Moving Target
Moving Target
Disclaimers in Chapter 1.
Feedback welcomed by reviewing or by emailing the author at jennet_2@yahoo.com
Moving Target
Chapter 15
"Here's how it'll go down." Tryss pushed the caf cups to the edges of the table. Producing a holoplate, he placed it in the cleared space and thumbed it on so an inverted cone of hazy blue light appeared. Its flat top displayed the city of Darat in 3-D. Tryss dialed the focus to one sector. "They think you're following the Teale River-- I don't know why-- but we'll use their assumption to our advantage.
"One of my contacts will lift a water skimmer from the marina here," and he touched a lightstick to the holograph, causing one building to briefly shine yellow, "at the mouth of the river, and play shadow tag with the patrols.
"Meanwhile, the other and I will bring you to the racetrack here." The map shifted and the track oval lit up. "There's a race running tonight; it'll be crowded, and confused. All present troopers will, with luck, peel off and join the water chase. We've got a guy in reserve with a small, fast freighter-- he'll drop down into the infield, I'll cover you while my contact tosses you aboard, he'll take off. Pre-programmed micro-jumps to shake any pursuit, then to hyperspace for the nearest Alliance-held system."
Twisting the lightstick in his fingers, Tryss leaned back in his chair. "Well?"
Selkin nodded slowly, his eyes intent on the holo. He pushed the datapad at the older man.
You trust the freighter pilot?
"Yes." Tryss's voice was definite. "He's Rebel from way back, from the days before uniforms and service branches and even pay packets. You'll be safe in his hands, sir."
Air patrols over the track?
"No-- too dangerous for the racers. Downdrafts gimmick the mods' repulsors' ability to keep contact with the track. Their traction is seriously impaired to begin with-- purposely, to increase manueverability. The sponsers have negotiated a no-fly zone with the local Imp garrison."
But there is security?
"Oh, yes." Tryss rubbed his chin. "The local militia. Thugs with stun batons and pack mentality. You stay under the sensors until the freighter comes in and then you move fast and you should avoid trouble."
At Selkin's side, Anlia stirred. "Does it sound like a good plan, Selkin?" She didn't much care if Tryss took her question as an insult; she hadn't the experience to know if the scheme was reasonable or not.
But Selkin was nodding slowly. You say it's a fast ship?
"It's no A-wing, but Tawn's out-run corvettes with it. The engine upgrades are extensive-- makes his credits running prime grain alcohol off-world, rolls 'em back into his ship."
Not to worry then, Anlee. Selkin covered her hand with his. A diversion-- little or no Imp presence-- a fast ship. Simple, but effective.
"If you trust it, then I will too," she said.
Tryss snapped off the holo. "Glad you approve." There was a slight but unmistakable edge to his voice.
Anlia flushed. "And your record for saving people gives me so much to trust," she snapped.
The older man's eyes went flinty. "I'm sorry about your sister. Someone in the cell had loose lips-- I accept responsibility for not silencing them in time. But it doesn't mean I can't put together an escape."
"Doesn't it?"
Anlee. Selkin put his hand on her shoulder.
But she was past listening. "We trusted you with Josa's life-- with Darl's life. Can I trust you with Selkin's?"
Tryss shoved back violently in his chair. "You have your nephew, don't you?" he ground out. "Did you know Darl had a sister? No? Maybe because I sent her off Akrit'tar after the cell collapsed. She made it safe to the Alliance; what they did with her after, I don't know." He slapped his hand down on the holoplate, palming it and stowing it in his pocket. He glared at Selkin.
"You need clothes you won't trip over when you run, and a change of appearance. Do me a favor and stay here while I go shopping." Stiffly, he spun and left the apartment.
Anlee... Selkin lifted her chin with his finger.
Her eyes slid to the side. "I know, all right? I didn't mean to make him mad, it just... burst out. I don't want to lose you, too, Selkin."
He drew her to the couch and sank down, pulling her to his lap. She buried her face in his neck.
It wasn't his fault. If he were that poor a leader, he'd have been captured or killed years ago.
"You're right. But sometimes I get so furious about it all."
And Tryss is pretty easy to lay blame on.
She nodded. "I do know that's not fair. But Selkin, please... "
Shh, it's all right. I'll be fine. The plan's solid.
~~~~~
Tryss returned carrying a stiffened fiberweave bag imprinted with a local liquor chain's logo. Selkin waited, pressed into the corner nearest the door, blaster levelled in a two-handed grip as the door slid open. The other man paused on the threshold.
"Roamer," Tryss announced calmly, and Selkin lowered his weapon. The cell leader closed the door and lifted the bag to the table.
"Clothes." He produced a bundle of folded cloth. "Shoes you won't trip over. Props." Last, he extracted a plastene bottle. "Hair dye."
"Hair dye?" Anlia came out of the bedroom where she'd retreated when the chime sounded and picked up the bottle. "This is laundry bleach," she exclaimed, reading the label.
"Buying a hair-color kit in this town, with an escaped prisoner on the loose, would send up a signal flare," he explained evenly. "It's not toxic, and watered down it'll give good results." He snagged a chair and motioned to Selkin. "Sit down here, son."
Selkin sat. He watched Tryss peel open a package of plain gauze pads and fold several into two wads.
"Open up."
Selkin opened his mouth, tilting back his head as Tryss tucked the gauze up into his cheeks with his thumb. The older man studied his handiwork, shook his head, and added another few layers. This time he nodded.
"Since talking around a mouthful of gauze isn't going to be an issue, we can really pouch your cheeks out. Completely changes the shape of your face."
Selkin displayed the results to Anlia, and the girl blinked. The Rebel was balloon-cheeked, his lips slightly pursed.
"Well, you look different, anyway."
"And that's the goal," Tryss said. "He doesn't have to look good, just different from those holobulletins all over the city." He picked up the bleach bottle and gave it a good shake. "Go wet down your hair while I mix up a couple different batches of bleach and water."
They started with the weakest solution, combing it through the Rebel's light brown hair until the color leeched out to a strange, sunburnt-straw pallidness. Tryss made him sponge down his arms, and even carefully dab his eyebrows. Selkin ducked his head into the shower, rinsed, and then Tryss dipped random strands of hair into progressively stronger solutions.
When finished, Selkin washed and towelled himself vigorously. He shook back hair that was now harshly "sunstreaked" blond.
Tryss regarded him critically. "Not bad. One more thing, though."
He disappeared into the bedroom, returning with a small square bottle of black glassine. He motioned Selkin over to the table in the main room.
"This'll sting a bit, though not as bad as cutting open your arm with a broken bottle, I wager. Don't scratch-- once it dries, it won't burn any more."
"Burn?" Anlia hovered nervously behind the Rebel's chair. "What is that stuff?"
"Reactive chemical gel with a very slight caustic effect." Tryss raised his voice over the girl's cry of protest. "Very slight, I said. Uncomfortable while wet, but not dangerous. It'll make a realistic-looking scar."
"I bet."
"It's nothing I haven't used myself." Tryss unstoppered the bottle; the lid held a fine brush. He drew the bristles across the inside of his wrist.
For a second, nothing happened. His arm muscles tensed, the veins popping into relief as his fist balled tight. Then a red line bloomed where the brush had touched-- and as they watched, turned dark and drew in on itself, pulling and wrinkling the skin along the line. In less than a minute, a realistic scar, not livid and recent but old and faded, lay across the man's wrist.
His fist relaxed, and he held his arm over to Selkin for inspection. "Think you can handle it?"
The Rebel nodded. Hitching his chair close, Tryss pulled the towel from Selkin's bare shoulders. Anlia bit back further protests, forcing herself to watch silently as Tryss tipped the Rebel's head to the side.
"From your earlobe, down your neck to your chest," he told him, tracing the path with his forefinger. Selkin nodded again, and the cell leader began.
The brush painted a fiery line down the column of Selkin's neck. He clenched his jaw, but Tryss snapped a finger against it.
