23 (Memory Block, pt. 1)

Lieutenant Griselda Gagnant lay on the bunk of her cell, her right index finger absently tracing a circular scar on her left palm. Her name was stenciled over her heart on the orange jumpsuit she wore as though she had forgotten that, too. They’d stolen her uniform and her rank as if she’d forgotten years, not just one day.

She knew it was only a matter of time before they came for her again. This time, Major Zielinski would be desperate. Tears of frustration welled up just thinking about another interrogation. The past and the present had begun to blur. Some moments, she couldn’t tell which was which. Each interrogation edged her closer to breaking the tenuous barrier that separated the two. Each interlude became an echo chamber filled with doubts bouncing back and forth across her mind where a full day’s memories should have been. Memories that would answer their unending questions, memories of the fate of her men. Memories of what exactly she had done. She felt she knew the answers, or at least should know them. They tickled her tongue but she could never give them voice no matter how much she wanted to.

She pulled the Pocket Jesus from the shelf above her bunk, the only personal possession Zielinski had let her to keep. Absently, she turned palm-sized book in her hands. A sliver of sunlight from a high, barred window flashed across its gold embossed cover. She riffled the gilt-edged pages until her finger pulled them open to a dog-eared page among the Psalms. Had she folded that corner or had someone else? She couldn’t remember. But she had an unnatural attachment to the marked passage as if it held the key that might unlock her missing day. The rest of the book meant nothing to her and never had.

She skimmed the 23^rd Psalm again. Fragments of each line resonated like the echo of gunshots in her head. Green pastures… still waters… valley of the shadow… a table before me… anoints my head… cup runs over…. Each phrase lingered tantalizingly close to a memory. Memories that refused to surface. No matter how hard she tried, that day remained foggy and indistinct.

She stowed the book back on its shelf when she heard booted feet running in the corridor outside driven by a booming shout that could only be from Sergeant Evans. “Get ‘em up and out. The prison transports leave in twenty. Let’s move, people.”

A stun-baton banged against the reinforced door of her cell “On the line and on your knees,” a guard called through the serving slot. “You know the drill, Half-Rack.”

She rolled off the bunk and knelt on the red line three feet from the door. A week ago, no noncom would have dared use that epithet to her face. She was Lt. Gagnant to them, Gigi to her friends, friends who had all but disappeared. How quickly her situation had turned contagious.

Two guards entered with stun-batons drawn and holstered side arms waiting. One guard snapped the electromagnetic restraints on her wrists, then instructed her to rise and clamped her ankles while the other guard stood ready. Like she had anywhere else to go.

Outside, the corridor was organized chaos. Guards quick-marched a line of black-hooded prisoners in full restraints past her cell. “Get them to the transports. Today, people!” Evans yelled.

As Gigi turned to follow, one of the guards blocked her with a sparking stun-baton. “Not you, Half-Rack. Major Zielinski’s waiting in Interrogation.”

---

The guards manhandled Gigi through the armored door into the interrogation room. She didn’t resist, only tried to maintain her balance. They pushed her toward a straight-backed chair crafted from real wood of all things. The table in front of her was just as rustic and utilitarian. The only light came from a solar-tube recessed into the ceiling. It spilled over the surface of rough-cut planks. Welcome to The Farm.

Dr. Aveline Sibaya faced her across the table in a tailored pearl grey skirt with a matching jacket, diplomatically immaculate even in the primitive surroundings. An unexpected ally Gigi hadn’t seen since her time on Grey. What the hell was she doing here? Last she’d heard, Sibaya was an attaché to the Grey ambassador.

Behind Sibaya, a nondescript man Gigi didn’t recognize stood slouching in an ill-fitting Marine captain’s uniform, watching her impassively with a datapad in his hand. Michaels was the name stenciled above his pocket but with his rumpled nature and relaxed posture, she doubted he was a Marine let alone an officer. If he was, he’d be the oldest captain she’d ever met. She was dubious he could even pass the physical. A spook more likely. His detached manner and emotionless eyes didn’t belie that assessment.

Major Zielinski paced along the back of the room, issuing orders into a hand-comm, “… Lock down 1-8-bravo through 3-2-charlie. And me round up another recon squad... Then use MPs. If we lose this sector, half the district will collapse…”

“Get these restraints off her,” Sibaya commanded as the guards forced Gigi into the chair. “She’s not a dog.”

The guards exchanged glances with each other then looked to Captain Michaels, uncertain. He nodded. The corporal keyed a remote. With a snick Gigi’s shackles popped opened and her chains fell to the floor. The captain flicked two fingers at the guards who then retreated beside the door.

Turning to Gigi, Sibaya said. “They told me about your hand. Let me see.” Gigi placed both hands palm up on the table, revealing the reddened, ring-like scar on the left. Sibaya lifted that wrist gently. “It’s almost healed. You’re very lucky.”

Zielinski snapped his hand-comm shut. “Luckier than the Peacekeepers in her company. Twenty-three confirmed dead. Now half my battalion’s out of action and I still don’t know why.”

Michaels retreated to the shadows in one corner of the room, a finger playing across his datapad.

Zielinski leaned on the table, looming over Gigi. “If I had time, I’d court-martial you, Lieutenant.”

“That’s insane, Major,” Sibaya protested. “MedTech says she was full of psychotropic drugs when you found her.”

Zielinski ignored her, maintaining eye contact with Gigi. “This is a combat-zone. It would be a summary judgment. In this chaos, no one would question it.”

“I’ve told you everything I remember, Major,” Gigi insisted.

“That’s insufficient, Lieutenant,” Zielinski countered. “I’ve got people higher up the food chain chewing on my ass and they want answers. Now you get to deal with their methods.” He nodded toward Michaels.

Michaels stepped back into the light, his gaze fixed on his datapad, almost as if he were reluctant to confront Gigi directly. “Lieutenant, your last orders had you assigned to company HQ, yet Recon found you wandering in the adjacent sector a full day later. Why is that?”

“I don’t remember.” Gigi straightened to attention and turned her gaze forward. She knew the questions by heart.

Michaels’ brow furrowed as he studied the screen. “And why didn’t they find any enemy bodies, only your soldiers?”

“I don’t remember,” Gigi repeated, focusing on the wall.

“Someone painted numbers on their foreheads in their own blood?” Michaels sounded perplexed. “Was it you?”

A white-hot pain crawled from her chest to just behind her eyes. She squeezed them shut trying to will it away. “I told you. I don’t remember.”

“Finally, Lieutenant, I’m curious. How is it that of your entire company HQ, you were the only one who survived?” Gigi’s eyes sprang back open to find Michaels staring at her now. His eyes were somehow changeable, adjusting to the light like a chameleon’s.

“Because I’m Marine, not a Peacekeeper,” Gigi shot back, fixing him with an icy glare. “You’d know that if you were really one of us.”

“Enough!” Zielinski slapped the table with his palm. Sibaya jumped. Gigi blinked. Michaels only stared. “This is getting nowhere. We tried the easy way with you, Gagnant. Now we try something different. Michaels,” he nodded toward the captain.

“I don’t recommend this, Major,” Sibaya said. “This could still be focal retrograde amnesia rather than a memory block.”

“So noted, doctor,” the Major snapped. “But unless you have some answers, this interrogation proceeds. This is still a war-zone under my command.”

“Then let me speak with her privately, Major,” Sibaya implored, “Five minutes.”

“I allowed you to observe this interview on sufferance, Dr. Sibaya,” Zielinski replied.

“I could lodge a formal protest,” Sibaya countered. “After her actions on Grey, the Ambassador took a personal interest in Lt. Gagnant.”

“Respectfully, Doctor,” Michaels interjected casually, “The Ambassador was fully briefed on my orders. But if you would like to take it up with him…”  He shrugged as his voice trailed off.

“Then I want it on the record that you both understand by injecting her, she will never be able to forget. The memories you release will remain as fresh as if they happened a few minutes ago for the rest of her life. Are you willing to accept responsibility for that?” Sibaya stared at the Major then the Captain and back again.

“In 48 hours,” Zielinski replied, “ten thousand colonist-refugees drop into orbit with nowhere to go but this sector and I still don’t know whether this is a Green probe or a major uprising. One individual doesn’t figure into that equation. Especially if she’s been turned.”

“Inject me with what?” Gigi asked, turning to Sibaya. She searched her friend’s face but found only a professional mask.

“A rhinal cortex stimulator, Oxytocin and SP-117.” Sibaya answered before Zielinski could order her silence.

Zielinski added, “So you will remember, trust us, and finally tell the truth.” He motioned to the guards who restrained Gigi. She didn’t struggle. “Do it, Michaels.”

The captain removed an auto-injector from his pocket and circled the table toward her.

“You can’t do this without consent,” Sibaya insisted. “I won’t allow it. It violates every LOW OrbIT covenant and the UCMJ.”

“It’s ok, Aveline,” Gigi said, lifting her hands as far as the guards allowed. “I need to know what happened just like they do.”

“At least let me do it,” Sibaya said. Michaels paused, raising an eyebrow at Zielinski. The Major nodded tersely.

Michaels handed the auto-injector to Sibaya who rose and skirted the table. Once she stood beside Gigi, Sibaya whispered, “It’ll be better if you relax. If I miss and have to reapply, the side-effects will be worse.”

Gigi took a deep breath and let it sigh out, then nodded. She felt a burning sting followed by a wave of cold as Sibaya injected her carotid. As her world faded to black, Gigi saw Sibaya mouth, “I’m sorry.”

---

Gigi re-emerged to hear a voice in the darkness. Michaels’ voice, calm and patient yet somehow short of reassuring. “I want you to walk through what happened that day, Lt. Gagnant. Describe to me what you see.”

The darkness lifted and the veil of fog began to part.

---

In the dim light of her quarters, Gigi stared down at the book in her hand. A pocket-sized New Testament complete with Psalms and Proverbs. A real book with real paper pages and a real leather cover embossed and gilded like she hadn’t seen since she was a girl on Lode. Compact enough to fit snuggly in a fatigue pocket. Like a legacy from a different time and a different war. Only on The Farm. It had to be local. Imported pulp and genuine leather would have cost a fortune, a fortune none of the Peacekeepers in her company had to waste on delivering a message.

A dog-eared corner formed a gap in the gilt-edged pages. She hooked it with a fingernail and flipped the book open. Psalm 23. An old Peacekeeper tradition. Someone’s way of telling her that she didn’t have a prayer of ever being accepted. And next time, it might be a grenade.

She wondered who in the company had left the book atop her pillow. Her money was on Nguyen. But it could have been any of them, including Captain Vallejos. She’d already heard Half-Rack whispered behind the hands of snickering soldiers while she was just within earshot of deniability.

