by Cathryn Cade
Mecham rose as he approached, casting a longing look at Joran’s yama. Joran grinned to himself. They were no doubt eating protein bars and vegedrinks, nutritious but deadly dull.
“How’s it going?” Joran asked. He took a swig of cold water from his bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he sat on the edge of the nearest rock and took another big bite while Arc, glowering, took his time finishing a move in his game. He flicked the small, glowing holovid up with one finger. It hovered over his shoulder, the dice frozen in mid-fall.
“Fine, thanks. The commander sent you a holovid link with maps and charts,” Mecham said, grabbing at the edges of her cape as the hot wind gusted in her face. “We’ll go over them with you, then decide on a plan.”
Joran took another bite, chewed and swallowed. “No. I’ll go over the material, then I’ll get back to you when I’m ready.”
“Continue to obstruct, and we’ll take you to headquarters,” Arc said. “We’ll see how long it takes you to fall in line then. The charges against you have been filed formally at galactic headquarters.
Joran ignored the taunt. He rose and tipped his head back to drain his bottle of water.
“Enjoy the fresh air up here,” he said. “Fine view, isn’t it? Watch out for gyre-hawks, though. They can see for miles, may come in to assess for vulnerability.”
“Thank you,” Mecham said dryly. “We’re aware.”
“’Course you are.” They no doubt had the latest tech equipment available on their cruisers—weather, surveillance, a bevy of spybots already loosed on the camp, and enough weaponry to take down an army of pirates.
What they didn’t have was Frontiera savvy or the benefit of a local to advise them. If they did, they wouldn’t have camped on this hilltop. They might be able to eyeball the camp and the surrounding area, but that came with a price. The afternoon winds were picking up and by midafternoon they’d be howling across this bluff, sucking the moisture right out of the officers’ skin and rocking their little fighters. It would also get quarking hot up here with no trees to cool the surrounding air. They’d be using their fuel to cool their craft and themselves.
Joran tried to enjoy these facts as he loped back down the hill. But his emotions first and foremost were fury and helplessness—this last stuck in his craw like a sharp stone in his yama.
Goddamn Cerul. He’d drive her off planet if it was the last thing he ever did. Frontiera and her settlers deserved someone who’d watch over them in a fair and just way.
A tiny shower of sparks detonated near his head, and he flinched, then watched as the singed remains of a spybot dropped to the earth nearby.
He’d have to remember to congratulate Ilya on her anti-spy tech. She’d taken an idea of Var’s and weaponized some of her own bots to range the camp and take down any tech not recognized as their own.
The IGSF might just find themselves relying on their naked eye to keep track of Joran’s crew.
Wouldn’t that be a bitch for them?
Chapter 10
The Storm had no sooner left his tont when the alarm chimed, and the Occulan Zaë had met the day before knocked and then entered, a medic kit with its red stripes floating behind him.
“A fine morning to you, young one,” he greeted her in his raspy voice, eyestalks waving gently at her. “Stark wishes me to give you a medical exam. Just to ascertain that you’re well.”
Zaë looked from his stocky frame and his medkit to the tont door, still open to the bright sun. She could glimpse a slice of freedom—blue sky, green trees and golden prairie. Maybe if she just made a run for it?
“Nothing to be frightened of. It won’t hurt a bit,” he chirped, and reached back to close the door. “Please, sit here.”
Her escape cut off, Zaë forced her trembling legs to carry her to the divan. She perched on the edge of the seat, watching him for any sign that he would try to constrain her.
“Hmm.” The medic swung most of his eyestalks her way, and considered her with unblinking gazes. “You are still frightened. I will summon another female, yes?”
He opened a link. “Wega, my charmer. Attend me in Stark’s tont, if you will.”
Zaë wasn’t sure how she was supposed to be reassured by the presence of his partner, who bore what seemed to be her habitual scowl as she stumped into the tont.
