16. Zeerah

The first living Harsi to be seen in a thousand years drops from the attack spigot like a beige-green flash.

It lands on our empty grating with a heavy clang.

The vibration echoes up my boots. Into my spine. I taste fear. Then it springs forward, unfolding in midair to its full size.

It's worse than the holograms.

Four spiked legs trample helpless victims.

Two knife-arms as long as pre-Contact jet propellers sweep across the scrambling crowds.

I can't feel anything below the waist.

The springing legs and dark eyespots no longer remind me of a troll or some sort of intelligent monster. It makes a dry, papery, chittering sound, like a locust.

Run, Zeerah.

The crowd crushes into me like an avalanche.

Run!

I'm torn away from Banyal. My feet lift off the ground with the swell of the crowd.

I can't move!

A second Harsi lands and springs in the opposite direction. Its knife-arm slices through a dock. The dock tips with a screech that sounds agonizingly loud in the panicked silence. Everyone on it slides across and clings to the edge as it tips and hits the ship below it.

Boom.

Green fire erupts.

Fire!

The first Harsi sweeps toward us.

My suit blares a pressure warning as I'm helplessly dragged backward in the crush.

The first Harsi rears back, then stampedes forward, swinging its knife-arms like a scythe through a field of wheat.

Someone behind me falls, and we all drop.

The Harsi's knife-arm sweeps over the top of me, missing by a hairbreadth as I fall beneath it. Its spiked feet slam into the grating on my left, smashing soldiers through the metal walkway. Its feet sink deep, as if it's trying to balance on cheese.

Bodies roll atop me, jerk, and go still. A horrifying red liquid drips down my hood and pools on the gray floor panels. And then everything goes quiet.

My skinsuit holds its form.

But I can't breathe. Mentally…can't…breathe…

The shuddering vibrations underneath me fade. The monster has moved on.

I strain, still holding the Box and its tablet, and pull myself out from underneath the devastation. My legs are still trapped below the knees when what I see stops me.

It's the end of the world.

The two massive Harsi twist like living scythes. They catch running Arrisans in their razor mouths. The Arrisans' gray skinsuits, so effective against Humana guns and explosions, are torn away beneath their shark teeth and knife-arms like they're wearing our paper-thin clothes.

But even so, they start to fight.

After the initial instants of shock, they fight.

A Sinusoid-class ship jockeys into position, targets the second Harsi, and fires.

Its laser melts the walkway underneath the Harsi's four insect feet and liquefies the wall over its head, but the laser bounces off the Harsi's body without leaving a mark.

The Harsi leaps onto the ship and carves open the hull like it's slicing through soft pie crust. With the cockpit gone, the ship rocks forward, spilling out evacuees, then drops into the fire.

Boom, boom!

The Harsi hops below into the fire and scuttles after fleeing victims.

New alarms blare against the old ones.

"Fire in the main engineering bay," an automated voice announces, unnaturally calm over the crackling flames and muffled explosions.

The heavy metal doors of the engineering bay begin to slide closed. I drag myself the rest of the way out from under the bodies. I have to get out of here.

A survivor runs past me. He's super-fast, and he's going to make it—

The first Harsi, attracted to his movement, leaps after and sweeps him.

He…does not make it.

The doors close.

The first Harsi continues to the doors. It easily pokes a hole in one, like a child poking a hole in the sand, then it turns away and systematically attacks everything in the bay.

Arrisans who play dead. Arrisans who hide. Arrisans who run. No one escapes.

And it's coming in my direction.

I crawl toward the engineering office. They've barricaded the door with crates. It won't keep out any Harsi, but it's effective at keeping me out. Panic makes me flop. I rest my back against the wall. The Box slides from my limp arms and hits the dented grating in front of me with a thunk.

Oh!

