Recompense (Recompense, book 1)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  “Can’t you two let a man get some sleep?” I ask.

  The boys look up at the sound of my voice, and Hoke’s entire face lights up just as it does on Christmas morning. “Jack!” he screams before hurling himself at me full speed.

  His running tackle knocks me back several steps. I laugh and pick him up. His little legs wrap around me so tightly I can hardly breathe, and his arms nearly wrench off my head. “Are you back forever?” he asks hopefully.

  I pry his arms off my throat. “I’m afraid not, buddy. I just came back this morning to walk you to school.”

  My second sentence makes up for my first one, and his smile grows broader. “For real?”

  “For real. It’s what big sisters are supposed to do, isn’t it?”

  “And you’ll come see my classroom and my desk?”

  “We’ll leave a few minutes early and you can show me everything.”

  He flings his arms around my neck again in a second mighty squeeze.

  I catch sight of Ethan watching me and Hoke from the sofa. After Hoke’s ear-splitting yell, there isn’t much point in feigning sleep any longer. “Morning,” he says. “I see you found yourself a fan.”

  I walk over, still fused to Hoke. “Ethan, this is my youngest brother, Hoke. And this strapping young man standing beside you is Tillman.”

  “Are you a soldier like Will?” Hoke asks, wiggling himself back to the floor.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  “Ethan is Military, but right now he’s working with me, and you know I’m not allowed to talk about my job. So no more questions.” I shoo him toward the loft. “Go get dressed so you’re not late for school.”

  Hoke scrambles up the ladder without another word.

  I drape an arm around Tillman’s shoulders only to find the fit has shifted. When did he get so tall? “Tillman is going to own a fishing trawler when he grows up,” I say proudly.

  “Mr. Mansley said I can have Will’s old job on the docks when I turn twelve,” he tells me.

  “That’s great, Tillman. Only four more years.”

  “Three and a quarter,” he corrects.

  “Maybe less if you keep shooting up like this.” I can see my comment pleases him by the straight set of his shoulders as he enters the kitchen to build up the cook fire for Opal.

  I turn back to Ethan and find him half-wrapped in a blanket, curls askew, blond stubble on his chin. He’s studying me. “What?” I ask, flopping beside him. He’s still in his uniform, but I slept in my plaid flannel nightgown that reaches almost to my toes.

  “You. This cabin. Those kids and that old lady. You all just…fit together somehow.”

  “It’s called family,” I tease. “You have one, don’t you?”

  “Not like this.”

  “Sisters? Brothers?”

  “One of each. Sister older, brother younger. But we couldn’t wait to leave the house. And none of us much likes returning.”

  “A big beautiful apartment like the one we had in Epson City?”

  He shrugs.

  I pick up a corner of his blanket and twist it in my hands. I remember when Opal crocheted it. “You don’t mind walking into town with the kids this morning, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t dare object.”

  I pat his scruffy cheek. “I’ll help you fold your bedding. There’ll be wash water on the porch, but I’m not sure we’ll have any luck locating you a razor.”

  It feels just like old times as we eat together around the breakfast table. Ollie beams when Ethan compliments her oatmeal—made special with plenty of apples and maple sugar—and asks for a second bowl. And for once the kids don’t dawdle. They’re lined up at the door ten minutes before usual, washed and pressed and with school books in order.

  I hug Opal at the door. She pats my cheek. “Take care, my precious girl.”

  “You too, Opal.”

  Then Hoke is dragging me toward the road. Ethan walks behind us with a twin on each side, both vying for his attention. We are much earlier than the Ransoms, so we go on without them. Hoke doesn’t let go of my hand the entire way.

  Ethan leaves us at the schoolyard. “I have an errand to attend before we leave,” he explains. “I’ll meet you at the waterfront in half an hour?”

  “All right.”

  “It was a pleasure meeting all of you,” he says to my siblings before striding off in the direction of the marketplace.

  “Where’s he going?” asks Hoke.

