Chain of Secrets Page 3

  I wondered why I was there. What was the reason to have me drive around with Lief? Especially when he just ignored me. I wasn't doing anything. I wasn't getting any closer to my goal. I couldn't find anything to care with. I ignored Lief and watched the rain wriggle over the windshield.

  I didn't want to be on Tivor. I wanted to find Jasyn and fly as far away from my past as I could. I wanted to find somewhere to grieve, someplace I could be alone, someplace where I could cry if I felt like it and no one would try to cheer me up. I missed Tayvis. I didn't want to believe he was dead on Trythia but Lowell wouldn't lie to me about that. No matter how badly he wanted me on Tivor, he would never have lied about Tayvis dying.

  I leaned my head against the cold glass of the truck's window. I wondered if Jasyn had had her baby. I wondered if it was a boy or a girl. I wondered how Clark liked being a father. I wondered what it would be like if I were there. I hadn't had much experience with babies, despite the orphanage director's efforts. Women on Tivor existed to produce the next generation of Tivorans. I'd rebelled against all of it. I refused to behave the way I was expected to. And now I was back on Tivor, being pushed into the same mold. Only now I was much harder and tougher than I had been then. No one was going to make me fit back in on Tivor, not unless I chose to.

  The day grew gradually darker. The rain fell more heavily. Lief drove the truck to a garage. They opened the door and he parked in a line with a lot of other trucks. He shut down the engine and climbed out.

  I opened the door and followed him. He walked outside, into the rain. I hurried to catch up. It was raining too hard to try talking. I was soaked within moments. I shivered and tucked my hands into my armpits to try to keep my fingers warm. It didn't help. My feet were cold and wet in my boots. Water splashed around my feet as I hurried after Lief.

  We left the industrial district behind. The streetlights grew fewer and dimmer as we entered a residential section. Thin rectangles of apartments lined both sides of the street. I heard a baby crying somewhere.

  Lief led me around one of the buildings to an even more dilapidated apartment behind it. The ground in front was a sea of mud. We picked our way across on a series of old boards and scraps of plascrete. Lief opened the front lobby door and held it for me. The air inside smelled of old food and other less pleasant things.

  We went up a stained set of stairs at the back of the building. He unlocked a door on the third floor. He let me go in first.

  I was expecting a dirty, small apartment. It was dirty, stained and faded with peeling paint, but it was big. Someone had knocked out several walls to join at least four apartments. The handful of people inside stopped what they were doing and watched me. Lief came in behind me and shut the door.

  "Welcome to our humble home," he said to me. "I think that bed is currently unoccupied, at least by humans." He pointed at a worn mattress with stuffing leaking from the edges. "You may as well sleep. Nothing else is going to happen for a while."

  I was being dismissed. He walked away from me without looking back. I wondered if I should bother pushing it. I was tired and damp and cold. And I wasn't going to get to leave Tivor until I did what Lowell wanted. Trying to sleep on a filthy mattress wasn't going to get me closer to that goal. I followed Lief across the room, earning more glares.

  "You wanted my help, Lief?" I said. "Then tell me what you're planning. Tell me how I'm supposed to help. Or I'm going back where I came from."

  "We don't want your help," a woman said. Her face was pinched tight. Her dark hair was pulled back so severely that it stretched her eyebrows into a permanently surprised expression. "Go back to your world where you belong."

  "The Patrol sent her, Linney," Lief said.

  "What do they care for us?" she objected. "They want our world, to take it away from us. They don't want to help. They're as bad as Citizen Prime Potokos and his secret police."

  She was very close to the truth, but still so far from it. The Patrol wanted Tivor, but I doubted they'd be the ruthless dictators Linney thought they'd be. Anything would be an improvement over the current situation on Tivor.

  "The Patrol wants Tivor to stay in the Empire," I said. "They want Tivor to open trade."

  "They want to build a base here and push us out," Linney said.

  "The Patrol may want the base, but they won't push you out. They need your support and your help."

