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

by R. D. Hale

  The Face Off

  The rebels working on the farm have been rounded up, herded like sheep by gunmen they probably thought were allies. A soldier puts someone unfamiliar in handcuffs, and as Jardine gently protests, the soldier grabs another rebel. Rupert stares in our direction with a hint of red in his furious eyes. We are not as hidden among the hedges as I thought.

  'How powerful is he?' Nelson whispers, clutching his phaser rather than the rifle strapped to his shoulder.

  'What?' I say.

  'How powerful is Rupert? What can he do?' Nelson says.

  'Well, if he's anything like Dynah, he can incinerate people, blast them through the air. He just needs room so he doesn't hurt our guys.'

  'Here's what we're gonna do. I'll sneak to another position. Be ready. We'll fire from different angles. Keep your phaser on stun, and shoot as fast as you can. Don't worry about hitting friendlies. Once the men scramble, Rupert will hopefully do his thing.'

  Nelson scurries past the hedge, disappearing around a cattle barn, and I am now on my own. Fighting a war. Me. I lift my phaser with my gaze still fixed on Rupert who raises his eyebrows. A beam of energy strikes a soldier so I spray fire with no time for precise aiming. Soldiers and rebels fall to the ground, and others run for cover behind vats and vehicles and equipment.

  Jardine punches a soldier with his metal hand, smashing a hole in his face, then grabbing his rifle. Rupert summons a ball of fire which engulfs two soldiers who roll around, screaming as they burn. Jardine lies flat and fires his newly-acquired rifle at a target I cannot see.

  A huge but unfamiliar rebel leaps like no man I have ever seen, yelling: 'Ah-ran crush!' as both fists come down on a soldier's head. The victim falls to the ground, unconscious, and the huge man uppercuts another soldier, lifting him off his feet, and snatching his rifle.

  Gary raggles a soldier's ankle and I shoot the bastard as his rifle points at the sheepdog. Nelson stuns a soldier behind a tractor and emerges from cover to check for hiding places. Other rebels do the same, and I point my phaser into every corner, but see nothing other than bodies, some black and shrivelled.

  Smig points a rifle at a squirming soldier and blood sprays onto his face as he fires mercilessly. 'That's the last of 'em,' he mutters, wiping his face and resting the rifle against his shoulder. I cover my eyes as Jardine fills unconscious soldiers with lead.

  'I don't know what the hell's going on, but I want answers.' Jardine stares at Oscar, Scoop, and two others unconscious on the ground among bleeding and burnt corpses – I feel sick. 'Smig, hose anyone still sleeping to wake them, and wash the blood away. Ahran, help me drag the bodies into the meat grinder. They'll become animal feed.'

  Smig turns a tap at the wall and picks up a hose, spraying water over those still sleeping. One by one, the rebels sit up as Jardine and Ahran drag away the bodies of enemies who were supposed to be allies. The farmyard is now pink with diluted blood.

  Jardine passes a key to Smig and mutters: 'For the cuffs.' Smig uncuffs two soaking rebels as I hear a machine growling – it must be the meat grinder. Some funeral.

  A barn door creaks open and Bex emerges, staring at the bodies with red eyes and running makeup. Oscar and Scoop stand, dripping wet and muted, almost zombie-like in appearance. Yet their misshapen bodies and wilted faces suddenly look as beautiful as Nelson's. They may have survived the encounter intact, but their state of shock reconfirms they are not built for war. Not many are.

  The bloodied Jardine and Smig collect dropped rifles, climb into military jeeps and park them inside a barn. Tears pour from my eyes as Nelson walks over and hugs me. 'You were amazing,' he whispers, but I do not feel so amazing.

  Relocation

  The gang sit in the farmhouse kitchen, among the rebels, some of who are standing, staring at one another with weary faces. Many are soaked with water, some with blood, and some are holding stolen rifles. Scoop and Oscar, who were earlier so eager to fight, look more stunned than anyone, like lost boys. Being a real soldier is not tough or exciting; it is terrifying. Jardine stands among bloody footprints and taps his holowatch:

  'Akari, Central command.'

  'What is going on, Akari? We've just been attacked by invading troops at Murtyn Farm. They're supposed to be on our side, but they had no interest in being friendly.'

