The hair rose on the back of Hallie’s neck. She resisted the urge to smooth it down. “Yes.”
“It’s the same with everyone who’s placed here for their supposed ‘criminal’ offense. It’s a costly sentence. Someone desires you out of the way badly enough and, with the proper amount of credit, you find yourself here. And if someone’s going around shedding that sort of credit, it’s not likely they’ll change their minds and have you released, is it? They’re free of worry now. Not even a way of escape. No other inhabitants but us, see? No way off.”
Skelly had been watching Hallie, chin cupped in his fingers. He shifted his position, dropping his hand to the Rustics table. “That’s enough, Emil. Let’s play the game.”
“Wait a minute,” Hallie forestalled them. “What about family? Friends? Don’t you have family, Skelly, to help you?” She didn’t want to believe what they were saying, but it had enough of truth in it to be alarming. She hoped Emil was only lying to frighten her.
“I did,” Skelly said, “once. They’ll forget you too, Hallie, in time. It’s inevitable. There’s nothing they can do. Were you promised a release date?”
Hallie barely heard her own voice over the low hum of the table. “No.”
“Oh, that’s bad,” Emil interjected. “Not even pretense anymore.”
Hallie swallowed with difficulty. “Are you going to tell me no one here has committed any real crime? The two of you are imprisoned because someone wanted you ‘out of the way’?”
“That’s right, little girl,” Emil said. Skelly waved his hand impatiently.
“Is that what’s got you so jumpy? You’re afraid you might be fraternizing with criminals? Hallie, we’re all guiltless. You’re safe. Relatively speaking.” He winked.
Hallie stalked away from the table. “Someone’s had to leave. Wouldn’t this place be a bit overcrowded if they hadn’t?”
“Probably,” said Emil. “One way or another, though, the population is diminished. A few of the fellows in Sector Twenty-One killed themselves. Not en masse, mind you. Sector Forty-Three is brand new. I was transferred from Twenty-One to Forty-Three about the time as Skelly. Isn’t that right?”
The redhead nodded. “We’re not full up yet.”
“Just how many are in this sector?” Hallie asked him.
Skelly considered. “Counting you, five. You, me,” he counted off on his fingers with a degree of unnerving and telling familiarity in the pairing of himself with her in his calculations. “Emil, Calypso, and Burke.”
Hallie stopped pacing and swung around. Her skin prickled beneath her gray uniform. “Burke?”
“Yep.”
“Burke who? What’s his surname?” Battered by a rage she couldn’t release, she rolled her hands into fists and shoved them against her abdomen.
The two men exchanged a silent communication and then Skelly spoke slowly, as if he knew the answer would be her undoing.
“Conlan,” he said. “Burke Conlan.”
IV.
CONFRONTATION
Burke had dimmed the lumi-discs in the library to their lowest setting, providing an atmosphere of solitude that helped him focus. While a young man in his teens and still living on the gaming moon of Wiley, seclusion and single-mindedness had been of great benefit in perfecting skills of importance to him. He angled his frame back in the chair, crossing his ankles and hooking his fingers behind his neck, staring at the library computer screen. Many of the records were classified, but ways existed to get around security with the proper bits and pieces of information. He frowned in concentration.
It had taken too long to return to this point of clear thought, moving past the desperation of finding himself incarcerated far from Lese, fearful of what might be happening to her. Dangerously angry, he had been kept sedated for the first two weeks of confinement in Zebulon by those damned cybernetic units.
Once he regained mastery of his raging emotions, he had come to the library in an attempt to establish a connection to the abbey. Unable to access a live transmission, he still had no idea if his daughter was among the Sisters or had been moved from the abbey by Sterne. He had no reason to trust the man to honor that portion of their pact, when he had so flagrantly disregarded the one where he was not to be imprisoned. The unknown gnawed at Burke’s insides like a live creature. Without the sedatives, he hardly slept.
