by Loren Rhoads
Sloane felt like she’d stabbed him. “Less than a week?”
“With Raena . . . I don’t know. I’ve seen her do some amazing things in the past. But she’s a long way gone. I don’t know if she can pull herself back from this.”
* * *
Once Doc had gone back in to sit with Raena—fortified with a fresh glass of whiskey—Sloane sent a message via the Shaad family’s priority channel. It was the sort of call that Ariel could not ignore. Without a doubt, she’d overheat when she found out who sent it.
Sloane broke the connection and got up to pour himself another drink. If not for Raena, he and Ariel would have never spoken again. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Ariel Shaad wasn’t a woman who forgave, although she’d made excuses for him the first time he’d undercut her. When Ariel’s employees died mixed up in Sloane’s business, that overloaded her circuits. To Ariel, employees were as good as family. She had probably even considered homicide: that wouldn’t have been out of character. Still, despite her family money, Ariel had always been honorable enough to handle the worst work personally. He’d known she wouldn’t put a bounty on him. When she didn’t come herself, he knew he was safe.
Back then, the Dart made him not care. Business had been business, and Ariel, though hotter than live plasma, had been in his way.
Raena’s reappearance could go a long way toward healing that damage. Ariel would forgive him anything, if Sloane delivered her sister healthy and safe. But if Raena died in his care . . .
Sloane drained the whiskey from his glass. His hand trembled the slightest bit as he remembered the silk of Ariel’s hair, the softness of her skin. Her scent. Her laughter. God, the taste of her. They’d had good times.
Until she’d introduced him to the Dart. Maybe she could forgive him, if she found out that the Dart was the reason he’d been able to track Raena into that tomb.
* * *
After the booby-trap went off, Revan wasn’t about to venture closer than the nearest ridge until he knew it was safe. He knew he’d been right to be cautious earlier. At least Jain had listened to him enough that he hadn’t been crushed by the avalanche.
Apparently, whoever set the explosive charge had been hurried or over-confident or their supplies were low. Whatever the reason, nothing else exploded. Leaning against the black rocks for balance, Revan watched through his macroscope as the workmen removed the last of the boulders tumbled down around the tomb’s entrance. He saw them enter the tomb.
Hardly any time passed before the men radioed that they’d found evidence of the tomb raiders they were hunting. Revan strolled back to his cart and let it drive him to the tomb. Circling in his thoughts was a prayer: Let this be all the information he needed. Let it be enough that he could identify the grave robbers. Let him be able to report to Jonan and return home. Revan was sick of the gritty wind slicing at him every time he bared an inch of flesh.
The reorganized bombsite looked completely different than the last time he’d visited. The broken stone stood in neat piles now. The Templar inscription scrolling around the tomb’s doorway had been revealed. Revan didn’t pause to examine it.
Just inside the tomb, out of the wind, one of the men handed him an electric torch. Revan pointed it up high, admiring the size of the lofty cavern. All around him, the black stone swallowed the light without reflecting it.
“Here, sir.”
Revan followed the voice to the catafalque in the center of the tomb. He waved the light over the stone to read the words scraped into the hard black rock: “You knew where I was. Now you don’t.”
“That’s it?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.” The man held up something else between his gloved fingers. “And this. Someone coiled it in a circle around the message.”
Revan angled the torch to see what the man held: a single strand of long black hair. He pulled a vial out of his pack and carefully plugged the hair inside. Now he wanted to race back to the ship and run a DNA test. Who was he chasing?
And what did she mean: “You knew where I was”? Was she addressing Jonan?
On his way back through the archway, Revan commanded, “Copy down the tomb’s epitaph and have someone translate it. And search every inch of this place. I want every scrap and crumb logged for study.”
* * *
As soon as Sloane answered her return call, Ariel Shaad said, more reasonably that he’d expected, “I don’t want to get mixed up in your business again, Sloane.”
