Moving Target
Disclaimers in Chapter 1.
Feedback welcomed by reviewing or by emailing the author at jennet_2@yahoo.com
Moving Target
Chapter 8
Is this how it ends, then?
Trapped like a toothless roku in a deadend burrow?
Beneath the spare flesh of his back, the bare wooden floor vibrated under heavy footfalls. Things were hitting the floor, not violently, just in a steady 'thump-swish-click-rattle' of possessions being rifled with cold efficiency. Wooden furniture feet scraped on the floor-- her desk; the chair, toppling with a clatter; the stack of shelves beside it, resulting in a waterfall patter of datacards spilling; the table that stood by the head of the bed and held a small luma.
"No resonance in the walls, sir. Normal thickness."
The inflectionless squawk of a voice filtered through a stormtrooper's helmet speaker made his skin crawl. He'd known, from the first measured tread in the hallway, that the visitors included troopers. Now they had worked their way methodically to the room where he lay hidden. The enclosed space made him feel cornered, and he shifted his shoulders, pressing back and forth against the unyielding floor. His hands rose, waist-level, and twitched into an automatic grip.
He made himself lie still again and breathe softly, shallowly.
"Bed looks like the one in the kid's room. Pull the drawer out."
"Yes, sir."
Wood scraped along runners; the pressure on his side disappeared as the storage drawer was withdrawn.
Force. Please. Don't pull it all the way out.
His body locked rigid, quivering with the urge to explode from his hiding place and either fight or flee.
He could hear the measured rasp of filtered breaths, only an arm's length away.
The drawer stopped its outward progress when the safety bolt caught, just before it would have dropped out of its runners. Cutting his eyes to the right, the prisoner saw a long rectangle of light outline the opening. It shook once, twice, as unseen hands tested whether it could be pulled further.
"Just linens."
"Empty them."
"It's not deep enough to hide a... "
"Just do it!"
The drawer shook slightly; the prisoner heard a series of soft 'whumps' as Anlia's sheets and blankets were dumped onto the floor.
"Empty, sir."
"Grab the end of the bed and pull it out, see if it's hiding anything."
The prisoner tensed; a second later, the bed moved a scant few centimeters.
"Oh, come on, boys! Put your backs into it! You moved the other one!"
He heard the troopers grunt with effort, and was ready, pushing himself along with the bed as it dragged down the floor.
"Nothing, sir. And that's a damned well-made piece of furniture."
"It's old. Along with everything else on this forsaken grain-ball. Do the wardrobe, then."
"Yes, sir."
The wardrobe screeched its way across the floor; the prisoner heard them tapping at its back and the walls. He felt the shift and thump as they shoved the mattress off the bed, heard the wet pop of a plastene bottle bursting under a treaded boot and smelled a wave of light fragrance as the contents spilled.
"Oh, here we go... Size eight. Awww, just plain white fiberweave. Tsk! She didn't really look like a satin-and-lace kind of girl."
Staccato bursts of laughter greeted this remark.
A wave of fury washed over him like liquid fire, knotting his fists, making him clench his jaw against a sudden pressure in his skull.
How dare they paw through her personal things! One thing to invade her home on a search, but to get into her underclothes...
He could barely force down the black rage. For an instant, he imagined turning, slamming the soles of his feet against the back of the drawer, and shooting out from underneath the bed to annihilate these intruders.
Explode like a proton torp before they know what hit them.
For once, the image that formed in his mind, of a missile arming smoothly, didn't hurt. There was only a passing twinge, and then he could picture the weapon his words conjured up, so familiar he must have seen diagrams-- or the actual workings-- many, many times in his previous life.
A snapped command distracted him from pushing at the memory, and he heard the soldiers move out of the room. The image of a banked, deadly power lingered in the back of his mind, but he was too busy concentrating on the troopers' movements to give it his full attention. The receding footsteps sent vibrations through the floor, tickling his bones and jarring loose a trickle of dust from the bedframe that stuck to his skin. Momentary silence settled over the house, followed shortly after by more sounds of disruption, muffled by distance.
Slowly a measure of the rigid tension seeped out of his muscles. Sweat was gluing his bare back to the floor, so he shifted side to side again, peeling free. The house was quiet except for the distant noises the troopers were making-- where were they? He didn't know the layout of the house to be able to place them.
He lay still and listened.
A long time later, the house settled into total stillness at last. Apprehension clogged his throat and set his hands clenching open and shut again.
There's no screaming. That's a good sign, right?
So faint he could be imagining that he heard it, a rumble started up out in the yard.
A troop transport, maybe? Let them be leaving...
He realized he couldn't hear Anlia, or the boy. Fear flooded back in a bitter surge.
They wouldn't have taken her, would they?
A sense of protectiveness filled him, catching him by surprise and drowning the fear. I mustn't allow innocents to suffer at the hands of the Empire. The image of deadly weapons arming teased absently at his mind's-eye, but he couldn't examine it-- he was in motion, pushing sideways, depressing the safety latch and shoving at the back of the drawer to free himself.
