by Stacey Berg
If the black weapons could not strike from a distance.
And if escaping alone did not mean utter failure.
She let out a long breath and followed Khyn inside.
Raised voices carried through the closed team-room door. Birn, close to shouting, and Yilva, lower but no less urgent. The grim-faced vektere exchanged glances. “Birn got here first,” Khyn said, her expression darkening. “I’ll have to make them see reason.”
The faces around the table gave Echo little hope of that. More than a few looked as grim as the vektere. Birn shot a glare at Echo, but Stigir, lips pressed thin, shook his head. “She has seen the Vault. If she hasn’t guessed already, she will soon.” Khyn stared at the floor, guilt plain on her face; Echo wondered if Stigir was really deceived or just protecting her. The Prime looked one by one at his team. “We face a critical decision. Khyn?”
“It’s what I’ve been telling the team all along. You’ve seen the numbers, but you don’t realize what they mean, because it’s happening so slowly.”
“We’ve heard it from you before,” Birn said. “Remember the cold winter a few years ago, when the bearing women all got sick? You said the same thing, but the next spring there were a dozen babies. It was all fine.”
“That was as many in one year as even I remember,” Yilva added. “We’re not like the capri. It’s always been rare for us to bear.”
“That’s the problem. In Echo’s city many women can bear. Isn’t that right?” Echo nodded, saying nothing. Better to let them get as far as they would go on their own. Then she could give the last push.
“The Preserve full of children . . .” Longing filled Stigir’s soft voice.
“It won’t be,” Khyn said. “We won’t have any children at all if we don’t do something soon. I’ve been doing the calculations over and over, trying to find another explanation, but there isn’t one. Our numbers are falling, far past normal fluctuations.” She turned an aching look on Stigir. “Surely you of all of us understand.”
His eyes were shadowed. “We must not use the seed for our own benefit.”
“The whole purpose of the Vault was to keep the seed for when it was needed. I’m telling you, we need it now. Four hundred years is too long; Netje’s generation will be near the last if we don’t refresh the line. I know we need to guard the seed until the time is right, but if we aren’t willing to use it to save the Preserve, then when will we be?”
The anguished question hung in the air. Then everyone started talking at once, spitting out numbers, reinterpreting the data; some of the team seemed to support Khyn, others to think her concerns were premature. Echo only listened, waiting. When the arguments wore down and Stigir leaned forward to speak, she knew it was nearly time.
Stigir steepled his fingers, and his voice took on the ritual tone of a man repeating a story he had heard many times before. “The Vault exists to preserve the future. We exist to preserve the future. Four hundred years ago, when the catastrophe loomed over the world, the first Preservers knew what would happen. They sacrificed everything, devoting their lives to protect this great treasure. They withdrew from the world, and,” he added with a touch of bitterness, “the world forgot about them. But they knew their duty, as every generation down to us has known. We do not merely save ourselves. One day, when the world is ready to be reborn, we will open the Vault. Until that day we will preserve.”
“That day has come.” Echo rose, ignoring the instant suspicion of the vektere around her. Everything depended on this. She spread her feet, drew herself taller. Let them see, for the first time, the sinewy hunter strength against which they could not hope to measure. The calm hunter arrogance that dismissed any attempt to try. The vektere understood first: she smelled the hormones surging into their blood as they recognized the predator they faced. She met their eyes, each one by one, so they would be sure. The black weapons came out, plain answer to the danger. The team saw too, dismay dawning. Fear.
Even Khyn looked stunned.
Echo let the moment stretch out. Then she smiled and turned her hands palm up, the threat running out of her like sand through her fingers. “If I wished you harm, I could have done it by now. I do not. I was sent to seek help, and to offer it.”
“We have seen how you help.” That was Yilva. “There’s a coldness in you that even the vektere don’t want. We have our own ways.”
