EIGHT
JASS
SAND
Pain.
Pain, everywhere.
A buzzing, high pitched and irritating.
A loud drum, pounding inside my head.
Hands on my body.
Hands, turning me over. Shaking me roughly at the shoulders.
“Jass!”
When was the last time someone called me by that name? When was the last time I heard it on someone’s lips? For a second, I’m stunned, struggling to remember. I open my eyes, squinting at the knife of pain that slices through my head, causing me to shield my face with my hand. So damn bright. Too bright. I try to suck in a breath and suddenly I’m writhing in agony, an impossibly strong vice tightening around my ribcage.
“Huh. Looks like you’ve earned yourself some bruised ribs, too. How ironic. Can you get up?” It takes me a long moment to recall who’s talking to me. The voice is vaguely familiar. And then I remember: the Commonwealth fighter. Leaving The Nexus. The asteroid field. Crashing on Pirius. The girl.
My eyes adjust slowly to the burning suns overhead. Two of them. I hadn’t noticed this was a binary system on approach to the planet. I wasn’t paying attention. I was too busy thinking about her. What I’m going to do with her when I get my hands on her. Where I will take her. What I actually want from her. All I know is that an undeniable force draws me to her. Trying to ignore the pull would be as impossible as trying to deny my lungs oxygen.
Ankle deep in sand, the fine white powder spilling over the tops and filling his boots, Col Pakka stands over me, face splattered with blood, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “Y’know, you could use a hair cut,” he remarks, clearing his throat. “Honestly, I didn’t think you’d have hair at all. I expected you to look like an albino rostick.”
There were no rosticks on The Nexus. I know what they are though—pink, wrinkled rodent type creatures with small yellow nubs for teeth. On other ships and outposts with less diligent cleaning crews, the creatures chew through thousands of meters of wiring every year, causing pandemonium wherever they can, demolishing ration stores and breeding like…well, rosticks. I scowl at Col, easing myself to my feet. Now that I’m fully conscious and my faculties have returned to me, I make sure I don’t display my pain as I stand. It’s a show of weakness. A sign of vulnerability. I don’t want to advertise the fact that I’m hurt to a man I consider my enemy.
“Why didn’t you kill me? Why didn’t you end this when you had the chance? You were just…standing there.”
Col laughs, slowly bending to collect the jump bag that’s sitting at his feet. “I could have,” he muses. “I could have easily buried your head in the sand and let you suffocate. The seers told me specifically to keep you alive, though. They’d be pretty pissed if I came back without you, and it’s no good trying to lie to those guys. They’re very talented at spotting a lie.”
I growl under my breath, spinning around, searching for my own bag. Frustration hits me like a wave when I notice how badly damaged the raptor is. It’s in pieces. Literal pieces, scattered through the desert, twisted metal impaled into the sand. The shards jut out of the ground at odd angles, littering a deep impact scar that runs a mile due north from here right to the very dune I’m standing on. A thick plume of black, acrid smoke rises from the furthest, largest piece of debris—obviously the engine blew as soon the craft hit land. If it weren’t for the cockpit’s emergency collision shields, both Col and I would most certainly be dead. My stomach lurches even further when I look up and see beyond the mess that was once my ship. A wall of orange, brown, yellow, black seethes on the horizon. So much sand, swirling up and crashing in on itself like a breaking wave atop a wall of even more sand and dirt so high it almost blocks out one of the suns. And it’s headed directly for us at an astonishing rate.
“Yeah,” Col says. “I let you sleep a while, but when that thing started to get a little too close for comfort, I figured it’d be better to wake you up and get the hell out of here.”
“I need to find my bag.” I scan the debris field, looking for anything that vaguely resembles the aft section of the Raptor, where I stowed my military bag. It’s impossible to discern one part from another, though. Absolutely impossible.
“No time for that, boss.” Col spits into the sand, tilting his body weight with the look of someone very used to standing on unstable ground. He points at the huge, swirling mass that’s heading toward us, shaking his head. “I’ve seen some storms in my time, but that big bastard’s a deal breaker. We need to find somewhere to wait it out. Underground. And right now. It might look like it’s moving slow, but it’s not. We have thirty minutes to find shelter and that’s pushing it.”
“I don’t give a shit if the storm swallows you up and eats you alive. I won’t go anywhere without that bag, Col Pakka.” I step off, down the other side of the dune, heading in the direction of the storm. I can feel the sand trying to claim me already, in my hair, scratching at my skin, crunching between my teeth like grit. Col grabs me by the arm, snarling under his breath.