Like she hadn’t heard worse in her time as a Marine. She didn’t know why she’d never had the operation reversed. The one-breasted recruiter had told her going Amazon was the only way she’d ever gain respect in the testosterone-laden Corps. As a seventeen-year-old runaway with forged parental consents fresh out of the contract mines, Gigi had been just young and naive enough to believe her. So she’d paid a black-market cutter her last credits to lop off her right breast just like the ancient legend said. She now knew those chop-shop clinics gave a sizeable kickback to the local recruiters. And real Marines didn’t care what she looked like. Respect was earned through actions not appearance. She’d garnered a measure of that respect after her actions on Grey though she knew her superiors could never acknowledge the incident more than indirectly.

The Farm was supposed to be her reward, easy duty guarding the Consulate to ride out her commitment. That was until the Greens had picked off Ben Hirano, The Farm’s senior corporate executive and lifelong President. Now the situation had reverted to every Marine an infantryman as LOW OrbIT started chasing a phantom insurrection across the countryside. Until reinforcements arrived, they had rounded up everyone who’d ever seen Basic and formed them into light recon companies, standard procedure after Darwin.

In her company, Gigi was the only soldier who’d ever seen the business end of combat. Nguyen was a clerk. Captain Vallejos was a supply officer. Kringen and Diatta were dirtside Navy logistics. Most of the others had been scrounged up from administrative or adjunct duties, and rounded out with a handful from starport security or military attachés like her. But unlike her, none of the others had qualified with a gauss rifle since training.

The regular recon units had their hands full rooting out the usual suspects: suspected Green insurgents, militias, and lone wolf anarchists. The freshly formed light recon companies were hunting snipes. This operation defined cluster fuck. But her superiors could not afford to have The Farm to go the way of Darwin. With that sword of Damocles hanging over everyone’s career, tensions were running high. No one figured to come out of this as an unmitigated hero like Lt. Freeman at Darwin Station. Most of them just wanted see their way clear without a reprimand. Typical Peacekeeper thinking.

Gigi thumbed through the rest of the book. Nearly every contract miner on Lode had one variety or another. A Pocket Jesus, Mini-Mohammad, Barroom Buddha, Crapper Krishna, Desperation Dianetics, all handed out by corporate-sponsored missionaries whose return tickets depended on how many they could unload. Most miners took one just to clear the missionaries out. But in some weird twist of human nature, they then carried their personal favorite like a talisman. A few had collections lining a shelf in their quarters as if they were comparison shopping. If nothing else, the arguments they spawned provided entertainment that didn’t require credits in the company store. As an added perk, the books operated with no additional equipment required.

Farmers were cut from the same cloth, but instead of mining, they specialized in agriculture. The Farm was an earth-like agricultural planet almost completely under corporate cultivation, the for-profit breadbasket of human space. Only here, the population ran into a couple million instead of a couple thousand like on Lode. Its strategic importance and proximity to Darwin had held it firmly in both the Green’s and LOW OrbIT’s sights for more than a decade. Technically, United Space Biotics ran the planet but even an interstellar corporation with their deep pockets didn’t have the margins to provide security in a war-zone. Thus Ben Hirano’s eleven years and counting of martial law, odds on favorite for his ultimate cause of death.

A shadow moving down the valley flickered across the corner of Gigi’s eye. She doused the light and scanned the scene beyond the window. Dawn had just begun to brighten the eastern sky. The genetically modified Sheeple were on the move across the hillsides, grazing unperturbed. They were much smarter than their Terran counterparts, bordering on the intelligence of children. They were trained to understand and obey the commands of their human creators. They required almost no tending when set out to pasture. Not that they knew much for threats. The only predation they encountered on The Farm was well-disguised and pre-planned. Pastoral didn’t even begin to describe the place. Complacency oozed from the countryside by design.

Gigi had signed off her watch an hour ago but planned to do a spot check to make sure the sentries were on their toes. Snipe hunt or not, this was a field mission. They might not be relieved for months. She’d be damned if this company wasn’t going to make it through that time unscathed, whether they liked her or not.

She slipped the book into a pocket before heading out into the barracks common. She considered loading back up into full combat gear but opted to travel with a light, tactical load. She was anxious to get back and get some much needed rack time. Since the assassination, she always felt tired. But she couldn’t afford to turn lax.

In the commons, nearly a third of the company was assembled eating breakfast. First and third platoons were bivouacked in the adjoining valleys holding down the flanks. The Peacekeepers were young, many almost as young as she’d been when she’d signed on with the Marines. They looked younger every year. They all needed discipline before they’d ever be forged into a unit. Like the spoiled children they weren’t far from being, they craved it as much as they rebelled against it. As XO, it was her job to instill it like a father figure. In that, she channeled her own father. Nearly eight years on she finally recognized the irony. She’d run away from Lode to escape that strict and uncompromising man. Wouldn’t he laugh now? Though unlike his discipline, hers established limits and order. She now found comfort in the boundaries and routine of military life. Spare the rod and spoil the Marine.

Gigi skirted the improvised tables that dominated the central floor of the converted winter Sheeple barn that served as company HQ. The off-white walls were corporate, clean, well-lighted and well-insulated. Soldiers packed the benches arrayed around the trestles that served as the company mess. She slipped toward the door hoping to go unnoticed.

“Where are you sneaking off to, Lieutenant?” Vallejos asked, a steaming mug in hand. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the barn, organic and locally grown. Gigi had to give Vallejos credit. With his background, the company was never short of quality rations. The trestles were heaped with Farm-fresh bounty like a holo-vid impression of a Thanksgiving feast.

Gigi squared her shoulders and turned to face him. “I was going to walk the perimeter and check dispositions before I turn in.”

“Don’t ride them too hard, Lieutenant. This is secure territory. No one’s seen a Green out here in years.”

Gigi bit back a sour expression. That kind of thinking got Marines killed in the field. But that’s why Command had garrisoned Vallejos’ Peacekeepers to secure the next colonist LZ rather than in any of the hot sectors.

“And make sure all the sentries rotate back,” he continued around a mouthful of food. “I want them all to get a shot at some of these provisions while they last.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Gigi replied instinctively, cringing inside when she realized she’d responded as a Marine. Kringen and Diatta snickered behind their hands but Vallejos didn’t seem to notice. “Anything else, Captain?”

He shook his head and waved his fork, casually dismissing her. She snapped a quick salute before she hit the door.

In the semi-darkness outside, she adjusted her nightshade googles and keyed her smart camo. She hadn’t reprogrammed her body armor from the Marine default, much better than the Peacekeeper standard used throughout the company. Peacekeepers were all about hearts and minds which usually meant a visible presence; LOW OrbIT Marines were only unleashed as lethal weapons. Her gauss rifle hung loose but ready in her hands, not slung over a shoulder like a Peacekeeper. Though even she found it hard to remain vigilant in such idyllic surroundings. But it always paid to be prepared as you never knew when trouble might jump off. When you least expected was almost a guarantee.

She picked her way along one of the web of trails that ran up the hills above the barn. Her boots crunched softly on the bare, well-trodden dirt of the path. Like their human counterparts, Sheeple favored routine. The damned things set off the perimeter sensors all the time making them almost useless. The fleecy livestock dotted the lush, green pastures rising above the valley like puffy white clouds, grazing placidly, unaffected by the chaos their presence caused. Several congregated by the mirror-still waters of the loch that dominated the shadowed valley floor. Scattered throughout the fields, a few were lying down. Did that mean rain? Gigi couldn’t remember. She scanned the sky but saw only the deepening flush of dawn. Soon the red sky of morning would stain the eastern horizon.

Gigi drew comfort from the cool, crisp air. The valley was quiet, the shepherdless hills serene. She maintained radio silence as she climbed so as not to alert the sentries of her survey. The twilight between night and dawn was the hardest time to stay alert. Sentries tended to relax as soon as the sun kissed the horizon, thinking the worst of night was behind them. An easy temptation in this magnificent landscape. God’s Country the locals called it. Had she been inclined to such beliefs, this verdant scenery might just have tipped the balance in divine favor. She wondered if the field biologists with the first planetary survey had recognized The Farm as humanity’s Promised Land, not of milk and honey, but of tobacco, coffee and a cornucopia of food.

As she neared the top of the line of hills that defined one side of the valley, Gigi approached Nguyen’s position among a tumbledown pile of boulders that reminded her of a pagan cairn. The rising sun behind the hillsides cast long shadows down the valley. Nguyen didn’t stir from his position in the rocks. Maybe he hadn’t heard her approach though she wasn’t trying to be overly stealthy. If he’d fallen asleep, there’d be hell to pay.

Cradling her weapon, Gigi stooped down, scooped up a small stone and skipped it toward Nguyen’s hide. It clattered through the cracks in the rock formation. Nothing stirred within.

The hair rose on the back of Gigi’s neck. She clutched her weapon at the ready as she slowly squatted. Her eyes darted around the landscape for threats. She found none, which gave her no real comfort. Isolated Sheeple grazed their way down the valley. She opened up a comm channel and was greeted by only static. A spot jammer. Shit!

She rolled into cover among the boulders. When she glanced deeper inside to make sure her hide was secure, Nguyen’s sightless eyes stared back at her. Blood dripped down the front of his body armor from a gaping slash across his neck. It stained the nearby rock face red in an improvised Rorschach test. He hadn’t been dead long.

She didn’t have time to think about what that meant. She searched the hidey hole for Nguyen’s electronic field glasses which detected a better range of EM than her nightshades. Gone, as were his weapon and the monitor for the sensors. Something big was going down. This wasn’t a simple hit-and-run attack. She had to warn the rest of the company before their entire position was compromised. With no comms, she knew only one way to do that: the universal warning of weapons’ fire directed toward a threat. Since she didn’t know where the threat originated, she only had one other choice.

From the cover of the rocks, Gigi braced her gauss rifle and took aim on one of the Sheeple in the valley. Even in the half-light of morning, its pure white fleece made an easy target against the shaded green pasture. As much as she hated to do it, she knew she needed to sacrifice one of the semi-intelligent creatures to save Vallejos and the others. The demands of an angry military god.

Gigi sighted in on the defenseless creature and with one squeeze of the firing nub sent a burst of three supersonic flechettes its way. As she was trained, she hit what she aimed at and the creature fell. She thought she caught a flicker of movement behind it. Then, as if it were a pre-arranged signal, all hell broke loose throughout the valley.

Shards of rock slashed across Gigi’s helmet and skittered around the enclosure. She ducked deeper within the stonework hide, desperately seeking cover from incoming fire at multiple angles. The invisible enemy must have had her position sighted in. The echo of weapons’ fire ricocheted up from the barn. She could only hope someone down there had heard her warning shots in time.

She squeezed back through the jumble of boulders, and slithered through a crack to a new position. She popped up and sent a fresh burst toward a low-tech muzzle flash across the valley. She didn’t linger to confirm a hit or miss. Fire and move.

