High Flyer (Verdant String)

by Michelle Diener

  “That's got, what? One or two more darts?” Lia swung the stick again, leaning forward to extend her reach.

  The stick struck the woman's hand, and the SAL flew out of her grip and landed amongst the tree roots, near Iver's feet.

  He scrambled over and picked it up, saw neither woman had noticed him yet.

  Lia was swinging the stick again, the camp guard dancing out of reach with the hand that had been hit tucked up against her stomach.

  Enough of this.

  Iver stepped out of the copse and shot Lia in the back.

  For a moment she went still, then tried to look over her shoulder before she fell face first onto the ground.

  The woman from the camp stared at Lia in shock, unsure what had happened, and then finally lifted her gaze and saw him.

  “Who are--?”

  Iver shot her as well.

  He checked the SAL as she collapsed. Lia had been right. There were no darts left.

  Someone made an animalistic sound, and Iver turned to find Luki staring at him, both hands at the wound in his side.

  As Iver took a step toward him, Luki started to cough, a heaving, hacking sound, and then he passed out.

  Iver started coughing himself.

  TellTale after-burn was foul.

  It should be banned.

  Iver decided it would be banned. As soon as he got back to his job of running the fucking planet.

  Which these fuckers had tried to stop him from doing.

  He vaguely realized he was about to kick Luki, that his boot was going back so he could really put one in, and he stumbled away, back into the trees and turned from the clearing, breathing the clearer air.

  Then he staggered to the path and stood for a few minutes taking deep lungfuls, head bent, hands on his knees.

  There was something in the after-burn chemicals that triggered violence.

  He had never heard of that before, and it made him wonder who knew about it.

  His list of wrongs to right was getting longer.

  “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”

  Iver slowly lifted his gaze, and then straightened up. He still had the SAL in his hand but given that two other SALs were being leveled at him, and he knew his was out of darts, he dropped it to the ground.

  “Wise choice.” Bret looked at him intently, and then swore.

  “What, boss?” The man beside the camp leader was tall, thin and twitchy, as if he was out of his element.

  “Iver Sugotti.” Bret swore again, and then kicked out at a stone near his foot.

  “Turns out, I'm difficult to kill.” Iver lifted his hands and shoulders. “Before we go on about me and how much of a bastard I am, one of your guards has been stabbed and may still live if you get him help. The other was hit in the head with a stick and is probably concussed. Wait--!” He stepped into the path to block it as the thin man began to rush past. “Be careful. The fumes from the TellTale after-burn seem to trigger unnecessary violence. That's why that scene around the corner looks like it does.”

  Bret narrowed his eyes. “Trying to cover for yourself, Sugotti?”

  Iver shook his head. “I was watching from the trees. When I went to help and felt the same rage rising up in me, I came out here for some fresh air.”

  Bret put a hand on his subordinate. “He was breathing heavily when we found him. Put on a mask just in case, Baxter.”

  Iver watched as the scientist--he was sure the man wasn't part of Bret's security team--found a mask in his pack and jogged around the corner.

  “What are you doing here, Sugotti?”

  Iver considered an answer that would keep Hana safe, and then Baxter gave a panicked shout.

  “What will I find around that corner?” Bret took a step closer, his SAL aimed at Iver's chest.

  “Your wounded security guards, and two others with SAL darts in them.”

  Bret reared back. “There's no one conscious?”

  “Your people shot a smuggler, the smugglers hit one of yours with a stick, stabbed another, and I shot the two who were left, then felt the effects of the fumes and came out here to get some clear air.”

  The scientist ran back around the corner, the mask flapping around his neck.

  “He's right about the fumes.” He stopped, gulping in air. “I felt like hitting Luki while I was patching him up.”

  “With the mask on?” Bret asked.

  Baxter shook his head. “I decided to see if he was telling the truth, so I took it off for a bit.”

  Bret looked up at the sky for a moment, then breathed deeply as he focused back on Baxter.

  “Run and get three others, whoever's available, and come back with two stretchers.”

  Baxter looked like he wanted to argue, but with a look from Bret he gave a nod and ran off.

  “One of your scientists, looking for what's powering the shield?” Iver asked.

  Bret shot him a sour look. “Seems like you know more than you should.”

  “Lancaster was chatty before someone blew him up.” He might as well blame it on Lancaster, rather than reveal he'd been snooping around the night before.

  Bret went still. “Now why would Lancaster tell you anything?”

  “He was about to kill me at the time. He didn't see any reason to hold back.”

  “You killed him instead?” Bret kept the question casual.

  “No. I shot him with a SAL, left him in his Dynastra, and was barely clear of it when someone blew it to bits.”

  “Shit.” Bret shook his head. “Did you see who?”

  “I was a bit busy dodging burning debris.”

  Bret lowered the SAL to his side. “And the woman? Our prisoner until last night. What's she to you?”

  Iver crossed his arms over his chest. “What woman?”

  “Please. She was traveling with a man who managed to escape. Then someone frees her last night. And now here you are.” Bret nodded his head slowly. “It also explains what she was doing in the back of the lander. Somehow you suspected or knew it was coming here. You got in it with her to see if it would deliver you to the camp.”

