Contributor (Contributor Trilogy, book 1) (17 page)

"Yes, yes, it's Letizia D'Angelo," Dara said. She had no idea how they knew each other, but she seized on the connection out of sheer desperation. "Our transport crashed and she's wounded. If you leave us here—"

"We're not leaving you here," the female said firmly.

Mal brushed past Dara and squatted in front of her master. "Shit, Letizia. It is you." Though she still couldn't see his features, Dara could now make out the contours of his body. Glancing to her right, she found she could also make out the shadowy figure of the female.

"It's going to be all right," the female said to Dara, her voice soothing.

The tears finally burst forth, and Dara let them fall. She was terrified, not at all certain that these two strangers meant them anything other than harm, but she simply didn't know what else to do.

"I'm going to pick you up," Mal said to Letizia.

"Be careful with her. She has a head wound, and I think she has a concussion," Dara said.

"I'll do what I can," he replied tersely.

"Take my hand," the female said to Dara. "I'll guide you."

Reluctantly, Dara extended it and felt it grasped in a small, warm hand. The female gave a reassuring squeeze and then tugged lightly. Dara followed her, and Mal brought up the rear, carrying Letizia. Though Letizia was slim, Dara knew she must be nothing but dead weight, yet Mal still managed to breathe soundlessly and keep up with Dara and her guide.

They walked for a long while. Gradually, Dara regained more of her night vision, which made it easier to follow her guide. She still couldn't make out the female's features, though, and she could barely see Letizia and Mal when she glanced over her shoulder. The wind began to howl, flinging stinging granules of sand against Dara's cheeks, and she winced.

"Cover your nose and mouth with your shirt," her guide whispered to her.

Dara obeyed. Though it was difficult to breathe through the fabric, she knew it would have been much worse to inhale the sand flying about. The storm intensified as they continued, and Dara hoped they'd soon reach their destination.

At long last, Dara's guide stopped walking. Visibility was poorer than ever now and, as her guide gave her hand a final squeeze and let go, Dara had the sudden, panicky fear that their supposed rescuers might run off with Letizia and leave Dara stranded in the middle of the storm. A few seconds later, Dara heard a grating sound and her guide took her hand again, tugging her forward.

"Careful. You'll need to go down some stairs," her guide said. "We can't risk any lights, so you'll have to feel your way. I'm sorry."

"Okay," Dara said, her voice a squeak. Her arms stung from a combination of the cold and the grit that the wind flung at them.

"We'll get you something warm to wear, once we're down."

"Th-Thanks," Dara stuttered, almost numb from fatigue, cold, and fear.

"Hold onto my shoulders and try not to trip."

"Okay."

Navigating the stairs was a slow and difficult process. Though Dara tried to be as careful as she could, she felt so little sensation in her legs that she stumbled several times, nearly sending both herself and her guide plummeting down the stairs. She almost collapsed with relief when they reached the bottom.

"Mal? Tasha? What the—" another male voice said. "You found Letizia?" He sounded every bit as incredulous as Dara felt.

"She's injured," Mal said.

"Put her down. I need to examine her," the new person said, his voice brisk and authoritative.

Squinting in the dim light, Dara could at last make out the features of their two supposed rescuers. As Mal and his new companion bent over Letizia, Dara studied the three strangers.

Mal crouched, cradling Letizia cautiously, his well-toned muscles rippling under his dark skin. His handsome features creased in concern, and Dara took in his closely cropped, curly black hair, his dark eyes. He appeared to be in his early twenties, younger than Dara would have guessed.

Even more surprising was Dara's guide, who looked to be younger than Dara herself. Like Mal, the girl had dark skin, but her brown eyes were softer than Mal's. A beautiful, riotous mass of brown curls sprang around her lovely face as she moved her head, trying to see what the two men were doing to Letizia.

The new guy mostly had his back to Dara, so she couldn't see his features very well, but she did catch a glimpse of a straight nose, full lips, and caramel-colored skin several shades lighter than Mal's. He wore his straight, thick, inky-black hair slightly longer than the men in the domes typically did. With great care, he pulled the gauze away from Letizia's head, his face stony as he looked at the wound.

"We need to get her inside," he told Mal.

"Inside where?" Dara asked. The three of them looked at her suddenly, as if they'd forgotten about her. "Where the hell are we? How do you know Letizia?"

The new guy held his hands up in a placating gesture. He met Dara's gaze with warm, steady brown eyes.

"We don't have time for explanations. We need to take care of Letizia right now," he said.

"Where are you taking her? How do I know—" Dara began.

"I know you don't trust us, and you have every reason not to," the girl broke in gently. "But Raj is right, he needs to take care of Letizia. Come with me and I'll explain everything to you."

Too exhausted to argue anymore, Dara nodded and watched as Raj and Mal hurriedly carried the barely-conscious Letizia away. Dara felt a shiver of fear.

"She'll be okay," the girl said. "Raj will take very good care of her."

"What does Raj know about taking care of her?" Dara demanded. She winced at the harsh tone of her voice, but the other girl didn't look at all perturbed.

"Raj had formal training. He was going to be a doctor."

"He...he was going to be a doctor?" Dara repeated.

"Come on, let's get you warmed up. I'll talk as we walk. My name is Tasha, by the way." She turned and began to walk away, Dara following.

