The Druid Gene

by Jennifer Foehner Wells

  She reeled at his sudden rational turn, as if he hadn’t just been mauling her like a rutting bear moments before.

  “I—you can’t touch me that way!” she retorted with quiet venom.

  “Can’t I? I think I just did. Do you think a slaver will be different? How will you stop it from happening? I think you liked it.”

  She smacked his face, hard. The sound echoed against all the surfaces of the room. She didn’t question how she’d managed to strike him so squarely in the dark. She didn’t care about the consequences. She stood over him and spoke aloud, each word grated through clenched teeth. “If you ever touch me like that again, I’ll rip off whatever you’ve got growing between your legs and feed it to the hymenoptera larvae.”

  He chuckled softly, and she heard him mutter as she stalked back to her sleeping cell, “I do believe you would.”

  18

  Darcy no longer slept as easily as she once had. Though their routine stayed the same, and Raub acted as though nothing had happened between them—for her, things had changed. She’d always known he was dangerous, but at some point she’d grown too familiar, become too habituated to his gruff manner, and had lost some of her wariness. That had been a mistake.

  She had to be more vigilant, less quiescent. Raub was clearly an opportunist. She didn’t know what he had to gain from training her, but there was a reason and she needed to know what that was. It could very well make the difference in her survival.

  She lay awake on her back in her cell, hands cradled beneath her head, elbows akimbo, thinking. Raub was quiet, but she didn’t hear his deep, measured breathing from one of the other cells. He wasn’t sleeping either. She had no idea what the time was, but it felt like it was still a few hours before they would rise for the day.

  She breathed in a way that she hoped was indistinguishable from her normal sleep sounds. She wasn’t sure why she did it. It just seemed like the thing to do.

  She heard a rustling sound and strained her ears to try to distinguish his activity. Raub was getting up. Perhaps it was later than she thought. She waited for him to tap her foot and bark at her to rise, but that didn’t happen.

  Instead, she heard the door open and shut. Raub had left the rooms they were imprisoned in. That was a distinct change in routine. Now she was curious.

  Darcy slipped from her cell, raced to the door, and put her ear against it, in hopes of catching some remnant of conversation as they walked away. She was in the habit of doing this whenever he left the rooms, though normally she heard nothing beyond a few curt words.

  This time, she was in luck. They hadn’t yet moved. Raub and at least one hymenoptera spoke, just on the other side of the door. She couldn’t make out the vowel sounds the hymenoptera made. They were too soft to be heard through the door. But she could hear the clacks of the consonants he spoke and Raub’s voice was audible. She was able to piece together most of the conversation, though she didn’t understand all of it. They were using plenty of terminology that was unfamiliar. Those words translated inside her head, but they didn’t mean anything to her.

  At first they were talking a lot of numbers and how they related to stars and planets. It took her a few moments to realize that the insect was explaining to Raub their current position in relation to other worlds. Then he described their trajectory, rate of speed, and the seven planets that lay within reach of that route. Then they discussed timing, duty schedules of various ship personnel, and routes within the ship to a short-range vehicle bay.

  Raub was planning an escape attempt.

  She stiffened and her nails dug into her skin. She wondered if she fit into this developing plan in some way. He’d said he was training her so she would be a competent ally. But how had he gotten the hymenoptera’s loyalty? What did he have to offer him?

  The conversation concluded abruptly. She didn’t have time to do more than back away from the door a couple of steps before it opened. Raub strode through swiftly and switched on the lights. She couldn’t even disguise her reaction to what she’d heard. Her fingertips tingled. She didn’t need to look down to know that the nerves under her skin were glowing faintly. Any kind of strong emotion seemed to bring on this state.

  Raub looked mildly surprised. Then he blinked slowly and drawled, “Have you broken the fast yet, Leebska?”

  He knew the answer to that question, but it helped her remember to hold her tongue, that the walls had eyes and ears. She took a few shallow breaths, her chest heaving, and shook her head. She closed her eyes for a second and focused on calming herself. When the blue blaze behind her lids dimmed she opened them again to find Raub watching her approvingly.

  “Let us begin,” he said, and launched into the stretching routine they always performed first thing in the morning.

  She stared at him for a few seconds, wishing she had a window into his thoughts or at least the ability to speak freely with him. He was so frustratingly opaque, and there was never an opportunity to question him the way she really wanted to. That would have to end. She needed answers and he was the only one who could provide them.

  She began the sequence with him, but her heart wasn’t in the forms. She was sloppy about it and she didn’t care. She stared him down as though daring him to correct her.

  When he moved in to adjust her stance, he whispered into her ear, “Your eyes are on fire, Leebska.”

  He pulled back and she hated his smug smile. She didn’t think. She lunged at him, throwing a quick punch and whirling into a turning kick. He blocked them both, easily, as if he expected them. In fact, he caught her leg in midair. She hopped in place and fought to get her balance back.

  Her knee twisted painfully from over-rotation as her momentum carried her through the kick. She hoped she hadn’t torn the meniscus in that knee. That would lead to a lot of pain and wouldn’t heal well under these conditions.

