Rachel's Return

by Amy Gallow

  "M-m-m.” Anneke rose from her knees and stood, looking down at Rachael. “Something warm inside and then some body heat should do the trick.” She nodded in self confirmation. “I needn't bother Dael."

  She turned away and went to the fireplace, building a small fire of twigs and adding dried wood, one piece at a time, to limit the smoke. A small hanging pot was filled with water and swung over the fire. “While that boils, we'll see what a little body heat can do."

  Anneke shed her clothes and slid into the rug beside Rachael, cuddling her face to face, legs entwined, arms around her and Rachael felt the warmth flowing into her body like a healing tide. Her own arms went around the girl and held her close, welcoming her.

  "Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you.” Her eyelids drooped tiredly ... and this time Anneke let her sleep.

  * * * *

  Anneke felt her slide into sleep and smiled. She'd scanned Rachael's body thoroughly and knew there was no permanent damage. Nothing she couldn't allow to heal naturally, except the wrists. She'd give the rope burns a nudge in the right direction and then conceal them with bandages until the healing could be considered natural. Dael would be proud of her efforts, particularly as she'd been an unwilling student more times than not. No one, apart from Jean-Paul, could match Dael's healing touch because they could never care as much. Her mother loved Peter so completely; she had love enough for everyone.

  She felt Rachael smile in her sleep and disciplined herself. She hadn't meant to share her thoughts. Turning them outwards hid them from Rachael, and Anneke monitored events both locally and in orbit above them by the simple expedient of selecting minds and scanning them.

  The Federation assault group and the rescued negotiators had returned to their shuttle and lifted off to the mother ship perched in a geostationary orbit above. Everybody was playing the blame game about Rachael's supposed death, accusations streaming down the lines of command and across departmental barriers with equal vigor. The self-styled Lord High Sheriff had called a levy, mustering his peasants into a rag-tag army to be beaten into shape by his men-at-arm and led by his sergeants. The sergeant who'd commanded the hanging party, smarting under ill-deserved criticism, had vowed personal vengeance on the red-headed vixen he considered the cause of his trouble.

  He'd have to be watched, for he was a very efficient soldier, a veteran of the border wars. Fortunately, he was occupied, beating order into his conscripts, making them fear his displeasure more than they'd ever fear the enemy.

  Anneke shifted her focus to the mother ship, a modern Federation colonizer, as different from the scout Gabrielle had commanded as it was possible to be. Anneke chuckled at the memory of her sister-in-law's wrath when Karrel had taken her on a tour of a modern ship. Her anger should have blistered the paint on its walls, made all the more vehement by the quiet tone in which she delivered her judgment. She'd never gone back and had muttered something about “reduced to taxi-drivers, with idiots for passengers.” Anneke thought she was talking about the crew but hadn't dared to scan her thoughts lest she become the focus of Gabrielle's anger. Even Karrel avoided his wife's ire. “Let Peter earn medals, I just want a quiet life."

  Time to check her patient.

  Rachael was now sleeping normally, her body healing itself, helped along by Anneke's subtle manipulations and her body heat. She should wake normally in the morning and they would begin the journey to the shuttle's landing zone. Given the extent of the mobilization, it wouldn't be without risk. Anneke was tempted to utilize Limbo's portals, but the girl might wake at an inconvenient time. It was better that they traveled normally. It would give her time to monitor developments. Peter would want a detailed report, before he decided if anything should be done. He husbanded their resources zealously, applying them only where a result could be achieved. It was fun trying to get round his iron self discipline; knowing he sometimes indulged her against his better judgment.

  Anneke did a final check of the area and composed herself for sleep, confident any dangerous development would wake her.

  * * * *

  Rachael woke to the tantalizing aroma of roasting meat and found Anneke barbequing sections of rabbit and two small trout on a hot plate held above the flames by an iron tripod.

  "My father does this much better,” Anneke spoke without turning. “We'll have to depend on hunger to make up for my poor cooking skills."

  "I've got plenty of that.” Rachael admitted. “It smells great from here."

