Rebels (25 page)

Finally.
Airgirl is going down
. The decoys really got her.

She reaches for her sword. Just as she pulls it from the dirt, I race from behind the tree. A kick to the arm and a series of punches to the head. One to the liver. Now she'll really pay.

I finish her off with a roundhouse kick to the chest.

She flies backward, lands on the ground, and rolls right over the edge.

Oh no . . .

I have my zinger in one hand, the rock edge in the other. I'm digging in so hard, one of my nails breaks. The pain helps me focus.

Suspended in space, the longer I hang, the weaker I'll get, and this . . . whatever just happened has worn me out. What would normally be a gentle breeze only makes me dig in harder.

Don't look down
, I tell myself. I force myself to look up.

The curling roots of the farthest synth-tree have snaked through the soil and cracked through Helix's rocky foundation. Perhaps I might be able to reach them.

This, unfortunately, will require both of my hands.

Already once today I've lost my zinger.
I'll find it again
, I think, lifting the blade. My grip begins to slip.

My breathing's ragged. The altitude is making me sick, and now that my adrenaline is crashing, I'm discovering I'm stunningly not okay with heights. So much open space above and below me. I've lived below for far too long.

Then that damn sword comes sailing toward me. It falls short and I know I've underestimated my opponent once again. Good thing she's alive to still question. Bad thing that this fight will continue.

She crawls over the edge of the island. I can't catch my breath. I'll let her come to me. See just who will back down first.

I brace for impact and square up, but she still hits me hard.

We're locked together on the ground, getting ugly.

I've got two fingers on her neck. Right on the artery.

She's trying to choke me. It's working remarkably well.

“I press this spot a little harder, you'll be paralyzed,” I say hoarsely. “You'll never walk again, you hear me?”

“You'll run out of air first,” she says.

We hold like this, bodies tensed, staring at each other.

That's when I see the symbol.

Tiny as mine. In the same spot on her iris.

We have the same marking. Her eyes are different, just like mine.

That small neon shape, glowing a light greenish. Practically invisible, even if you were looking for it. The imperfection they never caught in the Orphanage. It could've been the end of me, that little squiggle.

And she's got it, too. Something isn't right. Suddenly, my head is vibrating inside. Temples throb like they'll bust my head wide open.

From the darkest part of my brain, a voice explodes from some memory I've never had.

When you find her, you will know who she is . . .

I'm scared. The first time I've ever admitted it, even to myself.

“. . . simply by looking her in the eyes,” she says to me.

She releases me and I roll away. She looks as confused as I feel.

“How'd you know what I was thinking?” I ask.

“I heard you.”

“It was
inside
my head!”

“Still,” she says. “The words were already on my tongue. I couldn't keep my mouth shut.”

“Huh.” I have that problem sometimes, too. “Those words. They weren't mine. It was some other voice. . . .”

“A man's voice.” She nods. “Yes. I heard him as well.”

It could be another one of her tricks, but one look in her eyes tells me I'm mistaken. She's as freaked out as I am.

“Who is he?” I ask.

We stare at each other. With only his voice, neither of us has much of an answer. For once, I wish she was talking.

“Have you always had that in your eye?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding. She looks like a little, frightened girl.

Suddenly, I feel like one.

We stare at each other. Unable to look away. A breeze lifts my hair. Hers, too.

We both look up.

PCF patrollers hover overhead, surrounding us.

“Do not move,” booms some mechanical authority. “You are hereby restrained on order of the Independent High Council. Failure to comply will result in the usage of force. Do not move. You are hereby restrained on order of the Independent High Council . . .”

Oh, Cassina, I am truly going to kill you.

I have lived here my entire life, but it's only recently that soldiers have violated the sanctuary my father established. It seems they drop by every time I have an uninvited guest. I have always been told that trouble could rise from the Lower Levels and no quantity of air would be a great enough barrier without their armed support. But who are these soldiers to warn me, on my own island?

My guest, uninvited or not, demands my hospitality. She growls a name, and I feel her anger is almost endless.

“Who's Cassina?” I ask.

“The reason the PCF are here. She told them where to find me, I know it. That airhead set me up!” She's under the fall trees, crouched low to the earth, looking up at me with fury. “Get down! They'll see us.”

I peer at the fleet of patrollers circling directly above us.

“A bit late for that,” I say.

“Now!”

I dislike her tone, her strategy even less. The trees will offer us little protection from their scanners. They knew we were here long before they arrived.

“Failure to comply will result in the use of force,” blares the speakerfeed. It repeats itself as often as Etiquette Tutor.

“There's too much open field for you to escape on foot,” I say.

“You think you're any faster?”

“What I think is that they have certainly not come for
me
.”

“I have a craft hidden, not far that way.” She points. I can't see it, so it must be farther than we could ever hope to get.

The patrollers draw lower, their dual engines creating violent gusts that sway the trees around us. The leaves blow bare. Soon they'll be no cover at all.

Once again, I sense this girl strongly; her vulnerability is oozing through her silitex. She's growing increasingly frantic, realizing there's little time and too many unanswered questions.

She turns to me, hair whipped into improper stylings, expression ferocious.

“Tell me!” she yells over the mechanical roar. “I need to know
where Kane is
!”

I have reached my limit of tolerance.

“Do all assassins come in pairs?” I yell right back.

We glower in a silent battle of wills.

“You are hereby restrained,” blares the speakerfeed.

I won't answer her question
, I decide. Not with my blood still wet on her fist. Not with my mark hidden within her eye as well.

Her body tenses. She's going to run for it and they will gun her down. She is my guest. I must show her hospitality.

