Legacy (Alliance Book 3) (20 page)

He could feel the soldiers jumping onto the rope behind him, and then he saw a large number of them running in the street between the buildings, and climbing the fire escape to the roof. He switched to the old gun. He’d be shooting to kill now, not to wound; hoping to inspire some of the soldiers to give up by watching their friends bleed. It’s all he could think to do. He told the rest of them on the comm to use the old guns and to shoot to kill, and hoped nothing else was wrong with the flier and they could take off as soon as they got there.

The girls were all in, and he saw Riley and Drake running towards them, shooting at the soldiers that were landing on the roof, backing carefully to the flier, and finally he got Brody inside and yelled for Ella to take a look at him, and then turned around to make sure they were all in and safe and saw Drake kneeling out there in front of the soldiers, holding a bloody detonator in his hands.

He must have wired himself before going out there. He was buying them time. So the flier was not okay. It’s the only thing it could be, the only thing that would make Drake do something like that, and then Trelix said something about the reactor and he knew for sure what Drake intended to do. Knew, too, that he was right. There was likely no other way for the rest of them to get out of there alive, not with the flier the way it was; only he couldn’t let Drake do this for them. The kids needed him. And Ella. He glanced at her, tears running down her face, her hand twisting the ring on her finger, Idris’ ring, his ring. He couldn’t let him die.

Trelix seemed to understand it too, and didn’t fight him on it. He didn’t want to damage the connectors on the vest by inadvertently getting them wet from the blood, so he pulled his jacket and shirt off, hoping nobody was staring directly at his back. Trelix tightened the straps around him, not saying a word. He was ready. He just hoped Drake would do what he told him to do when he got there. But the giant sat in the patch of grass stubbornly, shaking his head at him. It didn’t make any sense for him to do this now. Didn’t make sense for both of them to die, not after Drake made him promise to take care of the kids, but Drake just kept telling him to go back to the flier and leave, not even looking at him, his voice so quiet he wasn’t sure anyone but him could hear the words.

“Stand down,” a new voice got his attention, and he watched a tall man with striking blue eyes, wearing a parade uniform of a colonel walk out from behind the soldiers and approach them. The eyes looked familiar, and then he spoke and he hoped whoever was guarding the door to the flier wouldn’t let Brody leave, only he knew that if the kid wanted to, he’d find a way. And he did. He heard the sound of his steps on the stairs, heard him walk up behind him, and watched him walk right up to the man, straight backed, eyes on the colonel’s, unblinking. He looked calm, except for his hands, knuckles white the way he was squeezing his fingers into fists.

“Let them go. Let all of my friends go. You have me,” his voice quiet, controlled.

The man nodded to him, soldier to soldier, a stranger.

He couldn’t let Brody do this, and something in the man’s eyes made him not trust him already. He got up and grabbed Brody by the shoulder with his free hand, keeping his eyes on his father, “We are not leaving you here, Brody. Sorry, but we can’t do that.”

Brody tilted his head to the side and whispered for him alone, “We all make our choices, Lancer. Mine today almost got all of you killed, and I’m sorry for that. But this is still my mission, and I am still in charge, so you will do what I ask of you. As a soldier, if not as a friend. You and Drake need to leave,” and he turned his head away, looking at his father’s face again, waiting.

Lancer took a step back towards Drake, watching, trying to think of a way to fix this so he could save Brody, if not Drake. He watched Fuller point the gun at his son’s face, hand steady. Watched his mouth twist into a strange smile when he was telling Brody about his mother killing herself, and Trina screaming his name in the lab. Brody’s face looked the same, no emotion on it, and he couldn’t imagine the control it took for him to not lash out at this man after what he’d just told him, and he knew he was doing it for them, knew the kid was waiting for Drake and him to get on the damn flier and leave, but he couldn’t do that. He liked him too much to let him die like this, humiliated by his father in front of everyone, with the news of his mother dying like that weighing on him.