“And they have served you well. But the time comes for change. Khyn knows it. I believe the rest of you do as well. When your women bear no more young, when you have no vektere or stewards to replace the ones you lose—then it will be too late. Khyn offers you one alternative. I give you another.” Khyn made a tiny sound of betrayal; Echo ignored it. “Come with me to the city. We once faced the same challenge as you. Though we have no vault, no seed such as you preserve, we overcame. Now let us help you. You have very little to lose.”
The Preservers’ faces fixed on her with shock, and no little consternation. The team all began speaking at once, a babble of conflicting voices, some touched with excitement, others, like Birn’s and Yilva’s, dark with warning. Echo watched with intense concentration, noting especially those whose gazes drifted far away, seeing possibilities they never had before. Khyn, Taavi, a few others. A flicker of that hope even passed across Stigir’s face. She felt its tentative stir inside her as well. If Preservers came to the city, if the priests in the sanctuary obtained the interface technology . . .
Birn’s hand slammed the table, and everyone jumped. “It’s a trick. She wants us to give up the Vault.”
“No. I do not.” What Echo wanted was infinitely more important.
The argument started again, but Stigir motioned them all to silence. “We must not act in haste with respect to the seed, not when the stakes are so high. And as for the other, there is a great deal to think about. Let us take it under consideration, separately and together, until we are certain, however long it takes. That is the wisest course.”
Khyn threw up her hands in exasperation. “Is that all you have to say? You won’t open the Vault, you won’t look outside, you’re afraid to do anything but—”
Stigir rose, his expression closing. “Our ways have served us for four hundred years, while the rest of the world drove itself to ruin. Where others chose division, violence”—his glance cut at Echo—“the Preserve kept itself apart. We stand outside the world. We will rejoin it when it is ready. Not before.”
“How,” Echo asked softly, “will you know when that is, if you refuse to look?”
Hope stirred again in Stigir’s eyes. Echo held her breath. It’s time for everything to change. Lia’s words, from long ago. For a moment Stigir seemed to see that future—that vision Lia had died for—then his gaze fell again on the hunter standing before him.
“My decision is made,” he said.
Chapter 7
“I thought I could make him understand.” Khyn stood with her head bowed, hands clasping her elbows. The vektere had brought them back to the dispensary and left again, but Echo heard the pacing in the hall. “Maybe it was too soon after the baby; he just isn’t thinking straight yet . . .” Khyn’s voice trailed off. When she raised her eyes, her face was set in determination. “The only thing that matters now is finding a way to continue the line. Whatever I have to do. What about you? Now that you’ve seen what fools we are, you probably can’t wait to get out of here.”
New footsteps marched toward the dispensary, too far off for Khyn to hear, but Echo knew what they meant.
“I’m just sorry you came all this way for nothing. I wish—”
The door clanged open. “Come with us,” Jole ordered without preamble. He had three men with him, and Saints knew how many out in the corridor. They all had batons in their hands, and the small black boxes on their belts; whatever they were, Echo had no doubt that they were fully charged. She stayed where she was, sitting on the bed, arms wrapping her knees.
“Now wait one minute,” Khyn began.
“Sorry, Khyn. Birn’s orders.” Echo wondered how much Stigir knew about those orders.
“Then I’m coming too.”
Jole shook his head. “You stay here.”
Khyn’s expression went still. “What’s going on, Jole?”
“I wouldn’t argue about it. Birn’s angry enough with you as it is.” He turned to Echo, expression grim. “Let’s go.”
Hunters would kill her outright. The vektere would squirm at that, but a simple return to where they’d found her would be enough. Neither served Echo’s needs. Still hugging her knees, she licked her lips. “Where are you taking me?” She let her voice shake shamefully.
Jole loomed above her. “You’ll find out soon enough. Don’t make it any worse.”
She pushed herself off the bed with difficulty, then gasped as her knees gave out, sending her stumbling towards him. Instinctively he reached to catch her.
