Prologue - Broken Alliance

Read the Prologue to Book 2 in the Tracer Series - Broken Alliance

David E Graham

4/28/202514 min read

Prologue

Before.

All they knew was pain. Pain from hunger, lack of sleep, and persistent cold. It was odd for someone to be cold on such a humid and hot planet. Yet, when one is perpetually soaked to the bone, cold would find them. They had no home anymore. It was buried under rubble, just like their school. Just like their old friends. Just like their parents.

Bex stumbled again. Their brother gave them a sharp glance and quickly put his finger to his lips in response to the noise their clumsiness had caused. This was not the time or the place for them to be thinking of their pain. If they wanted any chance of respite from at least one of those pains tonight, they had to be sharp. They had to be on their toes. Mistakes got you killed, or worse.

“Do you have it?” their brother asked, leaning at the side of the alley.

Bex nodded, pulled their ragged pack from their shoulder, and began to fish inside.

“Not yet,” Crighton said, putting a hand on the top of the bag to stop them. His eyes darted across the alley, and focused on a guard who smoked a cigarette and leaned against the warehouse’s block wall. “We need to get closer.”

Bex nodded again, though Crighton wasn’t looking their way. He had a way of understanding them without Bex ever having to speak a word. Bex preferred it that way. They didn’t communicate like the other kids on the street. They were different in that way.

Crighton pushed them back into the darkness as a group of strangers shuffled past on the sidewalk. They were obscured here, a rare spot in the refugee camps that wasn’t crawling with Lawminders or drone hocks. It was hard to say why, but they’d scouted this block for days now, and it was always the same. The same man stood guard nearly every night, same rounds, same rotations of patrol.

Crighton was eager to find out what was inside. Why it was so important to guard. It had to be supplies, he assumed, for the refugee camps. Could be medical, could be food storage, or both. His eyes had been alight as he told Bex his theories. Bex always liked listening to Crighton. And Crighton loved to talk – he always had a scheme. He kept them fed though, as best he could.

Crighton acted like the older brother, though in truth he was at least half a year younger than Bex, and a head shorter. He was better built in his frame than they were though. He even had muscles, an odd site on a nine year old, but hard living did all manner of things to bodies.

He treated them differently than the others. He wasn’t bothered by their strange frame, tall beyond their years yet underdeveloped at the same time. Caught between adolescence and… something else. Something that left them sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the other street urchins on this side of the camps. Most of them shared the same symptoms: malnourished, underdeveloped, and small for their age – not Bex. They’d sprouted like an unruly weed. It made keeping clothes that fit a gods-forsaken task. They’d stolen more shoes and pants the last month than food. Something Crighton was all too eager to point out in his own way.

Crighton’s way was a caring way even if it didn’t sound like it to outsiders. He just wanted what was best for Bex. Crighton truly cared about them. Someone once said he only cared because of the gadgets Bex built, but that wasn’t it, and if anything that seemed the one thing he disliked about Bex the most. Complaining they horded too many pieces of tech, things that served no purpose and should be traded for food.

“Will it work this time?” Crighton asked, once the sidewalks were again clear of foot traffic. “We can’t afford this not to work again.”

“It’ll work, C,” Bex said, feigning their most assured tone.

He eyed Bex, a moment, pulling his gaze from the warehouse guard. “If we don’t pull this off we don’t eat, B,” he said. “If we don’t eat today, I don’t know the next time we’ll even have a chance.”

“We can still go to the camps, it’s not too…”

“We can’t,” he said, cutting Bex off. “If we go to the camps, the Lawminders will try to split us up, try to put us in the orphanages again. I won’t let that happen. We don’t split up, Bex.”

Bex nodded. “It’ll work.”

The guard tossed his cigarette butt into the puddle at the edge of the sidewalk. The street was so quiet at this hour, that Bex could hear the burning ember snuff out as it made contact with the water. A moment passed, and the guard began his patrol around the building, moving in a clockwise pattern to the otherside of the building.

“Now, quietly,” Crighton said, motioning for Bex to follow his lead.

They ran in a half-crouch across the empty street, careful not to splash through the water, and remaining as quiet as possible. The guard disappeared around the corner of the warehouse as they approached the front of the building.

A chain link fence separated them from the side entrance. The only logical way into the building, as the front door seemed a sure way to end up nabbed. But they needed time. They needed a distraction. That was Bex’s area of expertise.

