by Loren Walker
“It means a lot,” Theron said. “He raised me. He was lousy at it, but I had a home, at least.”
“He was tough on you?”
Theron smirked. “Compared to my cousins, I’m a pretty big disappointment.” Then he shrugged. “I was a small kid: sickly, sensitive, pretty ugly. He preferred Keller and the others. Much better fit for the family name.”
“I can’t imagine growing up with those three,” Phaira said. She didn’t know much about Kadise, Xanto and Keller Sava, but she’d heard enough stories. And of course, Phaira recalled with a pinch, she was the reason that Kadise Sava was dead, throwing a knife into the woman’s chest while rescuing Emir.
“Can’t say I’m sad that they’re gone.” Theron went quiet for a few moments. “Might have been better for the future, though, if they were still alive.”
She had to ask him. “Are you really going to take over the syndicate?”
Theron shrugged again. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when my grandfather dies.”
Phaira stared at the crown of his head. Then run, her thoughts insisted. Why don’t you just run? So what if your grandfather raised you? You don’t owe him your life. You don’t owe any of them. Leave the country. Start over somewhere else.
But I don’t want him to go away.
Phaira pushed down the tiny complaint at the back of her mind. It doesn’t matter what I want, she told herself. This is a fling. It’ll be done any day now, when Emir has recovered. Or when Theron is called back. Stop acting like a stupid schoolgirl.
“I bet you were cute.” An awkward thing to announce, but it was the only thing she could think to say that was light enough to break the mood. “When you were a kid. And even if you weren’t, look at you now. Not bad at all.”
That seemed to work. Theron chuckled. “Still pretty rough to look at.”
“Yes, it’s been a real hardship to sleep with you.”
His arms tightened around her back. His warmth grew hot, pressed through her shirt. She was flipped sideways with longing, deep in her gut, as his mouth drifted across her collarbones, just above the neckline of her scrubs.
Stay light, she told herself. Stay on the surface. This is coming to an end.
*
On the seventh night, Phaira was in bed, curled next to Theron, drifting to sleep when she felt the mattress jump.
Theron was shuddering next to her, quick little jerks, his body alive with electricity.
“Theron?” Phaira whispered, tapping his face.
The seizure continued. Frightened, she pulled the bed sheet off and forced herself to focus on his breathing. If it lasted longer than three minutes, she would go back to the eleventh floor medlab and find Dr. Sabik.
Thirty seconds.
She clenched her fists and released them, again and again. The urge to hold him down was agonizing.
Sixty seconds.
Then the motions began to slow. Theron took in big gulps of air, his forehead slick with sweat. It took several minutes for the man to regain his senses. When his blinking slowed, and his pupils focused, he turned away from her.
“Stop,” Phaira said over his shoulder. “It’s okay. Sixty-five seconds.”
“You counted?” He sounded mortified.
“Yes. I read about what to do.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because it was scary last time,” Phaira admitted. Theron suffered a seizure in front of her, after bounty hunters broke in and destroyed his estate. “I’d never seen one before. I wanted to understand it.”
He mumbled something inaudible, one hand covering his face. His shame made Phaira fidgety; her impulse was to make up some excuse and get out of that room. She forced herself to be still and wait, curling her toes under the sheet, focusing on the cold satin.
“Will you do something for me?” The strain in his voice was gone, replaced by fatigue. “Tell me what happened in Kings?”
Images swam through Phaira’s head: options, threats, possible outcomes. “Is it for your grandfather?”
Theron let out a low huff through his fingers. “He’s forbidden any mention of Keller, Xanto and Kadise. I don’t think he much cares for the details.” His hand fell away. “I just want to know what happened in there.”
Now Phaira really wished she had left. “I don’t know if I should,” she finally admitted.
“Why?” The word was clipped.
I don’t know what you’ll do with the information.
But she didn’t need to say it. “You don’t trust me?” he accused.
“I wasn’t the only one there, remember?” Phaira retorted. “It’s not just about me. You’ve got to understand - I don’t know what to say yet. To anyone.”
