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deadtime-stories · 22 days ago

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Apex: Chapter 5

Adult | Sci-Fantasy | Trans MMC | Mechs

First draft is being posted as written. Errors and continuity issues will exist.

-----

They didn’t go far. This was the top floor of the palace, and at the end of this hallway was a conservatory for the king’s private use. It had always been boring and austere, terribly unimaginative with its square windows and lack of flair, but now as they entered Auren found it converted into Luceris’ personal office.

It was still fairly austere, but more in the vein of a soldier carrying limited possessions than Tiberius’ lack of taste. A few fur throw rugs covered the marble floors, with a few more tossed across a cot set up in the corner. There was a plain desk against one wall and a trunk for clothes against another, and a large, counter-height table in the middle.

The last had several large sheets of paper laid out on it, which Luceris flipped over before Auren had a chance to see.

The server set their dishes out on a smaller table, and Luceris pulled out a chair for Auren to sit. Both felt lightweight but sturdy, built from strong metal with state-of-the-art processes, and Auren knew advanced engineering when he saw it. The General’s aesthetics might be rustic, but the items themselves were modern and well-made.

“You can go,” Luceris told Taryn and Gavan. “I’ll take him to his quarters myself later.”

They nodded and disappeared. Luceris waited for the server to finish and bow her way out, then closed the door and carefully removed the veil once they were alone. He placed it on a small rack, where several other masks and veils of different materials were kept at hand for use.

“So, tell me,” Luceris took his own seat, absently pulling out the tight ribbon holding his hair back in a ponytail and letting the dark waves fall free in the privacy of his own quarters. “This fit they say you had, are you unwell?”

“Calling it a ��fit’ makes me sound like some kind of fainting maiden,” Auren replied. “I have an adverse reaction when I’m directly exposed to aether.”

“And yet, you piloted an Avatar during the battle.”

“That’s different. Avatars filter aether for power, something in the process refines it. And even then, if I’m exposed for too long I suffer spark mania like I did when we fought. But direct exposure, like you throwing raw aether around the hangar, causes something Castir likens to an allergic reaction.”

“Castir,” Luceris mused, swirling the wine in his glass. “He’s the shrill one who yelled at me when I came back from using your Avatar?”

“Sounds accurate.”

“And this allergy, it’s why you have that contraption on your neck?”

Auren’s hand went automatically to the hormone stabilizer. There were glyphs Aethromancers could imprint on skin that would adjust the physical health of the bearer. They could help the overweight slim down, help the diabetic adjust their insulin, and even stabilize the hormones of those needing HRT. If the person wasn’t made ill by aether, anyway.

“Yeah, that’s why,” he confirmed. “No magical help for me, I have to do everything the hard way.”

“And that’s why you’re mostly confined to the palace.”

Again, Luceris was right. About twenty percent of the human population had some talent with manipulating aether, there was always a huge risk of encountering one while out alone.

“It’s not so bad,” Auren lied. “Like I said, the nobility does a lot of illicit partying when they’re here. And aether use is rare with them, there’s no need to learn magic when your life is already on easy mode.”

Luceris nodded absently.

“Your new Avatar,” he frowned, tapping his fingers on the table. “Sunrise. You said it was battle tested, but you also said nobody uses it but you. How have you tested it without suffering repeated bouts of spark mania?”

He was having an easier time eating without the beaded veil, but his tone and mannerisms were still those of an inquisitor rather than a host tending to a guest.

“I can’t answer that.”

“I already have most of the data from your hangar computers copied and saved,” Luceris warned. “I can just go look for the data I want, you may as well save me the trouble.”

“You’re free to go look,” Auren offered. “But you won’t find anything. I can’t answer you because I don’t have an answer, we haven’t figured out why Sunrise doesn’t affect me the way a regular Avatar does. My guess is because it focuses all aether away from the pilot and into neutralizing nether.”

Luceris didn’t like that answer. His face took on a petulant look, as if Auren was personally spiting him by not nearly dropping dead every time he tested his prototype.

“What do you want from us?” Auren took advantage of the short pause in the conversation. “Nobody’s crossed the southern border in hundreds of years, now suddenly you come out of nowhere and invade. What could Tanas-Ashe possibly have that you want? What are you going to do with us?”

The tapping fingers stopped. Luceris’ gaze remained on Auren’s face, and it took everything he had not to squirm. He was starting to wonder if he’d signed his own death warrant by speaking out of turn when Luceris reached for the wine bottle to refill their glasses.

“It’s almost frightening,” he mused. “Twenty minutes ago, you spoke like a child. Your accent was all wrong and you kept making grammar mistakes. Now you’re using Vesprian words I haven’t even spoken for you to copy, I assume making guesses based on what you already know. Those guesses are terrifyingly accurate, and your accent is becoming flawless.”

The only correct answer to that was to say of course, because learning was what Auren was created to do. But Luceris wasn’t easy to read like Gavan and Taryn, so Auren kept his mouth shut.

“I don’t care about this city,” Luceris admitted lazily, leaning back dangerously far in his chair. “I chose it for two reasons only: Tanas-Ashe is the biggest nation in the north, and it has no allies between its capital and the south. Now that I’ve conquered it, I’m going to rifle through its pockets for anything good then ditch it and go home.”

Auren stared at him, waiting for him to laugh or declare that was a joke.

“You went through three months of warfare for nothing?” He asked stupidly. “What’s the point?”

“The point is in the conquering,” Luceris gave that annoying smirk again. Even without the rush of spark mania, Auren was tempted to smack it off his face. “I’m Vespria’s General, there’s no higher I can go in the military. I’m of a Noble house, but I’ve also hit a social ceiling. The only way I can raise my status further is through a cultural practice involving four seemingly impossible feats of strength. One of those is to conquer a foreign nation and secure the Vesprian Emperor a war bride, the requirements say nothing about keeping this godforsaken snowball under possession.”

Auren thought he might swallow his tongue. He’d never done anything so difficult in his life as biting back that this was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

“That’s it?” He managed. “You’re here giving me gray hair because your boss needs a girlfriend?”

“The Empress passed away last year,” Luceris gave a shrug. “I’ve spent the time since then giving a lot of people gray hair, it was your turn. But once I finish vetting the women here, I can go back to Vespria for good. There’s no reason for me or my people to remain in Avrelas, you can all go back to whatever it is you do in this frigid hellhole as soon as we’re on our way.”

An alarm went off, calling Luceris’ attention to his watch, where a hologram popped up with some kind of calendar reminder. It was banished before Auren had a chance to see it, and Luceris rose.

“I have an appointment this afternoon. Time for you to return to your apartment.”

He was once again the no-nonsense General, pulling on a black fabric mask like the ones Taryn and Gavan wore. It was a wall suddenly going up between them, ending any communication, and Auren chose not to poke the bear.

Their walk to his quarters was made in silence, Luceris leading the way and Auren following like a good little prisoner. Gavan and Taryn had returned to their post outside his door at some point, abruptly straightening as their General arrived.

One thing was still bothering Auren, even with the assurance life would be returning to normal soon enough. He wasn’t sure if he’d be speaking to Luceris again, so he took the chance to bring it up.

“This war bride you’re looking for,” he broke the silence while scanning his thumb to unlock his door. “Does she get a say in whether she goes back to Vespria with you?”

“No,” Luceris replied. “Which is why Princess Thessalie is the ideal choice, she’s already been raised to be married off without complaint.”

