Fall and Rising

by Sunny Moraine

  “We’ll pull back,” Aarons said. “Everyone else, get ready to take down whatever comes through that door.”

  With a crash the door burst open, light flooded into the room, and a mass of peacekeepers followed, already firing. Lochlan shot without thinking, without aiming; he was trained but this was chaos, and even a skilled fighter would have trouble picking it apart.

  Suddenly it was quiet. Lochlan blinked, scanning his surroundings, taking it in as his ears buzzed gently. Three peacekeepers lay sprawled and dead on the floor ahead of them. A fourth was moaning and clutching a bleeding wound on her thigh.

  “Anyone hurt?” Aarons called, and his voice was muddy against Lochlan’s abused eardrums. A few negatives—no doubt people were dazed from the sound—and one woman was crouched against a wall while a teammate wrapped up a shallow graze on her hip. A man, grimacing, braced himself on a chair while a neat hole in his upper arm was examined. Neither was bleeding heavily, though both were clearly in pain.

  “Can you all keep going?” Affirmatives, though they sounded dazed and a little unsure. Still, it wasn’t as if they were swimming in options. “Okay. Let’s move. Mell, Farrow, you know what to do.”

  What happened next flowed forward with a feeling of inexorability, as if Lochlan was following the script that someone else had set for him. The ten of them burst out of the building, Mell and Farrow dropping behind a parked groundcar and lifting their long-range rifles. Aarons grabbed Lochlan’s arm as more shots cut through the air, missing them by what seemed like inches. The meal siren began to blare.

  “You take three and get back to the inner gate,” Aarons bellowed over the din. “I’ll take the others and head for the main gate. We all meet up at the hangar bay. Go.”

  Lochlan ran. Three—he couldn’t remember their names, wasn’t entirely sure which ones they were—trailed him. He ran as fast as he could with his body hunched low to the ground, and when a guard rose out of nowhere in front of him, he put a bullet in the man’s throat without thought.

  He was thinking about only one thing. Not the people they were liberating, not the distance they still had to go, not the odds stacked against them.

  Like on the Plain, in the worst of the violence and fear, the only thing that mattered was Adam.

  Adam heard the shots, and everything in him froze. Everything was difficult to see clearly—there were shapes moving across the outer edge of the compound, lights shifting, but nothing clear. He had to stop himself from pressing against the wire, had to remind himself that it would kill instantly.

  There were no guards nearby. They had all gone to hunt the other team. To hunt Lochlan.

  “Everyone get ready,” Naomi called. “If this works, we won’t be waiting long.”

  Beside him, Rachel touched his arm. She kept a tight grip on the wooden club she had been armed with. Becca and Dion were pressed against her legs, their eyes huge—but somehow steely, determined like he had never seen Protectorate children be before.

  They reminded him suddenly of the Bideshi children in the dojo, whirling with their knives.

  There were other children, close to the center of the group. Some of them were too small to run and were in slings on people’s backs. They would be targets.

  They were all targets now.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Adam said quietly, dropping down and fixing the two children with what he hoped was a calming gaze. “We’re going to get out of here.”

  “You’re goddamn right,” Rachel murmured. “Look.”

  Adam snapped his head up and straightened as his breath stilled in his chest. Across the compound, Lochlan was running toward him, flanked by three other people. He was helmeted, clad in guard’s armor, but Adam saw the beaded dreadlocks swaying, and his heart lurched.

  “All right.” Naomi’s voice lifted above the siren. “Here they come. Everyone get ready to run for the main gate!” Adam scanned the crowd; he wasn’t sure if they had managed to collect everyone, but it had to be close, and anyway it was too late to take a full count now.

  One of Lochlan’s team vanished to the side. A few seconds later there was a rattle and a creak as the gate swung open, and as one the crowd wedged itself through. He was swept on by the wave of humanity, Rachel lost in it beside him, and was past the gate before he realized it. He stopped and shoved his way back through the tide of people, glancing wildly around.