It was stuck, jammed somehow. There wasn't enough room to turn and get his other arm around, so he rocked the drawer one-handed, jiggling it outward a centimeter at a time. It barely moved, and frustration boiled up.
He took a deep breath to suppress it and pushed again. The drawer edged reluctantly outward. Finally it was out far enough that it dropped from its track. The prisoner worked his fingers beneath its bottom edge, and rather than trying to push it any further, strained to lift the heavy piece upward. His arm burned with the effort.
Can't let them hurt her...
Adrenaline fueled the mighty heave that let him flip the drawer up and over, unblocking his refuge. He hauled himself out from under the bed, crawling over a heap of linens that had impeded the drawer's movement. He rolled up to a crouch, scanned the room, then moved stealthily to the door.
He half-expected it not to respond, but when he touched the doorpad, it slid open without hesitation. He started forward, caught himself, and ducked down to spin out the doorway on the balls of his feet.
Into... an empty hallway. Momentum carried him across to the wall opposite; he hugged it, shooting sharp glances up and down the corridor. To his left, the 'fresher door and two others opened off the hallway; to his right were two open archways and a closed outer door.
And huddled there at the foot of the door was a figure, shaking with sobs.
Oh, gods, what did they do to her?
He was moving, without regard to who or what might stilll be lurking in the house. The prisoner dropped to his knees and let his hands fall onto Anlia's shoulders. They were hunched up around her ears and trembling.
She startled at his touch, lifting a face blotched and wet with tears. "Oh! You. H-how did you get out?"
It was too complicated to explain with gestures. He caught her chin and raised it, searching her face for bruises or swellings. At her side, Senno peered up, solemn and watchful.
The prisoner motioned, tilting his head questioningly.
Did they hurt you? Did they even lay a hand on you?
She looked bewildered. "What? How l-long have you been out, anyway? You were s-supposed to wait for me."
He brushed off her words and gestured again, the motion choppy with frustration. Her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement. Too impatient for guessing games, he pulled the girl up and looked her over, turning her side to side to check every angle.
Her clothes didn't look disarranged. The prisoner lifted his eyes to Anlia's, and saw dawning understanding.
"They just overturned the house. They didn't... " Anlia broke off, glancing down at Senno. "They didn't bother us," she finished.
The prisoner gave her a little shake and cocked his head.
"They didn't. It wasn't... it wasn't an assault, just a cold-blooded search."
Then why...? He touched her cheek, where tracks of tears were drying, and saw her chin quiver anew.
"Th-they knew... they knew things about our family... that made them suspicious. I-I was so s-scared... "
Her voice broke on another sob, and she sagged. The prisoner caught her and pulled her against him. He felt her stiffen in resistance at the contact with his skin. Only for an instant, and then she caved, her arms going around him as she blindly sought solace.
Hot tears washed his shoulder; he tightened one arm around her waist and cradled the back of her head with his other hand.
All right then; they just scared the hell out of her. They didn't knock her around or molest her.
He was mildly surprised at the depth of relief he felt.
Anlia's sobs trailed off to uneven gulps at last. She drew back, swiping at her face. "Oh, gods." Her voice came out in a rasp. "Just what you wanted, huh? A damp female sniffling at you." She gave up on her face and wiped her palm over his shoulder. "S-sorry. Talk about crying on your shoulder."
He stilled her hand with a reassuring pat. That's all right. Don't worry about it. He gestured toward Senno. Is the boy all right?
She turned and crouched down to the boy, who was crowding the backs of her legs. "Sen? You all right, kiddo?"
"I want Grandad."
She grimaced. "He'll be home soon enough."
"I want Grandad. Did the soldiers hurt him?"
"No, I'm sure not! I don't think they even went out to the field he's working. Don't worry, Grandad's fine. He'll be hopping mad when he sees the mess, though... " Her voice trailed off, and she let her gaze wander past the doors leading to the main room, kitchen, and front porch. "I should start clearing up... but I don't know where to start," she finished helplessly.
Senno shook her arm. "I wanna see Grandad," he insisted.
"He's fine, Sen. Don't let's comm him in until I get some of the mess cleaned up," she pleaded. "He'll blow a gasket, and we don't want that, do we? You know how mad he gets at the Empire."
"What if the soldiers knocked him off the mower?"
"They wouldn't. They'd know no one could hide inside the machinery so they wouldn't even bother. Grandad is just fine, Senno."
Needing further reassurance, he tilted his head back to look up at the prisoner. "Is he?" the boy demanded.
He nodded with a confidence he didn't entirely feel. Who knew what could happen when Imperial troopers went tearing across a man's land, invading his home, terrorizing his family? But Anlia had enough to deal with without adding a hysterical child to the mix. He nodded again, firmly.
