Desert bound, p.1
Desert Bound, page 1
part #1 of ShadowTech Series
Copyright © 2022 T.W.Iain. All rights reserved
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Ryann
Ryann turned to the door of her cell the moment the eye-slot clunked back. As the guard looked in, she met his gaze.
She knew he was coming, of course. Even though the walls were thick, she could still feel his trace, that sensation of presence every person emanated. She’d never fully understood how traces worked—and she strongly suspected that even her instructors didn’t have all the answers—but she knew how to read them.
It helped that this man, and his two colleagues, all had lattices. Like many law enforcers in this place, their lattices were original Kaiahive set-ups, but hadn’t been tweaked. They were a step up from dormant, but only just.
Not like her own. The hybrid tech layer sat under her skin, reading signals from her body and communicating with her mind. It allowed her to pull up filters on her lenses, to read data from external systems or her own node storage at the base of her neck. It gave her communication to any other person with a lattice. And, where she’d been tweaked, it enhanced the performance of her own body, increasing her natural abilities.
But not enough to prevent her capture. Not enough to stop the swarm of enforcers who descended on her, dragging her off to this holding compound out on the edge of the desert.
The guard at the door narrowed his eyes. Ryann smiled. He snorted.
“I could do with a drink,” she said.
The guard didn’t respond. Ryann knew he was waiting for her to repeat her request, so she stayed quiet. But she didn’t look away.
After four long breaths the guard slammed the eye-slot shut. Ryann settled back on the rough, narrow bench.
The cell was pretty much what she’d expected, when they’d brought her in. There was this bench, a bucket in the corner, rock walls and flooring, and bright light flooding in from above. If she stood in the middle of the cell, she’d be able to reach both walls at the same time. The bench was barely long enough to lie down on.
She didn’t want to sleep in here. There was no telling what the guards would do to her. There were stains on the bench that looked like blood, and others she didn’t want to recognise.
So Ryann kept her eyes open as she ran through, again, what had happened, looking for her mistakes.
Maybe coming to this dry, forsaken place had been one of them, but since she’d led the crew away from the company her options—their options—were limited. They needed to get off-planet, and that didn’t come cheap. So they needed funds. Being fugitives—not technically, but being wanted by the company amounted to the same thing—they couldn’t take legitimate work, so they were forced to take alternatives.
And the city of Athelios looked promising. An important archaeological site, but also a refuge for criminals and degenerates. The outlying towns were even worse. Lisit, the site of this holding compound, was a prime example, filled with crumbling, half-empty buildings and a population that would as soon stab you as look at you.
For Ryann and her crew, it was ideal. She’d made enquiries, as discreetly as possible, and had approached Porfirio Fay.
Even thinking the man’s name made her shudder. But he’d offered a decent reward for the capture of Castor Martell, and Ryann couldn’t turn the job down.
She couldn’t see exactly where things had gone wrong, though. They’d hunted—predominantly herself and Brice, with Piran scouring what systems he could access in search of information—and they’d caught Martell’s trail. They’d tracked him to an old warehouse on the edge of Lisit. They’d set up surveillance, and when they knew he was alone they’d gone in.
Only he hadn’t been there. Instead, Ryann had been captured. It had been a set-up.
At least she was alive, though. As were the others. Keelin, Piran, Brice and Deva. Her crew. Her family.
She shook her head. For a moment she was certain the voice was a memory. But it came through her lattice, and although the signal held an edge of distortion it was strong enough to tell her one thing—Keelin was close.
But she was only a monster in appearance. Inside, Keelin was still that young girl.
There was a smile in Keelin’s tone. It set Ryann’s heart pounding.
Keelin didn’t respond straight away, and Ryann imagined her grinning as she eased back in her chair.
Piran
Piran shuddered. What was wrong with this place? How could it be scorching during the day then freezing at night? At least the forest had been constant. Wet and miserable, but constant.
He rested a hand against the cold stone of the holding compound, and turned to look at the fence. It was only a wire job, hadn’t taken more than a few moments with a cutter to get through. No vibration alerts, no watching sensors, just a bored enforcer walking past every fifteen minutes. And this place was supposed to be secure?
Some animal barked, and a voice yelled out, telling the mutt to shut up. A distant rumble of a vehicle, a few muffled voices. But nothing close. And the enforcers were inside the building. Next patrol wouldn’t be for another ten minutes.
He brushed his clothing. It spread dust around, left his hands dirty. He wiped them down his thighs, cleaned them as best he could. His palm terminal wasn’t a bad bit of kit, but this dust got everywhere. Piran didn’t want to fix the thing again.
It would be so much easier with his lattice back on-line. But the bloody company had shut it down, hadn’t they? So he had no access to his old routines and code, couldn’t pull from the node at the base of his neck. Anything he used now had to be from a blank slate, or mutations of whatever he could pull through physical connections.
