Skye City: Sister of a Rebel Soldier (The Darkness of Emmi Book 1)

by R. D. Hale

  Outside, there is no sign of the San Terian Guard or their vehicles. Just as well the complex is so large because the lamp posts make us highly visible. We run through a car park, ducking between parked vehicles until we reach tree cover, then we keep running.

  'Do you think they made it?' Smig says as our running pace slows through exhaustion. The shadowy trees and bushes means we must be close to invisible to any pursuer.

  'This is my brother we're talking about. Of course he made it.' I gasp to catch my breath, then whisper: 'I just hope Nelson made it too.'

  A figure streaks past me in the darkness, generating a gust of wind, and then it stops abruptly. I rub my eyes to confirm the person I am facing is Arturo – his speed is unbelievable now.

  My brother leads us towards a different side of the complex, and as I go to object, I spot Jardine inside an armoured transport near the trees. Another vehicle is parked farther from us, and as we scramble to safety, Arturo sprints towards it with typical hot-headedness.

  I rush into the transport, take a seat and peer through a narrow window. Then I gawp as my brother tips several tons of metal onto its side, and jumps onto the door, smashing the glass with his fist. He grabs a San Terian Guard and flings him from the vehicle, screaming: 'Run!'

  The San Terian Guard gets to his feet and limps towards the trees we just left. Arturo points a gun through the broken window and fires twice, presumably at the driver.

  The gang are now all seated in the transport, apart from Dynah who is standing at the doorway, waiting to assist the hothead, but he moves faster than anyone could react.

  A door to the building opens and Arturo leaps from the tipped vehicle, blurring across open ground until his hand meets a San Terian Guard's neck. He lifts his foe, squeezing until his fingers close and a human head tumbles onto the ground.

  The headless body wobbles then slumps against the wall, sliding groundwards. Arturo picks up the severed head and flings it through the door, then he runs into our vehicle and slams the door.

  'Take us to the nearest tram station, now!' Arturo roars, staring at his bloodied hands as he squeezes onto a seat.

  Jardine races from the rebel base as fast as possible; the passengers swaying side-to-side with every turn. We leave the industrial park without encountering enemy vehicles, but our driver maintains the speed in old town.

  I feel relieved, overwhelmed, numbed, like I can feel every emotion at once, and yet feel nothing. I cannot believe the San Terian Guard are after us, let alone that we managed to escape them again. My brother has become something beyond human and to see him kill so easily… I… I do not know what I think…

  'Arturo, you're an unstoppable killing machine.' Turbo gazes at my brother who is sitting two rows behind him. 'The guards have no chance against you and Dynah.'

  'We took a risk. We used one of our most powerful weapons to save you, but you earned the right, Arturo. You have the required ingredients to be a soldier and now you can fulfil your potential,' Jardine suggests, but my brother does not reply.

  Scoop, Oscar, Bex, and Rupert bear this lost look in their eyes, almost as though tears want to fall. It is the look of someone paralysed by trauma, realising their lives could have ended at the flip of a coin.

  Dynah's eyes are solemn, but impressively composed, as though a warrior's spirit is hidden beneath her timid exterior. Arturo's eyes are burning with fury because he knows his battle is only half done. Turbo's eyes are glowing with awe at what they have just witnessed. Smig's eyes are difficult to read as always. And Jardine's eyes are looking away.

  The van stops near a tram station in a Level Two neighbourhood and Arturo slides open the door, jumping onto the pavement. I follow my brother and wrap my arms around his neck, but he refuses to hug me back. It is like he has switched off all emotion, apart from anger to focus on the rescue. Not that Arturo has ever been the emotional type.

  'Arturo, be careful.' I tremble as Dynah stands at my brother's side. And I so badly want them to save Myla, but part of me still wishes they would not even try. I am so scared of losing them too, but the fiery determination in their faces offers a shred of hope.

  'I don't need to be careful. You've seen how powerful we are. If it's remotely possible, we'll bring Myla back. I'll see you soon, Emmi.'

