The Promise: A Heritage Verse Story

By S M. Wright

In the dark, they move, swallowing the innocent without a trace. Forever shrouded in shadow, their very existence doubted.

Lieutenant Katya Cassius and her team find themselves embroiled in an investigation of Reznic's accelerating trafficking operations. Rumors say Serva, the elusive arm of Deep Reznic, is ram

• Language: English
• Publisher: Far-Flung Press
• Release date: May 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087936178

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COPYRIGHT

The Promise

Copyright © 2020 S.M. Wright

All rights reserved.

First published in the United States in 2019.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by S.M. Wright

Stock Images Modified for Cover: cpmacdonald/Pixabay and StockSnap/Pixabay

Copyright © 2020. All rights reserved.

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Katya circled the murkily lit space, an ill-kept Reznic warehouse in a lower-level section of the planet. Her team of six combed through the building, collecting every scrap of refuse that littered a cleared circle among shipping containers. She paused by a disabled automaton stripped of its limbs and head. The sight churned her stomach, and the persistent smell of its oil and the blood of an innocent only furthered the sensation. The absence of normal chatter accentuated every scrape, every boot connecting with concrete. Any exchange of words took on a hushed tone in deference to the small form that lay at their center. Even shrouded by Sergeant Salvius’s coat, they couldn’t forget her.

Everyone had been too late, had failed this little girl. From her roughened hands, crooked teeth, and tattoo, a stylized Serva feather, she’d been failed most of her life.

Fingers clenching at her digital slate, Katya shifted from the splotches of currant that spattered the area around the coat. The camera was gone now, vanished with the monsters. Katya would be shocked if the girl had even been five. At least, they’d restored some dignity—until justice could be secured, any images obliterated—but it’d still be too little. The dead simply didn’t rise again once a case was closed.

Notations sprang to life on the screen as Katya left them using a stylus, all while walking and observing. There was an oddity about the scene. The area had long been dominated by the Bone Ash Syndicate, but this wasn’t its members’ work. Drugs, black market tech, and weapons, yes. The occasional murder or shootout, yes. This? She shied from the slight form. No. They’d never dabbled in this before. She batted away a fly and then brushed her long bangs from her eyes, pausing.

A figure—masculine in shape—rested his back against the large sliding door they’d busted through close to an hour ago. Wavy brown hair peeked out from under his military cap, appearing much darker in the night than it really was. Exhaling, he sent smoke wafting from his mouth and the joint—Serettiley lace. She knew this even before its earthy, yet elevating aroma reached her nostrils. He’d popped up the collar of his uniform jacket, partially obscuring his face, allowing only a sliver of unhealthy pale skin. But she would know who he was with even the most cursory glance.

Since when do you come to scenes anymore, Colonel? she called, crossing the distance between them. His trip to the Mezzo, a collection of far tamer planets that made up the Magistrate’s middle, went unmentioned; they would tango around that subject until Valens yielded and not a moment before.

He took a deep drag from the joint before handing her his own slate. They’ve hit the hornet’s nest this time.

Another girl’s image greeted her: broad smile, happy brown eyes, terra-cotta-hued skin, probably about seven. Not much different from the girl who lay slain a few feet behind her, except this one had a well-connected family. A senator’s granddaughter. Krezk.

We’re being diverted to this, Katya stated.

Eventually. For now, Cervum Squad’s headin’ it. He dropped the joint and ground it into the concrete with his heel. We can hate it from morning to night, but you know how these things work. Until then, we give this kid our best.

She glanced back at her team, jaw tightening.

Behind her, Valens clicked his tongue against his teeth. I know it’s not palatable. But we’re about to get more resources. They might not mean for it, but they’ll bring these girls justice too.

And the ones that’d be picked up later. She eyed the girl on Valens’s slate. There’s been an uptick lately.

The third sector army did a massive sting and took out one syndicate on Yolaris. Unfortunately, demand remains, and there are plenty of lowlifes willing to fill it. He powered down the screen. I’ve got the lab rats ready; they’ll speed up the processing of what you collect here. We’ll take them down. Nothing else will do.

He swiveled away from the door and swung over a hoverbike, which had been parked a foot from the door. The alley’s array of neon lights from the many advertisement boards above reflected off its metal and his helmet as he put it on. With a two-finger salute, he said, I leave it to you.

You could’ve just called.

I need to move.

She frowned. Your head—

Not now. There’s time for that late—there’ll be time. He started the bike. Focus on the job.

Bad news, huh? Her throat tightened. But he was right. The mission always came first. It’d been a long-time agreement as they’d waded into murky waters together, indulged in certain feelings.

As he sped off, Katya rejoined her team, doing one more sweep of the perimeter. A small canister, tucked in a crevice under a shipping container, caught what little light was available inside. Bending over and balancing on the balls of her feet, she snapped on gloves and fished it out. Lipstick, bright red. It’d been smashed into the canister. She bagged it, a knot forming in her stomach. The same hue that’d been smeared on their victim’s lips, staining even her teeth.

Found something, ma’am? Sergeant Aquila Salvius called.

Lipstick.

All their victims had worn it, but they’d never found an actual canister at a scene before. It’d slipped, time had run out, and the perpetrators had left