“Does this look like a government who is willing to negotiate with a bunch of their ex-patriots?” When the footage of both a chemical weapons lab and an assembly line making shrapnel-heavy dirty bombs doesn’t move Doc, I bring up footage of the results of Brad’s attacks with similar weapons on Earth—nothing like a lot of death and dismemberment to drive my point home.
“Well, what do you recommend?” Doc asks, completely horrified but also exasperated by what I showed him.
Since I first witnessed “The Brad Show” in Military City, that very question has been on my mind. I just don’t have enough current data. “How many have officially aligned with the unofficial Exiler Nation? And where is everyone congregated?”
Adam speaks up. “I’ve been running the logistics for the Gathering. Bailey—with help—has spread the word amongst Second Chancers in each city.” Tell me something I don’t know, Adam. I went with Bailey to most of the cities. He continues, “I have teams positioned near each exit for the Exiled. They direct new Exilers to our camps. We have six main camps—three on the West Continent, three on the East. This is the only camp consisting of caves—the rest use tents for shelter. Each camp has over ten thousand broken into companies of fifty each. It’s easier to get the supply drops to six locations rather than hundreds—not that the SCI has been regular about the drops lately, which means that pirating has started back up again. Because most people are on foot, we can’t get everyone to a central location. We’ve managed to get some horse-drawn wagons going, but with the huge Second Chancer exoduses, there haven’t been enough wagons to handle the loads.”
Fantastic. In my absence, they’ve created six easy targets for Brad. It should be obvious, but I don’t think reality is registering. I can’t blame them. They thought they were covered by the temporary peace treaty. “The people in those camps are sitting ducks. Brad could annihilate them with his increase in troops alone—or with a few well-targeted missiles or bombs.”
Adam catches on quickly. “Okay genius, so the question remains—what do you recommend?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Where are my promised reinforcements? Joshua is better at this big picture stuff than I am. My father trained me to infiltrate the SCI and impact them through individual missions—not to lead sixty-thousand untrained Exiler civilians in an impossible-to-win war.
“Well, Adam, given my advanced degree in military strategy…” I say sarcastically. “There are several decisions that need to be made. On the defensive front, we need to decide whether to leave the camps as is or to have each captain disperse with their charges. Dispersing would make it less worth their while to waste big weapons but would leave each company vulnerable to attack by Military City troops. And that’s even assuming that Brad Darcton doesn’t have his guys planted in every camp reporting back to him. We start moving people, and it could move up Brad’s plans to attack.
“On the offensive front, we need to decide how we can damage their efforts. Do we try to take out their weapons facility? Deploy their own weapons against them? Or do we go ahead with the things we’ve been talking about for the last year? Take out the Garden City mega-portal? Or maybe better…use the mega-portal to get to Military City and take out their mega-portal? I’m just brainstorming here…I’m not going to pretend to know the answers. There are huge risks and a certain level of impossibility to go along with all the options.”
We argue pros and cons of each strategy. Jax finally shows with an injured Joshua in tow. Joshua suggests that we go visit each camp to assess their vulnerability and ability to act out whatever orders are given. Bailey and Adam insist on coming. Fabulous. Joshua and Adam hate each other. Bailey is with Adam and furious with me. And Jax…is…well…Jax—impatient, controlling, and constantly maintains an air of superiority.
Somehow I don’t think this Theran tour is going to be as fun as the last one I went on with Bailey. Just thinking about it brings color to my face. I look up and she’s glaring at me despite the fact that she’s practically mauling Adam. Yeah, this will suck big time.
Six months prior: Fish City, Thera
Our pet Arbiter, Paul—a thirty-something “friend of the Christo family”—dropped us in the laundry facility in Fish City at 0400 hours with strict instructions to meet him by the southern packaging plant at 0600 hours. We’d already hit Food City, Information City West, and Farm City earlier in the night.
A huge smile broke across Bailey’s face. “Thank the Gads. He finally managed to leave us by the clean uniforms. There’s no way I could put on another filthy outfit.” I quickly stripped off the Farm City overalls I was still in, so that I could watch Bailey do a full strip tease for me out of hers. I’m not sure how she’d managed to get hold of the lacy bra and thong, but who would I be to look a gift horse in the mouth? Why not mix a little pleasure with business? I lived in Exile in wretched conditions—so I learned to look for and appreciate the bright spots in any given day. “You see anything you like?” she asked me.
“I think you already know the answer to that…since I got the same show and you got the same reaction in the last three cities.” I smirked at her before shoving her up against the door and claiming her mouth with mine. My hands wandered, as did hers. Unfortunately, we heard some activity out in the hall, reminding us that we were here on business. So I did what any intelligent guy would do in the same situation—sacrificed a hand to grab my Taser in case those in the hall decided to come in the supply room. I was pleased at how well my multitasking skills were improving.
Once phase one of our Fish City visit was complete, we slipped out of the supply room dressed in white, lightweight spandex-like bodysuits and flexible waterproof boots that Bailey deemed a “fashion catastrophe.” Despite having lived on Thera for about a year, Bailey failed to accept that she’d permanently left behind high fashion upon her death on Earth. In fact, she held to the belief that the Arbiters could reverse the crossover and let her return to Earth—the exact reason that memories were typically erased.