Sloane filled his eyes with her—still built for speed after all these years—but didn’t make her wait too long. “This isn’t business, Ms. Shaad. This is family.” Funny how that word always got Ariel’s attention. “I’ve found her,” he said simply. Raena’s name need not even be spoken.
Ariel’s choked whisper was almost swallowed by the distances crossed by the transmission. “Oh, Gavin . . . where?”
“Still imprisoned . . .”
Fury ignited in Ariel’s voice. Sloane saw sparks in her hazel eyes and felt a moment of vertigo. Even with Raena in the next room, he was startled to discover how much he’d missed Ariel Shaad.
He spoke carefully, cutting across Ariel’s tirade against Imperial butchers. “She’s alive, Ariel.”
“I’m coming. I can leave as soon as . . .”
“No,” Sloane said.
“Gavin, I’m the only . . .”
“No. Not yet. Doc is here now, seeing to her. She’s very weak and disoriented.” He let those shocking, unlikely words sink in, and then said, “I know this isn’t the way you want it to be, but that’s how things have fallen out.” Surprised by the lone tear that trailed down Ariel’s face, he softened his tone. “I’ll contact you as soon as she wants visitors.”
“All right,” she said, but it really wasn’t. Ariel rubbed away the traitorous tear. “Is there anything she needs? If I can help in any way . . .”
“Clothes would be good. You know that sort of thing better than me.” He stroked his chin, missing the beard Raena had shaved off. “She’s about the same size as she was. Just don’t buy black. She’s tired of blackness.”
“I’m on it. And tell her—”
“I will,” Sloane promised, sparing Ariel from having to tell him.
“Thanks, Gavin. And hey,” she paused, weighing whether to continue, then added, “it will be nice to see you, too.”
He grinned, relieved to know she’d felt the old charge as well. “You, too, Ari. I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
Just after he broke the connection, Doc passed through the lounge on her way to the bathroom. “She wants you,” she said.
Sloane gulped down his drink and went back into the bedroom.
Raena lay propped up, doll-like, in the middle of the huge bed. He recalled what she’d said about making a robot garbed in her skin. Just thinking about it made him feel sick.
Raena’s voice rasped with dehydration. “What did Ariel say?”
Sloane poured her a glass of water and brought it to the bed. He held it for her as she drank. It was easier to lie when she wasn’t watching him. “Ariel’s got business she needs to wrap up. She’ll come when she can.”
Raena put her feverishly warm hand over his and steadied the glass against her lip. She finished the water in two long gulps, then nudged the glass away. “You don’t want her to see me like this,” Raena accused.
“I don’t want to see you like this,” Sloane corrected.
Raena shifted against her pillows, seeking comfort. “If I told you I was dying, would you let her come?”
“You’re not dying,” Sloane protested.
“Not yet.” Raena smiled, amused at herself. “But I want to see Ariel before I do.”
“She’ll come,” Sloane assured. “For now, just conserve your strength.”
Raena nodded. “I’m tired of sleeping, though. Could I borrow a terminal and cruise around the interweb?”
“Of course.”
* * *
Ariel closed
the comm down and took a deep breath as she sat back from her desk. A forest of holo frames displayed the smiling faces of her kids. Usually, seeing them all made her smile in response. Now even they couldn’t improve her mood. Kavanaugh knew—had to have known—about Raena. And Gavin’s money bought his silence on the only subject Ariel really cared about.
She rubbed her forehead, temples, eyes. Really, she couldn’t blame Kavanaugh. She knew Sloane too well, knew that he’d fight to the death with friends over things that meant less to him than Raena did. To be honest, Ariel wouldn’t trade Kavanaugh’s life for news that Raena was hanging around with Sloane. That was scary and wrong on too many levels to contemplate.
Ariel took another deep breath, steadying herself like she’d do if she were taking her best shot. Then she opened the comm again and messaged Kavanaugh. She wanted to let him know she knew now. She wanted to find out everything he knew. Then she needed to pack, so she’d be ready to fly to her sister’s side whenever she was allowed.
