Standing in the waist deep surf, Moss peered up from his unmarked body to the hut in the distance. When had Lilith found the time to construct a hut, and why wasn't he hurt? Those were just a few of the many questions cycling through his mind. And the more he mulled them over, the more things just didn't add up. Lilith had certain abilities. Abilities, she refused to confide with him. But whatever was happening here was some next level shit. He should be dead. There was no way around that fact. But here he was, alive and well.
As Moss scrubbed the dirt from his body, he expected to find some ghastly injury, or at least an array of cuts and bruises. There were none. Even the earlier signs of his broken arm had vanished. And so had the throbbing pain beneath the skin.
Lilith stood in the hut, peering out through a crack in the door, watching Moss wash. She shook her head, chastising herself. What have you done? Why are you always putting her own selfish desires ahead of what you know is the right course of action? It doesn't matter how long you live if you never learn from your mistakes.
A series of staccato thoughts struck Moss like a runaway train. Each successive impact, slamming the next realization home, one crumpling boxcar at a time. Holy shit! She's alive. I'm alive. We're not dead. Moss jumped up and down in the surf, running along the beach, kicking up sprays of gritty water and screaming in joy.
He skidded to a stop, reeled around and rampaged towards the hut like a naked lunatic. A single thought replaced all others. She's in there. He was bent on making certain Lilith was real and not a figment of some fever pitched death dream. She's in there; he thought. She has to be. He focused on the closed doorway, needing to get to the woman he loved on the other side before the last sparking neurons still fighting to hold on to life fizzled out and everything went black forever.
Moss burst into the small hut, not registering Lilith's sun bleached hair, caramel complexion, or opalescent shade of oh-my-god-they're-beautiful green eyes.
Some time between her injury, his fall off the slippery cliff-side, and subsequent popping out in God-knows-where, Lady Hemmingford had undergone a radical transformation. Gone was her jet black hair, alabaster skin and stark black eyes. The woman in front of him was all things tropical splendor, bleached sunlight and scantily wrapped adolescent schoolboy fantasy.
Moss stood in the doorway naked, light spilling in behind him, creating a revealing shadow. He didn't remember he was naked. He wouldn't have cared if he did. Lilith was there, bathed in light and very much alive. A peaceful thought occurred to him. Maybe this is Heaven.
Lilith looked him up and down, showing no sign of shock. She was unreadable. At least, that hadn't changed. Lilith guarded her feelings at the best of times.
"We need to talk," she said, in an unreadable tone Moss never liked. He either ignored it or didn't register it. She was almost in his grasp.
"You're alive," he said, more to himself. He darted across the sand floor, opening his arms wide and gaining speed with every step. He meant to grab her, kiss her full on the mouth and would have succeeded, if not for the fact she disappeared with a pop-whoosh sound.
Moss's eyes bugged out. The hut wall grew larger, and he bounced off it full force, slamming down on his backside. An explosive rush of air escaped his mouth, as a gritty onslaught of sand forced its way up his… Well, he grabbed his stomach and let out an aching moan.
Lilith popped back into sight, leaning over him as he gulped in air like a beached carp. "Perhaps we could talk before you get too excited?"
"Excited," he repeated in a croaking wheeze. He glared up at her as if she had attacked him. "What are you doing?"
Moss rolled onto his knees with a groan and forced himself upright. He stood up, steadying himself on the hut wall, hunching over in pain. He reached around, wiped a handful of sand out of an area grit should never invade and blared, "God dammit. What's the deal with the disappearing act? You're acting like you don't know me." He limped past her, heading towards the cool, cleansing water in the gentle surf.
"I know Harper Moss." Lilith said matter-of-factly. "But you are not him. You are not my Harper Moss. He died long ago."
He stopped in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, holding himself upright. "I'm Harper Moss. And you're making no sense." He waved his hand in front of his own face. "See. It's me. Right here. Harper Moss."
"If only it were true," she replied, as a melancholy smile touched her lips. She regarded him longingly and made to touch his face, but drew her hand back at the last second. "I thought it could be as it was. But I was wrong. I have made a terrible mess of things."
"Mess of things," he repeated, bewildered by her new persona. "Sugar, that's kinda your MO. If you weren't screwing with shit, who would you be?" The innocent question struck her in the stomach like a punch.
