The Recusant

by Greg Hanks

  She finished wrapping her hand in white bandages to keep her bones separated and secured; she’d punched the wall two days ago during a fit of nightmares or something. She looked down at her new clothes. Muted, earthy tones. She smoothed out a few creases on her stomach area, then sat on the medical cot, exhausted. The painkillers made her drowsy. But now that she could walk, she was excited to get out of the tiny room and explore, despite that woman doctor’s countless admonitions.

  The door opened, startling Penelope. Breckenridge stepped inside.

  “Well I’ll be,” he said, taking in the sight like seeing a remarkable monument. “I heard our newest Unborn was feelin’ a little better.”

  Penelope looked at him with disinterest. “Who’re you?”

  “I’m Breckenridge. I run this place. I’m the one that found you.”

  “You’re the soldier that took me from the Khor’Zon?”

  Breckenridge chuckled. “I wish I was that young. No, I orchestrated the raid. I had you brought back to us. Under my word, all this happened.”

  Penelope searched his posture, his manners. She shrugged. “Okay.”

  “Oh, I’m not here to leech gratitude. Just glad yer safe. I’m truly sorry for what they did to you. But yer here now. Back to make a difference.”

  Penelope dropped her guard, wincing at some head pain. “I am thankful.”

  “Don’t sweat it. You’ve been through a kinda hell no one’ll ever understand.”

  She looked up at him, curious. “So you’re in charge?”

  He nodded, finding a seat in the corner. “That’s right. We got over a thousand good soldiers right now. We’re growin’. Found this here mine under the city, and’ve been hunkerin’ down since.”

  Penelope picked at her hand bandage. “I guess that’s better than nothing. Better than Rain’s group, I think.”

  “Well, we’re not aimless. We’ve got a plan that doesn’t . . . look, I didn’t come here to talk tactics. Just came in to say hi and see how yer feelin’. If you need anythin’, anythin’ at all, you just tell Hayla, and I’ll personally see to it that you get what you need.” He went for the doorknob.

  “What plan?”

  Breckenridge hesitated. “Oh, I don’t want to rile you. Don’t want Hayla chasin’ after me with a pitchfork.”

  “I’m fine. Hayla doesn’t know how I feel.”

  He slipped his hands into his pockets and licked his lips. “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt. You up for a little walk? I could show you around, give you the tour.”

  She rocketed to her feet, pushing the bed back a little. She pulled the bed back in place. “I really need to get out of this room.”

  “Good,” he said, smiling.

  Breckenridge led Penelope out of her room and into the mess hall. Her eyes darted to the masses of moving people. The loud voices startled her. Her breathing quickened. Breckenridge led her toward the doughnut chamber with haste.

  “Not too bad, eh?” he asked as they passed underneath the connecting tunnel.

  “It’s nice.”

  While Penelope walked with wide eyes and a craned neck, Breckenridge slowed so he could watch her. His eyes glazed as she discovered the mine system for the first time.

  “Are you coming?” Penelope asked.

  Breckenridge cleared his throat and caught up. “S’cuse me. A little brain tickle. C’mon.”

  People from every direction acknowledged Breckenridge with a salute or a clasped hand. Some shouted his name. He brought Penelope to the giant drilling hole in the center of the doughnut chamber. They stopped to look over the dark drop. He placed his forearms over the railing and observed Penelope do the same.

  “Sometimes I come down here when it’s quiet. Y’know, at night. And I drop a rock or two down so I can hear it hit the bottom. ‘Thinkin’ Time.’”

  Penelope looked at her feet to see if there were any pebbles. But she wouldn’t have been able to hear anything anyways surrounded by these crowds. “So what’s this plan of yours?”

  It seemed Breckenridge had forgot. “Oh, right.” He faced Penelope with one arm propping him against the railing. “Well, it’s pretty simple. Right now, we rotate soldiers through different missions. Whenever we get intel about a Zealot patrol or a dwindlin’ Outpost, we make our move. Our foothold here is strong. Slowly, but surely, we’re makin’ progress. Soon, we’ll retake Flonneburg.”

