The last thing I see through the cockpit window as I lift off and gun the engines is Arch and his agents letting loose a blaze of firepower at Valerian, just as she activates the grenade.
The shockwave hits the ship, accompanied by a blinding flash which totally engulfs the landing platform, incinerating Valerian and the others. For a few seconds the concussion causes the instrument panels to flicker. I tense for the crash. Then the craft pulls out of its dive and soars into the horizon, leaving behind the Parish—
And Digory.
TWELVE
Not only does Valerian’s chip contain a program that will temporarily scramble the Thorn Republic’s scans and allow my ship to escape Parish air space undetected, it also contains data on the Resistance’s mission to capture Fort Diablos. Looks like the council approved my mission specs after all. The attack’s already underway.
Valerian’s death won’t be in vain. I’ll make sure of that.
After plotting my course to the Gorge to rendezvous with the strike team, I set the ship on autopilot. A thorough systems check reveals I’ll barely have enough fuel to reach my destination. The only refueling stations between here and the Gorge are deep in Thorn Regime territory, too much of a risk, especially with the hostage I’m carrying.
I glance at Cassius. He’s still sitting on the floor where I left him, shirtless and barefoot after I searched him thoroughly for any hidden weapons. The shot Valerian inflicted was merely a flesh wound, which I crudely bandaged. He’s trussed up in makeshift shackles. I also set up a portable force field generator around him to keep him in place. You can never be too careful with this one.
He looks up at me and holds up his bound hands. “Is this really necessary, Lucian? You already have me contained behind the energy barrier.”
“I’m not taking any more chances than I have to. As it is, I’m taking an awfully big one just by keeping you alive. Your death could hasten the end of this war. But first, you have a lot to answer for.”
He shakes his head. “Are we going to continue that charade? You don’t care about bringing me to justice. It’s all about you finding out what it is I want to extract from your dormant memories. We both know it. If you kill me, you kill any chance of ever knowing. And I’m going to go out on a limb and say that you wouldn’t want your insurrectionist friends to have any inkling of what your true agenda really is.”
I approach the force field. “Perhaps. I could just apply pressure and make you tell me before I even get you back to the brigade.”
Cassius sighs, stretching his muscles against his restraints, as if he were preparing to take a nap. “There we go with semantics again. You mean you could torture me into giving up what I know. Perhaps you’re already more like Queran Embers than you realize.”
Anger and fear surge through me. “Just shut up.” I turn away.
“No matter,” he calls after me. “I’d die before I’d let whatever knowledge I had fall into your hands.”
“Keep talking and you may get your wish.”
Trying my best to ignore him, I march down the narrow bulkhead into the cramped crew cabin. The night light bathes the room in flickering shadows. Cole’s still lying, unmoving, in the cot I placed him in after we escaped. At least it was an escape for me. More like a kidnapping for him.
I check the chron on my wristband. He should be coming to any moment now. Reaching into the pocket of the flight suit I changed into, I pull out a container holding a hypo and the next dosage of sleeping meds. As I approach him, I hate myself for having to keep him sedated. But he’s been so brainwashed by the techniques Cassius has subjected him to, there’s no way I can trust letting him wander around the ship freely. And I can’t bring myself to shackle him like I did Cassius. Maybe once I get him back to the resistance they can figure out a way to deprogram him. Even if they can, it’s going to be a long and painful process. I can’t help but weep for him.
Sitting on the cot beside him, I stare at his peaceful face. At least in slumber he still bears a semblance to my little brother. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.” Reaching out a tentative hand, I stroke his hair. “There once was a Lady who watched over a magical city of lights…” I recite his favorite bedtime tale from memories and, in the quiet, I can almost pretend we’re back home again, before I was recruited, before the start of this terrible war.
When I’m finished I look up to find his eyes staring at me, glassy and cold.
“I hate you,” he says.
The words skewer me.
