Black Moon

by L. A. Weatherly

  Reaching for a piece of cheese I didn’t want, I thought of our potential meeting tonight with the deposed President Weir. My guts tightened. We needed it so badly…but if it went ahead, Collie would be there too.

  He and I had grown up together – been best friends. When he’d turned up on the Western Seaboard Peacefighting base after four years of silence, we’d fallen in love. I’d have laughed in the face of anyone who told me he was a spy for Johnny Gun and a crooked Peacefighter.

  I’d believed in him almost right up until the moment he’d turned me in.

  That was over a year ago. I’d ended up in Harmony Five. Yet when he’d rescued me after I shot Gunnison, he’d kissed me.

  A man can change, he’d said.

  I’d been in such shock that I hadn’t protested the kiss – or even known if I wanted to. After waking up from the greyness, I did know: if I’d been myself I’d have stopped him, and if Collis Reed had any sense he should have realized that. He couldn’t actually think I’d take him back, could he?

  The thought filled me with angry amazement – and sadness. How had I gotten it all so wrong?

  At nine o’clock exactly, the Harmony symbol’s grey and black swirls appeared – a distortion of the old yin-yang, blood and black in real life. A trio of female singers warbled, “And now it’s time…for all of us…to end the day with KAY!”

  “Good evening,” said Pierce in her thin, stilted voice. “I often ask myself, what does Harmony want from me? As you know, I think there’s a purpose to all things. Astrology simply helps us discern it…”

  Unlike the earlier images, this was live. Kay Pierce was sitting at a microphone right now, probably in a room cooled by fans blowing over ice blocks, reading the notes Collie had prepared for her.

  Hal carefully drew a symbol on his chart. “Her burblings are as enlightening as usual,” he said.

  “…and so, as I often stress when I meet with my advisors, clarity can be achieved by…”

  Clarity, following the mention of a meeting.

  Collie had just given us the all-clear.

  Mac’s gaze met mine. Electricity sparked briefly in his brown eyes. Across the table, Sephy’s shoulders relaxed a fraction.

  I cleared my throat. “No surprises there then,” I said in response to Hal.

  After Pierce finished, dance music came on, slow and sweet. Sephy casually resumed work on her chart. My pulse hammered, out of time with the music. It was really happening.

  I dealt a hand of solitaire, trying to concentrate only on the gentle slap of cards. Forget Collie. The Resistance had to get ex-President Weir on board if we hoped to succeed. Nothing else mattered tonight.

  Mac finished his sandwich. “Hey, Amity, you want to have a look at that spot in the tunnels you told me about? The one we could use as a cache?” Our script had begun.

  “Kind of late,” I said, forcing myself to sound casual.

  “Ah, it’s too hot to sleep anyway. And we might not get a chance tomorrow.”

  “All right – shouldn’t take long.”

  For a change, I was glad of the distance between me and Hal – otherwise he’d likely have wanted to come. As Mac and I stood up, he started putting his things away.

  “Think I’ll take a shower before bed and cool off,” he said to Sephy. “Night,” he added to me, a touch too late.

  “Night,” I echoed.

  When he’d vanished into the bathroom, Mac’s and my movements turned hurried. We grabbed up our jackets – it was cold in those ancient tunnels that spiderwebbed under the city.

  At the door, Sephy and Mac quickly embraced. “Be careful,” she said.

  Mac linked his pale fingers with her dark ones. “We’ll be fine. I promise,” he said softly. He jostled her hand. “Hey, you could always agree to marry me, if you’re really worried.”

  “Get back safely and I’ll consider it.”

  “You’re a witness,” Mac said to me.

  “I am,” I agreed, trying to smile.

  Sephy squeezed my arm, and I knew she’d guessed that I wasn’t looking forward to this.

  “Hurry back, both of you,” she said.

  A route led into the tunnels from the deli’s cellar, but we didn’t take it – we were due in less than an hour; not enough time to travel solely underground. We hurried around the corner, where there was a drugstore with a payphone.

  Mac ducked inside. I kept to the shadows, praying a Gun wouldn’t pass. I gripped my arms and gazed at the shabby brownstones, and a tattered poster for an act at the Eros Theatre: Harmony Hugh and His Hepcats.

