Champion (Legend 3)

The phony surrender’s over; the ceasefire has ended. The final fight for the Republic has begun.

WHEN I WAS FIFTEEN, I BROKE INTO A BANK IN LOS ANGELES after guards standing at its back entrance didn’t believe I could do it in ten seconds. The night before, I had made a detailed mental checklist of the layout of that bank, noting every foothold and window and ledge, and guesstimated every floor inside. I waited until its guards rotated at midnight, and then I snuck into the building’s basement. There, I set a tiny explosive on the vault’s lock. There was no way I could break in at night without triggering their alarms . . . but the next morning, when guards headed down to the vault to check on the inventory, most of the laser-guided alarms throughout the building would be off. I timed my entrance the next day to coincide. As I taunted the guards at the bank’s back entrance, the guards inside the bank were opening the vault door. And the explosive went off. At the same time, I leaped through the bank’s second floor window, then down the steps, then into the vault through smoke and dust, and made my way out of the building by hooking the bank’s waiting line chains to myself and swinging out of the top floor. You should’ve seen me.

Now, as I walk straight up the inner ramps of a pyramid dock and toward the entrance of my very first Colonies airship, flanked on both sides by Colonies soldiers, I run through my old bank stunt and feel an overwhelming urge to flee. To swing onto the side of the ship, lose the troops tailing me, and weave into its vents. My eyes sweep the ship and try to map out the best escape routes, the closest hiding places, and most convenient footholds. Walking straight up to it like this leaves me feeling way too open and vulnerable. Still, I don’t show it on my face. When I reach the entrance and a pair of lieutenants ushers me inside, then pats me down thoroughly for any weapons, I just smile politely at them. If the Chancellor wants to see me intimidated, he might be disappointed.

The soldiers don’t catch the tiny, coin-size round discs sewn into my boots. One is a recorder. If there’s any conversation I want to have to use against the Colonies, it’s this one, to be shown to the entire public. The others are tiny explosives. Outside, somewhere beyond the airship base and hidden in the buildings’ shadows, are Pascao and several other Patriots.

I hope the people are ready for my signal. I hope they’re listening for my final step, watching and waiting.

It’s the first time I’ve been in an airship that has no portraits of the Elector hanging on its walls. Instead, interspersed between swallowtail-shaped blue-and-gold flags are ads, screens as high as the walls that advertise everything from food to electronics to houses. I get an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu, recalling the time June and I had stumbled into the Colonies, but when the lieutenants glance my way, I just shrug at them and keep my eyes down. We make our way through the corridors and up two flights of stairs before they finally usher me into a large chamber. I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next. This looks like some sort of observation deck, with a long glass window that gives me a view of Los Angeles.

A lone man stands by the window, the city’s light painting his silhouette black. He waves me over. “Ah, you’re finally here!” he exclaims. Instantly I recognize the smooth, coaxing voice of the Chancellor. He looks nothing like how I pictured him: He’s short and small, frail, his hair receded and gray, his voice way too big for his body. There’s a slight hunch to his shoulders, and his skin looks thin and translucent in some areas, like it’s made of paper and might crumple if I were to touch it. I can’t keep the surprise off my face. This is the man who rules over corps like DesCon, who threatens and bullies an entire nation and negotiates with manipulative precision? A little anticlimactic, to be honest. I almost write him off before I get a good look at his eyes.

And that’s where I recognize the Chancellor I’ve spoken to before. His eyes calculate, analyze, and deduce me in a way that chills me to the bone. Something is incredibly wrong about them.

Then I realize why. His eyes are mechanical.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” he says. “Come on over. Enjoy the view with me, son. This is where we’ll have you make your announcement. A nice vantage point, isn’t it?”

A retort—“The view’s probably better without all the Colonies airships in the way”—is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it with some effort and do as he says. He smiles as I stop beside him, and I do my best not to look into his false eyes.

“Well, look at you, all young and fresh faced.” He claps me on the back. “You did the right thing, you know, coming here.” He gazes back at Los Angeles. “Do you see all that? What’s the point of staying loyal to that? You’re a Colonian now, and you won’t have to put up with the Republic’s twisted laws anymore. We’ll treat you and your brother so well that you’ll soon wonder why you ever hesitated to join us.”

From the corner of my eyes, I make note of possible escape routes. “What’ll happen to the people in the Republic?”

The Chancellor taps his lips in a display of thoughtfulness. “The Senators, unfortunately, might be less happy about the whole thing—and as for the Elector himself . . . well, you can only have one real ruler for one country, and I am already here.” He offers me a smile that borders on kindness, a startling contrast to his actual words. “He and I are more alike than you might think. We are not cruel. We are simply practical. And you know how tricky it can be to deal with traitors.”