This isn’t the first time he’s said that to me. There’ve been other occasions over the years. When I would remind him to eat his vegetables or send him to bed instead of watching the snowflakes sprinkle from the night sky. When I had to explain why Mommy and Daddy couldn’t take care of him anymore. When I couldn’t stay with him because I had to go to work to earn enough money to buy meager scraps of food and clothing to try and squeeze out an existence. In all those other contexts the words were born of love. Or desperation. But now they are fueled by rage and contempt.
I recoil from his gaze.
“I love you,” is all I can say. My fingers fumble with the hypodermic as I place it against his little arm.
His eyes open wide and he struggles against me, kicking and crying out. “No. It hurts me!”
I push the plunger, releasing the tranquilizer into his veins. I haven’t sobbed like this in ages.
Holding him tight against me, I whisper over and over again, “It’s going to be okay, Cole. I promise.” Memories of other nights spent rocking him to sleep bubble up. Those long winter nights when we were practically freezing. Summer nights when he’d awoken, screaming, from another nightmare. And now I do what I did then.
I sing.
“A spark does smolder deep within,
While Winter’s blow doth burn the skin,
Look toward the Sky, a flame held high,
The Season chars, its ashes nigh,
Keep it lit, Keep it burnin’
All the dreams, all the yearnin’,
Ole leaves will fall, New moons arise,
The Keeper sings, the Season cries…”
The old Parish song that every kid grew up with works its magic again. His body settles down and grows still. Soon he’s asleep again, clinging to my chest as he did when he was small.
Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I tuck him in, leave the cabin, and head back to the craft’s cockpit. If my readouts are correct, we should be in Gorge airspace within an hour or so, which is when things are going to get tricky. Unless I’m able to establish radio contact with the resistance, it’s possible they could unwittingly shoot me down. Or worse, we might be spotted by Thorn agents requesting confirmation which could result in this craft being overtaken and boarded. The moment they find out Cassius is a hostage they’ll either shoot me dead or take me prisoner and vivisect my brain. I’m not sure what Cassius is expecting to find, but whatever it is, I’m sure it can’t be good for the resistance. And in either case, Cole’s mind remains hostage to the Thorn Republic’s depravities.
I reset the coordinates just outside of Fort Diablos compound and spend the next forty-five minutes getting my gear together and checking and re-checking that everything’s in order.
As soon as the ship’s in range, I decide to risk breaking radio silence to see if I can make contact with the resistance strike team, which according to the intel Valerian provided, should have already succeeded in making contact with the underground movement in the Gorge.
Hitting a few buttons on the dash, I tune into our pre-determined frequency, on what I hope is a scrambled channel.
“Storm Surge, this is Pilot Light requesting confirmation of your position. Over.”
My only response is the crackle of static in the cockpit speakers. A few more attempts at hailing Storm Surge still yield no results.
Bleep! Bleep! Bleep!
“This can’t be good.”
A red light’s flashing on one of the
gauges on the console.
The fuel indicator. Looks like the reserve tanks are exhausted, too. We’re running on fumes.
“Attention,” the computerized voice on the data screen advises, “fuel levels are dangerously depleted. Repeat. Fuel levels are dangerously depleted. Please proceed to refueling station immediately before systems are compromised, resulting in catastrophic engine failure.”
“That so? I’m not sure how I’d manage without you, Sweets.” I jam my fist against a button, snuffing out the warning. “We’re just going to have to improvise a safe landing for this baby.”
I re-plot my vectors and angle of descent. The instrument panel buzzes and beeps with all manner of warnings.
“Danger! Proximity Alert,” another indicator blares.
My eyes widen when I catch a glimpse outside the cockpit window.
The airspace above Fort Diablos is lit up like a grandiose fireworks display. Streaks of blue, orange, and red burst all around me, buffeting the ship. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of resistance fighters and Thorn gunwasps are engaged in deadly battle.
With no gunner of my own, I have no choice but to concentrate on navigating through this ever-changing kaleidoscope of destruction, where any second, one wrong move will render my ship a smoldering mushroom of super-heated debris.
