Canvas Skies (Reliance on Citizens Makes Us Great!) (9 page)

“Um...I need to make a call.” She pulled out
her transceiver. “I'm here. The place has been cleared. It's
secure.” She paused. “I'd like to tell him everything. Is that
alright with you?” She closed the connection and looked at me.

“I thought he wasn't your boss?”

“He's not. It's just...he should know that
you know.”

I waited.

“His name is Richard Burke III, but he
prefers Guy Bensen. Guy and my older brother formed the Resistance
12 years ago.”

“You've known about this for 12 years? You
must have been a child!”

She shook her head. “No. Of course, I'd
heard of the Resistance, but I only learned the specifics a year
ago when I almost killed Guy in a routine job.”

“You were going to kill him?”

She nodded.

“And now you're engaged.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn't you? Kill him, I mean.”

“Because my employer messed up.”

“Wow.” That explained everything: her
hesitancy, her fear and also her shame when I'd pointed out her
lies. She'd been on the receiving end for a long time. She
understood how it felt not to be trusted. It must have been
Richard. No, I corrected myself. It must have been Guy Bensen who
had first told her the truth. Why hadn't her brother told her? I
smiled at Keira, a genuine smile filled with warmth and gratitude.
“Thank you for trusting me.”

We savored our tea in silence, but my
thoughts raged. S and G, Keira's brother and her fiance, heads of
the Resistance. I should tell her. But in my line of work, some
things needed to remain confidential.

A slight noise from outside the apartment
caught my attention. I sat up straight and listened. Keira reached
for a small black bag she'd brought along and drew out a dagger in
a sheath. I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't a dagger. A
door closed with an audible click, just a neighbor returning home
for the night.

I looked at Keira. “Well, at least it isn't
a butter knife. What else have you got in there?”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Brody had said.
He'd looked so sad all evening, and now I understood why. That look
had finally dissipated. I'd had so few chances in my life to help
people by just being a friend. But was that really because of
chance or by choice? This is why I joined the Resistance, I
reminded myself, to help make life better for people, all people,
and there are lots of ways to help. But then, after his neighbor
returned home for the night, Brody pushed it too far.

“What's Eberhardt's story? Where'd he get
the scar?”

“That's not for me to share.”

“Well, what about your roommate?” he asked
again.

Why is he interested in her? It's one thing
to ask me personal questions but to ask about my friends...

“What time do you normally go to bed,
Brody?”

He refused to take the hint. “If you don't
want her left alone, then shouldn't you be protecting her instead
of taking this job?”

Is he worried about her? But that doesn't
make sense. He just met her!

“What time?” I asked again.

He glanced at a clock on an end table.
“About now, I guess.”

“Make it look like you're sticking to your
normal routine. Wash up, turn lights on and off, do whatever you
normally do, but then come sleep on the couch. It will be easier
for me to protect you in here.”

That night, nothing happened. A few
automobiles passed by outside, but otherwise, all was quiet. I had
plenty of time to think. The second night passed much the same as
the first. As did the third.

Responding to the feeling that something
just isn't right is prudent, but it doesn't mean something bad will
happen right away, only that it is likely to happen, given enough
time. What did happen over the course of the next few evenings was
that our friendship grew, more so than after a year of weekly
“board meetings.” And although we talked about many things, Brody
did not mention Aimee again.

Each morning, after he left for work,
Eberhardt and Aimee picked me up, and we all went to work at the
gallery. We'd been helping her prepare for Art Fantastique's grand
opening.

That first afternoon, Guy brought us lunch.
It seemed like Aimee had something on her mind, but when I asked
her about it, she looked at Eberhardt and said it was nothing that
couldn't wait. I knew better than to push. Whatever it was, she
would bring it up in her own time.

The next day, Guy as Richard, took me out to
lunch alone. And the next. That was the first day our photo made
the front page of the tabloids with the headline, Love at Last? The
article related some of the information Guy had asked Raquelle to
plant about me, such as that I'd recently moved to Tkaron from
Vanover, a large metropolitan center on the west coast.