“You think a couple of changes of clothes are going to be of use to you here? Come on, Jass. We’ll find you something new to wear once we’re safely inside the sub city. Until then, I’m sure you’ll manage.”
I wrench my arm free, pinning him under an openly hostile glare. Like I give a damn about the clean clothes I packed for myself. Like I care about the rations, or the water. There is only one thing in that bag that I care about, and it’s not something I’ll be able to come by here on this godforsaken planet. The vials of Light I stowed at the bottom of the bag may not have even survived the crash, but I have to look for them. I have to make sure. I’ve been weaning myself off the dose, cycle after cycle, trying to control it, and for the most part I have been successful. Despite my efforts, though, I’m still an addict. I still can’t survive forever without the stuff. If I’m being honest with myself, I know in three days I’ll be trying to claw the skin from my own body and sweating like I’m being roasted in a furnace. It will not be pretty.
I keep walking down the sand dune.
“Jass! You’re fucking crazy!” Col hollers after me.
Maybe I am. But this fighter, with his horribly inappropriate sense of humor and apparent lack of fear or common sense, will not like the man I become without my dose of Light. I’ll seem like a picnic right now by comparison. I can’t explain this to him. If I tell him I need the bag because of the Light that’s stowed inside it, I’ll be admitting another weakness. I can’t appear to have any chinks in my armor. He’ll take the information and use it against me. He’ll tell these seers he keeps speaking of. He’ll tell her.
The sand shifts and slides under my boots as I scramble up the side of another dune. I use my hands to climb, but it doesn’t seem to help. I make very slow, grueling progress, and the pain in my ribcage grows worse by the second. I’ve nearly reached the top of the dune when my heel snags on something and I’m falling back down again, scrambling, wrestling to try and stop myself from slipping down to the very bottom of the dune. No good, though. I end up rolling, tumbling, the black Construct cape that’s been a part of my uniform for so many cycles wrapping tightly around my body, blotting out the light. At the foot of the dune, I fight my way out of the cape, only to find Col Pakka attached to the end of my foot, his hand wrapped around my ankle. So I didn’t trip, then. I was pulled back down. My temper flares. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to keep it in check thus far, but now my fury sears my vision, turning everything red, distorting the suns and the dunes surrounding us.
“You’re touching me,” I hiss. “You clearly don’t value your life.”
Col rolls onto his back, panting, staring straight up at the sky overhead. “I know. Crazy, right? I’m not usually one for confrontation. I’m as surprised as you are. I’m a pilot, y’know? I’m not typically assigned roles like this. And I sure as hell haven’t ever been sent somewhere on my own. I get that this may—”
I clench my fist, curling my fingers into my palm one at a time, concentrating my attention on Col’s chest. I flex my mind, imagining the breaks in his ribs. Three of them. I can sense each one clearly. I flex a little further, and then there are four breaks. Col lets out an agonized yell, doubling over, clutching at his side, his rambling statement cutting off as he wheezes, his eyes wide with surprise.
“Don’t touch me. Do not try and stop me.” I get up, and I start to climb again. I make it over the first dune, and then a second. The third is high and steep, and takes me a full ten minutes to labor up, by which time the wall of the storm is only a few minutes away. I stand at the top of the dune, my cape flapping crazily behind me in the rising winds, my hair blowing around my face. I twist around to look behind me: Col is right where I left him, lying in the sand. My vision is excellent, but I can’t tell if his eyes are open or not. He may have passed out from the fresh onslaught of pain I visited on him, or he might still be awake, merely catching his breath. Either way, it serves him right for interfering.
