A great sooty gouge marred the silver side of the jet, and one wing bent unnaturally against the hill. Aris didn’t see the third soldier. Her stomach tightened, remembering the sight of the family in Tarik, the little girl’s white dress stained with blood. Please let him be alive.
Major Vidar waved her closer and went to inspect the cockpit. The glass had spidery cracks along its domed surface, so it was hard to see inside.
Suddenly, with a hiss, it slid open.
“You the cavalry?” a hoarse voice asked.
The words were followed by a cough. Aris let out a relieved breath. Major Vidar leaned into the cockpit to inspect its occupant. “Identify yourself.”
“Lieutenant Illias Santos, sir. You are?”
“Major Vidar and Specialist Haan. Search and Rescue. We’ve come to retrieve you. Do you know the extent of your injuries?”
The man coughed again. “Maybe some internal bleeding, broken rib. Broken leg, and a pretty nasty bump on the head. I can’t walk, so my comrades went to find help.”
“Aristos, get up on the wing there. We’re going to make a chair with our arms and lift him out. Understand?”
She nodded, mouth dry.
She positioned herself on the upper wing, so Vidar would have to support more weight as they were lifting Lieutenant Santos down. All the physical training had strengthened her arms and legs, but she was still weak compared to him.
Santos hissed when Aris slid her arm under his leg. After a moment, Major Vidar grabbed her hand. Her other arm went behind the Lieutenant’s back, linking with Vidar’s. There was no time to worry about how large or “manly” her hands felt to him. She was desperately afraid that her palms would sweat and her grip would slip, that they’d drop Lieutenant Santos and cause him even more pain. She took a deep breath and tried not to look at the blood. You can do this, she coached herself, saying the words over and over in her mind like a prayer.
“On three.” Major Vidar said. Santos put his arms across their shoulders; his fingers bit into the flesh at the base of her neck. Vidar nodded at him. “You ready? This will probably hurt.”
Lieutenant Santos tensed. Through clenched teeth, he said, “Get me the blighting hell out of here.”
“One. Two. Three.”
They lifted.
Santos screamed.
Once, when Aris was much younger, a donkey had fallen from one of Lux’s cliffs. It had broken its back but hadn’t died. For hours it screamed, until men from the village could get to it and put it out of its misery. The sound had given her nightmares for months.
This was worse.
Her knees wobbled. She almost dropped Santos, but Major Vidar tightened his grip on her hands and kept pulling. Through the noise, he said, “We have to keep going. If we don’t, he’ll die.”
With a final heave, they freed his legs and lifted him from the cockpit. At that moment Santos slumped, his head rolling back and the inhuman scream gurgling to silence.
“Is he dead?” Aris asked, panicked.
Major Vidar waited until she could get her feet on the wing nearest the ground. They stepped down slowly. “No. Just unconscious. It’s a mercy.”
She couldn’t help but agree. Slowly they hauled the limp body to the jet.
“Sir, where will Lieutenant Wolfe land?” She was out of breath and the words came out raspy and quiet.
“He won’t. Santos is going in the recon.” He heaved himself onto the wing and she had no choice but to follow, Santos lolling against her.
“But sir? The jet’s only equipped for two passengers. With the weight of three, I don’t know if—”
“I’m not going back with you.”
“You’re not?”
As gently as they could, they lowered the Lieutenant into the seat.
Aris released Major Vidar’s hands and slid her arms free. Immediately they ached as blood rushed back into them. She rubbed her wrists and stared at him in alarm.
Vidar reached behind his seat and grabbed a pack she hadn’t noticed before. He clapped her on the shoulder then hopped down from the wing. “Reconnaissance mission. Solo. Commander knows.” He glanced back at her. “Good work today, Aristos. Now, get Lieutenant Santos to Revening. Call it in to Lieutenant Wolfe. Until I get back, he’s in command.”
Aris watched him walk into the woods, her mouth open. He was going to hike off into the forest, just like that?
