Haven 6

by Aubrie Dionne

  Litus didn’t look up at Striver. He spoke into his loc­ator, eye­ing the men around him. “I can­not con­tinue with Delta Slip.”

  The com­mander’s harsh voice spit back at him. “Why?”

  “These men aided us in the battle. We owe them a life debt, and I’m not about to go against mor­al­ity.”

  “Lieu­ten­ant, my rules are your mor­al­ity. If you do not or­der them, I will my­self.”

  “Com­mander, these vil­la­gers are armed. We can’t have any more loss of life.”

  “It’s a small price to pay for a stable so­ci­ety. Carry out the or­ders.”

  “No.” Litus clicked a switch and the screen on his loc­ator went blank. He put his arm down. “Every­one here, listen to me.”

  Be­fore he could go on, all of their loc­at­ors flashed on, beep­ing sim­ul­tan­eously. The col­on­ists scanned the mes­sage, and then, one by one, they raised their guns at Litus. Anxi­ety gripped Striver’s chest. Mars would never let this hap­pen, but he’d seen med­ics bring her back to the ship with a leg wound. There wasn’t enough time to go and get her. Be­sides, this was big­ger than both of them.

  Litus backed up. “What are you do­ing?”

  One of the men’s hands shook as he held his laser. “Sorry, sir. J-just fol­low­ing or­ders,” he stammered.

  Litus shook his head in dis­be­lief. “What does it say?”

  One of the men spit on the ground. “That you’re a be­trayer. You side with them.”

  “Don’t you see? There is no them. We’re all in this to­gether now.”

  The man kept his gun raised. This time his voice was stronger. “It’s the com­mander’s or­ders.”

  “What are you go­ing to do, shoot me?”

  Their si­lence was an­swer enough.

  He glanced back at Striver with des­per­a­tion in his eyes.

  Damn the Law­less and all their do­ings. Even though they’d helped the col­on­ists fight, they looked no dif­fer­ent than the en­emy. Striver drew out his bow, an ar­row cocked and ready to fire within seconds. “The first per­son who shoots is a dead man,” Striver growled. Be­hind him, Carven ordered the vil­lage to raise their bows.

  It was a stan­doff to the death. Even the Guard­i­ans couldn’t save them this time.

  Striver had frozen the col­on­ists for a mo­ment in in­de­cision, but it wouldn’t take them long to real­ize they out­numbered the people in his vil­lage by three to one. Even if he picked off the first shooter, the rest of the team would kill him in seconds. Swal­low­ing, Striver resigned to his fate.

  I wish I could see Eri one last time.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Message from the Grave

  Eri dangled from the ro­botic arm, swinging away from the ro­tat­ing blade. Her sweaty fin­gers slipped on the metal, and she struggled to keep her grip. If she fell, the needle could stick her while she was try­ing to fend off the blade. Litus, Striver, and every­one from the vil­lage who’d sur­vived the battle were about to die if she didn’t gain con­trol. Frus­tra­tion squeezed tears from her eyes and she grit­ted her teeth, try­ing not to cry out in an­guish. She had to pull her­self to­gether. This couldn’t be the end.

  As the blade came back to­ward her, she kicked at the arm in­stead of swinging away. The toe of her boot caught the ser­rated edge, and the metal sliced through her sole. She scrunched up her toes and yanked her foot away as the blade cut mil­li­meters from her skin. She kicked again, this time hit­ting the arm, and the blade broke off, sail­ing through the air. It hit the screen, and the com­mander’s face splintered into shards, glass rain­ing on the floor.

  The needle arm bent to­ward her, the tip glisten­ing a cen­ti­meter from her face. Eri needed both hands to hold onto the arm, and her feet couldn’t reach the needle to kick it away. Gears squealed as the arm bent in farther. A drip from the needle­point fell to the floor.

  If she let go, the arm would chase her around the room. She had to get it now while the needle was right in front of her. Wish­ing she’d done more pull-ups on the workout deck, Eri re­leased one of her hands and grabbed at the needle. Her arm shook as the muscles strained, try­ing to sup­port her weight.

  She wrapped her fin­gers around the needle and broke it off, throw­ing it across the room.

  There was only one thing left to do. Only one way to stop the blood­bath rid­ing on the com­mander’s or­ders. Eri slipped from the arm and landed on her feet.

  The pink brain tank stood un­pro­tec­ted at the ship’s helm, the com­mander’s um­bil­ical cord to the con­trols. Eri launched her­self to­ward it. She leapt to the ped­es­tal and kicked with the heel of her boot. The outer level of the glass cracked.

