The Soldiers of Halla (40 page)

Except for Loor.

“Is it possible?” she asked tentatively. “Could we do it too?”

“Do what?” Aja snapped at her.

Uncle Press was next to join the party. “I can't think of a riskier move, on many levels.”

“But is it possible?” I asked him.

Uncle Press thought for a moment, then nodded. “It may be, especially in light of what happened here after the victory on Eelong.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” I added.

Aja was getting frustrated. She didn't like being behind the curve on ideas. “Would someone please explain this to me?”

“Solara has been rejuvenated,” I said. “Positive spirit has flooded back in. We could use that power to continue being Travelers and jumping around Halla and trying to protect the exiles, or we could make one grand move and try to end this once and for all.”

Elli gasped when she realized what I was proposing. “You want to create a flume to move the exiles.”

“Exactly,” I answered.

I sensed everybody stiffen. What I was proposing was nothing short of desperation. No argument there. I looked to Aja. She stared back at me. I was waiting for her to say how crazy I was. How dumb a move it would be. How it would drain every last bit of spirit from Solara, and that if we failed, it would mean Saint Dane would be free to create his own universe. She would have been right on every count.

“It's brilliant,” she declared.

Gotta love Aja Killian.

“Can we really do this, Press?” Gunny asked with concern. “It's quite the tall order.”

“Not long ago my answer would have been no,” Uncle
Press said. “But we've been handed an opportunity. The victory on Eelong gave it to us. The exiles gave it to us.” He looked to Elli and added, “Nevva gave it to us.”

Elli beamed.

Uncle Press continued, “What we're talking about here would deplete the spirit of Solara, but if what happened on Eelong is any indication, defeating Saint Dane where he lives, controlling the heart of Ravinia, and taking back Third Earth might just turn things around.”

“Then let's do it!” Siry shouted enthusiastically. Siry never needed much convincing when it came to taking action.

Uncle Press cut him off. “Hang on. If this is going to work, two things have to happen.”

He walked up to me and spoke with dead seriousness. “This is still about the exiles. Do you think they can be convinced to go on the offense like this?”

“I don't know” was my honest answer. “All I can do is ask. They could turn me down cold, but I don't think so. I've seen them in action, and they have a score to settle.”

“What is the second thing?” Alder asked.

Uncle Press looked around at the group and said, “Defeating Saint Dane on Third Earth cannot be our entire goal.”

“What else is there?” Kasha asked.

“This is not about a battle. Or a territory. This is about taking the positive spirit that exists inside each and every one of those exiles and using it to take back Halla. It's not about a place. Or destroying an army. Or even revenge. It's about free will triumphing over oppression. For that victory to be complete, the exiles must triumph…and Saint Dane's spirit must end.”

“Hobey,” Spader gasped. “You think that in order to win this battle, we have to destroy Saint Dane?”

“I do,” Uncle Press said sadly. “Bobby's right. He controls the worlds of Halla. If he were to continue, I have no doubt that he would simply regroup somewhere else. This battle must not only rebuild the spirit of Solara, it must end the dark spirit that Saint Dane has been nurturing—the spirit that he embodies.”

Uncle Press looked at me and added, “If you think that's possible, then you have my blessing, and the blessing of each and every spirit of Solara.”

Yikes. Putting it that way, I kind of had second thoughts. Could we really do it? Could we not only beat Saint Dane, but
end
him as well?

Uncle Press added, “I can't see the future. I have no idea how this might come out. I only know the way things were meant to be. It's clear to me now, more so than ever before. I believe the conflict has been leading to this moment from the beginning. This is why you're here. This is why you're
all
here. To do anything less than take all that Solara has left and use it to defeat Saint Dane would be denying our destiny. You're right, Bobby, this is our moment. Let's seize it, and end this once and for all.”

I
knew it was the end.

I felt it in the core of my being. There have been many times over the past few years that I felt we might be nearing the end, only to have another wrinkle appear. Another surprise. Another door opening that we didn't even know existed. Each time, the struggle continued. This time would be different. There would be no second chances. No do-overs. No hope of salvaging victory from defeat. We were gambling it all, which meant there could be only one of two outcomes: We would either vanquish Saint Dane and begin to rebuild Halla, or Solara would be destroyed along with the Travelers. There would be no in between.

Uncle Press was right. It had all been leading to this moment. Every battle, every territory in jeopardy, every twist had been nothing more than prelude. As I looked back on it all, it seemed impossible that it could have been any other way. Saint Dane had brought out the darker nature of mankind, promising Utopia in exchange for freedom. In the end it proved too tempting for too many people.

I wondered if the Ravinians, those who benefited from
his evil quest, felt that it had been worthwhile. Would they have made the same choices if they could have seen the future? We'd never know.

Now the last hope rested with those who did not accept that vision of Utopia. Would the spirit of mankind, the spirit of free will and compassion, be strong enough to triumph over the dark power of repression and persecution? That's what this battle would be about, and it would start with the exiles. If they backed down, the battle would be lost right then and there, for it would mean they no longer were willing to fight for what they believed in. Their spirit was keeping Solara alive. I feared that if they did not accept the challenge, it would be a sign that that spirit had already diminished. If they accepted it, I believed that act alone would help to reinvigorate Solara. I felt certain that if the exiles accepted the challenge, Solara would be able to provide us with the means to fight one last battle.

