At Balidor’s shocked look, Starlen smiled, crinkling the tattoo on his face.
He gave Balidor an apologetic shrug, just before he swiveled his organic rifle, aiming it at Cardesian.
“Victory without quarter,” Balidor heard him mutter.
He squeezed the trigger, dropping Cardesian with a single shot to the face. The human fell unceremoniously to his back, where he lay, nerves jerking.
Starlen’s eyes returned to Balidor. He smiled again, and this time, it held more genuine friendliness. Pivoting the assault rifle skyward on an organic harness, he held out a hand.
Balidor stared at it, unmoving.
“Join us, Balidor,” Starlen said. “...We’re not with Terian, nor his human puppets. We serve the Bridge.”
Balidor watched as two seers put guns on Eldrake, the seer who’d been guarding Vash.
Once they’d separated the ex-Rook from his weapons, one of the youngsters cut the bonds holding Vash’s wrists behind his back. He unsnapped the collar next, flinging it to the grass, where another broke it with his heel.
Starlen watched, then smiled at Balidor, his voice and eyes serious.
“Are you hurt?” he said, politely.
Balidor looked down at himself. Opening his shirt where the bullet hit, he saw it mashed to an unrecognizable shape on the organic vest. He’d have a hell of a bruise, but it wouldn’t be the first time.
“No,” he managed.
Starlen said, “There’s no need for us to fight on opposite sides, brother. We want you with us. The days of collaring seers is over.”
Balidor looked around the suddenly silent garden.
Seers held guns on human troops.
More seers appeared to be coming out of the woods. Balidor scanned their light, looking at their physical bodies in case he’d run into them while they were masquerading their light to appear to be human. Most, he didn’t recognize personally, although there were a few aleimic signatures he remembered. He noticed a large number appeared to be from the mountains. If so, they might even be unregistered under SCARB and the World Court.
Balidor fought to process this, but his voice held nothing but bewilderment.
“Who are you?” he said.
“We are the Rebellion,” Starlen answered.
The sound of planes grew audible again overhead.
Balidor stared up at the wings of passing aircraft. The planes seemed to have their origins from places all over the globe, from different time periods all the way back to World War II. But it wasn’t the planes themselves that riveted Balidor.
He paused on the colors they flew instead...a symbol he hadn’t seen since the end of World War I. A blue and gold sun broke the dull flash of metal and organic skin on each wing, pierced by a narrow, white sword.
Balidor knew without scanning that seers, not humans, flew them.
When the bombs began to fall that time, it wasn’t on Seertown, or its occupants. Balidor heard the noise and saw the fire when the first American transport went up in an explosion of metal and glass. The bombs came faster over the landing strip below the township, where the American fleet had parked several dozen of their planes following the attack.
Within a few seconds, the explosions ran into one another, shaking the ground under Balidor’s feet.
He watched, feeling a strange numbness fall over him.
He knew somehow, that it was already too late.
Today, the war had started for real.
21
MEMORY
REVIK WOKE ABRUPTLY, in a state of panic.
He looked around at where he was, not recognizing it, or remembering where he’d been last. He wasn’t reassured when he saw himself inside what appeared to be a cement and clay holding cell. He lay on a pallet in one corner. Someone had collared him, and cuffed his hands behind his back, locking them both at his wrists and his upper arms.
His panic worsened.
Before he got his mind working again, pain rippled through his body, keening upwards, sharpening until he was gasping, nearly moaning as he leaned his face into the wall. He fought to shield himself from it...then to force his way past it when the collar made that impossible...but the pain didn’t gradually lesson or die away like it had all those months before.
Nor did it get worse.
It remained, confusing him as he stabilized somewhere within it.
He focused on his leg, seeking to distinguish the more physical pain of the gunshot wound, if only for a reference point. Somewhere in that confusion, he assessed what he’d been collared with. Standard issue, one-way...it wouldn’t do much for the separation pain. He’d have some physical pain if he tried to fight it, but nothing like the ones Terian used.
