I love you, Mosquito. Must go now. It never ends.
Aris stared at the words on her digitablet. Her fingers were poised to type a reply, but she didn’t know where to begin. She didn’t know how to quiet the guilt that welled up in her heart each time she read his words.
She had dreamt of Major Vidar again, just last night. And each day she had to stand in formation, fly missions with him, sitting there in the cabin of her wingjet, the fabric of his uniform brushing hers.
“Specialists, report to the gym. Now.” Major Vidar’s voice made her leap halfway out of her chair. She glanced up at him and immediately looked away, her cheeks burning.
“Yes, sir,” she murmured with the others. She tapped the screen of her digitablet; she’d have to write Calix later.
The unit convened in the old sock-scented room Aris had entered her first night at the stationpoint. As usual, she was stuck at the front of formation with the other short men. Major Vidar stood before her, along with Lieutenants Daakon and Talon.
She snuck a glance at Vidar. Why him, of all the soldiers she could have dreamed about? She still didn’t understand it. Looking at him, at his pale skin, icy blue eyes, and the scar that ran along his cheek, at the sharp edges of his nose and jaw, the pale gold of his eyebrows, she didn’t find him handsome. He was well-muscled, a fierce fighter in hand-to-hand, as she’d seen often enough in training. But not handsome. Still, she thought, there was something . . . arresting about his features. If he was in the room, it was hard to look at anyone else.
“Tech sector’s come up with a new weapon,” Vidar began. “It’s unlikely it will be of particular use to us, given its nature, but we’ll be training with it and supplying each of you with one on all future missions.”
He held up a thin round item, about the diameter of a stylus but longer, with pointed ends. It gleamed silver in the dim light. “This is a sythin. It works like a tranq, incapacitating rather than killing. But it works only in close quarters. You have to press this button—” He twisted it so everyone could see the small round knob on the side of the smooth metal, “—and hold the weapon against your enemy’s body to activate it.”
A few murmurs rumbled through the men. “How the blighting hell do we get close enough to use that without getting our damn heads blown off?” someone said, loud enough for Aris to hear. The tone of the whispers suggested this was the general consensus.
“Enough!” Major Vidar said, restoring silence to the room. “As I said, because of the mechanics and purpose of the weapon, it may not be useful to us in the field. But there’s some indication it could sedate injured victims for transport without causing harm.”
Lieutenant Talon flipped the lid off of a chrome box in the corner of the room. “Divide into pairs. We’ll demonstrate how much pressure you’ll need in order to make a contact with your target and which locations provide the easiest access, but you will not activate the weapons. I don’t want any unconscious soldiers on my floor.”
Daakon and Talon passed out the sythins. Aris and Dysis took their familiar positions across from one another, weighing the unfamiliar devices in their hands.
“Seems kind of pointless, no?” Dysis murmured, brandishing her sythin.
Aris twirled hers from hand to hand, thinking of the agonized sounds Lieutenant Santos made when they’d lifted her from the wingjet. If they’d been able to safely knock her out first . . . “As a weapon, maybe,” she said. “But Major Vidar is right. For injured victims, I could see a use.”
“Specialist Haan, please put your sythin down.” Major Vidar’s sudden presence at her elbow caused a sudden shock to run through her.
Aris dropped the sythin as if scalded.
Major Vidar gazed skyward in obvious exasperation. “I said put. As in place carefully on the floor. Not fling down as if it’s going to bite you.”
Aris stared at her boots. “Sorry, sir.”
Without warning, he grabbed her arms, raising them until they shot straight out from her sides. The heat of his fingers seeped through her uniform. When he let go, she stood frozen. He turned to Dysis. “Specialist Latza. As I run through the best contact points, I’d like you to demonstrate on Haan.” He glanced around the room. “Watch carefully, everyone.”
First, he tapped Aris’s neck with the side of his hand. Blood rushed to her face. He was so close, touching her, and all she saw was his faint scar, the soft fullness of his lips, while those damn dreams played over in her mind.
