Viral Airwaves

by Claudie Arseneault

  No answers. A silence so thick Henry thought he’d choke on it.

  “What now?”

  Henry’s voice came out as a high-pitched squeal, and a smile flitted to Seraphin’s lips.

  “Neither of you is allowed out for a month. Minimum. We must keep a low profile and delay all plans to spread your father’s recording. Reaching out to our network would be too risky. I don’t know how long it will take for everything to calm down. Sometimes they forget in a week. Sometimes a year.” Seraphin took a deep breath. “At least they don’t have Captain Vermen listing my sins like a religious psalm. They’ll move on quicker.”

  “And Stern’s cousin?”

  “The only thing we could’ve done for him was to warn him in advance. You left without speaking to him. With luck he’ll have heard about the fight before the Union knocked on his door. I doubt it, though.”

  Henry’s heart squeezed until it felt smaller than a raisin. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He’d run out of Galway, too worried about a pursuit to think straight. Whatever happened to the good merchant was his fault now. His stupidity had destroyed a man’s life. Henry’s stomach revolted at the thought and he worked hard to keep his breakfast down.

  “Can’t we do anything else?”

  “No.”

  “But he’s one of yours! We can’t abandon him.”

  Both Seraphin and Joshua shook their heads. Henry’s hands balled up at his sides. This was unfair. How could they give up without a fight? Without a hint of guilt? Had years of experience washed their regrets away?

  “In our world, Henry, a single mistake will cost someone his life. William’s life is in his own hands. Pray he denies any knowledge of us and covered his tracks enough to avoid the worst.”

  “Pray.”

  Henry spat the word out. He’d prayed for many things in the last decade but never received an answer. Were they to stand by and watch, then? Hadn’t he done enough of that in his life?

  Seraphin made no further comments on the subject. He stared above their shoulders, lost in thought, his brow furrowed with concerns. Running through scenarios and options, maybe. Henry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then his stomach emitted a low grumble. The rebel leader startled and Joshua cracked a smile.

  “Sorry,” Henry muttered.

  “No, it’s okay.” Seraphin’s voice dragged as he spoke. Exhaustion stretched his visage downward and made him look older. “Joshua, dismissed.”

  Joshua scowled but did not argue. He hurried out of the room and Henry turned to follow, glad to escape the stifling atmosphere.

  “Not you, Henry. I’d like to talk.”

  He froze. Of course. His first expedition with the rebels turned into a bloody mess. What would they do with him now? Throw him out? Perhaps Seraphin wouldn’t allow him to fly the hot air balloon. He should’ve listened to Bran. Forced his friend not to go to the pub. Where was his paranoia when he’d needed it? He’d failed at his first simple task. Not very heroic. The door clicked behind Joshua. Henry waited for his condemnation.

  “I wanted to thank you.”

  “What?” Henry’s ears rang. He must’ve misheard.

  “For sticking with Joshua.”

  “But I—”

  “You saved him.” Seraphin leaned back with a tired smile. “Joshua could not have escaped without your help. Once, four years ago, Vermen uncovered one of our operations. They captured old Trent and forced him to admit his crimes. I saw him at the execution. He had fresh burns and scars from torture. Caught with a gun, Joshua would never have a chance to claim innocence. They would hurt him until he spilled all he knew. I can never thank you enough for sparing him that fate.”

  Henry’s stomach loosened as Seraphin erased his disaster with praises. He straightened and tried to stay dignified, but his cheeks burnt with pride. Like a child complimented by his parents—ironic, as Seraphin could not be more than two years his elder.

  “You really think I was useful?”

  “Between your recording and this latest rescue? You are essential. I regret my early doubts.”

  A party started in Henry’s mind, with confetti, trumpets, and a large cake. He puffed his chest, forgot about Stern’s cousin and the major setbacks their mess had caused. For once, he had succeeded at something, anything.

  “I…well, thank you. Sir. I try. Now can I…?”

  He pointed at the door, knowing Andeal waited close by, perhaps worried to death. Seraphin laughed and nodded.

