“Tell me. You owe me that much... Am I wrong?” Lancer stared at him, unblinking, waiting.
“Not exactly,” Max said. He saw rage wash over Lancer’s face. He swallowed. “I’m sorry—”
Lancer swayed hard and he grabbed him, barely catching him. He took him by the shoulders and walked him to his bed, gently pushed him onto it, and stepped back. Lancer climbed the rest of the way in, not looking at him, his hands shaking.
“What can I do, Lancer?”
“You can bloody leave. Run. Do whatever the hell you want,” Lancer said in a voice devoid of any emotion and shut his eyes.
“All right,” Max whispered after a few moments, turned to the door.
He heard rustling behind him and hoped Lancer would just rest now. He barely managed to duck, on reflex, as his gun sailed over his head and slammed hard into the old, wood door.
“I’m sure you got more bullets for this thing somewhere. You pity me that much, you bloody do it!”
Max picked up the gun and stuffed it into his belt. He took one last look at Lancer, but the man was facing away from him, hiding, or worse, dismissing him. Max sighed and bolted.
Maybe Lancer was right, he thought through all the anger in him. Maybe he should just do it if it’ll make it easier on his friend. But he had to talk to the kid first, had to prepare him somehow for how his father was, only he didn’t know how he could explain this man to the boy. He wanted Lancer to love him, couldn’t see how he could help it, but he didn’t know if he’d let himself after everything.
Telan was at the window, eyes on the almost empty street below. He walked over to him, the kid not looking at him.
“Is he afraid to let me see him?” the kid asked in a whisper after a while.
He didn’t want to lie to him, liked him too much to do that, so he nodded.
“Tell him that I waited for fifteen years, so I am okay with it, with the waiting. I’ll wait for however long he needs me to. Just tell him that.”
He put his arm around the kid, pressing him close. “You should go see him tomorrow unless you don’t want to. Ella or Riley can take you if you want. It won’t be any easier on him no matter when you two talk,” he said softly and left him.
For the first time since Lancer got sick, he needed a drink. He went to the tiny house he chose for himself, far enough away from the other now occupied houses. The place was a mess, but he was too damn sad and too tired to deal with it. He turned the kettle on and found a bottle of whatever Drake gave him ages ago, mixing enough of it into his tea to knock him out for a bit.
He gulped down the hot liquid without tasting it, sprawled out on his bed, fully clothed, and closed his eyes. He felt the liquor work its way into him, taking the edge off the words Lancer spat at him, and the way he looked at him afterward. He took the gun out and contemplated reloading it, but didn’t have the energy to go digging for bullets for it just yet. He just needed a few bloody minutes of rest before he did anything else. He ran through all that happened in the last few weeks, again and again, hoping that maybe some moment, some thing would jump out at him where he could change this, but there wasn’t one.
It struck him as all kinds of strange that he did to Lancer now what his friend had done to him all those years ago, and he thought that whatever else happened, he did the right thing. That someday Lancer would know for certain why he couldn’t let him die without at least knowing what he was leaving behind; without getting to know his son.
He woke up to Drake pacing in his bedroom, making all kinds of noise.
“About damn time,” Drake said.
Max sat up and went to get off the bed, but Drake pushed him back down, his free hand holding a slave band. Max couldn’t think of one thing he’d done to Drake to make him angry at him, or worried enough to bring the bloody slave band with him, but he was too tired to fight him. Too damn tired to fight any of them. He took a breath to calm himself.
“Please, don’t,” he said, looking Drake in the eye. “I won’t fight you. Whatever this is, I give you my word you won’t need the band.”
“All right.” Drake stepped back, giving him room to get up.
Drake reached behind him and pulled out a gun—his gun— from his belt. “Talk, Max.” He threw the gun on the bed as if he were angry at it.
“It’s personal. And no longer an issue,” Max said very quietly.
“Tell me something... How do you think Brody would handle it? Burying you? When did you forget that you have a bloody kid, too? Never mind the rest of us, but damn it, Max!” Drake turned and walked to the window, his head bowed.
