After making small talk with Corin for a bit, Cage and I glance at our chrons and exchange pointed looks. Cage announces he and I’ve been summoned to a briefing.
Corin grips Cage’s arm as we’re saying goodbye. “Thanks again for the chocolate. I’m sure Tristin’s okay. If there’s anything I can do to help find your sister—”
Cage ruffles the boy’s hair. “Thank you. You just concentrate on getting out of here quickly, Mate.”
We file out of the medical ward on our way to the briefing room.
“We will find Tristin, Cage.” Looks like she and Corin really got close back at Infiernos.
He shakes his head as we round a corner, the heaviness in his eyes more pronounced now. “I hope you’re right, Mate. There are rumors she’s been stirring up the masses back at the Parish and has been taken into custody. I’m worried sick. Things between my dad and me are different now. It’s like he blames me.”
I squeeze his arm. “It’s not your fault. Whatever happens.” I nod toward the briefing room ahead. We pause just outside the doors. “Do you think they’ll be open to my proposal?”
He slings his arm around my shoulders and squeezes. “Why not? I think it’s ace.”
“What about…the prisoner?”
Cage’s face clouds over and he lets go of me. “We’d best get inside, Mate.”
****
The mood in the cramped, spherical briefing chamber is gloomier than the murky ocean depths visible through the three oblong portholes surrounding us. During the past year, the rebellion’s been forced to establish several different Base Ops, fleeing every time Cassius and the Fleshers get wind of our latest hiding place. This latest locale is a retrofitted submarine refueling station, abandoned after a Category Five hurricane rendered it unviable years before.
While Jeptha briefs us on the improving state of our supplies thanks to our success retaking the Cape, I focus on the construction taking place through the windows behind him.
Two Aero-Mantas plunge into the sea from the sky. They’re small, triangular craft named after their undersea counterparts, except they’re adaptable to both air and water, with flexible, curved wings and long metallic tails consisting of sensor arrays.
The Mantas deliver supplies to the construction team busy soldering beams and reinforcing support girders.
Repairs have been a bitch, costing too many precious lives in the process. But we’re running out of hiding places and options real fast. As we strategize in the eerie, silent, calm, it’s hard to believe in all the chaos taking place just above the surface.
“…consideration of your latest proposal, Commander Spark?”
Jeptha’s direct address cuts through the depths of my brain.
My eyes break from the sea to take in the four others seated at the circular steel table. Besides Jeptha, there’s General Garvin Rios, tall, ebony, and imposing; Jebez Croakley, now the Chief Rebel strategist whom I was once apprenticed to at the Parish library; and Cage, who shoots me a stern look and nudges me under the table with his leg.
I clear my throat. “Thank you, General.”
Standing, I place the small holodisc I’ve been clutching in my palm into a slot in the center of the table. A three-dimensional map appears, hovering in the air between us, outlining the areas in red still controlled by Cass’s new Establishment forces, known as the Thorn Republic, as well as the regions in green overrun by Straton and his Flesher battalions from Sanctum. Much smaller pockets of blue represent the scattered areas which our Torch Brigade has liberated and is currently holding and protecting.
I nod toward Jeptha. “Our recent victory at the Cape has dealt a significant blow to Thorn’s troops. Now that we’re in control of the region, the shipping and supply lanes belong to us. But as you can see, it’s not enough.”
Rios shakes his head. “You’re not telling us anything we don’t already know, Spark.”
His contempt bleeds through his words. He’s never liked me, and I’m sure at least some of that’s because his son Rafé was married to Digory.
Can’t even imagine how much worse it would be if he knew Digory let his son die in order to save my brother.
Avoiding his glare, I continue. “Thorn’s forces outnumber us, but they’re spread far too thin. I think I’ve come up with a way of evening the playing field.”
My words have the desired effect. Even Rios now seems interested in what I have to say.
“Go on,” Croakley says.