  Someone dragged him in, sealing their mouth over his. It was hard, desperate, and there was a fierce joy in it as he returned the kiss with everything in him. The ferocity surging through his veins wasn’t only because of the short time they’d been apart. He was letting go of something, maybe letting go of a great many things, and he didn’t need to be a hero. He didn’t need to save anyone. They were rushing on without him, not needing him anymore.

  “All right, chusile,” Lochlan breathed against his lips. “We’ll have time for the grand romantic reunion later. Right now, let’s just not get shot.”

  Adam laughed shakily. “Right.” He took Lochlan’s hand and pulled—now he heard the gunfire. People were, indeed, shooting at them. Love makes you crazy. “I’m bored with this place. Let’s leave.”

  “Ma’am.” The comms officer turned toward Alkor. His eyes were wide. Sinder didn’t like that. Not at all. “We’re getting a transmission from the planet, but … it’s confusing. I’m not sure what—”

  Alkor sat forward. “Patch it through.”

  There was a crackle of static over the main bridge speakers. Then a terse female voice snapped, “Excelsior, come the fuck in. We could really use some damned assistance here.”

  “This is Captain Alkor.” She shot Sinder a bewildered glance. “What’s going on down there?”

  “We don’t know. Seems like a group of the inmates got to the armory, got some weapons. Now they’re— Fuck, there’s a whole bunch— They’re rushing the gate. Repeat, they’re rushing the gate. No, get out there and fucking shoot them, I don’t care what you have to—”

  Nothing but more static and garbled voices. Then, “Excelsior, we are under attack. Please tell me you can get your asses down here.”

  Alkor looked around at the bridge crew. Two of them shook their heads. “At least twenty more minutes,” one of them said. “We’ve isolated the problem, but we’re still coordinating with the repair teams.”

  Alkor cursed under her breath. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to hold them off as best you can. Is there any other assistance that we can—”

  “Unless you have orbit-to-surface guns, no. Fucking hell. They’re all over. They’re sick, they’re not supposed to be able to— They have snipers, what the fuck are they even—”

  The channel cut out. Stunned silence settled over the bridge. Alkor looked at Sinder again, and he stared back without a word.

  This was not supposed to be happening.

  “It’s Yuga,” he whispered. “They have ships there?”

  Alkor glanced at her screen. “Yes. Why?”

  “Because he’s running. He’s going to try to make it off-world. Captain, if you want to lend those people some assistance, you can shoot down anything that tries to make it out of atmo.”

  Alkor’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you wanted him alive.”

  “Disable if you can. But kill if you can’t.” Fuck. His gut clenched—whatever Adam knew about the poisonous seeds that might be taking root in the Protectorate itself, beyond even the sickness … He would no doubt be able to ferret it all out without Adam’s help. But with Adam it would have been quicker, easier, and far more satisfying. Well. He had to be flexible. He dragged in a hard breath. He sure as hell wasn’t going to make Melissa Cosaire’s mistakes.

  He wasn’t going to end up like her.

  “He is not getting away from us again.”

  Adam heard, rather than saw, the main gate crash open. That was followed by a roar that wasn’t quite a cheer, and everyone flooded through it. Two people close to him fell, but he managed to pull them to th
eir feet before they were trampled, before he was tugged away by Lochlan. As he ran with the rest of the human tide he could see the fence, the guard towers and the gun nests that flanked the main entrance, but no gunfire came from them. Aarons’s designated snipers appeared to have done their jobs well.

  Really, it was all a bit too easy.

  “Nearly there,” Lochlan panted, and laughed. “Chere, this is almost fun. Let’s do it again sometime.”

  “Yeah, let’s not. Not even for a honeymoon.” Adam’s side was aching, cramping—once it wouldn’t have, but that was before he had been remade a little less perfect, a little less strong. He imagined that he could pull strength from Lochlan’s hand, and that made things easier.

  “So you do want to marry me.”

  Adam stumbled, dragged himself upright, and held on to a young girl beside him who had stumbled as well. “What?”

  “Later.” More shots—not from above them but directly behind. To their left there was a series of explosions, and Adam almost stopped, startled, before he was shoved onward.

