Rebellion

by K A Riley

  I laugh, too, and I grip him in a tight hug that I know can’t feel good on his bullet-ridden body, but right now, I’m too caught up in him—in us—to care.

  The old church is massive, but the darkness in the air and the weathered wood beams hanging high overhead make it feel smaller and somehow sadder. It’s been an exhausting week. I’m tired all over. I’m rubbing the sore muscles in my arms when Wisp climbs the steps at the front of the room and approaches the dais.

  She raises both hands above her head and calls for everyone’s attention. We all stop talking and turn as one to look up in admiration at our diminutive leader, the already legendary Major, who, before our eyes, has led us to safety from the brink of slavery.

  Like the rest of us, Wisp has changed out of her tactical vest and black infiltration fatigues. She is now back in her baggy khakis and her oversized lime-green hoodie with the sleeves pushed up above her elbows.

  “The city is secure,” she begins. “The Patriot Army reinforcements were cut off just a few hours ago and were turned back outside of Oakland by three full precincts of local law enforcement and by a team of our own Insubordinates.” Wisp makes it a point to look at me. “They say ravens were involved.” Everyone cheers, and Wisp gives me a conspiratorial smile and a raised eyebrow, which I return with a grin and a knowing nod, even though I don’t have any idea what this new information really means. It does seem that ravens are somehow becoming central to the Insubordinates and what has the potential to be a nation-wide resistance movement. Who knows how many battalions might be in Render’s army?

  “But,” Wisp continues, hanging her head as the cheers subside, “our victory here came at a cost.” With her head still down and her hands gripping the edges of the lectern in front of her, her voice quivers. “We’ve sustained confirmed losses: Ethan. Kyle. Emeka. Naveen. Lennox. Nilaja. Tam. Aliera. Alexis. Varion. Naomi. And peace officers: Jackson. Anderson. Ventner. Carlssen. Duerte. There are more in the hospital up the road as we speak. Fellow warriors struggling to hang on. We lost good people. People who were afraid, like all of us, afraid of risking their lives to take on an army but who were more afraid of what would happen if they didn’t. They channeled all that fear into power, power they used to help us to victory. Remember their names, their faces. Remember their spirits. Carry them with you. Let their power become yours until all the good in the world is ours again.”

  The images of the people we lost—the Insubordinates and the peace officers—appear in a succession of holo-images floating in the air above Wisp.

  All around us, eyes fill with tears, and the names of the dead are whispered over and over throughout the cathedral. In the still of the moment, Cardyn, with Kella back by his side, makes his way over to us, his head down as he rejoins our Conspiracy. We form a tight circle, our arms over each other’s shoulders in a melancholy moment of remembrance, gratitude, and tears.

  Brohn raises his head and gazes out over the somber crowd and at the holo-images hovering like ghosts above the pulpit. “They were good soldiers,” he sighs, his voice breaking.

  “And even better human beings,” Cardyn adds, his head pressed against Kella’s in an offer of support amidst the quiet fog of sadness roiling through the cathedral.

  Brohn turns to me, Rain, and Manthy. “We’ll tell you all about them someday,” he promises.

  I tell him I’d like that. I forget sometimes how much time he and Cardyn spent with the Insubordinates. Training someone isn’t like writing code or programming a computer. At its best, it’s about forging relationships, understanding the needs and desires, fears and motivations, and the strengths and weaknesses of the person you’re working with. It’s as much psychological as it is physical, and it’s at least as much about emotion and empathy as it is about anything else. I spent the last week getting to know everything about Ekker, his army, and the ins and outs of the Armory and all about dozens of other strategic places throughout the city. Working with Rain, Manthy, Olivia, and Wisp, I became immersed in the nuts and bolts of our rebellion. Beyond the occasional passing encounters and conversations, though, I never really got to know the Insubordinates. Hearing the names of the dead called out fills me with regret: I wound up knowing so much about their city and their cause and so little about them.

