Outer Bounds: Fortune's Rising

by King, Sara

  She was so scared, in fact, that she was paralyzed between reaching for the door and revealing herself and sinking deeper into the closet, waiting for Milar to leave.

  But she knew he wasn’t going to leave. He wasn’t going to give her that advantage again.

  Minutes passed. Utter silence.

  Was Milar even out there?

  Tatiana leaned forward just enough to look through the slats.

  Milar sat on a stool against the wall beside the door, arms crossed over his chest, watching Wideman with a scowl. He had a laser pistol in one of his hands.

  Seeing the dark look on his face, she retreated quickly and struggled to control her breathing. She could get out. Milar would have to get up eventually to use the bathroom or get something to eat. Then she could make a dash for the screen door and the garden beyond.

  And then…what? Run through the forest until she starved to death or her nodes became infected?

  More minutes passed.

  Then hours.

  Eventually, Tatiana put her hand on the closet door. Though she had never been a very good judge of time, she was pretty sure at least six or seven hours had gone by. She couldn’t stand it anymore. If she came out now, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t kill her…

  “So how’s it happen?” Milar asked suddenly.

  Tatiana’s hand flinched away from the door. Did he hear me? She leaned forward again and saw that Milar had his elbows on his knees and was leaning forward, looking at the crazed egger with a thoughtful frown.

  “Because I’m not seeing it,” Milar went on. “The coaler squid’s still just about as coaler as they come. Where’s she come over to our side?”

  “Two days,” Wideman said.

  Milar narrowed his eyes. “So she gets away then, eh?”

  Wideman nodded vigorously. Tatiana’s heart gave an extra thump.

  “To the coalers?”

  Another vigorous nod. Drool was dribbling down Wideman’s shirt, pooling in a wrinkle against his belly.

  For a long minute, Milar just frowned at him. Then, softly, “She take you with her this time, Joe?”

  Wideman shook his head, equally as vigorously.

  Milar stared at the little man for several more seconds, then got up suddenly and threw the door open.

  “Then we better evacuate the town ‘fore they pull another Cold Knife on us.” Then he was gone, slamming the door shut behind him.

  Pull another cold knife on us? Tatiana thought, confused. Was it some sort of colonist slang? Fortuners spoke like barbarians, anyway. What the hell was a squid?

  As Tatiana huddled in the closet over the next few hours, she heard ship after ship roar to life and depart from the landing pad outside. Almost an hour after the last ship had departed, Milar returned in a whirlwind, slamming the door open with a growl. “Your turn, Joe. Ready?”

  Wideman shook his head vigorously and continued to drool over his vegetable.

  “Tough. They’d just love to get their hands on you, you old fart. Let’s go. Everybody else is already gone.” Milar touched Wideman’s arm.

  Wideman started to scream.

  “Aanaho Ineriho!” Milar snapped. “You let that squid drag you around with a gun to your head and you never say a peep, but I try to give you a gentle nudge in the right direction and you scream like a Shrieker.”

  “Shrieker.” Wideman giggled. Then went back to screaming.

  “Just hold still, dammit! I’m not gonna hurt you.” Milar grabbed Joe by the shirt and, despite the little man’s struggles, bodily heaved him over his shoulder and walked from the room. Tatiana caught a glimpse of Wideman happily carving vegetables against Milar’s back as he disappeared from sight.

  They’re evacuating a town? Tatiana wondered, amazed. Why?

  Then she narrowed her eyes. It’s a trick.

  She waited.

  Outside, she heard the roar of engines, then they faded, leaving the town in silence once more. The evening sun slanted through the window, crawling against the floor as she waited.

  It wasn’t until night had fallen and Fortune’s huge red moon was hovering on the horizon outside, casting a beam of demonic orange light through the windows, that Tatiana found the courage to venture out.

  She flinched at the creak of the closet, expecting Milar or Patrick to jump out and nab her, shouting, “Got you, coaler squid.” But the only other sound she heard was that of her own pounding heart.