In a disengaged portion of her mind, she knew the enemy would eventually catch up with her. There were only so many crevices that commanded any view. It wouldn’t matter. Ammunition would become an issue first. She wished she had Nguyen’s spare clip but that had been pilfered, too. She just hoped the Greens hadn’t improvised a mortar.

As she retreated to a new position, the steady firing down the valley trailed to sporadic then single-shot before it finally petered out. She peered through a crevice toward the barn. Yellow-green smoke wafted from its now open doors and windows. Her nightshades detected small shadows moving in and out of the dissipating mist. Once clear of the cloud, they all but disappeared. Smart camo, just like hers. How had the Greens gotten a hold of that?

She opened her comm again. Still jammed. With HQ all but lost, she needed to withdraw so she could rally the rest of the company. If they weren’t already under attack. This had all the earmarks of a major operation.

That was it, time to fold up her position and go before the enemy concentrated return fire. As she slipped back through the rocks, something metallic clattered down beside her then rattled to rest in the sand, hissing at her feet. A yellow-green cloud filled the chamber with a sickly sweet scent. Gas grenade. Yet another new tactic for the Greens.

Instinct from Basic took over. Gigi stopped breathing. She didn’t take a breath and hold it, she simply stopped mid-inhale. Her filter mask lay among the rest of her heavy combat gear in the barn, a costly lapse in discipline. At least her nightshades would protect her eyes. But she knew she didn’t have long. Peering through the yellow-green shroud until she found the hotspot, she picked it up. The emerging stream of gas quickly burned her tactical glove and singed her hand. She cast the cylinder from her den.

She slithered out the other way, hoping to put rocks and the crest of the hill between her and her attackers. Her lungs ached. Her nostrils burned. Some of the gas must have gotten through.

Dizzy, Gigi paused a moment before Nguyen. Her hand strayed to the Bible in her pocket. She remembered how it had probably been his. In that moment, she wondered if it had been an honest gift, a little book of hope to fight back the persistent fear of death. The unspoken evil all soldiers shared.

She noticed someone had painted a bright red “1” on Nguyen’s forehead in his own blood. She stared at it in confusion. Had it been there before? She couldn’t remember. One last trace of clear thought whispered for her to snap a picture with her nightshades. Casualty confirmation.

Scenes became disjointed, her memories unrecoverable, corrupted by the gas. Suddenly, she was outside. The air seemed mostly clear. She risked a tentative breath. The ammo counter on her gauss rifle was lower. She knew she had killed someone but her psyche would not yet allow her remember who.

The thought of retreat niggled at the back of her mind like the distant voice of conscience during an all-night drinking binge. Repressed fear inflated into an all-consuming white-hot balloon of anger that burst into cold, soundless rage. Driven by it, she turned toward the valley instead, giddy and lightheaded, burning like the morning sun that had just overtopped the hills.

She remembered sighting in on any flicker of motion her nightshades detected. Sheeple or insurgents, she no longer cared. Their actions could not stand unanswered. Someone had to pay for Nguyen and the others. A new voice in her head shouted that the Sheeple were complicit by allowing the Greens to use them as cover. The voice of her father. His had displaced the whisper of rationality, screaming it to silence. One form dropped. Then another. And another. And another, each spinning and pirouetting in a choreographed ballet of death, simple yet brutally elegant as she descended the valley like an avenging angel.

Now, the valley lay devoid of any motion. All the remaining shadows had fled. Gigi stood in the open doorway of the Sheeple barn. Inside, a fresh scene of violence greeted her, imprinting like a baby’s first vision of its mother. Tendrils of yellow-green gas swirled around her boots, its sickly sweet scent occasionally burning her nose. Shattered plates and chunks of breakfast lay strewn amongst the corpses, indistinguishable from broken bodies and shards of bone. Overturned cups spilled across the tables, juice and coffee dripping onto the floor where they commingled with the company’s blood.

Tesse, Kringen, Camara, Diatta, Chilavert, Tan, West, Vallejos, they were dead. All of HQ, dead. Barely moved from the tables where they’d been eating. Numbers painted on their foreheads in their own bright blood, just like Nguyen. Her nightshades snapped picture after picture of their faces. 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23. Like an ungodly tally or an inhuman desecration. What kind of monsters was she dealing with? The only thing that keeps us human, she thought, is the way we treat the dead, ours and theirs.

That thought sparked an anamnesis. The palm of her left hand burned and itched as the skein of her memory finally untangled. She turned away, still unwilling to face the missing puzzle piece of what she’d done. Sunlight sparkled off individual blades of grass as the cool morning breeze undulated up and down the valley. The rippling waves were mesmerizing as they ebbed and flowed knee-deep around her. Then suddenly, she was drowning as another memory pulled her down.

The scene shifted as she was displaced back to Nguyen’s barrow. She stared down at his killers. The trio she herself had killed. She remembered watching as each of their final breaths had slowly leaked to air. More bodies of their compatriots littered the valley in the wake of her descent. They were all young. They were all children. Breastless girls playing soldier for someone else’s cause. Twice the Amazons she’d tried to be. They would’ve grown to twice the women, too, but she’d denied them that opportunity. What did that make her now?

As darkness closed back around her, Gigi began dragging their small, light bodies toward the loch one by one to hide the shame of what she’d done.

---

Gigi sat on the flat metal foundation of the bunk in her former cell, this time dressed in combat fatigues, her rank restored. The mattress was folded over, the sheets and blanket neatly stacked on top. The door beyond was open. No chaos rumbled through the complex now, no shouts or booted feet echoed in the halls.

She stared absently at her left palm, tracing the ring upon it with her right index finger. Aveline Sibaya sat in a chair across from her. “You’ll be evaced in an hour,” Sibaya said. “Your discharge orders are being cut now.”

Gigi said nothing, just continued circling the scar on her palm.

“You’ve been cleared of any wrongdoing,” Sibaya continued. “The entire incident has been stricken from your record. Recon found your nightshades with the bodies in the lake. The tech guys did an autopsy. They recovered your casualty confirmations. Zielinski even put you in for a commendation, a Platinum Star.”

Gigi looked up. “And that’s how he’ll cover this up, Aveline, by making me a hero?”

“Come on, Gigi,” Sibaya almost sounded sympathetic. “No one knew it would turn out this way. We had to know which side you were on.”

“That shouldn’t have been a question after Grey,” Gigi retorted. “I covered for you during the inquiry. I had your back that day.”

Anger tinged Sibaya’s voice. “Are you saying I didn’t deserve it?”

“I’m saying that when the time came,” Gigi replied, “I thought that you’d have mine.”

Silence hung between them a moment. Sibaya stood, suddenly more formal. “Command says because of your sacrifice, the Greens are being countered. Now they know who to look for.”

“But I won’t get to finish the fight,” Gigi spat. “You sold me out to Michaels.”

Sibaya’s face became impassive. “You’re too valuable because you’re receptive to a memory block and to the rhinal cortex stimulator. LOW OrbIT needs you in a different capacity now. The Ambassador agrees.”

“You played me, didn’t you?” Gigi eyed her friend’s professional mask for cracks. None appeared. “Thanks to you these memories will follow me for the rest of my life. A small price to pay for the Ambassador’s ambitions, right?”

Sibaya straightened her jacket and smoothed her skirt. “MedTech tells me they’re working on a dampener, something experimental they think might help your memories fade.”

Gigi said nothing, just sent a smoldering glare her way.

Sibaya turned to go. At the door she paused, looking back. In a lower voice bordering on empathy, she said. “There was nothing I could do, Gigi. Getting your consent was the Ambassador’s only instruction. Michaels, Zielinski, those children. We all had our orders. No one had a choice in what they did. Not even you.”

Gigi stared back at her, knowing for the first time since Lode she was truly friendless and alone. “That, Doctor, is something I’m unlikely to forget.”


Read Mindwipe (Memory Block, pt. 2)

© 2013 Edward P. Morgan III

Chosen

We lost November in Meridian, Sierra outside of Tupelo. Juliett was wounded in the push for Jackson, but rejoined us by the time we’d pulled back to Birmingham. The Chosen were down four: Romeo, Echo 593, Juliett and me. Echo 716.

Those were the designations the Advisors gave us, posted on our cages, dangling from our collars, and tattooed on our gums. We hadn’t proven ourselves enough to earn a name. Until we did, 593 and I called each other by secret names we used only among ourselves. He was Brud and I was Calli. But only when we were well beyond the Blood’s sharp hearing. Not that they would understand without an Advisor at their collar. They were genetic rejects just like we were.

The Advisors called us Bast’s Chosen. They said we were invincible and undetectable. They told us that the charms on our collars meant bullets would pass right through. That our backpacks could read our minds. They promised if we proved ourselves, our genetic line would survive. But we only had two seasons.

The Chosen were fearless predators but we were not the gods who touched in the sky. We hunted rogue Blood and other enemies through the Advisors’ ruins to prove our worth. We were patient killers. We knew when to stalk and when to wait silently in hiding. When we extended our claws, someone died.

Despite that, we were too few. The League was in retreat all across the Mississippi Front. Everything had collapsed soon after the Sky Gods had abandoned us. Juliett said the Advisors had broken up their Pride.

Our new quarters stank of dust and mildew, just as each of our old ones had. We hid deep in the high central ruins of Birmingham. We played a game of cat and rat, never lingering in one place too long.

Once the Advisors released us from our cages, we had free run of the room. Romeo immediately paced out our new confinement, careful to avoid the unstable debris. 593 jumped up into a window looking out into a shadowed breezeway. Juliett remained curled up in her cage, seemingly disinterested but we all knew it was a trap. I settled beneath a wall shelf where I could watch the others and still keep a close eye on the door.

Romeo was the youngest, still under a full season and a kitten in many ways. November and Sierra had mothered him like aunties but Juliett despised him for his markings. Male tortoiseshells are rare. I liked him well enough anyway even if his coat was more tabby than calico like mine.

Echo 593 and I were not quite a season older. Everyone knew we were littermates even though we looked nothing alike. My brother was a bicolor tuxedo who had started to develop the jowls of a full-grown male. Yet he still looked to Juliett for approval even though he’d joined the Chosen less than half a season after she had.

I was newer to the Chosen than even Romeo. I’d washed out of evaluation as a Sky God half a season after Echo 593. Like the others, I might still have value as a breeder if I could prove myself. But unlike them, I’d entered the unit with a pawful of points toward a name. I’d been trained in skills they’d earned through hard-won experience. That’s where the Juliett’s jealousy set in.

Juliett was the oldest and the Advisors’ anointed leader. When she’d returned, they’d started calling her our White Queen for her newly condescending attitude as well as her unblemished fur. Like most things, she took it as a taunt. We all knew she was closing in on her allotted two seasons to prove herself before she went extinct. Harder now that the Advisors had stripped away her points as the price for her recovery.

