Brigends (The Final War Series Book 1) (29 page)

He walked hand in hand with Nadiya. She was exactly as she had been the last day he saw her alive. In fact, he too was as youthful as when they were lovers. Bringing her close to him, she rested her head on his chest and listened to his heart. The scent of jasmine caressed his senses.

Marta was there, as a child of six — skipping, laughing, and chasing after butterflies. He watched her dance carefree in the sunlight and it made him happy.

Zoe and the kids braved the inferno, searching for an exit. Through dogged effort, they made it down seven levels without a more reliable map to go on other than Dinx’s memory.

Max cradled Marta in his arms. Her eyes were open, but her mind was elsewhere.

Grown and radiant, she went to her father’s side. He put his arm around her and together they watched her childhood incarnation chase after colored wings.

“I know what you’re doing. Please, don’t. I can save you.”

He recognized she was real and not a figment of his dying regrets. “Are you here?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Puzzled, he answered the only way he knew how. “I have to end this war.”

“You don’t have to. Please, live — with me?”

“He cannot, Marta,” Nadiya spoke. “His fate was written long ago.”

Emil and Marta beheld her. The beautiful woman caressed her daughter’s face. Like a wish fulfilled, Marta jumped in her mother’s waiting embrace.

“You’re here with us,” she said, overjoyed. “Are you creating this?”

“No, we all are with our desires.”

Emil felt a living woman, not an illusion. He kissed her with a lifetime’s postponed devotion.

“Am I dead?”

“Not yet, my love.”

“Marta —," he started to ask.

“No,” she promised him. “She’s alive.”

“Father, let me save you.”

Forgetting he was in a flight of fancy, her appeal baffled him. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do. Don’t I matter?”

Her accusation upset him. He wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her. Yet, how could he explain the tragedies of his past? How, long before her birth, he had set himself on this course? It was one fashioned by his obsession, leading to only one inevitable conclusion.

He wanted to hold her, but she rejected his offer. “I’m not important to you.”

“Please, do not be angry with him. His love for you is undeniable. Can you feel it?”

Marta could feel something, but it didn’t bring comfort. “Yes.”

“What he does today will alter humanity’s destiny for years to come. When he transcends, he will come to me and we will be reunited.”

“What about me? I want to be with both of you.”

“No, this is not your time. Do not fret. The day will come when we will again see one another.”

“Why —"

“No more why, child. You will go back. It is how it must be.”

As Nadiya departed from them, Emil saw the joy in her smile. Her bliss fueled his bravery. Watching her essence transition to ether, he came to understand the story. His beloved — mother of his child — was the influence behind everything that had transpired. It was her love that made possible his deliverance.

The darkness fighting to revisit his soul could no longer scare him; for he knew it would be short-lived. Her reward waited for him.

He was back on the bridge of his ship where warning lights flashed and alarms whined. He flipped a switch and the distractions ceased. At the tactical station, the Lidar screen showed the Leviathan rounding for an attack.

He steered the Bandit into a sharp curve, angling the view of the Spire in the front portal. The facility burned like a bonfire.

Emil sent out one last tender goodbye to the girl listening to his thoughts. With the coordinates locked in the guidance computer, the engines roared. Crippled as she was and shaking apart at the seams, the old bird flew straight.

Exiting out onto the observation deck, the fresh air seeped into their lungs and spurred uncontrollable coughing. They didn’t have the stamina to keep going.

Dinx couldn’t believe their terrible luck. “What? We’re not on the ground?”

Looking over the ledge confirmed they were still more than a hundred meters up. Zoe removed the tel-link from her belt to use it, but when she saw the broken screen, she tossed the useless thing aside.

“We’re trapped,” he whined.

“No, we’re not.” She grabbed the parachute pack left earlier by the entrance and dumped the canopy on the deck. Struggling to lay the material with her one good arm, she told Dinx, “Help me with this.”

“Are you psyching? Can’t we find another way down?”

“We’d never make it. This is our only chance. So, stop flapping your mouth and help me.”

Fumbling with the chute, the kid was more of a hindrance than actual help. While they worked on the transportation, Max tended to Marta. She could stand on her own, but her body shivered from fatigue. Snuggling the robe provided some renewal.

