by Melissa West
If only we had more Ancients on our side…
“We’re here,” Dad says finally, and I peer out my window, eager to see the West Coast base, but it looks nothing at all like I imagined.
Dad lands the hovercraft, and we descend the steps onto a dirt road that leads to a run-down building that looks more shack than base. Most of the windows are boarded up, and the front door swings back and forth like it no longer wants to hang on its hinges and would rather be free. Or dead.
“Dad, are you sure—”
But before I can finish my sentence, a tall, lean man struts out of the shack toward us, a woman and a man flanking him. As they near, I realize the tall man is not much older than Jackson and me. Maybe early twenties, but the seriousness on his face says that he’s seen more in those twenty years than many do in a hundred. His dark brown hair is cropped short and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in days.
He holds out a hand to Dad. “Lead Op Myers,” he says, shaking Dad’s hand. “I’m the commanding officer here.”
Dad shakes his hand. “Myers? Did you train in Sydia?”
Myers nods. “I did, sir. I requested transfer shortly after reaching Lead status.”
“Why did you request transfer?” I ask, unable to remain quiet.
His eyes fix on me. “Politics. And you must be Ari. I hear you’ve got your own political issues.”
I run my hand absently over the spot where Law shot me. “Yeah. I guess I do.” His gaze holds mine before shifting to the others. I step back, motioning to each of them. “This is Jackson, Vill, Gretchen, and Cybil.”
He eyes each of them and then returns his attention to me. “More than half of you are Ancient.”
Well, this could get more complicated than I’d imagined…
Reading my thoughts, Jackson steps forward, his expression clear. The xylem running through him has healed his wounds, and now his ripped, six-two body stands tall, all muscle and purpose. “Is that a problem?”
Myers smirks, but I can feel a hint of fear rolling off him. “I know about you as well. Jackson Castello. Only grandson of Zeus Castello. Future leader of the Ancients. Notorious fighter.”
Jackson cocks his head. “Then you know what I’m capable of.”
“I do, indeed. But you can relax. The comment wasn’t intended to be offensive. I’m just curious about your kind.”
I place a hand on Jackson’s arm to calm him down. “It’s okay,” I say.
He links his fingers through mine, but his eyes remain on Myers. I glance around in search of Dad, expecting him to voice an opinion about Jackson’s reaction, but he’s by the door to the base, talking to a man with gray hair and a face full of wrinkles, but who’s in every bit as good shape as the rest of us. Myers follows my gaze.
“That’s Lead Op Wilkinson. He trained with your dad.”
“Why is he still in the field instead of working back at Sydia?” Then I remember what Sydia is like now and shake my head. “Not that there are many back home.” Jackson squeezes my hand and leans in to kiss the top of my head.
“It’s different now,” Jackson whispers into my ear. “But different doesn’t have to be bad.”
Myers clears his throat, bringing us back to the moment. “This is Cassie and Al, two Operatives on our team here. They will ensure you have what you need while you’re staying with us. Now, why don’t I show you around?”
I cock an eyebrow at Myers. What exactly does he think there is to show? But then he’s leading us into the base, and I realize that the outside is nothing more than camouflage. From the outside, it looks as though the base is just some abandoned warehouse, but once inside, I see the true Engineerness of the base.
We walk through the main doors and down a set of rusted stairs and then through another door and into what feels like another world. Instantly, I’m brought back to Sydia, to the Engineer building, and the smells of machinery and technology. The main room is all composite steel and reminds me of the FT gym back home—all tall ceilings and space that seems to go on forever—only this room is sectioned off into several different areas, some cubicles filled with people plugging away at their T-screens, while other areas are open, and I can only imagine what happens within them. I try to run a count in my head of how many people are in this one massive building, but there are too many things to look at for me to guess. Thirty? Fifty? One hundred? And if there are fifty or a hundred Operatives here, at this one base, then how many are there across the rest of the country? The world?
Suddenly a strange feeling circulates through me: hope.
Chapter Twelve
We spend the rest of the afternoon learning the ins and outs of the West Coast base—how they maintain communication with Sydia, how often they go into the field to check on civilians. It takes me the entire time to warm up to Myers and his way of smirking at everything I say, like he’d have said it better. But I see the way others respond to him, and I know behind the arrogant facade is a great leader.
I’m just not sure Jackson feels the same way.
We make our way through the base, learning names I’ll never remember, and then Myers shows us out back to the rows of Engineer trucks that carry Ops to and from the field. Dad drifted off with Wilkinson to talk strategy, and Gretchen, Vill, and Cybil went to learn what technologies they employ this far from civilization, leaving Jackson and me alone with Myers.
“Want to go into the field?” Myers asks, nodding to the trucks. “We’re due for the evening round.”
“What do you do during your rounds?” I ask.
Myers shrugs. “We used to double-check food and care supplies, but now, we try our best to maintain civil order. The people here know something is coming. We can only hold back for so long, plus we’ve recruited anyone with even a sliver of fighting ability. They know why we’re bringing them in. There hasn’t been a draft in a long time, and this is as close to one as it gets.” Myers stares at Jackson, his expression hard. “They could use some warning, so if you know anything, you should speak up.”
