“Quince’s correct. It’s the only way,” Xander said. “I was one of Rogan’s kept boys for years. He gave me these.” He lifted his vest to show part of his back; it was scored with angry scars. “She showed her hand with that vial of pith. The story is out. Even if Rogan keeps his word, there are others who have every incentive to come after us, and no reason to be gentle about it.”
Quince nodded. “I’m going to need your help to do my cirq.”
Xander took the disruptor and put it up to the side of her head, against her temple. “This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.”
Quince nodded again. She sat down, with her back against the wall of the truck. The shock would likely knock her for a loop. “Do it.”
Pain even worse than before lanced through her skull, like lightning racing through her head. This time she smelled smoke, and felt as if someone had shoved a white-hot poker through her temple. “Damn, that hurt.” Quince rubbed her still-warm temple.
She returned the favor, shorting Xander’s wrist and temple units. “Fuck, you weren’t kidding.” They both looked at Jameson.
“Your turn.”
JAMESON BACKED up against the corner of the truck. “No. No goddamned way. I won’t let you.” He’d been systematically stripped of his clothing, his mission, and his dignity. This was a step too far. If he didn’t push back now, when would he ever?
The truck was still rumbling along, presumably through the Slander or along the streets of the city proper.
He tapped his cirq. “Angie, call OberCorp’s emergency line.” Maybe Quince had been lying.
“I’m sorry, Jameson. I am unable to connect to the grid.”
Xander shrugged. “Any luck?” he asked with a sardonic grin.
“No. But can’t we talk about this—”
Xander was on him in an instant, pressing the disruptor against his head. The pain in his temple burned through his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the pain to stop as a white light seared his vision. Sorry, Angie….
Slowly it ebbed, and he opened his eyes, only to feel the pain flare up again, this time in his wrist.
“Holy craaaaap,” he shouted, shaking his wrist. “What the fuck is wrong with you people?” All sense of decorum gone, he banged his aching wrist against the side of the truck again and again until it started to bleed. It helped distract him from the pain of the disruptor burn.
“We’re being hunted,” Xander said, with no sympathy in his eyes for Jameson’s pain. “I’m not leaving your link open just so you can check on your stock portfolio back on Beta Tau.”
The pain of the wrist short-circuit was subsiding, though now his hand ached from the repeated blows. Jameson’s mind was strangely empty. Angie’s voice wasn’t in there anymore.
He sank down to the floor of the truck and put his hands over his head, wishing the whole universe would just go away and leave him alone.
He’d been dragged along on this dangerous adventure, when by all rights he should have been in an office at OberCorp talking to someone about a civilized expedition to the pith plantations. Or wherever the hell the drug came from.
Apparently even that was a lie.
“Look, I’m sorry.” Xander knelt next to him, a warm hand on his shoulder. “It had to be done.”
“Leave me alone.” He knew he sounded like a petulant five-year-old, but at the moment he really didn’t care.
Chapter Five: Split
XANDER WAS limping through the streets of the Slander, his left leg still pulsing with pain from what Rogan had done to him the night before. The man was twisted and used Xander’s body to bring himself pleasure in ways that were often both painful and humiliating for Xander.
His back was on fire between his recently sprouted wings. Rogan had given him ethilium, the hormone that triggered the growth of wings in the skythane; he seemed fascinated by the possibilities for sexual adventure they provided.
Xander had grown used to Rogan’s “attentions” over the years. The lash was one of Rogan’s favorite things; he loved the way it left his mark on whatever he owned.
Rogan had sent him to hand carry a delivery to one of the other Syndicate bosses on the far side of the Slander. Xander held the parcel under his arm, glancing warily about to make sure he wasn’t being followed. He looked up at the tall silhouettes of the arcos that ran across Oberon City, far above. He dreamed of escaping this hellhole to one of those luxury towers, of getting out of Rogan’s clutches, but the man had wired an explosive charge next to his brain, under his skin and linked to his cirq. At any moment, at Rogan’s command, death and oblivion could take him.
