Rebels (24 page)

My pacifiers shut up island girl quick.

I pull them from my belt, one rod in each hand, and as soon as I extend them, they flicker awake and electricity singes the air.

One touch and she'll be out. On the ground, stunned into submission.

Best of all? She won't be able to talk.

I kind of love Rock Bottom Patrol
, I think.
For my new weapons alone
.

Startled, she stumbles back. She's never felt anything like the pacifiers before. Her face changes from polite to pissed. Her sword shrieks, like I offended it.

“You won't put it down?” I say. “So guess what? I have to make you.”

I rush her. The pacifiers surge, spiraling blue bursts of high voltage.

She draws her arm back, raising her sword. She looks like an idiot
and
I wish her sword would shut up.

The sword arcs down as I reach her and she cuts one of my pacifiers in half. I raise it to fend off another swing, and it's halved again.

I let the stub fall from my hand. It could've really used a reinforced shaft.

Cassina should've mentioned a sword, or at the very least weapons training. Still, she plays her tricks inside of tricks.

Mental note: Kick airgirl's ass first, then Cassina's.

She looks at the other pacifier, still sparking. A smug smile; she's confident in her abilities.

So am I.

The instant before she slices, I hurl my remaining pacifier at her face. It hits her above the eye and she shrieks. Let's see how well she responds to that.

Her body's frozen from the shock. I step into her waist and flip her. She may be tall, but she falls like everyone else.

She's on the ground, eyes wide. Her body's still processing the current: your heart skips a beat after you get stunned, and your muscles contract so tightly and hurt so much you might just burst. This was all part of my apprenticeship. I've felt this pain.

I put my knee to her sword arm. “Don't worry your pretty little head, airgirl,” I say, applying pressure inside the elbow.

Her hand pops open, sword falling out of it. “Not singing now, huh?” I say. “That feeling you have lasts for five minutes in an adult
male. You'll have plenty of time to think. Here's something to consider: What I did to your elbow just now? That's a pressure point. Push my knee a little harder,
snap
. I'd have broken your arm.”

I like her much better now that she can't respond.

The convulsions have died down, and now she just spasms every now and then.

I reach for her sword. The instant I touch the handle, the blade explodes with noise.

“Shut up!” I yell.

I can't believe I yelled at a sword.

The noise doesn't stop, and my eardrums pound, ready to burst. I hurl it as far as I can and it lands high up in the branches of a tree.

Silence, finally.

Past the trees, the island keeps going. Back the other way, the edge becomes endless sky.
Kind of strato
, I think.

“Y'know,” I say, unable to pull my eyes away from the view, with some whole other island orbiting this one very slowly in the distance. “Right now I could kill you in sixteen different ways.”

“Then pick one.”

I whip around.

Airgirl is on her feet.
Impossible
, I think.
No one can recover that quick
. She's not even disoriented. She's already moving. Leaping, actually. For a second, she seems to hover. Her elbow lifted, hand held rigid.

This time the pose isn't as funny.

Thwack!
My neck snaps sideways.

Another strike and my face burns. Then a sharp blow to my gut knocks me off my feet.

What the hell? This airgirl is full of surprises.

Synth-grass looks soft, but it isn't. Not really. Not enough to cushion my fall. My head aches; I'm dizzy and it was hard enough to breathe before the air got knocked out of me.

I open my eyes. Airgirl is above me blocking out every piece of sky except the clouds dancing around her head. She smiles.

“I suppose you were correct,” she says. “Perhaps I don't need the sword.” She narrows her eyes. “My hands and feet are sufficient. In fact, I could kill you in sixteen different ways with them. I need not resort to the aid of sticks.”

Her smile fades into something sinister.

Now I know for sure I've been set up. This isn't another uppity cloudcase.

This girl is dangerous and flat-out
crazy
.

Don't forget
, I think.
You're PCF's finest
.

She's still looking at me, her head cocked to the side. Nodding, like she hears me thinking.

“Oh,” she says, “I see you're anxious for more.”

I open my mouth, then answer with my right foot.

It catches across her mouth and splits her bottom lip at the corner.

She puts her thumb to it and it comes away with blood. She seems more interested than upset. Then the interest turns to fury.

Eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, she stares at me, lips pinched and breath quickening. Classic signs of distress. All I see is vulnerability.

She steps back, stands straight, chin lifted: that pose . . . again.
She's tall
, I think.
Like, freakishly tall.
She's ready to strike. The whole thing, mouth kick to strike-ready, takes a split second. But I catch every detail.

I'm on my feet before she launches.

“That was for Kane,” I spit, fists raised. “And this is for me.”

I throw a closed fist to her belly, going low on purpose to catch her off guard. She never expected that. Airgirls don't lower themselves to anyone.

She lurches forward with a groan, and I'm waiting to meet her.

I head butt her hard enough that I hear her brains scramble.

She grips her forehead and stumbles backward. All those sims she's probably battled through, probably none of them taught her to fight dirty. I've got her now.

I reach out, wrapping this wild girl in my angry embrace, and we collapse together.
If I fall, then you shall come with me
, I think.

I grip her as we roll across the grass, digging the newly sharpened tips of my nails into her bodysuit. The girl screams in pain.

You were correct, Governess
, I think, as we flip over and over,
a pre-debut manicure
does
fill one with a sense of accomplishment.

While unique in appearance, her attire hasn't been designed for synth-grass. She slides and skims, trying to find purchase where there is none. Within moments, I've positioned her beneath me, the sharp point of my knee hammering her rib cage, an impromptu variation of a jujitsu mount that would make a true sensei cringe in horror.

