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Chapter Text

August 1st, 2149 CE Mount Weather The Oval Office   

This pre-meeting, before the President formally briefs his Cabinet on recent developments, is ‘closed’. All cameras and recorders are switched off and no guards stand in-front of the sealed doors.

Cage turns to face his father, the President, who sits calmly behind his big-ass desk even after letting nearly fifty kids from the sky wander off into the forest.

Dante in his turn is feeling frustrated by his son’s inability to take ‘the long view’. Reports have reached the President’s ears of Cage shooting his mouth off about how disappointed he is that the President ‘pussy footed’ around the kids, letting so many ‘useful assets’ get away.  So, the President of the United States of America spells it out for him. 

“Cage, we have forty-five new residents of Mount Weather and they can tolerate the world outside without burning up. They’re children and yes, ideally all ninety-odd would be with us; Lord alone knows we need the new genetic material, but we could only get six of the Guard out there in time and when the youngsters started to throw themselves off the cliff rather than face another form of incarceration what would you have had me do?  Shoot them? Stand by and watch while they threw themselves to their deaths?  They were already shaken up when Whitman shot the boy who fired at Forshaw.” Dante sees some glimmer of understanding dawn on Cage’s sullen face, there is hope for his named successor.  “It's a pity that those who chose to take to the woods won’t last long enough to regret it, most likely the savages will kill them or they’ll starve, but those who stayed with us are good,” the President’s face twists in distaste at his own words, “breeding stock.”  Taking a deep breath he continues. “The girl Clarke negotiated hard, but her people were talking with their lives Cage. I made the call and I don’t regret it.” His eyes are hard, he’s not going to tolerate any debate about his decision to let some of them go, Cage can see that and there’s no point in creating more aggravation. Cage’s personal powerbase with his people, especially the military, is growing and he can wait a little longer. The President continues “Now Chung, your report; what the hell went wrong with the jamming system and what are you doing about getting our communications back up? I need something positive to tell the Cabinet.”

Cage sits back, his news is grim but nothing like as bad as Chief Engineer Kandinsky (known to everyone as Kandi) Chung’s. Chung shuffles in his chair, his fingers tap on his notepad, then he fiddles with his tie and loosens his shirt collar. “Mr President Sir, as you know our SKY-NET system constantly searches the sky for incoming hostile objects, like ships, missiles and bombs. SKY-NET was built over 100 years ago but we’ve kept it serviced and working all that time and it’s regularly tested in accordance with the manuals left by our forefathers. What is meant to happen, is that when a flying object approaches Mount Weather the system makes a choice. Either shoot it down with one of our own missiles or jam the incoming’s navigation systems. Forty-seven years ago, Sir, you gave the order for our missiles to be disconnected from SKY-NET.”

“Yes, I know what I did, we only had three missiles left after we’d used one to warn the savages off using firearms. The missiles were put onto manual launch only and jamming was the remaining automatic defence.”

Chung nods his agreement. “SKY-NET did jam the incoming ship’s navigation sir, but the ship didn’t respond. From our initial investigations, it looks as if the ship was damaged during the flight and its’ radio and electrical systems were fried. By the time we tried to jam their navigation system, it had already stopped operating, the ship was in free fall and the parachutes only deployed because their release was controlled by changes in barometric pressure. We’re lucky the ship didn’t crash into Mount Weather and do even more damage than it did. Mr President Sir.”

The President still looks annoyed. “What about repairs? Cage tells me that our communications array was badly damaged.”

“Mr President, Sir. Our external communication array and satellite dishes were destroyed. SKY-NET is offline. For information about the outside world, we have three hard-wired cameras, one each monitoring the: main door, service door and mine door. Internal coms through our WIFI network and hard-wired telephones are unaffected.”

The President stares, shock and disbelief written on his face. Chung continues, after a nervous cough. “Mr President Sir. Repairs are hindered by the fact that the sky-kid’s ship landed right on top of the array and it’s still there. That ship is a big lump Sir. It’s about ten metres square, and our aerials, dishes, receivers; well, pretty much all our SKY-NET and communications gear is crushed underneath it. Bottom line is, that if we want to know what’s going on outside, we need to send men to go out and look.”

“How long before you can rig something up? Get SKY-NET, the drones, remote cameras and the tremblers working?”

“Basic radios coms a week Sir. Everything else, three months, Mr President Sir.”

“Cage, I want men with scopes out on the peak every day, looking for more ships falling from space and have a full squad ready to go out there if we need it. Chung you’ve got one month. Best get to it. Dismissed.”

Chung almost runs out of the room, Cage looks at the chair the Chief Engineer was sitting in, he’s left a sweaty mark on the cracked leather seat. He squirms in his own, his turn for a grilling.

“Well, what’s gone wrong with Cerberus Cage? Tsing tells me the number of blood bags incoming has dropped to almost zero, so she’s had to increase the feed to those we have, to prolong their usefulness. What’s going on?”

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th Moon New. Arl’ton

Yesterday’s shooting skaifaya (star) landing on top of the Maunde (Mt Weather) in a shower of sparks, flame and smoke startled everyone. Lexa saw the dramatic arrival of the ship from her quarters in Ton DC, where she was in a meeting with Indra, Anya and Gustus. Her ability to keep a stoic face almost failed her, when she realised that Clarke had arrived and that if she lived, was likely in the hands of the Maunon (Mountain Men).

The following dawn she’s at Arl’ton, pacing across the floor of her great tent, as she tries to think her way through what little information she has and the plethora of ideas and fears that are tumbling chaotically in her head. Skaikru have arrived earlier than she expected, almost a Moon early, she thought she had more time; to prepare for the battle with the Maunon, to prepare her people for those who fall from the skai, to prepare herself for Clarke. Though if her recent dreams are anything to go by, she is more than ready for Clarke!

Isla calls from outside, “Heda, Lincoln and Wormana Anya are here.”

A mark later, two of her most trusted and a small gonakru are making their way to the Maunde. Her instructions are clear. They are to gather information about the skaifaya that fell, whilst avoiding all contact with the Maunon.

“I heard that a skaifaya fell some summers ago and that a hef (man) was inside it.”.

Lincoln agrees, revealing that he had found the hef wandering aimlessly outside the hot metal ball. He had reported back to his nontu (father), who had ordered the hef killed because he spoke and looked like the Maunon.

“I understand why your nontu gave that order Lincoln but if there are people in this skaifaya they are to be observed, not killed. I want to know about them, not make another enemy when I am so close to battle with the Maunon.”  

As they leave Lexa turns away, stepping quickly back, she must hide her yearning to go with them and see Clarke as soon as possible. Her duty as Heda is not to scramble up the enemy’s stronghold in search of her past love, but to finalise her plans and ready her gonas, to take down the Maunon.

The first thing she will do today is check that everything is ready for the thousands who will be part of the annual ‘futbal tournament’. All twelve krus of the Kongeda will attend this ‘event’. Eleven of them will each send a thousand gonas disguised as players or supporters. Floukru will send players, foodstuffs and fisas (healers).  Yujleda, Azgeda, Trishanakru, Ingranronakru and Louwoda Kilron have messaged that they will start their journey to Arl’ton when this moon is full.

Last summer the first futbal tournament was a great success in terms of trade and relations between krus. It also provided cover for many carts visiting the gardens at Arl’ton that during the darkest hours of the night offloaded thick steel shields, thousands of pit props and weapons.

Ever reliable, Indra has everything under control, including a plan for the well-spaced disposition of thousands of tents. Careful spacing avoids, aggravating tensions between krus and giving the Maunon a ‘good target’ for a missile strike. Reassured by her most senior wormana Lexa moves on to consider the readiness of the tunnels and finalise her tactics.

She, together with a few others, emerge at midday from an inconspicuous looking tent. They are all dressed in rough, homespun clothing; trying their best to look like gardeners (not gonas) and carrying trugs and sacks, ostensibly to harvest the beans, potatoes, carrots and marrows that are ready to be picked. Under her breath Lexa curses whoever made the trousers she’s wearing, they’re tight at the crotch, baggy everywhere else and the urge to scratch numerous itches is almost unbearable. Ontari looks like she is suffering too, the shirt she’s wearing is far too tight across the natblida’s muscled shoulders and her trousers are a twin to Lexa’s. Only Indra looks comfortable, wearing a long, belted tunic, with bare legs and sandals.

First, they pass under the dense leaf canopy provided by the coppiced hazels. The small trees are ready for harvest and youngons (youngsters) move along the rows raking the fallen nuts into piles. Hanging at the end of each row is a string hung with squirrel pelts drying in the sun and acting as a disincentive to other nut thieves. The walled gardens buzz with activity, workers are harvesting, weeding, pruning and digging over the long beds. It makes Lexa smile to see so much good food. These beds crop well, better than most gardens in Trikru. Albion, Chief of Yujleda, visited the gardens after he took the brand of the Kongeda in Polis last year and he thought that using so much soil and grit from deep underground meant that the crops did not suffer so badly from radiation.   

The shed door opens on well-oiled hinges and Gustus makes his way to the front of the group, the oil lamp he lights smokes for a few moments before he closes the glass and starts to walk down the slope into the tunnel. Quint and Indra are holding lamps too, while Ontari carries a can of oil. Strik and Bigas Selene walk quietly at the back and Hellen and Jules remain on guard in the ‘garden shed’. After a few cubits the slope becomes steeper and all daylight is lost. On their left is a handrail of smoothed pine the surface of which is at intervals dimpled. If you know the code the indents tell you how far you are from the surface. Lexa’s fingers have just traced the pattern for 300 cubits when the rail ends and the slope levels out.

“We are on the ‘platform’ Heda, a guide rope is tied to the end of the rail. Today the tunnels are dark but when we are ready to bring ai gonas down here many more lanterns, torches and candles will be lit.” Gustus’ voice resonates, as if they are within a huge cavern. Lexa supposes that they are, this cave may not be natural or the result of mining for ores but it sounds just the same. As if the voice is bouncing off a distant wall before softly striking her chest. “Shall we move on?”

“Sha, (Yes) Gustus”

Outside the circles of light cast by the lanterns, is a darkness that’s heavy and solid, only occasionally does a reflection gleam, from metal, glass or water? Lexa can’t tell. Underfoot, grit crunches, but then it softens to soil and as it again changes to hard rock their footsteps become lost in the sounds of water. A stream burbles and the plink, plink, plink of water dripping onto rock is a regular rhythm.

“Gustus, where does the stream flow from?”

“A second, smaller, tunnel that joins this one Heda.” Lexa sees his lamp swinging out to the right. “About a league to the north it is dammed by a rockfall that stands taller than me.  Water runs under the dam at a steady trickle and is the source of this stream that runs alongside the track all the way to Osser. The water is fresh and drinkable. When there is a storm, the flow increases and in Winter, I have seen it overtop the dam. Then we may have trouble Heda as our new tunnel is much smaller than this one and could flood quickly.”

“Keryon (Spirits) grant us a dry summer.”

“Sha, Heda!”

Lanterns swaying, the guide rope running through their fingers, they travel on. The ground is rough but level, water drips and flows, no-one speaks; it’s as if they are all trying to take in and master this unfamiliar place; listening for danger, scanning the darkness for enemies, smelling its’ damp mustiness. After Keryon knows how long there’s the glimmer of a lantern ahead and when he eventually brings them to a halt Gustus lights more to reveal a long slender cart, its’ metal wheels resting on smooth rails and four horses harnessed ready to pull it. Coll stands by the horses’ heads holding a lantern.

“How many gonas can each cart carry Gustus?”  

“Forty Wormana Indra and we have four carts that can travel together. One hundred and sixty gonas per trip. It takes one mark to get to Osser and then we must walk, as the new tunnel is much narrower than this one. As we walk the three leagues to the end of the new tunnel these carts can return here to pick up more gonas. The cave at Osser is very big, two thousand gonas could wait there, ready to attack the Maunon.”

They step up onto the cart and when all are seated Coll climbs aboard, makes a soft clucking noise and the horses start to pull away. It’s a strange sensation, the smooth glide is very different from travelling the Kongeda’s roads by cart. Then, the jolting of wheels striking stones or dropping into ruts is almost constant. Here, apart from some metallic clangs and the rhythmic clicking of hooves, there’s almost no sense of motion. Lexa could almost believe they were standing still if there wasn’t a breeze ruffling her hair. Nothing is visible beyond the lanterns’ light, just blackness and a sense of mass and things that are there, but unseen. “What is there within this cave Gustus?”

“Many great but broken machines, Heda.”

August 3rd, 2149 CE Mount Weather Medical Centre

The slight woman, wavy black hair cascading over her shoulders, wears a white coat and a serious expression as she walks towards the group of young people who wait anxiously for news. “You can see him now. He’s awake but sleepy. He lost a lot of blood but the transfusions are helping him.”

“Is he going to be, okay?” This is Octavia, pushing to the front.

“I hope so.” The woman gives a small smile of reassurance.

“Let’s go in Octavia and see how he’s doing.” Clarke heads for the door, Octavia and Jasper follow.

Bellamy’s lying in a hospital bed, covered with clean white sheets and a white bandage is wrapped around his shoulder. There are monitors stuck to his chest and clipped to his fingers, a drip of what looks like saline hangs above his bed and a blood line emerges from his right arm. When Octavia runs over to him whispering “Bell, Bell!” the boy stirs and his eyes open.

“Hey O!” His voice is sticky and slurred.

The siblings talk quietly for a while, so Jasper and Clarke give them some privacy by standing back and looking at the handwritten charts hanging on a rail at the end of the bed. Jasper thumbs through a clipboard and whispers “Do you know what this stuff means Clarke?”

Clarke hums and looks away from the chart she’s been reading, casually dropping it back onto the rail. She stretches and rolls her neck, taking in the room and soon spots a small camera high in the corner of the ceiling. She shakes her head. “No Jas, it’s all Greek to me.”

Walking round the bed to stand beside Octavia Clarke leans over the patient. “Hi Bellamy, how are you feeling? Are they treating you well?”

Jasper’s there too, breaking in with; “did they give you chocolate cake?”

Bellamy’s smile is weak. “Chocolate cake – no I missed that. I’ve only just come round. O tells me I missed the thrills of decontamination too.”

Jasper waxes lyrical about chocolate cake and how it almost made, the scrubbing, laxatives and paper clothing of decontamination worth it.  But not quite. After a few more minutes the woman, who introduces herself a little stiffly to Octavia as Dr Tsing, returns to tell them they must leave. “Your brother needs to rest Octavia. Come and see him tomorrow.”

They head back to the rec room where Wells, Monty, Fox and Bree are waiting for their news. The others are either in their dorms or on a tour of Mount Weather. “Let’s get a cup of tea.” They trail over to a kitchenette that consists of, a sink, kettle, empty boxes of biscuits and some dirty mugs. Wells grumbles about messy kids as he starts to wash up. Clarke looks fondly at her dearest friend.

“You’ll make some lucky girl a wonderful wife Wells!”  That’s Jasper, stepping into the absent Murphy’s role as tease.

“Piss off, Jasper!” Is Wells’ terse reply. It really hacks him off that washing up is something no-one else does.

Tea in hand Clarke leans against the wall. She deliberately refills the kettle and sets it to boil. Her friends watch with growing concerns, that are confirmed, when the kettle boils and Clarke’s finger remains on the power button, the kettle continues to boil - noisily.

“Octavia you must stay calm as I tell you this. Bell’s life is at stake and if you sound off, he could die.” Octavia’s mouth drops open, then closes. She licks her lips before giving Clarke a shallow nod. “Something is seriously wrong here. Tsing is lying. The charts on his bed are not ordinary medical charts, they are records of an experiment they are conducting with Bellamy as the test subject and worst of all they aren’t giving him fluids to make up for blood lost when he was shot. They’re giving him plasma because they’re taking blood out of him. That’s why he’s dopey and so pale.”

“What?”  That’s Jasper.

“But he’s had blood transfusions, we saw the tube of blood Clarke.”

“Octavia that tube ran to a blood bag below the bed, that was slowly filling up with Bellamy’s blood. If they were transfusing blood into him the bag would be hanging on the rail above his bed, like the bag of plasma.” Wide, scared, angry eyes bore into her and Clarke feels the responsibility for negotiating that some of them came willingly into this place drop heavily onto her shoulders. She must get her people out of here.  “Okay, I want ideas about how to keep Bell and all of us safe. And we need to explore this place, looking for a safe place to meet and for ways out. The map we’ve been given doesn’t even show the entrance they used to bring us in.”

“Shall we tell the others?” Asks Monty.

Clarke releases the power button as she shakes her head. “Not everyone, maybe Dax and Atom. They seem sceptical about the people in here.”

August 3rd, 2149 CE The Ark - Operations Room for Project Ground

Callie holds her friend while she cries sobs that shake her frame to the core. Clarke’s signal went dark a few hours after they guesstimate the dropship landed. Wells’ signal went dark too and the doctor, already exhausted by; the long surgery on Jaha, her subsequent arrest and near execution for excessive use of anaesthesia, broke down when she was told that over forty of the signals had blinked out simultaneously, including Clarke’s. 

Kane, still the Chancellor pro-tem as Jaha is not fit to return to work after being shot, walks into the operations centre and stares, almost mindlessly, at the monitors. So many are dark, yet others blink bluey white as ever changing figures spool across the screens. He turns to the woman he almost executed. “What’s going on doctor? Another five wristbands stopped sending signals this morning.  Is it radiation, accidents, wild animals? What’s happening down there?”

Abby chokes down her tears. “It’s not radiation, it doesn’t present that way. The first few were likely accidents on the way down or on landing. The forty or so that just stopped, I don’t know. Those that are still ‘live’, are exhausted and hungry.”

Kane huffs and walks out of the room. Callie gives Abby’s shoulder a reassuring rub before standing and walking towards the side wall. She taps on a vent cover. “You can come out now, whoever you are. We’re not going to tell Kane or the Guard.”

The vent cover drops with a clatter. “What the fuck is happening doctor G? Where’s Finn, Clarke, Jonny and the others? That stupid story about a virus in the Sky Box is …” Raven almost topples out of the vent in her fury and when she finally gets herself upright the urge to hug Abby is almost overwhelming.

Callie suggests they all go to her quarters for a bit of privacy and to talk things through. “No way!” says Raven. “Your place and Abby’s are bugged. You’ve not got any privacy. Jaha’s had you bugged for over a year, how d’you think they found out about Mr Griffin wanting to broadcast about the oxygen problem?  When he died and they put Clarke in the Sky Box I thought it through. Then I hacked their systems and discovered that Jaha, Shumway and Kane authorised ‘Level 5’ security surveillance on you two, Clarke and Jake. Your every move was watched. Work, home, leisure activities – the lot! He’s that close” her fingers pinch “to bringing charges of treason against you Ms Cartwigg, as the ringleader of a ‘terrorist’ group.”  Stunned silence greets her words. “Where are they? Finn, Clarke, Wells and the others?”

“On the ground. Everyone in the Sky Box was sent to the ground.”

“What!”

“Look at the screens Raven, nearly fifty are still ‘live’. Finn and Jonny are with them.”

“Clarke? Wells?”

Callie replies. “Their sensors went dark a couple of days ago. We don’t know why. Kane and Jaha are preparing to float three hundred volunteers. They think, that without radio confirmation that the ground is survivable and with so many sensors going dark, it’s not safe to take us all down.”

Raven looks at the screens “The radio’s probably fritzed. That can happen.  No way are the prince and princess gone Abby. Those two will survive……… and remember you sent a hundred delinquents down there to die, if you told them not to do something, like ‘don’t take off those wristbands’, some of them will do it, just to spite you.”

The door to the operations room swings open and Major Grace Byrne strides in. Raven tenses, she’s not supposed to be here, the vent cover is still open, so it’s obvious that she’s….

“This place is just as bugged as anywhere else Raven. Lucky for you it was me listening in today.” The Major pulls out of her pocket a small box and the mechanic recognises one of her own jammers. “You’re all on Jaha’s list. Saving his life cut you a bit of slack Abby but Kane and Shumway are closing in on you two.” She gestures at Callie and Raven.  

“Fuck.”  There’s silence as the seriousness of their situation sinks in. “We need to get out of here and there’s only one place to go. Down! There’s an old escape pod, in the disused part of Orchid Station. It can take six in suits. I’ve been getting it ready for months, another day and it’ll be good to go.” She looks at the three of them. “Did you really think Finn, Jonny, Jasper, Monty and Clarke were going to be allowed to live past eighteen?”

“We were going to try and…”

“All of them? Can you honestly say that you could save them all? Even Finn, just another Factory Station kid who fucked up and lost us months’ worth of oxygen! He just wanted me to have some fun on my birthday!” The three older women look uncertain as tears starts to trickle down Raven’s cheek.

“I thought not, so I acted. I found a pod and fixed it; my plan was to break them out of the Sky Box and for all of us to go to the ground. There we’d have some chance of a life. But you sent them there without me! I’m going, I’m going to the ground. If you want to come with me, get yourselves to Orchid Station Quadrant 4 tomorrow at midnight.”

Chapter Text

August 4th, 2149 CE The Ark. Orchid Station Quadrant 4 - 2345 hours

Sweat pours from her body, space suits are too hot to wear inside, even with the helmet loose and gloves off. Raven feels the ratchet in her hand slip and wipes it off with a rag. A few more minutes and the valve will be in. A clunk from the door has her looking over her shoulder. It’s Abby and Callie carrying two enormous bags and looking tense; scared even. “Get into suits asap, I’m not sure this piece of shit” she taps the pressure regulator, “is going to last the trip.” Raven’s knows her own work is good but the regulator came from Nygel, so it’s not like it comes with a guarantee.

Behind her are whispers, clicks and snaps as the two women, clearly unused to space suits, start to put on the kit. Everyone on the Ark has done safety drills and worn a suit at least once, but God alone knows when the two women last got fully kitted up. “Where does this bit go?” 

“Who knows!” Abby’s giggle is edging towards hysteria so Raven turns around to see what’s set them off.

“It’s the drinks pouch, you don’t need it on this trip. Just leave it hanging.” She turns back to fitting the regulator. “What’s in the bags, I mean haven’t you two heard of travelling light?”

“I’ve got clothes, rations, a full medical kit, extra antibiotics and suture packs. My great-great-grandfather’s surgery kit, Jake’s favourite screwdriver and a pair of good boots.”

Raven’s impressed. Her own baggage consists mainly of tools and spare underwear. “What about you Callie, what did you bring to the party?”

For a couple of seconds there’s silence, Callie’s clearly making some decisions about what to say. She sighs … “the nearest I’ve got to warm clothes, ration bars, a canteen, a pack of salt. Some old family stuff that might be useful, a wok and a dao. I tried to get into the armoury to get a gun but my security codes don’t work anymore. Jaha must’ve already started to lock me out of the system.” Raven’s not sure what all of that means but the canteen and wok will be useful. She turns her attention back to the valve, giving the nut a final twist. She starts her prelaunch checks.

……………………………

Grace has thought this through. After three shifts in a row today was her day off, so she’s had plenty of time to sit and agonise about going to the ground. She’s not political like Callie or Abby but she’s sick of the corruption, of being the tool of a sick system and the people who’ve managed to scramble to the top of it. She could die on the ground; she could die getting to the ground! but what is there to live for on the Ark? Colleagues she doesn’t trust, superior officers she doesn’t trust, a political leadership she doesn’t trust…. Not anymore. Friends? Guards have very few of those. Lovers? Her last significant relationship ended years ago; Guards make lousy life-partners apparently, or is it just her?  

Then having decided on ‘yes’ to going, there’s the problem of packing a bag. She opens drawers she’s not looked inside for over ten years. Her great-great-great grandmother Esme Stewart’s diary is lying on top of a load of old-world stuff. Esme was Commodore of the British space station and part of the team that negotiated the coming together of the Ark. Grace holds the tiny book in her hand, it’s so small and she’d always meant to read it; she stashes it in a pocket.  Esme’s mother, one of many in the family called Grace, had been an officer in the Royal Regiment of Scotland; here are her military medals and ribbons and at the bottom, its’ silver fittings tarnished with age, is her highland dirk. The smaller, more discreetly decorated, sgian dugh lies beside it. Grace had loved the stories about her namesake. Tales of; daring adventures chasing drug smugglers across the Himalayas, or of gritty survival running an Antarctic research station during a season’s long ice storm, living off grid on a Scottish island and even the sad one about her death in action, in yet another desert war.  Colonel Grace Stewart had died only a few weeks before her daughter left to take command of the space station and Esme, still in mourning, had brought her mother’s treasures into space with her.

Grace’s fingers stroke the carved bog oak hilts and then very carefully she uncovers and tests the blades. Still razor-sharp.  With a gentle hiss they slide back into their sheaths. She wraps them, together with a whetstone, inside a tartan shawl and stuffs the bundle into the bottom of her rucksack. She adds clothes, rations bars, a tin cup and spork. What else should she take to the ground?      

………………………………..

Bang! There’s a thumping back down the corridor and the sizzle and snap of a stun baton. “Abby I’m not stopping to look what’s happening. Close the door if that’s the Guard.”

“It’s Grace. She’s holding off Shumway and Gru. How long do you need Raven?”

“I’m ready! Get her in here and into a suit.”

Callie dashes, as best she can in a space suit, to the airlock. “Grace, in here now!”

“Fucking bitch. Aarghhh.” More thumps.

“She’s in.” Grace tumbles through the door, blood on her knuckles and on the handle of her baton. Raven slams her fist down on the big blue button, the door swings shut and lights flash across the panel. She straps in, gloved fingers dancing across the screen “Help her into the suit and put your own helmets on, visors open, we’re leaving.”  Raven snaps her own helmet seal and pulls the lever that pressurises the pod. She glares at the regulator, almost daring it to malfunction.

Thrusters roar and there’s a clanking as the anchors release. Gravity vanishes and Grace, still struggling into the main body of her suit, floats away from the floor. Callie and Abby, their boots magnetised, can stand upright and each holds out a boot towards the bobbing Guard.  Grace grabs a handle and twists into the suit, thrusting her socked feet downwards to meet the waiting boots. Seals’ snap and she’s pulled down as the magnets in her boots power up. Gloves next and where the fuck is the helmet? Abby’s got the helmet, Callie the gloves, but the pod bucks as it changes direction and a glove whizzes away across the space. “Fucking learner driver!”

Raven grins, this is a blast and yeah it is her first rodeo driving a pod, but her joy vanishes when that fucking regulator valve blows and air pressure drops to zero.

“Visors down and turn your suit oxygen on now!” Raven follows her own advice and shouts into her helmet mic, she swings round to check everyone has heard her over the comms.

Abby and Callie punch the controls on their suits to breathe pure O2 but Grace is still missing a glove. The tall Guard has only seconds to live. Abby and Callie crash into each other trying to grab the glove as it floats past.  Grace grips her gloveless arm hard, trying to keep some air in her suit but she can feel it bleeding out through the cuff. Her vision starts to blur, she’s holding her breath, lungs aching. Stars, she can see stars. Then black.

Callie pushes the glove on, twists the seals shut and thumps the control panel on Grace’s chest plate. Grace is still standing but her eyes are closed, limbs slack.

“Get strapped in. We’ll be thrown about when we hit the upper atmosphere.”

Raven checks her own harness and turns to see how the others are doing. The unconscious Guard is pushed into a seat and an over-the-shoulder- restraint drops down. Callie snaps the lap strap closed.  Abby stashes bags into lockers and she and Callie step into their seats, demagnetising their boots. They see Raven checking on them. “We’re good Raven. All strapped up. Grace’s colour is improving, she’ll come around soon. We’ll try and hold her head straight.” Abby’s hand rests on the taller woman’s left shoulder Callie’s on her right.

“We’ve a few minutes left before we hit the atmosphere at speed. If for any reason I don’t make it remember that the radio is here,” Raven gestures to her left, “and you push these buttons to connect to the Ark. Sinclair monitors these channels.” 

August 5^th 2149 CE The Ground – early morning

Four days of climbing, falling and walking, down and away from Mount Weather brought out the best and worst in the fifty delinquents Clarke asked him to look after. Murphy’s sure that whining is a way of life for Trina, Mbege and Diggs, just as cheerful optimism rules Monroe and Harper’s, souls. Then the whole living on the ground thing is beyond gross. Finding and hunting food, personal cleanliness (when did he last feel clean?), shelter from animals and the weather! Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, it rained. For Fuck’s Sake who invented rain?

