Ayma fixes a frightened gaze on me, her crimson lips quivering. I grimace in response. From the sound of it, a ship’s coming in to land. Is it one of our pursuers?
Ayma pulls out the OcuLens with shaking hands and studies the approaching ship. In the distance, I watch it settle into position next to our stealth fighter on the landing pad. My gut knots. Whoever it is, they know we’re here now.
I turn to Ayma. “Is it one of the ships that attacked us?”
She hands me the OcuLens, frowning. “It’s not a sabervette. Or the freighter. It had some strange red markings on its tail.”
“We need to get off this main trail before they head this way,” I say.
I gesture to Velkan and Phin to find cover and then turn to plunge into the undergrowth just as a thunderous droning fills the air. Ayma takes a hesitant step backward as the shadow of a warship with a sleek row of missile launchers mounted on either side of the charcoal hull darkens the sky from the east before dropping down into the valley.
I press the OcuLens to my face again and study the landing pad as a Dreadnought touches down. Something tells me it’s no coincidence two ships landed on this supposedly uninhabited planet within minutes of each other. “We need to disappear, now.” I can’t keep the note of alarm out of my voice. What if we’ve inadvertently stumbled on some illicit trading rendezvous point? What other reason would ships have for seeking out such an inhospitable planet? Whatever they’re up to, it can’t be good.
“This isn’t exactly how I pictured my first trip away from Aristozonex,” Ayma says, chewing nervously on a fingernail.
“Yeah, well, you may never be going back, so you might as well embrace your new existence,” I respond, immediately regretting my scathing tone when I see the terror-stricken look on her face. This is why I need Buir by my side. She keeps me in line when my tongue gets ahead of me.
“Was the first ship a sabervette?” Velkan asks, striding up to us with Phin in tow.
I shake my head. “No, it had some strange red markings on its tail.”
Velkan’s expression shifts to one of alarm. “What kind of markings?”
I shrug and look at Ayma expectantly.
She furrows her brow. “Red, like Trattora said, close to the tip of the tail. Looked like a flaming triangle with a spike going through it at an angle.”
Phin frowns. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“I have.” Velkan scrapes a hand across his unshaven jaw. His eyes rest briefly on me before settling on the shadowy outlines of the ships parked on the landing pad. “It’s the body poachers’ crest.”
2
A cold terror squeezes my gut. The Dreadnought from Diretus! “This must be the where the body poachers bring their captives,” I whisper. My lip trembles and I press a hand to my mouth. I can’t bring myself to voice the awful possibility that we have inadvertently stumbled on the secret location where the cryogenic surgeons practice their illicit trade.
“We don’t know anything for sure yet.” Velkan slips a reassuring arm around my shoulder. “This could be just a rendezvouz point. We need to stay calm and remain hidden for now.”
“They’re going to think the Syndicate is here when they see our ship,” I say. “They’ll hunt us down.”
“It’s unmarked,” Ayma says grimly. “They might think Crank or some other bigwig poacher got himself a new ship.”
“If this is the heart of the cryogenic trade, we need to alert the Fleet Commander,” Phin says. “The Syndicate can deal a crushing blow to the body poaching trade if they destroy the operation here.”
“We could use the OcuLens to take a good look at the settlement from a safe distance,” Ayma suggests.
I give a hesitant nod. “Ayma’s right. We need to make sure this isn’t just some hideout en route to the main operation. We’ll give the settlement a wide berth and circle around until we find a good vantage point from which we can spy on it. Follow me.” I turn and begin pushing my way through the thick foliage heading up the hillside.
We climb silently, single file, away from the main trail and deeper into the dense, jungle-like undergrowth. More than once, the thought crosses my mind that we may be thrashing through poisonous plants or treading dangerously close to the dens of creatures we know nothing about on this unfamiliar planet, but this is the only way to find a safe vantage spot to spy on the settlement.
