Anneke

Anneke watched as the Lord High Sheriff’s men-at-arms arranged the dozen Federation agents on an improvised scaffold. Eleven already had nooses around their necks and were standing quietly. Dusk was falling and the flaring pine torches gave the scene a surreal light. Peter had forbidden direct intervention, but she couldn’t stand idle while these fools died. She liked this world, had made friends here. Yet, to involve them would trigger a bloodbath. She had to depend on the Federation responding in time, even if it meant doing something to buy them time.

The redhead at the far end understood. She was resisting furiously, four men-at-arms inadequate to the task of restraining her. One was down already, both hands clutching a part of his anatomy he wouldn’t have willing offered as the target for a full-blooded kick. Another bled profusely from a torn ear, most of the earlobe bitten off.

The sergeant swore foully, damning the girl and the men-at-arms equally as he strode down the line and rapped the girl behind the ear with the handle of his dagger, dropping her in an unconscious heap at the men’s feet. “Lay her aside. We’ll hang her later.”

Anneke used the distraction to get closer. The Federation rescue party was close. She needed to be on the opposite side of the group when they arrived, ready to intervene.

“Are you ready?” The sergeant remained by the unconscious girl, looking back along the line, his sword raised to give the signal.

“Wait. I want to watch them dance.” Anneke’s imitation of the tyrant’s voice wouldn’t have passed muster under normal circumstances, but, coming from behind, it was enough to turn everyone to the darkness of the forest when she hid.

They were looking the wrong way to see four dark objects lob through the air to fall at the men-at arms’ feet. Recognizing them as stun grenades, Anneke translocated two hundred feet before they exploded, shielding her eyes and turning away. The chain mail jerkins would protect the tyrant’s men from harm, but they’d be stunned. Apart from the sergeant, none of them had ever faced explosives. She could leave the matter in Federation hands now.

The distance muted the crack of the stun grenades, but a flash grenade amongst them lighted the evening sky revealing the approach of at least fifty more men-at-arms. Fortunately, they skidded to a stop at the explosions. The Federation leader had time to release his people on the scaffold and then throw more grenades to cover his retreat. They left before Anneke realized the redhead wasn’t among them.

“Damn,” she swore, translocating to the girl in time to drag her into the safety of Limbo.

“Damn,” she swore again as the girl stirred. They must be back in real space before she woke.

The river was closest and its banks were steep. She plunged them both into the water where overhanging bushes would hide them. Peter would never understand her revealing the existence of Limbo to a Federation agent.

The cold water completed the girl’s revival and she bit Anneke’s hand when she tried to stifle her outcry. “Quiet, damn you, they’ll hear.”

“Sorry.” The girl understood. “Get these ropes off,” she whispered, turning to give Anneke access to her bound wrists. “Who are you?”

“A friend.”

“The others?”

“Safe.” Anneke shushed her with a finger to her lips. She could sense the approach of the men-at-arms. “Squeeze under that bank and cover your face with mud. If they use lights, close your eyes. Whatever you do, don’t look at them.” Anneke disciplined herself not to smile at the girl’s reaction to being instructed in basic field craft by the inhabitant of a planet regressed to medieval feudalism. She had a fiery temper, this one.

The men were good at their job, worst luck, probing every bush with spears or pikes, leaning far over the bank with raised torches to study the water. The girl should be safe, the undercut was deep here in the bend of the river, the current tugging at them, but there wasn’t room for two of them.

Anneke leaned close and whispered in the girl’s ear. “Stay here. You’ll be safe. I’ll come back for you when they move on.”

A nod answered her and Anneke let the current carry her away, diving deep and slipping into the safety of Limbo as soon as she was out of the girl’s sight.

“A good move.” Peter was waiting and she braced herself for a lecture. “Be careful. The Federation has tried to be smart. There’ll be bloodshed. Keep yourself out of its way.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and left.

Anneke shook her head in amazement. Her father would never stop surprising her. She moved back to the portal into real space and watched over the redhead, scanning her thoughts to pass the time.

* * * *

Rachael felt cold. Partly it was the river, but mostly it was her reaction to how close she’d come to dying on the scaffold. She fought more from the horror of what was happening than from the knowledge she must buy whatever time she could for the Federation to react and save them. The local girl said the others were safe, but Rachael remembered nothing. She had a hard lump behind her left ear with the skin broken and her head ached abominably so someone had knocked her unconscious. She had men around her fully occupied; she smiled at the memory, so it was probably the sergeant. There’d have been confusion during the rescue and they’d left her as dead. Her rescuer, the local girl, must have dragged her away.

