‘How many others?’ she pressed. ‘How many times have you gone through a man’s wife to get what you wanted? Is there always a child, just to hook them, or are there other ways?’
‘Kelbee—’
‘It’s very clever. Get the little mouse into bed, knock her up so she’s afraid and then she’s yours.’ The skin on her face felt tight and drawn. He looked like she’d slapped him, but something inside her snarled for blood. ‘What happens then, when they’re used up?’
Before she could continue he banged open a nearby door and pulled her in after him. Two men were sat on low bunks talking. They shot to their feet as Nebn entered.
‘Out!’ he barked. They hurried out of the room and he shut the door.
His pupils were enormous and his face was flushed. Kelbee shut her eyes and waited for the blow to fall, but instead she felt his hand on her belly. His palm was warm even through her clothes and his breathing was ragged.
Then, a sensation inside of her. A ghost-flicker, on the very edge of feeling that felt like something responding to his touch – at once a part of her, yet separate. She opened her eyes and saw his were tinged red.
He opened his mouth and breathed a single word. ‘Never.’
Kelbee felt her anger collapse in on itself. She took a deep breath and exhaled, then grabbed him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Her face was wet.
He stood, rigid as stone, and every second felt like an age. She was paralysed, terrified she’d smashed them both to pieces in that white-hot moment. Then his arms enveloped her, and a deep sob wracked her body.
He just held her for a while, not speaking. Then he pulled back and looked into her eyes.
‘Never,’ he repeated, soft but with his entire being behind it.
She nodded, cuffing at her tears. He kissed her cheeks, then her lips, then used his thumbs to wipe the rest away. She held on like a drowning woman and kissed him back.
Nebn lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his hips, crushing him to her. He carried her over to one of the bunks and laid her down, his mouth still on hers. She tore at his clothes, desperate to feel him, taste his sweat. There was salt on her lips as her legs crushed him to her, knuckles white as she clung to the frame above her head.
When she came, she bit down on his shoulder to stop herself from crying out, and tasted blood.
* * *
They lay together as the sweat cooled on their skin, their legs laced. He ran his fingers through her hair as she traced the lines of his chest.
‘You know, if I had my way no one would have to do this,’ Nebn said, staring at the ceiling.
‘This? I quite like this.’
He ran his nails through her hair. ‘The sneaking, the spying. The blowing things up.’
‘You do that?’
‘Not me personally, but yes. Brennev calls it active resistance.’
‘You disapprove?’
He was quiet for a while before answering. ‘Brennev does things the way he knows how. He’d go a lot further if he could. He’s building an army.’
Kelbee thought about this. It seemed so unlikely. None of the people she’d seen in the tunnels, save for a few guards, were armed. If there was an army, it must be somewhere else. Her mind went back to the Quincentennial, the endless ranks of marching troops. How could anyone think about taking on that many soldiers?
Nebn answered her unspoken thoughts. ‘He’s been working for years to build up our reserves, training a corps for open warfare. And the bigger it gets, the greater his influence.’
She thought about what this could mean. Gunfire in the streets. Buildings on fire. ‘It scares me,’ she said.
‘Me too. And it gets us nowhere new. All we do is burn the regime to the ground and set up another, repeating old mistakes. Nothing changes except the symbols the people scrape to.’
Kelbee sat up on one elbow. ‘Is it really that hopeless?’
He looked at her, then away, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to scare you.’
She kissed his neck. ‘I don’t believe you.’
He looked at her, questioning.
‘You wouldn’t carry on if there was no hope at all.’
He stretched, looking up at the ceiling. ‘Remember the room I showed you before? I keep going back there, just as I keep rereading the scraps I have about the pre-Ruin, because I can’t help but feel there’s something more.’
‘How so?’
‘If you look past all the warnings, the moralising that’s been built into any of the texts we have, you can see that they were so advanced because they kept the information flowing between them freely. One side of the world seems to have known exactly, instantly, what the other was doing, meaning they had some way of talking to each other that makes the Hegemony’s relay network look like smoke signals; there’s no way they could have been so co-ordinated otherwise.’
