Liberation (I Am Margaret Book 3)

by Corinna Turner

  “Have you decided, then?” asked Jon, in a very neutral voice.

  “No.” My voice was still rather thin. “I’m going to write a post, give me something to do. Then I’ll decide. Maybe in the morning. Sleep on it.”

  “There’s no hurry,” said Bane. “Three weeks before the end of the month.”

  “I could think about this for three months and it wouldn’t be any easier.”

  I put my fingers to the keys and began.

  Blog title: Blackmail or Bluff?

  Subtitle: The EuroGov are being their usual charming selves.

  I’m sorry to interrupt ‘The Three Most Wanted’ – I know from your comments a lot of you are enjoying it. However, my past self will have to remain starving in the wilderness for a little longer, because the EuroGov have put my current self in a truly horrible position.

  I’m going to keep this short, because it’s very difficult to talk about. The EuroGov have sent me a letter. This is what it says:

  I typed up the letter and made the formatting look something like, then went on:

  So now you know as much as I do. And I feel like I know nothing. Do they really have my parents? The consensus of opinion here seems to be that they do not. But a wise person has advised me to only make this decision based on the assumption my parents’ lives are in fact at stake. And I think he’s right.

  If this goes live, I imagine the EuroGov will take it as a declaration that I’m going on with the blog. I suppose it will be – you can probably tell I’m typing this not knowing if I’m ever going to click ‘post’.

  My parents are in the Underground. Why should their fate be any different from anyone else in the Underground? If I were them, I’d object to being singled out for special treatment, especially special treatment that harmed our cause. But it’s different when it’s someone else’s life. It’s different when it’s someone you love. The thought of losing them...

  I stopped typing, a tight knot of pain in my stomach. What do I do?

  For now, just continue with this...

  It’s hard to even write about it.

  I know what I’d want. I think I know what they’d want. But I also know how different everything looks when you’re locked away waiting to die. So I don’t know how they feel now, if they really are prisoners. Perhaps they’re hoping I’ll save them.

  Gulping back tears, I stopped again. Unbearable thought. What do I do?

  Finally I carried on typing.

  I realise there’s only one thing I know. And that’s what the last thing they said to me was.

  The very last thing they both said to me was, “Keep the faith.”

  I stared hard at the words, my breath catching.

  “Are you okay, Margo?”

  “I’m fine, Jon.” My voice was tight. I glanced at Bane, but he was asleep. All this had tired him out. “I’m... I’m going to the cathedral for a bit, okay?”

  I closed the computer’s lid – keep that deadly little button from getting clicked on by accident – and slipped out of the room.

  ‘A bit’ turned into all night. I folded my arms on the sanctuary rail, rested my head on them and stayed like that for hours, too lost in misery even to keep an eye out for Brother Marcel and the camera.

  I kind of knew what I should do. But every time I tried to make up my mind to it, the pain tried to claw my insides out and guilt crushed my heart to smithereens. How could I? My own parents? How could I let any harm come to them?

  But how could I throw aside everything they’d fought for their entire lives? Allow myself to be silenced, and the Underground with me.

  Keep the faith...

  I hope you meant it, Mum, Dad. I really hope you did...

  I scarcely noticed morning Mass going on behind me in the main part of the cathedral. My thoughts and resolution still seesawed, slowly, ponderously, like a pendulum about to stop. The side where the seesaw threatened to finish up terrified me.

  “Margaret...” The Holy Father stood in front of me.

  I opened my mouth to receive the Host. Pope Cornelius placed a hand on my head and murmured a special blessing before returning to the main altar. Closing my eyes, I tried to concentrate on Our Lord.

  When I finally opened them again, everything inside me was still. The seesaw had come to rest. Lord have mercy.

  Kyle was there in Bane’s room, sitting on the windowseat, looking out, white-faced – the lid of the laptop was up, so he’d read the post. They probably all had; Bane was awake, and Jon sat in his usual chair.

