by Kate Elliott
3 Walls
COMRADE OFFICER YEHOSHUA WAS a stocky man with old, white, finger-length scars on his arms that Lily recognized as the legacy of years of cable stripping on asteroid mines. Against the dusky bronze of his complexion, the lines showed doubly strong. His face had an unexpectedly lean cast, punctuated by his shrewd scrutiny of her as they settled into seats in a small room behind com-central. He had left his pistol outside, after she had been thoroughly searched.
Finch sat beside him, still shaking. Lily slumped back in her hard chair with a sigh. Yehoshua pointedly said nothing. Through the closed door, Lily could hear the desultory conversation of their four escorts. Farther, a low hum of machinery shut on and off at intervals.
“Who is that man?” Finch stood up, as if startled by his own outburst. He glared at Lily. “Who is he?”
Lily stood also and put out her hands. “Finch.”
“Stay away from me.” Finch retreated behind Yehoshua, who did not shift except to keep his gaze leveled on Lily’s face.
“I didn’t know it would happen,” she pleaded. “I swear to you, Finch. I didn’t know. It took me as much by surprise—Hoy. Do you think I’d have let him out of the shuttle if I’d known?”
He shook his head, infinitesimally. “Then who is he? Why did he try to kill me?”
She sat down, covering her eyes with one hand. “I don’t know. I don’t know who he is.” Removed her hand to look at Yehoshua, who regarded her without expression. “That’s not what I mean. I know who he is. Void help me, Finch, I don’t know why he did it.”
She halted, brought to two realizations at once. “Hoy,” she said in an undertone. “That can’t be. But he said—” Her gaze had drifted to the wall, but abruptly she sat up straight and looked first at Finch, then at Yehoshua.
Finch watched her warily, but with hope. Yehoshua examined her with the intent gaze of a well-trained and acute observer. She kept her expression passive as she considered Kyosti’s behavior: she knew quite well that she had never mentioned Finch by name to him—and yet she knew with equal conviction that Kyosti had tried to murder Finch now because Finch had once been her lover.
Yehoshua still did not speak.
“All right,” she said decisively, returning her gaze to Finch. “He’s my lover, Finch. I just never realized how jealous he is. It won’t happen again.” I hope, her thoughts amended.
Finch blanched. “He’s your lover. Hoy, Lily. It’s easy for you to say it won’t happen again. And where have you been all this time?”
“Yes, comrade,” said Yehoshua quietly. “Where have you been? And why do you want to join Jehane?”
Lily smiled, shifting her hands to her lap to give herself a more demure, less threatening posture. “I haven’t made a very auspicious beginning, have I?” she asked. The barest smile touched the line of Yehoshua’s lips. As she expected, he did not reply. She returned her gaze to Finch. “But I don’t understand why you’re here, Finch. When I left Unruli …” she trailed off.
“Blame Central for that.” His expression twisted into one akin to hatred: the Finch she had known, easygoing almost beyond belief, seemed lost in that face, as if a stranger now stood before her. “They arrested us—for helping the booters. Came down hard all across Unruli. I don’t know why. Dad they let go, since he never was in on any of our system. But Mom and Grand’mam and Swann and I they shipped here—without a hearing, with nothing! An Grand’mam was sick.” His voice cracked. “She’s dead, Lily. They stuck her in the twenties dig with a bunch of filthy tattoos. They knew the dig was unsafe, unstable, but they had a rich lode in the twenty-eight tunnel, so they sent tattoos, and anyone else they considered worth as little as that, down there. And it blew. They hit a pocket of explosive gas. The whole twenties dig had to be shut down. Almost three hundred people were killed.”
“And some two thousand Ridanis as well, I believe,” added Yehoshua as if in afterthought.
Finch shrugged. “If you count tattoos, I guess. But Grand’mam was down there. They never even got the bodies out.” His lips twisted down with bitter anger. “They didn’t want to risk any of their personnel down there. They could at least have sent some tattoos to check the—”
Yehoshua lifted a hand, a deceptively casual gesture that cut Finch off. “Comrade, I understand your grief. But it is not you who are being questioned.”
