Outer Bounds: Fortune's Rising (18 page)

“Leave the door open,” Milar
replied, settling his head against the arm of the couch and turning another
page in his book.

Tatiana’s plans came to a
screeching halt.  Trying to keep the fury from her voice, she said, “What, like
I’m going to climb out the window with a
cast?
”

“I’m sure you’d try.”

Tatiana could have shredded
plywood with her stare.  Unfortunately, it was wasted on the back of his head. 
Tatiana stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, then squatted to
do her business, barely able to suppress a groan of relief.

On the other side, Milar
laughed.  She heard him lazily set his book aside and get off his couch.  Like
a big cat.  The bastard.

Tatiana hastily finished up,
then, before he could reach the door, grabbed the shelving rack from the wall
and tossed it across the entrance, wedging the portal shut against the bathtub
and the toilet.  When Milar twisted the knob and pushed, he got only a
centimeter.  Tatiana was already scrambling for the window.

“Coaler!” Milar snapped through
the crack in the door.  “Don’t even think about it.”

Tatiana reached up and thrust the
window open.

Behind her, Milar cursed and left
the door.  She heard thudding feet departing through the outer room.

Tatiana immediately backed away
from the window and lifted the rack off the door—struggling just enough to get
under it—then slipped through the crack and let the rack push the door shut
again behind her.  She hurried through the bedroom—
Milar’s
bedroom, she
thought, disgusted—and into the hallway outside.  Hearing panicked voices, she
dove into the first closed room she saw and shut the door.

Then she heard motion behind her.

Flinching, Tatiana turned.

Wideman Joe was sitting on a
stool in the middle of a pile of vegetable shavings, carving on a carrot.  He
was grinning at her stupidly, his eyes way too wide as he drooled.

All around him, tables full of
dried and moldy vegetables stood in neat little rows and regiments.  Some of
them were so old they actually looked like shriveled, diseased human fingers.

Tatiana glanced around for a
weapon, but other than the little knife Wideman had in his hand—which she was sure
he would not give her—she had no defense this time.

Still, the little creep was
excellent insurance.  She searched the Spartan little room for some other
instrument, something to give her an advantage.  A curtain cord, maybe? 
No,
not quick enough.  They’d be able to stop me before I did any real damage.
 

Then her eyes fell to the
shavings on the floor and immediately her stomach churned.  The thought of her
bare feet coming into contact with the multicolored clumps left her feeling
physically ill.  Though she hated to give up such a wonderful opportunity, she
knew she was going to have to. 

“Think you can keep quiet?”
Tatiana asked, ducking into Wideman’s room, careful to avoid the abandoned
shavings.

“Two days,” Wideman said.

Tatiana stopped to frown at him. 
He had said three days yesterday morning.  Now it was two. 
Two days for
what?

Then she heard voices in the hall
directly outside Wideman’s door and Tatiana hurriedly crossed the room and
ducked into a closet.  It smelled like creepy old man, and Tatiana had to hold
her breath not to gag.  All around her, Wideman’s sweaty clothes were hanging
in perfect color-coordinated tandem that Wideman had obviously not done
himself.  Tatiana climbed into the very back of the tiny closet, hiding behind
the shoes rack and the broom.

It’s good to be small,
she
thought.  Then, grimacing,
Sometimes.

Time passed.  Commotions came and
went, and it was obvious they were organizing a search.  Then, out in the hall,
she heard the brothers yelling at each other.  Tatiana had to stifle a
snicker.  Step Six out of the POW Handbook: If escape is impossible, a
Coalition POW should attempt to instill angst between his or her captors. 

She smiled evilly, listening to
them rant at each other. 
Angst.  Check.

Then Wideman’s door was thrown
open and heavy boots barreled inside.

“She come in here, Joe?” Milar
demanded—at least she thought it was Milar.  The only way she had been able to
tell thus far was that Milar seemed to be angry all the time.  But if Patrick
was angry, too, she had no way of telling.

And whoever it was sounded
pissed.
 
Tatiana began to re-think the brilliance of hiding in a closet when Wideman’s
keepers had made a very valiant attempt to give him big, arching windows and
large screen doors—all the better to shrivel his creations with a daily dose of
sunshine.