  'Shit, not more problems… Things are getting chaotic to say the least. The invasion started ahead of schedule, about two hours ago. We weren't notified of the change of plan until they landed. Our EMPs were somehow detonated without our instruction. Skye City, and two thirds of Medio, have no power, including three of our bases. Good job the armouries are shielded. We're gonna need those mechs…'

  'Well, the power's still on at Medio Base Four. I've just spoken to them, arranged to go there.'

  'Yeah, that's one of three unaffected. It must've been just out of pulse range. What about you guys? Is anyone hurt?'

  'No, we're all fine. Teenage kids saved our arses. If it wasn't for Nelson and Emmi…'

  'Arturo's sister? Must run in the family. You've tr–'

  'Yeah, yeah, I want answers, not small talk.'

  'I can only assume this was mistaken identity–'

  'Don't be naïve, Akari, they knew who we were, arrived with intent. Wanted our base and equipment for themselves.'

  'Could you tell which nationality?'

  'Judging by their accents, they were from eastern Lamantia. Maybe Nyberun or Verdajan.'

  'I would expect better from Nyberu, especially given our people have spent the last two hours sharing intel and discussing strategy. I'm thinking the Verdajans are getting too big for their boots. I'll make some calls, tell General Rama that if he wants the assistance of the Rebellion, he gets his men under control.'

  'He better had. Next time we encounter troops, we won't be taken by surprise.'

  'One more thing, what happened to the soldiers?'

  'Cattle food.'

  Jardine deactivates his holowatch and looks to the packed kitchen table, saying: 'We're leaving this place. We'll go to Medio Base Four until we can figure out what's going on. We'll be safer there. Let's pack the weapons into the transports and let the animals out to graze.' Jardine and the other rebels disappear, and I watch them walking back and forth past the window, carrying weapons and crates. Even the leaders seem nervous, and if these bad-asses are nervous, that makes me shit-scared.

  'Holy crap, Emmi, you saved us. I cannot believe what I've just witnessed. You truly are amazing.' Bex gawps.

  'Just like my brother is amazing? And every other killer is amazing?' I stamp my foot.

  'We could be d-dead now, if it wasn't for you and Nelson,' Oscar interrupts. 'We seriously need more training so next time we're ready.'

  'You'll never be ready, Oscar, none of us will. Let's just wait for Arturo to return and get the hell out of here.' I stare at the dusty glass light-fitting on the ceiling as my legs grow restless. We are moving again, running again, and the running is never going to stop.

  A bunch of rebels come through the kitchen door, fidgeting nervously as they join the group, but one is more composed than the others. The tall, muscular man called Ahran stands before the dining table, revealing his strange face – large nose and teeth, deepset eyes, and sloping forehead. And I do not mean to sound cruel, but he looks about as human as Scoop. I know who he must be.

  'You're the neanderthal, aren't you?' I whisper and he turns slightly, rigidly to face me.

  'Yes.'

  'My brother spoke of you when he returned from the highlands, said you're brave and strong. He wasn't kidding.'

  'You're Arturo's sister?'

  'You can call me Emmi. I know you helped my brother and Myla at the zoo. They wouldn't have made it without you. Thank you.'

  'Your brother is also brave and strong, as is Myla. I would not have made it without them. We fought guards, leopards. It should have been impossible, but we made it.

  'Arturo is one of my few real friends. In the mounta
ins, I saw him become a soldier. I understand he is now incredibly powerful, as strong as Dynah. The two of them should make great team. I hope they return soon.'

  'Yeah, me too. If we can handle a bunch of soldiers, Arturo and Dynah can, erm… They'll bring Myla back, won't they? They have to. I mean it's just one last crazy thing to get through.'

  The neanderthal bows his head as though unsure how to respond and the silence grows uncomfortable. In this room filled with tough guys, rebel soldiers, would-be heroes, no-one is attempting to lift spirits, or offer tough talk. We did not even lose anyone this time, in fact we won, yet our victory confirms a vulnerability which was previously denied.