  One of the buildings was on fire. Above it, a spindly metal spire was slowly breaking into pieces and dropping onto the roof.

  “Comm tower,” Lochlan gasped, and laughed again. “Aarons said he was going to try for that, in case they call for backup. Probably a bit late, but khara, that gloriously crazy old bastard.”

  They all rushed on, curving to the left like a flock of birds. Adam saw the hangars rising ahead of them, and parked outside, as if waiting for them—

  Transports. Two. Enough.

  “Remember the plan,” Lochlan cried in his ear. The siren was still blaring, and though its tone hadn’t changed, to Adam it now sounded panicked. “We’re in the nearer one with Aarons.”

  Adam nodded, not enough air in his lungs to speak agreement. It was a plan cobbled together with lots of chances for confusion, but it was the best they could do: half of the escapees in one ship, half in another. Everyone’d been assigned to a particular ship, but he had no idea how well frightened, exhilarated people would hold to them.

  But the group split with surprising neatness as they sprinted toward the ships. The first people to reach them released the main hatches and the transport’s cavernous mouths opened to receive their human cargo.

  More shots, closer. Lochlan had kept his armor, but somewhere in the confusion he had abandoned his rifle. It probably didn’t matter; the time for fighting was over. Lochlan dragged Adam toward the open hatch—

  And fell to one knee with a sharp grunt.

  “Lock!” Adam skidded, whirled, saw a line of guards advancing on them and firing. He groped for Lochlan’s arm, panic turning to a cold focus as bullets flew around him. There was no more fear as he hauled Lochlan up and onward, bearing almost his entire weight. Lochlan was saying something, but what didn’t matter; all that mattered was that he was. There was the hatch, and then the dimness swallowed them and the sea of people packing in beside them and behind.

  It was horrible to think of them as a shield. But he did.

  “Everyone, come on! We’re closing up!” Aarons, standing by the hatch, was dragging stragglers on board. The engines were firing; someone must already be in the cockpit. Adam stumbled to one of the walls of the main bay, and Lochlan slumped against it, a hand pressed against his right side.

  Adam dropped down in front of him, pushing his hand aside. “Lock, are you—”

  No blood. Adam exhaled so hard that he was almost dizzy. He felt something flat and still hot and picked it out, letting it fall into his palm.

  The bullet, flattened by the armor.

  “I think my fucking ribs are broken,” Lochlan hissed, and batted Adam away. “Khara, quit it, you mother fucking hen. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not.” Adam straightened up, ready to argue, but the ship gave a great lurch and began to rise. He braced himself against the bulkhead beside Lochlan, dazed as he scanned the bay. Again a cheer went up, people lifting hands and clubs and waving in triumph. Adam stared at them, and Lochlan took his hand.

  These people will save themselves.

  “C’mon.” Lochlan pushed off the wall and gave him a tug, and started forward through the crowd, limping but moving well enough. “Let’s find our scarred friend and reconnoiter. This isn’t over yet.”

  The rest of the way up to the cockpit was chaos. The transport clearly hadn’t been designed to accommodate this many people, and they seemed to be crammed into every available space, in the corridors and in the dormitories they passed, in the mess hall, leaning against walls and binding their wounds. A few glanced up as they passed but most ignored them, and again it struck Adam that some of them might have no idea who he was. That he had helped to start it all.

  He was fine with that. More than fine.

  Like the rest of the ship, the cockpit was crammed with people, everyone talking at once, Aarons especially loudly. Two older women were seated in the pilot and copilot’s seat; their hands on the controls. Out the main window, Adam could see the fiery mess on the ground falling away and the low clouds closing over them. Just ahead and to the right, the other transport.

  “Everyone shut the fuck up,” Aarons bellowed, and amazingly, everyone obeyed, turning toward him. He raised a hand. “Hands up if you think this is actually over.”

  No one moved. Aarons barked a laugh. “You’re fucking right it’s not. We have no idea what kind of heavy artillery they’ve got on the ground. They might be able to shoot us outta the sky. We might need to do some evasive flying, and in a bucket like this, I think you can imagine—if you have any idea how piloting a ship works—that that might be a tricky prospect. So what you all need to do is stand back, shut the hell up, and let our pilots here do their job.”