"There, see? He knows Grandad's safe, too. Our Reb... "
He jerked, and whipped his hand around to cover her mouth, just in time to cut off the word. Anlia jumped, her eyes widening with shock.
"...mmf! Whu... ?"
He lay his forefinger over his own lips, tapping to indicate silence was urgent. A niggling worry in the back of his mind had flared into clarity. One hand still covering her mouth, he wiggled the fingers of the other as if on a keypad.
Anlia reared her head back. "Datapad?" she mumbled around his fingers. He nodded. "Sen's room. Let go, I'll get it."
Quietly! He motioned for silence again, and she nodded, and without speaking ducked under his arm and headed down the hall, Senno sticking close to her heels.
The prisoner followed. He saw Anlia's shoulders stiffen when she entered the boy's room, but she didn't make a sound. She stepped over a heap of spilled toys and went to a chest against the back wall. The datapad sat innocently on top.
Hidden in plain sight. Risky, but clever, the prisoner thought.
"My toys!" Senno moaned, staring at the tumbled mess.
"Silly soldiers, wanting to play with them," Anlia said, her tone struggling for lightness. She handed the datapad to the prisoner and raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
Wait. He held up a finger then quickly keyed in a message.
It's possible they planted listening devices.
He watched her face whiten. She covered her lips with the tips of her fingers and glanced around, wide-eyed.
"Silly soldiers," Senno was crooning. "Anlee, they dumped my clothes."
"We'll pick them up." In the same tone, she added, "How would we know?"
"'Cause they're on the floor... "
He tapped rapidly again and held the datapad so she could read the screen.
I'll look. We'll do one room at a time, while we pick things up.
"Anlia, my toys... "
"I heard you, Sen. Be quiet, we'll put them back, after we, umm... move your furniture back. Sit down over here, and line up your vehicles, hmm?"
"Silly soldiers... "
He tucked the datapad into his waistband and went to work. His hands seemed to know which surfaces to check, skimming under edges of furniture and inner rims of drawers and wardrobe without conscious knowledge of what he was doing. He ran his hands down the back of the chest, along its bottom, and under the base of a tabletop luma.
"What're you doing?"
"Making sure your furniture's not broken. Line up your dragons, Sen, and count them, tell me their colors. Let's make sure none are hiding."
"ONE blue, and TWO blue, and ONE red... "
He helped her push the chest back, and motioned-- it's all right to put the clothes and drawers back-- and went to the bed. It too had a storage drawer, though this one seemed to be used as a toybox. He stepped over the small boy on the floor, removed the drawer completely, and crawled half-inside the space beneath the bed.
"...black-'n-red, and ONE black-'n-yellow, Grrr, he's my fierce one... What're you doing?" The boy's head joined the prisoner's under the bed.
"Looking for lost toys," Anlia answered for him. She tugged Senno out and set him back at his toy pile. "Here, help me look for storycards."
"Not done with my dragons. ONE green, and ONE green-'n-white... "
He felt his way around the baseboards, the window frame, the power outlets. The troopers hadn't had time to get fancy, they'd been in and out in a concerted rush. Logically, any devices had to be fairly accessible.
He hoped.
He checked the bedside luma and the stuffed animal on the floor by the bed and the various boxes and bins that held the possessions of a small boy.
Nothing. The room seemed clean.
He raised his hand, catching Anlia's attention. His fingers folded and he swept them across and back, chest-level.
All clear.
She looked confused. She didn't know the gesture... but he had known it, known it was the 'all-clear' signal. Apparently not a universal all-clear signal. Leaving the puzzle to lie dormant in the back of his mind, he swept his arm to encompass Senno's room and bobbed his head up and down. Relief washed over her face this time. He pointed next door to her room and tapped his chest and she nodded. Leaving her to put the little boy's bedroom back into order, he went to scan hers.
It felt like more of an invasion of privacy to search her room.
Little things he came across revealed bits of her as if he were reading a diary-- texts about searching for ancient, pre-flight shipwrecks in Akrit'tar's seas and other, more scholarly works on archeology in general. A five-year-old datafile from a university, revealed at the bottom of a desk drawer's spilled contents. A ribbon of faded blue, tied in a bow with a tiny, scallop-edged card of flimsy laced to it, signed in faded script, 'Love, Mom'.
Some of the static holos on the wall showed a woman with a very strong resemblance to Anlia. The prisoner looked at them as he pulled each one down, felt the frame and back, and replaced it. Some of them showed another, older, girl too-- more conventionally pretty but still bearing enough of a resemblance to Anlia that he suspected a close family connection.
Several of the holos had been knocked off the wall; one, when he retrieved it, had sustained a spiderweb of cracks across the surface plate. He held it carefully for a moment, studying the image-- the woman who resembled Anlia, seated outdoors with a round baby posed on her lap. She looked gaunt and worn, and wore a wrap about her shoulders despite the warm yellow sunshine falling across her and the bright springtime trees showing over the porch railing behind her.
