Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End

by Lesley Young

  Time to focus on my favorite source of relief: plotting my escape. Of course I have a Plan B. Are you kidding? Consider the confidence that Plan A inspires: Trust, Cassiel, is a misguided human social construction predicated on absolutely nothing but self-delusion. I repeat Or’ic’s words mockingly in my head. Please! I need a way to bail out of this if things go wrong.

  Worst case, I know who has Daz. Prime Aardon. If I escape, surely ESE will launch a rescue for my brother, their top pilot.

  I think over the things I have learned about Thell’eons and my brief experiences here so far, and review how my Plan B is coming along. I wish it were more promising, but, hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

  1. A homemade weapon (since their guns don’t work for me). Better yet, I’ve hit upon a weapon that will render these giants immobile from a distance. I can’t help but giggle at its utter simplicity and perfection (I think some mental unbalance is acceptable given my current circumstances). So I got the idea when Kell’an arrived with a package yesterday. It was full of clothing (no pants!) and other female basics, like size 8 shoes (well, boots, actually, made of a really fabulous animal hide; I also appreciated the brush). The Thell’eon women had included a bizarre device with a narrow hollow middle and an end with a needle. Upon closer examination, I realized it was some sort of sewing tool. I guess someone thought I might need to alter the clothing to fit.

  But I didn’t think of it as a weapon until after dinner later that night, when I saw Doc Seth chowing down in the mess. Seeing him, the only person who has smiled at me in three days, made me think of the other prisoner, Friend, which made me remember Doc Seth loading an endospray from a drawer in a large floating shelf right near the downcores. So after one or two minutes of giving myself a major pep talk, I faked a headache right on the spot. Moaning, crying, the works. Pers’eus carried me to the sickbay straight away (crying creates a real advantage around here; I’m not certain Thell’eon men have seen women upset before), where he left me, relieved, for overnight observation.

  I was elated, upon my dramatic writhing and moaning arrival, to find Friend there, healing from his latest battle round, no doubt. And, as soon as I got a chance, long after I’d calmed down, I slipped off the downcore, and paused on my way to the privy to tell him, using the fewest words possible, about my intention to escape. I said, “Don’t worry, I’m getting us out of here.”

  I think Doc Seth purposely ignored the fact we were talking though he couldn’t hear. The guards don’t care either. After day one, they grew lackadaisical around me. They just don’t see me as a threat. I think it’s because I’m human. Or a woman. Or both. Anyway, on the way back from the privy, I asked him his name, and he whispered Lor. And that’s when I shot him with the drug I’d stolen from the tray when Seth wasn’t looking when I first came in. It was so easy, even with my trembling hands, the big production probably wasn’t even necessary.

  Lor obviously wasn’t expecting me to drug him. His chocolate-brown bloodshot eyes opened wide, and I felt bad, but I had to test it on someone about the same size as a Thell’eon! When he didn’t pass out, I panicked and explained to his pissed-off eyes why I’d done it. Later, when Seth went to the privy, I asked Lor to blink twice if he couldn’t move. He did! And then I watched and waited. And waited. He was frozen in place for about five hours. Couldn’t even lift a finger!

  I know we spoke with our eyes that night, I’m just not sure what either of us said.

  When Lor finally started moving, I was preparing for an escort back to my space, but I managed to sneak in another line. I told him I wouldn’t leave him behind. He just crinkled his oddly shaped brows.

  I got the endospray, squeezed tight in my fist, back to my pod, and hid it in my care package when I dressed this morning. I smile every time I think about it. Blow darts tainted with a knockout drug, which has even been tested!

  2. An escape route. Well, technically, I don’t have a route. But I’ve figured out a way to map one. I got this stroke of genius in the mess hall on day two, served to me by my newly appointed aide, Zeke.

  Or’ic had insisted I have my own aide (one of his very own), though, if you ask me, they’re slaves not aides. I finally got the story behind this unusual species who live unobtrusively all over the warship. They call themselves Cinarie. My aide, Zeke, is over eight feet tall when he stands up straight, but all Cinarie stoop most of the time to see what they are doing. Their long, sharp faces remind of an ancient human animal called a “horse.” Cinarie’s skin ripples in patterns of gray and green, the result of a play of light or something else I can’t possible identify. His eyes are big and gray and wide apart, like a prey animal.