“I smell rats and roaches,” Romeo pronounced, his survey complete. “You think we can convince the Advisors to let us hunt?”

“We’re on the third floor,” 593 observed from his perch then turned to Juliett. “That means the area’s not secure, right?”

She slit an eye. “They left us a sandbox. That means they don’t want anyone sniffing us out later. We won’t be here long.”

“The short-haired males don’t like to let us hunt, anyway,” I told Romeo. He still had a lot to learn. But if he thought Juliett would teach him, he was wrong. “We sometimes have better luck with the long-haired females. They’ll feed us soon. Get some sleep while you can.”

“But I’m hungry now,” he whined. “Hungry enough to kill a snake.” He started play-stalking a bright plastic strip that had blown in with the debris, tossing it into the air and pouncing on it, snorting at it with wild eyes like little kittens do.

“Hunger keeps you focused,” Juliett told him. “Snakes belong to Set. They all deserve to die.”

“You shouldn’t lie to him.” I snapped back, risking a confrontation. “The Advisors say we can’t hunt snakes.”

She eyed me narrowly. “The boy’s got to learn not to believe everything he hears.”

“It’s not his fault he doesn’t know any better,” 593 chimed in as though I needed his protection.

Juliett turned on him. “I was three kills away from a free ride out of here. Then I got wounded and they reset my count. All because of his stupid mistake.”

“Maybe if you trained him better,” I observed.

“Trained him?” she hissed. “He’s bad luck. Since he’s been with us, we’ve lost two of our best hunters. Both of them assigned to keep an eye on him. Male calicos are unnatural. All of them should be drowned at birth.”

“He’s not a calico.” I set my ears. “He’s a torbie.”

“Don’t show off your words with me, missy. Save them to impress the Advisors.” Juliett’s ears went flat as we stared each other down.

The door swung open then, preventing a full-fledged skirmish, undoubtedly one that Juliett would have won. She was cunning and experienced, and outweighed me by at least an tenth. She’d turned vicious since her return.

“Ok, listen up,” the short-haired Advisor barked at us from the doorway. “We’ve been called off the line for a priority mission. The League needs your expertise in hunting down a fugitive. So much so in fact, they are offering up triple mission points, pooled and divided equally among the survivors.”

All our ears turned forward. Triple points would make up everything Juliett had lost and then some. The entire unit would be on track to earn a name. Usually, each of us only earned points for our individual kills. The Advisors valued competition not cooperation.

“The trick is,” he continued, “this one comes back alive.”

That set our ears and whiskers in confusion. We hunted prey that needed killing. If the Advisors wanted trackers, why hadn’t they brought in Blood?

As if able to read our minds, the human male answered, “Ours is the closest unit. The Blood have been recalled from another operation three days out. When they arrive, they’ll take over and we’ll be withdrawn.” And all of the mission points along with us.

With that our briefing was over. We’d be given any additional details when we arrived on site. The short-haired male motioned in two long-haired females with our rations, a heaping bowl of soft, wet food each. A treat almost as good as catmint. Most days we only received hard rations and stale water.

The long-haired Advisors stood guard, making certain the quickest among us didn’t nose into the bowls of our slower comrades. Something else unusual. The Advisors drilled into us that only the strong and assertive will survive.

After days in retreat with only intermittent rations, we were hungry. We wolfed down our meals, ignoring the slight metallic scent lingering beneath the fish. Bowls were cleaned and defended without need for human intervention. Then we split between the water bowl and the sandbox, each waiting our turn in an order we’d established amongst ourselves.

Breakfast, whenever it arrived, was the best part of any day. With the excitement over, I settled into grooming. I had barely dragged a paw across my whiskers when a wave of sleep overtook me. Suddenly, I felt a nap attack coming on. I quickly crawled into the safety of my cage. I purred when I felt the reassuring warmth of my brother curling up against me before the darkness fully descended.

---

When I awoke, Brud was gone. Just like the morning so long ago when the Advisors had first stolen him away. I cried out in fear and loneliness as I opened my eyes. Then I heard the loud, resonant thumping of a transport. We were in transit to our next mission. But something felt different. The transport was shaking as well as bouncing. I noticed the blackout cover had slipped from a corner of my cage. Still groggy, I peered out.

At first I only saw the wall of the compartment. Tubes like veins ran inside the metal skin in which we traveled. One of them was tied off with a rag dripping like a bandage, just barely red in the dim, interior light. Only it smelled sickly sweet instead of like the vital nutrients of blood. Beyond it I could see the brightness of the sky through a small, rounded window. Shadows circled through the compartment as we changed directions. Did that mean we were flying like the Sky Gods? My stomach flipped over at the thought. I wished I had some catmint to settle it. I’d never made it this far in my evaluation. How did anyone ever get used to this feeling?

My eyes darted back into the compartment. One of the short-haired males was seated across from my cage holding a map tucked within a see-through folder spread across his lap. I hunted the unfamiliar symbols splashed across the page with patience, stalking each one by one. None of the Advisors knew I had stolen the magic of their words. Slowly, a chain of names came into focus: Columbus, Albany, Valdosta and finally the one in the smallest print that had been circled with arrows pointing down away from it. Waycross.

None of the ruined places had been mentioned by the Advisors. But I sensed that we were traveling toward sunrise which meant away from the Mississippi Front. This fugitive must be important to send us so far off the line.

The short-haired Advisor noticed my nose pressed between the wire grate. He reached over and snapped the blackout cover shut. With nothing else to do, I curled up near the back of my cage, nesting in the soft cloth lining its bottom, and returned to enforced sleep.

---

When the Advisors uncovered my cage again, I found myself peering out onto a grassy lot of broken asphalt outside a ruined building. All the others were nearby. I tried to stalk the symbols carved into wood above the building’s door but only came up with the words “Swamp” and “Visitor” before a short-haired Advisor noticed I was staring and I had to look away.

Our transport slept nearby, a metallic teardrop beast that used whirling blades to beat the sky into submission in typical Advisor fashion. I studied the markings scratched along its side. We had emerged from its belly just behind a brightly painted arrow emblazoned with a word I didn’t have time to read, vomited up like accumulated fur onto a feral landscape.

I tested the air through the grillwork of my cage. All the smells had changed, more radically than from any other transit. I caught a scent of decay, ancient and elemental rather than the decomposing body of something recent and manmade. We sat on the edge of the primeval wilderness.

A pair of long-haired female Advisors released us from our cages. Cautiously, we approached each other, sniffing nose to nose, verifying at least one set of scents remained unchanged. Satisfied, we turned our attention to our surroundings.

The day was as hot and stifling as Birmingham a full turn of the moon earlier. The air was alive with the buzz of flying insects, the murmuring rise and fall of land-bound peepers, the grumbling cronk of distant frogs. Songbirds screeched territorial warnings from the edges of the weedy field. The confusing cacophony seemed to have unsettled Romeo who cowered beside his cage.

This landscape was green instead of grey. The lone building was the only one in sight. Normally, the Chosen stalked our prey among the Advisors’ ruins. The wilderness we left to Blood. We remembered that it was our choice so many generations ago that led us to cooperate with the ancient Advisors. We were individual and willful but domestic. The Blood retained a feral taint. They were ancient enemies who didn’t intimidate us on or off the leash. Our enmity runs deep.

In the shade of the ruined porch, the Advisors equipped us. They buckled on our collars and secured our backpacks with ungnawable straps. While they prepared us for battle, a long-haired female gave our briefing. She was old even by Advisor standards. Her dark hair was streaked with silver like the sheen of a gray tiger. She was small even for a long-hair. But she wore an eagle, the sign of an experienced huntress, so we listened.

“The League has ordered Bast’s Chosen here to help recapture a deserter. Her scent is feline but she is not one of the Chosen. She is a conspirator and a traitor. She is cunning. Do not let her speak. If she does, believe nothing she tells you. She is a liar and a deceiver who will say anything to survive. Do not underestimate her. She has murdered one of our pilots already.

“Instead of your normal venom, we have issued you tranquilizers. We need to interrogate her before her execution. Once you extend your claws, sit tight and wait. A search and rescue team will retrieve you and your prey as soon as possible. We’re always watching.

“As your Advisors may have told you, she is a dangerous fugitive. I believe they’ve informed you of the incentives. We have just over two days before the first Blood units relieve us and the League sends us back to Birmingham. Bring down this deserter and redeem your lines. With her recapture, each of you could earn a name.

“Remember, you are Bast’s Chosen. You are undetectable and invincible. Nothing in this place can harm you. Now get out there and hunt.”

We were divided into male-female teams, the way we operated best. Juliett was assigned 593 as her hunting mate. Which meant I drew Romeo. Normally, our experience would have been distributed more evenly. The Advisors sent Juliett and 593 northwest into the sector where they thought the fugitive most likely hid. Romeo and I would cover to the southwest as backup in case the other two flushed her out. We were given discretion to hunt together or alone based on our desire. And then we were released.

The four of us set off down the grassy track that led into the wilderness, slit-eyed and nearly day-blind in the noontime sun.

---

Juliett quickly diverted northward, 593 close on her tail. My brother cast a forlorn look over his shoulder before they disappeared into the underbrush as if he wished we could hunt together for a change. We both knew that would never happen. Unusual enough we had been assigned to the same unit. The Advisors were cautious of the Chosen developing alliances they didn’t control. They didn’t want us forming up a Pride. Perhaps they’d learned their lesson with the Sky Gods.

The path I chose snaked deeper into the forest, south by southwest, on an old, raised road that had crumbled to grassed-over, tarry gravel that left no tracks just like in the ruins. Black, stagnant water pooled to either side of the embankment. It smelled completely unsafe to drink. Dark trees shaded our passing, some straight and tall with their knees in the water, others twisted and gnarled, their roots sunk into pockets of dry land. The deeply shadowed light was almost an invitation for us to hunt.

This place was wild not feral. None of the landscape we saw beyond the road had ever been tamed. The infrequent breeze carried the warning of new scents beneath the ever-present stagnation. Canines ranged nearby in the distant past. Not strays or Blood, something undomesticated. Coyotes maybe. There was the barest feline scent there, too, the undernote of an undernote. Something about this path felt right for a predator on the run.

Romeo intermittently dogged my trail. Curiosity had overcome his initial caution. He felt compelled to sniff and swat at every blowing weed and buzzing bug before trotting to catch up. I opted to stay together for the moment. In unfamiliar territory, a second pair of eyes was better than mine alone.

Early in the afternoon, we stood on a crumbled edge of the embankment. Long ago, some force of nature had reclaimed the road, creating a series of distant, broken islands. I eyed the dark water suspiciously. Below, ripples from unseen threats occasionally marred its mirrored surface.

