Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) (22 page)

Second chances

The everyday activity of a child playing without need or reason was a concept unfamiliar to Marta. Her papa had structured her life for academics and other pursuits of the intellect, leaving little time for frivolous endeavors. She learned to speak a dozen languages before her sixth birthday; and by the time she was eight, she could dissertate the prophetic works of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Not many her age could debate the follies of
Zeno’s paradoxes
in relation to
Denair’s monoverse causality
.

But, she could.

Still, none of those lofty accomplishments, while praiseworthy, were essential to her life as she found it on this day. Something had been missing. It was a simple element others took for granted, such as frolicking with no reason or purpose.

Her gentle innocence secured her acceptance and she quickly made friends with the Agarhan youngsters. To them, she was just another kid running across the green field. The little ones begged for her consideration, which she gladly gave.

She was alive.

Emil ambled along the outer ridge of the field with his mind adrift. The sound of his daughter and her new friends laughing attracted his attention. He stopped and observed their fun.

Happy children were a rarity in his domain. Not long after Romania’s destruction, when the remnants of his people gathered in scattered refugee camps, there was no joy among their children. He remembered Adi as the dirty child. She didn’t play. She didn’t smile. She simply survived from one moment to the next. To see Agarha’s children frolicking, unearthed sentiment he had forgotten. It drove home the Old Man’s wisdom from earlier in the night.

Marta is not an end to a means. She is a child.

He didn’t know how to process that truth. She was capable of incalculable power and if there was ever a chance to stop the Alliance, it rested with her. But, she wasn’t a weapon. These children understood that fact.

“She is a child,” he said aloud. “This is where she needs to be.”

He glanced around to see if anyone heard him talking to himself. Either no one cared or he hadn’t spoken loud enough for anyone to notice. Relieved of potential embarrassment, he carried on.

The Old Man found him sitting at the bottom of the stairs near the bunker’s entrance, ignoring people and trying to stay out of the way of night workers going about their routines.

“This place is nothing more than a network of forgotten tunnels and caves,” he said, taking Emil by surprise. “But, to these children, it’s a playground.”

“She’s been a prisoner her whole life. Hiding down here is nothing new.”

“Yes and no. I admit it’s not the ideal home for a child to have. Living here alters your circadian rhythm and plays tricks with the illusions of night and day. But, at least we have families, structure, and some resemblance of a society. I created Agarha to replace what was lost to us.”

“I made a terrible mistake taking her from the only home she has ever known. At least in Nerees’s tower she was safe. She will be happy here. She has to stay.”

“What about you?”

“I can’t. There’s a war up there, remember?”

“Of course, you must choose your own path.” The Old Man hobbled away. “Can I make a rare suggestion? Go to her before you leave.”

Marta’s playmates had moved on to greater adventures. They wanted her to go with them, but she bowed out to take a well-earned breather. Alone on the grassy field, she stared up at the artificial sky and enjoyed the tranquility.

She had been aware of her
shameful secret
her entire life. In her hermetic sanctuary at Jaures Tower, she could keep it in check, because she was always alone.

When Markus would visit her, she tried her best to control the impulses, but sometimes she couldn’t resist and would read his thoughts by accident.

Upon discovering her psychic trespass, he’d say, “
Mon chéri
, it is rude to eavesdrop. One’s mind is a private affair. If the world learns of you and what you can do, they will take you from me.”

Being in Agarha challenged her in ways she wasn’t prepared. With so many people in such cramped proximity, her urges tugged at her self-control. The effort was becoming impossible. Her mind demanded to explore. To nullify the pressure, she tried something radical — surrendering.

At first, the thoughts and emotions from dozens of individuals flooded in as a series of jumbled voices. She concentrated to separate the distortion into distinct patterns, but it made the noise worse. Only when she stopped trying was when the chaos became decipherable.

She listened to a man complain to himself about the potato crop’s condition. There was a woman thinking of an interlude she had with a married man the night before. Those were the easy ones. Many of the other voices made no sense to her without a reference to go on, but she listened anyway. She browsed the samplings of fear, love, happiness, anger, and satisfaction. A little morsel from each mind imprinted a shade on her consciousness.

