Outland Exile: Book One of Old Men and Infidels

by W. Clark Boutwell

  Jesse turned her face up to his as a flicker of the sunlight broke through the light canopy of foliage. Malila closed her eyes against the glare, sending arcs of light from tears along her eyelashes. She smiled to be so entirely consoled by Jesse’s now-tender touch. Warm lips pressed hers, and Malila sensed herself surge upward with her own desires into Jesse’s embrace. Her hands moved to caress his face and run fingers through his hair, loosing it to curtain around them as they kissed, closing out the world. She felt Jesse’s warm hands now move, caressing her in turn, his hands adoring her. Malila sensed another unfolding of love and assurance in his embrace, a coming home to a place she had never imagined.

  The obstacles slid away in an instant. The gentle, graceful hands, sweeping aside her clothes to press her flesh closer, called forth passion and a fullness of heart, a desire to give him her love.

  “Jesse, why now? I thought we’d never …”

  “Ah suppose we had ta be friends foremost. Dae ye ken how lang i’ve loved ye, lass? Ah hae sin ye bolted off inta th’ snow. Ah admired ye, afore. Ah want’d ye afore… bit thay wur ill times fur us both,” he said, looking away, his hands still warm on her smooth flesh.

  Malila caressed his rough cheek with her hand, pulling him back into a long kiss and a deep caress. A tide of pleasure and desire surged within her until Jesse sat up, breaking the spell. She almost shrieked with frustration.

  “It’s all right, Jesse. No one can find us here! Father me, you feel good!”

  Jesse’s hands stilled. Malila hoped her words had not put him off.

  “Malila, love, we should stop … for now. Ah dinna just want to keep wi’ ye; a’m wantin’ marrying wi’ ye, my love. That is, if ye are willin’?”

  A chill, a confusion, spread through Malila as she tried to parse the foreign sentiments.

  “You want me only with Mary Eng? I didn’t know that was something you wanted, Jesse.”

  “More than anythin’, my love,” he said with adolescent enthusiasm.

  Malila grasped Jesse’s warm hands and moved them over her smooth flesh, trying to recapture the ardor of but a few moments before.

  “Jesse, this feels like I belong, like we belong. I have never met someone that makes me feel like this. Open to you, safe, hungry for you. If that’s what you want … Does that mean we can stay together?”

  “For a lifetime! For longer than ye ken, my love!”

  Jesse smiled at her, his encircling arms pulling her closer still. Malila’s doubts about the arrangement were subsiding when Jesse continued, “We’d hav’ ta git a waiver from th’ association, of course. I dinna want anyone ta think worse o’ us for this.”

  Malila’s heart fell. Why should anyone think badly of her unless Jesse was hiding something? She imagined his mask falling away. The faithful, kind, and unfailing facade was cracking to reveal a barbarian who was going to use her love to enslave her, to add her to a harem of women. If he could ask her to share him with Mary, why not any number of women?

  “Jesse, slow down. I need some time to think, to talk with Sally, with Xavier. You are confusing me.”

  “I’d ask yer father, of course, if he wur here. Maybe Moses wid step in …”

  Moses? Step in and betray Sally? Even in the Unity, patrons had the integrity not to share protégés. Nothing was as it seemed or should be. Even Jesse, the man … the man she knew … the man she had lived with … cried with … the man she thought she loved! Malila’s resolve crystalized in an instant.

  “No, I see. Father you too, then, and Mary as well!”

  Malila leaped away from him and stormed into the forest, ignoring any footpath before Jesse could react.

  That went well, didn’t it, you old fool?

  I don’t understand what happened.

  You tried to make an honest woman of her. She woke up to what a worn-out bit of gristle you are.

  It had been a mistake to propose to her; he had let himself believe, imagining himself bringing her home as a new bride. Now he had lost her completely.

  Jesse turned away from where Malila had left the clearing. He stomped up a small ridge east as it rose to an adjacent hill through the spring foliage, looking to exhaust himself before returning to camp. He’d come back during the preachings, pack his gear, and leave. It would be easier for her … for him.

