Rift
Page 18
Chapter 13
SUE
She heaved for air as she sat up. The sheets were wet with sweat, and her heart was thumping hard. A dream. A nightmare. She’d had a few of those since being snatched back from captivity. She mostly dreamed of Rory, of strangers speaking to her in a friendly manner, before her head exploded in pain. Sometimes, she could see the faces of her team members from the QRF, all dead now. Julian and Keisha came to see her, and she had hugged them both. She had been so relieved when she heard they were both alive and well. She hadn’t seen either of them after that, though, and she had a feeling she wouldn’t for a long time. She felt a slight sting that Julian hadn’t shown up again, but he was probably too busy. Besides, they were just friends. Nothing more.
She got out of bed and pulled on her bathrobe. Her shoulder was stiff, but the pain was gone. She flexed her arm a little. They enslaved you. A woman’s voice, faint, like a whisper. That was one of the memories that seemed to haunt her. Once she took the pills the doctors administered to her, though, the voice faded away. She knew it would return, but every day the memory got weaker. The dizzying feeling any time she tried to remember something only got stronger, though. She had no idea what it all meant; it was as if everything was buried just below consciousness, trying to break out into the open but kept tightly behind a barrier that grew stronger every day. She walked over to the water cooler and got herself a drink.
She didn’t remember much from her days of captivity, but it didn’t seem like the intel officers cared much. All they seemed to care about was that she was all right. It was touching, in a way, but it still made no sense. She answered their questions whenever they came, though, and cooperated as much as she could.
But some thoughts she kept to herself. Like the words that pressed on in the back of her mind. They enslaved you. And some details were so blurry, she didn’t entirely trust them. Like that of the woman’s face, looking so similar to the doctor. As far as she knew, it could be one of the doctors in Camp Gustavson, tending to her after her release. They had both spoken English, so she was probably just confused.
A knock on the door broke her train of thought.
“Come in,” she said, tying a belt around her waist to keep her robe in place. A tacticus in a fresh uniform entered. He looked around, and Sue was suddenly aware her drapes were still shut, keeping the light out. She smiled and walked to the control panel. She pushed the button, and the drapes folded up along the sides of the great window. She looked out for a moment and saw it was a sunny day. The view toward the green hills was magnificent, and she found herself staring. She turned back to the tacticus.
“I’m sorry, sir. What can I do for you?” The stone-faced tacticus produced a flat envelope and delivered it to her. She cocked her head, and he didn’t wait for her question.
“You are requested in Legacy, Sub Tacticus Atlas. Personal request from Counselor Novak himself.” Sue heaved her eyebrows. She opened the envelope, tearing off the seal and accidentally ripping into the letter inside. She took it out and held the torn piece so that she could read it.
Counselor Novak had signed the letter, an order to immediately take the first airlift back to Legacy. There she was to present herself to Strategos Command, where they would find a suitable assignment for her. He ended the letter by congratulating her on her heroic performance, and her new rank.
She upended the envelope and a single iron bar fell into her palm.
The tacticus finally smiled.
“I would help you with that, if you wore your uniform,” he said.
“Congratulations, Tacticus Atlas.”
MARK
He stood on the high balcony overlooking the atrium of Strategos Command, watching as she entered. The young woman had impressed him the first time they’d met, and he had great hopes for her still. It could go one of three ways. She could do extremely well, if she managed to shed all doubt and trust her superiors. If she would give herself to the Covenant and all its splendors, she could be one of the first not of Moon blood to rise all the way to high command. That would be evolution, and Mark Novak would be happy with such a development. If the Covenant changed from within, nothing could be better.
But he had a hard time believing it would happen that way. There were too many obstacles, too many ways for such a person to meet with an abrupt end. That would leave her a medicated citizen who told stories of glory days past, a wreck of a human being inside a near perfect exterior, a poster girl to set an example for future generations of the English, from every corner of the Covenant.
The third possibility was the one he feared the most, but secretly dreamed of. To finally tear down the injustices, the false truths, and the villainy that kept a nation of murderers and slavers afloat. If she saw through the lies and managed to resist, she might have what it would take to succeed. She would have to be careful, though. A lot of people would go to great lengths to keep the status quo.
Mark chuckled. Time would tell, and either way, he had more cards up his sleeve. The man could make a lot of changes, as well. He wasn’t as charismatic as Susan, but he commanded respect, and he had seen through many of the lies already. His greatest obstacle was his heritage, his loyalty to his people. Even though he had done his best to deny it for years, he was still of the Moon blood, and he didn’t stand a chance of leading the English if it came to blows.
Perhaps if the two could be brought together…
That had been one of his ideas when he sent the letter, requesting her presence here. Of course, he had other plans, as well, but making sure these two weren’t far from each other was part of his scheme.
A sub tacticus was leading her away from the atrium, and he figured he would stay in the background for now. His interest in her might raise suspicions. After all, nobody was above suspicion, when the integrity of the Covenant was at stake.
No, he would see how this played out, keeping his cards close to his chest, and wait for one of the others to make the first move.
He walked back to the lounge chair and sat down. Lately, his joints had begun to give him some grief. But what could you expect? He definitely needed the treatment soon. He chuckled again.
He was the oldest man alive, and he intended to keep it that way.