His brother barked an order and two Swrun leapt forward and started to drag Vyena’s unconscious form towards the ship. He turned his gaze to Mor-oik. No words were exchanged between the brothers. They stood a few feet apart and tore each other apart with their eyes. Mor-wir spoke first.
“You know I’m going to execute you.” It was not a question, just a statement of fact.
“I do.” Mor-oik had expected his voice to shake with some emotion, perhaps not fear, but at the very least a biological urge to survive. He was pleasantly surprised to find that it did not.
“Why? If you knew I was going to kill you, why did you sacrifice yourself for her? She is not Swrun, and she would certainly not do the same for you. Rebels do not care for Swrun.” Mor-wir sounded genuinely confused.
“Brother, in this, like so many other ways, you are wrong. I sacrifice myself for her for the same reason she would sacrifice herself for me. Because we are part of something more than just ourselves. We are part of the war against the tyranny and terror of the Swrun Empire. It is a diseased, rotten construct that must be destroyed to save the galaxy.
“I sacrifice myself for her because she is a friend. And because at the end of the day I get to spit in the face of the Empire.” Mor-oik nodded. “Yeah, that’s why. I get to spite you. I get to prove you wrong. If one of us had to die, might as well be the one whose death would have meaning.”
Mor-oik spat at his brother. “I will not die a slave. I will die a free being.”
Behind him, the sound of engines firing filled him with content. The whine as the ship took off made him smile. They would escape.
Mor-wir’s face hardened into an iron mask. “Kneel.”
“No.” Mor-oik lifted his chin and stared his brother in the eye. “When I die, I will die on my feet.”
“So be it,” Mor-wir said as he lifted his rifle.
Mor-oik kept his eyes focused on his brother until the rifle fired. The shot entered between his eyes and vaporized the inside of his head. He didn’t feel a thing.
“Turn the ship around.”
“What?” Wees asked. “You mean back there?”
“Turn the ship around,” Juiwa repeated.
Wees obeyed. The ship was still in the atmosphere and Juiwa could feel the change in direction.
“What are we going to do?” Kryl asked. “We’re outnumbered a hundred to one and this ship has no guns.”
“You’re not going to do anything. You’re going to drop me off and I’m going in. There is a thing that needs done, and I need to do it. You will just hinder me. Land the ship out in the Waste and I’ll find you. If I’m not back by dawn, leave.”
He had expected questions, protests. There were none. He glanced at Pooi and the look on his face must have been wondering, because she simply shook her head and said, “You don’t say much. When you say more than a word, it’s best to listen. If you say a sentence, people take note. You’ve never said a paragraph before.”
Juiwa grimaced. Had he really slipped that far? Time was he didn’t speak for weeks at a time. During his time as Wraith, when he moved without a sound, without presence. He would have to go back to that time. Checking to make sure his suit was fitted as it should be, Juiwa found that it was. The chameleon suit would play a large role in the mission ahead.
“We’re closing in. About ten miles out.”
“Drop me at a mile.”
Juiwa spent the next minute deep in meditation. He focused on why. One needed a reason for everything they did. It might be as trivial as they wanted to, but fire burned, meat tasted good, and everyone needed to know why.
Juiwa was returning to a Swrun training camp filled with hundreds of Swrun, each of whom could kill Juiwa. He was returning for a Swrun. But not to kill him, as Juiwa had done with every other Swrun he had encountered in his life. He was going back to save him. Or, if necessary, to avenge his death.
Before meeting Mor-oik, Juiwa had never thought he would meet a Swrun he did not want to kill. Let alone one he might consider an ally. But Mor-oik had proven his intent and loyalty the moment he walked out of the ship. He could have refused, and let Vyena die. But he hadn’t.
Mor-oik had walked out head high and back straight. Juiwa had seen soldiers who had fought for decades face death with half the courage that Swrun had. And so Juiwa was returning to ensure that courage received the proper reward, be it with salvation or vengeance. Juiwa sincerely hoped it was the former.
“We’re here.”
Juiwa opened his eyes. It was time to go to work. It was time to return to Wraith. “Watch after Vyena. That medpack should have stabilized her, but I do not want her to get worse.”
With that, Juiwa opened the door and jumped out.
Wraith hit the ground, rolling to soften the impact. Wraith stretched his muscles and rolled his shoulders. It had been far too long since he had been in action. Almost ten years now. He noticed a series of new scars across his body, most notably thick ropy scars around his wrists. The kind left by chains.
