The Legend Trilogy Collection

by Lu, Marie

  Kaede flips through the bills with the hand on her good arm and tests one on the tip of her tongue. Her other arm is wrapped in a tight cast. Suddenly I wonder if Tess was the one to bandage up that arm. The Patriots must find her useful.

  “I’m sorry about that, by the way,” I say, gesturing at her arm. “I’m sure you understand why I did it. I still have the wound you gave me.”

  Kaede lets out a dry laugh. “Whatever,” she says. “At least we got ourselves another medic in the Patriots now.” She pats her cast and winks at Tess.

  “Glad to hear it,” I say, looking sideways at Tess. “Take good care of her. She’s worth it.”

  Kaede studies my face a little longer. Then, she finally releases me and nods at my belt. “Drop your weapons.”

  I don’t argue. I pull four knives from my belt, hold them out slowly so she can see, then toss them to the alley floor. Kaede kicks them out of my range.

  “You have any tracking gear?” she says. “Any listening devices?”

  I let Kaede check both my ears and my mouth. “Nothing,” I reply.

  “If I hear so much as one pair of footsteps heading our way,” Kaede says, “I’ll kill you right here. Understand?”

  I nod.

  Kaede hesitates, then lowers her arm and guides us deeper into the shadows of the alley. “No way I’m taking you to see any other Patriots,” she says. “I don’t trust you enough for that. You can talk to us two, and I’ll see if it’s worth passing along.”

  I wonder how large an operation the Patriots are. “Fair enough.”

  I start telling Kaede and Tess about everything I’ve discovered. I begin with Metias, and then his death. I tell her about my hunt for Day and what had happened when I turned him in. What Thomas had done to Metias. But I don’t mention to her why my parents died or what Metias had revealed about the plagues in his blog entries. I’m too ashamed to say it straight to the face of two people living in the poor sectors.

  “So your brother’s friend murdered him, huh?” Kaede lets out a low whistle. “For figuring out that the Republic killed your parents? And Day’s been framed?”

  Kaede’s nonchalant tone annoys me, but I brush it aside. “Yes.”

  “Yeah, that’s a sad story. Tell me what the hell this has t’do with the Patriots.”

  “I want to help Day escape before his execution. And I’ve heard that the Patriots have wanted to recruit him for a long time. You probably don’t want to see him dead, either. Maybe the Patriots and I can come to some sort of arrangement.”

  The anger in Kaede’s eyes has turned into skepticism. “So you want revenge for your brother’s death or something? Gonna turn your back on the Republic for Day’s sake?”

  “I want justice. And I want to free the boy who didn’t kill my brother.”

  Kaede grunts in disbelief. “You’re living a sweet life, you know. Tucked in a cozy apartment in some rich sector. You know if the Republic finds out you’ve been talking to me, they’ll put you in front of a firing squad. Same as Day.”

  The mention of Day standing before a firing squad sends chills down my spine. From the corner of eye, I see Tess wince as well. “I know,” I reply. “Are you going to help me?”

  “You’re fond of Day, aren’t you?” Kaede says.

  I hope the darkness hides the rising color in my cheeks. “That’s irrelevant.”

  She lets out a laugh. “What a joke! Poor little rich girl’s fallen in love with the Republic’s most famous criminal. And it’s even worse since you’re the reason he’s there in the first place. Right?”

  Stay calm. “Are you going to help me?” I ask again.

  Kaede shrugs. “We’ve always wanted Day. He’d make a perfect Runner for us, y’know? But we’re not in the business of doing good deeds. We’re professionals, we have a long agenda, and it doesn’t involve charity projects.” Tess opens her mouth to protest, but Kaede motions for her to stay quiet. “Day may be a popular figure out here on the streets, but he’s still one guy. What’s in it for us? Just the joy of getting him on board? The Patriots aren’t going to risk a dozen lives just to free a single criminal. It’s inefficient.”

  Tess lets out a sigh. I exchange a look with her, and I can tell that this is something she’s been trying in vain to convince Kaede to do ever since Day was arrested. This might even be the reason why Tess joined the Patriots in the first place—to beg them to save Day.

