Incubation (The Incubation Trilogy Book 1) (18 page)

“You’re the one who wants to destroy it, by joining with the Defiance and abandoning Bulrush’s mission.”

Hostility shimmers between them. I get the feeling this confrontation has been simmering for a long time, that my unauthorized presence in the computer room is only the catalyst.

“He didn’t bring me. I was”—there’s no nice word for it—“snooping. I’m sorry.”

Idris grabs my wrist and twists it painfully. “You’ll be sorry.”

“Let her go,” Saben says, stepping forward. “This is between you and me. You haven’t trusted me since day one. Well, I think you’re a danger to Bulrush. You act like you’re on board with Alexander’s vision, but I know you’ve been talking to the station masters on your own. Alexander doesn’t know that, does he? And don’t think I don’t know who’s sneaking weapons from the armory. I haven’t told Alexander because I don’t want to upset him, but I know you’re plotting something more than the usual missions, something Alexander hasn’t authorized.”

Taking advantage of Idris's distraction, I use a move Fiere taught me. Twisting my arm sharply up and over, I’m free. I put the desk between me and Idris, but he doesn’t react; he’s focused on Saben.

“Bulrush has been moving women to the outposts for fourteen years,” Idris says. “We’ve got the organization and the training to do more, to hit the Prags where it really hurts. It’s time we aligned with the Defiance. We’ve got the knowledge and contacts they need to operate effectively in this region, and they’ve got the experience and weapons.” Ignoring me, he stalks to the door, coming within half an inch of Saben but not bumping the larger man. “Get her the hell out of here,” he snaps as he stomps away.

“The Defiance?” I ask, forgetting my tenuous position. “You’d work with the Defiance?”

Saben skewers me with a look. “Get back to the great room, Everly. Now.”

Recognizing implacability in his tone, I go. I expect Alexander to confront me about my trespassing, but he doesn’t. I don’t know if it’s because neither Saben nor Idris ratted me out—hard to believe—or because he’s playing some game I don’t quite get. I should be relieved, but it leaves me uneasy.

I tell Halla about the encounter that night in our room before Fiere comes up to bed. We’re lying side by side on our mattresses, staring up at the ceiling. Two-thirds of a chipped plaster medallion cups an opening where a light fixture once descended.

“It
is
hard to understand why Saben’s here,” Halla says when I finish the story. “But we don’t really know why any of them are doing this. Why do you distrust him in particular? Because he’s geneborn?”

“Exactly.” Memories flash through my mind, disjointed, out of sequence: a woman’s hug, tousled auburn hair, the water, the water . . . can’t breathe, Keegan’s smile. I stifle a gasp and concentrate on breathing slowly and deeply. There’s plenty of air.

“Is it because that boy made his parents bring you back to the Kube after they’d fosted you?”

On her first night at the Kube, Halla, five, had heard me crying, awakened by the recurring nightmare I’d suffered since being with the Ushers. She’d left her bed to cuddle with me in mine, patting my arm and saying, “Be okay, be okay.”

Even so, I’ve never told her or anyone everything that happened when I lived with the Ushers, so I say guardedly, “That might be part of it. Mostly, it’s because it doesn’t make sense for a geneborn to be part of this, to risk death to undermine the government by smuggling women and babies.”

“People don’t always do what makes sense,” Halla says with a rueful chuckle. “We can’t all be logic-driven Everly Jaxes. Look at me.”

I can’t see her, but I know she’s rubbing her baby bump.

“It didn’t make sense for me to fall in love with Loudon or get pregnant or decide I want to keep the baby, but I did. And I’m glad.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.” I drift off to sleep wondering how she can possibly be glad in the current circumstances. No answer comes to me in my dreams.

Chapter Nineteen

I’m getting a serious case of cabin fever by the eighth evening. As we finish eating, Alexander meets Fiere’s eyes. “You should be going.”

With a nod, she rises and leaves the room. I watch curiously. Going where? I know better than to ask.

“This should be my mission,” Idris says angrily.

Saben rises, too. “We’ll give you a report when we get back,” he tells Alexander.

