Recompense (Recompense, book 1)

by Michelle Isenhoff

  As I walk home, I have the distinct impression that the world has passed Opie by and he doesn’t care a fig. While technology may evolve and governments may come and go, the mountain people haven’t changed in generations. They weather events just the same as they did in my grandmother’s day. In her grandmother’s day. There’s comfort in that thought.

  I ponder again the fear that sprang to Opie’s eyes when I mentioned the kidnappings. I wonder if the similarities bother Ethan as much as they bother me. People really should know what’s going on. But then I remember the alarm on Opie’s face. Perhaps there is some wisdom in Governor Macron’s tight grip on the press. Some truth to Ethan’s statements about illusion. Maybe the old ones really don’t want to remember.

  SEVENTEEN

  I return over the ridge and make it back onto headquarters property before anyone has gathered at the Fire Ring. A glance at my holoband shows I have plenty of time to contact Jewel before Ethan’s sparring match. I retreat to my room for a glass of water and scroll through the school directory for Jewel’s contact info. Then I sync her information into my band and connect.

  I hear her voice after only half a minute. “Jack?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. I just wanted to thank you again for your help last night and check in. What happened after we left?”

  She’s quiet several seconds. “You haven’t heard?”

  My heart drops. “Heard what?”

  “The fire. It burned a swath all the way through the Warrens. Didn’t stop till the authorities threw up an energy shield at the border of the new city.”

  “Oh, Jewel, I’m so sorry.” I almost ask why they didn’t throw up a shield sooner, but I’m pretty sure I know that answer. No one from the new city would spend that kind of time, money, or effort on the Warrens. Instead, I ask, “Has anyone been hurt?”

  “No one has an accurate count yet. They’re still digging through hot rubble. But there are a lot of bodies.”

  My heart twists at the tragedy. And I feel a certain amount of guilt even though I know I’m not at fault. I don’t know what to say. “How are the girls?”

  “They’re fine.” Jewel’s voice thins with bitterness. “Carried off to their new-city hospitals and their new-city lives. I’m not sure the trade-off was worth their rescue.”

  She seems to have forgotten her sister-in-law was among the rescued. “How’s Tricia?”

  “She’s recovering. Mostly dehydrated and malnourished.” Her voice has grown less harsh. “Do you have any idea what those guys were planning to do with them?”

  “We’re working on that. I don’t know that the two we caught have talked yet, but Ethan’s pushing them from every angle. I wish we could have captured a few more. No one recovered any bodies, did they?”

  “We haven’t. The Chemistrad factory burned to dust. There’s nothing left, not even the silos. I don’t think the Military found any bodies, either, though they’ve been poking their noses all over the place and asking a lot of questions.”

  “No one’s mentioned us?”

  “No, but the officers are angry that all the crooks got away, and that we didn’t call them instead of going in on our own. I think someone’s nervous that wind of the chemical dump is going to get out.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “They have good reason to be nervous.”

  I pause. “What do you intend to do?”

  “Stick them with the truth. Those idiot boys may have ignited it, but the government is at fault for that fire. We’ve got photos of the contaminants they had stored in there that are going to get leaked all over the holosphere.”

  Macron keeps a tight rein on what’s allowed on the holo-net. Jewel will need a brilliant tech guy to hack in, and I’m not sure the Lowers have contacts like that. Still, a sense of dread builds in my gut. “You’re sure it was the government who stockpiled those chemicals?”

  “Who else would it be? They hold the purse strings of every big business.”

  “Jewel, I don’t know if exposing them is such a grand idea.”

  “Why not?” she asks hotly. “Half the Warrens went up in smoke because of what they did. Countless lives have been lost.”

  “I know. But if Governor Macron’s hounds find out…”

  “She’ll what?”

  I don’t know. I have no basis to think the worst of the Macron administration, but my sense of distrust is growing steadily. Especially after Willoughby’s revelations at our last meeting. “At least give us some time to figure out this case first.”

