Page 119

Chapter Nine

S irius

Unlike most of my fellow geneslaves, I was never allowed to fight. The Feds were too busy siphoning my blood and selling it to the highest bidder.

But I was trained. I was trained for warfare since I could walk. I know how to use every weapon ever invented. I know every form of martial arts from the Kwa Yen Kan of the river people of Aeon I to the kickfighting of the ancient Umla of Hyperion during their glory days. I know the strategy of every battle from the ancient Emirusian wars to the laser battles in Ariz sector the annum I escaped the Feds.

It’s been two days since the males brought me to the Peacefield as they call this place. I’ve learned every footbridge, food store, and hiding place in the area.

By using every bit of knowledge the Feds were stupid enough to train me with, I’ve devised a plan. My friends think it’s solid and will work. I hope we won’t have to wait too long for the enemy to arrive. I want to fight this battle and then get on with having the life I’ve thus far been denied.

I hear the hum of a hovercraft above the canopy.

I warned the males they have to erase any idea they have of fair fighting—there won’t be any of that today. “Don’t expect anyone to fight with honor,” I explained. “Imagine the dirtiest thing you could do to your enemy if you had no scruples or morals or respect for sentient life, then times it by ten. Expect that,” I warned them.

Laser cannon strikes, three close together, hit the tree four-hundred fiertos away where we placed the tracking devices Born dug out from under my right scapula.

Trees all around the target have gone up in flames. My three friends’ eyes are wide in shock and fear. Nothing in their lifetime, nothing in their experience, nothing in my descriptions of what to expect, could have prepared them for this.

The animals quieted for a moment after the attack. Now every species under the canopy is squawking, screaming, mewling, or growling. And they’re all fleeing, which is a good thing, because another volley hits nearby.

Three more booming cannon strikes, and another sector goes up in flames. There’s no reason for it. The first assault hit with precision accuracy to the exact point where we planted the tracking devices. But the cowardly drackers want to ensure their safety before they leave the protection of their hover to come look for my body.

One more volley of three strikes and another sector ignites. Luckily, the canopy is its own ecosystem, a rainforest, and the intrinsic humidity keeps everything from going up in flames like kindling.

We wait several minimas , but it appears no more cannon strikes are likely. We hear the hover land near the top of the crevice. Perfect, just as I’d predicted.

I close my eyes, swivel my ears, and pay complete attention to the site where the hover landed. “There are…,” I listen closely, “eight of them. They’re dracking angry, arguing among themselves,” I whisper to my friends. “They don’t want to be here, but they’re coming to ensure they killed me, to find my body. Remember, wait until they’re on the vines. All eight of them.”

I knew they wouldn’t be able to fly under the canopy. The trees are too close together. That’s great for our purposes. They’ll have to park near the edge of the crevasse, then climb down the vines to meet us on our territory.

“Wait until they’re halfway down, then shoot all but one. I’d rather you kill too few than too many. We have to keep one alive. Your people’s lives depend on it. Your sweethearts, your mates, your mommas, your poppas—all their lives depend on you. We need to kill all but one. Don’t kill the attacker on the right.”

“Yes.” They all agree. “Sweep from left to right. Keep one alive.”

I listen again to every filthy word the Galerians say, every name they call me, every grumble about the awful sight that greeted them when they found their comrades dead at the killing site. I nod my head. “Yes. Eight,” I confirm.

The ugly Galerians, with their rubbery snout-like faces and chunky upthrust tusks, descend the vines toward the floor of the escarpment. They’re heavily armed, as I expected. Luckily, the one on the right is separated from the others by several vines. Good, that leaves less room for mistakes.

“Best if just one of you fires,” I instruct them. “Leef, you shoot. Greeg, join in only if necessary. I’m on my way.”

I descend nimbly from our safe platform lodged about halfway up a huge tree, down to the floor of the Peacefield. It’s soft from thousands of annums of accumulated rotting leaves. The smell is acrid and soothing at the same time. It’s spongy under my feet.

The sound of laserfire greets my ears. I look up at the wall of the escarpment and see Leef pick off seven Galerians from left to right. This male has shot bow and arrows his whole life. He knows how to conserve ammunition. He didn’t waste a spoonful of fuel.

“Good male, Leef,” I whisper to myself, then leap into action.

I know I have scant modicums before the male on the right pulls out his rifle and sprays laserfire indiscriminately. I don’t want him hurting my friends, or any animals, or myself. I run to the vine next to the survivor and scramble up so swiftly the Galerian doesn’t have time to aim his weapon at me.

We’re hanging on separate vines, about halfway up the two-hundred-fifty- fierto cliff face. Swinging my vine next to him, holding my vine with one hand and one ankle I’ve snaked around it, I yank his weapon from him, toss it on the ground, then grab him by the throat, and press so hard on his larynx his eyes bulge in his meaty face.

“Do you want to live?” I snarl.

When he doesn’t answer immediately, I squeeze harder, slamming the back of his head against the rock face, and ask again through clenched teeth, “Do you want to live?”

I’m gripping his neck too tightly for him to make a sound, so he merely nods.

“Climb up.” I motion with my chin.

