Tor (Women of Earth Book 2)

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  "He told me once that they studied architecture and construction, a lot of other stuff, too. Those Baskers don't fool around."

  "When this is over, you should take him home," Tor said softly.

  "Would you ask Wynne to risk her life for you?" Ish asked in return.

  "I think she already is," he said.

  "Yeah, but you didn't ask."

  They reached the corner and waited impatiently, back to back, with Ish looking behind and Tor ready for anyone who came around the corner. The lights dimmed.

  "We're a go," Tor said. Ish took her place beside him.

  Both guards were looking up at the edge of the walls where the lights were slowly pulsing from dim to dark. Both had weapons drawn. One glanced at the approaching pair and then looked again.

  "What's wrong with the gods damned lights?" Ish complained.

  Someone who didn't belong would never speak that loudly. It got them a few steps closer, before one of the guards noticed the ill-fitting clothes. Tor tossed his turban at the pair.

  The fight was over in seconds.

  "What do we do with them?" Ish asked.

  "Leave 'em lay. Our arrival won't be a secret in a minute."

  Ish opened one of the two double doors, peeked in, and closed it. "Body guards. No buyers. Two doors," she whispered and indicated where the doors were located with her hands.

  "You're sure you'll be all right?"

  "Posy's on his way." She drew a nasty looking long knife from its place along her calf and the old fashioned handloader from her the holster next to her breast at the underside of her arm.

  Tor shed his robe. He removed a canister from his belt and nodded for Ish to open the door.

  ~*~

  The toilets here didn't work like the toilets back home, but Wynne had never known one that didn't get stopped up at some point in time and she assumed that applied to fancy ones, too. She poured the final pitcher of water on the floor and gave a thumbs-up.

  "Oh no! Oh no! The toilet is overflowing," the woman cried. It was pretty bad acting, but they hadn't dared rehearse.

  Another woman opened the door. "We've got a problem in here. Not sure if it's the toilet or the sink. Just know it's wet," the better actress said. She pointed to the water running from the bathroom tile and onto the carpeting.

  The guard rolled his eyes. "You're turn," he said to his buddy.

  The outer door closed and they watched and waited. He stuck his head in the bathroom door and Emily struck him in the back of the head with the heavy pitcher. When he bent double with the blow, another woman shoved him from behind, and drove him head first into the sink.

  Wynne removed his blaster while two others moved in to tie his feet and hands with strips of fabric they'd torn from the drapes.

  "Gag him first," Emily reminded and then she lined the others up where they wouldn't be seen when Wynne opened the door. A few began to weep with fear while a few others were giggling with their success. "Shhh," she hissed at the noisemakers and then began to issue orders about who was to stay with whom. "Now remember, no noise until we're in the tube, then scream your bloody heads off."

  Now came the hard part. The blaster Wynne held was different from the one Ish showed her how to use and it took her a minute to figure out which button to push. Emily watched over her shoulder since once the deed was done, she'd be taking the blaster and the lead while Wynne brought up the rear with the other guard's weapon.

  "Arm. Aim. Activate," she said over and over. "Remember that, Em. Arm. Aim. Activate."

  The boom came as she opened the door and so startled her, she almost slammed it shut. The guard looked as shocked as she was and Wynne forgot her mantra. She activated before she aimed. The shot hit him in the hip. He screamed, but she didn't think anyone would hear him over the shouts and yells coming from elsewhere in the hall.

  She tossed the weapon to Emily and started yanking the reluctant women out the door and shoving them in the direction they needed to go. She was one short and she went back into the room to find the woman curled on the floor with her hands over her ears.

  "They're not bombing," she told the woman, assuming that was the cause. "See? No plaster falling, no breaking glass. You're okay and so am I. Come on, we need to go."

  ~*~

  Tor and Ish charged into the room as soon as the canister did its work. They used the handloaders and shot wildly into the light dimmed and smoke filled room. The noise from the percussion weapons added to the confusion. Some of the body guards fell, some fought back, but Tor and Ish moved fast. They were each to take one of the doors at the back of the room.

