Daywards

by Anthony Eaton

  ‘Again, I’m afraid this will cause you some discomfort.’ Once more she noted the lack of any emotion in his voice. ‘On three. One. Two …’

  A hot bolt of pain lanced through her back, shooting into her spine and all the way up and down her body. Despite not being able to move, Dara felt as though her legs were on fire and immediately a savage headache began pounding behind her temples.

  In her spine, an odd pressure started building, and although every part of her brain screamed at her to arch and spasm against it she was unable to. Instead, all she could do was stifle the sob that rose in her chest.

  ‘There.’ Abruptly the pressure ceased and the hot pain gradually faded. The headache stayed, though. Drake lowered her onto her back again and stepped away from the table, holding a vial of clear, pinkish fluid. ‘That’s all we need from you for the moment, you’ll be pleased to know. I’ll put you back under now and when you wake up you should feel somewhat better.

  ‘Wait!’ Dara begged, but the man simply shook his head.

  ‘Not possible, I’m afraid.’

  He pressed a long cylinder to the side of her neck. There was a faint hiss and Dara was unconscious again.

  She had no idea how long she slept – if you could call it sleeping. The drug put her into a deep, dreamless state of suspension, a black void bereft of even the tiniest thought. When she eventually found herself awake once more, it wasn’t like waking from normal sleep. One second she wasn’t there, and the next she simply … was. It was like somebody had flicked a switch and turned her off for a period, and then back on again, just like you would with a piece of tech.

  This time there was no light – not the blinding, penetrating kind, anyway. Dara woke to a dimly lit room, and silence.

  She was lying prone on a mattress of some kind. Directly above, the hexagonal roof panels glowed with inner luminescence, filling the room with a soft, diffused light. She’d been dressed again, too, she noticed immediately, back in her own clothes.

  She tried to sit up, but the – what had Drake called it? – paralytic was clearly still having an effect, because once again she couldn’t move a muscle, not an arm, a leg or even a finger. She tried to turn her head and look sideways, but even that small movement was beyond her. They’d made her a prisoner inside her own body.

  ‘Hello?’ Her voice still worked, even if it felt scratchy and distant. Her throat was abominably dry, though. She’d have killed for a drink. ‘Anybody?’

  Initially her request drew no response, but then, from somewhere outside, footsteps hurried in her direction, echoing strangely. To her right there followed a soft whistle of air escaping, and her ears popped.

  ‘You’re awake?’

  It wasn’t Drake, which was a relief. Dara had fully expected to be greeted by his emotionless, clinical voice.

  ‘Yeah.’ She tried to nod, to no effect. In her peripheral vision, a figure moved towards her until it stood over her. It was another man, a man just as pale as Drake in every respect, with the same watery eyes and wearing similar protective gear.

  ‘Good. I’m Raj. Sorry about the paralytic. It’s standard practice, I’m told.’

  ‘I’m thirsty.’

  ‘I bet. You’ve been out for ages, and tranq leaves you dehydrated. I’ll get a fluid line into you.’

  ‘I just want a drink.’

  ‘I know, but I can’t give you one at the moment, unfortunately. Your stomach wouldn’t cope with it, and you could end up drowning in your own vomit.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  It might have been her imagination, but Dara thought she saw a flicker of sympathy in those washed-out eyes. Certainly when he spoke his voice had none of the clinical detachment of Drake’s.

  ‘I’m not allowed to give you any information, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

  Raj shook his head. ‘Everything’s monitored in here, Dara. Don’t worry, though. We’re not going to hurt you. We actually care a lot about you and are really pleased you decided to come back in to us.’

  Dara didn’t respond. Drake’s earlier actions rendered Raj’s promises a little hard to believe.

  ‘Here.’ She felt a slight prick at her left wrist and then a cold creeping sensation up her arm. ‘This will at least restore your electrolyte balance and take away the worst of the thirst. Once you’re allowed mobility again, we’ll get you some proper food and water, okay?’

