Confluence, p.6
Confluence, page 6
Surely, someone would come for a princess.
She gently rocked into her knees and sniffed into the wetness.
Surely, they’d come for a princess. Surely…for me.
She continued rocking as her face tightened.
No. It’s make-believe…made up…all of it! Just a mirage. You have to forget it. No one’s coming.
She resolved to block out the thoughts of her former life. The only reality of consequence was survival in the present moment. She had only herself to depend upon. Tears streamed over her face, and she couldn’t block the ache for her mother and father.
An uncontrollable stream of visual images from her last moments on Centauri flashed through her mind and jarred her back to the night she’d woken to strange noises. Her eyes cracked open to raised voices, and she jumped awake at the sound of a piercing cry. It was very late, but the voice sounded like father’s. She crawled out of bed and slowly tip-toed across a cold marble floor toward the rustling. Light from the interior spilled out through an open door to the darkened terrace. As she approached, her eyes grew wide; just beyond the door, a beam of light shone out upon an arm and hand stretched across the floor. Further out in the shadow, she could see the silhouette of a motionless body on the ground and a dark puddle around it. Coming closer, she recognized it was her father. Khattara cried out to him and rushed forward through the doorway. As she dashed down to him, something from the side shadows snatched her up. Others were there, but in her thrashing to break free, she couldn’t remember any faces. Hard, hurtful hands lifted her clean off the ground. She bucked, screamed, and kicked. A fabric bag was drawn over her head, and she was blind to the remainder of the onslaught. As Khattara’s hands and legs were quickly bound, she called to her father. “Vhabba…vhabba! Vhabba!”
She recalled hearing many hushed voices, but other details felt like a blur. She remembered being carried away some distance and winced at the memory of a second shriek. It was mother’s voice, and the volume carried across a growing distance in the night air.
“Dahlo? Dahlo! No, no, Dahlo!”
Father’s middle name was Dahlotan, and Dahlo was Mother’s loving nickname for the king. Khattara cried out in response. She remembered hearing the frantic madness in her mother’s voice repeatedly screaming from the terrace.
“Khattara! Khattara Uldago? Khattara, where are you? Khattara Eschala! Khattara!”
Without pause, Khattara was spirited further away into the night air. Draped over her captor’s shoulder, she felt the bouncing as the creature trotted with long strides deeper into the darkness. Her thrashing diminished after a few minutes of struggle against the tight bindings. She recalled the overwhelming smell of her captor and thought it might have traveled through the lower bog on the grounds. Occasionally she heard strange clicks and soft, humming whispers. She could tell there were several running together, and they spoke to each other in a language she’d never heard.
All at once the group came to a halt, and she heard different whispers. This language was different and without the underlying clicks she’d heard earlier. She felt herself passed to another shoulder. She struggled to break free before feeling the impact of a slap to her head. Traveling again, she could hear branches and twigs cracking under foot. The bouncing on this creature was less pronounced, and it held a faster gait.
After a time she began to hear the hush of wind over long grass. Moments later she felt quick bouncing and realized her captor was climbing a flight of steps. Thereafter the echo of sound told her they’d entered a room. Her nose registered a musty smell, and she struggled again when she was taken off the creature’s shoulder. She thrashed about in a cushion-less seat against strong hands that strapped her down. Khattara realized where she’d been put when the noise of orbital engines spooled up quickly. Screams of protest were drowned out by the roar, and the acceleration pressed her into the hard seat. Khattara wept herself to sleep, and after some passage of time, she remembered waking with hands free. She quickly pulled the cloth bag off her head and looked skyward just in time to see engines off a transport rocketing up and away. Khattara remembered watching the ship climb higher and higher before it disappeared altogether. Looking around, the realization came in waves: She’d been taken far away to some destroyed city and abandoned.
◊ ◊ ◊
Khattara’s eyes squinted as she relived the childhood memory. Now a warrior perched high on a ridge in Sector 6, she flexed the mod strength in her arm. Scanning further off, she caught movement in the distance. Her eyes opened wider as she locked on.
Multiple silhouettes…positive contact. I see you!
One of three hunter-killer squads was moving quick, fluid, and silent up the stream in the canyon below. Khattara nodded as she slung her rifle over shoulder.
Of shadows and wind!
Without hesitation, the Centauri warrior turned and bolted across the rock face. She began a veritable sprint away from them that would cover a hundred miles. Whenever the pace of her boots slowed, she channeled her past.
Takers are closing!
The thought of it re-energized her legs. Even traveling at modified speed afoot, her steps were light and quiet.
Two of three fast moving squads chasing her faded back fifteen miles in her wake. Though they couldn’t hold her pace, they had tracked her and radioed forward to the third squad coming up a steep valley toward them. With modified muscles, Khattara was quickly closing in on the last team.
The elevation was nearly mountainous, and the tree density in this higher area was light to sparse. The species growing here bore broader leaves and rose no higher than forty feet. Short dry brown grass had grown between the trees, while directly under the canopy was bare ground.
She noted the converging high cliffs and realized she was approaching the narrowest portion of the canyon pass. If she had been hunting herself, this rocky chokepoint was where she’d have lain in wait.
