Night Whispers: The Complex Read online

  The Complex

  Night Whispers

  Calinda B

  Night Whispers©2016 Calinda B

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my loyal sweetie pie with whom life is an endless adventure. Thanks to Rainy Kaye, awesome editor. Thanks to Liz, amazing reader. And, to all my fans, without whom writing would be no fun at all – what good is a story telling if there’s no one around to listen?

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  CHAPTER 1

  For two long years, the kind that will probably crawl like maggots, my war-weary, wounded brother and I are going to live among the freaks of the galaxy. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all murderers and monsters. And, my residence will be on a planet so hot it could not only fry an egg, but evaporate it. The planet? It’s called Lorn, an ancient Old English word from planet Earth—the planet where my ancestors resided. The word means lonely and abandoned--which is exactly what I’m feeling right now.

  I’ve been a grieving, fighting-to-survive emotional wreck for years. We lost everything—our home, our parents, our sense of a stable world, with no time to mourn. My studies and dreams of working with plant life and making the world a better place? Gone, blown to bits by warriors with metaphysical abilities, the mutant monsters known as Metas.

  It’s a wonder any Humans are left. What was known as the P-extinction war, a brutally long war between Humans and Metas lasting twelve horrid years, left us depleted with slim chances of survival. Our housing compound on Wreston had been blown to splinters and translucite glitter by Meta warriors. With no home, Reve and I wandered the streets of planet Wreston, living hand to mouth. Coming here is one more jarring episode in string of nightmares.

  The jetter space craft that catapulted me from my life, hurtling us thousands of space miles in less than a day, rumbles to a gasping stop in the middle of a barren landscape. All of us Humans seated on this bucket of government issued bolts and alloys let out a collective sigh.

  A disembodied wasp-like voice drones, “Welcome, new residents of the Complex. Please depart the vessel. Welcome, new residents of the Complex. Please depart the vessel.”

  As I step out of the jetter onto the parched landscape of Lorn, clutching my possessions in a worn satchel, my stomach cramps like a twice-starved six-ton Draco serpent squeezing the nourishment out of a dried mouse. I want to scramble back into the safety of the shuddering space vessel and leave. Only the vessel is already being re-fueled, engine gunning, ready to escape this hellhole of a planet and retrieve the next batch of Complex experiments. Said experiment is the Ama Seldova’s—our planetary government--social experiment and we’re its trial participants. We’re the idiots who agreed to learn how to get along, to abide among vampires, werewolves, shape shifters and other assorted mutants.

  My clothes hang limp and moist, sticking to my skin like damp bandages as I shuffle toward my new residence. I’m surprised the scarf I’ve wound around my head to keep my thick hair aloft doesn’t float away in my personal sea of perspiration.

  As far as my eye can see, there are fang-toothed vamps scanning the crowd for their next meal; women, hunched, casting narrow-eyed gazes about, while fiddling with what I assume to be spell casting herbs; and ancient beings who look like they should be wielding wizard staffs. Metas and Humans are everywhere, shipped from all parts of the galaxy. We’re like cattle being herded into chutes by gun-toting men—none of us wants to be here but the alternative is far less inviting.

  I scan my surroundings anxiously, trying to ward off the collective thoughts and sensations pounding against my mind. I feel jittery, jumpy, every cell on high alert, unsure whether the thoughts and fears zipping through my body belong to me or the monsters crowding around me. Ever since my mom died, I’ve been unable to keep the thoughts and feelings of others’ out of my mind. When I dream, it’s the worst. With everyone’s filters down, I see horrible thoughts and frantic longings. I sigh. I want to eject from my skin and soar into the sky like the jetter, where it’s safe. Only I’d probably be snagged by one of the angry-looking law enforcement, zipping through the sky on their high tech motorcycles called Flyers—something I read about in the recruitment propaganda.

  A large gentle hand lands on the small of my back.

  “Oh!” I jerk.

  “Come on, Sakhi,” my brother Reve urges. “Let’s keep moving.” His eyes dart everywhere.

  I know he’s assessing, looking for escape routes, watching for danger. He served in wars for far too long.

  “This place is awful,” I say, peering around at the desert-like conditions. It’s a nightmare in sandy vistas, crags, and hills. In the distance, lighting strikes the horizon. There’s a foul odor in the air that makes me want to gag. I press closer to my brother. “Is that where we’re going to be housed?”

  I point at a giant, sleek, shiny dome in the distance. A stack of high-tech metal known as translucite, steel, and aluminum bubbles, sparkling in the harsh sun, stretches into the sky for miles. As each new resident enters, it looks like they’re being swallowed alive.

  “It’s better than where we were headed,” he says, his mouth tight. “You got caught. You should’ve let me do the stealing. I was good at it and you know it.”

  “I wanted to help. Your limp was getting worse.” My chin starts to tremble.

