In Her Name: The Last War (118 page)

But Allison knew that she wasn’t just seeing things. She didn’t imagine it. She wondered if all the aliens possessed such powers. If they did, what chance did humans have? 

Not wanting to take that line of thought any further, she hastened down the street, heading toward home. The only difference was that she didn’t take her normal route along the creek to try and stay out of sight. She walked right down the road, this time ignoring the aliens who passed by.

The alien warrior stayed right behind her the entire way.

* * *

Ku’ar-Marekh padded silently behind the human, marveling at the animal’s courage as it marched right past the warriors moving through the night on their appointed tasks. 

Other than a curious glance, the warriors paid the human no mind, seeing that Ku’ar-Marekh was with it. She felt intense curiosity from them through the Bloodsong, but they only saluted her as they continued on. Warriors did not question the affairs of a high priestess, especially of the Nyur-A’il.

When the human reached the path to the homestead that led from the main road, it stopped and turned to her. The animal held out its clawless hands toward her, as if pushing Ku’ar-Marekh away. The meaning was clear enough. Come no farther.

Ku’ar-Marekh pondered the peculiarities of the situation. Save the Empress and those who stood higher upon the steps to the throne than Ku’ar-Marekh herself, she would have instantly killed any other member of her race for such an egregious act. She would never even have given it thought before striking. She would have demanded ritual combat from any of the priestesses who stood above her had they done such a thing. 

And yet, this human, this tiny thing that Ku’ar-Marekh could slay with the barest thought, gave her pause. The pup must eventually die in the arena, if Ku’ar-Marekh or another of her warriors did not kill it first. So why let it live?

The realization came to her with sudden clarity. She saw in this human something of what she herself had once known as a young warrior, fiercely proud. This animal clearly was not the One, for Ku’ar-Marekh could tell it was female and its blood did not sing. 

Yet for the first time she gave some credence to the belief that the salvation of Her Children might be found among the humans. While she did not entirely accept the notion as fact, she no longer dismissed the possibility.

The human said some more words, shaking Ku’ar-Marekh from her reverie. Looking deep into the human’s strange eyes, she bowed her head slightly.

* * *

Allison stood there, her arms still raised to ward the Kreelan off, hoping that the alien wouldn’t become angry and decide to kill her. 

The warrior shifted her gaze momentarily, as if looking at something beyond Allison. Glancing over her shoulder, Allison couldn’t see anything behind her. 

Looking more carefully at the warrior, who stood just beyond arm’s reach, Allison thought the alien must have been deep in thought. Even in nothing but the starlight, Allison could see that the Kreelan’s eyes, which looked much like those of a cat and in their own way were beautiful, were empty. Dead. Allison had seen enough of other warriors, had seen their expressions through the binoculars, to know that this alien was different. The other aliens showed expression, even if Allison couldn’t read them. This one didn’t. Her face was an unmoving mask, her eyes lifeless mirrors. 

And if she was entertaining herself by following a human child around, rather than going to kill other humans, she was probably alone, too. Perhaps an outcast, even though she was clearly the leader here from the way the other warriors acted around her.

For a moment, Allison felt an unfamiliar sensation toward the warrior. Pity. She could never forgive the Kreelans for what they had done, but she couldn’t help but feel sorry for this one, all alone out here, with no one for company but Allison.

But she wasn’t about to invite the warrior in for dinner. “Go away, now. Please.”

The warrior refocused her attention on Allison, spearing her with a gaze that sent a cold rivulet of fear through Allison’s stomach. 

Then, much to Allison’s astonishment, the warrior bowed her head.

Not trusting herself to say anything, Allison slowly backed away, then turned and began walking down the drive toward the ruined house and barn. 

After half a dozen paces, she threw a glance back at the warrior, but she had already vanished.

CHAPTER SIXTY

Valentina wiped her face with the waterless cleansing cloth, then stared into the mirror of the tiny lavatory, savoring a few precious moments alone.

