The glare of the lights penetrated her eyelids. She would have blocked the imposing beams by placing her arm across her forehead, but she couldn’t lift her hand.
Jyra realized she was lying on her back, so she turned her head to the side and blinked. A wide cuff circled her wrist. A strap secured the cuff to a rail that ran the length of the bed. She could barely touch her thigh before the strap lost all its slack. Her other arm was similarly bound.
Jyra squinted against the lights, wishing they would go out. Then she felt rain striking her face as missiles and mud filled the air. She saw bullets plugging the soaked grass in front of her and heard Kip’s voice. She saw his face, muddy and swollen from where Fritz punched him. The lights grew brighter overhead, wiping Kip from view, and then Jyra remembered the scouts. Next, she realized where she must be.
A flare of panic erupted near her navel as Jyra returned her attention to the cuff at her wrist. She carefully rotated her arm, inspecting the skin. The cuff interfered with her search, but as far as she could tell, no one had given her a mark like the ones Serana and Berk bore on their wrists.
Jyra instinctively tried to touch her neck, but her restraints wouldn’t allow it. Even without the aid of her fingers, she could tell her mother’s locket no longer rested on her chest.
She looked right and left, glancing at the blank walls. The hum of electrical apparatuses and the faint glow of a screen distracted Jyra, but they were all mounted on the wall above her head and it would take too much effort to try to see them.
In desperation, she used her elbows to push herself up to survey the floor. Only then did she see the chair in a corner. Someone had washed her trousers, socks, and shirt, and left them folded on the chair. The locket sat on top of the pile of clothes.
Jyra sank onto her pillows, her breathing short and shallow.
Knowing the locket wasn’t lost eased her anxiety, but it didn’t get her any closer to putting its chain around her neck again. During her struggle, Jyra noticed her ankles were bound as firmly as her wrists.
“Think,” she said, gritting her teeth.
For a moment, she wished she had Dario’s dagger, though if it was on her when she was captured, it wouldn’t have been left within her reach.
She stared at the ceiling, wishing she could retrieve her last memories before she woke up here.
An IV penetrated her arm just above her wrist and a tube ran from the needle to the wall behind Jyra. She jerked her shoulder, trying to dislodge the IV, but it was no more successful than her attempts to break the restraints on her extremities.
A latch clicked across the room and Jyra heard the sounds and murmurs of people passing in the corridor outside. It reminded her of the noises in the Allied Resistance base. She propped herself up again and watched a woman step into the room and press a button on the wall. The door glided shut, cutting off the sounds of the corridor beyond.
The woman’s black hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She wore a white blazer with white slacks—they nearly matched the color of the walls. Her eyes appeared darker than the crude oil Jyra used to see in the open pit mines on Tyrorken. The woman’s skin was, if possible, paler than her outfit.
She approached with short, brisk strides, her hands clasped across her stomach. Jyra had the sense this woman intended to get what she wanted and wouldn’t tolerate anything or anyone impeding that desire. As the visitor stood over her, Jyra silently swore to stymie the woman whenever possible.
The woman placed her fingers on the side rail of the bed and made a long sweeping gaze from Jyra’s toes to her face. Jyra stared back, unblinking.
“How is Drenal?” the woman asked.
Her voice was calm. She seemed to purr rather than speak. Jyra did her best to focus on the sound of the woman’s voice rather than the meaning of the words, which clearly took her by surprise.
How does she know who he is, she thought. They can’t have captured him, the transport got away.
“There’s no need to play games,” the woman said, tapping her nails on the side rail. “You have nothing to hide.” The woman paused and fixed Jyra with a glare so fierce, it felt as though it forced Jyra’s eyes out of her face to the back of her skull. “Because if you do have something to hide, we’ll find it. We always do. Today’s secrets become tomorrow’s common knowledge.
“Then again, I’m not sure why you’re being so defensive,” the woman said with a sigh, pushing back from the side rail and swinging her arms past her hips in some pathetic display of casual indifference. “I just asked how Drenal, your doctor, is doing.”
Jyra only stared.
“Surely you know he used to work for the Allied Hospitals?” the woman said, walking away from the bed, still letting her arms glide like pendulums.
“He was very talented. The only trouble was he made sure everyone knew it.” The woman suddenly turned and slammed a hand down on Jyra’s injured leg, clutching it with fingers that felt like claws.
Jyra couldn’t help but jump. At the same time she saw the woman’s wide eyes flick to the unseen wall. Jyra realized the heart monitor, and likely other data reports, would betray her.
