by Stacey Berg
“Yes, Patri, Tana told me. But as you directed me to watch the juveniles, I wanted to report it to you myself.”
“Thank you, but I am not unduly concerned. It was a training accident; they happen.”
“I don’t believe this was an accident, Patri. There has been a pattern in her behavior. Surely you see.”
He closed the print with a thump. “What I see, Echo, is your difficulty remembering your place.”
The safe ground Hunter thought she had found vanished beneath her feet. Her heart raced anew while he stared narrow-eyed at the pattern she had shown him. Then he sighed, relenting. “I accept my fault in this, and my responsibility to correct it. I know you are willing; you only need a little help. And after all, I am fond of you, Echo; you showed your true nature in bringing back the Saint.”
And she realized: he doesn’t know.
He must never know.
He was smiling at her kindly now. “We will be as we were, Echo. Only trust me as I do you. That is all I ask.”
Voiceless, she could only nod, forcing herself to sit still and bear that gaze that searched out her every flaw. At any moment, he would realize his mistake. But after a long time he nodded, seeming satisfied. “Attend to your preparations. You must be ready.”
“My service in all things, Patri.”
“As it has always been.” The Patri reached for another print. When she was almost at the door, he said, “Echo. I’m sorry I spoke so harshly. I don’t like to lose my hunters, you know this. But if the girl couldn’t defend herself in a practice exercise—well, better to know now. This is not a time for weakness. Thank you, again, Echo. That is all.”
CHAPTER 9
She began to shake as she crossed the yard. A normal reaction, she told herself. She had perceived danger; her body had responded accordingly. The fighting hormones, unused, needed to burn themselves off.
A group of hunters practiced in a corner. She walked the other way, where they could not observe her distress.
It was the greatest danger she had ever faced. If he had seen—but he had not. She drew a breath, willing herself to calm. He had given his instructions. Now she must simply focus on one task at a time, the small things that pieced together into larger wholes, until the mission was complete and she had regained his trust.
Perhaps, in doing so, she would regain her own.
The steeple glowed softly ahead. The girl had given her life for the Church; surely she would approve.
You must not think of her now. Only the Patri, and his will.
Hunter turned away from the sanctuary. Then, in the soft darkness between the failing of the sun and the automatic lighting of the lamps, instinct spun her back towards the practicing hunters before she even registered what had caught her eye.
The sounds arrived at the same time, the zzzzzphttt of a static wand discharging and the soft huh of the last breath leaving a body. Then someone screamed, a sound more shocking in the Churchyard than either of the first two.
She disarmed the girl holding the static wand without bothering to order her to drop it. The girl’s wrist broke with a sharp crack but she made no sound other than a surprised grunt. Hunter did not have to see her face to know it was Gem. She hooked her foot around the girl’s ankle and used the hand at her neck to slam her facedown into the dirt, then knelt with a knee in the small of her back while she reached over to check Tana’s throat for the pulse she knew she would not find. After a moment she rose, hauling Gem up with a fist in her collar. She was dimly aware that there were others gathering around, but they were nothing to her. “Make your report, Gem Hunter 378,” she hissed.
The girl gave a choking gasp, unable to drag air past Hunter’s grip in her collar. Her face began to go dusky. “Nothing? What good is that?” Gem tried to say something, lips moving soundlessly. Hunter refused to read whatever the plea was, twisting the cloth in her hand tighter even as Gem’s good arm beat frantically in a reflexive tap-out. At the last second Hunter gave a final shake, then let go, thrusting the girl away in disgust. Gem staggered, but did not fall. Ignoring her, Hunter bent to scoop up the static wand, checked that the pack had fully recharged, then set the safety mechanism back in place. She turned back towards Gem, who was still whooping for air. “Make your report.”
Gem’s hand clutched at her battered throat. “She—she was holding the weapon, discussing the safing device, when it discharged suddenly.”
“Don’t lie to me. Tana has been handling weapons far too long to make such a careless mistake.”
“The wand must be faulty,” Gem said hoarsely.