  Malila could be such a porcupine, prickly coming from any direction, but he had been naive to think she had any affection for him, of course.

  “Damned old fool is you,” he said to the wind … just before it replied with the faint crack of pulse weapons and a ragged volley of projectile rifles.

  CHAPTER 49

  UNITY

  “Can I warm that up for you, Xavier?” asked Sally.

  It was a lovely morning, reminding her of the Returns of her childhood. Beyond the bustle of believers, the greens of the woods displayed their colors: the almost yellow green of new hickory, the bronze greens of oaks, and the dark contrasting greens of the pines, their branches slowly shouldering back from the snowy burdens of winter. All across the verge of the large meadow, the boughs of red-purple redbuds thrust into the light, while back into the woods, as if shy, contrasting wisps of white dogwood spotted the scene.

  Xavier, from his seat by the warm fire, idly turned the lamb on a spit, making the air redolent with its smells and masking the earthy scents of the woods.

  “Thank you, my love.” He smiled as his cup was filled.

  At breakfast Sally had finally met her mother’s new husband, a talkative mountain of a man. The two made a good couple; her father would rest easy. In addition, that extended breakfast should keep the men from sampling the roast for a while, until after the preachings. It was an entirely satisfactory day.

  “How did you like the Sunrise service, Xav?” she asked.

  “It’s quite a moving service in its way. Of course, I’m used to something a bit different. Always good to be among believers, though. I got quite a kick out of it,” he said with a grin.

  Malila burst from the tree line, dodged a dog, and stormed onto the light. Malila hesitated, taking a heading on Sally, and marched a determined path toward her. Sally noticed her high color and a misbuttoned shirt.

  Malila sat down without salutation, rose, went into her tent, returned, poured a cup of coffee, sipped it, threw the rest onto the ground, sat down, and finally rose again.

  “Something bothering you, honey?” asked Sally.

  “Nothing.”

  “If you want to talk, we can …” started Sally.

  “Nothing’s wrong!”

  After a few minutes, Malila again entered her tent and emerged with a bundle wrapped in a bit of homespun. Walking over to Moses, she solemnly placed the object into his hands.

  “Mr. Stewert, please give this back to Dr. Johnstone. He’ll understand. I never want to see him again, and this is his.”

  She turned and sat dry-eyed by the fire. Moses, looking over the fire to Sally, asked a silent question. Sally shrugged, even as she thought, it’s finally happened between them.

  They all heard the low-pitched whine of the skimmer before the ominous black shape swept out of the shadows and crested the hills into Stamping Ground.

  Moses bolted for the tent and returned with his rifle and Ethan. He scooped the baby into Sally’s arms, and Sally ran for the woods. It’s happening again, she thought.

  “Malila! Run. Now, do it now!” Xavier yelled, using his command voice.

  As she was running, Sally heard the skimmer drive whine to a higher pitch and felt the thump of its arrival. Looking over her shoulder, she stumbled. The black skimmer had landed between Moses and the tree line.

  Making it to the brush near the verge, she crouched and looked back. In the distance, she could see simultaneous surges in the crowded meadow. Women with children streamed away from the skimmers as all others,
men, women, large girls, and boys, raced forward, the sun occasionally gleaming off gunmetal.

  The skimmer ramp crashed down. Oddly gaited troopers emerged, firing and crouching, providing cover for the soldiers behind them. Off in the distance, Sally saw Malila turn as a bolt took Xavier in the back. For a moment, Malila froze. A trooper approached and swung his weapon to club her to the ground. It did not connect. Malila ducked under the blow and kicked hard at the black horror’s knee. He went down in a heap, and she grabbed his rifle, swinging it into the gut of the next horror and folding him up. A pulse bolt erupted at her feet, and Malila ran toward the shooter. It was too far. Sally watched as the soldier aimed the killing shot at her.

  The soldier’s chest erupted in a pink mist.