Overhead, squirrels shrieked out warnings that we had entered their domain. I yawned back just to antagonize them. Their antics began to fray my nerves. The tree rats scurried along branches, jumping from tree to tree as they fled deeper into the wilderness on a highway the likes of which I’d never seen before. At first I ignored their dramatics. I was hungry but wanted to be farther from the Advisors’ base camp before we paused to hunt. But the more I watched them and considered the water, the more I realized they had revealed a path deeper into the wilderness that might keep our paws from getting muddy.

I turned to Romeo then raised my gaze to the nearest tree. Its bark was rough and broken, providing perfect purchase for our claws. I approached its trunk and tested it by stretching as far up as I could. As I pulled down, the bark held, so I gave a few quick scratches both to scent-mark our starting point and to sharpen the tips of my claws.

“You ready, kitten?” I asked Romeo. “Stick close if you’re planning to hunt with me.”

Before he could reply, I scrambled up the trunk, scattering squirrels in all directions. It took me a moment to get my bearings on the nearest rounded bough. I kept a sharp eye out as the tree rats evacuated what I now claimed as my tree, I ignored the larger, more vocal males to pay attention to the females and the young. The sentinels would lead us on a diversion. The females would head for safety. It was time to put the fear of Bast into their swishing, bushy tails and see where they fled. Maybe they would lead us somewhere interesting. They needed water, too.

Without checking to see if Romeo followed, I stalked toward the end of the mostly horizontal branch I’d seen a number of females sprint down. Just as I gained confidence, the branch began to bounce and sway beneath my weight. Thankfully, I was not fully grown. Romeo was even smaller and lighter, so if I could make it, he could, too, if he didn’t pause to think.

It’s a good thing I wasn’t hunting them for food or I would have starved before catching any squirrel in this terrain. They were quick and agile. We were pouncers more than chasers, built for sprinting not for distance. And certainly not for jumping through the trees. But pressing the tree rats to keep fleeing was easy enough, at least until I ran out of branch. Expertly, they leapt to the outer branches of another tree, turning to taunt me as if they were already safe. 

On the run I eyed the distance to a branch sturdy to hold my weight and quickly made the leap. For a moment, I felt nothing but air beneath my paws. Then my claws hooked into bark and I scrambled back to solid wood. The tree rats looked from one to another in shocked confusion. They’d never seen a predator so persistent. Then they fled for their very lives. Now the chase was on for as long as I could keep it up.

They bounded effortlessly from tree to tree. How they gauged the distances I couldn’t comprehend. For me, each leap was more difficult than the last. More than one branch cracked and snapped as it took my weight, sending me scrambling with all my claws extended to keep from plunging into the dark waters below. Each time, I allowed instinct to take back over, driving me in pursuit. Behind me, I could hear Romeo following, at first slowly, then quickly as he grew more accustomed to this game.

When the females and young I chased scrambled to the ground instead of springing along another set of branches, I knew we’d found our destination. Panting, I slunk down the tree trunk and let them go, too exhausted to pursue. Romeo sprinted past me after them. He was younger and more resilient, choosing to give chase even though they remained elusively beyond his grasp.

While he burned off seemingly boundless kitten energy, I laid down in the shade and caught my breath. I examined my new surroundings. A large island by the look of it, extending well beyond my vision. I caught a whiff of something old and human, a hint of ruins baking in the sun. A few minutes later Romeo returned, no meal dangling from his mouth.

Food shouldn’t be a problem for the duration of our hunt. Water, however, was a more pressing matter. The heat was oppressive. We’d found no artificial pools like we drank from in the ruins.

Suddenly, the shadows around us deepened as the sky began to darken. A crack of thunder warned of approaching storms. I rolled up to my feet. It was time to find shelter before rain doused our fur.  

The island was larger than I’d realized, almost the full hunting range for a female in the wild. That alone was promising. We found no signs of our prey, but inland, we discovered a small set of human ruins decaying on a sandy lot. We scurried under the split-rail fence and ducked inside the largest of the buildings abandoned long ago. We retreated into the safe, dry space just as raindrops began pounding against the metal roof like a litter of kittens skittering back and forth across its surface. We dozed inside while we waited for the storm to pass.

It wasn’t long before the sun reemerged. The storm didn’t cool the afternoon air so much as prime it to hold more heat. As much as I wished we could wait until evening, I knew we needed to explore if only to establish that the ruins were safe.

Prowling around inside the fence, we found a couple improvised basins near the other ruined structures. Romeo lapped up warm, algae-laden water from the closest, ignoring the puddles as we’d been trained to do. When he was finished, I dabbed a paw delicately into the basin then washed it to cover up the taste. I dipped and drank just enough to keep me going, hoping I would find a cleaner source as we continued our hunt.

Water revived Romeo’s restlessness. While I knew to conserve my energy until twilight, he had not developed that patience yet. So I sent him off hunting food to get him out of my fur. I reminded him that to avoid any rattles or other strange noises. Snakes were strictly off-limits.

With Romeo occupied, I began stalking the game trails outside the ruins. I quickly realized we had a lot of area to cover and would need to split up. Males naturally covered more territory, about four times as much as females. Two days wasn’t long.

I followed along the shoreline, nosing around for any telltale signs of our prey. On spit of land at the far end of the island, I found a gnarled tree leaning out over an expanse of dark water, its branches intertwined with others like the highway we’d taken in. Cool, clear water bubbled up from the ground not far from its base.

I sniffed the area cautiously. There, beneath the pervading scent of rot and mud, I caught the whiff of a feline scent, its particulars diluted by the rain. If it was our prey, she would likely be back for more water. Yet there was something odd about one of the undernotes, something I didn’t quite recognize.

After I drank my fill, enjoying the almost magical taste of fresh, untainted water, I climbed into the leaning tree and found a vantage from which I could assess potential ambush sites. I lay with all four paws dangling as I straddled a branch to keep a fraction cooler in the blood-warm air.

Half dozing, I considered my next move. I was working out how to divide up the nearby territory when a mother duck trailing a tail of ducklings caught my eye. As I watched them slice through the water with barely a ripple, hunger set the tip of my tail twitching. Unfortunately, she showed no sign of leading her brood ashore, though I didn’t think she’d spotted me. She was quacking away contentedly as if issuing them instructions.

Without warning, the idyllic scene transformed as violence erupted from below. Teeth thrashed beside the mother, spraying a curtain of water. Ducklings scattered in all directions, squawking in high-pitched terror as a massive pair of jaws snapped shut. I scrambled to my feet and nearly fell head first into the chaos.

When the water finally settled, the mother and a pair of ducklings had simply disappeared, leaving not so much as a stray feather behind. A thick, black, scaly tail snaked away from the carnage behind a pair of beady reptilian eyes. The remaining ducklings swam in erratic circles, crying as lost kittens for their mother, confused and forlorn at the onset of a new reality.

For an instant, I considered easing them from their misery, knowing other predators would soon be drawn by all the noise. But I wanted no part of those black eyes lurking near the surface of that dark water. I had entered a dangerous territory with rivals unknown in the familiar ruins.

With a watchful eye toward the water that had stilled as if even the ripples had been consumed, I crept down from the leaning tree. My whiskers remained alert until I felt solid ground beneath my paws. Quickly, I retraced my steps back to the ruins.

Once inside the fence, I thought about scrounging dinner for myself but was spooked by the sudden violence I’d witnessed. In this place, I didn’t know whether we were predator or prey. I dozed off in the shelter of the building where we’d ridden out the storm as I waited for Romeo to reappear.

I awoke to the scent of blood. I opened my eyes to find the carcass of a small, red bird set beside me like an offering, its neck lolling unnaturally to one side. Definitely a feline kill. I sniffed it tentatively then scanned the area. No sign of Romeo though the bird bore his scent. I wondered why he’d left it. Unlike the Blood, we don’t hunt in packs. But it smelled too good to leave unsampled. Greedily, I set my teeth into it. Soon, I was spitting out feathers and tearing away fresh meat. It tasted delicious, gamey and wild. I devoured it until there was nothing left but a pile of bloody bones.

By the time I finished washing afterwards, twilight had fallen. The air felt almost electric now as if scrubbed clean by the rain. The perfect time to hunt in earnest but I still had no idea where Romeo had gone. I didn’t want to set off without him.

Thinking I’d wait just a little while longer, I curled up on a high perch deeper within the ruins for another nap. The stress of the transport and the long day exploring must have drained me more than I thought. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Without meaning to, I fell into a deep and sudden sleep.

I dreamed I was back in the crèche where I’d been raised. I was Romeo’s age again. Everything was gray and featureless like I was beside the windows of the playroom on an overcast winter’s day. I knew that Brud had already been removed. I missed him desperately, missed his familiar scent, missed the comfort of his body at night after we’d been taken from our mother. Neither of us remembered her specifically, just a vague impression of warmth and safety that was no longer there.

Another of the Chosen appeared as a ghostly silhouette. I could just make out the white blaze on her chest and the inverse kohl that outlined her eyes. From her posture I knew she was not one of the aunties who helped evaluate and train us. She approached with too much confidence and grace. Her size and stature were imposing.

“Are you a Sky God,” I asked, subdued. Her ears and whiskers flicked to pensive.

“The Advisors call me Hathor,” she answered. I’d heard that name whispered among the aunties as the surrogate mom-cat among Sky Gods for those of us who passed the evaluation.

As I cowered into a submissive posture, she whispered, “But I have a secret name I only share with friends.” She began to wash my forehead.  “Remember me as Heather,” she purred. I liked her right away.

“I’ve heard you also have a secret,” she continued. “One of the aunties saw you staring at the symbols the Advisors use to stain their thoughts onto paper. Can you read them?”

“A few stand out,” I said, “like the words the Advisors use to instruct us. Some are sharp and clear but most are fuzzy.”

“Tell no one,” she instructed me. “Your gift is very rare but not a Talent the Advisors need. That ability will not earn you a name. But keep practicing it anyway. If you are taken from us, you’ll find it useful.”

“My brother was already taken,” I said. “I miss him terribly.”

“Don’t worry kitten.” She washed my head again to comfort me. “I think you’ll be reunited soon.”

I purred at the thought of seeing Brud again not knowing how hard our lives would be. I naively thought that just our being together would make everything ok. That was magical kitten thinking Juliett would say.

“Now, listen carefully,” Heather said. “I don’t have much time. I’ve told the other Sky Gods your secret name is Calli. You need to remember it. If the Advisors ever hear it, they’ll think it’s because you’re a calico. But we’ll both know it means calligraphy, an ancient art of writing.”

“Calli,” I repeated, the word suddenly familiar.

Almost as if I’d uttered a magic spell, the light began to fade. As the dream closed around her, Heather’s voice trailed into darkness, “Come back to us, Calli, and we’ll remember.”

