by K. Webster
I am proud of how well she has acclimated to this planet, to this Sector, to me. We are home to her. “As long as it does not include any grenus root, I think we are good.”
Not long after Lox left, I eradicated the Sector of the root. It is too dangerous. And when hunting within the caves for useful plants and such, I pointed out to Emery the unsafe plants, including the grenus root.
“We have had enough crazy for one lifetime,” she says with a smile. “I wouldn’t touch that with a ten-foot pole.”
I do not know what a ten-foot pole is exactly, but she loves to say those words when referencing things she does not want any part of.
“How long until supper?” I ask as my palms roam to my favorite part of her. Her stomach.
She chuckles. “Soon, for Hope’s sake. She’s hungry.”
We do not have a wegloscan at Sector 1779 to detect pregnancy and the sex, but there is no doubting that Emery is carrying my mortyoung. Not even two micro-revolutions of our being here, she began to present symptoms. Illness in the mornings. Tenderness to her breasts. And she was no longer cycling. She was so sure while I remained hesitant to hope. Then, she started to grow. Lately, I can feel tiny nudges.
Hope.
All we had was hope. All we need is Hope.
“What if it is a boy?” I ask, loving to tease her. She is so certain it is a girl.
Her smile drops a little and tears shine in her eyes. “I thought we could name him Hophalix.”
My own heart stutters in my chest. “Hope and Phalix.”
She nods. “It was hope that got us here and your father’s notes that made Hope possible.”
Without his notes, I would’ve never been able to surgically remove those opasites from her lungs. My mind grows foggy as I think about the early solars here. When I spent countless hours watching the opasites under the micro-viewer. They were living organisms. Parasites of some sort. Their age determined that they were not old. My best guess is she picked them up on the prison ship—most likely inhaled when she took her medicine or possibly ingested them. These notes, too, have been sent through the comms system to the facility.
“Anything new to add to the book?” she asks as she slides out of my lap and walks over to my desk. She thumbs through my notes with interest.
Our book has documented everything we have studied and learned here at Sector 1779. All information we have relayed back to the facility. I am not sure they have heard a word of it, but if they have not, these notes will be here for the next mort who comes along long after we are gone.
Her scent—a scent I have come to learn becomes headier when her body requires mine to mate with—permeates the air. Once we make love, the scent dissipates considerably. She says going too long without having me makes me smell good, too. Of course, I had to understand why this is. After running some tests, her enzymes seem to weaken when we haven’t made love. The moment my toxica hits her system, it repairs the weakening enzymes and gives her a boost of good health. She calls it sexual prenatal vitamins. I know it is more than a silly name she calls it. The toxica is good for the womb is my best guess, although I would love to run the idea by Avrell.
“Do you think Aria has had the baby yet?” Emery asks, dragging me from my thoughts.
I calculate the time of gestation and our time here. It is getting close. “Perhaps. Or soon.”
She turns to face me. “And you are sure you will be able to deliver ours?”
Flashing her a smug grin, I nod. “I taught Avrell just about everything he knows. We studied the same manuals. I know we can do this.”
“Me too—”
Her words are cut off by the blaring of an alarm. It sends a chill or terror running down my spine. Emery’s eyes are wide with fright.
“To the safe place,” I bark as I jump from my seat and take off in a sprint.
I hear a door slam shut behind me as she seeks her hiding spot. I run toward the weapons wall and snag one of the sharpest spears. One of Emery’s other favorite things to do is whittle dizmonyx gems from the cavern walls. Then, after dinner some evenings, we fashion them into weapons. With Lox on the loose, you can never be too sure.
Because there is so much to do here, and I do not spend as much time as I used to locked in a lab like back at the facility, I have grown stronger. Emery is carrying my mortyoung and I have insisted she grow stronger too. Together, we build our strength and have been working on endurance. One solar, when the storm has cleared, we will make that trek back to the facility. And when we do, we will need to be at optimal physical health.
I can hear a banging sound as though someone is trying to break through the door. It is not accompanied with scratches or growls, indicating a sabrevipe. My sub-bones pop and crack as I ready myself for what’s behind the door.
Many solars, I have lain in our bed in the dark and thought of how I will end Lox. I want vengeance for what he did to my father. When the time arrives, I will not hesitate. There will be no reform cell with his name on it. Only The Eternals—the place where all morts go once they leave this life. His life here is over.
I take a moment to throw on some zu-gear over my minnasuit. I may be eager to get my hands on the mad rekking mort, but I will not expose myself in the process. Once I’m suited up, I unlock the chamber door and yank my arm back, ready to fire my spear at him.
The door is shoved open and I am attacked right away. The wild mort charges at me, my spear whizzing past him. It snaps in half as the chamber door closes back on its own with a clang, making him flinch at the sound.
Rekk!
We scuffle and roll. Each throwing punches. When did Lox get so strong? He is an old mort and I should be able to take him. Yet here he is—heavy and powerful.
“Stop!” the voice barks from behind the mask.
But I don’t stop. I pummel him with my fists until he has them pushed down to the floor. Rage consumes me. I’m able to roll him over and pin him. My eyes frantically search the space for a weapon. I notice a magknife strapped to his side and fumble for it.
