Two more bullet fragments were removed as the arms probed. Another arm descended from the ceiling, trailing stiff black thread; it dipped in and out like a bird pecking the bark of a tree. More medicos appeared and held the gaping stomach wound shut as the arm set about sealing it with a row of tiny, regular stitches.
‘You have to tell me where,’ said Cale. ‘I need to see his body.’
‘I can’t do that.’
A white bubble of rage surged under his skin and he rounded on Brennev. Behind them the pair of guards who’d been trailing them stiffened, hands twitching over their holsters. Brennev waved at them to step away.
‘I can’t, because I don’t know. Only one person does, and she’s… reluctant.’
‘Then tell me where to find her and I’ll go looking myself.’
‘I can do better than that.’ Brennev turned back to the window. Below them the surgical team were finishing up, one mopping the blood from the edges of Derrin’s sutured wound as another took readings from a blinking piece of machinery. The scarred face seemed to come to a decision.
‘I’ll put her in a room with you,’ he said. ‘For what good it’ll do.’
* * *
‘Never had you pegged as a subversive.’ Syn carried a wry smile as they walked along the wide corridor.
‘It was another life,’ Cale replied. His words rang hollow in his ears as he concentrated on just putting one foot ahead of the other.
Bowden was gone.
‘How are you, buck?’
Cale kept walking.
A squad of men in green uniforms passed them going the other way, their steps in time. Their gear looked new – carbines that gleamed with a soft oil sheen and dun body armour that was well fitted. Not a strap out of place on any of them and their faces were serious, professional.
An army. That was what this was now. Brennev had talked about this often back in the days when they were hiding in shadows, taking long-range pictures of internment camps, gathering data, quietly placing their people inside the body of the Hegemony’s hierarchy. ‘Active resistance.’ He’d wanted to bring the fight to the enemy on open terms.
The time Brennev had brought it to the council meeting and proposed it as a strategy was the first time Cale had seen Aime truly angry with anyone. It was no better than their methods, in her eyes. He was a fantasist, he’d get people killed, she’d said, and there were precious few of them in those early days. Even with Aspedair’s clandestine supplies and support it was a constant struggle to maintain the networks they’d established. He’d bring that all crashing down, Aime had insisted, with his hunt for glory. They all knew what the stakes were; none of them would ever be stupid enough to condone force against force as a viable strategy.
She’d been wrong – the very walls of this place told that story. He barely recognised it any more, the caves he’d known clad in concrete and steel, the floors sheathed in hard rubber. The uniforms were everywhere, men and women showing hard hours of training in their every precise step and gesture. So many, and all of them ready to fight. Somehow, Brennev had got his way.
Bowden probably walked these hallways, he thought. I wanted to keep him from harm and all it accomplished was to push him down the same path.
It weighed on him like a lump of iron, threatening to drag him through the floor and into the dark earth. He wished it would. He stumbled, felt Syn’s cold powerful hand steadying him.
They followed the guard who’d been assigned as their escort up a shallow flight of stairs. At the top, the blank concrete walls gave way to thick glass, the bright floodlights from outside refracting in patterns that cut up the floor. Through the long window Cale looked down on a hangar bay piled with crates. In the centre, squatting dark and angular, was a winged transport. He felt the vibration of its engines through the glass, a deep hum that set his teeth rattling.
Syn whistled through his teeth. ‘That’s some kit. Never seen a flyer outside a military base.’ He gave Cale a troubled look. ‘Serious, these friends of yours.’
Before Cale could reply a guard behind them was hurrying them along and down another flight of steps. The corridor narrowed and the ceiling closed in. The lighting was patchy, casting spindly shadows as they walked, and there was a greasy smell in the air. The leading guard motioned them through a low doorway.
‘What now?’ asked Syn.
‘You wait here. You’ll be fetched later.’
‘How much later is later?’
The guard gave him a blank look. ‘Later.’
Cale’s mind drifted. For some reason, he couldn’t see Bowden’s face any more, like his memory was passing through a deep fog.
