An Outcast and an Ally

by Caitlin Lochner

It isn’t until she’s gone that I realize I have absolutely no clue what I’m supposed to say to this guy. I don’t remember him. He remembers me. I don’t know what kind of relationship we had. Were we friends? Barely more than acquaintances? I hate this new state of not knowing where I stand with anyone I meet—especially when everyone I meet seems to know me.

  “When did you get back?” Gabriel asks. He gestures down the main street with his cane, and we head down it. I have to slow my pace a lot to match him.

  “Just a few hours ago,” I say. “Still getting caught up.”

  “I’m sure it’ll take you some time to adjust, but you’ll be fine. You always are.”

  I glance at his cane as he takes another painstaking step forward. “Do you always use that?” I ask. “Seems like it’d be hard to maneuver with in a war.” If he’s the one with the neutralization gift, he had to have been at that ambush a week ago, right? How the hell did he get around?

  “Blunt as always,” Gabriel says, which makes me realize how rude my question was. I start to take it back, but he shakes his head. “No, don’t worry about it. Of course you’d want to know. I don’t usually need the cane, but I’ve been expending my gift so much lately that it’s been taking a toll on my body.” He clicks his tongue. “Whoever decided some Nytes’ gifts were limitless didn’t do enough research. My limit might be far and away past normal, but it can still cause huge backlash.”

  “Especially when you’ve spread it to so many people through power crystals, I take it?”

  His mouth becomes a thin line. We stop on the side of the street as Gabriel looks out over all the people—all the kids—going about their lives around us. A group of children play with old dolls while two teenagers chat and keep an eye on them. A boy walks past us with a loaf of stale-looking bread and an apple in his hands. A little girl chases a boy down the length of the street, the boy squealing when the girl catches him with a triumphant shout.

  “Why did you come back, Erik?” Gabriel asks.

  The question is so abrupt I don’t know how to answer right away. Obviously I can’t say to spy on the rebels and defeat them from the inside. But an outright lie seems like a bad idea, too. Especially with how little I know about everyone here and how well they know me. Plus, there’s Ellis’s butterfly in my shadow now. A constant spy of my own.

  “I wanted to learn about my past.” I stare straight ahead. “I’ve been looking for months, but I don’t know anything except that I used to be a rebel. I thought if I came here, I could find out more about myself. Family, friends, goals—stuff like that.”

  “You’d go so far as to betray the sector for that?”

  “When has the sector ever shown me kindness?” I ask. “I don’t owe them anything.” The defensiveness comes right away, but so does the guilt. I know I’m not betraying them. Not really. But it still feels wrong to be here—and to know I might’ve ended up here eventually even without Lai’s offer.

  “And your old team?” Gabriel watches the two kids as they start chasing each other again. I have no idea what he’s thinking. “I was there at the ambush. I saw you all fight together. I didn’t think you’d turn your back on them.”

  “I didn’t…” But I don’t know how to finish that sentence. At least not without giving myself away. But for the same reason I was semi-honest earlier, I try to be semi-honest now. I can’t afford for any of my lies to be seen through. “I actually talked with them about it before I left. They didn’t like it, but they didn’t try to stop me, either. I … really don’t want to fight them. I didn’t want to leave them. But I couldn’t go the rest of my life without knowing. I didn’t know if I’d ever get another chance like this.”

  My semi-honesty got a lot more honest than I meant it to, so I snap my jaw shut. Does saying I don’t want to fight my old team count as disloyalty to the rebels? Is there any chance this guy will use my desperation to find out about my past against me? Idiot. How could you reveal so much? Any bigger slips than that and I’ll be dead before the day is over.

  But when Gabriel looks at me, his expression isn’t calculating—it’s thoughtful, like I just shared an interesting theory that he needs some time to think over before he agrees or disagrees with it.

  “I see,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll be able to help you with your past—we weren’t close. But if there’s anything you need, just let me know. I’ll try to help you as best I can.”