  Ingo should have left the other safe house by now. Stay safe, I thought fiercely to him. Please.

  Mac was back in less than a minute. “Dwight’s on his way.”

  We waited at the rear of an unlit parking lot. Mac’s fedora sliced a curved shadow over his face as he leaned against the brick wall, hands in his trouser pockets, watching the street. Headlights from autos with gleaming front grilles passed occasionally.

  I knew him well enough now to guess what he was thinking. I nudged him. “Go on. I won’t tell Sephy.”

  He gave a quick, rueful smile. “That obvious?”

  “Maybe not to a blind person.”

  “Ah, what the hell. Thanks, pal.” He reached into his jacket’s inner pocket and drew out a pack of cigarettes. Cupping a hand around his mouth, he lit one with a quick scratch of flame from his lighter.

  “Listen,” he said, putting the lighter away, “if this goes as we hope, I don’t want Hal involved. I don’t even want him to know about it until he has to.”

  I let out a slow breath. It wasn’t really a surprise – Mac had been reluctant to let Hal even come into New Manhattan with us. But I knew how desperately my brother wanted to help defeat Pierce. Like me, he needed to feel he was doing something to obliterate our father’s legacy.

  “I agree,” I said quietly.

  Mac blew out a puff of smoke and glanced at me. “You sure? I know things have been kind of tough between you two. Keeping a secret this big from the kid won’t help.”

  My lips quirked humourlessly. I gazed at a bus’s high, curved shape as it passed, an advertisement for Capricorn Cigarettes on its side.

  “I’m sure,” I said in a low voice. “He’s only fifteen, Mac. I don’t want him involved in a murder plot any more than you do.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Five weeks earlier, I’d sat beside Ingo on a sofa in a safe house in Bayon, New Jersey, staring at a man I’d seen only once before. Around thirty, with thinning brown hair: Grady, the best of the Resistance, according to Mac.

  It felt as if he’d just punched me in the stomach.

  As Grady’s words hung in the air, Ingo breathed something in Germanic and closed his eyes. Hal sat at the dining table, stricken. Across the room, Mac had sunk onto the arm of an easy chair.

  Sephy remained on her feet. “Can you repeat that, Grady?” she said faintly.

  Grady stood in the middle of the living room, slapping his fedora against his hand. His voice was thick with reluctance.

  “I showed the photos of the nuclear weapons to the right people in the European Alliance,” he said. “President Brochu telegraphed other world leaders: Russo-China, Africa, everyone. No one’s going to act. They prefer to try to negotiate with Pierce – stay on her good side.”

  Pictures that Ingo and I had found while on the run came in a vivid mental flash: a mushroom cloud against a grey sky; two fat, bloated bombs; smiling scientists.

  “But…they have to help!” I burst out, gripping my cane. “Don’t they understand what’s at stake? What exactly did you tell them?”

  “That the fate of the world depends on them taking action,” said Grady heavily. “I’m afraid they’re more concerned with the fates of their own countries.”

  “They won’t even send covert aid?” asked Ingo.

  “Money, supplies?” added Mac, voice rising. “People?”

  “No,” said Grady. “
Nothing that might endanger their relationship with Pierce.”

  I started to speak again and couldn’t. We’d known there might not be much in the way of armed forces – the world had been demilitarized for a century, wholly unprepared for Gunnison’s illegal army over a year ago. But not even aid?

  We were about to enter New Manhattan. Kay Pierce’s bastion was a closed city now. Mac hardly had any contacts left.

  Grady slowly sat too, still slapping his hat against his palm. It was the only sound.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I gave it everything I had.”

  “Yeah, I know you did, buddy,” Mac murmured. He slumped back against the armchair, gripping his head as he stared at the ceiling. Looking ashen, Sephy touched his shoulder.

  “We still have to fight her,” blurted Hal, his hands balled into fists. “We will, won’t we?” He looked around the room. His eyes didn’t meet mine, and a pang went through me.

  “Yeah, we’ll still fight,” Mac said quietly. “We’ve just got to figure out how.”