"It is forbidden," she replied. "I thought you'd… I thought I'd…" She looked away, struggling to maintain composure. "What have I done?"
In the long silence that followed, Moss realized, whoever this woman was, she was not Lilith Hemmingford. At least, not the Lilith Hemmingford he knew and loved.
"I'm sorry I hurt you," she said, looking at him with tears in her eyes.
"The enema was my fault. I shouldn't have presumed anything." When she tried to continue, he held up his hand. "Hold that thought. I'll be right back." He grimaced, gripping his stomach, and limped away.
"I missed you." Lilith said, stepping to the side.
Moss offered the shadow of a smile, but said nothing.
________________________________
Dahl ran through the dense jungle, jagged leaves and whipping branches tearing at her skin and face. Neither pain nor obstacles would slow her down. Death followed behind her. In the too-near distance, the sound of gravity rifles exploded like launching mortar shells. Large swaths of shredded greenery flew over her head, covering her in dirty green chlorophyll. She wasn't trying to outrun her oversized chasers, just lead them away from the clearing. There was an uneven battle going on back there, and diverting half the enemy forces away from her vulnerable teammates seemed like a good idea. As another large portion of jungle flew past her, she wasn't so sure if it was still a good idea that a dozen mountain sized psychopaths with overpowered rifles were following her.
A wild, rampaging blast skimmed past Dahl, yanking out a swatch of hair and scalp. The searing pain left in its wake was huge and bright. It pitched her forward, but just before face planting, she grabbed hold of a nearby sapling, slowing her enough to remain upright. She paused for a split second before exploding into an all-out run. If she hadn't been trying to lose her chasers before, she certainly was now. She had let them get too close, and it had cost her.
A warm line of coppery blood trickled down Dahl's back as she poured on the speed. After five minutes of flat out sprinting, she had pulled a considerable distance ahead of her lumbering chasers. But she was gasping for air and out of control. Her body leaned forward as if caught in an endless, out of control running fall. She knew they had hurt her, but she also knew her injuries were not life threatening and wanted to keep it that way.
Just ahead, Dahl saw a splash of light blue sky filter in through the thinning foliage and knew she was almost out. She aimed her controlled fall in that direction, wild flying footsteps skimming the jungle floor. One misstep and she was going down hard.
With a little luck, Dahl could enter the surf, turn due south, and use the shallow waves to mask her trail before her chasers emerged onto the beach. With a little luck, she may make it back to the clearing in time to help Eve and the prisoners.
The sound of waves came through the dense underbrush. Dahl was closing on her goal. She burst through the edge of the jungle, struck a knee high rock and cartwheeled out towards the edge of the water. She struck the ground, flipping over onto her back, and slid to a stop. Something huge and dark loomed over her. She blinked and wiped the sand from her eyes.
The beast standing over her let out a deep, reverberating snort and reached towards her. Its enormous shadow blotted out the light, and Dahl peered at it in utter horror. She screamed and crab-walked backwards. It followed, but did not grab her. A few feet away, she slammed into what she thought was a tree. But as she moved around it, she looked up and found herself pinned between two giant creatures similar to Eve's alter-ego. But much larger. She threw up her hands in a warding off gesture that made the creatures look at one another and shake their heads.
"Dahl," an unfamiliar voice sounded in her head. And before she knew what was happening, a young woman was kneeling in front of her, pulling her hands away from her face.
"Let go," Dahl screamed, and shoved Carolyn back.
"They're coming," Carolyn shouted, looking up at her two companions. But they were already racing off in the direction Dahl had tumbled out of the brush. They already knew the Necros were chasing Dahl. They had read her mind. And with that, a strange thought occurred to Carolyn. Maybe they are not telepaths because of me. Maybe I'm a telepath because they are.
Now you understand the paradox. The Queen's voice filled her mind. Who created who?
Gunfire mixed with screams of rage and agony, and a moment later, the jungle fell silent. Carolyn couldn't pick up any thoughts. Human or otherwise.
South of Dahl and Carolyn's position, one of the transformed raptors pushed through the bushes with half a severed upper torso in its grip. A smoking weapon hung from the lifeless man's grip. The creature dragged, spilling entrails and leaving a trail of blood.