“Do not lie to me.”
“I’m not. Ask them.” Gem jerked her head at her stunned batchmates, the six who were left, who had been watching in a motionless semicircle all along.
“Well?”
The girls nodded, rendered speechless by the impossible sight of Tana on the ground. Hunter could not believe that they had willingly conspired with Gem to kill her; she must have coerced them somehow into verifying her story. Were they that afraid of her? And one of them had actually screamed. By the Saint, the whole batch was faulty.
“Return to the domiciles, all of you but Gem. Go now.” Obeying without hesitation, the girls fled. Good. She returned her focus to the girl in front of her. “If you didn’t kill her, then why was the wand in your hand?”
“She dropped it as she fell. I caught it. It was a reflex.”
“Am I to believe you are that fast?”
The girl’s voice came arrogantly calm. “Yes.”
“Well, I don’t. You’ll have to prove it.” Hunter reversed the weapon in her hand and tossed it to Gem.
She made no effort to catch it. The wand fell at her feet.
“Pick it up. I said, pick it up.”
Gem bent slowly, then rose with the wand steady in one hand, injured wrist cradled against her chest. Her face was dark with suspicion. Hunter said, “You were fast enough to kill an old woman. Now you have one chance to stop me. If you miss it will be your last lesson. Arm the wand.”
Gem started to say something, then stopped, face settling into expressionlessness. Awkward with one hand, she finally disengaged the safing device and raised the wand.
Balanced on the balls of her feet, Hunter waited. Let her opponent get nervous. She was young and fast, strong enough to be dangerous, but not experienced. All Hunter had to do was distract her, trick her into discharging the wand before she had the one clean shot that would save her. In the recharge gap Hunter would find all the time she needed.
But Gem’s eyes kept flicking past her, over Hunter’s shoulder. Give the girl credit; despite her pain and shock she was still thinking. It was a good trick; Tana had probably taught it to them. Saints. Tana. That empty shell on the ground—Hunter’s nails stabbed into her palms. She forced her fists to open, one finger at a time. Blood pulsed through them, heavy, aching.
Now Gem’s eyes widened, as if she really saw something coming across the yard. She was good, very good. Hunter didn’t take the bait, instead watching the girl’s face with the intensity she shared with the other predators of the desert. Then Gem made her mistake, raising her wand hand in a quick motion as if to catch someone’s attention. Before she could bring the weapon back to bear, Hunter was on her.
The girl was on her back with Hunter’s fingers clamped around her throat in an instant. The wand flew somewhere into the dark; Hunter heard it hiss as it discharged harmlessly into the ground. She shifted her hand a little, fingers seeking the most effective grip to crush the girl’s trachea, clean and simple. This time she wasn’t letting go.
The lamps all around came on full with a blinding flash. “Echo Hunter 367, cease!” Hunter froze, an automatic response to the Patri’s command. It was barely enough to save Gem’s life. Breath rattled back into the girl’s lungs with a painful wheeze. Hunter’s fing
ers eased reluctantly, but her hand stayed at Gem’s throat, ready. “Let her up.”
Hunter twisted to look at the Patri over her shoulder as he hurried across the yard, 378s trailing behind. The little fools had gone to him, not to their quarters as she had ordered. They too needed a lesson. She would teach them later, when she had more time. “Echo,” the Patri repeated firmly, “let her up.”
Hunter rocked back on her heels. Water streamed from her eyes as she squinted into the harsh light. “She killed Tana.”
“I didn’t,” Gem croaked from where she lay. Wisely, she did not attempt to rise.
“Ava and Delen told me what happened,” the Patri said. “Tana was holding the weapon when it discharged. It was a terrible accident.”
“You can’t believe that, Patri. There’s no way Tana—”
“The weapon must have been faulty.”
She heard her voice rising as she strained to make him listen. “Tana would have checked. It’s standard procedure, she would have—”
The Patri interrupted gently. “I’m not blaming Tana, Echo. Of course it wasn’t her fault. The weapon malfunctioned.”