  Tears burn my cheeks as Arturo and Dynah march up the steps of Persimado Station. Both are powerful, unbelievably so, but they are going into San Teria's control centre which is well-guarded and their weaponry is so advanced. Even if Myla is imprisoned there, it will take a miracle to find our friend in such a vast city.

  Nausea becomes overwhelming as I return to the transport and I cannot even feel my legs. It is like I am floating as I step through the door. Jardine drives off as a tram approaches and I stare through the window at the distant elevator shaft – a thin line reaching from the central tower of Skye City into space.

  No-one talks as we drive through the outskirts of Medio on an unfamiliar side of this metropolis. Eventually, blue light streaks up the shaft, indicating an elevator is rising to Orbital City. I assume Arturo and Dynah are onboard and it is like watching them travel into a den of lions, but I must remember they too are lions.

  A New Hideout

  We drive between tall, beige blocks of flats, coming to one of the old highways that lead out of the shadows, out of Medio, a city the gang so rarely leave. Jardine and Turbo receive calls on their holowatches – panicked voices confirming they killed San Terian Guards, made it to safety, but others did not – they were killed or arrested, and that could mean the workcamp or public execution. Any of these fates could have easily been our own.

  The worn tarmac road is long and straight, but soon the urban sprawl gives way to farmland, and the change of scenery should seem pleasant to a girl who lives in a slum. We cross bridges over two channels of water into a village located on lush green islands, and the area is so picturesque I almost feel like we are intruding. Jardine parks beside a white mansion, larger than the other houses, with a roof of orange tiles. I have no idea where we are, but I wish we were visiting under happier circumstances.

  'Okay, everyone out while I park the transport in the garage,' Jardine says.

  Turbo slides open the transport door and the gang step onto a chalky path as the garage door automatically rises. Jardine parks the vehicle as I admire a cluster of evergreen trees on the grass between the pretty houses. The rebel leader emerges from the garage, and crosses the front of the house, passing a window with closed curtains. He beckons us, then opens a wooden door with rippled panes of glass and a big knocker.

  Crossing the lawn, we enter a lobby with varnished floorboards and an elegant stairway that splits in two directions. We are led into a kitchen where five frowning, sweating, armed rebels are sitting at a long dining table and one is familiar – Nelson. Thank the Goddess.

  'It's good to see you made it out safely. Who knows how many d…' Jardine lowers his head as the group fall silent, too shaken to contemplate the possibilities. 'There have been further complications. Arturo and the telepath – Dynah – they've gone to Orbital City to rescue Myla.'

  'But that's madness,' a woman with cropped blonde hair says, and she might be the first female rebel I have encountered, certainly the first I have noticed.

  'It is, but if anyone's capable of pulling this off…' Jardine pauses and looks to our group. 'Let's sit down.'

  We sit at an enormous dining table and I run my fingers over grooves in the varnished wood. The kitchen is quaint and far removed from the harshness of the rebel base we just fled. Shiny pots and pans sit before red and orange tiles, and everything is clean apart from a pile of dishes in a sink. I would have thought these people had a machine to wash them. I thought they had gadgets for everything these days.

  'What if they don't make it?' the woman with cropped blonde hair says. 'The telepath is invaluable and we invested a lot into that boy. He doesn't understand his capabilities yet. You should've stopped them, Jardine. We've
lost too many soldiers already. This could be one expensive mistake.'

  'Well, his capabilities have just been tested on the battlefield, and Arturo passed with flying colours. We could not have chosen a better test subject. When Arturo pulls this off, it is not just he who will better understand this technology…'

  As Jardine and the woman argue, I drop my head, quietly sobbing. I feel a muscular arm around my shoulder and a gentle voice whispers: 'Why don't I show you to your room?'

  I turn to face Nelson through a blur of tears and we leave the kitchen so I do not have to listen to the woman describing my brother as an 'asset'. The others follow us up the branching stairway and into a room with white walls, wooden beams, and eight single beds. The room is so much nicer than the sleeping quarters at the base and the scent of flowers lingers in the air, but the rifle on Nelson's back spoils the illusion. This is still a rebel base.

