Recompense (Recompense, book 1)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  Sounds fun.

  “Pugilists, are you ready?”

  It looks like that’s all the instruction I’m going to get. I’m not too worried, though. Caedmon is smiling good-naturedly, and she’s not much bigger than me. She nods, and I do too.

  “Begin.”

  I’m not at all prepared for the aggressive barrage of blows Caedmon delivers. Within ten seconds, I’m on my back in the sand with my ears ringing.

  “Miss Holloway,” Captain Alston drawls. “You are dead. Bludgeoned to death on the battlefield.”

  Caedmon grins down at me and tucks a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “Sorry,” she says, though I’m pretty sure she enjoyed that. “This time I’ll go slower and tell you what I’m doing.” She helps me to my feet and Captain Alston begins us again. This time I’m far more wary, circling away from Caedmon as she advances.

  “Hold your hands like this,” she says. One grips overhand, the other under. “This is the bayonet end, this is the butt. There are six basic strokes. The thrust.” She comes at me slowly, demonstrating by sending the bayonet end straight into my face. “The slash.” She swings the bayonet end sideways into my neck. “The horizontal buttstroke.” She swings the opposite end and thrusts the side of it into my face. “The verticle buttstroke.” She flings the butt end up, catching me under the chin. “The smash.” Still holding the butt end horizontal, she draws it back and then forward, directly into my face. “Or the parry, which is any defensive move used to deflect a strike.”

  It’s too much to take in at once. I feel like I’m in weapons class again.

  “Are you ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  She laughs. “I’ll go easy on you until you get it down.”

  We spar again and again, with Captain Alston officiating. I can tell he takes pleasure in calling out each one of Caedmon’s scores, but after ten or fifteen minutes, I begin to pick up on the moves. Basically, the five offensive techniques she’s shown me are the only comfortable ways to maneuver the stick when my hands are fixed in position. As the movements grow more natural, I become better at blocking her moves, and I get more aggressive, even landing a few points of my own. We are sweating and panting, and my head is ringing from the many blows I’m taking, but for the first time since I’ve arrived at Axis headquarters, I find I’m actually enjoying myself.

  “You’re doing better,” Caedmon calls as she helps me to my feet for the two-hundredth time. “You’ll be as good as me with a little more practice.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Captain Alston mutters.

  “Oh, Ethan, lay off,” Caedmon says. “She needs to gain experience, same as we did, and she’s at a disadvantage training on her own. Would it hurt you to offer some encouragement?”

  I know Caedmon and Captain Alston have some history, being Initiates together, and I’m warmed by the way she comes to my defense, but I can tell she’s crossed some kind of line.

  He stiffens to his full height. “That will be all, Guardsman Markle.” It’s a clear reprimand.

  It takes her a few seconds, but she finally comes to attention and answers with a reluctant salute.

  “You are dismissed. Both of you.” He strides off toward the building ahead of us.

  I pull off my helmet and watch him go. “Is he always this condescending?” I ask when he yanks at the door and it swallows him whole.

  She rolls her eyes. “From day one. He was raised in the city—in Macron City, no less. His father was Military too. He’s been groomed for this since he was a baby, and he takes it very seriously.”

  “Well, I think he’s a lout.” I begin walking toward the storage shed and strip off the rest of my gear.

  Caedmon follows me. “He’s just sore that you’ve drawn him away from the electromagnetism project.”

  “Are you defending him?”

  She pulls off her armor. “No, but I understand some of his impatience.”

  “Is he a science prodigy too?”

  “Not in particular. I mean, he’s good, but he’s better at putting together a whole picture. Reasoning out the why, not just the how, and figuring what it means in a broader sense. In a national sense.”

  “And your project has special significance?”

  “He thinks so.”

  “It better be the project of the millennium to justify his behavior.”

  We put our gear away and hit the showers, then Caedmon returns to the lab and I head to the kitchen. I’m still angry with Captain Alston, but I let it go when I see Opie’s lanky figure hunched above the sink.