  "Empty promises. I've seen what happens when the Patrol wants something. They take it, with force if necessary."

  I shrugged. "That hasn't been my experience." I was walking a fine line between truth and outright lie. Hadn't Lowell threatened me with just such a choice?

  "What help can you offer?" It was a man, older, with gray hair and a lined face.

  "You tell me what you need and I'll see what I can do." It sounded like a promise without being one.

  "Guns, weapons, ships," the man said promptly.

  "In your hands? No. But the Patrol will support a rebellion against the current dictatorship."

  There was dead silence for about five breaths.

  "Go away," the man said. "We want to plan without you listening in. We'll consider your offer and let you know our answer."

  I stared him down long enough to let him know I wasn't about to let him order me around. I went back to the main sleeping area and picked the cleanest mattress. I lay down with my back to them and pretended I didn't care what they were planning. I didn't have to pretend, I really didn't care what they were going to do. I fell asleep while they were whispering.

  I woke to find myself alone. Almost. I had three guards who weren't obviously being guards. They sat at different tables writing on papers. Early morning sunlight filtered through the dirty windows at the far end of the room.

  I wandered through the apartment, looking through doors until I found the one I was looking for. The people at the tables ignored me.

  The bathroom was old, almost primitive. It had a toilet and a sink and barely running water. I tried not to think about hygiene while I used the facilities. I wasn't successful.

  They were still sitting at the tables, shuffling papers and whispering to each other. I walked across the long room and stood behind one of the men. They all stopped abruptly. They flipped over the top papers so I couldn't see what was written on the pages.

  "You are not welcome here," the man said over his shoulder.

  "I don't care if I'm welcome or not," I answered. "I was sent here to help. Are you going to give me any information so I can?"

  "How can we trust you?" the woman demanded.

  "How can I trust you?" I shot back.

  "We don't need your offworld interference," the other man said.

  "Then what? Are you going to keep me locked in here until the Patrol comes looking for me?" I doubted Lowell would come looking, but the threat sounded good.

  They froze, trying not to look guilty. I marched across the room to the door. The woman jumped up and ran after me. She tried to block me from opening the door. I had to look up at her, she was quite a bit taller. Almost everyone was taller than me.

  "Move," I said.

  "You can't. You know too much about us."

  "And who am I going to tell?"

  "You'll betray us to the police."

  "Get out of my way before I break something," I said, very quietly and very coldly.

  I saw the fear in her eyes but she stayed in front of the door.

  "I'm not going to betray you," I said. "But I'm also not going to sit in this room for days until you decide you need me. I have work to do."

  "Let her go, Dee," one of the men said. "She won't last long out there. Offworlders don't survive long on Tivor."

  Dee moved away from the door. I took my opportunity and left while I still could. I had no idea where I was going or how I was going to follow Lowell's orders. I was supposed to leave Tivor in flames. I'd done it before, but I wasn't trying to before. I didn't know if I could do it deliberately.

  I walked throug
h a partly cloudy day, letting my feet take me where they would. At least it wasn't raining, though the cold breeze left me shivering.

  I found myself walking down a familiar street. Weeds grew in the cracks of the pavement. Puddles scummed with oil dotted the road. I walked around a corner and stopped in front of a sagging gate.

  The compound in front of me was beaten dirt. Broken bottles and trash littered it now, fighting with the weeds for space. In my mind I saw bare dirt but full of girls instead of garbage. Ragged children in ragged gray clothing used to play with whatever toys they could make or scrounge.

  I reached out my hand and pushed the broken gate wider. I stepped inside the walls of the orphanage. This was the only home I really knew as a child. I saw the hidden corner where I used to sit, alone, and hope that no one would notice me. I knew how many bricks were in the wall of the tiny niche. I'd counted them over and over. Years of rain had washed away the blood that used to stain one corner. Three bullies had beaten me there. And left me to bleed on the bricks, too afraid to ask for help from the adults. I turned my back on the niche.

