by Lesley Young
My face drops.
“Don’t worry,” he whispers, touching my chin.
“Is that why ESE’s here? Is it mounting a defense against Aeons?” I ask rather desperately.
He nods, but wears an absent look. He checks his UPS. “We must get moving again.”
“Does ESE know? About me?”
He shakes his head.
No. Or they would have launched a rescue mission for their very own human sift. And yet, the fact that no one was coming for me, not even King at first, guts me.
“Well, what did everyone think had happened to me?” I ask louder than I should, exasperated.
“Shh.” He’s frowning. “Hathaway confessed to activating the device. ESE thought they came for you because . . . because the Prime had taken a . . . liking to you.”
“And they weren’t going to rescue me?”
He shakes his head. “I am sorry, Cassiel. I fought for many days with them. They questioned your trustworthiness since you did not inform them of the device you stole. You did not inform me either,” he adds, coldly.
“I-I’m sorry,” I say, immediately regretful. “I was angry about your loyalty to ESE.”
This seems to surprise him. “I wanted to leave with you before all this began if you recall,” he says, doing his angry-calm thing. “But you wouldn’t let us!”
“I know. I’m sorry!”
You don’t know how sorry, I want to add, but he’s eager to get moving.
“Wait.” I grab his arm, keeping us crouched. “Why didn’t you at least tell them what you suspected about me, that I was a sifter?”
He seems at a loss for words.
“We don’t have time for this,” he hisses finally. “We must go!”
“No.” I stay huddled low to the ground, a knot tightening in my stomach. “Answer the question.”
His lips are clenched into a thin line. He does not like to be told what to do, but I don’t care. He seems to collect himself, and coldly answers, “Cassiel, I could not be 100 per cent certain.”
He shakes his head. “ESE was just wrapping their heads around this incredible information about beings having perceptive abilities,” he whispers, probably louder than he should. “I would not have been able to convince them of my suspicions. You didn’t trust me, to share the truth about yourself with me, remember? And that’s when Lt. Lazarus left. So I made arrangements to follow him thinking it was the best lead we had.” He softens, adding, “It was the best way to come for you.”
I brighten at this admission.
He checks his UPS and is about make a move.
But I have to know. I never seem to ask the questions I need answered. And I want that to change. “King, what were you and Daria Preston doing in Daz’s report?”
He looks at me, mouth open, then his brows draw together. Probably because I have just admitted to having concealed this ‘sift’ episode from him.
He kneels back down from his half-standing posture, glares at me, unblinking. “We were doing our own investigation, to try to learn where he was. I was worried where SOSA had sent him!” He snarls this last bit. Then he checks his UPS.
“So what was it you and she were doing that ‘Daz would have wanted?’”
“To check on him,” he insists without skipping a beat.
Is this true? Lt. Lazarus was the last one in the report according to my sifting.
“King, they have him!” I blurt out, deciding to believe him. He’s the one here trying to rescue me after all. “Thell’eons! Some Prime Aardon has Daz. He’s agreed to trade him for the sift. That’s why I have to find the other sift in the rift! That’s why I flew here!” I whisper urgently, gripping his arm.
“What?”
“Yes.” I nod. “It’s true! They showed me Daz! We can save him.”
“Good, and we will, but we must LEAVE NOW!”
He moves to get up, but holds up his hand instead, motioning for silence.
I don’t hear anything. Oh, wait, yes, the high-pitched ringing in my brain that comes with the dread of returning to a Horde. Or’ic would have made it to the planet by now.
Oh, please don’t let it be Thell’eons. You never can hear those fuckers.
King’s about to stand up again when he changes his mind, and not a moment too late. He sprawls on top me, shoving me into the ground as a ray of Thell’eon gamma bursts fire over top of us.
Oh no! Is King hit? No. He’s still alive, pressing down on me, firing back. While he does this, he lifts off, and shoves me, shouting at me to run toward the extraction point. I do, pushing through sharp brambles, all the time fearful beyond fear that he will be hurt.
Wait! I hear, is that . . .? It is! It’s a human Barret Photon A90.
ESE fire! They have to be near!
I’m dead scared about getting caught in the crossfire but keep on moving the way King was taking us. Wait, why does it sound like I’m running away from the ESE fire? I’m heading the way King said to, or did I get turned around in the dark?
Don’t second-guess yourself. But, but, you’re definitely moving away from ESE fire. A sharp branch cuts my scalp while I focus on listening hard. ESE fire is definitely coming from another direction. Why go to his ship if ESE is right here?
I’m moving away from it, or is it moving away from me?
Either way, I need to move toward it.
No. That’s not the way King said to go.
Torn, I stop, then lie flat on the ground and peer behind me.
No King.
I’m breathing heavy and my lungs hurt like never before, despite the oxygen restorative.
Forward?
Which direction?
Toward ESE fire. Yes.
I start to crawl on my elbows. It’s actually easier to lift the brambles from this vantage and I move as fast as possible, fear mounting as I get closer to the shots. I’m exhausted crawling in this awkward fashion and numb with fear that I’ll be hit. Those Barrets’ll slice you in half!
