Shrouded Loyalties

by Reese Hogan

  Cu Zanthus hurried down to her level, shoving the barrel of her gun aside and leaning close, gray eyes focused on hers.

  “What do you have for me, Keiller Yano?” he said, addressing her by her male Dhavnak name. Though they’d worked together for two cycles now, he still didn’t suspect her true gender.

  “They’re traveling through dekatite veins, using arphanium crystal pipes,” she said. “Some other realm or reality, I don’t know. It’s dangerous. There are creatures.”

  “Creatures?” His brow furrowed. “Another realm?”

  “I know. It sounds crazy. But I was there. That’s how they’re getting to us. From one dekatite vein to another.”

  “Which dekatite vein were they using?”

  “Kheppra Isle. The whole island is made of dekatite.”

  “Wow,” Cu Zanthus said. “OK. Anything else?”

  “Go through surrounded by steel. That’s the only safe way. Unless you’re wearing dekatite. Whatever you do, don’t bring dekatite when you’re traveling through.”

  “Travel through dekatite, but not carrying dekatite. Arphanium pipes. Kheppra Isle. Got it.” He took a deep breath. “Good work, Keiller Yano. Now here’s an address for you. Twenty-eight Bellamy Road. It’s near the Sandhill Primary School. Repeat it back.”

  “Twenty-eight Bellamy Road.”

  “Good. There’s a loose brick on the front I’ll use as a drop site if I have further instructions. Find your comrade and say you lost me. Apologize, blame it on your hotheadedness, say whatever you need to get back on her good side.” He turned toward the broken window behind her, putting a foot on the sill.

  “Wait!” Klara Yana held a hand out. “I thought you were going to extract me!”

  “No. We want someone on the inside of the technology, at least until we get a foothold in using it ourselves. But your intel will move that forward faster. The more you can get, the better.”

  “But they’re going to… the in-depth questioning, the…”

  “Are they suspicious?” His gaze snapped back to her face, an underlying fury in his eyes.

  “No. No! I swear!”

  “Then get back out there before you ruin everything!” He grabbed her arm and shoved her toward the stairs. She stumbled down the first few steps, then grabbed the broken bannister, looking back.

  “Cu Zanthus. My promotion.”

  His mouth twisted. “I’ll check on it.”

  Then he pulled another shock grenade from his pocket, yanked the pin, and sent it across the floor, so quickly she didn’t have time to look away. Searing, white light burned into her eyes, as excruciating as staring directly at Shon Aha. At the same time, a deafening bang hit her ears. The world disappeared as her senses went dead. Her body tilted, and she felt the sharp edges of the staircase jabbing into her shoulders, hips, and legs as she tumbled to the ground floor. She finally came to a stop, but could do no more than lay there with her gloved hands pressed to her eyes, as if she could even now protect them from the pain. The tingling Blackwood had mentioned had intensified, until her hand felt half-dead. Her heart hammered with a combination of anger and fear. She knew Cu Zanthus had done it to help the realism of her not catching him, but all she could think of was being left behind with the enemy. It’s my job. He did what he had to. And I’ll do the same.

  She rolled to her stomach and tried to open her eyes, but couldn’t manage more than slits before they teared up and closed again. Blindly, she groped her fingers over the filthy floor. Her rifle was nowhere to be found.

  “Holland! Holland!” Blackwood’s voice penetrated her ringing eardrums. Klara Yana got her hands under her and struggled to her knees. The world rocked beneath her. She finally forced her eyes open, though she had to stare through a blur of tears. Blackwood came into focus, kneeling in front of her.

  “I lost him,” she choked out.

  “You’re an idiot!” Blackwood shot back. “You could have been killed. What were you thinking?”

  “I’m sorry, CSO. When Nicholls was shot, I… I didn’t think. I just wanted to catch him. I–”

  “You disobeyed a direct order! I thought you were smarter than that, Holland! For Xeil’s sake, I’ve never been so–” Blackwood ended the thought with a snarl, fingers curling into fists. Klara Yana realized the CSO was fighting not to lash out at her the way she had at Vin in the medbay.

