by Jake Elwood
The ground levelled out, and the low air light came on. She changed suits and gave her face a cursory cleaning. Somewhere along the way she let in a little too much of the outside air, and she coughed helplessly as she continued on her way. The cough faded before long, leaving her with no distraction from the burning in her thighs and calves.
She stopped looking ahead, just trudged along with her eyes on the ground directly in front of her feet. Her shadow stretched out ahead and to the left. From time to time she adjusted her course. The shorter her shadow got, the farther left it had to be.
The world became nothing but pain. She wanted desperately to sit down, and if there had been a soft place to rest she might have died there, unable to make herself rise. There was nothing but endless Devil's Weed, though, so Lark kept walking.
She was painfully thirsty, and it came to her with a horrible sense of dismay that she'd discarded the first two suits without even touching the liter of water each suit contained. She was emptying each reservoir now within minutes of changing suits.
Water. She pictured the tap in the kitchen at home, all the water she could ever want to drink just pouring out and flowing down the drain, and vowed she would never take it for granted again. Survival was an abstraction too vague to overcome the burning in her legs. Death was a concept she understood intellectually, but deep down inside she didn't really believe in her own mortality. Thirst, though. Thirst was real. As her muscles screamed at her to stop, collapse, and rest, she thought about water and found the strength to carry on.
After an endless time of walking she noticed the weeds thinning out. A plant sprawled directly in her path, and she had to decide whether to circle left or right. She looked for her shadow and couldn't find it.
Lark stared stupidly at the ground, waiting for her sluggish brain to catch up. Her shadow was gone. That meant she was wandering deeper into the desert. With a sinking heart she turned around.
Her shadow was a little puddle of darkness right behind her. It had to be close to mid-day, then. The suits had a simple readout on the belt showing time, outside temperature, and air remaining. She checked the time.
It was just past noon. She was heading the right way.
"Wait a minute." She stared down at her waist, trying to figure out why she felt a rising alarm. "Something's wrong. What is it?"
It took thirty long seconds for her to realize what the problem was. There were no suit legs wrapped around her waist. She had lost her bundle.
"Oh, no! Oh, no, no, no!" She spun around in a circle, staring across the desert, hoping to spot the dropped suits.
Something bumped her wrist, and she looked down at herself. One last suit remained, looped across one shoulder, the sleeves tied to the legs just behind her right arm. She stared at the knots, perplexed. She had no memory of tying the suit in place. She must have changed suits … how many times?
"I really need …" she muttered. She needed too many things to list, though, so she turned until she was facing west and started walking. Her knees ached, her feet hurt, and the muscles of her legs felt ready to peel loose from the bones and puddle around her feet. Lark moaned and said, "Why does it have to be so hard?"
Because you're climbing, stupid. That's why it's difficult. You're walking up the side of Aristotle Plateau.
The thought gave her courage. Firmly suppressing the memory of the last time the ground had risen, she squared her shoulders and made herself take another step. After all I've been through, it would sure be stupid to die now when I'm almost there.
She started counting her steps, telling herself that when she reached a hundred she would take a rest. By the time she reached a dozen it felt like an impossible chore, but she made herself continue, promising herself she'd sit right down once she reached her goal. The weeds were getting thinner and thinner. She might even be able to stretch out.
She was at step eighty-seven when the low air light came on.
Last one. You have one hour of life left. Lark stared cross-eyed at the light, willing it to go out. When it continued to glow for another three steps she stopped and untied the last suit. A voice inside her head told her she should wait, keep walking until the last gasp was gone from the suit she wore. All she could think of, though, was the water bladder in the remaining suit. Changing suits meant she could have a drink.
She took a last deep breath and pulled the mask from her face. Almost immediately she coughed, and she pulled in a lungful of air before she could help herself.
There was no smell. Not of rotten eggs, anyway. She could smell dirt and Devil's Weed and her own perspiration. That was all.
