“Cursed mongrels,” I spit. My voice is filled with a blend of disgust and exasperation. In the same way that the humans had cut into me with artless hands, they’ve rummaged around my ship, blundering around things they couldn’t possibly comprehend. These idiotic, bumbling creatures with their sub-knowledge of technology.
I tap a button and pull up a holographic blueprint of my ship, the erratic blinking of compromised sectors flashing an urgent red. Gripping the edges of the control panel, I grimly acknowledge the fact. My vessel won’t be soaring through the cosmos until these systems are fixed. The audacity of these puny creatures, to dare to touch Cryzorian technology with their soft, stupid hands. It fills my thoughts with a volatile mix of anger and determination. This entire species is going to regret ever daring to even look in my direction. I vow suffering on these humansthe likes of which they can’t even fathom. It’s a war cry I savor, the fury of a thousand suns latching onto my very core.
As I initiate the ignition sequence, the engine rumbling to life vibrates through me, a testament to Cryzor’s might and power.
My hands navigate expertly around the control panel, flipping switches and pressing buttons as my eyes dart to the flashing screens. Once satisfied that each step is completed, I turn my attention to the onboard weapon system.
I activate the photonic cannons, and the sound of the weapon hums to life under my feet. A satisfied grin breaks across my face as I wrap my fingers around the trigger. With a single squeeze of my fingers, a beam of bright pulsating energy rips through the reinforced doors of the hangar, tearing through the steel like gossamer threads beneath a fist. As the seared metal crumbles away, the way is clear. Grabbing the steering yoke in my hands, I engage the booster engines and my ship shoots out of the hangar, bursting into the night sky.
As the world falls away beneath me, a new resolute determination fills my thoughts. No matter what occurs next, I will never allow myself to be taken hostage by humans again. I push the ship harder, glancing briefly back at the dwindling lights below.
Once I am safely out of their reach, I hunt for a secluded place, untouched and away from the busy hubs of the human scourge crawling all over this planet. I will land and repair my ship for the monumental journey ahead. But first, more importantly, I must drop a homing beacon for Cryzor into orbit in the planet’s exosphere: a guiding marker to let my people know I have found a planet worth harvesting. I aim my ship toward the outer atmosphere to ensure nothing will interfere with sending my message.
Setting my coordinates for the upper atmosphere, I look out my ship’s viewing screen, staring at the patchwork of water andverdant forests below, digesting the unfamiliar panorama of this strange planet. I admit that it is interesting to look at – it will almost be a shame that this planet will soon be turned into nothing more than a used-up husk. Despite a momentary pang, I am hopeful. The discovery of this planet might garner me enough status to earn a promotion. Very few Outriders ever get the chance to upgrade their designation.
The thought of returning to Cryzor and perhaps being promoted to Overseer with my own authority and troop fills me with resolve, stamping out my slight and unwanted pity for this planet and its people. I envision the respect my discovery might garner. Perhaps my endless voyage, my life cooped up in the confined space of a scout ship, might not be all that awaits me. My greatest hope is that I might one day stand tall on the soil of Cryzor again, a conqueror, a champion, no longer a mere scout in the never-ending expanse of the universe. Most Outriders are sent into the vastness of space, their mission never-ending.
I find my thoughts drifting back to my memories of Cryzor, although it’s been many years since my feet last stood on the soil of my home planet. I can easily envision our commanding silver cities glowing against the light of the twin suns. There is a deep longing within me – a commanding urge – to elevate my standing among my people. I yearn to succeed in my mission and return home. More than just ambition fuels this desire; it is a dream of a future possibility – a chance to secure my legacy. I may not be a high-ranking Cryzorian now, but I will change that. A vision surfaces from the depths of my consciousness: of me, contributing my DNA to the continuity of our race, engendering a lineage that would live and breathe my spirit long after I have transcended my mortal confines.
I quickly key in the coordinates for this planet and encode them to send to my people. As I am about to send my message,my ship jolts and shudders beneath me. A claxon begins to ring, its piercing wail sending my heartbeat galloping.
The familiar hum of my ship turns into a menacing coughing growl as lights switch from serene blue to a pulsating ruby red. A robotic voice drones in my native tongue, “Critical systems failure. Immediate action required.”
Desperate, I seize the controls, knuckles whitening around the yoke, yanking it up to no avail. The ship spirals out of control, spinning wildly and rocking violently back and forth. I brace my feet against the floor, struggling against the power of excessive gravitational force pressing against my chest.
For a fleeting moment, Earth’s horizon fills the ship’s front view, a stunning, picturesque scene of blues and greens beneath a dark star-filled sky. Guided by sheer instinct and the formidable will to survive, I reroute all remaining energy to the shielding system.
My last impression of the outside world is blurred – a disturbing blend of midnight-dark sky and earth closing in at a terrifying pace. The ship impacts the ground, skipping like a stone thrown across a lake, causing the world to roll around me in chaotic motion.
Pain explodes throughout my body as I am thrust against my safety harness. My heart skips a beat as I hear a loud crash echoing through the quiet woods. I stare at the view screen in horror as the ship chaotically tumbles, its size trampling through a forest. The only thing keeping me from being tossed around the ship like a limp doll is my harness. Metal screams and crunches, the noise deafening in my ears. The agonizing jolt of my organs colliding against the insides of my body is matched only by the shrill keening of the ship as it grinds to a halt.