  He hones in on my face. “They stop sticking you with markers only to start beating you with clubs?”

  I put a hand up to my cheekbone. My eye is slightly swollen from one of the blows Caedmon gave me. “I just came from the Fire Ring. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “You any better at that?”

  “I’m not any worse.”

  “Well, you could probably whoop me.”

  He picks up a pile of dirty plates and begins loading them into one of the washing racks. When it is full, he stacks the rack on top of five others and shoves them all into the machine.

  I am ravenous, so I grab a sandwich off the serving line. By the time I finish it, the wash cycle is done. I help Opie unload the dishes. Beamed with high frequency sound waves, they come out clean, sterilized, and cool to the touch, without any water pollution.

  “Got something for you,” Opie says when we’ve put the dishes away. He reaches for his teacup, spits, and sets it back on top of the washing machine. Then he pulls out an envelope folded from a single piece of paper and stamped with a bit of beeswax. Over the past two weeks, he has sneaked two letters out of Axis for me, and now he has slipped one in. I recognize Opal’s handiwork immediately.

  I tuck it down the front of my shirt and let my hand linger over it for a moment. “Thank you, Opie.”

  He nods and begins loading another rack. I fall in beside him. Over the past week, we have discussed what three objects we would take with us if we were forced to move, by what standards success should be measured, events that defy explanation, the best ways to improve a sour mood, and five things we’d each like to do before we die. His oddball questions have been the start of each conversation, but today he’s uncharacteristically silent. Probably giving me time to ruminate over my family. I’ll devote plenty of time to that later. Right now I’m more curious about him. It’s a topic we’ve never discussed.

  “Opie, how long have you lived on the mountain?”

  “Seventy-five years. I was born in the same cabin I live in now. You can see it from Willoughby’s office.”

  “Do you live there alone?”

  “I do now.”

  I wait for him to expand on his answer, but he doesn’t. So I ask. “Did you ever marry?”

  “Sure. I had a wife. She died a few years ago. Our three sons work in Settlement 9, down in the valley. They come up to see me every now and then.”

  “Don’t you ever get lonely?”

  “Not enough to move off the mountain. My dog keeps me company.”

  Opie shoves the rack toward the mouth of the machine and I fetch another empty one. We have it half full before I ask, “It wouldn’t be against Axis rules for me to come for a visit sometime, would it?”

  I’m not sure what kind of reaction to expect. Opie is friendly and talkative. He’s just never been very open about himself. But I suppose I haven’t, either.

  He grins. “Well now, I’m not much for asking permission. Are you?”

  I laugh. He already knows we have that in common.

  After my shift is over, I have just enough time to get to my meditation session with Dr. Skynner. They’re not as bad as I feared, but it is another ridiculous waste of time. Today, Dr. Skynner is going to have to wait.

  I take my letter outside and head into the woods, not far, just out of the range of any curious eyes. I press it to my nose. The paper smells faintly of dried lave
nder, which Opal keeps in the same drawer, and the beeswax takes me right back to the last time we found a honey tree. I break the seal reverently and see Opal’s looping handwriting.

  Her note is brief. A reassurance that she and the children are all well. Confirmation of her love and the pride she has taken in my accomplishments. Simple. Perhaps even a little trite. Opal’s a woman of few words, either spoken or written, but I know she means every one.

  The children have each included a drawing. Tillman’s is sketchy, as if he couldn’t sit still long enough to see it to completion. It’s a picture of a trawler, I think. Someday he wants to captain one of his own. Ollie has composed a beautiful picture of the sun setting over the ridge. I recognize it immediately and can pinpoint the very place where she sat. For such a young age, the picture is extraordinary. However, it is Hoke’s image that sneaks under my guard. With his childish skills, he has carefully drawn the lighthouse. He and I are standing in front of it, hand in hand, with big, happy smiles.

