by Stacey Berg
“You could owe me,” Exey suggested, then added hastily as she glared, “No, I agree, that’s not such a good idea. Fortunately, a clever cityen like me can always find a solution: I’ll give it to Lia. We’ve already established that she never needs to trade with me. So it’ll be hers. Then she can give it to you.”
Laughing, Lia took the piece and reached up to clasp it to Hunter’s ear, then stood back to admire it. “Here, put your hair back so we can see it. That’s better. Yes, it’s beautiful. Perfect for you.”
Hunter ducked her head, skin tingling where Lia’s fingers had traced a soft line before withdrawing. The tiny unaccustomed weight tugged gently at her earlobe. “Thank you,” she managed.
“Thank Exey,” Lia said.
“Oh, no,” the fabricator said. “She wouldn’t have taken it from me.”
“Well then, thank you for giving me something I could give her,” Lia answered, eyes still crinkled with delight. “It’s not easy to make our Echo smile like that.”
And she was, Hunter realized, all the way back across the square.
CHAPTER 18
This part of the market was even more impossibly crowded, hot as the desert with the late morning sun beating down in earnest. Hunter, sweating in the spun fiber of her cityen’s shirt, indulged in a brief wish for the comfort of her old clothing long hidden away at the edge of the forcewall. Lia was red-faced, her dress damp and clinging around the neck, but she didn’t seem to mind; her footsteps were light and quick as she wove her way through the aisles between the food traders’ stations. “Look,” she exclaimed, pointing at a basket in one of the smaller stalls, which was really no more than a two-wheeled cart. “The pommes are finally ripe! Have you ever had one?” Before Hunter could answer Lia picked two, red and shining, and addressed the trader. “Morning, Samin. How much are you asking for these?”
“Three chit,” the trader replied. “Oh, morning to you, Lia. Nice to see you here, it’s been a long time.”
“Three chit?” Lia’s eyes went almost round as the pommes. “It hasn’t been that long, Samin. I haven’t forgotten I could get a whole basket of grain for three chit.”
The trader shrugged elaborately, feigning uninterest while his eyes began to glint with the thrill of the chase. “Grain’s easy, they grow a whole stad full of that. Trees, now those are hard. Risky too, what with having to plant them at the edge of the clave and all. ’Member last year, it was so hot there was no pommes at all? Lucky I’m asking three, on account of you’re the med and all, those others I told four.”
“Mmmm, I’m sure.” Lia favored the fruits, then the trader, with a narrow stare. “This one looks bruised. Say two. You’re probably not getting half a chit per hand from anyone else, but I’m feeling generous today.” That drew a snort from the trader.
The haggling went on for a little while, both of them obviously enjoying the game. It was, Hunter decided, like sparring, a ritual with particular rules, designed to hone important skills in the safety of a structured environment. She watched closely, following the bout with interest until Lia, finally triumphant, proffered her one of the pommes with a victorious flourish. “Here, for you. Try it.”
Hunter took the gift with peculiar reluctance, holding the smooth globe to her lips. Its tangy sweet smell tickled her nostrils. She closed her eyes, remembering a day long ago, hot like this, she and her small batchmates sitting under the leafy branches in the tiny grove next to the priests’ medicinal garden. The girls had tended trees and plot alike all summer, learning patience and the vagaries of crops. The pomme had been the most delicious thing she ever tasted. She hadn’t had one in annuals.
She touched her tongue to the smooth, warm skin. Before she could bite, a high-pitched whine sounded over the hubbub of the market, a piercing mechanical sound that didn’t belong here. Her heart skipped.
The last time she had heard that sound, Tana had died.
“Back,” she ordered Lia, thrusting the med into the scant cover of the stall. The trader, thinking her clumsy, glared and grabbed at a tumbling fruit. She ignored him, searching for the source of the disruption.
“What is it?” Lia asked, a tiny streak of juice from the forgotten pomme dribbling down her chin.
