Sibylla of Earth

by A. D. Baldwin

  "You're lying," Sibylla shot back. "He promised me that he wouldn't let that happen."

  "I'm sure he did," Connor said with a dismissive wave. "But you have to understand, men like him and I, we say what we must in order to get what we want. You see, in the end, he and I are not so different."

  "You bastard," Sibylla seethed, tugging savagely at the chains holding her at bay. "Where's Dillon? What did you do to him?"

  Connor laughed. "Look at you. So strong, so defiant. You really made a name for yourself here. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same about your little Dillon. He didn't have your will, bless his dead heart."

  Sibylla's fists clenched in furry. "Liar!"

  "Now, now," Connor said, urging her to calm down. "You mustn't push yourself like this. You'll need all your strength for the days and nights ahead. Isn't that right, Rogers?"

  From the blackness behind him, a tall blond man appeared, and Sibylla recognized him instantly. It was the guard who'd tortured Dillon, the one who'd cleaned the blood from his baton after he’d stepped out of the cell.

  He towered over her bed, his broad chest and round shoulders stretching the fabric of his black t-shirt. Angling his head to the side, he gazed at her, expressionless.

  "You're not his usual cup of tea," Connor admitted with an embarrassing shrug. "But I'm sure he can make an exception for you."

  Sibylla shivered with anger. If only there was a way she could get loose, she'd make them pay for what they'd done to Dillon. But the cuffs were made from thick steel and reinforced with an electrical failsafe that would release if it was tampered with. Powerless, she could only stare at them in anger.

  "Well then," Connor said. "I see that my visit has brought you great cheer. And I am thankful for that. But for now, I have some festivities to attend to outside. I believe it's the graduation ceremony? The one you won't be attending? But don't worry, I'll be back soon. In the meanwhile, I've left a few of my friends to keep you company."

  Sibylla looked out the window and saw a number of Division guards standing outside. They were dressed in black, and armed with assault rifles, carrying shock cylinders at their waists. The rest of the level, though, appeared to be empty—no doctors, no nurses—as if the entire wing had been blocked off because of her. She was trapped.

  The Director gave Sibylla a slight bow, before exiting the room with his henchman. Sibylla watched them through the window, following them as they strode across the hall into the elevators.

  Motionless, she sat in silence. Was it true? Was Dillon really dead? A cold sweat passed over her skin, and she began to search for answers. But there were none. Everything that she’d strived for had been for nothing. And now, she was alone in the dark with her wrists bound to a bed, waiting for Division to take her. Tears touched her eyes as she felt her world come to an end.

  Then something happened.

  The lights of the facility went out, and a blackness fell over the entire wing. Murmurs of confusion lifted from the hallway as Division guards rushed to determine the problem. They cocked their rifles, spoke in heated whispers, the intensity of their panic seeming to increase with every passing second.

  Through the silence, Sibylla heard the distinct sound of an elevator door opening, followed by a long stretch of eerie quietness that felt as if would never end.

  Then it began.

  Sibylla flinched as she heard the sound of men screaming, their rifles going off in sporadic succession as they clumsily rushed to kill whatever it was attacking them. It was chaos. Windows exploded. Bullets pierced the walls. Sibylla swung her head to the side, as rounds filled her room, trying to avoid the deadly fire.

  Then it stopped.

  With wide eyes, Sibylla turned back to the room. Her vision still hadn't adjusted to the darkness, but things were slowly coming into focus. The door clicked open, and to her horror, she heard the padding of feet inside the room.

  It was there! Whatever it was, it was inside the room…with her! Frozen by fear, Sibylla could only stare into the darkness, waiting for her eventual death.

  The air around her changed and she felt something touch her hand, followed by a breeze across her lap. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

  The lights returned, and the room was empty. Staring at her wrists, she saw that her cuffs had been unlocked and that on her lap was a comlink ear piece.

  Sibylla stared at the tiny device, wondering who’d left it. Carefully, she placed it in her ear and spoke. "Hello?"

