“HOW DO YOU expect the Gods to see you if you don’t even see yourselves? Have you seen this crew—its left and right arms? Have you seen the first drum? If you want to pass through the Shattered Gates marked by conquest, you better see right now.”
Caller Arrow paced the central aisle of the wrecker ship’s hold, meeting the eyes of each skin as he spoke. They were less than an hour from the target planet. “See yourselves. We who were once the unseen, the unnamed, now we know our place among the stars. We are the creations of the Divine Masters. We are the enforcers of Divine Will. Our lives are weapons for the Gods. See who you are, and see this crew. And if Conqueror sees us, maybe you’ll see tomorrow.”
As caller, it was Arrow’s duty to make sure the crew was focused and prepared for the mission. The first drum gave the orders; the caller and the third drum made sure the skins executed them. In some crews, the first drum was more direct, but Lance preferred to remain taciturn, though vigilant, with the servants in his charge. He stood with Attendant Spear at the fore of the hold, watching both his crew and the floating holo-display data.
Luckily, their mission required the wrecker ship, capable of transporting a full task of servants, and they had room enough to get up, walk, and stretch out tight muscles. For a single crew infiltration, they’d normally be in the smaller chisel ship, but since their objective was to bring back the stolen khvazol, as well as vleez prisoners, they needed something bigger.
They had spent the better part of three shifts aboard the wrecker, almost one full day. The hold had grown steadily warmer with each hour of transit. Sabira’s skin was moist with sweat beneath her armor. Even though the wrecker traveled through the enemy system cloaked in stealth fields, they had to be ready for any contingency and needed to be outfitted in vacuum-ready armor, except helms and gloves, the entire way.
Earlier, during their second shift of transit, Attendant Spear made his way through the crew, checking in with each rank and skin. Once they were planetside, they would be taking orders from him as well as First Drum Lance, and he had only these few hours to cement their loyalty. Attendant Spear was a natural leader—Sabira saw it plainly. Thousands of servants had followed him into battles and infiltrations across the local cluster. She often wished she had inherited some of his leadership in her blood, and just as often feared that she hadn’t.
As the newest of the skins, Sabira was the last to meet with Attendant Spear. She mentioned her desire for a porthole to see the stars as they flew past. The hold was little more than a dark, warm box on the bottom of the wrecker. Spending her entire life in underground tunnels and pyramid ship corridors meant that confined spaces were as normal to her as dirt to worms. But she had glimpsed the eternal expanse, and now she craved it like she craved sex.
He slapped her shoulder. “Be grateful. The Masters have crafted their ships with purpose. If Humans get too much of what we want, we grow soft, and when the hour comes the Gods will find us unworthy of service and leave our souls unseen and forgotten outside the Gates of Heaven.”
A faint smile curled his lip, as if he found something amusing. “There wouldn’t be much to see even if there was a viewport, not while we’re in the egg. The only light you can see at all is coming from straight ahead. And then you’re not seeing any stars or nebula, just a hazy disc of white directly in front. Won’t be much to see till we crack the egg, just outside the planet’s rings. But then there’ll be no time for stargazing.”
Servants called the field generated by the aku-vayk engines the egg, earning its name for the shape it took around the ship. Wreckers were too small for interstellar engines. Their ship, along with two other wreckers from the Pyramid Ihvik-Ri, was docked to a nest. Serving as detachable interstellar drives, nests transported ships too small for their own aku-vayk engines.
Due to the lack of viewports, Sabira never got a chance to see the nest they were docked to, but from her training she knew it looked like little more than a large circle with a line through the middle. That bisecting line served as a docking pier designed to hold up to three wreckers in either half-circle.
During their third shift, after more than twenty hours in transit, Caller Arrow was making sure their heads were straight and ready for what was coming.
“Servant Cannon, where will we be landing?”
“One kilometer north of the city, near an industrial shipping port along the river bank, Caller.”
“Servant Hatchita, how long will the breather pills be effective?” asked Third Drum Misseila.