‘We’re meeting someone. Are they here already?’ Syn pressed. ‘Your boss, the one with the eyepatch, he—’ The door slid shut in his face, cutting him off. Heavy bolts clunked into place. The guard’s eyes were visible for a moment through the small, thick window, then the glass turned opaque.
‘Seems a man can only go a day or so before getting locked up when he’s around you, buck.’
Cale looked around. Despite the cell-like door – without an inner handle – the place looked more like a large apartment. There was a living space with a kitchenette off to one side and the furnishings were old but in good repair, the air only faintly musty. Likely old living quarters pressed into service as a holding area. Two doors led off from the main room; just then, the one on the left opened and a man peered out.
‘Who are you?’ he asked. He was tall and awkward as he stepped tentatively into the room, followed by a young, slight woman with long black hair that hung down past her shoulders. She caught his eye, and just for a moment he saw sadness that matched his own.
‘We’re – he’s – here to talk to someone, but he won’t say any more.’ Syn tilted his head.
‘Professor Song.’ The words grated in Cale’s throat.
‘Did Brennev send you?’ The tall man looked like he hadn’t slept. ‘What’s the matter with him?’ he directed at Syn. ‘He looks like he’s going to be sick.’
‘Rough few days. And if no one’s doing introductions, I’m Ardal Syn.’
The tall man’s face was closed off. He shook his head.
‘He’s Nebn. I’m Kelbee.’ The dark-haired young woman’s voice was soft but firm. She deflected her companion’s hard look.
‘Pleased to meet you.’ Syn bowed elaborately. ‘He’s Cale. This is about as chatty as he gets.’
Something in the young woman’s voice dragged Cale from his reverie. Perhaps it was the inflection at the end of her words or the quiet strength in her voice that reminded him of… her. He looked again, closely this time, but saw no resemblance. That same fortitude though, subtle but tempered. He saw it then: the tilted posture, the faint side-to-side motion of her walk. Though her clothes were loose there was a distinct swelling of her belly.
Pregnant. In a place like this.
‘I need to see her,’ he croaked, to no one in particular. The young woman looked at him with eyes that were deep wells of compassion. He fought to stop himself from collapsing.
‘I’m Sulara Song.’ The voice came from the other door. The speaker was a small, older woman, her hair grey and severely cut. Her face was proud, her chin pointed upwards as if it wanted to hold the whole world to account. Her attention was fixed on Cale.
He waited, not sure where to begin.
The older woman tilted her head, curious. She took a few steps towards him, looking as though she saw something familiar. He didn’t react as she reached out and lifted his chin, scanning his face.
‘So much like him.’
Cale blinked, seeing his own pain mirrored in her. The words stuck in his throat as he spoke them. ‘Tell me how he died.’
She led him into her room, a cloak of intimacy falling over them. She talked, and he listened. She told him how they’d worked side by side, loved one another. He drank in the unimportant details. She told him how Bowden had saved her sanity, then her life. Whe
n the story was over, she stood.
‘Here, read this if you want.’ She placed an old notebook by him. ‘It’s my journal of what happened. I’m not sure I can live through the details again, but… if you want…’ She gathered herself, then left him alone with his grief.
He read every page, then went back and read it all again. Every so often he’d have to stop, feeling like he was drowning, then he’d continue, letting the pieces of the puzzle fall into place until he could see Bowden standing there in front of him – confident, strong, alive.
Not my boy, not any more. A man, with his own scars.
When he emerged from the bedroom the others were asleep in the various chairs that dotted the room. Sulara opened her eyes first.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
He felt a pat on his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry, buck. The professor told us about what happened to your son.’
Cale nodded in mute thanks. A noise by the wall made him turn and he saw Derrin had been brought in on a gurney, his midriff bandaged. The youth tried to sit up, his eyes fevered. Kelbee went to him and whispered something, helped him back onto his pillows.
‘Why are they cramming us all in together?’ Kelbee asked.
Nebn took her hand. ‘The base is at capacity. It was either here or the cells.’