* * *
Even in the privacy of his cabin on the transport, Revan stood at attention to make his report. “The tomb was empty,” Revan said. “Its occupant left you a message.” He repeated the phrase they’d found scratched into the catafalque. He watched his brother for a reaction, but Jonan merely blinked. Nonplussed, Revan continued, “There was a single black hair, one hundred and twenty-six centimeters long. We’re running a DNA trace now.”
“You needn’t bother,” Jonan said calmly. He typed something and the screen filled with a three-dimensional image.
Revan studied the hologram. The woman was delicately built and slightly smaller than Eilif. Maybe she’d been conventionally pretty before life took her in hand. Her face was a long oval with outsized black eyes. She was wiry, taut with muscles, and scarred in face and spirit.
“That’s who I’m looking for?” he asked, just to confirm it.
“Her name is Raena Zacari,” Jonan said. Unfamiliar emotion tightened his throat and made his voice strange. “She was my aide before the galaxy went mad.”
Revan tried to imagine how she would have aged. Was her hair still black, still knee-length like the one she’d left behind? Did she still wear those ridiculous stiletto-heeled boots to give herself the illusion of height? Once she knew she was hunted, would she change her face, alter her body, try to hide?
“I want her found, Revan. I want her back.”
“I’ll see it done,” Revan assured. He knew the cost of failure.
* * *
Kavanaugh answered her call within the hour. By way of hello, Ariel told him, “I just heard from Gavin. He told me you’d found her.”
On the comm, Kavanaugh looked like the sheepish teenager Ariel met so many years before. She was amused to see he’d finally stopped blushing to the tips of his ears. The years had carved interesting lines into his face, but his hair was still strawberry blond.
“I’m not mad,” Ariel said. “I wouldn’t put it past Gavin to kill you for discussing his business around the galaxy. I’m just that much more surprised that you would come warn me about her ex-boss, in light of everything.”
“I don’t suppose Gavin mentioned him.”
“Seemed to have slipped his mind,” Ariel said.
There was a pause while Kavanaugh searched for some way to defend Sloane. So predictable, Ariel thought fondly.
With a sigh, Kavanaugh changed the subject. “I wish we were drinking again.”
“Time enough for that. For now, though, I think we should hold off on our other plan. I don’t want to go looking for trouble, if trouble is likely to come looking for her.”
“Understood,” Kavanaugh said. “I’m not hurting for money, so I don’t need to get right back to work. But if you find yourself needing a pilot and a cargo ship . . .”
“I won’t hesitate,” Ariel promised. “I appreciate it, Tarik.”
She signed out of the comm program and turned to do some shopping. Of course, Gavin hadn’t given her a shipping address, but shopping passed the time. Ariel wanted to find something wonderful to welcome Raena back to freedom.
* * *
A day later, Doc sank into the chair Sloane had left by the bed. It was a nice chair, comfortable enough to sleep in, upholstered in some kind of soft tan leather that smelled brand-new. She suspected he didn’t spend much time in this bolt-hole. Probably rented it already furnished, just waiting for him to need a hideout.
Raena was asleep again, looking pretty much like the dead. The gray tone hadn’t left her skin, even though she was managing to keep liquids down now. Doc got the feeling that something might be dead inside the girl, but without real equipment, there was no telling what. And Raena had scared Sloane badly enough that he was prepared to let her die, rather than drag her to a hospital.
Doc pulled the flask from her bag and sipped from it. Clearly, grave robbing served Sloane well, if this was the quality of liquor he drank these days. She’d have to fill the flask again before she left. Might be a long time before she tasted anything this good.
She jumped when she realized that the girl’s eyes had come open. “You awake?” she asked cautiously.
Raena nodded.
“Sloane’s out, up to some kind of no-good,” Doc said. “There anything you want to talk to me about while we’re not gonna be interrupted?”
“What makes you think that, Doc?” Raena’s voice sounded like the raggedy edge of torn paper, but Doc remembered the fatalist sense of humor behind it.
“I remember you as somebody who fought every step of her way,” Doc said. “Why are you giving up now?”
