Birthright

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

"Is that your justification for keeping a fellow Meta prisoner while you work hand in hand with Sanser thugs?"

His body stiffened just barely, and Kray could tell that he was bothered by that working with Sansers bit more than anything else. "I assure you, these . . . Sanser thugs are a means to an end."

Rousseau chuckled while Alex asked, "To what end?"

"Have you heard of the Human Restoration Project?"

Of course she had. Everyone knew about HARP. It was a growing online movement that promoted heavily pro-human and anti-Sanser sentiments. The equivalent of supremacy groups a long time ago when things like that mattered. No one knew who the group was exactly, but there were rumors of members having secret rallies and murdering innocent Sansers in the Mainland.

"A long time ago, human beings ruled this world," the Meta declared. "We were kings and queens. We owned entire empires. Until the Sanser invasion, that is. Bit by bit, they took our world from us until the day came when they decided to get rid of it all. They burned everything to the ground. And to add insult to injury they left their descendants in our backyard, free to grow stronger until the day comes when they will attack again."

He thrust out a hand and tightened it into a fist. "We are the only thing that stands between humanity and extermination. Instead of joining us in arms, your father and his ilk have chosen to bring these savages onto holy grounds and empower them."

The Metas beside him made sounds of displeasure at the thought of all those Sanser recruits sullying Calsin Foundation with their presence. Rousseau was smiling as though he were watching a comedy show. He didn't care for the politics or the fact that his own people would be wiped off the face of the planet if HARP had its way. Businessmen like him didn't bother with a conscience.

"Your father is a fool, Cadet Drasse," the Meta said, lowering his hand. "And the only thing more dangerous than someone who is willfully malicious is one who doesn't understand the consequences of his actions."

"If this is how you feel," Alex replied, "why don't you confront my father with your truth? Instead you in the shadows like cowards and hire criminals to do your dirty work."

He squared his shoulders. "You're a child. You couldn't begin to understand how the world works. But maybe you'll do your part to save it."

"My part?"

"You will send a message to your father. You will tell him to step down as general. And you will instruct him to keep silent on the reason why."

"And if I don't?"

"In exactly ten hours, your father will receive a package. It will either contain a recording of you pleading with him to save your life or your severed head. The choice is yours."

Kray's heart began to race when he saw the expression on her face. She looked sick and weak, but there was resilience in her eyes. Something told him she was thinking about his proposal, weighing out her options. The quick glance she aimed his way told him she was also thinking about what would happen to him if she made the wrong choice.

"I'll do it," she said, "but on one condition. You let my friend go."

"Alex," Kray protested, angry that she'd martyr herself after all this time.

"Out of the question," Rousseau spoke up. "At the very least he's a bargaining chip. And at the most . . . he's special. Either way he stays."

"You're saying you have no intention of letting us go then," Alex said.

The Meta lost his cool. He marched over and stooped over her, grabbing her face in his hand and forcing her to look up at him. "I'm saying," he growled in a dangerous voice, "you will do exactly as you're ordered to and we will give you a quick death. Otherwise you will die slowly and painfully. Does that sound like a good enough deal for you?"