CHAPTER 32 LEE
HOURS AND files later, Lee sat back in the little synthetic cafe chair of the Hideaway, staring into nothing. He felt as if he’d just peeled back a piece of their universe, only to be bombarded with foreign matter and secrets to which he had no right to know.
After that first set of mainframe notes, they had opened up not one, not two, but seven files.
Seven files of carefully documented notes.
All manually transcribed, with footnotes and scribbles, random highlighted values, and the occasional variable or formula.
If that first hadn’t clued them in that they were looking at Segura, one of these others would have.
This information was so far beyond his depth.
He was in over his head and he knew it. There was no way he’d be able to make sense of this.
Not within a single term, perhaps not in a single raider year.
But if there was anything that could point them in the direction of evidence that could save Segura and stop the General, evidence that could explain what Gaia’s people had on him, or prove that what they had been working on with harnessing the dark rays was an option for them, this would be it.
He let his eyes drift, glancing over the late afternoon duos and trios of faceless cadets, wading through the crowd until they fell on the long vanilla-blonde ponytail, bobbing along as it debated between green juice flavors.
What had he hoped they’d find in here? An explanation from their Commander? Some loophole that would magically undo all the damage they’d caused last term? A star map charting the exact route to Gaia and their supposed “base” so they might personally ask her their questions themselves?
He’d let himself get lost in the fairytale. And now reality was hitting again.
He ran his hands down his pant legs to attempt to calm himself.
“Hey,” Kat said, settling into the chair opposite his as she placed two green juices on the table. “I thought we could both use the pick-me-up.”
“Thank you,” Lee said, channeling his energy into his fingers instead as he pulled his drink towards him. He took a drink without thinking. “You picked a good one for me.”
“Classic strawberry-spinach. I figured today wasn’t the day for the hard stuff,” she said, meeting his quiet laughter with a little half smile.
Hands still braced against his drink, Lee re-hashed what they knew about their Commander and the General.
“Nolan said they’d lacked evidence, right?
So all we have to find is some way to get Segura’s research back on the board.
That way we can call off the General and delay whatever it is he’s working on long enough that we have time to find out what they know. ”
“Plain and simple,” Kat teased, but he could see that severity in her eyes. The anxiety limning those pale greys. “Round two?” she asked.
“Round two.”
“Do you think it was the Commander who made all of these notes?” Kat asked another hour later.
“I’d wager it had to be. Nolan can be crafty when he wants to be, but this—” Lee didn’t have to exaggerate as he blinked past the technical pages in front of him.
Even their holographic glow felt a few lumens beyond his usual perception.
It was a wonder the Commander had been able to transcribe as much as she had.
“I wish she’d just looped us in from the start,” Kat murmured, “spared us the hassle.”
Lee couldn’t say he disagreed. But the longer they sat there, flipping through jargon, the eerier the feeling he got. “Nolan—when we met with him—he kept using past tense.”
“What?” Kat asked, brow fluttering as if she was yanking herself from a tangent.
“When he was speaking about the Commander’s efforts—‘she preferred they be left out’—he was speaking in past tense,” Lee said. He knew Nolan had probably had limited options, that it was bad enough he’d risked keeping them on deck, even secretly. But how bad…
“Have we opened everything, checked all the files?” Lee asked.
“I was just going off the order you were using.”
“You start at the bottom, I’ll start at the top. Let’s check the timestamps.”
This proved quicker. He’d gotten almost halfway through the new files before Kat piped up. “I’ve found one!”
“I don’t know how we missed it before,” she shook her head, fingertips shaking as she drew up the holofile.
“Thank the…void,” she trailed off, her brow lowering. Her lips parted as if she was about to say something, but she froze, a jittery breath slipping out instead. “Lee, what does this mean?”
He was already out of his chair, and slipping around behind her, his hand reaching over her shoulder as he expanded the holofile so he could read it.
This one didn’t include any coding or any of the Commander’s handwritten notes. Instead, it held a short thread of communication from weeks and weeks back, sent from one Commander Yvette Blanche, “to the care of General Marion Narron”:
As agreed upon by myself, on behalf of the Commanding Council of the AMG, under the direction of Marion Narron, I accept responsibility for the faults and rash behavior of my cadets with regards to Academy Raids AX13-AR and AX27-AR and relinquish the full rights and access to all Raid Materials obtained during these missions per the claims as documented below.
Any further actions regarding the sensitive material as outlined below are subject to review by the AMG Council.
Signed and corroborated on this day,
Raider Academy Commander, Yvette Blanche
Lee checked the date on the send receipt, reading the message through twice just to ensure he was understanding everything correctly.
But he didn’t need to read the claims, didn’t need the refresh of what General Narron had proclaimed in their debriefing that day as his body tensed, already clamming up.
The adrenaline or fight response smothered in a single shot as he braced his other hand against Kat’s shoulder, steadying himself.
