"Force field," Tor interjected. "They have to have a force field set up. The Scientific Mission didn't have one, at least not in any of the..." He snapped his head to the side as if another thought had occurred to him, but then he went on. "The gossip I heard. They were studying rapid evolution and the predators evolved too fast. That's the rumor anyway. Honarie must have heard the same thing and taken precautions. They never mentioned it when I was there, but why would they?" He lifted his finger when Mohawk would have spoken. "If the force field is there, they'll have to shut it down to open the gate."
"Here's the compound." He drew his plan in the dirt. "We wait across the road, here and here, until the gate is open and they start to enter. Then we hit them. Take out the four from the outside first. Once inside, you head here." His directions to Mohawk were short and concise. "The dome is your goal. There has to be a ship there. Honarie is too smart to let himself be stranded. Do you remember what to do?"
Mohawk nodded.
"And me?" Wynne wasn't about to be left behind. "What would you like me to do?"
"I think we should save that for a more private moment, don't you?" Tor grinned at her. The corners of his eyes crinkled and they sparkled with the same devilish look she'd seen when they were trapped in the escape pod, the same devilish look that made her insides tingle.
Mohawk snickered at her blush. "You'd think, looking the way she does, she'd know better than to ask."
"Can you climb?"
Since Tor's eyes were still dancing, she frowned at him. "This is no time for your nonsense."
"I'm serious. Can you climb?"
"Of course I can climb," she lied.
He told her what he wanted and then Mohawk was running across the road. Tor watched him until he was sure the old man was safe and in position. Turning back to her, Wynne expected him to give her a nod and send her on her way.
Instead, he slipped an arm around her waist, pulled her to him, and kissed her.
It wasn't long, or sweet, or gently passionate. Tor's kiss was hard and demanding. He'd caught her open mouthed with surprise and his tongue lashed into hers.
Bent back by the force of his body pressing over her own, her hands moved, one to his shoulder, the other to the back of his head. She clung to him, her whole body warmed with the feel of him. She tasted him as forcefully as he tasted her, both thrilled and frightened by the surge of feelings that came when his mouth crashed down on hers. This was more than a kiss. It drew something from her and left something in its place; something she knew would grow and bear fruit if given the chance.
Wynne wanted that kiss to last. Forever, if possible. It couldn't, of course.
Tor broke the kiss and stepped back. He held her by her shoulders and steadied her when she swayed. Lips damp and glistening from the kiss, he grinned down at her reaction, but it was his eyes that held her. There was no smug satisfaction in them. All she saw was longing and something akin to regret. He blinked and the look was gone.
"I've wanted to do that since I first saw you sitting in the lounge all prim and proper, reading your damned book. You were a princess in servant's clothing, ignoring the world around you. You can't hide what you are, Wynne. You shouldn't have to, but you're wise keep it under cover as much as you can. Save it for the man who deserves you."
"I'm not a..."
"You are, and you taste as sweet as I dreamed you would," he insisted. "Some damned lucky Godan prince is in for a surprise. Make sure he knows your worth." He kissed her again, this time short and sweet, and much too quick. "Off you go now. Make sure the way is clear before you climb. Once you're in, go straight to the dome. Don't stop for anyone." He turned away.
"Tor, wait..."
"No time," he said, just as he had on the ship. "This is goodbye, Kushma. I wish you good fortune and many sons."
And then he was running, his long strides taking him away, and Wynne felt as if he'd taken a piece of her away with him.
Chapter 10
Wynne swung the decrepit chunk of tail back and forth in a wind up to her underhanded throw. She wished she was strong enough to bring it in a full circle over her head, but she wasn't Mira. Her sister could pitch a softball hard enough and with such a deadly aim, it would leave a bruise that lasted for weeks. Wynne ought to know since she carried those bruises, because unlike the athletic Mira, Wynne couldn't catch, either.
She released the meaty missile. More like a rocket launch, it sailed straight up into the air and then plummeted to the ground halfway between the wall and the edge of the trees where she stood.