Bex knelt beside Crighton, who’d come to a stop in front of the fence. He was already pulling out the cutting torch as Bex pulled their own bag into their lap and rummaged through it quickly. A moment later they had the device. They held it up inspecting, hoping the makeshift waterproofing of their bag had worked to keep the circuits dry. It appeared it had.

“At the corner,” Crighton said, pointing in the direction the guard had wandered. “We need him as far away from us as possible.”

Bex took off across the front of the building, tossing their bag back around their shoulder and staying low. They glanced about the dark street and saw no signs of new visitors – that was good, they didn’t need surprises tonight. They fumbled to a stop, their too-big feet and too-tight shoes causing them to misstep and nearly land face first on the damp sidewalk. Luckily, they caught themselves with one hand and spun to lean against the corner of the building. They breathed out a long protracted breath and glanced back toward Crighton at the other end, still cutting the fence. He didn’t look up from his work, but shook his head all the same. An unspoken, I told you to be careful, sounded in Bex’s head. Bex closed their eyes and attempted to steel themself. They couldn’t let their brother down, not tonight.

The guard was nearing the back corner of the long warehouse building, as Bex peered around the corner locating them. They needed to make sure he didn’t get too far away, or they’d miss their chance at the distraction. They crept quickly down the alleyway in his direction, hoping the darkness would be enough to obscure them. For once, they wished the rain was still falling, it would have added an extra layer of camouflage to the sound of their steps. As luck would have it, it seemed they were just quiet enough or the guard was oblivious, as they made it about halfway up the building unnoticed.

Bex came to a halt before a small grouping of trash bins in the alleyway. They carefully set the device inside one of the trash bins, pushing it down far enough to not be easily seen. They pulled their hand back and grimaced at the gunk that had collected on it, from gods knows what, and then rubbed it on the seat of their pants. After checking the guards location once more, they turned and scurried back to the front of the building.

Crighton met Bex’s eyes as they rounded the corner, and Bex nodded sharply letting him know they were ready. Then they pressed the small makeshift switch they gripped in their left hand. Nothing. No, no, no… not now, Bex thought in exasperation, pressing the switch again then again. Bex looked up in panic at Crighton who was slowly starting to move their direction, as if to assist.

“Come on in, we’re having a sale! Once in a lifetime offer! You’ll be glad you did! One day only! You won’t want to miss these deals!” A loud booming voice shouted from the alleyway behind Bex.

They let out a long sigh, and glanced carefully around the corner where their device echoed the loud recording again, on a loop. The guard shot around the back corner of the warehouse, a pistol in his hands, as he searched for the source of the voice. He looked high and low as the sound bellowed out once more, causing him to dart back against the wall uncertain, eyes searching for danger.

Bex felt relief wash over them, it was working, they had the time they needed. A hand grasped their shoulder and they nearly let out a scream, but then they saw Crighton’s face close to theirs and his hand came up to meet their lips in a calm, silencing fashion. Then he jerked his head toward the hole he’d made in the fence.

“Time to go,” he said, pulling at their raincoat hastening Bex to follow.

The side door to the warehouse was locked, but not with anything Crighton hadn’t seen before. It took him no time at all to pick the cylinder and release the mechanical lock. Bex had watched him do this dozens of times, and he was getting very proficient. He’d tried to teach them how it was done, but they didn’t seem to have the nimble fingers required for it. Their fingers like their feet seemed to ignore their wants and desires, opting to think for themselves at the worst of times. They hoped they’d figure this body of theirs out one day.

There were no signs of digital alarms at the door frame, and Crighton pushed through, Bex trailing behind. The warehouse had a low, dim, red lighting that cast long foreboding shadows about the walls. Boxes and crates lined wide and tall shelves that seemed to extend the entire length of the building. They were aligned in four separate rows from what Bex was able to make out. Each one was packed full of goods. The absolute motherlode, as Crighton would have put it. Bex glanced at him, noticing he was uncharacteristically quiet for such a moment of triumph. His eyes were wide, as he peered up at the first row of shelves, his mouth agape.

“Think there’s food in any of these?” Bex asked, in a low whisper.

Crighton nodded slowly, then seemed to regain control from his moment of awe, and pulled a pry bar from his pack. “One way to find out,” he said.

Bex followed suit, pulling their own pry bar out of their shoulder bag and moving toward the nearest crate. It was a black, unmarked, metallic crate roughly three feet wide and half that in height. It was sealed with a magnetic lock on the outside, which Bex pried free with some effort. They grunted at the exertion, then let the pry bar fall to the ground with the lock. Using both hands they heaved the surprisingly heavy lid open.