  Penelope wasn’t impressed. “Same old shit. Same thing Rain’s people told me. Look where that got me.”

  Breckenridge nodded. He pushed his lips out, trying to decide if he should say it or not.

  “What?” Penelope asked.

  “Well, y’see, we do have a greater plan. Somethin’ a little more effective.”

  “Which is?”

  He leaned closer so he could speak a little louder than a whisper. “It involves a weapon, I guess you could say. A weapon powerful enough to destroy the Chalis in an instant.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.” He sighed and avoided eye contact. “But . . .”

  She raised an eyebrow, waiting impatiently.

  “Well,” he was scratching his bearded neck, “not everyone here sees eye-to-eye. It’s a nuke. Not the safest option, I’ll give you that.”

  Penelope’s eyes grew. She had imagined many ways the Calcitra could defeat the Khor’Zon, but figured if they had nuclear weapons, they would have already used them. “Haven’t people already tried that?”

  He shook his head slowly. “Not inside the Chalis.”

  “How?”

  “You of all people should know. It’s how you escaped it, after all.”

  “So V’delle told you?”

  “Mm. But see there’s our problem . . . I don’t mean to point fingers or nothin’ . . . but your friends have been pretty adamant against this idea.”

  “They’re not my friends.”

  “Oh? I just thought because you’d all come out together and everythin’.”

  “They’re the reason I was captured in the first place.” She shook her head and folded her arms as if chilled. “Why are they against the nuke? And why does it matter if they oppose it or not? Just do it.”

  He inhaled, as if he didn’t like talking about others behind their backs. “V’delle and Farin, they’re both fantastic soldiers. They got my friend out of a Khor’Zon prison the other day; they’re valuable, and smart. But . . . they seem to think that a few sleepin’ kids inside the Chalis is cause not to use the nuke. Now normally, I would agree. But we’ve been at this for twenty years, Penelope. This needs to end. As quickly as possible. And V’delle, she thinks unitin’ scattered Calcitra across the country is the answer.”

  Penelope scoffed out of instinct, but then started to think. There was a boy who came to mind, but she couldn’t remember his name. A headache snagged her. Khor’Zon language and symbols smacked the inside of her mind. Memories of electric torture and suffocation came back.

  “She wants the impossible,” she said. “So just nuke it.”

  Breckenridge stood tall. “We’ve gotta acquire the nuke first.”

  “You don’t even have the thing?”

  He smiled, savoring the little moment of pause. “Why don’t we head upstairs?”

  He led her through the buildings attached to the doughnut chamber’s circular wall and up to his office. He plopped down into his leather chair and offered her the seat across from his desk. Penelope couldn’t help but look through the giant window behind his chair that opened to the doughnut chamber.

  Breckenridge smiled. “Pretty neat, ain’t it?”

  She sat down. “So what’s stopping you from getting this nuke?”

  He leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands over his gut. “That’s a great question. We captured a scientist a year back who claimed to have worked at a nuclear testing facility somewhere in the country—before the invasion. He’s still with us, but he’s been a hard nut to crack. He’s valuable to us; he makes us all sorts of weaponry and machinery. But th
e damned fool thinks if he tells us where the nuke is, it’ll do more bad than good.”

  “He’s here? In the mine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you tried—”

  “We’ve tried everything. Believe me. Things we’re not proud of. We don’t wanna kill the man.”

  Penelope nodded. She wiped her nose of some drainage. “What does this have to do with V’delle and Farin?”

  “I think that’s somethin’ you should ask Farin. They’ve made friends with the scientist, travelled with him a few months ago. They’ve been promisin’ me results in exchange for his safety. But there ain’t been results. In the meantime, he’s been makin’ us weapons n’ such.” He waived off the disdain. “He’ll come around, I’m sure.”

  “Why did you bring me here, Breckenridge?”

  The leader of the Calcitra puffed some air. He gave her a cheesy smile. “You Unborn are all alike, you know that?” When Penelope didn’t react, he sat forward and placed his elbows on the table to prop his chin up. “I just wanted to get to know you a little better. Show you around. Get you up to speed. That’s all.”

