by J. N. Chaney
“How do you know which way North is?”
Marcella stopped in her tracks and spun slowly back to me, then fixed a glacial stare on me. “What, because I’m a woman I can’t tell direction?” she asked angrily.
“No, ma’am. That’s not what—”
“Celtan is my home, Mr. Malloy. And I’ll have you know that my father taught me a great deal before—” She stopped abruptly before throwing her hands up and resumed stalking away.
I jogged to catch up with her, annoyed with myself for putting my foot in my mouth. Her mouth had tightened at the mention of her father and the crease between her brows spoke of worry.
“I’m sorry, Marcella. Being kidnapped has me on edge. I meant no offense, truly.”
The woman’s shoulders relaxed, and her tone was softer when she responded. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Of course, you’re suspicious. I was too, at first.”
Something about the way she said it made me think she hadn’t said everything.
“At first?” I prompted.
“Yes. I recognized you from the Prime Lady Hotel,” she admitted. “I’d gone to meet a client and you were in the lobby, scoping it out from the looks of things.”
“Ah, yes. I saw you too, although you looked a little different then.”
It looked like she blushed, but I thought that could have been from the heat and wind.
“Not that kind of client. I’m a guide of sorts, but I also provide information and advice.”
I wondered if that had been part of the reason for her abduction but kept it to myself.
The canyon wall to the left was sheer and rose hundreds of meters into the air. Further back along the cliff face, I could see gouges and fractures, testaments to the speed and force of the skiff as it shot forward from the rest of the wreckage.
The river was calm here, offering a passage to the other side. The river banks were thin, evidence that the waters were nearly as wide now as they had been when they cut down the canyon. If we waded through, the path looked passable on the right side of the ravine. It was broken into a few cracks and a slope that looked to lead all the way up.
I pointed to it. “This looks a little more navigable, so long as you don’t mind getting wet. I don’t think we can get up on this side anyway.”
Marcella eyed the river with some trepidation then looked at the sheer canyon wall on our current side. I saw the moment resignation set in and she squared her shoulders before moving to the river bank. She then sat down and began untying her boots.
“Good idea,” I said, joining her. “Don’t want them getting stuck in that sludge.”
“Exactly,” she replied. Then she took me by surprise by standing and stripping off her black pants.
My mouth didn’t quite drop open, but it was close. I quickly averted my eyes and stood, turning away awkwardly.
“There’s no call to be prudish,” she chided me. “You’re welcome to go in fully clothed, but don’t be surprised if you come out naked anyway. Even if you don’t, your clothes will be soaked.”
I couldn’t deny that she had a logical point. Still keeping my back to her, I stripped.
A few minutes later we waded into the water. As the taller of us, I carried the bag. It might have been waterproof, but I doubted it, and our clothes were inside. Baxter looked like a cheap individual and the material appeared to be a basic synthetic fabric.
We were nearly to the other side, Marcella some distance ahead of me, when trouble hit. She slowed her pace, then wobbled.
“Careful, there’s muck here. Don’t stop. The quicker we move, the better.” She stumbled forward another step and struggled in place, seemingly unable to move on, then cursed. “I’m stuck.”
“Hold on,” I told her. My feet were still touching the sandy bottom of the river, so I stopped and opened the bag to dig for the paracord. I made a loop on one end first, then the other. It wasn’t as long as I’d hoped, maybe eight meters, if that. We weren’t far from solid ground so I hoped my plan would work.
“What are you doing?” she called out over her shoulder. Her voice trembled slightly but she was trying to hide it.
“I have some rope. Not much, but put your arm through it, then tighten it so you don’t lose it. I’m going to try and go ahead then pull you out.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding relieved.
“Get ready,” I warned. “I’m going to throw it to you as I pass.”
She caught it on the first try and pushed her arm through the loop, then tightened it as I’d instructed. I went wide, hoping to avoid her predicament and was rewarded with sharp river rocks poking the soles of my feet. I didn’t quite make it to the bank, but I was close enough to toss the bag to it.
“I’m going to start pulling!” I shouted to be heard above the river since we were now farther apart, and she nodded to indicate she got the message.
The stones dug painfully into my feet, but I ignored it and started reeling her in. At first, she didn’t budge, and I grew concerned when Marcella waved her hands erratically.
“Wait! I’m going to try and wriggle one foot free. Then when you pull, I can twist the other one out.”
I gave her some slack and a minute later she gave me the thumbs up. I leaned back and tried again. The line went taut and I could feel Marcella thrashing on the other end as she fought to get free.
Again, she waved for me to stop. “With all my weight on one leg I sank even farther. Almost to my knee.”
Even from this distance, I could see the growing fear in her expression.
“Stay calm. Let’s try again. This time when you start kicking out, I’ll yank as hard as I can.”
“You mean you weren’t doing that already?” she called out dryly.
I pulled the rope tight once more and waited until I felt her moving on the other end again. This time I leaned back and put as much weight and force as the water would allow into it. My feet were on fire, but I focused on getting Marcella out.
“Almost!” she yelled.