  I went straight to the laptop, ignoring their concerned greetings. Re-read my final line, and added one more.

  The very last thing they both said to me was, “Keep the faith.”

  So that is what I have to do.

  I clicked ‘Post’.

  The stillness cracked suddenly. I crumpled right down onto the floor and began to sob as though my heart was breaking. Kyle rose and hurried to me in a rush of black fabric, enfolding me in his arms. Like being swooped on by a giant bat. A very loving, very welcome giant bat. He didn’t hate me for what I’d just done...

  “It’s what they’d want, Margo.” Even his whisper was choked.

  “They haven’t got them.” Jon sounded frustrated. But after a moment he found Bane’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Bane loved my mum and dad almost as much as... well, I did. It sometimes felt like he’d spent more time growing up at our house than his own.

  “It’s what they’d want,” murmured Kyle into my hair, rocking me to him.

  The comments went ballistic. Most of them were in support, though a couple of the ‘inhuman bitch’ variety threw me into a terror of doubt and made my insides feel like they were in a blender. Bane got Jon to shut the laptop and take it away at that point.

  The next day’s newspapers were silent. No way for them to avoid a Sedition charge if they betrayed knowledge of the matter. A relief, really. If I’d not wanted to show up the EuroGov’s inhumanity and probable deceit – and give them the finger – I’d much rather have kept the whole agonising business private.

  But the following day Kyle was waiting at the door of the canteen when Jon and I arrived for breakfast, a paper in his hand and a crease on his brow.

  “Kyle?”

  “Hi, Margo.” Definitely unhappy. “Um... not sure you should show Bane the paper today.”

  “Bane? ” I came close to snatching the one he held, and just remembered to read it out loud for Jon’s benefit.

  NO SON OF OURS –

  IT’S OFFICIAL

  In a shock announcement yesterday, Mr and Mrs Marsden revealed they have begun the legal process to disown their second son, the fugitive Blake Marsden, known as Bane, wanted on charges of Sedition: Category 1, Murder: 1st Degree, 5 counts of Assault causing actual Grievous Bodily Harm, Theft on a Grand Scale, Multiple Abduction, Destruction of Public Property and Escaping from EuroBloc Custody.

  Bane – believed to be responsible for the string of so-called ‘Liberations’ which took place in December – currently bears the full name of Blake Mitchell ~Marsden, but, “As soon as the paperwork goes through, it’ll be official,” Mr Marsden told us. “He won’t be entitled to use either of our names any more.”

  “It’ll be rather a relief, to be honest,” said Mrs Marsden. “We’ll be able to put that whole chapter of our lives behind us.”

  “He never was any good,” said Eliot Marsden, their first – soon to be, legally, their only – son. “We’re well shot of him.”

  Lawyers have confirmed that once the Disownment is complete, Bane will no longer legally be able to use either his paternal surname – Marsden, or his maternal surname – Mitchell. On official documents, his name will be Blake BLANK~BLANK.

  ***+***

  18

  SAFETY IN NUMBERS

  “I don’t believe it!” I gasped. “How could they!”

  “I’m guessing they’ve heard about the EuroGov’s letter,” said Jon grimly. “They’re probably
scared spitless.”

  “No one in their right mind would try to blackmail Bane with his parents,” snorted Kyle. “Anyway, what on earth could they get the Marsdens for?”

  “You know they’ll manufacture evidence when they really want to,” I said. “Bane’s parents would actually be pretty easy targets. They’re that squeaky clean no one likes them.”

  Kyle pulled a face.

  “True.”

  “We can’t keep this from Bane.”

  “Oh, I suppose not,” sighed Kyle. “S’just... I know he’s still not that well. Committee always leaves at about three when he can’t keep his eyes open any more... Well, you know that.”

  I headed back towards the stairs, still clutching the paper.

  “Let’s get up there before someone else does. Break it gently.”

  I knocked on the door and waited for Bane’s ‘come in’ – he was already sitting up in bed and the nurse who came to help him wash and dress had left.