  Fear is still the only emotion I can sense, and it seems to be growing. And not just my own fear, or the fear of my friends. It is coursing through the veins of everyone who cannot admit to it. And I could mock their previous bravado, but the truth is fear is inescapable because death is inescapable.

  Life is just the process of running from death for as long as you can, but it catches you eventually. And death is currently right on our tail so the fear is strong.

  Jardine returns to the kitchen and leads the gang and a few armed rebels into one of two transports waiting outside the farmhouse. The space between the seats is filled with metal crates, making this a tight squeeze.

  We journey to the outskirts of Medio, and the driver changes direction as we see a convoy of military vehicles, just like the ones who shot at Nelson and me in the countryside.

  'Looks like the war has well and truly begun,' Nelson mutters as we watch the convoy through the windows. The rebels are gripping their rifles, but the invaders ignore our presence and turn onto another road.

  We reach a complex of buildings, and a shutter rolls up on the biggest as we pass forklift trucks in the courtyard. The transports park inside a busy hangar section and the door is slid open by Jardine. We exit the vehicle, entering a building near-identical to the base attacked by the San Terian Guard when Arturo awoke. And I think I can be forgiven for not feeling so safe.

  Medio Base Four

  'They killed one of the unicorns,' Nelson murmurs, staring at the concrete floor as the group gather beside the transport. 'Claudius, my favourite…'

  'What?' Jardine frowns as I look past him, watching workers carrying boxes and driving forklift trucks as though the war has not yet begun, as though they are not meant for the frontline. What is even the point of these people? I guess some were play-acting as rebels in the hope war would never come, but who can blame them?

  'They killed one of the unicorns – a stallion called Claudius,' I say loudly. 'We were out riding. Nelson took one of the soldiers down. They shot at us, and we thought we'd escaped, but got surrounded by wolves in the woods. The unicorn got startled and bolted off, then more troops arrived.

  'I dunno how, but we fought our way out. Took down wolves and soldiers, and walked miles to the farm, only to find you guys in trouble. Believe me, that was the easy part.'

  'Emmi, the more I hear of you, the more courageous you sound. You're growing by the day. The last young person I met with your potential was–'

  'My brother.'

  'To keep a clear head and remember your training, it's a rare skill. I've seen men train for years. One day on the battlefield, they fall apart. You led from the front. I'm glad you're on our side.'

  Jardine leads us between stacked crates in the hangar, along a corridor, and into sleeping quarters similar to those of the first base I visited, but the difference is now I feel part of this, even though I want to run away.

  Whether I fight again or not, I am changing. My instincts are those of a different person. I am reacting like a soldier, no less competent than the others, but competent is not a word to describe any of them, and I have no illusions about my own abilities. My instinct to kill could easily get me killed and must be resisted.

  As the rebels choose bunks, Jardine hurries out of the sleeping quarters. Nelson rolls up his torn, bloodied sleeve and reveals scabbing teeth marks in his forearm. Heads rise and turn to gain a better view, wincing, but Nelson is unflinching as he flexes his fingers.

  'With all the drama, I'd forgotten you were hurt. I feel bad. Is it painful?' I say.

  'No, well… a bit.' Nelson rotates his forearm to reveal shredded skin on the other side – the injury is far from a clean bite. The twisting and turning in locked jaws left a painful mess which does not appear easy to fix. And then there is the infection risk…

  'Issth that a wolf bite?' Scoop says; his eyes bulging as though admiring a thing of beauty.

  'Yeah,' Nelson says.

  'I can't believe you were fighting wolves, Nelssthon, you must be hard as nails,' Scoop says.

  'I'm not actually. I was getting well and truly beaten by that damn wolf until Emmi kicked the crap out of it.'

  All eyes roll sideways and fixate on little old me, disbelievingly. A skinny blonde girl is hardly the type you would expect to fight off a wild predator, unscathed.

  'It's really true. They were rolling around so it was too risky to shoot, therefore, I proceeded to kick the crap out of the wolf. I shot it as soon as I got the chance, but Nelson was stunned too,' I say.

  'You also kicked the crap out of me in the process. I'm gonna be covered in bruises, thanks,' Nelson says.

  'Any time… We'd better get that wound seen to. I'll help you find the medical facility, assuming they have one,' I say.

