by Lynn Rae
“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”
Lazlo walked over to the small stack of old cases waiting to be lifted out of the ravine and loaded onto carts. When he attached himself to one of the lines, one of the officers up top laughed and teased him that he was worth a lot less than one of the old weapons and he should walk out.
Lazlo felt bad enough about how the day had concluded that he didn’t even fight back. Reaching the surface, he walked to a cart and sat silently as some cases were loaded onto the back and a young security officer started the engine.
“Ready, Lieutenant?” she asked, bright and cheerful. It was a remarkable attitude for someone out in the middle of the night in the middle of nothing. Lazlo simply felt blank and exhausted.
“Yes, let’s get back.”
*
It was a misery to wake up, but Del realized the alternative would be worse. Less painful but worse. She felt sore from her scalp to the soles of her feet and every shallow breath she took ached awfully.
Not really wanting to move from her nest in the bed, she slowly moved her arms and legs, wincing and gasping, but realized she could possibly sit up. So she did and screeched a little bit. Disturbing half-dreams had bothered her all night, either due to the enormous variety of medications she’d ingested or stress from the attack. She was too exhausted to care which.
A long, painful interval of shuffling got her to the bathroom and using the facilities was taxing. Del did not look at her injuries as she disrobed slowly. She cried as the hot water in the shower hit her skin. But the water seemed to loosen her muscles and she felt less tense as she awkwardly toweled off and dressed in soft clothing.
By the time she arrived in her kitchen, however, she was shaking with pain and breathing shallowly. All of her material from the medical clinic was scattered on her small counter—bloodstained shirts, packages of medications, spare dressings. Del reviewed the medication schedule Nino had loaded on her datpad and was happy to note she could have some Ardan.
She also noticed a lot of missed messages, which she would review later. Before she could attempt opening the pain relief container, her datpad squawked and howled as if it had exploded. Thanking the stars above that it was only a few inches from her hand, Del activated it to see her father’s worried face.
“Pet, how are you?”
“Sore, Pa, but up and dressed.”
“Shall I come up?”
“No, Pa, I want to sit down.”
“All right then. I’ll tell this Casta that and have him leave.”
“What?” Del gave up struggling with the Ardan package and tried to concentrate. “Did you say Casta is out there?”
“Yes he is and I have no intention of letting him bother you. But he did say he would wait out front until you could see him. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be up to it? He could go away until then.”
“No, Pa, let him up.” Del envisioned her slight father shoving the very large and fit Lazlo out of the gate and firmly shutting it in the man’s face.
“No, he can wait.” Nige panted as if he were starting to push at Lazlo already.
“No, Pa, I want to see him.”
“I can help you, pet, or your ma will be happy to help.”
Del took as deep a breath as she dared and didn’t really think about why she wanted to see Lazlo. Her brain was mush anyway. “No, Pa, I want to see him. Don’t try to keep him out. Remember our agreement.”
Her father frowned on the datpad’s small display, clearly not pleased that he and her mother had sworn years ago to allow any visitor she wanted onto the property and to stay out of her apartment unless invited, or else she would move somewhere else.
“Of course, pet. I’ll tell your ma you’re awake. She’ll bring you something to eat.”
He turned away from the screen and ended the message. Del took a few more deep breaths and got the Ardan out. The little pills skittered around the counter because her hand was shaking so much.
“Shitballs,” Del cursed and then jumped when there was a knock at the door. If that was Casta, he’d run up the steps. Abandoning the pills for the moment, Del walked slowly to the door and checked the hazy monitor.
It was Casta, looking big and well groomed. And probably carrying coffee. Despairing over her own disgusting, battered appearance, wet hair and untidy apartment, she reconsidered seeing him for a moment, but when he knocked again, she opened the door.
Then he was looking at her with a concerned frown and one of his big hands was on her arm and she slumped, tired and overcome with simply standing. He carefully guided her to the sofa, not touching her injuries or spilling the coffee he held in his other hand. Del sat down with Lazlo at her side, his brown eyes sympathetic enough that she wanted to cry.