  I shrug. “Come on. I want to see your classroom and ask your teacher if you’ve been behaving.”

  Hoke grins and races ahead. I wink at Ollie and Tillman, and we walk into the school together.

  TWENTY-TWO

  For the second time, I watch from the window of an aeropod as Settlement 56 grows smaller and smaller beneath me. This time I know what I’m getting myself into. I have Ethan beside me and I’m confident that my family is managing just fine without me. But it really isn’t any easier.

  I feel Ethan’s comforting squeeze on my shoulder and allow myself to watch the cove recede into the distance. Then it’s time to focus again on work. Breathtakingly huge problems await us, and I need to be in the proper frame of mind to deal with them. I rub at the ache that lingers above my eyes and draw back from the window. “So, what did Willoughby have to say about our discovery?”

  “We’ve already set plans in motion to penetrate that complex we found last night. Haven’t you checked in with him yet?”

  “I wasn’t feeling very well last night. I figured he’d call me if anything important cropped up.” But when I check my holoband, I see it is still powered down. I look up sheepishly. “Oops.”

  He frowns. “You never turned it back on?”

  “I didn’t think about it. I’ve never shut off before,” I say a little defensively as I hit the power button. “Besides, you were in the next room.”

  He’s still looking at me with disapproval. “A good soldier always maintains open—”

  The rest of his censure is cut off by the repeated dinging of the alarm that tells me I have missed calls. Twelve of them, to be exact. I look up at Ethan with apprehension. “They’re all from Jewel.”

  I skip the messages and go straight to the call button. Jewel’s face appears almost immediately. The dark face paint makes her eyes look tense and tired. “Jack, where the criminy have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday.”

  “Sorry, Jewel. I was out of range, and then—”

  She cuts me off. “It doesn’t matter. Listen, we have a situation here. The day after the fire, Berg and Tricia sent out a bunch of Lowers into the rest of the old city. They formed teams to search out any places those creeps might be using to hold other kidnap victims. This week, they found seven buildings that had evidence of recent occupation. They were all empty. The girls were gone.

  “We’ve still got about twelve teams searching Epson City, but five days ago, Berg started sending guys up the rails to begin organizing elsewhere. Last night, a team in Brighton City rescued sixteen girls from an abandoned textile mill. They killed five of the culprits and took three alive. They’re holding them in the mill and caring for the girls. We’ve been trying to reach you to find out how you want us to handle this.”

  I gape at Ethan. He shoves in beside me. “Have you gotten the authorities involved?”

  “No. City government doesn’t care what goes on in the old districts.”

  Ethan’s already pulled up his holoscreen. “I’m on this. Let me talk to my superior and I’ll get right back with you.”

  “That’s not all,” Jewel continues. “This morning, a team out in Latham City located another cache of girls. There’s a standoff at an old grain elevator in process as we speak. The two sides are pretty evenly matched.” She grins. “Apparently some of the cowboys out in Plains Zone didn’t turn in all their guns.”

  Ethan and I simply stare at her. “You’re serious,” he manages.

  “Dead serious.
Our boys out there could really use some help.”

  Ethan begins furiously typing on his screen. “On its way. We have authority over the local Greencoats.”

  “Good,” Jewel agrees. “As far as the Lowers are concerned, the Military lies too deeply in Macron’s pocket. There’s one more thing.”

  Ethan and I both pause.

  “We’ve got at least two more sites under surveillance in Blackman and York that we suspect may hold more girls.”

  Ethan’s eyes begin to protrude. “Anything else?”

  She smirks. “No, I think that’s all.”

  “Right. Jack, get coordinates from her for all the sites in question, and make sure she has contact info for me and Willoughby. I also want to know how to get in touch with Berg.”

  “He doesn’t have any holoware,” Jewel says. “Most Lowers use whatever old tech they can afford, usually two-way or shortwave radio.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Ethan says.

