Spoilers for Home Sweet Home. I tried to catch all grammar and spelling and mistakes, but I'm sorry if any slip through (they usually do).
I don't own Lab Rats: Elite Force or any of its characters or locations. I do own Emily, Jakk, Haskla-Rue, Rilk, the Rogeyo species, and the plot. Enjoy.
* * * Where Is Your Home? * * *
"No pulse. She's gone." Scarlet removed her fingers from the dead girl's neck. She straightened, let out a sigh, and began to rock on her heels.
Emily smirked. "What? Having second thoughts, Scarlet?"
"Absolutely not!" Maybe she spoke with too much haste, too much desperation. She cleared her throat. "If this is what it takes . . ."
"It is." Emily said. Her expression softened and she put a hand on Scarlet's shoulder. "Look, I know you don't like killing another Calderans. I don't like it either. But this is what's necessary to save our planet. They don't understand."
Scarlet nodded. "I just . . . I thought we'd only have to fight this war against others. Not ourselves."
Emily's face lost its softness. "They chose to unite themselves with others. With those aliens . . . with humans." She spat out the word with utter contempt. "They picked the wrong side of this fight. They are not 'ourselves.' There is no 'our,' no 'us.' They allied with the enemy."
"Sure, but . . ."
Emily's fingers grew tighter on Scarlet's shoulder, tight enough to dig into flesh and draw blood. "We didn't rescue you from the lava pits to have you turn against us. The Opposition will not be . . . opposed!"
"I'm not opposing you," Scarlet said in an even tone. She shook off Emily's hand and took a step back, being careful not to trip on the dead girl's body—Betty, that was her name. "I'm just wondering why we had to go to them."
"We still needed Skylar. You're the one who let her get away, in case you didn't remember. And those friends of hers would've protected her to the death. We did what we had to do."
"You don't think humans will seek revenge?"
Emily laughed. "Revenge? Humans are too stupid for revenge. They have no idea. Their superheroes are dead or dying. Their so-called 'police' and 'governments' are afraid of people like Skylar and her friends. They don't understand, and even if they wanted to go after the people they call 'freaks,' they surely wouldn't know to look on another planet for any of them."
Scarlet nodded. She agreed: humans—especially normos—were weak, stupid, helpless, incompetent, greedy, deceitful, and odd. She'd never understood Skylar's drive to help them. Why not stay and help out your friends, the people who truly care about you?
Nonetheless, Scarlet had been increasingly questioning the Opposition's methods. The idea to bring Skylar and her human friends back to Caldera had backfired when three escaped—Skylar included. Of the remaining two, one had died, and the other remained in prison, but they still hadn't figured out how to use the prisoner to their advantage. The three escapees couldn't return home, but they had been living fine on Caldera for months, even going so far as to lend aid to the Resistance—those who would see the Opposition's reign come to an end. The whole affair made the Opposition look deficient, which they most certainly were not.
Humans were useless. Most aliens from other planets were inferior at least. The Opposition had the right idea, and yet Scarlet couldn't keep the doubts out of her mind.
"We saved your life," Emily said. "At the very least, you owe us that much."
Scarlet's hand crept toward her hair. Most of it had been burned by the pits before she was rescued, and what was left could only be cut into a messy pixie cut that was only just starting to grow out. She'd spent weeks recovering at the hands of the best Calderan healers, but she still had red marks all over her body—burn scars that would remain her whole life. A few more inches and she would've been entirely immersed in the lava, an instantaneous death. Instead she managed to cling to the wall, severely burning her lower legs and other areas exposed to the bubbling lava. Her hair caught on fire after a few minutes, which resulted in the mangled mess in the present. But she didn't die. A few more minutes and she would've, but the Opposition came. They saved her from certain doom.
As Scarlet recovered, she had tried to convince herself it had all been Skylar's fault, but she knew her own shortsightedness had been to blame. Skylar had caused her to fall into the pits—certain death—and the Opposition had rescued her—certain life. If only things were that black and white; if only Scarlet could believe it.
Emily brought Scarlet out of her thoughts by forcefully gripping the front of her shirt. "You owe us your life! Don't forget that."
Emily released her and Scarlet stumbled back. The two had been friends for many years. They had joined the Opposition together, but undoubtedly each had seen many changes in the other since then. The violence, the rage . . . the fear.
"I'm sorry," Emily said. She looked like she meant it, too. "It's just . . . it's getting harder and harder to know who to trust."
"I know what you mean." Scarlet smoothed out of the front of her shirt and tried to look dignified. She stepped over Betty's body and began to head back to Opposition headquarters. "But rest assured, Emily, we have a common enemy here." But even as she said it, Scarlet questioned the truth of that statement.
