Hera (6 page)

Matters like breaking out of the Artemisia
military HQ to see if Mantis was there. The more she thought about
it, the more she doubted he’d be able to slip inside.

Sacmis watched her like a hawk, making Hera
wonder whether Nekut had suspected something and had set Sacmis on
her tail. The transport helicopter had barely landed, when Sacmis
pulled Hera out onto the landing pad.

“Hey, release me.” She scowled at Sacmis’
hard glare. “What is wrong with you?”

Sacmis gave a mocking bow. “Am I allowed to
speak around you now,
hatha
?”

There was so much venom in Sacmis’ voice that
Hera was speechless for a moment. “Are you serious?”

“What do you think?”

“Why are you acting like this?” Hera
struggled to keep her voice low. “You almost died. I did all I
could to save your life.”

“I would rather have died than have a filthy
mortal touch me.”

Hera gaped at Sacmis as the other Gultur
turned and strode away. Nunet, she should have seen this coming.
Since the incident with the mortals, she’d known that Sacmis was a
believer. Of course she’d never forgive Hera for letting the
mortals go.

Now Hera had to find a way to meet the boy
under Sacmis’ hateful gaze.

Did I say complicated? Make that damn
impossible.

Then again, if Sacmis was mad enough to keep
her distance, maybe there was still hope.

And Sacmis was heading straight for the
docks. She seemed in a hurry to get on the wavebreaker, patrol and
return. Hera followed her as slowly as she dared, glancing at the
fence on either side of the compound.

Nothing.

The world darkened as she walked on toward
the dock. Her assumptions had been wrong. The resistance did not
know of her mother and did not trust Hera.

Or the boy had not taken her message.

Or else he’d failed to enter the premises, as
she’d feared.

Anything could have happened.

The smell of the sea – saltiness and sewage –
hit her senses and she saw again in her mind’s eye the look on the
two mortals’ faces as she sighted down the barrel of her gun, about
to shoot them.

She had to fix this. She had to stop this.
She would find another way. She—

A movement along the chain link fence caught
her attention.

Hera stumbled to a halt, but then forced her
feet to keep moving. Cameras were watching, and other Gultur
lounged about the HQ and the docks. From the corner of her eye she
saw the boy, Mantis, staring back at her, fingers wrapped around
the metal mesh of the fence. He’d come. How in all the hells had he
made it past the wall?

Think,
hatha
, think.

She changed her path slightly to the side,
approaching the fence. When she was as close as she dared, she
pretended to stumble and fell on all fours, barely noticing the
jarring pain in her knees and wrists.

All her focus was on Mantis who pushed a
small piece of paper through the fence and scuttled away, crouching
low as he ran, not looking back to see if she’d got it.

Hera clutched the paper in her hand,
wondering if there was a hole in the outer wall, and, if so, how
the cameras had missed it. She pushed herself up, unfolding the
piece of paper.

“Are you coming or not?” Sacmis shouted from
the dock. “We do not have all day. You’ll make us late.”

Cold sweat trickled down Hera’s temples.
“Just get on the damn boat. I’m on my way.”

She looked at the message. It read, “Meet
Pelia at Dock 6 in two days.”
Pelia, probably one of the
leaders. Another two days
.

They’d believed her.

Shoulders relaxing slightly, Hera pushed the
paper into her mouth and swallowed as two Gultur officers
approached her. She’d think later of a way to break out of the
complex again.

“Are you all right?” one of the officers
asked, a wiry, short haired woman. “What happened?”

“I’m fine.” The lie came easily to her tongue
– had she always been capable of such deception? – and rolled off.
“My boot caught on something.”

The Gultur nodded, her eyes hooding in
suspicion. “Hurry,
hatha
, you’re running late.”

Hera nodded and dusted herself off. “I’ll
make up for the lost time.”

Sacmis stood on the deck of the wavebreaker,
arms folded over her chest, blond ponytail fluttering in the wind,
a dark scowl on her face.

