by Gun Brooke
“How far is your home?” Beaux asked sharply and slipped an arm around Moon’s waist. “Close enough to walk there in the dark?”
“No.” As if Moon would ever show anyone to her most sacred space, her home where she lived in freedom.
“Then we have to do things a little differently. You have to come with me to our part of the camp. You’ll be safe there.”
“No.” Moon tried to hold firm, but her body was still weak even if she could walk, albeit slowly.
“You have no choice. If they find you here, and you must have realized that some of them are ruthless, they’ll kill you.”
“They’re all ruthless. You all are. Haven is not the place for drilling or blasting for natural resources. It won’t work. You’ll just destroy it.” Moon walked alongside Beaux, knowing full well she would’ve fallen if Beaux hadn’t kept her close.
“We can discuss that situation after treating your hands and making sure you haven’t sustained any injuries that are even worse,” Beaux said. She tugged at her communicator and let Tracks know she was heading back to camp but didn’t give any more details.
Painstakingly slow, they circled the Ilienta part of the camp. Beaux supported Moon, who was quickly reaching exhaustion, with Dancer on her other side. The air was starting to lose the acrid smell and taste created by the blast. Instead, the familiar sweetness, tinged with humidity as it was in the middle of the night, filled Moon’s senses. How could this wonderful scent make her want to cry? She glanced up at Beaux and noticed the firm, almost hard, expression of her set jaw and pressed-together lips. This was not the Beaux from the shallow cave. This was the Empress’s formidable captain and a stranger. But then, why didn’t Dancer react to that fact? Why was he seemingly helping Beaux take Moon farther away from their home?
* * *
Beaux made sure they approached the Empress’s camp from an angle that reduced the risk of anyone from Ilienta spotting them. One alternative plan after another appeared in her brain. Even if Doc had wielded her magic wand around her head and other injuries, fatigue was starting to set in. That and having only a few emergency rations, no matter how nutritious those things were, made her feel sluggish.
“Where…are we going?” Moon pushed at Beaux’s arm.
“My camp. No matter the fact that nobody was seriously hurt, you’re still in danger. They’ll retaliate if they find out about you.”
“And they will find out if you take me into the camp!” Strong, despite her temporarily weakened state, Moon pushed free.
“Stop, and listen to me,” Beaux whispered hotly. “I don’t know how many of you live in your settlement, or when you got here, but they will track you down and find you the moment you slip up.”
“I won’t slip up, and, trust me. I’m not easy to find.” Hissing the words, Moon backed up. To Beaux’s surprise, Dancer moved in behind Moon, in essence stopping her from fleeing.
“All right. I admit you’re good at being stealthy, but what about the rest of your people? Can they hide just as easily?”
“There are no other people!” Moon pushed her knuckles into her chest. “There’s just me. And Dancer.” Then she seemed to realize what she had just said and gasped. Slowly, she sank to her knees and lowered her head. “Just me.”
Unable to process Moon’s anguished words at first, Beaux remained rigid. Then all she saw was the crumbling woman before her. Quickly, she closed the distance between them and helped Moon to her feet. To see her like this didn’t sit right with Beaux. The amount of time she had known Moon could be counted in hours. Still, something about her made the sight of this Moon, the one who could barely stand, causes physical pain in Beaux’s chest. Could it be true that she was all alone? It made some awful sense, even if Beaux couldn’t explain why.
“All right. All the more reason to accept the chance to have some allies.” Beaux put her arm around Moon’s shoulders again, and for some reason, this time it felt different. Perhaps the idea of anyone hurting this woman rubbed her the wrong way and stimulated Beaux’s protective side, which she normally reserved for her crew alone. Yes, that must be it. A small inner voice had additional notions, but she quieted it since she wasn’t ready to listen.
“It will backfire. It will end in disaster. For all of us.” Moon shook her head but relented. Maybe she was just too tired and hurt to care right now. This resigned version of Moon wouldn’t last.
