Defiant (Skyward, #4)

by Brandon Sanderson

Being old isn’t that bad. Except for your body, your eyesight, your sense of balance, and waking up each morning feeling like you’ve been nailed in place.

Why hadn’t anyone told me how many meetings galactic war would involve? Maybe I would have surrendered. Torture couldn’t possibly be worse than this.

“Drones,” I said. “That’s annoying. You mean I won’t get to feast on the blood of my enemies?” I paused. “I wonder what motor oil tastes like.” Everyone in the room gaped at me. Except Jorgen, who laughed. “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” I snapped at the others. “You invited me. This is what you get. Ironsides, what about capital ships?”

A kitsen on a hovering platform moved up to my right. He wore a ceramic mask, white with red stripes. Hesho, once emperor of the kitsen. He’d taken to covering his face and calling himself Darkshadow, the Masked Exile. Scud, I wished I could get away with something that awesome.

“M-Bot?” I whispered. “What in the heavens?” I’m a ghost, he said in my mind. Boo!

“When you were in there,” he said, “and I was trying to make sense of all that was happening, I kept asking myself, ‘What would Spensa do?’ Trying to be a little more like you helped me keep pushing forward.” “You’re kidding.” He shook his head. “Jorgen, that’s a terrible idea!” I dropped his hand and gestured at myself. “Have you seen me try to solve problems? Things end up on fire. Or dead. Usually both!” “Things get done when you’re around.” “Things, yes,” I said. “Things like me running off and moonlighting as an interdimensional space pirate! ‘What would Spensa do?’ Honestly, Jorgen, I thought better of you.”

At the end of the story…at the end of the story, the hero came home, and found herself transformed…into someone who didn’t belong, and could never belong, with the people she’d left behind. It was the same in almost every story I’d read. Heroes didn’t get to stay and live in the new world they helped create. Even if I pulled off some kind of miracle and saved my people…that would be the end of it. For me.

“Ready to get back to it?” Cobb asked, holding my arm, eyeing the two of us. “Or should I stall? I have a story about Ironsides when she was in flight school that always results in an awkward silence. Good for thinking. And for making people too uncomfortable to bother me.”

“Rig,” I declared to him, “I need science.” “You need therapy.” “You need better jokes.” “You need a better sense of humor.”

“I might be able to fix that,” Hesho said, hovering down beside me. “Assuming the translator has the right term, in our language, for the ancient warrior assassins of lore.” “You have ninjas?” I asked him. “Kitsen ninjas?”

I was barely listening. Fifteen-centimeter-tall. Furry. Ninjas. Scud. The universe was awesome after all.

I couldn’t help feeling replaced. By Sadie, or by Alanik—who had joined Skyward Flight in my absence. She chatted with Arturo as ground crews finished up with their ships. There was an irony there—the woman I’d imitated now seemed more comfortable with my friends than I did.

“Are you moping?” a voice asked from my right. “In the cockpit of a starship. Never thought I’d see the day.” I jumped, turning to find that someone had climbed the short ladder beside my ship and was peeking in. Kimmalyn had pulled her black hair into a long ponytail to prepare for flying. She folded her arms on the edge of the cockpit, inspecting me with deep brown eyes.

“You’re moping,” Kimmalyn said again. “The Saint said that the best moping must be done alone.” “She did, did she?” “Indeed.” “So…” “So I must never leave someone alone to mope,” Kimmalyn said, “as I never want a person to experience the best kind of moping. It’s also the worst kind, you see.”

She leaned forward into the cockpit. “I’ll repeat this instead, Spensa. I’m here. That’s all. I’m here.” “I…” I began. Maybe, M-Bot said in my head, you could just let yourself relax a little. Also, I’m still here, spying on you. It’s a ghost thing.

Usually Nedd was…well, he was the human embodiment of bedhead. If the stretch you give after sitting too long had a personality, that would be Nedd.

