by King, Sara
Magali wrestled out of the other foreman’s grip and froze.
The Shrieker was looking at her. Its lumpy, egg-shaped body was turned inquisitively, its damp black eyes fixed on her torso. A headache was building, the constant fuzz at the back of her mind becoming an all-out migraine from the Shrieker’s proximity.
“Don’t move,” Anna whispered behind her.
The chief foreman—a cranky old woman by the name of Gayle Hunter who had been working the mounds for over seven years—scrambled to her feet, spitting insults, not even noticing the Shrieker. When Magali glanced at her, slowly, trying to motion at the Shrieker, to show that it was listening for them, the woman ignored her. Something about her face wasn’t right. The woman’s eyes were too round, with little crescents of white above and below the iris.
Magali gasped. Anna was right. The woman had Egger’s Wide.
“How dare you?” Gayle snarled. “I’ve been a foreman seven years, girl. I could take you to the Director and get you carted off to the stocks for touching me. How dare you touch me?”
“The Shrieker,” Magali whispered, motioning with a twitch of her finger. Every other part of her body was still.
Gayle turned to face it fully, then sneered at the knee-high lump of brightly-colored flesh. “You think he scares me, you little shit?” She glanced back at Magali and snorted laughter. “That’s David. He’s not like the other ones. See that notch in his tail? Got it when a guy ran over it with a food cart. Never Shrieked, never did nothing. He never hurt a soul. Did you, David?” She looked back at Magali, her too-wide eyes staring out at her above a beaming smile. “See? David wouldn’t hurt you. He’s just curious.” Cooing back at the Shrieker, she said, “Aren’t you, my little angel?”
“Magali,” Anna whispered. “Let’s get out. Now.”
Magali started to back away, but Gayle caught her by an arm. “You afraid of Shriekers? Don’t be ridiculous. They’re just babies.” Then, before Magali realized Gayle’s intent, the older woman shoved her hand down at the Shrieker’s brilliantly-colored flesh.
Magali bit back a scream as her fingers touched cold, sticky skin. The Shrieker flinched back and its whiplike tail thrashed, dragging it away from them, into a hollowed-out pocket of the cave.
Gayle laughed and started to follow. “Don’t be scared, David. She won’t hurt you, little baby. I’m here.” Her hand was like a vice on Magali’s arm as she started walking toward the cornered Shrieker.
Magali yanked her hand away and stumbled backwards. The Shrieker’s big black eyes were still fixed on Magali’s torso. Shriekers, Magali knew, had horrible eyesight. Their black eyes were simply a collection of nerves grouped together in order to detect motion. It didn’t know what she was, just that she had touched it.
“Magali, careful,” Anna whispered.
Behind her, her sister looked terrified. Unlike everything else in her life, Anna could not pull the Shriekers’ strings to make them dance to her tune. She was just as helpless around them as everybody else. Several times after a shift, Magali had caught her sister hyperventilating in a corner of the hut, when she thought no one else was around. Anna had always blown it off like it had never happened, but Magali knew it bothered her sister to be so vulnerable for such a large part of each day.
Following the Shrieker into the cave, Gayle bent at the waist and knee, murmuring and holding out a hand like it was a feral dog she was trying to tame.
The Shrieker’s eyes shifted to Gayle. Its neon-yellow tail began to grow more agitated with her approach, frothing the transparent slime into a mass of tiny bubbles. Magali froze, knowing that Gayle was going to get herself killed. With the Shrieker’s attention on her, however, she and Anna might still get out alive.
And then again, she had no way of knowing how far this particular Shriek was going to carry. If the whole mound took it up…
“Magali, let’s go,” Anna cried.
“Anna, get out of here.”
Anna hesitated a moment, then Magali heard her sister get up and flee.
Once she was gone, Magali took a breath and held it, biting her lip. Squid ain’t heroes, she thought, remembering her father’s favorite saying. Then, setting her jaw, she lunged forward and grabbed Gayle by the hair, tugging her backwards and down. As Gayle slipped and floundered in the slime, Magali grabbed her by a fistful of shirt and began tugging her away from the Shrieker.
