by Astrid Amara
And realized why the engine sounded so loud.
He was on the floor of the cargo hold of a small public freighter. The air was oxygenated and heated for the sake of the goods stored inside, but the cabin wasn’t designed for human comfort. He was cold, wearing nothing but the Jarrow smuggler’s cargo pants and black tunic, and socks. The fact that he wore a dead man’s socks disgusted him.
He couldn’t tell much from the hold, other than noting the words on the cargo straps and on the caution signs were in Spanish first, then English.
And he wasn’t alone.
Cruz sat on the floor next to him, leaning against an aluminum pallet of boxed fruits, machine gun across his knees. His head was tucked down, chin on his chest, as if asleep. His hands were folded over his stomach. Something wet stained his black shirt. This close, Tover could see he was very pale.
Tover turned his head and noticed the other stowaways. They were mostly men, armed and in fatigues, but a couple and what looked to be their two young children huddled across from Tover and Cruz, and a few women at the opposite end of the cargo hold played some form of poker. Nearby Tover recognized one of the young girls that had been Savel’s hostage. All five victims were there, sleeping near each other, breathing clips on their noses and mouths.
Tover spotted Ramirez and the thick, bearded Pulmon Verde rebel amongst the men, also wearing clips.
Carida. He was going to fucking Carida.
He tried to think of a way out of the situation, but every part of him hurt, hurt more every moment. Whatever he’d been drugged with was wearing off quickly.
He turned to stare at the face of the man who had ruined his life. Loathing swelled inside of him. Tover used the last of his strength, swung his fist, and punched Cruz in the face.
Cruz fell over, startled awake. For a moment sheer rage crossed Cruz’s features, but as soon as he figured out it had been Tover who had hit him, the rage seemed to disappear. He straightened his respirator, wincing a little.
“Calm down,” Cruz said. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He fumbled in his pocket for something.
“You…you ruined my life!” Tover said hoarsely. The other stowaways watched them carefully. The woman gathered her two children closer. Two of the rebels fingered their weapons.
Cruz prodded his nose carefully.
Tover jerked forward to hit him again, but the sensations of his injuries broke through the drug barrier, and he froze, clutching his left wrist. An unhealthy-looking protrusion under the swelling suggested more broken bones. The thought of getting in another bone knitter made him break out in sweat.
Tover rested his head against his arm, panting to control his pain. “I want to go home,” he mumbled pitifully.
Cruz leaned his head very close to Tover and whispered in his ear. His expression was cold but his tone sounded gentle. “Nothing’s stopping you. You should get out of here as soon as you can.”
Tover reached to his neck. The wire was gone. All that remained was a crusted trench of damaged skin.
Tover closed his eyes. He could sense home, a beacon of light in a universe of darkness. His bed, his white cotton sheets…
But the pain in his body was so absolute he couldn’t focus past it, couldn’t conjure the strength to navigate. He lay his head back down, exhausted. “I can’t,” he said, voice little more than a gravelly whisper. “You fucking bastard.”
“I’m taking you home, to a doctor.” Cruz pulled a small injector from his pocket. He frowned. “But we still have a long way to go, Tover.” He held out the needle.
Tover tried to pull back but Cruz’s reflexes were fast. The injector flicked deeply through his skin and almost instantly a haziness washed through Tover. The pain receded quickly.
“I can’t believe I ever trusted you,” Tover whispered. He closed his eyes.
Cruz said nothing, but before he lost consciousness, Tover felt Cruz brush Tover’s bangs off his forehead.
“I know. I’m sorry.” A strange emotion wavered in Cruz’s voice, but Tover couldn’t stay focused on it long enough to understand.
Tover closed his eyes.
Chapter Six
White cotton sheets. A pillow. Home.
Tover blinked.
“You like spicy food?”
Tover tried several times to focus his heavy eyes.
He was laid out on a comfortable bed with a large pillow, like in his dream. He glanced down and saw he was naked underneath a thin cotton sheet.
And sitting beside the bed was a beautiful young woman.
Tover pulled the sheet tight around his body. The movement hurt his ribs and broken wrist, and he realized he was still in terrible shape. And naked in the presence of a stranger.
She had dark skin and thick black hair, pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a spaghetti-strap floral shirt and had flour on her hands. Her teeth were slightly crooked, shiny white and large, and openly displayed in the most enthusiastic smile Tover had ever seen.
Tover swallowed. His throat was parched, and the air tasted sour. He reached up and felt that he had a clip on his nostril and mouth. He wore a respirator. He was on Carida.
The woman didn’t wear any sort of breathing device which meant she was a native. “You like spicy or bland?” she asked again.
“Oh for God’s sake, Ana, give him a moment to wake up!”
Another woman approached and sat down on the bed itself, careful to avoid Tover’s legs. She leaned over and brushed the hair off Tover’s forehead. “Thirsty, honey?”
Tover nodded.
The older woman reached over and filled a glass of water from a pitcher beside the table that Tover hadn’t noticed. She held it for him, and he gulped it down, hands shaking as he tried to hold the glass himself.
“Go slow. We got plenty of water on this planet.” She smiled.