Hera jogged toward her, lips stretching in a
grin in spite of the terrible odds.
Indeed I will.

About the Author

Greek Cypriot with a penchant for dark myths,
good food, and a tendency to settle down anywhere but at home,
Chrystalla likes to write about fantastical creatures, crazy
adventures, and family bonds. She lives in Cyprus with her husband
and her vast herds of books. Her stories can be found in Alienskin
magazine, Lorelei Signal, the Shine Journal, Encounters Magazine,
and Bards and Sages ezine i.a. She is also an author for MuseItUp
Publishing where you can find her YA Urban Fantasy novella
Dioscuri
.

Here is the link to Chrystalla’s writing blog
where you can find short stories, samples and link to other longer
works:

Blog:
http://chrystallathoma.wordpress.com

Contact me
on:

Twitter:
http://twitter.com/chrystallathoma

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Chrystalla-Thoma/117863861560579

Smashwords:
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Chrys

I hope you have enjoyed HERA.

Hera is one of the main characters from my
novel Rex Rising (YA science fiction), available on Amazon and
Smashwords – currently on sale for 99c.

Rex Rising

Book One of Elei’s Chronicles

In a world where parasites create new human
races, Elei leads a peaceful life — until a mysterious attack on
his boss sends him fleeing with a bullet in his side. Pursued for a
secret he does not possess and with the fleet at his heels, he has
but one thought: to stay alive. His pursuers aren’t inclined to sit
down and talk, although that’s not the end of Elei’s troubles. The
two powerful parasites inhabiting his body, at a balance until now,
choose this moment to bring him down, leaving Elei with no choice
but to trust in people he hardly knows. It won’t be long before he
realizes he must find out this deadly secret – a secret that might
change the fate of his world and everything he has ever known – or
die trying.

Also available in kindle format on
Amazon.

Excerpt from the novel:

Chapter
1

S
till no message.

Hera massaged her brow. No icon flashed on
her round, rust-framed screen, and she’d been expecting word from
Pelia for four endless weeks now. If only the dreams did not plague
her so often — strange dreams of the seven islands rising from the
deep, vibrating and covered in flashing metal.

Sighing, she twisted her long hair in a knot
at her nape, stuck a pen in it and rubbed her weary eyes. Fading
daylight reflected off the bare white walls and the metal desks of
the deserted office. Everyone had gone home hours ago and she had
long since finished her filing.

But Hera could not leave, not yet. News of
the shipment would finally arrive — the cure Pelia had promised, to
rid the world of a parasite unlike any other. Details on who would
meet with her, when and where, should come in an encrypted message
from the Undercurrent leader, Dione, and Hera would be there to
receive it.

While waiting, she clicked open file after
file of reports from various projects. The words rolled before her
eyes, but none penetrated her conscious thought. Instead, images
from the dream pelted her mind — steel encased peaks, wet and
glistening, rising higher and higher into the sky. The seven
islands that formed the known world.

‘With a clap of thunder and fast as
lightning, seven islands rose from the ocean deep: Ker, Torq, Ert,
Aue, Kukno, Ost, and rich Dakru,’ wrote Sarpion three hundred years
back.

Well, Hera thought, sneering; maybe Sarpion
had some weird dreams as well.

She wondered why so little was known about
the islands. Apart from the fact that they rose simultaneously and
were similar in geography and size, information was scarce. Each
island was about five hundred square miles, composed of steep
central mountain massifs, which were surrounded by lowlands
stretching down until they met the coast. Fresh water sprang from
the mountains, and the pale daystar traveling the sky produced
enough radiation for
agaricum
crops to feed both races — the
Gultur and the other, lower humans.

Yet the system contained no information on
the origins of the islands or their curious symmetry. Symmetry in a
face meant health. Symmetry in a crystal meant adherence to basic
laws of physics. Symmetry in islands rising from the sea meant
purpose — islands rising in a perfect circle and so close to each
other they could all be connected with great steel bridges, both
between them and with Dakru, the central island.