  I looked up and saw the sparrows circling overhead. For just a moment I was a child again. I spread my arms wide, wishing I could fly like the birds. The clouds overhead parted. Sunlight washed over me, pale and watery and not warming. I dropped my arms to my sides. I still wasn't free, like I'd dreamed I'd be.

  I picked my way past the trash to the door. It was weathered, warped, and as broken as the gate. I stepped over the stoop where I'd huddled more nights than I wanted to remember, locked out in the cold and forgotten.

  The rooms inside were bare. Paint peeled in long strips from the walls. I touched the banister on the stairs. I'd slid down once. Miss Hadley caught me at the bottom. I hadn't been able to sit for a week afterwards. Young women on Tivor weren't supposed to want to slide down banisters.

  I walked back, into the workroom where we were supposed to learn embroidery and sewing. Glass from a broken window littered the empty room. Rain had blown in and puddled on the floor, staining it dirty brown. I'd spent many days trapped here, listening to the director's assistant prattle in her breathy voice. If I closed my eyes, I could almost hear her.

  I went to the kitchen next. I wasn't sure why I was there. Maybe I was testing to see if my childhood hurts were gone. It was like prodding and picking at a scab. If it didn't hurt and bleed, it must be healed.

  The kitchen was torn apart. One sink sat in the middle of the floor, tilted at a crazy angle. The counters were broken, smashed and left in pieces across the floor. All of the windows were broken. I picked my way to the far corner, where the huge sink for washing pots sat. I'd spent hours here, scrubbing pots bigger than I was. It was considered punishment. I hadn't objected. It was warm and no one beat me. The cook felt sorry for me and sometimes slipped me extra food.

  My stomach growled at the thought. I hadn't eaten before I left the conspirators' hideout. Tivor had no businesses that served food. I would have to find one of the cavernous government stores and hope there was something there that didn't require a kitchen to make it edible.

  I leaned over the sink. It was a lot smaller than I remembered. The view from the window was the same. A single scrawny bush struggled to survive in the corner of the yard. Sparrows fought among its branches. This window had been spared, it was still in one piece. I leaned forward, like I used to, only now I didn't need a stool to reach. I traced the lucky sign I used to pretend was in the corner of the glass. I couldn't remember where I'd gotten it from, some story of a princess in disguise as a kitchen girl. I used to dream that it would bring me luck, that if I only believed strongly enough, I would be freed of the orphanage. I almost wanted that simple faith back.

  I didn't want to remember my childhood. That pain was finally healed, only an echo of it remained. I wanted to remember good things, happy things. There were few enough in my life. Many of those memories were of Tayvis, but those were now shaded by pain. Tayvis was gone and nothing I could do would bring him back.

  Glass crunched behind me. I whirled around. A man stood in the kitchen, watching me. He wore dark clothes, the same as everyone else, only his weren't threadbare and old. I deliberately stepped forward away from the sink, giving myself room to fight if I had to.

  "Odd place to be." He looked calm, as if we were discussing the weather. He waited for my reply.

  I stayed silent. Most people couldn't stand it. They'd start talking to fill the silence. They'd say all sorts of things they hadn't meant to say.

  The man didn't fall for it. He watched me for a moment before crossing the room to the broken bank of windows. His boots crunched over glass. He looked out at the clouds, hands in his pockets. He gave every appearance of being relaxed, but there was the faint air of expectation about him, a readiness that told me he'd anticipate any move I made.

  I stayed near the sink at the back of the room. The door behind me, if it wasn't locked, led into the yard. I shifted towards it.

  The man glanced over at me. "Why are you here?"

  "Why are you?" I asked back.

  He didn't answer. I took another step towards the back door.

  "I followed you." His expression hardened.

  My inner sense of danger screamed a warning. The man had to be police. I turned and bolted for the door. It stuck in the frame, warped too much to open. I turned back around. He was right behind me, blocking my escape. I tensed, ready to fight. He made no other move towards me. He only stood there, keeping me from running.

  "Who are you?" he asked.

  "And why am I here?"