  “You mean my war-wound? The one inflicted by Meta bastards?” Cold rage burns in his hazel eyes. One eyebrow lifts on his handsome face. “And how did that work out, huh? You got caught,” he says again. “I tried to protect you and was charged with being your accomplice.” He spits the last word with a sneer.

  The pinched look he gives me makes my stomach twist. My internal dialogue starts to shout. I’m such an idiot. I’m useless. I can’t even break a rule to survive.

  Faced with prison for a simple, stupid infraction, our choices were slim. It was either reside on what the recruitment officers called “the Complex” or be forced to live in a makeshift dungeon. We chose the hell of planet Lorn and the “Complex experiment.”

  “You’ll be rich,” o
ur recruiter had said. “You can put the wars behind you. You’re going to love this place. You’ll be fed, clothed, given work…all you have to do is learn to get along with other like-minded souls.”

  A smug smirk had been affixed to his face like he and the others trafficking in Human misery, were in on the funniest joke ever told. I didn’t believe him but my choices seemed dire.

  Sitting in the recruiter’s office, where we’d been hauled after the police questioned us, I’d sought my brother’s eyes. When I saw the slight nod, I pressed my thumb against the digital display before me and signed my fate away.

  Here on Lorn, armed guards hold lethal looking weapons. In the distance, one of them lifts his firearm, aimed at someone racing across the desert, and a blue blaze blasts the atmosphere. The fleeing man writhes and falls. I don’t know whether he’s dead or stunned.

  Reve, looking at me intently, says, “Keep your head down. Don’t look. That’s their weapon of choice. They’re called segifs. It’s probably a show of force designed to keep us in our place.”

  “But has he been killed?” I say, wide eyes seeking reassurance from my brother.

  “It doesn’t matter. Don’t look. Don’t react. Keep moving forward.” He brushes his fingers against my cheek.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse a dark shape. I drop my satchel and grab my head, squeezing my head between my palms—someone’s ugly thoughts and sensations are jabbing my consciousness.

  “What is it?” Reve asks, retrieving my belongings. His eyes dart everywhere. He loops the strap over his shoulder along with his knapsack.

  My bag looks like a child’s toy on his stocky, muscular frame.

  He positions himself protectively by my side.

  “I don’t know. There are too many energetic signatures to discern one from the other. But something is...” I tremble. “I don’t know. I sense a disturbance. A big one. It’s probably one of the Meta freaks. A witch. A necromancer. Who knows?”

  “Easy, sis. You’re probably on overload. Take deep breaths. I’ve got you. We’ll get through this.”

  I puff out my cheeks and blow out a huge, gusty sigh.

  He gently turns me around and places his hands over mine on either side of my face. He trains his warm hazel eyes on mine.

  My eyes dart left and right, like a bouncing electron.

  He takes a step toward me as if to kiss the top of my head, but winces instead.

  “Oh, dear. Your leg?” I say.

  “Forget about it. I’ll deal.” His Adams apple bobs up and down. “Look at me.”

  I do, blinking rapidly to keep from crying, both from the fear vibrating through my bones and my brother’s lingering pain—a sad reminder of the war that nearly brought us to extinction.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he says with a smile. “We’re only here for a short time. Two years, tops. We cooperate. We learn to get along with other species.”

  “They’re all criminals,” I hiss.

  “Quiet, Sakhi.” His expression hardens. “You know I hate Metas more than you. Think this won’t be hard for me?”

  A red-uniformed guard patrolling the crowd walks by. A silver pin on the guard’s sleeve twinkles and glints in the harsh sunlight.

  My brother nods at the enforcer, but I frown. The guard’s garb looks like loose fitting hospital scrubs. But his threatening demeanor makes up for his unimposing clothing.

  “Remember the plan,” Reve says in a near whisper. “Cooperate. We get the rest of our payment. And then, we get the hell out of here.” He chucks my chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Fresh start, remember?”

  I nod rapidly, shaking a few tears loose.

  “I know. We can do this,” I say, reassuring myself.

  “Either that or you can breed with an off-planet ambassador and fast-forward our escape.” He winks at me.

  “Ew. No to that idea.” I wrinkle my nose.

  He laughs. “One of us has to find love.”

  “Maybe it will be you who falls in love.”

  “Right. Any chick would love to throw it down with me and my useless leg and the inability to provide. Fucking Metas.” He barks out a sarcastic laugh. “Let’s see how well we all do in the ‘getting along’ department. We’ll be at each other’s throats in no time flat.”

  Love is the last thing I can imagine finding here. All I want to do is muddle through, restore my soul, and leave. I sigh. I’ve been in survival mode for far too long. Resolutely, I proceed to shuffle along with the herd of Humans and Metas.

  A scuffle breaks out to the left of me.

