HERA


Hera, member of the Gultur race governing the Seven Islands, thought she knew right from wrong and what her future held in store. A chance meeting with a lesser mortal, though, will turn her world upside down and force her to see her race and the laws with different eyes. For Hera, knowledge means action, so she sets out to put things right and change her world.
Taking place in the World of the Seven Islands almost three years before the events in Rex Rising, this is the story of Hera’s first confrontation with the truth. 



Author’s note: At the end of the story you can read the first two chapters of Rex Rising.




Hera © Copyright 2011 by Chrystalla Thoma

Smashwords Edition



All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, events, is coincidental and not intended by the author. 

Cover design by Chrystalla Thoma

http://chrystallathoma.wordpress.com


Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Marion Sipe, Katie Salidas and Barbara Elsborg for critiquing and proofreading this story for me. 







Chapter One


The sky stretching over the urban sprawl of Artemisia was a blazing blue, the day bright and windy, just perfect for a first coast patrol. Hera wondered what the town looked like from up close. When they’d arrived in the early dawn, flown in by helicopter, she had only caught a brief glimpse of it, a web of tall buildings and dark streets. The military Gultur complex where they had landed was located at the outskirts, protected with high walls and fences.
She stepped onto the hard nepheline deck of the wavebreaker, her black boots rasping on the rough surface, and climbed down into the co-driver’s seat. Absently she pulled on her safety belt, then reached to her hip and checked if the safety catch of her longgun was on. 
Footsteps rang on the deck, and a moment later Sacmis climbed in beside her, grinning. “Ready?”
Hera grunted a vague reply. Of course she was ready; they’d trained for patrolling for most of the past year. If only she could concentrate on the task at hand and not on that other matter...
The engine of the wavebreaker, an old speedboat model launched at least ten years back, rumbled into life and Sacmis mumbled a quiet, “Here we go.”
Hera looked back at the town as they sped out of the port and saw nothing but faint lights flickering. Then those, too, faded as they circumvented a cape and raced alongside sheer cliffs, slicing smoothly through the waves toward the north.
Sacmis drove, her sandy hair pulled back in a neat ponytail in the standard military style, long strands whipping in the wind, her expression distant but determined. 
Hera just stared at her, fingering her own non-standard hairdo – a thick braid wrapped around her head like a ribbon – her mind not quite on the task of patrolling.
Which was unexpected, ill-timed and annoying, given it was her first official unsupervised patrol as a member of the elite Gultur force, granted the privilege and power to make decisions.
But finding an old message from her mother the previous night had also been unexpected and ill-timed – a message Hera had discovered hidden inside an old scripture book at the bottom of a drawer in her room.
Hidden. Or just forgotten. Meant for Hera. Or not. Her mother, Tefnut, wherever she was currently posted, probably did not even remember her daughter anymore.
Then who was it written for? The message spoke of things best left unsaid – the War, the lesser mortals, the future. It fanned embers of doubt that had burned in Hera’s mind for some time now. ‘The mortals did not start the Great War.’ The words floated before her eyes. ‘They suffered like we did, if not more.’
That was blasphemy and would land her mother in jail if it became known. Of course, that was only if Tefnut still lived, something Hera would probably never know. Mothers were not allowed to see their daughters after these entered the service at the age of four. Twelve years had passed already. 
Hera had hesitated, about to burn the piece of parchment, wondering why she wanted to save a mother she could barely remember. All she recalled was a feather-light touch on her brow, a soft voice singing in her ear. A lullaby, soft musical notes and a warm breath caressing her neck. 
She raised a hand to touch the spot and shook her head. Maybe that had not been the reason she’d kept the message. What if... What if there was some truth in those words? Tefnut’s words had sounded like those of an insurgent. A rebel. A member of the resistance. Maybe even of the Undercurrent group, the oldest name linked with the rebels. 
Hera shook herself and took in the landscape they sped through. Stop making up stories in your mind. There had to be a perfectly good and innocuous explanation for that message.
Right.
On the far right, the islands of Kukno and Torq formed dark masses shrouded in fog, mountains and glittering towns visible in places. The wavebreaker bumped on the choppy sea and Hera patted her safety belt, finally releasing it, feeling suffocated. It was but a small act of defiance to the regulations, and it made her feel better and worse at the same time. 
Outside, the gray cliffs of Dakru rose vertically, hemmed with the white of crashing waves and foam. A fine, salty mist fuzzed the air. The wind whistled through cracks, and seabirds cawed and circled over their nests, high up on the rocky summits. Pelicans rose from the water in a V line, dark wings spread wide. 
“Hera, have you heard a word I’ve said so far?” Sacmis snapped. 
Hera didn’t bother turning to her – she knew her friend’s eyes, gray as the sea cliffs, would be fastened on the sea ahead and her task, not hunting for a reaction.
A grin pulled Hera’s lips and she worked to school her face into blankness, just in case. “No, as a matter of fact, I have not. You mean it was something important?”
Sacmis growled. “Sobek’s balls, are you trying to be funny?” She huffed and nudged Hera with her elbow. “Something’s on your mind, huh? Spit it out, hatha.”
Would Sacmis keep the secret? Would she not feel it her sacred duty to denounce Tefnut – and Hera – to the police? Did Sacmis have her doubts about the system, like her? 
Hera decided she could not take that chance, not even with a friend she’d known for so long. “Nothing’s on my mind,” she muttered.
“I’ll get it out of you, hatha, sooner or later,” Sacmis threatened, an audible smirk in her voice.
Sacmis was not hatha, not one of the Echo princesses’ line. Hera was an elite, a pure-line Gultur, carrying the original strain of Regina. Sacmis carried a newer strain with its own multiple mutations – a strategy the parasite Regina used to ensure its survival against its many foes – other parasites and viruses. 
They were usually paired like that, elite with non elite. The idea was to train them to command, Hera supposed, although Sacmis had never been good at taking orders; at least not from Hera. 
One of the reasons Hera liked her. She finally turned to peer at her friend. Sacmis’ eyebrows were drawn together and she scowled at the sea as if she could flatten the waves through sheer will.
So far it wasn’t working, much to Hera’s amusement. 
Silence wrapped around them, punctuated by the smash of the waves against the prow and the cries of seabirds. 
“Do you think blessed Nunet is looking at us right now?” Sacmis muttered.
Hera blinked, caught by surprise. “Huh?” 
“Blessed Nunet of the deep. Maybe she’s just sitting there, the great Siren, whipping her silvery tail in the water, watching us. Judging us. Weighing us.”
“Stop it.” Hera snorted and looked back to the cliffs. “We did the libations, poured the oil and prayed to her. Just follow the map and avoid those reefs. We do not want to crash the wavebreaker on our first unsupervised outing.”
“Yes, hatha,” Sacmis grumbled. Her friend drove well, Hera had to admit, but the turn of the conversation raised the fine hairs on her arms. The gods, watching, judging, separating the good from the bad people, deciding on their fates.
Were the Gultur the good ones? Was Hera on the right side?
Oh shut up.
She’d never wavered about her objectives when she was younger. She would protect the Gultur from the mortals, do her duty and produce offspring, and then, when she was older, she would serve the temple and learn its secrets.
But two years back or so, it all began to bother her – the single-minded faith in the purpose of the Gultur, their supposed pre-destined authority over other races, their open dismissal of questions and contradictions, and their black-and-white perspective on gray areas in history, politics and religion. So many things made no sense. And the biggest issue of them all, one that bothered Hera so much it had become impossible to ignore, was the one concerning the mortals. 
If these puny mortals were intelligent enough to almost beat the Gultur a few hundred years back, if they came so close to emerging victorious from the accursed Great War, how come they had been branded as mindless animals by the scriptures? And, worse still, how come the Gultur believed this to be true? Hera had never had immediate contact with mortals, not yet being of age, but she’d seen them from afar, laboring in their algae fields, driving aircars, bartering and counting money and talking with the guards. Surely animals could not do that – at least not the animals Hera had observed and studied so far; the cats, dogs, rats, birds and all the sea animals. They did not look so different from the Gultur, either. Less intelligent they might be, cruel perhaps, but animals without a conscience?
And now this...worm in her heart, twisting and boring deeper, echoing words from an old parchment meant for anybody and nobody, and certainly not for her.
She should not have let that damn message unsettle her so. She should have burned it, not kept it hidden under her mattress. 
She should have destroyed it once and for all.
Movement caught her eye, snapping her thoughts in half. She grabbed Sacmis’ shoulder, drawing a sharp breath. “Drive closer to that cliff. I think I saw movement.” 
She was not sure she’d seen it. Early daylight reflected off the broken mirrors of the waves, torturing her eyes. But it might be an illegal mortal boat, sailing around the islands to set up fish traps or nets. Mortals were only allowed on land, and to cross between the islands they had to use the bridges or the official ferries. The sea was not theirs to command.
The sea belonged to the Gultur. It was the way things were since the Great War – a strict clause in the peace treaty with the lesser mortals, and one of the security measures taken by the Gultur administration.
As if there was somewhere the mortals could escape to. As if there was anything beyond the Seven Islands. Beyond, said the historical and the sacred writings, lay only the great ocean.  
If only her mother’s message did not hint at other, far more complicated and all too unpleasant things.
“Are you sure? I see nothing there.” And yet Sacmis obeyed, veering toward the steep coast. The cliffs towered over them, sparkling wet with crags and projections. Seagulls flapped off their roosting places, and a sea eagle rose a dark shadow outlined on the light blue of the sky. Waves crashed against the rock formations, carving them into sharp pinnacles and round wheels. Shoals of silver fish jumped out of the water and dove back in like sprays of bullets.
