Spear of Light (43 page)

Charlie asked Jean Paul: “Will you go to Farro and be sure she knows these are here? And tell her to be ready for us?”

Jean Paul headed toward the
Storm
. In moments his tall lanky form had melted into the night, although they heard his footsteps long after.

Why were these ships here now? Did it have anything to do with them? Nona had said Richard and his crowd weren't being run by the real Revolution people, but these logos looked authentic. He might have thought they were Richard's mystery no-show help except that Richard's reaction suggested he'd never seen them before. He glanced at Kyle. “We have to go inside,” he said.

Kyle looked grim.

What about Amanda and Nona? Surely the revolution wouldn't be fond of Nona.

He walked faster.

Inside of the hanger, people milled, drinking cup after cup of water to slake the thirst from the long desert walk, and talking in low tones. Weariness and dust clung to almost everyone.

He didn't see any sign of whoever had flown in on the planes, or of Richard and his leaders. Only minions. To his relief he found Nona quickly, over in a corner talking to Amanda. She offered him a small, tired smile.

He leaned in, making sure he had all of their attention. “Those are Shining Revolution ships out there. Real ones. With real insignia.”

Nona's eyes widened. “How do you know?”

It was a good question. “They're fast, military, and they're professionally painted with the right logo. Everything about them is good quality, and a little scary.”

She pursed her lips. “Is that who was supposed to help?”

He hesitated. “I don't think so.”

“Maybe we can find out,” she said.

“You shouldn't be seen. Or recognized. Where's Amy?”

Amanda gestured toward a group of young people. “I think they're deciding to desert their post.”

Charlie frowned. “Can they be hurried up? I want you away.”

“Take Nona,” Amanda said. “I'm not leaving Amy or forcing her.”

The urge to get Nona away burned like a heartbeat, an instinctual thing more than a protective one. These were the people who had killed Chrystal. If they would do that, they might kill Nona or use her as a hostage.

Nona's skin had paled to ivory.

“Let's get you out of here.”

She nodded, ever so slightly, and picked up her pack. “Let's go now.”

He turned to Kyle. “Will you circulate? Tell people we're leaving soon. Tell everyone we brought—they'll know who else to tell.”

Kyle looked serious. “Okay.”

“I'll be back.” Charlie clapped him on the shoulder to thank him and whispered to Nona, “Walk normally. Stop and talk to people. Don't look up. There are more likely to be cameras above us than below us.”

He felt every breath of time as they worked their way outside of the hanger and beyond the light spilling from its open door. It felt better in the velvet and quiet dark of early morning, moving steadily toward the pale lights of the
Storm
. He held her hand, warm inside of his, and didn't let her go until they arrived at the ramp up into the
Storm
. Jean Paul himself handed her in, and then came and stood in the doorway. “Farro is doing a slow warm to be sure she's ready to take off.”

“Good idea.” Charlie went around him and up the steps and lifted Nona's chin and crushed her mouth with a brief, hard kiss. “Stay safe. Don't go back to the station. For anything. Fly away from us if you feel threatened.”

“Do you have to go?” she asked.

“Of course. We'll start sending people your way. I hope. Help get them settled. Tell Farro to be ready. Tell her I didn't have time to stop and talk.”

Her voice came out crackly and barely above a whisper. “I hope so too. Stay safe.”

“I'll be back soon.”

He and Jean Paul walked quickly back toward the hanger. He had hoped to pass Amanda and Amy on their way, and maybe some others as well. But the path back was empty except for the noise of night insects and the spare lights of the stars and stations above them.

The hanger was still full. He found Kyle. “Did you learn anything?”

“Whoever flew those planes isn't in here.”

“All right,” Charlie said. “Here goes.” He climbed up on the same skimmer Richard had used to issue instructions earlier. He banged a metal part against the metal hull until he had people's attention.

“Most of you will have learned by now that we came from Gyr Island and Lagara to bring our people home. We would all like to see the Next go away, or to have the Next have never come. We would like the world to be what it once was. But that's wishful thinking, and it's time to stop fighting blindly.”

He pointed at Amanda, who stood nearby. “Amanda is one part of the head of one of our older First Families. She risked much by coming here, but she came to save her daughter. Even more, she came to save Lym. We cannot let the Shining Revolution bring war to Lym.”

He recognized a man in the back, although he couldn't remember his name. Someone from one of the farms, anyway. He called out, “So how do you plan to stop it?”

“There's three Shining Revolution ships out there,” someone said. “The war is here.”

“Not yet,” Charlie said. “Not yet. Even if it comes, who among you is willing to betray Lym? Most people from the Glittering,” he pointed up, “Most of them would sacrifice Lym to save their own lives. But we know that without this planet there might as well be no humanity here. This is our soul.”

A beat of silence blossomed.

Amanda spoke into it. “We need unity. My family fell into the same insanity that many of us did and believed that fighting among ourselves was acceptable. But I am going to step down from my brother's side and work for unity across all of Lym. We must stand together. It would feel good to fight the Next, but that is not our place. Fighting is an easy solution to a complex problem, and it won't fix anything.”

Amy watched her mom, looking pleased.

Charlie wondered if Nona had told her about Manny and Manna Springs and how her brother had been deposed. He had to assume she knew. In which case she was being a better politician than he had given her credit for. He announced, “The ship that we came in—the
Storm
—will be leaving soon. There is room for everyone who came from here. There is no time for a lot of talking or even a lot of deciding. If you want to come back with us, be prepared to leave in ten minutes. Meet right outside.”

