“How long?” Kyon questions him.
He shrugs. “Less than a part.”
I struggle to bring their faces into focus. My cheek moves on the cushion, finding a cool spot. I try to see where we are. It takes me a second to recognize the saber-toothed open mouth of the saer-shaped carved columns above me that line the gallery. I’m in the rail station of the Premiere Palisade Building. My eyes search for the staircase that leads up to the gallery. When I locate the stairs, I realize where they go: to the skywalk over the reservoir—to Trey’s building—to his apartment.
I begin to feel more lucid as I process that the whole place is crawling with Alameeda soldiers. They’re using this area as a base of operations. Troops cluster around officers who are using the station’s holograms to study the aerial combat maneuvers taking place outside in the airspace above our position. My eyes move on to just beyond them, falling upon a pile of bloody bodies pushed into a heap in the corner—not one of which has blond hair. Panic hits me and with it comes the urge to vomit again.
My head rises from the cot; I turn away from the dead, finding Kyon’s blue eyes watching me. I let mine slip out of focus. Feigning the panic of delirium, I whimper, “Don’t lose the white rabbit! We have to follow him!” I allow my head to rest upon the cushion again.
“Eh?” the curer says beside me, his fascination with me piqued. “What’s a rabbit?” he asks Kyon, who glowers at him in response.
Coldness seeps beneath my skin. I begin to shiver uncontrollably, but I’m okay with it because it makes me sound more credibly incoherent. “You killed Kenny,” I groan with my lips chattering, “you bastard . . .”
Kyon scowls at the curer, who immediately says, “The shivering is normal. It’s standard with rehydration—it lowers her body temperature. Her delirium should end quickly.” The medic pats my arm. Kyon glares at his hand on me, and it is quickly removed. The medic uses his hand instead to wipe his sweaty brow, apparently taking Kyon’s earlier threat to heart.
Kyon strokes my arm, trying to get my attention. “Kricket?”
I groan again, “The eagle has landed . . .”
“Brother Kyon,” a clipped, military voice says from somewhere behind me. “We’ve located the Regent. We’re attempting to move him now. He’s in medical stasis, but there’s a problem with the regulator.”
“Have someone else see to it,” Kyon responds with a wave of his hand in a dismissive gesture, returning his concerned eyes to me. “I’m attending to my priestess.”
“Brother Excelsior wants to consult with you on this matter,” the soldier replies in an insistent tone.
The name makes a noticeable difference upon Kyon: he stiffens and exhales a frustrated breath. “Very well,” he acquiesces. “I’ll be there momentarily.”
The soldier’s retreating footsteps tap on the marble floor. Kyon glowers at the medic beside him. “You have to stay with her. Do not let her out of your sight. Am I clear?” he asks.
The good doctor swallows his anxiety and replies, “I understand.”
“Give her a sedative; I don’t want her to panic if she becomes lucid.”
The medic immediately reaches into his pocket and extracts a needlelike gun from it. He holds it up to the light and calibrates the needle with the dial-like gauge on its side. He draws the needle toward me when Kyon grabs his wrist. “That’s too much. You’ll render her completely unconscious. She’s small. She needs half of what you have there.”
The doctor dials back on the tranquilizer. He holds up the gauge on the readout for Kyon to approve. Kyon nods his head. “Good.”
Leaning forward, the curer holds the sharp instrument to my neck and pulls the trigger. A pain jolts me and I have to stifle the torrent of swear words I want to rain down upon his head. Instead, I murmur, “Did you try the znous? They taste lovely.”
Kyon reaches out and gently rubs my cheek with the back of his fingers. He has an unguarded look, one I’ve never seen from him before as he murmurs, “And you are very lovely in your madness.”
Unfocusing my eyes, I give him a lunatic grin as I mirror his action: rubbing the back of my fingers over his cheek. “You should start a blog.”
His enormous hand covers mine, warming my cold fingers as he closes his eyes for just a moment. I lie still while attempting not to show my surprise at his reaction. A moment later he gently pulls my hand from his cheek and lets go of it. He gets to his feet, saying gruffly to the medic, “Monitor her. I won’t be long.”
