Beyond the Rain Page 7

  Sliding under a slab of wall, she pulled herself up on the other side.

  There was some evidence of digging at the base of the warehouse. The Garulen seemed focused on trying to clear a collapsed doorway into the structure. Normally they posted charges to clear debris. There was something inside, something delicate they didn’t want to destroy, and they wanted it back. If they wanted it bad enough, more troops would arrive. They didn’t have much time.

  Vicca had discovered a way through the building to the damaged stingships beyond, and hopefully this one was passable. Cyani watched Soren crawl under a section of the collapsed roof and feared for him.

  It was dangerous going inside. The building could crumble at any moment, and he was not well.

  A shiver of dread slithered down her neck. She couldn’t shake the feeling he was keeping something important from her.

  She followed him into the hole, crawling deeper into the heart of the destroyed warehouse. The ominous creak of a metal support beam slowly bending under the pressure of the heavy roof echoed through the cavernous space. The sound chilled her. If a beam failed, another section of the warehouse could collapse. She squeezed through a narrow slit in the stone ahead of her and found herself in a dark room. A dim glow from Soren’s flare lamp flickered beyond a pile of broken crates.

  Something clattered to the ground, and the light behind the pile of crates flickered. Vicca barked urgently, her sharp call echoing in the darkness.

  “Soren?” Cyani called. He didn’t answer.

  A guttural cry filled the room, punctuated by Vicca’s frantic yelps.

  “Soren!” she screamed, pushing herself into a run as she heard a loud crash in the chamber beyond.

  She wheeled around the crates, slamming into a large pile of rubble as she turned another corner. With her heart thundering in her ears, she leapt to the top of the heap, her adrenaline riding her hard.

  Soren lay on the floor, his body stiff and contorted. He wasn’t moving. Matriarchs help her, he wasn’t breathing!

  She flew off the rubble heap and knelt by his head. Vicca ran around them yelping in alarm.

  “Soren?” She brushed her palm over his cheek, but his jaw remained clenched, his lips pulled back in a macabre grimace. With his eyes pure white and lifeless, he lay twisted, his hands clenched up, frozen, grasping at nothing.

  She watched in horror as his skin paled before her eyes. His lips turned purple. He wasn’t getting any air.

  “Soren, snap out of this. You can fight this . . .” Her panic rose like a storm within her. The sound of Vicca’s terrified yelp faded into nothing as the thundering heartbeat in her ears blocked out everything else. She reached down and pressed a palm to his chest. She couldn’t feel his heart, and his lungs didn’t pull in any air.

  “Come on, Soren,” she ordered. He couldn’t die like this. She ripped open the clasps of his shadowsuit and splayed her hand out on the bare skin of his chest to try to find his heartbeat. It stuttered, then pulsed frantically into her palm.

  His chest contracted, forcing the air out of his lungs as froth bubbled up out of his mouth. He puffed, choking air into his lungs through the liquid. She inhaled as well, unaware that she had been holding her breath, but the rush of relief was all too brief.

  The spasms began.

  Cyani lifted Soren’s head onto her thighs, and held on tight to his jaw as his body twisted and shook. His head jerked, slamming back down onto her thighs as spit bubbled from between his lips. His eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back. She held his head so he wouldn’t slam it into the stone floor. It was the only thing she could think to do, the only thing she felt she could control. She tried to remember her emergency medical training, but she had nothing, could do nothing.

  She closed her eyes, but she couldn’t escape the sharp metallic scent in the air, or the sound of his limbs slapping against the hard stone floor. She wanted to scream and scream to somehow release the stark terror eating away at her as his saliva dripped onto her hands. Instead she let out a helpless gasp and continued to hold on to him, refusing to let go.

  His contortions ended almost as quickly as they began and his limbs stiffened once more. She held still, cradling his head in her lap, hoping his labored breathing would not cease again, and the ordeal was finally over.

