by Jaleta Clegg
Team one was to his right, climbing a slick fall of rock. They reported no signs of anything unusual. Team two, deep in a narrow canyon, also reported nothing. Teams three, four, five, six, and seven also reported no signs. Team eight didn't answer.
"Team eight, report," Tilyn said again. He got only static in reply. He clicked the radio on and off and tried again. Still no answer.
"They might be in a pocket," his aide offered as explanation.
Tilyn nodded at the explanation and signaled his men forward, up the hill. He didn't know the man's name, or any of their names. He wasn't one of them. They hadn't accepted him and probably never would.
He tried again at the top of the ridge. Team eight still didn't report. Team three didn't either. The others reported no sign of anything but snow.
"Radio trouble, we get that a lot," the aide said.
Tilyn studied his men as they paused. They looked relaxed, unworried. He probably shouldn't be worried either. He signaled them forward again, down the far side of the ridge.
A blood curdling scream ripped through the air. Tilyn's men jerked alert, weapons ready to fire. The scream came again.
"That way," his aide said, pointing off to their left. Before Tilyn could give any orders they were gone, all of them, running into the blinding snow in the direction of the screams.
Tilyn jogged after them, following their tracks through the snow. He heard others running to join them. More screaming, from more than one person now, filled the snowy afternoon. The sharp report of guns and blasters firing spurred him into a faster run.
The snow obscured much of the fight. Tilyn found himself in the middle of it before he realized it. A blast of red light burned past him, barely missing him. He threw himself to one side, scrambling under a bush to avoid being hit. If he went down, no one would be able to prove it was deliberate. He hid under the bush while the fighting and screaming continued around him.
The snow was slowly clearing. The fighting moved away, up the slope. Tilyn crawled out of the bush. Unmoving bodies sprawled in the snow. Most of them wore the military gray. A few wore a tattered collection of furs and heavy wool cloaks. They'd found their rebels.
He followed the trail of bodies up the hill. The sounds of fighting were dying down. His aide came sliding down a snow covered trail towards him. Others followed him, dragging prisoners with them.
"There are at least a dozen more holed up in the rocks," his aide informed him. "We caught these down at the base of the cliffs."
That information didn't mean anything at all to Tilyn. He looked curiously at the prisoners instead. There were six of them, wearing a strange assortment of gear.
"Bring them this way," Tilyn ordered. He turned and marched back down the hill to a relatively flat meadow. He didn't know if his orders were going to be obeyed. He had to act as if they were.
He stopped in the meadow, turning back. His men had followed him, a few of them anyway. They dragged their prisoners to a halt. One woman was fighting them. Three of his men finally subdued her, tying her securely and leaving her lying on the snow. Blood dripped from her nose, turning the snow under her head scarlet. Tilyn decided to start with her.
"Who are you?" he asked as he stood over her.
She told him to do something physically impossible. He blinked in surprise.
"Wait one moment," one of his men said. He bent down and pulled the woman's cloak aside. Underneath she wore a jacket with the Patrol emblem blazing on the front.
Tilyn stopped short in surprise. He shifted his gaze to her face. She stared at him, a hard unflinching look that gave nothing away.
"This one, too," another of his soldiers spoke up. The men were going down the line of prisoners, yanking off their makeshift cloaks.
Tilyn stalked down the row of prisoners. Patrol presence here was not good. It was very bad. Kuran would want to know. Immediately. He studied each prisoner as he passed. There was the Patrol woman, short and stocky and mean looking. Next to her was a young woman with the same mean streak in her eyes, but she carried a bow and arrows. Not Patrol, Tilyn judged. There was a man next, older, with a scared look in his eyes. Next to him was another man, this one carrying more knives than Tilyn had ever seen. He glared at Tilyn. Tilyn's aide jerked the man's sleeve up, exposing a tattooed number on his arm.
"Criminal," the aide said. He casually backhanded the man, knocking him cold.