No movement. Hera surreptitiously rubbed her eyes, wondering if she had imagined it, but had to admit that nothing suspect appeared to be there. She really was out of sorts. “Turn around. Head north again.”
Sacmis chewed on her lower lip in what looked like an attempt not to laugh. “Sure. Well, at least you’ll write in your report that I obeyed without a single question, will you not?”
Sacmis’ record of obedience was not the best and they both knew it. It was this defiance that had first endeared her to Hera. Not many Gultur seemed inclined to oppose authority in any way.
“We shall see.” Hera grinned as they headed again north, the exhilaration of her first patrol finally catching up with her. Dakron exhaust fumes filled her nostrils as the wavebreaker accelerated, passing outside the dark expanses interspersed with lights that were the towns of Priene, Thuri and Elatia. Breath catching in her throat, Hera watched the coast markers until they passed the beacon of Gortyn, her mother’s words forgotten for a moment.
In all their training patrols, they had never gone that far north. This coastline stretch was completely new to her. They sped by enormous pillars jutting out of the deep sea like towers. In the distance to her far right, something glinted and moved.
“A whale!” Sacmis whooped. “We have to report it to the HQ. Red meat!”
The gray-black whale, a humpback, large as a Gultur fishing vessel, blew a jet of water, then dove underwater, her tail giving them a final wave before it sank. Hera’s mind stalled for a moment, the open sea, the whale’s tail, the jutting pillars and the silhouette of the island of Kukno blanketed in a fine haze filling her eyes and thoughts.
Freedom. She had never felt so free before. As if she could speed away into the blue and disappear forever, never again returning to the Bone Tower or the headquarters in Dakru City. As if she could avoid facing her growing sense of unease and distrust – of the system, of her race, of the accepted truth.
As if. She shook her head, exasperated with herself. What has gotten into you now?
To their left, the coast sank lower, the cliffs replaced by deep coves where brackish water spilled from the central stream that crossed Dakru City to the marshes and eventually out into the sea. 
“Steer farther to the right,” Hera commanded. The area was brimming with fish, thanks to the nutrients spilling into the water, and great nets were stretched all along the marsh front. They could not get too close, or else they might snag the boat.
Sacmis did as told, raising an eyebrow as if to say she knew this already, but Hera ignored her and turned her gaze back to the coast, scanning it. Illegal fishermen normally avoided this area because, in spite of the amount of fish, it was routinely patrolled. But you never knew to what lengths mortals might go for a taste of free fish or to sell their catch on the black market. Her fingers caressed the handle of her longgun, peeking out of its holster at her hip. 
The coast looked clear. Gultur fisheries officers in their yellow uniforms were checking the nets in small dinghies. They waved at them. Hera raised her hand in salute.
That was it. Her first official patrol. Her chest swelled with pride. She glanced aside with a ridiculously wide grin to see Sacmis, hands on the wheel, looking as serious as was humanly possible.
It was only funny if you knew Sacmis and could imagine what must be going through her head. Hera sighed and rolled her eyes.
 As they passed the marshy coast, new cliffs rose from the waves. More pinnacles broke the surface of the sea, some taller, some shorter, some pointy and some flat at the top. They gleamed like metal. Birds roosted on their summits. 
‘The islands are not what they seem,’ had read her mother’s words in a neat, small handwriting. ‘Projections rise around them, shooting out of the sea...’
“Hera, dolphins!” Sacmis slowed the wavebreaker and laughed out loud. “Look!”
At least a dozen of the sleek, dark gray creatures somersaulted in the air before plunging back into the sea. 
“I’m diving in with them.” Sacmis unbuckled her belt and threw it aside before Hera had even registered her words.
“What? Sacmis!”
But the headstrong girl never listened to her. Hera grabbed Sacmis’ arm and tugged. “No way. Stop.”
Sacmis scowled. “You’re no fun. Hey, wait a moment...” She shook her arm free of Hera’s hold and leaned over, shading her eyes with her hand. “Is that a boat?”
“Where?” Hera pushed Sacmis back to see. Something black rocked with the waves under the shadow of the cliff. Her throat closed with excitement and nervousness. Her first patrol and she would stop an illegal fisherman. That would be glorious. 
Swallowing hard, she drew her longgun. “Drive.”
“Will you kill the bastard, Hera?” Sacmis’ voice trembled with eagerness and Hera glanced at her to find her smiling. 
Hera swallowed hard.
“Only if he resists.” But her heart leaped in her chest, trying to break free, as words ingrained into her memory echoed in her ears. ‘Like killing a rabid dog,’ her trainer had intoned as she had pointed her gun at the target. ‘Like cleaning up the world a little from contagious filth. Mortals have no compassion, no higher emotions, no conscience – only rage and madness. Do not hesitate. Pull the trigger.’
Her forefinger touched the trigger.
‘Mortals are subhuman,’ she thought she heard Commander Nekut’s voice explain, her tone clinical and detached. ‘Their race has not followed our evolution. Sooner or later, they shall die out, as is their destiny. We obey destiny, hatha.’ 
Hera took a deep breath and drew her finger back from the trigger. The Gultur had been changed by Regina, a powerful parasite that had created a race of women only. Stronger, able to see in the dark and hear the faintest sounds, able to reproduce on their own. Cruel and bloodthirsty, thriving on death. 
A race to inherit the world. 
As they approached, the small boat came into focus. It was made of broken up nepheline parts and old streetcar wheels. A man and a child crouched on its surface. They remained still as the wavebreaker neared them, their faces looming white with fear even from the distance.
Hera gathered her courage. “You are hereby accused of illegal fishing. The sea belongs to the Gultur.” When they did not move, she clicked the safety off her gun. “Jump!” she shouted at them. That was the standard punishment for being caught offshore, their only chance to live, and suddenly she realized that she hoped they’d take it. “Jump now, damn you!”
The man and the child did not seem to hear her, huddled together, just staring back. Hera cursed under her breath. The child let out a high wail, like an angry cat. Hera’s hand on the longgun trembled. She had never shot anyone before, any living person, let alone a child. Could she do it?
“Hera.” Sacmis hissed. “They have not obeyed. Shoot them.”
Hera licked her dry lips. “Kill the engine.” Sacmis shrugged and the boat powered down, rocking with the waves. Hera stood and aimed her gun. “Jump off your boat now,” she called out, “or I’ll shoot you.”
“Don’t shoot!” The man’s voice carried on the salty breeze, weaving with the voice of the wind like a thin ribbon. “Please, don’t shoot.”
“Jump!”
“I can’t swim. Neither can he.” The man pointed at the child. “Please, we need fish to eat and to buy medicine. Please.”
“Shoot them, Hera.” Sacmis nudged her thigh. “They all say that. Come on.”
“I am not sure—”
“Well, I am.” Sacmis’ gray eyes were hard. “They’d not hesitate for a second to kill you, and you know it, Hera. Remember all the atrocities they committed against us during the War, and even before that. You saw the footage, the photos; you know they have no compassion.”
True, she’d seen the footage and the photos of the mortals’ crimes, and yet Hera could not do it. They did not start the War... “No.”
Sacmis scowled, then got up and reached for the gun. “Listen, give me that. I’ll shoot them for you.”
“Sacmis, no.”
Her friend rolled her eyes and grabbed the barrel of the longgun. “You’re a hatha but you are not above the law. Why should you give the orders when you—”
Hera shoved her with the handle, and for a moment all she could see were Sacmis’ widening eyes as the other Gultur stumbled backward.
Then Sacmis fell overboard without a sound, arms flailing. Gasping, Hera reached out to catch her, but it was too late. Sacmis dropped into the heaving sea.
Hera leaned over the side, all air leaving her lungs, her heart booming. “Sacmis!”
Sacmis surfaced a few meters from the boat, coughing. A dolphin approached her, nudged her with its snout and she yelped. A wave lifted her and then another, taking her farther away from the wavebreaker. 
“Dammit,” Hera said with feeling. “Dammit to the five hells.”
“She’ll die!” The man’s shout brought Hera’s gaze back to them. “Get her back up on the boat. I’m telling you, she’ll die!”
“What are you talking about?” Hera took aim again, annoyed at her own indecision, at having her command disobeyed and at losing control. Screw her. Sacmis could swim, so she’d have to wait to be rescued. “She is just fine.”
“No, she isn’t. The waves are carrying her to the black pillar. It’s too damn dangerous. Bring her back.”
Sacmis was right; the man would do anything to distract her. Hera growled softly. If he had a gun, she’d be dead by now, and it was about time she made up her mind and followed through with her training. 
She caressed the trigger. “You have to the count of three to jump,” she shouted. “One, two—”
“Don’t shoot my boy!” The man raised his hands and stepped back, all blood draining from his face. “I’ll jump. Just don’t shoot him.” And he fell back into the sea, sucked into the waves. The child wailed again, crouched on the raft, a hand reaching out to his father. Hera could not swallow past a lump in her throat. She had to shoot this child. That was the law.
Why could she not do it?
Why did the law not offer another option but insisted on death?
“Hera!” Sacmis’ voice sounded faint. 
Hera whirled about, rocking the boat and lowering her gun. She grabbed the backrest of her seat not to topple over. “What?”
“There is something here!” Sacmis called.
“Come back!” Hera drew in another breath to shout, and saw Sacmis swimming toward the black pillar. The dolphins had scattered. “Dammit, come back. Sacmis!”
Fear mingled with guilt. If anything happened to Sacmis, it would have been Hera’s fault – for hesitating, for not pulling the trigger, not shooting when she ought to. 
The man gave a hoarse cry, distracting her. His dark head rose and fell amid the cresting waves. He was drowning, Hera knew, sinking into the cold sea, and his child cried like a dying animal, his thin voice a death lament.
Hera’s heart tried to pound its way out of her chest. Sobek! Why does this have to happen to me?
Then again, did this not happen to many Gultur who patrolled the coast? Finding illegals and dealing with them, facing unexpected situations? 
Pull yourself together. The real question was why she was so reluctant to enforce the law and kill as she had vowed to do every single day since she’d started her training.
The man gave another hoarse cry, more faint this time, and she swore softly under her breath. 
“Hold on!” Gritting her teeth, she clicked the safety back on, laid the gun across her seat and jumped into the sea. 