True, I'm not following the rules of civilized combat, but I've come to believe she didn't know these rules existed in the first place. She's on my level, but not my equal.

She's forced my hand and now I have no option: regrettably, I must decimate her.

Regrettable for
her
, that is.

She groans in pain, which brings me great satisfaction. She reaches upward for me and I push down her arms. She grasps only air. I reach for her wild mane of hair.

“I believe it's safe to conclude,” I say, grabbing two generous fistfuls, “that you don't adhere to the standard social graces.”

I yank with all my might.

She bites her bottom lip, a sad attempt to contain the screams.

“I give you permission,” I tell her sympathetically, “to express your obvious discomfort and start by begging for forgiveness.”

Instead, she narrows her eyes, glaring at me with blatant disgust. In that moment, my zinger moans from a nearby location, uttering a single, lonely note. In that same moment, she begins shrieking.

“Where is he?” she says.

“Who?” I'm thinking she means
Kane
.

“Kane,” she says.

“And how exactly would I have such information?”

I feel a small rivulet of blood making its way to the corner of my mouth. I have no idea how this fight started.

An utter breech of etiquette
, I decide,
for one to bleed alone
.

A quick strike to her nose and now we bleed together.

She fights through the pain, as if it doesn't pain her as much. Perhaps these ones get their nerves neutered.

“You know where he is,” she says. “Tell me now or I'll hurt you even worse.”

“I don't believe you're in a position to threaten,” I say calmly.

She attempts to wiggle out from beneath me, so I reach for her hair once again. I give it a firm tug, and this time she cannot help but howl. “The pain must be excruciating,” I say. “Perhaps I should allow you a moment to recoup?” I ease my grip, offering a brief respite.

The next pull is even harder.

I look down, surprised to be holding a clump in each hand. I dispose of these, immediately reaching for another helping. Master would never condone this kind of fighting, deeming it “Without elegance or strategy. Demeaning to both you and opponent.”

Easy for him to say. He has probably never fought for his life.

She rolls backward abruptly, surprising me.

Unexpected indeed
, I think, just before the front of her boots slam into my face.

She smacked me across the face. Held me down and spit insults, not that I understood half of the uppity air talk. But I'm pretty sure it wasn't compliments.

She pulled my hair. Pulled
out
my hair. Even the cadet groomer wouldn't dare go that far.

Now I'll teach her my language. No words required.

We go round and round, circling each other like wolves. I saw them in the Archive once: ragged and starving, growling, teeth bared. Then they ate one another.

“Tell me where he is,” I say.

“And supposing I was privy to knowledge of this young man's location—”

“Kane,” I bark. “His name is Kane.”

I think I see the flicker of a smile. No doubt about it: the girl is evil.

“This
Kane's
elusive whereabouts. Why would I choose to share that information? Especially with
you
.”

You
sounds like a curse word.

“Because he might die. And
you'll
be a murderer.”

“Listen to yourself,” she says. “He came to kill
me
, not the other way around.”

I charge her, but she sidesteps so quickly I'm grabbing air.

She lives in it. Might be made of it, too.

“He was charming, I'll grant you that. But he tried to poison me with a kiss.”

“Did he force that on you like you sicced those PCF bastards on him? You beat him senseless, but you wanted him lifeless, too?”

“What a horrible, horrible lie,” she says.

“I saw you!”

I lunge again. She springs away.

Lunge, spring
. Like this is a game to her.

“Shall we make a day of this?” she asks.

I stop, frustrated. She's a few feet away now, pacing. Back and forth, eyes never straying from me, always moving. Completely, utterly restless.

“You weren't there,” she says sharply.

“I saw everything.”

“How?”

“The
Archives
, airgirl! Taken from his memory. I saw
every single second
.”

She stops pacing. She questions everything. She would've done well at the Academy. “And from whom did you acquire this memory?”

I don't say anything.

“If you don't want to make this more than a misunderstanding, silence won't do.”

Every inch of me is burning. I no longer pump blood, but hatred. I push through the pain. Race for her.

She's too fast.
Where did she go
? I spin around. She's gone. Evaporated into the air.

I hear music. Really crappy music.

Damn
. She got the singing sword back.
I got tricks too, airgirl
.

I sprint, ducking behind a tree at the island's edge, then I activate my decoys just in time.

“I suspect you were looking for me,” I say, lifting my zinger.

She dares come to my island?
The moment has arrived for her departure. I race for her, zinger first. She doesn't run. She simply watches me.

I slice straight through her . . . yet she's not there. She's dissipated, only faint streaks of electric mist remaining.

A decoy. Clever.

I spin around, my chest hammering. Nothing.

“Here,” says a voice. I turn and she's staring at me calmly. I rush toward her with fury, yet my zinger slices empty space.

Another one.

“Not quite,” she says. I pivot to find her again, this time grinning. “Wanna give it another go?”

“Or you could try me.” There she is again, this time to the left of me.

She's also to the right.

I have to slow down. Three of her bait me with identical smiles on identical faces.

The projections are quite good, not a single glitch to ruin the illusion. I'm left with no other option. I must
feel
the real one. Her anger and will were so overpowering before, but now?

Nothing. Not even the tiniest flicker. Perhaps they're all decoys. There's only one way to find out.

They all come at once.

I stab at one and it dodges my zinger, the second advancing from the left. Blade still pointed at the first, I roundhouse kick the other. That one dissipates on impact.

Fake
. Next?

I lift the zinger high and aim for the top of her head.

Perfect form, yet the vertical cut slices through nothing. My blade plunges straight into the ground.