Every afternoon, I took some time to sleep
while Aimee worked at the shop. I woke each evening when she
returned home. Her dinner was my breakfast. Then I returned to
Brody's to begin another night of vigilance.

On my fourth night on the job, our
conversation centered around the tabloid article and photo.

“You're from Vanover?” Brody asked.

“No, I was born and raised in Tkaron.”

“How are you going to convince people? What
if they do an interview?”

I shook my head. “I don't know, I guess I
haven't really thought about that.”

“But you think of everything! Maybe you
should ask Guy to take you on vacation. Then you could familiarize
yourself with Vanover.”

“Maybe...or I could just ask Raquelle for
some current information about the city.”

“Raquelle?”

“Uh...” I'd slipped up. I'd begun to trust
Brody, but Raquelle hadn't, and I needed to respect her wishes.
“She's just a friend who's good at finding out about things.” It
was lame, but Brody let it go.

“It helps to know people.”

I smiled. “It certainly does. Favorites?” I
asked, and he nodded.

We'd begun a word game in which we took
turns asking each other about favorite colors, foods, songs and so
on. The game had evolved to include more open ended questions such
as, “Describe the neighborhood where you grew up.” It helped to
pass the time each night until Brody fell asleep.

I'd learned a lot about him. Until he became
the CEO of CalTech, he'd never been extremely wealthy. This had
kept Brody relatively safe. His family wasn't wealthy enough to be
a threat, yet they were definitely above Working Class. Because of
this, Brody didn't take his social status for granted. However,
he'd also never become accustomed to the cutthroat attitude it took
to stay at the top, and that caused him a great deal of
anxiety.

That night, after Brody fell asleep, I once
again thought about the Divide and wondered how I could help narrow
the gap. A slight noise brought me to the present. Someone was at
the door. I sensed it even before the latch slid out of the strike
plate.

I slid off of the sofa and crouched in the
darkness. My fingers curled tightly around the sliver hilt of my
dagger; my muscles tensed. The door silently swung open, and the
shadow of a large muscular man entered the living room. He held a
piece of paper next to the keypad and was just about to punch in
the code when he noticed the thumbplate.

“Shit!” he said out loud. He crumpled the
paper and threw it to the ground.

I leaped toward him. With no hesitation, the
intruder drew his gun, turned and fired. I reeled back. As I
grunted and crashed to the ground, Brody called out in alarm. I
pulled back and released my dagger just as the lights came on,
blinding us all. The man staggered and fell against the wall.

I held up my hand and motioned for Brody to
stay back. The alarm began to blare, surely waking every tenant in
the building. The intruder was injured but still upright against
the wall, his gun trained right between my eyes.

“Keira.” He only said that one word, but it
was enough.

He lowered his arm slightly. The gun now
pointed at my stomach. I watched as he slowly reached up with his
other hand and felt for the hilt of the dagger that stuck out of
his chest. His eyes grew wide as I pushed off the ground and stood.
That gunshot wound should have taken me out for good, and he knew
it.

Taking advantage of his surprise, I sprang
forward and knocked the gun out of his hand using a technique
Eberhardt had taught me, one I had practiced on countless occasions
with the other Raiders. As his hands moved toward my throat, I spun
and grabbed the hilt of my dagger. He bellowed as it slid from
between his ribs, slick with his own red blood. I lifted it and
pressed it against his throat.

He coughed but then smiled, showing yellow
teeth. “No fair. You've gone ritzy wearing a bulletproof vest.
Think you're better than the rest of us, do you? This time you
might want to finish what you started.” He coughed again. His sour
breath made me want to vomit.

I knew this man all too well, and I had
every reason to want him dead, yet I hesitated. What would Guy want
me to do?

His smile grew. “You can't do it, love.”

