The Owling, page 21
“That’s what I need to talk to you about, Ori.” He turned his attention to Adom. “But look, I have to take this guy in. The probes all saw what happened.”
As if on cue, two more probes reappeared at the tent flap. Had he timed it that way? Immediately Margus slipped his visor back into place, resuming his role as a security.
“Leek!” His shoulder comm sputtered once more with an impatient voice. “Are you coming?”
“On my way.”
Now the security pointed at Siric with a warning.
“Everyone in this tent stays right here until tonight.” His glance shifted to Oriannon’s direction. “That means everybody.”
Without another word, he pulled a pale-looking Adom outside, leaving them alone once more. Moya began to sob.
“It’s okay.” Her mother comforted her. “He’s going to be okay.”
Oriannon wasn’t sure he would be, and she wasn’t sure Moya’s mother really believed it either. But everyone held their breath a little longer, until one of them finally checked outside.
“All clear,” he announced, pulling his head back in. “For now.”
That was all Oriannon needed to hear as she headed for the exit.
“Oriannon, wait.” Siric called after her. “If that was your friend — ”
Oriannon turned once more to look back at the group.
“I’m sorry for what happened,” she told them. “But I have to find Wist.”
And for the second time, she would try to leave the Owling tent. She slipped outside and headed for the far eastern corner of the camp as angry drops of rain splashed the worn mud and soaked through her hood.
She would find Wist, with or without the help of the security named Margus Leek.
26
Ow!”Hours later Oriannon fell to her knees as the pain shot through her ankle and up her leg. How would that not look conspicuous to the probes on patrol above their heads? She tugged at the glassteel ring around her ankle, wishing that she could tug it off as easily as she had taken it off the Owling woman. Problem was, her ankle was much bigger than the Owling’s. And this time the anklet didn’t budge, since it had locked itself on more tightly than ever. As Moya’s mother had warned her, it now seemed to be responding to some distant, continuous signal.
Could Margus have helped her with it?
An older Owling man sitting up against a nearby tent eyed her suspiciously in the growing shadows, and she smiled at him through her pain. Trying to ignore the steady drizzle, she wiped a wet strand of hair out of her face.
“These things don’t ever come in the right size,” she said, “do they?”
He didn’t answer, just pulled at a ragged beard and stared.
Another electrified jolt of the anklet made her gasp for breath. The searchers, whoever they were, were not giving up. This could not be good.
“Please, Jesmet.” Now she wasn’t sure she could put any weight on the foot, and it throbbed with pain even as her entire leg turned numb. She paused a moment to think through her options.
First, the securities were obviously still trying to locate her anklet’s wearer.
And second, since they hadn’t found it yet, they had to know someone with this particular anklet was out walking where she wasn’t supposed to be. Right?
She didn’t want to think about Margus or what his role could be in all this chaos.
A pair of probes flew by, barely clearing the tops of the nearest tents, making Oriannon wonder why they didn’t find her more easily. Maybe it wasn’t that simple. Trying to ignore the pain, Oriannon rose on her good foot and hobbled next to a couple of mothers, each with a young child in tow. She had to blend in, and she had to find what she came for. She wasn’t sure she could do both.
“I’m looking for a girl named Wist,” Oriannon told them, trying not to wince as she came closer. “She’s from Lior. Maybe in the far eastern corner of the camp. Do you know where that is?”
The nearest Owling woman looked at Oriannon with alarm, then up at where the probes had just slipped by. She shook her head.
“I’m sorry. We’re not being from Lior, and we don’t know this camp well. But — you are all right?”
Oriannon swallowed hard, biting the side of her mouth to keep from crying.
“I’ll be better when I find her. Thanks anyway.”
She hobbled on as the anklet continued to vibrate — sometimes tightening, other times just sending jolts of pain. Was there a bright side?
They still don’t know who I am, she thought, or where I am.
Except for Margus. She clung to that small consolation as the skies opened up in a way she had not experienced often in Corista. The planet’s shift had brought weather changes as well; not just darkened nights, but downpours. The force field seemed to have no effect at stopping the incoming rain. Minutes later she lifted her face as muddy rivulets washed down in the cleared spaces between tents, carrying socks and a boot, scraps of wood, the wrapper from a meal ration. At the base of a steep hill, she slipped and fell into one of the torrents, grabbing on to the side of a tent for balance while muddy water mixed with camp garbage washed over her.