A groan from her injured passenger got her moving. She ran to the other side of the wingjet and slipped into her seat, closing the glass shield. She swept her hand over the display to start the jet, then pressed the button on her helmet. “Lieutenant Wolfe, this is Specialist Haan. Major Vidar and I retrieved the third soldier. I have him ready to transport to Revening. Major Vidar said he had a solo mission to complete?” She ended the sentence as a question.
With a crackle, Wolfe replied, “Message received. We’ve retrieved the other soldiers. Taking off now. You can follow us to Revening.”
She pulled slowly on the controls, and the wingjet rose. When she was clear of the trees, she glanced at Lieutenant Santos. His helmet had fallen off, and the bump on his forehead was oozing blood. Accelerating in a wide arc, she headed in the direction she’d come from. Ahead, she could see the transport. She tapped the nav panel and adjusted her flight path to match the other wingjet’s. Soon, they were speeding through the air.
Revening. Would Calix be there?
Oh Gods, what if he was?
“So what is it, really?” Lieutenant Santos’s cracked voice made Aris jump.
“What, sir?”
“What’s your real name?”
She glanced at him in surprise. His eyes were open, and he was clutching his side. “What do you mean, sir?”
Santos shook his head. The movement made him cough. “Aristos is a man’s name,” he said gruffly. “And you’re no man.”
Chapter 37
For a long moment, Aris couldn’t breathe. The wingjet’s wing tipped. With an effort she got it under control.
Finally, she whispered, “Don’t tell.”
Lieutenant Santos laughed. Aris looked at him, and he bent his head, revealing his Military brand. In the bright sunlight streaming into the cockpit it glittered faintly.
Aris gasped. “Wait. Are you . . . ?”
“Illiana Santos. At your service.” The soldier coughed.
“How did you know?” It was the first coherent thought that came to mind.
“When I put my arm around your neck I could feel your veil. You should be more careful.”
Aris blushed and reached back to touch the device self-consciously. “I was a little busy trying to save your life, sir. Uh, ma’am?”
“Sir is fine,” Illiana said, amused. “I only told you because you have to help me get to a specific mender at Revening.”
“Of course.” Aris was struck with a sudden thought. “Is his name—I mean, what’s his name?”
“Zaro. Why?”
Oh well. She’d have been more surprised if Illiana had said Calix. “It’s nothing. A . . . friend . . . from my village is a field mender. I was hoping we would meet sometime.”
“At Revening?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“His name?”
“Calix Pavlos.” Aris held her breath.
Illiana cocked her head. “I’ve never heard of him. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t there. Revening is a big stationpoint. Where else have you tried? Mekia’s close.”
Aris’s heart knocked wildly against her rib cage, creating a seasick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She took a couple slow breaths through her mouth, willing her heart rate to slow.
“Haven’t been to Mekia. I haven’t actually been to many mender points yet.” Oh Gods, she could see Calix today. What would she do—say—when they met? Would he recognize her? Suddenly, she really did feel sick.
Illiana reached out to pat her arm and winced. “Don’t worry. You’ll find him.” She leaned back and too
k a couple deep breaths.
“I can’t believe . . . you’re really a woman?” Aris asked. Her hands were starting to shake. Focus on the mission. Don’t think about Calix.
Illiana’s laugh came out as a hiss. “Silly question. I think you meant to ask why. ‘Why are you in Military, Illiana? Why are you here in this blighting hellhole with your bone sticking out of your leg?’”
Aris swallowed. She hadn’t seen the bone. She forced herself not to look. “So, why?”
“Because I got selected Commerce. Me. The tallest, ugliest girl in my year. I’d have been stuck running numbers for a store, or stocking shelves. All the good Commerce placements go to the pretty ones. The only thing I’m good at besides calculations is flying. And flying is a lot more fun.”
“So you just joined because you wanted to be a flyer?”
“There are more of us than you think. The dominion will never openly admit it, but women make the best flyers. They recruited me. My unit has two other female flyers as well.” Illiana’s breathing was ragged, the words dragging more and more slowly from her chest.