  “Don’t look,” Reve says. “Keep your head down.”

  I do so. And then I spy a group of angry looking males, dressed in red. The letters AS are stamped on their uniform sleeves.

  “They’re the Climintra—our dear governing body, the Ama Seldova’s appointed law enforcement,” Reve hisses in my ear. “Nickname’s Intra. And they’re coming this way. Pretend not to notice.”

  A male, dressed in black, sporting the same blood red letters on his sleeve, stalks around them like a predator about to pounce on an unsuspecting lamb. He shoves them out of the way like so many annoying branches in the way of his destination and comes a halt in front of my brother.

  “Is there a problem here?” he asks, echoing Reve’s question.

  “No, sir,” Reve says, his face transforming into a rubber mask.

  “It looked like you were engaged in some sort of scuffle.” He strokes his thumb and forefinger alongside his full lips as if coaxing restraint.

  One small, pulsing tick jitters near Reve’s right eye. “No, sir. Wasn’t me. It was those three.” He nods toward the group involved in the skirmish, then stares into the distance.

  The black-clad enforcer turns toward me.

  “Is this man trying to hurt you?” He stabs his thumb at Reve.

  I flinch and back away, my hand flying to my neck like I’m about to lose my head. “That’s my brother.”

  His energy is dark, jagged, and menacing. He’s got a too-handsome, sculpted appearance, accented with cruel overtones. A pencil-thin, immaculately groomed mustache lines his upper lip. A goatee juts from his chin, ending in a sharp point like the end of a devil’s tail. Both glisten with glints of red, as if wiped by greasy, blood-smeared fingers. His hair is the color of shadows. And his eyes…I can’t even look into those black orbs, for fear of falling into a pitch-dark hole. He emanates a vibe like he could suck the soul from a decomposed corpse.

  I’m certain this is the energy I sensed a moment ago.

  “Names?” he asks.

  My brother pushes between me and the enforcer. “Reve Borren. This is my sister Sakhi.”

  His eyebrows lift. “I see.” The enforcer taps something on his palm and a holo-image of a stern looking male shimmers in the air.

  A small surprised shriek escapes my mouth. I snap my mouth shut.

  “Not used to advanced communication devices, little girl?” the enforcer says in a mocking tone.

  I give a quick shake of my head, staring into the same unspecified distance as my brother.

  “Get used to it. You’ll get one, too,” he says to me, and then turns his attention to the transparent image. “Found them. Two of them, right. The brother and sister. Yes.”

  It’s so odd that I can see the ghosted-guy’s mouth moving but can’t hear what he’s saying.

  The enforcer catches me side-eying him and moves out of earshot, keeping his back to me.

  The holo-image appears to keep step with him.

  “Who is that man?” I hiss in Reve’s ear.

  “Don’t know yet. Stay calm and let me to the talking.”

  “What, you don’t trust me? You think I’ll get us into more trouble?” I bristle.

  He sighs. “Stop it, please, sis. I’m only trying to protect you. At least let me do that.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Endlessly sorry. Yes, of course. You’re always trying to do what’s best for us.” I hu
ddle closer to him, seeking safety from the onslaught of energy surrounding me, like the woman to the left of me, fear and anger rolling from her in shimmering red and yellow waves. I grind my teeth together.

  “Mr. and Ms. Borren?” The enforcer turns from his private conversation. The corners of his mouth curve in a smile full of secrets.

  “Yes?” Reve says.

  “I’m Paki Tchepikov, your Wacher. Follow me.” He turns on his heel and forces his way through the crowd.

  They part, like grass in a windstorm.

  “Our what?” Reve asks, stumbling as he races after the man’s long-legged stride. He reaches for my hand and tugs me along.

  “Your worst nightmare, and your best friend. I’m your parole officer,” Paki Tchepikov calls over his shoulder.

  I’m convinced. This is going to be the worst two years of my life. Maybe I should have accepted the dungeon.

  Chapter 2

  After a sweat drenching twenty-minute trek, I’m shoved through the doors of the Complex, to be swallowed into its bowels along with about ten thousand others.

  The air in here is temperate like a pleasant summer on planet Wreston. A sappy, intended-to-sooth tune floats through the air, yet does nothing to calm my unease.

  Everything is glossy white and polished gray—white walls, dotted with metal, concrete floors. It smells antiseptic like it’s been scrubbed with toilet cleaner. Ahead, the terminal desks, each holding some sort of monitor, line the walls. They’re manned by men and women in gray uniform, typing on keyboards, and moving their fingers across the monitors, from what I can see through the throng.

  We approach some sort of stop point before being released toward the terminals. An armed guard rustles through our satchels. He lifts an ornate carved hairbrush from my bag, eyes it greedily, and shoves it into his jacket pocket.

  “Hey,” I say, snatching my bag back.

  “What?” he says, coolly.