Empire of Dust

by Jacey Bedford

  Remember Ari.

  She loved him.

  Which one—Ari or Ben?

  Was there a difference?

  “In here.” McLellan’s voice came from somewhere out of Cara’s line of sight. “Sit her in that chair. Strap her in. Now, leave us. Carlinni, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me.”

  A mind bored into her own.

  Cara’s world went black.

  • • •

  There wasn’t much Ben’s group could do except move on from their last position and wait for Bronsen to catch up to them. Ben prowled the perimeter of their new camp until Archie growled at him to get some rest. When he did finally fall into a light and troubled sleep, it was interrupted in the early hours of the morning by powerful thoughts from Saedi Sugrue.

  *Wenna went after Lorient, and now I can’t contact her.*

  “Ronan! Wake up. Listen in to this.” Ben tossed the first thing that came to hand, a rat-bar, in Ronan’s direction. It struck the medic somewhere in the middle of his sleeping bag, and Ronan came awake with a muffled curse.

  *You think they’ve been taken by van Blaiden, Saedi?*

  *I just got one brief burst from Wenna. Something about a scary woman.*

  “The scary woman’s got to be Donida McLellan,” Ronan said.

  “McLellan?”

  “Who else could kick-start Cara’s conditioning?”

  “Oh, shit! We’ve got to find her. And Lorient. If he’s gone to try and cut a deal with van Blaiden, he’ll be presented with a contract for the sale of one planet. If Lorient signs it, he’s dead meat, and so is the colony.”

  • • •

  “Cara? Cara, are you all right?”

  “Ari?”

  “Oh, thank the gods.” Ari’s handsome face, fuzzy as if through water, began to clarify. “I thought we’d lost you. Here, sit up.”

  A strong arm lifted her up, plumped up pillows behind her back, and eased her gently back onto them, then rearranged the covers. She was in a bed, an air-mattress bed that was big enough for two. The room looked vaguely familiar, but right now all that mattered was Ari, his blue eyes twinkling and his blond hair falling casually over his forehead.

  “Ari.” She pulled him to her and they held each other for what seemed like an eternity, but she never wanted to let go. She breathed him in.

  “I thought we’d lost you, girl.” Ari pushed the hair out of her eyes. “This has been the toughest assignment yet, but you did it. You were so deep under cover I thought we’d never get you out again. They almost broke you.”

  “I left Alphacorp. Ran away. You’re not my boss, now.”

  “No. False memories. A cover. Deep cover.” He kissed her forehead. “Don’t worry; it’ll take a while to get your bearings. You’ve had a rough time, but you delivered the goods. We’ve got the platinum for Alphacorp. It all went just like we planned . . . well, except for you having to sleep with Benjamin. I’m sorry about that. Was it bad?”

  Benjamin. A memory came into her mind.

  She’s lying in a bed in a room in the visitor center on Mirrimar-14 with a naked man next to her. There’s warmth radiating from him, but they’re not quite touching. She feels chilled even with the tingle of sex still reverberating in her belly. She’s only slept with him to get passage off-station. Benjamin has been considerate, kind even, but he’s not Ari. She closes her eyes tight to lock in the tears and takes slow, even breaths.

  She’s thinking of Ari, and she mustn’t or she won’t be convincing.

  Benjamin reaches across to pull the sheet up around her shoulders, his hand brushing against her breast in the shroud-darkness of the room. She flinches before she can stop herself. Damn, she shouldn’t have done that.

  “Did I hurt you?” He raises himself on one elbow, his voice full of concern.

  “No. You were wonderful.”

  She tries to make him feel good, but she’s not sure he’s buying it. It’s a good job she’s had the full conditioning, or she probably wouldn’t be able to fool him, but she more than half believes the story about Ari herself, so she’s pretty sure she can carry it off. Mrs. McLellan is a genius.

  “The memories will fade, sweetheart. I promise.”

  “I . . . slept with Benjamin, Ari.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “How long was I away?”

  “Over two years, nine months of it in cryo, so it’s not been as long for you. For me, it’s been an eternity.”

  He leaned over and nuzzled her ear. She yanked her head back.

  “Ari, I’m sorry. Give me time. It all feels so strange.”