“The juncture of neck and shoulder is your best option,” he said. “The sythin works through clothing, but it’s most effective if you can make direct contact with skin.”
He had Dysis jab the sythin at Aris’s neck, cheek, armpit, belly, tapping each place himself first. Aris stood, arms wide, in an agony of anxiety. What if, this close, he noticed the subtle shimmer of the diatous veil? Worse, what if he noticed the way her pulse raced under her skin every time he touched her?
•••
When Aris knocked over her boots, dropped her digitablet, and misplaced her jacket in quick succession while getting ready for bed, Dysis’s voice broke the silence. “What’s with you?”
“Nothing. Sorry. I’m just clumsy tonight.” Aris flopped onto her cot, half-dressed.
“You’ve been on edge for days. Your hand-to-hand has regressed so much Wolfe is ready to throttle you.” Dysis sat on her own cot, facing Aris. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
Aris dropped her eyes to her hands and slowly finished slipping her sleep tunic over her head. What could she say? That every time Major Vidar barked an order, her dreams invaded her mind? That she was haunted by the memory—the fantasy—of his warm hands against her skin, even now? She rocketed to her feet. “I need to go for a run.”
Dysis widened her eyes. “It’s lights out in ten minutes. You can’t run now.”
Aris paced to the door and back, stopping before the cubby that housed her few belongings. Staring down at the pocked wood, she willed her heart rate to slow.
“Do you and Daakon still ‘talk’?” Aris blurted out.
Dysis didn’t answer right away. “Not the way you mean. He hasn’t spoken a word to me beyond orders since you walked in on us.”
“I’m sorry.” Aris leaned against the wall. “What I said that night . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
Dysis shrugged, eyes down. “It’s for the best. You were right. There isn’t any future for us, and it was dangerous, getting close to him.” Her deep voice wobbled a little. “It’s better this way.”
“And Jax?”
“Daakon doesn’t know anything. Maybe if he hears something he’ll still tell me.” She sounded so sad Aris wanted to give her a hug, but she sensed Dysis wouldn’t welcome it.
“Still. I’m sorry about what I said that night. It wasn’t my place.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
Aris moved back to the bed and sat on its edge. She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “I’ve had a few dreams about Major Vidar.” She couldn’t look Dysis in the eye.
“Okay.”
“We were . . . kissing.”
When Dysis gasped, Aris looked up. And almost laughed at her sectormate’s hungry, knowing look. It was a distinctly Echo expression. With a gruff squeal, Dysis moved to sit next to her on the bed. “Tell me everything.”
“You know I’m talking about a dream, right?”
“Of course. Sorry. I just haven’t felt like a girl in a really long time.” Dysis smiled wistfully.
“Me either,” Aris replied, some of the tension in her shoulders easing.
“So, what happened?”
“Well, in one, we were on a mission. It was just us, and he was asking all these strange questions . . .”
“About?”
Aris cleared her throat. “Well, about Calix. And me. I mean, he was asking about my ‘girl back home.’ But I was thinking about Calix.”
“And?” Dysis tucked her legs up and leaned close, practi
cally bouncing on the cot.
“And . . . um . . . then we were kissing. That’s all.” A blush rose in Aris’s cheeks.
Dysis leaned back on her hands and sighed.
“What do you think it means?” Her stomach still twisted at the memory. “I’ve been walking around feeling so blighting guilty.”
Dysis giggled, which, with her low male voice, came out sounding disconcertingly like the grinding of gears. “Well, I don’t blame your subconscious one bit. Major Vidar is luscious.”
Aris grunted. “You’re not helping.”
Her eyes turned serious. “It doesn’t mean anything, Mosquito, except that you’re a human being with feelings. Calix has been gone a long time. And you’re a woman stuck with nothing but men all day.”
Aris snorted. That was no excuse.
