The Dark Remains (52 page)

A wave of dizziness crashed through Beltan. He took a staggering step forward. “My lady …”

“Ellie!” Dr. Larsen shouted, kneeling beside the crumpled form of the
chin-pasi
.

Still sitting, the guardsman lifted the metal weapon and pointed it at Beltan. “I said drop, you bastard.”

“You idiot, don’t kill him!” Larsen cried, staggering to her feet in front of the guard, who swore and leaped up.

Beltan only watched, motionless.
Bastard
. So even on this world they knew what he was. The
chin-pasi’s
blood was pooling on the hard, black surface of the ground now. Beltan felt his knees buckle as the strange strength finally fled him. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. Before he could fall to the ground, rough hands grabbed him under the armpits, hauling him up.

The guard who had slain the
chin-pasi
stepped forward, face red and puffy. “Let me at that bastard.”

Again Dr. Larsen interposed herself between the guard and Beltan. There was fear in her eyes, and her hand trembled visibly as she held it out, but her voice was resolute.

“You will not harm him. Do you know how much we have invested in him? More than you’ll earn in your lifetime, you moron. Got that?”

The guard stared at her with a mixture of rage and chagrin.

Larsen turned, addressed the men who held Beltan. “Get him to the truck with the other subject. Now.”

Hands started to pull Beltan away. He could not resist.

“Let me go,” he croaked.

Larsen took a step toward him, her expression one of wonder. “My God, you really can speak our language.”

“I said let me go.”

“They won’t harm you.” Her eyes shone with wetness now. “Don’t be afraid.”

He bared his teeth, holding her gaze with his own.
“My father was right,” he said softly. “I should have killed you.”

She stared and lifted a hand to her bruised throat.

A fog seemed to be settling all around now. The guards moved like wraiths in the gloom, and it almost felt like Beltan was floating on a gray ocean.

There was a moment when the fog cleared a little, and he stared at a peculiar sight. A man in a black robe stood near a group of several
chin-pasis
. They scurried, dragging bags behind them and loading them into one of the
t’ruks
. Only something about them wasn’t right. The fingers of the
chin-pasis
ended in long, curving claws, and their eyes were not soft and brown, but large and bright as moons.

The man in the black robe touched his face, and as he did several of the
not-chin-pasis
squealed and moved quickly in the direction he pointed. Then the man turned, and Beltan felt his heart wrench in his chest. The man’s face was made of gold.

The fog closed back in. It seemed to be seeping into his head now. There was a stinging in his arm. Had they poisoned him again? By the time he was able to blink his vision clear, he saw a set of black doors above him. A hand opened one of the doors. They were loading him onto one of the
t’ruks
. But the others were coming, the enemies of his captors. Only they wouldn’t know where he was.

Hands reached down for him. There was no time. Beltan went limp. They weren’t prepared for that. Hands scrabbled for him as he slumped forward, against the door that was still shut. It was covered with a layer of grime. Quickly, he pressed a finger to the door. He had to make a mark, a sign others would understand. But he had never been good at letters. He couldn’t think. Already rough hands tugged him back. Then he saw it—a symbol he remembered.

His finger was shaking, and they were pulling him. He couldn’t be sure he had made the mark right. Then the
hands lifted him into a dim, long space. It was crowded. They shoved him past stacks of steel crates. One of them was empty, its hatch open. The hands forced him inside.

No, don’t do this!
he tried to scream, but instead different words came out of his mouth.

“
Fa! Oel im ethala inhar!
”

The hands pressed harder. He curled up inside the steel box, like a babe in a cold, lifeless womb. There was a
clang
as the hatch was shut, and another as its latch was driven home. Outside the box, shadows receded. There was a loud noise as the door of the
t’ruk
was shut.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he whispered.

But she couldn’t hear him. He was a coward and a weakling, just like his father had said. She had died for him, and now he was alone.

A faint, chiming sound.

He listened. The sound came again, and it made him think of ice on a starry night. The tingling returned, all over now, and the fog seemed to recede a fraction. Beltan shifted in the box and peered out a small vent.