Gross! The smell made her gag, but she fought off the reflex the same way she tried to dismiss the throbbing pain in her ankle.
Get up! Keep walking! Wist has to be here somewhere.
Every few meters floodlights created pools of swirling light in the growing darkness, while the Owlings around her scurried for cover and sloshed through the deepening mud and mess. She stopped as many as she could, asking them the same questions about Wist and how to find her. And always she got the same answers.
“Sorry!” Or, “Wish we could be helping you, but no.”
No one had any ideas. From where she stood she couldn’t even see the other end of the camp, and the little markers she could read had names like Beta 12 and Gamma 14. Still the tents stretched on and on across muddy hillsides and flooding low spots. Oriannon began to shake in desperation.
“Why did I even come here?” she asked herself. “Why didn’t I wait for Margus?” But she knew the reasons. She wondered if she might meet the same end as Terit.
“Margus!” she finally cried out, when she knew she couldn’t walk many more steps, but of course Margus did not answer. She took hold of the cloak of a passing man and asked the question once more. “Please! Do you know of a girl named Wist? She’s from — ”
“I’m very sorry.” He shook himself free and headed for cover. By now the rain had soaked all the way through her cloak, adding a heavy weight she could no longer bear. Soaked to the skin, she had to get out of this cold rain somehow, or go back the way she came. Only . . .
Where did I come from? She thought she had passed through this section of tents before, but really couldn’t be sure as her mind started to grow as numb as her feet. She stumbled over a root partially hidden in the mud and wondered if she had been walking in circles. By this time all those dull green dome tents looked quite the same. Unable to see where she was walking, she sank into mud up to her ankles.
“Please.” Every step now had turned into a prayer, a plea to the Maker for help. A nearby awning collapsed under the weight of water, unloading on her head.
“I can’t do this!” she finally cried, hoping someone friendly would hear. But the mud tugged at her as if with hunger, tearing at all the self-confidence she had brought to the camp. Maybe she had carried a little too much pride in her fancy name, tucked behind all the nicer thoughts that said, “I can do it myself!”
And right now, the mud told her she could not. What had she told Brinnin back in school? Brinnin back in school?
Don’t you worry; I can handle it.
But that was then, before she had stepped into this dark, muddy nightmare, where at least half the Owlings were hiding in their tents, and the other half’s minds had been numbed into blind, fear-filled submission. She could handle this? Though she tugged with all her strength, she could barely move one foot in front of the other. Finally she stopped and lifted her head once again, this time in pure defeat.
“I’m sorry, Jesmet.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the cold rain. “If you’re trying to get my attention, well, here I am. I can’t do it. But you knew that from the start, didn’t you?”
The rain stung her cheeks, making her feel as if she too might wash down one of the muddy rivers. Had she really thought she would find her friends this way? She looked up at the dark blue dome, wondering why the force field could keep so many Owlings trapped inside, but let through something as small as a raindrop. It made no sense, but then nothing made sense right now.
Still she tumbled on, fully expecting that she would trip once more or fall headlong into a sea of mud. If that happened, surely no one would ever know — unless a probe came along and finally identified her cold blue ankle sticking out of the debris.
Don’t think such things! She chided herself, but she could tell her mind was going through serious stages of shutdown. She had to find help, or shelter, or both! Again, her anklet vibrated and clamped down hard enough to drive her to her knees, even in the mud. This time she was beyond tears, and she could only manage a jerking sob as she looked for a place to collapse.
A small light at the front door of a metal-sided ser vice shed seemed close enough, and she didn’t care if it brought her face-to-face with a security. As the rain poured down harder than ever, she crawled the last few meters and pulled herself to shelter beneath the steps and then into the pitch-dark crawlspace between the ground and the shed’s raised floor. She bumped her head on unseen pipes, wondering if the shuffling sound behind her might be some disgusting rodent with sharp teeth and red eyes.
She turned around and clapped her hands into the darkness, which seemed awfully silly but was the best she could do. No matter what kind of welcome awaited her under this little building, she was not giving up her space. She was finally out of the driving rain and the worst of the mud, and she could even hide behind foundation supports. Maybe it would turn out to be a good place to spend the night.
