The Balance of Silence Read online

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  17

  S. Reesa Herberth and Michelle Moore

  “Do you care if I stay here tonight?” He smiled, hoping he’d managed to make it reassuring. “It’s guaranteed to be more comfortable than curling up in the back of my hopper.”

  While he’d been talking, the piano guy had reached the pallet on the floor. Eyes not leaving Riv’s, he nodded slowly, then sank down, knees tucked under him.

  “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I could contort myself into that seat another night. I think my spine’s permanently curved. Although I’m a little concerned about my cargo. This town’s a bit rough around the edges. Uh, no offense, though.” Although he doubted he’d have any disagreement. It wasn’t like the town was treating this guy particularly well. “You think anybody’s going to fuck with it?”

  His new friend’s nod was accompanied by what could almost be called a smile—slight, ghost-like even, but still a smile.

  “Great, I was afraid you were going to say that.” Riv found himself grinning in return. “Good thing I locked up tight before I left then. And I’m thinking that booby trap was probably a good idea.” He’d be awake for whatever attempt they made on it now, at least. Riv swallowed, grimacing at the taste. Too bad he didn’t have any ration bars with him, because once the nausea wore off, he was going to be hungry.

  Leaning back against the wall, he tried to make himself a little more comfortable without pulling the whole place down around their ears. He sighed, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. The conversation was definitely one-sided, but complete silence while the two of them were about a meter and a half apart just seemed uncomfortable.

  “Hey, you played something back there, something I knew.” Riv hummed a few bars. “Karibee’s anthem. How do you know it? You’re not…” He paused, looking closer. “You’re not Karibian, are you?”

  They tended to scatter. It certainly wouldn’t be unheard of to find a fellow countryman this far away from the homeworld.

  The mystery man shook his head, pointing a finger at Riv.

  “So that was just for my benefit, eh? Trying to distract me so your friend could slip me a mickey, or trying to get my attention so I wouldn’t drink it?” He waited for some other gesture, some attempt to carry on the conversation, but he might as well have been alone for all of the sudden disinterest being shown.

  Eyes downcast again, the man steadfastly ignored him, and Riv took the hint and shut up.

  Sometime later he found himself shaken lightly awake. Outside, the rain had nearly ceased, and he could hear at least two voices nearby, one of them raised in a curse. He shook the sleep from his mind, scrambling to his feet in the now-empty shack and heading towards his vehicle in a loping run. It was a good job that at least a part of the forest floor had been cleared here, because otherwise he would have been flat on his face instead of rounding on the bartender and the idiot who’d been foolish enough to try jimmying the lock. He was still shaking his hand, holding it at the wrist like he could keep the sting from traveling farther up his arm.

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  The Balance of Silence

  “Did you see who it was?” he asked, managing to hide the amusement in his voice. “They warned me that there had been trouble in this area with people trying to break into aid supplies, but they thought the new alarm system might help.”

  “Your fucking hopper—”

  “What he means,” the barkeep said, interrupting hurriedly, “is that we only got here in time to chase them off. We didn’t see who it was. Omal here was trying to see if they’d damaged anything, and he got a nasty bite.”

  Riv narrowed his eyes, knowing damn good and well that Omal would have had to breach the lock plate without a code to have gotten his little zap. “Well, I guess I should be heading out then. I wouldn’t want your family to be put in harm’s way for my sake. ReliefCorp is really trying to keep their people safe now, outfitting all their hoppers with these systems. I heard they were even going to start sending ships into close orbit so they could drop a shuttle crew if one of their people sent a distress call.”

  From the wild looks he was getting, they were buying his load of shit. If it made them think twice about bothering the next worker through, he figured the lies were worth it.

  “You drive safe. The road gets dangerous at night.” If it was a threat, it was ultimately one that Riv would have to ignore. There was no chance that he’d sleep here all night while they tried to rob him.

  “I’ll do that. And I’ll see to it that someone comes through to check on your piano player.”

  They left him in the clearing, and as soon as they thought they were out of earshot Omal began grousing about smartass supply pushers who didn’t drink enough. He chuckled as he inspected the hopper, making sure there was no damage before he headed back out.

  He was just kneeling under the lift thrusters on the driver’s side when he saw a pair of grungy bare feet appear on the other side of the craft. ReliefCorp had a strict ban on weapons in field situations, and he wouldn’t have used one anyway, but it gave him a jump when he realized that if someone had come back to try and steal his cargo he wasn’t likely to make it into the hopper, much less power up in time to get away.

  The first knot of wariness settled in his stomach as he came deliberately around the other side, and then melted away again when he saw that his visitor was likely more frightened than he was.

  “Hey there, Ducks.” He got a puzzled look, and patted his head to explain. “Your hair. Reminds me of fuzzy little duck babies. Sorry.”

  That same ghostly grin flickered in the dim green light cast through the window by the instrument panel. As it fled the man stepped closer, extending a shaking hand to briefly touch the badges hanging around Riv’s neck.

  “Yeah, I’m civilian aid. You look pretty civil to me…and like you could maybe use some help.”

  Careful to keep his movements slow and non-threatening, he gestured towards the hopper with his chin.

