Haven 6 Read online

  The beast sunk un­til only its black eyes cres­ted the wa­ter and Striver cursed un­der his breath. What was it wait­ing for?

  Leaves rustled across the bog. Striver spot­ted the boar’s quarry. A weasel worm poked its head from the shoreline, whiskers twitch­ing. The swamp boar stilled.

  No, no, no. Not now.

  Maybe the weasel worm would squiggle back into the log?

  Luck was not on Striver’s side. The small mam­mal slithered across the shoreline in his dir­ec­tion.

  His father’s teach­ings came back to him. Wait for op­por­tun­ity to show it­self. Don’t run from fear.

  The swamp boar took off, wa­ter rip­pling as it swam across the bog and ree­m­erged on Striver’s side, chas­ing after the weasel worm. Sludge dripped from its jaw and hefty flanks as it climbed ashore and gained mo­mentum. Then its black eyes locked on his. He aimed and re­leased the ar­row faster than his heart could beat.

  The beast charged as the ar­row slipped through the air like a si­lent secret and plunged into its chest. Striver fell side­ways as the boar roared in pain and slid across the ground, its massive body flat­ten­ing all the ve­get­a­tion in its path. Swil­low wisps launched in flight, and the weasel worm dar­ted into the un­der­growth as if us­ing Striver as a dis­trac­tion had been its plan all along.

  Up­turned leaves drif­ted back to the forest floor. Striver waited un­til si­lence fell be­fore emer­ging from the ferns. He ap­proached the beast from be­hind, walk­ing through the up­turned brush without a sound. It stared into the trees, bleak and un­re­spons­ive. He watched the chest for move­ment, but the boar had re­leased its last breath. Re­lieved and humbled, he tied the feet with a rope and dragged it away from the shore. He could not bear its weight on his own, so he’d have to ask the vil­la­gers to help. Us­ing a few palm leaves, he hid the boar from other pred­at­ors.

  Not­ing his cur­rent co­ordin­ates, he slipped the dis­guise off his arms and circled the bog, us­ing the sun pok­ing through the can­opy as a guide. He’d traveled far track­ing the beast.

  Al­most to the bor­der.

  Striver paused, leaves rust­ling around him as a breeze cooled his tense muscles. It would only take a few more steps to reach the wall. The odds of any sign of Weaver were slim, but he’d prom­ised his mother. He had to try. Turn­ing back, he circled the bog and headed to the wall.

  The stone for­ti­fic­a­tion rose from the trees like an im­pen­et­rable wall sur­round­ing his vil­lage’s ter­rit­ory in a semi­circle from the moun­tains in the north to the sea in the south. The stone cast an omin­ous shadow in the forest. As he ap­proached, the un­der­growth tapered off, the dark­ness too ab­so­lute for much growth. Only the tallest trees rivaled the con­crete. He touched the cool sur­face, feel­ing a mix of won­der and dis­gust at the only sign of tech­no­logy in an oth­er­wise nat­ural world. Built by his an­cest­ors, it was meant to se­greg­ate the law-abid­ing from those who wished to fol­low the pir­ate leg­acy.

  Metal rungs led to the top, where knife-sharp shards of wood and flint pro­truded like the hairs on the boar’s back. Striver hung his bow around his chest and climbed, hop­ing the Guard­i­ans didn’t no­tice his de­tour. He reached the top and peered through the sharpened pricks. A façade of slick con­crete fell to a moat so deep, the wa­ter churned black. The tail of a leecher swept up, slap­ping the sur­face, and dis­ap­peared. But Striver wasn’t in­ter­ested in the moat wa­ters. He looked bey­ond the dense trunks, temp­ted to call out his brother’s name.

  “He won’t come.” The voice came from the sky. Striver turned as a ten-foot wing­span blocked the sun.

  Phoenix. Had he been watch­ing the en­tire time?

  The Guard­ian spiraled down, land­ing on the branches of a nearby tree. He fol­ded his winged arms, iri­des­cent feath­ers set­tling be­hind him, and re­garded Striver with pale, opaque eyes. His beaked mouth chirped once, a mel­an­choly sound. “You must let him go.”

  Ig­nor­ing him, Striver grit­ted his teeth and climbed down. “I’m never go­ing to give up on him.”

  “His life path is his own choice.” The words lil­ted like sweet bird­song, but to Striver they soured in his stom­ach.

  “I know the rules.” Striver jumped the re­main­ing meter to the ground. The Guard­ian flew from the tree­top and joined him on the forest floor.

  Striver res­isted meet­ing his gaze. Phoenix’s con­trolled emo­tions frus­trated him. Some­times he wondered if the Guard­i­ans felt any­thing at all.

