by Jo Zebedee
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Kare paced the bedroom of the safe house, having called rank and shut himself away. He stopped at the stacked laser-pulsors, turned, reached the blasters at the other end of the room and turned again, ticking options off on his fingers.
He could go into the mesh and try to sense the children. One moment’s concentration would do what he needed, but it would be dangerous. His mother’s presence sang across the city to him, so strong were the ties of hate between them. He’d be lucky if she didn’t already know he was here, creeping through her streets, breathing the same air. If he joined the mesh and used the power, there would be a good chance she’d sense him.
He could call the Roamers to the planet and have them find the kids and lift them. He had comms cleared with Farran and the other drop-ships. Temptation bit, deep, and hard to resist, but to involve the Roamers before his mission would advertise he was here just as loudly as his powers would. It would also expose the pilots.
Which left the final option – he could undertake the assault on his mother. He’d lost the advantage of the rest-day, and the opportunity to enter the palace as planned, but if she wasn’t aware he was on-planet he still had the element of surprise. Either the kids would be retaken – in which case winning the palace won them, too – or they’d still be on the run and, hopefully, lucky enough to have survived.
He sat on the bed, and laced his hands together, barely aware of the sharp pain from his fingers. The kids did have a chance – Kerra knew the palace as well as anyone. If they got out, and reached the desert, Baelan knew enough to keep them safe.
But it wasn’t only that. He couldn’t just take this decision as a father – too many others relied on him. He had to take this as a soldier, and the only person who could take his mother out. He had to think beyond his personal loss and worries, however hard it felt. Once he did that, there was only one way forwards. Although, his feelings as a father did matter. His children had escaped, for now. If he took his mother out before they could be found and returned to her, she could not hurt them.
His decision made, he stood. Taking his mother out was the only way to win. And he had to win.
***
Baelan led the way through the passageway. It stretched longer than he imagined, sloping downwards, below the depths of the city. The only noises were the sound of his and Kerra’s steps and the occasional scurrying in the darkness. Fair dues to her, though, she hadn’t flinched or hesitated – he’d been afraid she’d be scared of the night creatures.
His own chest hurt, tight with tension, his ears alert for any movement coming in the opposite direction. The tunnels weren’t used a lot – too much traffic and their entrances would be discovered – but it was possible a tribes-person would pass. If so, he’d be found. He hadn’t forgotten his mother’s conversation with Phelps on the ship: at best, the tribes would hand him over to the Empress. At worst, they’d keep him to themselves.
A flicker of light appeared, and he slowed until Kerra caught up. He pointed at the light.
“That’s the central square of the tribal quarter,” he whispered. Voices carried farther in these passageways than it seemed they might. “We’re going to come out opposite our temple.”
She nodded. He had to remember she might never have seen the inside of the quarter and, even if she had, honoured personage that she was, she wouldn’t know it like a tribes-person did. Although he’d only been there a handful of times, the layout was similar to the lost cities in the desert, familiar and predictable.
“We need to get into that temple.” He swallowed, about to come clean. “And we can’t be seen.”
“Why not? Aren’t you one of them?”
“They won’t like that I sided with you and our…” The name caught in his throat. His confusion had been less since hearing his mother and Phelps on the ship. Some of what he’d believed, at least, was true – the Empress had been unkind, and the tribes had treated him badly. Phelps had proved he wasn’t a real father to him – and that he didn’t want to be. Even so, accepting himself as his father’s son was hard. “Our father. Until I have time to explain, it’s best they don’t see us.”
She didn’t ask any more questions, but walked beside him to the end of the passageway. He drew against the wall, giving his eyes time to adjust to the lighter courtyard. He pointed across, at the temple, and she nodded.
“Will it be open?” she asked.
“Of course.” A temple to the Lady was never closed – supposedly symbolising her closeness to the tribes. Having met her, he felt it was to symbolise how she never relented.
“Will there be guards?”
“No.” Not here, where the only people who entered were from the tribes, or the occasional foray by soldiers. “But there may be some who have come to ask their Lady’s blessing.”
Kerra gave him a sharp look and he shrugged. She couldn’t expect him to forget everything he’d grown up with.
“So what do we do?”
“Wait.” He tried to work out the longest he’d ever seen anyone seeking penitence or blessing. Half an hour, perhaps. Or, to be safe, an hour – some of the elders could stay in reverence to her a long time. He hunkered down in the shadows, and watched across the square. Bats flittered through the courtyard, chasing moths drawn to the light. All was still, otherwise.
At last, Baelan got to his feet and Kerra followed. He waited for the pins and needles to stop, and gave her a sharp nod.
“When I go, follow,” he said. “Keep your head down.” He wished he had a hood for her – the lantern-light would catch her blonde hair. “Keep going, no matter what. Don’t stop.”
She nodded and crept to the mouth of the passageway. He stood beside her, his spine straight, so tense it looked like it might break. Nothing moved in the courtyard. The temple seemed an age away.