In the opposite direction, the second creature stepped out of the jungle, dragging the lower half of a man with a long serrated trail. The appendage looked like a flexible chainsaw blade.
Both creatures hurled the remains at one another. The two shredded halves collided mid-air with a sickening thwap and fell on the sand between Dahl and Carolyn. Dahl didn't flinch.
"At least one of them didn't get away," she said, standing up and walking towards the surf. She waded in and cleaned the dirt and chlorophyll from her exposed skin.
"I believe the little human meant to say they didn't get away."
Dahl stopped, took a deep breath, trying to focus her swirling thoughts. Another monster that speaks, she thought, shaking her head and walking back to the only human on the beach. "This system sucks," she said. She turned to the creature, squinting at it, eyes lasering into its thick black hide. Now that she inspected, she was certain whoever he was, he must be one of Lilith's or Eve's friends. "Stop bragging. You're three times his size and he did not know you were there. That's hardly impressive."
"It's not my fault humans are puny and cannot read their surroundings." Its cohort gave out a burst of laughter that prickled Dahl's ire. She smiled, walked up to the creature, and poked it in the stomach. Surprised, it hopped back, tripped over the lower half of the severed torso and landed on its ass. Dahl leaned down and said, "Arrogance is an ugly look, even on a face like yours."
The creature turned to its comrade with an all too human expression of shock plastered across its face. Dahl was certain if its face weren't pitch black, its head would have shown a blazing fire engine red. It pulled itself into a crouched position like a rattlesnake preparing to strike. But Dahl refused to flinch away. She glared at it, daring it to jump. She was done with running; done with screaming in horror. And all the while, the creature did not read the slightest sense of fear in her.
"Get up," a familiar voice said from behind her. "Before you make yourself look more ridiculous than you already do."
"Auntie. I thought you were dead." Dahl said, reeling around.
But what she found made her blood run cold.
________________________________
Lockspur sat in the pilot's seat, engaging several of the preflight subsystems. He couldn't fly the damn ship, but nobody in the universe knew more about ship functions than him. He could take the ship apart and put it back together again in the dark, and make it better than when he began.
The bridge hatch opened and two 7 foot tall not-humans walked in and looked around. They were much more humanoid looking than Lilith's compatriots. But they were black from head to toe. A black that seemed to suck in all the surrounding light. They looked more like moving shadows than flesh and blood creatures.
"I'm glad your brother's okay." Lockspur said, gesturing for the two newcomers towards the crew seats. "The auto-doc told me it was close."
"We need to get down there," the shorter creature said to his companion. "The Queen is in danger."
Lockspur spun around in his seat and looked them over. "I see your speech has improved." He shook his head as if to say, of course it has. "And you've learned English. Imagine that."
"Not true," the larger creature said. "We have known the sacred language since the day of our births. But our mouth could not form the words."
"English… sacred," Lockspur replied and choked out a sarcastic laugh. "What's wrong with Comanche? That seems sacred to me."
"Do you have names?" Lockspur asked, spinning back around and pressing several switches. The sounds of engines spinning up to speed filled the vessel.
The taller male said, "I am Klar; my kinsman is Vash."
"Can you get us down there without killing us?" Vash demanded.
Lockspur thought it wise to consider his reply before answering. Blurting out a snarky come back when your opponent is 7 feet tall may not be the best idea. But in the end, he couldn't help himself. "Or not," he said, looking at Klar with a smirk and a shrug.
But it wasn't Klar who responded. It was Vash, and to Lockspur's considerable relief, he laughed and said, "Sarcasm in the face of an unbeatable foe. I like this tiny human."
Lockspur's eyebrow went up. "I see you have met Carolyn's grandfather."
Both Klar and Vash let out booming laughs that made Lockspur equal parts amused and unsure of their true intentions. Either way, he figured it didn't matter. He couldn't fight them off, and he was going to need them down there, if he or his comrades were ever going to see the surface again.
Lockspur gestured to the co-pilot and engineer's seats and said, "Take your seats, amigos. And strap in. This is going to be a bumpy ride."
"Is that what we are to you?"
"Until you choose to be otherwise," he answered.
Both Vash and Klar sat down. The near giants looked comical, like adults crammed into the tiny children's seats. Lockspur fought down the oncoming urge to laugh. They struggled to pull the seat belts over their shoulders and then settled for knotting the belts around their waists. Lockspur rolled his eyes at the absurdity. "Just try to hold on."