We mimicked the actions of others in the building, lowering our heads and moving purposefully outdoors to the fish farm. On the exterior, Fish City was built entirely of cement mixed with shells that glimmered in the full spectrum lighting. Individual residences—small pods—surrounded the fish farm. Instead of joining the workers, we traversed the edge of the farm and went towards a cluster of pod homes. Our work here required privacy, something we couldn’t achieve amongst hundreds of people fishing.
It always went down about the same way. I’d ask someone, “We’re looking for that lady who moved to town recently? I feel like such an idiot, but I can’t remember her name. And Cindy here promised to drop by today to say hello. Do you know where we might find her?” A newcomer would almost always be a Second Chancer. A new Second Chancer would be more receptive to our message. A female was much more likely to be at home during the night. And women…well, they love their gossip.
That night, our spiel led us to a pod door with a starfish painted on it. Supposedly, “the young pregnant couple who moved in a few months back” lived there. We knocked and were both a little shocked at who answered.
She’d gained a healthy amount of weight with her pregnancy but still looked good. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her eyes plastered with smoky color. Her Cleave, one of my least favorite people on the planet, was home as well. He looked like the same cocky bastard who’d drugged Kira back in Garden City but reeked of fish. I couldn’t imagine the former football star working the farms or gutting fish, but I also had to admit that I loved that he had to do it. They lived a simple life in a primitive pod. I could see Karma’s hand in it.
Before they could get our names out—which would quickly alert the SCI to our presence here—I held my finger to my lips. They ushered us in and invited us to take two chairs across from their couch. I mentally laughed that their entire place was painted blue and decorated with fish. A large shark leered at me from behind their whale-shaped couch
.
“Bri, Tristan. You remember us, right? Cindy and Brian? Cindy’s been dying to talk to Bri about her pregnancy.” I said this despite her pregnancy being the very last thing on Thera I wanted to discuss. She could have very well be carrying Kira’s and my child.
“Of course. How could we forget?” Bri gave a close-mouthed grimace. She looked at Bailey. “Last time I saw you was on your way out of town.”
Bailey looked around their humble, studio-sized house and smiled. “I just love your home. It’s so…quaint.”
Tristan gave us a curious stare. “I can’t remember. How’d you two end up together again?”
“Luck,” Bailey quickly responded as she unsubtly ran a hand up my leg and squeezed my upper thigh.
Bri laughed causing her large belly to bounce up and down. “Is that what you’d call it, Brian?”
I didn’t dare contradict Bailey, so I changed the subject. “Tristan, I wanted to run something by you while Bri and Bailey talk babies.”
Bailey lodged her first question to Bri. “So tell me how that—” She held her arms out in a basketball sized formation and then added, “—is going to fit through that.” Bailey then created a small opening in one hand and pointed to Bri’s pelvic area with the other. “I mean, does it rip you to shreds in the process, making it so you can never have sex again or what?”
Tristan and I happily excused ourselves from that conversation. “We’ve got a party coming up. Here are the details.” I handed Tristan a document to read. It covered, in excruciating detail, the many deceptions of the SCI. The Arbiters were emphatic that we gloss over the details of Heart and the Crossover Center, instead, telling them that their memories had been tampered with (true) and that the SCI exploited this (true). To give too much detail would cause them trauma. I had caused such trauma previously when I gave Bri and Tristan details of their previous lives on Earth.
The document encouraged Second Chancers to spread the word and “defect through Exile” to join thousands of other like-afflicted citizens in the Exiler Nation. Not a message that a couple expecting a baby wanted to hear.
“I’m not sure we’ll be able to attend your party.” Tristan seemed to be very unhappy we had involved him in this matter. “Bri needs her rest. The baby has to come first.” I heard him loud and clear.
“Tristan, speak for yourself,” Bri said, jabbing him in the ribs. I think she was done with Bailey’s “questions” about pregnancy. “You are so ridiculously overprotective. When do we ever turn down a party invitation?”
Tristan ran his hand across his throat to shut her up. “Sorry babe, the timing on this one is bad. We won’t be able to get away.”
Bri pouted and then leaned down to speak to her protruding belly. “Pea Pod, there you go again ruining all my fun. How’d you like it if I kept you from going to a party? I think I’m going to have to withhold ice cream from you when you are born as punishment.” Pea Pod? She was thinking of feeding the kid ice cream at birth? Where was Social Services when you needed them?
“I completely understand. Feel free to tell your close friends about it though. We’d love the opportunity to get to know more people here in Fish City.”
Tristan leaned back with his arms across his chest. “Most of our close friends were back in Garden City, and we haven’t seen them since a spectacular Cleaving ceremony we attended last summer. You should have been there. Cutest couple ever—next to us, of course—Kira and Ethan. They were so happy together. Now that was some party. But we’d be happy to pass the word along to some of our new friends here about yours.” He twisted the knife in deeper, cruel smirk on his face the entire time. What he didn’t know—and I did—was that Kira and Ethan were separated shortly after their Cleaving, and that half of the couple I’d seen was anything but happy.
