Solara 25
The moment they’re gone, Oriclen looks around at the soulless Isonians. “You’re certain they’re not going to die?”
I pull out my scanner again and run it over them the way Fion showed me in the medical bay during my rushed training. “Body is fine, stressed, but not something I would consider threatening.”
Oriclen chews on something, plants his hands on his hips, and assesses a middle-aged man who is slumped on a bench. “What would you want us to do? Stand here and stare at you or try to get your Vibrances back?”
The man rubs the dark spot on his chest and surveys his lightless body. “I think you know.”
“Then fuck this.” Oriclen tilts his head, motioning for me to follow. “I know this city almost as well as the one I grew up in. My father worked here.”
I pocket my scanner and reposition my rifle in my hands. “I’m with you. But everyone else should probably find shelter, just in case. Can you all help each other?”
The few individuals we’ve collected from the street hunker together and make their way toward a stone building with a golden emblem. They touch the wall, and it lets them through before solidifying again.
A gunshot in the distance makes us move faster. Then another and another until we are sprinting down a curved alley toward the Neb ships and the rapid exchanges of gunfire. We find an open park filled with their vessels, engines hot, looking ready to take off.
“May I borrow your rifle?” Oriclen asks.
I hand it to him. He takes up a spot behind a bench, aims the rifle over it, and breathes out once, twice, and fires on the third time. His shot takes out a Neb engine. “One ship down. Two to go.”
Nebs cart luminous crates out of the ship and head for the others as Fiasan’s squads confront the shadow soldiers in another area of the park. But Oriclen’s shot earns us attention too.
Flaming blue Neb bullets dice up the air, smashing into the back of the bench. We duck down as a shield from my suit auto-ignites. I place myself between the Nebs and Oriclen.
“Ideas?” I shout over the roar of flames. The hits to my suit are jarring and force me to brace myself and protect my medical bag.
“I can take out another ship, but I need a new vantage point,” Oriclen says.
“You can Mask yourself, right?” I ask.
“Yes. Kind of. I’m still learning.”
“Then take the rifle and go. I’ll be the distraction.”
“You’re not a Smolder. Neither am I. We can’t separate.”
I hunker against another shot not quite blocked by the bench. “Oric, if I can call you that…”
“That’s fine.”
“War doesn’t give a shit about rules. Nebs don’t. Myndrous don’t. Rules are for keeping morals straight until it comes down to good or evil surviving. Then all bets are off.”
He flinches at another blast. “Onidus will kill me if something happens to you.”
“Won’t matter if we don’t make it. Now go!”
I summon the courage to stand up, sling my bag behind me, and open my hands, igniting orbs in them. Then I run the opposite direction as Oriclen crawls.
I lift my hands, join the orbs, and throw them like a softball at the nearest empire soldier. When the Neb staggers back, smoking, I know Gairol’s lessons, while quick, were effective. Two days ago, I’d have never thought I could throw balls of fire.
But I am slower with my medical bag at my back. A squad turns on me. I run behind a large tree-like plant that closes up its blossoms. When I glance around it to see how much the enemy squad is gaining on me, I notice two of Fiasan’s soldiers are down.
I need to get to them.
Basic Masking… I need to hide myself. What was the spell again?
I wrack my brain, but I’m hot with adrenaline and weighed down by gear.
Kisanna shavoyi iosoni. Hide this body. It works, concealing even my gear bag, and yet I feel no change even as my limbs fade from view. But I cling to that spell as I run for the first downed male in the street. I hang onto the thought as I look him over.
He’s bleeding out from a wound in his upper chest. I drop my bag and scramble through for the burn patches, find the stack, rip one out, and slap the circular panel to his wound. Then I grab the burn stitcher, light it up, and settle it on the connector in the center.
“Torrent Solara?” he utters.
“I am here. I know my Masking sucks. I’m doing my best.”
He wipes the blood from his face. “Feels better already. I thought I was going to die.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Where’s Oriclen?”
“Sniping engines.”
“No shit?”
I smile to myself. “No shit.”
