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.

  Chapter Nine

  A Real Alien

  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.”

  “Where is the rest of my team?”

  “You were the only one left.” The young man stepped for­ward and un­crossed his arms. He spread his hands out in an apo­logy. “The Law­less spir­ited away the rest. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  She thought of Litus, Tank, and even Mars. Her heart clutched. “Taken them where?”

  “To their hideout. For in­ter­rog­a­tion.”

  “Who are the Law­less?” The name soun­ded so fore­bod­ing, it sent a shiver across her shoulders.

  The young man frowned as if their name dropped a bit­ter taste on his tongue. “An­other tribe; people who re­fuse to live by our rules.”

  The room swam around her. The heat from the fire­light pressed in, and the blankets itched. Vines thrust through the cracks in the floor.

  She put both hands on the bed to steady her­self. Her team was gone, and she was alone in what looked like one of the thatched tree huts Com­mander Grier had shown her from the con­trol deck. Her gaze dropped to her loc­ator. She had to con­tact the com­mander and tell her to send help. But not yet. She needed pri­vacy in case Delta Slip came up.

  The old wo­man’s kind voice brought her back to real­ity. “What’s your name, child?”

  It was in her best in­terest to be friendly. “Erid­ani Smith, but my friends call me Eri.”

  “Nice to be to­gether un­der the twin moons, Eri. I’m Nu­tura, Striver’s mother. This is Striver.”

  Striver. What a strong, ded­ic­ated name. Per­fect for such a gor­geous hu­man be­ing. Eri re­minded her­self not to stare.

  Wait a second! They spoke with a strange bumpy ac­cent and weird po­etic ex­pres­sions, but it was def­in­itely Eng­lish, and she un­der­stood it. “How is it you speak Eng­lish?” The ques­tion came out as more of a de­mand or ac­cus­a­tion. She’d stud­ied too long and hard for her only mis­sion to be this easy.

  Striver stared her down with his green gaze. “Why do you?”

  “It’s my nat­ive tongue, from Earth.”

  The older wo­man turned to Striver. “Just what I thought. She’s from one of those colony ships, the ones the S.P. Nautilus told us about.”

  Striver’s face brightened with re­cog­ni­tion be­fore an­other deeply guarded emo­tion passed. He crouched down by her bed­side, his face inches from hers. “So you’ve come to col­on­ize our planet?”

  Eri’s heart broke. How was she go­ing to tell them? Yes, we’re here to steal your home.

  She changed the sub­ject in­stead. “Where did you learn Eng­lish?”

  The older wo­man pat­ted the back of her hand. “We’re from Earth as well, dear.”

  Eri shook her head, back­ing up against the bed­frame. “That’s im­possible. We’ve been trav­el­ing for five hun­dred years to get here, to Haven 6.”

  Striver’s face softened, as if he un­der­stood her con­fu­sion. “My an­cestor found a worm hole, and he trans­por­ted those re­main­ing at Out­post Omega to this place, which we call Refuge.”

  She shook her head, try­ing to ab­sorb all of the in­form­a­tion. There goes my job; no for­eign lan­guages here. “So you’re no more alien than I am.”

  Striver shrugged. “Let’s hope not.”

  Eri tried to hide the dis­ap­point­ment sink­ing in her stom­ach. She’d trained her whole life to de­cipher for­eign lan­guages. Every­one con­sidered her job to be a dead end. When the com­mander ap­poin­ted her to the ex­plor­at­ory team, she felt needed, im­port­ant. It turned out she wasn’t ne­ces­sary at all.

  Aquaria’s words flooded back to her: Your job is much greater than you think. You’re go­ing to have to find out if these creatures are peace­ful, and if they are, you’re go­ing to have to de­cide.

  Look­ing into the kind face of Nu­tura and the hand­some face of Striver, she wondered if maybe she ought to stay around. Did these people de­serve to be ob­lit­er­ated? Have their home taken away?

  “Eri, are you all right?” Nu­tura put her hand back on her fore­head. “You look peak­ish.”

  “I’m fine. This is a lot to ab­sorb.”

  “I’m sure it is. We’d be happy to an­swer any of your ques­tions if it would ease your dis­com­fort.”

  “Not right now. I need some time alone to in­form my com­mander of the status of the mis­sion, if you don’t mind.”

  Striver’s jaw tightened, but Nu­tura nod­ded. “Of course. I need to go back to my bed and rest. Let Striver know if you need any­thing.”

  Eri glanced at Striver. She didn’t think she could even speak to him alone, never mind ask for his as­sist­ance. But if it as­sured Nu­tura enough to leave her be, then she had to play along. “Okay. I will.”

  Nu­tura dragged up a cane from the floor and hobbled to the door­way, part­ing ferns with her free hand. Striver helped her bal­ance as she left.

  Eri real­ized she hadn’t even thanked them for sav­ing her life. “Wait.”

  Striver turned in the door­way, his face im­pass­ive.

  “Thank you. For…for sav­ing me, I m-mean.” Eri stumbled on her words, feel­ing like a fool.

  “You’re wel­come. I only wish I’d come sooner and saved your friends, as well.” He gave Eri one last mel­an­choly look be­fore he dis­ap­peared be­hind the ferns.

  Wast­ing no time, Eri brought up her loc­ator and pressed the hail code. She squeezed her fin­gers so hard her fin­ger­nails stuck into her palms as the trans­mit­ter blinked, try­ing to find re­cep­tion. The bar grew longer, then shorter, and then dis­ap­peared al­to­gether.

  No, no, no. She tried again, press­ing each num­ber with em­phasis. Maybe she mis-keyed the code? Hold­ing her arm up over her head, she brought the sig­nal as close to the source as pos­sible.

  This time the bar ap­peared and stayed. Com­mander Grier’s face fizzled above her loc­ator, broken up by static fuzz.

  “Ms. Smith. Thank good­ness you’ve made con­tact. I haven’t heard from the team in hours.”

  Eri struggled to col­lect all of her thoughts and form co­hes­ive sen­tences be­fore she lost the trans­mis­sion. “The team is gone. Every­one but me. Hu­mans from Out­post Omega found a worm­hole and col­on­ized Haven 6 be­fore we got here. I’m with a friendly tribe right now, but the rest of the team has been cap­tured by a hos­tile group.”

  The com­mander’s lips tightened. “Hu­mans? From Out­post Omega?” Dis­gust soured her fea­tures be­fore she blinked her real emo­tions away. “This does com­plic­ate things. How many are there?”

  Eri tried to think of all the people flood­ing into the camp­site. “I don’t know. Hun­dreds? A whole civil­iz­a­tion? Please, you have to dis­patch help right away. I’ll send you my co­ordin­ates.”

  “Neg­at­ive.”

  “What do you mean? Some of the team may still be alive.”

  “I can­not com­prom­ise more of our DNA pool. Not un­til I have fur­ther in­form­a­tion. What weaponry did they use?”

 

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