The Diatous Wars 1: Rebel Wing (10 page)

They moved back to the bedroom and slipped on the loose olive-green pants and tunics Military issued as night clothes.

Aris cleared her throat, swallowing against the perpetual lump made by the voice modulator. “We’re both stupid, you know,” she said wryly. “Doing this, coming here for them.”

Dysis raised a brow and looked ready to argue, but Aris continued. “It’s okay, though. Because in the meantime, while we’re looking . . .” she paused, thinking of Dianthe. “We’re going to save a lot of people.”

Dysis broke into a sudden, only mildly bitter laugh. “You’re a real romantic, aren’t you?”

Aris smiled and shrugged. “Just ask my friends back home. Practically the moment Calix was selected, they were telling me to move on, ring around. Thought I was silly for not letting go.” Except for Phae, who had Rakk and understood. Aris wondered what she’d think now. “But I
am
a romantic,” she said. “I don’t care what anyone says. I want to believe things will work out. I’ll be with Calix. You’ll find your brother—”

“We’ll win this war.” Dysis voice was quiet, her face serious. No hint of bitterness or sarcasm. In that moment, the look they shared forged them as sectormates—friends—as surely as any two soldiers in any dominion, in any time. In any war.

“Yeah,” Aris echoed softly. “We’ll win the war.”

Dysis gave herself a little shake and laughed. “We better finish up. Lights out any minute now.” They clicked their veils into place, and with a nearly imperceptible shimmer, their curves smoothed and faces hardened. As if on cue, the room plunged into darkness, a faint glow along the floor of the washroom the only hint of light.

In the dark, they felt their way to their cots. Aris sighed as she sank onto the hard bed. She was exhausted. And tomorrow, with the physical trials and combat training, it would be even worse.

“Goodnight, Dysis,” she whispered into the darkness.

“Goodnight, Aristos.”

That night Aris dreamed, as she so often did, of flying. Only this time, Calix had been captured. She flew over the endless deserts of Safara seeking him until, in a great flash of light, she was shot down and the earth rushed toward her, a terrifying golden blur.

When the lights
flashed on the next morning, Aris dragged herself off her bed and slowly pulled on her uniform. Smoothing her shirt, she thought of Calix and their last night on the beach, as she always did when her fingers touched the sleek fabric. She buttoned up the fitted jacket, making sure the collar was folded precisely, so her Military brand was visible. The diatous veil hidden in the stamp was solar powered; it needed little sunlight to fill its reserves.

Dysis was silent as they dressed. “Nervous?” she asked.

Aris shrugged. “I know I won’t be any good at the physical stuff. It’s flying I’m good at. I just need to survive the next few days and I’ll probably be okay.” Her gravelly voice sounded unconcerned, but her stomach jumped and twisted.

“Yeah, I’m nervous, too,” Dysis said, and then she opened the door.

In the cafeteria, Dysis and Aris got their food and sat at the end of a long, empty table. Soon, a short, barrel-chested soldier paused beside them. A closely cropped layer of ginger fuzz clung to the curve of his skull, and tiny wrinkles radiated from the corners of his eyes. “Mind if I join you?”

“Of course. Yeah.” Aris said, trying to keep up her nonchalant act.

The man held out a hand. “I’m Tavis Galec, but you might as well call me Galec. Everyone does.”

Aris shook his hand, remembering to squeeze tightly and give a firm grip. Dianthe had explained that the slenderness of her fingers would be less noticeable if she gave short, strong handshakes. “Aristos Haan.”

Dysis half-stood and held out her hand as well. “Dysis Latza. We’re sectormates.”

Another man, narrow-shouldered with an impressive potbelly, plopped down beside Aris. “I’m Otto,” he said, then got to work on his plate of gelatinous eggs.

Galec sat beside Dysis. He did a double take when he noticed the key-shaped brand stamped into her temple. “You’re a volunteer, eh?” Approval filled his voice.

She nodded. “Both of us. Couldn’t let you old men do all the fighting.”

Otto rolled his eyes. “Green ears. Don’t worry, we’ll show you a thing or two. You’ll wish you had our experience soon enough.”

Galec sighed. “To be eighteen again. The stupid things I would’ve tried.”

“Have you been with this unit for long?” Aris asked, hoping her voice came out politely curious rather than insecure and uncertain.

Galec shook his head. “We’re both new to S and R. I got rotated from a combat unit near Bieza.”

Dysis gave a low whistle, a new respect filling her eyes. “Is it as bad as they say?”

“Nah,” Galec said, all amusement dropping from his face. “It’s worse.”

•••

After breakfast, Lieutenant Daakon assembled the unit, nearly fifty soldiers, outside in tight formation on a dusty training ground. As the sun beat down on her bald head, Aris took her place in the front row. She glanced to the clear blue arc of sky above and wished she could be up there, tipping her wings to the tiny ribbons of cloud that hung along the horizon.

