Broken (15 page)

"Tickets have a date?"

He shook his head again. "They’re coupons, sort of. We redeem them as soon as we get to, uh, where we’re going. Then we can take the next flight, if there’s room."

"I want to go to Valen," Broken said wistfully. "I hear it’s nice."

"Yeah. Me, too. Lots of space, too, but not like here. It’s all open and new. All potential, not a decaying ruin."

Broken sighed. "I’d like to have land. I grew up in a tower, spent most of my life there. After that, I lived on the city streets. I want to have somewhere that’s just mine, with just me."

This was the most she’d said at once since Michael had met her. He wanted to keep her talking. "Yeah... I’d like that, too. It’d be nice to own a little farm or something. We could go in together. Raise pigs."

Broken wrinkled her nose. "I don’t think I like pigs."

"Ever meet one?"

She shook her head. "People say they smell."

"That’s not true. Take it from me. Joe owned a little farm, a long time ago, and he had a big fat hog. That old thing just smelled like mud sometimes, not bad at all. Just a normal animal smell."

Broken chewed on that for a while. "Maybe a horse?"

"Horses are a lot of work," Michael said. "We had one for a little while, but we had to sell him."

"Why?"

"Too much money, too expensive. Joe wasn’t rich, and he didn’t really work. He just sold the eggs from the farm."

"Is he dead?" asked Broken, characteristically blunt.

He nodded. "Yeah. Two years ago, now."

"And you don’t have parents?"

"No. They died when I was a kid. I never knew them too well."

"Me, neither," Broken said softly. "The Union took me when I was little, so I don’t remember them at all."

Michael didn’t know what to say to that. To his surprise, Broken picked up the conversation, changing the subject.

"So do you own the farm now?"

"No," Michael answered. "We had to sell it a few years earlier to pay for his medical bills. So we were in an apartment in Litchfield those last years, which was hard for Joe. He always liked walking around his land."

"I can understand that, I think," Broken said. She looked up at Michael, suddenly intense. "Do you think I really will fly again?"

"Yes," he said, looking away. "It’s really possible. If we can do this." It had been true, once. He
had
seen it. What had changed? He peeked at her possibilities one more time.

—The thin man—

—The thin man—

—The thin man—

...

—
Broken flew, graceful, beautiful, in the clear, deep blue skies of Valen.

He hadn’t seen that in days. His sight was just messing around with him again. "You will," he said. "I’m going to make it happen."

“I believe you,” Broken said. And, wonder of wonders, maybe she actually did.

The waitress dropped their food on the table. "Other girl back yet?" she asked.

"No," Michael said. "Soon, probably."

"Here." She slammed a small glass of milk on the table. "That’s for the baby. You have a bottle, I hope?"

"Sure," Michael said. "Thanks."

"Stuff it." The waitress, out of breath, dashed to her next customer.

The door banged open, and everyone fell silent. Three Black Bands strode cockily in, toting assault weapons, which they calmly leveled at the diners.

"ID check," one announced. "Get ‘em out, people."

"Hey," a reedy man with a thin mustache and a thinner voice said hesitantly, as everyone fumbled for their ID cards, "Can you do this? Is this legal?"

In answer, one of the Black Bands went to stand next to him. "ID card, sir." The other two sniggered.

He showed it to them. They scanned it. A predatory smile spread over the face of the man with the scanner.

"Yeah, he’s UNP. Thought so. Come with us, buddy."

"I’m not UNP!" he protested. "I’m not even registered! This is illegal! Come on—"

They hauled him from his seat and pushed him out into the snow. An entire squad of Black Bands was in the street, bundling people into a big black hopper.

"Let’s go, everyone. Cards out. Sooner we get this done, sooner you can go back to eating."

Timidly, the diners pulled out ID cards. The Black Bands went from person to person, scanning cards. Most they left alone. A few they plucked from their seats, ordering them outside to be packed into the big military-grade hopper, which squatted, waiting, like a menacing black beetle.

"You have one?" Michael asked Broken. She shook her head. "Shit." Michael had a few fakes; he didn’t know how good they were. Did any of them have political affiliations? He doubted it.

 He found one of the fakes and handed it to a Black Band when he passed by, hand out. The thug scanned it quickly and studied the information. Not finding what he was after, he handed the card back to Michael, and held a hand out to Broken.

"I don’t have mine," she said softly.

"My aunt here didn’t know she’d need one," Michael tried to explain. "She’s not UNP. She doesn’t even vote. She’s a good citizen, like me. Can you let it slide?"

Instead of responding, he took a needle and jabbed it into Broken’s arm, sucking up blood and tissue. She yelped in surprise. He withdrew it and spat its contents into the scanner. It whirred for a second;  a record came up.

His eyebrows shot up, and a vicious smile bloomed on his dark features.

"Go wait outside. Both of you. In fact, I’ll take you out there myself."

Michael and Broken exchanged startled glances. The Black Band pointed the barrel of his rifle at them. "Get going. Or else I light you up."

"Just
go
," someone hissed. "They’ll set the whole place on fire!"

Michael and Broken stood slowly, covered by the Black Band, and marched outside. Snow was still falling lightly, and the sky was darkening fast.

They couldn't escape. Michael knew it. He only hoped Monica and Ian were safe. Maybe he could get out later… but if they knew who Broken was, it was all lost anyway.

"You see it?" Broken said softly. "See it?"