Well, it only took a sniff or two to deaden her nose, right? She might still be below the toxic level. Lark pulled on the last suit, got the mask in place, and drained the water reservoir in fast, frantic gulps. Then she stared at the rising slope before her. The sensible thing to do was to keep climbing until her air ran out.
Instead, she pulled the mask off and took a long, deep breath. The air seemed fine. Alert to any symptoms of asphyxia, Lark kept breathing. After a dozen inhalations she felt fine.
Smiling in relief, she flopped herself down on her back and let her screaming muscles rest.
She was weighing her thirst against her weariness when a mechanical hum caught her attention. She sat up, her whole body protesting against the effort, and looked around.
A hovercar came drifting down the slope above her. Lark had a brief surge of joy, thinking she was saved, before the details sank in. The car was dark green and armor-plated. There were no government markings, not for Zemoth or Skyland. It wasn't the cops or military, then. She could only think of one other organization that might drive around in armored cars.
The Plateau Society.
The car came to a stop a couple of meters away. A hatch on the side slid open and a man climbed out. At least, she thought it was a man. He was covered from head to toe in a helmet and body armor, with no sign of a badge or insignia. He held a massive crater gun in one hand and the crook of his other arm, and the barrel pointed at the air just over Lark's head.
For a long moment she stared at him, too weary to even be afraid. To have gone through so much, only to be caught again!
"I bet they have water," Lark murmured, and raised her hands.
Chapter 22
Cassie sat in an interview room somewhere in Kingstown, wondering if she would ever be free again. She didn't have any regrets – not really – but that didn't mean she was actually happy to be locked up.
The door slid open and a couple of detectives came in, one dressed like a Zemothian, one like a Skylander. The petite Skylander said, "Hello, Ms. Marx. I'm Colonel Kress. This is Inspector Al Fazil."
The huge brown-skinned man gave her a curt nod.
"Charmed, I'm sure," said Cassie.
Kress and Al Fazil grabbed a couple of chairs and dragged them around to the far side of the table. They sat down across from Cassie and gave her the cold, stony-eyed look that cops did so well.
Cassie propped her chin on her elbow, sighed, and said, "You have to stop intimidating me like this. It's causing me psychological harm."
"You're in quite a lot of trouble," Al Fazil said. "Levity might not be your best strategy."
Cassie gave him a scornful look. "Will begging you two for mercy get me anywhere? No? I'll go with levity, then." She folded her arms. "Is the kid okay? The Highstar kid?"
"We're asking the questions," Kress said.
Cassie flipped her off, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes.
"You and O'Malley were obviously made for each other," Kress said.
Cassie opened her eyes. "Beg your pardon?"
"You have his knack for making a good impression." Kress looked at Al Fazil. "Beat her until she breaks down and talks?"
Kress gave a theatrical sigh. "No, I'll just get sore knuckles. I guess we can be diplomatic."
"Miss Highstar is fine," Kress said, and Cassie felt a big chunk of the weight o
n her shoulders slide away. Plenty remained, but at least she hadn't killed a child.
"Your friend O'Malley told us exactly what you were going to do." Kress shook her head. "How he knew I have no idea, but he was very specific. We had protective plates under her coat. She wasn't hurt."
"How about Lark?"
Kress looked as if she wanted to be difficult, but she looked at Cassie's face, and whatever she saw there silenced her.
"She's still missing," Al Fazil said. "We're doing everything we can to find her. Skyland owes her." For a moment some of the hardness left his expression. "We'll let you know as soon as we learn anything. You have my word."
Cassie nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"Now it's our turn," Kress said. "O'Malley gave us his version of things. It's obvious he's lying. Why don't you tell us what really happened?"
Cassie spent the next hour telling the same story over and over. The two cops did their best to trip her up, using every trick in the book. Some of it was downright nasty, but Cassie had been through worse in her larcenous career. She reminded herself that these two were also looking for Lark. She didn’t want them pulling their punches.