“I don’t have a lot of strength left.” Raena shook her head. “There was a moment, the other night, when I thought about dying. Something woke me and I was going to throw myself off of the balcony while Gavin was asleep. I just couldn’t face living. Things were much easier in my tomb. No one expected anything from me. I didn’t have to please anyone. There was no one but myself to fight.”
“What stopped you?” Doc asked quietly.
“It was raining. The raindrops were little prisms, catching the city lights. The beauty trapped me—and then Sloane came out to talk me down. I couldn’t make him watch me die.”
Raena didn’t seem to want to say more, so Doc sipped her whiskey and said, “I wonder if you’ve been thinking about all you have to live for. I don’t mean Sloane, of course, ’though he’d prefer if you decided to live for him. But you, personally. Don’t you have some unfinished business you’d like to settle?”
Raena gazed at the older woman. Doc knew she should meet the girl’s eyes, but she just couldn’t do it. There was too much pain there, and darkness, and death. Heaven knows that Doc had had enough of those in her own life. She was getting too old to take on anyone else’s.
“Of course,” Raena said quietly. “He’s still out there, Thallian, the man chasing me all those years ago. He’s sent men to look for me already. He knows I’m out.” She didn’t elaborate and Doc didn’t ask. Wherever she had been held, escaping it had just about killed Raena. The old woman knew she’d sleep better if she didn’t know any more about it than that.
Raena finished, “I don’t have the courage to run any more.”
“You could always take the fight to him,” Doc said, opening her flask to check its level. “That’s what we did in the old days.”
The girl laughed. “I can’t even get out of bed, Doc.”
“I can give you stuff for that. I can put the weight back on you, the muscle. I can give you your strength back. I can save your body, if you decide that’s what you want. But I can’t give you the reason to live. And if you decide you’d rather die than run or face him, hell, I can’t tell you you’re making the wrong choice.”
“What are you saying?”
“This guy was bad news, right? Evil? Doesn’t he deserve to pay for that?”
Raena gave her the same empty laugh she’d used when Doc tried to recruit her to the Coalition all those years ag
o.
Doc took a different tack. “No one else knows he exists any more, do they?”
“No.”
“Then no one but you can put him down.”
Raena shook her head. “I’m scared. I’ve been out of the chase too long.”
“So has he,” Doc argued. “And he’s old now, older anyway, and probably getting slow. All I’m saying is: think about it.”
CHAPTER 6
The recording of Raena Zacari’s trial was remarkably easy to find. Of course, it hadn’t ever occurred to Revan to look before this. He hadn’t concerned himself with the War or its aftermath since Jonan came home . . . eighteen years ago? Although Revan was hazy on the date, he remembered that day very clearly: the day his successful younger brother, pride of the family, crawled home like a whipped dog.
Watching Jonan at Raena Zacari’s trial brought Revan’s emotions flooding back. In the recording, Jonan’s hair was still black as obsidian. He stood at strict attention throughout the trial and listened intently to the catalog of wreckage the little woman in black had accomplished: Demolition of an Imperial mining prison. Destruction of a quasar-class ship with all hands aboard. A large number of soldiers, broken down by ranks, permanently out of commission. For such a youngster, the devastation was quite impressive.
In fact, Revan was surprised they hadn’t gone so far as to calculate the civilian casualties for which she was undoubtedly responsible. No one in the Imperial courtroom seemed to care. Revan supposed it didn’t much matter.
The girl took full responsibility for her crimes. Clearly, she hoped for swift military justice. Execution should have been inevitable.
Revan watched the recording several times, just to observe the play of emotions across Jonan’s face. His brother adored his aide, if that’s really all she was to him. His eyes never left her unless the court addressed him directly. He felt the guilt that she did not, the shame, the regret. She was proud of what she’d done if for no other reason than because it hurt him.
The recording ended before her sentence was handed down. A notation appended to the video said that she had been executed by the Imperial government, but that couldn’t be true if—and it remained to be proven—she had really been imprisoned alive in the Templar Master’s tomb.
