by Jaleta Clegg
He slipped from the boulder. There was no one this way. He started up the hill, picking his way around boulders.
"Tayvis." His name was barely above a whisper.
He whirled, crouched and ready to fight. Vance stepped out from behind a rock. Tayvis relaxed.
"Did Dace come this way?" he asked, keeping his own voice quiet.
"You lose her again?" Vance asked with a lopsided smile. "I saw her not long ago. She went up that way. Come on, I'll show you."
Vance started up the hillside, staying hidden in a buried stream that had long ago dried up after cutting a channel next to the cliff. Tayvis followed him, his steps silent on the sandy bottom.
"She's hiding with the others, just ahead," Vance whispered as he turned up a narrow side canyon. "Just beyond those trees."
A stand of thinly branched trees struggled towards the top of the narrow slit in the rock. Tayvis stopped at the entrance of the canyon. Something was off, he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Go on up," Vance urged. "There are only a few up there. They're hiding because Dace twisted her ankle climbing. She couldn't make it back to the others."
Tayvis took a few steps up the side canyon. Dace was hurt? He didn't notice Vance slipping behind him.
He stopped cold when he realized what was wrong. There were no tracks in the sand. He half turned back.
Something hard and heavy smashed into his head. He toppled to the sand. Pain fought with the need to stay conscious, to know what was happening.
Vance crouched over him, a bloody rock in one hand. "Enjoy your life here. You're so pathetic, bootlicker."
Tayvis growled. He pushed himself up, launching himself at Vance. Vance was ready for the attack. The rock struck home again. Tayvis collapsed to the sand, waves of pain and nausea rolling over him.
Vance shoved his limp form with one foot, rolling him into a crevice under the trees, tucked into the sand and hidden by leaves. No one would find him. No one would question his disappearance.
Vance ripped up Tayvis's tunic and used the strips to tie him securely hand and foot. He shoved a gag in the larger man's mouth, tying it tightly around his face.
Tayvis struggled against his bonds.
"Don't bother," Vance told him. "I had the same training you did." He stood, stepping out of Tayvis' reach. "You need to disappear. You'll ruin everything. Again. It wouldn't do for me to kill an old classmate, though. Someone will find you. When it's too late."
He turned his back on Tayvis and sauntered away.
Tayvis tugged at the bindings. He could work them off. Eventually. He swore to himself as he worked at the cloth on his hands. They were secure behind his back and already going numb. His head pounded. Blood seeped down his collar. He twisted his hands desperately. The binding held.
He thrashed, pulling with every bit of energy he had left. He knocked his head on a rock. Stars danced in front of his eyes. He fought the rising tide of darkness in his head but lost. He lay limp and barely breathing in the shade of the thin trees.
Chapter 44
Someone jostled my arm, waking throbbing pain. My eyes flew open. I was lying on my back on a makeshift cot under a shade awning. A slender man in a medic's uniform was peeling back my sleeve. The dried blood kept catching on the wound, tearing it open. He glanced at me before going back to tormenting me.
"Prelim scans showed minor injuries." His voice was deep, mellow, smooth and soothing. "Your arm is the worst."
"What time is it?" I tried to ask. It came out a hoarse cracking sound that was nothing like my normal voice.
He put my bleeding arm down and handed me a water pouch. "You should eat something. There should be an exam room empty by now. The worst of the fighting is over." He grinned, showing me very white teeth. "We let you sleep, since your injuries weren't critical."
I sipped water, swallowing painfully. The liquid eased some of the dryness. One pouch wasn't going to be nearly enough.
"Sorry we don't have shower facilities set up," he continued as he plucked at my sleeve. He snipped a bit more free of the clotted blood. "Word is we're moving out tomorrow morning."
I sipped the water and tried to make my brain work again. They were leaving again? So soon? Why?
