by Lee Stephen
The room went empty. Svetlana was once again alone. There was no other her on the table, no Nagogg in her grasp. Everything was clean. Lowering her gaze downward, she saw a white bucket sitting on the floor, filled to the brim with dark, red blood.
It was Nagogg’s.
There was no voice that needed to prompt her, no sign to indicate what she was to do. She knew what came next on her own. Sinking down to the floor, she picked up the bucket with both hands. Lifting the bucket over her head, her breathing intensified. With eyes closed and mouth open, she tilted it back.
With the warmth of the liquid came the rush of emotion. As it poured down her throat, she felt her tension release. Turning her head to the side and down, she embraced the flow like a lover.
Svetlana’s eyes shot open. She inhaled a sharp breath. She was staring at the floor.
“What…?” she whispered, the word happened never forming. Lifting her head to look, she gasped. Directly in front of her were the massive hind legs of the canrassi. Instinct took over as she tried to squirm away, only to realize in the effort that she was once again restrained by the magnetic clasps, except not on the wall as she had been with Tauthin, but on the floor itself. They were clasped at her wrists, forcing her into a bowed position in front of the beast. Turning her head to the left, she saw the bottom of Nagogg’s captain’s chair.
She was back in the bridge. A chill came over her, indicating that she was again stripped down to her undergarments. Her nose once again throbbed with the pain of the amputation. All around her, the Bakma were at their stations. A look up indicated that Nagogg was seated in his chair. No one was watching her.
How long have I been like this? She remembered nothing. The last thing she’d registered before her bizarre shift in reality was being thrust toward the canrassi as if being offered to it. Now, she was clasped in a bowing position at its feet. She registered a sliminess to her hair, and for a moment, the word blood came to mind. But it wasn’t blood. It was saliva. The canrassi was perched atop her like a dog over its prize. Its gaping jaws must have been drooling from directly above her.
It was the second instance of missing time she’d experienced in as many traumatizing moments. She found herself once again thrust from Point A to Point C, with no memory of what happened in the space between. And those images she’d seen…those feelings she’d felt…
What was that? Who am I to conjure something like that?
It was the second time in a short succession that such a dream had come to her. What was happening? Those images and feelings were not Svetlana Voronova. They were something else, something sick and horrible. Whether a coping mechanism or the beginning stages of insanity, it most certainly couldn’t be something good.
Lifting her head parallel to the floor, the highest angle her neck could crane, she took in the canrassi’s colossal back legs and underbelly. That was the extent of anything she could see—the rest of the beast was towering over her. For all practical purposes, she’d been given a permanent view of the animal’s midsection. She could feel its drool plopping unceremoniously atop her head and sliding down the sides of her hair. Her eyes fixed on the floor beneath her as a pool of thick saliva began to form. In that moment, another smell came to her—something that burned her nasal cavities like acid. It was a musky, horrible stench, as if she’d walked into a room where a cat had…
…had urinated.
Wincing painfully, she clenched her lips. She’d been marked. Like property for an animal. It must have happened while she was out, which was for the best, she thought. There was no benefit to being awake for such an experience, or to knowing where on her body it had happened or to what extent. It was better to pretend all of the wetness was saliva.
She was now their completed piece of artwork, sprawled out and vulnerable on the floor, bowing to a beast that was salivating on her head as if the two of them were part of a living sculpture—one the predator, one being continually christened as its prey. One the master, one the slave.
The feeling that swelled in the pit of Svetlana’s stomach was unlike anything she’d felt before. This was the utter depths of humiliation. Demeaning beyond comprehension. Had Ignatius van Thoor been there himself, she would have clung to his legs and begged him to save her. She could sense her sanity seeping away.
You are being used as an example.
The words in her mind came unexpectedly, as the familiar click of an Ithini connection accompanied them. Ed had connected her to someone. Flinching, Svetlana lifted her head from the floor, shaking it momentarily to sling away drool as it slid down from her forehead. She angled her head to the bridge entrance, one of the few places in view.
There he was. The Bakma she had seen in the hallway—the one with gouged eyes. Despite the alien’s blindness, he stared straight at her from his perch out of traffic. She swallowed, then glanced around to see if anyone else took notice. At least as far as her limited vision could see, they were all preoccupied with the ship. Her focus returned to the Bakma. Why are you talking to me?
The Bakma stood motionless, like a statue. To explain what has not been explained.
To explain? Had he been instructed to do that? Before she could ask for clarification, the Bakma continued.
My name is—
—Kraash-nagun, she interrupted before he could finish.
Kraash-nagun’s head tilted strangely. How did you know?
She didn’t know the answer to that one herself. His name had just come to her. The dreams, the screaming in Bakmanese, knowing the crew’s names…what was happening? Twitching her head in a futile effort to whip her hair from her eyes, she cleared her throat habitually. I am…Setana.
Your name is known.
How can you see me?
Kraash-nagun angled his head slightly. One does not need eyes to see.
Looking away as to not draw too much attention to her staring at the blinded Bakma, Svetlana’s gaze settled on the canrassi briefly before she turned her head around as far as her neck would allow—just far enough to catch sight of the view screen at the front of the bridge. They were still in space. The gravity she was feeling was indeed artificial. Where are we?
