Humanity is no longer alone, and they’re evolving. Since an alien migrant fleet entered the Local solar system human technology has advanced, their colonies on Mars expanded, but their suspicion and reluctance to share resources with the migrant fleet has never abated.
Alien blood is valuable: powerful. In an attempt at truce, the migrant fleet agreed to share their DNA with human marine candidates. Those who survive the cellular fusion are now part of a new, space frontier army; trained to kill with a drop of blood.
Eva Buck is among the newest recruits and her induction into the synth army takes a dangerous turn when her instructor, Neni-Lohi, does the unthinkable.
A space opera full of witty humour, creeping horror, and a colourful cast of characters.
*
My first publication is an online serial novel, Bloodshot Buck, co-authored with Mitch K. Allen. A fantasy-sci-fi story about space marines who’re trained to use their blood in combat. Mitch and I intend to totally redraft the story for paperback publication. BigWorldNetwork, who it was published with, have unfortunately closed down. You were amazing while you lasted BWN!
I was surprised by how strongly people enjoyed this story! I still get messages asking me when this series will be reprinted. I tell thee: heck, I dunno.
It is not abandoned, however. I just want to focus on Witching Knight right now. Bloodshot Buck is another novel with many different agendas unfolding all at once, and balancing how that’s exposed to the reader and how it all connects requires being totally immersed in the project.
I’ll give you something, though. How about the rewrite of chapter one?
Do you love music? I have a playlist for everything.
Chapter one
Eva suspected the world around her was a lie when she followed Grandma towards the bomb threat. In another universe, she had let Grandma run off on her own. Marine-mode had overridden her senses as Eva turned to see her big brave sister, stricken with horror. Eva had left Grandma to find the bombers while she got the civilians on lower ground out of the mall.
But this time, things would change.
Eva followed Grandma into the sports-shop, past hanging swimsuits in a rainbow of colours, through the ‘staff only’ door at the back, vividly taking in Grandma’s lithe body, her neat bun, her dungarees with the yellow flower stitched to the front pocket.
Time stretched out slow and rushed by in a blink. Neon strip-lights danced where they weren’t supposed to be installed, here in these dingy corridors. The pair of them decided they would distract the bombers.
Fire exploded down the staff corridor. The ceiling fell in a hurricane of steel and stone. Screaming—Eva’s screaming—everywhere. She tried to shield Grandma’s body with her own, but she was too slow.
Grandma burned.
#
“Eva!”
A firm hand shook her shoulder and Eva’s eyes sprang open. She blinked, breathing hard, sucking in chill relief. It wasn’t happening again.
“Eva, what is it? What’s wrong?”
She focused on the concerned face leaning over her, his Irish accent tugging her closer to the surface and away from her nightmare. Daniel. The spaceship. Reality. Grandma was still dead. Eva was not.
#
Most days they spent the morning learning about Martian history and law; what to expect from synth training and the programme’s intended future. The rest of the day they could do whatever they wanted, consuming digital entertainment, playing games, pounding the gym. The evenings were reserved for basketball before dinner and the free-bar afterwards.
“Get your booze now, kids,” said their supervisor. “In a week or less, you’ll never touch alcohol again.”
Having committed her whole adult life to the military so far, the lack of…well, order was both freeing and unnerving. It seemed final, like ‘this is your last week alive’ kind of vibe but equally ‘get ready for the transformation of a lifetime.’ For the longest stretch of the journey, Eva had shared a small ship with three other recruits before collecting five more from an outpost on Mars. On the long-haul trip from Earth, she had learnt that Michael’s real given name was Hyunn-woo, but he’d chosen a Western name at seven when his Korean parents had worried about fitting in on the new frontier. She had already guessed that Daniel and Michael had some kind of long-standing history, but she felt it confirmed when Daniel hinted at a private joke about Michael’s chosen name, and Michael shut him down by shoving Daniel in the face.
