Dark Minds (Class 5 Series Book 3) (8 page)

I
mogen scooped
another package of what looked like energy bars into the drone's box from the kitchen cupboards and wondered when they were going to stop her. So far, they had simply observed; letting her get on with her plan to collect food and water for the prisoners in the hold.

She knew whoever she was speaking to through the drones had had no plans to help them, so either he was toying with her or indulging her.

The hammering on the storage door had finally stopped. The Tecran trapped inside seemed to accept that whoever was out here had heard them and wasn't going to help.

It weighed on her mind, a little.

They had food and water, though, and that was more than the prisoners in the hold had. And they were Tecran.

She didn't trust them.

Her experience with them was they liked to lock her up.

So they could be the ones locked up for now.

“How many Tecran are in there?” she asked the drone.

“Three.”

“And you say there are some others on the ship, too?”

“Two more, in another location.”

Five crew left on what was an enormous ship. Perhaps these ships were so smart, they didn't need a lot of crew, but then why make them so big?

Imogen had a sinking feeling the body count was higher than her imagination wanted her to go. And now, all the Krik, too.

She opened the last cupboard, found one small package of something she couldn't identify in a back corner and leaned in to get it out.

“Why is there so little food?”

“The Tecran raided the cupboards a few times when they first barricaded themselves in the storeroom, until I was able to lock them in. And the Krik ate almost all the rest. You had whatever they left for your meal.”

“Is there more, somewhere else?” She looked down at her haul, and thought there was maybe enough for six people to have one meal. And there were about thirty in the hold. There was no bottled water, but she knew where the water was in the med chamber, and she could collect pots, bowls and a few bottles to fill up.

“Yes, the cargo hold.”

“Can the drone show me the way?”

There was a brief silence, and she realized she was holding her breath.

The drone moved, heading for a door she'd noticed while she was looking for food. It led straight out into the passageway, bypassing the dining room.

She followed, and tried not to stumble when the other two drones took up positions slightly behind her on either side, their wheels absolutely silent on the smooth floor.

“What are you thinking?”

The voice came from the drone in front, and she looked up and saw the moveable lens was focused on her face.

No one had asked her that for nearly three months. “It doesn't really matter, because most of what I'm thinking are questions I've already asked you, and you haven't answered them.”

The drone was silent.

She sighed, lifted her hands in a gesture of peace. “It's okay. I know how it goes. Knowledge is power, and right now, you're not sharing.”

“You have used this technique yourself?”

She quirked her lips in a half-smile. “Well, as much as I could while I was sitting in a cage. I'm not sure if it helped me or not, but I would do the same again.”

“Such as?”

“Such as hiding that I understood far more than they realized. They saw me as a clever pet most of the time, and I let them continue to think that, even though it burned my butt.”

“Burned your butt?”

There was a hint of horror in the tone and she laughed.

“Annoyed me a great deal.”

“I also had to pretend to be less than I was for a long time,” the drone said, “and it . . . burned my butt. We have some things in common.”

Perhaps they did. “Is that why you're so interested in me?”

The lens swung away, and then back. “I'm not sure. I didn't expect to be.”

Was that good or bad? She'd attracted the attention of someone who had killed off the crew of an entire ship. Twice.

Well, time to find her zen. Either she curled up in a corner and whimpered or she dealt.

Go out with a bang, she had promised herself. She wouldn't go back on it.

The drone slowed, waiting for her, and then turned left where two passageways intersected and opened the door to a stairwell. There was what looked like an elevator on the right, although she'd heard her Tecran guards mutter about the lack of tubes at the Balco facility, and thought that's what elevators were probably called here.

“Can we take the tube?” Her voice was thready and breathless, and she stopped and leaned against the wall, drawing in a deep breath. Like she had been on the way up, she was out of puff.

The drone moved forward, letting the door close behind it. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, gulped in more air. “Just been locked up for a long time. My body isn't used to this much walking.”

One side of the drone's box lowered. “You can ride down the stairs in the drone.”

It was the first time he'd identified himself as separate to the drones. She didn't know if the idea of flying down the stairs in hover mode was exciting or frightening.

“We can't take the tube?”

“It isn't working.” The response was short, almost snappish.

