Four by Julie Steimle (list of ebook readers .TXT) 📖

Zormna scowled. She was about to respond, but Aver Mersesk bent down and stared at her captive’s face. “It’s Jafarr Zeldar! That famous rebel. Those P.M.s keep losing this guy!”

“And I keep catching him,” Zormna replied sourly, struggling to keep her captive still. Jafarr squirmed, trying to break out of her hold but with no success. She was that good, and would remain even though it was a lot harder to hold him this time.

Aver Mersesk glared down at the undercity teen with a kick into Jafarr’s side.

Zormna snapped up at the Aver in surprise. “What are you doing? We just catch them, you idiot!”

Mersesk shrugged dismissively, stepping away. “He’s a rebel.”

With disgust all over her face, Zormna opened her mouth to give a sharp retort that she had nothing against the rebels—but a voice from over her head stopped her.

“That’s right, he’s only a rebel,” said Dural Korad—a man whom she personally did not want to see at this particular moment. Any other P.M. would have been better than him.

Zormna narrowed her eyes with a snarl up at the fair-haired People’s Military officer who was looking as smug as ever.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said. The Dural reached down to help up the captive but when he finally looked into Zormna’s face, he pulled back. “You.”

A dark look settled on his face—one she knew well. She threw it back at him.

Zormna yanked Jafarr up off the ground and shoved him towards Dural Korad and Mesela’s flight scooters, hanging on to him with Aver Mersesk’s help, the Surface Patrol officer eager to lend a hand with the famous rebel…though it may have also been to stroke a real Zeldar jacket. The jacket was akin to that one worn by the once famous music singer Kerzan Zeldar who, Zormna started to realize, looked faintly similar to the rebel in her hands.

Both Zeldars. It wasn’t a common name. They had to be related.

“Aw, stuff it,” Zormna said with bite while still bracing her captive as they transferred him into People’s Military hands. “I wouldn’t have to catch him if you guys didn’t keep losing him.”

Jafarr resisted her hold, but it was not just her that was forcing him onto P.M.’s scooter prisoner’s seat by then. The other flymites and Dural Mesela were helping. They cuffed the dark-haired rebel onto the machine, double checking the bonds to make sure he could not get off this time around.

Zormna kept glaring at Dural Korad the entire time. Jafarr Zeldar did not say one word, his eyes silently watching his two major irritants go at each other with curiosity… and a little enjoyment.

“We haven’t been losing him,” Dural Korad snapped, bristling down over her.

A sour laugh burst out from Zormna, her eyes gazing mockingly up at him, shaking her head dryly. “Are you stupid? Of course you lost him. I gave him directly to P.M. hands last time. I saw them take him to ISIC. If you didn’t lose him, then what did he do? Did he just up and teleport?”

Jafarr broke into a laugh with a glance at Dural Korad. Zormna turned and glared at Jafarr, but he could not stop himself.

Dural Korad rolled his eyes in his direction. “Don’t laugh so hard, Zeldar. When we get you back to ISIC you’ll feel our anger.”

“You’re not going to just shoot me right here?” Jafarr replied with a smirk.

Zormna blinked at him. She leaned back a little. It was the first time Zormna really heard him speak. A bizarre flash with a chill ran through her, because his voice was extremely familiar…but like out of a dream. And though she had had irritating dreams with that particular rebel boy popping up in them, she never thought he’d actually sound like himself—not really. She could not understand it, but at that particular moment she did not have time to contemplate it. She just gazed at him with a degree of regret.

Dural Korad was thoroughly annoyed. “Just you wait, Zeldar.”

Rolling his eyes, Jafarr sat back on the seat, not saying another word. Zormna looked at him still. His manner was also like those dreams. Too real. Too freakishly real. That chill ran through her again. She shook it off.

“Make sure you don’t lose him,” she said to the P.M. and then turned away.

Dural Korad glared at her, fixing up something to say, but Zormna just walked back to Sandi’s.

Both Dural Korad and Dural Mesela revved up their flight scooters then steered back towards Sandi’s. Jafarr slumped on the back with annoyance while his feet dragged on the floor behind them. He would have to wait until they were fully in flight to escape. Breaking out of cuffs was nothing. He had perfected that skill a long time ago. It was just best to attempt it when there were less capable people around—especially that short flymite whom he knew was not older than thirteen. It was insulting that he could not best her in a fight. But once he noticed the direction they were moving in, he glanced behind him to see why they were not taking off just yet. He spotted that irritating very same fiery-haired flymite who had caught him four times now and closed his eyes. He repressed a moan.

“You’d better be careful, flymite,” Dural Korad said to Anzer Zormna Clendar as he steered his individual flying vehicle after her.

That green-eyed soldier-gal looked back but kept walking. “Why are you following me?”

