Lost Destiny — Aer-Ki Jyr

What's it like to be the last Human? And not even know you're Human? Esna Donovan was stranded on a planet full of people that didn't look like her as a child along with her brother. Their father was murdered, leaving them sitting in their spaceship waiting for his return. They remember almost nothing from before that time, when two Calavari who were business associates of their father took them in and told them they could never be seen outside their full body armor. They've honored their father's dying wish, living and working on the Calavari's farm while exploring the barren wastelands looking for bits of technological salvage from the time before the great cataclysm. They don't know they're Human, just that they're different and they can't show their skin in pubic. The two siblings have lived almost their entire lives in their self-styled body armor and dream of leaving the farm and doing something that mattered...but there's nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Then one day that all changes and Esna is set forth on a rollercoaster ride of a life she could never have expected once the word 'Human' is once again spoken on the planet...only its a word of rage and fear, with the local aliens trying to kill whoever it is applied to, though they've never seen one before. Regardless, the word is tagged to her and she must run...with a little help. -------------- Excerpt from 'Lost Destiny': “Donovan!” he called out, running towards him with plodding footsteps as his nose picked up the scent of burnt flesh even before he saw the hole in the chest plate of the full body armor the man wore. Whatever race he was his blood flowed a sickly red, a fact that he'd prefer to not have known as he leaned over and gripped the man's shoulders, prying him up into a sitting position. “What happened?” A shaking hand rose up to the neck of his armor, fumbling for the latch that Yammar finally helped him with. The helmet cracked opened with a hiss and the Calavari helped him pull it off, revealing the pale skin beneath that had alarmingly become even more so, now nearly white. “Gladers,” he said, wincing horribly as he half bent over. “Jumped me from behind. I got two of them, but the third…” “Where's the latch for the chest piece?” Yammar asked, pulling back the cloak that covered most of the hard plates as he looked, but the man took a death grip on his lower arm and locked eyes with him. “My children. In the ship. You have to…please. I'm all they've got. They're dead without you.” “Where's the latch?” he repeated, searching around with his other three hands and finally finding something that looked promising. He pressed and turned the small button, being rewarded with another hiss as a crack formed along the side beneath the man's left arm, but suddenly that arm went straight to Yammar's giant head and gripped it tightly, forcing him to look into the dying man's eyes. “Promise me. Promise me…” he said, wincing again. “I don't know anything about your race,” Yammar said, feeling helpless. “Good…” the man spat in a cough but no blood came out of his mouth, though it was continuing to pour out of his chest and seep down over his waistband plates in spurts every time he jerked in pain. “Good. Don't ask questions…just…make sure they wear armor…in public. Promise me.” “I promise. I promise,” Yammar repeated quickly, then the death grip on his arm and head relaxed and the Calavari was able to pull the torso armor completely off, seeing the hole in the man's abdomen when the blood-soaked, charred clothing lined up. It was a lachar blast, pure and simple, and one delivered at fairly close range by the looks of it. Probably several to get through that armor, but the last one must have hit with nearly full force. He didn't know how his friend had survived this long, but then again he had no idea what internal organs he had or even where they were located. “Keep them safe…” Donovan said, eyes flickering. “Keep them…aw