“How long have you been doing this?” Aris asked lightly, trying to mask her alarm. Keep her talking. Keep her awake.
“Two and a half years, since just after the war began.”
“That long?” Aris’s mind reeled. “What did you tell your family? Don’t they wonder why you never visit?”
“I’m not close to my family.” Illiana winced and shifted, her face going deathly pale.
“Does it bother you?” Aris asked, thinking of all the lies she’d told. “That you have to be in disguise? That you don’t get to be yourself?”
“It’s not a disguise for me. This is who—” Illiana coughed, sounding for a moment as if she was choking, “—I am.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Aris asked, glancing worriedly at her passenger. “You don’t sound—”
“Just get me to Zaro,” Illiana said on a groan. “Fast. I think I’m going to pass out again.”
Aris flew the rest of the way in silence, her heart pounding.
•••
Aris landed the wingjet as smoothly as she could. Illiana was still unconscious, and her breathing had become a strange gurgling. Each time it hitched in her throat, Aris’s stomach clenched.
After opening the dome, she stepped out onto the wing and jumped to the ground. Lieutenant Wolfe had just landed. Soldiers were filing from his transport: Dysis and Galec, and the two rescued men. They rushed to her recon.
“How is he?” one of them asked. He was slight, not much taller than Aris, but his head was large and boorish, with heavy dark brows and a bulbous nose. He had two broken teeth; the stumps were still there, jagged and yellow.
She glanced up at Illiana, slumped against the side of the wingjet. “I don’t know. He needs a mender as soon as possible. He asked to see someone called Zaro. Can you find him?”
Just then a flood of white-robed menders and assistants spilled from the long, windowless building that lined the landing pad. Revening was much larger than Spiro, and the buildings were older, just a single story, their flat roofs covered with massive solar panels.
The first mender to arrive at the wingjet was tall with a narrow face and golden eyebrows. “What have we got?” he asked, jumping on the wing to inspect Illiana.
“Are you Zaro, sir?” Aris asked.
“No.” The blond mender didn’t look at her; he was too busy inspecting Illiana’s injuries.
“He asked for Zaro specifically, sir,” she said, taking a step closer to the recon. What would she do if they didn’t respect Illiana’s wishes? How could she protect her?
“Move aside,” came a voice from behind her. Through the crowd, which, in its controlled chaos, was efficiently arranging a stretcher and various machines in preparation for moving Illiana, a man wove until he was standing at her side. “He asked for Zaro?” the man asked, voice pitched low.
She nodded, staring at him. As he lifted himself up on the winget, Aris couldn’t help but notice his arched brows and smooth skin, the graceful way his body flowed into place.
The blond mender helped Zaro shift Illiana onto the med-bed. She didn’t wake, didn’t make that horrible noise she had when Aris and Major Vidar had moved her. Aris took this as a bad sign.
She pushed around the broken-toothed soldier, who still stood beside her, and hurried to Zaro’s side. The throng was breaking up now that Illiana was on the stretcher and hooked into a small collection of beeping, wheeled machines.
“Let me come with you.” She hated the paleness of Illiana’s skin, beneath the blood. “I have information on h—his injuries.”
Zaro glanced at her, still steadily pushing the stretcher toward the hissing glass door of the stationpoint. Whatever he saw in her expression made him nod. He moved Illiana into a small room with pale yellow walls at the end of the first long hallway.
When Zaro had shut the door behind them, he moved to Illiana’s side and got to work.
“Are you a woman, too?” Aris asked quietly.
Zaro didn’t look up from the patient. There was a quiet hiss as the medigun he held released its contents into Illiana’s arm.
“So you know that much about the Lieutenant,” he said.
“I won’t tell.”
“Of course you won’t,” he said. “You have your own secret.”
“Is it so obvious?”
“If you know.” Zaro glanced up and met her eyes. “If you’re looking.” Then he reached behind Illiana’s head with gentle, precise fingers and released her veil. The flyer’s face melted, reformed. In the end, she didn’t look that different. Her features were harsh, her jaw blunt. She wasn’t, as she said, beautiful.