Finally Kress looked at Al Fazil, then said, "That's it for now."
Al Fazil nodded and stood.
"I'm not sure what's going to happen to you," Kress said. "Your legal status is currently under discussion. Being shot for treason is not entirely out of the question." She stood and moved to the door. "One or two people want to give you a medal." She shook her head. "I don't think that'll happen. But in the meantime you have the freedom of this facility. It's a detention and protection center for important witnesses. It's nicer than a cell, but you won't be allowed to leave."
She and Al Fazil walked out, leaving the door ajar behind them.
Cassie stood, feeling drained and depressed. Lark was out there somewhere, in mortal danger, and all Cassie could do was sit around and wait to hear how long her prison sentence would be. "This is all your fault, Jerry."
As if his name had summoned him, she heard the mumble of his voice in the hall. Kress said something in reply. A moment later he was there in the doorway. She meant to give him a piece of her mind, but instead she flung herself at him, wrapped her arms around him, and just let him hold her for a while.
"I can't believe you let me shoot her," she said into his chest.
"I can't believe you pulled the trigger. That was cold, Cassie. Cold."
She looked up, and he grinned down at her, stroking her hair. "You were magnificent, Cass."
"Oh, Jerry, do you think Lark is still alive?"
She felt him shrug. "We have to assume so. Hearne's smart. He'll keep her around in case she's useful. In the meantime there's no point in us torturing ourselves."
It wasn't the most convincing argument, but he was right about one thing. There was no point in imagining Lark dead. She had to focus on solutions.
Not that she could think of any solutions. "What'll we do, Jerry?"
The smile he gave her was a little flat. "The moment I think of something I'll definitely let you know."
The detention area was laid out as a small apartment, with three tiny bedrooms, a lounge area with basic kitchen facilities along one wall, and the interview room where Cassie had been interrogated. She sat in the lounge, staring out the fourth-floor window and fantasizing about battering her way through the steelglass to freedom. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point and she was thinking about picking a fight with Jerry when a buzz sounded at the apartment's only exit door. A moment later the door clicked open and a cop in a Zemoth Planetary Police uniform came in. He looked grizzled and ancient, but he carried himself like a soldier on parade.
"Afternoon," he said. Something in his gravelly voice made Cassie think he was used to having people do what he said. "I'm Top Sergeant Rao." He looked from Cassie to Jerry. "Ms. Marx and Mr. O'Malley, I presume?"
Jerry nodded.
"Good. Please come with me." He started to turn, and she heard a pneumatic hum from his left leg. Although his back was perfectly straight, his left leg moved stiffly, and when she looked closely she saw a flash of metal between the cuff of his pants and the top of his shoe. He had an artificial leg.
Cassie didn't move. "Where are we going?"
Rao paused in the doorway. He glanced at Jerry, who was strolling ever so casually toward him, and said, "Don't get any ideas, son. The whole building's secure. Getting past me won't help you any."
Jerry stopped, leaning against a counter, an innocent expression on his face.
To Cassie Rao said, "We have a prisoner who has requested to see you." He gestured around the little apartment. "Most of our guests are climbing the walls once they've been here a while. If you'd rather stay put, though …."
She stood. "Now that you mention it, a walk sounds lovely."
Rao led the way into a stark corridor with an old-fashioned elevator instead of bounce tubes. "More secure," he said, pressing a palm to a control panel. "We'll be going to the cell block two floors down. Not quite as nice as what you two have."
The elevator doors slid open.
"I'm afraid you still have to go through a full scan," he said as they boarded the elevator. "Even though you're already in custody. We had a bit of an incident here this morning. Someone tried to kill our prize inmate."
"Who is it?" said Cassie. "Who asked to see us?"
"No lesser person than the famous Nightingale herself."
Cassie and Jerry exchanged glances. "But why?"
Rao shrugged. "You'll have to ask her. I'm just a lowly babysitter."