Then there’s the small problem that they are looking to him, HIM! To lead them. To where? He has no idea other than getting distance between himself and Mt Weather. The men pointing guns at them had been brutally clear. “If you’re not with us, you’re against us. So, fuck off! If you stay within a ten-mile radius of this place the gas we use to keep the animals away will kill you!”

Okay far away ………. but not too far. Charlotte (Charlie), Finn, Harper and Monroe are all very twitchy about Clarke and their friends inside Mt Weather. Before clambering down the mountain they’d all argued with Clarke that she and Wells should leave with them. Those who wanted to live with the creeps in Mt Weather could stay behind, while she and Wells try a life outside. But no, she wasn’t leaving; not when Jasper was twitchy about living outside at all, (Monty would not leave his best friend) and there was no way she’d abandon Octavia, who had to stay with her wounded brother. Clarke had negotiated freedom for the kids who desperately wanted it but couldn’t bring herself to walk away from those who were unable to face life in the open air. Murphy thought the saddest moment was when she spoke to Charlie, who was desperate to stay with her. He knows that Clarke loves that little girl. Calls her ‘baby sister’ and Murphy saw right through her bravado when she didn’t want Charlie inside Mt Weather with her. Clarke didn’t trust those fuckers with her sister, but she trusts him and he’s not going to let her down.

They set off from their overnight camp, he looks to his left, there’s Charlie walking purposely through the woods, a rucksack of basic medical supplies on her back and a canteen of water hanging from her belt. She and Monroe are the group’s medics. Charlie because she spent time with the Griffins, she’d wanted to apprentice as a medic before her parents were floated, and Monroe because as a youngster she’d manage to injure herself so often that she almost spent as much time in the medical centre as Clarke!

Behind Charlie swaggers Finn who, if anyone asked Murphy’s opinion (no-one does), is enjoying all the caveman and ‘great hunter’ shit a little too much. He’s their best tracker and with Diggs’ and Mbege’s help, put together some slings and a couple of vicious looking spears. He even killed a piglike creature that tasted good; after Murphy had gutted it and stopped the eager hunters from roasting / burning it to char.  Meanwhile Harper, another keen on hunting, spent hours last night making a bow and arrow. More arrows are next on her task list.

The ragtag group comes to a halt at the edge of a lake. Diggs pushes to the front, pulling off his shoes, jacket and pants before running into the shallow water. Splashing and shouting to everyone “come on in – the water’s lovely”.  Murphy’s half-hearted attempts to stop him are ignored and the big idiot is jumping and hollering. Not a care in the world, his normally sullen face split with a huge grin.

“Hey what’s that?” from Harper. “Diggs get out!” is screamed by the girl who’s seen something approaching the half-naked boy and his friends.

“Out! Everyone Out!”  Murphy roars the warning when he sees a huge snakelike head rise from the water, mouth packed with sharp teeth, lunge towards Diggs.  Murphy hauls, Charlie, Monroe and Trina back as he and Finn, Finn grasping his ‘great hunter’ spear, wade into the shallows. Murphy’s makeshift knife bounces off the creature’s scaley skin, Finn jabs with the spear but Diggs is screaming and falling as fangs snag his thigh and tear out a lump of flesh. Blood turns the water red. Murphy is pulling on Diggs’ shoulders, Finn’s stabbing at the snake but those teeth have latched onto the screaming boy again and slippery like an eel he’s sliding out of Murphy’s grip. Finn’s spear strike’s home, the snake thrashes its’ tail, landing a thumping blow to the side of Murphy’s head. Murphy stunned - falls back, dropping Diggs and the boy’s gone, pulled under the turbid, bloodied waters. Finn’s spear, still lodged firmly in the beast’s muscular flesh, is yanked out of his grip and together with Diggs vanishes.

Panting and sobbing the two failed rescuers are pulled out of the water by Mbege, Harper and Monroe. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck was that?”

“Nothing like that in Earth Skills!”

“Poor Diggs!”

“We can fill our canteens somewhere else. Let’s move on, find a shallow stream.”  

Murphy’s swallowed a gut full of lake water and mud, feels like it anyway, he pukes. Part nausea from the swill, part thinking of Diggs’ big grin that quickly turned to terror.

“Hey look! Another dropship?!” It’s Harper again, Murphy thinks the girl’s okay but can she stop with the shouting! He drags his eyes upwards and sure enough there’s a bright streak moving in an arc across the sky. “It can’t be anything else. Looks a bit small though.”

Finn smiles at Murphy. “Raven, any money it’s Raven. She said she was prepping a pod ready for my birthday. She was gonna break us out. I bet it’s her.” Murphy stands upright, staring at the glowing blob. Finn’s probably right. Raven had hinted at breaking them out.

“Parachutes have deployed. Looks like it’s going to land to the east of here.” Murphy gives a silent sigh of relief; this gives them a goal and somewhere to go that’s out of the danger zone around Mt Weather and away from this fucking lake.

“Okay guys let’s go and meet whoever’s in that pod. They may have supplies or a working radio. Finn, Harper you two lead the hunting party. The rest of us will start to gather greens as we walk.”

His words give the frightened and bewildered kids something to focus on and they start to move away from the lakeside, heading east.

……………………

High above Trikru gonas watch from the trees as the bigas hisa (big snake) claims another victim. Anya decides that she must talk with Indra about sending a party of experienced hunters to kill the monster.  “Lincoln, stay with the skai goufas (sky children). I will leave Kilo, Bull and Salta with you. As Heda said observe them. I, with Ryder and Penn, will ascend the Maunde to look at their craft and try to discover where their companions are. They have talked (very loudly) of leaving behind friends, of hefs with fayoguns and that their own leader Clarke is unwillingly in the Maunde. I will send Tris back to Heda with our findings so far.”

Lincoln acknowledges the order and with his gonas (warriors) moves off, following the Skaikru as they make their way through the forest.

…………………………………………………………

The great metal door swings open on well-greased hydraulic rams and Emerson pushes down gently on the accelerator and suddenly everything is dazzling and green. He scrinches his eyes against the bright midday sun and continues for a few yards further before Whitman points out the group of Dogs, waiting in the trees cowering as their Masters approach.  He swings the big truck around and to a halt, ready to load the beasts. Once the Dogs are safely penned in the back of the truck he drives away and into the woods.

Cage braces every part of his body; his butt hard down on the bench, both feet on a floor that never stops moving and his arms holding onto his gun and the closest grab handle.  He can’t stay balanced for more than a few seconds at a time and knows that he’s using the air in his tank too fast because he’s panicking. He hates everything about leaving the safety of Mt Weather: - the stiff rubbery suits, canned air that tastes like old socks and smells of farts, the fears that never go away; of tearing his suit and burning up from radiation, of savages wreaking bloody vengeance on him and his kind for stealing their people. Going out now when communications are down just makes the whole situation worse but he and the Dogs of Project Cerberus must prove their worth.  For a moment he closes his eyes and tries to calm his breathing, while sweat pools warm and slick in his palms and groin. 

As President in waiting, he must go out on missions like this; be seen to share the dangers of ‘outside’ with his men and gain their respect. His father stays safe inside with the women, he’s old and so far past his best - that now’s the time for him to step down. Cage is ready to take control, the latest fiasco over letting so many sky kids leave could be the event that pushes the general population, not just the military, to look for a new, younger, more proactive, leader.

The troop transport continues to sway and wallow as it crawls over what used to be a road. Roots, fallen branches, whole trees are strewn across the track and even using; chain saws, the truck’s electric winch and its’ powerful 350 hp engine, it still takes them nearly an hour to travel twenty miles. On Emerson’s count they switch to new air bottles at twenty-five miles and that’s when they unload their cargo of Dogs. It’s a risk, this is the furthest they’ve taken the Dogs away from their base in the old mines, but so many failed attempts to gather new ‘Blood Bags’ means that Dante’s put the whole project under the microscope. Cerberus has never been cheap but the results, a plentiful supply of Blood Bags, have been worth it. Now that supply has been reduced to almost zero, Dante’s not so sure.

The President had emphasised the high costs of Cerberus when he had talked ‘at’ his son only a few days ago. Dante’s first gripe is that Cerberus takes the most physically fit of the savages to turn into Dogs and that this was ‘unsustainable’ when so few blodd bags were available. The problem is that ‘Red’ takes a huge physical toll on the ‘savages’ during the addiction process. If they do survive to become Dogs, and not all do, their blood is contaminated by Red, so the blood of Cerberus’ Dogs cannot be used to cure radiation poisoning. Then there’s the ‘Red’ itself, a complex of compounds that uses resources both from their growing biomes and the chemistry labs.  A third factor in Dante’s anti-Cerberus rant, as Cage sees it anyway, is Tsing’s growing influence over the old man. Dante is close to being convinced by at least one of the doctor’s ideas, something she first raised almost a year ago; that they abandon Cerberus and instead ‘farm’ the Blood Bags they’ve got. Give them better food, maybe even let them breed and become a self-sustaining ‘herd’, that can be ‘milked’ for their blood. This sustainable herd idea seems more attractive to Dante now that he envisages the sky kids producing a generation of Mt Weather children sufficiently tolerant of radiation to walk outdoors and claim the world for their own.

Tsing? Cage does his best to ignore the big truck’s jolting, as he muses over his latest plans for the doctor. He’d never seen her as having sufficient status or influence to be a rival before, but now he needs her ‘onside’. Yes, that’s the way forward. Dante had expressed keen interest in her ‘humane’ farm project but said a resounding ‘no’ to her suggestion that she broaden the range of experiments she’s conducting on the sky boy Bellamy. She wants to test whether his bone marrow could bring quick and permanent results for a chosen few.

Cage has thought it through over the past few days, get her on board by supporting the bone marrow idea and together; he as President, she as Senior Advisor, take over from the weakening Dante. His father really wants to retire and paint. Why not let him do that while Tsing and Cage take what’s needed from the sky kids. If it worked a bone marrow transplant could get Cage and his closest supporters outside now and sky kid babies would be the longer-term solution! That means he needs to keep the forty-five sky-kids they already have happy and ignorant. Meanwhile the sky kids that fled rather than enter Mount Weather can’t have got that far. He’ll get Emerson to send the Dogs after these kids.

August 5^th 2149 CE The Ground – Early Evening

They took readings of the O2 and radiation levels, then radioed the Ark and spoke to Sinclair. A long wait later Chancellor (temporary) Kane came on the line and they talked for what seemed like hours. His first words were that their call had saved three hundred lives.

Kane had seemed subdued, shaken even, clearly relieved not to have already floated so many when the ground is survivable. He’d spoken of sending another dropship, this one full of engineers, mechanics, biologists and earth skills experts. He hadn’t quoted the Charter or cited the laws they’d broken, not once! Nor had he threatened them with arrest or punishment. It was as Raven said “Weird!”

With that vital task completed, they ate a light meal and then all four of them spend some time just taking in the world around them. Abby stands on the top of the pod looking across a continent’s worth of mountains, lakes and forests. Tears roll down her face. Jake should be here, with her, with Clarke, breathing in the fresh pine scented air and squinting into the sunlight. For a few moments she imagines him on his knees touching the earth, smelling it, rubbing it between his fingers. He was made for this place and Gru, Jaha and Kane denied him his true destiny.

Arms fold around her, it’s Callie. Comforting her friend as best she can. “He’d have loved it Abs. You and Clarke will miss him but he’s still with you.” Abby nods and her fingers find his ring. He’s with her, in her heart and in Clarke.

“We need a plan for finding the kids Callie. Other than the dropship landing on top of Mount Weather we don’t know much.”

“Yeah. Raven got the co-ordinates from Sinclair before we dropped, we can head that way tomorrow.” Callie stands back and waves her arm at the huge landscape that surrounds them. “It’s amazing isn’t it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful and I’ll get to see the sun set. I want to just sit and watch it move through the sky. It sets in the west doesn’t it. I remember than from earth skills, but not much else.”

Abby looks down to see Raven and Grace tending a small fire that is carefully contained within a circle of stones. “I think we may have at least one earth skills expert on hand. How on earth did Grace kill that furry thing?”  Callie shrugs and they start to climb down the pod, the ‘furry thing’ smelling delicious as it slowly roasts on the spit.

Grace and Raven are looking through the greenery and seeds Grace has gathered. Raven poking aimlessly. “I don’t remember a thing from earth skills, Pike was so boring and it didn’t seem relevant at the time. Not like astrophysics.”

“I remember some stuff. Tree ID fascinated me when I was a kid. I learnt all the different leaf shapes; tree forms and seeds off by heart.  My mum thought I should have joined Farm Station I was so obsessed with leaves.” The tall Guard smiles at the memory; of learning how the young leaves of linden, beech and hawthorn are tasty raw. That the inner bark of willow can be cooked like spaghetti. Acorns and hazel nuts are very nutritious. She hums contentedly as she sorts. “I don’t know these nuts at all.”  She turns a small green budlike nut in her fingers. “There are so many of them untouched that I wonder why the animals aren’t eating them, especially when most nuts aren’t ripe yet. Poisonous maybe?” Gingerly she puts the nuts back into her collecting bag. 

………………………………………………

Only a few leagues away Lincoln and Salta watch the weary youngons make a messy camp and start to cook food. The noise they make, they never stop talking or shouting, could bring Ripas, enemy gonas, bandits, the Maunon………. anyone within leagues.    

“Look asshole, we needed to stop to eat. There are youngsters here who’ve been walking all day on little more than a ration bar and water. You want to keep going fine, get to whatever fell out of the sky, if you can find it. I’m not stopping you.” Murphy’s bad day is never going to end. Far too late he discovered that he’d been leading them all in a big fucking circle. Who knew how difficult it was to keep going east in a straight line when all you can see is fucking trees. Now Finn’s angry because he wanted to reach ‘Raven’ tonight and Murphy’s called a halt to camp and eat.  

Charlie and Monroe step between the two boys who are standing at the edge of the small clearing glaring at each other. Murphy gives Finn a solid push when the floppy haired boy moves too close. “Enough you two. Finn stop hassling Murphy! the day’s been shit. Poor Diggs and we all want to get to Raven, if that’s her.” Finn chews on his lip before stepping away.

“We’ve got a couple of hours more of light, I’m going on.” He picks up his spear and walks off into the woods, Mbege and Nathan follow him.

Murphy takes a deep breath, Finn’s starting to trade on his ‘I’m the best hunter’ status to challenge Murphy’s decisions. It’s not that he dislikes Finn, it’s just that the boy’s ‘dick driven’ and doesn’t seem to care about anyone but himself. It’s as if he doesn’t see the drooping heads, shuffling feet and tired stumbles of the younger kids. Murphy watches the three boys stomp off, then catches the smell of burning flesh. Oh fuck! He dashes over to the fire to save their evening meal from cremation.

Chapter Text

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th Moon Waxing Crescent

Snatcha (Racoon) breaks into a gallop as his rider urges him on. The path is twisty but well used and with Lexa crouched low over the saddle he can race through the woods at top speed. A second falling skaifaya (star) so soon after the first spurred Lexa into action. This is so unlike the Old Times (OT) that she’s lost confidence in the usefulness of her knowledge from her past. Is this second ship Raven’s pod? The timing, location and impacts of both ships are very different. At least no villagers have been injured so far and the bunker full of guns that gave Finn the chance to kill eighteen of her people in the OT was emptied summers ago.

Tris meets them on the road. Lexa, Indra, Ontari and the Handmaids skid to a stop while she gives her report. To hear that half the skaigoufas (sky children) were taken inside the Maunde (Mt Weather), including their leader, a girl called Clarke, is a blow. As is Anya’s decision to climb the Maunde with Ryder and Penn to try and discover more about the skaigoufas’ ship and those taken inside.

That leaves a group of untrained goufas wandering the woods west of Ton DC, someone, Keryon (Spirits) knows who, in the second ship and Clarke inside the Maunde. Lexa wonders if things could get any worse.

“How far are we from the second fallen skaifaya?”

“Two leagues Heda.” Lexa nods, at least this ship is outside the range of the acid fog.

“Dismount everyone. Tris, stay here and care for the horses. We will travel on foot and then take to the trees to observe what we find.” Lexa keeps her voice firm and steady. She knows Indra is twitchy about people in her territory and is likely to want to strike first and ask questions later. Especially when she discovers how like the Maunon (Mountain men) the Skaikru appear. 

August 5^th 2149 CE The Ground – Early Evening

Callie’s eaten real food and is seeing the sun set, what a day.  She and Grace sit on top of the pod looking west watching the sky as streaks of colour; vibrant pinks, oranges, reds and so many shades of blue, paint a picture more beautiful than anything either of them have ever seen. Callie’s tears make the colours swim and she dashes them away, annoyed with herself. “That was quite something.” Grace blinks, staring at the sky for so long has made her eyes water.

Callie smiles. “Yeah, not sure what was more amazing that sunset or the taste of meat, so much better than anything on the Ark. You’re a good cook Grace.”

The tall woman smiles, deep dimples appearing on her cheeks. “I think the sunset must win. The food? Well, the pap on the Ark hasn’t made us experts on what’s good to eat. To say it’s better than what we’re used to is a low bar.”

Shouts from the pod below have the two women looking down in alarm. What they see is Raven flinging herself into the arms of a floppy haired youth as two other boys look on. Abby’s climbing out of the pod to greet them. Grace and Callie start to climb down.

“Finn! Finn! You’re alive. Where is everyone? Clarke, Wells, that asshole Murphy, Charlie…”

Her question is cut short when Finn gives her a resounding kiss and a bone crushing hug. He’s so glad to see her, Raven will make everything right. She’s a genius and there are some adults with her. They’ll know what to do.

……………………………………..

Up in the trees Lexa and Indra exchange signals. Indra looks ready to kill, Lexa can tell that the Trikru Chief sees the people below as just like Maunon, bringing themselves and their tek onto her lands. But she will wait before killing them because Heda Lexa’s hand moves to cup her ear, ordering everyone to be still and listen.

What they hear is an intriguing tale and it’s very different from the OT. Finn, Nathan and Mbege tell it in stops and starts, with interruptions, justifications and some anger directed at the adults, especially the tallest one they call ‘Major’. Abby’s in tears at one point, all are incredulous to hear of people living on the ground and that those people cannot walk freely in the open air.

“They live inside Mt Weather and can’t come outside?”

Mbege cuts in. “Yeah, if they come out without suits, they burn with the radiation. They can’t even breathe the air. That’s why they wear tanks and masks. They wanted us all to go inside with them but Paula, Jones and I think the other girl was called Sally they said ‘No way’ were they going to be trapped inside anywhere again! The men with guns said they had no choice and Paula just went crazy, started shouting, swearing and stuff.” The boy’s voice drops to a whisper. “Then she went quiet, just sat there crying and Clarke Griffin, she started to talk to the men, tried to reason with them. But Paula suddenly stood up and she just ran off the edge of the cliff and Jones, he followed her. They were an item in the Skybox. Sally did the same as them but she screamed and screamed as she fell. It was horrible.”

Finn continues the story when Mbege stutters to a halt and everyone hears how Clarke negotiated with ‘the President.’

“But Finn, why didn’t she stay with Charlie and you?” This from a tearful Abby.

Lexa sits on a broad branch; she and her companions hide within the trees’ thick canopy. Above them a thin crescent of moon and a sprinkling of skaifayas supply just enough light for her to see Indra’s face. From her expression the fierce wormana (general) is now less threatened and more intrigued by these strangers, who are clearly not Maunon.

When the stories ramble to an end it is close to midnight; Raven and her party have told their tale as well, including the near fatal attack on Chancellor Jaha by Bellamy Blake. The news about Jaha gets some reaction from the boys, who loathe the Chancellor and are prepared to give kudos to Bellamy for trying to take him out. Even if they do think the boy’s a dick for firing first at the Mt Weather soldiers and getting himself shot.

They all agree that tomorrow they will find Murphy and his group, then they’ll think about what to do about those who are inside Mt Weather.

Grace and Callie take the first watch from midnight to four and the others retreat into the pod to sleep. The two women are soon grateful for the big pile of wood they collected earlier as the night turns breezy and cool.  They build up the fire, leaping flames bring warmth to the circle of blueish light cast by the rig Raven set up. “I thought night-time would be quiet.” Callie’s surprised at the chorus of tweets, hoots, cricks, creaks and growls that continue even after night falls. 

Grace shrugs. “I never thought about the ‘sounds’ of earth” she looks out into the darkness. “Not even bird song was on the syllabus of earth skills.” But she’s thinking about it now, desperate to learn as she listens to noises of which she has no experience and doesn’t even have a frame of reference for. Does that distant cry signal danger, normal nighttime activities or what?

High above Lexa and her gonas know exactly what that cry means. “Ripas!” hisses Ontari as she shakes her companions. Within moments all of them are awake and waiting for Heda Lexa’s orders.

August 10^th 2149 CE Mt Weather Mess Hall

An elderly lady stands at the ‘top table’ and says ‘grace’. All the diners sit in silence while she prays and it’s only after she says “Amen” that the servers, young girls in patched black tunics, place large platters of vegetables and ‘textured protein’ on the tables. The residents of Mt Weather tuck in. As they eat the quiet solemnity of the prayers vanishes to be replaced by the clatter of heavy silverware, voices chattering about; school, who’s in the hospital, burst pipes and promotions. There’s plenty of laughter and a dropped metal platter prompts a chorus of “Ooos!” Clarke can hardly hear herself think over the commotion and the loudly voiced opinions of one Whistler Wallace. Her designated dining place is on the same table as Dante’s teenage grandson, a boisterous boy who seems to have something to say on just about every topic and be under the impression that she wants to listen to him talk. She ignores him, studiously counting the flags hanging in the mess hall and turning towards Maya, to ask her why the flags of countries other than America hang from the curved ceiling.

Maya’s the least directive of the ‘Guides’ (more like Minders thinks Clarke) that Dante provided to the ‘sky kids’ and she’s the only one who seems more interested in helping, rather than policing, their integration and activities. Maya will answer a question honestly or admit that she’s ‘not allowed’ to talk about it nor can she take them into ‘forbidden’ parts of the complex. With a quick switch of topic Clarke catches the girl unawares.

“Cage and some of your soldiers haven’t been around for a few days. Where are they?”

“In the shunt rooms for treatment.” Is the unguarded reply. Maya immediately colours. “Forget I said that, please!”

Clarke looks at the youngster, she likes the girl and Jasper, in all of nine days, is clearly smitten!  “Is there somewhere we can talk that isn’t bugged? I’ve blown the fuse on our kettle twice trying to get some privacy.”

Maya still looks stricken but nods, muttering “after dinner we can go somewhere.”

‘Somewhere’ turns out to be the women’s changing rooms on level three. This is a shabby looking white tiled room, with showers and toilet cubicles on one side and a row of lockers on the other. Maya’s usual job is as a nurse and she keeps her work clothes and a few personal items in her locker. She shows the three girls who’ve followed her, Octavia, Bree and Clarke, her scrubs, stethoscope and a picture of her mother. Clarke nods at Bree who goes to stand lookout by the door.

“Maya, we know about the tests on Bellamy. Tsing isn’t just treating his injury; she’s using him as a guinea pig. What’s going on?”

It’s amazing to Clarke that someone as petite as Octavia can project an utterly convincing and terrifying aura of barely contained violence when she says. “Yeah, experiments on my brother!”   Maya takes a step back from the younger girl and knocks into the door of her locker. The picture of her mother falls to the floor. Octavia’s foot moves to hover over the picture. Maya scrabbles on the floor to rescue the memento.

“She’s dead. I don’t have another of her. She refused the transfusions, now I’m an adult dad and I will refuse too. We’ll die eventually, without the blood we’ll die.” Her desperate fingers snatch up the snapshot and Octavia steps back, startled by Maya’s allusion to her own death.  

The story tumbles out. How despite the doors, rock and airtight seals that shut them off from the outside world the population of Mt Weather still suffers from radiation poisoning and when their soldiers go outside, their suits and bottled air cannot wholly prevent them suffering debilitating burns. The only cure is blood transfusions from the people who live outside.

“What? There are people surviving outside. People besides you are living on the ground?”  Clarke splutters in surprise.

“What are they doing to Bell?” Octavia looms over the girl again.   

An hour or so later Clarke’s boiling the kettle dry again as she explains Maya’s story to Dax, Atom, Monty, Fox, Jasper and Wells. “Fuck! And they think we may be better ‘blood bags’. For Fuck’s Sake!” Everyone’s startled by Wells swearing.  “They call them ‘blood bags’, like they’re medical supplies not people! What will they call us if they discover our blood is even more …… potent ……. than that of the people outside?”  Wells’ face is taut with outrage, a vein pulses on his forehead.

“Maya and her father Vincent are part of a Resistance group who refuse the transfusions and …”

The door to the dorm is flung open and four Mt Weather soldiers stomp in. “Miss Griffin the President would like to speak with you. Now.”

The soldiers march Clarke through the complex keeping her boxed between them as they walk quickly along dull concrete corridors and down winding stairs. When they reach the lift, they order everyone else out before key carding the control panel and descending to a level Clarke’s never visited. The lift doors open onto a small lobby, the lighting is minimal but Clarke’s able to read the label on the wood panelled door immediately ahead of her: ‘Oval Office’ and to her left is a bulkhead type door with ‘Command Centre’ stenciled on the peeling paint.

At the sergeant’s brisk knock, Cage Wallace opens the door and Clarke notices the freshly healed patch of skin on his cheek, pink but healthy looking. Thinking about the drained people that made his healing possible she feels nauseous. She swallows hard as she and her escort step past him and into the Oval Office. The escort comes smartly to attention and the door latches behind them with an audible click. Then silence. The soldiers remain at attention, no-one speaks. Clarke decides to remain silent too, they brought her here because the President wants to speak with her. Let him speak! The uneasy silence continues, the soldiers look straight ahead but Clarke takes the opportunity to look around. The art stored and displayed inside Mt Weather has been a revelation and here, in this room of dark furniture and heavy tension, shine the outrageously bright colours of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers and his Yellow House at Arles.

Clarke focuses on the paintings, that makes it easier to avoid eye contact with the President and his son. Cage moves to stand behind his father’s shoulder, it’s like he’s looming over the old man. The President sits at an enormous dark wood desk, looking at her with haunted eyes. Clarke’s met Dante before, he was the first person she saw when she left the decontamination suite. He had welcomed her and the other delinquents with a kind smile and pleasant words. Today she’s struck with how old and frail he looks. He gives a heavy sigh and gestures for her to sit in the chair set in front of his desk.   

Clarke sits, the nearest thing she has to a plan is to make this meeting last as long as she can. That will give Wells, Monty and the others as much time as possible.  

“Miss Griffin my last act as President will be …………….”      

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th Moon Waxing Gibbous Ton DC

Over the years Ton DC has sheltered many people fleeing from war or famine but the Skaikru youngons (youngsters) are by far the most helpless and noisy that Indra has ever dealt with. Their confusion and shock are, as Heda told her very firmly, understandable; the goufas knew nothing of Ripas, gonas or even krus before they were attacked in the middle of the night by a large group of Ripas five days ago.  During that attack ten of them, including their leader Murphy and two skai adults, were stolen away, five were killed and six are amongst those injured.  The survivors had numbly followed Heda back to Ton DC where for almost two days most of them did nothing but eat, sleep and weep. Now they are recovering and like all goufas have become restless with inactivity, so Indra ordered Petrus, Mello and Ben to help the two remaining Skaikru adults Abby and Callie organise some training for them in Trigedesleng and basic skills like hunting and cooking. She’s also encouraged Ton DC’s crafters to consider taking skai goufas as sekens. 

As she walks through the village Indra gives her shoulder a rub; it took a solid blow during the battle and over the last few days the pain has got worse. The fight had been messy.  Ripas are always difficult but this was worse than usual because the goufas they were trying to protect didn’t know friend from foe, so they kicked, fought, tripped and bit anyone who came close.  Her eyes flick to the tent occupied by the two oldest Skaikru; standing by the open flap is the plana called Callie, arms folded, listening to one of the goufas Harper. Like many of the youngons Harper is constantly asking about what is to be done about rescuing her stolen friends.