  The report of the rifle made her jump. She looked over to see Moses kneeling, his old rifle still smoking.

  Moses stood and stepped back, stumbled, and looked down, his feet inside the fire ring.

  There was a flash, and Moses fell, a foot still dangling over the coals near the roast lamb.

  CHAPTER 50

  INTRODUCTIONS

  Unity

  Late afternoon 10_04_AU77

  Malila woke as the skimmer landed, and she was lifted onto a gurney. Her images became a stop-motion kaleidoscope: rattling down a dim hallway; the harsh fluorescents strobing above; distorted faces leaning over her, prodding and asking unanswerable questions; her clothes cut off; and the cold rush of air and darkness.

  She awoke, finally, in a DUFS sick bay: sterile, small, white, overwarm, shabby, smelling of cleaning solution and floor wax, not really built for people. The mattress wheezed whenever she moved, even less comfortable than a camp cot. What was new to her was a guard at the door with a sidearm. She slept and woke later to see, through the only window, the slanting sunlight on a blank redbrick wall. Her O-A still merely hummed, Edie just an echoing voice in her memory. There was no clock. Over the next two days, silent attendants saw that she ate the tasteless food, showered, changed her drafty hospital gown, and slept … especially slept.

  On the morning of the third day, a man appeared. Her mind still muzzy, Malila struggled to stand for a superior officer. The man, a light colonel, waved her back to her bed with a negligent gesture and sat himself, after a guard had brought him a chair. He watched her in silence before speaking.

  “Welcome back, Lieutenant. I am Colonel Jourdaine. Consider me your rescuer from the savage captivity of the outlands,” the dark-haired, placid man said in a pleasant voice.

  Even though her naked feet dangled centimeters off the floor, Malila’s military training clicked into place. She tried to brace up. She was home.

  “Sir, yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Malila said in return.

  “You are an extraordinary person. Do you know that?” the man asked.

  “Sir, no, sir. I didn’t know that, sir.”

  “In the last fifty years, Lieutenant, you are the first officer to get herself captured alive by the savages. That is quite the achievement. I want to understand how a dedicated officer of this country loses every trooper in her command, travels over seven hundred kilometers, and is rescued from an outlander festival with no injuries and no evidence of restraint. How is that possible, Lieutenant Chiu?”

  “It was a trap, sir. The outlanders lured us to Sunprairie to get our new pulse rifles. They overpowered me when I was asleep and took my throat mike. They killed all my men. They got the ID chip out of the thumbs and took their index fingers at the first knuckle. A man removed my first implant, then walked me south for six weeks. I had to stay at a farm over the winter. Stamping Ground, where you found me, was the first time I had been away since December, sir.”

  “A nice précis, Lieutenant, but let us start from the beginning. Who is your commander?”

  And thus, it started. The questions were succinct, and the answers soon became so as well. Jourdaine did not tolerate imprecision or embroidery.

  Within minutes, she felt better for the telling, her words a balm to her spirit, unwinding the tatters of her life. There was some perverse satisfaction in grinding out the pain of her humiliations to this serene bland man. It was the price of readmission.

  Her O-A still buzzed uncertainly.

  Lieutenant Colonel Jourdaine listened to her answers without speaking. After several hours of questions, lunch arrived, and Malila ate a sandwich between words. Jourdaine sipped from a glass of water.

  By the time the window was in shadow, her account sputtered, roared to full throttle on fossil memories, sputtered again, and stopped. For the last hour, she had been reciting with her eyes closed, sucked dry by her own words. Jourdaine rose and stood before her as she sat, her feet now cold and motionless above the floor.

  “Rest now. We will talk tomorrow, Lieutenant,” he said softly, then turned and left before she could say anything.

  The door closed for just a moment before an aide came in with a pill that she dutifully swallowed. When she awoke, her breakfast had arrived. She was ravenous.

  Jourdaine’s vivisection of her account started that day.

