Deep, thrumming bass began at the pavement beneath his boots before filtering up through his bones. The sensation was not unlike what he felt when he activated his powers. Sandsa was no stranger to the sounds that belched from nightclubs now, having spent a night or two in the Bang Bang.
Though Subofficer Ala now allowed him the privilege of leaving headquarters unescorted, she had yet to assign him his first mission. So until then Sandsa roamed the nights alone, keeping his mind focused on Callista in case she encountered trouble. He was grateful for the separation for two reasons. Firstly, he had begun to feel a fierce, burning need to explore the skin beneath her clothes, which he supposed was a natural part of being a man in the presence of a beautiful woman, but it was distracting and disturbing by equal measure. There was much more to Callista than her tempting curves. Secondly, she had asked yet again why it was that he had both a Chipper’s abilities and the desert Magic.
Sandsa paused in front of the set of steps that led down into a nightclub he had not yet encountered. The concrete forming the stairs resembled collapsed cakes, so broken apart by time and pressure that it was hardly a safe journey down them. Sliding a finger over the sensor at the edge of his leather jacket, Sandsa watched as the item responded to his touch and sealed itself over the telltale Maria shirt he was wearing. Given that he had not yet been taken down here by Bock, it was not somewhere he should assume was safe simply because he was a clansman — rather the opposite.
He negotiated his way down the steps, a hand grasping the fusty grey railing that ran along one side. When he reached the lower platform, he lifted his fingers in front of his face, studying the grime painted over the lines of his skin. Sandsa dusted the residue over his pants (more malleable denim this time — he had learnt his lesson), leaving a smudge on the black fabric.
Several strings of beads swayed in the doorway, shivering with each beat. Sandsa cut his way through them — and then he found yet more stairs, though these were smoother which made up for their lack of railing. He was led on by the distorted thuds of a song that seemed to be entirely made of bass, though as he neared the bottom of the steps a screeching melody became more obvious. The music brought to mind the distant howls of desert winds, so beautiful and resounding — his chest ached.
He distracted himself from his thoughts by looking around the nightclub. It was smaller than he had expected and filled with crisscrossing lights that seemed to be constantly at war with each other, fleeing and pursuing, clashing and disintegrating. The floor was like an Old Earth chessboard with its black and white squares, though the latter was lit up blue, and the clean, tight lines of the room were easily visible because it lacked bodies crammed into every space.
Once Sandsa’s foot hit the floor, the music faded to nothing. The speakers grew still; no vibrations pounded out of them. After an excruciating silence, a mournful wailing dribbled out onto the floor, sending the couple who had been dancing straight for the bar.
‘Stark that kid’s playlist!’ the bartender said. He leapt over the curved white counter and raced up to a machine perched on a platform above the dance floor, then fiddled with some knobs until the grinding, mindless rhythm returned.
The bartender lumbered back towards the bar, where his only two patrons had decided that a lack of service was the epitaph on the nightclub’s gravestone. He watched them leave, his lips sealing together. Then he flashed a toothy grin at Sandsa and gestured to a stool. Sandsa sat with him for a time, watching the empty floor, before turning his attention to his companion. The bartender had dark, weathered skin, and the palm that scrubbed at his generous chin bore the scar of a man bound to his wife in the desert ways.
‘Shouldn’t’ve trusted my son with the playlist,’ the bartender said, sounding rueful. ‘He acts like carrying a lasgun means he can do anything! He’s just too much like his city-born mother and he doesn’t have a drop of the Magic in him. You know how it is, these people with their powerless ways.’ He levelled his charcoal gaze at Sandsa. ‘I can feel the Magic in you too.’
Sandsa started. He had reined in his Chipper-like powers to avoid detection from members of GLEA, because if they were able to sense other lifesigns and sometimes even his father, they would certainly be able to feel him. But it had not occurred to him that he would encounter his…his former people, nor that he would need to hide his identity from them.
‘Warm greetings, brother of the sands,’ Sandsa said, clasping the bartender’s forearm as the custom dictated.
‘Warm greetings, brother,’ his companion returned.
That done, the bartender unhooked the strange padded orange vest he was wearing, revealing a grey shirt. Over the chest pocket a symbol of a spear was crudely drawn in black marker. Catching Sandsa’s gaze, the man patted his pocket. ‘I’m Vom, from the Zatzat gang. There’s a bunch of us desert folk from the Zatzat tribe — not from this planet, if you’re wondering — who moved to this dust bowl so it seemed right to make our own clan. Where are you from?’ He nodded at the lasgun on Sandsa’s hip. ‘Expensive piece.’