The cold hit her like a punch, but it helped clear her head. She twisted in the murky water, and dark strands from her loosened braid floated before her eyes like tentacles from some monstrous creature. She surfaced with a sputter, hair streaming over her face. Locating the man, she dived under the waves and swam toward him, reaching him just as he went under again. 
As soon as she pulled him to the surface, he started coughing and flailing. Cursing out loud when he tried to latch onto her, she twisted around and managed to grab him from behind, an arm encircling his waist. Ignoring his panicky, jerky movements, she dragged him toward his makeshift raft and lifted him as much as she could, hoping he had enough presence of mind to heave himself up. 
The man grabbed onto the raft and coughed water, his movements finally calming.
“Stop your friend,” he wheezed, not looking up as the weeping boy grabbed his arms, trying to pull him onboard. “Stop her.”
“Why?” Hera held onto the raft, trying to catch her breath. Her boots and wet uniform were weighing her down and the cold made her teeth chatter. This was turning into a truly shitty day.
“The black pillar.” He finally turned his bloodshot gaze on her, and it held no rancor or malice. “It’ll zap her. Kill her.”
Zap her? Incredulous, Hera turned her head toward the pillar. “What are you talking about?”
“Lightning. Shock. The pillar kills.” He stared steadily at her, his eyes pleading, huge in his gaunt, pale face. His body was wracked by shivers. 
She looked again but could not see Sacmis. Nunet’s snakes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. Fish die. Dolphins gather here to eat.” His voice cracked on a cough. “I go and gather the dead fish, too. I’m telling the truth.”
It could be a plot to get Hera off his back. Maybe he would go to her boat, grab her gun and shoot them both dead. She should return—
“Your boat.” He pointed over her head to where the wavebreaker was. “You’ll never catch it. It’s the currents, they’re strong.”
The hells? Clinging with one arm onto the raft, Hera turned, her heart painfully beating against her ribcage. The wavebreaker was drifting away, toward the cliffs. “Dammit! How come your boat does not move?”
He climbed onboard, his whole body trembling, and tugged on a rope. “Anchored.”
Sobek. Why hadn’t she thought of anchoring the wavebreaker before jumping? She had panicked. Her first patrol and she was screwed. 
“Climb on, girl,” he said. 
She blinked, her ears buzzing, and looked up at the man, her mouth empty of words as surely as her mind was of thoughts. She just stared at him, at the dark stubble covering his square jaw – Hera had rarely seen men from up close before – at his shoulders, too wide, too strange. Still struggling with what she’d heard, she fought the urge to call this a dream – no, a nightmare – and pinch herself to make sure.
“What did you say, mortal?” she asked, certain she’d misheard.
“I said, climb up. We go together, get your friend, then your boat. Hurry.”
Speechless, she watched as he heaved the anchor, then grabbed two paddles and looked expectantly back at her. There was even the shadow of a smile curving his lips. “Come.”
Her world was capsizing. She had failed in her duty, had not managed to discipline the single Gultur who was under her command, and a mortal was offering help. 
Her wavebreaker was drifting farther and farther away, toward the cliffs. Do it. No other choice. She exhaled and reached up. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, thick and strong, and he pulled her onto his sad excuse of a boat. She scrambled on the uneven deck and it creaked and threatened to fall apart under her feet. She crouched down as the man grabbed again the paddles, gave one to the boy, and together they began paddling toward the black pillar, the boy casting her murderous looks.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered, shivering with cold. “Why are you helping us?”
“We are all human, aren’t we?” 
She shook her head, not knowing what to answer. “Are we?” 
Dammit, but her mother’s message returned to haunt her thoughts. ‘The Gultur are hiding something. The answer is in the sea. They have discovered something and they are guarding it. Go north, go to the beginning. And tell them Tefnut sends you to say this: we are all human.’
No. It was too horrifying to contemplate. Doubt made her weak and susceptible to manipulation by this man. Mortals were treacherous, for they had started the War and brought this on themselves. Sacmis was right; she’d seen the photos and the documentaries and it was about time she decided on whose side she was. We are not all the same, mother.
“Of course we’re all human,” he said, as if hearing her thoughts, the low timbre of his voice so unlike anything Hera had ever heard. “No matter how much we change, deep inside we are the same.”
She kept her face down, trying desperately to calm herself, observing with some sort of sick fascination how the man’s muscles moved in his arms, much more pronounced than in any Gultur she had ever seen, and found herself both repulsed and enthralled. 
“You have not answered my question yet,” she said. “Why are you helping me?”
“You saved me first,” he pointed out, gently, as if not to frighten her.
But it was too late for that. She was horrified. Indeed she had saved him. What was she doing – letting the mortal go?
After we save Sacmis and catch the wavebreaker, she told herself. Then I will punish him, and the boy.
The child stared at her with wide eyes, a liquid brown full of curiosity and fear and rage.
Yes, I will. I’ll do my duty and punish them. For breaking the law and the treaties. She pressed a hand to her chest. It felt too tight, as if her lungs could not draw enough air. For ruining my first patrol. 
The pillar was huge, taller even than the thirteen-story administration building in Dakru City. As they approached, Hera gaped at its polished sides like a child would, and scowled when she realized she was doing it.
She was practically an adult Gultur now. About time she started acting like one.
“There,” said the man. “Look.”
A dead seagull floated on the water among small fish and squid. Hera gripped the edge of the raft, not trusting herself to speak. What sort of natural phenomenon would produce this and why had nobody warned them? 
Because you were supposed to shoot the mortals, Sacmis was not supposed to fall into the sea, and you were not supposed to veer off course.
 “Can you see Sacmis? My partner?” Hera swallowed. “Go closer.”
“We can’t go much closer or we’ll die too.”
“I said get closer. Now.” She’d let her own doubts and a strange message written by her mother cloud her judgment, and allowed herself to interact freely with a mortal. Hells. “We find her, or you’re a dead man.”
“You don’t have your gun,” said the boy and she turned to him, surprised. His eyes blazed. “You can’t kill us like you killed my mother.”
What in the five hells? “I have other ways to kill you if you do not shut your mouth,” she snapped, but her heart beat so fast she felt faint. At least the boy did shut up, face sullen, and turned back to rowing.
But now she had to know. “Why is he saying that?” She tried to sound disinterested, kept her voice level. “That we killed his mother?”
He did not look her way. “Gultur police did. They thought we belonged to the resistance. They came in shooting. They killed almost everyone in my neighborhood before even asking any questions. We hid under a bed. We were spared.”
“You’re lying. You must have broken the law in some manner.”
“The law isn’t always just.”
“Really. You admit then that you did commit some illegal act. The police would not just shoot at everyone like that, not without a valid reason.”
The man said nothing, did not insist, but Hera’s stomach twisted regardless. Would they? If they did, was that not murder in cold blood – what the Gultur accused the mortals of during the War?
The choppy surface of the sea was not helping to locate Sacmis, and the spray stung Hera’s eyes. A dark shape on the silvery sea caught her attention. Sacmis was floating, face down in the water. “There!” Swallowing her panic, she grabbed the man’s shoulder and pointed. “Quick.”
“I can’t see anything, girl, are you sure—”
“Yes.” So painfully obvious that he did not possess the Gulturs’ sharp eyesight. “Move.”
Without another word, man and boy sped up their paddling against the rising waves as Hera struggled to keep her friend in sight, gripping the edge of the raft in a white-knuckled hold. Was Sacmis still alive? 
Hera fought the urge to jump into the heaving sea; she held back until they were next to Sacmis, then she reached down from the raft and grabbed her arm. The man put down his paddle to help her and together they hauled Sacmis onboard.
Hells. She wasn’t breathing. “Back off.” Hera breathed into Sacmis’ mouth, then pressed on her chest. Then again. “Come on, Sacmis.”
“Daddy, is she dead?” the boy’s voice floated to her ears as if from a great distance.
Come on, Sacmis. Come on. Who will drive me crazy if not you?
Breathing into her friend’s lungs, pumping on her cold chest, it all stretched into an eternity, tinged with the desperate terror of a nightmare. 
Then Sacmis coughed. It was the sweetest sound Hera had ever heard. She sat back on her heels on the rocking raft and laughed, tears stinging her eyes. Thank you, Nunet.
Sacmis coughed seawater onto the deck, her hair streaming. She looked like a half-drowned rat. “Hera?”
“I’m here, you idiot.” Once relief returned, anger blared in her head. “You had to disobey me, did you not, and try to take my gun. And then you went off to investigate this pillar without my permission! What happened out here?”
“Something hit me, like a current.” Sacmis wiped her mouth and eyes, and sat up. She frowned. “Like an electric current. What’s going on?”
“An electromagnetic phenomenon.” Hera waved her hand, telling herself there was really nothing to wonder about or investigate. Investigating strange occurrences was not encouraged, especially not if you wanted to rise in the hierarchy. “We need to go back, before they send a search party.”
Sacmis nodded. Then she hissed, gaze fixing on the man and the boy. “What are they doing here? What... Where are we?”
The man cringed back, eyes going round. He pulled the boy closer to him.
“Their raft.” Hera raised her hand to forestall the heated argument she saw coming. “They helped save you. They’ll take us back to the wavebreaker which is drifting toward the cliffs.”
“But, hatha—”
“Shut up, Sacmis. See where your misbehavior has landed us. I want you to remember that and not speak another word, do you understand?”
Sacmis opened her mouth and closed it again. She nodded, her bright eyes mutinous, and remained silent.
Good. Things were complicated enough. 
“To our boat,” Hera told the man, and he grabbed the paddle, shooing his boy to the other side to do the same. They paddled in silence, broken only by Sacmis coughing from time to time and seagulls and sea buzzards cawing as they circled the dead fish floating near the Pillar. Hera glanced back at it and shivered. Sinister, dark and humming with electric energy, it felt malevolent like an angry ghost.
The raft started to turn again toward the pillar. Startled, Hera glanced back. “What is it?” 
“My son.” The man pointed at the child with his head. “He’s getting tired, slowing down.”
Sacmis snarled but said nothing. Still obeying. Good, good.
“Give me the paddle.” Hera grabbed it from the boy’s hands and took his place, rowing fast, turning the raft in the correct direction. The wavebreaker would soon smash into the cliff, unless they got there on time. “Row faster.”