"Relax-- skin has to be a little loose to draw in properly."
Selkin dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from clawing at the burning itch working down his neck. He could feel his right ear scrunching upward, tightening the skin below his jaw. Tryss dipped the brush again and drew it over his collarbone, and then down to the very top of his chest muscle.
"There." He nodded in satisfaction. "Could be anything from a vibroblade fight to a gersa bull goring to a machinery accident. Don't touch-- let it dry completely, then it'll hold up to minor handling, moisture, movement."
Cautiously, Selkin turned and tilted his head and rolled his right shoulder. His skin pulled, but the "scar" didn't crack or peel loose. He made a fist and flexed his arm and the slight resistance of the false scar felt nearly identical to the real one on his bicep.
Tryss nodded. "Noticed you're still favoring that arm a little-- it'll look natural now. Stick the cheek pads back in and go look in the mirror."
Selkin thought he looked like a moon-faced hayseed, but he had to admire the other man's work. His ear was crumpled, the lobe folded in on itself, and the long, puckered scar was just visible against his tanned neck, stretching down where it would disappear under his shirt when he donned it.
"The bulletins don't list you as having any scars," Tryss said from the 'fresher doorway. "So now you do-- not obvious enough to draw interest, just enough to deflect it."
Selkin turned and held out his hand; the two men shook. Selkin's stomach was tightening in anticipation of the coming sortie.
~~~~~
The boy arrived first, bounding up the steps two at a time, bouncing lightly on his heels on the landing until Tryss admitted him. His hazel eyes swept the apartment thoroughly, then settled on Anlia and Selkin, seated side by side on the couch with their hands visible and flat on their knees as instructed. His thick, sandy hair flopped over his forehead, and he shoved his fingers through it, back-combing it away from his face. He stared openly at Selkin.
"You got out of 86-25?" he blurted.
Selkin nodded. The boy loosed a long, low whistle and gave another little bounce.
"What's this?" Tryss rapped out, pointing.
The boy's fair cheeks flamed. He made as if to hide one hand behind his back, then shamefacedly held it out. It was bandaged tightly in blue stretch-gauze from knuckles to wrist.
"Had a little accident with the fryer," he confessed.
"You were fine last night!"
"It happened at lunch rush today. It was an accident, I swear! Someone bumped me and I grabbed onto the basket."
"How are you going to pilot a skimmer?"
The stair alarm chimed again, and Tryss broke off, taking up position at the door.
"Runner," a female voice said, and he let her in.
This girl's eyes swept the room just as attentively as the boy's had. She was nearly as tall as Tryss, long-legged and very slender in snug leggings and tunic. Her features were a trifle too narrow to be classically beautiful, but she was striking. Sharp green eyes took in the pair on the couch, the boy's awkwardly outstretched hand, Tryss's grim face.
"You heard."
Tryss nodded. To Selkin and Anlia, he said, "This is Ry and Ceil. Ry was going to lead the water chase while Ceil got you aboard the freighter..."
"I can still pilot!" the boy broke in hotly.
Tryss reached over and seized the bandaged hand. He shook his head. "You're wrapped too tight for movement. You'll never manage the kind of sharp turns and split-second manuevers you'll need for a high-speed chase on the water, not with one hand you won't."
"I'll unwrap it."
"He's got second degree burns," Ceil remarked matter-of-factly.
Ry glared at her, but she only gazed back at him, cool and impassive. Tryss shook his head.
"Redistribution of assignments. You can't pilot."
"But you said I looked the most like him! I should be the one on the water!"
"No," Tryss said flatly. "I'll pilot the skimmer. You'll cover the landing while Ceil gets him aboard." He went to the table and triggered the holoplate, motioning Ry and Selkin to join him.
"Here's the track. You'll go in and sit in a lower corner section-- less desirable seats, less crowded. Tawn's been instructed to come in at exactly 20:45; you'll see his lights as he makes his approach... "
As Tryss talked, Ceil caught Anlia's eye. "Come with me."
She led her into the 'fresher, snagging the last empty chair as she went. This she placed just inside the door.
"We need you to do something tonight, too," she informed Anlia. "A big part of this plan depends on getting as many Imps away from the track as possible. We need to convince them that that Rebel is making a break for the open sea."
Anlia's stomach clenched. She had to swallow a sudden thickness in her throat before she could ask, "What do you want me to do?"
Ceil swung her shoulder pouch up onto the tiny sink. "You're going to be a resident of the Teale Tower apartments who notices a strange man lurking around the parking deck, looking at speeders. When he runs off toward the river when he's spotted, you're going to walk over to the garrison substation across from the Tower and file a complaint."
Anlia took a deep breath. "I can do that," she said, but her voice quavered. She cleared her throat. "I can, really."
"Good." Ceil gave her a long, critical, once-over and nodded toward the shower. "Wash your face and wet down your hair. I need to do some embellishing before you'll pass for a town girl." She gathered her own fine black hair into a twist at the back of her head and secured it with a clip.
Propelled by Ceil's brisk tone and efficient hands, Anlia stripped off her sturdy homespun, washed, and found herself sitting in the chair while she was transformed. Her hair was ruthlessly sheared into a stylish bob; pearlglow powder was rubbed into her skin to lighten her tan; cosmetics glossed her eyes and cheeks and lips.
Ceil capped the lipcolor wand and frowned. "Don't chew the color off. Here-- put these on."
The underclothes were silk and strapless and made her feel naked. The dress, a simple sky-blue sheath, was too long and tight at Anlia's waist. Ceil frowned some more, produced tack strips and a length of silver-cloth webbing, and went to work shortening the hem and covering the gaping waist fastener with a belt.
"There." She stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. "Small, quick steps, arms close to your body; keep your voice confident; and speak to the officers as if they're your equals. Try not to screw it up-- go in, make your report, stressing the man was unkempt and a stranger, and leave. You won't stand up to scrutiny."
"Oh, thanks." Anlia felt a flash of wounded pride.
Ceil shrugged it off. "It takes more than a makeover to change your nature. You're a novice, and it shows. Just do the best you can to not get any of us killed."
Anlia bent to slip on the matching sandals, bending over farther than necessary to hide the sudden terror stiffening her face. Ceil was right-- there were lives being risked tonight.
She could not let them down.
Somehow she stood, straightened her spine, lifted her chin. Ceil, business-like, turned her in a tight circle and nodded.
"You'll do."
Her head felt strangely light. Anlia reached up, feeling for hair no longer curtaining her neck. Ceil rapped her hand.
"Don't. That makes you look like you have a brand-new hairstyle and aren't used to it."
"I do-- and I'm not."
"But you can't let anyone guess that." Ceil's eyes bored into hers. "You can't be scared or uncertain or obviously playacting. You have to be a city girl from Teale Tower, annoyed by an intruder and confident the nice soldiers will run him off for you. We're counting on you to do your part and do it well."
The other girl's severe tone chilled Anlia to the core. She managed a jerky nod.
Selkin's reaction was almost enough to warm the cold knot her stomach had become. He glanced up when she stepped out of the 'fresher-- and did a visible double-take. His eyes widened, travelling from her hair to the delicate sandals on her feet. His lips pursed in a silent whistle.
She fought the urge to duck her head shyly, and instead met his stare with a bold wink and a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Tryss broke off, glanced at his wrist chrono, and closed down the holoplate. "Let's wrap this up," he said quietly.
Selkin was around the table in a heartbeat. He took Anlia's hands in his and squeezed, searching her face. She was sure he could read the sudden terror and desolation written there.
One-handed, he slipped the datapad from his waistband.
All right?
"Yes."
You look beautiful.
"Thank you." Her eyes burned. "So are you."
Gently he caught the tears brimming at the corners of her eyes on the pad of his thumb, before they could spill down and streak her cosmetics. Be careful.
"You, too. Be safe, Selkin."
To hells with the lipcolor. He leaned in, covered her mouth with his. For a moment she held to him with fearsome strength.
