"Wait here,” Anneliese whispered to Pilar, then rushed from the shadows, using the ship as cover.
She reached the canister. It was heavy and cumbersome: dented metal with a plasticene strap. She was barely able to lift it, much less use it as a weapon. She glanced over her shoulder.
Pilar stood in the open, swaying, plucking at his robe, his expression dazed and lost. Dear God, was he going to run?
Another clank sounded. A shudder ran through the hull, and then the ship inched forward, landing gear creaking.
Get down! Anneliese motioned to Pilar. She turned back to the container, rolling it over, searching for loose parts, anything she could use. Beside her, the smooth hull pulled away, gaining speed. She lifted the hose at the top of the canister.
The nozzle!
Frantically, she twisted the spout free. It fit like a club in her hand. She dropped the canister then ran along the side of the ship, heading back for Pilar. He recited his singsong rhymes, oblivious to her. Towing him, Anneliese ran along the craft, circled about, and then sprinted toward the wall.
The office was windowless, the grime-streaked door barely transparent. Inside, she saw the portsmith sitting behind a computer console.
Anneliese took Pilar's arm, positioning him in full view of the door, and then stepped to the side. Pilar's expression fell as his whereabouts slowly registered.
The door kicked open. With a shout, the man snatched up Pilar, lifting him by his robe. Pilar gurgled, jaws slack.
Anneliese stepped behind the man. Moving her arm in a wide arc, she bashed his head with the nozzle. He turned, staggering, eyes widening as Anneliese swung the club again. The nozzle whistled, striking with a thud. The portsmith crumpled to the floor.
Grabbing Pilar's shoulder, Anneliese ran into the office. The glare of tube lighting dazzled her eyes. She leaned against the desktop then quickly drew away, wiping sticky dust from her fingers.
Circling the lone chair, she stood behind the console, trying to make sense of the keyboard. Beside her, Pilar sobbed into his hands, snorting and gasping, and she wanted to scream at him to stop. She accessed the docking log, keying in Rimer's Cope. The ship had arrived mid-morning and had departed....
The next night?
Anneliese felt suddenly cold. The ship must have been stolen, she thought. Cade wouldn't have left the planet knowing she was in a prostitute's cage. Touching the corner of the monitor, she scrolled to VIEW TRANSACTION. The bill for the bay had been paid with her own funds. Only Cade knew her credit codes.
"Miss Thielman, we must flee,” Pilar whispered.
But Anneliese could not move. A sinking sensation gripped her chest, squeezed with the might of a giant. She glanced through the smith's personal notes: a man answering Cade's description boarded the ship without incident—with a single female passenger.
Farin.
Anneliese closed her eyes. She was certain it was Farin. She remembered the look on the dancer's face the night Cade had introduced her. Surely, there was an explanation. Surely, he would return.
Did this mean he never loved her? Anneliese shook her head.
Pilar pulled at her robe, whimpering and fretting as if afraid to remain yet afraid to leave alone.
Anneliese shook her head, fists in her hair, and with all her strength, screamed, “No!"
She knocked Pilar down, aware of his stricken expression, slammed into the door and burst from the room. She had to run, had to get away from this horrid place. How could Cade leave her?
She wasn't a fool.
A rifle blast struck overhead. Anneliese flew through a shower of sparks. She wasn't a fool. How could this have happened?
Snatches of conversation twisted through her memory: the Customs officer saying the rules didn't apply to hotel patrons, Cade telling her that virgins commanded a higher price, that she might be on this world a long time. Harmadeur wasn't the one who'd put her in the cage. It had been Cade!
Cade!
Another rifle blast struck. Anneliese stumbled, part of her acknowledging an impact against her shoulder. She angled toward the hangar door, bolting into the open.
Sunlight struck like liquid fire, searing her face, her eyes. She threw her arms over her head, laughably, as if she could protect herself, as if there had ever been a time she'd been in control. Panting, head ringing, she crossed the patterned landing field, leaping over chiseled gullies and flat, cracked stone. In her mind, she heard Cade's laughter, conjured his crooked smile. The blinding vista shimmered. She had to get away.
