Renegade

by Justine Davis

  Paledan stared at him. Some part of his mind noted that the man seemed to be flying through this bedamned mist without even looking.

  “The Coalition has not been proven false.” If his words lacked certainty, it was because that nagging feeling inside him that had been in the background until the moment Lana had made that incredible claim, was getting stronger by the moment.

  “So you agree, then, that twins are an . . . abnormality that should not be allowed? That Lux should have been slaughtered at birth?” Paledan felt an odd clutching in his stomach, as if he had eaten something foul. And then the Raider added quietly, “As your own twin, your other half, was?”

  He drew up sharply. “She told you this. This . . . idea of hers.”

  “She has a gift. Many gifts. It is more than an idea. It is a fact. And I think deep down you know it to be.”

  “It is . . . impossible.”

  “As with many things involving my mother,” the Raider said, so wryly Paledan wanted to smile, “it is only impossible until she proves it otherwise.” And at last he turned back to the front, although what he could be looking at—or navigating by—Paledan had no idea. All he saw were varying shades of gray.

  “This is,” Paledan said honestly, “the strangest world I have ever seen.”

  The Raider smiled then. It was an expression both loving and reckless at the same time. “Ziem is that. She is also the most amazing. And the most worth dying for.”

  “I think Triotians might argue that,” he said, knowing that the man already knew that tale of Coalition defeat.

  “And theirs,” the Raider answered, “might be the only challenge I would accept as valid.”

  Paledan’s mouth twisted. “You and their king seem to have much in common.”

  “I’m flattered.” He glanced at Paledan again. “I would think it would be easy enough to verify the Spirit’s claim. Does not the Coalition keep meticulous records of everything?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then if they feel twins abnormal, would they not record and track the survivor?”

  He blinked. Record and track.

  You must report to the Tracking Division regularly, cadet.

  The others do not.

  They are not . . . special. You are, and must be recorded and tracked.

  He had always been told that his specialness was his knack for battle tactics, but had there been other reasons that he alone in his class had been required to go for scheduled assessments by both the medical staff and the brain mappers? Had they in fact been checking for—perhaps even expect­ing?—some sign that he, too, was abnormal?

  “Think, Major. You have an incredible capacity for logic and reason. Reason it out. You know, on some level, that there is more to life and living than what the Coalition allows you.”

  “The Coalition is my life.”

  “And that,” the Raider said, “is the biggest injustice done to you. They have taken from you the very meaning of what it is to be truly alive. The right to find and follow your own path, to seek what gives you joy.”

  “You sound so certain,” Paledan said, not wanting to admit that it was an effort to keep his voice level. For the Raider’s words were echoing in his head, hammering at him. He had the wild thought that this had all been planned out, that Lana had done her part, softening him, and now her son was finishing the job.

  “As someone who was spared leaving this life by a handsbreadth, yes, I am certain.”

  A handsbreadth. His mother’s hand. Lana’s hand. Just as she had healed him, she had healed her son when it should have been impossible.

  . . . it is only impossible until she proves it otherwise.

  And she had. Time and again she had. Were he to set aside the implausibility of all she had done and look only at the facts, the results, he would have no doubts. For there was no way to discount what he had witnessed first hand. And there was no way to push it aside, to forget, when every move he made free of the pain that had been his constant companion was a reminder.

  “And what, in your certainty, would you have me do?” he asked.

  “Come to us,” the Raider said. “Break free of the bonds forced upon you. Find the man you were truly meant to be.”

  “That is not . . . possible.”

  He felt the irony of his own words bite even as the Raider laughed. “I think we’ve already addressed the issue of possibility, Major.”

  The rover suddenly banked right, and they were skimming the side of . . . something. Something huge. The Raider reached into a pocket and pulled out his comm link. He handed it over.

  “It’s reactivated. I suggest you order your lookouts to stand down. I’d hate to have gone through all this only to have them blast us now.”

  He hesitated, but then gave the orders. A few moments later they dropped down out of the mist. He recognized the spot immediately; it was where this had begun, on the hillside where they had met. Where he had lain helpless, asking this man to kill him. And now he was back. Healed, and free of the knowledge that any solid blow or even a wrong step could end his life.

  The impossible made possible.

  The impossible demonstrated.

  The Coalition proven wrong.

  He gave a sharp shake of his head as the rover came to a stable hover barely inches above the ground. Another modification; his original design had required at least three feet to hold like this. There was a hiss, and the clear canopy lifted. He glanced back at the pilot.

  “I’d appreciate two minutes to get clear,” the Raider said, with that grin touched with recklessness again. “But if you feel you must, fire away.”

  It would indeed be, Paledan thought, an honor to serve with this man.

  And for the first time he did not follow that up with any thought of converting him to the Coalition. And not solely because he knew it would be impossible—that word again, but in this case fact—but because . . . he did not want to.

