Access Granted

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Chapter Two

Or start at the beginning
Later, after dinner at the campfire, Pietas poked a stick into white hot ashes. Rising sparks spiraled, winking out in the fading light. Wood crackled, sending up curling spindles of smoke, its smell sharp with pine. The chilly night air settled around him like an unwelcome wet blanket, sapping his body's heat.

On the other side of the fire, Six sat in morose silence, scraping the blade of his hunting knife across stuck food on a metal plate. He brought the flat disc to his mouth and licked the last bite of fish. His friend had not said two words since their earlier argument about rebirth. With firelight dancing in Six's eyes, the man's days in special ops didn't seem so far past. After Six had been reborn as a ghost, his facial hair had stopped growing. Few Ultras grew beards, but the shadowed evidence of Six's still showed. No mere human sat before him. Six was a warrior. Dangerous in his own right. Worthy of respect, and needed. No. Vital.

Why could this obstinate mortal not see how much he mattered?

What would happen if he let Six die? If Six died, Pietas would be left behind on this barren planet. Alone.

True, he wouldn't be alone alone. There were half a million Ultras on Sempervia, and once freed, they would all look to Pietas—to lead, to protect, to decide.

While he looked only to Six.

Pietas started to speak but awareness of his panther interrupted. The genetically enhanced panthera pardus immortalis roamed each day, but returned at night. The cat slept nearby, and if Pietas was having a bad night, the animal knew and would come to him. Lend its considerable heat across his back and shoulders.

The name Tiklaus meant loyal warrior, but the cat was an even more loyal friend. On restless nights, the cat would plod over and plop down beside him. Tik keep. Tik care. Tik guard. Promise safe.

The sentient creature usually communicated in tribe-speak, a mix of concepts and commands, but Tiklaus had adopted a few words. Anything the cat liked or disliked got tagged with much. Loved or hated items were much much.

Eat? Their deep bond brought Pietas the panther's childlike mindvoice. Play? Chase? Tickle? The words purred with innocence.

The cat was nowhere in sight. How is my good kitty?

At the word kitty, the cat's pleasure came to him like a mental... no, more like an emotional purr. A deep satisfaction. Like Pietas, Tiklaus had been reared for war since birth. To have no walls and to be loved for who you were and not what you could do. That was true freedom.

Where are you, Tik?

Climb.

Pietas twisted around, but in the dark, the all-black cat was as good as invisible. Are you done hunting for the day?

Fish. Much good.

Since their initial bond, their link had tightened. It had started as wet rawhide strung between two posts after a rain, and cured into a taut, vibrant link. Their connection all but hummed. The non-gendered panther had become a natural part of him, sharing its thoughts, extending Pietas's awareness. Through the cat's eyes, this world held a beauty unlike anything Pietas had ever experienced.

The sure-footed panther loved to climb. From high atop a pine, he—it—Pietas corrected himself. The cat claimed no gender. Through the eyes of the panther, the moonlight cut a path through the trees. The bewilderment of the cat and its disappointment at the loss of climbing spots came through with no holds barred.

No climb. Much much bad. Bad.

Six had said he'd spared one huge tree because the cat had refused to come down.

Tiklaus lumbered into view across the camp. In the firelight, green flashed from its eyes. The huge cat trotted up to Pietas and butted its head against his chest. Good. Much tribe.

Pietas petted the animal and hugged its neck, relishing the sleek fur. Like Ultras, the panthers emitted no body odor, and were undetectable hunters.

Smell. Tiklaus lifted its head and stared into Pietas's eyes. The cat then looked toward Six, who sat licking his plate. Smell. Much tribe.

Pietas ensured Six wasn't looking at him and bent closer to Tiklaus. "You mean Six is tribe and his name is Smell?"

Smell. Much good. The cat sneezed.

Pietas bit into his lower lip to keep from laughing aloud. Doubtful Six would see the name as the badge of honor it was. The word Promise, the name awarded Pietas by the tribe, he cherished. Odd that the cat understood the word but Six did not. A vow was a vow. Sacred. Pietas would keep his vow and honor his promise to let Six die. At the right time.

The cat's mind prodded his. Play? Chase? Tickle?

"Yes. Tickle and play later, Tiklaus. Before sleep. A good long tickle with a belly rub. Sleep by the fire."

Tickle. Good. Much much good. Sleep. Good. The panther padded out of view, circling the perimeter on watch. Their connection dimmed.

Sempervia's single moon peeked above the treetops, its light painting the night silver. A chilly breeze blew hair into Pietas's face, and he tucked it behind an ear. Facing into the wind, he let the cold bite into him, steeling himself against ever-present hunger.

Pietas pushed aside the last of his fish, stood, and skirted the fire. Standing beside Six, he held down the metal plate. "You still hungry?" He offered the portion he'd refrained from eating.

The man did not look up. "Oh yes, thank you. If it please Your Majesty, your lowly slave would love to have one more mouthful." Six took the plate.

To quell a retort, Pietas clamped his jaws shut and forced himself to be civil. "Do not call me that. I might be a king, but I sit on the throne of the defeated. I am far from majestic."

Six scoffed. "You got that right."

A spike of anger flashed through him. "Excuse me?"

"I said what I said." Six popped the fish into his mouth.

Why had Pietas ever thought them suited as friends? He took two steps away, but then halted. Why must he always jump to the worst case? If he and Six were not friends, what did that make them?

With an exasperated groan, Pietas turned back. "You are not a slave."

"As long as you deny my freedom to choose, I am. Slaves have no rights. They're not allowed to decide for themselves. Slaves have no control over their own bodies."

Stifling his irritation, Pietas clasped his hands before him. "Why are you being like this?"

Six licked the plate. "Like what?"

"You are not a slave." Pietas squatted beside him, fingertips on the ground to balance himself. At the immediate stab of shoulder pain, he switched positions and balanced on his toes. "How many times have I told you? You are my equal. You should be honored that I value your life."

"Oh, how gracious of Your Majesty."

"Do not call me that."

"Why not? You act like no one else has any free will."

"Of course they do." Pietas pushed himself to his feet, sweeping back hair from his face. "Don't be petty. I know what's best for you."

"Listen to you." Six cast a seething glance his way. "You have to be the most arrogant person in ten kingdoms." He tossed aside the empty plate, and stood. "Your cat buddy has more rights than I do."

How could this man not understand the truth staring him in the face? "Six. You are my equal in all things. I can't lose you."

His friend stood, piercing him with a gaze sharp as a sliver of ice. "I will never be your 'equal' until you recognize that I need no freedom you promise. I was born free."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I was born with what we lowly humans call inalienable rights. It means no one gave them to us and no one can take them away. Whether you like it or not, Ultra, I don't need to be granted freedom by you or by anybody else. But I will never be free in your eyes until you accept that truth. My worth isn't based on how you perceive me—or think you need me."

Pietas whirled away. "The most stubborn, mule-headed person in ten kingdoms? That is you." He whipped around. "And that's including my sister."

"Yeah?" Six offered a humorless smile. "Humans have a saying. Takes one to know one."

Pietas fisted his hands, fighting not to throttle Six. "Must you aggravate me? You can live forever, ghost. You know I'm right. You know you want to. If you'd be honest with yourself, you'd see that."

"Me?" Six gestured to himself. "You think I'm being dishonest?"

"I also said what I said. Humans talk about wanting to live forever. I'm offering you a chance. Most humans would be all over this." Pietas picked up a stick and poked the fire.

"Yeah?" Six dusted off his hands. "Then go turn one of them into a zombie. Oh, wait. I'm the only human on the planet." He shrugged. "Guess I'm it, zombie-wise."

"Stop using that word." Pietas tossed in the stick. "Ultras are not zombies."

"But that's what I am." Six fastened his pack. "A mortal brought back to life to please someone else, given no choice whether to be resurrected." He set the satchel aside. "No thanks."

Pietas clenched his fists. "Why won't you listen to reason, you pig-headed human?"

"Back off."

"Not until you change your mind."

Six leveled a glare his way. "Don't hold your breath."

The panther trotted out of the dark, green eyes bright. Tiklaus halted and tilted its head, watching.

Pietas folded his arms. "As I recall, my ability to hold my breath is how we met." The one battle Pietas would never forget. While fighting in a vacuum-sealed chamber without air, Pietas had chosen to save his mother from immolation by surrendering to Six.

A year and a half of brutal imprisonment followed. Not Six's doing.

The agony of repeated deaths and rebirths had so etched itself into Pietas's psyche it formed an indelible stain on his soul. He'd been bound with his hands behind him the entire time he'd lain trapped in that cursed coffin-like life pod. The permanent physical pain in his shoulders, arms, wrists, and hands never let him forget.

Six could do nothing to alleviate it, but after realizing Pietas was not in cryostasis and was being forced to suffer, Six switched his allegiance from Ghost Corps to Ultra. He'd spent every waking minute beside the pod, talking and sharing stories. Keeping Pietas from utter insanity.

