Shadow Heart

by J. L. Lyon

  “I’ll need about an hour to get materials together,” Cade said. “Other than the fracture, you’ve got surface lacerations on your face and hands, probably on your upper torso as well. With a little healing cream they should clear up in a couple of days.”

  “Got any of that for femur fractures?”

  “Unfortunately the cream only works on tissue, not bone. Although...”

  Grace turned hopeful eyes on the doctor as he trailed off and shook his head. She had only been joking. If not for the war there was little doubt someone would have discovered an equivalent to bones by now, but the System devoted most of its research to weapons and better ways to enslave its population, not medicine.

  “Although what, Doctor?” she pressed.

  He sighed, “It just so happens that one of the other doctors and I have been working on this very problem. Normal healing cream stimulates the cells of tissue around a wound and accelerates the body’s healing process. With some alterations, we should be able to do the same with bones.”

  “How much progress have you made?” Grace asked, trying to keep her hopes at bay.

  “We have synthesized a promising solution. So far we have mended two dogs, a very angry cougar, and one bird that should never have been able to fly again.”

  “All successful?”

  A hint of pride crept into the doctor’s voice, “That they were.”

  “How long is the recovery time?”

  The doctor hesitated, “48 hours.”

  “Then let’s do it,” Grace said, finally letting her excitement shine through. The possibility she could heal in two days as opposed to weeks was enough to make her dance, despite the pain.

  “Wait,” Crenshaw said with his concerned fatherly air. “You seem reluctant, Doctor.”

  “It hasn’t been tested on humans,” the doctor replied. “And in order to work, the substance must be applied directly to the bone. The procedure is quite a bit more involved. I will have to put you out, for one, and afterwards you will not be able to remove the cast for any reason until the 48 hours are up. And out here, with limited resources...I don’t suggest surgery unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  “How long is the procedure?” Grace asked.

  “Grace, we should talk about this,” Crenshaw said.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Grace replied. “Two days of recovery versus weeks? I’ll pay the short-term price. How long, Doctor?”

  “An hour, two at most.”

  “Then let’s see what your research can do.”

  Cade nodded, “I will need a little more time to prepare.”

  “Take all you need,” Grace said, doing her best to ignore the worry on Crenshaw’s face. “But not a minute more. I want to be back on my feet as soon as possible.”

  “Understood, Commander.”

  “Doctor,” Crenshaw said. “We have some things the Commander needs to attend to while you...prepare. Is it safe for her to move?”

  He sighed, “Only if it is absolutely necessary. And you’ll need to keep your weight off it, Commander. As I said, you don’t want to—”

  “Make it worse, I know.” She winced as she slid her legs over the side of the bed, and one of the other doctors sat a pair of crutches in front of her. She took them begrudgingly. The doctors backed away, allowing Davian and Crenshaw room to help lift her from the bed. She hated that, but exhaustion made it hard for her to care. They helped her slide the crutches under her arms and waited until she could steady herself, and then Crenshaw let her be. Davian kept one hand lightly on her shoulder.

  “I got it,” she said. When he still did not let go, she turned to warn him not to coddle her—but did not get that far. His eyes captured her, melting away the frustration and pain so suddenly that she was barely aware it had happened. Strange, she thought, That I’ve never noticed how beautiful they are. Their warmth enveloped her, betraying his true feelings despite his attempts to shroud it as simple passing concern.

  His touch ceased to be an annoyance. It was welcome—even desired. The world around them seemed to freeze, and she was sure that if they had been alone in that moment Davian would have kissed her. And for the first time, she knew that she would let him.

  But they were not alone, and if there was one thing she knew about him it was that he would maintain his code of honor. Acting on his feelings in front of others was a line he could not cross—not because it would embarrass him, but because it might embarrass her.

  The moment shattered, leaving her with a pit of longing in her stomach.

  “Are you ready, Commander?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she answered, breathless. She had not expected that, not in a million years. She cleared her throat and forced strength back into her voice, “Yes, I’m ready. Lead the way, Davian.”

  Davian broke his gaze from hers, and the world grew a little bit darker. “As you wish, Commander.” He stepped out of the tent.

  “Two hours, Commander,” Cade said. “Then I expect to see you back here.” He disappeared through the flap to get his materials together, the other doctors hot on his heels.

  Grace started to go as well, but Crenshaw’s voice halted her, “You have made many sacrifices in your life, Grace. I hope you don’t believe yet another is necessary.”

  “Please, Crenshaw. My mind is made up on this. Don’t try to—”

  “This is not about the surgery,” Crenshaw said. “I was referring to Davian.”

  Her face flushed. Had he seen?

  “He is an honorable man,” Crenshaw said. “And he adores you; everyone sees it. Lust and attraction are easy, Grace, but adoration—that is the true foundation of love.”

  Everyone sees it?

  “I don’t have time for love, Crenshaw,” she replied, and thought sadly of her last conversation with Colonel Traughber. Yet more proof that those she cared about would be taken from her, one by one. “I don’t have the heart for it.”