  'She can be insensitive – Nyota – she's always so focused on the task at hand, she sometimes forgets… Well, she doesn't mean to be so… ya know? She may seem harsh, but that's what makes her a great soldier – a leader.

  'She was so composed during the raid. She led us to safety, kept us focused. We took down those San Terian bastards with laughable ease. A dozen of 'em, made 'em look like am…' Nelson stares at me, realising I am zoning out as the gang sit on the beds. 'Look, everything I've heard about Arturo and Dynah tells me they can do this. I mean they have superpowers. Let's just relax and wait for good news and then we can celebrate.'

  'I don't think we can think about celebrating. People are dead. Others are missing,' Bex says.

  'And the captives can be rescued… They will be rescued. We'll commemorate the dead, but we can't spend the entire war being miserable. What would be the point in that?' Nelson says, and my first instinct is to recoil, but his reaction is just sanity preserving itself.

  I lie back on a bed with neatly-tucked blankets and the hours pass as the others waffle, almost non-stop. Sometimes an announcement of a death causes temporary silence. Other times, an announcement of a rebel reaching safety prompts cheers. Rescue of the captives is repeatedly and enthusiastically discussed, both downstairs and upstairs. 'Plans' involve overrunning nearby prisons when the war starts, and freeing everyone. This does not sound like a great idea, but the possibility is keeping spirits high. These people believe they can do anything. It is almost like they never just escaped the San Terian Guard by the skin of their teeth.

  Feeling restless, I stand at the window, looking through the glare at small pines in the back garden. Then I reach into my pocket and remove my brother's wallet which is bulging with cash, thanks to the Rebellion he hates. I open the wallet and find a picture of me and Arturo partying in the squat, holding beers. I had no idea he was so sentimental.

  Rupert joins my side and rests his elbows on the varnished window sill as I slot the wallet into my pocket.

  'Hey,' I whisper, ignoring the background chatter. 'You okay?'

  'Not really,' Rupert says.

  'It's a lot to take in, eh? All this bloodshed,' I say, visualising the decapitation outside the base which was grotesquely unnecessary. Arturo was behaving like a wild animal.

  'I should've helped.' Rupert looks down in shame.

  'What difference would it have made? We all escaped.'

  'But I panicked. Dynah knew what to do, but me? I can't even use my powers properly yet. Sure, I can control flames, but everything else… Dynah stopped bullets. I've no idea how to do that. I thought if I started throwing flames, I could hurt innocent people so I did nothing. I was totally dependent on the others, but they're supposed to be depending on my kind. It's our destiny to help win this war. We've all seen the visions, but I was useless. Maybe I'm just a misfit here.'

  'Rupert, you did what was necessary. You didn't have to intervene because everything was taken care of. Don't be so hard on yourself. I feel a damn sight safer knowing you're around. You're powerful enough to protect the gang, but not scarily trigger-happy…'

  Murtyn Village

  I lie on a beautifully made bed, thinking of my brother's anger, his hatred for Jardine and the Rebellion. He was working for these people who cared enough to save his life, and yet he felt nothing but animosity. Perhaps it was the stress of the situation, his concern for Myla, the drastic changes to his body, but still I do not feel comfortable. I will need to discuss this matter with Arturo when he returns.

  All I can hear from the boys are deluded soldier fantasies, and Bex is hardly discouraging them. Rupert seems to be the only one still in sober reflection, and that ironically makes him the most reliable ally. I get the sense Scoop and Oscar believe their frailties can simply be trained out of them. And maybe they could with several years preparation, but warfare is not something an ordinary person can learn on the job. You need superpowers for that.

  Although it could re-emerge in an instant, the terror is clearly subsiding, and this is probably because we have lived tough lives, escaped danger many times, but the boys' survival instincts are woefully out of whack. I am starting to fear they are unhinged.

  Unable to stand their voices any longer, I head downstairs and sneak out the front door for some fresh air. Well, fresher than the smog of Medio. I cross the road, approaching the evergreen trees, and button up the cardigan I never wished to wear again. I sit on the grass, staring at the stars and listening to the rustling branches. There is something about that sound, and about the cool breeze, that helps me tune out. I feel like I could sit here all night.

