CHAPTER THREE

JAHLE

It was too much.

She was so fiercely adorable that he wanted to reach out and pet her head like a proud teacher. The rock had landed right where his brother just struck him. It was a weak blow, but she hit where it counted, and in a fight, that alone mattered.

He tried to hold back his amusement as she waved around the sonar evaluator. She believes it is a weapon.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to laugh. The look of desperation in her eye gave him pause. Even though she did not know the object in her hands was harmless, she was fully prepared to shoot him. She would kill to achieve her goals. He thought of Ketug, who had been willing to die in order to seek help for the Water People.

When did I last feel such conviction?

When she ordered him to free her, he had stopped being amused. Suddenly he was faced with a serious dilemma. He could free the human. Doing so would be the correct choice. The right choice. The honorable one, even for an honor guard who lacked the fundamental strength of character to fulfill his role.

It would also lead to her death, either by Dogan’s hand or by creatures in the wild. She was not of this world. The borebugs would feast upon her corpse. Geran had long since ceased to be a livable environment. Chained to the wall was the safest place for one as tender as the human.

She deserves a chance at freedom.

She will die.

Not if someone helps her.

With a sigh, Jahle made his choice. When he flicked open her lock with the magnetic key, she scurried back. She couldn’t hide the relief in her eyes at being rid of the shackles.

Now to convince her to take me along.

“What of me?”

“You? You’re going to help me off this planet.”

Or, he could let her figure it out herself.

He lumbered to his feet. “If I refuse?”

“Sorry, but I can’t leave you alive to sound the alarm.”

He had not had this much fun in years. Bowing his head, he hoped she would take it as a sign of submission.

“Where are the ships?” she said.

Kreebo base had a flight pad directly above the underground base. A ship waited to evacuate the remaining Ennoi Geran when the planet-wide disasters finally became too much for Kreebo to endure. Taking her there would be a matter of walking for ten minutes. Twenty minutes if they had to sneak around personnel. With their numbers low, nobody bothered to guard the ship. Not even the Water People were desperate enough to cross Dogan.

The Water People.

Dogan’s words came back to Jahle – Only way you can leave this base is if our enemies march you out at gunpoint.

He stared at the human. His brain churned.

Do I dare…

“Where are the ships?” she repeated, but this time, she spoke each word slowly, as if speaking to a deaf elder.

Where did Ketug say they were camped?

“At… Kastikan Ridge,” he replied. “Several days distance.”

“What! Impossible.” She gestured around the cavern. “I remember it was much closer.”

“That is Dogan’s personal one,” he said, his voice harsh. He didn’t like lying. It irritated him. “It will be well-guarded. You won’t get far.” When she bit her lip, he pushed on. “There is a second one, further away.”

Technically not a lie. There is a second spaceport.

“All right,” she said. “But no funny business, remember? Let’s get going.”

He cocked his head at her. “We need supplies.”

She groaned under her breath. “Fine. You go first, I’ll follow.”

As they crept their way up to the kitchen, Jahle heard the bell signaling the end of the eating hour. Over the years, the sonorous peal of a bell had degraded into a tinny jangle. He remembered his father’s pride when he told Jahle that the sound was the same as the bells on Cadam. See, son, they are no better than us.

Now they are, Jahle thought, as the bell sounded again.

The kitchen was deserted. Their footsteps echoed as they walked across the concrete floor. Long tables with benches lined the walls, a remnant of more prosperous times, when the Geran army was a mighty one. The shelves on the far wall were still lined with heavy pots, large ladles and dented metal plates and bowls. Only the plates saw use any more as they survived on dried goods.

Jahle led them to the pantry, but when he saw the door, he cursed. A heavy padlock locked the bolt in place. He grabbed the handle and tugged, but it would not budge. “Locked tight.”

The human shuffled her feet. “Well, we don’t need supplies.”

“You humans can march for days without food or water?” he said, deadpan. “How remarkable.”

Her face grew red. “On second thought, supplies would be sensible. Where is the key?”

With Akka, who would die before giving us the key.