Indra walks on, she wants to check if the fisa (healer) needs more supplies or helpers. With the ‘futbal players’ / Heda’s army due to arrive in a few days Ton DC’s usual fisa and most of his sekens are already at Alr’ton. Left in Ton DC is his senior seken Rhea and while Indra knows that Rhea has almost finished her training and is capable, the sudden arrival of wounded; gonas, skai goufas and a captured Ripa are perhaps too much for the gada (girl) to cope with on her own.  She turns the corner, passing Petrus’ forge, where she’s pleased to see a group of skai goufas watching him attentively as he prepares a horse’s hoof to be fitted with a new metal shoe.  As always, the skai goufas talk amongst themselves or ask questions. One cranes his neck close to the busy blacksmith’s shoulder. “Doesn’t that hurt, cutting away at her foot like that?” Petrus, bent over the hoof, rumbles out a negative as the curved knife cuts away thick curls of horn.

When she reaches Ton DC’s Great Hall, the front doors are wide open giving sunlight and the warm breeze entry to Ton DC’s largest building. The walls, wide planks of larch and cedar, release pleasing scents as they heat up in the sun and as she walks inside Indra gives a quick glance up to the life-size carving that projects over the lintel. The yew gives a lifelike ruddy colouring to the sculptured head and shoulders of the proud plana (woman) who looks sternly out over the village. In life, Indra’s relationship with her nomon (mother) was difficult but it is always good to see her image celebrated and respected in the Trikru capitol.  

The skai goufas’ sleeping pallets are stacked against the eastern wall, two of the youngons sweep the floor and a group are, under supervision, peeling vegetables ready for the pot. The western half of the room has been taken over by the fisa and Indra doesn’t quite know what to think when she sees the skai plana Abby bending over the wounded Handmaid Strik Selene, cutting into the unconscious gona’s flesh with a wickedly sharp looking knife, as blood drips onto the floor. Indra’s hand flies to her own dagger but a strong hand holds her still. “Wait ai lukot (my friend) she is a skilled fisa and Strik needs all the help she can get. We can go closer if you wish and see what Fisa Abby is doing but we mustn’t block her light.”

Quietly Indra and Lexa step forward to join Bigas Selene and Jules as they watch the fisa from the skai treat their lukot’s most grievous wound. Strik’s hand was struck from her body when a Ripa, with superhuman strength, threw one of the skaigoufas across the embattled camp and into the Handmaid’s path. Strik had stumbled over the small broken body and the Ripa’s axe had sliced into her arm. Heda Lexa removed that Ripa’s head from his body as the wounded Strik fell to her knees. Jules then applied a makeshift tourniquet to the forearm and that stopped Strik from bleeding out during battle, but it then took two days to get everyone back to Ton DC. Once in Ton DC Strik refused the skai fisa’s help. She wanted Rhea to wrap and poultice the wound Trikru style. Rhea had balked at the task; she’d not treated any amputations and didn’t know what to do about a wound that had splintered bone and open blood vessels protruding from it. Heda Lexa intervened, she doesn’t want to lose this great gona and lukot; her order was for Strik to drink Rhea’s poppy juice and let the skai fisa work. Her Heda would keep watch while Strik slept to make sure the skai fisa did her no harm.  

No-one speaks as the fisa works; the voices of goufas and the everyday sounds of the village fade into the background. Sweat gathers on Abby’s brow, she exchanges her scalpel for a small saw and Indra feels the fingers of Keryon (the Spirits) touch her spine as the saw grates at the living bone.

“Can you see Charlie, Rhea how I’ve tied off each of the blood vessels, and the muscles of her forearm are stitched to the bone? Can you tell me what those bones and muscles are called Charlie?”

As the fisa starts to stitch the carefully shaped flaps of skin, the young gada at the plana’s side rattles off some gibberish before stumbling to a halt. 

“Good you nearly got them all – you’ll remember the flexor carpi radialis longus next time, won’t you?”  The girl nods vigorously. The Trikru healer Rhea leans forward and whispers a question.

“I removed that section of bone because it’s over four days since she was wounded and a fresh clean cut reduces the chances of infection. I also wanted to shape the stump so that when it’s fully healed a cup of metal or perhaps leather can be attached to the forearm. Selene will be able to move her forearm and have some control over whatever tool is attached to the cup.”  

When the final stitch is tied off, the stump is gently cleansed with an iodine wash, the drain is secured and the whole forearm lightly bandaged. Her work complete Abby almost stumbles backwards; Rhea thrusts a seat under the exhausted fisa and Charlie holds a cup of water to Abby’s lips. Strik sleeps on as her Heda and lukots watch Abby go through a complicated hand and arm washing routine. Seeing their confusion she explains that many causes of wound-fever and rot are creatures so tiny that they cannot be seen by the naked eye and it is important that anything that touches a wound is cleaned with boiled water, alcohol or flame.

Heda Lexa steps forward. “Abby from the sky, I as well as Selene’s friends and colleagues are grateful to you. When you have rested, we must speak about the Mountain Men who have stolen your people and mine.”   

August 13^th 2149 CE Mt Weather

Bellamy shifts in his seat, uncomfortable spending time with these delinquents who follow Clarke Griffin like she’s someone who knows what’s going on. Worst of all Octavia seems to think he should be beholden to Clarke because the Alpha Station princess can read medical charts.  It doesn’t help that the meeting is taking place in a women’s changing room, he feels like a pervert.

“O, you’ve got access to the vents and are scouting for exits. It’s great that you’ve already taken two levels off the list of possibles.”

“I’ve still got five more to do Clarke.”

“Can anyone help?”

“Atom tried but to be honest it’s quicker and safer if I do it myself.”

Clarke nods her agreement, Octavia’s small build and experience in the Ark’s systems makes her the expert. Bellamy’s not happy though.

“Why should O do all the work?” The older boy folds his arms over his chest and looks mulishly at the ‘Princess’.

“I’m not Bell. Monty and Jasper are working in the gardens on Level Four, they’re trying to access the wired and wireless electronic systems and checking for exits. Dax and Atom are in the kitchens, Wells and Bree are going on the ‘Art Tour’ circuit again, with a few others, to keep Whistler Wallace off our backs. Clarke is working with Maya to get into the medical wing and ‘shunt rooms’ on Level Three. You’re going in tomorrow, right Clarke?”

“Yeah. Maya’s stolen an extra set of scrubs from the laundry and with my hair in a ponytail and a mask over my nose and mouth, I’ll just be another nurse on duty.”   

August 14^th 2149 CE Mt Weather

The following day she and Maya arrange to meet at lunch, they’ll try to get into the medical centre afterwards. Clarke arrives at the table to find that Jasper’s already at Maya’s side, chatting twenty to the dozen. Before she can join in their conversation Whistler Wallace arrives. He orders the boy sitting on Clarke’s left to ‘scram’ and takes his seat. He opens his mouth and starts to speak, his mouth full of what looks like cabbage. Clarke turns pointedly away but Whistler seems unphased. Maya and Jasper are lost in their talk; Clarke envies them. Each seems to have found something they need in the other and it would be cruel to interrupt. She turns to Whistler bracing herself to endure the boy who the newly installed President told her, just a couple of days ago, was already ‘very taken’ with her. And by the way, Cage had continued, was she aware of how great a distinction it is to become part of America’s ‘First Family’ and maybe even the ‘bearer’ of a future President? At the time Clarke had just gaped in horror and Cage, taking her silence as a form of awe, had continued to map out her future as a ‘first lady of America’ and baby machine! If she hadn’t already been desperate to get out of Mt Weather that conversation alone would have had her running!

August 14^th 2149 CE Mt Weather Harvest Chamber

Raven Reyes does not cry. Not when her mom Sofia threw an empty bottle at her so hard that it broke five-year-old Raven’s arm. Not when Raven’s belly was so empty for so long that it hurt. Not when her body was sold to Gru, the sick fucker, for more booze than her mother could safely drink.  

*****

She’d been sixteen when Sofia died from guzzling the moonshine Gru had given her for Raven. He had Raven pinned down and his dick out, when Sofia had started to vomit, gag, and then fit, as the strong alcohol hit her already weakened system. Gru had reluctantly pulled back and hit the alarm button, before running from the squalid apartment. Raven, stunned and bruised, had lain there waiting for the sounds of retching and choking to end. The apartment was eerily silent when the Guards and medics arrived.

*****

Raven doesn't cry when she wakes up inside Mt Weather, half naked and locked in a cage. Instead, she checks on her friends and looks very carefully at that cage. Meshed steel riveted onto a solid steel frame. The lock’s an old fashioned high-security padlock, the hasp and staple welded onto the cage's frame. If only she had a pick or a good piece of stiff wire!   Not all the cages are the same, some have electronic locks, others have solid floors or rolled steel bars.

Ten of them were taken by the monsters that attacked in the night.  Raven, Byrne, Monroe and Trina wake up in one cage, Murphy, Pascal and four boys in another. More cages hang in the huge chamber around them. Cages holding hundreds of eerily silent people, many of them weak and pale looking.

Raven doesn’t cry when soldiers arrive and take her and Trina away. Instead, she screams abuse and threats, struggles and fights, kicks and punches until the taser paralyses her vocal cords and locks her muscles.

Raven doesn’t cry, when they drill into her bones until she blacks out.  

“Raven, Raven! Don’t fight me. I’m trying to help.” The voice is strained, Raven can hear the woman’s raw emotion and the anguish. She stills and allows arms to hold her, lets herself be lifted off the hard steel and gently cradled. A hand brushes hair away from her eyes, anxious faces come into focus, they’re looking at her.

“Hey Raven, it’s me Monroe, Zoe Monroe. If you keep struggling more stitches will break, try to stay calm and still.” She looks around, finds herself to be cradled in Major Byrne’s arms. She winks lasciviously, or as close as she can get. The Major blushes. Result!

“Try and sleep, you need your strength Raven.”

“Where’s Trina?”

“We don’t know. They haven’t brought her back. What did they do to you Raven?”

“Fuck my butt hurts, they drilled into my hip and leg!”

Byrne and Monroe take turns in holding Raven, the mechanic can’t stand for long. Her left leg and hip won’t take weight and standing on one leg’s exhausting. Sitting on the hard floor is not an option. Trina’s still not back. Fear grips her chest like a vice.

Click then swish. Voices, harsh with derision and snarky laughter. “How many Bags needed this time?”

“Three, we need a couple with meat on their bones.”

Motors whirl and with creaks, clanks and groans the cages start to move, as great hooks descend from the ceiling, latch onto cages and swing them down to the floor below where soldiers are waiting; guns, tasers and shock batons ready.  It starts quietly, just whispers, that build into vicious hisses and low growls. Gobs of spit fly and soldiers swipe at their stained uniforms in disgust.   Byrne can feel it; the hatred that radiates from the cages holding the other prisoners, the prisoners who don’t speak. The prisoners who until now have sat like limp ghosts in clothing that is scanty and soiled with blood.

The sharp crack of a shock baton cuts through the noise and the prisoner’s stunned, dragged out of the cage and wheeled away on a gurney as another cage descends. Three prisoners are taken and the empty cages swing up again. Byrne and Murphy watch, grateful their cages stay still this time.

Silence returns, Murphy paces, his eyes rake the room and the now silent people – who just sit and wait. His rage builds. What is this place? Where are his friends? What did they do to Raven? What have they already done to Clarke, Wells, Monty and the others? He feels tears drip down his cheeks and chin, the feeling of helplessness that tore into him when they took Raven and Trina away is back. Then there’s the horror of Raven’s bloodied return. Someone’s shouting, swearing and screaming at the silent people. Why aren’t they fucking fighting, why are they just fucking waiting?  Why, why, why!?    

A hand on his shoulder. It’s Pascal. “Murphy, calm down man. These people aren’t the enemy.” Murphy staggers back. It was him? He was shouting? Fuck. He looks into the nearest cage of silent prisoners. Holds his hands up in apology, shakes his head. Despair slides into his soul, there’s no way out.

Click then swish. Voices again, but light whispers with a familiar timbre.

“Clarke, we’re here Clarke!”

Chapter Text

15^th August 2149 CE Mt Weather Level Three Medical Unit

Her hands won’t stop shaking as she rifles too noisily through a drawer labelled ‘GENERAL INSTRUMENTS’. It doesn’t matter that it’s the quietest part of the day, or that two lookouts have her back, she’s shaking with fear: the fear of failure. If someone walks in now Clarke has no reasonable excuse to be in this Unit, or this room, wearing these clothes and picking through a selection of surgical instruments. If she’s caught, she’ll be arrested for sure, no-one will escape, more horrible experiments will hurt her friends and the Ark will come down to a world where the only technologically advanced people live like underground ‘vampires’ draining local people of their blood and maybe stealing their bone marrow. She takes a deep breath, slows her frantic scrabbling and takes a good look at the instruments laid out by type in the shallow drawer. She selects a couple of L-shaped retractors, some useful looking phlebectomy hooks, a box of scalpels and a packet of probes. Will they work to pick locks? she has no idea, but the Medical Unit is the only place she could get into that has strong, slender, metal hooks and blades.

Bree’s signal, tapped on the door, has her closing the drawer and scrambling, with her pilfered instruments, under the draped medical couch. A few moments later the door swings open and Clarke sees a pair of sensible nurse style shoes walk across the uncarpeted floor, a pair of sandals follow. “I don’t envisage any complications Cassie; your baby looks fine on the scan. I’ll just do a basic exam today and again in another few weeks. Put your feet in the stirrups please.”

Breathe; shallow and quiet, shallow and quiet, shallow and quiet. Clarke’s internal monologue seems to be working. Her desire to giggle at her current situation; beneath some woman having a pelvic exam, is stifled – just. The examination is carried out briskly and within a few minutes the patient leaves. The nurse or doctor stays a little longer, to wash her hands and then the scritch of a pen signals the inevitable notetaking. There’s a brief pause, the door opens and the shoes walk out. Clarke waits, in case they come back for some reason. The door opens again and Fox slips in. “All clear Clarke.”

Three ‘nurses’, all in scrubs and masks walk briskly down the corridor. Bree cards them into the general ward. “Nurse, Nurse I need a bed pan!” An agitated old lady waves at them.

“Leave it to me, you carry on.” Clarke picks up a bedpan and carries it to the patient who snatches it from her with a glare.  “You’re new. Got a cold or something?” She points a crooked finger at Clarke’s mask. “Shut the curtains and give me a bit of dignity girl, my bowels move slow these days.”   Clarke pulls the curtains and carries on down the ward. She catches up with Bree and Fox and they walk through into the Shunt Room. As they expected, it’s empty, coils of sterile tubing lie ready for use, cannulas are lined up beside them and the six beds, neatly made with crisp white sheets, are unoccupied.

“Anyone coming this way?” Fox looks back through the window and shakes her head.

Clarke looks at her watch and sets the stopwatch.  “Okay we have just over one hour from now before they find Maya. Ready?” The two girls nod and Clarke cards them into the corridor and then the Harvest Chamber. It looks and smells every bit as bad as it did yesterday, she’s not surprised that Fox gasps.

They hurry to Raven’s cage, where they find the mechanic looking feverish and agitated. Monroe and Byrne gently support her weight as she chooses from the proffered instruments a couple of hooks and a retractor. Almost tentatively she starts to poke at the padlock. Fox stays by the cage door, holding the padlock steady. Clarke takes Bree to one side. “I’m going back to the ward to sort out that old lady and her bedpan. I’ll grab some clean bandages and meds while I’m there. I don’t like how flushed Raven looks.”

Raven’s sweating, it’s so fucking hot in this death box. The throbbing of her hip is a distraction she doesn’t need. Focus. Focus. Feel those pins. She slides the hooks into the barrel.  Softly, softly, catchee monkey.  Fuck! A pin slips back, it’s an old lock and worn. Try again and again and again.

Twenty minutes later Clarke’s back from bed pan duty, clutching a plastic bag full of loose pills, rolls of bandage and a bottle of water. She waits for Raven to pull back and stretch after another unsuccessful attempt on the lock.

“Raven! Drink some water and take these pills. Hydration and antibiotics, you need both. How about you take a break? Just five minutes!”

Byrne and Monroe lift Raven a couple of feet back while she drinks, swallows two pills and shakes out the cramps in her fingers.  “I’m ready to take that bitch again!”

Murphy leans forward to whisper to Clarke. “How are you really going to get out of here?”

Clarke nods towards the doorway. “Back there is the Shunt Room, where they treat patients for radiation sickness using the blood of these people.” Clarke gestures to the cages that surround them and the prisoners who stare back at her in sullen silence. “The Shunt Room connects to where they bleed the donors. Maya says it’s a regular thing that donors die.”

“So?”

“They use a chute to dispose of the bodies. Next to where they bleed the donors is an airlock and inside it, is this chute.”

“Where does the chute go?”

Clarke shrugs “I don’t know other than ‘outside’ because why have an airlock if you don’t need one?”

 “Clarke, that doesn’t sound sane!  Are you just going to jump down a chute and hope for the best? You know that we were attacked by monsters, huge men with swords, who brought us here. There were people who tried to help us, they looked fierce and had swords too, but who knows who or what is out there…….. and how’re you going to find your mum and the others?” 

Clarke shrugs and shakes her head. “There are no good choices, Murphy! I need to get out of here to tell the Ark what’s going on, Raven’s hurt – it looks bad, Trina’s likely dead and I can’t get everyone out. Some won’t leave even if I could get them out. Octavia won’t leave Bellamy, he can’t or won’t disguise himself as a nurse, as only women seem to be nurses here. Jasper won’t leave Maya; Monty won’t leave Jasper. I can’t even get you boys out; your cage has the wrong kind of lock.” Clarke’s hands rise to flutter in frustration.  “The nearest thing we have to a plan is that Octavia and Atom are going to hide out in the vent systems. Everyone else is going to play ‘innocent’ about some of us getting out. If they buy that and our people still have some freedom of movement, Monty and Jasper will be trying to get into their security systems to hack the electronic locks and get you out. Dax and Wells will be searching for a working radio. The radio thing – is easier said than done, because when we landed on the mountain, we trashed these people’s comms. They’ve set up something temporary that gives them patchy radio coverage for a few miles outside Mt Weather but they’re really spooked, Monty says, because most of their equipment outside the mountain is still useless and will be for some months. They can’t ‘see’ what’s happening outside and that scares them.”

Clarke looks at her dad’s watch. In twenty minutes, they must go. If Raven gets that lock open, she, Byrne and Monroe will come with them.  Clarke paces. Raven must get that cage open because Clarke doesn’t think her friend has much chance of surviving if her wounds aren’t treated properly and soon. The flushed cheeks, shivering and the red streaks of infection snaking down her leg are all bad signs. Will Raven be able to walk? Maybe not, Clarke examines a gurney parked against the wall, the stretcher element is removable. Bree helps her take the thing apart and Clarke goes back to pacing. If Raven can open her own and a couple more cages, more prisoners on the loose means more chaos and a better chance of escape.

From the level above Anya watches and listens to the skaigoufas (sky children). She’d never admit it but she’s impressed. Her people have never escaped the Maunde, never got out of this hell alive, yet these skaigoufas are close to success. She jogs on the spot, fighting the tiredness that losing blood brings. She, Ryder and Penn have been drained twice since their capture. They are weakened but not yet weak. She beckons for Ryder to come closer; she whispers.

“Can you, do it?”

“Sha.”

“Then do it now.”

The big man flexes his shoulders and arms. The cage they’re in has a floor made of flat metal slats, but the sides are of round bars of steel. Ryder’s been bending bars like these ever since his voice broke. He breathes in, adjusts his stance and grasps hold of two bars. Then he starts to pull them apart.

15^th August 2149 CE Raven’s Pod

Abby finally gets the radio to work and, in a few moments, Kane is on the line. “Things have changed Kane. We’ve discovered people living on the ground, some friendly, some hostile. It’s not the empty world we all envisaged. I’ve just been talking with a young woman who oversees twelve different groups, erm…. like tribes, of people. We need to be careful where the dropships land, they could be taken to be invading a tribe’s land and attacked.” 

“Are you safe? Are the Sky Box kids safe?”  

“Some are, some aren’t. The people who live in these woods are called the Tree People and they’re giving about forty of us shelter and food.” 

The Chancellor, Councillor Pike and Commander of the Guard Shumway join Kane on the call and Abby and Callie talk with them for what feels like for ever. Callie does most of the talking, because while Abby was spending time with the healers and wounded, Callie was being educated about life on the ground.   

Luna of the Boat People was introduced to Callie by Commander Lexa. Lexa aware, from her knowledge of the OT, that Skaikru’s ignorance of life on the ground was a factor in their fear and hostility decides to start their ‘education’ as soon as possible. Lessons in Trigedesleng and other skills have already started for the goufas and in Callie, Lexa sees a possible advocate for good relations between ground and sky.   

On the call Callie does her best to explain Mt Weather and the twelve different ‘tribes’ and how technology is no longer a dominant influence in how people live on the ground. The call ends with Jaha deciding that sending any dropships is to be delayed while the Council considers all this new information.  

“Typical Chancellor bullshit!” Finn kicks at the ground. “He doesn’t care that our people are held captive and may die.” 

Callie rubs her eyes, she’s exhausted. That’s what talking to arrogant arseholes does to her apparently. She sighs unable to bring herself to chastise the boy, even though the Council needing time to consider the new circumstances is what they expected and not completely unreasonable. But the whole conversation had been depressing, it reminds her of why she was trying to change things on the Ark. Jaha, Pike, Kane and even Shumway were talking like they were entitled to arrive on the ground and start ordering everyone around because the ground was ‘their inheritance’ and they had ‘rights.’  

The first problem was Jaha, after asking a couple of questions about Wells he ignored the existence of the other ninety-nine children he sent down to the ground. His priority was to get the Commander to acknowledge his status as Leader of a people whose knowledge of technology…… No Jaha insisted, tell the Commander we have ‘mastery’ of technology. That ‘mastery’ of technology, he claimed, made them important players on the ground and the Commander, if she knows what’s good for her, must recognise their right to choose a homeland.

After Jaha had said what he wanted, his final demand being that Callie set up a call for him to speak with the Commander tomorrow, he handed the microphone over to Pike, Shumway and Kane. These three bombarded them with questions about the military capabilities of Mt Weather. “We know they threatened our kids with guns and that somehow, they control a group of ‘wild men’ who kidnap people. Plus, we have been told that many years ago they destroyed a village using a missile.  Other than that, we have no idea!”

Shumway is called away to deal with a disturbance and the two Council Members then switch to questions about the ‘tribes’ and their military abilities. Callie, conscious that bodyguards provided by the Commander are standing nearby, tries to be discreet. “Again, we know don’t know much, but from what we have seen and heard warfare was until recently the norm. It’s only through the creation of Commander Lexa’s Coalition that there’s peace between the twelve tribes. That said the Coalition is at war with Mt Weather.”

After many more questions, that they cannot or prefer not to answer, the Councillors depart and Sinclair comes on the line to give them directions on how to remove the radio and its’ solar power unit from the pod. Coming back here every time they want to use the radio is not a good idea.

Finn continues to grumble as the two adults lock the pod and they all set off back to Ton DC.

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th Moon Full. Osser  

It’s sweltering in Ton DC when Lexa, Ontari, Isla, Hellen and Blair duck out of the bright sun and into Peter’s Barn, a lopsided old structure cobbled together from wood, corrugated iron sheets and blocks of cement.  Close to the back wall is a metal door, warped by age and rust, leaning drunkenly against a mound of rubbly earth. Ontari gives the door a tug and it opens easily on well-oiled hinges. Just inside the door hang flasks of oil and lanterns. The natblida lights three before they start to descend. The cool air that meets them as they jog down the one hundred and fifty steps to the underground ‘platform’ is welcome, as is the brisk three league walk that brings them to Arl’ton.

The great cave is now partially lit by torches and lanterns, giving Lexa a real sense of how huge it is and letting her see the remains of many great machines, some reduced to rusty lumps and tattered pieces of cloth, others, untarnished and gleaming. Gustus and Fenton are waiting for them and the long slender carts carry them through the dark tunnel as smoothly as Lexa remembers. Then they are at Osser and walking through the poorly lit, narrow channels cut by Kenton and his miners.  

Kenton explains the route.  “Heda, three times we have had to divert our tunnel.  You know as do I, that before the bombs people had tek that could change the land. They moved mountains, dammed and re-routed rivers, built up to the sky and deep underground. We never know what we will find when we dig.” He sighs heavily. “Twice water flooded in, and now on our third try…..” His voice fades as they head deeper underground, whatever he was saying lost as the tunnel jinks round a huge boulder of sparkling rock.  Finally, the procession halts in a wide bowl-shaped space.

Kenton’s voice is low, just above a whisper, as if he fears being overheard. “Heda we are under the Maunde, close to the mines where the Ripas live and the great dam.” He makes room for Lexa to come to the front. “I do not know what is behind that Heda.” He directs the light from his lantern forward and where Lexa expected to see rock or rubble, is a wall. A wall made from neatly cemented bricks.   

15^th August 2149 CE Mt Weather Level Three Harvest Chamber

She almost misses the click of the padlock as it opens but Raven, Monroe and Byrne tumbling out of the cage grabs her attention. Shit, there’s no time to open any more cages. A quick hug for Murphy. “You can do it Princess and if anyone can hack these locks it’ll be Monty. We’ll be partying it large down here in no time!”  Clarke knows the idiot boy is being brave and her chest hurts to think of leaving without him. She slips a scalpel from the box she stole into his hand and Byrne, Bree and Fox pocket one each.

The newly released captives ‘dress’ in the loose-fitting scrubs discarded by the ‘nurses’, with Raven, who’s barely able to stand, protesting all the while that she doesn’t need to be carried. But Clarke’s not taking any shit from the mechanic and for once Raven gives in. Bree and Fox bring over the stretcher.

“You need a guide, or you will never find your people.” Anya smirks when all the skaigoufas jump like startled rabbits when she speaks.

“Fuck!” Monroe steps back tangling herself in the baggy pants and falls backwards.

“I always knew you were listening.” Raven almost snarls.

“Why didn’t you say something before?”  Questions Clarke.

“How did you get out? Oh, I see, serious muscle.” Raven can appreciate beauty in all its forms and the three prisoners who drop soundlessly onto the floor of the chamber are the most stunning physical specimens she’s ever seen. Fuck! The two men are both well-built, one is heavily bearded and very muscular, the other is slighter but looks fit and strong, but it’s the woman, whose aura of cold authority and command is coupled with a gorgeous face, that literally takes her breath away. She must be ill; no-one affects her like this. No-one!

“The Mountain Men do not know we speak their language. We learn much by staying silent.”

“That’s, kind of, sensible.” Mutters Clarke. “But we need to get out of here, the alarm could be raised any minute now.” She looks at her father’s watch, five minutes to go.

“We will follow you until we are out of the Mountain, then we will lead. You should leave the injured one behind, she will slow us down.”

Raven struggles to rise. “I can walk.”

“No and No. Rae lie down.” Clarke turns to Anya. “We all go, or no-one goes. That’s not negotiable.”

Raven watches the beautiful face turn hard and calculating, before the woman gestures to her two companions and they respond by walking forward to take hold of the stretcher. “It will be quicker if Ryder and Penn carry the burden.” Burden, fucking burden! Raven sits up on the stretcher but Clarke’s there, hand on her shoulder.

“Please. Just for a while.” The mechanic lies back down shooting a glance, at the cold beauty who considers her a ‘burden’, that would have melted Titanium. Anya takes the full 1668 degrees Celsius of heat and shrugs nonchalantly. Raven seethes.  

Clarke exchanges a look with Byrne, the former Ark Guard clutches a scalpel in her hand. At least they can put up a fight if the grounders turn on them. “This way.”

Anya takes a quick look back at her people, who watch in silence from their cages. “Ste yuj.(Stay strong) Heda will come soon and the Maunon will die. Jus drein jus daun. (Blood must have blood.)” In eery harmony all the prisoners echo her final words.

“Jus drein jus daun.”

“Creepy much.”

Clarke and Fox lead, followed by Anya, then Ryder and Penn carrying the stretcher and at the back are Bree, Monroe and Byrne. Clarke cards them out of the Harvest Chamber and they hurry down the corridor to the Shunt Room. From there the door into the donation chamber is unlocked and as they walk through it Clarke hears Anya’s sharp intake of breath. Clearly the prisoner is not totally free of the emotional impact of this room.

Like everything else in Mt Weather, the airlock looks old and beat-up. The yellowish light cast by an old incandescent bulb gives the metal and glass doors a sepia tint and the controls’ legend is worn to a couple of smudges. Clarke turns to Raven. “Rae how do we get through this?”

