“Are you all right? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
I push the memories of the ElektroProd to the back of my mind. “I’m fine,” I reply, throwing a distracted glance at the household guard at her side who keeps his eyes averted. I wonder if he can be trusted. “Can you get me out of here?” I mouth to Ayma.
She shakes her head. “It’s impossible. I’m on house arrest.”
I bang my fist against the glass between us. “You’re the Fleet Commander’s daughter, you still have some sway. They let you come down here, didn’t they?”
She pinches her brows together as she formulates a response. “Yes, but only to … to say good-bye.”
“What?” I blurt out, eying her military cape in alarm. “Where are they sending you?”
She leans her forehead on the glass and drops her gaze to her expensive leather boots. “Not me … you.”
2
My legs buckle beneath me when I grasp what she’s saying. I flatten my palms on the glass to steady myself and study the dirt under my fingernails to avoid the anguish in her expression. “You mean ... they’re going to deport me?”
When I look up, she gives the tiniest of nods, her face scrawled with misery. I chew on my lip to stop it from trembling. Where does Aristozonex deport their criminals to? My mind leaps to unimaginable scenarios: uninhabited planets overrun by monstrous creatures like the wild cats on Razaran? Barren planets offering little or no resources to survive on? All the macabre tales of plague- and famine-ridden planets I’ve heard while sitting around campfires on Cwelt come rushing back.
“Where to?” I ask in a hoarse whisper.
“Skytus. It’s a penal colony in the Netherscape.”
I suck in a silent breath, knowing better than to ask for details. Ayma’s eyes betray what her lips won’t tell me. It’s a death camp from which I’ll never return.
The sting of stomach acid burns my raw throat. If Skytus is anything like Diretus, and the commissioner is anywhere close to as cold-blooded a killer as Crank is, I’d rather be executed on Aristozonex along with Velkan and Phin. At least that way I’d get to see them one more time.
“You’ve got to get us out of here,” I whisper, searching Ayma’s face for some reassurance that she can find a way out of our predicament.
She wets her lips before responding. “How? I’m just as much a prisoner as you are.”
“But Justice Kuberev is your mother,” I protest. “Make her change her mind. Tell her we saved your life.” I throw my hands up despairingly. “Tell her whatever she needs to hear.”
“Don’t you think I’ve already tried everything?” Ayma replies, her voice cracking. “I even said it was my idea to steal the stealth fighter. I told her you were all heroes on Mhakerta, that you saved hundreds of thousands of lives, including mine.” She hesitates and throws a furtive glance at her household guard who continues to feign disinterest in our conversation. “She thinks you schemed with the Maulers to stage the diversion on Cwelt in order to weaken the Syndicate’s power. I assured her you had nothing to do with it, but she’s convinced it’s the only thing that explains an alliance between the Maulers and Cwelt.”
Alliance. I grimace. Thanks to Parthelon’s treachery in aligning us with the Maulers, we’ve lost all credibility in the eyes of the Syndicate. I can hardly blame Justice Kuberev for concluding it was a set-up designed to disable the fleet. Even as I fight for our lives, I cannot forget that innocent men died on Cwelt. I will hold Parthelon accountable for his actions and give the Syndicate the justice they deserve.
But first, I need to figure out how I’m going to escape. Tonight. I have to find a way to prove our innocence, and I can’t do that as long as I’m a prisoner here. If Ayma can’t help me, I’ll have to resort to more desperate measures with my limited resources.
I lower my voice. “Have you seen Buir and Ghil?”
Ayma shakes her head. “They left my house after Ghil recovered, but I don’t know if they’re still on Aristozonex or not. They haven’t tried to make contact with me.”
I mull this over for a moment. Where could Ghil and Buir have gone? If they found passage on a ship out of here, they may not know the Fleet Commander was assassinated. If they returned to Cwelt, they are almost certainly Parthelon’s prisoners by now. But something tells me they wouldn’t leave Aristozonex without us. My guess is they’ve gone into hiding, fearing for their lives. I press my face up to the glass and mouth to Ayma. “They’re still here somewhere. Find them.”
