by Ehsan Ahmad
He and Marl were standing by the door, the Count shaking his fist as he gave his orders. Marl replied but Talazeer snapped back instantly and reached for the control panel. Once the door was open, Talazeer shoved his bodyguard outside, then punched two buttons.
When she realized he had locked the door, Cerrin tried to get up. But her arms gave way and more blood fell from her face.
“Don’t worry,” said Talazeer, “you can barely see it against the robe.”
He scooped her up easily in his arms and held her tight as he walked into the bedroom. Injured and without a weapon, Cerrin knew she didn’t have a chance.
Talazeer dropped her onto the middle of the bed, then stretched her arms up above her with one hand. With the other, he pulled the belt off the robe, then began tying her wrists together.
She watched him. Those dark eyes were without depth or feeling, his face even more lifeless than before. Black blood dripped onto the covers beside her head. Somehow she got some words out.
“You’re bleeding.”
It didn’t even seem to register. He had finished tying her and now ran both bloodied hands through his hair.
Cerrin screamed again, a scream that shook her entire body. This was not fear but rage. As tears streamed down her face, she spat at him and cursed with every oath she knew.
Talazeer covered her mouth with one hand and reached for his belt with the other.
Then he suddenly let go and turned around.
Cerrin looked past him and saw the old soldier standing there, dressed but barefoot like the Count. When she saw the expression on his face, she knew she would live.
15
Vellerik found himself outside the medical bay again.
The girl had tried to run past him, but he could hardly let her loose on the ship with blood pouring from her face so he’d grabbed her and picked her up. When she realized he meant her no harm, she stopped struggling. Neither Talazeer nor Marl had followed him as he carried her away, ordering Rasikaar to wake the surgeon. The physician was currently examining her while the two curious soldiers looked on. The girl—whose name Vellerik still did not know—was letting the surgeon treat her but was breathing heavily and staring blankly up at the roof.
He reckoned half an hour had now passed since he’d activated his security override to access Talazeer’s quarters. Though Danysaan and Rasikaar had followed him there and seen the girl, the Administrator had just made an announcement that all personnel were to remain in their cabins. Vellerik assumed the Count was already moving to keep the incident quiet, limit the damage. He glanced at the clock inside the bay—it was the middle of the night. Despite its gruesome outcome, Talazeer had evidently put some thought into his plan.
Vellerik moved up to the window and watched the surgeon work. Once the bleeding was staunched, he used a scanner mounted on an arm to check the wound. Having briefly disappeared into an anteroom, he returned with a beaker full of liquid. He tried three times to get the girl to drink it, but she refused.
The surgeon then came outside to join Vellerik in the corridor. He was of a similar age, probably not far off from retirement himself. “I wonder if you might try in a moment, Captain. It’s a sedative. I have no experience in dealing with the species, so I had to use files from the planetary installations for reference.”
“She needs it?”
“Certainly. You didn’t say exactly what happened?”
“Did you get a name at least?”
“She did speak a little, but I couldn’t make much sense of it. Don’t have a translator, do you?”
Vellerik gestured at himself—he was barefoot and wearing only trousers and shirt.
The surgeon glanced through the window. The two injured soldiers were talking to each other. The girl had turned onto her side, away from them. Even from ten meters away, Vellerik could see she was shaking.
“The cut is quite deep,” continued the surgeon. “If we can get her to take the sedative, then I can administer anesthetic before the operation.”
Count Talazeer marched around the corner and along the corridor. He had now dressed himself in formal attire, but what Vellerik noted first was his hair: he had taken the time to arrange it in his preferred swept-back style.
“Sorry about all this,” he said to the surgeon, without a hint of shame. “How is she?”
“Very anxious, sir. I was telling Captain Vellerik, I need to administer both a sedative and an anesthetic. The cut is deep, but clean and straight; I believe I will be able to…”
“There will be no operation,” said the Count.
“Sir?”
“Excellency.”