The crate blasted cold air across Bex’s face as the seal broke free and the lid popped open with a hydraulic hiss. The contents were obscured by the frosted air lifting up from the container in a white cloud. Whatever this was, it was perishable, they hoped so badly that it was food. If all these containers were food, even two or three of them could feed them and their brother for weeks. Maybe even some of the other refugees.

Bex waved a hand through the cloud, parting it, to peer inside. There were dozens of small items, each one individually packaged in a white bubble wrapping. Bex reached in and pulled one from the top of the pile. Inspecting it in the dim lighting was hard to do, but it appeared to have a series of serial numbers across the top, followed by a set of dates. The package itself seemed to be elongated and flat, but the item inside was almost a perfect cube, barely larger than the palm of Bex’s hand.

“What is it?” Crighton asked, having stopped working on his own container to peer over Bex’s shoulder at the package. “Frozen food, maybe?”

Bex shook their head, and flipped the package over in their hand. The underside was a clear film, allowing them to see the cube inside. Microcircuits trailed the cube’s sides and a dim green light glowed inside the central structure.

“Gannit,” Crighton mumbled, seeing the circuitry. “Not food. Let’s keep looking, one of these has to have food, right?”

Bex couldn’t pull their eyes away from the package, the circuitry of the cube was immaculate. Finely fabricated, high-tech, and unusual. They began to break the seal to get a closer look then…

“Wait,” Crighton said with a hiss in their direction. “Someone is coming.”

Bex froze and began to listen intently. Sure enough, their distraction had stopped. The guard must have found it and destroyed it, Bex assumed. Now they were on their way to investigate the obvious infiltration in the fence. They’d be inside the warehouse soon.

Sure enough, keys rattled at the front entrance, prompting Crighton to run to Bex and grab their arm.

“We have to go,” he said, his eyes wild. “We’re out of time. Let’s grab what we can, maybe we can trade these, whatever they are.”

The two of them stuffed the cube-like contents of the crate into their bags with haste, only managing a few handfuls of the items. Then scrambled toward the side entrance where they’d entered. Then that door shot open right before them. Light spilled in from the street lamps beyond, causing them to push back against the first of the large shelves, hunting for shadows and concealment.

Crighton held Bex’s hand, something he’d done only once before, when Bex had been alone and afraid. When they met for the very first time. Was it for his sake or theirs? Bex couldn’t say, but it helped to calm them just the same.

Crighton pulled at Bex’s hand and ducked around the corner of the large shelf toward the back of the warehouse. They had to get away, they had to. If they were caught here, they’d be forced into the orphanages again, separated. That sent terror through Bex’s spine and down to their legs, causing them to stumble as Crighton continued to drag them onward with haste.

Gasping for breath, and struggling to keep up Bex dropped to their knees, their hand slipping free of Crighton’s. They were so close to the rear exit, so close to freedom, they could see… wait, there was no door here. But they had to get up, had to will themselves to move. Had to try. Crighton stopped a few paces away, and turned, reaching out a hand to help Bex back to their feet.

“We can’t stop, Bex,” Crighton hissed, as he tried in vain to pull Bex to their feet.

“I don’t see a way out,” Bex said, peering past him toward the back wall of the warehouse. It appeared to be solid, with no direct exit. Only small ventilation shafts for natural air to circulate inward.

“We can get out through the shafts,” Crighton said, studying the same wall. Then he looked back to Bex with renewed determination. Bex nodded, and pushed themselves back to their feet with Crighton’s helping hand.

The two of them began to sprint again, only a short distance this time before they reached the vent cover. Crighton pulled his torch out once more and cut free the bolts at the corners of the grating then dropped it to the ground. The fan blades beyond were easily ripped free and Bex boosted him up into the shaft. He squirmed and pulled himself inside and began crawling slowly through the short shaft. That’s when Bex froze.

“I’m too big,” they realized, a sinking sense of dread washing over them. “You have to leave me behind.”

“You can make it Bex, I know you can,” Crighton responded, his voice distant and muffled inside the shaft. The sound of his torch popping on again as he cut free the outside grate.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through Bex’s skull and down the length of their body. Confusion gave way to darkness as their mind drifted and their eyes closed. They could hear shouting but that grew more distant as they faded into unconsciousness – at least Crighton would be safe, right?

