Council will have to listen to him.
They will have to consider his plea to finally take a public stand against the Juvenile Authority.
Catching Hennessey and Fretwell wonât quite bring down the moon, but if the Arápacheâarguably the most influential Chancefolk tribeâcan be brought into the battle against unwinding, it will be more than the moon that falls.
5 ⢠Starkey
Mason Michael Starkey couldnât care less about what some Chancefolk tribe does or doesnât do. He doesnât need their pathetic support because heâs taken his battle against unwinding right to the enemy, in the form of a gun muzzle rammed down the Juvenile Authorityâs throat. As far as heâs concerned, anything less is for losers. Starkey knows he is poised for greatness. In fact, heâs already achieved it. Now itâs just a matter of degree.
âA little higher,â he says. âYes, right there.â
He escaped with his storks from the Graveyard before the Juvies could capture them. He survived a plane crash. And now Starkey is a war hero. Never mind that no official war has been declaredâhe has declared it, and thatâs all that matters. If others out there choose to behave like this isnât a war, then they deserve whatâs coming to them.
âIâm not feeling it,â he says. âA little harder.â
Starkey is the savior of storks. He and his brigade ofunwanted babies who grew into unwanted kids have now grown into an army bursting with righteous rage against a system that would permanently silence them. Society would have them dismantled, their parts going to âserve humanity.â Well, now humanity is getting a slightly different sort of service from them.
âYouâre not very good at this, are you?â
âIâm trying! Iâm doing everything you say!â
Starkey lies facedown on a massage table in a room that used to be the executive office of a power plant. The plant was gutted years ago, leaving nothing but a rusty shell within a chain-link fence, miles away from anyplace anyone wants to be. Itâs a weedy corner of northern Mississippi, as overgrown and unloved as a place can be. The perfect hiding spot for an army of six hundred.
Starkey pushes himself up on one elbow. His masseuse, a pretty girl whose name he canât remember, looks away, too intimidated to meet his eye. âA good back massage should hurt as much as it soothes,â Starkey tells her. âYou have to work out the knots. You need to leave me loose and limber and ready for our next mission. Do you understand?â
The girl nods, overly obedient and too eager to please. âI think so.â
âYou said youâve done this before.â
âI know,â she tells him. âI just wanted the chance . . .â
Starkey sighs. This is the way of things around him now. They climb over each other like rats to be close to him. To bask in his light. He canât blame them, really. He should applaud this girl for her ambitionâbut right now all he wants is a good massage.
âYou can go,â he tells her.
âIâm sorry . . .â
She lingers, and he contemplates the moment. Starkey knows he could take a detour with this afternoon and maybe get something other than a massage from this eager girl. Whateverhe wants, he knows she will oblige . . . but the fact that he can have it so easily makes it so much less desirable.
âJust go,â he tells her.
She slinks away, trying to do so quietly, but the rusty hinges on the door complain when she opens it. Rather than making the door squeal again, she leaves it open. Starkey can hear her clambering down the metal stairs, probably in tears at her failure to please him.
Alone now, he rolls his left shoulder and checks the bandage there. He took a bullet in the last harvest camp liberation. Well, not really. The bullet grazed him so slightly, it