No, Roche reminded herself, not abandoned. Emmerik intended to meet someone here.
“Which way?” prompted Cane, gesturing at the five roads.
“Second from the left.” The Mbatan’s voice was muted, muffled by an emotion Roche could not read. “Please stick to the road and don’t disturb anything. I’ll follow in a moment.”
“Are we in danger?” Cane studied the darkened doorways with suspicion.
“No.” Emmerik shook his head. “It’s not that.”
Roche suddenly guessed what was bothering the Mbatan. Studying the silent streets more closely, she could see the way sand had gathered in every crevice, untouched for decades, perhaps centuries; the very air tasted pure, despite the tang of dust, untainted by the outside world. It was as though the whole town had been sealed in memoriam to whatever in its past had killed it. The town was a shrine, and they were violating it simply with their presence.
Again she swallowed her curiosity and forced herself to walk, eager to reach the end of their long journey. The others followed her lead, heading slowly along the road with their footsteps echoing off the stubborn buildings. Cane took the rear, his keen gaze studying the shadows for movement. Roche looked also, but from training rather than suspicion; in those deserted streets she didn’t expect to find life of any kind. Still, the absence of Emmerik’s steady steps among theirs made the procession seem somewhat unnatural, even tense. And the fact that he had their weapons only made her feel more uneasy.
Roche trod onward, refusing to look behind her. There were other ways to find out what was going on.
“What’s he doing, Maii?” she asked, once they were out of earshot.
There was a hint of resignation in the reave’s tone.
“Can you sense anybody else? The people he’s supposed to be meeting, for example?”
Roche sighed.
Roche looked ahead, trying to locate the corner but failing.
Did she detect indignation in the AI’s tone?
They reached the dogleg fifteen minutes later. Roche studied it cautiously before sending Cane ahead. The blind corner would be the perfect place for an ambush, and she wasn’t prepared to risk anything in this place. The lanky figure of her only Pristine companion strode confidently across the open space until he disappeared from sight. Roche found herself holding her breath until he appeared again, waving an “all clear.” Tenuous though her connection to him was, right now, in this town, she felt she would be lost without his presence. It wasn’t an emotional issue, but one that any realist would admit to. In her weakened state, she needed someone strong to rely on. And if she was wrong to place her trust in him, then...
Not that she had any choice. She was vulnerable, cut off from the support structures that usually surrounded her. She had to take what she could get, and learn to live without the rest.
As they approached the heart of the abandoned town, the towers loomed higher than ever. The scaffolding became clearer, although its purpose remained a mystery. Wires and thin poles tangled like an abstract sculpture across the gap between the towers; the faint light from the Soul touching various sections gave it the appearance of a giant spider’s web. Roche strained her eyes to see more clearly: could she see something, a tiny speck, in the center of the web, or was that just her imagination?
The road turned once more before reaching the central square, which occupied the space between the towers. The curve was gentle, hardly threatening, but Roche’s nervousness increased with every step along it.
“I don’t like this,” she said. “I feel like we’re walking into a trap.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said Veden, his grey eyes glinting in the darkness. “They know who I am.” “Still...”
“There are two people ahead,” said Cane.
Roche stopped in mid-stride. “Where?”
“In the square.”
She squinted into the gloom. “I can’t see them.”
“I can just make out the shapes of their arms and legs,” said Cane, his eyes narrowed. “Only just, but they are definitely there.”
“What color, Cane?”
“A very deep purple, around the edges. Like silhouettes.”
said the reave.
“You can read them?”
“Should we keep going?”
Roche noted the qualifying phrase, and nodded. “Okay. But keep an eye out. Or whatever.” She wished Emmerik were back with them; at least then they would have somebody to speak on their behalf. It was unlikely that Veden would.
They continued onward, closer to the square. As they approached, the shields fell away from the pair, revealing a short man and a tall woman, both dressed in black. Beyond the dropping of the shields, neither made any move.
Roche walked until she was within ten meters of the pair, then stopped. Cane did likewise, as did Maii. Veden hesitated, then continued walking.
“Makil Veden?” said the man, his voice booming into the silence.
“Yes,” replied the Eckandi. “I am he.”
The man and the woman moved simultaneously, drawing heavy weapons from beneath their tunics and directing them at the Eckandi. “Come no closer.”
