The Reprisal

by Kelly St Clare

  “I had to readjust my strategy,” Atlas said, pursing his lips. His eyes shifted to make sure no one was listening. “Keep your enemies close and all that. I said that they had permission to play pranks within the Amach as long as I could be involved.”

  “I’m not sure if that was . . . wise.”

  “No, which appealed to them. In the meantime, I get a glimpse into how they run their operations, which will make it easy to hamstring them later.”

  Romy winced.

  “Thrym is easier, so I’ll leave him until last.”

  She gave him a curious glance.

  “His emotional weakness is Nancy,” Atlas explained, eyes glinting. “I can make it very hard for her.”

  Laughter erupted from Romy’s lips. “That’s terrible.”

  “The gloves came off when I was covered in garbage sludge three days ago.”

  “Covered?”

  “From head to toe.”

  Romy giggled.

  “The person I can’t figure out is Elara.” His eyes narrowed.

  “She’s very deep,” Romy said in mock seriousness.

  Atlas’s brows lifted. “I wouldn’t have thought so before, but she’s proving . . . elusive. I can’t gather that she cares about anything much I can exploit. I thought to ply her with food or a new craft, but she takes the food and treats me just the same.” He pursed his lips as Romy laughed again at the thought Elara was successfully psyching out a commander-general.

  “Hey,” Romy said after a few minutes of listening to the familiar whine of the engines. “Do you think Cronus is after your mum?”

  Atlas’s brows slammed together. “What?”

  Oops. “Uh, nothing. Just thought. . . .”

  “My mother and Commander Cronus?” His face twisted in disgust. “My mother and anyone.” He shuddered.

  Romy nudged him. “She’s been alone for a long time, Atlas.”

  “Yes, but I’m back now.”

  “What if I had plans to keep you all to myself? Who would she have then?”

  His jaw tightened. “When has this been happening?”

  She shoved down a snort and replied, “Right in front of you. During debriefing. I’m not saying that’s what is actually happening.” She was. “But you can’t begrudge your mother for moving on, can you?”

  His face was still twisted in disgust and he shivered again. Clearly, it wasn’t the moving-on part he objected to, it was the moving-on-with-another-human part which disturbed him. Space soldiers didn’t have parents, but Romy gathered this subject was like her discussing sex with her knotmates—gross and awkward.

  Thrym beckoned to her from across the craft. He and Deimos were bent over a nano. She crossed to him and sat on his other side.

  “Check this out,” Thrym said, tilting the screen to her.

  She took the device from him and read the title of the document. “This is Houston’s file?”

  Thrym nodded. “Atlas’s assistant dug it up. The file was just sent to all the captains and command team.”

  Romy began to scan through the document—there were twenty pages of information. None of it seemed abnormal. He’d been born in Aberdeen, and both of his parents were in the medical field. He’d displayed ultra-intelligence from a young age and his career path was accelerated in response to it.

  Her eyes fell on a paragraph on the twelfth page. “Wait, what’s this?”

  “That’s what we found interesting,” Deimos said.

  “Parents, both deceased. Father, declared insane. Committed to a safe holding cell at thirty years old, died twenty years later from a carotid artery embolism. Mother, died from early onset dementia at age fifty-two.” Her mouth dropped as she finished reading.

  Thrym and Deimos met her gaze.

  “I don’t know what to think about that,” she said, skimming through the pages again.

  “If he inherited either of those illnesses from his parents. . . .” Thrym trailed off.

  “. . . It could explain his sudden change,” Romy said in a low voice, thinking of the unhinged look in Houston’s eyes in the weeks before he left the Amach.

  “Exactly,” Deimos said, staring at the nano where a picture of Houston’s father was showing. There was a strong father-son resemblance. “Look at this part.” He pointed to comments further down. “His father was locked up after attacking others in the base.”

  “Seems like he had a more personal reason to be working on the insanity cure than we ever realised,” Thrym said, whistling low. “Do you think he has daddy issues?”

  Romy lifted her head and looked across at Atlas, who was in talks with Tina. “When did you receive this, Thrym?”

