Broken Sky

  It had taken for ever to find one the right length, then whittle off the bark and polish it. Kay carefully stroked it up and down; finally she grasped the forked ends of the stick lightly, one branch in each hand. She turned from side to side as if feeling for some kind of force, and kept an eye on Gunnison.

  “Dowsing was once used mostly to locate underground wells, but you can use it to find anything,” she said casually. “You just follow the tug of the stick. The reasons are complicated – essentially, it has to do with the earth’s electromagnetic field and the dowser’s own biomagnetism. Not everyone can do it. I feel very lucky.”

  Skinner’s mouth was tight. He didn’t comment.

  As Kay angled herself to the north, she saw Gunnison’s gaze narrow. She paused, making the stick quiver in her grasp, then turned a touch away. No, she hadn’t imagined it: Gunnison let out an almost unnoticeable breath. She moved to the north again.

  “This way,” she said firmly. “Maybe we should take one of the autos.”

  Gunnison looked impressed. “Hey, can you really do that in a moving vehicle?”

  Kay dimpled at him. “Well, of course.” The confused thought struck her that she was flirting with the leader of the Central States – a man at least thirty years her senior. But Gunnison – Johnny – just grinned in return.

  The presidential auto had red leather seats and a gleaming black dashboard. Gunnison sat in the back with Kay; Skinner went in front with the driver. A glass screen kept the back of the vehicle private.

  Noting how Gunnison settled against his seat as the auto started down the road, Kay surmised that the location he favoured for the attack wasn’t close. She snuggled against the seat as well and rested the dowsing rod on her lap.

  “I’ll be able to feel it if it starts to change direction,” she said.

  “Well, that’s just fine.” Gunnison opened a small compartment and took out a decanter of water; he poured Kay a glass. “Sorry it’s not champagne,” he said, and Kay giggled. The water tasted fresh and cool.

  As the auto purred through the dusty landscape, Gunnison produced a worn deck of Tarot cards from his jacket pocket.

  Kay went taut. She recognized the pattern on the back of the deck from a dozen black-and-white newsreels. She hadn’t known until now that it was a vivid green.

  Gunnison handed her the cards. “Here you go – shuffle.”

  She hesitated, all exuberance gone. She’d studied the Tarot. The selection of cards was totally random. If Gunnison didn’t like what the chosen images said about her…

  Yet to refuse would be unthinkable.

  Slowly, Kay rested her glass on a small tray. She took the deck. The cards were larger than playing cards; as she shuffled she had to concentrate not to scatter them all over the back seat. She knew you shuffled until you “felt” the time was right – wildly, she wondered if she could just keep on with it until the auto stopped.

  Finally she could put it off no longer. She handed back the deck, feeling stiff with dread.

  “Here, Johnny,” she said.

  He tapped the cards against his opposite palm. Kay watched the motion, sickly mesmerized.

  “They’re shuffled enough?” he asked. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” she said faintly.

  Gunnison fanned out the cards in one of his large hands. “All right, choose three.”

  She chose. Her fingers were trembling now – she hoped he’d put it down to the auto’s motion. Gunnison tucked the rest of the deck back in his pocket. Carefully, he laid the chosen cards face down on his tray.

  “Well now, let’s see what we have here,” he said with a roguish glance. Kay managed a small smile and took a sip of water. With ceremony, Gunnison turned over the cards one by one.

  The Hermit. The Five of Wands. The Tower.

  “Interesting,” said Gunnison. “Very, very interesting.” He narrowed his gaze and tapped the Hermit. “This’ll be you, Kay. You’re kinda a private person, huh?”

  Before she could answer – it hadn’t really been a question anyway – Gunnison went on: “And the five o’ sticks…hmm. Lots of strife going on, though it can mean challenges. Bet you’re facing a lot of those right about now, aren’t you?”

  His tone was friendly. The cards were all right. Kay felt her spine melt away against the soft leather seat. “There are a lot of challenges in my new position,” she confessed giddily. That was putting it mildly.

