Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
The regenerator went silent with a flick of her thumb. Wynn gulped a breath, trying to settle her racing heart. She didn’t understand what just happened, why he’d cut her down instead of continuing his interrogation, but she wouldn’t tempt fate by asking.
With the hard surface of the deck pressing into her kneecaps, she stared where Sawyer had disappeared. She couldn’t comprehend his questions. Except for the one about why Iax had been at her outpost, they’d made little sense. Who were Cazin and Archibald?
She shifted her weight off her knees, and the plastic beneath her rustled. Drips of her blood smeared in an arc in front of her. Her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t leave it here. Not after what Iax had shown her.
Keeping the regenerator tight in her hand, she moved off the plastic and pulled it toward her, bundling her blood inside with crinkling fistfuls. She wadded it into the smallest ball possible, then searched for a reclamation unit. Every deck had one.
There. At the back. Wynn stood on shaky legs. After hanging so long, each step took an effort, her bare feet protesting at the cold deck. She stopped in front of the reclamation unit and flexed her left hand. He’d taken her PALM. She also didn’t know where her UV-suit went.
Manually opening the compartment with a press of her hand, she stuffed the plastic inside with sudden urgency, like if she didn’t get it in fast enough someone would stop her.
A scrape of her fingers against her throat, and the node followed.
The small door closed, and she pressed the destroy and jettison control.
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction when the light went green, signaling completion.
Wynn rotated her throbbing wrists. She might have healed the damage to the outside of her skin, but she felt bruised beneath.
Swallowing, she scanned the cargo hold. Behind the crates, a slender staircase led to the next level above, like the one where Sawyer had disappeared. Wynn cast one last glance at where she’d hung, then headed up, her hand tight on the smooth railing.
She stepped into a sitting room that stretched long one way and turned into a kitchen in the other. Plush carpet squished beneath her feet. By the stars, the ruling class lived well. If this was how Administrator Jannex traveled, what was his home like?
He might live in luxury, but she also knew he wasn’t immune to tragedy. Months before Foster’s death, a different news story had gripped the system by the throat. A Tellusian attack on a medical station resulted in the disappearance of a ruling class member—Administrator Jannex’s only daughter.
Wynn hoped the woman was dead, a mercy compared to the hundred scenarios she could imagine for women taken captive by Tellusians. Wynn’s parents had received a gift by dying during the attack on their transport instead of being forced into servitude.
Swallowing around the sudden lump in her throat, she walked through the sitting room to the kitchen. The carpet changed to shiny black decking, and her feet protested again.
The door to the next room opened as she neared. She stepped into a corridor lined with doors. Sleeping quarters, if she had to guess. Wynn passed them by to the next set of double doors. These opened up into a stateroom with an oversized bed at its center. The luxury of it all hit her again.
Everything felt wrong on this ship. The air tasted wrong. The color of the deck was wrong. The hum of the vessel sounded wrong.
But she needed something to wear, and drying blood covered her arms.
The thought spurred her forward. She opened the first wall compartment, then the next, looking for clothing. She found feminine garb in the third one, most of the clothes too lavish for someone like her, but there were some more casual outfits too.
Get clean first. She didn’t want her blood to transfer onto anything.
Wynn moved to the slender door on the right, and it opened into a washroom with the biggest steam shower she had ever seen. It probably could have fit ten people.
She stripped down to nothing, then stared at the bundle of clothing in her hands.
It had blood on it too, but there’d been a reclamation unit in the stateroom.
She hurried back out and shoved the bundle inside, hitting the destroy and jettison button again.
All the while she glanced over her shoulder, thinking Sawyer would walk in on her naked.
He didn’t, and the light turned green.
Dashing back into the washroom, she indulged in a quick steam, scrubbing the blood from her body until her skin turned rosy, then made sure every last drop of red washed down the drain.
Clean and dry, she approached the clothing compartment again. Whoever these belonged to, probably the administrator’s wife, they were made for someone taller than her. The underwear would fit, though.
She dressed quickly, half expecting Sawyer to come find her, to threaten her again or tell her to stop what she was doing, but he didn’t.