Bree crept around the rocks, her heart pounding in her chest, same as always. She didn't like her own fear, but she didn't know how to beat it. On a strange planet, helping a strange people, living a strange new life.
She found the entrence to the cave and slipped inside. Luckily, Caldera had many such caves, and the Opposition had yet to find this particular one. Still, in way of precautions, they had a careful system to keep out anyway unwanted visitors.
Bree walked to the back of the cave, knelt down, and began to move some of the rocks around, forming a shape she'd had to memorize in detail. Then she stood, and a deep voice said, "Name?"
"Bree Davenport. Resistance material."
The solid rock in front of her slid away to reveal a boy with dark hair and eyes—a boy who looked the same as every other male Calderan. This one had his hands extended and an orange glow to his palms. He dropped his hands when he caught sight of Bree, and he grinned. "Right this way."
Bree stepped in beside him, and he pulled up the rock behind them. Then he pulled down the opposite wall, opening it up to the deeper caverns below the volcano. Here the bustling activity of the Resistance went on in full view. Many Calderan boys and girls walked around, as well as a handful of alien species.
"Bree!" Skylar called as she ran up. "Thank goodness you're here. How'd the scouting go?"
"The western reaches are free from Opposition activity," Bree reported. She fell into step with Skylar as they walked through the naturally-formed halls. "But I noticed they set up some sort of camp in the caves to the east. I didn't go in for a closer look."
"That's fine; you shouldn't go in alone. We'll send out a team."
Bree nodded, but she still felt bad. She could've used her invisibility to scout around more. She would've, but she was so . . . scared. She was terrified of these Calderans—especially the Opposition—and she hated it. Still, she had reasons. She had seen the destruction they could bring. These people had ripped her from her home and taken her and her friends prisoner. Even now that she had gotten free, she knew she couldn't return home until they defeated the Opposition—when or if that happened. This group that led Caldera took down the wi-fi; the humans couldn't contact earth for help. No help, no escape, and hardly any hope left.
"Hey," Skylar said, her voice soft. She stood still and took Bree's hand in hers. "Don't worry. We'll win this war, and we'll find Chase and Kaz again."
"That's assuming they're still alive." Bree had never been much of an optimist.
Skylar opened her mouth to protest, but then shut it again. Both girls knew that the Opposition had probably killed off Chase and Kaz long ago. And if they weren't dead, then they most certainly were being horrendously tortured. But it was telling that the Opposition hadn't used either boy as bait for a trap. Surely they would've if they were still . . . Bree didn't like to think about it.
If only they had planned their escape a little better. If only they had spent more time developing it. If only hadn't been so rushed, so high-strung, so . . . so stupid. Bree, Skylar, and Oliver all blamed themselves for the abandonment of their team members.
The final three joined the Resistance so they could stamp out the Opposition once and for all. They did it because they wanted to know the fates of their friends, and to save them if there was even a slim chance. Skylar did it because she loved her people and wanted to see them freed. Bree and Oliver did it because they wanted to go home.
They all had their reasons. They all had their hopes. Every one of the Resistance members—Calderan or alien—was fighting for something. They all had a desire to see Caldera free, to return to their home, to save their friends. The same idea permeated all mindsets; where language differed, where looks differed, where personality differed, where religion differed, where background differed, they all agreed on one thing: the Opposition needed to fall.
Skylar had been staring at the ground for several seconds, but now she looked up. "We'll find them."
"Sure." Bree was too tired to protest. She wanted to believe it, really. But how could she? The Opposition was ruthless. She didn't want to get her hopes up only to stumble upon the charred body of her brother. Instead, she let fear take the reigns. She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't stop it.
They started to walk again down the hall, passing other Calderans and aliens running through, trying to stay alive long enough to bring down an oppressive regime. The two girls didn't walk very far before Skylar stopped again. She had her hands in her back pockets and a quizzical look on her face.
"Is something wrong?" Bree asked.
"I was about to ask you that. Are you feeling okay?"
Bree shrugged. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know; it's just . . ." Skylar stopped and shook her head. "Never mind." The two began to walk again, but Skylar continued to glance at Bree with . . . what? . . . worry? fear? suspicion?
Of course Bree felt okay. Why wouldn't she? Why wouldn't she?
Because she didn't. Because she hadn't for a while—not since their escape five months earlier. But she knew why, and she figured they all felt the same way. It wasn't a physical illness, though it would often manifest itself physically. It was all the emotions, the confusion, the fear . . . the fear especially.
