Chapter 5: Kamura
Someone was washing her, the one good thing in a sea of pain. Her Recorder training had her looking at the inside of her body even before she was awake enough to wonder why. Superficial damage, she concluded; bruises, scrapes, and a broken arm. Any med-center could heal it all in a day. But the taste in her mouth, the feeling of being disconnected from her own body—someone had drugged her! Then her brain caught up with her training, and she opened her eyes, or at least the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. Ah, the light! It was like spears stabbing into her brain. She rolled her head to one side, and a man came into view.
He was a stranger, big and ragged, with an ugly scar that bisected his face. But she’d seen him before, she was almost sure of it.
"Who are you?" she asked at last. The faint, breathy words sounded nothing like her usual tone of command.
"The name's Jak."
He slipped his hand beneath her shoulders and lifted her so that she could sit propped against the wall. Then, he offered a spoonful of something liquid.
"Here, try this. It’ll make you feel better."
She opened her mouth without argument. The examination of her body had told her that she needed liquid and nourishment.
"What’s happened to me?" she asked a little later. The liquid was soup, some sort of grain, water, and spices. If she hadn’t needed the liquid, she’d have refused it. Now, at least her voice was stronger.
"Nothing as bad as you’re thinking," the ugly stranger told her. "You’ve had a hell of a whack on the head, but it’s healing fine. Your arm is broken, or at least sprained pretty bad."
What an idiot! She knew she was injured. And her was strained, just a muscle strain. Nothing serious. But she wanted to know how she’d been injured. Or, better yet, why. She looked down at herself, at the makeshift bandages. She hated having the dirty cloth touching her, but there was obviously nothing more sanitary at hand. So, concentrate on getting some answers—now!
"That’s all there was to use for a splint," the man who called himself Jak said, noticing her glance. "Thought I’d do more harm by changing the splint than leaving it on. I cleaned the scratches and put a little ointment on them. I’ll get some antibiotics later today. I’ve got some pain killers if you want them."
"Yes," she said, squinting against the light. "I want them."
Jak reached into the small cupboard next to him and took out a couple of brownish pills.
"They’re native stuff, made of an herb that grows along the banks of the Ur. They taste like dirt, but they work fine."
He handed the pills to her along with a bottle of water. She looked at them for a moment, then put the pills in her mouth and swallowed them along with most of the water. It was only when she saw the look of dismay on his face that she realized that was all the water Jak had. Well, he could go get some more.
"Toilet!" she said next.
"In the corner. I’ll help you get up." Jak wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and helped her to stand and walk over to the clay jar in the corner. He took the lid off and gestured toward it.
"This?" she asked, incredulous.
"This. Sit on it. Do what you have to do. I’ll look the other way if you’re modest."
For a moment, she thought she might refuse; but a cramp in her bladder nearly doubled her over. With an expression of disgust, she seated herself on the commode. When she was done, Jak replaced the lid and helped her back to the cot. At least there’d been no blood in her urine. Everything would heal, she told herself, even the arm. By evening, she’d be in a med-center, and this would all be just an ugly memory.
Jak resumed his seat on the floor beside her and picked up the bowl of soup. She watched as he drank the rest of the thin stuff in just a couple of gulps. The pills he’d given her for pain started to work, and she found the strength to look around. There wasn’t much to see. The room they were in was very plain and nearly empty, just the cot, the small cupboard, and the commode in the corner. Everything was shabby and mended, from the scuffed plastic flooring to the mud-plastered walls. Gradually, it dawned on her that this bare little room constituted the entirety of Jak’s home and possessions. She closed her eyes to fight off the sudden wave of homesickness for long corridors lined with slender stone pillars, of gardens green in the sunshine. It was one thing to read reports; it was another to land in the midst of poverty greater than she’d ever imagined. But she couldn’t let this throw her off course.
"Why am I here?" she demanded.
She pulled the cloak up to her chin and looked closely at Jak. Tall, rawboned, long red hair scraped back into a tail, and a scar that cut diagonally across his face and gave him a permanent sneer; she remembered that scar.
"You’re that man from the tavern, aren’t you? I told you I wouldn’t pay you, and I mean it. Now, get me my clothes so I can get out of here."
She paused, out of breath, her face prickly with cold sweat.
"There wasn’t enough left of your dress to save," Jak told her. "You’re lucky to have my winter cloak to cover you. I brought you here to save your life, lady, not for money; and you should be damn grateful. One of our local thugs tried to kill you, only he didn’t take time to make sure of the job."
"Who tried to kill me?"
