Excerpt from The Hunted Rogue
They circled each other warily, two Gentle Hands and one Archon. The Intelligence continued to describe them as unidentifiable – their biosigs not in any database.
To Dante, though, that didn’t seem true.
They both felt familiar, in a way he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
“We have no desire to fight you, Archon,” the woman said. “We hold no ill will toward you, but we can’t let you fill this telepath’s head with Archon lies.”
“Lies?” He spat on the ground. “Lies? Archon lies? It was the Hand who lied when they said they would protect me.”
“I don’t know what happened to you, but I know it was our fault. We made a mistake. You suffered for it. Let us make amends.”
Dante sneered. “The same old Gentle Hand garbage. You don’t mean a word of it. I’ve lived through that before. Everything Hands said about putting me first felt good, right up until I bet my life on it.”
The last syllable barely escaped his lips before it became a battle cry. Dante threw himself at the two tan uniforms, fire flaring from his hands. Both of them whirled away in opposite directions, and soon he found himself too busy blocking strikes and dodging kicks for any more pyrokinesis.
He ducked under a high kick and drove his fist right into the black-haired man’s gut. That foe grunted in pain and faded back, hands over his abs. The woman came on in his place, kicking low to catch him crouched. He leaped up, and the man was back in the fight, landing a high kick to his ribs and knocking him down. Dante hit the ground, rolled, and came up in a guard stance.
“Who are you? I know you both. I can feel it in the web. Tell me your names!”
The woman shot back,” Tell me why you hate the Hand, and I will tell you who I am.” But as she spoke, her male compatriot charged him. The two became abstract art made of kicks and punches, turning and whirling to strike each other, blocking or parrying every blow.
Finally Dante swept the leg of the Gentle Hand with long black hair. The man collapsed to the ground. The woman tried to run to save him, to take his place in the fight, but as she did Dante spoke.
“You want to know why I hate the Gentle Hand? Because they claimed they would save me from the Fall of the Yard, but when it came time to fly away…”
The dark-skinned woman skidded to a stop as he spoke, something dawning on her face that Dante couldn’t quite understand.
“… they gave my spot on the HST to an older girl whose father was flying it. They left me behind to serve themselves. Everything they ever promised was a lie. I almost died because everything the Gentle Hand ever preached was a lie.”
She stood like a statue, frozen, staring at him. He thought he saw tears forming in her dark eyes. Dante didn’t understand why she simply stood there, instead of fighting, but he seized the opportunity. He sprinted to Mercy, took her by the hand, and they ran away.
***
Hal watched from the ground as the Archon and the rogue suddenly disappeared. Her power, whatever it was, made them impossible to catch. There was no point in pursuing.
He levered himself up from where the Archon had tripped him, and walked over to Jayda. He took her hand.
“What’s wrong? Why did you stop fighting? Why are you crying?”
It took a long time to find her voice. When she did, it came only as the barest whisper. Hal had to lean in to hear.
“That was me,” Jayda said. “What he said about his seat on the hyperson being taken away, so the pilot could give his child a ride out. That was me. I took that seat.
“His name is Dante Matter. He was scheduled to be on the first flight out of the Yard when it fell, along with the other youngest children. I think he was about six.
“He’s right. The Gentle Hand left him behind at the Fall of the Yard. And it was my fault. I took his seat. He has every right to hate us.”