Theron said nothing.
“How much do you know?” she finally asked, when the quiet grew too awkward.
“Just the death toll. Did you see what happened with all those mercenaries? Why they all died in the canyon?”
“I saw a bit,” Phaira admitted. “From a distance. I blacked out after I was shot. I don’t know why they turned on each other like that.”
“I was sorry to hear that Nox didn’t make it.”
Phaira held her deafening guilt in check.
“Did you see Keller?” he asked her.
“Only briefly, running around the base. And then at the very end, when he was already dead.”
“He wasn’t crushed by the collapse, then?”
“No,” Phaira said. “I don’t know what happened to him.” That was true enough. She didn’t understand one iota of what happened in Kings, when the bright white light engulfed the world. But despite her fear of Sydel’s power, she wasn’t willing to expose the girl yet.
“What about Huma?”
That part, Phaira was glad to share. “Oh, you should have seen it,” she whispered. “I stopped her without the HALO on, if you can believe it.”
“I believe it.”
Thrilled, she shifted closer to him, eager to tell him more.
The sharp rapping at the door made them both jump.
Phaira rolled onto her hands and knees. Theron was already on his feet.
Then the sound of a drill made the walls shake.
Phaira was already half out of the window. When she turned to make sure he was behind her, Theron’s arms were around her.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, struggling to pull away. “Come on!”
But then his hands were on either side of her face, his forehead pressed to hers, amid the rattling of the door.
Run, her mind screamed. He made his choice. Run.
Phaira broke away and vaulted over the windowsill into the early morning wind.
There was a crash behind her. As she hung onto the building’s ledge, shouts filled the room inside. She held her breath, waiting for the rattle of gunfire.
Instead, she heard Theron’s angry voice. “Who the hell gave you this location? You disrespectful -”
“We apologize, sir,” came a man’s meek response. “But your medical alert went off, and if there is no response at the door, we are required to ensure your wellbeing.”
Theron’s seizure. He had some kind of sensor on him that alerted his grandfather when he had an incident. How humiliating, to be tracked like that.
“Don’t touch me.” Theron’s sharp voice came through the window.
“Sir, the patrol is incoming,” came a second man’s voice, apologetic. “They’re headed to this location on some arrest warrant. Please, down the back steps. We have a transport waiting to take you home.”
Arrest warrant.
Phaira’s heart dropped, fourteen floors to street level.
She pulled herself up, sliding over to the service ladder. The local patrol was coming for Anandi, Emir, and very likely her. They had minutes, if they were lucky.
Phaira slid down the ladder, the metal squeaking under her bare hands and feet. The window to Anandi’s suite was still open, but the room was empty. She quickly dressed in the pair of
scrubs left balled on the floor. There was a small drawstring back of toiletries in the bathroom; she dumped out all the bottles and slid her Calises inside, slinging it over her back.
The corridor was empty, and silent. Hopefully, both Anandi and Sabik were in the room with Emir. The elevator had an access panel to the right of the doors. Phaira popped it open and short-circuited the wiring. Several floors above, she heard the elevator stop with a loud shudder and bang. Then she laid her Lissome two feet in front of the doors, projected a sensor from wall to wall, and set an alarm to go off if the stream was interrupted.
Next, she ducked into one of the strange closets. Nothing conventional for conflict, but options at least, and her second line of defense. The drawstring bag was filled with rubber tubing, suture kits, and syringes filled with sedatives. A series of x-ray aprons were on a shelf. Would they stop a bullet? No, they were lead-based, if she remembered correctly, but it could provide a decent layer of protection. So, she took a scalpel, and cut until the bulky square became a slim rectangle. Then she bound her torso with it, underneath her scrubs.
Sabik and Anandi both jumped as Phaira burst into the room. “Patrol incoming,” she told them, first pointing at Sabik. “Destroy any documents you have on these two. Then back here. No calls outside.”
Sabik shrank back. For a moment, she wondered if she would have to knock him out, but he finally darted out of the room. She heard shredders whirring within moments.