  “I know.” I take off my backpack and toss it to Kaede. She doesn’t open it. “That’s why I brought this. There are two hundred thousand Notes in there, minus what I handed you earlier. A decent fortune. It’s my reward money for capturing Day, and it should be enough payment for your assistance.” My voice lowers. “I’ve also included an electro-bomb. Level three. Worth six thousand Notes. It’ll disable guns for two minutes in a half-mile radius. I’m sure you know how difficult it can be to get one on the black market.”

  Kaede unzips the backpack and sorts through the contents. She doesn’t say anything, but I can see the pleasure in her body language, the way she hunches hungrily over the bills and runs her good hand across their crisp surfaces. She lets out a grunt of delight when she reaches the electro-bomb, and her eyes widen when she holds up the metallic sphere to inspect it. Tess watches her with hopeful eyes.

  “This is pocket change to the Patriots,” she says after she finishes. “But you’re right—it might be enough to convince my boss to let me help you out. But how can we be sure this isn’t a trap? You sold Day to the Republic. What if you’re lying to me too?”

  Pocket change? The Patriots must have deep pockets. But I just nod. “You have a right to be suspicious of me,” I say. “But think of it this way. You can walk away right now, with two hundred thousand Notes and a rather handy weapon, and never lift a finger to help me. I’m putting my trust in you and in the Patriots. I’m begging you to put your trust in me.”

  Kaede takes a deep breath. I can tell she’s still not convinced. “Well, what did you have in mind?”

  My heart skips a beat. I smile genuinely at her. “First things first. Day’s brother John. I plan to help him escape tomorrow night. No earlier than eleven P.M., no later than eleven thirty.” Kaede gives me an incredulous look, but I ignore her. “A fake death—a claim that John’s infected with the plague. If I can help him escape from Batalla Hall tomorrow night, I’ll need you and a couple of Patriots to get him out of the sector. Keep him safe.”

  “We’ll be there, if you can make it.”

  “Good. Now, Day is obviously going to be trickier. His execution happens two evenings from now, at exactly six P.M. Ten minutes before that, I’ll be the first person leading him to the firing squad yard. I have a secure access ID—I should be able to get Day out through one of the east hall’s six back exits. Have some Patriots wait for us there. I expect a crowd of at least two thousand to show up for the execution, which means a crew of at least eighty security guards. The back exits need to be as sparsely guarded as possible. Do something—anything—to make sure most of the soldiers have to go help there. If the first block past Batalla Hall doesn’t have a lot of security, you’ll have enough of a head start to escape.”

  Kaede raises an eyebrow. “You’re suicidal. You know how impossible this sounds?”

  “Yes.” I pause. “But I don’t really have much choice.”

  “Well, go on. What about the square?”

  “Diversion.” My eyes lock onto Kaede’s. “Create chaos in Batalla Square, as much chaos as you can manage. Enough chaos to force most of the soldiers guarding the back exits to enter the square and help contain the crowd—if only for a couple of minutes. That’s what the electro-bomb might help you with. Set it off in the air, and it’ll shake up the ground in Batalla Hall and around it. It shouldn’t hurt anyone, but it’ll definitely stir up some panic. And if the guns in
the vicinity are disabled, they can’t shoot at Day even if they see him escaping along a rooftop. They’ll have to chase him or try their luck with less accurate stun guns.”

  “Okay, genius.” Kaede laughs, a little too sarcastically. “Let me ask you this, though. How the hell are you going to get Day out of the building at all? You think you’re going to be the only soldier escorting him to the firing squad? Other soldiers will probably flank you. Hell, a whole patrol might join you.”

  I smile at her. “There will be other soldiers. But who says they can’t be Patriots in disguise?”

  She doesn’t answer me, not in words. But I can see the grin spreading on her face, and I realize that even though she thinks I’m crazy, she has also agreed to help.

  TWO NIGHTS BEFORE MY EXECUTION DATE, I HAVE a slew of dreams while trying to sleep against my cell’s wall. I can’t remember the first few. They mix together into a confusing sludge of familiar and strange faces, something that sounds like Tess’s laughter, something else that sounds like June’s voice. They’re all trying to talk to me, but I can’t understand any of them.

