Two nights later, Callista crossed her arms and kept the growl from clawing out of her throat. ‘Ala, stark it, you know I’m good in a fight. Don’t sideline me.’
‘Tough, Cals, you’re a subofficer, not a grunt — you need to be directing your people, not duckin’ lasbolts,’ Ala said, slicing the edge of her hand through the cooling air, cutting off all dissent. Dusk was deepening into night. ‘You can probably throw some of your fancy moves from up on that balcony anyway. Bock’ll be with you to make sure ya don’t do something stupid, like run into the fight instead of winnin’ it.’
‘I get why you wouldn’t want him on the street — ’
Ala shook her head. ‘No. No, you don’t. The boy’s smart like you, haven’t ya noticed? I want him to learn off you. He worships the ground ya walk on.’
‘Bock would lick the ground you walk on.’
Ala’s forehead creased. ‘Not sure that’s any worse than him droolin’ whenever he sees me.’
Hiding her smile, Callista took the overgrown garden path leading to the abandoned mansion that was to be her tomb for the evening. When no patter of feet immediately followed her, she turned to watch Bock scuttle up to Ala just as the subofficer was about to hoist herself into a waiting hovercar. Bock’s hands twisted in front of his chest. His lips trembled. Callista winced, feeling the ardent emotions swirling around inside him and escaping through his mouth. He was declaring his feelings, baring it all.
Ala shook her head and ruffled his hair as though he was a child. Waving him off, she vanished inside the darkened cockpit and was borne away to another imminent battle. Bock stood there for several long moments, his shoulders sagging. Then his spine lurched upright and he bounded over to Callista with a wild grin.
‘Let’s do this!’ Bock said, his excitement not quite wiping away the melancholy Callista could sense nibbling at the edges if his mind. ‘I’m gonna earn myself a subofficer rank, you just watch.’
‘Can you still take orders from your current subofficer?’ Callista asked mock-sternly.
‘So long as you don’t order me to stop lookin’ at Ala,’ he answered, grin still growing.
Callista rolled her eyes and headed for the mansion. ‘Follow me, you douchenozzle.’
‘That order I’ll take!’ he said and hurried after her.
***
Tired, bruised and running, Sandsa barely had time to wonder where his latest lasgun had fallen and who the last remaining man of his group was. Their feet fell together in a steady rhythm as they chased the Alcazaar clanspeople who had attacked them. Sandsa’s companion might have been from a minor clan but he wasn’t helpless; he still had his weapon and was using it to fire a steady stream of lasbolts that became an unbroken line to follow. His aim was impressive, especially given that his dominant arm was flinging uselessly along beside him.
‘I won’t insult you by warning you to duck!’ the man shouted.
‘Wise choice!’ Sandsa yelled back and used his powers to project a shield in front of them, a semi-sphere that absorbed the return fire then flung the lasbolts back towards their origin, cutting the men and women down as they fled.
‘Fuck!’ the other man said and dropped his lasgun. ‘That’s hot! And I’m out of charge!’
‘We have no immediate enemies,’ Sandsa said, patting the man’s shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way.
He withdrew his touch almost immediately, but the thousands of tiny pinpricks that had punctured his skin were still working their way up his fingers. There was something familiar about this man, with his eyes as dark and mysterious as a desert night. He did not belong here — he should be wielding the awesome power of the deserts —
‘Pagnus of Vieta,’ Sandsa whispered.
His companion sent him a startled glance. ‘What?’
‘Your name.’
‘Nah, my name is Josh Freeman,’ the man said with a shake of his head. ‘And it’s been that since…since,’ he finished softly.
Sandsa closed his eyes, only for a moment —
***
— and he returned to a time when he had been sand scattered over the surface of countless planets. Pieces of his being were swirling around a boy who had strayed too far from his tribe, the Vieta. The skin-stripping sandstorm bore down on the child but he defiantly roared back, the picture of a tribesman who wasn’t afraid of death.
But he was.
His roar disintegrated into a plea. ‘Lord Desine, help! I’m not as good as my brother!’
