"Of course someone's trying to kill me. It wouldn't be a normal day, would it."
He ran a quick systems check.
"Your respiration rate is three percent above the norm. Bio scans reveal three contusions, and eighteen burn marks."
"Well, running one step ahead of a fireball the size of a small moon will do that to you. Come on, Lyla, get us out of-"
There was a thump at the front view port and Xyon's head snapped around. A dog was there, outside, with fur as black as night and a sword that looked like it meant business. It should have posed no threat at all, but the dog swung the blade around and struck the view port. To Xyon's astonishment, a narrow crack ribboned across the port.
The Dog stared straight into Xyon's face, as if committing every centimeter of its structure to memory. Xyon felt a chill go down his spine even as he called out, "Lyla! Leaving now would be a truly excellent idea!"
The sword was drawn back to strike again, and then with a roar of its thrusters, the ship lifted off. The black-furred dog seemed to hesitate a moment, as if trying to decide whether to try and continue hacking its way in. At the last moment, the Dog threw itself clear. It was not a panicked move, though, that much Xyon could tell. Instead, the creature had simply calculated whether there was time to accomplish its task, discovered that there wasn't, and exited its position. But Xyon had the uncomfortable feeling that the meeting was only a preliminary one. Even as the ship, Lyla by name (he had named it after the on-board consciousness that powered it), broke free of the planet's gravity,
Xyon did not believe that he had managed to achieve safety, but simply had obtained a momentary stay of execution.
IV.
SHE HAD COME TO THINK of him as the Red Man. At first he had showed up only every few dreams, but lately he was always there, omnipresent. He watched her as if she were some sort of microbe, and his form was frequently different.
Sometimes he was normal sized, no bigger than an average man; other times he was gargantuan, his face taking up the entire sky and leering down at her. At times like that, she felt the most powerless. She wanted to fight back, but she had absolutely no idea how to go about it. She endeavored to reach into inner resources, to pull up bravery and determination and everything else that a young girl could possibly require under such circumstances. But she kept coming up empty. All she could do was turn and run, even in her dreams. Her pumping legs would carry her over the vast wasteland, and as before, the voices would come to her, whispering things, asking her to join them, to stay with them, to become one with them. And as always they were so quiet, so quiet. All except the Red Man, the master manipulator, overseeing all and laughing, confident, in his power.
"Go away, go away," she would call to him, and still he ignored her. And on one occasion, one particularly horrible occasion, his gigantic face had filled the sky and his hand had reached down for her. Reached down and seemed ready to scoop her up, possibly to throw her, possibly to crush her... she couldn't even begin to guess. All she knew was that she couldn't get away, and she raised her arms in front of her face to ward him off even as she sobbed and cried and begged for mercy that would not be forthcoming...
And then she woke up.
Her instinct was to cry out, to shriek her mother's name, but thanks to long months of training, she stifled the impulse. She had had a good deal of practice in keeping her mouth shut, for she had not wanted to continue to alarm her mother. Consequently, she had foregone the habit of sleeping somewhere outside so that her mother wouldn't be concerned as to her whereabouts. She certainly didn't need mother wandering all over the planet trying to find where her wayward daughter had slumped into slumber on yet another evening.
On the other hand, she didn't want to rouse her mother from sound sleep by waking up screaming. So she had developed a most disconcerting compromise, training herself to stifle her instinctive response so as not to disturb anyone.
It took a supreme effort of will. As disconcerted, as disoriented as she was in her dreams, she had to reorient herself that much more quickly. It was the only way she could prevent herself from crying out.
She managed it this night, although just barely. Her mouth was open to scream for help, but at the last split instant, she remembered. Her desperate reaction was instantaneous: She sank her teeth into her lower lip so hard that blood trickled down, and she felt as if her entire lower jaw was going to go numb from pain. But she was at least successful, containing the urge to cry out and suppressing it.
Her room was dark, and she sat up in bed, reaching up with one sleeve to wipe the trickling blood from her chin. She wished that she could have felt some degree of triumph, or even vague pleasure, in her success, but all she felt was dread. For someday her control would be insufficient, and then would return the cries in the night, and her mother would learn with sinking heart that the dreams had not ceased. That, in fact, they had become more persistant, more clear than ever before, even though that clarity was still confusing in most aspects. She had wanted to spare her mother needless anguish, instead she had lied to her and hidden the truth. Even though she'd done it for her mother's own good, she still felt guilty over it.
She heard footsteps just outside her door, and for one panicked moment she thought that perhaps she had had less control than she thought. That perhaps she had indeed cried out in her sleep and, as a result, summoned her mother inadvertently. She flopped back onto the bed, trying to appear as relaxed as possible, ignoring the sweat that filled the sheets and matted down the back of her nightclothes so that she felt a chill cutting through her. Just before the door opened, she realized she was holding her breath from nervousness, so she did the best she could to feign steady and relaxed breathing.
