Here we go folks . A bit of a character-building chapter for you. Hope you enjoy~

-Plum

28 – Not My Rebellion

“Care to elaborate?” Gladia asked, turning her face away from the sun to peer at Hector through her large, dark lenses.

He didn’t respond right away, but looked up into the pale sky. A row of tiny lights flickered high above the atmosphere—gravity platforms, put up during the expansion era to help build Mars’s atmosphere. “Any drones up there?”

Sparling pulled the latch on his door, opening it. As he swung his legs out of the buggy, he said, “No. They’re back at the ranch.” He stood, wincing and pressing his hands into his lower back, and added, “Answer the lady.”

“Your cousin,” Hector said, refocusing on Gladia, “thought he had me beaten. He gloated for a while before I killed him, and one of the things he mentioned was a traitor among your brother’s people.”

“Who?” she asked.

“That’s the trick. He told me who the traitor used to be, which won’t mean anything to you; the reason I know him is because of a personal grudge. He’s changed his skin since then, and his name. I just know he’s close to Loyal, and he’s feeding information to the Lautrec family.”

“And you waited until now to tell me?” Gladia moved around the buggy to stand before Hector. Sparling paced to the side, still rubbing his back, apparently content to listen.

Hector frowned, shrugging. “I didn’t trust you as much back then. I didn’t trust your cousin—there were and still are a lot of unknowns.”

“All the time we were on Maidensong? What about after? I trusted you to the point I gave up my ship! I put my life in your hands—my son’s life!”

Hector looked at himself, reflected in her glasses, and his scowl deepened as she stared at him. He could guess the things she was thinking. He could feel her judgment, and something broke in him just a little. “I was being selfish. I want to kill that son of a bitch so badly it makes my skin itch. I knew that if I told you, you’d talk to Loyal, and then he’d go on a witch hunt. There was a chance I’d lose my shot.”

“So it wasn’t about trust,” Gladia said, slowly nodding. “Let me get this straight. You put everything at risk so you’d have a chance to kill someone who wronged you in the past?”

“Put yourself in my shoes. This—” Hector waved to Gladia and Sparling. “—isn’t my rebellion. I told you I’d do your thing; I’d get into the Games and take a shot at the Governor. I also told you I had my own agenda.”

Gladia looked away, staring toward the horizon as Sparling finally spoke. “It doesn’t matter at this point. It might not have been Hector’s intention, but the timing might still work for us. Loyal doesn’t know the full extent of our plan. He knows we’ve got a few different angles we’re looking at to take out Drusus. When he comes here, we’ll have a shot at getting the mole before he ruins everything or before he gets away.”

Hector saw Gladia clench her fists, still looking away from him, as she replied, “Only by pure luck. Only because Loyal didn’t want to know the details while he was on Luna, working among the enemy.”

“Well, sure, we can thank your brother’s paranoia and his conviction to the cause, but…” Sparling shrugged. “That’s the whole point. He’s never trusted everyone in his circle—not with everything.”

Gladia nodded, Hector forgotten for the moment as she turned and paced. “Compartmentalization. I suppose it’s not exactly luck, then, is it?” When she turned back to Sparling, she pointedly avoided letting her eyes linger on Hector. “We’ll need to be careful about what we reveal and when. I’ll want Loyal alone.”

“He knows we’re training a fighter. It’s why he wanted today’s footage.”

“So stall. Have your AI put something together—don’t reveal Hector’s aura.” Gladia finally looked at Hector. “I’m assuming that’s what you’re worried about?”

Hector nodded. “My aura, my blade-fighting style.”

“And what do you know about your old enemy? How will you help us deduce who they are?” Sparling asked, filling in the silence as Gladia stared at the horizon again.

“Same kind of thing. His aura isn’t all that common, but if I can see him fight—watch him move—I’ll recognize him.”

Sparling nodded, and as silence fell over the impromptu meeting again, Hector sat on the buggy’s fender, finally starting to succumb to his dehydration and exhaustion. After a dozen seconds or so, Gladia turned to look at him, pulling her dark glasses off to reveal her eyes. To Hector’s dismay, they were red-rimmed and the whites around her golden irises were bloodshot. Had he made her cry?

No, that’s got to be from earlier. Why then?

“I suppose you won’t tell us who this person used to be? Worried we’ll learn too much about your past?”