Ever since their escape Bree had been overwhelmed by this sense of doom. As a bionic hero, she knew how to press through it, and she had. Still, the more they faced this Opposition, the more fights they lost, the more they seemed to be stymied at every turn, the worse her fear got. It left her unable to sleep many nights. She'd felt ill . . . because of the fear. It had always been the fear.
Where the fear itself had come from, she didn't know. In fact, she never even stopped to consider it. If she had, then maybe, just maybe, things never would've gotten as bad as they did.
As it was, Bree chalked all her ailments up to fear and never questioned the fear itself. So when she felt nauseous every time she stood, she blamed fear. When she couldn't properly control her powers, she blamed fear. When she stumbled in front of Skylar and almost ate pavement—or in this case, rock—she blamed fear.
Skylar, with all her superhero reflexes, reached out and caught Bree before she fell. She helped her friend stand back up, but she didn't let go of her wrist. Bree turned to see Skylar standing still with her eyes closed and her breathing even. The bionic had seen that look on her brother many times, so she knew what it meant: Skylar was listening intently to something most human beings couldn't hear. Bree wanted to shake her hand out of her friend's grip, but something about Skylar's expression kept her from doing so.
"Bree." Skylar opened her eyes, and now Bree could correctly identity the emotion in them: concern. An extreme level of concern, in fact, reaching and exceeding previously unknown limits. The concern mingled with fear—a fear that even Bree found absurd and radical. "Your heart is pounding."
As if Bree hadn't noticed. It was starting to make her chest hurt. "I'm just tired." This time she did attempt to wrench her hand away from Skylar, but it didn't work. Skylar held on and moved closer to Bree.
"You're burning up."
"Yeah, well, we're on a volcano planet, in case you hadn't noticed."
Skylar wasn't having the humor. "Bree." Her voice was stern and commanding, the kind of voice that let Bree know there would be no backing out of this. She would have to answer honestly.
"I haven't been sleeping well," she said. That was honest.
Skylar's eyes scanned her face. "There's more than that."
"What do you want from me?" Bree didn't like being interrogated like this. Nothing was wrong that shouldn't be wrong for their situation. "I'm just stressed out. We all are. You can't say you're feeling one hundred percent either."
"No," Skylar admitted. "But Bree, I think you're—"
"Skylar, I'm okay. We have bigger things to worry about." Bree didn't like this. Her chest was beginning to hurt more. She wanted to go lie down.
"I think you should rest."
Bree snorted. "I agree. Can you let go of me so I can go do that, please?"
Skylar obliged, releasing Bree's wrist. "Can you walk?"
"Yes, I can walk." Bree rubbed her wrist and straightened, determined not to make a fool out of herself. She didn't need this patronization, this stupid concern. She was only afraid, only tired, only overwhelmed with life. She was a bionic hero; these feelings never left. "I'm not an infan—"
Her heart stopped. Literally. The pounding monstrosity seized up in her chest and she screamed. Then it started again, stronger, harder than before. She screamed. Clawed. Gasped for air.
Several seconds of eternity went by, and Bree gradually became aware of the arms wrapped around her, of the voice whispering her name. She looked up into Skylar's compassionate, concerned face. Why did she have to cause grief to her friends this way?
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"Don't say something like that, Bree." Skylar lifted her friend off the ground and supported her. "Let's get you somewhere where you can rest."
Then the fear shot through Bree like a bolt of lightning. She could feel her limbs trembling. "Let go of me!" She meant to shout it, but it came out weak and strained. She fumbled around trying to push off Skylar. Panic and fear flooded every sense. She couldn't figure it out. She didn't know why. This wasn't just fear anymore, but pure terror—pure, senseless terror.
"Bree!"
Her head cleared. Skylar looked into her eyes. Concern. Pure concern. Pure terror. Bree hated it.
The terror was coming back. Bree could feel it rising up in her chest, ready to suffocate her, ready to snuff out her life. She gripped Skylar's hands with all her strength, which by now had been so reduced that her hand would've slid right off Skylar's had she not chosen to grasp Bree's hand in return. Bree looked into the eyes of her friend. Skylar's eyes had conveyed concern; Bree's eyes needed to convey her desperation.
Here the terror, the weakness, this unknown illness had reached its culmination. Bree couldn't stand; she couldn't breathe. She had one last hope, so in a small voice she whispered, "Help me," and her dead weight fell into Skylar's awaiting arms.
"No pulse. She's gone."
Oliver pursed his lips. Yes, all female Calderans looked alike, but he knew Betty when he saw her. The sweet girl had met a bitter end at the hands of the Opposition.
How many more had to die?
