The Owling, page 10
“I’ve never seen one this big,” whispered Oriannon. Small ones, sure; some shops used tiny force fields for security. Most prisons employed small-scale force fields across doorways or entries to keep criminals from escaping. But nothing like this. This kind of thing was far beyond the usual laser fences, even the ones that guarded the borderlands of Corista.
“And look at all those tents! It’s a . . . camp.” Brinnin finally managed to whisper, and all they could do was stare at what the force field contained: Hundreds and hundreds of dome tents neatly arranged in row upon row, each one the size of a small garage dome, each one a dull green, and each one filled with a pale yellow light. They twinkled from behind the force field, shimmering and out of focus, and they seemed quite pretty in their own way.
They stared for several minutes, and Oriannon tried to understand the enormity of what she saw. Worst of all, more and more transports landed just outside the force field, each one directed into a vertical landing pattern by a laser-wielding flight crew. As soon as the shuttle touched down, side doors popped open and another crew surged forward to unload the cargo, as if orchestrated and planned just so.
Even at a distance, Oriannon could see this was no ordinary cargo. She looked over at Brinnin to make sure the other girl understood what they were seeing as well, and Brinnin nodded in wide-eyed amazement.
One of the black-suited workers shouted and motioned with his laser pointer, showing the way to a opening in the force field, a doorway that led through to the inside of the tent city. Other guards waited inside, most of them holding either laser pointers or fully charged stun batons. And then the cargo exited one shuttle after the other: A disheveled, single-file line of Owling men and women, some holding small packages or crying children, most empty-handed, all long-faced and beaten down. Oriannon stiffened with shock, recognizing the pain written on their faces. And she couldn’t help wondering — What happened to Wist?
A woman stumbled to her knees halfway through one of the lines, drawing an instant response from their guard. Oriannon discovered that the laser pointer had another use, as the guard focused a high-powered red beam on the woman’s leg.
“No!” Brinnin gasped and clapped a hand over her own mouth, but Oriannon understood the cry. They ducked out of sight as they heard the woman’s scream of pain. Brinnin dissolved into tears at what she’d seen.
“It’s okay.” Oriannon tried to comfort her, but the tears welled up in her own eyes while Brinnin shook her head.
“It’s not okay. You of all people, you should know. I thought these were your friends. And this isn’t just a camp. It’s a prison camp. Don’t you see what’s happening?”
Oriannon wished she didn’t. Even at this distance they could hear the cries of pain, the guards yelling for prisoners to hurry, the hum of stun batons and lasers used often and without mercy. When Oriannon finally dared peek around the corner of the building again, she froze again at what she saw.
“Not again,” Margus whispered.
Only this time the horror came from within the dome, as a young man not much older than them broke from his line and hurled himself at the fence. But instead of breaking through, the poor Owling was caught up in the blue energy, yanked and twisted as the snarling force field pulled him into its grip. They could not see his face, only his arms and legs as they convulsed in helpless agony.
“We have to do something!” whispered Brinnin, still choking back tears.
Only, what? A second Owling man, much older and silver-haired, broke away to try to pull the young man clear. He only made it three or four steps from his line when a swarm of probes descended on him like angry veno hornets, jabbing and stunning him with sparks of energy. Though he covered his face and head with his arms, they kept at him, violent and angry, until he had fallen to the ground.
“I’ve never seen probes like that before.” Oriannon still couldn’t believe what they were seeing as they watched haggard lines of Owlings being hustled through the doorway, through the force field, and into the tent city.
“Why are they taking all those people in there?” wondered Brinnin, but Oriannon could only repeat what Sola had hinted at earlier.
“They say because of the earthquakes.” The words felt bitter and warped on her tongue, and she knew them for lies. “They have to bring the Owlings here while they repair the damage back on Shadowside.”
“Listen to what you’re saying.” Margus frowned at her. “This isn’t disaster relief. This isn’t humanitarian anything. You can’t believe that.”