The next man was the other Patrol. He looked weak, scrawny and underfed. He stared dejectedly down at the snow. Tilyn walked past him to the last prisoner in the row.
She was hunched into the snow, wearing a strange quilted jacket. Her brown hair was somehow familiar. He leaned down and lifted her face. She flinched at his touch, jerking her face away. He tightened his grip on her chin and pulled her face up. It was the woman, Dace. Tilyn felt his heart speed up.
"You're a long way from your ghosts," Tilyn told her.
"And you're a long way from Milaga," she answered.
She looked so beaten and worn, he dismissed her as a threat of any kind. He let go of her chin. She dropped her head, bowing it in apparent submission. He stood, turning to give orders to his men.
A blast of pure anger and pain swept out at him and his men. They staggered, clutching their heads. Tilyn winced at the intensity. He turned, instinctively seeking out the source of the attack. His fist caught Dace on the side of her head, knocking her flat in the snow. The attack ended as abruptly as it began. She panted, breathing hard. Her face was pale, drained of life and color.
"Bring them," Tilyn snapped at his men. He would have to find a chance to talk to the woman. He would have to find a way to get her trust him. Then he would find a way to get her to Shadowing and safety. She was a weapon they could not afford to ignore. And one he could not allow to fall into Kuran's unscrupulous hands.
The prisoners were dragged to their feet and marched at gunpoint down the hillside. They were escorted back to the trucks. Tilyn supervised as they were cuffed and locked into the back of one truck.
"They must be taken back to Milaga, immediately," he said to his aide.
"Any excuse to run," the man said insolently.
"You don't trust me," Tilyn said. "Your loyalties are still with Shaydoc. I understand that. I also understand Kuran can't afford for you to return."
"What are you saying, sir?" The man made the title an insult. "That we should desert and join forces with the likes of them?" He jerked his head towards the prisoners.
Tilyn held the man's insolent gaze for a long moment. "You could do worse," he said finally.
"And you? Should we turn you in for traitor?"
"Milaga is my turf. Don't come back unless you have someone to watch your back."
He turned, climbing into the front of the truck. The driver started it up and turned it back towards the farm and the rail station. A train waited for them there, the same one that had brought them out here. Tilyn figured he had maybe a day to decide what to do with his prisoners.
The only thing he knew for certain was that Kuran could not be allowed to have them. Any of them. Tilyn knew his days were numbered if Kuran held power. He would use whatever leverage he was offered to bargain for his survival. And that of Tivor. Kuran would destroy them all.
Chapter 37
The train car rattled. It was cold. I sat on the floor, far away from the others, wrapped in my own misery. The metal cuffs on my wrists were the least of my problems. Tilyn, the police officer who had looked almost sympathetic back in the orphanage, wasn't sympathetic at all. He was ruthless and cold. He'd done something, given me some kind of drug that worked just as well as the herbal brew Paltronis had given me. I was numb inside my head. Which was probably all for the best. That last attack had felt wrong, as if some part of me had broken.
The car swerved as we rounded a bend. I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall of the car. It was a transport car, the same kind used to haul prisoners out to the farms. The good thing about being here was that
we were on our way to Milaga. And that we weren't dead yet.
Paltronis crawled across the swaying floor to me. She sat next to me, her own cuffed hands dangling between her knees.
"How are you doing, Dace?"
"I've been better. And worse. At least we're headed in the right direction."
She'd talked me out of seeking revenge on the Tevalis'noru. And she'd kept me at least partially drugged all the way down the mountain. For my own safety, she assured me. I wasn't sure about that, but I still trusted her. Deep down, I knew she was someone I could count on. At least as long as she had orders to keep me safe. If Lowell ordered her to kill me, I didn't know if she'd even hesitate.
"How's your head?" she asked.
"It hurts. How's yours?" I threw it at her, a verbal attack. I wasn't ready to be nice. Not to anyone.
"I've been a lot worse." She studied me for a long moment. "Dace, you have to let the anger go. You're only hurting yourself."