  He leaned forward and cracked his knuckles, his jaw hard. “All right, we’ve got some decisions to make. Looks like we’re on our own.”

  An hour after Grady left, I’d perched on the picnic table atop the flat, airy roof, gazing across the river. Kay Pierce’s new capital city stretched out in a glittering mass in the sunset. I rubbed my arms, chilled despite the warm evening.

  When would all of this end?

  The door opened and Ingo came out. “Thought I’d find you here.”

  The roof had become a favourite spot for us both, this week we’d spent waiting for Grady. We’d played chess up here a lot, or Ingo would strum his guitar.

  He sat beside me, propping his forearms on his long thighs. He wore the same tan trousers and white shirt he’d been given when we were in hiding. My faded dress was second-hand too. Neither of us had much.

  I shook my head, still staring at the skyline. “How can they do it?”

  Ingo knew I meant the world’s inaction. He gave a wry snort. “Never underestimate the human capacity to stick your head in the sand, I guess.”

  His face’s left side was unmarred. The right was a crinkled mask. The burn scar puckered tightly from forehead to chin, making his eye droop, pulling at his mouth. Earlier, I’d been reminded how most people first reacted to Ingo – Grady, who’d already met him, had greeted him without the startled flinch I’d seen from others this past week.

  I knew how much Ingo must hate it. He never mentioned it, never showed it.

  Traffic rumbled below. The air hinted of the ocean up here – fresh and clean. Yet in a last shard of sunset, I spotted a giant Harmony flag flying over New Manhattan. I felt brittle as I watched it.

  “Are you okay with what we decided?” I asked Ingo.

  “Yes, oddly enough.”

  I glanced at him. “Oddly enough?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Sanctity of life, and all that.” It had been part of our daily Peacefighting oath, back when we were opponents and the world was sane. We’d vowed to honour the sanctity of life. To fight fairly and well.

  What a crock.

  Ingo’s almost-black gaze was level. “What about you?” He knew, maybe more than anyone, how shooting Gunnison had affected me.

  I sighed, twisting my cane between my hands. “It’s even worse this time. Premeditated.”

  “It is.”

  “But, yes, I’m okay with it too. We don’t have much choice now, do we?”

  “Well, we could always choose to say to hell with it and forget the whole thing. But given how stupid we both are about these situations, naturally we’re going for the ‘noble path’ instead.” He gave the words ironic quotes.

  “It hardly feels noble.”

  “Hardest path, then.”

  “We both are pretty stupid, aren’t we?” I said, and Ingo gave a one-sided grin at that, the scarred half of his face barely moving.

  “Ah, what the hell,” he muttered, gazing at the city. It was darker now – twilight – and the skyline looked spiky, ominous. He ducked his head close to mine. “Quick, what does it remind you of?”

  I didn’t hesitate. “The woods around Harmony Five.”

  “Yes, me too. Do you have a terrible feeling of déjà vu?”

  I had to smile despite my apprehension. I’d been thinking of our escape from Harmony Five too, of course. One of Mac’s contacts was going to smuggle us into the city the next day in his van…with luck.

  “Sneaking in this time, not sneaking out,” I said.

  “True. I think maybe we’re doing it wrong.”

  I hesitated, studying him. His dark hair was just getting long enough to curl again. “Are you really having second thoughts? Mac could probably get you to Nova Scotia – you could—”

  His mouth twisted. “Stop,” he said quietly. “I’m kidding. You know that.”

  I could still hardly believe Ingo was here. He was supposed to have taken a ship home to the EA two months ago. I’d learned only the week before that he’d stayed to help the Resistance.

  Ingo had been a Peacefighter for the European Alliance. I’d fought for the Western Seaboard. In Harmony Five, we’d joined forces to escape; on the run together, we’d become friends.

  Since shooting Gunnison, I’d been locked in gloom, unable to find my way out. Seeing Ingo again had unlocked something. I’d cried in his arms on this very roof – he’d held me close without saying a word. Even after my tears had dried, I’d stayed pressed against him, feeling his heartbeat against my cheek…and had known it would have made a difference, those dark weeks, if I’d realized I’d soon be seeing him again.

  The knowledge was a little unsettling. I looked down, fiddling with my cane.