  She took another tentative step, then paused, glancing down at the floor. Wideman had strewn hallucinogenic vegetable particles everywhere across the paneling, and her captors had—purposefully, she was sure—left her feet bare.

  Tatiana glanced back into the closet she had just left. Wideman’s shoes were lined up in neurotic symmetry, except for the ones she had disturbed upon her exit. She reached down and tugged a pair of work boots from the rest. The soles were covered in vegetable matter and compost.

  Daintily, careful to touch only the high, laced tops, Tatiana shoved her feet inside. Though he was tiny, Wideman had bigger feet than her. Tatiana grimaced. She needed socks.

  Then, glancing at the rows of clothes lining the closet, she thought, Why not? It wasn’t like she had much choice. It was crazy-old-man cooties or naked, baby… She grabbed a warm-looking set and, struggling to keep the too-big boots from clopping on the wooden floor, she went to Wideman’s dresser and took two extra pairs of socks from inside.

  She had to dress one-handed, delicately pulling the shirt taut over her cast. Wideman, embarrassingly, seemed to wear her same clothes size. Tatiana stuffed her extra-padded feet back into the boots and laced them up, then grabbed one of Wideman’s greasy winter hats from a hook on the wall. It stank of sweat and was covered in fine gray hairs, but she shoved it over her head anyway. Anything to conceal the nodes in her skull might help.

  Two days, Wideman had said. She was going to be home-free in two days. She could handle that.

  Tatiana went to Wideman’s bed and grabbed a pillowcase. Trying to ignore the drool-stains, she tiptoed back across the room and cracked open the door to peer into the hall. Dark and empty. Grinning, it was hard not to whistle as she took everything she wanted from the abandoned kitchen.

  Still grinning, she went to the sat-phone.

  It was dead.

  Tatiana’s good mood was lost in an instant.

  That bastard. Fuming, Tatiana checked the power, but found it was a connection problem, instead. Milar had probably taken down the satellite receiver. Damn.

  Frowning, Tatiana realized she was going to have to make her call from somewhere else. Milar couldn’t have removed every tower and dish in the entire town. That meant cutting through the brush and checking one of the houses on the outskirts of the village for satellite reception. That was Plan A.

  Plan B required hiking two hundred kilometers to a Yolk factory.

  Tatiana had a broken collarbone, was recovering from a concussion, her bag was heavy, and aside from attending the minimum mandatory physical training sessions on the station, she didn’t exercise.

  She didn’t like Plan B.

  She opened a door on the south side of the house, as close to the alien forest as she could get, and peeked outside. When Milar neither jumped out to grab her nor raised a shout, she broke into a grin and stepped outside. This was too easy.

  Her foot hit a wire in the dirt.

  Tatiana froze, then looked down.

  A little red light was blinking.

  A bomb? Her mind screamed. She stumbled backwards.

  No, she realized with growing panic, A beacon.

  Tatiana’s mind locked into an instinctive terror. She’d just shown herself. Now they knew she was still in the village.

  Now they knew, and Milar was going to kill her. She stumbled backwards a few paces, glancing wildly at the corners of the colonist house, expecting an ambush at any second. When it didn’t come, she broke into a run, aiming diagonal through the forest, toward the main side of the town. Sh
e burst into the first darkened house she saw and ran inside. The phone was dead.

  Damn!

  Then, knowing she didn’t have the time to check every single house, Tatiana lunged back into the sticky alien jungle and started running, Plan B effectively in play.

  Big, sticky leaves and bulbous flowers smacked her in the chest and arms as she ran. She heard nothing behind her. But then again, she couldn’t hear anything but the sound of her own heart, trying to kill her.

  Dawn was beginning to blot out the stars by the time Tatiana finally dragged herself to a halt. She slumped to the ground, staring at her meager bag of supplies, too exhausted to open it and dig inside for food. She’d completely forgotten to bring water.

  An even more disturbing thought came to her as she sat in the alien grasses, listening to the weird sounds of Fortune’s fauna preparing to start their days. A few of the deep, low rumbles worried her. They didn’t sound like plant-eaters.

  And was she even going in the right direction? Tatiana glanced up at the sky and tried to calculate her location in position to the stars.