  Zeke, using what I gathered is a synthesized voice box, assured me Cinarie are not slaves. In fact, he told me something rather surprising. Apparently, the Cinarie serve Thell’eon gladly because they believe in some prophecy called the Great Siege, which has passed down through generations of Cinarie. The story goes that some great race will protect the universe from Aeons. Cinarie think it is Thell’eons. I nodded politely, really thinking, “Pretty convenient, this prophecy, if you ask me.”

  From what I can tell, these Cinarian do everything for the Thell’eons. Cooking. Bathing. Cleaning. Zeke admitted that the prophecy did not predict an outcome.

  See, that’s the thing about prophecies. They do a lot of foreshadowing but no real foretelling. I digress.

  I flip onto my stomach, and wrap the blanket tight around me.

  The important part’s what Zeke served me: something that looked like rice but was topped with small black pebbles. They are called torn. Based on taste, I would say they are a Thell’eon nut, but whatever. I grabbed a handful when he wasn’t looking and dropped a few all the way back to my space. I checked behind me and confirmed that they are so bitty and dark, no one else would even notice them on the ground.

  A perfect way to keep track of where I am! I just need to ask for them every time I eat.

  Where was I? Oh yeah.

  3. A vessel to escape. Okay. So I don’t have that worked out yet. But when I do, it will just be a matter of opportunity. Unfortunately, in none of my travels, to the mess and baths and back, have I passed anything that even looks close to a hangar bay or docking station. Yes, this is a concern. I squeeze my eyes tight, listening for the guard, half grateful for them, to protect me in case I sift.

  I swear, that Aeon saw me.

  Really, you need your rest, Cassiel. Lt. Lazarus’s haggard, handsome face comes to mind. That night he left me in the briefing room with Cora Smith, before the mission that’s changed my life, he let his wall down for a moment, pausing, revealing a hesitancy, an awkwardness, that belied something else I could never have imagined. Tenderness.

  For a second, I thought he was going to tell me it was all just another ESE test, and that I’d passed.

  Instead, he said, “Sleep tonight, while it still comes free.” He seemed sad and damaged in that moment.

  You know what? If I could go back in time and change one thing, it would be to have never joined ESE in the first place.

  Chapter 18

  Finally, a decent stretch of sleep. My morning back arch is stopped short by the presence of Onegin standing less than three feet away. I yelp and pop up, grasping the sheet close to my chest. The gorgeous nutter is just standing there, staring at me.

  “Watching a woman sleep’s perverted!”

  “You sleep too much!”

  “Excuse me? I’ve barely slept at all!”

  “You humans. Pathetic. The Aeons would destroy you like the lazy pushtar that you are!” The word doesn’t translate, but I can just imagine the reference.

  “Get dressed. We would eat,” he adds.

  “No,” I say, remembering my plan, wishing I’d had more time to build up some fortit
ude. His eyebrows, with their delicate markings, rise in a challenge, so the next bit comes out shaky. “I won’t do anything until I know what’s going on.” I clear my throat. “When are we going to arrive at Taxata?”

  His face grows ugly with anger. He moves toward me, fast, and shouts, “You would do as I say!”

  I don’t move fast enough before he tears off the sheet. My bare legs stop him short.

  Good, he should be embarrassed. Oh. That’s not the emotion on his face.

  “Onegin!” Or’ic shouts, stepping in from his side of the partition, barely pulling on pants in time. So he has been sleeping there the whole time (naked) and I just never hear him come and go. These bastards never make a sound! I could slit his throat, if I had a weapon! Sleepy, his face is softened, beckoning, like it was in that meadow. Cassiel!

  “You would have your questions answered today. After you eat,” he mutters, his eyes falling to my legs. Last time I sleep in only a long shirt and underwear.

  “Fine.”

  They both wait.

  Realizing they’re not leaving, I stand up, crouch down, get some clothes from my kit under the downcore, and walk into the tiny privy to change, trying the whole time to pretend my legs aren’t bare.

