by V. S. Holmes
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
HERETICS
Copyright © 2021 by Sara Voorhis
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address below.
Amphibian Press
www.amphibianpress.online
www.vsholmes.com
ISBN : 978-1-949693-66-9
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ONE
Nel glared at the message blinking beside her bracelet. Her nerves were shot. The elevator’s whispering hydraulics sounded closer to sandblasting the hull of a crashing ship. Soft phosphorescence flickered sickly green over fresh pink scars and the white threads of old wounds on her arms. She wished for the comfort of sleeves.
The decision to disband audio messages was unanimous, at least until Odyssey’s sonic bloody mystery was solved. Her shaking hand fumbled with the holographic buttons until the unread message appeared in the air above her wrist. Nel preferred texts anyway.
I’ll be there soon, talking with my mentor. Can’t wait to see your outfit!
-L
Nel glanced at the faux-silk front of her vest. Even without the distortion of the elevator’s curved aluminum, she doubted she’d recognize her reflection. At least the available fashion offered something suitably androgynous—high-collared vest and thigh-hugging pants. The soft faux leather of the boots cupped the aching place where her toes once were. Even if they aren’t steel-toed. Woven translucent pads covered the sand burn and nicks Samsara left across her exposed biceps and forearms. Hopefully she looked closer to Ellie Williams than, well, herself.
She had hoped Lin would meet her outside the hall—feeling nervous was impossible with someone that beautiful on your arm. C’mon, Bently. Get your shit together. This wasn’t an exploding planet or deadly soundwaves. Her lip curled. She’d take either over a gala any day.
The elevator passed from its metal tube to a glass cylinder, treating her to a view of the hall. The guests who arrived on time already ranged about, a sea of rich colors and glittering accessories. Nel flexed her hands. Copper and burnt sienna were as subdued as she could go. She was used to archaeology conferences, mingling with too much alcohol and too little professionalism. She could hold her own with glorified shovelbums. Surrounded by space scientists and cultured extraterrestrials? She was a turkey among peacocks. Fake it till you make it. The platform slowed and she plastered her favorite cocky smirk on her face.
Murmurs and soft laughter filled the hall. Somewhere the sound of water trickled, though Nel couldn’t say if it was recorded. Hopefully not. She rubbed the base of her skull and stepped out. Several gazes glazed over her as she edged through the crowd. Did they dismiss her because they didn’t know who she was or because they did? A handful of folks clustered by what she prayed was a buffet table. Anything to occupy her hands. If it wasn’t for the promise of snacks and getting a moment with Emilio, she wouldn’t have bothered to come at all. Okay, and maybe to see Lin in a fancy dress.
As it was, she had barely managed to say a dozen words to the secretive Los Pobladores leader since he glitched into Samsari airspace four days ago. And you still haven’t told me that damn story.
Curiosity dragged her focus to the glass bubble pressing into the forest at Odyssey’s center. It was shadowed by the mighty boles of jungle trees, vines draping the lower segments of the glass. Two more levels rose above, but Nel cared more about occupying her fidgeting digits than mingling.
Hors d'oeuvres and drinks drifted by on hovering platforms. Nel maintained strict eye contact with a platter of cheese as she navigated the surprisingly sparse crowd. It’s a gala for the Samsara project. It’s not like engineering should be here. Still, the scarcity may have been as much an illusion due to the sheer size of the room. Someone Nel recognized but couldn’t place offered a smile and wave, but their expression faltered when Nel attempted to return the gesture. Perhaps smirk wasn’t the look to go for.
Nel’s attention returned to the table. Edible containers housed each snack, meant to complement the flavors or act as a palate cleanser. While the majority of the protein was made of insects, she was relieved to note not a single prickly leg among the smorgasbord. Fancy suit aside, you’re an embarrassment to anthropology, Bently.
Nel glanced at her wrist and thought about typing Lin a message. Instead, she let her alien boots wind their way through strangers and plants. She paused by another buffet table just long enough to shove some sort of tapenade into her mouth. She apparently dawdled too long because a figure loomed over her when she turned to make her exit. “Annelise!”
Nel cringed, wiping a hand on her pant leg quickly before offering her hand. “Ah, Nel, please. Or Bently. Anything really, but that.”
“Yes, yes.” The man pumped her hand repeatedly, grin vacant. “I was just speaking to your colleague there, Dr. Arnav Patel. He said you were present for the planet’s ah…rearrangement.”
“Rearrangement,” she responded, voice flat. “Yeah, I was. Didn’t feel like rearrangement from there, though. More like Armageddon.”
“I can imagine.”
Her eyes narrowed on him, doubting very much that he could imagine anything like Samsara’s implosion. “Who’d you say you were again?”
“Apologies! I’m Komodor McNally.” He shook her hand again, gaze pausing on her bolo. “Oh, that’s delightful! Meteorite, yes? Do you know which one?”
“Not a clue. But yeah, meteorite. My—Letnan First Class Nalawangsa gave it to me.” She seized the excuse, still trying to extricate her hand from his. Sweat dampened her palm. “Have you seen her, actually?”
“Last I saw she was with the Nalawangsa boy.”