"Figures that's the one they broke."
Her voice made him jump; he hadn't heard her approach. With great care, he turned and placed the holo on the desktop.
"It's the last one I have of her; my mom, about six months before she died."
He could hear the sorrow making her voice quiver. Quickly he took her arm and drew her close, pointing at the holo. He whipped out the datapad and tapped at it.
Only the front plate's cracked. I think you could have the image re-cast onto a new one and it'll be fine.
She nodded, and gave him a watery smile. 'Thanks', she mouthed silently.
It's all right. I don't think this room's bugged, either.
"Good," Anlia said aloud. She crouched down and raked the spilled contents back into the desk drawer, and slid it into place. "Never mind the mess in here, there's other more important things to see to. I think they dumped the downstairs freezer... "
She paused in the midst of picking her way back across the room, eyes fixed on the heap of clothing in front of her wardrobe. The top layer of clothes weren't just pulled out, they were jumbled and mussed as if they'd been handled. "They went through my underwear?" she asked with dawning outrage.
The prisoner nodded ruefully. The girl shuddered, sickness warring with anger on her face.
Wash them.
He held out the datapad so she could read it.
You'll feel better if you do.
She nodded. "Yeah, I think you're right. Brrr, it gives me the creeps just to think about it... their hands, in the clothes that'll touch my skin... " She shivered, hard.
Anlia went out, calling, "Sen, I'm going down cellar," and the prisoner heard the frantic clatter of the boy's feet down the hall.
"Wait, wait for me!"
He went across the hall, through an open archway that turned out to lead to the kitchen. This was the room most likely to be bugged, the room where a farm family would in all likelihood congregate and talk.
He started at the nearest corner and began a methodical sweep of the room, his fingers skimming every object and nook and cranny. Partway into the search, Anlia came in, collected sweeper and bucket and mop, gave him a grim look, and departed. He moved on to the cupboards.
He found nothing in the kitchen, either. He didn't know where the knowledge came from, but he felt reasonably certain he knew how to sweep for security devices, and that he had done a good job.
Glovan's office, more a closet off the kitchen, was small but cluttered enough that sifting through everything took time. He was staring at the powered-up computer when Anlia returned, Senno tractored to her heels. She cocked her head inquiringly.
Kitchen and office are clear, but I'm less certain about the computer. They turned it on, maybe only to look at the files on it, but I'm no slicer. I can't tell if they planted anything on it. You'd best not use it for anything but basics until you can have it scanned.
She nodded, and he followed her from the office, carefully closing the door behind him. Anlia knelt before a cupboard and began putting pots and pans neatly back inside. Senno leaned heavily against her, one finger tucked into his mouth, and every time she moved, her arm knocked his body.
"Sen, c'mere," she finally said. She rose and reached for a canister on the counter. "Have a biscuit and see if the Rebel wants one, too."
He watched, bemused, as the boy came over without hesitation and held out the canister to him. He selected a round, flat biscuit and tapped his chest.
"That means 'thank you'." Anlia had gone back to the cupboards; she was glancing over her shoulder at them, but without any of her previous wariness.
"I know." Senno set the canister on the table, chose his own biscuit, and climbed up into a chair. With his feet swinging against the chair legs, he bit off half the biscuit at once.
So I'm 'the Rebel' now. And safe enough for the kid to be near me.
He watched Anlia put away the last of the cupboard contents while he finished his biscuit. Something must have changed her mind about him; he needed to remember to ask her once she wasn't so distracted.
"Can we have another?"
She smiled. "All right, one more. I have a feeling dinner's going to be late tonight." She swept a pile of limp vegetable pieces on the counter into a bucket. "Umm... you, Rebel. Could you check the other rooms for Imperial toys while I go check the barn? I don't trust those troopers not to have left any gates open."
He swallowed his mouthful of sweet biscuit and nodded.
He had finished the 'fresher, hallway, and main room by the time she returned with her small shadow; when she cocked her head at him, he gave her a firm nod.
"That's really good. The grain bin's been tipped; shovelling it up's going to be hell, but it has to wait. I've got to straighten Dad's room. He'll be back soon, and the less he has to deal with, the better he'll take it."
Glovan's room had been rifled right along with the rest of the house. The prisoner started his search with the double-width bedframe. Once he had confirmed it was bug-free, he helped Anlia pull the bed back in place; the carved wood piece was large and heavy. Together they wrestled the mattress up onto it.
Anlia's face paled when she saw what had been beneath the tipped mattress-- a vac-seal storage crate, its contents trailing across the threadbare carpet.
"Stars! I gotta get this cleaned up quick. Can you... ?" She flapped her hand vaguely, already falling to her knees.