The water tasted funny, or else it was the air that soured everything. There was a weird flavor in his mouth, despite the breathing clip, and he knew this had to be the lack of oxygen in the air. His breathing felt labored, it was harder to draw in a full breath.
When he finished the drink, the woman put the glass down. “My name is Lourdes. I’m a doctor,” she said, feeling the pulse at Tover’s neck. She looked a lot like Ana, although her skin was leathery from years in harsh starlight and her hair was streaked with silver. There was something familiar about her crooked smile. “Do you have allergies to any medications?”
Tover shook his head.
“Good,” Lourdes said. Without hesitating she shot something into Tover’s neck. “As soon as the sedation kicks in we’ll get you in the bone knitter and patch you up.”
Terror raced through him. He struggled to get out of bed, but the drug took effect instantly. The pain in his body shifted, moved farther away, along with his consciousness.
“He didn’t get a chance to answer my question,” Tover heard the young woman complain. Then there was nothing once more.
The next time Tover woke, he was more conscious, but still under the influence of narcotics. Something coursed through his system, keeping almost every sensation away. He glanced to his wrist and saw a concentrate narcbag wrapped around his right wrist.
He was alone this time, and no longer naked. Someone had washed him and dressed him in thin, loose cotton-like pants. Embarrassment flooded him, thinking of the women he had met handling his battered body.
His left wrist and the wound around his neck were both bandaged with nu-skin, and the swelling of his left eye had gone down substantially, but the rest of his face felt battered.
He heard a door open and tensed, but it was hard to make his head turn to look at the entrance to his room. Lourdes entered, a gentle smile on her face.
“You awake, sweetie?”
Tover didn’t bother to answer, and she didn’t seem to need one. She stood bes
ide his bed and lifted a monitor, reading the displayed numbers.
“How are you feeling? You need more painkiller?”
Tover shook his head slightly. Lourdes sat beside him on the bed. She smelled like honey and lemon soap. She wore a light, flowing lace cardigan that looked unlike anything anyone would wear on DK Station, and had her hair in a loose, casual bun. An overwhelming urge to hug her filled him, and he wasn’t sure if it was because she was the first friendly face he’d seen in weeks, or if it was the narcotics flowing through his veins.
“I’m going to keep you on a steady dose but lower it over the next few days.”
“Okay.” His voice, never attractive on the best of days, sounded like he was trying to impersonate the devil.
Lourdes didn’t seem to care. “You did fine in the bone knitter. Everything’s bonded, but it’ll take a few weeks for the knitting to be strengthened by your own healing process. We’ll start trying to walk in a week. The nu-skin should help your cuts, but you may have a scar on your neck.” She smiled. “But you can get scar removal once you’re back home, right?”
“When can I go?” Tover asked.
Lourdes’s smile faltered. “In a few weeks. I don’t want to risk moving you until you can stand on your own.” She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but instead she leaned over and squeezed his hand. “It’s going to be okay,” she told him.
“Thank you,” he choked. He squeezed her hand back. He didn’t really know where he was, or what hurt, or where the danger lay, but at the moment, nothing else mattered. This woman was kind to him, and after weeks of brutality, he valued the gift of it.
Tover dozed on and off in a watery, shifting darkness, but by the time there was an eerie light to the room, he felt more clear-headed. He sat up and blinked, clearing his eyes. His left eye still felt swollen but he could see now.
See that he was not in a hospital.
He was in some sort of guest room. The architectural style of the house was unfamiliar. The room was spacious and very homey. A plush maroon woven rug covered the dark wood floor, and all the furniture looked organic. The décor seemed masculine—the sheets were white and black, and the walls a dark cream color, made of synthetic polymer mixed with a claylike mud. Above him, in the high wooden-slatted ceiling, rotofans stirred the thick, sour air. To the left of his bed there was a large bank of windows shaded with dimming fabric. But even with the shading turned on, light seeped around the edges to reveal a world bathed in muted green light.
The bedside tables and the shelf above the bed were crowded with random household artifacts—vases of flowers, framed holophotos, boxes of tissues, piles of e-readers. On the wall to his right were two large framed family holophotos.
Tover studied the photo nearest him and understood why Lourdes’s smile seemed so familiar.
Cruz Arcadio knelt in the photo next to Ana, his arm around another young man. Above them stood Lourdes and a man Tover could only assume was Cruz’s father. It looked liked a big, happy family. Cruz had meant it literally when he said he was bringing Tover “home”.
Panic surged through him. He needed to get out of this house. As soothing as his treatment had been, he was in enemy territory. Lourdes’s kindness had lulled him into complacency, but she’d only patched him up to hide her son’s misdemeanors.
Tover ignored the ache through his body and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He tried to stand but the second he put weight on his freshly bonded leg bones, they gave out and he collapsed to the floor.
He struggled to climb back up. His sluggish movement could have been either from the narcotics or the denser atmosphere of the planet. He was still on the floor when Lourdes rushed in. She looked genuinely concerned.
“Oh, honey!” She bent down. “Let me help you.”
Tover shoved her away from him.
