Into the No-Zone. Eugene Lambert

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      ‘I do believe you. But we’ve got more to worry about than a High Slayer coming back to life. Maybe her body armour saved her. Who knows? What matters is Gemini risked bringing her to the Deeps so she could identify us. What’s that tell you?’

      ‘Ballard’s not as smart as we thought?’

      Colm glances at our guards and they seem not to be listening. ‘Ballard’s no fool. Everything he does, he does for a reason. I think it tells us that the Council will go for the peace deal. You heard the woman – she’s here to check the merchandise, to make sure we’re still alive and kicking, ready to be handed over.’

      ‘You think too much,’ I croak.

      ‘Sometimes I wish I didn’t,’ he says, and grimaces.

      Another long silence. In my head I play back Colm’s words, trying to find holes in his thinking that hope might fit into.

      Nothing doing. There are no holes.

      ‘Okay, fine,’ I whisper, straightening kinks out of my neck. ‘I get it. We’re screwed if we stay here. Either we’ll be handed back to the Slayers, or we’ll be lynched by hardliners.’

      Colm frowns. ‘If we stay here? You say it like we’ve a choice.’

      ‘We’ll get word to Rona and Sky. They’ll bust us out.’

      He says nothing, but his face is my face – I see the doubt.

      ‘You got a better idea?’ I ask.

      ‘I’m working on it,’ he tells me. And then, ‘No.’

7

       THE COUNCIL DECIDES

      I’m squeezing off a last few sit-ups when our guards let Rona in. She’s the only visitor we’re allowed while we rot here like rats in this stinking hole, waiting for Gemini’s leadership to make their minds up about the peace treaty. Three days we’ve been stuck here, and it’s doing my head in.

      ‘Hey, Rona,’ Colm says, and smiles.

      To listen to him, you wouldn’t think he’s gone mad. I nod at Rona and wipe the worst of the sweat off with my shirt.

      ‘Oh, Kyle, must you?’ she says.

      This is so Rona. I’m to be handed over to Slayers or killed by my own kind, and she’s worried I won’t have a clean shirt.

      With a sigh, she unpacks her bag. Even though she was searched on the way in, our watching guards stiffen.

      ‘Any news?’ I ask her.

      She shakes her head. ‘I’ll tell you when there is. Now hand over your bowls. No point letting this broth get cold.’

      Colm fetches the food bowls while I pull my shirt back on.

      ‘Maybe no news is good news,’ she says.

      ‘You reckon?’ I glance at our scratches on the rock wall.

      It’s eighteen days to the next doom moon. We’ve been crossing them off. Just thinking about it makes me shiver. Most nights our smaller and faster-moving dogmoon chases the bigmoon around Wrath’s sky. Four times a year however, roughly at the turn of the seasons, it climbs higher in the sky than the bigmoon. That’s when we call it the doom moon, and everybody is all oh no! and moaning about how it brings bad luck and savage weather.

      Rona calls it superstition and nonsense. I guess we’ll see.

      ‘Don’t worry, the Council will do the right thing,’ she says. She slops slimy-looking broth into our bowls from a flask.

      ‘Right for who?’ I say. ‘What is this?’

      Colm dives right in. Being a martyr must be hungry work.

      ‘It’s all I could get,’ Rona snaps. ‘With everybody too busy arguing, nothing’s getting done, least of all cooking.’

      ‘What happened to your face?’ Colm asks her.

      ‘It’s nothing,’ Rona says, but too quickly.

      I look up and now I see the swelling under her left eye.

      ‘Was that . . . because of us?’

      ‘Eat your broth.’

      I push my bowl away untouched. ‘Was it?’

      ‘When people are scared they can do stupid things. I’m being escorted here now. Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.’

      ‘It’s getting ugly then?’ Colm says.

      Rona hesitates. ‘Worse than ugly.’ She lowers her voice. ‘That Schroeder is whipping things up, making pro-treaty speeches. There’s been rioting. Four people died last night.’

      ‘For the treaty, or against it?’ I ask.

      ‘Does it matter?’ She pushes my bowl back at me.

      Even though I feel sick inside I choke a few mouthfuls down, for her more than me. And it’s not as bad as it looks. Then again, it’s been a good while since I last ate a proper meal.

      ‘How’s your arm?’ Rona asks Colm.

      He holds his arm up in its sling. ‘Getting there, I think.’

      I snort, hearing this. ‘He still can’t hardly move it.’

      Rona suggested getting some of my nublood into him so he’d heal quicker, but the guards won’t let her bring healing gear in. It’s a curse. If we do bust out, him having two arms would be good.

      ‘Hey, Colm, tell Rona what you told me this morning.’

      He scowls, and says nothing.

      ‘I’ll tell her then. He said that it’s okay if we’re handed over.’

      ‘I did not ! All I said was – if the Council could negotiate a realistic deal, something that might actually work, but still had to hand us over, who are we to say it’s too high a price?’

      ‘You believe this?’ I say to Rona.

      She looks pained. ‘Your brother’s entitled to his opinion.’

      ‘You agree with him?’

      I get huffed at. ‘No, I don’t.’ She turns to face my brother. ‘You’re brave to say it, Colm, but sacrificing yourself will achieve nothing. No good will come of making deals with Slayers.’

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