Broken Sky

by L. A. Weatherly

  “So that means I don’t have to answer your questions,” I said after a pause.

  Officer Page shrugged. “Well, thing is, a crime’s still been committed on my beat. Two, in fact: you evaded arrest and were beaten up by a mob. And I don’t like it when things get messy on my patch.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  The policewoman had brought an extra mug; Officer Page poured himself some coffee. “Plus something about this whole scenario is making me itchy,” he said. “You see, I spoke to the waitress at the diner. She told me you ordered a cup of joe and asked to see a paper.”

  I didn’t respond. He went on: “Now, I ask myself: why would a woman on the run – who I’m assuming to be reasonably intelligent – put herself at that kind of risk for the sake of reading a newspaper?”

  “Because she didn’t know the anonymity policy had been lifted,” I said.

  “Or else she was hoping to find something.”

  I thought of playing poker with Harlan and kept my face on the mild side of expressionless. “Find what?” I asked.

  Officer Page opened a drawer and brought out the crumpled newspaper I’d been carrying when I was arrested. It was folded into quarters, just as I’d left it, showing the headline JOURNALIST KILLED IN AUTO CRASH.

  “Milt Fraser,” Officer Page said musingly. “I did a little checking, you know. One of his co-workers at the paper said he’d been up all night writing something – the story of his career, Milt called it. Now he’s dead. That’s kind of interesting, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “That crowd that attacked you – a few of them claim you said the WfP is corrupt, that you were trying to expose them.” Officer Page waited, his brown eyes watching me.

  I was already being charged with treason; there didn’t seem much I could gain by denying it. “Yes, I said that,” I said finally.

  “Pretty wild claim.”

  “I suppose.”

  He tapped the newspaper. “You know, this co-worker of Milt’s said he was a young guy – ambitious. But very careful about his sources. He wouldn’t write something unless he could back it up.”

  The documents in the train station locker flashed into my mind. Apprehension chilled me. If I trusted this man and he turned out to be another WfP lackey, my only evidence would be destroyed.

  I wrapped my hands around the mug. “Well, you know more about Milt Fraser than I do. I’ve never met him.”

  A flicker of something showed in Officer Page’s gaze. Disappointment?

  “Look, I’ll be straight with you,” he said. “My mother was a Peacefighter, and that means something to me. If there’s any truth in your claim, then I want to know about it.”

  “I’m not a liar,” I said softly.

  “And I bet you’re not delusional, either. So what’s going on, Miss Vancour? Gunnison’s winning every fight that counts. I don’t believe in this ‘power of the stars’ malarkey—”

  I started as the door flew open. A pair of World for Peace security officers entered: a man and woman in matching tan uniforms with the laurel-leaf emblem over their breasts.

  “So this is her,” said the woman. Her hair was pulled back into a bun; her eyes were a frosty blue. She turned to the man. “Yes, she’s the one in the photo. Go call and tell them we’re on our way.”

  As the man left, Officer Page scraped his chair back and rose to his feet. “I was just doing some preliminary questioning.”

  “No need.”

  “Well, yes, there is a need – there was a crime committed in our precinct.”

  The woman gave him a cool look. “The crimes Miss Vancour has already committed will have to take precedence, Officer. Murder is a serious matter.”

  A surge of heat overwhelmed my fear. “I haven’t even had a trial yet.”

  “There were witnesses.”

  “Witnesses? To an un-broadcast Peacefight? Since when?”

  The woman stepped briskly forward. I cried out as she struck me hard across my bruised face.

  “Now, wait a minute—” began Officer Page.

  “It’s time for you to leave, Officer,” said the woman, without taking her eyes from me. “I have jurisdiction now. Any hindrance from you is illegal.”

  Officer Page’s mouth pursed. After a moment, he turned and left. The door closed behind him.

  “You will speak only when I tell you to,” the woman said into the silence. “Like now, for instance.” She took out a photo and slapped it on the table. “Tell me about your accomplice.”