Removing the device, I grab a shield disc and slap it over him. It encases him in a husk that will hold as he gets himself upright and to a safer position.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t fuck up again,” I tease.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then I make my way to the next soldier. He’s a Torrent with a blade puncture in his side. He writhes and braces the wound. Someone dragged him behind a statue of a golden warrior but left to keep fighting.
I Mask myself better in transit, less so when I’m distracted and working on the soldiers. My cover flickers as I assess him and dig through my bag.
The Torrent’s gold eyes drift up to mine. He grabs my wrist, and my mind steadies. My cover thickens until I cannot see myself.
“Thanks.” I press two stitching patches to his wound, one over the entry and one over the exit, twist apart the halves of the stitcher, and connect them to his front and back.
A golden coil circulates Vibrance energy through the wound and mends it enough that he can continue fighting.
But energy is always conserved, and the device shuts down before he is fully healed.
I give him an injection for the pain, and he accepts that.
An explosion goes off in the battle in the park nearer the last ship. Several Isonians are down, along with many Nebs.
I shield the Torrent, pack up my things, and get to my feet, assessing the situation.
Five of ours are down, the Nebs are loading the radiant crates onto the last ship, and the last of the Isonians are taking cover, returning fire, and trying to take out the engines and the enemy.
But the Neb pilots have diverted shields to the engines by the bright blue glow and the way the shots of Isonians spiral away from the shield in fractal shapes.
I focus on my Mask and chart my path to the downed soldiers. I can’t wait for cover. I have to move now, or they might die. Two of the five have lost their glow. I run to them first.
Fiasan is one of the darkened ones, his chest charred from the succubus device that ripped out his soulfire.
He’s been shot in the thigh and is curled up on the ground.
The other Isonian who’s been rendered human is long gone, a gaping wound in his chest. They took his Vibrance with a little too much force.
If we can even get it back, he will be destined for the Hall of Souls.
I set my bag down and rip open Fiasan’s pant leg, which seems to startle him.
“Solara?”
“Yes, stay still.”
I dig through to find the gentler human patches that will seal his wounds and keep him from bleeding out. I place the gauze against his bloodied thigh.
Fiasan sucks air in through his teeth. “Why does that burn so much?”
“Welcome to the sting of being human.” I wrap his leg with tape, keeping pressure on the wounds. “It’s a bit of a coagulation agent, to help slow the bleeding. But this wound you have to heal the old-fashioned way. The human way.”
“Can I have a booster?” he asks.
I find one and jab it into his thigh. “Do you deserve it?”
His eyes find mine even though I am invisible. Aural Discernment is in his skill set. “Probably not. But I will not forget this. I misjudged you. Being human is something we all fear.”
“It’s not great, but it has its moments.” I slap a shield to his body so he can have a chance to regain his wits before getting upright again.
The rest of his crew has moved away from the Neb ship that’s preparing to take off. They pair up and cart off their dead squad member then come in to get Fiasan. Anion is with another Ember. He gives me a humble nod.
More Nebs enter the area from a different street, carrying additional Vibrance orbs.
Moving to the other downed Isonians, I treat them as the squadron lays down cover fire.
When I’m on my last, a string of bullets cuts through the soldiers from the middle of the field, much closer to the ship than I ever thought Oriclen would dare to get.
As I withdraw the stitcher and slap a shield disc to the healing Ember, a Neb launches a pulse grenade that knocks Oriclen’s Mask off and sends him visibly smashing into the ground.
The Neb saunters toward him, warming his gun again.
Blue light swells like the anger in his pale blue-white eyes.
His menacing frame is much taller and broader than Oriclen’s, laden with muscle, and covered in short dark gray fur.
Panic locks me up as I abandon my responsibility as a medic for the new threat.
And suddenly, I’m grabbing the rifle the Ember beneath me dropped, getting up, stalking toward them, and aiming at the Neb.
I’ve never fired at anyone to kill them.
But it’s the Neb or Oriclen. And I know which one I prefer.