I point to an area of the map central to all. “If we can seize control of this area here, it would cut off both Thorn’s and Sanctum’s forces on either side of our borders and act as the perfect hub from which to launch attacks against them. There’s no way they could approach without us seeing them coming from hundreds of miles away. With the drones we now control thanks to our success at the Cape, we could strike them before they ever got close.”
Rios slams his fist on the table and shakes his head. “Except for the fact that the little area in question just happens to be a military base currently under Thorn’s control.”
Jeptha nods. “He’s right. Fort Diablos was the primary military base where the Trials were held prior to them being brought back to Infiernos. It’s still utilized as a training ground, with considerable weapons stockpiles.”
“Exactly,” Rios continues. “We don’t have the resources for such an attack, and even if we did, it would be suicide.” His gaze shifs from Jeptha to Croakley. “To even consider such a strike would be absurd—”
I jab a finger to a region west of the base. “Not if any strike would just be a diversion to draw troops from the base and hit them with their defenses down from a direction they’re not expecting.”
“The work camps at the Gorge,” Cage says. He grins. “They wouldn’t be expecting that, Mate.”
I nod. “Security is relatively low tech at the camps, just enough soldiers and firepower to keep the unarmed workers in line. Slaves who I’m sure won’t hesitate to join our forces and help launch an attack against the fort while Thorn’s troops are engaged in a diversionary attack to the east.”
“And what good will nutrition deprived civilians be against trained soldiers?” Rios snorts.
Croakley smiles. “Except they aren’t all untrained civilians, are they, Spark?”
I shake my head. “Many of those interned at the camps are former recruits who’ve gone through rigorous training and competed in the Trials.”
“And obviously failed,” Rios growls.
“The point is these former recruits have military expertise, and reports from our spies indicate they’ve spent years secretly training their fellow civvie prisoners in the art of combat, just waiting for the right moment to strike. The fact that Thorn has all but forgotten them during his coup against Talon ensures they won’t be loyal to his cause.” I sweep the room with my gaze. “Valerian, our spy in the Thorn Republic, is prepared to end her cover and personally provide the security codes to navigate through Fort Diablos and give us automated control of the entire arsenal. If this strike succeeds, not only will it replenish our regiments of troops, but also give us access to an invaluable cache of weapons, not to mention a key strategic vantage point. It’s a win-win.”
Rios sighs. “But if it fails—”
“Then at least we’ll be doing something instead of sitting on our asses waiting to die.” Now it’s my turn to glare at him.
“That’s enough, Spark,” Jeptha says. “I want detailed specs on this Op on my desk as soon as possible for presentation to the council.”
“Thank you, Commander. And if the committee decides to implement my plan, I’d like to lead the team that infiltrates the Gorge and Fort Diablos.”
Jeptha’s expression softens. “Of course, Son.”
“I’m right there with Lucian, Father,” Cage announces. But Jeptha never looks his way.
“Thanks, Cage,” I cut through the awkward silence.
Rios’s eyes avoid mine. “And what of
the last matter on our agenda?”
Jeptha scans his tablet. “Yes. So far we haven’t been able to obtain any useful intel from the prisoner. I’m afraid his resistance to our interrogation methods is quite considerable.”
I slump down into my chair. The thought of Digory being locked away, isolated, subjected to round the clock grilling makes me nauseous.
“Then might I suggest we implement unorthodox methods in our questioning of the traitor.” Rios’s words are measured, but his meaning cuts deep.
I focus on him. “You mean torture, don’t you, Sir?”
“I prefer to look at it as intense debriefing. We’re at war, Spark. Despite your significant accomplishments, your sentimental school boy crushes are an embarrassment and unacceptable.”
My fists clench under the table. “If we start torturing people to get what we want without any regard to human life, then Thorn has already won, General Rios.”
“If we don’t utilize any method at our disposal to extract vital information from one individual for the greater good, then we all may as well surrender now. To beat the enemy, we can’t afford to be weak.” He dismisses me with a wave. “Besides, that thing in holding is hardly what I’d call human.”