"All right, break it up." Ceil's command was a blast of icy air. They drew apart, arms disentangling and falling to their sides.
Tryss reached around and slid the datapad from the Rebel's grasp. His face was oddly regretful. "I'm sorry, sir. If any of this should fall into the wrong hands..." He took a thick, metallic grey card from his shirt pocket.
Puzzled, Anlia saw him insert it into the dataslot beneath the keypad. "What... ?"
Selkin watched with resigned acceptance. He made a little motion with his fingers. Go ahead. Has to be done.
Understanding blazed. "No!" Anlia gasped. She wrenched toward the cell leader, snatching for the device. "Don't! It's all he has!"
Tryss half-turned, blocking her with his shoulder. "It's too dangerous. I am sorry." The card clicked home; his thumb pressed firmly on the "save" tile.
Every last memory the Rebel had recorded vanished without a sound.
"Son of a shivv." Numb, Anlia saw him set the wiped-clean datapad on the table. She felt Selkin lay his hand on her back, on the bare skin above the blue silk; it was warm, and she knew he wanted to reassure her. But Tryss was jerking his head at the door.
"Let's go, Bellin. I'll drop you at the Tower. Ry, Ceil, give me 45 minutes and then head out. If the track's not clear, signal Tawn to abort and go to ground."
"Understood." Ceil had unclipped her hair and shouldered her pouch; now she slid a blaster from it and coolly checked it over.
Tryss took Anlia by the elbow and desperation flooded her. She tried to tug free, to turn to Selkin one last time, but the cell leader merely tightened his grip and steered her to the door.
A last glimpse over her shoulder showed her the Rebel with one hand raised in farewell.
~~~~~
In silence, Tryss handed her up into his speeder and circled to the driver's side. Akrit'tar's sun was sliding toward the horizon, and the late afternoon air settled with smothering humidity over Anlia's head. They pulled out of the parking lot; Tryss didn't offer any small talk as he drove, for which Anlia was profoundly grateful. She used the time to force back her tears and still the trembling of her chin.
Within moments, Teale Tower was visible, a light-checkered column against the darkening sky.
Tryss looped around the block to come in at the back, passing through a durastone gate and down an incline to the underground parking levels. He wove slowly through the maze of support pillars and parked vehicles.
"That door's the RiverWalk exit," he pointed out. "It leads down a pathway to a semi-private park overlooking the river; a second path splits off to the marina, where I'll be lifting someone's skimmer. Tell the duty officer the intruder ran out that door, got it?"
"RiverWalk exit-- got it."
He circled down another two levels to where the speeders began to thin out, and then a third, where they were sparser still. He slid into an un-numbered slot and cut the engine.
"The garage turbolifts only go as far as the Promenade; go up, get out, take another lift up to the restaurant on the thirtieth floor. Go in and ask a few questions-- if there's a wait for a window table, how crowded the tapcaf is. Tell the host you're waiting for guests and will be back. That'll give me enough of a head start without you standing around looking lost and attracting attention. After you chat a bit, go back down to the Promenade and out the front doors-- the station is across the street."
Her heart had started a strange little fluttering rhythm against her ribs. Anlia nodded.
"Can you handle this?"
She nodded again.
"Once you make the report, come back here and take the speeder back to my place and wait." He handed over his keycards. "Make sure you aren't followed."
"A-all right," she agreed, although she hadn't the vaguest idea how she would detect a tail. "What about you?"
"I'll make my own way back. Let's go." Tryss swung out of the speeder.
He pointed her toward the nearest lift. "Make up a name and apartment number in case the duty officer asks. Don't get stuck filling out forms-- make an excuse and leave," he tossed off as last-minute instructions.
Anlia's skin was slick with sweat that owed nothing to the humid night. Her first few steps in the slim-heeled sandals were wobbly; but then she found her center of balance. With more confidence than she felt, she tapped across the duracrete floor and pressed the lift's call-tile.
The doors slid open and she stepped in, turning to face out at the parking deck. Tryss, starkly visible in his dark clothing in the brightly-lit garage, gave her a firm nod.
Then the doors closed and she was alone.
When they opened again, cool air washed gently over her. Anlia stepped out onto shiny synthstone, mottled brown to resemble river rocks. Transparisteel panes soared five stories up, to admit ample light for the banks of trees, grasses, and reeds that made up an expansive indoor garden. Across the center of the lobby cut a deep channel, capped with thick clear panels and filled with running water, rocks, slender green fish. A discreet plaque on a nearby pillar explained it was actual water from the Teale River, piped from an intake upstream for the residents' enjoyment.
Anlia took her time, reading the plaque, and then strolling to a directory on one wall while she got her bearings. The climate-controlled air sent shivers down her exposed neck; her hand rose automatically to tug the ends of her cropped hair and she forced it down, Ceil's sharp words ringing in her ears.
There was another lift halfway around the Promenade. The echoing clatter of her heels on stone reminded her to walk as Ceil had instructed: short, quick motions, like a city girl in a hurry.
The lift carried her to the thirtieth floor.
The flooring here was plush green carpet, the lighting warm and muted. Soft music spilled from the restaurant's entrance at the end of the hall. A host droid answered her questions in modulated tones. Anlia lingered as long as she dared, even stepping inside briefly to take in the view.
Despite her mounting tension, it made her gasp in appreciation.
She was high enough to see the Tower's namesake river flowing by on the right, and the marina on the inlet with its neat lines of docked watercraft, many strung with twinkling lights. There was even a glimpse of the sea, shining darkly in the fading light.
"May I show you to a table, madam?"
She dropped back to ground with a jolt. "Thank you, not yet," she murmered to the host droid. "I should go see what's keeping my guests."
Back down to the Promenade she rode. Her skin felt clammy again and the dress was garrotting her waist. She clenched her jaw so as not to chew her lips.
She realized she'd never wiped the lipcolor from Selkin's mouth.
Her heart wrenched anew. "No crying, no crying," she whispered fiercely.
The walk across the Promenade seemed endless. When the outer doors slid open, the humid air fell over her like a wet gersa-hide blanket. She click-clicked her way down the walkway and over the pedestrian bridge arching the wide boulevard.
The substation held one desk, a wall-mounted comm and computer setup, and a single officer, young enough that his face and neck were still spotty but already mean-eyed enough to make the Empire proud. If he had any subordinates, they waited somewhere other than the front office.
"I'd like to report an intruder," Anlia squeaked.
Slowly he looked up from his datascreen and leveled an imperious stare at her. "Intruding where?"
"Teale Tower." She got her voice under control and endeavored to meet his eyes without visibly flinching. "When I went to get my speeder from the parking levels, there was a young man lurking around, looking over the speeders. I'm sure he was up to something-- he ran off when he saw me."
"Likely a local youth admiring some fancy rides," he said dismissively.
Blast! He's supposed to get suspicious! Anlia's mind raced. "I don't think so," she blurted. "He looked like a wild man, filthy and all over hair."
The superiority slid off the young officer's face like a mask. He reached for a thick datapad on the desk. "A wild man, you say?"
"Oh, yes," Anlia nodded rapidly. "The most knotted mess of hair you've ever seen. And skin and bones! He was like a skeleton-- he frightened me. I'm sure he must be dangerous."
The officer was keying furiously at the datapad, an excited flush beginning to stain the flesh above his tight collar a raw red. "What color hair?"
"Light brown. And he was so dirty, but I think he was fair-skinned. He was looking at the speeders-- they belong to my neighbors, you know, and he most certainly is not a neighbor. I think he meant to steal one, because he ran off-- out the RiverWalk exit-- when he saw me."
"You're sure he left the parking decks?"
"Yes, he did. He went out the RiverWalk exit and ran down the walkway. I thought I should report him-- he looked so dangerous."
"Don't worry, ma'am, we'll apprehend him." The officer swung sharply to the terminal and plugged in the datapad. Red text studded with blinking icons began to spill down the screen. He reached for his cap and was just tugging it into place when a door behind him snapped open. Two pairs of armored troopers marched out.