  His lip quirked up into a feral leer, and he leaned in. “I believe you’re angry.” He released her leg and resumed the stretching sequence. Darcy put a few more paces of distance between them and tested her leg carefully before returning to the sequence herself.

  She wanted desperately to confront him, but she might ruin all his plans if she said anything out loud. And what if by some chance those plans included her? She couldn’t risk blowing an opportunity to escape. So she bit her tongue and bided her time.

  Raub acted as though it were any other day. Meals were the same gruff affairs. Exercise was just as rigorous as ever. The only difference was her simmering temper and his knowing smirk.

  Finally, the time for rest came. The lights went out. She passed the time recalling some of the last things she’d been studying before she was taken—toxic proteins and their effects on neurochemistry. Enough time had passed that it was getting harder and harder to remember this stuff without the reinforcement of flash cards or notes. If she ever got back to Earth, she’d be so behind she didn’t want to think about it.

  When she heard Raub’s telltale rustle, she rose, making as little sound as possible. She wasn’t sure what to expect from him, so she maintained a defensive posture and moved to where she thought he might be. He was stealthy like a cat, barely making a sound. When she bumped into him, he pounced.

  He knocked her back into a bank of cells and attempted to gain control of her flailing limbs. She struggled to keep panic at bay. This felt too much like that other, dangerous time. She hissed a single word as she broke out of his grip: “No.”

  But he followed on her heels, stalking her. She fended him off, time after time. Whenever they got close enough to talk quietly, he was on her, and she was barely keeping him at bay.

  He’d never give her a chance to talk. He was relishing this. He knew she’d overheard, that she wanted to know more about his plan, but he would draw this out and enjoy every moment of her discomfort and uncertainty.

  He was toying with her, and she had no choice but to let him. He was bigger, stronger, and a better fighter. But if she kept thinking like that,
she’d never find out what he was up to. He’d keep her guessing forever. He never volunteered anything important, even when directly questioned.

  She threw a punch and he blocked it by shoving her arm up so the swing went over his head. She grunted and pushed herself harder. She had to change her strategy.

  She didn’t hold back. She delivered heavy power slaps in a random pattern to his head—hoping to reduce his visual acuity. He’d told her that landing open-handed hits was better for her size than punching, especially against a larger opponent, but he’d given her little more than an hour of training on that technique. Well, she was getting in some practice now. She found that she liked it. She was rewarded when he took a step back.

  With this technique she could deliver stinging blows without as much risk of hand injury, which was always on her mind when jabbing and punching. She could move quickly and dart into his defensive zone, slapping his offensive moves away while moving in with the other arm. Raub was bulky and lumbering compared to her—no wonder he’d let her discover the power of this technique on her own. At least for now, it was leveling their playing field.

  Her fingertips stung. She felt sure she was leaving marks on him and that felt good. She pushed him back until he was the one pressed into the wall of sleeping cells and the sound of the slaps she rained on him echoed back eerily from them.

  He threw a heavy punch. She slapped it off course, then dove low and jerked his arm down hard, letting his momentum carry him over her shoulder. He tumbled. Before he could regain his feet, she swiveled, landing a kick to his head to disorient him. He tried to rise, but she landed her full body weight on one knee, square on his chest, just as he’d showed her, and grappled with him until she held him immobile.

  He wheezed until he caught his breath, then rumbled with soft laughter. She couldn’t help but smile. She’d done it. She’d finally pinned him.

  “Fine work, Leebska. You’ll be an asset when we leave this cesspool.”

  “We?” He sounded completely normal, but nevertheless she released him slowly, carefully. She was worried that she might have unleashed his dark side again.

  “Would I leave you behind after investing so much time in your development?”

  “Okay. Good.” She remained in a fighter’s crouch, her brow furrowed. “Raub, we’re not going to…”

  “What?” She sensed, more than saw, him lumber to his feet and take a step to steady himself. He sounded amused. He stayed close enough to speak quietly, but didn’t move to engage her again.

  “What happened before. That wasn’t okay.”

  “Yes?” He was being obtuse on purpose.

  “Quit it. You know what I’m talking about. We are not having sex, you and me.”

  “Hm. No.” He sounded unimpressed and like that was the farthest thing from his mind.

  She heaved a sigh of relief that she’d finally said those words to him. “Okay, then. Tell me how this is going to happen. What’s the plan?”

  19

  I can do this.

  Darcy had been avoiding her own reflection, averting her eyes when she hurried through bathing and grooming. She hadn’t wanted to see a murderer’s eyes looking back at her, bleak and accusing.

  She’d done a lot of thinking, though, over the time she’d been held captive in these rooms with Raub. There was little else to do but think.

  How long had it been? She didn’t know. She hadn’t scratched hash marks into the walls of her sleep cell to mark the passage of time. It was less painful to just succumb to the monotony and try not to think about how every single day there were more light-years of space stretching between her and her home and all the people there that she cared about.