  I have not broken down once since I stepped foot in that aeropod. But now, holding Hoke’s offering, I sink to my knees and let my homesickness and disappointment boil over. Ten minutes pass before I wipe my eyes, smooth out the crumpled page, and run my fingers over Hoke’s likeness.

  He is the reason I am enduring the tribulation of Axis. So he never has to.

  ***

  Two days later, Captain Alston takes Caedmon and me rock climbing. It is our last team-building activity. The ropes are already top-anchored, so Captain Alston double checks our equipment, gives us some instruction, and stays at the bottom as Caedmon and I self-belay and talk each other to the top. He follows us up later.

  The sun is setting as he reaches us. Caedmon and I have already settled in to watch it sink below the horizon. A line of hazy blue ridges stretches on into infinity. As we hold our twilight vigil, Captain Alston and Caedmon begin discussing the case they’re working on, and he pulls up a graphic on his holoband. I look on curiously. It is a map of Capernica. Several of the cities are marked over with a blue haze, and so are some of the settlements. I learn by listening in that the blue represents electromagnetic radiation fields, and no one can identify where they’re coming from.

  I recognize Settlement 56 beneath one of the small blue dots. “That’s where I’m from,” I say, stabbing a finger into the hologram and setting the lines rippling. “Are the fields dangerous? I still have family there.”

  “Not at such a low frequency,” Caedmon says. “The radiation is a curiosity more than a threat, because the fields are so localized and we’re unable to determine their source.”

  Captain Alston zooms in on 56. It looks different from the air, but I recognize the curve of the cove and pick out the marina and the town right away. At this magnification, it’s clear the electromagnetic field doesn’t cover the entire settlement but only the southern half.

  The half I lived in.

  He zooms out and shifts back to one of the larger areas of blue, pulling the image in tight again. “Notice in the cities, the range of radiation is broad, spread out over a large area. No matter how close I zoom in, I just get a blue haze. But in Jack’s settlement—in all the settlements—the readout is very centralized.”

  He may not have caught his slip, but I have. He’s just referred to me by my given name.

  He pulls up my town again. “See? The closer we get, the more specific the location.” He ponders the image for half a minute, then his fingers are manipulating the image again. “I want to try something. I’m going to pull up a satellite image and overlay the radiation readout over top. Then I’m going to zoom in as close as I can. Jack, I want you to see if you can identify the source of the radiation.”

  I look at him oddly. Ever since he pulled out the hologram, it’s like he’s morphed into a different person. Someone I like a lot better.

  He glances over at me. “Are you with me?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Okay, here it goes.” The image changes suddenly from the vague lines of the hologram to a full color image as sharp and clear as a photograph. “Do you recognize anything?”

  I point out a few landmarks. “That’s the town. The old highway. The lighthouse.”

  A haze blinks on over the image, like a blue fog blown in off the ocean. Then it condenses and drops away to the south.

  “Each time I zoom in, the radiation localizes further,” Captain Alston notes. “I’m going to follow it, get it as small as possible. See if you can pinpoint the location.”

  The image grows larger, the land rising up at me as if I’ve jumped from an aeropod. And each time the town expands, the radiation field shrinks to the south. It still covers a broad circle, including the wilderness and the heights. We zoom in closer. There’s the road I walked to school. And now I can see individual houses. The blue haze is pulling us away from town, deeper into the southern fringe. Quite abruptly, the field stops shrinking.

  Captain Alston’s index finger circles the perimeter. “This is the actual range of radiation. Do you recognize anything inside it?”

  You bet I do. It hovers over the very edge of the fringe, where the settlement merges with the wilderness and the road turns into a dirt two-track. My house and Will’s sit smack within its circle. But I don’t mention any of this. I just gulp and nod my head.

  “Beyond this radius, the strength of the radiation fades away, which means the source is likely at the epicenter,” Captain Alston says. “I’m going to bring it in. Can you tell me anything specific about this area?”

  I stare hard at the image. It’s so close now I could be looking down at it from the rocky heights. There’s the field where Will and I picked blackberries, the edge of the wood, our meeting tree. And in the very center…

  My hands go cold and I start to sweat.