This time Anlia did flinch, recoiling instinctively from the hard gleam of their armor.
"We have an alert," she heard the officer say quietly. He was clipping a comlink to his collar as he spoke. His eyes lifted and drilled into Anlia.
"Thank you for reporting this, ma'am. I may need to interview you in greater depth later, but for now you must return to your apartment at once and stay indoors. That's an order."
He was presenting her with official permission to make herself scarce! "Yes, of course, officer. I'll go right now."
Before the door closed behind her, she heard the clatter of heavy blasters being brought forward to ready position.
She fled back to the Tower, ankles wobbling in her haste. From the direction of the marina rose the high-pitched shrill of an alarm. Seconds later, a heavy white Imperial patrol vehicle sped past. Another careened out of the substaton; from a block or two away, she heard the deep rumble of powerful repulsors indicating a third was approaching.
She hustled inside.
The Promenade was still full of people, strolling in and out of the groundfloor salons and shops, sitting on the benches among the potted trees, clustering at the turbolifts. She joined a small group heading to the parking levels.
Her whole body was shaking by the time she reached Tryss's speeder. Fear of being captured, of being hurt until she betrayed Selkin, was all that kept her from sinking into a quivering heap on the duracrete floor.
She cruised out of the parking deck and onto the boulevard at the very moment a blockade vehicle rumbled around the corner. She barely stopped herself from mashing the accelerator forward. Shivering hard, she somehow managed to keep a sedate pace away from the apartment building. In the rear viewer she could see metal barricades unfurling from the vehicle's sides, and the blood-red pulse of warning lumas.
Her palms were slick on the steering controls and she tried to wipe them dry on her skirt, only to realize the dress was moisture-repelling synthsilk. With exaggerated care, she made her way down streets clogged with summer-night traffic. When she passed blocks near to the sea, two more Imperial transports peeled off from a garishly-lit casino and took off in the direction she'd come from.
Maybe it was working, then. Maybe just the chance that the escaped prisoner was skulking around the marina district was enough to mobilize soldiers from all over the city to box him in.
Anlia drove aimlessly until she was as sure as she could be that no one was trailing her. She found herself in an area of Darat she didn't recognize in the slightest; afraid she'd become hopelessly lost, she turned left, cutting across side streets until she reached another major avenue, and turned left again, heading back toward Tryss's apartment.
The restaurant at 410 Bank Street was doing a brisk business. The lot was nearly full, forcing her to park at the far edge in the pools of dark shadows by the line of garages. One of the street lumas near Tryss's building was out-- she was sure it wasn't a coincidence.
The darkness allowed her to clearly see that the sky above the river was crisscrossed with beams of brilliant white light.
Tryss's apartment was empty.
She paced the dark rooms, sick with worry but unable to rest. The apartment was stuffy; even cranked to maximum, the ancient climate control couldn't overcome the stifling humidity. The synthetic dress clung unpleasantly to her body but she felt too agitated to take even a moment to change.
The minutes clicked by. Anlia switched on the holovid receiver, flicking through the newsfeeds without seeing anything that might correlate to the night's activities. Outside on the landing, the night was peaceful... except for faraway sounds that might be comms broadcasting in the open, heavy engines and repulsors, a stutter-whine that could have been blasterfire.
Did no one else hear it and wonder?
She went back inside. The newsfeeds were still oblivious. Anlia swiped at her moist brow and grimaced-- she was sweating out the pearlglow Ceil had rubbed into her skin. A greasy paste coated her face and arms.
Ugh. Can't stand it a minute longer. She retrieved her own clothing from the bedroom and locked herself in the 'fresher. Another of the stairway monitors was stuck to the outside of the shower cubicle so she would hear if someone, Tryss or, or... otherwise... came up the stairs.
She yanked off the dress, struggling to peel the too-tight garment from her sticky skin. A seam ripped when she forced it over her hips. History's fastest shower washed the residue of cosmetics down the drain in a murky swirl.
Her hair was markedly easy to towel dry now. I wonder what Dad will say? she mused, raking it smooth with her fingers. I hope he doesn't think the city's turned my head. Short hair'll be cooler in the fields, at any rate.
Dressed in loose homespun once more, she stepped out of the 'fresher and was greeted by a flashing red graphic on the holoscreen. "Breaking news..." She half-fell onto the couch as an announcer began to cheerily deliver reports of military action on the Teale River, rumors of a water pursuit, water units cordoning off areas of the sea and inlet, even of private water craft being commandeered, or possibly stolen. He made it all sound like great good fun.
Good, Anlia thought, though her heart was fluttering madly again. It sounds like the diversion's working. I hope Tryss can get himself out of all that, though.
The screen displayed stock holos of the guardhouse at the penal colony's main entrance, an adjacent sign designating it 'Facility 8625', and of the prison commandant giving a news conference. The announcer speculated that the night's action might be related to the unprecedented prison break several weeks earlier. "The prisoner, rated 'extremely dangerous', is still at large," he chirped.
Selkin's prison holo filled the screen.
Anlia gave a little cry and buried her face in her hands. He must get away safely-- he must! I'll die if anything happens to him. I don't care what else happens, as long as my Rebel escapes.
When she raised her head, a different commentator was discussing whether prisoners should be kept at all or whether it might be more adventageous to execute them immediately. "The cost savings in this sector alone..." he was droning as she slapped off the sound and left him to preach inaudibly.
She resumed pacing the floor.
Eons later, the stair signal chimed. Anlia snapped off the holovid, plunging the main room into darkness. Suddenly terror-struck, she crouched behind the couch.
There was a scuffling on the landing, then a light tap at the door. A voice carried through faintly. She rose up on her knees and strained her ears.
"Roamer." His voice was a hoarse bark. "Roamer."
Tryss was soaked to the skin and dragging the leg he favored. His hair was wind-blown, salt-stiffened into a tangled mass of curls. He limped heavily to the sink, lowered his mouth to the faucet, and gulped down a long draught of water.
"Are you all right?"
He surfaced, face dripping, and nodded. "Too old to be joyriding in the dark on a skimmer that small and quick. Rolled it where the inlet hits the sea and swam ashore; they're still searching, think I got caught in the currents. Nearly did."
"Sit down, I'll make you a cup of tea."
"Any word on the others?" Wincing, he propped his leg on a second chair.
"No."
"This line of work, no news is usually a good sign."
Tryss drank the strong hot tea Anlia set in front of him and watched the 'vid, clicking from newsfeed to newsfeed in an endless cycle. There were holocam crews in place now, transmitting murky images of patrol craft swarming the water, and excited reporters chattering "live from the scene" with the marina as a backdrop.
"They've built up some pretty decent hysteria. Good-- command'll be sending in every trooper they've got. None left to chase your boyfriend." Glancing at his wrist chrono, he heaved himself to his feet and limped to the bedroom. "I'm going to change. You hungry? Restaurant across the way isn't exactly "Fine", but they do a decent soup, and the bread's good."
Anlia tucked herself into the corner of the couch and wrapped her arms about her. Fear for Selkin was ebbing now, leaving an empty feeling in her middle and a growing ache in her throat.
He was so lovely. I'll miss him terribly. She pulled her bare feet up onto the cushions and rested her head on her updrawn knees. I pray he gets away-- but oh, how I miss him already.
The 'vid chimed an attention-grabbing 'ping-ping-ping' sound. Anlia lifted her head, and the red "Breaking news" banner was scrolling again. The broadcast broke away from another live report to a grave-looking woman in the studio.
"We are receiving reports of yet another situation unfolding in Darat City tonight... "
The graphics changed to "Blaster fire reported at Darat Racetrack".
A lightning bolt cracked straight through her heart. "Tryss!" The room tilted crazily, sending all the blood rushing from her head. She grabbed the arm of the couch to steady herself and her voice rose to a thin scream. "Tryss!"
~~~to be continued.
On to Chapter 16
Disclaimers in Chapter 1.