  The atmosphere took on a sheepish air. A couple of people muttered and shuffled their feet, but otherwise said nothing. Close beside him, Lochlan laughed and then winced.

  “Chere, I feel sick. Adam …”

  Adam slid an arm around him and guided him a few feet to a side console he could lean on. Inwardly he was growling a stream of curses, but there was relief there too. No, it wasn’t over, though now that they were airborne, the sky in front of them beginning to show stars, it was easy to feel as if they might be in the clear.

  He slid his hands carefully over Lochlan’s body, feeling for the straps of the vest. “Let’s get this off you.”

  “Everything okay?”

  Adam looked up as Aarons approached. “He took a bullet. He was wearing armor, so he’s banged up but he’s—”

  “I said, I’m fine,” Lochlan grumbled. “Stars, mitr, if you’re going to lose your damn fool head over something like a couple of bruises—”

  Adam pushed up Lochlan’s filthy shirt—and drew in a sharp breath. “You idiot, this isn’t a few bruises. Your whole side is purple.”

  “You might have some fractures. Those rifles have a lot of stopping power.” Aarons tugged the worn fabric up higher, arching his unscarred brow. “There’s probably a medic somewhere—”

  An alarm sounded, harsh and penetrating. Adam and Aarons whirled, and Lochlan yelped as he stumbled.

  “Proximity alert,” called one of the women at the helm. “There’s— Shit, there’s at least three ships in close orbit around the planet. Large. Protectorate.”

  “It’s Sinder,” Adam whispered. He knew it instantly and with absolute certainty. He could feel it, the rhythm and the dance of events, as if he was touching part of those deep roots that he had gone among before. It wasn’t merely the Protectorate. It was Sinder. He was here. Waiting for them.

  As part of Adam had always known he would be.

  Aarons pushed his way through to the pilot’s seat, leaning over its back and staring at the console. “Are they hailing us? Making any attempt to get in touch at all?”

  “Nothing. They’re only … sitting there.” The woman in the copilot’s seat paused—then shook her head, her eyes widening. “No. No, they’re not, they’r
e—”

  Another alarm. At the same moment, one of the ships swung into view. A small flash of light sparked on its underside, and then another. The light became a bright line, a trail of the thing plunging toward them.

  “They’re firing,” said the woman. She sounded eerily calm. “Trying some evasive maneuvers.”

  “So I guess they’ve given up the idea of trying to take us alive.” Lochlan’s tone airy, smooth and even, but strained around the edges. “Makes some things simpler, don’t you think?”

  Adam shook his head. “I don’t think it’s just about us anymore.”

  “It never was,” Lochlan said softly, and then they were almost sent sprawling to the floor as the ship was rocked by an impact. Lochlan let out a cry and clutched at Adam, who felt a stab in his own middle—but they were still alive to feel it.

  “It didn’t hit us,” called one of the pilots. “Shock wave was too close, though. Gonna have to run past them and get to slipstream if we want a chance of staying alive. If the other one doesn’t follow us close enough—”

  “I’ll get in touch with them,” said the second pilot, her hands flying across her console. “They already—”

  Another impact, and although everyone managed to remain standing, shouts of surprise and alarm rang through the large cockpit. “That’s two of them firing now! Everyone hold on, I don’t know how much longer we can—”

  Her voice was lost as Adam was seized by the shoulder and spun to face Rachel, her eyes wide and frightened and her face bloody from a gash high on her cheek. “What’s happening? Why are we—?”

  “They’re throwing us a going-away party, what do you think?” Lochlan was leaning against the bulkhead again, one arm around his middle as if he were holding himself together. “Nice of them, but it’s getting a little rowdy. We should probably put the drink away.”

  Adam opened his mouth to say something else, but he would never be sure what. At that moment, out the window, the second transport surged into their field of vision, between them and the closest Protectorate ship. Simultaneously, the comm crackled as a channel opened.