Sandsa could not recall Callista mentioning the Zatzat, nor indeed the names of any of the smaller clans. Her lessons seemed to be based exclusively on the Alcazaar. Sandsa shrugged. ‘Bolt. I am sworn into the Maria, though I suppose I am not fully one of them until I undergo my first mission. Is this going to be a problem? I know so very little about other gangs.’
‘Don’t care, so long as you’re not Alcazaar,’ Vom replied. ‘Do you want a job? I’m in need of a DJ, if you can’t tell.’
Sandsa slipped his hands into his empty jacket pockets. ‘Perhaps. I am not particularly busy. I do have a question, however.’
‘Shoot. Well, not literally.’
Sandsa’s laugh sounded alien to his own ears but mercifully the loud music swallowed it. ‘Why is it you left the deserts?’
Vom leaned back onto the counter, his elbows supporting him. ‘And miss out on all the money I make with this booming business of mine?’ He chuckled. ‘Look, I get that the Desine created me and gave me a little bit of the Magic so I can make grains of sand dance across the floor — watch — ’ He demonstrated with a comically low-key display. ‘I feel bad about leaving. A lot of us do. But it just wasn’t…it wasn’t our place. Our ancestors chose the desert god so he gave them the powers to survive the sands and get on with each other — well, they fight as much as they talk, but let’s ignore that. Anyway, I didn’t choose the god. I chose the cities.’
Sandsa nodded along with this tirade. ‘There is nothing out there, nothing worth staying for.’
‘The Magic causes me enough trouble here — might’ve avoided some awkward questions when the Chippers came by one night,’ Vom said, his arms dropping to his sides. ‘They’re not so keen on sub-level gods and Desine-gifted powers, as you can imagine.’
‘I thought GLEA’s refusal to pay any medical bills for injuries incurred at night kept them unavoidably detained until daybreak?’ Sandsa mused, remembering what Callista had told him.
Vom’s expression was grim. ‘Doesn’t stop some of them. At least they pay for their drinks. Anyway, you want the job? All you have to do is see if the crowd is enjoying the tune and keep the jive going.’
‘I am not sure I need money — I have all I want,’ Sandsa said, thinking of Callista. He felt her mind reach out for his, her interest piqued by his strong feelings for her. I am merely entranced by the thought of you — it may happen hourly, my Callista, so you can ignore it.
I am not your anything, she responded, though her ensuing mental smirk eased the snap of her words. Yet.
A smile spread rapidly over Vom’s face. ‘Ah, in love are you? City girls aren’t so keen on disfiguring themselves for marriage.’ He raised his palms, exposing the binding scars fully. ‘My wife didn’t agree to go through with it until I gave her a ring with a rock.’
‘And the rock made her want to marry you?’ Sandsa pressed. ‘Is that how one progresses in a relationship? Does the love follow?’
‘What! You shouldn’t bind yourself to a woman if you don’t know if you love her!’ Vom burst out laughing.
‘I don’t really have experience in these matters,’ Sandsa muttered.
After slapping a hand on Sandsa’s shoulder repeatedly, Vom calmed down enough to say with a straight face, ‘Just because it feels like it’s meant to be doesn’t mean you can skip all the hard work of getting to know each other.’
‘Are you only assisting me because we share desert powers?’ Sandsa asked, frowning.
‘We’ve got to stick together in this wretched place,’ Vom said with a shrug, not denying it. ‘Also it pays to have a friend in the Maria. They have the best chance of knocking out the Alcazaar and I wouldn’t mind me some clout with your clan if that does happen!’
There was a sudden outpouring of thick steam from a machine in the corner. Sandsa glanced at Vom who waved a dismissive hand. ‘Smoke machine. Dancers love it. It smells starking awful, by the Desine. Say, you can’t get your Maria folk in here can you?’
‘I know a few who might be interested.’
***
‘Ala won’t appreciate you doin’ this,’ Matron warned, flattening her back against the opposite wall of the lounge room as though to keep as far away as possible from Bock and his ‘project’.
The teenager dug through the hole he’d blasted into the wall, pulling out a variety of cables. Calling for a technician was out of the question — Callista supposed they could have kidnapped one, but Bock had assured them he knew how to install their new acquisition. The vidscreen in question chose that moment to flicker into life. White noise buzzed its way through the room and pinpricks of white and black warred with each other on the surface of the device. The distortion reluctantly gave way to a map of the city after Bock thrust a data stick into the side of the vidscreen.