  “You have to pull though this,” she whispered, her voice raw and choked. “Please, Soren.” After everything he had suffered, he didn’t deserve a slow and tortured death. The others she had lost had been swift; she couldn’t think before she knew they were already gone. This was too slow, teasing her with time, tormenting her with the need to do something to save him.

  She felt the tension drain out of his muscles as his body slowly relaxed. With a low moan, his breathing eased, though it rattled in his chest.

  Cyani shook all over, feeling weak and battered as she brushed his hair from his face and tried to wipe the saliva from his mouth.

  His throat swallowed, and he tried to lift his head then relaxed against her thigh. His breathing sputtered in his chest as he fell into a deep sleep. He snored. She let out a choked laugh through her clenching fear.

  She sat with him for what seemed like hours, helpless, exposed. The Garulen could come at any minute. She prayed more desperately than she ever had in her life, but his life, his death, was no longer in her hands.

  She needed control. She needed more information. Was this part of his withdrawal?

  “Com, find source files for the general information on species Byralen,” she said, desperate for something to focus on.

  Six files identified.

  “Com, list files . . .” Cyani stroked his hair, smoothing his brow with her palm. The Elite and their rules could go suck on it. In the dark, alone and terrified, the girl she had been resurfaced. In the ground cities, you cared for one another or you died.

  She chose to listen to a log entry from a Union Army lieutenant regarding a freed Byralen captive. The rest were medical reports, and would be harder to follow.

  Accessing file: During a raid on a Krona shipping colony, our team discovered a strange specimen among the slave population. He had been separated from the others, fitted with severe-blinders and immobilized. The com was unable to give us any information on the captive. I filed his physical descriptions during the medical examination. The captive displayed extreme aggression at first, but soon succumbed to feverlike symptoms.

  After forty-eight standard hours, the captive suffered from fainting spells. He seemed weak, in spite of medical efforts to stabilize his condition. The captive was either unwilling or unable to communicate. During his quarantine he often destroyed the objects in his room, focusing most of his aggression on the bed. After seventy-two hours had passed in observation, the subject’s fainting spells progressed to seizures.

  Fifty-four hours after the seizures began, the subject died in quarantine. Medical examinations were inconclusive as to cause of death, but determined this species as the source of the Passion drugs filtering into the illegal market.

  Cyani felt her heart drop into her stomach. The prisoner had died. No, she shouldn’t jump to conclusions. The Byralen could have died of anything.

  “Com, project medical reports on holo-screen.” Cyani quickly scanned the reports, three different Byralen, two males, one female, the same symptoms, different time lines, fevers, fainting, seizures, death . . .

  Cyani’s hands started shaking uncontrollably. She crossed her arms, pinching her hands in her armpits, but the tremor just spread to her whole body. This was all for nothing. He was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to save him.

  And he knew it.

  Why didn’t he tell her?

  Cyani swallowed convulsively.

  Finally his eyes blinked open, his irises pure white. He stared at her, his gaze bleary and confused.

  “Cyani?” he whispered.

  She felt a tear slip over her cheek as she tucked an inky lock of hair behind his ear. “I’m here.
You’re safe now.”

  He pulled away from her, struggling to his hands and knees. She let him go, unsure of what to do. He heaved, vomiting on the floor, then swayed. She pulled him back away from the mess and let him rest his head on her lap.

  Reaching his hand around her side, he clung to her waist, his whole body trembling. She smoothed his hair and sang, a silly lullaby her father used to sing to her when she was a little girl and suffering from nightmares.

  She could barely force the tune out of her constricting throat, the words a jumble of half syllables she didn’t have the strength to speak. Her voice sounded raw, felt torn, as she did her best to comfort him.

  Slowly the shudders ceased, and he fell asleep in her lap. She let him rest, grateful for the quiet peace after such stark terror. Vicca whined as she licked his face, then curled up against his chest. Cyani rubbed her fox’s ears.

  “I know, girl,” she whispered. “He scared me, too. Now I need you to guard us.” Vicca gave Soren’s hand a final lick then scampered off.

