Fiona glares at him across her scattered array of papers. “I will not allow children to fight in this war.”
“What, and you think we’re adults?” Peter asks with a humorless laugh that sends a chill down my spine. “We’re kids ourselves. And if we’re going to win this, we need all the help we can get.”
“We could consider accepting those who are gifted,” I say quietly. “They’re stronger and would be better able to hold their own.”
Fiona stares at me incredulously. “Do you even hear yourself right now? If we stoop to fighting this war with gifted children, we’re no better than the military or even the rebels. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it with morals. We’re not the same as them. We’ll do this and we’ll do it right.”
No one argues the point, and internally, guilt crawls up my lungs. Do I really think it’s okay to fight with children so long as they’re strong? Is what Jay said about me a lifetime ago true—that I think the end justifies the means? I don’t want to think about to what extent that’s true.
But thinking about Jay reminds me of Al, and another kind of guilt replaces the first. I know she’s reaching her limit with me, but I don’t know what to do. Besides, I’m already stretched thin trying to help the Order without taking on the complicated problem of solving the tension between us. I need to focus right now.
Trist must sense the uneasiness in the air, as he tends to do, because he switches the topic. “We have Sakchai’s Gate to get Outside at least, but we are short on weapons. And the ability to move many people at one time. Some members have bycs, but that will not be enough.”
“And rallying the Order in the meantime?” Peter asks, still in that same lifeless voice. “We have to get everyone to agree on this before we can do anything. A two to one split isn’t gonna cut it.”
Silence meets his words. We all know that, of course. What we need to do more than anything is figure out a way to convince everyone that this is the right course to take. Not everyone has to participate—I don’t want everyone to participate—but if there are doubts circulating when we go into this, not only will it hurt morale before we’ve even begun, but the feelings of negativity will only get worse as time goes on. Especially if things don’t go well at first.
“We need a way to reassure everyone,” Fiona says.
“Reassurance before going into battle will only sound like a naive lie,” I say. “I’ve been in the military long enough to know that. We have to be honest and painfully blunt with everyone upfront.”
“Doing it like that isn’t exactly going to encourage support,” Fiona says.
“Giving everyone a false sense of security will only backfire on us later when, surprise, surprise, we start losing people and money from spending what little funds we have on this.” I cross my arms and dare her to contradict me. “What we need is to convince everyone it’s worth the risk. To convince them that the outcome is worth the sacrifices.” Again, Jay’s words come back to me, hauntingly clear. The end justifies the means. That’s really what you believe?
Stop that, I tell myself. This is different. This is war. Of course sacrifices will have to be made. Sacrifices have to be made to accomplish anything worth doing. And winning peace is worth it.
“I think what we need,” Peter says quietly, “is for the Order to hear from Walker.”
* * *
The assembled Order members—all 1,384 of them—still as Walker strides across the stage of the main hall. Silence descends, although it more closely resembles the calm in the eye of a storm than any real sense of peace.
“I want to thank everyone for coming tonight.” Walker’s lightly accented voice echoes through the huge hall even at a normal volume. “It has been a long, fraught few weeks. I’m sure you’ve all heard many things over the past few days about the Order’s next move. I would like to clarify that for you now.”
No one speaks. Waiting. Just as before.
“All of us in charge of running the Order have agreed that joining the war against the rebels is our best chance of bringing true peace to the sector—to both gifted and ungifted.”
A few raised voices, quickly hushed by their fellows. Wait until the end. Let’s hear what she has to say first.
My heart hammers against my chest. This is our only chance to get things right. Everything has to be perfect.
“I know many of you have concerns about this direction,” Walker continues. “And rightly so. We were founded on ideals of peace, and I have no intention of discarding them. However, ideals are only that. Without action, they remain an unattainable fantasy. To win true peace, we must defeat those who threaten our home. I am not suggesting a full-frontal attack of any kind. Our strikes will be quick, designed to hit hard in the most effective places with minimal risk to our members.”
A pause to allow for anyone to speak up if they wish. Silence.
“It is perfectly acceptable if you do not wish to participate in this war. There will be deaths. There will be sacrifices in every way imaginable. We will certainly not force this onto anyone, and we will not accept anyone under the age of fourteen as part of our fighting forces. You can leave the Order if you so wish—although I hope you will stay and support those of us who choose to fight.”
Walker’s voice rises, filling every crevice and corner of the immense hall. “If our aim is truly peace and understanding, then we cannot sit idly by while others fight and risk their lives to protect this sector. Not when there is something we can do to help. If you wish to see a future where everyone can live freely together, then we must put an end to those who seek to destroy us and our homes. We must fight, and we must win.”
The last words are barely out when a roar of cheers fills the hall. Most of it comes from those who already supported joining the war—but a surprising amount comes from people who’d been hesitant, now wrapped up in the energy of the people around them and the sense that this is right.
Walker bows deeply to the sea of people, then disappears offstage into the room where Fiona, Trist, Syon, and Peter are already waiting.
“Well?” Fiona asks. “We have the Order’s backing. What’s our next step?”
I release my hold over her power crystal, and with it, the illusion of Walker falls away from me. Just as easily as I removed the illusion, I shed the Sector Four accent I grew up with. “Those two rebel bases our scouts found about a month ago,” I say. “Pull all the information we have on them.”
9
ERIK
TWO WEEKS WITH the rebels, and it feels like I’ve been here for ages already. After the first few days, everyone stopped being so cautious around me. When I walk through the makeshift town, kids run up to me and start blabbering like I know who they are. I get dragged into games of ball, talks of the sector, and storytelling sessions about my past. It doesn’t sound like I was close with any of the gifted in the town, but they tell me about raids we went on together, how everyone looked up to me—still looks up to me, by the sounds of it. It makes me uncomfortable. Especially when I know I’m betraying all these people looking at me with shining eyes.