As Michael wrapped his tongue around a paper straw like he was auditioning for Dirty Dates, season eleven, Eva had to explain that it wasn’t the same for her. She was third gen, Chinese Australian. Only Eva Buck, nothing more or less.
It took less than a week to fly from Paris to Mars, and a mere forty minutes to get from the capitol of Mars to the Labyrinth of Night. What had seemed like an agonising time cramped in a flying dishwasher with strangers was now hurtling to an end. She’d almost started to worry she’d be stuck with the three musketeers forever.
Eva swung her duffle across her back. The others were already in the aisle, eight bright faces eager to escape the shuttle confines. Her heart thundered with excitement. No one knew what to expect, what the colony would really be like.
The docking bay echoed and clanked outside. Hissing, droning, whining still filled the walls. Today they finally arrived at the Synth Quarter.
Her blood tingled with anticipation.
“Stand clear of the door,” said a cool, female voice.
Light blazed through the hatch, burning white compared to the soft cabin glow. All nine recruits blinked at the change. Eyes watering, feet itching, Eva pushed to the front and ducked out of the darkness.
Hard floors, steel bulkheads, floodlights. A semi-translucent shield rippled from floor-to-ceiling behind them, keeping the atmosphere from being sucked out and replaced with Mar’s abundant supply of carbon dioxide. Mighty clamps held their shuttle in position. Eva ignored all this. She only had eyes for the law enforcers in their crisp-pressed uniforms at the end of the ramp. Waiting.
She counted five in total. Four stood in a line, braced and alert; two men, two women, one kathá. Their eyes bore straight ahead, piercing the shuttle’s hull. Eva already understood the stripes on their uniforms. The Just. She recognised the woman on the end of the row, too, with the same clarity as having known someone since kindergarten, but Eva had never set foot on the same planet as her, until now.
“Good evening,” cried the fifth officer. Eva deduced he was nothing special. A standard human. A non-synth. “Come on down. I’m Major Chelik. You must be Eva Buck.”
She nodded. Nerves knotted her stomach into a fist. What was expected of her? What was the protocol? Eva pinched her camo pants to feel the recruitment papers in her pocket, just to double-check they were still there. “Yessir,” she said simply, saluting, then loped down the ramp. The others followed with more noise.
“Gibson!” cried James, the one she might have called the ringleader of the three musketeers. “Look at that frigate!” He pointed to a reconnaissance ship much further across the bay. A great steel bird glistening beneath the at-shield’s bluish hue.
Michael’s eyes filled with the scope of everything, all the open space which they’d lacked for days unending in the shuttle. “Look at the sweet, unsweaty air,” he replied.
“Is that Neni Lenka?” whispered Thea, the sharpshooter singling out the same celebrity as Eva had. She turned to catch Thea’s gaze, the kind of gaze most people wanted to catch—mischievous and intense—but Major Chelik very deliberately cleared his throat.
“If I could have your attention.” The warmth vanished from his voice and everyone tried to quell themselves. Eva braced, copying the Justicars behind him who hadn’t so much as sniffed. Major Chelik held out his hand. “Do you have your papers?”
There was a rustling and upstart of murmur again. Eva tried to smooth out the edges of her crinkled form before relinquishing it. She’d neurotically kept it safe the whole journey; letting it go felt like handing over a kidney. She took a deep breath and grinned. Everything was going to be better now.
“Thank you,” said Major Chelik, papers collected. He had already judged their worth, Eva could see it in his eyes. “Welcome to the Synth Quarter. It’s a pleasure to have you with us. Each of you has been hand-picked to join us from the marines, the Navy SEALs, the paracord, the Martian Sand Snakes, you name it.” Major Chelik circled his wrist, indicating the list went on, before standing tall with both hands behind his back. “Each of you have been exceptional soldiers in one way or another. I’ve got bad news for you: no one cares.”
Eva felt her mouth tighten, unsure if she was supposed to chuckle.