I'm still holding its data tablet. I turn on the screen. Luckily, the camouflage option is up because I'm having real trouble focusing right now. Activate camouflage > select creature… I flip through creatures, scrolling and scrolling. There are too many aliens in the universe. Is "Harsi" at the top or the bottom? Top or bottom, top or bottom? Help? Anyone? Am I going to die because some Tsingvaris programmer doesn't believe in Arrisan Standard alphabetical order?

The first Harsi orients on me.

It makes a horrifying chittering sound.

I'm in its sights.

It stampedes forward, swinging its massive knife at my head.

Three clicks earlier…

We're almost to the atmosphere veil when Kollok announces my worst nightmare.

"Harsi are in the engineering bay."

My heart stops.

That's where Zeerah is.

I left her behind.

I thought I was protecting her.

I've made a mistake.

I flex my wrists, willing the sled to fly faster. "I'm on my way."

"Captain." Kollok's voice is taut. "Our thoughts are with you. The Harsi have never faced Arrisan blades. Cut them down, sir."

He's right.

I go cold, focused.

This is what I was created for.

This is why I wield my blades.

Ships fly past us, dangerously scraping their hulls as they jostle out of the veil.

We fly inside.

The reality is worse than my nightmares.

Two ships are in flames on the lowest level of the engineering bay. Others are crumpled. The main floor is covered in bodies. Still wearing skinsuits, they were cut down without mercy.

My cold vision fractures dangerously.

Zeerah is…

My implant locates her at the same moment as my eyes. She's in the open, slumped outside the barricaded engineering office. Alive.

My heart thumps once, bursting hot water through the ice, causing a very un-Arrisan tremor to crackle through my body.

A monster scuttles toward her.

It's huge, exactly as I knew it would be. I have trained my entire life for this moment.

The Harsi moves toward her.

She pokes at a data tablet, pretending the monster doesn't exist. Of course.

Rightness fills me. She isn't an Arrisan. She's supposed to freeze and hide.

I am the one who fights.

I leap from the sled. My blades emerge as I soar through the air. Their pristine silver edges reflect the green fire.

The Harsi charges Zeerah. I was aiming to land in front of it, but it charges into my blade path and I twist to take advantage. I stab the center of its head, right between the two dark eye spots. Except, my blade does not penetrate its armor.

Gravity pulls me down. My blade scrapes a line across the center of its face.

The micro-thin edge catches on the armor, but can't hold. It slips off. The Harsi's mouth gapes, the single tooth lowering, jagged as it sights me. I use my other blade to stab through the roof of its mouth as I drop.

An uncomfortable electrical shock runs through my blade directly into my bones. It's not unlike the live cables. I jerk back, retracting. My blade slips free right before the Harsi closes its razor mouth. I land in front of it and stand between it and Zeerah.

She makes a startled noise. "Falkion!"

I don't take my eyes off my enemy. Any other creature in the empire would be in pieces, bleeding. Instead, the Harsi looks unmarked. It shakes its head, runs a knife-hand over its face where I scraped it, opens and closes its mouth.

Unhurt.

Then, it focuses on me.

Cool fractures move in my body. So many of my soldiers have been cut down around me. Cut down without a fight.

Fear melts into fury. Perhaps I cannot defeat it either.

I, a blade. Elite fighter of Arris, hope of the empire.

But I will try.

I eject my blades, making them as large as I can. The ultimate form.

It slows and orients on me. I leap to the side, and it follows, scuttling away from Zeerah.

"Falkion, no," Zeerah cries.

That's right. Perhaps I can't win, but I will last as long as I can. I will fight to protect what's mine.

The Harsi leaps after me, swinging.

Its knife-arm carves through an inside wall, peeling up our thickest metal like it's soft clay. It stomps across the grating, leaving dented footprints.

I duck, jump, and lead it across the field of death. Avoiding the sharp arms, I attack every segment of its body. My blades glance off or very slightly snag every potential chink in its armor. But the antenna area, like the inside of the mouth, pushes my blade away. This monster has a shield. Some invisible force, one my hood and implant and sensors can't detect. I only know because there's a gap between the edge of my blade and the skin of the antenna, and also because strange electricity zaps my arm bones harsh enough to make my elbows ache.