  “Finally, the Tower,” Gunnison said. “Well. That speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

  “Great change,” said Kay. There were at least four other Tarot cards she could think of that meant the same. The Tower was just the most dramatic-looking: an exploding tower with falling human figures.

  Gunnison nodded slowly. “Great change,” he echoed.

  In a sudden motion, he took out the rest of the deck and added the three cards. He shuffled them all quickly, expertly, then cut the deck and glanced down at the chosen card.

  A private smile. He tucked the deck back into his pocket. “Well, Miss Kay, I think you and I will work together very well,” he drawled.

  Kay’s heartbeat trebled. What did that mean? Was she the top Twelve Year astrologer now? Then as Gunnison folded his tray away and glanced out the window, she abruptly realized that his demeanour had grown expectant.

  She made a show of gripping the dowsing rod. She pretended to let it tug at her grasp. “Johnny, I think maybe…could you ask the driver to slow down?” she said, her tone urgent.

  Gunnison pressed a button and gave the order. Kay noted the subtle sense of triumph in his shoulders. She was close, all right.

  She waited, resisting the urge to hurry this. The minutes ticked past; the auto kept slowly on through the desert. In the front seat, she could see Skinner’s tension in his neck muscles.

  It wasn’t until a faint frown appeared on Gunnison’s brow that Kay whipped about in her seat, pointing the stick at the road behind. “No, stop, we’ve gone too far!” she gasped. “It’s back there.”

  An hour later, the three of them stood on a small rise. They’d walked two miles from the road where the presidential auto was parked and were now on the very edge of the land which Gunnison had secured through his manipulated Peacefights.

  This patch of desert looked exactly like the rest of it…except that in the distance, just across the border of the Western Seaboard, Kay could make out a dusty town. She knew there were other WS towns close to the Central States’ border, too, many far larger. What was special about this one?

  Clearly, to Gunnison, something was. He had his hands behind his back; though his brow gleamed with sweat, he somehow looked cool and unrumpled as he surveyed the view. Kay had the sense that a smile was just out of reach.

  “This is the place, all right,” he murmured. He shot her a glance. His eyes were dancing. “You know, I think maybe we’ve been setting our sights a little low, Miss Kay.”

  “Have we?” She didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. Gunnison’s unconscious body language had not let her down.

  “Oh, yes.” He gazed out at the desert again. “Oh, yes.”

  Skinner’s mouth was tight. “Sir, if I may comment? Other areas would be far more advantageous. There’s really very little here. All the charts that I’ve cast indicate that—”

  “There’s a lot more here than you might think,” said Gunnison. Then he looked at Skinner. “You’ve cast charts about this place?” His tone was too mild. If Kay had liked Skinner more, she’d have winced on his behalf.

  Skinner hesitated. “It didn’t seem worth showing them to you, when—”

  “Show them to her.” Gunnison jerked his head towards Kay.

  Skinner peered at Kay. Though the Chief Astrologer had warmed to her of late, Kay had the feeling he was changing his mind again.

  “Sir?” he said.

  “You heard me. I want to know what this little lady has to say about those charts of yours. In fact, no – I want her to recast
’em herself.” Gunnison grinned at her. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you, Kay?”

  Kay’s spirits were cavorting, leaping. “I’d be delighted,” she said.

  And she knew, without a doubt, that her interpretation would squarely back up Gunnison’s own feeling: that this unlikely spot was the ideal place to launch their attack.

  Gunnison gazed out at the town again. “I believe that Harmony is more than just an ideal…it’s a conscious force.” He glanced at her. “Did you know that, Kay?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, it’s true. Astrology is just one way that Harmony shows itself. I pray to Lady Harmony a lot, you know.” He studied the hot, dusty town, his form as solid as a mountain, blue eyes squinting against the sun.

  “We’re very close now,” he said. “As soon as I get the sign from Lady Harmony…the Reclamation can begin.”

  Kay felt emboldened enough to ask, “Do you know when that will be, Johnny?”

  The leader of the Central States shook his head, still watching the desert. “No. But it’ll be soon. You bet.”

