by Jo Zebedee
“How do we play this?” asked the Roamer.
Kare opened his eyes, and tried to ignore the mesh. “They won’t be expecting me to have any backup. If it is a trap, then I think I know the person behind this. He’ll try to take us easily. He’s not a man for making things complicated.”
“Your plan?”
“We go in as deep as we need to – or I do, in the first instance. We locate Sam and his family. We get them out, if we can.” He put his head back. “However we can.” Let the mesh be as strong as Farran claimed. Let it circle and circle and do what was needed. “You stay with the ship.”
“And if Kerra is there?”
Gods, if she was there, being held by Phelps. She was the one person Kare wouldn’t risk; her safety could stop him in his tracks. He swallowed and his throat was dry and sore.
“If she’s there, you focus on Sam and his family. Let me deal with Phelps.” Kare sucked in a breath. To walk in, knowing the Empress’ carrion crow would be waiting…. But not going in didn’t bear thinking about. This way, he had a ship, he had Farran, he had the mesh. Later, the odds might be worse.
They were flying far above Abendau city. Sonly might be down there in the palace. He leaned forwards, watching for as long as he could, fighting the urge to get up and pace. “It worries me that I haven’t heard from Lichio. If they have him… he knows everything. For that matter, so does Sonly.”
“Will they hurt her?”
He pushed the images that threatened to crowd his mind away, and when he spoke his voice was amazingly flat and steady. “I’m sure they’ll think of something. They’re very inventive.” The ship swooped down to the compound, and the authorisation to land was given.
“Make the arrangements with the Roamer pilots,” Kare said. “I’ll find Collis and confirm our status.”
“No problem.”
The hangar doors opened ahead of them, and the force-field lifted. Farran took them into port, landing smoothly, his touch on the thrusters precise. Kare walked down the ship and waited for the hatch to open.
He checked his blaster was in place and stepped out. The hangar was dark, the ships surrounding him shadows in the darkness. Fighters: a lot of them. He took another few steps, until he was at the bottom of the ramp. The security bays were empty, their laser bars up, and the port was quiet. Eerily so. Hand on his blaster, he stepped forwards.
“Kare.” Sam’s voice sounded wrong: thinner; hoarser. He stepped through one of the security aisles, his hand clutched against his chest, cradled as if broken. There was no satisfaction in being right. The doctor’s eyes were red and tired, his face gaunt, a bruise darkening his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
His words were soft in the quiet, cutting Kare to his soul. Sam would never have been in this mess but for him. A line of soldiers appeared behind the doctor, their weapons raised. A second squad emerged from the between the fighters, forming up between Kare and the Roamer ship.
“I had no choice,” said Sam, and he hadn’t, Kare knew that. The doctor leaned in. “Kerra is in Abendau, with Sonly.” His eyes flitted to the side. “They’re taking us there, they say.”
Kerra not being at the compound gave more options, but the knowledge she was already at the palace chilled Kare. He glanced back at the ship. He wouldn’t be going back on it, no matter how this panned out. A squad of soldiers came through the security aisle, Sam’s family in the midst of them. Cai’s right eye was bruised and closing over. Nina, Dareen hugged close to her, stumbled as she was pushed forwards. Phelps followed, his weapon drawn, not aimed but ready.
“You came, Varnon. I knew you would.” Phelps’ smile was a scimitar slash of cruelty. He raised his voice. “Pilot and crew, come out! Hands in the air.”
Cai tugged at the soldier holding him. “I want my dad!” He almost managed to slip out of the grasp on him, but the soldier tightened his hand on Cai’s arm until the boy gave a bitten-off cry.
“Leave him alone!” Sam took a step forwards, but stopped as a soldier swung his rifle towards Cai.
“Let the children go,” said Kare. He had to act now, before this all went to hell. He tried to sense where Farran was, fighting the mesh of minds as he aimed to regain the focus he’d had on the ship.
“I don’t think so,” said Phelps. “It’s remarkable what a man will do to protect his own.” A soldier seized Kare, forcing his arms behind him. Phelps pointed to the ship. “Tell your crew to stand down. Now.”
