Ripples in the Water
K isan turned a corner, easing away from the streets that lined the gleaming grandeur of the Old Town.
His patrol route took him to the patchwork shanties of the Pikani settlements.
Here, the domed light burned harsher, bouncing off rusted synthboards and makeshift tin roofs.
Thousands of Pikas lived crammed together in the sprawling slums, their lives a world apart from the towering temples that loomed nearby.
Men swung past on skimmers and on foot, ferrying building materials, barter goods, or weary from long days working the docks.
Women trudged past him, carrying water, goods, produce, and even children, their faces lined with weariness.
He sensed all eyes on him - narrowed, suspicious, charged with wariness.
Fokk , he didn’t blame them.
Most Pikas were descendants of space pirates. As the hard-living progeny of the first residents on this rock, they preferred their tough, scrabbling life in the subterranean tunnels under the streets of Eden II.
However, the shanty towns that hugged the Old Town quarter were home to refugees from Alloria to Falasians, discarded by war and forgotten by their rulers.
They fashioned new lives for themselves here, in the shadows of the dome’s glittering sectors.
It burned Kisan’s craw that he had caused some of the wars they’d fled. These souls were well acquainted with his past, for it had affected them. They were the ones most likely to loathe his guts.
What good was a man like him here?
A man who had spent most of his life destroying rather than building?
Still, he moved forward, his luminous aqua eyes scanning the streets for signs of unrest.
He volunteered for night duty as often as possible, driven by the guilt gnawing at him like a living thing.
It was the only way he knew how to feel useful, make amends, and lessen his regret.
A shout rang out, piercing the air—a child’s.
Followed by the growl of an angry grown man and the husky tones of an enraged woman.
Which only spelled trouble.
Kisan twisted around.
Down the street, a trio of kinais surrounded a woman shielding a young lad.
The men loomed, snarling at the more vulnerable pair.
The boy clutched a small bundle to his chest, his face pale with terror.
Kisan didn’t hesitate.
He moved with a speed that belied his size, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
The men twisted as he approached, their expressions shifting from aggression to uncertain realization.
They recognized him and stepped back.
‘What’s the problem?’ Kisan growled, edged with steel as he prowled onto the scene.
He didn’t draw his weapon.
He didn’t need to.
His presence was potent enough.
One of the kinais , braver—or perhaps more foolish—than the others, advanced with a threatening swagger. ‘This isn’t your concern, Ankis.’
The meta’s eyes burned, the viridescent flecks in his eyes glittering with gleaming light, not with anger but with something colder. ‘Badge says this patch of Eden II is my concern. Care to challenge me and discover how much concern I can show?’
The man faltered, and the group backed off, their bravado crumbling under Kisan’s unflinching gaze.
They disappeared into the maze of shanties, leaving the kid clutching his package and the woman who stepped back.
Her head swiveling, her features hidden by her shroud, her eyes canted away from him, on the lookout for more trouble.
He bypassed her for now and focused on the youth.
Kisan knelt before the boy, his towering frame folding with surprising gentleness. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, his eyes raking the young child.
He shook his head, his eyes fixed on Kisan.
He didn’t speak, but the bundle in his arms rustled. The Rider reached out, peeling back the fabric to reveal a small, injured animal—a desert hopper, its delicate wings trembling.
Its feathers, lined with pure silver, purple, and gold strands, shimmered under the bright twin sun rays.
‘You risked your life for this?’ Kisan rasped, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The lad nodded. ‘It was alone, fell from a roofline. I picked it up, but they wanted to take it away and sell it, but I think it’s hurt.’
The Rider assessed the boy and creature. ‘It does look like it’s broken a wing, young one. Good pick up.’
‘ Sante, for helping us,’ came a husky whisper behind him.
He turned, his luminous green eyes landing on the woman who’d protected the child.
Kisan’s breath hitched.
It was her —the dancer from the water show.
She was breathtaking.
Her dark hair shimmered in the artificial sunlight filtering through the dome above, cascading over her shoulders like waves of night.
She wore a flowing garment and a shawl over her tresses.
Her dress clung to her lithe frame. It was elegant, and its fabric shimmered with light.
He sucked his teeth, recalling how she’d snatched his oxygen away, stolen his attention with each fluid motion, every enchanting leap over the glowing lake.
‘You,’ he growled, his usual composure faltering.
She arched a brow, her lips curling into a smile. ‘You remember me.’
Kisan blinked, lost for words.
‘I didn’t expect to find you here,’ he managed, his rasp steadier now. ‘You’re Samira.’
Her beam widened. ‘You’re Kisan.’
He threw his head back, surprised. ‘You know my name.’
‘Everyone knows who you are.’
The statement jolted him more than he expected.
Naam , most did know who he was—Ankis, the plunderer, the pillager.
He wondered if that was her assessment if she regarded him as the others did—a reformed monster.
He searched her expression for judgment, but her silver and gold eyes possessed only warmth.
A pang lurched deep in his chest, a swirl of need. Wanting, craving, to be seen for more than his sins.