  He climbed out of the rover and dropped easily to the ground. Without even a hint of pain from his back. He turned back. The Raider touched his right hand to the silver helm.

  “You would be welcomed, Caze.”

  And then the canopy closed and the rover wheeled back the way they’d come. It vanished into the mist at a speed that startled him anew. He stood there looking after it.

  It was a long time before he started the trek back to the compound.

  And he never gave the order to blast the Raider out of the sky.

  Chapter 43

  DRAKE STOOD LOOKING down at Jakel. The brutish creature sneered at him. “I should have made certain you were dead.”

  “Yes,” her son answered mildly, “you should have.”

  “And now you will pay for that mistake, forever!” Kade declared. Iolana put a hand on the boy’s shoulder in comfort, willing him what she could against the tide of his anger. It was enough to calm him slightly.

  Drake looked down at the man who had tortured him so nearly to death. Then he looked over his shoulder at her questioningly. She nodded. He nodded in turn.

  “In the name of Ziem,” he said, and stepped back.

  Iolana steeled herself by recalling all the Ziemites Jakel had turned upon, tortured, and murdered. She reinforced it with what Brander had told her of the brutal death of Kade’s mother, who had died at Jakel’s hands without giving away anything that might have betrayed the Sentinels. And then she summoned up the vivid memories of Drake, beaten, bloodied, broken, hov­ering on the wrong side of the doorway of death, intensified by the fact that he had subjected himself to it knowingly, to save Eirlys.

  It was more than enough.

  They were gathered, those who had had the most personal reason to be. Drake had questioned Kade’s presence, but she had told him she thought he was the most impor
tant of all to be there; he needed to see the fittingness of the punishment, or he might be driven to take further action himself.

  It was clear, as he sat restrained in a chair, that Jakel himself did not believe in what was about to happen. The sneer on his brutal face, the glint in his reddish eyes said so. The images of Drake, the effort it had taken to coax him back when his pain-wracked body had wanted to surrender, made her want him to believe. She wanted him to know, to understand, before she altered his mind, his memories. And so she reached out, drew from this world she loved the power, and let loose the flare of brilliant light.

  “It is the Spirit of the mountain, the Seer of Ziem who will punish you now, Jakel.”

  Her voice reverberated with all the force she could give it, and she saw those small, reddish eyes widen. Saw the fear growing as he realized the tales were true, and that he was face to face with the legend, and with his fate.

  “For all those you have murdered, and the more you have harmed, those who never earned your animus, who would have welcomed you as one of us had you only asked, I render their judgment.”

  She reached out. He tried to pull back, but she held him now, and no amount of strength would avail him. She put her hands on his temples.

  The jolt of pure evil rippled through her. It swelled, grew, twisted until she felt nauseous with it. The ugliness of the mind she touched was nearly overwhelming, would have been had it been coupled to a soul full of the same, but Jakel had surrendered that long ago.

  It took her a moment to isolate and scour out the impulse center that drove him, yet leave the memories. And then she carefully implanted the awareness that everyone he encountered was to be feared, that he had no power to hurt them or even intimidate them. That they now held the power he used to wield, that of life and death.

  It was a delicate, intricate process, and it drained her in a way healing did not, but at last it was done.

  When she released him and he stared around at those gathered around him, he cowered back. Terror glowed in his eyes.

  “Don’t hurt me,” he cried out.

  Jakel the enforcer was no more.

  “ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?” Eirlys asked.

  She looked at her daughter, grateful beyond measure for her concern. “I will be. But it will require some rest and thinking of other things to recover from that wellspring of evil.”

  “I am not surprised.”

  There was a murmuring from the other end of the cavern. Iolana stood still, watching, for a moment, feeling both pride and fear as she watched her son again don the silver helm of the Raider. They were, Kade had told her with no little excitement, going after the new cannon emplacements before they were completed.

  “The Raider says we can no longer wait, staying safely hidden.”

  “I am surprised he waited this long,” she murmured.

  She watched as he gave instructions to those Sentinels gathered around him. Including, she noted, his mate. Since they were down to four rovers—Paledan-designed rovers—after the crash during the ambush, they would split up, one to emplacement. Ground teams would strike first, followed by the rovers to finish the job and allow the fighters on the ground to escape.

  Drake thought they could succeed, and set the Coalition timetable back. Teal Harkin had built some interesting explosives, something he’d always had a knack for. But he was deadly intent now, all the joking that had always been part of him vanished in the crash that had claimed his brother. But the recklessness remained, and not even Drake could restrain it now.

  And in the back of her mind hovered the knowledge that the man who had just this morning been in this place, with them, would again be in charge of stopping them. Would he hesitate at all, now? Or would the Coalition own him anew once he put their uniform back on?

  They were yet safe enough here, and would be until the Coalition came up with a way to read past the fierce, fiery heart of this mountain, but the Sentinels who went out to fight . . . would he crush them wherever he had the chance? It was what the Coalition would expect of him, but . . .