“I didn’t think he’d do it.”
Drake spun around. “And if he had? You gave him a loaded gun, Max.... knowing how pissed he was at you, hell, at all of us. You all but pulled the damn trigger—“
“I owed him,” Max looked down, embarrassed, “he deserved better from me.”
“No, Max. He deserved for us to fight for him! And he got that— from you. He’ll get over the embarrassment of it. But you…. I don’t know if I can trust you not to run or worse. And I need to.” Drake walked right up to him, his dark eyes boring into his.
“I won’t run, Drake, or do anything else you’re worried about. Not unless Lancer tells me to,” Max said, put out his hand, “you have my word.”
Drake nodded, shook his hand, then marched into the kitchen, and he was grateful for the few minutes of peace that followed.
“He’s probably made himself sick worrying about you. Lancer, I mean. And he will get over the rest of it. Drink this.” Drake handed him a steaming mug of something that smelled awful. It tasted just as bad, but he downed the whole thing and handed the empty mug back. It took less than a minute for his head to feel fuzzy. He scrambled for his bed, hoping whatever he drank won’t make him throw up. His legs felt heavy and he was hot everywhere. He looked up at Drake, registering a small smile on his face. He wanted to say something to this man, wanted to apologize for worrying him, but he couldn’t make his mouth move enough to do it.
“Don’t fight it, Max. It’ll be the best sleep you ever had.” Drake’s voice was soft, no anger in it now.
Max felt Drake’s hands on him, moving him up on the pillows, pulling the blanket over him, and then gently squeezing his hand.
“I’ll come back to check on you in the morning,” Drake said. “Try not to do anything stupid before then.”
He tried to say something back, but whatever he drank made him feel unbearably tired, heaviness and warmth settling into his limbs and his very bones, and he let it take him under, grateful for the darkness it brought. And for the peace of not having to dream.
7
Old Enemies
Telan, June 17, 2244, Reston
Lancer was still asleep when Riley left him in the room alone with him. Telan watched him for a long time, tracing every feature of his face with his eyes, something to remember him, if he couldn’t stay here. He looked far too thin and frail for his age. He knew it was the cancer that made him look like this, and that if whatever they did with what they took from him worked, he’d be back to normal soon enough, but it still hurt to see him looking so weak.
He sat by him as quietly as he could for an hour now, waiting for him to wake up, and finally he heard his breathing change, only his eyes stayed closed, but he could tell he was awake, could feel it. He reached over and took his long-fingered hand in his. The man jerked it away and then opened his eyes, looked at him for a few seconds and turned away.
“Do you want me to go?” he asked in a voice that came out pitifully small even to him. He winced at the sound of it, cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ll leave, if you want me to, Lancer,” he said, sounding much more like himself, and stood up.
His father looked at him again and then slowly sat up, his too-thin hands clasped on top of the blanket. “I don’t know what to say to you, Telan, after everything. I’m sorry, kid, but I truly don’t. I never meant for this … for you to see me l
ike this, or for my friends to make you do what they did, and I don’t know enough words to apologize for it.” He turned his face away from him again, as if it pained him to look at him.
“It’s all right,” he whispered, and turned to go, feeling a strange sadness take him.
Lancer’s voice caught him at the door: “I’m truly sorry, Telan, for everything.” His voice was strained, and he couldn’t help it then.
He ran back to him, the man’s eyes shut tightly. He wanted to comfort him, so without thinking he lunged at him and wrapped his arms around his neck.
Lancer didn’t move, didn’t do anything, just sat there frozen like a statue and it scared him, so he pulled back, not knowing what to do.
“Max told me as much as he could, I think. I know you didn’t really have a choice, Lancer. I’m not angry at you, not for any of it, and you shouldn’t be angry with Max either. He loves you. He did it for that. But he didn’t force me to run or to come here, didn’t force me to do anything, I swear to you. None of your people did. I wanted to do it. I’ll shut up now,” he said shakily, and put his head down. He felt the man’s hand on his arm after a while and looked up, gray eyes looking at him, the eyes that got him so many beatings over the years, he thought miserably.
