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I STAND MOTIONLESS, hands pressed against the wall behind me, trying to scan my captor. Something about his ruthless manner prevents me going deeper. His appearance is intimidating enough.
He’s almost a head taller than I am and from the way he moves I can tell his lean frame is corded with enough muscle to make him a formidable fighter even on Arcturus or Earth. In Primae’s five percent lighter gravity he’ll be unbeatable.
He doesn’t look as if he’s either descended from the original colonists to settle Arcturus or is one of the few outsiders who have been granted citizenship into their privileged society. Those people look more like General Pucrov. Well-fed, accustomed to giving orders and dispatching others to do the physical work.
Everything about Captain Reith, from blue-black military uniform and weapons to cropped brown hair and the scar running from scalp-line to cheekbone, spells killing machine. At least compared to anyone I’ve ever known in Pangaea.
In my too-comfortable, over-protected Pangaean existence even Hannik didn’t see as disastrous till it was too late...
Reith lays his right hand on his left arm just below the shoulder and starts a one-sided conversation. He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he speaks.
‘Target acquired sir.’ He pauses, listening. ‘I thought I was supposed to do it as soon as I reported in.’ Another pause. ‘Fine. Where? Sure. Leaving now.’ He takes his hand away and in the dim light I see the glint of metal insignia on his sleeve.
Some kind of communication system?
He draws a heavy pistol. I freeze, waiting for the burn of bullet ripping into flesh. Guns don’t exist in Pangaea. Illegal since first settlement.
It’s a law that doesn’t entirely prevent fights and murders but it does reduce the body-count. The unfamiliarity of the lumpy black thing pointing at my head feels far more threatening than blade or arrow.
‘Calm down. Kill order rescinded. For now.’ He steps back, face expressionless, giving a curt signal with the weapon for me to walk back through the wrecked outer area. Outside in the street a black landcar hovers. Reith pushes me into the back and moves in beside me.
I shuffle as far away as the cramped space allows.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Shut up.’
Within minutes we’re at the palace. I wince as Reith pulls me out of the car and in through a side entrance, his iron grip forcing a rapid rethink of escape plans.
I’ve never sparred with anyone so strong. There must be ways... but I’ve no idea... he’s going to leave bruises even through layers of seaweed...
General Pucrov is waiting in the corridor. He glances briefly at me, his heavy features twitching in evident dislike, then he turns and clumps down curving stairs to the basement. He opens a door.
‘In there. And Reith, you’re to do it. Carefully. The other one went crazy. Killed a guard with some weird hand-fighting technique. They were too clumsy getting her under control. Dead before she hit the floor. Deron’s passed responsibility for extracting information over to us.’
‘Wants to keep his greasy little hands clean.’
Pucrov glares irritably at his subordinate. ‘Are you questioning my orders?’
‘No. Just whether we can trust him.’
‘Above your pay grade, Captain. Now get started.’ The heavyset man turns abruptly and walks away.
Reith pushes me through the door and locks it. I back away, taking in my surroundings rapid-pace, searching frantically for an escape now there are no guards. The descent and musty smell doesn’t help, evoking memories of my grandmother’s fairytales in desert moonlight, of sorcery, heroes and dragons, of castles and dungeons and torture chambers...
Get a grip, Aisha. It’s a storeroom.
It is. Crates and amphorae, supplies for diplomats’ entertainment in the seat of government far above us. Then Reith pulls lengths of chain and sharp tools out of a box in the corner and its recent change of use becomes horribly clear.
Looks like citizen rights disappeared along with diplomacy.
He clips the chain to a hook on the wall. My hands cross behind my back, fingers reaching to release the knives, but he takes two long strides across the floor and pushes me towards a crate.
‘Sit.’
I sit. ‘What do you want from me?’
He picks up a slender steel wand with a bulky handgrip.
‘Information. I’d have thought that was obvious. Secretary to a woman who just admitted holding a senior position in a rebel force based in Bergen.’
