Outcasts by Vonda N. McIntyre Read Free Book Online Page A

reached out and rubbed it, his wrist, his tense forearm. Gryf
relaxed slightly, but Kylis was still afraid. She had never felt frightened
before, not like this. But Miria, uncertainty, seeing Gryf hurt, had all
combined to make her doubt the possibility of a future.
    Gryf was caught and shaken by another spasm of retching.
This time he could not suppress it, and it was more severe because he had not
eaten. Kylis stood by, unable to do anything but hold his shoulders and hope he
would survive the drug this time, as he had all the times before. The dry
vomiting was replaced by a fit of coughing. Sweat dripped from his face and
down his sides. When the pitch of his coughing rose and his breath grew more
ragged, Kylis realized he was sobbing. On her knees beside him, she tried to
soothe him. She did not know if he was crying from the sickness, from some
vision she would never see, or from despair. She held him until, gradually, he
was able to stop.
    Sparkles of starlight passed between the clouds, mottling
Gryf with a third color. He lay face down on the smooth stone, hands flat
against it, cheek pressed to the rock. Kylis knew how he felt, drained,
removed, heavy.
    “Kylis... I never slept before like this.”
    “I won’t go far.”
    She hoped he heard her. She sat cross-legged on the wide
rock beside him, watching slow movements of muscle as he breathed. His roan
eyelashes were very long and touched with sweat droplets. The deep welts in his
back would leave scars. Kylis’ back had similar scars, but she felt that
the marks she carried were a brand of shame, while Gryf’s meant defiance
and pride. She reached toward him, but drew back when her hand’s vague shadow
touched his face.
    When she was certain he was sleeping easily, she left him
and went to look nearby for patches of the green antibiotic mold. Their supply
was exhausted. It was real medicine, not a superstition. Its active factor was
synthesized back north and exported.
    Being allowed to walk away from Screwtop, however briefly,
made remaining almost endurable, but the privilege had a more important
purpose. It was a constant reminder of freedom. The short moment of respite
only strengthened the need to get out, and, more important, the need never to
come back. Redsun knew how to reinforce obedience.
    Kylis wandered, never going very far from Gryf, looking for
green mold and finding the rarer purple hallucinogenic slime instead. She tried
to deny that it tempted her. She could have taken some to Gryf — she
almost did — but in the end she left it under the rocks where it
belonged.
    “I want to talk to you.”
    She spun, startled, recognizing the rough voice, fearing it,
concealing her fear badly. She did not answer, only looked toward the Lizard.
    “Come sit with me,” he said. Starlight glinted
on his clean fingernails as he gestured to the other end of an immense uprooted
fern tree. It sagged but held when he sat on it.
    As always, his black protective boots were pulled up and
sealed to his black shorts. He was even bigger than Jason, taller, heavier, and
though he had allowed his body to go slightly to fat, his face had remained
narrow and hard. His clean-shaven scalp and face never tanned or burned, but
somehow remained pale, in contrast to his deep-set black eyes. He licked his
thin lips quickly with the tip of his tongue.
    “What do you want?” She did not approach him.
    He leaned forward and leaned his forearms on his knees. “I’ve
been watching you.”
    She had no answer. He watched everyone. Standing there
before him, Kylis was uneasy for reasons that somehow had nothing to do with
his capacity for brutality. The Lizard never acted this way. He was direct and
abrupt.
    “I made a decision when sensory deprivation didn’t
break you,” he said. “That was the last test.”
    The breeze shifted slightly. Kylis smelled a sharp odor as
the Lizard lifted a small pipe to his lips and drew on it deeply. He held his
breath and offered the pipe to