[scifan] plantation 06 - plantations origins Read online

  The new attendant seemed older and stricter than Lada, but who really knew these things with Lagerians?

  “You are wanted at the bridge,” she said. “Please, follow me.”

  ***

  They reached the starboard bridge, according to the attendant, which in fact was no bridge at all, but a boxed balcony that overlooked a large dining room through thin silver bars.

  Seeing more than a hundred Lagerian lords gathered around dining tables sent chills down Freya’s spine. It was quite the sight to watch them consume brown cakes and green jam with meticulous, almost sacred devotion.

  Eric was there, too, at the other end of the long bridge, standing next to a Lagerian officer. Freya couldn’t help but notice how powerful Eric looked in the tight-fitting uniform they gave him to wear. He was a potent man, pure muscle and energy. His dark eyes offset by his golden skin compelled Freya to suddenly look away as if her admiration was a crime of indiscretion.

  Eric smiled to her before she could look away. He excused himself and walked to her. She straightened her shirt and tried to match his smile.

  “They have tracked down the Merdigors,” he said. “As of now, they are not an immediate threat.”

  “Great, so we can go home?”

  Eric frowned. “Don’t be a brat. You know what I mean.”

  “Seriously, Eric, did the Merdigors even blast Aspis? They could be feeding us any version of any story to trigger our emotions.”

  “Not here,” he said, taking her hand. “That’s a private conversation.”

  He led her into an access corridor and up a staircase. They stepped inside a storage closet. Lagerian uniforms, complete with belts and boots, lined shelves all the way to the ceiling. Numerous odd artifacts and gadgets were arranged under bright blue skylights.

  “You’re awfully familiar with the layout,” she said, studying his face.

  “All Lagerian cargospheres have similar designs.”

  “Right. And you know this how?”

  “I don’t know, Freya. I always remember schematics easily. It must have imprinted on my brain somehow.”

  She decided to accept that answer. It was clear he was losing patience with her constant attitude. “I did speak with Lada,” she offered. “She told me her tragic story. I believed her and if even half of what she told me is true, then the Merdigors need to be dealt with. If we wait for them to come, it’s already too late.”

  She projected a determination that surprised them both.

  “Are you sure she didn’t brainwash you?” Eric said, still marveling at Freya’s newfound perspective.

  “My brain don’t wash,” she said. “You know that.”

  “I do,” he said. “Listen, I’ve made progress with Zarok. All this will soon be over.”

  There was a sudden discomfort in his demeanor. Almost as if he knew how hollow his words had sounded.

  “Eric, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  He took her hands and pulled her close. “I’ll get you to Earth. Promise not to do anything foolish.”

  “Do I have to?” she whispered with a grin.

  “Freya, be serious.”

  “Fine. I promise. Nothing too foolish.”

  “Nothing at all foolish,” he insisted.

  “Okay. I trust you. Geesh.”

  He kissed the crown of her forehead. He let his lips linger there long enough for it to become tender. “I know you can be good.”

  As Eric let go of her and left her to return to Zarok, Freya realized that for the first time since they became friends, he had lied to her.

  It was that kiss. She sensed it was somehow an apology.

  CHAPTER 12

  KROLL

  His stomach growled. His appetite was as beastly as the rest of him. He would wolf down anything he could get his hands on—raw, cooked, rotten or moldy.

  Questions piled up in his head. His mind had always been a battlefield, dragged in endless directions. The Shadow Empress had manipulated his genetic code too many times to know which parts were his alone.

  Yet, this time the battle inside his skull was relentless, and it was taking a brutal toll. Resistance just increased the pressure. He felt helpless which was new to him.

  He stayed clear of Cold Creek, the human village that lay between Spring Town and Longhorn, the settlement built by freed Sliman from the Plantation district. He knew how he was perceived, what everyone saw in him: part man, part beast, all nightmare. The grotesque head of a dark army that fed on flesh.

  As far as he was concerned, he would like to avoid human eyes and human whispers now and always.

  It was his third day on the road and the stolen provisions he had pinched from the Spring Town kitchen were running out. The slices of bread, sausage and cheese he had left were snacks to him. He needed something a bit more substantial. He needed steaks and stews and fried livers.

  It would take two more days of hiking through sagebrush hills and dry gulches before he reached Longhorn. He hoped they would allow him to take refuge while he fought the demons in his head. Most ordinary Sliman did not like him any more than humans did, but he hoped they would be more tolerant.

  His unmatched strength was the cause for envy among the Sliman, while his notorious temper triggered fear. Perhaps both would work in his favor.

  Freya had warned him that freedom came with its own challenges. It was not easy to be the best or strongest or the most gifted among your peers, and even harder to be accepted by them. He had laughed, assuring her he needed no peers, but right now he could use a few.

  The Dark Legion was compromised. He sensed that even before he caught three elite fighters going through his things. That kind of disrespect infuriated him, but he now wished he would have stayed calm and questioned the spies instead of beating them mercilessly.

  He did not dare mention his mental battle with his troops. Any weakness could lead to one rebellion or another. He trusted no one.