“Would you rekking stop?” he snarls from behind his mask.
His voice is familiar and it has me faltering. Enough so that he rolls us again. I’m pinned once more. He yanks off his mask and my eyes lock with a pair of wild eyes all right. Wild eyes I have watched for many, many revolutions. Wild eyes I have studied. Wild eyes I have wanted to help.
The alarm that has been blaring in the background goes silent, echoing still in my head.
And then I see even wilder eyes behind him. Blue ones. Protective and fierce. My mate grabs a handful of this mort’s patchy hair and yanks his nog back, a carpal knife at his throat. He gapes at me in surprise.
“Emery,” I say slowly. “Let him go. It is okay, lilapetal.”
She blinks several times. “L-Lox will k-kill you if I d-do.”
“It is a good thing this is not Lox,” I say, grinning at her. “This is our friend, Draven.”
My expression must put her at ease because she steps back, the carpal knife still gripped tight in her tiny fist as she cradles her swollen stomach. Draven rolls away from me and is on his feet in the next moment. His eyes dart to the door and he backs his body that way, keeping us at his front.
“Is that how you greet all your guests, mortarekker?” he grumbles.
I rise to my feet and pull Emery close to me. “You are our first one, so I suppose the answer is yes.” A grin stretches across my face. “How the rekk are you? Why are you here?”
His tense shoulders relax and he unzips out of his zu-gear. He has a satchel strapped to him against his minnasuit. From inside the satchel he pulls out a book. It looks familiar. Like those Sayer is always scribbling away in.
“The comms system works,” Draven grunts. “Well, apparently only one way.” He scrubs at his scarred face and gives me a withering look. “You really should turn it off when you mate your female.”
Emery lets out a surprised squeak. “You heard us have sex?”
Draven’s brows furrow. “Next time? There won’t be a next time. You’re coming back with me. This is a rescue mission.”
I shake my head. “We are not going.”
Draven frowns. “Breccan was afraid you were going to say that.”
“She is carrying my mortyoung, Draven. Too fragile to risk a long journey, even via a terrainster.” I kiss the top of my mate’s nog. “I won’t leave her. One solar, we will return.”
“Very well,” Draven says, holding out the book he has brought.
I take it from his grip. Flipping through it, I am amazed at all the notes. From everyone. Detailed notes from Galen about plants. A whole section from Ozias on how to repair the comms system. I am pleased to find some useful information from Avrell about birthing a mortyoung. There is plenty to read, so I simply skim through it before closing it. “What is all this?”
“All your questions answered. Sayer stays on the comms. Since you make communication at the same time each solar, we don’t miss your broadcasts. He’s been gathering all the information you needed. Breccan wanted me to bring you two back, but Avrell worried your mate might be pregnant by now. That book is what Aria calls ‘the insurance policy.’ Whatever the rekk that means.”
“It means,” Emery says as she takes the book from me. “They wanted us to come back, but in case we couldn’t, there was a backup plan to keep us safe and informed.” She giggles. “This is amazing.”
“Did Lox ever show?” I ask, my blood once again turning to ice.
Draven scowls. “He attempted to steal the Mayvina. He did not succeed.”
“Is he dead?”
“I rekking wish,” he growls. “But, no. He’s out there somewhere. It’s wise you keep greeting all your guests the way you greeted me.” He looks back at the chamber door. “But I’m going to leave you with some better weapons. That rekker isn’t suited up like us. He’s traipsing around out in the biggest geostorm we’ve seen in nothing but scraps of a minnasuit. You see him, you shoot him with a zonnoblaster.”
“Thank you, Draven,” I say. “Will you be staying for some delightful ‘cabbage’?”
Emery playfully elbows me, sensing my teasing her.
His lip curls up. “I brought my own rations. I will be staying long enough to help you fix the comms and then I must go. Galen has been watching the geostorm’s pattern and we’re in for an influx of magnastrikes in the next few solars. I need to be headed back long before then.” He snags his helmet up and heads for the chamber door. “Let me unload this gear and we’ll get to work.”
As soon as he’s gone, I take Emery’s face in my hands. “All we had to do was hope.”
She stands on her toes, her swollen stomach pressing against my firmer one. “Hope hasn’t let us down yet.”
My lips press to hers and we kiss like there is no tomorrow.
Passionately. Frantically. Endlessly.
But fortunately, for us, we have many more wonderful solars ahead of us. And each morning, I will wake and hope for more.
Hope hasn’t let us down yet.
Epilogue
Draven
Three Solars Later
I step through the decontamination bay still sizzling from a near miss of a magnastrike. My sub-bones feel as though they’re alive and crawling with energy from the blinding white of the magnastrike that melted the back of my suit.
I was nearly rekking killed by the elements, and yet it didn’t threaten to consume my mind like this facility does. The familiar roaring inside my nog comes raging to the forefront like a pack of hungry sabrevipes eager to feast on my sanity.
Stop thinking about it.
My skin crawls as I quickly dart my gaze back at the exit. I can escape if I need to. I’m not trapped here.
I’m not trapped.
I’m not trapped.
I can escape if I want.