Raven sits up and regrets it, her stomach cramps and the urge to vomit up the water and pills she took a while back is strong. She swallows, hard. “Click the two red switches down and then push the green button. Inside same two switches and then the red button will close it. You can’t open the exit unless the entry is closed. That’s standard for an airlock.”

That works and they all crowd into the lock. “Same again to get out the other side.” 

As soon as the exit door opens a fetid stink invades the lock. Anya recognises the smell of death and decomposing bodies. The stench rises from the chute.

Alarms start to ring; lights flash and a claxon blares. Time to go.

Clarke braces herself; she can do this, but before she jumps Anya is there and somehow, she’s got a scalpel in her hand?! Alarmed, Clarke looks at her friends to find Bree clutching at her wrist and Byrne moving forward.

“I needed a blade. Discussion was not profitable.” Is all Anya says, before she launches herself down the chute. A couple of seconds later she’s demanding. “Come on. We need to move. Ripas are nearby.”

Clarke’s next and it’s worse than she imagined. Falling onto a cart piled high with corpses is disgusting +++. Trina’s dead eyes stare back her from a naked body that’s pocked with holes. She dry heaves before pulling herself out of the cart and shouting.

“It’s about a six-foot drop.”

Byrne and Monroe are next, then Penn; Raven is lowered by Ryder into Penn’s arms. Fox drops the stretcher down and Bree brings up the rear.

“They’ve found us. Some are suiting up. But ‘miss resting bitch’ face here slashed their suits with the scalpel, so they’ll be a while.”

“That’s kinda cool.”

15^th August 2149 CE Mt Weather The Oval Office

Cage’s building sense of euphoria vanishes in an instant. Yes, the sky kid’s bone marrow works, really works; but for the first time ever there’s a breakout from the Harvest Chamber and the fuckers have got away. Slashed suits meant pursuit into the mines was slow and by the time his soldiers got there whoever had escaped was long gone.  Leaving three of his Dogs dead.

“Have we any sky-kids left to harvest?”

“Yes, Mr President Sir. We did a roll call of those within our community. Five are missing, including their leader Clarke, forty claim to be unaware of any attempt to leave. From the Harvest Chamber we lost three, six remaining.”

Not a total fucking loss then. He sits at his father’s desk, somehow, it’s still Dante’s even though the former President accepted his son’s coup with good grace and handed over all the codes and command keys when asked.  

“Emerson, release the Veil. If we can’t have them nobody can.”

“Yes, Mr President Sir.”

Chapter Text

15^th August 2149 CE.  A Bunker

They had fled through the old mine tunnels, creeping past fearsome looking Ripas, most of whom slept soundly.  The few who did wake seemed dazed and confused, their attacks sluggish; Anya and Byrne dispatched them quickly. It was, Anya explained to the Ark Guard, a mercy to end their fight.

“Yu gonplei ste oden (Your fight is over)”

Once they leave the mine the outside is very different, a world of; alpine meadows with soft grass and blue flowers, a dazzling sun and bursts of gunfire from the, masked and suited, sentries posted on the great dam.  A bullet grazes Monroe’s side, Clarke applies pressure and bandages the wound as best she can, they must keep moving.

As they walk Clarke steals a quick look at her dad’s watch, it’s midday and they’ve been walking for over an hour under hot sun. The sky people struggle; they’ve never walked for long distances under full gravity; and even Anya, Penn and Ryder, weakened by the Maunon’s theft of their blood, find the going hard.  But no-one complains. They trudge on, Raven at last accepting she needs the stretcher when her leg gives way for the fourth time.

When they reach the base of the mountain, it’s a plunge into thick woodland, where cooler air and tree cover bring relief from both sun and bullets.  A brief stop at a stream allows them to drink. Raven takes more antibiotics and those without shoes; Byrne, Monroe and the three grounders, protect their feet with thick leaves and bandages.  They move on, led by the aloof Anya, who when told by Raven, Byrne and Monroe the full story of Ripas attacking the skaikru and the help they received from warriors to fight them off, said she would take them to Ton DC. That is where her Heda, whoever that is, would take anyone she saved from the Ripas.

Anya walks soundlessly along the trail, sword at the ready and every sense alert to danger.  Immediately behind her, trying their best to walk quietly through the hushed woods, are Clarke, Bree and Fox; Ryder and Penn, carrying Raven, are next and bringing up the rear are Byrne and Monroe. The afternoon sun continues to beat down, bright motes of light breaking through the canopy and the sheltering trees gently tick and creak as they expand in the heat.

Everyone startles when a noise like a mournful trumpet fractures the quiet.  Anya immediately hustles them off the path; just in time to avoid the stampeding animals that flee Mt Weather. Deer, boar, wild cattle, big cats, and many others that Clarke doesn’t recognise, tear through the woods, while hundreds of birds lift off in flapping clouds. Even the skaikru know that something is very wrong and when the animals have passed by their hiding place and Anya demands that they pick up the pace and run, they don’t question, just respond as best they can. But gravity turns their limbs to lead and their lungs to punctured bellows. The grounders, with Raven on the stretcher, pelt off into the trees, while the skaikru stumble, breathless and limping, after them. When they do catch up it’s to discover Anya digging with her bare hands into the earth, leaves and mulch, that have collected beside an uprooted tree. At first Clarke thinks that the intimidating grounder has gone mad, but then Ryder and Penn set down Raven’s stretcher and join her; just as the stench of something starkly chemical begins to thicken the air. Clarke and Byrne exchange a look before dropping to their knees to help dig.  

Dirt flies and a flat metal plate is revealed, a door. Ryder heaves it open and another door is beneath it. That opens onto stairs leading down into a wide metal tunnel. The two men, carrying Raven with them, run down. Clarke, Monroe, Byrne, Bree and Fox tumble after, Anya closes the doors and everything goes black.

There’s the sound of nine people panting, then a scrabbling, and muttered words that sound like curses. “What’s going on?” Clarke demands, when her laboured breathing allows her to speak.

“The Mountain Men sent their Acid Fog to kill us. We must wait here until it is safe.”

“How long?”

“Half a day is enough, but then it will be night. We will stay here until morning.”

Everyone feels a little better when the shuffling noises result in someone striking a spark and there’s light. Clarke’s briefly enthralled; she’s never seen a naked flame before. She just stares at the dancing light that sits on the tip of a pale stick. Soon the flame is passed to other candles and the interior of the bunker starts to become visible.   People move around, carefully because there’s furniture to fall over, beds, chairs, tables, something that looks very like a kitchen stove and lots of shelves.

“What is this place?”

“It was made before the bombs fell. A place of safety that was never used. The stories tell us that before Praimfaya some feared the coming of war and great bombs. They made places under the ground to hide in, but many were never used because when the bombs did fall, there was little or no warning.”

“Preppers. They were called Preppers.” It’s Raven, struggling to stand.

“Rae be careful we don’t know how badly they damaged the bones in your hip and leg. You could break something.”

“Humph” the mechanic hauls herself up using the metal frame of a bunkbed and balances on her good leg. Grasping a candle, she holds it up towards the ceiling. “Atlas. It’s an Atlas bunker. Early twenty-first century, they designed them to support a family of four for up to two years underground. Some had their own boreholes for water and most had solar and ground-source heat pumps for power. The solar panels might work, if they’re still there and connected, though the batteries will be fucked. Let’s have a look. Major, can you help me move around?”

Wincing Byrne stands, her feet are bruised and bleeding. She’d give almost anything for a decent pair of boots. She offers a prayer to some vague deity that her spare pair are safe in the pod. Clarke shuffles over, waving at the tall Guard to resume her seat, at least she has shoes on. “I’ll help.”

With Clarke’s support, Raven makes her way deeper into the tunnel-shaped bunker. She sees a dusty games console and set into the wall is a control panel. She opens some of the drawers in a desk and gleefully picks out a screwdriver. But it’s not long before their progress is halted by a sturdy metal door. Tapping the ‘OPEN’ icon brings no response. The mechanic starts to sift through her memories of the specs of Atlas bunkers. While she muses Anya materialises silently from the gloom. “We have never got past this door. Here, eat. The Commander keeps bunkers near the mountain supplied with candles and rations.” What Anya doesn’t say, as she passes out the jerky, is that over the last few moons every bunker near the Maunde has been checked and stocked in preparation for the battle with the Maunon.

Raven takes the dried meat and starts to chew. “Hmm, this tastes good. What is it?”

“Smoked deer meat.”

“Clarke, can you bring the candle closer to the right-hand side of the door. Oooh yeah.” She unscrews a small panel, reaches within and pulls hard on the metal cable that hangs inside. There’s a solid clunk, then a hiss; the door shudders, and a slim gap opens. “That’s a standard manual override. They didn’t want to be trapped if the power went off.”

She feels Anya at her shoulder. “Give me room to open the door gorgeous.”

“There may be danger!”

“I like it that you’ve gone all protective, but anything in there is long D E A D. Dead.”

Anya stands back, Clarke pulls at the door and Raven thrusts a candle forward and into the room beyond.

“Is that what I think it is Rae?”

“Hmm maybe, maybe not. I may have exaggerated on the DEAD front.”  

That statement has Anya pushing forward sword drawn, but she stops when all she sees is a wheeled bench. “That is alive?”

“Well no. But we could be looking at this bunker’s back-up power source. Clarke, you saw the gym on the Ark do you fancy a spin?” Clarke climbs onto the exercise bike and starts to pedal. “Gently now, this baby’s not had oil for sooo long.” Slowly Clarke pedals, she’s too tired to do much else. “Keep going, we need to build up a bit of a charge.” Clarke starts to puff as Raven hops around the room, flicking switches and then the lights come on. A slowly building glow, that has Anya spinning around in alarm and Ryder’s enquiring face peering around the door. Clarke starts to flag, the glow fades.

“Sorry Rae, I can’t keep going.”

“Ryder come here, Penn guard the door. No-one leaves.”  

Ryder soon gets the hang of pedalling, the lights come back on and Anya starts to search the storeroom, with Raven and Clarke explaining the tech. But not everything needs explaining. Clothes, shoes and boots have been carefully stacked on shelves, some drop to pieces when touched, others are like new. Crockery, tools, perished food all are easily recognisable, the computer, tablet, phone and portable radio get Raven very excited and she happily babbles to Anya about these useful devices. Then Anya pulls down a metal box and flips the lid open. Three semi-automatic pistols and boxes of ammunition are carefully wrapped in what was once oiled cloth, now it’s drier than bone. Anya’s raised sword stops anyone getting closer. “Take any clothes you need back into the first room. Raven you may take the flat book things and those tools, but the Fayoguns. Er the guns, must not be touched.”  

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th Moon Full Ton DC

As dusk falls groups of skai-goufas linger around the cooking hearths, in the few days they’ve been in Ton DC the youngons have already gained a reputation for eating up any leftovers. Indra shrugs, she’s received no complaints from her cooks, they are happy to feed the scrawny goufas who show their gratitude by helping clean, prepare and serve, the food they so love to eat. Turning into a back street Indra increases her pace; she’s been summoned to the stonemason’s yard. Heda Lexa, she was told, is with the mason, waiting as he fulfils a task for her and she wants to hear Indra’s reports about the skaigoufas and the arrival of the first gonas at Arl’ton.   

Stonemasons’ yards are usually noisy places, with loud voices, hammers, chisels, saws and grinding wheels all contributing to the row.  That it seems so quiet as she approaches is unnatural and Indra’s hand moves to her sword, always wary of the unusual. Heda is there, sitting on a large block of stone, Handmaids are posted around the yard, alert and ready for any trouble. Kenton kom Boudalan stands to one side watching the stonemason Gretson as he bends over his workbench drilling a small hole into a brick. He stops as Indra arrives, puts down the drill and blows into the hole. 

“Heda, to stop the brick falling into whatever space is behind the wall, it is best to secure it first.” He places a wooden plug into the brick and then screws a large hook into it.  He lifts the hook and brick. “I can now hold it steady as I dig out the mortar that holds it in place. When that is done, I can pull it backwards and brush away any loose cement. That is the quietest and cleanest way I could remove the brick Heda.”   

“Could you do this in the dark Gretson?” 

The stonemason looks thoughtful. “It will be slower Heda, but yes I could do it by feel.” 

With a sharp nod to Gretson and a few words with him and Kenton Lexa sends them both to the tunnels. She and Indra will join them tomorrow, she wants her most senior wormana with her when they discover what is behind that wall. Anya should be there as well, but the whereabouts of her most senior advisor are unknown. She fears the worst, it happened in the Old Times (OT); it could happen in the New Times (NT). Will Clarke again stand in-front of her holding Anya’s braid and ask for an alliance. She tears herself away from thoughts of the past and asks Indra for news.

Indra’s reports are encouraging. The skaigoufas are eating and learning, Strik Selene’s wound remains free of wound rot and the army has started to arrive. Always the first are Delphikru and Podakru, these long-term allies of Trikru are anxious to be in the forefront of any attack against the Maunon. They’ve arrived and are raising their tents hidden within the groves of hazel. In a day or so their gonas will start to make their way into the great tunnel at Arl’ton and prepare for the battle.

Lexa needs to know what is behind that wall of neat bricks before she sends thousands of gonas through those tunnels and into the Maunde.  

17^th August 2149 CE. Mt Weather  

Octavia’s made a snug base for the two of them in a junk filled room behind the main kitchens on Level Five. It shares a wall with the bread-ovens, making it too warm for storing fresh food; instead, it’s become a dumping ground for old cardboard boxes, defunct IT, smashed wooden pallets and broken furniture. An old mattress and a couple of blankets make a bed, Octavia’s known worse, and with one of them on guard while the other rests they feel safe enough to get some sleep. They need the rest. The day Clarke and the others escaped Octavia and Atom searched all of Level Five and yesterday was spent tracing data cables that Monty suspects are part of the controls for Mt Weather’s highest level security systems. These are effectively separated from the networks that control the Garden, Kitchen and Environmental systems that Monty’s already hacked. Physical access to the right cables would get him into the highest levels. No luck yet, they’ll try again tomorrow.

As well as being a safe place to sleep, the junk-room’s contents have excited Monty and Wells. Octavia and Atom gave a quick report to the two boys as they played pool in the rec room last night. Wells and Monty lounged against the wall, just beneath a handy ventilation grill, in-between shots. When Atom mentioned seeing piles of old computers, tablets and other tech in their ‘base-room’ they both wanted to get their hands on it.

Octavia’s suggestion is.  “One of you should join Dax working in the kitchens, he’s there every day.”

Atom agrees, he’d worked in the kitchens with Dax before taking to the vents with Octavia, it was a great way to get extra food. “Dax has one of the girls wrapped around his … erm finger. He has plenty of freedom down there and the best food.”

Next day Wells asks for kitchen duty. The sky kids’ capacity for food is well known and working in the kitchens is scarcely a security risk, he’s in.

17^th August 2149 CE. Mt Weather. Harvest Chamber

Murphy picks at his cuticles until they bleed, chews his lip to shreds and now he’s pacing. He knows Clarke would’ve taken him with her, if she could. But his cage had the wrong kind of fucking lock. He folds his arms across his chest, tightly gripping his ribs. There’s nothing he can do; he, Pascal and John are just lab rats. Lab rats that get taken away by soldiers; like Simon, Ian and Luc were taken yesterday. They’ve not come back, not likely to come back. Odds are fifty: fifty at best. Trina and Raven were taken, only Raven returned. Fifty: fifty. He continues to pace, looking down to the main doorway where the mountain fuckers have posted two armed guards.

A few of the other prisoners in nearby cages are prepared to talk to them now. Just whispers, when the guards aren’t looking their way.  And the atmosphere’s subtly different. More defiant, less resigned. Chants of “Jus drein, jus daun” randomly break out. One prisoner starts it and soon everyone in a cage, including Murphy and the boys, is chanting along. The woman in the next cage, whispered what it meant and they join in even more wholeheartedly. These mountain fuckers deserve to bleed.

Phht, a gob of spit lands unnoticed on the cap of a dozing guard. Phht, another gob, this time off target. Phht – right on the face! There’s a ripple of laughter as the soldier leaps up. “Fuckers! Fuck! Fucking savages!” The words bursting through as he wipes at his face.

“Jus drein, jus daun! Jus drein, jus daun!” The chant starts and continues as the guard waves his rifle around threateningly. “Jus drein, jus daun! Jus drein, jus daun!”

Bang! He’s fired. Murphy looks around, anxious to see if anyone’s hurt. A woman in a cage at the top of the room sinks silently to her knees, blood bubbling from her lips and probably with her last breath she spits red phlegm onto the guards below.

“Jus drein, jus daun! Jus drein, jus daun! Jus drein, jus daun! Jus drein, jus daun!” It’s even louder now, more emphatic and the cages start to swing as the prisoners fling themselves at the bars. The second guard grabs the rifle away from the killer and snarls something into the man’s face. Bang, bang, bang but these shots are just a warning and the chanting continues. The guards, one still wiping his face, wait it out.

 17^th August 2149 CE.  Dusk  The Forest

All of them are dressed in their new clothes, carry a backpack or bag full of stuff they found in the bunker and some kind of bladed weapon or tool. Anya’s backpack contains the pistols and ammunition that she’s not letting anyone else get close to. Byrne’s knees are close to buckling, as in addition to her own pack she’s carrying the kit Raven’s convinced her is essential for life on the ground. The portable radio, currently useless as its’ battery is dead, a tablet (also dead), an adjustable wrench, a set of pliers and a metal tape measure. Raven was almost in tears about what was left behind but Byrne could carry no more.

All of them are exhausted. They only stop for essentials and sleep. Clarke’s lost all sense of time and place. Once they entered the forest and lost sight of Mount Weather, she became disorientated, merely a follower of the stern grounder who’s promised to take them to Ton DC, wherever that is. The likeliest place to find her mother, Callie and those of the 100 not in Mt Weather? She hopes so.  Looking up she sees the sun; she knows it rises in the east and sets in the west but with the dense tree canopy, her own exhaustion and lacking any knowledge of the geography of where she is, its’ position means nothing. How much further must they tramp along almost invisible paths, how much longer can she keep walking?  Even with boots that fit her feet are blistered and aching legs, hunger and thirst are constant. “Hod op!”   Clarke knows that means stop and she sinks to her knees, she watches Bree and Fox do the same. Raven’s stretcher is abruptly set down. Anya and Byrne draw their swords, Clarke realising it’s not just a stop for food pulls out her long knife and hushes Fox and Bree’s chatter. Raven rolls off the stretcher and into the undergrowth.

There’s noise. A rhythmic thumping. It’s getting closer. Anya tenses, Ryder and Penn vanish soundlessly up into the trees. Byrne, holding her sword in a death grip, drops her pack and squats low, trying for invisibility amongst the clumps of moss and fern.  

Great beasts thunder along the track towards them, snorting and panting.

“Heda! Hod op.”

What Clarke recognises is a horse and rider (who thought horses would be so big when you saw one in the flesh) comes to a sudden stop. The horse rears back and somehow the rider flies or floats through the air to land gracefully by Anya.

“Anya!” The newcomer, who is immediately joined by two of her companions, swords drawn, extends her arm. Anya had dropped to one knee when she recognised Lexa and waits for her Heda to invite her to stand. As Lexa pulls her to her feet she exclaims. “It is good to see you ai lukot (my friend). What happened to you and who are these people?”

Lexa glances over the group and her heart almost stops. She’s here, at last. Blonde hair, blue eyes, dimpled chin, beauty spot just above her lip, furrowed brow and …… Lexa just manages not to stare. Instead, she forces her eyes to look at the others. She recognises Raven and Byrne; the other two she’s never seen.

The ten riders willingly share their horses, even Heda Lexa offers to ride double. Anya notices that the offer is made directly to Clarke who accepts it with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Getting the skai gada onto Snatcha (Racoon)’s back takes patience, strength and, if it had been anyone but Lexa, Anya would have thought slightly overlong gazing at the skai gada’s figure. Anya herself is grateful for Bigas’ offer of her horse Spam. Spam is not only well trained but has a steady gait, ideal for coping with an injured rider. Anya carefully positions the skai ‘mechanic’ to sit ‘side saddle’ on Spam’s broad back, before leaping into the saddle behind her and taking the reins.

Raven looks up into cool, clear, hazel eyes. “Was that canon fire or is it my heart pounding?”  Those eyes snap to Raven’s lips and Anya blinks. “Casablanca? I’m wasted on you gorgeous. Wasted.”   

Chapter Text

18^th August 2149 CE Mt Weather; The Harvest Chamber

The lights dimmed a while back and everyone was quiet or sleeping when a squad of a dozen soldiers march in carrying Luc and two grounders. Murphy had woken immediately the door opened, but he lay still, watching and listening as the two soldiers on guard chatted with their colleagues. Then they move in a well-rehearsed dance; a cage is selected and swung down to the floor. Four soldiers, each with guns, shock batons or tasers, surround it. A command is snapped out, the cage door unlocks and two more soldiers roll a limp form inside and shut the door. Another sharp word and the lock is engaged. The soldiers stand down, the cage swings up and Murphy’s cage takes its’ place.

When Luc tumbles in, Murphy shuffles over. The boy’s out of it, like Raven Luc has two incisions, the one on his hip is still bleeding through the boy’s flimsy white shorts, the second at the top of his thigh’s stitched up and starting to scab. The soldiers dumped him like he was trash. His voice hoarse with sleep Murphy asks. “What about Simon and Ian? Where are they?”

One of the soldiers, younger than the others, starts to speak. “They had a bad reaction...…” but he’s shushed by an older man who pulls him away.

“Don’t talk to the livestock, boy.”

Soon it’s all quiet again, the squad had marched out and the two guards stood rigidly at attention for all of five minutes, then they revert to their usual positions, leaning against the wall.

Murphy looks into the cages nearby, eyelids flutter, of course his neighbours are awake.  “Ste yuj! Heda is coming!”  He knows these are meant to be words of comfort. ‘Ste yuj’ the woman in the next cage told him yesterday means ‘stay strong’ and ‘Heda’ is their leader. He hopes to hell that Heda gets a fucking move on and kills these fucking bastards pronto. 

Pascal and John help him make Luc as comfortable as possible and Murphy unwraps a couple of the antibiotic pills Clarke had left with him. At least Luc will have help fighting off the inevitable infection. 

18^th August 2149 CE Mt Weather; Level Six

Octavia pulls herself forward, sliding silently up to the grille. She finds herself looking down into a bedroom. Level Six is mainly living accommodation. Everything from magnificent suites to tiny apartments like this one. Just three rooms, one of them a bedroom for the kids. There’s a small bed and a cot, both visible in the gentle glow emanating from a night-light, that’s in the form of a fairy sitting beneath a red and white toadstool. The two kids are tightly curled into their fluffy blankets, asleep. It’s a small room and like many in Mt Weather, the ceiling is curved and the grubby concrete walls are covered with pictures. But these aren’t great works of art from the past, far from it. They’re flimsy pieces of paper, covered in childish scribbles all on the same theme, a smiley family. The dad looks a little comical with his almost completely round head resting directly on broad shoulders. He’s clean shaven, with dark hair that’s cut short. At his side is a mom figure, shorter, with pronounced breasts, long red hair and carrying a baby, well the pinkish blob is probably a baby. A little stick girl stands by her mom, holding her hand. They’re all smiling, even the blob of a baby has a grin.

Octavia remembers her own pictures on this theme. They were terrible, art and drawing are so not her thing. The family she drew, tried to draw, was smaller, no dad, her mom the tallest figure with long dark hair and Bell curly haired and solemn. They were all solemn, not a smiley family.

She shuffles back to the junction and back again to the section head. Orange light from the corridor is enough for her to pencil in the small apartment on the map. That’s Level Six complete. On to Level Seven.

Anger’s always made her antsy. On the Ark she did push-ups and pull-ups, here gravity plus the need to keep moving and mapping leaves her exhausted, but it’s there bubbling beneath her skin. Atom’s been a bit too pushy, despite Bell giving him a talk that would have scared any other boy into retreat, and then she’d overheard him chatting with Dax.

She’d been firm but, she thought, kind and not judgy, when yet again his hands strayed to below her waist. “Look, I like you, like a lot but I’m not ready for….” Octavia’s push against Atom’s chest was gentle but firm. It’s great that he likes her so much and that he’s a good kisser but it’s so annoying when Bell turns out to be right.

Her big brother told her that ‘boys are only after one thing’ and when she’d snarked back ‘but you’re a boy’ he’d just shrugged, so complacent and big brotherish. “That’s how I know O! You gotta wait until we stop thinking with our dicks. Then, when we’re about thirty, we may be ready to stop chasing tail!”

She’d thought Atom was different. Sweet and kind, he listened when she talked, didn’t push. Didn’t trash talk about her with other boys; or so she thought. But it turns out that he’s like all the rest and a bit stupid with it. He should’ve known she’d be nearby when he had his little ‘heart2heart’ with Dax about how soon he’d be getting to ‘third base’ with her; ‘cos she’s so into me’, blah, blah, blah. Now it’s just awkward, in the vents together but not together. She might let him kiss her again, it felt good, but not as good as it once did …..

They go their separate ways, it’s probably for the best that today they are checking out different parts of Mt Weather. Atom’s going up to Level One, to see if there’s another level above the biomes of the Agriculture Sector. Wells and Clarke are sure that there must be a ‘front door’ of some sort. Something much bigger than the service entrance they used when Dante first ‘invited’ them inside. That was a small airlock that led to a decontamination suite. It was Wells who’d thought about how they built this place and that access for big earth moving machinery must have been essential. Somewhere there’s a fuck huge door, but where?

18^th August 2149 CE Mt Weather; Level Seven. The Oval Office

Cage waits, a picture he thinks of dignified patience, as Dr Tsing takes a seat. With careful and deliberate motions, she opens a manilla folder and glances down at the first page.

“Mr President Sir. I can now say with absolute certainty that the bone marrow treatments are working and permanent. We knew things were going well but now it’s official. The first four treated; Emerson, Whitman, Langston and Lovejoy have passed all the reactivity tests.” She pauses, almost it seems for dramatic effect. “Including spending hours outside without burning up.” Another pause. “The second group of six. You sir, your son Whistler and four soldiers ranked at Sergeant will have to wait a few more days but then you can go outside too.”  Cage can barely stop himself from grinning like a kid, he knew it was looking good but this formal confirmation is still special!

“On a less positive note. I have no way of testing whether the men treated can now father children resistant to radiation. We will have to wait and see.”

He clears his throat and forces himself to calm down, things are never simple. If he could be certain his men could father radiation resistant offspring, he could fast forward getting his people out of Mt Weather by using some of the forty kids, that his father invited into Mt Weather as ‘guests’, as a source of bone marrow. Secrecy would be essential. He could pass off the disappearance of a few - as them ‘choosing’ to leave Mt Weather and a couple could have ‘unfortunate accidents’. That way maybe another ten or a dozen could be secured.  And if Tsing manages the donation process more efficiently and fewer of the ‘donors’ died, they could, like the savages, be used more than once.

“Losing over 50% of the donors to ‘shock’ reactions during the extraction process is not acceptable doctor. What are you going to do to keep more of them alive so they can be used again?”

Tsing explains at length her many problems. More like excuses for incompetence thinks Cage; the woman isn’t a trained surgeon, just a researcher. It’s a great pity that her boss Warhol was lost to some random infection that their antibiotics couldn’t touch. However her claim that they are running low on stocks of; anaesthesia, anti-biotics and pain killers is true, as is the fact that standing orders are not to use those supplies on anyone other than patients of the highest rank. She has the temerity to ask would the President be prepared to change standing orders.

Meanwhile she and Dante are on the list of candidates to receive bone marrow as part of the next round. When he hands her the list; she glances over it and nods. That’s not the reaction he expected. A life outside this tomb is in his gift, you’d think she’d at least say thank-you! Bottom line - there’s something about the doctor that he doesn’t like. She’s kind of creepy. “Hold off on taking more donations for the moment. I want you to research the process thoroughly, then send me your written report on what, if anything, will reduce donor deaths. Then I’ll consider revising your standing orders Dr Tsing.” 

As he shows her out of the door he asks; “how many donors are available in the Harvest Chamber?”

“Three unused and one in recovery.”  Hmm not many.