The man’s panting breaths were harsh enough to be heard over the whistling wind and the breaking waves, but he still rowed strong. 
He could have stopped. He could have tried to push them overboard and left to save himself and his boy. He could have left them to die.
Just row, Hera.  
The man matched her speed and the wavebreaker loomed closer. The cliffs rose above their heads like giant walls, blocking the daylight. Without need to speak, they maneuvered the raft close and to the side of the silver wavebreaker. As soon as they were close enough, Hera shoved the paddle back into the boy’s hands and latched onto the wavebreaker’s side. She grabbed the ledge and hauled herself up, breathing a sigh of relief when she finally found herself standing on the familiar deck. Her gun still lay on the seat where she’d left it. 
She powered the engine so that the boat would not crash. Then she leaned over the side and gave Sacmis a hand up. From the deck’s height, the mortals’ raft was tiny, little more than a random collection of flotsam. 
The wavebreaker rocked as Sacmis took her driver seat. Then a click broke the relative quiet. 
Hera turned to her, her pulse leaping in her throat, knowing what she would see.
Sacmis held Hera’s longgun and was aiming at the two mortals below. The man raised his arms, face white. The boy stared, clutching his father’s leg, dark hair plastered to his small face. 
No! 
“Sacmis.” Hera grabbed the gun, wrenching it out of Sacmis’ hands before her friend could react. “Stand down.”
“They must be punished.”
“They saved your damn life.”
“You are not allowed to let them go, Hera.” Sacmis’ voice was clipped, her frown dark. “It’s the law.”
The law, the law. What if the law was wrong? “And I told you not to speak another word.”
“I can report you.”
“Then I’ll report you for insubordination and personal attack.” 
Sacmis sighed. “They’re animals, Hera. Not humans. You’re confused.”
Am I? Hera’s chest ached. After all the doubting, after her decision to punish the mortals and return to HQ triumphant and sure of herself, she was exactly back where she’d started. 
What was more, now she knew that Sacmis did not share her doubts. Sacmis believed in the dogma and did not question it, believed in the history as it had been written and the law as it had been passed. Dealing death in the name of a legal clause, punishing mortals for something they’d supposedly done wrong so long ago, still seemed fair to Sacmis. 
“Enough,” Hera grated. “Drive. We’re going back.”
Sacmis pressed her lips together and took again her seat. She checked the systems, then turned the boat around. The mortals’ raft rocked wildly as they passed by. Hera resisted the urge to raise a hand in goodbye.
She did not even know their names. 
Irrelevant.
In her wet uniform, Hera shivered with cold. The sea held no fascination for her this time. She stared straight ahead, thinking. Mortals had helped them, saved their lives and their boat. Mortals she’d been about to shoot. A child, for Sobek’s sake. They needed medicine, they said. They were poor. Hera was no stupid innocent. She knew mortals often died of plagues in the cities – but that was because they were filthy and ignorant – right? She knew the Gultur police cracked down on any illegal action, controlled the market and any insurgence. She knew the Gultur controlled food and medicine – but with good reason. Mortals needed guidance. 
Right, right.
Reconciling what she’d been taught about mortals – dirty, cruel, savage – with the man and the boy on the raft was tearing her apart. 
Kind, they were kind. 
Kinder than she was. 
She would have killed them. They had saved her.
Gods in the deep. 
The ground was crumbling under her feet. How could she go on like before with this feeling – this sense that all she knew was a lie? How could she find out the truth?
In a daze, she saw the city port of Artemisia approach, tall buildings and spires, the boats docked spewing black smoke. They never reached them. Sacmis turned the boat and headed to the Gultur complex and to the patrol dock, her silence galling Hera, even though she’d been the one to order it – or maybe it was the dark looks Sacmis kept sending her way.
Hera had a feeling their friendship would never be the same again.
But that was the least of her worries as Police Commander Nekut met them at the dock, arms folded across her chest, waiting for their report. It all depended on Sacmis, whether she would keep the events of that day secret or not. Hera had no choice but to trust in her, and so she followed Nekut into the military complex, past the high walls and the chain link fence. The guards let them through and they entered the police building with its freshly-painted walls, boots squeaking on the polished floors. A group of young Gultur, chattering as they exited a room, stopped in their tracks and stared. Hera tucked wet strands of hair behind her ears and looked away.  
Nekut left them in individual offices to type out their reports on their data processors, her lack of comments unnerving. 
Hera turned the processor on and inhaled the faint scent of disinfectant and mildew product on the desk surface. Pens and paper were set out for her convenience and she remembered the yellowed page of her mother’s message. 
Then the machine whirred to life and she entered her password to open a blank document. She glared at the screen.
No illegal boats. No self doubting. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Her fingers shook on the white keyboard as she forced herself to write lie after lie. Went up north as far as Angon, north of Dakru City. Saw dolphins and a whale. A quiet day.
No mention of the black pillar, the man and his boy, or Sacmis’ near death.
Hera sat staring at the text for a long moment, other words superimposing themselves, her mother’s words – then she tapped the key to send the report off and waited, palms sweating, to hear what the commander would say. 
Half an hour later, Nekut walked into the room, her red hair flaring like a fire in the gloom. 
“Why are you and Sacmis wet?” Nekut stopped before the desk, face neutral, hands clasped behind her back.
Hera schooled her features into a matching blankness. “Waves washed over the boat, Commander.”
“A boring and wet first patrol, eh, Hera?” Nekut gave a faint smile, the mask cracking for a moment. “Do not worry, the excitement will come. Sooner or later you’ll catch illegals and get medals and a promotion. Every time is different. Soon you’ll find that quiet days are also good.”
Hera nodded, not trusting her voice. 
Nekut frowned. “Why is your hair loose, soldier? Gather it up.”
With a trembling hand, Hera pushed the long, wet strands out of her eyes. “Yes, Commander.”
“You say you saw dolphins and a whale,” Nekut said, mellowing again. “I spoke to the fisheries team and we already sent a whaling boat that way. Good job.”
The image of the mortal man and the boy flashed before Hera’s eyes and damn it all if she did not feel a knot of worry form in her stomach. Would they have the time to get away before the whaling team reached the place, or would they be shot?
Forget about them. 
But her body was strummed like a music chord and sweat ran down her back. 
“Well, get some rest, Hera. I’ll comment on your report tomorrow. Good job, Gultur.” She saluted, and Hera saluted back. The Commander had barely left the room when Hera slumped back in her chair and closed her eyes, sighing in relief.
Sacmis had not betrayed her. Too scared, probably, that they’d believe Hera’s word over hers. After all, Hera was a hatha, and had a clean record of obedience.  
But what to do now? Hera rubbed her face. She once thought she knew. Her future lay ahead, bright and straight: a career in the police, then the temple, while pursuing her parasitology studies in the biology department. That was the plan. That had been her path.
Nothing was clear anymore. Too much gray had blurred the outlines.
Two other hathas walked in, the fine scales on their necks catching the light and giving them away. They nodded a greeting. Hera took a deep breath and stood. She needed fresh air, she needed to walk and think. She needed to see with her own eyes the mortals’ world, and she’d be damned if she waited longer.
Slipping out of the offices was easy, but the guard at the gate was not happy with the idea of her leaving. 
“Your transport to Dakru City will be here in ten minutes, hatha.”
“Then I’ll take the next one.”
The guard bowed her head. Sweat trickled down her temples. Interesting. The guard was nervous. Was it fear or attraction?  “You are not supposed to go out, hatha.”
She scowled. “And why not?”
“Your education and training are not finished yet.”
“This makes no sense.” Hera grabbed the guard’s arm. The other Gultur shook. Definitely fear, Hera could smell it on the other woman’s sweat. “We walk freely in Dakru City and the Bone Tower, why not here?”
“Hatha, please...” Futilely, the guard tried to pull away. “You are only sixteen. The indoctrination is not yet complete and there’s insurgence in the major cities of the mortals—”
“Now? Here?” Hera released the woman, mostly out of shock. “Are you telling me I was patrolling the coast for fishermen while there’s real fighting going on?” Her hands sought her longgun. 
“You cannot go out.” Commander Nekut’s bass voice, sharp and curt, hit Hera like a whip.
She turned around to face her. “But, Commander—”
“You’re still being tested, hatha. Being an elite corps is not easy. Proving your loyalty takes time. You are not to go out in a city inhabited by mortals unless I judge that you’re ready.”
“I am ready!”
“I’ll tell you when you are.”
Dammit. “Do the police kill unarmed civilians, Commander? Do they kill mortals without asking questions?” The words slipped from Hera’s mouth before she could control herself. 
The Commander merely raised a dark eyebrow. “What are you implying?”
Hera heaved a sigh of relief. So it was not true. “Nothing, I...”
“Mortals have no rights. They are not human. They are not civilians, hatha. They are animals, older, antiquated forms of life. You have learned about the crimes they committed against us in the past. They have not changed. We are the new humans.” Nekut smiled, her eyes kind. “The world is ours and we must keep the order. Terrorists are threatening the peace and our police are only investigating and arresting certain insurgents for questioning. Is that clear?”
Bile rose in Hera’s throat. The medals on Nekut’s shoulders gleamed and swirled like faint stars. Hera bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Yes, Commander.”
Yesterday she would have trusted and accepted her Commander’s words on faith alone. But not today. Not anymore.
She would see for herself. “I apologize. Of course, you are right.”
“Once Regina matures inside you, you shall see.” Nekut’s blue eyes burned now with passion. “Everything will be clear.”
When Regina matured, special hormones would spill into her body, changing her behavior, changing her way of thinking. It was Regina’s blessing.
For the first time Hera realized it was not a blessing; she would become Regina’s puppet and she could not let that happen. “I’ll take the next transport back, if I may.”
Nekut patted Hera’s shoulder. “Do that. And forget all these questions. All will be answered in time.”
Today, Hera thought as Nekut left the room. I want the answers today.