  “I’m sorry,” Klara Yana said again. “But after facing that… that thing during shrouding, it just seemed so stupid, hiding from some guy with a gun.” She put a hint of rage in her voice there; men were ruled by their aggression, and that’s exactly what would have driven young Deckman Holland to such a reckless action. “But you’re right. I should have listened. I promise it won’t happen again, ma’am.”

  Blackwood glared at her, pulling in long deep breaths through gritted teeth. Klara Yana had to close her eyes as another wave of dizziness washed over her. She hadn’t been stunned by a shock grenade in a long time, not since her training with the NIC. She’d forgotten how miserably disorienting it was.

  “What did he look like?” Blackwood finally said. “Get any details?”

  “Black shirtsleeves and trousers. Tall boots. Had a hood pulled up.”

  Blackwood grunted. “It’s not much. But more than I saw.”

  “Yes, CSO.”

  “Look at me, Holland.” Blackwood waited until Klara Yana opened her eyes again before continuing. “I was shot. Do you know what that means? It means I was wounded because of your carelessness. You could face serious charges for this. You know that. Right?”

  “Yes, CSO,” Klara Yana said faintly.

  Blackwood let out a sigh through her teeth. “But you saved my life on the boat, and I don’t want to do that to you right at the start of your career. So grow up, for Xeil’s sake, and listen to your commanding officer. No matter what. Not only can you land yourself in prison, you can get yourself and your entire team killed. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, CSO. I understand. It won’t happen again.”

  Blackwood took Klara Yana’s arm and helped her to her feet. Klara Yana took a shuddering breath, casting one last glance back at the stairwell. Then she followed Blackwood out of the building.

  Chapter 6

  BLACKWOOD AND THE SCIENTISTS

  They were picked up by an APT Rambler – a vehicle so old, it still had a loudly rumbling engine from the days they’d used axolot biodiesel from Dhavnakir. The fact that they’d had to pull out war equipment from over ten years ago wasn’t a good sign. Blackwood sat up front with the sergeant who’d collected them, holding her beret clamped over her aching gunshot wound. She just wanted to close her eyes, but the sergeant yelled over the roaring engine the whole way back, apologizing for taking so long to pick them up. He said they’d uprooted a cell of saboteurs the day before, planting explosives at infrastructure sites, and a brutal firefight had broken out. One of the bombs had gone off, taking out a water treatment plant and destroying half its supply. Added to the water shortages they always battled during dry season, panic had broken out; even now, soldiers were piling into transports to help quell the southwestern quadrant, which had been the first to have its rations cut.

  Blackwood tuned him out and glanced back to check on Holland. The deckman had gone pale and silent, probably still shaken by either his encounter with the assassin or his reprimand from Blackwood. His eyes took in the damaged statue of a soldier half-obscured by fallen wreckage, the tank traps and anti-infantry barricades bristling with barbed wire in the FCB’s plaza, the sliding iron gate with the sharply bent corner, the ragged brick wall and dark archways. That wide-eyed gaze, so similar to the one he’d had on the boat, reminded her that young and stupid was sometimes just young and scared out of your mind. His reckless behavior earlier that day didn’t change that; everyone handled fear differently. At least he hadn’t frozen or run away, the way she’d heard some new recruits did. But not obeying orders…

  I have to get this kid straight
ened out, she thought. If he does that again, we’re gonna end up losing a good sailor.

  Between the lateness of the day, finding a medic to dress Blackwood’s wound, and the general chaos in the wake of the rioting, Blackwood and Holland were given two cots in a cleared-out office and told to report to the underground lab first thing in the morning. They were also given two clean dark brown uniforms, infantry-style, along with a couple of barely-heated slivertail breast patties seasoned with snappy pepper, and a handful of freeze-dried vict bars. The bars were made of cactus mash and bean paste – a recent recipe Blackwood wished the military had never discovered, despite food shortages. Blackwood watched as Holland choked his way through the heavily spiced bird, taking gulps of tepid water often. Small town tastes, no doubt, unused to the spiciness of Ellemko’s food. The vict bars were left untouched. Blackwood stuck them in her trouser pockets for later.

