Cassiel Winters 1: Sky's End (18 page)

A blank magnetic force attaches itself to me, sucking, pulling and demanding and yanking all the pleasure back out of me.
Stop! It hurts.
My very essence’s being drained dry. I fight back, but there’s nothing to grip on to for strength, I’m totally at its mercy! OW! A sharp pain, from my skull to my pelvis, tears through me. I’ve been cut in half!

Wait, I’m on the chair, dazed.

What the
. . .
?
I hold my aching head with one hand, and peer through my grimace. Or’ic is standing in front of me as though he’s protecting me from something. What’s he doing there?

Behind him, Shadon’s on the floor. His chair is overturned, and both Kell’an and Onegin are on the floor, under him, arms wrapped around him, holding him in place. Shadon has a stunned expression on his face.

“What happened? My head hurts.”

Oh, wait.

Oh. No.

“Yes, Kir Shadon’in’ton. What happened?” demands Or’ic, outraged.

Shadon jumps up into a protective stance. The other two Kirs right themselves, watching Or’ic closely. Then it dawns on me. Shadon’s going to be punished. For my mistake.

I stand up. “Wait! It’s not his fault. I swear. I-I don’t know what came over me.”

“Do not listen to her,” says Shadon calmly. “I should have been prepared. She is a human female. It would never happen again, my Prime.” He adds this last bit kneeling before him. Before I can protest further, Or’ic leans forward and harshly removes one of Shadon’s weapons, a dagger with writing on it. Shadon keeps his head hung as he stands back up.

Well, that doesn’t seem so bad as far as punishments go. Then again, glancing at Onegin and Pers’eus, you would think they had lost a loved one or something.

“Really, it was totally my fault,” I say quietly to no one in particular.

Or’ic turns on me quickly. He’s very angry. Unreasonably so, if you ask me.

“Yes, I don’t doubt it was,” he hisses.

He shifts a bit, leans in. My eyes are square with his broad pectorals and I try not to take in their expanse. He smells pleasant, like mint, no, more like chocolate. “You would keep your lust under control during the surge from now on, or we would find another outlet for it.”

Oh.

The word
lust
rolled off his tongue with the urgency of the word
must
, both resonating down deep in me.

My cheeks flush, and I deeply resent him for scolding me like a 12-year-old in front of everyone, and, worse, I resent my body’s reaction.

And I would express my outrage, if I could think of just the right thing to say. But my wits have abandoned me here on his ship.

Instead, I follow meekly, tiny and trapped inside the tall posse of Kirs and guards. I hear something about food, and assume we’re on our way to dine. I don’t have much of an appetite actually. My nerves are shot, because the anxiety I normally feel, sharp and jagged, is dull and round.

I stare ahead at the perfect asses of the men in front of me. I let my mind relax a little because it’s really flagging. I blink, long and slow, to ease my burning eyes. I’m exhausted. I don’t have the energy of these aliens.

So when we reach the archway to their dining area, I’m let down. I don’t know what I expected,
large comfy sofas?,
but it’s nothing but an oversized room with a lot of upright, single tray tables. Apparently, eating’s not a social occasion among Thell’eon. Over on one side is a full kitchen, where a bunch of those aliens with the fascinating skin are cooking like crazy. The odors reach my nose and nothing’s familiar. Still, the savory aroma can’t be anything but meat, and my mouth waters.

Because I’m not paying attention, I sense the déjà vu, er, rift, after Kell’an, who shouts, “Sift! Shadington, surge!”

Before I realize what’s happening, he and every other Thell’eon within earshot whip out weapons, including Or’ic, who spins around, all guns aimed right at me.

Holy stars!
I don’t what’s scarier, having a small army of giant brutes pointing weapons at me, or having a roomful of the best-looking men I have ever seen witness a part of me that had always been utterly and total private, for a second time.

But that doesn’t matter because a nanosecond later Shadon offers a burst of energy, which fixes me in total focus, for this new experience I’m about to have. An alternate reality . . .

I’m surprised to see myself, more so, to see myself piggy backing a man, not that much bigger than me, but evidently super powerful. My attempt to choke him and thus prevent him from firing some bizarre gun he’s aiming at Onegin, who is badly beaten up, appears futile. My heart’s racing where I stand but I try to take in everything knowing finally, for the first time, with alarming magnitude, the importance of what I’m experiencing.

This glimpse into an alternate universe, as the Kirs have explained and I already figured out, could hold clues for our reality. So I bite back the anxiety and concentrate on observing. Oh, but there’s carnage everywhere! Blood. Dead Thell’eon parts. I focus on the man I’m trying to choke but my eyes are drawn to the other me, so helpless.
You can’t help her! Help yourself, here by focusing!
This man I’m choking in the other dimension, the best way to describe him is to say he’s nondescript in every way. Mouth, not too round, not too thin. Nose not too long, not too flat. But something’s off.
Ah, the skin
. It’s like he’s made of silicone. And he’s expressionless, except for the eyes, which are merciless. I know because they are looking right at me.