“Okay. Thanks, I would like a ride.” She decided she'd better pace herself. If she wanted to help Kalor and his team, she couldn't be exhausted and gasping for breath. She stepped gingerly into the open box and it closed with a snap, the arm shot out and opened the door again, and the drone thrust itself off the top step.

She let out a small squeak of surprise, standing with her hands gripping the side as the drone flew a meter or more above the stairs. She looked behind her, saw the other two following them, and let out a whoop as they spun around a corner and continued down.

The drone came to a dead stop, flinging her forward and nearly out of the box.

She felt herself pitching out and tried to throw herself back, landing at an awkward angle, with her back almost arched.

“What's wrong?” The drone spoke almost exactly at the same time as she did.

“Snap.” She said it weakly, and slid the rest of the way down, so she was sitting on the floor.

“Why did you scream?”

“I don't remember screaming, but if I did, it was because you stopped suddenly.” Her hands were shaking and she rubbed them on her thighs.

“Before that.”

“Oh.” She tipped back her head and closed her eyes. “That wasn't a scream, that was a whoop of enjoyment.”

“Enjoyment?”

“It was fun flying down so fast.” She pushed herself to her feet, and her legs nearly gave out under her.

“You nearly fell out.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Next time, don't stop so suddenly and it'll be fine.” She waited until she felt like she could let go the side and stand under her own steam. “But thank you for being concerned about me.”

The drone started moving again, at a more sedate pace, and Imogen decided that was fine with her, just until her heart rate evened out a little.

Two floors down, the drones left the stairwell and turned left.

“If we went right, would we end up in the hold where the prisoners are?”

“Yes.” The answer was grudging, but it was an answer.

It gave her a warm sense of accomplishment that she had remembered the way.

When they got to a set of huge double doors, the drone let her out and touched a pad with a slim, metallic finger. They slid back to reveal a massive warehouse.

“Open Sesame,” she said, as she stepped inside.

“I don't understand that phrase.” The drone had stopped and she stood beside it.

She'd wondered since he'd first used the drones to speak to her how he'd learned English, but decided to leave that question until she was sure he would answer it. “It doesn't make sense unless you know the story.” She looked around the space, the high ceilings, and the rows and rows of shelving and boxes that seemed to have no end. “It's about a man, Ali Baba, and how one day he was out working when he saw forty thieves on horse back riding toward him. He hid from them, wondering where they could be going, and was even more curious when they stopped in front of a massive rock, but he was downright amazed when the leader of the thieves called out “Open Sesame” and the rock split in two and the thieves disappeared inside the crack.”

“But what does Open Sesame mean?”

Imogen smiled. “Sesame is an edible seed that was used in a lot of cooking in the place where the story is set. That's part of the fun of the story, that the magic word or the secret code that opens the cave of riches is something so ordinary and commonplace, something no one would have guessed. They would expect the word to be something powerful or amazing, not plain old sesame.”

“What do you mean by magic words?”

“Well, he says the words, and the rock literally opens up to a treasure trove. There is no explanation to how that works, so it has to be magic——wondrous and unexplained.”

“Did they ever work out the real explanation?”

She looked down at the lens, smiled again. “It's a fairy tale, a story. It didn't actually happen, someone made it up.”

“Were people angry when they realized that?”

She laughed. “They knew it was a story right from the beginning. It's told to entertain. And most tales like this one also teach a moral.”

“What's the moral in the tale of Ali Baba?”

She thought about that for a moment. “Treachery never ends well, maybe.” She tapped her lip. “But one thing I've always liked about Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves is that the hero at the end is not Ali Baba, but a slave girl. In some versions, she's Ali Baba's brother's slave, in some, she belongs to Ali Baba's household. She has the least power of anyone in the tale, but her intelligence and quick thinking save the day.”

“Does slave mean what I think it means?”

Again, she wanted to ask him where he'd learned his English, but instead she nodded. “Yes. And yes, I've got a problem with it, too. In some versions she's rewarded for saving Ali Baba and his family with her freedom, in some, she is married to Ali Baba's son, which doesn't thrill me as much. I could say a lot about how in the place and time where the story is set slavery was normal and that we have to take it in context . . .”

