The Travels of Scout Shannon Books 1-3

Chapter 9

9

Scout had never been so close to a firing weapon before. Under the octagonal room’s cavernous ceiling, the echoing noise was painfully loud. Scout flinched, her whole body contracting into itself and her eyes closing. She stayed like that as the echoes died away. The plasma bolt must have struck somewhere quite close to her, the ozone filling her sinuses.

The silence after the echoes faded was worse. She knew she hadn’t been shot, but she was afraid to open her eyes to look at her dogs. Shadow must be okay; he had been close beside her, and she was unharmed.

And it had been Girl who had crushed Tubbins. Why had she done that? Such cruelty—was she really capable of that? She with her big eyes and dopey manner. She and Shadow had chased many a critter through the grainfields and had, she suspected, eaten more than a few when the pair were gone from her sight for too long. But a cat—surely a cat was a different thing? How could Girl not know the difference between prey and pet?

All those nights with Shadow curled up against her belly, Girl had flopped down to sleep with her head on Scout’s ankle. She had been sleeping with a killer, a remorseless and cruel killer.

Then she heard Viola swearing again and finally opened her eyes. Shadow was still standing close to her calf, and Girl still sat hovering over the cat, although she had stopped wagging her tail and looked nervous.

“No deal. I want all of you out of here,” Viola said. Her rifle was on the floor at her feet and she was massaging one wrist as she glared at Warrior.

“No need to be hasty,” Warrior said. “I can help your cat. Tubbins. But I’m going to need you to put that rifle away.”

“Why?” Viola asked, barking out a laugh. “What did you do to me?”

Scout was wondering the same thing. Viola kept massaging her wrist and glaring at Warrior. What had Warrior done to make her drop her rifle? And who had she been trying to shoot?

“All the same,” Warrior said, “I’d feel better if that rifle were put away.”

“So would we,” Ottilie said. She was at the doorway to the tunnel standing amid the scattered ration packets. She clutched something in her hand, something she kept out of sight. Ebba was close behind her, as were the others.

“I don’t want you people here,” Viola said, but she seemed to find Warrior’s reflective lenses fixed on her just as unsettling as Scout did. She stopped massaging her wrist and picked up her rifle, holding it in the middle, nowhere near the trigger. She carried it across the room to where there was a sort of bar in front of one of the shelves. The bar was also of plastic molded to look like wood. When it was new it might have been more convincing, but the scratches and dings of long use were definitely not the splintering of wood. The chairs at the table and the tall stools at the bar were the usual cold, practical metal: no adornments, just the few spare lines it took to define a chair. They at least weren’t showing their age.

Viola stepped onto the bottom shelf, not tall enough to reach the top shelf on her own, and put the rifle up high inside a case with a palm lock. There was a clanking of glass as she dug around behind the bar, then she returned to the table, another glass in hand.

“Scout, bring the cat here,” Warrior said. The cat was still looking up at Scout with imploring eyes. Scout bent to pick up the cat, and Girl surged forward as if trying to take her prize back.

“No!” Scout said as she cuddled the cat close to her chest. Girl looked confused at her anger but still tried to catch the end of the cat’s tail. “No! Bad girl!”

“Dogs are a menace,” Viola said bitterly as she poured some of the amber liquid into the glass. Her eyes dropped as Scout, with the cat in her arms, drew nearer. Scout didn’t blame her for not wanting to look. The cat was half-flattened; it was a gruesome sight.

“That one’s not my dog. Not really,” Scout said. “The well-behaved one is my dog.”

“They both came in here with you, that’s all I know,” Viola said, taking a drink.

“Scout.” There was an edge to Warrior’s voice, and Scout hurried to bring the cat to where Warrior was waiting at the bar.

“How can you fix this?” Scout asked as Warrior ran her hands gently over the cat’s body.

“It’s costly,” Warrior said. “Too much for a cat, really. But your dogs just made a hard situation harder.” She lifted her face and pinned Scout down with those blank lenses. Scout fought the urge to squirm.

“It’s not really my fault,” Scout said.

“It’s your responsibility,” Warrior said. “You may not have chosen that dog, but she chose you. She’s yours. She’s your responsibility, and you’ve been neglecting her. You do her a disservice not to train her as well as your other dog.”

