Freeman Farming Collective
Zealand Prefecture
ANNOS MARTIS 238. 7. 19. 22:31
After dragging our prisoners across the collective, Vienne and I find the infirmary building. There is a line of injured victims at the door. Even though the emergency siren is still blasting and the air is thick with smoke and fumes from the dying fire, most of the people queued up are almost silent—the first sign that traumatic shock is getting a toehold.
“Cover your mouth and nose,” I warn a young mother holding a toddler on her hip. “The baby’s, too. This smoke is toxic.”
She stares through me like I’m a ghost.
“Let it go,” Vienne says.
But I can’t. “Try this.” I pull the woman’s soot-covered shirt over her face. I do the same for the baby. “It’s better than nothing. Leave it.”
A young farmer in a duster swings a side door open for us. He disappears as we pull Franks and Richards inside. I strap their hands to a radiator while Vienne guards them. They don’t move a muscle.
The infirmary is one large, brightly lit room partitioned off with bamboo screens and white linen curtains. The whole place has a medicinal odor, stronger than the smoke outside.
“What next?” Vienne says.
“I reckon we find that Joad person and ask him what to do with these two fossikers.”
“You can go searching.” She turns her back to the bleeding and broken farmers lined up on the far wall, flinching ever so slightly when a child cries out. “I’ll keep watch on the prisoners.”
Vienne obviously doesn’t much care for Joad, so I nod in agreement. “But you’re not going to curb stomp them or anything, right?”
“Of course not.” She blows a strand of hair out of her face. “The Tenets forbid harming prisoners, and I’m still a Regulator.”
“Okay,” I say. “Be back soon. I want to find the monks, too. They’ll want to know that you’re safe.”
But I don’t leave.
She nudges me with the barrel of her armalite. “Why are you still here?”
“I’m going now,” I say, because she obviously doesn’t want me poking around her psyche.
“Joad,” Mimi says as I wind my way through the farmers, “is not the problem. It is the injured that are bothering her.”
“How do you know that?”
“A complex multi-variant calculation often referred to as women’s intuition.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it, since I’m not a woman, and technically you aren’t, either.”
A couple minutes later, I find Riki-Tiki behind a white cloth curtain. When I walk in, she’s talking quietly with a tall, skinny kid who looks like a transplant from the Hellespontus territories. His hair’s long, with a pilot’s hat pulled over it, and his hands are delicate. Not the kind of mitts you’d expect on a collective.
“Durango!” Riki-Tiki says, her face lighting up. From the space next door, Shoei shushes her. “Sorry, mistress.”
“Are you the aerofoil pilot who dumped water on the fire?” I ask the kid.
“Yes, sir,” he says. “My name’s Tychon, and I—”
“That was stupid.”
Riki-Tiki’s face falls. She leans against the kid, and I realize they’re more than just buddies. Which explains why they’re behind the curtains. Which explains why she’d want to leave the Tengu, who take a strict vow of celibacy.
“Sir?” Tychon says.
“I said, that was stupid. That was a chemical fire, and all the water did was vaporize and spread toxins in the air.” I realize I’m coming on too strong and crank it down a notch. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you were trying to help, but if you act without a plan, you end up doing more harm than good.”
He swallows hard. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “I didn’t realize.”
“Next time,” I say, before I draw the curtain on them, “use your nose. It’s more dependable than your eyes.”
Shoei and Yadokai are behind the next curtain, tending to a child whose left arm is severely burned. The flesh is one long blister. It has burst and is contaminated with gravel and dirt. Shoei dresses the wound like a physician, and Yadokai comforts the child with soft touches and quiet noises. Quite a change from my demanding dance teacher. I’m reminded again that first impressions are often the worst ones.
I draw the curtain and let them work in peace. I can tell them about Vienne later.
Durango, I think as I return to the waiting area, you are such a carking mu’dak! Why the `tchyo za ga`lima did you come down so hard on Tychon for one mistake. Eto piz`dets! You’re not your father, for pity’s sake. Do the decent thing. Go back and make it up to the kid.
The doors swing open. Joad enters the infirmary, followed by a woman and two bodyguards. The woman is dressed in bright maize and blue robes with a homespun shawl draped over one shoulder. Her face is more handsome than beautiful, with high, broad cheekbones and a mane of wavy auburn hair.
As she passes through the farmers, all heads turn to her, and the noise dies down. Her face is a mask of consternation, but when a woman dressed in dirt-caked overalls cries out and rushes across the room, she manages a smile. The bodyguards move to step in. She shakes them off as the woman falls to her knees, hands clasped together.
“Rebecca! Thank the Bishop you’ve come! They took my sister, Thela!”
Rebecca lifts the woman from the floor. “Stand up, now. I hear you, and we will get her back. Were others taken?”
The woman nods vehemently. “But I don’t know how many.”
“Take me to their kin.” Rebecca puts an arm around the woman, who leads her past me and toward the bamboo screens. As they pass, Rebecca stops short. Our eyes meet, and her brow wrinkles, a hint of recognition. Then she gives me a long, apprizing look, and her eyes settle on my deformed hand. “Joad, where did you find the dalit?”
“He come with the monks,” Joad says as he swings a screen open for her. “Him and a female. Managed to catch themselves a couple Sturmnacht.”
Rebecca glances back at me. There’s something familiar about her. The eyes, maybe. Or her face? Seems like I’ve seen her somewhere before.
“Mimi?”
“Beat you to it, cowboy. I’ve run facial recognition protocols, and I have no matching data for her.”
“So we’ve never met?”
“Not that you remember, and certainly not since I took up residence in your skull.”
“She seems so familiar.”
“She does look very common.”
