Its fur rose.
Opute flashed the light three times. The Nikana’s fur settled. Its round eyes narrowed to crescent moon shapes.
Opute let the pent up air out of his lungs and drew in a shuddering breath, aware he’d almost passed out. He crawled to the middle of the balcony where the two glass doors met and pulled out a small electromagnetic device. He began to counter the magnetically-sealed, motion-sensitive alarm rigged on the doors. A click signaled it had worked. Opute slipped his specialized knife between the two doors and made a clean slit downwards, cutting the locking mechanism in half. He opened the right door, away from the Nikana, and slipped inside. Opute pulled his night-vision goggles back over his eyes and scoured the pitch-black room.
Through his goggles, he saw the room with a greenish glow. Sparsely furnished, the space gave the impression it was for short, cheap visits. The Manach stood next to the bed; its eyes wide open, but sound asleep.
Even though Opute knew it wasn’t awake, the sight still unnerved him.
Not about to take any chances, Opute quietly approached the upright body. At the moment before his attack, a loud crash sounded outside the lodge. Opute watched through his green-tinted vision as the Manach woke and moved its eyes, searching for the disturbance. Opute lunged. The Manach, having excellent night vision, ducked under Opute’s outstretched arms, rolled across the bed, and landed in a crouched position on the floor. The Manach dove for the open glass door, but Opute cut it off.
The Manach let out a low growl. “Who are you?” it demanded.
Opute’s knife glinted in a brief moment of moonlight. “I’ll ask the questions.”
The Manach’s eyes flicked to the side of his bed where its own weapon lay, out of reach.
Opute saw the look and raised his knife, bringing the Manach’s attention back to him. “What’s your connection to Pierze Lang?”
“You’re asking about the fat man?”
Opute almost sliced the Manach’s throat right then and there. “Why the kill? What did you need?”
The Manach’s eyes twitched back and forth, looking for an escape route. It licked its scaly lips. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”
Opute’s hand struck out. The Manach pulled back, but not fast enough. The knife slid cleanly from its shoulder to its elbow, exposing bone.
“Let’s try this again. Why the hit?”
The Manach’s eyes bulged in their sockets and he stumbled backwards, toward the bed. Black blood poured down its lifeless arm and pooled onto the floor.
It cried out in pain.
Opute closed the distance between them. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Exarth ordered the kill,” it said, its hand wrapped around its wounded limb. It sat on the bed. “It was just a job.”
Opute’s teeth ground. “Exarth,” he snarled. “What did she want from him?”
“Some computer disk.”
“What’s on the disk?”
“How should I know? Why don’t you ask Exarth?” The Manach moved for his weapon. Opute anticipated the move and slashed out with his knife. A clean slice appeared across the Manach’s throat.
“Maybe I will,” Opute muttered.
As black fluid oozed into a thick puddle around the body, Opute searched the room. He found a small, silver disk under the bed, stuck it into his pocket, and exited the scene. While he climbed down the drainage pipe, he noticed the Nikana watch him from the balcony. It had come out of its trance.
“No hard feelings, right?” Opute told it.
The Nikana blinked. It jumped to the limb of the tree next to the building and scaled down the side of its trunk, landing softly on the ground as Opute dropped off the drainage pipe.
“Oh, no. You can’t follow me.”
The Nikana growled softly.
Opute pulled off his goggles. He didn’t want to draw attention. “Fine, do whatever you want. But I’m not taking care of you.”
The Nikana followed him at an equal pace, its large white paws silent as they treaded over the slimy rocks.
On the way back to Lang’s store, Opute wondered what information could possibly be on the disk to warrant Lang’s murder.
Kalil stood hunched over the entire contents of his stomach.
Torrak peered into the utility closet. There lay Lang’s body with a large blackened hole where his chest used to be, the edges peeling and flaking off. The smell of burnt flesh filled the small, enclosed space and Torrak swallowed hard so he didn’t also vomit.
Kalil moaned weakly, his face pinched and red from the strain of puking. “I've seen a lot of corpses in anatomy class before, but they never smelled.”
Torrak clenched his fists at the sight of his friend’s dead body. His anger boiled near the surface. He wanted to throw something or punch the wall, but he knew he could better help Lang by figuring out what happened. With a click, he closed the closet door and peered around the store.
Torrak put the scene together in his head, reading the clues he saw, throwing out impossible outcomes. “I think a third party was involved.”
“What do you mean?”
“There seemed to be no struggle between Lang and his attacker. Lang was sitting in his chair when he got shot,” Torrak remarked, pointing to the scorch marks. “Why would the killer then drag a hundred and twenty-five kilo man into a closet and smash the sign on the front of the store? The first would take a while and broken glass would attract interest. No...someone came afterwards, moved the body to the closet, and proceeded to smash the sign.”
“Why would anyone do that after seeing a dead body?” Kalil asked. He wiped a hand across his mouth.
Torrak thought about his own anger and how he had wanted to break something. “Someone who cared about Lang.”
“Who?”
“I think it was Opute since he’d also be strong enough to move Lang’s body.”
“Opute?”
Torrak nodded. “The immediate question now becomes what do we do with him?”