  Kroll had to leave. His loyalty to Freya was slipping away. He would not risk hurting her. He did not want her to see him like this.

  Voices in his head reminded him of the horrors that had taken place in the plantation dungeons. Little by little, day by day, he sank into darkness. The voices urged him to do unspeakable things. A hundred nightmares burst to life in his mind. He did not know if any would come to pass, but he did know they whispered madness into his skull.

  He knew eventually he would be all gone. He had to stay away from those he valued.

  Kroll stayed awake, night after night, teeth clenched, sweating in the dark. His heartbeat raced like he was a youngling before his first combat.

  Drinking until he was impaired did not help. Smashing his head into a wall until bloodied did not help. Nothing helped. The war inside his brain raged ever on and with each day grew more intense.

  He knew he would never be free. The war would never be over for him. At times he thought that no one understood that he was more victim than villain. He was the product of genetic engineering, a mutant, a half-breed. His true self was forever changed when he was but an infant.

  Where were the tears for old Kroll? He knew not even one would ever fall in his name. All he could do was try to avoid more dreadful deeds.

  Freya had changed his very core. At first, he despised her blind sense of duty and dedication in fighting the alien oppressors, but he watched her, move by move, until her fearless heart had earned his respect.

  Their growing bond became the one thing he could count on. He knew she would not lie to him or manipulate him. She was on his side.

  She held the key to his forced submission. She could have had him do her bidding forever. She could have, but she didn’t. Instead she set him free and treated him as an equal, as a brother.

  Freya gave him back some form of mortal dignity. The schoolchildren of Spring Town ran to him when he visited, cheering for him to give them a ride on his broad back. Tobi could spot him from far away and clapped his hands to get Krol
l’s attention. Spring Town was the only true home he ever knew.

  He had to leave all that behind. It was the only noble act left to him.

  His calculations proved correct. Putting distance between himself and Spring Town eased the pressure. It was the first thing that helped. The farther he traveled, the weaker the darkness became.

  Kroll stopped cold when a stone hit his back. He spun about, bewildered. There stood a small and defiant human boy, gripping a slingshot.

  He growled at the boy like a beast, baring his ferocious teeth. The boy took a short step back. He remained defiant and quickly pulled back the elastic strap, taking lethal aim at Kroll’s head.

  Kroll furrowed his brow, worried his growl no longer elicited fear.

  The boy released the strap. A small stone pinged off Kroll’s temple.

  Kroll immediately put two fingers on his pained temple, then checked the fingers for blood. Nothing. He didn’t bother anymore with turning his skin thick like an armor. The ritual took time and effort. Though the shot had caused minor pain, it had not even cut into his flesh.

  “That is a fine greeting,” Kroll said with a snort.

  When the boy readied a second shot, Kroll reached out and snatched the slingshot out of the boy’s hands.

  “Your parents,” he snarled, “where are they? I need a word with them.”

  The boy locked his eyes on Kroll and pursed his lips.

  “Hands up!” a voice ordered Kroll.

  Kroll shut his eyes and hung his head. It had been a set up.

  A wiry young man clutched onto an old handgun, his hands trembling.

  “That thing loaded?” Kroll asked. If it worked, maybe he’d keep it for himself. Weapons and artillery from bygone times fascinated him.

  “We don’t want trouble, mister,” the man said, losing confidence fast. “But we also don’t want Sliman out here stealing our crops and supplies.”

  Kroll raised an eyebrow. “Sliman from Longhorn?”

  “Sure, where the hell else? Don’t play me the fool.”

  Kroll ignored the insinuation and instead considered the child. “What’s wrong with the boy?”

  “What you mean?”

  “He’s not afraid. You are, but not him,” Kroll said. “Is he simpleminded?”

  “He can’t hear none,” the man said. “He was up there when the explosion happened. He hasn’t heard a thing since.”

  “What explosion?

  “You act like you don’t know. Sliman rangers thought it’d be funny to place explosives near our well. It’s a damn shame. Wasn’t one bit funny and now just look at that boy. Tell me how that’s right.”

  Kroll curled his hands into fists, adrenaline racing in his veins. All he could see was red. “First, I’m not a Longhorn ranger. Second, that’s not funny.”

  “No, it’s not,” the man said. “Imagine his mother.”

  “I’ll sort it out. Longhorn Sliman will not bother you again.”

  The man lowered his gun. “If you could do that, you’d be welcome up here anytime.” He lifted the boy into his arms and walked away.

  Kroll closed his eyes again and stretched his arms. He took in the deepest breath possible. Pure morning air filled his lungs. He groaned his approval.

  He felt a purpose now. A mission. He’d go down to Longhorn and place the renegade Sliman under his command.

  CHAPTER 13

  ORIGINS

  For years, I was sinking into a darkness that had no bottom, a cold descent that swallowed my soul. It was deserved. I had, after all, killed my parents.

  Every time humanity tried to draw me in, I ran. As the years slid by, chance encounters became less frequent. Any free humans still out there were hunted by Sliman regiments. The longer they avoided capture, the more likely they would starve to death.

  I traveled five years alone. In the end, it was a human who found me.