“We were all skimmed off the top of the cream once upon a time, but not only because we’re good, but because our DNA is compatible.” Unless your name was Major Chelik—she couldn’t see any synth rank on his arm. It was also hard to imagine him being the crème brûlée instead of the custard base, judging from the comfortable pudge around his middle. “From now on, you’re rooks again. I don’t care what you’ve read about us. This is a top security facility. You don’t know anything about what’s in store for you, not really. You will do as you’re told. Private Gibson, pay attention.”
Michael’s smirk fell and he ceased whispering to Daniel.
“You are training to be more than special operatives,” he continued. “You’re training to be synths. Civil servants of Mars. Maybe even Justicars one day.” He gestured to the statuette figures behind him. They each held their nose a little too high for Eva’s liking.
No, not all. The woman she recognised from all the recruiting posters, the slightly shorter one with cappuccino curls. She seemed distant. Blank.
“Training here is more isolated. Look at each other’s faces. Meet your new best friends.”
Eva glanced at James and winked.
“But before you train together, you’ll be under the direct instruction of one of these Justicars and you will worship the ground they walk on, understand? Now, before we get to that, any questions?”
Eva raised her hand. “When will we get the mutation?”
The cappuccino Justicar awakened, her eyes flickering to Eva.
“Not for a few days,” said Major Chelik. “We do blood tests first. Just in case. Anyone else?”
“When’s dinner?” asked Michael. He’d found his smirk again.
“Five-thirty until eight.” Major Chelik gave them each a hard look, daring them to ask another question. Silence. Eva’s ears rang with it. “Right then. Ladies first,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Private Buck.”
Eva stood at attention, her excitement dissolving into queasiness.
“Meet Justicar Lenka. I want you to all but fall in love with her. She’s gonna be with you throughout your new basic training.”
A cappuccino curl fell from Justicar Lenka’s neat bun, her gaze meeting Eva’s. Fear and uncertainty whispered in Eva’s gut. Her? Of all the Justicars on this base, Eva was assigned to the walking, talking, famed Justicar slapped across fifty percent of Martian advertising?
A warm smile transformed Justicar Lenka’s face and Eva’s nausea eased. When Lenka broke rigid formation, her movements were fluid; purposeful. “Nice to meet you, Buck,” she said. “I’ll show you around.”
Eva followed, turning to give the others a wave goodbye. “See ya.”
Only Michael replied.
They strode across the bay to a waiting room. The door slid open with a sleek sigh at Justicar Lenka’s command and revealed two guards inside, rifles in arm, although Eva judged the guns were just for show. Scarlet stripes decorated their lapels. Synths. They didn’t need bullets to incapacitate someone. Between them stood a metal-detector, which Justicar Lenka waved Eva through.
Already Eva burst with questions, desperate to hear the details of her new training, paralysed over whether that was appropriate chit-chat yet, but she bit her tongue as the next room took her breath away.
“No way,” she said in awe. A ceiling-to-floor window yawned with a view of the colony. It glittered with man-made beauty below, a private galaxy against the backdrop of sheer red cliffs. An atmosphere dome stretched over the buildings, constructed like a puzzle of hexagonal panes, bubbling them inside a breathable biome. The base was obviously military. Every road, tower, range, and facility had been plotted out in grids, screeching of organisation skills that went beyond the civilian colonies.
Justicar Lenka let her drink in the sight.
“Is this the whole base?” Eva asked.
“No. The family quarters are behind us.”
“You gotta love living here. Man, I hope my quarters have this kind of view.”
Her joking didn’t elicit quite the reaction she hoped for; Lenka’s smile grew tighter. Maybe joking was off-limits with her. Eva would have to work on that or they were both doomed.
“I’m afraid not.”
“So, where first, Justicar?”
Lenka gestured for Eva to follow her through the white-washed corridors, the walls sporadically painted with stark red emblems; splashes of meaning Eva had yet to learn. She only knew a few, one most importantly. The main emblem. A jagged knife like a lightning bolt, a white star beneath its hilt. The sign of the Just.