  Raj leaned back into her field of vision and she fixed him with a hard stare.

  ‘When will that be?’

  Something gave Dara the impression that under his facemask the man smiled slightly, sympathetically.

  ‘I can’t tell you that, either. It’s not my decision. Is there anything else you need at the moment?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  He caught the anger in her tone and shook his head.

  ‘I don’t blame you for being upset. I would be, too.’

  ‘Great. Thanks.’

  Surprisingly, he reached down and patted her on the head. Even through the thin skin-gloves he wore she could feel the warmth of his fingers against her forehead – a hot, pulsing kind of warmth, real but also disconnected, completely different from the touch of the other people in her life.

  ‘I’ll go and tell the Prelate that you’re awake. My monitor is active to this room, so call if you need me, okay?’

  Raj turned and left, his exit heralded by the same soft whisper as his arrival.

  Alone again, Dara almost cried in frustration. How had this happened? Why had she been stupid enough to get so close to the … to whatever this place was? What in the sky were these people, anyway?

  As soon as she asked herself the question, Dara knew the answer. She’d known it, really, from the moment she first laid eyes on all their tech. She’d heard Ma Saria talk about them a thousand times.

  Nightpeople.

  It seemed impossible. No, it was impossible. The Nightpeople were all dead. Everyone knew that. Da Janil had explained it over and over again. She’d seen the city with her own eyes, seen for herself the results of the last days and the skyfall. There was no way in the earth or sky that this mob could be Nightpeople.

  But still, here she was, lying paralysed in a room that, despite its clean, filtered, sterile air, still reeked of tech.

  She ground her teeth in frustration. Raj was right about the thirst, though. That, at least, was fading somewhat, although the cold trickle up her arm was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She was also uncomfortably aware of pressure building in her bladder, which became more and more pressing until she suddenly felt it relieve itself. Humiliated, blushing, she braced for the warm, wet puddle she knew would form beneath her, but nothing happened. She stayed just as dry as before, but was completely unable to look down and discover why.

  About fifteen minutes passed and the door hissed open again. This time several people entered, crossed to the table and stood over her. She recognised both Drake and Raj, but the third person, a shorter, stockier man with slightly darker blond hair and pale grey eyes, was new.

  ‘Dara, isn’t it?’ The newcomer’s voice was deep and pleasantly modulated. Dara fixed him with a glare and remained mute.

  ‘My name is Anders Blin. I’m the Acting Prelate of New London City.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Dara observed. The man didn’t even blink.

  ‘I’m hoping we can talk.’

  She’d never heard of New London City. The only city she’d heard Ma Saria or any of the old-timers refer to was Port.

  ‘We can talk, just as soon as you let me off this table.’

  Blin smiled. ‘That’s not possible for the moment, I’m afraid. But before too much longer we should be able to restore you to your usual self and return you to your people.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Safe. Most of them, anyway.’

  ‘Most?’

  The man’s eyes narrowed slightly and Dara sensed an odd tension in the air. Behi
nd the Prelate’s shoulder, Drake leaned forward, a subconscious gesture that betrayed his concern. He didn’t speak, though. It appeared that Anders Blin was going to do all the talking.

  ‘Several members of your … clan, I believe you call it, are missing. Until earlier this evening we’d all but given up hope of finding them. Actually, we’d assumed that you were with them, but then you turned up here, out of the blue, and now we’re hoping you’ll help us locate the others.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ A furrow of confusion creased Blin’s forehead. ‘To bring them in, of course. For their own safety. They’re just two children and one old lady and without our support there’s little chance of them surviving on their own for long.’

  Children. And one old lady. A faint flutter of excitement began to form in the back of Dara’s mind.

  ‘Who are you looking for, then?’

  This time Drake answered. ‘Your brother, Jaran.’ He glanced quickly down at his panel. ‘Also your cousin Eyna and the old woman named Saria. We’re particularly concerned about her.’

  ‘How come?’

  Dara caught the quick glance that flashed between the Prelate and Drake.