  "Join me. We'll have to use our fingers.” Anneke turned and grinned. “You look less like a drowned rat."

  Rachael unconsciously ran her fingers through her hair and winced when they met a mass of tangles. “I'm not sure what I look like, but, at least, I'm alive, thanks to you."

  Anneke smiled and shook her head. “You're alive because you struggled so hard they couldn't control you and took the short cut of knocking you out. I just happened along in the confusion and saw your friends had left you behind. It didn't seem fair, considering you'd saved the others by delaying the hanging, so I hid you in the river."

  Rachael reached for the edge of the fur rug, intending to rise, and noticed the thick bandage around her wrist. There was one around the other wrist as well.

  "Rope burns.” Anneke had noticed her glance. “I've used wild honey to promote healing without scars. It will keep the skin soft and we have a hive close."

  "How long can we stay here?” Rachael's body felt a mass of bruises and every movement woke new pains.

  "Not too long. A day or two perhaps. Depends how your people react.” Anneke shrugged. “Our presence puts the locals at risk."

  "Like your fisherman friend?"

  "Yes."

  "Will I get the chance to thank him?” Rachael remembered the care he'd shown in lifting her from the coracle and the concern in his voice as he kept her awake on the journey to the hut.

  "Probably not. He'll keep away until after we're gone and warn the others who use this hut."

  "You don't sound like local. Who are you?” Rachael was puzzled. Anneke spoke as an outsider, but the things she knew were not casual knowledge, open to all.

  "I'm a traveler. I move around a lot and get to know things.” Her grin was mischievous. “Particularly poaching and other activities best hidden from the powers-that-be."

  Rachael nodded. The gypsies hadn't been included officially in the colony ships from Earth, but pockets of them were found on every world. It explained much about Anneke, from her knowledge of poachers to the way she casually defied authority. She'd found a valuable ally, one who might just succeed in getting her back to the shuttle and safety.

  "The shuttle's gone back to your mother ship. It was seen lifting off. Your landing ground is apparently deserted.” Anneke's tone held sympathy. She knew how much a shock her news was to Rachael. “They probably think you died."

  Rachael nodded. Standard procedure called for proof of an agent's death and no communication for thirty days. She had no communicator, so she must lay out a ground signal to be picked up by the camera. Somewhere near a landing zone would be best, preferably a beach.

  "How far are we from the sea?"

  "At least two days travel, more if we have to move secretly.” Anneke wasn't surprised by the question. “It's the opposite direction to your landing ground."

  "They won't come back there.” Rachael bit back the urge to add more. She mustn't compromise Federation procedures.

  "How soon must you be there?"

  "If I can leave a signal visible from the sky we have as much time as we need. Are there any large fields of grain nearby?” The simplest signal was to flatten the grain in the middle of a large field in the standard landing grid with the longest arm pointing in their direction of travel. It should mean nothing to a local and could be accomplished at night.

  "Nothing close.” Anneke looked thoughtful. “Nor anything on our direct line of travel. They're all small holdings, predominately grazing. How big does your signal need to
be?"

  "The bigger the better, but a twenty foot square would suffice."

  "How about a number of fires lit at night?"

  "It sounds risky.” Rachael didn't like the sound of this, even if it was a near perfect way of signaling, combining visual and infrared to ensure success.

  "We'd have help.” Anneke was grinning. “Draw the pattern you want on the ground. There's a charcoal burners camp a dozen miles away. We'll go there and persuade them where to set their next mounds. The vents at the top should show clearly."

  "You are a genius. Will they help us?"

  "They're men and lonely.” Anneke's smile turned wicked, becoming a dare.

  Rachael laughed to hide her lack of confidence. She couldn't imagine any man resisting Anneke, but was less certain of the effect of her own charms on a local.

  "First things first.” Anneke changed the subject. “These are cooked. We'd better eat now."

  Rachael joined her at the fire and ate, the first mouthful delicious and the second even better. There was no conversation until she'd finished her share and was eyeing what remained on the makeshift skillet.

