Andromeda's Rebel

by Debra Jess

  "What are you doing?" Her heart pumped, panic propelling her backward. She tripped over her tray.

  "I've been ordered to soften you up for interrogation, and I hate an audience."

  Time distorted, her memory growing fuzzy, sliding to the finish, as a gray-gloved fist slammed into her face.

  She screamed, gasping, her body soaked with sweat, as memories emerged from quicksand grasping her, threatening to pull her under.

  "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay." Arms encircled her, rocking her back and forth, the same words whispered over and over again. Eventually the rocking matched the rhythm of her heart as it slowed. She could feel the pounding on her face as if the blow had just landed, instead of happening years ago. All her thoughts, all her memories careened through her mind, each one vying for attention.

  "I can't think. I can't think." Her voice was as dry as the desert world she could now remember. "It's too much. Help me."

  "I'm here. I'll help you. I promise."

  She collapsed against a strong chest, a hand now on her back, rubbing her shoulders.

  "Give her this."

  Another voice. A glass of water. She clutched the glass, gulping down the cold water, not caring if it spilled over her lips and poured down her chin.

  She had her memories back, but they had no order, and they had no context. Without order or context, they had no meaning. She dropped the empty glass in her lap. A hand picked it up to place it elsewhere. She followed the hand as it moved, following it until she looked up at the man who held her.

  The man with the cold blue eyes.

  Before she realized what she was doing, Tamarja lashed out with what little strength she had left and slapped Daeven as hard as she could.

  "You bastard! You raped me!"

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Laughter surrounded her. "Girl's got quite a swing."

  "This isn't funny." Daeven tried to move closer to her, sliding up onto the bed, but Tamarja pushed away, shoving her body up against the pillows that created a soft barrier between her and the rough textured wall. She didn't want him anywhere near her.

  "No, it's not," Joran said. "I did warn you this could happen."

  Daeven didn't try to crawl any closer to her. He just held his hand out, trying to placate her. Bastard. If he did try to get closer, she'd rip his balls off, even if it was the last thing she did in this world.

  "Think, Tamarja. Focus. Did I really rape you? Did I really?"

  Her memories jumbled around as she listened to Daeven's voice. Images of her father mixed with her feelings for Rory. Oh, Guardians, poor Rory! Her lover. He pulled her off that awful space station and gave her hope, gave her a home. Gave her love. Now he performed the menial tasks reserved for ‘pets, his genius wiped away.

  She could change that. Somehow she'd talk Joran into bringing Rory here and giving him his memories back. Once she had Rory back in her arms, everything would be okay again. Rory could fix everything, anything. She needed him now more than ever.

  "Please, Tamarja!" Daeven begged.

  "I think it'd be best if we left her alone." Joran plopped a blue-and-white workout suit on her lap. "It's far too big but much more comfortable than your uniform. There's a portable shower in the kitchen. Daeven and I will remove ourselves to the outdoors while you wash."

  "I'm not leaving her alone," Daeven insisted.

  All her fury and confusion focused into a look that made Daeven’s mouth slam shut. “Get out. Now,“ she demanded.

  “Wait, please…“

  She turned her back on him. Amid protests and arguing, feet shuffled as Joran all but pulled Daeven from the room.

  Tamarja unfolded the clothing with hands that shook. The task helped her pull away from the buzz of memories demanding her attention. Toys she used to play with vied with her first spin in a souped-up floater driven by…some boy with no name. Okay, so there were still gaps that needed filling. The gaps would close, they had to. She would force them to. Even if it meant another dose of Black Wave.

  She felt like an old woman as she swung her feet around and slid out of bed. Her lower back muscles contracted, almost refusing to support her. The cold flooring sent shocks through her feet right up to her knees.

  Shower. A nice hot shower would ease her muscles and her mind.

  She found the portable shower right where Joran said it would be. Closing the flimsy barrier around her, she hooked up the head to the sink and adjusted the water temperature to hot.