“I wish I were still up to it,” Alexander says. He grimaces. “Makes me feel like an old man to watch you go off on this mission without me. Time was . . .”

Saben grips his shoulder. “Can’t risk the general on the front lines.”

Alexander covers Saben’s hand with his own. “Godspeed.”

Idris watches this byplay and his face hardens. Without a word, he stalks out of the room.

Saben nods and leaves. I look at Wyck and Halla to see what they make of it all, but they look as clueless as I am. I guess that the mission has something to do with moving the invisible Kareen, but I don’t understand why they’re all so tense. Surely it’s become routine by now, shuttling women to the next stop on their Underground Railroad, wherever that is? Despite my disapproval of Bulrush’s goals, I find myself interested in how they move people to the west, and their logistics. In a subdued mood, we all go up to bed early.

Saben and Alexander are eating breakfast, IPF-issue field rations, when Halla, Wyck and I come downstairs. Their expressions are tense. Saben’s saying, “It was like the IPF was waiting for us. As soon as we approached the rendezvous point, they opened fire.” He notices us and breaks off, greeting us with forced cheer. The three of us help ourselves to the flash-dried rations and sit.

“Didn’t go well last night?” I ask.

Saben looks at Alexander, who nods.

“No. I had to bring Kareen back here. Fiere and Cas led our pursuers away.”

“They’re not back yet,” Alexander says tightly. His face is white, his mouth set in a thin line. His hand presses into his side and I wonder again what’s wrong with him.

“They’ll be back any minute,” Saben says.

"God willing and the volcano don't explode," Alexander says. The words are almost prayer-like.

"We’ll have to try again tonight," Saben says. Perhaps to forestall further questions, he turns to me. “I can train you.”

Wyck looks from Saben to me, glowers, and goes off toward the kitchen. More shoveling on tap for the day, I guess. I don’t blame him for looking disgruntled.

“Can I watch?” Halla asks Saben. “I can’t fight like this”—she indicates her belly—“but I might learn something.”

“Absolutely.”

The three of us traipse to the mattress-cushioned ballroom. I immediately leap aside and Saben looks at me curiously. “Sorry,” I say, feeling foolish. “Fiere usually puts me on the floor within a nanosecond of stepping through the door.”

“She’s intense,” he says. “She has reason to be.”

“What reason?” Halla asks.

Saben hesitates. “If she wants to tell you, she will.”

We spar with Halla cross-legged on the floor watching our every move closely. Saben is impressed with my progress.

“Are you sure you’ve never fought before?” he asks. “You’re a natural. Fiere better watch out.”

I smile and wonder if either of my parents is agile or strong. With more practice, I might be able to defend myself effectively against the likes of Armyn or the Dravon brothers. Part of me looks forward to the opportunity to try. Part of me is appalled at the idea, wanting to return to the lab where Dr. Ronan might chastise me for sloppy procedures or sloppy thinking, but where I won’t end up winded on the floor with someone’s knee in my back.

Saben gets off my back and reaches down to help me up. We’re both breathing hard, both sweaty, and his callused hand grips mine firmly. “Enough?” he asks with a cocked eyebrow.

“For now.”

He laughs and I’m glad I made him laugh. Halla and I watch him leave the ballroom. “If I weren’t totally in love with Loudon,” Halla says, “I’d say that’s one fine looking man.”

I have to admit—but only to myself—that Saben’s rear view in the fitted jumpsuit is impressive. “I haven’t thought about it,” I tell Halla.

She gives me a sly smile. “It’s not a matter of thinking,” she says.

“You should know.”

She gasps, but then breaks into laughter, the snuffly chortles I haven’t heard from her since before she told me she was pregnant. The sound brings me such happiness I grin widely. Cas comes running in.

“Fiere’s hurt. Alexander needs Saben.”

“He just left,” Halla says. “I’ll find him.”