  “Of course. What am I thinking! I’m just so pleased to have you back.” He laughed. “Hell, woman, I’ve missed you. Get some rest. There’s a guard on your door. It’s for your own protection, you understand; the crew here are all new, except for Craike and Mrs. McLellan. I wouldn’t want one of them to get trigger happy at the sight of a stranger.”

  “I am tired.”

  “Sleep, then.”

  She slept, comforted by the knowledge that Ben and Wenna, Gen and Max, Jack Mario and Victor Lorient were now safely in her past and she was back where she belonged.

  • • •

  Ben pulled his horse up on the edge of the forest. In the fading light the LV and buildings at Landing, ten klicks distant, were barely shapes. To one side, on the landing pad, was a single sleek cruiser plus the more unfamiliar shapes of bulbous ore carriers and a flotilla of smaller skiffs, armed, no doubt. Ben had seen skiffs like those before—on Hera-3.

  “We walk from here.” He dismounted and unsaddled the gray, then gently pulled the bridle forward and let the bit drop out of the animal’s mouth. “Go on, get lost. Enjoy the rest of your life.” He slapped the horse on the rump and watched as it trotted off.

  Ronan nodded and followed suit.

  “My arse was sore anyway,” Gupta said.

  “I dunno. The horse was a welcome relief after being on foot,” Bronsen said. “I was just getting used to the idea.” He was still riding Cara’s bay mare. “Ah, well, back to wearing out my shoes.” He dismounted.

  “Think yourself lucky it was horses,” Gupta said. “I once had to ride a camel. Evil-tempered beasts, and they spit.”

  “Will someone help with these?” Archie Tatum had a case of mini-bots retrieved from his saddlebags. “I’ve got one case in my backpack already.”

  “Aren’t there bots stored at Landing, Arch?” Bronsen asked as he took the box.

  “I hope so, but we might need help to get at them. These little babies are all-purpose workers: drill, cut, laser, clamp. Too useful to leave behind. Serafin divided them out between us.”

  Ronan nodded toward the landing pad. “Van Blaiden’s come in force.”

  “Yeah.” Ben fastened the collar of his buddysuit. “He came expecting to be able to scoop platinum ore and leave, and maybe pick up Cara on the way, with or without her consent. Now he finds the whole scenario has changed. Instead of as much time as he needs, he’s got a few days at most before a fleet bigger and nastier than his is breathing down his neck.”

  “You reckon Cara will have told him everything?”

  “We can’t presume she hasn’t.”

  “So why isn’t he scooping and running?” Bronsen asked.

  “He hasn’t got time,” Archie said. “Best drill bots in the world won’t quarter-fill one of those ore carriers in a couple of days.”

  “He’s making it up as he goes along now.” Ben scowled. “If they’ve got Lorient—and we have to assume they do—it opens up new possibilities for them. If I were van Blaiden, I’d get Lorient to sign the planet over to Alphacorp, claim a finder’s fee, and leave a muddy legal battleground. Mother Ramona and Garrick might find themselves facing the wrong end of a task force from Alphacorp, the Trust, and the FPA combined.” He groaned. “I might have started a war!”

  “So we get Lorient out before he signs anything, plus Wenna and Cara,”
Ronan said. “I’m not leaving Wenna behind again.”

  Ben tried not to add: if Cara wants to come, but he thought it.

  “Okay, a ten-klick hike, gentlemen. Let’s go.”

  • • •

  Cara turned over in bed, opened her eyes, and blinked. The room was dim with early morning light filtering in from the high window. It looked familiar for a moment, but then she blinked again and it seemed like a hundred other rooms in a hundred other risers—plain, impersonal, functional. She felt relaxed and rested, at peace with the world. Shower first and then . . . find something to eat. She padded barefoot to the washroom; no surprises there, just the facilities and a generic wash kit and towel laid out for her use.

  Gratefully, she pulled a little sonic from the pocket in the wash kit and popped it into her mouth, counting to thirty before she spat it out and rinsed. That felt better. She set the shower to lemon and bergamot and stood under the pounding water spray. So much nicer than a sonic fresher unit.

