Daywards (14 page)

‘Where'd she come from, then?'

‘No idea, sir. She wasn't picked up in any of the initial sweeps, so she's obviously come in from outside the immediate operational zone.'

‘She's definitely one of them, though?'

‘Yessir. Her genetics line up in all the right places. Descended from the original lot, by the looks of things, with very little in the way of interference breeding.

‘So she's one of those missing kids?'

‘Hard to be absolutely certain without confirmation, sir, but that'd be my guess.'

‘Then the question is, why'd she come back?'

‘No idea, sir. But good news for us.

‘Don't be smug. We didn't locate her, she found us. I'm still a long way from happy, Raj.'

‘Sorry, sir.'

The voices were strange. Unknown. They floated into Dara's awareness from somewhere white. Somewhere outside her. Something beeped, quietly and regularly, the rhythm almost perfectly mirroring her heartbeat. Footsteps echoed across a hard floor.

‘How much longer will she be out?'

‘Shouldn't be too much longer. The drone only hit her with a minimum tranq.'

‘Good.'

The air tasted cold. Dry. Flavourless. Not a hint of dust or eucalypt or moisture. Dara licked her lips.

‘In fact, sir, I think she's coming around now.'

‘Thank you, Raj. That will be all for the moment.'

‘Sir?'

‘Dismissed, Raj.'

The footsteps marched away. Dara opened her eyes.

Light seared the back of her eyes. Blinking though tears, she tried to sit up, but couldn't.

‘There's no point trying to move,' the voice informed her. ‘The paralytic in your tranq dose will keep its effect for several hours. More if we decide to top it up. Much safer and simpler than restraining you physically, you see.'

More footsteps, then a blurred shadow leaned over her.

‘Can you speak?'

‘I …' Her voice felt strange, detached, as though it didn't really belong to her. Dara tried to shake her head, to clear it, but even that wouldn't move. ‘What's happ …'

‘Don't ask questions.' The man's voice was calm, authoritative, and completely devoid of any emotion. ‘You won't get any answers. Just try and relax. The paralytic will make you feel rather odd. One of the unfortunate side effects. You'll get used to it.'

Gradually, the shape resolved itself into a man's face, but it wasn't anyone she knew. He was pale. Her first thought was that he looked like one of the nightspirits Ma Saria used to talk about when she was trying to scare the littlies. Everything about the man was white: his hair, his skin. And his eyes, shielded behind a clear plastic guard, were the palest, most washed-out blue she'd ever seen. His mouth and nose were invisible, hidden behind a white mask in which two thumb-size valves pulsed gently with his breathing.

‘My name is Drake,' he said. ‘Who are you?'

‘Dara.'

‘Hmm …' He looked down at a flat, handheld piece of tech, vaguely similar to the plotter that Jaran had used to get them to the city, but far slimmer and more streamlined. He punched a couple of commands on the screen, and then nodded thoughtfully. ‘Found you. Third generation, line of descent from Larinan Mann and the subject known as Jem Kravanratz, interbred with the progeny of subjects Saria and Janil Mann.' He considered this for a moment and then gave a low whistle. ‘That's quite a pedigree, young lady.'

The way the man spoke was strange. He accented his words in a fashion that made him hard to understand, and it was difficult to know if he was making a statement or asking her a question. Dara had to think for several seconds before she answered.

‘I … don't know. I guess so.'

But the man seemed completely uninterested. He leaned down and, with a gloved thumb and forefinger, held open her left eye while with his other hand he retrieved a piece of equipment from a nearby table and held it over her face.

‘You might feel some discomfort. Try not to blink,' he ordered.

There was a loud ‘click' followed by a burst of red light and a sharp, blinding pain across her retina, and Dara immediately lost her vision in that eye. She yelped, and her phantom muscles ached to leap away.

‘Your sight will come back in a few moments.' Drake studied a readout on the device. ‘Good. Now the other … '

The procedure was repeated in her other eye and then Dara lay blinded for several minutes. Finally the red blindness faded and she could see again, though spots and streaks still danced across her vision. Drake was fiddling with something over beside the wall.

‘Who are you? What's going on?' Dara implored. Her questions drew no response. She wondered if he'd even heard, but then he turned back towards her, another awful-looking device clutched in his right hand.

‘As I mentioned, Dara, there's no point asking me questions. I'm not in a position to initiate any contact with field subjects other than direct medical interactions. Once we're finished here, you'll be allowed some recuperation time before we commence social processing. You'll be counselled then.'

‘Counselled?'

But Drake was rolling her onto her side. Her body simply flopped over and Dara suddenly realised that she was almost naked, only a small cloth over her waist and hips covering her. Once she was lying inert on her right side, Drake even pushed this down so that the lower part of her back and the top of her buttocks were exposed.

‘You have some bruising on your hips and thighs,' he observed. ‘How did you do that?'

But Dara had finished being helpful. A hot flush of anger burned through her.

‘No idea.'

With her back to him, she couldn't see if her response drew any significant reaction, and Drake remained silent. A moment later he wiped something cold across her lower back.

‘Again, I'm afraid this will cause you some discomfort.' Once more she noted the lack of any emotion in his voice. ‘On three. One. Two …'

A hot bolt of pain lanced through her back, shooting into her spine and all the way up and down her body. Despite not being able to move, Dara felt as though her legs were on fire and immediately a savage headache began pounding behind her temples.

In her spine, an odd pressure started building, and although every part of her brain screamed at her to arch and spasm against it she was unable to. Instead, all she could do was stifle the sob that rose in her chest.