"I've got some idea of what it takes to become a top sergeant in the ZPP," Jerry said. "I doubt you're a lowly anything."
The elevator doors slid open and Rao walked out, leaning a bit to the right to move the weight of his mechanical leg. He favored Jerry with a smile. "I might have slowed down a tiny bit in the last few years. It'd be rude to show me the door, though, so they've put me here."
"My sympathies," Jerry said. "I didn't like getting sent here either."
That earned him a wheezing laugh from the old policeman. He led them down a windowless corridor with armor plating showing through gaps in the wall panels. They came to a security station with a scanning booth and an alert young woman with a military-grade robot beside her.
"I'll wait for you here," Rao said. "Do enjoy your visit with the homicidal little minx."
"One at a time, please," said the young woman, and gestured Cassie forward. The scanning booth closed around her, machinery hummed, and then the door on the far side slid open. Cassie waited while Jerry was scanned.
"The meeting room is at the end of this corridor," the woman said, pointing. "By law there is no surveillance or observation allowed in the meeting room, so if you have any trouble, you'll have to use the emergency button on the side wall. Or stick your head in the corridor and shout for me."
Cassie and Jerry walked down the corridor together. They passed a small meeting room with the door ajar. A maintenance team was repairing the outside wall.
The door at the end of the corridor slid open with a low hum and they walked through into a small, windowless room. A sheet of glass divided the room in two, with tables pushed up on either side and a grill allowing for conversation.
Kira Talin sat on the other side of the glass. She wore a baggy white blouse and trousers, and a thick security armband covered her left wrist. She looked pale and sullen, glaring up at them as she waited for them to sit down.
For a long time no one spoke. Finally Cassie said, "All right. I give up. What do you want?"
Kira put a hand on her hip. "You shot me."
Cassie didn't answer, just rolled her eyes.
"But you were straight with me," Kira said. She reached up and pulled the neckline of her blouse down and over. The skin on her shoulder and upper chest was red and inflamed, with black lines marking her arteries. "That bastard tried to kill me. He sent one of his weas
els to shoot me through the wall. An explosive round, and then a liskine starburst."
Cassie winced. Liskine was a nasty poison. Kira would have felt as if her veins were on fire. She was lucky to be alive.
"I was always straight with Hearne," Kira said. "The cops leaned on me pretty hard. I didn't tell them nothing." Her face contorted. "Not one bloody thing! You have no idea what I've gone through for that man. For his precious cause. The things I've done. The people I've hurt. All for him. All because he said so." Her face was turning red. "Bloody bastard! I'm the one person he's always been able to count on. The only one! When his precious son got himself arrested, I was there for him. When he needed someone to shut that senator up, who did he call? Me! And I got the job done. I was totally dependable! And look what he did!"
The fabric at her neck was starting to tear. Her face was crimson, the flush spreading across her throat until it was hard to tell where the mark from the poison ended. Cords in her neck stood out under the skin as she ground her teeth together, lips pulled back in a furious rictus.
Cassie looked at Jerry. He gave her a little shrug. Cassie said, "This is all really interesting, lady. Is that why you wanted to see us? So you could tell us your boss is an asshole? We actually knew already."
Kira lowered her hand, breathing heavily. The color slowly faded from her face. She met Cassie's eyes and said, "He got your kid, right?"
Cassie felt her skin go cold. "Yes."
"I want you to kill him."
Cassie blinked at the non-sequitur. "What?"
"You two are good. You totally outmaneuvered me. No one's ever done that. You're good enough to get him. I can't tell the ZPP. They'll lock him up and negotiate with him and probably end up letting him go in exchange for testimony or some shit like that. But you two will kill him." She leaned forward, her face suddenly hungry. "You will kill him, won't you?"
Cassie felt her pulse quicken. "Well, I can't kill him if I can't find him." She leaned forward until her nose almost touched the grill. "Do you know where he is?"
Kira smiled. "Why the hell do you think I asked to see you?"
