Sword

by JC Andrijeski

  “I can’t talk about operations, Jon,” she said tersely. “You know that.”

  “Well, why are you coming back?” he said. “Just for a visit?”

  “No,” she said. “Not for a visit, Jon.”

  She sounded so much like Revik it stumped him for a minute.

  There was a silence. Jon realized suddenly that she was crying.

  “Jesus… Al. What’s going on?”

  “I can’t talk about it right now. You’ll see me in two weeks. Possibly less. I’ll call you as soon as I know something more precise. Just tell them not to shoot me when I get there.”

  “Allie, it hasn’t been six months.”

  “Are you saying I’m not allowed back? Would you rather I stayed away longer?”

  There was a silence.

  “No,” he said, glancing at Balidor. “All I meant is… is Revik coming?”

  There was another silence.

  Before he could ask her anything else, the line went dead.

  Staring at the black receiver in his hand, he looked at the others, unable to comprehend what had just happened.

  WE LEFT BY land, first.

  I called Jon back, using the same number they’d used to call me, once I had the rough itinerary. The people monitoring the communications console at the Rebel compound said I could call whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted, but I knew full well the lines were tapped.

  By then, I was an enemy combatant––to all of them, not just Revik.

  No one really said anything to me when I left.

  But then, I’d spent the last few weeks locked in the room Revik and I had previously shared. Alone, of course. I could still order food. I could go swimming, or to any of the common rooms––not like I ever did either of those things. Access to any but the official network feeds abruptly discontinued, as did my access to the construct, much less the computers, apart from a basic net interface. I wasn’t allowed outside of the residential area of the compound, either.

  No one bothered to explain why.

  Then again, explanations weren’t really necessary.

  The day I finally left, I sat in the back of a van, a hood over my head as we bounced over dirt tracks. Remembering the last time I’d traveled that way, I couldn’t help but think there probably wouldn’t be a birthday cake waiting for me on the other side.

  Anyway, my birthday wasn’t for at least a few more months.

  I did my best to focus on why I was there, what would come after this, but it was hard.

  No, not hard. Pretty damn nigh impossible.

  When I thought about what came after this, I just got a blank stretch of nothing.

  Unlike the last time I traveled with a black cloth over my head, this time I wasn’t wearing a collar. I could feel him there, sitting next to me.

  He didn’t talk to me, though, or let his light travel anywhere near mine.

  It was like sitting next to his corpse again, only this time, it was me who wanted to talk to him, not the reverse.

  Bouncing over the dirt tracks, I just wanted it to be over.

  I wanted the whole thing to be over, but I knew it never really would be.

  46

  SPOILS OF WAR

  “YOU ARE CERTAIN she is out?” Voi Pai asked.

  Her voice sounded cold.

  Balidor wasn’t fooled; he could feel the other seer’s excitement, even across the distance between them, and despite the tinniness of the non-organic transmitter. He got a sense of activity behind her as well, and knew she was already in motion with her people.

  “You are absolutely sure?” she repeated, her voice holding an overt doubt he knew was meant to be offensive. “You have looked at this yourself, Balidor? Not left it to one of those rag-tag seers of the Seven you’ve adopted?”

  “I would not make that mistake,” he said only.

  She grunted, hearing his secondary message. “I bet you would not. The coordinates are good then? You were able to retrieve them from her?”

  Balidor clicked at her in a soft rebuke. “Are you having second thoughts, sister?”

  Her light sparked at him. She dimmed it at once but he still smiled.

  “We are ready,” she said, sniffing loudly through the transmitter. “There is simply no room for mistakes on this, Balidor. I will not lose people due to her clumsiness.”

  “She is out. I am positive, Voi Pai. You have a green light.”

  “And you are sure you want that crazy dirt-blood back?” she asked him again. “The one Syrimne traded your life for?” Her voice held contempt. “Why, Balidor? What do you want from him? Or is this some petty tit-for-tat with the Sword for screwing your girlfriend?”

  Balidor’s jaw tightened.

  “Bridge’s orders,” he said only.

  “Bridge’s orders?”

  “Yes. She made it clear she expects authority in all areas of this matter.”

  “And we live to obey?” Voi Pai said, her voice holding an open sarcasm.

  There was a silence.

  “We do indeed,” was all he said. “Do not exceed yourself in this, respected sister. I do not think you will like the results if you do.”

  “Low casualties, I know,” the woman grumbled. “I remember. We will hold to our end of this agreement, do not fear.”

  She terminated the transmission without another word.

  Balidor didn’t exactly smile, but he found some humor to the situation regardless.

  Venerable Voi Pai, leader to the Lao Hu, the most disciplined seer military force on the planet, most definitely did not enjoy taking orders.

  NIKKA SPRAWLED ON the comfiest of the four couches in the common room, half-listening to underground feed stations a few other seers had playing in the background. All of the security protocols had lifted again, now that the Bridge had left the building.

  Still, Nikka missed her light a little.

  She would never, ever let herself think that around the boss, of course, but she noticed when they cut her out of the construct.

  It was like everything got a little heavier again.

