Текст книги "The Earth Dwellers"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Siena

Tristan and his friends—the funny one, Roc, and the nice one, Tawni—head east with Hawk and Lara, back to where they came from, deep underground or whatever. I hope we will, but I don’t ’spect we’ll see ’em again anytime soon. After all, who would purposely join a war?

The day is hot as scorch, go figure. The ground’s so dry that the trod of their feet is already kicking up a trail of dust in their wake.

“See you soon, ya wooloo baggard,” Roc shouts back with a wave.

“You know, if I wasn’t so coolheaded, I might shoot a pointer through your heart for a comment like that,” I say, smiling.

“But then you’d lose your star student,” Roc says.

“Don’t ferget yer side of the agreement,” Skye hollers.

“We won’t,” Tristan says. “Before the end of the third day, I’ll finally prove myself to you.”

“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” Skye mutters, “but I’ll kill me some Glassies either way.”

“C’mon, Sis,” I say, “we’ve gotta say goodbye to Jade.” I grab her elbow and steer her back into New Wildetown. She’s cursing under her breath, something ’bout how only someone with rocks for brains would trust people who live in holes in the ground.

“Jade’s waiting,” I say, urging her forward faster. We’ve barely spent a lick of time with our sister since we arrived home. Scorch, we’ve barely seen her since we rescued her from a life of slavery on the Soaker ships. In a normal world we’d be spending every moment of every day with her. But this ain’t a normal world. Least not now, if it ever was ’fore.

As we approach the line of tents, I see her, sleek black hair braided in a single spine down her back, sitting cross-legged in the durt, playing with a baby, who’s crawling ’round in front of her.

Skye stops me with an arm in front of my chest. “Promise me,” she says, looking at me.

“Promise you what?”

Skye’s eyes are like glittering brown stones. “That you won’t die. That you’ll be more careful than me. That you’ll stay alive to take care of Jade.”

I chew on my sunburnt bottom lip, feeling it sting a little. What’s she saying? “Skye, you ain’t gonna die neither,” I say. “Yer the roughest, toughest person I know. Yer—”

“Sie—”

“I ain’t finished.” I put my hand on her shoulder, squeeze a little. Skye doesn’t even flinch back from my touch, like she usually does. “Yer my idol, Skye. Always have been. When I lost you…”—I pause, fight back the emotion that’s rolling through me—“…I thought I’d lost me too. But then I realized that I was who I was ’cause of watching you. And I was stronger’n I ever knew ’fore. You’re a part of me, always will be. So I’ll promise you I’ll do my best to stay alive for Jade’s sake, but I won’t promise you I won’t do anything wooloo out there, ’cause if you’re in trouble, I’m gonna do everything I can to save you.”

And then she’s pulling me into her chest, harder and fiercer’n she’s ever done ’fore, and I can hardly breathe but I don’t need to, don’t want to, ’cause I got exactly what I need.

We only release each other when a voice says, “Skye? Siena?”

Jade’s looking at us with those big, brown eyes of hers and she looks so grownup, well, ’cause she is. I mean, scorch, she’s got a foreign boyfriend back in water country. I didn’t even start thinking ’bout Circ in that way ’til I was near on sixteen. She’s had to grow up faster’n any of us.

She’s got that baby in her arms and I recognize it, ’cause it’s got a nose so flat it’s like someone smashed it, which I think is kinda cute, but which his mother thinks is uglier’n the back end of a tug. Polk. Veeva’s kid.

“You babysittin’?” I ask.

“Yep,” she says.

“You wanna hug?” I ask.

