Chapter 15
'That one is dangerous.' he told himself as he climbed higher into the night. The darkness of night was a friend of sorts, helping to protect him, but never asking anything in return. His chest ached as he crawled over the ledge, and onto a rooftop high above the city. A light wind had picked up, blowing away any trace of the dust and soot that had clung to it.
The woman had the capsule. There could be no doubt of that. She had the radiation signature, and a will to fight. Retrieving the capsule was going to be difficult, but possibly rewarding.
Her face was disturbingly familiar. What was her name? She was Bakeeron, and an attractive one at that. Not that any of that mattered of course. Who was she? She was someone formidable. That was certain. The name, her name was there, at the edge of his mind, taunting him, waiting to be drug into the light.
T'Sula. T'Sula Mir. That was her name. That was the name of the enemy.
A small shelter rose above the roofline, silhouetted in the night sky. Straight metal sides and a slanted roof separated the designer from the builders of Olcai, with its flowing lines and graceful buildings. The door was slim, just wide enough for one to slip through. Inside, the shelter was clean and spartan, barely large enough for a full-grown human to stretch out in.
The Wraith closed the door and deactivated the stealth function of his suit. Annoying and troubling as it was, the suit had its benefits and needed to recharge. He needed to tend the wounds he had sustained in the brief fight. Two broken ribs and a fractured collarbone needed repaired before he could continue with his mission. He felt no pain, at least not anymore. The masters had seen to that. Pain could end the mission, and that was unacceptable. No matter the cost, the mission had to proceed.
Slowly, he peeled off the valuable suit, and laid it on the floor beside the wall. It felt good to be rid of the infernal machine, at least until it was needed again. In the far corner sat a small reptile, curled against itself in an effort to stay warm in the night. He reached over and gently stroked the spine of the small creature.
"Wake up. You are needed." He watched the little creature raise its head and blink its eyes. A forked tongue snaked out from between two long fangs. The creature stood and stretched its short legs before it reached out and sank its fangs deep into the outstretched arm of its master, then curled up and went back to sleep.
Feeling the healing power of the venom course through his body, the Wraith massaged the small bite on his arm and sank back against the wall, waiting for the broken bones to knit together. Sleep came quickly, but not death. Never that most revered and blessed of events. It was not his duty to meet the gods, only to send others to that joyous reunion.
Blistering hot air rushed past his body, ripping at his clothes, threatening to rend him limb from limb. Excruciatingly bright light seared his eyes as he fell. The giant metal beast roared defiantly as it clawed higher into the sky, speeding away from him faster and faster.
The metal beast disappeared from sight a moment before the pain began. By rights the impact should have killed him. The will of the gods is always difficult to understand, much less predetermine. They had purpose for this undesirable wretch, and that was enough. Their will was now his mission.
Cold water burned his skin, followed by the pain of striking the hard lake bottom. The warmth of his blood seeped into the icy water. Ice filled his burning lunges as he slowly floated to the surface. Dark, misshapen faces welcomed him wordlessly. They said nothing, but merely pulled him from the lake, and breathed life and purpose back into his broken body and torn soul.
The first days were difficult, with his body mending. Bones knitted easily when broken, but when shattered they took more time. His saviors, his gods, these Ta'Reeth masters, removed from him the barrier of pain. Pain could no longer rule him, but it would remind him of its presence when needed. Pain was not a master, but a trusted friend.
Repairing the soul required more than simply fixing a broken toy. Simply remove the weaknesses and you make a stronger unit. He no longer had a need for the weaknesses that others possessed. The masters had tested him, and he had succeeded, and success had been sweet.
A thin smile crept across his cracked lips as the memories came to him. The invasion had just begun. Misshapen black Ta'Reeth fighters streaked across the sky. Globs of molten green fire rained down upon the unprotected village. His heart pounded as he raced into his home. Benalla had left the back entrance open. Stupid woman. She had always been too trusting.
Smoke began to curl up the walls. Flames licked the furniture and artwork near a gaping hole in the floor. The heat was stifling, oppressive. He could hear the baby coughing as she started to cry.
"Nom?" Benalla yelled what had once been his name. "Where are you? I need you. Mekala needs you." she began to cry. "Help us."
Smoke stung his eyes and burned at his nostrils. "I'm here. Follow my voice." he called, reassuring his wife. He could hear her coughing as she stumbled toward him.
"Thank the gods you're alive." Benalla cried, wrapping one arm around him, the other clutching her child. "I was worried about you. I came back in looking for you."
"It's alright. You don't need to worry anymore." he soothed her, stroking her hair. "I've found a way out of here."
"That's wonderful. Mekala will finally be safe." she smiled. A tear rolled down her soot stained cheek.
"Of course she will." he lied. As she leaned against him in love and trust, he drove his hunting knife repeatedly into her heart. Her dead eyes accused him of the ultimate betrayal as she fell lifeless to the burning floor. Without shedding a tear, or listening to the screams of his infant daughter, he walked out of the burning house and toward his glorious fate. He had a starship to catch.