When they reached the crew’s camp, Beaux made sure they didn’t set off the wire alarm. Moon looked at the elaborate pattern Tracks and Nia had woven among the trees. “What happens if it’s triggered?”
“You receive a jolt, non-lethal, of course, and an alarm is set off.”
“Of course.” Some of the usual Moon peered through as she raised an eyebrow.
“We placed it high enough that small animals wouldn’t set it off. The bigger ones will, but so far our presence is keeping them away,” Beaux said as she reattached the wire.
“Until a family of brummers thinks it’s worth it to have a taste.”
“Don’t remind me.” Beaux placed a hand at the small of Moon’s back and ushered her toward the center of the camp, where Doc had set up her tents. “Now, first of all, let’s sort your hands out. Please, keep Dancer close, or someone might think he’s dangerous and try to save us.”
Several of her crew had returned, and the curious glances turned to alarm at the sight of Dancer, who in turn returned their gaze with something resembling contempt. Moon jutted her chin out and kept her eyes forward and one hand on Dancer’s head, clearly not about to engage anyone.
Just as they reached the medical tents, Veyar came walking from the other direction. At the sight of Beaux and Moon, he stopped, his hand landing on the butt of his sidearm.
“Stand down, Commander. She’s with me.”
Veyar lowered his hand, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. “She’s injured. Was she in the other camp? Who is she? And what is that?”
“This is Moon and Dancer, who saved me from the assassination attempt. I’ll explain more later. We need to see to her injuries first. I’d ask you to join us, but I think we’ll do this in smaller steps than normal.” Beaux shrugged.
“Nothing about this entire situation is normal,” Veyar said. “I’ll be outside until you need me. I heard from Tracks and Somas. They’re on their way back. I believe they have some new information about the situation over there.” He motioned with his head toward the Ilienta camp.
“All right. Ask one of the crewmen to find something for us to eat and drink, please. Yourself included.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Picked up strays?” Doc’s acerbic voice from behind made Beaux want to curse.
And that was when Moon, who had been entirely expressionless during the exchange with Veyar, began to laugh.
Chapter Thirteen
The doctor pointed at the center gurney. “Up you go, young lady.”
Moon regarded the older woman, who didn’t seem fazed by her presence—or Dancer’s. She hadn’t even commented about him walking into her domain. Using her elbow, she pushed herself up on the gurney and stared at her surroundings. Some of the medical equipment she recognized from the cruise ship after accompanying ill or injured passengers to sick bay, but she couldn’t begin to fathom what some of the others were for.
“She’s injured her hands.” Beaux stood next to Moon, arms folded across her chest.
“I can see that.” The doctor took Moon’s hands and turned them over, her touch gentle. “That has to hurt.”
“Yes.” Moon couldn’t relax, no matter how she tried. Her spine felt as rigid as if someone had poured a metal alloy down her spinal cord.
“I’ll give you some pain relief before we—”
“No!” Moon shook her head emphatically. “Please. Nothing to make me blurry.”
The doctor looked concerned. “None of my painkillers will make you blurry or lose control, girl.”
“Her name is Moon.” Beaux stepped closer and
sat down next to her on the gurney, uninvited.
“Nice to meet you, Moon. I’m Croy, but most people just call me Doc.” Doc took out an instrument that looked like a large ring with a screen attached to it. She fastened it to her head and sat down on a tall stool in front of Moon, still holding her hand. Flipping down the screen before her face, she seemed to look at Moon’s palm and fingers through it. “I take it you hurt yourself on some twigs or branches. I can see traces of them here.” As she looked up, her gaze was kind. “Why don’t you allow me to at least numb the area before I clean it—or it will hurt. Some of the traces are buried quite deeply.”
“Just do it, Moon,” Beaux said. “Even I let Doc use local numbing after I stopped being stupid about it.”
Moon hesitated. They might use something that would dull her senses, but Beaux had not lied to her before, as far as she knew, unlike Moon, who had kept most things about herself from Beaux without hesitation. “All right. Thank you.”