“I heard something.” She scanned the crowd quickly. No one else looked the least alarmed, the haggling continuing, the cityens hauling their burdens home in the heat, unaware. Too high for their ears, she realized. Where was it? The sound didn’t come again, but she knew she hadn’t imagined it.
There, by the alley leading north, a ripple as someone made his way against the flow of the crowd. Hunter heard a curse from that direction, but it sounded merely annoyed, a foot stepped on, not murder. Even so . . .
“Thank the Saint I found you. I knew you’d be looking for pommes,” Milse panted, then lowered his voice with a worried glance at the oblivious cityens. “Don’t let anyone else hear, or there will be a riot. There’s trouble over by the Bend gap, people are hurt.”
“Take me,” Lia ordered, hand automatically checking for the kit she always carried slung from one shoulder. With her free hand she took Milse’s arm, acting as if she were merely sauntering along with him through the market. Hunter followed, jamming the untouched pomme in her pocket, all her senses trained ahead. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure. Some hunters came, and then there was a crowd—”
Lia’s sudden stop nearly jerked Milse off his feet. “Hunters,” she breathed. “Are they still there?”
“Yes, when I left, I don’t know—why does it matter? We’re not going there; you have to get back to the clinic where it’s safe.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lia turned to Hunter, face etched with worry. “You have to go back. You can’t let them see you, not in the middle of trouble.”
For the briefest moment Hunter was tempted to listen. Her clothes, her grown-out hair—none of that would matter. Even if they got the barest glimpse of her, they would know her for a hunter immediately. And there was only one hunter she could be, so disguised, so diminished. She would be completely exposed. Everyone would know, hunters and cityens alike. Then the Warder would have to turn her out, for though she might be useful to him while no one was looking, openly sheltering a cast-off from the Church would raise far too many questions about his intent. She would lose everything she had worked for; she couldn’t risk it.
“Why in the Saint’s name not?” Milse demanded.
Lia stammered uncharacteristically. “It’s just—it’s just—”
“I had some trouble with them in North,” Hunter put in, taking Lia’s bag from her. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll all go.” She did not even try to talk Lia into returning to the Ward; the med would never consent to leaving the injured.
“But—”
“Either I’m coming or you’re not going. Milse, show us the place.”
They followed him then, walking as calmly as they could until they got free of the crowd, then breaking into a trot.
Hunter felt it blocks away, the silence, not desert quiet, but something ominous, the close tension before an explosion. She ran lightly, held back by Lia and Milse, whose footfalls drummed painfully loud, advertising their approach in a way that made her belly tighten. “How much farther?”
“Up there.” Milse pointed, panting. He wasn’t used to moving so fast, especially in this heat. “Just past that corner.”
Hunter pulled him to a stop, barred Lia’s way with an arm. “We don’t want to run at trouble. I’ll go first. If you don’t get a sign from me in five minutes, get Lia straight back to the clinic. Don’t stop for anything. Anything. Milse, you keep her safe, understand me?” She didn’t even look at Lia, just turned and walked casually towards the corner, making herself small and ordinary, like any cityen headed home from market.
It was like being hit with a stunner. There t
hey were, two hunters and a priest. All her muscles clenched at the sight, and she had to concentrate to make her diaphragm move enough to pull a breath into her lungs. The hunters stood just this side of the small square the street emptied into, backs to the wall, facing a knot of angry cityens, some carrying stones and even makeshift clubs, though they had not yet gathered the courage to charge. Someone had tried something, though: a still body lay in the empty space between the hunters and the crowd.