“Not within reach,” he said.

“Okay, we jimmy the lock.” She eyed the door and raised the sonar evaluator. “I could blast it open…”

“Too loud. We could…”

“Shut up.” She scowled at him. “I’m giving the orders around here.”

He stepped back, palms up, and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. Let her stew in her frustration.

To his surprise, she didn’t. She studied the kitchen, her eyes narrow. “What we need…” she muttered.

She walked away from him, and he followed. He found her scanning the shelves of cooking equipment.

“There,” she said, pointing to a ladle. “Get me that one. And move slowly.”

Curious, he reached out and unhooked the ladle.

She hefted it, feeling its weight. “It’ll do.”

“You are making soup?”

She rolled her eyes and jerked the sonar evaluator at him, gesturing him back toward the pantry. “Ha ha. Everyone’s a comedian. Move.”

In front of the pantry door, she slid ladle’s handle into the shank of the lock, and leaned against it.

Ah, a lever. Smart.

He watched her struggle before she stepped back with a grunt. He straightened, expecting her to ask for his assistance, but she tackled the door with renewed determination. She snarled in frustration when the lever would not budge.

He gently nudged her aside and seized the ladle. He twisted the handle, putting pressure on the shank until it popped off the bolt. The lock fell, and he hooked his foot upward, catching it before it clattered to the ground. With a flick of his ankle, he sent the lock in an arc which landed it neatly in his hand.

“Fancy footwork.” She didn’t seem impressed by his actions. Her lip curled. “Let’s move.”

Inside the pantry, Jahle grabbed a pair of backpacks and then hesitated. The shelves were mostly bare. Anything he took would result in the alarm being sounded when Akka discovered the missing food. A broken lock might be blamed on a greedy guard, but missing supplies would let Dogan know he planned a long journey.

Plus, whatever I take, I will be taking from my own people’s bellies.

The guards were loyal to Dogan, but that did not mean they should starve. He picked the emergency ration bars. High in nutrition and low in taste, they were a last resort meal. The Water People needed a last resort.

He pushed the first box of bars aside and filled the bags with as many as they could hold, removing the bars from their packaging. When he was done, he slid the boxes back into place, hiding his theft.

Turning around, he caught the human staring at him. “You… never mind. What do we need next?”

Medicine.

“There is more food in another room.”

The medical room was abandoned. They’d lost their doctor several years ago. Before that doctor, Kreebo had his oldest sister. Roana had served as head medical officer. She had hoped Jahle would follow in her footsteps, and he spent countless hours playing under Roana’s desk while she handled patients.

He paused for a moment in the doorway, taking in the tattered charts on the wall, the debris covered examination table, and Roana’s chair. He closed his eyes as the depth of his loss washed over him.

Roana. Trinni. Mikkil. Mother. Father.

The living needed him more than the dead. He drew his attention back to the present as he stepped over a fallen lamp. The human followed, her shoes crunching over the gravel. She stared at the anatomy chart beside the door.

The human peered around the room. “What is this place?”

Jahle racked his brain. Did Roana ever tell me about dolor? What cures dolor?

He remembered his own childhood bout with dolor. He woke to find himself past the worst of the illness, but also that day he woke to discover himself an orphan, with only his older brother for company. He pictured the vials sitting on his bedside as Dogan broke the news…

Ah, yes!

He opened the doors of the medicine cabinet. A thick coating of dust layered every vial, and Jahle winced. Roana would hate this.

“That doesn’t look like food,” the human said, peering over his shoulder.

“Spices,” he replied. His fingers brushed aside the dust on labels until he found the right ones. He tucked the vials into a pouch on his hip, counting as he went. Only twelve.

Four children, plus Ketug and any other adults afflicted. Each patient gets three vials…

No matter how he worked the math, they were short.

It would have to do. His guilt over the theft paled in comparison to his guilt at knowing he could not save them all.

“Sp- We don’t need spices!” She stomped her foot. “Get me out of here, right now!”

“Hush, you are being loud. Come.”

