She should have seen it.
And now that she did, she knew what was next. There would be a self-destruct order. Either one sent directly to the donai ships or something subtler, something in their training, their conditioning. And when the council gave that order, they would be passing a death sentence on themselves.
Calyce was no soldier. But she knew the donai better than anyone. There was one order they would not obey. And it would end in a bloodbath. A human bloodbath.
She let out a small whimper.
Andret looked at her from the corner of his eye, and the pressure on her chest eased. She swallowed a mouthful of blood, choking on it.
She could not draw enough breath to tell him that she was already dead and to save himself and the brothers and sisters she cradled in her arms.
* * *
—
There was no disorientation, no indication at all that they’d just traveled 112 light-years. There was, in fact, no change in momentum at all. It was acceleration through normal space that was the problem. A problem not just of excess inertia but of inadequate fuel.
The fuel indicator pulsed an angry red. His nav controls projected only one path—the one he’d set them on—but no matter what he did, there would be no controlled descent.
They were going to crash.
Andret would have to use his remaining fuel to crash in a way that would allow them to survive it. Tante’s heart was already beating out a requiem, even though he’d opted for safer accelerations. If he’d followed her orders to the letter, she’d already be dead. His chest squeezed and tightened, making his heart ache.
He swung past the two moons and punched through the atmosphere of a world that humans had seeded and then abandoned, saving his fuel by not making proper adjustments. It was going to cost them. The hull would be compromised. But they’d gotten away. He didn’t expect the situation to last. Transponder or not, their ship left gravitic wakes that could be traced. Given their fuel, there were only so many suitable places to escape to on the path he’d taken.
But the planet was big. Ice capped both poles, glinting like diamonds. Bright, milk-white clouds swirled and danced over huge blue oceans and continents covered by dense green forests. They could lose themselves among the local fauna. He’d bought Tante time to do whatever she had planned next.
The ship brushed the dense forest canopy like a rock skimming off a lake, jolting the ship from side to side.
Tante groaned.
He dared not look at her—not until it was over.
Landing thrusters ignited the treetops. Damn. That would be hard to miss. They’d have to abandon the ship and get as far away from it as possible, all without leaving a trail.
Inertia pushed him forward as the ship made impact with the ground and spun to a stop. Alarms blared at him and then died as the ship lost power.
In the dark, the way Tante’s blood flowed told him she had broken bones and punctured organs. The scent of death was already emanating from her pores, permeating the cockpit.
“Tante, what’s going on?” he whispered as he knelt at her side.
Her eyes fluttered open and blood flowed down her chin.
“The council is going to destroy the donai.” Another pained breath, liquid bubbling where it shouldn’t be.
“They need us,” he said as he pried her hand off the containers.
She shook her head, and tears leaked out of her eyes as he took the containers and turned them over, looking for a way to open them.
“Tante, tell me you have human-compatible nanites in these.”
Another weak shake of her head.
“Run, Andret. Get as far away as you can. Don’t come out until your own kind comes for you. Promise me.”
“I can’t leave you. I am donai.”
“You are, and because you are, you can and you will.”
“Tante . . .”
“If you have to make a choice, save the container marked ‘female.’ In order to survive, the donai will need the ability to reproduce on their own. Do you understand?”
He dared not speak, breathe, or move. She was placing lives into his hands. He’d thought himself so ready to the task. And now that it was here . . .
“Your word of honor, donai.”
He stared, rebellion seething within. With those uncompromising words she would bind him with chains stronger than any substance. A donai’s honor was as much a part of him as his nanites. It had been engineered into them.
If he gave his word, he couldn’t break it.
“My word of honor, Tante,” he said, lowering his chin.
“Don’t let me linger. Make it quick. And when the time comes, remember that not all humans are like the ones that bred you to be used and discarded.”
Andret raised his gaze to hers. She was in pain. He could smell it, see it.
“Do it,” she said, her voice determined.
He put his arms around her carefully, holding her so that his razor-sharp fingernails wouldn’t cut her. The wetness of a human tear touched his cheek. It was followed by a kiss, her last breath fluttering against his skin before she went limp in his grasp.
Her heart’s requiem played its final note, sparing him from having to snap her neck.
* * *
—
Andret rejected the idea of stripping the ship for its memetic metals to make a blade. It might be traced and he could not risk it. He did strip it of the emergency stores, setting them aside, along with the precious cargo that Tante had given her life for.
The trail their entry had burned could not be masked, so he wasn’t going to waste time and energy hiding the wreckage.
He built a funeral pyre, placed Tante atop it, and set it ablaze. The flames turned her body to ash. They turned his heart to ash as well, and a chill formed deep within him. He welcomed that cold, giving himself to it. He’d built the pyre large, large enough to burn throughout the night, the need to honor her stronger than the need for flight. His gaze followed the ashes floating upward.