Had to do everything the hard way—palm terminals and com-links.
He tapped the device in his ear. “Keelin? I’m through the fence.”
“Any problems?”
“This whole mission’s a problem. She should never have got herself caught.”
“Wasn’t her fault. We’ve been through this.”
“Not blaming her.”
“It wasn’t Brice either.”
How the hell did she know what was on his mind? “Sure. Just happened. One of those things.”
Piran didn’t believe that for a moment, though. Martell had played them.
Keelin sighed, and for a moment Piran thought she was going to argue. But then she said, “Give me a shout when you’re ready,” and muted her end.
Piran swore—under his breath, because she was still monitoring, wasn’t she?—then he crouched down and got to work.
The junction box was at the base of the wall, half-hidden by one of those prickly plants that grew wild out here. He should’ve worn gloves. But he teased the spikes aside, hard-connected his palmie, then tapped to set the routines free. Data flowed, and Piran monitored—let his eyes seek out patterns, let his mind absorb the changes. He smiled when the routines cracked the first layer of security—wasn’t much more than the digital equivalent of cutting a few wires in a fence—and then he was through to the building’s system core.
An icon flashed. Piran tapped his ear-piece again. “I’m in. Waiting for Deva’s signal.”
“Good. You know what she’s up to?”
“Nope. Assuming she does, though. Ryann?”
“Primed.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Same as ever.”
Yeah, wasn’t as if Keelin would tell him any different, was it? Too tight, those two. Always shutting themselves away on the bridge, or sussing in private. Even if he had his lattice working, they’d make that communication tight, shut him out.
“See you in a bit,” Keelin said, then cut to mute.
He leaned against the cold stone, conscious of that damn spiky plant to his left. He’d done his part. Now all he had to do was wait, for whatever Deva had in mind.
Deva
Deva didn’t have a plan, just a vague idea. Intel said there were three enforcers in the building, all male. Away from the city, they’d be low-level. Wasn’t like they had to do much more than watch the locked cells, was it? They’d be thugs, the kind superiors could boss about. Tough, but stupid.
Summed up far too many of the meat-heads Deva had crossed. No way she could compete physically, so she’d have to use other methods.
Before she reached the compound gate she undid her ligh t jacket and pulled her top free from her belt. A couple of buttons flew off, and the night air chilled her skin. She bent down, grabbed a handful of dust, ground it into her hair and clothes. She balled her fists into her eyes, rubbing and pushing until her vision blurred and her eye-sockets stung. She grabbed a pocket in her trousers and ripped it, letting the material dangle.
She pulled the comms from her ear and stowed it in a back pocket. Then she patted her jacket, felt the comforting bulk of the tool.
“You can do this,” she told herself. “Only three of them. They’re idiot lads. Not monsters.”
The gate towered over her, built into the fence that encircled the compound. There was a call-terminal to one side, and a sensor high up. Deva threw herself at the terminal, slamming one hand on it while the other grabbed the gate and shook. She sniffed, blinked moisture from her eyes.
“What?” The voice erupting from the terminal’s speaker was cold.
Deva panted. “Please,” she said, her voice raspy, on the edge of cracking. “I need help.”
“Yeah?”
“They…they tried to…I had to…” Deva swallowed, shook her head for the sensor. “I got away, but my friend…Please. I don’t know what to do. You’ve got to help me.”
She let the words choke off and rested her head against the gate.
“Okay.” The enforcer on the speaker sighed. “Come on in.”
The gate clicked. Deva pushed away from the terminal, staggered for the watching sensor, then leaned into the gate, squeezing through the opening.
The moment she stepped into the compound light exploded. She lifted an arm to shield her eyes, and wove across the dusty track toward the building. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness she focused on the door.
Wasn’t like there was much else to see, was it? The building, like so many others out here, looked like it had been carved from the rocky ground, all rough surfaces and weather-rounded edges. And no windows, just a door.
A second door round the back, though. Something to do with regulations.
And sensors. One to each side of the door. The enforcers must’ve been using them to monitor her approach, because the door opened when she reached it.
She stepped into a warm, fuggy atmosphere.
The room contained three desks, each with a fitted terminal and countless mugs. Some steamed. There was a door at the rear, closed, had a terminal to the right. A door to the left sat ajar, and Deva caught a tang of urine from that direction.
“Yeah, you don’t look so good.”
The voice—the same one she’d heard at the gate—belonged to the man who leaned back in his chair to her left, boots resting on his desk. His charcoal-grey shirt pushed against his gut. There was a geometric logo on the breast pocket, like the one on his wide-brimmed hat. The man’s jacket—same colour as the rest of the uniform—hung on the back of his chair, and he wore a holster around his waist.