Letting her weight continue to drop, she grabbed him with one hand on his wrist and the other gripping his arm just above the elbow. As she sank, she slipped a foot behind him, then straightening with all the strength in her legs and hips, she levered him right over her shoulder. As he cartwheeled past, she stripped the baton from his flailing hand. He landed on his back with an agonized whoosh and lay still.
The other three men, briefly frozen in shock, sprang back to life, fumbling for the black weapons. One brought his up, touching a button; a red light flashed and she threw herself aside. Smoke stung her nostrils; glancing back, she saw where the light had charred a hole in the wooden cabinet. She whipped Jole’s baton through a long arc; the men jumped back to avoid its sting. Now they were on either side of her, unable to fire for fear of hitting each other. Khyn, both hands over her mouth, was backed against one wall. “Stay there,” Echo snapped, all the attention she could spare.
The man on Echo’s left kept edging around, trying to get behind her, while his friends kept her busy with their batons. She stepped forward, and the man on the left, suddenly finding himself in position to grab her from behind, made his move. As he reached she ducked, curling tight on bent legs, then shot a booted foot backwards into his knee. There was a crunching sound and he went down, screaming. His weapon bounced off into a corner.
The two remaining vektere exchanged glances. Now they did what they should have from the beginning, circling slowly, trying to get a clear line of fire. She feinted forward, stabbing with the baton like a knife, but they were smart enough not to take that bait. Now they were nearly on either side of her. She pushed to the right, trying to keep between them and Khyn, before one of them got the clever idea of using the physic as a shield. “You can’t get us both,” the taller one snarled.
The man with the knee had gone from screaming to a half-conscious whine that sounded like a failing aircar engine. Jole still hadn’t moved, but his wheezing breath was steadying. She had to finish this soon. She stopped still, raising her hands. “Maybe you’re right. I give up.”
And in the moment they froze, perplexed, she flung the baton straight into the face of the man on her right. The charged end struck with a loud pop, and he went down in a heap. Echo was already diving at his partner. She knifed her left hand at his wrist in a sweeping strike that knocked the black weapon from his grip. He was very quick, spinning away before she could hit him again, and nearly catching her with the baton in his other hand as she jerked back out of reach. Now he had the initiative; he lunged forward, taking advantage of his long legs to thrust himself inside her circle of defense.
She arched away and the baton ripped through her shirt, barely missing her chest. With no flesh to carry the current, the device did not discharge; the smell of hot metal singed her nostrils. The tip curved back at her as the vektere tried to catch her with a backhand move. She blocked, barely, and followed through with a stiff hand thrust at his eyes. As he ducked back, she hooked a foot behind his front heel, sweeping inward with a sharp movement and catching his leg as her foot kicked it up into reach. She hopped towards him, preparing to yank the leg up and flip him onto his back—and her weak ankle gave with a stab of white hot pain.
She heard herself cry out as she fell. All she could do was throw her body into his knees as she went down. Both of them hit the floor. He scythed the baton towards her; still rolling, she caught his wrist and jerked hard as she drove her shoulder into his. She felt the joint give with a pop, snatched the baton from his loosened grip, and slammed it back around and into his chest. His whole body went rigid as the shock froze his muscles, then he collapsed in a sprawl across the floor.
Echo panted on hands and knees while her mind tried to force her body to move. The whole fight had taken perhaps three minutes. Anyone nearby would have heard the noise. There must not be any vektere left in the hall—fools—or the alarm would have been raised by now.
A hand touched her shoulder. She struck backwards with an elbow, barely checking the blow as she recognized the white, tear-streaked face behind her. “Saints! I told you to stay back!”
“Are you hurt?” Khyn tried to help her up. Echo shook her off, climbing to her feet and testing the ankle gingerly. It would hold her weight, but she wouldn’t be outrunning anyone. She limped over to the door.
“Let’s go,” she told Khyn, in the exact tone Jole had used. Khyn heard it; doubt crept into her eyes. Echo forced an apologetic smile, gesturing at the fallen vektere. Then, because she wasn’t sure if any of them could hear, she added, “What’s the shortest way over the mountain?”