  "Sibylla?" Murdock's voice was distant, drowned out by the sound of helicopter blades chopping through the air.

  "General, what's going on?"

  "There's not a lot of time. I've made preparations. There's a Warhawk jet waiting for you on the landing field. You need to get to it and leave. Inside, I've left coordinates that will lead you to—”

  "Where's Dillon?" Sibylla demanded.

  "What?"

  "You heard me. What did you do with him?”

  "Sibylla, there's not much time. I can’t get into this right now.”

  "I talked to Connor. He told me what you did. How could you lie to me, after everything that you said about my father?”

  Murdock paused. "Sibylla, there are some things that are just out of my control."

  Sibylla shut her eyes as her heart was stung by betrayal. He'd lied to her, the man whom she’d placed her trust in had played her behind her back, leaving one of the only people she’d ever loved to dwindle in chains. She hated him.

  "Sibylla?" Murdock asked. "Are you still there?"

  "Don't try to find me." Sibylla ripped the com from her ear and shattered it against the wall.

  Wiping her tears, she jumped from her bed and ran into the hallway that was littered with bodies. Kneeling by one of the men, she checked his pulse to see if he was still alive. He wasn’t.

  She needed to get out of there. Rushing for a plan, she studied her surroundings. The exits were closed. And there was no access to a stairwell. Unsure of what to do, her gaze finally lifted to the ceiling above her.

  Jumping onto the reception desk, she reached for the tiled panel above her head and shoved it to the side. The crawl space of the vents was much bigger than she was used to. Wide aluminum shafts with smooth flooring. Hearing the elevator open, she quickly closed the vent behind her and huddled against the wall in silence.

  The guards' voices lifted through the ceiling, and Sibylla realized that they were right beneath her. Listening as they cocked their rifles and issued orders, she figured that she only had a few minutes before they started shooting the ceiling. She had to get out of there—and soon.

  Scurrying away, she relied on her instincts to guide her through the endless maze of shafts. She hid around corners, lowered down floors, eventually finding a long drop that led to the bottom level. Knowing that the guards were hot on her heels, she took a leap of faith and jumped.

  The fall was quick. She landed onto something soft and realized that she was in a laundry basket. Covered in a heap of linens, she yanked them off as fast as she could and climbed out. Speeding across the room, she took a moment to press her ear against the wall, checking to see if any guards were on the other side. But all she heard was silence.

  Exiting the doors, she dashed through the lobby toward the front entrance, where she slipped out into the afternoon cold.

  Across the field, she could see that the Graduation Ceremony was already in progress. Realizing that they were distracted, Sibylla, still dressed in her paper gown, made a break for it toward the barracks.

  The field was thick with snow, and the cold began to sting her bare feet and legs. But there was no time to complain. She pressed on.

  When she reached the barracks, she found an empty lobby. Hurtling up the stairs, she rushed for the locker room on the second level, where she kept her other bodysuit. I have to change, she thought, knowing she didn’t have much time. Yet, when she opened her locker, she found it empty.

  Bastards, she thought,
the betrayal seeming more painful than she would've expected. Less than twenty-four hours and they'd already removed her things. Well, at least they were efficient, she thought, shutting the locker and turning around.

  The storage units were in the back of the building, where they kept all of the recruits' personal things—clothes and shoes that were held in case a recruit washed out and had to return to the real world. And that was where she had to go.

  Sibylla jogged through aisles of lockers, running a finger along the metal cabinets as she searched for her name. When she found it, she kicked it open and found a cardboard box with the word, Disposable, written in black marker across the front of it.

  Disposable, my ass…

  Sibylla ripped the box open with her hands, tossing the torn pieces over her shoulder, and dug inside. The stench of stale smoke rose from the box, and she lifted her burnt hoodie, remembering how she'd been shocked by the hive drone. It had happened only months ago, yet it felt like a lifetime.