  When Tor reached his door, he glanced over to make sure Ish had reached hers. Back to the wall, she was fighting off five or six with only the long knife she held in her off hand. She held a woman in front of her, already dead, as a shield. Ish needed help. Tor threw the handloader aside and pulled his blaster as he took a step toward her.

  "Go! Go! I've got her!"

  Like a wraith made of shadows, Posy danced through the room, swirling and slashing. His arms flew over a guard's head as if he was about to caress the guy's cheeks. Blood spurted from his victim's throat, the result of the wire garrote the Basker held between his hands.

  Tor left him to it. He burst through his door to see another door close as someone made their escape. Honarie was tossing papers and credit tags into a bag.

  "Where is she?" Tor shouted.

  "Dead," Honarie sneered. He pulled a weapon from the bag, but never fired it.

  Tor put a hole in the bag and another in Honarie's head. He then grasped the edge of the table to keep his buckling knees from taking him to the ground. Wynne couldn't be dead. She couldn't. He pulled himself up and forced himself to run after the one who had escaped.

  He entered another room. This one larger than Honarie's little office. It was meant to hold meetings of moderate size. This was the auction room. A small dais had been set up at the front of the room, a stage on which to show off the merchandise. Chairs were strewn across the middle of the floor. The Godan buyers had no doubt tossed them out of the way as they scrambled for safety in the corner of the room.

  Tor waved the blaster for emphasis. "Stay in this room and you'll be safe," he said with authority. "Step outside and you'll die. I'm looking for the man who came through that door. He needs my help as do you," he added and hoped they took it to mean he was on the escapee's side."

  "Orax already told us to stay here," one spoke up. "He went out that door."

  "Do what you're told and you'll be safe," he called as he ran from the room. Orax, on the other hand, was going to die.

  ~*~

  Wynne helped the woman to her feet and led her to the door. They were just passing through it when she was grabbed from behind.

  "Run!" she screamed.

  The woman ran and never looked back. That was the last thing Wynne saw before she was yanked off her feet and slammed against the wall. Orax held a blaster beneath her chin.

  "You can make it with me, or you can die."

  She nodded. She had no choice. The guard's blaster was still in his holster. She'd gone to the woman instead of grabbing the weapon.

  The wounded guard moaned as they came through the door. Orax shot him in the head. He grabbed her hand and started to run. She slid and almost fell and the blaster was at her head once more.

  "Do that again and you die."

  They reached the access tube that shot directly to the roof. He shoved her in and kicked an unconscious woman's legs out of the way. The woman groaned and he shot her, then pressed the button. The door closed and he shot the man who, Wynne thought, was already dead. Both dead guards had weapons in their holsters, but there was no way she could get to one in time.

  She closed her eyes and prayed, promising God she'd sacrifice anything if he would only save her life.

  She tried to reason with Orax. "Tor will follow you to the ends of the galaxy. Let me go and he'll let you go."

  The
door opened and he pushed her out. "Tor will be spending his life on a penal colony while I need credits to start all over. You're those credits."

  There was no attendant and Wynne was grateful. Orax probably would have shot them, too. He rifled through the chips and found the one he wanted, then dragged her to a small street skimmer that was parked nearby. He lifted the driver's hatch.

  "Get in."

  She had to crawl across the seat to reach the other. She barely had time to turn before the skimmer was moving into position on the giant turntable they called a platform. Orax was pressing buttons on the control as the skimmer began to rise. He didn't notice the man running toward them from the access tube, but Wynne did.

  It was Tor. He saw her and raised his hand. Tor had come, but he was too late. The platform had already risen too high off the ground. He'd never make the leap and yet he did. Wynne had all she could do not to gasp when she saw him go airborne. He made it, but not far enough. With his legs hanging over the side, he began to slide. His hands clawed for purchase and finally, finally his knee came up and over.

