SAVE US.
I look away nervously. They’ve all seen and heard about what I did with the Patriots in Denver. But I’m not some invincible super-soldier—I’m a dying boy who’s about to be stuck, helpless, in the hospital while an enemy takes over our country.
Eden leans over my wheelchair’s handlebars. Even though he doesn’t say a word, I take one look at his solemn face and know exactly what’s running through his mind. The thought sends terror trickling down my spine.
I can save them, my little brother’s thinking. Let me save them.
Once we’re inside the hospital and the soldiers bar the doors, they wheel me up to the third-floor rooms. There, Eden waits outside while doctors strap a bunch of metal nodes and wires to me. They run a brain scan. Finally, they let me rest. Throughout it all, my head throbs continuously, sometimes so much that I feel like I’m moving even though I’m lying down on a bed. Nurses come in and give me some sort of injection. A couple of hours later, when I’m strong enough to sit up, a pair of doctors come to see me.
“What is it?” I ask before they can speak up. “Do I have three days left? What’s the deal?”
“Don’t worry,” one of them—the younger, more inexperienced one—assures me. “You still have a couple of months. Your prognosis hasn’t changed.”
“Oh,” I reply. Well, that’s a relief.
The older doctor scratches uncomfortably at his beard. “You can still move around and do normal activities—whatever those are,” he grumbles, “but don’t strain yourself. As for your treatments . . .” He pauses here, then peers at me from the top of his glasses. “We’re going to try some more radical drugs,” the doctor continues with an awkward expression. “But let me be clear, Day—our greatest enemy is time. We are fighting hard to prepare you for a very risky surgery, but the time that your medication needs may be longer than the time you have left. There’s only so much we can do.”
“What can we do?” I ask.
The doctor nods at the dripping fluid bag hanging next to me. “If you make it through the full course, you might be ready for surgery a few months from now.”
I lower my head. Do I have a few months left? They’re sure as hell cutting it close. “So,” I mutter, “I might be dead by the time the surgery comes around. Or there might not be a Republic left.”
My last comment drains the blood from the doctor’s face. He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to. No wonder the other doctors had warned me to get my affairs in order. Even in the best of circumstances, I might not pull through in time. But I might actually live long enough to see the Republic fall. The thought makes me shudder.
The only way Antarctica will help is if we provide proof of a cure against this plague, give them a reason to call in their troops to stop the Colonies’ invasion. And the only way to do that is to let Eden give himself over to the Republic.
* * *
The medicine knocks me out, and it’s a full day before I come around. When the doctors aren’t there, I test my legs by taking short walks around my room. I feel strong enough to go without a wheelchair. Still, I stumble when I try to stretch too thin and spring from one end of the room to the other. Nope. I sigh in frustration, then pull myself back into bed. My eyes shift to a screen on the wall, where footage from Denver is playing. I can tell that the Republic is careful about how much of it they show. I’d seen firsthand how it looked when the Colonies’ troops started rolling in, but on the screen there are only faraway shots of the city. The viewer can just see smoke rising from several buildings and the ominous row of Colonies airships hovering near the edge of the Armor. Then it cuts to footage of Republic jets lining up on the airfield, preparing to launch into battle. For once, I’m glad that the propaganda’s in place. There’s just no point in scaring the hell out of the whole country. Might as well show that the Republic’s fighting back.
I can’t stop thinking about Frankie’s lifeless face. Or the way Thomas’s head snapped back when the Colonies soldiers shot him. I wince as it replays in my mind. I wait in silence for another half hour, watching as the screen’s footage changes from the Denver battle to headlines about how I’d helped slow down the invading Colonies troops. More people are in the streets now, with their scarlet streaks and handmade signs. They really think I’m making a difference. I rub a hand across my face. They don’t understand that I’m just a boy—I’d never meant to get involved so deeply in any of this. Without the Patriots, June, or Anden, I couldn’t have done anything. I’m useless on my own.
Static suddenly blares out of my earpiece; an incoming call. I jump. Then, an unfamiliar male voice in my ear: “Mr. Wing,” the man says. “I presume it’s you?”
I scowl. “Who’s this?”
“Mr. Wing,” the man says, adding a flourish of cracked excitement that sends a chill down my spine. “This is the Chancellor of the Colonies. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The Chancellor? I swallow hard. Yeah, right. “Is this some sort of joke?” I snap into the mike. “Some hacker kid—”
“Come now. This wouldn’t be a very funny joke, now would it?”
I didn’t know the Colonies could access our earpiece streams and make calls like this. I frown, then lower my voice. “How’d you get in?” Are the Colonies winning in Denver? Did the city fall already, right after we finished evacuating it?