  As she emerged from the washroom, wrapped in the towel and still a little damp, the outer door shushed open and Ari entered. Over his shoulder she could see a guard—for her benefit, of course—and an anonymous corridor. Briefly she wondered why the guard wasn’t wearing standard Alphacorp grays, but then her attention was taken by Ari waving a jug and two glasses.

  “It was the best I could do,” he said, pouring amber liquid into the glasses and handing one to her.

  She sipped it. “Apple juice?”

  “I told you it was the best I could do. Powdered apple juice at that. Some bastard stole my spaceship with the good stuff on board. I wonder who that might have been.”

  “Not my fault. I told you where to find it.”

  “Yeah, Crossways. It’ll have been melted down for scrap by the time I get there.”

  “You want me to go get it?”

  He laughed. “No. I’ve got better plans for you.”

  He reached across and pulled one corner of the towel. It fell away and she leaned into his hands. Instead of the expected gentleness, his fingers were demanding against her flesh, gripping, squeezing. He found her nipple and pinched. She gasped and arched against him, warmth flooding through her.

  He pulled her to the bed, cursing when in his haste he almost missed his footing and sent the lightweight frame skating up against the wall.

  “Ari . . .”

  He smothered her neck with kisses, dipping his head to her breasts, nipping at her skin. Dizzy, delirious, she gasped and pulled away.

  “Ari, don’t . . .”

  But it was too late. As her shoulders hit the bed, he was on top of her, his hands recalling passions, demanding responses. There was a brief respite while he ripped off his clothes and then he was on her again, knee jammed hard between hers and hand reaching down between them, playing her like a musical instrument.

  And she sang for him.

  Oh, she remembered now, remembered all too well, remembered pulling him into her and wrapping her legs tight round his back and urging him on with a twist of her hips and whispered words so that it would be over sooner.

  This wasn’t how it should be between two people.

  He finished and rolled off her, reaching for his trousers and huffing with satisfaction. “I missed you, girl.” He reached behind him and delivered a ringing slap to her naked buttock. “Get dressed and come to the LV. I need you to talk to Mr. Lorient for me. He’s being difficult.”

  He left without looking back and at last Cara let herself rub the red weal his hand had left. Huge, silent tears trickled down her cheek and into the pillow.

  She made herself roll over and sit on the edge of the bed finding soreness here and an abrasion there as she moved. She needed the washroom again, wanted to scrub herself clean.

  As she stood up her foot brushed against something solid, a shoe, exposed by the movement of the bed. It looked familiar. She picked it up and a stone rolled out of the toe and into the heel. She picked it out. It was about three centimeters in diameter, gritty and nondescript. She stared at it, then, for some reason her conscious brain couldn’t quite fathom, she shoved it hard between the first and second fingers of her left hand. It was just too big to be comfortable, but somehow it felt . . . right.

  She looked at it as cold shivers ran down her spine. Her head buzzed, and she felt as though something was squeezing all the air out of her lungs. She dropped into an untidy heap on the floor, dragging the blanket with her and sat, back against the bed, staring at the stone.

  Eventually, she dragged herself upright and into the shower, scrubbing herself all over, even the sore spots—particularly the sore spots—then she dried herself and dressed in her buddysuit. Before she left the room, she dropped the stone into her tiny sleeve pocket and sealed it tight.

  • • •

  Ben hunkered down in the shadow of the wrecked tank farm and watched the compound with the distance lens of his buddysuit visor.

  *Bronsen, can you sense any of them?* he asked.

  *Wenna’s in an ore carrier.*

  *Cara?*

  *In the dormitory riser.*

  *Lorient?*

  *LV as well, but not with Cara.*

  Damn. There was a lot of activity around the LV, at least half a squad of guards in there. He wanted to rush in, but it made more sense to try and free the others first. Besides, what might he find in there? Which Cara would be waiting? And would van Blaiden be expecting him?

  *Let’s try and get to Wenna first.* Wenna might be easier to free without raising the alarm. She also might be able to give him an insight as to what was happening with Cara.