  I remember the last dream I have before I wake up, though.

  A bright afternoon in Lake sector. I’m nine. John is thirteen, just barely starting his growth spurt. Eden is only four and sits on our front door’s steps, looking on as John and I play a game of street hockey. Even at this age, Eden is the most intelligent of us, and instead of joining in, he chooses to sit there tinkering with parts of an old turbine engine.

  John hits a crumpled ball of paper toward me. I barely catch it with the butt of my broom. “You hit it too far,” I protest.

  John just grins. “You’ll need better reflexes than that if you want to pass your Trial’s physical tier.”

  I hit the paper ball back as hard as I can. It whizzes past John and hits the wall behind him. “You managed to pass your Trial,” I say. “Despite your reflexes.”

  “I missed that ball on purpose.” John laughs as he turns and jogs over to the ball. He catches it before the breeze can blow it away. Several passersby almost step on it. “Didn’t want to completely crush your ego.”

  It’s a good day. John had recently been assigned to work at our local steam plant. To celebrate, Mom sold one of her two dresses and an assortment of old pots, and spent all last week taking over shifts from her coworkers. The extra money was enough to buy a whole chicken. She’s inside preparing it—and the smell of meat and broth is so good that we keep the door propped open a little so we can catch a whiff of it out here, too. John isn’t usually in such a great mood. I plan to take advantage of it as much as I can.

  John hits the ball to me. I catch it with my broom and knock it back. We play fast and furious for several minutes, neither of us missing, sometimes making such ridiculous jumps to get the ball that Eden falls over laughing. The smell of chicken fills the air. It’s not even a hot day today—it’s perfect, in fact. I pause for a second as John runs to fetch the ball again. I try to take a mental snapshot of this day.

  We hit the ball some more. Then, I make a mistake.

  A street policeman wanders through our alley as I’m getting ready to hit the ball back to John. From the corner of my eye, I see Eden stand up on the steps. Even John sees him coming before I do, and he holds out one hand to stop me. But it’s too late. I’m already in mid-swing, and I hit the ball straight into the policeman’s face.

  It bounces right off, of course—harmless paper—but it’s enough to make the policeman stop in his tracks. His eyes dart to me. I freeze.

  Before any of us can move, the policeman pulls a knife from his boot and marches over to me. “Think you can get away with something like that, boy?” he shouts. He lifts the knife and gets ready to hit me across the face with its handle. Instead of cringing, I give him a nasty stare and hold my ground.

  John reaches the policeman before he can reach me. “Sir! Sir!” John darts in front of me and holds his hands out to the policeman. “I’m so sorry for that,” he says. “This is Daniel, my little brother. He didn’t mean it.”

  The policeman shoves John out of his way. The knife handle whips me across the face. I collapse on the ground. Eden screams and runs inside. I cough, trying to spit out the dirt that fills my mouth. I can’t speak. The policeman walks over and kicks me in my side. My eyes bulge out. I curl up in a fetal position.

  “Stop, please!” John rushes back to the policeman and stands firmly between the two of us. I catch a glimpse of our porch from where I lie on the ground. My mother has rushed out to the entrance, with Eden hidden behind her. She calls out desperately to the policeman. John continues pleading with him. “I—I can pay you. We don’t have much, but you can take whatever you want. Please.” John’s hand comes down and grabs my arm. He helps me to my feet.

  The policeman pauses to consider John’s offer. Then he looks up at my mother. “You, there,” he calls out. “Fetch me what you have. And see if you can raise a better brat.”

  John pushes me farther behind himself. “He didn’t mean it, sir,” John repeats. “My mother will punish him for his behavior. He’s young and doesn’t know any better.”

  My mother rushes out a few seconds later with a cloth bundle. The policeman opens it and checks each Note. I can tell that it’s almost all our money. John stays silent. After a while, the policeman rewraps the money and tucks it into his vest pocket. He looks at my mother again. “Are you cooking a chicken in there?” he says. “Kind of a luxury for a family of your type. You like wasting money often?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then fetch me that chicken too,” the policeman says.

