Solar Heat

by Susan Kearney

  Sweet Vigo. While Tomar and Derrek knew of her First status, no one else here did. Was Derrek asking her to use her Quait on Poli? Or did he simply mean for Azsla to convince her like one woman to another?

  “Poli. The flames are spreading. If you stay here, you’ll burn up.”

  “Think of the hideous scars,” Tish added, looking out the window as if fearing another immediate attack.

  Poli frowned at her. “You think I’m vain.”

  “Oh, for the love of Vigo.” Derrek picked up Poli, tossed her over his shoulder, and headed out the front door. The woman shrieked and pounded her fists on Derrek’s back. Mavinor and Tish followed, and Azsla brought up the rear, glad Poli didn’t know about the attack upstairs, even more pleased that she hadn’t revealed her status to Poli, but wondering if Derrek was now disappointed in her.

  Soldiers down the street began a door-to-door search. To avoid them, Derrek headed around the back of the house and toward the tree line. “You have a hovercraft in the shed?”

  Tish shook her head. “It’s in the shop for a tune-up.”

  Of course it was. That would have been too easy. When they’d reached the trees behind the house and had gone a few hundred yards, Derrek placed Poli back on her feet. “Either you walk with us . . . or you stay here and burn. If Tish didn’t love you, I wouldn’t have forced you to come this far. But now the choice is yours.”

  Poli sniffled and flung herself into Mavinor’s arms. “Don’t let him talk to me like that.”

  Mavinor and Derrek exchanged a long look as Mavinor patted her shoulder. “Now, dear. I know you’re upset, but we’re alive.”

  “I can’t leave all my beautiful things behind.”

  Azsla slung the backpack full of Poli’s belongings at her feet. “Tish packed for you.” She didn’t want to be seen carrying the bag in case she had to pretend these people were her prisoners again. Firsts didn’t lug, tote, or carry since they had slaves to work for them.

  “Mom. Please. I’m scared, and I need you to go with us,” Tish said in a little-girl voice.

  Azsla shot her a look of surprise, and Tish winked at her. The teenager was conning her mom. And from the look on Poli’s face, it was actually working. Azsla’s respect for Tish increased.

  Poli lifted her chin. “Of course you need me.”

  “This way.” Derrek headed deeper into the woods. “I want to circle back and try to move upwind of those flames.”

  “How far . . .” Poli started to ask, but then her voice trailed off as if she didn’t want to know.

  Azsla hefted the gun, and again Derrek took point. With three people between them, they didn’t speak to one another. However, when Azsla picked up the sound of faint screams, Derrek headed them farther away from the battle, deeper into the forest, until there was only the faint tinge of smoke, no sign of flames, and the scent of pine surrounding them.

  Although the Zorans had colonized the planet, they lived close to one another in tiny communities around large cities. Between towns there remained lots of open land that had yet to be cultivated or developed. Several different kinds of wild animals could be dangerous in this terrain, especially mountain cats and wolves.

  For the moment, the woods appeared untamed and nonthreatening, untouched by human hands, and she hoped it would remain that way. As birds perched in the trees suddenly flew straight up, she wished she could do the same. Trudging over land was slow and dangerous.

  Derrek tried his com link again, and Azsla expected it to remain dead. But they must have walked out of jamming range. Sauren’s voice came through clear and loud. “Derrek. I’ve just now picked up your GPS.”

  “Ramans have a jamming device. We’re on foot. Can you send a hovercraft to extract us?”

  “Pres Laurie has grounded all hovercraft for the duration of the invasion.”

  Azsla fervently wished she knew if the President of Zor was a tranqed First. If he was, wouldn’t he have evacuated? Or had he stayed behind to help Tomar search for her and Derrek?

  “What’s his rationale for that stupidity?” Derrek asked, his voice tight.

  “He claims if the only hovercrafts flying are Raman, then he can shoot them down.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Whoever heard of giving up the high ground? Or the sky?”

  “You want us to try and get through to you anyway?” Sauren asked, and Azsla marveled at how these people would break rules for one another, even defying their own leaders. Perhaps since they’d lived under tyranny, they didn’t respect leadership—no matter whose it was. Or perhaps they valued freedom so highly they only grudgingly gave it up.

  “Stay put. But if you can intercept any Raman communications, that would be helpful.”

  “Sorry. They must have a new encryption program.”

  Derrek changed the subject. “How’s Tad?”

  “Still sleeping. Hopefully you’ll be back before he wakes up.”

  “That’s not likely, so fill him in. I want to keep this conversation short—in case Tomar can track us through the link.”

  “Understood.”

  Derrek cut the connection. They were still on their own—with no help coming. Azsla wouldn’t have minded the trek if Poli would just stop whining. Azsla had always liked the woods. Learning survival skills had been a favorite part of her training, and when she picked up the sound of trickling water, she suggested they stop for a rest and to drink.

  Poli had long since emptied the thermos Tish had packed back at the house. She leaned against a tree and folded her arms. “That water isn’t clean.”

  “We have never found harmful organisms in running water,” Mavinor told her, sipping from the creek’s bank. “Poli, please come and drink something. It’s fine.”