  Wisp raises her head and scans the throng of people before her. She pushes up the sleeves of her hoodie, which have fallen down again, and gives us all a smile. It’s a complicated expression, one filled with pride about what we’ve accomplished, sorrow about all we’ve lost, and fear about what’s yet to come.

  “The big question,” she calls out to all of us, “is ‘what’s next?’ For some of you, it will be going back to your families, starting families of your own, getting on with your lives. For others, it will mean keeping the fight going, inspiring others, and spreading the word about what happened here. Krug has his army, but we have the power. No matter where you go or how you choose to contribute going forward, remember the foundation for this rebellion was the belief that lies will keep us under control for only as long as we let them. We were successful last night because we were prepared. But we won because we were right!”

  With cheers going up and with the mood returning to celebratory, Cardyn leads Kella by the hand over to another group of Insubordinates while Rain excuses herself and weaves through the crowd in Wisp’s direction.

  Manthy turns to me and gives me a grin, something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. The girl who used to slump around in the shadows with her head down, now seems taller, more alive. She has her thick tangle of brown hair pulled back into a casual ponytail and is sporting what has to be the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m happy for her. I’m happy for how far she’s come and for the amazing person she’s turned into. No. That’s not it, exactly. She’s always been amazing. I guess if I’m being honest, I’m happy with myself for finally recognizing her amazingness.

  Manthy looks from me to Brohn. She winces at the commotion going on all around us, the cheers, the hearty pats on the back, the hugs of sympathy and consolation. “Not a fan of crowds,” she says as she walks around behind us. She trails her hand along my shoulders as she goes. When I crane my head around to catch her eye, she gives me a second mini-grin out of the corner of her mouth before disappearing into the exuberant horde.

  “Where’s she going?” Brohn asks, looking back over his shoulder to where Manthy has already slipped away.

  “Probably just walking off the post-battle jitters,” I say, although I know full well what she’s up to. She’s leaving me alone with Brohn, letting us finally have a moment together after so much time apart. It’s her gift to me. I look out into the crowd and offer her a mental “Thanks” before turning back to Brohn.

  “This isn’t the end, you know.”

  “Of the war?” he says. “I know. It’s just the beginning.”

  “I mean us. This isn’t where we end. We have a future. For the first time, I really believe we have a future.”

  Brohn leans down and kisses me, and, for a second, it’s like there’s been no battle, no rebellion, no losses, and no gains—just the two of us, alone together in the middle of so many people and connected on a level beyond the simplicity of a lifetime of shared experiences. Brohn leans back, his hands on my hips, my arms draped around his neck, and he looks at me like we’re the last two people on Earth. Which, to be honest, I’m glad we’re not. As much as I’ve dreamed of spending the rest of my life in Brohn’s arms, there’s something even more satisfying about knowing we also have our Conspiracy and our expanding universe of friends. But above all, there’s a brightening light of hope that this future I’ve come to believe in might be possible after all.

  Brohn and I stand there, talking, reminiscing, and holding each other for not nearly long enough as the Insubordinates continue to chatter and shuffle around us until the spell is finally broken by Wisp who bounds over and apologizes for interrupting. Brohn and I both laugh and swallow her u
p in a massive hug.

  “We always have time for the Major,” Brohn insists, one arm over his sister’s shoulder, the other over mine.

  “So…what next?” I ask her.

  “As much as we’d like to stay here and live happily ever after…,” Brohn starts to say.

  “There are a lot of people out there in a lot of places that could use our help,” I finish. “What do we do about them?”

  I give Wisp a sideways look when she says, “I don’t know. And I don’t know all the answers to the questions about who we all are. But you’re not going to find any more answers here.”

  “Where, then?” I ask.

  Wisp calls Cardyn over from where he’s been chatting with some of his admirers, and he pads up to us with Kella, now looking much less pale and dazed than she did last night, walking along behind him. Then Wisp stands on her tip-toes to spot Rain and Manthy on the far side of the room. She whistles to them through her fingers, and they worm their way through the crowd to join up with us again.