“Make me, you bastard.” Kare could sense Farran now. The Roamer had left the ship through one of the freight doors, and was moving into position, closer to Nina. He needed more time. Kare surged forwards, forcing the soldier holding him to give ground. He wrenched free, but Phelps moved in a blur, back-handing Kare, sending him reeling away.
The Roamer took his chance to make up some ground. Cai shouted something, adding to the confusion. A soldier grabbed the boy by the collar, half-pulling him off his feet, but Cai fought on, flailing with fists that didn’t come close. Nina ran forwards, trying to reach Cai.
“Let my family go!” Sam launched himself at Phelps. The general lashed out with his boot. Sam let out a scream and sprawled backwards, his broken hand flailing as he went down.
“Sam!” Nina twisted, desperate, but was pushed along the length of the Roamer ship. Cai was beside her, trying to bite, trying anything. The boy had fight in him; he deserved to live. The soldier holding him swore and tightened his hold so that Cai’s yells turned to choked gasps. They passed close to where the Roamer waited, hidden in the shadows. The back of the ship hadn’t been surrounded, not yet.
Farran moved in a burst of speed, grabbing Nina’s arm with one hand. He was in the mesh, pulling on it, moving quicker than should be possible. The soldier nearest flew backwards, fully off his feet. The Roamer snatched Cai’s hand. He met Kare’s eyes, their minds linked.
Take the children and go. Kare allowed no doubt in his thoughts. The Roamer hesitated at the command and Kare sent it again. Do it. He cast the mesh’s power at the small group. Soldiers clattered back, the force strong enough to knock them off their feet.
An arm snaked around his neck, pulling him back, and he stumbled, almost falling, half-strangled. He focused on the ship, shielding it, even as Phelps pulled him tight against him. He flexed his power, going on instinct. The mesh twisted and fought but he forced it into the shape he needed, a pure line of power. The troopers’ shots bounced harmlessly off the shield.
“Order the Roamer to lift the shield.” Phelps’ voice was a low growl in his ear. He hadn’t realised where the power was coming from. The soldiers were firing at the ship, the shots constant, the shield under increasing pressure. Kare willed the power to hold out. He narrowed his focus to the ship.
Sam was dragged in front of him, a fresh cut on his temple dripping blood down his face. Phelps lifted his free hand and brought his blaster up. Veins in his arm stood out as he tightened his finger on the pulse. He pointed it at Sam. “Order the Roamer. Now, Varnon.”
Kare tried to shake his head, but Phelps’ arm was too tight. He wasn’t bluffing – Phelps never did. Sam knew it, too, but faced the weapon without fear, a small smile on his face. So long as his family were safe, it was worth this to Sam.
But not to Kare. He tried to pull Phelps’ arm away, but it was immovable. The ship was silent; there was no way of telling if the Roamer had got the family on board, not without shifting the mesh, and risking the shield.
“Don’t,” said Kare. He couldn't look Sam in the eyes, couldn’t see his fear. Worse than that, he couldn’t face his courage.
The shot rang out. Sam’s body dropped. The smell of the blaster hung in the air.
I’ll be back. Farran’s thoughts, faint, barely there. The ship roared to life, its engines drowning out anything else in the bay. Soldiers dived for cover. A line of heat hit Kare, forcing Phelps to step back, pulling Kare with him. The heat made his skin tighten, and he had to look away as th
e ship surged forwards, a blinding light from its fusion engine filling the bay. It roared out, rising into the blue sky beyond, leaving a shocking silence in its wake.
Sam lay on the floor, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Kare let himself be pushed forwards, numb to anything except his friend’s slack jaw, the spreading blood. He stepped past the body, sure it would move, that Sam couldn’t be dead: not Sam, who’d stood for him when no one else could, who’d dragged him back from the brink. He wanted to hold his body and feel the warmth, not leave him lying alone in this cold hall.
