by James Axler
Mildred heard the speaker move away, his footsteps fast and heavy, obviously agitated. She had paused by the door, uncertain as to whether she had been heard, but unwilling to walk into the middle of the argument. Now she judged that it was safe to open the door and exit.
As the light flooded in, she squinted at its sudden violence. The heat of the words she had heard from behind the door, mirrored in the thickness of the atmosphere.
Markos turned to her, the anger of the argument still written on his face. But he softened his tone with a visible effort. “Mildred—all went well with the baron?”
“Uh, yeah,” she replied with caution.
“You do not wish me to pry?” he questioned. His tone was sharper than his expression implied, which she put down to the discussion he had just concluded, the argument that gave her a feasible excuse to change the subject.
“No, it’s not that…It’s just that I couldn’t help hearing as I came to the door…” She shrugged, not knowing what to say.
Markos allowed a wry, sad smile to flit across his face. “My brother. He grows more and more agitated at the notion of moving away from the island, and he wants merely to pick at his agitation like the wounded animal picks at its sores. I do not even know what he was doing here, apart from trying to pick yet another argument with me.”
Mildred furrowed her brow. “How the hell did he know you’d be here? You aren’t supposed to be.”
Markos shrugged. “It couldn’t have been difficult. He had merely to go to where I should have been and ask questions.”
“I guess so. Do you want me to go find you a relief for this post, so you can continue?” It was not merely from the goodness of her heart that Mildred wanted to do this. It would also enable her to escape before the sec boss reverted to a line of questioning about her meeting with the baron.
“I would appreciate that,” he returned, adding as she turned to go, “But tell me just one thing. Why do you wish to meet with J.B. tonight?”
Mildred stopped. She turned to him, deciding to hide her newly discovered reason behind a curtain of the personal, hoping it would dissuade him from prying further. “Because not everything is always cut and dried. Matters overlap, and there are loose ends to be tied. And that’s all I want to say on the matter. Is that permissible?”
Markos thought for a moment, chastened. Finally he said just one word. “Yes.”
“Then be happy with it,” Mildred told him before leaving.
J.B. CHECKED HIS wrist chron. It was a little before nine and the ville was lit by oil lamps that glowed in the deep blue of late twilight. He had spent the day cleaning the companions’ weapons until they were back in working order, although they still reposed in Pilatu’s armory. He and Simeon had also inventoried and packed much of the Pilatan weaponry, leaving out only spare blasters for the sec men to carry on the journey. J.B. had counseled this as a precaution, as there was always the likelihood of running into trouble as soon as they landed on the mainland. Simeon had been only too pleased to have advice from someone who had knowledge of the whitelands, and the disposition of the Pilatan armorer had made for a more congenial atmosphere than J.B. had encountered in the woods with the other companions.
When the day’s work was complete, he had eaten with the others and told them of his meeting with Mildred. Ryan was glad to let the Armorer go alone, knowing that although it would be vital for the group, there would also be matters that would be nobody’s business but J.B.’s and Mildred’s.
There were few people around at that hour, even though it was still early. Work for evacuation, and the preparation of personal effects, kept people inside their dwellings. Only those with business abroad, or the regular sec patrols, could be seen.
J.B. perched on the platform used for public events, waiting, uncomfortable to be alone with his thoughts at this time, and relieved when he saw Mildred approach from the direction of Sineta’s quarters.
“Dark night, you look exhausted, Millie!” was the first thing he said as she came near.
“Thanks, I’ll see if I can find something nice to say about you,” she returned, embracing him.
He could sense some distance in the embrace, but decided to say nothing until they had spoken further. Perhaps it was just exhaustion.
“I didn’t mean…It’s just that you look like you’ve got even more weighing on you than you did this morning,” he said by way of apology.
“I have. Shit, you wouldn’t believe it, John. I thought things were complicated enough, but this is one hell of a curve ball.”
“So you gonna tell me about it, or is it another thing that you keep in the dark?” he asked spikily.
“Oh for God’s sake!” She spit the words out angrily. “I’ve tried really hard not to do that. Try to see it through my eyes.”
The Armorer shook his head. “Can’t. Don’t know what there is to see,” he said simply.
Mildred screwed up her face and looked around. There were few people around, sure, but for what she had to say, she needed somewhere much more private.
“Look, there’s more going on than we could talk about tonight, but when I met Barras this morning, after leaving you, he told me something—asked us something—that I can’t talk about here.”
J.B. nodded. “Then let’s get some privacy.”
Without waiting for her to comment, J.B. led her out of the square and through to the outskirts of the ville. As they passed the wildlife pens, she noticed that he was still limping quite heavily: not on the side he had been shot, but on the other, where his old injuries had been aggravated by his overcompensation as he sought to keep weight off the fresh wound.
It got darker and quieter as they neared the woods. J.B. led her into a clearing and sat her in the center.
“This should be far enough. Anyone who wants to eavesdrop on us now will have to make enough noise getting here for us to know they’re coming.”
“I know that. I haven’t forgotten everything,” she said angrily.
The Armorer took off his spectacles and started to polish them. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “So, why don’t you start at the beginning?”
