Numbers Ignite (9 page)

“Good people of Blackfell, we thank you for your attendance at this momentous event,” Mills said into the handheld amplifier. His voice echoed off the valley walls as the crowd quieted. We stood on a makeshift platform that jutted out from the wall, then dropped ten feet as the ground sloped toward the swamp below. Even from this high, I could still smell it. “Many of you have waited long for this. Perhaps you struggle to survive each day, suffering greatly as you mourn the loss of dear ones. It is our hope that those who have passed and those who remain can finally find peace with the capture of this man. I will now read the charges brought forth by the people against Vance Hawking, son of Iron Belt Hawking.”

Someone clapped and shouted, and then the audience joined in. I picked out a familiar face here and there. There were no chairs. The settlers stood, some holding young children or babies, all watching me with disgust or anger. There had to be hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand or more. Even the dirt trail was full of spectators. Ju-Long stood off to the side of the platform, watching me like a mountain lion eyes its prey.

I was such an idiot. Ju-Long moved slowly, carefully, smoothly. Like a fighter. I should have seen it long before now.

“The first charge brought to him is defection,” Mills said. “When his clan was attacked and incorporated into the New Order Republic of America, young Hawking chose to join them instead of fight.”

“I did fight,” I growled.

He talked right over me. “He spent two years hunting down so-called criminals who were simply settlers trying to survive, showing no mercy to his own clan members.”

A few people booed and yelled. NORA had watched me closely for any sign of defection. I wasn’t proud of my time in EPIC, but at least my family was safe. They were probably here somewhere. I swept the crowd, looking for my mother’s face, but she must have been too far away.

“The second is falsehoods. When he discovered a movement to unseat the leader of NORA, he tricked his people into taking part, telling whatever lies were necessary for them to participate in his scheme.”

“They weren’t lies,” I snapped. “I made a deal, and I kept it. Just ask Rutner.”

The group of older men and women sitting behind Mills frowned, and a graying woman half stood. “The defendant will refrain from speaking or be removed.”

I didn’t want to be here anyway, but now that I was here, I needed some kind of plan. “The defendant is sorry,” I replied, then nodded to Mills. “Carry on.”

“And finally,” Mills said, lowering his voice dramatically, “a charge so horrifying I can barely stand to speak it. Vance Hawking is accused of blackmailing four of his clan members into shooting off a missile—into the very square where his own people gathered to protest.”

I snorted, but the audience began shouting at that. Some pointed, and others even shoved through the crowd toward me. Ju-Long’s guards lining the bottom of the platform moved forward, talking to the audience. Most of the angry settlers were people I recognized. Many had been in the square, helping our desperate little group pull bodies out from under the wreckage. I frowned. These people really believed I would shoot a missile and then organize a rescue operation? What did I have to gain?

One thing was certain. It didn’t take much for these people to believe what they were told.

“And now,” Mills said, “we’ll hear the prisoner’s plea. To the charge of defection, what say you, Hawking?”

“Guilty.”

The crowd cheered. Half of them, at least. Others nodded their heads but didn’t react much.

“To the charge of falsehoods?”

I glared at him. “Not guilty. I told no lies.”

There was murmuring, but no shouting this time.

“And to the charge of collaboration of mass murder?”

“Ridiculous.”

A dozen or so people rushed the platform, shouting. Their words blended in with each other. “Liar!” “Terrorist!” “He’s not sorry at all!”

The guards stood their ground in front of me again, but it was woefully inadequate. The assembly members, who sat in chairs behind me, stood and backed away. The audience shouted and screamed and moved forward in an angry wave. Then one voice stood out from the rest. Mills. “Silence!”

It grew quieter, and the front runners slowed, but didn’t stop. Mills tried again. “You will stop this instant, or you participate in Hawking’s sentence!”

The line of people stopped at the guards. One of them spat and missed my face, getting my chest instead. Right above the heart.

“I mean it,” Mills said, his voice echoing across the crowd. “He will receive his punishment soon enough. Let justice be done for his atrocities. I feel as you do, but please stand down and allow us to finish the requirements of the law. The boy admitted his guilt on one count.”

The louder individuals in the crowd stopped pushing their way toward the platform, but it was clear from their dark expressions they didn’t trust whatever “requirements of the law” Mills had in store. In our clan, we handled things a little differently. Those protestors weren’t backing down; they were simply waiting for their chance to see justice done.

Mills asked the assembly members to step forward and deliver their sentence for my admitted crimes, then handed over the amplifier. “His sentence is service,” a stern-faced woman announced. “A lifetime of service to those he has wronged. For those with missing fathers and husbands, he will provide financial support. For the children, he will find worthy parents. He will right every wrong, seek those who are lost, and become the person he should have been.”

Mills’s smile slipped. It was obviously not the sentence he’d expected.

The crowd murmured, a few people more vocal in their reactions than others.

“That’s not justice!” someone called out.

“Service?” a man shouted incredulously. “What kind of punishment is that?”

The shouts grew in volume, tripping over each other. The audience began to inch their way forward toward the platform again, some raising fists. I had to agree with them. This wasn’t justice at all. If I knew it, they definitely knew it.

No matter what their assembly said or did, I was as good as dead.

An idea hit me then—something that could possibly buy me a little more time. Risky, but possible. I lifted my voice over the crowd. “A fair sentence. But with all due respect, I came here to be judged by the Hawking clan, and we have our own rules. In my clan, what you dole out is given right back. Since I caused so much pain to my people, I ask that they be allowed to return it.”