As she surfed between thoughts, one wave in particular grew louder than the rest. It belonged to a man; a sad man.

I don’t know what to say to her
, he thought in a mental tongue other than English.

It was curious, because she understood his thoughts without knowing his language.

How do I tell her, I am her father
?

She recognized him. From their first encounter, she had been able to hear his mind louder than anyone else’s. It was the General, and she accepted the fact he was thinking about her. She opened her eyes. Emil was close by. How long had he been waiting there? He seemed uncertain and was about to leave when she looked his way.

“Don’t go, please.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“It’s too late,” she said without realizing how the remark could be misinterpreted. She changed her tone. “You’re not. Will you sit with me?”

For a brave man, he received her invitation with adolescent nervousness. Sitting on the grass, he left what he considered an appropriate space between them. He was content and didn’t say anything to spoil the mood.

“I like it here. I’ve never seen grass before. Have you?”

It was a silly question, because she knew the answer by seeing his mind form the images before speaking the words.

“Yes, back in my country before the war.”

“Please, tell me.”

“We had meadows that ran for kilometers over rolling hills. They were so green it looked as if an artist had painted them. How do I explain it? You see this grass, but how can you truly admire its color without seeing it under a real sky? The hue of grass and the evergreen of a tree leaf are nothing without a blue sky or a white sun illuminating its translucence. My people would take trips to visit those fields and have picnics out in the sun or sometimes under the shade of those trees. I wish I could say we appreciated that beauty, but I would be lying. No one thinks about such things when they have it.”

“What is a pic-nic?”

“A picnic is when you pack a box with food and go sit on the grass and enjoy it. You usually do it with someone special.”

“It sounds fun.”

“It is... was.”

“Do you often think about those fields?”

Every day, is what he wanted to say. “Sometimes... usually when I dream. I can see them like they were.”

She saw those fields too by looking with the senses of his recollections. They were more beautiful than how he described. She imagined herself among a grove of trees, listening to birds singing fanciful songs. The sun peeked through white fluffy clouds high on a backdrop of deep blue.

Not far from where she strode, there was an attractive young woman waiting. She wore a fluttering ankle length dress of white with blue embroidery. The woman’s name was Stephania. She smiled and waved.

“What happened to those fields?” Marta asked Emil.

Her innocent question produced a stinging swarm, tearing apart the beauty and exposing the abyss lurking behind the paradise. Marta should have recoiled from the blackness, but she faced the terrible tempest undaunted.

“The Alliance destroyed them,” he said, not wanting to speak of it. “They burned everything to cinders. There is nothing left, just grey skies and charred fields.”

She regretted asking the question, seeing how it drudged up dreadful reminders. Instead of a sunny scene of undulating meadows, she now found herself trapped in a nightmare of ugliness and decay. The young woman in white had become a pillar of ash.

Marta turned from Emil. “I can see everything you see. I don’t want to, but I can. I saw the fields... I saw Stephania.”

He flinched. “Could you see her face?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t remember.”

Marta sat up and touched his hair with her soft fingertips. He was no longer in Agarha. The warm sunlight was real and he could feel cool dewy grass under his bare feet. He didn’t need to doubt his lucidity, for he was in Peştera Village as he once knew it.

Setting out empty plates and loaded dishes on a checkered blanket, was Stephania, his sister. He could see her face. He went to her and fell on his knees. She smiled and brushed the wind-blown locks from her round, dimpled cheeks. Emil looked into her luminous eyes. He had forgotten the color of those eyes.

They were blue
!
My sister had blue eyes
.

He cried.

She spoke,
where have you been, Milutz
?

Milutz
... the nickname only she called him. It sounded like a blessing spoken by an angel.

She touched his hair and he was back in Agarha, with his daughter’s hand close to the same spot. Marta pulled back and gave him privacy to relive the past. His sister’s face was there, fresh and animated.

“Thank you,” he said with excited tears.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” she said, amazed by her new ability.

His bliss turned to sadness again. She knew why.