Six pointed at him. "I think you're forgetting something, Ultra. You ran out of air first. You surrendered. To me."

"How dare you?" Pietas stalked closer. "I surrendered because you threatened my family."

"And you think wholesale slaughter of humans didn't threaten mine?" Six thumped his chest. "I died my first death during the Incursion on San Xavier. A siege you led. That was the siege that made your people finally agree to negotiate"— He jabbed a finger toward Pietas —"and attend peace talks."

"Talks?" Pietas knocked Six's hand aside. "Attend a trap, you mean."

"Yes. A trap. Where you"—Six stuck out that finger at him again—"were captured."

Pietas swatted the hand away. "Your people ambushed over two hundred Ultras. Peaceful, unarmed workers, not trained warriors."

"That's right, Ultra. Peaceful, unarmed workers in a weapons plant. Assembling a device whose sole purpose was to destroy all life on a planet."

"No, not all life. Only life that didn't matter." Pietas sneered. "Human."

A blow to his chest hit so fast, Pietas staggered.

Out of reflex, he swung back.

Six ducked. Jabbed Pietas in the side. Hard. Fast.

Pietas feinted left. Took a fist to the jaw.

Bad. Protect! Tiklaus loped toward him.

"No!" Arms out, Pietas got between Six and the cat. Tiklaus could tear out the ghost's throat with one bite. "Don't hurt him. Six is my friend."

The animal halted. Looking from him to Six, Tiklaus sat. The tip of its tail flicked. Protect. Bad tribe. Much much bad.

Pietas repositioned himself to protect his friend. "Six, stay behind me." He went down on one knee. "Tiklaus, come." He held out his arms.

The cat trotted over to him, rubbed its face along his cheek, and let itself be petted.

"Thank you for protecting me." Pietas scratched the cat's ears. "But never protect me from Six. Six is not bad. Do you understand? Six is good. Six is friend. He can hit me. You understand friend, Tiklaus? Tribe. Friend. Family. Six is tribe. My tribe. We never hurt tribe, do we?"

The cat sneezed. Hopefully a sign of acceptance. It swiped one paw at Pietas's knee. Promise. Bad fight tribe.

"Tik, you are my tribe, and I love you. But Six is also my tribe."

Tiklaus put its mouth around Pietas's hand and tugged in a sign to follow.

"What is it?" Pietas stood.

The cat led him around and toward Six. Play. Chase. Tickle. Smell. Bad fight tribe.

"Not now, Tiklaus. Later. I promise."

Play. Chase. Tickle. Smell. Bad fight tribe.

"Not now."

Tiklaus released his hand, sat beside Six and wrapped its tail around the man's legs. It put one paw across both of Six's feet. Play. Chase. Tickle. Smell. Bad fight tribe.

In development and training, the panthers' original masters had tried to force the cats to fight one another, but no matter how harshly they'd been punished, they'd refused to kill their own kind. Tribe overruled every directive.

"Pi, what is he saying? I know. I know," Six corrected himself. "Tik isn't a he or a she. What's it saying?"

"Keeps repeating, 'Play. Chase. Tickle. Bad fight tribe.'" Admitting Tiklaus called Six 'Smell' would gain him no favor.

"I get it." Six bent over and petted the cat. "Tik is saying 'break it up. Be friends. Tribe doesn't fight tribe'."

The realization hit Pietas harder than a physical blow.

Six scratched the cat's ears. "Tik's right." He looked up with a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry."

Tiklaus licked Six's face.

"Yuck. Cat germs." Six wiped his jaw, grinning.

Good. Tribe good.

"Tik shared the word good."

"Hopefully, not referring to my taste." Six hugged the cat's neck.

Pietas went over to them, scratched the panther's ears. "I'm sorry."

"Are you apologizing to me or the panther?"

Could he not win one single argument with this man? "You."

"You're only sorry I haven't given in, but apology accepted." Six stood and offered his hand.

Pietas took it.

The mortal clasped his forearm. "Warrior to warrior, Pi."

"Aye, my friend." He could not say more without his voice breaking. How much longer would he have with this man at his side? This brother who reached him in ways no one else ever had? How would he ever survive on this world without Six? He gave himself a moment, then squeezed his friend's arm. "More than brothers. I should not have hit you."

"Actually, Pi, you missed me completely."

He jerked Six's arm, yanking him closer. "Rub it in, why don't you?"

Deadpan, Six stood stock still, but then burst into a smile. "I just did." He released Pietas's arm and nudged him with a shoulder. "Doesn't mean this is over, Ultra."

"I never thought it was. Ghost, I am sorry."

"I know."

He jammed fists against his hips. "Yet you punched me anyway."

"You think you didn't have that coming?"

"I—" Rubbing the place on his chest where Six had hit him, Pietas stepped back. "No. I did. I only wish you wouldn't gloat."

"I get in two licks on the guy no human has ever hit, and he wants to whine about it."

"I never whine. Take that back."

"Take it back?" Six quirked one eyebrow. "Didn't anyone teach you growing up? No backsies."

Backsies? What did that mean? This was like facing his twin sister. Anywhere he planted a foot was wrong. Had he ever gotten the last word with Dessy?

"You know, Pi, you need to learn how to let others be right."

"Do I?" If Pietas had learned anything about Six, it was that the man had uncommon wisdom. "Perhaps. But I never whine. All such foolishness was knocked out of me by age three."

"Fair enough." With a smile, his friend set about cleaning the plates. "I guess this means we can't fight in front of the kid."

"Kid? You mean the cat? Agreed." How like Six to make light of mortal danger. Pietas rubbed the tender spot on his chest. "That was a lucky hit."

"The mighty Pietas, War Leader of the Ultras, Chancellor of the High Council, the Immortal King. Caught off guard by a dead human. What are the odds it would happen here, and on Enderium Six?" Six tossed up one of the plates and caught it. "Where you surrendered."

"Stop saying that."

"What? 'Where you surrendered?' You're right. Surrendered is the wrong word." Six stuck the plates in his pack. "It should be where you were defeated."

---

Chapter Three

Or start at the beginning
Hours later, still fuming over his argument with Six, Pietas slumped beneath a tree and tossed himself back. The fading campfire did nothing to blot out starlight. Out here on the edge of the galaxy, the sky revealed wisps of other galaxies. Six could not make out their light, but if he'd submit to being resurrected with Pietas's own blood, perhaps that would change.

How had life morphed from an Ultra's ingrained, life-long hatred of humans to possessing such a passionate desire to keep one alive?

Truth was, with his people, Pietas was a king. But with Six, he was a person. Himself. His own self in a way he'd never been able to be in his entire life. How could he bear for that to end?

The air stilled. As if time had stopped, every detail around him came into perfect focus. Motes caught the light in the faint haze of the campfire, and every line showed on the face of his shield brother—no, his dearest, most beloved friend—whom he was so terrified to lose.

Pietas... Joss's gentle mindvoice came to him, and the reason for the stillness made itself known. She'd reached out with a telepathic seeking—a kueshda—testing how close she was. Where are you?

"Tree Camp," he responded aloud, startling Six. "Sorry. It's Joss." To hear her, she had to be close. We're camping near the river. What's wrong? I sense danger. And... He stiffened. You're hurt. He leaped to his feet. What happened?

"Is she all right?" Six rushed over. The ghost couldn't hear Joss's thoughts, but he read Pietas like a literal open book.

"She says she's fine, but I want to see that with my own eyes."

"Yeah, because you don't take anyone's word about how they feel."

Pietas drew back. "Not the time for this, ghost. Joss is injured."

Before Six could answer, Joss mindspoke again.

You're with Six. Good. A sense of her relief came to him. You both need to hear this. Be there in a few. I want to share in person.

"Pi, what's going on?" Six brushed pine needles off his clothes. "I swear, you people and your telepathy. A guy feels left out, you know?"

"All she said was she wanted to share in person, but her emotions hinted at trouble brewing, and I sense she's masking pain. I don't know why or from what. Help me build up the fire, will you?"

He set about adding wood while Six poked embers back into flame.

With most people, Pietas had a vague sense of someone nearby. With Joss, he had not one shadow of doubt about who or where.

"She's close, and she's not alone." Pietas faced the direction he sensed from her.

From across the clearing, Joss waved.

Armand and Philippe flanked her. The identical eight-feet-tall twins each lifted a hand. Joss nearly reached Pietas's own seven feet, yet despite her well-earned status as warrior, next to the twins' bulk, she looked frail.

But then again, next to the twins, everyone looked frail. At least three-fourths of their people had been created in pairs, but if someone said "the twins" it rarely meant anyone other than Armand and Philippe, or himself and his sister.

Above Pietas on a branch, Tiklaus greeted her with the affectionate tribal name the cats had bestowed. Whisper. The cat leaped and took off running in her direction.