The shuffling noise grew louder, but this time she decided not to fight back. So what if a rat nibbled her toes? She watched a security ride by in a small lev-sled, but he didn’t slow down. Maybe the rain would slack off in the morning, and maybe she would find her way back into the camp crowds. Maybe she would find Wist in the morning. Somehow. She had to believe such a thing could happen. Beyond that she could think of no other choices.
She closed her eyes, fought away the pain in her leg, and wished for sleep that refused to come. She thought she heard distant singing again, and wondered if it might be Siric and his people. Perhaps it was only the rumbling of her empty stomach, now aching after so long a time without a meal. Or maybe it was the Stone!
For a moment she thought she heard someone calling her name, and she imagined Jesmet walking through the streets of this camp, searching for her. That of course would have been a hallucination, quickly dismissed with a shake of her head even as she huddled closer to one of the shed’s foundation pilings.
Keep your head straight. Don’t let your mind play tricks on you.
Not even nice, pleasant tricks. On the other hand, maybe the Owlings actually would be praying for her, the way Moya’s mother had said they would. That, she thought, would be nice, and she could accept such a comfort. So she allowed herself to imagine just a little, tried to imagine what she would do in the morning, and how she would get out of this mess. She kept her hand near the Stone. The music might not keep her warm or wipe the mud from her face, but it would warm her inside and remind her why she had smuggled herself into this nightmare in the first place.
We can get out of this, she told herself, hoping it was true.
27
At first Oriannon had no idea where she was or how long she might have been asleep. She especially had no idea why someone was calling her name or why her back felt as if it had been cemented into one position.
“Would you wake up, Ori?”
I’m dreaming, she decided. I’m in some kind of cave, and Margus is yelling at me.
But when she tried to straighten out, the solid bump to her forehead felt very un-dreamlike.
“Ouch!” She fell back down, rubbing the point of contact. Then she remembered the night before, the shock of seeing Margus again, her nightmare slog through the mud, and the fruitless search for Wist. She heard heavy footsteps over her head and remembered where she had found shelter for the night. For a moment she slouched a little closer to the ground.
“Hey!” It sounded like Margus again. “Over on this side!”
She followed his voice toward dull blue light and tried to focus, but still wasn’t sure how to react when a black-suited security reached under the building and grabbed her by the arms. She would have screamed, but couldn’t imagine who would come to help her. Besides that, no one could see them in the ser vice alley behind the shed.
“You are the most stubborn person I have ever known, Oriannon Hightower!”
This time the security pulled her out behind the building and stood her up straight. She had no choice but to stand there and look Margus straight in the visor. She reached up and pushed it clear, just to be sure the eyes belonged to him. He let her.
“How did you find me?” she whispered, shivering in her damp clothes.
“Well, I found a little Owling girl wandering around, calling your name.”
“Moya?”
“She didn’t say. All she would tell me was she’d tried to follow you for a while, then lost you when it started raining. She was pretty upset. So I took up where she left off, looked for infrared, and finally found you under the building.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“I don’t know. But look, there’s no time for that now. In a few minutes they’re going to be wondering what happened to me.”
“What did happen to you, Margus? And what happened to your parents? Do they know?”
He shook his head and wiped the tears from his face.
“They’re both dead, Ori.”
“What? Margus, no!” She couldn’t believe it. “How?”
He turned away from her, arms crossed in obvious pain.
“Everything happened so fast when Sola came to my house that night.”
“That night — when we were waiting in the Glades.”
“Yeah. She wanted to know about the probe we stole. I had this great idea and told her I would help her, if she wouldn’t hurt my dad.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“No — it’s not what you think. I wasn’t ever going to really help Sola. Are you kidding? I just thought I could get inside here that way, and we could help the Owlings.”
“So she made you a security? Just like that?”
“No. Well, sort of.” He paced to the corner of the building, peeked out, and paced back. “I’m actually just as much a prisoner as all the other Owlings. I can’t leave the camp.”
“Oh. But then what about your dad — your parents?”
“She promised they would be treated okay. But she lied, Oriannon. She always lies.”
“But . . . killed? That’s — I mean, I didn’t know she would . . .”
He nodded. “Sola told me it was a terrible accident, that they tried to escape or something. I don’t believe it.”