A beam of sunlight peeked through the storm clouds in strands of faded silver, highlighting the battle over the harbor. Hearing Emil’s farewell, she buried her face in the robe’s harsh fabric and wept.

“Max, take this and put it on.” Zoe tossed the larger pack to him, keeping the reserve chute for herself.

He examined it. To him it could have been a bag of dirty clothes. “I don’t know how to use this.”

“It’s easy. Put it on. When you pull the ripcord, make sure you’re holding on to her tight.”

“What about me?” Dinx begged.

“Don’t worry, champ, you’re with me.”

Serov could not fathom the image of the Bandit on a collision course with his ship. What should have been his triumph turned to astonished horror. There was no chance to avoid or deflect. With his last act, he became a desperate animal, bolting for survival. There was no concern for crew, country, or a greater cause. He wanted to live — to Hell with everyone else.

Engaging the engines at maximum burn destabilized the reactor core quicker and brought containment to the brink.

“Please, just a few more seconds,” Emil prayed. “I just need a few more seconds.”

He stared onward so he could enjoy the reckoning. “Die,
ticalosule
.”

The Crimson Bandit disappeared inside the larger ship. Milliseconds later, an atomic burst obliterated what remained of the spiraling hatred of two men, sending a shockwave rippling through the city. Blown out windows released another deluge of deadly debris. Towers structurally unsteady from the battle came crashing down.

The quake bombarded the brittle Spire shaft, tilting it off its vertical alignment.

Marta tumbled over the railing. In a flash of base instinct, Max leapt after her. Zoe didn’t see what he had done until she looked up to see his boot treads vanish over the side.

He dove fast and caught up. Clutching her tightly, they flipped head over heels. As he clawed at the pack’s rigging, the surface of the Earth ballooned under them.

Yanking the handle, the chute deployed. Despite the deceleration, they continued to fall fast, sailing uncomfortably close to an outcropping of vertical arrays.

He tugged on the shrouds. “How the muck do you steer this thing?”

A providential updraft lifted them away from the antennas and toward the pedestrian bridge at a sharp angle. They hit the ground and rolled over each other until coming to a stop near the walkway’s midpoint. By coincidence, she ended on top of him with the parachute partially draping both of them. The danger was over, but their hearts pounded without letup.

“You okay?” he asked.

A desire assailed her and she kissed him. Surprised by her own boldness, she pulled back.

Max accepted it in stride. “Wow. This is the second time I’ve been on my back with you on top of me.”

The immersion with the Spire showed her a world of infinite passions, none of which she had ever experienced before her ascension. The inundation overrode her self-control, encouraging carnal impulses. She kissed him again.

She wasn’t the same girl anymore. He couldn’t quite explain why, but the connection between them was different.

Zoe and Dinx landed nearby. A quick release of the tandem freed her passenger. He immediately doubled at the waist and vomited caramelized bile. Ditching the reserve harness, she knelt beside him and rubbed his back.

The chute fluttered, exposing the intimacy. Zoe’s jaw dropped. Marta noticed the audience and stopped. Embarrassed, she pried her lips from Max’s and hid her face on his chest.

“That figures,” Dinx said. “I save the day and he gets the girl.”

Max flashed a grin to his mother, who in return, couldn’t resist laughing. He was indeed his father’s son.

He got up with Marta’s help and they hobbled over to the unsung champion. Using her sleeve to wipe away the smidgen of vomit from his mouth, she tilted Dinx’s head to the side and kissed his cheek.

He blushed. “Well, you know I can’t take all the credit. I did have help.”

“You’re
my hero
,” Max joked.

Zoe joined the circle, hugging the kids.

“Is it over?” Max wondered.

“I think so,” she answered.

Their hopeful jubilation was cut short when a terrible noise erupted behind them. They turned back to witness the Spire break mid-shaft and collapse atop the burning island. The upper portion splashed flat into the water, generating an enormous wave that rumbled straight for them.

There was no calls to run; no one had to tell their feet to move. They ran, pumping their exhausted arms and legs. The wave’s chain reaction demolished consecutive sections of the bridge, rocketing large chunks over their heads. The group made it to the city’s edge just as the wave slammed the pier, washing them and the busted remnants of the Spire ashore. They were carried more than a block before the current subsided.

