Freaking nebula!
Eri scanned the portal frame. A single arrow had lodged inside the space where the hatch closed. She chanced one look at the jungle. Leafy men poured from the trees, all running toward the ramp. Even if she stood out in the open and jumped, she’d never reach the shaft.
I’m doomed. We’ve all failed.
The ship was too small to hide. They’d find her. But maybe she’d hide long enough to contact Commander Grier. As Eri backed away from the ramp, another chorus of war cries joined the rest. Arrows flew across the battlefield, and the first wave of attackers fell head over heels, tumbling to trip the others in a massive crash.
What was going on? She stuck her head outside the ship. Another tribe of men with white feathers threaded in their hair emerged from the jungle. Their leader, tall, tan, and bare-chested, wearing simple leather pants, ran ahead of the pack like a gazelle, shooting arrows from a long black bow. His wavy brown hair shone deep chestnut in the ramp’s emergency white lights.
He was gorgeous.
Pain pricked Eri’s neck. Had a jungle bug bitten her? She raised her hand and felt a small dart protruding from her skin. Horror crashed through her.
I’ve been hit.
She plucked the dart from her neck and studied the thick black substance coating the tip. Poison. The substance mingled with her blood like oil on water.
The loading bay blurred, little red lights blinking at her like devil’s eyes. She collapsed to the floor. Her mouth dried and she coughed back nausea, bringing her locator up to her face. The numbers swam on the screen.
Must…contact…Grier.
Shrieks and other war calls rode the wind as pain exploded behind her forehead. Her world closed in until she could only see a pinprick of light. That pinprick blinked, winking at her before it went out.
Striver ran toward the mass of Lawless men and women pouring from the trees. Dim lights illuminated the artificial clearing where the ship had crushed a semicircle of foliage. The hull sat in a crater like a metal egg, repelling the arrows. The belly lay open, a ramp sticking out like a black tongue. The visitors must have already disembarked.
Striver stifled the doubt he’d arrived too late, shouting behind him, “Aim for the front. Drive them into the forest.”
He checked the sky for Phoenix. Black shadows spotted the second moon in an arc. The birdman led an army of Guardians in battle-flight formation, their arms filled with reed nets to quell the Lawless. Until now, Striver’s tribe had an advantage with the Guardians, but if the Lawless seized the ship’s technology, the nets would be useless.
“We have to pick out the leaders.” Carven ran beside him, unsheathing his cooking knives. He gave Striver a sidelong glance and headed for the front line. Striver covered him, felling the first few men before they could pump air into reeds filled with coma darts. A shiver ran up his spine. Coma darts meant one thing: they wanted to capture the aliens for interrogation, maybe even torture. Not a good start to intergalactic relations.
Striver didn’t see anyone besides Lawless refugees. Where were the visitors? Their camp lay ransacked, containers spewing silver gadgets and tatters of golden foil. Had the Lawless beat their superior technology and taken them already?
Carven swung his blades at two Lawless men as they jabbed at him with flint daggers. Although he had size over them, they were fast, and Striver struggled for a good aim. Just as the one on the right lunged, the other backed up enough for Carven to fire at him without endangering himself. Striver pulled the bowstring back and aimed. Carven’s arm swung, blocking him.
Almost…almost…
A pile of leaves rammed into his shoulder and the arrow ricocheted into the trees. Striver fell and the man crawled on top of him, pinning his legs. He lunged with his flint blade at Striver’s neck. Striver dropped his bow and grabbed the man’s wrist just before the blade cut through the skin. Adrenaline surged through him and he felt every pulse of his wildly beating heart. His strength lay as an archer, not in hand-to-hand combat.
They pushed against each other in a deadlock, the flint blade glistening blue-black in the moons’ rays. Striver thought of Carven, wondering if the older man had managed to survive against two of these savage creatures.
“Technohoarder.” The man spit into his face. Leaves hung from the pirate’s hair, brushing against Striver’s neck. But his disguise didn’t fool Striver. He bled just as easily as any man.
Striver’s muscles bunched under the pressure. The burn stung, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold him back. “It’s for our own good.”
