Rebel Kato (Shifters of the Primus Book 1)

L
ife is
a combination of big problems and little problems. The trick is to forget about the big stuff and focus on the little things. So that’s exactly what I do. Whenever the whole,
imminent doom
thing starts to pop into my mind, I just push it straight back to where it came from. It’s getting harder, considering we’re going to die on this old, rusty ship if the planet outside my viewport is as uninhabitable as every single other. . . Okay, maybe I think about big problems every once in awhile.

But right now I have a small problem to deal with: my slime bag of a boss, Chief Engineer Reemer. He’s waddling straight toward my sister and he’s smoothing his hairs down. All seven of them. Just like the lions I see on vids from Earth stuck their asses in the air before they pounce, Reemer smooths his hairs before he pervs.

I try to think of a plan. I glance around the ship, hoping something will come to me. I’m in a narrow tunnel that runs beneath the engine room. We’re on a platform of metal grating that runs over a nest of wires and tubing. Reemer is a little ways up, nothing between him and my sister but some pipes. Pipes. That’s it!

After making sure no one is watching, I access the console and navigate the menus until I find the pressure controls. Strictly speaking, the action can get me in
deep
trouble. Like the getting fired out of an airlock kind of trouble. I am a lowly greaser, and the control panels are reserved for the engineers. Worse, I’m planning a minor act of sabotage. But hey, it’s not my fault I figured out how the thing worked.

I tap in the last command and. . . Metal shrieks. A white jet of steam hisses out in front of Reemer.

He freezes, pulls off his goggles, and slams them to the ground. Before he turns around, I tuck myself into an alcove of wiring and panels, trying not to be seen as he passes behind me, swearing and cursing into his coms for a diagnostic team “to get their asses down to the fucking auxiliary deck”. If he had so much as seen my face, the ruse would have been up. It’s not the first time I’ve staged a freak accident to protect my little sister or myself. And Reemer has been getting bolder lately. A
lot
bolder. My guess is that he thinks we’re all going to be dead soon, so he wants to go out with a bang—and not the explosive kind.

When I shut off the steam, I can see my little sister, Mira on the other end of the catwalk. She’s bending to fix some wiring. The fabric of her fatigues is pulled tight against her ass, which explain’s why Reemer was moving so fast that his ass was wiggling.

I make sure Reemer is gone, shut off the steam, and head over to Mira, my heavy boots clanking on the metal grating.

“Hey sis,” I say from behind Mira.

She turns, squinting. “You look way too pleased with yourself. What did you do?” Before I can respond, I see realization dawn on her pale face. “The steam?”

I shrug as innocently as I can manage. It’s not my strong suit.

Mira stands, pushing a sweaty lock of hair from her eyes. “I can take care of myself, Liandra. I know you think I’m just some silly little girl—”

“You’re my little sister. I don’t think you’re silly. You’re just. . . Too trusting,” I say.

“And you aren’t trusting enough.”

“I’m perfectly capable of trusting. I trust that most men are slimeballs who will grope anything that moves.”

Mira rolls her eyes.

“Anyway,” I say. “I have something big planned for old Reemer.”

“That wasn’t big enough?”

“That was nothing.”

Mira rolls her eyes.

I leave her behind to finish her work and head toward the mess hall. Before I make it out of the maintenance sector I’m grabbed and pulled into a darkened room. It’s Chief Engineer Reemer.

“Just who I was looking for,” he says. His breath is about as disgusting as he is. Maybe a little more. I try to visualize what kind of meal could make breath so rancid. An image of a plate of garlic smothered in onions comes to mind. Add some butter though, Reemer’s too fat to eat a meal of just vegetables.

“Well you found me,” I say as lightly as possible. I make to move but his grip tightens.

“Quite the coincidence, isn’t it? Some freak malfunction nearly gets me killed for what must be the fifteenth time this month and who do I happen to run into? You. Again. Convenient, isn’t it?”

“Considering what you’re implying? No. Seems really inconvenient. Sir
.”

His jowls quiver with anger. “I told—” He realizes he’s shouting and lowers his voice. “I told you to call me Reemer when we’re alone.”

“I forgot.”

His lips tighten into a thin line. “Let me make myself perfectly clear,
greaser
,” he says, moving even closer until his belly presses against me. “There’s one thing standing between you and an airlock. Do you know what that is?”

The armor plating of the ship, most likely.
“You?” I ask.

“Me. So you might want to check your memory. And you
might
want to check your attitude as well. Because I like you. For now. But I don’t keep things around if I don’t have a use for them.”

I feel a chill run down my spine, the seriousness of his threats starting to set in. “You would need the admiral’s personal approval to have me removed from my post.” If he had me fired, that meant the air-lock. There is no spare food or supplies for people who don’t work on the ship. I think of my sister alone in a dark room, cornered by Reemer while I’m dead and not there to help her. My chin tilts slightly to the side of its own accord—a sign that usually means my most deadly death-glares are not far behind

“Yes, I would need his approval,” says Reemer. “And I’ll get it if I want it. Whether I have to falsify documents or bribe officials, make no mistake. . . I’ll get my way. And you know what? I’ll make sure your sister goes down with you too if you cross me again. So do the
smart
thing and start learning to take orders.” He runs his small black eyes over me, over all of me, and he takes his time about it. “So we’re clear?”

