Huntress

by Elizabeth Hartwell

  “I don’t know how you feel, Cerena, but if you don’t mind, I wouldn’t mind hearing them,” Tym says quietly. “It might not be trudging through the Scorched Earth playing Way Back, but it’s something.”

  “No . . . it’s okay,” Cerena replies, forcing a smile. “Maybe after you guys are released from here and Tym gets his shop open, I’ll treat you guys and Lance to a welcome feast or something. I’m sure I can find a bottle of real wine somewhere.”

  It’s obvious that she’s not up for sharing whatever’s on her mind, but I’m not going to push things. Instead, I nod and give her my best smile. “I’d like that. Uhm, call it a date?”

  Cerena stops and blushes a little, nodding. “I think I’d like that.”

  Before I can say anything, though, four men enter the room led by a tall, wide-shouldered Hunter with icy blue eyes and an aura that screams arrogant cocksucker. “There she is.”

  Cerena turns, her eyes narrowing as she sees the four men. “Crassus, what are you doing here? And why do you have Security with you?”

  It’s then that I notice that the three men with Crassus are armed. In our conversations over the past few days, we had one late-night talk where Tym filled me in on Cerena’s . . . situation. While it bothered me at first—I mean, she fucked all three of us while engaged to this guy—one look at him tells me that if I were in her shoes, I’d have done the same thing.

  Not that he’s ugly. He’s pretty jacked, but the way he looks at Tym and me, like we’re just barely more than dogshit on his boot, pisses me off.

  “Cerena Lightmoon, under Sections 20-57, 20-54, and 1-14 of the Hunter Code of Conduct, I am hereby arresting you on the charges of dereliction of duty, violation of the genetic purity statutes, and violation of your oath as a Hunter to uphold and maintain the purity of the human race,” Crassus says in a long, overwhelming roll of words. “You are to be remanded to custody until your court martial. Arrest her.”

  “Like hell, you will!” I yell, trying to get out of bed, but my surgically repaired ankle flares in pain and I stumble getting out, falling to my knees just in time to look up at a Hunter’s sword pointed at my face. Tym’s in a similar situation, with a Hunter pointing a Gauss pistol in his face, a soft whine filling the air from the charged electromagnets.

  “Go on, Outsider,” the Security man says to Tym. “I’ve heard of your mutation. Well, I’ve got money that says no matter how freakily strong you get, I can put a slug through you and put you down.”

  “Stop!” Cerena says, holding out a hand to Crassus and putting a hand on Tym’s chest. “Stop. These men have done nothing wrong.”

  “You haven’t, either!” I growl from the floor, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot as I look up at the blade in my face. “Tell him to shove his charges up his aristocratic ass!”

  “Cerena, if you do not come with me now, these men will use force to protect the peace,” Crassus says, his threat quiet but still clearly there. “You have five seconds to comply.”

  “Don’t—” I start, but Cerena nods, placing a hand on the Gauss pistol and slowly lifting it up. Turning, she lifts Tym’s hand and kisses the knuckles, then turns to me. “Cerena.”

  “Be better than your bloodline, Brandon. Be the man I saw in the battle,” she says quietly before holding her hands out to Crassus. “Do what you will.”

  The third Security man pulls out a pair of manacles, clapping them around her wrists, and I wince, bad memories flooding my mind. They lead Cerena out, Crassus pausing at the door to look at us. “You two . . .”

  “I hope you catch asshole rot and bleed slowly,” I rasp, carefully picking myself up from the floor. “She deserves better than you.”

  “And yet she chose Outsider trash,” Crassus replies, sniffing. “You’re to be discharged by sundown. I suggest the moon not find either of you inside the walls of Solace itself.”

  He leaves, and I sag down onto the bed, looking across at Tym. “Well?”

  “First, we get out of here . . . then we find Lance,” he says. “I’m not happy.”

  “I doubt many people like it when you’re unhappy.”

  “No,” Tym says, his voice quaking slightly. “No, they do not.”

