Beyond the Red (2 page)

It’s not long before camp is a circle of tents in a valley of crimson sand way behind us. Our destination—a sleek capsule-shaped transport with a flat base and trunk—rests on a dune up ahead. It’s camo’d, the color of the dark purple night sky, the paint shimmering slightly as it adjusts to its surroundings. Even the mirror-glass making up the front half of the port is ultra-reflective to help it blend. Camo’d ports are practically invisible when hovering a foot off the ground—and not exactly cheap transport considering the intensely expensive exterior and near-silent engine that lets it race over the sands with little noise.

I arch an eyebrow. “Where’d you get the port?”

“Shut up,” the boy at my back says. His voice I recognize. I can’t for the life of me remember his name, but I work with his sister, Aryana.

She hates me. Like most people. Though for her it has to do more with too much brew and a messy lay in the sand she won’t talk about than it does my blood. Still.

“It’s not like anyone will hear us out here,” I say. “And it sure as sand didn’t come from camp.” After a long silence, I add, “Do your mothers know what you’re doing?”

“Shut up.”

We reach the back of the port and one of the boys presses his palm against the horizontal seam between the doors. It opens with a hiss as the bottom door digs into the sand. The boy beside me gestures inside.

“You still haven’t told me where you’re taking—”

Sand explodes at my feet just as I register the screech of a phaser pulse. I gasp and stumble back, crashing into someone. The kid at my back gives me a hard shove as the trigger-happy boy soldier levels the phaser over my heart.

“Shut your mouth and get inside. I’m not giving you a second warning.”

I climb in with my heart in my throat and sand stinging my eyes. The doors come together like a closing eye and hum as the seal locks. The compartment goes black. Their footsteps whisper in the sand and thump as they climb into the front seat.

I wait for my eyes to adjust. Someone to my right is sniffling, and the metal floor is cold on my bare feet. Breathing fills the empty silence, and I make out the whimpering form in the shadows.

A kid. They’ve taken a kid.

“Hey,” I sigh. “Are you okay?”

The walls shudder as the engine hums to life and the port rises off the sand. The sniffling in the corner breaks into outright sobbing. I crouch and move near the huddled figure in the corner. My eyes have fully adjusted now; his cropped blond hair and shivering form emerge through the dark. He’s thin and small—maybe four or five years old.

“My name is Eros,” I whisper. “What’s yours?”

He quiets and peers up at me from between his arms. The shadows obscure most of his face, but—

“Uncle Eros?”

I tense as a flash of heat races through me, and for a split second I wish I’d beaten the stars out of those kids. Then his wide, terrified eyes fill with fresh tears, and I bury those emotions where he can’t see them.

“Aren,” I breathe, scooting next to him. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

He hugs me tightly. His little arms are covered in a fine layer of sand, and despite the heat, he shivers against me. “I’m scared,” he whispers.

I lean forward and kiss the top of his head. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll protect you.”

We sit like that in near silence, with only the hum of the transport and the occasional gust of wind against the walls. Heat prickles the back of my neck. In a couple hours, my family will wake to find Aren and me missing. Will they be relieved to know Aren isn’t alone, because I was taken too? Will they think us dead? I knocked over my tent so they’d see there was a struggle. If we’re lucky, Day will be able to follow our tracks to wherever they take us.

I just hope he won’t be too late.

The seconds drip into minutes slower than the setting suns during the season of endless days—but eventually we come to a stop, and the port lowers into the sand. Aren hugs me tighter as I shift in front of him, pressing his little body into the corner. He doesn’t protest, but his fingers dig into my skin.

“Aren,” I say softly. “I need you to be brave for me, okay?”

He shakes his head and whimpers into my side.

I bite my lip. My heart races and sweat slips down my temple, but I try to sound calm. “Let’s play a game. I know you like games.”

His grip loosens a smidge and he glances up at me. “A game?”

“It’s called soldier, like your dad and me. Doesn’t that sound fun?” He hesitates and I continue before he can say no. “We’re going to pretend you’re a soldier tonight, so you’re going to have to be extra brave to win. Think you can do that?”

Aren pauses, then nods. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Good. There’s a special soldier tool in my pocket right next to your leg. I need you to take it out of my pocket and hide it in yours, then when I say so, slide it into my hand without letting the others see. Think you can do that?”