He looked around the hangar. Most people were still looking at him. “I'll see you out there.”

Charlie hopped down from the skimmer's wing and made his way through the crowded hangar. Before he reached the door, he heard another voice, and he turned to see someone else addressing the crowd. A man whose name he'd known once, so someone from here. “There is another choice. The Revolution ships out there are a sign that our time has come. We can beat the Next.”

“No, you can't.” Charlie hesitated briefly, wanting to say more. But that would cost him this brief window, and everyone in the hangar was an adult. They could choose on their own.

He slid through one of the smaller hangar doors and into the station proper. It still looked very much like it had last time he was there, and he made his way back toward the officers' galley, where he was nearly certain Richard and the Shining Revolution leaders had gone.

He ran Wilding Station, but he hadn't run this one; he'd barely graduated from his most basic adult study programs the year he apprenticed here. Still, he remembered a back way into the food preparation area.

The galley served as a prep area for a long buffet that had been used to feed the rangers. Charlie had prepped vegetables and cleaned dishes in here for a dull month once. A mirror designed to allow the kitchen staff to see the tables let him spot Richard and Hiroma. They sat opposite him, about halfway across the room, and the mirror showed their expressions, which did not look happy.

Three other people sat with their backs to him, and two more presented him with their profiles. So, five Shining Revolution. Two or three were women. All were smartly dressed in black uniforms with short-cut hair. Shining Revolution tattoos decorated their well-muscled arms.

The people who killed Chrystal. Not literally, but these people reeked of ruthlessness. They were seasoned, while Richard and his cronies were merely enthusiastic.

He shivered.

Classic Shining Revolution. It might as well have been Vadim and Nayli with their backs to him. Except the woman who would have to be Nayli was actually even smaller and more petite; almost like a child.

They had chosen a table close enough for him to hear snatches of the conversation. The woman's voice carried pretty well. “—you from killing yourself for nothing. You'd have been shredded.”

Charlie had to listen harder to hear Richard say, “We'd have killed a lot of them.”

“That's assuming the attackers you hired actually made it through the Next's defenses.”

Charlie strained, but he could only hear part of Richard's reply . . . something about having picked the farthest something-or-other from Iron's Reach and . . . an inaudible mumble and then one of the revolutionaries spoke, finally clear. “Three days. That's all you have to hold it together for.”

Richard sounded almost desperate. “I'll have a part?”

One of the men, this time. “Yes. You'll take Manna Springs, set it up as a base for us.”

“These people won't help me with that.”

Charlie had to struggle to stay quiet.

“Leave them here,” the woman said. “Maybe we'll find something useful for them to do. If not, it might be a nice safe place.”

She got up and headed toward the kitchen. Definitely
not
Nayli. Her hair was streaked with red and her face perfectly made up, so that she might have stepped from a fashion plate. One of the men turned around, his face a block of muscle, his jaw sporting a single long-healed scar. “Maureen?”

She turned back toward the table. “Yes?”

“Do they have any stim in this end of nowhere?”

“I'll look.”

Charlie had a split second to decide. He turned his back to the door she'd come in through and opened a cupboard, rummaging in it as if he were looking for something. He pulled out a box of what turned out to be crackers.

Her footsteps were light and precise. “Hello,” she said. Her voice was conversational.

“Hi.” He turned around slowly. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have any stim?”

“Sure.” He pointed at a silver machine on the far side of the kitchen. “Over there.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Can you make us some?”

He did few quick calculations. Was what he might learn worth the time he might lose? He took a deep breath. “Let me show you how to make it.”

She stepped close, her head level with the cup of his shoulder. “Okay. Where are you from?”

“I'm a ranger.” He rummaged in a drawer for the right flavor packet. At home, making stim might be a loving activity that took some time, but here they did it quickly so rangers could work.

“That means you take care of this place. That's good work,” she said. She was looking right at him, her eyes intelligent and sharp. “Lym is beautiful.”

He ripped open the top of a packet big enough for a full pot and poured the crystals into the bottom of an empty heated carafe. “I'm glad you like it. Is this your first visit? Where are you from?”

“I was born on a mining ship. Now I travel.” She pointed at her uniform.

“I see that.” He filled the pot with water. “Will you be here long?”

She shook her head. “No. Maybe a few days.”

He placed the pot onto a tray and surrounded it with cups. He pressed a button on the pot. “Give it about five minutes. You can take it to your table.”

She smiled at him. “Thanks.”

He did his best to look like he wasn't in any hurry as he left the room. He made sure to bring the crackers he'd been rummaging for when she came in with him.

To his relief, Jean Paul and Amanda had done the work of organizing the group outside of the hanger. “We have to go,” he said as soon as arrived. “Are we waiting for anything?”

“A few people went to get their things.” Amanda frowned at him. “What are you doing with crackers?”

He smiled. “Long story. How much time did you give them?”

“Two minutes.”

“Good.”

He did a brief count. “This isn't everyone.”

“No,” Jean Paul said. “A few uniforms started talking up the next fight, making fun of people for wanting to come back and be safe.”

“Were the uniforms with us out there? Or did they come from the ships?”

Jean Paul glanced at the new ships and looked thoughtful. “They must have been with us. They were dirty.”