  "You'll never get away with this," she told Orax. She sounded like the old movies her mother used to watch, but she needed to keep Orax's attention on her and the controls. "They'll hunt you down. If it isn't Tor, it'll be the House of Kronak."

  "They'll have to find me first."

  She kept her face turned to Orax, but her eyes were on his door. There were several gadgets there and she needed to know which one was the latch. She needed to know what to look for on her own door. When the time came, she would release the gull wing hatch on her side and fall to the ground to give Tor a clear shot at Orax. But where was Tor?

  The ceiling above them spiraled outward and locked into place. The platform rose through the opening. A perfect fit, it settled into place with a shudder, and then began to turn to position the skimmer for takeoff. Wynne's hand groped for the latch.

  "Buckle up," Orax ordered and looked over to see that she obeyed and in doing so, saw her intent. He reached for her.

  Wynne hit the latch and threw herself against the opening door. She fell beneath it, landed painfully on her knees and scrambled to her feet, tripping and skidding as she tried to run. How Orax reached her before Tor, she never knew. She was grabbed and flung backward, his arm around her neck. He pressed the blazer to her temple.

  Beyond Tor, Wynne saw lights moving toward them through the night sky. She'd seen that arrangement of lights before on the small and specialized troop carriers at the base where she lived. They were coming for Tor. Would they see that he was not the threat?

  "Move out of the way or I'll kill her."

  "Kill her and you die. Give it up Orax. You've lost."

  But Orax hadn't lost, not yet. He dragged her to the railed edge. He lifted and flung her forward so she was hanging over the rail. She arched her back trying to shift her body so her weight would drop her onto the pad and not twenty stories below.

  "Drop the blaster and move away or I swear on my brother's life, I'll drop her."

  Wynne reached for the rail just beyond her fingertips. She was terrified she'd over balance and plummet to her death.

  "You're too late for that, Orax. Honarie's already dead. I killed him just like I'm going to kill you."

  Wynne's hands grasped the rail. She slid a little further and gripped it firmly.

  "Shoot!" she screamed and both men did.

  Orax tumbled back, flipped over the side, and fell screaming. Wynne tried to push up, her hand slipped off the rail and her other elbow buckled. Her hips shifted an inch too far and she was sliding over the rail with no way to stop. She screamed and swung suspended in the air. Tor had her ankle and began to pull her up.

  Voices were shouting. Tor kept pulling. Her hips slid over and then she was falling again, this time to the safety of the floor as a red streak of light whizzed past her. Tor spun like a top as blazers beams hit him, one after another.

  "Got him," someone yelled as Tor hit the ground.

  "No, no, no!" Wynne screamed as she crawled to him. Kneeling at his side, she held his face in her hands. He opened his eyes and smiled.

  "Don't worry, Princess, Hadrid's Harem has nothing to offer now that you hold my heart." He closed his eyes and his head fell limp against her hand.

  She threw her head back and screamed to the heavens "I didn't mean this! I didn't mean I'd sacrifice my heart!

  And once she started screaming, she couldn't stop and they were pulling her away. She fought them, but it was no use.

  Chapter 33

  She'd continued to fight and scream as she was half carried, half dragged through the hotel hallway to the main bank of access tubes. The fight left her and the screaming stopped as the first tube shot them forward through the building to another bank that carried them down. She barely noticed and if she had, she wouldn't have cared. She became a lifeless automaton that followed instructions without understanding.

  Tor was gone.

  The street was filled with flashing lights and annoying mechanical announcements that Wynne didn't understand. Faceless in their helmets and full combat gear, a line of soldiers cordoned off the area and held the crowd back. Other soldiers carried out the dead and wounded. Medical personnel scurried from one body to the next. Life went on. No one seemed to notice that the world had crashed to a halt.