“Technically you shouldn’t call me that,” Lenka said. “It’s Justice. I’m not a full Justicar yet. Just in training.”
“Justice Lenka. Ace! What’s training like? That’s gotta be cool.”
“Yes.” Her bland answer sank like a stone between them. Eva had been duped. She’d got the boring Justicar, or maybe all of them lacked social functions. Perhaps that was necessary, thinking about it. “Please don’t call me Lenka, either,” she said. “I hate it. Neni-Lohi is a bit of a mouthful, but Neni is fine.”
“Whatever you say, ma’am. ‘Ma’am’ is okay, right? That’s gotta translate across the board.”
At last, a chuckle. “Yes, that’s fine.”
What kind of name was Neni-Lohi Lenka? Eva couldn’t place her accent, her features, or her heritage. Her voice was a car-crash of French, American, and South-African, but everything else seemed Hispanic. Hell knew where her name came from. Eva shook her head, trying to focus on Neni’s words rather than her sound.
At ground level they hopped into a transporter and it drove them to the next building in Neni’s tour. Eva wished she could feel the wind on her face. A craving for fresh air crawled into her chest and sat there; heavy, maddening.
Leaving her duffle in the transporter, Eva was shown the mess and the classrooms. Next, the shooting range and the parade square. Finally, Neni took her to the practice building. There were no windows. Floodlights glared across its outside surface, flattening its nooks and grooves like a drawing caught between two worlds. Painted over the entrance was one red symbol, clear for all to see. A five-fingered hand with white veins snaking across its palm. Synths.
Eva whistled. “That’s a big building,” she said, tilting her head back as she followed Neni through the front door.
“It’ll feel small in no time,” Neni replied. “You’ll do most of your training here.”
“And you’ll be teaching me?”
Neni pressed her mouth into a thin line. “Yes. For the most part.”
Don’t sound too pleased, she thought, rolling her eyes.
Inside, the foyer loomed large beneath a cavernous ceiling. Orange electrical currents pulsed between the spot-lights, relaying cybernetic information in and out of the building. Glass walls flanked them on either side, beyond which Eva could see a state of the art gym.
“Ugh, this place is amazing,” she cried, watching a marine sweat it out on his treadmill. “I could get used to working here real easy.”
“Well, I hope you enjoy gym. Taking care of your immune system will be a new, constant pain in the ass.”
Eva choked on a snigger, never expecting the word ‘ass’ to leave Justice Lenka’s mouth. “Yeah, guess I never thought about that. What’s it really like? Being a Justicar, I mean. Is it like on the vids? ‘Cause it totally looks like you’re doing magic.I still don’t understand how the mutation works.”
The boy behind reception checked Neni’s ID, then lowered the field that blocked off the corridor leading to the building’s main interior. A yellow and black hazard line marked the floor, sending a shiver down Eva’s spine as she crossed over, glancing back to read a sign above the doorway: USING BLOOD IS PROHIBITED BEYOND THIS POINT.
“I’m no scientist,” Neni was saying. “For all I know it is magic. They give you basic lessons on biology and physiology, but it never stuck in my mind. Let me know if you have more luck.”
“Sure thing,” Eva laughed. “Have you seen much field-action yet? What’s it like transforming into a full body of blood?”
She instantly regretted asking. Neni looked away, watched her feet, her smile bent into a frown. Perhaps someone or something was troubling Neni about her training. Being a Justicar, even a green one, had to mean intense work.
“It’s painful,” she replied. “People forget, watching those vid-shows, it’s not like that. It hurts.”
In theory, Eva had always known that being a synth would probably hurt. She’d have to cut her flesh for crying out loud; her blood would be her newest weapon, but the recruitment vid had promised no agony. She’d assumed that had something to do with the mutation itself, a useful side-effect also taken from the ones who’d given humans the DNA samples to begin with. The migrant fleet. Aliens.
