods for choosing a leader. Next in line was Horule, who would be kept in check by his counsel. Her purpose would live on, and she would fulfill her end of the bargain.
Sitting there in an enclosure unfit for any living creature, the space architect took another sip of water to fill her stomach and began to plan.
Chapter Eleven
Very dimly, Rornak had to admit to himself that he was in shock. His whole body was numb and he could feel nothing. Even more than that, he could hardly move because his heart was so heavy that it had chained boulders to his legs and clipped his wings. They dragged the ground on either side of him, and his tail was a limp and useless thing. It hurt his neck to have his head so low that his snout skimmed the ice, but he hadn’t the strength to hold it proud and aloft as his bearing as a dragon deserved.
Slow step by step, Rornak dragged himself the long, lonely way back to the hiding place. He was completely exposed and in absolutely no condition to defend himself, which meant that he could have enemies bearing down on his tail in an instant and be completely incapable of doing anything about it. And how he wished for that to happen. He wished for death. This pain was too great for his body to bear, so much larger than him.
What’s the point? he mourned, shutting his eyes as he took another staggering step. He was a leader. He was the eldest. He tried his hardest to be kind, and he made up for cunning and cleverness with what he lacked in battle prowess. He had saved them, got them out, and given them hope, but what was the point of it all when hope meant being squandered away in a dirty hole for the rest of their lives? With such a depleted number, it would be difficult enough for them to repopulate already but now it was unfeasible. Before, when he had had hopes, he contemplated a future of mates and children, and the next generation of dragons, but Takla was dead and Nelly was stolen, and there was no hope left.
He could not justify letting his brethren fill the hiding places with little lives which could not be supported. Life could not be continued there, not like this.
So, then what? Was he doomed to waste away? Were the Akait going to die out one by one until the last of them cursed Rornak and his failure with their final breath, signaling the end of a great age and the beginning of another which was far less beautiful?
Oh, it hurt. He wanted to die. He wanted to cease to exist. He should climb that outcropping and toss himself from the peak with his wings folded, or whip his neck down rapidly upon that point of stone, or bash his skull into the ice until it cracked, but Rornak did nothing but trudge on and on and on.
Eventually, thoughts ceased and there was nothing but misery around him and in his mind as he kept going.
He could not have said how long he merely walked for when he first heard the voice, only that he did eventually hear someone else speaking. Still, he couldn’t manage to look up and only lowered his nose further to the ground.
There came a thump of wings and a skittering of claws as what was obviously another Akait landed nearby. They transformed, giving off the nearly inaudible sound of the metamorphosis, and then spoke again.
“Rornak! What’s going on? Where are the others?”
Head down, he kept walking along in his dragon form while slowly filing through the ranks of his people until he could remember which one this was. The voice was familiar, and he got it eventually.
Pollung, a male with silvery scales tinged with faint blue like the glow thrown from their lamps. He was the dragon who Takla often curled up with.
Rornak staggere
d as a wave of pain stabbed him in the heart. Strong hands grabbed at his shoulders, but the humanoid strength of the Akait was nothing against a transformed dragon and they both crumbled to their knees.
“Rornak, are you injured? I cannot see any injuries upon you.”
Miraculous, he thought distantly. How did a dragon with gigantic wings leap through a hail of weapons fired like that and emerge unscathed? I must be the luckiest dragon in all of Pluto.
The bitterness hurt too, and he slid his claws out to scrabble at the ground. His chest felt like it was being ripped apart, like Horule had managed to strike that final devastating blow.
“I wish he had,” he sobbed raggedly, collapsing down to the ground completely. Tears pattered down his face, steaming on the ice. “I wish he had killed me.” His fingers tensed on the ground now, sharp edges of clawed ice ripping at his skin.
There was silence from the blue-tinged Pollung, the gentle dragon pulling back with a pained hiss. Rornak heard it, and it only made him feel worse.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“They…killed Takla? They killed her?”
Only then did he remember that he’d left the body behind in his urgency to find Nelly. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered again, another stab in his chest. He coughed, felt searing heat fill his lungs like blood, but it was only more pitiful crying.
More silence, and then a long sigh. “I should have known. We all should have known.” Pollung hissed out his anger, and then slammed the side of his fist into the ice, which split beneath his anger. “We should have known this would kill us all.”
“Horule did it. Not I,” Rornak managed weakly, and then pushed himself up to his knees. His eyes were still streaming with tears, his madly-flicking double eyelids scattering hot droplets everywhere.
Pollung jerked with surprise. “Horule? What do you mean? Isn’t he dead?”
Rornak stared down at his bleeding fingertips, at the white streaks staining his skin. “Horule is dead. I killed him. He betrayed us and was consorting with the enemy the whole time.”
“Damn,” Pollung swore. “Our good luck, nothing but a planned ambush!”
“Yes. But, he meant well.”
“Don’t we all?” the blue dragon murmured. “Takla?”
I’m glad I can at least tell you this much.
“I sent her away. Horule went off and I heard him in distress. I sent her and Nelly to retreat while I went to rescue him, but he had only been baiting me into his trap. They had our exit guarded and by the time I came out, Takla was dead and Nelly stolen.”
“I am so sorry, Rornak.”
Rornak blinked a little, finally looking up in surprise. “You are sorry for me? Why?”