Faults.
Rash behavior.
“This was sent mere days after our debriefing. They probably hadn’t even cleaned the General’s quarters from his stay on the ship before it went out,” Lee murmured, just to keep his lips moving, his body online.
His voice tapered off, but still he hung onto Kat, clinging to her as the truth settled in.
“So when she was telling us that she didn’t hold us accountable…
when she was conceding to our ‘bright futures’ and offering us her recommendation for Placement, she’d already conceded on our behalf, selling out and submitting to the General.
She’d already given up.” And he could hear it in her voice as the words cracked, as something irreparable in her faltered.
“She was likely out of options, you hear me?” he said, crouching down before her, using words he barely believed.
Faults. And even with his own hopes crashing down around him, the fluorescents beating into his skull, and a cacophony of confusion battering into him, he hung onto them.
A sliver of resonance as he kept her face in view.
With a borrowed steadiness, and the memory of light, he gripped her hand, cupping her fingers as he urged her to look at him.
“Kat.” Her eyelashes fluttered, fighting for control. Even now fighting to stay with him.
“Kat,” he repeated, until eyelids flickering, she peered at him.
And what he saw there had him scooping her up into his arms. She clung to him with a too-weak grip as he carried her out.
The Hideaway had been mostly empty anyway at this hour.
But Lee didn’t see a single face or feel their eyes as he clutched Kat to him, his most precious cargo. They didn’t need to do this here.
The stairways extended forever tonight, but he eventually reached the upper skywalk, and then the dorms.
He got them through his portal door and over to his bed, before the last of his strength waned.
Staring at the dark wall, in the safety of his dorm, with only the stars as their witness, and her warmth his assurance, the words finally spilled from her lips.
“Is this our fault?”
And there it was.
He hadn’t realized until he’d felt her crumble how much either of them had been banking on their Commander holding out for them.
How much he had banked on her trusting them—on her believing in them.
She’d always acted as if she held the upper hand; she held sway with the Council, the power and circumstances to stand up to the General. And with nothing standing in his way…
“We didn’t have a lot of time,” he said in a low voice, arms flexing around her protectively even before the threat could fully materialize. “We were unprepared going out there. We had to make a choice in the moment. And I still stand by it.”
“But we were right there. We could have helped, we could have found something, or done something. I could have said more in our debriefing…” Kat stammered. She shook her head like she could clear the error calculation from her mind, instead of raking it against everything she knew.
“She was protecting us. She didn’t want this for us,” Lee said quietly. “She didn’t want to have us looking over our backs for the General. But by shutting us out, she took away our agency in this, too.”
Kat shuddered as a sob forced its way up her spine.
Lee shifted her in his arms so he could see her face, speaking softly, swiftly, but he held her gaze the entire time.
“I know what this looks like. I know what she meant to us, and to you, Kat. I know what you saw when you looked at her. But you don’t need her approval; she doesn’t define you. You are still you.”
“I wanted to be her,” she breathed. Barely an echo sent out into the world.
“You don’t need her, Kat,” Lee said quietly, and more than ever, he felt the weight of her in his arms. The space she took up in his life.
In their galaxy. “You’re fierce and loyal, blazing around with a fire that no one can ever tame.
You’ve got a fighting spirit that could level any number of Generals on the battlefield. ”
She sniffed a little at that.
“You fight for what is right, and the galaxy as it should be. And that is my starflower,” he said, faint enough that not even their stars could hear him.
And, after a moment, her breathing eased, and she relaxed once more in his arms. And he listened to that steady heartbeat as the stars crept on around them.
And only when he knew she was about to doze off did he gently lift her off of him.
Pulling a couple of his T-shirts from his closet, he helped her into one, tucking her in close to his chest as they drifted off to sleep.
It was the first time he’d brought her back to his dorm knowing that she would be staying the night. He would keep her safe.
Lee lay staring up at the darkened ceiling of his dorm, hours after Kat had finally fallen asleep in his arms, her breathing easy, her body back to a stutteringly calm pace. So still.
He’d do anything for her, anything she needed. Whatever it was she asked. To scale a smoky peak or track down a space alligator? To bathe in moon dust? He’d make it happen. For her. Anything for her.
Her breathing stuttered, just the tiniest snore escaping her.
But how was he supposed to get them out of this one?
He didn’t know what it meant that their Commander had signed the mainframe over to the General or how much power he now wielded. He didn’t know what sort of clues or surprises might be buried in her notes. But he feared the night’s revelations hadn’t fully taken their toll.
A chasm had opened up before them. Its depth unfathomable, its darkness, reaching. And they could only guess at its magnitude.
And for him and Kat, standing at the precipice—she stirred, and Lee froze—only for her to turn onto her side, settling back in against his chest. Her hair silvery in the star’s light, spilling down her back and over his pillow.
Things with him and Kat were perfect.
If only everything else was.