  “About thirty minutes ago.”

  Atlas had already read it. It explained his sudden decision to join their mission. Whatever he’d seen in Houston’s file had concerned him enough to come along for Romy’s personal protection. Not that he’d needed much of an excuse.

  Romy handed Thrym’s nano back to him, and listened to her knotmates discuss the information with half an ear, lost in troubled thoughts. For a long time, she’d believed Houston wanted to discover the insanity cure to leave behind a legacy. Then she’d decided he was power hungry, but was it possible his obsession with the cure stemmed from a fear of losing his own mind?

  “Ready to be drained?” Charlee asked some time later.

  Romy blinked, startled from her troubled thoughts. Charlee had already set up her medical instruments. They had to be nearing Cairo.

  She beckoned to Romy when everything was laid out. Romy joined her in the middle of the cargo area, lying on the ground.

  “Atlas,” Tina called. “Ground force says Houston’s group have arrived. Our people are running through security checks now.”

  “Roger that, Commander,” Atlas said.

  “Are there any Critamal there?” Romy asked.

  Atlas quirked a brow at Tina and she shook her head. He shifted to stare at where Charlee was sliding a cannula into Romy’s arm.

  The doctor’s hands shook and she murmured, “It would be helpful if he didn’t stare.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  She placed tape over the cannula’s end to hold it steady and set about connecting the first bag. “Speaking of luck, I got lucky last night.”

  “Oh?” Romy asked. “Did you win a poker game?”

  Charlee grinned. “Of a sort, Ro. Of a sort.”

  The first trickle of blood landed in the bag. Atlas was focused entirely on it. “Atlas,” Romy called. He started and looked at her face. “How long will it take for the ground force to give us the all-clear?” Best to distract him. He appeared more than a bit murderous at the moment.

  He rose. “I’ll go and check.” She gave him a smile that he didn’t return.

  Charlee switched out one bag for another and whacked Romy’s arm. “Jeez, it’s coming slow today.”

  “Altitude?” she asked, already knowing perfectly well it was because she’d forced Thrym to take blood from her back in the Amach and leave it in a cooler for Charlee as a backup.

  “Have you been drinking enough water?” the doctor mused.

  “Five litres a day, like you said.”

  Atlas’s voice boomed from the cockpit where he’d been talking to the ground force. “We are clear to land. How much longer do you need, Dr Charlee?”

  Charlee had three bags now. “Another ten minutes.”

  He lifted the pilot’s speaker to his mouth and spoke again to the ground forces, then handed it to Elara and addressed the rest of them. “We’ll be landing in fifteen minutes. Arm up, but make sure no weapons are visible. Do not engage unless we are attacked. I want us in three tight rows with our backs to the craft, and Rosemary in the middle. Be ready for an ambush.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the chorused answer.

  The team set about readying themselves with practiced hands, and an underlying tension that made it clear they all knew what would happen if this went haywire.

/>   Charlee switched the last bag onto the IV. “Nearly done, Ro. How’re ya feeling?”

  “Your Irish is coming out,” Romy teased. She was feeling a bit woozy, actually. But she’d cope once her feet were on solid ground again.

  “I’m a wee bit nervous,” Char admitted. With a last jiggle of the line, she announced, “All done.”

  Romy’s head spun and she decided to stay still as the haze cleared. The doctor unhooked the line and removed the cannula.

  “Char, I left something for you in your blood cooler,” Romy confessed, now Houston’s half a litre was out. “The one next to your desk.”

  Charlee stilled. “You didn’t.” She took in Romy’s face. “You didn’t! Romy, I told you not to. Who helped you?” Her eyes landed on Thrym and she cursed long and hard in Gaelic.

  “It’s done now.”

  The doctor glared at her. “And how do you feel? Ready to fight for your life?”

  “A little dizzy,” Romy admitted.

  “Serves you right,” she snapped, then sighed. “I know why you did it. But I told you no for a reason. You can’t give all of yourself to these space soldiers, Ro. I know you feel an obligation, and guilt, and whatever else, but if there’s none of you left, you’re no help either.”