Ideas flit through my mind.

I could lead it to an outer wall. Its knife would carve through the hull. The vacuum would suck it outside.

Or I could trick it into poking through to the engine. No one would survive.

Or…

A second Harsi scuttles out of the fire below and hops onto our main grating. It turns toward the engineering office.

Zeerah huddles behind a small rectangle of semiopaque glass. She's unaware of the second monster clattering directly toward her.

I race across the bay, pouring on speed.

One last leap!

I land in front of the second monster. It rears back in surprise. My original nemesis comes up behind it. The two monsters chitter. Their squeaking noises make small muscles in my lower back curl and spasm.

"Falkion?" Zeerah starts to rise.

"Run," I order.

Her eyes widen. She fully rises, takes a step back to hit the wall, then shakes herself. "Wait, no. Come here."

The second Harsi retreats, and my original enemy focuses on me.

I brace. "Run, Zeerah."

"No, you—"

"Run!" I charge the Harsi to distract it and give her the space to escape.

But I miscalculate.

It springs forward. One knife-arm stabs at my face. I angle to the left, diving back. The knife-arm is too fast! I automatically shoot out my right blade to parry. Except the Harsi knife doesn't stop at my blade. It cuts straight through my metal.

And slices my right blade in half.

Shock zaps into my bones.

My heart stops.

Vitals flash on the inside of my hood display. Critical damage.

The knife-arm keeps swinging. It carves into my skinsuit hood, tearing it like Zeerah's Humana clothing. My skinsuit collapses.

Its trampling feet surge forward. One spiked foot catches me in the chest.

The world goes black.

Falkion is cut down before my very eyes.

I can't even scream.

He almost dives out of the way. The Harsi slices through his blade like it's nothing. His metal snaps off, floats in the air for a few fractions of an instant, and then begins to fall.

And then, since the monster is rushing forward, it accidentally boots him. He flies like a ragdoll and lands in front of me. His blade fragment skids to a stop by his knee.

Behind me, a collective moan erupts from the engineering office. The Harsi have never faced a blade, it was said. Nothing can stop a blade, it was said. But now we know what stops one.

The engineers have barricaded the doorway, but during Falkion's fight, they moved a crate aside and bolted down a land cannon. They haven't used the cannon yet. Probably, they were worried about hitting Falkion. Now, it's too late.

And yet… I crawl forward, pushing the Box in front of me, a very shaky and small shield.

Falkion sprawls, unmoving. The hood of his skinsuit is slashed, its integrity ruptured. That means it didn't cushion him properly. He absorbed the full blow from being kicked and from landing.

His vitals appear inside my hood display. Red—he's alive—but unconscious and badly hurt.

Really, without their super fancy suits and technology, Arrisans aren't much different from humans. Unfortunately.

The two Harsi monsters chitter at each other. I rest the Box on Falkion's abdomen. The "Harsi" camouflage option was at the top after all. The list reloaded while I was scrolling. It's not in alphabetic order, but recency, maybe. I camouflaged myself while Falkion was fighting for our lives.

I change the radius to select us both. Supposedly, now we're camouflaged.

The Harsi chasing him pulls up abruptly. It looks around.

Yes! The camouflage is working.

The Harsi focuses on us again. It walks slowly. Its head lowers. My heart thuds a million beats per instant. Am I wrong? Doesn't the camouflage work on two people? Didn't the Box absorb enough data? Are we only blurry or shadowed?

I reach for my screwdriver in my calf pocket.

The Harsi tilts its massive head, and its mouth passes over me. Nasty air gusts out. The black eye spots focus on my face. It tilts its head farther, and the antennae sweep near me. Up close, the antennae are gross. They're the thickness of my arm, but longer and writhe like snakes tangling and coiling around each other.