"Why do you care? You once threatened to kill me if I ever hurt Tayvis. He's dead and life just doesn't matter anymore."
"You've gone beyond pity."
"Why didn't you let me die?"
"When? On Lowell's ship?"
"Up there, on that mountain. You could have let me go. The Tevalis'noru would have killed me. Eventually."
"I used to like you, Dace. And maybe I will again. Once you get your head screwed on straight."
She crawled away from me, back to Scholar. Her words stung.
When had I stopped grieving for Tayvis? I hadn't even thought of him for days. Not since that night, talking with my grandmother, had I thought of him. I couldn't blame it all on running for my life. Was I really so shallow, so selfish? The Tevalis'noru would have me believe that. I was messed up in my head. I didn't even know what I felt or believed anymore.
I hunched into my private misery as day turned into night. It grew dark in the train car. No one tried to come near me again. Paltronis sat with Scholar, talking quietly and intently with him. The others whispered at the far end of the car, the young woman and the two old people who had come with Paltronis to fetch me. We'd been caught on our way to join the main group. I didn't know who was better off now, us or those being hunted by Tivor's military force.
I dozed as the train continued through the night. The drugs kept me dizzy and ill. Tilyn had seen that we were given cold rations to eat during the journey. I couldn't even look at the food. I swallowed in an effort to keep from throwing up. Sleep was a refuge of sorts. It was still haunted, more so now than ever before.
I had dreams, not my own, that left me shaking and ill. I couldn't control the telepathy and empathy the Tevalis'noru had woken in me, not when I was asleep. My mind was invaded with other thoughts and minds and memories. The muddle of it all was more disturbing than any images.
I woke, stiff and cold and sick, sometime later. Paltronis was still talking with Scholar, their faces illuminated by a pale green light. Scholar had slipped more than one of his gadgets past our guards. I crawled over to Paltronis, my cuffs making me clumsy and awkward, more than usual. She gave me an unreadable look. The light made her strange, an alien creature.
"Do you have any of that medicine left?" I asked, trying to keep the whining from my voice.
She shook her head. "They took it with everything else."
I sniffed and wiped my nose across my hand. It fit with everything else. Nothing had gone right for me, not for a long time. I sat back, leaning against the cold side of the car. The vibrations of the wheels kept reminding me I was in a train, not a ship, and that I was still on Tivor. I was going to die here. I could accept that. I just wanted the pain to be short this time.
"Try this," Scholar said. His hands were warm on my face. I felt him do something to my head. Some of the nausea retreated. The thoughts around me were muffled.
"What did you do?" I asked.
"Mind shield. I always wondered if it would really work."
"Does Lowell know you're a closet telepath?" Paltronis asked. "What do you rate?"
"Barely a three," Scholar answered. "I read about mind shields in a file once. I never had a chance to try it before. I'm not strong enough."
They both looked at me. I closed my eyes and leaned back.
"Thanks, Scholar." I hoped I could remember what he'd just done. It did help.
"Any time, Spacer Chick," he said, using the nickname I'd been given by one of his gang. Years ago, it felt like.
"How is Doggo?" I asked. Anything to distract me.
"The Academy will never be the same. That is if it still exists. New Mambia joined the Federation six months ago. I haven't heard from him since then."
I didn't know what to answer. I pulled my jacket closer around me to cut the chill. I was colder inside than out.
"New Mambia joined without much of an argument," Paltronis said. "I'm sure Doggo's fine. He'd survive just about anywhere."
"I'm more worried about the rest of the galaxy if they ever give him his pilot's license," Scholar answered. "You're a bad influence, Dace," he added, nudging me.
It wasn't the joke he was hoping for. I couldn't help the wince I gave him. He'd been much too close to the truth.
"Sorry," he muttered.
I shifted away, trying to get comfortable. It didn't work. I fell asleep anyway.
I woke with a start when the train jerked to a stop. The air smelled heavy, full of smoke and fumes. There was a distant sound of marching feet.
