by JA Huss
"But every choice leads to your end. Regardless of whether it was good or bad. And yeah, if your end sucks real bad, then maybe different decisions would have made life better.
"But even if at the end there are more bad things than good, if you changed those decisions then all of the good would be gone too. So, if you're looking back thinking, fuck, I should have done things different, you have to ask yourself, am I willing to give up even one moment of good that came from the bad, just for the possibility? Because if you do, then this moment is gone. It never happens.
"And I know that I'm not qualified to grant you absolution. But I do anyway, no confession required."
I look up but he won't meet my eyes, he just stares off at the horizon, then shakes his head. "I could almost love you right now for saying that, ya know."
I laugh. "That's pretty much the point, Tier."
His gaze wanders over across the horizon where the dark and heavy clouds are surging over the mountains off in the west. The reflected sunrise has turned them all the colors of Jupiter and they roll with the threat of a winter storm.
"I've been watching ya for a while, Junco. Trying my hardest to figure out what's going on here, whether or not yer a clone, or a Six or a Seven, based on yer actions." He looks down at me now and cracks a half-hearted smile. "And it wasn't easy, I'll tell ya that. I watched you do so many things. Celebrate the good stuff, cry about the bad, go out on maneuvers with yer team, meet Charlie, fall in love and be loved back" – he hesitates slightly, then continues – "kill, very effectively I might add. And then lose everything. And still – no matter what bad things happened to ya – ya always got up the next day and did it all again. Yer not a quitter. I have often wondered where ya get the strength, how ya have such determination. I'm barely four years older than ya and I feel like I've lived a hundred lifetimes of misery. And when I wake up each morning I don't want to keep doing it, Junco. When I wake I ask myself, how much longer before they will just let me die?" His chest expands suddenly and I sit up a little more to see his face. "I have that thought more than I'd like to admit."
I lean back into his chest. "But that's just me on the outside, Tier. If you saw what's really inside me – it's nothing but screams and lies."
He sucks in a deep breath and we sit for a while in silence.
"When I was coming back from the Stag that night – and let me just clarify – I wasn't following ya, I was trying to wrap things up out there because they called me back. My time with you was over, my commander wrote ya off and gave the order for me to complete the mission – and that was exactly what I was doing.
"But then I saw yer Goat barreling up the hill as I was flying home and I thought to myself, this is it. She's finally lost her mind for real. She's not coming back from this one. And then ya hit that deer."
My thoughts drift back to the accident. It seems like years since that happened.
"I flew down there just to see if maybe you'd be dead and I'd be let off the hook. But, shit. All ya did was suck it up, haul yerself out of that pile of shit ya drive, and look for a solution. No crying, no whining. Nothing but action from you, Juncs. And I made the decision. Finally." He stops and looks at me. "It felt like relief, making that choice."
I lie still, my heart beating against his. "Why?"
He lets out a grunt. "Because they've fucked ya up so bad, they lied ta ya, they taught ya things a fully-fledged aves warrior never learns and then they paraded ya around the world killing people. They took everything away to break ya. And still ya get up. Sling yer fucking arm up in a belt, hike up a hill and take stock. And then of all things, ya try and kill me outright, not once but twice. Without even batting an eye."
"I'm sorry about that, Tier. I was a little wild that night–"
"No, that's not what I mean. I mean, whether or not ya realize it – yer fearless, Junco. I offer ta help ya, and ya tell me, I've got two legs so yer on yer own, buddy."
He laughs. "You've got more survival instinct in ya than anyone I've ever met. And I thought to myself, just think how great she'd be if someone just loved her and didn't play with her head. How fucking much she'd have to offer the world. Us. If she could just make one or two decisions based on the truth instead of the lies. She's worthy. That's what I thought. She's worthy – it's just that no one sees her potential."
I feel my throat tighten up and try and swallow back the tears. His hand reaches down and lifts my chin and makes me look at him. "I fucked up bad with Dale, Junco."