She nodded unconsciously. The girl would know the river and slip away safely. She was probably on her way home now. The men-at-arms would know her too. They were all local and seemed reasonable until the ugly, little man in charge took offense and ordered the Federation party hanged at the crossroads bridge as an example. The site had been used before, the materials for the scaffold were in a shed beside the bridge. She had a vision of her body and those of the others hanging limply in death and shuddered.

“Over here.” She recognized the sergeant’s voice and squeezed herself further under the bank, dragging the pendent roots across her face for concealment. The flare of a torch lit the water. She closed her eyes and waited. Even when clods, broken from the bank above, splashed close, she kept her eyes closed. The girl was right; eyes caught the light and destroyed concealment.

“We’re wasting time,” the sergeant said. “We need to catch those bastards and ram their tricks down their throats before we hang the lot of them. The red-headed vixen will be with them. She couldn’t have escaped by herself.” He paused, as if looking around for a final time. “Come on. Trumpeter, sound the Assembly and we’ll get on with the real job.”

The notes of a bugle followed and the noise of the men retreated, but Rachael didn’t trust the sergeant. His speech had been a little too pat. She’d stay right where she hid.

An hour slipped by, then another and Rachael was slipping into a half doze of hypothermia when the touch of a hand startled her awake.

“Time to go,” her rescuer, the local girl, said.

Too stiff and cold to move easily, Rachael had to be assisted into the hide coracle and she lay helpless beneath its thwart as the girl covered her with dripping fish traps, thankful for the rough blanket they wrapped around her body first.

“Don’t move. They’re guarding the bridge and we have to pass under it.” Rachael felt the boat surge as it entered the main current.

A shout from outside the boat froze Rachael into immobility and she heard a seemingly endless conversation in the local dialect between the distant speaker and the man in the boat. It ended in laughter all round, her rescuer, the local girl, joining in, so Rachael relaxed a little as the boat bumped under the bridge and moved out of the torchlight.

“Another ten minutes and we’ll get you into some dry clothes,” the girl said. “Hang in there.”

Rachael mumbled a reply and slipped back into a half doze. Everything felt distant and unimportant now. She no longer felt cold and just wanted to lie there.

“What’s your name?” The girl’s voice sounded urgent. “Wake up and tell me.” Rachael felt her body prodded by something. “What’s your name?” The girl repeated the question and increased the prodding.

“Rachael. It’s Rachael. Leave me alone.”

“Is your hair color natural? We may need to dye it?”

“S’natural.” Rachael’s voice seemed oddly slurred. “Do you want me to prove it?” She giggled at the thought.

The girl chuckled, as if she understood Rachael’s thought. “I’ll see soon enough.” The boat rocked as the girl stood up to look around. “We can’t wait any longer.” She was speaking to their companion, probably the boat owner. “Take us in over there. There’s shelter enough.” Her voice turned urgent. “Rachael. How many brothers do you have?”

Rachael had begun to slip away again and she resented the question. “None of your business. They’re all married.”

“Good for them. How many sisters?”

“Too bloody many.” That seemed funny too and Rachael tried to laugh, but found it beyond her, mumbling to herself instead as she tried to recall their names.

The boat grounded, tilting enough to displace the fish traps above her and Rachael’s mumble became a grumble. “Watch it. I’m under here.”

“Not for long.” The girl was tossing the traps onto the bank in her haste to get at Rachael. “Help me get her ashore. We need to get her into dry clothes and warm before she slips away completely.”

“There’s a hut in the center, used by poachers. You’ll be safe there,” the man rumbled. “I’ll carry her. You tie the painter to that branch and bring the bundle of clothes.”

Rachael felt herself lifted and lay cradled like a child in strong arms. She sighed and closed her eyes.

“No you don’t.” The man shook her awake. “Stay with us.”

He kept it up as he carried her down a narrow forest path and into a tiny clearing at the entrance to a hut cut deep into the ground, with only the earthen sod roof showing, perfect camouflage in its surroundings.

“There’s dry wood over there. Make the fire small and the big trees will hide the smoke.” He was talking to the girl. Perhaps she wasn’t local.

“Put her on the bed. You’d better get back to your fishing. Thank you.”

“You saved our child. I could do no less.” The man laid Rachael on a bed of dried reeds. “Good luck,” he said, and left.

The girl stripped Rachael of her wet clothes, rubbing her dry with coarse sacking.