The medic watches Kyon’s retreating back as he moves across the station. A youngish-looking Striker meets Kyon at the other end of the long room and leads him to the gilded saer doors of the overup; they’re the same ones I’d taken to Defense Minister Telek’s office. When Kyon’s large frame disappears behind the sliding doors, the doctor turns his attention back to me. That’s when I reach up and shoot him with the same tranquilizer gun I’d pulled from his pocket.
Holding him by the collar with one hand, I use all my weight to pull him nearer to me again. He exclaims loudly, “What are you doing?” His hand goes to his neck as he growls at me.
My thumb dials the dosage higher as I say between my teeth, “Not enough?” I press the needle of the gun beneath his chin and pull the trigger again. His tongue swells up in his mouth and he slobbers unintelligible words while his eyelids droop down over his eyes. He falls face-first next to me onto the cot. “Good night,” I whisper as I look around to see if we’re being observed.
No alarm is raised, so I peel off my red overcoat and toss it over the medic’s face. I’d like to trade him for his uniform jacket, but he’s too freaking big to move, and it would look odd on me, attracting the kind of attention I want to avoid. Upping the dosage on the tranquilizer gun, I check the pathway to the stairs. It’s not very far away, but I have to make it to the top if I have any hope of getting out of here. Taking a deep breath, I stand. I sway on my feet, light-headed.
Hiding the tranquilizer gun in my waistband, I stumble away from the cot occupied by the curer. Reaching the edge of the partition, I pause, waiting for the soldiers near the stairs to finish their conversations so I can go. I clutch the column next to me, letting my cheek rest against it as a bout of dizziness hits me. Pressure on my elbow alerts me to the fact that someone’s at my side.
“Do you need help?” It’s a tall, blond-haired soldier; his gun is strapped to him in a shoulder harness, its long barrel is pointed away from me. He seems young, but they all do, so I have no way of gauging his age. I must have an apprehensive look because he says, “I’m Keenan. Brother Kyon sent me to sit with you. I’m here to protect you.”
“Oh,” I murmur, looking down, “I was just looking for the umm . . . you know,” I whisper shyly, “the Commodus.” As a point of fact, it’s not a lie; I’m so scared I’m about to pee my pants.
He doesn’t laugh at me. Instead, he looks around, gauging the state of things. “You want something . . . private,” he states, not like a question.
“Preferably,” I agree.
“Can you climb stairs?” he asks.
My heart leaps in my chest. Is he serious? “Urr, yeah. I think so.”
“There’s a Commodus in the gallery above. Would that work, Elle Kricket?” his eyes soften in concern. “I’ll help you up there.”
“Lead the way,” I return with a small smile.
I lean on his arm as he guides me to the stairs, needing his support more than I care to admit. Once there, we climb them together. He pauses several times to let me rest. I play the part of an invalid, because I sort of am one, but I cringe every time he stops, covertly looking over my shoulder to see if anyone has discovered the medic I’ve left in a drug-induced stupor on my cot. I’m also terrified that Kyon will return at any moment. He’s much harder to lie to than everyone else, because he knows what I’m capable of.
When we reach the top o
f the stairs, I’m ushered to a doorway nearby. “I’ll wait for you here,” he says, allowing me access to the Commodus. As I shuffle in, I search for another way out. The facility is elegant, but there’s only the one point of entry, which is currently being guarded by an enormous, armed giant. I exhale an irritated breath. “Really?” I mutter sarcastically to myself. Since I’m here, I quickly use the facility.
Afterward, while showering my hands with the warm steam spray at the beautiful shell-shaped niche in the wall, I study the ceiling for vents that I can fit into. Nothing. My knees feel weak. I sit down on the floor, and then lie down—the tile is cool, it chills my skin through my dirty shirt. Staring up at the ceiling, I wonder for the millionth time, How did I get here?
After a short time, Keenan’s voice sounds through the open doorway. “Elle Kricket, do you need some assistance?” I don’t reply; I just stare at the ceiling—it’s beveled with clouds projected onto it—it’s a little like being outside on a summer day—blue sky.