A hand clasps my calf, suddenly yanking me back. I peel around, screaming. I flashback to that moment when I was halfway into a rift, certain that a Thell’eon or an Aeon is holding on to me.
King!
I have kicked him in the head, but he doesn’t care. He’s motioning for me to be quiet. Calm down! Fear and fatigue have me shaking all over.
Concentrate! In the dark I just make out . . . Uh-oh, he’s signaling that I’m going the wrong way. I don’t understand. The wrong way? ESE is this way. I’m sure of it.
He reasserts his desire for me to follow him. I concede but just as we turn around I hear a rush of movement. A big, dark figure lands on King’s back, crushing him to the ground.
I can’t see!
But I know King can’t fight back from that position. The fear is visceral. This attacker will snap King’s neck in seconds! My body’s already reacting. Spinning around sideways, I use both my legs to kick the figure in the head repeatedly. Is it enough? King struggles to twist around, grunting. Uh-oh, I’m dragged quickly toward the enemy.
Blackness.
I come to, seconds later. I think I was punched in the head.
King!
I spin around crouched when whumph! I’m crushed under the two men, fighting with all their might. King is on top this time, I get that much. I hesitate for a moment, snared in this death match. Help him! I wrap my one free arm around the enemy’s neck right above me and squeeze with all I’ve got, which isn’t much, while trying to free my other arm.
It’s enough to force the enemy to try to free himself, which gives King the opening he needs. Holding the target’s head away from mine, he manages to land a punch so hard I hear cracking, then he pulls the limp, heavy figure up and away from me, aims the The
ll’eon gun at his face, and—
The noise is shocking. Wet stuff splatters all over me. I know what it is and I fight the urge to barf.
King’s face, in that moment when he pulled the trigger, when the blast lit up everything, was terrifyingly familiar. It was Lor’s face before he killed the Thell’eon. It was Or’ic’s when he chased the Aeon. It was the Aeon’s face before he dove into me.
I start rubbing at myself, confused for a moment that it’s Aeon blood burning me.
“Stop,” says King, grabbing my hands. “Shut-up!”
Am I speaking? No, I’m sort of moaning.
Did I help kill that . . .? I look back but there’s no head on the body.
Nothing’s left up top. Just legs. Who was that?
King covers my mouth, hugging me close to him, turning me away from the remains. I can’t move. My arms are frozen at my side.
Who . . .?
Somewhere behind us we both hear the subtle movement of weaponry.
That shuts me up. Yup. I’m very quiet now.
But since we heard it, it can’t be Thell’eon, right?
RIGHT? RIGHT?
I whimper again.
King whistles, a short burst of sound.
It’s answered.
I strain my head around, despite King’s grip. Shortly, a young human ESE officer emerges from the thatches, which are burning around him in a perfect circumference. He’s wearing the Hathaway Shield. Next, a unit of six gloriously motley males emerge—some tall, some short, some puffy, some ugly, some cute—all gloriously human. They are cloaked in radiant Hathaway Shields.
We’re rescued.
Chapter 31
Today’s highlight was my mist. I spent five whole minutes in it, my full allotment. I squeak. I probably even smell nice. But I don’t feel clean.
Coming in a close second was eating human food. I swear, that waxy-cheese-limp-lettuce sandwich was the best-tasting sandwich I have ever eaten.
I slept, more like passed out for a few hours in a PH (Portable Hut) in ESE’s territory before I was collected for my debriefing with Command. I had to pop an adrenaline spike given to me by medical, who had RISH’d my wounds when we arrived. That was after we were ‘raked’ (examined for hidden locating devices). They did not remove my Thell’eon neural interface, precisely because it allows me to fly their ships. No one could figure out how to take off my Linor cuffs, though all the alien technology in and on me was cleared.
After, King went straight to Command, but not without giving me three PRISMS Command Guards. I assume he plans to tell ESE Command that I’m a sift. That should up my guard by about 100.
I managed to find a moment, and asked him quietly if he knows who it was he’d killed out in the brambles. He shook his head, then said, “Probably a Thell’eon.”
For the life of me, I can’t recall any identifying details of the headless corpse. Even in the moment, I’m not sure if he was bald or had hair.
I didn’t have to ask King how he could operate a Thell’eon gun. The scans by medical—to verify the ESE-manufactured Thell’eon neural interface was working—told me enough. The Big Brains probably copied an interface based on intel, maybe even the intel I’d stolen from Or’ic since King (and any future spies) needed one to hunt for Lt. Lazarus in Thell’eon territory. It wasn’t until I woke up later, that I realized I’d never asked him why he’d directed me to his ship, instead of toward ESE, out there in those exposed brambles. Come to think, how did he get a Thell’eon ship? I just assumed he stole one, but how easy is that?
Sitting outside Command’s makeshift headquarters, waiting for my debriefing, after King, I narrow in on what’s been the most unexpected development. How, when I was alone earlier today in my hut, the walls seemed to inch nearer. There was an awkward moment when I nearly begged one of the PRISMs to stay inside with me. All I could do was close my eyes tight and will myself to sleep before I sifted, alone.
Now, waiting for my debriefing, sitting within an arm’s reach of hovering, well-armed human guards, my spine hunches over, my brain sits back in much-needed repose.
