“Yeah? What for?” Collis had asked, keeping his voice relaxed.
She’d seemed to wake up a little then, and had given an embarrassed grimace. “Just habit, I guess.”
She cast charts for herself. That was interesting. And, to Collis’s relief, he wasn’t so far gone yet that he’d let this information slide. It took time to manage it, but one afternoon he quickly searched Kay’s private desk.
Most of the charts he found were simply her casting the fortune of her reign, over and over. The others were for something labelled only Black Moon. Collis checked: two lunar eclipses were coming up in the next year. Collis knew enough astrology to realize with a quick check of her ephemeris that the chart was for the earlier eclipse.
Why had Kay cast a chart for it?
It took weeks before a conversation with her had naturally turned to the night sky. When it had, Collis had said, “Hey, aren’t there a couple of lunar eclipses next year?” From her reaction – a private smile, an affirmation and then a change of subject – he suspected that yes, something was happening. He still had no idea what.
Did it matter? If she died, whatever she was plotting wouldn’t happen. But Collis couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to know.
Mac had wanted a few more months to raise support in the city before they made the assassination attempt. Collis had told himself that was good – he could find out what was going on. But as the weeks passed, part of Collis became scared that if they postponed the attack too long, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it.
Finally, no more the wiser, Collis realized it was now or never. Whatever this thing was between himself and Kay Pierce, it was growing daily. Despite everything, he couldn’t deny the ease and closeness he felt when it was just the two of them. His emotions could not interfere with what had to happen.
He’d told Mac they had to set a date for the plan: a meeting that Kay had already arranged with Cain and the council in mid-September.
In the days leading up to the attempt, he’d thrown himself into the role he played with Kay with such passionate abandon that it was as if on some level he wanted it to be true. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to live with himself afterwards. Part of him considered dully whether he’d just stay in the meeting room when the time came.
Knowing himself, he doubted it.
Sitting at the conference table beside Kay on the day, Collis had felt cold and sick, wondering if he could go through with it. Remembering the night before – holding Kay in his arms, talking softly with her – part of him wanted to tip her off, and he hated himself for it.
Mac trusts me, he kept telling himself. The man he wanted to be was the man Mac trusted. That was all he had to hold onto.
When Kay was called from the room, it was as if the fates had decided to play a cruel trick and take the matter out of his hands. For several stunned minutes, Collis hadn’t been able to react. Then he’d taken advantage of Cain’s grumbling to pass out the report that was on the agenda and go after her.
He hadn’t seen her in the corridor. He’d walked towards the stairwell, his footsteps muffled by the carpet.
And he’d heard what she was saying on the secure phone line.
Dazed, he’d listened for a few moments, and then softly returned the way he’d come. In his mind’s eye was the image of a mushroom cloud blooming against an eclipsed moon.
Oh, holy hell – so this was what Black Moon meant.
Only one solution came. It sickened him; it meant betraying the Resistance just like his nightmare had taunted that he would. And what if he only thought this was the right thing to do because of his own messed-up feelings?
But the plan that ticked through his mind was still the only way Collis could see to prevent what he’d overheard.
He’d waited. When Kay appeared around the corner, he’d pretended that he’d just come out of the room. And he’d told her that, just as he’d promised, the plan was in place to do away with Cain.
Collis summed up what he’d overheard from Kay in a single sentence.
There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.
Finally Mac blew out a breath. “Aw, shit, buddy-boy,” he murmured.
Collis’s shoulders sagged at the softening of Mac’s tone. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he said gruffly. “I thought if she stayed alive, we’d have a chance, at least. I don’t have any influence over Keaton.”
“Yeah, I get you. Aw, shit, pal…all right, tell me everything,” said Mac.
Collis did, starting from learning about Kay’s Black Moon charts up until when he’d had to grass on the Resistance. “The first nuke’s supposed to take out Florence,” he said. “Then she’s going to send ground troops in…” He went on, outlining Kay’s plan.