“Oh, wow. I am so sorry, Margus.” The words sounded trite, but she could think of nothing else. “I’m sorry too — for running off from the tent last night.”
“Doesn’t matter. I probably would have done the same thing.
But there’s something else I have to tell you, Ori.”
She looked at him more closely. He was sweating inside the black helmet.
“They put an implant inside my temple. I didn’t want them to, but they made me take it. Just like they made all the elders take it, and so many other people. And they can turn it up any time they want.”
Now she understood the pained look on his face.
“Same as my father,” she told him.
“Yeah, I think so. Same as all the Owlings are going to get, but you knew that. Only with theirs they keep it turned up most all the time, and with mine they just threaten me with it.”
“Have they done it yet?”
“Just once, to prove it to me.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to tell you what it’s like. Except I have never been so scared in my life. It’s — ”
“Don’t,” she put up her hand. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ve seen it.”
“Yeah, but until you feel it, you have no idea how much it grabs you. Like, the fear, it’s everything. Huge. And you know what else? It makes me want to get these people out of here, more than ever.”
“Okay then.” She nodded. “But . . . you don’t think we can help all of them escape? Even the ones who are already processed?”
“Maybe we can’t do anything about them. But if we can help Wist escape, maybe we can help the others escape before they’re processed too. That’s something.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Problem is, I can’t even find her.”
For the first time he showed her a tiny hint of a smile as he edged over to the corner of the building once more.
“If you hadn’t run off, I might have been able to show you last night. Now Brinnin’s going to have to show you the way.”
“Wait a minute.” Oriannon paused. “Did you say Brinnin?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” He glanced around the corner and pointed with his chin. “See that probe over there, hovering above that building?”
She noticed a single probe, partially hidden behind the peak of a metal roof.
“I see it. But it’s all by itself. Don’t probes usually stick together?”
“Unless they’re being controlled by someone.”
“No way!” Oriannon wanted to run out into the open and flag down Brinnin’s probe. Instead she held back in the shadows while Margus explained.
“You walk down that corridor a couple hundred meters. Don’t look up, and don’t act like you notice anything. Brinnin will steer down in front of you, and from there you can follow her to a section called Zed 65. You’re headed in the right direction.”
As if on cue, two more probes reappeared at the tent flap. Had he timed it that way? Immediately Margus slipped his visor back into place, resuming his role as a security.
“Leek!” His shoulder comm sputtered once more with an impatient voice. “Are you coming?”
“On my way.”
Now the security pointed at Siric with a warning.
“Everyone in this tent stays right here until tonight.” His glance shifted to Oriannon’s direction. “That means everybody.”
Without another word, he pulled a pale-looking Adom outside, leaving them alone once more. Moya began to sob.
“It’s okay.” Her mother comforted her. “He’s going to be okay.”
Oriannon wasn’t sure he would be, and she wasn’t sure Moya’s mother really believed it either. But everyone held their breath a little longer, until one of them finally checked outside.
“All clear,” he announced, pulling his head back in. “For now.”
That was all Oriannon needed to hear as she headed for the exit.
“Oriannon, wait.” Siric called after her. “If that was your friend — ”
Oriannon turned once more to look back at the group.
“I’m sorry for what happened,” she told them. “But I have to find Wist.”
And for the second time, she would try to leave the Owling tent. She slipped outside and headed for the far eastern corner of the camp as angry drops of rain splashed the worn mud and soaked through her hood.
She would find Wist, with or without the help of the security named Margus Leek.
26
Ow!”Hours later Oriannon fell to her knees as the pain shot through her ankle and up her leg. How would that not look conspicuous to the probes on patrol above their heads? She tugged at the glassteel ring around her ankle, wishing that she could tug it off as easily as she had taken it off the Owling woman. Problem was, her ankle was much bigger than the Owling’s. And this time the anklet didn’t budge, since it had locked itself on more tightly than ever. As Moya’s mother had warned her, it now seemed to be responding to some distant, continuous signal.
Could Margus have helped her with it?
An older Owling man sitting up against a nearby tent eyed her suspiciously in the growing shadows, and she smiled at him through her pain. Trying to ignore the steady drizzle, she wiped a wet strand of hair out of her face.
“These things don’t ever come in the right size,” she said, “do they?”
