Without a Front

by Fletcher DeLancey

  The children’s nervousness diminished somewhat after liftoff; a quarter hantick of nothing but engine and wind noise had a calming influence. Nilo stopped crying, to everyone’s relief, and the boys busied themselves with looking at the view out their windows. Even this grew less interesting over time, so Tal was not surprised when Pendar turned his attention back to her. She had been reading the file on Donvall, the smuggler she was about to meet, and looked up when she sensed Pendar’s eyes on her.

  “Was there something you wished to say?”

  Embarrassed at being caught, he squirmed a bit in his seat before admitting, “You don’t…you’re not what I thought you’d be like.”

  “You’re not what I expected, either,” she said.

  That distracted him, but not for long.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “I already told you that you could.”

  “Oh. Well…if you aren’t going to destroy Alsea, why are you letting people say you are?”

  “How would you propose that I stop them?”

  “Can’t you just tell them to stop? You’re the Lancer.”

  “Yes, I am, but do you know what a Lancer’s job really is?”

  He shook his head.

  “Two things. One, to plan for Alsea’s future, which is why it seems silly to me that people think I want to destroy it. And two, to uphold the laws that the Council makes. We have laws that protect the right to speak freely. So I can’t tell people not to spread rumors or lies.”

  “But…then people get the wrong idea.”

  “Do people sometimes get the wrong idea about you at school?”

  He nodded.

  “Does it work for you to just tell them to stop?”

  “Um…no, I guess not.”

  “It wouldn’t for me either.”

  He was quiet for a while, but she found it hard to concentrate on her file when she was so aware of his increasing worry and dread. At last he leaned over and whispered, “When you said our parents knew…did you mean my fathers or my aunt and uncle?”

  “Your aunt and uncle.”

  “Could you…could you ask them not to tell my fathers? They’ll get the wrong idea.”

  “You know I cannot do that.” Her voice was gentle, but she could see the words impact.

  He nodded miserably and looked back out the window, pulling his feet up onto the seat and resting his chin on his knees.

  “When people get the wrong idea about me,” she said, “I try to prove they’re wrong by my actions. Just telling them doesn’t work, but you can do a lot to show them.”

  Though he didn’t respond, his misery lightened slightly.

  Tal hadn’t expected to feel sympathy for one of the boys who had beaten Jaros. Two of them, actually: Silmartin was just as wretched as Pendar. He was experiencing several levels of fear, and she suspected that some of it was caused by Nilo. And people thought the warrior culture was tough! Adult warriors weren’t half as terrifying as school tormentors or the self-imposed fears of childhood.

  The rest of the flight was quiet; Pendar had no more questions and Silmartin and Nilo were too afraid to ask any at all. They crossed the broad mountain range north of Blacksun, leaving the rain behind. The northern tip of Argolis was an arid place, deprived of moisture by the mountains that squeezed all the water out of the clouds. The scrubland was lightly populated, mostly by producers working to cultivate specialty crops that thrived in the dry conditions.

  By the end of the second hantick they were descending into Koneza, the small town which existed solely due to the Pit, its workforce, and its need for goods and services. Tal could not imagine living in this desolate town, far from the nearest city. It certainly had no scenery to boast of. The location of the Pit had been chosen for its suitable substrate, not its aboveground charm. The area was a flat, windswept plain, with few trees and no physical relief as far as the eye could see. Having grown up in Blacksun, surrounded by mountains on all sides, Tal had a hard time understanding why anyone would choose to live in a place like this. But the Pit paid good wages—it had to, to attract a workforce willing to spend its days underground—and that in turn attracted merchants, builders, and crafters who provided the means of spending those wages.

  They landed on a pad far outside the town, in what looked like the middle of nowhere. The only landmark was a ten-story watchtower next to the pad. Its top floor housed six warriors at any given time, four of whom stood at the wraparound windows watching over a quadrant, while the other two maintained sensor sweeps of the surrounding area. With simultaneous visual, heat, and motion detection, any prisoner fortunate enough to escape the Pit stood very little chance of avoiding the eyes in the watchtower, or the squad of warriors serving duty shifts on the ground floor. In Tal’s memory, there had been just three escapes from the Pit. None had made it one length beyond the watchtower.

  Their little group walked down the transport ramp to find all of the watchtower warriors not on top-floor duty waiting in formation, along with the director of the Pit. Tal reminded herself to not fall into normal habit. This was not the Pit; it was the High Security Detention Facility.

  She left Pendar with Micah and walked ahead to meet the director, who touched his fists to his chest and bowed as she approached.

  “Colonel Sedron, well met,” she said.

  “Well met, Lancer Tal. I’m confident you’ll find everything in perfect order. If there’s anything I can do to facilitate your business here, please say so and it will happen.” His gaze strayed to the boys behind her. “Regarding your…guests, I’ve made the arrangements you asked for.”

  “Thank you. If I may?” She indicated the formation of warriors.

  “Please. They’ve spent the morning shining and polishing everything in sight. Do be careful or you may be blinded by the sunlight off their jacket buttons.”

  “Excellent.” Tal walked past him and stopped in front of the unit. “Warriors!” she shouted.