Her teeth jarred with the force of her gait as her stride ate the distance before her. She ran, one arm hugging her chest. How clear it seemed now—Cade had married her for her money, wooing then leaving her for dead. How he must have loathed her, cringed at her every touch, listening to her dreams....
Something crumpled within her. Anneliese dropped to her knees, sobbing, rocking back and forth. How could she be so foolish? How could he be so cruel?
A gentle hand stroked her hair.
Pilar.
Anneliese looked up at the boy's eyes, expecting anger, accusations. She found neither. Tears rolled down his cheeks, washing trails through the dust, his golden eyes frightened and confused.
And in a voice she didn't recognize, Anneliese said, “My husband has betrayed me."
Pilar wrapped his arms about her neck, a child's embrace, and Anneliese wept against his shoulder. Have you ever been alone? his words echoed through her mind. Dear God, how could she bear it?
Rivulets of sweat traveled her spine. The sun beat mercilessly. Pulling away, Anneliese wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands, felt an explosion of pain run from earlobe to fingertips.
The rifle blast.
Gingerly, she explored her wounded shoulder. Her flesh radiated heat. She shrugged from her robe, inspecting the material: scorched but intact. A near miss. Had the guards purposely overshot, seeing what they thought were two children?
Anneliese looked around. Far behind them, the mighty Resort danced in the rising heat. Her flight had carried her into the flats. There was no shelter.
Pilar sat, knees to his chin, head resting at an odd angle. Asleep, she realized. She looked toward the sun. They would cook if they stayed in the open.
"Pilar,” she said, shaking him, “I want you to find some rocks. This big. I need many of them."
He rubbed his eyes, crying, drool spilling from his lips.
Anneliese pulled him to his feet. “Go on now, Pilar. This big."
Stumbling, the boy ranged away. With each step, he wailed louder. Anneliese turned her attention to the ground, tossing small stones into a pile, breaking the larger ones free and rolling them together. At last, she had built two walls, closely set and long enough to conceal their bodies.
"Give me your robe,” Anneliese said.
Sniffling, Pilar slid off the garment, handing it to Anneliese. She laid the robe on the ground between the stone embankments, and then stretched her own robe over the top of the rocks, anchoring it securely.
The boy stopped crying, eyeing the tent. Anneliese crawled inside. The makeshift shade gave the semblance of coolness. After several moments, Pilar followed, grunting and jabbing in an effort to find comfort.
Their bodies stank, running with sweat. Anneliese turned onto her side, allowing a bit of air between them. Gradually, Pilar's breathing slowed. Asleep.
Anneliese brushed the hair from his forehead. She doubted his sister would have approved of what she'd put the boy through—her ignorance and shortsightedness had nearly killed them both. Pain throbbed in her shoulder. She hoped the wound wouldn't leave a scar, then chuckled at her vanity.
Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep, but her mind refused to rest. Jagged bits of memory fell together like puzzle pieces: Cade asking about her share of her father's fortune, requesting inventories, trading routes. She'd been such a fool.
But, if all she'd been to him was an answer to a gambling debt, why hadn't he killed her out
right? With her death, he would inherit all that she owned. Why had Cade abandoned her to the cage?
She dozed fitfully, dreaming that she was home, diving from a cliff, racing the waterfall. Wind whistled until she felt she could fly. She knifed into the water with barely a splash, and as she again broke the surface, she saw a man standing like a king surveying his kingdom, his golden gaze steady upon her, and when he smiled, she was filled with such joy....
Anneliese opened her eyes, trying to remember, but the dream ran like sand from her fingers. It meant nothing, she told herself. Yet, she couldn't rekindle the image of the man.
Moving carefully, she backed out of the tent. Probably she would never see home again. Her father thought she was dead—he wouldn't be looking for her. Very well, then, it would be up to her to find him.
Putting on the goggles, she ran her gaze over the horizon. She wished she had a pair of photopic viewers. She remembered Cade showing her how to use a pair, sitting on a knoll outside her bedroom window. The thought made her sick to her stomach.