  “I only drink filtered.”

  Whatever. Azsla kneeled and sipped from the creek, appreciating the cool liquid. The only problem with Poli not drinking was that her body would shut down that much sooner, and then they’d have to carry her.

  Tish, bless her, had confiscated the empty thermos her mother had tossed away. She secretly filled it with water, then pretended to find it in her pack. “Here, Mom. I brought you another filtered from home,” the kid lied without batting an eyelash.

  Azsla had to turn away to hide her grin as Poli finally conceded to drink. One problem solved. But another followed. A bigger problem.

  In the distance Azsla picked up the sound of barking canines. At first, it didn’t worry her, but as the barks increased in volume she looked at Derrek. “Those dogs might be tracking us.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” Poli said.

  Azsla ignored her. “They’re following our scent. We need to walk in the creek.”

  “Water will ruin my shoes,” Poli wailed.

  Azsla was ready to leave her behind. Or shoot her. But even she was shocked when gentle, quiet Mavinor slapped her across the cheek. “Get in the water, Poli. We can’t carry you. And I’m not losing you.”

  “You hit me.” Poli reached up in shock and touched her cheek. “You slapped me.”

  “Into the water. Now.”

  “But—”

  He raised his hand as if to slap her again.

  “All right. I’m going. I’m going. There’s no need to be a bully.”

  They trudged in the creek for an hour. Several times Azsla moved ahead and left the creek, then returned in her own footsteps to the water, hoping to lay down a false scent for the dogs.

  Thankfully Poli had stopped whining. Probably because she was too short of breath to speak. Whatever the reason, Azsla was grateful.

  But from the volume, she could tell the dogs were drawing closer. Finally Azsla moved ahead to speak quietly to Derrek. “I’m going back, and I’ll meet up with you later.”

  “Why woul
d you—?”

  “To set a trap. They’re gaining on us.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She shook her head. “Your daughter needs you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Tish spoke up. “Mom, Mavinor, and I will keep walking, and you can catch up.” She thrust an empty canteen into his hands. “Take it.”

  Derrek took the canteen but looked torn between going with Azsla or staying with the others. “Tish, you and Mavinor keep your Mom moving in this direction at a steady pace.” He pointed to the night sky. “See that star. The one that has a reddish cast? Follow it as it moves across the sky. That should keep you upwind of the fires. Don’t go too fast, or Poli will tire.”

  “I’m right here. I can hear you.”

  Tish gave Derrek a hug. And oddly, Derrek’s daughter squeezed Azsla, too. “Be careful.”

  Even more odd, at Tish’s hug, warmth curled in Azsla’s heart.

  19

  DERREK AND AZSLA headed back down the stream. Automatically, he refilled the canteen, knowing they might not always have readily available water to drink. But his mind wandered as he appreciated the way Azsla moved through the water—as easily as if she trod on land. What was it about her that captivated him? He not only couldn’t stop staring, he marveled at her strength and stamina. She hadn’t once complained about her icy wet feet or Poli’s ridiculous behavior and slow pace. Any woman as tough as Azsla would have surprised him, but her behavior, a First’s behavior, shocked him right down to his soul.

  He’d once seen a First suffer a paper cut, blame a slave for the sharp edge, and order the slave to be whipped. He’d seen a slave’s hand lopped off because of a rough spot on a shoe that caused a blister. Firsts did not tolerate pain. Any pain. Those who suffered at all made certain their slaves paid. And while he was shocked by Azsla’s patience and unruffled tolerance of the harsh environment, he was even more curious about the hard thump he’d heard back at the house, and this was his first opportunity to ask about it.

  “When you and Tish were upstairs, did either of you trip and fall?”

  She rubbed her temple as if she were stalling. “Why do you ask?”

  “I heard an odd sound. It must have been you and Tish packing.”

  “It wasn’t that.” She hesitated, and every muscle in her body seemed to draw tight. She straightened her back, raised her chin, and squared her shoulders as if bracing for battle or preparing for insults or anger. Her reaction was very un-Firstlike because most Firsts never got to her stage of aggravation. They’d have vented long before now.

  She spoke quietly, with more than a hint of frustration in her tone. “You won’t like what I’m going to tell you, but I’m done lying.”

  “What happened upstairs? Did you and Tish get into it?”

  At his accusation her eyes filled with pain, then hardened and went flat. “One of Tomar’s soldiers broke into the house.”

  “What?” Of all the scenarios running through his head, that wasn’t one of them. He’d been expecting her to say she’d bullied Tish into dressing or had been rude or had said something inappropriate. But they’d been attacked. “Why didn’t you call for help?”

  “There wasn’t time. Afterwards, Tish asked me to remain quiet so as not to upset her mother.”

  “You didn’t think it pertinent to tell me about a First in the house? Suppose he’d called for help or attacked—”

  “I killed him.” Azsla spoke flatly, with absolutely no intonation.

  Oddly, he believed her, and yet as he thought back on the incident, he recalled no sounds of blaster fire to back up her statement. “I didn’t hear any shots.”

  She spoke softly, as if she had to force out every word. “I didn’t use my blaster.”