Hector shrugged. “It’s not relevant.”

Gladia leaned toward him, emotion thick in her voice as she said, “So you say!” He met her stare, unflinching, even though something inside him was crawling into a ball and dying. Maybe she saw it; maybe she recognized that he felt he’d crossed a one-way bridge, because she turned to Sparling and said, “My brother has fighters—men who Flint respects, and who aren’t known on Mars. Some cosmetic surgery, some new identities…”

Sparling nodded, clearing his throat. “I always thought that would be a good option. The Games are for the common folk—for the lowborn—but like you said, a new identity…”

Hector had heard enough; he knew they were either bluffing or serious, and either way, he wasn’t going to sit there and let them talk around him like he wasn’t present. He stood and started walking, his boots crunching through the sandy soil. He felt petulant and small, but he didn’t care. Let them put someone else in the Games. I don’t care as long as I kill Lucien. I’ve got Black Wing now. I can find the rest of my vengeance on my own.

//Hector—// Evie started to say, but Gladia called after him, interrupting her.

“Hector!”

He stopped and turned to face her.

“I’ll need you to write up what you know about this traitor—whatever you’re willing to share. Send it to my AI.”

He nodded, turned, and started jogging.

#

A while later, Hector sat on the side of a hill, looking down at Sparling’s ranch, trying to gather his thoughts and cool down before he ran into someone who might push him over the edge. He figured Sparling’s “wolves” would have a bone to pick with him, and if they started something, he was in the kind of mood where he might just finish it. Of course, Gladia and the old man had passed him in the buggy, so they were down there somewhere, too. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to them, either.

The truth was, he didn’t feel like talking to anyone. He’d already snapped at Evie so bluntly that the AI was giving him the silent treatment. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. His reasons for avoiding people like Lemon or Sass were different; it wasn’t anger or bitterness that kept him from them, but shame.

After he sat there a while, watching distant figures move from building to building, he finally broke down and said, “I’m just mad at myself, Evie. Honestly, I didn’t think about it all that much—keeping Lucien to myself. Gladia wasn’t a friend when I learned that information; she was someone I was using. When did that change, though? Why do I feel like shit?”

//I don’t know.// At first, Hector thought that was all she’d say. She was mad at him, too, after all, but a moment later, she continued, //I suppose at some point you decided you liked her—that she’s a friend. Maybe it’s the way she treats Lemon, or how she thinks about Kit and his wellbeing. It could be her generosity with the others, even Orin and Demon.//

She stopped, and Hector thought she was done again, only for her to continue:

//When Mathews was sick, she gave you everything you needed. When you decided we should abandon Maidensong, you saw how much it hurt her, but she did it anyway—because you said it was the right move. Maybe it’s because you like Freddy, and he’s the way he is because Gladia raised him.//

Hector lay back on the rough, brittle grass, watching as wispy clouds drifted by. Once again, the orbital platforms twinkled, reminding him he was on Mars, but he didn’t care. He felt the pull of the planet—and Sparling’s artificial gravity generator—and he felt grounded. “You sure know how to hit a guy where it hurts,” he muttered.

Long before he saw who they belonged to, he heard the crunch of footsteps approaching. As they drew near, he played a game with himself, trying to figure who they belonged to. He was sure they belonged to a man; none of the women at the ranch weighed enough to make those heavy, grinding steps. That ruled out Demon, too, and even Freddy. It wasn’t Burton; he’d hear the coach breathing through his crooked nose.

When the steps were just ten or so meters distant, he settled on his visitor being either one of Sparling’s fighters—maybe Bastian—or Orin. He hoped it was Orin.

“Yo, boss,” the big man called, and Hector smiled inwardly. “Brought you some water. Some of the others wanted to come out, but Burton told them to leave you be—figures you’re pissed about getting jumped while you were on your run.”

Hector pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at the big man, watching him clamber up the last few meters of the slope. “I messaged them, told them I was good—just clearing my head.”

“I know, boss, but it ain’t nothing to me. I could use the walk, and I figured you were probably thirsty as hell.” He unslung a pack and, as he fell to his rump with a grunt, handed it over. There were six bottles of water inside, along with a box of nutrient bars.

Hector twisted the tab off one of the bottles and drained it in four long gulps. “You weren’t wrong.”

“You think I could have one of those bars?” Orin asked.