Feedback welcomed by reviewing or by emailing the author at jennet_2@yahoo.com
Moving Target
Chapter 15
"Here's how it'll go down." Tryss pushed the caf cups to the edges of the table. Producing a holoplate, he placed it in the cleared space and thumbed it on so an inverted cone of hazy blue light appeared. Its flat top displayed the city of Darat in 3-D. Tryss dialed the focus to one sector. "They think you're following the Teale River-- I don't know why-- but we'll use their assumption to our advantage.
"One of my contacts will lift a water skimmer from the marina here," and he touched a lightstick to the holograph, causing one building to briefly shine yellow, "at the mouth of the river, and play shadow tag with the patrols.
"Meanwhile, the other and I will bring you to the racetrack here." The map shifted and the track oval lit up. "There's a race running tonight; it'll be crowded, and confused. All present troopers will, with luck, peel off and join the water chase. We've got a guy in reserve with a small, fast freighter-- he'll drop down into the infield, I'll cover you while my contact tosses you aboard, he'll take off. Pre-programmed micro-jumps to shake any pursuit, then to hyperspace for the nearest Alliance-held system."
Twisting the lightstick in his fingers, Tryss leaned back in his chair. "Well?"
Selkin nodded slowly, his eyes intent on the holo. He pushed the datapad at the older man.
You trust the freighter pilot?
"Yes." Tryss's voice was definite. "He's Rebel from way back, from the days before uniforms and service branches and even pay packets. You'll be safe in his hands, sir."
Air patrols over the track?
"No-- too dangerous for the racers. Downdrafts gimmick the mods' repulsors' ability to keep contact with the track. Their traction is seriously impaired to begin with-- purposely, to increase manueverability. The sponsers have negotiated a no-fly zone with the local Imp garrison."
But there is security?
"Oh, yes." Tryss rubbed his chin. "The local militia. Thugs with stun batons and pack mentality. You stay under the sensors until the freighter comes in and then you move fast and you should avoid trouble."
At Selkin's side, Anlia stirred. "Does it sound like a good plan, Selkin?" She didn't much care if Tryss took her question as an insult; she hadn't the experience to know if the scheme was reasonable or not.
But Selkin was nodding slowly. You say it's a fast ship?
"It's no A-wing, but Tawn's out-run corvettes with it. The engine upgrades are extensive-- makes his credits running prime grain alcohol off-world, rolls 'em back into his ship."
Not to worry then, Anlee. Selkin covered her hand with his. A diversion-- little or no Imp presence-- a fast ship. Simple, but effective.
"If you trust it, then I will too," she said.
Tryss snapped off the holo. "Glad you approve." There was a slight but unmistakable edge to his voice.
Anlia flushed. "And your record for saving people gives me so much to trust," she snapped.
The older man's eyes went flinty. "I'm sorry about your sister. Someone in the cell had loose lips-- I accept responsibility for not silencing them in time. But it doesn't mean I can't put together an escape."
"Doesn't it?"
Anlee. Selkin put his hand on her shoulder.
But she was past listening. "We trusted you with Josa's life-- with Darl's life. Can I trust you with Selkin's?"
Tryss shoved back violently in his chair. "You have your nephew, don't you?" he ground out. "Did you know Darl had a sister? No? Maybe because I sent her off Akrit'tar after the cell collapsed. She made it safe to the Alliance; what they did with her after, I don't know." He slapped his hand down on the holoplate, palming it and stowing it in his pocket. He glared at Selkin.
"You need clothes you won't trip over when you run, and a change of appearance. Do me a favor and stay here while I go shopping." Stiffly, he spun and left the apartment.
Anlee... Selkin lifted her chin with his finger.
Her eyes slid to the side. "I know, all right? I didn't mean to make him mad, it just... burst out. I don't want to lose you, too, Selkin."
He drew her to the couch and sank down, pulling her to his lap. She buried her face in his neck.
It wasn't his fault. If he were that poor a leader, he'd have been captured or killed years ago.
"You're right. But sometimes I get so furious about it all."
And Tryss is pretty easy to lay blame on.
She nodded. "I do know that's not fair. But Selkin, please... "
Shh, it's all right. I'll be fine. The plan's solid.
~~~~~
Tryss returned carrying a stiffened fiberweave bag imprinted with a local liquor chain's logo. Selkin waited, pressed into the corner nearest the door, blaster levelled in a two-handed grip as the door slid open. The other man paused on the threshold.
"Roamer," Tryss announced calmly, and Selkin lowered his weapon. The cell leader closed the door and lifted the bag to the table.
"Clothes." He produced a bundle of folded cloth. "Shoes you won't trip over. Props." Last, he extracted a plastene bottle. "Hair dye."
"Hair dye?" Anlia came out of the bedroom where she'd retreated when the chime sounded and picked up the bottle. "This is laundry bleach," she exclaimed, reading the label.
"Buying a hair-color kit in this town, with an escaped prisoner on the loose, would send up a signal flare," he explained evenly. "It's not toxic, and watered down it'll give good results." He snagged a chair and motioned to Selkin. "Sit down here, son."
Selkin sat. He watched Tryss peel open a package of plain gauze pads and fold several into two wads.
"Open up."
Selkin opened his mouth, tilting back his head as Tryss tucked the gauze up into his cheeks with his thumb. The older man studied his handiwork, shook his head, and added another few layers. This time he nodded.
"Since talking around a mouthful of gauze isn't going to be an issue, we can really pouch your cheeks out. Completely changes the shape of your face."
Selkin displayed the results to Anlia, and the girl blinked. The Rebel was balloon-cheeked, his lips slightly pursed.
"Well, you look different, anyway."
"And that's the goal," Tryss said. "He doesn't have to look good, just different from those holobulletins all over the city." He picked up the bleach bottle and gave it a good shake. "Go wet down your hair while I mix up a couple different batches of bleach and water."
They started with the weakest solution, combing it through the Rebel's light brown hair until the color leeched out to a strange, sunburnt-straw pallidness. Tryss made him sponge down his arms, and even carefully dab his eyebrows. Selkin ducked his head into the shower, rinsed, and then Tryss dipped random strands of hair into progressively stronger solutions.
When finished, Selkin washed and towelled himself vigorously. He shook back hair that was now harshly "sunstreaked" blond.
Tryss regarded him critically. "Not bad. One more thing, though."
He disappeared into the bedroom, returning with a small square bottle of black glassine. He motioned Selkin over to the table in the main room.
"This'll sting a bit, though not as bad as cutting open your arm with a broken bottle, I wager. Don't scratch-- once it dries, it won't burn any more."
"Burn?" Anlia hovered nervously behind the Rebel's chair. "What is that stuff?"
"Reactive chemical gel with a very slight caustic effect." Tryss raised his voice over the girl's cry of protest. "Very slight, I said. Uncomfortable while wet, but not dangerous. It'll make a realistic-looking scar."
"I bet."
"It's nothing I haven't used myself." Tryss unstoppered the bottle; the lid held a fine brush. He drew the bristles across the inside of his wrist.
For a second, nothing happened. His arm muscles tensed, the veins popping into relief as his fist balled tight. Then a red line bloomed where the brush had touched-- and as they watched, turned dark and drew in on itself, pulling and wrinkling the skin along the line. In less than a minute, a realistic scar, not livid and recent but old and faded, lay across the man's wrist.
His fist relaxed, and he held his arm over to Selkin for inspection. "Think you can handle it?"
The Rebel nodded. Hitching his chair close, Tryss pulled the towel from Selkin's bare shoulders. Anlia bit back further protests, forcing herself to watch silently as Tryss tipped the Rebel's head to the side.
"From your earlobe, down your neck to your chest," he told him, tracing the path with his forefinger. Selkin nodded again, and the cell leader began.
The brush painted a fiery line down the column of Selkin's neck. He clenched his jaw, but Tryss snapped a finger against it.
"Relax-- skin has to be a little loose to draw in properly."
