Then the mind scrubbers had gone in and whacked him out big time. But he’d thought he’d fully recovered. And now, he had a damn voice talking inside his head.
Don’t blame the scrubbers.
“How long until you have results?” Derrek asked, rolling down his sleeve. He was tired. Imagining that voice.
Not.
Doc took the blood and set it into a centrifuge. “It could be micronbits or days. Weeks if I have to grow cultures.”
“In other words, you don’t know.” Derrek stormed out of the ward as the ship’s thrusters engaged, bent on exiting the ship the moment they landed. Determined to forget that odd voice in his head, which surely had been just some weirdo aberration, a result of his supercharged emotions, he clenched his jaw and fought down uncertainty.
A long time ago, Cade had asked Derrek if he’d like to talk to a head doctor, but Derrek didn’t want the guy poking old wounds. Cade had accepted his decision, but now he wondered if it had been wise. Perhaps one mind could only take so much stress.
Wimpy. Wimpy. Wimpy.
Leave me alone.
As if knowing his plan, Sauren joined Derrek at the cargo bay. “Thought you could use some company.”
Maybe he could. Maybe Sauren’s presence could drown out the voice in his head. If not, the guy was also handy with a gun. And he had a cool head. Derrek couldn’t think of a better companion to have around . . . and yet, a little thought in the back of his mind niggled him. Did Sauren want to go after Azsla for himself?
Derrek hammered the jealous thought into submission. “I’m not even sure where I’m going.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Sauren’s solid presence and loyalty made Derrek feel a bit guilty for accusing him of spying on him earlier. Or for questioning his motives a few seconds ago.
“Thanks.” Should he tell Sauren that he didn’t feel like himself? That he was talking to himself? He trusted Sauren like a brother. Yet he didn’t want Sauren second-guessing his every move, worrying over him, pitying him.
“You sure you’re okay?” Sauren asked.
“I’m fine.” But it was a lie. He wouldn’t be fine until he was sure Azsla was safe. Until he saw her again. Part of him wanted to howl in outrage. Shake his fist at the sky and stomp his feet. A more rational part of him knew that wouldn’t help. He reminded himself that she couldn’t have gone far. With his contacts and a few well-placed bribes, he’d have her location pegged within the hour.
Derrek was fairly certain Doc Falcon was going to find a foreign agent in his blood to explain his aberrant behavior. Maybe even the interior voice would eventually be explained away by an imbalance. Chemical agents could trick the brain into all kinds of insane scenarios. He’d be fine—eventually. However, right now the compulsion to assure himself of her safety was too strong to fight.
The cargo bay opened, and Derrek stepped onto the landing pad—a round concrete foundation surrounded by landing lights and other spacecraft, albeit none as sophisticated as his. Officials were hurrying his way, expecting him to head for his private parked hovercraft. Derrek didn’t stop and wait or head for his private hangar. Ignoring the oddness of walking under an open sky without a rebreather or space suit, he didn’t stop to ask directions. Moving fast, he wound past forklifts unloading cargo, stepped around mechanics refueling tanks, and over a conveyor belt of incoming parts.
The busy spaceport had grown since his last visit dirtside. Mazelike, crowded, the facility was a hive of activity and organization. Thanks to Derrek’s vigorous exercise program, neither the higher gravity nor the air that was clogged with pollen slowed him down. He breathed in shallow pants and tried not to think about the fact that air was unfiltered here, that all kinds of nasty pollutants from the smoking stacks of nearby factories were free to enter his lungs.
He reminded himself he’d lived over two thirds of his life on a planet. And most of those years had been brutal. No wonder the stink in the air reminded him of the past. But for the first time in years, his first thoughts weren’t about his ex-wife and the children he’d lost. He wanted to find Azsla, assure himself she was okay, help her settle in. Make sure President Laurie didn’t take advantage.
Had his obsession with his past switched to his new obsession, Azsla?
Perhaps he really was crazy. Should he have the head doc check him out?
But surely once he’d assured himself of her safety, he would again be able to go about his business. Ignoring his appointments, he sent a memo to his assistant via his wrist com link to reschedule. He ignored a dozen urgent messages. They could wait. For once he wasn’t putting business first.
Damn it. Why hadn’t he given her a personal com link of her own? Then he could have tapped her location whenever he wanted. So what if only the wealthiest citizens had them? So what if his crew would have thought he’d lost his mind with such a grand gesture?
He was making her safety his responsibility, and he didn’t care who knew it. Or who didn’t like it. He reached the taxi bay and flagged down a hover cab, ignoring the spaceport officials who had almost caught up and were signaling him to stop and fill out forms.
“Mr. Archer, I need to stamp your paperwork. The fine for leaving the spaceport without authorize—”
With Sauren on his heels, Derrek slid into the hovercraft and handed the driver a hundred credit note. “Take me to the capitol building in the Granitite District. There’s an extra fifty in it for you if you don’t stop.”
“Sir, the fines—”
“I’ll cover them. Go.”
Sauren leaned back with an amused twinkle in his eyes and a small grin.
Derrek glared at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Never seen you in such a hurry.”