  I went still. The photo was of a pilot with curly black hair and a lean, angular face.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

  Her hand flashed as she struck me again; this time I managed not to make a sound. “Let me make it easy for you,” she said. “Ingo Manfred, a pilot for the European Alliance. Do you recall him now?”

  My cheekbone throbbed – I could taste blood. Already, my mouth felt swollen and clumsy. “I hardly know him,” I said. “We danced together at a club once and then had coffee. That was the night Russ Avery was murdered. I never saw him again after that.”

  “Really? And yet the two of you were seen breaking into the World for Peace building together.”

  My note to Madeline flashed into my head. “That’s not true. I went there, but I went alone.”

  “How did you get in?”

  “I picked the lock.”

  She took a piece of gleaming brass from her pocket and slipped it over her fingers. “I’ll ask again,” she said. She tapped the knuckle rings against her opposite palm. “How did you get in?”

  I licked my lips, staring at the glinting brass. “I picked the lock.”

  She punched me in the stomach. The pain was immediate, crushing; a wave of nausea passed through me. I gasped, doubling over.

  The woman gave a small smile. “The ways of Harmony aren’t always easy, are they, Miss Vancour?” She propped her hands on the table and leaned close into my face. “You’re lying,” she said. “It’s noble of you to protect Mr Manfred, but he’s certainly not protecting you.”

  “What…what do you mean?”

  “He turned state’s evidence. He’s told us everything. About his girlfriend’s father, the keys, your wild plans – everything.”

  She watched me for a reaction. I hoped I didn’t give her one, though it felt as if she’d just knocked the breath from me a second time. Had Ingo really talked?

  In a way, I couldn’t blame him if he had.

  The door opened and the male official came back in. “They’re expecting us.”

  The woman nodded and straightened. “We’ll enjoy getting the complete truth out of you soon, Miss Vancour. Now get up. We’ve got a long drive.”

  I rose slowly, holding my stomach. She grabbed my arm and hurried me from the room. Officer Page was waiting for us in the corridor. His frown deepened as he saw me.

  “Can…can I use the bathroom?” I mumbled. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  The woman grimaced. “Take her,” she snapped to Officer Page.

  The bathroom was empty except for a toilet and basin. No window – nothing I could use. I splashed water over my face and then studied my bruises for a long moment in the mirror, gripping the cool porcelain sink.

  The scratches did look like warpaint.

  I left the bathroom. Officer Page stood leaning against the wall, still frowning. As he straightened, he looked like he was about to say something and then sighed.

  “I have to put these on you,” he said. He drew my arms behind my back and snapped on a pair of handcuffs. The metal weighed coldly against my wrists. We started down the corridor.

  Without looking at him, I said, “The Rosevale train station. Locker twenty-eight. The key’s under a loose tile in the Ladies’ restroom.”

  Chapter Forty

  They took me in a security van. I’d never seen the inside of a Shadowcar, but I imagined this wasn’t far off.
<
br />   I rode in the back while the two officers took the cab up front. The van’s interior was just two benches facing each other; there were no windows. I sat slumped over, too aching and dispirited to try and figure out where we might be going.

  Had I done the right thing, telling Officer Page where the documents were? Milt had been killed; what made me think Page would have better luck?

  I thought bleakly of the morning meeting back at base. Every day, hundreds of Peacefighters swore to fight fairly – to defend their country to the best of their ability – to honour the sanctity of life. Most of us meant every word of that vow. The whole world believed in Peacefighting. The crowd that had attacked me proved that. If I could just get the truth out to people… I swallowed.

  The truth was that I’d soon be shot for a traitor.

  And that Collie was dead.

  I felt cold, hollow inside. I’d been kidding myself to even hope otherwise. Everyone knew we were a couple. He’d been in danger from the second I stole those documents from Russ’s house. Either they’d sabotaged his plane, or they’d made certain that he never left his hospital bed.