‘So, talking is the way out of this?’
‘I know it sounds crazy, but imagine if you had a truth in your hand, something life-changing. A cure for a disease, or reports of abuse of power. Imagine if, instead of trying to slip that into people’s heads through subversion, you could just tell them in a way that couldn’t be intercepted. Free information, free thought.’
She thought about it, because she could see how much it meant to him. ‘I don’t think you can get around the fact that what we tell each other is altered by what we want, even if we don’t mean to do it.’
His eyes lowered. ‘It’s just a fantasy. But I still think Brennev’s way is wrong, repeating what went before even though he feels righteous. It’s up to me to carry on trying to find another way. I’ll shine a light in the dark even if it’s inefficient and messy and probably futile. Pamphlets and graffiti. Who knows?’ he smiled. ‘Maybe it’ll catch on.’
She didn’t answer, just lay back against him, enjoying the scent of him and her intertwined. His heart had calmed and now drummed a gentle beat inside his chest. He ran a finger over the curve of her shoulder, as if committing it to memory.
‘I’m still afraid, Nebn. What if he finds out?’
‘I’ve not forgotten. I have a contact in the central labs; they know which date your exam took place.’
‘But how—’
‘Accidents happen. Sometimes samples get contaminated, vials break.’
‘They’ll just do another.’
‘For the right price, the result is what we want it to be. He’s no reason to push for more tests anyway – in fact it might look bad for him, with his new authority.’
She knew he was right. The trip to the Galamb had been about being seen, bragging rights. Despite this, the unease still ate at her.
‘I need to go, it’s getting late.’
Outside, the two men they’d evicted stood some way down the corridor with their backs to the wall. Nebn waved them back into the room; Kelbee repressed a laugh.
At the outer door he kissed her goodbye. ‘Stay safe,’ he whispered in her ear.
Fleet Coast
A half-collapsed warehouse on the outskirts was where they abandoned the skimmer and moved to the ground truck Syn had stashed there. Before they left, they piled rotting wood panels and rusted roof sheeting against the doors. If they were lucky, it should buy them enough time to get to the coast.
The inside of the truck looked like a field infirmary after a battle. Derrin drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. Cale had sedated him as best he could with the meagre supplies Syn had laid in and bandaged his gut wound, but feared that it would most likely have just one outcome. He’d seen it before: the sweating, the clenched jaw, the dark spread of blood through the rough cloth of the dressing. It would not be quick. He could only hope the boy would last the journey.
‘You fucked this up, old man,’ he told himself aloud.
Derrin’s eyes moved behind closed lids and he moaned at whatever fevered dream had him. The skin of his forehead was stretched tight over bone.
Cale went to rub his aching eyes, stopped. His fin
gers were gummy with old blood.
On the other side of the shifting trailer lay his son. Like Derrin, Bowden’s unconscious form lay on a row of canvas seats pressed into service as a cot. A clear plastic line from one arm led up to a drip bag hanging from the roof and every time they hit a bump it swayed madly, sloshing the liquid inside.
Rushed, aimless, stupid. Dumb luck we survived with just one casualty.
He checked Bowden’s pulse and found it fluttering, faint but regular. A small mercy. The skinny chest under the blankets moved up and down, almost imperceptible. Under the poor light of the swinging bulb the face was more how Cale remembered it; perhaps just a little gaunter in the cheeks, and there were deeper shadows under the eyes. They would have to find a way of feeding him soon. If only he’d looked for a chart, or some other indication of his condition, he might know what needed to be done; as it was, he was reduced to playing guessing games with his son’s life. He lay his palm on the clammy forehead, wishing he could share life through the touch of his skin.