  “I mourn Weaver’s loss as well,” Phoenix said.

  Striver pulled his bow over his head and se­cured his ar­row bag closer to his shoulder. “He’s not your brother.”

  “We are all broth­ers here.”

  “Of course.” As if he’d for­got­ten. He knew very well the colony’s unity, taught by the Guard­i­ans, was their strength. He just didn’t want to hear it now.

  Striver ges­tured to­ward the bog. “I felled a boar. Will you help me carry it back?”

  “That’s why I came to get you.” Phoenix’s large eyes glistened in a patch of sun­light and, for a mo­ment, he looked amused.

  “Must you fol­low me every­where I go?”

  “The chosen leader of the people has to re­main safe. You take risks, just like your father did. Be­sides, I was guard­ing the bor­der. I only spot­ted you when the swil­low wisps rose from the trees.”

  Striver quieted with the men­tion of his father. They walked the re­mainder of the way in si­lence, listen­ing to the calls of den micers and the pat­ter­ing feet of weasel worms. The pu­trid bog air turned to the crisp smell of fresh leaves.

  A horn wailed over the forest, and they paused, search­ing the shad­ows around them. Striver whispered, “Which dir­ec­tion did it come from?”

  Phoenix craned his head. “South. By the S.P. Nautilus.”

  “Of course.”

  Clutch­ing his bow, Striver dar­ted through the un­der­growth as Phoenix rose to the sky. The Guard­ian flew swiftly, but he’d be damned if he let the bird­man beat him to the call. Jump­ing over a brook, he landed on the other side and his boots slid along the em­bank­ment. He re­gained his foot­ing and sped for­ward, fol­low­ing oth­ers as they rushed along the bor­der.

  When he reached the south­ern por­tion of the wall, men perched along the ridge, fir­ing ar­rows across the moat on the other side.

  Weaver. I hope he’s all right.

  Scram­bling two at a time, Striver climbed the rungs. He reached the top just as Carven re­leased an ar­row. Law­less men and wo­men braved the moat, car­ry­ing lengths of rope to storm the wall. They wore boots made from thick boar hide up to their waists to pro­tect against the sharp teeth of the leech­ers.

  “Damn pir­ates have come for the ship,” Carven growled, reach­ing be­hind him to pull an­other ar­row from his bag.

  Striver let an ar­row fly as a warn­ing and turned to Carven, won­der­ing how a father of four could look so fierce. “They’ll never make it across. The wa­ter’s too deep.”

  Carven shook his head, streaks of gray hair mak­ing him look older than his years. “They don’t have to.”

  “But their ar­rows will never reach—”

  One man waded into the wa­ters and held up a black bow, made from bray wood and strung with swamp thick­ets. He raised it to the top of the ridge and let an ar­row fly with a rope at­tached. The ar­row hit Thrift, the pot­ter from their vil­lage, and he fell back­ward off the wall un­til the rope pulled taut. Law­less hooted in tri­umph.

  Striver’s heart sank. I know that bow.

  Weaver had equipped the army with Striver’s latest in­ven­tion, the Death Stalker. They’d made them to­gether for the last hunt­ing sea­son. He’d been so proud of his brother for help­ing him design it. Never did he think Weaver would use the great reach of the bows to scale the other side of the wall.

  Neve
r did he think his brother would side with the en­emy.

  As he gawked, Law­less flooded the wall with ar­rows, se­cur­ing ropes. Three men dangled from the first rope, climb­ing closer to the top of the wall, hand over hand. A team of men on the banks covered them. Guard­i­ans flew above the mass, drop­ping nets to con­fuse and con­tain the horde. At a time like this, Striver wished their cul­ture al­lowed them to act more ag­gress­ively.

  “There’s too many; I can’t keep them all back.” Carven’s voice wavered.

  “Hold your po­s­i­tion. Fo­cus on the banks.” Striver shouted the or­ders to the oth­ers on the fence and grabbed an ar­row from his bag. The chaos around him muted as he fo­cused on the rope. He saw every twine of fiber and the bulge of the three-part braid.

  Now.

  His ar­row sailed across the moat and severed one of the braids. The men on the rope held on as their life­line bounced but didn’t break.

  Damn!

  An ar­row whizzed by his cheek. A mo­ment later he stood, aim­ing for the same spot. The men hung only a meter away from the un­guarded part of the wall where Thrift had been sta­tioned. Striver swore he could smell their un­washed clothes and fresh sweat.

  Carven grit­ted his teeth as he ducked be­hind the wall. “They’re com­ing.”