Across the years, she heard Mira's voice. "All it takes is practice." It was what she always said.
"Easy for you to say," Wynne muttered to her phantom sister. "You weren't born with ten thumbs and two left feet." She darted out to retrieve her second failure to launch. "And I don't have time to practice,"
The cleared space was no more than thirty feet. It felt like three hundred. Each time she ran to retrieve the dirt caked tail, she was sure a new pack of carnars would bound from the trees, or a voice would shout from an unseen lookout post above the wall.
She was supposed to test the wall before she climbed, first to see if there was a protective shield between her and the wall, and secondly to see if the shield fell when the gate was opened and the fighting started.
"And how am I supposed to know when that is." She couldn't hear a damn thing unless someone used a handloader, whatever the hell that was. "Oh well, third time's the charm."
She had hopes that this one would make it, but by the look of its arc, it would fall short, too. It was only a few feet off the ground when tiny, jagged lightning bolts sparked from the meat along with a sharp pop like someone puncturing a fully inflated balloon with a pin.
Wynne's hair prickled and rose as a shimmering wave of energy spread out along the length of the wall. She jumped back, but not fast or far enough. Her whole body flinched with a thousand pinches of tingling pain. It dissipated almost instantly, leaving behind a bitter metallic taste in her mouth, and she was reminded of the time years ago when Mira made her touch a nine volt battery to her tongue. She rubbed the sensation away from her arms and then shook them. She stamped her feet. Everything was working as it should be. She was fine.
The gator tail, however, was not. Smoke rose from its charred hide.
She waited a few minutes before charging across to retrieve her test subject. She expected a response to the incident from inside the wall, a shout, or an alarm. Nothing happened, and she wondered if they were so used to animals being fried that they no longer paid attention.
Soon after, she heard a call to open the gate and voices raised in alarm. Problem one was solved, but another took its place. If the force field remained, would it react to the cooked meat in the same way it did to the raw?
There was no time for failed throws. Wynne ran halfway across the cleared space and tossed the meat two handed from between her legs like it was a basketball. It was an awkward throw and never would have scored the point, but it was good enough. Her ball of roasted meat hit the twenty foot backboard and bounced off without snap, crackle, or pop.
She ran to the place where the lightning struck the tail. "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for me," she sang and poked her hand through the invisible barrier, wincing in anticipation of the burn. Nothing happened.
Wynne released the breath she'd been holding and started to climb. Her first slip occurred when she was two feet off the ground, her second at six.
"Of course I can climb," she mimicked herself. "I can climb stairs with solid walls on both sides, but put me on stairs like you did on the ship or a rickety, rusty fire escape and I'm terrified. Now I'm stuck climbing a web of pencil thin vines, half of which aren't connected to anything but another pencil thin vine."
She tested her next handhold before hoisting herself up. Unfortunately, there was no way to test her footholds and she found herself dangling by her hands, her feet scrambling to find another purchase that would
hold her weight. She kept climbing and scrambling without any idea of how far she'd come. Looking up would require her to lean back. She couldn't trust the vines. Looking down brought on a wave of dizziness that left her frozen to the spot. She hated heights. Hated them. She closed her eyes and kept climbing, moving sideways as much as upward.
"Of course I can climb," she mimicked again. Why, oh why, had she lied?
"Because you don't want Tor seeing you as weak and afraid even if you are. Because he sees you as a princess. Not a saintly mother of five orphaned children, not a good natured and complacent housekeeper and cook, not Mira's little shadow sister, but a princess in disguise."
Because he kissed her like he meant it and that kiss ignited something in her that she couldn't quite define.
Because if she didn't get her ass over this damned wall, she might never see him again and she couldn't let that happen.
Wynne kept climbing until she reached the top.
Somehow, she'd gotten herself turned around. She thought she'd arrive nearer to the dome, but no, there were two long buildings to pass before she reached the dome.
Shouts seemed to come from everywhere. From her position she could see very little and it was difficult to tell just how many there were. More than Tor thought, she was certain and that worried her. By his estimates, he and Mohawk were already outnumbered.