  “Alsea!” came the roar of thirty voices. “For Fahla and Alsea!” With a rustle, they saluted her in perfect synchrony.

  “Settle.”

  They resumed their normal stance, and she began a slow stroll down each of the three lines of warriors, stopping here and there to check their uniforms. She plucked the disruptor off one man’s belt, nodding at the crisp click it made as it came loose. That indicated a well-cared-for attachment and a weapon that would neither break loose under stress nor stick when needed. “Perfect,” she said, reattaching it.

  At the beginning of the third row, she stopped in front of a tall Lead Guard. “This is not regulation gear,” she said, slipping the woman’s sword grip off her belt. “Explain this.”

  “My Lancer, I carry my sword with permission of Colonel Sedron.”

  “I see. And why do you carry it?”

  The warrior met her eyes with confidence. “Because my skill at throwing a blade far outstrips my skill with a disruptor.”

  “Which is why you were issued throwing knives.” Tal indicated the matching short knives sheathed at either side of the warrior’s hips. “That does not explain the sword.”

  “Throwing knives are good for shorter distances. A sword is heavier and goes farther with greater accuracy.”

  “You’re telling me you can throw a sword with greater accuracy than a knife?”

  “Not greater accuracy. The same accuracy, but for greater distances.”

  This she had to see. “What is your name?”

  “Vellmar, my Lancer.”

  “Then, Lead Guard Vellmar, perhaps you would give me a demonstration of this accuracy.”

  “It would be my pleasure. I’ll need the assistance of a fellow Guard.”

  “I assume such assistance will not result in any unwanted body openings.”

  A tiny crack appeared in her serious expression.
“I promise not to hurt anyone.”

  Tal looked at the man next to her. “Give her what she needs.”

  “Yes, my Lancer. The usual?” he asked Vellmar. At her nod, he jogged toward the watchtower.

  Tal walked with Vellmar to the front of the unit. With her black hair, dark blue eyes, and confident attitude, the Lead Guard reminded her a lot of Ekatya—except she was much broader in the shoulders and at least a head taller. She might even be Gehrain’s height.

  She also had a perfect front. If she was nervous about a command performance in front of the Lancer, it didn’t show.

  Tal raised her eyebrows when the Guard returned from the watchtower with a tin of shannel leaves, slightly larger than one handspan in length. “That’s a rather small target.”

  “I would prefer something different,” Vellmar agreed. “But our shannel doesn’t come in smaller sizes.” She pulled her sword grip from her belt and faced away from the onlookers. “Benron, go.”

  Benron threw the tin with all his strength. It made a high arc over the empty scrubland beyond the landing pad and had just begun its descent when Tal heard the metallic sound of a sword being extended. Vellmar reared back and threw her sword in a two-handed motion, sending it tumbling end over end on an intercept course toward the falling tin. A cracking sound and an explosion of shannel leaves into the air confirmed the accuracy of her throw, and Tal barely kept her jaw shut.

  “Good Fahla, I’ve never seen the like! That alone was worth the flight out here. I commend you on your skill, and your colonel for recognizing its value.”

  “Thank you, Lancer Tal.” Though Vellmar’s front remained impeccable, the proud smile gave her away.

  “However,” Tal added, “you’ve wasted a perfectly good tin of shannel, and by the looks of it, this is something you do on a regular basis. I cannot have resources being tossed to the wind in such a fashion. Colonel Sedron?”

  The director stepped closer. “Yes, my Lancer.”

  “Order a case of throwing targets for Lead Guard Vellmar. She may as well use something made for the purpose. And I can guess that your shannel stocks are rather low; we’ll need to redress that.” Turning to the watching unit, she said more loudly, “I will be sending five cases of high-grade shannel from my personal stocks to replace what you’ve lost. I expect it will be something of an improvement over what you’ve been drinking. Congratulations and well done.”

  The roar of happiness was deafening. Tal knew from experience that nothing improved a long duty shift quite like a good cup of shannel, and nothing was less likely to find its way into an average warrior’s hand. The shannel delivered in bulk to most warrior units was high yield and low quality. By earning several moons’ worth of good-quality shannel, Vellmar had just made herself the hero of her unit.

  Tal turned back to Vellmar. “Where did you learn that?”

  “My birth mother was the champion blade thrower of the last three Global Games. She taught me to throw a blade when I was barely old enough to wrap my fingers around the handle.”

  “Of course.” Tal laughed. “Linzine Vellmar is your birth mother. Well, you have an honorable name and you’re obviously adding to it. Very well done. And well met.” She raised her palm, and Vellmar touched it with visible awe.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “No, thank you. That was the highlight of my day. I wish I had time to see a full demonstration, but perhaps I’ll see you at the Games next cycle.”

  She beckoned Micah and Gehrain over, with three very wide-eyed boys in tow. “Let’s go. Colonel, if you’ll lead the way?”

  Colonel Sedron dismissed his unit and led them toward what appeared to be bare ground. As they approached, a set of stone steps came into view, wide enough for four people to walk abreast. They descended into cool dimness, stopping at a large set of double doors some ten paces underground. Colonel Sedron pressed his palm to the reader on the right side and waved his guests in as the doors slid open.