  “I’ll give you two weeks.”

  “Deal.” I only hope it’s enough. “Jewel, how many of your friends did you lose last night?”

  “Two didn’t make it out of the building. A third was shot, but she crawled out to the woods. We found her and brought her to a healer. She’s holding her own.”

  “I’m really sorry all this happened. I feel sort of responsible.”

  “Why? You didn’t plant the chemicals or start the fire.”

  “I know.” And if Ethan and I hadn’t acted, who knows what would have happened to those girls. “Jewel? Is Markay all right?”

  “She regained consciousness before she was taken away. She doesn’t remember a thing after walking off with Emerson.”

  “She doesn’t know I played a part last night?”

  “I didn’t figure you’d want her to know.”

  “I—I don’t.”

  But I do. I want her to know my friendship was real, even though I won’t be returning to school. That it wasn’t just an act.

  “Thank you, Jewel, for keeping me and Ethan under wraps.”

  “No problem.”

  “If there’s anything we can do for you, you’ll let me know, right?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I sign off with a heavy feeling of disquiet.

  Back outside, a crowd has started to gather at the Fire Ring containing men and women alike. Just about everyone in the facility. I even see Willoughby among them. Caedmon finds me immediately, grabs my arm, and drags me into the bleachers. “Where have you been hiding? I’ve been looking for you all day.”

  “Sorry. Willoughby gave me some files to study. I haven’t been able to make heads or tails of them yet, so I took a walk up the mountain to clear my head.”

  “Well, Ethan wanted me to talk to you. We’ve had a few new developments. First, the radiation frequencies in Epson City have begun to decline.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We still don’t know for certain, but I have a hunch we won’t see any new kidnapping cases in that area.”

  “You think the radiation really causes the boys’ erratic behavior?”

  “At some level, yes, I do. Ethan and I have been conducting some experiments.” She pauses, her brow wrinkled. “I’d rather show you. And Willoughby too. It’s almost as if the boys are programmed. And the way they watch me…”

  She shivers, and I think back to the hangar. I know exactly what she’s talking about.

  “Dr. Skynner has agreed to come scan their brains, looking for increased activities in certain areas, but it seems obvious what we’ll find. I think their tissue has been modified somehow, to respond to radiation in a particular way.”

  Her expression grows even more troubled.

  “There’s something else?”

  “I’m not even sure how to say it.” She hesitates. Before she can articulate what’s bothering her, a cheer rises up from the others in the bleachers. Our attention diverts to the ring, where Ethan and Colonel Padrillo have taken center stage, stretching, bouncing, flexing. They wear mouth guards and are dressed only in loose shorts. Between the two of them, the display of muscle is extraordinary.

  “Holy moly,” I mutter under my breath. Now I know why all the women have turned out.

  Caedmon snickers.

  Ethan scans the crowd without really seeing it, his thoughts clearly centered on the match. His eyes land on me and Caedmon and focus momenta
rily. He gives us a brief nod then turns his attention back to Captain Chase, who is acting as referee and potential medic.

  “You’re going to have to explain this to me,” I tell Caedmon as the men loosen up. “I’ve never seen a fireboxing match before.”

  “It’s pretty simple, really. One competitor has to disable the other.”

  “Like a knockout punch?”

  “That counts, but it’s unusual. There can be striking involved, but it’s more a contest of strength. A grappling match. You keep fighting until one can’t continue anymore. Usually, it comes down to a double shoulder-pin, like wrestling, but it must be held for a full five seconds. You can stomach-pin too, but your opponent must be prone—stomach, knees, chest, and shoulders. They’re rare because it’s so hard to pull an opponent’s arms from beneath him.”

  I watch as Captain Chase steps between the two men and runs down a list of rules. “No striking the throat, back of neck, back of head, spine, or groin. No striking with knees or elbows. And no joint locks. A five-minute break will be granted every fifteen minutes. Are you ready?”

  Ethan and Colonel Padrillo both nod. They shake hands, Captain Chase steps back, and the match begins.