To make matters worse, I’m dodging blasts from my own people, who have no way of knowing who’s piloting this ship. One missile takes out my communications beacon. The ship lurches violently. The cockpit’s glass splinters with a sharp crack. I struggle to hold her steady. Another loud blast takes out my sensor array. I can barely see through the thick, black smoke obscuring the chaos out there.
“Lucian!” Cassius calls from his prison. “What the hell’s going on?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” An explosion slams me back against my seat. “Damn.”
“You’ve got to let me out of here. I can help,” he tugs at his bonds.
“Not a chance.” I dart over and under squadrons of resistance ships.
There’s one that I just can’t shake, a resistance ship that’s clinging to me like my own shadow.
Any moment it’s going to vaporize us. And with my coms shot, there’s no way I can even risk a warning.
The ship’s getting closer. So close I can see its gun turrets swinging my way, already glowing as it juices up to fire.
That’s when my ship’s engines start to sputter. In just a few, we’ll be free-falling and my pursuer won’t even have to waste any firepower on us.
An idea hits me before the blast does. My fingers fly over the controls governing the ships external lights. I flash them in sequence, hoping that the other ship’s pilot has the presence of mind to spot what I’m doing.
“C’mon. Remember your flight training.” My muttering’s drowned out by more explosions, one of which crack the vessel’s windshield. Another hit and the cockpit will be flooded with shattered glass and other volatile projectiles.
It doesn’t seem to be working. The pursuing craft moves in, soaring in so close I instinctively brace myself for the impact—
The oncoming ship swerves upwards at the last possible moment without firing.
They got my message.
My relief is short-lived. The controls freeze up. The engines are dead. We’re just gliding on air now. It won’t be too much longer before we go into a nose dive and that’ll be the end of everything.
I rip myself free of the pilot’s seat and sprint to the cabin where Cole still sleeps. Scooping him up, I secure him to my body with one of the harnesses.
The ship cants forward, and it’s all I can do to grab onto cables and supports to remain upright. It takes me a few seconds, but I find the control panel to blow the outer hatch.
“So you’re just going to leave me here after all,” Cassius says. “Perhaps it’s best we should all die here, right now. But I warn you, if Straton finds what he’s looking for, your friends are going to suffer much more than you could ever possibly imagine.”
My finger hovers over the hatch release button. It would be so easy to just take my chances with Cole and leave Cassius to his own fate.
I apply slight pressure—
And stop myself. Queran Embers would blow the hatch release without a second thought. But I can’t. I’m not him.
At least not yet.
“C’mon.” Deactivating the force field gennie, I drag Cassius to his feet, and loop the harness through him, too, just as the craft goes into a full nose-dive. Grabbing onto a support rail, I jam a fist against the hatch release button.
The panel blows, sending in a ravenous gush of air that sucks everything loose into the void.
I can barely hold on. It feels like my arm’s about to be ripped from its socket, plunging all of us to our deaths. The resistance fighter that was tracking us zooms into view just beyond the opening. A hatch in its underbelly grinds open. It shoots a grappling hook our way. Grabbing it, I let go of the support and the three of us are sucked out the opening. For a split-second, I get the sensation of something heavy latching onto my leg. Then it’s gone. We tumble into the open hatch of the other craft, just as our own ship crashes into a row of square, concrete buildings and bursts into flames.
At least Cole made it in one piece.
And Cassius.
“Spark!” Corin’s crouched beside me, looking like he’s seen a spirit. “Where’d you come from?”
I do my best to sit up. “Long story. Looks like I made it just in time. Nice to see you back on your feet, Kid.”
“It is you,” Drusilla calls from the pilot’s seat. “For a minute, I thought you were going to miss all the fun. Welcome back.”