She rolled up the pant legs and sleeves of the basic beige outfit, exercise wear.
Socks and shoes were next, but the black flats were too big, and she ended up just putting on the socks.
Staring at the door to the kitchen, Wynn took a deep breath to settle herself. It didn’t work. Should she stay here? Just wait until something else happened that was beyond her control?
She shook her head. She wouldn’t hide from what happened next. Sawyer said he was taking her to General Cazin, and she needed to figure out why, even if he didn’t know either. And from what he’d asked her, she could only assume he didn’t.
Her empty hands clenched and unclenched as she walked through the exit and paused in the kitchen. Even though she’d dressed, she felt naked and vulnerable after what he’d done to her in the cargo hold.
Adrenaline pumping hard, she crossed to the first cupboard and opened it, finding bowls. She opened the drawer underneath it and found cutlery. She moved to the next drawer and found knives.
Snatching up the biggest one, she shut it, then continued her route to the front of the ship. The handle felt heavy in her hand as she approached the cockpit door. It opened at her approach, revealing a curved area with four seats, everything designed with luxury in mind.
Sawyer sat in the pilot’s seat, his back to her, and his helmet disengaged. Wynn remained in the doorway, waiting for him to say something, to tell her to fuck off or worse. When he didn’t, she gripped the knife tighter, and stepped inside.
The urge to slam the knife into his skull overwhelmed her for a split second, chased away by common sense. She’d seen him in action, knew she wouldn’t get away with it despite his back being turned, and retaliation might be worse than what he’d already done.
With the knife held firmly in front of her, she walked forward and slid into the co-pilot’s seat, keeping her eyes on him the entire time.
“Feeling better?” he asked without looking at her.
“Fuck you,” she spat, her fingers flexing around the knife.
He scoffed in response, then glanced at what she held. “The first thing you need to learn about weapons is that anything you bring to a fight can be used against you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. Was that a threat or a warning? When he faced forward again, she decided it didn’t matter as long as she got to keep the knife.
The stars stretched before them on the viewer, endless and vast.
A ration tube obscured her view and made her jump. She turned her head.
“Eat it,” he ordered, his hand wrapped around the thin cylinder.
“Not hungry,” she lied, because she couldn’t think of food right now, even a ration.
He shoved it closer to her face. “Eat it, or I’ll shove it down your throat.” His dark eyes narrowed with promise.
“I hate you.” Wynn swiped it out of his hand just to get it away from her eyeballs.
“That’s fine. Wasn’t asking to be besties.” He faced forward again.
The urge to disobey, to just throw the thing over her shoulder, taunted her. She also didn’t doubt he would force-feed it to her, but why did he even care?
Refocusing on the static view in front of her, she transferred the knife to her left hand and ripped off the top of the tube to suck down the gooey paste. The acid in her throat and the rumbling of her stomach settled almost immediately. Know it all. Not that she would admit it aloud.
She threw the empty tube at his head. “There. Happy?”
A small streak of green goo marked his temple where the tube connected. Wynn sucked in a sharp breath knowing she’d gone too far and braced herself.
He tilted his head slowly, until his narrowed gaze captured hers in a death grip. She tensed.
He lifted his hand.
She flinched, the knife lifting in preparation.
He paused, then continued the movement until he wiped the smear from his temple.
“Ecstatic,” he murmured, then extended his hand toward her until he wiped the goo on the shoulder of her clean shirt.
When he faced forward again, she let out her breath so slowly it whistled.
He turned his chin slightly, but didn’t comment.
The longer she sat there, and nothing happened, the dumber she felt holding the knife. Her hand started to sweat, then cramp. Huffing out a breath, she gave up, and set it on the terminal in front of her, then pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her shins.
“How long is this trip?” she finally asked.
He was silent for so long she didn’t think he would answer.
“Not long now.”
Another silence descended. She broke it after a handful of minutes. “Why do they want me?”
Even though she was looking straight ahead, she saw him glance at her from the corner of her eye.
“I don’t know.”
She squeezed her shins tighter and rested her chin on her knees. A surging panic rose inside her, one she couldn’t stop with breathing alone. The blade of the knife glinted at her, tempting her to grab it and give herself some clarity with one nick of her flesh.
