Up and up and up, I climb the hundreds of steps. When I reach the outer door that takes me into The Tower that overlooks Mortuus, I take a deep breath, hating that I have to suck in the hot recycled air inside my mask. Just once I wish I could pull the mask off and breathe in the planet’s air.
But with freely breathing, I’d be inviting those toxins back into my bloodstream. Toxins and pathogens that already nearly destroyed me once. When I contracted The Rades, I barely survived. Despite the maddening inside my mind, I can’t help but cling desperately to this life.
I crave more than freedom, fresh air, and an escape from the crushing thoughts that assault me each solar.
I crave happiness.
My mind is elsewhere when I push through the heavy zuta-metal door. Because of the horrendous geostorm, I have to hold onto the handrails to keep from being shot out one of the windows and into the winds of the storm. With a groan of frustration, I grab one of the harnesses attached to the wall and reluctantly bind myself to it. As much as I love my freedom, I’m not stupid. One false move and I could be swept into The Eternals. My bones would be left out somewhere in The Graveyard for the vicious sabrevipes to feed on.
No rekking thank you.
Something heavy thuds down on the floor nearby, and I squint my eyes, searching for the offender. Up here, everything is an offender. Mostly, it’s the armworms you have to watch out for. When the weather is harsh, they like to seek shelter in my shelter.
Gripping my magknife in one hand and holding onto the handrail with the other, I circle around the observation deck to the back side that’s hidden from me. Just like I assumed, a pair of armworms is crawling around, hissing and spitting venom.
It’s been many micro-revolutions since I’ve been able to bring Avrell any armworms. He uses the venom for medicinal purposes. With quick movements, despite the raging winds that have sand pinging the glass of my mask, I charge the larger of the armworms. The other seems to be the female, looking to nest. My magknife comes down hard, and I pierce the male armworm through its head, pinning it to the ground. It squirms as the life drains from it. The female realizes I’m a threat and slithers toward me. Its middle is swollen with eggs. I’ll need to be careful not to destroy them. Even though the armworms are terrible for eating, a female armworm’s eggs taste rekking delicious.
The creature hisses at me, aiming its sharp teeth for my leg, but having dealt with these things for many revolutions, I anticipate its movement. With a slam of my boot, I stomp on its head. Guts splatter out on either side of my boot. This one’s venom is gone now, but the eggs are safe. I set to grabbing a decontamination bag then push the carcasses into it. I leave it in a heap by the door and then walk over to my favorite spot.
The northerly wind nearly knocks me over, so I hold on with both hands and lean into it. Magnastrikes are lighting up the red-orange storm clouds. Everywhere. This storm is one of the worst we’ve seen, but my gut tells me it’ll let up soon. Normally, I can see Lake Acido just beyond the mountain, but not this solar. Currently, I can barely see past the length of my arm beyond The Tower openings.
I hear another sound behind me, and I whip around, ready to take out more armworms. When I see another mort hooking himself to a harness, I let out a groan. This is usually my private space.
My comms unit within my suit crackles to life as whoever my visitor is comes near. He grabs hold of the handrail beside me and shakes his head.
“You’re such an odd rekking mort standing out here in the middle of our history’s worst geostorm,” Jareth says.
I snort. “Did you come here to insult me?”
He shakes his head. The wind whistles between us, making it difficult to hear his words. “I came to talk sense into that nog of yours.”
Sense?
“I don’t understand,” I grumble.
“The female.”
I tense at his words. “The magnastrike set her cryotube on fire. It wasn’t my fault.”
He chuckles. “I rekking know that. You of all morts would not willingly go against Breccan’s orders, much less free some beautiful female alien just for joy. That’s much more Hadrian or Theron. Not you, Draven.”
“Your point?”
He turns slightly to face me. “You need to claim her.”
Disgust coils in the pit of my stomach like an armworm in a nest. “I will not.”
“You should.”
“Why?” I demand, fury rolling through my every nerve ending.
“Because someone else will.” He pauses. “And you found her. You deserve her.”