There were fewer vines on this side of the wall, but at least when she fell it was in the right direction.
As if triggered by the touch of her feet to the ground, a scream slashed through the compound as Wynne landed. All other cries and calls froze at the tortured sound.
Wynne darted through the tall grass to the side of the windowless side of the building.
The screaming stopped, but the silence continued. That Wynne was so frightened and attuned to that lack of sound was the only reason she heard the muttered curses at the far end of the building. She ran in the opposite direction and only after she'd rounded the corner of the building did she think it would have been wise to look before she leapt. Fortunately, no one was there.
"I'm telling you, I saw something come over the wall, something big. It slithered over and fell to the ground."
Wynne's heart stopped. The barrier was down. Had something followed her over the wall? Were there others loose in the compound?
"There. Look at the grass. I told you."
"Fuck. The barrier's still off. Look at the footprints, asshole. Those aren't beasts. It's more of them."
Them, as in her. They thought she was reinforcements.
"They're supposed to be dead," the first complained.
"Horny said they were dead."
"Horny said there were only three. Guess he doesn't know everything. There were at least four. Now there's more."
"Fuck."
"Yeah. You find this one. I'll go see why nobody turned the wall back on."
There was more, but Wynne didn't stay to listen. Another scream rent the air. This time, the shouting didn't stop to listen. Something was coming over the wall and it wasn't reinforcements.
This side of the building had windows though they were so dirty she couldn't see what was inside. There were no lights or sounds from within. Still, she ducked and ran beneath the ledges. She found a door about halfway down and hesitated only a moment before she opened it. Any hiding place was better than none.
The door was heavy. Rusted hinges creaked as she pushed her way in. Closing it was not so easy. She pushed and shoved but the damn thing only inched its way back into position. That she'd entered the building would be obvious.
Wynne stepped away and fumbled in her pocket for the blazer. She'd never shot someone before, didn't know if she could do it now.
"Arm, aim, and activate," Tor had told her when he showed her how the weapon worked.
"Easy as a whore's virtue," Mohawk had added.
Tor tried to ease her mind. "It's a precaution. You won't have to use it. All the attention will be on us."
Horny, or whatever his stupid name was, wasn't the only one who didn't know everything.
Eyes still not adjusted to the dimness, she searched for the button that would arm the weapon. The creak of the opening door startled her and the blazer fell from her hand. Bending to retrieve it, she kicked it with her toe.
A hand, dirty and scaled, reached out and grabbed the blazer. The weapon was suddenly pointed at Wynne.
"Not me. Him!" she cried.
"Down," a guttural voice ordered.
Wynne couldn't tell if it was male or female. She immediately complied, but not quickly enough. For the second time that day, a red streak of light whizzed by her head, this time just missing her ear. There was a sigh of breath and the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground.
"Get him inside and close the damn door."
Two narrow and glowing circles of yellow surrounded by blackness stared out at her from the heavy mesh fencing of a cage door. Where Wynne stood was dark, but the interior of the cage was darker. She could barely make out the tall, thin figure of the person staring out at her. She couldn't tell if it was man or woman.
"The door. The body."
"Right. Right."
Wynne moved to the body, most of which lay crumpled on his side. Only his feet kept the door from closing. She bent to lift him by the shoulders, to drag him out of the way, and froze. He was short, bow legged and stocky, a Tolkien dwarf with two tiny horns protruding from the top of his head.
"No. Oh no. Mohawk, no."
The body rolled to its back. He was Perithian, but it wasn't Mohawk. The dirty window offered enough light to see the brows were dark and bushy. She pulled his feet from the door.
"Friend of yours?"
Wynne heard the soft whir of the arming weapon.
"No. No, thank God. For a moment I thought we'd killed the wrong man. Please don't shoot me. I come in peace." Holy Mother, where did that come from? "With Tor, I mean." This had to be a member of his crew. Surely Horny didn't keep his friends locked in a cage.
