SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

“ No!” Valloth’s voice intensified, a raw lust for control that nearly blasted Roshar off his feet. His face sagged, his eyes becoming black as night, black as ink. “Don’t you dare take my power away!”

The pain was nearly engulfing him now, his muscles contracting in spasm, bones rattling in their cages. Tears of agony were trickling down his cheeks, old wounds weeping blood. He started up the dais, the thrumming in his skull mounting by the moment. Every cell in his body begged him to leave, to turn away and run. He thought of Robin and the way she would smile at him. She started to slip away between his fingers like ashes in the roaring wind. He clamped his teeth together and latched onto her memory, the last thing he had and took another step. And another. And another.

There was a shriek from Valloth as he readied his sword, nearly blowing out his eardrums. “ Don’t! Stop!” He was scrambling back, trying to hug his throne for protection “It’s MINE!”

Roshar didn’t waste his energy on words. Gathering up every drop of strength he had left, he twisted his sword and pierced it right into Valloth’s heart.

The world exploded in a suction of dark energy, a whirlwind of glistening dust. Roshar screwed his eyes shut and tightened the grasp on his sword grip. “Fool!” the King screamed, barely audible above the howling. “ Now it passes onto you! Nothing has changed !”

Roshar shook his head, gritted his teeth. He would not take it. He would not cave in like Valloth. Roshar sunk to one knee as the dark venom coiled and writhed around him, trying to find a way in. He squeezed his eyes shut as the it burned down his throat, expanding in his lungs and spreading out through his body, finding every crevice, every vein and every cell, filling him with the poison. The King flopped back on his throne, dead.

And then the universe was quiet.

Roshar felt his heart boom in his chest, pumping toxic blood into his body. He raised his head, slowly, slowly, and gazed through the slits of his helm.

And he saw it, no felt it . The power the King spoke of. It shifted in the air, thrashed inside him, begging to be harnessed, to be taken and used. It needed to have a home, have a vessel. Roshar pinned the power within his sights, a loose thread that coiled out to him, seeking him. Roshar swallowed a mouthful of sour saliva, fixing his eyes on the rust eaten throne. He shouldn’t take it. He should just let the poison choke him. But how he wanted that power. How he deserved it.

Mine.

He scrambled to his feet, struggling as he shuffled towards the throne, dragging Valloth’s corpse from the seat and leaving him slumped on the floor, one more body on the pile. He planted himself down on the seat and closed his eyes, his body a hollow cavern that echoed with darkness. The power took root in him, hooking itself deep in his body. He reached for the tiny thread of power that dangled front of him, holding on for all he was worth. It was his and his alone. No one was ever going to take it from him. Never.

This was his world now.

Originally published by Perihelion Science Fiction

Isaac Kopper tugged at his collar and snuck a glance behind him, just to be sure no one was aiming a gun at his head. He sucked in the syrupy air, struggling to fight the muggy heat that was doing its best to suffocate him. This skin-tight shirt wasn’t helping, either.

He stretched out a hand and firmly pressed down on the intercom marked Saul Anders , hearing a buzz in one of the apartments. The dual moons, Azareth and Vakarien, hung in the sky. Their pale light spilled onto the street and the rows of high-tech houses with their neatly manicured lawns, wet with the recent shower of rain. The smell of bitumen hung heavily in the air. Damn it, why didn’t he answer the door? There was only so long he’d be able to stand outside before—

A Council security drone hovered overhead, tiny speakers blaring news headlines and the usual propaganda. He felt a bead of sweat ride down his chest. Had they caught onto him already? He’d hoped they’d have the decency to give him a little head start.

Thankfully the drone drifted past without noticing him. He released a lungful of air. So they hadn’t caught on just yet.

Good.

The gun-grey screen crackled to life, the polished monitor revealing the face of a hawk-eyed man with a fleshy jaw, studded with black bristles and faint scars. He presumed that it was Saul Anders. ‘Hey Isaac, isn’t it a little late to be calling?’

Kopper forced up a smile. ‘I was in the area and thought I’d stop by.’ He raised the bottle in view of the camera and dangled it seductively. It came with a sheath that insulated the bottle from heat and kept it cold inside. He popped it out and twisted it around so Anders could see the expensive Fornax label. ‘I just happened to bring this along with me.’

Anders took the bait. His face lit up. ‘Brilliant. Buzzing you in.’ The screen flickered, spluttered and died. A moment later the large metallic door with transparent boltglass abruptly slid open. Kopper strode inside to a hall of dark marble tiles and a towering bronze statue with ornate insignias, the air-conditioning fast freezing his sweat. The red velvet carpet swallowed up his footsteps. A vending machine huddled in the corner, immaculately stacked with overpriced products. Even from here he could see the Council Seal of Approval that had been stamped onto each item. The vending machines were notorious for giving eighty-percent of their profit straight to the Council and their anonymous shareholders. Didn’t stop people from buying ‘em, though. He remembered the one night that he and a few others had gone along and torched a truckload of the things. You could see the smoke for miles. The next day it had been branded as a mechanical malfunction. That amused had him more than anything.

The conspicuous cam made a low humming sound as it detected him, its tracking lens following his movement across the carpeted hall. He allowed it to scan his face, the lazy blue light sweeping up and down before making a sound of confirmation.

‘Isaac Kopper, welcome to Nordim Apartments ,’ purred the androgynous voice. ‘It has been seventeen days, two hours, and fifteen minutes since your last check-in.’

Seventeen days, huh? Interesting. He made a mental note as he strode over to the elevator and stabbed the button for the penthouse, the doors clinching shut behind him. Hopefully Anders was as stupid as he was naïve.

*

‘You been sick? Haven’t seen you around lately.’

The man was fat; his bulging stomach larger than it had any right to be. Kopper fumbled for a response as planted his bag down on the vintage sofa with a curlicue pattern. ‘Been busy. A buddy died, so I spent the week with his family up in Saen.’

Anders seemed to accept this as he waddled into the kitchen. ‘Fair enough. I’m worried with these new diseases popping up all over the place. I bet they’re from all the refugees coming in from Wreth. Some are coming as far back as Earth, bringing all their infections with them. Vaccines cost a damned fortune.’

Kopper offered a watery smile. ‘Had mine a while back.’

‘Strange that they’re come all this way and then complain about the conditions when they get here. Teach them to do a little more research next time. They probably wish they’d never left.’

Kopper knew Anders had hit a mark. People didn’t care what the conditions were, as long as they could get away from the wars going on at home. An independently run government that spanned multiple star systems seemed ideal on paper. Arriving here on Nuvus slammed them back into reality.