  The men circle like a pair of predators, each eyeing the other and anticipating sudden moves. Ethan jumps in first with a fist strike to the body. Colonel Padrillo makes a grab for him, but Ethan dodges, catches Padrillo’s arm, spins into him, and throws him to the ground. It’s clear Ethan’s the faster of the two. He probably has greater endurance, and he’s definitely younger, but when they lock together in a duel of pure strength, Padrillo will have the advantage.

  “Is there a points system?” I ask.

  “There is, but most Military call it the Fairy Rules. Points are usually disregarded and play continues till someone can’t anymore.”

  I cringe as Ethan catches a heavy blow on his shoulder and think that Caedmon is really stretching the definition of play. “How long do these matches usually last?” I ask. “An hour? Two?”

  “It depends. Sometimes they can go on a long time, especially when they’re evenly matched. The longest lasted over four hours.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  She laughs. “I’m not. It was before my time, but there’s always the possibility.”

  I watch the two men spinning, dodging, grappling. Their bodies have broken out into a sheen of sweat, and sand sticks to Colonel Padrillo’s back.

  “Caedmon, have you ever fireboxed?”

  “Sure.”

  “What was your longest match?”

  “An hour and thirteen minutes. I was useless the entire next day.”

  My eyes go wide. “I’m impressed.”

  She grins. “It was while I was stationed at Macron.”

  “Did you win?”

  She nods. “I could teach you.”

  “Like you taught me pugil sticks?”

  She smirks. “You caught on quick after that initial barrage.”

  “Because I knew I was fighting for my life.”

  My eyes fix on Ethan and I’m momentarily distracted as he sweeps out a leg—that Padrillo deftly leaps—and spins into a crouch. His skin is golden, his body tense. He’s poised on the balls of his feet like a cat ready to spring. Every movement as fluid as water.

  “So, what do you say?” Caedmon asks.

  Ethan dances around the edge of the ring and deftly avoids a series of powerful blows. Every muscle is sculpted of bronze.

  She turns my face away from the ring and rolls her eyes. “Do you want me to teach you?”

  “Fireboxing?”

  “That’s what we were talking about.”

  “Sure. Just go easy on me until I get the hang of it.”

  “Deal.”

  My eyes rivet back on Ethan. He springs forward and lands a kick against Padrillo’s body. Padrillo catches his foot and flings it away so Ethan spins in the air and lands on his back. Padrillo pounces, and sand flies as the two of them wrestle for a dominant position. Ethan rolls away before Padrillo can use his weight, then springs back to his feet.

  Colonel Padrillo rises more slowly and charges as soon as he’s upright. His fists pound like sledgehammers. Ethan avoids most of the blows, dancing lightly on his toes around the ring’s perimeter, but Padrillo pivots unexpectedly and drills Ethan right in the chest. I hear the dull thud and the rush of air. Ethan staggers backward. Padrillo pushes his advantage, landing two more brutal blows before Ethan manages to twist free, leaving a parting kick on the side of his opponent’s face.

  As they duck and twist and dodge, I’m transfixed by the grace and beauty of their battle. Before I even realize it, fifteen minutes have passed. Captain Chase blows a whistle. The two of them break apart, panting heavily, and each retreats to his own side of the ring.

  “Come on,” Caedmon says, catching my arm. “Let’s go talk to Ethan.”

  He’s guzzling water when we reach him. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and rivulets cut through the sand on his chest. “How are you feeling?” Caedmon asks.

  “Not bad. My shoulders are a little tight.” He pulls on his arms, trying to loosen them. His breath is already coming easier. He turns to me. “You like it?”

  Caedmon smirks. “She can’t take her eyes off you.”

  “Yeah?” Ethan grins.

  I punch Caedmon lightly in the shoulder, feeling the burn of Will’s letter in my pocket. The display of power and grace has been impressive—okay, extremely impressive. But I have no designs on Ethan. “It’s really…expressive,” I say, “in a kill-each-other sort of way. How are you not falling over in exhaustion?”