“Your red hair is natural,” she remarked conversationally as she wrapped her in a rug of soft fur and laid her on the bed once more. “Let’s have a look at you, and then I’ll light the fire and we can start warming you from the inside as well.”

“What’s your name? I haven’t thanked you properly.” Rachael struggled to appear gracious. It felt important.

“I’m Anneke and you’d better save your thanks until I succeed.”

The girl, Anneke, knelt by the bed and closed her eyes, as if in prayer, and Rachael fell prey to the oddest sensation that someone was probing and testing every fiber of her body. It wasn’t unpleasant, just strange.

“M-m-m.” Anneke rose from her knees and stood, looking down at Rachael. “Something warm inside and then some body heat should do the trick.” She nodded in self confirmation. “I needn’t bother Dael.”

She turned away and went to the fireplace, building a small fire of twigs and adding dried wood, one piece at a time, to limit the smoke. A small pot hung from a stand. She filled it with water and swung it over the fire. “While that boils, we’ll see what a little body heat can do.”

Anneke shed her clothes and slid into the rug beside Rachael, cuddling her face to face, legs entwined, arms around her and Rachael felt the warmth flowing into her body like a healing tide. Her arms wrapped around the girl and held her close, welcoming her.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you.” Her eyelids drooped…and this time Anneke let her sleep.

* * * *

Anneke felt her slide into sleep and smiled. She scanned Rachael’s body thoroughly and knew there was no permanent damage. Nothing she couldn’t allow to heal naturally, except the wrists. She’d give the rope burns a nudge in the right direction and then conceal them with bandages until the healing would seem natural. Dael would be proud of her efforts, particularly as she’d been an unwilling student more times than not. No one, apart from Jean-Paul, could match Dael’s healing touch because they could never care as much. Her mother loved Peter so completely; she had love enough for everyone.

She felt Rachael smile in her sleep and disciplined herself. She hadn’t meant to share her thoughts. Turning them outwards hid them from Rachael. Anneke monitored events both locally and in orbit above them by the simple expedient of selecting minds and scanning them.

The Federation assault group and the rescued negotiators had returned to their shuttle and lifted off to the mother ship perched in a geostationary orbit above. Everybody was playing the blame game about Rachael’s supposed death, accusations streaming down the lines of command and across departmental barriers with equal vigor. The self-styled Lord High Sheriff had called a levy, mustering his peasants into a rag-tag army for his sergeants and men-at-arms to beat into shape. The sergeant who commanded the hanging party, smarting under ill-deserved criticism, had vowed personal vengeance on the red-headed vixen he considered the cause of his trouble.

She must watch him. A very efficient soldier, a veteran of the border wars, he was occupied with his conscripts, making them fear his displeasure more than they’d ever fear the enemy.

Anneke shifted her focus to the mother ship, a modern Federation colonizer, as different from Gabrielle’s scout ship as possible. Anneke chuckled at the memory of her sister-in-law’s wrath when Karrel had taken her on a tour of a modern ship. Her anger should have blistered the paint on its walls, made even more vehement by the quiet tone in which she delivered her judgment. She’d never gone back and had muttered something about “reduced to taxi-drivers, with idiots for passengers.” Anneke thought she was talking about the crew but hadn’t dared to scan her thoughts lest she become the focus of Gabrielle’s anger. Even Karrel avoided his wife’s ire. “Let Peter earn medals, I just want a quiet life,” he claimed, to the open disbelief of those who knew his achievements.

Time to check her patient.

Rachael now slept normally, her body healing itself, helped along by Anneke’s subtle manipulations and her body heat. She should wake refreshed in the morning and they would begin the journey to the shuttle’s landing zone. Given the extent of the mobilization, it wouldn’t be without risk. Anneke was tempted to utilize Limbo’s portals, but the girl might wake at an inconvenient time. It was better that they travel normally. It would give her time to monitor developments. Peter would want a detailed report, before he decided on any response. He husbanded their resources zealously, applying them only where they could achieve a result. She had fun evading his iron self-discipline, knowing he sometimes indulged her against his better judgment.

Anneke did a final check of the area and composed herself for sleep, confident any dangerous development would wake her.

* * * *

Rachael woke to the tantalizing aroma of roasting meat and found Anneke barbequing sections of rabbit and two small trout on a hot plate held above the flames by an iron tripod.

“My father does this much better,” Anneke spoke without turning. “We’ll have to depend on hunger to make up for my poor cooking skills.”

“I’ve got plenty of that.” Rachael admitted. “It smells great from here.”