“Come here,” Lancer said in a soft whisper, and pulled on his arm, making him lie down next to him, and then hugged him hard, not saying a word.
He could tell the man was crying quietly to himself, but he didn’t want to embarrass him. He put his head on his chest, keeping his own wet eyes well enough away from him, and after a while, Lancer seemed asleep again by the way his breathing was. He didn’t want to leave yet, didn’t dare move anything, so he stayed as he was, hoping there was something he could do to make it easier on this man.
Riley came in quietly after what seemed like hours and told him to come out of the room and go have some dinner. He liked this man as soon as he met him. There was something guileless about him, and he could tell he loved Lancer by the way he was with him. Max was already at the table, looking very much at home, and he wondered if he had anybody or if he lived alone, like Riley and his father seemed to.
He sat next to Max, and Riley dropped what looked like a whole headless fish on his plate and some green salad leaves and tomatoes. He hasn’t had one of those in a long time, never cared for them, but he didn’t want to be rude, so he bit into one and the sweetness of it surprised him. It must have shown on his face, the way Riley was smiling at him.
“We grow our own, Telan. All the greens we can. And I fish, when the mood strikes me or when I have company. Dig in,” Riley said still grinning, nodding at his still full plate, and he did, nobody saying anything for a while.
“I told him that he shouldn’t be angry at you, Max. I don’t know why he would be. Told him you didn’t force me to do any of it, too, only I don’t know if he believes me…. I think it might be easier on him if I left. It hurts him to look at me, I think. I don’t want to go, but I will if he needs me to.” He needed to tell him this, remembering the way his father’s face got when he saw him.
Max stood up and lifted him out of his chair by his shoulders, staring at him. “You are not going anywhere. I can’t imagine Lancer wanting you to, but even if he did, you are stuck here, kid. If you two can’t work it out so that you are okay with each other, then you will be strangers living in the same city. But you’re not leaving. I am going to need your word on that,” he said, and took a step away from him, waiting, his hands behind his back.
He couldn’t lie to him, so he shook his head, feeling all sorts of guilty for it. He didn’t know how to explain it to any of them that it didn’t matter to him where he was. He just needed to make sure the man who was asleep in the other room was okay, and he knew him being here was hurting him. He looked over at Riley, but he hadn’t moved through all of it, just sat there watching them, hands folded on the table in front of him.
Max pulled out a wide metal band from his belt and he knew what it was as soon as he saw it, the thing they used to put on Zoriner girls when they made them into slaves.
Riley was suddenly standing between them, shaking his head at Max. “You can’t, Max. I’ll keep an eye on the kid, so he doesn’t run, but you can’t do this to him. I won’t let you,” and he sounded furious at Max when he said it.
He felt bad for all of it, for these two people fighting over him. “It’s all right, Riley. He can do what he feels he needs to. I am okay with it,” he said quietly, and walked up to Max and put his hands out for the band, looking into his strange eyes with all the colors in them.
Max tucked the band away and dropped his eyes. “I am sorry, Telan. I wasn’t thinking,” he said, and ran out the door, leaving him in this strange house with a strange man who gave him his eyes sleeping in the next room and this Zoriner who seemed to be genuinely shaken by what just happened.
Riley took him by the shoulders and made him sit at the table again. “I’ll make us some tea. Don’t run, if you can help it,” and he smiled at him, a small smile, but it felt good to see it anyway.
He cleared the dishes while Riley was doing whatever he was doing with the tea, and sat back down, waiting. A steaming mug that smelled of tea and some kind of herb landed with a clunk in front of him. It smelled sweet and woodsy, a pleasant smell.
Riley was watching him intently.