AZSLA HAD YET to see one blade of grass, one person, one building on Zor. They’d exited the military ship into some kind of hover vehicle that had no windows in the back where she sat with the crew. The hovercraft had flown right into a huge parking garage that had been empty of any people. From there, uncommunicative guards had escorted them to a holding area where they’d been told to wait for further instructions.
Her crew received medical care from close-lipped physicians who had refused to say where, why, or who was holding them. If this was freedom . . . it sucked. Locked with her crew in a cell no larger than her own room back home, Azsla forced herself to sit.
But she remained tense as a jungle cat on the prowl. If this was the planet of freedom, it sure didn’t feel like it. And Zoran hospitality had been downright rude.
Rak placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a fatherly squeeze. “It’ll be okay. They’re keeping us from the Zorans just in case we might spread a disease.”
“You believe them?” Azsla had heard the same story from one of the medics, only she hadn’t bought it. Disease on Rama was rare. And anything they had, this population had already been exposed to. After all, it had only been a decade since the revolt.
“Why would they lie?” Rak’s tone was mild and calm. She wondered if a life of slavery had squashed his street instincts, or maybe he hadn’t been born with any.
Why would the medics lie? Because they’d been following orders. Because they suspected one of them might not be a slave. Because someone wanted to make use of them for political gain. Because someone had figured out that if slaves had escaped, trouble was brewing and didn’t want to upset the general populace.
Azsla forced a nod. “I’m sure you’re right. How are you feeling?”
“Hungry. Yet, stronger than I’ve ever been.”
“On the ship, through the cuffs, they boosted salt rations higher than we’re accustomed to.”
“They did?” Rak’s eyebrows rose in surprise before he returned to his placid norm. “How will we pay—”
She smiled, and the memory warmed her. “Derrek Arche
r didn’t ask for payment. He saw what we needed and gave us the salt. It was free. A gift.”
Rak’s eyes watered, and he turned away from her, his voice choked up. “We owe him. I was so weak, without that salt, I might not have pulled through.”
She gave him a moment to collect himself. Sharing salt freely was something one did for a beloved family member, not a stranger. So Derrek’s gesture had touched Rak as much as it had her. For the tenth time, she leaned over Micoo, then Jadlan. Neither moved. Although their even breathing reassured her they would survive, she just barely refrained from shaking them. “I wish they’d wake up.”
“The doctors said that their bodies will recuperate in their own time.” Rak had more patience than she did. But then he’d spent his life as a slave. Although he’d worked as an engineer and had been highly educated, he lacked initiative. To be fair, she recalled how hard he’d worked to come on this mission. How he’d gone without sleep to make sure his calculations were correct. No one had been pushing him, but he’d summoned the good sense to work hard. Perhaps he’d justly feared showing enthusiasm until it had become habit.
Even if she could have divulged to Rak that a tranqed First was seeking him out to send back to Rama without breaking her cover, she didn’t know if she’d have had the heart to tell him. However, it would have been nice to share the burden. She would have enjoyed talking to him, just to sound out some ideas.
Because none were viable. Until Micoo and Jadlan awakened, she couldn’t move them. Even after they awakened, she didn’t know how to escape the lockdown. Frustrated, she wondered if the Corps knew she was alive. Where she was. If they did, would they try to break her out?
To contact anyone, she needed to escape this stifling cubicle. She’d even thought about grabbing a sharp implement and attacking one of the doctors, threatening to kill him if the guards outside the door wouldn’t free them. But she didn’t want to bluff because no way would she kill an innocent.
Plus, she didn’t want to reveal her plan to escape with such a feeble scheme. Whatever she did, it had to be well planned. Secret.
When the door opened, her muscles tightened as if in preparation to lunge. But it was only another medical attendant coming to check on Jadlan and Micoo.
Azsla had to control her urge to barge past her in a dash for freedom. Rak seemed content to wait out his fate—he sat against a wall, knees drawn to his chest. But then she caught a gleam in his eyes, a gleam that indicated he too was thinking of making a break. Very slightly, she shook her head, signaling him to remain still.
The attendant, Yawitz, according to her name tag, checked Jadlan and Micoo’s wrist cuffs and their machine readouts. “They should wake up soon.” Her tone was disinterested, as if she had more important things to do. “I’ll send food for all of you.”
“Thanks. Why are we being held here?” Azsla asked, not really expecting a response since the other doctors had ignored their questions.
Wide-eyed and clearly puzzled, Yawitz turned to Azsla. “I don’t understand.”
“When can we leave?”
Her pretty hands fluttered to her neck and then gestured to the door. “Leave whenever you wish.”
“But the door’s locked. There are guards outside.”
“All for your protection.”
Protection from whom? Azsla wanted to ask but figured that could wait until after she escaped the room. “Okay, then I’m going to leave with you and help bring back food. All right?”
“Sure.”
Yawitz opened the door and spoke with the larger and older guard. “We’re going for food and will return shortly.”
The big man folded his arms across his chest and scowled. When they slipped past him, he shot a look at his partner. “He’ll go with you.”