At the edge of what we call the Crossing.
It was habit to glance back at the one who was addressing her, but she stopped herself before it became obvious. Her eyes settled once more on the view screen. Did someone tell you to speak to me? She knew the answer to that question already.
I am speaking to you on my own accord. Disclosing our communication would ensure it does not continue.
For what reason are we speaking?
There was a pause in the relay of thoughts. Curiosity.
Her dark blond brows arched. Curiosity?
You are an extraterrestrial. I have never spoken with one.
It was the first time in Svetlana’s life that she’d been the extraterrestrial in the room. It wasn’t a feeling she liked. You said I was being used as an example. What does this mean?
Kraash-nagun shifted. Uladek demands total surrender. You are a warning to the rest of the crew that defiance brings punishment. His vacant eye sockets narrowed. You are wondering why they did not kill you.
She was.
A corpse is easily forgotten. A living example preaches without speaking a word.
So she was a teaching tool, secured to the side of the captain’s chair like a slave for all of the crew to see. Apparently, defiance had its uses. The saliva had ceased its dripping; now her head was just sticky. That uncleanliness, combined with the amputation of her nose and the shame of her near-nakedness, were the worst feelings she’d ever experienced. I doubt many here lack faith in their god, she thought with spite. I am sure they all saw what happened to Tauthin.
Tauthinilaas’s mistake was not his lack of faith—it was his outspokenness and the faulty assumption that time in human bondage would erase zealous loyalties. Not all who are aboard this vessel value Uladek as Nagogg does.
Svetlana’s blu
e eyes widened. Deep in her heart, the cinders of hope flickered. There are others who do not worship Uladek? Immediately, her mind began scheming. If I can reach them—if I can find out who they are and convince them to—
Though the thoughts hadn’t been meant as communication with Kraash-nagun, he registered them just the same. Do not deceive yourself with false ambition. No one on this vessel will join your cause.
…why not?
Because they see you now.
She knew what that statement was supposed to mean, and she took offense to it. What of you, Kraash-nagun? Are you so easily discouraged?
I do not require discouragement to accept futility. I am blind. I am of no use in a revolt.
His answer left wiggle room for argument. She took it. But you desire a revolt.
There was a pause. I did not say that.
Nor did you deny it. All she needed was one willing participant—one reason to hope. Kraash-nagun, blind or not, could be it. You do not worship Uladek, do you, Kraash-nagun? It was a shot in the dark, but a calculated one. The fact that Kraash-nagun was communicating with her in secret was enough to, at the very least, indicate a willingness to go behind Nagogg’s authority. That he was engaged in civil discussion about the possibility of revolt meant he might even be willing to undermine that authority with the right motivation. It was time to test his loyalties.
At long last, Kraash-nagun answered her. I survive.
He was just like Tauthin. No loyalties to Uladek, only to staying alive by humoring the system. Svetlana could turn him. You can be free, from the Khuladi, from Nagogg! From Uladek. All you need to do is release Tauthin.
Tauthin has no weapons. He would not survive the canrassi. And I am blind.
But I am here also.
You are inconsequential.
Blinking, she shot him a look—she couldn’t help it. After surveying the bridge to ensure no one had caught sight of it, her gaze resettled on Kraash-nagun. Do not let physical appearances deceive you.
Kraash-nagun answered her as soon as the thought was finished. I cannot see your physical appearance, nor do I need to. You were taken by Tauthinilaas because you had been rendered unconscious during an attack. You were powerless to fend off Nagogg, Gabralthaar, and Ka`vesh, all of whom have been tortured and starved for months. You screamed for Tauthinilaas to save you while pleading with your captors for mercy. You were incapable of both fighting and rationalizing yourself out of your current situation, which has left you mutilated, stripped, marked by a beast now considered your superior, constrained to the floor, and begging for aid from a warrior who has lost his sight. Kraash-nagun tilted his head intently. You are of no assistance to yourself. How could you possibly be of assistance to me?
It was a dagger in her heart. Every bit of what Kraash-nagun said was true.
Unlike the rest of Nagogg’s crew, I do not take pleasure in your torment. But I do not pity you. You are the result of inadequacy. It is the opposite of what I strive to be.
Tears of anger brimmed in Svetlana’s eyes. With teeth clenched together so tightly that they threatened to shatter, she replied only with silence.
Svetlana felt the connection remain open for some time, as if Kraash-nagun was waiting for her to resume the conversation. But she made no attempt. Their connection was like a quiet mic on an open radio channel—there was only the silence of mental static. Eventually, the connection was closed. Svetlana was once again alone.
Inconsequential. Inadequate. Both words had been used to describe her. Truth was present in each.
How long have I been so weak?
Despite every part of her that pled for her teardrops to hold their place, it was a battle she was destined to lose. They rolled down her cheeks in quiet torrents, streaking through the stickiness the canrassi had left behind and trailing past the flattened cavity where her nose had once been. All around her, Nagogg’s crew went about their business as if she didn’t exist. There she was, a human being in their midst, anchored down by the side of their captain’s chair, yet deemed not a threat. She was barely worthy enough to be ignored. She pulled helplessly at her shackles; they wouldn’t budge. Ceasing the effort, she simply sat in her place on the floor. Lowering her head, the droplets fell from her eyes, falling through saliva-stained strands of her hair and falling on the metal below.