Auren couldn’t help it. As much as he tried to be reasonable and forget, the day he left Kyrastir was burned into his mind. He was torn away from his family with no time to say goodbye, forced into a small plane and whisked away to an alien place where he knew nothing of the language, customs, or people. The terror he’d felt in those first few days was an open wound that still hadn’t healed, even twenty years later, and the thought of Thessalie being forced to experience that made his blood boil.

“Don’t you dare!” He fumed before he could help himself. “She was raised to marry an ally, someone who she’s grown up spending time with at court and who won’t cut her off completely from her family. She’s not a piece of property for you to drag back with you like a trophy! There are plenty of women crazy enough to volunteer to marry your emperor, leave her alone.”

Luceris’ face was half-hidden, but his eyes lit up like he’d just gotten everything on his list for Wintertide. He leaned down, and Auren could tell he was smirking as he practically purred his response.

“Make me.”

Auren had never felt such a violent flare of indignation as Luceris managed to provoke. He was a man of reason, with excellent self-control and a steady hold on his emotions. Until now, when he did exactly what he’d wanted to do the first time he saw Luceris out on the Stretch and took a swing at his face.

The speed Luceris moved with was the most shocking thing, followed by how hard he slammed Auren into the floor. Auren didn’t even understand how he did it; one moment his fist seemed sure to connect, the next, all four of Luceris’ limbs were moving and Auren was getting a taste of the marble. To add insult to injury, he was completely immobile. Luceris outweighed him, outsized him, and drastically outmuscled him, and had him completely pinned.

“This is disappointing,” Luceris’ voice was colored with a faint, derisive chuckle. “With how fast you learned Vesprian, I expected much more fighting skill.”

Auren lifted his head, just enough to spit the blood from his bitten cheek onto the floor.

“You’re lucky then, I’m not allowed to learn how to fight.”

“Because that would make you dangerous? Impossible to keep as a pet?” Luceris leaned down to speak in his ear, so close Auren could feel the heat on his neck even with the mask he wore. “What a shame. With a pair of daggers and a few weeks of instruction, you could be magnificent.”

Luceris rolled away, hopping up to his feet with a disgusting ease.

“Get off the floor,” he called back as he stalked down the hall. “You’re embarrassing.”

Auren rolled onto his back, wincing at his bruised nose, and flipped rude gestures at Luceris’ back with both hands. Taryn and Gavan said nothing, thankfully averting their gazes from his bloodied face as he stumbled to his feet and retreated into his apartment, feeling a damn sight more than just embarrassed.

#fiction #fantasy #transgender fantasy #lgbtq #writing #original fiction

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deadtime-stories · 22 days ago

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Apex: Chapter 04

Adult | Sci-Fantasy | Trans MMC | Mechs

First draft is being posted as written. Errors and continuity issues will exist.

-----

The vultures were getting restless.

Auren finished lacing his boot and grabbed his waiting briefcase, startled when two large shapes loomed in his peripheral as soon as he stepped out of his apartment. Taryn crooked a finger for him to approach with his hands above his head, and Gaven took the briefcase.

Castir was as thrilled as expected when EMTs wheeled Auren into the infirmary on a gurney, not being quiet in his complaints about having just fixed him an hour ago only to have him broken again. The fainting spells never lasted long, a few minutes at most, but the reaction left Auren incapacitated until he had a few injections and another dunk in the Shock tank.

Luceris had the gall to be annoyed when he returned to an empty hangar forty minutes later, then the balls to barge into the bathing room while Auren was cleaning up after his purge. For some reason, Luceris felt it was okay to stand by the shower and ask questions about Project Sunrise while Auren was trying to get weird blue goo out of his ass crack, and seemed surprised when he was yelled at to wait outside.

That was four days ago. Luceris found somebody else to terrorize, thank gods, but Auren now had a permanent private entourage.

Gavan went through the briefcase, ignoring the files and feeling along the lining and pockets for any kind of weapon. Taryn patted him down a little too thoroughly, and eventually he was allowed to proceed.

Other palace denizens avoided him when he strolled down the hallways with two uniformed shadows soundlessly trailing behind. Taryn and Gavan talked little and glared a lot, and the corridors were already a ghost town thanks to Vesprian-imposed curfews and rules. It had been days since he spoke with anyone Tanas-Ashen but Thessalie and Castir, it was almost a relief to enter the Council of Lords.

The luxurious chamber usually catered to the rich and powerful nobles of Tanas-Ashen society, who gathered here to come up with laws and treaties for King Tiberius to sign off on so he didn’t have to. But the overstuffed velvet cushions on the scrollwork wooden armchairs were empty today as Auren made his way to the Speaker’s dais.

To the surprise of no one, the city’s nobles had all made a run for it as soon as word came down Vespria was marching on Avrelas. Private planes and helicopters spirited them away to other Tanas-Ashen cities, or to ally countries out of enemy reach. Tiberius was under lockdown, and the Queen and Princess were safely tucked away in the royal residences and back on their usual schedules.

There was no plan in place for this, and nobody left in the hierarchy to take over. So, under Luceris’ orders, Auren was the palace representative tasked with calming the nerves of the people.

“Don’t be nervous,” Tiberius’ assistant, Syrus advised from the seat next to him as Auren popped open the briefcase.

“I’m not,” Auren replied. “They have to go through Taryn and Gavan to get to me, and I don’t see that happening.”

Taryn snickered and Gavan preened a bit.

Luceris might have thought they were keeping track of him, but it was the other way around. Auren spent the last four nights running through ancient programs on the Vesprian language, put together from the occasional southern traveler before the wall cut them all off six hundred years ago. The lessons were painfully outdated, but the language had a written script and was standardized; words had changed but structures and grammar stayed similar.

Gavan and Taryn were chatterboxes when other soldiers were around. Auren was able to listen and adjust the Old Vesprian he learned to this newer dialect, and was far more comfortable now that he knew what these interlopers were saying around him.

He was also better able to judge the personalities of the occupiers. Gavan was more brash and better humored, a huge flirt who knew exactly how to make the female Vesprian soldiers smile. Taryn had an attitude problem and was quick with sharp responses, he didn’t seem to like anyone except his partner. Gavan was a perfect target for flattery, Taryn thought being mean was funny.

Both got very, very touchy if anyone they hadn’t vetted got too close to their charge.

Auren motioned for the Footmen to open the huge double doors and went to the nearby coffee station while representatives of all the big-name businesses in Avrelas came streaming in. He hoped this invasion business didn’t stop their trade with Nyme, if the city couldn’t keep importing coffee Auren might burn it down himself.

When everyone was settled, Auren read a prepared speech from Tiberius, promising business as usual and no issues for citizens as long as everyone cooperated with the occupying Vesprians. Then one by one he let everyone air their grievances.

Many faces were familiar. Bank CEOs, tech bros, newspaper owners, and media company representatives were staples in the Council of Lords, always trying to grease palms to get more favorable laws for their fortunes. Some were new, as smaller businesses that rarely petitioned the government sent officers or representatives to find out what was going on. Almost everyone had the same question: would the Royal Code remain the law of the land, or did they have legal changes coming their way? That, unfortunately, was a question their occupiers hadn’t yet given an answer to.

Auren answered all questions with the confidence of a man who didn’t care how any of them felt. He used a lot of nice words to ultimately say nothing, allowing vagueness to lead them to the conclusions they wanted to hear. His job wasn’t to provide answers, it was to pacify the Lords’ biggest donors, and he did it with a charming smile.

It was five hours later when he adjourned the session, long enough to let everyone speak at least once and feel satisfied but short enough to keep most of them from noticing the lack of substance. Auren was packing the notes printed by Syrus for Tiberius when a Vesprian soldier approached Gavan.

