by Renee Rose
The colonel nodded. “He does. But the surgical equipment malfunctioned, and a member of the president’s family is in need of immediate assistance. Transport to Earth is out of the question.”
She stood up, finally on solid ground. “Take me to him.”
“Her. It’s the ’president’s daughter.” The colonel also stood. “You will treat her, then?”
“Of course I will,” she snapped. “That’s what I do. That’s why I’m here. Take me to her.”
“We will resume the debrief about your abduction later, then. I will require all the information you can give me, including names and descriptions of all the rebels.”
“I treat the wounded. I do not spend my time memorizing faces,” she snapped, although she instantly regretted it. She didn’t want to come off as a rebel supporter. It could cost her her life. But for the time being, someone’s health problem had bought her time, and she planned to take full advantage of it.
The colonel called to the soldiers guarding the door. “Take her up.”
Chapter Eleven
Blade checked and rechecked his weapons. He’d walked around breathing in cold dread for two days now. Lara was in the capital. Somewhere. Lara and his unborn baby. They could be killed during the rebel’s full-scale attack. And there was literally nothing he could do to ensure that didn’t happen.
Every Jeselian on the planet had mobilized for a simultaneous strike. All power sources would be cut through a magnetic jamming system developed by Bailey. This meant no one—including the rebels—would be able to use lasers or airships or any of the “civilized” methods of engaging in war. It would be an old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat-style war, with old-fashioned fire explosives, swords, fists, and primitive weaponry from the mines like chisels and hammers. Some even had the ancient weapons handed down from the original settlers from Earth—guns that fired copper alloy bullets.
The rebels would prevail because native Jeselians knew how to defend themselves on this level. They knew the terrain; their bodies were better equipped for fighting. The Republicans were soft. They didn’t know hard work or how to use brute force. The Sheenaw did, but he could defeat them in a fight.
T minus fourteen. Bailey’s voice blared over the small craft’s comms unit.
The plan was for all ships to fly—cloaked—right up to the capital’s shield, just beyond where they would show up on radar, cloaking or no. At that point, the ships would simultaneously land at the same moment Bailey engaged the magnetic jammer to disable the shield and everything powered. Any ships still in the air would have to use manual controls to land. Some had chosen to do so on purpose, planning to coast farther into the capital and parachute out, leaving their ships to cause destruction when they crashed.
T minus ten.
He’d opted to go in a ship that wouldn’t land. He’d told Sam, the pilot, to get him as close to the Capitol building and presidential palace as possible, so he could parachute right down into the fray. The pilot had taken them to five thousand meters above the ground in order to give them enough time during the freefall to get over the city. He hoped it worked.
T minus five.
He hefted the parachute onto his back and double-checked the second chute for Sam, the pilot.
Sweat dripped down Sam’s forehead, and he gripped the controls with white knuckles, but the young man’s jaw was set with grim determination. So many would offer their lives for the revolution today.
A few days ago, he would have gladly done the same, but now not even the precious revolution was as important to him as securing Lara’s safety. And, to do that, he had to stay alive. It was a different mindset. He’d never cared whether he lived or died before, and that lack of interest in his safety was what had made him indestructible. Somehow, it gave him three hundred lives. He’d survived time and time again, against all odds, when he should have been long dead.
Now, though, for the first time, he knew real fear. Not for himself, but for the woman he loved. It weakened him as a weapon of the revolution. He hoped to the Universal God he would keep a clear mind and sharp instincts to get them both through this.
T minus one and counting. Fifty-nine...fifty-eight…
Sam was breathing in rapid bursts. He shot Blade a terrified look.
Blade gave him a solemn nod, meant to calm him. The plan was in play. If they followed it, they might live.
Twenty-two...twenty-one...twenty…
He slid into the co-pilot chair, not because he knew how to manually fly an airship, but for moral support. To let poor Sam know he wasn’t going to jump off this ship without him.
Five...four...
Sam thrust the lever that switched to manual controls.
Three...two...one...jamming unit en—
Bailey’s voice cut out at the same time the power did. Not even sound frequencies could be transmitted with the jammer engaged.
Sam gripped the joystick and shoved it all the way forward, intently watching the old-fashioned monitoring dials they’d installed for this mission. “We’re falling at a rate of one thousand meters per minute.”
“That’ll give us plenty of time.” He attempted to make his voice soothing.
It was odd not to be shot at or engaged by other crafts. In fact, despite the loud rushing sound of air against the ship, everything seemed eerily silent.
He flicked open the ancient compass and glanced at the coordinates for the Capitol building. “Destination lies at three o’clock.”
Sam pushed the joystick to the right. “Roger that, sir.”
He overshot it.
“Adjust back by fifteen degrees.”
Sam’s face had turned as white as the clouds they cut through. With trembling fingers, he adjusted the joystick back.
Blade made a sharp halting noise when he reached the right angle and Sam exhaled and pushed the stick forward.
“We’re at twenty-five hundred meters, sir.”
