by Greg Hanks
Breckenridge nodded. “Can’t forget that.”
“What about our real mission, Breckenridge,” Olensky asked bluntly. “When is the old man going to talk? Either we torture him, or we let him work for us, it’s all the same; we’re getting nowhere with him.”
“You let me handle him,” Breckenridge said. He glanced at Farin. “If he decides to never tell us, we’ve got to be prepared to go another direction. Get to work.” He started walking out of the room but caught himself at the threshold. “And for the love of God, will all a you stop being such assholes to each other for once? Maybe we’ll actually start gettin’ some real work done.”
Étienne and Olensky continued to debate about “the kutts” and their presence at Beliveilles, Bazek did as he was told, and Farin watched V’delle’s eyes drift to the floor before getting up to speak to Orenne. V’delle hadn’t had a wash since coming back from the prison. Her face was cut up from the trees. Her hair was a knotted mess. And she was stinking up the room.
Piers slowly approached V’delle, a gentle smile across his face. “When will they ever stop accusing you?”
“It’s fine,” she said, smirking. “I like the challenge.”
“I’m glad you’re back safely.”
She nodded. “Me too.”
“And this . . . Balien?” he asked. “Who would have thought there would be defectors?”
“Useless defectors,” V’delle corrected. “They won’t fight. It’s a long story.”
“Your friend is back, also.” His eyes widened. “So much has happened. And it’s only been a few days!”
“What’s this?” V’delle asked, lifting the manila folder’s front cover.
“Something that’s going to make you forget about all this nonsense,” he said, smiling.
“That’s a hefty offer.”
“I’ll show you,” he picked up the folder and under-armed it. “Let’s go downstairs first.”
V’delle started following Piers out of the conference room.
“V’delle, wait,” Farin said, running to catch them at the door. “Can I talk to you for a second?”
V’delle sighed and looked at Piers. “I’ll meet you there.” He seemed mildly disappointed, but did a sarcastic half-bow, then left. She turned to Farin. “What’s up?”
“It’s . . . Penelope.”
“She’s awake?” V’delle asked, about to drop everything.
“Um, not exactly, no.” She led V’delle outside, into the quiet hallway. “It’s just as bad as we thought it might be—she blames us. For everything.”
Penelope’s face pierced V’delle—the red ponytail, the determined, sly smile, the boot that crushed the skull of that Preen’ch in Divask. That was who V’delle had left behind. Her reasoning caught up to her emotions and tried to place them in check. “Well, hold on—was she coherent? She was gone for three months, Farin. We’ve gotta believe her mind’s been twisted.”
“At first she wasn’t making any sense. But when Hayla gave her a sedative . . . she looked up at me. And I saw her. I saw the real Penelope. She looked at me and told me we had left her up there that day. We abandoned her, V’delle.”
“Great,” said V’delle, feeling the black nest in her stomach begin to grow larger. “Let’s just give it some time. Let her recover a little. At least we know she’s safe now. In the meantime, I have a feeling things are going to get worse with those Khor’Zon. What Peavey did, that’s just the beginning. You heard Olensky, Étienne. Hell, I’m not even sure Breckenridge and Möller are okay with all of this. People aren’t going to like us having a Khor’Zon around much longer.”
“And what’s your stance?” Farin asked.
She shrugged. “He didn’t seem very threatening aside from trying to escape. In fact, I told him you two’d get along great.”
“He’s given us what we need right? And he got what he wanted. Why are we keeping him?”
“I really don’t think they were planning on letting him go.”
“I don’t know how I feel about it.”
V’delle hadn’t anticipated Farin’s ambivalence. Farin was just about the only stable, reliable thing in V’delle’s life. For someone so obsessed with humanity, Farin’s response gave V’delle a small ache in her spine. The moment V’delle registered it, she drove it away as fast as she could. “Oh, I know. I’m just saying we shouldn’t rule anything out. They could be valuable to us.”
They lingered amidst the gentle rattle of the hallway’s ventilation system.