“There is something you want to say to me, but you’re afraid to with words. I know. Please, will you tell me? I want to hear it.”

“Then you understand how difficult this is for me””

“Yes,” she replied. “Did you love her? My mother?”

He dried an errant tear pooling in the crook of his mouth. “Yes, I loved her. She was a beautiful woman. You do look so much like her.”

She saw through him the ancient yet everlasting Nadiya. Her long midnight hair flowed over effervescent skin. She had caramel eyes beset upon chiseled lines and soft Banjaran curves. Except for those familiar eyes, she couldn’t see the resilient resemblance people spoke of. Compared to her mother, she was only a girl, unremarkable and flawed. In stark contrast, her mother held her thin frame with grace. Nadiya was a flawless woman — a goddess.

Marta laid her head down on the grass and looked up at the artificial day. Together they shared Nadiya. She wanted to learn everything and he allowed her to explore the recesses of his consciousness without restriction. He wished to reveal every aspect, but there were sinister places even he was not brave enough to venture, so she avoided them and remained in his light. As they bonded, their hands became one and never parted.

From the other side of the field, Zoe watched. She should’ve been happy for the father discovering his child, but anger prevented her from feeling anything except selfish despair.

Why should he have what I’ve been deprived of
?
Why does he deserve better
?

Consequences

“How long has it been since your last service,” Dinx asked, tinkering with the servo controls of Tank’s biomechanical right arm.

“Uh, it’s been awhile.”

The big guy sat on the worktable while the tech-wiz did magic on the outdated mechanism. Every so often there would be a mumble and an obscenity or two. Normal people dismissed the jittery kid as an oddity and a source of unfair humor, but Tank respected his skills. Also, he liked the boy as a person, too.

“How come you didn’t get Patti to spring for an upgrade?”

“I hate imposing on a friend’s generosity.”

Avery “the Tank” Rocco valued kindness given to him. If it hadn’t been for the old woman’s patronage, his life could’ve turned out worse. She had shielded him from capture, given him a home, and more importantly — a reason to live. She never explained why she showed him charity; it wasn’t in her nature to do so.

Maybe he should’ve asked for a loan. He got the mech implants grafted onto his stumps not long after his injuries at the Battle of Berlin. He awoke in a British field hospital with the neural interfaces already in place. There was no orientation — no transition — no Florence Nightingale to nurse his newly acquired disability. A few months later, the Army shipped him stateside to begin a life of pity and lost ambitions.

Learning to get by without his entire right arm and both legs below mid-femur had not been easy. Wartime society didn’t give a damn about its veterans. Broken soldiers usually lived and died forgotten. He expected it and gave up hope before anyone gave him a reason to do so.

In a twist of kismet, a spitfire with a knack for getting her way entered his deprivation and refused to let him wither. She knocked sense back into his head. In the end, Patti’s tough compassion saved his soul, just as surely as Zoe had saved his backside on the battlefield.

When his wounds healed fully, she pushed for his upgrade to the third generation Clauberg Prosthetics with the Heidamen Central Nervous System Augmenter. The cen-nerve grafts were guaranteed to give better cybernetic integration and support. And, for the most part, they worked according to specs... for the most part.

The rigging wasn’t exactly the latest tech at its time, but it sufficed. Over the years, he had only one complaint. The interfaces were susceptible to cold weather and would cause his adjoining bones to ache terribly. Through normal wear and tear, the contraption started breaking down more frequently, keeping him out of service for longer stints.

In spite of the problems, he didn’t bother his dear benefactor for more handouts.

“Generosity?” Dinx sneered at Tank’s comment. “You’re talking about Patti
the Witch
Luma, right?”

“You’d be surprised, kid. Who do you think kept you off the streets?”

He stopped what he was doing. “What? You’re telling me Patti actually liked me?”

The giant laughed. “I never said liked. In fact, she hated your guts. The only reason she helped you was because of Max.”

“Really?”

“She was a strange bird, no doubt. I still remember her blowing a gasket after she caught you living in the Lounge’s cellar.”

“Yeah, I remember that. It was Max’s idea.”