  He frowned, his expression changing to one of puzzlement. "Your accent is very good. I could almost believe you belonged here."

  "I never belonged on Tivor," I said before I could stop myself. "I came in here because I was cold and the door was open. What was this building?"

  "It used to be an orphanage," he said after a long pause. "After the food riots, there were a lot of children abandoned on the streets. The government took them in and gave them a home." The smile he gave me had a cynical edge to it.

  "If that's what you want to call it."

  "It isn't much warmer in here than it is outside. Why did you really come here? Who are you meeting?"

  "Ghosts."

  My answer was not what he expected. The look in his eyes changed from suspicion to questioning.

  "Why are you here?"

  "I was following you," he said. "You've made me curious. Who are you?"

  "Are you the police?"

  He smiled, a wistful look. "Possibly. Are you a spy?"

  I shook my head. I wasn't a spy, I was a saboteur, but he didn't need to know that.

  "Then why are you here? Why did you slip in through the spaceport? How did you get into the city?"

  "I work at the port," I lied. "I'm new to the city."

  "Then why aren't you at work?" His tone was mild but I could tell he didn't believe me.

  "I got lost this morning."

  He shook his head. "No one gets lost in Milaga, not if they belong here."

  "Then I don't belong," I said.

  "No, you don't. Go back where you came from. If you can."

  "Is that a challenge?"

  "If you'd like it to be."

  He stepped closer, only a scant foot separated us now. I tensed, ready to fight.

  "Who sent you?" he asked quietly.

  "No one," I answered. "I came here on my own."

  "Why?" His eyes were hard now.

  "Ghosts," I said and heard the pain in my voice.

  He tilted his head to one side, puzzled now. I hadn't given him the answers he expected. He reached out with one hand, brushing it over my short hair.

  "You missed on that detail," he said, his hand tugging lightly on my hair. "The scarf doesn't quite hide how short it is. And your skin is too dark, too tanned. But everything else is very good. Especially the accent. Most agents miss that and get the other details right. Who are you really?"
<
br />   "Who do you think I am?"

  "I think you're not the threat my superiors think you are." He stepped away from me.

  "You're letting me leave?"

  "Where would you go? How would you hide? Tivor is not friendly to outsiders."

  "So I've been told."

  "I'll find you again," he said, both promise and threat. "It won't be difficult."

  It was going to be harder than he thought, I promised myself. I took the opportunity he gave me and quickly crossed the room. I paused near the door, not quite sure he was going to let me go. I glanced back.

  He was watching me, a slight smile playing across his mouth.

  "Why are you letting me walk away?" I couldn't resist asking.

  "Because you are more of a puzzle than I've had in a long time. I look forward to solving it. Enjoy your walk."

  It didn't feel right. He should have arrested me. He shouldn't have been letting me walk out without answering his questions. He wasn't acting like police. He made me uneasy.

  I left before he changed his mind. I rushed out of the building and into the streets. I walked quickly, my head down, as if I were hurrying to an appointment. I would have to be faster. I would have to be more careful. And I would have to blend in more. I needed to disappear.

  Chapter 5

  Tilyn watched the woman walk out of the room. She wasn't what he'd expected. Why come here? The building was long abandoned with no sign of any clandestine meetings. And what had she meant by ghosts? She hadn't lied about that, which only puzzled him more. He looked down at the strands of brown hair tangled in his fingers. She hadn't been as clever as she thought. He had her DNA, which might help identify her. He unwound the strands carefully and tucked them in a small bag.

  She had looked out the window, touching it. He might have her fingerprints. He used the red filter and found two smudged prints on the dirty glass.

  It was confusing. She had been so thorough in the warehouse, no prints or other clues. And yet she'd been caught on the camera. Without that photo, they would never have suspected anyone had slipped in. And again, here, she had given little away with her answers and yet he'd had no trouble getting the evidence he needed to identify her. She couldn't be professional, a spy sent by the Patrol or anyone else. She made too many mistakes. They would never have sent such an agent.