Now was not the time for a lecture, yet he found himself wanting to educate the man. He spoke through gritted teeth. “You don’t know how dangerous technology can be.”
It was like talking to the trees.
The man glared, pressing the blade ever so close to Striver’s neck. “Not for you to decide.”
He’d shifted enough weight off of Striver’s legs to allow him to move. Striver brought up his knee and kicked the man in the gut. The man’s grip loosened and he fell back. Before he could recover, Striver had already picked up his bow and stood with an arrow tip aimed at the man’s chest.
The man raised both his arms with a bitter half smile on his face.
“You win.”
A horn wailed from the trees. Striver scanned the campsite, keeping his quarry in sight. Lawless writhed underneath reed nets, and Guardians carried pouches of them into the sky, arms and legs sticking out. The few Lawless left retreated into the forest.
“What was your purpose in coming?” Striver pulled the arrow back farther. The familiar sound of bending reeds whispered in his ear.
The man turned and ran for the trees, leaves falling from his back. Striver lowered his bow. There was no sense in more pointless death.
Striver searched for Carven’s familiar head of black-and-silver-streaked curls. If anything had happened to him, he’d never forgive himself. He stepped over bodies, fearing Carven’s blank face lay among the unlucky ones.
This had all been Striver’s idea. He’d wanted to secure the technology, meet the visitors before the Lawless made the wrong impression. Kicking away blood-spattered leaves, he wondered if going after the scout ship had been a bad idea after all.
So many dead. He’d have to report their deaths to the colony. Carven’s family flashed through his mind with a pang.
“Ugly savages, aren’t they?”
Striver whirled around. Carven stood behind him with blood and grit smeared on his forehead. Striver scoured every inch of the man but didn’t see any wounds. “You’re all right?”
“Yeah, but this time it came pretty close.” He gestured toward a nick on his arm.
“Thank goodness for their poor aim.”
Carven smiled, and then his face grew somber. “We’d better move. They’ll be back in larger numbers.”
Striver grabbed his arm and whispered, “Did you see Weaver?” He knew the others already blamed his desire to see his brother for their midnight excursion.
Carven shook his head. “He wasn’t in the group. I’d spot him from a mile away.”
Striver stifled a rising current of worry. The Lawless wouldn’t kill Weaver; he was too valuable. Still, he couldn’t quell the ripple of doubt that rode through him.
Two members of his tribe had captured a Lawless woman. She writhed as each man held onto one of her arms. Her hair was a tangle of dreadlocks, mud, and vines. Striver walked up to her and ducked as she spat at him. Her eyes were wild, painted with red and blue concentric circles spanning out across her forehead. She growled in one of the men’s ears. “Go to hell.”
Striver put a finger under her chin and raised her head to look into her gaze. “What were your orders? Tell us and we’ll let you go.”
She appraised him up and down, smiling. Her apparent attraction of him made him even angrier, and his jaw tightened.
“Steal everything.” Her eyebrow arched as she caressed his chest with her eyes. “Kill some, take some as prisoners.”
One of the men holding her tightened his grip. “That doesn’t help us.”
Striver put up his hand to stop him. “That’s okay.” He met her gaze again, seeing fiery, uncontrolled emotions.
Damn Lawless and their unbridled passions.
“One more question and I’ll let you go.”
She licked her lips. “Have at it.”
“Was Weaver with you? Do you know who he is?”
The woman smirked. “Your lesser brother. Yes, I know of him.”
Striver’s fury intensified like a hard fist squeezing his chest. Only fools compared them in his presence. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Was he with you tonight?”
She laughed, a bone-shattering, high-pitched whinny that tore into Striver’s heart. “No.”
Relief flooded through him like fresh air.
“Where is he? Is he all right?”
She shrugged like Weaver’s life didn’t matter to her. “He went off with Jolt into the darkness.” Her eyes teased him. “Never came back.”
He waved her away in disgust. “Let her go.”
The men pushed her from them like a disease. She rubbed her wrists where they had held her and gazed at Striver. He turned away.
Her voice brought him back to her mean-spirited gaze. “You should let him go, honey. He’s not coming back.”
Striver’s heart ached like she’d stuck a knife in it and twisted. Suppressing the pain, he turned to her. “Go home.”