“Time’s up,” the household guard says, giving a curt nod of acknowledgement to the guard standing watch in the corridor.
Ayma hesitates, then splays her hand on the glass to me before turning to leave.
It was clever of her to use a Cweltan gesture unknown to the guards. She was trying to assure me she’ll do everything in her power to find Buir and Ghil.
I sink back against the wall and slide to the ground. If Ayma can’t find them, my last channel of hope will have dried up. We’ll be torn apart at our trial by a Chancery which despises us for what they think we’ve done. We don’t even possess one miserly nugget of dargonite between us to try and bribe the guards with, which, based on Branthorx’s reaction to my request for information, would likely fail anyway.
My stomach twists into a hard knot. We’re doomed to stand trial once the state funeral is over, which is only a few short hours from now. My stomach twists into a hard knot. I wonder if they will hold our trial tonight or wait until morning. Either way, it will be a farce. Justice Kuberev made it abundantly clear she has already found us guilty. And none of the other justices will dare undermine her verdict, no matter what we say or do to prove our innocence.
The guard’s voice comes over the intercom again and I look up. He gestures at a tray of food in his hand.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You will be,” he replies in a tone that smacks of smugness. “The Fleet Commander’s funeral will be a long drawn-out ceremony. You will be standing for hours under the blazing sun.”
I get to my feet, frowning. “Am I to attend the funeral?”
The guard’s lips dip in a sour smile. “Let’s just say you will be a focal point.”
A shiver of apprehension goes through me. I try not to imagine what he could possibly be referring to. My mouth feels sticky when I speak. “What do you mean?”
“Aristozonex lost one of its finest leaders in Fleet Commander Kuberev. It is only fitting that our citizens get a good look at the infidels responsible for his death.” He flicks a switch and shoves the tray of food through a slot that opens up in the glass. “We leave in thirty minutes in case you change your mind.”
Trancelike, I reach for the tray and retreat to the far corner of the unit, mulling over the information as I pick at a bread roll. It’s a daunting prospect to think I’m to be put on display as a criminal—a terrorist—at the Fleet Commander’s funeral. The only comfort is that I won’t be alone. The guard made it sound as though Phin and Velkan will be forced to attend the funeral also.
Twirling a piece of the bread between my finger and thumb, I try to envision what lies in store for us. Ridicule? Torture?
No matter what they do to us, I won’t grovel. I will hold my head high and conduct myself as a chieftain’s daughter to the end. I won’t break down in front of the citizens of Aristozonex, and I will not cower before my accusers. I will make my father proud, in life or in death.
An unwelcome tear trickles down my cheek as the thought occurs to me that I’ll get a chance to say goodbye to Phin and Velkan before their executions after all. It’s almost crueler this way. I try to come up with something meaningful to convey to them in a final conversation, but my mind swirls with too many unanswered questions. Has Ayma found Ghil and Buir? Will they be able to do anything to save us? Even if the Syndicate waits until tomorrow to conduct our trial, we’re almost out of time.
I chew a bite of bread listlessly. Maybe there will be a chance to escape at
the funeral. I quickly dismiss the notion. We will be more heavily guarded at the state funeral than in our holding units, especially if we are there as exhibits. Even if we somehow manage to slip our bonds and evade the guards, we’d never make it out of there. We’d be torn limb from limb by an angry mob of Aristozonex’s citizens seeking to avenge their leader.
The grating sound of the glass wall retracting startles me. I look up to see several impeccably-dressed guards milling around outside my unit, an air of agitation in their expressions. My heart thuds a little faster. Has it already been thirty minutes? Unbidden, I abandon my uneaten meal and get to my feet.
A gray-haired guard with a broad, deeply-lined face walks over and gestures to me to hold out my wrists. She slaps a self-sealing restraint band over them and then steers me by the elbow out of the unit and into the corridor behind another guard. “Don’t step out of line,” she whispers in my ear. “There isn’t a guard here who isn’t itching to smash a fist into your pretty little face.”