Pollung tipped his head to one side, thinking as he spoke. “We all knew how you felt about the human. Often we wished you would simply mate her already so we could stop smelling your want.”
They both gave humorless little puffs of laughter, and then leaned their shoulders together to share grief.
“You felt the same for her as I felt for Takla. I would have followed her anywhere.”
“Yes,” Rornak admitted guiltily amidst a fresh wave of hot tears. “I had hopes she would choose to stay here in the end.”
“As did the rest of us.”
They watched the sky for a long while after that, still leaning on the other before the conversation resumed.
“What do we do now? After all, you are still our leader. Your guidance must continue on no matter what happens. It is our way. You know this.”
I do know this.
Rornak sighed. “Truthfully, I am not sure. Every path leads to death.”
Pollung hummed deep in his throat. “Then, I have a suggestion for something, at least. I must be permitted to fetch my mate. It is only proper.”
Yes, there was that. He nodded and tried to get his mind into order long enough to make a note of it, failing miserably all the while. “It will be done. Wait. Why were you out roaming here in the first place?”
Pollung stared at him, flicking one eyelid. “You have been gone for days. We have all done patrols to watch for you?”
“Days?” Rornak gave another bitter chuckle. “I must have been walking in circles.”
“I think we have all walked in circles at some point or another,” Pollung said darkly. “Yet you wound up right back here at the end of it anyway. I believe that says something, though I’m not certain what.”
“I did not know another of my kind was so philosophical as I,” Rornak muttered, turning to the Akait beside him.
“You do not spend much time with the likes of most of us.”
Shame filled his whole body and he looked down. “I suppose not. Yet another failing of mine. There are so many.”
But, Pollung just made a dismissive little gesture. “You have been quite busy keeping the rest of us from ripping each other to pieces.”
Perhaps it was in that moment that they became friends, brought together by loss and understanding. Rornak struggled to come to terms with the loss of his days wandering across the plain. “I wonder what they have done with Nelly.”
“Are you certain she was not dead?”
“Yes,” he confirmed immediately. “I searched for signs of injury upon her but there were none.”
“If Horule was telling them secrets, he would have spoken of her intelligence. Perhaps they are testing upon her.”
Another wrack of pain seized his entire body at the thought, at the unholy words. Nelly being tortured, her sweet face contorted with pain as experiments were performed upon her… The pain became anger and he growled, squaring his shoulders.
Beside him, Pollung felt him tense up and reacted to it. The blue dragon gave an angry snarl, and struck the ice with his fist again. “Rornak, I understand that we are hot-blooded and young but you must let us do something! You are our leader and you will have to bring news of this to the people, but you need to give us something to do in response.
“Let us retaliate. Let us not waste away. Let us plan and scheme and fight for what we believe. And if we shall die in the struggle, we die as warriors and dragons rather than worms.”
The anger grew and grew, filling his chest and then spilling out through the gaps in his ribcage until his whole body was coursing with rage, until it boiled over and transcended to another plane entirely: calm. Very suddenly, impossibly, Rornak knew that Pollung was right. Even if all paths led to death, he would rather die with invader blood in his fangs than with his body dashed against the ground from his own frenzied anguish. There was honor in one way, and not the other.
Honor would do his ancestors proud, who were watching from amongst the stars even now.
Rornak stood up. Pollung followed suit, their faces glittering with tears in the starlight.
“Let us go, then. Let us gather ourselves and plan, just as you have said.” An idea occurred to him. “With Horule dead at my claws, there is an empty spot upon my council. Pollung, will you accept the position?”
“I shall.”
“Then, we shall go. And when we attack, you must immediately head to where I will tell you Takla’s body lies. Say your goodbyes, and then join the fray.”
Pollung, the newest member of the council now, nodded his head. He repeated, “I shall,” and that was all that needed saying.
In the next moment, both males had shifted into dragon form and were flying. It was real, true flight for the first time in age as their bodies coiled and uncoiled. Rising and falling, they wreathed about the other and screamed with flame. No longer in hiding, they spiraled higher and higher into the atmosphere as the hiding place came within sight. Then, as one, they dropped and slammed to the ice while spitting fire all around. The ice melted, vaporized, and reformed again into hideous and ethereal formations as flame was cast anywhere and everywhere.
And from within the tunnels, more dragons came. Rornak settled upon a nearby boulder with Pollung at his feet, watching every last of their
numbers come streaming out and standing before him like it was a true meeting. Tails up and wings flaring, the assembled Akait spat fire of their own in answer. They had heard the commotion, had understood in at least some part what it meant, and now they were ready.
The other four members of his council joined him, two at either side.
Standing up on his boulder and looking out, Rornak let his chest swell with pride until at ached. They were so eager, so willing, so thirsty for vengeance that it did not even matter that it wasn’t quite him who stirred them to their current fervor. Rather, it was pent-up frustration and anger and grief in their own hearts. And that was not his job as their leader. He was not meant to give them desire, but to direct it.
And that was exactly what he was going to do now.
Throwing his head back and bracing his claws, Rornak screamed out a roar. Every single Akait standing before him broke their ancient rules and shrieked and howled with him, adding their range of voices to his until even the pebbles on the ground were dancing. He felt it in his chest like never before, some wild and unstoppable force of power.