Coincidence? Divine provision?

Why did nobody wonder? It was as if all data
had been erased from the system, and with it all memory or interest
in knowing.

Yes, and why would anyone want to erase
ancient history?
Hera sighed. Obsession. Simple as that. The
wait was getting to her. When would Pelia finally send word?

She was about to close the file and finally
head to her sleeping quarters, when two highlighted words in the
text caught her attention. Hera tapped her forefinger on the
screen.
‘Siren Project.’
She was sure she had seen that
project mentioned in another document, a historical file about
early Gultur civilization she had secretly accessed a week
back.

Siren. A sea goddess with a fish tail,
guiding the souls to the deep sea. Maybe the symbolism meant
something…

Hera snorted and leaned back in her chair.
There she went again, looking for a mystery where there was none.
Many projects had the names of gods. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Tail-fished gods and monsters
. She glared at the text. She’d
had enough of the gods.

“Lady Hera? Are you still in here?”

She flinched and pressed a key to close the
data file. One could never be too careful. “Yes, Mata, I’m still
here.” Although Mata had been around ever since she was little,
Hera had never trusted her. Nobody could be trusted.

The old office keeper poked her head inside.
Her silver hair, pinned back, caught the light of the
dakron
lamps in sparks and glitters. Gradually the rest of her body
emerged, shrunken and hunched. “Apologies. I thought the building
was empty and was about to lock up.”

Hera shrugged. “I was filing reports. Just
give me a few moments to tidy up.”

“You must be so excited,
hatha
.”
Coming from Mata’s lips, the honorific sounded so much grander than
Hera knew it to be.
Echo
. She was that, an Echo princess,
and had no choice in the matter.

“Excited?”

Mata’s eyes shone and her crinkled face
creased more. “I cannot believe that your Maturation Day is coming
up in only three weeks! What a pretty girl you have become,
hatha
!”

Hera turned her head to hide a frown. She had
no reason for excitement and no time for babies just yet. “That is
none of your business, Mata.”

“Apologies again.” Mata’s voice dropped to a
more deferential tone. “I forget sometimes that you are not a child
anymore.”

Hera sighed. “Close the other offices, I will
be—”

A message symbol flashed on her screen. Pulse
pounding in her ears, she opened the small window and entered her
first password. When the system asked for a second one, her breath
caught. Doubly protected. A message from the Undercurrent. News
from Pelia.
At last
.

“Lady Hera?” Mata’s voice held
puzzlement.

“I will be but a moment longer.” Hera waved a
hand and typed the password, then waited, barely daring to breathe.
When Mata finally bowed and backed away, she opened the
message.

It was brief and to the point. “Our Ost
connection was terminated. Position of expected shipment unknown.
Locate it.”

The air left Hera’s lungs.
Terminated?
Unknown?
She erased the message, her hand trembling. Sobek’s
balls, she’d not seen this coming. She’d assumed all was going
according to plan.

Gods. Pelia.

Hera bowed her head, fighting the cold grip
of fear in her chest. Pelia was dead, and Hera had to know what
exactly had taken place. She flexed her fingers and willed her
pulse to slow.

“Snap out of it,” she whispered to herself.
“Do something.” All this waiting and hoping in the dark, only to
find that the light would reveal death and despair.

I will not let this happen.

After accessing the classified page of the
secret police, she entered another password, opened the newsfeed
and scanned the fuzzy images recorded by the surveillance cameras
across the street from Pelia’s apartment.

A shooting.

The gunshots sounded tinny on the bad
recording of the cameras. Pelia’s long, flat aircar — the new S152
model — appeared. A thin, young man dressed in dark clothes
stumbled out of the aircar door, holding Pelia’s limp body in his
arms, and laid her down on the deck. He knelt over her. Then more
shots rang and fuzzy silhouettes with big guns in their hands moved
out of the shadows. The image fizzled and went black.