  "Go ahead.” Anneke chuckled. “There's a wild apple tree behind the hut and I had a couple when I first woke."

  Rachael didn't wait for a second invitation. She hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before. She finished off the hot food and accepted two wild apples as well, eating even the cores.

  "That was good,” she said. “Your father taught you well."

  Her comment made Anneke smile, before she put her memories aside and became businesslike. “There's local clothes at the foot of the bed. Yours are too distinctive. We'll use a shawl to hide the color of your hair until I can find something to dye it black temporarily. For the moment, put it into a braid.” She produced a large plastic comb.

  Rachael took it, about to free her hair of it tangles, when the significance of its manufacture sank in. This had never been produced on Thanatos.

  "You're not the first Spacers to land here.” Anneke had read her expression. “The Lord High Sheriff knew about the Federation before you arrived. That's why he reacted so forcibly. He recognized the threat you were."

  "We came to negotiate a treaty."

  "He knew all about your treaties. Far too much to trust them. All out war might make you go elsewhere."

  Rachael bit her lip. The Federation had blundered badly in believing Thanatos virgin territory. They needed an informant like Anneke, but she'd already indicated her opinion of the Federation and was unlikely to cooperate. The best Rachael could do was to listen carefully and note everything of interest for her debriefing.

  * * * *

  Kamran had come to accept certain elements of his life as immutable. He was condemned to serve idiots and his current master was a prime example of the genus. It was his father's fault. Too fond of the bottle to remain a Spacer, he'd settled on Thanatos, married a local girl and declined disgracefully over the years, amusing himself by educating his only son so he'd have one person he could talk as an equal. Twenty years dead, he'd left Kamran to survive as best he could in a world he understood too well to believe he could change unaided.

  The expansionist period on Thanatos was long gone, the ruling bloodlines fixed and guarded zealously, movement between the peasantry and the High Borns impossible. As sergeant at arms, Kamran was at the pinnacle of his achievable goals, barred by the Guilds from any commercial or artesian ambitions and by his bloodline from further promotion. The arrival of the Federation had provided a slither of hope.

  He'd been present when the news came; understanding immediately both its importance and the need to ensure the transition was not peaceful. He needed the chaos of war to grasp his opportunity to provide a viable alternative to the current hierarchy. Goading the High Sheriff into over-reacting had taken only a questioning look and the fool had jumped immediately. Kamran had no qualms about hanging a dozen off-worlders, and would have done so, were it not for the damned redhead. She'd delayed the proceedings, the others had arrived, and now cooler heads might just prevail. His scouts swore she hadn't returned to the shuttle with the others so he had to find her and humiliate the Federation by executing her publicly, laying the blame for the act on the idiot he served.

  His scouts, every one personally recruited from the mountain tribes, were combing the area, sniffing out every secret hideaway. It was only a matter of time before they flushed her from hiding. Then some form of atrocity, blamable on the High Sheriff, followed by a public execution with the trimmings.

  Kamran's lips twisted in a bitter smile. He admired the girl's courage and the skill she'd shown in evading the searchers, but his needs were best served by her death and pity was an emotion he couldn't afford.

  A knock at the door of his tiny cubicle. “Sergeant, the companies are assembled for inspection."

  "Coming.” He rose to his feet, a little weary from forty-eight hours of continuous effort, but the poor fools must be made to fear him more than they feared the enemy if he were to preserve their lives.

  One of his scouts stood at the top of the steps down to the parade ground. A dark-skinned man, small and lithe, the scalp locks of his kills festooned around hi upper arms. “Fisherman talked,” he said. “Found hair caught in bottom of boat. Two women hide in forest. My brothers go before."

  Kamran nodded. He knew the scout's methods of interrogation and the information could be trusted. This would be a good exercise for his raw troops, even if they were already dozing on their feet. “Companies!” His parade ground roar startled them into life. “Prepare to march."

  * * * *

  Anneke was dreaming. She'd given Rachael a full day's rest to recover from her ordeal, but they must be on their way in the morning. First to the charcoal burner's camp to send the signal to the mother ship and then onto the beach. It would be hard traveling and the girl wasn't fit. She might have to help her.