‘Subofficer Ala should not have gone out with the rest of our clan tonight and left us here with nothing better to do,’ Callista retorted, setting her cup of coffein on a nearby table.
Matron shook her head. ‘Don’t know why she left you in charge of headquarters instead of me. Misplaced trust, I reckon.’
‘Ala knows I’m good for it,’ Callista said, narrowing her eyes. She had liked Matron for years, though it seemed lately no matter what she did the clanswoman had nothing to offer but criticism. Callista focused back on the screen. ‘Are you done yet, Bock?’
‘You’ve been getting too big of a head ever since you left your parents’ house,’ Matron went on. ‘We only got one subofficer left and I bet you’re waiting for that promotion, grunt. Any day now, huh?’
Callista aimed a glare over her shoulder at the woman. ‘Matron. If Ala thought I was subofficer material, why hasn’t she said something?’
‘Worried I’ll beat you to it, are ya?’ Matron asked with a grin. ‘Don’t bother yourself about it, Dancer. Not worth my time being a subofficer when we’re losing anyway.’
‘We are not losing. Once Ala sees how useful Bolt — ’
‘Ala don’t trust Bolt yet,’ Bock piped up. ‘Says she’ll kill him if he hurts you. Don’t know why she hasn’t taken his lasgun off him to stop him hurtin’ you in the first place.’
Despite herself, Callista smiled. ‘Bock, I don’t think that’s what she meant.’
‘So why don’t she trust him?’ the boy asked and crossed his arms, the bright screen turning him into a dark silhouette.
‘Dancer here might be so caught up in it all, this first love stuff, that she’ll do anythin’ that Bolt tells her to do,’ Matron said with a sneer. ‘Stuff like not interrogating him properly when he first joined us, or standing by and letting him kill our only subofficer. He could be a spy.’
Bock snorted. ‘Bullshit. Bolt could kill Ala just fine even if Dancer tried to stop him. Have ya seen the man shoot?’
‘He that good?’ Matron asked, her forehead creasing.
The teenager used a few expletives to attest to Bolt’s skill with a lasgun.
Matron shrugged. ‘Could be Ala’s jealous.’
‘Of Bolt?’ Callista asked, biting off a laugh.
Bock sounded dismayed. ‘Nah, don’t tell me Ala’s into Callista. I’ve no chance if she don’t like men.’
‘You might still be in luck ’cause you’re no man,’ Matron jeered.
Rolling her eyes, Callista walked over to Bock and patted his shoulder. ‘Ala likes women and men both, so you can relax. And she always speaks so candidly to me about her experiences that I doubt she sees me as anything more than a friend. Or a comrade.’
Matron opened her mouth but Callista held up her hand, forestalling further comment. ‘That’s enough. Or I’ll tell Ala you think she’s jealous. I’m sure she’ll love hearing that.’
When Matron said nothing more, Callista poked a finger at the map on the screen and drew a line along the street that led her to where she had fought the Primus during two separate skirmishes. One of the locations lay directly in the No-Go Zone; the other place, in Newheim South, was closer to Alcazaar territory than the old Primus headquarters. She drew a circle around the second location then dropped her hand from the screen. There was no way she could make any of the others believe her theory about the now defunct Primus working with the Alcazaar, especially with these red squiggly lines that were already descending into static. Did it even matter now anyway?
Bock’s tongue slipped out of the corner of his mouth as he added in a few zigzags of his own, these ones worryingly close to the planet’s only Chipper outpost. ‘So this is where our lot went tonight.’
‘Why didn’t you go with them?’ Callista asked, spinning around to address Matron. ‘Ala told me it was you who figured out that the Miniatta were the clan the surviving Primus ran off to.’
‘Wanted a break from the fightin’,’ Matron said, her gaze falling to the floor. ‘It’s hard counting all of you up and then counting fewer when ya get back in.’
Guilt lanced through Callista’s heart. She had been with the gang for just three years; Matron had served much longer, and had seen many more of her clanspeople die. Callista would have let it go if she hadn’t caught a flash of something in Matron’s unguarded thoughts.
Callista nibbled the tip of her tongue. Before now, she would have assumed that what she’d felt from Matron was true concern for the safety of others. But Callista had recently learned how to use her powers with greater accuracy…and this concern was about something else.
Matron’s hand lay over her lasgun and had for the past few minutes. The skin around her eyes crinkled gently, like always, but her cheeks were tight with tension. Callista tipped her head to the side, her vision growing dark as she delved deeper into the thoughts unravelling before her. In Matron’s mind, the woman saw herself wearing a gang logo, but it wasn’t the triangle of the Maria. Instead, Matron’s shirt sported four blue dots in a line, a symbol that had been favoured by the…
‘Primus,’ Callista whispered.