From this distance Hunter couldn’t recognize the hunters’ faces, but by the way they stood, one relaxed and ready, the other still slender with youth, bouncing ever so slightly on her toes, she guessed that this must indeed have started as a training exercise for the younger girl, accompanying the older hunter and the priest on whatever business they had in the city. The hunters stood slightly angled to each other with the priest shielded behind them. Their hands were empty still, but Hunter recognized the high whine of holstered stunners charging, beyond the cityens’ hearing. Hunter’s fingers twitched reflexively, the fighting hormones coursing through her bloodstream just as they must through theirs, heightening every sense, bringing preternatural clarity to every sound, every motion. She felt her own lips curling as theirs would be, and almost ran to stand beside them, shoulder to shoulder, where instinct and training told her she belonged. The pain of separation shot through her body, sharp as it had been on the morning of her exile. She took a deep breath, wiping her palms against her pants, and stayed where she was.
If the hunters had been alone, they would be gone already, slicing through the thinnest part of the crowd and down the alley opposite before the cityens had a chance to stop them. They probably wouldn’t even have to do more than stun anyone. The priest made the situation more difficult; to get him out they would have to force the mob back long enough for him to pass. That would mean inflicting more serious damage. They were doing all they could to prevent that: waiting patiently, letting the cityens think about what had happened to their fellow, saying nothing to amplify their anger. The tactic seemed to be working: as Hunter watched, pressed into the shadow of a wall, a few of the clubheads drooped, a sullen muttering beginning to relieve the silence. One or two of the stragglers at the back of the crowd broke off, slinking back down the street to safety, not even noticing her as they passed.
Then Loro stepped forward from the mouth of the alley.
Of course, Loro.
“Don’t let them get away with it,” he shouted to the cityens. Clubs rose again, but uncertainly. He marched into the middle of the square. “We know you’re carrying weapons,” Loro shouted at the hunters. “Throw them down.”
The older hunter turned to study him. Brit, the 364 who had escorted Hunter to the gate the last time she had walked out of the Churchyard. And the other one was Ava, the 378. Saints, that batch was at the center of everything that went wrong. Ela, Fay. Gem. “Tell your people to withdraw,” Brit said. “No one else will get hurt.”
“We’re not letting you go. You can’t fight all of us.”
“We can,” the hunter advised. “But we don’t want to.”
Loro took another step forward, pulling the front of the crowd with him. “I don’t think so. How many of those paralyzers can you throw before your charges run out? Seven? Eight? There’s way more of us than that. And the wands have to touch someone to bring him down, we know that too. You can’t get us all.”
Brit considered, then dismissed him to speak directly to the crowd. “We don’t want to fight you, cityens. We’re here to serve you.” She scanned the faces, probing for hints of who really wanted a confrontation, who looked just as willing to slink away and call it a victory.
“Serve us by stealing our daughters?” someone shouted, but there was a question in it.
“Look around. It’s only us and this priest. The priest was checking on a woman in North who had given birth, that’s all. We’re leaving. We’re not taking anyone. Let us pass, and this small trouble is forgotten.” Some in the crowd nodded, murmuring agreement.
“Don’t listen to her,” Loro urged the crowd. “They were spying on us, seeing which girls they want when the tithe comes. We’re not stupid, they can’t fool us that way. Rad, you know it, you lost a daughter to them. Jolen, you too, it was your sister, same as mine. They were here for the census, that’s what they were doing. Well, this time we’re not going to let them!”
The angry murmur rose again. The idiot, he was going to get his own people killed. The hunters wouldn’t start the rush, but they would end it. Hunter edged deeper into the shadows, feeling the mob’s mood teeter back and forth on the edge of disaster as Loro continued to goad them. The last thing it needed was for her to give it a push.
She whirled at the familiar footsteps gliding up behind her. Lia stood on tiptoes to peer over her shoulder. “What’s happening? Have they seen you?”
“No. I told you to wait for my signal!”
The med’s eyes dropped. “I was afraid for you. I couldn’t just wait.” Then she raised her head defiantly. “Besides, Milse said people were hurt. Where—never mind, I see. I need to get to him.”
“It’s too dangerous. Loro has them ready to riot.”
“Loro?” Lia surveyed the crowd again. “I was afraid of something like that. I sent Milse for the Warder.” She took a deep breath. “Hope he gets here soon.”