"Spread out," Oliver commanded, glancing at the other aliens around him. "Scout the area, but don't engage if you see an hostiles. Keep in touch, and stay in visibility of at least one other person. We don't need to bury another body."
The alien squad nodded and dissipated. Oliver sighed. First doctor, now army commander. He missed the good old days when he and Kaz played video games together, when their biggest worry was an upcoming science test. Who knew the world of superheroes could be this dangerous and horrifying?
Kaz . . . Oliver missed Kaz . . .
Jakk stood up from where he had been squatting over Betty. He dusted off his hands and looked at his leader. "I'm sorry," he said. "Should we . . . you know . . . take her back with us?"
Oliver pursed his lips. "I think so. She was a hero. She deserves a proper burial."
Betty had led Oliver, Bree, and Skylar to the Resistance in the first place. She was a fierce girl with a brave heart, gladly taking on missions that would restore her planet to its former glory. She'd been a rising leader of the Resistance, and to see her meet such a gruesome end at the hands of her own people left Oliver feeling sick to his stomach. He couldn't believe the Opposition could be so ruthless.
Jakk pulled off his coat and used it to wrap up Betty's body. There wasn't much blood, thankfully. He scooped the girl into his arms and stood up.
"You don't mind carrying her for the rest of the mission?" Oliver asked "We're not going back to base for a little while."
"I don't mind." Jakk looked down into the Calderan girl's face, and his own face reflected only grief. The two had been friends for years, and the realization must've hit Jakk as he felt Betty's cold, dead weight in his arms.
Jakk looked like all other Calderan boys, which meant he looked like Experion. It took Oliver a long time to get over that resemblance, but eventually—just as he'd done with Calderan females—he learned to distinguish them by personality and not by looks. Jakk was a kind boy, easygoing, but even he couldn't put up with the atrocities committed by the new ruling class of Caldera. He had friends in the Resistance, and soon he joined them. He went through it all without so much as a frown, but not always a smile. Sometimes he seemed detached, like he knew that if he got too emotionally invested he would never be able to fight again. As it was, Jakk was a strong solider and a good friend. Oliver enjoyed having him as a co-commander.
"So," Jakk said after several seconds. "Remind me of our plan again?"
"Betty couldn't have been killed more than three hours ago, so we're supposed to scout around here for any Opposition activity. They weren't supposed to be in this area."
"Right. You want me to stay here with Betty and you can help scout?"
"That's a good idea. Keep your radio handy."
Jakk nodded and set Betty down against a rock. He put a hand on his utility belt—the belt that contained his radio, dagger, water, binoculars, and other survival and fighting paraphernalia—and began to walk in a small radius around the rock.
Oliver walked east, making sure to keep as much of his team as possible in sight at all times. This was one of their most dangerous missions yet; the Opposition had been in this area recently, and the Resistance squad of thirteen wouldn't do well against a large-scale attack. Still, the rebel group needed more information, so they would send out their best and brightest to gather it at the cost of their lives. Somehow Oliver had wound up on this team. He would never complain; if Skylar's people needed his help, he would help them. He'd always had a deep respect for Calderan culture, and he didn't want to see it destroyed.
The Caldera landscape was beautiful this time of year—well, as beautiful as it ever got. It was their spring, so the weather was a mild 4500 degrees. The volcanos weren't as active, and the suns illuminated the red rocks during all hours of the day. Oliver rather liked it, so he took his spare moments during scouting to observe his surroundings.
Oliver climbed up an embankment so he could get a good look around. The field before his was empty apart from a few wild Dorenbosch. No Calderan citizens in sight, much less Opposition members. For once Oliver was grateful for the remoteness and desolation of the volcanic planet.
Still, as beautiful and awe-inspiring as Caldera was, Oliver felt homesick for earth. He could hardly believe it had been a whole eight months since he'd been home. Did anybody miss him? Did anybody even know he was gone? Everyone he loved had been taken with him, and he had to watch as they were tortured and mistreated. He'd hated every second of prison, and even their escape brought him little relief; Chase and Kaz hadn't escaped with them.
Oliver might never see Kaz again. He didn't even know if Kaz was alive or dead. By this point, everyone assumed dead. The Opposition would've used him as a hostage, surely. He'd probably already been killed, but Oliver didn't want to think like that. He needed to have hope; hope was all he had.
The buzz of his radio pulled Oliver out of his thoughts. The radios had a short radius, but enough to keep in contact with the Resistance base. The Opposition had cut off all other means of communication, so the walkie-talkie-like objects kept the rebels connected. They kept one with them at all times and prayed the Opposition wouldn't be able to hack the frequency.