  “What do you say, want to get out of this joint?”

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  19

  S. Reesa Herberth and Michelle Moore

  By way of an answer, he reached for the door handle, eyes downcast, and Riv found himself leaping forward to knock the hand away. “Shit, don’t—” He hadn’t deactivated the lock plate yet, hadn’t had a chance.

  The frantic wail was somehow more frightening after the previous silence, even more so for being completely wordless. Shocked, Riv took a step back, patting frantically at the hand he found himself grasping. “Shh, hey, it’s okay. The door, I didn’t want you to get zapped, it’s okay.”

  Blue eyes were wide, blank with terror, and Riv knew they weren’t seeing him, but that didn’t stop him from attempting a reassuring smile. “Ducks, it’s okay, really. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He dropped his hands and backed up a step. “See, not going to hurt you, nothing to be scared of.”

  Impossible to tell if it was the words or the simple fact that he wasn’t touching him anymore, but the wail quieted to a whimper, and finally to silent heaving gasps. Equaled by his own, actually. It had been a long time since anything had startled him that badly, and Riv took a minute to catch his breath.

  “Holy fuck, you have to promise to not do anything like that ever again.” He swiped a hand across a forehead sweaty from more than just the heat, and sighed. “I’m going to take the alarm off the door, okay?”

  Seemed easier to walk them both through it, less room for surprises that way. Keeping both hands in clear view, he punched in the code, waited for the door to swing open, then stepped away again. “All set, safe as houses now.”

  The several seconds of silence did wonders for his nerves. “I’m sorry. Can you get into the hopper?”

  Shuffling steps took Ducks to the door, arms held tightly against his sides, hands clenched as he kept as far away from Riv as physically possible. He cl
imbed slowly into the hopper, immediately hunching in on himself in the narrow seat.

  “I’m gonna close the door now, okay?” The solid clunk didn’t get a reaction, which he found himself halfway grateful for, and the sound of his own door closing after he slid in was immensely comforting, although not nearly as much as the steady hum of the hopper’s engines warming up.

  “Right, then. Ready to get out of town?”

  No reply, but he didn’t expect one anymore. He could see already that this was more than he was going to be able to fix, and the best he could hope for was not making it any worse. As they rumbled slowly out of the clearing, he didn’t miss the flicker of a flashlight through the trees, and even though it was a somewhat foolish waste of power, he turned the safety system back on. His passenger sat still in the seat next to him, eyes straight ahead and blank, and Riv left him there as they lost themselves deeper and deeper in the foliage.

  His need for sleep had finally caught up with him a few hours before dawn, and after some deliberation he’d chosen to put down and catch a nap before they went any farther. His companion, if someone who was seemingly catatonic could be called such, had taken the suggestion to stretch out on 20

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  The Balance of Silence

  Riv’s usual bed in the back. Riv himself had managed an uncomfortable sort of slouch, wedged into the front seat. He’d woken with his breath fogging the window, drool on his shoulder and eyes that felt like someone had poured sand into them.

  After checking to see if Ducks was still asleep, and a quick look at the perimeter security scans, he’d opened the door as quietly as he could and wandered out of sight to take care of the morning necessities.

  When he heard running water nearby, he perked up, carefully marking his path away from the hopper as he headed towards the promise of a clean face. The river was clear when he got there, not the muddy soup he normally found, and without a second of hesitation he pulled off his shirt and dunked it. The drops that hit his arms were icy, raising goose bumps as they rolled lazily across his skin, and he nearly yelped when he buried his face in the wet cloth. He tried not to jump when he dropped the cloth and found Ducks standing there, calm and curious.

  “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” he said with a shrug. Actually, that had always been in his portfolio of personal beliefs, in one form or another. Cleanliness of soul and conscience more than body, though, but that wasn’t to say that some physical cleansing wasn’t good for the soul. Riv carefully held out his shirt one-handed, the other staying still at his side. “Here, wash up. You’ll feel better.”

  There was a flash of awareness in the formerly blank eyes, almost amusement if you really wanted to stretch the imagination, and Riv felt a faint smile of his own form. It was going to take a hell of a lot more than a wash-up to make Ducks better, and it seemed like they both realized that.

  The thin hand was surprisingly steady as it took the wet shirt, quick step forward, then a stumbling step back and away, shirt in hand.

  Riv swiped a hand across his forehead, catching the last of the water drops from his hair, and froze at the sudden flash of fear his movement elicited, hand still half-raised. “What? What did I do?”

  The five-minute discourse on why he was such a threatening figure failed to materialize, and holding back a sigh of frustration, he hunkered down on his heels and reached for his boots. “I’m not going to hit you, you know.” Glancing up, he squinted against the hazy sun. “People made it a habit of whacking you in the past?” Except that it wasn’t his hands that Ducks was staring at, it was his head.

  Half self-consciously, he rubbed at his hair, already shaggy after four weeks out. “There a bug in my hair or something? I know I didn’t use some fancy shampoo, but I did at least wash it. And last time I checked, I wasn’t frightening children with my appearance.” No fathomable reason for the horrified fascination with his head that he could see, at least until Ducks pointed at the water.

