They had left the smooth surface of the riverbank and were twisting around saplings and prickly bushes. The man's grip on her wrist pulled Beka deeper into the thick forest, and she was finding it more difficult to keep the icy terror in her chest at bay. The pounding of her heart caused a low roar in her ears, and everything looked and smelled unfamiliar.

     She felt as if she were in a horrible dream, with strange plants threatening her from every side. Her clothes had still not dried, despite the heat in the air. The injury on her forehead was throbbing. Her feet were sore. Strange chirping and cracking in the distance stirred her imagination in dreadful directions. And this large, peculiar man was her only hope of finding her way out of this alien forest.

     His pace had slowed, and she assumed he must find it difficult, as well, to walk on the planet's strange, uneven surface. Although his silent desperation and hard grip were only heightening her terror, she trusted him to move her around the larger obstacles. She kept her focus on the ground, wary of wildlife and where she stepped. The forest floor was littered with damp, cold debris, and the mossy groundcover cushioned her steps enough for her to block out the worsening pain in her bare feet.

     Suddenly, something sharp stabbed into the ball of her right foot, and she jerked him to a stop. Tears she had been holding back spilled down her cheeks, and she cried out, "Wait! Oh, wait!"

     He turned and towered over her. "We have to get somewhere safe before they find us. And crying won't help."

     She looked up into his dark, angry eyes. His disdain stopped her tears. Anger at his impatient words broke through her fear, but she couldn't keep her voice from trembling as she tried to catch her breath.

     "Just give...  me a...  minute."

     "Why didn't you just stay in that field, like I told you?" he ground out.

     "My... my IDPak."

     He glared at her arms, down the length of her body. "You don't have an IDPak."

     "I did. When I came out of the warehouse."

     He continued to glower at her. Then realization spread in his stern features. "So, it's either in my ship, on the ground near my ship, or in the alley with the unconscious Guardians. Oh, mercy, can this get any worse?"

     He let go of her arm, and she sank to the ground. She hadn't realized how much his grip had been supporting her. Taking her weight off her sore feet was a relief, and the trembling in her chest began to wane.

     He stood over her and watched as she moved to lean against a narrow tree. "We can't stop here," he insisted, but he made no move toward her.

     "I just need--" She pulled her right foot closer and removed a sharp rock.

     "Why... where are your shoes?"

     She fought against the pain in her foot and clenched her jaw to keep from crying again. She knew this was nothing compared to what might happen if they were found. Also, she didn't want to anger this intimidating man again. I have to get up. There is no other way. 

     "In the bottom of the river." She put a hand down for balance as she moved to stand. "Or still floating."

     He dropped down beside her, so she gave up trying to stand. She studied his profile as he shook his head. His mouth was moving, but no words came. She remembered the strange way he argued with himself, using two voices, and realized his frustration was no longer directed at her.

     She leaned back against the narrow tree and sighed. "They just... came off in the mud and floated away."

     "Why didn't you say something? You can't walk through this forest with bare feet."

     "What could you have done? There was no way to find them. I'll be okay, if we can slow down a bit."

     He sighed deeply. "I'll carry you."

     "No!" she gasped. "No, I'll keep up."

     "I won't let you fall."

     "It's not that. I just..." The image of being powerless as a child in this large stranger's arms made her shudder. I'm not giving up, yet. "No, I'll keep up."

     He stared at her a moment. "Then we'll have to make some bandages." Before she thought of a response, he moved onto his knees and shrugged out of his jacket. He pulled his tunic over his head and said, "I'll use my undershirt."

     She wanted to protest, but she was grateful he hadn't insisted about carrying her. I should pick my battles carefully with this man. Plus she'd welcome any protection to her feet. She remained silent and watched him pull the tunic back down over the dark hair on his broad chest. 

     He tore the undershirt into uneven strips. When she reached for them, he said, "Just let me look."

     The thought of him touching her muddy feet brought tears to her eyes again. Stop acting like such a baby. "No, I'll do it," she said, trying to muster her confidence.

     He still held onto the wads of fabric and stared. "I know this must all seem pretty crazy. I must seem crazy. But I won't hurt you. Everything I've done... I thought... I thought I was helping you. It just hasn't turned out the way I expected."

     He must think I’m afraid for him to touch me. She wondered why she wasn't. "I believe that. I'm not trying to be difficult."

     He gave a short laugh. "Difficult? You've been... amazing. I don't know why you haven't been screaming your heart out or stabbed me in the back by now."

     She was stunned. Is that what he really thinks? He isn't angry with me for jumping out of his ship and getting him into this horrible situation?

     "So, will you let me take a look at that cut?" he asked, laying his fingers on her right ankle.