I’m about to spring from my seat, when Cage’s hand grips my arm.
I take a deep breath. “Maybe you should let me, speak with Digory. We—we trained together. I know I can get through to—”
Jeptha shakes his head. “According to your own statement, Commander Spark, the last time you were alone together the prisoner tried to kill you. I’m afraid we can’t risk another attempt on your life on the minute possibility of gleaning any useful information.”
“But—”
Jeptha continues. “Both Commander Spark and General Rios make valid points on a highly complicated moral issue. As such, I move for a vote on whether or not to take more proactive measures in extracting information from the prisoner.” He motions to the computer screens inlaid in the table in front of each of us. “All those in favor of more arduous questioning techniques, place your hand on the scanner on the right of the screen. All those opposed, on the left.”
I shoot a look around me. It’s a no brainer the way Rios is going to vote. Croakley has always been a pacifist. But Jeptha? He didn’t seem persuaded either way.
I press my hand on the left side of the screen. One by one a vote tally corresponding to each of our names is projected in the center of the table via holo.
My vote, Nay. Rios’s expected Yes vote, followed by Croakley’s Nay vote. I look up at him and he nods. I knew he wouldn’t let me down.
The next vote is Jeptha. Disappointment floods through me when I see his Yes vote. But that quickly washes away. It’s a tie. And Cage is going to break the stalemate and definitely going to vote—
Yes.
I’m too stunned to move. There’s got to be some mistake.
One glance at Cage’s face confirms that there isn’t.
“By a vote of three to two, the motion to vigorously interrogate the prisoner passes,” Jeptha announces. His voice seems muffled. “In the interim, Commander Spark is ordered to refrain from any contact with the subject until such time, if any, it is deemed necessary. This meeting is adjourned.”
Jeptha doesn’t have a gavel, but the finality of his last words may as well have been hammered into my brain. To make things worse, Rios is staring pointedly at me, his face barely able to contain its satisfaction.
Croakley leans in close. “I’m sorry, Lucian.”
I can barely nod, unable to respond, choosing to squeeze his hand instead as I bolt from the room.
“Spark! Wait up!” Cage calls. “Lucian!”
But he’s the last person I want to speak to, let alone lay eyes on. And I can’t trust what will happen if my fists get anywhere near his face.
I’m halfway down the hall, and through the doors to the lift, when I hear someone running to catch up. I smash my palm against the button and the doors begin to close—but not fast enough. Cage squeezes into the elevator beside me as the doors slide shut and it begins to descend.
“I know you’re bloody pissed off at me, Mate,” he says. “Just hear me out.”
“I thought you were my friend,” I hiss at him.
“I am your friend. That freak tried to kill you at the Cape. Kill all of us actually. And he would’ve if you hadn’t tranked him. And don’t even get me started on how he betrayed the rebellion before and let Rafé die. It’s no wonder Rios wants to see his son’s murderer pay.”
That’s it. I grab him by the throat, slamming him into the wall of the cab. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Digory never betrayed the rebels. He was working undercover to gain intel on Cassius—”
“…or so…he…says,” Cage hisses.
“I’ve seen the proof myself. And as far as Rafé goes, he and Digory married in the event either needed an Incentive. It wasn’t for love. You know that.”
Cage tears at my grip with his metal hand. “Then why…did he let Rafé…die…?”
“So he could save my brother!” I blurt out. “Because he loved me. Maybe that’s what’s eating at you. Because of the way you used to feel about Digory. Because of the way you feel about me now.”
I was purposely going for the jugular. But the look on his face tells me I’ve gone too far.
He rips my hand away. “You really think I’m that petty, Mate? Screw you, Lucian.”
The doors slide open and he disappears down the hallway.
As bad as I feel, I can’t worry about Cage now. Despite Jeptha’s and Rios’s warnings, I’m going to see Digory. I abandoned him once before. Not gonna happen again. Even if it kills me.