“What do you mean ‘what do we do?’ We call the city’s authorities and file a Fatality Claims Report.”
“That may not be the best course of action,” Torrak said. “Think about it. If we get the city’s authorities involved we’ll end up –”
An explosion from outside the shop rocked them both. They raced outside and skidded to a halt at the spectacle.
The entire sky had turned crimson except for a thin line of black, which lay where the edge of the sky met the ground. Small pinpoints of light from individual stars looked larger than normal as their edges trickled white into the deep red around them. The source of the explosion, which now filled the sky with silver dust, came from a meteorite having been pulverized in space and its debris settling onto the PADS.
Torrak and Kalil watched the scene with awe. The sky changed to silver. Music blared all around them. Crimson banners lowered and silver banners took their place to match the sky. The whole square sparkled. Beings made their way through different tents set up all around. Tents were decorated with flowing drapes, flashing lights, and vibrant colors to attract the public's eye. Some contained food from areas all around the galaxy, others featured arts and crafts or theatrical shows. One tent had Slithes, long, reptilian-like female dancers. Their clothing shimmered while it changed colors with the banners around them. Torrak nudged his friend. Kalil's mouth snapped shut and he blushed as he pulled his gaze away from the undulating figures.
Torrak and Kalil stayed motionless for a few moments, adjusting to the stimulation around them. Kalil’s eyes shined with the reflected silver light and he looked at Torrak, quickly bringing himself back to the problem at hand.
“I still think we should go to the authorities,” Kalil said.
“I don’t know. There’s something off about all this.” Without Lang, he had no way of locating Opute, without Opute he had no way to learn about the Aleet Army, and without the Aleet Army, he would never find Daith.
Torrak’s s
houlders sagged in defeat.
“Let’s clear our heads,” Kalil suggested. “No offense to your friend, but I don’t feel like sitting around with a dead body while we think things over. Besides, my stomach needs a break.”
The two of them walked around the square, watching the shifting colors of the sky, as they figured out exactly what to do.
*
Gold-colored dust settled on the planet’s energy shield above Opute. He ignored the partiers in the square as he reached Lang’s store. About to unlock the door, Opute frowned when it opened. He crept in, cautious, and relocked the door right after the Nikana slunk through. Everything seemed in order. Perhaps, in his haste, he had merely thought he had locked the door. He went back to Lang’s body, wrapped it in a blanket, and lugged it down into the cellar. He opened one of the large freezers and pulled out enough shelves so the body would fit. He would eventually return the body to Lang’s family, but he didn’t want to leave it out in the open while he worked.
Opute returned upstairs and sat down in front of the computer, twirling the disk he’d taken from the Manach’s room.
“Let’s see your secrets.”
As he worked, the sky outside changed into violet.
*
The violet sky above them changed to green as Torrak and Kalil approached Lang’s store. The two of them decided, with much reluctance on Torrak’s part, to call Central Authority and report Lang’s body anonymously. Torrak wanted to do more, but what else could he do? He didn’t know if Opute had found Lang, and even so, who knew if he’d return.
As they came up to the store, disappointment weighed on Torrak like a wet blanket. He’d come all this way and for what? A dead friend and a dead end.
Torrak approached the door and pushed. It didn’t open.
Torrak’s mood flipped instantly to irritation. “Why’d you lock the door?” he accused Kalil.
“What are you talking about?”
“The door. Why’d you lock it?”
Kalil frowned. “I didn’t.”
Torrak couldn’t see anyone through the windows.
“Something’s not right.” He motioned for Kalil to follow and kept alert as they moved back to the cellar entrance.
“Keep quiet.” Once inside, they tiptoed toward the stairs. Torrak winced at a loud crash behind him.
“Sorry,” Kalil said. “I tripped.”
*
The Nikana growled moments before Opute heard a crash from downstairs. A glimmer of silver reflected the lights as he slid his knife from his pocket.
*
Torrak reached the top of the stairs. He hesitated for a moment before opening the door.
*
Opute gripped the knife in his hand. The cellar door opened. When the intruder emerged, Opute grabbed him by the arm and twisted it behind his back. He held the knife against the intruder’s throat.
Opute saw another individual creeping up the stairs. He kicked a large box, which collided with the second intruder, knocking him back down into the cellar. Opute pressed the knife harder against the first man’s throat, drawing blood.
“You picked the wrong store to loot,” Opute snarled.
Daith shook her hand in pain. “I’m sorry,” she exclaimed. Rubbing her throbbing knuckles, she looked down at Cenjo, who she just punched in the jaw.
Patting his face tenderly, he smiled at her, and got back up to his feet. The squishy, yellow mat underneath him had protected his fall, but his face already swelled.
“No worries. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. I should’ve seen it coming. Very nicely done.”
Squeezing and releasing her tender hand, Daith’s shoulders relaxed now that she knew he wouldn’t be mad. She’d held back during their second sparring session. Ever since she lost control and hurt him, she worried about doing it again. But this time, it had been a solid punch. She’d squared her shoulders, moved in with her hips, and hit him with full force.
