"Taj," Romjha warned.
Thinking of how he'd seemed to see inside her when they were in the caves, she was afraid to look at him now and find his stare just as perceptive, just as penetrating. Under the perceived scrutiny of the
commander and the other raiders, she struggled to keep her temper in check. To Jal she mumbled, "We'll dowhat we can for your friend.""Yes. Stop the blood." Jal regarded her with cold bronze-gray eyes. "Work quickly, healer.""I'm not a healer."He looked confused. "But you are a woman," he stated, as if that explained it all.She glanced down at her breasts. "Else I'm a very unfortunate man."Jetter coughed to cover his amusement."You are a woman," Jal insisted. "You heal.""I make munitions. I blow up things. I like blowing up things."Jal's hands clamped hard around Cheya's thigh. Blood welled between his fingers, glistening on the sinews and knuckles. A crimson stream escaped the dam formed by the fleshy connector between his thumb and
index finger, pooling in the hollows of one thick, corded wrist.
An image of her father's fatal injuries, his arms ragged, leaking stumps, splashed across Taj's mind's eye like blood from a torn artery.
Joren had died slowly, horribly. By the time he had staggered back to the caverns after that fateful solo raid, his body had been nearly drained of blood. No one knew how he made it back all those miles without a rover. But he'd not wanted to die topside, alone, without his loved ones there to hold a vigil, to play chimes until his last breath to guide him safely to the Ever After.
Sweat dribbled down Taj's temples. Her chest felt suddenly heavy. Maybe if someone had been topside with her father, had slowed the bleeding, he'd be alive today.
She dropped to her knees and crawled to where Jal crouched before his friend. "All right. Someone had better shore up that field dressing. And since none of you seem to be doing it, it might as well be me."
She thrust her arm at Aleq, her fingers splayed wide. "Give me your shirt."
After a fleeting moment of surprise, the man stripped. She snatched away the wad of damp homemade black fabric and caught his scent. It had been so long since he'd last visited her bed, she'd forgotten it.
Holding the cloth between her teeth, she tore Aleq's shirt into strips, then contemplated her unlucky subject
with far more trepidation than she had her unstable radite crystals. Sighing deeply, she began her hasty repairs.
Chapter Six.
What we can assume about the rest of the galaxy has changed. Had he really said that so casually? Romjha paced behind Taj and the outsiders. What a laughable understatement if what these men said was true.
They had told his raiders they'd defeated the warlord. He could almost believe it. When was the last time he'd seen a scout fly over? Months ago. In fact, the skies had been so quiet, he'd actually been considering organizing a daylight raid when autumn and cooler weather arrived-an unthinkable proposition at one time. He'd thought they had a temporary reprieve. But maybe it was more.
While Taj worked, Romjha scrutinized Jal. The man and his friend claimed to be pilots, but Romjha suspected they were more. If his limited understanding of aviation technology was correct, a starfighter's flight controls were computer assisted. Jal appeared an impressive, battle-hardened man, so he did more than fly- only frequent ground combat or hard labor could create such a physique.
Romjha wouldn't abandon the pair topside, but he wouldn't risk bringing them into the interior caverns. He wouldn't take them anywhere near the infants or the groweries-his people's insurance for the future- until he learned more about them through questioning and observation.
In a fortuitous development, however, Taj was fulfilling the role of interrogator quite well, unwittingly drawing Jal out as a result of her obvious aversion to him.
"Where I come from, women don't make explosives," the outsider ventured as she worked on his comrade.
"They don't fight with the men."
"So, where you come from is primitive," Taj retorted, her long, pale fingers shiny with blood.
The pilot regarded Taj as if she were a baffling alien creature. Romjha supposed she was, to him.
To keep from cracking anything that Taj might perceive as a smile and provoking her further-no need to
make the wounded pilot Cheya suffer needlessly- Romjha pressed a bent index finger to his lips as she glanced at him. She looked back at Jal.
"We have no choice," the man explained. "We have to protect our women."
"You stifle them," Taj corrected.
"We keep them alive."
"You don't put into hiding those you want to protect. Shelters can be breached. You should give your women the tools with which to defend themselves."
"Are you not. . . protected here?" Jal sounded more curious than critical.
"Apparently not as much as some would like," she said with a dark glance over her shoulder.
Obviously not wanting to fight with her, Romjha kept any record of their argument in the caverns from
appearing on his face. "You say you have the warlord on the run, Jal. Tell me more about that.""We assassinated him. He is dead."Startled murmurs came from just about everyone.Romjha raised his hand for quiet. "What of his forces?""His army lives on like a headless serpent, but we will bleed the creature until it too is dead. We'll find and destroy his caches, his skyports-"
"On any world you stumble upon?" Romjha asked. "Without investigating first? What of the risk to the
indigenous populations? What about when the Warlord's men see what you've done and-"
Detonations rumbled distantly, creating flashes like the heat lightning that interrupted many a hot, silent night. A ripple of fear spread through the group, and the tank they huddled under suddenly seemed paltry shelter.
The headless serpent, Taj thought.
The stench of fuel and hot sand lodged in the back of her throat. Her hands twitched, cinching the crude bandage she'd made. Cheya uttered a hoarse groan. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. Romjha studied Jal with an intensity that was chilling. "A battle over our heads will put my entire community at risk."
"We didn't know anyone lived here!"
The commander's voice turned quiet, deadly. " 'We didn't know' is not an excuse."