  “It’s a graveyard.”

  NINE

  The next morning, Captain Alston announces that we’re running fifteen miles.

  “Fifteen?” I burst out. I had been a little fuzzy-headed walking out into the predawn gloom, but that woke me up.

  “Do you have a problem with that, Miss Holloway?”

  I grit my teeth at his sarcasm. Nice Captain Alston has given way to the version I’m more familiar with, and going back is worse now that I’ve seen a side of him I could possibly respect. He doesn’t think I can do it. Well, I’ve run twelve before. And if I can run twelve, I can run three more. “No problem, Captain Alston.”

  “Good.” He turns. “Let’s go.”

  I haven’t stretched yet, but I fall into stride behind him, the path lit by our holobands. He heads out along our five-mile route, but instead of turning around at the farthest point, we keep on going along the mountain ridge. Our pace is fairly easy for a change, and I’m able to keep up just fine for the first seven miles. About halfway, however, I notice he’s bringing it down. By mile nine, I’m working hard. By eleven, I’m hurting. And by thirteen I’m lagging far behind and wondering how I’m going to bring this in.

  There’s a psychological aspect to running, a mental challenge as well as physical. I’ve got this pessimistic little devil in my mind that comes awake about the time my muscles need encouragement and tells them loudly and clearly that they’re never going to make it. Usually, I can find the willpower to stuff him in a corner with a sturdy gag, but today my strength is overdrawn. The more earnestly he shouts, the more I agree with him. I’ve never run this far before, certainly not at this speed. Doubt takes me over completely, draining whatever reserves I have left.

  By the last mile, the sun is rising, and I lose sight of Captain Alston. I know my way back, but I’m staggering now, my strength totally spent. Opal probably could have run faster. I drag myself to the door of headquarters where the captain is waiting with that irritatingly smug smile and drop to the ground on my face.

  “I thought I’d have to search for you with an ambulance crew,” he says.

  It’s not such a bad idea, I think as I press my c
heek against the ground. My whole body spasms with the violence of my gasping. I suck in the smell of the grass…and probably some dirt, as well.

  “You’re dismissed to weapons training,” he says. “If you can make it there.”

  As he strides away, something within me snaps. I have put myself out there for him time and time again. I’ve done it wholeheartedly, holding nothing back. I’m not taking any more of his crap.

  I drag myself to my knees. “Ethan Alston, you are a self-absorbed prig!” I wheeze.

  He turns around. It’s clear by his expression that he hasn’t expected me to rise or speak. His eyes narrow. “What did you say to me?”

  “You heard me.” I stagger to my feet. My voice comes a little stronger. “You’re arrogant, rude, and demeaning, and I’ve had enough.”

  His face grows florid. “Miss Holloway, you are out of line.”

  “No, sir, you are out of line. You are bigger than me, stronger, older. There’s obviously no way in Hades I can match you physically, yet when I fail, you show me nothing but contempt. You set me up for failure time and again, and you thoroughly enjoy doing it. Why do you hate me so much?”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “Yeah, I see you grinding all your friends into the ground.”

  “Miss Holloway, I’ll see you receive disciplinary action for your insubordination.”

  “I am not one of your Initiates!” I scream. “You may be able to pull rank on Caedmon, but not on me. I’m not here under your authority. I work for Willoughby. I am a civilian.”

  “Exactly!” His eyes narrow furiously. “You were unable to meet the Military marks. You shouldn’t even be here. Yet I’ve been pulled off an important assignment to babysit you. And for what? What is so special about you that Willoughby arranges an entire Initiate class just for you? Nothing that I can see.”

  He has asked all the questions that have troubled me since my arrival and come up with the same conclusions. But hearing it all spoken out loud enrages me. “I’ve done my best. Is it too much for you to respect that?”

  “I’ll give you respect when you deserve it. You have accomplished the bare minimum—when you bother to show up at all—and with abysmally low scores. You call that putting in effort?”