Legion Lost (25 page)

“How
did you know what I was doing?” I ask him weakly.

“I’ve
been coming to this base since I was tiny,” Stirling explains. “When he called
you to the meeting, I came down here to listen to your conversation through the
vent.” His jaw stiffens, like he’s fighting a sob in his throat. “I listened so
I could look out for you,” he says quietly, “and instead I heard Malcolm
turning you into a murderer.”

So
Stirling had emptied the gun, to make sure I couldn’t become the monster
Malcolm had asked me to be. A hot flush of rage runs through me at Stirling’s
deception, at the way he could lie by my side all night and know that he was
going to go behind my back today.

“Don’t
you want Prudell gone?” I demand. “Don’t you want this war to be over?”

Stirling
steps forward, the bullet falling to the ground as he throws his arms around my
chest. He is warm against my aching, frozen bones, and his embrace is so fraught
with emotion that it frightens me a little.

“This
is not the way forward,” he says, his lips buried against my cropped hair. “We
don’t have to be like her, or like Malcolm. We can find a better way to stop
the killing and the pain.”

I’m
not sure that I believe him, but I know that arguing with him now might result
in him never holding me this close again.

“You
have to start to trust me, Raja,” Stirling whispers. “Promise me you’ll try.
Promise me there’ll be no more secrets between us.”

I
can’t make my lips form the lies he wants to hear, but I nod against his chest.
Inside, my guilt weighs heavy at the promise that I shouldn’t be making, but
right now I need Stirling to hold me for as long as he’s willing to. When he
starts to kiss me in the dark little storeroom, I can forget for one blissful
moment about the horror of the world in which we live, and the brutal instincts
that have taken root inside me because of it.

Malcolm’s
wrath is not something I’m looking forward to dealing with, so when I’m
summoned to see Delilah instead, I breathe a confused, but relieved sigh. I’ve
been hiding in my bedroom since the shooting that never was, but when I venture
out for something to eat, I find the note tacked to my door. The directions to
find her are as precise as Malcom’s had been, and I marvel at her tiny, elegant
writing. How she’s managed to inscribe the words with those thick, dark gloves
on has me baffled. Delilah has shown me nothing but kindness since I arrived
here, but there is still a doubtful quiver in my nerves as I follow the masked
woman’s invitation.

The
note leads me back into the mountain, though nowhere near as deep as where
Malcolm’s quarters lie. It’s been several hours since Prudell’s helicopters
took off with Briggs and Sheila recovered, and the Highlanders have gone back
to their usual, bustling routine. I have to dodge out of the way of several
people as I search for the room where Delilah has asked to meet me. When I find
the cramped little pocket of doorways at my destination, I realise that I have
ended up in a strangely deserted corner of the base.

A
shining, silver door towers above me. When I try to knock upon it, it swings
open on loose, creaking hinges. The space beyond it is as dark as the inside of
a mountain should be, with only one small lamp struggling to glow in the far
left corner. Delilah is bathed in shadows, discernible only by the silver
stripes across her mask, which are reflecting a spectrum of colours as she
works at a backlit computer. Though her head doesn’t move, I see her single eye
flicker in my direction, catching the obnoxious slit of light I have let in
from the corridor.

“Close
that,” Delilah chides. “I can’t stand the light when I’m working.”

I
do as I’m told, then slowly approach Delilah’s bright computer in the darkness.

“You
wanted to see me?” I prompt.

She
nods, and there’s a strange squeal of sound at her neck, like the clash of
metal on metal.

“Malcolm
told me you needed the location of a place called Valkyrie. I’ve been running
the search since yesterday. My apologies that it’s taken so long, but I’m the
only hacker this division’s got left.”

Malcolm
must have asked her to start the search no sooner than our meeting ended
yesterday. And regardless of my failed attempt on Prudell’s life, he’s keeping
his end of the bargain. I hurry to round the curve of Delilah’s small desk,
drinking in the scrolling words on her bright screen. My eyes strain at the
sudden influx of light, but I stare on with hope, as if willing the machine to
work faster.