  Pain streaked down the back of her head and she fell to the floor. One of the broken ro­botic arms had hit her. Eri touched her face. A streak of warm blood ran down her cheek. The arm came at her again, and she pulled her­self back as it crashed into the floor between her legs where her stom­ach had been.

  She forced her­self up and kicked at the tank again. The crack widened, and the brain shuddered with the force, but the glass didn’t break. Eri ducked the ro­botic arm and came around the other side. Both arms fol­lowed her, and she slipped onto her knees and skid­ded un­der­neath their broken fin­gers as they met in the middle. One of the arms snagged her tu­nic and lif­ted her off the floor.

  Eri kicked her legs and reached be­hind her neck, try­ing to dis­lodge from the arm. It swung her back and forth un­til her tu­nic tore and she flew across the room. Eri smashed against the main view­ing panel and slid down in a heap. Stars blos­somed in her eyes and the room darkened.

  No.

  She blinked back the pain and shook her pound­ing head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the metal arms com­ing for her. Get up.

  Eri stumbled to stand­ing, fight­ing dizzi­ness, and circled to the other end of the room. She gave her­self a run­ning start, gain­ing mo­mentum, and hurled her­self in the air. She kicked the glass with both feet.

  The tank shattered and cold em­bryonic fluid flowed over her. The lights went out as the ship’s power fluc­tu­ated. Eri fell and her head smacked the chrome floor, knock­ing the air from her lungs. The com­mander’s brain bounced be­side her and oozed li­quid onto the floor, de­flat­ing into mushy flesh with a long sigh, as if cen­tur­ies of pres­sure, hate, and re­venge fi­nally abated. The room stank of pun­gent chem­ic­als, and Eri covered her nose, hop­ing she wasn’t too late.

  …

  Striver tightened his grip on the ar­row, scan­ning the crowd of men. Who will shoot first?

  The col­on­ists looked wary and anxious, not know­ing what to be­lieve. They’d fol­lowed the com­mander their whole lives, and Striver knew they couldn’t dis­obey her now. But would they fire against their own lieu­ten­ant?

  Whatever the case, he’d take out as many as he could be­fore the lasers blas­ted him away. Any­thing to give his vil­la­gers a chance to es­cape. But deep down, he knew the laser’s range and the length of bat­tle­field stretch­ing out be­fore the cover of the forest. No one would stand a chance.

  Glan­cing at the sky, he saw Phoenix circ­ling with the other Guard­i­ans, per­haps de­cid­ing when to in­ter­vene. Ar­rows poked from his torso, and he flew in crooked arcs.

  Don’t try it, old friend. Stay in the sky where it’s safe.

  The col­on­ists’ loc­at­ors blinked off, de­power­ing. They glanced at their arms, and Striver wondered if he should take his chances and start shoot­ing. But he didn’t want to be the one to start the war. His father’s words came back to him: Wait for op­por­tun­ity to show it­self.

  His arm muscles screamed in agony, yet he held the ar­row cocked, wait­ing to fire.

  The loc­at­ors beeped back on again. Eri’s voice rang out. Striver couldn’t be­lieve it.

  “Drop your weapons. There will be no more fight­ing.” Her voice was d
eeper and more con­fid­ent than the last time he’d spoken with her.

  The men gave each other ques­tion­ing looks. “Who is that?”

  “That’s not the com­mander.”

  “Com­mander Grier is dead, leav­ing Litus Muller in charge. You are to fol­low him for fur­ther or­ders.”

  The trans­mis­sion clicked off and every­one stared. Litus raised his gun. “You heard her. Drop your weapons. This ends now.”

  “The com­mander can’t be dead,” someone shouted from the back of the crowd.

  Striver whispered to Litus, “Is there any way to prove it?”

  Litus nod­ded. “Check your locaters. See if she re­gisters.”

  Striver’s arm began to shake, and he willed it to hold. Who knew what really happened to the com­mander? Maybe Eri was bluff­ing?

  “It’s blank,” someone called out.

  “She’s not re­gis­ter­ing,” an­other voice answered.

  “What do we do?” A man in the front row lowered his weapon.

  Litus’s shoulders eased. “You fol­low me, that’s what you do. As the first lieu­ten­ant, I’m in charge now, and I’m telling you all to drop your weapons or I’ll have to open fire.”