Laying on his back, Dinx gurgled and coughed out a mouthful of the dirty saltwater. “I can’t take any more of this crap!”

Zoe sat up. “Me too.” She looked over to Max, who was still protecting Marta. “You two okay?”

He nodded. “Is your life always this much fun?”

“Not usually,” she said while wringing water from her hair. “Most nights I just read a book.”

The trampling of hundreds of feet announced the arrival of the overdue cavalry. The sopping heroes didn’t stand; they didn’t feel like moving. The Colonel and Tank approached, disbelieving the handiwork of the short woman and her three accomplices.

“I — I’m here,” the giant stuttered. “I brought help.”

“What took you so long?” she teased. “Skylarking as always?”

“What? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through tonight?”

“What
you
been through?” Max shouted.

A celebration ensued, one well-earned by both hardened veterans and rookies alike. Lacking libations, the brigends made due with banter and laughter.

Not in a festive mood, Zoe excused herself and ambled to the pier, leaving the others to mingle and commemorate their campaign without her. At the waterfront, she watched the flames consume Governors Island. The waning adrenaline highlighted the throbbing of her broken arm. She pressed the appendage close to her side.

Max walked over.

She didn’t look at him. “It’s been quite a night.”

“Eh. I’ve had worse.” He crossed his arms. “So, what now?”

“We rebuild.”

“No. I mean you and me.”

Good question, she wanted to say. “That’s up to you.”

He didn’t comment, instead he quietly tapped a piece of concrete with the tip of his boot. “I guess the mission is over.”

“Yeah. You want your money?”

“No. Keep it.”

He turned to leave.

“Where are you off to?”

“Here and there.” He walked a few meters and stopped. “Hey. Do you think Patti would’ve been proud of me?”

There was no need for her to speculate. “I think so.”

He walked away, not once turning to see if she was looking. If he had, he would have seen that she was.

Aftermath

The Great Battle of New York had an equalizing effect on conventional dynamics. The Hi-risers, recent thralls of the promise givers, strayed without purpose among the Lo-enders. Many of them were homeless, some without so much as a stitch of clothing to cover their bodies. They wallowed in despair, while their Lo-5 counterparts returned to life as usual. The laborious process of clearing the rubble from their neighborhoods left little for lamenting.

The Lo-enders understood the game and didn’t wait for misplaced sympathy. For them, charity was a long wait for a ride that never came. In the end they went about rebuilding with stoic perseverance.

An old woman, bent over from harsh years, struggled to carry small chunks one by one to a growing junk pile only a few meters distance. With each load she hauled, her decrepit bones ached. Her curled fingers quavered when put to work clutching objects of any size. Still, she performed the chore absent of pity.

For more than an hour, she worked until something unexpected happened. A Hi-riser girl voluntarily picked up a few broken bits and carried them in her bare arms to the pile. The thin slip of cloth she wore couldn’t protect her from the jagged points, causing her to suffer thin cuts and scratches.

The old woman stopped her with gentle persuasion, offering no words as she removed her long coat and draped it over the girl’s cold shoulders. They exchanged a mute gratitude before returning to the chore.

Elsewhere...

Two brigends came across the wreckage of a sleek aero-car buried inside a demolished storefront. Believing there might be survivors, they worked to pry open the twisted fuselage. With the shattered cover tossed, what they found inside caught them by surprise. They stared and then debated what to do next. It wasn’t everyday a pair of ex-soldiers had a chance to play rescuer to the President of the Interim American Council.

Battered, yet very much alive, James Orock looked up from the pilot’s seat. He was thankful for his salvation given how he narrowly escaped the Spire’s destruction. In hindsight, the two veterans considered themselves the unluckiest miscreants in the city. The idea of putting a couple of rounds in the politician’s head, thus avoiding the headache of dealing with him, did cross their minds. However, being incapable of committing a sin so unpleasant, they climbed inside the car and freed the injured man.

While Orock’s reluctant saviors pulled him out of the wreckage, two hooded men passed by without so much as a curious glimpse. One was a squat mature man known for his surliness; his younger and taller companion was a skilled pilot. Until recently, both were crewmen of an infamous frigate commanded by a renowned rebel general.

