by Rachel Ford
Now, though, as the city flashed past, she was left with nothing but her thoughts and the fearful hammering of her heart against her sternum. Oh gods, let him be alright.
She wondered how it had come to violence. It wouldn’t have been on Grel’s part, she knew that. He abhorred violence, as much in principle as a tactic. “It’s not just wrong, which it is. But bashing a few heads here and there is only going to turn public sentiment away from us.” How many times had she heard him say so?
There was a vicious irony to that. According to established wisdom, her husband was a radical, a dangerous extremist. Newscasters had referred to him as an anarchist. They’d been turned out of their temple for his “revolutionary” views. But among his friends, especially among the more reactionary elements of the CWCT, he was accused of being too moderate. Those in power saw his brand of persuasion as too threatening, and those out of it as not threatening enough.
Now, she feared that it would be his head that had been bashed. She remembered all the stories of widows and fatherless children that followed the carter’s guild massacre. Now, she could not shake the fear that she would be one of those widows, that their child who didn’t even exist yet would be fatherless in turn.
Oh gods, not Grel.
Chapter Thirteen
They were traveling back to the governor’s mansion in stony silence. Captain Elgin had rejected any suggestion of “turning terrorist,” and Governor Nees had called him a coward and a traitor to the Tribari people.
Now, Elgin’s comm unit buzzed. He frowned. He’d given explicit orders not to be disturbed. It buzzed again, and this time he pulled it out and answered the call. It was Lt. Fal. “Captain?”
“Elgin here.”
“Forgive me for interrupting, Captain. But we just received new orders from Central.”
“What?”
“We’re being recalled. There’s some kind of rioting on the home world.”
Shit. Out loud, he said, “You’re absolutely sure? Those were the orders?”
“Yes sir. Relaying them to you now.”
Fal did as he’d said, and a moment later the text appeared on Elgin’s screen. There was no mistaking what was written. Central had called the entire fleet back. Shit, he thought again. This must be serious.
He sent his acknowledgement of the orders, then spoke to Nees, who was watching him with a blend of thinly veiled curiosity and explicit contempt. “I need to get to my shuttle. I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut this fun short.”
“I need to get back to my office before-”
“I don’t have time for that.” She frowned, and he explained, “There’s trouble on Central. They need us back.” He wasn’t sure why he was explaining, exactly. She was a terrorist. What did he care what she thought?
“On Central?” The intelligence seemed to surprise her, but she nodded slowly. “Alright.” She opened the line to the driver’s cab. “We need to get the launch pad, Ne.”
“Yes ma’am.”
The transport slowed to a stop and then turned. In a moment, they were speeding along in the opposite direction. The city fell away again. They came to the morbid orchard and all its trophies of death, and then left it behind them. Then, they were at the landing pad.
He got out, and she followed. “What are you doing?” he demanded.
Nees seemed confused. “We’re leaving, aren’t we?”
“I’m leaving. You’re staying.”
She frowned. “I thought…?”
“We made a deal,” he said. “I have to break it. So, you’re free.” Her eyes widened in surprise a second time, and he hastened to add, “I’m sure we’ll be back. If not me, someone else. But…” He shrugged. “I don’t have time to deal with this now. I’ve got a more pressing mission.”
She nodded, and a smile crept onto her lips. “Thank you, Captain.”
“For what?”
She didn’t answer, though, saying instead, “Safe travels.”
He nodded. “The fleet will be leaving with me. No fleet, no blockade. Which means, I suppose, you’ll take full advantage of our absence to get whatever supplies you’ll need for the foreseeable future.”
“Probably,” she admitted.
“Hm. Well, nothing I can do now. Orders are orders.”
Nikia burst into their flat, her call of “Grel?” preceding her.
“Nik?” a voice from the living room called.
She felt herself breathe again. It seemed like the first time since she’d heard news of the rioting. “Grel.” He was coming out to meet her, and she threw herself into his arms, sobbing and kissing him. “Oh my gods. I was so worried.”