  Penelope stood. “Then I think I’ll get something to eat.” She walked toward the door.

  “Oh,” began Breckenridge, gathering some paperwork, acting like he’d just remembered. “We’re, uh, harborin’ a kutt. She’s staying with the Fillions if I remember correctly, nice family. I just thought I’d let you know, in case you . . . well, you know what I mean. I know it’s a sensitive topic.”

  Penelope’s hand clenched the doorknob. She turned around. “You have a Khor’Zon here? I don’t understand. Like a prisoner?”

  Breckenridge looked upon her dubiously. “Actually, no. It’s a long story. She’s friendly. For now.”

  Her confusion deepened. “What?”

  “She’s a friendly Khor’Zon, meanin’ she don’t wanna kill us. Why don’t you go ask Farin about that too?”

  “I’ll go find out myself,” she said, and left in a hurry.

  Breckenridge sat back in his chair, sighed, then swiveled to his window to watch Penelope come out below. He reached to grab a handful of almonds. One-by-one he tossed them into his mouth.

  The communicator on his desk crackled. “She sounds unpredictable. Dangerous.”

  Breckenridge made Étienne wait. He finished his nuts and turned around. “The only kind we want.”

  ——————

  Maora placed her knight into position and peered over the board without letting go of the piece. She scoured the board to make sure she wasn’t sending the poor horse figurine to its death. It was her second move.

  Roland folded his arms and groaned. “You can’t do this every move, Maora.”

  Maora smiled and finally let go. “Patience is a virtue.” She looked to Celestiel, who was tanning leather in the corner of their concrete room. “Right?”

  Celestiel looked up, annoyed. “Yes, it’s right. Why can’t you use your own sayings?” Bright blonde hair and wire-thin, with bulging blue eyes, deep like her father’s, but scathing unlike both parents.

  “Because,” Maora said proudly, “learning your culture is the least I can do for occupying your planet.”

  “That’s not the least you can do,” Roland said quietly.

  Maora dropped her smile. “Oh. Right. Hey, for the record, I want to help. It is just hard to convince my leaders to do the same.”

  Roland didn’t respond. He moved a pawn instead.

  “Do you two enjoy living here?” Maora asked.

  The kids were quiet. Celestiel finished one strip of leather and set it aside. She paused, her back to the others. Roland shuffled his feet.

  “No,” Celestiel said. “We don’t. It’s a dungeon. It smells like rats.”

  “It’s your turn,” Roland said.

  Maora half-heartedly mimicked Roland’s pawn move. “There are some nice people, though. Right?”

  Roland swapped his rook and king. “Some. V’delle and Rain are cool.”

  Celestiel scoffed.

  “You don’t agree?” Maora asked.

  Celestiel turned around. “V’delle’s the reason our brother is dead. My parents treat her like she’s my older sister. Of course I don’t agree.” She took off her apron and went to one of the beds to put on her boots.

  “It was an accident, Celeste,” Roland said. “You know it, too. You just hate the attention Maman and Papa give her.” He looked at Maora, shaking his head. “As I said, V’delle and Rain are cool. But a lot of people are jerks. Everyone just wants stuff for themselves.”

  Celestiel went for the door. “Roland stands up for V’delle because he loves her.”

  Roland scowled. “I don’t love her, idiot.”

  She gave a little smirking nod before leaving. “Loves her.”

  As the door closed, Roland sighed. “I hate sisters.”

  “Sometimes they can be a real pain, huh?” Maora said, half-smiling.

  Roland smiled a little. “You have a sister?”

  “I . . . used to. But that is a boring story.”

  “She died?”

  Maora nodded. “Before we came to Earth. It has been a long time.”

  Roland processed the information with a naive face. “What happened?”

  Maora smiled in consolation, then her eyes rose as she retraced some memories. “Do you know the history of my people?”

  Roland shook his head.

  “I figured but wanted to make sure—you seem very smart. Before we came to Earth, most of my people lived in a big city, bigger than any city on Earth. If you stood on the tallest building, you could not see the end of the city. Like an endless sea. Above the city were our two moons. Eventually, they smashed into each other.” Roland’s eyes went wide. “And we had to leave our planet. The Chalis was built. And before it took off, there had to be decisions made.”