Not an option. As alluring as it had become during this psycho’s torture session, she wouldn’t allow herself to succumb to that need again. She’d promised herself.
Shutting her eyes, she squeezed them tight to remove the sight. But her breaths didn’t slow as she gasped filtered air. Hell, she was going to pass out.
Thwack. She jumped as something cool hit the back of her neck. Her eyes popped open, and she turned her head to find Sawyer staring at her, his brow furrowed as he held something above the collar of her shirt.
“What are you doing?” she croaked, and lifted a hand to touch what he held against her. A ration, but a larger, square one.
“Lowering your temperature,” he said, then dropped his hand to face forward. “It helps sometimes.”
The question of how he would know that was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it. However he knew, it worked. The panic faded as she concentrated on this new point of contact.
She kept it there while staring out the main viewer and that endless span of stars. Then, something on the screen changed, and she blinked. A glint reflected up ahead.
The glint enlarged when Sawyer touched a control on the terminal, changing into a full-fledged Guardian.
She let go of the ration at her neck, and it dropped to the deck with a soft splat. “What were your orders?” she whispered, her panic growing again.
He hesitated, then said, “To pick you up. To take you to Cazin on the Corvus. That’s it.” He pressed his PALM to the terminal when a message materialized at the bottom of the viewer.
The closer they drew, the more her heart beat in her throat and her head pounded.
The ship’s details became more defined: the gray exterior, the massive amounts of decks, the cannons dotting the hull.
Her stomach swirled with dread. She dropped her feet to the floor and gripped the edge of the terminal.
Sawyer circled them aft. The hangar doors were already open, the lights within welcoming them inside. Tiny dots on the left and right of the landing lights formed into defenders standing in rows. Another group at the rear of the hangar wore bio-suits, and two med beds hovered close by.
“Sawyer…?” she murmured, her chest seizing tight.
“The welcoming party,” he muttered, never taking his hands or eyes off the controls.
“What are they going to do to me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not good enough. Why are you bringing me here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not good enough!” she shouted, but it was too late. The ship settled on the landing pad.
The control she’d regained over her breathing left as rapidly as bio-waste in a reclamation unit. Wynn opened and closed her hands, trying to keep hold of her sanity.
What did they know?
Sawyer powered down the engine, and the ship fell silent while the screaming in her head rose in volume.
“Up,” he ordered when he stood.
She found her legs moving even though everything in her told her to get away.
“Let’s go.” He led her to a spiral staircase and made her go down first. She almost tumbled the entire way down from the shaking in her legs.
His hand gripping her upper arm, they passed the spot where he’d tortured her, and headed to the cargo hold’s doors. He lifted his hand to the controls, then hesitated.
“Get your hands on your head.”
She turned slightly and blinked the panicked haze from her vision. “What?”
“Get your hands on your fucking head,” he barked, then muttered, “Scientists and their questions.” He hit the control that opened the door and lowered the ramp. It whined loudly, echoing inside the cargo hold.
“And don’t make any sudden moves.” He interlaced his fingers behind his head.
Swallowing, she did the same, and watched as the ramp lowered to the deck. Defenders clogged the space around the ship, their weapons aimed at them. The ration she’d just eaten surged up her throat.
Sawyer stepped ahead, shielding her. Then the shouting started.
“Step out of the ship!”
“Walk slowly!”
“Drop your weapons!”
“On your knees!”
“Face down!”
Each confusing command layered the next. Wynn flinched as they echoed inside the hangar, each like a physical blow.
Movement blurred, then Sawyer was gone. A firm hand gripped the back of her neck and pushed. Something banged into the back of one knee.
With her hands on her head, she couldn’t catch her balance and fell forward with a shout.
Her cheek slammed into the deck. Stars dotted her vision. Through the haze, she saw Sawyer with his face pressed into the deck too, a hand behind his head and a knee in the middle of his back.
Someone wrenched her arms behind her. She whimpered.
Her eyes watered, blurring the sight of someone in a bio-suit reaching for Sawyer’s neck, a dermal syringe in their hand.
Something cold touched her throat.
Then all went black.