He felt it should have been dark inside the
t’ruk
, but it was not. A soft, silvery glow illuminated the boxes and crates all around. Most were steel like his own, although one was different. It was smaller and looked as if it was fashioned of stone, its surface covered by odd, angular symbols.

The light grew brighter. Beltan saw now that it emanated from one of the steel boxes near his own. Something moved within, folding long, slender limbs behind the wire mesh. The tingling grew stronger now, a sensation like lightning about to strike. He forgot weariness, forgot fear, even as he felt the
t’ruk
rumble into motion.

Beltan pressed his face against the grate. “Who are you?”

Inside its cage, the thing lifted a large, round head and gazed at him with tilted eyes like white, depthless jewels.

“How much longer?” Grace said, squatting next to a puddle in the dimness beneath the viaduct.

Travis scowled at her. “You mean since the last time you asked that question exactly seventeen seconds ago?”

Grace opened her mouth for a hot reply, but her words were lost as a particularly heavy truck hurtled over the viaduct above them. Small flakes of cement fell down like hard snow. Travis knew the real question was not how much longer they had to wait for the call from the Seekers, but how much longer they had until the entire overpass came crashing down on top of them.

“It is nearly time,” Vani said. She crouched on the base of a cement column, gazing into the grayness of the day, her visage intent.

“Thank you,” Grace said. She shot Travis a sour look.

He scowled. “Fine. Trust the enigmatic woman from a medieval world who doesn’t even have a watch.”

Then again, he had a feeling Vani was one of those people who could tell time without the convenience of a digital clock. She probably kept a running count of the seconds in the back of her mind. He supposed she could also start a fire with two Q-Tips in the rain and hot-wire a car with a gum wrapper and some twine. She was one of those terminally
capable
people. Unlike Travis, who had always found it cause for minor celebration when he actually remembered how to use a can opener.

He was glad she was with them.

The Seekers had dropped them as close as they dared to
the location of the Duratek complex. This was Commerce City—a shiny, optimistic name that could not change the fact it was a grim, dirty industrial area north of downtown, home to oil refineries, storage facilities, and dog-food factories.

A hundred years ago, all of this had been tall-grass prairie sprinkled with wetlands. Now smokestacks rose above the viaducts, spewing billowing clouds of vapor that merged with brown-tinged clouds. But that was the price of
Commerce
. No doubt Duratek was right at home here. After all, if they had their way, in just a few years this could be Calavan or Toloria.

They had parted from Farr and Deirdre with few words. But then, they had already picked over the scant bones of their plan a dozen times. And what did you really tell someone who, if all worked as intended, would soon be a world away?
See you around? Let’s keep in touch?
He had settled for shaking Farr’s hand, and for kissing Deirdre’s cheek as he whispered,
Thank you
.

Be safe, my gentle warrior
, she had told him.

It was only as he and Grace made their way through a maze of parking lots, junk heaps, and storage tanks, following behind Vani in a poor imitation of her sleek stealth, that the absurdness of what they were trying to do really struck him.

This is impossible, Travis. Even if by some miracle we get Beltan away from Duratek, how are we going to use the artifact to open the gateway? This is one case where even Vani doesn’t have all the answers
.

Another truck. More cement snow.

Grace shook the stuff from her hair. “If he’s not conscious, how are we going to transport him?”

Travis huddled inside his black trench coat. “What?”

“We didn’t think of that. We can’t carry him and fight at the same time. And even if he’s conscious, he’s experienced severe muscle atrophy. He’s not going to be able to walk. Maybe we should let them keep him, at least until
he’s stronger.” She leaned back against a clump of rusted rebar. “But what will they do to him in the meantime? No, it has to be now.”

Travis shuffled toward her, avoiding one oily puddle only to step in another. He stared at his wet, rapidly cooling foot. Maybe it didn’t matter what you did; maybe the result was bound to be the same no matter what action you took. Maybe, like Vani had said, all this was just fate.

“You’re babbling, Grace.”

She reached out, gripped his hand. He squeezed.