Anandi was gripping Emir’s unconscious hand. She dropped it when Phaira tossed a CHROMA at her. It was already set to dark blue, 12-hour period, the maximum setting.
“Do it,” Phaira told her. “And then use this if anyone stops you.” She pushed her forged identification packet into Anandi’s hands. “Memorize it. You can’t hesitate if they ask you questions.”
“You’re coming with us,” Anandi gasped “Don’t leave us behind, Phaira, please.”
“I’m not leaving. But you have to be ready to go without me.”
Sabik re-entered the room, his coat and hat in hand, like he was about to go home for dinner.
“Is Emir stable enough to be moved?” Phaira asked. A swishing sound filled the room, and she glanced back at Anandi. The CHROMA worked, the girl’s hair was the same deep blue as Phaira’s. The photo in the ID packet was just blurry enough to mask distinguishing features, so she could pass.
“It’s very risky,” Sabik said. “But if Anandi helps me -”
“Her name is Ikani Mala now, got that?”
“She’s - what?” the doctor sputtered.
Phaira took the CHROMA and strode out of the room. As she headed back down the corridor, she changed the setting to a deep auburn, 12-hour period. When she slid it over her hair, the strands swung back a deep chestnut. Then she slipped a medical mask over the lower part of her face. The black make-up around her eyes was a giveaway, but on first glance, someone might just chalk it up to exhaustion.
An alarm went off. The Lissome’s stream in front of the elevaror was unbroken. No, this was building-wide: lockdown. But if the Savas had an exit, even with the lockdown, there had to be a bypass, and she had a feeling Sabik knew about it.
Anandi and Sabik wheeled Emir out in a wheelchair. The older man was slumped into his chest. Sabik held an intravenous bag, sweating visibly. Anandi’s hair was up in a weird facsimile of Phaira’s.
“I know there’s a secret exit out of this building,” Phaira barked at Sabik. “Where is it?”
“Through my office,” the doctor said after a long, shocked pause. “There’s a concealed stairwell. Years ago, it was used by mobsters to smuggle….”
“It’s still being used,” Phaira corrected. “And I doubt it’s in the building schematics. So, that’s our best option.”
“How do you know that?” Anandi exclaimed.
“No time. Let’s move.”
Sabik locked his office door. Then he fumbled for something under the edge of his desk, finally emerging with a key. Underneath the wallpaper in the corner, along the seam, there was a series of metallic rings, some kind of antique design feature. On closer look, however, one of the loops contained a keyhole.
The door swung open with a creak. On the other side, the wood and dust and stone made Phaira close to sneezing. She peered down, blinking to adjust her vision. A coiling suspension stairwell, buoyed by random beams and wires. Rickety, and she couldn’t see the bottom. And they’d have to carry the wheelchair. Her brain flashed with a prophecy: something snapping, that sickening dip and all four of them plunging to blackness.
“Go ahead of us,” Phaira ordered Anandi. “The building’s in lockdown, and the exit here might be too. If it is, you’ll have to bypass it.”
To Sabik, she gestured to the wheelchair handles. “I can lift most of it, if you can keep me balanced up top.”
As Anandi ran down the stairs, Phaira and Sabik began the task of carrying Emir in the wheelchair, descending one careful step at a time. The stairs creaked and shimmied with their weight. The slow process made Phaira feel close to crazy. Emir wasn’t a light man, and in a wheelchair he was even heavier. Sabik wasn’t much help, twisting to look at every sound.
When they reached the tenth-floor landing, an alarm sounded above. Someone had stepped into her Lissome’s stream.
“Quicker,” Phaira whispered, heaving the wheelchair base onto her shoulder, wincing with pain as she went to step down from the platform.
“Phaira.” The counter-whisper shocked her.
It was Emir: awake, blinking with confusion. When she went to shush him, he shook his head. With trembling fingers, he unbuckled his safety belt. “If you help me,” he wheezed. “I can walk.”