     She gritted her teeth and nodded. He raised her foot, his touch firm but careful, with no indication he was disgusted. She tried to relax as he bent closer to see better.

     His expression was unreadable. She didn't know if it were the shadows from the approaching twilight, or if he was one of those men who refused to show emotion. Without a word, he carefully laid her foot down on the ground next to his leg, then raised her other foot. This time, he let out a huff of frustration. "They're both pretty cut up. You're sure you don't want me to carry you?"

     "I'm sure."

     "All right. There’s enough fabric to wrap them both. Hopefully, we'll find a doctor soon." Without waiting for her reply, he pulled one of the damp strips from the wad and began wiping the sole of her right foot. "Wish there was some way to clean them, but we'll get to a doctor soon."

     She wondered if he was trying to convince himself as much as reassure her. There was nothing either of them could do, other than keep hoping they would find help before much longer.

     It had been a long time since anyone had cared about her comfort, since she'd allowed anyone to be a friend to her. Even though she didn't like the way he wanted to take charge of everything, this big, strange man honestly seemed to be trying to help her. She had felt safe before, in other places, with other people, but those days were long past.

     He was watching her, making sure she wanted him to continue. He really might be a safe person, after all. She relaxed and closed her eyes.

     Her feet warmed as he wrapped them with the strips of his shirt. She felt something warm surround her calf, and she sat up. He had slipped one of his boots onto her right foot.

     "No. It won't help for both of us to be injured."

     "I have a plan, don't worry. I think it'll be easier for you to walk if you wear my boots, even though they’re still a little damp. I'm going to stuff my socks with cloth, so I won't get cut." As he spoke, he pushed a boot onto her other foot.

     "Well... if you're sure." Relief was obvious in her voice. She hated being so transparent, but she could see the shadow of a dimple in his left cheek as he grinned for the first time. Now that he wasn't scowling, she could see he had intelligent eyes and a kind smile.

     "I see I've pressured you into doing it my way. Good."

      "Well... thank you. I think I can walk faster now."

      "Yes, and the sooner we find a doctor, the better." He rose onto one knee and held her forearm to help her stand. "Does it hurt much?"

      "No, I think I'll be fine.”

     “They really look big on you. Too big to walk?”

     She took a small step. “The bandages keep them from being too loose, I think. It was a good idea. Let's see how it works for you."

      He sat back down and stuffed several of the undershirt strips into the bottom of each sock. "There, that should do it." As he moved to stand, she reached out her hand to help him.

     He hesitated, and stared at her hand as if he were afraid to touch her. She was reminded of the way he had jerked away from her when she had tried to wipe the bugs from his hair. Maybe he's as wary of me as I am of him. 

      He took her hand and mumbled, "Thanks." He pulled himself up and stomped his feet a few times. He nodded at her. "Ready?"

     She pulled her hand from his, took a deep breath, and said, "As I'll ever be."

 

*****

 

     As the sky darkened, they walked in silence, each lost in private thoughts, too private to share with a stranger. Beka found the silence oddly comforting after the disorienting chaos since she'd walked out of her warehouse. The man walked a meter or so ahead of her, except to help her over uneven ground or to hold vines for her to walk under. She began to trust he was not a threat. As long as he keeps his distance.

     Walking behind him, she said, "So, your name is Jonathan?"

     He took a long step over a patch of gray mud, then stretched his hand for her to take as she moved across it in the oversized boots. "Jon. Jon Castil," he said, leading her through a narrow opening between two dark trees.

      "My name is Rebeka Patin. Beka." He simply nodded, so she continued, "I'm assuming, from all this, you're not a friend of the UPG military corporation."

     He took a long time to answer, and Beka wondered if she'd made a mistake, if her tone revealed too much about her own allegiance to the Freestander rebellion.

     "I've stolen something from them," he said. "Well, not exactly, since I'm the one who invented it. But they don’t see it that way, and they want it back. And they want me back. The only remaining copy of the design is in my head."

     The tension in his voice drew a pang of sympathy despite her wall of caution. He walked with his head down, pushing aside barriers of undergrowth, holding them patiently until she passed through. If we had met some other way, I would have liked him. He was a nice man despite his fierce expressions, his towering size, and the way he assumed she would follow where he led. And despite his odd habit of talking to himself.

     "Can you tell me what it was? That you invented."

     "A new weapon. For more efficient killing."

     The bitterness in his voice silenced her for a moment. "To use against the Freestanders?"

     He nodded. "At first, I was intrigued by the idea of it, the challenge of experimenting until I could get it to work. And, you know, we need to follow strict guidelines to keep the ecosystems functioning on the spacecolony. So, enforcement seemed reasonable at the time. Then, when I realized what I was doing, what they would do with it, I didn't know how to stop without being thrown in prison. Or worse. Once it was done, I just...  I just couldn't let them use it. It's...  horrible. I don't know how I could have thought...."