  Mom hurries back inside. She comes out with a tightly tied bag of chicken meat lined with cloth rags. The policeman takes it, slings it over his shoulder, and casts me one more disgusted look. “Street brats,” he mutters. Then he leaves us behind. The alley turns quiet again.

  John tries to say something comforting to Mom, but she just brushes it off and apologizes to John for our lost meal. She doesn’t look at me. After a while, she hurries back inside to tend to Eden, who has started to cry.

  John whirls to face me when Mom is gone. He grabs my shoulders, then shakes me hard. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me? Don’t you dare.”

  “I didn’t mean to hit him!” I yell back.

  John makes an angry sound. “Not that. The way you looked at him. Don’t you have any brains at all? You never look at an officer like that, do you understand? You want to get us all killed?”

  My cheek still stings from the knife handle, and my stomach burns from the policeman’s kick. I twist out of John’s grasp. “You didn’t have to stand up for me,” I snap. “I could’ve taken it. I’ll fight back.”

  John grabs me again. “You’re completely cracked. Listen to me, and listen to me good. All right? You never fight back. Ever. You do what the officers tell you, and you don’t argue with them.” Some of the anger fades from his eyes. “I would rather die than see them hurt you. Understand?”

  I struggle for something smart to say in return, but to my embarrassment, I feel tears well up in my eyes. “Well, I’m sorry you lost your chicken,” I blurt out.

  My words force a little smile out of John. “Come here, boy.” He sighs, then envelops me in a hug. Tears spill down my cheeks. I’m ashamed of them, and I try not to make a sound.

  I’m not a superstitious person, but when I wake up from this dream, this painfully clear memory of John, I have the most horrible feeling in my chest.

  I would rather die than see them hurt you.

  And I have a sudden fear that somehow, some way, what he said in the dream will come true.

  0800 HOURS. RUBY SECTOR.

  64°F OUTSIDE.

  DAY WILL BE EXECUTED TOMORROW EVENING.

  Thomas shows up at my door. He invites me to an early movie showi
ng before we have to report to Batalla Hall. The Glory of the Flag, he tells me. I’ve heard good reviews. It’s about a Republic girl who captures a Colonies spy.

  I say yes. If I’m going to help John escape tonight, I’d better make sure I keep Thomas feeling good about our relationship. No need for him to get suspicious.

  The oncoming hurricane (fifth one this year) shows its first signs as soon as Thomas and I step out onto the streets—an ominous gale, a gust of ice-cold wind, startling in the otherwise humid air. Birds are uneasy. Stray dogs take shelter instead of wandering. Fewer motorcycles and cars pass by on the streets. Trucks deliver extra jugs of drinking water and canned food to the high-rise residents. Sandbags, lamps, and portable radios are rationed out too. Even the Trial stadiums have postponed the Trials scheduled for the day the storm will arrive.

  “I suppose you must be excited, what with everything that’s going on,” Thomas says as we file into the theater. “Won’t be long now.”

  I nod and smile. People pack every seat in the house today, in spite of the windy weather and impending blackouts. Before us looms the theater room’s giant Cube, a four-sided projector screen with one side pointed toward each block of seats. It shows a steady stream of ads and news updates while we wait.

  “I don’t think ‘excited’ is the best term for how I’m feeling,” I reply. “But I have to say I am looking forward to it. Do you know the details about how it’ll go?”

  “Well, I know I’ll be monitoring the soldiers in the square.” Thomas keeps his attention on the rotating commercials (our side currently shows a bright, gaudy Is your child’s Trial coming up? Send him to Ace Trials for a free tutoring consultation!). “Who knows what the crowd might do. They’re probably already gathering. As for you—you’ll probably be inside. Leading Day to the yard. Commander Jameson will tell us more when it’s time.”

  “Very well.” I let myself think over my plans again, details of which have been running through my mind ever since I met Kaede last night. I’ll need time to deliver uniforms to her before the execution—time to help several of the Patriots sneak inside. Commander Jameson shouldn’t need much convincing to let me escort Day out, and even Thomas sounds like he understands that I want to.