Selkin dug his fingers into his thighs to keep from clawing at the burning itch working down his neck. He could feel his right ear scrunching upward, tightening the skin below his jaw. Tryss dipped the brush again and drew it over his collarbone, and then down to the very top of his chest muscle.
"There." He nodded in satisfaction. "Could be anything from a vibroblade fight to a gersa bull goring to a machinery accident. Don't touch-- let it dry completely, then it'll hold up to minor handling, moisture, movement."
Cautiously, Selkin turned and tilted his head and rolled his right shoulder. His skin pulled, but the "scar" didn't crack or peel loose. He made a fist and flexed his arm and the slight resistance of the false scar felt nearly identical to the real one on his bicep.
Tryss nodded. "Noticed you're still favoring that arm a little-- it'll look natural now. Stick the cheek pads back in and go look in the mirror."
Selkin thought he looked like a moon-faced hayseed, but he had to admire the other man's work. His ear was crumpled, the lobe folded in on itself, and the long, puckered scar was just visible against his tanned neck, stretching down where it would disappear under his shirt when he donned it.
"The bulletins don't list you as having any scars," Tryss said from the 'fresher doorway. "So now you do-- not obvious enough to draw interest, just enough to deflect it."
Selkin turned and held out his hand; the two men shook. Selkin's stomach was tightening in anticipation of the coming sortie.
~~~~~
The boy arrived first, bounding up the steps two at a time, bouncing lightly on his heels on the landing until Tryss admitted him. His hazel eyes swept the apartment thoroughly, then settled on Anlia and Selkin, seated side by side on the couch with their hands visible and flat on their knees as instructed. His thick, sandy hair flopped over his forehead, and he shoved his fingers through it, back-combing it away from his face. He stared openly at Selkin.
"You got out of 86-25?" he blurted.
Selkin nodded. The boy loosed a long, low whistle and gave another little bounce.
"What's this?" Tryss rapped out, pointing.
The boy's fair cheeks flamed. He made as if to hide one hand behind his back, then shamefacedly held it out. It was bandaged tightly in blue stretch-gauze from knuckles to wrist.
"Had a little accident with the fryer," he confessed.
"You were fine last night!"
"It happened at lunch rush today. It was an accident, I swear! Someone bumped me and I grabbed onto the basket."
"How are you going to pilot a skimmer?"
The stair alarm chimed again, and Tryss broke off, taking up position at the door.
"Runner," a female voice said, and he let her in.
This girl's eyes swept the room just as attentively as the boy's had. She was nearly as tall as Tryss, long-legged and very slender in snug leggings and tunic. Her features were a trifle too narrow to be classically beautiful, but she was striking. Sharp green eyes took in the pair on the couch, the boy's awkwardly outstretched hand, Tryss's grim face.
"You heard."
Tryss nodded. To Selkin and Anlia, he said, "This is Ry and Ceil. Ry was going to lead the water chase while Ceil got you aboard the freighter..."
"I can still pilot!" the boy broke in hotly.
Tryss reached over and seized the bandaged hand. He shook his head. "You're wrapped too tight for movement. You'll never manage the kind of sharp turns and split-second manuevers you'll need for a high-speed chase on the water, not with one hand you won't."
"I'll unwrap it."
"He's got second degree burns," Ceil remarked matter-of-factly.
Ry glared at her, but she only gazed back at him, cool and impassive. Tryss shook his head.
"Redistribution of assignments. You can't pilot."
"But you said I looked the most like him! I should be the one on the water!"
"No," Tryss said flatly. "I'll pilot the skimmer. You'll cover the landing while Ceil gets him aboard." He went to the table and triggered the holoplate, motioning Ry and Selkin to join him.
"Here's the track. You'll go in and sit in a lower corner section-- less desirable seats, less crowded. Tawn's been instructed to come in at exactly 20:45; you'll see his lights as he makes his approach... "
As Tryss talked, Ceil caught Anlia's eye. "Come with me."
She led her into the 'fresher, snagging the last empty chair as she went. This she placed just inside the door.
"We need you to do something tonight, too," she informed Anlia. "A big part of this plan depends on getting as many Imps away from the track as possible. We need to convince them that that Rebel is making a break for the open sea."
Anlia's stomach clenched. She had to swallow a sudden thickness in her throat before she could ask, "What do you want me to do?"
Ceil swung her shoulder pouch up onto the tiny sink. "You're going to be a resident of the Teale Tower apartments who notices a strange man lurking around the parking deck, looking at speeders. When he runs off toward the river when he's spotted, you're going to walk over to the garrison substation across from the Tower and file a complaint."
Anlia took a deep breath. "I can do that," she said, but her voice quavered. She cleared her throat. "I can, really."
"Good." Ceil gave her a long, critical, once-over and nodded toward the shower. "Wash your face and wet down your hair. I need to do some embellishing before you'll pass for a town girl." She gathered her own fine black hair into a twist at the back of her head and secured it with a clip.
Propelled by Ceil's brisk tone and efficient hands, Anlia stripped off her sturdy homespun, washed, and found herself sitting in the chair while she was transformed. Her hair was ruthlessly sheared into a stylish bob; pearlglow powder was rubbed into her skin to lighten her tan; cosmetics glossed her eyes and cheeks and lips.
Ceil capped the lipcolor wand and frowned. "Don't chew the color off. Here-- put these on."
The underclothes were silk and strapless and made her feel naked. The dress, a simple sky-blue sheath, was too long and tight at Anlia's waist. Ceil frowned some more, produced tack strips and a length of silver-cloth webbing, and went to work shortening the hem and covering the gaping waist fastener with a belt.
"There." She stepped back and surveyed her handiwork. "Small, quick steps, arms close to your body; keep your voice confident; and speak to the officers as if they're your equals. Try not to screw it up-- go in, make your report, stressing the man was unkempt and a stranger, and leave. You won't stand up to scrutiny."
"Oh, thanks." Anlia felt a flash of wounded pride.
Ceil shrugged it off. "It takes more than a makeover to change your nature. You're a novice, and it shows. Just do the best you can to not get any of us killed."
Anlia bent to slip on the matching sandals, bending over farther than necessary to hide the sudden terror stiffening her face. Ceil was right-- there were lives being risked tonight.
She could not let them down.
Somehow she stood, straightened her spine, lifted her chin. Ceil, business-like, turned her in a tight circle and nodded.
"You'll do."
Her head felt strangely light. Anlia reached up, feeling for hair no longer curtaining her neck. Ceil rapped her hand.
"Don't. That makes you look like you have a brand-new hairstyle and aren't used to it."
"I do-- and I'm not."
"But you can't let anyone guess that." Ceil's eyes bored into hers. "You can't be scared or uncertain or obviously playacting. You have to be a city girl from Teale Tower, annoyed by an intruder and confident the nice soldiers will run him off for you. We're counting on you to do your part and do it well."
The other girl's severe tone chilled Anlia to the core. She managed a jerky nod.
Selkin's reaction was almost enough to warm the cold knot her stomach had become. He glanced up when she stepped out of the 'fresher-- and did a visible double-take. His eyes widened, travelling from her hair to the delicate sandals on her feet. His lips pursed in a silent whistle.
She fought the urge to duck her head shyly, and instead met his stare with a bold wink and a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Tryss broke off, glanced at his wrist chrono, and closed down the holoplate. "Let's wrap this up," he said quietly.
Selkin was around the table in a heartbeat. He took Anlia's hands in his and squeezed, searching her face. She was sure he could read the sudden terror and desolation written there.
One-handed, he slipped the datapad from his waistband.
All right?
"Yes."
You look beautiful.
"Thank you." Her eyes burned. "So are you."
Gently he caught the tears brimming at the corners of her eyes on the pad of his thumb, before they could spill down and streak her cosmetics. Be careful.
"You, too. Be safe, Selkin."
To hells with the lipcolor. He leaned in, covered her mouth with his. For a moment she held to him with fearsome strength.
