“He was a good father…” Daddy, no. Please tell me these are lies… Did Raziel know? Is this what he didn’t want me to see?
The images swirled together. She sank to her knees and buried her face in both hands.
Risa shot upright at the sound of gunfire. A large, stuffed Cydonian crab slipped from her Comforgel pad to the floor. Male voices shouted in the next room, interspersed with more shots and an explosion that rattled toys from their shelves. Eight-year-old Risa cowered in a ball, as if a thin sheet would stop the chaos.
Colonel Darren Black appeared in the entrance to her room, bleeding from the left shoulder. He slumped against the doorjamb, twisting to raise a compact rifle one-armed at someone out of sight behind the wall. Her adult mind experienced the dream. Her father’s dirt and blood-streaked face hardened with resolve. For an instant, the ice-blue eyes staring at her belonged to Andriy Voronin.
She covered her ears and screamed as the concussion of blasts in the outer room hit her in the chest. He staggered closer and tore the sheet away. Risa leapt up onto her knees, grabbing at him. Away from the glowing pad, she shivered as the cold air surrounded her scrawny, panty-clad body.
“Daddy! What’s happening?”
“Go!” he yelled, pushing her to the floor. “Get into the vent!”
She squeezed tighter to his back. “No! I’m scared!”
He swiveled to face the door and his rifle went off again. Thunderous. She screamed, but couldn’t hear it, covering her ears and shuddering with the effect of the recoil. He fired again. Her terrified wail muffled into his back.
“Chort!” he screamed. “In the vent, now!”
Something above and behind exploded in a blast of plastic shards amid the whizzing of a ricochet. Risa peeked around him as a line of tiny holes appeared in the door. Andriy flung himself in a twist, knocking her away from the bed, flat on her back. A man in red armor appeared in the doorway. Her father fired before the soldier could correct his aim. The man’s helmet shattered, sending a spray of blood onto the ceiling. He fired again at random into the wall before glaring down at her. The murderous look in his eyes emptied her bladder.
“Go!” he roared, pointing.
Barely able to see through tears, Risa sat up and tried to reach for him. He shouted at the doorway. For years, she had dreamed this part as an unintelligible, animal roaring of panic and rage. This time, in her waking dream, the scene played clear.
“My daughter is here. Stop shooting, and I will come out. Do not hurt her.”
A bullet pierced the wall and got him in the thigh, taking him to the ground on top of her. He grabbed her by the arm, fingers closed around her tiny bicep, dragging her to the wall. Two cracks from the rifle butt knocked the vent grate loose and he shoved her inside. Numb, she lay upon the freezing metal where he left her, sniveling as he kicked the vent cover in place and shifted to keep shooting at the doorway.
“Crawl. Get as far away from here as you can. I will try to find you.”
She shook her head.
“Go!”
His roar scared her into a backward scamper until her back hit a right-angle turn six feet in.
Colonel Black, Andriy, or whoever he was, reared up to his one good knee and unloaded a fully automatic barrage at the wall. Risa watched, paralyzed, as her stuffed Cydonian crab burst into a flurry of snowy foam bits from return fire. Her father stopped shooting.
“Tvoyu mat!” He rolled onto his chest, crawling close and cramming himself against the grating. “Go!”
Metal clattered to the ground, accompanied by faint beeping. The room exploded in flames, which wrapped around his head and entered the vent. Like hands of the Devil himself, the inferno clasped him by the face and pulled him away. Risa scrambled on all fours around the corner. Heat lapped at her butt and legs. Her father’s screams echoed into the dark. She crawled as fast as she could until she tumbled headfirst into a vertical shaft. Her piercing scream echoed through the vents as she fell, scuffing against the metal walls until she landed atop a pile of debris. Weak light sliced by a fan faltered a short distance above the trap, illuminating bottles, cans, and things rats had scurried off with―forty years of vent clutter swept into the system.