  Their destination had got mixed up in her dream and she was at the beach camp with Peter, Dael and the others, but something was wrong. Peter was giving her one of his disappointed looks. Accompanied with a sigh, they signaled she'd done something stupid, but she couldn't think what it could be.

  Karrel was doing it now. Sighing loudly and shaking his head. All she needed was for Jack to get in on the act. Then all three of them were running through the wood towards her. Their faces changed, darkening as she watched, the three tribal scars on each cheek filled with red ochre.

  Anneke woke and felt the fisherman's death in their minds. Anger took charge and she gathered herself for a killing stroke.

  Stop. It was Peter. Go. Take the girl. I'll deal with them. Remember Lot's wife and don't look back. She felt his cold rage and was afraid. Not for herself, but for the small brown men. They had roused the whirlwind and now must ride it.

  Chapter Seven

  Kamran swore. Working without scouts at night was impossible. He was reduced to sending sweeps of men to search areas. He'd have to take them back before the idea of desertion took hold and he started to lose men.

  "Trumpeter, sound the Assembly. We're going back to the barracks."

  Failure had a bitter taste. He'd lost his four scouts and the word would spread in the hill tribes, making recruitment of replacements impossible. The first combined exercise of his conscripts had degenerated into a shambles, weakening both morale and control, and the redhead had gained a powerful ally—one strong enough to terrify men he'd have sworn impervious to fear.

  They'd come to him trembling, their faces ashen beneath the dark pigment. “We go. No come back. Our Great Spirit has spoken.” He'd let them leave, for their terror was contagious, but couldn't help wondering what trick had reduced them to this.

  The redhead had slipped through his fingers for a second time, but her luck couldn't hold. She could be blamed for the fisherman as well now. He smiled. Poor girl. Life really wasn't fair.

  * * * *

  Rachael, had she known his thoughts, would have agreed
with him wholeheartedly. It was fortunate she'd lain down fully clothed, for, roused from a deep sleep, she'd been harried out of the hut and chivied into running blindly down a narrow trail in the growing darkness. “Hurry, we must be outside the search perimeter when his troops arrive,” were Anneke's instructions and “Keep going,” every time Rachael slowed.

  The comfortable Federation coverall was gone, replaced by a misogynist designed skirt and top in scratchy wool, last worn by somebody with a serious body odor problem. On her feet were open sandals made from semi-cured leather and designed to cripple rather than protect. She could feel the blisters forming with every step.

  She could last five minutes more, not a second longer.

  Thirty minutes later, when Anneke slowed their flight to a rapid walk, Rachael amend her limit downward to four minutes, and, an hour later when she was allowed her first rest, she decided she could have gone three minutes more without collapsing.

  "Put your feet in the water,” Anneke instructed. “They'll feel better and it will soften the leather a bit more. We've got miles to go."

  Rachael groaned as the chilled water of the small creek stung her poor feet. She didn't want to look at them; sure they'd be covered in blood. They felt bad enough without seeing the damage. She gathered her skirt to prevent it falling in the water and sat gingerly on a large rock, the loose folds bunched on her knees to cushion her arms.

  She was beat.

  "Cheer up. We'll be at the charcoal burner's camp in another hour. They'll be awake tending their mounds and will hide us till morning.” Anneke was still standing and Rachael looked up to find her fingering her chin in thought. “When we get there, don't speak unless you have to. Act shy and simper when asked a question. A touch of fear would be good. The local headman has taken advantage of you and his wife has accused you of witchcraft because rumor has it your mother slept with a Traveler before you were born. I'm the daughter of the Traveler and we're heading to Kordobah where you'll have relatives to protect you. We'll tell them burning the charcoal in the pattern we want will ensure all Travelers treat them fairly. They'll guess the signal is only part of the pattern but won't know which part it is. I'll mark a tree with the right recognition pattern before we leave so they will receive the treatment they expect."