Cas and I run to the tunnel and climb down. I let go of the ladder and my feet thud on the dirt. It’s damp. The tunnel is shored up by mismatched ribs of lumber that look like they’ve come from dozens of old houses like the one we’re living in. It is ill-lit by bioluminescent pods fixed at intervals along the walls. It smells earthy. I run after Cas until we reach a spot where the tunnel forks. Alexander is there, kneeling beside Fiere who is groaning. He gently palpates her abdomen and she yips like a wild dog.

“Is she okay?” I ask.

She opens her eyes at the sound of my voice. They’re almost black against her skin’s pallor. “I’m fine,” she grits out. “A graze. Cas and I led them on a wild goose chase, Alexander. They didn’t get within five miles of here. I got hit early on; I guess I didn’t realize I’d lost quite so much blood. Sorry.” Her head droops forward; she’s lost consciousness.

I don’t see any blood.

White lines bracket Alexander’s mouth. He smoothes a hand over her sweat-damp brow. “You did fine, my dear.” To Saben and Cas he says, “We need to get her upstairs. Stat. I’m afraid she’s got internal bleeding. Her abdomen is stiff.”

They bend and lift her as gently as possible. Maneuvering her up the short ladder is difficult, but they manage. Halla and Wyck hover anxiously at the top. Alexander snaps at me, “I need boiling water right now, and clean cloths.” I don’t ask how or where; I head for the kitchen, figure out the stove, and put water in a pot to boil. While it’s heating, I find a linen closet and appropriate a stack of pillow cases and towels. The flowered pillow cases have the lingering scent of lilies that seems to pervade this house and I wonder about all the heads that have lain on them as I slice them into wide strips with a butcher knife.

Tossing the cloths over my shoulder, I lift the heavy water pot and stagger out of the kitchen. Realizing I have no idea where they’ve taken Fiere, I pause in the hallway. The murmur of voices comes from my left and I head that way. I find Alexander, Saben, Wyck, and a woman who must be Kareen gathered around Fiere in a small room that might have been a butler’s pantry or still room for preparing herbs or flowers. The room smells of alcohol and the men are rubbing their damp hands. Fiere’s unconscious on a narrow table. The black-film has been stripped from the room’s windows so light pours in. I know she must be in desperate shape for them to breach security like this.

Kareen is efficiently slicing Fiere's jumpsuit off with a razor tool. She’s about my height, but with extra padding. She looks soft until I watch her steady hands on the blade and notice her expression of total concentration. Her face is shadowed by the silk scarf that drapes her head and neck. As if sensing my gaze, she looks up and meets my eyes. Hers are brown with slightly droopy under lids that expose a rim of red. Her skin is the color of toasted almonds and the crow’s feet tell me she’s older than I thought. I’d been expecting a pregnant girl, or someone likely to conceive, but she’s past that. She nods acknowledgment of my presence and says to Alexander, “She’s brought the water. Sterilize your instruments.” Her voice is low-pitched and musical.

Alexander unfolds a leather pouch that contains a startling array of old-fashioned surgical implements. There’s alcohol and syringes and various other medicines and bottles already lined up on the windowsill. He gestures for me to pour boiling water into a bowl into which he puts the surgical instruments. He wipes them thoroughly with alcohol and lays them on a clean towel. Fiere is naked now and I can see her abdomen is distended and bruised blue-black. There’s an old scar low down, a hair above her pubic bone and about four inches long. It’s clearly surgical. It could be a hysterectomy scar. That’s a death penalty offense.

The enormity of that barely dawns on me before Alexander motions for the men to hold down Fiere’s shoulder and legs. I draw a quick breath. There’s no anesthesia. I pray that Fiere remains unconscious as Alexander takes up a scalpel. His hand shakes.

“I should do it,” Kareen says, holding out her hand. When he hesitates, she says calmly, “You’re ill, my friend, and too close to the girl. Do you doubt my skill after training me?”

He still hesitates, then slaps the scalpel into her palm. Looking at me, he says, “More boiling water. Keep it coming.” He positions himself by Kareen’s side as she places the tip of the scalpel so it indents the skin of Fiere’s abdomen, and then draws it down with one steady movement. Blood gushes and I feel woozy. “Water,” Alexander says sharply, staunching the blood, and I leave.