  For a moment he seemed lost in his own world. “She’s told me to go in with fire and fury,” he whispered. “And oh, we will. Fire and fury. They’ll pay for sheltering our Discordants. We’ll make them harmonious even if it destroys them.”

  Despite the heat, Kay shivered.

  Gunnison turned to her and smiled. “Shall we go?”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  During the next few days I kept on with my job. I had a fight against the Scando-Finns. A fight against the Central States, which I won, to my hard delight. A fight against the EA, where I could tell the pilot wasn’t Ingo and didn’t know whether I was sorry or glad.

  I hid the documents from Russ’s house under a piece of insulation in the attic. With each day that passed they somehow felt more exposed.

  “We can’t keep hanging on like this,” I hissed to Collie. We were in the cafe; he had a fight soon and I’d just returned from one. “What exactly is going on?” I went on in an undertone. “When will Mac say it’s safe to turn the documents in?”

  Collie shook his head tersely. “It’s only been three days.”

  “People’s lives are at stake. Your life!”

  “I’ve told you I’ll be okay!”

  “Yes, because Mac Jones says so. Who is this guy, anyway?”

  Collie raked his hands through his hair. “Someone I trust,” he said. “Look – I saw him in the Heat the other night and he’s checking it out. That’s all I know. You can’t just call these people up for a quick chat. There are…ways. Routes you have to go through.”

  “Collie—” I slumped my forehead against my fists. Anyone watching probably thought we were having a fight. Maybe we were.

  Even here on base where people didn’t always follow the news, knowledge of what was happening was rife. Just that morning, I’d read about a Western Seaboard man who’d been beaten for trying to protect his Central States-born wife from arrest. The new law gave the Guns the right to use “reasonable force”. The only reason he hadn’t been shot was that she’d given herself up.

  I had the means to stop all of it. And so far I’d done nothing.

  Collie touched my arm. His fingers felt warm and familiar. “Please, you’ve got to trust me,” he whispered.

  “I do. It’s Mac I’m not sure about.”

  A group of pilots sat down nearby. Collie glanced at them and lowered his voice even further. “Well, you’re wrong. I’d trust Mac with my life.” He snorted softly. “Hell, I do trust him with my life.”

  Through the window I could see the muscular lines of a Firedove touching down, its tan and grey swirls vivid against the sky. The silence between us grew heavy. Collie sighed and tapped a spoon against the table, gazing out at the plane.

  “Please tell me again that the documents are somewhere safe,” he muttered to me.

  “They’re safe,” I said shortly.

  He studied me; I could almost hear him biting back whatever he wanted to say. He glanced at his watch and stood up. “All right. I’ve got to get ready for my fight.”

  I rubbed my temples and didn’t answer.

  “Amity…” His voice held a hint of pleading.

  None of this was Collie’s fault, I reminded myself. I stood up too and gripped his hand hard. There was too much to say, so all that came out was a whispered, “Good luck.”

  The hot water couldn’t wash away my thoughts, but when I stepped out of the shower later I felt a little better. Collie wasn’t a fool. Even when we were kids, it had always been Collie who’d grab my arm and pull me back if he thought something wasn’t safe.

  If he trusted Mac, I had to do the same.

  I stood towel-clad at my locker and briskly dried my hair with another towel. It felt invigorating – soothing. I was just reaching for my comb when Harlan came up. “I’m not playing poker tonight, so don’t ask,” I said.

  “I wasn’t going to, actually.” He propped a burly shoulder next to me and cracked his knuckles. To my surprise, he looked ill at ease. Harlan, who was like a steamroller.

  “What?” I said.

  He had on only a pair of khaki trousers. The tattoo of the scantily-dressed woman on his bicep wriggled as he shrugged. “You and Vera are friends, right?”

  “Right,” I said blankly.

  “So is that Marcus guy out of the picture? Last few times we all went to the Heat, he wasn’t around.”

  I’d started to get my clothes out of my locker; I stopped mid-motion. Harlan met my gaze pugnaciously.

  “Why do you want to know?” I said.

  “No reason.”

