The Acolytes of Crane (Theodore Crane, #1)(102)

‘Damn!’ I yelled, ‘The projection’s down!’

The three balls of fire were once projection orbs that generated the convincing hologram. When the hologram vanished, our companions suddenly were no longer concealed. For that matter, neither were Mariah and I.

A robotic voice from the vessel counted down over our chatter, ‘The ship will launch in one morget.’

Liam screamed and fell. A guard had shot him in the leg.

‘Liam!’ Dan cried out, slowing down, unsure of what to do.

Liam held out his arm as he lay on the hard floor, writhing in pain. ‘Forget me! Just go!’

Reluctantly, Dan once again broke into a sprint.

I pulled Dan and Mariah into the ship. Nilo had already crawled up. The ship counted down:

‘Three, two, one. . .’

The hatch closed, with the four of us safely inside. Nilo immediately piloted the ship.

Our newly hijacked vessel soared rapidly upward through the air.

As the ship launched into auto-pilot, blazing through the sky, we sat traumatized, and loathed ourselves for coming up short. The fall of Liam left us depressed. Would they spare him?

Even though we had left Liam behind, we assured ourselves that we would re-unite soon enough. We were like prisoners who lost a prison-mate during a jailbreak: the major importance was that we had our freedom.

We were also hearteded while Nilo yelled, even as his full attention was diverted to navigation, ‘Don’t worry! I am sure King Trazuline will protect him somehow!’ We left it at that: our first goal was to rescue Ted. Time was running out.

“We would do honor to Liam by seeing it through to the end. Our celebration was short lived, and a quiet embrace of silence was our demeanor. The next stop was destiny. Our destiny.”





20 THEODORE: LOCALIZED RECKONING





“Is he ready?”

“Just a moment, warden.”

“We are in position for the disengagement of the vault!” the guard yells out the usual tirade, “Prisoner number eight-six-seven-five, open request, guns are at the ready—over.” The warden is standing ready and he looks eager to engage me. The guard continues, “Prisoner! Stand and face the wall opposite of this vault, place your hands behind your head, down on your knees, lift your feet off the ground slightly and lean forward until your head is against the wall.” A pause. “Prisoner is in the static pose, cover me while I move.”

“Good job, rookie. Word for word,” the veteran guard says.

“Guns are hot. I will restrain the prisoner. Cover me while I move,” the rookie says. His voice is no longer shaky.

I feel the temporalysis submit my body to its power, and I hit the floor.

“Prisoner. I want you to know that we have noticed your cooperation. We are considering your relocation to a more comfortable area of the prison. Can somebody revive the prisoner, so that he can speak with me? You guards didn’t get the brief?”

“Yessir—y-yes, warden, I mean,” the rookie says.

I can feel the tingle of the temporalysis’ power subside from my lips, throat, and tongue, and then the rest of my head, after the rookie presses the buttons.

“Prisoner. The Multiversal Council wants there to be no discrepancy in the account today. They are quite interested in the battle of Jaakruid. I don’t blame them. I, too, wonder how you survived. If you want to be transferred to the minimum security level of the prison, you would be certain to give us an exact account of what was said and what happened. Do you agree?” the warden asks.

“Yes. What about my son?”

“Your son is with his mother, but we are watching, and if you even think about busting out of here, we will destroy everything you hold dear outside of these walls. Close the vault! Oh, and one last thing. A good friend of yours asked me to deliver a message. After careful consideration, I decided it was acceptable to pass it on. He said, ‘Tell Theodore I appreciate his efforts.’ Any idea who it was?”

“Lincoln.”

His lack of disagreement confirms that my guess was correct. He steps back. “Close the vault! Think about what I said, prisoner. Every word. Make it count.”

The guards huddle around, with guns drawn. One guard removes my temporalysis, and I lie as still as this floor beneath me. They exit.

Wow. Now I know for sure Lincoln is here too. That isn’t surprising, considering the circumstances. As for my son—I don’t find solace in the warden’s assurance of his safety, but if he is with his mother, then he is safe.

I know that hate does not bow down to an inkling of hope, but it will cower to the devotion of many. With the positive developments of the last few days, springing forth like leaks though a crumbling dam, hope is rising. The days of my confinement here are numbered.

I pick up this tablet and begin by sliding my finger across the screen to record. I worry that I cannot give an entirely accurate account as the warden requests, but I will do my best to fill in the blanks.

“I never saw Jaakruid before that day, yet my focus was so strong, I could visualize all its bamboo-fortified walls, its leafy rooftops, and its vine-intertwined castle. My fighting force roared on, hungry for success.”

For a while, we, my men and I, marched, halted, ran, marched, halted, and ran again. One thing that my grandpa Marvin told me from his experience in the service was that a team leader is the tip of the spear. When a leader takes point, courage is cultivated among his followers.