  Henry strode out of the council room with one destination in mind: the kitchens. The imaginary cake had set his stomach rumbling again.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Every morning since their fight, Andeal had come to Captain Vermen’s cell, unlocked it—they had added a real chain now—and led the officer to a large hangar. The stony walls shot up into the darkness, giving him the impression the cavern could be hundreds of feet tall. Was half of Mount Kairn hollow? Every time he stepped inside, he looked up and wondered at the hugeness of it. What could’ve created a space so big?

  The days left him ample time for suppositions—too much time. He had to pick up the supply crates brought into the rebels’ headquarters and carry them where they belonged. All day, he moved through the corridors, his mind wandering, the hours dragging by. Andeal had installed colored strings to help guide him to key destinations, but before long Vermen could find a few by himself.

  While he struggled with the heavy loads, the rebels worked on the strangest thing. A shabby wooden railing entered the hangar from one of the side tunnels and stopped at the center, where they’d built a custom launch platform—at least, he assumed the balloon basket sitting in the middle of it was meant to fly. He didn’t ask. Andeal might think he wanted to hear their crazy story again. They’d barely said anything to each other since then. Vermen wished they did. The days grew heavy on him, redundant, but he had no idea how to bring down this new wall between them.

  Today he had a bunch of barrels to roll down to the kitchen. Not enough to fill the hours until dinner, so Vermen took his time carrying the first through the corridors. He no longer needed a guide for this one: almost half of what the rebels snuck into their hideout was food. When he arrived at the door he sighed. This always turned out to be the worst part. Depending on who was inside, he’d get anything from angry glares to insults, changing his name from Vermen to ‘vermin’. Once he’d found Schmitt, and the noodle guy had managed a terrified greeting before babbling on about how he was so terribly sorry for what had happened and he hadn’t known about the rebels at the time and he’d heard he’d saved Andeal’s life and was really glad for it. He would’ve gone on—for hours, perhaps—but Vermen stopped him with a quick ‘Shut it, I don’t care’ and moved on. It was a small lie: he preferred Schmitt’s frantic groveling to the other rebels’ hostility.

  He wasn’t lucky enough to encounter Schmitt today. When he pushed open the door, he discovered Stern staring at him. The ex-soldier stopped cleaning the dishes and sneered.

  “Look at that. My favorite slave.”

  “Look at that. My favorite traitor.” Vermen pushed the barrel inside and set it against a wall. “Is that your punishment: dish duty?”

  The glare he received was answer enough for Vermen. A grin split the captain’s face. The last few days had been rough on his morale and he would not refuse a little fun at Stern’s expense.

  “On a scale of one to ten,” Vermen said, “how disappointed are you Seraphin stopped your little execution?”

  “Ten.” The answer came, immediate and uncompromising. “They took their sweet time.”

  “Don’t blame them. They’re just undisciplined thugs who couldn’t resist beating up a man who can’t defend himself. That’s what you get for allying with criminals.”

  Bitter laughter escaped Stern’s lips. He straightened and crossed his arms, looking down on Vermen. It might’ve been menacing, had he not been wearing an apron.

  “I don’t care what Ser
aphin and Andeal say. Those fellow rebels you killed? They deserve to be avenged.”

  “You people need to check your information network again. The only rebel I killed was that kid during the shootout in Serenity. The others I sent to prison.”

  All of them had been criminals of one sort or the other, registered in the Union’s databank. Whether or not they’d worked for Holt, prison was all that had awaited them. They could blame him all they wanted for that. He wouldn’t apologise for doing his job and bringing outlaws to justice.

  “Oh, yes. Prison. Where they all had those strange accidents.”

  Vermen’s heart skipped a beat. He pushed a barrel in to let the implications sink in, then asked. “Accidents?”

  “Deadly accidents, of course. All the rebels you put behind bars seemed to mysteriously die within the year.”

  A chill ran up Vermen’s spine as the news sunk in. They couldn’t all be dead. The only rebel he’d ever sought to shoot down was Seraphin. The others could do their time in prison as far as he was concerned.