His lack of confidence will kill him and it will be no one’s fault but his own, the Desine thought. Yet, though this boy looked nothing like a certain sibling called Kuja, there was something about him that reminded the Desine of his brother, that same uncertainty that the rainforest god always carried. And so the Desine stayed with the young tribesman, telling him, You can survive this. You can survive anything.
The fringes of the burnt orange storm engulfed the boy, tearing at his clothes, buffeting his hair, threatening to wear him down to the bone. But Pagnus of Vieta met the challenge, hands held high above his head as he called upon his powers, and the sand obeyed him, cocooning him instead of swarming him, thinning the air instead of stealing it. When the boy faltered, he called upon the Desine again — and his god answered him, bolstering him, keeping him on his feet.
After an hour, the sandstorm dropped away to a dirty smudge on the horizon, leaving Pagnus to collapse onto the sand, his energy spent. He was barely ten and untrained in his wild powers, but he would have become a revered priest in his tribe — if there had been anyone close enough to rescue him, to give him water and to shelter him from the blistering heat.
The Desine rose above the sprawling sands, shed his need for atmosphere in a way his siblings never could, then soared above the reaches of gravity, observing the planet as it shrank before him. Moments later, the starship whose occupants he had sensed the energy of tore through his insubstantial form on its way to a small settlement on the surface below to refuel. The god coasted through the corridors of the vessel, noting that the men and women aboard were slavers. It would be a hard life for the boy if he was taken by such people, but Pagnus would overcome it.
Sandsa planted the idea in the captain’s thoughts and as he’d hoped the ship changed course. The captain called to her crew, ‘This rock has some of those sand fleas! Them tribes don’t register their kids on the Galactic Database so no one’ll notice if we grab one or two.’
The ship’s sensors found the barely flickering lifesign that belonged to Pagnus of Vieta and guided its captain towards it. The slavers descended the ship’s ramp the second it hit the sand, found the boy and then took him aboard, his body limp in the arms of his captors. The Desine injected one last spike of confidence into Pagnus, knowing the boy would need it to escape and return to his people, wiser in the ways of the galaxy. The tribes on this planet knew very little of what lay beyond their atmosphere and were vulnerable to exploitation from others.
Pagnus would learn, then he would pass on that knowledge. It was a good plan. It would help so many people.
Just not Pagnus.
***
Pagnus — Josh — waved a hand in front of Sandsa’s face. ‘You okay, Subofficer Bolt?’
Sandsa waited until he trusted himself not to blurt out an apology before he met the intense gaze of the man he had wronged. ‘We lack a vehicle.’
‘Walking’s good for you, man,’ Josh told him with a wink. ‘But I only have one good hand and no shield or working lasgun to put into it. Suggestions?’
Sandsa cast his eyes around for a weapon for — Josh, he reminded himself. One of the fallen Alcazaar was clutching something that might do. Kneeling and standing back up in one smooth motion, Sandsa acquired the lasgun and presented it to his companion. Josh accepted the weapon and looked it over for a couple of moments before throwing in an appreciative whistle. Now armed, he cheerfully fell into step beside Sandsa, making the occasional comment about the lack of public transportation in Atsa City. Eventually Josh conceded, without any interference from his listener, that it would be far too dangerous for anyone to stand out on the street at night and wait for some government-funded hovercar to show up.
‘How is it you became a Freed clansperson?’ Sandsa asked as they continued to troop down the darkened road, hopefully heading towards a Maria-held site.
‘Oh, membership’s easy,’ Josh said with an abrupt, biting laugh. ‘You just have to be a former slave. I was stolen off Ilbb then wound up on Yalsa 5 after I escaped. We got ourselves enough people with enough lasguns to repel any slavers who come lookin’ for any of us.’
Sandsa kept his eyes on the road. ‘You come from Ilbb, known for its worldwide worship of the Desine — does that mean you were a tribesman once?’
‘It’s possible,’ Josh answered after a lengthy pause. ‘Vom said he could feel the Magic in me but I can’t, man. It’s also considered bad form to jump clans, so I fully support your refusal to do. And anyway, if I was stolen out of the deserts, what does it mean now? I can’t change what happened. Even if I was a tribesman, I’m not one of them. Not anymore.’
