Revolution's Shore

  The body that interposed itself between Kyosti and Finch was Yehoshua. He had gotten a hard grip on Finch’s arm.

  “Out,” Yehoshua hissed. “We’ve all lost loved ones. Go.” He shoved Finch out, following him.

  Lily knelt beside Kyosti and wrapped her arms tightly around him. He shook in her grasp. “We need you now, Kyosti,” she whispered, intense, her face hidden in his hair. “Don’t leave us now.”

  He gulped air, fighting, and slowly his ragged breathing evened and his trembling stopped. She realized how tense her muscles had been when she relaxed her grip on him. He groped blindly forward until his hand came to rest in a damp patch of ground: blood seeping from a hastily bandaged wound. Touching the body, he felt along it with both hands, pausing now and again: at the sticky mess of his abdomen, at the rasping, shallow rise and fall of his lungs, at the pulse under his jaw. It was a peculiar examination, until Lily realized that Kyosti’s eyes were closed. At last his fingers brushed along the man’s temple, and Kyosti shook his head.

  “Even in a hospital, we couldn’t save him. It’s just a matter of hours.”

  Lily felt a presence, still and unmoving, at her back. She turned her head to see Yehoshua staring at Kyosti.

  “No hope at all?” Yehoshua’s voice was so quiet that it scarcely penetrated the air at all.

  “I’m sorry.”

  A wet, warm drop struck Lily’s face. She glanced first at the sky, but it was clear and black and studded with stars.

  “Do what you must,” said Yehoshua above her. “We must be moving.” He knelt briefly to kiss the dying man’s forehead, rose again to collect his three remaining men.

  The other casualty proved to have a shattered femur. The team medic had administered a painkiller, and the soldier was only semiconscious.

  “I’ll need two people to carry her out,” said Kyosti, applying a quick, stiff wrapping to the wounded leg. “And the Mule to carry Alsayid.” He turned his head toward Lily, for her confirmation of his orders.

  “Thank you,” said Yehoshua softly. “I thought you were going to leave him.”

  Kyosti rose. “In other circumstances I would, but we can’t afford for them to find his body.”

  Yehoshua did not reply, but rather knelt to shoulder a large, bulky pack that clearly was quite heavy.

  “That is?” asked Lily.

  “Our shuttle’s com-console.”

  “We have one. Leave it.”

  “No!” Yehoshua’s reply was bitter and stubborn. “Alsayid lost his life saving this.”

  Lily bowed her head and waved the others on. The line headed back along the ditch the way she and Hawk had come. Hawk walked past her to the bend, stopped, and waited. She gestured him on, but he did not move. As she came up beside him he grabbed her and tugged her in to him, began to kiss her face repeatedly.

  Lily got out from under his grasp, broke it, and shoved him hard away from her. “Move!” she hissed.

  He hesitated, reached out, but withdrew his hand without touching her. She just walked past him. At the top of the ditch Jenny waited, flat on the ground, her rifle pointed toward the lights of the military trucks.

  “I sent Finch on ahead,” she whispered as Lily crouched beside her. “One truck has left. They’ve pulled back the team covering the left side, but the group on this side might intercept the wounded.”

  Lily nodded. “We’ll keep heading up. If they get too close, you and Hawk run rear guard and I’ll draw them off.”

  “But Lily,” Jenny began, “you’re our commander—”

  “No. Yehoshua is senior. Don’t argue.” Lily rose up and started a careful circuit forward.

  They climbed. Once she thought she heard a muffled gasp of pain from ahead, but it did not sound again. Twice, definitely, she heard a shouted command carry all the way from the distant trucks, caught by some current of the air.

  Then the firing started. Jenny swore behind her, but Lily was already moving. A moment later she realized that it came from above, from the direction of the van. Had Finch panicked? Or Red?

  Without really thinking about it, she scrambled up to the exposed height of one of the circling embankments and charged up toward the dish that sheltered the van. She could reach it and clear the opposition before the wounded got there by their more circuitous route.

