Adamantine Heart (Prologue)



The man who had come to kill her was dying. She 
contemplated the body thoughtfully. Maybe he was 
already dead. That the scavengers drifting along 
the spaceport alleyways were giving the 
motionless form a wide berth didn’t necessarily 
mean anything. She didn’t need to see his eyes to 
know what he was. Iragan. Hacked and slashed 
though they were, the black battle leathers 
identified him easily enough. Warrior caste 
without a doubt.  If she waited long enough she 
would know for sure. Not even fear would hold  
the scavengers forever. Eventually someone would 
make a grab for the weapons belt encircling his 
hips. To a collector it would be priceless. .On a 
backwater like Sheol? It would keep the scavenger 
stoned for a month.

“Five credits says the first one loses a hand.”

The miner’s breath was sour, his eyes avid on the 
body collapsed across the street. Ryder grimaced 
as he stretched across her table to press his 
face up against the plascrete window. The stench 
of dreamsmoke and unwashed flesh hit her abraded 
senses with stomach churning force. He giggled, 
an alarmingly childlike sound from a grown man 
and she knew without looking that the hands 
beneath his gloves were missing several fingers. 
Miners that far gone always were.

The fact that the Warrior had come so close to 
finding her was unremarkable. He was Iragan. 
Distantly she realized that the only emotion she 
was able to identify in connection with the 
fallen man was relief. Not relief that he had 
failed. Relief that it was finally over. 
Imagination had become reality. They had finally 
decided to come for her. 

It was good. It was time.

She did not expect justice.

Just revenge. 

Suddenly the drunk was shoved away from her table 
and she found herself staring into the eyes of 
oblivion. Peripherally she saw the miner stalk 
forward belligerently, only to back away when he 
identified his assailant. He still had some 
survival instincts operating, Ryder thought 
absently. It wasn’t that her nemesis looked 
particularly terrifying. She supposed he could 
even be called handsome in a slick, menacing sort 
of way. But his eyes…When she had the energy, 
Ryder was terrified that one day she would look 
and fall straight through, her soul dying to feed 
his emptiness. Or maybe it was what he 
represented that she feared.

“The storm-sense is getting worse, isn’t it?”

She turned her head until she could focus her 
gaze back out onto the street. She fought the 
craziest impulse to laugh. Predators within, 
predators without. The most dangerous one of all 
was snarling it’s way through what was left of 
her brain this close to Whisperwind.

“I can take the pain away, cziarlina”

Of course he could. But with it he would take 
what was left of her honor. And that was all she 
had left. The sudden wail of the spaceport alarms 
riveted every eye in the bar on the darkening 
purple sky hovering just beyond the blast walls. 
Several miners blindly swallowed the last of 
their drinks, hoping to drown the cries of the 
crystal poisoning their blood. But the crystal 
they carried was long dead. Adamantine fossil 
debris from millennia past. 

Worse, oh so much worse when the crystal lived.

Some instinct shifted her gaze just in time to 
see empty eyes narrowed at her in 
puzzlement...and something more. Perhaps the 
knowledge that the waiting was over allowed her 
to see that which would have destroyed her had 
she seen it sooner. For the first time she caught 
a glimpse of an emotion that should have 
terrified her. Would, when her mind was once 
again her own. 

Rage. 

For that split second, green eyes met black as 
sound and sight stilled. In that small eternity, 
knowledge shifted and understanding bloomed. She 
slowly placed her drink back on the table.

She had thought she was just another mark. 
Nothing personal. Just another miner to dance to 
the dreamsmoke tune. The fact that the hands 
beneath her gloves were unscarred and whole was 
something she had been very careful never to 
reveal. But she had resisted. A puppet that 
refused to come when the puppetmaster called. And 
now he knew that she knew. Knew that she, in 
total ignorance, had this power over him.  With 
her mind battered and bruised by alien harmonies 
she still found the strength to walk away. To say 
no. 

She had been fighting a battle with herself. He 
had been waging a war with her. And she had  
never even noticed. 

He could let her survive. He would. All she had 
to do was reach out a hand and take what he 
offered. Acknowledge his ability to control her 
body, her mind. Such a small sacrifice, 
considering that only the two of them would ever 
know that something had been lost.  

The spaceport wailed a second warning.

Seven years. Seven years of her life lost to 
people like this. A vague sense of nausea 
threatened as an unfamiliar thread of emotion 
stirred to life.

Outside the window, spacers scurried madly, 
desperate to reach their ships before 
Whisperwind. Ryder ignored them, concentrating on 
the thing that was coalescing deep inside her.

Be careful, her mind whispered.

Seven years of hiding who she was. Emotions 
knotted and surged, then joined with the familiar 
agony of storm-sense to form a heavy weight of 
formless gray that seemed to center just below 
her heart. 

Don’t give yourself away.