  Fat chance of that, she thought. All her cartography courses included static three-dimensional imaging—not a continually changing, 2-D bug’s-eye view with no charts or navigation systems to help guide her.

  You idiot, she thought. No water, no maps, no GPS…

  Muttering to herself, she got back to her feet.

  Behind her, a man chuckled. “Oh, so you’re not finished yet, eh?”

  Cringing, she turned.

  Milar was leaning against a tree, playing with his knife again. He waved it at the forest in front of her. “By all means. Keep going. I’m enjoying the stroll.”

  She could have killed him—if her heart wasn’t pounding so fast.

  “Do you realize,” Milar said, when she had nothing to say, “That you only made it three miles? All that huffing and puffing and your stubby little legs only managed to get you three measly miles. Oh, and the Yolk factory’s another hundred and forty miles that way.” He pointed back the way they had come.

  Tatiana immediately started trying to translate that into kilometers, then winced when she realized it was even further than she had first guessed. Two hundred and twenty-five kilometers would kill her. “You’re lying,” Tatiana muttered.

  Milar grinned at her. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, sweetie? I never lie.” He flipped his knife again. “I do, however, kill coalers. Regularly.”

  Tatiana swallowed hard. She started reaching into her bag.

  “Put it down,” Milar said. He suddenly had his pistol in his hand and was pointing it at her, his face a sheet of ice. “Now.”

  Tatiana froze. When Patrick had held her at gunpoint, it had been frightening, but she had never seriously thought he would pull the trigger. With Milar, though, she had no doubt that he would. And soon. Slowly, she lowered her bag to the ground.

  “Step away from it.”

  Tatiana did.

  Milar strode forward and jerked the pillowcase off the ground. Still holding the gun on her, he peered inside. A little smile touched his lips. “Crafty little coaler, aren’t you?” He knotted the sack tight and tossed it over his shoulder. “Only one problem, squid.”

  “What?” Tatiana asked, her face burning.

  “You didn’t bring matches.”

  Tatiana looked away. “Couldn’t find any.”

  Then Milar frowned. “Or did you?” He threw the sack behind him and growled, “Hold still.” Surging forward, he grabbed her by the cast and held her in place as he searched every pocket of the Wideman’s clothes. He found the easylight matches tucked into her sling, sealed from her sweat by a tiny plastic bag.

  Tisking, Milar drew them out and shoved them in a pocket. “You squid.”

  “Crawler,” she muttered, staring at her feet.

  For a long time, Milar just watched her. Then he said, “So, you decide to join us yet?”

  “Join you?” It was so outrageous that Tatiana couldn’t help but laugh. “You kidnapped me, tore out my lifeline, and threatened to kill me only about thirty times now. I’m supposed to join you?”

  Milar grinned and leaned back against another tree. “Yeah.”

  “Join you to do what?” Tatiana demanded.

  “So you’re considering it, now?”

  “No,” she snarled. “Just tell me what you’re doing.”

  Milar’s grin widened and he opened his mouth. Then he shut it again, his face darkening. “You squid.”

  Damn, Tatiana thought. “Knucker.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Milar said, shoving himself off the tree. “You’ve made three escape attempts—all miserable failures—have a broken collarbone and a bump on your head the size of the Tear, no weapons, no means of communication, and after this no means of movement, considering what I’m going to do to you, and yet you somehow think you’re going to get back to your precious coaler buddies.” He stepped forward, until he was peering down at her. “Why?”

  What I’m going to do to you… Tatiana swallowed. It was easy to imagine Milar blowing off a foot, to keep her occupied. She glanced down at her feet and felt goosebumps.

  Milar grabbed her chin and yanked her head up so she was looking at him. “Why do you still think you’re getting out of here?” he demanded.

  “Because,” Tatiana said, “Wideman said so.”

  Milar’s mouth dropped open. “You were in the room?”

  She let a smile creep across her lips. Take that, crawler.

  Milar’s face reddened until it was almost purple. “The whole time, you were in the room?” His roar almost busted her eardrums.