  When I emerge, Or’ic is gone.

  I brush my hair and tie it back with one of the metal-like ribbons the Thell’eon women put in my kit, hyper aware that that man is just next door. Maybe gone back to sleep. Zeke passes me another ribbon. I forget sometimes he’s always near, ready to serve. Cinarians excel at being invisible. Meanwhile, the madman watches me intensely, like I’m an animal exhibiting fascinating behavior by merely tying up my hair. I mutter “pervert” under my breath, and follow him to the mess.

  Once seated, Onegin tells Zeke what to bring. I wait in a tray table across from Onegin, and shortly, Zeke places a bowl of globby, snot-like crap, a weird green fleshy thing, and a glass of purple froth on my table.

  NO TORN NUTS!

  “What’s this?” I ask rudely, feeling my stomach churn. I haven’t asked what I’m eating up until now in case it’s something gross, like animal brains.

  Onegin glances up from his plate of carnage.

  “Zeke, I want what I usually have,” I say, ignoring Onegin’s glare.

  “No! She would eat this!” snarls Onegin.

  Only once has Onegin not incited fear in me. Yesterday, when I tripped walking down a corridor. (Out of nowhere, he grabbed me to keep me from falling, and asked rather gallantly if I was all right.) Nevertheless, this morning something snaps in me. Not only have my escape plans been thwarted by this morning’s change in diet, I’ve had enough of being told what I can and can’t do. Of being watching. Of being forced to wait, while my brother’s life is at stake.

  “No! I WILL NOT!” I shout. My hand hits the tray table harder than I anticipate. I watch, surprised, as the bowl bounces right off (who knew they were so light?) and smashes on the floor, some of the globby crap splattering Onegin’s arm.

  The next seconds pass in slow motion. Everyone absorbs what has happened much quicker than I. It’s the Cinarians’ faces that alert me to the seriousness of the situation. They’re positively terrified. I think Zeke’s calling to someone on a communicator. When I glance back, Onegin’s staring down at the offensive stream of snot-like cereal across his sleeve like a deranged animal.

  What’s the big deal? I’m sure it cleans out.

  For safety’s sake, I slide out from my tray table, which turns out to be a wise decision. Onegin glances up in that moment, and in record time reaches out with his food-streaked arm to throttle my neck. Before I turn to run, narrowly escaping his grasping fingers, I’m alarmed to observe that he’s so intent on following me that he doesn’t even bother to slide out of his tray table so much as stand up with it on him. Holy stars!

  I dart nimbly around several Thell’eons sitting at scattered tray tables, deciding to break into a run when Onegin tears the table from his legs and throws it to the side. Maniac!

  “You would do as I say!” he roars behind me.

  I look to the other Thell’eon, hoping they might protect me. Not a chance. This is sport. Entertainment.

  I’m not sure whether ancient evolutionary prey senses kick in, but somehow, don’t look!, I sense Onegin’s just inches behind me. I head toward a serving bar ahead, and throw myself legs first under the bottom. The floor slows me down but I squirm under and through just before the big thug can grasp me.

  But when I pop up, something isn’t right. The nausea’s expected, considering I’m being hunted by an insane Thell’eon. But it’s the sense of familiarity that halts me in my tracks. I stand up straight.

  There’s a rift—

  Wham! The wind’s knocked out of me as Onegin tackles me at the same time I hear a huge crash. He must have ploughed right through the buffet!

  Dishes clatter to the ground smashing into tiny pieces all around me as I brace for impact against the wall I know’s in front of me, with Onegin on top of me.

  Instead, I fall into what feels like empty space. My body lands on the ground hard.

  Somehow I managed to prevent my face from hitting the surface. Ah, that’s how. My palms ache from the impact.

  And, oddly, there’s silence.

  Wait, why isn’t Onegin on top of me, choking me or something? I’ve had another concussion! Is Or’ic in my mind?

  The smell’s also different. A mild sulfur or something. My confusion’s worsened by the darkness that surrounds me. I hear something crawling (dragging?) on the ground.