Invisible claws grew, then flexed. Her stomach 
turned again as the anger shifted, small fetal 
stretchings as it shaped itself within her. Ryder 
turned her gaze outward, barely keeping the 
instinctive snarl from her lips. 

“Let it go, cziarlina. Let me take the pain 
away.”

Release me. The words were faint. Self whispering 
to self.

Ryder started shaking her head convulsively. It 
was too soon. Excitement tinged with ugly triumph 
grew across the table as the man before her 
tasted victory. 

Was he blind? 

Release me. The voice demanded. Rage and 
eagerness coiled glitterbright behind new-born 
fangs.  And she was tempted. She ached for the 
birth. To ease her pain in a tearing gush of 
blood and release. To thrust the child of her 
rage into the faces of those who would murder the 
children of her future.

Release me!  The monster  screamed with 
anticipation and rising victory.

She thought about it. Considered alternatives. It 
was still too soon.

No.

There were better ways.

Throwing back her head she let her laughter 
shriek out her pain, her fear and her rage. Then 
she lowered half-mad green eyes to stunned black 
and let him see the truth.

“Never.”

Rage exploded and shattered harmlessly against 
indifference. He could not touch her. None of 
them could touch her. They had nothing to 
threaten her with. Not anymore.

Pain tore along her cheekbones as the spaceport 
shields snapped into place. A second harmonic 
joined the ceaseless wail of the alarm, thrumming 
along her bones and vibrating deep inside her 
ears. Several of the more damaged miners cried 
out as the competing harmonics threatened the 
already weakened fabric of their minds. Ghosts. 
They were all ghosts. 

Ryder finally let the snarl she had suppressed 
rip from her throat. Only enraged black eyes 
noticed. To the others, she was just one more 
crazy miner slipping permanently over the edge. 
But this miner had one more task to finish. She 
headed for the door.

It was almost time.

Time for the ghost to become Death.














Chapter One

Most of the scavengers had disappeared when the 
blast shields formed. Ryder eyed the remaining 
shadows carefully. It wasn’t courage or even 
greed which motivated them. It was desperation.  
Too dangerous to be allowed into the protection 
of sound-proofed buildings, the scavengers 
endured Whisperwind in the streets and alleys of 
the spaceport, protected only by the blast 
shield. Most were deaf, having punctured their 
own eardrums in a pain induced madness that 
dreamsmoke only dulled, never cured. Some died 
each Whisperwind, victims of self-mutilation. 
Others were slaughtered when someone simply 
snapped and went on a rampage. It never mattered 
how many. There were always more to take their 
place.

The Iragan had collapsed a bare twenty paces from 
the spaceport doors. Close enough for the 
security guards to have come to his assistance 
had they chosen. Ryder could see at least one 
team watching from behind the blast-proof glass. 
Although her clothing clearly marked her a miner, 
they hadn’t drawn their weapons. Yet.

Ryder briefly considered hauling the Iragan back 
to her shelter. Waiting until he was conscious 
enough to give her some assistance. Then her eyes 
flicked to the darkening sky. They were out of 
time. Whisperwind lasted too long, he was too 
valuable and she was too sensitive. Another three 
hours and she would be incapable of protecting 
herself let alone a wounded piggy bank. And how 
would she get him home? Her normal route  
required more physical agility than he currently 
possessed. Ryder cursed softly. 

It had to be now. 

The Iragan had clearly been losing blood for 
hours. From his tracks, he had crossed most of 
the spaceport on his hands and knees. The 
determination and will to survive etched in the 
blood on the pavement was sobering. She debated 
leaving him. She could deal with those who would 
follow him. Unless…her eyes drifted back toward 
the bar and the tinted windows that gaped at her 
like burnt out eyes.  

Ryder resisted the urge to clutch her head as the 
throbbing in her cheekbones intensified.  I can’t 
think like this. She tasted blood and realized 
that she had bitten into her lower lip.
The beast within shifted impatiently. Then 
snarled at her. Don’t think. Just do. For a 
moment she heard echoes of another voice in that 
irritated command. Another ghost, from another 
time. 

Don’t think. Just do.

That thought carried her the rest of the way to 
the body.  The mixture of blood and dirt crusting 
his face made it impossible to make out his 
features. His hair matched his leathers and was 
surprisingly long for a warrior. It didn’t reach 
his shoulders, but…her eyes went thoughtfully to 
the belt at his waist. Oh hell. What did it 
matter if he was warrior caste or not? The guards 
at the door would not know any more than she did. 
The body looked like it should.  

“Iragan.” Her voice sounded harsh and overloud to 
her bruised ears.

Was that a twitch?

“You need to get to your shuttle, Iragan.” She 
accompanied the statement with a sharp nudge from 
her boot to a portion of his hip where the 
leathers seemed undamaged. Nothing. No reaction. 
The pain of the rising Whisperwind fueling her 
urgency she abandoned caution and dropped to her 
knees beside him. 
  