He didn’t have time for this.
It was the only thought that truly helped.
He forced his eyes around the cramped space, feeling like a trapped animal as he assessed his options. The other corner had a spigot for water, along with foot platforms over a covered hole, like most of the common toilets in rural Asia. He doubted he could even get his pants off though, if relieving himself became an issue, not with the way his arms had been bound.
Water dripped down an algae-covered wall...but the wall itself looked solid, like plaster over cement or rock. The red and orange plants glowed under worm sac lights, making them appear faintly radioactive. The room reminded him of interrogation cells he’d witnessed in at least three different human wars.
A rusted metal table stood in the center, decorated with dented folding chairs on either side. He could smell blood. The floor was stained dark near the table and by the opposite wall, where someone bolted a pair of rusted iron shackles with a chain to whitewashed cement. Decorated with long cracks, the cement bled mud and water in a slow pulse from spiderweb lines that branched out and down from the water-damaged ceiling.
His jaw hardened. He wondered how long he’d been in there.
He didn’t remember arriving, so he must have passed out.
Writhing out from under the thin blanket someone had thrown over him, he examined his leg. A thick organic cast now covered most of his thigh, attached to a splint on a moveable joint. It was stiff, and he could tell the painkillers they’d given him were starting to wear off, but he should be able to stand, walk...maybe even jog if he really had to. Not for long, though, or very quickly.
Time passed.
Inevitably, he thought of Allie.
He fought back the pain that worsened in a sharp rise, leaning over the edge of the bed. He dragged himself to a seated position, still nauseous as he stared around the cell. Desire slid to the forefront of his mind, in spite of everything...he wanted her, even scared out of his mind. He didn’t know how to reconcile the two feelings, so fought to blank out conscious thought.
When that didn’t work, he tried simply to endure it.
He’d known the bonding process would fuck with both of their heads. He hadn’t expected to have to deal with it without her.
He had to get out of there. Now.
Anger fought to replace fear. Mostly, he was angry at himself.
He should have gone after Terian in the beginning, before returning to Seertown...before doing anything else. Galaith had already done most of the work for him. Killing whatever remained of that psychotic prick would have been relatively easy compared to what they’d faced in him before the Pyramid collapsed.
He’d known he would target Allie.
And Allie, from what he could tell, had been up to something too...at least in the months he’d been gone, maybe before, when Terian had him. No one would tell him what, precisely, but he read between the lines of enough with Jon and Cass to know that had involved Terian, too.
She’d been up to something...and whatever it was, Jon hadn’t liked it.
Of course, Revik had partly avoided Terian out of deference to Allie herself. She’d asked him to stay away from him, to not seek revenge...to let the Adhipan deal with him. She’d been worried about him, and he
understood that, but now he couldn’t for the life of him understand why he hadn’t refused her request. She would have forgiven him, eventually.
The kid, on his own, they could have handled. One way or another, he and Allie, or he and Allie and the Adhipan would have neutralized him...but not with Terian holding his leash.
Instead, he’d let him take Allie.
The pain worsened, twisting deeper. He’d let his guard down. He’d let the Adhipan handle security instead of telling the Council to go to hell and taking her someplace on his own. He could have waited a few weeks, set things up right, made sure no one knew where they were, not even Vash.
Instead, he’d let his dick make the decisions…that and his paranoia about Maygar or some other jackass trying to pull something on her when she was already vulnerable.
Anger and pain mixed with the fear, making his head throb.
He stood, shakily, and bit his tongue, almost thankful for the pain in his leg.
Walking the edges of the room by balancing his shoulder lightly against the wall, he limped up to the door. Turning around, he tried the handle clumsily with his bound hands. It was locked.
