MUTINY RISING (THE ALORIAN WARS Book 3) Read online

  “We haven’t had to look over our shoulders since we landed here.” Her words sounded stupid before they even escaped her lips. She knew what he would say even before he said it, and he was right.

  “Maybe you haven’t, but I’ll be looking over my shoulder until the day I die,” Brendle replied, but he played down the terse nature of his words with a smile. Anki appreciated the reprieve.

  Maybe you will, but as long as we’re together then I’ll have your back, Anki thought as she pulled him closer to her. "You're too cynical sometimes," she teased, but she wasn't entirely kidding. She just used the same humor he did to try and help him deal with the burden he carried at all times. She had no idea if it worked, but it brought a smile to his face and that warmed her heart more than anything else when he was feeling down.

  "I'd like to say I'm optimistically cautious." He looked down at her, the corners of his mouth curling ever so slightly. He was forcing himself for her sake, but she knew the truth. She did what she always did and played along. He deserves that much: to feel normal, more like himself.

  "I'm sure you do, but not everything is out to get us." At least not as far as I know, she thought as Brendle abruptly stopped walking. His expression hardened and his eyes widened. Anki looked around for what caught his attention, but it wasn’t immediately evident until he pointed it out.

  "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said as he nodded towards two dark-clad men running in their direction. The two men stood out in stark contrast to the rest of the people walking through the crowd. The men bumped into the other people walking, causing those they had jostled to look at them with peculiar expressions on their faces, but no one said anything. It was odd; at any other time such rude behavior would warrant jeers from a crowd of this size.

  Anki looked away to keep from drawing their attention, and her heartbeat quickened as the distance between them closed. "Did you see the weapon? That’s superior fire power. Who do you think they are?" They didn’t appear to be Greshians or pirates, but she had the sinking feeling they were just as bad.

  "I don't know, but I don’t think they’re friendly," Brendle answered, his body tense as Anki leaned into him, reaching for the weapon holstered on the small of his back. He did the same with her, using the advantage of appearing to be a loving couple to cover for the fact they were both ready to draw down on whatever threat might come their way. Of all people, they learned the trick from the priests, Deis and Malikea.

  The two men didn't even look up at them as they ran past. Anki exhaled, realizing how much anxiety she was carrying and how she was being affected by it. "I can't believe I thought they were coming after us," she said softly. Maybe looking over our shoulders is a good thing, she thought. Or maybe I’m just feeding off of Brendle’s nervous energy. Either way, my heart is racing and I just want to go home. When she thought of home, she did not think of the hotel, or even Luthia. Her thoughts went to their room on the Replicade.

  Brendle put his hand on her shoulder. "We've been through a lot," he said. "We just haven't had the time to come down from the traumatic experience we had on Farax. Maybe this was just a reminder that we need to constantly be on guard."

  Anki scrunched her nose; the idea of such a minuscule thing causing so much fear didn't sit right with her. There was something in those men’s eyes that affected her on a psychological level and caused enough fear to make her tremble. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what. "Maybe, but I refuse to be forced to live in fear." Her words echoed the thoughts running through her mind. When did I allow myself to become so afraid? It was with thoughts of fear that she saw how dark her world truly was. Not because something inside of her was dark, but because the darkness seemed to follow her, stalk her.

  "You're right," Brendle said as he began walking again, his demeanor softening with relief as things hadn’t completely gone to shit moments before. "If we can't find a home here, then we may never find one."

  She had not thought of that. What if we never find a place to call home? Will we be stuck on that ship, like a floating prison, for the rest of our lives? The thought grew, becoming more haunting than she initially realized. Maybe I do hate that ship, but I love the people on board. She walked with Brendle, her hand holding his as they moved through the crowd, not knowing they were being followed.

  Chapter Three: Carista

  “There she is. Over there. I see her. There!”

  They found her. Without even seeing her, they found the girl who got away. She didn’t fully understand why she was running; only that she didn’t belong where they kept her, confined her, and manipulated her. Carista huddled in the darkness of her mind, bound by the madness within, the haunting power threatening to consume the world on which she stood. There was power in destruction and she could taste it in the air around her, but it was not her doing, at least not yet. Why am I here? Why am I afraid? Why do I know things without knowing them? Those three questions tore at the fabric of her semi-lucid mind, constructing the barriers to prevent her from being discovered, or from discovering. It was like a cocoon she formed around herself, depriving her of the outside world in hopes that it would soon forget her.

  “Knowledge is power, and we need to prevent her from knowing, from learning, from being free,” they said when she was in their captivity. She was an alien, a refugee, a prisoner of an anonymous captor. No, not anonymous. She knew their name. They called themselves “CERCO”. It stood for something, etched into their clothing, printed on their badges; it meant they owned her until she escaped. But they were coming for her; the crawling of her skin confirmed this just as much as the pain she endured by their hand confirmed that she was regrettably alive. CERCO ruled through the use of proxy men and women. Each time there was a different face, a different voice, a different touch. Each time was as horrific as the last, until she passed out and was tossed back into the darkness of her barren reality. They spoke to her in the darkness, but no one was there. She heard the same voices now. Theirs was the voice of predators and that was why she was afraid. Theirs were the ideals of oppressive empowerment; that was why she was there, to bind the enemies of her enemy into the reality she constructed, but she escaped from there and here she was. Now she was more afraid that she was where they wanted her to be. They called her the deliverer; they called her death. They called her to deliver death.