  “It’s not safe to drink without a clarifier tablet. Did you want to go in?”

  Ducks shook his head, quick and adamant, then pointed at the water again. He threaded a hand through his own hair, and mimed bending over, looking back up at Riv expectantly.

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  21

  S. Reesa Herberth and Michelle Moore

  “I…I don’t get it. Did someone push you into the water?” He didn’t get an answer, obviously, but Ducks made the same gesture again, this time making it more evident that his head was being pushed down.

  “Someone…someone held your head under water?”

  He rewarded Riv with a nod and the hint of a sad smile, before touching his throat and throwing his hand away.

  “And that’s when you lost your voice. Was there an injury? Did someone choke you?” He tried not to push too hard, but if he was dealing with a head injury, or even a crushed windpipe, Ducks could still be in serious danger, and he’d have to find some way to boost a scanner signal to a MedAid satellite to know how to proceed. Still, when Ducks shrugged and shook his head again, Riv wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. The lack of physical reason seemed to indicate a psychological break of some kind, and while he had the basic trauma psych training that all ReliefCorp volunteers were run through, he tried to stay as far away from messing with anyone’s head as he possibly could.

  “Do you feel okay to go on? I want to try and get us back to Rulough as soon as I can, so we can get you some help.” He pulled on his soaked shirt, warmer now that it had dried a bit, but still blessedly cool against his skin. When his head popped through the neck again, he could see that Ducks was watching him closely, lower lip caught in his teeth. After a long moment where his shaking fingers curled into the hem of his overly large shirt, he lifted the hem. Riv gasped, unable to hold back an outraged cry at the swath of burn scars, still fresh enough to be pink and shiny, where they were healing at all. Near the edges of the wounds it was obvious that they’d become infected, even to Riv’s limited range of medical knowledge.

  “I have some burn cream and antibiotics back in the hopper. I’ll have to touch you to treat them. Can you handle that?”

  The affirmative nod came without hesitation, and Riv led them back to the vehicle, pulling the hatch shut and locking it behind them. The bulletproof glass in the windows let in enough light, but he turned on the overhead strips anyway, wanting a clear look at the damage he was dealing with.

  Ducks flinched away at first, then squeezed his eyes shut and sat up straighter.

  “I’m sorry. Do you want a painkiller?” Riv looked back up to see what answer he was going to get, but it was obvious that Ducks had checked out of the proceedings, his face gone slack, eyes now open but distant.

  “Right then,” he said, focusing on the treatment and letting any hope of further information fall by the wayside for the time being.

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  Chapter Three

  A week on, and they’d settled fairly easily into each other’s company. There were long stretches of time where Ducks was present and engaging, as much as he could be without speaking or using a proper sign language. Riv did his best to keep him there, not touching, making as few sudden movements as he could, and was rewarded with a traveling companion who had a wicked sense of humor, even stifled by his lack of words. The hours when he faded away left Riv feeling the lack. Sleeping arrangements had been harder to deal with, but he’d gotten used to twisting himself up in the driver’s seat, and Ducks never seemed to crash for more than two or three hours at a time, usually woken by nightmares.

  Beyond the hesitant game of charades they’d played next to the stream, Ducks had made no further effort to tell him what had gone on. Riv’d played connect the dots as a kid, making pictures out of random numbers, but there were no dots to connect here. There was nothing he could do that would make sense of this situation.

  When they finally arrived in Rulough, the
city was a seething mass of humanity, worse than he’d expected, filthy, crowded and hot, fear clouding the air like a black miasma. They’d had to abandon the hopper at a parking station, fighting their way through the millions of refugees filling the streets, and the tension was starting to wear on them both. Ducks was terrified, jammed against him so tightly that he could feel every ragged breath, and Riv was getting the bad feeling that a breakdown wasn’t far off. They needed to get off the street.

  Directions hadn’t been easy to obtain. No one wanted to slow down enough to talk, and definitely not to someone who may or may not be part of the toppling regime. It was pure luck that he spotted the street sign, partially obscured by the effigy of someone obviously not in favor. He felt Ducks shiver at the all-too-realistic body, and using a careful hand on his shoulder, Riv hustled them both past it, trying to ignore the blood dripping onto the dusty street. Not an effigy, then.

  Miraculously enough, they had the street almost to themselves, and it wasn’t until Riv squinted against the afternoon sun and spotted the roadblock that he realized why. Vehicles mostly, and some wooden barricades, smoke still leaking from the burned-out heap.

  “Fuck, this can’t be a good sign.” Right, because the day had been so full of them already. Sighing, he scanned down the doors without much hope. But there, third door down in the row of shopfronts, the distinctive green cross quartered by red. The plate glass was still intact, instead of being scattered on the sidewalk like most of the rest of the street’s windows. It was more likely due to the shatterproof glass most S. Reesa Herberth and Michelle Moore

  relief agencies equipped their offices with, in preparation for situations such as this, rather than any respect for the group.

  The door, of course, was locked. Locked and barred, and for a moment despair was a bitter flood in the back of his throat. And while Ducks waited docilely at his side, Riv rested his head against the glass with a groan.