I took an agonizing step back and felt the loose rock give under me, cutting my feet even more. Ignoring the stabs of pain, I took another. And another.
“I’m out! Keep pulling!”
With a sigh of relief, I stopped backing up and used my upper body to bring Marcella to me. “Be careful here and watch your step,” I advised. “The bottom is sharp.”
Since we were both out of breath, she just nodded and moved cautiously to my side. “Wow, you’re right. How are your feet not torn up?” she asked.
I just grimaced.
“Oh. Let’s get out of here so we can take a look at them.”
“That sounds like a good plan. Please don’t get stuck again.”
She laughed. “I’ll do my best, Alphonse.”
On the other side, we donned our dry clothes. I was glad she’d convinced me because even though the weather had been warm so far, but it was still midday. By the time night fell, so would the temperature.
Marcella sat on the ground and began to inspect my feet. I didn’t have to read micro expressions to tell that it was bad.
“We need to get all this dirt out of the cuts,” she said. “The water from the river is too silty, but we have the water bottles.”
“No, we need that to drink in case we get stuck out here,” I said, shaking my head. “I think I saw some disinfectant in the bag. If we use that it might work.”
“It should,” she agreed. “But it’s gonna sting.”
“I’ve had worse,” I lied.
While Marcella gathered what she needed I took stock of my feet. I hadn’t been wrong. The rocks had slashed several places on the soft skin. Some of the cuts were shallow, but a few were deep enough to worry me.
“So, tell me, Alphonse. What’s your story?”
“You’re trying to distract me,” I said.
“Yes. But I am curious. What made you want to be a Renegade?”
“I got into some trouble at school. My parents were ti
red of dealing with it, so they gave me a choice. Train with him or—” I yelped when the disinfectant hit my injured feet.
“Sorry! That was the worst of it, I promise. This numbing gel will take some of the sting away.”
She was right, and after a few seconds the pain subsided enough that I relaxed a little.
“A little clotting powder, then the bandages. Hopefully you can walk,” she commented.
Less than ten minutes later Marcella was helping me with my boots. I took a few experimental steps and was relieved to only feel a little soreness.
“Thanks, that’s much better,” I said.
She shook her head. “I should be thanking you, not the other way around. If you hadn’t been there…”
“It was the right thing to do. Besides, we’re in this together now.”
“Right. Hostage bonding time,” she joked. “Still, thanks. I owe you one.”
She tipped her head back then and studied the horizon.
I followed her gaze up to the dusky sky.
“We better find shelter or rescue soon or we won’t make it,” she said, serious again. “There are only six or so hours before nightfall. The atmosphere here doesn’t exactly retain heat at night.”
She gave me a weak smile. “Exoplanet captures are the worst. Why put anything that isn’t a dome on a planet that is going to destabilize in orbit or freeze over time?”
I shouldered the bag and checked the compass. “You would have to ask whoever put the planet here.”
“Do you have their frequency? I have some complaints.” She laughed, a light tinkling sound that I found pleasant.
“I’ll see if I can get them a message,” I replied, unsure if that counted as a humorous response. She chuckled so it must have been. Max would have been proud, and I cracked a smile at the thought of my one-time friend. “Let’s try to climb up and around this slope. With some luck, we’ll find our way to the top and have a view of the land.”
We made our way across the shelf and inched up bit by bit as the terrain allowed. It took a few hours, but we finally found a crack in the side wall. It was narrow enough to climb but tight enough we could leverage our legs and backs and walk up the surface. We made it to the top and stopped to catch our breath, exhausted but elated by the progress.
“I’m glad we found something that didn’t require free climbing. I don’t think we’re in any shape to pull that off.”
“I believe you are correct, Marcella.”
She slapped at me lazily. “I don’t get you. Sometimes you sound so proper, then it’s like you walked off a kessil farm.”
The sky was darkening at the horizon. We had used up about half of our daylight since leaving the cabin.
“We’ve got four hours at the most to find shelter. We should rest a few more minutes and move on.” I got to my feet and offered Marcella a hand. She took it and I pulled her up.
“North should take us that way,” she said, gesturing off in the distance, then swiping dirt from her pants. “Once it gets dark, we’ll be able to see the lights.”
I looked down toward the river and the scrapes across the canyon wall to orient myself, then verified with the compass. Not surprisingly, she’d been right.
Now Marcella leaned down, stretching her legs and lower back. She stood back up. “Are your feet okay?”
“Yes, at least for now.” In truth they throbbed, but I didn’t want to stop. The cliff’s edge was too exposed, and I wanted to find somewhere to protect us from the elements if we couldn’t find a town or homestead.
We walked in silence for a while. The terrain was easy enough to traverse. Rocks and bits of brush, mostly flat or with slow and easy rises and slopes. I could just make out Celtan in the far distance, but it was just a speck. On foot it would take days to reach.
Still, I was hoping to see a few ships taking off from distant points or something in orbit that could be used to orient against. The camp that Wes and his men spoke of had to be remote. I had expected Dorian to be here already and my mind worked through all the possibilities as to why he wasn’t.