He’s having trouble moving, so I incentivize him by holding onto the vine with my feet and grabbing his balls with one hand.

Somehow, he miraculously figures out how to climb.

Once we’re at the top, I check him for any additional weapons. I find a ten- ince hunting knife in his boot. Just what I need. I quiz him, the tip of the knife at his throat, while he catches his breath.

“How many others are there?”

“What?”

I squeeze his balls through his camouflage pants until he yelps in pain.

“How? Many? Others? In your ship?” I increase my grip with each word.

“None.”

I squeeze harder.

“None,” his voice is high as a girl’s.

I squeeze so hard I feel sympathetic pain in my own testicles, but I don’t stop until he says, “Two.”

“I’m a male of my word. I’ll let you live if you do what I say. You’re going to get on your comm and frantically tell your comrades you’ve lost control of your vehicle. You’re going to sound terrified. Afraid for your life—and you should be. If you don’t comply, I’ll make you suffer.”

I stare into his mud-brown eyes. I don’t blink. My jaw is tight. I squeeze his balls again for emphasis.

“You’re going to fake a vehicle malfunction, and then we’re going to push your hover over the edge. And if you’re very good at what you do, I’ll let you live.”

I pull him with me to the edge of the cliff. “Born, Leef, Greeg! Check those bodies thoroughly, as well as the ground around them. Check their boots, pants, genitals, everything. I want nothing left on those bodies that could harm a living being—no lasers, no fuel, no knives, not even a toothpick. Come up with all the weapons when you’re done.”

The hover’s comm device squawks. The captive’s friends are hailing him.

“You’re going to tell them you’ve spotted me,” I grit out, my eyes not leaving his.

“Drack this up and I’ll kill you as slowly as I know how. You know I’m a geneslave, right? What do you think the Feds taught me in that genefarm for all those annums ? I wasn’t raised to be a kind male.” I wring his balls until he moans one long, low syllable I can’t quite make out.

“They taught me every form of torture in the known universe. Do you know there’s actually a name for impaling a sharp rod through a male’s anus, then lifting him by rope and allowing him to slide down until the stake protrudes through his head? Cathoginian Impalement—one of the most painful and slow methods of torture in the galaxy. Care to experience it firsthand? I can make your dreams come true.”

I glance over my shoulder to see my three friends arriving at the top of the cliff.

“Repeat your instructions,” I order.

“T-t-tell them the hover is malfunctioning. Sound s-s-scared.”

“Very good.” I release the pressure on his genitals, but keep my hand there. I find it helps him focus.

“Males,” I say, not taking my gaze from the Galerian. “As soon as our friend here tells his comrades his vehicle is malfunctioning, we’re going to heave it off the cliff. Can you quickly sweep the interior for any additional weapons, fuel canisters, or sharp items?”

A moment later they exit the craft with two more laser rifles and a nice supply of fuel.

“Time for your starring role. Ready?” I tighten my grip on the Galerian’s gonads. “I’ve recently discovered my primate DNA. Do you know that makes me eight times stronger than most other humanoids? I could literally separate your testicles from your body in a modicum . Don’t pull anything and I’ll leave yours attached,” my voice sounds gritty, determined, and deadly serious.

I lead him to the front passenger seat, give his balls a friendly little squeeze to remind him I’m right here, hand him the comm, and hope he does his part.

“Reen! Eidor!” he sounds frantic. “Something’s wrong with this dracking machine. I told you we should have never gone on this mission. It’s been a drackshow from the start. Drack! We’re crashing!”

I pull the Gallerian out of the vessel and toss him to the ground.

“Leef, watch the prisoner,” I yell. Born, Greeg and I heave the hover over the side into the chasm. There’s something horribly beautiful in watching a vehicle crash and burn. From the creak and groan of metal bumping off the rocky side of the cliff, to the thunderous concussion of final impact, to the orange-and-black fireball hurtling up the wall of rock, almost lapping at the top edge before it recedes.

“Name?” I ask the prisoner.

“Klinkk.”

“Klinkk, welcome to your new home. You’ll be naked, of course.” I nod to Greeg who forces the prisoner to strip out of his clothes.

“You’re going to head in that direction.” I point to where the original “hunting party” lay dead. “If I or any of the tribe ever see your murderous carcass again, we’ll kill you on sight. If you touch any of our network of safety caves, we’ll kill you on sight. If you do anything we’d consider unneighborly, we’ll kill you on sight. If you follow the rules, we’ll let you coexist in peace, which is more of a chance than you were willing to offer me.”

“B-b-but,” he blubbers, “I have no clothes, no blankets, no weapons.”

“You’d better start walking.” I point to the savanna where I was released for sport by the Feds for his friends’ amusement, then turn my back and walk toward the village.

“He came to kill you, Sirius,” Born says. “Why did you let him live?”

I stop walking and turn toward the Galerian. Born follows my gaze. Klinkk’s practically tiptoeing through the grasses, then almost falls as he stubs his toe on a rock. “How many days do you give him before he’s eaten by a pride of mam’non ?”

He considers for a moment. “Two. If he’s lucky.”

“Exactly. And we won’t have his death on our hands.”