by K. T. Hanna
“You are correct on both counts.”
“Why aren’t we moving?”
“Control point,” he says softly, and she watches with adjusting eyes as he ducks his head to check under the visor. “Set up to make sure illegals aren’t being smuggled into the outer UCs. The official highways are patrolled.”
“We’re on the outskirts?”
He twists in his seat to look at her. “Did you not hear a word Bastian said last night?”
“I listened. I was just confused.” She purses her lips. Crossing her arms, she glares pointedly at her wrist with the barely detectable band on it and back to Dom. “You forget I’ve never really had the chance to explore outside the schools.”
Dom turns to watch things outside the transport before answering again. “In order to get to UC 21—which is where we need to be for this mediation, just in case you missed that as well—” She scowls at him in the dark. “—we need to cut across empty land, not directly under GNW control. When we return to the official highways, they need to check we didn’t pick up any undesirables along the way. Understand?”
I’m not a child is on the tip of her tongue, but Sai realizes that’s probably how she’s been acting since getting dragged into this on such short notice. “Sorry, Dom. I didn’t mean to be difficult. Do you have the file?”
“In there.” He indicates the backpack at her feet. “I knew you’d need it in the end.”
She opens the bag to retrieve it, but Dom’s voice stops her.
“I wouldn’t read it now. We’re about to be inspected, and until they release us from their net, we’re not going to have power enough to light your reader, let alone power this transport. Just sit tight and let them do their snooping. We’re in a vehicle bearing insignias. They don’t generally stay too long on Bastian’s transports.”
“Is this Mele?” Sai squints and tries to look around, eager to understand this vehicle Dom seems strangely fond of.
“No. Mele is currently indisposed.” And as his voice trails off, the boarding begins.
He’s right; it’s short—takes all of five minutes, but they are five very long minutes. Men stand at the door, suited up in what appears to be a thin layer of armor. They click out a series of sounds with their tongues, and the misshapen human forms move into the vehicle.
Sai crinkles her nose at the strange dried meat smell that follows them, like the meat was left too long before being cured. Their bodysuits move in a strangely alien way, as if it sticks to their skin and rips off with a soft pop every time they take a step. Every few strides result in a squelch that reeks faintly of feces, rather like a momentarily opened sewer, as they linger around the rear of the transport.
Almost before she realizes it, Sai reaches out tentatively with her mind before pulling back in revulsion. Not even full contact and she wouldn’t get closer. There’s little resembling humans under those disguises.
The three creatures return to the men standing by the door, bowing their heads ever so slightly. An odd sort of lapping sound drifts back to her, almost like they’re panting. Once stationary, the three armored humans talk in a series of odd grunts to Dom and get him to sign a tablet before they leave.
The lights in the cabin flicker back on, and she can feel the energy grid Dom spoke of kick back in as they start moving again.
“What were they, Dom?” Sai asks, shuddering at the memory of the black shiny holes where their eyes should have been.
“They call them Hounds. A little insane, but they sniff out what needs sniffing out. Once the Damascus were disabled after the Psionic Wars, Hounds were relegated human handlers. There’s great hazard pay for the job.” Dom smiles tightly and clenches the wheel in his hands.
Sai opens her reader and makes a mental note: Research the Psionic Wars in more detail than they were taught in class.
The blood on her knuckles is sticky. She’s glad it’s not her own. Sai bounces on the balls of her feet, dodging her opponent’s sloppy left-right combinations until he leaves too big an opening for her to resist.
She draws back her arm and focuses her mind, briefly, on hardening the outer layer of her skin. Her fist connects with the side of her opponent’s face, and the burly blond man’s eyes finally roll up in his head as he falls to the floor to join the slighter, dark-haired man she knocked out a few minutes earlier.
Sai tries to stop bouncing, but the adrenaline is still rampant. Her hands hurt. She watches warily as a figure detaches himself from where the other spectators, the underdogs of the two companies, stand and observe.
It’s not until she realizes it’s Dom on his way over that she starts to relax and let go of the haze she’s lapsed into. She nudges the blond guy with her toe and sighs. It didn’t go anything like she’d planned in her head.
Sai had envisioned it going something like:
Hi, I’m from Central Enforcement. What seems to be the problem? Followed by demands which she would mediate and calmly explain were impossible.
Instead, her face now smarts where the first punch took her by surprise. If these people wanted to do business with their fists, who was she to say no?
Dom hands her a damp rag to clean her hands, and she stretches her jaw while she does so. She’s lucky her instinctive jump back spared her taking the punch square in the face, thanks to Dom’s recent training to help her avoid hits. Though, she probably retaliated more forcefully than she intended. His collarbone would eventually heal. It might even forecast the weather for him.
“How long do you think they’ll be out?” she asks, pressing the cool cloth to her cheekbone.
Dom reaches down and takes their vitals. He shrugs as he stands up. “They’re large men. Give them a few hours.”
“Great. I don’t even know what their demands are yet. The least they could have done is leave me with those.” She gestures in the direction of the onlookers. “Those guys are never going to be willing to talk to us about whatever it is these guys want.”