“All right, get on with it.” Plunking herself down on the other end of the divan, she brought up a small hologame and began to shoot Ogren craft streaming across the faux sky.
Zaë did not like the instruments that the medic sent floating and humming around her, nor did she like the small prick of pain as he took a blood sample, nor the light he shone into her eyes. But she bore it, sitting quietly for each test, because she hated the black hole in her mind even more.
When he was done, she waited as long as she could while he stood hmming to himself, flicking through readouts on his holoscreen.
“Can you tell what’s wrong with me?” she asked finally, working her soft pantlegs between her fingers. Her hands were sweating, as were her armpits, and her voice shook.
“They definitely dosed you with a very strong substance,” he said. “What it is, I cannot as yet say. A combination of organics and synthetics. It has not harmed your body, but in your brain…hmm. It seems to have caused a blockage—no, more of a paralysis, really, between the lobes in your cerebral cortex—a lack of communication which is not normal, not at all. Memory is seated there, which explains why yours are not available to you.”
“My brain is paralyzed?” Her breakfast clenched in her stomach and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, swallowing back the gorge that rose in her throat. “I am damaged? P-permanently?”
“Now, now,” he admonished, taking her hand between his leathery ones. “You must not worry unduly. I will research this. We will find some help for you, just wait and see. Why, with regen tech, very little is permanent.”
“May I use the regen tech now, please?” she asked, rising to follow as he stepped back.
He shook his head. “Not until I learn more about the compounds used and their effect, I’m sorry. If we regenerate the brain tissue with the toxins locked inside, then the damage might be permanent indeed.”
His com chimed, and he let go her hand. “Hmm, Wega, we are needed elsewhere. Young one, my instructions for you are to rest, eat and drink plenty of fluids. And watch a holovid—they relax the mind.”
“But you’ll research my problem?”
“Yes. I will, you have my word.”
And that, it seemed, would have to do for now. The two went out.
Left alone, Zaë felt even more frightened. The walls of the tont loomed, closing in on her.
She ventured outside. It was bright and hot, a warm breeze flirting with her hair. She squinted around her. How could the outdoor world be so normal, when she was so changed?
Her heart began to pound again, and she forced her feet to move. Any action was better than none. She walked around the outside of the tont, where she found a folding lounger in the shade of an awning. There was an empty recyclable ale bottle crumpled underneath, as if the Storm sat here sometimes. Curling into his chair, she looked around.
The sky was a vault of pure blue and just below the river meandered, a clear golden green. She didn’t remember ever seeing a river quite that hue. Was it from minerals in the soil? Pain jabbed inside her skull and she flinched. Don’t try to remember how she knew that—instead focus on what was around her.
Near at hand, the catas lazed in their pen, quietly enjoying the shade of the trees in the heat of the day. A herd of large animals grazed in the distance, heads down, scarcely moving as they grazed on the cured, golden grasses.
It was hot, even in the shade, but she felt safe here—safe enough to at least think about her huge problem. Parts of her brain were paralyzed…she might never be normal…might never regain her memories. And when she did try, it hurt.
It grew hotter, even in the shade. Zaë
used the hem of her shirt to wipe perspiration from her face and neck, and when she heard Nera calling her, she went inside with alacrity. The older woman looked up from washing veg as she entered. “You will eat, yes?”
Yes. Zaë certainly would. She ate her yama at the counter in the galley, with Nera fussing around, putting meat and veg Zaë didn’t recognize into a cooker.
“Where are we?” Zaë asked.
“On the great plains of Frontiera,” the woman said, as if astonished Zaë didn’t know. “Much better than any other planet. Here there are no crowded cities. You must take a fast cruiser to even the nearest settlement.”
Zaë took this in, as thirsty for information as she was for the cool water she drank. “Have you always lived here?”