“Del, do you want me to get you to medical?” He placed the coffee cup on her table and looked her over.
“No, they don’t want to see me unless I get an infection.”
“Do you have one? Let me see,” he offered, hands paused near her robe opening. Del raised her arms to ward him off, beyond embarrassed that he might touch her. He scowled. “If you won’t let me check, you need to do it. Did you check already?”
“Superficially, when I showered. It’s all right, I think. It’s ugly.”
He sighed and looked her in the eye. “It will get better. How bad does it hurt?”
“I want some Ardan.”
“I’ll get it, where is it?”
“In my kitchen.”
When he was up and moving she felt as if he were too big to be in her apartment, in her kitchen. It was strange to see him in a room. He should be outside under the sky. She needed to be outside. She needed to not be hurt and still feeling as if Avo Kirk were on top of her and that the sheriff was going to shoot her. Or shoot Lazlo.
He returned with two pink pills and a glass of water, seating himself cautiously on her one chair, his long legs bent awkwardly to avoid her table. He watched her as she swallowed the pills down.
“How is your back?”
“Ugly as well, at least what I glimpsed in my mirror.”
“Do you want me to look at it?”
“No. Why are you trying to look under my clothes?”
Lazlo laughed, unoffended by her grumpiness. “I’m only checking on your injuries. And I have current emergency medic certification, so I’ll be completely impersonal.”
“Of course you have a certification.” Del sighed loudly, already relaxing as the Ardan miraculously lessened her pain. If he wanted to look, it would relieve her mind since she couldn’t see her back in her tiny bathroom mirror and there was no possibility she could hold a hand mirror and contort enough to get a better view. And of course she hadn’t been able to apply her daily antifungals properly, so there was probably already something starting to grow and spore all over her.
“Thank you for the medicine,” Del said formally and Lazlo tried not to show how bad he felt for her. She sat so stiffly on her little gray sofa, clearly holding her body still because of the pain. She looked small and adrift, not at all sure and competent like the Del he knew from before. That was his fault. As usual. Lazlo knew he needed to make amends in some way and the best start would be to help her heal.
“Let me look.” He tried to coax her and she took a deep breath and relaxed her arms enough that she could shift her robe open very slowly, keeping it in place over her chest. Lazlo shifted in his chair and leaned forward to look over her back. It was awful—deep-purple, almost black bruises covered most of it, the treads of Avo Kirk’s boots clearly visible on her golden skin. Fighting down another swell of anger, he looked closely for signs of infection.
“Did you put on your antifungals today?”
“No, not very well. It hurt to bend my arms.”
“You need to have them daily to avoid being infected.”
“I know, Lazlo. I was born here,” Del replied testily, shifting her shoulders as if she wanted to push at something. At her direction, he went into her tiny bath
room—which was a shocking shade of yellow—washed his hands and retrieved the medicated mist. Taking a seat next to her on the small sofa, he tried not to bump her with his thighs as he spritzed her with the antifungal. She flinched as the cool liquid landed on her skin. When he was certain that she’d been dosed properly, Lazlo moved to look at the wound on her chest. Del looked stricken.
“No, I don’t want you to see.”
“Come on. I’m only going to look at the wound.”
“No, I’m embarrassed.” She shifted the dull-tan robe around to cover herself even more and he sighed.
“Right. I will close my eyes while you get yourself covered properly and then take a look.” Lazlo closed his eyes and waited, listening to her move fabric around, her soft breathing, the tick of something turning on in her apartment. She stopped moving and he waited, eyes virtuously closed, for what seemed like several minutes.
“I’m ready,” Del finally said and he looked at her and tried not to wince. When he’d seen her back, he could react as he wished since she hadn’t been able to see his expression, but now her gray eyes were watching him intently and he struggled to remain impassive. She had shifted her robe to cover her breasts, leaving her shoulders and upper chest bare. A terrible bruise covered the middle of her chest, spreading out from underneath a large dressing centered on her sternum. The dressing was precariously attached and he reached to remove it. Underneath, a large red contusion the size of his palm scarred her. It looked hideously painful. Pushing back his feelings, he went clinical.