The farther away from the heart of Kreebo, the fewer the lights. Soon, they were creeping along corridors with sconces few and far between. A fine layer of dust muted their illumination, and the human began to breathe heavily. Not from exertion, Jahle surmised, since her pace never varied, but from fear.

On Geran, her fear will keep her alive.

They slowed slightly as the corridor began to rise upwards, first gently, then at a sharper angle. They made it to the exterior door without encountering a single soul. It was to be expected. The Ennoi tended to find activities that would keep them out of Dogan’s way, especially when he threw one of his tantrums. Besides, nobody would attack Kreebo. Nobody left cared enough to make the effort.

“Airlock,” Jahle said, gesturing to the huge metal doors ahead. “Leads outside.”

Large crates lined the walls of the tunnel, and Jahle slung off his backpacks, depositing them on the floor. He opened the nearest crate and peered inside.

“What are you doing?” the human said. “Get away from there!”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. She had the sonar evaluator pointed at him again.

“The lock leads outside,” he said. Is she mentally deficient?

She sighed. “You said that already.”

He pondered for a moment. “Inside, the climate is ideal. Outside, it is not.” He turned his attention back to the crate. “We must prepare.”

She watched him in silence as he pulled out equipment and bundles of clothing. In a second crate, he found two sets of shoulder lamps.

“Here, put these on,” he said. He tossed the lamps to her and attached the straps to himself. When properly adjusted, he had a lamp on either shoulder.

She watched him, then began to fumble with the lamps, keeping one hand on the evaluator at all times.

“I can help you…”

“I can do it myself,” she snapped. Eventually, she pulled on the harness, though the straps were loose and one lamp dangled. “Now what?”

“Next, the protective gear.” He pulled a cape on, then donned the hood and gloves. The thick fabric was stiff from disuse. The canvas needed oil. Still, they were necessary. He propped the goggles on his forehead.

The clothing was easier for her to handle, especially since he found a child-sized set. She pulled on the glove, and then frowned when the thick fabric hindered the movement in her fingers. She pulled them off and tossed them to the floor.

Jahle bent and returned them to her. “You will need these.”

“I am just fine without them,” she said.

He stared at her determined face. Her eyes were as brown as the dirt in the farm beds. They made him think of hot summer days spent wandering the vegetable fields behind his youngest sister Trinni. The fields had burned during the bombing.

“Suit yourself.” He turned away, busying himself with the food packs.

The crates only provided one tether, and it was made of decaying fibers. He cursed internally. Two or more would have made a safer trip. It will have to do. He threw the woven rope over his shoulder, aiming to deal with the tether shortage when the time came. With the packs returned to his back, he strode to the door, and took a deep breath.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Behind him, the human shifted. The heavy cape rustled as it rubbed against itself. “For what?”

“To go outside.”

“Wh-what’s wrong with outside?”

He blinked at her, debating how much she needed to know. “We live in the tunnels because the environment outside is hostile.”

“Hostile how?”

“It is no longer livable.” At the stricken look on her face, he raised his hand. “We will not be outside long. We are taking a route leading to another set of tunnels.”

The tunnels would bring them closer to the Kastikan Ridge, and to the Water People. His hand tightened around the strap of the medicine pouch. Twelve vials. He might not be able to save them all, but if he tried, he might be able to save most of them.

Or I can die trying.

“So, this way is dangerous, but faster? A shortcut?”

“Yes.”

She scowled at him. The hood hid her bright hair, and he felt an urge to rip it from her head to reveal its color once more. Without the brilliance, her face seemed sharper, more desperate. Her fear blazed with a clarity that made him want to change his mind. If he took her back now, he could claim she escaped on her own. Dogan might even reward him for her return.

I must hold on to the scraps of honor I have left.

“Yes, it is dangerous, but you will not walk it alone,” he said. He stared into her strange brown eyes. “I will not step outside unless you make me. Do you understand?”

She raised the evaluator. “Get going, guy.”

With a curt nod, and a thundering heart, Jahle slapped the open button on the airlock.

By the Moon’s Glow, I will save as many of the Water People as I can.