No. Like in this universe. Here. Now.

HE CAN SEE ME!

I scream, even though the déjà vu, or rather, the rift, closes. I jump back, desperate to run away, even though logically I recognize that the other dimension’s now closed to me, but I’m blocked on all sides. Frantic, I push at the arms and torsos blocking my freedom.

Shadon grabs me, tight, and a surge of security bursts into me, followed by a sense of calm.

I could get hooked on Shadon.

Breathe. Okay. Good. Breathe.

“What did you see?” asks Or’ic, standing as close as Shadon was moments ago. “Is the rift gone?”

“Yes. I don’t . . . it was . . . awful . . .”

“Tell us!” shouts Kell’an.

“Blood! Blood everywhere,” I sob. “Dead, dead Thell’eons. A man. A normal man, but he wasn’t normal! Waxy!”

“An Aeon,” says Or’ic.

“What?
Really?
I was trying to stop him from killing . . . from killing . . . Onegin, but I don’t think I could!” I glance at the LV star, as does everyone. His expression’s mild surprise, at most, then indifference.

Or’ic places both hands on my shoulders. “You are safe. The rift is gone.”

“But that . . . Aeon saw me. He looked right at me!”

The energy changes. Or’ic knits his brow.

“What? That’s bad, right? Of course it’s bad!”

He grabs my face with both hands. “You would not fear. We would protect you always. You are safe with us. Always.”

But it’s Shadon who gives me the calm I need.

After a moment, shaking all over, I ask, “How is it he could see me?”

“He did not,” says Or’ic with an edge I have not heard in him yet. “It is your imagination. You must take control of yourself.” He says this last bit disgusted, his dark eyes appraising and finding me coming up short, which shuts me up.

But, I swear, that Aeon looked right at me.

Chapter 17

Shh. What was that?
I rise up quickly. One of the guards at my door glances over.
No. Nothing
.

I lie back down.
Okay. Just relax. Stop worrying. You need to sleep!

I think about how, over the past three days, I’ve spent most of my time worrying. It’s a sort of generalized worry. You know, will I die?, when?, and how? Of course, it gets pushed aside for more immediate priorities, like watching and listening for any lurking Thell’eon set on doing nebula knows what with me. My daily outings consist of being escorted for food and taking private baths (well, technically, there are usually a few soldiers bathing far away in one of the pools but I can’t see anything). Thell’eons do have a magnificent bathing area. It’s a regular vacation!

It’s almost unbearable, the worry and waiting. I assume we are on our way to Taxata.

We better be!

Just calm down.

None of the Kirs will tell me how long until we reach Taxata, and I have not seen Or’ic since the rift in the mess. There’s been no more surging—I suppose they’re satisfied after how Shadon worked with me. There’s just been a lot of mindless waiting.

Time to focus on my favorite source of relief: plotting my escape. Of course I have a Plan B.
Are you kidding?
Consider the confidence that Plan A inspires:
Trust, Cassiel, is a misguided human social construction predicated on absolutely nothing but self-delusion
. I repeat Or’ic’s words mockingly in my head.
Please!
I need a way to bail out of this if things go wrong.

Worst case, I know who has Daz. Prime Aardon. If I escape, surely ESE will launch a rescue for my brother, their top pilot.

I think over the things I have learned about Thell’eons and my brief experiences here so far, and review how my Plan B is coming along. I wish it were more promising, but,
hey
, desperate times call for desperate measures. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

1. A homemade weapon (since their guns don’t work for me). Better yet, I’ve hit upon a weapon that will render these giants immobile from a distance. I can’t help but giggle at its utter simplicity and perfection (I think some mental unbalance is acceptable given my current circumstances). So I got the idea when Kell’an arrived with a package yesterday. It was full of clothing (no pants!) and other female basics, like size 8 shoes (well, boots, actually, made of a really fabulous animal hide; I also appreciated the brush). The Thell’eon women had included a bizarre device with a narrow hollow middle and an end with a needle. Upon closer examination, I realized it was some sort of sewing tool. I guess someone thought I might need to alter the clothing to fit.

But I didn’t think of it as a weapon until after dinner later that night, when I saw Doc Seth chowing down in the mess. Seeing him, the only person who has smiled at me in three days, made me think of the other prisoner, Friend, which made me remember Doc Seth loading an endospray from a drawer in a large floating shelf right near the downcores. So after one or two minutes of giving myself a major pep talk, I faked a headache right on the spot. Moaning, crying, the works. Pers’eus carried me to the sickbay straight away (crying creates a real advantage around here; I’m not certain Thell’eon men have seen women upset before), where he left me, relieved, for overnight observation.

