Heart of the Sun Ch. 01

"You're really not a visitor?" she insisted.

"I have to go," desperation creeping into his shaking voice.

Nilim stood up, holding a hand out to him. "Come with me, Bakur."

"I have to leave. I have to get to the outpost. I have to get offworld." He looked around and found his helmet. Pulling it to his chest, he felt panic start to overtake him. "I have to go."

His legs gave out as he got to his knees. The stimulant dose finally wore its way through him in its entirety. He collapsed into the sand unceremoniously and struggled to get upright again. A hand gently removed the helmet from his trembling fingers. He protested weakly. There was hardly strength left in him to do it. Void, I'm shaking bad.

"You're hurt, Bakur?" the woman probed, squatting down in front of him.

Bakur just held a trembling hand out to receive his helmet. "I have to go. I have to." This was getting him nowhere, he realized. He had to calm down and pull himself together. She could probably help him get to the outpost, or better yet, the spaceport. If he asked, anyway.

Thirty seconds was all he needed. He counted.

Five...

Ten...

Seventeen...

Twenty-two...

Twenty-nine...

------------

Bakur opened his eyes and stared blankly at a fresco of a naked woman.

Several seconds passed as he compressed the experience of the last two hours into a coherent mental image, aided only by the placid and accepting looking of disinterest on the naked woman's face above him. Somehow, her disinterest put him at ease. She wasn't going to bother him or his thoughts; she was just an observer.

He sat up and regretted the action almost immediately. Deep, dull pain squeezed every part of his body at once. Slowly, he let out a long breath and pulled the thin sheets off his body. His ribs throbbed with resounding protest. The only way to get past it was to get up and move.

He took great care to swing his legs off the pressure-foam mattress and straighten his back. His body protested, but he knew better than to listen. Nothing could have possibly broken after he took his e-suit off. And given that he had only minor fractures, he could safely walk around without inadvertently doing damage to himself.

Standing was difficult, but manageable. His core almost gave out once, but when he managed to stand upright things were easier. His uniform was gone, leaving him in only form-fitting flight briefs. After giving a few preliminary stretches, he started toward an open stone doorway across the room.

Wherever he was, the technology was advanced enough to be called modern. Despite stone veneers, each wall was fitted with light mounts that were made to look like torches, even giving off an erratic light temperature fluctuation imitating fire. The floor was heated, each meter-long tile feeling pleasant beneath his feet as he walked.

A viewscreen sat dormant on the wall beside the doorway, its four corner emitters waiting for instruction. The large space that would serve as a backdrop for their light projection was immaculate, approaching mirror-smooth. Someone had gone through a concerted effort to provide comfort and aesthetic to a very high degree.

The hallway matched, though its ceiling was covered in a mix of murals depicting serene locales that might have been inspiration for artists working in physical mediums centuries ago. A jetty peering out into a sunny green lagoon. A hillside covered with flowers blooming toward the sky. A quiet oasis in the middle of a sand sea.

Coupled with the naked, motherly woman watching him sleep from above, it gave Bakur a sense of ease, like this place was purpose-built to allow him some distance from whatever in life might try to follow him here. Given that the planet was a widely-renowned resort world, that was probably exactly what the architects and decorators had in mind.

Bakur idly admired the building's open feel, with every exterior room open to the sunny countryside. The ocean breeze drifted lazily through the hallways, carrying with it some of the clean, fresh scents of the olive grove nearby.

Eventually, he came across the woman from the beach, lying across a cushioned stone dais. She turned her head toward him, smiling as he crossed the threshold into the room.

"Hello."

"Hello, Bakur. Are you rested?"

He shrugged. "No, but I'll live."

She smiled like a mother about to admonish her child for an obvious mistake. "Would you like to return to bed?"

"No," he answered, crossing the room toward her with care not to aggravate his broken toe. "I think I've slept long enough."

The woman sat up, turning to face him in full. "Good. I have questions for you. Come sit with me if you'd like."

Bakur shook his head. "I'd like to leave, actually."

She appeared to think about the implication of his answer, rubbing her short blonde hair in thought. Eventually, she just returned his gesture in a similar manner. "Not yet."