The P.M. smiled and perversely eyed her over. “Well, Dural Hendron says you’re a fine piece when you’re not flaunting your Surface Patrol uniform. I wanted to verify. There’s no accounting for taste of course…”

She rolled her eyes. “Well tell Dural Hendron when you see him to zip it.”

“Of course I called you a tiny flea with no real feminine grace when I heard him say that,” the Dural continued with a smirk.

Zormna did not answer as she marched on. Clearly she was trying to ignore the Dural.

Jafarr opened his eyes, gazing at the receding scene behind the Durals’ flight scooters. People were watching them and getting out of their way. Eyes were definitely wide and fearful. His companions of the rebellion were well blended into the crowd, their eyes fixed worriedly on him. With a silent look and a wink, he signaled for them to go on without them. A rescue might be necessary, but Jafarr had a feeling where they would go when heading to ISIC. He could slip off unnoticed at bend two. It was dark there and there was safe places to land.

Korad’s voice droned over his thoughts as the man harassed a girl nearly half his age. “He nearly went ballistic, calling you a queen’s copy. He even said that he’d marry you in a minute,” Dural Korad continued, knowing it would annoy this particular orphan girl to get a compliment from a People’s Military officer. Orphans particularly loathed the People’s Military.

Queen’s copy huh? A beauty equal to the ancient Queen Zormna? Jafarr glanced over to get a look at her, partially to see what the fuss was about. Yeah—hair like curls of fire, nice porcelain skin—true. The ancient Queen’s hair was longer, of course. A fresh blush in her cheeks. Intense green eyes, heart-shaped features, lips that were definitely meant to be kissed… Jafarr felt a little heated thinking about that. Slim if not downright fit feminine figure—but oh, her scowl made her so unappealing. Jafarr could see the hate in this young woman’s eyes but happily it was all directed toward Dural Korad and not him at all. He had seen her smug scowl plenty of times—in weird dreams usually—but not this intense. He smirked, personally satisfied by that. Yeah, she was beautiful—in a soldier sort of way.

“Why don’t you just marry him, flymite? I’ve seen your record. One more screw up, and you are out of the Patrol. Isn’t that true? You’ll need a good man to keep you out of trouble. And Hendron is up for it,” Dural Korad said with that raunchy smug grin of his. “He’d give you a real good h—”

“Are you trying to make me ill?” Zormna kept walking, shaking her fiery bob of hair. It haloed her angry face a bit like a supernova. It was amazing she didn’t kick his teeth in for that. But then, he did outrank her and she was a soldier—and considering the way she looked, she probably got propositioned a lot. “I would never consider end up with a P.M. roach. I’d sooner throw myself into the canyon without an air mask.”

Jafarr smothered a grin. He managed to keep down a laugh. Was it possible to hate someone like her, and like her at the same time?

“That option is also a good one,” the Dural said with a sneer.

This time she stopped. The fiery-haired Anzer turned, facing the Dural as if she would rip him off his scooter and forcibly throw him over the high walkway railing. “Is that a threat?”

The P.M. smiled, his icy blue eyes like slits. “Only if you take it as one.”

That little blonde stepped up to him with the disposition to break Dural Korad’s spine over her knee, after castrating him… then throwing him over the railing. “I have no love for P.M.s, Korad. Let me make that clear. Don’t provoke me.”

She started to walk again, though there was a stomp to it.

“You are so lucky you are not a Tarrn,” Dural Korad said under his breath. “Otherwise…”

Jafarr lurched in his bonds. He wanted to kick in the head of that Dural—forget that stupid flymite who had caught him. The Dural’s Tarrn-hate was making him sick. Tarrns and Zeldars were his distant cousins after all.

Anzer Zormna stopped again. She turned around to face Dural Korad with squared shoulders and the deadliest glare Jafarr had ever witnessed. “Go home, Korad, before you lose your friend, Jaff, here.”

Hate and anger that she could barely control now seeped from her very words, though she clearly was censoring what she truly wanted to say to the People’s Military officer.

Yet Jafarr lifted his head up when he heard his nickname. From her mouth, it gave him chills. How much did she really know about him? Did she know he had become the leader of the rebellion? Did she have a seer gift that he didn’t know about? Her eyes were deep enough. Who was this Anzer Zormna Clendar anyway? What had her file said? Claimed Middlecity born. No class. No mention of parents either. Just that she was an orphan. No indication of who her relatives were except that she was one of the Kevin’s favorites. But then he shook it off. None of this mattered. She was probably shooting out an obvious nickname as Jaff was ancient for Fist—as Jafarr meant Fighter. And escape was more important anyway.

However, Dural Korad took the hint that he had gone way too far. He had a duty besides, his eyes glancing back at Jafarr who relaxed with boredom. Dural Korad motioned for Dural Mesela to follow him, still glowering at that little blonde fireball of a Surface Patrol Anzer. Both men took off into the Surface Gate cavern, taking Jafarr with them.