I shake my head. "Stop, Tier. I don't need to know."
"No. I let him use my genetics for his experiments in exchange for information. Information I used to kill a lot of important people."
His hand lets go of me and my chin drops back down to his chest as I breathe in deeply.
"I'm not gonna lie to ya. I don't have it in me to string ya along like that, taking advantage of yer trust. Whatever ya do, whatever choice ya make, make it knowing at least this much about me. And if we have the opportunity to make good stuff happen in the future, stuff that makes us thankful we made all those mistakes just to get to our end, then I want them to happen because we went into it understanding the beginning."
My heart beats wildly and my chest suddenly heaves in and out with the struggle to hold it all in. I lean against him, counting as his breathing makes my face rise and fall. I take my time getting it under control and when I'm ready the words come out as a whisper. "I could almost love you right now for saying that, ya know."
He finally lets out a small, stunted laugh and traces the pattern on my forehead with his finger. "I'm on yer side, Junco."
I breathe that in and enjoy it for several long moments. And I smile. "You know what?"
"What?"
"This is the first time I can think of that the truth didn't hurt."
He leans down and gives me a crooked smile. "Funny how that works, right? People are always lying so they don't hurt each other. But it's the lies that kill ya in the end. The truth gives ya strength to go on."
Yeah, I think. Maybe it does.
Chapter Thirty
It's well past dawn when I make it back to the barn to collect the envelope on the Goat's front seat, then back to the house. CP approaches me as I enter and I flip him the bird and continue walking to my room. I go inside and find a marker and then open the door and write on the outside in big letters: If you wake me up, I'll make you regret it.
Someone from my past gave me some good advice about making threats. They said, quote, threats are better served up cold, quick, and clear, unquote. It's true, too. I don't fuck about in the threat department.
I go back in my room, slamming the door behind me.
But it's wrong.
It's all wrong.
This is not my room, I can feel it. I mean, it's all my stuff. I have memories of all this stuff. Of sleeping in the bed, pretending to be a genie on the magic carpet, and plastering my room with princesses cut out of magazines and books. But that was not last week, which apparently was the last time I was here at home. Sleeping in this ridiculous bed.
I flip the light on in the closet and look at it.
It took me forever to find that horrible outfit for the press statement because almost everything in my closet is either a nightmare of ruffles that was in fashion two decades ago or stuff I'd only let a horse see me in.
On one side of the walk-in is a double row of nothing but pink, purple, and orange. On the opposite side are the greens and blues. Yes, Junco, your closet is color-coded. And there is not one shred of camo.
My heart begins to thump as I wonder if I really am a clone who was dropped into this life not too long ago. I take a deep sigh and fall on my knees into a pile of clothes. I look at the stuff under the hanging garments and then I see something that strikes a familiar chord.
An old black field boot. Much smaller than my current size.
I reach for it and pull, but it snags on something in the corner. My curiosity gets the best of me
and I shuffle under the clothes and start flinging random socks, shorts, and a slew of mittens out behind me.
And then I see the shoelace. Caught under one of the floorboards.
I pull everything out, I mean shit is really flying out behind me, and then I can see what's got the old shoelace in its clutches.
It's a hidden door in the floor.
Now we're talking.
I stand and push my foot on the floorboard in various places, like I do with the secret pantry in the cabin, and sure enough, a board pops up. I lean down and swipe my fingers under the board and grin as the mechanism clicks and the entire cut-out lifts up on a chain and rests back against the far wall.
I crack a smile. I know that whatever is in this hidden room, it is the real me, and my pulse goes wild as I climb down the ladder.
My toe taps the hard concrete floor and I feel around on the wall for a light sensor. When it flicks on I gasp with delight.
Now this is more like it.
The chrome and glass bed frame is sleek and modern, close to the floor, and the mattress is piled high with several black down comforters, more pillows that I could ever need, and it's a complete mess.