Dar hasn’t shown his face all night. “Gotcha, thanks! Better catch up, she wanted to show me the,” she glanced back, searching for anything to fill the blank drawn in her mind, “forest. It looks amazing. Great to meet you!”
She wove through the crowd, annoyed enough to don a furrowed brow in hopes of preventing further conversation. She didn’t trust slimy, middle-aged men at archaeology conferences—or any conference, really. Space conferences were no different, it seemed.
“Scuse,” a low voice remarked. An arm reached across her to a bowl filled with vials of clear and faintly orange or blue fluid.
Nel glanced up into an open face under an elaborate swoop of pale blonde hair. “Hey, you’re one of the tech people, right?”
“Yep! Teera.” The smile was bright. “Want one?” She offered an alarmingly large tube.
“No port,” Nel explained, showing her bare arms. Curiosity warmed her gut. “What are they?”
“Mingle-ease. Calms the nerves, lowers inhibitions, settles the stomach a bit.”
“So, IV beer?” Nel snorted. “Guess my awkwardness is that obvious, eh?”
“No, but I remember my first gala. They don’t get easier.” She wrinkled her nose.
“Thanks for the thought. I’d kill for Black Pond’s jalapeno saison though.” As if in answer, the pastry she popped into her mouth smacked her tongue with smoky heat and a sweet bite. She hummed in approval and grabbed another. “Man, the food is almost good enough to keep my feet off the ground forever.”
Teera laughed and cringed. “Doesn’t make me feel any better about whatever I’ll be eating once we’re planetside.”
“I heard something about beer.”
Nel turned to see Arnav hum up. The rims on his wheelchair were decorated to match the elaborate caps to his sleeves. Angular structures rose from either side of the back of his chair, framing his head.
“Dude, you look badass,” Nel remarked.
His mouth quirked. “Thanks. Just for your kind words…” He opened the draped front of his jacket and produced a heavy flask. It was battered, the metal covered in dings and the wrapping soft and warm.
“Shit, this what I hope it is?”
“If you’re hoping for grade C recycler distilled starshine, then yes, yes, it is.”
Nel knocked back a sip, then a second before returning it with a pleased shudder. It was burning ice in her gut, setting off the fire of whatever spice she ate a second before. “Fuck, that’s good. You’ve made a best friend of me, that’s all I need tonight.”
“You’re welcome to it, I’ve another in my pack, but I’m starving—what do they have out? Anything good?”
Nel shrugged. “Don’t know what half of it is, but this spicy stuff is nice. I’ve my eye on that fruit thing that looks like caviar.”
Arnav laughed. “I honestly wonder what the Nalawangsa girl is doing with you, upbringing that she had.”
“Opposites and all that—maybe I’m good for her.” Nel offered a wink, belatedly realizing she was already slipping up on the professionalism. She scrubbed a hand through her gelled hair. Dammit, now I’m gonna look like a cockatoo.
“Where is she?” Teera asked. “I’m always dying to see what the elite end up wearing.”
Nel’s gaze was pulled up to the upper levels. “Haven’t found her yet. Sure she’s busy though. I’ll rescue her later from some boring intellectual nightmare.”
“Oo, well it looks like the department heads are already at it,” Arnav groaned. “I swear verbal sparring over ethics is the only joy Dr. Ndebele gets these days.”
“Best be off before she realizes I’ve holed myself up over here.” Teera flitted off, gossamer cape and fascinator bobbing above the crowd.
“This is all very space fairy,” Nel decided. “Odd food, ephemeral costumes, highly educated.”
Arnav laughed. “I don’t know, this is just a piece of it. Everything looks pretty on Odyssey. How well do you know your Homer?”
“Enough, why?”
“Well, the Odyssey? It wasn’t easy. Took a long time and a lot of blood.” His gaze followed a cluster of people that seemed to move over the crowd instead of through it. “And more than a few monsters.”
Nel followed his gaze, caution flitting up her spine. She was tired of distrusting, but nothing surprised her these days—warring space factions? Sure. Exploding mechanical planets? Just another Tuesday. “I hear that.” She itched to ask him more, but surrounded by gleaming strangers made her feel more than a bit out of place. “Except I’m pretty sure the fae have to tell the truth.”
“Only if you’re asking the right question,” a deep voice rumbled from behind her.
Zachariah leaned on the delicate metal support beam. His bare arms were decorated in gleaming phosphorescent paint, and his collar vest seemed to be of the same style as Nel’s, if several sizes larger and made in black. The top half of his hair was caught back in a clip, but the bottom half was loose, one finger already twirling a lock absently.
She flashed a smile. “If I remember undergrad correctly, the only question I asked was ‘you want a drink?’”
“Seems like it’s the only one you ask now, too,” Arnav quipped. He nodded to Zach. “Ramadan Mubarak.”
“Thank you. You ready to return to Samsara next week?”
Nel blanched. “We’re going back? It’s a gate—how’re you going to excavate anything? Plus, I thought we’d be locked in debates with the Flounders for the next month at least.” She glanced at the ceiling as if the artificial sun would tell her the season or time. “Or whatever.”
