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 Sisters of the Wind (Book Excerpt)by Diana Kemp-Jones The Alternate Universe of Diana Kemp-Jones Page 1 of 5 The CullThe stingers closed formation, their sites strobing red as they locked on their targets and descended for the kill. No larger than bullets, a soft whine emanated as the missiles blurred into elongated streaks, spooking the mare. The stallion bolted, his powerful forelegs defiantly raised as he shielded his cowering mate. He extended the full twelve feet of his glory, chiseled muscles corded against his velvety charcoal coat. His platinum mane flowed proudly in the thin, reedy wind; his resonant whinny a challenge. He snorted and pawed aggressively at the air as several stingers penetrated his neck. The combined explosive charge neatly severed his massive head. Crimson blood fountained as the stallion's body thudded heavily to the ground. The mangled remains of his head rolled a short distance away, the silken strands of his mane clotted with gore. The mare whinnied shrilly and rolled her eyes at the sight her mate's decapitated body. Her legs bucked aimlessly as she attempted to flee. A volley of stingers pummeled her diminutive body, tumbling it in a macabre ballet of death. Her agonized bray shattered the stillness as she came to rest near the stallion's body, their blood commingling into a single, viscous puddle glinting dully in the watery light. With all target lifeforms exterminated, the few remaining stingers regrouped. They circled the area like a predatory swarm of locusts and skimmed the bodies splayed in the congealing blood. Banking in a graceful swoop, they soared high above the glowering range of glaciers toward the ProTerran prowler orbiting above. Seladon Ferazi leaned back in her contoured leather seat, the muscles of her lean body taut. She blanked the audio as the kill stats marched across a maze of screens. Despite her veteran status, fifteen years as a Special Service liquidator had never successfully dulled her distaste for the job. In many ways, she was still the disillusioned recruit seeking a ticket off a weary and battered Earth. She thought of her family, now distant specters of the past, and wondered how they fared in the third world Nile Delta region. Lost in reverie, she started at the intrusive tap on her shoulder. "Daydreaming again? For someone who hates Earth so much, you certainly spend a lot of time brooding about it." Seladon swiveled around to face the buoyant countenance of her colleague and co-pilot. "For God's sake, Ekkoe," she snapped. "How many times have I told you not to creep up on me like that?" The burly androgyne smiled good-naturedly. She sat at her station and scrutinized the kill stats, her crop of stark white hair haloed by a myriad of pulsing console colors. "Hailing you twice is hardly creeping up on you," she said, pondering the stinger transmissions with disconcertingly spectral gray eyes. "Anyway, I wanted to check the stats. We should be near our quota and eligible for leave soon." She shook her head. A single platinum stud gleamed from her left earlobe and the snowy arch of her eyebrow. "You know, I still can't understand why the Lunuguayan government was so adamant about exterminating the gleatax. Such beautiful creatures; I understand they were the last of their kind. Seems a shame. They were hardly the usual targets." "There's always a reason to shed blood," said Seladon. "None of them good." Ekkoe cocked her studded eyebrow. "This mission really has upset you, hasn't it? I've never seen you so affected by a liquidation before." "I wouldn't have classified a pair of inoffensive gleatax as a particular threat," said Seladon as she shifted in her seat, her dusky features brooding beneath a lustrous topknot of ebony hair. "Lately it seems the goals of the Special Service have become diluted. Issues used to concern interstellar terrorists and mercenary plague seeders; relevant issues that demanded harsh action. Now it's politically awkward racial squabbles or hapless livestock impeding planetary development, or should I say 'vital tundra reclamation'..." Ekkoe cast her a sympathetic glance. "I understand how you feel. The issues do seem to be drifting. But we're not paid to debate the ethics of a liquidation. The client commissions the Service, we get our assignment and when the job is done, we get paid and everybody's happy." "Rhetorically speaking," said Seladon. Copyright© 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002 Diana Kemp-Jones, sffworld.com. All rights reserved. No part of this may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the author. |
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