Sunset in Silvana (Da'ark Nocturne Book 1) (3 page)

“A bit tedious – I’m looking forward to the weekend.”

“So am I.”

The stew was bubbling nicely when Ivan turned up.  “Anything I can do to help?” he asked with wide-eyed innocence.

Talia raised a cynical eyebrow, and he had the grace to blush.  “Well, you could help us eat...” she said.

“Hah!  I’m always ready to do my duty for the Republic – however onerous.”  He grinned.

Talia shook her head slowly and sighed.  “Pour yourself a drink and sit down.  Boris tells me you had an interesting day.”

“It was certainly a change,” he said as he sank down into a chair.  “A shipment of agricultural machinery – and your lover-boy was there, too.”

Talia’s cheeks coloured slightly.  “Oh?” she said with careful nonchalance.

Boris could see that Ivan wanted to tease her further, so he gave him a warning look.  “Isn’t today check-up day?”

“I guess so.”  Ivan sighed.  “I’m getting fed up with being pushed and prodded every week.  How much longer is this is going to go on?”

“As long as necessary,” Talia told him as she served the stew.  “And don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you ogle some of the nurses.”

Ivan gave a wicked laugh and tucked into his meal.

The medics turned up at ten o’clock precisely.  They always arrived just as everyone was preparing to go to bed, as their patients needed to be sedated in order to perform the more intrusive tests.  These were, Boris and his comrades had been assured, simply intended to ascertain how well their bodies were recovering from the effects of Pregeor.

Boris lay on his bed as the nurse assigned to him expertly located a vein in his left arm and he felt his mind dissolve in warmth.

Talia woke on the eve of the weekend in an even happier frame of mind than usual; of all her responsibilities as a Hero of the Republic, visiting schools was the least onerous.  Addressing young, enthusiastic students on the glories of the Republic, and the necessity to work hard and be vigilant in its service, could actually be enjoyable.  She showered, dressed and exercised, in keen anticipation of the pleasures of the day, and of the four days of holiday that would follow it.

The visits all went well: the children welcomed her with true revolutionary fervour, and listened intently. She autographed so many of their books that her wrist was beginning to go numb.  She had a slightly guilty feeling of relief when she was introduced to her last group, a set of eleven-year-olds at the President’s High School for Girls.

Their teacher, Miss Sikorski, introduced her: “Class, as you will all be well aware, this is Comrade Hero Talia Milanova, one of the Heroes of Pregeor.  Karla Karensky, please remind the class of what happened at Pregeor.”

One of the girls rose to her feet and began the familiar description:

“A year ago, foreign agents incited a treacherous group of deviant, recidivist, counter-revolutionary malcontents to plot against the Comrade President and to attempt to seize the Pregeor region for their sponsors.  These criminals were well armed with off-world weapons and overcame our peace-loving police force.  But in the moment of their victory they lost everything when the loyal people of Pregeor, realising what had occurred, rose up against them.

“Armed with chair legs and spades they fought against gauss rifles and plasma guns.  Fought and won, although hundreds had been slain by the time Goran Ardy, an unassuming worker from the Pregeor Tractor Works, was able to lead a group of patriots into the rebels’ strong point.  Knowing all had been lost, the rebel leader, whose name has been expunged from history, decided that he would destroy the city he could not steal.  To this end he triggered an atomic demolition charge he had placed at the city’s chemical plant. It exploded, releasing a devastating, burning cloud of corrosive and radioactive gas.

“A small band of heroes worked in this cloud of death to save their fellow citizens and restore power to the monorail system.  They saved over twenty thousand people from dreadful injury and agonising death, but only a few of them survived, all badly injured.  Physically and mentally scarred, they spent months being treated at the Restavic City Hospital.

“The Comrade President declared all those brave men and women to be Heroes of the Republic, and decreed that on recovery they would take up new and important positions in the capital city, where they would be a living example to us all.”

After a brief pause, the teacher said, “Thank you, Karla.  Now, everyone, the Comrade Hero will address us.  Please be as quiet and attentive as you can.”

Talia delivered her standard speech of encouragement to the eager youngsters.  There was a moment’s silence as she finished, then a spontaneous cheer that warmed her heart.  She smiled and, aware that she had a few minutes to spare for the first time that day, asked if anyone had any questions.  A forest of hands shot up and the teacher indicated a bespectacled girl in plaits.

“Olga Korsova.”

Olga blushed and got to her feet.  “Comrade Hero, what’s it
like
being a hero?”  One or two of her classmates giggled at her presumption, but most looked at Talia intently.