His breath shivers as he exhales. “Yes. I think so.”

“Okay. Take it out of my pocket.”

Aren unseals my pocket and pulls the switchblade out. He looks at it for a mo, then drops it into his pants pocket and smiles at me. “I did it.”

“That’s good. Now, when I say—”

The doors pull apart and bright light floods the compartment. I squint away, unable to shield my face with my arms. All I see is the burning white shining into the van, and then a hand grabs my shoulder and rips me away from Aren. He screams and I twist back to face him.

“It’s okay!” I shout. “Aren, don’t—”

Another tug—the port’s floor disappears beneath me and the night topples sideways. Sand fills my mouth and nose, turning cold on my tongue. Heat and the salty taste of rust drips down my face as I spit saliva, muddy sand, and blood, and someone grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me to my feet. I squint through the tears washing the sand from my eyes and the blinding light from their torches. Seven shadowy figures. Four of them I expected—the boys that pulled Aren and me from the camp—but the other three tower over the boys, the tallest standing a foot and a half over the shortest kid. Dark hair trimmed to military perfection. Skin suns-bronzed like ours, but darker, with paths of lighter skin filled with black circle-like text, marking their bodies like elaborate maps. Towering forms stronger, faster, and born with better senses than any human. Trim white and red uniforms of the Eljan Guard.

Fuck. They’re Sepharon soldiers.

I guess Day was right about those drills after all.

One of the boys places Aren next to me, and he clings to my side again, his cheeks stained with tears. No one pulls him away. I’m just relieved they didn’t cuff him.

A quick glance around rewards me with nothing but endless sands. I’m not sure how far they took us from camp, but the cluster of tents, fire pit, livestock pen, and parked ports aren’t visible from here.

“We brought two,” the tallest of the boys says in broken Seph-
ari, hesitantly stepping toward the soldiers. “Like we agreed.”

The center soldier snorts and steps toward us. “These are hardly quality workers.” He circles us, and his dark skin gleams in the light of the moons. The soldier glares with multi-toned eyes—rings of color after color. Aren shrinks into my side, but I meet the soldier’s eyes when he leers down at me. The corner of his lip quirks and he steps in front of me.

“This one may do,” he says. “What is his age?”

The boys glance at each other, so I speak for myself. “Eighteen.”

He arches an eyebrow and nods at one of the other soldiers. The shortest one tosses him a light, and he shines it in my face. I grimace and try my best to keep eye contact. My eyes burn and tear up.

But it’s not my eyes he’s looking at.

The soldier brushes my shaggy dark hair out of the way and grabs my ear. I scowl but I don’t dare pull away—if he didn’t let go, I might lose an ear. It doesn’t last long, though—it only takes seconds to recognize my misshapen ears. Not quite long, pointed and notched like the alien Sepharon, nor short, smooth and round like the humans. The light moves to my chest, illuminating the faint maze-like lines of slightly lighter skin winding around my body. Not as prominent as the ones the Sepharon are born with, but definitely still there.

Definitely not human.

He shoves me away and turns on the boys. “A half-blood? You try to sell me a baby and a half-blood? How dare you insult us?”

The boy stammers and stumbles back. I nudge Aren and nod. He stares at me blankly and my stomach plummets—he’s forgotten our game. But then he slides the smooth handle into my fingers and cool relief surges through me. I conceal the knife in my fists and pull my shoulders back.

“He’s strong!” The smallest boy jumps in. “And faster than the rest of us. He—we thought—”

The soldier pulls out a phaser. The boys scream, but it’s too late. I push Aren into the sand with my shoulder as the screech of the pulse shatters the night.

“Run!” I hiss, jumping to my feet. Aren scrambles up and races toward the port as three more pulses stop hearts just ten feet ahead of me. Nausea roils inside me. Their mothers will be devastated in the morning—I can already see the somber cremations and ashes floating through the quiet wind, releasing their souls to the stars. The kids were fucken morons, thinking they could make an equal trade with Sepharon soldiers—and with people from camp, no less—but they didn’t deserve to die.

Then the soldiers face me.

I could turn and run, but then they’d probably shoot me in the back. And even if they didn’t, they’d see I’m armed. And I’d lead them right to Aren.