“I thought she was going to kill you on the spot.” Tank chuckled so hard, he shook the table.

“It wasn’t funny. She hit me with a... a —“

“A table leg. Yep.”

“It wasn’t funny. That hurt!”

“She warned you never to come back or she’d skin you. Ha, Max was pissed. He threw a fit and ran away for a week.”

“He did?”

“Sort of. He was hiding out with one of the dancers. He’d only agreed to come home if she let you stay. So, she compromised and set you up in the old firehouse.”

Dinx hadn’t heard this story before. He felt bad for having spoken ill of her. “Do you think she’s okay?”

“I dunno.”

Zoe came to the doorway. “Did Max show up?”

“No, we haven’t seen him.”

“Come and get me when he does,” she demanded, disappearing in a hurry.

What was left of Tank’s good humor evaporated. While Dinx worked quietly, he chanted a silent prayer.

In the early morning hours, there was nothing for her to do but roam the hallways and hope for his return. At what point she had donned the thin chain with its lonely dog tag, she couldn’t recall. As with everything associated with the totem, her awareness of its existence seemed based solely on unconscious sentiment. Usually, the ritual of rubbing the disc with her thumb would help ease her nerves. Today it brought no comfort. Guilt whittled her stamina to the point where she had to give up and return to her quarters to lie down.

Opening the door to her room, she was astonished to see Max waiting on the edge of the bunk. She didn’t question how he found her room; he had returned safe and nothing else mattered.

“Max, where have you been? Everyone’s worried sick.” She went to scold him, but reconsidered when she saw his grief. “What’s wrong?”

“Patti’s dead.”

She sat down and put her arm around him. “I’m sorry.”

He leaned over and rested his head on her shoulder, inadvertently brushing his hair against her chin.

Was it selfish to fulfill her desires when he needed consoling? She didn’t care. She finally had Max to herself and she wasn’t going to let anything take him away again.

He didn’t recognize his importance to her. How could he have known? Despite what they had been through, Zoe Chacon by all intents and purposes, was nothing more than a stranger. His sorrow kept him from seeing past what his broken heart couldn’t endure.

There was a disguised nuance to her hold, one strangely recognizable, as if from an old dream he had chosen to suppress. It felt right and he didn’t want it to end. He needed it. Neither of them dared to disturb the intimacy.

She rocked to a soft hum. He recognized it as the same lullaby sung to him by Patti when he was a child. Every intonation was an exact mimic of the elder woman’s rendition, even down to the same cadence for the bridge.

The familiarity was uncanny and had the opposite effect than she intended. The adoration only fueled his self-loathing.

I’m not worth this love
, he damned himself.

The hard object in his pocket joined with him in denouncing his worthiness. He covered the pouch with his hand, afraid it would burn through and expose his sin.

What if she finds out
?
But, how can I not tell her
?
Can I trust her not to hate me for what I’ve done
?

Trusting someone is always a risk. When Max removed the tracking beacon and held it up for her to see, he took the biggest gamble of his life.

She beheld the object, confused about what it was and why he was showing it to her. Her happiness shielded her from the awful authenticity of the crime. She touched it.

It was real.

It was a beacon.

She didn’t want to accept the truth. “No,” she said. “What have you done?”

“I’m sorry.” The words were scarcely a whimper.

She jumped from the bunk. Staring at him, she demanded he denounce it as a lie. But, he wouldn’t. To withstand the betrayal, she permitted a chilled numbness to encase her. She rushed out to perform her duty as captain of the guard. If the enemy was coming, she had to be ready to meet them.

When she got to the main community corridor, the proximity alarms began wailing. The hunters were not far off, maybe less than ten minutes. Panic burned through the civilian population. People from every sector filled the halls. Children cried to parents and adults shouted questions. Anarchy ensued.

She snagged a sergeant as he passed by. “Report.”

“K9Es have been spotted in Sector One.”

Sector One — the tunnel leading to the main entrance. “Muck. Tell the patrols there to set up a barricade. I’ll get reinforcements —”

“I can’t,” he interrupted her. “We lost links and the security feeds are down. We’re blind, Captain.”