“It’s
got a few more seconds,” Delilah explains, pointing to a percentage bar at the
bottom of the screen.

She
isn’t wearing her gloves. As Delilah points, I realise that I’m looking at a
perfectly formed human arm, slender and coloured the same pale golden hue as
the skin around her eye. Her fingers are small and delicate, looking so out of
place against her wide, heavy clothes and the oversized mask upon her face.
Embedded in the soft skin of her forearm, a series of black numbers shine like
a freshly inked tattoo:
27072126
.
I can’t imagine why anyone
would choose to mark their skin with such a bizarre code.

“Aha!”
she says suddenly. “Loading results. Let’s see what I can get for you.”

The
first thing my eyes focus on is the fact that most of the entries here look the
same. As Delilah scrolls the list, hundreds of records are labelled
PRISONER
INTAKE
. Each one has a slightly different date and time attached, and all
of them are recent. Delilah gives a thoughtful whistle that echoes against the
inside of her mask.

“This
place is packed with prisoners,” she surmises. “It’s a tough ask to find one
family among a thousand others. How many people are you expecting to rescue
here?”

A
pang of grief hits me as I fumble for an answer.

“Three,
maybe four,” I tell her. “One of my brothers was badly hurt. I don’t know if
he’ll be with the others.”

Delilah
nods, and I’m grateful that she doesn’t press me any further on the subject.
She runs her petite hand over the screen, scattering the records and pulling up
several new windows with staggering speed. She must read swiftly, because she’s
already talking again before I’ve even taken in the first few lines on the
display.

“Heavy
guard, increased security measures . . . Oh, and the
facility itself is settled at the base of a massive crater. You don’t ask for
much, do you kiddo?”

I
can feel my lip twisting as I hold back my disappointment.

“Are
you saying you can’t help me?” I ask.

“That’s
not my decision to make,” Delilah replies. “I’ll give you a printout to take up
to Malcolm. You’re on your own from there, I’m afraid.”

A
few taps later, I can hear a printer whizzing into life somewhere at Delilah’s
feet. Since I haven’t done what Malcolm’s asked of me, I don’t have a good
feeling about delivering the details of an impossible rescue mission to his
desk. It doesn’t seem likely that he’ll want to help me now.

“Here,”
Delilah says, sweeping a long roll of paper from beneath her desk.

She
hands me one end, and I start rolling it over my arm to gather the data into a
scroll. I notice several maps in the printout as I roll it up. If Malcolm won’t
help me, at least I’ll know where my next destination has to be. Stirling runs
past my thoughts then, accompanied by another pang of guilt. He’s at home with
his own people now. I don’t suppose that he’d leave them all over again, just
to help me find my family, no matter how close we’ve grown. It hurts me to
think of leaving him behind, but the data in my hands is the thing I’ve risked
everything for. All my secrets and struggles so far will be worth nothing if I
stop now.

“Malcolm’s
called a private meeting in the fish tank,” Delilah tells me. “Get up there
quickly with the data. He’s expecting you.”

I
nod, a lump forming in my throat. This face-off with the Highland rebel was
inevitable. I move back towards the door, ready to reenter the bright corridor
outside, but Delilah makes a tiny coughing sound that gives me pause. Her mask
gives nothing away as I observe her, the way she reclines in the shadows with
her arms folded.

“Raja,”
she begins, a curious hitch punctuating her words. “Has anyone else figured out
that you’re not a boy?”

“What?”
I say immediately. “How . . . what makes you think that I’m . . . ”

It’s
no use. I’ve stammered too much, and made too much out of her accusation. Though
her face is covered, the crinkle in Delilah’s eye tells me that she’s smiling.

“How
did you know?” I ask with a defeated sigh.

“I
didn’t,” the mysterious woman admits, “but I find it useful to ask questions
when I have a suspicion. Some people are too afraid to ask the questions that
need to be answered, Raja. Don’t ever be one of them.”