What’s happened to me? My chicken heart has taken over.
“Cadet Winters,” says the ESE Chief-of-Staff at the entrance opening. I didn’t even hear him open the door.
I stand, pausing, so that King may leave, but he doesn’t. The first person I spot upon entering is none other than the head of SOSA, Adm. O’Reilly; next, the head of ESE, Commandant Abernathy. Wow. The big guns are here. They’re posted at two different sections, each with satts and other devices feeding them information. Other officers, a few of whom I recognize from Winters’ Storm, are working on com-tabs.
Wow. This PH is different from any I’ve seen before. It’s designed to be invisible inside out. All around me, the goings on in the ESE fortification on Taxata are visible, but, oddly, I can’t hear them. Armored ground velos whip past, leaving clouds of dust in their wake. PHs have been erected everywhere, including towers, and, I assume, BHs (Bunker Huts).
My eyes eventually land on King, who, seated at another smaller table, nods and smiles slightly. My brain snaps to attention forced to consider a question that probably should have occurred to me a long time ago.
Why is a lowly Lieutenant such as King always present at such high-ranking meetings?
But, the briefest flicker of recognition, I’ve been here before, lands with the weight of a planet, compressing the air right out of me.
Is it?! Is it?!
No. No. It’s nothing.
I breathe out slowly.
Just my imagination. You’re not sifting. I try to swallow down the acid burning my throat. Shit. The reflux is here to stay, probably the rest of the day.
Everyone ignores me. I long for pockets in this ESE uniform, not for the first time, and glance around for a less exposed place to stand. The girl who met last with Command, who thought she was getting kicked out, pops to mind. Boy, if only I knew then.
Uneasiness envelops me. I can’t help but assume this is deliberate, this silent treatment. King’s face is red.
I taste something. Oh yeah, that’s it. Bitterness. I don’t know what I expected exactly, but this indifference, well, it didn’t even make the list.
King couldn’t have told them I’m a sift, or they would be treating me a lot differently, wouldn’t they? Astonished, I check my inventory of things I know about King. Nope. Wouldn’t have expected him to place my privacy before ESE’s right to know. Then again, maybe he thinks they won’t believe him. That hesitancy that flickered in his eyes, when I challenged him about me out in those brambles, fires me up. Maybe he still doesn’t believe me.
“I know who has my brother, and you have a duty, an obligation, to rescue him.” I’m not surprised how clear my voice sounds. A few heads pop up, including King’s.
You haven’t even heard disrespectful yet.
Adm. O’Reilly looks away from the setties hanging from the ceiling, which is not invisible, appraising me.
I stare right back, resolute.
After a moment, he says, like I am 12, “Winters.”
Is that a greeting?
After a long, long moment, he adds, “I trust you learned your lesson about keeping enemy intel from ESE?”
My mouth flies open. Learned my lesson? Learned my lesson? “Like you could care less. Don’t even try to manipulate me,” I say, laughing harshly.
He’s definitely listening now.
“You were going to leave me with that Horde,” I continue, unable to stop myself. “Well, guess what? You should be thanking me for escaping!”
Now I have the entire room’s undivided attention. Clearly King did not tell them I’m a sift. Adm. O’Reilly’s ignoring my attitude.
King stands up. He’s trying t
o tell me to calm down with that look of his. I think he’s also saying, Don’t do anything stupid.
Another wave of mild familiarity enters the room, sliding over my existing perception so quickly that I don’t have time to fear a rift before it is gone. Was that . . .?
No.
It must be fatigue. Or, maybe it’s proximity to the rift.
We are less than 250 yards from the north perimeter.
Yes. That’s it! Just some kind of echo coming from the rift.
“Care to elaborate, Cadet Winters?” asks Adm. O’Reilly, emotion finally showing in his narrowed eyes. Anger.
“Why, yes. Yes, I do. Tell me something, O’Reilly,” I say, leaving off his title, finding the perfect spot for my hands, on my hips. “Why do you think they came for me? And no, it wasn’t for that. Please.”
Everyone’s staring at me. Is the Commandant blushing? Good, about time.
“What’s the one thing you’re missing now that your Hathaway Shields have allowed you to get near the sift? Oh, by the way, how long do you think until the Thell’eons, or Aeons, for that matter, either copy your technology or figure out a way to deactivate it?” I’ve gone too far. But I can’t help myself. I’m gloating.
“What’s the one thing you’re missing?” I practically shout.
The Commandant and Adm. O’Reilly look at each other as if to say, Well, you asked her here.
Ah, maybe this isn’t the best strategy. Make them think you’re crazy then tell them you’re a sifter.
You need to calm down. I take a few deep breaths before taking on Commandant Abernathy’s glare anew. His bushy eyebrows are raised, the answer to my questions standing right in front of him.
Me, you moron. I’m a sift!
Huh, wait, what was that? An odd visual movement, behind him, to the right, just now, where the wall should be, in the view of the outside world. It’s a kind of tiny ripple, as though the invisible wall were made of fabric and it moved every so slightly. What the . . .? I shift in response, my body suddenly at attention.