by J. J. Green
“It’s looking for bodies?” asked Devon.
“That’s right,” Hans replied. “When it finds one, it’ll transmit the location to a database and then continue searching. Recovery teams will check out the sites later and collect remains for identification and burial or cremation.”
“That’s...” Devon’s nose wrinkled “...helpful, I guess.”
“It’s just one of the things the Alliance will do to aid Jamaica’s recovery.”
“Yeah, well, just as long as they don’t get the wrong idea. Things won’t be going back to how they were.”
“Has anyone actually told the BA yet?” Hans asked. “Do they have any reason to imagine things will be different now?”
“Not exactly,” Devon replied. “Not yet. It’s early days. But they must have an idea. We haven’t been friendly with them. We need to get what we can out of them, in payment for all they’ve done to Jamaica and the rest of the Caribbean over the years. Then we’ll give them the bad news.”
Hans wondered how that would go down, but he didn’t wonder for long. The BA would never accept the loss of such a vital territory, especially not one they fought so hard to win back. It would mean war.
He glanced at Devon. The Resistance fighters were brave, determined, and patriotic, but they were ordinary men and women, not trained troops. They also lacked the BA’s firepower. If they stood up against the Alliance even in its weakened state, the conflict would be short and bloody.
It would be a great pity to see two groups with essentially positive values slug it out with each other.
“What sort of timescale are we talking about?” asked Hans. “For delivering the bad news to the Alliance, I mean.”
“Two or three months. We’ll have to see how things go.”
The timing was insanely ambitious and deluded. The local infrastructure was in tatters, and the Jamaicans didn’t have the budget or professional capacity to repair all the damage within years, let alone months. It was also nowhere near enough time for him to get them to accept Alliance control. It had taken him more than a decade to whip up the discontent and dissent among the BA hierarchy sufficiently to trigger the coup.
“It’s best to take these things carefully,” he said. “Small steps. The Caribbean shouldn’t try to run before it can walk.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Devon replied, “but people are impatient to be free. We’ve had centuries of living under foreign rule. Now we finally have our chance, and we’re going to take it. No more bowing to the backra.” His head jerked slightly as he appeared to realize what he’d said.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Hans said warmly. “I’m glad you don’t see me the same way as before.” It did please him, deeply. If Devon momentarily forgot he was a hated member of the former ruling class, so might other Resistance leaders. That would make his job all the easier. “Still,” he went on, “I would caution patience.”
“I hear you, Hans. Others might not.”
A sign flashed up on the dashboard.
“Ah, great,” said Devon. “The net’s back.” He gave the car their destination, took his hands off the wheel, and rested the back of his head on his laced fingers. The car smoothly took over its own steering.
“Good old Alliance. I’m gonna miss them.”
He laughed.
“But not enough to ask them to stay.”
Chapter Thirteen
Taylan had died and gone to Heaven. She knew this because Dad came to see her, and he was long dead. When she was twenty-five and pregnant with Patrin, he and Mam had gone out fishing and a sudden squall had overturned the little boat. Though they were wearing life jackets, by the time the Coast Guard found them Mam had died of exposure. A year to the day later, Dad followed her. The death certificate listed a hemorrhagic stroke as the cause, but Taylan knew better.
When he’d come home after the boating accident, the light had gone out of his eyes. He withdrew into himself. Not even the birth of his grandson raised a genuine smile. It was then Taylan knew it was over for him. His body lived on but his heart and soul had departed with Mam in the freezing, swollen sea that had taken her.
Here in Heaven he was happy again. He would lean over her, his face full of love and concern, asking her how she felt.
She felt...dreamy. Being dead wasn’t at all like she’d imagined. And Heaven was way darker than she’d anticipated. If that was where she’d gone, where was the sunlight and where were the angels?
Whenever she’d thought about dying, which wasn’t often, she’d guessed it was kind of the same as you’d been before you were born. You just didn’t exist anymore. But in fact it was more like being in a constant state of having just woken up. Heaven seemed to be a deep pit lit by flickering lights where people who had gone before you paid occasional visits.
She wondered where Mam was. She would have liked to see her too. But when she tried to ask she couldn’t speak. Maybe the ability would come back later. She also couldn’t move, though she didn’t really mind, not yet anyway. She was content to lie there and see Dad every now and again.
Then, one day, Patrin turned up.
No!
Taylan didn’t want to look at him, but when she did she saw he was holding his sister’s hand.
Kayla! Patrin! My little ones. What happened to you? Is this why I couldn’t find you—because you’d gone ahead of me?
She began to cry and tried to sit up. It was wrong. It wasn’t fair that her children had died so young. They’d barely had a chance to live. They would never grow up, never fall in love, never become who they were meant to be. All because Dwyr Orr and the EAC had snatched everything away from them.
Patrin was gone.
He’d been replaced by Dad, who was leaning over her again, holding her shoulders. “Calm down,” he was saying. “You’ll hurt yourself. Stay still.”
He didn’t seem to understand how wrong it was that his grand kids had lost their lives so young. She tried to push him away but she was too weak. She opened her mouth to tell him to let go of her that she wanted to see her children, but no sound came out.