  'Could you use some company? a voice asks and I turn to see Nelson approaching alone, no longer carrying his rifle as though we are safe here. Are we safe anywhere?

  'Not really,' I say, turning to face the evergreen trees.

  'Well, I'll just stand here, then, and not keep you company,' Nelson says.

  I wrap my arms around my knees and sigh, sitting for minutes with that creep lingering behind me. Creep might be too harsh a word actually. He has been friendly enough, but he is still one of them, a rebel. Plus, he clearly has an ulterior motive. He is not sniffing around me because I offer great company. He wants what all boys want, even now.

  I glance over to him, standing in a tight green t-shirt that his muscles are bulging out of. Like, sheez, get something that fits, mate.

  'Are you not cold?' I stare at Nelson with contempt. 'You'd better go inside before you catch your death.'

  'Nah, I'm not cold. Not really.' Nelson stretches his arms and smiles. 'I'll think I'll stay for a bit. I like it out here. Nice, isn't it?'

  I frown and pause as a smile lingers on that cocky face which has a three-storey mansion, sorry, secret base directly behind. 'The village is quite pretty, I suppose.'

  'Yeah… pretty…' Nelson stares at me with a more serious face. 'Pretty little Murtyn village – no-one'd guess there'd be a rebel hideout here. We don't come too often, and we're normally a little more discreet, but the time for discretion is coming to an end.

  'I've always liked coming here, certainly beats labouring in the factories in Medio. There's a nearby farm where we're expected to put in the odd shift. It's hard work, but I get to see the animals.' Nelson's eyes brighten and the revelation of his softer side almost makes up for his arrogance and recklessness. 'Why don't we take a walk? I'll show you around, help us keep warm.'

  'Er, I don't want you keeping me warm, thanks.' I sneer.

  'I don't mean like that, from walking. We'll get freezing just hanging around like this.' Nelson marches past my sitting position and through the evergreen trees. 'Come on.'

  'And here's me thinking you weren't cold.'

  Sighing, I follow Nelson through Murtyn village where coloured bricks make up the houses, walls, shops. Purples, reds, yellows, blues, and greens revealed by street lights which resemble oil lamps. Maybe they are. The area seems to have been designed so carefully, not like the buildings in the cramped streets of old town. We cross a bridge with no rails over a channel of water and I watch starlight
shimmering in the ripples. The effect is calming, almost, what's the word? Therapeutic.

  'From above, these water channels form star-shapes around the village. You can see them from the temple.' Nelson removes a bottle from his pocket and takes a swig, pointing to the silhouette of a temple at the centre of the village.

  'What's that?' I squint at the fancy lettering on the label of the bottle which looks like it was written in 'olde Anatolian'.

  'What's what?' Nelson wrinkles his brow and shrugs, taking another swig.

  'That.' I nod to the bottle as Nelson screws on the lid.

  'Oh, this is Tarlaxian gin. Helps me deal with the stresses of rebel life. You want some?'

  'Ew, disgusting.' I grimace, then almost smile. 'Actually, I could do with a drink. Give.' I hold out my hand until Nelson gives me his rectangular, green bottle. Unscrewing the lid, I take three gulps of gin, covering my mouth as I cough.

  'Bloody hell, slow down.' Nelson laughs, but I take another gulp before handing the bottle and lid back. 'Come on, I'll take you up there and show you the village from above.'

  The Temple

  We near the centre of Murtyn village, following oil lamps up a hillside street, and approaching the temple which is surrounded by a wall with triangular top bricks. Unlike most temples, this one is not old and crumbling; the brickwork is bright, sharp, and clean, apart from thin patches of moss. Nelson places a hand on the wall and jumps into the temple grounds.

  'How do you expect me to do that? It's too high.' I look at the wall which I probably could climb, but I do not wish to look like an idiot. I would rather use the gate.

  'Don't be daft. This is the only way in. Give me your hand.' Nelson reaches over the wall and I stare into those arrogant, dark, yet sparkly eyes, grudgingly taking his firm hand. I place one foot against the wall to push up and over, and I gasp as I land on grass far quicker than expected. Nelson steadies me as I stumble.