“Yep,” she says, smiling broadly, setting Polk in the durt and opening her arms wide enough to reach ’round the both of us. And we hold each other for as long as Skye’ll suffer us, ’cause we’re family, and we’re all we got.

~~~

“How’d you end up with that Soaker boy?” Skye asks, picking Polk up and turning him ’round so he’ll crawl in t’other direction. She’s had to do it a dozen times already, but Polk always seems to head back toward her, like he knows she don’t like babies much.

“Yeah, you never told us the whole story,” I say.

Jade’s face goes slightly red. It’s nice to see her like this, acting her age a little. Usually she’s just like a mini-Skye, all rough’n tumble.

I owe Circ one for this. We should be getting ready to leave, both Skye and me, but he agreed to pack for us, so we could spend this time with Jade.

“I told you, I chucked a scrub brush at his head,” she says.

Skye laughs loudly. “That’s always my favorite part.” It’s nice to see Skye like this, cracking jokes, laughing, like she don’t have the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“But what happened after that?” I ask. “You know, up until that baggard Admiral Jones tied you to the pole and whipped you.”

She picks up Polk, cradles him in her arms, and tells us the whole story. ’Bout how she tormented Huck every chance she got, but then eventually realized he was trying to do the right things, how he did unspeakable things to save her life, how he saved her from drowning. Huck Jones sounds like a real hero. It’s no wonder she’s got feelings for him.

“So that’s why Admiral Jones beat you? ’Cause his son was fallin’ for you?” Skye asks.

We’ve both seen the wounds, which have a long way to go ’fore they’re fully healed. She’ll always have the scars. Red slashes down her back, puffy welts, her perfect, beautiful skin made to look like a battlefield.

“I haven’t been completely honest with you,” Jade says slowly.

Me and Skye look at each other, then back at her. Polk’s got a handful of her hair and is pulling on it.

“Whaddya mean?” Skye says.

“It’s true that the Admiral Jones you’re thinking of ordered me to be beaten, and he even got a lash in…” She closes her eyes, a long blink. When she opens them a single tear drips out of each eye.

“Then who did the rest of it?” Skye asks, her fists balling in her lap. Sun goddess help him if it’s someone who’s still alive.

“He had no choice,” Jade says, “Admiral Jones would’ve killed us both if he didn’t…”

“Who?” Skye says through locked teeth.

“The new Admiral Jones,” Jade says, clutching Polk to her chest. “Huck.”

Skye stands, her chest heaving. “Then how are you…how could you…why do you…” She can’t get the words out, and I understand completely. Anyone who’d hurt our sister this way deserves the worst.

But we don’t know the circumstances, do we? Could there ever be a reason to hurt the ones you love? Would I ever be able to whip Circ, if I knew his life depended on it? I know the only answer is yes.

“Skye, she’s alive and that’s all that mat—”

“I’ll destroy him,” Skye growls. “If I ever see that runt again, I’ll beat him ten times worse’n he beat you.”

She stalks out of the tent, leaving Jade crying and Polk playing with her hair.

~~~

Eventually I’m able to calm Jade down. We both know how Skye is. She’ll come ’round. I mean, she might get a few licks in on Huck Jones if she ever sees him again, but surely she won’t kill him. Least that’s what we tell ourselves.

We say our goodbyes and I leave Jade with Circ’s family, who she’s been staying with.

I take Polk back to his mother, my old friend Veeva, who I haven’t had a chance to catch up with yet. She’s outside her tent, hanging wet bundles on a line, ’bout a dozen of ’em.

“Sun goddess, Siena,” she says, and it’s like I never left. It’s always been that way with her. “Take that spawn of the devil right back wherever you found ’im; I ain’t ready to clean another bundle. He’s down to his last one.”

“I think he’s hungry,” I say. “He’s been fussing something fierce.”

“He’s always hungry,” she says, but she whips out one of her large breasts like there ain’t dozens of people walking ’tween the tents. I try not to look, but it’s hard not to. I notice a few other heads turning, too, mostly men. When I hand Polk to Veeva, he goes right for the food. Guess I was right ’bout him being hungry. “I heard all the warriors’ll be leavin’ soon,” she says. “Guess that means you.”

“Yeah,” I say, wondering when I became a warrior. I still almost feel like I’m playing a child’s game when I start shooting my pointers. Only in this game people really die.

“Grunt’s going too,” she says.

“What?” I say, genuinely shocked. Her guy, Grunt, ain’t no warrior. He’s the shankiest man I ever met. I can’t imagine him marching through the desert, much less fighting against the Glassies.

“Everyone who don’t have a good reason not to is going,” she says. “I’m still feeding Polk ’ere, so I don’t have to.”

“You mean, you woulda gone if not for Polk?”

“What, you think I can’t take care of myself?” Veeva says. “I’ve slapped Grunt many a night when he’s come home drunk on the fire juice, gropin’ at me with those magical hands of his. I might not be the ladylike type, but I won’t lay with a man in that kinda condition, even one as talented as my Call.”

Hearing the words “magical” and “talented” associated with Grunt makes me wanna throw up my breakfast, but I swallow hard and say, “Well, I’m glad you’re not going. I’ll be fighting for you, Veevs.”