By this time Oriannon’s head was spinning, and she was only sure she didn’t really know what she believed anymore. As they huddled in the shadows, the scene repeated itself over and over as more shuttles jockeyed into place and the emptied spacecraft took off once again with a roar. As they did, a flurry of probes circled the enormous dome, making wider and wider circles until they neared the warehouse behind which Oriannon and the others hid.
“We’d better go back,” Margus told them, “before they spot us.”
Without a word, they followed Margus back to his scooter.
They held on in stunned silence until they reached the front of Oriannon’s house and Margus brought his scooter to a jerky stop. They sat there for a minute as the lev-scooter idled.
“So that was the Solution, huh?” Margus stared blankly ahead. Oriannon didn’t know how to answer. Her mind still felt numb after seeing what she’d seen.
“If that’s what it was,” said Brinnin, “maybe somebody should explain what the problem was again?”
“I should ask Sola,” Oriannon finally replied, sliding stiffly off the back of the seat. “We need to find out — ”
“Are you crazy?” Margus slipped off the scooter to face her, crossing his arms and turning his head to the side in a challenge. “That’s the last thing you should do.”
“But — ”
“You tell her what you saw,” Margus went on, “and you know what happens? To you? To us? To our families?”
Oriannon swallowed hard, and this time she knew he had to be right. The only thing was, how had she gotten herself so deeply into this mess, and on the wrong side? Margus paced now as he told her his plan.
“Remember what they did to your scribe friend? What was his name?”
“Cirrus Main.”
“Right. So play dumb. Find out what she says, go to your banquets and your media things for now, but don’t let on that you know anything. You’ll be our insider. But whatever you do, don’t you dare tell her what we just saw.”
“And once you find out more,” Brinnin added, “then we can, uh . . . then we can, you know . . .”
Her voice trailed off, but Oriannon nodded. At least it was a start. One way or another, they would find out the truth, and then they would help the Owlings.
They had to.
12
Ori?” The low, familiar voice brought her out of her nap, though in the first seconds she still wasn’t quite sure where she was. “What are you doing still up?” her father asked.
Now Oriannon shook her head, clearing a dark dream that had brought her back to the edge of the refugee camp, the prison camp, and that was the last place on Corista she’d wanted to remember. Meanwhile, the media images floating in the middle of the living room flickered from cooking demonstrations and documentaries on the outer planets to fast-talking salesmen pushing the latest lev-scooters and a wrestling match that Oriannon would normally have passed over in an instant.
“Oh.” She worked up a smile, sat up in the chair, and glanced over at the shifting colors of the wall chrono. That late? “I was just waiting for you to get home.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” His forehead looked almost as wrinkled as his Assembly robe, and the shadow on his face told her he hadn’t shaved for several days. How long could he keep this up? “Why don’t you get to bed, catch a few hours. School today, right?”
Oriannon shook her head.
“It’s Seventh Day, remember?”
“Yes, right. Of course it is.” He scratched his chin and nodded. “I’ll be at the Temple most of the day.”
Without a doubt he had lost track of time. He turned toward the kitchen, changed his mind, and circled back. On the media screen, a Coristan prizefighter raised his fists and pranced about the small arena, his bare chest glistening and a look of animal vengeance on his face. At his feet, a bruised and bloodied Owling lay wounded on the floor, barely moving as the other man kicked him.
“No, stop!” whispered Oriannon, and though she wanted desperately to look away, she could not.
The cam cut away briefly to show more wild-eyed Coristans in the audience, pumping their fists and cheering their champion. She looked over at her father, who stood with his arms crossed and his lips pressed tightly together. He muted the sound, leaving only the bloody images to assault them in their own home.
“Looking for the goodness in everyone . . .” he echoed Sola’s familiar words before holding a hand to his temple with the same paralyzing look of fear that had gripped him since they’d returned from Shadowside. And now Oriannon was surer than ever that something — or someone — was taking her father away from her. In bits and pieces, perhaps more some days than others, but still ever so surely. And the worst part was that she had no idea how to hold him back from the growing darkness that threatened to consume them.