Khattara slowed her pace and focused on slowing her breath. With a single fluid movement, she retrieved and raised her rifle. The barrel followed her scan of the surroundings. Then the warrior advanced with deliberate, purposeful movements.
Become your surroundings…they could already lay here in wait.
Khattara held position for a few additional moments until satisfied she was alone. She surveyed the canyon walls, and her eyes stopped on an elevated shadow. Her head rose tall and cocked slightly. She smiled and nodded. Hunted to hunter…take the Takers.
She made a direct line toward the wall just below the shadow. On her way there, she retrieved a long stick that had fallen to the ground. After securing it to her rifle with a couple spare hair ties, she slung it over her shoulder. Khattara’s eyes scanned the rock wall for a path of holds, and then she mounted a vertical climb up the face. She risked exposure for three minutes in the ascent. At fifty feet above the treetops, the shadow Khattara had initially seen revealed a deep crag between two deadlocked boulders. A narrow, flat channel lay at the base of the two masses.
Repurposing one of the small brown elastic hair bands, she secured a small rescue signal mirror from her kit to the end of the stick. Khattara tucked small clumps of moss around the end, extended the stick out from the crag, and took care to avoid any reflective flashes. While lying out of sight and well back inside the ledge shadow, she watched through the reflection for any sign of the hunters. Near dusk she saw a black form moving silently below. Adjusting the mirror, she counted two others moving further out in the draw. They were close enough that she could see their hand signals. They held in place for twenty minutes before silently motioning a plan between them and pulling back. She saw the entire conversation, and the edges of her mouth curled upward in a small smile.
They’re gonna hold here in the narrows for the night.
Khattara marked the time on her watch. She calculated her best estimate for the shift change in the first watch and a reasonable amount of time for the second watch to nod off in the dead of night. Lying back, she pulled a hood over her head and drew it tight. The stars above were vivid and bright, while the rock below was cold and hard. She thought of all the others in the kingdom sleeping warm and tight in their beds, their minds drifting off in thoughts of Royal Day. Her lips curled into a small smile as she hugged the barrel of her rifle.
A few hours later, a vibration on her wrist woke her. It had been seven hours since nightfall. Khattara moved slowly and quietly, stretching and warming stiff muscles. Standard issue light-manipulating glasses, or LMGs, were included in the mission package. Khattara adjusted the light enhancement level on hers and activated the ARS or augmented reality system. The ARS automatically painted a thin outline around combatant silhouettes, and it linked with other squad members. On this night, Khattara’s ARS listed zero friendlies, but it was certain those hunting her would all be linked. Discovery by any one of them would expose her to all.
With patience and discipline, over the next half hour, she moved down the rock face in perfect silence. At the base, her body pointed down the pass; she could have quietly slipped past the entire group. Khattara’s core tightened, and her hand flexed on the barrel of her rifle. For the warrior, there was something else she needed here. She turned instead toward the sentries in the middle.
In complete silence, Khattara approached the closest soldier on watch. Through her vision enhancement, she could see his green silhouette had slumped over against a tree. She grimaced and shook her head at the dozing lump. A crimson dot danced gently on his forehead as Khattara slowly stalked closer. The laser point extending off Khattara’s rifle sight was only visible in her glasses. Her finger was heavy on the trigger, and any movement from the slumbering sentry would have caused a virtual kill. The simulation provided that she had a silenced rifle, but Khattara knew even a silenced rifle might draw attention from others. She drew near in the quiet in order to take him.
The moment connected to something feral that ran far deeper; it addressed the need. Over the years, Khattara had become something altogether different from the child once terrorized on Shorcanton. In the still of this night, she was a silent hole of death expanding and swallowing up any who dared tread on her.
Her brows drew closer. Take the Takers.
Khattara’s hand found the handle of a Suht dagger sheathed in the small of her back. Real weapons were strictly forbidden inside simulations, but she’d resolved long ago never to be disarmed. Her wide eyes gleamed like the half-revealed, razor-sharp blade when her hand stopped. Slowly, she returned it and drew a deep breath. Then her hand retrieved the dull-edged simulated dagger from a sheath on her belt. A blade to the neck did not initially disrupt the sentry’s slumber.
Khattara pressed her free hand over his mouth. His body lurched tight as he grabbed her wrists. With mod strength, she held him secure as he struggled.
She whispered, “You’re a tag-out…shh…the dead are silent. If you speak out of turn, I’ll beat you senseless later.” Tag-out was the status used for a simulated kill. Per the rules of the engagement, she disabled his LMG and retrieved his data tag.
He took a deep breath, sighed, and released her hands. Khattara secured the dummy dagger and once again raised her rifle. Before nightfall she’d watched three sentries move from their camp out into the throat of the pass. Her second target would be in the center channel, conscious and watching.
Her lower body movement was barely visible as she took careful, measured steps. Her head swept and surveyed as she slowly moved across the main channel of the narrows. Khattara picked out another form at the base of a tree; it was the second sentry. She could see his head bobbing in the fight with sleep. Like those of a fehlkstan mountain feline stalking its prey, Khattara’s legs and hips were slow and fluid. Her rifle was a steady extension of a focused, rigid upper body. She continued her advance and drew close enough to remove him from the field.