Surely he wasn’t so self-aware as to do it on purpose, was he? Disarm us by being like that? And the mustache? Was it…part of the act? I dismissed that idea almost immediately. All the while, Nedd continued to grin at me. “Nedd,” Kimmalyn whispered loudly, “don’t smile so much. She’s trying to brood. You’re ruining the moment.” “Oh,” he said. “Why?” “She says she’s dangerous.” “She’d better be!” he replied. “I mean, it’s her job. Hey, want to play poker later?” “Bless your stars,” Kimmalyn said.

“I’ll need you to bring the brooding down to, say, half as much. If you don’t we’ll be over quota, and Jorgen used up all of our supply last month. Scud, even Arturo has been doing too much lately. I think I’m the only one in this entire flight who hasn’t been draining our brooding quota.” “And me?” Kimmalyn asked. “You pontificate,” he said. “That’s brooding, but fancier.”

“So…this mustache. How—” “It’s awful,” Kimmalyn said. He blinked in surprise, and I’ll admit I did a double take myself. Had…had Kimmalyn just said that? “Did you say—” Nedd began. “It’s awful.” Kimmalyn put both hands in front of her mouth, as if trying to hide how much she was smiling. “It’s terrible, Nedd. It’s like someone glued a rat to your face, then ripped it off really quickly, leaving a few hairs behind! It’s like you shaved off a real mustache, but missed a few spots. It’s truly terrible.”

“You’re usually, uh, more…subtle.” “The mustache doesn’t deserve subtlety, Nedd,” she said. “It deserves a mercy killing.” “Oh. Uh, well then.” He looked to me, as if for support. “I’ve got a knife,” I said, reaching for the one I wore strapped to my leg. “Hold still and—” He went scrambling down the ladder. Smart man.

I reached into the nowhere and sent us halfway across the galaxy to the Superiority’s information nexus, hidden in a location that, as far as the rest of the Superiority knew, didn’t exist. A place kept off the maps. A place not talked about. Around a star known as Sol. In the system where humankind had originated.

Luna. Old Earth’s moon. I couldn’t make out much by starlight, but the place reminded me of Detritus. A vast dark planetoid, surface broken by craters. Forlorn. Abandoned by time, and with no defensive shell to hide and protect it. Old Earth had vanished centuries ago, leaving this moon in a lonely orbit around Sol.

At some point during the final human war, the united forces of the galaxy—forged into a cohesive government to resist the human menace—had launched an all-out attack on Earth. When they’d arrived, they’d found only empty space. And an abandoned moon, cast away like a piece of debris blown off a fleeing battleship.

“Sweetest stars,” Kimmalyn whispered over the comm, “and the Lord God that birthed them…” Jorgen cleared his throat. “Belay the retreat. Enemy defensive position eliminated. Nice work, Spin.” Shut up, I started to whisper, but bit it off. I was the one who always bragged about killing, about the way of the warrior. All of that nonsense. Hesho muted the comm. “Take your time,” he said softly. “Breathe. In and out. Focus only on each new breath.”

Of course, I still did my customary check of each room and closet. Ridiculous? Perhaps. It made me feel better to look for assassins—until I remembered that there were kitsen ninjas somewhere out there. They could be hiding in places a human could never fit. Did my routine need to include a thorough check of my sock drawer to make sure no cute furry killers were hiding among my unmentionables?

FM finally arrived, carrying three slugs at once. She’d really gotten into the entire slug thing, which I found odd. She was so prim, and slugs didn’t really match her normal fashionable accessorizing. I immediately felt guilty for that snideness. Yes, FM liked to be fashionable, but she’d never given me reason to think she was vain. I’d just always felt intimidated by how…well, perfect she was at basically everything. Even, it turned out, taking care of slugs.

“But M-Bot, if it helps, I don’t think most people want to do what’s right. That’s what makes doing the right thing noble. It’s a conscious choice. A hard one. If it were easy, then why would we respect it so much?”