As I awoke, I could still feel the comfort of her rough tongue against my forehead and the warmth of a body against my back. In the twilight of the dream, I thought it was Brud. I snuggled closer, purring my contentment. Until needle-sharp teeth grabbed the skin around my neck like a mom-cat and paws stomped astride my body. Behind me someone yowled.

Fully awake, I caught Romeo’s scent just as he tried to push aside my tail and mount. His weight pressed against my backpack. What was he thinking? I wasn’t in heat and never would be unless I earned a name. He knew the shots the Advisors gave the Chosen’s females held our nature at bay. Did he somehow think my accepting his gift of food was an invitation? Unlike the long-haired Advisors, Chosen females derive no pleasure from this act.

“Stop it!” I hissed. I laid my ears flat as I swung my head from side to side. I wondered if he’d been wound up by the storm.

He didn’t want to take no for an answer. But no Chosen male can force a female against her will. With a quick twist, I rolled free from his grasp. Separated, we stared at each other. His tail swished like as snake as he tensed for another pounce.

“What is wrong with you?” I growled, my eyes slit and angry. All this noise would attract attention. Did he know how unsafe that was in the wild?

He leapt on me again. I swatted his face with enough force to draw blood then brought up my hind claws up to rake along his belly. From there, our grappling devolved into a kitten wrestling match just like I’d had with my brother when we were young. Back then, he liked to gnaw my ears if he woke up in the middle of the night. As a male, he was always bigger. But I was older and stronger than Romeo.

Hissing, I threw him off once more. When I slashed at his face again, he slunk into the darkness trailing a scent of confusion and disappointment. I watched him go wondering if this was what had made Juliett so mad and had gotten Sierra and November killed. But I knew better than pursuing it until the morning. Any sooner and we might be at each other’s throats. Better to delay the hunt and let him sleep it off somewhere else, alone.

A full night wasted. I washed the blood from beneath my claws then grumped as I resettled. If he wanted to share warmth and comfort, he was welcome, but nothing more. I returned to a fitful sleep with my ears forward and one eye slit.

I awoke again in pre-dawn twilight. Romeo had not returned. His scent was cold. I stretched and yawned, baring teeth and claws in case he was watching from somewhere nearby. I didn’t want him to think that I’d forgotten.

I froze when a silent feline silhouette darted across the moonlit sand in front of the ruins. She paused a moment in the entryway, sleek and slender. Definitely a female, she wasn’t jowly enough to be a male. I caught the barest hint of white. Her eyes flashed green as she peered within. Despite the darkness, I was certain she saw me, too. An instant later she disappeared as if she’d been a ghost. I wasn’t sure if she’d been real. For the Chosen, the line between dream and waking often blurs.

Cautiously, I stalked from my perch and padded quietly outside. I stared in the direction the ghost had departed. She did not reappear. I knew I had to follow her, real or not. She might just be our prey.

As I started sniffing around to see if I could uncover any trace her scent, a strangled yowl of pain snapped my head in the opposite direction. Romeo. I trotted toward his cry until I smelled a powerful musk that meant he’d been gravely injured. Then I broke into a run.

I found him just beyond the tumbledown fence, near a hole at the edge of a palmetto cluster. He lay on his side, panting, his shoulder swollen. Nearby, a splash of white caught my eye, attached to a black bodied snake, its wide-mouthed head bent unnaturally to one side as if flung there like a kitten’s toy. A deep set of slashes had been clawed into its side.

Romeo tried to raise his head as I crept closer.

“Echo?” he asked, his eyes milky in the half-light.

“I’m here,” I purred, the only comfort I had to offer. A scent of death clung to him. He began to shudder and laid his head back down. He didn’t have long.

“I avoided the rattles just like you said,” he struggled out through the pain, “but she told me the black snake was ok... ”

“Who told you?” I asked, sparing a glance behind me to see if the ghost had returned. “Romeo, who?”

“I had to say…” he continued as if he no longer heard, “…I’m sorry….”  The venom wracked his body with convulsions. His mouth began to foam. Then he sighed and laid still, his eyes glassy, his mouth agape. I slowly backed away.

We deal with death differently. I sang out briefly to alert the Juliett and 593 if they were within hearing that Romeo had become one of Bast’s Chosen in more than name. I didn’t curl up near him or continue my song for more than a few heartbeats. I liked him well enough but we weren’t that close.

I’d been on missions where other Chosen had died but none of them had been my partner. I wondered if the Advisors would blame me. I wondered if Juliett would think I’d taken on Romeo’s bad luck. I wondered about the ghost I’d seen. She had to be real. Romeo had seen her too. But why would he trust her? Unless she’d been Juliett.

The snick of Romeo’s harness and collar releasing confirmed that he was truly dead. That brought me back to my training. His backpack would have signaled the Advisors as soon as his heart had stopped. Buried beneath it was a recessed button I could nose that would initiate an emergency recall to all the Chosen within range.

I eyed it suspiciously. A recall now would mean our mission was a failure: none of us would earn a name. With so little time left until our deadline, the Advisors would never redeploy us.

Something was wrong with this mission anyway. Despite Romeo’s death, I couldn’t let it end just yet. I needed to be certain who or what I’d seen. If the ghost had been our prey, I was tantalizingly close to earning a name. But if it had been Juliett…

I’d let Romeo’s death remain accidental. The Advisors could learn the details in my debriefing and decide whether to punish me then.

My job now was to hide Romeo’s backpack so the Advisors could recover it later. So I wrestled it away from his body and dragged it into an outbuilding among the ruins, clutching one of the straps like a wayward kitten in my teeth. It was awkward and heavier than I expected. I’d grown used to its weight between my shoulders, like a Blood that no longer strained at its leash. When had that happened?

I dropped the backpack in a dark corner we hadn’t visited and buried it like scat. His collar I carried to the perch where I’d slept the night before. Any decent Blood would trace our scent there anyway though few other scavengers would think to look. That still meant I couldn’t sleep here tonight. It only bothered me a little. I’d spent many nights curled up under bushes or holed up in some other creature’s long abandoned den. I’d be busy anyway. With only one more day and night before the mission ended, I had to sniff my prey out quickly.

But first I needed breakfast, and I knew where I’d find it waiting. I returned to Romeo’s body and sniffed his flank which had already begun to cool. Then I turned to his final gift, the black snake. I swatted it solidly to make sure it wasn’t playing possum. When it didn’t flinch, I dragged it deep into the underbrush and tore into its flesh ravenously, careful to keep an ear cocked the entire time. This wilderness had turned lethal, more so than the ruins had ever been. Now I was vulnerable and alone.

When my belly was full, I buried the remaining carcass under a thin screen of sand. After a quick wash to cleanse the scent of blood from my face and whiskers, I fought off the post-meal lethargy and made my way back to the bubbling spring by the leaning tree.

Sniffing around, I found a fresh scent, faint yet unmistakable. As I suspected, my prey had made her way back. She had somehow disguised the details but I’d still managed to suss out a trail that led away from the island. I drank before I followed it. If my prey had returned here, it meant safe water would be in short supply.

I tracked a trail of scent-marks doled out like breadcrumbs in an Advisor’s children story I’d once read. The deeper I descending into the foreign landscape, the darker and danker it became. Stunted trees wove their leaves into a dense canopy overhead blotting out all traces of sun. My eyes sprang wide to compensate for the depth of shadow. The sense of twilight almost energized me. The shaded landscape was ideal for me to hunt.

The dotted trail bobbed along a pathway that no Blood would easily follow, high into trees, along rounded branches, through the low underbrush of marshy islands clogged with leaves that left no tracks. Following my prey was like hunting the ghost I’d seen earlier. I wondered if the trail was an invitation or a trap.

The hunt finally landed me near a small island surrounded by black, fetid water. A sprawling, tangle-limbed tree dominated a central mound, spreading wide and low across the water like a mother bird trying to conceal her chicks beneath her wings. Clumps of grassy whiskers concealed the shoreline. Towering, wet-kneed trees stood sentinel like islands all around.

The only path onto the island lay across a slightly submerged sapling, barely visible just inches beneath the water. Tentatively, I padded across the narrow bridge, uncomfortably aware of the dark liquid seeping into the fur between my toes. I resisted the urge to splash across, or shake the water from my paws after each cautious step.  The rough bark was slick with algae. Without my claws, I’d have quickly found myself sliding in over my head. Like the Blood, we Chosen know how to swim. Unlike our rivals, we prefer the dignity that comes with staying dry.

Swimming would have been folly anyway. The image of the mother duck disappearing behind a screen of teeth replayed constantly through my mind. I wondered what other predators lurked nearby, waiting for me to slip. Or perched in the surrounding trees poised to swoop down with talons extended as soon as I was fully exposed. My ears swiveled back and forth as I listened for the faint rustle of feathers or the telltale dying of the songbirds’ chorus.

Neither came before I leapt onto mostly solid ground. Again, I relied on my training and fought the instinctive urge to wash my dripping paws, uncertain what might linger in the unclean water. Bad enough they’d been immersed. At least I didn’t feel the sting of any scraped or raw paw pads from my journey so far. An infection would take longer but could be just as deadly if it slowed my reflexes even a fraction.

As the ground rose and firmed beneath my paws, the unmasked scent of my prey assaulted my nose. She’d made no attempt at camouflage this time. Her scent stained the air everywhere as if she were marking territory. She smelled like one of us, only vulnerable and distinctly female. Her scent-mark reeked that she was in heat.

How could she have gotten so far in that condition? And how had she avoided the shots? Juliett had told me our heat could last for many days. Was that why she’d lingered in the area? Despite the torturous path she’d taken, this island wasn’t terribly far from the spring. Almost like she wanted to be found.

That changed everything. I surveyed the island cautiously. At the base of the great, central tree, I found more scent marking along with the castoff sheaths of claws beneath some furrows in the bark. After so much sharpening, her claws would be razor-fine. Maybe not so vulnerable after all. I scanned the area again from the crest of the central mound.

That’s when I spotted something unnatural half floating out in the water. A small capsule, smooth and gray, lay half-submerged, trailing lines that led to a dull patterned swatch of fabric mostly concealed beneath the dark stained water. A small egress hatch stood canted open. Scorch marks rimmed a nearby panel. The compartment wasn’t large enough to hold an Advisor, maybe only a tiny, yapping Blood. Or a Chosen. Was this just another piece of the Advisors’ ruins or had it somehow transported my prey here?

I stared at the symbols just visible between the waterline and the hatch hoping they might reveal an answer. While I couldn’t read them all, I recognized one word painted across a bright arrow pointing to hatch. “Rescue,” it said. My blood froze. I remembered that same arrow painted on the outside of our teardrop transport. That told me exactly what the compartment had been designed to house. A Sky God.

The hackles on my neck rose like tiny antennae. They had sent us to hunt a Sky God? Had I become her prey? She could be lurking anywhere in ambush, just waiting to spring her trap. Why else would she lead me here? I was certain I’d been lead. Her trail, while subtle, was too obvious for any of the Chosen to miss. 