Reaching out with his light, he fought to scan, trying to get above the room. Gritting his teeth against the thread of pain from the collar, he saw faint walls...more cells, a corridor of iron doors in rock. He didn’t see anyone. No humans. The whole complex seemed to be underground. Glancing up, he saw a tiny eye of God in one corner of the ceiling. A camera.
“Hey!” He yelled at it, though he doubted there was audio. He slammed the door with his shoulder as loudly as he could. “Hey! Let me out!”
He tried several languages.
None of them worked.
His shoulders started to hurt when he continued to pound on the door.
No one came. Eventually, he forced himself to pause. Sitting heavily on the floor, he leaned his back against one of the legs of the table, and tried to think. He had to get out of there. He stared at the rusted bolts that held the legs to the cement, wondering if he could pry them up to use the table to batter down the door. The chairs looked too flimsy, as did the cot. They’d likely chained him precisely so he couldn’t do what he was contemplating doing.
After pulling at the bolts for another span of minutes, he decided it wasn’t getting him anywhere. Water had rusted them to the metal plates, and the angle of his bound hands made it impossible to get leverage.
Leaning against the table leg, he closed his eyes...
When the door opened with a squeal, he jerked upright.
By then, he more than half-expected a Terian body, or one of Terian’s goons from the cabin. Instead, the leader of the Wvercians who’d found him walked in, wearing a clean set of clothes. Revik moved his feet to straighten his back against the iron table leg. When more seers entered the room, he tried to decide if he should risk trying to climb to his feet.
Then he got a good look at the man entering behind the Wvercian, and his throat constricted.
He remembered him...somehow.
Tall, with Chinese-looking features and a broad body, he wore a uniform that Revik knew mainly from historical sims. Military. Everything about him said career military, especially the way he carried his body. Still, the familiarity went deeper than that. Even the man’s scars looked familiar.
He looked Revik over with opaque, dark irises. He seemed to take in every part of him, although his expression remained incurious.
Finally, the new man smiled. It didn’t touch those odd-colored eyes.
“Dehgoies. That is your name now, isn’t it? Dehgoies Revik?”
Two more seers walked in behind him, stopping just inside the door. Revik glanced at them. Another looked vaguely familiar. The one beside him was young though, obviously a new recruit.
Revik’s eyes returned to the Chinese-looking seer. He took in the man’s long, black braid, the corded muscle of his arms. A tattoo of the sword and sun stood out on his bicep, the inks faded. Those faded inks were the only difference he could discern. Whoever he was, he looked exactly as Revik remembered him apart from that, even down to the uniform itself.
He decided to take a chance.
“Hello, Wreg,” he said.
The giant Wvercian frowned, looking at the seer with the Chinese face.
The latter only smiled, pulling a hiri out of his coat and lighting it with a silver lighter.
“Wreg? A little informal, wouldn’t you say...‘Revik?’” His opaque eyes glanced up, doll- like. “Are you trying to piss me off? Or is that the kind of crap they tolerate in the Adhipan? I’d heard Balidor was a bit on the informal side, compared to his predecessors...”
“I don’t know your current rank, sir.” Revik felt his jaw harden. “I didn’t know you still had a rank, sir...or that I fell under it. The war ended. Maybe you heard.” He motioned with his head. “Rebellion uniforms? A bit melodramatic, don’t you think? Do they have Halloween in India now?”
“You’re not in India anymore, Revik.”
The dark eyes stared into his. The consistency of hard plastic, the opaque irises betrayed no expression at all.
“...Since we’re on the subject, though,” Wreg continued, his voice casual once more. “...what brings you to Asia, Revik?” He ashed the hiri on the cement floor, gesturing fluidly with the same hand.
“…We know of you, of course. The infamous Dehgoies Revik. We had you tracked as a Westerner...worm food, and a traitor who played both sides of the fence. Now that we know who you really are, I can assume you’ve simply avoided returning to Asia until now?” The thin smile returned.
“...I’m fairly certain I would have noticed.”
There was a silence.