  Chapter 33

  Tym

  The Malamute Saloon might be in a different location from the tavern where Lance and I first met Cerena, but about the only difference between them is that the Malamute is slightly larger, and behind the curtain, a certain world’s oldest profession is available for those who don’t care what kind of love they get as long as it’s now and it’s cheap.

  The idea holds no appeal to me, especially with the current situation. Instead, Lance, Brandon, and I sit around a small round table, ordering a drink apiece simply to keep the barkeeper from giving us more attention than necessary.

  “So, what’s your deal, Brandon?” Lance asks suspiciously as the mugs reach us and I sniff. It’s not beer, but it’s not hard liquor either . . . something fruity, whatever it is.

  Brandon shrugs, sipping his drink carefully. “Big man here insisted. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  Lance nods and sips his drink himself. “Ugh . . . this stuff is horse piss. Hey, barkeeper, you got anything that didn’t come from an animal’s cock?”

  “Get stuffed!” the bartender shoots back, and Lance rolls his eyes, turning back to the drink.

  “Probably what someone told his mother nine months before he arrived,” Lance grunts before taking another sip. He looks at me, lifting an eyebrow. “Now, I can see that nobility streak that’s about ten miles wide running through your eyes right now, but I want you to say it for me. What’s on your mind, Tym?”

  I sip my own drink, and Lance is right . . . it’s worse than it smells. I set the mug down, sucking through my teeth to try and clear the disgusting, overly fruity, almost spoiled taste. Finally, when I’m not ready to gag, I continue. “I asked you to meet me here because we’re the reason Cerena’s in trouble.”

  “You looked up the rules too,” Lance says, taking a deeper drink from his mug. “When you told me what that asshole Crassus said, I took a walk down to the library. They keep their rules all nice and public on the computer terminals.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t get it,” Brandon says, looking between us. “Fill me in.”

  “Basically, she’s in jail because she’s had sex with us,” I say quietly. I look at both of them, the words said for the first time out loud. “We’ve known it, and I knew the Hunters frowned upon it, but I looked up the rules. Their . . . genetic purity codes are strict.”

  “So because she’s so fucking sexy and worked up that all three of us . . .” Lance starts to say, then shakes his head. “Nah, fuck it. I can’t even lie to myself that much. I started it with her, every time.”

  “Wait, every time?” Brandon asks, and Lance nods. Brandon lifts an eyebrow, and Lance holds up three fingers, smirking a little, and Brandon whistles. “Impressive.”

  “What can I say, I’m a cunning linguist,” Lance jokes before growing serious. “So, what are the possibilities? Demotion, a fine?”

  “Banishment, possibly death,” I reply gravely. “The sexual ones are just a dishonorable discharge from the Hunter Corps, but one of the charges is dereliction of duty and misuse of rank and title. I don’t know what the charge could possibly be, but there are only three punishments for that . . . ten years of hard labor, life of hard labor without parole, or death.”

  “All because her fiancé got butthurt?” Lance asks, and I nod. “Fuck this guy.”

  “So, what’s your plan?” Brandon asks. “Because if you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about, you’re risking a lot.”

  “Not quite everything,” Lance jokes. “I already got my pay in holochips. Not my fault Tym asked for half of his pay as a visa.”

  “I would give up the visa and all of my pay for Cerena,” I state quietly, and the other two look at me, expecting more. “I asked you here because I think she de
serves the same from both of you. I also think that, if we dropped our façades for a few minutes, you’d admit it as well. She has made an impression on all three of us.”

  “Enough of the emotion shit. If we’re sitting here, that’s all we need to say,” Brandon growls. “What’s your fucking plan? Because I’ll be honest. Whatever it is, it’s going to be crazy dangerous.”

  “Danger is my middle name,” Lance quips, smirking. “I’ll be honest with you fellas. I wasn’t impressed by Solace’s inner security. I saw a half-dozen flaws in their system during our time in the hospital. Just sayin’.”

  “Good, because I think it might be time to plan a jailbreak,” I reply. “I would rather do this with both of you involved. I think your skills and knowledge will be useful. But I promise you, if I have to go in myself, I shall.”