  Iver sighed. “Your friend Banyon sort of gave that away with his ranting outside the Touka City headquarters.”

  Bret kicked at the stone again, this time sending it into the stand of trees, where it smacked against a trunk. “How compromised are we?”

  Iver quirked his lips, lifted his shoulders. “What do you think, given I'm right here?”

  “Yeah, but there's no army with you. The VSC special forces are nowhere in sight. For some reason, you chose to do this alone.”

  Before Iver could answer, a loud moan came from the clearing, and Bret lifted the SAL again, used it to indicate to Iver to go first down the path.

  Iver stopped before the path widened out, where the air was hopefully a little clearer, and put out an arm to stop Bret before he stepped into the open space himself.

  “Fumes, remember.”

  Bret took a hasty step back.

  Roj had started to move, and he was holding both hands to his head, as if he could barely move it.

  “Looks like he's got a headache.” Bret didn't sound too sympathetic.

  “So will your people. And it's not as bad now as it was before. The breeze has cleared some of the stink out.” Iver edged back a little more and coughed.

  Bret grabbed the back of his jacket collar and pulled him back even further, as he started to cough as well.

  Roj turned suddenly and vomited.

  “I'm sure I've got a mask in my pack. Let me at least bring them out of the clearing.” Iver didn't like the gray hue of Roj's skin.

  Bret took Iver's pack off his back and retreated a few steps. “Don't move.” He set the pack on the ground and opened it up, keeping his arm raised, the SAL pointed at Iver, his gaze jumping from Iver to the inside of the pack and back.

  “All right. Here it is.” He tossed a mask to Iver. “You carry them out here, and if you try anything, I swear I'll shoot
you and leave you lying in the after-burn.”

  Iver nodded, secured the mask.

  Roj fought him, batting at him like he'd forgotten how to throw a punch, and eventually Iver got him on his feet and wrangled him away from the clearing.

  Luki was still unconscious, and Iver didn't dare move him alone, not with his wound still sluggishly seeping blood from around the patch Baxter had put in place.

  Instead, he lifted the women up, one by one, carrying them to where he'd put Roj.

  “Set Jeera down here,” Bret said when he brought the woman who'd been on patrol with Grimms. “I don't want her close to the other two.”

  Iver did as Bret asked, then went back for the last man, whose name he didn't know.

  “Russ can be laid down next to Jeera.”

  When Iver stepped back, something brushed his ankle, and he looked down, found Roj trying to grip the bottom of his pants.

  “Sick.” Roj turned, vomited again, and Iver held out a hand to Bret.

  “My pack. He needs some water.”

  Bret didn't hand the pack over, but he crouched beside it again, and tossed Iver a water bottle.

  Iver carefully held it to Roj's lips, let him sip at it.

  “What now?” he asked Bret.

  Bret angled his body, so he could keep an eye on everyone as well as the path from the river.

  “Now we wait for my people, and then we find out who these people sent that TellTale too.”

  “How you going to do that?” Iver had a bad feeling he knew.

  “Any way we have to.” Bret's gaze rested on Roj and Lia, and Iver was glad Hana was no longer in his clutches.

  Chapter 22

  Something had happened.

  Something violent.

  Hana could think of no other reason for the four people from the camp running along the path Iver had taken, carrying two stretchers between them.

  If Iver was one of the people hurt . . .

  She took a deep breath. If he was, she couldn't do anything to help him right now.

  She needed to watch and see what was going on before she ran down and got herself recaptured.

  It didn't take long for the group to come back around the curve of the hill again.

  One of the people holding the end of a stretcher was Vras, the medic who'd tended to her the day before. He and the other two men and one woman helping him all seemed ill at ease.

  They negotiated the river carefully, all four of them carrying first one and then the other injured person on the stretchers over the rocks.

  Iver wasn't on either.

  Hana focused back on the path again.

  Two people came limping into view.

  One of the woman who worked at the camp was supporting a fellow guard.

  He was unsteady on his feet, his hand to his temple.

  The woman looked in better shape, but her stride was uncertain.

  Behind them came the woman who'd followed Grimms and her friend along the river and discovered the camp. Now that she was facing Hana and walking slowly, Hana recognized her as Lia, Brynja's friend from the valley ambush. Her hands were clasped behind her head.

  Iver came behind her, doing the same.

  Hana swallowed back bile as a heavy weight settled in the pit of her stomach at seeing him captured.

  He seemed all right, though. Uninjured at least.

  She would have to get him out and it would be a lot harder for her than it had been for him to rescue her.

  They would be on alert now.

  Especially because the smugglers had sent a TellTale. Bret knew the camp's location was no longer a secret. They'd be on their guard now.

  Finally, last in line, came Bret. He was holding a SAL, pointed at Iver's back.

  He obviously thought Iver was the more dangerous of his two prisoners, he kept his focus on him, and Hana could see Bret hadn't noticed that Lia was moving a little faster along the path, putting more distance between them. She was a little unsteady on her feet but there was a determined look on her face as she suddenly dodged right, breaking into a run as she aimed for the trees.

  She was mid leap when she collapsed, a SAL dart in her back.