“Join me. We’ll have to use our fingers.” Anneke turned and grinned. “You look less like a drowned rat.”

Rachael unconsciously ran her fingers through her hair and winced when they met a mass of tangles. “I’m not sure what I look like, but, at least, I’m alive, thanks to you.”

Anneke smiled and shook her head. “You’re alive because you struggled so hard. They couldn’t control you and took the short cut of knocking you out. I just happened along in the confusion and saw your friends had left you behind. It didn’t seem fair, considering you’d saved the others by delaying the hanging, so I hid you in the river.”

Rachael reached for the edge of the fur rug, intending to rise, and noticed the thick bandage around her wrist. There was one around the other wrist as well.

“Rope burns.” Anneke had noticed her glance. “I’ve used wild honey to promote healing without scars. It will keep the skin soft and we have a hive close.”

“How long can we stay here?” Rachael’s body felt a mass of bruises and every movement woke new pains.

“Not too long. A day or two, perhaps. Depends how your people react.” Anneke shrugged. “Our presence puts the locals at risk.”

“Like your fisherman friend?”

“Yes.”

“Will I get the chance to thank him?” Rachael remembered the care he’d shown in lifting her from the coracle and the concern in his voice as he kept her awake on the journey to the hut.

“Probably not. He’ll keep away until after we’re gone and warn the others who use this hut.”

“You don’t sound like local. Who are you?” Rachael was puzzled. Anneke spoke as an outsider, but the things she knew were not casual knowledge, open to all.

“I’m a traveler. I move around a lot and get to know things.” Her grin was mischievous. “Particularly poaching and other activities best hidden from the powers-that-be.”

Rachael nodded. The gypsies hadn’t been included officially in the colony ships from Earth, but pockets of them occupied every world. It explained much about Anneke, from her knowledge of poachers to the way she casually defied authority. She’d found a valuable ally, one who might just succeed in getting her back to the shuttle and safety.

“The shuttle’s gone back to your mother ship. It lifted off while you were hiding in the river. Your landing ground is apparently deserted.” Anneke’s tone held sympathy. She knew how much a shock her news was to Rachael. “They probably think you died.”

Rachael nodded. Standard procedure called for physical proof of an agent’s death, or no communication for thirty days. She had no communicator, so she must lay out a ground signal for the camera to see. Somewhere near a landing zone would be best, preferably a beach.

“How far are we from the sea?”

“At least two days travel, more if we have to move secretly.” The question didn’t surprise Anneke. “It’s the opposite direction to your landing ground.”

“They won’t come back there.” Rachael bit back the urge to add more. She mustn’t compromise Federation procedures.

“How soon must you be there?”

“If I can leave a signal visible from the sky we have as much time as we need. Are there any large fields of grain nearby?” The simplest signal was to flatten the grain in the middle of a large field in the standard landing grid with the longest arm pointing in their direction of travel. Done at night it should mean nothing to a local.

“Nothing close.” Anneke looked thoughtful. “Nor anything on our direct line of travel. They’re all small holdings, predominately grazing. How big does your signal need to be?”

“The bigger the better, but a twenty foot square would suffice.”

“How about a number of fires lit at night?”

“It sounds risky.” Rachael didn’t like the sound of this, even if it was a near perfect way of signaling, combining visual and infrared to ensure success.

“We’d have help.” Anneke was grinning. “Draw the pattern you want on the ground. There’s a charcoal burners camp a dozen miles away. We’ll go there and persuade them where to set their next mounds. The vents at the top should show clearly.”

“You are a genius. Will they help us?”

“They’re men and lonely.” Anneke’s smile turned wicked, becoming a dare.

Rachael laughed to hide her lack of confidence. She couldn’t imagine any man resisting Anneke, but felt less certain of the effect of her charms on a local.

“First things first.” Anneke changed the subject. “These are cooked. We’d better eat now.”

Rachael joined her at the fire and ate, the first mouthful delicious and the second even better. There was no conversation until she finished her share and eyed what remained on the makeshift skillet.

“Go ahead.” Anneke chuckled. “There’s a wild apple tree behind the hut and I had a couple when I first woke.”

Rachael didn’t wait for a second invitation. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before. She finished off the hot food and accepted two wild apples as well, eating even the cores.

“That was good,” she said. “Your father taught you well.”

Her comment made Anneke smile, before she put her memories aside and became businesslike. “There are local clothes at the foot of the bed. Yours are too distinctive. We’ll use a shawl to hide the color of your hair until I can find something to dye it black temporarily. For the moment, put it into a braid.” She produced a large plastic comb.