She remembered the cold, the sore knees, the numb feet. As best she could guess, she spent hours lying on the heap of debris staring at the horizontal tunnel by the fan. Her father, her entire world, gone. What was the point of getting up? All she had left to her name were a pair of underpants and the memory of flames. In the dark, half a day after her father died, little Risa Black gathered her knees to her cheeks and cried.
The tickle of tears sliding down her bare leg merged reality and dream. Risa stared at her feet, pale white against the charcoal carpet. Sadness faded to dread with the realization of where she was. Her tears stopped in an instant, replaced with a somber expression born of a total lack of care about what happened to her. Everything Garrison had told her was false. Both men who had felt like fathers had lied.
“Daddy wasn’t MLF.” She meant to think it, but wound up whispering it.
“No,” said General Everett in a resigned, almost apologetic voice. “He was much more dangerous.”
“I shouldn’t have come here.”
He tapped his fingers on the desk, chair creaking in a soft protest as he rotated to face the room. “I wish things could have been different. If we’d have found you…”
“Am I to be executed?”
Everett gestured to someone behind her. The urge to leap up slammed itself against her wall of apathy, emerging as a slight clenching of her hand.
“I’m sorry, Risa. That isn’t my call to make.”
Two soldiers pulled her upright. One grabbed the shirt as if to remove it.
“It’s fine,” said Everett. “She can keep it. Have a little civility.”
“All due respect sir,” said a female voice. “A terrorist doesn’t deserve to wear the uniform, even if it’s just a shirt.”
“You’d parade her around with nothing?” Everett stood. “Sergeant, remember which side you’re on. We do not treat our prisoners like animals.”
“Yes sir.” The armored woman saluted, sounding less than enthused.
The male soldier forced her head to the side, exposing the M3 port behind her ear. Risa instinctively plotted several moves to kill the three of them and leave, but couldn’t find the urge to care enough. Her gaze fell on the black band on the woman’s arm where plain white lettering read ‘MP.’ The female soldier plugged something into her head. ‘Security override’ scrolled across the lower limit of her vision. Her augmented hearing cut out to normal levels, making her feel deaf. Risa didn’t try to test her other cybernetics, she knew the little plug, a medusa, had shut down her neural interface and every bit of cyberware she had aside from basic vision.
Being a weak, normal person was a lot more terrifying than she’d daydreamed.
The male MP gathered her arms behind her back. Cold metal tightened about her wrists and chirped. The woman crouched and secured her ankles with another electronic restraint, though with a somewhat longer chain. Each MP grabbed one arm and dragged her toward the door and into the hallway. She shuffled in a feeble attempt to walk. Most of her weight fell on the MPs’ grip, not out of resistance, but from utter defeat. She didn’t care what happened to her.
Guilt over the message Pavo would find was her only emotion.
They escorted her to a different elevator that stopped at the hotel’s third floor, a miniature version of the lobby at the level of the planet’s surface. One sub-sentient doll sat behind a desk, but the false woman disregarded the trio. The MPs carried her outside, mercifully sparing her the spectacle of being dragged half-naked and chained through the bustling square out front of the convention enter. An armored military cargo van with six wheels waited for them a few meters from the door. Risa’s toes scraped at the dirt. She’d never before been barefoot outside. Instinctually, she recoiled, not knowing how dangerous it wa
s to let Martian dirt touch her skin. The soldiers grunted and held her up as they hauled her around to the rear doors.
The interior looked modified from cargo detail to a prisoner transport by means of a heavy barrier between the hold and the driver’s compartment, and two plain metal benches. The MPs stepped up into the back in tandem, and half-threw her, ass first, onto the bench on the left. Between the freezing cold metal on her unprotected skin and the hard landing, she couldn’t move until the doors closed.
Risa slouched forward, too consumed by utter indifference to grimace at her intolerable seat. Acceleration made her slide toward the doors. She kicked at the air for balance, unable to find anything behind her back to grab. The plain doors had no handles or buttons on the inside, and no openings existed in the front wall. If not for the harsh lights embedded in the ceiling of the vault-like space, she would be in total darkness.