“True.” Domino takes a few steps toward the group and watches them back up a couple of steps in response. “I don’t suppose scaring it out of them would be a good option either?”
Sai fights a smile at the wistful tone in Dom’s voice. “Probably not, but we have a couple of hours to waste, don’t we?”
Dom nods and Sai steps forward, hands up in a calming motion. Personally, she thinks it looks like she’s trying to do some sort of ancient dance, but it seems to have the desired effect because the crowd all take the step or two toward her.
“Excuse me.” She figures it a good idea to be polite. After all, she must seem intimidating considering she beat the living snot out of the two guys on the ground. “I’m here to check over the contract for Yearn and Dawson Industries. I was hoping someone here would give me a final list of requests for the new contract, but...” She glances at her hands and shrugs. “I seem to be empty-handed.”
She hears someone snicker and takes that as a good sign. “I’d be most obliged if anyone could help me in that regard.”
Someone small in stature gets shoved out of the crowd. It’s a child, an adolescent. Not much younger than herself. The papers in his hand catch the slight breeze and fight against his grip.
Sai takes a step forward to reach for the papers, grabbing them by the edge just as she hears loud shouts and a twang. The papers rip from the child’s hands as Dom tumbles into her and the boy, rolling them both to the side.
“Dammit, Dom. That hurt.”
She tries to stand up, but the pain in her side won’t let her.
Domino looks at her, his strange eyes stalled in a hue she’s never seen, a color she doesn’t have a name for. “I’m so sorry.”
Sai checks over the child, but the boy stares at her, eyes big as saucers. She follows his gaze to the bloodstain spreading around her lower left side. Mangled feathers attached to a shaft stick out of her stomach at an odd angle. She feels around her back tentatively and cringes as she encounters the sharpened point.
“Dom, get the guy.” She gathers the papers in her hands and shoves them at the boy. He sits there, his eyes never leaving her wound.
“Dammit,” she mutters through clenched teeth, starting to feel a little light-headed as Dom takes off to the crowd. At the edge of her vision she sees them wrestle the man to the ground, but Dom will deal with that.
She takes a deep breath and focuses on her body. A rabid bunny is one thing, but when her own body is leaking blood, the situation is completely different. The crossbow bolt is crudely fashioned, and she can feel rust flakes falling off the shaft and into her body when she concentrates on it. It’s not going to be easy to get out, and she needs to move fast.
She calms herself, blocks out the pain as best she can, and tries not to think about the next step as she snaps the fletching off the back of the bolt. An involuntary gasp escapes her throat. Biting down on the pain and need to panic, she hears Dom’s footsteps approaching and sighs in relief.
He crouches down next to her. “You need me to help?”
“I can’t reach to pull the shaft out from behind, and pulling the tip back through the front will tear muscles.” She says through clenched teeth. “Grab the arrow tip and yank it out so I can start the healing process. On three.”
Dom nods and braces one hand against the middle of her back, the other gripping the section of shaft protruding from the wound. “One... Two...” he counts and then pulls.
A scream tears from Sai’s throat, and she fights another wave of dizziness. A black haze intrudes on her vision and she banishes it by gulping in air.
Dom hasn’t moved, and she gladly rests against his arm so she doesn’t have to prop herself up. Bastian made sure she knows her body’s own pathways over and over, but there’s nothing like a sense of immediacy to make her forget.
Another deep breath and she begins the arduous task of pushing out the unwanted fragments and cleaning the wound from the inside out. Each little chip needs to be worked toward the exit, and the only ones she has are the entry and exit wounds. The effort leaves her gasping, but there is no time to rest.
Next, she moves onto the clipped vein leaking sluggishly into the wound. Her head spins, and she grounds herself with the contact Dom provides, as she encourages the healing process.
She takes another deep breath and turns to the muscles and tendons that were grazed by the tip, inordinately glad none of them were severed. The darkness threatens to overwhelm her again, but she draws on her reserves to make sure they meet their deadline.
With the insides repaired, she can finally turn to the entry and exit wounds. Flesh is just cosmetic, and not as important to Sai as it might be to others. A serviceable knit is all she needs until they can get back and let her apply some of the medi-kit tech in the transport.
Sai draws on reserves and pushes further, a distant pulse from deep inside drawing her on. She finishes closing the wound and sags back against Dom’s side, gasping for air.
“I’m done,” she whispers, sweat beading her forehead. Willpower is the only thing keeping her eyes open.
She heaves herself into a standing position with Dom’s help and glares at the comatose bodies on the floor. “Get them into the holding cells. I need to lie down.”
“Sai?” Dom takes a step after her as she stumbles to get her things.
“Later, Dom. Just get it done so we can deal with this and go home.”
“I’ll get the backpack.”
Barely holding onto consciousness, Sai doesn’t argue. She accepts Dom’s help back to the transport. He’s enlisted a couple of the spectators to help lug the bodies. Apparently his saving one of their children means they no longer find him to be a total monster. Several others huddle around a man with his hands and mouth bound. Sai can only assume he is the one who shot the crossbow bolt.