The surgeon accepted the correction with good grace. “Excellency, once the anesthetic takes effect, I can conduct the operation in a matter of minutes.”
“That’s not necessary. As long as you’ve stopped the bleeding. I’ve arranged for a shuttle to take her back to the surface immediately. We have the information we need from her.” He shook his head. “I blame myself really, but I thought Marl had his odd predilections under control. These Drellens… if it weren’t for his abilities as a bodyguard, I would have got rid of him years ago.”
Vellerik stared into the medical bay; he feared his reaction if he actually looked at Talazeer.
“But, Excellency, why leave the girl scarred? If I start now—”
“No, no. Marl should not have forced himself on her, of course, but the little bitch attacked him. I cannot be bothered to go through all the rigmarole of an official sanction—we shall leave her with the scar to remind her and her people of the importance of obedience. I think that’s best. I suggest you finish your treatment so she’s ready for that shuttle.”
The surgeon seemed to think about persisting for a moment. “As you wish, Excellency. If I may, your neck… were you injured?”
“No, no. It’s nothing.”
“Very well.”
As the surgeon walked away, Vellerik took the opportunity to do the same.
“Captain, a word?”
Vellerik took two more steps before halting. His whole body felt rigid and his head ached. But he turned around.
“Perhaps here?” Talazeer pointed further along the corridor, which led to an isolated junction where they would not be heard.
Once there, the Count interlocked his fingers and raised his chin, the very picture of composure. “Captain, I would just like to ensure that you understand exactly what happened. It would be unfortunate if differing versions of this incident were to emerge.”
Vellerik put his hands in his pockets and said nothing.
Talazeer looked along the corridor and grimaced. “Back home, reputations are so easily tarnished. Even unfounded rumors can be dangerous. Perhaps if you were to tell me now your account of what occurred, I could be sure there is no danger of anyone getting the wrong idea.”
It was so tempting.
Vellerik could delay until the morning, compile a written report for Colonel Ferrinor, his immediate superior.
But what then? He was in no doubt about whose side Danysaan and Rasikaar and all the others would take. He could call in a few favors, but his connections were nothing compared to Talazeer’s. And once he’d stood up to him, the Count would undoubtedly go on the attack. It simply wasn’t worth it.
He was surprised by how easily the lies came. “I was awoken by Deputy Administrator Rasikaar—there were reports of screams coming from Count Talazeer’s quarters. I arrived there to find Marl attacking the native girl. I intervened.”
“I too attempted to stop him,” said Talazeer, somehow sounding more convincing with this than any previous statement.
“I then took the girl to the medical bay, where she was treated by the surgeon.”
Talazeer nodded enthusiastically. “Best to keep it simple, I agree. You thought it odd Marl had taken her to my quarters, but it later emerged that he wanted to have his way with her in his own room. He thought
he could keep her quiet, but she fought back.”
“So you will be reporting the incident then, sir?”
Talazeer pretended to give this some thought. “No. And neither will Administrator Danysaan. Though it was unfortunate, I can control Marl and I will ensure it won’t happen again. But the account needs to be clear for our colleagues aboard the ship and anyone who asks. People do like to talk.” Talazeer stood aside. “You would probably like to get back to sleep, captain.”
Vellerik reckoned he had earned one moment of candor. “You’re going to let her live?”
With the matter settled, it seemed Talazeer was also prepared to drop his guard. “Yes.”
“With what she knows? What if she speaks of it?”
“I don’t think she will. I don’t think she will dare. But what if she does? It will only be to her own kind. And what do they matter?”
Certain he would not be able to get back to sleep, Sonus decided he might as well use the time before his shift started. He retrieved a few key parts from the container and sat in a corner, well away from any prying eyes.
He was still not sure he could create the weapon. He had a design, and most of the parts, but without access to the maintenance yard, he didn’t have the tools to modify them. He would just to have to hope there would be more work up on the surface at some point, and if the occasion arose, he would need to be ready.