As to who would win, I had no idea.

Being there, at that moment, felt right. For me, that is. In the beginning I had been frustrated that I didn't know every truth. Uncle Press told me that I needed to learn through experience, and he was right. I had to go through it all to become the person I was. If not for all that I had learned, all that I had seen and suffered and lost, I would not have had the strength or conviction to fight the battle before us. I had truly become the lead Traveler. The others looked to me for strength and guidance. I didn't have all the answers, but I had grown confident enough to make choices. And I chose to fight. I believed that this was the way it was meant to be.

I was ready.

My first stop was not Eelong. For this battle to work, we needed to lay the groundwork. Instead of going right to Eelong, Patrick and I went to Third Earth. I needed to see Mark.

“Something's happening,” Mark told me.

He was on edge. Much more so than when I had seen him the last time. I wouldn't have been surprised if he began stuttering again. The three of us were together in the Manhattan warehouse where his band of rebels made their base. We sat in front of one of the stolen Ravinian helicopters while many of his friends watched us from a distance, trying to hear our conversation. I didn't want them to be part of this. We needed Mark's sole attention.

“The dados are being moved out of the factory,” he continued.

“To where?” Patrick asked, surprised.

“They're gathering outside the walls of the conclave. They're activating them long enough to bring them out, then shutting them down again. Bobby, I think they're making room so they can build more.”

That was a sobering thought, but I didn't think it was correct. There were already thousands of those robots.

Mark continued, “If they march on Manhattan, they'll wipe us out.”

“They're not going to march on Manhattan,” I said with confidence. “That's why we're here.”

I had Mark's full attention.

“I need you to be my eyes, Mark,” I said. “We need to know exactly what's happening with those dados. Patrick will stay with you. If something happens, he can blast out of here and let us know instantly. Can you do that?”

Mark shrugged. “Sure. I can have eyes in every one of
those tunnels around the conclave. We're organized, Bobby. If somebody so much as farts, we'll know it.”

“You can keep that to yourself,” I said with a chuckle. “Anything else, let Patrick know immediately.”

“And I'll let the Travelers know,” Patrick added.

“What's going on?” Mark asked. “If they're not going to march on Third Earth, what's the point?”

I told him flat out. “The exiles are on Eelong. In Black Water. Saint Dane is going to create a flume and send the dado army to attack them there.”

Mark squinted, thinking, working to get his head around the idea.

“Okay. Not good,” he concluded.

“No, and we've come up with a plan to stop them.”

Mark sat silently, anxiously waiting for my next words. It was time to drop the bomb on him.

“We're going to attack the Ravinian conclave.”

He stared at me with a blank look, as if he didn't understand what I'd said. He didn't move for a solid ten seconds.

“Mark? You there?”

He shook his head and said, “Yeah. Wow. For a second I thought you said you wanted to attack the Ravinian conclave.”

“I did.”

He blinked once. And again. “L-Listen, Bobby,” he stuttered, and instantly reacted to it. “Damn! I hate that.”

“It's okay. You should be nervous.”

“I'm not nervous. I'm stunned. And you're crazy. We've got rebels hiding all over the area. We've built up a pretty decent armory of stolen weapons, too. But to defend ourselves. We don't have the manpower to attack that fort. I admire your guts, Bobby, but it's suicide.”

“I'm not asking you or your rebels to join in the attack,” I said.

Mark frowned. “Then who the heck is going to do it? You? The Travelers? It might be different if we could enlist those seventy thousand exiles, but short of that, no way.”

My answer was to smile at him. It took about five seconds until I saw the look of realization change his expression.

“Are you serious?” he asked with a mixture of hope and disbelief.

“Deadly.”

“They agreed to attack the conclave?”

Patrick and I shared looks.

“Not yet,” I admitted. “That's my next stop.”

Mark winced. My boast of leading an overwhelming attack force suddenly appeared not only crazy, but hollow. I figured it was time to let him know exactly where we stood. With everything.

I had briefly explained it before, but this time I laid it all out in detail. For the next hour Patrick and I told him about Solara and the force of spirit that helped guide mankind. We explained how Saint Dane corrupted that spirit into giving him the power to create a new universe. I even explained our plan to create a flume that would bring the exiles to Third Earth. We told him everything. Mark didn't question a word. I think that as incredible a story as it was, we were filling in the blanks that had been confounding him since he was fourteen years old. He had been just as involved with this war as I had. He understood. He accepted. Mark Dimond was up to speed.

When I finished, the first thing he said was, “So whatever chance we have, we owe to Nevva Winter.”

“Without her, the exiles would be dead and so would Halla.”

He shook his head in dismay. “That may be the most incredible thing you've told me. Nevva Winter. Geez.”

“Kinda makes you think there might still be hope for mankind, doesn't it?”