Rumbling, mechanical vibration droned in the walls for what felt like hours. She pictured the cluster of four fat, squat wheels chewing up rocks while the larger steering tires in front left deep gouges in the soil. Each time the terrain slammed her back against the wall, a tiny stirring of resentment tried to drag itself out from under her crushing despondency. She pulled her legs up, hooking her heels on the smooth bench in an effort to wedge herself against the wall. Ten inches of chain swayed between her ankles, clattering against the seat. Again and again, she saw the stuffed green crab explode, and mourned it as though it had been alive.
I deserve this.
Every so often, the piercing laugh of the female MP made it through the barrier separating her from the driver’s compartment. They were undoubtedly celebrating. Capturing the infamous Risa Black. Whatever. I don’t care.
Her teeth chattered. General Everett’s shirt had ridden up when the MPs dumped her unceremoniously in the transport, and even after pulling the thin fabric between her back and the punishing seat, the cold remained. Her body twisted with a subconscious reaction to the temperature. The air-conditioning carried the faint metallic flavor of Martian dust. She closed her eyes, but the red letters remained, flickering at the lower limit of her vision: ‘Security override.’
The Medusa plugged into her head forced her Neural Interface Unit offline, breaking the connection between cybernetic implants and brain. It allowed ‘components vital for life’ to continue to work, but Risa had been fortunate not to have sustained injuries bad enough to require anything like that. Heart, liver, kidneys… all of those were still hers. Thoughts of vital organs turned to sadness as she stared into her lap. Hatred of this war and the life fate had thrust upon her wrapped itself around a daydream of how things could have been.
Would I even want to bring a child into this awful world? Risa wept at the thought of Kree getting the bad news. The faces of everyone from the safehouse appeared and vanished one by one during a brief daydream. I miss them already.
She grumbled in her mind, cursing the fickle chance that it had been Garrison to find her in the vents. Risa knew she’d looked seven shades of pathetic when he’d caught her skimming. Anyone with a heart would’ve taken her in. Why did it have to be someone high up the food chain of the Martian Liberation Front? Of course, it could have been worse. The Syndicate could’ve grabbed her. Even at nine, they’d probably have found someone who wanted to buy her. She shivered. She thought back to the teen with cherry-red hair, slumped against the wall of an alley and out of her mind on drugs. That, too, could’ve been her if Garrison hadn’t found her.
A bump in the road bounced her off the bench to the floor. She landed on her side, barely managing to keep her chin up and not smack it into the metal. Freezing air rushed under her borrowed shirt as she slid and rolled to the front. She gasped, squirming around to sit up and put her back against the partition. She stuck her left foot against the wall to brace, but the chain didn’t let her legs spread wide enough to do anything with the other one but slide over smooth metal.
They’re driving hard to rough me up. No point climbing onto the seat again.
Memories of her childhood came and went. Each time her father’s face appeared, a bratty version of her eight-year-old voice insisted on calling him Andriy. She drew her knees up, resting her head against her legs. Whatever he was, her father did love her. It wouldn’t be too long before she’d be with him again. The urge to cry came on, but swallowed it. It didn’t matter anymore what she wanted. She’d set her course the instant she’d entered Everett’s room. Should she be mad at him for killing her mother? According to Everett, she’d been a year old at the time. She didn’t even remember having a mother. Could she hate him for killing someone she’d never known?
‘Security override’ faltered for an instant and came back. Risa looked up and around at the walls, as if she had any chance of seeing what caused an EMF spike through solid plastisteel.
That’s not a good frame of mind for you, Risa.
Her body shuddered as Raziel’s presence raced along every nerve. She arched her back, sliding over sideways, pulling her arms apart as far as the cuffs would allow. Shame bloomed. She didn’t want the angel to see her like this.
“I guess I’ll meet you soon,” she gasped, struggling to breathe amid convulsions.
Are you in such a rush to die?