"All right, break it up." Ceil's command was a blast of icy air. They drew apart, arms disentangling and falling to their sides.
Tryss reached around and slid the datapad from the Rebel's grasp. His face was oddly regretful. "I'm sorry, sir. If any of this should fall into the wrong hands..." He took a thick, metallic grey card from his shirt pocket.
Puzzled, Anlia saw him insert it into the dataslot beneath the keypad. "What... ?"
Selkin watched with resigned acceptance. He made a little motion with his fingers. Go ahead. Has to be done.
Understanding blazed. "No!" Anlia gasped. She wrenched toward the cell leader, snatching for the device. "Don't! It's all he has!"
Tryss half-turned, blocking her with his shoulder. "It's too dangerous. I am sorry." The card clicked home; his thumb pressed firmly on the "save" tile.
Every last memory the Rebel had recorded vanished without a sound.
"Son of a shivv." Numb, Anlia saw him set the wiped-clean datapad on the table. She felt Selkin lay his hand on her back, on the bare skin above the blue silk; it was warm, and she knew he wanted to reassure her. But Tryss was jerking his head at the door.
"Let's go, Bellin. I'll drop you at the Tower. Ry, Ceil, give me 45 minutes and then head out. If the track's not clear, signal Tawn to abort and go to ground."
"Understood." Ceil had unclipped her hair and shouldered her pouch; now she slid a blaster from it and coolly checked it over.
Tryss took Anlia by the elbow and desperation flooded her. She tried to tug free, to turn to Selkin one last time, but the cell leader merely tightened his grip and steered her to the door.
A last glimpse over her shoulder showed her the Rebel with one hand raised in farewell.
~~~~~
In silence, Tryss handed her up into his speeder and circled to the driver's side. Akrit'tar's sun was sliding toward the horizon, and the late afternoon air settled with smothering humidity over Anlia's head. They pulled out of the parking lot; Tryss didn't offer any small talk as he drove, for which Anlia was profoundly grateful. She used the time to force back her tears and still the trembling of her chin.
Within moments, Teale Tower was visible, a light-checkered column against the darkening sky.
Tryss looped around the block to come in at the back, passing through a durastone gate and down an incline to the underground parking levels. He wove slowly through the maze of support pillars and parked vehicles.
"That door's the RiverWalk exit," he pointed out. "It leads down a pathway to a semi-private park overlooking the river; a second path splits off to the marina, where I'll be lifting someone's skimmer. Tell the duty officer the intruder ran out that door, got it?"
"RiverWalk exit-- got it."
He circled down another two levels to where the speeders began to thin out, and then a third, where they were sparser still. He slid into an un-numbered slot and cut the engine.
"The garage turbolifts only go as far as the Promenade; go up, get out, take another lift up to the restaurant on the thirtieth floor. Go in and ask a few questions-- if there's a wait for a window table, how crowded the tapcaf is. Tell the host you're waiting for guests and will be back. That'll give me enough of a head start without you standing around looking lost and attracting attention. After you chat a bit, go back down to the Promenade and out the front doors-- the station is across the street."
Her heart had started a strange little fluttering rhythm against her ribs. Anlia nodded.
"Can you handle this?"
She nodded again.
"Once you make the report, come back here and take the speeder back to my place and wait." He handed over his keycards. "Make sure you aren't followed."
"A-all right," she agreed, although she hadn't the vaguest idea how she would detect a tail. "What about you?"
"I'll make my own way back. Let's go." Tryss swung out of the speeder.
He pointed her toward the nearest lift. "Make up a name and apartment number in case the duty officer asks. Don't get stuck filling out forms-- make an excuse and leave," he tossed off as last-minute instructions.
Anlia's skin was slick with sweat that owed nothing to the humid night. Her first few steps in the slim-heeled sandals were wobbly; but then she found her center of balance. With more confidence than she felt, she tapped across the duracrete floor and pressed the lift's call-tile.
The doors slid open and she stepped in, turning to face out at the parking deck. Tryss, starkly visible in his dark clothing in the brightly-lit garage, gave her a firm nod.
Then the doors closed and she was alone.
When they opened again, cool air washed gently over her. Anlia stepped out onto shiny synthstone, mottled brown to resemble river rocks. Transparisteel panes soared five stories up, to admit ample light for the banks of trees, grasses, and reeds that made up an expansive indoor garden. Across the center of the lobby cut a deep channel, capped with thick clear panels and filled with running water, rocks, slender green fish. A discreet plaque on a nearby pillar explained it was actual water from the Teale River, piped from an intake upstream for the residents' enjoyment.
Anlia took her time, reading the plaque, and then strolling to a directory on one wall while she got her bearings. The climate-controlled air sent shivers down her exposed neck; her hand rose automatically to tug the ends of her cropped hair and she forced it down, Ceil's sharp words ringing in her ears.
There was another lift halfway around the Promenade. The echoing clatter of her heels on stone reminded her to walk as Ceil had instructed: short, quick motions, like a city girl in a hurry.
The lift carried her to the thirtieth floor.
The flooring here was plush green carpet, the lighting warm and muted. Soft music spilled from the restaurant's entrance at the end of the hall. A host droid answered her questions in modulated tones. Anlia lingered as long as she dared, even stepping inside briefly to take in the view.
Despite her mounting tension, it made her gasp in appreciation.
She was high enough to see the Tower's namesake river flowing by on the right, and the marina on the inlet with its neat lines of docked watercraft, many strung with twinkling lights. There was even a glimpse of the sea, shining darkly in the fading light.
"May I show you to a table, madam?"
She dropped back to ground with a jolt. "Thank you, not yet," she murmered to the host droid. "I should go see what's keeping my guests."
Back down to the Promenade she rode. Her skin felt clammy again and the dress was garrotting her waist. She clenched her jaw so as not to chew her lips.
She realized she'd never wiped the lipcolor from Selkin's mouth.
Her heart wrenched anew. "No crying, no crying," she whispered fiercely.
The walk across the Promenade seemed endless. When the outer doors slid open, the humid air fell over her like a wet gersa-hide blanket. She click-clicked her way down the walkway and over the pedestrian bridge arching the wide boulevard.
The substation held one desk, a wall-mounted comm and computer setup, and a single officer, young enough that his face and neck were still spotty but already mean-eyed enough to make the Empire proud. If he had any subordinates, they waited somewhere other than the front office.
"I'd like to report an intruder," Anlia squeaked.
Slowly he looked up from his datascreen and leveled an imperious stare at her. "Intruding where?"
"Teale Tower." She got her voice under control and endeavored to meet his eyes without visibly flinching. "When I went to get my speeder from the parking levels, there was a young man lurking around, looking over the speeders. I'm sure he was up to something-- he ran off when he saw me."
"Likely a local youth admiring some fancy rides," he said dismissively.
Blast! He's supposed to get suspicious! Anlia's mind raced. "I don't think so," she blurted. "He looked like a wild man, filthy and all over hair."
The superiority slid off the young officer's face like a mask. He reached for a thick datapad on the desk. "A wild man, you say?"
"Oh, yes," Anlia nodded rapidly. "The most knotted mess of hair you've ever seen. And skin and bones! He was like a skeleton-- he frightened me. I'm sure he must be dangerous."
The officer was keying furiously at the datapad, an excited flush beginning to stain the flesh above his tight collar a raw red. "What color hair?"
"Light brown. And he was so dirty, but I think he was fair-skinned. He was looking at the speeders-- they belong to my neighbors, you know, and he most certainly is not a neighbor. I think he meant to steal one, because he ran off-- out the RiverWalk exit-- when he saw me."
"You're sure he left the parking decks?"
"Yes, he did. He went out the RiverWalk exit and ran down the walkway. I thought I should report him-- he looked so dangerous."
"Don't worry, ma'am, we'll apprehend him." The officer swung sharply to the terminal and plugged in the datapad. Red text studded with blinking icons began to spill down the screen. He reached for his cap and was just tugging it into place when a door behind him snapped open. Two pairs of armored troopers marched out.