Revik looked around at faces, then at the whitewashed walls. His mind ran ahead of his facial expression. Something was wrong here. Did these people know him from when he was a Rook? Something didn’t feel right.
He matched the other’s tone.
“I guess I did. Too many bad memories, maybe.” He did his best to keep his mind still, knowing that was about all he had by way of defense. “Did I do something wrong? I didn’t realize my birth status had been revoked...or that my being in Seertown would piss you off so much.”
Relighting the hiri, the older seer exhaled smoke, clicking his heat coil shut.
“You’re still a ballsy little shit. You’re on the ground in manacles and you’re asking me questions.” Taking another drag of the hiri, he waved a hand vaguely at the mud and mold-smelling room.
“...I thought you were dead,” he said. “A lot of people did. It was one of our few compensations from that op in Trelimn. It almost redeemed you...in a few people’s eyes, at least.” A humorless smile hovered on the seer’s face. “And yet here you are, looking just like you did then. Explain that to me, Revik. Tell me how you managed to rise from the dead. Without so much as a scratch...”
“There are a few scratches, sir.” Revik shifted his weight, trying to get feeling back in his legs. He fought to keep the pain manageable, his mind still.
“You must know that I can’t answer your questions.” He glanced at the Wvercian, and the two seers who stood behind him, listening. “I can guess from context, but I don’t know the specifics of—”
“Yet, you remember me. Why is that, Revik?”
Revik shrugged. He didn’t really have a good answer for that, either. Seeing the other’s scrutiny intensify, he forced his expression blank.
“I don’t remember you, sir...not really.” He controlled his voice with an effort. “What do you want? You must know that you took me illegally...and that it wasn’t the best time, from the perspective of our people.”
“My men saved your life.” The seer spat. “Why, is beyond me. You can pretend you don’t remember all you want, Revik, but I can’t help but think it’s awfully convenient...”
“Why do you keep saying my name like that, sir?”
Wreg glanced at the Wvercian, then smiled.
�
��Right. Because we should say your traitor name with respect.” He eyes filled with contempt. “You deserted. Right when we needed people the most...even shit-blood pricks like you. You’re going to tell me you don’t remember that, either? That it all just conveniently ‘disappeared’ when you ran back to the Seven for absolution?” He pointed the hiri at him.
“...Go fuck yourself.”
The Wvercian grunted a laugh, folding his arms.
Revik stared at the wall, fighting to hide his impatience.
“Bet you’re wishing you could scan me now, aren’t you, Revik?” Wreg focused on the mud-streaked ceiling. “...Of course you are. You never had a modicum of decency with your fellow brothers and sisters. Is that the dirt blood in you? To treat others like tools? Like pieces to move around on a game board for your own amusement––”
“Do you have a point...sir?” Revik said. “Or did you bring me here to rehash a sixty year-old grudge? There are places I’d really rather be.”
“Yeah.” He grunted. “I bet.”
Revik stared up at him, trying to decide how far he could push. If they wanted him dead, he would be dead. Even so, he was having trouble keeping calm. Did they work for Terian? This couldn’t possibly be a coincidence, not with Seertown being bombed...Allie being taken. He was still trying to decide what to say when Wreg reached into his coat. He pulled out a square image reconstruction.
Getting up off the stool, he placed it on the ground between Revik’s feet.
“Who is he?”
Revik stared at the image, feeling something in his chest constrict. He glared at the human. “How the fuck should I know?”
Wreg crouched down, tapping the image. “Look again, Dehgoies Revik. Think real hard before you answer.”
Revik looked down, letting his eyes trace the outline of the boy’s round face. The dark eyes stared out of the image, still as death. Revik felt his jaw harden, remembering the way they’d looked at Allie.
Like he owned her.
“I told you.” He looked up at Wreg. “...I have no fucking idea. Is he one of those kids who died recently? In the news?”
Allie's War Season One Page 82