Excerpt 1 [809 words]

Sempervia, outer edge of the galaxy
Tree Camp, Lake Seis
Exile Year 1

Six didn’t run from death—he delivered it. Right up close and personal. So the enemy got one last good look at the man putting him in the dirt. And at thirty-eight, with twenty years in, Six had dished out plenty of hurt.

So why did a swath of fallen pines make his gut twist like he’d wiped out a colony world?

Trees. Seriously. They didn’t moan, beg, or cry. They didn’t writhe. When the last cut ended them, they dropped, and that was that.

Humans could learn a few things from trees.

In the windy heat of Sempervian summer, a passing dust devil’s electrical charge raised fine hairs on Six’s neck and arms. He shuddered, cursing.

Pietas came out of nowhere, right beside him.

Six flinched. “Geez, Ultra! Make some noise, will you?”

“Silence is an advantage of walking barefoot.” Pietas nudged aside chunks of wood. His boots had rotted off his body in captivity.

“You need a bell around your neck.”

“A bell?” The immortal king narrowed eyes the color of turquoise chips. That look hit colder than the dust devil’s charge. Seven Terran feet of him—lean, wrecked, and still tougher than most armies. “Never mind. Probably some human thing I don’t need to know about and wouldn’t care about if I did.”

Six rolled his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I got tired of yelling at lazy people back at basecamp, so I came out here. Thought I’d see what you were doing.”

“Oh, yeah?” With one hand, Six steadied the trunk of a young pine and used the ax like a carving knife. With each short slice, another limb dropped. “More like they got tired of you interfering.”

Pietas slid his hands into the pockets of his ragged and blood-stained uniform. “You know, if you held that blade at a higher angle, you could cut faster. Here.” He reached for the ax. “I’ll show you.”

In response, Six raised one eyebrow.

Pietas pointed to the sapling. “But if you change the angle...” He made a chopping motion.

With Pietas’s shoulders as bad as they were, could he lift an ax? Let alone swing one. But, like himself, the king had been a grunt, and still liked to get his hands dirty.

“Pi, how many of these downed trees you see around here do you suppose I cut down?”

His friend turned around. “At most, an eighth.”

“An eighth? Hell, more like a fourth. The others knock ‘em down and I strip ‘em. Plus I down at least one or two for their three or four. My abuela didn’t raise no slacker.”

“Apologies to you and your grandmother.” The man made a gallant gesture, then picked up the stripped sapling and tossed it on a pile. “I didn’t realize you’d be so sensitive about your disability.”

Six stiffened. “What disability?”

“You’re not fully Ultra.” Pietas heaved a few more saplings. “It’s not like you can keep up with us.”

Six hefted the ax. “You want a chopping contest with me? You, with your bad shoulders against a puny human?”

“But you’re not human anymore, are you? Your treatment made you more like us. You’re not as strong as we are and you don’t have our stamina, but, I admit, you do try.”

Even after months fighting it, the anti-emo chip the Ghost Corps had stuck in his brain flicked Six like a thump against the head. The spike hit—punishment for thinking wrong. Supposedly, the chip eliminated fear and inhibition. Made you fight like an Ultra.

All it gave Six was a headache.

And Pietas wanted him to stay this way? Fat chance.

“Hold up.” Six dropped the ax. “Let me tell you about stamina. All we ghosts heard before our transformations was how enhanced we’d be. Keener hearing. Sharper eyesight. Faster healing. Broken bones with no signs of ever being broken. One guy even bragged about a cracked molar that healed up overnight. Other ghosts claimed they’d gotten that and more.”

“You mean, things we Ultras take for granted.”

“You got it, smartass. But what did I get? Stamina.” Six spread his hands. “That’s it. Stamina. Work harder. Figures. Story of my life.”

“Six, I didn’t—”

“Don’t interrupt.” He took two big steps and got right in Pietas’s face. “I got nothing. Zip, zero, nada. Goose egg.” He stuck his tongue against a broken tooth in the back of his mouth, relic of a chicken dinner he’d wolfed down too fast. So much for awesome healing. “No telepathy. No super eyesight. None of your delusional gifts.”

“Illusional. Delusional means—”

“I know what delusion means, Ultra. My point is, I’m not weak, and I’m not less than you. So don’t give me any BS about disability. You got that?”

Excerpt 2 [140 words]

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. In the darkness and shadows, no features showed, but his 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.

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?