  A soldier was posted outside the door, “just in case they needed anything.” Blackwood privately wondered whether he was supposed to keep them in or others out. She was almost too tired to care. Although the Main Sun hadn’t yet sunk, she collapsed onto the bunk, still fully clothed in her naval dress uniform, and passed out instantly. It seemed she’d only been asleep seconds before Andrew was banging on the outside of the submarine again.

  Mila! Don’t abandon me! Please!

  She gasped, opening her eyes to blackness. The painkiller she’d been given had worn off, and the stab of pain in her bandaged bicep was excruciating. The dekatite brand, on her other arm, tingled as if it had cut off her blood flow. On the opposite side of the room, Holland slept, his breathing long and deep. Blackwood’s ponytail was a hard knot under her head. She reached back and pulled the band out.

  Despite her exhaustion, sleep didn’t return. She found herself thinking of Vin, and the dekatite chain. What had he been thinking, to risk all their lives like that? The sergeant’s news about saboteurs struck an uncomfortable chord there. Could Vin really be such a thing? He’d been with them for two years. But she supposed spies could be planted at any time, and could lie dormant as long as necessary. If it was true, he’d failed, and he’d pay for it.

  She thought about Andrew, and mentally wrote the beginnings of conversations should she see him again. Most ended after a couple awkward moments with her saying she hoped he was well and she had to get back to the base. I’m sure it’ll be true, anyway. The scientists’ approaching tests seemed almost better than trying to fill his terrible silences. But then her mind turned to the scientists themselves. What were they going to do? She pictured them cutting the mark out of her arm, severing muscle and nerves, chopping off Holland’s hand… She shivered. If it’ll help protect our parents’ research, it’s worth it.

  She realized Holland’s breathing had changed and he’d shifted position on his cot. He was whispering, too quiet to make out any words, almost too quiet to hear at all, except for the abnormally quiet office space. Blackwood listened for a moment, but heard little more than the hitches in his breath. She turned to her side.

  “Holland?”

  He fell silent abruptly. “CSO,” he finally said. “I hope I didn’t wake you.”

  “No. I couldn’t sleep. What were you saying just now?”

  “Just… just talking to my mother. It’s nothing.”

  “Your mother? You talk to her?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Is she still alive?”

  “Don’t know, ma’am.”

  Blackwood raised her eyebrows, surprised. “How long have you been on your own?”

  “Um. A long time, CSO. At least ten – ten years.”

  “You were a child,” Blackwood said softly.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then you have something in common with my brother and I. We lost our parents at a young age, too. I was eighteen. Andrew was twelve. I raised him on my own for the next three years.”

  “Fifteen, ma’am?” said Holland after a few moments. “You left him when he was fifteen?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Did he have relatives staying with him?”

  “N- No. He was old enough to take care of himself. I only made things worse by being there.”

  “Is he still around?” asked Holland.

  “Yes. I told him I’d try to stop by. He lives here in Ellemko. Maybe I’ll introduce you. You’re almost the same age, you’d get along.” Not likely. But who knew? He’d seemed to hit it off with that Dhavvie kid down the street four years back. Even with the increasing tensions between their countries, Blackwood had been sorry when the kid had to move back. He’d drawn Andrew out again when nothing else worked. He’s probably in the army now, fighting to take Belzen away from us. Maybe after they’ve taken us, he can get in touch with Andrew again. She snorted under her breath.

  “CSO?”

  “I think you’d be good for him,” she said. “Someone closer to his age, with a similar past. You can show him it’s OK to move on. To live a life outside the shadow of grief.”

  “Sure, CSO,” said Holland, his voice cautious. “I’d be happy to.”