She, Mills, and the other four members of the recon team had been crammed aboard a hastily modified courier ship that had originally been designed for a crew of two. The two pilots kept mostly to the cramped cockpit, leaving the Marines to fend for themselves in the midships area, which had been stripped of equipment and expanded with some welded-on sections that held the Marines’ bunks. There was enough room in an aisle to move around, if you could make your way past the crates of equipment and weapons that were bolted to the walls and floor. There was no exercise equipment and nothing with which to entertain themselves but the ship’s library of vids and books, and the Marines’ imaginations, of course. 

The ship reeked of stale sweat and unchecked body odor. Aside from the waterless wash towels, which never got their bodies truly clean and left an oily residue, they had no way to clean up. There was enough water aboard for drinking, and that was all. The deodorants the pilots tried to use to mask the smell only made it worse, and after some dire threats from the Marines, they wisely chose to stop using them. 

They had only been cooped up in the courier for three days, but the overly close quarters, complete lack of privacy, and the stress of the high stakes mission had made the trip seem like weeks. Tempers were running high, and Mills had been forced to break up arguments that had threatened to erupt into potentially lethal violence.

The Marines were counting the nanoseconds until they could get off what they had begun calling the “pig boat.”

The only place anyone could have any privacy was in the tiny lavatory, which some naval architect had the foresight to modify to accommodate the extra waste produced by the tiny ship’s oversize crew.

Both of the courier’s pilots were women who kept largely to themselves in the cockpit, and Valentina was one of only two women on the recon team. The other woman, Ella Stallick, who was the team’s demolition specialist, was built like a champion wrestler and had a face to match, replete with a scar and twice-broken nose. 

That left Valentina to deal with the brunt of the overdose of testosterone from the men on her team. In an effort to avoid any unpleasantness, she had taken to spending most of her time out of her bunk in the door to the cockpit, standing silent vigil with the pilots as the point of light that was Alger’s World slowly grew brighter.

Almost there
, she thought. Soon they’d be making their final approach to the planet, with the courier darting in to land the team. 

The biggest question was what the Kreelans had in the system. So far, it was all good news. There were only seven destroyers, all in orbit over the planet. A heavy cruiser had appeared the day before, but had quickly departed. 

The pilots were confident that they would be able to dodge the destroyers easily enough, drop the Marines, and then jump to safety.

Now all they needed was the final execution order. It was a failsafe in case the mission had been called off or delayed. If they didn’t get the final go order within the next twelve hours, they would jump back to Earth space and terminate the mission. 

Part of Valentina wanted desperately to go home, to be out of this stinking sardine can and be back in the safe and sweet-smelling woods around her home in Virginia. 

Another part of her, the part that had defined most of her adult life, wanted to get on the ground and do nothing but kill Kreelans. Unlike the Marines (she had refused to formally join the Corps, but had deployed as a civilian contractor), she had never fought the aliens, only humans. But she had no doubt she could kill them better than any of the Marines could. 

The door to the lavatory, which was only a glorified closet with a waterless toilet, mirror, and a small medicine cabinet, opened. The door wasn’t equipped with a lock or occupancy indicator.

“I’m not done yet-” was all she managed to say before a large hand roughly clamped down on her mouth. 

It was Ely Danielson, the team’s communications technician. He had been extremely persistent in his amorous pursuit of Valentina until Mills had finally put him in a painful headlock and threatened to break his neck. 

“Just keep your mouth shut,” Danielson breathed as he shoved her backward against the bulkhead, using his other hand to close the flimsy door behind him. “I just want to-”

Her right hand shot upward in a sword strike, the rigid fingers jabbing into the vulnerable spot under his jaw, then drove her knee into his unprotected groin. 

Gagging, he let her go and sagged to his knees, his hands instinctively going to his groin. 

Valentina wasn’t quite finished with him. She shoved both thumbs into his mouth and stretched it open so violently that the skin at the corners split and began to bleed. 

Danielson screamed.

“When a girl says no,” she said softly, her breathing barely above its normal slow rhythm, “she means no. The only reason I’m going to let you live is because we need you for this mission. But if you ever try to touch me or the other women again, I’m going to kill you. Do you understand?”

