by Gregg Vann
She hopped up from the chair and began pacing around the tent. Lusani’s hands were clasped tightly behind her back, and her face had a pink tinge to it—a visible symptom of the rage she was feeling inside.
“The blasted Exiles!” she snapped. “They ambushed us during the hunt again. We wiped out their raiding party, but on the way back to the Olin we were forced to skirt around a much larger gathering of them—not all that far from our security perimeter. They seem to growing bolder by the month now.”
“Who are they?” Tana asked.
“The books say they were prisoners sent to work for the colonists.”
Barent was starting to feel a little restless as well, so he abandoned his chair to stand with Lusani. “There were five hundred prisoners on the Olin,” he said. “And a thousand colonists and guards.”
“Yes,” Lusani agreed. “And when they all woke up the ship was wrecked, and the Le’sant thought lost. With everything in shambles, the prisoners wanted to go out on their own. And the colonists agreed to it, thinking it would be better…safer, to be rid of them. They let the prisoners take some of the seedlings, livestock, and a few portable shelters they found with them—along with the soil treatments they’d need, of course. But no one really expected them to survive. Not out on the plains.”
“But they did,” Barent said.
“Yes,” Lusani replied. “Some of them actually lived. And the ones who made it were tough, Sergeant. The storms that go tearing across the surface of this planet during certain times of the year are ferocious. I’m talking about gale-force winds that can strip the flesh off your bones if you aren’t properly sheltered.”
“I’m aware of them,” Barent replied. “It was another reason the crater floor was chosen as the location for the city.”
“I wish the Olin could have make it that far, Sergeant Barent. I truly do.”
Lusani’s eyes went vacant for the briefest of moments—as if she were somewhere else, considering a future that might have been—and then she continued on with her story.
“Anyway,” she said. “For the first thirty years or so, no one saw the Exiles, and they were all presumed dead. But then they began attacking our hunting parties, and stealing horses and equipment. That quickly escalated to kidnapping Olin women—to serve as playthings and breeding stock. And when our ancestors went out onto the plains to get them back, they found out just how tough this planet had made the Exiles.”
Lusani shook her head. “They are savages, Sergeant Barent. And they fight like they’ve been possessed by demons. The Exiles kill completely without compunction; life is meaningless to them. And not just Olin lives; they render their own dead into fertilizer for use on their meager crops. Can you believe that?”
“How many are out there?” Tana asked.
“No one really knows. The Exiles probably have no idea themselves. They’ve always lived in scattered tribes, run by individual chieftains. But lately, we’ve been hearing rumors about a large number of them rallying together under one man. If so, it’s a troubling development, because the fractured nature of their society has always kept the Exiles from posing a major threat to us. But we have noted much larger gatherings of them over the last few months, so there may be some truth to those rumors. It’s why we have to travel in such large groups now.”
“But surely you have them outnumbered,” Barent said. “Even if the Exiles are consolidating their populations. How many Olin are there?”
“Oh, thirty-thousand or so. It’s been some time since we’ve had an accurate count. There are homesteads all throughout the ship, and many people live in the spires as well—just coming down long enough to gather food off the common lands, or participate in the hunt. Some Olin have even built shelters out on the surface, complete with greenhouses. But they still remain well within our security perimeter.”
“And how many fighters do you have?”
“We are all fighters, Sergeant Barent. Trained since birth. I don’t know how things are in Le’sant, but it’s a dangerous world out here.”
“The city has its own dangers, Lusani. But in Le’sant, they’re more likely to be hidden behind deceptive smiles—all while the dagger snakes its way around to your back.”
Lusani leaned back against the table again and crossed her arms. “Draly and Calif told me about Le’sant’s population, Barent. How can you possibly expect us to fight against a city with more than a million people? It’s impossible. And even if I agreed, we’d have to leave a strong presence behind just to protect the Olin from the Exiles. The most I could possibly spare would be ten thousand fighters. What good would that do against an army the size of Le’sant’s?”
“Ten thousand Olin would be a damn good start,” Barent replied. “I also have many supporters in the city, and I intend to build alliances that will bolster those numbers even further. I promise you, Lusani, we can put together a force capable of overthrowing the Collective.”
Barent looked over at Tana for confirmation, knowing that he had nothing more than her assertions to base that promise on.
“The citizens of Le’sant are genuinely unhappy,” Tana said. “And they revere Sergeant Barent. The people will rally around him, seizing the opportunity for change. And they’ll be grateful to anyone who helps him in the struggle.”
“Yes, yes, yes, it all sounds good,” Lusani said. “But I still need some time to think about all this.”
“How about a show of good faith in the meantime?” Barent said.
“Such as?”
“Our possessions.”
“Take them,” Lusani said, gesturing at the table behind her. Then she held up a single finger. “But not the plasma rifle. I want to hold onto that for myself.”
“Agreed,” Barent replied.
“Then you may gather up your things and go.”
Lusani picked up the plasma rifle again, gazing at it wistfully as Barent and Tana approached the table. “You know, my father searched for the Olin’s armory for years, trying to locate the ship’s weapons cache. He wanted to use those guns to fight the Exiles—to finally get an upper hand. But despite all of his efforts, he never found it.”