  My time in the wild taught me how to disappear completely. I navigated shadow and light like a ghost from a lost world. Animals could not track me. Sliman had no chance. And yet a girl appeared. She moved in the breeze soundlessly. Her feet fell too soft to be heard. A nineteen-year-old nymph who floated through the woods like an ancient spirit.

  Encountering another human after so long knocked me off balance. In total harmony as I swam under the surface of the forest river, I noticed her shadow reflected on the surface above. Before I knew what was happening, it was already too late. The rope was fastening around my neck as I surfaced. She jumped in the shallows and pulled the noose tight.

  I was stunned. I could not take my eyes off this petite female who had caught me off guard when no one else could.

  Faith moved like a sly cat, nimble and alert. What she lacked in clothing, she made up for with dirt and mud which covered her in spots like a thin cream mixed with leaves and pine needles.

  If I’m being honest, I could have easily escaped her clutches, but I was mesmerized by her every little move.

  Faith dragged me back to her campsite after quickly tying my hands behind my back while her knee pinned my neck against a sharp-edged rock.

  She had the quickest hands I had ever seen, but that’s not why I didn’t fight back. I would have let her do anything she wanted—including killing me.

  Every moment with her felt like a welcomed destiny.

  Her people were mostly very young adults, around a dozen in total.

  I revealed little when they questioned me, not wanting to be linked back to the boy who killed half a village with one wave of his hands.

  The second morning of my captivity, Faith came to the tent where they kept me and untied my hands and feet. Blood tingled in my fingers and toes.

  “The council has decided you should be freed,” she said.

  “The council?” I repeated, trying to hide my amusement.

  “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No, I agree with them.”

  She looped the ropes and put them in her backpack. “You can stay with us, if you want,” she said in passing, as if it was of little importance.

  “That’s kind of you.”

  She shrugged. “There are not many humans left.”

  Faith twirled to her feet. She wore a white tank top and shorts of a color long since obscured by dirt. The curves on her small body were subtle, but they took my breath away. I had never been attracted to anyone before. It hadn’t even crossed my mind.

  “Why are you so bad-tempered?” I asked.

  “It’s you,” she said, without looking at me.

  My chest tightened. Her words hurt. “What have I ever done to you?

  Faith took a step to me. She shook her finger. “It’s your whole deal. Your strength, your carefree attitude, even the way you look at me.”

  “What? How do I you look at you?”

  “It’s like you’re living in a whole different world. You’re either dangerously dumb or just dangerous,” she said, before letting out a long sigh.

  And it was in that moment that I fell in love with Faith Sullivan. She saw through all the bullshit. She saw through my specific bullshit. There was no other way to say it, she was a breath of fresh air in a suffocating world.

  I struggled on those first days to accept that I deserved to be with other people, that I belonged in a community again. A week later, while fishing the river canyon in the early evening, Faith smiled at me out of the blue. It was as if a match had lit something inside me, my humanity maybe, my connection to and right to be with my kind.

  The other part of me was best forgotten. To be human was all I wanted. How did I even know what Nalok had told me was true? It was hard to escape what I had done to my village and to my parents with my bare hands, but Faith made me feel wholly human and I loved her for it.

  Faith’s people were simple, yet oddly sophisticated. They hunted, fished and gathered berries, but they also read poetry aloud from the books of Walt Whitman, William Carlos Williams and others. They taught me to appreciate the finer thin
gs, like making tea from mint leaves and sculptures from clay.

  They called themselves the salt of the earth, a phrase that highlighted both their nobility and their humility. I wanted to be one of them.

  Her smile made her look ten years and a century of genocide younger. Her big eyes glistened like the waters in the twilight. My lungs emptied as I took in every wonderful thing.

  “Why are you smiling?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Remember the last time we were in this river?”

  “You mean when you descended on me like the angel of death, strangled me with a rope and jammed your knee in my back?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I guess that was the thing that made me smile.”

  I laughed and, for the first time, so did Faith.

  “You were having a better time than I was,” I said.

  “I’m not so sure,” she said with a knowing grin.

  The teasing suggestion in her eyes made me blush. I had never felt so awkward and thrilled at the same time. It was a week of firsts.

  ***

  I scuttled through the forest, searching. I wasn’t lost, not in a geographic sense. The more I felt at home with the humans, the more guilt I began to feel. Every free and harmonious sound in the trees whispered to me about secrets. Secrets of my past, secrets of who I was and what was hidden in my blood.

  And then she was there, naked above the waist. Her long brown hair shielded her breasts from view. Her skin glistened with tiny beads of water.

  She possessed no shame or insecurity. She was pure and savage, beautiful in ways that can only exist in the wild.

  “You’re here,” Faith said.

  I remembered Whitman. And your very flesh shall become a great poem.

  “Eric,” she said, becoming unsure.

  “Yes,” I said dumbly.

  “Did you want something?”

  I suddenly was aware I was staring. I dropped my eyes. “Sorry,” I said.

  “You are as bad as the worst,” she said, also remembering Whitman.

  “I… didn’t—”

  “It’s okay, man. I know you’re curious,” she said.