  Or at least that was her first thought. An explosion of light lit the sky as she ran, almost blinding her with its brightness. A hail of streaked fire and solid bullets rained around her so close she saw it hit and sizzle, or, with that heightened awareness that comes on under stress, the actual spit and spin of dirt as the metal bullets struck the ground, peppering the path of her sprint.

  A pause in the firing, as if her attackers expected her to be dead and could not believe she was still running. Behind, far behind now, a voice shouted—screamed—her name.

  The dish loomed above her. She felt her lungs begin to gulp air at the strain. Shadows moved in the lee of the dish. She fired, coming on.

  Burst over the top to find herself in the very midst of a cluster of troopers surrounding the van. Red lay face down by the front tires.

  Lily dropped and rolled as the troopers opened fire, came to her feet with a spin and a sweep of fire across their ranks, and dove for the cover of the satellite dish’s thick stalk. A deafening return volley sprayed the base of the dish.

  “Hoy,” she breathed, checking the charge on her rifle.

  Fire opened up from below, but not at her. Troopers fell. Red squirmed forward on her stomach to hide underneath the van.

  “Lily!” With the part of her that measured the sound, she did not recognize the voice instantly. It was too desperate, too afraid, too—frenzied to be his voice. Except it had to be. And it was Kyosti who burst over the edge—and fell in a barrage of fire from the remaining troopers.

  An instant later a ruthless line of fire from just below the top scattered the troopers who had shot him, giving Lily the cover to dash out and drag him back behind the dish. More fire from the other direction, killing in its accuracy.

  Kyosti’s eyes were open, tried desperately to focus on her. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered, ragged. He went limp in her arms.

  She felt like the world dropped three meters out from under her, and then she fell. If the dish had burst into flame above her she wound not have noticed it. She laid her face against his throat.

  He was still alive.

  Slowly she realized that she could hear the uneven labor of his breathing. The firing had stopped.

  “Damn my eyes.” At some point Jenny had come forward to crouch beside her. “I can’t believe you’re still alive, Lily-hae—you were dead lit from above, totally exposed, with every gun in this ten trained on you. You’re not—”

  “Hurt, no.” Lily rose, brusque, turning to see Yehoshua already at work loading his two wounded into the van. “Who’s your medic?” she demanded of him.

  He paused, reacted. “Caenna.”

  “Finch.” Her voice was low but adamant. “Get over here.”

  He hurried over to her. “Did Jenny get shot—” Broke off, seeing who lay tumbled on the ground. “Void bless,” he murmured. His face shone pale in the night. The Mule came over. He and Jenny lifted Hawk up carefully and carried him to the van. “You can’t expect me to—not after what he’s done to me.”

  Lily grabbed him by the throat and jerked him to within a hand’s breath of her face. “You save him or I’ll kill you myself.”

  “Let’s go!” ordered Yehoshua.

  Below, firing broke out, too distant to harm them, but trucks were moving, and one had turned to display the shadowed cylinder of a laser cannon, pointed at the height.

  Lily pushed Finch forward roughly, shoved him into the rear bubble, and climbed in after him. The van started up smoothly, backed out, turned, and threw everyone in the back forward with its sudden acceleration. An explosion shuddered the ground behind them. Pieces of shattered metal struck the bubble like the op
ening onslaught of a hailstorm.

  The bubble was cramped, with so many people. Evidently Jenny and Yehoshua were in front with Red. The Mule calmly knelt and rearranged the injured.

  Kyosti lay on his side, awash in his own blood. Lily rested a hand on his blue hair, fixed her glare on Finch.

  Lips tight, he set to work.

  14 Ya Old Ghost Ship

  IN THE TINY, HIDDEN room that harbored Blumoris’s illegal comm-console, Lily sat slumped on a stool, much of her weight resting on the counter that held the console. Her face she had pressed against Bach’s cool surface. As he softly sang, monitoring all bands for military communications, she felt the deeper, virtually inaudible hum of his inner workings as a gentle vibration on her cheek. She felt hot, and utterly tired. Bach finished one piece and began another. Lily did not stir.

  Können Tränen meiner Wangen

  Nichts erlangen

  Oh, so nehmt mein Herz hinein!