Halfway there, Tiklaus met Shiida, the panther that had bonded with the twins. The cats bounded around one another, rubbing noses against flanks.

Pietas strode toward her, skirting the panthers. Like everyone else on the planet, Joss possessed only the uniform she'd worn in transit. All were hopelessly soiled and they had nothing to replace them. Hers was ruined and showed evidence of either a fall or a fight. Rips marred both sleeves and legs.

Lifting a lock of her blond hair to move it away from her face, he paused to run a thumb over a streak of dirt. "You were injured. Have you healed?"

"Took a bad tumble, but I'm fine now." She brushed at a smear on one sleeve. "Sorry. I must look a mess."

"No apologies. I've seen you in battle, covered in grime and enemy blood. But the thought of anyone or anything daring to injure you—" He broke off. His anger had unconsciously freed his ability to ice the air.

Joss shivered.

"Now it is I who is sorry." Nodding to each of twins, Pietas wrapped one arm around Joss and drew her closer. "I'm glad you're all right now." He pressed his brow against hers. When he brushed the back of two fingers across her cheek in a hand-kiss, she leaned into him. "What was so important you risked your life by traveling after dark?"

"I knew you'd need to know what we found as soon as possible, and there was no one else to send."

"Let me take you over to the campfire. On the way, you can tell me how you were injured, and report on anything else after."

Joss walked beside him, with the twins following.

Without words, she relayed images of herself running in darkness, stumbling, hitting the ground, and skidding across rubble and roots.

Pietas winced at the images, her pain his for a moment. "Joss, as bad as that was, I can tell you're shielding, which means it's worse than you're letting on." He halted. "Look at me." When she did, he took her right hand and kissed the palm. I know you're all right now and I won't hover. But I don't need you to protect me from your pain. Please don't hide it.

She looked elsewhere. It's not your fault that I fell.

He touched her cheek, bringing her gaze back to him. Perhaps not. But it was my hubris that exiled us on this godsforsaken planet.

Traitors exiled us. Not you.

We can discuss that later. Let's get you over to the fire. Your skin is like ice. I'm sorry.

In camp, Six greeted her, offering his own blanket, which he draped around her shoulders. He led her to a stone-ringed pit, where two stumps had been placed.

Joss seated herself. Clutching the blanket, she held out her other hand to the flames.

Pietas sat on a stump beside her.

Six and the twins dragged over a few others and joined them in a semi-circle.

Tiklaus nudged Joss's hand, and she stroked the cat's sleek head. "We've emptied the first delivery unit. All the pods are out."

With over seventy massive delivery units filled with over half a million pods, the job was endless. Abandoned without powered transport to move the units, there was no choice other than to drag each pod out by hand. A single unit weighed as much as four fully-grown men. The felled trees would serve as rollers for the new road they were building, making it easier to transport the pods away from the units.

Otherwise, as their people emerged from cryostasis, they'd be trapped within their pods, pinned by layer upon layer of pods above them. Having experienced the literal hell of that himself, Pietas would do anything to spare them.

"One down. Good." Pietas braced his hands on his knees. "But something's wrong."

"We found an oversized metal locker in the bottom level of the second unit. Unlike anything we'd seen before. Chained shut."

Pietas drummed his fingers against one knee. "Explain. Locker?"

"More like a shipping container. Heavy-duty, small." Joss glanced at Six, then away. "We thought it might contain tools or food, so we opened it. Instead, it..." She glanced at Six again. "It was full of...dead people."

Six swore in Spanish. "You said dead people. Not dead Ultras."

Ears forward, Tiklaus went straight to Six and set its chin on the ghost's lap. When Six petted the cat, Tiklaus leaned into the strokes.

Pietas twisted toward Joss. "Someone put a locker full of dead humans on the ship? Joss, what are you not telling me?"

"Their uniforms— The whole container—" Joss focused on her clenched hands. "Pietas, Six— I'm sorry. They were all Ghost Corps."

The night went silent. All attention riveted on Six.

"Together?" Six rubbed both hands along his thighs. "Not caskets. Like they were—trash."

Pietas ached for Six. Each time Six's mother held her newborn, his untapped psychic ability forced her to see spirits. She'd put him on the floor "like the trash he was" and abandoned him.

Joss put her head down. "Yes."

Six shoved himself to his feet and stalked into the dark.

---

Chapter Four

Or start at the beginning
Pietas trailed after Six. When the man stopped on the edge of the firelight, Pietas took two steps past him and turned back. The campfire outlined his friend in a warrior’s silhouette, and in the darkness and shadows, no features showed, but the clenched fists and stance revealed his anger.

This mortal was a plenos and far beyond rare. According to Joss, perhaps two or three existed in the galaxy. What irony that the one person born to be Pietas’s lemma—his perfect psychic link—was the enemy who’d been sent to capture him. And now this man who’d been his foe served as far more than friend. Six was closer than a brother.

The ache of losing him tore at Pietas’s heart. The hurt went deep as a knife-gouge, searing and raw as a twisted blade. How was it possible to miss him with such fierce pain, when the man stood right before him?

Pietas waited for Six to speak first. It didn’t take long.

“Two birds, Pi.”

What did that mean? “Sorry. What?”

“Humans have a saying. If you can solve two problems with one action, it’s like killing two birds with one stone. If they could get rid of Ultras, why not get rid of leftover ghosts at the same time?”

“I see. With us gone, they had no need of ghosts.”

Six nodded. “But how many were in that box?”

“Not following you.”

“It’s simple math. You killed seven in the fight with me. I saw two die by fire in an accident. Four were killed for daring to question our mission. Add me, and you have fourteen. The thing is...” Six brought a fist to his mouth and held it there as if forcing back words.

“Tell me.”

“The Corps...” Six half-turned toward the camp. In the dim firelight, the lines he’d earned over the space of twenty years in combat revealed themselves in stark contrast. He looked far older than Pietas knew him to be. “They hid our numbers. They wanted you to think there were thousands of us. So...” Six glanced toward the fire. “How many ghosts were in that box?”

“Joss,” Pietas called.

She stood, clutching the blanket around her. “Yes, my king?”

“How many bodies?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You answered that rather quickly. Are you certain?”

“Yes. I knew you’d want exact figures.”

“Joss... You didn’t touch the bodies, did you?”

She looked away. “There weren’t enough people to help. I had to.”

Six squinted. “That’s gross, but why is that an issue?”

“Joss is a Scripter. When she touches someone, she reads their future. But she can also read their past. Including how they died.”

Joss shuddered. “I picked up more than their deaths. I think they were part of a failed mission, and they were killed for it.”

Six swore under his breath, crossing himself. “Joss, much as I feel for you having to go through that, I gotta ask. Did you get any sense of other ghosts?”

She pulled the blanket up over her head, clasping it beneath her chin. “It’s one reason why I risked traveling at night to get here. They all had two words foremost in their minds. But it makes no sense. I don’t understand why they’d all be thinking same thing when they died. Or why it would be that.”

Unable to determine if the sudden chill was weather-related or his own ability to frost the air, Pietas folded his arms, shivering.

Six gestured toward her. “What words?”

She bit her lower lip, looking over at Pietas with a forlorn expression. “Operation milkweed.”

“Milkweed?” Six repeated. “You’re sure?”

She gave him a droll smile.

“Sorry. Forgot who I was talking to.” Six turned to Pietas. “Does that mean anything to you? Do you understand it? Is this some kind of Ultra thing?”

“Milkweed is a plant. A member of the apocynaceae family. Comparable to family orchidaceae in complexity. The genus is known for over two hundred species.”

“Yo, Ultra.” Six set a hand on his hip. “Real people language, okay?”

“It’s a plant pollinated by many species, but it’s chiefly beneficial to danaus plexippus. For you, Six, that’s the Monarch butterfly.”

The man stared at him, unblinking. “And...? What does that have to do with a bunch of ghosts’ dying breath?”

“At the beginning of her terraforming career, my mother conducted an experiment to see if butterflies would adapt to alien vegetation. Monarch butterflies lay their larvae on milkweed. She posited that if deprived of their favorite plant, they’d adapt. Use another plant.”

“So what happened?”

“She tried three times, but each time all Monarchs died after one generation. Turns out, milkweed is crucial to their survival. No Monarchs were ever used in terraforming another world, because milkweed was deemed nonviable. Unnecessary.”

“Uh huh.” Six rubbed his forehead. “Still don’t see how that relates to these ghosts.”

“She called it Operation Milkweed.”

“Ya know, Pi, sometimes you think you’re explaining, but you’re really not. Lay it all on the table, okay?”

“The point is that if you starve the Monarch and deprive it of its support system, you don’t only kill the Monarch. You wipe out its entire species, once and for all.”

Realization dawned on Six’s face. “And you’re the monarch they want to destroy.”

“Likely.”

“If that’s true, then we need to get busy with these rollers so we can get as many pods out as quick as possible.”