“Are you okay, Father?” Oriannon stepped closer, while his eyes darted about the room as if something was chasing him. “What’s wrong? Your head?”
Something was wrong, even if he shook it off and tried to smile at her. Elder Tavlin Hightower didn’t normally act like this.
“Headache, yeah.” But the beads of sweat on his forehead betrayed him. He closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and lightly ran his finger over the carved marble viria bird perched on the wall shelf. “I’ll take something for it; don’t worry.”
“I don’t believe you. Something’s not right.”
For a brief moment the father she knew spoke to her in a softer voice.
“Listen to me, Ori. I just want you to be careful, that’s all. Things are changing. You can see that, can’t you?”
“What . . . what kinds of changes do you mean?”
The question seemed silly as soon as it left her lips. They both knew. He took another deep breath and finally shook his head.
“I wish I could tell you more. Look, you might just want to pack a small bag so you’re ready for . . . I mean, maybe we should plan a little vacation, real soon. Take a friend along.”
“To where?”
He shrugged, as if he hadn’t yet thought about it.
“Wherever you want to go — the coast maybe. You’ve always liked the sea. But listen, even though you’ve been working a lot with Sola lately, perhaps you shouldn’t share all your plans with her. Do you know what I mean?”
Oriannon nodded.
“Is that Elder Tavlin Hightower speaking,” she finally asked, “or my father?”
“I just don’t want you to worry.” He turned his gaze to a carved pair of moordoves, Oriannon’s favorites because they reminded her of the real birds that lived in the Temple towers. “But if anything were to happen to me, I want you to know that . . . I love you.”
Oriannon shook with all-out panic as her father’s words settled upon her. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and the tears choked her words, but she had to tell him about what they’d seen, had to tell him now. She pulled back for a moment, only to see the dark fear had returned to her father’s face, and his lower lip trembled as if he had just seen something horrific, beyond words.
“Father?” She reached up to feel his throbbing forehead, and she knew without a doubt this was no simple headache. But the father she knew had disappeared once more and she had no idea how to get him back, no matter how desperately she tried.
“Father, please don’t talk like this. Can’t we just — ”
“Pardon me,” came another voice. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Without warning, their living room comm link viewer came alive, bringing up a holographic image of the last person Oriannon wanted to see just then, hovering in the middle of the room. The woman might just as well have stepped in through the front door. Who had disabled the setting that blocked callers from automatically popping up into their house?
“I’m so glad you’re both still up.” With her hair styled and makeup obviously in place, Sola looked as bright-eyed as the two of them looked bleary. Oriannon straightened her hair and noticed that her father stiffened as well.
“Of course we’re still up, Sola.” Her father put on a business tone now, as he spoke to the image in his living room. The fear in his eyes seemed to subside a bit, as if the waves had receded for now. But when would they return?
“Actually, I was hoping to speak to Oriannon about some very exciting news, but — ” She paused for only a moment before smiling and continuing. “But you’re more than welcome to listen in as well, Tavlin.”
They stood awkwardly in the middle of the living room, and Oriannon wasn’t quite sure what to do with her hands as Sola continued with her news.
“We have quite an announcement to make, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep this just between us until we have a chance to announce it at the media conference.”
“Another media conference?” Oriannon hoped her voice didn’t betray her disappointment.
“Oh, yes, didn’t I tell you about that before? You’ll be there, of course, Oriannon, at the spaceport. But it’s not for another forty-five minutes, so you have plenty of time to rest up and prepare.”
“Wait,” said Oriannon, trying to sound neutral. “On Seventh Day? You don’t mean tomorrow?”
“No, actually it’s far too big of an announcement to wait. We’ll be bringing in media as we board the shuttle. Tavlin, you should attend the send-off as well. Why not? In fact, it might look quite good if an elder is present.”