I force my expression to remain deadpan, recognizing her words as a threat and not a friendly warning. Steeling myself, I follow the guard in front.
I barely manage to suppress a gasp when I spot Phin and Velkan being escorted out of their units a short distance ahead of me. Phin’s face bears evidence of several new contusions. No doubt the military takes his alleged treachery personally. Both he and Velkan look as disheveled and grimy as I feel. Perhaps that’s the Syndicate’s intention; to portray us as savages. At least we are to be transported to the funeral ceremony together. It may be the last time I get to talk to them. I have so much to say to both of them, yet nothing seems adequate when I go over it in my mind.
Outside the building, the masked guards waste no time bundling us into the back of a waiting LevAuto while hordes of reporters jammed behind the metal barriers a short distance away scream unintelligible questions at us. I sink down on the seat beside Velkan, my bound hands shaking in my lap, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. Now, I understand the reason for the apprehension I detected in the guards when they escorted me out of the holding unit. With this much attention on us, it’s imperative nothing goes wrong, and most importantly, that we don’t escape.
“Are you okay?” Velkan asks me as we ascend to the laser-lit LevTransport pathway over the city. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“I’m fine.” I squeeze the bound hand he slips around my ice-cold fingers and throw a glance through the glass at the guards in front. “I just don’t understand why they’re taking us to the funeral. It’s a security nightmare for them.”
“To invoke the people’s wrath and justify the sentence the Syndicate will unleash on us,” Phin replies grimly. “The Fleet Commander had me pegged to lead the military one day in his place. I was like a son to him. My actions comprise the ultimate betrayal in terms of military honor.”
“But they blame me for the Fleet Commander’s death,” I reply.
Phin fixes a crestfallen gaze on me. “Yes, in their eyes you’re a terrorist, but I’m a traitor, and to some that’s worse. If I had not abandoned my post, I would have died fighting at the Fleet Commander’s side.”
“What about the guards loyal to you?” Velkan asks. “Do they believe you’re a traitor?”
“There is division among the military,” Phin acknowledges. “Branthorx is torn, along with several others. I suspect the Chancery will struggle to reach a unanimous verdict. That’s why Justice Kuberev needs me to make an appearance as a criminal at her husband’s funeral. If she can drive home the depths of my betrayal to a frenzied crowd, it will help swing the vote in favor of my execution.”
“Is there any way the guards loyal to you can help us escape during the funeral?” I ask.
Phin grimaces. “There won’t be an opportunity at a public event of this magnitude.”
“There must be something we can do,” I say. “We liberated Mhakerta. We are still The Four. We can’t give up, not now, not after everything we’ve been through together.”
Phin furrows his brow. “Justice Kuberev is holding a reception at her home following the funeral ceremony, which means our trial won’t take place until tomorrow morning. That buys us a small window of time. Our only hope of escape is tonight.”
Velkan pins an alert gaze on Phin. “How do we do it?”
“It won’t be easy,” Phin replies. “Justice Kuberev is not taking any chances. She hasn’t assigned any of my men to guard me. We can try and bribe whichever guards are on duty, but we’ll need Ayma’s help. As it stands, we have nothing to offer them.”
We fall silent as the slim chance of a crude last-resort plan coming together tonight sinks in. I push the thought of our impending trial out of my mind. I must keep believing there’s hope, that somehow, we will escape, and I won’t be forced to watch Phin and Velkan march to their deaths.
Before long, the LevAuto decelerates and begins to descend. My heart thuds in my chest more loudly than the magnetic hum of the tracks. I have no idea what to expect now that we’ve arrived at the funeral. Will the Syndicate announce us to the crowd, parade us around an arena, put us up on VidScreens? Maybe we’ll be forced to make a statement renouncing what we did. We’re here to be humiliated, there’s little doubt of that, but if Phin’s hunch is right, we’re also here to incite the fury of the crowd. Justice Kuberev wants a spectacle, and we are the performers.