That was quick. They couldn’t have got her here more than half an hour before me?
My eyes focus on the dark reddish stain on the floor near the chain. Understanding hits in a shockwave the instant I connect it to Pucrov’s comment.
He was talking about Hannik! How much did she have to endure to make her story sound forced, genuine?
‘You killed her! You––’
Act helpless and naïve. The only chance you have is surprise.
His stony expression doesn’t change. ‘No. I was hunting you on the streets.’ He shifts his grip on the slender baton. ‘My orders are to be careful getting the rest of the intel from you. That doesn’t mean it won’t hurt. So start talking. Now.’
The sticky dark smudge by the chain holds my gaze, superimposed by images of my support-mother, battered and beaten, deep cuts pouring blood onto the red-stained floor...
My whole body starts shaking. I try desperately to reconnect with the Iritheni kien training I’d been so happy to leave behind when I moved to Karesh, the rigid denial of grief for lost loved ones, keeping focus on saving anyone still alive in an emergency.
Now the only one trying to survive is me.
I dip my head towards the dark stain on the floor.
‘More careful than that still means getting beaten to a pulp by the look of it. I doubt I’ll oblige you by lasting any longer than my employer if that’s how you people do things.’
If I don’t cling to the helpless act, I’ll be the next victim on that chain. I fold my hands in my lap.
‘I’ve never been to Bergen.’ At least that bit is true. ‘I’m just her appointments secretary at the university.’
‘What were you doing hiding in an abandoned shop?’
‘Hannik got a message that she was in danger. To keep me safe she made me wait in the empty premises till she collected me. So I waited. And got you instead.’ I watch him concentrate, matching the story to the earlier encounter with Saroyan.
‘Who were you talking to in that back room? I heard your voice through the door.’
‘I was praying. It’s what people usually do when they think they’ve only minutes to live.’
‘Lies. Pangaea doesn’t have churches.’
‘Because we don’t need them. Every place is sacred, every breath a connection to the source of life.’ I see his eyes narrow, maybe a flicker of doubt? A tiny beacon of hope kindles in the empty black hole of despair in my stomach. ‘I don’t mind discussing Pangaean theology with you, but in that case it might be better to start at the beginning.’
I must have imagined it. He throws the wand irritably to the floor.
‘Forget it. Tell me about her requirements of you as secretary.’
My mind goes blank. It’s not easy to ensure fake additions invented on the spot still meld convincingly with background hastily prepared in the landcar on the way here. Hannik’s praise for the airhead secretary act slips into the blank space and I grasp it, adding a measure of tearful not entirely fabricated.
‘How do you live with yourself, invading someone else’s planet?’ I fold my arms across my chest, petulantly, defiantly.
That may have been a mistake...
‘I’m supposed to be the one asking questions, not you.’ He scowls angrily but there’s something, a defensiveness, a tiny crack in his pigheaded compliance with orders. ‘I only got off the space-transport yesterday. Haven’t even seen Eden yet.’
My mind runs frantically through possibilities with the only crumb of information I’ve gained so far. ‘Replacing the previous operations commander. That was quick. Did he have an accident or something?’
Reith looks up sharply. ‘How d’you know that if you’re so innocent and uninformed?’
‘Know what? The Empire’s diplomatic mission started two years ago and an off-planet tour of duty lasts five because of time taken in space transit? Since when did educated equal criminal?’
That was close. Be careful. Idiot.
But he seems to accept it. Then his eyes focus beyond me as he presses his hand to the insignia-com on his shoulder.
‘Yes sir. Yes, she’s cooperating but I’ve only had a few minutes...’
An exasperated sigh. ‘Yes sir. Right away.’ He stands with a twitch of irritation. ‘Emergency on Eden. I’ll finish with you when we get there. After I’ve dealt with it.’ He drags me out to the waiting landcar, hand clamped back on my arm. Despair sweeps through me again.
How in the stars am I going to escape from Eden?