Don't Call Me Kitten! (3 page)

He noticed one
Din had grabbed Orea only to have the chief communications officer
head butting him. Unfortunately her struggle was cut short when she
was shot by stunner. She collapsed at his feet. Fearing she’d just
get heartlessly trod on by one of the blundering beasts he managed,
even shackled as he was, to discreetly pull her to the side.

The one who
was the enemy’s leader threatened the rest of them. If they spoke
they’d have their tongues ripped out and if they resisted they'd be
dismembered before they met their fate. Oh my gods. They really
were going to turn them all into stone. He had seen it in the
vision Shimon had shown him but at the time the sheer horror of it
hadn’t completely hit him.

His heart went
out to Thex. The bastards were going to make him watch as each of
his crew met their fate, leaving him til last. What must be going
through the commander as he watched his lover and best friend Arion
being the first to be placed into position before the weapon. A
cold black light surrounded his body and he screamed. When the
light disappeared all that remained was a gleaming piece of
crystal, a rock the shape of a man, frozen in his scream. Then the
beasts were pushing him out the door of the cargo bay, out into
space.

He felt Orea
stir at his feet. As best as he could he placed a steadying hand
her and sent a stream of thought to her.
Sh! Don’t move. They’ve
threatened to dismember any of us who resist and I’m pretty damn
sure they mean it. It would be better if we got out of this with
all our limbs in place. You have to let things go their course.
I’ve seen the distant future. Everything will work out.

Orea didn’t
give any further outward sign that she had regained consciousness.
Her thoughts, projected to him alone, were her only reply.
What
do you mean? What have you foreseen?

I gave my word
that I wouldn't tell anyone but some things are pretty obvious from
what’s been happening while you were out cold. They have some new
fangled weapon that will turn us into stone. The stones are being
thrown out into space. They’ve already done it to Arion and they’re
doing Kiana as we speak.

And by what
you’re not saying I gather we won’t be able to teleport ourselves
out of it?

No. These
cuffs have stopped me. I think some of the others have tried too.
The Din must have developed some technology we’re not yet familiar
with.

So how, then,
is everything going to turn out okay Zex?

Because
there’s a planet below us. A planet our futures will be
inextricably tied with. We will be freed one day Orea. I can tell
you that. For now we'll just have to hibernate our souls and bide
our time.

Won’t the
stones shatter on impact or burn up in the planet’s atmosphere? And
what do you mean by ‘hibernate our souls’? When the hell is this
help coming?

The crystal
they are turning us into is impossibly hard. Help won’t come for
hundred thousand years or so.

Shit!

Nine years
ago...

“Candidate of
Science, Helena Ivanova.”

Spine straight
and head held high Helena walked the outdoor podium and accepted
her postgraduate degree, equivalent to what would be called a Phd
in the West but Russia’s tertiary system was a little different. It
was a bittersweet moment. Six years of hard academic work, the last
two completing her Kandidat Nauk, Candidate of Science, but
otherwise it had been a peaceful and uneventful life. Six years
that were now at an end. As she returned to her seat Anya pulled
her close to give her a hug.

“I’m so proud
of you Lena.”

“Thanks Anya.
One day we’ll get you up there too and then you can become that vet
you want to be.”

Helena wasn’t
averse to being proud of her own achievements. She wasn’t a great
fan of false humility. Her research into non-coding DNA had been
groundbreaking and ensured her future career. There was an
international project to crack the whole human genome which was
nearly complete, she’d seen some of the early data. The new
computers just out on the market were making the mammoth job
proceed a lot quicker than previously thought. At the rate they
were going they’d have the whole genome worked out by 2003. Just
thinking about the mysteries about to be unlocked excited her in
ways only a fellow nerd would understand. She needed to get to the
West to really get in the game. Escaping Russia to accept one of
the lucrative overseas job offers she’d already received was in the
too hard basket for now. As if to accentuate the reason for that
difficulty she spied Sergei Kozlov hovering near the hall’s exit.
She let out a deep resigned sigh.