I
nod, but her words make little sense to me, especially since I’m now thrown
into a panic about who else she might have shared her suspicions with. I reach
for the door hastily, pulling it open to flood the room with light. As I leave
Delilah’s dark data room, I glance back one final time, my eyes blinking at the
sight of her illuminated form.

Where
her arms are folded, one slender, caramel-hued limb is crossed with an arm that
looks nothing like it. Delilah’s other arm is silver in colour, as though it is
coated with a second, metallic skin. Her other arm is physically larger than
the human-looking one, and is easily twice as thick. Even its palm and fingers
are larger and longer, making it look like this arm belongs to a different body
entirely. Perhaps this is what she means about questions that ought to be
answered.

“Run
along now, Raja,” Delilah cuts in before I can ask a thing.

Though
I can’t see her expression, I get the feeling that she isn’t smiling anymore.

*

Clouds
have settled on the mountainside as I reach the secluded plateau where
Malcolm’s meeting is being held. I had expected to see an array of burly
Highlanders within the spotless glass walls, but I recognise the three figures
seated opposite Malcolm in the box. Stirling, Goddie, and Apryl have their eyes
trained on the staircase, watching me as I walk slowly towards them. A fourth
chair has been left empty among them. I try not to let my eyes meet Malcolm’s
as I make my approach.

“Well,
what have you got for me?” the Highland leader asks, no sooner than I’m through
the sliding door.

I
can see his scarred, pale palm reaching out, and I dare not look at him as I
place the printout within it.

“Oh,
sit down, Raja,” Malcolm adds, his tone irate. “It isn’t your fault that
Stirling emptied my gun.”

The
seat left empty for me squeals as I land myself in it, my vision fixing
squarely on Stirling. His posture is cramped and cowed, as though he’s already
had his share of Malcolm’s temper today, but he meets my gaze. His jaw is fixed
with that stiff, arrogant look that he so often puts up as a guard.

“It
appears that my nephew’s gone soft during his time at the Legion,” Malcolm
continues. “He’s forgotten what it takes to spark a revolution.”

When
I do chance a look at Malcolm, it’s clearer than ever that he and Stirling are
blood kin. The old warrior wears the same cocky look in his eyes, and his teeth
are clenched in the same defiant way. They are opposites in opinion, but twins
in their resolution. A silence passes us by slowly as each Highlander stares
on, challenging the other to break the peace.

“There
has to be another way to win,” Stirling insists. “I’ve seen enough death in the
Legion. I don’t want to see it here too.”

Malcolm
has won the staring contest. He swaps his grimace for a mocking grin, flexing
his hands in his nephew’s direction.

“Please,”
he asks, “may we hear this other way of yours, oh wise and benevolent one?”

Stirling
shakes off his uncle’s jibe with a determined look.

“It’s
all about numbers,” he explains. “Democracy, like in the days before the war
began. If we could recover the Unfortunate Few living outside the System, and
all the people that Prudell has wronged, we’d have a majority that was far
greater than her military. She’d be a fool not to surrender control of the
System, with half a nation demanding it.”

“You
want to keep playing this the long way round?” Malcolm asks.

Stirling
nods fiercely. “I want to play it so that nobody else has to die—
or kill—
for
the sake of Prudell.”

Stirling’s
gaze flickers to me at this, then back to his uncle with a new sense of
urgency.

“Five
minutes with you, and you turned one of my team into a killer,” he stresses.
“Raja never threatened anyone in the Legion. He never so much as raised his
gun.”

“Oh
really?” Malcolm asks, one grey brow arching on his face.

He
looks amused, and I know exactly why. I remember his cocky walk as he receded
through the trees, back on the night that we first met. The same night when I
threatened to shoot him in the back, just because he’d frightened me. In that
one moment, this Highland warlord had taken the measure of me better than any
of my friends. I raise my hand to stop him telling them all just that.