And when he did sleep, he dreamed. Not of Lese, but of the Revered’s wife—likely his wife no longer—and the contrived assignation in the botanical gardens. In the dream state, the ending to that episode was different than it had been in life. When he urged her to leave with him, to get away from the garden, those incriminating phrases were not recorded for use against them. Instead, there was time for her to listen to him, time for him to act on his intent before he felt the prick and sting in the side of his throat and all dissolved into blackness.
Until this night, he had been unable to seek out the rotted fruit that was the result of his agreement with the devil, deliberately steering clear of any information he might glean regarding the outcome of the trial. It would not have been difficult to locate. No doubt the proceedings had been transmitted throughout Talia to gratify the appetite of the public forums. Still, he was not quite ready to view the details. He hoped he might find she’d gone home, even if in disgrace. But on that point he didn’t trust Sterne either and knew the truth would push him over that violent edge once more.
He glowered at the monitor another five minutes before speaking. “Talia, Planet Citadel,” he spoke, then, “Ser Irese.”
Thousands of references existed for the Ser Irese, a proud and prominent clan with a long history. He needed one more step to narrow the search.
“Hallandra Irese.” His mouth went dry.
And then he looked up.
Once, a lifetime ago, he had been forced to jump from a crag into a racing, icy flow of water far below. He felt again that plunge, the sensation of dropping at incomprehensible speed into water that had chilled him to the marrow in an instant.
So, Sterne had definitely lied about that too. He shouldn’t have been surprised, and yet seeing her in this place struck him as unreal. She hesitated in the doorway, far enough away she hadn’t heard him speak or noted his position in the room.
Cruelty was apparently the Revered’s special talent, arranging for his former bond-wife to share her incarceration with the man who had condemned her. The confirmation of what he already suspected coiled in cold reminder through his guts. He wanted to stand up and scream Lese’s name, but the cybers would be on him in a heartbeat.
Hallandra remained on the threshold, one hand to the frame, the other fisted against her mid-section, breathing as if she’d been running. Her color was high, cheeks flushed, eyes bright even in the dimness. She bent forward a little, her braid swinging over her shoulder, the pale blue family mark like an ice shadow. She looked thinner than he recalled, but not fragile. Somewhere beneath the surface he suspected she possessed the tensile strength of titanium wire.
His own strength wavered at the sight of her. He had to speak, he knew he did, but no words came to him. Under the circumstances he could not even imagine where to begin.
Without warning she slid to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest, spine pressed to the doorframe and fingers curving about the ridge of brow and eyes as she quietly wept. Burke stood. The chair creaked on its wheels, thrust across the floor by the straightening of his legs. She pivoted, her head in her hand, her gaze locating him with unsettling accuracy.
“You,” she stated in a flat voice. “You’re here.”
He understood she didn’t mean in the library, but here, in Zebulon. Here, where she was, sentenced by his words, his action, his hand. Here, where she would be subject to his presence, day after day. Here, where he could witness the tormenting particulars of her fall from grace.
She wiped the moisture from her face with her fingers. “I figured he paid you, that you were gone from Talia. What happened?”
Burke shifted his shoulders beneath his uniform. “He didn’t. I am. And your husband is a liar.”
“He’s not my husband. Not anymore. But he is a liar. He’ll always be that.” She tipped her head back against the doorframe.
Burke watched her, waiting. This could not be all. He could see the tension in her posture, awkward as it was. Her calm was false.
“You almost didn’t go through with it,” she said. “You tried to get me to leave the arboretum.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Her glance caught his gesture before moving away.
“When did you give your testimony?”
“Before,” he said.
“Before what?”
“Before I was set to meet you. Earlier that day.”
“You were paid. The nature of the job didn’t matter to you.” Struggling to her feet, she wiped again at her eyes and then her nose with the edge of her sleeve, turning back toward the corridor. Having been ready for a barrage of deserving invective, the fact she said nothing unbalanced him. He took a step in her direction.