Hard hands pushed him against the wall of the port, his head turned so he couldn’t see Sam anymore. His shirt was ripped from his back, his hands forced behind into cold, familiar manacles, pulling on his shoulders until he gasped.
“We’ve barely started,” said Phelps.
Kare had to fight to take a breath. They’d taken him again. The mesh had faded back to uselessness. Ten hours, and all he had was enough to sustain a shield for a couple of minutes. A substantial shield, yes, but even so…. He gulped at the thought of what they would do to him before it built again.
“Lift your chin.”
Phelps’ quiet voice sent him over the edge into panic, tearing away the numbness. He knew what the bastard would do, knew he’d hit on every level, bring back every memory.
“No,” he said, his voice a croak. “I can’t go back.” He pulled against the manacles, scraping his skin, hurting his wrists, but they didn’t give.
“Lift it, Dog. You forgot your place, didn’t you?” Phelps pulled Kare’s chin back, his fingers hard against his throat, and cold iron encircled his neck, over his scar, constricting his breath. The collar wasn’t as tight as Beck’s; Phelps might be a bastard, but he’d a long way before he became an utter sadist. Kare shook at that, knowing the Empress – and the Great Master, who defined sadism – waited for him in Abendau.
“Time to remember,” whispered Phelps.
Kare opened his mouth, ready to plead, to promise anything, but closed it. It would make no difference. He was pushed into an army transport and seated opposite a row of soldiers. He met their eyes, saw their hatred, and only the iron control Beck had forced on him stopped his bladder loosening. As the ship lifted off, he tried to calm himself. They hadn’t hurt him – yet – and if he panicked, he couldn’t think. He really needed to think.
He glanced at Phelps, saw his mocking smile, and the terror came crashing back, making the transport close in on him, his throat tighten so he couldn’t breathe. He gulped and tried to remind himself it was being done to diminish him. A shudder ran through him, causing his watchers to laugh. It was a game, of sorts; one they excelled at playing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“You must learn to control your skills, Baelan,” said the Empress.
“I am,” said the boy. He drew straighter, his eyes focusing on the Empress. The day had been a tussle of their wills, the Empress constantly shifting her power on him. He’d battled back, trying to block her from his mind, until he’d exploded in frustration when she’d stopped him each time.
Now he was exhausted. If this was how he was to be trained, he didn’t know how long he could face it, and yet the Empress looked like she’d barely broken into a sweat. In fact, today she looked more like the Empress from history: regal, in a way she hadn’t the day before. She even looked younger, as if the age forced on her in her cell had fallen away.
Baelan’s head was down, close to his chest. Let her think he’d given in, let her not realise he was letting his power build again. Finally, he raised his head and faced her.
She was enjoying this, he realised. Her anger at being challenged built, a bitter taste in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck come alert. Some part of him relished it, too, he realised. The challenge; the extension of his powers. It was more than he’d ever been allowed to do in the tribes.
“Don’t play with your betters,” the Empress spat. She lifted her hand, and Baelan stumbled back, hit by something he could never see. He steadied himself and raised his hands, but his power was blocked. A white heat hit back, filling his head, and he screamed.
“Please!” He cried, tears streaking down his cheeks. “My Lady, please, have mercy!” He fell back against the wall.
“Kneel,” she said.
He looked at her, eyes wide with surprise. No one in the tribes would ever have demanded such a thing. For all he was a loner, barely tolerated by some, he was still a psycher and of the Empress’ blood.
“I said kneel.”
Still Baelan stayed on his feet, face curled as he tried to fight her. Inevitably he was compelled to his knees, her power immovable.
“Stay there,” she said, “until you have learned your place: behind me, learning and preparing for the day you take my empire and spread it through the systems. My acolyte. Nothing more.”
Baelan bowed his head, all fight gone. The Empress kept her attention on him, until he sighed and looked up. “My Lady, I am sorry,” he said, his voice low, whispered.
She nodded and held out her hand, pulling him to his feet.
“You are young,” she said, “you will learn.”