Mildred began. She filled him in on the background to the hidden horde, and why it had to remain a secret from Sineta. She detailed how they could find it, and added that Jak would be the best bet to gain ingress to open up the hidden part of the cave where the riches were stored. She finished by explaining why Barras felt that they would be best equipped to find and transport the horde until it could be given to Sineta.
When she had finished, J.B. pushed back his fedora, scratched the top of his head, then whistled softly.
“And we’re supposed to be flattered that the old baron trusts us?” he said finally.
“Why not?”
J.B. gave a short, barking laugh. “Think about it, Millie. Mebbe you’ve not noticed, but we’re not exactly popular around here. Someone tried to chill me yesterday, and another man was chilled so that we could be blamed. If Markos or anyone close to him or his brother gets a sniff of this, we’ll be lynched.”
“Markos wouldn’t do that,” Mildred said in a way that made the Armorer look at her shrewdly.
“That’s as may be,” he said, opting not to argue. “Mebbe you trust him, but how do you feel about that brother of his?”
Mildred took a deep breath. Should she mention the argument she had overheard between the two of them that morning? How could she without it leading to matters that would cloud the issue?
“Exactly,” the Armorer said, reading her pause the way she had hoped. “He’s going to be a big problem.”
“But we’ll do it, right?”
The Armorer shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s up to Ryan. I’ll tell him everything you’ve told me, and then we’ll see. Problem is, if we do it, then how do we all get out of the ville or away from our work parties, get the treasure and hide it without anyone becoming suspicious or noticing we’re gone?”
Mildred sighed
heavily. “Yeah, you’ve got me on that.”
J.B. stood and looked around. “Yeah, well, I guess we’ll just have to work that one out when we come to it. We’d better get back. Someone on sec will have noticed us leave, and if we spend too long out here they’ll get suspicious and come looking.”
They returned to the center of the ville in silence, passing a sec patrol on the way. When they were in the small square, both J.B. and Mildred noted a sec man watching them with interest.
“Markos likes to keep his eye on things,” J.B. commented wryly. “And I’ll tell you something else, Millie. We haven’t really talked much about anything except—”
“I know,” she said, cutting him off. “Priorities?”
“Mebbe. But it’s not just me. Where do we all stand with you?”
Mildred shrugged. “I don’t even know where I stand right now. Things are going too fast for me to step back to figure it out. But I know I’m going to have to,” she added before J.B. had a chance to speak.
“Okay,” he agreed. “Look, I need to get back to discuss this with the others. Tomorrow morning, right here, before we set off for the felling area.”
“Yeah. Be careful, John,” she said, holding him for a moment.
“Mebbe you should be thinking that of yourself,” he murmured before turning to go.
Mildred watched him leave the square, heading toward the companions’ quarters. What exactly had he meant by that last remark? she wondered. Glancing over to Sineta’s quarters, she wondered if she should break her promise to Barras and tell his daughter. It could help if they ran into sec trouble while trying to retrieve the horde. But someone from Pilatu knowing would really complicate things.
Mildred decided to take a walk to take some time to think about things. She set off alone.
AS SHE WALKED DOWN the side streets of the ville, wrapped in her own thoughts, Mildred felt so safe that she wasn’t listening for attack, or keeping the corner of her eye fixed on that spot in her peripheral vision that was always the first indication of danger. She had grown soft during the days she had spent in the company of Sineta and Markos, believing the danger would be to her companions, not to her.
She turned into the alley, thinking only of her dilemmas. Should she speak to Sineta? Was her future with the Pilatans or her companions who had rescued her as a freezie? What was she to do about J.B. and Markos? It was a problem for Mildred simply because she was a woman who had never really had to think about such things before. In the predark world she had fought every inch to become a doctor and exist to be considered a woman first and an African American second. Not because she wished to deny her heritage, but because she had felt this would be the only way on her chosen course to beat back prejudice. Maybe she had been wrong, and had forgotten things learned from her father and his teachers. It was right at the time. And then, after waking up in Deathlands, she’d had no time in which to consider such niceties—for that was what they had become. It was chill or be chilled, and survive at all costs. Given a choice, you tried to do the right thing, but what was that, now? Always, her whole life before and after skydark had been based around acting and reacting, moving forward. There had been no choices such as this to make; or, at least, no time to think about them when you had to move on with such rapidity.
So now, when it came to a point where she had to consider such matters, she found herself ill-equipped for the task. She had never had to deal with her emotions in such depth before, and she had no idea where to begin.
It was perhaps because of her introspection that she failed to notice the lantern in the alley was extinguished. It could have just been one of those things. Low on oil or a wick that wouldn’t take after lighting. Maybe she would have taken no notice of it, even if she had been concentrating.
But then, at least, she would have been on triple-red. As it was, she was oblivious to the sound of breathing and the deliberately muted footfalls that padded behind her. In fact, she was halfway along the alley, at the worst possible tactical position, when she became aware. Somewhere at the back of her mind, behind the constant rollover of cogitation, a spark of instinct alerted her, flashed warning lights.