“There’s no need to play games,” the woman repeated, her grip on Jyra’s shin grew stronger.
“I can tell you’re confused so I’ll explain what’s going on. We know about the resistance. We know Drenal is involved, we know he’s your doctor because of the dressing on your leg.” The woman released her grip and pushed away from the bed with another sigh.
“No one else wraps like that. Many of my colleagues here remember Drenal so don’t think for a moment your going to claim he didn’t treat you.”
She glared at Jyra again.
“For that matter, don’t think you get to sit there in silence during your stay. We’ll get something out of that mouth. They’ll either be your words—” the woman leaned toward Jyra’s face and grasped the IV tube between her pale thumb and forefinger—“or your screams.”
She rubbed the tube for a moment before retreating again.
“It may just be fluids to keep you hydrated for now,” the woman continued. Then she smirked. “Not that I’m confirming that’s what it is. For all you know it could be the beginning of our interrogation process. I know we have a whole host of other substances we could introduce to your veins. Some of them might kill you outright, but if we balance the bad with the good we can keep you in a perfect equilibrium of two extremes: vital function and catastrophic pain.
“Then again,” the woman said, swiveling on her heels, “maybe it won’t even come to that. Perhaps there’s some leverage closer at hand. Maybe even in the next room over. Who is your companion?”
Jyra only answered with a vacant expression.
“Don’t pretend I’m making this up. Drenal is your doctor and this other man is connected to you in some way if only because you two were collected together. Or did you two just meet in a forest clearing as renegade ships were taking off?
“Maybe you want to explain why one of our agents punched your buddy in the face? Our scouts picked up the body and a DNA scan showed your friend had some residual skin cells from Fritz’s fist on the large facial bruise.
“We don’t miss anything here,” the woman said. “We pay particular attention to what our patients care about. It might not be Drenal, or your friend.” She paced toward the chair. “But maybe it’s right here.”
She leaned down and plucked Jyra’s boots off the floor. She held them up and Jyra stared before the woman dropped them.
“I didn’t think so. What about this?” She raised a fist and Jyra, feeling despair fall over her like another blanket, saw her mother’s locket swinging at the end of its chain.
The woman opened it and surveyed the photos within for a moment.
“How precious,” she purred. “How much you must treasure this.”
She stepped forward and Jyra’s stare faltered.
“Family matters to you, especially since yours is dead and this all you have left of them.”
Jyra felt her hands turn into fists. This woman wouldn’t break her.
“Of all the difficulties to cope with, death of close family is one of the most challenging,” the woman said. “Not long ago, my sister Eldred turned up dead in one of the coastal forests. We suspect someone from the resistance murdered her based on the bullet we found in her.” The woman paused and locked eyes with Jyra.
“I’m going to go ahead and guess that you know nothing about Eldred or anything else I’ve mentioned.”
The woman clapped Jyra on the shoulder and walked toward the door, swinging the locket in her hand.
She turned as she pushed the button.
“We’ll meet again,” she said. “If you choose not to cooperate then, we’re going to proceed in one of two ways: we’ll start by either destroying one of these precious photos, or we’ll begin removing parts of your brain. Whatever direction we go, by the time we’re done, you’ll never see the faces of your family again, in these photos or in your mind.”
The door slid shut, leaving Jyra in stunned, terrified silence. She hadn’t felt this helpless since her brother died. Thinking of Dario reminded her of her parents. I could have saved them, but I didn’t act fast enough, she thought. When faced with a challenge, Jyra usually had been able to act. The rage she felt toward her parents for forcing her to work at Tyrorken Fuels caused her to run away. The initial helplessness in the wake of Dario’s death became a catalyst for action once she reached Drometica. Despite the challenges of that TF resistance, Jyra was always able to tell herself that, at least in some way, her involvement meant she was fighting back.
Now, she was imprisoned and isolated in a hospital room. She felt the knots in her forehead as she struggled to think of a plan. That woman had taken her mother’s locket. She had to get out of this bed. This is what she wants, Jyra said, failing to ignore her panting. She wants me to panic.
Her chest rose and fell, her breaths coming in sharp gasps. Her throat suddenly felt dry and then it burned. Jyra coughed and tried to swallow large gulps of air, desperate to douse the dry patch with saliva. Even then, the burning persisted. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t soothe the searing itch and the coughing began in earnest.
Jyra forgot where she was. She was no longer bound in a hospital bed. She wasn’t even on Silanpre. She was back home on Tyrorken. The memory took hold of her consciousness. A massive dust storm swept before her and ravaged everything in its path. People rushed to get indoors. Jyra was nearly ten years old at the time, playing across the main road beyond the trees. She ran back to her street and only reached the front walk when the first wave of dust struck.