Veden stopped immediately, with his hands half-raised in an automatic gesture of surrender. “What—?”
“Take another step and we will execute you for the crimes your Caste has committed against us.”
Cane moved. From a standing start to a rapid sprint, he ran for the shadows cloaking the square. Roche gaped, startled by the swiftness of his response; his legs almost seemed to blur in the darkness. The woman spun to follow him. Chattering gunfire chased his heels, too late to catch him. He disappeared into an open doorway, reappeared an instant later through an alleyway, then disappeared again.
Roche automatically extrapolated his path. He was circling the square, not running away. Stunned by his sheer speed, she could only watch, frozen.
The man and woman turned to face her and Maii.
“Put your hands on your head,” said a voice from behind them. “Lie facedown on the ground and do not try to resist.”
Roche spun to face the familiar voice. Six more people had appeared from the shadows with rifles in their hands. One of them was Emmerik.
“Do it,” he spat, gesturing with the rifle. “Now!”
Roche obeyed, clumsily lowering herself to her knees, then lying flat on the road with the cold stone against her cheek.
“We’ll kill her!” Emmerik shouted, his voice echoing through the empty square. The words chilled her less than the tone of his voice. The Mbatan’s eyes searched the shadows, desperate for any sign of the fugitive.
Something moved on the far side of the square, and the woman’s rifle turned to face it.
“I mean it,” Emmerik said, less loudly than before. The rifle clicked at her back: a projectile weapon, she absently noted; lethal at such close range. “I swear.”
Emmerik nodded. “She’s telling the truth. Too many people have died here for another to make a difference.”
Silence answered him, heavy with potential violence.
Then a shadow moved, and Cane stepped into view. His hands hung clenched at his sides. His expression was one of anger, tightly reined.
“Down.” Emmerik gestured with the rifle.
With his eyes focused on the Mbatan, Cane obeyed. A rifle butt, held by the woman, jammed into the back of his neck as her companion fixed his hands and feet in carbon-steel cuffs. Cane made no sound at all as he was bound, although Roche could see the rage boiling inside him, waiting for a chance to escape. But with the gun at his neck, he had no opportunity to break free.
When he was securely bound, rough hands lifted Roche upright. She gasped, staring in confusion at the Mbatan.
“What the hell—?”
“We had to do it,” he said, his eyes pleading for her to believe him.
“But he swore to help you,” she hissed. “He deserves better than this.”
“He’s too dangerous, too unpredictable,” the Mbatan said. “You saw how fast he moved. Until he tells us who or what he is, he stays like this. I’m sorry.”
Roche glanced at Cane, prostrate on the ground, then at Maii and Veden. The Eckandi was looking smugly superior now that the object of the trap had been revealed: not Veden himself, or even Roche and the Box, but Cane alone.
Roche turned away, feeling frustration bubbling within her like a ball of superheated water. She couldn’t bear to look at him, potentially the most powerful fighter she had ever met betrayed by a handful of low-life rebels.
“What about honesty?” she snapped back. “Integrity? Trust?”
“Look up,” said one woman standing close behind her.
“What?” said Roche.
“Look up,” the woman repeated. “Between the towers.”
Roche did so, and was gratified to hear Veden echo her own involuntary gasp of revulsion.
Suspended by the scaffolding between the two towers, crucified horizontally by wires and impaled upon iron spars, hung the mummified body of a naked Eckandi male.
“Blind trust on Sciacca can often prove expensive,” said Emmerik, and gestured with the rifle that she should walk ahead of him to join the others.
9
Sciacca’s World
Behzad’s Wall
‘954.10.31 EN
0750
“Newcomers to our planet usually mean trouble.” The woman brushed strands of black hair from her narrow face. Roche had heard Emmerik address her as “Neva,” although she hadn’t been formally introduced. “It’s an unfortunate fact of life,” she added.
Roche glanced inquiringly at Neva from where she sat, but the woman averted her face and busied herself at one of the tables. Emmerik crouched nearby with a gun in his lap, his attention fixed on Cane sitting against the wall opposite Roche. Through the only doorway leading into the room, Roche could make out Veden and Maii discussing business with a half dozen other rebels, their conversation kept carefully out of earshot.
If the woman’s remark had been an overture to an explanation, it seemed Roche would have to wait a little longer for the rest.