“Did you wash it?”
“Some, in the shower.”
“Apply your medications?”
“Yes, it hurt.”
“I’m sure it did.” Lazlo inspected it more closely—no obvious signs of an opportunistic fungus burrowing in. He had a recollection of the training interactive he attended before arriving on Sayre and the revolting images of some of the native fungus infesting wounds and skin. Nodules and threads and scales of blue and green and gray, pushing out of inflamed skin. Horrifying. He’d resolved to never miss an antifungal treatment for the whole time he was on this planet.
“I want to apply a new dressing.” Lazlo went back to her kitchen and retrieved a bandage from the mess of bloody clothes and medical supplies littering her small counter. He tore open the packaging as he sat. He held it for a moment to warm the adhesive, then he slowly pressed it to her chest. Del shook and shivered.
“It doesn’t look that bad,” Lazlo tried to reassure her as she shook her head.
“It’s awful. The doctor said I was going to have a scar.” She looked up at him with such sadness, he knew she wasn’t just talking about her injury. She’d had a terrible experience because of him. Guilt washed over him in a miserable wave.
“Right now it’s inflamed. It will heal and look better than you think.” Lazlo reached out and patted her knee. It was the only available part of her that seemed uninjured. “Put your robe back on. I’ll go see what you have to eat.”
She didn’t have much. She didn’t even have much of a kitchen—more like a corner of her living area that contained some appliances, a meter of counter space and a narrow sink. It was crowded with mismatched cookware and canisters of dry ingredients. Lazlo looked over the contents of her chiller, which was mostly bare. There was nothing fresh like fruit or juice.
He returned with a plate and the bag of pastries that he had brought along with the coffee. Del picked out one and unenthusiastically began to eat.
“Did you sleep well?”
“No. I kept waking up.”
Lazlo hadn’t slept much either—his dreams had been disturbing mishmashes of rocks falling on him and Del running away. It was difficult to reconcile how proud he had been when they’d succeeded at their mission and how ashamed he felt that she’d been hurt while he was responsible.
Remembering what else he’d brought, Lazlo reached into his pocket and removed the mineral specimen he’d stashed in his pack the day before. Del’s eyes lit up when she saw it and he felt marginally better. At least he’d managed to deliver her rock.
“Here is your mido bonium or whatever you called it.” Lazlo handed it to her and watched as she looked it over. She rubbed her fingertips over the glittering inclusions and nodded. “We did well—or you did well, at least. Major Sekar said that your payment should be in your account by the end of the day. He wanted me to congratulate you.”
“You did well too.”
“Hardly. I didn’t maintain good surveillance, I was involved in an assault resulting in arrests and injuries to a civilian, and somehow I made the politically destructive act of arresting the sheriff of Sayre. I’ve never heard of someone arresting a colonial sheriff.” It was bad enough when he had been thinking about it all evening, night and morning. Saying it out loud made it even worse. How did he keep ending up in these disastrous situations? All of those events weren’t even the worst of it. “And you were hurt.”
“How is any of that your fault? It’s not your fault those asses were following us and it’s not your fault that Harata pulled a stunner on us. You didn’t hurt me. Avo Kirk did.” Del sounded irritated—with him or with her enemies, it was hard to say. But angry was better than sad. He could deal with angry.
“If I had done my job better, those things wouldn’t have happened.”
“Blast and afterburn,” Del scoffed and frowned at him. Good, she was exasperated. The pastry and coffee seemed to be helping. “Is your commander angry with you about all of that?”
Lazlo shook his head slowly and sat back on her sofa, as far as he was able. It didn’t really fit his frame very well. There was nowhere to put his shoulders. “He didn’t say anything last night. But he did tell me to report in this afternoon, wherever he happened to be.”