  “Tell me, Lieutenant, why were you sent in person to fix Sunprairie? Isn’t that a job for an OAA?” Jourdaine said with no prologue.

  Malila hesitated. She sensed, as she had since her rescue, as if she were sitting at the top of a high, steep, snowy slope. Her answer now would be the first step in the plunge down. She anticipated the exhilaration of her swooping descent, but she knew that, at the end, she would be in unknown country, alone. At best, she could hope to be allowed to regain the anonymity of the corps, becoming one more striving junior DUFS officer. At worst, her actions would condemn her for immediate punishment. Most likely she would still be disgraced for Sunprairie.

  “Sir, I do not know what was in General Suarez’s mind, sir. I can speculate that she did this as a punishment. As soon as the job was complete, I was to report for imprisonment,” she answered, trying to be doggedly truthful.

  “Why do you think you were being punished?” Jourdaine countered, not taking his eyes off her.

  “Sir, I failed in my duty to maintain sensor station Sunprairie, in Wiscomsin, west of Lake Mishygun. I attempted to cover up my deficiency by colluding with my fellow officers. Sir!”

  There was no point in withholding anything from this bland gray man. He, no doubt, knew the truth. No one else had come to rescue her.

  The gray man smiled an odd smile at her answer. The questions came fast thereafter. How had she allowed her attackers to enter the station unobserved? How had it been possible for anyone to massacre her platoon and yet she remain unharmed? Why had she cooperated in the bison hunt? He referenced a small tablet but made no entries.

  Her feeling of weightless descent made her giddy, exhilarated as she watched her hopes of reinstatement flash by.

  Why had she not escaped from the snow cave? At the farm? On the trip to Stamping Ground? How had a single Sisi been able to keep her a captive unaided?

  “Who was your captor?” Jourdaine asked, a note of interest in his voice.

  “Jesse Johnstone. He claimed he was over seventy years old. He looked old, with white hair and a beard and everything, sir. I have no way of knowing if he was lying.”

  “Describe him.”

  “Yes, sir. He is bigger than the average Unity man, sir. Taller by maybe twenty centimeters but proportionally heftier … muscular. He could outwalk me with a forty-kilo pack. I know at least four men he killed when they tried to take me away from him. I never got close to escaping, to tell the truth.”

  “I see, Lieutenant. Where was he when we recued you?”

  “I don’t know, sir. He never stays anywhere for long, but I think you would have known it. If Jesse thought he could do something, sir, he would have. He has fought against the Unity before.”

  “Interesting.”

  The questions multiplied.<
br />
  Why had she helped the breeder? What had she told the savages?

  The questions seemed to have no end.

  Later, even when the colonel no longer asked her questions, other officers came to question her. The questions did not change. The one real question was not asked: Why had she fought to stay in the outlands?

  At the end of her tenth day in the room, Jourdaine pronounced himself satisfied.

  He stood before her, the room otherwise deserted, his voice barely above a whisper. “You will be questioned by others. I suggest you adjust your story of the colony. It seems to me that you were kept in close confinement throughout your captivity. I would correct your account to accommodate that appearance. Do you understand?”

  “Sir, yes, sir!”

  “It also seems that during your recapture from the savages … do you recall that, Lieutenant? There seems to have been some violence against the forces of the Unity. Do you recall that?”

  “Sir, yes, sir. But …”

  “It is not necessary to explain. It is not necessary to ever disclose that. Do you understand? The savages, as I can bring evidence to show, were about to club you to death. A loyal CRNA shot the barbarian before he could do you more harm, saving your life at the cost of his own. You no doubt recall it now.”

  Malila nodded, unable to say the words with the memory of Xavier’s solemn eyes going dead.

  “Good. Finally, you are to consider yourself my protégé from now on. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” Malila rose and untied the hospital gown, the thin cotton slipping down along her legs, making a puddle about her feet. She went through the formulaic submission and prepared herself for the man’s caresses. For the first time in months, she was aware how long it had been since she had visited her company depilatorium.