“Do you have designs for what you’d want? And by that I mean accurate, detailed schematics created by an actual engineer? Not something hand-drawn on a scrap of paper, depicting a catapult for launching Stacy Leftwire into a furnace.” I smiled. “I forgot about that.” “I didn’t. You wrote it in blood.” “Rat blood,” I agreed. “It makes a terrible ink. Kept congealing. Not sure how the old necromancers ever made use of it in their arcane tomes.”

“You are troubled,” he said to me. “Am I ever not?” I said with a sigh. “Wise,” he said. “As the ocean waves are disturbed by constant turmoil, so is the life of one who lives to the full.” “I don’t think I’m so much like waves, Hesho,” I said, “as much as I am like a jug of something carbonated that’s shaken up and down repeatedly.” He chuckled at that. “I enjoy the way you see the world, Spin. It makes me think that perhaps I should appreciate levity in more abundance.” “Uh, same? Only in reverse?”

“It’s the kitsen formal agreement to our offer of alliance,” he said, “and joint war.” He turned the card over, showing the flowery writing and ink designs. “They told me they’d send it. Apparently on their planet, people like to get them framed.” Scud. I loved those fuzzy little maniacs.

“This makes it difficult for you when dealing with those who have lived in privilege,” he said. “We spend our lives learning to plan. Often, those in power stay in power because of such luxuries—it is not that they are smarter or more capable, but that they’ve had the opportunity to think about tomorrow, not just today.”

“Oh?” Kimmalyn replied, ducking down to look at us. “Are you implying that you need to be comfortable to take a nap, Nedd? I’ve caught you sleeping in the most ridiculous positions.” “See, that’s the thing,” he said. “Once you fall asleep, you don’t notice anymore. ’Cuz you’re unconscious! So, sleeping when you’re uncomfortable is really the best way to approach life.” “And sleeping when you’re comfortable?” I asked. “Also the best way to approach life,” he said. “Bless your stars,” Kimmalyn said.

“You compose poetry, Nedder?” Hesho asked. “I love the stuff,” Nedd said. “You do not compose poetry,” Arturo said, walking past. “Forgive him,” Nedd said. “ ‘His wit’s as thick as a Tewkesbury mustard.’ ” “As what?” I asked. “It’s Shakespeare,” Nedd said. Nearby, Arturo froze. He pulled out his datapad and looked through it, then looked back at Nedd, his jaw dropping. “It is Shakespeare. From Henry the Fourth.”

“Awesome,” Nedd said, raising his fist to Hesho. “Fight the man.” “The man?” Hesho asked. “Him, mostly,” Nedd said, indicating Arturo. “Except when he pays for snacks. Then he’s not the man, he’s the man.” “The intricacies of your language are indeed intriguing,” Hesho said.

Not…alone…Chet thought. Not alone? No, I wasn’t alone. I’d never been alone. I reached out and found… I’m here, Kimmalyn said in my mind. She didn’t know what was happening, but she’d felt me reaching out in my pain. Spin, I’m here. I’m here. Nedd, on Platform Prime, with command. I’m here. Arturo. I’m here. FM. Spensa? Jorgen. Oh, scud. It’s good to feel your mind. All of them. Even Alanik, Sadie, T-Stall, and Catnip. Kauri and the kitsen. Shiver and Dllllizzzz.

For the first time in this fight, she was truly afraid. Truly worried that this was it. That she and her friends were doomed. That she’d never return to her family, her sisters, her parents, her girlfriend.

I KNEW IT but damn I wish we knew who. Sadie?

The love of the oppressed found the souls of the broken, and the result was light.

“Hi!” he said through a speaker on the front. “I’ve been resurrected! Do I start a religion now, or do I wait for you to do it for me? That part has always confused me.”

“And I’m here too!” M-Bot said. “Hello, everyone! I’ve been resurrected. But I’m not starting a religion. I’ve decided they’re too much work.”