He held her tight and for a few minutes they stood in place, each just holding onto the other. Then, he spoke, and his voice shook a little. “It was chaos, love. The protectors dragged so many people off. They’re saying they arrested hundreds.”
“What happened?”
“Someone threw something, at me I think. And after that…” She felt him shake his head. “It was a bloodbath. Franz and I barely got out before the protectors showed up. Too many others were not so lucky.”
“Oh Grel.” She squeezed him tighter. “I don’t know what I would do if…”
“It’s alright, Nik. I’m safe.”
It took a few minutes before she could let him out of her arms. She was, she realized, shaking. He saw it too, and he took her to a seat. “Sit, love. Let me get you something to eat.”
“I can’t eat.”
“You need to eat.”
She didn’t protest further. She was fairly certain she wouldn’t be able to eat, but the food would keep. And if it made him feel better to prepare it, well, so be it.
He’d just started to heat something when their comm panel buzzed. “I’ll get it,” he said. Then, she heard her parents’ voices. “Grel?”
“Contributors Aldir,” he said.
“Where’s Nik?”
She was on her feet in an instant, and at her husband’s side. “Mer,” she said. “Der.”
“Oh, thank the gods,” Elsa murmured. “Your supervisor said you had gone on foot. With all the chaos…”
“I’m fine, mer. So is Grel.”
Luk’s expression hardened, but he nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. I know we had talked about meeting tonight, but there’s protectors and roadblocks everywhere.”
Nik shook her head. “I know. It’s not safe to go anywhere.”
“No. But we need to talk. Grel, I know things have not been good between us. I’m willing to take responsibility for that. But after tonight, especially, I hope we can come to an understanding, that puts your focus more on your family.”
He wrapped an arm around Nik. “If you mean give up the work, I won’t.” Luk’s jaw clenched; she could see the muscles of his face tightening even on their grainy viewscreen. “But, like I told Nik, I will give up my public presence. There’ll be no more days like today.”
Her father nodded slowly. “I am relieved to hear it, Grel. Thank you.”
“I love Nik, sir. I won’t put her in harm’s way. Not if I can help it.”
“Thank you, Grel,” Elsa said. “You can imagine how terrified we were.”
He nodded. “I can. I was too.”
Her mother smiled. “Of course. Of course.”
“I will send a shuttle for you tomorrow, if you’re available Grel,” Luk said. “We can talk at my office. I think that would be safer.”
“I am available. Thank you, Contributor.”
“Call me Luk,” her father said, adding, “Please.”
The call with her parents concluded shortly thereafter. Speaking with them, somehow, had helped steady her nerves. Grel, meanwhile, returned to his cooking thoughtfully. “I think you’re right, Nik,” he said after a minute.
“About what?”
“He does mean it. Your father.”
She nodded. “He does.”
“I mean it too.” He turned to face her now. “Ma
ybe I’m a coward, Nik. But all I could think of today was you, of what I’d do if I never saw you again. If I didn’t get to see our baby. How much I wanted to make it out of that plaza alive.”
“Oh Grel.” She joined him by the stove, wrapping her arms around him. “I…I kept thinking what I’d do if you didn’t come home, if you never got to see your baby.”
He brushed her hair back and for a moment just surveyed her. “I love you, Nikia Idan.”
“I love you too, Grel. I can’t lose you.”
He kissed her. “You won’t, Nik.”
They’d put the food in the icebox after that and gone to bed. For a while, she’d just held him. Then, they’d made love. Now, he slept, his arm draped over her back. She lay with her head on his chest, listening to the beating of his heart.
Listening to that strong, steady march of lub-dub, lub-dub, she felt the terrors of the day slipping away. He was safe. Her Grel had escaped, and tomorrow would be the start of new things. He’d work with Luk, and lay low for a while. Things would go back to normal again.
Eventually, her eyes closed, and she drifted off to sleep.
She woke with a start, to a sound like an explosion coming from the entryway. “Grel.” She sat bolt upright, gazing around their dark room.