At least he had a pulse. Starting with his 
shoulders she checked for broken bones.  Her 
piggy bank was not going to be any good to her if 
he could not walk. She had reached his boots when 
she realized that something had changed. She 
glanced up at his face and felt her breath leave 
her lungs with a sharp hiss. Warrior caste, 
without a doubt. Cold yellow eyes watched her 
from a mask of dried blood.

She came slowly to her feet, careful to make no 
sudden moves. An atavistic shiver that owed 
nothing to harmonics started at the base of her 
spine and crawled upward. Those eyes. A childhood 
nightmare brought to life. He made no movement as 
she came to stand by his shoulder. Not a twitch, 
not a reaction. Not even when she crouched to 
grab his wrist and lift his arm across her 
shoulders. Just those predator’s eyes.

She could feel him watching her as she levered 
him to his feet. This close she could smell the 
blood and the alien tang of his sweat-soaked 
leathers. She nearly dropped him when he 
unexpectedly braced against her and lurched in 
the direction of the spaceport doors. The jolting 
stagger sent bursts of agony through her bones 
and for a moment, she thought her head would 
explode. She was focused so intently on placing 
one foot in front of the other that she only knew 
they had reached the doors when a blue on blue 
blur placed itself in their path.

“She can’t go any further.”

The blur resolved itself into an angry security 
guard. The action was expected. The anger was a 
complication. Ryder wondered whether the guard 
had been planning on claiming the weapons belt 
himself. That or he had lost a bet due to Ryder’s 
interference. Neither Ryder nor the Iragan had 
ceased their forward motion. The rasp of metal on 
leather sounded as the guard suddenly 
backpedaled, drawing his weapon. 

He never would have dared had the Iragan been 
uninjured. Ryder was careful to keep her hands 
visibly attached to battle-leathers and away from 
any obvious weapon locations. Port security did 
not need an excuse to kill miners. They had 
standing orders to do so. Just keep moving, 
Ryder, she told herself. If she could just keep 
the Iragan moving, maybe he would intimidate them 
enough that they would let them through.

The sonic baffling meant to protect the 
building’s inhabitants from both everyday drive 
concussion as well as catastrophic explosions 
also cut the harmonics from the rising 
Whisperwind. It was an incomplete cure at best. 
But better than nothing. Both her step and her 
grip strengthened as the shrieking pain along her 
bones dulled to a muted throb.  In contrast, the 
Iragan was faltering. Fresh blood oozed from a 
dozen wounds she could see and probably more that 
she couldn’t. She wondered just how out of it he 
was.  

 “The scavengers are circling, Iragan” She told 
him sotto voice. “You pass out, we’re both dead.” 
His footsteps never altered pace, but his head 
twitched slightly in her direction. Or maybe it 
was just a pain reaction, but she chose to 
believe he was listening to her. “Your belt is 
worth it’s weight in drive crystal. You go down, 
you’ll never see med-lab.”

That was when the guards made their move. 
Emboldened by the blood trail and the Iragan’s 
obvious weakness, four medtechs in their 
traditional green and white suddenly surrounded 
them.  Unlike the guards, the medtechs refused to 
give way and the Iragan stopped just short of 
running them over.  Ryder decided that at least 
two of the techs would have cheerfully watched 
the warrior bleed to death. The third was just 
doing her job. The injector in the hand of the 
fourth spoke loudly enough about his intentions. 
It probably contained enough sedative to knock a 
Thuvian unconscious. What it would do to a 
critically injured Iragan would depend on how 
much the guards were offering. Ryder considered 
the focused stare and grimly determined 
expression. Enough, she decided.

It was too late now to worry about getting shot 
by accident. Shifting her weight slightly, she 
loosened her hold on his leathers as though 
losing her grip as he lurched in her direction. 
Her hand slid across his back and she felt his 
muscles lock as she grasped the handle of the 
knife hidden at the small of his back. He 
stilled.  

For one brief, terrible moment she thought it was 
over. Instead of keeping his attention on the 
guards, he turned his head and focussed on her. 
Her stomach twisted and the monster inside 
recoiled , then lunged in attack. Barely, she 
smacked it down before she could thrust him away 
from her and destroy her last hope of redemption. 
Glaring up into predator’s eyes , her upper lip 
curled in a soundless snarl as the hand still 
clutching his battle-leathers clenched painfully.

Then he spoke.

A single phrase, she thought at first he was 
speaking to her until one of the guards cursed. 
Guns lifted, then lowered in angry frustration as 
blue uniforms raced to various consoles. The med 
techs scattered like so many frightened birds 
ahead of the shocking blare of the spaceport 
alarm. Not Whisperwind, she thought, and her mind 
replayed the phrase he had spoken to the open 
comlink strapped to his wrist. 

Self-Destruct.

The blast radius, she thought absently, would be 
considerable.  
    
Natalie Durdle
Adamantine Heart
2