The day is beginning to cool off and a gnawing wind is picking up. My jumpsuit adjusts to the drop in temperature, and I marvel once again at the amazing technology Aristozonex has at its disposal, and the many comforts and options it offers its citizens. Unlike Mhakerta, whose hapless citizens have become slaves to the very technology they created to ease their burdens.
Behind me, Ayma lets out a muffled yelp. She thrashes around among large waxy green leaves, flapping frantically at something. At first I think the plant’s tendrils are wrapping around her. My eyes widen when I spot a large crimson insect crouching on her shoulder in a bat-like pose. I lunge and swat at it, but its glossy tentacles are gripped to her jumpsuit like glue. In a flash of inspiration, I whip out the knife Ghil gave me and slice the insect from Ayma’s suit. Its fibrous wings flutter reflexively as it falls to the ground, the hard shell of its body fading to a greenish-gray.
“What is that thing?” I exclaim in disgust.
Velkan kicks it aside. “Bloodsucker. It turns red the moment it tracks body heat. The rest of the time its body is more muted so it can blend in with its surroundings.” He hesitates and throws a worried look my way. “They like to breed near a source of blood.”
I shiver, and not because of the cold. One more confirmation this planet is harboring something sinister.
Ayma’s eyes dilate to pools. “This place is seriously creeping me out. Maybe we should just head back to the stealth fighter and leave.”
“Not until we find out what is going on,” I say. “If we’ve stumbled on the heart of the body poachers’ operation, we may be able to shut down this despicable trade once and for all. Finding our birth parents is important, but they wouldn’t want us to do it at the cost of countless other lives if we have a chance to save them too.”
Ayma swats at her shoulders one last time for good measure before reluctantly falling in behind me.
The evening mist has thickened into a swathe by the time a decrepit settlement comes into view, crouched in the hollows of a neighboring craggy hillside. The odor of fumes from fires mingled with the smell of charred meat wafts toward us in the wind. The distant thrum of generators powering the flickering lights strung around the settlement reaches my ears. “This isn’t just a temporary camp site,” I say. “Whatever’s going on here, the inhabitants have chosen this spot for secrecy.”
“We have to get closer,” Phin says.
I lay a hand on his arm. “Let me lead the way. I grew up hunting and stalking. We need to play the wind so no guard jackals catch a scent of us on our approach.”
Phin shrugs, fingering his weapon. “Fair enough, but if we come under fire, I’ll take the lead.”
I give a wry grin. “I think we all know where each other’s strengths lie. If it comes down to using weapons, we’ll follow your orders.” I haven’t told him outright, but it’s a huge relief to me to know Phin is covering our backs. He’s the only one of us with any real fighting experience.
We creep forward slowly in a wide arc until we are only a few hundred feet from the settlement. I crouch down in the undergrowth and signal to Ayma to pass me the OcuLens.
Slowly, I pan the entire area, taking note of every detail. A wooden bridge guarded by two armed men spans a raging river that snakes around the outskirts of the settlement like a moat. On the other side of the bridge, a haphazard assortment of lean-to businesses lines a steep path that winds up the hillside and into the heart of a small town, lit from the glow of lights strung overhead. Raucous sounds of laughter, mingled with drunken yelling and hearty singing, reaches our ears. The nape of m
y neck prickles. There are hundreds of people here.
I lower the OcuLens and pass it to Velkan. “We can’t sneak in. The only way into town is over that bridge.”
“It’s anybody’s guess how many people live here,” Velkan says, studying the town. “But we’re grossly outnumbered.”
“Our best bet is to make our way back to the stealth fighter and disappear before anyone finds us,” Phin says. “I’ll send these coordinates to the Fleet Commander, along with a description of the ships.”
Ayma nods. “We should—”
She breaks off at the approaching sound of tromping feet.
“Must be the body poachers who disembarked at the landing pad,” I whisper.
We melt into the undergrowth as footsteps pound the trail below us. My heart knocks against my ribs. A small group of ten or twelve prisoners, with their hands secured behind their backs, stumble along between several sour-faced and heavily-armed guards, two at the front, two at the rear. The prisoners all have a hollow look of despair etched on their faces. One of them is a boy who appears to be only eleven or twelve years old. My stomach churns. There must be something we can do to save these people from the cryogenic demise that I suspect awaits them.