"Milaga," Scholar said when he saw me awake. "I can get some signals, but they're all coded. Without my pad, I can't decipher them."
Paltronis shook her head over his news, resigned to whatever was going to happen.
The marching feet came alongside the train. I expected them to stop outside our car. They didn't. They faded into the distance.
We sat for a long time, waiting in the cold train car. Rain pattered on the roof intermittently.
The door finally opened, after what felt like hours of waiting. Tilyn glanced inside.
"This way, quickly," he said, urging us out of the car.
I stood, stretching out kinked muscles. The others were moving, but slowly, suspicious of Tilyn.
"Hurry," he said. "They're going to question why the train is still here before long."
I stepped close to the door. He stopped me, grabbing my cuffs and pushing a key into the lock.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked.
"Because Kuran doesn't need more weapons." He looked at me, his eyes troubled, his face more lined than before. "There are those you can help."
"The rebels?" I shook my head. "They won't trust me. They never did."
"Shadowing will."
"Who's Shadowing?"
He pushed me out the door, pulling my cuffs free. "Go to the orphanage. Trust me. But move fast."
He shoved the key into my hand and started away, moving quickly through the rain. His military uniform fit badly, the coat was too big and billowed around him as he ran.
I turned back to the others with the key. The distant sound of marching feet echoed through the yard where the train was parked. Paltronis darted forward and grabbed the key.
"Which way?" she asked me. The others were ready to follow.
I turned, getting my bearings. We weren't too far from the port. Only one ship stood there, a small freighter. The orphanage was not far. I started out into the rain. Paltronis unlocked cuffs as she followed me, urging me faster as the marching footsteps drew closer.
We ducked into a maze of alleys, crouching behind trash to hide from the soldiers patrolling. I ignored the rats that scurried away, their beady eyes watching us from shadows. We moved again after the soldiers passed.
I led them through the deserted streets. Everywhere we went there was evidence of destruction. Buildings were gutted. Furniture lay broken and shattered in the streets. I couldn't shake the feeling that eyes watched us as we picked our way towards the shattered ruin of the orphanage.
I
wasn't wrong. As we approached the broken gate, four men dressed in ragged clothing stepped out of the misty rain.
"What business do you have here?" one of them demanded.
I looked up at him, knowing I was the only one with the answers that would get us inside, where it would at least be less wet.
"I want to talk to Shadowing," I said.
"And why should Shadowing want to talk to you?"
"Because I'm here to finish what my mother started. Tell Shadowing Zeresthina Dasmuller is here."
That got their full attention. We were hustled into the courtyard of the orphanage. They took us to the back corner where I used to hide. Someone had blown a new entrance into the wall. It was blocked with a crude door made of shattered wood. One board was scorched along the edge. The door was lifted out and we were pushed through.
The room on the other side was dark. More guards waited there. They had hard faces and suspicious eyes. They herded us to a corner. I sank down to sit on the floor, willing to wait. We didn't wait long.
The far door was flung open. Yellow light from handheld lamps spilled in from the hallway beyond. Our guards prodded us up and marched us out.
We were in the long room where I'd spent so many hours stabbing myself with an embroidery needle. It had been transformed into a war room. Maps were scattered over tables and pinned to the walls. Lamps sat on tables that looked scrounged from bombed buildings. There were three people in the room. One of them I didn't know. The other two were Lief and Rian.
Rian came towards me. She wore a ragged dress, torn and stained with smoke and soot. She held her head proudly, though. She stopped an arm's length in front of me. Her face was cold, giving nothing away. She looked me over, head to toe.
"What are you doing back here?" she asked me. "I was told you were dead."
"Tilyn caught us in the mountains. He brought us back here and told us to find Shadowing."
"What do you want with Shadowing?"
"Tilyn told us to find—"
"You already said that." She caught my gaze and held it. "What do you want, Dace?"
"I want to go home," I said simply. It was the only honest answer I could give. I was tired of everything. I wanted to go back to my ship, to a life where I knew who I was.