  I try to hold in my own heaving breaths and strain to see in the dark.

  A face appears just inches from mine suddenly. I let out a tiny yelp.

  It’s him! The Aeon I saw yesterday. His flat eyes are shockingly full of expression; they seem to be screaming Food!

  Finally, my brain gives the command, and I scramble backward, away from it, at the same time hands grab my feet and legs, lifting me off the ground, pulling me back away.

  But the Aeon’s quicker. He reaches out, snake-like and so fast, grasping both of my arms with waxy deformed fingers.

  It hits me. I’m halfway IN another dimension. But . . . Swoosh. I’m back in my dimension, and the Aeon has caught a ride with me.

  I scream the only thing I think of, “Aeon!” but it’s too late. The Aeon’s body gets halfway through, enough for him to haul himself out of the rift.

  He’s here. And I brought him here.

  I watch his entire face and body transform, but subtly. Like he went from dead to alive. Then, in a blink, he vanishes before me.

  A blade slams inches from my arm.

  A solider aiming for the Aeon way too late.

  I’m hauled back and propped up on to my feet.

  “RUN!” Onegin’s voice screams in my ear.

  I’m shoved toward the exit of the mess. Thell’eons are shouting. The ship’s alarm is screeching.

  I glance back, senses returning. Holy fuck. Like the vision I’d had yesterday! The Thell’eons are in big trouble. Being ripped apart, limb-by-limb. The Aeon moves too fast. An arm flies by me. Onegin and several others parry with the waxy alien. No chance.

  “Cassiel, this way!”

  I hear Zeke’s voice beside me. Bent over, he reaches for my arm, hauling me behind him. As we near the exit and I taste safety, I’m jerked back and off the ground by a vise around my waist. Zeke, still holding my arm, is thrown back with me.

  I think, Let go! faster than I can say it. His long, narrow head tilts back and to the side, just in time to see the same flash of silver that I do.

  Then, his head is gone.

  A gaping, bloodied stump’s all that remains.

  His hand releases mine gently.

  I can’t scr
eam. I’m being hauled backward too forcefully. I try to twist, expecting to see another flash of silver, knowing I’m unable to stop it. But there isn’t one.

  In one fluid movement, from capture to release, the Aeon hurls me through the air, in the direction of the rift, never once breaking in his fighting with Onegin and other Thell’eons. As I sail backward I watch it fight with both hands again, easily slaughtering Thell’eon while working somewhat harder to fight off Onegin.

  I land on my butt, hard. Only slightly winded. Why am I not dead? Why would it throw me near . . .? Oh, it hits me, as the Aeon is slowly but surely backing up toward me and the rift. He’s going take me back with him! Aeon use sifts, Or’ic’s words replay loud.

  Over my dead body!

  I scramble to get up and look over at the exit relieved to see a fresh batch of Thell’eon entering, including Or’ic and Kell’an. They assess the situation and head for the Aeon determined. Grim-faced.

  When I, too, look at the Aeon, my stomach drops. Onegin has been hurt. Badly. He’s collapsed on his knees before the Aeon. Blood’s pooling in his eyes. Just like what I saw through the rift yesterday!

  The Aeon risks attacks from all sides to draw out the most deadly instrument I have ever seen from a holster on his leg. This is the moment. He’s going to point that narrow, piercing arrow-like device at Onegin, who appears helpless. I don’t think, I act. I run toward its back. The Aeon’s finally outnumbered now. I can help. Its waxy flesh, torn all over from blade slashes, melts like bubble gum from close-range fire.

  “Stop!” shouts Or’ic at the Aeon, and, surprisingly, it does. Its weapon is still pointed at Onegin, but waves of some kind of force come out of it. They pulse like heat beating down from the sun, but it goes right around me whereas every other Thell’eon in sight appears to be . . . Frozen!

  It’s too late to stop my mid-air launch, even if I could, and I land on the Aeon’s back. He must not have been expecting me (why didn’t I freeze, too?) because I manage to get my legs around it and put it in a chokehold, though I sense I’m posing no more bother than a tiny insect. Holy crap, this is not good.