When he’d finished, Mac still sounded stunned.
“Well, that explains it,” he said. “I’ll tell you, Collis, at first I thought I’d been taken in like no man ever had.”
Collis winced. “Amity said you were shot. I didn’t know about the code word being wrong, I swear it.”
“Pierce fed you wrong info sometimes,” said Mac.
“What?”
“Yeah. Unless you were lying to me, which I don’t think now you were. After the first few bits you gave me, I was always careful about using anything. Half the time it was bogus. I was hoping like hell we wouldn’t have to use the code.”
Collis realized he wasn’t surprised. “She knew I was meeting with you,” he said. “When I first woke up after I shot myself, she knew I’d let Amity go. I had to make a deal with her.”
“Yeah, I figured.”
Collis had thought Mac might have guessed; the confirmation was a relief. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “There were times I had to give her stuff about the Resistance. I always tried to…protect what needed protecting.” The words sounded feeble.
“Collis, believe me, I know how these things work,” said Mac levelly. “It’s lousy, but you were in a hell of a position. I’ve been there.”
“Mac…” Collis glanced at DeBacca, who had withdrawn from the office but still stood outside. He wanted to admit that he’d gotten in too deep. His proposal to Kay had been pure instinct, an act…yet it meant more to him than it should that she’d married him. When he was with her in that lavish suite in the Zodiac, their marriage didn’t feel like a sham.
“What is it?” said Mac.
Collis choked out a laugh and massaged his temples. “How are you?” he said instead. “How’s Sephy?”
“I’m fine. So’s my wife.”
Collis straightened with a grin. It was the first time he’d smiled in what felt like months. “Hey, really?”
“Yeah, you’re not the only one to take the plunge into wedded bliss. Pal.”
Collis stared down at his wedding ring and closed his hand into a fist. “Things…got complicated,” he said.
He’d said something similar to Amity, when he’d played his part to the hilt in the tunnels, in case she was later captured. His tone then had been very different.
“Again: I’ve been there,” said Mac quietly. “I’m not judging you, buddy.”
No, Mac never had. Collis had always been the one to do that. Yet as Mac’s words echoed on the crackling, long-distance line, he realized that he hadn’t needed to hear Mac say it.
For a change, he wasn’t judging himself, either.
Collis straightened, frowning; the thought seemed fragile. I’m not in the business of absolution, Mac had told him once.
His actions counted, not his thoughts. Maybe that was really true. No matter what crap his recurring nightmare about Harmony Three kept telling him…he was here now, risking his life.
Feeling slightly dazed, Collis cleared his throat. “Okay, so…this is what I’ve got,” he said. And he explained the information he had about the defences, and what it was that World United needed to do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
April, 1943
“How’d
you do, Wildcat?” asked the fitter as he helped me down from my wing.
I pushed up my goggles and glanced at the sky. The Scorps had all been taken out or were heading home. A few dispersing spirals of black smoke drifted against the clouds.
“Took a hit on the wing,” I told the fitter. “Is Ingo Manfred down?”
“Landed about ten minutes ago.”
I relaxed a little. “Thanks.” It was my second time down that day. I started tiredly towards the cafe in the spring sunshine.
A few months, Jean Buzet had said when we first started.
It seemed hopelessly naïve now.
World United had expanded its eastern holdings. In November, troops based here and protected by our planes had taken New Jersey to the south and lands to the north as far as Boston.
The attacks over New Manhattan had died down over the winter – we suspected Kay Pierce was gearing up for an even bigger initiative. We’d spent our free time flying sorties, acting on illicit intelligence to try to find the new munitions factories that we knew must exist.
Some we’d found. Others we clearly hadn’t. And now things were heating up again – three raids already this week. Both sides were digging in for the long haul.
New Manhattan kept on, despite the renewed pounding it was taking, and the rationing that had tightened everyone’s belts. The parks felt sedate these days. There were few children left in the city. The WU had been ferrying them out to places where it was still safe: Nova Scotia, the EA.