  Romy averted her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Charlee let out a derisive snort. “You’re sorry, but you’d do it again. Don’t you try that with me. It may work on Thrym, but I make sure elderly men take their medicine each day. I can sense a lie across a room.”

  Romy grinned, and the doctor glared at her again. “Do you need a hand up?”

  With Atlas watching her like a hawk? “No thanks. I’ll manage.”

  She slowly sat, careful to put an arm out and stabilise herself. That was all right. . . . Then she got to her knees. Not so good. Her head throbbed and the blood drained from her face. Romy cut her nails into her palm. No way was Atlas turning this craft around because she fainted. He’d take any excuse she gave him.

  Inhaling a long, thin breath through her nose, Romy stood and walked with minimal stagger to the nearest seat.

  Deimos gave her a look. “You’re pale.”

  “Hey, could you do me a favour and stick close when we go outside? I’m not feeling the best, but I don’t want Atlas to know in case he turns back. The space soldiers need this blood right now.”

  Deimos’s green eyes surveyed her. “What if you need to run?”

  “Buckle up, everyone,” called Elara from the cockpit.

  “Will you?” Romy pleaded.

  He gave her a reluctant nod. “Yes. But you better not make me regret this.”

  She rested her head back on the seat and hung on to her harness feeling like a sack of flour. “I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

  He hummed noncommittally.

  Romy closed her eyes for the landing and felt a degree better as Atlas gave the order to disembark.

  He gave her a look, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay, soldier?”

  She gave him a firm smile. “Are you?”

  Atlas cocked an eyebrow and moved to the front and she let out a breath of relief.

  They got into position in three rows, with four at the front: Atlas, Thrym, Tina, and Phobos. She, Elara, and Deimos were in the middle, and Charlee, Deanna, and Leroy were at the back.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” Atlas said, glancing behind him. “We’ll be moving just outside of the cargo door to show we’re upholding our end of the deal and don’t have a craft filled with soldiers. Any sign of foul play and we retreat inside again, immediately. Phobos, keep Deimos blocked from sight as best you can. I’m not sure how strong Houston’s grudge against him will be.”

  “Roger that,” Phobos replied.

  Atlas took a step forward and punched the door release. The cargo door slowly lowered and no one made a sound as the dry, hot wind swirled through their craft with a low whistle. Huge sand dunes came into view—the last time Romy had seen them it was night and she was sure she was about to die.

  This time felt better, and worse.

  She couldn’t see over Atlas’s head in front of her.

  “Forward,” he instructed.

  Their rows made their way out, three seconds after each other, and resumed their formation at the bottom of the door.

  “Atlas,” someone called in cheerful greeting.

  Atlas stood tall, completely blocking Romy from view. “Houston. We have the blood, but we would like to open negotiations for the return of two hundred of the space soldiers into our custody.”

  “Which means you are willing to accept one hundred,” the voice called back. “Done. But you understand I won’t be able to return them until after I’ve administered the blood?”

  Atlas snorted. “And what assurance will you give us that the space soldiers will be put into our care?”

  “I can leave one of my men as collateral.”

  Atlas paused.

  Romy spoke under her breath to him. “You know he won’t hesitate to sacrifice them.”

  Tina hissed back. “But if he does, it shows the rest of his faction his true colours. It’s still a win.”

  “Not for the space soldiers.”

  “You will leave five of your men with us today. In addition, another two hundred and fifty millilitres of blood will be given to you once the soldiers are in our hands.”

  He was lying just as readily as Houston was.

  “I want access to Dr Charlee’s latest research.”

  “Done,” Atlas lied again.

  Nothing would come out of the talk. Romy deflated, but she was at a loss to see how Atlas could do any more. They could withhold the blood, but Houston would call that bluff, knowing the Amach wouldn’t let the space soldiers die. If it came to a waiting game, they’d lose the three hundred space soldiers as well as their bargaining chip.

  “Well then, enough of the boring talk.” Houston clapped his hands. “Who have you brought to see me?”