  Aber lasst es bei den Fluten,

  Wenn die Wunden milde bluten,

  Auch di Opferschale sein.

  If the tears on my cheeks

  achieve nothing,

  o, then take my heart!

  But let it for the streams,

  when the wounds bleed gently,

  also be the sacrificial cup.

  Behind her, the partition to the shop slid aside.

  “Heredes?” It was Yehoshua.

  She lifted her head. He looked exhausted, drained of any will left to act except perhaps the primeval impetus of vengeance.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “About Alsayid.”

  He shook his head roughly, as if he meant to shake off her words. “What news?” He looked at Bach.

  “Nothing new. If they continue their sweep at their present rate they’ll reach this area in about three hours.”

  He reached for the other stool and sat down abruptly, rather like his legs had given out from under him. “We might as well load now.” He lifted up his right hand, studying it with a grimace of pain on his face. “I got hit twice on this arm,” he said. “Didn’t even leave a scratch. I pulled Alsayid out of the shuttle after it exploded—he’d gone back to get the console out. It was too hot to face. I couldn’t bring my left arm near it.”

  Lily saw now that the streaks on the right side of his face were ash, singed eyebrows, and the dark raised welts of treated burns.

  “So I pulled him, with that damned pack strapped to his back, pulled him out with one arm. The fire burned off the sleeve. But there’s not a scratch on the arm. I don’t really feel like it’s mine.”

  Bach reprised his chorale in the silence.

  “The engines?” Lily asked at last, no longer sure she cared to make the effort to escape if the shuttle was unrepairable.

  Yehoshua sighed and lowered his arm. “The boy says less than an hour. He’s having Paisley run one more test. But he doesn’t guarantee they’ll work. He’s out arguing with his pap right now. He wants to come with us.”

  That interested her a little. She cocked her head and could, indeed, hear Blue’s voice pitched high in adolescent anger. His exact words were impossible to make out.

  “What happened to Two?” she asked.

  “They crashed almost on top of us, obliterated their ship. And because ours exploded, I think their military thought there was only one ship. We flew in close enough together. That’s why they weren’t searching very hard, until now. They had dead bodies enough.”

  Lily tugged at the corner of her mouth with one finger, caught herself doing it, and clenched her hand on her lap.

  “And Franklin’s Cairn?” he continued.

  “I don’t know. Blue says a cruiser came in last month. I guess Jehane’s Intelligence didn’t get the report. We saw the Cairn blow up. You must have been under cloud cover.”

  “Yes,” he murmured.

  “No!” shouted Blumoris from the shop, his declaration carrying easily through the partition.

  “Oh,” said Yehoshua absently. “Comrade Hawk was exactly the same when I left the shuttle. Unconscious, breathing fairly evenly.”

  “Oh,” Lily echoed. “Thank you.”

  Silence, except for Bach’s aria.

  Yehoshua slumped forward suddenly and put his hands over his eyes. For some reason, the hopelessness of the gesture galvanized Lily into action.

  She stood up, whistled a quick Disengage to Bach, and put her hands on Yehoshua’s shoulders. “Come on,” she said, brisk now. “Isn’t there a rendezvous point out at the edge of the system? There were four ships here. Surely one got out there.”

  “Past two asteroid belts, with a cruiser in pursuit?” he asked bleakly, speaking toward the floor.

  “Well, I for one do not intend to stay on this hells-forsaken planet. Do you?” she demanded.

  That brought his head up. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

  “Who’s left here to collect?” she asked.

  “You,” he replied. “I sent Aliasing and my two crewmen back already.”

  She removed her hands from him and let Bach precede her out into the shop. Blue sat brooding in the middle of a heap of rusting engine parts. His father stood at the workbench, tinkering fussily with an old-fashioned video console.

  “Well, I will ask,” muttered Blue in a burst of adolescent rebellion.

  “You will not!” corrected Blumoris, turning around quickly. “These are people who have important work to do, and they won’t want to be bothered by an ill-tempered scrap like you.”