I turn back to face the storm and I calculate how long it will take me to search each broken piece of the raptor. Longer than I have before the storm hits, that’s for sure. Col was right about that. Still. It’ll be fine. I push forward, breathing hard as I tackle another dune, and then another. The first sections of the raptor I pick through are nothing more than bent, misshapen hunks of metal. I reach the Raptor’s main hull just as the wall of the storm hits, enveloping the world in sudden darkness. Acting quickly, I create a field around myself, pushing back the sand particles, so that they hit an invisible wall a few inches from my body. Occasionally one of two particles break through the shield, striking my skin, burning, but for the most part I am safe. I hunt and kick through the remains of the raptor, blindly overturning torn seats and safety harnesses, storage bins, and chunks of electronic panels, before something forces me to stop in my tracks. How deep is this storm? How long will it rage? Col seemed to think we’d need to hunker down and wait a long time for it to pass. And he’s lying there, on his back, consumed by the storm and the sand right now, unable to move, unable to breathe…
I should damn well leave him there. I should just be rid of him once and for all. But if I do nothing and the man dies…
Scowling, I cast out a mental probe, searching for Col. The dunes were annoying and difficult to climb, but the distance I actually travelled was minimal. He shouldn’t be too far away. I should easily be able to locate him and place the same kind of shield around his body that I’ve placed around mine while I continue looking for the bag. It’ll cost me nothing energy-wise. He should be—
I stop marching forward through the storm. I angle my shoulders, tilting my head to one side, analyzing my senses. I’ve found Col, but he’s not where I left him any longer. And there’s someone else with him. Someone…strange. An unknown to me—a kind of creature I’ve never experienced before, which is odd, considering the Construct have made it their business to root out, assess, (and enslave) all life forms within their grasp. This entity, whatever it is, is intelligent. I can feel the sharp edge of its mind, reaching out, scanning and searching in the same way I am. I sense its consciousness comb over me, almost as tangible as a physical touch. I shy away, stepping backward, as if I can remove myself from its reach. How the hell is it doing that? How the hell can it do that? No species is capable of utilizing its mind as a tool in the same way I can. None of them can, plain and simple. I would have known. I would have found them…
I turn and press forward toward the crash site, more focused than ever on finding the Light. I’m stronger than usual when I dose. My reactions are through the roof. I can cordon off my mind, more importantly, shutting my consciousness away in a tightly locked rook inside my head without even trying, preventing anyone or anything from breaking through. It was paranoia that drove me to learn how to protect myself in that way, rather than experience, but right now I’m glad to know I can shut this intruder out. I need to find that Light. I need to find it right now. I push forward, hoping to find the rest of the raptor, but the storm is raging so fiercely now that it’s almost impossible to tell up from down, let alone north from south. The wind howls, and along with it comes the lonely sound of some kind of creature, keening at the storm. My ears rush. My eyes sting beyond comprehension.
I can’t find the rest of the raptor. I should be able to reach out with my mind and locate it, but even my powers are limited. I’m concentrating so hard on Col and his mystery friend that I can’t spare any energy to track down the crash site. Prioritizing and categorizing danger is the only way to stay alive, and I’ve gotten good at it. I reel through the storm, staggering from left to right, waiting to get lucky, only it doesn’t happen. I sense Col and his friend moving. Moving away from my location. They must have assumed I’m dead. A reasonable assumption. No normal person could stay alive in a brutal storm like this. I smirk to myself as I continue forward, and for a moment I see everything working out perfectly. Col and his friends will think I’m gone. They’ll let their guard down. They won’t be looking for me. I’ll be free to go wherever I please. I will track down the girl using my senses alone. I can feel her here so clearly, so perfectly. I can sense her fear even as I press onward through the storm. She’s anxious. She…she knows. She feels me here, as I feel her. This revelation has me worried. If she’s working with these seers, then she’ll be able to confirm that I’m not dead. If her skills are as sharp as mine, she’ll be able to lead them right to me. That won’t do. That won’t—
A vicious, bright pain burns suddenly in the back of my neck. Out of nowhere, my shield comes crashing down as I struggle to suck in a breath of air. What the…? What the fuck? I press my hand to the back of my neck, and my fingers make contact with something cool. Something hard. Something metal. A needle. Some…some kind of dart? The anger I felt at Col for trying to stop me from finding my bag is nothing compared to the rage that fills me now. Someone shot me with a dart gun?
My thoughts slow. This…this cannot be happening. This is not good.
Confusion swamps me. I just…don’t…I just don’t understand. How did they get close enough to attack? I’m still monitoring Col and the other being as they move further and further away from me, way beyond the range of even the most high tech dart gun. I release them from my mental focus and I throw my consciousness out wide, casting a net over the desert. There has to be an explanation for this. There just has to be.
And then, there, on the edge of the storm, I feel him. A lone soldier. Another unknown creature. Such an unrecognizable life sign, just as unique as the other. I’ve been foolish. I should never have shut off the realms of my mind. I should have remained vigilant. I should have made sure my senses were still on high alert, because there weren’t two of them out there in the devastating, swirling sand.
There were three.