It was Rogan’s way of controlling his slaves.
Xander wasn’t paying close enough attention to his path, and he tripped on a pothole in the street. He sprawled out onto the hard pavement, the package flying out of his hands. “No, no, no!” He scrambled up to go after it, ignoring the bloody scrapes on his palms.
Someone picked up the package and reached out a hand to help him. Xander looked up.
It was a man, taller than him, with red hair and warm brown eyes. He was wearing a long black trench coat, and looked like he had money. “You okay?”
It was strange that someone like this would be walking around the Slander. Maybe a john?
Nevertheless, there was something… kind about the way he looked down at Xander. Xander took his hand. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just clumsy, that’s all.”
The man laughed. It was a nice sound. “Here you go.” He handed the package back to Xander. “I’m Alix.”
“Thanks. I have to run. I’m late with this.” He took off down the street.
“But wait, I didn’t even get your name!”
“Xander!” He kept running. Rogan would kill him if he was late.
XANDER MUST have dozed off while they waited for the truck to make its winding way out of Oberon City. He sat up slowly, touching his temple. It was strange knowing that Ravi wasn’t there anymore. Alix had paid for the bioware implant when he’d taken Xander off the streets, ten years before.
Xander was sure that Alix must be dead by now.
It was time to move on.
He stared at Jameson, asleep on his side, and was struck again by how much he resembled a young Alix. Same red hair, similar features. He looked like an angel when he slept, without the wings.
“How are you feeling?” Quince was sitting next to him, rubbing her own temple.
“Not so hot. It feels weird to be disconnected from everything.” He stood up unsteadily, bracing himself against the side of the truck. “Is Jameson out?”
Quince snorted. “He seems to be. He was snoring a little while ago.” She pulled her silver hair back behind her ears and rubbed her eyes.
“How long was I asleep?”
Quince shook her head. “I don’t know.” She tapped her temple. “I have no way to check now, remember?”
He laughed. “Yeah, this is going to take some getting used to.” He closed his eyes, remembering the dream, and the pain. “Look, can I ask you something?”
Quince nodded. “Anything.”
“You were the closest thing to family that I had after my parents died. Why didn’t you come looking for me? When—”
“When Rogan took you?”
He nodded. “I always wanted to ask.” He stared at the wooden floor of the truck, afraid to look at her. “I was afraid of what the answer might be.”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying.” She sighed. “I did look for you. For years. When Rogan’s men snatched you, you disappeared from the grid. When I finally found you….”
“It was too late.”
She nodded. “He had you wired. I didn’t know how to get you out.”
Xander barely remembered her from when he’d been a child, before his parents had been killed. She had been ‘Auntie Quince,’ though he was certain they weren’t actually related.
He looked up at her. Her lips were a tight line across her face, and up close like this, he cou
ld see the age lines next to her eyes. “When you were fourteen, I made sure you got the ethilium to help your wings grow.”
“That was from you? I thought Rogan did that… just so he could play with my wings.”
“He treated you horribly. I’m so sorry, Xander.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It’s over now.” He could still see the way Rogan had stared at him, back in the warehouse. “Thank you, I think.” He flexed his wings. “I’ve been grateful for them, most days.”
She turned to him, and her eyes were wet. Quince was in real pain, kept hidden beneath the placid surface.
“You were there when it counted. Afterward. I needed you then. You were like the big sister I never had, and Alix….” He closed his eyes. It still hurt to think about him. “Alix felt that way too.”
She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Xander. I should have done more to protect you, to prevent what happened to you. I was young, and didn’t understand what a great responsibility I had undertaken.”
“Responsibility?”
Jameson groaned.
“Later. It looks like he’s coming around.”