Andret knew what to do whether friend or foe came for him. The one thing that haunted him was the possibility that no one would come. The nanites in his body would repair him as long as he kept himself fed. Or didn’t bash in his own brains. Theoretically, a donai’s life span could be measured in centuries. But most donai died in battle while still in their prime. It was their purpose, the reason they had been created.
The council would not destroy humanity’s defenders unless they no longer had a need for them. Or perhaps something had happened to make humans fear their own creations.
He bared his teeth again as he looked up at the cloudless ink of night, sending up one lone wish: that he would get the chance to save his own kind from extermination.
* * *
—
For ten days Andret ran, carrying the precious cargo strapped to his back. The forest blurred past him. By the eleventh day, he’d depleted his food stores. By the thirteenth, he was too tired to continue.
His nanites consumed energy like anything else. He needed to eat.
After sunset, he dug a deep tunnel into the side of a hill with his bare hands. Gusting air pulled angrily at the grass, scattered the soil he’d loosened, and sent it swirling. He buried his backpack and the containers, memorized their position, and set out to hunt.
The surrounding forest was full of prey, but he was weak. He needed to be efficient.
Howls drifted through the forest. They sounded like this world’s equivalent of wolves. He raced toward them.
A pack of wolves had spread through the trees, driving their prey, a stag-like animal with broken antlers, along a well-worn path. The wolves must have separated it from its herd and were running it to ground, wearing it out. Wind carried the stag’s fear-scent. It was like a drug, enhancing Andret’s senses, spiking his adrena
line.
He pushed forward, passing the wolf pack upwind, and scrambled up a tree growing at the edge of a clearing. Andret landed in the stag’s path, took hold of the antlers as they came at him, and twisted, breaking the animal’s neck. Momentum carried them both forward.
They skidded to a stop, the stag’s weight pinning Andret against a tree. He scrambled from underneath the carcass and crouched in front of his kill, teeth bared as he faced down the wolf pack.
Five growling wolves skidded to a stop, their hackles raised. Three others circled, betrayed by their scents and the sound of their breathing. The largest wolf inched forward. To a human, the black fur would have made it hard to see in the falling darkness, but the wolf’s heart glowed like a beacon in Andret’s enhanced vision.
Once the alpha decided to attack, the others would as well. Andret launched himself at the alpha, slashing his throat with one sweep of his razor-sharp fingernails, killing him instantly. Blood poured out of the alpha’s neck, staining the soil, sending up the taste of iron.
He licked the wolf’s blood off his hand. It made his vision painfully intense. The world around him became a concert of images and noises almost too vivid to process. The wolves that had been hiding came into view as the ones in front of him backed off, hackles still raised, tails low.
Andret let out a roar. It sent the pack scattering into the trees. Fear-scent particles trailed them like smoke, mixing in the wind with the scent of soil and plants.
He knelt by the dead wolf. All the wolves were larger than the ones in the images he’d been shown as a child. Andret picked up the wolf’s body, testing its weight. It was far heavier than he’d expected. He had no doubt that it was enhanced somehow. More genetic tinkering. Either for a specific reason or to see if it could be done. Which meant that, sooner or later, some human would come back here to check on the experiment. There was probably a satellite in orbit, or an automated probe would fly by at some point. Either way, someone would come. And when they did, he would be ready.
He dragged the wolf’s body to the edge of the clearing. As he gathered kindling and deadwood for a fire, another wolf inched forward, keeping low to the ground to catch the scent of the dead one. The wolf let out a mournful howl. It was answered by the rest of the pack.
Even when the fire was roaring, the wolves did not back off. They patrolled the edge of the clearing, wary, their fear-scent drifting along the breeze.
Andret sliced the stag’s belly open, spilling the viscera but saving the liver. He dragged the carcass to the fire, tore the skin off, and pulled the limbs apart.
Donai could tear into flesh and bone, eat them raw, but he’d never liked the way it made him feel. Even as voraciously hungry as he was, he’d hold on to whatever humanity was left in him. It would slip away from him as he aged. He knew that. But for now, he didn’t have to let go of it.
As he chewed, another wolf—a female with red in her coat—claimed the viscera he’d left behind. A smaller male joined her. Between them, they finished it off.
He threw a bone at them. The female snagged it away and bounded under cover, a happy wag to her tail.
Wolf-eyes glowed in the dark, blinking back at him, first warily, then with curiosity. Their fear-scent faded.
He tossed one of the stag’s leg bones at them. They pounced on it, too, and carried it away.
A gray wolf, obviously pregnant, took the stag’s head and settled down within the firelight, chomping happily, her amber gaze intent, and so much a mirror, the sight of it raised goose bumps on his skin.
“Sister?” he asked.
She tilted her head.
“No, I suppose not.”
She went back to chewing.
“Sorry about your mate.” He was, truly. The donai were killers by design, but the stag and the wolf were his first. The stag was prey. The wolf was not. One predator to another, he felt regret for the wolf. They had enough in common to be kin, so he dug a hole and buried it. It was something sentimental that Calyce would have done.