“You’ve met Ella already. Her husband is the one who got me hooked on this stuff. It’s just sage, but for some strange reason it makes me feel better about everything when I smell it. Drake, his name is. You’ll meet him in the next few days. He’s off helping some of our kids with their training now. We all grew up together, Ella and Drake, and my best friend, Brody. You’ll meet him too. He’s with Drake now. Anyway…. I miss them, and this makes it easier for me.” He said all of it quickly, in a rush, and he didn’t know what he could say to any of it. Didn’t know what it was like to have friends or to miss somebody.
He drank his tea in silence, keeping his eyes on the dark wood of the table.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” Riley asked after a while.
He felt himself blush. “I didn’t mean to be rude, Riley, I’m sorry.” He made himself look up at him, warm brown eyes looking back at him softly.
“Don’t be, kid. It’s never rude not to talk if you don’t have anything to say. I’m just trying to figure you out, is all. Kids here are… how should I say it. They’re kids, you know? They run around, playing, screeching, pranking each other, and they never, ever shut up,” he said, smiling at him, “you don’t strike me as someone who’s done much of that. I won’t pry or anything, but if you ever do want to talk, I am a pretty good listener,” and he stood up.
Riley took him to a small room behind the kitchen with a couch and a few chairs in it and not much else. “You’ll sleep here for the night, if that’s all right, and we’ll figure out something better for you tomorrow if we need to. I’d rather not leave this house, if I can help it. I like it and I’m used to it, but we’ll move if we have to, if you don’t think you can manage it on the couch while your father is here.”
He spread the sheets on the soft couch for him, dropped the pillow on it, handed him a large blanket, and left without another word. He liked how he did all of it, a small smile playing on his face the whole time. Liked that he didn’t pry, didn’t ask him too many questions. He’d gladly stay here for as long as he needed to.
It was taking him a long time to fall asleep, the house deathly quiet around him. He wasn’t used to things being this quiet. He thought about what he’d say to Max when he saw him next. Felt he had to say something to him after tonight, and he hoped the man wasn’t angry at him again. He just didn’t want to lie to him, but the way he left, he seemed sad, and he wanted to fix that somehow.
He heard footsteps outside and went to the window, peering into the darkness. Selena was pacing in front of the house, hands in the pockets of her pants. He opened the door and let her in, feeling a little
guilty for doing it without asking Riley’s permission, but he didn’t want to disturb him, and the girl seemed shaken.
He took her by the hand and led her to the room he was supposed to be sleeping in and sat her down on the couch, crouching in front of her. “What is it? What happened?”
She was biting her lip and fidgeting, looking more uncomfortable than he’d ever seen her. “I can’t stay here. I am sorry, but I just can’t,” she said very quietly, and stayed silent after that, not looking at him, not moving anything.
He let her stay like that for a long time, waiting for something else, but it never came. “I can’t leave, if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t leave him, not unless he wants me to go. I am sorry. Can you tell me why you want to run at least?” he asked, looking at her face, but she was hiding from him, eyes down, staring at the worn out wood floor.
“The boy who did what I told you about is here. I saw him. He lives here, with all these people, and I can’t do it, I just can’t,” she whispered and he saw the wetness on her face for a flash and then her face was in her hands, hiding from him.
He put his arm around her and held her, not saying anything for a long time, trying to think of something to say to her that would make it easier, only there wasn’t anything.
He told her to try to go to sleep there, on the couch for now and that they’ll figure something out by tomorrow. She let him take her shoes off and tuck her in under the blanket and closed her eyes. He waited until he was sure she was asleep and went to get Riley, not knowing what else to do.
He saw the small stream of light seeping out from under the door so he knocked softly, timidly, Riley’s awake voice calling for whoever it was to come in. His room was much larger than the one his father was in, and a whole lot messier, piles of clothes thrown casually against the wall and in the corners, empty mugs covering the entirety of the windowsill. He took it all in at a glance, Riley looking at him, waiting. He had to tell him, only he didn’t quite know how to do it.
Alliance: The Complete Series (A Dystopian YA Box Set Books 1-5): Dystopian Sci Fi Thriller Page 61
