Uprising Page 3

  Perhaps it was time to stop living so quietly.

  “Right,” he said. “And that’s why he’s competing.”

  “And they’re around the last turn!” The announcer’s voice boomed over the packed sporting stands. “Jeslen is still holding them off. Can she keep her lead down the final two hundred? Oh, there’s a burst from the pack; they’re not going to make it easy for her!”

  Anjuli was on her feet along with fifty thousand Alseans, eagerly watching the action on the field. Attendance at the annual Global Games was mandatory for the caste Primes, an obligation she sometimes found onerous. Six days took an enormous bite out of her schedule, and who cared about events such as wrestling or hand-to-hand sparring? At least the knife throwing had been entertaining, with the Lancer’s Lead Guard competing fiercely against her birthmother and taking four medals before losing the championship with a spectacular sword throw.

  But watching this young builder destroy her competition in the two-thousand-stride footrace? Anjuli would have traveled half the globe for this. The best part was that the race would finish right in front of her. There were some advantages to being a Prime.

  “Kinis is giving it everything she has. She’s closing the gap . . . she’s closing . . . Jeslen might be in trouble!”

  She held her breath. Kinis was in the merchant caste, and though she had nothing against the merchants these days, she didn’t want one to win this race.

  “Oh, look at that burst of speed! Where did Jeslen pull that from? She’s brushing them off, she’s going to run straight into the stands . . . and she’s done it! Jeslin takes the red medal for the second cycle in a row and sets a new record!”

  Caste Primes did not scream at sporting events, but Anjuli couldn’t hold it back. She jumped up and down, her voice lost among fifty thousand others. Directly below her, on a track crowded with competitors arriving at the finish line, Jeslen leaned over her thighs and gasped for air. Then she straightened and beamed a grin that could have powered Blacksun on a cloudy day.

  As the announcer called out the names of the blue and gold medal winners, Jeslen jogged up to the base of the seat risers, where an older man with a matching grin reached for her. They met in a double palm touch and rested their foreheads together, a familial scene made public when hovering vidcams sent it to the enormous holograms at each end of the field.

  “That’s birthfather and daughter, celebrating together,” the announcer said. “Jeslen’s bondfather went to his Return in the Battle of Alsea, but he ran this race with her. The dark blue armband you see on Jeslen’s right arm is her homage to him. She has worn it in every race she’s run since the invasion.”

  Jeslen stepped back from her birthfather, pointed to the sky with her right hand, and tapped the armband with her left. The crowd roared as she spun in a slow circle. Then she jogged over and stopped directly beneath Anjuli, who leaned over the rail and offered her palm.

  “Well done, very well done! Your fathers must be so proud, both of them. I know your bondfather was watching, too.”

  The young woman’s palm was hot, and her heightened emotions poured through their skin contact. “Thank you, Prime Builder. I really wanted to win this for Ba.”

  “And so you did. It was a joy to watch you. Such a fantastic finish!”

  In her peripheral vision, she noted that their exchange was up on the holograms. They made quite a contrast in appearances: her black skin and tightly curled hair against Jeslen’s light brown skin and straight hair, her brilliantly patterned formal clothing against Jeslen’s black running tights and sleeveless white shirt. Jeslen had the body of a winden, all long limbs and sinewy muscle, while Anjuli was more plush.

  She pulled the caste pin from the collar of her dress and held it out. “Please take this in thanks for the pleasure you’ve given us this day, and the glory you’ve brought to our caste.”

  Jeslen made a quiet sound of surprise as she accepted the jeweled pin. It was surfaced with a light blue enamel, the color of their caste, and bore their emblem of a geodesic dome. Five precious stones set beneath the dome symbolized the other five castes and their dependence on the builders for infrastructure and technology.

  “Are these starflowers?” Jeslen asked, staring at the gems.

  “They are. A worthy gift for a worthy competitor. Your fathers aren’t the only ones who are proud of you.”

