by Loren Rhoads
He wondered guiltily if she knew he’d been thinking about that in the night.
“I will die before I let him touch me again,” she promised.
“How do you even know for sure those men were his?”
She cocked an eyebrow.
Sloane sighed. “All right. I need to go out and unload some of this stuff. You asked me to leave you a gun.”
“At least one.”
He helped her out of the water, settling her on the edge of the tub so he could dry her off. It surprised him how gentle his old scarred hands could be. He wrapped Raena in the robe he’d found behind the closet door.
Once he’d tucked her back into the bed, something terrible occurred to him and he shuddered. “You’re not planning to use it . . .”
“Gavin.” She reached for his hand. “I won’t do that to you. I’ll be here when you get back. I just want the gun in case anything comes through that door that you didn’t order.”
“If they find anything on the tombworld—which they won’t—they couldn’t get to us before I get back from my errand. Unless that antique shuttle can warp time. And if they possessed that kind of tech, they would be ruling the universe. So don’t worry.” He bent down to kiss her forehead and laid a laser rifle on the bed beside her. “Want a lesson before I go?”
“Gavin, please. It’s a rifle. I was firing these when I was a kid.”
He ruffled her hair. She felt like a soft little animal. “Just don’t blow a hole in the door. We’re trying to lay low here.”
“Got it.” She fiddled with the safety switch, checked the power pack, and sighted down the barrel.
“I’ll leave you two to get acquainted,” Sloane teased.
She snared him again with her black eyes. “One more thing.”
“Anything.”
“Do you remember when I gave you my medallion?”
“Of course.” Last-second bravado barely covered his wounded tone. Did she think he had forgotten? She’d given it to him when she’d kissed him goodbye. He lifted the flap on the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled it out, laying it in her hand.
When she smiled at it, he saw a whole new girl, one he didn’t recognize. This was a child, thrilled to have found something precious, something she’d thought lost. The joy in her expression shocked him.
He watched her skeletal fingers stroke the silver disk. The years had tarnished the cheap metal. He’d always thought the medallion’s engraving of the crossed swords silly or pretentious, but now he understood that the girl she’d been had thought it dramatic and serious. He wondered if he would have liked that girl if he’d known her before she was broken, before Thallian chased her halfway to hell and back.
“It’s smaller than I remember,” Raena said softly. She placed the medallion on the comforter beside the gun and activated its holo player.
The woman in the recording looked tiny, built like Raena. Ragged black hair streamed down her back. Her face was hollow-eyed and paranoid. Her left thumb rubbed up and down the length of her forefinger, clenching her fist again and again. The gesture was unconscious, obsessive.
“I know it won’t make sense to you now, Raena,” the recording said. “You might even doubt that I love you, but that’s not true. I have to do this, for your own good. If love were protection enough . . .”
Recording span maxed, the litany looped, began again.
“Sometimes when I watched this,” Raena said over the recording, “I used to concentrate on her hands. What was it she wanted to grip?”
To keep Raena talking, Sloane asked, “Who is she?”
“My mother.” Raena shook her head. “I’d forgotten her eyes were brown. Who forgets the color of her mother’s eyes?”
Sloane didn’t give a damn about the color of his own mother’s eyes. “What’s she talking about?”
“This was her farewell message as she sent me away. I was supposed to go to a chapter house, continue my training. I was good with computers, fascinated by them, but I was always getting into fights. Fiana couldn’t control me. She was crazy then . . . You can see it. I’d forgotten that, too.”
“What happened?”
“Slavers. The transport crew took me to the chapter house, where it was meant to be, but it was gone. Burned to the ground by the natives. What did transporters want with a kid? They were just space trash, living from job to job. Fiana had already paid them to transport me. Job done. So they sold me to the first slave ship they came across. Viridians,” she spat.
“You’re lucky you ended up with Ariel,” he said.
Raena’s smile was hard to read. Not entirely happy memories there, Sloane would have said. “You know Ariel, then?” she asked.