  “Fuck that,” Lance says. “You want to pull off the biggest trick ever on some of the biggest assholes in all of the Scorched Earth, and you think I wouldn’t be involved? Just as a matter of professional pride, I’m insulted.”

  He holds out a hand, and we shake before we turn to Brandon, who’s looking into his glass before draining the whole disgusting mess in one long gulp. “The odds will be against us no matter what. And we’re going to make ourselves enemies in both Bane and Solace if we do.”

  “You were the one who wondered if you’d made yourself a prisoner again,” I point out. “Would it be fair to let Cerena rot in a cell so that you could enjoy your gilded cage? And I—we—could use your help to make this work.”

  I don't expect him to accept my offer. In fact, spending the past few days with Brandon has taught me that for the most part, he is only worried about one person. Himself.

  That is why I am shocked when he slams his mug down on the table and nods. “To hell with it. If I'm going to do something in this world, I might as well do something noticeable. I'm in.”

  “Great. So what, exactly, is our master plan?” Lance asks, looking at me. “Because you know if it were up to me, I would quickly be in and out using my powers.”

  I nod and take another sip of my disgusting beverage. “Don't worry. There will be a time for that as well.”

  The Detention Center is in a relatively isolated part of inner Solace, just beyond the large building that apparently serves as both dining hall and classrooms for the students in the Hunter Academy. It's actually impressive to think that a building so large could be built by such a small population, but that is not the reason we are here tonight.

  If we are discovered, we will end up in jail. Not detention, jail. The detention center is reserved for members of The Hunter class in the city, not outsiders like us. Although, as I adjust my stolen shirt and glance over at Brandon, I assume that if we are captured, he will not end up in jail. I shudder to think what his fate might be. I keep thinking of the words guinea pig.

  “Where is he?” Brandon asks, the third time he has asked in the past two minutes. “He was supposed—”

  The sound of a bird whistle pierces the night, and I see a window open. hurrying over, Brandon and I slip through just as Lance closes the curtain after us. “Come on,” he says. “We don't have a lot of time.”

  “Have you found her?” I ask, hurrying with him down the hall. We stay silent, doing our best to avoid any cameras or other security measures in place. As we come to the door, I see a Hunter, crumpled on the ground and tied up. “Is this the only one?”

  “Yes,” Lance whispers. “Now hurry the fuck up. I need your skills!”

  “What do you need?” I ask, seeing the problem a moment later. “No key?”

  “Not on the guy I knocked out, or in the desk,” Lance says. “Which means there’s another guard around here somewhere.”

  “Well, that’s why you brought me along,” Brandon replies while I bend and get to work. I can see Lance bite back a reply, which is probably a good thing. Lance and I might be of conflicting personalities, but those two are like oil and water.

  Three seconds later, I have the door open, revealing a hallway with four cells on the right side. They’re not very comfortable-looking at all, and I notice that only two are occupied. The first is an old man, so deeply asleep already that he doesn’t even stir when we go by. The other, on the far end, is Cerena, who’s up and tense until she sees who it is. “Guys, what the fuck are you—”

  I pop the lock on her door and swing the cell open, Lance shouldering past me to hug her. “There’s no way in hell that we’d let you go down for this bullshit. Come on, sweet cheeks. We’re blowing this taco stand.”

  I expected to have to argue with her, so when she grabs her boots and pulls them on, tying them quickly, I’m quietly surprised and pleased. Standing up, she comes to the door, kissing me on the cheek as she passes. “Thanks for planning this.”

  “How did she . . . never mind,” Lance whispers before we hurry out of the cell block. We try to stay as quiet as we can, making our way back toward the window that Lance let us in through, but we’re only halfway there when a Security man comes around the corner, his eyes going wide and his whistle blasting so quickly that Lance doesn’t have time to react before he knocks him out.

  “I thought you could stop time?” Brandon asks as the entire Detention Center seems to awaken and bootsteps fill the air.

  “Still have to have a reaction time!” Lance says, defending himself. “What now?”