“I agree, Six, but make your point.”

“It’s the reason they landed these units in one place, all crammed together.”

“You think the Ghost Corps intended for these dead ghosts to carry out a mission to destroy us. But Joss said they were killed because they failed. They couldn’t do it.”

“Okay, Pi, but here’s the thing. Counting twenty-two ghosts in the crate, the others that I know died, and include me, you get thirty-six.”

Pietas made a rolling gesture.

“At any one time, there were only ever fifty ghosts. So if we know the location of thirty-six…”

An icy wind dragged its cold fingers up across Pietas’s back. “Then where are the other fourteen?”

---

Chapter Five

Or start at the beginning
Tree Camp, Lake Seis

With a stick, Six drew shapes in the dirt while the Ultras sat around the fire and discussed the “ghost situation.”

Pietas believed none were missing.

Armand and Philippe agreed with anything Pietas said, and Joss seconded it.

Fine. If no one else would argue with him, Six would. He tossed aside the stick. He slapped both hands on his thighs and stood. “Geez. No wonder you Ultras fight so many wars.”

The gazes of all four Ultras pinned on him as if they were one person.

“I don’t know what is it with you people. If you’d think about it for more than two seconds you’d realize Pi is flat out wrong.”

Pietas lifted one eyebrow.

Joss gasped as if Six had blasphemed.

“Hear me out. You act like this guy is infallible. Like everything he suggests is gospel. He can be wrong, you know. Frequently is, in fact.”

Pietas sat straighter, regarding him in silence.

Six brushed off his hands. “In fact, if you think there’s no more threat from ghosts, you’re dead wrong.” He tilted his head. “No pun intended.” In the silence, Six literally heard crickets.

Bracing his elbows on his knees, Pietas dangled his hands between them. “What makes you so sure there are more ghosts?”

Six dug one boot heel into the dirt, hands in his pockets. “Ghosts used code names. We worked alone. We drifted in, hunted, disappeared. If we were captured, we couldn’t reveal anything because we knew nothing.”

“Yet you knew how many ghosts there were.”

“Yeah, but I think that was an accidental reveal.” He shrugged. “That’s about all they told me.”

Pietas had a way of staring that made you want to make up facts to get him to stop. Like there were words written on the back of your brain and he could read them. Like he’d pull them out through your nose if he had to, but you’d tell him.

Some psychic trick. Hopefully.

By the time the man looked away, Six had been ready to start confessing stuff he’d never done. He sucked in a ragged breath and forced himself to breathe slowly. If you were smart, you didn’t show nerves in front of this man. Friends or not.

“So...” Pietas picked up a twig. He pinched off a piece and tossed it into the fire. “There’s a chance there are other ghosts on the planet.”

Joss cast Six a stern look. No doubt she meant it as a warning against arguing. She’d been the man’s lover for unknown centuries. How could she not understand his need for point-blank truth? You didn’t isolate this man from the truth. You laid it out for him, plain and bare.

Six wasn’t about to hold anything back. “I think it’d be a mistake to assume otherwise.”

Without a word, Pietas sat there, breaking that twig and tossing the pieces into the fire.

No one spoke, but Joss bent forward, pale hair hiding her face, while Armand and Philippe watched Pietas.

When the stick was gone, Pietas brushed off his hands. “We’ll set an additional watch. I’ll ask Tiklaus and Shiida to alert the tribe. They’ll tell their Ultras.”

No way Six could have held back a grin this big.

Pietas smiled too. “Good call, ghost. Thank you. Why don’t you turn in? I’ll keep watch.”

Typical. Always had to be the hero. “Look, Pi. You were already on watch hours ago. It’s my turn.”

“Do you honestly think I could even close my eyes after hearing this?”

“Fair enough. See you in the morning.”

---

Watch Your Six is book 3 in the Bringer of Chaos series. As soon as it's complete, it will be added to the new, complete box set.

---

Chapter Six

Or start at the beginning
Tree Camp, Lake Seis

Warm, fishy smells invaded Six’s sleep, but a blast of sultry, wet air drove him awake.

He opened his eyes—
—and found the intense green gaze of a panther less than a hand’s width from his face.

Six bolted backward and scrambled to his feet, heart hammering. He scrubbed his eyes and steadied himself.

Tiklaus sat primly, tail wrapped around its feet, as well-behaved as Pietas pretended to be.

“Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean you can stick your nose in my face.” Six dusted himself off. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten you were gonna nail me last night until Pi stepped in.”

The cat lowered its head and dragged one paw across an ear, slow and deliberate.

“You trying to be cute this morning?” Six folded his arms. “You want ear scratches, you better earn it.”

A pink tongue flicked out. Tiklaus licked its chops.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Six pointed at it. “Do not look at me like that. I am not your dinner.”

The cat blinked.

“Or your breakfast. Or anything else.”

Tiklaus stretched, claws digging into the dirt, jaws opening wide to reveal a full set of fangs. Then, with a casual flick of its tail, it sauntered away.

“Sleep well?” Pietas asked from behind him.

“Yeah, until your fish-scented panther alarm clock got in my face. Not a great way to wake up.” Six turned—
—and stopped cold.

Pietas stood between the twins.
All three of them held heavy wooden clubs.

Six swallowed. “Um, guys?” His laugh sounded forced even to him. He was a long distance from the trees and Pietas had blazing fast speed. “So, uh... What’s goin’ on?”

Pietas swung his club like a bat. “I figure if those ghosts are alive and in another unit, they might be armed. We carved these last night. Plenty of wood around here.”

Armand and Philippe nodded in unison.

“Those are for the other ghosts. Good!” Six let himself breathe a little. “Good idea. Great!” He clamped his babbling mouth shut.

Squinting at him, Pietas pointed left. “There’s one for you by the fire.”

“For me?” His stomach flip-flopped. “Great! Good. Thank you.” He hustled over to the fire and picked up the weapon. Hefting its considerable weight in both hands, he took a moment to sight down its length. The wood grain ran straight to the tip. Effective, for such a crude weapon. He would not want to be on its receiving end. “This is mine?”

Carrying a string of steel-colored fish on a pole, Joss entered camp. “Unless you’d rather make your own.”

“Are you kidding? This is perfect. Batter up!” He took a swing. Air whistled past it. “Sweet follow through.”

“Thanks.” She hung the fish near the fire.

“You made this?” Six bounced one end against his palm.

“Pietas and the twins wanted to make clubs, so I showed them how by making yours. For you, I kept more weight on the business end but shortened it up. It should suit you.”

He took a few practice swings. “Great in the hands. Imagine what you could do with access to technology.” The thought chilled. He lowered the club. “You make a mean weapon.”

“Thank you. I prefer this.” She lifted the slim pole. “Bamboo grows wild down by the marsh. I’ve trained with staffs for so many centuries they seem part of me. This one’s fairly green, but it’ll do.”

With her blond hair and knockout looks, the woman would be at home at some glitzed up society party. Even in a tattered and soiled uniform, with her hair pulled back and dirt on her face, she put most women to shame. When she extended the staff in salute, she beat all of them.

Who didn’t like a hot woman who could fight? Thankfully, she couldn’t read his thoughts.

“Why, thank you, Six. I appreciate that.”

“W-what?” He fumbled the bat. “Hey, I thought you couldn’t hear what I was thinking.”

“I can’t, but your face revealed your thoughts, and you confirmed what I suspected.”

His cheeks flamed.

Stifling chuckles behind polite coughs, Pietas and the twins looked elsewhere.

Joss slid into a figure eight move, hands blurring. She spun the staff behind her head, whipped it around her waist and ended in front with a snap. She offered the staff in salute once more.

Six swore in appreciation. “Hard to believe I ever thought I could defeat one of you people.”

“You couldn’t take me. Pietas, maybe.”

“Hey!” Pietas handed his bat to one of the twins. “Have a little respect for your king.” But he smiled as he said it.

She laughed, the sound light, carefree. Walking away, she spun her staff.

Six twisted toward Pietas. “I can’t believe she said that to your face.”

“Joss’s confidence in her ability is one of the many things I admire about her. She doesn’t back down in that regard. Her words might have sounded like an insult to you.” He gave Six a sly smile. “But to me, that was an invitation. She’s right, though. You’d beat me before you defeated her. You don’t know what defeat is until you’ve fought a telepath who can read your every move before you make it.”

“No doubt. You think I could take you on?”

“Take me on? Yes. Beat me?” Pietas looked over at the twins. All three laughed, souring Six’s mood. “Never happen, ghost.”

“Laugh it up. You haven’t met me in a fair fight.”

“True. I fought you in a room deprived of breathable air.” Pietas strode past, calling out to Joss. When she turned back, he ran toward her, putting on the speed.

“Geez, he’s fast.” Six picked up the string of fish Joss had left.

“We’ll fix—” Armand began.

“—those.” Philippe held out his hand.