The back door of the LevAuto opens and we’re ordered out. I exit first, blinking in the bright sun. It takes me a moment to get my bearings. I’m standing outside a soaring colosseum with concrete battlements. Velkan and Phin climb out of the LevAuto behind me and silently eye the brilliantly-lit stadium bedecked with Syndicate flags. Military troops and armored LevTanks are stationed at intervals around the perimeter, on the LevTransport pathway up above and down here on the ground.
I freeze when I see the mass of bodies packed into the stadium in front of me. I’ve never seen so many people gathered together in one place before. Hundreds of thousands of faces fill the arena. I can almost hear the drum of their heartbeats, beating of one accord, a hunting call of sorts for a prey they have united over. They are too far away for me to read their individual expressions, but I imagine they are taut with anger, their flashing eyes eager for blood.
An intense longing to turn and flee to the sacred triangle and hide myself among the familiar rocks surges through me, but of course I’m not on Cwelt, and there is no refuge here for me on Aristozonex. Even though we’ve been promised a trial before the Supreme Chancery, it’s clear the real trial will be held this afternoon in this colosseum. We are here to whet the mob’s appetite for revenge, and it won’t take much.
The gray-haired guard presses a button on her CipherSync. I recoil in horror as a wheeled steel cage whirs toward us, controlled by the guard’s device. “Climb inside!” The guard jabs me with a baton that looks suspiciously like an ElektroProd.
“They’re planning on sending us in there like animals,” I mutter to Phin and Velkan.
“Silence!” The guard shoves me roughly up the steps to the narrow cage. Once Velkan and Phin are stowed inside with me, she locks the door remotely and steers the cage toward the nearest gate leading into the colosseum. Sweat trickles down the back of my neck as we wait in the oppressive heat—for what I’m not sure.
Giant VidScreens in each corner of the arena flicker to life and begin transmitting an emotive tribute to the deceased Fleet Commander Kuberev. The rousing music rises and falls in perfect accompaniment to the dramatic footage that floods the screen of his countless heroic acts and service to the Syndicate. Just when I think there is no end to the Fleet Commander’s gallant exploits, the music shifts to a haunting minor key. I stiffen when the first images of Maulers—bones perforating their noses, scalps strung from their waists—flash across the VidScreen.
“These are the savage faces of our barbaric enemies who must be stamped out at all costs,” a digital voice bellows over the loudspeaker.
; The music crescendos, malevolent in tone, and the crowd holds a collective breath in silent expectation.
My breath balks in my throat when a new image appears on the screen, fuzzy at first, then coming into sharp focus, a bedraggled and filthy group of miscreants huddled together clutching the bars of a steel cage. The music morphs to an ominous drumbeat as the cameras zoom in on us.
“And these are the faces of those who betrayed us to our enemies,” the digital voice booms, an octave lower than before.
The gray-haired guard mutters something into a headpiece and gives a curt nod to her companions. A moment later, the music falls silent on a dramatic beat.
Heart pounding, I keep my gaze glued to one of the VidScreens inside the stadium as Justice Kuberev mounts the steps to the stage in a black skintight suit, her raven hair scraped severely back from her face. A heavy cape embroidered with the military insignia flows from her shoulders. She grasps the sides of the crystal podium in front of her and looks around intently at the sea of faces turned in rapt attention toward their fallen commander’s grieving widow.
“I offer my deepest gratitude to all the citizens of Aristozonex gathered here with me today to pay tribute to my husband,” she begins. “He was taken from us, all too soon, by the most despicable of all cowardly acts. Fleet Commander Kuberev was inarguably one of the finest leaders Aristozonex has ever known, a beloved husband and father.” She pauses when her voice is drowned out in a sea of applause.
My stomach churns as she continues, bent on whipping the citizens of Aristozonex into an emotional frenzy that will leave no room for grace. Our sentence will be harsh, if we even live to see our trial. Should this mob break free, we will be crushed to death, steel cage or not.
Girl of Blood: A Science Fiction Dystopian Novel (The Expulsion Project Book 3) Page 2