  I closed my eyes at a sudden memory: the two of us in bed together a few weeks ago. We’d just made love and were lying in each other’s arms. The sun had hit Collie’s face, making his eyes very green. He’d grinned as he kissed my fingers one by one.

  “Canary Cargo,” he said. “And at least ten kids.”

  I’d laughed. “Can’t we settle for five?”

  “No, you’re not thinking this through, Amity Louise,” he’d said gravely. “If we have ten, we can have our own basketball team.”

  I shuddered and pressed my face hard against my shoulder. My mouth contorted. I would not cry. Whatever happened, that woman would not see me with damp cheeks when she opened those doors again.

  Finally the van slowed and came to a halt. Silence descended as the engine was killed. I sat up, staring at the double doors. Footsteps headed my way. The doors were flung open and I blinked in the sudden sunshine.

  “Get out,” said the woman.

  My muscles felt stiff. I crouched my way through the van. With my wrists still cuffed behind me, I stumbled as I jumped to the ground.

  And then I stared. Our surroundings were as familiar to me as my own hand. “What are we doing here?” I blurted.

  She gripped my arm and marched me towards the gate. “Pilots charged with treason are held on their own bases until trial.” She gave me a pursed-mouth smile. “Home sweet home. Though your fellow pilots probably don’t feel too welcoming towards you right now.”

  Instead of driving me straight to the brig, they’d stopped outside the main gates. With base security accompanying them, they frogmarched me through the streets. My cheeks burned as people turned to gape at “Wildcat” with her bruised, scratched face.

  As we passed the canteen, Vera was just coming out. She pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. None of it’s true, I wanted to tell her.

  There was no sign of Collie.

  The sun burned down as we reached the brig: a squat grey building I’d barely noticed before. Inside it smelled of disinfectant. Base security signed me in. Beside each name was a notation: drunkenness; disturbing the peace. Mine read, suspected treason.

  The woman gave me a smile that actually looked sincere.

  “I hope we meet again, Miss Vancour. Either I or my colleagues will look forward to many long discussions before your trial.”

  Another cell, another hard slab. This one had a thin mattress; it didn’t make much difference. I sat against the wall and stared up at the tiny barred window opposite. The tinny sound of dance music drifted in from the office. It hadn’t stopped since I arrived. I heard one of the guards humming along:

  Love me in May,

  Oh, please say you’ll stay…

  That night at The Ivy Room, dancing in Collie’s arms. I hugged myself and tried not to think.

  Shadows moved slowly across the cement floor. There was a toilet in the corner of my cell, visible to whoever happened by. I pushed aside my squeamishness and used it. Late afternoon came. A guard slid a tray of food through a slot at the bottom of my door. I ate listlessly, knowing that I needed the energy.

  I’d just finished when I heard the outside door open. The guard’s voice came to me faintly: “Evening, sir.”

  I looked up sharply as another voice drifted in: “You can take a quick break. I want a word with our prisoner.”

  My blood went cold. I scrambled to my feet just as Commander Hendrix appeared.

  He stood outside my cell gazing in, his eyes lingering on my bruises. Neither of us spoke. The telio was still on in the background, burbling another tune.

  “You made a serious mistake, Vancour,” said Hendrix finally.

  “No. I did not,” I whispered.

  My commander looked sad. Angry. “You’re nothing like your father, are you?”

  I gripped the bars. “I am everything like him.”

  “Hardly. But if I’m honest, I almost admire it. You’ve got the courage of your convictions, at least.” Hendrix shrugged. “Well, it’ll cost you your life. It’s not what Tru would have wanted.”

  “You’re wrong,” I spat out. “It’s exactly what he’d have wanted, if the only other choice was to be a traitor like you.”

  Hendrix’s forehead creased…and then, incredibly, he gave a small smile. “So you don’t know.”

  His words hung in the air as the dance music played on. With a lurch of dread, I somehow knew that this was the secret I’d longed to know about my father my whole life.

  All I wanted was to run away from it as fast as I could.

