Colony

After their bodies and bed had been reacquainted with one another, Ludin went on to regale her with his exploits during this most recent mission. Intelligence had first arrived from resistance scouts, he narrated, with tidings of an Empire shipment imminent en route to the Criaman Desert. Destination: Forte Magnal. Ludin, being the Resistance commander, amassed a small force to intercept the shipment. A few hundred men, half a dozen quentillions, a handful of drezdens, and one raybach android proved more than sufficient to subjugate the travelling Empire convoy. Coalborne’s newly developed compressed micronium technology was manufacturing miracles from battlefield to battlefield. The success they had been garnering since the inception of micronium compression had been, to say the least, remarkable. A fierce but one-sided battle ensued, and before long, the Empire tanks had been reduced to scattered debris across the sweltering sands. The Resistance had not only the strength of compressed micronium, but the element of surprise as well. Soon, so were the Empire’s shipments—whatever they were. Ludin ceaselessly boasted of his peerless prowess and relished the copious count of those vile humans he had murdered. There was a detestable sort of ecstasy in his prideful declarations. “Ah!” Lude sighed, watching Tina’s hand stroking motions over his chest. “Only one thing feels better than holding a gorzon blaster in my arms. Two things, actually.” “And what might those be?” Tina wore a smile that revealed her knowledge of the answer, at least one of them. “What else but having you in my arms, of course.” “And the other?” “Holding the head of a miserable human.” The casual nature of his tone unsettled Tina, and her third eye revealed the agonizing candor in his remorseless declaration. Oh, Lude, she thought. What has happened to you? Ludin now was strong where he had been weak, tough where he had been brittle, densely muscled where he had been skeletal from malnourishment, and brave where he had been meek and timid. Fiercely charismatic he was now as a leader, commanding the attention, attestation, and affection of all who heard him speak and watched him act. Tina was hopelessly affectionate toward Ludin the commander and his newfound, bewitching qualities. She adored his might, cherished how attractive he was, physically and otherwise, more so knowing that he was all hers and hers alone. Yet with all the strengths he had gained over the years, most of which she would admit to be net improvements, there was still something within the frailness and timidity of the nutrition-bar-thin Lude of her childhood that she direly missed and desperately still yearned for. Ludin as a child would never dare speak so casually of something so grotesquely morbid, let alone derive any semblance of pride or joy from it. The old Lude was severely squeamish and shuddered at the detection of the merest drop of blood. Even though she understood fully well that this present viciousness, which had become a pronounced feature of his personality, was reserved only for the vile human colonizers, Tina still could not help but feel deeply upset whenever her beloved fantasized about violence and romanticized death and destruction. Tina was not naïve enough to denounce any and all sorts of violent uprising against human colonialism. Even she could comprehend fully well that it was an undeniable necessity for them to take up arms and fight to reclaim not only their villages and towns, but their planet in its entirety from the clutches of the micronium-hungry humans. All she wished was for it to remain just that—a necessity, not something recreational from which to derive pleasure. “What’s the matter?” Lude’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “It’s nothing. You still haven’t told me what the contents of the Empire shipment were.” Ludin turned over and then around her, his face now above hers and his palms sunken into the bed. “I’ll show it to you.” He drew in his face until his lips were right before her ear. “I promise,” he whispered. “It’ll be a surprise.” Tina blinked rapidly, her gaze averted, before rolling her eyeballs in their sockets to face him. “Okay,” she submitted at last. Ludin dragged away the blanket over his nudity and lunged off the bed, immediately commencing a search for his lost clothes which, in lustful haste, he had scattered mindlessly around the room. He found his trousers first, reduced to a crumpled pile and entwined with Tina’s shirts beneath the bed. Tina observed him while he dressed, resting her cheeks over the back of her hands, her knuckles digging mildly into her face. Ludin’s bare back was as smooth as polished pevlon, embellished with well-defined muscles and tapered with agonizingly aesthetically alluring proportions. Smooth strands of glistening silver-white hair cascaded down it, clinging tightly like webs of bright demerium wire. The anterior portion of his body, on the other hand, was, in terms of polish, a whole different landmark. From chest to navel was a canvas played upon by the artistic prowess of warfare. Cuts, scars, lacerations—healed and hurt in many painful cycles—burns and bruises, scattered all over in artistic asymmetry. A meticulously crafted masterpiece, accentuated ever more by a grotesquely discoloured third eye plastered centrally between brilliant glows of vibrant gold, marked upon his forehead like a decorative ornament. Cowards be damned, if one were to provide a title. Front and back, worlds apart. Cowards be damned. Humans be damned. Ludin decided, after all, that trousers were all the concealment he needed for now as he began to pace towards the door that led out of his living quarters and into his office.

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