  “Prime Builder, thank you. I’ll treasure this.”

  Holding up her palm for a farewell touch, Anjuli said, “Bad memories are easy to recall, but sometimes we need a little help with the good ones. Let that help you.”

  “I will.” Jeslen’s awe and gratitude, as well as a deep, abiding grief, came through her palm before she bowed her head and jogged away.

  Anjuli climbed the steps back to the dignitary section. It was another advantage to being a Prime: the wide, padded seats and food bar, not to mention the premium location for seeing all the action.

  The other five Primes were here, along with the Lancer and Bondlancer, Blacksun’s Lead Templar, and—for the first time in Alsean history—three aliens. Captain Ekatya Serrado was seated to the left of Lancer Tal, Dr. Lhyn Rivers was next to her, and behind them was Ambassador Solvassen. Chief Kameha had declined his invitation, citing a need to wrap up preparations for the cable launch.

  Anjuli paused in front of Dr. Rivers, who was broadcasting her high spirits with the typical abandon of a Gaian. “I don’t think there’s been a single event you haven’t enjoyed,” she observed. “Either you’re an enormous sports fan, or you have nothing like this on your home world.”

  “We do.” Dr. Rivers had the same sort of long-limbed, thin body as Jeslen, but she was far taller, pale-skinned, and had large green eyes that dominated her smooth face. “But your Global Games are much more interesting.”

  “Are you taking notes?”

  “Lhyn’s always taking notes,” Captain Serrado said. “Mentally if not literally.”

  “Mostly literally,” Lancer Tal put in.

  “Quiet over there, I’m researching.” Dr. Rivers loftily waved her hand at them before focusing her attention on Anjuli. “This is the first time you’ve given something to a competitor. May I ask what made Jeslen different?”

  “Certainly. She runs not for her own recognition but for her bondfather’s memory. I thought she deserved an award for the sweat, tears, and time she’s spent on her goal. Awards mean more when they’re earned, don’t you think? And when they come from the person who had you in mind for them.”

  The pleasure Dr. Rivers had been radiating abruptly faded. “Are we still talking about the Games?”

  Lancer Tal shot up from her seat. “May I see you at the food table, Prime Builder?”

  It was not a request. Anjuli followed her, ready for battle.

  At the back wall of the dignitary section, Lancer Tal turned around and pinned her with a glare. “If you have an issue with me, talk to me. Don’t redirect your anger to an innocent woman who has no idea why you would be that cruel!”

  “Does she have any idea that she’s a game piece in your political manipulations? You’re the one who put her in that position!”

  “Have you bothered to read why I gave her that award?”

  “Of course I have, and she deserves citizenship. But you and I both know she would have been equally happy to have the second one. You took that from me in a power play, and you think I’ll lie back and accept the insult? I spent half a cycle on that. You pranced in at the last piptick and stole it!”

  “I did no such thing,” Lancer Tal snapped.

  For the always controlled Lancer to be visibly angry meant Anjuli’s blade had not only slipped in, it had gone deeper than she expected. Her glee at such success was tempered by a slight concern about what she might have awakened.

  “Then what would you call it?” she retorted. “Borrowing? You can’t give it back.”

  “I’d call it using my executive powers to do what I thought was best at the time, wh
ich is my job. Not yours! I knew you’d be upset, but who are those awards for? Us, or the people we give them to?”

  “They are—”

  “I’m not finished! Chief Kameha was happy to see it go to her. The only person feeling insulted is you. Do you know what that tells me? It tells me you didn’t create that award for services rendered. You created it for self-aggrandizement. You wanted another feather for your oh-so-colorful cape.”

  “How dare you!”

  Lancer Tal stepped closer, radiating so much power despite her smaller stature that Anjuli felt intimidated.

  “Do not start this fight with me, Prime Builder. I’ve tolerated your insubordination until now, but you have just found my limit. Dr. Rivers is special to me. If you ever go near her again with anything but the most open hands of friendship, I will make you regret it. Do you understand me?”