"Hello?"
"Oliver, it's Skylar." They didn't bother using codes; if the Opposition was listening, the Resistance had already lost.
"Skylar, I can't talk right now; I'm scouting—"
"Drop it and come back."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Oliver, Bree is dying."
It took a few seconds for those words to register. Oliver had seen a lot of death in his eight months on Caldera, and most of it during his time with the Resistance. It had become a simple dichotomy: life and death. But the deaths of beings Oliver didn't know didn't impact him the same as beings he did. He knew Bree. They couldn't lose Bree. They'd already lost so much, included Chase and Kaz—most likely to death. Bree was another fifth of their team they couldn't afford to part with. And besides that, she was a human being and Oliver's friend. So as all this sunk into his foggy brain, Skylar continued talking.
"She's sick . . . really sick. I think she has been for a while and we just didn't know it. The healers are pretty sure she had Rilk—it's . . ." Skylar paused for a moment to search for the words. "It's a bacterial disease. It . . . I don't have time to explain. Just get back here."
"Is Rilk deadly?"
"I did say she was dying, didn't I?"
"I guess . . ." Oliver could feel his palms getting sweaty. He didn't like this. Even as a comic book enthusiast and former Mighty Med doctor, he had never heard of Rilk. Maybe Skylar was overreacting about its extremeness . . . but it was Skylar. She wouldn't do something like that. Maybe it was a prank, but Skylar wouldn't do something like that either. Not here, not now, during such a dangerous time in their lives. Besides, the emotion in her voice was real.
No overreaction. No joke. Bree was fighting for life as they spoke.
"I'll be there as soon as I can." He briefly wondered about how the Resistance leaders would react to him leaving his post, but Skylar cleared that up for him.
"I talked to some of the leaders. They're radioing Jakk right now; they've given your team permission to return early."
"Thanks."
"See you in a little bit."
"See you soon. Keep Bree alive until I get there."
The radio went silent, and for a few seconds Oliver didn't move. He needed a minute to process, but he didn't have a minute. Bree didn't have a minute.
He charged back to the rock where he had left Jakk. His thoughts raced as fast as his legs. Bree and Skylar were the two keeping him going, every minute of every day. He didn't know if he would see Chase and Kaz again. He didn't know if he would ever go back to earth again. But he had the girls, and he wouldn't know what to do without them. Even the fact that he was in love with Skylar didn't negate his friendship with Bree; to lose either of them would be more than he could bear.
Jakk stood with his radio by his mouth. He turned at Oliver's arrival. "I got the message. I called in our team; they'll be here in a few seconds."
Oliver had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts about his friends that he had forgotten to rally the rest of the squad. He praised Jakk's quick thinking as the Calderan picked up Betty again.
The rest of the squad soon returned, and one female Calderan, Haskla-Rue, rushed straight to Oliver. "Just in time," she said. "There are Opposition forces coming from the north. We need to get back, now."
That got them running. The rest might not know—or care—about Bree, but they would run a marathon back to base if they knew it meant saving their own hides.
As they ran, Oliver risked a glance back over his shoulder. He could see them now, coming over the horizon, seeming to glide over the rocks. They were gliding over the rocks . . . scooters. They had scooters. The rebels had only their bare feet. Oliver's heart sank in his chest as he realized that there was no way they would make it back to base in time. It was over.
The last day of normalcy, of security, of peace had been a cool November morning. Scarlet's defeat had happened over a month earlier, but Skylar still thought about it every day. She hadn't been able to get an email to anyone on Caldera since; the Opposition took down the wi-fi and kept the people from using any means of outside communication. Skylar tried not to brood, but she couldn't help the sorrow she felt now that her people were practically enslaved and her best friend had died in a pit of lava.
It had been a calm day; no missions, no worry, no pranks from the boys. It had been normal and calm and quiet. Skylar went to sit out on the terrace with her laptop, ready to attempt another message to her homeworld. She was there with her chin in her hands when Bree came out and sat beside her.
"Still nothing?"
"No." Skylar sighed. "I'm sorry I'm so upset about this, Bree, but they're my people. I feel like I've let them down."
Bree nodded, tugging on the sleeves of her sweater. "They're your people?"
"Yes. I mean . . . you know I love you guys, but . . . don't you understand, Bree? I love them."
Bree flashed a soft smile. "I know you do. And I'm sorry for everything that's going on. But don't forget, your friends are here for you."
"Thanks." The girls hugged, and that might've been the last good moment of Skylar's life.
A noise came from inside the penthouse, and the girls got up to investigate, believing it to be the boys—probably doing something destructive. What they found was much worse.