‘Just because the room’s nicer doesn’t make us any less prisoners,’ said Syn, dropping back down into a chair. The mercenary hooked one leg over the arm and rubbed at something on his netick leg. ‘You’re a part of this, I gather?’ he asked Nebn.
Nebn nodded.
‘I wonder why you’re in here with the rest of us. Who’d you piss off?’
‘It’s because of me,’ said Kelbee. ‘He wasn’t meant to bring me here.’
‘Brennev will come around,’ Nebn said, though he sounded unsure.
‘I’ve been here for months,’ said Sulara Song.
Nebn frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Professor. I’m sure there’s some mistake. They shouldn’t keep you locked up like this without explanation.’
‘And yet they have. They feed me, at least, but they don’t want to listen to what I have to say.’
Cale remembered the diary, the revelations that had startled him. Could it really be true? He watched her carefully, searching for signs of madness, but found nothing but determination. He hoped he was right.
Then the floor under their feet jolted. They looked at one another, each seeking confirmation of what had happened. Another shock hit and the room shook with sickening violence, the walls and floor groaning with stress. A pipe burst, blowing out gouts of steam.
They held their collective breath for another wave. The steaming pipe coughed and hissed no more just as the lights cut out, replaced by a red emergency glow. From the corridor outside, deep and terrible, alarms blared.
Flight
Whatever had cut the power had unlocked the door. Bracing himself against the jamb, Syn managed to scrape the heavy metal slab back into its slot with a whine of loaded motors. Outside, the corridor was a jagged nightmare of reds and blacks as the emergency lights flashed. They edged forwards, the smell of burning wires thick in the air.
‘I need to find out what’s happened,’ Nebn shouted over the alarms, which cut off mid-sentence, making his voice echo from the walls. He took the lead with Syn while Cale helped Derrin to stagger along, Kelbee and Sulara Song bringing up the rear. They headed back the way they’d been led, towards the hangar bay. The hallways were deserted; in the absence of the alarms the quiet was thick around them.
The hangar was also empty, humming with the sound of the flyer’s idling engines on its landing cradle. The tail ramp was down, and beyond the machine’s angular nose the bay doors were wide open, revealing a crashing seascape and a low grey sky. Cale caught brine and moss mixed in with the heady stink of fuel and grease as an eddy tugged at his clothes. Derrin shivered and pulled his thin jacket tighter.
Near the door was an alcove with an empty weapons rack and a fire extinguisher; on the back wall were a small screen and keypad. Nebn marched up to it and began hitting buttons.
‘This is wired into the base’s comms,’ he said.
The screen lit up and he keyed the unit – there was an electronic chime, then a man’s face appeared. His skin was stained with soot.
‘Ops,’ he said, ‘why aren’t you in lockdown with the others?’
‘What happened?’
‘An explosion,’ said the man on the screen. ‘Took out the med bay and half a level. We barely got the blast door closed in time.’ He tilted his head, ‘Aren’t you—’
‘I need to speak to Brennev. Is he there?’
‘He’s…’ The soldier on the screen looked away, his attention drawn by something, then he was shoved out of the way. A bearded face filled the screen.
‘Nebn,’ said Brennev, ‘are you with Cale and the others?’ His eyepatch had been lost; both ruined hole and violet eye pierced the screen.
‘He’s with me. Why—’
‘Detain him. Immediately. That thing was a bomb.’
Nebn turned and ran a quizzical look over Cale. He drew a pistol from inside his jacket.
Cale kept still, watching the weapon. It was steady, though the face behind it was uncertain. ‘I have nothing to do with whatever has happened. You were with me, you know.’
The screen behind Nebn gave a crackle. ‘The explosion came from the med bay. The only thing in there we didn’t put there ourselves was the thing he brought with him.’
‘I thought it was my son. You saw how well it was made.’
‘Nebn,’ said Brennev. ‘I need you to keep him there for a few minutes, that’s all. I have a squad on the way. Can you do that?’
Nebn’s face turned resolute. He nodded.