  The crowd gave a sudden roar, jeering and shouting in such a wave of anger that it drowned out the announcer’s attempt to introduce the next competitors.

  “You’ll want to get back to your seat for this,” Anjuli said with an insincere smile. “Your pet Voloth is about to start the sniper competition. Such terrible timing, too. Right after Jeslen won a race for her dead bondfather and was recognized by her caste Prime.”

  Lancer Tal drew back. “Tell me you didn’t do that just to make this more difficult.”

  “That would be an insult to Jeslen. But as you’ve so ably demonstrated, gestures of recognition can have multiple purposes. Enjoy the afternoon, Lancer Tal. I’ll be watching this disaster from somewhere else.”

  In the height of rudeness, she did not wait for dismissal before turning her back and walking away.

  “This is not good,” Vagron said.

  “No, it’s not.” Rax chewed his bottom lip as the stands thundered with fury. “Seeders, that was bad timing.”

  “That was the worst timing,” Vagron corrected. “The most inspirational Alsean in the whole Global Games wins a race for her dead father, and two ticks later Geelish goes out there with a sniper rifle? For all we know, one of us killed that girl’s father. Ya know they think so.” He swept his hand outward, indicating the Alseans shouting and shaking their fists. Though most sat in stony silence, the others were loud enough to make the hatred seem universal.

  “We need to send someone onto the field,” Rax said. “Tell Geelish to throw the competition. It’s enough that he got into the finals.”

  Twenty of them were sitting together, finding safety in numbers. He was sorry he hadn’t brought fifty.

  “Na possible. We can’t get on the field now.”

  “Maybe Geelish will figure it out for himself.”

  Vagron gave him a look of disbelief. “Geelish? My boots have more brains.”

  “Shit,” Rax mumbled.

  “We’ll have ta hope the big lump loses.”

  “He’s not going to lose.” Rax was certain of it. This whole scheme was going straight to the sewer on a greased rail, and he could do nothing to stop it. “Why couldn’t we have had a runner? Or a wrestler?”

  “Because the Fifth Fleet didn’t want runners or wrestlers. It wanted good shooters.”

  “Shit,” Rax repeated.

  He wished that his petition for the right to compete in the Games had never gotten off the ground. Instead, it had gone all the way to the High Council. As with any official matter requiring a vote, the outcome had been made public. The Prime Warrior, Prime Scholar, and Prime Builder had voted no.

  Rax hadn’t been surprised. After all, it was the warriors and the high empath scholars who had fought in the Battle of Alsea, and the builders who had rebuilt afterward.

  The Prime Producer, Prime Crafter, and Prime Merchant had voted yes. That left Lancer Tal as the tiebreaker. Citing the need for mutual healing, she had approved the petition.

  He had wondered at the time if she acted out of guilt because it was his name on the petition. She had personally turned him during the battle, imposing her will over his and condemning him to a lifetime of nightmares. The balls of flame were permanently seared onto the insides of his eyelids.

  Still, he counted himself fortunate. When the battle ended and Lancer Tal had no more need of him, she had the skill to release her mental hold. Many of the settlers were never released, their turning a brutal, permanent mindwipe by unskilled empaths. They no longer cared about lovers, spouses, or even their children. Their love was reserved for the Alseans who had turned them, leaving them not only traumatized but also brokenhearted. At the end of the battle, they were abandoned.

  In a tactic borne of wretchedness and despair, the surviving Voloth had leveraged Rax’s connection with Lancer Tal. He was the one to ask her for sanctuary. He had been their voice ever since, and his latest plea had been for this: a chance to prove that they were not monsters and could compete in the purest spirit of sport.

  He bitterly regretted his success now.

  They watched in increasing dread as Geelish hit every target dead center. The Alseans did their best to encourage the other competitors, shaking the stands every time one of them stepped up to the line, but it wasn’t enough.