  Romy’s insides chilled at the gleeful voice. She wished she could see his face. With that in mind, Romy shifted to peek between Atlas and Thrym’s arms. Humorous hazel eyes caught hers across a gap of several metres and she gasped, rearing back.

  “Oh, but there is little Rosemary in the middle. So nice to see you again, skyling,” Houston called.

  She didn’t reply as Atlas shifted in front of her again.

  Houston’s force stood in a line, with him in the middle. They didn’t appear to have any weapons. At least he seemed to have stuck to his word. Though their team was carrying hidden weapons, so it couldn’t be discounted that Houston’s men were, too.

  “I see the strapping Thrym and Phobos, and Elara,” he said. His voice tightened. “What about Deimos?”

  Deimos answered, calling across the gap, “How are you, James?”

  There was silence, aside from the low howl of wind scuttling across the large sandy dunes. Tiny granules hit Romy’s face, even contained in the middle of the group as she was. The heat here was stifling, and her head gave a warning pang.

  No way. Not here.

  “You doing okay?” Deimos whispered to her.

  She pressed her lips together, determined not to barf on Atlas, and gave Deimos a thumbs-up, sensing that nodding her head would undo the last thread of her control.

  “Is that Dr Charlee’s neat hair I spot in the back? I hear you’ve been able to replicate my cure. I hope you cited the founder.”

  “Aren’t cures usually permanent?” Char called back. Deimos winked at her.

  Romy grabbed onto her knotmate’s arm, wavering on the spot, and inhaling strongly through her nose.

  “Ro?” Elara asked, breaking away from her continuous scan of the area when she sensed movement.

  “I’m okay,” she managed.

  “Houston,” Atlas said in a bored voice. “We’re not here to talk. We’re here to help the space soldiers in your possession. We have half a litre of Romy’s blood here. That’s the
last you’ll be getting, so use it well. Next time, she won’t have a choice in the matter.”

  “Oh, trouble in paradise?” Houston cackled. “I never thought I’d see the day. But then, our Rosemary isn’t quite the same as she was, is she? She’s stronger.” His voice grew fevered. “She is one of a kind.”

  “Hand me the blood,” Atlas instructed their team.

  Charlee walked to the front, but Tina snatched it before Atlas could take the cooler.

  “I will,” Tina said, moving to cross the gap before Atlas could respond.

  Now that Tina was out of the line, Thrym, Phobos, and Atlas spread out and gave Romy a clear sight of the Renegades. There were ten of them, as agreed. Romy didn’t recognise any faces, but the nine burly soldiers with Houston could be from other Amachs, or from settlements.

  She dug her nails into Deimos’s arm when she focused on Houston, completely. “What’s happened to him?” she asked under her breath.

  Great shadows marred the area under the doctor’s crazed eyes. His clothes were as wrinkled and as stained as ever, but he’d shaved all his curly brown hair off.

  “He was bad when I left him, but he looks terrible,” Deimos answered. Freeing his arm, he wrapped it around Romy’s waist and held her up.

  She took a dragging inhale through her nose, blinking away some dizziness. He looked unwell, distracted, and like he hadn’t been caring for himself.

  Tina went all the way to the Renegades, passing a frowning Houston the cooler of blood bags. He crouched and cracked the bin open, saying, “I’d hoped you’d give us more than half a litre.”

  “That’s all you asked for, and that’s all you’re getting,” Tina said, one fist clenched.

  A part of Romy hoped she’d let loose and punch him in the mouth. Houston had never been a fighter. His mind was his weapon, but one-on-one, he stood no chance. Unfortunately, the nine men he’d brought with him did seem like they knew a thing or five about taking a hit.

  “Yes, yes,” Houston said sadly. “It’s just a shame.” He glanced away from Tina to look at Atlas. “I don’t suppose you’d agree to letting Romy come with us?”

  “As long as you agree to let me put a bullet in your head, I’d say that’s fine,” Atlas replied.

  Houston sighed heavily, placing the lid back on the bin. He picked it up and retreated back into the line of his men, away from Tina and their team.