“General Khaevalon wants you to bring Ser Damaris to the king’s chambers for lunch,” he murmured. “He wants to know how everything went.”

Gavan nodded and waved him off. As usual, once Auren was ready to leave the hall, they escorted him toward the royal apartments with no warning or explanation. If he couldn’t already understand most of what was said around him, he’d never have any idea what was going on.

The Seneschal opened the door when they arrived and ushered all three of them into the dining room, where Tiberius already sat in his usual place at the head of the table. Queen Ariana sat on his right, and Princess Thessalie at his left.

While the king looked tired and drawn, the queen and princess were surprisingly at ease. Given Luceris’ care to have them tended to by other women, Auren suspected they’d been treated better over the last week by the Vesprians than most Lords ever treated them.

Luceris himself, or General Khaevalon as the soldier referred to him, was separated from Thessalie by an empty seat, leaving the foot of the table empty on his other side. The only other seat with a place setting was the one directly across from him, which made things tricky.

There was an art to seating among the nobility, so Auren knew the places were set by Luceris. He could move the setting over to sit next to Ariana, which would proudly signal his alignment with Tiberius but might also insultingly declare to their guest he felt he was as important as the royal family. His other option was to take the assigned seat, recognizing he was not a royal and a guest in these quarters like the others, which might insult Tiberius and look like he was siding with their captors.

Auren took his time removing the printed notes from his briefcase and giving them to Tiberius, since the king was cut off from all electronic communications. While he dawdled, he lucked out. Taryn and Gavan took up guard against opposite walls, and Gavan pulled out the chair opposite Luceris for him. He had no choice but to take it or risk appearing rude to everyone.

Luceris wore a veil today, a delicate curtain of tiny black and gold bead strings hanging from a decorative gold frame draped from his ears across his nose. Taryn and Gavan were wearing their own fabric masks, as always, but Auren initially thought this was just part of their uniform. There was no time to be curious about it, though. Almost as soon as he was seated, a server appeared and offered a small bowl to Luceris, who pointed her to Auren.

“Please, guests first.”

Auren took the bowl awkwardly when it was brought to him, a small porcelain dish with intricate silver paint and an unfamiliar orange liquid. Luceris leaned casually back in his seat, in a gray sweater and leather jacket today instead of his usual uniform, lazily watching to see what his lunch guest would do.

There was no indication of what it was. Auren saw the soldiers eat before and knew how to use their strange utensils, but he never saw them use a dish like this.

It was Taryn who saved him, the briefest flick of movement from where he stood behind Luceris, miming the washing of hands. Praying he wasn’t being played for a fool, Auren dipped his fingers in the bowl and passed it on, swiping the liquid across his hands.

It was a mild astringent, sweetly smelling once rubbed into his skin, and to Auren’s relief, everyone else did the same as the bowl was passed around. The server took it away, and began bringing out the serving trays of salad and sandwiches.

“Did you have any problems?” Tiberius asked once everyone was served. “Anyone asking more questions than we were ready to answer?”

“The City Singer,” Auren recalled the young reporter for the big city newspaper being nosier than most of the others. “There’s a new addition named Riley Teron, someone should reach out and ask him to take a step back from this for now. Maybe with the promise of getting an early exclusive when everything calms down.”

Auren looked at Tiberius when he spoke, but his advice was for Luceris. Everyone in the room knew he and Jannel were pulling the strings right now, and Tiberius couldn’t order anything.

Across the table, Luceris tilted his head back toward Taryn.

“Any other issues besides a rookie reporter?” he asked. His voice was different when he spoke Vesprian, smoother and a little deeper. “Any reason to believe we might have to use force to keep the peace?”

“It went fine,” Taryn replied. “He was pretty confident for a guy who had to say ‘I have no fucking idea’ three hundred different ways. He had to pull out the dad voice a few times, but it shut down anyone getting pushy real quick.”

“Good thing Bauris wasn’t on duty for it,” Gavan said. “He’d be trying to pay to get yelled at like that by a foreigner, one of those exotic experiences he rambles about.”

“Bauris has more fur than a wildedag,” Luceris carefully lifted his wine glass up under his beaded veil. “They keep this one locked up in the palace. He’d probably faint seeing any man naked, let alone Bauris.”

Auren picked at a leaf in his salad, following Thessalie’s example of eating the largest bits with hands instead of a fork. He waited until he was sure Luceris was mid-swallow to answer.

“Actually, I’m a raging whore,” he said in Vesprian, albeit with a heavy Tanas-Ashen accent.

Luceris made a strained squeak and the others fell into a horrified silence. Auren popped another leaf into his mouth, keeping his eyes on the man across from him and watching him do everything in his power to hide that he was silently choking from the Tanas-Ashe royals.

“They do keep me locked up in the palace,” he acknowledged. “So, there’s not a lot to do in my free time except the idle rich. You’ve seen me naked. I may not be a super model, but I do all right.”

Luceris finally managed to make a deep inhalation through his nose and get some air into his wine-battered lungs. Taryn bowed to him respectfully, then walked past a wide-eyed Gavan to step into the next room. From the way the sudden howl of laughter quickly died down, Auren assumed he was sprinting out of the apartment and into the hallway where he wouldn’t be heard.

Auren smiled sweetly at Tiberius, Ariana, and Thessalie, who were watching the exchange in confusion.

“They think my accent is funny,” he lied. “I’ve been studying Vesprian for the last four days but this is the first time I’ve tried to use it.”

“Excellent news,” Tiberius praised, barely looking up from the notes he’d been given. “Now I have an interpreter I trust for these…negotiations.”

“At your service, as always,” Auren murmured into his own wine glass. Ariana and Thessalie were smiling in amusement, but clearly weren’t comfortable chatting like usual with the three Vesprian men around. It made for a very awkward atmosphere.

He turned his attention to Luceris, whose cheeks had grown so red from choking it was visible even on his complexion. Taryn returned, his composure regained, and gave his leader a sympathetic slap on the shoulder as he passed on his way to take up his position again. Gavan was behind him, out of sight, but Auren imagined he must be having a field day.

“Your veil is very nice,” Auren complimented diplomatically. He said it in Tanas-Ashen, for the royal family’s benefit, before slipping back into Vesprian. Better for Tiberius to know it was simply small talk. “Is there a reason for it?”

“I’m not married,” Luceris’ voice still had the faintest croak of choking, but he was recovering enough to carefully maneuver one of the small sandwiches under the beads. “Unmarried men don’t show their face in public or mixed company in Vespria.”

Now the mix of masked and unmasked soldiers made sense. Auren hadn’t seen a female soldier yet who wore one of the masks, and only about a third of the male soldiers wore them. Luceris waiting until they were alone by the elevator to remove his several days ago also made more sense. Auren assumed he hadn’t expected to be pulled from a locked-up Avatar on the battlefield, so didn’t have his mask in place during their first…meeting.

“In fact, I would prefer if you’d join me elsewhere,” Luceris decided. He motioned to the waiting servant to gather up their dishes. “This is getting tiresome already.”

Tiberius looked up from the pages as Luceris stood. Auren hesitated, but rose as well.

“He can’t take his veil off with women around,” he explained. “He’s asking me to join him elsewhere.”

“Ordering,” Luceris clarified, in Tanas-Ashen. “Not a request.”

Tiberius pursed his lips, but there was nothing he could do about it. The server moved their trays and plates to the serving cart and followed Luceris out, leaving Auren no choice but to trail after them with Taryn and Gavan falling in behind him.