“Gotta dose her up again,” said Dad to someone out of view. “Go to sleep, Taylan. You’ll feel better soon.”
THE NEXT TIME SHE OPENED her eyes, things looked clearer. A low ceiling hung above her, bare dirt between spaced wooden planks. Plump, white roots snaked across the soil, and in places their desiccated, feathery tips protruded.
It was a strange ceiling to find herself under. Taylan stared at it a while. She felt deeply placid and serene, as if nothing whatsoever could trouble her. Without much disturbance to her peace of mind, she remembered believing she was dead. Now, it appeared that wasn’t the case. Unless somehow she’d transferred to a different kind of heaven...
Straining with effort, she managed to lift her head a couple of centimeters.
Semi-darkness met her gaze. The planked ceiling was concave, curving down to meet the floor of the circular chamber. Figures slept at the edges, covered in blankets or inside sleeping bags. A single, dim light hung down in the center, and short-legged camping chairs surrounded a plastic sheet, taking up about a quarter of the room. A few men and women were sitting in the chairs. Another was moving items on a low table.
She was back in the Resistance hideout under the hill, though she had no recollection of getting here.
“She’s awake,” someone said. “Good morning. You decided to return to the land of the living then?”
The person standing by the table had spoken, but he had his back to the light and Taylan could only make out his silhouette. He strode to her side. Dark, shaggy hair hung over his face, but she still recognized him: Meilyr, Angharad’s son.
“I...” she coughed “I thought I’d died.”
“You very nearly did. Can I take a look at your leg?”
He moved the cover up her body, and then lifted her foot and knee. His brows knit as he studied the back of her thigh. He gently p
rodded her wound, making her stiffen and gasp.
“Sorry, we had to wean you off the good stuff. Medical supplies are hard to come by. Your wound’s looking better. I thought we might have to amputate, but we managed to save your leg. You’re lucky.” He covered her up again.
Meilyr’s expression turned serious. “You’re doubly lucky, in fact. If Marc hadn’t happened to stumble over you on his way back from a job, you would have died. Or, worse, the EAC would have found you.”
“I was trying to get back here. I must have collapsed.”
“Where were you when you were shot?”
“Near the orphanage.”
“The orphanage you were investigating?! It’s a miracle you made it this far with a wound like that. How come the person who shot you didn’t finish you off?”
“I killed him.” She swallowed. “Killed them all.”
He frowned. “The best Crusader is a dead Crusader, but you might have created problems for us. When they find the bodies, they’ll begin scouring the area looking for you. It’s going to make things more dangerous for us.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to make your lives harder.”
He nodded. “I know.” He paused, appearing to weigh up what he was about to say. “I’m sorry you didn’t find your children, Taylan, but now you’ve seen the situation first hand, I want you to think hard about what you’re going to do next. Imagine if you had found your kids, could you have broken them out of the orphanage by yourself? And if you could have got them out, what about the ones you left behind? Don’t you think they deserve freedom too?”
A painful lump swelled in her throat. “That isn’t fair! Don’t you think if I could help those children too, I would? I have to put my own family first.”
“I’m just saying, the Occupation has affected everyone. If we all act solo, only looking out for ourselves, we’ll never rid this island of the EAC. The Dwyr will win.” He stood up. “I’ll get you something to eat and drink. You need to build up your strength.”
His words had sucked away all the relief and joy Taylan had felt after waking from her delirium. She’d been so happy to realize that seeing Dad, Kayla, and Patrin had been a fiction of her fevered, drugged mind. Her children weren’t dead, or, at least, they could still be alive.
Meilyr didn’t understand. Dwyr Orr knew what her children looked like. Taylan wasn’t the only one trying to find them.
She tried to sit up, but her arms were too weak. How long had she been unconscious?
As she relaxed and stared at the ceiling, Meilyr’s words continued to bite, and she thought about other things he’d mentioned, like how medical supplies were hard to come by. How much of their precious stores of antibiotics, painkillers, and sedatives had been used to save her?
A new face came into view: Meilyr’s youngest brother, Marc. In the brief time she’d known him, he’d always been the friendliest and most easy going of the four siblings. He was smiling at her, his dark brown eyes twinkling.
“Glad you’re back with us. It was touch and go for a while there.”
“Meilyr said you found me and brought me here. You saved my life. I don’t know how I’ll ever—”
“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “No need to get all gushy. I’d do the same for any of us, and so would you.” He sat on the stool and rested his forearms on the side of her bed. “Did you find out if your kids are at the orphanage?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think they are. I watched the place for three days and didn’t see them.”
“What a shame. I’m sorry. Maybe they’re at another one. There are twenty or so that we know of, dotted about. Most of them are in towns, though, which makes them harder to watch. I can find out their locations for you.”
“I don’t...”
“What?”
“I don’t know if I should...” She paused, unable to go on.
“Taylan, what’s wrong?”
She choked out, “Meilyr was saying I was being selfish, searching for my kids.”