Taj piped up. "And now that you do know we're here, don't forget that we're only focused on our own
survival, not the greater good of the galaxy."
Romjha gave her a long look.
Unrepentant, she glared back. "I'm pointing that out in case anyone forgets."
Jal lowered his head. He looked tired but not beaten. "I regret the risk we have brought upon your people.
But I won't apologize for what we aim to do. I am Jal Dar, and for centuries my family has protected Cheya's family." He pressed his thumbs to Cheya's visor. It rose smoothly, easily, unlike those on the raiders' own battered helmets. "Behold. Cheya Vedla. Descended from the last king of the galaxy."
Cheya's features were refined but not delicate. His lean and handsome good looks were noble. Taj dropped her gaze to her bloody hands. A prince! She was bandaging a prince-or even a king-with Aleq's dirty shirt.
Petro murmured, "I thought the Vedlas were slaughtered."
Jal shook his head. "Not all. A few survived-the queen, the youngest prince and an unborn princess,
several other relatives, cousins and the like. In secret they continued their bloodlines, and for generations my world has protected them, hoping to put them back on the throne."
As gray as Cheya's skin appeared, Taj didn't have high hopes of this Vedla surviving his injury, let alone
regaining power. What a waste. But then, any life lost was a waste. "It doesn't appear as if you hold the prince's life in high regard if you bring him with you on raids."
"Cheya's a soldier first, a king's progeny second."
The raiders murmured approvingly amongst themselves.
Conversely, Romjha's expression was a study in disapproval. His distrust of these monarchists was palpable. Good. Taj didn't want him making friends with them.
Romjha hefted his rifle. "Leave the rest of the work for the healers, Taj. It's nearly dawn."
A faint, pastel pink-orange glow foretold the first of Sienna's two suns' rising. Taj's heartbeat jumped in her throat, and cold sweat prickled the back of her neck. "At dawn we'll be easy targets," she told Jal, finishing quickly her ministrations. "Roving in the open during daylight is suicide. My people have the casualty count to prove it."
Jal's jaw flexed. His visor was silver, completely opaque. Only a hard, square jaw and the chilly cast to his mouth were visible. Perhaps he hadn't liked the way the way she'd emphasized "my people," as in not his. Too bad. He was the stranger, the one who came here uninvited, bringing danger and recklessness to Sienna.
"Taj, Petro, Aleq-you're in my rover!" Romjha shouted. "Jal and Cheya, too. Everyone else take the rover that got you here."
Orders were bellowed back and forth. The group split into two. Jal bore the weight of his comrade on his shoulders. Aleq and Petro ran alongside to assist if necessary.
Thunder exploded from behind the boulder hills. "Incoming!" Petro shouted. The raiders darted closer to the protective shadows of the rocks.
A low-flying craft shrieked overhead. Its underbelly was sleek and black, decorated with blinking lights. Death clothed in finery. A warlord's scout.
"You never see the missiles at night," Aleq informed Taj. "But the tracers make for a pretty show."
Great. There were some things she'd rather not know.
A second fighter roared overhead, whooshing past so close that it kicked up a sandstorm. A sharp odor clogged Taj's nose and made her eyes water. She ran through clouds of dust, using her good ear to orient herself to the sound of her comrades' thumping boots.
Suddenly, more craft, silver and longer-nosed appeared in the sky. Were these ships loyal to the outsiders? She knew too little about the men to hope that they were ... or that they were not.
Light erupted, spreading a false dawn. Then a one-two boom seemed to rip apart the heavens, and the deadly scouts exploded, one after the other.
Taj's eardrums shrieked with pain. The ground shook. Silver craft, the newcomers, spun away into a vertical victory roll. Into the stars they disappeared as debris rained down from overhead. For an instant, she was alone, lost in a maelstrom of dirt and noise and terror with no one to rely on but herself. Then Romjha materialized at her side, clearly oblivious to his own danger as he sought to account for every member of his group. "Go, go, go!" he shouted. Raiders streaked past, black wraiths in swirling brown dust.
Romjha propelled her in front of him where he could keep her in sight, though it slowed his pace.
He'd die saving her; she knew it as surely as she breathed. Have that on her conscience? She would not! "Go, Romjha! Get the rover started. I'll get there."
He remained staunchly at her side, pushing her onward. Rage erupted, raw, white-hot, and welcome. "Blast you, B'kah," she gasped, seething. "Don't be so eager to sacrifice yourself, or the Great Mother might just take you up on the offer!"
Big hands curved around her waist as the rover appeared before them. Romjha tossed her into the back as if she weighed nothing, as if her protests meant nothing. He jumped in after her, dragging her with him to the front passenger seat like a bag of last year's seeds.
Sweat dribbled down Taj's temples. She swiped it from her eyes and yanked the safety harness over her shoulders. "Stop it," she warned him. "Stop protecting me."
"Strap in tight," Romjha said, shoving the accelerator full forward while she was still strapping in.
Swear words streamed from Taj's brain to her mouth at the speed of light. Her hands fumbled with her harness, fingers sticky with a prince's clotted blood. She still couldn't get over that.
The rover took off. Over the desert landscape it raced, darting between huge boulders to elude the star-fighters should they decide to make a second pass.
Directly behind the windshield, the wind noise was less than it had been in back. There was less breeze to cool her, too. Taj sucked in gulps of air, half choking on her sweat. "I'm trained. I can fight if I have to.