“C’mere, Wideman,” the voice
said.  “You’re staying with me for a few hours.  Until Patrick spots your
little coaler squid with our ship and drags her back here by her pretty little
antennae, you’re gonna keep ol’ Milar company.  Got it?”

Wideman shrieked suddenly and
started pounding his feet against the floor. 

“Fine,” Milar grumbled, his anger
sounding a little deflated, “We’ll stay here.”  Tatiana heard the sound of
something heavy being pulled across the wooden floor, then the room returned to
silence, except for the ragged sound of a knife scraping across a vegetable.

By this time, Tatiana was afraid
to breathe, for fear it would give away her position.

He’s not a robot,
she
thought, frantic. 
He can’t hear me breathe.

Or could he?  Just how many of
the normal modifications had the Nephyrs done to him before they took off his
skin?  Tatiana’s heart began to thud like a busted engine core. 
He’s human,
she kept reminding herself. 
Human, human…

Then,
He said he was going to
kill me yesterday,
she thought, her terror upping another notch as the
minutes dragged into hours with Milar neither moving nor speaking. 
Now he’s
going to
murder
me.
 

She was so scared, in fact, that
she was paralyzed between reaching for the door and revealing herself and
sinking deeper into the closet, waiting for Milar to leave.

But she knew he wasn’t going to
leave.  He wasn’t going to give her that advantage again.

Minutes passed.  Utter silence.

Was Milar even
out
there?

Tatiana leaned forward just
enough to look through the slats.

Milar sat on a stool against the
wall beside the door, arms crossed over his chest, watching Wideman with a
scowl.  He had a laser pistol in one of his hands.

Seeing the dark look on his face,
she retreated quickly and struggled to control her breathing.  She could get
out.  Milar would have to get up eventually to use the bathroom or get
something to eat.  Then she could make a dash for the screen door and the
garden beyond.

And then…what?  Run through the
forest until she starved to death or her nodes became infected?

More minutes passed.

Then hours.

Eventually, Tatiana put her hand
on the closet door.  Though she had never been a very good judge of time, she
was pretty sure at least six or seven hours had gone by.  She couldn’t stand it
anymore.  If she came out now, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t kill her…

“So how’s it happen?” Milar asked
suddenly. 

Tatiana’s hand flinched away from
the door. 
Did he hear me?
  She leaned forward again and saw that Milar
had his elbows on his knees and was leaning forward, looking at the crazed
egger with a thoughtful frown.

“Because I’m not seeing it,”
Milar went on.  “The coaler squid’s still just about as coaler as they come. 
Where’s she come over to our side?”

“Two days,” Wideman said.

Milar narrowed his eyes.  “So she
gets away then, eh?”

Wideman nodded vigorously. 
Tatiana’s heart gave an extra thump.

“To the coalers?”

Another vigorous nod.  Drool was
dribbling down Wideman’s shirt, pooling in a wrinkle against his belly.

For a long minute, Milar just
frowned at him.  Then, softly, “She take you with her this time, Joe?”

Wideman shook his head, equally
as vigorously.

Milar stared at the little man
for several more seconds, then got up suddenly and threw the door open.

“Then we better evacuate the town
‘fore they pull another Cold Knife on us.”  Then he was gone, slamming the door
shut behind him.

Pull another cold knife on us?
Tatiana thought, confused.  Was it some sort of colonist slang?  Fortuners
spoke like barbarians, anyway.  What the hell was a squid?

As Tatiana huddled in the closet
over the next few hours, she heard ship after ship roar to life and depart from
the landing pad outside.  Almost an hour after the last ship had departed,
Milar returned in a whirlwind, slamming the door open with a growl.  “Your
turn, Joe.  Ready?”

Wideman shook his head vigorously
and continued to drool over his vegetable.

“Tough.  They’d just
love
to get their hands on you, you old fart.  Let’s go.  Everybody else is already
gone.”  Milar touched Wideman’s arm.

Wideman started to scream.