“I have my ways,” the man replies, his voice dead calm. “It seems that some of your people have defected to our side. I can’t say I blame them.”
Someone in the Republic must have given up info to the Colonies to allow them to use our data streams like this. Suddenly my thoughts rush back to the job I’d done with the Patriots, where the Colonies soldiers had shot Thomas in the head—the image sends a violent shudder through me, and I force myself to push it away. Commander Jameson.
“I hope I’m not inconveniencing you,” the Chancellor says before I can respond, “given your condition and such. And I’m sure you must be feeling a bit tired after your little escapade in Denver. I’m impressed, I must say.”
I don’t respond to that. I wonder what else he knows—whether he knows which hospital I’m currently lying in . . . or worse, where our new apartment is, where Eden’s staying. “What do you want?” I finally whisper.
I can practically hear the Chancellor’s smile over my earpiece. “I’d hate to waste your time, so let’s get to the meat of this conversation. I realize that the Republic’s current Elector is this young Anden Stavropoulos fellow.” His tone is condescending. “But come now, both you and I know who really runs your country. And that’s you. The people love you, Day. When my troops first went into Denver, do you know what they told me? ‘The civilians have plastered posters of Day on the walls. They want to see him back on the screens.’ They have been very stubborn to cooperate with my men, and it’s a surprisingly tiresome process to get them to comply.”
My anger slowly burns. “Leave the civilians out of it,” I say through a clenched jaw. “They didn’t ask for you to barge into their homes.”
“But you forget,” the Chancellor says in a coaxing voice. “Your Republic has done the exact same thing to them for decades—didn’t they do it to your own family? We are invading the Republic because of what they did to us. This virus they’ve sent across the border. Exactly where do your loyalties lie, and why? And do you realize, my boy, how incredible your position is at your age, how you have your finger on the pulse of this nation? How much power you hold—”
“Your point, Chancellor?”
“I know you’re dying. I also know you have a younger brother who you would love to see grow up.”
“You bring Eden into this again, and this conversation’s over.”
“Very well. Just bear with me. In the Colonies, Meditech Corp handles all of our hospitals and treatments, and I can guarantee you they would do a much finer job dealing with your case than anything the Republic can offer. So here’s the deal. You can slowly whittle away whatever’s left of your life, staying loyal to a country that’s not loyal to you—or you can do something for us. You can publicly ask the Republic’s people to accept the Colonies, and help this country fall under the rule of something better. You can get treatment in a quality place. Wouldn’t that be nice? Surely you deserve more than what you’re getting.”
A scornful laugh forces its way out of me. “Yeah, right. You expect me to believe that?”
“Well now,” the Chancellor says, trying to sound amused, but this time I detect darkness in his words. “I can see this is a losing argument. If you choose to fight for the Republic, I’ll respect that decision. I only hope that the best will happen for you and your brother, even after we establish our place firmly in the Republic. But I’m a businessman, Day, and I like to work with a Plan B in mind. So, let me ask you this instead.” He pauses for a second. “The Princeps-Elect June Iparis. Do you love her?”
An icy claw grips my chest. “Why?”
“Well.” The Chancellor lets his voice turn somber. “You have to see this situation from my point of view,” he says gently. “The Colonies will win, inevitably, at this rate. Ms. Iparis is one of the people sitting at the heart of the losing government. Now, son, I want you to think about this. What do you suppose happens to the ruling government on the losing side of a war?”
My hands tremble. This is a thought that has floated in the dark recesses of my mind, something I’ve refused to think about. Until now. “Are you threatening her?” I whisper.
The Chancellor tsks in disapproval at my tone. “I’m only being reasonable. What do you think will happen to her once we declare victory? Do you really think we will let live a girl who is on track to become the leader of the Republic’s Senate? This is how all civilized nations work, Day, and it’s been that way for centuries. For millennia. After all, I’m sure your Elector executed those who stood against him. Didn’t he?” I stay silent. “Ms. Iparis, along with the Elector and his Senate, will be tried and executed. That is what happens to a losing government in a war, Day.” His voice turns serious. “If you don’t cooperate with us, then you might have to live with their blood on your hands. But if you do cooperate, I might find a way to pardon them of their war crimes. And what’s more,” he adds, “you can have all the comforts of a quality life. You won’t need to worry for your family’s safety ever again. You won’t have to worry for the Republic’s people either. They don’t know any better; the common folk never know what’s good for them. But you and I do, don’t we? You know they’re better off without the Republic’s rule. Sometimes they just don’t understand their choices—they need their decisions made for them. After all, you chose to manipulate the people yourself when you wanted them to accept your new Elector. Am I correct?”