“Yeah, that’s what Grunt says, too, only he looks much scareder’n you when he says it. You’ll watch out for ’im, won’t you?” There’s something in her eyes I’m not used to seeing.

“Of course I will. He’ll be just fine. I’d better get running. Circ’s been doing all the hard work to get ready.”

“Be safe,” Veeva says. “Yer probably the only person that really gets me, so I can’t lose you.”

That’s when I realize what I saw in her eyes: fear.

~~~

“They deserved better,” Wilde says. I look at her eyes, which are full of hurt. “We have to defeat the Glassies for them.”

I was surprised when she pulled me aside, just ’fore it was time to leave.

I stare at her, unblinking. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I just need to talk to someone,” she says, and I realize what a searin’ fool I’ve been. While I’ve been trying to help Skye get through what happened, and Skye’s been trying to get herself through it, no one’s been helping Wilde.

I guess everyone just ’spects her to do things on her own, the way she always does. But this hurt must run too deep, even for her.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’d forgotten.”

Her eyes soften. “It’s okay,” she says. “I didn’t love Buff, not in that way. We never would have worked out together, but he made me laugh. I still cared about him, about all of them…Dazz, his mother, Jolie. I loved them like family.”

I know. I know. I did, too, but maybe not as strongly as Wilde did, ’cause she spent so much time with ’em.

I still don’t know what to say ’cause I’m helpless. I can’t bring ’em back, can’t fix anything. But that’s not what she wants, is it? Suddenly the answer is obvious. Even the strongest of us are like little children sometimes, and just need someone to hold ’em.

I put my arms out and Wilde practically falls into me. “I’m here,” I murmur as her tears stain my neck.

~~~

I’d hold Circ’s hand as we leave, but I’m s’posed to be a warrior, and I don’t think warriors hold hands. So I settle for walking next to him, occasionally brushing up against his side. The wind’s heavy, picking up clusters of sand every now and then, tossing it into our faces. Thankfully, not strong enough for a sandstorm, but plenty strong enough to be searin’ annoying.

Skye strides up ahead with Wilde, who looks nothing like she did when I last spoke to her; once again, she’s her calm, composed self, every doubt and hurt and fear having dried on the skin of my neck, leaving faint, white tracks. T’gether, they lead us northwards.

Early on, I tried to talk to Skye ’bout Huck Jones and how Jade wouldn’t want her to hurt him, but she just told me to “Shut my tughole” and kept walking. As much as I admire her, sometimes I wish I was stronger’n her so I could give her a piece of my mind.

There are maybe a thousand of us, maybe a few more, in a long column. Feve’s next to Circ, his long blade swinging from his belt. Circ and I try to make our eyes and face look like his—serious and dark and fierce—but we crack up every time we try. Feve just shakes his head.

“This look isn’t something you can learn. It’s something you’re born with,” he says, which makes us crack up even more. It’s the weirdest thing to be laughing with Feve, who I hated not that long ago. He saved my life once, but then it turned out he was working with my father. But he’s made up for his mistakes tenfold ever since, and I can’t hold a grudge for something he did that he didn’t really understand the repercussions of. These days I trust Feve as much as I trust Circ.

Some of t’other warriors are joking and laughing, too, but most of ’em I recognize as Heater Hunters, those who used to bring home tug meat for the village, and those who have fought against the Glassies twice ’fore. They’re used to the thrill of battle. It’s just another day in their dangerous lives.

But most of t’others—excluding the Marked and the Wilde Ones, who look as serious as Feve and Skye—are just normal people, used to taking care of kids and preparing food and living full and ordinary lives. I can see the fear in their eyes, just like I saw in Veeva’s, ’cept it’s a different fear. Not the fear of people they know dying, but of themselves dying.

Grunt’s one of ’em and, remembering the promise I made to Veeva, I keep one eye on him even as I’m joking with Circ and Feve. His face is already red and sweaty and it looks like he’s struggling to put one foot in front of t’other in the sand.

I feel bad for him. He shouldn’t be here. None of us should be. Why are there so many wooloo, power-hungry people in this world? Why can’t they just live like the rest of us, have a few laughs, help those that need it?

Not caring whether it’s something a warrior would do, I grab Circ’s hand and swing it along beside me. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Just squeezes my hand back.

Chapter Thirty

Tristan

It’s dark when we reach the cave Adele and I stepped out of what seems like years ago.