“Aanaho
Ineriho
!” Milar
snapped.  “You let that squid drag you around with a gun to your head and you
never say a peep, but I try to give you a gentle nudge in the right direction
and you scream like a Shrieker.”

“Shrieker.”  Wideman giggled. 
Then went back to screaming.

“Just hold still, dammit!  I’m
not gonna hurt you.”  Milar grabbed Joe by the shirt and, despite the little
man’s struggles, bodily heaved him over his shoulder and walked from the room. 
Tatiana caught a glimpse of Wideman happily carving vegetables against Milar’s
back as he disappeared from sight.

They’re evacuating a
town?
Tatiana wondered, amazed. 
Why?

Then she narrowed her eyes. 
It’s
a trick.

She waited.

Outside, she heard the roar of
engines, then they faded, leaving the town in silence once more.  The evening
sun slanted through the window, crawling against the floor as she waited.

It wasn’t until night had fallen
and Fortune’s huge red moon was hovering on the horizon outside, casting a beam
of demonic orange light through the windows, that Tatiana found the courage to
venture out.

She flinched at the creak of the
closet, expecting Milar or Patrick to jump out and nab her, shouting, “
Got
you, coaler squid.
”  But the only other sound she heard was that of her own
pounding heart.

She took another tentative step,
then paused, glancing down at the floor.  Wideman had strewn hallucinogenic
vegetable particles everywhere across the paneling, and her captors
had—purposefully, she was sure—left her feet bare.

Tatiana glanced back into the
closet she had just left.  Wideman’s shoes were lined up in neurotic symmetry,
except for the ones she had disturbed upon her exit.  She reached down and
tugged a pair of work boots from the rest.  The soles were covered in vegetable
matter and compost.

Daintily, careful to touch only
the high, laced tops, Tatiana shoved her feet inside.  Though he was tiny,
Wideman had bigger feet than her.  Tatiana grimaced.  She needed socks.

Then, glancing at the rows of
clothes lining the closet, she thought,
Why not?
  It wasn’t like she had
much choice.  It was crazy-old-man cooties or naked, baby…  She grabbed a
warm-looking set and, struggling to keep the too-big boots from clopping on the
wooden floor, she went to Wideman’s dresser and took two extra pairs of socks
from inside.

She had to dress one-handed,
delicately pulling the shirt taut over her cast.  Wideman, embarrassingly,
seemed to wear her same clothes size.  Tatiana stuffed her extra-padded feet
back into the boots and laced them up, then grabbed one of Wideman’s greasy
winter hats from a hook on the wall.  It stank of sweat and was covered in fine
gray hairs, but she shoved it over her head anyway.  Anything to conceal the
nodes in her skull might help.

Two days,
Wideman had
said.  She was going to be home-free in two days.  She could handle that.

Tatiana went to Wideman’s bed and
grabbed a pillowcase.  Trying to ignore the drool-stains, she tiptoed back
across the room and cracked open the door to peer into the hall.  Dark and
empty.  Grinning, it was hard not to whistle as she took everything she wanted
from the abandoned kitchen.

Still grinning, she went to the
sat-phone.

It was dead.

Tatiana’s good mood was lost in
an instant.

That bastard.
 Fuming,
Tatiana checked the power, but found it was a connection problem, instead. 
Milar had probably taken down the satellite receiver.  Damn. 

Frowning, Tatiana realized she
was going to have to make her call from somewhere else.  Milar couldn’t have removed
every tower and dish in the entire town.  That meant cutting through the brush
and checking one of the houses on the outskirts of the village for satellite
reception.  That was Plan A.

Plan B required hiking two
hundred kilometers to a Yolk factory.

Tatiana had a broken collarbone,
was recovering from a concussion, her bag was heavy, and aside from attending
the minimum mandatory physical training sessions on the station, she didn’t
exercise.

She didn’t like Plan B.

She opened a door on the south side
of the house, as close to the alien forest as she could get, and peeked
outside.  When Milar neither jumped out to grab her nor raised a shout, she
broke into a grin and stepped outside.  This was too easy.

Her foot hit a wire in the dirt.

Tatiana froze, then looked down.

A little red light was blinking.

A bomb?
Her mind
screamed.  She stumbled backwards.