Six gave them to him.

“He’s not really—”

“—that fast.” Philippe held up the fish, eyeing them.

“It’s pseudo speed. He—”

“—slowed down your—”

Armand pulled out his knife. “—ability to—”

“—see him.”

“Yeah?” Pietas and Joss had already gotten far beyond view. “Looks fast to me.”

“Me too,” they chorused.

“So...” Six braced his hands on his hips. “How do you guys do that?”

They glanced at each other and then squinted at him. “Do what?” they chorused.

“Time the way you take turns talking. Is that some kind of trick or a psychic thing, or what?”

“Not turns.” Since Armand always spoke first, that meant the other was Philippe.

“We’re talking.”

“Is it true that if you’re not together, you can’t talk?”

Again, they glanced at one another and then him. “We are—”

“—always together.”

“Fair play to you.” Six would not want to get in a fight with these two. He took out his knife and set about carving an X into the thicker end of the club.

The smell of fire-baked fish filled the air, and Six’s mouth watered. A morning breeze sent cool air through the camp, ruffling his hair, tickling his ears. When he finished the X, he turned the club around and scratched a shallow O into the handle.

Joss returned to camp and held out her hands to the fire.

Pietas wandered over to Six and asked to examine the weapon. “What do the letters mean?”

“To humans, O means hugs and X means kisses. This part”— He indicated the O —”is where I hug the club. And that part”— He nudged his chin toward the other end —”is where the bad guy kisses it.”

---

Chapter Seven

Or start at the beginning
Base Camp
The next day

Back at base early the next day, Pietas followed Joss down the now-worn path to the wombs and around to the front. At this hour, shadows crept with soft feet and no harsh lines broke the light. But the awe of these building-sized monoliths never ceased to deliver. The wombs dominated the slope like the carcasses of dead gods.

Six, Armand, Philippe, and Michel traipsed after them, with Erryq and Marjo bringing up the rear.

Once inside the second damaged womb, Pietas slowed. The ground here had tilted twenty degrees, evidence that humans cared nothing for precision. The air changed. He had the sense of entering a mausoleum.

Out of place against a tight corner stood a narrow shipping crate, once a vibrant yellow, now a faded patchwork of shades from years of hasty touch-ups. Unreadable graffiti and layers of ancient shipping manifests littered its sides, hinting at its industrial past. Metal tracks closed a door at the top, well over Pietas’s head.

Joss rapped lightly on the side. Instead of the echo of an empty crate, it gave up resounding thuds. “This is it.”

Pietas turned to Six. “I’ve seen Ghost Corps recruiting posters saying ‘Honor the Fallen.’ This seems a far cry from that. How does the Corps usually handle the dead?”

He shrugged. “They don’t.”

“Explain.”

“When you die in the field the final time, you stay where you fall.”

“The final time?” Everyone else looked as baffled as Pietas felt. “What do you mean, ‘final time?’”

“You get three rebirths and when those are spent, you’re done. No retrieval. No rites.”

Michel picked his way around debris on the tilting floor and faced him. “Why? Ultras have unlimited lives.”

“Not ghosts.” Six stared at his feet. “If we’re lucky, or good enough, we get three. After that, we’re no longer considered usable. We don’t come back at our peak age when we die. We stay the same. So eventually…” He shrugged.

Around them, the Ultras didn’t speak, but the truth landed just the same.

Pietas’s stomach twisted. “They’d be reviving someone too old to fight.”

“There’s more, but that’s about the size of it.”

“Six.” Even to himself, his voice barely registered above a whisper. “How many have you had?”

His friend flashed him a glance. “They were hard up for the Lights Out mission, so I’ve had five.” He looked away, and then back, seeming to say, ‘Now do you understand?’

Pietas swallowed against rising bile. Sick fury tightened his jaws. Ultras worshipped no gods, but right now, he’d gladly consign these oath-breaking butchers to hell. But none of the Ultras who’d gone missing had ever been from the warrior class.

What if Six got Pietas’s blood?

When he could trust his voice, he cleared his throat. “Ultras do not bury the enemy, but these ghosts died for what they believed. That takes honor.” He flattened one hand against the chilling metal of the derelict crate. “Their own people might abandon them. We will not.”

Joss kicked aside a broken panel. “What do you have in mind?”

“A burial. Near our own memorial.”

“Burial?” Michel folded his arms. “Look, no offense to Six. I feel for these guys, but we can’t spend time burying ghosts while our own people are still trapped.”

“Leaving them to rot in an unmarked grave would place our honor beneath that of mortals. But—” Pietas tapped a knuckle on the container “—for simple logistical reasons, we can’t move the bodies.” He turned to his crew. “Options?”

Michel held up a hand, palm outward. “You already know mine.”

Joss started to speak, but then shook her head.

“Pietas?” Erryq piped up. “I don’t see any options. They’re dead. What does it matter?”

“Here’s how I see it.” Marjo dragged one booted foot across the uneven floor. “No offense to Six, but they got what they deserved.”

Six shifted the hang of his backpack. Not meeting Pietas’s gaze, he said, “Humans wouldn’t waste time on Ultras either.”

Around the circle, heads nodded.

Pietas waited, letting the silence build. “Then its good we’re superior, isn’t it? Because Ultras do not desecrate the dead.”

“Hold up.” Six hooked one thumb through a backpack strap. “You left human dead right where they fell. No honor there.”

No one spoke.

“Six, we left human dead for humans to identify, claim, honor, and bury. Here”— He nodded toward the makeshift casket —”humans decided not to. That’s not ours to judge. But these humans are in our care, and we will not leave them to rot.”

Finally, Joss looked up. “What if we separated the skulls and buried those? Then we could seal this unit as a consecrated reliquary.”

Erryq coughed. “Um, I could teach you how to separate the heads. Um, no offense to Six, but I’m not going in there. I don’t like the idea of being inside something I can’t get back out of on my own.” She lifted both arms above her head and jumped. “See what I mean?”

Marjo patted her on the shoulder. “We wouldn’t want you to, but I don’t think Joss would have any trouble knocking heads off humans.” She made a sign of respect toward Six.

“Geez, guys.” Six tapped a fist over his heart. “I feel all warm inside.”

With a touch on Six’s arm, Pietas smiled. “Joss’s idea seems the most doable, but”— He held up one finger —”she is not going in there.” He waited until each person looked right at him. “She’s not to touch the dead again. We all know what it costs her.”

Erryq rushed over and hugged her. “I can help once you guys get the heads out of there. I’m not squeamish about dead things. Not that Joss is squeamish either. I mean, I know she knows how to kill humans and she’s done plenty of it, and I’m sure she’s knocked heads off piles of them—sorry, Six—but I do know what it costs her and if I can spare her that pain, I will.”

Joss gave her a squeeze.

“Then it’s settled,” Pietas agreed, before Erryq could launch into a longer explanation. “What do we do with them once they’re out? We can’t toss the heads onto the ground. Do we have any way to transport them?”

“Well...” Michel gestured behind himself. “There are a couple of carts. Like you’d haul stuff in.”

“Good. Where are they?”

“Stored in another womb. Easy to get to. There are some wooden crates for seed bags and farming tools, but only a few. We’d have to put several skulls in each.”

“No, we wouldn’t.” Marjo brushed off her hands. “We have saws and nails. We could cut them apart and build smaller boxes for each one. Like mini-caskets.”

“Okay, now, wait a minute.” Michel spread his hands. “Once we cut up those boxes and hammer in those nails, they’re gone. No lumber yards. No foundries. No steel. No replacements.”

“You’re right,” Pietas agreed. “What I hear is not resistance to honoring the dead. I hear concern for the living.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

“Understood.” Pietas gave a slight bow toward Michel. “But, my friend, honor is born of sacrifice, not convenience. We’ll solve the rest when the time comes. For now, let’s gather material and figure out how to make— What did you call them, Marjo?”

“Mini-caskets.”

“This is such a good idea!” Erryq brightened. “It’ll be easier and faster to bury those. They’d need smaller holes. I mean, um, graves.” She nodded toward Six. “We haven’t asked, but would doing this be all right with you?”

It struck Pietas that he’d neglected to ask the opinion of the one man who was the reason he’d ever deign to honor humans in the first place. “She’s right, Six. We’re deciding all this without asking your permission. Forgive us. These are your people.”

Six tapped his heart again, bowing his head. “I’m honored you even considered it.”

Pietas paused for further questions, but hearing none, he straightened. “All right. I’m not ordering anyone to go in there. I’ll do it.”

Joss lifted her gaze to his. It’s deep. Plus, how are you going to wrench off those heads and lift the skulls to the top of the crate?

He started to argue, but she was right. How perfect a time to let fly a curse. Pietas restrained himself with effort. I should be the one.

But you know why you can’t, Joss sent. And if you try, everyone will know too.

A nudge on the arm from Six distracted him from arguing.