“Yes, s—Reemer,” I say, nearly choking on the word.

“Good girl. Run along now. Buh-bye.”

I clench my fists but say nothing.

Reemer is arrogant, filthy, and utterly prototypical of the men on our ship. Take away his badge and he’d just be a worm with no spine. If it wasn’t for the vids from Earth, I would think it was normal, too. But I know there was actually a time when men had balls. They stood up for what they believed and fought to protect it. They decided what they want and took it. But all that is gone.

Oh well. Chances are that none of it will matter in two days. We’re going to pass into orbit of planet Z9-Omega with our last ounces of fuel. We used to name the planets:
Gaia, Manifest Destiny, New Eden, New Earth.
Then we started to get more cynical and the names became someone’s ex boyfriend or characters from famous movies and TV shows on Earth. Then we just stopped giving them names all together. Somewhere out there is a long trail of dead planets and lost hope. And unless this Z9-whatever is different than the last few thousand, the trail is going to end with a derelict ship and a few thousand skeletons of a race that called itself humanity. Big problems. Who needs them?

A
woman screams
.

She is surrounded by seven men. Their blue skin marks them as Cobalts, clansmen of the southern jungles. My skin is gold, a rarity among my kind that marks me as royalty. When the men turn to see me, they freeze. Respect mingles with utter terror on their faces.

I stand nearly a foot taller than any of them. I am broader of shoulder and thicker of muscle. The Kolari woman who still screams is forgotten as they watch me, eyes wide like prey before a predator.

The panther within me rages, begging to be freed upon these weaklings, but I push it back. It is beneath me to shift for such a battle. Instead, I heft my spear and jog toward the men, my long legs closing the distance quickly. One warrior tries to rush forward and meet my charge.

I easily swat his spear away and run him through, the tip of my spear bursting from his back. But I do not slow. I continue charging. I use the impaled man as a battering ram, knocking another warrior off the edge of the wooden platform upon which we fight. Four miles of open air swallow his screams in a heartbeat. I shake the dead warrior free of my spear and turn to the remaining warriors.They take a step backward.

Cowards.

I drop my spear and tear off my armored breastplate. “Will you fight me now?”

They hesitate, but are emboldened by what they suppose to be weakness. The five attack me as one. I already tire of this contest so I allow the three who aim for my stomach to land their strikes. Sharp bolts of pain shoot through my body, but I ignore them. I dodge the other two thrusts aimed for my head and neck, grabbing the two men by the throats. I squeeze until their windpipes crack.

Before the warriors can pull their spears free to strike again, I flex my stomach. When they pull, the muscles of my stomach grip their weapons too tightly for them to budge. The men do not release their weapons, so I rush forward. They are pushed closer and closer to the platform’s edge. One warrior lets his spear go and I lift him by the neck, slamming him head-first into the ground. The other two are still holding on when I walk them over the edge of the wooden platform we stand upon, their feet dangling over miles of open air and twisted branches.

They realize their mistake. I relax my muscles and feel the spears slide free of my flesh. Their death is marked by a wet thud several hundred feet below, where they must have landed on a branch before reaching the Dead Sea.

The warrior I punched crawls back toward the woman. I let the panther within, which begs for blood, to flow through my leg. My muscles bulge and bend until they are somewhere between the powerful hindlegs of my beastial form and my Primus form. I stomp down with enhanced strength and break through his bones and muscle as if they were air. He moves no longer.

The woman kneels, body shaking with sobs. She wears a tattered garment of once-fine cloth. It is shredded from the men who attacked her. She crawls toward me, eyes filthy with tears.

She is Kolari, a breed that most of my kind find desirable above all other breeds. Pink skin, soft as a baby’s. Their figures are full and their proportions are exaggerated. But I see only her weakness. Her sobbing eyes and her pitiful groveling. She clutches at my legs and I kick her hands away.

“Please,” she says. “They took everything. They killed my mate.”

I notice the green-skinned body beside her. One of my clan, most likely. A Primus of the Umani. I gesture to the bodies I left on the platform. “They will have supplies. Take them and sell them.”

“Wait,” she says, reaching for me when I move to leave. “I have no one to warm my bed. My mate is gone. Will you have me? I trained in the pleasure palaces until I was sixteen moons of age. I can please you in ways you—”

I spit. These Kolari females. A worthy female would not make such an offer. I turn my back on her and walk away. She cries after me but I do not stop until her pleading is indistinguishable from the rustle of branches in the wind. I have more pressing matters to deal with.

The ship entered our orbit a few hours ago, and as Prince, it is my duty to board and assess the worth of the females aboard. So many before have failed to tempt me, and I doubt this will be any different. More likely, the race will only prove a temporary diversion for my warriors to slake their thirst for blood.