He knew what Fuller meant when he said that it didn’t matter about the explosives, that the soldiers were connected to him through the neuro net and that they would do whatever he told them to, like Brody’s soldiers did with Hassinger, or what he had done to all the people in Reston. He pushed the guilt down and whispered to Drake to get Brody out of there, no matter what, waited for him to nod, and lunged for the man, grabbing him hard by the throat, his fingers wrapping around it tightly enough to kill him if he held on long enough. He registered the look of surprise and fear in his eyes, and knew he was in control now; knew he could still protect all of them.

He let his fingers relax just enough to not strangle him yet, Fuller gasping for breath, hard, his face turning purple, and then told him calmly that he would let them all go, all but him, in exchange for his own miserable life. He could tell that this man would not sacrifice himself for anything, could see it in his eyes, and he trusted that Drake would get Brody back safely, even if Brody hated him for it afterwards. He watched the man take his screen out and punch something into it, and then waited, his hand still wrapped firmly around his neck. He waited until he heard the door of the flier close and then for a few moments after that, until he knew for sure the flier was in the air, and he let him go then and lifted his hands up.

Two soldiers approached, carefully now, their implants no longer making them brave.

“Punch 227 on the screen in my pant pocket and it’ll disable the detonator,” he told the one closest to him. The soldier got the screen out and punched in the numbers, his hand shaking. He saw the light go out on the detonator and dropped it on the ground in front of Fuller. The soldiers took the vest off of him, working quickly, not worried anymore.

“Put your hands behind your back,” Fuller’s voice. He did, and felt the wide metal band close around his wrists. He thought it strange, that they’d use a slave band on him and not biters. As soon as the soldiers stepped away, Fuller punched him square in the face. He staggered backwards, taken by surprise. He could tell the man wasn’t done. He was ready now. He watched the man’s eyes as he punched him, trying to read him, and he could tell the man was enjoying this, that he was like Hassinger in that way.

Fuller stopped after a few more punches, and motioned to the two soldiers. They grabbed him roughly by the arms and snapped at him to walk. He didn’t have any kind of choice about it, and he knew that it wasn’t really their fault, that he had no reason to be angry at these men. They were simply following orders. They walked him to the opening in the roof, and had him climb down the stairs. One of the guards pulled a rope through his belt and held it taut while he climbed. There were guards at the landing, guns pointing at his face, motioning for him to follow. He did, and after a short ride in the elevator they were on the street and heading to one of the taller buildings, a block away from the one with the lab.

Nobody said anything to him while they walked, but he couldn’t help but notice the passersby gawking at the procession. Finally, they were in the elevator again, going down four stories, he noted to himself. The doors opened to a dimly lit, long corridor with identical doors along the sides. One of these slid open and the soldiers shoved him inside, and shut the door after him. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the dark. He spotted a cot along the wall and a toilet in the corner across from it. That was it. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be here for long, a day, maybe two, before they shot him. He could manage it for that long. He lay down on the cot, closing his eyes against the gray walls, and against the ugly words Fuller spat at his son. This man he could kill, and not regret doing it. And Brody just taking it, not moving anything on his face, not wanting Fuller to know he was hurting him. He hoped he’ll forgive him for forcing him to go back to the flier like that. Hoped he’ll understand why he had to do it, even if it takes him years. And he hoped, most of all, that Brody wouldn’t try to rescue him.

He must have fallen asleep; the sound of the sliding door made him jump. He was on his feet in a flash, waiting. Fuller walked in, flanked by two guards, one of the guards dragging a chair into the middle of the room, the sound of the legs scraping the floor making him cringe. Fuller motioned to the guards and they were gone. He was still wearing his parade whites, his hands behind his back, and he saw, with not a little satisfaction, that his neck was bruised, an ugly purple. The man paced, and finally sat down in the chair. He stood in front of him, watching him.

“S Squad. Interesting.... I met one of you S Squad freaks before. I am told you are some kind of special, privileged. No implants, no histories, no records. It’s hard to negotiate with someone who doesn’t really exist, don’t you think?” Fuller looked up at him, his eyes unnervingly Brody-like.

“I wasn’t aware we were negotiating, Fuller. I don’t have anything to offer you, so just get on with it.”