"This whole place is ready to explode," the medic continued calmly while he worked on my arm. "They say civil war is about to break out. If it hasn't already." He pulled at a particularly stubborn bit of cloth. I winced. "Sorry. It's got to be cleaned." He dribbled liquid over my arm. It stung. It wasn't water.
"What about the others?" I asked. My voice was husky, raw and hoarse.
"The slaves?" The medic glanced at my face before picking at my arm again. "That's a sticky question. Half of them aren't citizens of the Empire. I haven't heard what they're doing with them. Those that want to come will be taken back to Duraanos. At least that's the rumor. They're rounding up the rest now. Some of them are way up in the mountains. They sent flitters out after them." He rinsed my arm off again and twisted it into better light. "The projectile is still embedded. We'll have to get it out before I can bandage it." He handed my arm back to me. Blood seeped from several long gouges. "You want help or do you think you can walk? It's just over there." He pointed to a portable open front hut not far away.
"I think I can walk," I said. I rolled up to sit and waited for the dizziness in my head to fade.
The medic held my arm anyway. The room was tiny. There was a single exam table and a chair and a rolling tray with medical equipment stacked on it.
"No shower but I can offer you clean clothes," he said. He put a gray jumpsuit on the exam table. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Just need to grab some supplies." He left me alone, dropping the curtain across the entrance to the small room and giving me the illusion of privacy.
I sat in the chair to pull my boots off. They were caked with mud and looked much worse for wear. I stood and eased my tattered jumpsuit off. I pulled on the clean one, stepping into it carefully and pulling it up. My back was to the door. It hurt to work my injured arm into the short sleeve of the jumpsuit. It was a lightweight one, cheap and disposable. I worked it up over my shoulder then fastened the front.
The medic was standing behind me, watching. He'd come in without me noticing. He studied me, something different in his face now than before. The light bantering tone was gone from his voice when he spoke.
"I've got some creams that might help your back," he said. "You'd still have scarring but it wouldn't be as noticeable."
I'd forgotten the whip marks on my back. After Reashay's instructions, they must have been impressive. I shrugged.
"It's healed. It doesn't really matter." It came out flat and hard.
The medic looked away, puttering with the instruments on the tray. "Sit down and let me take care of your arm."
I sat on the exam table. It was low enough that my feet barely dangled. The medic swabbed my arm with anesthetic. I didn't watch as he cut the bullet out. I felt blood dripping down my arm. I swallowed against nausea.
He worked quickly and quietly. He sat back a few minutes later. "You should be easy on your arm for a week or so. Your scan showed a few cracked ribs. I'm recommending active duty in no sooner than two weeks."
Active duty? It was a slap in the face reminding me that my life wasn't my own anymore. Lowell and the Patrol owned me.
The medic handed me a packet of instant food. "You want to eat that soon," he said to me as I stared down at it. "It probably isn't the quality you're accustomed to, Admiral, but it's what we have."
The curtain behind the medic opened. Lowell stood there, watching me. I couldn't read his face, it was set in a neutral mask that hid everything. The medic put his equipment away, he hadn't noticed. Lowell cleared his throat. The medic glanced behind him. He jumped to his feet and saluted.
"Well?" Lowell asked.
"Full recovery, nothing serious, sir," the medic said. "Although I do recommend two weeks leave."
"Can you excuse us a m
oment?" Lowell asked, his eyes were still on me. "I'd like a word alone with the Admiral."
The medic hustled out, muttering about packing supplies.
Lowell stepped in, letting the curtain drop behind him.
"What?" I asked.
He looked away from me, fingering the medical supplies still on the tray. "Was Tayvis here, Dace?"
I went cold inside. "He was out there, near their camp last night. Why, Lowell? What are you not telling me?"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "We searched everywhere. They're all accounted for. Dace, Tayvis didn't make it. There's a witness who saw him get hit."
I felt as if the world was sliding sideways. I couldn't hear anything. I stared at Lowell, wanting him to tell me it was only a joke. A cruel one. I almost expected Tayvis to come through the curtain. I couldn't breathe, I only felt pain. He wasn't going to come through that curtain ever again.