  'They do. I'm quite familiar with it, actually. They fixed my broken finger just a few weeks ago.'

  Nelson and I leave the sleeping quarters and wander through grey corridors until we come to a room with Medical Treatment written above the doorway. We enter the world's crappiest hospital ward with grimy, old-looking devices and beds covered in paper sheets. All of the beds are empty, but that is obviously about to change. A middle-aged woman in beige overalls approaches to inspect Nelson's forearm.

  'Oh my, what happened here?' the woman says, turning Nelson's hand with a grimace.

  'Wolf bite,' Nelson says and the woman seems strangely unsurprised, shaking her head.

  'Not a smart idea to be fighting wolves, Nelson. I'm seeing you in here too often for my liking.'

  'It's only like my fourth visit, Doc. Next time, I'll tell the wolves not to eat me!'

  The doctor turns to a small, metal table on wheels which contains thin drawers. She opens a packet, puts on rubber gloves, and grabs a cleaning wipe. 'Sit on the bed.' She removes the dry blood from Nelson's skin, then dabs his wounds, and he winces. 'Painful, eh? Maybe you'll learn your lesson. Medical treatment is a drain on our resources… Can you wriggle your fingers?'

  Nelson wriggles his fingers, and the doctor drops the bloodied wipe into a bin, then she leads him to a large cream device. She places his shredded forearm between two open halves with arm-sized grooves and small nozzles. The device clamps over his elbow and makes a whizzing sound.

  'The scanner confirms your bones are fine… You're lucky this thing's still functioning. When the EMP went off, our equipment went haywire. You can imagine my surprise when diagnostics confirmed everything was in working order. Our tech guy said if the pulse was just a few hundred yards closer, our wiring would've been fried,' the doctor says.

  Nelson's forearm is released from the device and his wounds are now covered in sticky white stuff. 'The temporary skin will fall off when you've healed. Don't pick at it.' The doctor fills a glass at the sink, then opens a small bottle and tips something into her hand. 'Here, take this.' She gives Nelson the glass and a pill which he swallows, placing the empty glass on the metal table.

  'You could at least have given me skin to match my own,' Nelson says, examining his brown and white forearm. The new skin fits so perfectly into the wounds, you would not know he was injured, if not for the tone difference.

  'That's all we have left. Beggars can't be choosers… Any other injuries?' the doctor says.

  'Nothing to worry about,' Nelson says.

  'And you,
young lady?' the doctor says.

  'I'm fine, thanks,' I say.

  'Okay, you can go now. I don't expect to see you back any time soon.'

  The Armoury

  We march through the corridors of the rebel base and Nelson turns the wheel on a metal door with Restricted written above. The door is different to the others and looks strong enough to withstand a bomb blast.

  We enter a room with three walls covered in rifles, a fourth wall containing a large shutter, and a floor crammed with metal crates and dormant droids standing in rows. Many of the droids are similar to Ivor, many bigger or smaller, some have wheels instead of legs, all have big guns, and I wonder why we use people as soldiers when machines can do the fighting.

  'This room is shielded to protect the droids.' Nelson turns the inner-wheel to lock the door. 'Otherwise, even a single EMP could render them useless.'

  'If this room can be shielded, why not shield the entire base?' I say.

  'Well, there'd be no point because the building is powered externally. The pulse would travel through the wiring. Plus, shielding the entire complex would be absurdly expensive. We can cope with losing power, but losing our mechs…'

  'So let me get this straight, the EMPs which were detonated, which took out three bases, were your own? That's some bad planning,' I say.

  'Not really. If you know the pulses are coming, you can prepare. Power everything down, disconnect the wiring, move sensitive equipment into the armoury. You wouldn't completely avoid damage, but you could reduce it, and the pay-off would be the enemy were unprepared. They'd suffer far worse damage,' Nelson says and I shake my head.

  'Only you didn't know the pulses were coming…'

  'Yeah, well our plans have been thrown into disarray. I don't even know what we'll do next. We were supposed to join with the coalition upon arrival, but now I hope we go it alone. Do our own fighting. This'll make things tougher, but at least it'll remove the worry of being shot in the back. It'll be interesting to see what central command decide,' Nelson says.