  He gave me a puzzled look.

  “Didn’t drop off, did I? Could’ve sworn I only just heard you going down... Margo? Everything okay?”

  “I’m fine, Bane.” I went to sit on the bed. “S’just... well, your parents... they’ve... done something rather horrible.”

  He frowned slightly.

  “Like they’re going to do anything nice.” He spotted the paper in my hands. “Said some nasty things about me, have they?”

  “Well... it’s a little more than...”

  Bane extracted the paper from my reluctant grasp and straightened it out impatiently.

  From the way his eyes kept darting back to the beginning of the first sentence, he had to read it at least three times before it sunk in. He finally managed to read the article to the end, then he went right back and read it again. Then sat, staring at it. I’d rarely seen him so shocked.

  “They’re terrified, Bane,” I said gently. “That must be the only reason...”

  He snorted.

  “Don’t lie, Margo, you’ll have to go to confession. They were probably delighted to finally have an excuse.” He stared at the article some more. ‘Chapter? ’ he mouthed. Screwed up the paper and hurled it across the room – then winced in more physical pain.

  “Careful, Bane,” I said automatically.

  He wasn’t listening. “Chapter...” The thought clear as words on his face – is that all I was? Angrily he dashed away the glistening drops gathering at the corners of his eyes.

  “Pulled the wound,” he muttered. “Must be more careful...”

  Kyle beat a retreat. Jon sank quietly into his usual armchair as I slipped my arms around Bane.

  “I’m fine.” He made no attempt to evade the hug, though. “Fine. What do I care? Why would I? Good riddance.” Having made that clear he was happy to remain snuggled in my arms for some time.

  He finally drew away, scrubbing fiercely at his eyes with his sleeve.

  “Y’know, the only thing I’m really bothered about is that you’re going to be Mrs Blank. I’m sorry about that, Margo, it’s a real bugger.”

  “I’m sure my parents would be happy to adopt you – as soon as they come to light, anyway,” said Jon.

  “Thanks for the offer, Jon,” said Bane, “but I should probably just take both Margo’s names. Lot simpler. If you don’t mind being Mrs Verrall, Margo.”

  “I shall feel like my mother,” I said lightly.

  “Bane Vaux~Verrall.” He tried the name out. “Y’know, that’s actually almost as much of a mouthful as Mitchell ~Marsden. What’s with all the alliteration?”

  “It’s just you two,” remarked Jon. “I’m Calder~Revan, no alliteration there.”

  “No one ever uses Maternals anyway,” I pointed out.

  Maternal surnames were a bit of a failed experiment. They made even the simplest surname such a mouthful that they weren’t even used on identity cards. Just birth, registration and death certificates. Nothing else. Still, they served the purpose for which they’d been introduced, giving both male and female surnames an equal chance of survival.

  When people registered, the guy swapped his maternal for his wife’s – sorry, registered partner’s – and she swapped her paternal for his. So for a long time I’d assumed my full surname would eventually be Vaux~Marsden. Now it looked like it wouldn’t be changing after all.

  “Seriously, Bane,” I said, “that’s fine. But if you’d prefer to choose yourself one of your own, I don’t mind. I mean, as long as it’s not like, Bane Liberator or Bane Awesome or something!”

  Jon sniggered and Bane cheered up slightly at the thought of all the ridiculous names he could pick for himself.

  “What?” he grinned, in mock surprise, “You don’t fancy being Mrs Margaret Marvellous?”

  Later on, though, when the planning committee were at lunch and it was just the two of us, he became very serious.

  “Margo, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “I’m wearing the ring already, aren’t I?” I teased, flexing the finger at him. He smiled.

  “Not that. It’s, uh, it’s about the Liberations.”

  “What about it? You’re nowhere near ready to go on any more yet.”

  “I know. It’s just... well, it’s only a matter of time, and then... well, it’s preying on my mind a bit.”