“Well . . . why don’t we go see him?” Farin suggested. “Maybe we can get some information without beating him up?”
V’delle’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s . . . yeah, okay.”
As they began leaving, Farin said, “Wait, what about Piers?”
So absorbed by her lust for answers and the good faith Farin had shown, V’delle waived away the notion. “I’ll meet him later.”
Rain was keeping a drunken-eyed Balien company in one of the small medical rooms when the women joined them. The Khor’Zon lay in his cot propped up by three pillows, a scarred, broad chest above his linen-wrapped abdomen. Despite having some fractured ribs, he was going to recover well.
“You should probably head back up to the conference room,” V’delle told Rain.
“Don’t make me go back there,” Rain moaned, sending a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “This guy’s pretty chill.”
“It is okay, Rain,” Balien said, a little dopey. “Thank you for staying with me. I was glad to understand what ‘Industrial Electronica’ is.”
“See?” Rain said to V’delle and Farin. “Balien gets it.”
“Wait ’til he actually hears it,” Farin said.
“But the fact that he likes my descriptions tells you a lot. You’ll see.”
“We need someone up there who can keep certain people from making stupid decisions,” V’delle reaffirmed.
Rain whipped his neck to brush away some strands of hair as he stood. “I was enjoying my break.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve already had your siesta today,” said Farin.
“Do you even know what ‘siesta’ means, Blondie?”
“No, I heard it from someone else, but I’m sure you understand it.”
“Okay, okay,” he said, sidling by, turning his voice archaic. “I shall return.” He plopped the leftover can of peanuts onto Balien’s bedside table. “Here you go, dude. Keep ‘em.”
“Thank you,” Balien said, picking up the can as if to reach for more. “Oh, and Rain. Thank you for telling me your real name. It means a lot.”
“What?” Farin and V’delle said.
Rain and Balien shared a chuckle, and Rain left.
“You two are just so damn cute, aren’t you?” Farin said.
Balien set down the can of peanuts and grimaced a little. “These are gross. And yes, we are.”
“How’re your ribs?” V’delle asked.
He grunted, struggling to sit up. “This was bound to happen. Which is exactly why you should have let me leave.”
“Don’t be stupid. You learned your lesson about not bullshitting me.”
“Well, it was worth a shot.”
“Don’t you get it? There were twelve Preen’ch roaming Beliveilles just now. Everyone thinks you had something to do with it. Your timing couldn’t have been better, idiot.”
Balien shifted his eyes between V’delle and Farin. “But . . . that was to be expected after you—”
“We can’t stop Peavey from getting another attack in,” V’delle interjected. “We can’t keep you safe here.”
“What were you going to say, Balien?” Farin asked. “What’s V’delle lying about?”
Balien stared at V’delle. He gave her the go-ahead.
V’delle shifted her weight and looked back at the door. “Ugh, fine. This idiot ran into a Cocoon while he tried to escape. I killed the Preen’ch and brought him and Maora back.”
“So this is your fault,
” Farin said, shaking her head with a smile. “I knew something was up.”
“The Preen’ch are leaving; it’s over.”
Farin looked between Balien and V’delle. “But . . . why?”
V’delle shrugged. “Balien and Maora are valuable to us. I didn’t want them—”
“No, why would you lie?”
“Perhaps thanks is in order,” Balien interrupted, looking at V’delle with his red pupils. “And if the Preen’ch are gone, then yes, let us just be done with it.”
“No, Farin’s right,” V’delle said, sighing. “You don’t have to protect me, Balien. And frankly, it’s really weird that you are. Look, I lied partly because the blame was mine; I didn’t want people to know I basically led those Preen’ch to Beliveilles. The other part . . . I knew if people found out you two had tried to run and it resulted in Preen’ch finding us, then they’d resent you. And maybe . . .” She shook her head and pointed to Farin. “Look at me. You did this to me.”
Farin smiled and finished V’delle’s sentence. “And maybe you think someone like Peavey’d ruin any chance of uniting Balien’s people with our people.”
V’delle glanced at Balien. “That pretty much covers it.”