#fiction #fantasy #transgender fantasy #lgbtq #writing #original fiction

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deadtime-stories · 30 days ago

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Apex: Chapter 03

Adult | Sci-Fantasy | Trans MMC | Mechs

First draft is being posted as written. Errors and continuity issues will exist.

-----

Auren wasn’t a soldier. He liked to keep his interactions as neat and tidy as his lab, and didn’t pick fights he wasn’t sure he could win. Plenty of scenarios played through his head as the elevator descended into the bowels of the royal palace, from grabbing the gun hanging casually off Luceris’ back to knocking the wind out of him with an elbow and climbing up through the maintenance hatch while he was down. But every scenario he came up with was almost certain to fail.

Luceris had about four inches on him in height, and even though much of his bulk looked like it came from his armored uniform, Auren couldn’t calculate his build. He might be weaker than he looked or he might be all lean muscle. In the end, Auren decided the best action was no action if he wanted to stay alive.

Instead, he studied Luceris’ face. His skin was rich brown, like the dark bands of Thessalie’s favorite tiger’s eye pendant. In shadow his eyes were as dark and shark-like as Auren’s own, but shifted in the light to the russet tint of myrralie oak acorns. His dark brows were thick but looked professionally groomed, and a broad, flat nose and full lips were clearly visible with his clean-shaven face. His hair fell down his back in a long braid, but his helmet had dislodged a few stray locks that had less curl than Jannel’s but still fell in waves.

He was a handsome man, which was another wild card in deciding how dangerous he might be. Auren witnessed firsthand the phenomenon of attractive people being promoted over more skilled ones, it was impossible to gauge his abilities by rank and size alone.

“You stare,” Luceris’ own eyes were on the display above the door, on the steady change of digital numbers as they descended floors, but he was paying enough attention to call Auren out.

“Nothing gets past you.”

Auren wasn’t combative by nature, or sarcastic for the sake of sarcasm. The verbal jabs he was known for were probes, personality tests for the people around him. They helped him learn where he stood with others, whether he could speak freely or if he should stay silent.

Luceris’ gaze flicked from the numbers down to him. Auren held it for several awkward seconds, until Luceris took a large step sideways and shifted his gun farther out of Auren’s reach. It was almost a compliment, that a trained soldier couldn’t accurately read how dangerous he was either.

The elevator reached subbasement 4, five stories below the streets of Avrelas City. The door slid open to reveal another one, this one of thick, heavy metal with a screen that lit up. Auren watched his and Luceris’ faces appear on screen and lines run across them as the AI scanned for an authorized face. The screen went dark except for a square around Auren’s, and a generic handprint began blinking beside it.

Auren rested his hand over it, letting his palm be scanned. The screen beeped and went dark, and the door slid open.

The hallway was probably ominous to a newcomer, sterile white and flooded with cold light, but to Auren it was a welcome home. He strolled down toward the fork ahead, every step bringing more confidence as he left the world of kings behind and returned to one of his own making.

“There’s a break room and restrooms there,” Auren said, pointing to the left as he turned right at the fork. Here, he tapped on doors as he walked, in case the Tanas-Ashen script on their plates was unreadable to his unwelcome guest. “Break room storage. Cleaning supplies. Copy center. These are all intern offices.”

Luceris followed close behind but said nothing as they turned left at the next corner, where the closed-in hall opened up with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out into the cavernous expanse of the Avatar hangars.

“Low level offices,” Auren continued without looking to see his reaction, trying to make the experience as boring and uninteresting as possible. “It’s where we stick the new grads or transfers with low security clearance.”

They reached another security door with the same scanners, which led to another short hallway of offices. These had windows of their own, so the senior engineers who used them had a view of the hangar goings-on. At the end of this hallway was a glass door with no security, allowing them to step out into the great, open hangar area itself.

“The hangar.” Auren gave a disinterested wave toward the powered-down Avatar units lining the far wall. Each was about ten feet tall, clunky exoskeletons in humanoid shape that gave pilots the machine-driven strength necessary to take on raging Aberrations. “One of five in Avrelas, but they’re all linked by transit tunnel. Each hangar launches to a different point outside the walls, and the tunnels let the military distribute units as necessary. Pretty standard, same layout that’s used across the continent.”

Luceris glanced around, but after a moment his attention returned to Auren. There was another brief stare down, but this one was initiated by the soldier, and Auren didn’t like the thoughtful look on his face. At length Luceris moved, grabbing Auren’s wrist before he could pull away and raising his hand for inspection.

“Smooth hands,” he said after a moment. “Weak grip. You’re not pilot. Who are you?”

Despite the circumstance, Auren couldn’t help but feel insulted as he fished for an answer. “Would you believe I’m the maintenance man?”

“Maintenance man with personal access to king? And clearance to talk of escape plans?” Luceris’ eyebrow quirked upward. He shifted and pointed across the hangar, to the painfully obvious glass door leading up into the operations office. “I think you can open door.”

“Look, I just work here—” Auren’s sputtered response cut off in a high-pitched squeal when Luceris reached forward to grip him by the small hairs at his neck.

He pulled upward until Auren was forced to stand on his toes to avoid the worst of the pain, and made him stumble after him with a whimpered string of “ow, ow, ow” until they reached the door. Luceris pushed Auren’s face in front of the scanner, then forced his palm against the screen when the print reader flashed. The door slid open, and Luceris shoved Auren up the stairs ahead of him.

The staircase opened into the nicest—and most secure—office in the Avatar hangars. Its high placement, circular frame, and large windows gave a bird’s eye view of the whole space, and the walls were covered with white boards, diagrams, and computer consoles.

Luceris spun slowly, taking it all in. He moved to examine some diagrams, then drifted over to a whiteboard to eye the complicated equations. After punching a few buttons on a computer with no response—he didn’t know how to turn this type on, Auren realized—Luceris turned back to him.

“Again,” he was firmer this time. “Who are you?”

Auren’s mind raced. He had plenty of occasions to lie in his life, but never in a situation this serious. But every falsehood that came to mind needed another hundred little lies to support it, and he was forced to discard each one almost as soon as he came up with it.

Luceris’ patience ran thin. He crossed the room and unshouldered his gun, pressing the muzzle against Auren’s temple.

“I have access I want,” he said. “No reason for you to live if you don’t give me one.”

“Okay, okay!” Auren threw up his hands in surrender. He’d already held off longer than anyone in this kingdom had a right to expect him to, it was time to bargain for his own life and military secrets be damned. “I’m the Director of Combat Development. I oversee the Tanas-Ashen Avatar program and I’m the Lead Engineer of Project Sunrise.”

Luceris studied his face briefly, as if searching for a lie. Sensing none, he lowered his gun.

“How old?”

“Twenty-nine,” Auren replied. “Thirty in two months.”

“Too young. How a Director at twenty-nine?”

“I’m Kyrasti. I was born during an augmentation project called New Dawn.”

The recognition that flickered across Luceris’ face was a surprise to Auren. Kyrastir was a tiny country, even more remote than Tanas-Ashe. It was barely a spot on the map, and not a place he’d expect a Vesprian to know. But Luceris’ annoyed expression became one of interest, and the silence that fell as he slowly circled Auren to study him again was unnerving.

“You are designer child,” Luceris said finally. “Living computer. Learn anything, instant reflex, advanced logic, perfect recall.”

He did know Kyrastir. And stranger still, he knew Project New Dawn. Unfortunately, Auren wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

“No. I’m the original, the Alpha model,” he replied. “Eidetic memory became standard with the Gamma model. But yes, I have advanced learning capabilities and I process information much faster than other people. I was a college graduate engineer by the age of six.”