Her heart pounded. How could he not understand? Gem had hated Tana, that was so obvious; she had only waited for the right opportunity, finding it here tonight in the last training exercise the old woman would ever lead. . . . Hunter thrust to her feet, a last shove warning Gem to stay down. “Find it,” she ordered harshly. The other 378s scattered. In a moment Ava was back, carrying the wand gingerly, live end carefully averted. Hunter studied it without touching. In a moment she had found what she was looking for: the faintest scratching at the edge of the wiring panel, as if someone had used the point of a knife or some other sharp tool to pry the access open. In the twilight, with her aging eyes, Tana wouldn’t have been able to see it. By the Saint, Gem was clever. Hunter pointed. “Look, Patri, right here. This weapon has been tampered with.”
“It was an accident, Echo.” The Patri’s voice hardened into an unmistakable warning, but she overrode it as she would a malfunctioning alarm in the aircar, her mind parsing the data more accurately than any sensor relay.
“Patri, the marks on the panel are plain. Please, look for yourself.” Around them a small crowd had begun to form, priests and nuns and no few hunters alerted by the commotion.
“Remove the power pack, Ava, and give me the wand.” The girl obeyed the Patri instantly, slipping the solar cell from the firing mechanism with an expert twist and laying the two parts in his waiting palm. He studied the device, face unreadable, before he slipped the harmless pieces separately into the deep pockets of his robe. He stood for a moment, bent at the waist as if the slight weights dragged him down. Then he straightened, turning at last to address those who had gathered in a loose circle. “Someone please take Tana’s body to be prepared for disposal. Gem, see the medical priest immediately. The rest of you may return to your duties; no other assistance is required. Thank you.”
“Patri—”
“Silence, Echo Hunter 367.”
Static hissed from some malfunctioning receiver nearby. Hunter stood paralyzed as if the stunwand had been turned on her. Gem got to her feet shakily, broken wrist held tight against her chest. She looked at Tana’s body and bowed her head briefly. Then she looked at Hunter. Something she seemed about to say died on her lips at whatever she saw in Hunter’s face. She turned on her heel, pale face blank, and disappeared into the dark.
“It wasn’t an accident,” Hunter said, too softly for even the nearby hunters to hear. “Please, Patri. You must listen to me. First Fay, now Tana . . .” Her voice trailed off. He had blamed them both.
“You are mistaken. Go to your cell, before a worse thing happens.”
“I must make you see—”
“Do not trade on my fondness for you, Echo.” There was no sign of that fondness in the Patri’s eyes, only a chill colder than a hunter’s stare.
It seemed to freeze her heart. She took a step back from him. “Tana talked about difficult lessons. . . . She knew this was going to happen. You knew.”
She could see his pupils dilate despite the spotlights’ glare. Could he feign such shock? Real or not, it was followed quickly by anger. “Go to your cell. Now. Stay there until I send for you.”
Priests and nuns were staring. A defective circuit between her brain and her feet left her rooted to the spot, motionless as Tana. The old hunter’s eyes stared up at them, empty, indifferent. It didn’t matter to her why she had died. “Someone tampered with that device,” Hunter said, projecting her voice to be heard across the yard.
Everything went so still that she could hear the words bounce uselessly off the cathedral wall. Then the crowed stirred, parting to let someone through. The Materna limped forward, leaning heavily on her cane. “We know you cared for Tana, Echo.” She laid a gentle hand on Hunter’s shoulder.
Hunter struck the Materna’s hand off, drawing a murmur of consternation from those gathered and a quick step forward from the closest hunter. Brit, one of the few remaining 364s, a particularly stolid woman, but more than ready to protect the Materna. Fools; they thought Hunter was the danger here. Could they not see?
The Patri and Materna exchanged a glance.
And all at once she understood. They had maneuvered her into this position. All this time, letting her think she still served, while they conspired. . . . Gem had heard them talking about her, she had said so in the city. The girl must be in it with them. And their faces that day on the sanctuary steps—the Patri knew. He had always known.