What had he expected to feel in this moment, here, with him? Relief? There was none of that. He realised, as Bowden’s faint pulse beat against his palm, that ever since that day on the steppe – when the message had come – he’d been headlong, never pausing. He’d been so sure that once he had Bowden in his care the helplessness would go away. He would know what to do. He’d always known what to do. But here he was, with two young men’s blood under his nails and filled with a brand-new fear, one he hadn’t counted on. If Bowden died now, it was no one’s fault but his.
Everything ahead was uncertain, vague. When they got to where they were going, he still needed to find the way in. The place could be abandoned for all he knew. Perhaps they were not there any more, the people he’d once called friends – it had been so long. If by some slim chance they remained, would they even let him in?
He remembered the machines, the ones that set bone and stitched skin, spindly mechanical arms moving in a blur. He’d seen men left for dead made whole with only pale scars to show for their ordeal. Derrin might live, but Bowden? There was nothing visible, no obvious wound for the machines to work on. Besides a pulse and shallow breath, there was little to show that he was even alive. The fear gripped his heart in its claw and twisted when he realised this might be all there was left.
He ran his fingers through Bowden’s short hair, noting how it had started to thin at the temples. At the hairline was another scar he didn’t remember.
‘Made things worse for you, boy,’ he told him.
Not a boy now, he corrected himself. There were lines on his face now, from laughter or maybe anger. The hands were thicker, callused. This was a man, with his own burdens.
Always enough of my boy left in him, though.
He’d had to do it, he pleaded with the jury in his mind. He’d done it badly, rushed it, but he knew there was no other way as soon as he heard that name.
Sessarmin. Shadows hung off it. He’d heard the stories even before he’d joined the underground. Never spoken of above a whisper, as if there was something malevolent behind those grey walls; rumours of isolation, experiments, torture. Pain and fear and no hope of escape. For the few of them in those early days of the movement, when every day was fraught with danger, it had held a special kind of horror.
They’d always been so careful, but sometimes people got caught and when they did they were always shipped to Sessarmin for ‘re-education’. Instead of covering it up, the authorities advertised it in bulletins, used it to show their benevolence.
Look at our compassion, they said. Taking the time to fix what had gone wrong in subversive minds, shepherding the misguided back onto the path. After those men and women entered the sanatorium, they were never seen again. When he’d heard his son was in that place he knew he had to act fast, no matter how messy it got.
He pulled the blanket higher over Bowden’s chest, checking the beat of his heart again. Better to die out here, under the sky, than buried in that place.
Something else nagged him, sitting in the corner of his mind. Now that the adrenaline from the escape had burned away it was more insistent. He’d expected more guards, more orderlies. A watch on the wards, even. But there hadn’t been, other than the guards by the entrance. Was it possible the whole thing had been too easy? As the thought crossed his mind, Derrin coughed himself awake, blood rattling in his throat.
‘It hurts,’ he said, squirming. His pale fingers pressed against the rough dressing as if he could squeeze the pain out; Cale had been forced to pry his hands away from the wound to be able to bind it. The cloth was sodden, almost black.
Cale shushed, patting his shoulder. There was nothing else to do, no more painkillers. There was a good chance he might not last the night. ‘You’ll be all right,’ he said.
‘I’m going to die, aren’t I?’ The wide eyes were bloodshot, but his voice was calm.
‘No. I’m going to get you help.’
‘You can tell me, you know.’ Derrin tried a smile but it came out as a grimace. ‘Not afraid. Just wish it didn’t fucking… hurt so much!’ He twisted, snorting through his nose as another surge hit him. He grabbed Cale’s hand and gripped it hard until the feeling waned, a single tear tracing a streak through the grime on his face. After a while his breathing calmed, and he uncurled a little. ‘In the corner,’ he said, waving at the far end of the trailer.
Cale looked where he was pointing and spotted what looked like the top of a bottle sticking out from behind an old toolbox. Picking it up, he brushed away a greasy layer of dust. There was no label and the liquid inside was glutinous, leaving outlines on the inside of the glass. In the low light, it was a dark amber.