She happened to inhale the moment the airborne dirt surrounded her and the coughing fit that followed brought her to her knees. Like a parched traveler crawling toward a trickle of water, Jyra scrambled for the house. She coughed so hard blood vessels ruptured in her eyes and her saliva tasted like iron. She collapsed against the door and fell sideways, limp on the porch. Her father, fortunately, heard the noise, opened the door, and pulled her inside. Ever since then, Jyra had been well aware of the deplorable air she grew up breathing.
Now those memories only made things worse as she coughed in bed. One of the machines behind her started beeping. She automatically tried to raise her hands to cover her mouth but the restraints held fast. As she tugged and pulled, it occurred to Jyra that when the woman touched her on her wounded leg and shoulder, she had felt no pain.
A second round of beeping joined the first. Jyra strained her neck against her pillow, trying to see the source of the noise. She looked straight up and saw half of a sphere mounted on the ceiling. Inside it, Jyra saw the small lens of a camera, rotating as it zoomed in on her face.
That explained how the woman had noticed when Jyra searched for her locket. Unfortunately, the presence of the camera did nothing to ease Jyra’s coughing fit. The door to her room slid back again and this time two people entered. They wheeled a tray before them. They were completely covered in blue suits made of some thin material that rustled as they moved. Only their eyes stared back between the masks that shielded their faces and the hoods that covered their hair.
One of them grabbed the back of Jyra’s neck and tilted her head toward the ceiling while the other dumped a cup of water down her throat. She coughed most of it up, but the burning in her throat lessened.
The gloved fingers released her neck. Jyra spit the rest of the water across the bedspread and exchanged a glare with the two pairs of eyes upon her.
“You’re a quiet duo,” she said. “Nothing to say?”
One of the medics turned the cart around and headed for the door. Jyra heard it opening and the sound of the hall beyond. Without a word, the remaining medic backhanded her across the face.
The stinging sensation lingered on her cheek.
“Why?” she gasped, but the medic only struck her again.
Jyra blinked the gathering moisture from her eyes and saw the medic watching her with a steady gaze.
“Where is the base?” the medic asked. The voice belonged to a man.
“I don’t know this planet. What base are you–”
He slapped her again.
“Children play games,” the medic said. The mention of games made Jyra think of the woman with the black hair. “Do I look like a child to you?” His face swooped close to Jyra’s as he spoke. He smelled of sanitizing solution. The odor reminded her of the disinfectants used in the treatment rooms at the base.
Jyra shook her head and he pushed himself away from the bed.
“You don’t look like a child to me either. Now that we have an understanding, don’t play games. It just makes things harder…for you.”
The medic drew a syringe from the pocket of his suit. He popped the plastic safety cap free and picked up Jyra’s IV tube. Jyra thought of the threats the woman made earlier as the the medic guided the needle into the tube manifold and emptied the contents of the syringe.
*
Jyra awoke with a start. She felt the cuffs tighten around her wrists and ankles. Sweat covered her back, soaking through her gown into the sheets. Images of her family filled her mind as she stared around the room. Her father had been so close. She felt his thick fingers close around her arm, pulling her from the dust storm. She lifted her head as her mother sank beside her with a full glass. The water within had a yellow hue, but it didn’t matter. Anything to drown the dust would do.
The chill of sweat brought her back to the room. The relentless glow of the lights overwhelmed her. Jyra tried to focus on the camera in the ceiling, but everything seemed blurry.
“It’s hard isn’t it?” a familiar voice asked.
Jyra tried to sit up to face her directly, but she no longer had the strength.
The woman appeared above her again. She hadn’t changed since the last time Jyra saw her: the pristine suit, the bun of black hair, and the bottomless eyes of darkness set above cheeks as white as the bones beneath the skin.
“Who are you?” Jyra snarled, furious that her lower lip trembled as she spoke.
The woman brought her face within a foot of Jyra’s and smirked. Jyra thought her teeth looked sharp enough to chew through her wrist cuffs.
“I’m your doctor,” the woman whispered. “And my patients always do what I say.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you,” Jyra said, trying to ignore a surge of pain that threatened to knock her out. “Give me some space or I’ll make some for myself.”
“Empty threats,” the woman said. “Though we know you’re a fighter. You put up a struggle when they brought you in. We ensured you wouldn’t remember what a fool you made of yourself. Not that it matters. There’s very little you can do in with your present bindings. You can barely touch your hands together.”