  Carista came to in the darkness, the veil falling away to reveal the violet walls of some unknown place. She knew it wasn’t real before she touched it, her hand sinking into the purple liquid and disappearing into another realm of sadistic reality. She hid here often, the color one that made her feel comfortable, less alone, more herself. It was where she hid in her mind, barricading herself from the outside world so they could not find her. But they did find her, and they ran, their footsteps drawing near.

  “Don’t,” a whispered groan emerged from a shaky throat. “Don’t find me,” she uttered her command and it fell on deaf ears. The veil of her mental construct fell away to reveal the cloudy outside world and all the horrors it hid within its haze.

  Two pairs of feet emerged from her place of refuge, shattering the mirage of her sanctuary. Carista found herself in the pale glow of three moons, the cobalt sky burning at her pale flesh with its blue fury. The flames of light did not ignite her flesh, but the glow was there to be learned about, to be understood, another fractal piece of a shattered mind finding its mate to make whole again what was. She took the reality, molding it in her mind to use it later, to find comfort in the added layers of unique knowledge she never knew she did not have. They wanted her stupid, bottled up and locked away. They wanted her to be pure, not tainted by knowledge of the outside world for fear that she might touch it, destroy it, love it. She did not know which was worse because it all felt the same.

  “Over here,” a man said. They were talking about her. The fear reemerged. The longing to cry to the no ones she remembered. They were significant for a time and then they were not. It was another piece of h
er identity stolen and replaced and stolen again. That was how they taught her. That was how they controlled her. They gave and they took away until she gave up and gave in and refused to be whole again. It was her life for longer than she could remember and she wanted none of it anymore.

  “There’s nothing,” another voice said. It was out of breath, she knew this because the heavy panting mirrored her own. She heard it without hearing. The cadence of twin predators dancing in the streets around her filled her ears, lulling her to exhaustion.

  “Where is she?”

  “I think I found her.”

  “She will be returned.”

  “She must die.”

  “She must be destroyed.”

  She woke up.

  Tharsus was the largest place she’d ever seen outside of captivity. She’d seen countless videos of similar places, each one wrought with destruction, flames scorching those planets and turning them into ashy wastelands. She was forced to view those images, her eyes pried open, the tears she shed burning her eyes as they watched the lapping flames of destruction. They said the flames were her enemy, but she had to accept them, to manipulate them, to bring them asunder. She did not understand, CERCO spoke in ways that she could not comprehend, but her questions, her cries came with more punishment until hatred fueled her. Even now she felt the torment of emotions fueling her rage, coaxing her to act, as the planet deserved punishment, to be taught submission. She fought the pleading voice in her head that was not her voice. It was theirs, CERCO’s.

  Carista looked around. The outer walls of enormous buildings reached towards the stars like spindling fingers. She wished she could climb them, jump down, and fly, but it was a fantasy she’s dreamed of even before laying eyes on the mesmerizing beauty of the capital city.

  In her mind she knew the dream was real, the impending doom of the future seconds away, or minutes, from happening. She saw the future, sprinklings of fabric woven together in patchwork imagery. This future was avoided by that present affected by those versions of the past. She saw it from above, or below, or felt it tugging at her, not letting go.

  Carista gulped the air, cold and stale. Her lips cracking from the frigid temperatures of the pod from which she arrived. The pod; they can track me with it, she thought, understanding, interpreting, remembering.

  A sound reverberated through the atmosphere surrounding her, pinpointing her location. It was a tracker. They were coming for her, but this time it was not a vision of the future. Carista ran her frigid fingers along the seam of the pod, the world on the other side of it opened to greet her. She stepped into the world on shaky legs; the open vastness of a foreign, civilized world was mesmerizing and frightening. With two feet in reality she walked; a diminutive figure in a sea of people.

  Carista avoided the elbows and hands as they swayed near her face as people walked, narrowly giving her room to move. She liked it this way, hidden from sight, smuggled amongst the unaware populace.

  "There she is." The future voice said in the present. She heard their footsteps before they fell. She felt their hot breath before they exhaled on the back of her neck.

  Carista ducked, hoping against hope that she could avoid further detection. "No," she said without speaking, her mind's voice trailing meekly into the abyss that is the ethereal world to which she often escaped. Pedestrians swarmed around her, enveloping her in a cocoon of warm bodies.

  "This way," a voice said.

  "Over here," another voice.

  "I have her."

  "Take her alive."

  It was all noise, confusing, taunting. She fell to her knees, skinning them against the hard pavement, her palms reaching forward as she fought to get through the crowd.