Harsh, biting agony courses up my spine, a taste of searing acid blossoms in my mouth, and a relentless pounding in my skull traps me in waves of exquisite suffering. My eyes snapopen, trying to see around the interior of my now-dark ship. The alarm is now eerily silent, and the creaking of the ship settling is the only sound I can hear in my ringing ears. I’ve never felt agony like this – not even when the human scientists cut me open without using a numbing agent. Nanites swarm through my bloodstream already at work on the worst of my injuries. Without them, I would have already bled out. When I try to unstrap and get out of my chair, my leg buckles beneath me and I land on the floor in a shuddering heap. My breaths come in syrupy gasps, and every inhalation rattles in my lungs. My nanites continue their relentless chorus, unleashing coded readings about damaged lung tissue, internal bleeding, and fractured bones. The situation prompts a shudder, my entire being awash with an onslaught of pain, a testament to my incapacitated state.
Once I am able to push away the darkness of looming unconsciousness, I drag myself from the wreckage, each movement more painful than the last. The scent of overheated metal and ozone fills my nostrils as I pull myself along the floor, inch by agonizing inch, toward the escape hatch at the back of the ship. With a last surge of energy, I command my nanites to activate the door panel, the world blurring around me.
The door obeys my command, beginning to slide open. But as the cool air of Earth brushes against my hot, damaged flesh, my strength gives way. I fall out of the hatch, tumbling onto the dirt. A pained gasp leaves my lips as agony swamps every inch of my body. My vision is failing, and my nanites are shutting down my body.
An almost ethereal sight draws my fading focus as the veil of unconsciousness descends. Bathed in the weak lunar light, a tiny figure emerges, soft and silent in the dark forest. For a moment, I think that it is a hallucination but then I realize that it’s afemale. Before I can marvel at seeing a female, darkness swamps me.
CHAPTER 10
Lily
As I drive down the narrow, rutted road that Koko’s directions say will take me to the cabin, I roll down my window. Breathing in the robust scents of pine and damp earth, with a hint of the ocean from this distance, my fingers grip the page of the directions I was given. The waning daylight barely cuts through the canopy of the towering trees closing me in. A shudder courses through me as a waft of chilly evening air slips through the thickened woods, curving around the narrow road.
Somewhere in the depths of the woods, an owl hoots, a deep mournful sound that hangs in the cold air, making Mango twitch in his crate. “It’s alright, buddy. Not much further now,” I promise him, pushing forward. The sun sets as I drive and the dark settles over my surroundings. Even my headlights seem to barely make a dent in the dark woods.
Slowly, the dense veil of the forest clears, and a welcoming sight greets my eyes. Nestled in a thicket of age-old pines, the A-frame log cabin Koko described stands tall. Its wooden frameis made of raw wood logs steeped in rustic charm. It’s beautiful and, somehow, strangely soothing, easing a tension inside me that’s been building up since the moment I decided to dump Marcus and start my life over.
I follow the rutted lane until it ends at the side of the cabin, ending at a detached building that I assume is either a garage or a large tool shed. Getting out of the truck, I grab Mango’s crate and head around the cabin to the front porch. Just next to the steps leading up to the porch is a statue of a squat, bearded old man. I pat the statue’s head as I pass while he watches over the forest surrounding us. This must be the domovoy that Koko mentioned. My forehead wrinkles as I glance at it. I’m not sure what I was expecting. I guess I thought it would be like one of Aunt Zizi’s garden gnomes, but it looks almost like a hand-carved totem of Gandalf. It’s as big as one of my thighs. Someone must’ve carved this statue from a solid chunk of tree trunk.
Shaking off the odd feeling of the statue’s roughly textured head from my fingertips, I head up the porch steps to the front door. I set the crate at my feet. “Well, let’s see what it looks like inside,” I say to Mango. A soft purr resonates in response. I fish out the keys from my pocket and unlock the front door, wondering just how rustic the interior will be because I have no idea how to use a wood stove or live ‘off-grid’. I’m a suburban girl.
The instant I enter the cabin, a delighted gasp leaves my lips at its rustic charm. I find a switch next to the front door and flip on the interior lights. The muted glow from a wagon-wheel chandelier hanging from the sharp apex of the roof casts soft shadows on the rough wooden walls and plush leather furniture. I breathe in the scent of winter firewood, aged timber, and a faint trace of lavender that reminds me of Aunt Zizi’s garden.
Dominating the modest space is a fireplace made from stacked river stones. It sits squat at one end of the room, thevacant ashes from past fires witness to bygone warmth on frosty nights. To the left, a large bay window offers a hazy forest vista, the glass panes lightly dewed with the night’s cold.
Much of the cabin’s personality is apparent in its furniture. A crude, weathered table sits near the kitchen, with six solid mismatched chairs huddled around it. Rugs spun from various red, green, and brown tones lie haphazardly on the floor. Age-worn books are stacked on a handmade shelf lovingly polished to a high gleam, their pages feathered from repeated readings.