  It’s weird that he doesn’t mention my team again or the fact that I actually told them I was coming back to the rebels, but I’m not complaining. Better to get off this subject.

  “So, how long’ve you been with the rebels?” I ask.

  “About a year now.”

  “And you joined because you want to see all the Etioles dead like everyone else, I’m guessing.”

  His eyes narrow. “Something like that.”

  So nothing like that at all. Interesting. I almost ask more, but if I start asking personal questions, he might do the same. And I definitely don’t want to invite that.

  Instead, I ask about how the rebels have changed since he first joined. He asks if there’s anything specific I want to know about them nowadays. I ask what a normal day in this place looks like for him. He tells me about the lack of food and clean clothes. But all the way back to the main office, I wonder why he didn’t ask more about my team.

  6

  LAI

  THE ORDER HAS been moving nonstop—and so have I, trying to keep up with it all. Rumors of the Order planning to join the war have spread through our members like Al’s all-consuming flames. Trist, Fiona, and I decide to postpone the full-member meeting until we and the captains have had a chance to talk to our members in smaller groups and feel out what everyone’s thoughts are. I can’t imagine the chaos that would ensue if we tried to talk to the whole Order at once about this. We need to get everyone near the same page before we try to rally morale.

  The fact that there’s division among our core leaders about whether or not the Order should join the war isn’t helping. No matter how many times I push that the Order is a peace organization, Fiona pushes right back that the sector needs us if the rebels are to be stopped. Trist, Peter, and Syon are basically neutral. Syon points out pros and cons on both sides while Peter stares off into the distance and Trist tries to stop me and Fiona from ripping each other’s throats out. I wish Paul was here. He was always a good voice of reason—and I think we would’ve been on the same side with this. His absence is like a constant blade lodged between my ribs. But he’s not here, and our discussions always end in a standoff.

  Everywhere I go, I’m met with questions and arguments and distress.

  “Is it true the Order’s going to war? This is just a rumor, isn’t it, Cathwell?”

  “How are we supposed to win against the rebels when even the military can’t?”

  “We aren’t equipped for war—we’re just going to get slaughtered!”

  I’ve never seen our members so anxious or quick to snap. But given the situation, how could they not be? And yet, for all our members who seem at their wits’ end, double that number are gearing up for war, wanting to know more, how they can assist, when we’ll make our move.

  “You just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  “I think my brother’s mother-in-law deals with weapons—I might be able to get them to help us out.”

  “Hey, hey, Lai, do you mind if I get a research team together? I bet we could make improvements to weapons and Outside gear—I’m not a fighter, but I want to help.”

  The reluctance and fear, I had expected. The willingness to fight? It blindsides me. And makes me realize that I’ve been so focused on the idea of “peace” for so long that I hadn’t even noticed most of our members’ growing anxiety to do something. Something to help against the rebels. Something to move toward real peace instead of just talking about it and creating it within our own little society.

  Somewhere along the line, th
e Order grew up. Without me. Now, I feel myself desperate to catch up before it leaves me behind and moves on to bigger and better things.

  “Opinion is mixed but leaning toward a positive reception of joining the war,” Fiona says. We’ve convened in our usual meeting room for what we’ve all agreed will be our final decision on the Order joining the war. We can’t keep putting it off. All our core leaders are seated around the table, and today I invited Jay as well. We could use a new perspective. Al is currently training our members in self-defense. I wanted to invite her, too, but I was afraid our friction would sidetrack the discussion. Besides, I know where she would stand. But the Order wasn’t created for war. Its message has always been nonviolence. Even if everyone is willing to fight.

  “They’re too optimistic,” Peter mutters. “They don’t realize what war actually involves.”

  Peter’s barely spoken since our return from the ambush and the funeral for his brother. I can hear the weight of that loss in his words. I want to say something to him, but every time I look at him, I think of his twin and can’t find the words.