Gayle bit her arm, hard. As Magali automatically yanked her arm away and inspected the damage, Gayle shoved her.
Gayle was surprisingly strong. And graceful. Too graceful. In an instant, Gayle twisted herself away and backwards through the slime, slipping out of Magali’s hands to come to a sliding stop with Magali between herself and the Shrieker.
If Magali had had doubts that Gayle was military-trained, the stance that the woman fell into cleared all doubt an instant later. It was a highly-effective martial art that Magali recognized from her father’s long daily practice-sessions. Dragon Fist. An aggressive and deadly modern compilation of a dozen different ancient martial arts styles that was taught exclusively to the Coalition special forces.
…or to a few dozen Fortune colonists, care of one of their own.
What the Hell? Magali thought, eying the slim, elderly woman with a new wariness.
She had only enough time to take a nervous step backwards before Gayle lunged at her. Magali had the option of dodging—leaving Gayle to slide into the Shrieker behind her—or deflecting the blow and using the woman’s own momentum to bring her to the ground.
The long, miserable hours in which Magali’s revolution-obsessed father had forced her to train for war with his starry-eyed pack of freedom-fixated idealists—only a handful of which were still alive—had nonetheless sunk in. Though Magali hadn’t had to use a single move to defend herself in over four years, the ingrained training came back as instinctively as it always had. She caught the woman’s fist, shoved it aside, brought her knee into the woman’s stomach, followed that with knocking her off-balance by trapping her legs, and used the leverage to throw her to the ground.
From the slime of the cavern floor, Gayle stared up at her with as much surprise as Magali had felt, only a moment ago, realizing this elderly woman had somehow studied Dragon Fist.
But, instead of naming Magali a rebel and demanding to take her to the Camp Director as Magali had feared, Gayle simply sat up, blinked at Magali, blinked at the Shrieker, and started crawling towards the creature on her hands and knees, cooing platitudes.
She’s got the Wide, Magali thought again, desperate, now. The mental fuzz in her head was getting louder, the Shrieker still agitated from being touched and the commotion that had ensued.
Seeing no other choice, Magali once again grabbed the older woman by the hair and yanked her backwards, away from the Shrieker, but this time kept a firm hold on her head and didn’t let the woman get a grip on any of her body-parts. She started dragging her backwards as Gayle kicked and flailed, forced to hold Magali’s wrist with both fists to avoid losing her scalp.
Mercilessly, knowing that it was the only way she was going to keep the both of them alive, Magali kept a grip on the woman and kept moving. Her studded egger’s boots slid uncomfortably with the combined slippery nature of the tunnels and Gayle’s struggles, but she got them to the mouth of the chamber before Gayle managed to grab hold of the wall and halt her progress.
“Let go of me!” Gayle screamed. In its corner, the Shrieker’s fleshy body flinched in a spasm.
Magali dropped to her knees and slapped a slimy hand over Gayle’s mouth. With her other hand, she punched the woman in the temple as hard as she could.
Gayle’s eyes went even wider and took on a dazed look. Magali punched her again three more times, just to be sure. Then, getting shakily to her feet, she grabbed Gayle’s shirt and dragged the unresisting woman from the room. The Shrieker watched her go, its tail still thrashing the mucus.
Magali struggled for almost an hour to drag the woma
n through the low tunnels of the Shrieker mound and back to the big metal door that she had left open in her panic. Anna was struggling in the doorway, the tall, lanky foreman squatting in front of her and holding her squirming body in place with both hands.
“Dude. Kid. They’re not gonna Shriek,” Joel was telling her. “You can’t come in here. Get back in there with the other eggers.” Joel let go of Anna and stood when he caught sight of Magali and her burden. He blinked. “What happened?”
Magali dropped Gayle at his feet. “She’s got the Wide,” she panted, wiping slime from her face with her forearm. The action brushed the bite-wound and she grimaced at it, realizing she had probably spread as much blood across her face as slime. “I hit her a couple times to stop her yelling.”
Wordlessly, Joel handed her a rag. After she’d spent a few moments cleaning crimson from her face, he said softly, “That’s Gayle Hunter. You sure she’s got the Wide?” The way he said it, Magali was accusing God himself of mental illness.