“I’m going back,” Arnav clarified, “with a small forensics crew and a lot more weapons.”
“Plus, noise-cancelling headphones, I’d hope,” Nel sneered. “I envy you.”
Arnav grimaced. “I’d rather have the time to breathe, to grieve.”
Nel flushed. Apparently even space alcohol didn’t prevent her from awkwardly inserting her foot into her mouth. “Right. I guess I’m a throw-myself-into-work griever.”
“That’s fair,” Arnav offered, though his next smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Just makes me think they’re more scared than anyone is letting on, if they’re risking even more of us to look for answers.”
Zach hummed in response. “I think after this performance is through, we’ll all be headed somewhere. I was called in to discuss my workload and remote service capabilities a few days ago.”
Whatever question she had for Zachariah stalled on her tongue when a tall figure ascended in the translucent cell of the elevator. She moved into the crowd, hand relaxing around the flask until Arnav caught it from her limp hand. Only after a dozen steps across the crowded lower level did she realize she was moving at all. A patch of darkness moved through the soft greens and gentle mints of most of the other guests. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who felt glitter and gossamer weren’t for her.
Perhaps it was Arnav’s words, or the sheer grace with which Lin crossed the floor, but Nel’s pursuit stilled. She was content to trace the soft illumination down the curve of Lin’s throat and watch the black fabric turn iridescent when Lin paused at a table. A thin vial slipped in her port and after a moment, her shoulders dropped back with relaxation.
This room, this woman, seemed so removed from Nel’s world. Even with the burn of cheap booze in her throat and the flutter of nerves, this place was firmly rooted in the unfamiliar. A week ago, their reality had exploded in sand and sound. Now gentle music and the trickle of artificial streams filled the air. Delicate bundles of tiny phosphorescent lights made the very air glow. Futures were bandied between high-tech minds and extraterrestrial politics.
In that moment, though, Nel didn’t really care.
Her entire focus narrowed on the woman gliding between officers and department heads, cheeks gleaming as she scanned the crowd below. Then dark eyes settled on Nel’s and narrowed in a smile. A metal bracelet clipped to the edge of her split skirts raised them just enough to appear as if she floated down the stairs to where Nel had stilled.
“Hi,” Lin’s smile broadened to a beam. “I guess the dress was a good choice.”
“I’d say.” Nel cleared the rasp from her throat. She opened her arms and did a flourish. “What do you think?”
“I think you might be one of four people wearing brown.”
Nel grimaced. “It was supposed to be copper and reddish, but I forgot all the green lights. I’d kill for my cargos and tanks.”
“I suffered your miserable Earth fashion; you can survive a night. Besides, it makes you stand out. Reminds us where you’re from. It’s fitting.”
“So I was imagining the disdain?”
“Well, I can’t take my eyes off you.” The low note in Lin’s voice shot straight to Nel’s core and she swallowed the fluttering. “I was just over there, with the food. You hungry?”
“Not yet,” she gestured to her port. “Waiting for my nerves to calm.”
“I thought this would be normal for you. Pretties, politics, and parties.”
Lin grimaced
, but on her made-up face, even that looked artful. “Hardly. My parents were all about these when we were little, but it’s been a long time since they were close enough to join in. This is more Dar’s speed.” She glanced behind her. “I’m surprised he’s not here yet.”
“Probably has better things to do. I know I wish I did.”
“C’mon, anthropologist—I’d think mingling with the locals for a celebration is exactly what you were into.”
“I prefer my subjects dead.”
“Arguably, you thought we were.”
Nel laughed. “Okay, and not having just threatened to court martial me in an army I was never really a part of.”
“They were never going to go through with it,” Lin dismissed. “They’re all bluster up here.”
Nel didn’t need the memories of her few hours of imprisonment to know bluster was nowhere to be seen. But even she knew a gala was no place to start an argument. She reached for Lin’s hand. “We alright with PDA here?”
“PDA?”
“Public displays of affection,” Nel clarified. “You know, holding hands, kissing.”
Lin frowned. “Unless you’re planning to undress me with more than your eyes, I don’t see why it’d be an issue.”
A strange twinge of longing shot through Nel’s chest. As much as she missed home, she had to admit this version of humanity made some wonderful advances. “That’s the one part I’ll miss when I go back. The freedom to love whomever I want.”
Lin’s face lit up and her long fingers curled over Nel’s callused ones. “Well, you’re always free to love me.”
Nel blinked away panic at the word. “So, you people dance or what?”
Lin tilted her chin at the second tier. “There’s a cleared area up there. But it’s mostly for mingling. I’ve got a pass for one of the alcoves, if you’d like.”
“Please—I’d rather not have all eyes on me.”
Lin’s long fingers laced with hers and the taller woman turned to the edge of the second level. What looked like glass bubbles extended out from the floor, furnished with low, plush couches, spaces for hoverchairs, and a few tables for drinks. The third alcove from the right was deserted. The entryway glimmered with what Nel could only guess was a security shield. Lin raised her bare hand for a moment, then, grasping both of Nel’s in hers, drew the archaeologist into the muffled privacy of the room.