Shaking her head, she ate another bite and tapped him on his knee with her free hand. “Don’t worry about it. You did a great job and I’ll tell him that. Are they getting the weapons out now?”
“Already done. I wish you could have been there last night when they moved some rocks—”
All of the lights and electronics in her apartment flickered, interrupting his thoughts, and then they faded and went black. He looked at Del who seemed to be as surprised as he was. She tried to activate her non-functioning datpad several times.
“Try yours,” she requested and Lazlo found that his was dark and blank as well. He reviewed several possibilities but there was only one explanation.
“Someone’s dampered us.”
“Harata’s men,” Del replied, looking pale as her face tightened with worry.
“Get some shoes on,” Lazlo ordered and then moved to her door. With no video feed to the outside, he had to listen closely. Muffled sounds of shouts and metallic crashes were barely audible through the old synthboard door. As he tried to decide if he should risk opening it, Del shuffled back to his side, leaning close to him to listen as well. She put one hand on his shoulder and pressed her ear against the door, eyes closed.
“I hear my pa shouting and my ma,” she whispered. “Do you think—” A crashing thump at her door cut her off and someone male bellowed. They both leaned back from the vibrating panel.
“Open up or we blast,” the unseen man roared.
Del looked at him and Lazlo had the irrational urge to kiss her again. The first time had been so brief and tantalizing and he wanted to again while he had the chance. Shaking his head at the thought, he instead indicated that she should open up. There was no need for her door to be broken by a rampaging deputy.
“Just a minute, getting dressed,” Del called out and then pushed at his shoulder, whispering that he should hide. Shaking his head, Lazlo stood and gestured for her to open the door. Where would he hide in this tiny place, even if he were so inclined?
Del scowled at him and unlocked her door, only to have someone outside pull it violently open, spilling her to her knees before Lazlo could catch her. Two uniformed deputies were outside, wearing riot armor
and looking very surprised to see him there. One of them grabbed Del by the shoulder and dragged her out of the doorway as she cried out in pain.
Lazlo felt anger start to rise in him and the other deputy must have sensed it because he raised his stunner and pointed it directly at his head. This had to be a new record, to be held by stunner twice in less than twenty-three hours.
“Easy, big ox. No saving the chickie, got it?” the sweating man drawled through the visor on his helmet.
Lazlo raised his hands and quickly glanced at Del, still sprawled on the landing outside her apartment, tears in her eyes, wincing in pain as the other deputy roughly lifted her to her feet. At least she had shoes on. Tamping down his urge to batter both men and fling them over the railing behind them, he walked slowly down Del’s staircase, glancing at her moving ahead of him, both deputies crowding them along.
Noises of destruction and conflict filled the Browen compound—shouts, crashing, bellowed orders. As they descended, he began to make out the scene of several deputies rousting Del’s family from their quarters and pushing them all to a large cleared area on the deck. The deputies not directly engaged in moving prisoners were busy destroying anything they could touch, provoking shouted protests from the angry Browens. The abuse of power sickened Lazlo.
Lazlo spotted Nige Browen, face red, struggling against his zipped wrists as two deputies casually slashed the tires on all of the vehicles parked in the bays. The young girl who had helped load the empty containers for Del when he’d traveled along with her was sobbing while another deputy laughed at her distress.
Most worrisome was Del’s mother, who was sitting awkwardly against a cart, gray and sweating. She looked as if she might be having cardiac problems and Del must have noticed because she walked faster, trying to reach her and calling out for her. The deputy at her side shoved her back and Del fell again, curling in pain on the metal grid beneath her, and Lazlo reacted.
Del gasped for breath, feeling much worse than she ever thought she could. Her mother was pale and shiny with sweat, propped up against a crate of compressed resin packing. Her father was manacled and cursing, her sisters crying, and she was incapacitated by pain. The deputies were destroying everything they could and despair filled her at the thought of how endangered and impoverished her whole family was now. How would they possibly recover and continue with their business?