“Good.” Doc sprayed a fine mist of something across Moon’s palms and fingers, and after a few moments of stinging, the pain subsided.
“You can relax now,” Beaux said quietly. “This is as bad as it gets. Right, Doc?”
“Right.” Doc didn’t look up, as she was using one of her enigmatic instruments to remove splinters and debris from the wounds.
But it wasn’t the pain that made Moon so tense. She had walked past at least twenty people by Beaux’s side, through the camp. Then she had been closely scrutinized by one of the Empress’s senior officers. All that attention had triggered this automatic response from all her years as a slave: to kneel before her masters. Moon was afraid that if she did relax, she would sink to the floor and press her forehead to their shoes.
“There we go. The cuts aren’t as deep as I feared.” Doc glanced up. “Certainly not as deep as the gash on your temple, Captain. What makes it difficult is that Moon will need the use of her hands without tearing the freshly healed skin open every time she opens and closes them.”
“Freshly healed?” Moon looked down at her palms where Doc had cleaned the wounds thoroughly. The gashes were bright red, and she expected the foul-smelling ointment and bandages that were all a slave could receive from a doctor aboard the cruise ship.
Instead, Doc plucked a thin wand from the table next to her and pressed a few sensors. The wand made a soft whirring sound, and then the tip turned light blue. “Right hand first.” Doc held Moon’s hand steady by cupping her own underneath as she ran the wand back and forth. Moon couldn’t believe her eyes. The skin grew pink around the edges of the wound, then paler with each passing moment. “How—how can it do that?” She looked up at Doc and Beaux.
“Surely you’ve seen a skin-mesher in action before?” Doc spoke absentmindedly.
She hadn’t. Of course, if they were commonplace, the passengers on the cruise ship had received this procedure, but she had never been privy to this technology. Chills trickled through her system as she realized how her obvious ignorance suggested she was of a lowest-of-the-low status.
“If she’s lived most of her life here, how can she have been exposed to advanced technology?” Beaux grumbled. “Quit interrogating her.”
Moon looked at Beaux in astonishment, and so did Doc.
“All right, all right,” Doc said. “Just idle conversation.”
Moon’s heart thundered, and she knew she was losing her window of opportunity to tell the truth. But how could she? How could she lose her freedom and the chance—albeit dwindling—to stop Ilienta? The two objectives intertwined, and she could only stare at the two women who held her future in their hands.
“There. Now, this newly meshed skin is still fragile, so wear padded gloves if you must use them. After a few days, you should have healed, since you’re young. How old are you, by the way?” Doc seemed to forget her commanding officer’s recent outburst, but this time Beaux didn’t object.
“I’m twenty-five.” Moon couldn’t believe the sight of her healed skin. If she had been able to use one of these when the brummer attacked her, she wouldn’t have such a scar or have suffered the risk of infection.
“Come on. We need to eat, and you need to clean up. We can dress you in one of our uniforms to keep you out of Ilienta’s spotlights.” Beaux motioned with her chin toward the door. “And I don’t know about you, but I need some rack time.”
Moon had already begun to see that for now, she needed to play along. If she tried to make a run for it, she wouldn’t get very far. Instead, she’d be thrown in the brig, at best, and she would be risking Dancer’s freedom as well. He would not take anyone manhandling her well.
“As long as Dancer can come with me,” Moon said, raising her chin, daring Beaux to refuse.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way. The old boy is growing on me. Aren’t you, Dancer? We’re becoming friends, right?” Beaux winked at Dancer, who had the gall to look quite enamored. What was it between him and that woman? Moon groaned inwardly as she jumped off the gurney. She turned to Doc.
“Thank you, Doc, for healing my wounds. I never take such kindness for granted.” Moon stopped herself from kneeling but couldn’t keep from bowing at the hip, her arms crossed over her chest and her hands on her shoulders.
Doc seemed astounded but then nodded briskly. “All in a day’s work, Moon. Run along and eat something. I can’t say much for the flavor of the rations, but you need the sustenance.”