Chapter Two




Two hours later, Hera was prepared to meet the truth. She had scouted the complex, taken stock of the placement of security cameras, and managed to disable the one overlooking the southern fence. Wearing her long leather coat, longgun holstered at her hip, steel cable wrapped around her waist, she was as ready as she would ever be. Now she had to hurry before someone noticed the lack of feedback on their monitors.
She sneaked around the guard’s cubicle and found her distracted, having a chat with a pretty hatha, Moira – a dark-haired, slanted-eyed Gultur. Good, no need to engage Plan B, which included lots of improvisation, shots being fired and a bright future in a prison cell.
Hand resting on the grip of her longgun, Hera strode out into the yard, keeping her gaze straight ahead and hoping she looked like a Gultur with a purpose, which was, after all, the truth.
Not expecting the gate to be unlocked – and it looked padlocked even from afar – she turned and headed to the south side. She eyed the tall chain link fence, which was topped with barbed wire, and smirked.
This would have been a bloody mess, had she not come informed and prepared.
Shrugging her coat off, she threw it up and over the barbed wire, covering it. Grinning, she reached up with her gloved hands, finding hand- and footholds in the mesh fence, and climbed up. With careful movements, she gripped the wires through the thick leather. Once she was sure she would not be sliced to pieces by the sharp barbs, she pulled herself up and passed one leg over the wires, then the other. 
She was outside.
With a flip of her hand, she freed her coat and jumped down to the hard cement, wincing at the echoing thump. The unpainted, concrete wall surrounding the complex stood easily fifteen feet tall – almost three times her height. She glanced over her shoulder, making sure nobody had seen her, and took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Unwinding the thin steel cable from around her waist, she stepped back. Then she threw the grappling hook up the wall, pulled on it to secure it, and started climbing. 
She’d done similar exercises on the training grounds in Bone Tower, but then she was not facing charges of – what? insubordination? treason? What was the penalty for that?
Forcing her mind back on track, she climbed higher, the cable scorching furrows into her palms and fingers even through the gloves, until she reached the top and breathed out. Artemisia spread in rows of narrow buildings and dark alleys. A sour stench hit her nostrils. 
With no more time to take in the view, she pulled up the cable, threw it on the other side and quickly descended until her boots hit the sidewalk.
She was in the harbor suburbs of Artemisia.
A jerk on the cable freed the hook and she wrapped the wire around her waist once more. Keeping a steady tread, she walked into the shadows of an alley, shrugging her coat back on and drawing her gun. She had only been in purely Gultur cities before – Dakru City, which was the capital, and Bone Tower, the sacred citadel. They had tall white buildings, trees and lakes and temples with carved doors and statues. Flowers bloomed in the gardens and their scent filled the air.
Artemisia reeked. Hera had even smelled it from the transport helicopter as they had approached the town that morning – rotten meat, like a one-day-old corpse, sourness and piss – but now she gagged on it and pressed her sleeve over her nose. The buildings, blackened by the soot of dakron fumes, looked dilapidated and decrepit, their windows broken. The streets were narrow and filthy, covered in trash – some of it organic but mostly packages and torn bags. She shuddered when a huge rat ran along a wall and dived into a gutter. 
It must be only the harbor neighborhood, she told herself and gripped her gun more tightly. Surely other parts of the town looked – and smelled – better.
There was the shuffle of feet, and something whizzed past her ear. What in the hells? She threw herself sideways, and the second dart, for that was what it was, hit a wall and ricocheted, striking the cement with a hair-raising screech.
Shaking with shock and anger she got to her feet. Whoever was there would soon regret this pitiful attack. She took aim, her pulse racing, but never got the chance to fire. A whirlwind of hands and feet and high-pitched voices stormed her. She knocked a bony hand aside with the handle of her longgun and kicked at a leg before she even realized who these persons were.
Children.
She turned the muzzle of her gun in a circle, zeroing on face after emaciated, small face, and her breath caught at their stench, their blackened feet, their shredded clothes. Children living on the street? They crouched as if about to attack, and she steadied her aim on the tallest one who seemed to be their leader.
“Go away and I will not kill you,” she said, proud her voice did not waver. The boy’s eyes hardened, then softened as he glanced around him. Aha, a weakness. “You do not want the others to die, do you? You’re responsible for them. Take them and go.”
He surprised her by lifting his chin and taking a step toward her. “We need food and water and medicine. Come on, give us what you got and we go.”
“I have nothing.” And that saddened her, she realized with surprise, because they looked thin and hungry. Did their whole family live on the street? Mortals were raised by their mothers and fathers, she knew, being born so much weaker than the Gultur. She tried to imagine growing up with Tefnut – a hand caressing her hair and an arm around her shoulders – and a rare feeling of jealousy closed up her throat. “Where are your parents?”
“Parents?” He laughed but it was bitter and sharp, and it was odd, coming from him. He did not look older than twelve. “Your race killed them off. Prevention measures, they called them. Murder, I say.”
Shit. Hera’s head spun. Although she’d grown up without her mother, she’d always been surrounded by her teachers and trainers. She could not imagine growing up without someone older to guide her, feed her, teach and prepare her for the future.
Sobek. If only that future did not frighten me.
Hera took a deep breath, knowing she did not have much time before her escape was discovered. She needed to get back fast, yet not before getting the intel she had come out for. “Tell me this: is there a raid tonight? Can you take me there?”
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” He spat and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, scowling. “But you don’t wear a visor and don’t have a shield. They left you behind, didn’t they?”
“You stupid...” She bit her tongue. The other children’s faces twisted in grimaces of fear and anger. “No, they did not leave me behind. I just need to know... the truth.”
“The truth is that your bastard race’s killing us,” he said, his dark eyes narrowed. “You’re killing us every day, in every way. You took control of everything and left us begging for scraps. You treat us like dogs, squish us like bugs. You got everything. How come we got nothing, huh?”
“You started the War.” Gods, her voice trembled now and her gun shook just a little. She tightened her grip on the handle. “You tortured us and killed us first.”
“So this is your revenge? For something nobody remembers?”
“We remember. It happened five hundred and seventy years ago,” Hera quoted, her voice like stone but starting to crack. “It is written. You started—”
“Buzzardshit.” The boy took a shuffling step toward her, his hands fisted at his sides, his cheeks flushed. “Says who? You. Besides, who cares who started what five hundred years ago? It wasn’t my parents and it wasn’t me, was it?”
Hera couldn’t breathe. Every day, together with the other Gultur of her quarter, she’d prayed to the Gods to save her from the mortals who wanted her death, who wanted her destruction, and to give her strength to smite them. She’d asked Regina to lend her strength to do what she must. 
Today everything she’d always known seemed wrong and stupid.
The boy glared. He’d taken another step closer. His eyes glittered, and his hair, sandy like Sacmis’s, hung in greasy strands around his thin face. He reeked of sweat and shit and truth. 
Hera took a deep breath and savored it. “Just take me to the raid,” she whispered, lowering her gun so it didn’t point at his head anymore. “I need to see.”
“See to believe, huh?” 
“Something like that.”
“If I take you, you give me your gun?”
“Nobody takes my gun.” She scowled.
The boy suddenly grinned. “And if I have my gang take it from you?”
“Your memory is too short, boy.” She sneered. “If you do not do as I say, I’ll shoot, and they’ll die. Do you really want that?”
He squinted at her. “Do you?”
Dammit. Silence filled her mouth and killed the words. Do I? She sighed and lifted her gun again, aiming at his head. “I said, take me.”
A smaller boy tugged at the leader from behind. “Mantis, take her there. Do it, come on, man. She’ll kill you if you don’t.”
The leader – Mantis – nodded. “You’re right, Kem.”
She wanted to laugh, though her stomach was in knots. “What, you do as a little one says?”
He cocked his head to the side, observing her, barely blinking. “It’s not always the strongest who knows best, I’ll have you know.”
Hera winced. “And you have said enough. Take me.”
Mantis shrugged. Turning on his heel, he started off down an alley. “Come if you like, fe. Your kind gets off on blood and death, huh?”
“That is a stupid thing to say. Nobody likes blood and death.” She hurried after him, wondering as she did why she felt she had to correct him, or explain anything. The other kids dispersed, melting into the shadows of fire escapes and other alleys. “We are not like that.”
“But you are. You will be.” He gave her a sidelong glance. He walked remarkably fast for a young boy. “When you get older.”
Hera shuddered. “How do you know all this?” About Regina maturing, overtaking me.
The boy shrugged. “All adults like blood.” 
Hera shook her head. So he did not really know about Regina. Being paranoid again. He turned into a wider street and she matched his pace. 
“How often do they raid?” she asked.
“They?” He snorted. “You talk as if you aren’t one of them, as if—Oh shit.” His face paled and he pressed his back to a wall, waving at her to do the same. No sooner had she hidden in the shadow of a rusty fire escape, than a Gultur patrol marched by, visored and armed, shields held before them. A man scuttled out of their path. One of the Gultur shoved him with her shield and sent him smashing against a wall. He crumbled.
Hera hissed and made as if to step out, gun at the ready, but Mantis’ hand on her arm stopped her. She stood, frozen in place, as the Gultur laughed and marched on.
“Is he all right?” she whispered.
“Well, he’s not dead. He’s a lucky bastard.” Face grim, Mantis tugged her away and into an alley full of cats and trash. 
“Wait.” Hera shook her arm free. “They would not kill him just for standing in their way.”
“Oh, wouldn’t they?” His emotionless voice twisted Hera’s stomach. “Hurry up or you’ll miss all the fun.”
Hera smelled the smoke long before they saw the fire. She opened her mouth to ask where the fire brigade was when Mantis muttered:
“They’re using the flamethrowers and ‘splosive grenades again today.”
“What are you talking about, these are not...” Hera frowned.
Gultur helicopters and aircars surrounded the area on fire. Black smoke billowed out of the broken windows of the burning buildings and hung heavy on the air; it stung Hera’s eyes and throat with every breath. 
Then an explosion rocked the ground and thin screams echoed. Where were the fire trucks? Hera squinted in the smoky air, trying to discern what was happening, and a gasp left her lips. She stared in shock, her knees weakening. 
Oh gods.
Visored Gultur held flamethrowers aimed at the buildings and the people inside. They were not helping, no, they were killing, burning, destroying. Gultur were doing this, delivering this. This raid. This death. 
Bile burned the back of her throat. ‘You must get off on blood and death, huh?’ She dropped to her knees, her gun cluttering to the pavement, and she retched. Nunet’s snakes. Is this what we are? What we do? Is this what Regina convinces us to do?
“Hey, you okay?” Mantis’ pale face loomed over her like a moon. “It’s like you’ve never seen this shit before.”
She shook her head, refused to take his offered hand to stand. She made it on her own, stood on trembling legs and holstered her gun. “I have to go back.”
“Oh yeah?” He gestured at the raid unfolding before them. “Won’t you join them?”
“No.” Never. Dammit, now she had more questions, needed more answers than before – but at least she knew where she stood. Who she was. Who she would become if she did not fight back. “Who leads the resistance?”
“You’re asking too much. For all I know, you’re only looking to kill me.” He scowled. “Besides, what makes you think I know such things? I don’t work for the damned resistance, do I?”
“I need to contact them.”
“You’re out of your pissing mind, fe.” 
He backed away then, and she knew he would probably melt into the shadows and never return. Sweat dripped in her eyes.
“Wait, Mantis.”
He hesitated. “What?”
She had to convince him. If only she knew how. “I am not like them.”
He bit his lower lip. “Not yet. Soon, though, soon you’ll be just like them.”
“No.” She wiped her mouth, swallowing hard to get rid of the sourness in her throat; in vain. “I do not want to be like them. I did not know, I...” She exhaled and wished she could find the right words. “I want to stop this.”
“Heh.” His mouth twisted in an angry smile. “And how?”
“I told you. I need to find the resistance.”
His smile fell and he looked away, hands loose at his sides. His shabby pants hung in shreds below his dirty knees. His boots were holed in several places. 
We’re all human.
“If you knew where to find them, you’d betray them. The resistance.” He turned his dark gaze back on her and she could not look away from the pain and anger and sadness that filled it. “You’d kill them all.”
“I shall not.” How to make them trust her? She was a Gultur. Why would they ever believe in her sincerity? She’d only just changed her mind about everything she’d ever been taught that morning. Yet she had to succeed, she had to convince this boy that she would not betray his trust, if he chose to give it.
Her mother’s words returned to her memory and she closed her eyes briefly, drawing on them for inspiration. “Take them... Take a message for me.” Would they know her mother? “Tell them, Tefnut says we’re all human.”
The message at least was clear.
He scrunched up his face. “Who the hell’s Tefnut?”
“She’s...” Hera sighed. “You do not need to know more, that would be safer for both of us. Just tell them what I said. If they agree to meet with me, you must find me when I return to the Gultur military port in two days for my next patrol. Be there. Give me their answer.”
“All right.” He looked dubious, his brows drawn together. “Where?”
“On the other side of the high wall where I met you.” She saw in her mind’s eye the concrete wall and frowned. “But I’m not sure I can break out again, they may suspect me already. Can you break in?”
The boy avoided her gaze. “There’re ways for someone my size. Listen, fe, I’ll just pass your request along, hoping it’ll somehow reach them.”
He looked scared, even if he tried to hide it. Hera nodded. She hoped her suspicions were right, that her mother’s name was known to the resistance and that it would be enough to vouchsafe her trustworthiness to the leaders of the Undercurrent.