Klar leaned over and whispered something that could have been, "I was planning to." Vash grabbed the console with a death grip and threw him a shut up look.
Lockspur turned around, reached out to press a green button, and saw his two passengers lean back in their seats. Klar's hands dented the consoles in front of him. Lockspur knew what he was feeling. As his finger crept towards a button, the look of anticipation on Vash's face grew until his eyes were bulging. Lockspur pushed a switch and both of his teammates lurched in their seats.
"We're not moving. What went wrong?" Vash asked.
"Nothing. That was the comms switch. I need to address the troops," Lockspur answered. An electronic tone emanated from a nearby speaker. "Senoritas and Senors," Lockspur said. "This is your not-pilot speaking. We're going to be departing soon. I suggest you all find a secure place to sit during our descent into the core. This will be a rough ride." He smiled and winked at Klar and Vash. "In the event of a catastrophic hull breach, please place your heads between your legs and kiss your asses goodbye. And, as always, thank you for flying Hemmingford space lines where your safety is always our top priority."
"Is he fucking serious?" Vash asked. Klar shook his head no and laughed, but he never let go of the console in front of him.
Lockspur pressed another button and a loud bang came from somewhere behind and outside. Smoke rose in front of the windscreen and drifted away. A split second later, a proximity probe flew away towards the shaft.
"Where's it going?" Vash asked.
"To map the shaft ahead of us. It's our eyes."
"You're not flying?" Klar blurted.
"Never learned how."
The probe soared out over the deep hole, a red laser scanned the mouth of the shaft's walls, and it dropped into the descending void. As it mapped the shaft's contours, a wire frame picture of the walls appeared on a screen beside Lockspur.
"Who's flying the ship?" Vash demanded.
"I repurposed the auto-doc's AI to create an upgraded auto-pilot capable of in-flight maneuvering. It should keep us centered in the shaft during our descent."
"Should?" Klar replied.
"Hopefully."
"Hopefully," Vash repeated.
"There may be a few… minor problems. The probe is a repurposed mining unit, used to map asteroid fields. It's a cheap piece of shit made for open space and it can't transmit its findings through solid rock. So, we can't let it get over 10 or 12 kilometers ahead of us. Unfortunately, at that speed, if it finds a blockage, we won't have time to stop before we're bugs on a windshield. So, I programmed it to fire a short-range missile armed with a low grade nuke. If anything blocks our path, that should clear the way."
"You want to fly through a shitstorm of swirling fallout?"
"It's better than ending up as guts on somebody's windshield. Besides, this pretty lady has state-of-the-art electronic shielding, double radiation plating and.." he added with a grin. "An espresso machine."
"And if the shielding fails?"
"Hey, I never said it was a perfect plan. But unless you have a better one. We're going with mine."
"Fine. What's the plan?"
"I routed the probes onboard telemetry into the autopilot's AI system. The probe will track the ship in relation to the shaft walls. That way, the AI can make real time course corrections, keeping us in the middle of the shaft as we descend. The only foreseeable problem is that the probe may not have a GPU fast enough to make simultaneous course corrections for both us and itself. If that's the case-"
"Bugs on a windscreen." Vash said.
"Anything else we should know?" Klar asked.
"If our descent rate becomes too fast, we could overtake the probe and pass it. Its short range thrusters are only meant for limited use. If the core is more than a few hundred kilometers down, the probe will run out of fuel before we reach the bottom. And again-"
"Bugs on a windshield."
"Anything else."
"There's always that one thing you just can't see coming," Lockspur replied, spinning around to face them. "I don't suppose either of you has ever learned how to fly?"
"We were raptors, of course we can fly." Vash replied in an offended tone.
"Can you fly a ship?"
"No."
"I was afraid you'd say that," Lockspur said, spinning around and tapping the monitor in front of him. "Hold on. The probe is holding 10 kilometers down. We're ready to go."
The lights throughout the ship went a warning amber, and a computerized voice said, "Attention: Launch in T-Minus 10… 9… 8…"
"Here we go," Klar whispered.
Lockspur looked over his shoulder. "Now would be a good time to say a prayer, if either of you believe in that sort of thing."
"3… 2… 1…"