“Look, Pi. Like you said, these are my people. If anyone needs to do this, it’s me. Not the enemy.” He looked around at the others. “No offense to Ultras.”

That brought slight bows all around.

Taking their usual turns, Armand and Philippe agreed to help, reckoning each would know when the other was lifting a skull, and the other could be prepared to set it in place. Plus, they could easily reach the top.

“Good.” Pietas rested his hands at his sides. “Marjo and Erryq, find those crates and start taking them apart to make skull-sized caskets. Michel, get needed equipment and help them. Armand and Philippe, get all the shovels and join Joss and me. We’ll choose a place near our own memorial. Let’s do this.”

“What about me?” Six gestured to himself.

“You, my friend, come stand by me and try not to look offended.”

---

Chapter Eight

Or start at the beginning
The Meadow
Two days later, at sunrise

Dawn had not yet cleared the crater rim. Faint blue light reached the valley floor, filtered through distance and tree-topped mountain, as if the sun itself were hesitant to intrude. A breeze drifted up from the plains below, cool and steady, carrying the scent of wet earth and distant growth. It stirred loose strands of hair, then passed on, unwilling to disturb what had been prepared.

Light arrived by degrees, pale, indirect, washing steel and earth in muted gold. Long, gentle shadows stretched across the ground like memories reluctant to leave.

Past the sprawling Ultra memorial, twenty-two small graves waited.

Shallow compared to Ultra standards, but straight, evenly spaced. Aligned with care. Dug by hands more accustomed to ending lives than honoring them. The work had been slow. Awkward at first, but deliberate.

Careful.

Beside each grave rested a small wooden casket—plain, fitted tight, their surfaces still bearing the marks of saw and plane. No ornamentation. No names. Only intention. They were not elegant but they were solid.

They would endure.

The panthers had taken one sniff of the caskets and loped off into the forest.

Already, a trail had worn into the ground leading from the camp to the first corner of the Ultra memorial. The rows of steel cradles defining it now served as caskets. Pietas had taken to coming out here in the early morning, before others woke, often under starlight. He went to the spot he always chose.

A central casket halfway down in one corner held Elryk, the man Pietas had always thought of as his true father. A father to the entire fleet, trainer of every Ultra warrior who’d ever lifted a weapon. Around him rested an honor guard of the bodies of Pietas’s elite troops, Soomus Bellum. The name meant ‘we are war’ and it had once been Elryk’s command.

For the past decade, Elryk served as executive officer to Pietas. Elryk had called it a promotion. In truth, it was a step down—but he wanted to serve, as Elryk himself put it, “under the finest officer in the fleet.”

As always, standing here, a hand on the nameplate, Pietas closed his eyes, bracing himself against grief that could never be assuaged. He drew in a steadying breath and opened his eyes, bathed in the early, golden light.

“Elryk,” he whispered. “You taught me how to make the dead. Now, help me speak to the living.” He touched his brow to the memorial, then pressed his cheek against the cold steel. “You alone know the truth behind my Ritual of Strength. I confessed it on my knees like a prayer. Before, it spoke of vanquished enemies. Today, help me endure honoring those whom I devoted my life to slaying. If you can’t give me the words”— He clenched his fists —”please give me the strength.”

He straightened his spine and turned to go, only to find Six standing at the end of the row.

Before Pietas could speak, Six lifted the small tray he carried, fashioned from one of the crates. “I brought an ember for the ritual.” He inclined his head toward the canteen he always carried. “And the water. Who you want me to give them to?”

Pietas strode toward him. “You mean, to perform the ritual?”

“Yeah.”

“You, amigo. I’m honoring your people. You should serve.”

“Me?” Six squinted at him. “How are your people gonna feel about that, seeing me take part in some sacred Ultra ritual thingy?”

“My sister, Joss, and the twins all saw you do that, the day we arrived.” It seemed years ago.

“Yeah, and then you and your sister got into it.”

“True, but Dessy and I fight over everything. Besides, I don’t care how they feel.” Pietas strolled toward the gravesite, taking his time. The dewy grass chilled his bare feet. “Not about this. My ritual doesn’t belong to the Ultra people. It’s mine alone, but today, it will be about you and your people, and all the Ultras. I’m showing my people that we’re taking a new stand.”

Without instruction, the others had gathered on one side of the graves. Pietas joined them and motioned for Six to remain alongside.

No ranks. No spacing. No formal alignment. His people stood where they had drifted, where the ground felt right beneath their feet. Some faced the graves. Some looked toward the rising light. Others kept their eyes on the memorial north of them, steel and silence holding the names of their own dead.

They were clean. Hair damp from the waterfall, skin scrubbed of blood and ash. Clothing mended where it could be, fastened with care where it could not. They wore no armor, no insignia—but there was nothing casual about them. This was how Ultras looked when they meant to be seen.

Pietas drew himself to attention.

No signal passed. No order given. And yet—one by one, feet aligned. Shoulders squared. The loose gathering resolved itself into something older than habit.

Formation.

Not crisp. Not perfect. But unmistakable.

As if the moment itself had demanded it, their bodies had obeyed before their minds could object.

Pietas took his place at the head of the graves, facing east, where the light would rise. The memorial to his people visible on his left, the open and waiting earth before him.

The living gathered in silence.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, deliberately, he shifted his stance. He brought his hands forward and clasped them loosely before him—open, unbound, visible.

A ripple moved through the Ultras as they noticed. One by one, without command, they mirrored him. Hands came forward. Shoulders eased. A posture older than obedience replaced one born of chains. Only then did he speak.

“I am Pietas. First Conqueror. War Leader of the Ultras.”

As if recognizing the start of a familiar song, each Ultra present set fist over heart, smiling with pride.

“As fire has victory over life, so we have victory over death.” As Pietas plucked a single hair, Six came forward with the tray. Pietas laid the hair across the glowing ember. “We are powerful, as fire is powerful.”

Six faltered slightly, but quickly acknowledged the change in sequence and took a half-step back. He knelt and set down the tray. On standing, he drew the canteen over his shoulder and uncapped it.

With a nod to Six, Pietas extended his arms, made fists, and drew them back. “We own the wind. We prevail over the breath of defeat.”

A few Ultras peered at him in confusion. It had been decades since they’d seen Pietas perform the ritual. For some, hundreds of years. Perhaps they wondered if they’d remembered it wrong.

Pietas made a small gesture toward Six, who came forward with the canteen. Cupping hands, Pietas waited for Six to pour the water.

“Water submits to our presence the way fear submits to our will.” He lifted his arms, and opened his hands, letting water run down his forearms. “The essence of fear trickles into the pool of time, is absorbed, and forgotten.”

By now, the others’ confusion had changed to surprise, and a bit of wonder. Joss tapped a fist against her heart, tears in her eyes.

Pietas inclined his head toward her. “No pain defeats us. No fear touches us. Our will is absolute. Our people prevail over death. We are Ultras.”

With a downward sweep of his hands, Pietas spread his arms as wide as he could. “We welcome the honored dead into our presence.”

The breeze lifted, soft against skin still cool from dawn.

“Mortals equate death with life itself. To live is to die.” His voice carried easily in the open air, steady and unadorned. “Death occurs among mortals with regularity, indifferent to rank or circumstance. Death is a mortal’s heritage. I lead the immortal Ultra people. As such, I am untouched by death—except to cause it.”

He offered no deflection. No apology.

“Mortals say there is no pain greater than the loss of a loved one. That sorrow and longing devastate the mightiest of hearts. I believed myself immune to such frailty.”

He paused, gazing briefly toward the Ultra memorial.

“And I was—until the day a mortal befriended me.”

A subtle tightening passed through the formation.

“Immortals should never befriend mortals. My people counsel this in the strongest terms.”

He clasped his hands, unmoving.

“As a youth, I believed this warning spoke of mortal unworthiness.” He looked down now, toward the graves. “It does not.”

Silence deepened.

“A mortal’s friendship with us lasts their lifetime.” He drew a breath—not for strength, but for restraint. He hadn’t yet met Six’s gaze, now he met and held it for the final words. “Missing a mortal friend lasts ours.”

Swallowing, Six looked down.

The sun fully cleared the crater wall, light spilling across graves, caskets, the gathered Ultras. Bright gold touched steel and wood alike. A glimmer tracked a single tear running down Six’s cheek.

Pietas took a breath. “Two days ago, I made a vow.” He flexed his fingers once, then stilled. “Never again will I stand as I once did—hands behind me, body poised in submission. Not to humans. Not to Ultras. Not to memory.”

A murmur stirred, quickly stilled.

“We are free.” The words were not loud. They did not need to be. “We will never again acknowledge masters on this world. Not in posture. Not in ritual. Not in thought.”

He finally took in the gaze of those assembled, recognizing a mix of understanding and deeper surprise.

“Let this stand as witness. From this moment forward, when Ultras stand at ease or at rest, we do so unbound. Hands before us. Open. Present.”

