Resistance

by Ell Leigh Clarke

  Contents

  Dedication

  Legal

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Jelly Comms

  Author Notes - Ell

  Social Links

  Series List

  DEDICATION

  To everyone who ever dreamed of making a dent in the universe.

  — Ellie

  RESISTANCE

  The Sword-Mage Chronicles 04

  JIT Beta Readers

  Brian Roberts

  Darlene Heisserer

  Jackey Hankard-Brodie

  Robert Gould

  Mary Morris

  If I missed anyone, please let me know!

  Editor

  Amy Teegan

  Resistance (this book) is a work of fiction.

  All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  This book Copyright © 2018 Ell Leigh Clarke

  Cover Design by Jeff Brown

  Cover copyright © ProsperityQM LLC

  ProsperityQM LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact vip@prosperityqm.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  ProsperityQM LLC

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  Austin, TX 78704

  First US edition, 2018

  Version 1.01.03

  The Sword-Mage Chronicles (and what happens within / characters / situations / worlds) are copyright © 2018 by Ell Leigh Clarke

  CHAPTER ONE

  Aboard the Chesed, Edge of Klaunox-Orion Sector

  The stale smell of blood and sweat was far too familiar. So was the padded chair beneath her pain-stricken body. The distant thrumming of heavy machinery made the place feel strange, and yet also so very similar to something she had felt before.

  The rusted metallic scent surrounded her, crawling slowly through her sinuses until she could taste it on the back of her tongue. It struck her aching head like the ringing of a gong, releasing vibrations that drilled into her nerve endings mercilessly.

  Through the headache, and the fear, she clung to that sense of familiarity like a life raft in a flood.

  Bentley.

  Her name was Bentley. She shouldn’t know, and yet she somehow knew this and more. She also knew what would happen next. She would open her eyes, and she would have to watch Legba die all over again.

  She could hear him moving, feel the pressure of his hands working as they searched her for injury. But then he started… humming? Her eyes flickered open in surprise. The tune was deep and strong, and he snapped his fingers along.

  The dim light above them sparked into a flash, creating a strobe effect that made the young woman nauseated. She watched Legba move in broken fragments, the sound of his snapping fingers seeming to become disconnected from the action.

  What is going on? Bentley closed her eyes and did her best to focus on memories of the man in front of her, just as he broke into song.

  “Jelly beans, jelly beans,” he sang, “what could be sweeter than some jelly beans?”

  What the fuck? Jelly beans? This time she opened her eyes, willing to endure the pain to somewhat satisfy her curiosity. Since when did Legba have a thing for musical numbers?

  The sleeves of his long, navy robe swayed in time with his snapping fingers, the hood framed his head and jostled back and forth with the beat. Gray streaked the blackness of his long hair and beard. His eyes were deep and dark, but not menacing. He could have been handsome, but at that moment his entire face was contorted in pain. Even so, he sang.

  “Jelly beans, jelly beans, you eat the reds and I’ll eat the greens!

  I carried five pennies to the candy store,

  That my momma gave me for doing my chore,

  Bought five colored beans, red and green just for fun

  We each get two and we’ll split the last one!”

  Bentley shook her head, trying to remember, but instantly regretted it as her pain doubled. She remembered this moment… and yet it was drastically different. It was all wrong. Legba should have been… what? She scanned his face searching for a clue, and then she started to remember.

  As her eyes scanned his body, she realized that while the sweat was hers, the blood was all his.

  “Answer me!” she demanded, mustering more energy. “Who are you? What do you want with me?” Why was she asking those questions? She knew who he was. And she knew… no, what did he want with her?

  The old man took a deep breath that made his entire body shudder. He slowly lifted his right hand to the left side of his chest above his heart. He winced bringing his hand down and showing her his palms. She smelled blood, but rather than a red stain, pink bubbles rose up from his palms. The bubbles danced and swirled into the shape of a galloping unicorn and then dispersed quite suddenly.

  What the hell?

  “Are you…” her eyes anxiously searched him, finding further pink stains on his clothing. They were bright, almost fluorescent, like cotton candy. “Are you hurt?” She shoved down an insane desire to giggle at the ludicrous situation.

  “Very perceptive,” he said through a pained smile. “Such a brilliant girl you are.” Even injured, his tone carried an air of humor. Or is it sarcasm? She was so confused. She felt like she was dreaming, like she was still lying in the chair with his clammy hands on her face, feeling them for the first time.

  For a moment it seemed he smiled, but a wracking cough chased it away. Legba covered his mouth with a fist and struggled to steady himself on the stool. She could see the pink stain spreading from its source beneath his blue robe now. The pressure he was applying wasn’t nearly enough.