  He’d expected van Blaiden’s crew to be relatively small, but it looked like he’d brought an army with him. Some of the men lounging around were obviously not military types, probably miners, but the mercs were easy to spot. Those on duty were sharply dressed in camo buddysuits with bucket half-helms, probably connected to each other with heads-up displays. They carried hefty weapons that Ben couldn’t identify at this distance but which were likely to be some kind of all-purpose energy discharge armament, a Newton or a Briggs Eightex, both bad news. The off-duty ones still wore their buddysuits and stood or sat in small groups, separate from the miners. Their buckets were neatly stacked within reach as if they were rarely separated. Even off-duty they each wore a side arm.

  All Ben had was his parrimer blade and his smart-dart gun, but at least both were silent and, if not immediately deadly, the smart-dart could put someone out for hours with one well-placed shot. The card was full, giving him twelve shots without reloading.

  *Diversion?* Archie asked.

  Archie, Ronan, Gupta, and Bronsen were all short-range Telepaths between Psi-5 and Psi-3, so Ben piggybacked on their abilities and joined their narrow communication net. *No. Once we start with diversions, we have to get everyone out in one go. There won’t be any second chances. We wait as long as necessary until the compound clears.*

  It was close to midnight before the only figures left were the ones on duty.

  *Now,* Ben said.

  Ari van Blaiden’s guards were sharp, but Gupta was a veteran of twenty campaigns. He dropped the first guard where he stood with a chokehold. Bronsen took the second one down two breaths later, leaving a gap for Ben to slip through and into the river. He waded in so as not to cause a splash and swam across, his buddysuit keeping all but his head warm and dry. On the far bank he pulled himself out and listened.

  Step, step, step, step, stamp, turn. Step, step, step, step, stamp, turn.

  Step, step, step, step, stamp, uhh.

  Ben lowered the unconscious guard to the floor.

  *Clear.*

  Four shadows ran silently over the pontoon bridge and crouched in the shelter of a groundcar rendered useless before they left. Bronsen pinpointed the ore carrier where Wenna was being held. No one tried to contact her directly in case she was being closely monitored. No sense in giving the game away.

  *That one? Got it.* Ben worked his wa
y past a deserted riser to the open ground where van Blaiden’s pot-bellied ore carriers were lined up. There was only one guard. Ben could have hit him with a dart at twice the distance though there was little exposed flesh to aim for beneath the half-helm. He aimed for the jawline, saw him slap at the dart as if stung by an insect, and then collapse. Knees first. Onto the dusty ground.

  *Archie?*

  Archie sent in a bot to deal with the lock.

  *Neat. Wait there.*

  Ben ran to the door, hit the controls, and walked straight into a trap.

  • • •

  As soon as Cara opened the door, the guard came to watchful attention. Instead of leading her down the corridor, he motioned for her to walk in front of him. Okay, she’d play it Ari’s way. The guard obviously didn’t trust her, but she wasn’t going to make a fuss. The guard walked her to the LV, shining in a blaze of artificial light. The door to the ops room was half open, and Cara could see several techs in there taking the matrix apart, searching for data slides they would not find.

  Footsteps echoed on the ramp behind; when Cara turned to look, Wenna was being marched in by a tall, black-skinned guard.

  Had she been responsible for Ari finding Wenna and Lorient?

  Had faithful little field agent Cara killed hundreds of people with a few careless words? From the look Wenna gave her as she was hurried past, that same thought was in her head, too.

  Stifling a sob, Cara turned back to find herself face-to-face with Craike. Before she’d had time to check her own reaction, her hand had flown down to where her side arm wasn’t. A sharp laugh from a shadowed doorway to her right brought her up with a jolt. Donida McLellan was watching the interplay between Cara and Craike speculatively. She half-smiled, and Cara felt the world fall away.

  There’s a bank of machines; herself in a padded chair, in a movement restraint, and there’s someone in the room with her. A woman, thin and dark. The woman has a name. The woman has a name. The woman has a name. Her mind whirls several times around the same thought.

  Name: Donida McLellan.

  Place: Sentier-4.

  The machines are alive inside her head. She doesn’t want to look at the woman. Pinprick eyes. Implants meshing. Stare. The woman is confusion. The darkness is inside. She tries to look past her, but the walls are too far away. There’s nowhere to hide.