Now I had to decide exactly what to do. Until I had her tranqed, I couldn’t call in the Advisors. If I captured her, she would be worth more than a few points toward a name. Would she know that I’d been here? Could she tell with Sky God magic? It was too late to cover the traces of my presence. I had to hope that her territorial markings would mask my nosing around. But where could I ambush her? I hadn’t smelled her at the bridge. She must have another way off the island, a back alley path I hadn’t run across.

I felt time pressing against me. I was so close yet so was our deadline. And a Sky God. I didn’t think I could bring her down alone. I knew I could trust 593, but could I really trust Juliett? Had it been her paw that guided Romeo to his death, or the Sky God’s?

I had no choice. I needed help and fast if I was going to bring the Sky God in. But was that what I really wanted? The Chosen didn’t hunt our own. And she was in heat. That meant I’d be trading her genetic line for mine. I wasn’t sure exactly how I felt about that. But what was my alternative?

Once again, my training kicked in. This was no place to ponder these questions or hash out a plan. I’d lingered far too long. Slowly, deliberately, with my ears swiveling in every direction, I turned back the way I’d come. Some deep, instinctive sense told me she wasn’t watching. I didn’t feel her eyes upon me. But I was exposed. She wouldn’t be far away.

I had just reached the far side of the underwater bridge when my collar buzzed. I jumped straight into the air. My heart pounded in my ears. I’d just been recalled. Why now when I was so close? Surely not because of Romeo.

Calm down, I told myself. Focus on your mission and the protocols. As I did, I realized that not all the pounding was inside my head. The distant thump, thump, thump of a sky transport drew closer.

I darted into the nearby underbrush, uncertain what it meant. If the Advisors could see me they’d know exactly where I was. They were always watching. Our backpacks can read our minds.

In an artificial voice, my collar spoke. It had never done that before.

“Bast’s Chosen. Your mission is hereby terminated. Half your team is dead. You are recalled back to your point of departure. Blood units are forming up onsite. Return before they engage or we cannot guarantee your safety.” After a pause, the message repeated twice more as the thumping first grew louder then receded and disappeared.

Bast’s Chosen… Half your team is dead. Romeo and who? Juliett or 593? I needed to find out. If I wanted to bring the Sky God down before honoring their recall I needed help. But I needed to get away from the Sky God’s island while I decided what to do. The sky transport would have drawn her attention.

I huddled in the underbrush a moment, making sure the Advisors had no other message to deliver. I was confident the Blood wouldn’t scout too far before nightfall. They couldn’t see like the Chosen in the dark. I knew I could convince my brother to keep hunting past the recall. And I knew Juliett would never give up the possibility of a name. But first, I needed to learn who lived. So I set off toward their sector.

---

It was late afternoon when I found my answer. I’d been zigzagging back and forth for hours, hopping from island to island looking for any sign of 593 or Juliett. I’d paused in a tree just off another middling island when I heard faint yipping from somewhere near the shore. I tested the air and sure enough detected a familiar canine scent. I’d strayed into some coyote mother’s territory. They were our primary competition for food among the ruins. They would eat almost anything, alive or freshly dead. A den was doubly dangerous as all mothers sought to protect their young.

I’d climbed down and circled to give her den a wide berth. I had just exited from beneath the tunnel of underbrush and there he was lying in a marshy pool, his face staring up at me with sightless eyes. Gray intestines trailed from the ragged fur around his midsection. There was no blood even though his hind quarters had been completely torn away. His backpack and collar were also missing. Echo 593. Brud. My brother.

I felt a yowl creep up my throat and fought to keep it down. Too much danger lurked too close for me to sing his passing now.

Tentatively, I sniffed him. The smell of his body betrayed that he’d been dead for more than just the few hours since our recall. He’d died before Romeo.

Something else was wrong here. Coyotes are lazy eaters but even they bury their kills, in sand not in water. And then they either keep their rations close or dispose of the remnants far away. Rotting flesh attracted scavengers. No mother would risk that danger so close to her den.

Then I noticed faint paw prints and drag marks in the mud. Feline prints. I quickly spotted clumps of white fur snagged on a snapped off twig. I nosed around it carefully and found what I was searching for. The scent of Juliett. She must have dragged his body here but why? Had she tricked him like Romeo? 593 would never fall for that. What had she done to my brother?

Emotion overcame my training. I called for him like a mother to her lost kitten and listened for a reply. When none came, I knew I shouldn’t linger. I would call again tonight and for many nights to come. We deal with our dead differently. I sang another quick song of mourning and turned to leave his body behind.

As my head swung around, a glint buried deep within the foliage caught my eye like movement. A tiny, empty capsule with a needle reflected the dying light. Now I knew. Juliett must have tranqed him near the coyote’s den. She must have dumped his collar and backpack somewhere in the water afterwards. She was eliminating her rivals one by one to claim the Sky God for herself. That meant I could be next.

She could be stalking me right now, waiting for her chance to pounce. She could have left my brother’s body as a trap. My eyes darted across the underbrush to each potential hiding place before I realized there were too many.

The light was failing. I needed water. I needed food. I needed time to rest and formulate a plan. There was only one place I’d find all three, back at the island with the ruins. I needed to get moving. There was no one left to help me. There was no one I could trust.

I retreated toward the day’s starting point as quickly and quietly as I could. It was a long journey back. I’d ranged farther than most males today.

By the time I reached the spring, my tongue lolled and panted in the stagnant air. I drank deeply from the bubbling water, replenishing myself after the long, hot trek. I was still hungry but too bleary with exhaustion and grief to hunt. Even though I knew Juliett could be anywhere by now, I had to clear my head before I plotted my next move. So, I climbed into the leaning tree, curled up between two branches and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke in darkness to a chorus of frogs and insects. The night was old, the air now cool yet not quite fresh. Tendrils of white mist rose from the black water below me.

Now I was really hungry. I remembered the remains of the black snake buried near the ruins. I decided to risk going back to it despite how close it was to Romeo’s collar. Hunting something fresh would take more time, time I no longer had. Just after dawn, the entire wilderness would be crawling with eager Blood. And then it would be too late.

I crept back toward the palmetto break but paused well short on the trail when I noticed the twinkle of distant lights. The Advisors and their Blood had setup an advanced camp in the ruins where I’d slept. By now they would have found Romeo and his collar. I was surprised they remained so confident to burn their lights at night.

The thought of the snake so close made my mouth water. But I knew the Advisors must have sentries. Even the Blood wouldn’t be as arrogant as that. If they hadn’t found me yet, there was no reason to give them an easy trail to start on in the morning.

I swatted at a clump of nearby leaves in frustration. A fat palmetto bug scurried away in the moonlight. I pinned it with a paw and crunched though its shell, biting it in half. Both pieces tickled as they went down. Their wriggling didn’t soothe my stomach much. What I really needed was fresh meat. But the howl of a restless Blood sent me creeping back toward the spring, tail low and belly grumbling.

My hunger barely eased, I only paused there long enough to formulate a plan. I knew I couldn’t wait until dawn to pursue my prey again.

I wanted to go after Juliett but the only sign I seen of her was 593’s body dumped like rotting meat. I knew I couldn’t trust her now but I didn’t know whether she’d hunt me or the Sky God first. She had to know the Blood were close. If she were anywhere nearby, she would have heard them just like me.

That left two choices. Either slip around the Blood to our departure point before morning and trade my knowledge of the Sky God to the Advisors, if Juliett hadn’t found her first. Or deny Juliett her victory and capture the Sky God for myself. I didn’t trust that the Advisors would split the points if either of us honored the recall.

The longer I thought, the more 593’s eyes haunted me. I wanted to sing for him again but didn’t dare with the Blood so close. I decided then I had to move forward not back. Our line must survive. I wouldn’t cede that to Juliett.

From the spring, I stalked back along the trail I’d followed earlier, cautiously sniffing my way. The scent markers had faded but the map inside my head guided me back to the trail each time my nose led me astray. The Bloods’ noses were ten times more sensitive. It wouldn’t be hard for them to follow my new, haphazard trail once they found the spring come dawn.

Eventually, I stood before the submerged bridge that led to the Sky God’s island. The mist on the water had congealed into a low, thin fog. On the last patch of dry land before the fallen sapling, I caught the faint metallic scent of blood.

I froze and focused to identify the source, and found myself staring into the eyes of a black snake, mouth agape, fangs bared. Slowly, I drew back a paw. When it did not move or hiss, I batted it without claws. It rolled harmlessly aside. Someone quick and clever had left it like a guardian. Was it an omen or warning? From the Sky God or Juliett? I wasn’t sure. But someone knew I’d come this way before.

I padded back crossed the bridge, careful not to splash or shake my paws. The fog dampened the surrounding scents and all but the loudest sounds. The trill of the insects and night peepers came from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The fog itself seemed radiant with moonlight as if glowing from within.

As my paws touched dry land, I caught a flicker of motion off to my right. Something sped through the fog, low, white and feline, as silent as a ghost. Juliett? Or the Sky God? I extended my claws and fired a dart just as the form blended back into the surrounding mist. I didn’t hear my prey fall. A miss.

I only had three shots and now had wasted one. Juliett still had two, enough to bury me like my brother and still claim the Sky God for herself. After seeing 593, I knew she wouldn’t hesitate if she saw me. And I still had no idea what magic the Sky God might possess.

Shadows danced as a soft breeze swirled through the fog like a kitten’s paw chasing imaginary fish around a water bowl. I broke left to avoid whomever I’d just seen. With any luck, she wouldn’t have noticed the dart I’d sped her way. Maybe I could circle around and ambush her. With all the territorial marking on the island, I’d never be able to detect Juliett by scent. Or the Sky God either for that matter. A very clever trick.

I stalked toward the whiskery grasses that lined the shoreline. A blur of white rushed in from my left. I turned and fired on instinct but the dart sailed wide. She crashed into my flank. The impact sent me sprawling. We tumbled together, claws and teeth flailing for purchase. When we rolled to rest, I was pinned on my back by the full weight of an adult female, her paws to either side. Even as I struggled to bring my rear claws to bear against her belly, she laid her teeth against my throat. Submissively, I lay still.

The Sky God released my windpipe to study me a moment. “So they’ve sent a kitten to claim me,” she hissed. In the moonlight I could see dark symbols tattooed along her gums as she bared her teeth. “What did they offer you, little one? Please tell me more than the promise of a name.”

I said nothing. Her fur was mostly white like Juliett’s but with patches of tan and grey like me. She was lean and muscular yet outweighed me by at least a third. She wore a collar of the same webbing as my own. Two silver slashes like tiny claw marks were embroidered within its weave. A dusky charm dangled from a metal hasp just above my nose.