The weapon was to consist of three key parts. The first was the barrel, the second the magazine, the third the firing mechanism. The barrel was a length of metal tubing from which the weapon would discharge canisters of shrapnel (his current idea was to use scraps of metal housed in plastic cylinders). The weapon would fire only once before reloading, so he would have to configure a method for inserting the ammunition. He retrieved a sheet of notes and began to imagine how he might put them into practice. Progress came quickly, and he was soon marking up the cylinder and listing exactly what he needed.
After an hour or so, however, his thoughts drifted to the other parts of the weapon, particularly the troublesome firing mechanism, and belief began to wane. He considered other devices—a bomb perhaps? He knew there had been some attempts at other mines years ago, but the saboteurs had either been discovered or blown themselves up. There were undoubtedly stocks of explosives stored in the armory or main warehouse, but it had been a while since the engineers had cleared new shafts and tunnels. It seemed unlikely he would be able to get his hands on the necessary material, let alone develop a workable method of detonating it.
Then he began to think about targets. Nomora and his allies clearly hadn’t taken any action yet, but they wanted weapons. Who would they try to kill? Someone significant surely. A guard? A commander? Even the Planetary Administrator or Count Talazeer himself?
Sonus admonished himself for wasting time. He had long since learned that little could be achieved by tying yourself in knots thinking about endless possibilities. He spent a few more minutes on the barrel, then heard the familiar sounds of the cavern coming to life: shuffling feet, muted conversations, boiling water. Soon the alarm would sound and the women would appear with the morning meal. He hid all the incriminating materials in the container, then tidied his bed and began to dress.
As ever, there was so much he could not control. He resolved to think solely about the weapon. Only by focusing on that could he make a concrete contribution. He wanted it ready and working within a month.
Cerrin felt nothing. Her mind seemed blank, empty. Her body seemed somehow both heavy yet weightless. The wound upon her cheek did not hurt at all.
“Girl.” The surgeon pointed at the bed.
Cerrin rubbed her eyes, then realized there were other people in this room. At first she thought it was the Vitaari in the medical bay, but these were women. Echobe women. One of them sat up in her bed. She looked at Cerrin but did not speak.
“There, girl. Lie down.”
She turned toward him and recognized his face, and then she remembered she was back on Corvos, back in the infirmary of Mine Fourteen.
The Vitaari put a hand on her shoulder. She shrank away from him and sat down on the bed. Another woman came along and stood in front of her.
“Mari will help you undress,” said the surgeon. “I understand you were given some medication?”
The woman repeated what he had said, but her Palanian accent wasn’t a great improvement on the Vitaari translator.
Though her arm felt like it was made out of wood, Cerrin moved her hand into her pocket and pulled out the packet of tablets. She showed it to the Vitaari, who took it and said something she didn’t understand. He then left, and she felt the Palanian hold her hand.
Cerrin shook it off.
“Are you all right? What happened to you?”
Her pale face was a blur, but Cerrin now remembered Mari from her time in the infirmary after her last escape attempt. Mari was kind. She sat next to Cerrin and put an arm around her shoulder.
“What did they do to you?”
Mari took her hand again, and this time Cerrin gripped it tight.
When she awoke later, it was getting dark outside. Reaching up to rub her eyes again, she felt the sting of the wound. Wincing, she gently put a finger against her cheek and traced the two lines of dried blood, the edges of the wound. It was reassuring to know the whole side of her face hadn’t been opened up, which was how it now felt. She let go, then looked around.
There were three beds on each side of the infirmary. On her last visit she had been in one by the window, but now she was close to the corridor. There were small weak lights beside the beds of the other two patients—one next to her, one on the other side. Cerrin thought she recognized the woman opposite from Block A. She was staring out of the window up at the sky. The other woman was covered by sheets, facing away from Cerrin. She seemed to be sleeping. In a little room on the other side of the corridor, the surgeon and Mari were sorting through trays of multi-colored vials.