“But?”

“But wrong is wrong.”

The sound that came from the drone was almost a sigh. “Yes. Wrong is wrong. Why do you think she helped them?”

There was something much deeper going on in this conversation, but Imogen didn't know if there was any right way to respond, so she stuck to the truth.

“It could be that she knew if she didn't help, she'd either be killed or have a much worse life. Ali Baba was the good guy, after all, and he treated her well.”

“Self interest?”

Imogen shrugged. “Maybe that, but maybe also she knew they had the power to treat her badly with no consequences and they didn't, so she had some loyalty to them.

“It's like my relationship with the Tecran. They shouldn't have taken me, but the ones involved in my care——they were respectful of me, they didn't harm me, and they could have.”

“That's why you would find yourself in a difficult situation if they had no food in the storage room? Because you feel some obligation?”

“Yes, and it's why it was so hard for me to see them slaughtered by the Krik when they took over the runner.” She started walking toward a massive cabinet set to one side of the shelves, fascinated by its carvings.

“I don't have the same feelings as you do toward them. But there are some parallels with your story and the present situation.”

She waved her hand, encompassing the cabinet, the shelves, and a grouping of massive objects shrouded with some kind of dust sheeting. “Good stories are like that.”

“So when you said Open Sesame just now . . .” There was a thoughtfulness to his tone.

“I was making a comment on how I had just stepped into a magical treasure trove.”

“Well, your allusion to a thieves' horde is accurate. There were a lot more than forty Tecran involved, but most of what you see here is stolen.”

Having been stolen herself, she wasn't in the least surprised. She also knew whoever she was talking to didn't understand that he was the slave girl in this parallel, not her. She hadn't saved anyone, not even herself, but he had, and just like the fairy tale heroine, he'd done it by murdering all the thieves.

She'd said wrong was wrong. And if that wasn't wrong, what was?

T
he ceiling was just too
high.

“It's so close, I could scream.” Pren put her hand on his head to balance herself and then dropped from his shoulders to the ground.

They both looked upward again.

The problem was, of the thirty or so prisoners in the hold, only Cam, Pren and the two Fitalians looked like they had the upper body strength to pull themselves up, and the Fitalians were both much shorter than Pren or Cam.

It was either Pren or him.

“Why don't we each take a leg and lift her? It'll be easier to get her above shoulder height.” The suggestion came from a big Grihan miner, who like almost everyone in the hold had gathered around to watch the spectacle.

With the two of them working together, he and Cam lifted her the last little bit she needed.

She still had to haul herself up, and the muscles in her arms were starkly defined through the thin, tight fabric of her uniform. She disappeared head first into the dark hole above them.

When she managed to turn around and look down, he could tell she was controlling her features with difficulty.

“It really stinks up here. Like something died.”

Cam had already caught a few hints of the sickly sweet stench of decomposition since he'd been standing below the hole. He bent down and rifled through the med kit at his feet, coming up with a face mask which he threw up to her.

She let it dangle around her neck. “Thanks. What do you want me to do?”

“Just get the lay of the land.” Until he knew what options they had, he was reluctant to get anyone's hopes up.

She gave a nod of understanding, lifted the mask to cover her mouth and nose and disappeared.

“What do you think she's going to find?” Vraen's face was tilted to the ceiling.

A dead body.

Cam decided not to voice that. “I don't know. If the Krik are using it to escape, I don't see why we can't, too. Even if she finds some rope to pull us up with, that'll be something.”

Vraen turned to look at him, expression skeptical. “You think all of us can crawl through the overhead tunnels?”

Cam shrugged. “Why not? Unless you have something better to do?”

Vraen's eyes narrowed, and when he spoke his voice was hard. “You're going to get us all killed. Have you forgotten we're on a
Class 5
?”

“I haven't forgotten. But it's already killing us by withholding food and water. I'd rather we go while we still have the energy to move.”

Vraen sneered. “Go where, exactly?”

He had a point there, but Cam refused to acknowledge it. They either stayed here and died slowly, or they took a chance. “Wherever we can.”

Vraen tapped the tips of each of his thick, stubby forefingers together. “It's a big risk.”