So I don’t move. I stand as tall and straight as I can manage and look them right in the eye as they step toward me. With any luck, their sense of honor will keep them from shooting me outright. They respect bravery and strength, and it’s all I have to bargain with.

But it won’t be enough. Not when most of my kind are killed at birth.

The soldiers are half a head taller than me, but they don’t tower over me like they did my human captors.

“You don’t run,” the tallest says, a man with swirling, sharp markings, like the contour of sand dunes.

There are many things I’d like to say, but I go with the answer most likely to keep my head on my shoulders: “I’m not a coward.”

They smirk at me and I fight the twisting of my stomach. The switchblade slips in my sweaty fingers and I readjust my grip.

“You should not be here,” the leader says—the darkest of the three, the one who nearly ripped my ear off. He doesn’t mean the desert—he means alive.

I take a risk. “
Kala
has wished it so, or I wouldn’t be.”

Their eyes widen. A fist slams into my cheek. I stagger sideways, but manage to stay on my feet. The leader grabs my throat and pulls me onto the tips of my toes. Stars speckle my vision and it’s all I can do not to drop the useless knife. I struggle against the cuffs, but the magnet is too strong. Spots of darkness blot out the night and my lungs are burning. My head is pounding. My eyes fail and pain shoots down my neck and I can’t do anything. I can’t even struggle.

Then the magnet turns off and my wrists separate. I’m blind, but my hands are free.

My hands. The knife.

I squeeze the hilt, releasing the blade like I’ve done a thousand times, and slash it across the leader’s throat. Though I can’t see, my aim is true—hot, sticky liquid slaps my face and he drops me. I gasp in a mouthful of desert and spit blood, spit sand, swallow air, taste sickly sweet rust. My face is sticky, my lips are sticky, the sand is turning dark and cold next to my head.

Someone screams and I’ve got seconds before they execute me like a rabid animal, but I’m so heavy. I still need air. I need to move, but all I can do is lie in the sand and shake like a terrified child.

Like Aren. I can’t leave Aren. I have to get up and protect him before it’s too late, before—

Two screeching phaser pulses rip through the air, and I should be dead. But my vision is clearing, and the burning in my chest is fading, and I can move, slowly, carefully, muscle by muscle. I push onto my knees. Squeeze the slippery knife.

There are seven bloody bodies in the sand.

Someone grabs my shoulder and I lash out with the knife. A hand catches my wrist and twists hard. My fingers release the weapon, and I pivot into a punch, but then I see him.

Day catches my fist, then releases my hands and clasps my head. “Breathe,” my brother says, staring hard into me with familiar blue eyes. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

His words crumble my defenses like a phaser cannon to a decrepit wall. There are so many things I want to say, so many
thank yous
and
how am I alives
and
how are you heres
, but instead I say, “Is Aren okay? Did he see what happened?”

“He’s fine, thanks to you.” Day runs a hand through his short blonde hair as he glances around the blood-soaked sand. “A little shaken up, but fine. I told him to cover his eyes and wait behind the port.”

I nod. Exhale. Wipe my sticky palms on my pants. “He can’t see me like this,” I say. “I’ll terrify him.”

Day pulls a cloth out of his pocket and wets it with his flask. I wipe off my face until the rag turns dark purple from the soldier’s blood, but my skin still feels stiff and tacky. It’ll have to do though, because we don’t have water to waste. I stand and he passes me my knife.

“Are you sure you’re all right? I was worried I didn’t unlock the cuffs in time.”

“I’ll be fine. How’d you find us?”

Day grimaces. “Mal woke me up to say Aren was missing, and when I saw your tent knocked over …”

I nod and glance around. “You came out here alone?”

“You think I’d waste time gathering backup when my son and kid brother were missing?” I force a stiff smile and he shoves my shoulder. “Besides, I wouldn’t deserve my position if I couldn’t handle a couple alien assholes on my own.”

He helps me to my feet and I nod at the transport parked in the sand. “Any idea where they got the port?”

“I was hoping you knew.”

After relieving the dead of their weapons, we step around to the driver’s side and Aren leaps up and attaches himself to his father’s leg. Day pulls him into his arms as I press my palm against the sealed mirror-glass door. It doesn’t open.