The doctor, clutching the manilla folder to her chest, steps into the lift. Cage shuts the door to the Oval Office behind him. As the lift doors close on the doctor, he turns to his right, nods briefly at the two soldiers on guard duty who salute him and taps a code into a keypad. Silently the lock on the Control Room disengages, he wants to talk to Kandi about radios. They’ve got some radio coverage, but only for a couple of miles outside the mountain and it’s not good enough. He takes a deep breath then slams his way into the Control Room, in the mood to demand progress on radio coverage or Kandi’s resignation. There’s bound to be some ambitious younger man ready to take the Chief Engineer’s place, maybe he’ll have better ideas.

Octavia, crouched behind the ventilation grille above the door to the Control Room, holds herself utterly still, she scarcely breathes. Only four left in the Harvest Chamber? Clarke said she had to leave six boys behind. Fuck, two have died in the three days since Clarke left. Double fuck!

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th Waning Gibbous Moon.

Over the last few days Peter’s Barn, a lopsided old structure cobbled together from wood, corrugated iron sheets and blocks of cement has been worked on by Polis’ leading builder and inventor, Heda’s former Handmaid, Barb.  Barb and her team of blacksmiths and carpenters have been renovating the decrepit structure so that it can function as Heda’s War ‘Tent’ and lodgings, during the battle against the Maunon (Mountain Men).

From the outside it still looks a shabby assemblage of mismatched materials but inside everything has been repaired, cleaned or renewed. Peter is delighted!  Heda and her Handmaids’ horses, relax in roomy stalls, the floor is clean and free of ruts; the huge mound of mouldy hay bales and rubble that took up most of the floorspace, has gone. Finally, the roof and walls, which used to shake every time the doors were opened, are supported by firmly secured green oak beams. Lexa walks in with Barb to inspect the work. Snatcha (Racoon) nickers at his rider when she passes his stall and Lexa gently rubs between his ears as she looks around the roomy workspace.

“Mochof (Thank-you) Barb, this will work well. Using the stairs at the back I can join ai gonas (my warriors) in the Great Tunnel, ai wormanas (generals) can get here using the Tunnel or walking in from Ton DC. The Maunon, whether their tek eyes are working or not, will not be able to see inside and I think you have brought every candle stick and sconce from Polis. I will have plenty of light to see my maps.”

Barb shows Lexa some of the special features she has included as part of the renovation and then gathers her work crew to travel back to Polis, leaving Heda alone with her thoughts. Lexa leans back against the great brass-bound war chest that doubles as her wardrobe and desk, she folds her arms and takes a deep breath. Ten years of work and planning is almost done, they are going to defeat the Maunon. It will happen, is almost inevitable; what is unknown is how many gonas will die. What will be the price in jus (blood) of her victory?  That some will die in war is inevitable, but will those deaths number in the hundreds or thousands? In the Old Times (OT) she took Cage’s deal, saved hundreds of her people caged by the Maunon and lost less than one hundred of her own gonas. It was Clarke, who she betrayed, that destroyed the Maunon. Clarke became Wanheda - Mountain Slayer, and Lexa was called weak for denying her people their right to jus drein jus daun (blood must have blood). Would she be offered that deal again? Would she take it? Would she betray Clarke?

Thinking of Clarke brings the spirited blonde to the forefront of her thoughts. Seeing Clarke, speaking with the girl who could become Wanheda, who could love her despite betrayal, is proving much more difficult than she imagined. This is Clarke, as she was before the betrayal, completely focused on getting her people out of the Maunde (Mountain) and Lexa, as she did in the OT, sees her as a leader, who is strong, ingenious, inventive and breathtakingly meizen (beautiful). She’s distracting, as are Lexa’s thoughts of Finn. Who is very much a ‘presence’ in the New Times (NT) and constantly in Clarke or Raven’s company. Finn! The boy Clarke loved and killed in the OT, is alive! Why hadn’t Lexa thought of that, anticipated that, prepared herself for that? Instead, she had ignored the skat (boy) when some of the skaigoufas (sky children) came to Ton DC and yesterday, overjoyed to find Clarke and Anya both alive and well after their escape, had ridden back to Ton DC with Clarke on her saddlebow. Lexa had enjoyed, teaching the skaigada (sky girl) how to control a horse and talking with her about the Maunde; until as they rode into Ton DC the floppy haired skat had run forward shouting out his joy at seeing “his Princess”. Snatcha is a well-trained horse and so did not shy or kick when the branwada (fool) ran towards him. More’s the pity!

Lexa forces her thoughts away from meizen gadas and back to war and battle. Her attention focuses on the model of the Maunde that lies on her war table; every feature of the peak is marked, each path is plotted in yellow, bunkers are green boxes; a dotted brown line shows how far the Acid Fog travels and a thin red line traces the Tunnel that snakes from Ton DC, through Arl’ton, under the dotted brown line, until it ends at the Maunon’s dam. Lexa looks to her right, picks up and unrolls a piece of vellum. Drawn on the smooth surface is a sketch-plan of what she saw peering through the gap Gretson made in that neat wall at the end of the Tunnel. She moves small pebbles to secure the picture and stares pensively at the five great machines she’s blocked out on the plan. Her thoughts return to the moment they finally breached the Maunon’s defences. 

Yesterday  - Dawn - in the Tunnel

Lexa, Indra and Ontari stand motionless in the dark, each is tensed, ready to draw sword or knife. All lamps and candles have been snuffed out and as an extra precaution, against stray sounds or light, a thick curtain is draped over the entrance to the Tunnel. They listen intently as Gretson chips at the mortar with an old steel nail. In the thickened silence, those sounds are loud, very loud. Then they stop, to be succeeded by a faint scraping and the noise of dirt trickling to the floor. Gretson’s breathing quickens. “The brick is loose now Heda.”

“Move two paces to your left Gretson.”

Feet shuffle, Lexa moves to stand in Gretson’s place, her left hand slides up the wall, counting the hooks that Gretson has, over the previous day, painstakingly placed into each brick that Lexa had marked with an ‘X’. Then at eye level she sees faint glimmers of light, outlining the brick to be removed. “Brush.” Gretson places a small horsehair brush into her left hand. She grasps it and gives the surface in-front of her a gentle brushing. Dust swirls into her eyes, she blinks to remove the grittiness. With her right hand she grasps the hook and slowly pulls the brick back and out of the wall, brushing around the edges as she pulls; there’s no resistance.  Pinkish light pours through the small slot, along with an almost deafening roaring noise. She has to shout to Gretson. “Take it and clean it as best you can.” Lexa hands the brick to the stonemason and then brushes the exposed edges of the gap; careful not to allow any of the dust to fall down the far side of the wall. When she’s satisfied that the edges are clean, she leans forward to look through.

Even in the indistinct light of dawn what she sees is immense. A vast space of many levels. Her eyes adjust slowly to the light and depth, so that for a few moments she can’t make out what’s filling the space: there’s grey blurry things, flights of steps, movement of some sort, a Maunon in a suit?  She blinks, something big looms in-front of her, then above is airy space, so much space.

She stands silent and still, allowing herself the time to memorise everything and everyone she can see through that small gap. Then she steps back to allow Ontari to take her place.  It’s for Ontari, and her gonakru, to watch and report on everything they see through that small ‘window’ into the Maude and its’ dam.    

Today – Ton DC

Today she must make her final plans and convince her wormanas to execute them. Her finger traces the line of the tunnel, then moves to the sketch and the mighty machines depicted. To complete the picture, she unfolds Clarke’s plan of the Maunde, the one given her by the Maunon leader Dante and then added to by Clarke, Byrne and Anya to include the result of Clarke’s explorations and the route she, Anya and the others used to escape through the mines.

Problems and strategies stream into her thoughts. At the heart of it, is that her gonas can get safely past the Acid Fog and into the dam using the tunnel. At the dam will be a door or doors into the Maunde. Those doors will be locked (will battering rams get through them?) and guarded. The guards will have fayoguns that spew bullets faster than arrows can fly, they will also have radios, that may or may not work. Assuming the worst and that the radios work, Lexa must expect that the alarm will be raised and that more with fayoguns and other weapons will be deployed to repel them. Lexa looks at Clarke’s plan. Corridors, stairs, elevators; places perfect for the Maunon to set ambushes.  Many gonas will end their fight inside these soulless halls. She looks up as Bigas Selene enters, the Handmaid bows respectfully.

“Heda, the skaigada Clarke asks to speak with you, as do Chief Indra and Advisor Anya. As you ordered, your wormanas will be here before dusk. Though I have been informed that Yujleda’s wormana Wester is, along with his gonas, delayed on the road.”

“Mochof, Bigas. I will see Clarke, Indra and Anya. Let me know when the wormanas arrive and check that Luna and Windsong are with Callie kom Skaikru, ready to talk with the Skaikru Chancellor.”

“Sha Heda. Isla and Blair are escorting them now.”

Lexa steps back from the war table and sits on her throne. Her dagger slips into her hand and she twirls it. A few moments later Bigas shows in Clarke and the others. Anya and Indra bow deeply, Anya nudges Clarke who then does the same.

“Heda, the skai gada is worried about her people inside the Maunde and asks for your help in gaining their freedom. She is offering an alliance to take down the Maunon.” Anya turns to Clarke. “Clarke say what your people can offer the Commander in return for her help in freeing them.”

Clarke steps forward, a little hesitantly but her head is held high and her blue eyes shine with courage. “Hei, Heda Lexa.” The attempt to address her in Trigedesleng is respectful, Lexa tries to compose her features to an expression that is serious but also welcoming, she’s not sure that she’s successful as Clarke looks a little alarmed.

“I’m sorry but I don’t speak your language I hope gonesleng is acceptable.”

“It is acceptable Clarke. What are you offering by way of an alliance?”

Clarke takes a quick look at her list. “Okay… Right... Yes, well. First is our knowledge and understanding of the technology used by the Mountain people. This includes the weapons they will deploy against your warriors and the equipment they use to communicate with each other and to spy on you. Secondly, we know what it is like inside Mt Weather. Knowledge beyond the map I gave you yesterday. I, Bree and Fox walked each floor of that complex, wandered the corridors, investigated the storerooms. We noted which doors were locked and which were labelled as containing dangerous chemicals. We know how the elevators, ventilation systems and surveillance cameras work.” Clarke pauses for a second, it seems to collect her thoughts. Lexa tries again to look encouraging. Clarke seems to notice and almost smiles. “Thirdly if the radios within the Mountain start to work my people inside will be able to radio us and give more information about the Acid Fog and Monty, he’s one of my people who is good with technical stuff, is working inside Mount Weather to disable their security systems. Fourthly our mechanic Raven can make small or large bombs that can destroy locked doors. Finally thinking more of peace, as you know my mother is a healer and she, along with your …. fisa Rhea is treating the wounded. She’s confident that the Reaper you captured, who is named Melkor, could recover from his addiction and return to his life with your people.”

Indra gasps out incredulous. “Impossible!”

Lexa steps down from her throne.

…………

Clarke’s trying hard not to look as frightened as she feels, when she watches the woman described so vividly by Callie as; “the Commander; the leader of this world Clarke. A world where war and violent death was, until her rule, the norm.” Watching that leader, armed and armoured, sit on a throne and listen to what she, Clarke Griffin, has to say about an alliance, makes Clarke dizzy with the responsibility of it all.  Add in the fact that this leader is also the hot girl she shared a horse and chatted quite comfortably with yesterday and Clarke would be lying if she claimed that her knees didn’t feel a little weak watching that girl twirl a dagger. Fuck, that’s hot and scary, she feels so confused!

But Clarke’s here as a leader, not to drool, so she stands as tall as she can trying to ‘read the room’ as her dad would say. Her audience is not all hostile. Anya is difficult to read but she did say that she would support an alliance with the Skaikru. The very scary black woman with tattoos and scars is impossible to read as anything other than fucking fierce!

When the Commander rises from her throne, dagger still in hand notes Clarke, and approaches her Clarke wants to run. Instead, she locks her knees, straightens her back and looks into deep green eyes; eyes that seem alight more with curiosity than hostility. Clarke feels a spark of hope. Maybe the young delinquents and Raven were right in choosing her to speak for them. Not her mom, who was on the Council for years, not Callie who was a high up administrator on the Ark and not Grace Byrne of the Guard. No, she Clarke Griffin is who they wanted. Charlie, Finn and Nathan reminded her that it was she who had negotiated with Mount Weather and got them away from there. She is the one they trust and who is now, after rehearsing her ‘pitch’ for hours, trying to persuade a beautiful leader, who could probably kill her as easily as look at her, that she and her people can be useful in a war. Clarke waits to see if she has succeeded.

…………………………

19^th August 2149 CE dusk

Callie, Byrne and Abby sit cross-legged in a circle with Windsong and Luna. At the centre of the circle is a stone hearth, its’ stones glowing red with heat. Grace can feel droplets of sweat trickling down her neck, overwarm she takes a deep breath. It’s been hot and dry all day and as dusk descended the gentle breeze, that made daytime comfortable, drops away.   A quick glance around the circle and she sees that Callie, Abby and Luna are also flushed with the heat. Windsong seem unaffected.

The Ingranronakru Chief apologises for the lack of a proper sweat lodge, the normal location for ‘friendly negotiations’ involving Ingranronakru. But she has brought pipes and as Jaha and the Council cannot smoke with her, she accepts the three Skaikru present as companions in this weaving of friendly relations between the Kongeda and the Ark.  Callie introduces the two kru leaders to the doctor and former Guard and for the last few minutes there has been friendly, if diplomatically cautious, conversation between the five women. As the time approaches for the radio conference Callie gives a basic explanation of the radio, that sits between her and Windsong, and how it works. She switches it on and is pleased to see the red and green LEDS light up and to hear Sinclair’s voice coming from the speaker. “Are we all ready?”

They are. Lit pipes are passed around the circle and the first negotiations between the Kongeda and the Ark, open with the formal introduction of Windsong kom Ingranronakru.

YESTERDAY

Callie radios to brief Jaha and the Council about what to expect in the negotiations tomorrow. Almost before she starts to speak Jaha interrupts, complaining yet again that he can’t negotiate directly with the Commander but must make do with some underling. Callie has almost exhausted her patience with this man, who it seems she is doomed to come to hate. “The Commander is engaged in a war and has delegated these negotiations to a person, who I believe she considers a valuable ally and advisor and who is, coincidentally, Chief of the people who occupy the largest expanse of territory within the Coalition. The Plains Riders are the most likely of all the peoples within the Coalition to have room to spare for new people.” He huffs and she reminds him, again, that he is the one who needs to negotiate in a hurry. The Commander would prefer to finish her business with Mt Weather before coping with people falling from the sky. It’s the Arkers who need to find a place to land pronto! Eventually he accepts the Commander’s choice of negotiator and Callie moves on…..

“Chancellor, the people on the ground have a more precise way of speaking than we do. English, or gonasleng as they call it, is a second language. A language they learn for diplomatic and combat purposes.” The Chancellor chortles lightly, seemingly accepting that the grounder negotiator may need clarification if he uses overly technical language. “In addition, for negotiations like these, where two peoples are effectively starting a new relationship there’s a ceremonial element which both parties are expected to partake in.” That has the Chancellor worried, what is he expected to do, send gifts like weapons or beads? They did that in the old wild west days didn’t they? Callie immediately reassures him that gifts are not necessary and certainly not beads! No what she means by ceremonial has two elements. First is the smoking of ‘pipes’, a tradition particular to the Plains Riders. As Jaha and the Council cannot partake in person; Callie, Grace and Abby will do so on their behalf. Jaha finds this hilarious and clearly, as he and the Councillors will not be influenced by the pipes’ herbs or drugs, to his advantage. Secondly each negotiator will, before the negotiations start, be expected to formally introduce themselves and their people. “It was described to me by the Commander as the negotiator ‘drawing a word picture of her/himself and their land’, so that everyone knows who they are negotiating with.”

“Oh, so I describe myself and the Ark?”

“Yes Chancellor, after the lead negotiator for the Coalition, Chief Windsong of the Plains Riders, has introduced herself and her land.”

“Okay. I’ll do that. Maybe use the Unity Day speech thing. Kane how does it start?”

Marcus Kane’s voice is heard “Long ago, when the Earth was on fire.”

“Yes, that’s the one, get me a copy of that Kane. I can read it to them, give them a history lesson.”

TODAY - 19^th August 2149 CE dusk

Windsong kom Ingranronakru sits with such natural grace that Grace wonders if the people of the ground are somehow born with wonderful bones and posture. Nearly everybody she’s seen moves with muscular fluidity and ease. Windsong more than anyone is the epitome of grace and Grace can admit to herself, of mature beauty.

Callie flicks the radio’s switch and asks those on the Ark to identify themselves.

Marcus Kane responds. “Good evening, Callie, everyone. Here in the Council Chamber of the Ark Space Station are the following: - Chancellor Thelonious Jaha, Councillor Charles Pike, Councillor Diana Sydney, Councillor Leon Kaplan and me Councillor Marcus Kane. Jacapo Sinclair, Chief Engineer, is present as technical advisor and radio operator.”

Callie flicks the switch again and does a name check of those present on the ground. “Good evening, Marcus, Chancellor, Councillors, Chief Engineer. Present on the ground here in Ton DC are the following: - Chief Windsong of the Plains Riders, Chief Luna of the Boat People, Abby Griffin, Grace Byrne and me Callie Cartwigg. I will now ask Chief Windsong to pass the lit pipes around and to introduce herself and her people.”

Marcus watches Sinclair fiddle with the radio’s controls, it’s impressive how clear and free from interference the signal is, it sounds as if Callie is at the table with them and from the sucking and coughing noises he can hear, the pipes are being passed around. He leans back, checks the clock at 1940 UTC, then turns to watch Jaha and the others as they wait for whatever this Chief is going to say by way of introduction.

At first, he thinks something’s gone wrong with the radio because all he can hear is a low humming, he looks to Sinclair who shrugs to indicate that everything’s okay technically.

Then in the room with them there’s a voice and words that tumble into his mind. He sits up to listen because it’s a beautiful voice, with some slight huskiness and a timbre that resonates in his chest. A story’s being told of land, beasts and men. Of wide skies, broken earth and burning fire. He feels thirsty, dry mouthed, then there’s a quenching with sweet water. Sweat, sharp and rank, aching muscles and hunger in his belly. The tang of blood fills his nostrils, thousands of cloven hooves pound dry soil. Is that a horse? He doesn’t even know what a horse sounds like but that’s what he sees in his mind as he hears snorting, neighing and blowing noises. He smiles when his fingers touch soft silky hair, a short coat covering sleek muscles and strong bone.  A soft melody swirls around the room, yet it tells of strength of mind, heart and spirit. Then suddenly it’s personal, a woman tall in the saddle rides hard and fast. The tent is dark, figures kneel around a low bed, she’s running into that tent where a woman is screaming her pain to the world.  The sharp stab of a discordant note. There’s a tall boy, black blood pooling around his prone form and a young girl, dark hair in elaborate braids, folds the boys hands over his chest. She speaks; words he does not understand.  “Conan, your skat and ai bro fought well and died bravely. His death brings me no joy, only sorrow for lost family.”  

Kane’s lost in the story, overwhelmed by a voice that must be thousands of miles away.   He’s panting, near to tears as speech fades into a gentle hum. Then there’s silence. Silence. Silence.

The clock reads 2040 UTC.

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th Waning Gibbous Moon. Dusk

“Clarke, you may have your alliance. I just need one thing in return.”

Clarke looks at the beautiful woman whose decision will mean life or death to Murphy, Wells, Monty, Jasper, Octavia and so many others.

“You must learn to ride. No leader will be respected on the ground if they cannot ride.” The lovely face smiles. “I will teach you.”

Chapter Text

19^th August 2149 CE Ton DC Night

Callie winces, that was unexpected, embarrassing, possibly tragic and a shambles, her hand hovers over the ‘Talk’ switch but she waits, listening anxiously to the chaos that is unfolding on the Ark.

It hadn’t started badly. Callie had brought herself back from the mind space Windsong’s words had taken her and managed to mutter her thanks to the Chief before lifting the microphone to her own lips. “Chancellor, your introduction please.”  She’d flicked the switch and for a few seconds there was the sound of what she took to be chairs creaking, then Thelonious Jaha had started to speak, his voice sonorous and heavy. “Long ago, when the Earth was on fire.”

He'd scarcely started before being interrupted. “I’ve had enough of this shit. Jaha you’re a disgrace to the Ark, science and democracy. I demand that you stop pandering to some primitive warlord and resign. You should be making demands of these people, not letting them hypnotise you into surrendering our birthright.”

“Pike! You’re out of order. Thelon….” There’s the sound of falling furniture, some kind of struggle or fight, the zzt of a taser.

“What the fuck are you! Diana!”

Bang, Bang, Bang. Someone’s shooting a gun, for fuck’s sake! On the Ark even using hollow-point bullets, occasionally issued to specially trained Guards, that’s just stupid. More zzts, choking, clattering, pounding feet and grunts of pain.  

“Someone, get a medic quick!”

Kane’s voice is strained, his breath comes in short, shallow, pants. “Callie. Jaha’s dead! Pike and Sydney, it must have been planned. She has a gun! Ugh.”

There’s a pause, more noises, background chatter; ‘apply pressure’, ‘get him’ … ‘medical now!’  ‘He’s gone!’ “They’re launching………”

Callie flicks Talk. “What’s happening?” Flick.

“Callie. This is Sinclair. We can’t continue. Jaha and Kaplan are dead. Kane’s taken a bullet. Warn your friends that Pike and Sydney are on their way down in a dropship we had ready to go. They have some followers and Shumway with them. When I get back to Mecha, I’ll be able to track them. Kane, before he was stretchered off, asked you to do what you can to keep the Commander onside. I’ll radio again when I know where the dropship will land!”

The radio goes silent. Callie swallows, almost gulps. She has no idea how Windsong or the Commander will respond to this development. Could all Arkers on the ground become ‘the enemy’? What can she say or do to avert disaster?   She gathers her thoughts as best she can before speaking.

“Chief Windsong. As you heard. Chancellor Jaha has been killed and a group of traitors has stolen a ship so they can come to the ground. They ..” she falters. Were Pike and Sydney behind the last attempt to kill Jaha? What will they ‘demand’ when they get to the ground. She looks to see that Windsong and Luna watch her, calm and collected. “I, we – intended no disrespect.” Callie gestures at Grace and Abby; both nods.

Windsong opens her hands, a gesture encompassing all three of them.

“You have caused no offence. As I weaved my story your spirits responded with openness and understanding. You will all find a true home in these lands.” The grey-haired Chief rises to her feet. “Luna and I will speak with the Commander about what has occurred. You will inform us of where this stolen ‘dropship’ will land?”

Callie stands and bows respectfully. “Yes, Chief Windsong.  Kane is now acting Chancellor and as you heard he wants a positive relationship with the Commander.” Windsong’s nod of acknowledgement is slow and considered.  She then bends to light a torch from the hearth and together with Luna walks into the village, their shadows dance as they pass other hearths and lanterns.

“Fuck!” Breathes Grace. “I thought Pike and Jaha were allies.  But…. Sydney and Pike did work together before Jaha became Chancellor. She must still have her claws in him; I never thought she’d ...” The tall ex-Guard stands, hands rubbing over her face. She can’t believe what’s just happened. “What can we do? We’ve got nearly forty kids here in Ton DC, starting to make something of their lives. The Trikru have been generous and most of the kids have responded well to the opportunities offered, like training in hunting, cooking, gardening or crafts. They want to be part of this world and if they have parents on the Ark, they want them to be part of it too. Then we have people inside Mt Weather; some of them are being drilled for their bone marrow. Others are seen as useful for ‘breeding’ or maybe they’ll get impatient and just drill them all! We need the Commander’s help, not Sydney and Pike fucking it all up.”

Abby tries to stay calm as Byrne talks of ‘drilling’. When treating Raven, a girl she loves like a daughter, she’d struggled to keep her anger under control. The surgery to extract the mechanic’s bone marrow was not only an assault but grossly incompetent. There was no need for substantial incisions, or to use a powered drill (an intraosseous needle would be sufficient) and without anaesthetic it must have been excruciatingly painful, could even push the patient into shock. Finally, the closing of the wounds was best described as careless. Whoever performed that extraction had no idea what they were doing. Raven was lucky to be alive and well on the road to recovery. The antibiotics Clarke gave her stopped the infection taking hold and all Abby needed to do was drain an abscess that had developed and clean the inflamed cuts. Raven would be fine. She’d already started to organise Finn, Bree, Fox and a couple of others to make simple firebombs and was determined to “make those fuckers go boom!”  Abby, medic though she is and pledged to save lives, really wants whoever drilled into Raven dead, preferably before they kill another child! She drags her thoughts back to the present situation. “Clarke was speaking with the Commander while we were trying to get sense from Jaha and the Council. I hope she got a better result than we did. Let’s find her and see how it went. Then we can think about what to do.”

20^th August 2149 CE Peter’s Barn Ton DC Morning

Dust motes dance in the bright shards of light that penetrate the Barn’s patched roof and even this early Clarke can feel the heat of the day start to build. She’s sweating, nervous; the thrill of success in convincing the Commander to ally with them, didn’t last long. Only an hour or so later Callie and Grace were telling her about the disastrous ‘negotiations’ with Jaha; and Sinclair had radioed that the stolen dropship was likely to land in the south. The rebels had managed to disable the tracker, some engineers must be with Pike and Sydney, so he couldn’t be sure, but the borderlands between what used to be Alabama and Mississippi seem the likeliest landing spot. Clarke debated with her friends what to tell the Commander but everyone could see that they had little option but to be honest. Kane as Acting Chancellor wants the grounders ‘onside’ and the need for the Commander’s help in getting their people out of Mt Weather is pressing.

So, late last night Clarke and Callie had asked to speak with the Commander, Luna and Windsong about the Ark rebels and in that candlelit audience, one that was characterised by awkwardness (from the Skaikru) and significant silences (from the grounders) the alliance was confirmed. Though Commander Lexa made it clear that its’ protections will not apply to any ‘Skaikru’ on the ground who refuse to acknowledge Clarke as their leader.  

Even though she was relieved that the alliance was confirmed, Clarke got little sleep. She is to address a meeting of the Commander’s generals this morning and to prepare for that she’d talked long into the night; first with the Commander and then with Callie. She’d also visited her mom, Raven and Byrne to gather information and ideas. An early wakeup call from Finn got her up at what felt like midnight, then she’d chatted again with a sleepy Raven in the ‘hospital’, hugged her mom and together with Grace had arrived in good time, or so she thought, for that vital morning meeting.

As Clarke and Grace walk into the barn, the Commander emerges from behind a thick curtain; she’s dressed in dark armour, wears a sword on her hip and three daggers that Clarke can see. On her face is black war-paint and a blood-red sash drapes gracefully over her left shoulder. The airy room is already full of fierce looking people; armour, tattoos and blood thirsty expressions are all on display.   

“Clarke of the Skai people graces us with her presence!”

Fuck they were late! How early is early? Last night the Commander had given her some idea of what was to be expected of her in this meeting, but ‘early morning’ was all she had said about the time. Clarke finds that she is staring at the Commander, trying to read her. Is that the slightest of smiles? Was that almost a joke? Looking at the serious faces of the warriors milling around she doubts it. Oh fuck!

The Commander walks up to the great ‘war table’ and gestures to her people to gather around it. She waits while they shuffle into their places, then as planned she asks Clarke to speak about her ‘Skaikru’ and how they can help defeat the Mountain.

Last night, when they had talked for what seemed like hours, the young leader came across as an experienced soldier and politician who was very aware of her people’s strengths and weaknesses. “Clarke, I will send warriors into the Mountain, knowing that many will die. To save lives I will tell them to use your maps, Raven’s ‘little bombs’ and your warrior Byrne’s knowledge of the type of weapons used by our enemies. They trust me as their Commander but they do not trust you or know what Raven means by ‘little bombs’ and as for fayoguns; they are forbidden to us and scorned by most.” The candles had flickered, casting beguiling shadows across the Commander’s sharp jaw, softening her stern expression and making her seem that bit more approachable. Her voice too was gentler, Clarke felt as if she was on her side, that the Commander was trying to help. “Your people could be very valuable to me and all of us on the ground Clarke.  But what my people see when they look at you; are strangers. Strangers: who look like weak children and seem uncannily like our enemy. Tomorrow, I give you the chance to convince them that you are strong and worthwhile allies.”