  “The Order isn’t a private army,” I say. “Our members aren’t trained, we don’t have enough equipment—it would be suicide. And we’re a peace organization. How are we supposed to spread that kind of message if we’re killing others?”

  “We don’t have to attack directly,” Fiona says. Her hands press palm down against the table. “I’m not saying we face the rebels head-on. But what about quick strikes? Disrupting their raids with small teams?”

  “It’s too dangerous,” I say. “And now that we no longer have eyes in the military, we have no idea what they might be up to. They’ll definitely notice if we start attacking the rebels. We can’t risk catching their attention and becoming the enemy of both the rebels and the sector.”

  “What if we got the military on our side?”

  All five of us turn to stare at Jay incredulously.

  “So we’ll simply walk in and ask for an alliance?” Fiona asks. Her words drip with more sarcasm than usual, even for her. “What a brilliant plan.”

  I listen in to Jay’s thoughts. If there was a way to coordinate with someone on the inside of the military, someone high ranking who would be more interested in seeing peace come about than stomping out any potential threats to the Council’s rule …

  “You and General Austin are close, aren’t you?” Jay asks me.

  My back stiffens. I try not to think of the last time I saw my adoptive father—on the other side of prison bars. I try even harder not to think about his comforting smile or his hand ruffling my hair when I was a kid.

  “I think how close is going to depend on what you’re planning,” I say.

  “What if the Order worked with him?” Jay asks. “If we shared information, each organization could plan around the other. The general doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would attack the Order out of spite. We could—secretly—work in tandem. The Order could supply Austin with information from its extensive network, and the military could handle the bulk of the fighting. If we work together, it could bring about the end of this war faster than if either group were to work alone.”

  “A nice idea, in theory,” I say. Does my voice sound tight? I can’t believe Jay is suggesting we work with the military. I know how angry and hurt he is at their betrayal. And with good reason. “But there’s no guarantee Austin would agree or that he wouldn’t eventually be forced to turn on us by the Council. Besides, I swore to never use my gift on him. Even if I was willing to break my promise, he probably has starlight protection from Nytes’ gifts. We won’t be able to communicate telepathically. Someone would have to sneak in and out of Central to talk with him—no easy task. Plus, our go-between would have to be someone Austin trusts or there’d be no point, and I don’t have time for it.”

  “I’ll do it.” The words sound choked out, but Jay doesn’t hesitate before saying them. His hands tighten into fists on the tabletop. It wasn’t on Austin’s order that our arrest was issued. I have no reason to be angry with him. He tried to help us. He always has. “My gift would make it easier to sneak in and out of Central, and Austin knows me. He’ll trust me.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know the general as well as you do, but I don’t think he would betray the Order to the Council. He would come up with something, or warn us. And I think stopping the rebels is his first priority. If the Order could help with that, he’ll likely work with us.”

  Austin wasn’t the one who betrayed us. It was entirely the High Council. But despite knowing this, the thought of trying to form an alliance with the military makes my stomach turn. It screams bad idea. How much could we really rely on the military when such an alliance would have to remain a secret between us and Austin? How long until the Council starts questioning where Austin’s getting his info from? What if Austin isn’t willing to work with us to begin with and Jay risks his neck for nothing? What if Jay gets caught?

  “I like it,” Fiona says after the silence has stretched on for an uncomfortably long time. “It’s the best plan we’ve heard so far. The Order doesn’t have to fight directly, but we’ll still be helping to end the war. It comes with risks, of course, but any plan we go with will.”

  Trist and Syon nod along as she speaks. Even Peter looks like he’s actually tuned in for once as his eyes flick between me, Jay, and Fiona.

  A weight presses down on my chest. I don’t like this. I can’t deny it’s the best option we’ve got, but there are so many risks. Not least of all Jay’s safety.