He was at her side. “Nik? What the hell’s going on?”
Voices streamed in from the far end of the flat. “Protectors. Hands up. Hands up.”
Grel scrambled out of bed, flipping on the light. She grabbed a robe, throwing it over her night clothes. A moment later, armored men burst into their room. “Protectors,” one of them screamed. “Hands in the air.”
Nikia found herself staring with horrorstruck eyes into the barrel of a rifle. “Hands above your head,” a voice screamed from behind a face shield.
Shaking, she complied. She saw Grel doing the same opposite her. Someone came behind her now, grabbing her arms and twisting them until she winced in pain. A pair of men had seized her husband too.
“Please,” she said, “we haven’t done anything.”
Now, one of the officers lifted his face shield. He was a youngish man, with square features and hard eyes, and a badge that read Protector Ridi. “Quiet,” he snapped. To his men, he said, “Cuff the husband.”
“On what charges?” Grel demanded. “I’ve broken no laws.”
One of the protectors brought a rifle down on his back, with a thud that made Nikia cry out. “Grel!” She struggled against her captor, and his fingers dug deep into her flesh. “Leave him alone. Grel.”
Her husband had staggered under the blow, and another officer had descended on him. Now three men pinned him down, shoving him into the dresser, while another clapped cuffs on him.
“He’s not resisting,” she protested. “He’s bleeding. Please, stop.” She pulled again, and this time the unmasked officer, Protector Ridi, intervened. He slapped her, hard, across the face with a gloved hand.
Her teeth smashed together, and her head reeled. She could taste blood. He gestured for the officer behind her to let her go, and she found herself suddenly free, collapsing to the ground. Officer Ridi reached out a hand and grabbed her by the hair as she stumbled.
Nikia’s hands reached for his fist, for the fingers tangled up in her freefalling locks. Tears stung at her eyes. “Please,” she begged. “Please stop.”
She could hear Grel calling out. “Leave her alone. Leave her alone, dammit.”
But it was the protector who occupied her attention now. He was grinning at her in a way that chilled her blood. He pulled her to her feet by her hair, and now stepped closer. “What’s that, collaborator?”
“Please,” she said, “please stop.”
“Stop what?” He slipped his other hand under her robe, letting it travel up her back with a deliberate slowness. “I didn’t hear you. Stop what, collaborator?”
Her heart hammered in her chest as his eyes morphed from steely gray to a ruddy brown. “Please,” she murmured. “Please don’t.”
His grin grew, and his hand traveled to her waist. She felt herself tremble as his eyes darkened to a deep amber. Only one man had ever looked at her with eyes like that, and that was her husband; and the desire in Grel’s eyes blazed with affection when he looked at her. Ridi’s desire was tinged with nothing but malice.
He moved in closer, pushing her against the wall and pressing a knee into her thigh. Grel, meanwhile, was screaming and struggling behind her, and she heard the crack of a rifle butt again. “Let her go, you bastard. Take your hands off her.” The rifle cracked against him again.
“Please,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “Please let us go.”
“Beg, collaborator,” Ridi growled, squeezing her as he did.
A hand rested on the protector’s shoulder, and one of the helmeted officers said, “That’s Luk Aldir’s daughter.”
Ridi’s eyes flashed. “She’s a collaborator.”
“She’s a Grand Contributor’s daughter. Let her go.”
He growled again, yanking at her hair before he let her drop. Ridi turned on his heel, and the other protector – his badge read Pyr – caught her. She recoiled from his touch, but he released her as soon as she’d regained her feet. He drew back his face shield to look her over. He was young, and there was something like concern in his eyes. “Are you alright?”
She blinked, drawing her robe back around her. She was stunned, by the question as much as the situation. But more pressing than anything else, now that her own immediate safety was secured, she asked, “Grel?”
“We’re taking him in for questioning,” Pyr said. “About the incident today.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Then he’s got nothing to worry about.”