Sandsa spent several minutes plodding along the pavement on the side of the road in silence, his anger festering in his gut before spreading to infect his heart, his mind. What kind of man — what kind of god did that to someone?
Why did I ruin his life? Why didn’t I just teleport him home? Sandsa thought, kicking a loose chunk of concrete that had fallen away from the footpath, causing it to hurtle across the road. I forced him from the deserts, into the life of an exile…for what, some plan I concocted to teach him something I could have just told his people?
Josh drew up short, his breath rattling in his chest. ‘Ow. Can I rest for a minute?’
‘May I see your arm, Josh?’ Sandsa asked, concern overriding his guilt.
The other man shrugged. ‘Sure, if you tell me your real name — I never understood the gang name thing.’
Sandsa moved around behind Josh to his injured side and ran his fingers over the tattered teal cloth of the Freed clansman’s shirt. The insignia of Josh’s clan seemed to be two simple lines on the cuffs of both long sleeves, though on this side the symbol had been scorched through by a stray lasgun bolt. As he began to discreetly heal Josh, Sandsa told the man his name, then added, ‘I was a desert man myself and I…I can feel that you have great power.’
‘I don’t feel it and I don’t want to.’ Josh flinched. ‘Ow. Stop poking so hard.’
Sandsa lifted his hand and let it hover instead. ‘My apologies. Are you angry that you never had the choice to stay in the deserts? Do you remember anything from that time?’
‘Are the questions supposed to distract me or are you just this curious?’ Josh asked, shooting a look over his shoulder. ‘Wow. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had the healing touch. But no one can do that, right? Not even the Chippers.’
The air around them grew wet and heavy, crawling into Sandsa’s limbs and weighing him down. He glanced up.
You could heal him completely if you used your full powers. This was not his father’s voice; these were the oily tones belonging to Fayay. Sandsa hadn’t seen or sensed his brother for weeks.
Sandsa stiffened. His patient started to turn around but Sandsa pressed down on Josh’s shoulders, keeping him still. Scanning the nearby streets and failing to find the god of water’s human form anywhere in sight, Sandsa curled his lip. Fayay. You make a habit of lurking — is it because you are too afraid to face me?
‘Do I remember…I remember being surrounded by sand,’ Josh said slowly. ‘I used to have nightmares about it. My owners beat me until I stopped crying out in my sleep. I had to…erase it from my mind to survive. As for the choice? Doesn’t matter now.’ Josh stretched out his good arm, the lasgun steady in his grip as he indicated the buildings standing over them. ‘I can choose where I land so I picked here. Not sure why, but I did.’
Sandsa drew back, frowning. He was still rattled by Fayay’s presence and it bothered him that so many of his people had come to Atsa City recently. It was hard to forget them when he saw them everywhere. Shutting himself off from them kept him sane, kept him human — and he planned to keep doing it. The damage was already done to Pagnus; what more could Sandsa do about it now?
‘All done, Pagnus,’ Sandsa said, retracting his touch.
The man blinked. ‘Josh, I told you it’s Josh.’ His gaze roamed to where his injury had been. ‘And wow, I really didn’t hurt myself as much as I thought I did.’
Sandsa stowed his hands in his pockets, furious with himself. He had used too much of his powers to heal Josh and now the winds were whispering again. A hot, uncomfortable pressure arose somewhere below his sternum, threatening to crawl up into his throat.
Sandsa swallowed. ‘What causes you to reject your origins now, when no one can stop you returning to your tribe?’
‘You need to know that badly?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m afraid I’ll want that life,’ Josh said, his gaze falling to the concrete beneath his feet. ‘And that I’ve wasted my time in not chasing it. If I accept that it’s part of me and that it’s something I want to make part of me, then what the fuck have I been doing this entire time?’
Sandsa stowed his uneasiness and began walking briskly down the road again, Josh at his heels. He let his companion think it was because he was in a hurry to assist the Maria, not to escape any lingering humidity.
Fayay, stark you, why are you here? he snapped.