In her indignation, she lost her grip on the cloak, and Jak’s eyes went to her small, well-formed breasts. She would not put up with being ogled by this thug.
"Take me to a med-center, and do it now!"
Jak scowled. "Lady," he explained patiently, "Somebody wants you dead. My guess is that n’Tau attacked you, but the Regent’s behind it. You're alive now because nobody knows where you are. Pay attention! If you set foot in a med-center, you’re dead."
Kamura glared at him as she pulled the cloak close around her, again.
"I don’t remember who attacked me," she said. "I don’t remember being attacked at all. But I’m sure it wasn’t n’Tau . . . ." But her voice trailed off. "I remember arriving at the hotel, and I remember dressing to go out. After that, I’m not so sure. I went to several places, and n’Tau was just there, part of crowd, but amusing company. Then you were there. Then—nothing."
"You’ve got to contact Family Mobutu. Have them get you off Shadriss. If we’re careful—and lucky—later today we might be able to reach a place I know of where you can use the com."
"No, I’m taking the next shuttle to Tekena. I should have been in the capital this morning to meet with the Regent. I have urgent Family business in the Black Palace."
More than urgent, as well as important to more than Family Mobutu, she thought. But that was nothing that this man needed to know.
"Forget that! Whatever business you were sent here for is over."
"No, it isn’t."
Jak scowled. "Did that smack on your head knock loose what little sense you had? They want you dead. Dead. As in, not alive."
"You don’t understand!" She clenched her teeth and hissed as the movement made the pain in her head flare. "I’m the official Recorder, the only one in this section. I must be there to see and record the ceremony of Joining. I have to record the joining of the new Prime to the God Core to seal our trade agreements."
That was the official story. Her real mission was to determine whether the Prime was part of an active Selok omniphage cluster. If true, Kamura had orders from Grandmother Mobutu to call in the airstrike that would kill him before he could become the Overlord, before he could become a part of the piece of alien technology that the locals called the God Core. At the age of five, physicians of the priesthood of Nish had implanted a socket in the cervical vertebrae of Luan n’Chall’s neck as the culmination of a lengthily and complicated ceremony. That bit of gleaming blackness was the sign that he was destined to be the true Overlord of Shadriss. As far as Kamura was concerned, it would be his death warrant.
Still, Kamura was al
most sure she was in over her head. She’d thought it an honor to be sent alone to deal with something so important to the Family. Now, she was wondering whether her grandmother really understood the situation here on Shadriss.
"That’s crazy," Jak said, still arguing with her. "Anybody with a camera can do that."
She shook her head in denial. "No, that’s not true. I’m the living record of the Family’s business. What I see, what I say, makes it official. Nothing less will do."
For as long as Kamura could remember, she’d trained to be a Recorder. Few were chosen for that role, and fewer still survived the training. Kamura had graduated with honors. She could download information from her electronically augmented hippocampus into Family Mobutu’s computers. All she needed was a working com.
"What kind of business involves throwing away your life on Shadriss? There’s nothing here that’s worth dying for."
"Enough questions. I’m leaving."
She tried to stand and dizziness swept over her. Cold sweat prickled her skin. Catching her arm, Jak eased her back into the cot.
Kamura was quiet for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Much as she hated to admit it, she was going to need help to reach Tekena. This Jak looked as if he could use money. She was sure that’s what he’d been after with his warning earlier, despite his denials. He wore a pilot’s medallion around his neck. No doubt, he’d been stranded on Shadriss for some crime or other, and he must be anxious to leave here. Maybe she could use that to her advantage.
"Help me get to Tekena before the Joining," she said, "and I’ll see that you have enough credits to buy your way off this planet."
"No."
"Three times the cost of passage to the nearest B-class planet," she offered. "That’s 10,000 credits in local currency."
She saw him pause as he thought about it. For a moment, she feared he’d refuse again, but then he seemed to come to a decision.
"Paid in advance," he said.
She hid her relief. "Do you take me for a fool? I’ll pay when I arrive in Tekena."
"It will be a dangerous trip. We can’t go by the usual safe routes. You could die on the way."
It was her turn to frown, but it was a valid point.
"Very well then, half in advance and half when I arrive safely in Tekena."
She just had to hope that he wouldn’t take half the offer and leave her stranded. But would a thief have bothered to rescue her in the first place?
"Done," he said.
He reached toward her, as if to touch her hand, but stopped when she cringed away. The people here did entirely too much touching, she thought. She’d given her word. She’d recorded the contract. There was no need to touch.