  Jewel’s voice grows tart. “Food and clothing usually win out.”

  “What are you on right now?”

  “School-issue holopad.”

  Ethan swears loud enough for the pilots to hear. “Don’t you realize the school could be monitoring this call right now?”

  “It’s all I’ve got,” she says hotly.

  He sucks in a deep breath, making an effort to get his temper back under control. “Right. I’m sorry. But as soon as you hang up, please make sure you delete all traces of contact with Jack’s band. Jack, get the coordinates from Jewel and arrange a drop location with her. I want a holoware device in every single rescue group out there. And from now on, make sure yours is always on.”

  I cringe and nod. “Right.”

  ***

  Willoughby meets our aeropod when we land. “You’re both taking off again in forty-five minutes,” he warns as we walk swiftly back to his office. “I already have holobands en route to the various locations. I’m sending in Colonel Padrillo to oversee operations at the suspected site in York City, and Captain Chase will head things up in Blackman City. I want the two of you out in Latham. Like I told the others, maintain a low profile. No Military involvement. I do not want Andromeda Macron catching wind of what we are doing.”

  “Won’t all this Greencoat activity get back to her anyway?” I ask.

  “No. Each Greencoat base operates under local authority with no official connection to other municipalities. Since the kidnappings have not been broadcast widely, we’ll use Governor Macron’s own secrecy against her. To them, it’s just a trafficking ring. They’ll see no reason to report it.”

  “And if she finds out?”

  The hard look he shoots me tells me enough, but he puts his thoughts to words anyway—after we’re safely behind his office door. “I told Andromeda Macron about the Bruelim myself, forty-seven years ago. She answered by threatening to shut Axis down if I pursued fantasies. At the very least, we must judge her inaction as passive compliance. Personally, I have come to regard Governor Macron as a traitor to Capernica.”

  The thought is out. It’s huge. I press my fingertips against the ache growing larger inside my skull.

  “We can’t hide this forever, Willoughby,” Ethan warns. “It’s too big.”

  “No. But let’s get these girls home safely and neutralize the immediate threat of another Provocation first. Both objectives are well within the purpose and authority of Axis. Then we’ll present Andromeda with our new evidence. At that point, the governor will have to listen or we’ll make our knowledge public.”

  “Why didn’t she do anything all those years ago?” I ask.

  “Power.”

  “That’s it?”

  “In brief. We don’t have time for me to share my full suspicions. While you were in 56—nice work, by the way—Caedmon came up with a simple way to positively identify the Bruelim living among us. Both our prisoners lack an enzyme that works to moderate serotonin levels in the brain. Caedmon believes this is what leaves them susceptible to behavioral manipulation. A simple blood test will show whether an individual possesses the enzyme or not, and if not, injections have already proven effective in neutralizing the effect of radiation on our two resident Bruelim. She’s on her way to Brighton City as we speak to take possession of the three suspects being held by the Lowers. If her theories bear out, we will immediately move forward with mandatory testing of all school-aged children in Capernica.”

  “And how will you keep that under your hat?” Ethan asks.

  “We won’t need to. With the cooperation of several doctors I trust implicitly, we will have all the ammunition we need to issue a public health initiative. We will then administer the enzyme to those who test negative.”

  “And what is the effect of the booster long-term?” I ask.

  “We don’t know yet. But the blood test will identify our enemies, and the enzyme could potentially incapacitate them, at least temporarily, while we calculate our next steps.”

  “And the portal surveillance operation?” Ethan asks.

  “It will regain priority once we have this crisis in hand.” Willoughby raises his eyebrows significantly. “Hopefully with Andromeda’s full backing.”

  ***

  From the air, Latham City looks very much like Epson City, with a clear difference between its old and new neighborhoods, thought the line isn’t as sharply defined. When we get closer, I can also see the new isn’t quite as clean, quite as shiny, quite as polished. The Plains Zone city is merely a stepsister to its trendy seaboard counterpart. The area where the aeropod drops us off, however, looks very like the Warrens. I can see the dilapidated grain elevator from half a mile out, a remnant from the past that the city swallowed long ago. Topped with a cupola and still bearing traces of red paint on faded gray walls, it stands tall beside an abandoned supermarket.