Her blood would soon be her rifle.
Eva must have looked as sick as she felt because Neni forced a smile and straightened her shoulders. “Only for Justicars though. The best part about being a synth is the pain-meds. Come on, I’ll show you where the drug counter is.”
Pain-meds didn’t sound too bad, so long as it wasn’t horse-tranquiliser.
As Neni led the way to the drug counter, Eva thought of her gap-toothed grandpa, whistling on about the old days; the Brazilian Crash, being a ‘real soldier’. Hundreds of stories, some including how he’d eloped with Grandma, but Eva’s favourites were those about his galactic service. Best-of-the best, a frontier soldier. Eva planned to make him proud—all of them proud.
Her small hometown in Queensland could only be visited in photos from now on, but that didn’t matter.
The drug counter hummed with activity. Eva heard the queue before she saw it, an adequate line of men and women, papers in hand. Two nurses behind the counter checked documents, stamped forms, and handed out chunky boxes of pain-relief.
“Those on active duty burn through meds pretty fast,” Neni said, “while others have lingering side-effects; some peoples’ body reject the mutation.”
“What kind of side-effects?”
“Kidney failure; migraines and dizziness; needing anticoagulants; frequent fevers… You’ll be tested for compatibility, of course,” Neni reassured her, “but sometimes it’s not enough to know for sure. Getting cold feet yet?”
A sharp chill crackled down Eva’s spine, but she shook her head, stood taller. “No way, ma’am.”
One synth turned to leave the counter and noticed Neni stood at the end of the corridor. He blanched, then snapped to attention and saluted. “Ma’am,” he said.
Neni nodded to him. “Carry on,” she replied. He hurried past, not without drawing notice from the rest of the queue. It had a domino effect, and soon, the entire line paid respect to Neni-Lohi.
“At ease, syn—”
Sirens split the air, drowning out Neni’s appraisal. It was an odd, tinny sound with a frequent tempo, like the high-pitched ping of a ship’s navigation. Neni jolted, alive with purpose, and the wild look in her eye sent Eva’s heart rate tripping.
“Nobody move!” Neni bellowed, making Eva jump. She’d never expected such a deep, stern note could come from her. The queue fell silent, froze in place, and everyone watched her as if Neni was the centre of a solar flare about to burn them all alive.
Swift and sure, Neni turned on her heel and left.
“Does that include me?” Eva called after her. No reply. Not even a backwards glance. Taking a deep breath, Eva followed her anyway.
Around the next corner came a bubbling, whirring cubic drone. It shone with blue holographic light, its square body pulsing with data. Neni stumbled to a stop and the drone hovered before her, bobbing up and down. It scanned her face with a beam of light.
“Justice Lenka,” it garbled, “there is a matter that requires the attention of a Justicar in room one-zero-two. Please assist.”
“Acknowledged,” Neni said, batting it out the way.
She took off at a run and Eva sprinted along behind, every atom of her being alive with excitement. She hadn’t run in so long. Her legs throbbed, itched, and seethed. They’d been swollen since arrival, but she ignored it, impressed by Neni’s speed.
“Justicar!” cried a man’s voice, his words growing louder with every footfall. “Someone get a—”
They rounded a corner and the man’s cry died on his lips. Glancing at his lapel, Eva noted he was a sergeant. She thought he paled at the sight of Neni, but maybe he was always this pallid. The instructor-sergeant stepped aside of the doorway to room one-zero-two as a wicked screech sounded within.
“Bitch! Say that again!” screamed a woman beyond the door.
“I can’t stop them,” the instructor said to Neni.
Another ragged, panting scream.
The instructor said no more as Neni squared her shoulders, set her face in stone, and strode into the room.
Eva peered in, one hand gripping the doorframe to steady herself.
Blood ran slick across the walls.