The light from the corridor just outside played across her face and, even with her eyes closed, she could sense her mother peering in at her. The tableau remained frozen that way for ages, then the door slowly closed. As forced as her
"normal" breathing had been, Riella now let out a long, unsteady sigh, her heart fluttering within her chest.
Then she heard something else, something that confused her greatly. Her mother was talking to someone, but she had not known that her mother was expecting any guests. This was a particularly singular state of affairs because Riella couldn't remember the last time that anyone had come to the house. Guests were not only a rarity, they were nonexistent. This was naturally more than enough to provoke Riella's curiosity, but she didn't want to do anything to draw attention to herself.
Cautiously, ever so cautiously, Riella swung her legs down and off the bed. With exaggerated care, she stepped onto the floor, pausing to see if there was any creaking of the floorboards beneath her feet. There was nothing. She strained her ears and heard muttering from the other room. Her mother's voice, definitely, and one other. She thought-although she couldn't be sure-that it was a male voice. That was even more unusual. She had spotted her mother chatting, from rare time to time, with other women in the town, but never a man.
She smiled to herself. Could it be that her mother had a secret life herself that she was trying to keep from Riella. That there was a man involved, and her mother thought Riella would be upset over a possible romance? How charming... even quaint. As if Riella would begrudge her anything in the world, considering how wonderful a mother she had been to her.
She crept ever so slowly to the door and opened it as narrowly as she could. The voices were definitely coming from the sitting room, which was connected via a small corridor. Riella suspected that, if she was very careful, she could sidle into the hallway and peer around it without being spotted herself, particularly if she did so on her hands and knees. She had to fight the urge to giggle; she felt like a little girl, a child, sneaking around the way she was.
She got down on her hands and knees and slowly made her way across the floor. At one point her knee caught on the trailing end of her nightdress and she almost fell flat on her face. This miscue was, in and of itself, nearly enough to
send her into fits of giggles, but she managed to contain herself. She pulled the offending cloth out from under her knee and kept going.
She settled upon an angle of observation that did not permit her to see everything, but she was able to spy on their legs. They were sitting opposite each other, and she could make out their calves, shoes, and an occasional hand gesture. The man was wearing black gloves, which she thought was a bit curious, particularly considering how temperate the weather was.
Then her blood froze as she heard the topic of discussion.
"I'm telling you, I think the dreams have stopped. She tells me everything. If she were still having the dreams, I'd be the one to hear about it."
The man replied softly, ever so softly, with what seemed to Riella to be great control. She had to strain to hear him. "That," he seemed to say, "would be most unfortunate."
"Why unfortunate? Maybe she's not the one..."
"No. She is the one," said the man. Riella could see his gloved fist clenching.
"I know it. I simply refuse to believe we've wasted all this time on her. Once the dreams start, they don't stop. Not in all the history of our people."
"But maybe this time..."
"No. Far more likely that she has simply fooled you."
"Why would she be trying to fool me?" demanded her mother. There was clear irritation in her voice. "What would be the point?"
"Perhaps she doesn't trust you. Perhaps she has figured it out..."
"No. She hasn't." Her mother was speaking with a tone she had never heard before. In all her life, she had never heard her mother talk with anything other than love, affection, and concern. Now she sounded angry, impatient. Even a bit cynical. "She has not figured it out. She trusts me implicitly."
"If she did, then she would tell you about the dreams."
"That's a circular argument, Zoran."
The name struck Riella with such force that it was almost like a physical blow.
She recoiled from it, and it was all she could do not to let out a gasp of shock. That name, Zoran-that was the name. The name from the dreams. She was sure of it She had had a vague sense of it in her nighttime imaginings, but now that she heard it articulated, she was positive that was it. But what could it mean? Who was he? And why in the world was he having any sort of dealings with her mother?
"Do you have any explanation, then?" Zoran was asking her.
"Maybe..." Her mother steepled her fingers, apparently giving the matter some thought. "Maybe she simply doesn't want to worry me. That could be it, you know.
Sometimes the best explanations are the easiest."
"You may be right. Then again, you may be wrong. We cannot afford to take the chance. I want you to start talking to her about them again."
"She'll be suspicious."
"You cannot have it both ways, Malia. Either she trusts you implicitly, in which event she will not attribute your inquiries to anything other than a mother's concern. Or else she already suspects you, in which case no damage will be done because she is aware that all is not as it seems."
Riella felt as if her world was spinning around her. All of what wasn't as it seemed? It didn't make any sense to her. Perhaps...