The phone service was better and Ingo had spoken to his family by now, on a crackling international line. I’d been there with him, in the hotel’s small comms room, and though I couldn’t understand what he was saying I’d heard the emotion in his voice.
Finally he said in English, “Mama, Amity’s here.” He’d written to his family about me. His gaze went to me and he smiled. “Yes…very.” Then he laughed. “Lena’s grabbing the phone,” he said. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Hello?” I said into the heavy black receiver.
A voice that was lively even from so far away crackled through the line. “Amity? I’m Lena. I’ve heard so much about you!”
“I’ve heard a lot about you too.” Smiling, I reached for Ingo’s hand; our fingers interlocked. “I have to thank you, actually,” I said. “When Ingo and I first got to know each other, he told me the code phrase you use to keep him in line. It’s come in useful a few times.”
She and Ingo laughed at the same time.
“I like you,” Lena said.
During the phone call, Ingo’s mother had told him the terms of his father’s will. He’d left Ingo the power of decision on the house and vineyard, with the understanding – or the hope – that Ingo would someday be running it. Both Erich and Lena agreed that the place should rightfully be his. Ingo’s mother was staying on to keep it going for him, though she hoped to retire to nearby Florence someday. Meanwhile, Erich and Lena were helping all they could.
I knew Ingo worried about his mother – she and his father had adored each other. But he was here, signed up like the rest of us, and could do nothing about it. And these past six months together, Ingo and I had snatched every experience we could.
Between sorties this quiet winter, we’d explored New Manhattan – seeing shows, going to clubs and museums. Growing up in a small town, the museums were a new world for me and I was crazy about them. Whole buildings dedicated to the most obscure pieces of knowledge. We’d wander slowly through them, reading the placards aloud to each other.
One rainy winter afternoon, Ingo took me to an art museum. I’d hesitated – looking at paintings?
“There’s that exhibition on steam machinery at the York,” I hedged.
Ingo had grinned. “You’ll like this.”
I’d loved it. The exhibition was called “Flight” – paintings of airplanes and the sky. One painting – a pure blue sky with cirrus clouds – had caught me and I’d gazed at it for a long time.
“It reminds me of the first time I ever flew,” I murmured, and Ingo glanced at me in surprise and put his arm around me.
“I was just thinking that,” he said.
A few times we’d taken one of the ferries across to New Jersey with a borrowed auto and gone hiking there, or braved the cold beaches. I was amazed that Ingo didn’t know how to skip stones; we spent a whole afternoon at it until he got the knack. Another time he brought a soccer ball – the only sport he liked, he said – and taught me to pass and kick in a park.
“You’re a natural!” he’d shouted as I scored a goal. Later we’d had a chilly picnic with a bottle of wine and ended up making love in the woods on the dry, cold leaves. I’d lain in his arms afterwards, smiling, and pretended that there was no war.
Now, as we all too often hurtled up into the skies again to the sounds of screaming sirens and gunfire, those days seemed like a dream.
We never talked about the future.
As I neared the airport cafe, I heard a whoop and saw Percy bounding towards me, his russet hair gleaming in the sunshine.
“Have you heard?” he called.
My heart skipped. He was practically dancing across the pavement. “What, what?”
He propelled me into a hug and kissed my cheek. “We’ve only bloody gone and taken Pierce’s nuclear weapons factory, that’s all!” he shouted, gripping my arms.
“We have?” I stared at him – then whooped for joy too. We raced for the cafe. I could see a group of pilots and fitters, blue uniforms and grey ones, gathered around the telio.
We burst inside, pushing through the glass door. Silence. Everyone sat riveted around the small screen. The mood was deflated, like a party that had suddenly been broken up. I stood in confusion, wondering if Percy had gotten it wrong.
The grin slid from Percy’s face as we saw what was on the screen.
Harmony Five.