Keenan’s bootsteps echo off the elegant walls. “Elle Kricket?” he asks hesitantly, when he sees me lying on the floor. I don’t make eye contact, continuing to stare at the ceiling.
Keenan squats down next to me, touching his hand to my shoulder. “Do you need me to call you a curer?” he asks, nervously looking into my eyes.
I whisper real low, “I need . . .”
He leans his ear close to my lips, trying to hear me better. I move my arm up, pressing the tranquilizer gun against the side of his neck. The gun makes a sharp hissing sound as I pull the trigger. His shocked eyes meet mine as I load him full of sedative. My arm falls away, resting again on the floor with a thud.
His pupils dilate within seconds. “Why?” he asks as he slips to rest with his elbows on the floor. He reaches for his weapon, but his eyelids droop. His cheek crashes onto the tile next to my ear. When his eyes close, I exhale a deep breath.
Gazing up at the ceiling once more, I point to a passing cloud on the screen—it looks like it has a long neck. “Giraffe,” I say softly to my unconscious companion.
I ease myself up off the floor. My joints creak like I’m a thousand years old. Every muscle I own is stiff to the point of cramping. I glance at the gauge on the tranquilizer gun: it’s empty. I let it drop to the floor. Next I strip off the rehyde-pack from my arm, letting the discarded cylindrical tube bounce with a clatter onto the hard surface.
I pull Keenan’s weapon from his shoulder and place the strap across my chest, before examining the gun. It’s not as heavy as it looks. It has readouts on the side. Notchlike finger grooves indicate where the gun is supposed to be held. It’s long like a rifle, and unfortunately, my arms aren’t nearly long enough to hold it the way it should be held. I let the gun swing around me so that it rests against my back.
Turning toward Keenan, I pat him down, searching him for something I can use. I tug an earpiece from his ear. I hold it up near my own ear and listen—I think I hear Kyon’s voice coming through it, but it’s faint. I rub the earpiece on my pant leg before I place it in my ear.
“Keenan, report. Give me your location,” Kyon’s voice growls. A pause and then, “Report—do you have Kricket with you?”
I touch the side of the earpiece to press it farther into my ear; a small microphone snakes out, stopping near my mouth. I breathe a shallow breath.
“Kricket,” Kyon says my name like a warning. “Where are you?”
“How’d you know it was me?” I whisper. I forget about searching Keenan and hurriedly tiptoe to the doorway of the Commodus.
“Call it the electricity between us both,” he replies in a softer tone, like the one he’d used with me earlier when he’d called me lovely. “I know the light sound of your breath—it falls heavy on me.”
I peek around the door frame. There are soldiers at the top of the gallery steps, looking in all directions, presumably for me. I’ll have to go soon; they’ll find me in here if I wait.
“Why do you want to hold on to me? Find someone else—just let me go.” I slip out the door and hug the illuminated wall, quietly backing away from where the soldiers are. I glance over my shoulder to make sure I go down the hallway that will take me to the skywalk between the buildings.
“I don’t want another for my consort; I only want you. I’ll be your first lover—”
“No you won’t, because even if you are, I’ll never love you,” I retort.
“There’ll be no martyrs here, Kricket. I’ll tear your heart off your sleeve and bury it deep in my chest. Your savage heart will beat for me. Run if you think you can—I’ll hunt you down.”
My tongue is heavy in my mouth. “I’ll have my finger on the trigger when you get here.”
“You best have more than that—have a bullet with my name on it. It’ll make no difference. I won’t allow you to deny me anything—your mind, your heart, your body—”
My limbs are weighted down by fear. I have to get him out of my head. I pull the earpiece from my ear, throwing it away just as Kyon reaches the top of the staircase. His eyes are on me immediately, like he senses me. He gives me a dirty smile, one that makes me feel as if he’s seeing me naked.