She paused and considered.  “I... I’m not sure, Olga… I don’t
feel
very heroic most of the time… I just try to do my best for the Republic – and the Republic is very generous in its appreciation.”

“Tatiana Golova.”

“Were you scared at Pregeor, Comrade Talia?”

Talia shook her head. “I wish I knew, Tatiana – I expect I was terrified, but I still can’t remember it at all.  One final question.”

“Jana Klevik.”

“Are you still ill, Comrade Talia?”

“Well, I – like all my fellow Heroes of Pregeor – still have to carry two small auto-injectors that dispense drugs into my system every day, to prevent any cancers that might be caused by lingering effects of the fallout and to promote the continuing regeneration of my body.”  Talia indicated the bulge at her waist, and with that her duties for the day were over, apart from the last batch of handshakes and autographs.

She’d arranged to meet up with Boris and Ivan afterwards at their favourite café, and they brought along Josef, who had been freed from servitude at the Tangled Comet to visit an Old Comrades’ Home.  They ordered drinks, and the youngster cupped his hands around his mug of hot chocolate and gave a deep sigh of contentment.

“You seem happy,” Talia commented.

“Why shouldn’t I be?  I’ve no tables to wait on, no washing-up to do – and no-one looking over my shoulder all the time, making sure I’m always busy.”

“Well, the weekend should be fun.”

“Old Grumpy will find things for me to do – and I bet he’s arranged more boring lessons, even over the holiday.”

She looked at him sympathetically.  “Doesn’t Comrade Goran ever let you have any fun?”

“Not that I noticed.  I wish I was
your
ward – or Comrade Anoushka’s – or even Comrade Boris’s.”  He took a pensive sip.  “Comrade Talia, did you and your husband have any children?”

“No…”  He hit a sore point: Talia had been told she had been married at Pregeor, but somehow that didn’t seem right.  She couldn’t be certain whether or not she’d ever been married, but, as a nurse, she could tell that her body had never borne a child.

“What about the others?”  Josef persisted.

Talia shook off her confusion.  “Comrade Anoushka has never been married, and as for Comrade Boris, –” (she looked over towards the latter and pondered the haunted look in his eyes) “well, I don’t know, but I think he’d make a good father.”  She paused and looked back at Josef sympathetically.  “Look, I know you’re not happy where you are, and I’ve told Major Drovsorsky so, but I’m afraid you’re stuck for now.”

He gave a grimace, then shrugged.  “That’s a strange-looking couple.”  He inclined his head towards the door.

One glance told Talia what they were.  “Tourists.  Off-worlders – just ignore them, and they’ll go away.”  Indeed, their garish clothes and crude manners labelled them indelibly.  The Heroes all tried to follow Talia’s advice, but the female tourist’s tone grated and they couldn’t avoid hearing words such as ‘quaint’ and ‘adorable’, so they soon drank up and left.

As they passed the visitors, Josef stumbled slightly and knocked into the male tourist.  “I’m sorry, sir – please excuse my young friend,” Talia said, noting that Josef did not intend to apologise.  She glared at the boy, but he simply shrugged.

“No problem,” the man replied, but as they went through the door she heard him comment to his wife about “backworld manners”, and for once she had to agree.

They walked back to their block to pack for the dacha.  Though public transport was copious – and free to Heroes of the Republic – it was an idyllic autumn day, and the stroll along the banks of the river was truly delightful.  The air was clear and sharp, with none of the pollution that Telphanians had to put up with, and each lungful made Talia glad to be alive.  The leaves on the trees were just beginning to turn golden, and a few seasonal pioneers crunched beneath their feet.  A skein of geese flew over, their melancholy cries echoing off the buildings lit by the afternoon sun.

While the rest of them prepared for their holiday, Josef sat and watched a programme on the television about the history of Silvana, and its fight for freedom from Telphanian tyranny.  From the glimpses Talia caught of it, it was very inspiring, and featured many interviews with happy citizens of the liberated province.  They had finished packing and were waiting for their lift to the helipad when the youngster looked up and asked, “Comrade Talia, what’s a swan?”

“A big white bird with a long neck.”

“I’ve never heard of them before.  Have you ever seen one?”

A flash of memory: a lake, a flock of swans, a man – Jimmy? – by her side; then it was gone.  “I have… but I can’t remember where or when… Why do you ask?”

He flourished a piece of paper.  “One of those tourists dropped it.”  Talia looked at him speculatively.  “Well, I’m sure he would have if I hadn’t liberated it from his pocket.”