“We know each other,” said Lily quietly. “We grew up together. What about Swann and your mother, Finch?”
He glanced at Yehoshua, sat down, like a sigh. “Mom’s in hospital. She got shot in the first fighting, but she’ll live. Swann’s still out in the thirties dig—the last of the old guard sealed it off and now they’re waiting it out, hoping to hold off until reinforcements come. But I don’t think any message has gone out, so it’s just a matter of time.” He grimaced. “All we know is that casualties in the thirties, prisoner and guard alike, have been high. They destroyed the access trains and tubes, just outside the peripheral living blocks. No one knows who’s left.”
Yehoshua frowned. “I think that is enough, comrade Caenna.” He reached into his jacket and removed Lily’s com-clip from a pocket and inserted the clip into a viewer on the stand to his right. “Lilyaka Ash Heredes. That is your name?”
Because he was looking at Lily, he missed Finch’s reaction: a slight start, subsiding quickly into a neutral mask.
Lily, seeing this, merely shrugged. “Yes.”
“You are registered here as an instructor at the Abagail Street Academy on Arcadia. Is that also correct?”
“I did work there, but I resigned. I worked for Pero the last months I spent on Arcadia. He’s why I had to leave. Martial law was declared by Central, and they executed a man they claimed was Pero but who was not. Pero is still alive. This news I know is not yet known to Jehane, because only a military cruiser traveling the direct route here could have gotten here faster than we did.” And they would not have had Pinto piloting, she added to herself.
“I’ve heard of Pero,” said Yehoshua slowly. “Comrade Jehane broadcasts his speeches to the troops.” He frowned. The white scars on his arms were mirrored by a few on his cheeks and at the corners of his eyes, like wrinkles, or echoes of the silver sprinkling his black hair. “Where is your ship?”
“Not our ship. She left. We just got passage off Arcadia because they needed a pilot so badly. They’re a booter, and they dumped us here—gave up a shuttle. We’ve nowhere to retreat now, whatever happens.” She shrugged, as if this situation was of no concern to her.
“We.”
“Five adults, one child, one ’bot. My people have skills and information that will be quite valuable to Jehane. I assure you.”
“Your people.” Yehoshua’s emphasis was careful.
Lily paused, thought back over the impetus that had brought them here. “Well, yes,” she answered slowly, considering. “I suppose they are mine in a way. I’m responsible for them being here now.”
“And why here, comrade Heredes? Why Harsh?”
A certain tone in his voice alerted her, and she chose her words carefully. “Two reasons. I have unfinished business on Harsh: a friend who was unlawfully imprisoned here—not you, Finch, because I didn’t know—I didn’t know, but if I had—” She shook her head, met his gaze fiercely, and had the satisfaction of seeing his face clear, trusting her again, as if the episode with Kyosti had, almost, never happened. “I came here to free her.”
“And the other reason?” Yehoshua was still punching buttons on the terminal, scrolling out whatever information remained on her clip. She knew how little was there, fed in by Master Heredes as a screen to her real identity, and his.
“Because I knew Jehane would be here.”
“You knew?” For the first time, Yehoshua’s careful layer of disinterest cracked, to reveal astonishment. “You can’t have known—we didn’t even know until we got here—” He broke off.
“You’d be surprised at what I know,” said Lily, and she laughed
at the absurdity of her comment. “No. What I mean to say, comrade, is that I have a great deal more information that Jehane would like to have—needs to have—but that information goes to him alone. Not through anyone else. My price for recruitment. Do you understand?”
“I understand that you’re pretty damned sure of yourself.” He shook his head. “You can’t meet with Jehane. Impossible. In hostile territory only his personal lieutenants have access to him. But it may be possible for you to speak with my superior officer.” He stood up and went to the door, spoke into a band at his wrist in a low voice that she could not hear.
“Lily.” Finch left his chair to kneel beside her, putting a hand on hers where they rested in her lap, reassuring, needing reassurance. “What happened to Master Heredes?”