He gave her a look of disbelief. “I’m sure he didn’t say that. Maybe you’re still groggy from the drugs and misunderstood him.”
“He didn’t put it in those words, but it’s what he meant. And he’s right. I’ve used up your resources and time and done nothing to help the cause. But, Marc, it was because I wanted to help strangers that I lost them. If I hadn’t handed them over to someone so I could help fight off the EAC, I would be with them today. I live with that decision every day, and every day it eats away at me.”
“You don’t know what might have happened if you hadn’t handed them to someone else. If you hadn’t help fight the Crusaders, you might all have died. It could be that because you chose to fight, they’re alive today.”
Taylan was unconvinced. She suspected he was only trying to make her feel better. “It isn’t only that. The Dwyr knows I was the one who shot her in Jamaica and she has a vendetta against me. She also knows what my kids look like. She wants them too, and if she finds them before me, she’ll use them to make me give myself up.”
“Dwyr Orr is aboard the Belladonna,” Marc replied. “I’m not saying that means you’re safe, but, considering all her resources, don’t you think if she could find your children, she would have by now? I think they must be somewhere she can’t get at them. Which means they aren’t in a Crusader orphanage.”
“The Dwyr still hasn’t returned to her castle?” Taylan was relieved. She’d told Major Wright she might be able to spy on her for the Alliance, but so far all she’d done was try to find Kayla and Patrin.
“There’s been no sight or sound of her or her weird new companion ever since the launch ceremony. Taylan, you have to do what you feel is best. No one here begrudges you anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. We all know what it’s like to lose family.”
You have to do what you feel is best.
Marc’s words reminded her of what Arthur had said when he learned of her plan to desert from the Royal Marines. You must do whatever you feel is right and just.
What was the right thing to do?
Meilyr appeared at Marc’s side. “It’s just crackers and water,” he said, “but I think that’s probably all you can manage for now. Don’t you have better things to do than bother our patient?” he asked his brother.
“I’m providing witty conversation to aid her recovery.”
“Witty conversation? You? That’ll be the day.”
Marc winked at Taylan before leaving them.
“I-I thought about what you said,” Taylan told Meilyr. She swallowed hard. What she was about to say hurt her almost more than she could bear. “When I’m better and up and about again, I’m going to do what I can to help the Resistance, for a while at least. I’m not giving up on my kids. I’m going to carry on trying to find out what happened to them, but, in the meantime, I’m yours.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’m sure we can use you.”
Chapter Fourteen
The instant Wright stepped off the shuttle, Colbourn comm’d him. Wondering if she’d been watching a vidlink of the Gallant’s bay, waiting to see him disembark, he replied, “Yes, Brigadier?”
“My office in two minutes, Major.”
He winced at her harsh tone. Granted, she rarely softened it, but she had been known to on occasion, for him. Older officers had told him he’d been as close as anyone had ever come to being a favorite of hers. Now, since giving Ellis a compassionate discharge, all favoritism was out the window. He’d morphed into Colbourn’s enemy number one.
He’d put her in an embarrassing, tricky situation by giving Ellis a discharge when he didn’t have the authority. Neither did she, and she’d been forced to explain his actions to her CO. Though Wright didn’t think embarrassment was the brigadier’s problem. Her life philosophy was based on following the rules, and he’d flagrantly broken them. Maybe she’d thought he was the same as her, but she’d had a rude awakening. His version of the book included a human
element she disregarded.
Squaring his shoulders, he set off through the unfamiliar ship. He’d only spent a brief time aboard the Gallant before joining the counteroffensive in Jamaica and hadn’t had time to learn her layout, though the Alliance’s ships were all roughly the same.
The battlecruiser was a fairly new addition to the fleet. She had been held back from the attack on the Bres, though he wasn’t sure why. It had been a lucky decision in the end because the Gallant’s long-range scanners had picked up the Fearless out in the Asteroid Belt.
Now, both the Fearless and the Valiant were out of commission, undergoing repairs, and the Space Fleet bigwigs had picked the Gallant as their center of operations.
Pain lanced from his knee. He grimaced, stopped, and took a breather. His old wound had been bothering him all the time he’d been in Jamaica, and he’d run out of painkilling meds. For years, he’d put off getting the surgery that would fix it. There had always seemed to be something urgent and important that required his attention. Now, things were more hectic than ever. He guessed the surgery would have to wait until he retired, assuming he made it that far.
Colbourn’s office door opened on an unexpected scene. Arthur and Merlin were sitting side by side across from Colbourn behind her desk. The two of them turned to him.
Arthur smiled. Merlin’s expression was enigmatic, as always.
“Stop gawping and take a seat, Major,” the brigadier snapped. “We don’t have all day.”
“Congratulations on your victory,” said Arthur as Wright limped to one of two empty seats in the row of four. “I heard the battle was hard fought.”
“Thanks, but I’m not responsible for the liberation of Jamaica.”
“Not on your own, maybe, but I’m sure you fought valiantly.”
“Can we save the standing ovation for Major Wright for another time?” asked Colbourn. Addressing him, she went on, “Do I have to ask you again to sit down?”