They went to great lengths sneaking undetected through the meandering lines of displaced peoples. They didn’t want to chance identification, so they skirted on the outer fringes as they traveled to the city’s central docking hub. If air traffic was in service, Minsk and Cob wanted to be on the next outbound flight.

Along the exodus route, they saw Zoe tending care to the worst of the victims at a makeshift relief post. Through a combination of donated and pilfered supplies, she had triage tents setup and food lines established — all manned by brigends.

Minsk had seen the collateral damage of war before in places like Narcissi and Prague, where beleaguered human beings were reduced to filthy animals. Here it was different. There was no anarchy. The people here worked in concord to help one another. In spite of the devastation, aid was available to everyone.

He once believed Americans were lazy and selfish, but this example of their persevering spirit changed that outlook.

Perhaps General Pavel was right
.
These Americans just might change the course of the war
.
What they need is the right leader to set them on the path
.

Zoe stepped out of the medical tent for a much-deserved break. Stretching her sore limbs, she saw the impassive face of the Bandit’s chief staring at her from an alleyway. She saluted with a freshly mended arm. He returned the sign and cracked a smile before disappearing with Cob. She let them go; they obviously had their own mission.

With her breather over, she turned to go back inside. A fluttering light caught her eye. She investigated and found a small reflective object in the dirt. Picking it up, she saw it was an old coin, but, not just any old coin. It was the same one she had given Max.

What were the odds?

Dinx sat at the glossy workstation in a state of near tech-ecstasy. Accustomed to outdated hardware and slow network interfaces, this lab was his nirvana. Not only was every piece top-of-the-line, but it was at his disposal. Marta had bequeathed to him everything in her foster father’s lab to his boyish gluttony. Her only request, he had to work his digital magic on shielding Jaures Tower from the rest of the world. She could have done it herself, but she wanted to give her new friend something constructive to work on. Dinx didn’t have to think it over; he agreed without a second thought.

She left him to play with the new toys while she returned to the sterility of her chamber. Within its protective confines, she relaxed with only herself to keep her company. Here she sought convalescence in peace.

Baths offered the deepest meditation. She would immerse in the tub and allow the heat to overtake her cares. She never wanted to get out. It was a womb where she could feel protected.

Deprived of her physical self, she delved into other realms. Sometimes she dreamt of the lush field where she last saw her mother and real father, imagining again the grass under her bare feet, the warm sun on her face, and the cool breeze on her arms. When she tried to visualize their faces and feel their love, the fantasy would fade and leave her alone in an alien void. After that, she would linger in the bath until the water lost warmth and her fingers wrinkled.

Over the following weeks, she explored the empty halls. Although, the tower had been spared from destruction, it remained abandoned. She was grateful, for the isolation afforded her the opportunity to explore not only her home, but also her powers.

Sometimes she went barefooted, other times without clothing all together. She hungered for and actively sought out sources of energy. The more she absorbed, the stronger her need for it matured. She felt like a raw node, devoid of sentiency. Why she considered clothes an impediment to that insatiable desire, she couldn’t explain.

After a few nights of her jaunts, she sensed Dinx’s discomfort with her nudity. From then on, wherever she explored, she was mindful to blackout security feeds in those sectors. He was appreciative.

They spent time together, mostly at night in her chamber having dinner and laughing like teenagers should. She preferred not to read his mind, instead permitting him to talk at length about any and everything. The fun for her was in deciphering his coded speech and inconsistent sentence structures. She loved to hear him babble.

Later, he would return to his lab and she would seal herself inside and sleep late to the next morning. He was respectful, never waking her before noon.

One day Dinx chimed her earlier than usual. The unexpectedness of his page alarmed her. Is it something bad, she feared?

It wasn’t.

He only had to say one word — a name — to ease her worries. She bolted from her bed, wrapped in the sheet, and ran out into the hall.

He was standing by the large window. She said nothing as she ran to him and jumped into his arms. He pressed her against his body and they didn’t separate of their own accord.

Their unexplainable bond filled in the missing element her depression created. In his arms like this, she was happy. He was strength where she thought she had none.

The teenagers spent the day enjoying nonsensical activities, with each taking turns competing for his attention. Neither of them saw the change in him. They didn’t notice how quiet he was or how he avoided looking at them as they talked.