Jackson crosses his arms. “I know as much as you.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Myers says as he starts for the truck.
Jackson stops me as I get ready to follow. “I don’t trust this guy.”
I smile. “You don’t trust anyone.”
“I trust you.”
I lean forward and kiss him gently on the lips, aching to take it farther, remembering the last time we were alone. I glance up at him to see a soft smile on his face as he transfers a memory to me. Water and bare skin and heat so intense I felt sure I would explode. And then I did, and every thing in my world felt right…until he disappeared and it felt as though someone—Zeus—had ripped out my heart.
I draw a shaky breath, and Jackson lifts my chin, his expression as sure as ever. “It’s all going to be fine, Ari. We are going to be fine.”
“How do you know?” I ask, my voice small, and I realize in that moment that I can be weak around Jackson. I can be scared.
His gaze holds mine. “Because you’re beside me.” And then he cradles my face in his hands and secures his mouth over mine, pulling me close, my every sense intoxicated by him. His warm skin, his woodsy scent, his delicious taste as he slips his tongue into my mouth, commanding my every nerve ending to attention.
The sound of Myers clearing his throat pulls us apart, and for a moment I’m embarrassed that we kissed so intensely in front of someone else, but then my eyes lift to Myers, that smirk on his face, and I can’t decide if I like him or hate him.
“Sorry to interrupt, love birds, but we’re on a schedule, so if you’re coming with me, we need to go. Now.”
Jackson looks as though he wants to rip the guy’s head off, and I wonder how long until he throws a punch.
“Any second,” he mutters to me just before we climb into one of the trucks.
We head down the dirt road, passing nothing more than dirt and brief patches of grass that look foreign to me after the grass I’ve seen
in Triad. After the grass I created in Triad. I consider asking Myers to stop the truck so I can make this land look more beautiful, but then I realize, what’s the point?
My thoughts travel to the impending war, to what Zeus might hit us with in the first wave. Somehow I don’t think our best preparations will come close. The only hope we have is that we can fight harder and longer than they do, that our numbers are more vast, that our hearts are more driven to succeed. There is no question that Zeus will strike hard. Surviving the initial attack will guarantee our presence in the war. At least I hope.
We turn right down another dirt road, and I turn around to peer at the left. “What’s that way?” I ask Myers, pointing to the left.
“Nothing.”
“No, seriously. What’s down that road?” I ask, my tone harder this time. I can’t stand shadiness, and Myers is becoming more and more annoying by the second.
His gaze lands squarely on me. “Nothing. Literally. Only dirt and rotted trees. There is nothing there.” I nod solemnly and stare forward when he adds, “I’m not trying to keep things from you, Ari. We’re on the same team here.”
I nod again and release a breath. Had it always been so hard for me to trust someone or did that come after everything I’ve seen? All the lies I’ve witnessed. All the deaths.
I decide that I don’t have time to question the few allies I have. “I think Zeus’s initial attack is the one we need to focus on. I think we need to survive that attack and then come out and fight.”
“There’s just one problem with that plan,” Myers says. I turn to look at him. “There are too many of us to go underground. You’ve been to Sydia. You know how small that space is. We have an entire country to protect. Hiding won’t do. That isn’t enough. We have to win this war.”
Before I can answer we pull into what looks like a deserted town. Shops line the dirt road, but there are no lights on inside any of them. A barren field stretches out beyond the shops, as dry and dead as the shops it cradles. “What is this?” I ask. “I thought we were going to where your people live.”
He releases an exasperated breath. “This is where they live.”
“What?” I shake my head, confused, just as a few people come out from the stores. They look like savages in every way: old, worn clothes, skin and hair that look like they haven’t seen fresh water in days, maybe ever. I have to mentally scold myself to keep from staring. In Sydia, everything was available to us, and even Loge had food, thanks to healers like Emmy. This is just…devastating. Sad. Empty. Lost.
“What?” Myers asks this time. “You thought Landings was the worst of the worst of it? Those people lived in luxury compared to the rest of America.”
“What about clothes and food pills? I thought Parliament supplied nutrition.”
“They did when the Ancients terraformed the croplands, but that stopped the moment Parliament released the neurotoxin and elevated this war. Now, they keep all food pills for the Trinity and those they feel are worthy of living. The rest of us are on our own.”
We slip out of the truck, and a sick feeling swarms through my stomach. These people can barely feed themselves—how are they going to survive an attack? They won’t. Unless…
“No,” Jackson says, shaking his head, his eyes telling me he knows exactly what I was thinking.
“Why?” I whisper. “I could teach them to terraform if they were Ancient. It could help them.”
“Or murder them if Kelvin releases another neurotoxin. When are you going to realize that we can’t save everyone?”
I take a step back. “We have to try.”
“From kissing to fighting. You two are something else.”
Jackson spins around, and I reach for his arm to stop him. “Don’t. You know he’s just trying to unnerve you.”
“Yeah, but why? I’m not sure about this guy. I don’t like him.”