“Wait—”
But before Hunter could stop her, Lia was heading for the center of the square, making no effort at stealth. The cityens parted for her as she strode forward, shoulders squared and head lifted, and walked straight up to the fallen man. There she knelt, turning him over and running her hands along his body, while the silence of absolute astonishment fell over the square. Finally the med looked up. In a completely matter-of-fact voice she said, “Loro, I need to get this man to the clinic right away. Give me a hand, will you?”
“Lia, get away from there now!” Loro’s voice held genuine panic. Whatever mischief he had planned, this was sending it badly awry.
“Don’t move!” The young hunter suddenly had projtrodes in her hand, aimed dead at Lia.
“Get away from her!” Loro shouted, lurching towards the hunters.
It was the exact wrong move.
Ava jumped forward and dragged the med to her feet, trodes to her head. A hunter might survive a discharge there, but no cityen would. Hunter’s heart squeezed until she could hardly breathe. It was a standard tactic: when outnumbered, use the most valuable available currency to bargain with, and do whatever necessary to make your adversary understand the seriousness of your stance. Gem would have killed someone by now, just to demonstrate how far she was willing to go. There was no doubt that Ava knew what to do. Hunter had taught her. But Saints, that whole batch was so erratic. . . . If the girl panicked now, it could cost Lia her life.
Hunter weighed possibilities furiously. With surprise on her side, she could overpower Ava, that much was certain. She could probably occupy both hunters long enough for Lia to escape, especially if the crowd erupted. It would only take one spark to ignite them, and Loro looked ready to explode. The hunters would then kill Hunter, and maybe some of the cityens. None of that mattered, as long as Lia got away— No, she hissed at herself. You have a duty to the Patri. Save the mission. What other choice was there? She could do nothing, hoping that between Brit’s good sense and Lia’s stature, order would prevail. That approach made the most sense. It risked nothing but Lia and maybe the hunters’ lives. One cityen against the Patri’s mission, two hunters against the crowd of cityens. In the long run, what took place here was insignificant. Her priority was to keep her cover, letting the confrontation play itself out without her interference.
She strode forward into the square, scattering startled cityens like the tiny mammals in the desert, hands spread wide to show she had no weapons. “Stay calm, everyone.”
Ava’s trodes jerke
d off Lia to point at her. Brit had her proj out now too, but held it averted while she assessed this new dimension of the problem. “Who—” She broke off, astonishment showing plain in the normally impassive face. “Echo Hunter 367. Is that you?”
Hunter took a deep breath. “Brit Hunter 364. I’m glad to see you.”
Loro, staring, made an inarticulate sound of rage and took one step towards Hunter, hands balled into fists, before he managed to stop himself. Later, his furious gaze promised her. There were other exclamations, some surprised, others more ominous, as the cityens gradually realized that a disguised hunter stood among them, and tried to figure out whether she stood with them or against. Lia’s lips shaped a soundless no in a face white as dust.
Brit’s startled survey took in Hunter’s clothes, the hair that had worked its way out of its knot and snarled around her sweaty face. “I doubt that.”
“We aren’t enemies.”
“No,” Brit agreed, “we aren’t.” She studied Hunter the way she might any oddity she found in the desert, coolly interested. The crowd around them might as well not exist. “I assumed you were dead. No other hunter has been excommunicated in my memory; I would have thought there would be no purpose to living.” Lia made a sound, and Brit glanced that way, then back at Hunter. “You must have found something, unless—” She gestured slightly with the trodes. “Do you need assistance?”
Hunter’s face burned. “I need no help from you. But I can give you some. This confrontation”—she waved a casual hand towards the cityens behind her, trying to convey indifference—“serves no one.”
“I agree. You probably heard what I told them. It was true: we only want to leave. What do you propose?”
“Safe passage, for you and the priest, if you leave them their med.”
Brit smiled grimly. “I can make our passage safe if I have to.”
“I know. But you’ll have to kill at least a few of them. It would be a waste.”