  They covered her shoulders with a blanket that did nothing to relieve the cold, hard pain that suffused her body. The women of the Brides Brigade were huddled together in the street. Wynne didn't try to join them. She wasn't one of them. They were rescued. She was lost.

  Tor was gone.

  She saw Truca, hands pressed against the glass on the inside of another emergency vehicle. Her face was a grotesque mask of reflected red and blue light and pain. So much pain. Wynne knew she should try to offer the girl some comfort, but she had none to give. She was empty.

  Tor was gone.

  The only sign of life she could muster came when she saw Adjutant Yatos standing amidst a group of peacekeepers, smiling and puffing out his chest with pride.

  Her blanket fell to the ground and she pointed with a shaking finger. "Him," she said to a nearby peacekeeper, "He's one of them. He and, and Riegard, Senator Riegard." The words were so hard to speak. "They were with Honarie and Orax. They killed Senator Plincoff."

  No one moved on Yatos, but Wynne was whisked away. She was asked questions and she answered, over and over, and over. Five minutes after giving them, she couldn't remember her responses.

  She asked her own questions over, and over, and over, too, though she had only one. "What have you done with Tor?"

  She remembered their response because there was none.

  She was escorted to a ship where she clung to her bunk. She cried and slept and refused to eat. By the time she arrived on Mishra, she had herself under control, though she had to constantly remind herself.

  "You can do this. You can do this. Put one foot in front of the other. You can do this."

  Time passed, days that felt like years. After a joyous reception by Mira and Roark's family that was filled with hugs and kisses, and assuring her sister that she was shaken but fine, life turned to the coming festivities and the birth of her sister's child. Wynne played her sisterly role.

  She was there for the birth of her nephew, a golden child that took his eyes and hair from his mother, and winged brows, tiny pointed ears, and golden skin from his father. She held him on the rare occasion when Mira would let him go. She smiled with the others when he squinched up his face with the discomfort of gas and laughed when his tiny lips puckered to blow baby bubbles. She spent a great deal of time watching him sleep.

  Roark's parents were gracious hosts and Wynne graciously accepted their hospitality. His mother provided her with clothing. She smiled at his father's jokes. She heard the gossip about the rescue of the brides, but people stopped talking when they saw she was listening. They were being kind. Little by little, she put the story togeth
er. She spoke little at the dinner table, but there were other guests to cover her silences. No one expected her to join in. After all, she was Wynne, shy and thoughtful Wynne.

  She played the role she was born to, the one she knew by rote. It was only at night when she was alone that she brought out the stolen bracelet he'd given her and sobbed out what was left of her heart until she cried herself to sleep.

  She put one foot in front of the other and did what needed to be done.

  She was holding it together until Mohawk arrived. He'd stayed behind as part of the investigation, but she knew he was alive. She thought she was prepared to see him, but when he opened the door to the music room where she was hiding out to avoid yet another tea, she lost it.

  "Wynne, it's over."

  "Over? You think it's over?" Wynne didn't know where the hostility came from. She'd thought her emotions had died with Tor, but here they were, boiling over in anger. "Great. Find a bottle. Let's have a drink. What's a little betrayal between friends? I asked you to send a message telling them we were fine, not telling them where we were. You didn't do it just once. No, you had to do it twice. Tor had it handled. It would have worked out fine, but you had your duty to Roark, so you betrayed Tor, and you betrayed me."

  "Wynne, I'm sorry. It wasn't supposed to end that way. Let me explain."

  "No," she shouted. "I don't want your explanations. I don't want your apology. I don't want to forgive. God can send me to hell, but I won't forgive the man who got Tor killed."

  She ran to the door that opened out onto the gardens and she kept running until she could no longer hear him calling her name. She ran until she couldn't breathe and she collapsed beside the pond where an assortment of rainbow colored fish reflected the colors of the surrounding flowers.

  The cheerfulness of the setting offended her. The flowers should be brown in death. The fish should be blackened with grief. Wynne curled on her side and buried her face in her arms.