She stared at the armored figure, and then past him, at her husband laying in a pool of blue. “Nothing to worry about?”
Protector Ridi, meanwhile, had rounded on Grel. He took out something, a long metal rod it seemed. Nikia screamed when she realized what it was. It was a submission prod. “No,” she yelled. “No, he’s not fighting. What are you doing?”
Ridi, though, just grinned. Blue arcs of electricity danced along the tip of the prod, and he let it hover for a moment in front of Grel. She moved forward to intervene. It was stupid, of course. What could she do, unarmed and in her bed clothes? But she couldn’t watch idly as her husband was tortured.
Pyr caught her arm, though. “Leave it, miss. Please.”
She struggled to be free, but the officer’s hold was firm. Tears streamed down her eyes as Ridi brought the prod once, then again, and again to her husband’s cuffed form. “Grel! Grel!”
On the third hit, he collapsed into a heap. Ridi applied the prod again.
“Enough,” Pyr said. “He’s subdued.”
“Just doublechecking,” Ridi grinned. Then, throwing a final gaze over her, he smirked. “Take him to the truck.”
Chapter Fourteen
Grel woke to agony and vomit. It felt like fire was coursing through his lower body and back, and thunder ringing in his head. But no sooner did he open his eyes, was he vomiting. He seemed to throw up everything he’d eaten in the past month; and still he vomited.
Somewhere to his rear, someone kicked him. The pain registered faintly, adding to the overall sensation of agony that swarmed his senses.
“Fucking terrorist animal,” a voice sounded.
The acrid smell of stomach bile burned his nostrils. Grel tried to sit. He felt cold metal under him. The exertion, though, was too much, and he heaved again.
He gasped for breath as another kick landed in his back. He could feel the points of contact on his body where the submission prod had burned into his flesh. Heat and agony still resonated on a spot on his chest between his ribs, on his back, on his backside, and near his groin.
He could barely see, the pain was so intense.
“Nothing to say now, revolutionary?” a voice taunted. He recognized it as belonging to the m
an who had attacked Nik, who had used the prod on him.
Grel felt the floor lurch under him, and he realized he was in a vehicle; and it had come to a stop.
“On your feet, trash.”
He tried to comply, but he couldn’t. His muscles wouldn’t obey. Every time he tried, the pain overwhelmed him. A set of hands grabbed him by the shoulders, yanking him to his feet. He struggled to find his footing, but his legs gave out under him.
He crashed to the metal plated floor, and landed in a puddle of blue blood and yellow vomit. His consciousness ebbed after that, and for a few minutes he was aware of little. He vaguely perceived the change of scenery as he was hauled from the back of a windowless tactical shuttle toward a great building. He was aware, on some level, that they were headed into the Office of Protection, but whether he recognized the structure or if he overheard the destination, he wasn’t sure.
A flurry of fluorescent lights and dour halls passed before his eyes. He slipped in and out of consciousness. When he woke, he was strapped into an interrogation station, his arms and legs cuffed to the legs of the chair. A bright light blazed in front of him, searing through his corneas straight into his brain.
He blinked, fighting the nausea that still roiled his stomach. “Hello?” he called. He could see nothing beyond the light. “Is anyone there?”
Nikia had watched them haul her husband into a windowless protector shuttle. He was barely conscious, and his pajamas were stained with streaks of blue. They seemed to be dragging him more than he was standing on his own.
She stumbled back into the house, tears burning at her eyes as she stepped over the splintered front door. That had been the sound, she realized, that woke them: the protectors breaking down the door.
She stopped at the comm panel. With a hand that shook so violently she had twice to retype the code, she dialed her parents. “Please mer, answer,” she whispered into the quiet room. Its silence after such an assault terrified her almost as much as the noise had.
The line rang and rang. Nikia’s breath grew more ragged, and she struggled to stem the tears that flowed. Her mother and father would be asleep. They probably wouldn’t hear the chime of her call coming in. They’d see it as a missed call, sometime in the morning when they rose, hours from now.