The Rift Coda

by Amy S. Foster

  “Wait, just back up a minute,” Vi holds her hand up. “We have to fight double the amount of human Citadels than we thought? You didn’t want to lead with that?”

  “I just found out. We’re talking about it now,” I say calmly. Vi can afford to freak out. I can’t. “Besides, I doubt the altered Roones would give the adult Citadels as many genetic alterations as they did to us. I can’t be sure, of course, but I believe that changing us before we hit puberty was part of the experiment for them. The adults were a concession. They were backed into a corner. Seelye forced their hand. We all know that the altered Roones don’t like being told what to do. I fought the asshole. He was strong, but not stronger than me and that surprised him, so we can use that. Okay, let’s move on; Navaa, how many Faida did you bring?”

  “We brought eleven thousand troops. Nine thousand of them have combat experience, but the other two are very green. They are newly formed units. We have been training them extensively and they will follow orders.” Navaa gives a slight shake of her head. “But they will need very specific orders. They don’t have the experience to get creative in battle, not yet anyhow.”

  The numbers once again flash up on the screen, this time in a bright canary-yellow color.

  “Iathan, what about your people? How many troops did you bring?”

  “Well, I’m very glad you asked that,” Iathan says in that offhanded way of his that sounds both indifferent and sarcastic at the same time. I don’t know how he manages it. It must be a presidential thing. His blue skin looks much darker in the dim light of the tent, and his long hair has been pulled back all the way, cascading down his back in a fat bundle of braids. “We brought almost every soldier we have. If things go badly for us here, our Earth would be left dangerously exposed.”

  “I think we’ve all doubled down in that regard, Iathan. If things go badly, none of us are safe.”

  Iathan leans forward, his elbows practically digging into the table. “There is a slight difference. If we don’t win here, all of us are likely to die. That would be unfortunate. However, the altered Roones will not take control of your entire planet—it would be easier for them to just move on to another humancentric Earth and start fresh, learning from the mistakes that they made here. However, they want our Earth specifically. It is their home.”

  “Well,” Navaa growls, “it is their planet, too. You are all Roones if we are being technical. I blame your wayward brothers and sisters for many things, but I certainly cannot blame them for wanting to return there.”

  Once again the tension builds. Pulses quicken, spines straighten. “Let’s just stick to the data,” I pivot. “Tell us how many Roones and Karekins you brought with you.” This infighting is already raising everyone’s hackles, and if I can’t get it under control, soon, this war is going to be over before it starts.

  “Thirty-six thousand troops—all of whom have seen battle many, many times,” Iathan tells us all, but directs his words to Navaa.

  The numbers go up on the board and I scrutinize them carefully.

  “Do we have any idea how many we’re up against? Morning?”

  “There has been no Rift activity in the last seven minutes. Before that, Rifts were opening at an average of one every 1.9 minutes,” Morning says with chilling accuracy. “We can therefore assume that the troops they have Rifted in to deal with this insurrection have already arrived.”

  “That doesn’t mean much,” Levi counters. “They are just as likely to stagger deployment.”

  There is a brief pause as Morning looks blankly in front of her. “I am not basing my conclusion solely on that information. I am basing it on the number of varying heat signatures our drones have picked up.”

  “Meaning what?” I rush my query, hoping Morning will catch on. She has to get better at communicating here.

  “Currently posted at Camp Bonneville there are 58,733 Orsaline Citadels, 47,289 Spiradael Citadels, 27,764 Settiku-Hesh, in addition to the 16,433 human Citadels.”

  There is a split second of dead silence. A split second where our world fractures and unfolds—where we realize with stunning finality what we are up against. The numbers, in various colors, flash up on the other side of the board in quick bursts, like a razor slicing paper.