As the
graduation ceremony wound up the two sisters circulated for a bit,
congratulating Helena’s classmates. Then they went to make their
departure. There was only one way out. There was no avoiding the
inevitable.

“The boss
wants to see you. 6pm sharp.”

“One day
Sergei, one measly day. Couldn’t you guys have even given me that
before you reminded me that you own me.” Helena glared at Mafia
thug, wishing glares were as destructive as laser guided
missiles.

Sergei merely
shrugged his overly broad shoulders. “Not my call kitten. Be there
if you know what’s good for you.”

“I’ll be
there. And Sergei...”

Sergei raised
a brow and paused, waiting.

“Don’t call me
kitten!”

Sergei
chuckled and then turned and disappeared into the departing
crowd.

Somewhere in
Bolivia...

Could a
crystal itch? Zex had hibernated his soul for many thousands of
years. Trapped in stone there had been little point stewing on his
situation. He’d gone into this knowing he’d have a long wait but
something told him the waiting was nearly over. About ten thousand
years ago he’d felt the first urge to wake up. Since that time he’d
learnt to fly, astrally at least. Because his body was frozen in
immensely hard sama crystal he only had his consciousness to work
with.

Over time he’d
developed the soul form of a condor that he could project outwards
from the stone. His dreams between waking, if you could call them
dreams, had shown him the creature. The real creature had all sorts
of advantages going for it. It was immensely strong, capable of
traveling great distances without effort. Soaring on updrafts high
above the Andes. It was a ubiquitous part of the south American
landscape, no one locally really gave it a second glance, unless
they had baby llamas. So he’d learnt to shapeshift his soul into
its form. It had taken time. Like juggling, it took time to rewire
the consciousness to what was required. He’d started out by simply
getting a clear picture of the creature in his head. Its habits,
its calls and its way of flying with wings outstretched
horizontally, its primary feathers bent upwards at the tips.

He’d never had
a need to astral travel before but like all Malakim he knew the
basic theory. Once he had the image of the Andean Condor fixed in
his mind he practised achieving an hypnotic state or at least
visualizing that his crystal frozen body was in one. Having
perfected that he visualized his body as if it was his condor. Then
he started pretending he was moving, first just retracting his
claws, then stretching out his make believe wings. This took what
seemed like many years of practice but he had nothing better to do.
The task kept him from getting morbid about his situation.

When he
finally worked up to taking his first flight it was like being
reborn. Joy washed through his consciousness as he floated high on
his first updraft.

Zex started to
use his astral projecting to watch the Andean peoples as they
developed, civilizations blossoming in the jungle and then
disappearing as war, famine and the encroaching jungle inevitably
brought them back to hunting and gathering. While he was learning
astral projecting the people he watched over were practising
city-states. He watched them make mistakes then try again. After
each destruction they would recover, their civilization cycling
ever upwards to a new level of sophistication. The great Tiwanakan
culture blossomed for a while. Replaced in time by the Incas whose
farming practices and metallurgy were light years of anything he’d
seen before or since. They grew a vast empire, attempting to
swallow-up the neighbouring tribes and convert them to their ways.
Yet they never truly conquered the people of the lowlands.

Then the
Conquistadors had come and he mourned for his people. For by now
their history and trials were etched in his soul. They were his
people.

He’d taken to
guiding their shamans as best he could, using his condor spirit
form to send them omens. But while the shamans might have been the
wisest of his adopted people, the politicians and warriors didn’t
always take their advice. He’d had to watch while all they had
built up was reduced to rubble, their writings and culture trashed
and the people enslaved.

Yet even after
this, the greatest of destructions, his people started to recover
again, first as revolutionaries and then as leaders capable of
guiding his people. And while the conquest had all but utterly
annihilated the past it did bring new ways that cross fertilized
with the old. His people were becoming stronger now and starting to
find their voice on the international stage.

