The Sacred Garden

Chapter Seven

Leela opened her eyes on to darkness. She didn't remember going to sleep; she could barely remember kicking herself off the cot and, still shackled to it, using it as a bulky weapon against the guard and the doctor. She had been knocked out or drugged – she felt both heavy-headed and light-limbed. Someone was breathing right close to her ear.

She started audibly and a thick hand was placed over her mouth. She recognized the voice that said: "You're going to suffer for what you done."

Once again, the sheer power of the man's strength frightened her. His limbs were like tree branches. Her hands and legs were bound to the hospital cot and his fingers went to her throat, unchallenged. They squeezed against the tendons, just enough to make her eyes swim, but the terror made her choke.

"Shut up!" he hissed. He jerked her and her head batted against his arm.

"Leela?"

"Mmmm..." Her noises ended in a gargle.

"Leela! Leela! Stop! Help!

Lights came up, lanterns flaring and swinging against the canvas ceiling of the tent.

"I'll kill her! Stay away!"

"Help her!"

"I knew it! Get off her; what are you doing, Captain? Who are you?"

Leela, eyes darkening, tried desperately struggling again. She felt one of the ropes at her wrists snap, but her arm collapsed.

The sounds of voices faded and muffled; the sound of shattering glass exploded as if in her ear and in the darkness a thin pinpoint of light appeared and began to expand. After a few seconds of concentration, in which she wondered whether it was the slow light of death, she realized she was regaining consciousness.

"Leela?" asked a questioning voice. It was gentle but the face was hard. It swam before her, pinched and sallow.

Leela coughed and spat. Nesbin knelt down on her other side, his eyes swirling with concern. "Help me up," she whispered.

"I thought you were done for it," said Nesbin gruffly, putting his arm around her shoulders and easing her off the bed.

"Me, too," she rasped. She looked around. The mine captain was dead at her feet – slumped below the cot with a knife in his back. The doctor and the medics lay nearby.

"I don't think you had to kill them all," she told the stranger.

"They would have let you die. They're nothing," he added harshly. "Just Ragis scum. I've killed far better for the cause."

"You!" said Leela, suddenly recognizing him.

"Why are you here?" demanded Nesbin.

"Rodan sent me."

They walked out into the medical camp, which now was utterly desolate – a collective of wilting tents on the shore of Lake Armonon. An odor hung over the tents – a compound of human waste, fish and reeds rotting in stagnant water. A few desultory bird calls were beginning to greet the sun – now just a band of light on the far shore of the lake – and their voices were mournful.

But Leela's attention lit only on a yellow aircar sitting in the dirt. "At last – decent transport!" she cried.

It was yet another anomaly in a place full of them – and Leela walked around and admired its sleek form, the open cockpit, the fluted tail, the large, fanned VTOL engines – four of them – universally typical of this type of transportation.

"Where'd you get it?" she asked, climbing in beside Tyman and watching while he started up the engines.

"A friend."