From the OT (old Times) Lexa knows that Clarke will fight against overwhelming odds, use every resource available to her and that if she must choose, will always choose her people. What Lexa fears is that her own people see the Skaikru (sky people) as either weak youngons or ‘just like the Maunon’.  It’s difficult to know which view is more damaging. Weaklings invite disrespect and aggression and her people’s deep hatred of the Maunon could all too easily transfer to those who appear by their clothes, complexion and familiarity with technology, to be like them. Clarke’s words and demeanour in this meeting will be vital in correcting these errors.

Standing back Lexa watches as Clarke braces her shoulders and begins her ‘pitch’.

Clarke’s tempted to address her words solely to the Commander who already sees the sky people as useful.  But it’s not the Commander she has to persuade, so she focusses on the stern figures standing around that big table, looking at her with fierce, unforgiving eyes and with her own eyes steely with determination she starts to speak. Her first words paint a picture of the Ark and of those who were living in the sky when the bombs fell.

Lexa leans back against a solid support beam, arms folded across her chest, legs crossed. A picture of relaxed and assured power. Her gaze fixes on no one, but slowly roves over performer and audience, as she assesses how Clarke’s words are delivered and received. It’s not a perfect speech but it’s good, very good. The Ark and its’ history is, as told by Clarke, similar in many ways to that of those who survived in the open on the ground. A history that starts with ordinary working people losing almost everything and everyone to the bombs. Shock, deaths, isolation, children born affected by radiation, starvation (cannibalism is hinted at), sickness, violence, even war (one station is destroyed) and finally unity of twelve different nations. All possible parallels with survival on the ground are emphasised and Lexa has lost count of the times Clarke has said “Unlike those who hid inside the Mountain my people…..”  and her occasional use of Trigedesleng words is effective.   

As she brings her speech to its’ close Clarke describes the landing of the dropship and how she and her fellows were met by soldiers from the Mountain armed with guns. The soldiers shot Bellamy, as he tried to protect his young sister and then tried to force the rest of them into the Mountain. Three children died resisting, giving Clarke a chance to negotiate freedom for some. “But even then, the Mountain People did not act with honour. They sent their ripas (Reapers / Killers) to capture more of us and now we know why. Like you my people can walk outside on the ground but the Maunon (Mountain Men) cannot.  So, they steal and cage the people of the ground and the people of the sky, so that they can use your blood and our bone marrow. We die so they can live.” Clarke pauses, God she could do with a drink, her throat is parched with speaking and nerves. Instead, she straightens her back and deliberately looks each of the generals in the eye.

“I can stand here and give your Heda the maps I drew when I was a captive inside the Maunde (Mt Weather) and I can offer the deadly bombs made by my mechanic Raven and the experience of my warrior Byrne, because I escaped from the Maunde. Something no-one has done before and Anya kom Trikru can tell you that I speak true.”

All eyes swivel to look at Anya, who nods. “Sha, she speaks true.”

Ontari is impressed. The meizen Skaikru gada (beautiful sky people girl) spoke well and Ontari found herself, along with the wormanas (generals) standing in Peter’s Barn, nodding their agreement as Heda thanked Clarke for her words and suggested that they take a break. She watches her Heda talking with the leader of Skaikru, clearly pleased with the gada’s performance. Ontari notices that a small smile lights up green eyes when Lexa passes Clarke a mug of tea.  After Clarke, two other Skaikru speak of what they can do to help defeat the Maunon. The warrior Byrne is very careful not to make any aggressive moves as she explains the collection of Maunon fayoguns that Indra has acquired over the years, how they work, the dangers that the long ones pose at great distances, and how the small ones can easily be hidden. The speed at which they can spew metal bullets is almost unbelievable. But they can jam and need to be regularly refilled with ‘cartridges’ and there is a demonstration of the thick metal shields gonas will use for protection. Byrne also warns the wormanas about grenades, both explosive and gas. The barn quietens as Byrne tells of the killing ability of fragmentation grenades and how in the past warriors have tried to save their comrades by throwing themselves onto the live weapon, hoping their bodies will contain the blast and lethal metal fragments.  

The ‘mechanic’ Raven joins them for a short while to show them her glass bombs and explain carefully how they work. There are two types; ‘firebombs’ that you light before you throw and the very deadly ‘rocket fuel’ bombs. The enthusiastic mechanic offers a demonstration but Heda says that although the Sdkaikru ship destroyed the Maunon’s ability to communicate and spy, it is not known that this is still the case and fires and explosions could warn the Maunon about these weapons and the element of surprise would be lost. The mechanic looks disappointed but doesn’t argue the point, instead she excuses herself to return to bomb-making. The ‘rocket fuel’ bombs are all made by her. She doesn’t trust anyone else to handle the volatile material.

After the Skaikru answer questions from the fascinated audience, Byrne’s thoughts on defensive tactics against fayoguns and grenades is particularly popular, the meeting ends and most of the wormanas make their way into the tunnels below, they must prepare their gonas for battle.

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th Waning Crescent Moon – Peter’s Barn Ton DC early morning

It is the last breakfast they will share before battle. That some of them will not meet again in this life is a fact to be faced and Lexa knows it will be hard to lose any of these trusted companions. She looks around the table. On her right is Anya, tucking into a hearty breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausage, buttered toast and her favourite (Lexa made sure it was available) fried greens. Her former fos (first) is a firm believer in fighting when well fed, she’ll soon be on second helpings. Next to Anya is Indra who sits calmly eating her porridge, though it’s noticeable that she’s particularly generous with the honey that she drizzles over her oats.  Ontari and Windsong, who won’t set off on their missions until tomorrow, breakfast lightly on eggs and toasted bread, though Lexa notices the Ingranronakru chief is like Indra enjoying the honey.  Luna will go underground this morning to join the healers, she like Anya is eating heartily. Gustus and Leto are old friends at the feasting table, both renowned trenchermen. Their plates rival Anya’s, Lexa catches the eye of one of the young servers and requests more of everything.   

Indra finishes first, her farewell consists of a respectful bow to Heda and a crisp “See you when this job is done” to the others. Lexa stands to grasp forearms with the Chief before she leaves and to wish her Keryon’s (The Spirits’) good fortune. A brief nod and she’s gone, slipping down the stairs into the tunnels beneath Ton DC. Her gonakru, fifty Trikru Scouts and Callie Cartwig are waiting for her below.

Lexa returns to her food, reaching for the honey pot. With battle about to commence it’s difficult not to think and rethink the plans she has made and remade with the advice and experience of these, her trusted people.

The overall strategy is simple. Distract the Maunon with what seem to be multiple points of attack, so that their small force will be split across the whole of their underground complex. From the OT Lexa knows that there are less than four hundred people inside the Maunde. This figure was confirmed by Clarke only a few days ago. Clarke also spoke of her surprise to discover that all the Maunon’s soldiers are men, she’d thought it was weird that they didn’t have women in their army. From these figures Lexa calculates that the maximum number of Maunon soldiers is about two hundred. As they will be armed with fayoguns and other tek weapons it is important that the distractions are convincing so that when her gonas get inside the Maunde from the tunnel, they face only a small number of Maunon and their deadly weapons.

Indra and Anya will create two of these distractions. They will take their gonas through the tunnel to Osser, where they will leave the tunnel, surfacing within the woods that skirt the base of the Maunde.  Indra will lead her people deep into the great conifer forests, working around the Maunde to the section of forest that faces the great steel door. Their task is to fell hundreds of trees, something Trikru do well.

Over a moon ago, Indra and Tomas (her most senior lumberjack) had selected and marked each tree to be cut. They had also marked the direction that the tree was to fall. The choice and direction of felling is vital because these trees are to create a weblike barrier that will make it impossible for the Maunon to leave the Maunde in their horseless carts. They won’t be able to push or even pull the fallen trees aside, as each tree’s branches will entangle with another’s.  It will take many days to move them, even if they use fire. Choice and direction of felling is also important because although hundreds are to be felled many more trees will remain untouched and hiding in some of the tallest of these will be Scouts.

The Scouts will hide high in the canopy, well above the Acid Fog that will likely descend upon the woods as soon as the Maunon notice the extensive felling and its interference with their access. While the tree fellers run to hide in bunkers, the Scouts will wait in their trees, bows at the ready, eager to kill any Maunon that try to leave their fortress on foot.

Anya, meanwhile, will lead her gonas and a nervous Grace Byrne, up the Maunde. The gonakru will split into five groups and each will take a different route to reach the meeting point, Skaikru’s dropship. They must do this quickly and unseen, to avoid the deployment of Acid Fog and when / if they reach the small plateau that the dropship grounded on, they will engage with the Maunon soldiers who keep watch there. Those soldiers will call for reinforcements and as Heda made clear to Anya and her Captains, this mission will succeed if their presence on the Maunde takes attention and soldiers away from the main attack through the tunnel. If any of Anya’s gonas get inside to kill Maunon, that is a bonus.

In the Woods late afternoon

Walking along deer trails through her woods on a warm day is Indra’s greatest pleasure. In summer her trees speak to her through their foliage (colour, texture and firmness), branches (angle and bark condition) and scent. These trees are telling her that they are in their prime, mighty yet still youthful. Given a choice she would leave them for the next generation to harvest but this is battle and her trees will be sacrificed to aid victory. She’s fought many battles over the years, faced death and defeat, overcome poor strategy, ignorant leaders and hostile terrain but she’s never led an attack whilst wielding a saw and although she’s used an axe in battle, it wasn’t the heavy headed felling axe that she’s carrying now. It’s a good axe, her nomon (mother) used it when they felled the trees for Ton DC’s Great Hall and today it will do good work in the battle against the Maunon.

A bird startles to her right and Indra stops, dagger poised in her raised right hand.

“Oof!” Indra’s abrupt halt surprises Callie who walks into the Chief’s strong (it was like walking into a wall!) back. Callie’d been concentrating on where and how she placed her feet, trying to mimic the silent steps of the Trikru. Only Indra’s glare and a finger placed to her lips stops Callie’s apologetic “moba. (sorry)”

They stand in silence. Indra gestures to their closest companions, who disappear into the bracken. They wait, Callie takes a step back and a twig snaps under her foot. Fuck! Indra’s glare returns, she draws her sword as her eyes scan the woods. A bird calls and Indra relaxes, her sword is sheathed and they walk on, the stoic Chief calls a halt about an hour later for sanch (lunch). Callie is thankful for the break, because although she’s been training every day since she landed on the ground, it’s not yet three weeks since the pod touched down and her acclimatisation to full gravity isn’t complete. She’s overheated, breathless and the muscles of her legs are aching. She sits on a fallen log and chews on the meaty wrap given to her as rations, the water from her canteen is too warm to be refreshing, but it’s wet.

The Scouts disappeared hours ago, melting into the undergrowth. Going to do whatever it is that Scouts do. No-one is telling Callie what exactly ‘that’ is. The gonakru eat and stand watch in shifts, that allows them to relax and although there’s not much talking the gentle murmur gives Callie the confidence to walk across the clearing and approach the intimidating Trikru Chief.

“Hei Indra have you time to speak?” The Chief looks irritated at the interruption of her thoughts but spits out.

“Sha. (Yes)”

“I am with your gonakru to try to stop Skaikru youngons (youngsters) becoming accidental casualties in this war. To do that I need to know more of what you plan so that I can be in the right place to prevent such deaths.”

Indra’s frown deepens, does she ever not frown, wonders Callie?

“We will start cutting about two leagues away from the Maunde and make our way west to their great door. On this first pass of cuts we will not fell the trees, only make them ready to fall, held steady by wedges of wood. We will work as silently as we can, we do not want the Maunon to notice us yet. That will take a day, even though we are all experienced Trikru loggers. We then go back to where we started cutting and wait for the signal from Heda. On that signal we will start the felling, again travelling towards the great door, dropping the trees as we go. That should take a few marks and when complete the great metal door into the Maunde will be covered by fallen trees and the big trails used by their horseless carts will be blocked. When the Maunon notice our actions, they will likely release the Acid Fog to kill us. To live we must either hide in a bunker or join the Scouts above the fog, high in the trees. That is our plan. Where do you think you should be?”

Indra watches the skai plana (sky woman) as she listens, then glance up into the treetops; her already pale complexion lightens. Indra hears a whispered “Oh fuck.”

“Up. I should be up in the trees.”

“I will take you there when the time comes.”

 …………………………………

On Mt Weather early evening

The sun disappeared behind the massive bulk of Mt Weather about an hour ago and with the long shadows came a welcome coolness after the stifling heat of the day. The fact that she’s sweating copiously isn’t related to temperature, not at all.

“Above your right hand. Sha, you have it, pull yourself up, I have your rope.”

Gym sessions on the Ark’s climbing wall were nothing like this. Words tumble through Grace’s head as she tries not to think of the friable rock, gritty beneath her fingers, on which her life depends. I’ve got late onset acrophobia, that stupid thought allows her to take another pull up, and another, as Grace mulls over the fact that she has lived all her life 36,000 kilometres above the ground without a twinge of fear. Another pull and her left foot snags on a lip of rock, but it is just a lip and the ledge above it is solid. Another pull and a good push from her foot. Pause to breathe.

“Good. Now feel to your left. Not far to go.” Lincoln’s quiet voice is her guide and lifeline as she returns firmly to the present.  Five hundred meters up a cliff and she’s never been so frightened in her life; she mustn’t look down or her nerve will fail and then; best-case scenario - she’s hauled up this cliff like a sack of rubbish and none of the Trikru or Sangedakru under Anya’s command ever consider her with respect. Worst case - the rope breaks and she joins the three sky kids, whose decomposing corpses they passed on the way up. She remembers vividly John Mbege describing how Paula, Sally and a boy called Jones had thrown themselves off this cliff rather than be forced to live inside Mt Weather. She shudders at the thought as the fingers of her left hand find the hold and she pulls herself up another couple of feet, then she can scramble forward and lie belly down in a cave. Paradise…. is a fucking cave.

Close to the top of that cliff Anya crouches in silence listening for the Maunon she knows are patrolling nearby. They were here the last time she climbed the Maunde to explore the skaigoufas’ ship. Then, as she and Penn had looked inside the great metal box, small metal cannisters had flown into that box belching a brown smoke that made them dizzy and helpless. A trickle of grit falls into her hair.

“You hear anything Ernst?”

“Nothing but the wind Corporal Degas. Nothing but the wind. Getting cool and a little blowy now the sun’s gone. I heard Emerson and Whitman walked outside today. No suits or masks. Must be something to smell the forest.”

“Keep your mind on your job soldier, not speculating about your betters. Patrol the western slope with Durer, he’ll keep you on track.”

“Yes Sir!”

One man stomps off, the other lingers; the rustle of suit fabric and the hiss of air revealing his presence just a few cubits above Anya’s head. She could take him easily, slice her knife into his throat, feel his hot corrupt blood coating her fingers as his fight ended, but not yet. She must wait; for all her gonas to be in place, for the signal from Heda, for everything to come together as planned. Creaking and hissing, the Maunon retreats and Anya slips back down the cliff to the cave where she and her lead team will spend the night.

Chapter Text

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th Waning Crescent Moon Arl’ton Morning

As her gonas walk silently, one squad at a time through the big shed doors, Ontari is waiting for them. Her status as natblida, her close association with both Nia (in the past) and now Heda Lexa, and her fearsome demeanour: serious face, white war paint and high-quality blades, prevents petty squabbles as gonas quickly strip off the jute sacking concealing their armour and queue for the return of their personal weapons. When a squad is kitted up Echo takes them down into the tunnel and another group enters the shed. Two squads of Azgeda go through the process without trouble and make their way down to the horsedrawn rail-carts that will take them through the tunnel to Osser. The third squad are tetchy and bad tempered, Ontari gives a couple of hard punches to one gona, when he tries to start a fight instead of answering an accusation from his fellows about a stolen sword. That quietens them all down and they too descend. The last squad under her command is kom Ingranronakru, two hundred gonas trained, so Windsong claims, to capture Ripas and transport them to the fisas (healers).  Ontari’s experience of Ingranronakru in battle is that they are fearsome fighters but at some crucial point they will disappear to follow their own agenda. Free-spirited and independent is how Windsong describes them, unreliable is Ontari’s take on it. This makes her anxious and she feels her back stiffen as the gonas make their bowlegged way into the shed. Their leader is a strikingly tall plana (woman) with an uncanny resemblance to a spider, all long limbs attached to a small round body, who eyes Ontari with a calm indifference that is unnerving.

“Ai laik (I am) Falling Rain kom Ingranronakru, do you have our weapons and nets?”

The Ingranronakru supplies, including fifty large nets, are unpacked and handed out. Falling Rain leads her gonas in silence down the slope. Ontari watches them walk steadily down into the darkness. Her sombre musing halt when a loud voice blares.

“Hey there! I’m Finn and this here is Harper. You’re expecting us.”

Standing in the open doorway is a Skaikru skat (boy), floppy haired and grinning. Behind him is a gada (girl), Skaikru too, though she has a bow slung across her back and is wearing a thick boiled leather waistcoat.  Ontari is expecting them. The Skaikru leader negotiated that each group of attackers was to take some Skaikru with them. An attempt to avoid the Skaikru within the Maunde (Mt Weather) being killed by gonas mistaking them for Maunon.

Ontari beckons them inside. “Follow me. I will tell you what you need to know as we go. Finn, take one of the thick leather jackets from that pile, it will give you some protection.”

A mark later and Ontari is fingering her dagger, irritated and on edge. If that skat tells her one more time how good he is at tracking she will end his fight! It was a mistake to tell the Skaikru that because they were underground the Maunon could not hear or see them, so silence was not essential.  He won’t stop talking and even worse he won’t stop talking to her.

“Yeah, so it was a two headed deer and of course it ran off into the woods. Murphy has no idea; I mean no idea of how to track. The guy is ok, for a dick, but tracking he just can’t do. So, it was just me and Nate and…. Oof!”

Finn didn’t even see the black-haired girl move. There was a blur and he’s slammed into the tunnel wall, her knee pushed into his crotch, an arm pinning him against the wall and a dagger, long and sharp, at his throat. He opens his mouth and the dagger’s pressure increases minutely. He closes his mouth and looks into the black pools of her eyes; he keeps his mouth shut and blinks.

“Skaiskat Finn, stop speaking to me of your pitiful abilities. If you need to tell me that a fellow Skaikru is about to be slain by my gonas, then and only then can you speak to me. To disobey this instruction is death.”

He opens his mouth to ask if he can talk to anyone else but the dagger pricks his skin, so he just nods. Ontari steps back, snaps an order at her gonas and strides off after them.

Finn stays motionless, in shock, until Harper gives his shoulder a shake. “Come on Finn we’ll stay at the back until we get to the mines.” The line of gonas continues to march past and the two Skaikru tag along at the end. Some minutes later Finn finds his voice, a hoarse whisper.

“I thought she liked me. Girls like it when I talk to them, you know pay some attention. I get on well with girls.”

Harper looks at him, in the warm light of hundreds of candles he is good looking; but he’s such a dick. In a voice weary with experience she says. “Finn, you have no idea what girls like.”

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th Waning Crescent Moon Ton DC Midday

That morning Clarke had found it hard to settle to anything.

Too restless to be with people who need to ‘rest’, she’d been gently shooed away from the recuperating injured by Charlie.  Her mom was busy, though she stopped rebandaging Strik Selene’s stump to give her daughter a long and slightly tearful hug. Then Clarke wandered around the village, kicking up the dust with her new boots (a wonderful find from the bunker), talking to young Arkers who are either bent over their own work, or watching as their ‘fos’ demonstrates something involving, sharp knives, heavy lifting or separating stuff from stuff. All very worthwhile and it’s good that when they see her, their eyes light up a little and there’s always a question; about their friends inside the Mountain, the Commander or the alliance or her mom or something. It keeps her engaged for a while but eventually she runs out of kids to chat with and it’s time for lunch.

Passing the big ramshackle looking barn, she sees two of Heda’s Handmaids standing guard at the door. Heda must be back from talking to her gonas. Clarke steadies her nerves and asks Bigas Selene if she can take another look at the maps and plans. “Yes.” Is the immediate response. “Heda left instructions that you are to be allowed access to the Barn. I will announce you.” The tiny woman disappears for a few seconds and then beckons Clarke in, before returning to her post outside.

Clarke walks quietly through the doors. Immediately there’s a sharp snort from her right and a horse’s nose is bumping her shoulder. She jumps back in surprise. 

“Don’t worry. You’re safe.” Clarke turns to see whose spoken. “Melody is only asking for treats.” It’s Heda Lexa, walking from the back of the barn as she dries her face on a large soft looking cloth. For a moment Clarke is taken aback, the Commander looks so young and pretty. Her long dark hair is free, still damp from washing, her face is bare of war-paint and instead of armour she’s wearing a close-fitting t-shirt and pants. “Clarke? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure, certainly okay. Fine even.” Clarke can feel herself blushing. She can’t seem to shut up either. “All’s good with me today.” The Commander smiles. SMILES! Oh God, does she look lovely when she smiles. Clarke feels her lips pull into a smile too. They stand there smiling at each other until the Commander gets a hold of herself and asks.

“Are you looking for me?”

“Yes and no.” ANOTHER SMILE!  “I just keep going through it all, in my head. I’m scared I’ve missed something. Missed a chance to save people. Worried I’ve sent Callie, Grace, Finn and Harper to their deaths. Afraid when I go with you into the tunnel tonight.”

The Commander puts down the cloth, walks to a small table and pours them both steaming mugs of tea. “Come, we will go through it again and then you must try and rest. We will be travelling most of the night and the battle starts at dawn.” They both move to stand by the war table and the Commander points at a group of small white blocks that have been carefully painted with three black crescents, linked by a small black circle and three red dots. “Can you remember the clan sigils Clarke? Who is this in the woods by the great metal door?”

“That’s an easy one Commander. Chief Indra and her Trikru loggers.”

“In private you may call me Lexa, Clarke.” There’s that smile again, less broad than before but a smile.

Clarke smiles back. “Thank-you, Lexa.”

They work through the map Lexa commenting on each group of blocks that Clarke identifies. “Indra and her Trikru will wait until dawn tomorrow. Her messenger arrived this morning and said that they are making good progress and can start to drop the trees as the sun rises.”

On the higher slopes of Mt Weather are blocks with the Trikru sigil plus one with an ochre eight-pointed star that Clarke correctly identifies as Sangedakru. “Sha Clarke. Anya has both Trikru and Sangedakru under her command. She signalled using coloured flames that her gonakrus are safely above the Acid Fog line. They will wait for the sun to rise, then attack. So far neither Indra nor Anya’s activities have triggered the Fog.”

Sitting on the painted lake, behind the Philpott dam, are blocks painted with a yellow triangle that contains a blue swirl. “Podakru? Seems sensible that they are on a lake Lexa.”

“Sha Clarke. One hundred Podakru canoes will launch on the lake at dawn. Following your gona Grace’s advice they will be well spaced and stay about half a league away from the dam. Close enough to be seen as a potential threat but far enough away to give them some protection from the Maunon’s long fayoguns.”

Lexa next points to Mt Weather’s old mines, where a few blocks painted with a black hand, jostle against ones painted with Ingranronakru’s shallow crescent and blue splash.  “Azgeda and Ingranronakru.”

“Sha Clarke.” Clarke could get used to hearing the way Lexa says her name. With respect and a sharp click to the ‘k’ that makes Clarke wonder if the beautiful Commander’s lips taste as good as they look when saying her name. “Clarke?”

Clarke snaps back, she’d zoned out for a second there. “Hmmm. Sure. They’re going in through the mines, the route we used to escape. There are Ingranronakru waiting outside the mines too, to work with the warriors in the mines to capture Reapers, yes?” 

“Sha, Clarke.”

Finally, the two women look at the long row of blocks lined up along the winding line that represents the tunnel. The Trikru sigil is joined by those painted with the black circle and blue crossed arrows of Ouskejon, the black circle with black and red arrows at the cardinal points representing Delphikru, the black grid / ladder of Boudalan, the black hand of Azgeda and the yellow circle with three curvy arrows means that Louwoda Kilron will also be there. “This is the heart of my army Clarke. Thousands of gonas waiting for me to lead them into the Mountain.” Lexa steps back, she looks over the map and Clarke watches the calculating eyes of the Commander; cool, controlled, experienced in war. Clarke scans the whole map and must swallow hard when briefly the harsh reality that the wood, paint and vellum represents slips into her mind. Blood, death, pain and suffering.  She starts to pace.

“How do you do it Lexa? You know that hundreds, maybe thousands, are going to die and yet you give the order for them to fight but remain calm. I ask my aunt Callie, Major Byrne and two of my friends to put themselves in danger and I can’t stop worrying about them. Will you be able to rest this afternoon? How can I rest?”

Lexa looks at the meizen (beautiful) gada who, before she fell from the stars, had never known war. “It will be hard for you Clarke, I know. I trained from childhood to lead my people, when war was all we knew. I learned to meditate and to impose calmness on my thoughts.”  She steps into Clarke’s path, gently lays her hands on the distraught leader’s arms. “Hod op. Stop, Clarke.”

Clarke looks up into green eyes. Eyes that have seen violence and death but also, for some reason, see Clarke. Beautiful eyes that soften with affection, beautiful lips that are moistened before they meet Clarke’s own, in a kiss that is tender, searching and returned.

“Clarke.” For a moment all is still as Lexa looks at Clarke, who is every bit the meizen, inspiring leader she was in the OT (Old Times), and she falls in love all over again.   

“I love how you say my name. Say it again.”

“Clarke?”

From outside there’s a voice. “Hey. I need to speak to the Commander and Clarke. It’s urgent!”

Bigas knocks on the door and walks in. The two girls break apart, a little guilty at stealing pleasure when at war. “Heda the Skai tek plana (Sky, technology woman) says it is urgent that she sees you and Clarke.”

“Let her in.”

Bigas steps back and Raven limps in carrying her portable radio. “I’ve got Monty and Wells on the line, I don’t know what to say to them. Clarke?”

Lexa steps forward, helping the mechanic pull the radio off her back and onto the table. “Can the Mountain Men hear your radio? Can they use their own radios?”

“Yes, and yes.” Is Raven’s terse reply.

“Be careful what you say Clarke.”

Clarke’s mind goes blank, she looks at Raven and the Commander and all she can think of is safety, her people need to get to safety quickly. “Can I talk to them now?”

“Yes. They’re waiting. You speak by pushing the Talk Button and the light goes green. They talk when you push it again and the light goes red. The longer you talk the more likely it is that the Mt Weather will listen in.”

Clarke pushes Talk. “Wells, Monty it’s me Clarke. I’m okay, we’re okay out here. You are the ones in danger, you need to hide all of you.”  She presses Talk.

Wells’ voice is so familiar and comforting that Clarke almost cries with joy just to hear him. “Clarke. We’re okay. No-one has gone missing from our group; O has found some interesting places and things, but we don’t know what’s happening in the room with the cages. Why do we need to hide?”

Clarke’s eyes meet those of the Commander. The words - ‘Be careful what you say Clarke’ hover between them.

“Wells you must trust me on this. You need to hide and you need to do it now.” She pushes Talk, the light goes red.

“Clarke” it’s Monty this time. “I can open some doors and some of the cages. Should I, do it?” The light goes green.

The Commander leans forward to whisper. “Ask him to open as many doors and cages as possible at dawn.”

“He’s in the Mountain Commander; he can’t see the sunrise!”

“Jok.”

Raven butts in. “Grounders use candle marks to measure time. How many marks away is dawn Commander?”

“About fifteen, Raven.”

“Have you got a watch Monty?”

“Yes. I have 1300 hours on my watch.” Clarke looks at Raven, the mechanic hesitates, but only for a second.

“Have him open the doors at 0500.”

“Monty, open as many doors as you can at 0500 but Monty if you open the outside doors radiation will get in. Maya and her dad need to be somewhere the air can’t get to. They need to do that anyway. I mean they must find an air-locked place. I’m not kidding. You need to hide and Maya needs an air lock.” She pushes Talk. Fuck, Clarke – panicking much.

Monty responds. “I’ll tell Jas….shhhh, hsss,”

Raven starts twiddling knobs. “Interference of some sort. Could be intentional by Mt Weather, my pathetic batteries, their pathetic batteries or just atmospherics.

“Atmospherics?” The Commander queries.

“Bad weather or just weather really. The Mountain was disappearing into the clouds when I walked over to find you guys.” Raven looks from the Commander to Clarke and back again. “Together.”

Clarke’s still focused on the radio but the oh so intimidating Commander refuses to meet her eye. Aha!