FOUR
I bite down on my tongue hard enough to smother the scream of rage and anguish threatening to burst from my throat. The last few days have been a real test of willpower, sneaking into the holding cell’s observation room, riveted to the other side of the two-way mirror, where Digory’s being tortured. Despite being barred from seeing him, I’ve technically not broken any of Jeptha’s commands as far as making actual contact goes—not yet, anyway.
It’s fortunate that Arrah and Dru have pulled guard duty. They have no problems sneaking me in to observe between my other duties. With no other prisoners to watch over, it makes the assignment pretty cushy for them and allows me access—at least visual—to Digory. But based on the knowing looks and glances I’ve gotten from Croakley, I’d bet anything that luck didn’t have much to do with two of my best friends being assigned to the brig. Except each day that goes by watching Digory’s increasing suffering, I’m not sure I should be grateful.
Arrah rubs my shoulder. “How’re you holding up?”
“Been better.”
Digory’s strapped to an X-shaped platform, his arms and legs spread-eagle. Streaks of blood stand out against his chalk-white skin, and his face is a series of black and purple splotches, as if someone’s worked it over with a club. One of his hands is a bandaged clump. His naked torso is covered with electrodes plugged into an ominous looking rectangular device clutched in the thin, meticulously dressed interrogator’s hand. I swear by the look on Devlin’s face, he’s actually getting off on the pain he’s inflicting.
“Let’s try this again, Tycho.” Devlin’s voice is low and gravelly over the speakers. “Where is the location of Thorn’s hidden bunker?”
Digory turns his head slightly and looks at him with one of those strange, iridescent gray eyes. The other is swollen, crusted shut with dried blood. Despite his battered appearance, there’s no anger registered on his face. No fear. Nothing. It’s as if he’s staring at Devlin the same way he would study a specimen under a microscope.
Like clockwork, the change in Digory’s physiology begins to manifest, the same way it does every time I observe these hideous torture sessions. Little by little, Digory’s cuts start to heal and the swelling in his face subsides, as if a sculptor were remolding him into th
at perfect specimen, only to be tortured and destroyed all over again.
What was that story that fascinated me so long ago in the archives? Prometheus. Molded from clay, he stole fire from the gods, only to be punished by being bound to a rock, where an eagle devoured his newly regrown liver day after day, an eternity of endless pain and suffering.
Digory’s crime? Loving me.
Digory’s regenerated flesh, along with his pointed silence, is much more powerful a rebuke than if he’d have shouted a taunt at his tormentor.
“As loquacious as ever,” Devlin mutters. His fingers hover over the controls of the shock box in his hand. “Where is Thorn’s bunker?”
Digory just stares, now through both of those storm cloud eyes.
“Why doesn’t he just give up Thorn and be done with it?” Arrah whispers to me.
“He can’t, even if he wanted to. I think it’s part of his programming.”
“I’m sorry. I know he means a lot to you.” She takes my hand.
“You have no idea.”
Devlin hits the switch on the gleaming black unit.
Digory’s body convulses. It feels as if the powerful electric current’s surging through my own body as I watch him thrash about like a fish on a hook. Foam pools at his mouth and drips from his lips.
“He’s going to kill him,” I squeeze through clenched teeth. I take a step closer to the door leading into the cell.
Arrah grabs my arm. “You can’t. If you do, you’ll only make it worse for him and you’ll be taking his place in there.”
The seconds tick away like lifetimes. Finally, Devlin shuts off that infernal device.
“Stubborn to the end,” he says, his tone as chillingly indifferent as Digory’s expression.
Devlin reaches into a black leather case and produces a gleaming pincer tool. My face twitches as he approaches Digory and rips off the bandage from his hand.
It appears to be fine.
He grabs Digory’s other hand. “You may be able to mend quickly, traitor, but I’m sure it’s excruciating every time one of those bones goes pop.”
The Raising (The Torch Keeper Book 3) Page 3