“Alpha model, Gamma model,” Luceris repeated. “How many model?”

“Nine, Alpha through Iota. The Kappa model was still in vitro when Tanas-Ashe invaded to stop the project. The United Continental Nations thought it was inhumane to experiment on humans, and Kyrastir wasn’t willing to stop voluntarily.”

“So Tanas-Ashe take over program instead?” Luceris asked skeptically.

“No. We’re biological children of important Kyrasti,” Auren said. “My mother was a politician who became Prime Minister by the time of the invasion. King Tiberius fostered the children of Kyrasti leaders with Tanas-Ashen nobles to force compliance, I was the only New Dawn hostage so he kept me with his own household. The others were eventually returned, but I was ‘too important’ to let go.”

“You create advanced Avatar units,” Luceris observed. “Not wise to send back to potentially enemy country. What is Project Sunrise?”

This was it. Auren had one chance to pitch this properly, to make this man understand he was more valuable alive than dead.

“Does Vespria use aether generators for power?”

“Yes,” Luceris sneered. “Is modern country, not primitive hamlet.”

Auren bit back a sharp retort. He was alone, five stories underground, with a man who could splatter his brains across his desk if he wanted to.

“Well, humanity is using up aether faster than it naturally replenishes,” he said. “The crisis point is a few hundred years off at least, but I’ve done the math. Project Sunrise is an attempt to fuse aether and nether into a new type of energy with eight times the output of its component parts alone.”

It was an impossible task, a fool’s errand Tiberius only let him work on when other projects were ahead of schedule. Using nether for anything was like a human trying to eat sunlight instead of food; great in concept, but supposedly not within the realm of possibility.

Luceris didn’t look impressed. If anything, he looked irritated.

“You play with fire,” he said sharply. “Nether is not for human use. Look at what it does!”

He was right, of course, Auren was playing with fire. The nether levels on Sapherion weren’t high enough to do much more than make sensitive people sick, even at Zenith, but there were a number of animals across the planet that weren’t so lucky. Half the mammal species humans brought with them at founding were affected by it during Waxing, Zenith, and Waning, when heightened nether levels mutated them into savage, bloodthirsty monsters. One third of those species were affected at all points in the cycle.

Those species were lost to humans now. They’d been culled from settled lands in the first millennium after founding, but life was tricky. By the time the problem was discovered, many animals had been eased into their new ecosystems, and hunting them all down in a world where it wasn’t safe to be outside of walls for too long proved to be impossible. Out in the extensive wilds of Sapherion, still impenetrable by human expansion, many of those animals thrived. With them came a steady supply of violent, murderous danger.

“I’m well aware of the dangers of nether,” Auren straightened up, refusing to be implied as some silly little fool. “I’ve studied the effects of different concentrations on biological tissue for years.”

He booted up his main console and ran a procedure, then moved to the windows to watch floodlights illuminate one of the storage bays. Its metal gate groaned open, allowing the flatbed within to foll out on its conveyor. After a moment, the bed started to rise, bringing its contents upright.

Unlike the other sleek machines lining the wall, this one had no chassis. Its internal workings were on full display, and its incomplete pilot capsule allowed them to see straight through into its controls.

“This is Sunrise,” Auren said as Luceris came to stand beside him. “She’s the test model for our next generation of Avatars. Proven in combat to be faster, lighter, and more agile, with three times the strength. And she can generate a field that negates nether, but so far the capabilities are so unrefined the effect can only be measured on our most sensitive instruments. Definitely no practical use yet.”

“Negates?”

Auren wasn’t sure if Luceris didn’t understand the word, or didn’t understand how he was using it. He didn’t want to risk asking and look like he was calling the other man stupid.

“There’s a not insignificant percentage of the population who can manipulate aether,” Auren said. “There isn’t a person alive who doesn’t have a Sparkler or three in the family, and the north has fifteen arcane academies. The closest one to here is Tidesdale.”

Auren ran his fingers across the glass and pulled up a transparent map. Tidesdale was an elegant, castle-like institution with its own small town that helped everything run, located within safe travel distance of Avrelas and eight other Tanas-Ashen cities and towns. The map showed this location from overhead, allowing Auren to overlay a tidal map.

“As you would expect, aether concentrations are extreme around Tidesdale. It’s always had less Aberration activity as well. So, I’m testing the theory that high levels of aether concentrated in specific ways will cancel out the mutagenic properties of nether.”

Luceris shook his head and rubbed his temple, as if dealing with a nonsensical little child. He looked like he wanted to comment further, but backed off the subject for now. Instead, he wandered to one of the windows, looking down at the great, empty space that should be bustling with activity.

Auren wondered where his engineers and pilots were. Imprisoned? On their way back to Vespria for use in labor camps? He needed to find and free his people as soon as possible.

“You have contact with parents?” Luceris asked, turning away from the window.

The sudden shift in topic was as jarring for Auren as it would be for anyone, but couldn’t trip him up. His brain was designed not only to shift gears faster, but to jump ten steps ahead on this new subject. All the reasons a conquering Vesprian soldier might have for asking about a former Prime Minister of his home country ran through his head.

“Kyrastir has closed borders,” Auren said truthfully. Once again, a lie to make himself seem more useful in this arena would require too many further lies to uphold. “It’s main exports to other northern nations are advances in tech, medicine, and science, so contact with the outside world is strictly limited to keep trade secrets. I write home twice a month to keep my family updated, but they can’t answer.”

Auren was truly alone in this country. King Tiberius showed him nothing but kindness, but there was always something vaguely insincere he couldn’t put his finger on. Queen Ariana treated him well, and given their similar ages, Princess Thessalie was a good friend. Auren barely remembered his mother’s smiling face or his father’s bear hugs, and the place he came from existed only in brief flashes of memory.

This place, this underground palace of metal and glass, smelling of oil mixed with ink, this was his home. The people he worked down here with were his family now.

If Luceris was disappointed at finding Auren had no sway with the Kyrastir government, he didn’t get a chance to show it. All the lights in the hangar suddenly switched on, half of them flashing a violent red, and holographic displays activated.

“What’s that?” Luceris’ hand went to his gun, startled. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Auren threw his hands up again and took a step back. “It’s the advance warning system, look.”

He pointed to where his map had been, now automatically minimized to show an aerial depiction of the space around Avrelas.

“Mutations have been getting bigger and nastier as we get closer to Zenith,” Auren frowned, translating the readings scrolling past on the screen. “But the worst part is, they’re starting to roam in packs. Our walls are five meters at the lowest point, the AI’s spotted a group of three Weirds it estimates are capable of scaling it. They’re approaching here, from the northwest.”

Luceris scanned the map briefly, then turned on his heel. Auren ran to catch up with him as they reached the stairs, but Luceris kicked his feet up on the banisters and slid down the three-story climb quickly and nimbly, landing at the bottom with an ease that left Auren irrationally pissed off. By the time Auren caught up with him, Luceris was halfway across the hangar.

“What are you doing?” Auren demanded, grabbing his arm to drag him to a halt. “You need to get my pilots down here so I can launch a defensive!”

“No need.” Luceris shook his arm free and kept walking. “I will handle. Release your toy, please.”

“You’ll…excuse me?” Auren shook off his surprise and sprinted ahead, this time physically inserting himself between Luceris and the Avatar lying out on the flatbed. “Absolutely not! Nobody touches Sunrise but me!”

Luceris stared down at him, and Auren braced himself for the three possible reactions he calculated. But while Luceris did raise his hand, it wasn’t to shove him, strike him, or draw his weapon.