  She noticed again when the Bridge left that morning. Truthfully, she noticed it far more than she thought she would, given that Allie had been locked in the Sword’s room by herself for weeks, and Nikka hadn’t even seen her.

  The Sword himself had gone to stay in a guest room on the other end of the compound––as far away from his wife as he could manage, from what Nikka could tell. She knew he had not slept much, though. She also knew, from Wreg, that he’d gone to visit Wreg in the middle of the night more than a few times, and that the older seer had stayed up with him while he drank.

  Wreg said the Sword didn’t really talk, though.

  He said he cried a few times, which was worse.

  Nikka hadn’t asked if the Sword stayed in those guest apartments alone or not, but she suspected he had, despite the rumors she’d heard whispered in the construct.

  All the rumors contradicted anyway, so Nikka figured they were probably trash––the same old construct gossip among seers who knew nothing, really. People heard thoughts and musings and mental threats and sometimes thought these things had really happened. They spread the same whisperings to someone else who believed it, and that person spread it again, sometimes changing it a little, sometimes repeating it as they heard it.

  Constructs could be big incestuous pits of mental noise at times, especially where strong emotions were involved––and no one disputed that strong emotions were coming off the Sword and his wife at the moment. With her cut out of the construct, it was really only his side of things they felt, but that was enough to make most of those around him extremely nervous.

  Truthfully, rather than trying to get into his bed, Nikka suspected most seers were avoiding him, partly from fear, and partly out of respect.

  Well, except Ute, perhaps.

  Nikka wasn’t sure if she liked Ute’s chances with him right now, though, unless she caught him when he was extremely drunk.
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  Across from Nikka sat Holo, a chess board between them on the coffee table.

  Normally, she played with Qualen, but Holo was keeping her company while she continued to heal from the shrapnel wound. They’d been spending time together, off and on, ever since that night with the Bridge and the Sword in this very same room.

  She hadn’t made up her mind if it meant anything, yet––her and Holo. She knew he had an on-again, off-again thing with Jax, but she also knew both of them slept with females as well, so the two of them couldn’t be monogamous.

  When the news program started up, several in the room groaned.

  A few beer cans were pitched at the monitor when the image of the Bridge emerged in full color, her green eyes glowing out of the screen. Nikka looked up at the image, seeing the smoke billowing in the background, remembering how all of them had felt very, very differently, just a few weeks before.

  “Why did she do it?” she blurted aloud, feeling another sharp wave of frustration. She looked at Holo. “Why would anyone do that to their mate? Much less to the Sword?”

  Holo shrugged with one hand, moving his bishop to take one of her pawns.

  His golden eyes remained unreadable.

  “They say she has another lover. One of those Adhipan assholes,” he said.

  “Yes, but why?” Nikka said. “He is the Sword! He’s her mate, and they are the same race.” Her mouth firmed. “I don’t care what they say, or what the Sword thinks… no one is that good at pretending, no matter what race they are. I saw the way she looked at him.”

  Holo only shrugged, noncommittal.

  Nikka knew he likely didn’t want to question the Sword’s word, but it still bothered her.

  “And anyway,” she said. “Why take someone of a lesser race, when you can be with your own? Why fight something that’s written about in the Myth? It sounds like crap to me.”

  Holo shrugged again with the same hand.

  “They say she is an unbeliever,” he said. “That she is brainwashed by the Seven to believe a corrupted version of the Myth.”

  “How can she be an unbeliever?” Nikka said. “She’s the Bridge!”

  He only motioned at the board. “Your move, Nikka.”

  Forcing a sigh, she let her eyes follow his gesture, only then noticing that she was losing. Holo had her king backed into a corner, and she’d likely lose her queen in the next round. Muttering a curse, she reached for her rook, when the door opened to the common room.

  Once she saw who it was, she froze, her hand halfway to the piece.

  The old seer only stood there, looking around at all of them.

  “Father Salinse…” she stammered.

  Fighting her way to her feet along with the others, she held her bandaged side, wincing as she bowed deeply beside Holo, who was already doing the same. Jax, Ike and Qualen bowed as well from by the window.

  “What can we do for you, Father?” Rundo asked, near the door.

  The old seer continued to look around the wide room, his opaque, white irises taking in all of their bent heads. He looked like he’d just awakened, Nikka thought; or perhaps he’d just come out of some deep, meditative state.

  “Is our brother, the Sword, gone?” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” Nikka glanced at Holo, hearing nerves in her own voice. “He is returning, Father. Soon.” She bit her tongue briefly. “His wife… the Bridge. He is taking her back to the Seven. He felt he should do it personally, Father.”

  Salinse frowned.

  “Why is he doing that?” he said. “Why is he letting her go?”

  Nikka stood there, holding her side as she winced in pain. She fumbled for a good answer as she and the others glanced around at one another, their faces confused.

  “She betrayed him, Father Salinse!” one of the younger seers, a male named Maike, blurted. “She is unfaithful. So he kicked her out! He did not want her here! He likely went himself so he can kill that endruk et dugra she’s been sleeping with personally!”

  The old seer’s frown deepened.