The third sentry was awake and registered her approach. He broke noise discipline and whispered the name of the second sentry. The darkness and a stolen data tag obscured the predator nearing until it was too late. Khattara closed the final twenty feet quickly with her dagger and tagged him out as well.
One by one, Taker by Taker, kill them all.
She eliminated the remainder of the squad at the points where they slept. Khattara saved the squad commander for last.
She hissed as the dull blade pressed into his neck. “You picked the wrong second watch, and now you’re all tag-outs. Nighty-night, Commander. Remember, the dead do not speak on the radio.”
She disappeared into the darkness and sprinted on throughout the night. By mid-morning she’d made it to the extraction coordinates. She was a full two days early and transmitted in the blind.
“Control, 7626 transmitting on guard. Bardthol is free and clear. Request immediate extraction. Repeat, the bardthol flies free; request pickup at point zulu.”
The response was distant and scratchy. “7626, Control; message acknowledged, transport dispatched to zulu. Duster inbound; standby for extraction.”
Khattara swayed gently in the cabin of the transport home. Exhausted and filthy, she closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Her mind tracked ahead; Royal Day was tomorrow. Her Uncle Bayhden knew her, and this exercise was his attempt to keep her busy out in the field. Khattara had another plan; she had returned before the second morning of the civilian work week. The day was significant to her for a more important reason.
◊ ◊ ◊
The next morning, a glow was beginning to warm the horizon, and birds sang in the approach of a new day. Khattara was toweling off after a quick shower; she’d already been up for three hours. She looked forward to the second and fourth mornings of each working week when she would vanish off the grid. On these days the combat was not simulated, and the stakes were far higher. She donned more civilian-like slacks and a blouse that would allow her to blend in. Contacts covered the outer violet band and made her iris appear solid brown. A glance into the satchel verified the gear required for the op, and she made quickly for the door. As the door to the hallway closed behind Khattara, her communication device remained face up under a beam of light on the small dining table.
With long, elegant, and purposeful strides, she moved toward the public transit station on the edge of campus. Many civilians from surrounding neighborhoods were gathering for the commute into Zihf Khefton. The city had been renamed after Khattara’s uncle had become king, and the central trade district was composed of several dozen skyscrapers. The building code required all of them to utilize an architecture with tall-standing, rectangular, reflective glass panes. The emerald-colored standard was offset by the marble-white concrete used throughout the district.
As she approached the transit stop, Khattara donned large-lensed glasses. As she milled deeper into the crowd, she drew a large scarf-like head covering from her satchel. The upward cone coming off it barely covered a towering, velvety mane of dark locks. Inside the rapid transport she sat tall and quiet and generally kept to herself. The only evidence she carried of her true identity was the large-caliber pistol concealed in the small of her back. After a quick hour, she emerged into a bustling central terminal. A short walk between tall buildings led to her final destination. She entered the first floor, donned her credentials, traversed a short hallway, and opened the door to a meeting room. Many heads snapped toward her, and she saw the recognition in their eyes. They had anxiously awaited her arrival, and several agents moved toward her.
◊ ◊ ◊
Ryan shook a paper document high in hand. “What? In person? Why do they need me physically present?”
“There is evidence to suggest this is a higher-level security verification.”
Ryan’s eyes scanned over the top of the notification. “Random my ass. It’s because I’m a Paavi; this is harassment.”
“It could be the result of recent demonstrations. In light of your adopted culture, you have exhibited non-traditional skills.”
“Non-traditional?”
“Commander, in the past few weeks, you have publicly discharged a shock weapon into another student and engaged in master-level hand-to-hand combat against a Centauri princess. Your behavior is not consistent with the Peaceful Path.”
“Please,” Ryan raised his hand in the air, “don’t judge me.” Ryan plopped down on the sofa in his quarters and shook his head. “I had to improvise…make quick decisions.”
“I am merely pointing out the juxtaposition that may have provoked the desire to verify your heritage. However, if I were to criticize, it would be specific to an earlier chain of decisions wherein you put yourself into situations that would require improvisation.”
Ryan grimaced. “Well, thanks then for not doing that.”
“The orders state that you must report to a security office in Zihf Khefton. Solo travel on public ground transit from the academy campus would create further potential exposure. I recommend stepping through the portal up to Rex and a dispatch via the skiff down to the closest municipal landing pad.”
Ryan nodded. “OK.” After a long silence, he looked up. “You still there?”
“I am still present and making further analysis.”
“What? What analysis?”
“You are demonstrating increasingly erratic behavior. What is your status?”
Ryan shook his head and huffed. “So I agree with you, and that’s call for concern?”
“Affirmative. You have demonstrated a significant level of disruption in your recent sleep patterns as well as episodes of distress in your waking moments. What is your status?”
Ryan looked down in the quiet. His lips tightened and twitched as he gently shook his head.
“Ryan, what is going on?”