I felt myself falling, collapsing to the ground. Lowell caught me before I hit.
"You're lying," I accused him, lashing out against the pain eating me from the inside. "Tell me you're lying, Lowell."
"Dace, I'm sorry."
I leaned against him. I heard the anguish in his own voice. A sob escaped, a low sound of animal pain. I felt tears slide down my face, burning hot. It couldn't be true. Tayvis couldn't be gone.
But he was.
I cried myself numb.
I'd lost part of my soul when Mart died. I lost my heart with Tayvis.
Chapter 45
Lowell watched the transport lift off. Dace was on board, somewhere. He hated the dead look on her face, the pain in her eyes. There was nothing he could do about it, not yet. She wasn't the only one who cared about Tayvis. She wasn't the only one hurting inside. He didn't have the luxury of claiming medical leave. He still had a command to oversee.
He turned back to the hills. The sun was barely risen, hanging low over the plains. He hated this world. He hated what they'd found. He'd heard the reports of the survivors.
"Your orders, sir?" his second, Commander Garvey, asked at his shoulder. "We've loaded all of the survivors. The transport will be ready to lift soon."
"Have you heard from the other teams?" Lowell asked.
"Most have reported in. They've freed the slaves who want to come. Transports are being sent now to the pickup points."
"Nasty world," Lowell commented. He watched as his troops rounded up more of the Trythians. They were being held in a temporary camp protected by a force shield.
"We think we've located their leader," Garvey said.
"Good. Bring him to the transport. I'll question him there."
"Her, sir. It's a woman. I believe she was mentioned in one of the reports. We'd like to have one of the survivors present as an interpreter."
"Very good."
Lowell watched Garvey walk away, towards the prison camp. The Trythians watched. Lowell noted the arrogance in their faces before he turned away.
They had advanced technology, different than the Empire's. He'd read every scrap of information they'd gathered from those who stole one of their ships. The Trythians would not abide by any agreement they made. They were already fighting each other, scheming and making alliances even while being held prisoner by the Patrol. He saw nothing here that would benefit the Empire. The Hegemony was just too far away. When they left, the Trythians's power would be broken. It would take centuries for them to become a threat again, if then. And the Empire would be warned and ready.
He left the hot sun and went into the cooler halls of the remaining transport. They had set up one of the rooms as an interrogation room. He took his position, facing the doorway. He stayed standing. They had deliberately lowered the chair for the prisoner. The Trythians valued height, it symbolized domination. Lowell wasn't about to let them think they dominated here.
Two Enforcers, intimidating by their size and the blank face shields, marched a prisoner in. She was lovely, young and curvy. Her red hair hung lank and tangled though. The guards pushed her gently but firmly into the chair. She looked up at Lowell, studying him with cold eyes.
The interpreter stood by the door, one of the freed slaves.
The woman spoke, harsh and arrogant. The interpreter translated in a flat voice, "She wants to know why you brought her here."
"I have been sent by the Empire to negotiate with you," Lowell answered, his eyes fixed on the woman. "We will discuss terms of your surrender."
Lilliasa laughed when the interpreter finished, a chuckle of sound. Lowell found himself almost responding to her. She was good. But she was also one of the women who had held Dace captive. He pushed the thought away. He had to stay detached.
"The Hegemony does not surrender," she said. "You ask in your weakness. If you were strong enough, you would have crushed us already."
He allowed himself a tiny smile. "We do not see wholesale destruction of a civilization as a sign of strength. We consider such actions to be stupid."
Her fake smile faded. She glared at him. "We will not surrender. We will fight to the death."
"Your people are fighting each other as much as they fight us," Lowell pointed out. "You are divided and weak. Give me one reason I should stay here and even pretend to help you. We should let you all kill each other. It would make my life safer."