Sabik went to argue, but Emir was already out of his seat, and slung onto Phaira’s back, his arms around her neck. Sabik hooked the intravenous bag to the back of Emir’s waistband and left the wheelchair on the landing.
They flew down the staircase, much faster now, even with Emir’s dragging feet. The structure now swayed freely side to side. Phaira held onto the older man’s wrists and focused on maintaining her balance with each step.
Within minutes, they were on the first floor, Phaira thanking the gods for solid stone foundations. Anandi was already working on the bypass, having popped open the panel by the door. The sound of sirens filtered through the walls, but the patrol was far away, on the other side of the building. If they were lucky, the patrol would stay there just long enough….
A familiar creak echoed down the stairwell.
Anandi let out a strangled cry. With effort, Phaira removed Emir’s hands and transferred him to Sabik’s waiting shoulder. “Get as far away as possible,” she told him. “No calls. If you’re stopped, Ikani has identification, let her do the talking.”
“Don’t leave us, Phaira, please!” Anandi whispered. “I can’t do this!”
“And Emir was going to sacrifice himself for you,” Phaira interrupted her pleas. “When he recovered, when the law finally caught up to you, he was going to go to jail in your place.”
“What?” Anandi gasped.
Phaira ignored her and handed her one of the Calis pistols. The other one went to Sabik. “Do not lose these,” she ordered the two. “And don’t try to fire them, the recoil will dislocate your shoulder. Just for effect, got it? And only if it’s necessary.”
And back to Anandi: “No more sniveling. Take the lead and save your father.”
Mouth trembling, Anandi made the final electric link. The door popped open. Sabik pushed through, hoisting Emir into the sunlight. Anandi followed.
Phaira slammed the door shut. The sound of footsteps, clomping down the stairwell, grew louder.
Ren, Co, she thought. I’m sorry.
“You down there! Hands on your head and turn around!”
Phaira shut off the breaker. The stairwell was plunged into blackness.
As shouts echoed off the walls, beams of flashlight broke through the dark, a mad flurry of movement. Using her senses, Ph
aira began to climb up the underside of the staircase, the wires cutting into her palms, moving up one flight, and then another. When she hit the third-floor landing, she held on with one hand, drew out a syringe from the drawstring bag with the other. She used her teeth to remove the rubber cap. Then she waited.
At the first swish of movement by her head, she drove the needle into the officer’s calf muscle. The punctured officer cried out and stumbled down the last few so he crashed into the door, already weakened from the paralytic. The second officer hollered with surprise, his pistol over the railing, searching for her. His flashlight saw nothing but floating dust.
She was already on the other side of the staircase, swinging up, rubber tubing in hand, snapping the officer in the eye. When his head ricocheted and his hands flew to his face, she drove a fist into his gut. When his hands lowered, she cracked an elbow across his jaw, sending the officer skidding down the steps.
A crackle, a flash of blue, and a sudden hard pinch on her ribs. Phaira stared down at the shockround cables buried in her makeshift armor underneath her scrub top. The officer holding the shockround looked down and back up at Phaira. The crackling stopped, and Phaira yanked on the cables, sending the officer tumbling down the stairs.
She sprinted up the stairs two at a time. This was a game. Could she make it back to Sabik’s office? Two flights left, then one. The eleventh floor again.
She made it. She won.
The door opened from the other side. Ducking into Sabik’s office, Phaira ripped off her medical mask. The air felt fresh against her mouth, cold in her nostrils.
Then the officers tackled her from behind.
VI.
Clink, clink, clink. Phaira rapped her handcuffs on the edge of the table in a steady rhythm. She licked the edge of her split lip. Still some blood. Her eye was swelling up too.
Detective Ozias settled into her seat. She was a broad, stern-looking woman, clad in expensive greys and blues. She had come all the way in from Daro, Phaira overheard the clerks whispering.
“You’re in a lot of trouble, miss,” the detective began.
Phaira made a face. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’ll do what I like,” Ozias shot back. “You assaulted officers of the law.”