The prisoner nodded and carried on with his search, but he couldn't help shooting glances over at her from time to time. She paused only long enough to plunk Senno out of the way into the middle of the bed and then went back to shaking out and folding clothing, untangling a jumble of jewelry, dusting off some simple cosmetic bottles. As she finished each item, she packed it neatly into the crate.
From under a beaded and embroidered cloth appeared a swath of holocards, pink and lavender and yellow-- and with a start of surprise, the prisoner realized he recognized what they were. Romance novels-- stories of trial and love and happily-ever-after.
Now why do I know what love-storycards look like?
He let this newest puzzle simmer while he finished the room. It didn't take long as it was very bare, only used as a chamber for changing clothes and sleeping, it appeared. He caught Anlia's eye and dipped his head in another nod.
All clear.
A deep sigh shuddered up her body. "Thank stars. And thank you. I mean it. I never would have thought of spy devices." For a second, she just sat, limp with relief and growing exhaustion. Then she shook herself. "Can you help me seal this up?"
He knelt beside her and held down the flat interlocking lid while she triggered the seal; it expelled air with a hard 'whoosh' that lifted the hair straggling around their faces, then clicked sharply. Anlia slid the crate back beneath Glovan's bed, and their shoulders brushed; she didn't flinch away from him, the prisoner noted.
"There. Thank the Force nothing broke. If Dad had come home to Mom's things strewn about... Well, it would not have been pretty. Now I'm going to run a load through the launderer. I can't... I can't stand... "
Another wave of tremors shook her. She sat down abruptly and wrapped her arms around herself, shivering uncontrollably. The prisoner heard her gasp, and then she was crying again, in soft, hiccoughing sobs, rocking back and forth forlornly.
"Anlee, Anlee! Don't cry, Anlee!" Senno scrambled off the bed and hurled himself at her.
A harsh sob escaped. "I th-thought I'd got us all k-killed... "
The prisoner found himself sinking down beside her. He drew her back to rest on his bare shoulder and pulled Senno against them both with his other arm.
All right, easy, easy now. It'll be all right. You're safe now.
She couldn't hear the soothing words running inside his head, but she clung to the comfort he offered. Her arms were around him, and her face pressed in the hollow of his neck; she seemed to need someone, even a relative stranger, to hold onto.
And strangely, the prisoner felt comforted as well. The touch of her skin on his, the brush of her hair, the round warmth of her shoulder in his palm, filled a craving for human contact he hadn't been aware of. Senno pressed against them both, and the warmth of his sturdy little body soaked straight into the cold places in the prisoner's soul.
This. This is what I was fighting for-- to stop this kind of terror.
I am Rebel.
~~~~~
"...still my land. My house, especially... ...scaring hells outta women and kids... coulda been killed! You understand that? All I got left... ...spooked the herd... ...ripped the house apart-- those vents'll have to be rebuilt... ...my food! Can't believe the nerve... ...officers of the Empire, my ass! Power-mad, petty bullies... ...excuse to steal food... ...work my ass off, for this... "
From Anlia's bedroom, the Rebel listened to Glovan's voice rising and falling, sometimes reaching shrillness but mostly just a wounded bellow. The steady thud-thud-thud of his feet betrayed his agitated pacing. Underneath his stomping and shouting, Anlia's voice occasionally could be heard, murmering pacifying comments when her father became too overwrought.
"What kinda example does that set, I ask you? Bust in here on a mission of law and order, and make off with a man's food on the way out. Tryin' to starve a man's family, is that what they're about?"
"Dad, Dad, you're scaring Sen."
"Sorry." His voice dropped to a low rumble that the Rebel, sidled up to the cracked-open bedroom door, could no longer decipher. He shifted, leaning the side of his head into the thin gap, but could hear only indistinct growls from the kitchen. All that was visible was an oblong of warm yellow light falling onto the hall floor, and a shadow lurching back and forth in pace with the thumping footfalls.
"...not to mention spooking the herd... deliberate, I tell you... " Glovan's voice rose once more. "...broke all'a their legs, I'd'a had to shoot 'em. ...what they wished, the garrison'd be dining on fresh steak... "
"Dad... "
The patrol boat had flown over while Anlia was trying to finish putting the house to rights, launder the contents of her underwear shelf, comfort Senno, and start dinner, all at once. They'd heard the heavy thrumming of its engines long before it had actually reached the property. It buzzed the crop fields first, slewing low to let its exhaust ports fan the plants flat.
Anlia hadn't known what the pilot was trying to do at first-- she'd thought the Imperial soldiers were bent on destroying their livelihood. Enraged, she'd lunged for the blaster rifle on the wall with some fury-driven idea of firing up at them until she'd driven them off.
The Rebel had felt his gut clench at her folly, and he'd thrown himself across the main room to get in her way. Warding her off, shaking his head frantically, he'd finally slowed her momentum long enough to punch a message onto the datapad and wave it before her face.
Searching for me in the fields.