  They were on her, smoke billowing out of their ears, skin flushed with anger. She could see it without seeing; smell it without smelling. Free from her pod, free from her alternate reality, she was prone, defenseless. Around her the world seemed to fluctuate, transforming from hues of muted color into bright, blinding light. Is this death?

  No one answered.

  In the cone of white light beaming with the luminosity of a billion miniature stars, Carista reached out, gripping, breathing, afraid, careless. Her hands burned inside the light, but she swallowed the pain, It was all in her head they would say. The light does not burn unless they tell it to. She grimaced, afraid for the pain to rear its ugly head, but it never did.

  “Who are you?” a voice asked, but this was not them.

  Carista opened her eyes, the brilliance dulling as reality shifted like a rogue wave on a torrential sea. She braced for the dive, to be swept under the tide of change, but it did not bear down on her as she expected it to. Perhaps they did not tell it to, she thought before the voice spoke again.

  “Are you lost? Do you need help?” There was comfort to be found on the voice. It did not belong to them, but what if it was captured and put away by them? Carista was suddenly worried for someone else, someone she did not know, yet she still did not understand herself enough to know herself. She was her own mystery in a world full of them.

  “Help.” The word was threatening as it escaped her lips, she did not know why she urged the voice to stay and flee. The duality of her existence was confounding and exhausting. She noticed her hands were still outstretched when the voice touched her.

  The sensation was like falling from the sky, heaved towards the rocky surface by invisible forces that commanded the universe. She felt heavy under the touch, but there was something else there too.

  “How can we help you?”

  There were more of them, but not them, she realized. Her eyes still not adjusting to the billions of stimuli injecting themselves into her pupils to be devoured and sorted by scorched retinas.

  “Don’t touch her!” They came, they arrived, they surrounded.

  Carista’s heart sank into the void of broken yesterdays. She felt the clamps on her wrists before the next word departed scathing mouths, hungry for blood, hungry for punishment.

  “Did she enact upon you?”

  “What? No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I was only trying to help.”

  “She’s very dangerous.”

  “She’s a little girl.”

  “She’s much more than that.”

  “Where are you taking her?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “Maybe I want it to be my concern.”

  “Do not involve yourself in this matter.”

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “Get your hands off her.”

  The sound of bodies in close proximity filled Carista’s ears, but the colors still blinded her in their brilliant glare.

  “We have the authority here. Back off or we will have you arrested.”

  “Tell us what you are doing with her.”

  “We don’t owe you an explanation.”

  Something touched her. It was gentle, light, but enough to form a bond. She felt the person on the other side without seeing them, but her mind stitched the person together. She had dark skin, long, flowing hair pulled back. Her eyes were amber and beautiful. Carista marveled at the woman’s beauty, wanting to reach into the woman’s soul and know more about her. It would take only a touch.

  “Do not touch her!” A man screamed, startling Carista. She recognized the voice, but did not know him. It wasn’t Carista’s recollection, though. She was bonding with the woman. Her name was Anki. The man was Brendle. She could hardly see him through her fear, but through Anki’s eyes she could see clearly. Carista turned Anki’s head towards Brendle, their eyes catching hold for the briefest of moments before Anki took control again. It was enough, though. Carista knew what she had to do.

  “Or what?”

  Carista reached out mentally, grasping hold of Anki and Brendle, latching on and not wanting to let go. She could see through their eyes, the weapons pointed at them, the hatred in the eyes of the men who came to reclaim Carista. They want to tak
e me, but I don’t want to go with them. She reached out physically now, her shaking hands yearning to grasp onto Anki once more. She was so close, but she felt the tight grip of the man behind her pull her back. She wanted to kill him. She needed to in order to escape, to live. She reached out again.

  “No!”

  Chapter Four: Ilium

  The office was confining in every way that Ilium hated, but it was his refuge from the bridge where he felt he had to fake every moment he was in command. He hated the glares he received from the skeptical members of his crew. He hated the offhand remarks some of them made under their breath, just loud enough he knew they were talking about him, but too soft for him to be able to make it out. He knew they were testing his leadership and he was afraid he was giving them more ammunition to punch holes in the facade he was trying to create. It wasn’t that he felt he was a bad leader, but he felt that trying to be the leader people expected him to be took a lot out of him. Leadership, especially military leadership, was not a natural trait for him. It took a surprising amount of consistency to be effective and that wasn’t his strongest suit.

  As Ilium sat and stewed in silence, he thought about the brazen mouth Vesna used to question his authority. Vesna was more open in his willingness to challenge authority. That was a quirk Ilium could respect, with the exception that Vesna was challenging his authority. That was something Ilium could not let stand. He knew he could not react to the insubordination in the way he wanted, growing up under the iron fist of Harager. But that didn’t mean he could not manipulate the situation to exact revenge in a much more clever way. The behind-the-scenes actions he employed to get what he wanted had a decent success rate, he’d found while part of the Telran’s crew. It helps to know people in high positions, he thought.

  Ilium swiped the console on his desk and ran his hand through the air, projecting a holographic screen on the far wall. Within a few seconds a call was answered on the other side of the Alorian Galaxy. There was sound before the image fully appeared.