  “No one can compete with the dead, take it from a man who has tried. Don’t put Davian in that position.” He reached for her shoulder and squeezed it gently, “I am glad you’re okay.” He walked out after Davian and the doctors, leaving her to think on his words in silence.

  She leaned heavily on her crutches and pulled back her sleeve, where the black tattoo shone stark against skin that had not seen the sun in months. Sometimes she questioned that those weeks with 301 had ever happened. It had been a different world, and a different time—begun in a flash and gone like a dream. The only proof she had left were her memories and that tattoo.

  But it also let her hold on to a hope that no longer existed, a future she could never have. Perhaps it was time to have the thing removed. Elijah Charity was dead. Nothing would ever change that.

  Grace covered the tattoo with her sleeve and followed Crenshaw into the night.

  10

  DAVIAN’S HEAD SWAM WITH what had just happened—rather, what had almost happened—in the medical tent. How long had he pursued that woman? How many nights had he dreamed of seeing her look at him like that? Since I first laid eyes on her. He remembered the day—it was burned harshly into his mind, for it had been a day of intense tragedy—the day he lost everything.

  He walked on, despite the fact that neither she nor Crenshaw followed. They knew where to find him. He held the small chunk of wall that she had nearly died to retrieve tight in his fist. Many others—good, brave men that he had respected—had died. He hoped this little shard of gold metal was worth it. Though if it was, it would only mean more danger, more loss, more death. He understood why many had begun to doubt it would ever end. Was the struggle still worth it if it went on forever?

  Once he had asked that same question about his feelings for Grace. If she would never reciprocate, then why bother? Twenty-four hours ago he would have given anything for a moment like what he had just experienced. But something had changed, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  He paused in the entrance to the communications tent
, barely aware he had gone inside, and was overcome by a sudden desire to be elsewhere. It was only when a young officer set upon him with curious eyes that he realized how awkward he must look.

  “Can I help you, Lieutenant Commander?”

  Davian escaped his hesitation and approached the officer, “Yes. I need you to see what you can get off this.” He handed over the chunk of wall.

  The officer turned it over, “I assume you mean this little gold fleck.” He held it up to a nearby light to examine it, “What format is it?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “And what kind of data am I looking for?”

  “Don’t know that, either.”

  “I see,” the officer said, turning his attention back to Davian. “I guess I have my work cut out for me, then.”

  “I guess so,” Davian smiled. “Listen, the commander and General Crenshaw are right behind me, but I just remembered something I need to check on. Can you get this started and brief them when they arrive?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Good man.” Davian clapped the officer on the shoulder and left the tent. Grace and Crenshaw were still not in sight, which was just as well. He wasn’t quite ready to share this with Grace—strange…he had never felt a need to hide anything from her.

  He took the long way back to the medical tents, to be sure not to run into her. His path curved through the “barracks,” several lines of smaller tents in which the Silent Thunder operatives slept. Most were resting at this hour, but a few still hung around in groups or lounged beside campfires. How things had changed. Not so long ago, campfires were discouraged because their heat signature and smoke could draw first the eye and then the wrath of the Great Army. But the invasion of the Imperials had paralyzed Great Army operations in the Wilderness.

  Many nodded with respect as he passed, and he acknowledged each of them. Be a leader, Davian, Jacob Sawyer once told him. And always remember that no one likes to follow an ass.

  Should I learn to lead charges backward then, sir? he had asked sarcastically.

  Jacob had given him a sly look, eyes flashing with the life and amusement Davian had come to know so well. Be careful. No one likes to follow a dick either.

  Davian fought the urge to laugh. He missed that man, in the same way that he missed his own father—more, perhaps. Jacob had been more than a father-figure. He had been a teacher, a leader…a hand that had pulled him out of the muck and given him a life worth living. One day Derek Blaine would pay for extinguishing that light from the world.

  He passed back into the larger tents of the medical camp, and scanned each one along the path. Every tent there looked the same, but he had posted a guard outside the one he needed, just as a precaution. He spied the man through the darkness, about halfway down the pathway.

  “Sergeant,” he said quietly as he approached. “Any trouble?”

  “No,” the sergeant replied. “Not a sound. The doctor is in there now.”

  Davian nodded, “Hang around for a while longer, would you?”

  “Not a problem, sir.”

  He pushed aside the entrance flap and went inside, where he found the doctor on the far side of the tent, kneeling beside the only occupied bed.

  “Any news?”

  “We’re out of the woods, for now,” the doctor—different than the surgeon who had tended Grace just moments before—frowned. “It’s a miracle you found her when you did. A few more minutes out there and we would have been looking at severe vascular damage.”

  Davian slowly approached the place where the patient lay, on her stomach per the doctor’s orders. Her back was bare save for bandages, and as the doctor reached for them he hesitated, “You might not want to see this, Lieutenant Commander.”

  “I’ve seen it already, Doctor, and I’ve seen worse before.”

  He peeled away the top strip and exposed the lacerated flesh underneath, and Davian winced. Had she been awake, she would have been in extraordinary pain. He had seen worse, it was true—but not much worse, not in the living. The doctor removed the rest of the bandages until her entire back was visible. Four long claw marks, bright red and bleeding, ran the entire length from her right hip to her left shoulder. The discarded bandages were soaked in blood.