  Ethan takes another long pull from his water bottle and tosses it over the wall. “You just keep moving. You don’t have time to think about it.”

  “Want me to refill the bottle?”

  “Later. I’ve got three more.”

  “Sure.”

  I slide around the ring until I’m even with my weights instructor and hook my arms over the wall. “How are you feeling, Colonel?”

  He eyes me suspiciously. “You say that like you expect me to keel over.”

  “Well, you are old enough to be my father.”

  He guffaws and flexes the stiffness out of one arm. “I’m not dead yet.”

  “Don’t let the young guy get away with anything.”

  “I don’t intend to.”

  The next two rounds pass in the same fashion, a constant maelstrom of motion, grace, sand, and sweat. The crowd has grown a little larger as the final stragglers leave their Saturday activities and make it outside. There isn’t much movement in the bleachers. Everyone is riveted on the battle raging in the ring. Even my untrained eye recognizes the superior level of skill on display. A match to remember, I’m guessing.

  I’m caught off guard each time Captain Chase calls for a break.

  “I’m going inside to grab some dinner,” Caedmon says, rising after the third round. “Want me to fill a tray for you?”

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll meet you inside in a few minutes.”

  I make my way to the ring and collect Ethan’s spent water bottles. After three rounds he looks beat. He’s sitting on a collapsible chair, shoulders slumped, breathing hard. A cut above one eye drips blood into his eyebrow. “I’m heading to the mess hall,” I tell him. “Want me to bring anything out for you?”

  He breaks into a four-pack of energy bars. “No thanks,” he pants. “I’ve got my supper here.”

  “Mmm, yummy.”

  He takes a big bite.

  “I’ll be back,” I tell him. “You’re doing great.”

  I make my way over to Colonel Padrillo. He, too, is chewing on a packaged meal looking worse for wear. His left cheek sports a magnificent bruise and his eye is beginning to close. “Need anything?”

  “Just water,” he gasps. “Maybe a few more towels.”

  “You bet.”

  I stop in the storeroom and hang half a dozen towels around my neck before meeting
Caedmon in the mess hall. She has two trays waiting. We fill the water bottles, she grabs a few sports drinks, and we manage to divide it all between our two trays. We’re back outside within minutes of the whistle.

  We make our deliveries and settle on the bleachers with our meals. We’re not the only ones to do so. About half the audience has returned and now sits with cafeteria trays across their laps. The smell of food permeates the amphitheater. The contenders must certainly find it distracting.

  After two more rounds, darkness begins to fall. After another, the air has taken on a mountain chill and my backside’s grown sore, but the contest shows no indication of letting up. Halfway through the seventh round, Caedmon stands. “I need a bathroom break, a walk, and a blanket, in that order.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait till intermission?”

  “They’re so focused on the match, they’ll never know we’re gone.”

  “I don’t want to miss anything important.”

  “Look at them. I’d be willing to bet that neither one of them will pin the other for at least another round or two.”

  Both contestants hunch with exhaustion. Their movements have grown sluggish, Padrillo’s eye has swollen shut, and they’ve both drawn blood. But Caedmon’s right. They still have that steely glint of determination. Neither one looks ready to give up the fight.

  “You’re right. Let’s go.”

  The nearest entrance opens into the dormitory hallway. We stop at the women’s bathroom first. Then, as we near the storeroom to fetch a pair of blankets, Caedmon returns to our pre-match discussion. “Jack, I’ve got to tell you what happened today. I keep thinking about it, and if I don’t tell someone, I’m going to explode.”

  I pull the door open and glance at her curiously. “What?”

  “Inside.”

  After the door closes securely, she glances around to make sure we’re alone. I feel the prickle of mouse feet up and down my spine. “Caedmon, what is it?”

  She peeks in the corners one more time. “Ethan told you we ran a series of tests to establish physical profiles on the prisoners, didn’t he?”