Rachael took it, about to free her hair of it tangles, when the significance of its manufacture sank in. Thanatos had not produced this.

“You’re not the first spacers to land here.” Anneke had read her expression. “The Lord High Sheriff knew about the Federation before you arrived. That’s why he reacted so forcibly. He recognized the threat you were.”

“We came to negotiate a treaty.”

“He knew too much about your treaties to trust them. All out war might send you elsewhere.”

Rachael bit her lip. The Federation had blundered badly in believing Thanatos virgin territory. They needed an informant like Anneke, but she’d already indicated her opinion of the Federation and was unlikely to cooperate. The best Rachael could do was to listen carefully and note everything of interest for her debriefing.

* * * *

Kamran came to accept certain elements of his life as immutable. He was condemned to serve idiots and his current master was a prime example of the genus. It was his father’s fault. Too fond of the bottle to remain a spacer, he’d settled on Thanatos, married a local girl, and declined disgracefully over the years, amusing himself by educating his only son so he’d have one person he could talk to as an equal. Twenty years dead, he left Kamran to survive as best he could in a world he understood too well to believe he could change unaided.

The expansionist period on Thanatos was long gone; the ruling bloodlines fixed and guarded zealously, movement between the peasantry and the High Borns impossible. As sergeant-at-arms, Kamran was at the pinnacle of his achievable goals, barred by the Guilds from any commercial or artesian ambitions and by his bloodline from further promotion. The arrival of the Federation provided a slither of hope.

He’d been present when the news came, understanding immediately both its importance, and the need to ensure the transition was not peaceful. He needed the chaos of war to grasp his opportunity to provide a viable alternative to the current hierarchy. Goading the High Sheriff into over-reacting took only a questioning look and the fool jumped into precipitate action. Kamran had no qualms about hanging a dozen off-worlders, and would have done so, were it not for the damned redhead. She’d delayed the proceedings until the others had arrived and now cooler heads might prevail. His scouts swore she hadn’t returned to the shuttle with the others, so he had to find her and humiliate the Federation by executing her publicly, laying the blame for the act on the idiot he served.

His scouts, every one personally recruited from the mountain tribes, were combing the area, sniffing out every secret hideaway. It was only a matter of time before they flushed her from hiding. Then some form of atrocity, blamable on the High Sheriff, followed by a public execution with the trimmings.

Kamran’s lips twisted in a bitter smile. He admired the girl’s courage and the skill she’d shown in evading the searchers, but her death served his needs and pity was an emotion he couldn’t afford.

He heard a knock at the door of his tiny cubicle. “Sergeant, the companies are assembled for inspection.”

“Coming.” He rose to his feet, a little weary from forty-eight hours of continuous effort, but the poor fools must be made to fear him more than they feared the enemy if he were to preserve their lives.

One of his scouts stood at the top of the steps down to the parade ground. A dark-skinned man, small and lithe, the scalp locks of his kills festooned around his upper arms. “Fisherman talked,” he said. “Found hair caught in bottom of boat. Two women hide in forest. My brothers go before.”

Kamran nodded. He knew the scout’s methods of interrogation and the information could be trusted. This would be a good exercise for his raw troops, even if they were already dozing on their feet.

“Companies!” His parade ground voice startled them into life. “Prepare to march.”

* * * *

Anneke was dreaming.

She’d given Rachael a full day’s rest to recover from her ordeal, but they must be on their way in the morning. To the charcoal burner’s camp first to send the signal to the mother ship and then they’d go to the beach. It would be hard traveling and the girl wasn’t fit. She might have to help her.

Their destination had mixed into her dream and she was at the beach camp with Peter, Dael, and the others, but something was wrong. Peter was giving her one of his disappointed looks. Accompanied with a sigh, they signaled she’d done something stupid, but she couldn’t think what it could be.

Karrel was doing it now. Sighing loudly and shaking his head. All she needed was for Jack to get in on the act. Then all three of them were running through the woods toward her. Their faces changed, darkening as she watched, the three tribal scars on each cheek filled with red ochre.

Anneke woke and felt the fisherman’s death in their minds. Anger took charge and she gathered herself for a killing stroke.

Stop. ,” Peter interrupted. “Go. Take the girl. I’ll deal with them. Remember Lot’s wife and don’t look back.” She felt his cold rage and was afraid. These small brown men had roused the whirlwind and now must ride it.