‘Yeah, we’ll get the rest of ’em tonight,’ Bock said, completely focused on the screen.
Callista swallowed. Matron was waiting for them to look away from her so she could shoot them without any resistance. Mentioning this out loud would yield no result, because Matron wouldn’t dare try anything if they were ready for her. There would be no proof of the woman’s intentions. But if Callista gave her an opening…
The hairs on the back of Callista’s neck prickled as she deliberately turned away, exposing her back to a woman who had very conveniently positioned herself against a wall to ensure no one could get behind her.
Callista felt rather than heard Matron make her move. Whirling to face the threat, she sent out a hands-free blast with her powers and drew her lasgun at the same time. Matron’s shot went wide, striking the wall beside her and gouging out plaster and concrete. Callista fired. Matron went down, grabbing her knee and howling, ‘Stark you, Maria scum!’
‘Holy Creator shit!’ Bock exclaimed, spinning around. His eyes went wide.
‘The Miniatta aren’t sheltering the Primus, your real gang, are they?’ Callista asked.
Matron scowled. ‘You can’t know that.’
‘You’re the last Primus,’ Callista said, striding forward. She kicked the lasgun away from Matron’s hand and pressed the butt of her own weapon against the woman’s temple. ‘Why be a subofficer for us losers when the Alcazaar have offered you the rank in return for taking us out from the inside?’
‘Nice little story there, Dancer!’ Matron said, the words hissing off her tongue like acid.
‘The Alcazaar tried to kill you in the No-Go Zone!’ Callista shot back at her. ‘If I hadn’t saved you, they’d have managed it. Why would you back them?’
Matron snorted. Though she said nothing, her thoughts were loud and clear to Callista. They weren’t aiming at me, you starking idiot. They knew I brought the Maria there for them.
Callista considered arguing the point, but she didn’t particularly want the woman to know about her powers. ‘I trusted you, Matron. I thought you cared about us.’
‘I’m gonna call Ala,’ Bock said nervously. ‘Don’t want to be makin’ enemies with the Miniatta for no reason.’
‘Do it,’ Callista said without taking her eyes off the traitor. ‘So the counting. Was that to check our numbers so you could tell the Alcazaar how many of us were left each time?’
Matron stayed silent.
Callista bit into the side of her cheek, tasting blood. ‘Your gang is gone. You should have just accepted the Maria as your own. What I don’t get is why you tried to kill me of all people.’
‘It’s obvious,’ Bock said.
‘What?’ Callista demanded.
The air beside her shifted as the teenager took up residence there. ‘You’re the next subofficer, if Ala has a thing or two to say about it.’
Callista took a moment to re-scour Matron’s mind, then she jabbed the traitor with the toe of her boot. ‘I’m the only chance the Maria would have to continue if Ala died — in your eyes anyway. I don’t think Ala agrees or she’d have promoted me by now. You should be more worried about Bolt, you Primus piece of shit.’
‘I’m saying nothin’ more.’ And with that Matron closed her eyes and tilted her head back, hands clasped on her ruined knee.
Callista pistol-whipped the woman, rendering her unconscious. She glanced up a moment later when she felt Bolt’s presence, startled, because she wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get back inside — the palm print reader on the front door still hadn’t been taught his prints. And yet, there he was, standing in the doorway, unruffled by the frustration and hurt she poured back at him.
‘So you couldn’t let me handle this myself,’ she accused him.
I was not responsible for deflecting that lasbolt and, poorly aimed as it was, I would only have needed to heal you to fix the matter, he said, his eyebrows lifting as he communicated silently with her. And I have only just returned from my wanderings.
Callista sighed and slid her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his shoulder.
Bock flew over to them. ‘Ala’s on her way back. No way are we hitting the Miniatta and starting somethin’ with them for no reason. Holy Creator shit, Matron of all people!’
‘The Alcazaar are feeling more and more threatened by us,’ Callista said, extracting herself from Sandsa’s embrace. ‘We can’t keep pretending they’re just happy to sit there while we encroach on their territory.’
‘And now they are using smaller gangs against you — do the Maria have the resources to fight several clans at once, the Miniatta included?’ Sandsa asked.
Bock was already shaking his head. ‘Come off it, you two. Matron was just a pissed off clanswoman who lost her mothership. Musta sucked to be spying all this time just to lose it all. Dunno why she didn’t keep quiet and stay one of ours.’