“Wait.”
Lifting her head, she spun on the low heel of her prison-issue boot. She looked nearly incandescent, as though she might burst into flame.
“Yes?” Her tone was like ice.
He had to say something to her, some string of words that would make sense of the situation, to both of them. Uncertainty seeped from his skin like an oozing infection. Her fiery stare stripped him hollow, turned him inside out, exposed courage as an ill-made disguise.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She said something in her desert tongue. The meaning was clear, if only in inflection. His apology, abject as it might have been, galvanized her in a startling manner. She hurtled across the floor, catching him with a blow he didn’t see and sending him flying backward. His hip struck the library table. The curved, liquid monitor fell to the floor and flooded the tiles. Leaping back at her, he grabbed her wrists in an attempt to stop her.
She fought him wildly, her strength in fury considerable, her speed astonishing. Bitter words, aimed at him and at the man who had been her husband, hissed through her teeth.
“Stop it!” he commanded as he wrestled with her. “Be calm! Every place is monitored. You can call me whatever name you like, but you have to stop fighting me!”
He crushed her to his chest, muffling her words, the thrusting of her arms now ineffectual, although she still managed a well-aimed kick or two at his shins. He grunted at each impact, aware of the array of bones and flesh and muscle in frenzied motion in the circle of his arms, aware of her terror and wrath. He tried to contain her in silence, hoping that if he said nothing she might expend herself the sooner. All the while, he kept an eye on the door, knowing that soon they would come. Whether they detected changes in heart rate, blood pressure, or merely the monitored physical action, it didn’t take long for the cybernetic units to respond to anything beyond the parameters of acceptable behavior.
“Stop!” he urged once more as the robot strode into view. Despite their unwieldy, lumbering appearance, the peacekeeping units were swift and agile. Hoping to shock Hallandra into submission, he spun her around toward the door, clutching her shoulders in a fierce grip to keep her from bolting. The unit moved closer, repositioning chairs and tables as it came. Hallandra’s struggles ceased, her swinging arms dropping to her sides.
“What is that?”
Grabbing lean muscle through her loose-fitting coverall sleeve, Burke tried to force her to stand behind him. He didn’t know what he planned to do, but he had tried to fight them himself in the beginning. In spite of strength honed on a hard life, he was no match for a cybernetic designed to subdue anything from hysterics to the monstrous and superhuman ferocity of a man out of his mind with grief and anger. He shoved Hallandra behind his back, facing the cybernetic. At that instant, a second unit arrived.
“Shit.”
Burke assessed the menacing ballet of incontestable forward motion and understood he could do nothing. The units would be on them in an instant.
With sizeable will, he calmed his entire body. It wouldn’t do for them both to be unconscious. If he remained alert, he could possibly help Hallandra once the units had performed their ritual of repression. He let go of her arm. The tractile appendage that reached to take hold of him detected his compliance and merely pulled him out of the way. Hallandra, on the other hand, turned to run.
“Don’t,” he said, as tonelessly as he could manage. It was too late. Physically lifted from the ground, the cloud of inhalant enveloped her face. Her struggle was brief. Burke could feel moist, residual particles drifting across his cheek and held his breath until they had passed. The unit holding him motionless determined no further resistance and released him. The other unit laid Hallandra carefully on the floor.
An odd thing, that, Burke reflected. The units always left you to lie where you were sedated. Having experienced the aftereffects on more than one occasion, he knew how important it was to get Hallandra off the library floor and to a location more suitable for recovery.
Burke forced himself to remain immobile until the units had departed, then crossed to where Hallandra lay. Crouching beside her, jaw clenched, he listened to her breathing, observed her color. Fine strands of golden hair fanned across the curve of her jaw and into the corner of her parted lips. He plucked the strands away, smoothing them over her crown, the top of her head warm beneath his curved palm. He remembered the sensation of a warm scalp beneath his hand, the hair silky against his calloused fingers. Of course, Lese’s head was much smaller than Hallandra’s, and the child had been sleeping safe in her bed at the abbey. He tried not to think of where she might be now as he scooped Hallandra into his arms and stood, clutching her tightly to his chest.