Pilar groaned, sitting straight up, forming a peak in the tent and causing a small rockslide. Anneliese pulled the robe from his head, tousling his hair.
"I'm hungry,” Pilar said brightly.
"I know,” she said. “I'm sorry."
Anneliese glanced at the sun. It was still so damned hot! She picked up her robe. The hem was uneven, fraying along the square she had ripped out to capture the stegort, and she tore a wide swathe from the bottom.
"Pilar, have you ever been to the other city?” she asked.
"Yes. One time."
"Will you take me there now?"
"No!” Pilar shouted, leaping to his feet, gesturing and jabbering in his native tongue.
"Slow down.” She caught his hand, patting it, trying to soothe him. “Tell me."
Pilar took a deep breath. “Miss Thielman, we may not go to the Trader City."
Anneliese ran the name over in her mind; she wasn't sure if he'd said trader or traitor. She nodded, prodding him silently.
He snatched his hand away. “The city lies there, and it is there the Llaird raid the yllib, it is there they cut the tnerl. It would be difficult for us to walk to the city."
"But we must. Pilar, listen to me. I need to go there, and I need your help."
Pilar looked up, his agitation spent. Suddenly he showed a wet smile. “I know the way,” he said so quietly, Anneliese almost didn't hear him. With exaggerated movements, he marched away.
Anneliese eased the robe over her throbbing shoulder. She covered her head with the length of cloth she had torn from her hem.
Perhaps it would be a difficult walk to the city, she thought, but the people there must have a way to get a message off world. She would contact her father and let him know she was all right.
Then she would make Cade pay.
CHAPTER 20
Mortar Thielman erupted into the face of the Security Office desk clerk. “What do you mean Harmadeur Gendarme is not available? Do you know who I am?"
"No sir. I mean yes, I know who you are,” the clerk's mechanically enhanced voice whined, “but the Security Master is indisposed."
"I am Deputy Master Abbas,” a man said in Standard behind them. “May I be of assistance?"
Mortar glared at the intruder: a narrow man made smaller by traditional robes. He wore darkened glasses, and Mortar expected the eyes behind them were also dark, not reflective yellow. Jerking his thumb toward the box at the clerk's throat, Mortar said, “Your translators are malfunctioning."
"I'll have someone check into it.” Abbas smiled, sweeping his arm to one side. “Please come with me."
Scowling, Mortar made his way across the cramped room, dodging hustling guards and long-faced locals. He said, “The office is busier than I remember."
"Each year the crime rate seems to escalate. It is a wonder more families do not flee to the Trader City. But to get there, they must risk facing the Llaird."
"The Llaird are just terrorists,” Mortar growled.
"They are much more than that. In all my years of law enforcement, I have never dealt with a more vicious, inimical group of criminals."
Mortar bit back a retort. He didn't care to hear the man's horror stories—all he wanted was to see his daughter again. He stepped along the crowded aisle, passing a row of desks. Just then, a jowl-faced man jumped up, waving his arms and cursing. He had a bloodied rag tied about his head.
Abbas moved forward, addressing the man in the local language. “What is the problem here?"
"Children,” the man cried. “Children in port, right in front of your blessed security. I barely got away with my life!"
"Was anything stolen?"
"Everything was stolen! They were accessing my computer."
"Show me the child who could read a computer,” the attending guard said.
Abbas raised his voice. “A childish prank, nothing more. Officer Yadith-Se will take you inside and have your wounds tended. And I will add another guard to the mid-day shift. I won't have employees assaulted.” Solemnly, he grasped the man's shoulder, and then continued walking.
Mortar said, “You should hire a squad of off-worlders, strong-arms who can stay awake during the day."
"A worthy suggestion.” Abbas stepped aside, allowing Mortar to enter a small but richly furnished room. Veils hung from the ceiling, woven rugs covered the floor. Abbas sat behind a desk of polished wood, removing his dark glasses, revealing piercing black eyes. “Unfortunately, off-worlders do not command the respect of these people. That is why the news of my promotion is not yet public. You see,” he spread his hands, “Harmadeur Gendarme is dead."