‘She attacked us because the Alcazaar asked her to,’ Callista argued. ‘Not because she’d lost her mind. Matron wasn’t crazy.’
But Bock would have none of it and neither did Ala when she returned and brought the three of them into her study. Her red eye glowed in the dim light as she surveyed her clanspeople.
‘I’ve heard the rumours, but we’ve been over this, Cals. There’s no proof and we can’t start suspectin’ every clan on every corner — we can’t fight all of ’em at once.’ Ala rubbed her temples. ‘And it doesn’t matter anymore. Matron got a hold of a lasgun the moment I sent someone to check on her and shot herself. That’s the end of our problems with the starking Primus.’
Callista crossed her arms. ‘Fine. I have no proof. I still don’t know why she thought I was important enough to take out.’
It never occurred to you to read Ala’s thoughts the way you read Matron’s? Sandsa asked. He was standing behind her chair, his hands on her shoulders.
Ala cleared her throat. ‘You might have started out like rich folk but you have far more brain cells than the rest of my lot put together — even if you insist on throwing away good sense on this man.’
Callista felt Sandsa’s amusement tweak her own lips.
‘And if I’m honest, I should’ve done this earlier but I wasn’t sure how dedicated you were gonna be when you were still living with those parents of yours,’ Ala said, then paused to knock back her drink. She lifted her empty glass. ‘Subofficer Dancer, how does that suit ya?’
‘Oh, cool, we really need to celebrate,’ Bock said, grinning.
Callista leaned over to push her young companion back into his chair before he could race off and start the party already brewing in his head. ‘My first act as subofficer is to suggest that we send Bolt out on his first mission. He’s good, Ala. Bock says he’s the best shot he’s ever seen. You’ve sent out plenty of douchenozzles before they were ready so don’t you dare suggest I’m biased.’
The other woman rested her chin in her palm, assessing Callista with her natural eye. Then she nodded. ‘Alright, Cals. Can’t have a go at ya when I’ve given you the position. I also need to stop mollycoddlin’ the ones I can’t afford to lose. Now get out of here so I can drink in peace.’
As they left the room, Bock jabbed an elbow into Sandsa’s side. ‘She cares too much about me to lose me! Am I in with a chance or what?’
‘You think far too highly of yourself!’ Ala shouted after him.
Bock’s smile melted away. Curiosity got the better of Callista; she reached back into the study with her powers, touching Ala’s mind. The older subofficer felt the same level of protectiveness for Bock as she did for any other member of the Maria. And he really wasn’t her type. Too young. Too fresh-faced. Too optimistic. Didn’t he know there were plenty of other Maria women who would enjoy his company?
‘Perhaps try your luck elsewhere?’ was all Callista suggested, taken in by his downcast expression.
Bock threw his hands up. ‘Luck! I don’t have much of that. Hey, why are we wastin’ time here — we got Bolt’s first mission to plan!’
He skidded down the corridor, calling for his fellow clanspeople. Once he was gone, Callista hooked her fingers onto the collar of Sandsa’s jacket and yanked him into a searing kiss. He responded eagerly, his tongue halting the progress of hers. Callista allowed him that victory, then pushed him against the wall, gasping when his knee slipped between her legs. But there was no retreating — his hand was on the small of her back, supporting her, warming her, and quelling the shivers that raced up from the base of her spine. Their lips parted for a moment, his breath playing over the moist residue of their passion. Then he lunged in for a longer, deeper kiss, one that would have lasted an eternity —
‘Oh, get a room!’ Ala said from her study.
Callista shielded her eyes from the vidcam that was pointing down the corridor. She’d forgotten that Ala had the feeds from various interior vidcams sent to her techpad so she could watch the comings and goings of her clan.
Sandsa swiftly stepped back, putting some distance between them.
‘Where were you earlier?’ Callista asked in an attempt to distract them both.
‘I received an offer of employment which I accepted,’ he said, his voice level. ‘And I met a member of the Zatzat gang who seemed most keen on the idea of supplying night-time entertainment to interested Maria clanspeople.’
‘Already bothering the newest subofficer with your suggestions, hmm?’ she asked, smirking.
His handsome face lengthened into a laugh. ‘Here is my next suggestion. You could visit me while I work and accept my invitation to dance.’
‘Don’t let my gang name fool you,’ she warned. ‘I’m not much of a dancer.’
‘Perhaps we can be idiots on the dance floor together.’
She whacked his shoulder. ‘Oh you.’