Xander nodded. He’d been impressed by the way Jameson had held it together during the fight and flight, and by how he stood up for himself back at the warehouse. Maybe he wasn’t as weak as he looked. Not that he’d say anything of the kind to the off-worlder himself.
“What hit me?” Jameson lay on his side, squinting up at them. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck, not like I’m inside one.”
Xander helped him sit up. “Yeah, it hit us all pretty hard.” He grabbed a bottle of water from his saddlebags. “Here, drink some of this.”
Jameson took it and swallowed some of the lukewarm liquid. “Thanks.” He handed it over to Quince, who took a drag. “Not that I get any say in this, but what happens next?”
“We should be at our drop-off point soon,” Quince said. “Once we get there—”
The rest of her sentence was cut off by a deafening boom. The truck shuddered, and ground to a halt.
“What in the hell?” Xander shouted as the ceiling of the truck popped off and the walls peeled away on either side.
“Damn it all to hell, they found us again.” Quince hopped onto her hoverbike.
Two black hoversports like the one that had chased them through Oberon City were settling to the ground like enormous beetles behind them.
“Xander, you lead one of them off. Divide and conquer.” She tossed him a pulse rifle.
He nodded. “I’ll take Jameson with me.” The man was his responsibility, after all, and he looked completely unable to take care of himself out in the wild. He jumped on his own bike as the doors to the two hoversports started to open and enforcers poured out.
Quince shook her head. “He goes with me. We can’t have both of you taken together. No arguments.” She took a pulse rifle from her saddlebag and shoved it under her arm.
Xander glared at her. “Why? What aren’t you telling me?”
“No time. They’ll be on us in a second.”
He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Where do we meet?” He shoved the pulse pistol into his pants. The solar charger was nowhere to be seen.
“Where you and I went camping last summer, by the Theseus. Remember it?”
“Got it. See you there.” Then he was off along the road, heading south at a rapid clip. He glanced back to see Quince’s bike lift off the ground and take off in the other direction into one of the boxcorn fields that fronted the railroad.
Behind him, their assailants jumped back into the hoversports, which soon rose into the sky in pursuit.
JAMESON HELD on for dear life as Quince steered her cycle off into the fields on the right side of the road. The bike raced along about five feet above the ground, the leaves of the plants whipping his arms and face as they rushed by. They were riding up the row between two tall stands of what looked like boxcorn, the plants heavy with square ears of the industrial vegetable.
He glanced back. Xander’s bike zoomed down the open road, racing off in an entirely different direction. “He’s a sitting duck on the road,” he said to Quince, shouting over the sound of the engine and the wind, jabbing his finger in Xander’s general direction. Though why that should bother him was beyond him. The man was a prick.
“He can take care of himself,” Quince shouted back. “Right now I have to worry about your ass.”
He looked down at the ground moving past—they weren’t going too fast yet. He could jump off the bike and run into the field. With any luck, he’d be able to lose himself among the corn plants and maybe find his way back to Oberon City, or maybe flag down the hoversport.
Behind them, one of those hoversports had risen off the ground and was following them doggedly. He prepared to jump, but then Quince poured on the speed, and his moment was gone.
He’d have to wait for a better chance. “And what about you?” he shouted. “Who’s watching your ass?” He glanced backward worriedly at the hoversport that was coming after them. It was quickly gaining ground.
“I’m not worried about me.”
As he watched the hoversport, it fired off a shot that burned away a half a dozen boxcorn plants to their left. “Holy crap. They’re trying to kill us.” He shuddered. There was no way he was bailing on the hoverbike now.
“Not if I can help it.” She turned halfway around, holding a pulse rifle, and got off a shot in the general direction of the hoversport. It evaded the blast easily.
The bike, however, veered slightly, sending a sickening shudder through Jameson’s stomach and taking a chunk out of the neat and even row of boxcorn.
“Give it to me.” He was not going to be killed in some stupid accident in a field in the middle of nowhere.
