by Ben Hale
“Why’s she so weak?” Tana asked.
“Her healing augment isn’t free,” Quis said. “It uses energy just like everything else, only it comes from the body instead of an outside source. She needs to rest.”
“Not yet,” Siena mumbled.
She reached for any energy she had left, and gathered scattered thoughts into focus. Her hand seemed to flop to the controls, and she fleetingly registered the holo showing the battle. They were flying towards the sun, with more than a dozen ships pursuing them. Kensen could control the engines and their direction, but that was the limit of his ability. If they didn’t get enough space from the other starships, they would never be able to activate the projection Gates. That left only one solution.
She shoved her hands into a holo and leaned forward. The Crescent accelerated directly towards the sun. Someone cursed that she’d lost her mind, but no one tried to stop her. Maybe she had. She had trouble thinking, and it felt like she was drowning.
The Crescent hurtled towards the sun, outstripping all but the faster ships. Several weapons hit their stern, the energy impacts making the hull brighten as the converters funneled the power into the gravity drives. A crunching sound came from an engineering bay, and the entire ship rocked as an explosion rent their port wing.
“The light bond they created must have blown,” Kensen said, his hands flying across the console. “I’m shutting down the ion drive. I hope you know what you’re doing, Siena.”
The muscles in her throat failed to respond, so she didn’t try. She just forced the remaining drive to maximum. The sun loomed large in the forward window, the light brightening until the ship automatically adjusted the polarization and the window darkened.
“What are we doing?” Quis asked. “You said this ship was strong, but it can’t survive a sun.”
They fell into the gravity well of the sun, and one by one the other ships peeled away. The outside temperature spiked, the warning holos blaring orange. But the unique ship’s armor converted the heat into more power, which Siena poured into the second gravity drive.
“Quis, Rahnora,” Kensen said. “Get back there and keep it together. If it blows then we’re going to burn up.”
They disappeared, and still Siena pointed them into the sun. She fixed her gaze on the final vessel, a Beldoria-class ship with enough power to handle the sun’s gravity well. She stared at it, willing it to turn. More weapons hit their stern, and then abruptly the Beldoria veered to the side.
“It’s turning!” Tana shouted.
“Activating projection Gates,” Kensen said. “Siena, you’ve got to point us away.”
She leaned to the side, and the Crescent banked away from the sun. The gravity drive whined, the ship trembled, and someone screamed as the starship fought the titanic stresses on its hull. Again the teracrete saved them, absorbing a portion of the gravity and pushing it into the ship. For an instant the ship lurched like a drunken krey, and then pointed to the side. The view of the sun was replaced with a view of the stars.
Three circles appeared in front of the ship, the light barely visible against the backdrop of the sun. The Crescent hit the first going so fast it seemed they shattered, but it propelled them to the second and super-accelerated them into the third. The stars stretched like needles, and then they were at hyperlight.
Siena slumped, the sounds and light swirling around her. Someone shouted her name, but the darkness sucked her down, and she would have fallen to the deck if hands did not appear. She wanted to care but couldn’t, and then she was gone.
Siena’s consciousness did not return all at once. It came like the fragments of a shattered mirror tossed into a void, each piece of glass a stray thought that tumbled through the darkness. There was no source or destination. They just tumbled end over end, reflecting a single point of thought. Another appeared, and then another, and somehow two came together. Impossibly, they found a common edge.
The other fragments drifted for a time, and occasionally the pieces came together. A thought here, a memory there. Sometimes it was a sensation, such as touch or smell. As the mirror gradually came together she had the desire to be whole, but the fragments resisted. Frustrated, she tried to grab the shards of glass, but they were surprisingly slippery.
A voice spoke, and she instinctively clung to the sound. The shards of thought gradually came together, by edge and tip, forming cohesive thoughts and desires, needs and emotions. It was not flat. Instead the mirror was multifaceted, with millions of tiny surfaces that roiled and twisted, moving in mesmerizing patterns until her eyes began to flutter, bringing a whole new world of sensations.
She was lying in a bed, with at least four blankets piled on top of her body. The weight and warmth were stifling, and she weakly tried to move her limbs, but they were slow to respond. Her arms felt like rubber, her legs like lead. She wanted to speak, but her throat was thick and clogged. Then a shadow moved and Kensen’s face resolved into focus.
“Siena?” he asked.
She grimaced and recoiled from the sound. “What happened?” she managed to croak.
“You almost died.” He lifted a small tube to her lips. “Drink. You need the nutrients.”
She sipped, and was surprised when a delicious liquid touched her tongue. It was not horg, the traditionally bad-tasting, nutrient-rich drink that most slaves were given, or the alcoholic drey. Instead, it was salty at first, like fresh seared meat that melted on her tongue. She immediately felt better, and eagerly slurped more.
“Not too much,” Kensen said, pulling it away. “I don’t think your stomach is ready yet.”