Barely held in check, she'd read the screen, red-faced, breath catching in uneven gulps.
Just trying to flush me out, if I were out there. Let them. They won't find me and they'll go away.
She'd just barely begun to simmer down when the patrol boat had swung around to skim the livestock fields. With a cry of dismay, she'd torn free-- without the blaster rifle, thank stars-- and bolted out the door.
The Rebel hadn't dared follow. The Imperial craft had dipped down over the house and a hurricane of dust and leaves had blown past the windows. The roar of its engines had sounded as if it were about to set down on the roof, setting off screams of fear in Senno. The Rebel had snatched him and dropped to the floor, cradling the child with his body while pulling a wrap from the couch overtop them in a futile attempt to muffle the noise.
The patrol boat had eventually moved off, and Anlia had returned, wind-whipped, dusty, her voice raw from screaming.
"That's going to bring Dad in from the fields for sure. Best you go back to my room, and get down in the wardrobe if you hear him coming. Here, I'll take Sen."
He'd left her holding the terrified boy on her lap, smoothing his hair and whispering comfort to him.
Sure enough, the fly-over had brought Glovan tearing back to the farmhouse. The Rebel had heard the grinding roar of the mower approaching and had watched surreptitiously from behind the bedroom curtain as Anlia and Senno went out to meet him. The farmer had flown from the huge machine's seat before it fully drifted to a stop and had snatched his daughter and grandson to him with such fervor, the Rebel knew he wasn't a cruel man or even a hard one-- just heartsore and protective of his remaining family.
Fear, and gratitude, were all the Rebel saw displayed out in the yard.
The anger came afterwards, once the day's events had been told and had had a chance to sink in. Glovan had gone tearing through the house-- the Rebel had been prepared for that reaction, and had squeezed into the bottom of Anlia's wardrobe, folded up with his knees up around his ears-- and then back outside. He'd come in and gone out several more times, bellowing his discovery of new outrages at each reappearance.
Anlia had finally gotten him to sit down and eat dinner. The Rebel had smelled the sharp warmth of cheese and herbs cooking, and his stomach had growled in reflex. He'd extracted himself from the wardrobe and taken up a post at the door Anlia had left cracked open.
Between bites, Glovan had railed against the soldiers, the penal colony, the Empire in general and the local presence in particular, a diatribe the Rebel had caught in snatches. Dinner hadn't calmed him down much; he'd started pacing while he listed aloud each injury to his property.
"...compensation will be rejected, a'course. Waste of time to make a list of damages. Just bring more attention onto us... "
The farmer's litany eventually wound down. Anlia, still murmering consolingly, shooed her father into the main room; faintly, the Rebel heard the holovid go on. He rolled his neck, feeling tendons pop and muscles sore with tension stretch.
The worst of the storm seemed to have passed. He left his listening post and walked slowly around the foot of Anlia's bed to where his air mattress had been. He pulled a blanket down off the bed to cushion the floor and leaned his head on the wall. A sigh that seemed to come all the way from the soles of his bare feet gusted out; some of his terrible anxiety evaporated.
The window across from him glowed with the deep blue of twilight; he watched the rapidly darkening sky through half-closed eyes and took deep, slow breaths to bleed off the rest of his tension.
A scritch of fingernails on the door announced Anlia's return. Light footsteps hurried into the room. He rose automatically to meet her and she thrust a still-warm oven dish and a large, filled beaker into his hands.
"Here. This is all I can bring you for now. Give me a little time to make sure Dad's settled and I'll be back."
She'd left a spoon stuck in the dish's contents. The Rebel sank back down with his back propped on the wall, and sampled the night's offering.
It was tubers of some sort, sliced thick and smothered in milky cheese sauce, sprinkled with herbs and a few medallions of sausage. It was good, and not just because he was hungry. He spooned up another mouthful, blissfully savoring the rich aroma and taste.
"...tubers, again. A million worlds, they each have their own version of tubers as a staple, and we've eaten them all. Every. Single. Kind."
The doleful voice floated up from the depths of his mind. For a second, his attention more on his meal, the Rebel merely nodded absently in agreement.
Very true. Cheap, filling, sturdy. Of course we're going to get tubers.
Then the true impact of the voice hit him, and he choked on a starchy chunk.
The spoon fell from nerveless fingers, clattering in the dish. He arched his rear off the floor so he could get at the datapad tucked into his waistband, tore it free, began frantically jabbing the keypad. He tried to hold onto the familiarity of the voice, the recognition in the memory.
It was like trying to pinch minnows between his fingers. He got down the text, that the speaker was clearly melancholy, and male, that he seemed to be seated across a... table?... from the Rebel. But then the details began to slip away, quicksilver flashes that would not be hooked, and the harder he tried, the faster they vanished.
...table, long, crowded, persons at my shoulders, more opposite... who? faces? eyes? clothing? the room... not bright, not spacious, but... what? color, size, location, purpose? i'm looking down, but listening... what am i seeing, who am i hearing? how do i know him? why are we together in this place?