He addressed the men guarding her. “Ignore her. Collect anything that looks valuable. Search for survivors.”
As she waltzed into the forest, his tribe dashed around him, gathering the silver gadgets and other containers from the wreckage of the camp. Carven walked up beside him. “What about the ship itself?”
“We’ll gut it. Take everything we can and set the controls on fire. We can’t have the Lawless claiming the skies for themselves.”
Carven nodded and joined the group. Just as Striver moved to help carry one of the containers, a young man ran up from the ship.
“Striver, sir?”
“What is it?”
“There’s a survivor. She’s unconscious.”
Striver froze.
She?
“You mean one of the Lawless?” The last thing he needed was another conversation like the one he’d just had.
“No, sir.” The young man gave him a knowing glance and pointed to the sky. Awe filled his voice. “One of them.”
Striver stopped breathing. “Take me to her.”
“Yes, sir.”
This is it. The moment of truth.
He’d finally meet the people from that mother ship and find out the ultimate reason why the foreigners had sacrificed so much to wander into Lawless lands.
Striver followed the young man up the ramp, feeling the strange solidity of the metal underneath his leather boots. The inside of the ship pressed in on him like a tomb. He wasn’t used to an impenetrable ceiling blocking the star-studded sky and air that hung stale with no trace of a wind. Panels lit up in sickly green light, and flashing buttons made him dizzy.
The young man tugged his arm. “She’s over here.”
Members of his tribe parted, revealing a young woman with a head of pink curls. Striver stepped closer, reminding himself to breath. The survivor, wearing the worst camouflage uniform he’d ever seen, lay on her back. She never would have stepped ten meters into the jungle without being spotted. And that hair! He’d never seen such a bright color. It reminded him of pearl berries in midsummer.
“She has a steady pulse, sir. But she’s been hit with a coma dart.”
He knelt beside her and gently probed the wound. Her skin was pale as moonlight and dusted with freckles. She looked like she’d never seen the light of day. Striver turned her head, and a heart-shaped face with a cute upturned nose faced him.
“Never did I think the aliens would be this beautiful.” Gil, a member of his team, gawked, and Striver gave him a stern look.
“She doesn’t look like an alien to me.” She looked human. Too human. Human enough for him to have an emotional reaction and a stirring of longing he’d never felt before. He gestured for some of the men to help him. “Come on, let’s bring her back to camp before the Lawless return.”
As he slid his arms underneath her, his heart raced and blood rushed to his neck. He wondered if the scout ship had drawn him in just to find her.
Eri’s head throbbed worse than when she’d hit her forehead on the inside of her sleep pod. Her eyelids stuck, glued to her face.
Some night I must have had.
She buried her head into the blankets.
Blankets?
When did sleep pods have emergency blankets?
“She’s moving. I think she’s waking up,” a male voice whispered across the room.
Eri jolted awake, prying her eyes open. The room blurred and she blinked away residual tears.
A frail older woman placed a knobby hand on Eri’s head. Thatched roofing framed the old woman’s wispy hair and firelight from torches illuminated her face. Her skin was tough as leather and wrinkles spread from the corners of her eyes. “She doesn’t have a fever. I think the dart is wearing off.”
Dart?
The battle scene came back to her in full force and her stomach heaved. She coughed, falling forward into the woman’s arms. The old woman smelled like herbs and sweet blossoms. “There now, you’ve had a rough night. Those coma darts can put you under for hours.”
She offered Eri a clay cup filled with water and Eri sipped, feeling the odd roughness of the uneven ridge on her lips. The water tasted cool and fresh with strange minerals, unlike the recycled water on the
Heritage
.
She glanced up and almost gagged as she swallowed. The gorgeous man from the battle stood in the back of the hut. His arms lay crossed over his bare chest, and his wavy chestnut hair fell around his strong-boned, angular face. His eyes sparkled with intensity, green and wild as the jungle. He seemed wary and hesitant, making her fidget with the blankets.
“Where am I?”
“She speaks English!” The older woman smiled and cupped her cheek like she’d performed some trick. “You’re in the village, dear. The tribe brought you back from the battle.”