  “Welcome to the High Security Detention Facility,” he said.

  CHAPTER 68

  The Pit

  Tal monitored the boys’ emotions as they stepped through the doors and heard them slide shut. There was a finality about the sound that would make anyone uneasy, and she was expecting that the truth might be necessary soon.

  “Colonel Sedron, some of my party have never been here before,” she said. “Will you tell us about the facility?”

  “Certainly.” He led them down a wide corridor toward another large set of doors. “We have five levels here. The first is for facility workers, offices, storage areas, cooking facilities and the like. The next four levels hold our prisoners, who are allocated to a specific level depending on their crime. Non-violent criminals are on Level Two, minimally violent are on Level Three, and violent offenders are on Levels Four and Five.”

  “So the worse the offense, the deeper underground they go?” Gehrain asked.

  “Yes. Most of the violent offenders are powerful empaths. Since their empathic abilities are blocked by earth, the farther they are underground, the less opportunity they have for empathic invasion of others, including other prisoners. Not only are we charged with protecting Alsean society from our prisoners, we must also protect the prisoners from each other. For obvious reasons, all of our warders must be trained high empaths. But in the event that a prisoner overpowers a warder’s blocks and influences his or her behavior, the automated security systems will prevent almost any escape.”

  Colonel Sedron unlocked the next set of doors and waited until the group passed through. Tal felt a shiver run through the boys’ minds as the doors closed behind them and they saw yet another set ahead.

  The colonel moved past them and resumed his walk. “There are only three entrances to the facility,” he continued. “We’re in the main one, for workers and prisoners. A second, smaller entrance is for emergencies only, in the event of this one being closed off for any reason. The third is a lift shaft for delivery of supplies and equipment. All three entrances are within a quarter-length radius of the watchtower, and each is monitored by vidcams and automatic heat and motion detecting equipment. You’ve all been under surveillance from the moment you landed.”

  They arrived at the third set of doors, which differed from the first two only in having a small control pad next to the biolock. Colonel Sedron put his palm on the lock and entered a code. The doors slid open, revealing a large lift.

  “We’re going to Level One,” he said as he stepped in. “You’ll receive wristbands there that will identify you to the auto heat and motion detectors. The wristbands will not come off without a specific removal tool located in our processing office, so don’t forget to stop by on your way out.” He smiled at the joke, but only half of his audience was paying attention. The boys were staring through the transparent walls of the lift at the rock shaft surrounding them. Noticing their distraction, Colonel Sedron added, “The lifts are transparent to enable the security cams in the shaft to record anyone using them. There are also cams in the lift itself, but in the event they’re disabled, the shaft cams are a backup.”

  As the doors shut and the lift descended, Tal thought that the transparent walls were also an effective psychological tool. Watching the rock shaft slide away was a visceral reminder of where they were going, and she was not surprised to sense the quickly rising terror in both Nilo and Silmartin. It was time to step in.

  The lift stopped, opening onto a short corridor with smaller doors at each end. As the group stepped into the hallway, Tal said, “Just a moment, Colonel.” She caught Silmartin’s eye, then looked at Nilo, who was on the edge of crying again. “That door,” she said, pointing to the right, “is where prisoners go when they arrive for processing. This one,” she pointed to the left, “is for workers and visitors. You’re going through here.”

  It took several pipticks for the truth to dawn on them. “We�
��re not prisoners?” Silmartin’s voice trembled.

  “How could you be? You haven’t appeared before a tribunal. You haven’t even been charged with a crime.”

  Nilo’s tears were now flowing freely. “But…but you said you were taking us here.”

  “And I did bring you here. But I never said you were prisoners.”

  “But why…?” Nilo stopped and choked back a sob.

  “Why didn’t I tell you that?” she asked. He nodded, unable to speak. “Because this isn’t an academic field tour. It’s a punishment for your appalling behavior. Had it occurred to you to apologize for what you’d done, I would have told you the whole truth. But it never seemed to cross your mind, or yours, Silmartin.”

  “You should have said you were sorry,” Pendar said unexpectedly. “I apologized in the State House. She told me then. I’ve known all this time that we weren’t staying here.”

  Tal felt Nilo redirecting his fear into anger and rolled her eyes. This boy was not learning. Pulling him directly in front of her, she said, “And now you’re going to be angry at Pendar for not telling you? Don’t be so stupid.” She shook him slightly. “Learn something from this. You’re not staying here today, but you could be in a few more cycles if you keep going the way you are. You think all the prisoners in here started out as murderers and empathic rapists? No, they started out just like you. Which means you’d better take a good look around today, because you may be coming back if you don’t learn to control your anger.” She let him go and straightened up. “Colonel Sedron, if you’re ready?”

  He nodded. “This way.”

  The door opened into a large room humming with equipment and people. After the sterile isolation of the previous corridors, the sudden noise and activity was a shock. A high counter blocked their entrance to the main room, staffed by two warders in uniform who snapped into a salute. “Welcome, Lancer Tal,” said the shorter of the two. “We have your wristbands ready. If you’ll each place your right arm on the counter, we’ll band you and you can proceed.”