Jolted from her self-imposed reverie, Mildred suddenly became aware of the breathing and the soft, uneven pad of feet. One person—indeterminate sex—making an attempt to be quiet that would have worked in a less-quiet atmosphere.
No one trying to be that silent in a darkened alleyway had any intentions toward friendliness.
Mildred turned rapidly to face the opposition, whoever it may be. She was acutely aware that she was unarmed and not completely free of her preoccupation with her problems, which refused to be blotted out, and this would slow her reflexes. If she could spare the energy, she would curse herself. But it was already too late for that.
Her eyes weren’t accustomed to the darkness as much as she would have wished. She was only aware that her attacker was wiry—height was impossible to tell as he or she had dropped into a crouch. Instinctive reading of the body language and shape told her that it was a male attacker, but beyond that he was hidden in the shadows, his head shapeless beneath a hood or scarf of some kind.
She had no time to make other judgments as he was on her. She was slow and had allowed him to make the first move. Nonetheless, he had to have had some idea of her capabilities, as he had been swift to pounce as soon as she turned. By the time she had fully rotated 180 degrees to face him, he had sprung forward and was in midair. His face was still swathed, his shape disguised by a loose cotton shawl or cape that billowed out to his rear. It was effective in more than just disguise. The material effectively blotted out the residual light from the street behind him, making it harder for her to see what he was doing.
Knowing that he would cannon into her, and there was nothing she could do about it, Mildred let her muscles relax and began to fall back. It had the desired effect. As he hit her, the impact was lessened by the momentum of her own descent, and she was ready for the hard-packed ground when she hit. It still jarred, but she didn’t damage anything and the breath wasn’t driven from her body for she had exhaled in readiness.
Her opponent, however, didn’t have as easy a descent. Expecting her to crumple and be driven back by the force of his body against hers, he was unprepared for the lack of resistance and hadn’t had the time to prepare for the unexpected force of his own landing. He grunted at the impact. Although softened by having Mildred beneath him, it was enough to drive out his breath while his own momentum made him stumble and cartwheel over her body to land awkwardly some distance away.
Before he had even come to rest, Mildred was coming to her feet, using a hand on the ground to pivot as she rose and turned simultaneously. It was risky, because if he was quick enough he could kick or strike at her hand and leave her falling on her face with one arm rendered useless. But if she came to her feet in any other way she would be facing away from him, leaving her back undefended.
There was little room to move. The walls of the alley seemed to close in on her, making the area of combat close and cramped. Surely someone in the buildings on either side would hear the scuffle? If she cried out an alarm…No, that would take too much effort and breath. She felt in her gut that this was something she would have to deal with herself.
She was on her feet and poised as her opponent hauled himself upright. As he did so, his right hand darted to his waistband and pulled out a wicked-looking knife. The blade was long and came to a vicious point. There wasn’t enough light in the alley for the blade to glint, but the metal showed as a white shape, clear and sharp against the dark of his body.
It was a knife that looked horribly familiar. Mildred felt her senses whirl. It was J.B.’s Tekna that her assailant was brandishing, and he was moving toward her.
For a fraction of a second she was paralyzed by the revelation, then adrenaline kicked into her bloodstream and she was galvanized into action by the knowledge that if she didn’t move right now, there would be no time
later for idle reflection.
Time slowed. The adrenaline in her system made everything in her body seem to move at a faster rate, making it easier to make snap decisions without panic. She knew that one wrong move could leave her chilled. She had no intention of making it that easy for her opponent. Dropping into a combat stance, she balanced on the balls of her feet, so that her balance had a forward impetus. As her opponent thrust at her with the knife, she swayed her hips to feint to her left. It was a movement her opponent followed automatically, with little thought and complete instinct, which was just what Mildred wanted. Straightening and moving to the right, she grabbed his forearm as it came past her, the knife harmlessly slicing at empty air. Both hands grabbed at the forearm, taking it in an iron-hard grip. With some part of her mind that was still functioning, she noticed that he was covered from shoulder to fingertips, long sleeves tucked into gloves. She had no idea if her attacker was white or black, something that was important to her. If it was J.B., and not merely someone who had his knife…But he had been in the armory all day. Who could take it without his knowing?
All these thoughts whirled through her mind in a fraction of a second. The tension in the muscles of her attacker’s forearm as he responded to her grip brought her attention back to the moment and focused her on the immediate danger. Hissing breath through her teeth with the effort, she thrust the arm down and brought her knee up so that it connected with his elbow. The force caused him to yelp with pain and the knife to fall from his nerveless fingers. She could also reasonably have expected the force to shatter his elbow and tear cartilage and tendon, rendering the arm useless. But whoever her attacker may be, he had reactions almost as quick as her own. Knowing that he couldn’t stop the blow, he contrived to duck into the movement and twist his arm so that Mildred’s knee didn’t hit him square on the elbow, and he was able to absorb enough of the impact momentum to prevent serious injury.
This fractional movement was also enough to upset Mildred’s balance, which had been weighted toward the delivery of her knee. She stumbled, shuffling her grounded foot to adjust balance.