Perhaps she was still dreaming. Yes. Yes, that made as much sense as anything.
Maybe more. The entire scene had an almost dreamlike quality about it.
"Matters may be coming to a head, in any event. We may not have much time,"
Zoran was saying.
"Why not?" Malia sounded worried. "What's happened?"
"The Dogs of War have been sniffing around. They captured one of my people while the fool was 'enjoying' himself at some backwater tavern. It's possible that he managed to withstand their questioning-likely, hi fact-but it's also possible that he didn't. If that's the case, then sooner or later the trail is going to lead the Dogs of War here, straight to your so-called daughter."
So-called? Yes... yes, it had to be a dream. "Am I going to have to... ?" The question trailed off. Riella was befuddled, having no idea what the rest of the query could possibly be.
"Kill her?" Zoran grunted. "That would be unfortunate. But if the Quiet Place represents the source of power that legends say it does, she cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands."
Riella clapped a hand over her mouth to contain the shriek that was building in her. This was beyond a dream. This was a nightmare.
Then she heard a creak of a cushion and the one called Zoran leaned forward. She had the briefest glimpse of his face.
It was red. The red face from her dreams. The face that had hung in the air and laughed and sneered at her, and seemed to be in control of her life.
She skittered backwards, crablike, and banged into the wall with her shoulder.
Instantly the atmosphere seemed to change in the adjacent room. "What was that?" she heard Zoran demand.
"What was what? I didn't hear anything." "I thought I did. Some sort of thud."
"Possibly some animals outside, rooting around in the garbage. They do that sometimes."
Riella wasn't waiting to hear the rest of the conversation. She virtually flew across the floor, making no sound, and she slithered back into her room, not even daring to breathe. She clambered into her bed, readjusted her sheets and then performed one of the greatest accomplishments of her young life: She managed to feign something approaching normal breathing while her true desire was to scream and keep screaming until someone showed up to awaken her from the living nightmare in which she was trapped.
There was a sound at her door and it took all her will not to jump at the sound.
She remained instead absolutely immobile. She didn't know if her mother
(mother?) or Zoran or both were peering in at her. What she did know was that she dare not give the slightest indication that she had overheard anything.
"She sweats a good deal," she heard Zoran whisper.
"Perhaps she's in the midst of a dream right now."
"Perhaps. Question her in the morning. Learn what you can. I will remain in the vicinity. Report to me what she tells you, and we will determine her future from that point."
"AU right, Zoran."
"And Malia..."
"Yes?"
There was a significant pause, and then he said, "Do not make a muddle of this.
Two corpses are as easy to arrange as one, and on a nowhere world like this, I assure you there will be very few inquiries. Do we understand each other?"
"Threats are not necessary, Zoran."
"No. Not necessary. Just one of the perks. Good evening to you, Malia."
Riella listened to the departing sound of his footsteps, heard the front door close, listened as the sound of his feet receded into the night. During that time, her "mother" didn't move from the spot. Then she heard Malia slowly approach her, and it was all she could do not to scream as the woman's fingers brushed against her cheek and delicately rearranged a few strands of hair, as lovingly and solicitously as any mother might. Then her mother walked out of the room, leaving Riella with her mind awhirl.
She had no intention of sleeping that night. In point of fact, her intention was to bolt from the house at the earliest opportunity, to get as far away as possible. But the night held its own terrors now as she envisioned Zoran waiting somewhere for her. Perhaps he was watching the house specifically to see if she'd run away. Or maybe, somehow, he would just know, and come after her in the dark, and...
"Riella. Come on... wake up, sleepyhead."
Riella blinked against the light pouring in through her window. Her night clothes were so soaked through that they made a peeling noise as she sat up. She looked around and there was her mother, as cheerful and pleasant as ever. She riffled Riella's hair and said, "I can't remember the last time you slept this late. I couldn't bring myself to wake you earlier, because you were sleeping so soundly. You must be feeling very relaxed."
"Very," Riella said gamely. In the harsh honesty of daylight, she was beginning to
wonder whether the entire unreal experience from the previous night had been just that, unreal. It was possible that she had imagined the entire thing. It certainly made more sense than thinking that somehow her mother was in a bizarre conspiracy with a red-skinned man who had haunted her dreams.
"Well, I made you a nice lunch; you slept straight through breakfast. Why don't you get yourself washed up and come into the kitchen."
"All right, mother." Already the shreds of the night's recollections were falling away, the fantasy replaced by the reality. Obviously her dreams were becoming more and more sinister, presenting themselves convincingly as realistic scenarios rather than surreal exploits through an illusionary planet's surface.
Star Trek - NF - 07 - The Quiet Place Page 7