He didn’t answer, just pulled at a ragged beard and stared.
Another electrified jolt of the anklet made her gasp for breath. The searchers, whoever they were, were not giving up. This could not be good.
“Please, Jesmet.” Now she wasn’t sure she could put any weight on the foot, and it throbbed with pain even as her entire leg turned numb. She paused a moment to think through her options.
First, the securities were obviously still trying to locate her anklet’s wearer.
And second, since they hadn’t found it yet, they had to know someone with this particular anklet was out walking where she wasn’t supposed to be. Right?
She didn’t want to think about Margus or what his role could be in all this chaos.
A pair of probes flew by, barely clearing the tops of the nearest tents, making Oriannon wonder why they didn’t find her more easily. Maybe it wasn’t that simple. Trying to ignore the pain, Oriannon rose on her good foot and hobbled next to a couple of mothers, each with a young child in tow. She had to blend in, and she had to find what she came for. She wasn’t sure she could do both.
“I’m looking for a girl named Wist,” Oriannon told them, trying not to wince as she came closer. “She’s from Lior. Maybe in the far eastern corner of the camp. Do you know where that is?”
The nearest Owling woman looked at Oriannon with alarm, then up at where the probes had just slipped by. She shook her head.
“I’m sorry. We’re not being from Lior, and we don’t know this camp well. But — you are all right?”
Oriannon swallowed hard, biting the side of her mouth to keep from crying.
“I’ll be better when I find her. Thanks anyway.”
She hobbled on as the anklet continued to vibrate — sometimes tightening, other times just sending jolts of pain. Was there a bright side?
They still don’t know who I am, she thought, or where I am.
Except for Margus. She clung to that small consolation as the skies opened up in a way she had not experienced often in Corista. The planet’s shift had brought weather changes as well; not just darkened nights, but downpours. The force field seemed to have no effect at stopping the incoming rain. Minutes later she lifted her face as muddy rivulets washed down in the cleared spaces between tents, carrying socks and a boot, scraps of wood, the wrapper from a meal ration. At the base of a steep hill, she slipped and fell into one of the torrents, grabbing on to the side of a tent for balance while muddy water mixed with camp garbage washed over her.
Gross! The smell made her gag, but she fought off the reflex the same way she tried to dismiss the throbbing pain in her ankle.
Get up! Keep walking! Wist has to be here somewhere.
Every few meters floodlights created pools of swirling light in the growing darkness, while the Owlings around her scurried for cover and sloshed through the deepening mud and mess. She stopped as many as she could, asking them the same questions about Wist and how to find her. And always she got the same answers.
“Sorry!” Or, “Wish we could be helping you, but no.”
No one had any ideas. From where she stood she couldn’t even see the other end of the camp, and the little markers she could read had names like Beta 12 and Gamma 14. Still the tents stretched on and on across muddy hillsides and flooding low spots. Oriannon began to shake in desperation.
“Why did I even come here?” she asked herself. “Why didn’t I wait for Margus?” But she knew the reasons. She wondered if she might meet the same end as Terit.
“Margus!” she finally cried out, when she knew she couldn’t walk many more steps, but of course Margus did not answer. She took hold of the cloak of a passing man and asked the question once more. “Please! Do you know of a girl named Wist? She’s from — ”
“I’m very sorry.” He shook himself free and headed for cover. By now the rain had soaked all the way through her cloak, adding a heavy weight she could no longer bear. Soaked to the skin, she had to get out of this cold rain somehow, or go back the way she came. Only . . .
Where did I come from? She thought she had passed through this section of tents before, but really couldn’t be sure as her mind started to grow as numb as her feet. She stumbled over a root partially hidden in the mud and wondered if she had been walking in circles. By this time all those dull green dome tents looked quite the same. Unable to see where she was walking, she sank into mud up to her ankles.
“Please.” Every step now had turned into a prayer, a plea to the Maker for help. A nearby awning collapsed under the weight of water, unloading on her head.
“I can’t do this!” she finally cried, hoping someone friendly would hear. But the mud tugged at her as if with hunger, tearing at all the self-confidence she had brought to the camp. Maybe she had carried a little too much pride in her fancy name, tucked behind all the nicer thoughts that said, “I can do it myself!”
