Chapter 23: Preparing for War - Part 3
POV: Alec Morgan
The radio crackled to life just after dawn, Abby's voice cutting through static with news that made my blood run cold despite the hope it should have brought.
"We're preparing the Ark sections for controlled descent," she announced, her medical authority carrying across the void between space and ground. "Multiple landing sites have been identified. Exodus ship will carry the first wave of survivors, with remaining sections following at twelve-hour intervals."
I gripped the radio transmitter hard enough to leave marks, my enhanced healing already working to repair the damage while my mind raced through implications only I understood. The Exodus ship. Diana Sydney's sabotage. Three hundred people who would die in flames because political ambition mattered more than human lives.
"That's wonderful news," Clarke replied, her voice bright with relief and anticipation of reuniting with family she'd thought lost forever.
"No, it's not. It's a death sentence wrapped in hope. And I can't explain how I know without destroying everything I've built here."
"What about backup plans?" I interjected, trying to plant seeds of caution without revealing impossible foreknowledge. "If the primary landing fails? Maybe spreading descent across multiple ships would reduce risk?"
Clarke's eyes found mine across the communication setup, sharp with the growing suspicion that had been building for weeks. "Why would you assume the primary landing might fail?"
"Tactical caution," I said, forcing my voice level despite the desperation clawing at my chest. "Any complex operation has failure points. Redundancy saves lives when things go wrong."
"Things like what?" she pressed.
"Sabotage. Political coups. Structural failures caused by people who'd rather rule over corpses than serve among the living. Diana Sydney's desperate grab for power that will turn evacuation into mass murder."
"Equipment failure, human error, hostile action," I said instead, offering plausible concerns that touched the edges of what I knew without crossing into impossible specificity. "The same things that could go wrong with any emergency evacuation."
Abby's voice cut through our exchange. "Clarke, we've run extensive simulations. The Exodus ship is our best hope for getting maximum survivors down safely in minimum time."
Raven noticed my white-knuckled grip on the radio housing and moved closer, her hand finding mine with gentle pressure that anchored me to the present moment rather than the disaster I couldn't prevent.
"Of course," Clarke replied to her mother, then looked at me with expression that promised future interrogation. "We'll be ready for whatever happens."
As the communication session ended, I found myself staring at the radio equipment with the weight of foreknowledge pressing against my chest like physical pain. Three hundred people were going to die, and their blood would be on my hands because I couldn't find a way to warn them without exposing secrets that would destroy me and everyone I'd grown to love.
"This is the cost of maintaining cover. This is the price of surviving as something other than human in a world that would dissect me if they knew what I was."
"You okay?" Raven asked quietly, her engineer's mind probably cataloging my stress responses and filing them away with all the other impossibilities she'd chosen to accept rather than investigate.
"Just worried about what's coming," I said, which was true if inadequate as explanation for the specific dread eating away at my composure.
"We'll deal with whatever happens when it happens," she said with the practical certainty that made her brilliant at solving problems other people couldn't imagine. "Right now, we focus on surviving the next twenty-four hours."
The next few hours blurred together in focused preparation that felt like borrowed time before inevitable catastrophe. Raven worked with manic intensity on finalizing explosive devices while I hovered nearby, providing "safety suggestions" that actually optimized their lethality against massed forces.
"Shaped charges will direct blast force more efficiently," I observed, watching her adjust configurations that could mean the difference between survival and massacre when three hundred warriors reached our perimeter.
"Good thinking," she agreed, implementing changes that turned improvised explosives into weapons capable of stopping professional assault. "Where did you learn about shaped charges?"
"Military demolitions manuals downloaded along with comprehensive survival knowledge and the ability to predict combat patterns. Because I'm not actually human and my education came from sources that shouldn't exist."
"Basic physics," I deflected. "Energy follows the path of least resistance. Channel it properly and you multiply effectiveness."
Monty joined our work session with chemical expertise that complemented Raven's engineering genius and my "intuitive" improvements to their designs. Together, we created enough explosives to potentially turn the tide of battle—if we could deploy them effectively and survive long enough to trigger them when they'd do maximum damage.
"This might actually work," Monty said with wonder, examining devices that looked like improvised death but functioned with professional precision.
"It'll work," Bellamy said, approaching our workshop with expression that mixed grim determination with something approaching pride. "You three have given us a fighting chance against impossible odds."
He clasped my shoulder with rough affection that spoke of brotherhood earned through shared danger and mutual protection. "You might actually keep us alive through this," he said, and I could hear the weight of trust behind his words.
"I'll do everything in my power to keep you alive. All of you. Even if it means revealing capabilities that will mark me as something other than human. Even if it costs me everything I've built here."
"That's the plan," I replied, meaning it with every fiber of whatever I was.
As evening approached and final preparations reached completion, I found myself alone with Raven near the edge of camp, stealing precious minutes of peace before war transformed our world into chaos and blood.
"Are we going to survive this?" she asked quietly, her usual confidence tempered by realistic assessment of tactical odds that favored overwhelming defeat.
The question hit me like a physical blow because I wanted to promise her yes, wanted to offer certainty about outcomes I could influence but not guarantee. Instead, I gave her the only truth I could manage without revealing foreknowledge that would destroy everything between us.
"I'll do everything in my power to keep you alive," I said, taking her hands and forcing myself to meet her eyes. "All of you. I can't promise we all make it, but I promise I won't stop fighting until the last breath leaves my body."
"That's enough," she said, then kissed me softly with lips that tasted like hope and determination and acceptance of whatever tomorrow might bring. "Just... don't be a hero without me, okay? We survive together or not at all."
"Together," I agreed, holding her close and memorizing this moment of peace before war swept away everything simple and beautiful about our connection.
We stood in silence as darkness fell over our camp, listening to the distant sounds of approaching army and feeling the weight of everything we stood to lose in the coming hours. But underneath the fear and uncertainty, I felt something that had been missing since my arrival in this world—the certainty that I belonged somewhere, that these people had become family worth dying to protect.
"Tomorrow, three hundred warriors will try to kill everyone I've learned to love. And I'll use every capability I possess, reveal every secret if necessary, to make sure that doesn't happen. Because some things are worth any sacrifice, even exposure of truths that will change everything."
Dawn broke red over the forest, painting our camp in shades that promised blood and fire. The Grounder army would arrive by nightfall, and everything I'd worked toward—every relationship built, every trust earned, every secret maintained—would be tested in crucible of violence that would determine whether any of us survived to see another sunrise.
But as I watched my found family prepare for war with courage that defied impossible odds, I realized something fundamental had changed in my priorities. Survival mattered less than protecting the people who'd chosen to accept me despite knowing I was different. Maintaining secrets mattered less than keeping alive the connections that made existence worthwhile.
War was coming, but we'd face it together. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.
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