He had only needed an excuse.
Hunter looked into the Materna’s kind brown eyes. “You are trying to make me look unsound.”
“You are not thinking clearly.” The Patri forced a reasonable tone between lips drawn thin with anger. “I will look into this incident. You need not concern yourself.”
“Not concern myself?” Hunter’s voice spiraled upwards. “Tana was murdered.” The word caught in her throat. Her lips against dusty hair. A neck snapping, quick as a last breath. “The line is failing,” she whispered, so none but he could hear. “The whole Church is in danger—”
“Be silent,” the Patri hissed. “Before your words become the danger.”
And in that instant, she saw the entire edifice of the Church, the foundation of the world, crumbling to nothing as if it had no more substance than a handful of sand slipping through nerveless fingers.
“No!” she cried. “How does it serve to be silent? Tana is dead. Who is next, Patri? The line is failing. The Church is in danger. From us. From you. What must happen to make you see? The fire—” She drew a strangled breath. “The Saint herself is in danger, yet you will not admit the truth!”
In her peripheral vision she saw the startled faces of the hunters and priests who had gathered, their eyes widening in shock, their lips moving although some barrier prevented the sound from reaching her ears. She could only hear her own words, crashing in waves against the inside of her skull with a violence that rocked her on her feet. Balance failed as the ground gave way beneath her. She reached out for a support that wasn’t there, slipped to one knee.
The Patri stared down at her, pale features glowing bone white under the hot lights. His eyes were lost in pits of shadow. “Echo Hunter 367.” The Patri’s voice thundered across the Churchyard. She knew what he was going to say before the words split the air. Pain ripped through her chest as if someone had turned the stunner on her. “Prepare yourself. Contemplate the Saint, and your own failures. As of the dawn of the new day, for the unforgiveable crime of blasphemy against the Church, you are excommunicated from the sanctuary of this body.”
He turned on his heel and strode away. The lights dimmed behind him, or maybe something had gone wrong with her eyes. It did not matter. Nothing mattered; nothing ever would again. When the hunters stepped forward to haul her off
into the darkness, she did not even resist.
The Patri granted her grace to gather a few supplies before the hunters led her through the sanctuary to the outer doors. The whole Church seemed to follow behind her on that last walk, the hunters and priests and nuns gathered in a cold, silent mass that absorbed all the light, all the air from the sanctuary. Her head swam dizzily, and objects swam in and out of focus until she stumbled as she walked. Brit seized her by the arm to hold her upright, normally bland features a mask of contempt.
They let her pause one last time before the Saint. The silent, wizened body, tireless in its sacrifice, rebuked her for her weakness. When the massive doors slammed shut behind her, cutting her off from the Church with a boom that echoed down the dusty stone road, the relief was almost as great as the pain.
Almost.
She stood for a long time alone, a hundred paces off the road, staring back at the steeple as it began to shine in the first rays of the sun. She didn’t look away, even when the glare burned her eyes, until finally she could see nothing but a light so bright it turned to blackness in her brain.
Then she dragged herself to the forcewall, and out, into the desert.
CHAPTER 10
Hunter paused only briefly, pretending to wipe sweat from her eyes. Whoever was watching had been there for quite some time but offered no threat; let him think she didn’t see him. It wasn’t the first time either: for days now she had been aware that she was being observed.
She looked around at her handiwork. The watcher must be very patient or very bored, or both. In two weeks she had done nothing more than secure her shelter, using materials scavenged from the ruins to reinforce the walls and roof of a hollow space created by a stone-white tumble of debris. She had chosen to camp a little way past the northern limit of the forcewall, a half-day walk from the city proper, though no cityen with sense would want to come here. The proximity offered some protection from the larger predators that lived farther out, and a trickle of water ran through the remnants of an underground conduit she could reach by climbing through a hole and down a twisted metal ladder that she guessed predated the Fall. She wasn’t the first to have found this spot. The remains of other shelters, and some of those who had been sheltered, were scattered here and there among the ruins.