Hector chuckled, ripping the box open and taking out two bars. He handed one to Orin.

Orin tore it open and chomped a third of it off, chewing noisily. After a minute, while Hector peeled the wrapper off his bar, the big bruiser said, “These ones are pretty good. Taste like fruit.”

“Yeah,” Hector agreed.

“That was one of the things I liked about that rental—the one by the rift.”

Hector looked at Orin, watching as his jaw clenched with each bite. “What’s that?”

“Oh, there were trees out there—the kind that grow fruit. Never seen that before.”

Hector grunted. “Yeah, that was a nice little town.”

They chewed in silence for a while, and then Hector downed another bottle of water. When he got himself a second bar, he offered one to Orin, but the other man shook his head, leaning back to lie on his back. “I’m going to save room for dinner. Can’t you smell the smoke? They’ve been cooking barbeque all day.”

Hector frowned, thinking about an awkward dinner with Gladia. Would she glower, or would she pretend she was fine? Had she already written him off—not worth being upset about? “Seen Lemon lately?”

“Yeah. She and the rich girl—Iris—were working with some tutors for the kiddo.”

“Working with them?”

“Planning his lessons, I guess. You know—since we’ll be here a few months while you go through the Games. That was always the thing I hated the most about them.”

Hector frowned, chewing while he tried to make sense of the statement. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I mean the waiting. You watch the first Game, pick out the people you want to root for, and then you gotta wait weeks until the next one. I guess it’s all so that the contestants can train and rest, and they can set up the next course. Well, Grando said it was so they could build hype.”

Hector snorted, nodding. “I’m sure Grando’s on the mark. Do they sell merchandise?”

“Oh yeah. Last year, me and the boys bought hats for Red Crew.” Orin chuckled, and though his eyes were closed, Hector could imagine he was picturing the scene—him and some of Grando’s other thugs sitting around with matching hats watching one of the Games.

“Red Crew, huh?”

Orin grunted in acknowledgment. “During the third Game, there was a team event, and Red Crew kicked ass.” He opened one eye and looked at Hector. “Least I won’t have to wonder who I should root for this year.”

The words opened the raw wound in Hector’s spirit, and he looked away. “True, buddy.”

“Hey, you heard from Grando?”

“Well, Gladia had a guy look in on him. You know that, right?”

“Right, right. I just figured…” Orin trailed off. Then he changed the subject. “You sure as hell can run. You know that, boss?” When Hector just snorted softly, he added, “Those dumbasses who jumped you learned what’s what. Good thing, too, because they were talking a lot of shit while you were laid up.”

“That right?”

“Oh yeah. They were being real dicks during Burton’s drills, too. No big deal, though—me and Demon and the girls stuck together.”

Hector sat up and dug through the bag for another bottle of water and nutrient bar. Something about Orin’s unassuming companionship loosened his tongue, and while he ate, he said, “You know, I think I messed things up with Gladia.”

Again, Orin opened one eye and peered at him, this time his face taking on almost comical disbelief. “You and the Royal? I didn’t know you were romantic—”

“No, not like that, man. I mean as a friend—an ally. I think I burned her trust.”

“How’s that? Seems to me you’ve been pulling her bacon out of one fire after another.”

“I held some information from her—some information that was pretty important. She knows it now.” Hector shrugged. “Things are different between us.”

Orin made a dismissive sound, flicking his fingers. “You had your reasons, right?”

Hector nodded, but for some reason, he felt like saying more. “Well, I told her my reasons—I wanted to kill a guy, and I didn’t want her or her brother to scare him off.”

Orin opened his other eye and turned toward Hector. “So? What’s the problem?”

“I guess she doesn’t agree that was worth risking all her plans over.”

“Maybe she’s never had that feeling in here.” Orin thumped his chest. “That hot, burning feeling that won’t go away no matter what. I felt it a few times back when my mom was alive. When one of her dates would get too rough.” He closed his eyes again, and Hector watched as his scarred lips twisted into a snarl. “Nothing would make it go away, not ’til my fists were red and dripping.” When he opened his eyes, bloodshot and furious from some vivid memory, he asked, “You feel like that, boss?”

“Yeah, Orin,” Hector replied, his throat constricting as images of the Conti children danced through his mind’s eye. “You’re damn right I do.”

“Then you need to explain that to the lady. Let her know why!”