Cerrin was so thirsty she drank the entire mug of water on the table by the bed. Apart from the pulsing pain in her cheek, her head still felt fuzzy and her back ached from where she had been thrown onto the table. The thought of those moments with Talazeer sent a shiver through her, and she put her cold hands under the sheets. It did not seem real. She had thought the worst was over when she’d settled down for the night with the creatures, before Marl had come for her. Before…
Suddenly she was sobbing, her whole body shaking. Shamed by it, she stifled the noise and eventually forced herself to stop by reciting one of her mother’s favorite prayers—an invocation to the Lake Goddess that asked for calm and serenity. By the fifth repetition, she was beginning to feel better.
Lights came on in the corridor. The surgeon exited the little room to greet Governor Yeterris. Cerrin turned away and pulled the sheets over her, pretending to sleep. She stayed like it even when the door hissed open, even when the surgeon spoke to her. Only when a shadow fell across her face did she open her eyes.
Yeterris—the surgeon standing behind him—was peering down at her. To be precise, he was looking at her cheek.
The governor activated his translator. “Ah, you are awake.”
Cerrin sat up, mainly to move away from him.
At a look from the governor, the surgeon quickly left. Yeterris glanced briefly at the other two women, then spoke quietly. “Who did this to you?”
Cerrin did not want to talk about it, certainly not to a Vitaari.
Yeterris fingered one of his gold bracelets. “Was it the bodyguard? He is known to be fond of blades.”
Cerrin looked down at the clean white sheets.
“I’m not surprised you don’t want to talk. You must have been very frightened. It is unfortunate I had to send you up there.”
The governor smacked a fist into a palm. “That bloody Drellen. Talazeer needs to keep him in order.”
Then Cerrin did want to speak. She remembered Marl arguing with
the Count; perhaps he had even tried to stop him. She wanted to tell Yeterris the truth, but the words wouldn’t come. In fact, she couldn’t even make a sound.
“What?” Yeterris leaned over her. “Can you not speak, girl?”
She tried again. She opened her mouth, but all that came out was breath.
It was him. Talazeer. He did it. It was him.
She could think the words, but she couldn’t say them.
Yeterris shook his head, then called out. The surgeon returned, and the two of them began a long conversation in Vitaari. At the end of it, the surgeon checked the screen of the machine beside the bed. He then reached downward and pulled out a cable attached to a metal band.
“It is to help you,” said the surgeon.
“Don’t worry, girl,” added Yeterris.
Cerrin glanced warily at the band, but the surgeon had previously done more frightening things to fix her ankle; she trusted him not to harm her.
He attached the band to the back of her neck, checked the screen again, keyed a few buttons, and spoke to Yeterris in Vitaari. Then he removed the band. “I will send Mari in. That might help.”
The governor waited until he had gone before speaking again. He whispered. “You are still beautiful, Cerrin. I hope you feel better soon.”
She did not watch him leave. She stared down at the sheets, struck by the realization this had happened to her before: once when she had heard about her father, and again when her mother died. The affliction had taken several days to pass.
Mari came in and tried her best. She spoke softly, spoke of the old days, asked about the forest. To Cerrin’s relief, Mari quickly realized she couldn’t help and left her in peace. Cerrin leant back and covered her face with her hands. She prayed to all the ancients and gods that she would fall asleep and wake up somewhere else.
16
Sonus stood with a group of about a dozen others outside Orani’s dwelling. Maker’s Day was approaching, and some of the more enthusiastic workers—Orani included—always managed to cobble together some sort of celebration. There would be singing, small presents, and games for the children. In years past, the Vitaari had allowed them to finish an hour or two early, but the governor had made it clear there was no chance of that happening this time. Behind Orani, her husband was sitting in a chair, carving wooden figures for gifts. Another man was painting them. Three women were discussing the treats they could make from the limited ingredients available. Real food had become increasingly hard to come by, even though the workers were occasionally allowed to barter with the Lovirr, who could offer dried fruit and nuts, even some preserved cakes. But over the years, the mine inhabitants had run out of anything to trade with.