I nudge Phin. “Do you think we can take the guards out?”
He moves his jaw grimly from side to side. “And then what? What would we do with the prisoners?”
“Bring them with us,” I say.
He hesitates only a fraction of a second before responding. “We’ll need to be accurate and move quickly to reassure the prisoners so they don’t panic. If they alert the guards at the bridge, we’ll be outnumbered before we can make a run for it.”
Velkan lines up a shot. “I’ve got the bearded beast at the back.”
“I’ll take his companion.” I rest my finger on the trigger as I wait for Phin’s signal.
“Ayma, you take the skinny guard at the front,” Phin says. “On my command.”
“I wouldn’t take that shot if I were you,” a rough voice rasps.
I flinch, my eyes flicking left. A droop-eyed man with a short, thick neck and a ratty gray ponytail, hunches like a vulture over Ayma, the barrel of his gun pressed to her temple.
Velkan and Phin lower their weapons, a mixture of shock and horror plastered over their faces. I toy with the trigger for a split second before releasing it. There’s no shot I can take that will spare Ayma.
“Lay down your weapons slowly,” the man says. “Hands up.”
My heart pounds mercilessly in my chest as I set my gun down on the ground in front of me. What have we done? In our eagerness to help the prisoners, we neglected to stay alert for flanking guards, a grave mistake.
The man narrows his hooded eyes. “Impressive ship you kids are running. You don’t look much like Syndicate soldiers, except for him.” He gestures at Phin.
Seconds later, another man bursts through the brush, tall, gaunt, with a beaked nose and a ragged scar crawling up his left cheek.
The droop-eyed man gathers up our weapons, his meaty fingers examining them with curiosity. “Good pickings here.” He jerks his head at us. “Pat them down and tie them up with the others.”
After confiscating our knives, Scarface rounds us up and herds us down the hill, keeping his gun trained on us. “Hold up!” he shouts down to the four guards accompanying the prisoners.
The group comes to a halt and turns in our direction. The guards eye us with surprise, but the prisoners don’t raise their eyes to ours, as if unwilling to acknowledge our shared fate.
“Where’d you find them?” one of the guards calls to Scarface.
“Tracking us above the trail.” He shoves us downhill.
The guards secure our wrists behind our backs with rope and tether us to the rest of the prisoners. Shackled together, we’ll never be able to make a run for it, no matter how quick we are on our feet.
The horror of our predicament hits me full force once we reach the wooden bridge. My breath balks in my throat. If we cross into town, there’s no hope of escape. There only appears to be one way in and out, and if they’re taking us there for the reasons we suspect, we won’t be coming back out.
Our captors exchange a few words with the guards posted at the bridge before we are waved on through. The guards rake a casual gaze over us as we file by. For a moment my hair color garners some attention before they resume their conversation. I want to scream at them to do something to help us, but the hard lines on their faces tell me the sight of prisoners marching to their death is nothing they haven’t seen a hundred times before, and nothing will move them.
The men march us up the winding path into the center of town and herd us into a wooden pen attached to the side of a rowdy tavern. The creaking sign out front reads The Nag’s Head. I wrinkle up my nose at the strong odor of urine that permeates the foggy night air. I’m not sure if it’s from all the beer-drinkers stumbling out of the tavern, or animals they keep in the pen, or the prisoners awaiting their end.
Scarface leans against a hitching post outside the pen and jerks his chin at me. “Accommodations not to your liking?”
“Accommodations?” I arch a defiant brow at him. “It’s an animal pen.”
He sticks his face up close to mine, his foul breath enveloping me like a toxic cloud. He gives a frightening grin, exposing teeth caked brown from years of neglect. “We keep our animals penned up, until we’re ready to slaughter them.”
He laughs, a hard cackle that rattles phlegm at the back of his throat, before stomping off into the saloon.