Lusani sighed. “Even if the energy stored in the plasma rifles had long since dissipated, the conventional weapons would have given us victory ages ago.”
“Well that explains why you’re using bows and blades,” Barent said, reaching for his weapons. “The colonial guards were equipped with sidearms to maintain order during the initial city deployment, but the majority of the weapons were stowed away in the armory. Frankly speaking, Lusani, I’m surprised you’re not tempted to keep our guns—for safety’s sake, if nothing else.”
Lusani smirked. “There are thousands of us, Sergeant Barent. If you become a problem, I think we’ll manage just fine.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“I’ll assign quarters and have someone escort you there. We’re going to be out here for a few more days yet, as we still have to clean off all the tents and equipment thoroughly before it can be packed up and taken inside the ship. There are animals left to slaughter and divvy up as well; it’s the same after every hunt. I’ll send for you later, after I’ve spoken with my advisors.”
“Very well,” Barent said, strapping on his pistols. “Just remember, Lusani: you can go it alone and hope the Collective treats you fairly, putting the fate of the entire Olin people in their hands. Or you can go with me to Le’sant in force, and enter the city secretly to confirm everything I’ve told you is true…before committing yourself.”
“There is no need to convince me further, Sergeant Barent. I would very much like to visit that city I saw in my youth.”
“Then do it, Lusani, but under my terms. Or I assure you, the Olin will suffer from their encounter with the Collective.”
“You’ve made your point, Barent. But I still need to deliberate with the others. I’m a leader, not a dictator. Now go, while I call in my advisors.”
Barent nodded an
d followed Tana out.
A guard waiting outside saw them exit and ducked back into the tent. A moment later, he came back out again to address the pair.
“I am to provide you with quarters,” he stated.
“Can’t we just go back inside the ship?” Tana asked hopefully.
“No. Lusani said that you are to remain out here with us.”
“Well, that’s just great,” Tana replied, sarcasm and disappointment warring in her voice.
The disappointment won.
“Follow me,” the Olin directed, and they began making their way toward another section of the camp.
Barent witnessed several more of the Olin training circles along the way, and in each of them the warriors were fighting each other so valiantly that he had to convince himself it wasn’t real. Barent pointed at one of the circles, drawing the guard’s attention to it.
“I see everyone practicing with those long blades,” he said, “but there are very few bowmen.”
“Arrows are mainly used for hunting,” the guard explained. “They’re useless against the Exiles because their clothing is so thick and tough—nearly impossible to penetrate. And they fight like berserkers, rushing at us with little concern for their own lives.”
Barent didn’t think it was possible, but the Olin’s face turned even more serious. “The Exiles are on you long before you can loose enough arrows to kill them, so it always comes down to the longblades.”
“I prefer daggers myself,” Tana said, indicating the small collection on her belt.
The guard seemed amused by her statement. “Dagger blades are far too short to stab through the seams in their clothing. It’s why our knives are made as they are. They penetrate deep enough to kill, but aren’t unwieldy like a sword.”
“My blades might be shorter,” Tana replied. “But trust me, if I send a throwing dagger into an Exile’s eye, he’ll go down. I promise you.”
“They sound like difficult opponents,” Barent remarked.
“The Exiles are animals,” the Olin spat. “They live and fight like feral creatures. No discipline at all, only rage. I’ve even seen them bite and claw during battles, like wild beasts.”
Barent knew that in a real life or death struggle he wasn’t above clawing like an animal himself to take out an opponent’s eyes. In a true fight for survival, you did whatever it took to win. Self-imposed limits on tactics could easily mean your death, especially if your opponent held no such qualms. But Barent thought it best not to share that opinion with his Olin escort.
The sun was beginning to set on the distant horizon, slowly sinking beneath the furthest edge of the immense plains. Its departure signaled the end of the day, and the Olin sparring teams started breaking apart to go their separate ways. They passed by several loose groups of the warriors as they moved through the camp, most of them heading to their quarters for the night. And then the guard led Barent and Tana down a narrow row of small tents, sandwiched between two dormitory-like structures. He stopped at the entrance to one of them.
“This will be your dwelling for the night,” he announced.
The Olin pulled the flap back and Barent saw two sleeping bags laid out on top of a collection of smooth skins—all sewn together with thin cord. Like most of the things he’d seen in the camp, the sleeping bags were comprised of a hybrid of materials. The outer coverings were standard colonial issue, but a thick layer of soft animal fur had been stitched to the inner linings.
“I’m surprised to see so much of the Olin’s original materials still in use,” he said to the guard. “Especially after so much time has passed.”
“Our ancestors were able to gain access to several of the ship’s storage areas after the crash, and we have all the clothing and prefabricated furnishings we could ever want. But we’ve improved and modified those things as needed—like the sleeping bags. The fur does a much better job of keeping you warm.”
“It certainly looks more comfortable,” Tana agreed.
“I will come for you in the morning,” the Olin said. And then he looked at each of them in turn to make sure they heard his next statement. “It would be best for everyone if you remained inside the tent until then.”