The man nodded and smiled, “Oh, but that’s where you are wrong. Of course you do, Maxton. You see, you had them take my son away from me and I wasn’t quite finished with him. But I have a plan, Maxton. I always have a plan, and whether you like it or not, you will do exactly what I need you to do,” and he stood up and walked right up to him, watching his face. He could probably kill him now, even with the slave band on. He knew the guards were just outside the door and would shoot him for it, but they were going to shoot him anyway....

“I know what you’re thinking, Maxton, but you don’t want to do that. You see, if you so much as lay a hand on me, you will be responsible for killing innocent people, and given how willing you were to get yourself blown up just now, I don’t think you can stomach that. There is a room full of Zoriner girls, the ones who weren’t in the lab. My soldiers have orders to shoot them all. They are across the hall from you, and you’ll start meeting them shortly, one at a time, albeit each meeting will only last a little while,” and he walked away and knocked on the door. The guards came in and ushered him out of the room, leaving the chair behind. He knew what the son of a bitch was planning. He would use the Zoriner girls against him, use them to get to Brody, and he couldn’t think of a single person he’s ever hated more than he did this man.

He slid down against the wall trying to think of something, anything at all that he could do now. He knew Fuller was smart enough to have figured out he could access the comm on the flier, if not talk to Brody directly. He saw his scars by now and likely knew that he wouldn’t tell him anything if he tortured him, so he played him using other people’s lives. Unless he was bluffing. If he were a religious man, he’d pray that he was.

The door slid open and he heard a whimper as a young girl was pushed into the room, door sliding closed behind her. Not bluffing then. The girl huddled in the corner, looking at him, face afraid. She was young, and the skimpy sleeveless shirt she had on did little to conceal the many bruises on her arms. He put his head down, not wanting to look at her, afraid to remember her face if he couldn’t find a way to keep her safe.

“Why are they keeping you here, if you are one of them? It doesn’t make any kind of sense,” her voice, shaky but soft.

He stood up, looking at her too-young face. “How many more of you are here?” he asked.

The girl shook her head, “I am not sure. There were thirty eight of us in that room across the hall, but there could be others. I don’t know, is what I’m saying. I am Tishana,” and she got up and took a few steps towards him.

He didn’t want her to be this close. He could see her far too clearly. She looked sixteen at the most. He didn’t want to hurt this kid, but he owed her the truth. He leaned his head against the wall, took a deep breath, and told her everything he could, softly, almost in a whisper. Told her about what they did here earlier today, and how Fuller was threatening to use them, the girls, against him so that he would get Brody, his son, to come back, likely so he could kill him. Something he prevented him from doing before. The girl didn’t say a word, just kept looking at him.

She took another step towards him, “It’s okay, you know. It’s likely better that they shoot us than whatever it is they plan to do with us. Don’t give up your friend. You should never give up your friends,” and she walked away from him, slid down the wall across the room, and put her head down.

He expected tears at least, not this. Maybe there was a way to convince Fuller to let him talk to his lab, make him think that it’s all he had access to somehow and then he could relay enough of this to Dyrig. He could speak to Dyrig in code, they knew each other well enough to do that. If there was a way to fix this, Dyrig would find it. Maybe they could override the soldiers’ implants....

The door opened and Fuller and one of the guards walked in. The guard slowly walked over to the girl and pulled her up by her banded hands. Fuller told her to sit in the chair. She did, and he knew Fuller wanted her to be close enough for him to see what he would do to her.

“Bring me a bloody light, will you? It’s too damn dark in here,” Fuller barked at the guard. This was his chance then.

“You win, Fuller. I’ll get to Brody. I just need to borrow one of your screens. Let her go.”

Fuller smiled and shook his head at him, “Not until my son is here, Maxton, not until then.” He took out his screen and typed something into it and walked over to him, took the band off and tied his hands in front of him, and then handed the screen to him without a word and leaned on the door of the cell, waiting. He typed quickly, coding as much as he could so Fuller couldn’t figure out what he did quickly enough, and signed off, handing the screen back to him.