“Stay with it, Sam. Just a little longer.”
Sam wiped the sweat from his face with his shoulder. “Yes, sir.”
As the city came into view, the sensation of plummeting increased, taking his stomach on a loop-the-loop.
“One thousand meters, sir.”
“Get up,” he barked, surging to his feet. He picked up the parachute and held it out for the shaking pilot. Treating him like a child, he turned him around and fastened the buckles then placed the pull-string in his hand.
He kicked open the hatch, which wouldn’t open without power, and held onto Sam’s arm. “On three. One...two…” He didn’t wait for three, but yanked the young man forward, leaping out of the falling craft.
“Good luck,” he shouted. Not wanting to take any chances, he pulled Sam’s cord for him before he pushed away from him with a friendly wave. The pilot’s parachute deployed, opening up and catching air, slowing his descent.
Blade waited a little longer for his, trying to get his bearings. He’d never been to the capital, but he’d studied the maps before they left. Catching sight of the diamond tower top of the presidential palace just below him, he pulled his cord. Destination reached. Now he just had to find his woman.
~~*~~
For the second time that month, the power went out. She’d been standing beside her patient, Treedle’s daughter Saraya, who was recovering well from her surgery. She’d had an ectopic pregnancy, but Lara had been able to do a salpingectomy, which removed part of the fallopian tube but reattached the remaining ends so future fertility should not be affected.
“What’s going on?” the young woman asked, sitting up.
Lara listened to the sounds around them, unsure whether power outages were routine here in the capital or if this meant something bigger.
Saraya gripped her arm. “Dr. Simmons?” Her voice held fear, which answered Lara’s question about whether this was routine.
She forced her voice to remain even. “I don’t know, Saraya, but why don’t you get out of bed and put some clothes on,
in case it’s an emergency?” Part of her wanted to open the door and run for her life, but she had a responsibility for her patient, and she wasn’t about to leave her helpless down here.
“I don’t know where my clothes are,” the young woman wailed as she shuffled around the bed.
Lara felt around to the counter where she remembered seeing them neatly folded. Her hands found the pile. “I have them here. I’m bringing them to you. Stay where you are.”
The room was pitch black, as they were on a lower level. Not even any emergency lights flashed on, which seemed strange. She wondered how the rebels had managed to cut all power.
“Miss Treedle. Miss Treedle!” A knock pounded on the door.
Ah. Here come the guards. Maybe she could slip away now.
“Yes, I’m here!”
The door swung open, but still no light entered, not even the tiny lights on comms units. She thought about Blade’s old-fashioned incendiary device—what had he called it? A lighter?. That’s what she needed right now.
She attempted to slip past the guards, but one of them grabbed her. “Miss Treedle?”
“No, I’m Dr. Simmons.”
“Stay right with me, Doctor. We’ll protect you. We don’t know what’s happening, but this is highly unusual. We’ve been ordered to evacuate.”
The sound of thuds and breaking glass from the floor above reached them, and her guard tightened his grip on her. “Let’s go,” he said, tugging her forward. They felt their way along the blackened corridor and up a flight of stairs she hadn’t known existed.
When they emerged on the ground level, she had to blink from the sunlight burning her retinas.
“I’m not even dressed,” Saraya whined behind her.
“Get them!” A mob of angry Jeselians rushed toward them, surrounding them. They attacked with fists and hands, pulling hair and punching.
Lara fell to the ground and crouched, covering her head with her arms.
If she’d ever tried to guess how she would die, she never in a million years would have predicted this.
~~*~~
Blade tore through the Capitol building, a sword in each hand, slaying Republican soldiers almost without seeing them. He had only one thing on his mind.
Find Lara.
He fought his way to the prisons and used explosives to open the steel doors. The jamming device must have caused all the cell doors to automatically open because, the moment he blasted open the doors, a mob of prisoners poured out.
“Jamis,” he shouted, catching sight of the pilot who’d brought Lara to the Capitol. He must’ve been detained after Blade had spoken with him.
Jamis pushed his way through the throng.
“Where is she?”
The young man shook his head. “She wasn’t down here. Maybe they released her?”
Doubtful. But he allowed that flicker of hope to light the blackness in his chest. He gave Jamis a sword, and the two men jogged together through the building.
“Treedle is dead! The Republicans surrendered.” The cries of the crowd reached them as they neared the outer doors.
Republican soldiers had dropped to their knees, their hands on their heads. Treedle’s dead body had been hoisted into the air by the crowd, and they were parading through the central plaza outside the Capitol building.
He wasn’t stupid enough to think it was over. Containing the Jeselians and getting order would be a struggle at this point, not even taking into account that every Republican had to be neutralized and put somewhere where they couldn’t cause any harm.
But none of that was his concern.
He had to find Lara.
He ran through the crowd, barking orders in the hope that some might follow them. Without any communication possible among the rebels, chaos had descended. As much danger now existed from the rioting Jeselians as from the Republicans still on the loose. The jamming device had a limited life cycle. Bailey believed it would last for six hours.