“Two shifts after ingestion, Third Drum. One shift for activation, one shift for use.”
The Vleez breathed different air than Humans. Whenever a mission brought servants to a Vleez planet, they had to take breather pills to temporarily modify their lungs. The longest a single pill stayed effective was two shifts after ingestion, eighteen hours. Prolonged strained activity or contact with a yarist gem could reduce their effectiveness time considerably. According to Attendant Spear, a servant might wring out another hour of shallow breathing if they could keep themselves relaxed and their heart calm. Not the easy task if you're struggling for every breath.
“Servant Sabira, how long do we have to accomplish our mission once we land?” asked Arrow.
“One shift, Caller.”
“Servant Bomb, what are our tactical protocols?” asked Misseila.
“Full stealth infiltration. No contact with the locals. Stealth in, confiscate the targets, call in the wrecker to our precise location, stealth out, Third Drum.”
“Let me make that extra deep clear for you,” said Caller Arrow, “in case Trickster has got your ear. Stealth fields on the entire approach and withdraw. No contact. No noise. No mistakes. There’ll be time for killing vermin later.”
“It’s always time for killing vermin, Caller. Extermination is what we do best,” said Servant Hatchet. He and Servant Hatchita bumped forearms and laughed. They were in the left arm with Servant Bomb and sat across the aisle from Sabira.
“Has Trickster got you, after all, skin?” Caller Arrow turned on Hatchet. “Still got mine dust in your ear? No contact. No mistakes. Otherwise, this mission will fail, and this crew will die. Do you see me, skin?”
“I see you, Caller,” replied Hatchet, though his eyes looked to the floor. Arrow stood over him a long, uncomfortable moment, the silence filled only with the thrum of the engine and hum of air flow, before nodding to Misseila and walking to the fore of the hold to meet with First Drum Lance.
“Did the Masters give you an extra scoop of stupid when they made you, Hatchet?” taunted Cannon.
“Shut your face,” snapped Hatchita. Everyone knew Hatchet and Hatchita were close. One would always defend the other. Sabira thought she would be driven crazy to have someone so close with the same name, even if it was the masculine version. But Hatchet and Hatchita bonded tighter than most.
Third Drum Misseila loomed over the seated skins in an instant, her voice low but angered. “All of you shut all your damn faces. What under the rocks has Caller been saying? I want all of your mouths on stealth for the rest of the transit. Do you see me?”
“Yes, Third Drum,” they answered in unison.
“Now check your armor and your palukai. Last chance before we break the egg. And don’t let me hear another godsdamned word.” Misseila turned and strode back toward the ranks.
Daggeira, strapped in to Sabira’s left, turned to her, imitating the stern look Misseila had just given them. Sabira smiled, careful not to laugh or make a sound. Things had changed between Daggeira and Sabira since the rites. Or if not changed, at least made clearer. They had spent the last three sleep shifts together and yet still remained rivals. Even during the passion of their drilling, hints of competition emerged. Sabira couldn’t be sure if Daggeira’s playfulness was out of affection, a way to try to get her in trouble with the ranks, or both.
The last sleep shift before the mission they had shared Sabira’s bunk. After sex they had lain close together, sweaty legs entangled, and stared bleary-eyed up at the ceramic ceiling. It reminded Sabira of falling asleep next to her brood-sister and staring up at the dry stone of the warrens.
“What’s it like?” Daggeira had asked her while slowly tracing her finger along Sabira’s scar.
“Getting my tit cut off? Star Father’s balls, it hurt.”
“No, not that. I didn’t finish. I mean, what was it like having the Handmaiden as your blood-mother?”
“It’s not like anything. I never met her. I don’t know for sure that she’s ever seen me, either. Grandfather Spear said she watched my pits. But who knows.”