  “You say she’s out of the woods?”

  “Believe it or not, the bleeding is a good sign,” the doctor said as he got to work sewing up the wounds. “It means her body hasn’t cut off blood flow to these wounds…no frostbite. When you first brought her in I was worried she would need serious restorative surgery. But I’ll be able to sew her up just fine. She’s lucky. That cougar’s claws could have sheared right through her spine.”

  Davian nodded. He’d had his fair share of encounters with cougars in the Wilderness. No sane man loved the thought of death…but there was something about being eaten in the process that made it a bit more terrifying. Unfortunately, that was often a reality of life in the Wilderness. Most learned to stay out of the animals’ domain unless they were in large numbers. But this woman, evidently, hadn’t known.

  “What of the hypothermia?”

  “Intravenous fluids stabilized her at an internal temperature of 98 degrees. She was at about 93 when you brought her in. Between that and the blood loss, it will be best to let her sleep for a couple of days so that her body can recharge. I don’t want to get your hopes up, as anything can go wrong quickly out here, but I think she will make a full recovery.”

  Davian breathed a long sigh of relief. When he had found her, shivering in the shadow of that old building like a terrified animal, he knew her chances of survival were not good. But he couldn’t leave her there to die alone. She could have gotten lost, her group could have been attacked or killed, maybe she even ran away. It was common in the Wilderness. Plus, he had felt drawn to her. At first he rationalized it as an attraction to a beautiful woman in distress; what man wouldn’t want the pleasure of saving her? But now…

  He knelt on the floor beside her and pushed a long blonde curl out of her face. His skin brushed against hers, still cold but nothing like the icy chill he had felt while trying to keep her alive out there.

  The doctor continued his work, but the concern in his voice made his disapproval plain, “I trust your interest in this woman is wholly professional, Lieutenant Commander. A military advantage?”

  “Right now, I care only that she survives.”

  “Understood, sir. But the commander must be told—”

  “She will be. I’ll see to it.”

  He rescued a helpless woman from the Wilderness, but upon his return learned that she wasn’t a damsel at all. The doctor, a recent defector from the Empire, had recognized her immediately. Luckily Davian had managed to keep the truth contained, but that wouldn’t last long.

  The woman he had brought right into the middle of the Silent Thunder camp was in fact Elizabeth Aurora, Chief of Command of the Imperial Guard. Worse, he was still drawn to her, and his interest was not wholly professional.

  Davian stood and backed away from Liz’s bedside. “Watch her. I want to know the second she wakes.”

  11

  “WHAT IS IT?”

  “It's a single tooth from an old SD card—as in very old, obsolete even by the fall of the Old World.”

  Grace sat with Crenshaw at a small table in the communications tent, her fractured leg elevated on a chair and her crutches within a hand’s reach. Crenshaw leaned over the table, fingers entwined and knuckles white, eyes glued to the canvas screen with the intensity of a master scientist. Perhaps he saw something there, but if so it was lost on her. It was just an endless stream of numbers.

  She wished Davian had been there to counter Crenshaw’s secretive manner, but he had been conspicuously absent when they arrived. She hoped he wasn’t avoiding her.

  “Why would someone go to the trouble of using an antiquated data card?”

  “So that they could split it,” Crenshaw answered. “As a precaution.”

  The co
mmunications officer frowned and shook his head in disbelief, “The card would have to contain very sensitive, very valuable information to go to all that trouble.”

  “Valuable, yes,” Crenshaw said. “And dangerous. They didn’t want this information falling into the wrong hands. Perhaps not any hands.”

  “How many of these are there?” Grace asked.

  “If I’m right about the SD card…could be as many as eight.”

  “Eight?” Grace forgot for a moment that she was injured and tried to rise. Pain shot up through her leg and forced her back down into the chair, where she settled grudgingly. She hated feeling like an invalid. “It took us a year just to find this one. We don’t have eight years. The world will lay in ashes from the System's civil war in two, maybe less. You heard what happened in Rio. A hundred thousand wiped out in a single stroke, and that was Sullivan’s army. When Napoleon Alexander strikes back, it will be worse. Much worse.”

  “Even eight years seems optimistic,” the officer said. “Without even a location, there’s nothing—”

  “I already have five of them,” Crenshaw interrupted. “This makes six, and if Commander Aiken’s voyage north is successful we’ll have seven. That leaves only one left to find, and I believe I know where it is.”

  Grace hid her astonishment well; it had become common practice with Crenshaw. She kept her voice even and her tone calm, “Gentlemen, please give the general and I the tent.”

  The officer nodded, “You heard the commander, men! Clear the tent!”

  They shuffled out quickly, no doubt keenly aware of the tension that had suddenly fallen around them. The only one who seemed oblivious was Crenshaw himself, who continued to stare at the numbers on the screen as though willing answers to appear. Even when they were alone, he didn’t appear to notice.

  “Care to explain yourself, Crenshaw?” she said into the awkward silence.

  “Perhaps if you told me what you’d like to hear.”

  Her frustration rose, but she did her best not to let it show, “You sent Aiken north?”