The Fringe Wars

4.5

The Bitters of War

Rebus Station, Terra

Critch had just opened the door when Kassel jogged out from his bedroom. "Wait! I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not," Critch said.

"Yes, I am."

Critch sighed, closed the door, and turned to face the teenager. Kassel watched him intently while he tried to zip shut an overstuffed backpack.

"Listen, kid. I've stayed here too long already. Every minute I stay here, I put you and your family in more danger. The droms will come looking for me. You're a lot safer if I'm not here."

Kassel shrugged. "No one's safe around here anymore. I want to go with you. I want to fight."

"You're too young."

"You were only two years older than me when you fought in the Uprising."

Critch pursed his lips before he spoke again. "I'm not going to let you get yourself killed."

"I can take care of myself. Besides, I remember that you almost got yourself killed, and it was me who dragged your unconscious ass to safety."

He sighed. "This matter is not up for debate. You're staying. Your parents will go nuts when they come home and you're not here."

Kassel's eyes narrowed, and his jaw jutted out. "My parents aren't coming back. They were caught after curfew last week."

Critch paused as he watched the teenager. Kassel's jaw trembled as though he was about to cry, but he stood tall. If his parents were caught after curfew, they were dead. The CUF made no exceptions. Not anymore.

Kassel finished zipping his backpack and slung it over his shoulders. The pair stood in a face-off.

The last thing Critch wanted was to bring kids into war, but the truth was, war had already come to them. There was no escape from the violence. Kassel was still at the age of invincibility—he could take on the galaxy and still make it home for dinner. At least Critch could keep an eye on Kassel if he took the kid with him, whereas if Kassel stayed behind, Critch couldn't keep him from going after the droms on his own.

He let out a deep breath. "Okay, kid."

Kassel's features brightened as he broke out into a full grin.

"But, you do as I say, no exception, no argument. Got it?"

His head bobbed up and down. "Got it."

Critch nodded to the boy's pack. "Let me see what you packed."

Kassel hurriedly shrugged off the backpack and handed it over.

Critch unzipped the bag and dumped the contents on the nearby table. Clothes, toiletries, books, and various trinkets tumbled out. He picked out a toy spaceship and held it up with his brow raised in an unasked question.

"Dad gave me that," Kassel defended. "I'm going to be a pilot."

Critch set the ship on the pile. "We're running for our lives; we're not camping out. Take only what you need to survive. That means this bag should be filled with food and water." He rifled through the contents and pulled out a small first aid kit. "This is smart. Keep the kit. If you have a knife, take it. And grab some gloves and a shemagh—you'll need them."

"What's a shem—"

"A bandana or a scarf. Something to cover your face. Where we're headed, you'll need it."