‘Rakk?’ asked Derrin, hopeful.
Cale pulled the stopper with a squeak-pop and gave the stuff a sniff. He snatched his head back as the fumes stung his nostrils – something like cheap rakk, but more like paint thinner. Whatever it was, it was booze, and it was strong.
‘Give it here,’ gasped Derrin.
Cale sat on his haunches. Before handing the bottle over he swilled a mouthful of the amber liquid, finding it acrid and harsh but probably not poisonous; he swallowed, feeling it burn down his throat. He passed it to Derrin, who took a deep pull. The boy gagged, doubling up, but waved Cale’s hand away and took another swig before handing the bottle back.
Derrin wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘Drink with me.’
Cale rested his back against the wall of the cab. They passed the bottle back and forth between them in silence. Cale took small sips, knowing Derrin needed it more and wanting to keep a clear head. Even so, he could feel it seeping into his blood. After a while Derrin lapsed into a doze.
Cale sat back and watched over both of his charges, the murmur of the engine running through him. From the cab, he could hear Syn humming an old marching tune as he drove. The shard of daylight under the door that connected trailer and cab was dimming as night came on.
‘It must have been bad, what happened with you two.’ Derrin’s voice surprised him, and he realised he’d also drifted off. The youth had propped himself up on his elbows.
Cale didn’t answer straight away, his gaze fixed on his son’s form. Finally, he said, ‘We disagreed.’
‘About what?’
‘Lots of things, as he got older. The last time was the worst.’ He rested his elbows on his knees. ‘I left his mother when he was young. I saw him, sometimes, but it wasn’t enough. He started lashing out. I don’t blame him.’
‘Couldn’t you have stayed?’
Cale shook his head. ‘We married too young. It was arranged by our families, but it wasn’t long before I got my commission. They kept me busy with little wars, always some insurgency popping up. I found I was good at it, and when I came home to her…’ Cale paused, looking at the floor. ‘I didn’t know how to be married. Always got away as soon as I could.’ His eyes went back to Bowden. ‘When he was just a baby, something happened in the field. It was
bad. They… didn’t execute me because of my rank. They just kicked me out.’
Derrin frowned. For a moment, his gaze became clear and intense. ‘So, you just went home. After.’
Cale shook his head. ‘The regiment was my real home, then all of a sudden it wasn’t. I didn’t know the woman who shared my bed and I didn’t know where I fitted in. I suppose I left to find out where that was.’ He worried the edge of a fingernail. ‘It was quite the scandal.’
Derrin watched him for a moment and Cale felt like he was being picked apart. Perhaps it was the fever or the wound, but he’d not seen the boy look so… determined. Death was like that sometimes. Before the end came a terrible kind of sharpness.
Derrin coughed and curled up in a ball on his cot. When he relaxed, his eyes were docile again as he gazed at the ceiling. ‘I know what that’s like,’ he said. ‘I left home because I didn’t fit in. Got on the first ship that would take me. I thought it would be an adventure, you know? Stupid kid.’
‘Everyone thinks that,’ said Cale.
Derrin took a shuddering breath. ‘What did you do afterwards?’
Cale could see the youth’s eyes drooping. He’d be asleep soon, so he kept his voice low as he answered. ‘I studied. Did things with my hands. Made new friends. Thought maybe I could start at the beginning. I met a girl who liked me back. Got married again.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Aime. She was a beauty.’ He smiled, remembering. ‘She reminded me I wasn’t as ancient as I felt.’
‘Did your son like her?’ Derrin’s voice slurred.
‘He never met her. She wanted to, wanted to make things right between us. We even arranged to meet, just the three of us, but she was out when he got to the house. He wanted to join the Army and I was afraid for him because he was barely a man, so I told him not to. We both got angry; we fought.’
He watched the light play over Bowden’s face.
‘He called me selfish, a coward. He left and she never got to meet him.’
Cale realised Derrin was asleep. He sat in the silence, feeling the movement of the truck on the road.
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