  “I don’t like you being the one to do this,” I say. “If you’re caught—”

  “A risk whoever did this would have to face,” Jay says. “And of all the possible candidates, besides yourself, I have the highest chance of getting in and out without being detected. And of having Austin’s trust.” His gaze is steadier than before, unwavering. I can do this, Lai. Let me. Please.

  I hate it when he looks at me like that. It makes it almost impossible to say no—especially when I’m the only one in the room who wants to. I sigh. “Okay. Let’s do it. Just—be careful, okay? There’s no guarantee he’ll even hear you out.”

  A smile lifts the corners of Jay’s lips, and I resist the urge to lean over and kiss him. My hands shake, but I lace my fingers through Jay’s under the table until they still. It’ll be okay. Jay will be safe. We have a plan, and if this alliance happens, the Order can start acting. We could potentially end this war. We can save lives.

  Now I just have to hope that Austin comes through. Because without his help, the Order won’t be able to do much of anything—no matter how badly our members want to fight.

  7

  JAY

  FORTUNATELY FOR MY new mission, I’m already familiar with the secret underground tunnel leading into Central. Lai and I used it when we were still in the military to sneak out and visit the Order. When I emerge from the tunnel into the little-used meeting room in Central, I’m careful to shut the trapdoor behind me. The tile-covered door blends in perfectly. How Lai ever found it is a mystery to me. However, the military isn’t aware of it, thus it isn’t guarded. That’s all I truly need to know.

  I allow my internal grid to unfold behind my eyes. It’s past curfew, so most everyone is asleep, but there are still the soldiers on patrol to watch out for. And the Watchers that patrol Central—small, spherical, hovering machines that record audio and video as they roam the halls at random. Much less easy to plan for and track, but so long as I’m cautious, I should be able to see them coming and avoid them. I can’t afford to make a misstep.

  When there’s no one outside the meeting room, I slip into the hallway. It’s easy to keep my steps light; the military trained me well and I was keen to learn. Something lodges in my throat as I recall just how eager I was to do whatever the military told me.

  It’s dark. The only light comes in from the high, narrow slits of windows at the top of the walls. It’s a long, slow process getting from the meeting room on
the first floor to Austin’s office on the third. When I have to make a tight pass by two patrolling soldiers, the beams of their flashlights sweep out before me. I hold my breath as they approach. Waiting, calculating from the patrol paths I used to take myself to predict when and where they’ll turn. So long as I don’t make a sound, I’ll be safe.

  The footsteps come closer. Closer. My lungs are about to burst. Then they keep walking by me, and I release the quietest breath I can. I wait a few more heartbeats before slipping into the hall the soldiers were just in and heading the opposite way.

  My nerves refuse to calm even when Austin’s office is finally in sight. Between me and it is a large reception room. My heart thuds as I sense Austin’s secretary, Noah, at the front desk. My back is pressed to the wall leading into the room, so I can’t see him, but I hear the soft tap tap of clicking keys on a computer. From what I remember of the layout, the desk looks straight over the room, which has to be crossed in order to reach Austin’s office.

  Shouldn’t Noah be in the barracks by now? Or on another of his many missions to a different sector?

  Deep breaths. Calm down. Panicking won’t solve this. Think. Think.

  I scan the bit of room visible to me for anything I could use to my advantage, but it’s a typical reception space: two couches face each other over a low coffee table, a few chairs line the walls, and a couple of paintings hang as decoration. I briefly wish I had a more useful gift for causing distractions like Erik or Al.

  I finger the throwing knives strapped around my arms. No, I need something more subtle. I twist the MMA around my wrist to better see the face of it. I flick through the options on the tiny screen until I reach the electronic signal blocker. There should be an option that would shut down any electronic devices in the vicinity. My finger hovers over it. If Noah’s computer were to suddenly crash, he might leave to get help from someone in tech. Or he could become suspicious of such a sudden malfunction and look around for the source. Still—it’s my best chance.