He stepped out, resisting the urge to look at the buildings surrounding the square, their windows faceless and dark. He started across, his steps quick, but not at a run. Kerra stayed beside him and he winced at the shine of her hair. They crossed to the centre of the square, utterly exposed.
“Keep going,” he muttered. She did, but he could sense her need to speed up matching his.
They were only feet from the temple when the sound of footsteps broke the quiet. A shout carried to them, followed by another.
He grabbed Kerra’s arm. “Run!”
She didn’t need telling a second time. They ran into the temple. He darted past the icon of his Lady, for the first time in his life failing to stop at the statue, and into the bathhouse. Moist air hit him, making him aware how dry his lips were, how his skin was parched. It would be good to take water with them. There would be little night left when – if – they made it into the desert, and the heat would build quickly.
Footsteps, close behind, kept him moving. He would deal with the water later, if he got out of the temple. He led Kerra to the back chamber, to where the spring emanated from the rock. He ducked through the arch and hit the keystone with the flat of his palm.
“Push it in!” he yelled. The followers would not look here first – they wouldn’t expect a child to know of this chamber.
She pressed her hand to it, and he put his back to the wall, pushing with all his might. His uncles had made this look easy. It gave, with less noise than he feared, well enough used to keep the mechanism smooth.
“Get in!” he told Kerra, and guided her into the passageway. He followed, and the two of them swivelled the door back to.
“Can you lock it?” she asked.
“Not from this side.” He grabbed her hand. “There will be no light and it’s a long way.”
“Better get going, then.” Her voice quavered, just a little, but her hand didn’t pull away.
He led her along the corridor. Best not to tell her how deep it ran, or how many tonnes of sand rested above them. It was bad enough that one of them knew. Sand shifted under his feet, but they ran.
A grinding no
ise came, far in the distance.
“What was that?” asked Kerra, out of breath.
“The entrance,” he said.
“Will they know we’re here?”
He thought of the sand underfoot, how their feet would be moist from the temple. It would leave enough of a trail for any competent desert-dweller to follow.
“Just keep going,” he said, hands in front of him to know the turn in the corridor. Getting lost didn’t bear thinking about. They took the turn his mother had selected, last time in the passageway, but not until he scuffed their footprints, meddling with the story they told. It wouldn’t stop their pursuers, but it might slow them.
He ran again. He didn’t dare look behind, for fear of seeing light. Noises came in the darkness, the sound of feet. He ran, blind in the darkness, until something stopped him, taking his feet from beneath him. A scrabbling noise told him Kerra, too, had fallen.
He put his hands out and felt stairs ahead of him. His heart jumped with hope. He grabbed the back of her shirt and threw her forwards.
“Climb,” he said. He looked back and was sure the passageway was lighter, that someone was carrying a torch and gaining. He climbed after Kerra. His chest burned but he still managed to climb. They emerged into the village where he’d met Taluthna, and Phelps had claimed him as his son. It felt very long ago. He leaned over, hands on knees, getting his breath.
The sky had a long streak of red in the black. Morning – and daylight, when tracking would be easier – was coming. He slapped Kerra’s back.
“Run,” he said, hating that he had to, his body screaming for rest. He led her to the edge of the desert and pointed at the first of the dunes. “And don’t stop.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“What do you think?” asked Sonly. “You know the desert better than I do. Does Baelan know it well enough? He’s only a child.” There was a hard edge in her voice, but she couldn’t help herself. If it hadn’t been for the boy, Kerra would never have run in the fire forest, she was sure of it.
Lichio frowned. “I know the desert mostly from the perspective of stopping people attacking from it, not trying to hide in it myself.” He shrugged. “My desert training is no more extensive than yours.”
She never thought she’d thank Kare for insisting on the training, and for putting in place a biannual refresher. She’d hated hers. But if Kerra had gone to the desert, at least she’d know some of the survival skills needed. It didn’t allay the fear that gnawed at her, however – it only gave more detail to the things she dreaded.
Enough. She didn’t even know if the kids had made it to the desert. She pushed her hair behind her ears and leaned forwards, ready to work; fretting wasn’t going to help anyone. She blew out a breath. “What do you have for me?”
“Three former senators have been approached who are willing to stand for you.”
“Who?”
“Elenda, Tomj, and Christophe,” he said.
She made a mark at each of their names, but stopped at Christophe’s. He had been part of the conservative faction who had hated her reforms on Abendau. “Christophe’s reasons?”
“He’s no fan of yours, he told the agent that, but he doesn’t want the Empress. Plus, he doesn’t believe the Senate was dissolved legally.”
“Because it wasn’t!” It was, she understood, a standoff in Abendau, with the Senate broken up but refusing to recognise the legitimacy of the Empress’ regime.
“Quite. Imprisoning the president without trial isn’t in any statute book I’ve seen.” Lichio gave a wicked grin. “Simply put, that’s annoyed his sense of propriety more than you coming back. You’re the president in his eyes and, therefore, the Empress has no basis to deny you safe passage into the city you’re elected to govern. He was always a bit anal about legislature, as I recall.”