This time Anlia did flinch, recoiling instinctively from the hard gleam of their armor.
"We have an alert," she heard the officer say quietly. He was clipping a comlink to his collar as he spoke. His eyes lifted and drilled into Anlia.
"Thank you for reporting this, ma'am. I may need to interview you in greater depth later, but for now you must return to your apartment at once and stay indoors. That's an order."
He was presenting her with official permission to make herself scarce! "Yes, of course, officer. I'll go right now."
Before the door closed behind her, she heard the clatter of heavy blasters being brought forward to ready position.
She fled back to the Tower, ankles wobbling in her haste. From the direction of the marina rose the high-pitched shrill of an alarm. Seconds later, a heavy white Imperial patrol vehicle sped past. Another careened out of the substaton; from a block or two away, she heard the deep rumble of powerful repulsors indicating a third was approaching.
She hustled inside.
The Promenade was still full of people, strolling in and out of the groundfloor salons and shops, sitting on the benches among the potted trees, clustering at the turbolifts. She joined a small group heading to the parking levels.
Her whole body was shaking by the time she reached Tryss's speeder. Fear of being captured, of being hurt until she betrayed Selkin, was all that kept her from sinking into a quivering heap on the duracrete floor.
She cruised out of the parking deck and onto the boulevard at the very moment a blockade vehicle rumbled around the corner. She barely stopped herself from mashing the accelerator forward. Shivering hard, she somehow managed to keep a sedate pace away from the apartment building. In the rear viewer she could see metal barricades unfurling from the vehicle's sides, and the blood-red pulse of warning lumas.
Her palms were slick on the steering controls and she tried to wipe them dry on her skirt, only to realize the dress was moisture-repelling synthsilk. With exaggerated care, she made her way down streets clogged with summer-night traffic. When she passed blocks near to the sea, two more Imperial transports peeled off from a garishly-lit casino and took off in the direction she'd come from.
Maybe it was working, then. Maybe just the chance that the escaped prisoner was skulking around the marina district was enough to mobilize soldiers from all over the city to box him in.
Anlia drove aimlessly until she was as sure as she could be that no one was trailing her. She found herself in an area of Darat she didn't recognize in the slightest; afraid she'd become hopelessly lost, she turned left, cutting across side streets until she reached another major avenue, and turned left again, heading back toward Tryss's apartment.
The restaurant at 410 Bank Street was doing a brisk business. The lot was nearly full, forcing her to park at the far edge in the pools of dark shadows by the line of garages. One of the street lumas near Tryss's building was out-- she was sure it wasn't a coincidence.
The darkness allowed her to clearly see that the sky above the river was crisscrossed with beams of brilliant white light.
Tryss's apartment was empty.
She paced the dark rooms, sick with worry but unable to rest. The apartment was stuffy; even cranked to maximum, the ancient climate control couldn't overcome the stifling humidity. The synthetic dress clung unpleasantly to her body but she felt too agitated to take even a moment to change.
The minutes clicked by. Anlia switched on the holovid receiver, flicking through the newsfeeds without seeing anything that might correlate to the night's activities. Outside on the landing, the night was peaceful... except for faraway sounds that might be comms broadcasting in the open, heavy engines and repulsors, a stutter-whine that could have been blasterfire.
Did no one else hear it and wonder?
She went back inside. The newsfeeds were still oblivious. Anlia swiped at her moist brow and grimaced-- she was sweating out the pearlglow Ceil had rubbed into her skin. A greasy paste coated her face and arms.
Ugh. Can't stand it a minute longer. She retrieved her own clothing from the bedroom and locked herself in the 'fresher. Another of the stairway monitors was stuck to the outside of the shower cubicle so she would hear if someone, Tryss or, or... otherwise... came up the stairs.
She yanked off the dress, struggling to peel the too-tight garment from her sticky skin. A seam ripped when she forced it over her hips. History's fastest shower washed the residue of cosmetics down the drain in a murky swirl.
Her hair was markedly easy to towel dry now. I wonder what Dad will say? she mused, raking it smooth with her fingers. I hope he doesn't think the city's turned my head. Short hair'll be cooler in the fields, at any rate.
Dressed in loose homespun once more, she stepped out of the 'fresher and was greeted by a flashing red graphic on the holoscreen. "Breaking news..." She half-fell onto the couch as an announcer began to cheerily deliver reports of military action on the Teale River, rumors of a water pursuit, water units cordoning off areas of the sea and inlet, even of private water craft being commandeered, or possibly stolen. He made it all sound like great good fun.
Good, Anlia thought, though her heart was fluttering madly again. It sounds like the diversion's working. I hope Tryss can get himself out of all that, though.
The screen displayed stock holos of the guardhouse at the penal colony's main entrance, an adjacent sign designating it 'Facility 8625', and of the prison commandant giving a news conference. The announcer speculated that the night's action might be related to the unprecedented prison break several weeks earlier. "The prisoner, rated 'extremely dangerous', is still at large," he chirped.
Selkin's prison holo filled the screen.
Anlia gave a little cry and buried her face in her hands. He must get away safely-- he must! I'll die if anything happens to him. I don't care what else happens, as long as my Rebel escapes.
When she raised her head, a different commentator was discussing whether prisoners should be kept at all or whether it might be more adventageous to execute them immediately. "The cost savings in this sector alone..." he was droning as she slapped off the sound and left him to preach inaudibly.
She resumed pacing the floor.
Eons later, the stair signal chimed. Anlia snapped off the holovid, plunging the main room into darkness. Suddenly terror-struck, she crouched behind the couch.
There was a scuffling on the landing, then a light tap at the door. A voice carried through faintly. She rose up on her knees and strained her ears.
"Roamer." His voice was a hoarse bark. "Roamer."
Tryss was soaked to the skin and dragging the leg he favored. His hair was wind-blown, salt-stiffened into a tangled mass of curls. He limped heavily to the sink, lowered his mouth to the faucet, and gulped down a long draught of water.
"Are you all right?"
He surfaced, face dripping, and nodded. "Too old to be joyriding in the dark on a skimmer that small and quick. Rolled it where the inlet hits the sea and swam ashore; they're still searching, think I got caught in the currents. Nearly did."
"Sit down, I'll make you a cup of tea."
"Any word on the others?" Wincing, he propped his leg on a second chair.
"No."
"This line of work, no news is usually a good sign."
Tryss drank the strong hot tea Anlia set in front of him and watched the 'vid, clicking from newsfeed to newsfeed in an endless cycle. There were holocam crews in place now, transmitting murky images of patrol craft swarming the water, and excited reporters chattering "live from the scene" with the marina as a backdrop.
"They've built up some pretty decent hysteria. Good-- command'll be sending in every trooper they've got. None left to chase your boyfriend." Glancing at his wrist chrono, he heaved himself to his feet and limped to the bedroom. "I'm going to change. You hungry? Restaurant across the way isn't exactly "Fine", but they do a decent soup, and the bread's good."
Anlia tucked herself into the corner of the couch and wrapped her arms about her. Fear for Selkin was ebbing now, leaving an empty feeling in her middle and a growing ache in her throat.
He was so lovely. I'll miss him terribly. She pulled her bare feet up onto the cushions and rested her head on her updrawn knees. I pray he gets away-- but oh, how I miss him already.
The 'vid chimed an attention-grabbing 'ping-ping-ping' sound. Anlia lifted her head, and the red "Breaking news" banner was scrolling again. The broadcast broke away from another live report to a grave-looking woman in the studio.
"We are receiving reports of yet another situation unfolding in Darat City tonight... "
The graphics changed to "Blaster fire reported at Darat Racetrack".
A lightning bolt cracked straight through her heart. "Tryss!" The room tilted crazily, sending all the blood rushing from her head. She grabbed the arm of the couch to steady herself and her voice rose to a thin scream. "Tryss!"
~~~to be continued.
On to Chapter 16