I sink back against the scratchy rail of the pen and look around for the others. Ayma is sitting down in the filthy straw, knees drawn up to her chin. Velkan and Phin are tied together at the tail end of the group. I raise my bound hands to get their attention and inch my way toward them, apologizing to the other prisoners who are forced to shuffle in the same direction. They move listlessly, no longer caring to protest the minor inconveniences of an existence about to end in the most horrific way. The young boy’s head sags against his chest, and I wish I had some words to reassure him with.
“Are you okay?” Velkan asks, when I reach them. Phin draws his brows together, a strained expression on his face.
I lower my voice. “We’ve got to do something. We’re not going to die like this, and we have to help them.” My eyes light on the boy.
Velkan’s face creases into a frown. “I’ve been rubbing the rope up against a split rail to try and fray it. It will take hours.”
“The only way we’re getting out of here is if we can get our hands on a weapon,” Phin says. “And that’s not going to happen unless someone stumbles out of the tavern so drunk they fall over the railing.”
I turn my head at a commotion at the front of the pen. Scarface is back with several guards. He peers around the pen and then points at us and says something to the other guards. They unlock the gate and untie the four of us from the group of prisoners.
My brain pounds against my skull. “Where are you taking us?” I spit out. I try to kick at Scarface, but he only laughs.
The other guards ignore me and check the bonds around our wrists before hustling us out of the pen. One of the other prisoners throws me a panicked look, and then hurriedly turns his head away; like he thinks we’re being marched to our deaths and he knows he’s next.
I watch for any opportunity to tackle one of the guards and grab his weapon, but it never comes. Even Phin with all his strength can’t take on this many men. We’re marched inside a draughty hall with several large wooden dining tables running the length of it. A bloodsucker flits around in the sticky air up in the eaves. One of the guards takes aim and shoots it. I swallow hard. The scent of death is everywhere, our imminent death.
Scarface and the other guards escort us over to the nearest table where a bald man with a mashed-in face and bushy eyebrows presides over a small group of body poachers as they eat.
“Found you some prowlers, Rigs,” Scarface
announces.
The bald man glances up at our approach, but continues chewing as he runs an appraising eye over us. After several excruciating minutes, he swallows and burps. He works a dirty fingernail between his teeth, a shadowy, questioning look in his eyes. “How’d you get here?”
I breathe slowly in and out, trying to decide how much to reveal and what is better left unsaid. And will it even make any difference to our fate?
Rigs lets out a disgruntled sigh. “No one talking?” He drums his filthy fingernails on the table and pins a steely-eyed gaze on Phin. “Traveling with a Syndicate soldier—that doesn’t sit well with me at all.”
“He’s not a soldier,” I blurt out, desperate to protect Phin. “He … he pretended to be one to pass though security. We stole a Syndicate ship.”
Rigs lets out a derisive snort and takes a hearty swig from his mug. “Sure you did.”
Scarface clears his throat. “There’s an unidentified ship on the landing pad. We tried to access it, but we couldn’t get inside.”
Rigs raises his brows in a shaggy hedge. “Is that right? At least we have something out of the deal for our trouble.” He folds his arms across his burly chest and leans back in his chair. “Want to tell us how to board your special ship?”
I tighten my lips. If we somehow manage to escape, that ship’s our only way off this planet.
Rigs’ expression shifts to one of mock concern. “That ain’t a smart answer. If you don’t cooperate, I can guarantee you heads will roll.”
Bile surges up my throat. The vacant expression in his eyes tells me what Rigs does for a living doesn’t faze him anymore.
The other men seated at the table snicker, exchanging knowing looks.
Rigs switches his attention to Ayma. “How about you? You got a tongue?”
When she doesn’t answer, Rigs forwards a quick glance at Scarface and gives a subtle nod. Scarface grabs Ayma by the arm and yanks her to her feet.
“You don’t want to talk, I can fix it so you don’t have to ever again.” Rigs makes a dismissive gesture in the air. “Take her to the cryogenic facility.”
Girl of Stone (The Expulsion Project Book 2) Page 3
