Aether

Chapter 1

 

It’s him.

     I know it is, even hidden in the undergrowth of the forest and through the heavy rain that soaks my hair and armour. I know that face as well as my own, I’ve studied it in the collateral reports of that day, pored over them.

I lean into the sight of my gun, my finger resting lightly on the groove of the trigger. The sheets of rain fade away and the intersection of the red crosshairs rests on the profile of a tall, young man. He’s seated on an upturned crate under the shelter of a tarp, a deck of cards spread out between him and the man opposite. The image in my sight enhances so that I can see the shadow of stubble on his jaw and a pale scar on the light-brown skin of his cheek. My breath catches in my throat at the sudden clarity of his profile.

     It really is him. A small smile tugs at my mouth.

     There’s a soft click as my visor displays the target’s heartbeat, internal organs and heat signature. The red crosshairs focus on the side of his head, where a brown curl of dark hair rests against his ear. We were taught that a bullet pushes through flesh quicker than the tissue tears. If I were to press my finger on the trigger, metal would rip through hair, skin and bone all before the body registers what’s happened. The brain dies immediately. Painless. Instant. It’s a merciful kill, and one I never miss.

     It is too merciful for him.

     My finger is shaking in anticipation, but I have a job to do. I scan the rest of the area. The pre-dawn light isn’t strong enough to break through the canopy of giant trees of the wilds around us and it leaves us in shadow. The tangled undergrowth of snarled thorns and sprawling ferns hide us even better. Harsh white light from the spotlights that stand sentry at the perimeter illuminates the grey tents and the crates that are scattered around the camp – supplies that most likely hold weapons and ammunition to use against our own soldiers. We’ll destroy those too.

     These Salites had been clever to pick this crater, a mark of the old wars, knowing that its high slopes would dull their communication signals so we couldn’t detect them through the rad-saturated earth. It almost made their camp invisible. Almost.

     Ethen lays next to me under the cover of a tree, his cropped blonde hair plastered to his forehead. The tree’s leaves splay out above him, like the opened spokes of an umbrella and I envy his shelter from the downpour. His breathing is slow and light as it always is in the limbo between calm and contact, but I’m close enough to see how tightly he grips his gun. The gold sheen of the General’s badge shines on his chest, the sun etched into it flecked with dirt. He knows the risks as much as I do and if we fail, he’d be the one to fall as our superior.

     “Do you have eyes on the target?” Ethen asks me, his voice lower than the whisper of rain around him.

     Slowly, I part some more of the foliage, ignoring the sharp sting as a thorn pierces the skin of my exposed hands. We are protected in our seamless bullet-proof plates from our neck to our boots, but the forest still finds a way to draw blood. I blink the rain from my eyes and lean into my sight again to the target with the scar on his cheek. There’s a soft whir as my visor runs the facial recognition. A formality, because I already know who he is – everyone knows who he is – but I unclench my teeth and read the information to Ethen.

     “General Luther Arch, son of Latimer Arch, the Interfector. Target priority level one. It’s a positive, sir.”

     The muscle in Ethen’s jaw works and he nods sharply. It’s more than we could’ve ever hoped for: An unsuspecting high-ranked target. The six recruits with us are alight with repressed excitement. Capturing a General would get the group enough credit for a new bed, decent food, time off. And if it’s the Interfector, the favour of Our Leader himself.

     On my left, Adria leans towards me, her blonde hair tied back and dripping. “When are we moving?” She whispers, shuddering as something slithers over her hand. “We’ve been here for ages.”

     “Remind me to write you a sympathy note,” Calvin mutters from the other side of her, droplets of cold rain glimmering against the dark brown of his cheek and suspended in his tightly coiled hair. He whips his head around to her. “Did you just wipe–”

     Ethen shoots them both warning glances and Calvin shuts his mouth, glaring at Adria. She grins at him. Ethen scopes the camp one more time.

     “The net,” I say quietly, just for Ethen’s ears, knowing he’d understand what I’d mean. If we came in from the front, they’d be trapped against the high walls of the clearing.

     Ethen stills, the line on his forehead clearing, the plan forming, and relays the strategies to the group. The recruits silently spread themselves along the circumference of the camp. I settle next to a skinny boy no older than eighteen. He glances nervously at me as I lie next to him. I see his hand trembling as he releases the safety on his gun and switches the ammo to lethal, a thin red line appearing on the side of his barrel.

     Nervous, then. I don’t blame them, this was supposed to be a training exercise, not actual active contact with a highly skilled enemy. I’ll have to protect them as best as I can.

     Luther Arch throws his head back and laughs suddenly with some of his soldiers, oblivious to the incoming chaos only moments away. The noise echoes off the high slopes of the clearing.

     Ethen lifts his hand, pale in the morning light, and I press my eye to my sight. I inhale through my nose and my lungs fill with the sharp smell of the wet leaves beneath me. My heartbeat slows in my ears as every fibre of me hangs onto Ethen’s signal. I can hear the quick breathing of the recruit next to me, feel the damp of the earth digging into my bare wrists, taste the metallic tang of the rain as I bite my lip.

     My crosshairs settle on the forehead of a target who leans against a crate, a red-haired woman with a pistol hanging from her hip.

     In my peripheral, Ethen brings his hand down. Now...