"Mal is my brother," Tasha said, glancing over her shoulder at Dara. "We met Letizia through Raj."

"But are you...how..." Dara had no idea how to phrase the questions she wanted to ask.

They entered a small, bunker-like room, its walls, floor, and ceiling all lined with concrete. A couch stood against the center of the far back wall, with a couple of chairs on either side of it. To their right, there was a small kitchenette, complete with a tiny fridge and a portable burner.

"Here, have a seat. Let me grab a sweater and put some water on for tea, and then we'll talk," Tasha said.

Dara perched gingerly on the edge of the couch. Her teeth started chattering and she pressed her hands together, shoving them between her knees in an effort to warm them. Tasha took a jug of water and poured it into a battered tea kettle, setting it on the burner. She flicked it on and disappeared down another corridor, reappearing a moment later with a sweater, which she handed to Dara.

"Thanks," Dara mumbled, her teeth chattering so hard she had difficulty speaking. She shrugged the sweater on as Tasha measured some tea leaves into a tin tea pot.

"Are you hungry?" Tasha asked.

"Yes," Dara admitted.

Tasha opened the fridge and rooted around for a minute before emerging with a small package in her hand. She handed it to Dara, who opened the container to find a sandwich.

"It's peanut butter," Tasha said, watching Dara. "Sorry I can't offer you something more substantial, but we don't keep much here."

"That's...that's okay." Dara warily bit into the sandwich. Her hunger proved too strong for restraint, though, and she devoured it in several bites.

The kettle began to whistle, and Tasha pulled it off the burner, pouring the steaming water into the tea pot. A few seconds later, the aroma of the tea drifted over to Dara, and she shivered again. Despite the sweater, she was still very cold.

"Here, I'll take that," Tasha said, seeing Dara look around helplessly, unsure of what to do with the container.

"Thanks." Dara pressed her hands between her knees once again and stared at the floor.

Quiet settled over the room as Tasha prepared the tea. A steaming mug appeared before Dara a few moments later.

"Go ahead, Dara, you can take it," Tasha said.

Dara took the mug, wrapping her hands around it and closing her eyes as the warmth seeped into her skin. She took a careful sip, her eyebrows rising in surprise as she found that it was the same tea she drank at home. The warmth cleared her mind, and she realized Tasha had called her by name.

"How do you know my name?" she demanded.

"Letizia told us," Tasha replied. Worried, Dara gnawed on her bottom lip.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on now?" She set her half-drunk tea aside, uncertain whether she wanted the rest. Though she was grateful, she wasn't about to get comfortable. She didn't trust Mal, Raj, or Tasha, and she was also beginning to wonder about Letizia.

Tasha took a deep breath and stared at a point over Dara's head for a moment, seemingly gathering her thoughts. "Letizia, Mal, Raj, and I..." She spoke slowly, still staring at the spot. "We're just...like-minded people, I guess."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's...I don't know, it's kind of hard to explain. Here, come with me and let me show you something." Tasha turned and walked off, and Dara scrambled to follow her.

They walked into another concrete-lined room. Wooden shelves that looked as though they'd been cobbled together with scavenged scraps lined two of the four walls. Rows and rows of books sat on the shelves. Two upright wooden structures stood against one of the other walls, large sheets of some blank material balanced on them. A long table stood against the final wall, its surface scattered with a strange combination of materials: everything from bits of fiber and fabric to containers filled to the brim with shiny objects. Curious, Dara moved closer.

"What the— Are those, are those insects?" Dara asked in disgust, leaping away from the table.

"Yes," Tasha said, sounding rather amused. Indeed, as Dara turned to look at her, she saw the other girl studying her with a smile tugging at her lips.

"Why would you have containers full of those?"

"We use them for making pigments."

"Pigments?"

"For paints."

"Paints?"

"Is there an echo in here?" Tasha asked, her voice light. "Come on, Dara. I mean, I know this isn't the kind of stuff they teach you in your fancy Job Creator-sponsored school, but surely you know what paints are."

"Of course I do," Dara snapped, offended. "We use paints all the time at Magnum. They're meant to help seal and protect metals from corrosion."

"That's not exactly what we're using them for here."

"What are you using them for, then?"

"For painting, of course," Tasha said. The amused expression on her face made Dara even angrier, and the other girl must have noticed because she stopped smiling and looked seriously at Dara. "Damn. I sometimes forget how little most people on the inside know."

"We know a great deal," Dara said stiffly. "In fact, Magnum's known for the top-notch education with which it provides all of its students."

"They all say that." Tasha spoke in the sort of placating tones parents used with frustrated children. "What they don't teach you about is artistic expression. That's what we use the paints for."

"Why would you waste your time with useless pursuits? There's so much to be done and so few resources that—"

Tasha held up a hand and sighed. "Look, I don't want to get into a philosophical argument with you right now. What I'm trying to tell you is that the reason why Mal, Raj, Letizia, and I know each other is because we sometimes gather in safe places, where we can pursue our interests." She gestured around the room, and Dara followed the arc of her hand.

"How did you get these things?" Dara asked, walking over to the shelf. She'd never seen a book other than her mother's, so the sheer number of volumes astonished her.

"We gather them. But a lot of what you see here are things people have had hidden away for generations."

"The Job Creators say that all paper should be recycled." Dara couldn't say why, but she didn't like the way she sounded, as if she were some sort of scolding instructor or something.