The holster was empty. He held the gun in his hand, used it to push the hat slightly higher. His eyes travelled over Deva’s body, finally resting on the ripped top of the shirt.
So predictable!
She rushed over, stumbled, threw her hands down on the desk and leaned forward. Pushed her shoulders in, gave him a better view.
“Oh, thank you!” she said. “I…I didn’t know what to do.”
The enforcer smiled. “You in some kind of trouble, girly?”
“Yes. No. I mean…We were minding our own business. We didn’t want any trouble, honest. And…my friend.” Deva looked away, sniffed loudly and wiped her face with the back of a hand. The dust stung her eyes.
The enforcer stood. His boots squeaked as he walked around the desk. “Hey, hey. You don’t need to be afraid now. We’ll look after you.”
“Sure we will,” said another voice, and a second man appeared by the open door, accompanied by the sound of a flushing toilet. Deva noticed there was no water on the man’s hands.
He was tall and thin, wore similar clothing to his colleague. The holster around his waist was empty, and it jiggled as he crossed the room.
“What’ve we got, Jud?” he said. “Damsel in distress?”
“Seems that way. Keeps mentioning a friend.” He raised his eyebrows in a way Deva didn’t trust at all.
“Don’t see anyone else,” the thin man said. He leaned in, and his breath stank of coffee. “She not with you, your friend?”
Deva shook her head. “I had to…to leave her. Nothing I could do.” She shook her head, shut her eyes. But she listened hard, heard footsteps beyond the room.
Three enforcers. And Ryann, in a cell at the back of the building.
“What’s she like, this friend of yours?” the second man asked. “She cute as well?”
When Deva opened her eyes he was closer, peering down her top. He grabbed his crotch with one hand.
Deva backed away, as if she suddenly realised what they wanted to do.
“Yeah, I reckon I know how this went,” said the first man. “You and this other tease in some bar, right? Have a few drinks, out for a bit of fun. Come on to some of the locals. Good lads round here, but not sophisticated. Easily led, especially when some cute girl’s flashing eyes at them. Young. All those hormones slopping around. Yeah, obvious, right?”
The second guard grinned. “Bound to rise to the occasion.”
Deva shuffled back until her heel hit the wall. The overweight man approached from her left. His colleague moved to cover the exit. And the door to the rear of the room opened. The third enforcer walked in.
He grinned, white teeth shining in a dark face. He pushed his hat further up his head, then tucked his fingers into his belt, let his hand brush his holstered weapon.
Deva slid toward the main door, but the thin enforcer reached out, his hand resting on her shoulder. Deva flinched.
“You don’t want to leave, girly,” he said. “Bad lads out there, right? You’re better off staying here with us.”
“Yeah,” said the new man, approaching. “Kids don’t know squat. You want a bit of fun, you need something special. The real thing. Right, Jud?”
Jud, the first enforcer, nodded. “Yup. Real thing. Reckon you need a special. Three times the enjoyment.”
Deva held a hand against her stomach, fingers inside her jacket. She let them move of their own accord, reaching for her trusty tool.
The thin enforcer’s fingers dug into her shoulder. One stretched out, seeking bare flesh. “Couple of ways we can play this,” he said. “Jud here likes a bit of struggle. Personally, I go for compliance. You lay back and take your medicine. And Rank over there, he takes it however it comes. That right, Rank?”
“So long as I get my fun.” Rank’s left hand slipped over the bulge in his trousers, and he gave himself a squeeze.
“So what d’ya think?” the thin one said, those spindly fingers massaging hard. “You want to start mellow, or go straight into a bit of rough?”
Deva screamed, as loud as she could. She bent her knees, as if trying to escape from the man’s grip.
She twisted, thrust her hand up. The screwdriver ploughed into the enforcer’s armpit.
His scream was higher than she expected. He jerked back. Deva yanked her sticky weapon free, pushed away from the wall. Saw the look of surprise on the first enforcer’s face, noticed that he didn’t even have a finger on his gun’s trigger.
Deva took the advantage. She slammed into him, used her slight weight to force his wrist against the edge of the desk, hard enough that the gun fell. She kicked it away and spun toward the door.
The third enforcer—Rank?—ran. But he wasn’t close enough. Deva was small and fast. She dived for the door, thankful that it was still open, and ran into the cold dust.
Her legs burnt. She grabbed the comms from her pocket, rammed it into her ear. Ignored the shouting from behind. Jumped at the gate and climbed, still grasping the bloody screwdriver.
“Brice!” she yelled. “Need you to get me now.” Gulped for air, reached the top of the gate, swung her legs over. “Piran, do your stuff.”
She jumped down as the first shot rang out.
Brice
Brice kicked the trike into action as soon as he saw Deva burst through the door, was level with the gate by the time she had scaled it. As she dropped he held out a hand, pulled her behind him.