***

Cold steel greeted Bex as they awoke. It was dark, or perhaps they were still dazed and their eyes couldn’t focus. They blinked furiously as pain shot through their skull and caused them to let out a soft groan. Consciousness slowly returned and they realized they were laying upon a flat metallic and unforgiving slab a few feet off the ground. At least it’s dry, they thought. They were inside a dark room somewhere, but where? And where was Crighton?

“Bex,” a voice said, seeming distant. “Bex, you’re awake!”

The voice seemed stronger now, the sound still distant, but Bex could tell it was Crighton’s voice. Good, he was ok, they thought. Wait, no, he should be gone, far from here – wherever here was.

“Crighton?” Bex’s voice croaked, and they coughed to try to strengthen it, then repeated.

“It’s me Bex,” he replied. Why did he seem far away?

Bex rose from the slab with some effort, their brain pounding with pressure and pain. Had they fallen? They rubbed at the back of their head where the pain emanated from and realized it was bandaged. What had happened? The last thing they remembered was Crighton escaping and then…

“We’re in a detention center, Bex,” Crighton said, seemingly sensing Bex’s confusion. “We’ve been down here for hours now. They did give me some food, and bandaged your head, but they won’t tell me what’s happening.”

“You,” Bex began, still struggling through the pain, their mind clouded. “You got away, what, how did they find you?”

“We don’t split up, Bex,” he replied. His response made Bex realize what had truly happened. Bex had been hit on the head, attacked and captured. Crighton must have turned himself in for their sake, just so Bex wouldn’t be alone.

A beep sounded at a control panel in the distance, then a metal door creaked open. Light shot down the corridor, allowing Bex to finally make sense of their surroundings. They were alone in a small cell. Crighton stood in a cell of his own across the corridor from them, leaning against the door to try and see them. They were separated by translucent walls, the doorway to each a solid and sturdy material that had a slot for food trays and little else. No wonder he sounds so far away, Bex thought.

Two sets of footfalls could be heard growing closer to them now. Lights began to flick on in the corridor as those that approached seemed to trigger them with each passing step. Then, a sharp burst of light blinded Bex and forced them to close their eyes. The pain from their head wound pulsed wildly, as they huddled there on the slab, knees up, arms pulling their legs close to their chest.

“Step back,” a gruff voice said.

Bex squinted to see two men standing between their cell and Crighton’s, they were addressing Crighton who stepped back slowly from his cell door.

“Remain at least three paces from the door, and do not approach, or you will be pacified,” the voice continued. Ominous and booming. It sounded like a practiced command and not one given with malice, just a simple pointed fact. Crighton wisely did as commanded and tugged at a collar upon his neck as if remembering previous pain. Bex realized they wore the same collar.

The two men slowly turned to regard Bex, who struggled to keep one eye open peering at them, with the bright lights overhead stabbing at their mind like knives. The tall gruff man was flanked by a shorter, leaner man who wore business attire. His sharp suit was a stark contrast to the larger man who wore padded armor, a jailer’s uniform; they'd seen similar ones before in the camps. He was armed with a baton and wore a helmet with a face shield. The other man, however, had no weapons Bex could discern but was that Bex’s distraction device in his hand?

“Which of you made this device?” The smaller well dressed man asked, holding it up and turning slowly between the two cells for each of them to see.

Bex didn’t respond. Partly out of defiance, but also they weren’t sure they could manage it through the pain either. Crighton too remained silent.

“Come now,” the man continued, after getting no answer from them. “If you wish to eat, if you wish to be free, if you wish to find success; you will answer my question. Which of you made this device?”

Crighton glanced at Bex, and then back to the man. A look of resignation seemed to flash upon his face, or was it desperation. At that moment Bex knew he was about to speak up, and they almost fumbled to the floor in an attempt to stop him. If they took him, Bex was sure they’d never see him again. Fear boiled up from their heart and tightened their throat, constricting it tightly, they would be alone again.

“I did,” the inevitable words came from their brother’s mouth. “I made it.”

Bex wanted to shout, no, wanted to argue and fight and struggle and make them see… maybe they could convince them that they made it together. Maybe they wouldn’t separate them then. But they could only gasp.

“Good, lad,” the well dressed man said. “Davos can use enterprising minds like yours. I have a contract to offer you. Will you accept?”

Bex could see Crighton’s face tensing with apprehension, they knew his mind was racing, trying to decide what to do. Trying to decide if they could accept the deal and leave Bex behind, forgotten. Bex reached outward in vain toward Crighton, then slumped over in exhaustion and pain, dipping again into unconsciousness, and collapsing onto the metal slab.