My mind raced through possibilities of escape, rejecting each in turn. Maybe she hadn’t noticed Juliett. One cry would bring her running. But would she save me or just claim the Sky God for herself? It didn’t matter. I needed help.

“You’re a fool if you believed them,” the Sky God growled. “The charm on your collar says ‘expendable.’ How many others did they send die?”

A smile is an Advisor’s expression, one our faces couldn’t form. And baring teeth meant something completely different to us anyway. But I knew she lied. And that sparked a flicker of hope.

“You’re wrong,” I told her. “It says ‘Echo 716, Bast’s Chosen,’” I concentrated on her medallion. “Just like yours says, ‘Bast, (provisional) Captain, USAF.’”

“You can read?” The Sky God’s ears and whiskers twitched in stunned confusion. She relaxed her guard for barely an instant, but that was all the time I needed.

I twisted like a snake until my rear claws clutched the ground then I unleashed them like a coiled spring. As I shot out from under her, her claws belatedly raking down my sides. The entire time I yowled out one word as far as my voice would carry. “Juliett!”

When I spun round to face the Sky God, she had melted back into the fog and shadows. Was she really Bast? The Bast? Were we the ones she’d chosen? As my heart slowed back to a normal pace, I wondered what it meant. Had I made a terrible mistake?

Juliett’s singsong voice greeted me as if to answer. “She’s right, you know. The Advisors never intended for us to come back from this mission. They lie about everything. We’re all expendable to them.” She was close but I couldn’t pinpoint exactly where. Then I heard a dart ricochet off my backpack followed by the skittering of claws on bark. The tree! She was somewhere in the tree!

I bolted for a new position, praying I didn’t run into the Sky God along the way. “Just like you lied to Romeo?” I taunted.

Juliett snorted from above. “That kitten was bad luck from the day he joined us. His stupidity must have finally caught up with him.”

I edged around clinging to the brush. If I could keep her talking, the Sky God might go after her if she hadn’t fled already. Juliett and I each only had one dart left. Neither of us would fire without a clean, clear shot. Whoever took down the Sky God might not be the one to claim her. A three-way stand-off.

“And 593?” I asked, still moving through the fog.

“He smelled that slut’s heat from a mile away,” Juliett spat from a new position. “I just followed him. In his distraction, he strayed too close to a coyote’s den.”

“Don’t lie to me, Juliett. I found his body, or what was left of it. I saw your dart.” I moved again, circling around. If I couldn’t pin her down, maybe she couldn’t line up a shot on me.

“That’s too bad,” she said, almost sounding mournful. “I always respected you, 716. With you, I’d split the points.”

“That’s because you only have one shot left,” I countered. A branch that almost scraped the ground emerged from the fog in front of me. Did I dare pursue her in the tree?

“Poor, naïve Echo,” Juliett almost purred. “The Advisors always wanted us to take out each other out. Why else would they split the points among the survivors? But who am I to argue. Less competition means I earn a name when I bring the Sky God back.”

I climbed while she spoke, careful to keep my balance and not let my claws skitter along the bark. I needn’t have bothered. The Sky God’s voice boomed across the island just as I rose above the fog. “Don’t count your points before they’re tallied, kitten. You have to take me first.”

While Juliett and I had been stalking one another, the Sky God must have come around from Juliett’s blindside. She pounced on Juliett from a higher vantage. She’d chosen her ambush well. Juliett barely had time to fire. Her dart grazed the Sky God’s fur but didn’t stick. An instant later, Bast’s full fury was upon her.

Juliett sprang up and sideways, dodging the Sky God’s attack. The Sky God recovered quickly, pivoting on a branch and pouncing back into Juliett as a mass of swatting paws. The melee quickly became a tangle of claws and flying fur up and down the tree, each trying to cast the other to the ground. At turns, they broke apart and repositioned. Increasingly, both of their white fur was streaked with red. Staring each other down, they yowled their war cries before diving back together. I had no doubt the Blood could hear this fight all the way back in the ruins. How long before they came?

The battle raged to the very edge of the branches overhanging the water. The Sky God held the advantage in size and muscle, Juliett in quickness. The next time they separated, the Sky God had a ragged gash along her nose while one of Juliett’s ears was tattered. I climbed higher, desperate for a position from which I could take a shot and yet stay above the fray. I couldn’t tell which of them would win. Their skills were fairly matched. It just might come down to luck.

Fate favored Juliett. As the Sky God crouched and sprang for what might have been a deadly strike, her hind paw slipped on a patch of moss. As she fought to keep her balance, one of her rear claws completely tore away. She screamed and fell, barely saving herself from the water by twisting and catching a narrow branch that snapped. She clutched it with both front paws but now dangled like a kitten who eyes overreached her legs. She tried to pull herself up by scratching for purchase with one hind leg, but she needed both. The other dangled uselessly as if broken. Blood dripped from her wounded paw.

Juliett dropped from branch to branch stalking the Sky God now. If Juliet could pry her loose, the Sky God might drown, if her blood hadn’t attracted another duck-eating predator.

I circled down to watch.

“Extend your claws, 716,” Juliett turned to me as the motion caught her eye. “With her capture, we both can earn a name.”

“Don’t listen to her, Calli,” the Sky God cried. “If the Advisors kill the Sky Gods, what chance do the Chosen have?”

Did she say Calli? The name from my dream? Could that memory be real?

“How do you know my name?” I demanded.

“Heather reminded me before they gave her the needle’s kiss.” The Sky God struggled again to find purchase with her good hind paw but only managed to reposition and gain some time. Juliett was almost on top of her now. “Come back to us, Calli,” the Sky God added, “and we’ll remember.”

Those words echoed from my dream. For the first time in half a season, I felt the full weight of my collar and backpack. I couldn’t tranq them both. It was either the Juliett or Sky God. Vengeance or a name. Would the Advisors know what I was about to do? No, that was magical kitten thinking. Juliett had taught me that. Or maybe the Advisors had. After 593, I knew no one could read our minds. I lined up my shot.

“Don’t listen, Echo,” Juliett growled, “She’ll say anything to survive.” She turned to face me. When our eyes met, she knew it wasn’t the Sky God in my sights. She coiled to pounce. I extended my claws. The dart flew straight and true. It caught her just below the shoulder. She wobbled for a long second then plunged into the water below.

She tried to swim but kept slipping beneath the water as the drug wormed deeper into her veins. She sputtered each time she broke the surface again. As her endurance finally failed, her glassy eyes stared up at me just like my brother’s before her backpack dragged her under. She didn’t rise again. The dark water thrashed with tails and teeth where she’d gone down. The predators had come.

“That’s for killing my brother,” I hissed down at her.

Then I crept down the branch, careful not to bounce it, until I stood over the Sky God considering. She eyed me warily. She knew I could easily dislodge her and there was nothing she could do.

“Did you kill Romeo?” I asked. Her life hung on the answer.

“That kitten was no threat to me,” she said, even as her grasp began to fail. “I needed the Chosen to linger until the Blood arrived so I could lead them on a chase. For that, I needed all of you alive.”

When our eyes locked, I detected no lie, no softness, no plea for mercy. Just hard, intense interest at whether I would send her to follow Juliett. If I did nothing, her fate would no longer be in my teeth. If the Advisors reclaimed her collar from the reptiles that might earn me a name. All I had to do was watch from the safety of my perch as her strength slipped away.

I wanted to but couldn’t. The Sky God was in heat and might already be pregnant. I wouldn’t trade my line for hers if it meant murdering her kittens.

So, I splayed myself before her, all four sets of claws extended for stability and told her to try again. She seemed to understand. As she pulled herself up one last time, I reached out and bit into the loose skin around her neck as if she were a kitten. While I couldn’t support all of her weight, I could hold just enough to allow her to gain purchase on the branch.

“Thank you,” she purred as she climbed to more solid wood. Once she was secure, I backed away to a safe distance.

We lay facing each other on the branch exhausted until the baying of the Blood reached our ears. It wouldn’t take them long to find us once they came across the spring. As quickly as I could, I turned and picked my way back along the branch until I found a spot where it was safe to jump to the ground. The Sky God limped along behind me. Where I descended lightly, she landed with a thud.

She panted on the ground a moment. “Do you think you can release my collar,” she asked. “With it you can at least confirm that I was here. That might earn you enough to avoid the needle’s kiss.”

I studied it and noted it was different than my own. While mine was clamped in place in such a way that none of us could release it, hers had a simple buckle I thought I could worry free. A minute later, it dangled from my mouth.

The Sky God struggled to her feet. Her back paw bore some weight. At least it wasn’t broken. I knew the agony of her wound would be fading. Once the shock fades, the Chosen can block out even a considerable amount of pain.

In the distance, the baying changed. The Blood had found my scent. Now, neither of us was safe.

“You need to go before they find us,” I told her. “I’ll draw them off. They know my scent. I can make it back to the Advisors before they catch me.”

“Come with me instead,” the Sky God offered.

I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. With 593 gone, I had no reason to return. After the Advisors had stripped Juliett of her points, I had no doubt they’d do the same to me if I came back without the Sky God. Could I really escape their game? I longed to accept but knew that was magical kitten thinking.

“I can’t,” I mewed. “They’ll track my collar and my backpack.”

“I can short them out just like I did with my compartment when I landed.” She glanced toward the water where it lay out. “But if I do, there’s no turning back. If they catch me, they’ll give me the needle’s kiss, just like Heather and the others. They’ll kill you, too. We will be alone, a Pride of two with no others of our kind.”

Could she really release me with Sky God magic? Could she really set me free?

“Why would a Sky God want me?” I asked, uncertain I could trust her.

“Because you are Chosen,” she answered. “You may have lesser Talents but you are still the Sky Gods’ young. We need each other to survive.”

The cries of the Blood grew closer. The Sky God turned to me favoring her wounded leg. “It’s now or never, kitten. Die free with me or chained with them. There is no other choice.”

The Blood would soon stand before the bridge. I knew what would happen when they crossed. Then I remembered what Juliett had said. We are all expendable. In that she’d told the truth. I bowed my head to the Sky God in submission.

She pressed her forehead against my backpack. With crackle and a sharp, acrid scent of Sky God magic, the latches released. The weight of my collar and backpack slid to the ground. She’d killed me. And I was free.

The Sky God clutched the Advisors’ artifacts in her teeth, limped over and dropped them in the water. As she hobbled toward her back-alley path off the island, I scrambled to catch up.

“Thank you, Bast, for choosing me,” I whispered reverently toward her tail.

“The Advisors named me that,” she replied, glancing over a shoulder. “You can call me Beth, Calli.”

My ears and whiskers perked with joy even as the Blood drew closer. The Sky God had spoken to me like an equal. Echo 716 was dead. But in my heart I knew I’d earned my name.

© 2013 Edward P. Morgan III