The older woman shrugged. “I came here with my man, many years ago. He died, and it was just my boys and me, with my husband’s brothers, who hunted with him. One of them wanted me to be his woman, but he was like a skrog, big and dirty. When Il Zhazid came with his crew, I told him I would be his tontkeeper and cook, if he watched over me and my boys.” She shrugged again. “So here we are.My brothers-in-law are around, but I don’t have to marry them. They have other women who don’t mind skrogs.” Her curled lip gave her opinion of these women.
“Does Il Zhazid have a woman?” Zaë asked.
Nera gave her a wise look. “He has many women. Women who give themselves to him and his warriors. He does not choose just one, but takes whoever he wishes for an hour or a night. That is his way.”
Oh. Zaë fiddled with her water bottle, her lunch sitting like a stone in her belly. He had many women and tired of them quickly. What would happen when he tired of her? Would he expect her to give herself to one of his men?
“Now, now,” Nera said, giving her a worried look. “No worrying. You need something to do. Perhaps you would like to weave a mat?”
Zaë looked at her. “I don’t think I know how to do that.”
“Uh, embroider a scarf, or a skirt?” Nera offered. “Some of the women like to do this.”
Zaë shook her head sadly. She had no idea what she knew how to do, besides wash and clothe herself. Her hands began to tremble. She clasped them tightly on the counter. What if she didn’t know how to do anything? What if the slavers had been right about her, and she was only useful for some being’s sexual plaything? She had to remember, no matter how much it hurt.
Nera frowned in thought. “You must watch a holovid,” she said. “The master is very fond of these. He sits there on the divan, and he brings them up with his comlink.”
“Perhaps. Thank you.”
Nera hmmed with satisfaction. “Good. I will see you later, yes?”
Zaë nodded, but when the small woman left the tont, the door flap shutting quietly behind her, Zaë sat where she was, rocking a little on the stool, feeling as if she was perched on the lip of a yawning pit, full of things unseen waiting in the darkness to devour her.
She was here; she was safe for now. And it was cool inside, with the air-cooling system whooshing quietly. She kicked off her flats and padded around the room barefoot, trailing her fingers along surfaces to ground herself in the present. The divan was cool and smooth, the counter slick, the carpets soft under her bare feet.
The room was organic in shape, rounded with the shape of the tont, with supports rising within the walls like ribs that met at the apex of the roof. They were not bared, but contained in the fabric of the walls, which was plush and firm to the touch, like cloth only stronger.
She stared up at the holovid readout of the camp hovering under the ceiling, watching the bright blue skies, the sun searing down on the circle of tonts and moored air craft. Tall trees blocked some of the view, their spreading branches with large glossy leaves swaying in a breeze.
There were people moving about the camp. Some, clearly warriors, wore sun goggles and vests bristling with weapons over their soft shirts and pants, tall boots covering their feet and lower legs. Others were robed against the sun like Nera. A group of women lounged in the shade of a tont awning. In contrast to the warriors, they wore leggings, pretty tops or long, sleeveless dresses of jewel tones. They were all attractive, adorned with cosmetics and jewelry. Two of them held small children.
Were these the women of whom Nera had spoken, that Stark and his men used for their pleasure? And would she be joining them soon? At least if she had to do so, she would have their companionship. They didn’t look unhappy, so perhaps no one hit them, and they looked as if they got plenty to eat. And with this reassurance she must be content, it seemed. She looked around her, searching for distraction from her fears.
Storm clearly enjoyed personal possessions. Items from the mundane to the beautiful to the mysterious were strewn about his living quarters. A variety of woven throws and pillows were strewn on the leather divan, some lii silk, some fine wool. The floor was covered with hand-knotted rugs in jewel tones.
On the hovertray floating at one end of the divan sat a sculptured bird of red Serpentian fire-glass, a knife in an ornate leather sheath and a leather pouch full of game pieces carved from bone. There was also a holovid reader, which she touched with relief. The controls felt as familiar under her fingertips. She had the sense she read a lot.