The noise died as the audience gaped.

Even Mills looked puzzled. “You’re saying you want to deliver yourself into the crowd?”

“Just my clan,” I said. “I owe the others nothing.”

I saw the emotions play out on Mills’s face as he considered it, then hid a smile. He turned to the assembly. “What say you?”

“We do not return violence with violence,” the woman said.

“It encourages anger and revenge,” another elder hissed. “Take him back to the prison before the crowd gets out of control.”

Mills looked unhappy, but he nodded. The guards grabbed my shoulders and started to pull me away, but I had already made my decision.

I swung around, knocking away their hands and leaped off the platform into the audience.

The crowd exploded again as I landed on an unsuspecting guard, sending him flying to the ground. He hit hard and I heard a crack. I rolled sideways, tucking my fastened arms, then jumped to my feet. The settlers completely surrounded me now. Adrenaline pulsed through my body, screaming at me to run. I could do it. Unless somebody had a stunner and incredible aim, I could fight my way to the trail right now.

But then I saw my mother. She stood with one hand over her mouth. The gray in her hair was more prominent, her eyes lined with wrinkles. Silent communication passed between us. Finally, she gave a slight nod.

I shoved away the instinct to run. The time would come, but not yet. Instead, I went against everything my brain was telling me and stopped. The crowd that pressed around me grew thicker and louder, arms jostling and pushing me around. Wylin Newport stepped forward, his hands already forming fists. He was the oldest son of Stuart Newport, one of the men we’d arrested on our last Meridian raid. Wylin’s father had been executed on a public broadcast. Service wouldn’t bring him back.

“Well?” I shouted toward him. “You’ve wanted to punish me for what I did. Here’s your chance.”

“Guards, stop this!” the assembly chair shrieked. The guards looked confused and conflicted; some bent over the unfortunate man I’d landed on. But none looked willing to leave their posts to protect a prisoner.

A few people hung back, but several seemed eager to take me up on my offer of revenge. They immediately formed a line. A figure pushed through the crowd and emerged, shoving his way to the front. Anton.

He sized me up and down. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Didn’t realize you were waiting for permission,” I said.

Anton’s face darkened and he took a step forward.

Getting permission to start a school wasn’t difficult. It was finding students that was the problem.

Lillibeth didn’t seem very optimistic as we left the next morning to go recruiting. Now, after the fourteenth dwelling, I was beginning to understand her doubts. I rubbed a headache that had come on suddenly and ignored the ache in my ankle. “I don’t get it. They look at me like I’m trying to kidnap their kids.”

Coltrane grinned wryly as we made our way to the next dwelling. “Well, what would
you
do? A stranger shows up from an enemy country and says she wants to educate your kids. It’s not like they’ll hand their children over and say, ‘Sure, just have them home by dinnertime.’” He motioned toward a doorway. “This is the Clapton dwelling. Their dad is a chemist and a friend of my dad. It’s worth a try.”

I clapped four times as I’d seen Coltrane do. A man swept the cloth aside and squinted at us. “Hello, Coltrane. How’s your mother?”

“Doing great, thanks.” He turned to me. “Mr. Clapton, this is our guest, Amy. She’s working on her contribution and has something she wants to ask you.”

The man stared at me, expressionless. Then he stepped out and squared his shoulders, letting the cloth fall closed behind him. “Kacey just came by and told me you were making the rounds. We’re not interested in any NORA school.”

“That’s not it at all,” I told him, knowing it was futile but determined to follow through. “I’m only teaching the basics of math and science, and maybe a little reading.”

“We settlers know more about math and science than you digits ever will. I hope that someday we get the chance to show them who the real brains are. Sorry, missy, but you aren’t teaching my kids.” He turned to go in but paused in the doorway. “You know, Coltrane, some people are talking. They’re worried about your mother harboring a NORA refugee.”

“We’ve helped lots of travelers before, Mr. Clapton.”

“Needy people, yes. Not a well-to-do NORA citizen.” He eyed my Rating, and his eyes narrowed even more. “Some of us are wondering if the pact isn’t the best thing for us anymore. We have families to think about. Tell your mother it’s time for this girl to go.”

“Sir,” I cut in. “I mean your community no harm. They’ve been nothing but kind to me. I would never allow them to be hurt.”

“There’s something wrong with all this,” the man said. “You could be a soldier sent to spy on us. Or worse, an assassin determined to kill us all so NORA doesn’t have to lift a finger. And you dare come in here with that innocent act and ask to teach my kids? If I had my way, we’d find that snake and let it finish the job.” He turned and went back inside.

Coltrane’s jaw hung open. “Uh, wow. I’m sorry. I had no idea he would say that.”

I put a hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault they feel that way.”

I’ll talk to my mom about this. I’m sure there’s something she can do. Don’t worry about them, all right? We’ve only covered one quadrant, and there are three others. We’ll have better luck tomorrow.” He started to leave.

Tomorrow. Another day gone. I hung back and pushed away the disappointment. Why did I even care what these people thought? My leg was healing. Lillibeth said the tissue damage was minimal and I’d be able to travel again within the week. The only thing keeping me here after that was the lack of supplies and my debt. But as long as the people didn’t trust me, I couldn’t solve either problem.