Instead, the air began to dance around Luceris’ hand in silvery threads, weaving through his fingers as his eyes took on a soft, glassy glow. Across the hangar, the docking station where Sunrise lay activated and lit up, the restraints retracting and the Avatar powering up.

“I didn’t ask permission,” Luceris hissed, stepping past the shocked Auren.

Luceris loosened his armor as he walked, dropping the restrictive chest plate on a floor that shook when Sunrise stepped off the flatbed of her own accord. Her front panels opened as she walked forward, meeting Luceris halfway and letting him climb into the pilot seat. All around them, displays changed and systems turned on, mapping the Avatar’s route out of the hangar to land as close as possible to the threat.

Auren’s whole, precious world was wrestled out of his control with disturbing indifference and ease. Alarms turned off, protocols began running.

Sunrise launched in under one minute, a record Auren should be proud his newest creation achieved, but instead he felt only nausea. Luceris was an Aethromancer, and a wickedly powerful one at that. None of the feedback walls had been strong enough to stop the flood of pure power he was able to manipulate, he’d shrugged off every fail-safe developed to keep magic users at bay. And now that he knew which computers held any information he might want, Auren didn’t need to be alive.

Then the nausea turned into tingling, reminding Auren this wasn’t the sensation of existential dread. The tingling ran down his limbs to his fingertips, and developed into a staticky feeling on his tongue.

“Oh,” he whispered to no one, his voice sounding very loud in the now-empty hangar. “Shit.”

The splitting pain running through him when he landed on his knees on the concrete floor jarred a little bit of sense into him, enough to set him clawing at the plain white suit he still wore from the infirmary. The high neck was snug, making it difficult for numb fingers to reach down beneath it, and the chain holding the emergency pendant felt annoyingly fine at the moment. Auren wasn’t even sure he was pressing the button, his vision was blurring and his hands didn’t feel like his own.

His head hit the floor cheek-first, but if it caused any pain, he didn’t feel it. He was already passing out, disabled by his body’s reaction to Luceris’ high levels of pure, unfiltered aether.

#fiction #fantasy #transgender fantasy #lgbtq #writing #original fiction

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deadtime-stories · 1 month ago

Text

Apex: Chapter 02

Adult | Sci-Fantasy | Trans MMC | Mechs

First draft is being posted as written. Errors and continuity issues will exist.

-----

Discharge didn’t take long. Castir checked the healing gash that now bisected one of Auren’s top surgery scars, then reconnected the hormone filter to the back of his neck. Auren’s testosterone levels were managed and monitored through the device, which was installed almost five years ago. Nothing was damaged in the Avatar altercation, Auren was free to go.

Free to go directly to the huge, highly decorated office on the third floor, anyway. A Tanas-Ashen soldier even showed up to escort him, just in case he forgot where it was.

Auren never felt more like an outsider than when he was in this wing. The blond-haired, blue-eyed natives of Tanas-Ashe were the majority here, where his dark hair and brown eyes marked him clearly as “other.” Most of them were good people, but the younger staff with less worldly experience often stared or whispered. The nation came a long way since its founding as a penal colony for ethno-terrorists, and was practically a hub of diversity compared to its origins, but its remote location kept its borders mostly closed by default.

He wondered how the citizens were reacting to the brown-skinned soldiers who were no doubt patrolling their streets by now. Fear? Intrigue? Or terror at the possibility they’d be treated the same way their own soldiers treated the territories they invaded?

The irony would be delicious, if the conqueror was anyone other than Vespria.

Little was known about the Southern Empire, whose border began a few kilometers south of the equator with a huge wall bisecting Sapherion’s single great land mass. Nobody knew how big it was, and no map had any details of its shores. Unmanned surveillance went blind when flown over it, blocked by a net of electronic signals, and manned aircraft never lasted long enough past the wall to observe it before being shot down. Abaddon’s interference made the atmosphere inhospitable, and no satellites or spacecraft survived long enough to capture more than a few grainy, useless images.

Two thousand years ago, when Earth’s first colonies were built on Sapherion, the southern lands held a number of nations. But those countries had all fallen in the centuries since then, swallowed up by Vespria’s invading emperors and empresses. It seemed they’d run out of local people to conquer, and had turned their eyes to the north.

Here there be monsters, modern globes stated in the blurred mass of painted clouds where Vespria should be. Now the monsters were here in Tanas-Ashe.

King Tiberius’ office was at the end of the hall, the heavy wooden door flanked by three guards on each side. One opened the door for Auren and his escort fell back, allowing him to step inside alone. Tiberius was sitting at his grand wooden desk, looking like he’d aged a decade in the past week alone. He glanced up from what he was writing, and snapped his fingers for the two men cleaning the room to leave. When the door closed behind them, he rose from his seat.

Even in his sixties, Tiberius was broad and strong. He towered over Auren’s 5’6” frame and could easily break him in two. The hug he pulled Auren into nearly did just that, leaving him gasping for air.

“What were you thinking?” Tiberius demanded, abruptly shoving Auren back by the shoulders. Shrewd ocean eyes narrowed, relief replaced by frustration, and he gave his charge a little shake. “Slipping away from the control center! Stealing a battle unit! Have you lost your ever-loving mind?”

“You’re not the first one to ask me that today,” Auren replied. “Honestly, I’m starting to wonder.”

“Stupid, reckless little brat,” Tiberius complained, releasing Auren to sit on the edge of his desk. “Twenty years and none of your tutors or governesses managed to drill common sense into you, I ought to have them all fired.”

Twenty years, already. Twenty years since Tanas-Ashe invaded the tiny country of Kyrastir, and brought Auren to Avrelas to be raised in the royal court.

“If I say I’m sorry and I’ll never do it again, will I be forgiven?” Auren asked. “Or do I not get any allowance for the next six months?”

“You joke,” Tiberius grunted. “We have no idea what Vespria intends, and escape plans had to be put on hold while you were in recovery.”

“Escape plans?”

Tiberius looked at Auren as if his Spark mania rattled his braincells. His answer came out in a grunt of surprise as the office door was kicked open with enough force to send it slamming into the wall.

“Escape plans?” The masked and armored man who strolled in echoed Auren’s question. He moved quickly, checking behind the door and scanning the room before motioning behind him, bringing four more soldiers streaming in to stand back against the office walls with guns drawn. “Please, share.”

The one who spoke was of high rank, if the bells and whistles on his black uniform were any indication. The mask he wore was metal, covering the bottom half of his face and neck from the nose down, and engraved with the elegant image of a firebird in flight. It didn’t muffle his speech, which was thick with an accent Auren never heard before. The only visible part of him was his dark brown eyes, completing their search of the room from beneath his war-bruised helmet.

“I see Vespria doesn’t practice knocking,” Tiberius replied coldly. “Or respect for royalty.”

He was back on his feet now, standing tall and proud. A quick glance around told Auren he was the shortest person in the room, and he stealthily slid back a few feet in case the two bigger men came to blows.

“Vespria have plenty of respect,” the soldier replied. “For one who deserve it. Come, be nice to man who find Queen and Princess wandering outside wall and escort safely back.”

Tiberius face flashed briefly alarmed as the soldier waved an arm toward the hallway just outside the door, where a terrified Queen Ariana and Princess Thessalie stood, still in their riding leathers. Neither appeared harmed, but the splashes of red across their elegant riding gear hinted at a less pleasant fate for the Tanas-Ashen soldiers who must have been escorting them.