Heat, nothing to do with my near miss with the magnastrike, burns through me. This heat was something that caught fire within me when I’d contracted The Rades. With the fire came the maddening thoughts. The voices. The terror. The darkness. The pain.
Inside my chest, my heart is pounding to the point I feel dizzy. The past three solars, aside from the horrible geostorm, were freeing. When Breccan asked for a volunteer to take Calix and his mate the necessary supplies they needed at Sector 1779, I’d jumped so fast at the chance, I made all the morts around me startle.
This place is a prison.
My mind is a prison.
This rekking planet is a prison.
And despite it all, everyone around me seems happy. Hopeful even. When Theron and Sayer brought back the aliens, it was as though all the morts were brought back to life. As though they had purpose again.
Everyone but me.
The arrival of the females only further aggravated my mind. Their soft, sweet voices remind me of my mother and sister. Of a past where I once laughed and had purpose. I don’t laugh anymore. I don’t do anything aside from try to live solar by solar. The only time I feel some semblance of peace is when I’m in The Tower. And since this geostorm has been ravaging us for nearly a revolution, I haven’t spent any time hardly at all up there. This trapped feeling only intensifies each solar.
At one point, I’d looked at the stars beyond and wondered if I could ride with Theron in the Mayvina. Maybe the trapped feeling would lessen if I was off this rekking planet. But all that died when the females arrived. They rooted us here. I can see it in Breccan’s eyes. He wants to make Mortuus a real home again. Everyone spends countless hours making new plans on how to make our lives better. They look at the future.
I’m stuck in the past.
So often my mind drifts to those dark times where I was captive to that disease. And despite healing from it physically, it has left its wicked mark on my brain. I’ll never be free of The Rades. Rekking never.
I’m tearing off my zu-gear as I leave the rigorous cleansing in the small decontamination bay when Hadrian rounds the corner, eyes wide and excited.
“The mortyoung is coming! You’re just in time!” he bellows. “What did you get?”
His fast talking and energetic movements make me tense. I eye the door behind me. So close. Ignoring my urge to flee, I reach into my satchel and bring out Calix’s notes.
“The supplies Breccan was hopeful for do not exist. I searched Sector 1779 myself. However, there are important notes that will be helpful. Plus—”
“We can rekking communicate now thanks to you,” he says with a crooked grin. “Females talk a lot. Like a lot. I am thankful Aria has another female to yammer to. Usually Breccan feigns ‘work’ and leaves me to listen to Aria’s never ending tales. She and Emery spoke for nearly half a solar over the smell of a mortyoung’s hair.” He groans. “Hours and hours, Draven.”
Hadrian talks more than either female, so I’m not sure what he’s complaining about.
I eye the west entrance door again. It’s not too late. I could go back to Sector 1779. It was a little quieter there. The trapped feeling wasn’t so bad there.
Boom!
A loud magnastrike makes the entire facility shake and then we’re plunged into total darkness.
I freeze as my heart rate spikes.
I am not trapped. I can escape. Even in the dark. I can get away.
Within seconds, though, everything comes back to life and we’re bathed in light once more. I let out a ragged breath of relief.
Aria’s pained scream echoes from what must be Avrell’s lab. It reminds me too much of my past—when The Rades consumed my rekking everything.
“Go assist,” I bark out. “I’ll check to make sure everything stays up and running.”
He runs off without another word and disappears into Avrell’s lab. Usually Oz or Jareth would handle this sort of thing, but I don’t want to be anywhere near a screaming female as she delivers her mortyoung. Rekk no.
I
nstead, I head in the opposite direction, checking rooms as I go. Everything on the south side of the facility is in working order. I pass Avrell’s lab and block out the screaming as I head for the north area of the facility where the females’ sub-faction exists. When I get a whiff of an electrical burning, I take off running. Even focused on my task ahead of me, I count doors, exits, windows. I’ve memorized them all in this facility, yet I can’t help but check and double-check. When I reach the source of the smell, I let out a hiss of frustration. The cryochamber room. Three cryotube pods remain. I hate going in this room. Seeing them trapped inside makes me panic. The urge to free them is nearly overwhelming. I don’t even like them, but I don’t want them trapped. If anyone knows how horrible it feels to be trapped, it’s me.
But the last time one was hastily freed, she nearly died. Aria yanked Emery out and it caused an uproar within our ranks. It was voted that they will remain there, sleeping, until it can be decided on when and how to safely wake them.
Slowly, I walk into the room. Smoke comes from one of the cryotubes. I detach the wires from the standing pod, grab one of the misters, and douse the flames before they can spread.
Pop.
Hiss.
Those two sounds send alarm racing through me. Without thinking, I did exactly what I’ve been told not to do.
Don’t wake them.
I scramble away from the cryotube now that the fire is safely put out and rush to the east door of the cryochamber room. The cool air on the back of my neck—the feel of freedom just behind me—calms me considerably.
I will tell Breccan the geostorm electrical surge caused it.
I will lie.
His warnings to put anyone who messes with the cryotubes into a reform cell has my entire body trembling. When I was eaten up with The Rades, I was forced into one. To protect me from myself. To protect others from me.
I can’t go back there.