***
The scoot pulled to a halt in front of the palace, near the formal garden, and a hard, unyielding arm lifted Kerra from the saddle. She backed away, glad to be free of the tribesman, and brought her arms around her, more from fear than cold. In fact, now the scoot had stopped, the early morning sunshine was warm on her.
“This way,” said one of the tribesmen – the one who’d hit her, she thought, and she kept her distance. She looked from side to side. She knew the gardens better than anyone. If she ran, she reckoned she could hide. She drew in a breath, readying herself, but the tribesman grabbed her arm.
“I could have you shackled. So behave.”
He led her through the front door of the palace, past two guards who looked through her. Had they been here under her father? Did it matter to them what was being done? There was nothing to tell her.
The tribesman let go of her when they reached the foot of the grand staircase. Her bedroom was on the second floor, not ten minutes’ walk from where she was. Maybe they’d let her go there. They could lock her in, that’d be okay.
“Stay there.”
She waited in the entrance hall, feeling dwarfed. Always before, she’d enjoyed the palace’s high ceilings and chambers big enough to ride a mini-scoot in. She’d never seen it as imposing before; now it certainly was. She crossed her legs and realised she needed a pee. She hoped they wouldn’t leave her here so long that she wet herself, like a kid.
Footsteps came along the corridor: the clip-clip of heels, like her mum’s, but the steps were slower, as if the person wanted to take her time and let everyone know she was coming. Kerra inhaled, and a catch of understanding came from her throat as the Empress entered the main hall.
She was taller than Kerra had expected – maybe about halfway between her mum and dad. Her face was old and wrinkled, not at all like the pictures Kerra had seen. She’d never met any of her grandparents, although she’d heard so much about Ealyn and Darwin, she felt like she had. She wished she didn’t have to meet this one.
The Empress’ eyes fixed on her, making her knees shake. All thoughts of needing the toilet left. She struggled to stay still and silent, but she could feel a choking at the back of her throat. She thought about her dad’s scars. She was looking into the eyes of the person who’d ordered them, feeling the power that emanated from her, how hard it was, how strong and focused on her. The Empress knew what she was thinking, she was sure of it. She knew Kerra was frightened, that she was all disjointed and wrong. The choking spilled over and she found herself crying proper tears, not the little ones that had escaped in the wind, and she hated herself for it.
“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.
A boy appeared from behind the Empress. He was smaller than she was, his eye
s half-hidden behind a long fringe of dark hair. He pushed his hair back, revealing his face, and she gasped; he looked like her dad. Really like him. Not just because of his green eyes – like hers, she recognised – but in the colour of his hair, the shape of jawline, even something in the way he moved. Her gaze moved to the Empress and then back to the boy again, as if drawn, and a chill settled deep inside her. Something was happening, something even worse than she’d imagined.
“Nothing is going to happen to you,” said the Empress. Her voice carried a ring of authority, the tone of someone who’d been listened to all their life and liked it. “Provided your family do as we ask.”
She reached out with a finger and touched Kerra’s chin. Kerra tried not to flinch but couldn’t stop herself, her fear turning to icy terror as the Empress’ mind touched hers fully for the first time. Her tears sped up, running down her cheeks and neck; the touch hurt, deep inside her, and yet it still drilled further, seeking every corner of her mind, every secret she’d ever had. She tried to flex her own power, but it was battered to the side, swatted the way she would a hornet in the gardens.
“Please,” she said, “let me go.”
The Empress looked at her as if she was tiny, an insect, not worthy to be here. She explored Kerra, assessing her, and then turned to a doctor at the rear of the group.
“She will need blocked.”
He advanced to Kerra, a needle shining in his hand, and she tried to back away. She hated injections – they scared her like nothing else did. A soldier came up behind her, and held her in place. Another took her right arm, holding it out for the doctor.
“No, no, no!” she screamed, but the doctor stuck the needle in – and it hurt, like she’d known it would – and held it in place for long moments. At last, he removed it.
“That hurt,” she sniffed.
The Empress stepped forwards. “Be quiet.” She paused, examining Kerra, and then gave a firm nod. “It’s fading. Take her to her room.”