Most of the way, Roc was practicing using the words Siena taught him. He only shut up when I pointed out what a live ’zard looked like, sunning itself on a rock. Tawni was pretty grossed out, too. Hawk laughed, said, “You survive offa what the land gives you.”

As we shake hands with Hawk and Lara, say our goodbyes, and step into the cave, it hits me that I’m leaving Adele in another world, while I return to the one so familiar to me. What if something happens and we can never get back to the surface? Will she find a way back down? Does she even want to come back? After all we’ve seen, all we’ve experienced, can any of us just return to a life of phony light and absolute darkness?

But I can’t stop my two feet from taking turns, stepping—one, two, one, two, one, two—moving me forward. Because they know: It was my plan and if I don’t follow through with it the earth dwellers will win, and Adele will die, along with every last person in the Tri-Tribes. And it will be on my head and mine alone.

We reach the pod that will take us home, step inside, remove our masks. Press a button to turn it on. Artificial yellow lighting hits me full in the face.

“What floor?” Roc says, smirking, knowing full well the pod only goes to one place.

“H,” I say. Roc looks at me quizzically. “For Hell,” I explain.

“Oh, c’mon, Tristy. It ain’t all that burnin’ bad,” Roc says, still practicing his—what do we even call it? Desert language? He pushes a button.

“I know,” I say. “I just can’t believe we’re leaving her.”

“We’re doing it to save her,” Tawni says. “It’s the right thing.”

They’re simple, but her words help to comfort me. For a long time, Tawni’s been our moral compass in a world where the shades of gray are as abundant as the shadows. Once she stopped us from killing unarmed and defenseless soldiers. Ever since, I’ve been thankful she did. So if she thinks this is the right choice, then it probably is.

I close my eyes and the pod drops, sending an airy thrill through my stomach. Adele…Adele, where are you? When I reopen them, Roc’s holding Tawni’s hand, his foot directly next to hers. And, of course, he’s grinning, his teeth yellow in the fake light.

“What?” I say.

“Do you think anyone will be waiting with tea and biscuits?” he asks.

I’m as far from a laughing mood as I could possibly be, and yet I laugh. That’s why Roc’s my best friend. That’s why we’ve survived this long. By laughing and joking and not taking ourselves too seriously when the rest of the world seems to be only serious.

“I hope so,” I say.

“Do you think they’ll have the little flower-shaped ones filled with the red cream?” Tawni asks.

“If they don’t, heads will roll,” I say. “After all, I’m the President of the Tri-Realms now.”

“You’re sounding more like your father each and every day,” Roc says in a dramatic voice. “It’s a beautiful thing to see.”

That was a low blow, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it probably should. My father destroyed my whole life, but he didn’t destroy me. My mother, even with her last act, gave me a chance at a real life, and a chance to make things right, to cleanse the Nailin name. And then my father killed her for it.

“Sooo,” I say after the longest stretch of silence, where the only sound was Roc’s incessant tapping of his toe.

“Sooo what?” Roc says.

“What exactly will we be facing when we step out of this pod?”

Roc cocks his head and taps his teeth with a finger, like he’s taking my question seriously. He’s not. “Let’s see, there will probably be an old, crusty scientist—bald, of course—and four walls of rock.”

“You mean walls with pictures of you all over them? My worst nightmare is coming true.”

“Hmm,” Roc says.

“That would be a nightmare,” Tawni says drily.

“Ganging up—not fair,” Roc says. “And my own girlfriend…”

“Seriously,” I say.

“Seriously,” Roc says, mimicking me.

“Did Trevor give you, like, a whole bunch of tips on how to annoy me?” I ask.

I don’t mean to dampen the mood, but speaking our dead friend’s name does the trick. The laughter ceases and Roc momentarily stops with the jokes. He takes a deep breath. “We have to do this, Tristan. We have to do it for Trevor and Ram and your mom and my mom. For Cole and Ben and Elsey. For everyone that’s been hurt by your father and by Lecter.”

“We will,” I say, trying to sound like my old, confident self. “Especially with your fighting skills on our side.” I can’t help it, the laughter a moment ago felt so good, like maybe we weren’t all doomed because we were doing something normal and light.

“You shouldn’t mock,” Roc says. “I’m still injured because I couldn’t figure out which way to aim the sword.”

I laugh ten times harder, because that’s Roc. Cracking a joke about the bravest thing he ever did, when he stabbed himself to save my life.