“Just because we look like them doesn’t mean we’re not still women underneath.” Dysis pursed her lips, and the skin around her eyes tightened. “I’ve dreamt about Daakon many times.”
“Then why didn’t I dream about Calix?” Aris asked, voice rising. “I should be dreaming about him, not . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to say his name.
“You dreamt of Major Vidar because he shouted at us at the end of training those days and he was on your mind. Or because you flew with him?” Dysis waved a hand. “Believe me, you haven’t been unfaithful to Calix.”
Aris relaxed slightly at her words. “I’ve never thought about Major like that before.”
Still, she was troubled. It wasn’t just the dreams, really, if she was honest with herself. Over the past few weeks, she’d been so consumed by their missions, so busy flying for Major Vidar, she’d hardly thought of Calix at all.
“What if I’ve changed too much?” she whispered, more to herself than Dysis. She ran a hand along her shaved head. “When Calix finally sees me, when I explain . . .” Gods, it could go so badly. “How much of what he loves about me is left?”
Dysis caught her eye. “You have changed. It could always be you who doesn’t want him anymore.”
Just then the lights went out.
“Go to sleep, Aris,” Dysis said.
But she couldn’t. Not for a long time.
Chapter 42
Gradually, the demons eased, the flames cooled. The torture stopped. Slowly, slowly, Galena began to remember what merely moderate pain felt like. Then mild. Then the absence of pain all together.
But still she kept her eyes closed and screamed.
Because when she screamed, when she writhed in the fiery aftermath of what he’d done to her, Elom left her unrestrained. When she was incapacitated with pain, she was free.
And while hell laughed in her face with the gleam of Elom’s smile in the endless black night, she formed a fever-foolish plan.
•••
At last, when she felt ready, Galena stopped screaming. Eyes closed, she let her breath drift, whisper-thin, in and out of her lungs, and she kept her body still as death, her unshackled hands turned up at her sides.
It was hours before Elom entered the room, to find her quiet as the grave.
He had the nerve to whistle a cheerful tune under his breath as he bent to examine her. When he was so close his breath nearly choked her, she silently sucked in more air. Now. She shoved the base of her palm into his face with all the force adrenaline, terror, and rage could muster.
His head snapped back.
Galena surged up and hit him again. He fell back against the bed, and she clamped one of the arm restraints onto his wrist. He grunted and scrambled for her, hatred in his eyes, but his nose was pouring blood, his arm was chained to the bed and, for a few seconds at least, she was free.
She ran to the door, pulling her white robe closer around her, and slipped out of her room. Elom yelled and rattled the bed but she didn’t turn around. She waved a hand over the blank white wall outside her cell, and the door hissed closed.
Her breathing was shallow, her heart pounding in her throat. Already she felt weak; though the near-coma state had been an act, she’d had little food and no exercise for a long time. But it didn’t matter. She would keep going until she fought her way to freedom. Or they killed her.
She found herself in a long white hallway lined with doors. They were all closed. And there was no helpful red blinking light indicating the exit, as most buildings in Ruslana had. She listened for a moment, heard nothing but the faint rumble of Elom’s voice within the room.
Only two choices: right or left. She chose right.
Her bare feet slapped on the cool carbonate floor as she fled down the empty hall. As she passed the endless blank doors she wondered if they held other prisoners, felt regret that if they did, she could do nothing to help. She tried sweeping her hand across the scan pads along the wall, but none of the doors opened.
Just as she reached the end of the hallway, a crash exploded behind her. She skidded around the corner, snuck a glance back, and found to her horror that Elom had already escaped and was barreling after her, blood streaming from his nose.
She ran faster.
Air heaved and rattled in her lungs and her throat burned. Her face burned. The muscles of her legs burned. Galena was a woman on fire.
She burst through a doorway into a large open room and slid into a table, slamming her shins against the bench bolted to the floor. The whole room was filled with tables where people sat eating something that resembled the brown soup Elom often fed her. The murmurs of conversation died and dozens of faces, most gaunt, some battered, stared up at her. Along one wall, pallets were set up. Along the other, a line of grim-faced guards.