The hiss of a door interrupted her thoughts. From the domed, shimmering building beside the training ground, Major Vidar, Lieutenant Wolfe, and Lieutenant Talon approached. Without a word, they formed a line along the edge of the clearing. When they were in position, Lieutenant Daakon gestured a brown hand to a pile of mats stacked next to him.

“Pair up with your sectormates and grab a mat,” he said. “Spread out. Make sure you leave enough room.”

Before Aris had time to move, Dysis was there, dropping a mat on the dirt between them.

“Alright, let’s see what you green ears picked up at basic,” Daakon continued, once everyone had paired off. “Kicking and punching are okay. No face blows or biting. Go to it.”

Aris put her fists up, but she was too nervous to bounce on the balls of her feet as Dianthe had taught her. It didn’t make a blighting bit of difference that she knew Dysis was really a woman; all she saw in that moment was a tall man with fierce eyes and large fists coming toward her.

She blocked Dysis’s first punch, barely.

Dipping her head, Aris weaved to the side. If this fight were a dance between wingjets, a thrust and parry of silver wings—

Crack!

The top of Dysis’s foot made contact with her ribs. Aris tried to retaliate, jabbing upward, but Dysis deflected her fist easily, spinning behind her. Another blow to the ribs.

Aris focused on dodging her sectormate’s blows and not falling down, ignoring the grunts and thuds of the other fighters. Dysis was going easy on her, she could tell, but it still filled her with panic every time a large fist flew toward her. She’d gotten better under Dianthe’s tutelage, but she wasn’t nearly fast enough to make it an evenly matched fight.

Aris groaned as she attempted yet another kick, high enough but still too slow to be effective. Dysis ducked and swept her other leg, sending Aris tumbling to the ground.

She stayed there, belly up on the mat, panting, until a dark shadow blocked out the clear, blue sky. “What’s your name, Specialist?” Lieutenant Daakon asked. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.

Aris scrambled to her feet so fast she got a head rush. “Aristos Haan, sir.”

The officer studied her, one heavy brow raised. “Just had your selection ceremony, did you?”

“I volunteered.” She cleared her throat against the rising panic. “Uh, sir,” she added quickly, drawing back her jacket to reveal the twining vines of the Enviro brand on her arm.

“Where’d you train?” He glanced down at the digitablet in his hands, presumably consulting his soldier roster.

Oh holy. He’s suspicious. He knows.
In her gruff new voice, barely above a whisper, she said, “Pono,” the name of the training stationpoint Dianthe had made her memorize.

He nodded thoughtfully, swiping his finger across the digitab. Behind Aris, Dysis was still breathing hard from their fight. She didn’t say anything. Aris wondered if she was also frozen in fear.

Lieutenant Daakon’s silence went on and on, eaten up by the sounds of the rest of the unit sparring. Finally, he looked up. Little black dots appeared before Aris’s eyes; with a belated gasp, she realized she’d been holding her breath.

“Watch how you expend you energy, Specialist,” he said. “You’re putting too much effort into avoidance. Focus on
your
fists connecting, not as much on Specialist—?”

“Latza,” Dysis supplied.

“—Specialist Latza’s blows,” Lieutenant Daakon said. “Understand me?”

Aris nodded.

Lieutenant Daakon turned his attention to Dysis. “You have a fluid fighting style, nice variety of movement. Well done.”

Dysis bowed her head. “Thank you, sir.”

As Daakon walked to the next pair of soldiers, Aris swayed on liquid knees. Dysis whispered, “Thought that was it.”

“Me, too.” Aris was certain she still wore a wide-eyed look of terror.

“Enough!” A strong voice carried over the thwacks and grunts of the other fighters.

With a secret sigh of relief, Aris lowered her fists.

Major Vidar paced in front of the field of soldiers, his suitably short golden hair practically glowing in the harsh sun. “This afternoon, you’ll be issued a solagun. We begin weapons training tomorrow.”

Her stomach sank. So much for hoping she wouldn’t have to use one.

“In the meantime, as you practice sparring, I want you to pay close attention to your partner. Every look and subtle movement is important in a fight.” He didn’t sound like he was from the North. Or at least not Bolvik, the city her father was from. “You have to find his weaknesses and capitalize on them. Try to anticipate his next move. Be proactive and trust your instincts.” He stopped walking and looked over the group of soldiers.

Aris couldn’t look directly into his clear blue eyes. She had the sudden, overwhelming conviction that if she did, he would be able to tell she was a fake, that she didn’t belong here.

