Ki Book One

by Odette C. Bell

Chapter Thirteen

  The unimaginable had occurred. He’d been labelled a traitor. Without a chance to explain himself, the Guards and Major Bradshaw had turned on him.

  Jackson couldn’t believe it. After all those years of dedication and loyalty to his people, his good service and character had been completely forgotten.

  All because of Max and the Zeneethians. Jackson had underestimated them wildly. Not only could they manufacture ships that could fly without wings, guns that could shoot without bullets, and devices that could scan without eyes, they could evidently interfere with governments from on high.

  Somehow they’d manufactured Max an alias so believable that the usually wary and paranoid Guards had accepted it easily. Without the use of weapons or war, they’d meddled in internal politics at a frightening level with incalculable speed.

  As the group finally arrived at the Guard station, those thoughts virtually crippled Jackson. While Ki had assured him that the Zeneethians did not interfere with the Tarkans and Ashkans, because there was nothing such an advanced race would need from such dullards, that did not blunt this blow. He was starting to realize there was something far more insidious and threatening than all-out war with a race like them – it was being manipulated silently from afar.

  He very much doubted this was the only time the Zeneethians had meddled in the affairs of his Government; with the speed and efficiency they’d shown, it was reasonable to assume they’d done it before. Which left Jackson with one frightening question to ponder – how often did they do it? Did they monitor election results and change them to serve their purposes? Did they intercept military communications? Did they monitor scientific discoveries and stifle any they didn’t like?

  Their abilities seemed countless and undetectable. They were like silent puppet masters, or worse than that – gods.

  Moving like a zombie, Jackson did not fight as the Guards rushed him to his holding cell. Shoving him in and not bothering to remove his handcuffs, they slammed the door closed.

  He was alone, cold, thirsty, hungry, tired, and again completely in the dark. His room was internal to the building, had no window in the door, and they had not bothered to turn the light on.

  Questions burned in his mind like embers in the hand – searing and eating away at him with crippling pain. One burned brighter than the others though. It was not what he would have expected either. Despite what could be happening to his Government and people, Jackson desperately needed to know where Ki was and what Max would do with her next.

  She was the key to this. She had to be. If only Jackson could find out why the Zeneethians were so desperate to get her back, and why they had taken her in the first place. She’d admitted they’d done experiments on her, and he’d seen the marks on her arms. What had they been though? Did it have something to do with her ability to activate the levitation devices?

  Allowing his body to go limp, he flopped onto the cold and hard floor. Shifting his hands up until they rested on his chest, he pried at the cuffs with his fingers. They were sturdy and tight. There would be no breaking into them without a sledgehammer or a saw, neither of which were in this simple cell.

  He was trapped. There would be no escape. Presumably Max would use his influence to lean on the Guards and order an execution. By the morning Jackson would likely face a firing squad.

  Several days ago he’d been worried about cropping all the hay before the first autumn rains, now it was a distant speck in comparison to his current problems. Tonight he would spend his last few hours lying on a freezing, chipped concrete floor while his thoughts rioted in his mind.

  Though he could easily succumb to the obvious and give up, a single thought stopped him.

  They were arrogant. The Zeneethians. They were undisputed, unchallenged, and unhindered. They did what they wanted and answered to no one.

  Which gave Jackson an advantage. War had taught him one simple fact more than any other: arrogance leads to oversight, oversight to mistakes. It is inevitably when you feel at your strongest that you let your guard down. As soon as you treat your enemy as less than yourself – less intelligent, less capable, less desperate – you become a prisoner to your own perspective. Jackson had once been a keen student of military history, and he could easily remember battles and whole wars that had been lost because one General was fool enough to think he could not lose.

  The Zeneethians were the same. Now all Jackson had to do was use that to his advantage.

  As the day gave way to night, and Jackson continued to lie there on that barren floor, he formulated a plan. It came to him slowly in flashes of insight.

  He was acutely aware, however, that unless he received a miracle, there was no way he would be able to put that plan into action.

  At five minutes to midnight, he got that miracle. There was a knock on the door, and before he could answer, it was pushed open roughly, the metal hinges groaning from the assault.

  In walked the Major. Two guards were at his side, but with one flick of his head, the men walked outside and closed the door behind them.

  Jackson slowly got to his feet, body crunching underneath him from his days of straining and misusing it. With a wary, careful edge to his stare, he straightened up and locked his attention on the Major.

  The man was standing tall, one hand held at his side, the other locked on his hip. “You will be executed tomorrow morning, 8 o'clock. You will not get any last wishes. Traitors do not deserve them.”

  Ignoring his suddenly dry and itchy mouth, Jackson swallowed. This was his miracle, his opportunity. He would not get another. “I admit it, I’m a spy.”

  It was murder to say those words. They felt like barbs sticking into his skin or spikes sliding deep into his flesh. It was self-mutilation on an unfathomable level to pretend he was a traitor of the country he loved so much.

  Right now he did not have any other choice. Strengthening his determination, he let a sharp breath out of his clenched teeth. “But Max is a double agent.”

  The Major's eyes flashed. “I am not accustomed to listening to traitors. Every word you say will be a lie.”

  “Shouldn't you try to interrogate me?” Jackson stood as easily as he could. He wanted to get rid of the ache in his back, the strain across his shoulders, the clicking, tensed feeling to his jaw. He wanted to appear as casual and in control as he could. Weakness would be interpreted as a sign of lying. Jackson needed the Major to buy his story without question.

