Hera - By Chrystalla Thoma Page 0,3

because, in spite of the amount of fish, it was routinely patrolled. But you never knew to what lengths mortals might go for a taste of free fish or to sell their catch on the black market. Her fingers caressed the handle of her longgun, peeking out of its holster at her hip.

The coast looked clear. Gultur fisheries officers in their yellow uniforms were checking the nets in small dinghies. They waved at them. Hera raised her hand in salute.

That was it. Her first official patrol. Her chest swelled with pride. She glanced aside with a ridiculously wide grin to see Sacmis, hands on the wheel, looking as serious as was humanly possible.

It was only funny if you knew Sacmis and could imagine what must be going through her head. Hera sighed and rolled her eyes.

As they passed the marshy coast, new cliffs rose from the waves. More pinnacles broke the surface of the sea, some taller, some shorter, some pointy and some flat at the top. They gleamed like metal. Birds roosted on their summits.

‘The islands are not what they seem,’ had read her mother’s words in a neat, small handwriting. ‘Projections rise around them, shooting out of the sea...’

“Hera, dolphins!” Sacmis slowed the wavebreaker and laughed out loud. “Look!”

At least a dozen of the sleek, dark gray creatures somersaulted in the air before plunging back into the sea.

“I’m diving in with them.” Sacmis unbuckled her belt and threw it aside before Hera had even registered her words.

“What? Sacmis!”

But the headstrong girl never listened to her. Hera grabbed Sacmis’ arm and tugged. “No way. Stop.”

Sacmis scowled. “You’re no fun. Hey, wait a moment...” She shook her arm free of Hera’s hold and leaned over, shading her eyes with her hand. “Is that a boat?”

“Where?” Hera pushed Sacmis back to see. Something black rocked with the waves under the shadow of the cliff. Her throat closed with excitement and nervousness. Her first patrol and she would stop an illegal fisherman. That would be glorious.

Swallowing hard, she drew her longgun. “Drive.”

“Will you kill the bastard, Hera?” Sacmis’ voice trembled with eagerness and Hera glanced at her to find her smiling.

Hera swallowed hard.

“Only if he resists.” But her heart leaped in her chest, trying to break free, as words ingrained into her memory echoed in her ears. ‘Like killing a rabid dog,’ her trainer had intoned as she had pointed her gun at the target. ‘Like cleaning up the world a little from contagious filth. Mortals have no compassion, no higher emotions, no conscience – only rage and madness. Do not hesitate. Pull the trigger.’

Her forefinger touched the trigger.

‘Mortals are subhuman,’ she thought she heard Commander Nekut’s voice explain, her tone clinical and detached. ‘Their race has not followed our evolution. Sooner or later, they shall die out, as is their destiny. We obey destiny, hatha.’

Hera took a deep breath and drew her finger back from the trigger. The Gultur had been changed by Regina, a powerful parasite that had created a race of women only. Stronger, able to see in the dark and hear the faintest sounds, able to reproduce on their own. Cruel and bloodthirsty, thriving on death.

A race to inherit the world.

As they approached, the small boat came into focus. It was made of broken up nepheline parts and old streetcar wheels. A man and a child crouched on its surface. They remained still as the wavebreaker neared them, their faces looming white with fear even from the distance.

Hera gathered her courage. “You are hereby accused of illegal fishing. The sea belongs to the Gultur.” When they did not move, she clicked the safety off her gun. “Jump!” she shouted at them. That was the standard punishment for being caught offshore, their only chance to live, and suddenly she realized that she hoped they’d take it. “Jump now, damn you!”

The man and the child did not seem to hear her, huddled together, just staring back. Hera cursed under her breath. The child let out a high wail, like an angry cat. Hera’s hand on the longgun trembled. She had never shot anyone before, any living person, let alone a child. Could she do it?

“Hera.” Sacmis hissed. “They have not obeyed. Shoot them.”

Hera licked her dry lips. “Kill the engine.” Sacmis shrugged and the boat powered down, rocking with the waves. Hera stood and aimed her gun. “Jump off your boat now,” she called out, “or I’ll shoot you.”

“Don’t shoot!” The man’s voice carried on the salty breeze, weaving with