As he walked away, the guard stopped to stick his head inside the neighboring tent. He had a few quick words with the occupants and then departed.
“He was probably telling them to keep an eye on us,” Barent said, and then they turned around and entered the tent.
Barent saw a soot-darkened portable fireplace tucked into one corner of the room, and he noticed that the metal panels forming it were all hinged. It had obviously been designed to fold up flat for easy storage and transport. A single pipe ran out from the top of the square metal box, exiting the tent through a hole in the ceiling, and Barent was surprised to spot a washbasin on the mantelpiece—paired with a jug of water, and what appeared to be a generous stack of caribou jerky. Across from the fireplace he saw a horizontal pole suspended from the ceiling, hanging from two thick pieces of rope, and Barent assumed it was to place their clothing and gear on.
“Finally,” Tana said, noticing the basin. “I can get myself cleaned up. It’s been a rough few days.”
She began taking her clothes off and draping them over the pole.
“What’s this?” Barent teased. “No more modesty?”
Tana grinned. “After everything that’s happened recently, I kinda think we’re past that now.”
Once she was completely naked, Tana grabbed the washcloth from the basin and started cleaning herself off, wringing the cloth out as she went. Barent began to disrobe as well, and Tana watched as he peeled his shirt off, noticing the knife scars and healed-over puncture wounds. Barent caught her staring.
“The souvenirs of three wars,” he explained. “Not counting the one here.”
Then Barent laughed.
“What?” Tana said.
He pointed out a shallow six-inch furrow cut across his right shoulder. The wound was bright red and fresh, and minute traces of blood still seeped from it. But the damaged skin was already beginning to scab over.
“That,” Barent said, “is the fatal wound I succumbed to the night before the prisoners took the Citadel. I was grazed by a bullet.”
“Corporal Ennis must have been one hell of a salesman,” Tana said.
“Based on how things went, I’d have to agree.”
Barent threw the last of his clothing on top of Tana’s and she handed him the washcloth. Then Tana pulled a small towel out from underneath the waterbasin to dry herself off, and climbed into one of the sleeping bags.
“Oh, this is comfortable,” she said.
Barent finished up and pulled the hood on the fireplace partially closed, causing the room to grow darker. Then he slid into the other sleeping bag and folded it over himself, lying on his back to stare up at the canvas ceiling. It was already pitch-black outside, but the fireplace was throwing off intermittent flashes of light, cutting through the darkness to cast ever-changing shadows against the translucent walls of the tent. Despite the thousands of Olin warriors camped all around them, it was surprisingly quiet, enough for Barent to hear Tana fidgeting around in her sleeping bag.
“Tana?” he said.
“Yes?”
“When I first woke up, I asked you about Dani. Dani Lok.”
“I remember,” she replied. “You were pointing two pistols at my head at the time. It’s kind of hard to forget.”
“Yeah, sorry about that.”
“I understand, Barent. It must have been unnerving waking up like that.”
“It was. It really was.”
A few moments of silence passed and then Barent spoke again.
“So how did you know about her? About Dani?”
“Everyone knows about Dani Lok. She was one of the founding members of the Collective.”
“She was one of them?” Barent said. “It’s difficult for me to believe it…even now. Yet somehow, I know it’s true.”
>
Tana heard something telling in his voice, a level of affection that went well beyond mere camaraderie. “You two were lovers, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And she betrayed you?”
“It appears so. I assume she was the one meant to kill me if Corporal Ennis hadn’t volunteered to do it. It would have worked, too. I never would have suspected her.”
“Then it’s lucky Ennis intervened,” Tana said.
“Dani…” Barent slowly breathed out her name—as if saying it out loud would somehow make the treachery more believable…more real. “They should have named her the Great Betrayer.”
Tana sensed his growing melancholy, and she knew the hurt Barent was feeling. It was a pain Tana understood all too well.
“You know,” she said. “I should have left my clothes on. I’m freezing.”
Tana threw her sleeping bag open and crawled over to Barent’s, pulling the flap aside to climb in with him.
“Tana,” he said.
“Shut up, Barent.”
Tana propped herself up on both elbows and cupped her face in her hands, looking straight at him. Barent reached over to brush a swath of hair from her eyes and noticed the scar on Tana’s forehead again. There was no mistaking his curiosity.
“It was my mother,” Tana said. “She cut me there when I was only a child. She was a cruel and abusive woman.”
“What happened to her?” Barent asked.
“I killed her,” Tana said softly. “You weren’t the only one betrayed by someone you loved, Barent. But at least I was able to get my revenge.”
Tana’s eyes grew misty, but she squeezed them shut for a few second to deny the tears.
“In the Outland, you grow up selling what you steal or selling yourself. I suppose I should be grateful that she trained me to be a thief.”
Barent knew it had all happened a long time ago, but he suspected this was the first time Tana had ever spoken about her mother’s death to anyone. He pulled her into his arms and laid Tana’s head down on his chest, holding her gently. She looked up at Barent’s face, craning her neck forward to kiss him, and then Tana slid over on top of him, placing Barent’s hands on her hips.