He nodded emphatically, or gave the impression of doing so as best he could. She was still holding his mouth stretched open with her thumbs while her fingertips dug into the nerves behind his ears.

Letting one side of his mouth go, she reached for the door latch.

Before she could touch it, the door flew open. Mills stood there, his face red with fury. He held a combat knife in his hand.

“No need.” She shoved Danielson out of the lavatory. He fell backward into a groaning heap in the narrow aisle.

Putting his knife back into its scabbard, Mills shook his head. “Danielson, you have no idea how far out of your league you are, mate.”

“I...just...had to pee.” Dannielson wheezed out the words as he struggled to get to his knees. “She was hogging the head.”

That caused Valentina, who wasn’t easily given to laughter, to chuckle. “Well, sorry, then.” She hoisted him up by the belt and shoved him into the lavatory before closing the door. “It’s all yours.”

“Jesus,” Mills muttered. “What a fuckup. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. He’s here for the mission, not his personality. He just needs to grow up a little.”

“Well, after what you did to him, we may not have to worry about him propagating his genes.”

That brought a big smile to Valentina’s face, and Mills threw back his head and laughed.

“Mills,” the courier’s senior pilot called, “we’ve got the go order!”

“About time!” He grinned at Valentina. 

“That’s not all,” the pilot went on, a strain of worry creeping into her voice. “We’ve had a last minute change in plans.”

“What kind of change?” Mills didn’t like last minute changes in missions. They had a tendency to get people killed.

“The courier that laser-linked the orders to us is coming in to dock. It looks like someone else is going to be joining your little party.”

* * *

Ku’ar-Marekh crept silently through the woods two dozen leagues from the human town where her warriors had made their main encampment. She was alone, save for the unfamiliar forest creatures around her and the sense of the humans who lay ahead, those she was hunting. 

She could have found them easily enough with her second sight, casting her spirit from her body to search the world around her. 

Yet she chose not to, for that would have given her unfair advantage. It was for the same reason that she was making her final approach in daylight, for she knew the humans had poor night vision. While she could also slaughter the animals without ever coming in sight of them, this would bring no honor or glory to the Empress. That one thing, that duty to honor and glorify Her, was the closest thing she had left to any feeling.

She paused behind a large tree and knelt to the ground, closing her eyes. She listened to the sounds of the woods around her and smelled the air, her sensitive nose picking out the scents of the animals, the different varieties of trees. The faint stench of human body odor. 

She could not entirely tune out the sense that the humans were near, for the powers she had inherited when she became priestess of the Nyur-A’il were as much a part of her as the heart that beat in her breast. Some of those powers she used or not, as she willed. Others simply fed her mind, as did her sight or hearing. 

Opening her eyes, she found herself staring down at the cyan rune that graced her breast plate, thinking of the great honor it had been to accept the Way of the Nyur-A’il, and also of what it had cost her. She remembered, as if it were yesterday, kneeling in the ancient temple of her order, her hands locked with those of her priestess as the blazing light from the sacred crystal first touched her flesh, consummating the Change. Even with all her years of training and discipline, it was all she could do to not scream in agony as every cell in her body seemed to burst into flame. For to have done so, to have screamed or shown weakness, would have invited instant death. 

When she had awakened, her priestess lay dead, and Ku’ar-Marekh’s own clothing and armor was burned to ashes. Her skin, once proud with the scars of many contests of sword and claw, was now flawless, unblemished. While she did not then know how to control them, she could sense the powers that she had inherited from her now-dead priestess. She could tell instantly that she was more than she had been before.

And yet, something else that she had once had, like the scars on her skin, had vanished. Looking at the body of her priestess, who had stood on the sixth step from the throne in the rank of Her Children, she had felt...nothing. No anguish at her death, no pride that she had gone to join the Ancient Ones in the afterlife. Not even a shard of self-pity that she would not be able to teach Ku’ar-Marekh about her new powers. All emotion, all feeling, was gone. Her memories, even of the ceremony of the Change, when she had never been more honored, elated, and frightened, did not stir her soul or quicken her heart. It was as if they were the memories of someone else, gray and empty.