He paused for one beat.

“We bury these dead not because they were ours—but because they were someone’s.” He swept a hand across the graves. “Their own people abandoned them. We will not.”

He inclined his head—not in submission, but in respect.

“Let’s lay them to rest.”

---

Chapter Nine

Or start at the beginning
Base camp
The next day

After multiple clumsy attempts at helping to create a “road” of tree trunk rollers, Pietas staggered to one side. No one had noticed, which was good. A king shouldn’t show pain. Ultras never sought to escape difficult tasks. Ultras endured.

What was wrong with him? In the past, he’d ignored discomfort. Pain was a warrior’s ally. He’d been reared to accept a lack of comfort. Ignore it.

But the knife-blade sharpness digging into his shoulders refused every attempt to ignore it. It demanded his attention like an untiring warrior in battle.

Though he’d told no one, he’d come to a conclusion about the source of his shoulder pain. Having spent over a year bound with his hands behind him, dying and being reborn again and again changed the structure of his bones. He suspected a scan might reveal that his shoulders would never again move in a normal fashion. How could he reveal such weakness? How could a king with such failings lead a race of immortals who were reborn in perfect condition every lifetime?

How galling. Was he no better than this? He caught himself hunched forward like a whipped dog, and forced himself upright. “Stand up straight.” His mother’s whip-sharp reprimand played in his head like a song whose lyrics he could not unhear. “Hold your head up like a king, not a peasant.”

He forced himself to go back to work. So what if his shoulders hurt like the devil? No one took a beating better than he did, and he got back up more times than others could. Or would.

He bent his will toward helping wedge tree trunks into line. Talk about monotony. Here was a job for the mindless. Fit for androids or bots, not people.

When trapped in that pod, he’d existed in nightmare-filled darkness and an unending monotony of thirst and hunger. The first dozen or so times his body had suffered through rebirth, he’d cursed the human cowards who’d imprisoned him. Then he’d cursed himself for his own weakness in surrender. Later, he cursed all of humanity for ever creating Ultras, but in the end, he’d even cursed the day he’d been born.

It never once occurred to him that after he was freed, he’d remain a prisoner of endless, relentless, biting pain.

The traitors who’d exiled him here had no intention of killing him. If they had, they’d have launched his pod straight into a sun. No, they intended to make his people suffer. Leave him powerless to defend those he’d pledged his never-ending life to protect. Witnessing such inhumane treatment of those unable to defend themselves devastated more than any physical punishment. The invisible enemy of his own impotency in the face of his people’s suffering tore out his heart.

After a struggle, four of the others transported the first pod out and away from the second unit. Once they got it on the makeshift road, the pod slid downhill with people on either side of “Log Lane” adding a bit of oomph to keep it going. At the end, using the pod’s momentum, two others directed it across a meadow.

With this layout, when a pod opened, the people within could simply climb out, no longer pinned beneath layer after layer of other pods.

When that first pod slid into position, excited cheers went up. The haggard workers who’d sweated so many endless hours danced as if they had not a care in the world.

Beside Six, Joss threw up her hands and cheered the loudest. Grinning, she looked over at Pietas. “First pod out of Log Lane. Not the first we pulled. Womb One was triage and desperation. This time, no one got flattened or run over.” She bumped fists with Six and raised that fist in the air, bellowing a victory cry. “Soomus Bellum!”

“Soomus Bellum!” another took up, and the shout went up across the camp. It fit here. We are war and this time, pods were the enemy.

Pietas tried, but he was too exhausted to cheer. Thankfully, everyone was so busy celebrating, no one noticed him staggering over to a stump. They looked to him for leadership. Giving comfort. Not receiving it. He sat and arched his aching back.

How they’d get the remaining pods out of the other seventy-five-plus transport units was anyone’s guess. Tempting to remind them how many still lay ahead. Or to point out that a half million lifepods would soon overrun this part of the meadow.

Though it triggered guilt, Pietas stayed seated and permitted himself a break. His rag-tag army needed any victory they could get, so he held his peace.

Six wandered over and sat on the ground near him, watching the others congratulate themselves. “They act like they won one of those sketchy play-for-gold lotteries in the Colonies of Man.”

Leave it to his friend to find the humor in any situation. “True. But they needed the win.”

“What I need right now is a cold beer and a bowl of chips. Couple nibbles of a sandwich.”

“Or that hot bread dish with tomatoes.”

“What hot bread dish?”

“The flat kind.” With one hand, Pietas signified a circle. “You bake it.”

“Flat...” Six squinted at him. “You mean pizza?”

“Pizza. Yes. With mushrooms, cheese. Grilled onions. Ice cold beer in a frosty mug.”

“Now you’re talkin’ my language, Ultra. Lots of meat on my half.”

“What do you mean, your half?” Pietas steepled his fingers. “You think I’d share my pizza with you?”

“I see how it is. You get a little bit of food and suddenly you’re all greedy. You know, Pi,” he gestured toward himself, “I would at least let you have some of my leftover crust.”

Pietas burst out laughing.

One minute with his friend, and the worst pain faded into the background haze of mere discomfort. How would he survive an eternity without Six’s bright light to guide him?

“Wow.” Six shifted to his knees. “Your mood went dark all of a sudden.” He peered up at Pietas. “Is it your shoulders again?”

A quick check showed no one was watching them. Weak he might be, but he would allow no one other than Six to see him admit it. “Not ‘again.’ Still.”

“What makes it stop?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to take a deep breath and then opened his eyes. “Nothing.”

To his credit, Six showed no sign of pity. But the man looked over toward the others, who were now dispersing and heading back to work.

“I’ve got an idea, Pi. It takes four people to carry a pod, and we still have over five-hundred-twenty-thousand to go. Why can’t we open a few early? Free some of the worker class. You know, the size of Armand and Philippe. With their help, we could burn through the rest of these pods in no time.”

“Before Koliga and the others left, we discussed that. According to him, opening one pod triggers the rest. We can’t risk it.”

“What if we opened some of the pods we’ve already removed? They’re a good distance away. Maybe that would work.”

“Lig said it was possible, but only if we could position the pod more than ten Terran miles away.”

Six’s shoulders sagged. He swore in Spanish. “Every time I think this situation can’t get any worse, it shows me the middle finger.”

“Indeed.” Measured end-to-end, the total string of delivery units had to be over seven Terran miles long, with no room between the units to get the doors open. Fourteen stories per unit of multiple pod pallets per unit, with each pod holding fifty people. “As they are, crowded into a crevasse, they make a perfect target.”

“Aye. A few well-placed bombs and it’s good night sweet prince. Not even Ultras could survive being blown to bits.” Six chewed on a thumbnail. “If they used implosion bombs, that’d suck your matter down so hard you’d be no more than a few scattered atoms. Not coming back from that anytime soon.”

“You are such a ray of hope.”

“I do my best.” Six shrugged. “We’ll be lucky to finish this job in a hundred years.”

“Even more sunshine.”

“Yeah, well, on the bright side”— Six pushed himself to his feet —“There’s nothing like job security.”

---

Chapter Ten

Or start at the beginning
Base camp
Near midnight, lower cave

Pietas roused from dreamless sleep to find Tiklaus snuffling his ear. Behind him, deeper in the cave, the Council members slept in their open lifepods. Though each had offered him the use of theirs, the netherworld would freeze solid before he’d ever so much as set a single toe inside one of those deathtraps. He preferred the cold, hard ground.

The cat stuck its nose on his cheek and nudged him.

He pushed it away. Not time to play, Tik. Go back to sleep.

Promise. The cat’s mindvoice entered Pietas’s thoughts with the gentleness of a soft brush, but carried urgency and an instant sense of danger. Much much bad. Climb.

Pietas had no clue where the hazard came from, but his centuries of training kicked in. If peril loomed there would be time for questions later.

“Heads up!” He leaped to his feet. “Hit the deck!”

Around him, the others stumbled out of their pods, blinking, but awake and at attention. Even Six, who’d been slumbering beside him.

“Tiklaus brought a warning.” Pietas knelt beside the panther.

The cat pawed at the cave floor. Climb. Do.

‘Do’ was a command, used in rare occasions, but always serious and important. What do you want, my friend? I don’t understand.

The cat sniffed the ground while walking in circles. It looked up. Promise. Climb. Do.

Six yawned. “What is wrong with that crazy animal? What does it want?”

“I don’t know. Keeps repeating ‘climb,’ and then sniffing the ground.”

“Okay, so we know this beast of yours is smart. Something’s going down. We need to figure out what.”

“True.” Pietas walked out from under the cave overhang. Starlight lit the night. High overhead, a fingernail crescent of moon made a silver scratch in the sky. The nearby waterfall’s pleasant whisper offered the only sound.

Around the side of the hill, an upper cave sheltered Armand and Philippe as well as Joss. He sent a kueshda, seeking her, and found her awake and in the same situation with the twins’ panther.