  “Don’t know what?” I said finally. My mouth was dry.

  “Haven’t you ever wondered why I assumed you might be open to our offer? You, one of our finest pilots?”

  No. Oh, please, no.

  Hendrix stepped close to the bars. “Twelve years ago your father took a bribe for a Tier One fight,” he said softly. “It was what put Gunnison in power.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  In the silence that followed, images flew at me like wasps. Ma, buying antiques for our house when I was growing up. My father’s two planes. Collie’s voice from our childhood: Amity, you have so many nice things.

  Peacefighters did not make much money.

  “You’re lying,” I said hoarsely. “My father believed in what he did.”

  “Not as much as he believed in looking out for himself – up until the day he died.” Hendrix frowned. “I’ve wondered about that,” he added, more to himself than me. “A clear day…a pilot with so much experience…”

  “What the hell are you saying?”

  “I’m not sure. But you see, another important fight had come up. Tru was supposed to throw that one, too. Instead…” Hendrix shrugged.

  “Instead what?” A hot tear darted down my cheek. I hated Hendrix for making me cry almost more than anything else. “He wasn’t even a Peacefighter by then! How could he have thrown a fight?”

  “But he trained them; he was still in practice. And since he’d thrown the fight that put Gunnison in power, naturally they approached him to—”

  “This is not true!” I took a shaky step backwards.

  “It is,” Hendrix said flatly. “And it’s part of why we thought you might show some common sense.”

  My darling, if I could tell you that, I’d be king of the world.

  I took a gasping breath and clutched at my face. I stood motionless, breathing hard. When I let my hands fall, Hendrix was still there.

  “Get out,” I said.

  He gave a small, strange smile. “Don’t you want to ask about your friend Collie?”

  Though I kept my face expressionless, the words rocked me. How much had Hendrix guessed? Was Collie still alive to protect? Please, I thought. Please.

  I lifted my chin and met Hendrix’s gaze. “He’s no friend of mine,” I said.

  It had been one of those gi
lt-edged summer days, with the sun so bright and fierce that it drenched you in heat the second you stepped outside. Collie and I were down by the river that skirted my family’s property – we practically lived there in the summertime. We’d already been for a swim. Now we lay side by side on the pebbly bank with dragonflies flitting around us, staring up at the sky with our bare feet still in the warm, murmuring water.

  “What would it be like to swim through the clouds?” I mused.

  Collie had one tanned leg bent at the knee, the other sprawled straight out. The bent leg swayed lazily back and forth. His hair was bleached flaxen with summer.

  “Cold and wet, probably,” he said.

  I rolled my head against the pebbles to give him a disgusted look. “The sun’s hot, stupid,” I informed him. “So when you go up high, it gets hot, not cold.”

  Collie crossed his arms behind his head. “You’re stupid. It gets colder the higher up you go.”

  His note of authority made me hesitate. “It does?”

  “Yep. Miss Owen told us.”

  Miss Owen was his third-grade teacher. I was only in second, with old Mrs Belvedere, who was deaf as a tree stump. My forehead creased as I studied a billowing cumulus. I’d always imagined clouds to be soft and warm, like cotton candy.

  “I don’t understand why that should be,” I said finally. “I’ll have to ask Dad.”

  Dad…I don’t understand.

  I lay unmoving on the hard slab they called a bed. How many times in my childhood had I said those words? And he’d always had an answer for me.

  No one could explain what I was feeling now. I squeezed my eyes shut, recalling Hendrix’s odd smile when he’d mentioned Collie. It couldn’t have meant anything good; I knew it. Yet my flash of hope that Collie might still be alive persisted. It was a torment that writhed in my chest.

  Thinking about my father was almost as bad. What Hendrix had told me explained everything, filled in so many gaps. If I could, I’d have taken a knife and sliced the knowledge from my brain.

  Distantly, I heard the guard approach, humming. He stopped in front of my cell. “Finished with that tray? Want to slide it back out to me?”