My stomach lurches. Acid sours my tongue. The antenna-snakes strain toward me.

I lean back, but not too far. I have to remain within one arm's length.

The other Harsi makes that rustling, papery chitter. This one echoes it right in my face, blasting my ears. My skinsuit abruptly modulates the volume. Falkion groans and shifts.

The Harsi freezes.

I hold my breath.

It angles its head again to put the antenna near Falkion's feet.

They're outside an arm's length radius! But we must be a little camouflaged. Otherwise, we'd be dead. His feet probably aren't fully hidden or are, but only barely.

I unclasp my electric screwdriver and rest it on my thigh. The Harsi doesn't notice my movement. It hovers its large mouth over the ground near Falkion's legs. A tangle of things inside its mouth drops out and dangles. Is that…a tongue?

Vomit wells in the back of my throat.

The squirming tongue-mass lands on Falkion's severed blade fragment. It draws the fragment inside its mouth and rolls it around. The blade fragment disappears. Swallowed by the creature.

It ate Falkion's blade.

The monster shuffles forward and hovers, its mouth over Falkion's boots.

No.

No.

No!

I tighten my grip around the screwdriver handle.

The squirmy tongue drops from its mouth and—

I surge forward and swing my screwdriver for the nearest black spot, aiming for the eye. The Harsi shuffles forward and tilts down at the exact same moment. It rotates away from my swing.

I miss the eye spot. A great warrior I am not. My screwdriver whiffs its massive head. I recoil desperately, upsetting the Box on Falkion's abdomen and nearly overturning it. As I flail, my screwdriver brushes near the snaking antennae, which adhere to the electrical tool like they've been caught by a magnet.

The Harsi rears back with a papery hiss.

The antennae don't.

They rip off.

Holy—!

The snakey things immediately go limp and fall off my screwdriver, collapsing in a dead clump by Falkion's side. The Harsi stumbles back, hissing, and stomps the ground. It bucks and flails across the empty bay, knocking into the second Harsi, which appears to be tidying up by helpfully scooping bodies into the casualties bin.

The second Harsi examines the one going crazy, then turns on me with a jerk.

I freeze.

It lowers its head and charges.

Oh, no.

It's too fast.

It charges right at us—

Ka-BOOOM.

Land cannon!

A land cannon is an old, brutal weapon that emits a powerful shockwave and nothing else.

My skinsuit turns white even though I'm not in the direct path. Falkion jerks. The walls dent, and the floor buckles. Bodies fly. The force pushes the charging Harsi back a few lengths. Otherwise, like the laser, it causes no harm.

But the flailing, injured Harsi is also caught in the blast.

And that injured Harsi flies across the bay. It slams into the far wall and crumples to the ground. All four legs fold up.

Is it stunned?

It gets shakily to its feet and stumbles. Green ichor oozes from fractures on its carapace.

No, not stunned. It's badly injured!

We injured a Harsi?

The unhurt one squares up for a second charge. The engineers quickly reorient and blast it. It only slides back to where it started, but again, the injured one crumples, its carapace shattering like glass.

Oozing profusely, it staggers to the attack spigot and manages to crawl back inside like a spider retreating into its hole.

The uninjured Harsi shakes off a third land cannon blast. It skewers the half-full bin of casualties and leaps with it directly upward into the attack spigot. The bin clanks and clatters inside the Harsi pipe. A scraping sound echoes, then goes silent. The attack spigot is closed.

The engineers move crates aside and stagger out of the office. Werrin's with them, not wearing a skinsuit. Lots of them aren't. Blood spots his bruised eyes and is dried under his nostrils.

They stand around Falkion, hands clasped in front of them like they're attending a funeral.

"Medkit," I say.

My throat is dry, the words wispy. I cough.

"What?" Werrin says.

"Medkit," I repeat, and they jolt with shock. "Falkion's alive."