The surgery takes two hours. I boil water and haul it to them, removing the bowls of bloody water that accumulate near the makeshift operating table. Once, I bear away a bowl with a small, pinkish red organ in it. It turns my stomach and I avert my head. I don’t know what to do with it and end up burying it in the compost bin. When I return to the room the last time, Fiere is gone and Halla is helping Cas re-film the windows.

“They’ve taken her upstairs,” she answers my unspoken question. “They had to take out her spleen, but they think they got the bleeding stopped. She should be okay, Alexander says, if she doesn’t get an infection. Do you think I could be a doctor?”

Saben appeared in the doorway. “Everly.” He jerks his head.

Curiosity consuming me, I follow him to the main room where Kareen, Alexander, and Cas are assembled. Alexander’s looking slightly better and he gives me a small smile when we come in. “Fiere should be okay,” he tells us all. “She had an excellent doctor—”

“Trained by the best,” Kareen murmurs.

“Kareen had to take out her spleen, but it looks like we stopped the internal bleeding, which is the main thing." He rests his palms on his thighs. "We’ve got to talk about how to get Kareen out of here. Last night’s mission went awry; it looks like the IPF was waiting for them at Station Delta. Now, it might be a coincidence—the patrols have been stepped up since Kareen went missing.”

The others nod as if they know why. I don’t have a clue.

“But, there’s also the possibility that one of our station masters has been turned, has betrayed us. The only possibilities are at Station Delta itself, or at Station Foxtrot which was to be her next stop. I’ve known Janssen at Delta for thirty years; I can’t believe it’s him. At any rate, Cas and Kareen will leave at dusk and head for Station Lima, circumventing the usual route. It’ll take you two days,” he tells Cas, “but it can’t be helped.”

Cas nods. Kareen tries to maintain her serene expression, but worry lurks in her eyes.

“However, we can’t operate with a traitor on the railroad, so we need to sniff him or her out. Additionally, as we planned, it’s by far the best if the IPF and her husband think Kareen’s dead. Otherwise, they’ll never stop searching for her. So, Saben, I need you to head for Station Foxtrot tonight, as would be the usual protocol. With Fiere out of commission, Everly needs to go along as the decoy.”

“What?” All eyes turn to me.

“I can’t ask her to do that,” Kareen says. “She’s a child, untrained.”

“I'm asking. She’s smart, resourceful and about your height,” he says in an uncompromising voice. “Your scarf can hide her hair. Saben will be with her. What do you say, Everly?”

“Of course I’ll do it.” I have no idea what “it” is, but I want to get out of this house. Also, some part of me wants to please Alexander; I’m not sure why.

“Good girl. Saben, as the mission commander, you work out the details. You know the parameters: identify and neutralize the traitor and convince the IPF that Kareen’s dead. Oh, and bring Everly back safely.” His gaze fixes on me. “You can’t tell Wyck or Halla. Operational details are on a need to know basis; frankly, I’d prefer not having to use you, but needs must. Understood?” His uncompromising tone hints at severe consequences.

I nod.

He sags against the couch, clearly exhausted. “Right. Get to it, then.”

Kareen goes to Alexander as Saben leads me out of the room. “What’s wrong with him?” I ask.

Saben answers in a low voice. “He was helping move disabled patients from a rehabilitation center when it was hit with a chemical weapon during the Between. He doesn’t know for sure what the agent was—a synthetic compound of some kind—but it’s been eating away at his organ tissue for years. If he’d gotten a full blast, his organs would have more or less disintegrated on the spot. He got just a whiff, but even that . . . The medicine he takes slows it, but he’s weakening.I think sheer stubbornness keeps him going.”

It nauseates me to think that a chemist would turn his or her skills to such an evil end.

Saben spends the rest of the afternoon outlining his plan and getting me outfitted. We stain my hands and face with a nut dye to approximate Kareen’s skin tone, and pull a close-fitting black cap over my hair, tucking the blond tresses up inside. It doesn’t work; my hair’s too thick. With an exclamation of impatience, I pull out my knife, bunch my hair in my fist, and begin to saw through it at jaw level.