  “Yep,” Tatiana said, grinning in triumph. “Which is why now I know you’re not going to shoot me. You need me.”

  “Need you?” Milar’s eyes narrowed, and immediately she realized she’d made a mistake. He stepped back and lifted the gun to her head. “Say goodbye, sweetie.”

  Tatiana squeezed her eyes shut and choked on a sob. He was gonna do it. She knew it. It was over, and he’d won, and now there was going to be a pretty new hole in her brain. This time there would be no more witty retorts, no more daring escapes, no mad dashes for freedom. Just a dead operator buried in a shallow little grave in the woods.

  If he even buries me.

  The thought dragged a whimper from deep within her chest. She caught it before it surfaced and forced it back down, unable to let him see how scared she was.

  “Damn.” Milar’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

  Trembling, Tatiana opened her eyes.

  Milar had lowered the gun and was looking at her with obvious grief on his face. “I’m sorry.”

  Sorry? Her mind stuttered, still too high on terror to make sense of it. As she tried to piece his sudden kindness together, he moved toward her. Tatiana gasped and stumbled backwards, but he’d already grabbed her.

  “Sorry,” Milar said again, pulling her close. He glanced down at her, then, seeing her tears, tightened his arms around her and lowered his chin to the top of her head. Then, softly, into her hair, he said, “I think that ranks up there as one of the worst things I’ve ever done.”

  When Tatiana didn’t respond, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ve been doing stuff like it a lot lately. I end up thinking that I’ve sunk lower than I’ve ever sunk, and then a week later, I just do something even worse. It’s been like that for over a year, now. Ever since—”

  Tatiana squeezed her eyes shut, her terror suddenly morphing into awful relief that built and expanded like an explosion within her chest. She choked on another sob.

  For a long moment, Milar said nothing. Then, softly, he said, “Sometimes, after what happened, I’ve gotta…” Milar swallowed and she felt him look away and his grip tighten. “I’ve gotta look real hard to find the good in myself.”

  The relief burst forth with his words like a thunderhead. Tatiana cried. In the arms of an enemy, a near-stranger, someone who had twice come
close to killing her, but she didn’t care. She nestled her face into the crook of his arm and cried and cried.

  Milar threw his gun in the grass behind him and dragged them both down to the ground, then pulled her onto his lap. “It’s all right. I’m not gonna hurt you. Never was. I just don’t like…” He swallowed. “Just wanted you to…” Tatiana clung to his shirt, every muscle shaking with residual adrenaline and fear. “I’m sorry,” he said, softer. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I just want to go home,” she whimpered. “Really.”

  “I know,” Milar said. “Aanaho, I know just how you feel.”

  Shuddering, she realized he probably did. Then, seeing she was getting snot on the pretty dragons on his arm, she sniffled and pulled away, suddenly aware of who he was, and where they were. It wasn’t technically treason to cry for the enemy, but it was damn close. She forced herself to straighten.

  “Tell you what,” Milar said, gently wrapping his arms around her to avoid the cast, “I’ll make you a deal.”

  “What?” she whispered, frozen in place.

  Milar gently drew a rough thumb across her cheek, clearing away the tears. “Let’s pretend for a few minutes my brother and I didn’t grab you in the woods. Imagine I’m not a jerk and I didn’t just put a gun to your head like a complete bastard. All right?” When she didn’t respond, his voice dropped to a whisper and he said, “Look, I know you’re scared as hell—most of that’s my fault. You stay here as long as you need and I won’t tell a soul.”

  Tatiana stared up at him in disbelief. Milar’s face was open for the first time she’d ever seen it, all the hardness brushed away, leaving a soul exposed and unguarded—and easily bruised.

  Tatiana opened her mouth to say something sarcastic and cruel, but her words died on her lips. He was so sincere. And it seemed he was offering some sort of truce.

  Tentatively, she relaxed. Milar, as promised, simply held her. She listened to his heartbeat and allowed it to steady her. She concentrated on the feel of his arms around her, the rise and fall of his chest against her ear, the warmth of his body. She closed her eyes and wished she could stay there forever.