None of the options I came up with were ideal. The Constable was either dead or captured, or my tracker had failed. Of the three, I was hoping for the last one. I felt like I was being watched and turned to see Marcella staring at me.
“You spend a lot of time in there.” She pointed between my eyes and thumped me in the forehead. “Anything that could help us out?”
I shook my head. “Nothing right now. I keep hoping for some kind of cave or natural shelter.”
She gestured at the expansive desert surrounding us. Bare mountains dotted the landscape, but not much else. “It all looks the same to me. Maybe we should stop here. It’s possible a low flying shuttle could spot us.”
“I don’t think we are going to see a ship at this point. Any signals the wreck might broadcast have been washed downriver.”
We walked in silence for another half hour before she stopped. “Look, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but we should make a signal ourselves. A fire or something. We need to be seen. We could be walking for days before we see anything. I’d rather be picked up by slavers than just die of exposure.” She gestured to the sky. “We have, at most, an hour before that becomes a problem.”
I nodded. “Less than.” I had chosen a direct line back toward Celtan, rather than following the canyon, but now thought better of it. “We can head back toward the canyon. There might be caves to shelter us until morning.”
She considered that for a few moments before shaking her head. “Going back would be a waste and we’ve come too far. It’ll be dark before we get back. Let’s keep going and see if we can make it to the closest mountain. It’s a little off course but we might find something at the base. Worst case, we have the blankets.”
I nodded. We’d fixed them to the outside of the pack to charge in the sunlight, so that might work to get us through the night. “Sounds like that’s our only option.”
We set off again, this time making a line for the mesa she indicated.
As she’d predicted, dusk turned to night within the hour. The temperature dropped significantly, but thanks to the blankets we were able to stave off most of the cold.
“Look!” Marcella shouted suddenly.
I jerked into a fighting stance, startled by her outburst, then relaxed when I saw her grin. It only took a second to see what had her so excited.
At the base of the mountain a light shone like a beacon. We’d been too far out to see it before, and I noticed that there were small, natural formations partially blocking the view.
“Al, we made it!” Marcella hugged me tightly.
“So we did,” I agreed. “Hopefully they’ll take us in.”
We started moving again and she almost bounced at my side. Not wanting to deflate her, I stayed quiet and tried to ignore the bad feeling in my gut.
13
The lights belonged to a mining operation. An illicit one. Which is a hard thing to have on a planet with no formal governing structure, but the captive labor used in the mines made it a universally applicable label.
I counted five buildings. The leftmost looked like an upgraded portable survival/housing module. There was a small pit in the center of the camp, but I couldn’t determine its use. To the north was a barracks complete with two guard towers, one on each side. The rightmost building was the source of the steam, some kind of power plant inside.
The mine entrance was open but had a large shutter affixed to it. To the south of the pit was a tented series of tables and stalls. Workers sorted through chunks of earth separating viable ores from the dross. All around the operation, makeshift towers housed men with rough attitudes and guns. The workers appeared malnourished and many had poorly dressed wounds and bruises.
The moment we came over the ridge, close enough to see what lay in the cutdown valley below, lookouts had sounded alarms. I looked to Marcella and shrugged. “At least we’ll survive the night. Maybe.”
She gave me a wry grin. “You can know your terrain and be handy in a mud pit, but I know people. This will be fine.”
It was an interesting moment, seeing her smile and exude a form of charm. It was also comical, as she was covered in a fine layer of red and gray mud and had no idea. Her hair was dusty, and she was a far cry from the sophisticated woman I’d first seen at the Prime Lady. There was an endearing quality, but I suspected only to me.
The guards pounded toward us, rifles in hand, and started shouting orders. Three guards formed a loose semicircle around us.
“Get on the ground, hands behind your heads!”
We kneeled, relieved to be off our feet after hours of walking, but I couldn’t conceal a wince from the pain that came with the motion.
Satisfied that we were passive, the men stood ready but silent until their superior arrived. He sauntered up and regarded us with a mocking sneer. Long dark hair hung down his back. He was wearing an open shirt with a long blue coat and sported two pistols on his right hip. “What do have we here? Some escapees? No. Don’t recognize them. I would certainly remember seeing this one before, even with the grime.”
He approached Marcella and caressed the side of her face with his fingertips. “Sweetheart, you are just a mess, but I’ll be cleaning you up, don’t you worry. You can call me Pyke. I’m the foreman around this operation.”
She remained motionless as he walked around her. When he had finished his survey, she spoke. “We were in a crash. My pilot made an error and smashed into the side of a canyon. It was terrible. I would have died if it weren’t for this young man, the mechanic’s nephew. He pulled me from the wreckage.”
Pyke looked at me. “A commendable effort, lad. You’ve done well to keep your lady alive and to find us. We’ll be certain to see you are both well treated.” He laughed after that. It was a low, cruel sound, the kind that was used to being echoed by those without the dignity and spine to stand up to him.
The guards joined in on the laughter until he cut them off with a gesture. “It’s late. If you’ll follow me down into the camp, I’ll see that you both have a bed for the night. We’ll talk options come morning.”