  A young wo­man in the front dropped her laser. “I don’t want to die here today. I have kids and a hus­band, and all I want to do is start my new life.” The men be­side her did the same. Striver gave Carven a nod, and the vil­la­gers be­hind them lowered their bows. When the en­tire team of col­on­ists had obeyed, Litus placed his weapon in the ash at his feet. Striver dropped his bow and the shaft bounced once be­fore fall­ing to the ground. Stand­ing be­fore Litus, he bowed un­til his hair brushed the ash.

  “You kept your word, and for that I am forever in your debt.”

  “It is us who are in your debt.” Litus bowed. “Without your help we would have never won this war.”

  “A truce, then, between our two peoples?”

  Litus shook his head. “More than a truce; a friend­ship, a co­hab­it­a­tion that will strengthen both sides.”

  They shook hands, and the col­on­ists and vil­la­gers around them cheered. A pro­found sense of res­ol­u­tion trickled through Striver like warm sum­mer rain. He’d se­cured Refuge for his people. Ar­ies and Striker would be proud. He hoped, some­where in the nether land of that golden li­quid di­men­sion, Weaver and his father were proud as well, and that they found peace in their hearts.

  A wo­man wear­ing a col­on­ist’s uni­form, much like the one Ar­ies wore in the pic­tures he’d seen on the S.P. Nautilus, ran up to Litus and wrapped her arms around his neck. That must be Eri’s half sis­ter. Holy Refuge, she doesn’t look like Eri at all.

  Litus slid his arms around her waist and whispered, “I love you.”

  They star­ted to kiss, and Striver turned away, giv­ing them their pri­vacy. His people cel­eb­rated around him, yet an empti­ness he didn’t think would ever be filled sat in the pit of his stom­ach. People shouted in tri­umph, while oth­ers knelt be­side their fel­low com­rades in mourn­ing. So many of them gave their lives for the sur­viv­ors to live free. He only hoped this peace las­ted through­out the eons on Refuge.

  A fig­ure emerged on the ramp of the ship. The small per­son waved and ran to­ward the bat­tle­field. Eri?

  Ig­nor­ing his aching muscles, he sprin­ted to meet her. The ship’s light il­lu­min­ated a head of curly pink hair. Striver in­creased his pace, kick­ing up ash and jump­ing over a wall of fire. They col­lided into each other’s arms, and for the first time in his life, he felt com­plete.

  He ran his hands up her back to her neck and through her hair, as if con­vin­cing him­self she was real. She placed both her hands on his cheeks and pulled his face to hers, kiss­ing him fiercely.

  The fires burn­ing around him didn’t com­pare to the flames ra­ging in his heart. Eri ran her hands down his neck to his bare chest, sneak­ing un­der­neath his open shirt. Her touch ig­nited heat un­til he felt like his whole body was on fire.

  He needed her so badly he could barely stop for air. She quelled the pain in­side him and un­leashed a primal urge to be close. He felt the curves of her waist and drew her against him, los­ing him­self in waves of de­sire.

  Eri pulled away from him, break­ing the kiss. “There’s some­thing I have to tell you.”

  He placed small kisses on her cheek and her neck, want­ing to travel back to her lips. “Don’t worry. I know about Delta Slip.”

  “It’s not about Delta Slip.” The storm brew­ing in her eyes held him back. “It’s about Weaver.”

  He stopped as if she’d stuck a knife in his gut. The pain re­turned in full force, knock­ing him back a step. “He’s gone, Eri.”

  “I know.” Eri ran a hand through her hair, worry creas­ing her fore­head as if what she’d tell him would change everything. “He died be­cause of me.”

  Her words sucked the air out of his lungs. “What do you mean?”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to. I was lec­tur­ing him about tak­ing re­spons­ib­il­ity, be­ing a bet­ter per­son. When we got to the battle, I needed a di­ver­sion to get onto the ship and stop the com­mander. He at­tacked Jolt so I could make it on board, so I could save you.”

  That’s why Weaver took on Jolt all by him­self. A wall of emo­tion hit Striver, over­com­ing him with mel­an­choly. He was right about his brother. Weaver had been a good man, and he’d died a hero—he’d just needed the right cir­cum­stance to prove it. Striver grasped Eri’s arms to stay up­right. “I knew he’d do the right thing.”

  Eri stared into his gaze, giv­ing him strength. “There’s more.”

  Striver looked at her. What could she pos­sibly tell him that would ease the pain? Did he want to hear it? No mat­ter—he had to, or he’d al­ways won­der. “Go on.”