No more attempts to communicate with Svetlana were made by Kraash-nagun or anyone else on the Noboat, nor did Svetlana make any further attempts to escape or plea for mercy. She only sat in quiet resignation. Though her tears stopped falling, her head remained downcast.
This was her Wall of Mourning. The plight of the Bakma around her had been cast back upon her. She embodied every cruelty they’d faced, bearing the sins of Novosibirsk on her shoulders. It was a penance that, in her mind, she had earned. She was pitiful.
Now, there was only the wait for Khuldaris. The wait for whatever was in store, be it more torment or even death. What little fight had existed in her was gone. A part of her wondered if she’d ever had fight at all. Hope fell victim to the impending inevitable.
It never stood a chance.
14
Sunday, March 18th, 0012 NE
0959 hours
Norilsk, Russia
BY THE TIME Esther walked into the medical bay, the Falcon Platoon survivors had already been released. The sole exception was Catalina, who was still on her cot next to Auric, prepped for her impending surgery. Wheelchairs, folded up in the corner of the room, were already waiting for both of them. Esther took that as a good sign. If wheelchairs were waiting, the two would undoubtedly be free soon.
Then, there was Natalie. The Caracal captain had expressed no surprise upon seeing the release of the others in the midst of her own continued incarceration. She was, after all, an “enemy combatant” in the eyes of the Nightmen. Her release was the last thing anyone thought would happen.
The only other people present were Northern Forge’s doctor, Gavriil, who was sitting in a swivel chair at the far end of the room, tapping away on a computer keyboard, and the pixie-haired Marina. At the sound of Esther’s entry, the doctor’s activities stopped, and he turned around. Smiling cordially, he nodded her way. “Hello.”
“Hello,” Esther said with equal cordiality.
“Esther Brooking, I presume?”
With a blank expression, she answered, “Are you sure?”
Gavriil chuckled. “If you are not Esther, then you have a very unfortunate resemblance. She is quite wanted.”
“Thank you for the compliment,” Esther said. “I need to speak to the alien.” All the while Esther talked, Natalie stood with her arms crossed against the glass watching them. Esther’s eyes narrowed when she noticed, and she snapped feistily, “Mind your own business, tart.” Natalie pursed her lips angrily, but said nothing. Esther’s focus returned to Gavriil. “Chop, chop! The Ithini. I need to see her.”
Smile fading, Gavriil sighed and stood from his chair. “Though I appreciate your enthusiasm, you cannot simply walk in here and demand to see something, let alone one of the specimens.”
“Why not? She’s mine. She practically followed me home.”
“You’re so pretentious, it’s almost unbelievable,” said Natalie through the quarantine glass.
Esther whipped her head to Natalie and glared. “It took all the restraint I could muster not to shoot you in the face, and I’m starting to regret it.”
Approaching the two women, Gavriil raised his hands to quell the spat. “Calm down.” His focus shifted to Esther. “Why do you need to speak to the Ithini?”
The scout glared. “She has a name, you know. The way you call her ‘the Ithini’ is kind of offensive.”
Laughing mockingly, Natalie said, “You literally just called her that very thing, yourself.”
Esther pointed at Natalie through the glass. “In the sodding face!”
“Ju`bajai,” said Gavriil, escorting Esther from the glass. “Her name is Ju`bajai, correct?”
The doctor went on. “What do you need to speak with Ju`bajai about?”
Tearing herself away from him, she said, “I want to do something new with my hair, and she has good advice. What’s it to you what I speak to her about?”
“Considering I have the power to ban you from visiting this room, quite a bit.”
Esther stopped her march toward the Ithini and glanced back. Her eyes narrowed. “Try it.” Turning back to the quarantine chamber that Ju`bajai was housed in, Esther locked eyes with her. Ju`bajai’s bulbous black ovals focused with concentration.
The connection was established.
Smirking, Esther looked back at Gavriil. “I’m sorry, I suppose I don’t need to speak with Ju`bajai after all. Ta-ta.” Waving at the doctor, she strode toward the medical bay’s exit.
“What’s your problem with the world?” asked Natalie from behind her own glass.
The scout stopped and eyed her. “What’s it to you, Venus?”
“Do you just enjoy being a devil?”
“A devil?” asked Esther, cocking her hips. “A devil? Sister friend, if you think you’ve seen me act like a devil, you haven’t seen a bloody thing.” The connection inside Esther’s mind pulsed. Ju`bajai was prompting the scout to communicate. “Now if the two of you will excuse me, I’ll be on my way.” Without another word, she walked out of the medical bay.
As soon as Esther was back in the hall, her covert conversation with Ju`bajai began. Hey, sprite. Are they treating you well?
The alien responded with an emotionless, I am accustomed to having purpose. At present, I have none.
We’re all accustomed to things being a little bit different than they are now. I need to talk to you.