“Cindy, dear, we better run and leave Bri to rest. I’m sure they have dinner plans and then want to get to bed. It’s nearly morn.”
Bailey winked at me and then turned to me and said, “Bri, thank you for the low-down on the whole pregnancy thing. It has been absolutely illuminating. I have a great mental picture now of what it’s like. And good luck on your birth. I think you’ll need it.” Once again, she held her arms wide and then slowly squeezed them together.
Bri held her finger up like a gun and pulled the “trigger” at Bailey. “Hopefully, we’ll see you again soon. And yes, we’re very excited to meet our baby. Maybe the two of you will get lucky soon and have one of your own.” Bri gave a huge open-mouthed grin at the look on my face. Little did she know that she could be the first to deliver one of my own.
I was glad Kira wasn’t here to see her former best friend pregnant. My mind reverted to the dreaded night of the flash flood—where Kira and I had discussed our lab babies or “labies” theory. Shortly thereafter, I’d chosen to leave her to go find my father. And Ethan had taken up right where I left off. Even though Kira had come back to me—she was fiercely loyal—I know that night was the turning point of our relationship. I put my cause ahead of her and continued to do so. It was no wonder she fell for him.
Our tour continued over the next week, and we, thankfully, didn’t run into any more of our friends from Garden City—all of whom carried Kira’s (and my or Ethan’s) children. Seeing Bri and Tristan was difficult enough. Physical reminders of my time with Kira in Garden City were brutal and unwanted. I could travel through portals but couldn’t go back in time and change my decisions. I lived night to night, pushing the cause with Bailey and Doc, restlessly sleeping at day and desperately hoping it was enough to sustain me. It wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
At the end of our tour, I returned to find a note from Vienna waiting for me at the camp.
“Blake,
I thought I should inform you that Kira is no longer under the safe protection of the SCI. After numerous attempts were made on her life—likely by Militant Exilers—she and Jackson Christo have disappeared and are presumed to be on the run. I am most concerned for Kira, given the delicate condition she is in. As you know, she is carrying your child. If you hear anything as to their whereabouts, please report back to me immediately.
Fondly,
Your Mother.”
Kira and Jax were on the run? Where would they go?
They’d seek refuge with the Arbiters.
It might be time for Bailey and I to pay another visit to Heart.
Present
While the Exiler camp outside Garden City is somewhat orderly and peaceful, the same can’t be said about the other Exiler camps. The camps are seas of orange: orange jumpsuits, orange backpacks, and orange tents. The inhabitants are angry for being promised a “better life” by leaving the cities. They’re starving due to the limited supply drops from the SCI. The campsites are filthy. Lack of water will do that. Civilizations—from ancient times—have amassed around water sources for a reason. The SCI built their cities around all the major water sources and supplemented them with their elaborate water collection facilities and desalinization plants. But the Exilers? They have nothing.
Well, that’s not exactly true. They have sickness that spreads through the camps like wildfire. They have ugly fights over the scarce resources. And their lives are ruled by the heat—to the point that I see how the small ocean cave where my mother birthed my sister, with a steady breeze and spray from the waves, was a luxury. Imagine being forced to shield yourself from the sun during the day in a tent that increases the temperature instead of decreasing it.
People have started to dig into the ground under the tents to get a respite from the heat. But with more than ten thousand in each camp and high temperatures, the work has been slow. Some camps have dug wells, but the output is limited. The water practically evaporates as it hits the surface air.
We’ve noticed that quality of the camp captains really varies. They’re each in charge of fifty people. Some allow the chaos and fighting. Others will dish out “justice” far worse than the SCI. None seem capable enough to lead their charges
away from the camp and keep them alive in the process.
I can feel death at their non-existent doors. If Brad doesn’t kill them, the heat or conditions will.
What have we done?
How will I answer for this?
What I don’t see at the camps are any of Kira and my friends from Garden City. Not a single couple or their?—our?—babies. Their absence is jarring and odd.
There are things I can’t un-see or un-know and desperately want to as I walk the camps, rifle in hand, face masked to keep from catching something. How many times do I have to turn my head the other way, wipe my tears? Seeing the children suffer is the worst. Their uncovered skin frying under the blazing sun. Hunger so severe that they are willing to gnaw on skinned, half-cooked rats or dig bugs from the ground and pop them like candy. There was a time I felt that desperation, ate whatever I could find.
At the Mid-West Continent Camp, we help go after a seventeen-year-old boy who left camp at day, following his trail to the nearest city. We get there too late and watch as he flings himself onto the Eco barrier to end his suffering.
We meet a fourteen-year-old girl at the North West Continent Camp, robbed of her rations, raped and left for dead. Her last words are gratitude for her pending “escape” from life.
The North East Continent Camp has a mother who suffocated her infant son to keep him from floundering in desolate conditions, her breasts barren of milk to feed him. I watch her rock the baby’s three-day old corpse, tears burning her face as the camp doctor tries to pry the baby from her and give him a proper burial.
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