  Alone and cocooned, Tamarja felt more secure poking around her memories. They still exploded like firecrackers when she touched them, but she could pick up the pieces and fit them together like a puzzle.

  It seemed her oldest memories were more complete than her newer ones. She could remember her childhood most vividly―her father, their home, and their work together. It was almost all there for her to revisit.

  Her first encounter with Rory, even through the haze of alcohol, appeared complete and accurate. Their work on Caspia Minor didn't have the same visual intensity; she remembered less about Rory's scientific ramblings than she did about how she felt when they first landed on that unforgiving world. More so than their landing, she remembered how she felt the first time they made love. She had been in love, thoroughly and completely. She still was.

  Though not as powerful as her childhood memories, Rory was real enough to jump-start her ambition. The real Tamarja had arrived.

  Thinking about their capture by Manitac was harder. The hated fog still clouded almost everything. She didn't mind that so much. She wasn't ready to see the faces of her captors, their snide smiles, their superior attitudes.

  Daeven haunted her, though. All attitude, but no smile. At least she didn't think he smiled.

  She turned off the water and lowered the shower screen, reaching for a towel Joran had left nearby. She didn't want to remember what he did to her. Why should she? Soften her up for interrogation? Bastard. Joran must have a weapon she could use to kill him.

  Except she really didn't want to. The real Tamarja was ready to fight. She shoved away images of Daeven entering her cell as she dried off and put on Joran's clothes.

  She needed a plan. First, find Rory. Then give him the Black Wave treatment. Once he had his memories back, they would resume their fight against Manitac.

  Daeven intruded on her plan. She needed help, and he could provide it. He'd be willing to provide it, even if it was out of guilt over what he’d done to her.

  No! Not a chance. Sick and twisted―that was Daeven. Raping her and then trying to seduce her, thinking she'd never remember. She could see him enter her cell, the door reforming behind him, oh so casually turning off the security cameras, approaching her with the grace of a wild felion, grabbing her hand as she tried to stab him. She had no idea how many days had passed in that cell, but they didn't feed her enough, not nearly enough. She had been determined to keep what little she had.

  He must have raped her then. Hitting her, knocking her out, and then raping her.

  Tamarja leaned against the edge of the bed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. It hurt her head, but she forced herself to think harder, to clear the fog away. Behind the fog, all she could see were bright-blue eyes.

  She attacked him, and he stopped her. He turned off the cameras. He hated an audience. Then…and then…and then he sat down on the floor on the far side of the cell. He just sat there and watched her. She said nothing. He said something. What did he say?

  Tamarja pulled her hands away from her eyes, but she was no longer in Joran's apartment. She was in that cell with Daeven sitting across from her, staring at her.

  "You're looking for the Shadows." It wasn't a question.

  "No. I'm just a pilot, hired by Doctor Rory Silvah to transport him, his crew, and his cargo to the University of Bregarlos." That was her cover story.

  "You're Tamarja Chase, and you spent three years looking for the Shadows, ever since Manitac disappeared your father."

/>   "I don't know what you're talking about. My father is dead."

  "He erased you from the system, but there aren't many people capable of flying pre-Manitac ships anymore. You weren't that hard to track."

  "Assuming you're right, and I'm not saying you are, three years is a long time to track someone." She eased back against the wall, sliding down until she sat as well. She was still hungry, and there were some overcooked vegetables on her plate. She scooped up the rest of her food and shoved it into her mouth, chewing quickly and swallowing.

  "We've been busy."

  "After losing an entire planet, I can see why."

  Pain flashed across his face, honest and brutal. "Stratos was a mistake. One we won't make again."

  "So you're saying you're a Shadow?"

  "That's right."

  She tossed her plate back onto its tray. She was still hungry. "Undercover on a Manitac scout ship."

  "Right again."

  "I don't believe you."

  "I understand." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small package and tossed it at her.