  Blackwood sat up, wincing at the stab of pain in her bicep, and glanced at the dark sandpane in the far corner. “Bet it’s right around half-light. I swear, that early morning shift is in my bones now.”

  “Could be, ma’am.”

  She found the infantry uniform on her cot, still folded. “You already changed?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, let me get dressed, and we’ll head down and get this over with.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “We were told first thing in the morning. Come on, Holland. When things seem overwhelming, getting back in control is half the battle. You have the stones to chase a sniper into a building, you can handle some scientist looking at your hand.”

  “I… I guess you’re right, ma’am.”

  “Stick by me,” said Blackwood, pushing herself to her feet. “I won’t let ’em hurt you.”

  She prayed to Xeil it was a promise she could keep.

  “Well, I’ll be sandblasted if you ain’t the child of Carrie and Owen Blackwood!”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s me.” Blackwood did her best to extricate her hand from the overeager scientist who greeted her and Holland just inside the lab. Rows and rows of stone-varnished tables lined the room, glass vials stacked neatly in racks in each one’s center. Each table had a faucet at the end opening over a tiny sink. Despite the earliness of the day, four students, barely out of secondary school, worked in aprons, pouring colored liquids into beakers or holding pots over small flames. The air smelled astringent and sour. The lab was lit with old galvanized power, old enough to hum loudly through the warm air.

  “I’m Doctor Nadia Zurlig.” The woman twisted her long, red hair into an impossibly neat chiffon on the back of her head in seconds flat. The broad smile hadn’t left her freckled Atrarian face. “I worked with your parents, Mila! Fact, I met you when you were no taller than a pygmy poke. Back then, you were ’bout as prickly as one too, if I recall.”

  Blackwood smiled politely. “Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t remember.”

  “Your parents were good folks, Mila, good as I’ve ever known. Only reason I wasn’t with ’em the day they… well, you know the day… was that my own young one was sick at home. Timmon, you remember ’im?”

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “He’s workin’ the train yard now, pulling all-night shifts. I bet he’d remember you. How’s your brother?”

  Blackwood cut a quick look to Holland. The other sailor was looking around the lab, head still but eyes moving to take in every detail, as if he’d be quizzed the second they left. Blackwood had never seen anyone as aware of his surroundings as this kid. She suppressed a sigh as she turned back to Zurlig.

  “He’s fine, ma’am, as far as I know. I don’t get back to see him much.” Gently, she tried to steer the conversation to their reason for coming. “Were you contacted about… our situa
tion?”

  “Of course. Follow me out this way and we’ll grab Doctor Marson. We have a separate lab we use for–” she glanced back at the seemingly absorbed students as she headed out the door, “–the special projects.” She whistled under her breath as they headed down the hall. “Just think. Your parents working with the early R&D for shrouding, and now here you are, six years later, with some trials of your own. ’Spect your parents would be proud.”

  She glanced back again, and then paused as she noticed Holland in Blackwood’s wake. “This guy’s with you, then?” she said with a jerk of her thumb.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Blackwood. “Apprentice Deckman Holland. If not for his help, I’d be dead now.”

  Zurlig grunted. Her streak of friendliness was gone, as suddenly as that. She stopped at a door and pounded on it with her fist.

  “Marson! Up and at ’em! The sailors are here, and there’s a war on. No time to waste.”

  “Coming.” A man pushed the door open, thinning hair brushed over his dark scalp. He pushed his spectacles up onto his head as he came out, pushing his neat hair strands into disarray. His eyes lit up at the sight of them. “Is it true? Dekatite? In your skin?”

  “Marson,” Zurlig growled, “save it for the lab.”

  Marson fell into step beside Blackwood as Zurlig led them the rest of the way down the hall. Dutifully, he kept his mouth shut until Zurlig had unlocked three sets of locks on an iron door at the end and thrown the light switch. They walked into a cavernous room, walls and ceiling covered in crisscrossed steel bars. The room was so long, Blackwood could barely see the other side. Although a combination of galvanized and arphanium lanterns lined the ceiling, the arphanium crystals were absent from the globes.