There, stepping through a space portal, were at least a dozen Calderans. At the front was a hardly recognizable Calderan girl. Her hair and been chopped close to her head and her skin displayed ugly marks of black, red, and white. She had a murderous look in her eyes and a frown on her face. She raised her hand, displaying a swirl of glowing energy. "Good to see you again, Skylar," she said, her voice clipped.
"Scarlet." Skylar leaned into a fighting pose, but that didn't stop the awe and even relief in her voice. "You're not dead."
Scarlet scowled . . . a terrifying face for her to make. "No thanks to you."
"You're not taking Skylar back with you," Bree said as she too assumed a fighting pose.
Scarlet laughed. "No, of course not. At least, not just her. We want you all." She raised her glowing hand, and the dozen Calderans raised theirs with her.
Skylar didn't remember much of the ensuing battle. She got knocked unconscious a few minutes in. She did remember the boys showing up to help, and she did remember the massive damage the penthouse and its belongings sustained. But after her world went black, she'd woken up in another cavernous dungeon cell with her powers blocked.
They'd taken her friends out of their home and destroyed it. They left the humans with no way back to earth—all non-Opposition Calderans who had a space portal ability found it blocked or removed. There would be no leaving. Skylar didn't understand why the Opposition had to ruin the lives of innocents. The rest of her team didn't deserve to suffer for the mistakes of her people! Such were the thoughts she dwelt on during her long three months in prison.
And such were the thoughts she dwelt on as she sat by Bree's side in the poor excuse for a medical room. Bree lay on a low cot with a blanket over her body and some pillows under her head. A few monitors kept track of her progress, but their fluctuating, rapid, uneven beeping left only the grim realization that "progress" was not the correct word. There were some wires, some tubes, some medications. Not enough.
Rilk was not a mere childhood disease. It developed over several months and attacked the brain and the heart, giving the victim an overwhelming sense of panic and terror. In the later stages it began to destroy these organs, leading to almost certain death. If caught in the earlier stages, it was treatable, but the treatment process was not fun. Skylar had contracted Rilk as a child, and she remembered the paralyzing fear that went with it. She spent four weeks with the healers, and for most of that time she could only shiver and scream. It wasn't even as bad as it could've been: Calderans had developed a certain resistance that kept the worst side effects of Rilk at bay. The terror, exhaustion, and pounding heart were all still there, but most Calderans—including Skylar—experienced them mildly, even if it didn't seem like it in the throes of the disease.
Skylar shuddered to think of what her friend must've been going. Bree was bionic, so maybe that helped, but she was also a human with no immunity to these alien diseases. And with no idea that such a disease even existed, she must've thought she was going insane.
Skylar cursed herself repeatedly for not noticing the signs earlier. Now because of her negligence her friend might very well die.
Bree wasn't in the final stages of Rilk yet. She could, in theory, be saved. But the Resistance was cut off from the help of the rest of the planet. With so little support, so little money, there was no way they could acquire the necessary medicine. Skylar didn't know what to do. She felt helpless, and she hated feeling helpless.
This was all her fault. It was her planet, her people, her responsibility. Now thanks to her, they had already lost two members of their team and were about to lose a third.
Ever since learning about the formation of the Opposition, Skylar had wanted to return to her home planet. She wanted to free her people and give them a better life. She'd almost picked up the wormhole transporter to return to Caldera several times. She never did, but now she regretted not going. If she had gone, they never would've come back to Centium City to capture her and her friends. Chase and Kaz would still be around, and Bree wouldn't be dying. The four of them would be safe, and that was all Skylar could ask for. But now they were in grave danger, dead or dying, fighting a fight that was not their own, and Skylar could do nothing to help them.
All she wanted was her people freed. All she wanted was for her friends to be safe, okay, alive. Was that too much to ask for?
"Excuse me, Skylar?" A grey humanoid with an elephantine trunk on his face peeked through the door. He was a Rogeyo, a species from another planet in Skylar's solar system. They were Calderan allies, and a few had come to aid the Resistance and free their sister planet. "My apologies, but it appears your friend Oliver is in trouble."
Skylar groaned and swallowed to keep the tears from spilling over. Was it really too much to ask for?! "What kind of trouble?"
"It appears his squad was on the way back when they were ambushed by Opposition forces. They appear to be holding up all right for now, but we're sending in reinforcements. I came to ask, well . . ."
"If I want to go?"
The Rogeyo nodded. "I know you want to stay with your sick friend, and I respect that. I'll give you a moment to make the decision. They leave in seven minutes, so if you want to go, meet in the briefing room before they leave. Goodbye. I'm sorry."