  ‘She’s very sick, Dara. The sort of disease that comes with age, but, if we can find her soon enough, we have the ability to help her.

  I bet you do, Dara thought. The lie was so transparent that she couldn’t believe they expected her to swallow it. ‘Anybody else?’

  ‘No, just those three. Everyone else is safely under our protection. Once we’re done here, you’ll be able to join them.’

  Dara toyed with the notion of handing them Jaran. If she described where she’d last seen him, she was certain it wouldn’t take them long to send out a couple of those drone thingies to hunt him down. The thought had some appeal.

  But no. Jaran – the shi-head – might be an idiot, but he was still her brother. Anyway, with a bit of luck, Ma Saria would get to him first and, Dara thought, if she was in Jaran’s position she’d almost rather face the Nightpeople than that. Above her, the two men were still waiting, expectantly. Behind them, Raj hovered, apparently not important enough to warrant a place in the conversation.

  ‘Well, Dara?’ Blin prompted after a couple of seconds. ‘Have you seen any of them?’

  ‘Me? Nah. Sorry.’

  She enjoyed watching the disappointment in their eyes.

  ‘Then would you mind telling us where you’ve been for the last week? And why you chose to turn up here tonight?’

  ‘I’ve been hunting. Out near the saltwater.’

  ‘The ocean? But that’s a two-day walk from here.’

  ‘I do it all the time.’

  ‘They just let you go on your own?’

  ‘I did it plenty of times with my father. And anyway, who’s going to stop me, eh?’

  ‘I thought your Uncle Xani was in charge of those arrangements.’

  ‘Xani?’ Dara snorted derisively. ‘Who told you that? Him, I bet. He likes to think he’s in charge, but really he’s no more important than anyone else.’

  ‘You’re saying he doesn’t make those decisions?’

  Dara laughed, drawing what little pleasure she could from damaging Xani’s reputation.

  ‘He can’t even handle full daylight. He’s barely half viable, so most of the day I can do whatever I want or go wherever I please. And I’m not the only one, either. What makes you think we’d put someone in charge who can’t even help with the daily hunting? You think we’re stupid?’

  Neither Blin nor Drake bothered to hide the consternation from their expressions. Behind them, Raj simply raised one eyebrow.

  ‘Can you suggest anywhere we might look for Jaran, Eyna and Saria?’ Blin changed the subject abruptly before Drake could say another word.

  Dara tried to look thoughtful for several moments, before answering.

  ‘Not really. Ma Saria always used to talk about flying off to the moon, but I doubt she can actually do it.’

  Again, the two senior men exchanged a quick, concerned glance. This time, though, Raj didn’t bother to hide his amusement. His mouth was hidden behind his mask, but his eyes crinkled in a silent grin.

  Blin stepped back and ran his hand idly through his hair, thinking. Then he leaned down into Dara’s face, and dropped his voice to a hard whisper. ‘I think you’re being deliberately difficult, Dara.’

  She held his grey gaze and tried to look as brave as was possible under the circumstances.

  ‘I think you probably have a lot to tell us, but for some strange reason you’ve decided to be …’ – he paused – ‘… obstructionist. And I don’t have the time or the patience to indulge you in that sort of behaviour. So I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me what I want to know, and if you don’t prove to be a little more helpful, then I’ll ask Doctor Drake to take some more … serious measures with you.’

  Behind him, all traces of mirth vanished from Raj’s eyes. For several seconds the silence in the room was absolute.

  Then, as hard as she could, Dara spat straight up into Ander Blin’s unsmiling face.

  Unfortunately, her mouth was still so dry and her head so immobile that the best she could manage was a sparse spray of spittle that barely reached his mask. But it had the desired effect. Blin hurled himself backwards, almost colliding with Raj in his haste to get out of range.

  ‘Fine then,’ he said. ‘That’s a fairly clear indication of your attitude, I think.’ He turned and addressed himself only to Drake. ‘I’m invoking the emergency provision laws, Drake. You may extract the information by neuro-chemical means.’