“He’s an ally. That’s all that matters, right?”
Myers open his mouth to say something else, but I separate from Jackson before another fight can begin.
“So what now?” I ask.
At that exact moment, a man rushes out of a building to our left, his fists clenched as he storms toward Myers. “Are you insane? What in the verse are you doing bringing Ancients here?”
“Carl, they aren’t—”
“The verse they’re not. We know what they look like now, John. The blue-green eyes, the golden skin.” He points at Jackson and me. “They are Ancient.”
I make note of his full name, John Myers, and how perfectly it fits him. Simple. Arrogant.
They argue about our virtue and right to be there, and I grow frustrated and start over, my hands out. “Look, we were both once as human as you. We want the same things you do.”
The man eyes me like I’m an animal, speaking in some language he can’t understand. “Who told you to talk?”
I jerk back at the insult, at the hate in his voice. “Look, I understand that you’re—”
“You don’t understand anything, Ancient!”
Before I can respond, Jackson is in his face, towering over him. “Why don’t you take a breath, old man, before I permanently remove your ability to speak?”
Men and women and children spill into the streets, some starting toward us, others waiting. A tall man reaches for something in his boot, and instantly I’m inside his head, seeing the silver knife, watching as he plans out how to use it against Jackson. I focus all my energy on the man, on freezing his movements.
“What the—” The man’s eyes lock on me. “What are you doing to me? What is she doing to me?” he screams.
Myers turns to face me, his eyebrows lifted. “Yes, what are you doing to him?”
I grit my teeth. “Tell him to drop the knife he planned to draw, and I’ll release the hold.”
Myers studies me for another long moment, his eyes searching each part of my face like he’s trying to figure out something complex, then he spins back around. “We aren’t here to fight. They came to help us, not hurt us, and it’s time you learn to trust them. As you can see, if they wanted to kill us, we’d already be dead.”
Silence moves through the crowd, as eerie and quiet as the dirt road that led us here. I nod to the man with the knife. “He’s right. I won’t hurt you. But I can’t let you hurt him, either. I’m going to release you now, and I want you to pull out your knife, drop it to the ground, and step away from it. Understand?”
The man stares at me, and then he’s standing back up on his own accord, pulling out the small blade and dropping it to the ground. He walks away from it, and Myers glances back at me. “Are you able to move the knife as well?”
It’s my turn to smirk. “What do you think?” And then the knife soars through the air. I snatch it midflight and hand it over to him. “You have no idea what I can do.”
“All Ancients…or just you?”
The question gives me pause. Most Ancients have no idea what they’re capable of doing. Emmy taught me to harness my mind, gave me the power to wield it whenever I wanted. I’m not sure if others could learn. We tried that back on Loge, with little success. And even if they can learn, can they learn in time for it to help? “Honestly? I’m not sure.”
…
It takes another hour of awkward introduction and uncomfortable distance and whispers behind our backs before any of the locals ease up around Jackson and I. For the first time, I feel the weight of the word “alien” on my chest. I am different now, but at some point in my transformation I stopped thinking of humans and Ancients as two separate species and started viewing us as the same: living creatures, searching for a way to continue that life. Why does it matter what planet we originated on? What matters is that we band together to stay alive. Don’t they see that? Don’t they realize that living is the important thing, not whom you’re standing beside?
But even as we’re making our way to the first building on the right—the supplies building—I realize that there is no changing their opin
ions. They see us as different. As a threat.
Myers watches me as I slip through the doorway, and I sense the questions roaming through his mind. He doesn’t see us as different in a bad way; he sees us as a more capable species.
I clear my throat and look away from him before Jackson decides he wants to take that punch after all and stare around the abandoned store. Shelves line the walls, and I wonder what used to rest on those shelves—books, perhaps. Maybe this was a bookstore, before paper was outlawed and tablets and transfer pens replaced everything. Or maybe it was a drugstore, full of bandages and gross perfumes and lotions.
“This way,” Myers says, motioning to an open doorway across the room. “We should hurry and get back to the base before the rain comes.” Jackson and I follow him through the doorway and into a large pantry-like room, full of more shelves, these stacked with everything from rice and beans to cooking oil.
I pick up a jar with the word “Strawberries” written across it. “Did someone jar these here, or are they sent to you this way?”
Myers shakes his head. “You don’t get it, do you? There is no getting things sent here. We eat what we grow, which isn’t much.”
“But you’re working the base. Don’t they at least send things to you?”
“Yes,” Myers says, his tone hard. “They send me orders. Lots of them. Food? Not so much.”
I draw a breath and peer over at the supplies, my chest tightening. Even on Loge, there was no question of whether I would eat. No days where I felt the pain of starvation. No wonder these people aren’t afraid of the war—they have a more immediate threat in their lives. The fear of one day waking up with nothing to eat. “Okay, what do you need us to do?”
“We take stock of what the civilians have.”
I want to ask why, but somehow I feel sure the answer will be as smart as the last. I start counting jars of berries, cans of vegetables, bags of rice and beans, and then I turn to Myers, the question out before I can stop it. “Where is everyone else?”