He continued, “The likelihood that you will actually engage in hand-to-hand combat is slim. As a member of a search and rescue unit, you’ll generally be arriving after the enemy has left the area. But things happen. Hand-to-hand combat should be your absolute last resort. Our goal, as a unit, is to retrieve our targets with minimal engagement of the enemy. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” came the unified response.

Major Vidar clapped his hands once, and Aris turned toward her sectormate, stomach tight. With a single well-timed punch, Dysis sent her to the ground again.

“A month and
a half after this year’s disastrous World Council, Ward Vadim is still in quarantine. The other members of the Council have been tested for the highly contagious bacterium found in Vadim’s blood; so far, no else has contracted the illness. Ward Vadim’s husband, Josef, suspects she may have been exposed during a recent visit to—”

“Off,” Pyralis barked. The monitor blinked white and then black, the reporter’s voice silenced mid-sentence.

He walked to the window. Beyond the glass, tall, thin trees shook their sharp leaves at him, and blue sky winked between their branches. Panthea would be hot today, thick with sun. Here in the hills, it was cooler.

“Is she getting
any
better?” Bett asked from behind him.

“I don’t know.” He sighed. “Her menders have been cagey. I suspect it’s to avoid overpromising on the speed and extent of her recovery, but it’s annoying as hell. I’d like a straight answer for once.”

She rubbed her hands over his shoulders. “Maybe you should just go to the clinic. Are they really going to turn you away?”

The speaker on the desk buzzed. “Ward Nekos, you have a visitor.” Kellan’s voice was strained.

The door to the office slid open to admit a tangle of raised voices.

“Please, just give me a moment—”

“No,
now
. I won’t wait any longer.”

Pyralis turned, instinctively stepping between Bett and whoever was yelling through his open door. “Kellan—”

“I have to see her.” The words fell like bricks into sudden silence.

Pyralis knew that voice. “Josef.”

The man didn’t move beyond the threshold. The light from the hallway behind him was brighter than the soft glow in the office; it threw his shadow, monstrously distorted, across the floor. “You have no right to keep me from my wife.”

In one graceful movement, Bett stepped toward Josef, hands outstretched. “Please, do come in. Let us offer you a drink.”

He ignored her; his gaze never left Pyralis’s face. “You know it’s wrong, what they’re saying. You know Galena doesn’t have some exotic bacterium.
Contagious
. No one else has fallen ill, so how can it be contagious? It’s all a lie!”

Josef’s jacket was rumpled, his chin dark with the scattered beginnings of a beard. The skin under his bloodshot hazel eyes sagged.

“Josef,” Pyralis said. His heart pounded in his temples and he suddenly felt like a Castalian gladfighter, thrown into the pen with a bull for the first time. “Galena
is
ill. It’s difficult, knowing she’s in pain . . .” the tiny wobble in his voice was nearly imperceptible, “but you must believe she is getting the best possible care.”

“And you don’t think it’s odd, that she fell ill at the World Council? Just before the vote?” Josef stalked forward until they were nose to nose. He was the shorter of the two men, but his anger lent him height.

Pyralis met his glare. “The vote would not have gone in her favor, either way,” he replied, weariness seeping into the words.

Josef’s shoulders slumped. “So . . . Ruslana was the only one who would stand against Safara?”

“They didn’t need the World Council to impose sanctions. And no one has changed their policies since.”

At that moment, Bett came toward them, holding out two cut-crystal glasses full of amber liquid.

“Here,” she said softly, handing a glass to Josef first and then to Pyralis.

Josef took the glass and nodded absently in thanks, his eyes still wary. “So there wasn’t a plot to poison her? To keep her from turning the vote?”

Pyralis shook his head. “I know the timing seems suspect, but I’ve heard no whisper of such a plot, and Ward Vadim’s menders keep me informed of her progress, just as they do you.”

“They won’t let me see her.” Josef stared miserably at the glass. “Not once. We haven’t spoken in . . .” His eyes flew again to Pyralis. “You have to make them let me see her. I don’t care if I catch what she has. I
must
speak with her.”

Pyralis swallowed a mouthful of the amber liquid, buying time to think. Galena was still on Atalantan soil; if he refused her husband access it could cause tension with Ruslana, and that he couldn’t afford. But the entire clinic was quarantined. Even he didn’t have access to her. Not yet.

Best to stall. “It won’t be long,” he said, finally. “They’ve told you, surely, that she’s recovering a little more every day? That the blood tests are encouraging?”

“Not good enough,” Josef growled.

Pyralis shrugged, hoping Josef understood that he wished he could do more. “I’m sorry. Even I am not allowed to visit her.”

For a long moment, Josef said nothing, just stared at him as if his gaze could pierce Pyralis’s soul. Then, with an inarticulate noise, he flung the remains of his drink down his throat and slammed the glass on the edge of the desk. “And you think she’d see you, even if you were?”

With that he spun and left the room.