Shock punched me in the stomach. There were the gates we’d marched through every day, when Guns had waited on snowmobiles to force us to the mine. The severed heads that had perched amongst the barbed wire were gone. World United jeeps drove through in a steady stream.
Loaded in each one were skeletal people in rags.
Their faces. Their eyes. Their terrible thinness.
I felt Percy hesitantly touch my arm. Across the room, Hal sat in front of the telio, slowly rubbing a fist across his mouth. He looked over at me, his eyes anguished and too-bright.
Dimly, I became aware of the announcer’s voice saying, “The free world is horrified and stunned to learn that the rumours of Can-Amer’s infamous correction camps are all too true. Their liberation has now been completed, but the images will remain for ever…”
The camera moved to the inside of the camp. I saw my old hut, and the platform that Melody’s body had fallen from, and thought I might faint.
Suddenly Ingo was there, his features drawn. He put his arm around me. “Come on,” he whispered.
We watched the rest of the footage in our room.
I perched on the bed, feeling like stone, unable to take my eyes from the telio. Ingo sat tense and silent too, his arm tight around my shoulders as I pressed against him. The cameras showed it all.
We stared at images of the moving-picture screen where the films of Gunnison had played day and night…the solitary confinement cells with their stained walls…the now-abandoned food truck.
There were no Guns in sight; the announcer said that they’d fled, leaving the prisoners, as they’d heard news of the other camps being liberated. At footage of prisoners pressing against the fence as the WU soldiers first arrived, I swallowed hard, scanning their gaunt, dazed faces. It had been well over a year since Ingo and I escaped – a lifetime in there.
I didn’t see a single person I knew.
The images went on and on. Finally I couldn’t bear it any more. I buried my head against Ingo’s neck, shuddering.
Without a word, he pulled briefly away to snap the telio off. “I don’t know what
the hell to feel,” he murmured.
“Let’s go to bed,” I said raggedly. “Please.”
It was only seven o’clock. He gently eased my clothes off. I did the same for him. We got under the covers and held each other. I traced the long, twisted scar on Ingo’s abdomen. It rose up from his skin like a worm.
My throat clenched, remembering the day he’d gotten it – the sight of him emerging from the mine at Harmony Five, hunched over and in pain. Ingo took my hand and looked down at my Aries tattoo. He brushed his thumb over it.
Neither of us had to say it: we wouldn’t be together without that place. The emotions were tangled, contradictory.
Finally Ingo cleared his throat. “You know…when I realized how I felt about you…it was sometime during those first few weeks mapping the tunnels. You were measuring a passage and you said something, made some joking comment, and I looked over and thought…when did she become so beautiful to me?”
Exploring my tattoo again, he gave the ghost of a laugh. “Then it hit me. I was stunned. Looking back over everything…I realized I’d been in love with you for months.”
I closed my fingers around his. “The same for me, with you,” I got out. “I think even from back when we were in hiding together.”
Ingo’s almost-black eyes met mine. He lowered his head, stroking his hand through my hair. At first the kiss stayed soft, our lips teasing each other – then I moaned and hooked my leg over his waist.
We’d had nights of fire and passion. This was tender – gentle. I didn’t realize I was crying until Ingo paused to kiss the tears from my cheeks, his curls brushing my face.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered.
“No…no.” Our hands found each other; squeezed hard. He half-rolled and sat up, taking me with him; my legs wrapped around his waist. The final shudder made me cry out, clinging to him.
Ingo’s lean form stayed curled around me. He stroked my back. I closed my eyes and held him tightly, my face still damp…seeing again the images from Harmony Five; knowing he was too.
“We’re alive,” he murmured hoarsely.
That week, I avidly devoured newspapers with screaming headlines: Pierce Loses Nuclear Weapons! Just like the liberation of the camps, WU soldiers had taken her bomb factory in a perfectly-orchestrated offensive. Then they’d destroyed the main buildings and their materials so that they could never be used again.
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