  “Like who would go and who would stay?”

  Maora nodded solemnly. “And so began a great war. What was supposed to be a great moment in our history foretold by our prophets became a dark, bloody event. Families fought to secure a place on the Chalis. My family was one of the lucky few who got to leave Khorsha. But . . . the day of boarding, as we were on our way to the Chalis with other families, my family was separated by rioting. I lost her. I could not find her. And then I did. She had been trampled.” Maora paused, her eyes hanging low, glazed. “Her name was Illo’re. A vicious warrior. But even the fiercest get covered and stamped out.”

  Roland looked forlorn and ponderous. “I am sorry, Maora. I don’t want my sister to die.”

  Maora lost her wistful face. “No, of course not.”

  “I guess the reason I stick up for V’delle is she’s always been nice to us. She’s mean sometimes, but in the right way . . . if that makes sense. And if I was a soldier, I could’ve saved my brother. I could’ve . . . I dunno.”

  “We cannot save everyone, unfortunately. Even us soldiers lose the people we care about. It affects us all. But I would not worry too much about that; seems like they are training you.”

  “Not fast enough.” He knocked Maora’s bishop with his own. “Checkmate.”

  Maora registered the move with a start. “Wait, no!”

  “I’m hungry from all this winning. Wanna go to the mess hall?”

  The Khor’Zon slowly raised her head from the board. “I want a rematch when we return.”

  “Whatever you say, kutt—I mean . . . let’s go.”

  “You do not have to walk on shards when you are around me, you know,” Maora said frankly. “If you want to call me that, I do not care. It is a human word. It means nothing to me.”

  Roland kept his eyes away. “Sorry . . .”

  “Come,” she said, opening the door. “They have some really good oatmeal; I should not have to tell you that!”

  Roland stole a glance before leading her out of the room and into the maze of concrete hallways that funneled to the mess hall. After grabbing bowls of chunky oatm
eal, they resorted to a corner table, where Roland tried to explain the rules of Chess better. Maora was laughing lightly at the sharpness of the boy, who seemed to be well ahead of his years. She was glad someone in Beliveilles liked her.

  “People are saying there is a scientist here,” she asked Roland, scooping some oatmeal. “What does he do, exactly?”

  “You mean Ketterhagan,” Roland said. “V’delle says he makes the soldiers weapons and bombs and stuff.”

  “Truly?”

  He nodded. “He lives in the boiler room downstairs. He’s weird.”

  Maora lost eye contact, thinking to herself for a moment. “How can I get to this boiler room?”

  Roland was about to answer when Farin found a seat across from them.

  “How’re things holding up?” she asked, grain bar in hand.

  Roland had his mouth full of oatmeal. “S-e’s fmm.”

  “Come again?”

  He swallowed, coughing the enormous gulp down. “She’s fun. I’m winning every Chess match.”

  “You do that anyways. I’m surprised you haven’t robbed her of her clothes yet.”

  Maora widened her eyes.

  Roland laughed. “Yeah, that’s next.” He devoured another spoonful.

  “Never trust him,” Farin told Maora. “He’s taken five lunches from me.”

  “Well, get better at Chess,” Roland said, objectively.

  Farin furrowed her brown and acted like she saw something in the crowd behind Roland. “Is . . . is that V’delle?”

  Roland sprang from his seat and tried to find the white hair amongst the undulation.

  Farin sat down again, smiling. Maora caught on and chuckled.

  Roland figured it out and returned to his seat, red-faced. “You’re dumb.”

  Maora nudged Farin’s arm and nodded to the crowd. But it wasn’t V’delle coming toward them.

  “Is that . . . her?” Roland said.

  “Farin,” Penelope said, stopping at the edge of the table. “You didn’t tell me we had a guest here.”

  “Yeah,” said Farin. “This is Maora. She’s a defector. Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

  “You are one of the other Preen’ch that escaped the Chalis?” Maora asked politely. “What is your name?”