  With all of us together, Wisp tells us to follow her, which we do. Ignoring Brohn’s questions about what she’s up to, Wisp leads us through the crush of the celebrating army, into the lobby of the cathedral, and, finally, out the big double doors and down the steps to the street where she points to an enormous Patriot troop transport rig sitting in the middle of the road.

  “Feel like taking a road trip?”

  29

  Out in front of the church, Dennis Kammet, the Patriot Army vehicle specialist who helped get us into the city, slides out from underneath the massive rig and promises to help us on the next leg of our journey as well. Wiping his hands on a rag that he then crams into his back pocket, he pats the side of the truck.

  “It’s all yours. This is what Krug and his inner circle rode in on before he boarded his heli-barge for his little cruise around town. Krug is all about luxury anyway, and he hates to fly, thus…this. Technically, it’s a P2040 Military Tender on an eight-by-eight wheeled chassis. Some people know it as the Aparcarlypse. It’s also been called the Carmageddon and the Survivor Driver. Only two of them were ever built. This one and one back East in D.C.”

  “We’re going to take a road trip in this?” I ask.

  Rain turns and gives me a little sideways wink and a chirpy giggle. “Sorry about that, Kakari Isutse. Not all of us can fly.”

  As I blush, Cardyn asks where, exactly, Wisp expects us to go.

  “Granden and I spent last night working that out,” Wisp answers. “There are various places you’ll need to visit. Chicago. Philadelphia. Maybe a few others. And some off-the-grid cities. Think of it as a vacation, only instead of fun and relaxing, it’ll mostly be super dangerous, endlessly terrifying, and you’ll be lucky to live through it.”

  “You know,” Cardyn says, “for such an inspirational leader, you can be a real downer sometimes, you know?”

  “What can I tell you? I dropped out of cheerleading school.”

  Our laughter is interrupted by Brohn, who holds up a hand. “Wait. Did you say, ‘cities you’ll need to visit’?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re coming with us, right?”

  Wisp shakes her head. “I want to. I really do. But what I want to do and what I need to do are, unfortunately, in two very different places.”

  “Your place is with us,” Brohn insists, looking suddenly crestfallen. I can’t blame him. He was taken away from his sister. Then he returned to the Valta and thought she’d been killed. Then he found her again here in San Francisco. And now, a week after that wonderful discovery, she’s saying they have to part ways again.

  Rain steps forward to agree with Brohn. “If we’re going anywhere, you’ve got to come with us.”

  “Right,” Cardyn adds, pointing up to one of the cathedral’s pinnacles where Render is quietly perched and spying on us. “You’re officially part of our Conspiracy now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Wisp says. “If you stay here, Krug and the Patriots will track you down, and everything we just fought for will be for nothing. No. You can’t afford to wait around here for that to happen, and I can’t leave here without finishing what I started. I have my mission. You have yours. Just because we’ll be apart doesn’t mean we won’t be together.”

  Brohn looks down at the ground then up at the sky like he’s looking for an answer, any answer that’s different from the one he reluctantly knows is right.

  “We’ll see each other again, Big Brother,” Wisp promises, and Brohn nods before swallowing her up in his arms.

  “What about you, Granden?” I ask. “Will you be joining us?”

  Granden shakes his head. “Like Wisp, I need to stay here. We need to make sure everything we worked for and everything we accomplished doesn’t backslide.”

  “And that someone needs to be you?” I ask. I’ve grown fond of Granden over this past week. I’ve not only forgiven him for his part in our lives in the Processor, I’ve come to appreciate what he did and how much he risked for us. We had no way of knowing it at the time, but all the training he put us through—the struggles, challenges, and the often painful lessons—he wasn’t doing it so we could fight the Eastern Order, and he wasn’t doing it so we could be lab rats and eventually super-soldiers in Krug’s Patriot Army. He wasn’t even doing it to oppose his father. No. Granden trained and supervised us out of duty, but he freed us out of friendship. Because he wanted to. Not for some great cause, but for us. Because he saw how much we needed each other, how much of a family we were. Unlike Ekker, he wasn’t interested in us as Emergents or obsessed with what we could become. He was willing to sacrifice his own career, his own life even, so we could go on being what we were.

