Reavers (Book 3) (22 page)

Slowly, Connor complied.  Out of the corner of his eye he spotted one of the men in burgundy tending to the girl he had strangled.  His smug smile faded when she suddenly gasped for air and started coughing.  When he hadn’t sensed any emotions in her, he thought it was because she was dead - it never occurred to him she had sabotaged his sense of taste.

Allowing himself to be captured now wasn’t an option - not after he had failed to take at least one with him.  Without drawing attention, Connor curled his left index finger.  By the time the armed men realized he was up to something, it was already too late.  With the command given, a small hook released and a small orb fell out of his pant leg.

As the surprised men watched the orb, the Weaver flung his eyelids shut and covered his ears.  Before their commander could copy his motions, the orb exploded.  For only a few brief seconds the transit platform was bathed in blinding light and screeching sound.  The armed men were completely stunned by the small grenade.

Connor had originally intended to use it if Ronald had proved troublesome.  As the armed men moved their arms about, completely blinded and dazed by the shock, the wounded Weaver made his escape unhindered.  His attention now focused only on his own escape, Valerie’s emotions returned to their unaltered state, and she realized her situation.  Below were the rooftops of the city, several times farther away than was survivable.  Glancing up, she found her beloved brother firmly holding her hand, the agony clearly written on his face.  He wouldn’t be able to endure much longer.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble I caused you,” Valerie apologized a final time.

Without her weight, he’d be able to save himself.  Releasing his hand, she took a final breath.  Searing pain filled her wrist.  Glancing up, she found Ronald’s brow caked in sweat, his hand wrapped around her wrist.  His fingers were a pure white as every muscle worked with all its might to hold her.

“Don’t do it!” she shouted.  “You can’t save us both; let me fall!  At least you’ll survive.  Why don’t you save yourself!”

“Idiot.”  Ronald grunted more than spoke.  “You should know better than to ask me that, Valerie.”

The strain on his face was obvious; the fingers that held the platform had been smashed by the Weaver’s boot.  Despite the pain, he refused to let her free herself.  She knew he wouldn’t last much longer.  Abruptly, they both lurched down a small length.  A few of Ronald’s fingers had given out.

He was holding them both with only three fingers.  He let out a tremendous grunt as he tried to pull them up.  He almost got his chin to the platform when his strength failed him.  Falling back down, the strain pulled another finger free.  The pain on his face was more than Valerie could bear.  As she tired to raise her free hand in order to dislodge his grip, Ronald grunted again.

“If you fall, I’m letting go, too.”

The serious look on his face told her he wasn’t kidding.  Tears welled in her eyes.  Even if she freed herself, he’d let go intentionally.  There was nothing more they could do.  Ronald lacked the strength to pull them up, and his frail grip wouldn’t survive if she tried to climb up.  His arm tensed as every muscle strained to maintain their position.  It wasn’t enough.  His last two fingers gave way.

In a flash, her entire life passed before her eyes.  Quickly shutting her eyes, she hoped the Weaver had been right, that they wouldn’t feel any pain.  After a second, she realized she didn’t feel any different. 

Wearily opening her eyes, she found Tyra overhead firmly holding Ronald’s smashed hand.  While her legs were still on the platform, her entire torso was hanging off the edge.  She had apparently caught them both at the last instant.  The sheer look of determination on her face told Valerie she wouldn’t let go, even if it killed her.

“Are you all going to lay there feeling the ground, or are you going to help us up?” Tyra shouted at the dazed men on the platform.

Almost instantly, a strong arm reached over the side and started pulling Tyra and her human cargo up onto the platform.  One by one, the others joined in, and it wasn’t long until they had been saved from their freefall.  Tyra embraced Ronald tightly as he caught his breath.

“Sergeant Romani?” Ronald asked in a winded voice.

“It’s lieutenant now,” the leader of the men in burgundy said proudly.

“Not to sound ungrateful, but what are you doing here?  I’d think Masuyo would be out of the jurisdiction of one of Core Industries’ PSFs.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to speak to Master Hooten about that matter.”

“Figures Cain has something to do with this,” Tyra said as she rubbed her neck.

“There will be time for discussion later,” Lieutenant Romani said with a tone of finality.  “Right now, you all need to come with us.”

“We can’t just . . .” Valerie protested.

Ronald raised up an arm to silence her.

“Cain has his own way of doing things, but now isn’t the time to argue.”

Valerie had to take a step back; his voice sounded angrier than she had ever heard it before.  As the group headed off the platform, Ronald put a firm hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t
ever
want to hear you talk like that again,” he said to Valerie without looking at her.  “Don’t ever give up on yourself again.”

Despite his cold posture, she could hear the concern in his voice.  She nodded to him as she fought back tears.  Abruptly, a gentle hand wiped away the mist under her eyes.  Following the hand, Valerie found Tyra smiling kindly at her.  Wherever they were headed, they would face it together.

Connor kicked at the road as he scrambled along.  He had been defeated so badly, the bony old man would never let him live this down - if he let him live at all.  For an instant the idea of not returning appealed to him.  However, he knew that wasn’t an option.  His shirt had a long line of blood down its left side, and the locals were starting to stare.  It was only a matter of time before one of them called in a Protectorate detail.  The overwhelming taste of copper reminded him he was no match for even
them
at the moment.

Reaching the small landing port, Connor surveyed the ships until he found the right one.  On the surface it looked like any other trade vessel with its square edges and dull metal.  Oddly enough, the entrance hatch was already open.  More than that, the bony old man was standing in the opening - gesturing wildly that Connor hurry up.  Doubling his speed, Connor barely made it into the ship before the bony old man sealed the hatch.  The sensation of added weight told him the ship was already lifting off.