Escape plans. Tiberius meant to flee to Myrren, the kingdom’s northernmost and second largest city, and sent the women ahead.

Not soon enough, it seemed.

“Gavan and Taryn will take ladies back to rooms,” the soldier informed Tiberius, lazily pulling off his gloves as he nodded to two more men. They carried blades instead of guns, and didn’t wear body armor. “Will stay with them, keep them safe from wandering. You will talk to Princess Jannel, Ambassador of Vespria Emperor.”

He snapped his fingers impatiently, and Gavan and Taryn parted to allow a petite, curvy woman to enter the room. She was beautiful, with a halo of tight black curls and wide eyes lined expertly in kohl. Her tunic was of delicate, fine fabric Auren didn’t recognize, and her fingers and neck glittered with gold and semiprecious gemstones.

It was an insult, and the soldier’s harsh stare daring Tiberius to disrespect Jannel in the presence of her entourage said they all knew it. Tanas-Ashe was a patriarchal society, women weren’t allowed to hold high offices, let alone speak to the king like an equal.

Auren loved Tiberius, or at least felt the closest thing to love somebody in his circumstances could feel. But some part of him still hoped Jannel verbally tore him to shreds.

“I go with guard, take ladies to rooms,” the soldier said, breaking eye contact with Tiberius to face her. “Four soldier here, six more in hall, twelve more coming. You call when done, will escort you back to hotel.”

“Thank you, Luceris,” Jannel’s voice was deep and rich, like music on a summer night. She had the same heavy accent.

Luceris’ gaze swept the room one more time, only now low enough to realize Auren was here. Auren stared back at him, not certain what this man’s rank was or how he was supposed to address him.

“You,” Luceris decided, pointing at him rudely, “will give me tour.”

Auren looked at Tiberius. His jaw was set, his teeth grinding hard enough it was a wonder they didn’t break. The king nodded, unable to decline the soldier’s demand, and Auren bowed.

“Your Majesty,” he said in farewell, hesitating for a second before deciding to bow to Jannel as well. She was a princess, after all. “Your Royal Highness. Leave taken.”

Auren joined the trembling Ariana and Thessalie in the hall, and the three were immediately flanked by Gavan and Taryn. Like the soldiers inside, both men wore plain silver masks, but their short hair wasn’t covered by helmets. They were also less stiff than the others, completely comfortable with having everyone else hold the guns.

Luceris followed them out and closed the door behind him with a decisive click. He picked out two Vesprian soldiers from the six gathered and motioned them over, and they shouldered their weapons. As they got closer, Auren realized they were women. That was very interesting.

“Go with Fool One and Fool Two,” Luceris drawled, nodding at Gavan and Taryn, who both shot him annoyed looks. “Take Queen and Princess to quarters. Call ten female Privates, make ladies safe and comfortable. You stay guard, Gavan and Taryn take care of any requests. Go.”

Luceris waved them off as if they were annoying children, and everyone obeyed. With practiced formality, the two soldiers preceded the women to clear the way, and the two men fell in behind them. Auren wasn’t sure if he was supposed to stay or go, until Luceris jabbed him between the shoulder blades with one knuckle and urged him in the opposite direction.

After three days here, Auren doubted a soldier of his rank really needed a tour. He seemed like the kind of man who went wherever he wanted and stuck his nose wherever he felt like, and what he lacked in size he made up for with his uniform’s intimidation factor.

“Am I being taken to the gardens to be shot?” Auren finally spoke up as they turned down an empty hall overlooking the snow-covered flower bushes. “The firing range is closer.”

“Waste of bullet,” Luceris answered. “Neck is tiny and brittle, easy to break. We go to Avatar hangars, you will give access.”

That was the moment Auren’s stomach finally sank. The rest of it was familiar; the strange faces with uniforms and guns, the doors kicked open and demands made, even being shoved around and commanded in words he barely understood. This wasn’t the first time Auren watched a foreign army march into his home and take it for their own.

But he was only ten years old the first time it happened. This time, he had something to lose, and it was locked safely in the Avatar hangars.

Auren stopped at the elevator door and tilted his head back toward his captor, schooling his face into a carefully neutral expression. He refused to let any of his body language tell Luceris anything was wrong, frowning slightly and raising an eyebrow.

“What makes you think they let me have access to the Avatar hangars?”

Luceris scoffed and hit the button to go down. Then he reached up and pulled off his helmet and mask, and Auren froze in place.

Most of the battle on the Stretch was hazy, lost in the rush of Spark madness and feeling like a dream. But he knew that face, there was no way he’d ever forget it.

It was the Vesprian Avatar pilot who faced him on the battlefield. The man he’d fought for almost half an hour, stuck in an enraging stalemate neither was able to break.

In the silence as they stared at each other, the cheerful ping of the elevator doors opening echoed like a gunshot.

“Little birdie tell me,” Luceris said finally, motioning for him to step inside. “Assholes first.”

That broke Auren’s shock. He felt is face twist into a scowl before he could stop it.

“Then please, don’t let me block your way.”

Rather than getting irritated, Luceris smirked. It was that same smirk he’d given as he watched Auren get tackled into the mud, that same smug look as Auren had screamed and cursed at him impotently. Luceris stepped past him into the elevator, gripping the back of his collar to pull him along so he couldn’t escape as the doors closed.

As Auren raked his brain for any possibility of escape, the elevator started down.

#original fiction #fantasy writing #transgender fiction

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deadtime-stories · 1 month ago

Text

Apex: Chapter 01

Adult | Sci-Fantasy | Trans MMC | Mechs

First draft is being posted as written. Errors and continuity issues will exist.

-----

Auren’s scream sliced through the silence in the Avatar’s cockpit, if the tiny, confined space could even be called that. His fingers punched at the controls, his eyes flicking through the sudden darkness in search of instrument readouts. This hulking metal exoskeleton, molded around his body like a protective second skin only a moment ago, was now a smothering prison.

The controls didn’t respond, and the cracked monitor remained dark. Auren screamed again, spewing a litany of foul wishes upon the control tower, and thrashed wildly against enveloping limbs that now refused to move.

Even the life support was off, which meant power was shut down completely. That could only be done from back in the safety of the control room, and would only ever happen under the direct order of King Tiberius.

The kingdom of Tanas-Ashe had surrendered to Vespria. The Avatars, mobile combat suits piloted by the Army’s best-trained soldiers, were immobilized to allow the Vesprian units to safely disengage.

No matter. If Auren couldn’t crush his opponent in the shitty tin can he hid in, he’d rip the Vesprian soldier to shreds with his bare hands.

And he fully intended to try, if he could only get loose. He whipped his body back and forth in the tight quarters, barely noticing the sharp sting of metal slicing his skin or the acrid taste of blood in his mouth. The eventual creak of the emergency extraction panel opening, and the flood of light accompanying it, did little to calm his fit.

The zapper did slow him down a little, fifteen hundred volts slamming into his nerves long enough to let the collection crew pull him out into the fresh air. But that only lasted until Auren’s eyes settled on the enemy Avatar interlocked with his, and the collectors pulling out its pilot.

The Vesprian was taller by a handful of inches. The long, black hair was swept back from his brown face in a braid that Auren’s fingers itched to grab and rip out of his head. He surprised his keepers with a lively lunge at the other pilot, but three burly soldiers quickly slammed Auren down in the machine-trampled mud hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

More swears spilled from Auren’s lips, screamed and frantic. Then the other pilot looked down at him and smirked, and rage took over completely.

It took a few more hits with the zapper, but eventually Auren’s body stopped responding to him. His vision swam and his legs gave out, and he was hauled back across the battlefield with no strength left to fight.