"Your spy, Dace, promised me that you would come and help me. Not that you would come and attack us. We are innocent victims."
"By what possible definition of innocence? You were slaughtering unarmed slaves when we arrived. Slaves that were taken by force from our ships and our territories."
She smiled, leaning back seductively in her chair. "And you admire such power. I can read it in your face."
"You read nothing in my face." Lowell was having a hard time staying objective. He wanted to beat the smirk off her face. "We will have terms of surrender written up. As leader of your people, you will sign and you will enforce such terms."
"Or what? You will kill me? Why not kill me now and be done with it?"
"Because we don't do things that way."
"Yes, I know of your weaknesses. Dace was very weak."
Lowell leaned over the table. "She is stronger than you will ever realize. She brought your world to its knees."
He didn't want to hear more. He left, stalking out of the room. He signaled the guards to watch her closely. He would not leave such a threat unwatched. And Lilliasa was a threat, a dangerous one.
"Sir?" It was Garvey again. "You should see this, sir."
Something in Garvey's voice caught Lowell's attention. He studied the other man carefully. Garvey was pale, he looked sick.
"What is it?" Lowell asked.
"We found the breeding pens," Garvey answered. "They have the team in here, debriefing them. It was bad, sir." Garvey opened a door for Lowell.
The team, a dozen hardened officers, sat around a table. They stared down, blank faced. The squad leader looked up at Lowell.
"Give me your report," Lowell said.
"We found thirty three of our women there," the man said. He shook his head. "The medics say most of them won't recover. It was brutal, sir. They had them in cages. They forced them." He ended abruptly.
"Six of them are pregnant," one of the other men said. "We found babies in the other room. They cut them up, sir. To study, they said."
"The full report will be on your desk by tonight," the leader said.
Lowell studied the men in the room, one by one. He was sickened by this world, by the reports he had already read. This was only one more atrocity.
"Turn the leader loose," he ordered Garvey. "Send her back with the others. Let them kill each other. We're done with this world. Give the order. We move out by nightfall. Any slaves who wish citizenship in the Empire are welcome to come with us. They will be given refugee status. Send demolition teams to their ship facilities. Cripple them so they can't fly."
"Sir? You're dooming their outer colonies."
Lowell s
hook his head. "They doomed themselves. Let them die. Maybe the universe will be better without them."
Garvey hesitated.
"Those are my orders, Commander," Lowell snapped.
"You're certain?" Garvey questioned. "You're too emotionally involved in this, sir."
"Let them die, Commander. Do you hear me? They have no decency, no morals. Let the Trythians kill each other or find another way to survive. They aren't our problem. Not now."
Lowell walked away, sickened to his very core.
Garvey left quietly, to give the orders.
Chapter 46
Tayvis scooted himself over the sand. The air was hot and still in the late afternoon. It was quiet, too quiet. He'd slept most of the last day. His head still ached. Vance's blow had left him with a concussion. The gag dried his mouth out. He needed to get free soon, and find water.
He worked himself towards the cliff, wiggling awkwardly over the sandy floor of the ravine. He had to rest every few feet. His head was spinning. As he moved out of the shade of the trees, the sun baked him dry. Afternoon meant more shade, but the heat built, trapped by the narrow cut in the cliff.
He kept going. He had to reach the far rocks, he couldn't remember why he'd decided that. He struggled across the ravine, a few feet at a time, until he finally rolled up against one of the rocks.
His arm slammed into it. A sharp edge cut his sleeve. Now he remembered why he was headed for these rocks. They were rough, broken recently in a slide, not the water rounded rocks on the other side of the ravine. He pushed himself painfully up to sit against the rock. He fumbled his numb hands around until he found a sharp edge. He rubbed the cloth around his wrists up and down against the edge.
He was sweating and dizzy. He had to keep stopping to rest. He fumbled against the rock, slicing his palm open. Blood made the rock slippery and sticky at the same time. He kept going, doggedly forcing the cloth against the rock.