Bakur stopped and their eyes met. Her gaze was full of questions he didn't have any desire to answer, now or ever. She could probably tell that his mood was less than inviting from their interactions up to this point. The silence grew into tension as neither he nor the athletic woman in front of him made a move. He had no idea what to expect from her.

The tension broke as she reached back and brought around a bowl of grilled vegetables and rice, two utensils sticking out of it, apparently waiting for him to arrive. Bakur looked at the food and then back to her.

"You look very hungry. Eat with me and we will talk."

"Where is my enviro-suit?" he asked with more concern than intended.

"In the pavilion," adding in a placating tone, "With your other belongings."

Bakur's brow furrowed. "What, my clothes?"

"Your rifle and knives. I collected them while you slept," she stated.

Bakur regarded her with some skepticism, but couldn't find a lie in her statement. The knives, he had no knowledge of. His rifle, however, might have made it with the escape pod. The only way for her to know about it now was to have found it.

"I want to see them first."

The woman patted a cushion beside her. "First, eat. Then we will collect your belongings."

It looks like it's time to eat, then. He sat down beside her and she handed him the bowl, producing one for herself a few moments later. Behind her, a fountain depicting a woman with cupped hands in offering filled a ceramic goblet. The water spilled from her bronze fingertips like liquid subservience to his thirst.

It was hard to shake the feeling that this place had been purpose-built to serve the desires of guests, down to its apparent caretaker. She handed him his water and smiled amicably as he downed it without much thought.

"Thank you, um... Nessa?"

She chuckled a little. "Nilim."

"Nilim, right," he offered apologetically. "So, we eat, then you take me to my things. Agreed?"

"Agreed," she replied with a slight nod.

"Good." He started eating. He didn't say another word to her for the entirety of the meal, only holding his goblet out for her to refill. Before he realized, Nilim was scooping most of the contents of her bowl into his. Bakur hadn't realized he was so hungry.

He continued until his bowl was emptied a second time. Nilim took it obediently as he held it out to her and took a moment to relax. His body ached still, but the bit of movement around the villa had eased some of the lesser pains. His ribs still protested everything, but he was able to work through it without too much effort.

"Was it to your liking?" Nilim asked, flipping a stone tile on end to reveal a small refrigerated space filled with fruits of different varieties. She removed two pears and handed one to him. He took it without objection.

"It was fine." He bit into the pear. Juicer than normal. Imported? Is this really the question I want to ask myself right now? Practically naked in the open? He forcibly pulled his thoughts together and motioned toward the long pool the bronze woman's hands kept filled. "About my things."

"They are still in the pavilion." Her tone was amused.

Bakur rolled his eyes. "I figured as much. More to the point; is my enviro-suit charged?"

"Not yet."

"Any idea when it'll be charged enough for me to call for a ride out of here?"

She shrugged. "Probably a few days. In the meantime, you are more than welcome to stay here."

"I'm sure I am, but I'd rather get going sooner than later."

Nilim stood and offered her hand to him. Scars pockmarked her skin across the back of hand and down to her fingertips. Bakur figured there wasn't much to be gained in fighting her on the issue of leaving, so he complied. She hoisted him up without much effort and extended an arm toward the pool nearby.

"I have heated the water for you. It would serve you well to relax some before leaving. You have a long way to go if the great quarter is your destination."

"The great quarter?" he asked, following her down the few steps to the poolside.

"Yes, where the visitors come from." She paused to laugh. "Those that don't arrive from Mother Sun," she amended.

"I told you before I'm not a visitor." He dipped a toe in the water. It was warm to the touch. Nilim stripped off what little clothing she had on and stepped into the pool, sighing with relief as the water enveloped her to the shoulders. She invited him in with the inclination of her head.

"Not a visitor, but a guest. Will you refuse the invitation of your host, my guest?" There was a coyness to her words that Bakur couldn't quite understand. Was she inviting him into the water, or something else? More than likely, given that the entire planet was dedicated to being a sex resort filled with genetically-altered women, she was inviting him to have sex. But there wasn't any explicit intention behind her words.