  “Your bare hands?” He looked in shock at her slender hands with her delicate wrists and figured she must have quite a bit of skill that she hadn’t wanted to admit to, then raised his gaze to meet hers. “The Corps trained you in weapons and for combat?”

  She just nodded.

  He’d always known that Firsts had secret squads of elite soldiers. But he’d never imagined they were made up of both men and women. He’d figured they killed with their Quait. But obviously she’d gone through a much more difficult life than he’d suspected. “Every First I’ve ever known was spoiled, self-indulgent, egotistical.”

  “And you are insulting me because . . . ?”

  “You are not like the other Firsts I have known.”

  She cocked her head and raised a brow. “Every person’s unique.”

  Unique? That had to be the understatement of the century. Azsla was like no First he’d ever met or heard of, and he realized her independent nature had likely isolated her from her own kind in ways too many to quantify. She might actually fit in here better than on Rama.

  And she’d saved Tish. For that he could forgive her almost anything.

  “I would have bet a salt-studded asteroid that no First could have as much self-control as you do. You must have spent months training.”

  “Years.”

  He asked the question that had been gnawing at his guts. Was she for real? “So are you simply pretending to be different from your kind? Or are you different deep down?”

  She released a long sigh. “Are you asking if my behavior is an act?”

  “Yes.”

  “And if I’m acting, then why should you believe me?”

  She had a point. If she was acting, she’d continue to do so. The fact that she’d pointed it out was either a smart move to throw him off . . . or genuine frustration that he didn’t believe her. But then, who would? She was full of mysteries and secrets and yet, she was certainly the most interesting woman he’d ever met.

  Expression stoic, Azsla looked over her shoulder and threaded her way around a few rocks. Most people would have stepped on them, but that might have left a track of mud, and he realized her survival skills dirtside surpassed his own.

  Of one thing he was certain: She was proud of her skills, of what she’d learned. He could see it in her body language. And yet, just for a micronbit, he’d seen vulnerability in her eyes, too.

  Most women were mysteries, but she was unfathomable.

  She spoke softly now, but he didn’t miss the diamondite thread that revealed her resolute core. “Since you won’t believe my words, perhaps you should judge me by my actions.”

  She’d saved Tish.

  Yet, her suggestion wouldn’t necessarily work. She could very well appear to be on his side right up until the moment she turned and betrayed them all. Not that he was going to admit that doubt out loud.

  Still, he felt as if he should attempt to justify his position. “Look, on Alpha One I have a pet feline. I expect her to purr when I feed her because that’s what cats do. And from my experience Firsts—”

  “Are narcissistic sons of bitches with no feelings for anyone except themselves.”

  “Now you get it.”

  “So does every cat purr when you pet it?”

  He really was trying to understand her. “So why are you different? What kind of First learns survival skills, killing skills? You can issue mental blows to force other slaves to obey your every whim, including dirty bloodletting and killing, so why would you work to learn all the physical stuff?”

  “What? You aren’t going to accuse me of enjoying the kill with my bare hands?” Her sarcasm was fierce, biting, and revealed her hurt, a hurt that pained him. “I told you. During the rebellion slaves murdered my parents. I didn’t want other kids to lose—”

  “You sure it wasn’t that you sought revenge?”

  “Maybe. What difference does it make?” she snapped.

  “I just wondered if you’d admit it.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, and she stopped walking and turned. “But you couldn
’t go through with the revenge, could you? All those years of training made you . . . independent. More like us.”

  She ripped away from him and marched through the creek, shoulders tense. “I am nothing like you.”

  Here he was coming to believe they might actually have a chance, and she was throwing his hard-earned understanding back in his face. He swatted a bug, missed, and followed her. “How are you so different?”

  “Because every micronbit of every day, I have to weigh what I want against what is right. You don’t understand Quait from my side. It’s like learning to put candy in your mouth, but ignoring the sweetness. It’s like opening your eyes and disregarding color. I have to keep my Quait bottled inside.”

  “You make it sound . . . painful.”

  “It’s more exhausting than hurtful. Because using my Quait is as natural to me as breathing.” Her voice dropped, and her tone was raw. “I hadn’t used my power in over a decade . . . not until we made love. The pleasure you gave me made it impossible to keep the Quait inside.”

  She’d told him that before, but he hadn’t understood, not really. He’d been too angry to think through what she’d tried to tell him. “You can’t make love without dominating?”

  She didn’t answer, but the look of anguish in her eyes did it for her, and he yearned to take her into his arms, cuddle her, soothe her. Her shoulders trembled. “And now I’ve thrown in my lot with slaves who will despise me if they learn what I am. My future . . . doesn’t look real good right now.”

  Damn. He’d been so caught up in the idea that she’d betrayed him with her lies and secrets, he’d never once considered things from her point of view. She’d left Firsts like herself and the only home she knew, to throw in her lot with former slaves who would despise her sixth sense—just because she had it—even if she used it only for good or in private. She’d never fit in anywhere.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She turned, saw his face, and her eyes narrowed. “I don’t want your flipping pity.”

  Right now, they were more alike than he’d thought. He rarely talked about his mind wipe because he too hated pity.