Balien struggled to sit up. “I already told you, V’delle, we cannot—”
“Yeah, I know, so shut up,” V’delle said. “I can’t guarantee your safety here, Balien. Even though you could be a huge asset to us, I honestly think it was a mistake for you to come here.”
“I knew what I was doing,” he said confidently. “It does not take a sage to see how unrelated I am with these Cocoons. Your people are smart enough to see that. That Peavey just seems like an anomaly.”
“It’s not as simple as that and you know why.”
“Why would you think coming here would be a good idea?” Farin asked. “Your life in exchange for seeing your brother’s grave? Seems like a stupid decision to me. You don’t seem like the type of Khor’Zon who makes stupid decisions based on emotion. I hope you didn’t come here with a different agenda.” She raised her eyebrow at him.
“Maybe to you it is stupid,” Balien said calmly. “But I seem to recall V’delle mentioning a certain group of girls traveling across the country to find, how do you put it, a needle in a haystack? Perhaps you have never lost someone you loved.”
Farin’s eyes wavered, as if they longed to know that feeling, as if losing someone meant living.
“Balien,” said V’delle, “I can’t say if you’re ever going to leave this place or not—”
“I get it,” he said sternly. “I never intended to be trusted. You have jobs to do; do them.”
As V’delle heard those words, she remembered why she had chosen to bring Maora and Balien back in the first place. The Cocoons had almost made her forget.
“Balien,” V’delle asked, “minus the time spent in the Chalis, you’ve been on Earth for about twenty years, right?”
“Yes. Why?”
“How much of it have you seen?”
“Aside from Aeternis? Many places on this side of the continent.”
“Did you ever come across Calcitra? Camps like this one?”
Balien lowered his eyes, either thinking through the past twenty years of his life or lost in a concussive daze. At one point, his head drooped, and V’delle thought he was about to lapse into sleep. But he reared his head again and looked at her. “Of course. Many at first. But obviously as the years passed . . . not as much. Once we heard the first trial batch of Preen’ch had been released—around year eight or so—Calcitra had become Calcitra.”
“Before us, where was the last place you saw Calcitra?”
“That would have been . . . at least a year ago. I think.” He pondered further, straining the skin around his eyes. “I remember seeing two soldiers. We did not talk. We acknowledged each other, waited to see if the other would open fire, then went our separate ways. That was on the road to Cassel. A rather large city to the . . . south, I believe.”
V’delle flicked her eyes to Farin, a small form of reassurance. “If I showed you a map, could you point out places where you saw soldiers? Not just last year, but every time you saw some.”
He inhaled, weighing his own abilities. “Every time? No. But maybe some. I cannot promise anything.”
“Okay, listen,” she said, backing up to pace the room. She collected her ideas. “I can keep you and Maora safe as long as I have a reason to prove your worth to us. If you help me find more Calcitra, I will make sure you get out of this place alive. In fact, you could act like my escort. That’s your ticket out of here.”
He grimaced slightly, as if not wanting to offend V’delle’s vigor. “Are you looking for someone in specific?”
“We’re looking for everyone.”
He blew out some air. His fingers pinched the sheets. He scratched his bone shelves. “You saved my life. I guess I am indebted to you.” His tone suggested he wasn’t too thrilled about the idea.
“Technically I took you from one form of capture to another, but we’ll stick with ‘saved your life.’ Can you walk? I’m meeting with a friend who’s got some information. We could collaborate.”
“Can I speak with Maora first? Rain told me she is being held in one of your bedrooms.”
Farin started for the door. “I’ll get it arranged.”
“Thank you,” he said, nodding to her as she left.
V’delle approached Balien’s bedside. “I’m risking a lot to help you, Khor’Zon. Don’t screw with me. I will kill you if I need to.”
Balien tilted his head back, acknowledging his lack of options. “Oh, how could I forget that? You would complete the pair. My brother would have already been the better match, I am sure.”