‘I don’t think we’ll be staying, if it’s all the same to you,’ came Syn’s voice, followed by a gasp. Cale spun and saw the mercenary holding Kelbee close, his pink arm stark against the dark brown of her jacket. A flap of pink coating hung down from his netick shoulder, and in his hand was a small but very solid-looking pistol. He pressed it to the nape of Kelbee’s neck.
‘Get away from her!’ yelled Nebn.
The mercenary gave a dry chuckle. ‘You people have odd ideas about hospitality. You knock us out, lock us up, and now you want to clap a man who just found out his son is dead in irons. Excuse me if that’s not my brand of bullshit.’
‘The bomb—’
‘Was probably as you say it was. Look at him – does he look like he knew? He’s as surprised as you are. Now, clear the way.’
‘Nebn,’ said Brennev, his voice dangerously low. ‘Keep him there at all costs. Let him shoot her if you have to.’
Kelbee gasped.
Syn began backing away towards the ramp of the flyer. ‘I’m going to walk into that contraption, then we’re going to leave. I’ll do my best not to break it.’
The pistol in Nebn’s hand shook as he tracked the mercenary.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Syn continued, still moving. ‘My reflexes are good. I see that hammer go back, I paint the floor with your girl.’ His voice was hard and flat.
Kelbee struggled against the arm that held her, but the grip was unyielding. Cale put a hand on Derrin’s shoulder and began edging him towards the ramp. To his surprise, Sulara Song followed.
‘Professor, what are you doing?’ asked Nebn.
‘Leaving. He’s right, you people are hardly a safe haven.’
They were at the foot of the ramp now, the metal ringing under their feet. Syn lifted Kelbee easily with one arm, keeping the pistol against her neck.
‘Cale, take them aboard and check the cockpit. Young man, I’m going to go up this ramp, and I’ll be watching the whole way. You keep your cool and you’ll see her again before you know it.’
The inside of the flyer smelled of metal and canvas. Rows of seats lined the fuselage and a single open door led to the cockpit. Behind him, he heard Kelbee’s voice, afraid but steady.
<
br /> ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said.
‘She won’t be harmed.’ Syn was almost at the top of the ramp now. With one swift motion he slapped a button on the hull and the ramp began to rise.
Nebn’s voice broke as he yelled Kelbee’s name, then the sound was cut off.
Sulara found a seat along the wall while Cale helped Derrin into another. The youth tried to say something, but only a gasp came out. Cale shushed him, strapping him into a harness, then went forwards to check the cockpit. It was empty, a clipboard with a half-completed checklist lying on one of the flight seats. He heard Syn join him. Looking back into the cabin, he saw Kelbee had been lashed to one of the seats.
‘Doing an engine check. Must have legged it when the lockdown order came in.’
Cale gave him a long look. ‘You know flyers?’
‘I know a lot of things.’ The mercenary dropped into one of the seats and began to flick switches.
‘I didn’t know he was armed.’ Cale watched Syn’s fingers dance over the controls. From behind, he heard the engine whine increase in volume.
‘You were in no condition to notice. Just be glad I’m the suspicious, observant type and always carry a spare. Now, let’s be away before any other old enemies of yours try to throw me in a hole.’
Cale took the co-pilot’s chair. Beyond the narrow strip of hardened windshield, a single aryx floated on the wind.
Syn tapped the throttle forwards a notch. The whine became a roar and the machine began to vibrate. Another nudge and they bobbed upwards as if floating. Something cracked off the rear of the craft, then another.
‘And now they’re shooting at us. Really, really great places you bring me.’ Syn took the yoke in one solid pink fist and eased it forwards. The nose dipped and Cale felt the craft edge forwards towards open air.
Bullets pinged off the rear hull. Cale saw the bay doors either side of them shudder and move. ‘They’re shutting us in,’ he said.
‘I think that should be far enough,’ replied Syn, his voice calm. With one hand he turned a dial on the dashboard all the way around, then jammed the throttles forward to their stops. Acceleration crushed them back into their seats and the vibration rattled their heads, making the horizon judder as the engines howled. Then they were going up, the ground tugging them down but failing as they soared higher.
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