She shut her eyes and turned her face away, felt her throat constrict. Still, found it possible to speak, fueled by anger. “He’s dead. He’s the one Central murdered, calling him Pero. Why do you think I’m joining Jehane? For revenge.”
His hand tightened on hers, and she knew at that moment that he shared her sentiments completely.
“Who is Master Heredes?”
Lily released Finch’s hand abruptly. Her gaze jumped to Yehoshua, who still stood by the door but now watched her intently, having recovered his composure completely.
“My father,” she said bitterly.
This time, having both Lily and Finch equally in his sight, Yehoshua saw Finch’s expression of surprise before Finch could disguise it. For a moment he merely examined the two. Finch stood up, twisting his hands nervously in front of himself. Lily stared back impassively. Then Yehoshua turned and left the room, sealing the door shut behind himself.
Lily stood up and began to pace out the dimensions of the room while Finch turned, stationary, to follow her progress around the four blank, encircling walls.
“What do you mean, ‘your father’?”
“Finch.” Her pace did not slacken. “They are undoubtedly listening in.”
He continued to stare as she walked. “You’re different, Lily. You’ve changed.”
Now she stopped. “You’re the second person who’s said that to me. Here.” She shoved a chair against the wall. “Let’s do kata. Do you remember first kyu?”
“Kata? Are you crazy? Hoy, Lil, no wonder you’ve taken up with psychopathic murderers as your—”
“Finch. I don’t know how long we’ll have to wait here, but I don’t intend to give them the pleasure of watching me get progressively more nervous. Kata.”
He laughed suddenly. “Have you spent a lot of time in holding cells, or prisons, lately?”
“Why, yes,” she replied, smiling with sweet irony. “I have. This one’s about the same size as the others were.”
Behind her, the door shunted aside. She whirled and dropped into a fighting stance.
Yehoshua, entering, halted and regarded her thoughtfully as she straightened up. “Let’s hope you really are on our side.” He motioned her outside. He now held his pistol in his left hand, and the four white-uniformed soldiers stood at careful intervals in the corridor outside. “We’re to take you to Records. If you can find your—friend—we’re to do whatever possible to, ah, reunite you with her.” He paused.
“And then?” Lily prompted.
He still did not speak for a moment, like an actor waiting for the prime silence in which to deliver his line. “And then we arrange an audience for you with comrade Jehane.”
She let out her breath, more relieved than she had realized. “That was easy,” she said, more to herself than to him.
“Yes, it was,” he replied, drily. “You seem to interest him. He seems to think that he’s met you before. Under another name.”
In the corridor, the four soldiers shifted, growing restless, and one hissed some complaint to her companion. Lily felt a shiver of fear run up her back, recalling Jehane—a man who appeared mild but hid behind that facade some secret, some intense power, driving his ambition, that she did not care to discover.
“He has a good memory,” she murmured as she followed Yehoshua out. Finch, still looking confused, trailed behind them.
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About the Author
Kate Elliott has been writing stories since she was nine years old, which has led her to believe that she is either a little crazy or that writing, like breathing, keeps her alive. Her most recent series is the Spiritwalker Trilogy (Cold Magic, Cold Fire, and Cold Steel), an Afro-Celtic post-Roman alternate-nineteenth-century Regency ice-punk mashup with airships, Phoenician spies, the intelligent descendants of troodons, and revolution. Her previous works include the Crossroads trilogy (starting with Spirit Gate), the Crown of Stars septology (starting with King’s Dragon), the Novels of the Jaran, the Highroad Trilogy, and the novel The Labyrinth Gate, originally published under the name Alis A. Rasmussen.
She likes to play sports more than she likes to watch them; right now, her sport of choice is outrigger canoe paddling. Her spouse has a much more interesting job than she does, with the added benefit that they had to move to Hawaii for his work; thus the outrigger canoes. They also have a schnauzer (a.k.a. the Schnazghul).
April Quintanilla
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1990 by Alis A. Rasmussen
Cover design by Angela Goddard
978-1-4804-3527-8
This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media
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