Chapter Three



The two days crawled by. The Bone Tower, the spacious, open-air citadel of the Gultur, stifled Hera like a headlock. The filing observation data and her other assignments dragged, a looping nightmare that sucked on her concentration, leaving her empty. The lessons in biology and history failed to hold her attention. For the first time in years, she was reprimanded and sent to read in her room. 
Terrible things were happening outside the gilded walls and she was kept in darkness. When she finally raised the courage to ask where her mother was stationed, she was told it was not her business to know. Girls had nothing more to do with their mothers after early childhood, and that was long past, so she could not ask again without drawing attention to herself and that was the last thing she needed right now.
Sacmis avoided her, and ignored her when working together on an assignment became unavoidable. 
Not as if I saved her life or anything, Hera thought bitterly. Although, deep inside she knew, it was not she, Hera, who had saved Sacmis – but the unknown man with his boy, the mortals she’d been about to kill.
When the day of the patrol finally arrived, she was not overly surprised to find out that she’d been partnered with Sacmis again, but it did complicate matters. 
Matters like breaking out of the Artemisia military HQ to see if Mantis was there. The more she thought about it, the more she doubted he’d be able to slip inside. 
Sacmis watched her like a hawk, making Hera wonder whether Nekut had suspected something and had set Sacmis on her tail. The transport helicopter had barely landed, when Sacmis pulled Hera out onto the landing pad. 
“Hey, release me.” She scowled at Sacmis’ hard glare. “What is wrong with you?”
Sacmis gave a mocking bow. “Am I allowed to speak around you now, hatha?”
There was so much venom in Sacmis’ voice that Hera was speechless for a moment. “Are you serious?”
“What do you think?”
“Why are you acting like this?” Hera struggled to keep her voice low. “You almost died. I did all I could to save your life.”
“I would rather have died than have a filthy mortal touch me.”
Hera gaped at Sacmis as the other Gultur turned and strode away. Nunet, she should have seen this coming. Since the incident with the mortals, she’d known that Sacmis was a believer. Of course she’d never forgive Hera for letting the mortals go. 
Now Hera had to find a way to meet the boy under Sacmis’ hateful gaze.
Did I say complicated? Make that damn impossible.
Then again, if Sacmis was mad enough to keep her distance, maybe there was still hope. 
And Sacmis was heading straight for the docks. She seemed in a hurry to get on the wavebreaker, patrol and return. Hera followed her as slowly as she dared, glancing at the fence on either side of the compound. 
Nothing.
The world darkened as she walked on toward the dock. Her assumptions had been wrong. The resistance did not know of her mother and did not trust Hera. 
Or the boy had not taken her message. 
Or else he’d failed to enter the premises, as she’d feared. 
Anything could have happened.
The smell of the sea – saltiness and sewage – hit her senses and she saw again in her mind’s eye the look on the two mortals’ faces as she sighted down the barrel of her gun, about to shoot them.
She had to fix this. She had to stop this. She would find another way. She—
A movement along the chain link fence caught her attention. 
Hera stumbled to a halt, but then forced her feet to keep moving. Cameras were watching, and other Gultur lounged about the HQ and the docks. From the corner of her eye she saw the boy, Mantis, staring back at her, fingers wrapped around the metal mesh of the fence. He’d come. How in all the hells had he made it past the wall?
Think, hatha, think.
She changed her path slightly to the side, approaching the fence. When she was as close as she dared, she pretended to stumble and fell on all fours, barely noticing the jarring pain in her knees and wrists. 
All her focus was on Mantis who pushed a small piece of paper through the fence and scuttled away, crouching low as he ran, not looking back to see if she’d got it. 
Hera clutched the paper in her hand, wondering if there was a hole in the outer wall, and, if so, how the cameras had missed it. She pushed herself up, unfolding the piece of paper.
“Are you coming or not?” Sacmis shouted from the dock. “We do not have all day. You’ll make us late.”
Cold sweat trickled down Hera’s temples. “Just get on the damn boat. I’m on my way.”
She looked at the message. It read, “Meet Pelia at Dock 6 in two days.” Pelia, probably one of the leaders. Another two days. 
They’d believed her.
Shoulders relaxing slightly, Hera pushed the paper into her mouth and swallowed as two Gultur officers approached her. She’d think later of a way to break out of the complex again.
“Are you all right?” one of the officers asked, a wiry, short haired woman. “What happened?”
“I’m fine.” The lie came easily to her tongue – had she always been capable of such deception? – and rolled off. “My boot caught on something.”
The Gultur nodded, her eyes hooding in suspicion. “Hurry, hatha, you’re running late.”
Hera nodded and dusted herself off. “I’ll make up for the lost time.”
 Sacmis stood on the deck of the wavebreaker, arms folded over her chest, blond ponytail fluttering in the wind, a dark scowl on her face. 
Hera jogged toward her, lips stretching in a grin in spite of the terrible odds. Indeed I will. 