  “And what happens if the engines—”

  “Excuse me.” Lily pitched her voice low. It had the desired effect: Both father and son whirled to gape at her. “The fact is, Elder Blumoris, that we haven’t anyone trained in mechanics as well as your son. We could use him, given that he will, or can, learn to submit to army discipline.”

  Blue began to speak. She waved him to silence.

  “But I also understand,” she continued, “that you haven’t any other family but the boy, and no one else to help you run your shop. And further, that if he goes with us, it isn’t likely you’ll see him again for years. Or perhaps not at all. I won’t ask you to let him come with us.”

  Blumoris surveyed the scattered mess of his old shop. “But you say there is a place for Inocencio in Jehane’s army? Hope for advancement? Training and work after Jehane wins?” His words came slowly, as if he was weighing his shop against such prospects.

  “A place in Jehane’s forces, certainly. If he works; yes, he’ll advance. What lies beyond that lies with Jehane’s success. I can’t promise you more than that.”

  The old man examined her, his lips creased in a careful frown. He lifted a hand to encompass the shop in a brief gesture. “It’s a better promise than what I have to offer him.”

  Blue seemed to be holding his breath.

  Blumoris sighed abruptly, looking tired. “If you’ll excuse us, comrades, a moment.”

  Lily nodded in understanding. She and Yehoshua and Bach went outside into the suspended half-light of predawn. From inside, they heard Blue’s yelp of joy.

  “I hope that boy understands the sacrifice his father is making,” said Yehoshua.

  Lily just shook her head.

  They waited. A short while later Blue emerged carrying a large bag stuffed full of whatever items such a boy thought indispensible. He looked recklessly happy.

  “Well, come on!” he demanded, seeing them. “Let’s go. Scrag this dump.”

  “That looks like a heavy bag,” said Lily. “Comrade Officer Yehoshua will help you sort through it while I go in and speak with your father. We have weight limits, you know.”

  Blue’s yelp was now one of protest. “But this is all important,” he argued, beginning to look sullen again. “You can’t just make me get rid of any of it.”

  “Comrade Blumoris.” Yehoshua looked grimly amused, and not at all forgiving. “Set that bag down and open it up.”

  “But
I said—”

  “Now.”

  Blue did as he was told.

  Lily went inside. Elder Blumoris stood again at the workbench, hands busy at the video console, but the effort looked half-hearted.

  “Elder?”

  He turned.

  “I want to thank you. I’ll take care of him as well as I can, and send you news when it’s possible.”

  He nodded, to show he understood. There were tears on his face, just a few. “Please go,” he said brusquely. Lily nodded, echoing him, and left.

  Outside, Yehoshua ruthlessly discarded a full half of Blue’s possessions. Each time the boy began to protest, Yehoshua cut him off with a few well-chosen, barbed words, usually in reference to his immaturity. Blue flung the discarded things with disgust into the alley trash bin and followed them, complaining all the while, as they set off for the shuttle. After about one hundred meters Lily, without even looking back at him over her shoulder, told him to shut up or go home. He shut up, but his sour expression deepened, could perhaps even be said to curdle. Bach began to sing, softly:

  Wer hat dich so geschlagen,

  Mein Heil, und dich mit Plagen

  So übel zugereicht?

  Who has buffeted Thee so,

  my Salvation, and with torments

  so harshly used Thee?

  Coming up to the warehouse, Blue at last, as if he could hold it in no longer, burst out, “But I reckon anything that Red’s going to try to stow away.”

  And indeed, they found Red squeezed into the very locker Blue was assigned to store his bag. Jenny marched the girl off, and as Paisley’s test ran down, Lily could hear Jenny’s scathing denunciation of Red from outside.

  “—and what do you expect your Mam to do? Who’s she got to look after her?”

  Red gulped an incomprehensible answer through her noisy sobbing.

  “Is that so? Do you really suppose you have skills so necessary to us? I suggest you get home and see what you can do to help your Mam.”

  Paisley showed the test results to Blue. He pulled them from her and, turning his back on her, studied them intently. Lily stepped out onto the ramp. Below, she could see two figures in the gloom.