Oriannon’s father nodded, and his jaw tightened.
“I’d be pleased to be there.” His voice sounded strangely flat, and Oriannon noticed his fists were clenched behind his back, out of view, as he spoke. But if Sola noticed, she didn’t let on.
“So here’s what we’re announcing.” Sola smiled once more as if she was practicing for the real presentation. “We’ve initiated a large-scale rescue program for the poor creatures over on Shadowside, and we’ll be transporting them here to temporary housing. In fact, we’ve already begun limited relocation operations.”
We sure have, thought Oriannon, remembering the horror of what she’d already seen. Her gut knotted at the thought of what “limited relocation operations” really meant. But of course Sola continued.
“Wherever possible,” she said, “we’re going to encourage Coristan families to adopt orphaned and dislocated Owling children. I know this may be quite difficult for people to accept, given our recent dealings with the Owlings. But this is where you come in, Oriannon. I’d like you to travel with me to one of the disaster sites in Shadowside. I’ll bring along a team, and we’ll have you do a little on-camera work at one of the sites.”
Go along with Sola? Yes, this was the plan Oriannon had agreed to follow with Margus and Brinnin. But now the prospect literally made her feel ill.
“Didn’t you say it was too dangerous?” she asked Sola. Maybe there was still a way out of this.
“Did I? Oh. Well, we seem to have cleared up any difficulties. I’m assured now by my people that the situation on the ground is quite stable, though I must tell you that conditions over there are deplorable. Truly horrendous. How anyone ever lived on Shadow-side, I’ll never know.”
Oriannon had a pretty good idea, but that was before the earthquakes. Of course, she had been to Lior after the quakes too. Perhaps she didn’t understand Sola’s definition of “horrendous.”
“You’ll see that it’s simply chaos,” Sola added. “And I must say that I am so grieved it has taken us this long to respond after the natural disaster. There’s no excuse for that, but I promise you we’ll make up for it. And you’ll be proud of your daughter, Tavlin, for the way she’s making such a difference. She’s doing wonderful work.”
Once, before she’d seen the landing zone, Oriannon might just have stood and smiled at compliments like that. Now she stood, smiled . . . and held back a scream.
“I am proud of her,” Oriannon’s father nodded and rested his hand on her shoulder, but she could feel it tense and trembling. The good news was that the conversation seemed to be winding down.
“Oh, and Tavlin?” Sola’s smile still filled the room, as it always did. “Perhaps it’s just a poor connection, but it seems to me that you look quite pale. You’re all right, I assume? You might want to take a quick shower before your transport arrives, which should now be in just — ”
She looked to the side, probably to check a chrono.
“Thirty-seven minutes. I’ll see you both at the spaceport.”
It was not a question or a request. Her image faded as a defeated Tavlin Hightower shuffled to his room. And once again Oriannon had the odd feeling that someone had replaced her once-powerful father with a timid old man, stiff and stoop-shouldered. He paused a moment as his door slid open with a swoosh, as if he might say something else to her. But the door quickly closed behind him again, leaving Oriannon alone in the front room with a smoldering anger.
Idiot! She gritted her teeth as she considered who she had become over the past weeks. Did I really want a sister — or a mom — so badly that I would trade . . . everything?
One last time she toyed with the nice warm feeling Sola always gave her. The smiles and the hugs. The feeling of being important in Sola’s eyes. The feeling of being noticed.
The feeling of being lied to and used.
But what had it cost her? Wiping away a final tear of regret, she walked over to the little black box resting on their polished pluq-wood table, where the comm signal projected into a holographic interface. She yanked out the network card and twisted it into a pretzel. When she tossed a few pieces to the floor, a pair of biomice scurried out from their docking port to gather the pieces of plastic, and she backed away so they wouldn’t brush against her foot. They did their job, but she didn’t have to like the half-alive creatures.