I squeeze the trigger. A three-round burst hits the Neb’s shield, breaks it, and tags him in the shoulder. He staggers, looks, and redirects his gun toward me. But desperation has me already pulling the trigger again.
Other Nebs search for me as I solidify my Mask, hold it tightly in my mind, and hurry to Oriclen.
He’s badly burned over his stomach. Fragments protrude from his body.
My bag is still with the Ember now far behind me.
The other soldiers are getting back to their feet.
Nebs rush toward Oriclen. I try to Mask him, but I can’t.
So I do what I can and free the pieces of frag from his body with the little time I have.
“Get out of here, Solara,” he rasps in agony.
Fion told me that when I was skilled enough, I would be able to heal by thought, by touch.
But what if I’m just desperate enough?
I tear off my gloves and settle my hands against Oriclen’s body.
My Mask falls. I know it does because I let go of the visual in my mind to focus solely on Oriclen’s wounds, envisioning them sealing up.
Heat floods my body from the chest harness, feeding into me like it does when I summon sparks and orbs.
“Solara.”
I crack open my eyes and see he is partially healed.
Blue bullets race by, scorching my suit’s shield, making me wish I had grabbed a spare shield disc from my bag.
Instead, I pick up the rifle and fire at every Neb that heads our way.
I take down two more, then three. A shot smashes into my suit, knocking me over and the breath from my lungs.
Crawling back onto my hands and knees, I get a foot under me, lift the rifle, and fire again. I take another hit, then another until there are so many that my suit beeps in warning as panels glow red.
Oriclen is defenseless. I am all that is left in this area of the park to keep him safe.
Anger spills into my body like hot oil just waiting for a spark. I manage to let off a shot before the rifle is torn from my hands by a pulsating bullet that fizzles in the air.
Oriclen may not make it. An Ember is already dead. The city has lost its souls, and the Nebs are destroying, taking, and winning again.
I am almost out of time. The few Isonians still upright are trying to haul their downed brothers to shelter. Rage boils up. I get to my feet in the barrage, my overheating exo-suit shielding me, and cling to Gairol’s lessons.
I think of Onidus.
I remember his skin against mine, the heat of his body, and the taste of his kiss, the way he moaned as we bonded for the first time, like nothing had ever felt as good as being with me. I want to go home to him. And I want everyone with me to have that chance.
Bringing my arms up in front of me, I focus on a shield, the golden one that forms around the bodies I heal, the one that I used to block Gairol’s attacks, the same one Onidus used to shield me from Garnak and the Delsfein from the shadow soldiers. It splutters in bursts.
Come on! Fucking piece of crap!
Ignite!
A radiant, curved bubble bursts to life in front of me, humming and pulsing.
My suit begins to cool. And Oriclen is finally safe behind me.
I push the Neb’s fire back, one shaking step at a time.
My teeth grit from the effort it takes to hold my position against their weapons fire.
Muscles burn and shudder. My bones thrum with the strain. Joints rattle.
Anion limps to Oriclen’s position behind my shield and drags him off by a wrist.
My energy is failing me. Not the synthetic Vibrance, but my physical body. I have no plan for when my muscles give out. So I simply hold the shield for as long as I can, while the squads pull back.
The shield flickers. Dread makes a flash of adrenaline rip through me. My shield turns into a panicked ball of fire that roars through the Nebs. The wave of heat leaves me, and I instantly grow cold and sickly weak.
I am not Isonian. I am not meant to wield this power. And I am sinking into darkness, knees buckling, and drowning in watery drones of engines.
Nebs chat in their percussive tones as they approach.
This one is not Isonian. How can it harness their power?
Take it. Leave the others. We will figure out how she can use the power on the ship. Maybe she has better augments.
I try to push up from the scorched grass of the park to look for a way to safety, but a meaty hand takes me by the back of my suit.
The ground passes beneath me. Then the lines of a textured metal ramp appear.
My boots snag on something. The hand jerks me onboard and drops me like a sack of rocks in a corner.
“Stay down, female. Unless you’d like a bullet in your head.”