Curiosity had
him venturing further in his soul flights. The world was becoming a
very interesting place and this was the only way he could
experience it. The thought came to him to try and see if he could
teleport his condor to different locations. In their usual form the
Malakim could do this no sweat. They called it non-local travel.
They would dissolve their form in the relative dimension, travel
via the absolute or non-local and then reform in the relative world
at their chosen destination. He had no idea whether it would work
with just his soul or even whether it would harm his trapped body
but the temptation was too great. He just had to give it a go. He
focused on the image of a place he’d seen in his dreaming
consciousness, let go of his identification with his current form,
drifted though the absolute and then came out the other side. Much
to his delight there he was. Well sort of. His first few attempts
only had him appearing in some poor girl’s mirror as little more
than a projected reflection but it was a start. He still itched
when he did it though, although maybe it was something more halfway
between an itch and a buzz that vibrated through his soul. Not
being a scientist he could only theorize that something in what he
was doing was giving off an electrical voltage and that was causing
the crystal to ever so subtly vibrate.

The girl he’d
seen that first time had intrigued him. She had seemed deadly
serious, as if her very survival was at stake. Then there was the
fact that she was an unparalleled beauty. He hadn’t known the
inhabitants of the planet came in that colouring. All the locals he
was familiar with were shorter in stature with bronzed complexions
and even darker eyes. This girl was tall, wiry and had the palest
hair he’d ever seen, offset by eyes the color of the sky.

He started
projecting to her on a regular basis. First only as reflections in
the mirror but later flying over her city. The city itself amazed
him. Some parts seemed grey and bleak. In winter it was liberally
dusted in white as snow covered the ground and the inhabitants
wrapped themselves in hats and coats of thick fur to survive the
outside temperatures. Yet parts of it also looked like they were
straight out of some child’s fantasy. Great buildings with
multicolored onion shaped roofs gave the city its own unique
flavor.

As he watched
the girl grow into womanhood he felt his bond with her grow. She
was becoming a kind of obsession although he didn’t see himself as
a stalker. More as her protector. Even though she didn’t seem to be
the type that would need or welcome much protection. She was
developing into a resilient and capable young woman.

He wanted
badly to communicate with her but all he’d manage to do so far was
project a few images to her. Her rigidly schooled scientific mind
seemed impervious to anything more like a telepathic verbal
exchange. Yet he admired her intelligence and he was there, high in
sky, on the day she graduated.

Helena stood
before her mirror, brushing her hair moderately long blond hair and
contemplating her destiny. There was no avoiding the fact that
Eduard Petrov would want his due. Six years ago he had kindly but
firmly pointed out that the rouble had just crashed. So many
changes had been going on in Russia at the time. The wall had come
down only a few years ago, Yeltsin was in power but another
ominously waited in the wings. What her mother had paid the Mafia
to dispose of her husband and look after her girls if the beast
killed her before they they killed him hadn’t been nearly enough.
Helena and Anya had inherited the house but they still had to live.
With no breadwinner and schooling expenses for both of them she’d
had no choice to put herself at Petrov’s mercy. He already
effectively owned them. Given her miniscule options at the time she
should be grateful he’d waited before starting to collect on the
debt. He could have forced both of them into prostitution or the
slave market there and then. Plenty of wealthy businessmen liked a
pretty blond and few had scruples when it came to age, some even
preferred their “possessions” young. Her mouth went dry when she
thought of what could easily have been. Despite his ruthless
reputation Petrov had been magnanimous enough to let her continue
her schooling and let her care for Anya. He’d used his influence
with the authorities to ensure she’d gained full custodianship of
her sister which was vastly better than having Anya carted off to
one of Russia’s infamous orphanages, or worse. One of Petrov’s men
dropped by each week to give them just enough cash to live on.
Petrov looked after the bills himself. His henchmen passed by the
house most nights, letting it be known that the house and its
occupants were under the Mafia’s protection. But all that came at a
cost and now it was time to pay up. She had no doubt what form that
payment would take. Petrov had made little secret of it over the
years. Her and her sister could have their lives, even follow their
careers to an extent, but he owned them. Once they finished their
schooling they would work for him each and every weekend, in his
brothels, clubs or wherever he saw fit.