Gravel crunched, then Vani was there.

“I believe I can glimpse their fortress. Do you see? Past that empty space, beyond the wall.”

Travis did not follow her gesture. He gazed at her instead. “What was it like?” he said. “Coming through the gate, knowing you might never get back to your home?”

She fixed her gold eyes on him. “I will return home. The cards have told me.”

Her words were confident, but he caught the slight wavering in them, and she looked away. So, even Vani didn’t believe completely in fate. Maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe he could stop this before—

A piercing trill emanated from the cellular phone Farr had handed to Grace as she stepped from the limousine.

Grace pushed a button. “Hello?”

She listened a few moments, then lowered the phone. “It’s time.”

Vani moved from the cover of the junk beneath the viaduct, down a gap between two fences choked with dead weeds. Travis and Grace exchanged looks. He stuck the phone in a small backpack, shouldered it, and they followed Vani.

There was no need for Grace to discuss the call. It meant that Farr and Deirdre were in position, at an address somewhere north of here. It meant that, by means of Farr’s digital recording device, Grace had just had a conversation with the police. The nature of the device
had allowed Farr to record twenty separate snippets of her voice, some complex and rambling, others as simple as
Yes
or
Could you repeat that
?

Any of the snippets could be accessed at the touch of a button. That meant Farr could hold the recorder to the phone while he listened and choose the sampled bit of Grace’s voice that worked best as a reply to whatever was said.

And it had worked. That’s what Farr’s call had meant. He had stayed on the phone long enough for the call to the police to be traced, then had called Grace. At that moment, he and Deirdre were speeding away from the location before the police arrived. Along with Duratek.

It took another fifteen minutes for them to reach the fence surrounding the complex. That had been by design. They had wanted to give Duratek enough time to intercept the messages on the police radio bands, to gather a force together, and to leave the building in hopes of capturing Travis and Grace.

Incredibly, it seemed to have gone as planned. The three paused behind a broken chunk of a cement culvert just outside a chain-link fence. A hundred yards beyond was a low, long, industrial building. In between was a parking lot, empty except for a few faded, peeling cars.

“It looks like they’ve left,” Grace said.

“Stay low,” Vani whispered. “They will not all have gone, not with what they are holding within.”

Travis slipped his sunglasses over his eyes. Even the gray light of the dreary afternoon was too much for them. “I don’t see anybody.”

“There is no way to approach the building by vehicle from this side,” Vani said. “I do not imagine they will be expecting three people on foot.”

Travis nodded. “Yeah, whoever tried something like that would have to be idiots.”

Vani crept to the fence and drew a small object from a pocket of her jacket. She unfolded it and, in a series of
neat motions, clipped through a dozen links. With a tug she opened a gap in the fence.

“You go, Wilder.”

He gazed at the ragged hole. “So, what happened to ladies first?”

“That’s the other planet,” Grace said.

They climbed through the fence, Vani last, then crouched behind the cover of one of the abandoned cars.

“Anything?” Travis whispered.

“No,” Vani said. “Their forces here must be smaller than I guessed. They must be concentrating what security remains on the front of the building.”

Grace leaned against the car’s dented door. “Arrogance and caution don’t exactly mix. They probably think nobody knows about this place. And right now most of them are likely on their way north, thinking they’re going to pick up me and Travis.”

“This way,” Vani said.

They crept from car to car until they were thirty feet from the side of the building. There was no more cover.

“I want you both to make for that door,” Vani said, pointing. “Run as quickly as you can, but stay low. Do not stop until you get there.”

“What about you?” Grace said, her visage tightly drawn.

“I will watch in case someone sees you. Now go.”

Travis swallowed hard as Grace gripped his hand. He drew a deep breath, then they were running.

He felt like a complete idiot, as if everyone in the city could see him at that moment, hunched over, galloping clumsily with Grace. He kept expecting the sound of an alarm to pierce his skull. But there was only the thrum of distant traffic. He pressed himself against the wall next to the door, Grace beside him. There was no sign of Vani. He started to say something to Grace.…