She half-choked on a laugh. Anal wasn’t the word; he practically had the constitution rammed up his butt. Lichio gave a smile, pleased, she guessed, at raising a laugh. She returned a nod of acknowledgement. “What about Harald?”
“As we suspected: he’s the Empress’ man now.” He flipped his data pad shut. “I hate to say this, but there’s nothing more you can do from here. You have three senators who will be bringing holo-reporters with them. That’s it.”
It saddened her, about Harald. He’d been instrumental in bringing in the reforms in Bendau, the first of the humanitarian projects she had managed for the Senate. He had taken Kare’s original Imperial decree and advised on the rework needed to meet the Senate’s approval. To see a man who’d been so focused on doing the right thing being used to do the wrong hurt her. But it wasn’t the first time she’d seen it happen – the slow reduction of Eevan had carried more pain than anything Harald could do – and she knew Lichio was right, and there was no going back.
“You don’t think there is enough support to get me into the city?” Damn, what was the point of this if she was to just sit on a ship and wait for news in orbit? She might as well have stayed on Ferran.
“You know it’s not. If it had just been the affair, I’d say yes, you could ride it out. In fact, in some areas of Abendau that might even have helped your reputation. It would have made you human and fallible. But unless you can disprove the leaks, I can’t see you having anywhere near the support needed. But if you take your time getting removed back to the ship and don’t get yourself arrested, I should be able to get into the city. Just make sure you don’t cross from the arrivals-side of the port, and they cannot take you.” He grinned, like a child given a new toy. “I’ve sort of missed being on the rebelling side – authority isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” He got up and stretched, almost touching the low ceiling. “I’m going to kip.”
She watched him leave, and pursed her lips. He thought she was going to give him cover so he could play at being a rebel soldier? If he were ten years older she’d blame a mid-life crisis. As if she was going to settle for being a diversion while Kare was at risk, and her daughter faced who knew what in the desert. Abendau was her city, it had been for a decade, and no one was going to stop her taking it back. A diversion? Lichio had said she was the politician. He’d told her to work out how to play this, and that’s exactly what she’d do. And not one of her plans involved sitting on a ship and waiting.
She opened her data pad and started to read through the documents she had downloaded on Ferran – the ones she had been purported to leak. They had, undoubtedly, not come from her. She was many things, but not careless around data.
She opened the document about Bendau and read through it. She hadn’t had the chance to read each clause before leaving – she’d been too busy fighting the fire-storm it had caused – but now she took her time, going through each line in detail, hoping that some way to refute the charges might occur to her. After all, a later form of the document, ratified by the Senate, had been available by rights-request.
Could she argue that its leak hadn’t mattered? That it had given away nothing of import? But she knew that wouldn’t work – in admitting being careless with a single piece of information, she was finishing her political career.
She would change some of the document now, given the chance – specifically the timescales set. If she’d had another five years, she would have done so much more in the neglected second city.
She frowned at one clause. It was a requirement for the Senate to formally take command of the city’s policing outreach program. She had never asked for that in any policy – nor would she. Security, policing and the military were the areas that Kare had made clear to her – privately, when they had first talked about their vision for an Abendau freed from Imperial control – he would not rescind. Their safety and that of Kerra lay with the military and police. He would retain control. She had known never to put any reference to those structures in any document: she never wasted time on battles she could not win.
A slow smile spread over her face. This was not her document. This was the work of someone who had cons
istently challenged Kare on the subject, who’d tried to erode his hold on the military time and again. Harald. He had first mooted the policy – but it had taken her position to force it through. This was the early document, before she’d redrawn it.
She tapped her finger on the screen, thinking quickly. It was one thing to know the document was not hers, but she had to be able to prove it – at least to the Senate and republic. She brought up her files, searching for the document she had finally presented to the Senate. All her documents had been subject to version control, each change slavishly recorded. There was a full audit trail of her involvement.
She scrolled through the list, searching for the specific clause. There was no record of it. She hadn’t written the document circulating the news-holos. This was Harald’s document, not hers. All she had to do was provide the audit trail to support her.
***
Baelan scanned the desert. Kerra hadn’t slowed him down greatly, but where he’d planted his bare feet without leaving a mark, she’d left clear footprints in the sand. He thought about trying to cover them but, for now, keeping ahead of the search was the most important thing.
“Will they find us?” she asked.
“They might,” he said. He glanced over and saw she was holding her hand to her side. He’d pushed them hard to get this far so quickly. “Sorry. We need to keep moving.”
She nodded and straightened. Kudos to her, she hadn’t complained. “Let’s go.”
He set off, towards the ridge of dunes that marked the start of the Great Desert. It would take another hour to reach at their current rate. He looked back over his shoulder, not able to stop himself. Oh, shit. A line of scoots stretched across the desert.
“Can we hide?” Kerra’s voice was terse, not panicked.
Not with the steps in the sand she’d left. “It depends.”
“On what?”
