This Shattered World (Starbound #2)(110)
“You’ve been lied to, all of you.” I harden my voice, make myself stand straighter, moving forward past Jubilee. It’s torture not looking back at her, and I force myself to keep my gaze up, to finish this. I can still see the desperation on her face, the pain, as she stared up at me. Go. “You’ve been manipulated into breaking the ceasefire by a madman.”
McBride’s shaking, the gun at his side trembling with suppressed rage. “No one is going to take the word of a traitor like you.” He’s beyond reason now—I can see it in his jerky movements, hear it in his voice.
“Nobody needs to believe me. They can see it themselves. Hand over your gun, McBride. We’ll check the readout and see how many shots it fired that night.” Because I know, and he knows, that if he refuses to let us see the data on his Gleidel, he’s announcing his own guilt.
A ripple of confusion runs through the crowd, and I cling to that—it means some of them do doubt him. Some of them want to believe me.
McBride’s eyes bore into mine, all the hatred and disgust he’s been trying to hide for years burning openly now. “Avon will rise from the ashes of this war, and you were always too weak to be the spark, Cormac. Doyle and the others couldn’t fight, but they could still serve our cause. They were kindling for the flames, and that was an honor.” His lips creep into a stiff rictus of a smile. “You can still serve, too.”
In slow motion I see his arm start to lift, and a vision of the next thirty seconds plays out in my mind. I see him drop me to the ground, I see the gunfire start up on each side once again. I see bodies crumple.
Then Sean’s beside him, grabbing at his arm, forcing the Gleidel down again with a grunt of effort. He knocks McBride off balance, but only for a moment; McBride is bigger, stronger, more experienced. He wrenches the Gleidel free of Sean’s grip, twisting an arm around his neck and pulling him in close to act as a shield, gun at his temple.
“Someday,” McBride hisses, “you’ll understand why I—”
The shriek of a laser rips the air, and my heart stops; the whole world stops. But it’s McBride, not Sean, who drops to his knees. He’s dead before he hits the ground, a neat, round hole smoking in the center of his forehead.
Sean falls, dragged down by the arm around his neck, but he rolls free, coughing, to come up on all fours.
Hundreds of guns lift, and the world holds its breath. Then I realize where the shot came from. I turn to see Jubilee on her knees, holding her gun in her left hand, her right arm hanging uselessly. I run back to her, my world narrowing to this one moment, everything else falling away as I drop to the mud at her side. She’s alive. Bloodied, trembling, leaning into me as I wrap an arm around her, but alive.
And for all her reputation, all her ruthlessness, I realize I’ve never seen Jubilee kill anyone before.
I hear her draw a slow, steadying breath beside me. “Anyone else want to start a war today?”
Just the touch of her skin on mine sends warmth and strength flooding through me. It’s all we can have, right now, but it’s enough. I lift my head. “We need to talk. All of us, Fianna and soldiers. Let us show you the truth of what’s been happening here.”
I see the murmurs run up and down the group of my people, and I suddenly, painfully, want them to be that again, to call myself one of them. But I can’t order them to take me back. They’ll choose it, if they’re willing to trust me one more time.
Sean climbs slowly to his feet, bowing his head as the muffled conference travels in from the edges of the group of fighters to reach him. He glances at the gun he dropped when McBride grabbed him, but he doesn’t reach for it. Instead, our eyes meet as he walks toward me, out into the light.
“Flynn.” Jubilee breathes my name, and I turn my head to follow her gaze.
Out in the swamp, the soldiers are still standing, and now they’re lowering their weapons. Commander Towers is walking in to join us.
The girl is dreaming about the ocean. One day, she thinks, I’ll take the green-eyed boy and go, and we’ll buy a submarine, and live together at the bottom of the sea.
It’s the last thought she has before the dream fragments into shards of places and memories, people she’s fought and people she’s loved, and the spaces between are filled with nonsense, a jumble of things seen and done and thought of, and forgotten.
And the rest of it, she doesn’t remember.
“AND SO IT’S IN THE spirit of peace that we would like to offer our assistance with the reconstruction efforts here on Avon. We may not have our money invested here, but we can’t stand idly by when disaster strikes.”
Listening, I grip the edges of my seat with my left hand, fingers shaking with the effort of keeping still. My right arm throbs in its sling as I keep my eyes on the man speaking at the head of the boardroom. I know his face—everyone knows his face. Roderick LaRoux looks almost kindly, with twinkling blue eyes and silver hair thinning at the crown of his head, but I find myself staring intently, trying to find signs of the monster I know resides behind that mask. I can imagine those blue eyes hard, the firm features turning to granite. I know why his daughter was so frightened of him.
My gaze flicks to Lilac, where she sits behind him next to Merendsen, looking like the perfect daughter. Hair just so, makeup flawless, dress worth more than a year’s wages, but not too elaborate—a dress that says I’m outrageously rich, but I chose something understated for today’s colonial outing. I’m trying to connect what I see with the quick intelligence and warmth she displayed over the hypernet connection, but there’s nothing to hang that depth on. Her facade is as flawless as her appearance.