Skylar took a moment to collect herself. She didn't want to leave Bree's side, not now. But Oliver needed her help. It took her less time than she thought it would to make her choice.
"I'm sorry, Bree," she whispered to her insensate friend. "But if I can't help you, I need to help somebody. I won't sit around here feeling useless." She gripped her friend's hand in hers. Bree's skin was pale and clammy, but Skylar hardly even noticed. "I love you. Please still be here when I get back."
Skylar leaned in closer, but then she hesitated. Kisses were often seen as a sign of romance for humans, but they could also be platonic, couldn't they? She didn't have time to think. She leaned down and planted a kiss on Bree's feverish cheek. She looked up at the clock: four more minutes. She stood to go, giving Bree's hand one more squeeze. "Don't die." And she left.
The cell was a mere sixty-four square feet. Five hundred and twelve cubic feet. He'd spent his first few days in it measuring with his hands. Eight feet by eight feet by eight feet . . . that is, if you ignore all the craters and dimples in the cave walls. Then the numbers varied slightly.
Chase had spent five months in this cell, ever since he'd been caught during his attempted escaped. Very little had happened since then. No one talked to him or even looked at him. He got fed, but that was all. He had to work out his own exercise and sleep schedule, and he was responsible for his own entrainment. Most of it involved complicated math equations etched into the dirt of his floor.
The cell blocked his bionic abilities, but he still had his memory drive, which meant he still had his intelligence. He just couldn't do anything with it, other than entertain himself. But he was grateful to have it at all, because otherwise he would've died of boredom.
He thought a lot about his friends. He didn't know if the rest of them had made it out or what they were doing now. He knew nothing, and unless they won, he would never know anything. Every day his hope waned a little more. He wanted to believe in them, he did, but when you've spent countless hours scratching numbers into the dirt, you can't help but develop a pessimistic view of the world—er, worlds.
Chase wanted to see his sister again, even if she annoyed him. He loved her. He wanted to see Skylar again, even if she was an alien and he didn't understand her. (For goodness' sake, he was being held captive on an alien planet! He would have to be a believer now.) He wanted to see Oliver again, even if they had had a bit of a rivalry. Chase actually thought they had a lot in common, and he enjoyed hanging out with someone who truly understood him. He wanted to see Kaz again, even if Kaz was immature and wild. Someone needed to be the comedy relief.
Chase wanted to go home. He didn't want to live on an alien planet, much less in a prison on an alien planet. He wanted to go back . . . not just to the penthouse, but to the Davenport mansion. Home. He wanted to see his father—both of them, actually. He wanted to see Tasha and Leo. Heck, he even wanted to see Adam again. He missed them all so much.
These were his thoughts—thoughts of home and friends and family—when a Calderan girl walked up to the bars of his cell. Now, Chase had a hard time telling Calderan females apart, even from Skylar. They all looked exactly the same to him. But this one was distinctly different. She had cropped hair that had grown almost to her shoulders. She had flecks of charred skin dotting her face. Most of the areas of her body not hidden by her clothing were an unhealthy shade of red. She walked with a limp and always had a scowl. In a room full of identical Calderan girls, she would stand out like an English word in a series of math equations: Scarlet.
"What do you want?" Chase asked. He didn't stand up, but he tensed his muscles in case he needed to.
"I want your help." Scarlet knelt down herself, right in front of the bars to Chase's cell.
Chase started at the sound of another voice. He'd talked to himself many time in his cell—not in a crazy way, but rather to keep himself from going crazy—but it had been months since he'd heard someone else speak. He got over it quickly. "Yeah? Why should I help you?"
"I've got a couple reasons."
"Why do you even need my help?"
Scarlet's frown deepened. "You're probably not going to believe me; I don't even believe myself. But I'm . . . I'm thinking about leaving the Opposition."
"Really?"
"Don't get so sappy about it. I still hate humans, and I always will. But I don't know if I agree with the Opposition anymore."
Chase shrugged. "Works for me. What do you need my help for?"
"I want you to take me to your friends."
Chase snorted. "Sounds like a trap."
"Maybe it is. I haven't decided yet whether I am leaving the Opposition or not."
"Well, I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I don't know where to find my friends anyway. I don't know if they're still alive."
"Three of them are, and they joined the Resistance."
The Resistance. Chase had heard of the group from Skylar. They were the remains of the old order that wanted to rise and wipe out the Opposition. From his vantage point, they were extremely unsuccessful.
Then Scarlet's words sank in and he realized the implications: someone was dead. He wanted to ask who, but his tongue felt thick and he couldn't bring himself to do it. Besides, Scarlet was already speaking again.