  How long did he have?

  The beginning of the seizures was the beginning of the end.

  For the first time, she looked up at the room. The light of the overturned flare lamp flickered against the dusty rubble.

  A strange machine stood untouched by the disaster all around them. It had to be some sort of medical table. It was large enough for a full-grown man to lie inside, and two doors closed over the body. One of the doors hung open, revealing shackles on the table beneath, and a sort of harness for the hips.

  “Mercy of the Matriarchs,” she whispered, realizing what she was seeing. It had to be the machine they used to make the drugs from Soren. She stroked Soren’s hair again. No wonder he had a seizure.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned over Soren. He murmured something and snuggled deeper into her lap, his strong hand snaking beneath her shadowsuit to cling to her bare waist.

  He coughed and then lifted his head, his black eyes glassy and confused. He trembled, letting his head loll back down onto her lap.

  “Do you need some water?” she asked, reaching for the supply sack. She wished she had something better to give him than the bitter and dirty-tasting drain water.

  He nodded slowly, his brow crinkled. “What happened?” he whispered.

  “You had a seizure,” she answered, trying to keep her voice calm and controlled. “It looks like it’s over now.”

  He shook as she handed him the water. His eyes swept around the room, pausing on the bile then fixing on the machine. They flashed bright yellow, glowing in the darkness.

  “Soren, listen to me,” she demanded, reaching out and turning his face to hers so he would look her in the eye. “It’s over now. It’s over.”

  “It will never be over.” The resignation in his voice broke her heart.

  “I’m going to get you home. I swear it to you.” She swore it to herself. If that sickening machine had convinced his body he had to mate, she would get him to his home planet so he could have a real partner and a hope for survival.

  The corner of his mouth twitched and he turned back to the machine. He stared at it a long time. “It doesn’t look how I remembered it.”

  “Stop looking at it. I’m getting you out of here, right now.” Cyani stood and helped him up. He swayed on his feet.

  “It won’t do any good,” he mumbled. She looked up into his eyes as they faded to black once more.

  “Why didn’t you tell me these withdrawals are fatal?” she asked. Her voice sounded soft, lost, even to her ears. How could she sound so vulnerable? How could she feel so vulnerable? He was the one fighting death; why was she so deeply terrified?

  He shrugged his shoulders. “What could you do about it?”

  Nothing, she could do nothing.

  Unless . . .

  Glancing around the room, she noticed one of the crates still intact. “Com, scan contents.”

  The com projected its readings on the holo-screen, and her heart flipped in her chest. It seemed where there was smoke, there was fire. She recognized the chemical compound from the Byralen medical reports.

  “Soren, what would happen if you were to take the drugs they made from you?”

  Soren looked down at Cyani, confused and still feeling ill. What was she saying? His eyes fixed on a single crate half buried in the pile of rubble he had climbed over.

  “Soren?”

  He tried to think, tried to answer her question, but his mind still felt thick and unresponsive.

  He swallowed as he stared at the crate. A sinking feeling twisted in his sensitive stomach.

  “What would happen if you were exposed to those chemicals?” Cyani insisted.

  “My body would respond by producing the hormones I need,” he admitted. The bitter irony of the situation was almost as bad as the sour taste in his mouth.

  Cyani leapt from his side. She ripped off the top of the crate and plunged her hands into the white foam inside. Slowly she extracted a small metal case. She walked back over to him and opened the case. Inside were four tiny vials of amber liquid. He knew how they were used. He had heard the Garulen guards talk about rubbing it on themselves, then raping slave after slave. His mouth began to water, and he had to take several deep breaths to settle his churning stomach.

  Cyani’s enormous blue eyes reached up to his in hope. He put his hand over hers and shut the case.

  “I can’t use those.”

  “Why not?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.” He stumbled as he tried to walk to the far side of the chamber toward the small tunnel under the collapsed roof. What if he became aggressive? What if he hurt her?

  “Soren,” Cyani shouted at him. “These could save your life.”