Magali let the rag fall away from her face, glaring. “She was trying to pet a Shrieker. Named the damned thing David. Yeah, I’m sure.”
Joel’s eyes were fixed on the unconscious woman with anxiety. “Gayle’s the chief foreman. It’s not gonna go over very well with the Director.”
“She was going to start up a Shriek!” Magali cried. “Anna, tell him.”
“Look, I believe you,” Joel said, giving Anna a strange glance before returning his gaze to Magali. “No need to get the kid involved. I’m just saying that this gal played poker with the Director every Thursday night. Renewed her contract willingly when her five years was up. That sort, if you know what I mean. It’s gonna look bad you beat the crap out of her on your first day. You’ll probably wind up in the stocks by midnight.”
“Then tell them you did it,” Anna interrupted.
Joel grimaced down at the girl. “Not sure that’ll fly.”
“Magali just saved your life,” Anna said. “You make it fly.”
Joel cocked his head in the same manner as the Director earlier that morning, the hawk-in-the-henhouse type look that Magali had come to know so well. Instead of arguing, though, he only said, “Okay.” He glanced down at Gayle. “I’ll have to come up with a good reason for being in the women’s side, though.”
“You were having sex with my sister,” Anna said.
Joel blinked at her.
“Don’t worry,” Anna said. “They’ll just slap your wrist. Everybody does it.”
“Anna!”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Not has sex with you. Goes to the opposite side to have sex. Nobody has sex with you. You’re as sexually appealing as a plague rat.”
Even as Magali’s jaw was falling open and her face was reddening under Joel’s amused look, Anna continued. “Besides, if he says she’s got the Wide, they’ll have to test her. If you say she’s got it, they’ll just let it slide, her being friends with the Director and all. Then they’d throw her back in with the eggers and she’ll just start a Shriek somewhere else.”
“How old are you?” Joel asked.
“Nine,” Anna said.
“Huh.” He glanced at Magali. “Your sister’s a smart kid. Only problem is—”
“You’re a wanted criminal those government boobs don’t realize they’ve got trapped right under their noses?” Anna asked.
He blinked down at Anna again, looking startled. “Yeah.”
Anna shrugged. “They’re gonna figure it out sooner or later. At least this way, you’ll do something nice for somebody before your whole pathetic, wasted life falls out with your entrails when they draw and quarter you like you deserve. Besides, you don’t do it and they’re gonna find out a lot sooner than later.”
“Anna!” Magali snapped.
Joel chuckled. “Your sister’s a brat.”
“Ignore her,” Magali said. “I’ll take care of Gayle. A couple days in the stocks isn’t gonna hurt me.”
“Nah,” Joel said, “I’ll get away with it. I always do.” He bent down, grabbed Gayle by the shirt, and threw her over his shoulder. Then he winked at Anna. “Nice meeting you.”
“Whatever,” Anna said. She folded her arms and looked away with a bored expression. “You’re just trying to make me like you so I don’t report your ass.”
Grinning, Joel leaned down into Anna’s face and said, “Then maybe you should be doing the same thing.”
“Huh?” Anna asked.
“Because I wonder what those soldiers would think if I told them they’ve got such a smart little runt on their hands. Yolk-baby, if I’m not mistaken?” He grinned at the sudden flicker of recognition in Anna’s face. “They take kids like you for the Nephyrs.”
“I could fake it,” Anna said, looking thoroughly unconcerned. Magali knew her sister’s posture too well, however. Anna was scared.
Apparently, Joel saw it, too, because his face melted. He straightened and ruffled Anna’s hair. “See you two later.” He departed, Gayle’s unconscious body draped over his shoulder.
Anna gawked after him.
Magali stared at her sister. She hadn’t seen Anna get that look in ages, since before their mother had died. She found herself smiling, despite the fact that Joel had just threatened to turn Anna in.
Anna saw her look and gave Magali a bitter sneer. “I suppose you think that was funny?”
“It was refreshing,” Magali replied, shrugging. “Not many people pull one over on you.” She grinned wider. “He even called you ‘runt.’”