  “I got ’em.” Striver pulled the bow taut, feel­ing the fa­mil­iar stretch of his arms. He re­leased the ten­sion and the ar­row flew a mil­li­meter lower than the first one, sli­cing the rope in two. The men writhed in the air as they fell to the moat. The leech­ers swarmed, and the wa­ter boiled with their wrath.

  Block­ing their screams, he turned to the other ropes and raised his bow. This time his ar­row sliced two at once, each rope send­ing more men and wo­men into the murky wa­ters. Carven hollered in tri­umph by his side, but Striver felt no ac­com­plish­ment in send­ing men to their deaths.

  Carven shouted over the wall. “Take that, you Law­less pir­ates!”

  Dis­heartened by their com­rades’ plunge, and writh­ing in the nets the Guard­i­ans had dropped from the sky, the Law­less re­treated to the wa­ter’s edge and into the safety of the dense forest, pur­sued by the Guard­i­ans above.

  “Well done, Striver.” Carven sa­luted him. “You’ve driven them back.”

  Dis­gust over­whelmed him as he watched the leech­ers swim in and out of the pile of empty clothes float­ing along the sur­face. “If only they’d stay in their own lands and stop both­er­ing us. No blood would be shed.”

  Carven put a hand on his shoulder. “As long as we have the S.P. Nautilus, they’re go­ing to keep com­ing.”

  “I’m temp­ted to des­troy it. As much as it is a re­minder of where we came from, it holds too many secrets. If the Law­less got their hands on that tech­no­logy…”

  “They won’t. We’ll pro­tect it like we al­ways have.”

  Striver sighed, the ad­ren­aline rush wear­ing off. “I hope so.”

  As the last few men dis­ap­peared into the forest, Striver spot­ted a head of chest­nut hair a shade lighter than his own.

  Was it him?

  “Weaver!” He picked his way through the razor-sharp pro­tru­sions on the ledge.

  Carven called after him, “Striver, wait! It’s too dan­ger­ous with Law­less still out there.”

  The older man grasped his pants leg, but Striver pulled away, a razor edge sli­cing his pants cuff. “I have to see if it’s him.”

  Just as he dangled over the fence, the man’s head of chest­nut hair turned back. Green eyes bright as his own glimmered over a tight­lipped scowl that sank Striver’s heart in swamp sludge. Weaver ducked un­der a moss-laden branch and dis­ap­peared.

  Chapter Three

  Secret Spunk

  Eri paced out­side Aquaria’s new fam­ily cell, her red­headed halo re­flect­ing in the dull chrome.

  Should I dis­obey the com­mander and tell Aquaria about my mis­sion?

  She could trust her. Only her sis­ter knew of her pair­ing re­quests, and she’d never spoken a word of it to any­one. But could Aquaria keep the in­form­a­tion from Litus? Lifemates didn’t have secrets. Eri didn’t want to stand in the way of her sis­ter and Litus. But she also didn’t want to leave without say­ing good-bye.

  Eri buzzed and her sis­ter’s heart-shaped face flashed on the hail­ing screen. Tears streaked her cheeks and she wiped red, blot­ted eyes. “Eri, I was hop­ing you’d stop by.”

  Thoughts of her new mis­sion fell away.

  Her voice quivered, and Eri leaned to­ward the screen. “Aquaria? Are you okay?”

  The screen flashed off and the particles of the portal de­ma­ter­i­al­ized. Aquaria ducked out and checked both ends of the cor­ridor be­fore pulling her in. “Come and sit with me on the couch.”

  The smell of brew­ing ve­get­able stew made Eri’s stom­ach gurgle. Passing by a wall­screen of daises bow­ing and lift­ing in a si­lent wind, Eri settled into the cy­ber-green plastic couch, won­der­ing if the fur­niture had come with the apart­ment. Aquaria favored blue. “Is everything okay?”

  “No.”

  Her sis­ter sat be­side her and took a deep breath. “Com­mander Grier as­signed Litus to the ex­plor­at­ory team.”

  “Oh.” Of course. It made per­fect sense she’d cry for Litus. Eri put an arm around her shoulders. Maybe today isn’t the best time to tell her of my as­sign­ment. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s not all. He said you’re on the team, too.” Aquaria stared at her, as if dar­ing her to deny it.

  Eri frowned and watched the dais­ies. “I saw tree huts. The in­hab­it­ants are hardly any­thing to worry about. I’m just so ex­cited Com­mander Grier asked me to be a part of the team.”

  “It makes per­fect sense. You’re an ex­cel­lent lin­guist, the best that’s ever lived on this ship.”