“I’d take your sword by my side every time,” I say, wiping away a bit of moisture from my eyes that’s mostly happiness.

Roc smiles. “Just as long as it’s not in your side, eh?”

“You stab me, I’ll stab you back.”

Tawni shakes her head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand you two,” she says.

“That’s because we’re mysterious,” Roc says, wagging his eyebrows.

“So back to the situation below,” I say, because I feel like the half-hour ride is at least halfway over already. “How bad is it? Am I walking into guns pointed at my head, swords thrust into my neck, or fists swinging at my gut?”

Still smiling, Roc says, “All three.”

I groan.

~~~

There was no car waiting for us when we exited the secret cave onto the streets. Roc apologized for forgetting to arrange it, calling me “Your Highness.” I told him he should keep doing that.

So we’re walking, which is fine by me. I need time to prepare myself for the uphill battle I’m about to face. The streets are dark, lit only by the artificial moon and stars, which look so pathetically inadequate after seeing the real thing. The buildings, on the other hand, seem so grand compared to the tents and basic shelters used by the Tri-Tribes. And yet I can’t hear the crying of any babies or the shushing sounds made by their mothers. Lifeless. Empty.

When we arrive at the palace gates we get guns in our faces. So Roc was wrong—not all three—swords and guns and fists—just the guns. But when they see who I am, the guards apologize quickly and profusely and let us in, asking if we’d like them to send a car down.

“We’ll walk,” I say.

The road snakes through the palace gardens, and after seeing so much sand and rock and brown, the trees and plants and flowers almost look impossible. I have to take deep swallows a few times to catch my breath.

As if reading my mind—like he does—Roc says, “At least we have some happy memories of this place,” and he’s right, because when I think of the gardens I’m always happy.

We reach the main entrance, framed by a half-dozen black-marble pillars. White, spike-like spires rise up toward the lofty cavern roof, pointing at the fake moon.

As I stride inside, I remember: I’m the President. Here I have power, and it’s my responsibility to use it the right way. “Gather all the generals together,” I say.

“But it’s the middle of the night,” Roc says, feigning concern.

“Then wake them up.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

“Tawni, can you try to get Adele’s mother on the main video screen?” I ask.

“I’ll do what I can,” she says.

While Roc scurries off to pound on a few generals’ doors and Tawni goes to the communications office, I make my way to the place my father always liked to refer to as “the throne room.” Lavishly adorned walls flash by on either side, but I barely notice them. After all, I grew up in this kind of luxury. It doesn’t mean anything, not to me.

When I enter the throne room, it’s empty, save for the dozens of black-marble pillars holding up the balcony above and surrounding the lone, grand seat in the middle. The throne, constructed with a thick, sturdy oak-wood frame and cushioned with generous red-velvet pads on the seat, back, and armrests, stands as a reminder of the difference between my father and me. The old President Nailin would spend as much on a place to rest his rear as a moon dweller miner made in ten years. The new President Nailin has the urge to take an axe and chop the chair into splinters to be used for firewood.

Distorted shards of memory slice through my head and I see this room as it was on the night my father died. The floor slick with blood. Steel weapons flashing, clanging, killing. Bodies falling. Trevor falling, dying. My father’s great victory, cut short when Adele shot him in the head not long after in his grand council room.

The fall of a tyrant. One down, one to go.

Although I’m tired from the trek across the desert and the midnight stroll from the hidden cave to the palace, I resist the urge to sit in my father’s plush throne. The generals would probably respond well to that kind of normalcy, but I just don’t have the stomach for it, not when so many of the decisions that exacerbated the inequality in the Lower Realms were made from this very chair.

I remain standing as a video screen lowers from a crack in the ceiling. Evidently Tawni found a palace technician to help her get things set up. Hopefully General Rose isn’t too angry with me for waking her, although I take comfort in the fact that you can’t kick someone through a screen. Even my father wasn’t able to develop that kind of technology.

I hear the first grumbling voice, echoing from a hall outside of the throne room. “If this is some kind of a joke, I’ll have you whipped a thousand times!”

I almost laugh, but the thought of facing the generals makes me feel slightly ill. I may be the president, but these are men who have done things a certain way for a long time. They’re used to winning, to crushing the enemy, not to signing peace agreements. The ceasefire pact I signed with the Lower Realms before we went above will only hold them off for so long.

