said, sitting. “Use the field.”
Contorting his face, Hans looked horrified.
“You misunderstand me,” Mari continued. She massaged Hans’s hand. “Most of the commonwealth already believes your father is deceased—”
Hans pulled his hand away from hers. “And Masimovian will make sure it remains that way—”
“Your father crossed him, for decades. He knew the risk—”
“No, my dear—”
“We all know the risk. Knowing your father the way I do, I suspect he’d approve of his sacrifice, but I know he wouldn’t approve of putting Connor through the fever so young.”
Hans’s lips felt as dry as Mars when he licked them. He’d already asked Mari to give up so much, and though it pained him to ask more of her, he couldn’t let his feelings for her impair proper judgment. “Connor isn’t safe here, and Father’s position is untenable,” Hans said. “You’re a talented telepath, fully capable. Stay here and shield yourself from Marstone. You’ll be fine on your own until I return.”
“Leave the boy with me,” Mari said assuredly. “I’ll protect him.”
“Connor’s ready, he can make it—”
“And what if he doesn’t?” Mari said. “What if Connor should die?”
“He’s a Selendia—”
Mari stood tall. “It’s barbaric. The fever hasn’t been used by developers in a hundred years!”
“Maybe so, but the BP use it all the time. Connor will survive—”
“Do you hear yourself? You’re acting like Zorian! You’re going to barrel forward, uncaring of those you bury along the way.”
Hans had never heard her talk like this. He’d always assumed she was scared, deep down, that she resisted his involvement with the BP because she didn’t want to lose him. But she didn’t seem scared, or rather, she did—but that wasn’t all. It was conviction, he realized, and a mother’s love for Connor. Gods help him, it only made him love her all the more.
“I’m not acting like Zorian,” Hans said. His older brother’s rogue attacks against the commonwealth, which worsened after their mother’s execution in the year 353 AR, had led to the death or capture of hundreds of BP and citizens. Hans and Murray’s operations were never reckless. “I’m not going to disappear.” Hans thought about his ceremony, the crowd gathered in the Hollow, the cheers, the hope he sensed within his people. He couldn’t let them down. “I’m acting like a president.”
Mari knelt to him. “You might’ve been born in Piscator,” she said, looking into his eyes, “but you’re not a fisherman,” she touched his arm, “you’re not a fighter,” she placed her hand upon his heart. “In here, you’re still a grower.” She held his hands. “How can you believe that you can put on a Janzer’s body armor, waltz over to the prison islands, and take your father back from a place no one has ever escaped?”
Hans spoke softly, his tone biting. “I’m far more than a grower, and if you would’ve attended my inauguration in the Hollow, you’d know it.”
Mari rose and turned from him. “I’m sorry.”
He rose from the settee, placing his hand on her waist. “Sweet Mari, I want what you want.” She eased away from his touch. “Don’t you remember when we first met? You were picking strawberries with grower bots, and you had that red ribbon in your hair …”
“Please, don’t—”
“I bypassed Marstone, contacted you directly over the zeropoint field, and snuck into your farm after Arty and Zorian fell asleep.”
Mari twisted to face him, her dress swirling around her. “Johann!”
“I want to have it all again, I want to take you back there and live as we once did. Don’t you still want that?”
“Of course, I do.”
His voice lowered to a whisper. “Let me make it happen.”
“You’re making me sound selfish.” She paused. “I changed my name, hid with you. Gods! My parents think I’m dead!” She sandwiched her nose between her hands and closed her eyes.
Learning to Kill: Stories