  She shook off the thoughts. They had to go out assuming the Coalition would be as they ever were, ready to kill.

  When they began to walk toward the cavern entrance, she stepped over to Drake and Kye. “Be safe, my children.”

  Drake reached out and clasped her hand before they moved on. It was a small gesture in the larger picture, but it meant more to Iolana than she could express.

  And yet still she thought of the man below, back in the office she had replicated by now. And wondered. Perhaps even hoped that the seeds they had planted might bear fruit.

  “THE CANNON emplacements are almost ready,” Brakely said.

  “Mmm.”

  “The cannon themselves will be arriving by midweek next.”

  Paledan nodded, still staring at his steepled fingers.

  “The logs of activity while you were gone are on your console.”

  “Fine.”

  Brakely seemed to hesitate, then said, “I spoke to General Fidez’s aide yesterday.”

  That got his attention. Paledan lifted his gaze to his own aide’s face. “Who contacted whom?”

  “He contacted us, sir. For a progress report.” His aide looked uncom­fort­able for a moment.

  “And you told him?”

  “That you were out hunting the rebels yourself. They seemed . . . pleased with that.”

  Paledan nodded his thanks, but his thoughts were rebellious. And if they knew the truth? That I was in their hands and their leader within my reach, yet everyone left alive?

  He nearly laughed at the thought; it would be beyond their ability to comprehend.

  “There is more?” he asked, looking at Brakely’s edgy expression.

  “He believes that the High Command will soon order that Zelos be leveled.”

  He had expected as much. “I presume they are excluding our compound from the destruction?”

  He said it so sourly Brakely’s brows rose. “I . . . of course, sir. All Coalition infrastructure is to be maintained.”

  He went back to his contemplation of his fingers. “And the miners?”

  “He did not know. Apparently that is still under discussion.”

  “Mmm.”

  Silence spun out, until Brakely asked, a touch of concern in his voice, “Are you all right, sir?”

  He looked up once more. “You think I am not?”

  “I . . . don’t know. Sir.”

  The hesitation before the honorific told him Brakely was uncertain whether to pursue this. “Out with it,” he said.

  “It’s merely that . . . you seem different since you returned. You are not usually gone that long, so I wondered if . . . something happened.”

  Something? Yes, something. Many things. Things that are hard to credit now that I’m back here.

  “In truth,” he said slowly, “I feel much my old self.” Physically.

  Brakely smiled, and it was genuine. “That is good news, sir.”

  When his aide had gone, he made himself turn to the drudgery, going over the numerous logs of post activity while he’d been gone. The routine had continued: drills, repairs, and other work he’d assigned before he’d gone, and more he guessed Brakely had assigned to lessen the appearance of his absence. He had chosen well when he’d pulled the man from that death cage.

  Without thought, he turned in his chair to reach for his handheld log to double check the numbers on the weapons inventory. Three things slammed through his mind in succession: that he was able to make that move without pain, a vivid image of the woman who had made that possible, and finally the Raider’s regretful statement that hostilities must resume soon.

  It was a moment before he could force his mind back to work. He finished the logs and reached out to t
urn off his console, already weary of staring at a screen. His finger hovered over the shutdown button. And then, slowly, he picked up the input device. He switched over to his private records. At least, they were as private as the Coalition allowed anything to be, which only meant those below him in rank could not access them; those above, as always, had free rein with their underlings.

  He called up his own records, opened his medical file, stared for a moment at the image of the shard that had nearly ended him. Then, leaving that file open, he went backward in his history. His excuse would be his aware­ness—former awareness—that he could die at any moment; even the Coalition should understand the need to look back at your existence in such circumstances. Existence. Not a life, but existence.

  They have taken from you the very meaning of what it is to be truly alive.

  The Raider’s words rang in his mind. And then other words, in that voice that taunted, teased, tortured him. Ah, Caze, you have so much to learn.

  He looked around his office, the place where, in his mind, he had been all along. He had given up trying to figure out how she’d done it for it did not matter. It mattered only that she had.

  And that he still had no idea where in the badlands they were. He didn’t believe they were near where they had burst through the mist in that modified rover the Raider flew, for he knew the man was too clever to give away any real clue. They could be somewhere else entirely, but he would never know.

  He did not know how long he sat there, lost in the swirl of memory and thought, of logic battling a longing he tried not to admit, when Brakely burst into his office without announcement. He was on his feet before his aide came to a halt before his desk.

  “The rebels have attacked the new emplacements! Both ground and air assaults.”

  For a moment he went very still. “And?”

  “One destroyed, the others seriously damaged.”

  I’m afraid hostilities must resume soon.

  “Sir?”

  It was all he could do not to laugh.

  Chapter 44

  “IT WENT WELL?” Iolana asked Kye, who was the first one she’d seen back from the mission. She had followed her into Drake’s planning room.