For all he knew, she was just inviting him in for a bath. Given her heavily-scarred hands and the myriad of other time-healed wounds across her body, it was safer to assume platonic intentions.

He stripped his flight briefs off and got into the pool across from Nilim. A wave of relief washed over him as his sore and abused body started to release the immense physical stress of unaided orbital reentry. His eyelids attempted to close, held open only by the feeling of unease somewhere deep in Bakur's psyche. A piece of him wouldn't let its guard down, even with Nilim's calm and persistent engagement.

"So, where is this place? In relation to the outpost?" he asked.

"We are almost eighty kilometers away from the great quarter. There is a road that will take you there if you want to walk."

Bakur raised his arm out of the water with some effort and the extent of his fatigue set in as he watched his trembling arm. He was in no condition to make an eighty-kilometer trek carrying his e-suit on his back. He probably couldn't do it unencumbered at this point, even with a stim dose. I can spend one day on the rack before getting back into it. Otherwise, I'm no good to anyone falling out on the side of the road.

"I think I'll stay for today, actually."

Nilim's face lit up. "Wonderful. I will see to it that you are well-kept."

"I just need to check all my gear and then we're good. Take me to it after the bath?"

"Of course," came the obedient response. "Would you like lotions or ointments for your injuries? I am well-supplied with many different kinds."

"You treat a lot of re-entry victims?" the mercenary asked jokingly.

Nilim held up a hand pockmarked with pink scar tissue. "Mostly myself and the other Nakator."

She reached back and opened a small chest, pulling out a glass container filled with thick, cream-colored paste. Popping the lid off, the dipped two fingers into it and then offered them to Bakur to examine. He leaned toward her slightly.

"Smells nice," he offered, catching the scent briefly. It was like a combination of floral perfumes and smelling salts. Cool and bright, making his nose tingle. It probably contained a numbing agent based on the way it made his sinuses react.

"I can apply it to your wounds when you're done bathing. It applies best to wet skin." She wiped her fingers off and recapped the container, rubbing the excess across her hands. Bakur's curiosity got the better of him.

"How did you get those scars, anyway?"

"I am the tataion of the Nakator," she answered proudly. A moment later, she added, "Though I was not always skilled with my tools."

"What is a tataion?"

She gave him a look hovering between thoughtful and confused, as if this was a question she didn't often get. She mulled an answer around in her head for a little before choosing an answer. Bakur just waited for her, trying himself to understand why she couldn't just tell him.

"I reveal the other Nakator's names. Their true names. All Anorian tribes have tataioni."

"Their real names?" Bakur asked. "Like a religious name?"

Nilim's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure what that means."

"Like, a spiritual name. A symbolic one that represents you. Like a Karg getting renamed after one of their ancient mythical priests when they get high up in rank."

The Anorian seemed to agree well enough with his guess. "In a way, yes. But it's not the same."

"So you name everyone at some point."

"Only the Nakator," answered the woman plainly. "Only those who have come behind."

"Alright, so carrying that, what part of naming the Nakator involves tools that tear your fingers up like a Nytix?"

Nilim's eyes rested on her hands as they rose out of the water. Heat soaked, the difference in color between her tan skin and her bright pink scars was more pronounced. There was a certain fondness with which she regarded the evidence of her labors. Bakur could see a wash of memories drifting through her fingertips as she thought.

"The trozian and stylus are difficult to master."

Stylus? "So you're a tattoo artist?"

"I am the tataion of the Nakator," she corrected with some firmness. "An artist...creates something where there is nothing. A tataion uncovers what is already there."

Bakur looked Nilim over as she grew quiet, finding that she didn't have any tattoos herself. "So do all tataions not have names? Do you not tattoo yourselves?" He bit his lip in thought. "I guess that would be hard, huh?"

"The others do. But I haven't come behind anyone yet to earn a name in the Nakator."

"Come behind?"

She looked at him. "There is no one to go before me yet. I have never taken a visitor's gift."

"A visitor's gift?" Wait, is she a virgin?