     They fell quiet, again, each walking with their own dark thoughts. Beka relived many of the times she'd argued with her late husband Rand about the danger of letting the United People's Guard become so powerful.

     She said softly, "We were all fooled. Most of us, at least. I remember... the laws seemed to be just what we needed to survive on Unity. After the catastrophic results of our ancestors' selfishness on Earth, it was easy to believe the propaganda about who was to blame, as long as it was somebody else."

     "I thought I deserved the Restricted Level apartment, the special treatment, because I was smarter and did important work," he said bitterly.

     "We've all done things, self-serving things. To be successful on Unity. To get ahead. The important thing is we learn from our mistakes."

     "And what mistakes did you make?"

     She couldn't let the sarcasm in his voice spur her into admitting too much. She thought of her son Jonathan, of her mother, the very few true friends she had. She couldn't risk their lives just to make this stranger think better of her. Yet, there was no one else around. Who would know? I’ll just be careful not to say too much to put anyone in danger.

     "My husband was killed by the UPG. Three years ago. He and his brothers were part of the early resistance efforts. I thought he was being paranoid, eccentric. Now I know he was right. I should have...  done more."

     Maybe I would have a normal life now, if I had. Be a normal mother who could tuck my son into his bedsilks at night. A wife who provided a loving home for myself and my family, instead of a con artist catering to the egos of powerful people, with no chance of a normal circle of friends. Living in layers of secrets within secrets. Never making any real difference. An incredible sadness fell over her. Her yearning to be with her son, and the dark thoughts she was usually able to keep compartmentalized seeped into her tired mind and body.

     "I'm sorry about your husband," he said.

     She grieved for so many precious things lost to her, so much she could never share with anyone. It was better for him to think she was saddened only by Rand's death, so she just nodded.

     She didn't know how long they'd been walking, but she was tired. Jon had smoothed twigs from a long, straight branch he'd picked up from the ground, and had offered the branch to her. Despite using it as a walking stick, the soles of her feet throbbed with pain. Her headache was getting worse, and she was cold. The trees seemed to be getting more closely packed, and the canopy overhead blocked nearly all light from the indigo sky.

     A small brown animal sped through some dry leaves in front of them and, with a small cry, she dropped the staff and reached for Jon’s arm. 

     She straightened, mortified the tiny animal had scared her, and that she had pressed herself against Jon. He simply retrieved the stick and handed it to her.

     They continued walking, but the small talk and anecdotes they'd shared earlier now seemed to take too much energy. He wasn't even mumbling to himself anymore. Beka wondered if that was a good sign or bad.

 

*****

 

     Major Radolf Seras tugged his matte black uniform tunic straight as he studied the young man clamped into the chair. Sweat dripped down the man’s bruised face, and the enticing odor of fear surrounded him. But his eyes shone with defiance as he stared at Seras. He was one of four Freestanders caught trying to break into a weapons cache at the new substation on Unity's Entertainment Level. Surely he knows it’s pointless to hope for leniency.

     Seras had had mixed results interrogating Freestanders in the past year. Some had been able to hold out against his standard methods of inflicting pain until they bled out or their minds were crippled completely, with their information forever lost. Other times, prolonged torture would harden their resistance or desensitize them. Cognitive systems sometimes ceased functioning, or prisoners had just lied to have the torment stop. These outcomes had led to a great deal of misinformation.

     The psychostream drugs worked occasionally, but too often a pliable prisoner didn’t know enough to give him the information he needed. Some would simply try to please him by saying what they thought he wanted to hear, or repeat his statements back to him, sometimes with a disgusting fit of giggles.  He’d had more than one die of an overdose.

     He could never be sure his own adjuncts wouldn't spread the word in the spacecolony if a prisoner died during interrogation. Even if they would not dare intentionally betray him, some Guardians seemed to suffer with misplaced ethics and were unable to rise above the stress of inflicting torture on the rebels. This had caused some to abandon their training and resort to quick fruitless torture, leaving him to do most of the exhausting work himself.

     Some interrogators swore that forming an empathic bond with a prisoner led to more reliable information. Somehow, that method never seemed to work for Seras. I certainly don’t have time to develop rapport with this Freestander scum.

     Citizens willing to cooperate with the UPG were crucial to gaining valid intelligence against the rebels. He’d yet to find a man or woman who knew the identity of Blueray, and the cyberspy was increasingly successful at severing connections to a Freestander soon after capture. Years ago, when the UPG was just starting to gain real control over the citizens of Unity, if you found one rebel you could scrape up his entire cadre and family. Now, when one Freestander was captured, you were lucky to even get useful information from that one terrorist.