  “That’s 150,219 soldiers,” I say out loud, to no one in particular. “How did they even know? Okay, yeah, our Citadels left their posts, but that’s only twenty-odd thousand. How could they have possibly known who we brought with us? The SenMach security system should have ensured that the Rift activity and anything else happening here was locked down.” I am trying to keep the panic from my voice to a minimum. I am trying to keep it level and rational, but I feel like getting up, pacing, screaming, and punching something very hard.

  “Don’t be so naive,” Iathan says cruelly. “You believe that you turned over twenty thousand humans in a few weeks? Hardly. There are bound to be double agents here. There may even be one sitting at this table.”

  “Maybe it’s you, Roone,” Navaa growls.

  “That’s enough,” I say briskly. “We can’t afford to turn on each other, not now.”

  “The simplest explanation is that our security net was not as airtight as we believed,” Morning offers. “The altered Roones did manage to create a Rift blockade that we cannot crack and one that allows them to Rift in and out. They may not have the exact numbers as we do, but if they’ve picked up on the multiple Rift openings, they would have guessed what was going on here.”

  “In essence, what we are looking at is that we have about sixty-nine thousand troops here, including the civilian Immigrants who have no formal training whatsoever. That number is unacceptable,” Navaa says icily.

  “On that at least,” Iathan chimes in, “the Faida and I can agree.”

  “Well, not to sound all Hitler Youth here,” Boone throws out, “but aren’t we genetically superior to them? So what if it’s almost two to one? Does it really matter? We’re better than them, and we have robots.” I smile at Boone’s comment, glad that at least a part of him has remained true to his old self.

  “We certainly don’t need to have equal numbers, for that very reason, but we need more than we have,” Navaa states. This is a fact to her, it’s not even a question. “That is why I suggest that we suspend these talks so that Ryn can open a Rift using her Kir-Abisat gift. We know the gift bypasses technology. We’ve seen it on our Earth. If she gets the Akshaj delegation here, then we have a very good chance at succeeding.”

  Once again, all eyes fall to me. My mouth goes suddenly dry, and it feels like there’s a hive of bees in my belly. So I’m not only supposed to be in command, but now I have to do the impossible and bring the Akshaji here?

  “You know that I have never been able to open a complete Rift on my own before,” I say cautiously.

  “Perhaps you simply needed more motivation,” Navaa hints. “I would say that our very survival would be adequate enough.”

  “Morning,” I swivel around and look at the impeccably groomed SenMach, “you said you can’t hack the blockade—does that mean ever? Or have you just not been able to yet?”

  There is a ten-second lag as Morning’s silver eyes focus on the tent wall. “There is a seventy-six percent chance that we will be able to infiltrate the sound blockade’s codes in the next twelve hours. If after this time we are unable to do so, then we will need additional support from the special coding team back on our Earth.”

  “Those are pretty good odds,” I say without trying to hide the relief from my voice. “We should wait it out.”

  “We absolutely should not!” Navaa argues. I hear a crunching sound, almost like footprints on hard snow. I realize it is her wings. They are no longer tucked discreetly behind her. They have risen above her shoulders. “They could attack us at any time. We are too vulnerable without the Akshaji. You must open a rift. Immediately.”

  To my credit, I do not balk. I don’t look down or away. I keep my eyes focused on Navaa and I don’t b
link. Inside, I don’t feel so tough. The fact that I got all these battle-hardened warriors—who are commanders in their own right—to sit down at my table and take orders from me is a miracle in and of itself. Will they be so keen to listen when my first act as leader is a failure? Possibly, but I’m in no hurry to test that theory.

  “I hear you, Navaa,” I tell her calmly, emphasizing the word hear. I promised that I would listen to her in exchange for her support, so I want to make sure she knows that I’m doing just that. “However, I’ve already been taken prisoner, been interrogated, fought for my life, and been chased over ten miles of difficult terrain today. Needless to say, I’m a little worn-out. Besides which, you know how taxing opening a Rift is.” Navaa continues her cold, stern stare, but maybe this time she’s listening to wisdom. “I have never been able to open a complete Rift. I certainly won’t be able to do it in this condition. I promise, if the SenMachs can’t break the code, I will try first thing tomorrow.”