"That is why the visitors come, to give us their gift. The gift of a future. I haven't given the Nakator my gift yet, in turn." She spoke with some sort of hushed reverence that made Bakur think this was more important than he initially expected. Somehow, the Anorian culture saw sex tourism as a central part of their culture. Given that Anorian's were genetically incapable of producing male children, it made some sense how they'd developed the idea that sex was a gift.

That made for a tidy system for the people who owned the planet, though.

"So you don't have any kids. And you need one to earn the right to get named."

"Yes."

Bakur rolled the thought around in his head for a while. "Then why not just go get a visitor? That's what they're here for, right?"

She laughed a little at that. "I am the only tataion of the Nakator. I haven't left this village in seven years."

"So the visitors can't come to you?"

"Visitors aren't allowed this far away from the great quarter. Some have tried in the past, but the authorities come and retrieve them."

"So you can't go to them and they can't come to you? How are you supposed to link up with a visitor then?"

"That is what I have been trying to accomplish for seven..." She stood up suddenly. "Someone is here."

"Do I need to hide?" the mercenary asked warily. Retrieved by the authorities didn't sound like a very enjoyable experience; he'd already seen the latter half of that at the spaceport days before. It was doubtful that they would believe his story, even if he gave the evidence. Given what Nilim said about visitors not being allowed this far, it was probably best not to be found until he intended to leave.

"Go to the pavilion. There," she said, pointing to a small domed structure standing in the center of the columned courtyard past the far end of the pool. "I will come get you later." She left quickly, wrapping herself up in the two long ribbons of dyed fabric that served for clothing.

Bakur got out in her wake, grabbing his flight briefs and doing his best to put them on wet. Despite being made of hydrophobic fabric, they didn't come up easily when he was soaking wet. Notably, his soreness had dissipated some. He was thankful for that. Hurrying as best he could, Bakur crossed the sunny courtyard and entered the pavilion.

Inside, a hole in the dome above allowed sunlight to pour directly into a basin where his e-suit and helmet lay, photocells open and collecting energy. Silently, he searched through the chests lining the interior wall of the pavilion and found his rifle and clothes.

Checking his weapon, he was surprised to find it apparently functional. The power pack was fully charged and a short diagnostics check showed all clear. He stored it back with his clothes and lay down on a long bench, closing his eyes to rest. If all he had to do was wait, he could do that. No sense in worrying about what might happen when he had no power to control it.

His idle thoughts kept drifting back to the previous day. Leaving the outpost and plotting a vector toward the jump point at the edge of the system. Coming into contact with the Counter Corp ship and the subsequent engagement. Abandoning his crewmates to escape.

The part where he hurtled at almost the speed of sound toward the ground with no hope for survival, that was eating away at him too. He survived well enough, with fewer injuries than could ever have been asked for. His brain could unravel how he felt about that one over time; that wound would heal in time. His conscience wouldn't unwind the reality of abandoning his comrades to die so he could live, however. Not without introspection.

They died to see him live. And they did it willingly.

Bakur couldn't tell how long he thought about the magnitude of faith and trust they had in him to deliver the crew of Charger to justice. Be it through official means or by dusting Counter's kill team to even out the matter, they tasked him to do it by trading their lives for his. And at his disposal he had either a single e-suit and a rifle, or the entirety of Terminus Rex's military arsenal at his disposal. All he could do now was wait for the chance to use them.

He was staring at the stars through the roof when Nilim finally came to retrieve him.

"Bakur?" she asked hesitantly.

"I'm still here," he answered, pulling himself away from the speculative loop of thought about the timetable he needed to keep to get offworld.

Nilim entered the pavilion's circular inner room and smiled broadly at him as he sat up. "Are you hungry? I can cook something if you'd like."

"That sounds great, actually." He followed her back into the main building, through the open pool room and into a smaller, central one that resembled a kitchen. Nilim activated a heating element and slid a panel along the wall to reveal a plethora of refrigerated cuts of meat.

"Do you have a preference?" she asked.

"No, not really. I'm sure any of them would be good." He watched her pick out a few smaller cuts of meat and toss them onto the heating element. She doused them with a few ounces of a dark orange liquid and they sizzled excitedly. Bakur felt his mouth water as the smell.