  For a long moment he just stood there, looking around at all of them. Then he clicked softly. The sound seemed to echo in the wide room.

  All of them waited until he finished, breaths held.

  “She has betrayed far more than he knows,” Salinse said, his voice quiet. “We are about to be attacked, my young friends.”

  Nikka straightened slowly, staring at him. The rest of the seers did the same, slowly forming a ring around the old Sarhacienne.

  Salinse motioned towards the windows outside.

  “The Lao Hu are here,” he said, his Prexci soft. “They are at the gates as we speak, my children. They are here in force. To kill us, perhaps. Perhaps to make us their slaves.” He paused, looking around at them gravely, pausing on Nikka with his milk-white eyes. “Whatever their intent, my young brothers and sisters, they are here under the banner of the Bridge.”

  Nikka gaped at him.

  Turning, she limp-jogged to the long window that made up one of the common room walls, making it there scarcely a beat after the rest of them. Staring down over the valley, she felt her throat close when she saw that he was right.

  Planes covered the small landing strip below the cave leading to their main hangars. She saw figures pouring out of the planes, more seers than she would have thought existed in all of Asia now that the Seven had been dispersed.

  “How is this possible?” It came out in a whisper. She turned to Qualen, who stood next to her now, at the long window. “Contact the Sword, now!”

  “We are already trying,” Holo said.

  She turned to him, and his head tilted, his eyes blurred almost flat as he spoke through a split consciousness, working through the Barrier’s construct.

  A moment later, his irises clearly slightly.

  “We cannot get through. They are jamming our transmissions.”

  “Use the Barrier!” she snapped.

  “We have tried that, too, Sister,” he said, his voice terse. “Do you think we would not? We cannot get through.”

  “We cannot beat them,” Salinse said from the door.

  His quiet words caused all of their heads to turn, silencing the murmurs that had broken out across the room as seers unholstered guns.

  “She has betrayed all of us,” Salinse said, softer. “The Bridge has, I’m afraid, become an enemy to our people.”

  Nikka felt a helpless rage building in her as she stared out the window, watching the banner of the Lao Hu ripple in the wind below, next to the banner of the Bridge. Watching the figures pour out over the field, making for the inner sanctum of the compound, something in her started to break as she felt the truth of Salinse’s words.

  The Bridge had sold them out.

  She remembered Allie’s face in the helicopter, the look in her eyes as she’d helped them with the sentient machine, when she’d targeted the security teams inside the Black Arrow production floor––her fury and grief at the organics vats once she knew what lived inside them.

  Nikka had trusted her.

  She’d trusted her so absolutely.

  At the end of it all, she’d assumed the Bridge herself would lead them. There had already been talk, after that op. Everyone assumed the Sword would eventually take his rightful place at her side, once he’d fully awakened her to her role.

  Even with this fight of hers with the Sword, Nikka realized––she had assumed it could not last. She assumed Allie would come to her senses, even if it took time.

  They were mates, after all.

  One could not change one’s mind with a life-bond mate––especially not the Bridge and Sword.

  But Holo was right. Father Salinse was right.

  The Bridge had lied to them.

  She’d been infiltrating them all along. This hadn’t been about her returning to her mate, hoping for reconciliation. She’d only pretended to want him back. She’d only pretended to be his partner, all so she could sell them to the Chinese seers, clearing
the path for the Seven.

  Tears rolled down her face as she watched more and more Lao Hu soldiers enter the hangar below the window. Nikka found herself remembering when she’d first met the Sword, when he’d walked through the lines of infiltrators and chosen her for his team when he went to D.C.

  He’d been different then. She hadn’t known who he was, not exactly, but she’d trusted him, almost from the start.

  She’d felt he was someone special, even then.

  She’d been honored, too. Salinse had tasked him to lead the group to rescue the Bridge. She hadn’t known him as the Sword back then, but they all talked, wondering who he might be, given the identity of his mate––given Salinse’s trust in him. Nikka had been touched, too. He’d done all that for his mate, risked his own life. He’d risked everything for her.

  She herself had grown up without parents, in a work camp outside of Minsk.

  She’d never had an opportunity for a mate of her own, not under the outdated blood castes of the Seven’s lackeys, the original clan lords.

  Under Syrimne, she’d felt, for the very first time––her life might be different.

  She’d thought it might be different for all of them.

  She was still leaning against the window in the common room when she heard shouting in the hallway outside. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw that the room had already emptied. Qualen had left, along with Holo and Ike and all the others who had been there with her.

  They were probably out there, fighting, where she should be.

  Salinse had left, too.

  They would lose, though. There were too many of them.

  They would all be captured… or killed. The Lao Hu would round up the survivors, perhaps to indoctrinate, or, more likely, to be sold at open auction to humans. That, or they would be sent to work camps, or become slaves of the Seven.

  Nikka couldn’t go back to that life.

  She couldn’t.

  So when they came for her, she didn’t hesitate.

  She unholstered her sidearm when she heard them in the corridor. Raising the gun to hold it between her hands, she flipped off the safety with her thumb, her eyes on the door.