And right now, the mud told her she could not. What had she told Brinnin back in school? Brinnin back in school?
Don’t you worry; I can handle it.
But that was then, before she had stepped into this dark, muddy nightmare, where at least half the Owlings were hiding in their tents, and the other half’s minds had been numbed into blind, fear-filled submission. She could handle this? Though she tugged with all her strength, she could barely move one foot in front of the other. Finally she stopped and lifted her head once again, this time in pure defeat.
“I’m sorry, Jesmet.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the cold rain. “If you’re trying to get my attention, well, here I am. I can’t do it. But you knew that from the start, didn’t you?”
The rain stung her cheeks, making her feel as if she too might wash down one of the muddy rivers. Had she really thought she would find her friends this way? She looked up at the dark blue dome, wondering why the force field could keep so many Owlings trapped inside, but let through something as small as a raindrop. It made no sense, but then nothing made sense right now.
Still she tumbled on, fully expecting that she would trip once more or fall headlong into a sea of mud. If that happened, surely no one would ever know — unless a probe came along and finally identified her cold blue ankle sticking out of the debris.
Don’t think such things! She chided herself, but she could tell her mind was going through serious stages of shutdown. She had to find help, or shelter, or both! Again, her anklet vibrated and clamped down hard enough to drive her to her knees, even in the mud. This time she was beyond tears, and she could only manage a jerking sob as she looked for a place to collapse.
A small light at the front door of a metal-sided ser vice shed seemed close enough, and she didn’t care if it brought her face-to-face with a security. As the rain poured down harder than ever, she crawled the last few meters and pulled herself to shelter beneath the steps and then into the pitch-dark crawlspace between the ground and the shed’s raised floor. She bumped her head on unseen pipes, wondering if the shuffling sound behind her might be some disgusting rodent with sharp teeth and red eyes.
She turned around and clapped her hands into the darkness, which seemed awfully silly but was the best she could do. No matter what kind of welcome awaited her under this little building, she was not giving up her space. She was finally out of the driving rain and the worst of the mud, and she could even hide behind foundation supports. Maybe it would turn out to be a good place to spend the night.
The shuffling noise grew louder, but this time she decided not to fight back. So what if a rat nibbled her toes? She watched a security ride by in a small lev-sled, but he didn’t slow down. Maybe the rain would slack off in the morning, and maybe she would find her way back into the camp crowds. Maybe she would find Wist in the morning. Somehow. She had to believe such a thing could happen. Beyond that she could think of no other choices.
She closed her eyes, fought away the pain in her leg, and wished for sleep that refused to come. She thought she heard distant singing again, and wondered if it might be Siric and his people. Perhaps it was only the rumbling of her empty stomach, now aching after so long a time without a meal. Or maybe it was the Stone!
For a moment she thought she heard someone calling her name, and she imagined Jesmet walking through the streets of this camp, searching for her. That of course would have been a hallucination, quickly dismissed with a shake of her head even as she huddled closer to one of the shed’s foundation pilings.
Keep your head straight. Don’t let your mind play tricks on you.
Not even nice, pleasant tricks. On the other hand, maybe the Owlings actually would be praying for her, the way Moya’s mother had said they would. That, she thought, would be nice, and she could accept such a comfort. So she allowed herself to imagine just a little, tried to imagine what she would do in the morning, and how she would get out of this mess. She kept her hand near the Stone. The music might not keep her warm or wipe the mud from her face, but it would warm her inside and remind her why she had smuggled herself into this nightmare in the first place.
We can get out of this, she told herself, hoping it was true.
27
At first Oriannon had no idea where she was or how long she might have been asleep. She especially had no idea why someone was calling her name or why her back felt as if it had been cemented into one position.
“Would you wake up, Ori?”
I’m dreaming, she decided. I’m in some kind of cave, and Margus is yelling at me.
But when she tried to straighten out, the solid bump to her forehead felt very un-dreamlike.
“Ouch!” She fell back down, rubbing the point of contact. Then she remembered the night before, the shock of seeing Margus again, her nightmare slog through the mud, and the fruitless search for Wist. She heard heavy footsteps over her head and remembered where she had found shelter for the night. For a moment she slouched a little closer to the ground.
“Hey!” It sounded like Margus again. “Over on this side!”