“Why do we need protection?” Azsla asked as she stepped from the room into a long empty corridor. The layout, endless tunnels and bright lights, was utilitarian, and could have shared a designer with the military transport ship. The decor was as different from Derrek’s elegant Beta Five as she was from a slave.
“It’s complicated,” the medical attendant lowered her voice. “There are factions that want President Laurie out of office. Anything or anyone who serves to enhance his position can come under attack.”
“How will our presence enhance his position?”
“You came through the portal, didn’t you? Rumors are flying high and far that Firsts tailed you and will return. Now come along.” Bossier than any slave she’d met, Yawitz gestured to Azsla and headed into a cafeteria as if in no doubt she would follow.
When the guard tried to enter the cafeteria, the woman shook her head. “Stay here. I can’t have you making the other employees nervous.”
What other employees? The cafeteria was empty. Food sat in warming trays under lights. Chairs beside the long tables were empty. A janitor mopped a floor at the far end, but otherwise they had the place to themselves.
As soon as they were out of the guard’s hearing range, Yawitz slipped a flat backpack into Azsla’s hand. “Hide this.”
Startled, Azsla fumbled, then did as she’d been told, slipping it under her shirt. Obviously the woman had told the guard to stay back in order to pass on the information. She could have done it in the room, but she obviously hadn’t wanted Rak to know about her scheme, either. So who was she? Her contact? A tranqed First? But then why hadn’t she used the prearranged code?
Had Yawitz found Azsla because Azsla couldn’t go to her? To verify the woman’s identity in the Corps, she tried to instigate the code herself, uttering the prearranged sequence of words. “What time is the next—”
“Just listen.” Yawitz cut her off, her eyes bleak, her tone as cold as hyperspace. “Your contact was killed last week—hopefully before he gave us all up. I don’t know the damn codes. My final mission is to hand you that backpack. Now I’m done. And I’m on the next transport back to Rama.”
Yawitz referred to the secret portal on the back side of the world that, so far, the Zorans didn’t know anything about. So she was an authentic tranqed First. Azsla had heard that many Firsts back home had simply wanted to blow up both portals. But that wouldn’t get back the Zoran slaves. Nor would it stop the Zorans from opening another portal if they had the technology to do so.
Dozens of questions whirred in Azsla’s mind. As they neared the food, she swiped two salt packets, then chose food, an assortment of meats, fruits, and vegetables, many unfamiliar to her. She piled everything on trays to take back to Rak, Micoo, and Jadlan and risked the one question that concerned her the most. “What about my crew?”
“They’ll be collected within the hour. They’ll get home before I will.”
An hour. She only had an hour. Azsla almost dropped the food.
“No more talking.”
Azsla had an hour. And no plan. She didn’t know where she was. Her only contact had barely spoken to her and was about to abandon her. Worse, Micoo and Jadlan had yet to awaken.
Somehow she had to make this right. She was going to save them. One thing she knew for sure. She had to work fast. Real fast.
8
AZSLA SLID THE backpack from Yawitz into her pocket without looking at the contents. Her training kicked in, and she memorized every detail of this place during her walk back to her crew. The cafeteria was a dead end. Ditto this part of the corridor. There were no cross corridors. Lots of closed doors, and she’d bet her next paycheck they were locked. No ceiling vents large enough to hide in. No elevators, moving walkways, or windows.
So breaking out had to mean heading the opposite way, in a direction she hadn’t yet seen. As she approached her quarters and the remaining guard, she examined the hallway. Cement walls, floors, and ceiling—it could be a basement, a bunker, a prison. The hallway continued for about ten body lengths before T-boning another corrido
r of similar design.
For all she knew they could be under water. But she saw no other option than to escape, then blindly pound down the pavement as fast as they could go.
She entered their cell to find everyone pretty much in the same condition she’d left them in. Rak rose to his feet to help her with the food trays, his expression patient, his tone calm as always. “We have to get out of here.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
He glanced at the food. “I’m hungry.”
“Good. We eat first.”
As the strange scents wafted up to her from the tray and her stomach growled, she reminded herself she too needed nourishment. Taking time for a quick meal, even if it didn’t smell familiar, was necessary to keeping up her strength. For one moment she allowed herself a memory of Derrek frying onions and cooking eggs, a delicious meal with fresh bread. He’d been kind and generous.
But he wasn’t here now. Snap out of it, girl.
She pushed a tray into Rak’s hands. “Eat fast. Then we wake up Micoo and Jadlan.”
“But they aren’t ready and the docs said—”
“I know. We don’t have a choice. We’re getting out of here,” she whispered, hoping her voice was low enough that if a listening device had been planted in the room, her volume was too low to give her away.
“What happened?” Rak was no slouch in the mental department. She suspected he’d spent most of his life hiding his intelligence from his owner. Brilliant slaves didn’t live long on Rama, since they often took on the dangerous challenge of a difficult task to break up the boredom of their daily life. Failure meant punishment. Success made others jealous. Both could lead to a short life.
So she kept her lie simple and used part of the truth along with a falsehood. “Yawitz told me we’re going to be moved to a more secure prison within the hour.” She gestured to the food. “Eat.”
Solar Heat Page 9