  She caught it, flipping it over for examination. The clear wrap revealed a sandwich of some sort, slightly squished. She unwrapped it and took a small sniff.

  "You have a few days before you’re scheduled for interrogation. All part of the softening-up phase. There's no point in poisoning you."

  She shrugged and bit into the sandwich. It was fresh, crunchy, and the most delicious thing she'd eaten in years. "If you're really a Shadow, you must have a plan for getting us out?"

  "Sorry, no. Your capture isn't part of the plan." He really did look sorry.

  "You have to do something."

  "Why?"

  She frowned. She still wasn't convinced he wasn't a Manitac officer trying to trip her into revealing Rory's secret. "Shadows are supposed to help people caught in the clutches of Manitac."

  "We tried that on Stratos. It didn't work. Right now, we're trying something different, something that doesn't involve rescuing wayward pilots."

  "You still need to help us," she insisted before crunching into her sandwich again.

  "Short of shoving you into an escape pod and blowing up the ship, what would you have me do?"

  She swallowed, thinking about it. "You know, that's not a half-bad plan. I'm sure someone like you could pull it off without a problem."

  He stood, towering over her. "You're bloodthirsty, that's for sure."

  She stood too, still clutching the sandwich. "Where are you going?

  "I'll be back in a few hours. I'll bring you more food."

  "Wait a second." Fear she hadn't felt before gripped her heart. She didn't want to be left alone. In the few minutes she'd been with this stranger, she'd realized just how alone she really was. Rory was far out of reach now. "You're supposed to be softening me up for interrogation."

  He walked back over to her, standing a little too close. "I'm supposed to be raping you, in case you didn't get that from my turning off the security cameras."

  "Right. So shouldn't you at least make it look like you did your job? I mean, shouldn't my clothes be ripped or something? I'm known to put up a mean fight when I'm attacked."

  The small, thin blade appeared in his hand so fast it could have been magic. "Hold out your arm."

  She did, even as she cursed to herself at her overwhelming need to trust somebody in this bizarre situation. Her nerves jumped as the man's leather-gloved hand held her arm still as he strategically sliced along the seam of her long-sleeved shirt. "How's that?"

  She nodded. "A good start."

  He quirked an eyebrow at her, almost making him look less scary. "You want more?"

  "Shouldn't I be bruised a bit? Which hurts less, a black eye or a bloody lip?"

  He choked on his answer. "I really couldn't say."

  "All right. A black eye then. You look like the sort to blacken someone's—" His fist connected with her face before she could continue. "Ouch! Guardians, that hurts. A little warning next time."

  "If I warned you, you wouldn't look so angry. You should at least look angry, because you don't look like the crying type."

  Her eye started to shut as the pain pounded in time to her heartbeat.

  "Go lie in the corner, face the wall," he ordered. "Tuck your knees to your chest. It'll look better for the cameras."

  It did look good for the cameras. Every few hours over the next two days, Daeven would sneak her more food, sit on the other side of her cell, and talk to her. He didn't pump her for information, and she didn't ask him to rescue her again.

  If she'd trusted him more, if she had really believed he was a Shadow, she would have told him Rory's secret. She liked him, more than she should, but Rory held her heart, and not even this crazy, sexy, might-be Shadow could make her betray him.

  The clouds gathered again, and she lost the memory thread. Daeven hadn't raped her, but he hadn't helped her either. She still wound up mind-wiped, though she didn't recall the exact details. She would though, in time. She would remember everything.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Night brought more drizzle from the coast, and from her vantage point near the back door to the ‘cast tower, she could see both men hunkered down in the front seats of the floater. She walked, trying not to trip on borrowed, overlong pants, and startled both men when she dissolved the back door and forced her protesting muscles inside.

  "So what's the plan?"

  They twisted around to stare at her.

  "How do you feel?" Daeven asked, his eyes searching hers.

  "Fine. I remember everything. You hit me."