“Do you know how to use it?” The hoversport was almost on top of them now, and Jameson imagined he could see the pilot glaring at him from behind the dark plas window.
“Yes, I learned how to use one on my last posting on a mining colony. Sunday afternoon entertainment. Now give it to me.”
She nodded and handed the pulse rifle back to him. He grasped it and slipped his right hand around the grip.
With one hand around Quince’s waist, he turned and got off a quick shot. He winged the hoversport but it seemed to shrug off the blast.
“It’s shielded,” she said. “You have to hit it when the pulse laser fires.”
“Pulse laser?” He looked back at the approaching hoversport. Something that looked disturbingly like a gun turret was descending from the underside of the hoversport. “You’re kidding me.” He turned back to Quince. “They’re going to shoot us!”
“Hold on.”
He held on to her as best he could with his arm encumbered by the rifle. She veered through one of the rows of corn, the leaves slapping at them as if trying to pull them off the bike. There was a thunderous blast behind them as several of the corn plants seemed to spontaneously burst into flame.
“Hit ’em now!” Quince called back.
He turned and fired at the hoversport, but he was too slow. The pulse bounced off the shields harmlessly.
“They’re trying to kill us,” he said incredulously. “Oh my God, they’re trying to kill me.” He started shaking uncontrollably. “Why would they want to kill me?”
“Pull it together, Jameson,” Quince said. “I’d slap you if I could, but you’re going to have to do it yourself.”
Jameson’s gut twisted. No one had ever actively tried to kill him before. His parents were pacifist Christianists, so even his home life had been calm and quiet. Mostly.
“Hold on again, and get ready to fire.”
Jameson took a deep breath and steeled himself. There would be time enough to freak out later, if they got through this alive. He gripped Quince’s waist tightly with his left hand and turned just as the gun mount pulled back to deliver another laser pulse. He shot two blasts at the hoversport as Quince veered again, this time to the left. He
glanced back to see one of them connect with the turret.
A blue lightning bolt spread out like a spiderweb, a hair-thin tracery spreading across the belly of the hoversport. Electricity raced around the top of the ship, sizzling in the afternoon air. Then it split the hoversport apart like an egg, the whole thing exploding and showering debris across the sky.
Little bits of burnt plas hit his back, and then the remnants of the hoversport were behind them as the cycle sped away.
“I did it.” He started to laugh, flushed with adrenaline. “I fucking did it!” He never cursed—well, hardly ever—but the force of the moment overrode his normal composure.
“Congratulations,” Quince said dryly.
Then the import of what he had done hit him. He’d taken a human life. Probably several. The sickness in his gut returned in force. “Stop the bike.”
“We should keep going,” Quince said. “There may be more of them coming.”
“Stop the goddamned bike!” He was going to lose it.
Quince braked to a halt, settling to the ground roughly and kicking up a cloud of dust.
He jumped off and fell to the ground, throwing up violently, expelling the contents of his stomach on the damp ground. It went on for what seemed like an eternity, and his world was reduced to the cramp in his gut and the vile taste in his mouth.
He felt soiled, dirty. Reduced to an animal state.
Eventually there was nothing left to come out, and he lay on his side, his breaths heaving in and out of his chest.
Quince put a hand on his back. “First time?”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet for fear he would kick off another bout of vomiting. His mouth tasted foul.
His back chose that moment to start itching, and such a mundane reaction made him laugh harshly. He sat up and took a deep breath.
Quince knelt beside him. “I remember my first time too. Hardest thing I ever did, even if the bastard deserved it.”
Jameson looked up at her, searching her eyes. “You killed someone?”
She nodded. “It was shortly after I arrived in Oberon City. I was walking through the Slander—I didn’t know any better back then. A man assaulted me, probably wanted to swipe my crits. I would’ve let him, if I’d had any, but then he wanted more. I was all alone, but I wasn’t helpless.” Her eyes took on a faraway look. “I broke his neck.”
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