Tank and Dinx came from different directions. Marta and Emil arrived by the stairs. Max was the last to show.

“What’s going on?” the giant asked, flexing his repaired arm in anticipation for combat.

“There’s a security breach.” She turned to the sergeant. “Post two squads at every access point. Get on it!”

“Roger that,” the sergeant affirmed, running off to relay the order.

“How did they find us?” Dinx wondered.

The General knew the reason. “They found us, because he led them here.” He grabbed Max by the neck and jerked him off balance. “You bastard! These people are going to die because of you.”

Zoe pushed him back. “Stop it! It’s not his fault. He’s been here the whole time — in my quarters.”

Emil examined her for signs of deception, but her paralyzed humanity showed only dead seriousness. He accepted the alibi.

Max looked at her, but she couldn’t stomach to acknowledge him.

The Old Man came as fast as he could, just as tensions were at their worst. He tapped his cane on the stone floor. “Zoe, talk to me.”

“We got hunters outside the perimeter. I’ve sent resources to every entrance. We might be able to fight them off if I —”

“Too late,” he corrected her. “We have to evacuate.”

“I know. My men and I can stay behind to —”

“No. You must see to the families. Get them to safety. That’s your priority.”

“No, I have to stay with my men.”

“Your men are going with you.”

“But, you won’t make it if I don’t stay here and hold them off.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’m the only one staying behind.”

She understood what he meant, and her frost cracked. “What? No, you can’t do this. I won’t let you.”

“Zoe, don’t argue.”

“No! Not you, too.”

“Zoe, remember the plan.”

Her jaw tightened, not out of anger, but to keep her from breaking down in front of the others. “Damn you. It don’t have to be like this. I should stay behind. It’s my job! You have to live!”

For once, he became a stern father. Wrapping his fingers tight around her arm, he said, “It’s not your fate. Do as I say.”

He didn’t waste any more precious time quarrelling. Giving her an encouraging smile, he limped to the stairs.

Tank patted her shoulder. “I’m with you, Chica. What do you want me to do?”

“So am I,” Emil added. “What do you need?”

The burden of leadership weighed on her. She pointed at Marta, “Protect her.” She called to a soldier nearby, “Corporal.”

The young man ran over. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Protect these people. Take one of the old tunnels and get them to the surface.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tank, go with the General and Marta. Keep them safe.”

“I’m on it.”

Pavel held out his hand. “Good luck.”

She accepted the gesture. “You, too.”

Tank, Emil, and Marta followed the Agarhan soldier to a separate passage. As Zoe set herself to work, Max tried to follow.

She pushed him away; gone was the compassion. “No. Just leave.”

She ran off to oversee the evacuation.

Emil returned and yelled, “Let’s go, kid. Are you with us?”

Max moved to go with him. Noticing Dinx tagging along, he stopped. “No. Go with Chacon. You’re safer with her. Where I’m going, you don’t want to be part of.”

“But —"

“No buts. Go with her.”

Max left Dinx standing in the middle of the passage, scared witless and incapable of moving.

The exodus went smoothly and with no delays. By the time the bounty hunters neared the antechamber outside the main gate, the centenarian was the only one left inside. Per his orders, the conduits to the solar emitters were smashed. Without the regenerating circuits, the only light available came from their dying glow. He lingered out in the open, appearing vulnerable as he supported himself on the unadorned wooden cane.

The intruders forced the heavy gate open and poured into the cavern like cockroaches bursting from a bloated carcass. K9Es slinked ahead and encircled the lone target. The Vegas led the majority of Cho’s hunter corps to the center of the field before halting their advance. The only reason they stopped — there was a loony geezer standing in their way.

He coughed, “That’s far enough. I must ask you to leave peacefully. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The contemptuous laughter echoed off the cavern’s foundations.

Paz distorted his face. “Tak tis
pendejo
.”

The hunters didn’t attack him as they would have a younger, virile man. Their overconfidence gave his geriatric reflexes the extra interval needed to react. He raised the cane, revealing the aqua colored crystal embedded in the handle. It burned, reabsorbing his own amplified power.