“This way,” I tell her.

For an instant, she doesn't comprehend. Then horror crosses her face. She's used to working alone.

“These crafts above are only the beginning, as you well know,” I say rationally. “We're surrounded. As you are also aware, your chances of escaping are nil. You will be obliterated within two feet.”

She knows I speak the truth. I am also her only option.

Unfortunately, she is mine as well.

At least I've had Governess and Marius to mold me with proper manners, no matter how resistant I've been. I've learned by being
pushed and pushing back. She has only this Kane person. They are curious killers, the both of them.

Marius will succeed in finding me a cohabitant, I know that in my heart of hearts, her charms sealing my fate. Condemning me. I see my future clearly, enslaved to this monotonous system. Death by politeness. By decree of the Independent High Council.

“Listen closely,” I tell her, “for your life depends on my every word. . . .”

I elbow her hard in the belly. She doubles over and I grab the sword by her feet. Then I grab her by the hair and drag her with one arm, the blade against her neck. She moans. If I spill her blood, mine is next.

“Be careful,” she says.

“Gotta make it realistic,” I delight in saying back.

The sword won't sing for me, not when it means doing her harm.

I'll honor our deal. We both have freedom on our minds. Only rebels consider death freedom. I do not.

We have a plan, and it makes me want to puke.

I have no other option
, I tell myself. There are too many PCF. And she still hasn't told me where to find Kane. I can do it without her, I'm pretty sure. But knowing his location would sure make it easier.

Meeting her has only given me more questions. Like the eye thing. What's that about? If I don't take her, I'll never know.

Still, something isn't right. I'm a fighter. I need to stop running. But now is definitely not the time so I have to take her.

I hate her even more now that it's come to this.

I look up toward the patrollers. Indra's finest? I can't believe I bought that. One word from Cassina and they turn on their own. I go from Special Op to enemy of the Indrithian state before most people eat lunch. Surely my record would exonerate me. Surely they would
see all I've overcome. Surest of all, I know Indra is an unforgiving bitch that would kick me down to a paroled Hub scrubber.

My fall was planned all along.

Right now, Cassina is reclining somewhere with a pointy-chinned grin.

In SpecOps, you study the PCF training handbook. Then they teach you how to do everything better.

They're hunting me right now. I count six officers in camouflage silitex in the synth-scaping around us. They're fanning out until we're flanked. I hesitate any longer and they'll have us completely surrounded.

I've got a blade to her neck. I've got a half-dozen guys who want my head decorating their holofile.

This can't turn out well.

But why does this airgirl have my symbol?

When you find her, you'll know who she is.
That's what the voice in my head said. But who is she?

“What now?” I ask her.

“Your craft.”

“No way we can get there with them—”

A shrill, high-pitched whistle cuts me off. It's coming out of airgirl's mouth.

“Are you insane? You really think that's gonna scare PCF?”

Before I can finish my sentence, her gigantic white horse is bounding toward us, tail swinging back and forth. It's . . . astonishing. I've seen one before, but only in an Archive with her.

This is as real as it gets.

“Horses are extinct,” I say, mostly to remind myself.

“Then don't get on,” she says, lowering the blade from her own neck. I grab her wrist before she leaves me completely exposed.

“I'm staying with you,” I say.

“That's up to you.” Still I catch the flick of her lower lip. Classic sign of hesitation.

She has no idea how to get off her own island without me. She needs me and she hates it.

I need her and I hate it even more.

◊  ◊  ◊

I'm fearless on my speeder, cutting air at breakneck speeds. An animal is something else. Speeders and crafts don't breathe beneath you. They don't have minds of their own, unless carefully programmed. You can't initiate turbogear on a horse, but we go so fast it almost feels like flying.

And I might fly off the side at any moment.

“Put your arms around me,” she says.

I hold so tight I could squeeze the life out of her. That's one way to kill her, I guess.

“Less than a mile northeast,” I say, checking the tracker with a shaky hand. “And the PCF are right on our tail.”

Its
tail. Whatever. All I know is they're close.

“They won't fire if you stay close to me,” airgirl says. “Hold tight.”

Not a problem
.

“Hurry, Veda,” she says. The animal makes a weird noise—a cross between a laugh and moan—then goes faster. She's a different airgirl on this horse. They act almost as one.

Now the trees are tall and dense, and the crafts are unable to follow us through without crashing. Airgirl directs the beast with precision. Her movements are quick, her muscles barely flickering. Veda pounds out pathways that never existed. Branches slap me with every bound.

I'd take dirt and rock any day over all this so-called nature.

A tree comes straight for us.

“Duck,” airgirl yells, and I do, just in time. A thick branch brushes the top of my head. A second later, there'd have been no head to duck.

“Duck!” she yells again, and I realize I can die just as easily with her by my side.

I check the tracker. “Just about there,” I say. “It's coming up on the right.”

We see the smoke before the clearing itself. But it's the fire that spooks the horse. It rises on two legs, making its version of a scream. We're tossed from its back and I crash to the ground.

My shoulder . . . I just did something to my shoulder. It feels loose. I'm on my knees and my left arm just dangles there. I know how to fix it. I just have to clear my mind and . . .

The pain of popping it back in place nearly overwhelms me. Livia holds me steady, and all I'm wondering about is why she hasn't kept running.

You can't miss my patroller. It's right there. Half of it, really. All the pieces are there, just blackened and blown apart. We watch it smolder, and our escape plan with it.

What's left of it just explodes.

◊  ◊  ◊

I stagger to my feet and I help airgirl up and her horse is circling back, regaining its senses. We hold each other up until the horse comes.