V’delle gave him a vacant look before stepping away. “I’ll let Breckenridge know. After you see Maora, I’ll come get you.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Did you really lie to protect me and Maora? From people like that redheaded man? V’delle, no matter what you think you can do, our people will not fight for you.”
V’delle’s hand froze on the handle. She looked down. “Just don’t run again.” She turned the handle and walked out, leaving Balien alone in his stuffy medical chamber.
As V’delle started walking down the hallway, she felt a presence behind her. The hallway started to collect frost, chilling her spine. She turned around. The door at the end of the hall was Penelope’s. V’delle swallowed. Her palms started to sweat. She wiped them twice on her thighs. The door was emanating an ethereal message, a vibration that she both hated and desired.
“You okay?”
V’delle jumped, and saw Hayla standing behind her, clipboard in hand. She didn’t look happy to see V’delle. Her beaded, dreadlocked hair was disheveled, and the creases underneath her eyes signified a long day without much sleep. Her eyebrow piercing had been removed, leaving two small exit holes.
“I was just leaving,” V’delle said.
Hayla let V’delle walk by, hesitating. She finally opened her mouth just as V’delle was about to turn the corner. “I don’t think you guys should see her. At least until she starts recovering.”
“What?” said V’delle. “Who, Penelope?”
“She doesn’t recognize anyone; you will only confuse her and make things worse.”
“I wasn’t . . .” V’delle started, finding Hayla’s sudden conversation odd. She stepped toward the doctor-in-training. “Why are you telling me this?”
Hayla sighed. “I don’t want you two to be here every day trying to ‘fix’ her. Victims of Khor’Zon torture . . . look, I’m not going to bullshit you; victims of torture hardly ever return to themselves. I’m going to do everything I can for her, but you need to understand the limitations of our resources.”
“I’m not stupid,” V’delle said. “I get it; she’s a burden. And if she doesn’t recover, she’s a spoiled asset.”
“To be honest,” Hayla said, mov
ing back to the front desk foyer, “I wouldn’t recommend popping in at all until she’s fully recovered.”
V’delle just crossed her face and didn’t answer. Hayla left V’delle alone. Again, the biting chill crept up her spine. She turned toward Penelope’s door. “Screw that.” She made sure Hayla was out of sight before making her move.
The inside of Penelope’s room was warm enough that the walls could start sweating. The stuffiness made V’delle want to cough, but in fear of triggering some unwanted response from Penelope, she made every attempt to stifle it.
The redhead was lying back, staring at the ceiling. She was mumbling something incoherent. There was a new bandage on her forearm, a patch of red visible a few linen layers deep. She wore a pair of white mittens secured by knotted strings at her wrists.
V’delle padded over to the bedside and looked upon her ally. All the guilt Farin had talked about overcame V’delle, and she felt like she was standing in a circle of black mud that began to climb her legs like vines. Her throat dried. All the energy that had once driven her movements to see Penelope suddenly lost all power, and she wanted nothing more than to leave. Hayla was right.
Penelope moved, and opened her eyes.
“Penelope?” V’delle blurted.
Penelope’s eyes snapped to V’delle’s body, then face. Her mumbling had stopped.
“It’s, uh . . . me. It’s V’delle.” She put her hands on the bed rail. “Do you remember me?”
Penelope slowly inhaled. “How could I forget . . . the person who abandoned me?” Her words were slurred yet full of heavy darkness. She never took her eyes off V’delle, like pinning down a target, catching prey with no intention of letting go, facing the truth head-on.
“That’s . . . true,” V’delle said. “I left everyone. I didn’t care back then.”
Penelope started giggling, tilting her head back. The bruises on her neck absorbed the light, purple and brown and black. Her voice was raspy as it rebounded against the ceiling and vibrated the metal instruments. “You . . .” she began, her head rolling, like her neck was a piece of taffy, to find V’delle’s eyes again. “The bitter one . . . the rebel . . .”
V’delle kept her gaze locked, not sure what to expect. Perhaps she could get through to Penelope. Maybe Hayla wasn’t right. She stepped around the bed and stood next to the bedside.