  “This way,” Cerena says, and suddenly, the rescuers are becoming the rescued. We sprint through the corridors, turning from time to time as we see Security or other Hunters pursue us.

  “Hope you know where you’re going,” Brandon says as we come around a corner and I see the kitchen ahead. We burst through, and Cerena points toward a large door in the floor. “What is it?”

  There’s no lock, but one whiff of the air coming out tells us exactly what it is. “Really?”

  “They’ll have every door covered,” Cerena says as we look at the narrow pipe that connects to the sewers. “And I know where this leads.”

  The sound of approaching Security decides it for us, and we slide in, Lance going last and closing the door after him. With that, we’re cut off, the air foul and wretched, our clothes quickly soaked with things I don’t even want to ponder.

  The pipe’s narrow, just barely wider than my shoulders, and I have to crawl, my boots scraping for purchase on the slimy interior, which is a blessing and a curse. On one hand, my feet are slipping, barely able to give me any push, but on the other hand, the filth slicks my shoulders and chest and lets me worm my way down the pipe.

  “This must be how a cock feels in Brandon’s ass,” Lance mutters as we squirm. “Filthy and squeezed.”

  There’s no reply for once, and we keep wriggling, our faith in Cerena’s simple order fueling us as we press into the blackness. My hands start to go numb, but I say nothing as I dig my boots into the sides of the pipe, knowing the only way out is forward.

  I feel the pipe start to slope downward, and soon, I’m actually braking with my feet until I emerge into a larger pipe, nearly as tall as I am, and at least only partially filled with sewage. A dim light filters in from above, barely enough to make out anything, but it’s better than the pitch-blackness of the first pipe.

  Cerena’s already standing up, her body a faint gray outline against the blacker pipe, recalling her next moves. “To the left, two intersections—”

  “Just how did you find this?” Brandon asks. “We just crawled through a couple of hundred yards of shit and foulness, and we’re not even free yet.”

  “You’d be surprised what they have us do in Hunter training,” Cerena says quietly, starting off. “I had to infiltrate the center myself one time as a test. We’re doing my infiltration, in reverse.”

  “As long as we’ve got an expert at sewer crawling,” Lance quips, moving past me. “Come on, I’m armed best for this.”

  Cerena leads the way, showing us a spot where we can rinse our bodies and faces to clear the stinking, disgust
ing mess from our skin, although I’m quite sure it’ll take a long, long time before I feel clean again.

  “How much farther?” I whisper, keeping my voice down as low as I can. The light is coming from cutouts and other entrances to the drain system, which means someone can hear us as well.

  “Two more turns, then the exit,” Cerena assures me. “So, what’s after this?”

  “I’ve got a place,” Lance whispers. “We didn’t have time to plan much more. Didn’t know the details of your trial.”

  “Well, good thing you did it when you did it,” Cerena assures us. “I was going to be court martialed tomorrow.”

  I shiver at the idea that we came so close to losing Cerena, saying nothing as we keep going. Just as Cerena said, ahead, there’s a ladder and soft light filtering in as we start up.

  “Let us take the lead,” I tell Cerena, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’re armed, remember?”

  Cerena nods, and in the dim light from above, I can actually see her smile. “I owe you guys.”

  “Just wait until I come to collect,” Lance jokes, but Cerena’s smile says that whatever idea Lance has, she’s willing to do it.

  The ladder ends in a small concrete room, with a locked door that’s easy for me to disable. I open the door carefully, revealing a large courtyard. I know this place. It’s the exterior marshaling grounds for the Hunters, where the entire contingent can gather for the defense of Solace, if need be.

  “Okay, from here—” Lance says as Cerena emerges, but before he can complete his sentence, he and I are swept off our feet. “What the—”

  “Hello . . . betrothed.”

  Out of the shadows steps Crassus, whose hands are glowing with a purplish-black light. Brandon leaps for him, but Crassus hits him in the chest, sending him to the ground, blood already trickling from his mouth.

  “Crassus . . . how?”

  “The dark god requires him . . . and he promised you to me,” Crassus says with an evil growl. “Now . . . I’ve come to collect.”