  But he wasn’t the only one concerned, was he?

  Vermen recalled Andeal’s story, Galen’s secret labs, the idea the rebels had something on him that could bring the scientist down. If they held such precious information, would Galen hesitate to wipe them out? Would a man capable of experimenting on other humans shy away from murder? But the genetic engineer had no influence in prisons. His twin brother, however, held sway over the Union’s entire military machine. He could reach into other parts of the law and order corps. Could General Omar Clarin also be involved in this?

  “I have nothing to do with this.” His denial came out in a husky voice. His mind sped through the possibilities now. General Clarin hadn’t ordered the manhunt on the White Renegade until Stern deserted him—bringing vital information to the rebels, according to Andeal. His sudden interest had pleased Vermen. He’d been allowed to chase Seraphin and hadn’t paid attention to what happened to those he captured along the way. They weren’t his problem. In fact, once behind bars, they shouldn’t have been anyone’s problem. Prison sufficed…unless you meant to silence someone for good. Vermen swallowed hard. They’d used him. If this was true, they’d used him. “I’m not part of the accidents. All I wanted was Seraphin.”

  “Yet you ruined lives. Good folks who’d struggled on their own until we helped them. You saw a criminal file and ignored the people and stories behind them. And so you sent beautiful human beings to their deaths, all because you wanted Seraphin.

  “I needed Seraphin,” he corrected, and even him could hear the hollow in his voice.

  Before Stern could form a snide retort, Vermen strode out of the room. He set his back against the wall, using the cold stone as an anchor. He had been grieving, and angry, and they’d abused it to wipe their tracks. Somehow, that felt even worse than killing his brother, even more insulting.

  Vermen did not bring the remaining barrels inside, leaving them right at the door instead. He’d meant to mock Stern but in the end, he had a hard time telling who’d had the last laugh.

  * * *

  Captain Vermen reached the cut end of his red string and stopped. He set his crate down and crouched to examine the brightly colored rope. The guides installed to help him navigate the lighted network had been the target of frequent pranks by other rebels since he had started working for them.

  No matter how often the engineer asked for him to be left alone, however, the rebels found a new trick to pull. They were all too happy to have a distraction—something to vent their frustrations on.

  Except this time, Vermen had no intention of wandering around, helpless and lost. He pushed his crate against the side of the tunnel and picked up the cut string. He backtracked toward the balloon’s hall, rolling the string as he went and leaving the cargo behind. Not a minute passed before he heard a small group scramble after him. Predictable. His chains rattled on the stone as he turned to face them.

  They didn’t look like much. Four undisciplined time wasters. Had any of them been there on the summit, ready to execute him? A tall woman, well over six feet and with a hawkish nose, stepped forward. Her cargo pants and baggy shirt couldn’t hide the famished thinness. A cursory glance at the others revealed they were in no better shape. They’d fed him without problems in the last days. Why not them?

  “You’re supposed to deliver the box. What are you doing?”

  “Do it yourself.” He raised his hand to show the string. “My task is to bring this box where the string leads. It brought me here. Job done.”

  Vermen spun on his heels before they could reply. He stalked down the corridor, expecting their footsteps to echo behind him. Instead there was the grating of wood against stone and hushed arguments. Would they really transport that crate? Too easy. Unease crept up the captain’s spine as he made his way back.

  From the doorway he scanned the large cavern for Andeal. The engineer stood at the end of the wooden railing, gesticulating as he explained a task to another. Seven men worked today. Vermen had never seen more than ten at once and though faces changed every now and then, he doubted there were more than twenty-five rebels living in Mount Kairn. A tiny community.

  The captain finished rolling his string before he crossed the room. Conversations died as he passed the workers and restarted the moment he was out of earshot. Weeks had upgraded their insults into a momentary silence. Considering a handful of them had tried to kill him, Vermen didn’t complain.