Sloane’s mouth twisted into a grimace before he could stop it. “We have a history, let’s say.”
Raena touched the rifle beside her. “She’s clearly not selling you guns.”
“Not any more.”
Uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned, Sloane stood up from the bed. He leaned through the hologram to kiss Raena again. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone,” he directed.
“If trouble doesn’t come here, there will be no problem,” she promised. “I’m not going anywhere else.” She watched the hologram play again.
* * *
On Station 23—neutral territory—Kavanaugh hadn’t really decided what to say to Ariel Shaad, even as he wove through the crowded bar to meet her. He’d intended to come straight to her and say that Raena was free again, albeit in Sloane’s clutches, but with every step he took, he couldn’t imagine how that knowledge might work out well for anyone. Raena wasn’t a slave; if she wanted to contact her sister, she could undoubtedly manage it. If Ariel thought Sloane had thwarted her again—over anything—she might go on such a rampage that someone would end up dead. As much as Sloane might deserve it, he had once been Kavanaugh’s friend, closer even than Ariel or Raena. Out of friendship, Kavanaugh decided to hold his tongue.
Just another untenable position Sloane put him in.
Ariel sat at a scratched-up table toward the rear of the tavern, her back against the wall like any other veteran. She’d run weapons for the Coalition during the meltdown, but her family’s money had come from manufacturing guns for the Empire. Kavanaugh had thought Sloane lucky when he started dating this rich girl. Kavanaugh might even have been jealous, except that Ariel was a good decade older than him and consistently treated him like a kid brother.
All these years later, she remained stunning: graying blond hair still pulled back in a long braid to emphasize her cheekbones, blouse unbuttoned far enough to showcase the upper curve of her breasts. She’d always liked her clothes tight enough not to get in her way if she got in a fight. With Ariel’s short fuse, a fight was rarely far out of reach. Unfortunately, between her and Sloane, Ariel was the reasonable one. It had always been a simple matter of time before they combusted.
She grinned when she saw Kavanaugh checking her over. She scooted over to give him room to get his back against the wall, too. “I was surprised to hear from you,” she said diplomatically.
“No, you weren’t.” Kavanaugh grinned back. “You knew he’d fire me eventually.”
“Yeah.” She avoided Kavanaugh’s eyes by waving a serving android over. “What will you have?”
“How’s the house ale?”
“Good. But have anything you want.”
“I can afford to,” Kavanaugh said, gently rejecting her offer to get the tab. There were times he’d taken her up on it and been grateful, but now, thanks to Sloane’s severance, Kavanaugh intended to pay back some of those free rounds he’d drunk. “Refill?”
Ariel smiled again, pleased and not a bit condescending, and ordered another Rocket Fuel. The android filled their glasses and bustled off to the next table.
“How is the old bastard anyway?” Ariel asked.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Kavanaugh sighed. “He trashed our hopper at one point,
to make sure the men didn’t loot anything without him knowing about it.” Or so Sloane had said at the time. Now that the words left his lips, Kavanaugh wondered again if Sloane had suspected Raena was alive in her tomb, if he’d wrecked the hopper to prevent her from escaping him. Escaping him hadn’t even seemed to occur to Raena. Instead, she went to her meeting with Sloane like it was fate.
Ariel was watching Kavanaugh when his gaze returned outward from his thoughts. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” he repeated.
“Nothing a shot to the head wouldn’t fix,” Ariel said, but not as seriously as she once might have.
There was no way to bring the reason for this meeting up naturally, so Kavanaugh said as casually as possible, “Remember that guy who was chasing Raena?”
Ariel took a shaky sip from her glass. “I still have nightmares about him.”
“Sloane disbanded our operation overnight,” Kavanaugh said. “He had some kind of warning that guy had the job site under surveillance.”
“What could Thallian be watching on the Templar tombworld?”
When Kavanaugh twitched, Ariel grinned. “Yeah, I keep tabs on Gavin. I know he had you robbing graves.”