As he pauses to assess the fact that I haven’t drawn my weapon on him, like I’d promised to, I can’t help noticing the same of him. He doesn’t pull out his gun; he doesn’t need it. He’s bigger than all the other soldiers near him—physically perfect—and a hell of a lot stronger than me. I can see the intimidation on the faces of the other Strikers. It’s not his rank that does it either; it’s the fact that he exudes raw power. I’d bet most people in his life do exactly what he tells them to do when he tells them to do it. I’m probably the only one who doesn’t.
Kyon’s cold blue eyes warm the longer he looks at me. He scares me like no one ever has. I know he’s capable of anything. He was very gentle with me when he thought I was sick . . . Would I have loved you if you’d managed to keep me in the beginning? my eyes ask him. He tilts his head to the side, like he hears me.
His look devours me, and I’m fairly certain now that he truly is picturing me naked. My breathing becomes shallow, and I turn and run from him on shaky legs. In my panic, I’m unable to think of a reason why no one is guarding this entrance to the building. The feminine guide-bot hologram materializes once more as I approach the exit leading to the skywalk. “Thank you for visiting the Premiere Palisades—” I blow past her, glancing over my shoulder.
Kyon is not far behind, catching up fast. The door slides open for me. Passing the threshold, I realize now why there are no guards to the skywalk: it’s been destroyed. There’s a huge gap between the buildings now. Unable to turn back, I run down the glass tunnel to its jagged edge, finding shattered pieces of debris where the skywalk has been torn away. I run over it, cutting my feet on sharp pieces.
Nearing the edge, I realize the gap is entirely too wide for me to jump to the other side. I gaze down over the edge. The fall is around two hundred stories—not survivable, even with the reservoir at the bottom of it—even if I could swim.
I glance back over my shoulder. Kyon slows, and then comes to a stop. He holds up his hand to the soldiers following him. They stand down, not coming any nearer to me. “Kricket,” Kyon says gently, like he had before when I was sick, “come here.”
It’s an order, however softly it was spoken. I glance over the edge once more; it nearly gives me vertigo. I press a shaky hand to my forehead, rubbing it. My head feels like it’s going to burst. Kyon takes a cautious step toward me. He murmurs, “Remember the last time you jumped?” he asks me. “This isn’t the same thing. You were only two stories up in your Chicago tenement—you broke your ribs and your clavicle. You wouldn’t survive this fall.”
My eyes widen in shock. He knows about my past—the night I jumped from my foster father’s apartment after he’d nearly killed me. But he’s wrong about one thing. “My ribs wer
e already broken before I jumped,” I murmur.
He growls at this information, his face darkening more. “He hurt you badly,” Kyon says. He takes another step toward me, and I inch to the precipice of the skywalk.
“You’ve hurt me too,” I say honestly.
“I didn’t understand you before,” Kyon admits. “I’m beginning to now.” He pauses again, and then he says in a gentle tone, “Do you know what I’ve thought about since I awoke from medical stasis?”
“Killing everybody?”
He smiles at my accusation and shakes his head. “No, not everybody. I thought about what you said to me—how you think I’m like your foster father, Dan. Do you remember telling me about him?”
I nod. “Yes.”
“I’ve made a point, since our misunderstanding at the palace, to read every file that we’ve collected on you. I had largely ignored your past on Earth until now, thinking it wouldn’t be very important to me because I’m your future. But it is important, Kricket, where you come from, is it not?”
I just stare at him, not understanding where he’s going with this. “I’d rather you know nothing about me. In fact, forgetting about me would be the best thing you could do.”
“I’m going to find him,” Kyon says softly.
My eyebrows rise in surprise. “Find who?” I ask, my mouth going dry.
“Dan O’Callaghan.” As he says my foster father’s name, he takes another step toward me. “He doesn’t get to live after what he’s done to you.”
“You’ve done worse,” I reply.
“Have I?” He advances toward me again, his movements stealthy.
“You know you have.” The backs of my heels cross the edge of the skywalk. Kyon stops abruptly once more, my threat implicit.
“I’ve never been in a position to betray your trust, or your love, like he has.”
Sea of Stars (Kricket #2) Page 15