  Andeal gave him a slight welcome sign and finished his explanations. Had he also thinned? Though he looked nowhere near as sickly as Cargo Pants Girl, Vermen could tell he’d shed a few pounds.

  “Your friends cut the rope again.” Vermen dumped the red string in Andeal’s hand. “I dropped the box there and told them to finish the job.”

  His friend blinked. “Did they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent! You’re done then.”

  Andeal’s usual smile had lost its sincerity. He rubbed his eyes and walked toward his worktable. Instead of returning to his room, Vermen followed.

  “Done? I’ve barely worked at all! I’ll bet it’s not even past noon.”

  “I know the time, Hans!” Andeal snapped. “There is no more work for you. There will not be for another month, at the very least.”

  Vermen bit back his retort. His friend’s shoulders were rigid as a metal bar and large bags decorated his eyes. Last week he’d supervised the troops with a skip to his steps and an easy confidence. Now Andeal gave all the signs of a man near breaking point.

  “You look defeated.”

  Andeal gathered the plans on his table and rolled them up. He cut the red string with a small knife and tied the papers together with it, then let his fingers trail on the soft fabric.

  “So did those idiots who cut the string,” Vermen continued. “Exhausted and famished.”

  “Your work’s done.” A tired smile. Andeal didn’t bother hiding his problems. He headed toward the exit. “You should return to your room.”

  Vermen grabbed his forearm and stopped him. Seven heads lifted from their tasks and turned to them. A few hands reached for tools they could turn into weapons. The captain released his friend and leaned in.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Why would I say? You made such a fuss about not being a rebel last time.”

  And it was out at last. Weeks had passed since they’d fought, but Andeal’s attitude had changed since. He avoided any sensitive topics, kept his conversations with Vermen short and to the point, and fell back on generic statements whenever the captain asked for more details. The moment Vermen had allowed himself to be more engaged with him, Andeal had pulled back.

  “So that’s it. If you can’t convert me to your little cause, I’m not worth your time? Where are all your big speeches about prisoners now?”

  “No, Hans…” Andeal raised a hand to calm him. His shoulders slumped. “I haven’t had a lot of time these last days. I wish I could�
�ve sat with you for hours to chat again, but we were stepping up our game. You made it painfully clear it wasn’t an available topic and I couldn’t afford to talk about anything else.”

  Vermen scanned the balloon’s cavern. The curious rebels had returned to their work, although they risked a glance their way every now and then. The captain strode down the tunnel with Andeal.

  “Couldn’t. Were stepping up.” He repeated the past-tense verbs, hoping Andeal would explain what had changed.

  “Yes.”

  Andeal’s jaws remained clamped. He pretended to study the white globes as they walked toward the living quarters, the engineer always half a step ahead, guiding Vermen. His silence unnerved him. Andeal always conversed, no matter his mood.

  “You worry me.”

  “Good.” The light deepened the bags under his eyes. Had he slept recently? “We’re going dark. No contact with the network for a month, if not more, which means no food. The one provider we dared to call upon refused to sell anything. In two to three weeks, we’ll run out.”

  “Oh.” That explained everyone’s distress. Had they tried to hide it from him by feeding him full rations? That was ridiculous. “It’s just a few months, no?”

  “It might be just a few months for you, but I’ve been stuck in this forsaken mountain for six years now. With Henry’s help we had everything we needed. I wanted out.” Andeal slapped the wall with his rolled-up plan and huffed. “How long before I can stop hiding like some sort of monster? Before my name isn’t on a death list? I want to choose a nice spot to settle down with Maniel and raise a family. I want to find a job and work like everybody else and I want to tell my parents I’m alive too. I just want to live, damn it. I’m not asking for much!”

  Vermen reached out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder but withdrew his hand before he touched him. He shuffled on his feet, cleared his throat. He’d always thought Andeal was happy with the mountain, that somehow he’d acclimated to this living place. He was the one who’d built the light system and disguised solar panels up top, after all, and he called Mount Kairn a home every now and then. It seemed the heavy stone over their heads dragged his morale down as much as it did anyone’s.