A man and woman, maybe Eva’s age, darted like animals around the room. Deep welts marred the woman’s face; her opponent clung to one of his arms, useless. Growling, the woman dragged her hand over her cheek, scooping up blood, and threw her arm out. The meagre liquid stretched and arched into a jagged spear.
The bloke released his dislocated arm and dived aside with a flourish of his hand, but Eva saw no returning fire.
All this happened in seconds. Neni stood her ground between them and threw up her arms. “CEASE.” Her voice rang like steel.
Everyone froze. The blood spear paused mid-flight. Red droplets floated like a solar-system—the man’s reply attack, Eva realised, blood-bullets—and in the centre of it all: there was Neni.
Her hands clenched, arms came down, and blood hit the floor with a harmless splatter. “You’re lucky I’m only a Justice. What the hell are you playing at?”
The mutilated woman lurched like she’d been jolted with a stunner. “He’s been—”
“DON’T SPEAK.”
Eva’s excitement shrivelled up in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t take her eyes off Neni, couldn’t stop the tremor in her limbs. Tiredness. It had been a long, long day. Tiredness.
“Both of you, hands behind your heads,” Neni ordered. They complied, staring at her like caged animals, wary and still simmering with anger. “By the first Code, second addendum, you are under arrest for serious abuse of your powers. It is likely, when a senior Justicar arrives, that you will be judged and sentenced for Demolition. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do may be used against you in a martial court of the Just. Now, out into the corridor, on your knees, facing the wall. I will force you if necessary.”
She raised her palm to them, a warning, and Eva had seen enough vid-shows to know that a Justicar didn’t have to touch you to make you move. You just had to be a bleeding synth.
Eva stood back as the arrested synths passed her and did as Neni directed. When Neni came out after them, weary lines softened her face. Her stony resolve was gone.
“You should leave,” she said softly, avoiding Eva’s gaze. “Gimbal, will you take Buck to the transporter and show her to her room?” The cubic drone from earlier zoomed closer. Eva hadn’t even noticed it was there, hovering down the corridor.
“Certainly, Justice Lenka,” the drone said. “Follow me, Private Buck.”
By the time Eva reached her room, duffle hanging off her back again, a headache burned inside her skull. A dozen questions frothed within: what was Demolition? It sounded pretty severe. Why had those synths been fighting—in the practise building, of all places? How stupid could they be? If they wanted to fight, they should’ve at least done it where they wouldn’t be caught. Eva vowed she’d never be that stupid—to get caught, at least. God, Neni was cool.
“Dinner is at five-thirty,” said Gimbal, flying around the small room. There were two sheltered bunks, a wall of lockers, and a table in the centre. “Someone will come to collect you and your roommates around that time. I must be going now. Goodbye, Private Buck.” The drone soared away, whirring again as the door hissed shut behind him.
Time to spread out. Eva threw down her bag, yanked off her boots, wriggled out of her pants, and fell onto her new standard-issue bed. She scratched her legs, rubbed them until they turned red, still itching from the change in pressure. It felt good to be out of that goddamn shuttle.
She freed her hair from its bun and it fell around her in long, black waves. She sighed and massaged her forehead. “Much better.” Eva absently counted three other beds, her mind still stuck on Neni-Lohi—the image of her surrounded by floating blood. “So weird…” she muttered. “Awesome.” She’d never planned on training to be a Justicar, but maybe one day…
The door hissed open and Eva scrambled to sit up. “Hey!” she cried, about to tell whoever it was to knock next time. Three familiar faces peered inside. “Oh no,” she groaned, “not you fucks.”
The three boys she’d left behind in the docking-bay stormed into the room on a tidal-wave of noise. Her headache throbbed. James chose the bed above hers by throwing his bag across the room.
“Look who it is!” he cheered, unbuttoning his uniform shirt to show his thermal top beneath. “My favourite sanguine marine.”
With a loud, poignant moan, Eva buried herself under the covers and rolled to face the wall, secretly pleased to see him.
Willow H. Wood 