When they arrive at the transport, Sai eases herself gingerly into the passenger seat. She watches as Dom sets the holding cells up and maneuvers the men into them. The cells aren’t large by any means. One folded-down seat. Enough to stretch out on if you’re not too tall. They’re sufficient for their purposes. Oddly, made of a strengthened adrium mix, they remind her of the rabid-bunny cages.
Her eyelids droop for a few seconds. The sound of Dom thanking the men for their help and assuring them he believes they weren’t in league with the shooter or their bosses lulls her closer to sleep.
And then Dom is shaking her shoulder. “Sai, don’t sleep. You’re in shock. You need to stay awake for now.”
She blinks up at him. “I’m so tired. Just a few minutes?” She can see he’s about to give in, but something talks him out of it.
“No. Stay awake. I’ll prepare some of your rations while you use this.” He hands her one of the dermal-knitting lasers from the medi-kit. “Then you can eat and nap until they wake up. The passenger side can be reclined fully and should be more comfortable than sitting like you are. I can stand watch.”
Sai nods and holds out her hand for the food, but even that’s too much effort to do for long. Dom places a bowl in her lap and her head clears a little as she starts to replenish much-needed energy. “Thanks, Dom. Much better.”
“Stick with me,” he mutters as he digs around in the things they brought back on board. “If you can manage, you might want to arm yourself with their list of demands.”
Sai sips at her tea and glowers at the notes in her hands. “They should feel lucky that I’m not dragging them back for Bastian to take care of.”
“It’s your assignment and your garbage to take out. Would you really have the guts to drop them on Bastian’s doorstep?”
Sai closes her eyes in resignation and fatigue, knowing she really doesn’t have to answer that question.
It’s already dark when Dom wakes Sai. “They’re coming around. You beat them better than I thought. It’s been over twelve hours.”
“Seriously?” Sai asks, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. She knows she’s stronger than she looks, especially when she uses psionic skill to reinforce her physical abilities. “I didn’t think you meant it when you said to beat it out of them...”
“Neither did I.”
“I didn’t pull my skill.”
In the dim light she swears Dom smiles. “I know,” is all he says before slowly un-dimming the lights. “They’re all yours, my dear.” He mock-bows at her before he sits down at the pilot console and activates the recorder.
Sai picks up the notes the boy held and walks over to the cells, pushing her pain to the side. It’s bearable as long as she doesn’t move too quickly. She drags her blade along each bar with loud metallic clangs and waits as two of them clutch their heads and roll into sitting positions. The man who shot her doesn’t stir. “Good evening, gentlemen.”
They don’t answer her and focus their gazes on the floor. There’s only hard black rubber to look at, but they seem to find it fascinating.
“Did you really think that because I’m small I’d be a pushover? Central takes your situation far more seriously than that.” She waves the pages in front of them. “These, or so I’m told, are your demands. Give me a reason I should bother to study these in light of how you greeted me.”
The blond one—Yearns, if she remembers correctly—clears his throat. “Our families have served GNW for over twenty years. We’re proud of our accomplishments and legacy as a company. But our profits are a shadow of what they should be. GNW regulations demand too much of our supply and keep too much of our profit from what they acquire.”
Sai raises her eyebrow. “You want more money? From GNW?”
Both men nod.
“Do you realize there are at least thirty other companies we could acquire produce from? They’d be more than happy to take less in payment than you do because of the volume and consistent profit that it means for them, their families, and their employees.”
Dawson gulps and casts his gaze toward the floor again, finding something in the depth of the rubber he can engross himself
in. Yearn, on the other hand, sets his jaw stubbornly, crosses his arms, and stares at her.
Sai faces him directly, ignoring the throbbing in her side. “Greed isn’t a pretty quality in anyone, Mr. Yearn. You take the protection and the trade routes GNW provide you with. I know you make good profits despite your claims because I have your financial reports on hand. The real ones.”
She waits for that piece of information to sink in and watches his shoulders sink. “I’m still trying to figure out why I shouldn’t just renegotiate your contracts by giving them to someone else, especially since I now have to investigate why one of your employees wanted to shoot me.”
Yearn’s complexion turns positively gray. “We had nothing to do with that! He did that out of his own frustration.”
She glances at Dom, who nods almost imperceptibly. “That might be what saves you.”
Her body starts to shake ever so slightly. Bravado can only take her so far. Sai claps her hands. “What do you say we sign those contracts you were sent three months ago, and we’re good to go for the next decade?” Both men nod, their shoulders slumped and heads down. “See, I knew you’d understand. Dom, could you get the contracts?” she asks in a sugar-sweet voice, eyes never leaving their three guests. “The altercation will go on file. Your friend will accompany us back to Central and be dealt with accordingly. We’ve got you on the list now.” She taps her temple and turns around to open the hatch.
It’s cool outside, with the chill of the approaching winter soft on the air. For a moment it takes her breath away—that she’s hurt, that she’s here, that it’s been over three months since her final test. But then she closes her eyes and counts to ten, letting some elusive calm sweep over her. Pretending to be in control and actually being in control are two entirely different things. Not to mention the shaking in her legs and the effort it’s taking to keep her body upright.
Sai tries to ignore the pain in her side. She still doesn’t understand how she missed the tell-tale signs of a shooter, but it’s very different in reality than it is in a theory.