They had been brought to the shorter of the two towers, which obviously served as an impromptu base for the rebels in the town. The room they were in was slightly rundown and thick with dust; around them were scattered ten camp beds, a number of the crude projectile weapons she had seen earlier, a small cache of food and water, and a dozen or so unmarked containers. The only light in the room came from a battered fuel-cell heater in the corner; the only window was currently shielded by a carbon-mat, presumably to prevent their heat from being detected at night.
Neva came to Roche’s side to tend her injuries, gently peeling back the survival suit to take a closer look. Roche winced as her bruised muscles submitted to the woman’s examination.
“I think you’re being a little harsh on us,” said Roche. “I never wanted to be here in the first place—and if the only way to leave is by helping you, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Neva grinned wryly. “Whether you want to or not.” She slipped a ration-stick into Roche’s mouth. The stick burst upon chewing and became a thick, sweet gel. “The transportees don’t want to be here either, remember.”
Roche nodded in appreciation for the food, but couldn’t bring herself to offer her gratitude. The rebels may have helped her so far, but she was still decidedly wary of their motives.
“Well,” she said, “this is a penal planet—”
“That’s not the half of it.” Neva roughly unstrapped the Box from her back. “If you think we’re being harsh, then you don’t know the meaning of the word.”
“Not now,” Emmerik interrupted. “She needs rest, not a lecture.”
“Be quiet, Emmerik,” said the woman evenly. It was clear to Roche from Neva’s tone that her rank in the rebels was higher than that of the Mbatan. “She wants to know who we are. She needs to if she expects us to help her.”
“And if you expect us to help you.” Roche smiled, but the light from the heater reflected in the woman’s eyes was cold. That she wanted to talk, though, was obvious. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“What happened was the Ghost War,” Neva said, settling back onto her haunches and continuing to work on Roche’s injured shoulder. “Prior to then, this was a comfortable planet, with forests and lakes and fields of grain. And rivers.”
“It’s hard to imagine.”
Neva’s fingers dug deep into Roche’s shoulder, making her wince with pain. Be quiet was the obvious message.
“A strike on a Dominion installation in the Soul changed—ruined—everything,” the woman went on. “There was massive destruction. Three large moonlets fell from orbit. Killed millions, smashed the ecosphere. A few small cities survived, such as this one, but the moonlets— along with the quakes and volcanic activity that followed—left virtually nothing else standing. The Ataman Theocracy didn’t even bother to hang around to mop up the survivors. Bigger wars to attend to, perhaps. I don’t know. History doesn’t supply an explanation. And it didn’t matter. The old world was
gone.”
Neva’s fingers stopped working, and for a few moments she remained very still, staring off over Roche’s injured shoulder. Roche made no attempt to prompt her, but glanced over to where Cane sat huddled beneath a cowl of shadows, attentive as always. His eyes were fixed upon her, but she suspected he would be listening to every word that Neva or Emmerik said.
Then Neva’s fingers began to move again, and with them her labored account of Ul-oemato’s history. “For the survivors, life went on. They adapted to the new environment: the deserts, the sandstorms, the predators. Sciacca’s World was still home to a couple of million people, and I guess they believed they could tame it again. They became a harder breed, tougher than their ancestors. A more resilient type of Pristine altogether, although not a new Caste,
“The First Ataman War came and went. Officially, from then on, we were part of the Theocracy, but they had no substantial presence, so it didn’t mean much to people here. Only during the Second Ataman War did things change. The Commonwealth of Empires took the system, and they invaded in force. But we were stronger on the ground, and we held a number of small territories in the hills and mountains free from the invading forces.”
“Such as Houghton’s Cross?” Roche said, noting Neva’s unconscious switch from “they” to “we.”
“It wasn’t called Houghton’s Cross back then,” said Neva. “It was called Ul-oemato, and it became the capital of this region.” She shrugged. “And although the Commonwealth occasionally conducted raids in the hope of destabilizing the Dominion population, the two nations coexisted in relative peace for quite a while.”
“It was around then that the penal colony was founded,” put in Emmerik. “To mine the Soul, and the places on the shattered crust where minerals had come to the surface.”
Neva nodded once more. “The Theocracy, when it destroyed the planet, ignored that resource, just as its soldiers ignored the Human suffering they left behind.”
The Prodigal Sun Page 14