‘There.' Abruptly the pressure ceased and the hot pain gradually faded. The headache stayed, though. Drake lowered her onto her back again and stepped away from the table, holding a vial of clear, pinkish fluid. ‘That's all we need from you for the moment, you'll be pleased to know. I'll put you back under now and when you wake up you should feel somewhat better.

‘Wait!' Dara begged, but the man simply shook his head.

‘Not possible, I'm afraid.'

He pressed a long cylinder to the side of her neck. There was a faint hiss and Dara was unconscious again.

She had no idea how long she slept – if you could call it sleeping. The drug put her into a deep, dreamless state of suspension, a black void bereft of even the tiniest thought. When she eventually found herself awake once more, it wasn't like waking from normal sleep. One second she wasn't there, and the next she simply … was. It was like somebody had flicked a switch and turned her off for a period, and then back on again, just like you would with a piece of tech.

This time there was no light – not the blinding, penetrating kind, anyway. Dara woke to a dimly lit room, and silence.

She was lying prone on a mattress of some kind. Directly above, the hexagonal roof panels glowed with inner luminescence, filling the room with a soft, diffused light. She'd been dressed again, too, she noticed immediately, back in her own clothes.

She tried to sit up, but the – what had Drake called it? – paralytic was clearly still having an effect, because once again she couldn't move a muscle, not an arm, a leg or even a finger. She tried to turn her head and look sideways, but even that small movement was beyond her. They'd made her a prisoner inside her own body.

‘Hello?' Her voice still worked, even if it felt scratchy and distant. Her throat was abominably dry, though. She'd have killed for a drink. ‘Anybody?'

Initially her request drew no response, but then, from somewhere outside, footsteps hurried in her direction, echoing strangely. To her right there followed a soft whistle of air escaping, and her ears popped.

‘You're awake?'

It wasn't Drake, which was a relief. Dara had fully expected to be greeted by his emotionless, clinical voice.

‘Yeah.' She tried to nod, to no effect. In her peripheral vision, a figure moved towards her until it stood over her. It was another man, a man just as pale as Drake in every respect, with the same watery eyes and wearing similar protective gear.

‘Good. I'm Raj. Sorry about the paralytic. It's standard practice, I'm told.'

‘I'm thirsty.'

‘I bet. You've been out for ages, and tranq leaves you dehydrated. I'll get a fluid line into you.'

‘I just want a drink.'

‘I know, but I can't give you one at the moment, unfortunately. Your stomach wouldn't cope with it, and you could end up drowning in your own vomit.'

‘What's going on?'

It might have been her imagination, but Dara thought she saw a flicker of sympathy in those washed-out eyes. Certainly when he spoke his voice had none of the clinical detachment of Drake's.

‘I'm not allowed to give you any information, I'm afraid.'

‘I won't tell anyone.'

Raj shook his head. ‘Everything's monitored in here, Dara. Don't worry, though. We're not going to hurt you. We actually care a lot about you and are really pleased you decided to come back in to us.'

Dara didn't respond. Drake's earlier actions rendered Raj's promises a little hard to believe.

‘Here.' She felt a slight prick at her left wrist and then a cold creeping sensation up her arm. ‘This will at least restore your electrolyte balance and take away the worst of the thirst. Once you're allowed mobility again, we'll get you some proper food and water, okay?'

Raj leaned back into her field of vision and she fixed him with a hard stare.

‘When will that be?'

Something gave Dara the impression that under his facemask the man smiled slightly, sympathetically.

‘I can't tell you that, either. It's not my decision. Is there anything else you need at the moment?'

‘What do you think?'

He caught the anger in her tone and shook his head.

‘I don't blame you for being upset. I would be, too.'

‘Great. Thanks.'

Surprisingly, he reached down and patted her on the head. Even through the thin skin-gloves he wore she could feel the warmth of his fingers against her forehead – a hot, pulsing kind of warmth, real but also disconnected, completely different from the touch of the other people in her life.

‘I'll go and tell the Prelate that you're awake. My monitor is active to this room, so call if you need me, okay?'

Raj turned and left, his exit heralded by the same soft whisper as his arrival.

Alone again, Dara almost cried in frustration. How had this happened? Why had she been stupid enough to get so close to the … to whatever this place was? What in the sky were these people, anyway?

As soon as she asked herself the question, Dara knew the answer. She'd known it, really, from the moment she first laid eyes on all their tech. She'd heard Ma Saria talk about them a thousand times.

Nightpeople.

It seemed impossible. No, it
was
impossible. The Nightpeople were all dead. Everyone knew that. Da Janil had explained it over and over again. She'd seen the city with her own eyes, seen for herself the results of the last days and the skyfall. There was no way in the earth or sky that this mob could be Nightpeople.

But still, here she was, lying paralysed in a room that, despite its clean, filtered, sterile air, still reeked of tech.

She ground her teeth in frustration. Raj was right about the thirst, though. That, at least, was fading somewhat, although the cold trickle up her arm was like an itch she couldn't scratch. She was also uncomfortably aware of pressure building in her bladder, which became more and more pressing until she suddenly felt it relieve itself. Humiliated, blushing, she braced for the warm, wet puddle she knew would form beneath her, but nothing happened. She stayed just as dry as before, but was completely unable to look down and discover why.

About fifteen minutes passed and the door hissed open again. This time several people entered, crossed to the table and stood over her. She recognised both Drake and Raj, but the third person, a shorter, stockier man with slightly darker blond hair and pale grey eyes, was new.