  “He gave me a mes­sage be­fore he took off into battle.” She took a deep breath. “He said to tell you he’s sorry.”

  The breath caught in Striver’s throat. For so long he’d wanted his brother’s love, and there it was in two words. He’s sorry. The world swayed around him, the emo­tion so strong he couldn’t hold it back.

  “Striver, I wish I hadn’t judged him. I’m so sorry.”

  “No. Don’t be sorry.” Striver glanced up at the sky as if his brother resided in the stars. “This is long-awaited news.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Closure

  “Fire!” Striver poin­ted to the cliff above the cave and Litus’s army of col­on­ists raised their lasers, re­leas­ing a cas­cade of loose rocks. The earth rumbled un­der his feet as the debris slid and settled. Dust waf­ted up, plum­ing above their heads un­til Striver couldn’t see any­thing but his own hands in front of his eyes.

  “Halt!” The laser fire stopped, and Striver waited for the dust to dis­perse. He needed the time for his own emo­tions to settle, time to say good-bye.

  The clouds thinned around him, the world com­ing back into fo­cus. A pile of rocks filled the en­trance to the cave. Striver stepped over the rubble and placed a purple blos­som, Weaver’s fa­vor­ite, on a cen­ter boulder.

  He’d tried so hard to keep Weaver be­side him all these years, and his brother had fought against it. He should have let Weaver pave his own path in­stead of suf­foc­at­ing him. It had been a month since the battle, and now Striver had to let him go.

  Rest in peace, Weaver, and good luck, wherever you are.

  Phoenix stepped from the dust cloud be­hind him. His torso was band­aged in two places, where ar­rows had hit him in the sky. He would have died that day but thanks to a re­gen­er­ator from the Her­it­age, he was re­cov­er­ing quickly. Soon, he’d be able to fly again. Striver looked for­ward to tak­ing an­other trip into the sky. “You don’t re­gret seal­ing off the cave? What if it’s the only way to con­tact Weaver?”

  “Not at all.” Striver shook his head. “As much as I want to see him aga
in, I know not to mess with time. What’s done is done, and we have to look at build­ing our fu­ture, not to the mis­takes of our past.”

  Phoenix nod­ded, fold­ing his long arms to his chest. “If it wasn’t for your lack of feath­ers, I would have thought you to be one of us.”

  Striver laughed. Yes, he’d gained wis­dom in the last few months, but he was far from lec­tur­ing any­one on the sub­ject. “You will as­sign a Guard­ian to watch over it, won’t you?”

  “Of course. This will stop people from en­ter­ing the cave, but the sub­stance still oozes through the ground every so of­ten. The golden li­quid is part of this planet, as much as the wa­ter and the air.”

  “We’ll deal with it when it hap­pens.” Striver put a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder, for the first time re­as­sur­ing the Guard­ian. “For now, we are safe.”

  “Spoken like a true leader. You have grown into your own, Striver, son of Tal­lis, des­cend­ant of Ar­ies and Striker.”

  Striver took a deep breath. A ques­tion he’d never had the cour­age to ask lingered on his tongue. “You knew them. Would they ap­prove of what’s happened? The dir­ec­tion this colony is headed…”

  Phoenix glanced up to the sky where a swil­low wisp perched on a moun­tain ridge. “They would be proud.” He ruffled the feath­ers on his back and took a seat on a rock, bend­ing his long, branch­like legs. “Some­times I miss them. They were like par­ents to me. After I broke free of my shell, I leaped into the rays of the sun, spread­ing my wings for the first time. When I looked down, Ar­ies stood in the meadow, watch­ing me fly with a joy­ous smile on her face, her arms reach­ing to­ward the sky.”

  Striver hung on every word. Rarely did the Guard­i­ans speak of their first days on Refuge, and never such per­sonal memor­ies or feel­ings of their own.

  Phoenix drew a circle in the sand, then a tree with branches spiral­ing out: the Guard­ian sym­bol for leg­acy. “But whenever I grow saddened, all I need to do is look at you.”

  To have a Guard­ian open up and share such a touch­ing sen­ti­ment was un­heard of. Speech­less, Striver took a seat next to Phoenix. He bent over and, us­ing the tip of his fin­ger, traced his own sym­bol in the sand. His strokes were much fat­ter and clum­sier than Phoenix’s per­fect lines, but the im­age was clear: two branches in­ter­twin­ing, the Guard­ian sym­bol for friend.