  “What is?”

  He drew rather a deep breath.

  “Well, I’m supposed to be the leader, right? And the leader’s supposed to be concentrating a hundred percent on the plan, and getting everyone in the team home safe, yeah?”

  “Ye...es.” Suddenly knew where this was going.

  “Well, I’m a rubbish leader, okay, ‘cause I haven’t been doing it at all. When we’ve been out on missions, about fifty percent of my mind has been on whether you’re safe, and only the other half on the mission and everyone else. And it’s only going to be worse after this.”

  “Why? I wasn’t hurt.”

  He poked me accurately in the arm.

  “Liar,” he said when I flinched. “But the point is, now I’ll probably be thinking about you eighty percent of the time and that’s no good – I’ll get someone else killed that way.”

  “You didn't get Father Mark killed ! Don’t be an idiot!”

  He shrugged, stony-faced.

  “Maybe, maybe not. But the next one will probably be my fault. Margo, I want you to promise me you’ll stay here from now on. Otherwise... otherwise I’m going to resign as leader. Sister Krayj can take over permanently.”

  I stared at his determined face. Okay, expecting another, can’t you stay behind conversation, but... not quite such an ultimatum as this.

  He winced.

  “Now you’re mad.”

  “No. Not yet, anyway. I’m thinking.”

  “Oh. That’s progress.”

  I glared at him, then folded my arms on the bed and rested my chin on them. My ribs were almost better.

  So. Bane wanted me to stay behind. Not news. Except now he was going for the responsible argument of – you’re a distraction, you’re endangering everyone else. Problem was, it probably would be even worse after this.

  But I wanted to go.... Well, I didn’t, I’d be happy never to set foot on EuroBloc soil again – all the same, I did want to do it. So many people to be saved.

  Yet... was it really the best use of my time?

  There were many superior blogs and bloggers out there, but Jon was right, only I could be me. And we could empty as many Facilities as we liked, but until the system changed, it would do no good, long term. Could I in all conscience risk myself now the blog was such a success? Wasn’t like they actually needed me. They were upping the number of teams to twenty and Eduardo had no trouble filling the places.

  And, there was the fact they were about to start drilling the teams for the first new mission and I’d been wondering how on earth I was going to have time for that once Bane and I were in action again.

  Then there was the fact th
at Bane giving up his command position was probably not part of Pope Cornelius’s vision for the nonBeliever he’d praised so highly...

  I didn’t like it one bit, but I’d a horrible feeling my duty was clear. One person could only do so many things – I did have to give up my active role in the Liberations.

  Bane was waiting unusually patiently.

  “Mad yet?” he asked, when I finally sat up and looked at him.

  “No. I’ll promise you I won’t go on the raids any more. On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That we get married before you go on any more.”

  Bane eyebrows went up.

  “That’s your idea of a condition? Sounds like a perk to me.”

  “Well, that’s the deal. Happy?”

  “How could I not be happy with a deal like that?”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  Ten nights later Jon, Bane and I clustered breathlessly around Eduardo as he sat at his radio. Or whatever it was. It transmitted in ultra-secure code and was an extremely high tech bit of kit, that much I knew.

  “What time is it?” asked Jon, for about the tenth time.

  “Thirteen minutes past two,” said Eduardo.

  “Any minute. We should hear if it’s worked any minute now…” Tonight’s plan was almost entirely Jon’s work, so he was understandably nervous.

  “Calm down, Jon,” said Bane, “you’re making my insides hurt.”

  “That’s not Jon,” I told him, “that’s you getting out of bed and going places you shouldn’t.”

  “I’m fine…”

  The radio-thing made a noise.

  “Animal calling Central, over.”

  “Central here, over.”

  “Nest emptied, off to wet our feet now, over.”

  “Be careful, over.”

  “Meow. Animal out.”

  A knot of tension eased in my chest – Jon relaxed slightly. At least one team had been successful. The radio bleeped again almost at once.