She tried to sit up, but a wave of weakness assailed her, so she sank back onto the bed until the spinning came to a stop. She was in a room on the Crescent. Had they escaped? Were they being chased? She vaguely recalled their ship falling into a burning sun, the memories fragmented and laced with pain.
“Did we make it?”
“Thanks to you.” Kensen leaned back into a curving chair. “But if you ever go into space without an exo again, I don’t think you’re going to make it.”
She put an elbow into the bed and eased herself up. She felt weak, but at least her vision wasn’t spinning. Kensen tried to help, but she noticed the fatigue lines creasing his face like an old rag.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
He smiled wryly. “I haven’t slept much. Someone I care about nearly died—twice in a matter of minutes.”
“I was just sleeping,” she said. He offered the drink to her again, and she drank with a satisfied sigh. Her stomach felt like a knot tightened around a chunk of stone.
“You used so much energy your heart stopped,” he said.
She paused. “What?”
He wiped a hand over his face, the motion revealing all the worry, fear, and now relief that he’d suffered. “Begle managed to put a spark into your heart that got it going again, but it stopped three more times as we tried to get a drink down your throat.”
She sank against the wall. “What did you do?”
“I managed to unlock the holochamber, and we did a little research. With spare parts and augments we managed to create what’s called a bodyGate.” He pointed to her side.
She lifted the blanket and found a small object just below her ribs. It looked like a beetle, but had a small tube sticking out the side, and a green light on top. The tube was almost empty, but she recognized the liquid as horg.
“It teleports the proteins directly into your stomach,” he said. “It’s the reason you’re alive.”
She sank back into the bed, the relief so sharp it took her strength. “You did all that for me?”
“You thought we would let you die?”
“It seems I was already dead.”
“Don’t say that,” Kensen said. “I love you, but I can’t bear to think of you like that.”
She stared. “You love me?”
Kensen held her gaze. “You really didn’t know?”
; She shook her head, and he leaned forward, his brown eyes intense with emotion. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you kill a roak.”
“I killed a bug and you fell in love?”
He grinned. “You weren’t disgusted or afraid of it. The way you stood your ground, it was like nothing could touch you. I’d never seen anyone show such strength—not human, krey, or dakorian. I knew then that I would do anything for you.”
The emotions were hard and fast. Amusement, followed by gratitude, and then a burning she’d never experienced. Unable to voice it in words, she reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand, pulling him into a long kiss. It quickly grew ardent, and she cursed her weakened body when he pulled away.
“I love you too,” she breathed, and sank back onto the bed.
The door to the room abruptly opened, and Quis stood framed in the opening. He took one look at Siena and shouted, “She’s awake!”
In seconds, the small room was crowded with Tana, Begle and Bort, Rahnora, and Quis. Siena smiled at each as they talked over each other, the excitement bubbling from their hearts. They had saved her life, and in that moment she realized they were more than friends. They were her family.
“We need her to rest.” Kensen finally stood and motioned to the door. “She can’t help until she has regained her strength.”
“Help with what?” Siena asked, taking another sip.
“Repair the ship,” Tana said. “Shortly after we jumped to hyperlight, the second engine blew. We haven’t been able to repair it.”
“Wait.” Siena noticed the fatigue on their faces as well. “How long have I been out?”
“Eight days,” Kensen said.
“We’ve been adrift for eight days?” she demanded.
Kensen nodded. “And the ship is failing. We’ve done what we can, but we really need your help.”
She shoved the blankets, their protests, and her weariness aside. “Then let’s get to work.”
Chapter Sixteen
Ero hadn’t believed Enara at first, but as his sister showed him the destroyed city, he found the evidence compelling. They picked their way through the crumbling walls, collapsed buildings, and moss-covered rocks. In the quiet voice he remembered from his youth, she described the fall of New Haven.
“That’s the arena.” She pointed to a structure that was just the bones of beams and crumbling stones. “The body augments fought for pride and glory. Their feats would have astonished even the dakorians.”
“I can only imagine,” Ero said.
Ero suspected she knew about the augments on Lumineia. But how much did she know? And although he was excited to see her alive, she had yet to explain anything about her time apart from the House. Ero could not just offer limitless trust, not even to Enara.
She swept a hand to the crumbling buildings. “The augments of New Haven understood that if they were discovered by the Empire, they would be destroyed or enslaved. But time has a bad memory, and after a few hundred generations the existence of the krey was just a myth. The fear of discovery faded, replaced with arrogance and pride. They believed themselves superior to anything in the universe.”
“The boulder thinks itself grand because it does not see the mountain,” Ero said.
She paused in front of a circular structure, the purpose having long since worn away. “These people went to war with each other, and a war of augments is devastating.”
Ero noticed a crack in the stone. It was not the winding crack of time, but the smooth, sharp cut of an intentional mind. He’d seen it on the stones on Lumineia, when Begle and Bort had snapped rocks.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “Why show me all this?”
She came to a stop next to a stream that had cut its way through the gutters, eroding the smooth street. She stooped and picked up a rock, which she then dropped into the water. It tumbled down the uneven road, bouncing in the current.