  “Well, he is out of the picture,” I said after a pause. “But it wasn’t really what she wanted.”

  Harlan jammed his fists in his pockets and looked away. “So you don’t think…”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he muttered. “And I’m just – you know – looking out for her.”

  “Let me guess,” I said slowly. “You think she’s a girl, not just a pilot.”

  Harlan glared. “Do you have to say every damn thing that pops into your head, Vancour?”

  “Sorry.”

  He scraped a hand over his blunt jaw, still scowling. “Yeah, well…mention it to her and I’ll deal you bad poker hands for the rest of your natural life.”

  I was about to say something else – crack some joke, maybe, though I was terrible at jokes and Harlan wasn’t in the mood anyway – when I straightened, my eyes widening.

  Two officials had entered the locker room. They wore grey uniforms with silver buttons that shone. A swirling red-and-black symbol was stitched on their breast pockets. Gunnison’s men – here.

  My lungs turned to ice. Collie.

  “What the hell…?” muttered Harlan, his face slackening.

  The Guns weren’t alone. A base security guard was with them, looking uncomfortable. But our base was Western Seaboard territory. The Guns could enter it as easily as the rest of the country now, if they had reason.

  The locker room had gone still, everyone staring. After a quick conference, the trio started towards the lockers. The Guns’ polished boots rapped against the floor as they headed for my row. I had a quick, fierce flash of thankfulness that Collie was away on his fight.

  They will not take him, I thought. I’ll die first.

  They passed by and went into the next row over. A voice floated across to us: “Pardon me, sir, are you Clement Acland?”

  Harlan and I threw each other a startled glance and darted for the next row. We stopped just inside it. Clem stood with one arm half in a sleeve, staring at the men in grey. He completed the motion with a small shrug. His face was so pale that I thought of fish that lived deep underwater.

  When Clem spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “Then, Mr Acland, we must ask you to come with us,” said the first Gun.

  I felt dizzy with relief – with horr
or. “Why? What’s he done?” I burst out. I stepped forward and felt Harlan’s large hand grasp my arm.

  “Careful,” he muttered.

  I was still wearing only a towel. The Gun looked me up and down sardonically. “I’m sorry, miss, but I don’t have the authority to give out that information. Now, Mr Acland, will you come of your own accord? We’d hate to have a struggle and upset your former teammates.”

  That’s when I saw the pistols at their hips. I felt the blood leave my face. Harlan looked sick.

  Clem’s eyes pleaded with me to keep quiet. “I’m originally from the Central States,” he said in a low voice. “We escaped when I was just a kid. I never thought they’d come after me…I mean, I was only seven…”

  “There’s a bit more to it than that,” said the second man. “I think you’ll find, Mr Acland, that you have rather unfortunate stars. But our correction camps are very fine places. Now turn around.”

  “No!” I lunged forward as the handcuffs appeared; Harlan grabbed me and held me back. I struggled against his grip. “That law’s not legal!” I cried. “I can prove it! Stop!”

  “If you don’t want to get shot, then for the love of all that’s holy, shut up,” hissed Harlan in my ear. I subsided, panting; my towel slipped and I clutched at it blindly.

  Clem stood with his head down as they snapped the cuffs on him. Our security guard watched, doing nothing.

  “No,” I whispered.

  They led Clem away, a Gun on either side of him and the security guard following behind. Clem stared downwards. He didn’t look back at us as the locker room door swung shut behind them.

  A chilled silence fell. Harlan had his forearm locked around me from behind, his hand grasping my shoulder. He slowly let go and scraped a hand over his face.

  “Did you know Clem was from the CS?” he said finally.

  I shook my head, still staring at the door. It felt as if the tide was roaring through my brain.

  Harlan swore; with frightening suddenness, he slammed his fist against a locker. “Dammit! And there’s nothing we can do, that’s the hell of it! It’s a law, fair and square.”

  My hand holding the towel was clenched so tightly that my muscles screamed. Without answering, I turned and headed for my locker – my clothes. Harlan was partly right; there was nothing he could do.