“I’ve never hit anyone before. Well, at least not on purpose. As far as I remember.” She grinned, the pain in her hand subsiding.
“We should probably put a chiller pack on your hand so it doesn’t swell.”
Daith waved him off. “My hand is fine, now.”
“What?” he asked, moving his jaw around.
“My hand. It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” She held it out for him to see. The redness had faded and the swelling had stopped.
Cenjo took her hand in his, his rough, calloused fingertips sliding over her knuckles. “Incredible. How can you do that?”
“I’m not sure on the specifics. I can heal quickly. There’s something inside me, like a warmth, and I can move it to parts of my body. Once it’s there, it just fixes me somehow.”
He dropped her hand and tapped his injured jaw. “Could you heal this?”
Daith hesitated. “I-I’m not sure. Probably not.” Her stomach twisted in fear. “I’d probably make it worse or blow up your head or something.” She meant the words to sound like a joke, but her fingers trembled while she spoke. What was wrong with her?
“Wouldn’t want that.” Cenjo smiled. “Are you ready to continue?”
Daith opened her mouth to say yes. “I think we’d better stop for today.”
“Are you sure? You asked for a second session.”
Bile crept into the back of her throat. She swallowed it back down. “I know. I needed something to do—to keep my mind off of everything I can’t do.”
“All right. Well if you want to meet up in the mess hall later for a bite, feel free to show up or stop back here later. I’m going to be running through some stances with the newbies—it wouldn’t hurt for you to listen in.”
“Sounds great,” Daith lied. She gave a curt nod and forced herself to move at a normal speed from the room. Once outside, her breath quickened and she briskly walked to her quarters. She entered, face warm, stomach rolling. In one quick motion she flung herself through the washroom’s door and dry heaved into the sink.
After catching her breath, she took a seat on her bed, shaking. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel totally terrified? Cenjo had only asked if she could heal him. And in truth, she probably could.
She remembered it being one of the things she and Dru never worked on. The only test they performed involving healing required her to not heal him. Dru made her watch him die to prove that even with all her power, she couldn’t do everything. It turned out to only be a simulation, but they never got a chance to pursue her ability to heal any further.
Then Dru had been taken from her, killed by the same group that murdered her family.
Losing the truest friend she could remember hurt enough, but she’d been so close to him emotionally that she even “saw” his death—an echo of the event filled her mind at the moment it happened. The memory still hung in front of her when she closed her eyes to sleep—a sharp crackling noise, an arc of blue electricity, the scent of burnt flesh as she looked down to see a gaping hole in his abdomen where he’d been shot.
Daith reached automatically for a small vial next to the head of her bed. She popped one of the pills inside, a dream-deflector, designed to keep her from dreaming. Even though she knew she wouldn’t fall asleep for hours, just knowing the terrifying images would be kept at bay were enough to sate her for the moment.
Daith pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Holding herself tightly, she forced herself to take long, slow breaths. She hadn’t felt this scared since one of her first days aboard the Horizon. She remembered how terrified she’d felt when she would wake up, afraid she’d be trapped once again in a room with no memories. But after Dru came on board, reassuring her they would work on her restoring her memories, she became calmer, felt safer.
And here she was without him.
She hated feeling like this. Maybe she could do it on her own, but she didn’t know how. How could she ever feel at peace again without someone to help her find her way?
*
Cenjo watched Daith leave, noticing her tense body. He hoped she was all right.
With a few words he ended the simulation program and left the room, heading for his own quarters. Silent corridors greeted him. Sparseness infected the crew like a virus. With Trey’s temper, many crewmembers were dismissed for simple mistakes.
Cenjo sauntered down another flight of stairs, the recirculating air hissing louder in the confined space. He’d been keeping an eye on Daith since her arrival. At first, he thought she joined on like the rest of the crew, but when the rumors spread about her abilities—he couldn’t help but notice their similarities to the crew’s former leader, Jacin Jaxx. When he first saw her, he knew why.
She was Jaxx’s daughter. He’d met her once before, on a mission to retrieve her. She’d immobilized his entire squad in moments.
A swish of a door and Cenjo entered his quarters. The soft light of his sister’s art sculpture permeated the room. He’d forgotten to turn it off. His chest tightened at the sight of his homeworld, Katala—or what it used to be. Now it floated in space as a dead object, a ball of useless rock and dried-up riverbeds.
All because of a senseless mistake by another Katalan.
The chemical reaction created to destroy pesticides went horribly wrong and snaked through the planet’s water system. The contaminated water killed every living thing it encountered. Millions died before the world government realized the source and evacuated civilians onto space vessels—removing them from the toxic surface.
Cenjo had been off-world, competing in a combat tournament, when news of the phenomenon hit the vidlink reports. He couldn’t get home—spacecraft weren’t allowed to return to the planet, as it had been quarantined. He could only watch news reports, hoping they’d reveal names of the survivors, furious at himself that he hadn’t been there to help.
Reports of Jacin Jaxx flooded in. He landed on the planet. He healed survivors on the surface who had been infected and weren’t allowed to leave. One of them was Cenjo’s sister, Brial.
Eomix Galaxy Books: Identity (Book 2 of 2) Page 7