  Slipping on her black jeans and beat-up combat boots, she was filled with a familiarity that made her feel as if she could breathe again. This was who she was. Or at least, who she'd been. Eventually, after time, she’d be that same person again. Free; but on the run.

  Tossing the box away, she ran out into the barracks, where her attention was quickly drawn to the window as she heard the raucous of recruits applauding in the distance. They were changing speakers now, leading up towards the finale of the awards ceremony, where Varya would be awarded the rank of Commander.

  How badly Sibylla had wanted to win that title, to be free of criminal charges, to be free of the Division's grip. But honestly, as much as she hated to admit it, she had bought the code of soldiering, of being part of a brotherhood, of fighting alongside people she trusted. But all of that was over now, gone with Yumiko’s betrayal.

  As she turned to leave, she was met with the sight of a plaque against the wall. All of the names of the recruits were there. Sibylla read each one, thinking back over the past couple of months.

  She thought of Tayshaun, how he'd introduced himself on the transport; of Yumiko and how she'd protected her against Varya in the first battle; of Anais and how she'd saved her life in the mountains when she was bleeding. And lastly, of Koda, his beating still fresh in her mind. How things had changed.

  Staring out the window at the graduation across the field, she saw the Warhawk jets parked in a majestic splendor, their black noses aimed at the ceremony in a half circle, adding to the pompous grandeur that had drawn the entire base.

  But there was still one at the far end, she realized, one that was isolated from the rest. Thinking back, she remembered Murdock's words: "There's a Warhawk jet waiting for you on the landing field. You need to get to it and leave." All she had to do now was go. After that, she could be in Mexico within the hour, free of Division’s grip. But for how long? And for what?

  Dillon was gone now, and with him, the last of her happiness.

  The crowd erupted in applause again as the speaker finished, and Sibylla thought of her friends, the recruits she’d served with over the past couple of months, those who’d placed their trust in her.

  What about their futures? What about their lives? Leaving them to toil under Varya’s command was the same as a death sentence. Staring out at the ceremony, Sibylla hesitated as she wrestled with what to do, idling with a decision she didn’t want to make.

  36

  Return from the Grave

  The walk to the ceremony was long.

  Dozens of recruits were sitting in assembled rows, facing a wide stage with a simple red skirt draped across the front of it. Addressing them from behind a podium, a distinguished-looking gentleman, no doubt a high-ranking politician that had been flown in for the event, spoke through a loud microphone, explaining the importance of loyalty, honor, and strength.

  Behind him, the faculty of the Nest were sitting in a straight line, their attention drawn to the speaker as he continued. There was Instructor Williams, Captain Kahale, Nurse Nina, and a slew of other instructors. Even Director Connor was there, his lapdog Rogers standing at the edge of the stage. At the end of the row, sitting behind the speaker, Varya waited for her turn to be called up.

  Sibylla walked down the center aisle with a raised chin, her face hard as she glanced at the other recruits. She wanted them to know that they hadn’t gotten to her, that she was untouched by the system.

  Yumiko and Tayshaun were sitting in the front row, while Anais sat in the back by herself, her head bowed into her chest. But there was no sign of Koda. He was most likely in the infirmary, still healing from the beating he’d received the day before.

  One by one they all noticed her, their heads turning in fascination as they studied her burnt hoodie, black jeans and combat boots. The politician, who was in the middle of a humorous anecdote, suddenly paused as he noticed her, his voice slipping into a round of stutters as he tried to make sense of what was happening.

  "What's going on?" he asked, glancing back at the row of faculty behind him.

  Williams’ head lifted, while Kahale rose to her feet, the both of them speechless.

  "Can I help you?" the politician asked carefully.

  "No," Sibylla said. "But she can."

  Everyone turned to Varya as they followed Sibylla's gaze.

  Varya grinned.

  "What's the meaning of this?" Connor demanded. He rose to his feet and marched to the edge of the stage. "Where are the guards? And why aren't you still in your cuffs?”

  “I was tired of wearing them,” Sibylla said. “So, I got rid of them.”