“I won't force anyone.” He felt responsible for everyone here—— he was a Grih Battle Center officer, and this was Grihan territory, as well as his role in the United Council——but he couldn't drag thirty unwilling people with him. If he did manage to escape, he'd try his best to come back for those who chose to stay.

“The thinking system might still send in food and water.” Vraen looked toward the doors.

Cam flicked a sideways glance at him. “It might. But I'm not holding my breath.”

Diot slid forward, and Cam realized she'd been listening to their exchange. “If you don't want to take the risk, Vraen, you can stay here.”

Cam lifted his head in surprise, because Diot was usually diplomatic, but the strain was showing on her face.

The Garmman glared at her. “You won't be going anywhere yourself, so you'll be staying here, too.”

“I hope not.” Diot looked up toward at the hole in the ceiling.

Pren had been gone longer than he thought she would, and Cam went to stand directly underneath. He'd been there what felt like a long time when he heard the faint sound of a cry.

His gaze snapped to Diot. “I need to go up.”

Chep and Haru had stood to the side and watched as he'd lifted Pren up, but now Chep came to stand beside him. “Haru and I will do whatever we can to help.” The Fitalian looked up sharply as a puff of fetid air washed over them from above.

It ramped up Cam's worry for Pren. “Keep the peace while I'm gone. The Vanad's crew seem cooperative, but you never know. And the longer we go without food and water, the less people will have to lose.” He kept his voice low, for Chep's ears only.

The Fitalian tracker nodded and stepped back to give him room.

The miner who'd helped him lift Pren was still standing close by and Cam caught his eye.

He stepped forward. “Want my help again?”

“Yours, and some of your friends.”

The man nodded, and called to a group leaning against the wall.

It took three of them, but being taller than Pren, Cam was able to reach the ceiling from their shoulders.

He pulled himself up, and the smell hit him, so much stronger up here; cloying and catching the back of his throat. He turned around and looked down.

Diot and Olan stood below.

“Is there another mask in the kit?”

Olan threw one up to him, and the relief when he fitted it to his face was immediate.

“How long should we give you?” Diot's voice was agitated.

He pulled down the mask to answer her. “I can't say.”

He didn't want to waste time coming back just to reassure them. They were running out of time.

“I'll be as fast as I can.” He made his voice gentle, and Diot forced a smile at his attempt to reassure her.

“I don't think you'll be staying up there for the fun of it.” She wrinkled her nose.

He grinned at her, then lifted his mask back on and withdrew, turning in the tight space.

There was a thin layer of fine white dust on the tunnel floor, and it had been disturbed in both directions, although he knew Pren had gone left. The Krik might have come from the right, or gone that way after they'd abandoned them to their fate.

He started crawling.

* * *

S
he had come
to get supplies, but she couldn't help running her fingers over the wooden door of the cabinet near the entrance, feeling the geometric grooves of the carvings, as she walked toward the massive line of shelving.

“Okay, lead me to the food supplies,” she said to the drone.

It moved down a wide corridor between two shelving units that were at least twenty feet high but as she started to follow, a chime sounded from the cabinet.

She turned to look, but by now she was behind it and it didn't look any different.

The notes gradually worked themselves into a pattern. Eight notes, then those same notes backward, eight notes again, backward again, and then finally eight notes and then only seven backward.

That missing note worked on her nerves.

It was like the musical tests she set for her students, to get a sense of their aural skills.

She'd followed the drone to a section at the far end of the hold. It extended a metallic finger and tapped in a code on the small keypad she'd seen at intervals along the way. A large box slid out from a shelf above her on a frame and then ran smoothly down to the floor.

She opened the box, and found herself looking at an assortment of wrapped bars.

“This will be good for them?”

“These are the high energy bars the various United Council militaries give their troops. It will be good for the Grih, the Garmman, and the Krik, but the Fitali will need something else.”

She scooped bars into the drone's box, almost filling it because she didn't know when she'd get the chance to come back here. “Okay, lead me to the Fitali's food.”

The drone didn't move. It levered its long arm into the box and picked up a bar. “This food is good for you, too. Eat it.”