THE END
About the Author


Greek Cypriot with a penchant for dark myths, good food, and a tendency to settle down anywhere but at home, Chrystalla likes to write about fantastical creatures, crazy adventures, and family bonds. She lives in Cyprus with her husband and her vast herds of books. Her stories can be found in Alienskin magazine, Lorelei Signal, the Shine Journal, Encounters Magazine, and Bards and Sages ezine i.a. She is also an author for MuseItUp Publishing where you can find her YA Urban Fantasy novella Dioscuri.

Here is the link to Chrystalla’s writing blog where you can find short stories, samples and link to other longer works:

Blog: http://chrystallathoma.wordpress.com

Contact me on:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/chrystallathoma

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Chrystalla-Thoma/117863861560579

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Chrys

I hope you have enjoyed HERA. 

Hera is one of the main characters from my novel Rex Rising (YA science fiction), available on Amazon and Smashwords – currently on sale for 99c.


Rex Rising
Book One of Elei’s Chronicles

In a world where parasites create new human races, Elei leads a peaceful life — until a mysterious attack on his boss sends him fleeing with a bullet in his side. Pursued for a secret he does not possess and with the fleet at his heels, he has but one thought: to stay alive. His pursuers aren’t inclined to sit down and talk, although that’s not the end of Elei’s troubles. The two powerful parasites inhabiting his body, at a balance until now, choose this moment to bring him down, leaving Elei with no choice but to trust in people he hardly knows. It won’t be long before he realizes he must find out this deadly secret – a secret that might change the fate of his world and everything he has ever known – or die trying.

Smashwords: http://tinyurl.com/3zkfnjb

Also available in kindle format on Amazon.

Excerpt from the novel:

Chapter 1


Still no message. 
Hera massaged her brow. No icon flashed on her round, rust-framed screen, and she’d been expecting word from Pelia for four endless weeks now. If only the dreams did not plague her so often — strange dreams of the seven islands rising from the deep, vibrating and covered in flashing metal.
Sighing, she twisted her long hair in a knot at her nape, stuck a pen in it and rubbed her weary eyes. Fading daylight reflected off the bare white walls and the metal desks of the deserted office. Everyone had gone home hours ago and she had long since finished her filing. 
But Hera could not leave, not yet. News of the shipment would finally arrive — the cure Pelia had promised, to rid the world of a parasite unlike any other. Details on who would meet with her, when and where, should come in an encrypted message from the Undercurrent leader, Dione, and Hera would be there to receive it. 
While waiting, she clicked open file after file of reports from various projects. The words rolled before her eyes, but none penetrated her conscious thought. Instead, images from the dream pelted her mind — steel encased peaks, wet and glistening, rising higher and higher into the sky. The seven islands that formed the known world. 
‘With a clap of thunder and fast as lightning, seven islands rose from the ocean deep: Ker, Torq, Ert, Aue, Kukno, Ost, and rich Dakru,’ wrote Sarpion three hundred years back.
Well, Hera thought, sneering; maybe Sarpion had some weird dreams as well. 
She wondered why so little was known about the islands. Apart from the fact that they rose simultaneously and were similar in geography and size, information was scarce. Each island was about five hundred square miles, composed of steep central mountain massifs, which were surrounded by lowlands stretching down until they met the coast. Fresh water sprang from the mountains, and the pale daystar traveling the sky produced enough radiation for agaricum crops to feed both races — the Gultur and the other, lower humans.
Yet the system contained no information on the origins of the islands or their curious symmetry. Symmetry in a face meant health. Symmetry in a crystal meant adherence to basic laws of physics. Symmetry in islands rising from the sea meant purpose — islands rising in a perfect circle and so close to each other they could all be connected with great steel bridges, both between them and with Dakru, the central island.
Coincidence? Divine provision? 
Why did nobody wonder? It was as if all data had been erased from the system, and with it all memory or interest in knowing.
Yes, and why would anyone want to erase ancient history? Hera sighed. Obsession. Simple as that. The wait was getting to her. When would Pelia finally send word? 
She was about to close the file and finally head to her sleeping quarters, when two highlighted words in the text caught her attention. Hera tapped her forefinger on the screen. ‘Siren Project.’ She was sure she had seen that project mentioned in another document, a historical file about early Gultur civilization she had secretly accessed a week back.
Siren. A sea goddess with a fish tail, guiding the souls to the deep sea. Maybe the symbolism meant something…
Hera snorted and leaned back in her chair. There she went again, looking for a mystery where there was none. Many projects had the names of gods. Nothing out of the ordinary. Tail-fished gods and monsters. She glared at the text. She’d had enough of the gods. 
 “Lady Hera? Are you still in here?”
She flinched and pressed a key to close the data file. One could never be too careful. “Yes, Mata, I’m still here.” Although Mata had been around ever since she was little, Hera had never trusted her. Nobody could be trusted.
The old office keeper poked her head inside. Her silver hair, pinned back, caught the light of the dakron lamps in sparks and glitters. Gradually the rest of her body emerged, shrunken and hunched. “Apologies. I thought the building was empty and was about to lock up.”
Hera shrugged. “I was filing reports. Just give me a few moments to tidy up.”
“You must be so excited, hatha.” Coming from Mata’s lips, the honorific sounded so much grander than Hera knew it to be. Echo. She was that, an Echo princess, and had no choice in the matter. 
“Excited?”
Mata’s eyes shone and her crinkled face creased more. “I cannot believe that your Maturation Day is coming up in only three weeks! What a pretty girl you have become, hatha!”
Hera turned her head to hide a frown. She had no reason for excitement and no time for babies just yet. “That is none of your business, Mata.” 
“Apologies again.” Mata’s voice dropped to a more deferential tone. “I forget sometimes that you are not a child anymore.”
Hera sighed. “Close the other offices, I will be—”
A message symbol flashed on her screen. Pulse pounding in her ears, she opened the small window and entered her first password. When the system asked for a second one, her breath caught. Doubly protected. A message from the Undercurrent. News from Pelia. At last.
“Lady Hera?” Mata’s voice held puzzlement.
“I will be but a moment longer.” Hera waved a hand and typed the password, then waited, barely daring to breathe. When Mata finally bowed and backed away, she opened the message.
It was brief and to the point. “Our Ost connection was terminated. Position of expected shipment unknown. Locate it.”
The air left Hera’s lungs. Terminated? Unknown? She erased the message, her hand trembling. Sobek’s balls, she’d not seen this coming. She’d assumed all was going according to plan. 
Gods. Pelia.   
Hera bowed her head, fighting the cold grip of fear in her chest. Pelia was dead, and Hera had to know what exactly had taken place. She flexed her fingers and willed her pulse to slow. 
“Snap out of it,” she whispered to herself. “Do something.” All this waiting and hoping in the dark, only to find that the light would reveal death and despair. 
I will not let this happen.
After accessing the classified page of the secret police, she entered another password, opened the newsfeed and scanned the fuzzy images recorded by the surveillance cameras across the street from Pelia’s apartment. 
A shooting. 
The gunshots sounded tinny on the bad recording of the cameras. Pelia’s long, flat aircar — the new S152 model — appeared. A thin, young man dressed in dark clothes stumbled out of the aircar door, holding Pelia’s limp body in his arms, and laid her down on the deck. He knelt over her. Then more shots rang and fuzzy silhouettes with big guns in their hands moved out of the shadows. The image fizzled and went black.
Hera banged her fist on the desk. Nobody outside the Undercurrent was supposed to know the importance of Pelia’s work. Pelia had been betrayed. 
A traitor walked among them.
Icy sweat trickled down Hera’s spine and her hands trembled. Knowing she had no time for a breakdown, she shoved her fear deep inside its box. A quick search of the message pool showed her that the shipment had not yet been found. She sagged in her chair, releasing a pent-up breath. Then who had it?
Her eyes narrowed. The boy. He must have the shipment. Pelia’s chauffeur, right? Sort of an adopted son she’d recruited from a monks’ factory on Ost. He’d been with her when she was shot, and therefore was the only person to whom she could have given it.
Hera pushed back her chair, grabbed her longgun and her glitcher from a drawer and stood. Others had already seen the images. They would be searching for the boy right now. Dammit all to the five hells.
Holstering her gun, she stepped out into the lobby of the administration offices and strode out and down a passage leading to the great auditorium of the Echo Palace. Turning abruptly left at the fresco of the butterfly garden, she headed to the main hangar. Her mission was compromised. It was imperative that she found the boy, and time was running short.
As she crossed to the helicopters, she nodded a greeting to the hangar officer, a tall, lithe woman with ash blond hair in a braid. While climbing into the first helicopter in the row and powering up the system, she gazed at the woman. 
Curvier than most, filling out her gray uniform well, the young officer turned to stare back at Hera, fine features locked in a scowl. 
Hera winked, blew a kiss and raised her forefinger and thumb, flashing the woman an “all well” sign. Then she took the helicopter out of the hangar and up over the Tower’s white turrets and green groves, over the grey slopes of the mountains and then the boring plain. 
She would find the boy — if he’d made it out of the shooting alive. 