  We land in an overgrown parking lot a quarter mile away. Berg is there to meet us. “The Greencoats are already assembled around the perimeter. We’re holding the lot of them inside.”

  “Are the girls alive?” Ethan asks.

  “We haven’t had visual confirmation in several hours.”

  “Where are they being held?”

  “In the pit beneath the storage bins.”

  “Any grain still inside?”

  “Not for years, but the building isn’t sound. If we all breathe too hard in the same direction, it’s going down.”

  “I want a floor plan, if possible. Location of machinery, bins, conveyor belts, entrances, exits, everything.”

  “Figured you would. I’m bringing you to Langston. He’s the local constable in charge of this Greencoat district.”

  Berg leads us toward the grain elevator, turning aside to enter a low-slung building with high doors—perhaps an old body shop or service station. The interior smells of grease and mold. We find a party of three Greencoats gathered around a battered metal table. “Constable Langston,” Berg says, “meet Ethan and Jack Potts.”

  My lip quirks slightly. Berg may suspect our names are false, but this is how he knows us. Ethan doesn’t correct him. We each shake the constable’s hand. Langston’s a stout, middle-aged man with thinning hair and heavy jowls. I can see his irritation when Ethan takes over command. “I want a full understanding of the situation. How many men inside the elevator. How many hostages. How many troops and what types of weapons we have. Layout of the building. What have you got?”

  Between Berg and Langston, we learn that a team of two Lowers had been scouting this section of the city overnight and stumbled on eleven women secured underground, beneath the grating where grain used to be collected before being lifted to the overhead bins. Within an hour, the Lowers had returned with help and were promptly discovered by at least eight captors. Shots were fired, the would-be rescuers retreated, and the standoff began.

  “As far as we know, the girls are still underground,” the constable concludes. “We have men in all the surrounding buildings. No one can leave without being seen.
Neither can we sneak in. They have all the entrances covered.”

  While the men are talking, I move to the window where I have a full view of the building in question. It rises tall and thin in the classic design of a prairie elevator. Every other board appears to be missing or rotted through. I can see the glint of metal grain bins through the ribs of the building but no sign of anyone inside.

  Ethan looks around at us. “Any ideas?”

  “We’ve tried negotiating,” the constable says, “to no avail.”

  I recall the intensity on the faces of the Bruelim when Emerson captured me. “No, they won’t bargain,” I say.

  “We could burn them out,” one of the Greencoats suggests. “Underground as they are, the women would avoid the smoke and most of the debris.”

  “Too risky,” Ethan replies, probably thinking of the conflagration our last rescue mission turned into. “And too visible. We don’t want to attract a lot of attention with this.”

  “I say we just go in shooting,” Berg says. “We outnumber them five to one.” I get the impression that he and the other Lowers are wishing they had done so in the first place. They’ve grown impatient with all this planning. Berg shifts from one foot to the other. “Let’s just storm the place and get it over with.”

  “A possibility,” Ethan says. “Although I’d prefer an idea with less danger to our personnel. And I’d want to confirm that the women are still being held underground.”

  “They’ll keep them underground,” I say with one hundred percent certainty. “They want the girls unharmed.”

  “I believe you’re right, but I want it confirmed.”

  “Seems to me there isn’t another place to contain eleven people except up in the bins, and moving them there seems more trouble than it’s worth,” Langston says, a little testily. “How are you planning to get anyone in there to confirm it?”

  “Camera drone. Heat sensors. I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

  The last Greencoat has joined me at the window. The dog tag caught at the collar of his uniform reads A. D. Phillips. “What if we just drive a pair of armor-plated vehicles into the building and knock it over? It would go down like nothing.”