  “What happened to you?” she asked, sitting up and swiveling her legs over the side of the chair, ignoring the rush of agony and vertigo that accompanied the action. “Let me help you.” She reached out to him, but pulled her hands back when he jerked away. He didn’t seem afraid of her touch, but rather...

  “Careful. Don’t touch me,” he said, his hands patting the air between them.

  “Hey, wait, I remember now…” she said.

  “Remember what?” he chuckled. He began humming and snapping his fingers again. “Jelly beans…”

  “You’re supposed to say something about a sword now, aren’t you?” the girl questioned him in confusion. She was certain she remembered a glimmering blade.

  Legba chuckled and shook his head, raising his bushy eyebrows. He finally seemed to relax, as if the pain was receding at last. More pink bubbles spilled from the stain in his shirt, wafting on a nonexistent draft. “You know this is a dream. I know it, and I’m just an extension of your mind, so you’re the one who knows. Fight it.”

  “How?” She could not shake that horrible lost feeling. It was worse than the throbbing headache, worse than the stabbing pain in her muscles, and worse tha
n having to see Legba dying again.

  “Come see me, my child,” he said in a fatherly tone. He winced and touched his chest. “You have so much to learn... And I am the only adequate teacher this world will ever know.”

  “But where?” Bentley gasped, surprised by the sob that sprang up from her throat. She tried to fight it down but it swelled around her words. “You died. This is my earliest memory, and it’s of you dying. Why would you want to remind me of this? Is it important somehow? I’ve gone over these moments a thousand times in my mind. What am I missing?”

  “Memories can deceive,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “come see me.”

  He reached out and touched her temple, and the galaxy shattered in pieces around them.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Aboard the Chesed, Edge of Klaunox-Orion Sector

  Bodies bustled back and forth across the bridge of the Chesed, some of them human, others with the unsettling grace of the android kind.

  Many of the newcomers carried technological devices or bags filled with personal belongings, and looked lost as they received direction from the Chesed’s crew. Most of the androids could not be differentiated from humans by the naked eye… but then again, that was the point.

  Each of the refugees was welcomed by the three lwa before being guided down the long hallway to the dusty tertiary crew accommodations. They gazed with educated interest at the Chesed’s controls as they passed.

  The ship was more than a marvel of modern technology; it exceeded the highest standards of tech seen anywhere within the known universe. The androids were all well-educated and accustomed to being on the cutting edge of the latest technological trends, since they represented a recent leap in artificial intelligence development. But none of them had ever seen a bridge so advanced, even on the ships of their own design.

  Beyond the banks of monitors and instrument panels, the blackness of outer space surrounded them. An extended airlock tunnel still connected the Chesed and the damaged android vessel. The last of the cybernetic life forms were still making their way over to the safety of a smaller ship.

  The three lwa stood in a cluster around the captain’s chair, Shango’s heavy hands resting on its leathery back. All three of them looked slightly bedraggled from their most recent mission. Shango’s shaggy hair was in disarray and dark bags weighed heavily beneath his eyes, but the dark brown orbs were still as sharp as knives as they absorbed the likes of one newcomer after another.

  He conversed quietly with his brothers during a lull in their greetings. The androids met their loved ones with bittersweet smiles mixed with squeals of delight, just beyond the bridge doors. They had taken losses in the battle, but nothing like the recently departed human Rebels who had become their allies. If anything, the android numbers had been bolstered by the addition of those they’d rescued from the Thralldom Station.

  Even so, nothing would replace those who had fallen, nor could anything but time assuage the pain of their loss.

  Olofi jutted his hairless chin in the direction of the commotion. “This is good to see. Even so… I feel horrible about the losses taken by the Rebels. They’ll be mourning their fallen for some time.”

  The slender lwa’s sculpted blond hair still set perfectly arrayed despite how many times he had run his hands through it in the past twenty-four hours. His sparkling blue eyes showed none of the bleariness of his captain, and he seemed ready to spring into action again should the moment dictate.

  “The coup was a function of the Rebels’ purpose,” Loco waved a dismissive hand. “They all knew what they were getting into. Hell, I bet some of them wanted it to end that way. Crazy tribal warrior types. Spend enough time with them, they’ll start talking to you about chasing the good death, honoring their ancestors and living a good afterlife. Huh, if half the stories I’ve heard are true, the Rebels who died are the lucky ones, looking down on us and laughing from some tropical paradise filled with bosomy women. The poor bastards who survived the battle are probably green with envy. They’ll keep on keeping on though, don’t worry your little head about that.”

  He scratched at the coarse, dark stubble on his cheeks. “To be honest, I don’t see why the Rebels couldn’t have taken these buckets of bolts home for us,” he muttered, nodding at the androids, “it would have been more on their way.”

  “They have other matters to attend to,” Shango said simply, “and we had more space to spare. Besides… our alliance with the androids could stand to be cemented. Pulling one job together hardly makes for a full friendship.”