“She’s not that bright,” Scout said.

Warrior just looked at her until Scout dropped her head. She didn’t want to say out loud that Warrior was probably right. Training Shadow had been something she had done with her father, and every time she tried to teach Girl something, it made her sad. She remembered how patient her father had been, how her little brother had squealed and clapped his hands when Shadow had done his tricks like playing dead or walking on his hind feet. Of course, those weren't the kinds of things to teach Girl, but still.

Trying to do it on her own only reminded her of everything she had lost.

Warrior had finished examining the cat but was lost in thought, stroking the cat’s head as she considered what to do.

“You can’t fix it,” Scout said. “Her pelvis is crushed. Too many little pieces—we can’t set that.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” Warrior said. “But there is something I can do.” She pulled a tiny blade from her belt and held it over her spread palm. She seemed to be concentrating on something, just staring at her hand. Then Scout saw something wiggle, something under Warrior’s skin. Warrior put the point of the blade under her skin, digging in to get under the wiggling thing. Her blood welled up, but thickly, slowly. Her blood was dark, more purple than red even when exposed to air. Scout saw a small metallic flash, something resting on the point of the blade. Before she got a good look at it, Warrior had stabbed it into the cat’s thigh.

“What the hell are you doing?” Viola shouted as the cat shrieked, and she ran to her pet’s side.

“What needs to be done,” Warrior said. “I just put a nanite inside of Tubbins here. It’s going to get to work helping your cat heal. It’s going to take a few hours, but he’ll be fine.”

“Nanite,” Viola repeated.

Warrior rummaged under the bar until she found a towel, cleaned her blade, and then wrapped the towel around her hand. She put the knife away and stroked the cat one more time.

The others had come into the room now, Girl once more growling low in her throat at the sight of Clementine. Ruth took Clementine by the arm, steering her further away from the dogs to the far end of the table. Ottilie set her and Ebba’s sacks on the table as Ebba bent to pick up the spilled ration packets. Whatever she had been concealing in her hand was gone now.

Liv’s chair floated silently to the head of the table and settled to the ground. Liv sat back, hands folded over her stomach as her eyes swept across them all.

“How many rooms are there in this place?” she asked Viola.

“Why do you want to know?” Viola asked, refusing to leave her cat’s side.

“We might want to divide up into groups for safety,” she said.

“No, we stick together,” Warrior said.

“You know, I’m a latecomer to this little party, so I’m not entirely sure why you’re in charge,” Liv said coldly.

“Yeah, you have been giving a lot of orders,” Ottilie said. “I’m not sure I’m cool with that either.”

“I got us all here, out of the storm,” Warrior said.

“I found my own way here,” Liv said.

“And I blew the door,” Ottilie said.

“I’m not giving orders, I’m pointing out common sense,” Warrior said. She pulled the towel back from her palm, saw that the bleeding had stopped, and tossed the towel aside, reaching for something else on her belt. She grabbed Scout’s wrist and pressed the device to her forearm, triggering it. There was a hiss and a flash of pain.

“Ow!” Scout said, pulling her arm tight against her stomach.

“What is that?” Viola asked, sounding more curious than anything.

“Just a little something to fight the effects of exposure to a coronal mass ejection event. I’m guessing you don’t need any,” Warrior said.

“No, I’ve been underground the entire time,” Viola said, her eyes sweeping over the other gadgets on Warrior’s belt. Tubbins made a sleepy whimpering sound and she turned her attention back to the cat.

“Surely, even if we can’t agree on a leader, we can agree that we’re a team,” Ebba said, stacking the ration packets at the end of the table. She paused in her work to let Warrior inject her.

“We’re not a team,” Ruth said. “Not with you.”

“Why not her in particular?” Viola asked.

“Because of this,” Ruth said, reaching across the table to catch Ebba by the wrist. Warrior had pushed back her sleeve to inject into bare skin and Ruth had stopped Ebba before she could smooth her cuff back into place. They all saw the tattoo.

Viola appeared mildly surprised, but the look of cold loathing that passed over Liv’s face chilled Scout to the bone. Liv quickly mimicked Viola’s expression, but Scout knew she hadn’t imagined it.

For whatever reason, Liv hated Space Farers, was repulsed by them. But had there also been the slightest tinge of fear?