Which totally confirms that this is my room.
There is an entire wall of built-ins filled with books on one wall. On the opposite wall are more built-ins. But these hold weapons. Lots of weapons. Plasma rifles of all shapes and sizes, ion-blasters, EM pulse rails, a few projectile pistols, swords, several bokkens, steel knives, and laser knives. It simply takes my breath away.
On the far end of the room is a holomat, which is an elaborate piece of tech for an RR kid, but I'm not really just your ordinary RR kid, am I?
No. I'm Junco. The commander's daughter. A trained RR sniper. The fucking Seventh Sibling and a whole lot more.
The holomat allows you to program in mixed martial arts moves and watch them play out in 3D. You can even make adjustments on the fly to see how things work. It's a great way to come up with new moves or counter-moves and the memories of me using this device for training flood into my forward consciousness in a deluge.
I go to the closet next and find my real wardrobe. It's not color-coded and like the bed, it's not neat. In fact, most of the clothes are on the floor and not one scrap of them is pink. I have black, army green, gunmetal gray, black, desert sand, woody brown, and black. There are no pumps or sandals in sight and I breathe a huge sigh of satisfaction when I see the box of cigars sticking out of an open drawer.
I shake one out of its box, touch it to the striker, and puff like there's no tomorrow. Then laugh. Maybe there won't be a tomorrow. The air filters kick in to process the smoke and I blow some rings.
I am home.
I peel off my clothes and slip a fresh tank top on, then turn the sensor off and lie in the dark, watching the red embers of my cigar light and dim the room until the ash gets long. I flick it into the ashtray lying in the middle of my belly and think up so many ways to kill all these motherfuckers in my house I almost get giddy. The voice on the phone comes back to me. Project terminated, sir. It's a voice I know well.
Sun Tzu said all warfare is based on deception. Which seems to contradict Tier's take on the truth, but really they are not connected. War is war. And anything goes. The object of war is to win. Period. Nothing else matters, and if it does, you're not at war.
But personal requires a little more finessing because by definition it encompasses emotions, and that's the messy stuff that gets in the way of war. If you make war personal, you're fucked. War was never meant to be emotional and only detached objectivity gets you through. That's just the facts and anyone who wants to win had better face them fast.
I stew in that for a while and enjoy the comfort that comes with being in my own bed, surrounded by my own stuff, and secure enough to be OK with who I am for the moment. That can change, certainly it will change, but for now, I am just Junco.
Sun Tzu also said desperate soldiers lose their fear and I can relate. Not a drip of it leaks out of me. I'm the scariest bitch on the block. I puff the cigar down to the nub, stub it out and flop back into the soft pillows.
And I dream. And the dream is all mine too.
I'm not standing on the edge of a dock.
I am no one's project.
I am no one's redemption.
I am not anything.
I am just Junco.
And I am at war.
Just as I get to the part of my dream where it makes no logical sense I hear someone banging on my bedroom door. I roll off the bed and fall to the floor, shaking my head as I try to remember where I am.
The banging comes again, only louder this time, and then my reflexes kick into gear and I'm climbing, then rushing towards the door to pull it open.
"This better be good." It's CP. For some reason this little squirmy guy grates on my nerves. "Can't you read?" I say, pointing to the big black letters scrawled across my door.
He looks at my legs and I realize I'm in my bed shorts. He jerks his eyes back up to my face. "It's noon, Junco. Aren wants you in his office."
"His office? Hmmm. The last time I checked he didn't have an office in my house, so where exactly would I find said office?"
"Uh, sorry. Your father's office."
I slam the door in his face.
I go back down to my real room and stand in my closet.
I'm in love.
I step into a pair of old ripped jeans and pull a faded black hoodie over my head. There is an array of field boots to choose from and I pick the oldest, most thrashed pair I can find. None of this stuff triggers any more of my misplaced memories, but if I had any doubts that this room was mine they disappear when the boots mold to my feet.