Lourdes paused, but then went right back to helping him get up. She supported his weight as he swung himself into the bed. Pain coursed down his legs.
Lourdes tried to pull the sheet back over him, and he ripped it from her hands. “Leave me alone!” he yelled, his voice hoarse. “You’re that fucking bastard’s mother, aren’t you?”
Lourdes blinked. “What?”
“Cruz!” He pointed to the image. “He’s your son?”
“Yes.” Lourdes frowned. “I thought you knew that already.”
“He didn’t say.” Exhaustion flooded him. “I want out of here.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Fuck you.”
“We’re being watched.” Lourdes moved closer and lowered her voice. “Los jefes of el Pulmon Verde aren’t going to let you go.” She swallowed. “We’re working on a way to get you to the Harmony base. But el Pulmon Verde are guarding las naves and will notice if we take you from the house.”
Tover didn’t know what a nave was but he didn’t care. “If Cruz didn’t plan on turning me over to them, why even tell them I’m here?” Tover snapped.
“He needed their help.” Lourdes shrugged. “At least that’s what he told me. The only way Cruz secured their assistance to get you out was by letting them think you would be worth the effort as a bargaining tool.”
“So your son betrayed me again to save his ass.”
Lourdes shook her head. “No. You have to trust me. We’ll find a way to get you home, but it will take a little time.”
“So your plan is to hide me in your guest room until what? Until the bad guys go away?”
Lourdes looked affronted. “This isn’t a guest room, it’s Cruz’s room!” she corrected.
“Great. Fucking wonderful.” Tover smashed his head back against the pillow. “I’m sleeping in the childhood bed of the man who tortured me.”
Lourdes went very still. She said nothing for a long moment, and when she spoke again, it was a tense whisper. “Cruz broke your legs?”
Tover saw the horror in her expression. The fact that Cruz’s own mother suspected he was capable of such action said more than enough.
Tover sighed. “No, but he sold me to the bastards who did this.”
Relief crossed Lourdes’s features. She tucked the sheet around Tover. The feeling was nice, and Tover resented the fact that he liked it. “We have permission from los jefes to patch you up here. They want you as soon as you’re better, but we won’t let them take you before.” She smiled sadly. “If you are feeling stronger, you can go home on your own, yes? That’s what Cruz said.”
Tover felt a flush of panic at the very idea of navigating. Something that had been natural to him now made him sick. He didn’t answer her.
“And if you can’t, we’ll figure out a way to smuggle you out,” she added. “There’s a Harmony base a hundred kilometers from here. No doubt you’ll be given the best of care once Harmony has you.”
“But until then I’m a prisoner.”
After a moment, Lourdes nodded.
Tover turned away from her and looked at the eerie light coming from the windows. It made him feel like he was camped out next to a massive aquarium.
“Since we’re being watched, it’s all I can offer,” Lourdes said. Tover felt her weight lift off the bed. “The meds will start wearing off in a few hours, and I’ll switch you to something less narcotic.”
Tover refused to look at her. He focused on the murky green glow from the windows.
“Hey, he’s awake!” Tover heard Ana’s voice again. “Did he say anything about what he likes to eat?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Lourdes answered.
“Fine.” Ana huffed. “I’ll make a bacon sandwich.”
“I’m sure he’ll love it.”
“It doesn’t look like he’s going to love it. He looks like he’s going to strangle us the moment his hands work properly again.”
Tover turned to glare at the women. They bot
h smiled down at him, which sort of freaked him out, so he looked back at the wall.
“Let him sleep,” Lourdes said softly. They left the room, closing the door behind them. Despite his anger at his predicament, her words were like a prophecy.
He slept like the dead.
When he woke again, the soft greenish light that leaked in from the shades had changed to a murky brown.
A lamp provided low light in the corner of the bedroom, and from that light, he saw Ana, sitting cross-legged in the chair with a spherical holoscreen in front of her. She bobbed her head as if listening to music and read something intently, although from his angle, Tover could not make out what she saw. As soon as she glanced at him, Ana swiped her hand through the sphere and closed down her screen.
“Hey.” She moved the panel to the table beside her and smiled widely. “Man, you like to sleep!”
Tover would have mentioned the huge quantities of drugs coursing through his body, but it seemed like too much work to talk. He was barely awake.
“You look better,” Ana commented. She tilted her head, studying him. “Your left eye is opening up. I think you’re probably pretty good looking underneath all those bruises, huh?”
Tover scowled.
“Hold on, I got something for you.” Ana darted from the room, and Tover could hear something clatter and a muffled curse.
Less then a minute later Ana reappeared, bearing a large tray covered in food.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so I made a little bit of everything. I’m trying out this new recipe series by Lenora Castillo, she’s this incredible Caridan chef who has this restaurant at the Harmony base in Serica. I tried their tasting menu last year, and she has the best soup stock I’ve ever had. I don’t know if I’ve completely duplicated it, but I think I got the most important flavor profiles down.”
Tover struggled to sit up in time to make room for the heavy tray. He blinked to clear his sleepy vision.
Ana took a seat in the chair beside the bed.