It was no use. The more he pushed, the faster the feel of the memory fled. He was left with stilted words on a datascreen, an inflectionless complaint with no history to flesh it out, to give it substance and color.
He let the datapad fall and pounded his fist on his knee, hard, the pain nothing to the bleakness flooding him at the memory's retreat. Cold, hopeless. A black void where he used to be.
He flung himself up and across the room, understanding more clearly than ever Glovan's need to stomp circuits of his kitchen. Shared with the farmer the hot burning frustration of utter helplessness.
He lurched to the window, pounding his fists against his thighs over and over, only the need for silence staying him from banging his faulty head on the window frame.
Curse to Sith hell that fake holocam that woke me-- that seabird I looked up at-- Galin for making me... Better I stayed 'breathing dead' than living with this void...
There was an empty spot in his middle. He made a fist and pressed it there, just below his sternum. Empty-- it was more than empty, it was a vacuum, and it was sucking what was left of his very self into it. He ground his fist harder into the top of his stomach, his breath quickening to harsh, panicky gasps. The room started to spin in an almost leisurely fashion, the hole the axis of the rotation.
The room spun faster, whirlpooling around the emptiness. Off-balance, the Rebel fell sideways, his shoulder hitting the window frame. He tried to catch himself on the sill, but his hands had quit working and he slid to the floor. He couldn't hear anything but the rasp of air in his throat.
...we're losing him, madame...
Darkness beckoned. Dark, and quiet, where it didn't hurt any more. He teetered on the edge of it, on the border between the ground he'd so painfully gained and the void that wanted to seize him again.
Space-dark, like the gaps between stars.
Except...
There were no stars here, not in this black hole. Only a sun, blood-red and blazing.
And laughing at him.
Angrily.
...let him go, then. useless, this one...
Her voice. The one whose echoes still reverberated in the tattered remains of his memory.
I am not going to let her win.
He was suddenly afraid that his wish to return to oblivion would be granted. He rubbed his hand around on his chest, trying to rub away the emptiness.
If beating... her... meant he had to begin his life anew from that moment in the prison yard when awareness had come back to him, then so be it. Others had been dealt a worse hand than that.
Galin. Just a boy, in a hideously hopeless situation. Who remarkably held onto his hope that someday he would get out of that prison. Hope that had become stronger with the escape of his nameless friend.
Anlia. Just an ordinary girl, struggling to get by under an oppressive government. Who was risking her very life to help a total stranger. A risk that multiplied the longer he lingered.
Glovan and Senno. Just ordinary people who wanted to be left alone to live decent lives. Lives that could be exterminated on the whim of a local despot answerable to no one. Unless someone brought enough information to people who could topple that government.
And the Rebellion itself. Just an alliance of beings who had said 'Enough. No more'. Whose lights still shone in the darkness despite the Empire's best efforts to extinguish them.
My comrades. Wherever, and whoever, they are. They haven't given up. They have people counting on them.
And I have people counting on me.
~~~~~
A warm touch on his shoulder drew him back from the gentle driftings of his mind. He'd been half-asleep, letting his thoughts wander where they would.
"Rebel?"
She sounded so worried. Her hand moved up to his cheek, turning his face toward hers. Her touch grounded him. He tried to smile at her.
"What's wrong? Are you all right?"
He rolled slowly onto his side and she drew back. He ached all over and his memories felt thin, stretched out. He managed to get himself sitting upright.
"What's wrong? You look... you look a little stunned."
The room was very dark; he needed the refresher again, and he was very thirsty.
"Why were you lying on the floor? You didn't pass out, did you?"
He took a deep, steadying breath. Lying on his back by the window had allowed him a glimpse through the curtains of the night sky. He'd found both the view and the position comforting. Long, long ago, he'd lain on his back in the warm grass and looked up at another sky and dreamed of flying amongst the stars. He knew he had-- he remembered it. He didn't know the name of the boy, or the world whose sweet grass he'd sprawled in, but he knew the memory belonged to him and not to a dream or a holofilm.
He remembered the dizzying swoop of flight; his hands remembered how to guide controls with the grace of dancing.
He remembered that flying had brought deep joy... and deep sorrow.
"Are you dizzy or light-headed? You don't feel like you have a fever."
Her hand was warm against his forehead, the palm rough but gentle as if she were touching Senno. He held up one finger, asking her to wait, and slowly pulled himself to his feet. Moving carefully, as if gravity had altered while his mind soared, he made his way across the room to where the datapad lay abandoned.
Anlia swung around to follow his progress, settling cross-legged on the floor. The Rebel returned to sit by her, his bent knees nearly touching hers.
I'm all right. I was just thinking.
"You worried me, laid out on the bare floor like that. Are you sure you're not feeling ill?"