Hauling myself up, I thrust my weapon into Corin’s hands. “Keep your eye on these two.” Then I dash over to Drusilla in the cockpit. “The resistance team—”
“They’ve made contact with the former recruits imprisoned in the Gorge. Their leader’s some guy nicknamed Deal Breaker. Cage and his team slipped in on a prisoner transport they hijacked. Once inside, they were able to arm this Deal Breaker and his people and initiate a riot, overpowering the guards and breaking out.” She stares at me. “Just like you said.” Then she turns her gaze to the cockpit windows. “Thing is, we’ve lost communication with the strike team.” Her steady demeanor falters for a moment. “Arrah’s with them.”
I grip her shoulder. “Reinforcements have arrived.”
Her somber look morphs into a grin. She cranes her neck to look at the other two survivors. “Who the hell are they? Is that—?”
Before I can respond, a powerful blast rocks the ship. I careen into the sparking console.
The look on Dru’s face tells me everything I need to know without checking out the gauges for a damage report. “We’re going down. Strap yourselves in.”
Running back over to where Corin’s keeping watch over Cole and Cassius, I scoop my still unconscious brother up and strap him into a seat.
Cassius nudges his chin at Corin’s weapon. “I’m sure you’re no longer going to need that, son.”
Corin’s studying him with a mix of contempt and fear. He cocks his gun. “Don’t take another step, Thorn.”
Then I shove Cassius into another seat, cuffing his wrists to a support strut.
“I’m going to need both my hands, Lucian.”
I ignore him. “Strap yourself in,” I instruct Corin.
Turbulence rocks the cabin. We both lock our harnesses into place.
Another blast hits. The ship pulls a three sixty and slams really hard into something.
The overhead compartments burst open, spilling supplies and equipment everywhere. Shock cushions deploy in each of our harnesses to blunt the impact. Sparks fly and streams from cracked fuel and life support lines hiss into the compartment, shrouding everything in a thick, noxious haze.
At least we’ve stopped moving and have managed to land relatively in one piece.
Through the swirl of amber and crimson emergency
lights, I spy Cole and leap from my restraints to go to his aid.
He’s groaning but appears to be unharmed.
I free him from his restraints and lift him into my arms. “I’ve got you, Buddy,” I whisper. While I’m rigging a harness to strap Cole to my back and free up my hands, I call out behind me. “Corin? You okay?”
“Not really.”
I turn. Through the thickening haze I can make out Cass’s silhouette. He must have been able to overpower Corin during the impact and is now aiming the kid’s own weapon directly at him.
THIRTEEN
“I don’t want to hurt this boy, Lucian,” Cassius says. “As long as you do what I say, he’ll be—”
Wham!
Drusilla knocks the gun from his hand, twisting his arm and jamming it into his back at an awkward angle.
“How about you do what I say, Thorn?” She kicks Cassius, and he drops to his knees. “What was that about the bigger they are?” she quips.
Corin retrieves the gun and jams it against Cass’s heaving chest. “Time’s up.”
Cass’s eyes lock with mine and I curse under my breath. He knows I won’t let him die just yet.
“Corin, wait. We have to get out of here and take him with us.” Moving toward the hatch, I hit the release and spring the door. The sound of twisting metal and grinding gears fills the air. The hatch only opens halfway and stops.
Corin’s eyes dart to Dru’s, then back to mine. “Take him with us?”
Drusilla wrenches Cassius to his feet. “Why would we want to do that? This bastard’s responsible for every—”
“I don’t have time to explain! Let’s go.”
Cassius gives me a smug, satisfied grin. Drusilla and Corin shove him past me and out the hatchway, both shooting me the dirtiest of looks.
As soon as I follow, it’s obvious we’ve traded one chaos for another. Smoke and flames surround our crashed ship, accompanied by the overpowering stench of fuel and blood. All around us people are running, some shouting, others moaning. Shots ricochet amidst the crumbling remains of the building we’ve crashed into. We duck behind the remnants of a wall for cover.
The Raising (The Torch Keeper Book 3) Page 10