  "But I didn't rape you."

  She sighed. "I know that now, but you still hit me."

  "Only because you asked me to."

  "Do you always do everything I tell you to?"

  "When it makes sense, yes!"

  "Kids!" Joran held up a hand. "Don't make me have to separate the two of you."

  Tamarja huffed as she leaned back. "I don't remember everything―at least not the more recent stuff from the scout ship. I remember my childhood, my father, school, and friends. I remember meeting Rory." She glared again at Daeven. "Working with him. Falling in love with him."

  Joran interrupted whatever Daeven was about to say. "I wouldn't worry about remembering your capture. Manitac may have put a stronger block on those memories, and it may take more time for the blocks to dissolve. That is what Black Wave has been doing―dissolving the blocks preventing your memories from resurfacing."

  Tamarja nodded. It didn't change things. Daeven must have known how she felt about Rory, but he seduced her anyway. He must have figured that without her memory, he could have her without the baggage of her past. Stupid little ‘pet that she was, she had wanted him to seduce her, to give her a life worth living. Well, she wasn't a ‘pet any longer, and she knew Rory was on Dawn's Landing. She'd save him and Jita and all the rest of them, with or without the Shadows.

  "What about my collar? Can you remove it?"

  Joran shook his head. "That would require some very delicate, invasive surgery, something I haven't done in years. And you have to figure that Manitac has placed some sort of feedback on the collar itself. If I try to remove it, I not only risk activating it, but sending off a signal to whoever controls the collar."

  "That would be Yohzad. He wouldn't activate it." She didn't like the look Daeven and Joran exchanged. "He wouldn't. He fought for me. Got me into this experimental program so I would only be partially wiped instead of entirely wiped. If I fail, the experiment fails, and he won’t want that against him." What she didn’t say was that some part of her still trusted him. These two didn’t need to know that. They weren’t helping her for her sake, but for their own agendas. She’d been a fool to think Shadows would help her before. Trusting Daeven was the last mistake she would ever make.

  "It doesn't matter," Daeven said. "He didn't activate your collar the first time. Someone on the warship did. They activated all the ‘pets'
collars. The signal could easily reach them as well."

  "Then forget about my collar for now. We'll wait until the warship leaves to try to deactivate it. We'll work within my limitations until then."

  "Work at what?" Joran asked, his voice mild, but Tamarja knew better.

  "Whatever your plan is."

  "Who said we had a plan?"

  "Don't treat me like a mind-wiped ‘pet," Tamarja snapped. "I know you're both Shadows. You're not here because you have any love for AuRaKaz. You're here for a reason, and I want to know what it is."

  More silent communication occurred between the men.

  "You're responsible for her, Daeven. If anything goes wrong…"

  "If anything goes wrong, we're all dead anyway. You were prepared to kill her earlier. Nothing has changed."

  Joran shrugged and turned to face the front view pane.

  Daeven turned back to look at her. "Short-term plan: we have to shut down Jarvis Station just long enough to let a fleet of Shadow ships through."

  "You have your own fleet now?"

  "It’s taken years, but we managed to buy enough scrap from Manitac auctions to convert them into freighters and short-range fighters."

  "That doesn't sound very useful if you still need to use Manitac shielding and Manitac-controlled slipstreams."

  "Manitac shields may be worthless for long-term flights, but we only need to get our fighters from the slipstream to Dawn's Desert and back again."

  Tamarja knew what that meant. "You already have a cell on Dawn's Desert."

  "That's right."

  "And you plan to take over Dawn's Landing."

  "As well as Jarvis Station. Not immediately, but yes, that's the plan."

  "Why? It sounds like a recipe for Stratos all over again."

  Daeven's face twitched. "This will be different. Stratos failed because it wasn't a self-sufficient colony."

  "The only resources they were willing to develop," Joran corrected.

  "They were a mining colony," Daeven argued back. "They were happy importing whatever else they needed."