I'm starting to remember things. Pieces only. Not terribly recent, either.
She smiled. "But that's wonderful! I'm sure the rest will come back to you now, just give it a chance."
He had a dozen questions for her, but most of them could wait. He tapped the most pressing one onto the datascreen and turned it so she could read it.
Why are you no longer afraid of me?
"Oh. Well, the officer in charge, Perin, his name was, had a datafile on you. You were in the prison camp because you were a Rebel, not because you were a murderer or rapist or anything criminal like that."
He squeezed Anlia's wrist with sudden excitement.
What else did it say?
"Not much, really. Your height and weight, skin, hair, and eye color. A holo of you, with short hair and no beard. Your face was... blank. Really blank. Like you weren't aware. There was a strange mark, right here." She stretched out her finger and laid it lightly above his left eyebrow.
He lifted his own hand and skimmed his fingertips across the spot she'd touched. He felt only the thin, scabbed line left when he'd run face first into a branch unseen in the darkness of his escape.
"No, here, higher." Anlia's finger pressed lightly again. "I don't feel anything. I guess it healed."
I guess so. What else?
"The date they brought you to Akrit'tar, three standard months ago. They were using the Imperial calendar, so it's more like three and a quarter, local time. And your charges-- of being a Rebel."
Nothing else? Not my name, or homeworld, or what I did in the Rebellion?
"No, sorry. There was a really long number under your holo, but nothing else personal." She paused, and laid her hand on his knee. "I'm sorry. It would have been really nice to learn your name at least."
Imperial efficiency. Reduce everything to a code number.
"I guess so. There's no compassion in them, they dehumanize you. They make no exceptions for people. If you speak out, you're criminal. If you can't pay their taxes, they take your land, or your business, or your house. If you resist, they silence you." She sighed, shakily. "That's why I was so scared, because our family is already listed as disloyal. We're going to have to be really careful; I think we may have gotten off easy, and they may be back. If they can't find you, they'll get more equipment and search again."
He nodded in agreement.
Bio-sign scanners precise enough to differentiate between human and animal lifesigns are pretty bulky, but if simple searches don't turn me up, they'll bring in the heavy equipment. I really need to be moving on, Anlia.
"I know, and I'll think of something. I can't... I can't just give you a sack of bread and cheese and say 'There's the door, safe journey'. I know someone who will help you because you're a Rebel, I just have to figure out a way for you to get to him. Let me think on it, please."
He drew a deep breath, held it until his impatience had dampened a bit, and let it out. He nodded, and sensed the girl relax at his agreement.
"Listen, I'm going to spend the night in Senno's room, in case he has nightmares. At least that's what I'm telling Dad, and it's partly true. You can have my bed, I'll take the air mattress. In the morning, after Dad goes back out, we'll start working out a way to get you to Darat."
Sounds like a plan. Is a trip to the 'fresher safe now?
She covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, stars! Of course! I'm sorry, in all the excitement, I never thought... "
It's all right. I made a quick trip before your father came in, but that was several hours ago.
"You're being very polite about it. Come along, then. Oh, and I won't be locking you in anymore, but you might want to lock the door after yourself. Dad doesn't usually come in my room, but just in case he can't find me, he might pop his head in."
She bid him goodnight at the door and slipped away into Senno's room. The Rebel went back into her room, activated the lock, and then pulled the curtains firmly closed over the window. He touched the bedside luma, dialling it to a dim glow, and sat gingerly on Anlia's bed. He gave a gentle bounce; the mattress felt even nicer than the air mattress, and he felt a twinge of guilt.
She'd left him a snack again; she must have set it down before she'd woken him. He pulled his legs up onto the bed and set the plate in his lap. There were sliced rounds of bread, spread with some kind of paste he sniffed with suspicion, but it turned out to be delicious. He couldn't identify the complex flavors, but it was so far removed from composite prison food, he didn't puzzle over it too much. There were berries of a bright green hue that suggested unripeness, but they were sweet and juicy, and she'd left an insulated carafe of cold milk. It tasted thinner and less chalky than he'd expected; whatever memories he retained of how milk would taste must stem from experience with a different species of dairy animal.
His shrunken stomach pleasantly filled, the Rebel set the plate aside and scooted down in the bed. He reached to dial off the luma, and the ever-present datapad caught his eye. He nudged it so his hand would fall onto it should he reach out in the night.
If I had my voice, I could describe the images that are coming back to me and let the datapad record the memories. Focusing on them hard enough to get them down in keystrokes scatters them.
He rolled to his left side and rested his right arm against his chest; it still ached, especially around the gash he'd sliced in himself. The effort of forcing the drawer out of his way had left a burning sensation in the muscles of his upper arm and shoulder. He rubbed absently at the twisted scar.
When I get where I'm going, I can get it removed. It's the other scars she left me that I'm not so sure I can have bacta'd away.
~~~to be continued...
On to Chap. 9