Remembering her aborted meal in the dining room, she nodded and pulled the wrapper off and bit into the compacted chewy stuff as she followed the drone along. The cabinet was still chiming its song of eight notes forward, eight backward, and again, until the last, incomplete, seven notes. Like it wanted her to play. To contribute that last note. It almost seemed mournful.

“Why is it doing that?” she asked around a full mouthful as the drone stopped in front of another stack of shelves.

“It is a code so that only those who know the secret can open the cabinet.”

“Oh. Cute.” It was a very low level code. So probably just for fun, rather than anything serious.

She waited for the box with the Fitali supplies to lower, and then took a few armfuls of the strangely shaped silver packages, laid them on top of the other bars.

“Right, now we need something to put water in, and if you'll lead me to a water source on this floor, please, it'll save time rather than having to go back up to the dining room.”

The drone turned its lens on her, did nothing for a moment, and then moved off, heading toward the entrance.

“I have had the other two drones find water containers while you were getting the food, and there is a water source in this room, so they are waiting by the door.”

The words were almost grudging.

“Thank you. I know you didn't want to tell me who you were earlier, but can you at least give me a name I can call you?”

Another hesitation. “Paxe.”

“Thank you, Paxe.”

As they made their way back toward the doors, the cabinet started up its tune again, and was started on the second set of eight notes by the time they reached it. Imogen couldn't resist standing in front to watch.

Each time a chime sounded, she saw now, one of the square carvings on the front depressed inward a little way, like a piano key. She hummed the notes as they were made, and then concentrated as the final eight forward chimes were sounded.

She realized the pattern was a little more difficult than she'd first thought, because the squares that were depressed were not the same in each round. You had to be watching the last eight forward, and she made a note of the first square, because that would be the missing chime at the end. When the seventh backward chime sounded, she pressed in the square to complete the pattern.

There was silence for a moment, and then a satisfying click as the doors unlocked and began to open.

“Yay.” She put her hands together in delight.

The drone nudged up against her. “You solved the puzzle.” There was no expression in Paxe's voice now.

“It wasn't that hard. What's inside?” The doors were opening slowly, as if they were heavy.

“No one knows. You're the only one who's been able to solve it.”

She looked over at the drone, sure Paxe was joking, but he said nothing more. The Tecran were definitely not affected by her singing like the Grih had been, and she'd always had the impression their eyesight was a lot better than their hearing. Perhaps they hadn't been able to distinguish the notes that well.

She turned her attention back to the cabinet. The doors were fully open now, and she stepped forward and slid open the third highest of the four drawers that took up all the interior space. And nearly stepped back.

What lay within, resting on a layer of soft, tautly pulled fabric, was unmistakably a weapon.

It looked so vicious, so built for purpose, that she was reluctant to even touch it. Like a medieval ball and chain flail, there was no question its sole purpose was for killing and maiming.

“What is it?” Paxe moved the drone right next to her.

“It looks like a slashing knife that fits over a hand, like a deadly kind of glove.” Everything about it, from the two shorter blades on either side, to the main, gleaming point of it, looked all the sharper because of the material it was made from. Some kind of metal that was almost blinding when it caught the light, a pale silver-blue.

“Let me see.”

She gingerly reached in and lifted it out, careful to hold it by the cuff at the back.

It was lighter than she expected it to be. Her original impression of a type of glove was right, because under the outer curve were rings though which the wearer could slide their fingers, if the wearer had only three fingers.

She carefully slid her middle three fingers through them, having to stretch them out uncomfortably, as it had obviously been designed for much larger hands. It came halfway up her forearm, over her wrist and hand and ended in a wicked sharp tip. The two smaller blades at the curved ends on each side made her think of an apple corer, and she shivered at the mental image.

The metal seemed alive to her, almost humming, as if vibrating from a sound she couldn't hear. She placed it carefully back in its drawer and closed it, bent and opened the bottom one.

It contained what looked like armor that would be strapped to calves and upper thighs. The next drawer up contained similar shields for forearms and upper arms all in the same pale silver-blue.

“This was someone's armor chest.” She had to go on tip toe to open the top shelf, but couldn't see what was inside and was reluctant to put her hand in without knowing what was there.

The drone lifted its long clamping hand and pulled the drawer out of the cabinet completely and laid it down at Imogen's feet.