V.
CONFESSIONS
Burke turned the woman in his arms, her head coming to rest against his chest with a soft thump. The corridor’s illumination accentuated the shadows of her double-grown lashes on the skin beneath her closed eyes. He had no clue how long it had taken him to recover, to struggle toward consciousness and, eventually, the haven of his bunk. No doubt everyone reacted differently. Well, he had to be responsible for her now. Now? He supposed he should have been from the moment of his acceptance of that notebook into his hands.
He made his way to the women’s section of the sector, hoping she would come to enough by the time he got there to direct him to her chamber and speak her name aloud. If not, he’d have no choice but to bring her to his own until she awakened. He was pretty damned certain her reaction upon finding herself quartered with him would be a repeat of the one she’d just displayed.
Upon entering the first corridor of the women’s section, Burke noted a door standing wide and, from within, the sound of movement. With silent tread despite the weight he carried, he crept forward, turning his body with its burden away as he ducked his head to peer into the confines of the cell. His eyes narrowed. With a deliberate step he positioned himself on the threshold.
“Shane, what are you doing?”
A facetious question. It was quite apparent what the redhead was doing, the drawer to the desk open, a carry sack on the floor before it, items of hygiene and personal attire strewn about. Shane hastened to his feet, whipping his hand behind his back, but not before Burke had seen he held something in his grasp.
“She left the door open—oh! Is Hallie all right?”
Hallie. Burke liked it, liked the sound of the diminutive form, but not from the mouth of Skelly Shane. The man’s utterance sounded inordinately and grossly intimate, as if in his mind he had already staked some claim to her.
“What have you got there?” he asked, striding into the chamber with Hallie in his arms. “This is her chamber, is it? Whatever you have in your hand belongs to her. Put it where you found it.”
Shane pulled his hand from behind his back with reluctance, holding the object balanced on his outstretched palm. It was a
sphere of some sort, clear as water with nothing embedded in it, no embellishment. With a twitch of his chin, Burke indicated the desk.
“Just place it in the drawer and find me a blanket. Make it two. Before the chills set in.”
Having issued his directive, Burke lowered Hallie onto her berth. She subsided limply onto the naked mattress, one arm dropping over the edge. Carefully he lifted the arm by the wrist, crossing it with her other arm over her abdomen. Her ribs stood out in pronounced structure through the coverall. Behind him Shane had not moved. Burke glanced at the man over his shoulder, surprising a disturbing expression on the redhead’s face.
“I’m not going for the blankets, Shane,” he said. “I’m not leaving her here alone with you.”
The man’s expression made a swift transformation from calculating to indignant. “What, precisely, are you intimating?”
“I’m not intimating anything. I thought I was making myself rather plain. Think about it a moment, while you go for the blankets.”
Shane hedged as if he would argue the point, but with an exaggerated sigh he left the chamber. Worried about Hallie’s continued unconsciousness, Burke checked her pulse, then loosened the collar of her coverall to make it less restricting. What he saw on her throat stopped him dead.
Fitting his fingers to the faded bruises, he held the tips just above her flesh and swore.
“I didn’t do that.” Shane, defensive, the blankets clutched in his arms, gaped wide-eyed at the evidence of brutality. “She just got here on the mid-morning transport. I wouldn’t do that. That’s not something I would do. You know that.”
Burke yanked the blankets away from Shane and snapped them over Hallie’s prone form, as much to shield her body from Shane’s view as to keep her warm. The redhead’s protestations were a little too vehement.
“I don’t know any such thing. However, I didn’t accuse you, did I?” Burke pivoted to face Shane, who took a hasty step back. “Those bruises are at least four or five days old.”
Emerald Twilight: Bundled Edition Page 4