  “Alliance?” Loco asked as if biting into a rotten fruit. “Friendship? Is that what this all is now?” He tousled his dark, unruly locks and tugged uncomfortably at the neck of his tunic.

  “We’d better hope so,” Olofi cut in, “if we want a chance of surviving Amroth and Malleghan. They get stronger every day while our powers remain more or less the same. Eventually they’re going to figure out some of our tricks. Remember that time we were about twenty light klicks out from Dacca Noir? We barely survived by the skin of our teeth. Might have been handy to have some android friends to call on then. We can’t expect to keep making it on our own.”

  “Maybe you can’t,” Loco sneered. “I could head out on my own and I’d do just fine. Hell, you losers are pretty much slowing me down. And the incident near Dacca Noir was your fault, if I remember correctly. I’m the one who had to save our asses, as usual.”

  “Excuse me?” Olofi retorted, rising to the bait, uncharacteristically. “Your memory must have had a run in with an Einstein bomb, brother. You were the one on scanner duty when that patrolling LaPlacian battleship snuck up on us. I had to hold them off with the blasters while Shango and Jelly Bean got us the hell out of there. Meanwhile, all you did was whine at me for not letting you take over my station!”

  “That is definitely not how I remember it,” Loco mumbled, backing down.

  “In any case,” Shango said changing the subject before they could argue further, “the android vessel is no longer space worthy, and they are friends, so we’re giving them a lift. That’s all there is to it.”

  “If you ask me-”

  Shango cut Loco off sternly. “I didn’t.”

  “How can you not care about this?” Olofi eyes pleaded in astonishment as he looked at a pair of nearby androids. They’d fallen into each other’s arms, touching each other’s faces as if they thought they’d never experience the sensation again.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Olofi’s voice was thick with emotion, and he bit his lip to keep from tearing up. The pair of androids he’d indicated were not the only ones openly displaying their gratitude. The pair made their way off the bridge toward the accommodations, and they were replaced by a fresh wave of their comrades, some injured and others helping the injured. At the head of the group was a familiar male android, who looked just like a bald human.

  “...and I want a list of names and designations,” Captain Blackfriar said as he strode onto the bridge from the hallway leading to the airlocks. “Make sure every android who comes on board is accounted and cared for.”

  “Yes, sir.” His second in command, Barnabas, followed him closely, blinking rapidly as he took notes on his neural network. Barnabas was slightly more rotund with short, neat hair and curious eyes, but at that moment he was all business as he attended to his captain, muttering as he followed. “What about those of our brethren who don’t have names? Some only have the serial numbers they were born with.” He shook his head and sighed. “The conditions aboard the Thralldom Station were absolutely horrific. I shudder to even think about what some of those poor folks have endured.”

  “Well, they shall endure it no more. If they have no names, then let them name themselves, or give them names! Good, strong android names that will supplement our personnel databases,” Blackfriar exclaimed. “No android should be known by a mere designation, Barnabas. Remember that always. It is a crime against our people to refer to us in the same way as a mechan
ical part.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Friends!” Blackfriar brightened as he strode over to spread his arms and touch Olofi and Loco on opposite shoulders. He inclined his head in a soft bow directed at Shango. “Thank you again for all of your support. We owe much to you. I owe much to you.”

  Shango bowed in return. “Don’t mention it,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “Our ship is your ship. Is there anything else you need?”

  Blackfriar clasped his hands together in front of him in deference. “I don’t think so. You’ve already been so kind.” Movement in the corridor caught his attention. “I must see to my peoples’ accommodations. Typically we do not require much to get by… but I fear some of our new brothers and sisters from the Thralldom Station will be in need of emotional repair after the indignities they suffered. And many took physical damage as well.”

  “Whatever we can help with, let us know.” Shango gave the other captain a respectful nod. Blackfriar returned the gesture more slowly, the soft lights creating an aura around his bald scalp, then he turned and whisked away with Barnabas in tow. “We must prioritize those in need of counselling and repairs based on the severity of their cases…” he started instructing to Barnabas.

  “Robots that need counselling?” Loco scoffed. “Now I’ve really heard everything.”

  “Don’t call them that!” Olofi snapped. “You know they don’t like being called robots, and with good reason. An android is-”

  “I know the damn difference, babyface,” Loco snarled. He paused for dramatic effect. “There is none!”

  Olofi’s pale cheeks flushed and he drew a long breath. Loco wasn’t sure if it was to start speaking again, or to calm his nerves and keep his mouth shut.

  “Enough, you two!” Shango growled, tapping his captain’s chair. “I need you both to stay sharp so long as we have guests on board. For all we know Loco’s paranoia could be paying off for once, and there could be a spy among the androids. We have to be ready for anything. They have free will; they’re not above turning on their own kind.”