Andret used the stag’s hide to wrap up the cooked meat and left the remaining bones for the wolves. It made him feel less like a thief. The stag would have been their kill.
He headed back to the hill where he’d buried the containers, and started digging. About halfway through, he took a break to drink from a nearby stream. When he returned, the amber-eyed wolf was sniffing around the hole.
She stuck her head in and dirt came flying out. Strange. He’d have expected her to go for the sack of meat he’d left by the opening. The breeze told him that three other wolves were nearby. When it shifted, he scented two others.
“So, you’re the brave one.”
Dirt continued flying out in steady spurts.
“Or maybe just curious.”
She backed out of the hole, dragging one of the carriers by its handle.
Andret took a deep breath, ready to run after her, but she set it down instead and went back into the hole. She dragged the second carrier out, dropped it, and circled them, sniffing.
“They have no scent, do they, curious one?” With the seals intact, they would have none.
She went into the hole a third time and came out with his backpack. Her tail wagged as she sniffed it.
“Yeah, that one’s going to have lots of scents.” Sweat for one. And the lingering scent of past rations.
He lowered himself to a crouch. She dragged the backpack to him and backed off.
Andret extended his hand. She sniffed it but backed away when he tried to touch her.
“Fair enough. I wouldn’t trust me either.”
He took the survival blanket out of the bag and wrapped it around the meat. The containers went in next. He headed for the stream to fill the canteen.
As he ran for the mountains, clouds drifted in and settled on the horizon.
A yip behind him brought him to a halt. The curious one was panting with exhaustion. He’d been running into the wind and had missed that she’d been following.
Damn.
He stopped and turned around. “Go back to your pack.”
She closed the distance between them and howled. The pack answered. Five wolves came over the hill.
Andret blew out a frustrated breath. He could run much faster than they could. They would slow him down.
Tante would remind him that he’d been bred with the need to bond. It was as much a part of him as his eyes, his elongated cuspids, his nanites.
Lone donai became unreliable, went mad. Other donai were tasked with capturing and beheading them, using swords designed specifically for that task.
The other wolves approached, less cautious than before.
You need them. And apparently they needed him.
He laughed.
“Well, if we’re going to be a pack, you’re going to need a name,” he said to the gray female.
She sat and panted, her tongue swollen from the heat.
“Ena for you, I think.”
The rest of the pack had caught up. They, too, were tired, and lay down to catch their breaths.
The splash of water against rock came from the west. He’d have to parallel a stream if they were going to run with him. And they’d have to hunt.
Andret let them rest a bit and then headed for the stream. They waded in to cool off and drink.
“Better to travel at night, right?”
Ena returned to his heel, still wet, and shook her fur dry, spraying him. Well, if he was going to adopt them, he might as well smell like them. He knelt and extended his hand. She gave it a curious lick and headed for the shade of the trees.
Andret sat down next to her, back propped up against a fallen tree trunk. Ena set her chin on his thigh and fell asleep. The others settled in around him, some close, some still wary enough to choose distance.
He drank from his c
anteen, and settled in to wait, watching the cloudless sky with its naked, unfamiliar stars.
* * *
—
Three of the wolves stopped along the crest of a mountain ridge. Ena called to them, as did the younger, more trusting males, Thunder and Raven. Their howls filled the air as the sun set on their twenty-first day together.
That night, as Ena settled against Andret, she whimpered herself to sleep as he stroked her bristly gray fur. Stroking her gave him a sense of peace, a sense of calm that rivaled his memories of when he’d been young enough, and light enough, to sit in a human’s lap.
Of the faces of all the women who’d taken care of him, it was Calyce’s that he remembered the most, although she had not been the one who spent the most time with him. Like the wolves who’d come along and then decided to leave, he suspected the strength of the bond just hadn’t been strong enough. There were bonds forged of duty, and bonds forged of love. Calyce had loved him in a way the others had not.
Ena, Thunder, and Raven loved him.
That night, Ena went into labor. Thunder and Raven paced nervously but kept their distance. By dawn she’d delivered four wolf pups, three alive, and one stillborn. He’d tried to take the stillborn away from her, but she’d bit his hand, puncturing his skin and drawing blood before he let go.
He drew his hand back, horrified.
Your blood is poison to us. It was one of the first things a donai was taught.
But Ena wasn’t human, and the fact that her fangs had pierced his skin erased any doubt that she was engineered as well.
The punctures on his hand sealed within seconds. Within minutes, his nanites had erased any trace of injury.
With wary eyes, Ena licked the stillborn pup well into the next day as her live ones nursed. It wasn’t until she fell into a deep sleep that he took the stillborn pup from her.
He cradled the tiny female to his chest and padded away, just as Thunder and Raven returned with the carcass of a young doe. They always gave Andret first choice, but this time they dragged it past him as if he wasn’t even there.
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