I twist my hair into a pony and head to Aren's office. Just thinking those words makes me want to strangle him, but I push it down and smile as I pass the MR soldiers who smugly roam my house at will.
The doors fly open and I enter. He's about to yell at the intrusion and then stops himself at the last minute. "That's all for now, CP."
CP leaves and pulls the double doors closed behind him.
"Junco, did you have a nice sleep?" His smile is huge, but his eyes are narrow as he assesses my mood.
I smile back at him, forcing it all the way up to my peepers. "Lovely. I haven't slept that well in... well, since the last time I slept in my own bed."
Ignoring me, he gets up and walks around the desk. "I have decided that we'll ask the Council for reparations for what they did to you. This will include–"
I put my hand up and he stops. "I'm not interested in any reparations. Just the truth."
He comes over and takes me by the arm and leads me over to the couch as he talks. It takes every ounce of self-control not to pull away from his touch. "I know this will sound crazy, and maybe you won't agree to it, but–"
There's a knock at the door and CP enters again. "Sorry, sir. There's a message from–" He stops and looks in my direction.
"From who, CP? Spit it out."
"It's private, sir." He thrusts a piece of tech at Aren who puts his hand up like he's warding off bad spirits.
"I'll be back in a minute, Junco."
I plop on the couch. "Take your time." He ignores me as he leaves and I shoot CP a dirty look before he can shut me out with the doors.
"Junco," HOUSE says, "please enter your father's safe room."
Do I not deserve a single moment that is not clouded with confusion and the phrase, what are you talking about?
"Junco," HOUSE repeats, "please enter your father's safe room."
"I heard you the first time. But it would be nice to know–"
As if on cue the massive bookcase on the east wall pops open on a hidden hinge, leaving a crack of darkness. The door swings in as I push and I step into the darkness. HOUSE closes the door behind me and the world is black and silent. Then small lights appear along the floor, illuminating a path that takes me down below the house. Apparently my father and I have s
imilar tastes in which level we prefer our secret rooms.
"HOUSE? You still there?" No answer. Since it's called a safe room I figure it's safe, so I walk slowly forward, following the dim path laid out before me. The lights stop at another door and I try the handle, find it unlocked, and open it.
Inside is a room about the size of my private bedroom. One wall is lined with screens, obviously hooked to security cameras I don't recall having. I can see every room, except my real room, every hallway, and every outside space within fifty feet of the house. In each one people are going about their normal business.
"Finally, I get you alone. Jasus H. Fuck, Coot. You're done this time, I swear. I'm not putting up with this bullshit one more fucking minute, you understand?"
I turn to see a man sitting in a large executive-type office chair at the far end of the room. His face is cast in shadow, but I can tell he's military, about middle age, and his hands are fiddling with a stack of papers. The Colonel. My heart beats faster and he picks up on it.
"Damn right you know what this is," he says as he gets up and walks over to me, thrusting the papers into my hands. "You've been on the run for what? A week?"
I shrug. I did actually lose count.
"I told you after that last little side-job of yours that this shit was over, and now this? Two fucked-up decisions in as many weeks doesn't get you far. Now. You wanna tell me why you've been traipsing around with these avians like you're old friends or something?"
"I would love to tell you, sir," I say. Can't go wrong with sir. "But–"
"But nothing, you sorry excuse for a soldier. And you will address me as Colonel Slag, who the hell do you think you are?" He's screaming now, and I absently look up, wondering if the room is soundproof.
"Don't look away from me, you rat's ass piece of shit! I said, explain to me why you were traipsing around with an alien on my time?"
"Sir, Colonel Slag, he kidnapped me, sir." It comes out before I can stop it.
"Did he now? Oh, that's rich. Because I have screen of you flying on his back, shooting at the rescue team in the tunnels under Ramah. Care to explain how he could have possibly kidnapped you that time?"