Zaro moved to the wall by the door and pressed a button. “Caldi, Dex. Room Fourteen. Now.” He turned to Aris. “Time for you to go.”
Aris looked one last time at the still figure on the bed. “Will she be okay?”
“There’s a lot of damage, and she’s lost a lot of blood. Give me an hour to know for certain, but I believe she’ll live.”
The door opened, and two assistants filed into the room.
Aris was almost in the hall before she remembered. Gods, how could I have forgotten?
“Zaro?” she asked. The three were already flitting around the bed, white cloths turning red with blood, machines beeping and sucking and shooshing.
“Yes?” he said, without looking up.
“Is there a mender named Calix Pavlos here?”
“No,” came the answer, before she had time to hold her breath.
She nodded, then closed the door behind her. Dazed, she followed the green glowing signs to the lobby.
No Calix. But Illiana would probably live, all because Aris had gotten her here in time.
Chapter 38
Elom walked into the room carrying the familiar digitablet and an object Galena couldn’t identify. It looked a little bit like a solagun, but it was thinner and made from a shinier material. The way he held it—so lovingly—made her heart quiver.
He didn’t release her from the bed. He just raised the back so she was sitting up, her legs stretched before her.
“Come to torture me with another news report?” Galena asked, trying to brazen it out. She kept her chin up and met his glittering dark eyes.
“You’re only half-right,” he replied, with one of his little disturbing smiles. He dragged a metal stool into the room, screeching it against the floor like a dying animal, and set it by the bed. Sitting perched on its edge, he studied her face in silence.
“I’m going to ask you some questions,” Elom said. “I would like you to think very hard before you answer. But you will answer.” His eyes met hers and she could find no emotion, no empathy in their depths.
She nodded that she understood. “We’ve played this game before.”
He smiled. “Not like this.”
Galena glanced again at the object in his hand. “Why now? Why are you
asking now and not before you gave that woman my face?”
“We had to make sure the procedure worked before . . .” he paused, ominously, “. . . taking the next step.”
“I told you. I will tell you nothing.”
“I respectfully disagree. You will tell me everything.” Elom’s unconcern sent a chill through her. “Now, where to begin. How about an easy question. What is your name?”
Galena tilted her chin up, just slightly. “Galena Vadim, Ward of Ruslana.”
“Sadly, you are Ward no more. But we shall proceed. Who of your family still lives?”
She wanted to crush his face with her fist. “You know the answer to that question.”
Before she’d even realized he’d moved, a line of pain erupted along the side of her face, from her forehead through the key brand at her temple to her chin. She screamed.
He sat back, the pointed tip of the mysterious device glowing with blue flame. The tears that streamed from her eyes made the pain worse; her whole face was in agony.
“Now, please answer the question.”
She tensed against her bonds, wishing again for a way out, for the rescue she knew wouldn’t come. Panic rose from her stomach to her throat. She opened her mouth, but the only thing she could manage to voice was a whimper.
He held up the object again, adjusting the intensity of the flame. She pulled against her bonds, trying to get as far away as she could. Scrunching her eyes closed, she whispered, “I have a son still living, that is all.”
“Thank you for your honesty, Galena.” Elom sat back slightly, as if satisfied.
He asked her about the members of Ruslana’s Council, personal details about their families, what she knew of their non-work activities.
“I . . . I don’t know,” she whispered at one point. “I haven’t seen these people in so long, I don’t know if they still—”
He cut her off with another line of flame, this time across her other cheek and the edge of her mouth. Another scream ripped from her throat.
He painted her face with the fire until she told him exactly what he wanted to know. She told him as tears slid down her cheeks and her skin burned. Her arms ached from straining to protect her face. She talked until she had nothing left. Until she wanted him to kill her, so she wouldn’t have to live with the knowledge of her own betrayal.
The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing Page 17