Panicked, she looked around, desperately seeking a door, a way out. No one moved. She started to weave through the tables when she heard Elom’s voice yelling, “Stop her!”
A rush of movement. All around her, people were standing up. Some started shouting. The guards sprang to action, raising their weapons. One slammed the butt of his solagun into a gray-haired man’s head, knocking him out of the way.
She weaved through the rush of prisoners, trying to duck out of view of the guards. But they kept tracking her movements, pushing bodies aside to get closer.
A scream built inside her chest. She would not let them take her.
Dodging around a bench, she tripped over a young woman who cowered on the ground, arms up to protect her face. The noise increased, screams of pain now punctuating the chaos. Galena twisted and pushed in the opposite direction, narrowly avoiding a guard. In a break in the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Elom’s bloody face. He’d made it to the doorway.
He kept a hand on his nose, and somehow, even through the movement and madness, his piercing, merciless eyes immediately found hers. She turned away, looked instead at a man sitting at the table beside her, an island of stillness. His short hair suggested that he was a soldier; the fresh and fading bruises that covered his face spoke of prolonged torture.
“Please help me,” she begged him. Carefully, he stood, hands splayed across the table. His eyes shifted to the left once, twice. A signal. She glanced in the direction he indicated. There, through the crowd . . . she wasn’t far from a wall. A door. In all the upheaval, the door had been left unguarded.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a guard raise his solagun. She turned away from him and ran toward the door.
But it was too far. She wouldn’t make it.
Still, she didn’t stop, didn’t slow. She wanted her last moment to be her own. She would die knowing she didn’t cower or beg.
She, at least, would know that she’d fought to save herself. To save her dominion.
A shot rang out, and an incredible pressure exploded in her back. She slammed into the floor face first. As the smooth, hard surface caressed the destruction that was her face, she gave the scream that had been building its release.
Too soon, the sound died.
With a final prayer that her son would be safe, Galena closed her eyes.
Chapter 43
�
��Two for two this week, Mosquito,” Dysis said as she leapt from the wingjet. “Not bad.”
Aris grinned as she released the clasps on her body armor. A cool, early-evening breeze blew across the landing pad, raising goosebumps along her neck. “You and Lieutenant Daakon were amazing. That Safaran jet just screamed out of nowhere, and the way you two got the guns around in time. . . .” She whistled in admiration.
“And don’t forget my superior retrieval skills.” Otto pushed his way through the crowd of returning soldiers. His shiny, round face broke into a sly grin. “The cable wasn’t even close to snapping this time.”
Dysis rolled her eyes. “Only because you retrieved a five-year-old girl. A girl so small she was practically smothered by that belly of yours, I might add.”
“Many women would consider that a glorious way to die.”
Aris and Dysis erupted in laughter. Eyes flashing mischievously, Dysis had just opened her mouth to reply when Lieutenant Daakon bumped into her, throwing her off balance. In the second it took her to rock back on her heels, a blush bloomed along her cheeks. But all she said was, “Watch where you’re going,” under her breath.
Daakon didn’t look back at their small group. Aris sighed and followed the straggling line of soldiers entering the building.
Galec caught up to them as they reached the door. His breath was coming fast and his eyes shone. “Did you hear?”
Aris raised a brow. “Hear what?”
He looked at Dysis and opened his mouth. “Your—”
“Haan, Galec. Commander’s office. Now.” Major Vidar’s roar filled the narrow hallway.
Galec shrugged and hurried after Major Vidar, Aris trotting to keep up.
“Close the door,” Commander Nyx ordered when they arrived. His bald head was shiny with sweat and his uniform the slightest bit rumpled, as if he’d been working all night. The rest of the officers stood along the wall. Aris glanced at Galec; he kept brushing a hand over his fuzz of ginger hair.
The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing Page 19