Page 13 of Caldar
“I am insulted,” he taunted. “Give me a challenge.”
Two males rushed at him. Caldar swung the rifle into the side of one and shot the other.
Now he had two weapons. Before he could make a clever taunt, a blow to his back sent him reeling forward. Another blow landed on his ribs. He wheezed, the air knocked out his lungs.
Focus. Keep Sonia safe.
The hits came fast and from multiple directions. Caldar moved to block but was too slow, either from injury or age. There were too many. A solid punch to his jaw sprayed blood. He slammed the butt of the rifle into his opponent’s face, twisted to aim at another, and pulled the trigger.
Nothing. The shoddy piece of Suhlik equipment failed.
Pain, sharp and blinding, struck as a bullet pierced his thigh. He staggered, his leg unwilling to support himself. Warmth spread as blood soaked the fabric of his trousers. Soon, even that sensation faded. Mahdfel engineering diminished the pain. It was not a good design, as warriors often exacerbated their injuries because they lacked pain’s warning, but the Suhlik were not interested in the longevity of their minion, only their effectiveness.
Caldar shifted his weight, favoring his injured leg. He was vulnerable. He needed to end the fight now before he was incapacitated.
Overhead, a missile slammed into the ship and erupted into a blinding light. He stumbled back, putting distance between himself and the Suhlik soldiers. His chest ached with possibly fractured ribs. The pain with anything other than shallow breathing confirmed the fracture.
He wiped blood from his mouth.
A wise warrior knew when to retreat.
The soft, crunching sound of breaking glass overhead chilled his blood.
SONIA
The comm unit on her wrist vibrated.
Emergency situation. Calmly return to your cabins. Be prepared to use the bed’s emergency pod function.
“You don’t say,” Sonia muttered. The message felt like it arrived a little too late, but it was better than nothing.
She crawled forward, needing to peek under the tablecloth to see what was happening but also not wanting to see. It reminded her too much of the air raid drills during the Invasion.
This was some bullshit. No grown woman should be huddled under a table, flinching at every large bang. But what could she do? She was an artist, not a fighter. Throw a handful of oil pastels at the Suhlik? Blow chalk dust in their eyes?
Sonia buried her nose in the jacket’s lapels. It smelled of fresh laundry detergent and a musky, woodsy scent that she associated with Caldar.
This was the Suhlik’s fault. They ruined everything, and for no good reason. Not that invading Earth to strip it of resources or harvest people or whatever alien invaders did was good, but it was a motivation. The Suhlik just seemed to create violence for violence, like it was pretentious performance art. Maybe there was purpose hiding in their acts, but it wasn’t like the Suhlik stopped to explain themselves.
Nope. Just straight up murder.
Sonia’s own memories of the Invasion were fuzzy and supplemented by TV footage. She couldn’t rightly tell the difference between what she saw as it happened and recordings. Her memories were most likely all compiled from video. Sonia had been young and considered the programs her parents watched boring, especially the news. Super boring.
Once the Invasion got underway, nice things like reliable television and the evening news stopped. That was the Suhlik’s legacy. A few excited media clips. The aliens promised to share technology and medicine, and they were beautiful, disturbingly so. Golden scales shone with an ethereal radiance. Humanity was all too willing to believe the pretty alien’s promises.
Then blood and bombs.
Now Sonia couldn’t go a year of her life without having to deal with the Draft: report for testing and maybe getting randomly matched with an alien to make babies. The possibility hung over head and influenced her choices, as it did for everyone with a womb. It sucked, and now the Suhlik had the nerve to ruin her vacation.
Her chest tightened, but it was with anger, not panic. Anger was good. It kept her focused on the present, not spiraling into memories of helplessness. Sonia wasn’t a scared little kid huddling in the closet anymore.
She was a grown woman huddling under a cruise ship buffet table.
World of difference.
Gunshots made her flinch. That couldn’t be good.
She wasn’t a fighter, but she wasn’t helpless. Maybe if she grabbed a serving tray…