The Watine didn’t answer.
Around the next corner Sandsa and Josh ran into a fresh battle, luck seeing them behind the Maria line. Without a word to each other, both men entered the fight. But no matter how many lasbolts demanded his attention, it was impossible for Sandsa to forget what he had done to his companion.
***
Callista crossed her arms, scowling down at the battle below them.
‘Aw, she’ll come ’round,’ Bock said, shifting from foot to foot and glancing furtively at the street, also clearly desperate to join the action.
Callista clenched the chrome railing that ran around the perimeter of the mansion’s balcony to keep from giving in to temptation. She had chosen this building because it had been left empty for some time by friends of her parents, though if she’d had her way she wouldn’t have had to find somewhere to direct the battle from in the first place. Annoyed, she stabbed the heel of her boot onto a faded tile, cracking it.
‘The same way she came around when you declared your true feelings just now?’ Callista snorted. ‘Forget about it, Bock.’
Lasgun fire erupted below. Callista tapped her earpiece and instructions fled her mouth before she even knew what she’d planned to say. The tiny insect-like figures she was directing moved at her command, changing the outcome of the battle — or so she hoped. When one Alcazaar started gunning down more clanspeople than she could spare, she seized him with her powers and hurled him against a thick wall that smashed his head open.
‘Hey, at least I tried,’ Bock muttered.
Callista flung a severe look at him. ‘Can’t you see I’m busy right now?’
‘I know you wanna be down there,’ Bock said and slung his elbows on the railing, staring down at the carnage from his new position beside her. ‘I do too. S’no reason to get nasty.’
She winced. ‘Bock, I’m sorry, I didn’t — ’
‘Chipcopter comin’ in from the south,’ Bock interrupted.
‘I see it.’
The ominously silent ’copter swooped down low over the road, its guns aimed directly at their balcony. Callista narrowed her eyes and threw a deadly thought at the ’copter. It wobbled, then shook violently. She gasped, overcome with the terror filling the minds inside the airborne vehicle, and staggered back from the railing. She had nearly regained her footing when Bock tackled her to the floor, covering her body with his. Dazed, Callista tried to rise from the tiles but Bock immediately flattened her again. The strafing began.
‘Subofficer Dancer, do something!’ Bock shouted into her face, his spit striking her cheeks.
Callista forced herself to concentrate. The invisible shield her powers generated lit up with a volley of fire. Bock rolled off her and seized the large splatterlasgun he had leaned against the wall earlier. He leapt back up and pumped it rapidly, screaming at the top of his lungs. The ensuing bolts sailed through Callista’s shield and peppered the ’copter until it dropped out of view. Callista used the railing to get to her feet and managed it just in time to witness the ’copter hitting the ground. The accelerant in its tanks exploded.
She nodded at her companion. ‘Thanks for the save.’
‘Back at ya,’ Bock said, breathing heavily. ‘Holy Creator shit, I wish we had Bolt here.’
‘Me too. But I think we can make do with me.’
Callista gnawed on the inside of her cheek when someone fell to a stray lasbolt that she did not predict — and, admittedly, could not even deflect. Exhaustion was winning. Her heart was shuddering against her ribs, banging on bone, and her vision was beginning to shimmer. She leaned her forehead against the parallel lines formed by her thumb and index finger.
Bock released a hiss of air. ‘We’re starked, aren’t we?’
‘Maybe not,’ Callista said, her lips curving. ‘Bolt just arrived.’
Bock immediately turned to look for Sandsa, giving Callista time to hack up what felt like a lung over the side of the balcony. She was relieved to find only saliva dripping from her lips. For now the smoke shed by burning wreckage and glowing lasbolts was a nuisance, but if it got any worse it might become a fatal distraction.
Callista latched onto Sandsa’s mind and sent him her orders. He acknowledged them immediately and got his companion to lay down fire while the massive shield created by a former desert god allowed the Maria line to move forward. Callista bit her lip, envying the display.
She started when Bock’s grip landed on her shoulder. When had he grown so tall, she wondered, that he could meet her eye to eye?