“Josef!”  She acted shocked, but wasn’t really.  He always was an inquisitive child.

It was a news sheet from something call the
Lyric Swan
, which, from the context, had to be the space-liner that the tourists hailed from; hence his question.  They all knew they shouldn’t soil their minds with enemy propaganda, but even Heroes of the Republic can be curious, so they gathered around him to read it.  It was primarily concerned with information for visiting tourists about their planet, including a warning about wearing nose filters to counteract the sulphur in the atmosphere.

One item annoyed Talia intensely, so much so that she burst out with, “What do they mean, branding our Republic a ‘totalitarian dictatorship’?  Who do they think they are? Don’t they realise that under the benign rule of the Comrade President we enjoy a standard of living undreamed of by those who live elsewhere?”

“Calm down, Comrade Talia.”  Ivan gave her a pitying look.  “They clearly don’t know what they’re talking about.  Look – they say here that our government has purchased some grav tanks and is preparing for war.  That’s poppycock.  If they had, Boris and I would have heard something about it.”  Boris looked a little perplexed, but nodded his head in agreement.  “Anyway,” Ivan added, “we have a right to protect ourselves from those Telphanian warmongers.”

There was one further surprise in store: what did the sheet mean by calling what happened at Pregeor an accident?  Talia was about to draw this to the others’ attention when the intercom buzzed; the car had arrived to take them to catch their helicopter.  She screwed up the contentious document and threw it in the rubbish bin, dismissing its uninformed drivel from her thoughts.

It was a brief but pleasant flight to the dacha, which was some miles up the coast from
The Tangled Comet
.  The sun was low in the sky, and the rose-pink sky boded well for the morrow.  Even Josef seemed happy, though his separation from his guardian obviously had an influence on his mood.  The fact that Anoushka was due to join them during the weekend also lightened Talia’s heart.

The shadows were beginning to lengthen when they arrived.  They dispersed to their rooms and unpacked and, having put away the things she’d brought and stowed her suitcases under the bed, Talia changed into her swimsuit.  Since men have much less luggage than women, Boris had finished well before she did, and he had already made up some punch.  He, Ivan and Josef had changed into casual clothes and were sitting on the veranda, drinking and taking in the view.

“Anyone else fancy a swim?” she asked.

“It’s not really my idea of fun,” Ivan said with a grimace.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Boris added, more kindly.  “Let’s have a walk along the shore, Ivan.”

“Why not, Comrade?”

“And I want to make a sand-hovercart,” Josef said as he jumped down.

After the bustle of Restavic City, the peace and calm were delightful.  There was a broad sandy beach which ran back towards the woods behind the dacha.  Since it was early autumn, there was a sprinkling of reds and golds among the many shades of green.

Talia lay out on the beach for a short while, breathing the clean, resin-scented air and soaking up the setting sun.  As its last rays bathed the sands in a warm glow, she decided to have her swim.  Boris and Ivan had returned from their stroll, and had sat down a little way up the beach.  The water was deliciously cool and invigorating, and she lingered for some time; eventually, however, she decided that she needed a drink and made for the shore.  As she was leaving the water, she was surprised to see a young woman approaching her along the strand, wearing a rather attractive flower-print dress and carrying a shoulder-bag.

“Hello.”  Talia smiled at her.  “We don’t usually have visitors here – this place is pretty remote.  Come and have a drink.”

The girl glared back at Talia.  “Murderer!” she snarled.

Talia’s jaw dropped. The girl seized the opportunity to pull some sort of contraption from her bag and point it at Talia.  The analytical part of Talia’s mind screamed that she ought to react, but the rest of her was too dumb-founded to move.  Luckily, the girl was no expert, and the contraption jumped in her hand as she pulled its trigger.  A metal ball flew at Talia’s eye, but at the last second she moved just enough so it buzzed past her left cheek.  She staggered backwards.

The girl muttered a curse, took another ball from her bag and started to reload her weapon.  Talia came back to her senses.  Instinct was telling her to run, but she realised that if she did, she wouldn’t get very far.  She glanced at Boris and Ivan, who had started in her direction, but could see that they wouldn’t reach her in time.

As the girl pointed the weapon at her again, Talia swallowed her fear and launched herself at her attacker.  She caught hold of the girl’s wrist in both hands and twisted it sideways before she could fire again.  The girl grabbed Talia’s hair with her free hand and snapping her head back.  In her pain and shock, Talia loosened her grasp, and the barrel of the gun swung inexorably toward her face.  She covered her eyes with her forearm, and her world exploded in agony.