"If I take you out of here, I can restore your powers. I know you have abilities that will take me right to your friends." His GPS app. He didn't know if it would work on this planet, but he had tested it on Lithios and it worked, so he didn't know why it wouldn't work on Caldera.
"And what's to stop me from betraying you as soon as I get my powers back?" He knew the rest of the team teased him for being weak, but between his force field, molecularkinesis, and laser bo, he knew he could take down this alien baddie no problem.
Scarlet leaned in close to the bars of the cell, her short hair swaying against her cheeks. "Your sister is dying."
Chase's head swam as the words sank in. He didn't want to believe them, especially coming from a chronic liar like Scarlet. But deep in his heart, somehow, he knew she was telling the truth.
"She got sick her in prison before she left," Scarlet said. "We were going to tell her and begin treatment, but she escaped before we could."
"That was five months ago."
"The disease she has is called Rilk, human," Scarlet spat. "It develops over several months, and if it's not treated quickly, it's deadly. There's still time to treat her, but not much, and there's no way the Resistance has proper supplies."
"So if I lead you to the Resistance . . ."
"I can save your sister. Oh, and currently there's a battle going on in the southern rock-fields. Skylar and one of her former-normos are involved in that one, I believe. But if you 'mysteriously escape' from prison, they have to abandon that battle and come back here to find out what happened to you. So I can do you the favor of saving three of your friends at once."
"And why should I believe you? You can come in here and say my sister is dying, but you've lied before. I don't see why I need to listen to you."
"True, you can take that risk. But if your sister dies because she doesn't have the proper medical attention—attention I could've easily given her—that's your fault."
Chase grunted and stood. He didn't have a choice, did he? If it meant his escape, he would go for it. If it meant saving his sister and his friends, he would go for it.
Either Kaz or Oliver was dead. Bree was dying. Skylar and whichever boy had survived were in danger. He couldn't sit in a cell and do nothing.
"So let me get this straight: You get me out of here and alert the rest of your friends so they come here and leave my friends alone. Then you reactivate my bionics so I can find the Resistance and lead you right to them. Then you save my sister's life."
"That's the plan."
"What happens after that?"
"That depends on what I decide. Either I 'join' you guys and help support your cause because I think the Opposition is going too far, or I turn you in because I will always be loyal to my people and my people alone."
"Tough choice."
"So it seems."
Scarlet closed her eyes and walked right through the solid bars of the cell. Chase flinched, but he didn't say anything. He'd seen so much disregard for the laws of physics lately that he didn't even bother questioning it anymore.
"Do we have a deal?" Scarlet asked, her voice smooth yet laced with danger and deceit.
She held out her hand, the palm blackened from holding onto to volcanic rock while dangling above lava. Chase could hardly believe this girl would want to ally herself with him, and looking into her eyes, he could tell she didn't want to. She didn't want to, and perhaps that was why Chase shook her hand. Neither party was totally on board, but both had their reasons for this partnership.
Chase couldn't sit back and let his friends and family die. He couldn't do nothing. He needed out. And if Scarlet killed him in the process, hey, it was better than eternity in this suffocating prison.
To seal their agreement, Chase said in a voice equally smooth and danger-laced, "Deal."
. . . Charlet? Also Skoliver. And hefty amounts of Bryler because they're adorable.
And Bree whump because I'm in that mood. Sorry, Bree. :3
(I guess we all know what happened to Kaz by now . . . I'm so sorry . . .)
I haven't been overly impressed with Elite Force so far (Chase dropped from favorite character two years ago to least favorite character now, that whiny, egotistical, self-centered, delusional brat *trails off muttering*), but I've got to admit, Home Sweet Home really impressed me. (The A-storyline did, anyway. I couldn't care less about Chase's pathetic and desperate attempts to get a girlfriend. I'm still waiting for him to try "having a personality" as a tactic.) I wanted to continue with the idea of the Opposition, and I got this. It's actually partially based off an idea for an original story I had in which the main villain's race (she's also an alien) are enslaved and her whole drive is to rescue them.
Speaking of which *shameless plug* I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year, and for anyone who's doing it and wants to learn about the story I just mentioned ("The Hero Who Fell"), come add me as a buddy! I'm daphrose on there as well. (Main site, not YWP.) And if you're not doing it . . . do it! It's really not as scary as it seems, and the NaNo community is a great one.
Reviews are appreciated, but if you want to tell me you love it, please say why. I spend (a lot of) time writing the story, so I would really appreciate it if you'd spend time telling me what you really think. Criticize, praise, question, explain. Please and thank you.
Farewell!