“Sitrep.” Pietas returned to give the report. “Shiida woke Joss and the twins and said the same thing as Tiklaus. They’re all coming down here.”

Tiklaus continued to whimper and paw the ground. The cat lifted its head and stared at Pietas as if asking why he didn’t obey. Do. Promise. Do.

Pietas crouched. I don’t know what you want. He motioned for the cat to come closer, and when it had, Pietas stroked its head. Can you show me what you see?

Each time they merged, seeing through the cat’s eyes conveyed a different world beneath his feet. Unsettling, but no longer alarming.

In the image Tiklaus sent, the other panthers all pawed at the ground, circling, but then fled up the side of the hill and climbed into the trees. Tiklaus longed to join them, but loyalty to Pietas kept it from fleeing.

Much much bad. Climb. The cat took one of Pietas’s hands in its mouth and tugged. Climb.

The twins joined him, but their panther, Shiida, whimpered, tugging first at one twin’s hand and then the other’s.

Joss came over. I think we should take their advice and climb the trees.

Same here. Pietas pushed himself to his feet and turned toward the cave. “I don’t understand why, but Tiklaus and Shiida are both insisting we climb into the trees.” He brushed off the knees of his pants. “Let’s go.”

His ‘good’ soldiers all groaned, but they slipped on their boots and followed.

After traipsing up a starlit hill, they reached a line of trees near the edge of the rim. Multiple pairs of eyes shone green from the branches.

Six held down cupped hands for Erryq, whose height barely reached the middle of Pietas’s chest. Though she hesitated, she put her booted foot into his hands, and he boosted her up to a lower branch.

Until that moment, it hadn’t occurred to Pietas that climbing was beyond his ability. Yet another freedom stolen from him.

He must figure out how to climb it without revealing his weakness. He’d have no choice but to reach up over his head, which for him was no longer a physical possibility.

Tiklaus raced up the tree, and from the middle branches, looked down and uttered a mournful whimper.

“Hey.” Six came up beside him. “That tree has lower branches.” He pointed.

“Tik is in this one.”

“Tik will move, won’t you Tik?”

The cat leaped down, raced across to the other tree and ran straight up it.

Pietas examined the tree, stalling for time. Perhaps once everyone else had climbed, his struggles would go unnoticed.

The tree’s papery white bark peeled in lower areas, but its broad leaves provided ample cover. Which explained why the undergrowth was so sparse in this area.

“Come on.” Six cupped his hands. “I’ll boost you up.”

“I believe this tree is a betula pendula. An angiosperm.”

“Say what?” Six opened his hands. “Are you telling me trees have sperm?”

“Angiosperm are plants having seeds in a closed ovary. Flowering.” Pietas trailed his fingertips across the bark. “You might know it as Colony Birch, a deciduous hardwood. In tropical climates like the crater, it provides—

“Pi.” Six cupped his hands again. “Science lesson later using real words. For now, up the tree.”

He set his bare foot in Six’s hands, gripped the tree trunk, and using the leverage Six provided, launched himself up into the lowest branches. It hurt far less than he anticipated. From there, he stood and found a higher, sturdier branch, but none wide enough for sitting.

Rather than his shoulders hurting, his bare feet did.

With as much ease as the cat, Six climbed up and stood on a slightly higher branch, which put him at eye level. “Okay, Tik got us up here. Now what?”

Tiklaus let out a mewling howl. In unison, the tribe answered from the trees.

Six nudged Pietas’s arm, and indicated the cat. “I swear, that was a ‘sound off, troops’ if I ever heard one.”

“Agreed.” Pietas shifted position, but his bare feet found little purchase on such narrow branches.

From a nearby tree, Joss ducked her head and peered at him through the branches. “Is it me or do the cats seem happier now?”

“They do indeed.”

Tiklaus headed down toward them from its higher perch. Promise safe. Keep. Care. Guard.

“Thank you, my friend.” Pietas leaned back against the trunk. “I do wish you could tell me what we’re safe from.”

“Maybe they sensed an earthquake.” Six yawned, stretching his arms wide. “Cats sense that, don’t they? I know dogs and birds do. But, man, I’d hate to think of riding out a ground-shaker up here.” He nodded toward the edge of the cliff.

“What a comforting thought.”

“Could be worse.”

“How?”

“Could be a forest fire. Or bears.”

“Or,” Joss added, “flocks of carnivorous birds like that one planet in the Colonies.”

Six squatted. “You mean Gortain?”

“Does Gortain have them?” Joss seated herself, one arm around the trunk. “I was thinking of Bombyk.”

“Nope,” Erryq called from close by, but with the thick leaves, not even a trace of her flame-red tresses showed. “You’re both wrong. It’s Homaj. Bombyk has those massive dinosaur-looking birds, but they’re strictly piscivorous, and Gortain’s birds are insectivores.”

“Pi-sivorus?” Six cast a smug look at Pietas.

How the ghost loved to tease him about his name. Would that never end?

“Right,” Erryq answered, who apparently didn’t get the private joke. “Piscivorous means they only eat fish.”

Joss’s amusement came through the ether as strongly as if she laughed aloud. The ghost loves you. That’s why he teases you when no one else would dare. And you tolerate the nickname because you love him.

Pietas took care to set his shields in place, layering them between himself and Six. If he truly loved me, he’d let me save him.

My king, if you truly loved him, you’d let him make his own decision.

Enough, Joss! I don’t need a lecture, especially about such an incorrect assumption. He pressed fingertips against brow. How like his harping mother that had sounded. I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help, but you need to trust my judgment when it comes to Six.

Her silence served as a response as plainly as if she’d spoken. Why could she not understand Six was not thinking clearly? The man needed his help.

Tiklaus let out a mild growl; one of the other panthers dropped down and walked in and out among the trees, sniffing the ground. It stopped, sat, and wrapped its tail around its feet like a housecat.

Promise safe. Tiklaus nudged his shoulder. Do.

Do? You mean that’s it? Pietas shifted position. We can get down now?

Do. Keep. Care. Guard. Promise safe.

Biting back a spike of impatience, Pietas calmed himself before speaking. “Tik gave us the all clear. We can return.”

“What?” Six threw out one hand, catching his balance. “This cat brought us all the way up here and then two minutes later we’re done?”

Pietas almost shrugged, but caught himself in time. That kind of movement pulled muscles in ways they couldn’t go. “Tik says we’re done. That’s all I know.”

“Great.” Six worked his way down the tree.

Tiklaus followed, and sat at the ghost’s feet.

“I’ll stay up here till everyone’s down.”

“No problem.” Six leaned against the tree.

Erryq wandered over and looked up. “You coming, Pietas?”

“In a minute. I have a good vantage point up here. No need to wait for me.”

“It’s okay.” Erryq tossed back her fiery red hair. “I don’t mind.”

“Don’t worry,” Six leaned against the tree. “Go ahead and go. He might be awhile.”

“But...” She glanced at Six. “I feel like I need to wait.” She looked up at Pietas. “I’m responsible for hurting you and I want to make sure you’re all right.”

How adorable she was. Though tiny in comparison to any of the others, a few weeks before, she’d brained him with a large rock, trying to stop him from killing Mahikos. Pietas had lain unconscious for days.

He crouched, holding onto the tree, and released every shield he’d created, allowing her to feel his love and admiration. “You were doing your duty, Erryq. I don’t hold that against you. Truly. I do not. But I need some time alone with Six.”

She laid both hands over her heart. “I love you, too, Pietas. I’m glad you’re so much better. I—” She touched Six’s arm. “I’ll go ahead and go. Six will take good care of you.” She smiled at the ghost, and then gave him a quick hug. With a farewell flutter of her fingertips, she headed for the trail.

Six stared after her. “She hugged me.” He gave a low whistle. “Pi, do you believe that? I figured I had cooties, the way everyone avoids touching me.”

Pietas refrained from asking what ‘cooties’ might be. From the context, they must be bad. “Show me how to get down, will you?”

Six leaped up and gripped the lowest branch, then hauled himself toward Pietas. “See that branch I stepped on? Put one foot on that, close to the trunk.” He gripped Pietas’s shirt. “I’ll balance you, but keep close to the trunk.”

With care, Pietas edged downward, Six holding onto him, advising Pietas where to put his feet. At last, he was close enough to the ground to drop. “You may let go. I’ve got it from here.”

Pietas landed and backed away, giving Six space to join him.

The ghost dropped in front of him and straightened, adjusting his clothes. “I didn’t know you could cast emotions other than hate and anger. What you sent to Erryq was...awesome. I thought you people only used that emo thing for fighting.”

“You felt that?” He walked beside Six. “I layered every shield I could. I was aiming at Erryq alone.”

“That was about as private as a floodlight in a closet.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” A few steps ahead, Six headed down the trail. “It’s okay,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m glad there’s someone you can love.” With that, Six hurried ahead.