Chapter 2


Blood seeped between Elei’s fingers. 
The small wound was above his left hipbone. He pressed down harder to staunch the bleeding and gritted his teeth. His pulse leaped under his palm as he sat shivering on a hard, cold bench. He rested his other hand on the grip of his holstered gun. In his blurry eyes, everything had a shimmering edge, suspended between reality and dream. 
Then the world tilted. 
Danger. 
Elei jerked and sharp pain erupted in his side. Hissing, he drew his gun and waited. His possessed eye throbbed; cronion, the strongest of his resident parasites, hated surprises. The world lit up in bright colors. Be ready. His heart pounded in his chest, sent bruising beats against his ribs. He swallowed past a dry throat and gripped his gun until his knuckles creaked. 
Nothing moved. Oblong objects around him pulsed in cool hues of green and blue. Safe. Nothing living. He relaxed a little. For a while he simply sat, left hand pressing against the wound, the cold metal barrel of the gun held against his right thigh. 
“Hey, you,” a man’s voice said from behind. 
Clamping his jaw, Elei lifted the gun and turned to point in the general direction of the voice. Cold wind blew his jacket hood back, allowing him a wider view. The man appeared at the right periphery of Elei’s tainted vision — a splash of red. He went still when Elei cocked the hammer. The click rang too loud in the quiet. 
“Calm down, will you,” the man said, raising his hands. “Just checking on you. You’re bleeding all over my boat.” 
The boatman. Elei let out a breath and lowered the gun, but didn’t click the safety back on, just in case. The cold breeze ruffled his short hair and water splashed and murmured. The low hum of an engine set his teeth on edge. What was he doing in a boat out at sea? He prodded his memories, but came up blank.
Cronion beat at the back of his eyeball like a hammer. He forced his tense muscles to relax and rubbed his eye with his thumb until the dull ache eased. This time, when he blinked, he saw the surface of things, his unfamiliar surroundings — the wet prow, moonlight glinting on metal benches like the one he sat on, yellow lifesavers underneath them. The boatman stood by the rail, dressed in shabby trousers and a pale yellow shirt, watching him from under his dark cap. The light from a lamp set on a bench pooled around him. The sky stretched naked above, night-black and starry.
The boat rocked and listed. His legs slid. He was falling. 
He threw his hands to the sides, to find a handhold, the gun screeching against metal. His fingers caught the edge of the bench. He clutched it, the deep, sharp pain in his side squeezing the air from his lungs, and he bent over, panting. 
Broken pieces of memories rushed back with a deafening roar. Shots fired. Running through the streets. The docks of Ost. 
He was crossing the straits between the great islands. 
Shivers crawled up his spine. He lifted his hand and stared at the blood on his fingers. He’d been shot, but couldn’t remember who’d done it. 
Elei groaned to himself. He laid his gun — an antique, semi-automatic Rasmus — on his lap and wrapped his arms around himself, tucking his icy hands under his armpits; hoping fervently this was nothing but a dream, and knowing he just wasn’t that lucky. 
“Hey.” The boatman approached him, stepping over the benches with his long, spindly legs. Red color flashed over his heart, pulsing with each beat. 
Elei straightened with a wince and raised his gun. It seemed to have grown heavier; he could barely lift it. “What do you want now?” 
 “We’re almost there.” The boatman’s voice resonated with a hidden growl. When he raised the dakron lamp, its light revealed a leathery, deeply lined face and bright blue eyes. “Better get ready to jump, do you hear?” 
“I heard you.” Elei kept the gun leveled, his arm muscles straining. Where in the hells are we? Cold sweat sluiced down his back. His nostrils flared and his body tensed with the urge to run. Run where? He was in a boat, for all the gods’ sakes, and yet he knew that even here, in the openness of the sea, he couldn’t afford to relax. 
Holstering the gun, he struggled to rise but his damn legs cramped and resisted. Shivers danced down his spine and adrenaline made his blood pump faster, so it trickled down his side, scalding his chilled flesh.
“Hurry up, boy,” muttered the boatman and his hand closed around Elei’s arm like a band of steel. “We can’t linger here.” He hauled him up as if he weighed nothing, the movement sending sharp claws of pain deep into Elei’s side. 
Hells. Elei gritted his teeth and refused to make any sound as the boatman dragged him to the rail and left him there, the boat rocking with the movement. Muttering, the man went back to his steering wheel and navigated the boat through the dark waters.
In the distance, squat buildings, old warehouses, rose from the white mist of night. Starlight reflected off polished gray walls. The vacant pier jutted out into the sea like an arm of stone. The boat swerved toward it, then slowed down and bumped to a stop, thumping gently against the square blocks.
Elei inhaled the humid air and tried to get his bearings, to remember something, anything. In the end, he had to admit defeat. “Which island is this? Is it Kukno?” 
“Are you saying I tricked you?” The boatman’s voice was dry. “We’re right where you told me to take you. Dakru.” 
Dakru! The heart of the Seven Islands, risen in their perfect center, pushed out of the depths of the sea by the gods — at the beginning, before their divine hands molded the flesh of fish and birds, and then man. Elei stared at the shore, not quite believing he was there.
Until the boatman planted a heavy hand on his shoulder and shook him. “Hey, snap out of it. Pay me my second half and jump out now, or the sea will have you.” 
Looking into his hard eyes, Elei had no doubt he meant it. He reached into his pocket and took out his thin wad of bills. Blood ran in a hot line down his hip as he counted and gave over the money. The boatman counted it again, eyes darting to the remaining bills and Elei’s gun peeking out of the holster. 
Not good. Grimacing, Elei climbed out of the boat, scrambling on hands and knees to keep his balance on the blocks of the pier, fumbling in the half-darkness as the sea sang and sighed all around him and cold water sprayed his face. His left wrist throbbed, felt slightly sprained. His body felt numb, uncoordinated; the pain in his side echoed in his limbs, in his head.
Like an insect, he crawled on the giant squares, skinning hands and knees, until he finally reached the pier road. He could have wept for relief. Maneuvering his heavy legs, he climbed to his feet and glanced back at the boat which was already speeding away — a speck blacker than blackness, a white line of surf. Then he turned with a knot in his stomach to face the unknown shore.
The island was Dakru, but which city was this one? A memory returned and Elei frowned. Krisia. The boatman was supposed to drop him at Krisia, a small enough seaport to avoid Gultur police control. What had possessed him to go there? 
Elei staggered along the pier toward the storehouses lining the seafront and the wound hurt like a son of a bitch with every step. He should have hidden in the mountains of Ost until he figured out what happened. 
Nobody in their right mind would come to Dakru. The Gultur presence was stronger there. Their capital, Dakru City, the Gultur stronghold, rose in the center of the island, dominating the plains at the feet of the rugged mountains, and the dakron mines spread around it in a spiderweb of power. The source of the Gultur wealth lay in the control of the dakron mines, where the mineral fuel, pure and invaluable, was extracted.  The police presence would be stronger here as well. And he was an illegal migrant. 
This is mad. Why would I… 
Someone had chased him. A face he knew, a man’s hard features, surfaced in his memory. Falx? He wondered why Pelia’s head of security would go after him, though it made no difference now. Nevertheless, it explained why he’d chosen — wisely in retrospect — not to travel with legal transportation over the immense bridges between the islands. He’d still been able to think when he’d boarded the boat, body pumped full of adrenaline.  
Now the images, the words, the thoughts turned hazy. He stumbled and had to stop to catch his breath, his hand clenching on his side. Just move. He licked his lips, his throat raw from thirst, knowing he couldn’t rest there — too conspicuous, too dangerous. Keep moving. He had to get to Artemisia. He knew that. And from there… 
Elei grappled with the memory. Where did he have to go? An address, he had an address. Where was it? His hand dove into his pocket and drew out a crumpled scrap of paper. The letters jerked and swam in his vision. 
There. He must get there. A name. And a place, an address. He wondered how far he had to go, how easy it’d be to find transportation and whether streetcars ran that stretch. He pushed the paper deep into his pocket, patted it. The knot in his gut unwound a little. He had a goal. Get there. Just do it.
Go to Aerica. 
Find Kalaes Ster.
The sequel to Rex Rising, due out end 2011:

Rex Cresting
Book Two of Elei’s Chronicles


Still recovering at a hospital on the north coast of Dakru, Elei is convinced that his part in bringing down the Gultur is over. Rex has infected the other race and their dictatorial system is starting to collapse. Not every Gultur, though, has been affected, and on top of that, inside Elei’s body, Rex has matured and goes through another transformation. Elei isn’t sure he can survive Rex’s new strength — but that is the least of his worries, as the Gultur descend on him again.