  “I wish Hal would go to Nova Scotia,” I said finally. The small island was still a free country. Our mother was there.

  Ingo’s gaze was on me. After a beat, he glanced away and nodded. “He’s young. I’d be worried too. But I guess you can’t tell a boy who was in hiding in a closet for nine months that he’s not allowed to fight the regime that put him there.”

  “That’s exactly what I’d like to tell him.”

  Ingo smiled slightly. “You’re his big sister. Worrying about him is your job.”

  Worrying was an understatement. Remembering severed heads on a chain-link fence, I glanced down at the Aries tattoo on my palm and clenched my hand shut.

  “You know, I’m not sure why I’m even doing this, except…” I trailed off.

  “I know,” Ingo said softly.

  A harsh laugh escaped me. “I want to be over it, Ingo. I don’t want to care any more about Dad’s thrown Peacefight. All I want is to move on. To…be happy, if that’s possible.”

  Ingo looped an arm around his knee, studying me intently. “Does it feel possible?”

  “Maybe,” I whispered, staring at the Harmony flag’s dark, shifting shape. “But not until everything he put into place is gone.”

  Ingo touched my arm, his fingers warm against my skin. “Amity. Your father didn’t put all of this into place.”

  “He was the catalyst.”

  “A catalyst isn’t the same as a cause.” He gave me a gentle nudge and let his hand fall. “Come on, you remember enough high-school chemistry for that.”

  “I do?” I glanced at him with faint amusement. “I never took it. I went to Peacefighting training school at sixteen.”

  “Ah, well, that explains it. If you’d taken chemistry, you’d know these things.”

  “I thought poetry was the answer,” I said, deadpan. Ingo had introduced me to poetry when we were in hiding. Before, my literary taste had run mostly to adventure stories and books about flying.

  “A poem about chemistry,” he said. “One must exist. ‘Hail to Thee, Fair Periodic Table’, or something. I’ll find it for you and then it’ll all make sense.”

  “Somehow I doubt it. But thank you. What about you – does happiness feel possible?” Then it hit me; I lean
ed quickly towards him. “Your family. Did Grady bring word?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  I’m sure they’re all right. I didn’t say it. We didn’t do platitudes, Ingo and I.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, touching his shoulder. “I hope you hear something soon.” For all Ingo knew, they still thought him dead.

  He grimaced and scraped his hands through his hair. “Last I heard, a late frost had killed off half the vineyard… Erich was taking extra jobs to stay in law school; Lena was going home on weekends to help out… That was over a year ago.”

  “Sure you don’t regret staying?” My heart tightened as I said it. I wanted so badly for him to be happy.

  He glanced at me; a wry smile touched his long, angular face. “When do I ever not say what I mean?”

  I smiled too. “True.”

  “No. I don’t regret it,” he said quietly. “I just wish I could be two people at once, that’s all. Neat trick, if I could do it.”

  I nodded, understanding. I’d heard nothing from Ma either, though I didn’t expect to until we got a network set up.

  A network: that was what we’d talked about for most of the last hour. Mac had explained that his dozen or so New Manhattan contacts would be limited in what they could do. At least there were two safe houses. One, an apartment above a Harlemtown deli, would be our main base.

  We’d discussed doctoring Discordant birth charts, spreading the truth about Pierce’s regime, rallying people to action. Ingo, who’d gone to boarding school in New Manhattan, knew some of its ancient, forbidden tunnel network. We could use it to covertly travel the city, maybe even to help people escape. Grady had agreed to set up a “railroad” network to the north, to help people reach Nova Scotia if we managed it.

  And after Mac had asked Hal to go to the drugstore for more ice, we’d agreed our main objective…

  Getting rid of Pierce for good, with the help of Collis Reed.

  The van’s hidden compartment was close and shadowy, lit only by a small ventilation grille. As the engine vibrated around us the next morning, I was hyper-aware of Hal sitting on the other side of Mac – of wanting to hide my fear from him.

  At the checkpoint, no one moved. Dwight, the driver, had managed to get permission to leave the city for his uncle’s business. It was unusual for a hardware store; I was terrified he’d be challenged.