  Iver started toward Lia and then stopped, turned to face Bret. Hana couldn't hear their exchange from the hillside, but it looked heated. Eventually, Bret waved the SAL at Iver and he approached Lia slowly, then crouched beside her.

  He said something to Bret, and they argued a little longer before Iver picked her up.

  Hana saw blood on Lia's forehead as her head hung limply over Iver's arm.

  Iver carried her to the river, then put her over his shoulder as he jumped the rocks to get across.

  Bret was right behind him, standing over Iver as he set Lia down on the other side.

  “Can you hear me?” Bret shouted.

  Hana frowned. Who was he calling to? Iver could definitely hear him, he was only a couple of arm-lengths away.

  “If you don't come in to camp by dusk tonight, Sugotti here is going to get hurt.”

  He was shouting at her, Hana realized. Calling to her.

  Iver very carefully didn't look up the hill at her. He shook his head and moved his arms around, arguing with Bret, although he spoke too quietly for her to catch what they were saying to each other.

  Bret made a gesture that even from up the hill Hana could see meant conversation over, and in response, Iver ran straight at him.

  He had taken Bret by surprise.

  The camp leader jumped back, but Iver took him to the ground. They wrestled for the SAL and Bret threw it down the path.

  Iver shoved him to the side, leaped to his feet and started to run.

  Not toward her.

  He was being careful to keep her safe from discovery.

  He headed along the river bank, following the curve of the valley.

  But Bret was already back on his feet, lunging for the SAL. He must have been a crack shot during the war, because Iver collapsed moments after he took aim and shot, the dart sticking out of the middle of Iver's back.

  Bret ran toward Iver and stood over him, then looked down the valley and then up the hill, turning slowly, just as Grimms had, as if trying to spot her.

  Then he kicked Iver in the ribs, a hard, vicious lashing out.

  “He says you're too sick to move. That you won't be able to get to the camp by nightfall. Just know I'll do a lot worse than this to him if you don't come in, but I'll give you until tomorrow morning.” Bret put hands on either side of his mouth to shout his threat. “Don't keep me waiting.”

  Some of his people were coming down the path from the camp, carrying stretchers. They loaded Lia up on one, while the others made their way to Bret. While she couldn't catch his every word from where she lay, she could hear temper in the snap of Bret's voice as he gave them instructions. They loaded Iver up and walked back to camp.

  Bret did a last turn, saying nothing this time, and then walked after them.

  Message delivered.

  Hana slid back from the edge of the rock, deeper into the undergrowth, and turned onto her back, looking up at the impossibly blue, clear sky, before she sat up and took off her boot.

  Her foot was healing now she was out of the null zone of the camp, but the magfield was high out here, and her upgrade was sluggish.

  She had until tomorrow for it to do its work, but she didn't dare push Bret on the timing. She'd have to be there shortly after dawn.

  Iver wouldn't want her to hand herself in to the enemy. He'd tried to break free of Bret even though his chances were almost zero rather than put her in that position, but she wouldn't--couldn't--let him get hurt if she could prevent it.

  She knew what Bret wanted.

  And if she had to, she would use that knowledge to get what she wanted in return.

  Iver.

  Hana was careful to limp heavily as she approached the camp. She couldn't see the wall, and she ran into it, rapping her knee. She swore softly, then braced her hands on
the top of it, sat, and then swung her legs over.

  Her upgrade seemed to die within her from one moment to the next, and she fell to the ground on the other side, dry heaving.

  “You're not looking so hot.” The voice seemed to come from a long way away, and Hana ignored it as she breathed in and out, trying to get herself under control.

  Her arms shook and she couldn't hold herself up. She collapsed, face down, and breathed in the spicy green scent of the ground covering.

  Hands grabbed her around the waist and lifted her, and she bent over and retched again before slowly straightening up.

  “She really as sick as she seems?” Bret spoke and she glanced to the side, saw him watching her with narrowed eyes.

  “She feels clammy with fever.” The voice that responded was deep.

  Bret moved around to stand in front of her, and seemed to be pleased with what he saw. “You do look pretty bad. I'm guessing you won't be running off in any hurry.”

  “I'm here, as demanded. Now what do you want?” Hana tried to see any sign of Iver, but it was just the guard who'd been shot yesterday near the river by one of the smugglers and Bret standing in the early morning light.

  “Just wanted you where I could see you. Not that you'd have been any threat to us given the state of you. But I like knowing where everyone is.” Bret waved a hand at the guard. “Put her with Sugotti. Might as well keep them together seeing as they're so cozy.” He tried to reach for Hana's pack and she stumbled away from him, clutching it to her chest.

  “It's got my clothes in it, and some stuff to keep my foot from getting infected.”

  Bret studied her a moment with dislike, then flicked a glance at the guard. “Check it for weapons, she can keep everything else.”

  The guard grabbed her arm in a firm grip and pulled her toward one of the huts ranged in a curve beside the ruins.

  As they got closer to the ancient building, the rhythmic thump she'd sensed the day before overwhelmed her. It felt as if it were rattling her bones with every beat.

  She turned to the side and heaved again.