  ‘Those laws are supposed to be used only in certain cases of underworld activity,’ Raj began, but Blin fixed him with a cold stare.

  ‘I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Mister Raj. And, in my assessment, this is a matter of similar importance to us all. I’m also certain that Janil Mann, were he here with us, would agree.’

  Without another word, the Acting Prelate of New London turned and stalked from the room. The last glimpse Dara caught of him, he had pushed his face plate back and was using his sleeve to wipe furiously at his face.

  As the door closed behind Anders Blin, Dara allowed herself a moment of smug satisfaction. They might have pinned her to this table, but at least she’d put the wind up them. Her pleasure was shortlived, though. Somewhere over near the wall, the two remaining men were arguing.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re actually going to do this?’ Raj’s voice was disbelieving.

  ‘You heard the Prelate,’ Drake replied, with his usual indifferent tone. ‘It’s an order.’

  ‘I heard the acting Prelate. He doesn’t have the authority to make that call. You know the sort of damage neuro-chemical extraction can cause.’

  ‘It’s not my problem.’

  ‘She’s just a girl. If you do this to her now, then for the rest of her life she’ll be …’

  ‘That’s enough, Mister Raj!’ Now Drake sounded rattled, angry. ‘You’d do well to remember the chain of command, I think.’

  ‘I’m not trying to undermine you, sir, but I feel it is my moral obligation to …’

  ‘The only moral obligation you have,’ Drake interrupted, ‘is to follow your orders.’

  ‘Even when those orders are questionable?’

  ‘Mister Raj.’ Drake’s tone returned to its usual emotionless state. ‘You’ve been in the service of the city long enough to know that there is no such thing as a questionable order. An order, by definition, is just that. An order. Especially when it comes straight from the mouth of the City Prelate, acting or otherwise.’

  A long silence followed this exchange. Drake’s rebuke hung in the air for several minutes, and although she couldn’t turn her head to see, Dara could imagine the two men eyeing one another off, each expecting the other to back down. Inevitably, it was Raj who caved in.

  ‘Of course, sir. Silly of me to forget.’

  Some of the tension left the room.<
br />
  ‘Understandable. We’re in an unusual situation here and that calls for unusual measures. And, of course, you’re a family man, which probably clouds your judgement.’ Drake’s conciliatory tone sounded forced, even to Dara, who was unable to see his face. Then she remembered what Raj had told her: everything here is monitored. The game they were playing became clear: neither man believed a word he was saying; it was all for the benefit of anyone who might be listening in.

  ‘I shall need to return to LS3 and requisition the appropriate materials for the interrogation,’ Drake said. ‘You are to wait outside, Mr Raj, and monitor the subject by remote listening only. You are not, under any circumstances, to enter this room without my supervision. Is that understood?’

  ‘Of course, sir. Though it would be a good idea to decrease her fluid line, and also to drain and remove the catheter now, to decrease the risks of pulmonary instability during the initial catatonia. She’s quite hydrated again, and the most effective conditions for a cortical probe are when the subject is in slight fluid imbalance.’

  Drake considered this for a second, before agreeing. ‘Very well. Do it.’

  Raj took a couple of steps towards her, then spoke again. ‘I am capable of completing this without supervision, sir. You can monitor the room by remote, if you’re worried.’

  ‘I shall be doing that anyway, Mr Raj. But I think it best if we leave at the same time, to protect ourselves from possible accusations of misconduct.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  Dara listened to the conversation with an increasingly sickening sensation in her belly. She had no idea what they were talking about, but the overall tone was unmistakable. As he reached the table, Raj glanced down at her face, and she almost missed the quick wink and almost-imperceptible nod that he flicked down at her. Then he disappeared from sight again and Dara felt the cold stream up her arm slow.

  ‘I’ll leave just a slight flow, for her comfort, if you approve,’ Raj said to Drake, as though asking for approval.

  ‘Provided it won’t interfere with data extraction.’