Moon followed Beaux to the door with Dancer right behind her. When they stepped outside, she came to a quick stop. It seemed the Empress’s entire crew was standing in a semicircle around the open area outside the medical tents. They studied her closely, but only until Dancer came through the door, and that’s when a lot of them flipped open the straps over their sidearms.
“What did I tell you?” Commander Veyar said and waved a hand dismissively at the crew. “Stand down. Now.”
Dancer didn’t seem affected by the crew’s suspiciousness but merely sat down at Moon’s side, looking curiously at them.
“Who is that—and what kind of creature is that?” Several voices called out similar questions.
“You’ve had your chance to gawk,” Beaux said sternly. “Once I’ve conferred with the senior officers, I plan to call a meeting with everyone not currently on guard duty. Until then, carry out your duties as normal. Dismissed.”
Moon could tell from the glances exchanged among the crewmembers that they weren’t at all satisfied, but their quick dispersal was a testament to how much they trusted their captain. Or perhaps they feared her as well. Once the crew had gone back to what they were doing, and since it was the middle of the night, most of them returned to their tents, Moon was surrounded by Beaux, Veyar, and a few others she had no names for.
“I need to eat while we talk,” Beaux said. “I take it the mess tent is empty at this hour?”
“It is, sir.” Veyar motioned toward one of the larger tents with his hand. “The crewmen sorted through one of the shuttles and found some canned food. It is marginally better than the nutrient rations.”
“I’ll promote them to ensigns if they keep that up,” Beaux said.
In the mess tent, they sat by a table in the center where the crewmen had set the table for Beaux and her.
“Dancer is hungry too,” Moon said, careful not to sound as if she was asking, let alone begging. After all, it hadn’t been her idea to bring her into this camp.
“What does he eat?” Beaux eyed Dancer, who seemed enthralled by something on the table.
“He likes fish,” Moon said.
“Then he’s in luck. This is preserved guico fish from Cimeria.” A bald man took one of the plates and placed it on the ground.
Dancer sauntered over, sniffed the content on the plate, and then shot Moon a long-suffering look.
“Oh, please,” Moon said. “None of us are having fresh food. Just eat.”
Dancer kept her gaze for a few beats and then began eating in earnest. What a fraud he
could be.
“He understands you?” The bald man gaped.
“Yes, of course.” Moon blinked. Not that she had been in touch with many of the pets that Cimerian people kept, but surely other wildlife creatures could understand basic words? Or perhaps this was a misconception on her part.
“Well, I’m Tracks,” the man said and extended a hand. This being the third hand of another human that Moon had touched since they took her from her mother and sold her—and Tracks’s hand was huge—she took it slowly but squeezed it.
“My name is Moon de Cruz,” she said, and something inside her snapped into place. This was the first time she had used her entire name in the presence of another human being. The fact that he was bald, probably not by choice, but still, and she wasn’t, only emphasized everything. It was as if saying her full name validated her existence, gave her life, and looking over at Beaux, she saw the surprise on her face.
“Nice to meet you, Moon,” Tracks said and grinned. “Let’s sit down and eat.”
The exchange, and perhaps because they realized that Dancer wasn’t going to attack them, seemed to relax the others. Moon took a seat at the table between Beaux and Tracks. She waited until Beaux took a plate and filled it with whatever it was in the bowls on the table, and then she did the same. Having spent a good deal of the journey to Haven practicing using the eating sticks rather than the coarse spoons made of some weak polymer that slaves were issued, Moon expertly began to eat. She knew this was a temporary but most welcome pause, because soon enough their interrogation would commence—and she would need her energy.
Chapter Fourteen
Beaux sat in silence for a moment, looking at the people around the table in the mess tent. Somas, Tracks, Veyar—and Moon. Dancer was sitting just behind Moon, and Beaux envisioned him ready to pull his companion out of the tent, hell, the camp, if he sensed something was wrong. Beaux had debated paging Doc to join them, but it seemed hard enough for Moon to face the senior officers who were present.
