And so began another tedious march
through the jungle. They were making decent progress and at first, it felt good
to be on the move. It meant getting closer to Okeer and to the end of this
mission. A dubious and difficult mission from the beginning, but Saren’s eagerness to be done with it and gone from
Invictus was rapidly evolving into a need.
As they left the river further and further behind, the marshlands gave way to firmer, intermittently rocky ground. There was much less secondary growth and no need for cutting to clear a path. But the heat was getting worse by the minute. Saren was sweating in sheets. He considered sealing his suit times and times again, but everyone else was walking with open helmets so he had to endure it too.
Continue reading They Wouldn’t Dare
Nihlus could swear they’d been standing motionless for entire minutes while disconnected, dislocated thoughts bounced around in his head like those last few crumbs of cereal in the carton, refusing to get out through the designated opening in the corner despite all the shaking. What the hell had just happened? Had it happened? He considered pinching himself to make sure. According to human fiction, it was supposed to wake him up in case he was asleep down in the camp, having the craziest and most vivid dream of his lifetime. But would he want to wake up?
Continue reading Conspiracy Theories
Saren paced up and down the overgrown colonnade. In bright daylight, the jungle outside looked pure, wild and tempting, like a promise of some idealistic adventure. Nothing like the blind man’s nightmare from yesterday. It sprawled farther than the eye could reach, a calm expanse of uniform dark green, unmoved by the light breeze that tickled his crest. He could still catch the muddy, rotten stench of the swamps if he put his mind in it, but the air wasn’t as humid here as it had been under the trees. The sun was still low and the scattered shadows of the ivy hanging from the ceiling were a strobe on his face.
Continue reading Respite
Okeer woke up to the sounds of grunting
and belching. His vision was swimming and he had only a very vague awareness of
his body. When he tried to speak, some wretched, gurgling noise came out
instead, and there was nauseating pain in his throat.
The fucking turian whelp shot me.
He sat up—no, he had to push himself up with his arms like a pregnant female. Disgusting. A small dark room came in and out of focus. There were no windows. It stank of mold and urine. Two young men were at a tiny table, drinking. When they saw Okeer was awake, they first froze, then exchanged a meaningful look, and finally one of them got out through the door. The other one faced Okeer with an absent stare so typical for his kind. Somebody had told him he wasn’t supposed to fight, so he didn’t know what to do.
Continue reading Unwelcome Guest
“Nihlus,
is that you?” a familiar female voice called out from somewhere behind the
wreckage.
“Dinara?”
At that, there was definite movement in
the poorly lit growth on the other side of the clearing, and an un-helmeted
turian head emerged into view. Nihlus got up and stepped out of cover, keeping
his weapon politely pointed down.
“Nihlus, thank the Spirits it’s you,” Dinara said, going fully out of cover herself. Coming from one of the few surviving families from the first wave of colonization, she was short, bulky, and incredibly bossy. “I was afraid that damned torpedo blew you to bits.” She covered the distance between them in fast strides as she spoke, and touched the side of Nihlus’s helmet in a gesture of motherly affection. He smiled, but backed away as soon as he could.
Continue reading Crash Site
Saren wasn’t
sure if he was pleased or annoyed with how the situation had developed. Perhaps
a bit of both.
Baratus insisted on escorting him as far as the Trodar base, a small spaceport a hundred kilometers from Hierote proper. The sky-car ride took no more than half an hour even with the night traffic but sitting in silence the whole while with that boy, Kryik, staring at him in awe, was awkward. Baratus had reports to read and didn’t even attempt to provide conversation. That was fine. He hated small talk and he wouldn’t be comfortable speaking of private things in front of the boy. But if Baratus had nothing more to say to him, what was the purpose of his company?
Continue reading The Boy