I shook my head and tried to get my thoughts
in order. Why did it have to be him? I stared into his eyes and
steadied my voice. “I learned all about knives and fire and pain
from you.”

He chuckled.

I glanced down at his left hand but kept the
dagger steady at his throat. He would always miss those fingers.
“Don't you want to know where I put them?” I asked in a sweetly
condescending tone.

“I should have killed you when I had the
chance,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

“Ah, missed opportunities.” I'd won, and he
knew it.

I heard a commotion from the street below as
vehicles squealed to a halt. Anyone caught committing a serious
crime against a member of the Elite was taken directly to prison. I
didn't have much time.

“Is there a bounty on him?” I tilted my head
toward Brody.

“Is there ever! But they want him alive for
questioning. We could split it and both become Elite.”

I drew a thin line of blood at his throat.
“This man is off limits. He's under my protection.”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs.

I reached into my pocket, then held up a
small techno device. Before he had a chance to react, I pushed the
button. A bright light flared in his direction. After a moment of
silence, he began to shout obscenities. In the last few seconds
before the guards burst in, I cut off his tongue.

Two guardsmen cuffed him and dragged him
down the hall, still bellowing. Another was about to cuff me when
Brody intervened. “She's with me...could you take that with you?”
He pointed to the man's tongue still lying on the floor.

Somehow I managed to keep my breathing even
until the guardsmen were gone.

Brody stared at me. “What did you do?”

A fire raged within my belly, and I suddenly
felt lightheaded. I stumbled and fell. Brody caught me and gently
lowered me to the floor where I began to shake.

“You were shot. We should get you to a
hospital.”

“No.” I tried to wave him away. “I'll be
okay.” But I wasn't so sure of that. My breathing had become
ragged, and the shaking grew worse.

“Like hell you will. You need medical
attention.”

I shook my head. “No!” I just couldn't seem
to get myself under control. I wrapped my arms around my legs and
rested my forehead on my knees. Somehow I managed to remind him,
“Brody, the alarm.”

He reset it and walked away. When he
returned, he was holding my transceiver. “Is his the first
unlabeled number?”

I nodded. He opened a connection and turned
on the vidscreen. When Guy's face appeared, Brody made sure I was
in view. “She needs you. She needs a hospital.”

I heard Guy's response. “No, no hospital.
I'm on my way.”

Brody closed the connection and made a fist
in frustration. “What's wrong with you people? You can afford
MedCare. Why won't you get help?”

The shaking grew worse, but why? I lifted my
head. “The bullet...it must be the bullet. We need to get it out!”
I said in a panic. “Get a knife.”

“What? Keira, calm down. You're going into
shock.”

“Remember when I told you there are things
worse than death?”

He nodded.

“Get...a knife.”

As soon as Brody opened the front door, I
pushed past him.

“Where is she?”

“Come in,” Brody said. He handed me a
glass.

“What's this?”

“The bullet that should have killed her. It
was embedded in her abdomen.”

I finally looked at him and noticed the
bloodstains on his shirt, on the floor, on the wall. I returned my
attention to the bullet and imagined the willpower it must have
taken to get it out.

“Where?” I asked again.

“Resting in the bedroom.” He reset the
security alarm. “On the outside she appears almost completely
healed. How is that even possible? And what about infection?”

“Infection's not really an issue. What
happened?”

“Someone broke in. She knew him.” Brody
hesitated, then asked the obvious. “Can she be killed?”

“Of course she can be killed. She's a human
being!”

“The wanted posters all over town. They're
her, aren't they? Keira and her brother and sister?”

Were we wrong to trust him?

Brody nodded. “I've seen them. They aren't
accurate though. I had no idea until she told me her real name. The
people who want her, it's because she can't be hurt, isn't it?”

“You wouldn't have called me if you believed
that.”

“Well, she can heal like nobody I've ever
seen.”

“And you won't be mentioning that to
anyone.” I took a step toward him.