“Wat’s da urry?” Connor asked with his useless tongue.

The bony man froze still and turned his head toward the Weaver.

“What was that?”

Connor didn’t dare speak again.  As the bony old man noticed the blood on Connor’s shirt he moved over and forcefully pulled his mouth open.  Suddenly, the old man burst into rasping laughter.  He wanted to say something in his defense but knew he’d slur it and only make the man laugh harder.

“They got you
again
?” the bony old man asked as he stopped to catch his breath.  “You didn’t manage to kill a single one of them, did you?”

Connor glared at the man but didn’t speak.  The bony man resumed his laughter as he started walking down the corridors of the ship.  The Weaver followed in humiliated silence.  The ship was a small thing, designed for only a few people.  Walking from one end to the other took at most a couple of minutes.  By the time they reached the bridge the bony old man’s laughter had died down to a mild chuckle.

“Don’t feel too bad; you were doomed from the start.”

“Eelly?” Connor asked before he remembered his problem.

The bony man struggled not to start laughing again.  Settling down, he scanned the console.

“We are leaving the system.  Turns out someone knew what we were planning.”

Connor tilted his head, daring not to speak further.

“A private security force got in your way, didn’t it?”

The Weaver’s eyes widened.  He’d only heard of PSFs, never actually seen one.  That explained the matching burgundy uniforms.

“Core Industries is sticking its nose in our business.  We have no choice but to disappear for a while.”

Connor slammed his fist against the wall plating.

“Don’t worry; there is still one target for us to consider.  Besides, this is a good thing.  It’s the reason I decided not to cut out that tongue completely.”

“Ood hing?” Connor asked.

“The PSF is rounding up all our targets for us,” the bony old man said, suppressing a chuckle.  “Taking them to
safety
.  By the time you are at full strength, they will have done all the work for us.  They are saving us the time of hunting each of them down.  When the time is right, the two of us will descend on them in their assumed security.  What could be better than striking them all down, right when they think they are out of the woods?”

Connor shot an unimpressed glance at the bony man.

“Don’t worry, my young accomplice.  I too grow weary of your incompetence.  I plan to be there when the time is right.  Shortly,
the two of us
will have our revenge on that abominable sibling of yours.”

Brent tapped on his pad.  Another paper graded.  He had
only
another dozen to read through before he was caught up.  Since Cain and Angela’s arrival two months ago, his life had been anything but routine, and he was perpetually behind.  For the most part, the couple kept to themselves.

Cain spent most of his time working on 3Ps.  Turned out that the old bookie had a talent for writing exciting adventures.  Angela was completely uninterested in his work, just like any other Weaver would be.  The problem was that a 3P was only a simulation, and, for a Weaver, the characters seemed dead.  After all, it was hard to get into a story when everyone around you had no emotions to sense and was obviously fake.

Angela spent much of her time strolling the countryside or visiting the various cities.  She enjoyed it
so
much Brent could sense her delight for miles, even when he tried to ignore her.  As rim worlders, the citizens of Jeirude had very little idea what a Weaver really was.  To them, Weavers were monsters that wandered around in shiny black uniforms, looking for innocent minds to destroy. 

As Angela walked along in civilian clothes, the locals would greet her without realizing they were talking to a Weaver.  Naturally, they were anything but kind and warm as they knew she was a norm.  However, compared to the terror she was used to as a Weaver, they might as well have been inviting her over for fresh, homemade cookies.  In the evenings, the four of them would have dinner and discuss the day’s happenings. 

Some times Rupert and Abigail joined them.  Cassandra had her parents over at least once a week as she tried to work up the nerve to finally tell her father the big news.  Cain wasn’t helping in that regard.  Rupert hated Brent, but he
loathed
Cain.  The instant the two locked eyes on one another, any hope for meaningful discussion was gone.

After the disastrous meals ended, Brent would spend the time he would have normally dedicated to his university work to settling down Cassandra, a task that grew exceedingly difficult.  As time went on, hints of her pregnancy started to show themselves.  She knew it wouldn’t be long before she ran out of time, and Rupert figured it out for himself.

As Brent finished looking over the introduction of the next paper, he realized Rupert and Abigail hadn’t left yet.  He paused to search for Cain and Angela.  Maybe his plan had worked after all.  When he ran into Cain in the early morning, he had suggested that Angela looked bored and lonely.  With some carefully chosen words, he had convinced Cain to take her out to a romantic dinner at one of the restaurants near the university.  He smiled faintly when he found them in their room.  They were . . . enjoying themselves. 

Most of the restaurants near the university depended on the patronage of students who had come from nearby rim worlds.  The locals not enrolled wouldn’t be caught dead near the university it seemed.  As such, the restaurants were used to norms and completely ignored that fact.  As long as a customer paid for their meal, no one cared where they came from.

Apparently, the pleasant meal worked wonders on the pair and gave Cassandra some much needed privacy with her parents.  Brent made sure he wouldn’t complicate maters himself.  No matter how much he wanted to take a break from the dull papers.  When Rupert and Abigail had arrived, he had dutifully greeted them and politely excused himself from the meal and had been grading ever since.

There was no reason to ruin the rare opportunity of a Cain-free dinner by annoying Rupert with his own presence.  Although, with the quality of some of the written reports, some verbal sparring with his wife’s father would have been preferable.  As he forced his mind back on the paper, he found himself wishing his wife courage and good fortune.

Garbage.  The essay was page after page of pure drivel without any point or substance.  Had this student
slept
through his lecture?  Checking the name, Brent made a note to himself to keep an eye on the student.  First and last names had been switched at random, dates wrong in the extreme, and several events were listed in great detail that
never actually happened
.  The student hadn’t just slept through the class.  He had dreamt an entire alternative timeline.