That night during dinner, while Dinx chattered on, Max’s hand found Marta’s. He wasn’t aware of it, but she was and enjoyed every sweet second of its gentleness.

As the evening wore on, she grew restless with Dinx’s company. With polite coaxing, she convinced him to leave.

Alone at last, Max lifted her in his arms. The boldness caught her off-guard. Of all the people she had encountered since her emancipation, his mind was the only one she couldn’t enter without consent. Now, she got the invitation she’d been hoping for. His passions were available to her and she received his generous gift eagerly.

The next morning, she woke to find him gone from the bed. The sheet was warm, meaning he was not long from it. Marta didn’t fret over his absence. During their intimacy, she felt his sadness. It wasn’t for her, but for another. Raw and different, this
other
was the only one who could truly mend what was wrong.

She found him outside the chamber, standing by the window. The auburn sky illuminated his definition in amber glows. She went to him.

Her heart said,
go to her
.

To her amazement, he didn’t argue. Perhaps it’s why he returned. He needed her soul to agree with what his had already decided.

They stayed by the window and watched the clouds drifting by. His heat staved the chill inching up her legs from the cold marble floor. She chuckled. If only Dinx could see her and Max like this. His delicate disposition wouldn’t endure the shock.

Late in the day, Marta left Jaures to accompany Max on his trip. It would mark her first venture out among people.

Lacking proper clothes of her own, she wore a set of Dinx’s mismatched garments. The plainness of the attire had a pleasant quality, allowing her splendor to shine through.

They left the sanctuary by motorbike. As they rode his newest ill-gotten ride across the Hi-8, Hi-risers went about their daily routines without their past self-inflated pomposity. The Hi-8 was a society without an identity.

She studied the faces of her former slaves. Although the irremovable starbursts on their foreheads were docile, she could still feel traces of each person broadcasting to her. She feared they could receive her, too. Her paranoia imagined their condemnations.

She buried her face in the rough fabric of Max’s jacket. Running her hands under his shirt, she felt the tight ridges of his abdomen. There she hid inside the recesses of his core, feeling the pulse and tide of his diaphragm.

The survivors of Agarha were camped on the edge of Brooklyn’s waterfront in a series of rickety warehouses. It wasn’t an idyllic hideout, but it was the best Zoe and her soldiers could find to house her growing flock. Since the battle, their population had doubled with orphan children and the hodgepodge of lost adults looking for salvation. Thanks in part to Marta’s quiet influence, the encampment was shielded from Alliance patrols.

With the Old Man gone, Zoe inherited the mantle of leadership. It was a responsibility she didn’t want, but couldn’t run from either. She learned fast that being a soldier hadn’t prepared her for the daunting challenges associated with governing civilians. Food, water, medicine, childcare, and morale were commodities in short supply. Everyday brought new problems requiring her attention. Each night she fought to ease her restlessness so she could sleep. She prayed for New Agarha’s completion and the alleviation of the burdens it would bring.

The day started out the same as any other. She rose before most stirred from their cots. Tank, also prone to insomnia, was checking on his men. As the guard captain, everyone’s safety was his responsibility.

Over morning chow, they discussed hot issues while stomaching lukewarm food. His report was mundane, which should have been a good thing. But, the lack of enemy activity worried her. A complacent soldier is a lazy soldier and a weakness the Alliance wouldn’t hesitate to exploit if they ever chose to attack again. He vowed to keep the guardsmen trained and vigilant. She trusted him to see it done.

After breakfast, the real fun awaited. Because of the overpopulation, she had formed a governing committee to help her deal with the day-to-day problems. In theory, having more people shouldering the authority to implement operational decisions sounded like a good idea. In actuality, the three men and two women committee bickered excessively and were too ineffective to make decisions on their own. Every ten minutes they would hunt her down, begging for advice. By the end of each day, she found herself being in charge anyway.

This day was nothing new. The crisis needing her immediate attention? Sanitation. She couldn’t believe the council’s ineptness on that issue; two of the five council members had been Army engineers in the war. Zoe lost what little cool she possessed and Tank had to stop her from beating the offending supervisors with one of her boots.

As the day ticked on, she invented ways to keep out of sight and avoid the unyielding questions. The cleverest solution was for her to not be handy. Taking a small squad with her, she set out on foot to trek across Brooklyn and into Manhattan.