The rage, however, remained.

* * * * *

“Quiet down, line up!”

Auren twitched, slowly dragged to consciousness by the sound of milling feet. The noise was muffled, distorted, but the voice sounded familiar.

“You get five minutes in this room, then I boot your asses out to the next stop, so shut your mouths and listen!”

Castir, the Head Physician for both the Avatar pilots and the Tanas-Ashe royal family. He was speaking in the no-nonsense tone of a professor, and Auren slowly pried one eye open to find himself locked behind the glass of a recovery pod. Castir stood several feet away, in front of about ten young men and women who immediately fell quiet.

New recruits.

“Some of you come from places with questionable education, so I’m going to give you the elementary school tour speech,” Castir was somber and stern. “Sapherion is one of two planets orbiting the star Kadmon. Their orbits are at the Covington Limit, which means close enough that the energy of Sapherion—aether—can be disrupted by the energy of Abaddon: nether. Abaddon orbits faster, so Sapherion is always in Abaddon’s nether trail. This steady influence of nether is what creates the Aberrations that force humanity to live in walled cities, which is why the Avatar program was created in the first place. Someone with half a brain cell, please explain Zenith and Nadir.”

There was a pause. Auren managed to blearily open his other eye as the cadets shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Castir pointed at one of them.

“You.”

“Abaddon overtakes Sapherion approximately every three-hundred and fifty years,” the girl obediently answered. “At its farthest point, Nadir, its effect is minimal and Aberration activity is low. Twenty-five years before overtaking begins a period of growing nether activity, which culminates in Zenith as Abaddon passes us. The next twenty-five years have gradually less of an effect, and Aberration activity slows. But Abaddon’s effect is so powerful, Sapherion is only able to establish communication connections with Earth during the fifty or so years on either side of Nadir.”

“Correct.” Castir treated the answer as the bare minimum, and gave no favor for the cadet’s extra response regarding Earth. “Right now, we’re three years away from Zenith. Aberration activity is rising, and the only thing standing between monsters and civilians are the Avatars. Only those sensitive enough to aether can pilot one, and even then, a lot can and does go wrong.”

Auren knew this speech, he could recite it in his sleep. Every few months a new crop of cadets was marched through the academy and made painfully aware of how stupid and risky it was to be an Avatar pilot.

“Excessive aether exposure causes health issues in anyone not fully compatible,” Castir said. “Cancers. Brain degeneration. Not everyone suffers infertility, but it’s not uncommon. And the only way to figure out if you’re fully compatible is to shove you into an Avatar and wait to see if you rot. Avatars are a dangerous weapon for their users. Unless you want to end up in this room with aether poisoning, pay very close attention to your superiors.”

A young man raised his hand, and Castir nodded for him to speak. The cadet pointed at Auren’s pod.

“Your pilot is awake, sir,” he said. “Is he here for aether poisoning?”

Castir glanced back and noted Auren’s open eyes, and clapped his hands in finality.

“Your five minutes are up,” he announced. “Out the door and to your right, your babysitter will take you to your next stop.”

He watched them file out of the room, hands folded behind his back, until the last cadet was gone and the doors closed behind them. Once he no longer had to perform, Castir’s rigid stance melted into a lazy slouch as he made his way over to the pod and pushed the button on the intercom.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he greeted. Auren winced at the light shining off his platinum blonde hair. “How are we feeling today? Still screamy and bitey?”

“Tired.” Auren’s mouth was dry as cotton and tasted like metal. His voice had the croaking quality of a man haunted by thirst. “Was I screamy and bitey?”

Castir grinned and punched in his security code. The case of the recovery pod slid open, but Auren couldn’t leave it. He was strapped in, tightly, from a binding across his forehead to restraints at his ankles.

“You had one of the most impressive cases of spark mania I’ve ever seen,” he replied. “It took two collectors and three soldiers to bring you in, and that was after they ran a zapper over you half a dozen times. What were you thinking, climbing into that thing? You’re not a pilot.”

“I’m their designer.”

“You’re a diplomat.” Castir spit the word with the same edge of mockery Auren himself often said it with, and examined the readings on the pod’s display panel. “Come on, one more purge and you should be good to go. You can practice your story in the meantime, the king wants answers and he’s pissed.”

Auren winced at the sharp pinprick of mild sedative Castir gave him, per procedure. As the cozy, dreamy feeling settled over him, the doctor released his restraints and helped him step out of the pod. Castir was a foot taller than him, providing balance as they walked arm-in-arm down the hall to the purging center.

A few minutes later, Auren was stripped naked and sinking into the welcoming heat of the blue gel filling a Shock vat. Once he was neck deep, the tingle of Shock ran through his body like a mild, pleasant massage. Gentle energy pulses ran through him, conducted by the gel, to drive out any lingering concentrations of aether.

Castir sat on the side of the vat, monitoring the process on his tablet.

“So do you want to explain to me why you were pulled out of an Avatar at the far end of the Stretch instead of safe in the control sector?”

Safe. Auren would have scoffed if the mix of sedative and warmth didn’t feel so good. There was nowhere safe during an invasion.

“I didn’t start out on the Stretch,” he replied. “Intelligence told us Vestria broke through the front, but they got right to our doorstop way faster than anyone anticipated. The monster squad is trained to deploy faster than the war pilots, so they were the first wave. By the time the war pilots deployed, the battle was in full swing to the west. About an hour into the fighting, the eastern sensors went off.”

“Weirds?” Castir asked. It was almost funny hearing him use the common slang with his fancy accent. “Where? The bay?”

“We thought so,” Auren answered. “But all the Aberration-trained pilots were deployed in the first wave of defense. General Tuski started disengagement procedures to reroute the monster squad around to the bay, but the sheer number of Vesprian Avatars made it impossible. What was I supposed to do, sit back and watch a massacre behind the walls?”

“Was letting yourself be blasted by an energy source you’re damn near allergic to supposed to save anybody?” Castir countered. “You went fucking feral, Auren. It’s a miracle the unit you picked launched close to the Stretch. If you hadn’t been engaged by a Vesprian unit before you made it into the civilian zones, who knows how many people you could’ve killed.”

“I was fine,” Auren insisted. “I didn’t start to feel effects until about ten minutes in, if it wasn’t for that asshole I’d have plenty of time to secure the bay and disembark before things got bad.”

Castir only sucked his teeth. The reasoning wasn’t good enough, and it probably wouldn’t be good enough for the king, either.

“What happened?” Auren asked, sinking a little deeper into the gel. “We surrendered, didn’t we? That coward.”

“We surrendered,” Castir confirmed. “The order came down to stay calm and keep doing our jobs, that Vesprian forces would be entering the capital but we should ignore them. The power went for a few seconds and cutting the Avatars from the grid completely always causes that, so we all knew the defenses were voluntarily shut down. What we didn’t know was that there were Aberrations spotted to the east, so that explains the thirty or so Vesprian Avatars heading that way shortly after the announcement.”

Castir didn’t have to spell the conclusion out. Avrelas, the capital city of Tanas-Ashe, was stuck between a war and an unidentified number of mutated creatures closing in on trapped food. The city was only able to defend against one threat at a time, King Tiberius had surrendered in exchange for the Vestrian force’s protection from the other.

Auren understood it. But he didn’t have to like it.

“They’ve been here for three days,” Castir added. “That’s how long it took to fully purge you. His Majesty is chomping at the bit to tear you a new one, let’s get you discharged so you can face your firing squad.”

#original fiction #fantasy writing #transgender fiction

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