“Well, I’ve done worse things for a buck,” Kavanaugh conceded, swallowing more of his ale. “But Sloane thought Thallian was coming after him.”
“You looking for a place to hide?” Ariel asked.
“Worse than that. I’m warning you to run, too.”
Anger sparked in Ariel’s hazel eyes. “What has Gavin done?”
“My silence has been bought and paid for,” Kavanaugh said, lips curling into a grimace. “These days, he’d probably shoot me for saying as much as I have. But you’ve got more to lose than I do. You’ve got to get those kids into hiding.”
“There aren’t many of them still at home,” she said hopelessly. “I mean, they’re all trained and armed as well as I could manage, but they’re adults. Or as adult as we were when we went away to war.” She drained her glass. “If Gavin’s crossed Thallian, the devil won’t bother to come after my kids. They’ve got no connection to either of them.”
“You’re right,” Kavanaugh hurried to assure her. “But you’re the only one of us who’s faced him. Who knows firsthand what he’s capable of.”
The color drained from Ariel’s golden skin. Kavanaugh ordered another round of drinks, handed over his card—in an alias, natch—to give her a moment to pull herself together.
“If that monster is still alive in this galaxy,” she said after a long swallow, “someone really ought to do something about it.”
“Thought I might try,” Kavanaugh answered.
“You’ll need arming,” Ariel observed. “Someone to watch your back.”
“I’m not volunteering you for this,” he clarified. “It’s quite likely gonna get me killed.”
“If it comes down to getting captured by that psychopath, you’ll be glad to have me along to put a bolt between your eyes first.”
He clinked his mug against her glass. “Comforting. Thank you, Ariel. I could always rely on you for that.”
She grinned, showing off her perfect teeth. “Sorry. But at least you can rely on me to tell you before I shoot you, unlike Gavin.”
Kavanaugh wondered if she’d ever forgive Sloane for that. No real reason why she should, he supposed. Not when “for old times’ sake” included as many bad memories as good.
* * *
For the next couple of days, Raena continued to fade before his eyes. Sloane started drinking, only to be interrupted by the computer’s chime.
He examined the woman on the security monitor. Doc had aged rough. Her shoulders stooped, as if Brunzell’s gravity dragged on her. Deep lines etched across her forehead and around her mouth. Her hair had gone steel gray, threaded with pure white. Appearance had never concerned Doc, so Sloane wasn’t surprised she hadn’t bothered to have herself fixed up. He was amused that, as always, she wore sturdy clothes in shades of brown that wouldn’t stain.
Doc lost all her family fighting with the Coalition during the War. Afterward, her companion Skyler succumbed to some alien disease that had eaten him from the inside. Kavanaugh was the closest thing to a son she’d ever had. Sloane braced himself for the tirade, figuring that, no matter what the payoff, Kavanaugh had already spilled to Doc what it was that Sloane needed a doctor off the grid to examine.
Doc ambled out of the lift. “How’s the universe been treating you, Sloane?” she growled, surprising him with a hug.
“I’m getting by,” he said, unwilling to go into the details. He knew she’d see the wealth displayed in the room behind him, so unlike the Old Spacers Home where she worked these days. As an afterthought, he added, “You?”
“Not much call for battlefield medicine these days.” She filled her eyes with the shiny Templar artifacts in the crate by the door. “Since I had to hock my ship, I don’t get my feet off the dirt so much any more.”
Abruptly cutting off the reminiscences, Sloane said, “She’s in here. She’s probably asleep. She’s most comfortable when she’s asleep.”
“Who?” Doc asked, but Sloane palmed the door open and went into the darkened bedroom.
The medic followed haltingly, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness.
“Raena,” Sloane called gently. When the girl didn’t stir, he reached unwillingly down to her shoulder. His fingertips slipped into the well beneath her collarbone. Her skin felt like cold leather.
Doc put her bag down on the bed. “She looks like hell,” she snapped, deeply shocked. “When did you find her?”
