Chapter 26 #6
He stared at me with wide, black eyes, pale as his chest heaved.
And then he jerked his chin down. "Yes, Sashen.
I understand. Stay close, then. And here: you'll need this.
" He stepped over to a panel set into the outer wall, marked with a yellow sigil to indicate it held emergency gear.
He tossed me a rebreather and, as I flipped the label to check it, I realized with a shock that it was calibrated for humans.
I could get by with a brin rebreather, but with a closed system, having anything except the perfect mix was risky. How he'd managed to get one of these...
He hauled his own on, covering the lower half of his face, so that when he spoke, his voice was muffled, but I could almost hear the tiny smile anyway.
"Of course I obtained a biologically appropriate rebreather.
You may thank your translator friend for the procurement.
She was helpful." He moved close to check the seal after I pulled it on, his fingers efficient and precise.
Once he was certain I was good, he paused, reaching to touch the skin just above the mask as he looked into my eyes.
"You understand that you are my greatest treasure.
It does not translate well to Standard. It is more like you are the centre of all things for me.
My navigational star. Please be careful, beloved. "
I laid my hand on top of his, feeling the coolness of his skin, the gentleness of his touch. "I promise," I said, chest tight in a way that had nothing to do with the filtered air I was now breathing. "You have to promise too."
"Yes, I will be careful," he murmured, and then Araxis stepped away to initiate whatever sequence he'd prepped in the ship's systems and I heard something change in the air. Almost like a gentle whining, or a slow exhale.
"They won't notice at first," he said, voice buzzing behind his mask. "But it should give us an advantage. Move slowly and quietly."
We slipped out of our room as the air around us seemed to shift subtly: it grew weightier, silkier, almost like we were moving through some sort of liquid.
It wasn't the kind of thing you'd necessarily notice unless you were aware that something was up – and who knew if aliens would notice at all or if it was something uniquely human that made all of my instincts scream that there was danger.
Araxis tapped his wristband and the lights in the hall around us cut out, leaving us cloaked in shadow.
I bit my lip inside of the rebreather, trailing after Araxis; he had his lance drawn and ready, as he moved with an almost military efficiency.
Each movement was quick, graceful, practiced; it was like seeing him on the sands again, the embodied confidence of years of training and endless hours of practice.
What did I have? Some time at a questionable gym; a few hours at a range.
No, I thought, grim. I had actual blood on my hands.
There was only one thing that scared me, really scared me, and it wasn't dying: I wouldn't notice once that had happened to me.
But losing Araxis? Seeing some awful fucking creche try to take him down before he could undermine their political dealings? Unacceptable. Impossible.
Absolutely not allowed.
I gave my shoulders the tiniest roll, and let myself settle into a ready stance, willing the ragged and panicked edges of my thoughts to drift away until I was left with only focus and certainty.
I was going to kill these motherfuckers. I was going to keep Araxis safe.
I will admit, in hindsight, that the level of confidence I felt was maybe undermined by the fact that it was Araxis who was on point and also I'd never had to fight anyone who had guns before. But, you know, a little extra cockiness never hurt anyone.
We crept along the hallway on the top floor of the ship, all while the air around us grew more slippery and strange against my exposed skin.
As we moved, the sound of voices on the second floor drifted up from the open stairwell.
Araxis turned and looked at me, his face barely visible, no more than a white strip of skin punctuated by black eyes.
He stepped to the top of the stairs, sinking into a low crouch.
Below, I could hear footsteps growing louder. I watched the line of Araxis's back as the abaya and ketaari drew nearer; I could barely make out the outline of his hand, the arc lance a shadow against the slice of light from below.
He was going to take his shot, and he'd deal with both of them without so much as raising his pulse.
That's what I expected. It's probably what he expected.
We didn't anticipate that of course they would have come here knowing that Araxis would be difficult to take down. Everyone had watched him in the Tournament. They knew who they were here to deal with.
I saw him take a deep breath and line up a shot and then there was a strange clattering sound as something landed at his feet. My mind barely had time to process that there was a little metal disc near his boot; it blinked with a strange green pulse, and then everything went to shit.
A shuddering sound wave tore down the upper hallway with a physical force, like being shoved by the wind kicking out of an engine followed by a cloud of shrapnel.
Araxis was thrown backwards, slamming into the railing on the side of the walkway, head cracking hard against the metal, as I staggered back.
I surged back upwards, saw Araxis down on the floor – limp, eyes closed, silver blood leaking from one ear.
At that moment, the ketaari crested the stairs, barking out something to the abaya below as he blinked up at me, surprised.
I know, from watching the footage back, that what he said was, "Target's down and – Oh shit, Sashen Solar is here." Amused, as he turned to look back down the stairs, which was a fucking mistake.
Then, though, the words didn't penetrate the ferocious war drum of my own pulse or the pressure I could feel clamping down on my skull, tighter and tighter, like I'd fallen thousands of leagues below the ocean's surface, like everything was underwater and I was collapsing inward, rib by rib by rib.
Some part of me clicked off as the ketaari turned his head away, and something else came bounding and snarling from the dark inside of me. Furious, ravenous. Eager.
It's dishonourable to shoot someone from behind. Good thing I haven't ever cared about honour.
I raised my golden lance and cracked off two bright shots of white-hot energy; the first went wide but the second caught him in the side of the neck, a gout of blood misting the air as part of his neck simply evaporated.
He stumbled, there at the top of the stairs, and, in a blink, I crossed the span between us, leaping forward and kicking his back hard.
He tumbled down, landing in what presumably was a clatter.
But I couldn't hear shit, only a distant, high-pitched shriek that echoed through my skull. A piece of metal shimmered next to me as a pulse of energy – not from a blaster; not from a lance; a fucking plasma beam? – lit up the railing next to me.
My stare dropped. The abaya was crouched, pale and washed out, lips tinged green in the strange atmosphere Araxis had created on the ship; her pistol was held out, pointing directly at me, her lips moving.
I didn't realize it then, but she was trying to bargain with me – to placate, to soothe, to assure me that I would be treated well.
I'm not shooting to kill, she called out, although I didn't care. Calm yourself, virra. All will be well.
But I couldn't hear her. I didn't think. I couldn't think. There were no thoughts in my mind, no feelings in my body. I was elemental, a force of nature; I was a tornado; I was the hungry wolf.
I fired off a shot and the abaya ducked out of the way, which gave me enough time to leap down the stairs, landing hard enough that my knees and ankles splintered with sharp pain. The ketaari, not quite dead, had a hand clasped to his neck, writhing on the ground.