Sabira still held lingering doubts about why Daggeira was drilling with her. As if in answer to her unvoiced worries, Daggeira softly kissed her ear, and Sabira felt ashamed of her suspicions. The kiss had reminded Sabira of Zaicha, her last pillow boy before Servant Discipline. Did everyone from Warrens Dreena kiss so softly? Did Daggeira keep a secret name, too, before her nine victories and the glyphs on her cheeks?
“But you had Attendant Spear. All of my blood and brood were Aggies. Of course you were going to make it into the Servants shaft, with him there to help you.”
“You think I had it easy growing up with a warren full of rock-for-brains diggers? You think I didn’t earn my glyphs? Easy for you to say, Daggs, no one’s calling you Stargazer One Tit instead of your name.”
Daggeira tensed beside her. Sleepiness gave way to wary alertness as Sabira suddenly became uncertain if their drilling was about to shift into fighting. Even when Daggeira softened again, Sabira remained guarded. She hated the way this sudden tension made her feel, dreaded the thought of mistrusting Daggeira again.
“I’m sorry,” Daggeira whispered. “I’m . . . It’s just . . . It would be easier—Gods—if I didn’t like you.”
The tension melted from Sabira’s shoulders. “I see you, Daggeira.”
“I see you, Stargazer Sabira.”
“You’re such a mine rat.”
Coming back to the here and now of the hull, Sabira set about readying her palukai, hoping to distract herself from Daggeira. The palukai, commonly called the stick as that’s more or less what it looked like, was the primary weapon of the Servants. In its neutral state, it was a nondescript gray and black pole, a meter long and three centimeters in diameter, and made an effective cudgel, as unforgiving as a bar of steel. But when activated, the stick was capable of a spectrum of lethal possibilities. By applying the activation sequences—gripping or handling the palukai in specific ways—the cylinder could instantly reshape into new configurations. One or both ends could flatten into three different styles of blades, sharp as a diamond drill. Stock grips could extrude as the stick transfigured into one of three different plasma rifles. If the servant was feeling extra deep lethal, they could activate hybrid configurations of bladed guns.
Their armor was designed specifically for infiltrations. The form-fitting, gray and black shells were crafted from grank plates—stronger even than super-ceramic—but less bulky than the plates on infantry armor. Besides being lighter and more agile, infiltration suits could generate their own stealth field. The armor also held an array of smaller weapons. A utility knife was sheathed into the plates over her left thigh. From the left gauntlet she could unwind a garrote strong and sharp enough to sever the head of Human or Vleez. The right gauntlet fired controlled blasts of poisonous spray, a greenish-blue gas that would fry a vermin's innards but do no more than leave a bad taste in her mouth.
Yarist gem slivers were woven into the interior jumpsuit, right over her heart. The weapon that made her the weapon, the yarist was the key to the genetic lock that unleashed and transformed her. With just the touch of gem to flesh, muscles grew stronger, bones grew denser, and fury grew unstoppable. Sabira had been disciplined on how to control and utilize the power the yarist awoke in her, but she hadn’t used one in combat since her final pit fight.
An electronic alarm buzzed. A holo display timer floated in the middle of the aisle, counting down from nine.
“We’re about to break the egg,” announced First Drum Lance, the biomech twang of his voice sounding even more metallic in the hold. He counted out loud with the timer once it hit the five-second mark.
Finally, thought Sabira, no more waiting.
A quick look around at the rest of the skins’ faces showed they all felt the same way. As the count neared zero, one by one they met each other’s eyes. The time for jokes and rivalries was over. Now it was time to be one crew or a dead crew.
The holo display counted zero and converted to other mission statistics too small for Sabira to make out.
“We’ve broken the egg in a high orbit over the target planet. Warseer Ahzk Vohg has engaged the stealth fields. We’ll be planetside in one shift,” announced First Drum Lance. A loud thud and clank reverberated through the ship as the wrecker undocked from the nest.
Daggeira met Sabira’s gaze again, holding it longer than they had with the other skins. There was no knowing smirk or joking expression this time. Just a moment, silent and pure, just for them.