  He turned back around and looked at her. Sure, they could prolong his suffering, but for how long? Could he make it home? Perhaps it was all hopeless, and even his death would be a waste.

  “Cyani,” he said, his voice coming clearer now. “I think it’s best if you leave here without me.”

  “Don’t,” she responded, shaking her head as her bright eyes narrowed in anger. “I’m not going to let you give up.”

  “Do you know what that person suffered?” he yelled, pointing at the case in her hands. “Do you know how many days they had to be strapped in that thing and tortured to create that much?” He didn’t lower his voice as he pointed at the extractor. “I can’t use it!” He let the tension fall out of his shoulders and lowered his eyes to the floor as another wave of nausea hit him and his head began pounding with a sharp ache. “It might make me dangerous to you . . .”

  “These probably came from you,” she reasoned. “It’s only right they should save your life. And even if they didn’t come from you, wouldn’t it have been easier to endure knowing the end result helped one of your kind live to see your home once more?”

  He looked at her again, her beautiful eyes shining in the darkness. A lock of her hair fell over her brow, making her seem small and alone. How could he leave her?

  In the last three days, he felt like he had lived a whole life. Just being free, comfortable, clean—they were such little things, and she would never know how much she had given him. In that short time, she reminded him of a broad-wing coming out of a long sleep in a chrysalis. When they would talk, he caught glimpses of the woman she tried to hide beneath the mask of a soldier. She was warm, mischievous, driven, competitive, and intelligent. He couldn’t leave her alone, not when he could help her get out of this pit.

  “I said it before,” she murmured, her voice low. “I’m not leaving here without you.”

  He stepped up to her and cradled her cheek in his palm.

  For the very first time, she didn’t pull away. She turned her face into his palm, her long lashes feathering over the sensitive skin on the pad of his thumb.

  “I don’t want you to have another seizure, Soren,” she whispered, her breath caressing his palm. “It was awful, and I don’t want you to die.”

>   He sighed as he took the case from her hand. She won. He looked at it then gripped it tighter. She won.

  He let her go. “I don’t want you touching me after I use this. I don’t want you addicted to me, and I don’t know how I will behave . . .”

  “How about if you try anything, I kick your ass?” She smiled at him. He prayed she could if it came to that.

  “Deal,” he whispered, opening the case and removing one of the vials. “Go on ahead, Cyani. I don’t want you to see this. Start working on getting us out of here. I’ll be okay.”

  “You’ll use it?” she asked. He supposed she had a right to question him. He had given her little reason to trust him in their time together.

  “My eyes will glow bright violet. Don’t let me touch you as long as they’re violet. Do you understand?”

  She nodded then reached out to him. He backed away.

  “Go,” he commanded. “Just go.”

  6

  CYANI SQUIRMED THROUGH A TIGHT FISSURE IN THE WALL. THE STINGSHIP BAY lay directly in front of her. She couldn’t help looking back at the small opening. Soren would be alright. She had to believe that. At least Vicca was with him.

  She sent up a quick prayer to the Creator that the drug would buy them some time. Cyani kept low, wary of her surroundings. Following the shadows of the destroyed warehouses, she crept toward the stingships.

  The ships loomed over her, their form neither sleek nor compact. They were segmented, with the cockpit connected to the weapons bay by a ring of metal. The main body of the ship swelled behind it like a giant abdomen with the energy converters dangling beneath it like spindly legs. The ship reminded her of an enormous insect, a wasp ready to devour anything in its way.

  They were not ships designed for intergalactic flight. They were patrol ships, but the Garulen had modified them to use as scout and defense ships. They’d be able to get them to the next star system—if they were lucky—but there was no way a stingship could make it all the way back to Azra.

  One of the ships listed toward a crater, its energy modifiers crushed beneath it. The other remained perched on its landing posts. Without energy modifiers, the ship near the crater would never take off, so Cyani jogged toward the one still on its feet while keeping a close eye on her holo-map.