They try to get back in contact but whatever the problem is they can’t get through. Raven wants to get back to the big tent that she calls her workshop, to try a stronger battery and another aerial she’s put together. Clarke, feeling guilty about kissing a beautiful woman when her friends are in danger, gives the Commander a rueful grin as she follows the mechanic towards the barn’s open door. “We may get through to them before we leave tonight and I want to be there, just in case.”

“Of course, Clarke. But please take this armour with you and wear it when we leave tonight.” The Commander hands Clarke a carefully tied bundle. “You will need protection when we enter the Mountain. Clarke.”

Clarke follows Raven, who speed limps to the outskirts of Ton DC. Outside her roomy tent are Bree and Fox. Fox leans over a big half barrel of soapy water washing old glass bottles and Bree is carefully drying them with soft cloths. Raven stomps into the tent, places the radio on a sturdy wooden table and connects it to a big battery. She switches it on, nothing but static. “Okay, spill!”

 “What? Spill what?”

“About you and the, almost as hot as Anya, Commander.”

“There’s nothing to spill Rae.”

“I call bullshit! She’s just your type. Dark and brooding, with more than a hint of danger and hot as fuck! Lucy Edwards is nothing on Heda.”

“Lucy Edwards is a total bitch!”

“True, but you didn’t always think so.” Raven’s eyebrows are wriggling like demented caterpillars.

Clarke’s voice drops to a whisper. “Lexa’s nothing like Lucy.”

Raven does something she doesn’t often do. She stops talking and waits. Clarke’s fingers gently stroke the wood of the table, following the rough grain. “She’s not like Lucy at all, she’s so careful of everyone, of all her people. The villagers, warriors, her generals. But then she sends so many of them to die, because that’s what she must do to keep her people safe from the Mountain Men and their Reapers. Imagine it Rae, deciding that the best thing to do means thousands die. How does she live with the responsibility?”

Raven’s hand covers Clarke’s. “From what Anya and the others say, she’s kind of special and very good at her job. Bringing peace to tens of thousands of people through hard choices and sometimes hard fighting. But be careful Clarke, Heda has bodyguards for a reason and tomorrow she’ll be front and centre of a battle. Don’t get involved if you’re not ready for some hard knocks.”

Clarke’s snort is explosive. “Says she, who flirts outrageously with General Anya, the very same General who just climbed a vertical cliff that’s almost a mile high! Have you anything to spill Raven?”

Raven pouts and looks away. “No. Ours will be a great and redemptive love story. When it begins.”

“Huh?”

25^th August 2149 Mt Weather Kitchens 1400 hours

Wells is standing firm, fuck Dax, Jasper, Atom and Bellamy. Especially Bellamy the boy’s a dick!  “Look, she was clear. We all need to hide and Maya and her father need to be safe in an airlock. She didn’t say why but as the channel was an open one and anyone could have been listening, she would need to be discreet.”

Bellamy stretches to his full height, taller by a couple of inches than Wells. “Look, let’s be all grown-up here. The Ark’s Princess is enjoying her power trip a little too much. Okay, these people inside Mt Weather are desperate. Desperate enough to do some pretty bad things but they’ve offered us safety and lots of home comforts.”

Octavia isn’t impressed by her brother’s reasoning. “They shot you Bell, did experiments on your blood, steal other people and their blood, then take bone marrow from Trina and Raven. Trina is likely dead. I don’t think chocolate cake and home comforts cut it!”

“Clarke’s the only one who’s said they were doing things with my blood and look at me now. I’m fine. And note, Princess Griffin is conveniently no longer with us. She’s shimmied off into the wild outdoors and still thinks she can tell us what to do. I say stick with these people, they want us here.”

Maya’s usually quiet but it’s time for her to speak up. “What they want is your genes Bellamy. Those tests on your blood happened and a girl called Keenan died because Dr Tsing thought that a transfusion of your blood would mean she could live outside; Tsing was wrong and Keenan’s dead. Now Tsing’s discovered that transplanting sky-kids’ bone-marrow does work. Some of our soldiers have been seen going outside without suits.” Sharp intakes of breath greet her words. “What we’ve done Bellamy, what my people have done to the people who live outside, to Trina and Raven and a couple more of your people is unforgiveable. We deserve to die.”

“No, no. That’s not true. You don’t.”

“It is true Jas. I don’t want to die but if it comes to it, Dad and I are prepared to.”  

25^th August 2149 Mt Weather Level 7 Control Room 1400 hours

Cage watches as screen after screen blinks to life. No longer restricted to the internal cameras now he can see trees, meadows, mines, water, the towering dam, dozens of flickering images of the world outside.  “Have we lost any cameras or tremblers while offline?”

“Nine Sir, Mr President Sir. Three cameras in the mines, two tremblers in the woods outside the front door, two cameras in the woods to the south and two more at the dam.”

“I want people out tomorrow on repairs Emerson. Get on it.”

“Yes Sir, Mr President Sir.”

Cage turns to leave, as he walks into the lobby outside the Control Room two soldiers snap to attention. When he moves towards the door of his office one of them swings the heavy door open for him, the other salutes.

Inside the oval office Cage has changed all the pictures, preferring more traditional landscapes to the impressionists favoured by his father. Dusty sierras, green fields and blue/grey mountains hang as reminders of what his people should aspire to, not garish colours and contorted perspectives.  Seated at his desk he flicks through report after report. Who knew that a President had to deal with so much paperwork after a very good lunch. When he finds Tsing’s paper on the bone-marrow surgery he pulls it out of the pile and starts to read.

The clock ticks, paper whispers as he turns pages and the old chair creaks as he shifts his weight. It’s all coming together, slower than he’d like but it’s coming. He leans forward to flick a switch on the intercom. “Artemisia, I want Kandi here for a meeting in thirty minutes and Tsing and Emerson; put them in for tomorrow at 0800.”

“Yes Sir, Mr President Sir.” The voice of his assistant is crisply efficient.

It’s time to get a move on; with comms back up he needs to think about contacting the people still in the sky. On the ground, surveillance is back online and ten drones are programmed to launch at dawn tomorrow. Cage breathes a sigh of relief; it’s been a strain not knowing what’s been happening outside.

He sucks in a breath thinking about who will receive the next round of bone-marrow; it’s not an easy decision but the fact is that he needs more soldiers able to walk outside. That means his father and Tsing drop back down the queue. Bone-marrow transplants restart tomorrow and ramp up, even if some of the medical supplies needed are in short supply this must have priority and as for donors, some of those sky kids won’t be missed.

Meanwhile more activity means more blood bags are needed, maybe Tsing has a point about feeding them better. Then there’s the Dogs they need the exercise, he’ll get Emerson to set up a run tomorrow morning.

26^th August 2149 Mt Weather Level 7 Control Room 0430 hours

It’s graveyard shift in the Control Room, Private Tilling and Sgt Lovejoy sit in saggy office chairs drinking endless cups of coffee. The black and white screens on the wall above them cycles through dozens of locations; trees hung with wisps of fog, become empty corridors, become old mine tunnels; on and on and on - empty tramlines, abandoned carts, massive hydro turbines and back to empty corridors. Boring………….   

“You going to the entertainment tonight?” Tilling stretches before scratching vigorously at his crotch.

Sgt Eric Lovejoy spins his chair around to grin at his friend. “Nope. It’s Jimmy’s birthday and we’re doing the whole birthday party thing for him and his friends. After that we’ll be staying home to clear up, then a quiet night in.”

“It’s gonna be good. Degas can sing and the drama group is doing a short play called Check Please. Picasso says it’s a doozy and very funny. Hey, what the fuck is going on?” Tilling points at the top right screen. Where the monochrome image has changed from a view down an empty mine track, to a melee.

“The Dogs aren’t fighting again, are they? Get Sgt Langstone of Ground Unit on the line. He needs to get out there with the tone generator and control those fuckers. Ow, that looks nasty.” Lovejoy flicks switches, bringing more cameras online. “Fuck we’re some cameras down.” He flicks rapidly through the mine locations again and behind him Tilling ends his phone call.

“Langstone’s on his way.”

“Can we get some? Holy shit. That’s not a Dog.” A face, painted with white streaks but strikingly beautiful and without the scabs, horns or lumps created by the Red, glares into the camera before the picture is lost to static. Lovejoy grabs the phone and taps in three digits. While he waits for the Lieutenant to pickup he flicks switch after switch. “Tilling check all outside cameras, a systematic….  Sir, lieutenant we’ve got hostiles in the mines. They’re attacking the Dogs. Yes Sir, Langstone is on his way. Yes Sir. Yes Sir. Yes Sir.  Tilling hit the alarm for ‘call to arms’ and if any civilians ask. It’s a drill.”

Chapter Text

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th  Moon New -  Just before Dawn.

In the Woods

Every part of Callie’s body is filthy and all her muscles ache. Sweat, grease and sawdust has got everywhere; is lodged in ALL the creases of her skin and clothes and her hair feels like a bird has been nesting in it for the past week. Her only comfort is that almost everyone else looks like her, filthy and hollow-eyed with exhaustion. Not so comforting is that her contribution to the operation has been minimal, carrying water or cold tea to profusely sweating loggers, smearing grease on saw blades and bandaging cuts and blisters, seems like nothing compared to the intense physical effort given by the men and women who have slaved over the past day sawing and chopping gigantic trees.

The sun isn’t up yet but everyone in the logging party is awake and breakfasted. Indra checked that everyone, including Callie, ate well and drank plenty. It’s now, she told the ever-inquisitive Skaikru plana (woman), when people are exhausted and stiff, that accidents happen. A good meal and plenty of tea help to keep people safe. There’s nothing to pack, they’ve eaten almost all the food, carry their tools and weapons with them and managed last night without fire or tents. Now they’re ready to complete their task, but before they leave their makeshift camp Indra takes the time to say a few words. Callie stands with the others when the Trikru Chief moves forward and raises her hand. Immediately there’s silence.

“Ai kru, (my people) yesterday you made me proud to be kom Trikru. To work and fight with you is both my fate and my choice.” Callie watches the Chief as she makes her short speech, Indra must be as exhausted as everyone else yet somehow radiates energy and vigour. How does she do it? She must have muscles of iron and the stamina of ten! Callie saw her yesterday; the Chief was paired with Tomas, using an enormous two-man crosscut saw. Today Tomas looks like he’s been run over by herd of wild horses, while Indra stands there looking ready to do it all over again. The Chief points at Tomas.  “Tomas and his group will take the north, I and mine the south. May Keryon (the Spirits) reward our and Heda’s efforts with victory. Jus drein jus daun (Blood must have blood).”   

“Jus drein jus daun.”

Shouldering a pack of medical supplies and a canteen Callie follows Indra and her group into the woods. They travel in single file at a steady jog, impatient to get the felling underway.  Speed, as Indra explained to her last night is important. The Maunon will at some point realise that something is going on in the woods and release the Acid Fog. Indra wants the felling complete or near complete when that happens. They arrive at their first tree; a magnificent specimen conifer, its’ diameter, Callie estimates at least three times her height and the immense trunk soars into the sky straight as an arrow for further than the eye can see.  A logger called Lima walks up to the giant. Reversing her axe, she uses the blunt end to knock out the three thick-cut wedges of wood that hold it.  Everyone moves away, as slowly the great tree starts to lean.

Why Callie imagined that a tree would fall in silence, she’ll never know. But she’s totally unprepared for the loud creaking, tearing and cracking noises that precede the almighty thump and crash as the tree hits the ground and bounces! She’s knocked off her feet when the earth suddenly heaves and then she’s choking as dust, needles and twigs billow out in huge clouds the moment the crown crashes to the floor. Strong arms pull her to her feet and the whole group is off again, running to take down the next giant.

Underground

Below ground the rule is to be silent with no, talking, clatter of weapons, clinking of jewellery, creak of leather or rustle of fabric. At the front Lexa and a big man called Gustus lead Clarke, the Handmaids and a handful of others down and through what must have been a pre bombs ‘underground’ system. Clarke read about them for her History Classes and has seen a few pictures, but she hadn’t realised just how big everything was before the bombs; the cars and engines wouldn’t fit in the Ark. The cavern beneath Ton DC looks bigger than Alpha Station! When they get to a place called Osser the old platforms are packed with warriors who stand in silent rows, Clarke feels their eyes on her, judging her borrowed armour and lack of physical strength. She’s not a warrior and they know it; she’s just a girl trying to get her people out of Mt Weather. When they get near the end of the tunnel things start to change, from being roomy, lit by hundreds of lanterns and littered with old world machinery, to cramped, dark and empty. If it were possible they become even quieter, all that can be heard is the low hum of some distant machinery. They come to a stop in a small chamber where the humming is loud and a weak trickle of pinkish light seeps through a narrow gap in the wall.  She watches as Lexa crouches down in whispered consultation with Gustus; others join them in the huddle. She loses Lexa amongst the crouching bodies and Clarke must wait, she’s not sure what for, but wait in silence is what she does.

Twelve slight figures slip through the narrow gap and it’s only when Clarke notices that one of the figures is tiny and another has her hair in elaborate braids, that she realises that Lexa and some of her Handmaids are amongst them.

The twelve disappear and Clarke, along with Gustus and some others, push their faces to the gap, straining their eyes to see any movement in the dusky hall. A hand on her shoulder and a guiding finger pointing to the right, then she makes out a figure, (Is it Lexa? Is she seeing things?), that runs up a vertical wall before leaping onto a high catwalk. Mesmerised she watches as a Mt Weather soldier, complete with face mask, oxygen and a hazmat-suit, is slain with silent efficiency and what must be a very sharp knife.  Within a few moments a voice calls out what must be an ‘all clear’ and Gustus is pushing at the wall, which collapses with barely a rumble and that’s it, they are into the Philpott Dam Turbine Hall, without the alarm being raised.

Warriors, Clarke with them, trot through the now gaping hole. Her bodyguards: Ryder carries the steel shield and Penn a drawn bow, pull her to one side while warriors arrange themselves into orderly groups, shield-bearers to the front. Suddenly Lexa is there, blood splashed on her face and arms, slipping quickly into her armoured coat, pauldron and sash, and when the hall is full of gonas ready for battle, she snaps an order to a group of particularly enormous warriors, who quick march forward and start pounding on the door into the mountain with battering rams. They make quick work of the outer door and the air lock within, and that’s when alarms blare and soon after that bullets start to fly.

Clarke’s now squashed against a wall, Ryder and Penn hemming her safely away from bullets that ping against shields, walls and machines or slap into flesh.  A few dead and injured warriors are pulled back behind the shield walls, more stream out of the tunnel and into battle formations. Clarke clutches the pistol that Lexa gave her when they set off last night. Handing it over Lexa had looked at her with such desperate affection that Clarke knew for the first time in her life that something spiritual, something beyond scientific theories, existed. Because the feeling in her chest, in her heart, in her soul, was so strong and FAMILIAR. Lexa loves her, somehow Lexa has always loved her. In this life, past lives, future lives. Always Lexa will love Clarke and Clarke, Lexa. Lexa had spoken quietly into Clarke’s ear. “I cannot use this fayogun Clarke, but you can. Stay with Ryder and Penn. Stay safe ai hodnes (my love)”

The shouting and noise bring Clarke back to the battle in the turbine hall. Behind one of the shield walls there’s a flicker, the shields open for a second and a runner pelts forward, throwing two flaming bottles into the doorway. Another follows doing the same, but before the second bottle leaves her hand she’s struck by a hail of bullets and collapses onto her own weapon, smothering the flames. More runners and flaming bottles follow, the doorway into the Mountain becomes an inferno, the gunfire falters, warriors surge forward, swarming the defenders, trampling the burning bodies of their enemies as they storm past them and inside.

Clarke must follow; her job is to make sure her people are not mistaken for the hated ‘Maunon’. Ryder and Penn reluctantly allow her to go forward as she pursues Lexa and her warriors into Mt Weather.

…………………………….

26^th August 2149 Mt Weather Level 7 Control Room 0500 hours

The room’s crammed with Department Chiefs, military, members of the Cabinet and people who think they are important and have opinions that should be heard. Their voices intercut, argue and some just mutter inanities in tones that jangle with fear. A dozen fingers point at the surveillance screens and those who consider themselves entitled to do so bellow orders at Tilling and Lovejoy.

It’s becoming impossible to think, the noise, heat, airless atmosphere and the faint smell of urine; Cage can’t breathe; he stands up. “Out, get out of this room unless you are a soldier on active service. Out. Out. Out! I mean it. Emerson, get them out of here. I can’t think while they whine!”   There are cries of protest, Cage repeats his demands, Emerson and Tilling start to push some of the old men to the door. Cage picks up the phone and taps in three digits. He waits for someone, anyone, to pick up. He watches as Emerson enlists Lovejoy to evict the last few before returning to the surveillance desk. A response; at last. “Langstone? I want an update from Langstone. Make sure he gets back to me immediately.”

Cage puts the phone down. “Emerson. Report.”

“They’re attacking on four fronts Mr President Sir.  First is the old mines.” Emerson shakes his head as if in disbelief. “Somehow, they’ve neutralised the Dogs. Langstone went down but neither the tone generator nor the smell of Red can bring them to heel. He was readying the Ground Unit to go into the mines when I last spoke to him. But it’s not looking good Sir; he thinks all the Dogs have been killed but he’ll check in when he knows for certain. Second point of attack is the Communications Array door on Level + 2, a small group broke through the outer door and airlock. The ‘perimeter breach’ alarms went off and No 1 Platoon responded. They are holding them back on the stairs down to Level 0. The third attack is by a flotilla of canoes on Lake Philpott. About a hundred were seen and reported by the night patrol. They’re staying just out of rifle range. They could be reinforcements for the fourth point of attack which is the Turbine Hall. The Dam’s night patrol, led by Sgt Ennis, is not responding. We assume KIA, same for the six spotters who were on duty at the Communications Array.”

“Mighty organised for savages.” How the hell did his father get in here? Cage spins on his heel to find Dante sitting next to Tilling.

“Our response, what’s working and what’s not?”

The phone beeps, Cage picks up. “Langstone? Report. I see. Keep them in the mines and out of the airlock.” He turns to Emerson. “Langstone’s Ground Unit report finding several dead Dogs and if any are still alive, they’re not responding. The good news is that the Ground Unit controls the airlock and the surrounding area. No savages have entered from the mines. Emerson what about the other fronts?”     

“The second group are still held on the stairs between levels +1 and 0. The canoes we don’t know. Contact was lost with the Dam when it was attacked from…. We don’t know where or how they attacked the Dam but they got inside the Turbine Hall and a mass of savages is now in the main corridor on Level 6, where No. 2 Platoon are retreating in good order. The plan is to keep them on 6 until we can push them out.”

Cage’s mind is spinning, he can’t think what to do for the best. His men are fighting on three different Levels, winning (or at least holding) on two but from what he can see of Level 6, they’re losing ground and fuck knows what the canoes are doing. “Lieutenant use No. 3 Platoon to reinforce No.2 and get someone outside in armoured cars with heavy machine guns; use Sgts Whitman and Spencer - they don’t need suits.  Take ten men from Ground Unit to go with them. If we get those big machine guns to the lake and dam, we can strafe the canoes and get behind the savages who are on Level 6. Operate a pincer movement. Tilling, get me Kandi I want missiles online and ready to go. I’ll teach those savages to mess with me.”

Dante’s quiet voice cuts through. “What about the civilians Lieutenant? Our wives and children?”

“We’ve told them it’s a standard Radiation Drill Sir. They’re on Level 5, the Dining Hall. We’re controlling the air flow to keep radiation ingress to Levels 6, +1 and +2.”

The Harvest Chamber

A gentle ‘snick’ sound, just by his ear, wakes Murphy and he looks up puzzled. Silent, on well oiled hinges, the door to their cage swings ajar. Slowly Murphy rolls onto his front, looks to right and left and sees others doing the same. The girl in the next cage puts a finger to her lips and he nods in response. Pascal crawls to his side, Murphy feels breath tickle his ear. “What. The. Fuck?”

The boys look down at the two young soldiers on guard, who’ve just noticed lights flickering on the control panel and sling their submachine guns to the ready. It’s horrible to see the panic contort their faces as hundreds of doors swing open. A burst of bullets almost cuts a man in half as he leaps out of one cage but the soldier must reload and in those few seconds grounders fling themselves out of their cages. The soldiers, fire a few more rounds before they are overwhelmed by a mass of bodies. Murphy’s not even fully opened the door of their cage before a mob of prisoners have got the Harvest Chamber door open and have swarmed out and away. Alarms blare.

“Murphy! Murphy!” It’s the girl in the next cage.  Not all have left the huge chamber, some of the cages are still locked and many in the open cages are weak with blood loss.

“Yeah.”

“How was your friend going to escape?”

Murphy blinks “The room they use to bleed your peopel is next to one with an air lock and there’s a chute for …” He stops not wanting to talk about dead bodies. “The chute leads to the outside.”

“Air lock?”

“A special kind of door that keeps the air inside this place separate from outside radiation.”

“We must leave before soldiers come to put us back in cages.”

Murphy climbs down to where the remains of the two guards are smeared on the floor. He feels sick as he carefully picks through the mess to retrieve a gun.  He looks carefully at the weapon, snaps on the safety and does his best to reload it before slinging it over his shoulder. His “Let’s go.”  Doesn’t bring much of a response, then he realises just how weak and debilitated those who remain are. “Okay, we’ll take it slow. Pascal get the other gun and stand on watch while we start to get people out of here.”

Level 0 – ventilation shaft.  

Grace knows her way around ventilation systems, has spent many hours crawling through their confined spaces trying to find contraband goods stashed by Nygel, or amateurs like Monty and Jasper; but on the Ark the fans were always switched off before she made her way along the narrow tubes. Not so here, she’s wedged, feet on one side back and hands the other, in a vertical shaft only a few feet above three fan blades, each spinning at thousands of cycles per second and well capable of chopping her ass into mince.

There’d been some talk about the danger. Anya had listened, to Lincoln, Grace and Medea kom Sangedakru, before deciding that dropping a oak staff down the shaft and onto the fans was not a good idea. “They will know what we do and likely where we are when a fan breaks. We want them to stay on the stairs, occupied by our gonas, while we use this way to get behind them. Secrecy is important.” She was right and in charge, so the fans whirl away on well-oiled bearings just below her clenching buttocks. Grace’s only comfort is that it’s Lincoln on the other end of the safety rope. Not far to go now, she pushes backwards, all her weight on her left foot, pressing her back firmly into the wall. Her arms take pressure too as she lowers her right foot, transferring the push and weight onto that foot. Then slide down and repeat, lowering the left foot this time, using arms and transferring weight. Sweat drips down her face, into her eyes, muscles start to spasm.

All of them took off their armour and heavy weapons before descending. Daggers, including Grace’s dirk and sgian dugh, are standard issue and Medea has a metal staff that folds into three connected parts. There was an argument about Grace carrying a fayogun, a semi-automatic pistol she recovered from a dead Maunon, but she held her ground and Anya decided to let her be. Anya and Lincoln carry three of Raven’s bombs.

It's still …. not far to go and Grace pushes her head back into the wall, using her neck muscles to hold herself rigid as she feels her arm muscles giving way. Her back is bowed, feet angled against the wall.

Then Anya is there pulling her into the side duct.  Lincoln joins them and the safety rope is hauled up by Tris who sends it back down with swords and an axe bundled into a canvas bag. Tris will report back to Quint and the gonas on the stairs.  

The four of them start to wriggle away from the central shaft, along the smooth metal lined ducting. Grace is grateful to be travelling headfirst, able to use both hands and elbows to pull and knees and feet to push.  Anya starts off doing the whole thing in reverse until at a cross ‘roads’ she can turn herself around. They continue through the breezy tubes for what feels like miles but is probably less than a thousand yards.

Painted on the grimy wall opposite the ventilation grid is the legend, ‘Ground Level - 0’. Anya hears muffled voices and the crunch of boots on dirt. Beneath the grid ten Maunon walk purposefully along the wide corridor and off to her right, but she can see fear in how they carry themselves, even though they wear masks and suits. Her hand signal tells her companions that the enemy is close, silence. Even the Skaigona (Sky warrior) Grace is still, she learns fast. The Maunon pass. She waits, listening for more, then counts to fifty before loosening the grid, passing it back to Medea and dropping to the ground onto her hands. She flips to standing and is ready to help her comrades out of the duct. Soon they are at her side, ready to cause mayhem. “Psst. Psst! Major, it’s me Octavia!”

It’s a gada (girl) behind the grid opposite their own. Anya’s knife is in her hand, Lincoln’s sword is drawn, Medea’s staff unfolds. Grace holds up a hand “Skaikru. Anya she’s Skaikru.”

Soon Octavia is hustling them into a side room and giving Grace an update about; the radio contact with Clarke and Heda, Monty opening the Harvest Chamber cages and Wells taking anyone who would listen to him into hiding. “Some wouldn’t go with him into the lowest levels, including my stupid brother. So, Bell, Roma, Myles, Jessica, Lulu and a few others are stuck on Level 5 and I can’t get to them because they’ve shut off all the elevators and vents to 5.”  

Anya listens to the girl babble out information. “Where is the radio now?”

“With Monty. He’s hiding on Level 1, the one just below us, in Horticulture. Maya and Jasper are with him. There’s a room where they package vegetables to preserve them, it has an air lock.”

“Who is Maya?”

“She’s a Mountain person” Octavia watches as the three grounders almost snarl at the thought of the girl. “She’s helped us. She, her dad and a couple of others refuse to take blood from your people, because it’s wrong. She knows she will die without it but refuses anyway. She’s a good person, really, she is.”

Anya’s heard enough. “Go, hide with your friends. If my people find you say you are Skaikru or one of Clarke’s people. They will not kill you.” Octavia looks to Grace who nods in agreement.

“Skaikru? Can’t I come with you Major?”

Grace shakes her head. “We’re going to be fighting Octavia. We can’t protect you. You’ve done a great job but get yourself to safety now. Hide.”

The Skaigona helps Octavia back into the vent before the four of them make their way down the corridor. Octavia watches them go before slipping back down the vent to the junction where she takes the right fork. ‘get yourself to safety now.’ Patronising bitch, no way is Octavia going to miss out on the action. She slides quickly forward, travelling a route parallel to that of the Major and her companions, including the gorgeous looking man with dark, sad looking, eyes.

Level 6 – Main Corridor.  

Clarke, sandwiched between her bodyguards, stands to one side and behind the Commander, as Lexa receives messengers and issues instructions. As warriors of many clans are involved in this war gonasleng is spoken and Clarke, who’s listening intently, quickly identifies an imbalance in the information Lexa is receiving. Of Level 6, its’ layout, contents and how the Maunon are slowly retreating, Lexa has an abundance of data, almost too much! She handles it with aplomb, making some changes about how her gonas secure each section taken and with Clarke’s help explains to a group of Delphikru ‘Specials’ (the equivalent of Trikru’s Scouts) how they are to identify and destroy cameras and listening devices. The lack of information about the other attacks is almost total. A messenger arrives from Indra, warning Heda that she will not be able to completely barricade the front of the Mountain until just before midday and word comes that the Podakru canoes are docked at the dam and ready to hold the Turbine Hall for Heda. Other than that, there’s nothing. Nothing from Raven about radio contact with Wells and Monty, nothing from Anya and nothing from Ontari.

Lexa focuses on this battle and her gonas’ progress.  Gustus, returns to her side with an update on the numbers of Maunon dead (thirty-eight) and a vivid description of the main battle where the Maunon’s gonas are laying down deadly supressing fire to cover their retreat. Lexa knows she must gain control of this entire level as quickly as she can, capitalising on the element of surprise, killing as many Maunon gonas as possible and she wants to get to the Control Room on Level 7. She orders some fire-throwing gonas to the front.

At that moment a series of explosions rocks the Level. Grenades? When the Skaigona Grace described these weapons, Lexa had known fear. Fear for her gonas! A sudden increase in the number of wounded, with terrible wounds, being dragged away from the front seems to justify this.  She needs to do something to clear this Level now! “Gustus, hold on the fire-throwers, bring me two of Raven’s ‘rocket fuel’ bombs.” Lexa’s face is stoic and her voice controlled, but the use by the Maunon of grenades was always a worry. She had hoped to rush them into a quick defeat, without facing many grenades or the gas that makes them sleep. She sniffs the air, checking for unnatural odours.