“About a week ago. She hasn’t been able to eat. She could keep water down for a while, but . . .”
“Have you given her anything?”
“She wouldn’t let me.”
“All right. Leave us alone and I’ll look her over.”
* * *
Sloane had barely left the room when Raena’s eyes opened.
“Awake?” Doc asked quietly.
Raena nodded.
“Remember me?”
“It’s been a long time,” Raena rasped, “but I remember. Kavanaugh send you?”
Doc frowned. “I didn’t know he was messed up with Sloane, but I don’t suppose it should surprise me.” She rubbed her hands together to warm them, then began her examination. Raena endured it without complaint, even though the abdominal prodding had to be painful.
“Sloane called me,” Doc explained at last. “Actually arranged fast transport for me. Didn’t tell me what he wanted, but he made the offer lucrative enough.” She watched the woman’s face, but didn’t see the condemnation she expected.
“It’s good to see you again,” Raena whispered. “You took good care of me before.”
“You look terrible,” Doc said. “How long since you ate?”
Raena chuckled. It sounded like bones grinding together. “Too long.”
“Well, that’s not doing you any good.” Doc scribbled on a battered handheld. “I’m gonna give Sloane a shopping list. You know what my nutri-shakes are like. Won’t taste good, but you need to get it down. And keep it down. If you can’t do that, then I’ll put a line into your stomach.”
Doc finished the list and set it aside. “For now, I’m gonna give you an IV. It’s just fluid, but it will make your joints ache less. Should help with the headache and other pains, too. It’ll be easier to eat later, if you have some spit to swallow with.”
Raena was out again by the time Doc had the IV set up and the needle flushed. She picked up the woman’s hand and turned it gently. Sunken skin draped every bone. Doc shook her head. Hard to believe the woman wasn’t dead.
It took some looking, but she finally located a vein that would take the needle. Then she pulled the blankets up around the woman and went after Sloane.
* * *
“The deal is this,” Doc said. “She’s completely dehydrated. That’s what’s causing her pallor, the dry skin, the sunken flesh. She’s mal
nourished enough that I’d be surprised if she could stand. At one point or another, every bone in her body seems to have been broken, but they’re old injuries and, for the most part, have healed well. There’s been a lot of tissue damage, but it’s old, too.”
“About what could be expected,” Sloane said, “with the life she led.”
“That’s right. The thing that’s weird is that she doesn’t seem to have aged. At a guess, I’d say she’s still physically about twenty.” Doc locked her gaze on Gavin’s eyes. “How can that be?”
He weighed whether to tell her Raena had spent the last two decades trapped in a Templar tomb, but decided, on the spur of the moment, to hold back. Pragmatic Doc wasn’t likely to believe the truth. “The Templars had her in some kind of stasis,” he lied. “After we found her, Kavanaugh broke her out. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you about it.”
As he expected, Doc fell for the change in topic. “I’m surprised, too,” she said, sarcasm icing her words. “Then again, Tarik’s always been a man of his word. I’d guess that your payoff, however much it was, bought his silence.”
Sloane winced, point taken. “Drink?”
“Hell, yes,” Doc said. “I was afraid I’d need to break into my medicinal supply if you made me wait much longer.”
He poured her a glass, even delivered it to her after she’d sunken into a leather-wrapped armchair and propped her scuffed boots on the fringed hassock. She sipped the whiskey with eyes closed, like she was accepting a sacrament. “Been a long time since I tasted the real thing,” she said softly.
Surprising himself, Sloane said, “It’s nice to have someone to share it with again.”
Doc squinted at him. “I haven’t given you the rest of my diagnosis,” she warned. “It’s good that you have that drink in your hand.”
“Don’t sugarcoat it, Doc.” He collapsed into the matching chair across from her.
She smiled grimly. “What I don’t see is whatever is killing her now. There’s no sign of infection. No disease. But if she can’t start to keep food down, I’d give her a week at most. Probably less. If she has any family left,” Doc advised, “this would be the time to contact them.”