She followed his voice toward dull blue light and tried to focus, but still wasn’t sure how to react when a black-suited security reached under the building and grabbed her by the arms. She would have screamed, but couldn’t imagine who would come to help her. Besides that, no one could see them in the ser vice alley behind the shed.
“You are the most stubborn person I have ever known, Oriannon Hightower!”
This time the security pulled her out behind the building and stood her up straight. She had no choice but to stand there and look Margus straight in the visor. She reached up and pushed it clear, just to be sure the eyes belonged to him. He let her.
“How did you find me?” she whispered, shivering in her damp clothes.
“Well, I found a little Owling girl wandering around, calling your name.”
“Moya?”
“She didn’t say. All she would tell me was she’d tried to follow you for a while, then lost you when it started raining. She was pretty upset. So I took up where she left off, looked for infrared, and finally found you under the building.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“I don’t know. But look, there’s no time for that now. In a few minutes they’re going to be wondering what happened to me.”
“What did happen to you, Margus? And what happened to your parents? Do they know?”
He shook his head and wiped the tears from his face.
“They’re both dead, Ori.”
“What? Margus, no!” She couldn’t believe it. “How?”
He turned away from her, arms crossed in obvious pain.
“Everything happened so fast when Sola came to my house that night.”
“That night — when we were waiting in the Glades.”
“Yeah. She wanted to know about the probe we stole. I had this great idea and told her I would help her, if she wouldn’t hurt my dad.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
“No — it’s not what you think. I wasn’t ever going to really help Sola. Are you kidding? I just thought I could get inside here that way, and we could help the Owlings.”
“So she made you a security? Just like that?”
“No. Well, sort of.” He paced to the corner of the building, peeked out, and paced back. “I’m actually just as much a prisoner as all the other Owlings. I can’t leave the camp.”
“Oh. But then what about your dad — your parents?”
“She promised they would be treated okay. But she lied, Oriannon. She always lies.”
“But . . . killed? That’s — I mean, I didn’t know she would . . .”
He nodded. “Sola told me it was a terrible accident, that they tried to escape or something. I don’t believe it.”
“Oh, wow. I am so sorry, Margus.” The words sounded trite, but she could think of nothing else. “I’m sorry too — for running off from the tent last night.”
“Doesn’t matter. I probably would have done the same thing.
But there’s something else I have to tell you, Ori.”
She looked at him more closely. He was sweating inside the black helmet.
“They put an implant inside my temple. I didn’t want them to, but they made me take it. Just like they made all the elders take it, and so many other people. And they can turn it up any time they want.”
Now she understood the pained look on his face.
“Same as my father,” she told him.
“Yeah, I think so. Same as all the Owlings are going to get, but you knew that. Only with theirs they keep it turned up most all the time, and with mine they just threaten me with it.”
“Have they done it yet?”
“Just once, to prove it to me.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t want to tell you what it’s like. Except I have never been so scared in my life. It’s — ”
“Don’t,” she put up her hand. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ve seen it.”
“Yeah, but until you feel it, you have no idea how much it grabs you. Like, the fear, it’s everything. Huge. And you know what else? It makes me want to get these people out of here, more than ever.”
“Okay then.” She nodded. “But . . . you don’t think we can help all of them escape? Even the ones who are already processed?”
“Maybe we can’t do anything about them. But if we can help Wist escape, maybe we can help the others escape before they’re processed too. That’s something.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Problem is, I can’t even find her.”
For the first time he showed her a tiny hint of a smile as he edged over to the corner of the building once more.
“If you hadn’t run off, I might have been able to show you last night. Now Brinnin’s going to have to show you the way.”
“Wait a minute.” Oriannon paused. “Did you say Brinnin?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” He glanced around the corner and pointed with his chin. “See that probe over there, hovering above that building?”
She noticed a single probe, partially hidden behind the peak of a metal roof.
“I see it. But it’s all by itself. Don’t probes usually stick together?”
“Unless they’re being controlled by someone.”
“No way!” Oriannon wanted to run out into the open and flag down Brinnin’s probe. Instead she held back in the shadows while Margus explained.
“You walk down that corridor a couple hundred meters. Don’t look up, and don’t act like you notice anything. Brinnin will steer down in front of you, and from there you can follow her to a section called Zed 65. You’re headed in the right direction.”