  Connor’s eyes sharpened into slits, clearly struck by fury, then turned his attention to Captain Kahale. "I want this girl arrested and in my custody…now!"

  Kahale jumped to her feet, tapped the com in her ear, and began issuing out orders. Meanwhile, Rogers was already marching out from the side of the stage, ready to apprehend Sibylla on the spot when his path was suddenly blocked by Tayshaun.

  “Don't even think about it,” Tayshaun growled.

  Rogers stared at the recruit, taken aback by his imposing figure. As young as Tayshaun was, he was as tall as Rogers and just as big. Considering that he was an Eagle now, Sibylla doubted that he'd have any trouble breaking the psychotic torturer's legs.

  "This is unacceptable," Connor declared. "Is this how you run your operation, Instructor Williams?"

  Williams rose from his seat, answering the director with a single word as he brushed past him. "Yes."

  Sibylla waited in anticipation as the instructor reached the edge of the stage. She needed his approval, needed his blessing for the challenge to occur. For her future. For her freedom. For her soldiers.

  "What's this all about, Cross?" he asked.

  "I'm invoking my right to challenge, sir,” Sibylla said, lifting her chin and raising her chest. "For Commander."

  A murmur passed amongst the other recruits as they realized what was happening. She was challenging the deadliest recruit for the main title, one that she'd fought to resist, but now was willing to risk her life for.

  "Impossible," Kahale protested. "She's not even a recruit anymore. She's a criminal."

  Williams looked at her. "Is that true?"

  But before Sibylla could explain, she heard nurse Nina’s voice from the stage.

  "According to my log, she still is.” Nina held up the scroll in her hands.

  Williams gave a bitter laugh. "Sounds to me like she's still a recruit. But you sure about this, Cross? You really want this?”

  Sibylla took a nervous swallow. "Yes, sir. It is."

  Williams paused as he considered her answer, his steely gaze never veering away from hers. Finally, after a few seconds, he made his decision. "Your challenge is granted. Sokolov, front and center."

  The recruits stirred from their seats, as they hurried to make room for the impending match. They stood back, pulled out chairs, some standing as far away as they could. The politicians were
even worse. Men and women, who'd probably never even seen a fist fight before in their lives, exchanged confused glances, unsure of what was about to occur.

  "What's happening?" Connor demanded. He looked to Kahale, who was now red-faced with anger. “What is this? Some stupid military game?”

  Kahale grasped for an answer. “But she's not even armed," she pointed out, waving a hand at Sibylla. "Where's she going to get a blade?"

  Williams glanced back at Sibylla, their eyes meeting for a moment. She wasn't sure, but she thought she saw the hint of a smile on his lips. "She can have mine."

  Sibylla watched in amazement as he unsheathed the blade from his belt, a steel saber that glinted in the winter sun. Tossing it through the air, it landed at Sibylla's feet, its pointy blade plunging into the earth before her.

  "Alright," Williams called out, his voice returning to the tone they'd become accustomed to over the past six months. With a grin on his face and a sparkle to his eye, he yelled out to the surrounding Eagles, "Looks like training's not over yet. We've still got one more exercise left. Now, everyone knows the rules: the last to stand is the first to lead.”

  37

  The Fall of Remembrance

  Varya took her time as she rose from her seat, seeming fascinated by the challenge. Dressed in a Commander's uniform, she wore a black coat with black leather riding boots and a yellow sash wrapped around her thin waist, where a ceremonial saber waited in its sheath.

  "Well, well, well," Varya said with a grin. "Look who came back from the dead."

  "Disappointed?" Sibylla asked.

  "Only that I didn't finish the job."

  From the crowd of recruits, Anais appeared. "You got a plan?" she asked.

  "Yeah," Sibylla said. “Not dying.”

  Sibylla reached for Williams' sword that was still lodged in the ground and gave it a quick lift. She'd never used an actual sword before. Her only experience was with blunted practice blades. Now that she was holding one, she worried that she'd made a horrible mistake. But it was too late.