  “It’s a galactic­ally spec­tac­u­lar op­por­tun­ity to ad­vance my ca­reer.”

  Aquaria sniffed. “This is it—your chance to make a dif­fer­ence. Your des­tiny—everything you’ve been pre­par­ing for your en­tire life. You have to go out there and live it. I only wish it wasn’t so dan­ger­ous.”

  “Dan­ger­ous?” Eri hadn’t even thought of it that way. More like ad­vant­age­ous.

  Aquaria took her hand. “She didn’t tell you about Delta Slip?”

  Eri leaned for­ward, denial block­ing any open thoughts. “Yes, she did. I’m sup­posed to gather in­form­a­tion and root my­self in the ali­ens’ cul­ture. Be­friend them.”

  Aquaria’s fea­tures grew sol­emn. “I don’t think that’s all she means to do.”

  “What are you say­ing?”

  “Litus hasn’t told me everything—he can’t.” Aquaria’s gaze dar­ted to a holop­ic­ture of their wed­ding on the far wall. “He shouldn’t have even men­tioned the fact that Haven 6 was in­hab­ited, but I pressed him. I mean, what’s a mar­riage if you can’t even tell your spouse what’s go­ing on?”

  Aquaria clenched her hand into a fist and jut­ted out her chin.

  Eri wanted to help, but she wasn’t a mar­riage ther­ap­ist. She needed to fig­ure out what Aquaria was try­ing to tell her about the mis­sion. “What did you learn?”

  Aquaria took a deep breath like she was re­press­ing feel­ings Eri shouldn’t know of. “From the cryptic an­swers he gave me, I got the im­pres­sion that you’ll be col­lect­ing in­form­a­tion to use against the in­hab­it­ants.”

  Acid burned Eri’s stom­ach. “The com­mander said I was to be­friend them…learn their lan­guage…”

  “Think about it, Eri. What kind of in­form­a­tion did she want from you?”

  Here was the red flag Eri had blatantly ig­nored. “She did men­tion weapons, but I thought it was only to pro­tect us.” Even as Eri de­fen­ded the com­mander, doubts crept in. “Her mis­sion is to look out for us. Not any other spe­cies. If they did present a threat…”

  Aq
uaria nod­ded con­spir­at­ori­ally. “Com­mander Grier would make sure they wouldn’t get in the way. In the most thor­ough man­ner she could.”

  Eri ran her hands through her curls. “Which puts me in quite the pre­dic­a­ment.”

  Aquaria shrugged, her in­tense gaze turn­ing to the blow­ing dais­ies. “Maybe we’re wor­ry­ing over noth­ing. You said you saw thatched trees huts. Maybe they’re not a threat at all. I don’t mean to be­little your mis­sion. In fact, it’s prob­ably the most im­port­ant mis­sion in all of this ship’s his­tory. I’m just ask­ing you to keep your eyes open.” Her voice fell to a whis­per. “I snuck a look at the mis­sion’s sup­plies. They’re bring­ing gal­lium crys­tal void rays.”

  Gal­lium crys­tal void rays hardly soun­ded dip­lo­matic. Eri covered her face with her hands. “I don’t want to be a spy.”

  Aquaria grabbed her hand, squeez­ing so hard, her fin­ger­nails dug into Eri’s skin. “Listen to me. You’re go­ing to have to find out if these creatures are peace­ful. If they are, you’re go­ing to need to de­cide.”

  “De­cide what?”

  “Whether or not to warn them.”

  Eri froze. Blas­phemy leaked from her sis­ter’s mouth.

  “I can’t go against the com­mander or the Guide.”

  Aquaria nod­ded and looked away. “That’s a de­cision only you can make.” She spread her hand over the lay­out of her new fam­ily cell. “Look at me—I’m hardly one to speak. I fol­low the Guide to the let­ter, and what has it got­ten me? A cy­ber-green couch and a wall­screen full of dais­ies.”

  “And hand­some Litus.”

  Aquaria’s gaze roamed to a dis­tant place Eri couldn’t see or un­der­stand. “How could I for­get? I just wish I knew more about him. I want to know who he is in­side, not the façade he puts on for every­one else.”

  Eri’s mouth snapped shut. Maybe the façade was the real him. For Aquaria’s sake, she hoped not.

  The wall­screen beeped and a smooth-toned voice sung out, “Four­teen hun­dred.”

  Aquaria dabbed at her eyes, brushed off her pants legs like she had crumbs all over her, and stood up. “Litus will be home soon. Come, I’ll make you a cup of tea.” The change in her voice and her com­pos­ure was a shock, like walk­ing from the rainy biod­ome into the fluor­es­cent halls.