“Because Telik unlocked the same key as his ancestor,” she said.
“Telik’s ancestor created these augments?”
Enara faced him. “Why do you think he was so obsessed with unlocking the human genome? He didn’t know everything, but he knew enough to understand that an ancestor of his had done it. He didn’t fear what they could become.”
“You think our augments are going to rebel,” Ero guessed.
“They will,” she said. “And when they do, your House will be destroyed.”
“And you care about House Bright’Lor?”
He didn’t mean to taunt her, but the heat in his voice was unmistakable. He looked to the lake below the city, not wanting her to see his simmering anger.
She approached and stood at his side. “You want to know why I didn’t come back.”
“You were my favorite sibling, the only one I could trust, and you abandoned me.”
“You were so young,” she said softly. “Just sixteen years of age, so naïve to the way the Empire functions. You couldn’t understand the many betrayals you would suffer.”
“So you let me think you were dead to teach me a lesson?”
“I stayed away because I didn’t want you to follow in my footsteps.”
“And where did they take you?” He rounded on her, the need to understand burning his throat. “It’s been seventeen thousand years. Where did you go?”
She regarded him with a curious expression. Sad and filled with regret, but also measuring, as if she wasn’t sure she should speak the truth. For a moment he thought she would lie, but then she released a long breath.
“About a year after you were born, I was approached by a secret group. They made an invitation that most krey would outright refuse, but I accepted.”
“What group?”
“They call themselves the Light, and they believe all humans should be free.”
He snorted, conveying all his doubt and scorn in a single sound. “And you agreed with them?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
His incredulous smile gradually melted, and he suddenly saw the years of his youth from a different perspective. Enara had refused to have slaves in their home, and had even cooked her own food. The memories were hazy, but he remembered her fighting with Dragorn and Hellina about their treatment of humans.
“You respected humans,” he said slowly.
“I had for a long time,” she admitted. “Long before you were born. I hated the way so many of our race looked at them like property.”
“I bet that didn’t make friends.”
“Let’s just say it was an unpopular opinion,” she said. “Especially when I filed an official petition to free the slaves in House Bright’Lor.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did,” she replied. “It was before our father became the Head of the House. They were furious at me, and I was forbidden to speak such views in public. But my actions had gotten attention, and that’s when the Light approached me.”
“So, this group, what do they do?”
“Buy slaves and free them.”
“Why not steal them?” he asked.
“Too risky. Stealing draws attention from the Ranger Corps. It’s hard to raise the glint in secret, but when we buy slaves outright, at least no one asks questions about what we do with them.”
“I could steal them for you,” he said, thinking of Siena and her team.
She chuckled. “I’ve watched you, you know, and you have a talent for evading the law that is uncommon even for our race. If we’d pulled your stunt with the Light of Everden, we would have been discovered and destroyed.”
“You know about the Light of Everden?” he asked, a smile creeping onto his face.
“We salvaged a few vids from the wreckage. Enough to see what you had done.” She laughed, the sound tinged with admiration. “Malikin was furious. So is House Jek’Orus. You cost them a lot of glint, but Malikin cannot reveal his knowledge that you were the perpetrator, and we erased the vids that showed anything incriminating.”
&nbs
p; “Is this when I thank you?”
“Yes,” she said, “and when you listen to me. The Light has existed since the birth of the Empire, and their survival depends on secrecy. Your recent actions with the augments have threatened to destabilize everything we’ve built.”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“We own a few properties,” she said. “Mostly moons in outlying systems and a small planet. In the archives we go by a different name, and the Empire sees us as an entity independent from the Houses. But within our homes, humans, dakorians, and krey live together in harmony. No slaves. No owners.”
He cast her a sideways look. “I’m not sure I believe you. Most humans hate the krey, and I doubt dakorians could survive without a war to fight.”
“Which is why we are very selective with whom we invite to join our cause.”
“And you think I would join you?”
“Maybe.”
A four-winged bird burst from a nearby tree and soared above the forest. The sun was just coming up, and the light brightened on the horizon. The three moons were gradually dimming, while the lake and the forest showed multicolored foliage.
“Why do you think I would accept?” he asked.
“Because of what I’ve seen in you,” she said, walking around him. “You want to trust others. You want home, friends, a family.”
“All things that don’t exist in the Empire.”
“They do in the Light.”
He rotated to face her. “The krey don’t feel that way.”
“Some do.”
“Like who?” he challenged.
“Like my husband,” she said. “Like my children.”
He watched her face soften, her eyes gain a fondness that he’d never seen in a krey. She cared about them—not because of an alliance, or what they could give her, but because of what she felt.
“You love them,” he said.
“I do.”
Enara’s simple admission rocked Ero. His entire life, he’d been told that krey were not capable of feeling devotion—that they’d evolved beyond the need of such emotions. Things like love and trust were weaknesses for a higher being. Humans and dakorians were lesser, and the krey looked down on them for their incessant desire for connection.