The figure's snorted laugh was cut off by a cough. "Hear that, Truca? She comes in peace. Leave it to the Captain to bring a doxie to a gunfight."
It took Wynne an extra second to remember what the word meant. "I am not his doxie," she said indignantly. "I'm his, his friend," she concluded lamely.
"Yeah, that's what they all say until he leaves them standing on the dock. Go get the keys."
"Who are you?" Wynne asked.
"The bitch holding your weapon. Now go get the damn keys. They're at the far end by the other door."
Her eyes had adjusted, but the building was still dark. It had to be the former lab. The room they were in ran the length of the building. Cages lined one wall, black holes fronted with sturdy wire. Some were large enough to hold a man, though she doubted someone as tall as Tor could stand erect. Some were stacked like boxes one on top of the other, all deep, and dark as caves. No wonder the animals bred in them turned crazed and vicious.
A half a dozen doors opened off the other wall. The rest of the room was empty. At the far end was a door and three shadowed windows, the mirror image of the way she entered.
"Don't mind Ish." The deep voice rolled over her skin like silk. "She gets testy when she hasn't eaten."
"Shut your mouth, Posy, before I eat you," Ish, the woman with scaled skin and frightening eyes responded.
"Like music on the wind," the deep voice chuckled. "I've been waiting for that offer since I saw you sink your claws into that barman. I knew you couldn't resist me, Ish. Truca? You are my witness."
Whoever Truca was, he or she didn't answer.
Wynne found the keys and opened Posy's door first. She wasn't sure what she expected, but it wasn't the giant who stooped through the door. There was no way the man could have stood upright in a cage meant for animals. He had to bend to take her hand and raise it to his lips in a gentlemanly kiss. His skin was as silky as his voice, his kiss a breath of air.
"I owe you a debt," he wh
ispered. His mouth spread into a heart stopping smile. Bright blue eyes shone out from a face so dark it was a shadow in the dimness of the room. "And I always pay my debts."
He straightened to his full height and flexed his narrow shoulders. He tossed a long dark hank of hair behind him. It was stringy and as filthy as the robe. The man stank, and yet Wynne was infatuated by his charm.
"If you two would hurry it up, I'd like to get out of this shithole sometime today," Ish called out and then muttered disgustedly, "And he wonders why I won't sleep with him."
"My charms are nothing compared to yours, Kushma."
"Kiss my ass."
"I would if you would but allow it," Posy laughed. He took the keys from Wynne, but stopped at the cage next to Ish's. He unlocked it and tossed the keys to Wynne who went immediately to unlock the next door.
"Truca? I'm coming in," Posy said gently.
There was nothing in the cell that Wynne could see, but when Posy bent his body toward the darkened corner, Truca erupted in a fury of attacking legs and arms. Screaming unintelligible words of hatred and fear, the woman fought the much larger man with surprising strength. Undaunted and clearly attempting to do as little damage as possible, he managed to get her to the door before she broke away and turned on him, snarling like an animal. Hair, more filthy and matted than Posy's, covered her face and fell to her breasts, leaving only lips curled back from white and evenly set teeth. She was crouched low, but in the dim light offered by the windows, Wynne could see she was naked.
And human.
"Posy, leave her," Ish ordered. "We need to go before she brings the house down on us. Lock her up and we'll come back for her."
When she escaped his grasp, Posy had stood back to reposition himself for his next attempt to corral the crazed woman. Wynne ducked under his wide spread arms and sank to her knees in front of the distraught creature.
"Shh." The soft shushing sound was barely heard. She repeated it over and over. "Shhh, Wynne's here and you're safe." They were the same words she'd used so many times before when the nightmares of the horrors they'd witnessed visited one of the children. "Open your eyes now and see who's sitting here beside you. It's Wynne, only Wynne, and she'd never hurt you, never in a million bazillion years. There you go," she said when she saw the tension leave the woman's body. "See? It's only Wynne, and you know her." She lightened her voice with just a hint of humor. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."
Tor (Women of Earth Book 2) Page 9