  But she had put that time to good use, learning new skills that might help to change her fate, and now she’d come to a conclusion. She couldn’t ignore the power she had. She hated that she’d hurt anyone with it, but that couldn’t be helped. All she could do now was learn to master it, the same way that she was becoming master over the rest of her body.

  Nothing worthwhile came easily. She could forgive herself for fighting for her life and flailing. She would not forget—she would just learn to be more careful.

  And that meant practice.

  The first step was to see if she could manifest the power by thinking about it. She wanted to see what it looked like, to monitor herself as it happened.

  She needed to face herself.

  Raub had left the rooms on his daily mystery errand. She stood alone in the washroom, nude, hoping that Hain had enough decency that she didn’t monitor her there.

  She stepped in front of the mirror, her blood racing. Her breath caught. She almost didn’t recognize her own reflection. Her hair, normally so carefully arranged in twists, straightened, or at least pulled back in a puffy ponytail, was a thick, glossy mass of wild curls that stood on end. But that wasn’t what surprised her.

  She was toned. She looked strong. Muscles moved under her skin. She was like an athlete in her prime.

  Never in her life had she seen herself this way. She turned and flexed a leg and saw muscles pop out in stark relief. As her gaze travelled up she saw that her stomach was now flat. The little pillow of flab that Adam used to rest his head on was gone, replaced by a taut six-pack.

  She’d come a long way from the girl Adam had to coax into going for a bike ride or a hike. She’d transformed herself. He’d be proud of her.

  Adam. Despite her protestations, Raub refused to include Adam in the escape plan. He’d told her, in no uncertain terms, that if she wanted to survive she had to give up childish notions like love. Adam’s fate was separate from hers, he’d said, and she had to accept that.

  She’d pretended to acquiesce, but she was her own woman. When the time came, the route to the place where the tern was berthed would pass by those cavernous rooms where the prisoners were held. Whether Raub liked it or not, she was going to try to find him because that was who she was. If that cost her a chance at freedom, she could bear it. She couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t try.

  She centered herself in front of the mirror, as though she were preparing to meditate, and focused on the memory of how the energy had felt before, when it had come without being summoned by her conscious mind. She remembered how she had tingled, how she had felt so alive, how she had felt it building inside her.

  She didn’t know if there was any energy left in her, or even what percentage of it she’d discharged on the hymenoptera. It seemed odd that she didn’t know, but she reasoned that she never knew what her O2 sats were, or her blood-alcohol content, though she always had a general idea, just based on how she felt. There was no such sensation attached to this energy—that she’d noticed so far, anyway. Hopefully that would come someday.

  She sat there for a long time trying to summon it, but nothing happened. Her sit-bones hurt, her jaw ached from clenching it, and she began to doubt that she could succeed without something pushing her into a highly emotional state.

  Her mind wandered. She thought of Adam, knew he was thinking of finding her and escaping too. She contemplated her father, his strong face a mask of worry, the search parties he must have waited fruitlessly for. Her mother and the gurus she’d probably paid every penny of her savings to, hoping for some clue as to what had happened to her only child. Her friends and professors, for whom by now she was only a memory, a mystery in the past.

  She was alone, more alone than anyone ever should be, with only herself to rely on, and she had some special attribute that she couldn’t even use.

  A tear fled down her cheek. She watched it fall, her brown eyes brimming with more, her reflection swimming in a blurry haze. She remembered the night she’d been captured, how helpless she’d felt, even with Adam there with her. Then there was the moment when Raub had held her against the wall and nearly taken her last shred of dignity.

  She could fight some, now. She was stronger, but against a more skilled opponent or a gun or shock stick, she had noth
ing. Would she ever regain control of her life? Was she doomed to be a victim until the end?

  She blinked. Her eyes emptied over her cheeks and she leaned forward. There was a faint glow just above her right breast, a mirror to her heart. She knew instinctively that was the core of her power. She focused on it, breathed into that place, moved her consciousness there and felt it grow, felt her body warm and strengthen in response.

  She watched the blue lines radiate out until her fingertips crackled. She laughed out loud. She was alight with blue fire. It was exhilarating.

  Slowly, she stood and turned, to see the energy from every angle. As she concentrated on rising, the light dimmed somewhat, but it blazed again when she refocused her thoughts. She attempted to dim it on purpose and was rewarded when the blue light quickly reversed itself, flowing back to the centering point opposite her heart.

  She banked the flame close to her heart, then stoked it again, over and over, panting with the effort of controlling it, waves of heat rolling off her and sweat trickling from every pore. She shut out every other thought and committed the sensations to memory. She was mesmerized by how it looked, racing along those mysterious pathways under her skin, some kind of secondary central nervous system.

  Something made her look up. She turned.

  Raub stood in the doorway, watching. “This is very good. What else can you do?”

  20

  Darcy made it a daily habit to slip into the washroom whenever Raub left. She concentrated primarily on calling up and controlling the intensity of her energy. It became a meditative practice. She could keep it low and smoldering for long periods, then, on a moment’s notice, whip it up to a crackle.