Attendant Spear gestured, and one of his floating displays enlarged and repositioned itself into the center aisle. Target Planet Thirteen-Nine-Seven-dash-Four. The wrecker was between the target and its sun, so nearly all the planetary sphere was illuminated. They saw much more of the green and purple world than the crescent seen during the command summons. The white rings encircling the planet sparkled like a vein of diamonds in the full sunlight.
A red line marking their landing trajectory spiraled over the planet, diving around and then under the rings, encircling one more time, and then terminating at the target hive city. The planet’s spin would plunge the city into shadow in about a shift. A dot representing their wrecker marked the other end of the spiral at the farthest point from the planet’s surface. An ever-changing readout of navigational and trajectory numbers floated beside it.
A swarm of bright blue dots with their own set of floating numbers circled through the holo-projection as well: satellites, stations, and orbiting defense platforms. Two new red dots and their trajectory lines appeared next. Their initial starting point was identical to their own, but instead of spiraling down, their lines closed into loops around the planet and took intercept orbits with the defense platforms.
The projection collapsed to a single point of light hovering in the aisle and faded out.
“I’ve been summoned to the command cabin,” said Attendant Spear. “I’ll see you again planetside. May the Gods see you all.”
“May the Gods see you, Attendant,” answered First Drum Lance.
Spear turned to the very fore of the hold. A flat, red bar of laser light scanned his glyphs, and a hatch slid open. He entered into the tube and turned aft to face them. He gave Sabira the slightest of nods before the hatch slid closed.
“The warseers are making the final preparations for the descent. Time for the breathers, and then secure your helmets and gloves. The mission clock is starting. Understood?” said Lance.
“Yes, First Drum,” the crew answered in unison.
“Strap yourselves and your palukai down tight,” added Arrow. “First Drum Lance will distribute the breathers now. They’ll be at full efficiency by the time we make planetfall. Once we begin our descent, the artificial gravity generators will power down.” If the artificial gravity hit the planet’s, it sent out a kind of gravity quake that the stealth fields couldn’t hide.
Caller Arrow had explained to them all before the mission that the target planet was smaller than Nahgohn-Za. They should expect to feel lighter, stronger. Sabira had experienced different gravity effects during her discipline, but this would be her first time on an alien world. Another dream of the little mine rat was about to come true.
Even if I die, it’s godsdamned better than plopping out babies in the tunnels back home.
First Drum Lance passed out the breathers to the ranks and then to the skins, coming to Sabira last. He instructed them to place it under their tongues and let it dissolve there. Sabira tasted a hint of the pitters brew’s sharp bitterness. After taking their pills they pulled on and sealed their gauntlets. First drum and the ranks strapped themselves into their seats near the forward hatch.
After sealing his gauntlets, Cannon repositioned himself as much as the straps could allow to face Daggeira and Sabira. “Let’s all come back from this together,” he said, “with all the good stuff still attached. Then we can talk about what a pain in my ass you two are.”
The three of them bumped forearms and secured their helmets. Sabira pulled her visor down to cover her grin and realized that this, right now, was what she always wanted.
In the corner of her vision hung a numerical display counting down the mission timer. The hours were already ticking away. Next to the timer, another countdown displayed only a few remaining seconds.
The voice of First Drum Lance projected in her ear. “Deactivating artificial gravity in three, two, one, zero.”
Sabira was sure her helmet would turn into a bucket of puke. The nausea was sharp and strong, but it faded quickly. The feeling was soon replaced by a faint burning sensation in her lungs and her belly. The pill was doing its work. Breathers weren’t the only agents in the pills Lance distributed. Different missions required different ingredients. Arrow had informed them the pills would have anti-nausea agents to counteract the effects of gravity loss. The pills also included a time-released concentrated dose of the same accelerants used in the pitters brew. The accelerants and the breathers would be in full effect right as they made planetfall. They were going in locked-down, sharp, and ready.
The mission countdown ticked nine hours when they hit atmosphere. Tearing a silent scream through the alien sky, they fell toward the target planet, invisible invaders on a divine mission.