She stepped past him, crouching beside the boy, who clutched the injured creature.
‘Shall we find someplace to keep the hopper safe?’ she asked, her dulcet alto soothing, touching the bundle the child held.
The creature inside rustled but didn’t resist, as though her touch alone was enough to calm it.
‘ Naam ,’ the boy nodded.
She stood up straight. ‘Come. Let’s get help.’
‘You don’t know the kid?’ Kisan asked, studying her.
‘ Nada ,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I was walking past when I caught the commotion.’
Kisan jerked his chin at her in approval.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Kisan murmured, placing his hand on the shoulder of the youngster who stayed close, his trust hesitant but growing.
The Rider was hit with a deluge of feeling as the boy’s tiny hand wrapped around his own.
Finally, someone on this rock who trusted him.
It was such a rare sensation that Kisan almost folded over from the surge of emotion.
He sucked his teeth to hide his reaction as the three of them made their way toward the animal shelter. The boy walked between them, his small hand gripping Kisan’s.
Their strides found a natural rhythm, even as the Rider towered over the graceful dancer and the young child.
Samira glanced at Kisan every so often, her eyes lingering as though trying to solve a puzzle.
‘You’re not what I expected,’ she murmured.
Kisan sliced his gaze to her, bristling, arching a brow. ‘What does that mean?’
She hesitated, her gaze dropping to the child before meeting his again. ‘The stories paint you as ruthless. Cold. A man without mercy.’
He didn’t respond for a beat.
‘I was that man,’ he admitted in a timbred burr. ‘Maybe I still am. I’m striving not to be.’
Her expression softened, and she glanced away, her gaze fixed on the street ahead. ‘I don’t believe the stories. I’ve seen enough darkness to distinguish between someone who destroys and a soul attempting to rebuild.’
Kisan pursed his lips, unable to respond.
Her words, so simple and honest, pierced through his armor.
He canted his eyes from her, fighting the surge of need that flashed through him.
The animal shelter on Fourteenth Street was a modest building, its exterior weathered but well-kept.
Inside, the air was scented with hay and antiseptic.
The center’s staff, composed of kind-hearted locals, greeted them with warm smiles. They took the injured hopper from the boy with promises to nurture the creature and return the child home.
‘We’ll take good care of it and you,’ one of the workers promised, her voice soothing as she reassured the youth.
With arms crossed over his chest, Kisan took in the scene as Samira knelt to the child’s level, brushing a stray curl from his face. ‘You did something brave today. You should be proud.’
The lad shrugged, bashful.
He then glanced at Kisan, who crouched beside him. ‘ Sante , Rider.’
‘What’s your name, kid?’ the Guardian rasped.
‘Paulito,’ the child murmured.
Kisan ruffled the youth’s dark hair. ‘Paulito, what you did was very courageous. You’re safe here, and so is the hopper. Go well, and thanks for being a hero. Have your ma let you come by the Eden Guard Station on Fourteenth Street. We’ll show you around, maybe even give you a ride in our flyers, champ.’
Paulito’s eyes lit up as he grinned and chuffed, puffing out his chest as he was led away, the tiny creature cradled in his arms.
At one point, Paulito glanced back, his eyes brimming with awe.
Kisan gave him a salute, which he returned.
A small smile played on the Rider’s lips as he and Samira stepped outside, the harsh light of Eden II’s dome casting long shadows across the shantytown.
‘You were good with him,’ Samira said, breaking the silence.
Kisan shrugged, his gaze far off. ‘So were you. It doesn’t take much to be decent.’
‘It’s more than most offer,’ she said, her tone thoughtful. ‘Especially in a busy city.’
Their gazes locked, the substance of unspoken words hanging between them.
The sounds around them faded for a moment.
The Rider’s eyes lingered on her as the fading sun’s golden and crimson hues caught the fiery streaks of the sunset, shimmering with threads of copper and mahogany.
The rays kissed her skin, painting her cheeks with a soft, almost ethereal blush.
Her eyes, deep and reflective, held the last glimmers of sunlight.
The glow brought out the flecks of gold in her irises, which danced with the light, making her appear otherworldly and achingly real.
Kisan stood in silence, transfixed by the sight.
Every curve of her face appeared touched by the heavens—the soft arch of her brow, the elegant line of her jaw, the delicate shape of her lips.
Fokk, she was stunning.
The shadows lengthened, and the sunset’s lingering rays framing her in their brilliance created an aura that set her apart from the world around her.
She smiled with a warmth that jolted Kisan. ‘ Sante again. For helping us.’
Kisan nodded. ‘ De nada . May I escort you anywhere, Samira?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine to walk from here. I need to get to the market for some groceries. I’ll see you soon, perhaps tonight?’
Her expression was so hopeful that his soul lurched. What in Devansi hell?
‘I’ll see,’ he growled, eager to get away lest the deluge of emotion drown him.
She waved her hand and walked off.
He was left gazing at her shapely backside as she rippled away from him, the lingering scent of her perfume assailing his senses.