  “I’d love to come with you, Kress,” Granden says, his hand on my shoulder. “I really would. No one wants to take down Krug more than I do. But we need to help Captain Huang and the other city officials to keep the Patriot Army from coming back. Our victory here is the foundation the rest of the rebellion will be based on. Once it’s the strongest foundation possible, Wisp and I can move on. Maybe we’ll even meet up again someday.”

  “I’d like that,” I say. “You’re the one who got us here. You risked your life to help us. It only seems fair we return the favor.”

  Wisp reaches up and puts her hand on Granden’s shoulder. “Granden is going to help keep the city secure. He can’t do that alone, even with the help of the local authorities. A lot of what needs to be done has to be done under the radar. Off the books. You need to get the revolution going out there. We need to keep building things here.”

  “Me, too,” a voice says from somewhere behind Cardyn.

  We all turn to look. It’s Kella.

  “I’m going to stay, too.”

  “You can’t,” I cry. “We just found you.”

  Kella looks like she might start sobbing, but she steels herself and steps over to stand next to Granden and Wisp. “They need me here.”

  “It’s true,” Wisp says after a long, pain-filled moment. “What you did for the Insubordinates in less than a week was more than amazing. But we need to keep training new recruits. And no one’s better than Kella at marksmanship and in-the-field combat operations.”

  Granden nods his agreement at this claim. “You’ve trained with her,” he reminds us. “You know how good she is.”

  “But that was before…” I start to say and then think better of it. No sense in re-opening the Ekker wound quite so soon.

  “I can do this,” Kella assures us. “I want to.” And then she smiles for the first time in a long time. “Don’t worry. Like Granden says, I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”

  I smile and take her hand. “I’ve got the same feeling.”

  “We all do,” Brohn adds, stepping forward to shake her hand. She pushes his hand away and throws her arms around his waist as we all laugh—even Manthy—and step in for one of our great group-huddle hugs.

  As civilians from the city start to gather around, many of them cl
apping and nodding their appreciation, we stand next to the truck, shaking hands with the Insubordinates, giving and receiving hearty slaps on the back, and exchanging a litany of praise and congratulations.

  As the Insubordinates pass on and as our goodbyes begin to ebb, Wisp tells us it’s getting late and that we need to get moving.

  We swarm Granden with an onslaught of handshakes and hugs before moving on to Kella.

  “You were with us the whole time,” I promise, tapping my temple with my finger and putting my hand on my heart. “You always will be.”

  Kella offers up a feeble smile. I can tell she’s in pain from her experiences with Ekker, and I know her recovery won’t be anywhere near just around the corner. But maybe staying here with Wisp and Granden—being part of something new, helping to build on our rebellion from the safety of this newly liberated city—maybe that’s exactly what she needs.

  Standing out there by the truck in front of Grace Cathedral, I keep saying goodbye to everyone. I can’t seem to stop. None of us can. Even Caldwell has taken a break from his supervision of the Modifieds and has come by to see us off. He steps forward to give us each a quick, tentative, but kind-hearted handshake. He lingers the longest with Manthy, holding her hands in his, saying how proud he is of her and how much he knows she’s going to mean to the world.

  The hugs and well-wishes seem to go on forever, and no one is complaining. For her part, Kella accepts our outpouring of emotion with a kind of smiling but stunned stoicism. I’m still getting traces of her consciousness from when I connected with her on the Armory rooftop last night, but the images are faded and scrambled now. I feel her gratitude and her relief, but that’s mingled with a haze of bleak trauma and even with regret about losing Ekker. The major parts of the hooks he had in her may be gone, but some barbs remain.

  Finally, with more effort than we expended yesterday in the throes of battle, we force ourselves to let go.