Champion (Legend 3)

“You speak with passion,” the President interrupts. “And I have no doubt that you’re doing great things as the Republic’s new leader. But a situation like this . . . The virus must first be contained. And I’ve heard the Colonies have already breached your borders.”

The President’s honey-gold eyes are piercingly bright. When Serge tries to speak up, he silences him immediately, never taking his eyes off Anden. “Let your Elector respond,” he says. Serge falls back into sullen silence, but not before I catch a smug look pass between the Senators. My temper rises. They—the Senator, the Antarctican President, even Anden’s own Princeps-Elect—are all taunting Anden in their own subtle ways. Interrupting him. Emphasizing his age. I look at Anden, quietly willing him to stand up for himself. Mariana nods once at him.

“Sir?” she says.

I’m relieved when Anden first shoots a disapproving look at Serge, then lifts his chin and calmly replies. “Yes. We’ve managed to hold them off for now, but they are right at the outskirts of our capital.”

The President leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. “So, there’s a possibility that this virus has already crossed into your territory?”

“Yes,” Anden replies.

The President is silent for a moment. Finally, he says, “What exactly do you want?”

“We need military support,” Anden replies. “Your army is the best in the world. Help us secure our borders. But most of all, help us find a cure. They’ve warned us that a cure is the only way they’ll retreat. And we need time to make that happen.”

The President tightens his lips and shakes his head once. “No military support, money, or supplies. I’m afraid you’re far too indebted to us for that. I can offer my scientists to help you find a cure for the disease. But I will not send my troops into an area infected with disease. It’s too dangerous.” When he sees the look on Anden’s face, his eyes harden. “Please keep us updated, as I hope as much as you do to see a resolution for this. I apologize that we can’t be of more help to you, Elector.”

Anden leans on the table and laces his fingers together. “What can I do to persuade you to help us, Mr. President?” he says.

The President sits back in his chair and regards Anden for a moment with a thoughtful look. It chills me. He’s been waiting for Anden to say this. “You’re going to have to offer me something worth my while,” he finally says. “Something your father never offered.”

“And what’s that?”

“Land.”

My heart twists painfully at those words. Giving up land. In order to save our country, we’ll have to sell ourselves to another nation. Something about it feels as violating as selling our own bodies. Giving up your own child to a stranger. Tearing away a piece of our home. I look at Anden, trying to decipher the emotions behind his composed exterior.

Anden stares at him for a long moment. Is he thinking about what his father would say in a situation like this? Is he wondering whether he’s as good a leader to his people? Finally, Anden bows his head. Graceful, even in humility. “I’m open to discussion,” he says quietly.

The President nods once. I can see the small smile at the corners of his lips. “Then we’ll discuss,” he replies. “If you find a cure to this virus, and if we agree to the land, then I promise you military support. Until then, the world will have to deal with this as we do with any pandemic.”

“And what do you mean by that, sir?” Anden asks.

“We will need to seal your ports and borders, as well as the Colonies’. Other nations will need to be notified. I’m sure you understand.”

Anden’s silent. I hope the President doesn’t see the stricken look on my face. The entire Republic is going to be quarantined.

JUNE’S LEFT FOR ANTARCTICA. EDEN’S GONE TO LOS ANGELES with the second wave of evacuees. The rest of us stay down in this bunker, listening as the Colonies’ assault continues. This time the fighting sounds worse. Sometimes the earth trembles so much that fine dust rains down on us from the underground bunker’s ceiling, coating lines of evacuees with gray ash as they hurry onto the waiting trains. Rotating lights over the tunnel paint us all in flashes of red. I wonder how other bunkers across the city are holding up. The evacuations grow more urgent as each train leaves on the hour and is replaced by a new one. Who knows how long this tunnel will stay stable. Now and then I see soldiers shoving civilians back into line when they get unruly. “Single file!” they bark out, hoisting their guns threateningly. Their faces are hidden behind riot masks that I know all too damn well. “Dissidents will be left behind, no questions asked. Move along, people!”

I stay at one end of the bunker as the dust continues to rain down, huddled with Pascao, Tess, and the other remaining Patriots. At first a few soldiers tried to hustle me onto one of the trains, but they left me alone after I lashed out at them with a string of curses. Now they ignore me. I watch people load onto the train for a few seconds before I return to my conversation with Pascao. Tess sits beside me, although the unspoken tension between us makes her feel much farther away. My ever-present headache pounds a dull rhythm against the back of my head.

“You saw more of the city than I did,” I whisper to Pascao. “How do you think the Armor is holding up?”

“Not great,” Pascao responds. “In fact, with another country helping the Colonies, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Armor breaks down in a matter of days with this kind of assault. It’s not gonna hold for long, trust me.”