  Something wordless passes between us and I pray that she uses that tactical brain of hers to see what I’m getting at. I’m basically betting the SenMachs’ ability to code against my own Kir-Abisat gift—which has never quite worked. Both scenarios are a gamble, but I like the odds of the former much more than the latter.

  “I understand your reluctance,” Navaa says quickly and with less vehemence, which makes me think she is picking up on what I’m trying to say. “But, Ryn, we leave ourselves vulnerable without the Akshaji here. I know your Kir-Abisat ability is unpredictable—”

  “It’s not just unpredictable,” I cut her off. “I haven’t had enough time with it to actually make it work. It has to be a last resort. It just . . . has to be.” I shake my head.

  Navaa shakes her head vigorously. “We cannot win this without the Akshaji. It’s that simple. What’s to stop the altered Roones from attacking us right now? Nothing. Perhaps I’d feel more comfortable with your decision to wait if we didn’t have a hundred fifty thousand enemy troops breathing down our collective necks.”

  “I don’t think they will, though,” Levi counters strongly. “Think about it, would you? Camp Bonneville is strategically advantageous. They have a fortified bunker, access to almost a thousand cameras and video feeds of the surrounding area. Seelye is gone. There’s a power vacuum. But above all that, they have time. Compared to us, they have all the time in the world. They can Rift in with tens of thousands of more troops, and they think our ability to Rift is gone. They might have deployed all their Citadels, but for all we know, they could have been forging alliances on many other Earths. They could even have access to mercenaries. So why would they come here to us—to the Village—when the numbers they currently have aren’t an assured victory? I’d say we have at least enough time for Ryn to rest and gather her strength if the SenMachs can’t fix the QOINS.”

  Navaa taps a single finger on the table. I watch as a hundred expressions chase themselves around her face. Finally she sighs with resignation. “You make a compelling argument, Levi,” Navaa says thoughtfully. “Very well, we will wait and use the time wisely to make sure our lieutenants are well briefed on the enemy and the terrain. They will in turn, obviously, pass this information down the ranks.”

  I breathe out an audible sigh of relief. “I do think that’s smart,” I tell Navaa gratefully. “Making sure all the lieutenants understand as much as they can not only about what they’re up against, but about one another. We need them to start forming real bonds as soon as possible.”

  Navaa, in turn, gives me one of her famously serious no-nonsense looks as she says, “As long as I have your word, Ryn, that you will be ready to try and open a Rift tomorrow if it comes to it.”

  “You do,” I say gravely. “Now, if there’s anything else?” I look around the room. “No? Good. Then I’m going to get some rest. We reconvene at 0600 tomorrow.

  “Thank you, and good luck.”

  Chapter 23

  I remain standing at the head of the table and watch them all leave. I wonder for a moment if that was the right thing to do. Do leaders leave first? Instinctively, that feels wrong. I should be the last to go. The last one standing. It gets down to just me and Levi. I notice that Boone, Henry, and Vi didn’t stick around. I suppose a line has been drawn. I’ve always been Beta Team leader, but this—this sets me too far apart.

  “I have a place for us, an apartment in the New York neighborhood,” he says as he gently puts an arm around me. “Let’s go. Trust me, I get you’re in charge, ma’am, but maybe for the next few hours, you let me take care of you?”

  At first, I want to shove his arm off, to tell him that I don’t need anyone to look after me. I’m capable. I’m capable of leading and fighting and sacrificing and more than capable of doing all of that alone.

  Then I think, why should I have to?

  And even more than that, the burden of leadership may leave me feeling isolated, but I couldn’t have done any of this alone. Beta Team recruited the Citadels into the UFA. Navaa taught me about my Kir-Abisat gift and the strength of quiet, determined female leadership. The SenMachs, well, without them, we’d be thoroughly fucked, so this isn’t a solo act. I might be the lead singer, but this is really a supergroup. I have to stop with the whole stoic thing.