A cabinet to one side held among other things, a selection of ornate decorative coins and some odd trinkets she could not decipher, as well as a laser weapon, a sleek, ornamented cerametal barrel with what looked like an iridium grip. When she turned it in her hands, a design swirled in the cerametal, ghostly lightning spearing along the barrel. The workmanship was exquisite. She put it carefully back on the shelf.
A beaten metal shield hung over the divan, a long, deadly looking spear behind it. On the shield, graceful painted warriors battled in ancient armor. The victor resembled the shield’s owner, the Storm.
He was clearly the master of this tont, his cruiser and this camp of varied beings. Everyone did what he said, and without much protest.
Surely this meant she was safe, even if he did use her for sex. It wouldn’t be so bad, not if waking in his arms this morning was any indication. He was very strong and fit. The feel of his hard, muscled body against hers had been very pleasant. She wouldn’t mind sleeping that way every night.
She wasn’t going to call him ‘Master’, though. She was almost certain he’d been joking when he instructed her to do that. She would call him...well, nothing, until she heard his real name. She would know it when she heard it.
A secret knowledge was growing in her—she was skilled at picking out the nuances of conversation, and parsing how beings related to each other in their particular social hierarchy. She had spent a lot of time doing this—as much time as she spent reading. She could use the knowledge to guide her interactions. She could blend in, like an animal in its habitat.
She wandered into the sleeping room. It still smelled of him—a spicy man scent that she liked very much. It made her want to bury her nose in the source and just inhale. Unlike the slavers and the beings at the auction, he was very clean—that is when he didn’t smell of another woman.
When he had her, Zaë, in this big bed, he would smell of her afterward. This thought caused an odd but not unpleasant twist low in her belly, but it also made her face and throat feel hot, and her breasts tighten so that she had to press her palms to her nipples to soothe them.
Turning away from the bed, she saw his storage locker, built of ultra-light cerametal into the core walls of the tont.
When she opened it, his scent was stronger. On a shelf sat a small box of male rings and armbands. Necklaces hung from hooks. She ignored them. Leaning in, she breathed in and then gave a hum of pleasure. Closing her eyes, she pretended it was he standing before her, and not his leathers hanging from a hook.
“Spying?” a deep voice inquired close behind her.
A scream ripped from her throat. She started violently, tripped over his feet and fell backward, into his arms. His big hands closed on her arms and pulle
d her back, away from the cubby.
“Nothing of value in there,” he said, his voice hard. “Although, guess you’ve figured that out by now. Just the same, you don’t mind if I search you, do you, bunny?”
Her heart pounding with fear, face and throat burning with shame, Zaë stood still as he slid his hands over her, from shoulders to knees, and everywhere in between. She made a small sound when he cupped her breasts and stroked down over them and then into the valley between, then again when his hands moved down, one probing the notch between her thighs from the front, the other sliding deep from behind. The heat of his fingers burned through her thin pants, and that low twist of tension occurred again, then disappeared in fear.
Without a word to her, he let her go, but only to delve his fingers into her hair. With slow precision he wound it in a rope down the middle of her back. Then he exerted pressure, tugging her head back and to the side, so she had no choice but to look over her shoulder into his face.
His eyes were narrowed, and full of suspicion that smote painfully at her chest.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was only...curious, really. I wouldn’t take anything. I am not a thief.”
He coiled the rope of her hair more tightly around his hand, and she stumbled back against him, her head on his shoulder. She was panting, shallow panicked breaths.
“Oh, wouldn’t you? And how do you know this, my Zaë? Since you can’t recall so much as your name?”
“Because...” She searched desperately for the truth that had seemed so self-evident when the words came out of her mouth. Pain stabbed behind her temple and she flinched. “I—I don’t know. I feel that it’s true, that’s all.” Then she whimpered and lifted her hand to her head. “Please. It hurts.”
He let her go instantly, his arm going around her to support her as she swayed. “What? I hurt you? Fuck me, I’m sorry,” he muttered.