His cheek suddenly itched violently and he scratched it with urgent fingers. After the itch subsided, he ran his fingers across his cheek, trying to discern what had caused it. His fingers felt smooth ink embedded in his skin, raising it a hair’s breadth above the rest of the skin. That was new.
But it did not matter. These things could be worried about later. Wraith had work to do. Activating his chameleon suit and sinking into his hunter’s trance, Wraith moved across the desolate landscape, heading towards his destination. His Prime target was in the middle of an encampment, surrounded by hundreds of Optional targets. It would be an easy mission.
Wraith moved as his name suggested. He put the shadows to shame. No matter how silent a shadow, you could still see it. You could not see Wraith. He was invisible. He was as invisible as a sound, but you could still hear the sound. You could not hear Wraith.
He slipped over the wall of the camp, and weaved between the buildings. The sentries he saw he did not slay, though it would have been easier that breathing. No, he needed to remain undetected. Corpses had a funny way of alerting an enemy. The Prime was not far away.
Flowing like water through the camp, slithering through the Optionals, Wraith arrived at the Prime. Sliding through the locked door without the slightest breath of a whisper, Wraith found himself alone with the Prime, who was seated at a desk, facing away from the door. Poor choice. Gliding forward, Wraith placed his gun against the Prime’s head.
“Where is he?” Juiwa asked. To his credit, the Swrun Captain did not jump. A slight gasp and a flutter of fingers, but he did not jump.
“Who?” His voice was calm.
“Your brother. The one you called traitor.”
“Oh, him.” The Swrun chuckled. “His body is currently on its way to Swrun for a military burial with full honors.”
Juiwa felt his insides shrivel with dismay. He pushed the gun harder against the Swrun’s head in anger. “You’re lying.”
“I am not.” The Swrun was not. Juiwa could hear it in his voice.
Juiwa stepped back, breathing heavily. He was too late. Just like he had been too late before. For a moment, his vision flickered and when it returned, the Swrun Captain was picking himself up off the floor, bleeding from a cut across his forehead. Pressing his palm to his forehead, the Swrun Captain looked at Juiwa with blood running down his face.
“I’m as upset as you, I suspect. He was my brother after all. You think it was easy to kill my own brother?” Juiwa stared at the Swrun in disgust.
“He was your brother, and you killed him anyway?”
“Of course. He was a traitor. As you are, Wraith.”
Juiwa’s eyes went wide. The Swrun chuckled. “Surprised? That tattoo of yours gives it away. The Sword and the Flame, the Emperor’s secret assassin. Supposedly the best alive.”
The tattoo itched furiously on his cheek. Juiwa ignored it. That damned brand marked Juiwa for what he was. A monster. For five years, he had served as the ultimate secret weapon. If the Emperor desired someone dead, Juiwa killed them. Anyone, anywhere. Before he had been betrayed.
“It was a pity what happened to you and your team. Such a waste, I think.”
Juiwa struggled to keep the memories buried, but they rose up like the tide, unstoppable. He had returned to Sheath, the headquarters from which he and his team of supporting operatives conducted their business of death, and found them dead. The only living beings in the building were the Swrun who killed them. They had captured him, branded him, and sentenced for the murder of both his team and the old Emperor. He had escaped, hid his past, and joined the Rebellion.
“Still,” the Swrun said, shrugging, “Better you than someone who mattered.”
Balling his fist, Juiwa struck the Swrun across the jaw, taking care to avoid the tusks. “You know what happened to my team, how the Emperor used them, and me?”
“Naturally. Emperor dies, his son takes over. He needs someone to blame for the old one’s death, so he chooses your team. Poor choice, I think. You were quite talented. Shame you turned traitor.”
“The worst choice he made was to leave me alive,” Juiwa said. “He left me alive, and I turned against him. I don’t think you could call that turning traitor.”
“But I do. Because he does.” The Swrun lifted his chin. “Are you going to kill me now?”
“I am the Sword and Fire of the Swrun Empire. Killing is what I do best.”
Juiwa pointed his gun dead center in the Swrun’s forehead. He pulled the trigger without another word. Fire burned, meat tasted good, and vengeance was sweet.
Wraith killed forty seven Optionals on his way out of camp.
Juiwa climbed into the ship as the first rays of dawn rose over the horizon. No one asked where Mor-oik was. Juiwa’s lone presence was enough. “Get us out of here. Take us to Nunemabi. Vyena needs a doctor.”