“Don’t be catty,” I say.
“I am not programmed for cattiness.”
“Yet you do it so well.”
“Haven’t you an apology to make?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
But she’s right. Better do it before the kid gets away. I’m rehearsing my apology outside the curtained area when the drape flies open.
“You caught the bad jacks!” Riki-Tiki cries and shoots past me. Tychon is nowhere to be seen. “Why didn’t you tell me? Come on!”
So much for apologizing.
She beats me to the corner of the infirmary, where Vienne still has her back to the patients. They are chatting when I arrive.
“Vienne says you captured the Sturmnacht all by yourself!”
“She said that, did she?” I shake my head at Vienne, who feigns innocence. “I’m not sure that’s the truth.”
But Riki-Tiki has already moved on. “My friend Tychon said those men have been harassing the farmers for months. They don’t look so tough now, eh?”
She nudges Franks with her sandal, the way I’ve seen Vienne do. He snorts, and she jumps into a fighting stance.
“Silly goose,” Vienne says. “They won’t bite.”
But she still looks skittish. “What now? Hang them by their thumbs? Interrogate them till they spill their guts?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Vienne says.
“Or we could turn them over to the farmers.”
“What’s the fun in that?” Riki-Tiki says, dead serious. “I’m going to tell Tychon!” Then she bounds away, giggling.
“You should call her bunny instead of goose.” I watch her disappear behind the screens. The gravity of the situation seems completely lost on her. My first instinct is to squelch her happiness, because it seems disrespectful to the injured. But no, that’s wrong. She is who she is. There’s nothing wrong with being happy. “Now about my idea for fighting and possible gunplay.”
“You’re serious about that? Dressing up in their uniforms and sneaking into the outpost?” She gives Richards and Franks a long, assessing look. “Okay, but you have to be the one to strip them to their skivvies. There’s only so far I’m willing to go.”
“What? You don’t love me?”
“If you have to ask . . .” Something behind me catches her attention, and her gaze shifts. “Here comes trouble.”
I turn to see Joad and Rebecca making their way toward us.
Rebecca’s jaw is set, and she’s striding with a purpose. “Four of our people are missing,” she blurts out a few meters away, clearly not somebody who stands on ceremony. “Lyme’s Sturmnacht kidnapped them.”
Even though I know what she’s talking about, I point at the prisoners. “These men? I don’t think they kidnapped anyone.”
“There were more thugs than that,” she says. “Maybe a dozen. Maybe more. Witnesses said they took our people away on trucks. Those two stayed behind. A diversion, maybe.”
“It doesn’t add up,” I say. “In my experience, Lyme doesn’t do kidnapping. He prefers to kill people by selling them drugs.”
“Look,” Rebecca says, “why they were snatched makes no difference at this point. I want my people back, and from what I see here, you two are pretty good at handling Sturmnacht. They have a base of sorts nearby at Tharsis Two—”
“No.” Vienne steps forward. “Find somebody else.”
“No?” Rebecca turns on her, clearly not used to being defied. That’s when she notices that Vienne is missing a pinkie, and I hold up my own damaged hand to show that we’re a matched set. “You’re dalit. Okay, you want coin.”
“Take your money”—Vienne makes a fist—“and shove it—”
“Vienne!” I pull her aside. “Give us a minute, Rebecca.”
After I escort Vienne out the side door, Riki-Tiki says something, and I hear Rebecca reply, “What do you mean I’m lucky to still have my head?”
Outside, the air carries the tangy scent of burned metal. A group of farmers has gathered by the infirmary. After a few seconds, they head toward the fire site with tools in hand. When the burning is over, I’m guessing, they plan to bury what’s left of the buildings. I hope that’s all they have to bury.
“Why are you saying no to the job?” I ask Vienne. “The prisoners are at Tharsis Two, which is where we need to go. Looks like a golden opportunity to both get the data and do a good deed for which we will be somewhat meagerly rewarded.”
“Stupid hussy,” Vienne fumes at Rebecca, who is visible through the windows. “Who does she think she is?”
“The boss,” I say, “who’s worried about what the lowest scum in the territory will do to her folk. You know the drill.”
“She didn’t have to call us dalit in front of Riki-Tiki.”
Now I get it. “Okay, that was a stupid thing to say—”
“That’s an understatement.”
“—but I don’t think she meant to offend you. She’s a farmer. They can’t tell one soldier from another one, much less recognize the finest Regulator on the planet. Right?”
She blushes, despite my clumsy attempt at flattery. “You accept the job if you want, but the hussy has to strip the Sturmnacht for us.”
Fair enough. Maybe Rebecca will learn to be more careful with her words. “Deal. I’ll let them know.”
“Wait.” She grabs my shoulder when I turn to go inside. “I— Never mind. It’s not my place.”
“If it’s not yours, it’s nobody’s. Spit it out.”
“It’s just . . . All these months looking for that data. What’s it gotten us?”
“You want to know if it’s worth the effort?”
“Not exactly.” She pinches her lip, thinking. “I want to know—is it still worth it to you?”
“To find the secret my father hid from me for years?” I say. “Vienne, I know I can’t undo the wrong he did by creating the Draeu. But what happens if someone like Lyme gets his hands on Project MUSE? They might be able to make more of the monsters. So what you’re really asking is—is it worth it to end that possibility? Yes, it is. Abso-carking-lutely.”
She nods. “Then it’s worth it to me.”
With that, she lets me know she’d rather stay with me than stay at the monastery, the only place where she’s ever felt safe, and with that, I make the decision to continue the hunt for my father’s secrets. Is this the decision that Ghannouj said I’d have to make? If so, I hope it’s the right one, and I pray that I won’t have to make a harder one.