The woman stopped talking. Jyra realized it was a pause that preceded bad news. The woman reached into a rear pocket of her suit and the locket swung from the her long fingers, dangling over Jyra.
“If you ever wish to touch this precious necklace again, your going to cooperate now.”
Though closed, Jyra could see all the photos the locket contained. Nothing but memories, she thought. Don’t throw away the future for the past. She wondered if Leonick had made any progress developing his time machine.
“Or,” the woman said as she reached into her waist pocket. “If this no longer convinces you–” she tossed the locket onto the bed–“maybe this will change your mind more than an IV ever could.”
The woman held a scalpel before her. The handle and blade both seemed longer than most. Jyra had only ever seen a scalpel once before when she got stitches for the cut on the back of her hand.
The woman pulled the plastic protector off the blade.
“This is my favorite tool,” she said. “Other doctors favor larger instruments of persuasion, but this can deliver the precise amount of pain I’m looking for, especially for a patient who knows what I want to know.”
The woman seized Jyra’s right hand so the back of it faced the lights and Jyra’s eyes widened.
“Already one scar here,” the woman said, running the tip of the cold blade along the uneven flesh. “I don’t suppose you’d mind another.”
The woman moved the scalpel an inch to the side of the scar and pressed the blade through the skin.
Jyra inhaled deeply and bit back the desire to cry out. She thought of Dario and his dagger, wishing she had it in her hand right now.
Then she suddenly remembered something Dario had said while working on the tree house in their parent’s backyard. They were running short on lumber, and when Jyra mentioned this, Dario shook his head dismissively.
“It’s never so bad that you can’t make the best of what you’ve got at hand,” he replied.
Jyra opened her eyes mid-grimace and smelled the woman’s breath. She had her face impossibly close to Jyra’s again, her eyes staring hungrily at her patient as she dragged the blade.
“Tell me everything you know about the resistance,” the woman ordered.
“If you hate games as much as you claim, you should be ashamed to be part of the biggest one on this planet,” Jyra gasped. “And I told you to give me some space.”
The movement of the scalpel ceased and Jyra seized her chance. She threw her head back into her pillow and used the rebounding momentum in her upward trajectory. Her forehead struck the woman in the nose. Jyra heard the crack of the woman’s ankles as they collapsed sideways, rolling in the high heels.
Jyra sat up and brought her hands as close together as possible. The scalpel tilted out of the flesh of her right hand and the handle fell into the waiting fingers of her left. She managed a clumsy grip, but it was enough to slice through the cuff on her right hand. The scalpel shredded the fabric and Jyra cut her other hand and her feet free in moments.
One of the woman’s hands closed on the side rail of the bed. Jyra kicked the blanket back . When the second hand gripped the rail, she aimed the scalpel and jammed the blade through one of her doctor’s fingers.
The woman screamed. Jyra barely held onto the scalpel as the woman wrenched both of her hands off the rail. She clambered out of bed, ignoring the blood that rushed from the back of her hand and the dull throbbing in her forehead.
Jyra stood over the woman, holding the scalpel in front of her and trying to keep her hand steady. Blood flowed from the woman’s nose and wounded finger. Once she saw Jyra’s bare feet she began scuttling away, but Jyra followed with the scalpel.
“You won’t get out of here alive,” the woman said.“Once they see what’s happened.”
She nodded toward the overhead camera. Jyra realized she might be right, but decided she’d rather die trying to get her locket than letting some stranger use it against her. Now the stranger sat defenseless at her feet.
“I didn’t kill your sister, if Eldred was indeed your sister,” Jyra said. She couldn’t see any similarities between the two of them. “What’s your name?”
The woman paused, but Jyra felt confident that, this time, the answer wouldn’t herald her immediate suffering.
“Matala,” the woman said, cowering on the floor.
“Had I followed Eldred, she would have brought me here,” Jyra said. “If she brought me here, I’d hope that she’d suffer as I have suffered. I shudder to think what happens to the patients of yours who have no information to offer.”
Jyra felt herself stalling. She didn’t even realize she was thinking nor that she was speaking.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Jyra said, trying to latch onto reality. “You get us out of here and I’ll lead you to the person who killed Eldred.”
At the very least, Jyra thought she might discover if Matala and Eldred were related based on how seriously Matala considered the proposition.
Instead, Matala clutched her nose. The blood stained the collar of her pale suit. She glared at Jyra.
“If I refuse?” she asked.
“Then I return the same favors you’ve given your patients, beginning with the rest of your face,” Jyra said, brandishing the scalpel. “Maybe I’ll start with your eyes.”