He didn’t know what would happen when power returned, but he did know this mess needed containing, and fast. He followed the roar of the crowds into the rear gardens of the presidential palace where he found an old-fashioned firing squad had been set up.
He recognized top advisors to Treedle, members of the dead dictator’s family, the ambassadors from Earth, Sheenaw, Varusia, and other planets, and...oh Universal God.
Strung up with the rest, dangling from her bound wrists, was Lara.
His Lara.
~~*~~
Even as she hung there, rope biting into her wrists, waiting to be set on fire, or have her throat slashed or however they planned to execute her, she knew he’d come for her.
Blade would come.
He was that sort of extraordinary hero. The kind who lived when others would have died. The kind who won in battles against all odds. He would somehow know she needed him and come.
It was a fairy tale, yet she believed it with her whole heart. Not one part of her scientific mind cared how unrealistic this faith in her warrior might be.
And so, when she heard his voice booming through the crowd—not amplified by any means, simply carried by the deep command and natural volume of a hero—she knew she’d been rescued.
“Stand down,” he roared.
She blinked, searching for him.
There. He pushed through the crowd, his eyes locked on her. “Hold your fire. Stand down this instant.”
The crowd parted for him, their hero. Blade was famous. The slave who got away. The liberator. Their vengeance.
He mounted the platform and drew his long dagger blade, slashing through the rope that held her dangling from the overhead beam. He tossed the loop of her arms around his neck and swung her up into his arms, cradled.
“Hold your fire,” he boomed.
The crowd went silent, all eyes on Blade, the symbol of the revolution.
“This is not justice.”
Not even a whisper rose from the people gathered.
“I know I have exacted vengeance like this. I have led you all to this very moment. But this isn’t justice. This isn’t due process. We have a leader. Her name is President Black. You have heard that she lives, and the rumors are true. Allow our true leader to lead. Allow her to get systems back online for fair trials and punishment.”
He thrust his arms forward, lifting her body away from his torso as if offering her to the crowd. “This doctor saved President Black’s life. She was taken by the Republicans from the transport station two days ago.” He hugged her back in tight against his chest. “Does she deserve to die like this? For no crime other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time? No.
“How many others here might be innocent like her?” He swept his hand to indicate the row of prisoners strung up for execution. “You do not know for sure. That’s why we must put systems in place and trust them. President Black has the expertise to reinstate a fair and peaceful government on Jesel. Will you allow her to lead?”
The people nodded. A murmur of approval went through the crowd
He jerked his head toward the rest of the prisoners. “Cut them down and bring them to the prisons below the Capitol building for due process.”
He walked away without waiting to see if his orders would be followed. As he stalked toward the palace, he crushed her to his chest. His eyes stared straight ahead, his face seemed made of stone, but a single tear streaked down his cheek.
“Blade?”
He neither looked at her, nor answered. Was he angry? His sheer physical power radiated through her body. He carried her as if she weighed nothing, stalking with long strides into the palace.
As if to punctuate the entire scene, power suddenly came back online. Lights came on, locks engaged, motor gears turned.
President’s Black’s voice sounded, amplified through the space.
“Jeselians, you are free. Democracy has been restored to our peaceful planet. We shall return to the good life many of us once knew.”
A
great cheer rose up. Blade did not stop but carried her into the palace, kicking open rooms until he found a bedroom. He carried her in and sat down on a chair, holding her in his lap. He ducked out of the loop of her bound arms and took out a blade to cut the rope. Only then did she realize her great warrior’s hands were shaking.
“Blade,” she whispered.
He sawed at the rope, freeing her and rubbing her abraded skin. He kissed the inside of her raw wrist and, once more, she saw tears glimmer in his eyes.
“I knew you’d come for me.”
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I should—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I should have made sure you got back to Earth before the revolution. This was inexcusable. I almost lost you out there.” He crushed her body against his the way he had after the caning, as if still afraid someone would tear her away right in that moment.
He loved her. Every cell in her body knew it. Even her logical mind knew it. This great, fearless warrior loved her and had been afraid of losing her.
She touched his cheek. “I love you, Blade.” Her body shuddered at the rightness of the admission, as if speaking the words opened some magic portal in her frozen heart. Suddenly, she was crying too—not silent tears like Blade, but big hiccupping sobs. Messy, sniffly, ugly tears.
If possible, Blade held her even closer, his muscles shaking with the effort. He rocked her back and forth, kissing the top of her head. Finally, when her sobs had subsided, he peeled her away and looked into her face. “Are you hurt?”
“Bruises. Nothing serious. Are you?”
He gave his head an impatient shake, as if the idea of him being hurt was preposterous. Rising to his feet, he carried her to the bed and gently arranged her on her back. Carefully, he eased up the edge of her tunic, scowling at the bruises that already darkened her ribs. His eyes traveled lower and rested on her belly. Tentatively, as if afraid his mere touch would hurt her, he reached out and traced a finger over her lower belly.