  “You are no longer my concern. An official decree has come in from the intelligence community, and your sentence has been handed down by them. A firing squad, tomorrow, 8 o'clock in the morning.”

  Before the Major could turn to go, Jackson stepped forward. He watched as the Major's eyes darted to the side, following the move. If Jackson tried anything the Major would call for the Guards, or, more likely, barrel into him and deal his sentence out then and there.

  “Doesn't that seem strange to you? That a traitor be put to death without any questioning? What about all of the secrets I know? All the secrets I've sold to the enemy. Don't you want to know what they are so you can clean up after my mess?”

  The Major's nostrils flared, his cheeks stiffening as his lips pulled back to reveal his white, clamped teeth. “Archer has already assured me that you have been interrogated.”

  “I assure you, I have not. The man is a double agent. He works for a group... who control our Government from the shadows. Hawkes, their only agenda is to continue instabilities. They trade information with the Tarkans for that end. Major, how many men have you lost? How many boys have laid down their lives for you and your country? Wouldn't you like to know if their efforts were in vain?”

  The Major turned sharply, his boot jerking over the concrete floor and making a high-pitched squeak as it did. He took a violent step towards Jackson. Jackson did not move back.

  Face stiff with rage, the Major shook his head. “I will not listen to your treacherous words, traitor.”

  “The
n listen to reason. I've seen the way you look at Archer – you know something's up. Are you really going to let him walk away with a Tarkan spy and a sophisticated, experimental weapon? Don't tell me, you've already made the calls, and you've been assured passionately that you are to do everything this man says. Tell me, Major, has that ever happened to you before? Has your authority ever been undermined by a random intelligence officer you've never heard of, purporting to be on a mission that makes no sense, yet holding authority the goes above and beyond that of a General? You are the head of this unit, and you have jurisdictional oversight over any operations that occur in your area. Who is this man to walk in and undermine that rule? Ask yourself, does any of this make any sense?”

  The Major now stood close enough that Jackson could see the broken capillaries in his cheeks and each hair of his kempt moustache. He could also see the barely contained malevolence and tension straining at the man's features. “I will not take advice from a traitor.”

  “I'm not giving you advice, I'm giving you reason. I'm simply voicing thoughts you have already had. This makes no sense. This man is going above your head. It doesn't matter who's telling you to give him that woman and that gun; it's your choice, this is your jurisdiction. And it will be your responsibility if you make a mistake. Think.”

  Never in his life had Jackson lectured a superior. He had always shown keen and unwavering loyalty. He’d been the model soldier. Now he was trying to be the model traitor.

  “I will not discuss this with you,” the Major began.

  “Really? Because I am ready and willing to tell you everything. I will admit to you all of my plans, all of my contacts. I will even give you the information I have on the Tarkans. Are you actually going to walk away from that simply because Max has told you to? Is that how you win a war?” Jackson finished with a growl.

  The Major lurched forward, grabbing Jackson by the collar and pulling him closer. “You are a scourge upon your country. To think you were ever put in a position of power. People trusted you. Now your name will be spread across the press, your treason publicized. Anyone who ever knew you will know you lived a lie.”

  Jackson controlled himself. It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. To watch the hatred spilling forth from the Major like blood from a wound made him realize how serious this was. There would be no going back. His actions here would be final.

  Swallowing dramatically, commanding his hands not to shake, Jackson narrowed his eyes. “And you will be labelled as a fool if you let a spy and a powerful, experimental gun walk away without following the proper protocol. Treason is one thing, ineptitude is another. At least they’ll remember me as efficient. They'll remember you as the idiot who let a gun that could change the course of history walk out of his grasp.”

  The Major shook him, the move strong and sharp. “I have followed the correct procedure. I've made the proper phone calls, it's been confirmed that Archer is who he says he is.”

  “And you don't believe them, do you?” Jackson's expression was open to begin with, but crumpled with obvious suspicion. Perhaps he was over acting; he didn't have the smooth, suave ability to manipulate people like Max did. All Jackson had was passion and a desire to do whatever it would take.

  That would be enough. He'd already gotten the Major's attention, stirred up his ire, and sapped his control. He'd planted the seed of doubt, now he had to feed it enough suspicion to see it grow. “They have been monitoring your communications,” Jackson almost whispered.

  “We spoke on a secure line.”

  “Nothing is secure if you’re dealing with people in positions of power. Do you remember the Falcon Plot from the last war? Do you remember the mutiny of Captain Balcon? Do you remember any of the history of our great military, Major?” Jackson’s eyes were locked open, the skin tight to the point of ripping. “Do you really think it’s impossible to monitor communications in this day and age?”

  “I have no reason to doubt my superiors—”

  “You have every reason to doubt them; their orders make no sense. You want proof that Archer is a double agent, I can give it to you,” Jackson forced himself not to blink. He held the Major’s gaze as if his life depended on it. Likely because it did.

  The Major did not immediately respond. Stepping back, he let his hands drop from Jackson’s collar. That dark, malevolent, dangerous look was still spread over his face, but something new flickered deep in his eyes. Doubt.

  Jackson pounced on it. “You want proof? Then you have to listen closely and do everything I say.”

  Through fortune alone, the Major did not leave the room until Jackson had finished.

  Jackson would need more than fortune for the Major to heed his plan though.