The shift whistle interrupted Anna’s retort, which was a relief to Magali. Considering the malicious look in her sister’s eyes, it would have hurt. A lot.
She turned and left before Anna could repeat herself.
Chapter 4
A Smuggler’s Story
Joel felt like an idiot.
He’d spent the last three years avoiding the soldiers and the Camp Director like a Shriek, taking up foreman only to have access to the breakroom to escape the constant mental buzz of the Shriekers when it started to overwhelm him.
Now here he was, sitting across from the Camp Director, handcuffed to a metal desk. Her gold-filigreed face was contorted in fury. She tapped the desk with a finger that sounded like it was made of solid lead—Thunk. Thunk. Thunk—glaring at him. She hadn’t spoken for almost ten minutes. Joel’s spine began to itch and he twisted his wrists in the shackles uncomfortably.
“So I take it the last fifty lashes didn’t do ya, eh, Joel?” she said finally.
He winced. He’d been hoping she hadn’t recognized him.
“So let me get this straight.” The Director shifted in her seat, pure rage tightly controlled under a cold façade. “Instead of organizing escape attempts, you have switched to pummeling senior foremen.”
“I had to keep her quiet—” he repeated, for the hundredth time that day.
She slammed a leaden fist down onto the table to cut him off, crushing a divot into the sheet metal. “Don’t tell me you did it to keep her quiet,” the Director snarled. “You’re one-ninety-five and you pounded the shit out of her.”
“I’m one-ninety-five what?” Joel asked, intentionally misunderstanding the Standard in meters. “Pounds? No way. I only weigh a hundred fifty-five. Regular scarecrow. Who told you that?” It went over much better, he had long ago learned in his first smuggling runs, if, when masquerading as a colonist, a ‘colonist’ did not understand the metric weights and measures of the Coalition.
The Director gave him a long, irritated look, then said, “You’re six-foot-four and you pounded the shit out of her. A little extreme, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m a real lightweight,” Joel said, putting as much charm into his grin as he could manage. His eyes drifted to the Nephyr’s fist where it had sunk about a half inch into the desk’s surface and he tried not to think about what it would have done to his face. Desperately doing his best to hide his ancient Inner Bounds accent, he continued, “Not enough meat on my bones to g
ive her more than a love-tap.” He flexed a scrawny bicep. “See?”
The Director’s scowl deepened. “A love tap? You gave her a concussion, you prick.”
This wasn’t going as he had planned. Just walk in, dump the broad, walk out, maybe grab a doughnut in the lobby on his way back to the mounds… But no, the Director had seen him walk in, and all time had seemed to stop when she ordered him to put Gayle down and step away from the body. Like he was a criminal or something.
Well, he was a criminal, but not that type of criminal. It was a little insulting.
But it got a hell of a lot scarier when she had ordered that blasted AI that never left her side to arrest him and throw him in an interrogation room. Joel had kicked the thing in its fleshy face, but the machine had simply told him to calm down, that resisting was futile, all that garbage.
Now, faced with the Director in all her glittering Nephyr fury, it was all Joel could do to keep the panic off his face. The way she was acting, Gayle had been more than just a friend. A lover, maybe? And now the Director had laid the blame squarely upon his shoulders. Joel got the nagging suspicion that the vicious little doll-faced creep had set him up.
“I had to do something. She was going to start another Shriek,” he offered meekly.
“By pounding her in the face? And she weighs what? One-twenty? One-ten? What the hell were you thinking?”
“She was being too loud,” Joel muttered.
“Oh really? Where are your witnesses?” the Camp Director demanded. Her green eyes burned like hot emeralds.
“Magali and Anna Landborn,” Joel said, for the fourth time. It had been the robot—now hovering over the Director’s left shoulder—who had provided their last names. Upon first hearing them, Joel had felt like he’d been punched. Their father, Nelson Landborn, had been Joel’s Yolk contact on Fortune, in the days when he had tried to bypass the middleman and get it straight from the colonists. Geo had gotten wind of it and the next time Joel had come through his depot, he had left naked, bloody, and barely able to drag himself onto his ship and lock the door.