The end cap falls to the stone floor. Bursting forth, sable robes jut and swirl around the ivory mask of some formless creature. It hovers in the air between them.
The mask full of twisted mangled humanoids swim across the surface as if trapped just beneath the surface. They scream voiceless screams of pain, struggling to break the grip of the ivory, but no effort allows them to leave. Mutilated people freeze as the creature’s bone hand lifts the mask.
Ki-Ton envelops the creature in a cocoon of his own flesh. The robes encase Ki-Ton’s flesh. They struggle to escape each other’s grasp.
Ki-Ton’s skin solidifies.
A tendril swims from the fight straight for JC’s forehead. Reynard, without thinking, shoves her and takes the impalement of darkness.
••••••
THE TIGER RIDER’S blade cleaves through Leahla. The pain, fear, and powerlessness of her death consumes Reynard. He failed to help her. He’s lost all ability to function. Not ready. How could anyone be ready for this? Some dumb farm kid dropped on an alien world. Yes, he had training. None of his training involved witnessing someone under their command just be killed. They just killed her. Reynard barely spoke to this girl who was added to his crew. He knew nothing about her. Leahla…He’s unable to recall her last name. She wasn’t just some extra to demonstrate the dangers found on this planet. She was a person…his responsibility. He was too preoccupied with his own ineptitude as a leader. Leahla’s death brings doubt to his ability to lead. Reynard’s unable to lead this crew. He can’t pilot a Mecat. He can’t fight the Mokarran. He can’t kill a Tibbar. He can’t protect the princess. He should have been found unworthy by the Iphigenians and left on his home world. Denied the gift of experiencing the wonders of the universe. Dead—like all his friends and family.
The tiger rider king raises his blade and cleaves Leahla in twain again.
Reynard’s stomach churns with the fear of not wanting to be next. He doesn’t want to die. Better Leahla than him. He wants to go back home. He shouldn’t be here. He never figured out how to lead these people. No thousand-year-old Earthling has the capacity to stop the Mokarran. He barely lived through the casino firefight without a change of underwear. How does he protect those under his command when he has to concentrate on not evacuating his bowels? Each one of those plasma blasts means someone wants him dead.
Dead like the politician Micah Donkor. He was a good man. He didn’t need to die. He was protecting his people even if it meant assisting the Mokarran. More people stayed alive than were slaughtered because of him. Now so many will suffer at Mokarran hands because of Reynard.
The tiger rider king raises his blade, cleaving through Leahla’s body. The two halves separate, and her insides fall out. Everything vital for a humanoid to exist splatters on the floor in a useless pile.
Reynard curls into a fetal ball. His fault—Leahla’s dead. Her blood is his fault just like Micah Donkor and all his people. Youshon’s death is his responsibly. He should have tested the weapons himself. Instead, he let Amye do it. He asked her to do his killing for him. How does he lead anyone if he doesn’t lead his crew? He can’t pilot. He can’t protect them. He can’t save anyone. Michelle will be dead. An innocent girl will die because of him. They should have never pulled him from cryogenic sleep. What was he thinking when he took the Silver Dragon? He could play Buck Roger and chase green women like Kirk.
The tiger rider king raises his blade and slices through Leahla. It was quick. It had to be painless as her eviscerated body pulls apart by the warriors holding her. Reynard hears the goopy splatter of entrails on the rock. As the warriors drag the separate halves, Leahla’s right breast plops from her clothes. Undignified, Reynard shifts his eyes, but not before he sees the mark. The red tattooed patterns the Queen, Micah Donkor and Youshon all wore decorates Leahla as well.
Reynard snaps from his depressive fear. The cadet, far too young to be at the UCP founding, has the same mark. His fear abates to anger at a clear conspiracy.
The tiger rider king kills Leahla again, only this time Reynard’s mind tugs back toward—fear. Something wants him to be afraid. Facing whatever invaded his mind. Not being afraid staves off his attacker.
Maxtin was personally assigned Leahla, and she has the mark of three UCP founders Ki-Ton had the crew interact with. Maxtin was a UCP founder. Maxtin has a book with the same mark. Leahla’s death doesn’t hang entirely on him. Not if she was sent as part of some grander conspiracy.
Did she have a mark, or has his mind placed it on her due to its importance?
JC holds a jagged-edge quartz. The Sandman slinks from sight, yelping in pain.
Reynard’s mind adjusts from being in the tiger rider king’s throne chamber. The smell of Leahla’s blood permeates his nose. He brushes his pointer finger against his nostrils, finding them wet. He smells his own blood.
••••••
“IT WAS IN my head—controlled thoughts—memories.”
Before JC speaks, Ki-Ton’s arm grows and slaps the crystal from her hand. It smashes into halves on impact with the ground.
“You invite those things with your actions.” Weak, Ki-Ton retreats from the chamber, abandoning Michelle.
JC grabs the quartz chunks. “The key to fighting those creatures.”
“They were pulling fear thoughts from me.” Reynard rubs his thumb over the blood. No clear fluid has mixed in.
JC’s own mind has tugging thoughts from the two crystal halves. She slides the broken grooves together, and the quartz seals as if it were never smashed. A focused beam of energy radiates to the floor, leaving behind a sleek sable feline.
“Samantha.” JC seems to just know the feline.
Reynard’s hand scoops his magnum from its holster. Shock still overcomes him from the fascinating unearthly events he witnessed. But trust has to be