Patrick added, “But we still have to convince the exiles. Without them, none of this works.”

We let Mark work the information over in his head. I knew him. He was calculating possibilities.

“How long?” he asked.

“No idea. But I'm thinking that if they're moving dados, Saint Dane is getting ready to make that flume and move on Eelong.”

“Doing recon is cake,” he said. “If something happens, you'll know it.”

“That's all I'm asking,” I said.

“It's not all you're going to get,” Mark added.

“Excuse me?” Patrick asked.

“You see how we live. Hiding, running, wondering when a helicopter might show up to blow us away. We live like rats waiting to be exterminated. Up until now we've only thought about survival. I can tell you, if given the chance to strike back, we're going to take it.”

“We're not asking you to put your friends or any of the rebels on the line,” I said. “Your weapons will be welcome, but I can't ask you to risk your lives.”

Mark laughed. “Risk our lives? This is no life! Bobby, you're looking at a bunch of people who've lost hope. Hearing what you're saying is the first ray of light we've seen in a very long time. Do you think for one second that if there's a chance to fight for ourselves, no matter how impossible it may seem, we wouldn't go for it?”

I felt like I was being watched. Looking around, I
saw that several of Mark's grungy rebel friends had been hanging around, eavesdropping. At least twenty men and women stood to the rear of one of the helicopters, staring at us. They heard every word we were saying.

“Is it true?” I called to them. “Are you willing to attack the conclave?”

They exchanged tentative looks. At first I thought it was because they weren't sure how to answer. I quickly realized it was more about deciding who would be the one to speak. Finally a girl stepped forward. It was Maddie, the crazy cabdriver. Her eyes blazed.

“Say when” was her simple answer.

Patrick smiled. “Looking better all the time.”

Mark was all business. “We can offer more than reconnaissance. We've been making plans to cause some trouble on our own. Maybe they can fit in with yours.”

I looked around at the eager faces of the rebels and answered, “At the risk of losing any faith you might have in us, there is no real attack plan. We're figuring this out as we go along. So if you've got any ideas…”

Mark looked at his friends. I expected to see disappointment all around. Just the opposite happened. They seemed even more charged up than before.

Mark said, “Maybe I should tell you what we've been planning.”

He went ahead and detailed a series of guerrilla attacks they had planned to carry out on the conclave. They didn't expect them to be any more than a nuisance to the Ravinians, but coupled with the addition of an able-bodied army, these small-scale attacks suddenly felt like they could be the foundation of a very large-scale invasion.

We shared our own ideas on how we might be able to
pull off the impossible. After batting around all the ideas, we came up with a plan.

“It could work,” Mark said. “It relies on a lot, but it could work.”

“It has to work,” I added.

“I'll call in every last able-bodied person within a fifty-mile radius and start the wheels in motion,” Mark explained. “We have weapons stored all over Manhattan. Will the exiles be armed?”

“They have portable weapons that neutralize dados” was my answer.

Mark's eyes lit up. He looked at his friends. They were just as impressed.

“Those would be handy,” he said, understating the obvious. “Not worried about mixing territories?”

“Not anymore,” I answered. “The Convergence has made Halla one under Saint Dane's thumb.”

Patrick asked Mark, “Where should we gather? Seventy thousand people need a lot of room.”

Mark thought for a moment, then said, “Most of our weapons are stored downtown. I think the best rallying spot is Washington Square Park.”

“Done,” I said. “That's where we'll create this end of the flume.”

“Assuming you can,” Mark said, letting a bit of skepticism show. “And that you can convince the exiles to join up.”

“We can,” Patrick said with supreme confidence. “And we will.”

Patrick Mac had come a long way from being the tentative teacher who lived the perfect life on Third Earth. Maybe more so than any of us, his world had been turned upside down. While all of us witnessed the social upheavals
caused by Ravinia on our homes, Patrick's territory had gone through the most dramatic change. There were times when I worried that he could keep it together. But he always met each challenge head-on. Being able to work through his fears proved that, in many ways, Patrick was the bravest of us all.

Patrick and I left Mark and his people to begin making preparations. We stepped outside for one moment alone.

“Looks like you were right,” I said to him.

“About what?” Patrick asked.

“It's come down to Third Earth. The last territory. It really is your turn.”

Patrick got a faraway look in his eye. I believe that for those few moments, his head went back to what Third Earth was before. His true home. The way it was meant to be. He came back to reality with a look in his eye that was as determined as I'd ever seen from him.

“Then I guess I'd better make the most of it,” he said, almost cocky.

The Traveler from Third Earth was ready to go.

I had one more moment with Mark. My friend and I had been through so much, together and apart, even
before
I had become a Traveler. He was my oldest friend. He was my brother.

“So…she's okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, she's good. Better than good. You can ask her yourself pretty soon.”

“You think she'll come here with the exiles?” he asked, daring to hope.

I laughed. “Are you serious? We're talking about Courtney, right?”

Mark laughed too. “Yeah, dumb question. She'll probably lead the way.”

The two of us looked at each other. Neither knew what to say. Instead, we hugged.