A large man with a thick, gray beard stomps in wearing a heavy frown. His eyes widen when he sees me. “Good God, it’s President Nailin,” he says. I don’t miss the mockery in his tone. Not a good start. “You do exist.”

“General,” I say, not taking the bait. When all the generals are here I’ll make things very clear.

Three other men enter behind him, blinking sleep out of their eyes and registering surprise when they see me. They whisper to each other behind their hands.

“We ask for meetings with you a dozen times, and then you roust us from our beds in the middle of the night?” says the large, sarcastic man, General Aboud. “All hail, President Nailin!” He almost sounds drunk. Maybe he is. Maybe he passed out, rather than going to sleep.

I ignore him, watch as six more generals shuffle in, standing beside their comrades. Roc steps in behind them, winks at me. I rest an arm on the top of the throne. Even if I don’t have the audacity to sit in it, perhaps just having it near me will set the right tone.

I start to speak, but General Aboud beats me to it. “Where the hell have you been? We’ve got a war to fight and your own generals can’t even get an audience with you.”

This is one question I’ll most definitely answer. “Above,” I say. The men stare at me with blank faces.

“Above?” Aboud says. “There is no above. We are the above!”

“No,” I say calmly, although the red-faced man before me makes my blood boil. “We are not.” I go on to explain everything to them; everything my father would not. The secret project my great-grandfather started, recruiting the best and smartest engineers, keeping them separate from the rest of society, monitoring them to ensure no one talked; the early failed expeditions to the earth’s surface, everyone dead; the continued attempts, the construction of the Dome, reengineering the air filtration system to allow for life on earth; the slow but effective wresting of power from my father by Lecter. As I speak, there’s utter silence. Even Aboud knows when to just shut up and listen.

At some point Tawni comes in and gives me a nod, holds up a controller. She’s ready with General Rose.

“Any questions?” I say as I finish.

A bald man with blue-tinted glasses says, “Why didn’t your father tell us? We were his most trusted advisors.”

“Well, General Marx, you’ll have to ask him,” I say.

“What kind of answer is that?” Aboud bellows. “Your father is dead.”

“He took a lot with him to the grave,” I say. “I can’t answer for him. I’m not my father, or my grandfather. They kept things from you, secrets. I refuse to do that.”

“Why?” Aboud again, his frown deepening.

“Because I think you’re more than what my father made you into. You’re more than mindless killing machines who see missions of murder simply as missions, lines on a page with checkmarks next to them. You were chosen because of your brains, not your hearts, but that doesn’t mean your chests are empty.”

“What are you asking of us?” General Marx asks.

“Just to listen. Make up your own minds. If you disagree with what I propose, we’ll take a vote. This is not a dictatorship. That was my father’s way, not mine.”

There are raised eyebrows and more whispers, but no one, not even Aboud, objects.

I turn, nod to Tawni. She raises the control and presses a button. I gesture for the generals to look at the screen, which goes from black to fuzzy gray to an orange-lit room, a textured brown-rock wall in the background. Adele’s mother sits at a desk, wearing a blue uniform. A flashing red light above the screen indicates our cameras are working. She can see us.

“Tristan,” she says, her face not showing even the slightest degree of surprise. I wonder if this unflappable woman has ever been astonished by something. Adele’s got so much of her mother in her, but has a softer side, too, a side that clearly was a gift from her father. She got the best of both her parents. “Where is my daughter?” She asks the question as if I’m the only one in the room, as if there aren’t ten generals staring at her. It’s a question I’ve been dreading.

“In the New City,” I say. Unlike the generals, we told her everything before we went above. “She’s on a mission.”

“But she’s alive?” she asks. She makes the most important question in the world sound like any other question. She might as well have asked Is my uniform blue? for all the emotion she put into her words.

I want to, but I can’t lie to her. “I don’t know,” I say. “But I’m operating under that assumption.”

Aboud raises a fist in the air. “I want answers and I want them now. What the hell are you talking about?”

I nod slowly, but my eyes never leave General Rose’s. Is that a glimmer of fear I see? She blinks quickly and it’s gone, once more replaced by steel and fire. “I need your help,” I say. For the next hour I recap everything that happened from the moment Adele and I stepped onto Earth. When I finish, I ask, “Will you help me defeat Lecter?”

Aboud looks me in the eye and says, “Not with her.” He spits at the screen. “If you want us to do this, we’re doing it our way, the right way, the way we’ve always done it. Your father’s way.”

I glance at Roc and Tawni. And then I draw my sword.