"What?" Michael was confused.

"
Look.
" she whispered. "How you do."

"No talking!" the Black Band said. "Get in the hopper,
now
."

She stared imploringly at Michael, and he realized at last what she was talking about. He looked into her possibilities. His vision, for once, didn’t mess with him, didn't show him hundreds, thousands of potential scenarios. He saw exactly what she was planning, and nodded sharply.

Without a word, she ducked low and twisted around, leg flashing out. The Black Band toppled to the ground, weapon flying. She pounced on him, screeching a wild berserker war cry, while the others, shouting and cursing, ran to his aid.
She had no chance. There were too many of them.

Michael took his cue and
ran
, not looking back.

He ran like hell, down alleys and side streets, concealing himself wherever he could. Behind him, he could hear weapons fire.

[CHAPTER 15]

B
roken whirled, faster than even she had thought possible, and decked the Black Band. He fell like a ton of bricks.

This is fun!
she thought, seeing Michael take off.
Good. He saw it.
Nice, having an ally who knew what you were going to do next. She thought about Sky Ranger as she clawed at the face of the Black Band, trying to get to his gun. The others were pounding up behind her. He would have liked Michael, back in the old days. Michael should have been in the Union, a power like that. Why wasn’t he?

She spied the gun, and grabbed it. Magnificently, he let go as she ripped it away, turning to face the oncoming throng.

"Yahhhhhhhh!" she shrieked, as loud as she could.

* * *

”Scream. Make a noise. Really, it scares the shit out of them," Crimson Cadet said. "You especially, Sil. You sound like a banshee."

* * *

She squeezed the trigger. White-hot energy leapt out of the barrel—
Ooo, one of the new plasma rifles! These are from the Rogarians. I like this!—
and crackled through the air, catching one of them in the throat.

The rest aimed and fired, not caring about their comrade on the ground behind her. As the fire seared her, boiled her, burned her, and turned her organs to ash, she thought about the headache she was going to have, and how good it was that she’d already eaten.

* * *

Michael ran until he thought his lungs would burst. Night had fallen quickly. Had they even noticed him escape in the chaos? He hid in a copse of trees outside of town for hours, waiting, wanting to leave but desperately needing to stay.

 He got his answer when he saw the hulking hopper take off, speeding away toward the city.

Broken, come back to us,
he urged silently. They might have loaded her body on board. Did he dare go back into town to check? Had the Black Bands left anyone behind to guard the place?

He had to go. He owed it to Broken to at least check. He needed to find Monica and Ian, too.

 
You're free
, a little voice in his head informed him.
You could keep running, get out of this, live your life.

 
Michael fought with himself for a moment, then steeled himself and turned back towards the town.

Slowly, furtively, he crept back through the darkness towards the diner. A few lazy streetlights flickered on here and there. It took him more than an hour of careful movements and ducking into alleys and behind bushes whenever someone approached to cover the ground he had run over in just three minutes the last time.

At last, he faced the open lot in front of the diner where the hopper had landed. Two Black Bands swore and laughed on the steps. In the snow, Michael thought he could make out a dark patch, maybe a bloodstain.

No bodies. They’d taken her.

"Michael!" someone hissed in his ear. He jumped, terrified, , and whirled to find Monica holding Ian.

"Hey!" he whispered. "Hey, you’re all right!"

"Yeah, what happened? They didn’t come in the store, so I stayed there. What’s going on? Where’s B?"

"Took her," Michael said, jerking his chin towards the Black Bands. "Long gone, now."

"What, you didn’t save her? Couldn’t you see it coming?"

"I can’t see everything!" he hissed. "Look, let’s get going. She’ll catch up if she can."

"How can you say that?" Monica grabbed his arm. "We have to rescue her! They’ll
kill
her!"

"They probably already did. I saw a pool of blood out there."

Her face contorted, and she looked about ready to kill
him
. "Don’t you
care
at all?"

"Sure, I care, but it's not like it matters. Broken never
stays
dead."

"What?" said Monica. "You mean that healing thing she does—?"

Michael nodded.

 "Well...” she stammered, clearly flustered. “Well—well you’re a
jerk
for not telling me before. I was worried sick!"

Michael rolled his eyes. "Let’s go. She may be able to catch up."

* * *

When Broken opened her eyes, she could barely make out a gunmetal gray ceiling. The floor hummed and rocked beneath her. She had to think about where she was before moving. She remembered the fight, she remembered the
outstanding
plasma gun she’d fired—

Right, she’d died again. They’d put her aboard the hopper. She lay still for a few more agonizing minutes as she healed herself, then attempted to stand up. The world pitched and rolled.

She looked around the cramped cabin she was in. Next to her lay two other bodies, both Black Bands. One was the man she’d been wrestling with. He had holes singed in him, and a surprised expression was still on his face. They’d shot him while trying to take her down, she remembered. He’d been right behind her. She wondered what had been going through his mind when they opened fire.

The other one had most of his throat burned away. She remembered firing that shot. She looked intently at his face. He was just a kid, really. How old had he been when he joined up with the Black Bands? How long had they been around, anyway…? Five, six years, maybe longer. She couldn’t remember. She kind of felt sorry for him. Maybe he’d just joined up so he could earn some money. Did he have a sweetheart somewhere, waiting for him?

It didn’t matter, really. He was the enemy, and he would have killed her gladly. He was probably another jerk who liked torturing cats.