Mortar blinked. “When?"
"Three days after the explosion. Murdered, of course, although we haven't concluded our investigation. Resort officials fear when word gets out, there will be pandemonium in the streets."
"Riot or celebration?"
"Both, I expect. Harmadeur may have governed by corruption, but when he clenched his fist...."
Mortar sank into a chair, running a hand over his face. “I'm not sure how this affects my position."
"I understand your daughter was killed in the blast."
"No. But that's what someone wants me to believe. A lift operator claims he saw her leave the hotel before the detonation. And just now I spoke with three men who saw her in the debtor's pen."
"She identified herself, did she, to these gentlemen?"
"Of course not,” Mortar said, “but the woman they described could only be her. When they went back a few days later, she was gone."
"I understand your pain, Mr. Thielman. I also have a daughter. But the Resort has officially closed this case. To reopen, I would need something more concrete."
"I can pay you."
Abbas shook his head. “You could have paid Harmadeur, but the results would be the same. I'm sorry."
Mortar scowled at the taste in his mouth. “Then, just let me speak with Cade and I'll leave."
Abbas raised a brow. “Cade?"
"I understood my daughter's husband was arrested."
The deputy turned toward the console on his desk. “He was brought in for questioning the night of the explosion—the Master ordered his ship searched. But we never kept him. He left the planet shortly thereafter."
"What?” Mortar shot to his feet. What was going on here? Where was Anneliese? “What flight plan did he register?"
"None that I'm aware of. Our clientele is such...."
Mortar chopped the air with his hand, pacing. “He's been traveling a week. Which way would he go?"
"His mother might be able to aid your search."
"His mother?"
"Yes. She runs a saloon out near the gate."
Mortar grimaced. Another bit of information Gordon failed to uncover.
Abbas leaned forward. “He is a bad one, this Cade of yours. I saw him kill a musician because she'd hit a sour note in a tune he'd requested. He stabbed her seven t
imes. And I could do nothing. He was a patron of the Resort. That day, I wished to shoot him myself."
Mortar balled his hands into fists. “Perhaps you will yet have that chance."
CHAPTER 21
Anneliese wore her anger like an eschewing cloak, holding her separate, unreachable, and unable to reach out. The ache in her shoulder echoed the pain of her loneliness, and she nourished it until it consumed her senses, banished her past, her memories.
Vaguely, she was aware that the landscape had changed: the once fist-sized rocks had become flat and brittle, crumbling beneath her step. Boulders leaned together in groups, pooled in shadow and harboring dark recesses. She knew, also, that Pilar had quit his capering and walked beside her in stolid silence, as if expecting at any time to be besieged by devils. Little matter, she thought. She had demons enough of her own.
A breath of air stirred, a hint of a breeze, and she leaned into it hungrily, coveting the coolness. Her tongue worried the last bit of moss she had placed into her cheek. A person could die in this rock-strewn wilderness, boiled in sweat. But not her—not until she found her husband, and faced him with what she'd become.
She squeezed her eyes tight, awaiting the tears, but she couldn't cry. The pain would not release her. Cade's face surfaced—a siren to her thoughts, with his crooked smile and disheveled hair. How could she have loved this man?
How could she have not?
Suddenly, Pilar let out a whoop, scrambling down a hill. Anneliese blinked, startled from her reverie. She glanced about but found no threat, nothing to make the boy run. Cradling her wounded shoulder, she trotted woodenly down the hill after him.
The horizon dipped and swelled in gentle scallops. The sun blazed in the white-hot sky. Anneliese panted, almost frantic, trying to keep up, to see where Pilar had gone. She passed a barrel-shaped tree, barely noticing it, circled an outcropping of rock. Cresting the next hill, she drew to a halt.
A vast ravine opened before her. Squat trees dotted the stone, and among the meager growth, she saw a herd of goat-like animals. Yllib—she remembered Cade's name for them.
Relief washed over her, making her giddy, heart beating erratically within her breast. She thought of the frothy drink she'd tasted at Surah's lounge—milk of the yllib. She ran her tongue over cracked lips.
Resort Debauch Page 13