‘You can still love the guy even if he’s better at this one thing,’ Bock told her, his manic grin returning. ‘You’re great at organisin’ shit and he’s not.’
‘When did you become so wise, Bock?’
‘Dunno, but it works for me, right?’
Callista laughed. ‘Absolutely. Now shut up and find something to shoot.’
The battle now required her full attention. So she gave it.
***
‘Do you ever wonder if the Alcazaar can spawn from a handful of dirt?’ Callista asked, stepping over a body. She paused to kick the man’s head to one side, exposing his glassy eyes.
‘No, because it is impossible,’ Sandsa replied. His eyes grew distant. ‘Even I cannot…could not create people with a handful of sand.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Sandsa pulled her into his chest and pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘I do. This war feels never-ending and it has been but a fortnight. Eventually the numbers opposing us will dwindle.’
‘Our numbers aren’t as exhaustive as theirs,’ Callista said, her sigh ghosting over the nipple hidden beneath his clothes.
He twitched in response. ‘Ah. Yes. There needs to be one decisive encounter then.’
She breathed against his chest again. The nipple hardened, pushing against his shirt.
‘Callista…’
‘Mmm?’
After darting a quick look around at the nearby clanspeople, who were dusting themselves off and heading for the safety of whichever headquarters they had originated from, Callista slid her hand under Sandsa’s shirt and rested it against his abdomen. The blond hairs on his stomach shivered as she followed their trail down to the belt that kept her from venturing further. Then she struck, cupping the interested bulge at the front of his pants. Sandsa cursed.
‘Where did you learn those words?’ she asked with a smirk.
‘I hardly think that matters right now!’
Callista would not have described her response as a giggle, but anyone listening might have mistaken it as one. She took his hand and led him into the empty mansion where she threw him against a couch she had passed on her way back down from the balcony earlier. They entwined and she lost herself in the hot, wet kisses that followed, in the confusion of skin on skin, never knowing which part was touching where. His pants had been wriggled to his knees at some point.
‘Please,’ he whispered, no words or thoughts stretching the sentence further.
Callista’s fingers danced over him, moving lower and lower. When she finished tracing a line down his soft skin to the crease of his leg, his cock twitched towards her palm and she shot him a look. ‘Are you doing that on purpose?’
‘No…’ His eyes closed. ‘Callista…’
Her clitoris throbbed impatiently in response and Callista held in the moan. Carefully balancing herself on his thighs, she teased her fingers along his hardening shaft. He hissed when she reached the tip, where a bead of moisture was slowly forming. On impulse, Callista bent over and captured the drop with her lips. It was salty and thicker than water and somehow not as disgusting as she’d imagined. Sandsa’s hips rose. She kissed him again, then slid her tongue over the area, wetting it, drawing desperate sounds from him —
The communicator in her ear buzzed.
Sandsa groaned.
Callista grabbed her earpiece and yanked it out, tempted to hurl the device against the wall. She glanced down at the veined member that still stood to attention, distracted, wanting to continue tasting it. Sandsa’s eyes were now open, wide and desperate.
Callista cleared her throat and activated the earpiece now cradled in her palm. ‘Yes?’
‘Thought you two could sense this kinda disturbance with your powers?’ Ala’s voice asked.
Callista sighed, her spare hand still casually exploring Sandsa. He had been rising from the couch to join the conversation but flopped backwards and laced his fingers over his face, muttering something under his breath.
‘Ala, I’m a little preoccupied at the moment — ’ Callista began.
‘I bet you are.’
‘Ala! Just tell me what I need to know.’
Armed with the knowledge of an attack directed at the Zatzat headquarters, Callista nipped Sandsa’s lips then leapt off his lap. He followed her, belting his pants back on, and looped his arms around her waist. Callista found herself pulled back into the curve formed by his chest as he lay sweet little kisses along one side of her neck. She drank in his attention for a moment more, then tore away from his embrace.
‘We can finish that conversation another time,’ she said, winking.
‘I anticipate that conclusion with every breath.’ Sandsa’s mournful expression dissolved. ‘Now. What do you need me to do?’