     It never hurts to start off causing a little gut-churning fear. I might get lucky, and he’ll break quickly. Seras turned to the cabinet embedded in the metal wall of the interrogation cell. He grabbed an assortment of cutting implements and walked toward the prisoner.

     “Now, you seem like an intelligent young man. There’s no need for this to become unpleasant. You’ve been brainwashed into feeling you must be loyal to criminals threatening our citizens.”

     The man let out a shuddering breath as he watched Seras lay the tools on a small table next to his chair. Then he clenched his jaw and glowered at Seras.

     Scorching stars! This might take a while.

     “There are a few particularly malicious criminals I’m hoping you can help me with.” He picked up a karambit. There were many more efficient cutting tools, but few as ominous-looking as the short, curved blade. He liked the way the low-tech pain instrument reflected his own uncomplicated ruthlessness. He watched for a reaction as he said, “These traitors don’t deserve your sacrifice. The terrorist Blueray, for example.”

     So he recognizes the name.

     “He deserves to be thrown in prison for the number of law-abiding persons killed by his actions. Don’t you agree? Anyone who helps our government locate Blueray would be a true patriot. We need to put an end to his–”

     Seras looked up as his administrative aide rushed into the room and said, “We’ve found him!.”

     Seras pinched his lips to contain his rage. “I trust you have a good reason to enter this room without permission, lieutenant.”

     The younger officer swallowed, stood at attention, and said, “I knew you would be eager to hear the good news, sir.”

     “Go on.”

     “Some of our… your battalion serving their rotation at an Earth spaceport discovered Jon Castil’s vehicle. He went down to the planet.”

     Seras replaced the karambit on the table and straightened. Jon Castil was currently the most wanted man on the spacecolony. Seras wasn’t exactly sure what the man had stolen. Some sort of new weapon, rumors said. He’d seen the reports notifying all senior officers to make Castil’s capture Priority One. After he’d incapacitated the three Guardians who had tried to arrest him, the traitor must have felt there was no safe place for him on Unity and made a desperate journey to the barbaric planet. 

     And my team has found him.

     He motioned to the junior officer to follow him out of the room. The corridor was empty. Seras asked, “Have they brought him back here?”

     “No, sir. Castil apparently abandoned his vehicle when they spotted him, and disappeared into the wilderness. They’ve flown it to the spaceport. Communication there is unreliable, as you know, but last report said they were still collecting evidence on the ship and still searching for him. It’s a strong lead, and I thought you would want to know immediately. It won’t take long for your squad to find him.”

     Seras considered probable contingencies and ignored the growing number of soldiers traversing the corridor. 

     “What’s the latest intel on the Freestander rebels on the planet? Are any of those terrorists who escaped the prison there a few years ago still there? Could that be why Castil flew down there? Trace his communications to see if he’s getting help from anyone on the planet.”

     “I’ll have a report sent to you before next bells, sir.”

     Seras nodded. “And get me a scan of the latest treaty between UPG and Earth’s Governors Alliance. And the names of the mudworld settlements nearest to where Castil’s ship was abandoned.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “I’ll take command of this situation.” Yes, that will be the smart move. Might hyperspeed my next promotion. He swiped the PCD on his wrist to open his personnel files. “While I review who’s stationed at the spaceport, lieutenant, you select twenty more adjuncts to send down there. Reports say the President-General wants him alive, for some reason. So, the search team won’t need more than the usual weapons, but have them bring high-def scanners and at least three more patrol ships.”

     “Yes, sir. I’ll have a team ready to depart before nightcycle.” He brought his right hand to the opposite shoulder in salute and turned on his heel.

     “And lieutenant?”

     The aide turned back to his commanding officer. “Yes, sir?”

     “I’ll excuse your impulsive interruption. This once.”

     The confident smile faded on the younger man’s face. “Thank you, sir. It won’t happen again. Of course.”

     Seras ignored the man’s hasty retreat. His reputation for being merciless had brought him to his current rank of Major, but had begun to suffer as the Freestanders had become more of a threat. For over a decade, he had taken advantage of every opportunity to stand out among the other senior officers, and one had just fallen into his hands. Castil was practically already on the way to his interrogation cell. The President-General would surely notice the quick capture of a Priority One criminal. And though his report said to capture the thief alive, there were no details on what condition the lowlife should be in.

     Seras had planned to spend a few days in his villadome on the asteroid his family owned. That can wait. I want it obvious I am personally taking care of the Castil situation. As his aide had said, it wouldn’t take long. Once he had his hands – and other things – on Jon Castil, he would know everything the traitor was trying to hide.

     He rubbed his hands over his dark, cropped hair and opened the door to the interrogation cell. “Now, where were we?”