  “That sounds good,” I say, resting my head on his shoulder for a brief moment. We walk out of the back flap of the tent and into the cold late afternoon. It will be dark soon. The smell of burning logs fills the air. There are people of all sorts everywhere. The Village is absolutely teeming with activity. There is a jovial mood from the restaurants and open windows we pass and an electric energy in the air that I can almost taste. I wonder about all the things that will happen, because regardless of the outcome, everything will change after tonight. The uncertainty is like the pulse of a thumping bass line, pushing everyone forward, shaking everything loose. The commander in me wants them all to get back to their bunks, to eat a sensible dinner and get an early night. The very human teenage girl inside of me knows that tonight is one of magic, of uncovered secrets, of naked bodies, booze, and singing songs so loud you think your throat might collapse. It is a night for dancing and breaking promises. It is for holding on to something, anything, and for letting go, too. War turns us into our truest selves, the parts of us we hide, the monsters we secretly think we are. We let them loose because there is no point in shame or wishing we were someone else. Our shadow selves pick away at the pretense of civility. We are about to do horrible things. We want to; otherwise, horrible things will be done to us.

  We turn the corner and walk into the New York neighborhood and suddenly we are transported thousands of miles east. Brownstones and stoops and variegated rust-colored bricks. There is no distinguishing this place from the real streets of the West Village, except of course for the soldiers and the guns. There are no other species here, so I have to surmise that New York belongs to the humans. I still don’t love this idea of segregation, though I understand it in respect to the Akshaji. I squeeze Levi’s hand a little harder.

  He takes me into a large brownstone. It’s twice as wide as the one that used to be Ezra’s building—or still is his building. Maybe he moved back to his old place when he got here. Ezra ducked out almost immediately after the briefing. I should have said something, but he’s been keeping his distance. I don’t think I can go through with tomorrow without talking to him first. I need him to know how grateful I am—that just by being the person that he was, it was enough to shake me out of ARC’s dream. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe we’ve said everything we need to say.

  We walk up four flights of stairs to the very top floor. “They gave us a pretty sweet apartment,” Levi says as he unlocks an unusually large wooden door. “I think there is a kind of class system here in the Village. Like, I knew a person could get credits, what they use for money here, for doing extra stuff, but what in the hell would they do to afford a place like this?”

  The lights turn on as soon as we enter the apartmen
t. The ceilings are two stories high. “Wow,” I say, “maybe we should have given this place to the Faida.”

  “No way. They went all out; they did this for you.”

  “Huh” is all I can manage. I don’t know if I deserve the sumptuous velvet vermillion sofa or the rich leather armchairs or the bookcase, which is at least twelve feet high and stuffed with books, but I’m not about to argue. “Wait, who’s they? Gomda?”

  “No,” Levi says as he leans against a large marble countertop. Even the kitchen is luxe. “It was Zaka. He told me today. Everything in this place was made here, in the Village by the Immigrants. They wanted you to see who they were, what they could do.”

  I look down at one of the amazingly intricate handwoven rugs. “They didn’t have to do that.” I sigh out the words.

  “No one forced them. They’re proud. You should say something tomorrow.”

  “It doesn’t feel like pride,” I say as I walk forward, trailing my hand along the one wall of exposed brick. “It feels like they’re trying to impress me. Like, somehow, they need to prove that they’re worthy or something, for us to liberate them. Which is ass-backward, because I need to be worthy of them.”

  Levi walks over to me and takes both my hands. “You are,” he whispers. “What do you want to do? Eat? They left food. We could go over those contingency plans we have for the bunker?”

  “Well, first I’d like to soak my hands in bleach to get the Seelye cooties off and then I would like to get into the bath . . . with you.”