I was elated, upon my dramatic writhing and moaning arrival, to find Friend there, healing from his latest battle round, no doubt. And, as soon as I got a chance, long after I’d calmed down, I slipped off the downcore, and paused on my way to the privy to tell him, using the fewest words possible, about my intention to escape. I said, “Don’t worry, I’m getting us out of here.”

I think Doc Seth purposely ignored the fact we were talking though he couldn’t hear. The guards don’t care either. After day one, they grew lackadaisical around me. They just don’t see me as a threat. I think it’s because I’m human. Or a woman. Or both. Anyway, on the way back from the privy, I asked him his name, and he whispered Lor. And that’s when I shot him with the drug I’d stolen from the tray when Seth wasn’t looking when I first came in. It was so easy, even with my trembling hands, the big production probably wasn’t even necessary.

Lor obviously wasn’t expecting me to drug him. His chocolate-brown bloodshot eyes opened wide, and I felt bad, but I had to test it on someone about the same size as a Thell’eon! When he didn’t pass out, I panicked and explained to his pissed-off eyes why I’d done it. Later, when Seth went to the privy, I asked Lor to blink twice if he couldn’t move. He did! And then I watched and waited. And waited. He was frozen in place for about five hours. Couldn’t even lift a finger!

I know we spoke with our eyes that night, I’m just not sure what either of us said.

When Lor finally started moving, I was preparing for an escort back to my space, but I managed to sneak in another line. I told him I wouldn’t leave him behind. He just crinkled his oddly shaped brows.

I got the endospray, squeezed tight in my fist, back to my pod, and hid it in my care package when I dressed this morning. I smile every time I think about it. Blow darts tainted with a knockout drug, which has even been tested!

2. An escape route. Well, technically, I don’t have a route. But I’ve figured out a way to map one. I got this stroke of genius in the mess hall on day two, served to me by my newly appointed aide, Zeke.

Or’ic had insisted I have my own aide (one of his very own), though, if you ask me, they’re slaves not aides. I finally got the story behind this unusual species who live unobtrusively all over the warship. They call themselves Cinarie. My aide, Zeke, is over eight feet tall when he stands up straight, but all Cinarie stoop most of the time to see what they are doing. Their long, sharp faces remind of an ancient human animal called a “horse.” Cinarie’s skin ripples in patterns of gray and green, the result of a play of light or something else I can’t possible identify. His eyes are big and gray and wide apart, like a prey animal.

Zeke, using what I gathered is a synthesized voice box, assured me Cinarie are not slaves. In fact, he told me something rather surprising. Apparently, the Cinarie serve Thell’eon gladly because they believe in some prophecy called the Great Siege, which has passed down through generations of Cinarie. The story goes that some great race will protect the universe from Aeons. Cinarie think it is Thell’eons. I nodded politely, really thinking, “Pretty convenient, this prophecy, if you ask me.”

From what I can tell, these Cinarian do everything for the Thell’eons. Cooking. Bathing. Cleaning. Zeke admitted that the prophecy did not predict an outcome.

See, that’s the thing about prophecies. They do a lot of foreshadowing but no real foretelling. I digress.

I flip onto my stomach, and wrap the blanket tight around me.

The important part’s what Zeke served me: something that looked like rice but was topped with small black pebbles. They are called torn. Based on taste, I would say they are a Thell’eon nut, but
whatever
. I grabbed a handful when he wasn’t looking and dropped a few all the way back to my space. I checked behind me and confirmed that they are so bitty and dark, no one else would even notice them on the ground.

A perfect way to keep track of where I am! I just need to ask for them every time I eat.

Where was I? Oh yeah.

3. A vessel to escape. Okay. So I don’t have that worked out yet. But when I do, it will just be a matter of opportunity. Unfortunately, in none of my travels, to the mess and baths and back, have I passed anything that even looks close to a hangar bay or docking station. Yes, this is a concern. I squeeze my eyes tight, listening for the guard, half grateful for them, to protect me in case I sift.

I swear, that Aeon saw me.

Really, you need your rest, Cassiel
. Lt. Lazarus’s haggard, handsome face comes to mind. That night he left me in the briefing room with Cora Smith, before the mission that’s changed my life, he let his wall down for a moment, pausing, revealing a hesitancy, an awkwardness, that belied something else I could never have imagined. Tenderness.

For a second, I thought he was going to tell me it was all just another ESE test, and that I’d passed.

Instead, he said, “Sleep tonight, while it still comes free.” He seemed sad and damaged in that moment.

You know what? If I could go back in time and change one thing, it would be to have never joined ESE in the first place.