“South,” Khyn said. “But—”
“Come with me.”
The corridor was empty. If they were lucky, they could slip out of the compound without being seen. The twilight shadows would help. Luckier still, and the vektere they’d left behind would send the others hunting south after phantom prey.
Echo didn’t believe in luck.
Khyn wore a brittle smile. It was mostly shock, Echo knew. She hoped it didn’t wear off too soon. “Where are we going?” Khyn whispered. Echo slipped the baton up her sleeve without answering.
The few people out in the compound wouldn’t have found it unusual for a pair of Preservers to leave the dispensary building and saunter casually in the general direction of the glasshouse. If they’d been particularly observant, they might have noted that the saunter was a little bit too casual, and one of the pair in particular kept glancing over her shoulder, as if she expected a friend to join them any time. “Stop that,” Echo ordered.
“I can’t help it. They’ll be out after us any minute.”
“We’ll be gone.”
“Where? Surely not into the forest. The vektere would find us sooner or later—if not them, the predators. But if we try to cross the fields into the desert, they’ll be able to track us from an aircar . . .”
“Shh.” The shock was indeed wearing off. The questions were admirably logical for someone with no experience—and no clear idea of Echo’s capabilities. Khyn would be starting to wonder whether fleeing from the Preserve was her best choice. As angry as the others would be, she’d still have hope of persuading them eventually. A year, even two—if the women failed to bear, the questions would bubble up again. The stranger who’d roiled the Preserve’s tranquility would be long gone; people would remember how sensible Khyn had always been. Stigir would be fair, Birn and Yilva would listen to him . . . It all made perfect sense. Echo hoped Khyn didn’t think of it. Her ankle throbbed, and it would be a long way to carry an unconscious body.
They were coming up on the gap between the walkway and the team building. The glasshouse glowed like a jewel at the end of the path. Shadowy figures moved inside. The wiry notes of a stringbox drifted into the night with a pleasant melancholy. The Preservers were so like cityens: even facing a threat to their very existence, they would ignore it as best they could to take pleasure in what they had.
If they didn’t— Echo’s thoughts were interrupted by footsteps behind them on the path. Walking, not running; no one shouting for help. Khyn didn�
�t hear yet. If they could make it to the path into the trees before their follower recognized them— “Khyn!” Netje exclaimed.
Saints. Send her away, Echo silently urged Khyn. She would not allow the girl to cause their capture.
“Netje! Preservers’ sakes, child, what are you doing out at this hour?”
“Why didn’t you come to the capri pen today? We were supposed to check—” She broke off at the sight of Echo. “What’s she doing here? I thought Birn was mad at her.” The crossed arms and stony glare made it clear that Birn wasn’t alone in his feeling.
“That’s silly, Netje. Why would Birn be mad at Echo?”
“I don’t know. I kept asking but no one would tell me anything, not even why you didn’t come to the pen. But then I heard some vektere talking.” She broke into a proud smile. Then her expression grew cloudy again. “I was real quiet, and they kind of forgot I was there. They said he doesn’t like it that some people want to go outside. I don’t understand why that’s so bad. You always tell me to go outside.” She paused. “They said you and Stigir are having a fight.”
“We must hurry,” Echo murmured. Every nerve thrummed. Any minute, someone would come down the path.
Khyn gave Netje a tremulous smile. “Don’t worry about what the vektere say, sweetheart. Now, listen. I’m sorry I forgot about the capri. We’ll go tomorrow, as soon as things settle down a bit. Okay?”
Netje’s face puckered in preparation for further argument. Time to put a stop to this. Echo stepped forward. Netje shrank back, a young animal’s instinctive recognition of a predator. Her shoulders lifted, prelude to a scream.
Khyn caught Netje in a tight hug. The air went out of the girl in a muffled oof. “Good girl. Taavi’s probably on patrol near the dispensary. If you go straight there, you can take her to check the capri now, before it gets too dark.” She squeezed once more, then released her. “Go on.”