The van entered a stiff turn, which sent her sliding left to crash face-first against the wall. She reflexively tried to brace her impact, but her arms remained trapped behind her. At the end of the turn, the driver cut hard and she skidded to the other side, bare ass squealing over the metal floor, and landed upside down against the bench, legs in the air.
“Son of a bitch,” she growled, fighting her way back to kneel. She stared out from under disheveled strands of hair at the gleaming silver wall, out of breath.
Quiet lasted for several minutes. She shifted to sit, stretching her legs out, but her toes couldn’t reach the far wall. Her mind wandered, trying to guess where they were taking her.
Are you done feeling sorry for yourself, Risa? The Front needs you still.
“Garrison lied to me.” She tried to convince herself she was mad at him, but couldn’t help but yearn for him to reach in and pull her out of this mess. “Is that why you didn’t want me tracking down Everett?”
Yes.
His quick, blunt answer stalled her for a minute. “I gave myself to the MLF based on a lie.” A mild bump jostled her back and forth. “I’ve thrown my life away over nothing. My father wasn’t fighting for a free Mars; he was trying to help the corporations own it.” Warm, silent tears ran down her cheeks. Her expression didn’t change.
Does the reason you became part of the Front matter to the people of Mars? To Kree? The struggle is bigger than one girl and her murdered father.
Risa curled into a ball. “Why did Garrison lie? They all knew, didn’t they? You knew. Of course you knew―you’re a damn angel.”
She sat for almost a minute in silence, swaying with the motion of the transport over uneven terrain.
Consider where you are and how you feel right now. I knew the discovery of who your father was would lead you down a path of self-destruction. That serves no one. Not you, not the people of Mars, not your father… and not Pavo.
She mouthed Pavo’s name without adding voice. How she wanted him to rip down the doors and rescue her. Remembered hands, strong and hot, slid across her back, cradling and comforting. Risa sobbed.
Andriy Voronin worked to destroy freedom on Mars, but he did love his daughter. Understand how they operate. He was in the military class, a privileged social order. As his daughter, you would have led a comfortable life. He did not believe he was harming you.
She shuddered, trying to stop thinking of Pavo, trying to stop shaking over her impending death. “It’s all been a lie. I’ve killed people. I’ve planted bombs, murdered, all in the name of lies.”
No, Risa.
A shock of energy rippled through her body, the touch of a divine presence. She fell sideways, pin straight and stiff as a
board, as if jolted by a defibrillator. A faint wail escaped her lips.
The deception was for your mental health. Your father did love you. Human greed and the need to control the weak still killed him. Is it not the very war between the UCF and ACC the Front wants to end? You are a soldier with a noble cause, not beholden to politicians, corporations, or greed. You are my hands.
Tension relaxed. Freezing metal embraced her cheek as she curled on her side. As if expecting it to work, she struggled in an effort to snap her restraints. Rattling metal echoed for several minutes and she fell limp, panting, sweating inside a fridge.
Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?
“Does it matter?”
Are you still ready to help the weak? That child looks up to you.
“Kree,” she whispered. “Raziel, please… don’t let her turn into what I’ve become. Don’t let them do to her what they did to me.”
You are human, Risa. You prove that by the ache in your heart for everything you will lose if you throw your life away. You prove it by how you feel after you take a life.
“I don’t know if it’s right anymore. It would have been better to tell me. Garrison had me so charged with anger the entire Front used my need for revenge. I’m not sure I can do this anymore.”
You used to take risks. You let your craving for revenge override your mind. There is no need for you to fling yourself upon the flames as a martyr. I guided you to see the truth because I trust you. Without recklessness, you would be the greatest asset the cause could ever know.
The transport jerked as the driver slammed on the brakes. Risa slid tailbone-first into the partition. Sudden acceleration sent her rolling like a log into the rear doors. Spots and blinking fragments of light danced around her head for a moment. Her flailing efforts to grab on to something only made her wrists and ankles sore. The coppery taste of blood lingered in her mouth.
Hand of Raziel (Daughter of Mars Book 1) Page 29