  When Geelish made his last shot to clinch the red medal, a half-eaten salterin came flying into Rax’s lap. He jumped as the pastry’s still-warm filling splattered across his trousers.

  “Time ta go,” Vagron said.

  “True words.” Rax hardly noticed that he had used an Alsean phrase as he stood up and shook off the leftover food. “Come on,” he called to the others. “We’re leaving.”

  “Before he gets his medal?” someone asked.

  A water flask flew into their group, then another salterin.

  No one asked any more questions.

  Their attempt at a dignified retreat was thwarted by the amount of food flying through the air. None caused injury, but the humiliation factor was high, especially when Rax realized that the melee was being shown on the giant field holograms.

  By the time they reached an aisle leading to one of the tunnels out of the stands, eight City Guards were waiting. They shouted for calm as they formed a ring around the settlers, then hustled them into the relative quiet and safety of the tunnel. Once out of range of the missiles, their pace slowed, but they stayed with the settlers all the way through the tunnel, down the stairs, and out to the park behind the stands.

  “Keep going,” one of them said when Rax tried to stop. “Our orders are to take you to the magtran station and get you out of here.”

  “For your own safety,” another added.

  “But we need to wait for Geelish—”

  “He’ll get an escort back after the medal ceremony.”

  Rax sighed. “Thank you for the escort. For us and him.”

  “Don’t thank us. We’re following orders.”

  He didn’t need to be an empath to see how little enthusiasm they had for those orders. But if there was one thing he appreciated about Alsean warriors, it was their caste value of honor.

  A capsule was being held for them in the magtran station, and the Alseans who had tried to board were none too pleased to see twenty Voloth being given priority instead. Several called out epithets that made Rax’s ears burn as he walked past them, refusing to look.

  “Damn stupid idea that was,” a Guard grumbled when the capsule pulled out of the station.

  Rax stared at the Blacksun skyline, an impressive view from the elevated magtran tube. He had hoped for so much more this afternoon. Even their worst expectations had not involved several thousand booing Alseans, a blizzard of thrown food, and a warrior escort as they were ejected.

  “Would have been fine if the grainbird had lost,” another City Guard said. She looked over at Rax. “You thought you could win and nobody would care?”

  “No,” he said tiredly. “I thought we could compete and show that we’re trying to fit in.”

  She shook her head, her opinion silently clear.

  The City Guards rode with them all the way across the
city, then over the tops of the gargantuan trees of the eastern forest and up the hill to the final stop at Blacksun Base. It was ironic, Rax supposed, that he and his comrades were safest while surrounded by Alsean warriors on a military base.

  They picked up their skimmers and drove back to New Haven. The mood when they arrived was somber indeed, though a few of the stupider soldiers were celebrating Geelish’s win. They quieted down upon seeing the stained and bespattered condition of the new arrivals.

  “It was a good idea,” Rax told the group. “But the Seeders weren’t with us today. We’ll just have to keep trying.”

  “That was a pathetic speech,” Vagron said as they walked toward their little house.

  “That was all I had in me.” He stopped at the edge of the new garden. “But look at this. See, this gives me hope. Change can come if we’re patient.”

  “Ya know,” Vagron said as he looked over the orderly rows of green, “days like today, I understand why my parents were farmers.”

  Rax squatted down, picked up a handful of freshly tilled soil, and rubbed it between his fingers. “Me too.”

  4

  Selfish

  “You did what? Anjuli . . .”

  Irin’s disbelief and disappointment jangled on Anjuli’s senses. After thirty-four cycles, she and her bondmate were attuned to each other’s emotions. At the moment, she wished he were a little more opaque.

  “I could not let that insult stand.” She poured a glass of grain spirits at the sideboard of their expansive sitting room. “You don’t know what she’s like, Irin. That woman lives and breathes power and manipulation.”

  “You didn’t seem to mind it before. I remember you singing her praises not too long ago.”