Gustus disappears to get the bombs, Lexa and her Handmaids move closer to the front where the devastation wrought by the grenades is easy to see; severed limbs are strewn across the floor, large pools and splatters of blood and a trail of abandoned weapons; swords, spears and arrows. They look so primitive when compared to the fayoguns and tek of the Maunon. She must do something; she walks forward.

Tristan is by her side in a moment. “Heda?”

“Tristan, make me a mirror with your shields so I can see around that corner.” For a moment Tristan pauses, then the big Ranger organises ten gonas into a single row. The gonas reverse their shields, the pockmarked outer sides are hidden and the unscarred bright insides are to the front. At Tristan’s command they shuffle into position. Reflected in those shields Lexa sees the Maunon, about forty of them arrayed in rows, their fayoguns spitting bullets at an incredible rate. She sees how they are shooting one row at a time and that when one row shoots the other reloads. Lexa waves at Tristan and he orders his gonas back.

“Mochof Tristan. Ready a testudo (tortoise).”

“Sha Heda.”

Clarke watches nervously as a group of gonas arrange themselves into what Lexa had told her was a ‘testudo’ and when Lexa looks at her Clarke is ready, quickly kissing her own fingers and hoping that Lexa realises that kiss is for her. There’s a shuffling and arranging of gonas as they ready themselves.

Gustus returns with bottles cradled in his hands, he begs Lexa to be allowed to accompany her. Lexa looks first to Bigas, who nods her agreement, Gustus’ strength will work in their favour and he is surprisingly nimble for such a big man.  Lexa and Blair take a bomb each, Jules and Eris carry shields. Lexa exchanges a quick look with Clarke before she, Blair and Hellen wriggle their way into the centre of the testudo. Bigas slips into position behind the front row.

A testudo is a square of gonas with shields locked together at the front and over their heads. Lexa read about the Roman ‘testudo’ when she was a youngon (youngster) and has trained the gonas of her most loyal krus; Trikru, Podakru and Delphikru in the defence for many years.

“Ready?”

“Sha”

Then they are running forward, towards the corner, towards the sound of gunfire, towards the Maunon. The sound of hundreds of bullets hitting solid steel fills the corridor. It’s deafening, almost concussive, Lexa and Hellen are side by side in the third row. Then sailing through the air towards them they see a small ball like object, Hellen thumps the shoulder of the gona in front of her, he shifts his shield and the accomplished tumbler jumps onto his shoulders and swinging a solid stake of maple thwacks the grenade back towards the Maunon. Bullets tear into the Handmaid but she’s caught by Gustus and at Lexa’s command the turtle drops into its’ flattened configuration minimising the impact of the shockwave and shrapnel that slams down the corridor and over the crouched gonas’ shields.

Lexa recovers quickly, though her ears are ringing and seeing the Maunon reeling from the impact of their own grenade seizes the opportunity and together with Blair hurls her bomb into those still living and ducks.

BOOM! BOOM! The shockwave thumps her in the chest, she can’t hear anything, her legs wobble BUT somehow, she manages to stand up and she’s screaming “FRAG EM OP!”. Jok knows what that is in gonasleng she can’t remember.  

Chapter Text

26^th August 2149 Mt Weather Level 8 Midday

Every few yards a squat concrete pillar, its’ surface cracked with age and black with mould, looms out of the darkness. Looking up at the ceiling Wells can almost feel the mass of the Mountain pressing down on these aged supports, some of which are so battered that rusty rebars are exposed to the water that drips in steady plinks from mini stalactites that dot the ceiling. It's not cold, but he’s shaking and he’s not the only one. Thirty terrified kids, sit in huddles of four or five, every one of them ready to jump at the next gunshot, rumble or crump. Dax looms on his left. “You think the water’s safe to drink? We’ve got sacks of breakfast-cereal, boxes of biscuits and some protein paste but it’ll be gross without water and we’ve only got a few bottles.”

Away from the stairs and the steady glow of its’ sodium lights are a few blinking fluorescent tubes, that when they fizz to life give glimpses of the huge space beyond.   Wells can see green slime, pools that shimmer iridescent colours, shadowy lumps of fallen masonry, broken machinery and row after row of storage tanks, some made of metal, others from plastic.

Wells climbs on top of a wheelless trolley, catches some droplets of water in his hands and sips; it tastes of nothing. “Let’s use the bottled water first, then leave the empty bottles to fill from these drips. We can only hope that it’s not picked up anything nasty.” He looks at the tall boy’s gaunt face. “Let’s eat, empty stomachs won’t make anything better.” Dax moves off to talk with Atom and Harley about food and Wells walks towards the first row of storage tanks. His tap to the first one provokes a hollow booming noise, that makes everyone jump. He apologies but continues his quest, moving down the rows tapping as he goes. Twenty rows on and the response changes to a solid thud, he pushes at the tank’s side, there’s a faint sloshing and the air becomes tainted with a pungent, slightly sweet, chemical smell. He looks ahead, there are only a few rows left so he finishes the job. The final rows have tanks that are full and beyond the last row is a wall of rock; onto which is bolted a control panel, showcasing some ancient switches, and there in the far corner is a door, bolted on the inside.

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th  Moon New – Midday  

In the Woods

Callie sits astride the thick branch and listens to the rain; she finds the irregular pattering pleasing, nothing like the repetitive mechanical creaks and hums of the Ark. Or maybe she just likes water, the streams they waded as they made their way through the woods these past couple of days, made sounds she relishes too. Chuckles, plops, gloops and splashes. During one of the food-breaks she’d been found, by Indra, standing in a brook holding a half-eaten apple in her hand staring fixedly at her own feet, fascinated by the sight of her toes darkening as brown water flowed over them. Indra’s “Skaiplana, are you okay?” Had pulled her attention to the stoic Chief and she hadn’t been able to suppress a grin. The Chief must have thought her a fool, and she’d blushed at being caught doing something so frivolous when they were at war. The only explanation she’d managed to stammer out was that on the Ark water was rationed and seeing it flow freely was something new. Now Callie blushes again, thinking back to the experience of climbing this huge tree, aka another lesson in humility. It isn’t that she’s weak, she’s always exercised regularly and kept herself very fit. As a child she’d excelled at gymnastics and even after restrictions on using the gym were imposed by Chancellor Sydney’s ‘War on Waste’ seven years ago, Callie continued to exercise in her own apartment, using improvised gym equipment and many techniques and forms learned from her mother Bing. Callie was, Bing would tell her, the last of a great lineage; the Li family had once numbered in the millions and in ancient times had served as warriors for many emperors. No, it wasn’t strength, or lack of agility that was the problem, it was ignorance and inexperience. Callie couldn’t, see the handholds, find the right place to put her feet, or select branches that could take her weight.

After she’d almost fallen for a second time, Indra made a makeshift hoist and hauled her up like she was baggage.  Of course, Callie had accepted the help, choking back her own pride and Indra’s voice was unexpectedly kind as she explained that speed was essential. To avoid the Maunon’s Acid Fog they needed to get high above the ground, now. She would, she promised, teach Callie how to climb trees when the war was over.

Milo, the tall thin Scout who’s been posted at the top of this giant tree for the last three moons, gives a low whistle and both Callie and Indra’s attention is immediately on him. He stands, as much at ease walking along a branch as on the ground and points a long bony fore- finger downwards. At first all that can be seen is the huge mound of felled trees that cover what once was an open area in-front of the door into Mt Weather. A small segment of the metal arch imprinted with the letters ‘EATH’ is visible, while the door itself is entirely obscured. “See the trees are shaking.” He’s right and in a few seconds the shaking is accompanied by a horrible metallic squealing sound. A moment of silence, then the screaming starts again.

The Scout is baffled. “What is that sound? Is something dying?”  Indra has no answer.

Cautiously Callie steps along the branch and looks down. It’s over 100ft to the ground and the tree is 30ft away from the door / pile of felled trees. “See, the trunks shiver when the noise is loudest. I think they are trying to open the door, using the door itself to push the trunks back.” Callie sniffs, as an acrid smell drifts up. “They’ll burn the motors out if they keep it up. I can smell it.”  Indra and Milo look bemused and Callie explains the door will be heavy and moved by electrical motors that will be damaged if overstrained.

The noises stop. Nothing but the sound of rain. All three of them stare down on the unmoving greenery. Then there’s voices, faint but just audible and two men dressed in BDUs crawl through and over the massive trunks. They stop. Indra passes Milo his bow but holds her palm up to tell him to wait. She raises her own bow.

“Fucking Hell. A whole forest’s worth of fucking trees and then some. Even if we got a jeep out there’s no way we could drive it anywhere. I’ll tell Lieutenant Emerson we’ll have to walk out. Get the men ready for a trek and carry.” He lowers his voice. “….lose tear…..suits…..on the wood.” The two crawl back into the woodpile and disappear.

Indra’s hand is still raised; no arrows were loosed. Milo looks at her questioningly, the Maunon were in range, both could be killed. Indra whispers. “If we wait, we will have more to kill when they try to leave. Swing over to Liva’s tree, bring her and Casio back with you, the more we kill, the fewer are left to fight Heda.”

Callie has no idea what was said or why. She cautiously returns to her branch, sits astride it and leans back against the corky trunk, arms folded tight into her body.  Questions fight to get past her closed teeth but she remains silent. She has no right to take the attention, time or energy of the warrior who now readies herself for the coming fight.  Frustration and anger bubbles within the Ark officer, she’s never been one to hang back or avoid problems. Callie’s always been a doer, a fixer! Now she can do nothing but contain her anger and stay out of the way. She breathes deep and slow, controlling the rage she feels against the two men who emerged from the Mountain without suits or masks. They can breathe the air and feel the rain, because they stole bone-marrow from Ark children. Killed Ark children. She seethes, if she had a gun, she’d shoot the fuckers dead but she has nothing and has never even picked up a bow in her life. She’s useless!!

Two Scouts return with Milo, both armed with longbows.

 A few moments later the branch trembles slightly and Indra casually squats down in-front of her. “You have no questions Skaiplana? Always you have questions, but not now.”

26^th August 2149 Mt Weather Level 0 Midday

The grey bulk of the closed blast door dominates the space. Colours are muted greys and browns, almost washed out by six spotlights that pour bright white light down onto the central area and the bustling figures that prepare two long-wheelbase armoured jeeps and fit them with heavy, pillar mounted, machine guns.

Octavia stopped breathing a while back, it felt like it anyway, as she crouches behind a metal racking unit that’s crammed with opaque plastic boxes, full of ‘stuff’.  It took her a while to get into the big cave because her usual route through the ventilation system dead-ended a while back. Instead, she’d backtracked, abandoned the vents and found an old airlock, filthy with decades of dust and what looked like ancient mouse crap. From there she’d tiptoed up and down flights of stairs and through musty storerooms, scaled ladders and crawled through ducts full of wires and pipes, to eventually make her way to the complex’ main entrance. She didn’t know what to expect when she arrived, dead bodies maybe? The three grounders and Major Byrne had followed those Mt Weather soldiers with intent, but inside the big cavern Octavia can’t see anything that looks like a fight, or its’ aftermath.

Two of the soldiers wear BDUs, Kevlar vests and helmets, the other ten wear airtight suits, face masks and air tanks. They move purposefully, but it takes time, because from what Octavia can see these vehicles haven’t been used for a while.  Tyres, electrics, batteries; all are checked, topped up or replaced if needed.  Fuel is pumped into tanks. Then Octavia sees him, Mohican haircut guy. The good-looking one. He’s standing still against the wall, deep in the black shadows cast by a concrete pier.  Where are the others? She searches, Major Byrne’s behind a rack like the one she’s sheltering behind, but much closer to the action. The grounder that smelled a bit funny, very tall, dark skinned and emaciated looking, is lying behind a messy heap of deflated tyres. Where’s the last one? The oriental looking woman, Anya. Nope, no sign of her.

Soldiers pile into the readied vehicles, one of the two dressed in BDUs gives a thumbs up to the other, who climbs into the driving seat of a jeep and starts it up. It splutters before settling into a quiet rumble. The second jeep roars into life too. The first soldier speaks into a communication unit by the door. “Spencer here Lieutenant, we’re ready to go. Requesting that the outer door be opened Sir. Yes Sir, we’ve enough ammo to take down an army. Thank-you Sir, we’re ready.”

Motors whine and there’s the hiss of released air, some creaking and a rumbling. Octavia watches as greenish light strikes the door’s edge of polished steel (it’s over a foot thick) as it starts to swing outwards. A couple of feet into the swing it stops and a high-pitched whining that hurts her ears starts up. The soldier on comms sounds worried.

“Woah Sir, stop.  We’ve got an obstruction. Lipton, check what’s wrong, Hubert, go with him just in case.”  The motors stop.

Two soldiers scramble down to look. “Fallen tree Sarge. I can just see a big trunk and greenery Sir.”

“We’ve got a fallen tree in the way Lieutenant, I’ll get the chainsaws out and clear it. We can’t see Sir, it’s only open about two feet. Yes Sir, we can try that. If it works it’ll save time and oxygen for the men’s suits.  We’re ready.”

Octavia smirks as attempt after attempt to get the door to push off the fallen trees and open past a couple of feet fails and when the two sergeants return from their look outside to report to their Lieutenant and order their men to get ready to walk, they are met with slumped shoulders and groans of despair. Despite the groans the soldiers work quickly and are soon kitted up and ready to leave. The two sergeants go first, squeezing through the narrow gap. Octavia stands to get a better view as one by one they disappear to the outside.

It takes time for all twelve to shuffle through the door, the instant they are gone the three grounders and Major Byrne materialise. Anya spits out some instructions in a foreign language and gestures for Mohican man, who she calls Lincoln, to come with her to the door. As he walks forward gunfire is heard from outside and a soldier squeezes back through the door. He’s dead in seconds as Anya’s blade finds his throat, Lincoln pulls the body back and out of sight.

Gunfire continues outside, three more soldiers scramble back inside. They meet death quickly at Anya or Lincoln’s hand.  Then there’s silence for minute or two, Octavia runs forward with a shout of victory, but a furious Byrne grabs her, slapping a hand across her mouth and whispering. “Quiet, they can hear you outside. We don’t know what’s happening out there.”  Octavia’s muffled ‘sorry’ earns her release. Lincoln moves to the door to listen; Octavia sidles up to him and whispers “I’ll look outside if you want. I’m small and good in tight spaces?”

Grace pulls her back. “I’ll go.” Anya nods her agreement. Grace picks up a fallen helmet, slaps it on her head and pulls the chinstrap tight, she edges her way through the partially open door. Grey-green and furrowed, the bark of an enormous trunk bars her way forward. She shuffles to the left; some branches have been cut off and she can squeeze through. Voices murmur above her. “…get this baby set up and we can strafe the trees.”

“Those arrow shooting fuckers will be history.”

“Hurry the fuck up, let’s hope the Lieutenant sends some reinforcements.” That’s a third voice, coming from the right. There’s a clattering of metal, followed by the clinking of an ammunition belt. Grace edges further to the left, needles, twigs and bark trickle down from the broken and crushed branches above, she’s desperate to sneeze, to swipe the dusty debris from her eyes, but she stays still and blinks her eyes clear. There’s at least three of them up there, maybe more. There were twelve in total, four are dead inside, two fiddling with the machine-gun and one to the right where are the others? Dead, wounded, waiting somewhere?

Anya arrives at her side and gestures that she will go to the right to kill the third speaker. Grace’s job is to kill the gunners. Gulping back fear and nerves, Grace edges further to the left and starts to pull herself up, one branch at a time. Maybe she can get above the gunners to make a clean shot? Gunfire starts to rattle off, the noise covers her own so Grace abandons stealth and scrambles upwards as fast as she can, her head pops into the open, the machine gun is about ten feet to her right, spitting bullets into trees. Leaves, needles, branches all are torn to pieces and smaller trees are ripped in two by the hot steel. The gun is in her hand, yet more bullets scream into the woods, she aims; fires three rounds, then another three. Headshots, not all on target but the big machine gun stops firing and both soldiers are thrown back as blood sprays, Grace ducks down, starting to crawl through the branches to check her kills and secure the machine gun. An arrow whistles overhead, fuck!

“Indra! How many have you killed?”  Anya far to the right of the doorway yells into the forest.

“Five”

“Stop firing, we are lukots (friends). The Maunon here are dead…..”  Anya waits a few beats before scrambling into the open. She looks around for the Skaigona (Sky warrior).  “Grace?”

26^th August 2149 Mt Weather Level 5 – evening meal

Bellamy champs through the boiled greens, potatoes and ‘ham’, the food is great here. Despite this he seems the only one with a good appetite, most of the women and some of the children at his table just look at the platters of food but don’t reach for any. Their loss, Bellamy takes seconds and adds gravy to his plate.

Myles sidles up and sits next to him. “Bellamy, these people are in trouble. A guy called Emerson was here a few minutes ago. He just hugged his wife and kids, then took all but two soldiers away with him.”

Bellamy pauses in his chewing. “He didn’t ask for me?”

“Er, I don’t think so. No. Why would he ask for you?” Myles picks up a bread roll, breaks it, adds a thick slice of ‘ham’ and starts to eat.

“I offered my services as an experienced Guard. If they need all their soldiers they need me. Wait here, I’ll go ask.”

Myles watches the older boy stomp his way past the women and kids sitting at the dinner tables before approaching one of the two soldiers left guarding the doorway.  There’s a brief exchange before Bellamy turns and beckons Myles to him.

Myles excuses himself as he makes his way through the dining hall. “I’m needed, Hopper here says you can come with. You ready to fight Myles?”

“Er.” Myles hesitates. He may not believe everything that Princess Clarke Griffin said about what these Mt Weather people do but Trina was a friend of his and he’s not helping the people who likely killed her. He shakes his head and heads back to where Lulu, Jessica and Roma are sitting. He doesn’t hear what Bellamy mutters to Hopper but it sounds snarky.

Outside the dining hall Bellamy walks tall down the long corridor. He can hear gunfire somewhere in the distance and he squares his shoulders. Octavia is safe in the vents, Wells and most of the delinquents have fled to the deepest levels, all he wants is a gun. With a gun he can fight; fight to keep Mt Weather clear of the savage outsiders. Then he and Octavia will be free of Princess Griffin and her stupid ideas.  In a side room is Sergeant Dali. The recruitment process is short.

“Have you ever fired a gun boy?”

“Yessir!”

“Repeat after me.”

“I pledge to support, honor, and be loyal to the United States, its Constitution, and its laws.”

“I pledge to support, honor, and be loyal to the United States, its Constitution, and its laws.”

Dali sounds almost bored as he continues his recitation.

“Where and if lawfully required, I further commit myself to defend the Constitution and laws of the United States as administered in Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center”

“Where and if lawfully required, I further commit myself to defend the Constitution and laws of the United States as administered in Mount Weather Emergency Operations Center”

“against all enemies, foreign and domestic, either by military, noncombatant, or civilian service.”

 “against all enemies, foreign and domestic, either by military, noncombatant, or civilian service.”

“Welcome to Mt Weather Guard Blake. Give the boy a gun and vest. Send him up to Level 3. Next.”

Back in the corridor he shrugs into a stab vest, it’s a tight fit but better than nothing. He straps himself in and then a weapon and magazines of ammo are thrust into his hands. He quickly familiarises himself with the Beretta MX4, flicks the safety off, then back on and checks the magazine. Hopper explains the basics and gives him a small rucksack for the extra ammo. He’s ready to go and follows his new colleague at a quick clip as they and a dozen others head up the stairs to Level 3.

27^th August 2149 Mt Weather The Oval Office – 0100 hours

Standing in the Oval office are four men, white skinned, pale and sweating. Black shadows smudge the skin beneath their eyes, shoulders are slumped and the smell of fear thickens the atmosphere in a room that once was a centre of power. Now it’s just a prison that stinks of defeat.

Dante Wallace: -

Former President of the USA

Age 70.

Married.  Artemesia (Arte) Fosca

Children – Cage

Creator of the Harvest Project, whereby the blood of ‘savage grounders’ (blood bags) was found to have the power to cure Mt Weather residents of radiation sickness and burns.

Cage Wallace: -

President of the USA

Age 47.

Married. Monet (Moni) Dressler

Children – Whistler

With the assistance of biochemist Lorelei Tsing, Cage developed the Cerberus Project. In Cerberus a highly addictive drug called RED is injected into captured grounders, who are then subjected to training using pain (electric shocks) and sonic frequencies. When trained they are biddable ‘Dogs’ that Cage uses as soldiers to; capture ‘blood bags’ for use in the Harvest Project, protect Mt Weather from attack through the mines and dispose of the bodies of dead ‘blood bags’ through cannibalism.

Carl Emerson: -

Lieutenant in the Mt Weather Guard

Age 45

Married. Riley Waters

Children – Weiwei and Richter

Whistler Wallace: -

Age 17

Unmarried

No children

Unchallenged Dante moves to sit at the big desk, he taps his fingers on the aged wood and leather. “We did all we could and lost. Cage, it’s time for you to tell our people the truth and give them the option of an easy death. We can’t save their lives but we can prevent them from being butchered by savages or burning up with radiation.”

“The self-destruct will kill them all anyway, they don’t need to know we failed.” 

“They need to know son. To have some time to prepare their souls for death and the self-destruct won’t kill instantly. We don’t want Arte and Moni. We don’t want anyone to suffer needlessly!” 

Cage paces for a while before turning to Emerson. “Carl, you have family, what do you say?” 

Dante turns away, not wanting to see pain contort the man’s face and angry with his son for pushing responsibility onto someone else. Emerson’s silent. Cage pushes. “Emerson you must have some thoughts.” 

Before Dante can intervene to silence Cage, Emerson speaks. “I don’t want them to suffer Sir.” 

Whistler can’t stay silent. “Dad, it’s mom and gran. We can’t let them die. Do something! We can’t just hide down here like cowards!” The slap isn’t hard but it seems loud in the quiet of the room. Cage steps back from the boy, he mustn’t let his anger get the better of him. Dante gives his son a cool look, before walking to the youngster and putting his arm around him.

“We have no choice Whisty, we’re beaten. With low cunning and sheer numbers, the savages have taken our home. Me, your mom, gran and so many others will die as soon as we breathe contaminated air.”

“What about me grandad? What about me?”

Cage sat himself at the desk as soon as Dante vacated it. He taps animatedly at the keyboard. Dante queries. “Cage?”

“I’ve given the order for cyanide pills to be issued to everyone in the Mess Hall and I’ve launched the missiles, all three of them. It’s time to go son, Emerson you’re with us. Dad when we’ve been gone two hours, they shouldn’t be able to break through the door before then, start the self-destruct countdown. Your cyanide pill is here.” He hands his father a small tin.

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th  Moon New. Mt Weather Control Room Level 7 - Night

It will be dark outside, the inky blue of a moonless night and Lexa misses the stars or as the messengers from Gustus report, the heavy clouds that empty rain onto the woods and villages of Trikru. Deep inside the Maunde it’s too easy to lose connection with the real world and more than once she’s relied on Clarke’s watch to measure how the day has progressed. It is unsettling to walk these tunnels of artificial rock lit by bars of tek, that cast harsh shadows yet give no heat. Where the tek lights have failed she has had torches lit, but it reminds her of the black mines of Ouskejon, where there is never enough light, no matter how many torches or candles are lit.

Reports and messengers flow in. Levels +2, +1, 0, 1 and 6 are under her control, as are parts of Levels 3, 4 and 5. On Level 7 she has the Control Room but it was made useless before her gonas got in. All they found was bodies, the Mt Weather soldiers died rather than be captured or exposed to radiation, and the tek seems inert. She has no-one with her who really understands all those buttons and switches. Clarke can flick the switches but she is a trainee fisa not a tek expert. Raven is on her way but the heavy rain is starting to flood the tunnels beneath Ton DC and she must travel by horse.  

The Oval Office cannot be opened, not yet anyway, and she suspects that those of highest rank are taking refuge there. Clarke tells her that it’s likely that control of Mt Weather’s machinery and tek has been transferred to within that office. Clarke suggests Monty, currently on Level 1 and much closer than Raven, could help but without reassurances for the safety of Jasper and Maya he’s unlikely to be fully cooperative.

Lexa ponders the problem. Monty, she knows from the (OT) Old Times, is talented with tek. “Clarke my warriors will not harm Monty, Jasper or Maya but we cannot control the air she breathes.”

Clarke understands, her mom is the only chance for Maya. Her mom and Ark bone marrow; Jasper will rush to donate and probably Monty. Clarke will also offer to help the brave Mountain girl. “Can we get word to Level 1, those reassurances should get him down here?”

“Sha, Level 2 is contained. I will send a runner.” As Lexa turns to call a messenger to her side, she and everyone else in the small room, staggers as an immense roar and rumble shakes the complex.

“What the fuck was that?”

A speaker in the corner crackles to life. “Three missiles Miss Griffin. Heading out to kill as many outsiders as I can.”

Clarke spins around looking for the camera. She can’t see one. “It’s too late to stop them.” There’s another crackle and then silence.

Chapter Text

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th  Moon New. Mt Weather’ High Meadows. Night

Falling Rain thanks Keryon (the Spirits) that it’s stopped raining. A mark or so before the sun set the dark clouds parted and strong sunshine had soil, foliage, tents and everyone’s clothes steaming.  Some warmth still lingers, even though the sky above is now a sparkling carpet of stars. Her gaze takes in the busy camp; torches, fires and lanterns are dotted across the meadows marking out; food stations, mortuaries, latrine trenches and the track that winds its’ way into the dark forest, where the fisas’ tents and captured Ripas are hidden amongst the trees. She checks the cords holding the nets in place before giving the cart-driver a wave and with a flick of his whip the horses start to pull, six gonas trudge alongside. She turns to Ontari, showing the Azgeden a face tight with weariness and sorrow.

“Only thirty-one.” Her hands move to rest on her knees as she takes a few deep breaths; fighting Ripas, fighting Maunon, recovering bodies for the pyres, lifting immobilised Ripas onto carts that carry them to the fisas, all is hard physical work. “We’ve lost seventy of our own, ended the fight of forty-eight Ripas and of the thirty-one Ripas we captured alive, how many will live? I did not foresee how hard on our bodies and spirits this task would be.” Her spidery fingers comb through her hair, loosening messy braids, then retying them into a tight cap.

Ontari looks at the older plana (woman), to her surprise the Ingranronakru gona and her comrades fought well and stuck to the plan, but Falling Rain is right; they may have prevailed in battle, but what they have won was at great cost and so much is still unknown about how, or even if, Ripas can recover. Like Sangedakru gonas who chew ‘battle-leaves’ then fight like wild animals, Ripas have no fear of pain or injury and never retreat. To fight them is difficult, to fight them with the aim of capturing without killing, was close to impossible. The Maunon joining in with their fayoguns only made it more difficult.

Falling Rain looks anxiously at the Azgedan, “Ontari kom Azgeda you have won this battle for Heda, all the living Ripas have gone to the fisas, the Maunon in the mines are dead and their fortress open. Now is the time to have your own wounds tended to, Echo” she gestures to Haihefa (King) Roan’s trusted gona who is standing nearby, “and I, can arrange care for those who escaped the Maunon’s cages of death, and Heda has sent some skai planas (sky women) to deal with the youngons (youngsters) from the skai.”

Ontari turns to look daggers at both, but her glare is muted by her need to conceal a wince of pain. Close to the battle’s end she was thrown by an enormous Ripa against the side of a mining cart, its’ sharp edge connected, first with her hip and then her head, hard. The hip bone gave a nasty crack on impact and she’s been seeing double and subject to sudden nosebleeds ever since. She feels like skrish (shit), walking is painful and the idea of mounting a horse makes her feel sick.

But before she can reply that she is ‘fine’ and will seek out a fisa when she needs one, the ground shakes with a booming rumble and from the top of the Maunde three sleek shapes emerge, each trailing billows of burning gas and smoke. Everyone looks up in terror. “Bigas boomas! (missiles)” Falling Rain mutters, as the three missiles rise high into the starry sky. All but the very young have heard of the Maunon’s most potent weapon and that it was used to deadly effect when Heda Malachi kom Sangedakru discovered a cache of fayoguns and taught his gonas how to fire them.  

The whole meadow falls silent, all eyes follow the smoke trails. The first silver tube roars across the sky heading north-east, the second curves to the north-west and the third spins on its axis to whistle away into the far south-west. A cold weight drops into Ontari’s chest as she mouths. ‘Polis, Chica and Atlan’. The Kongeda’s three greatest cities, could become places of burning death. She gulps, everyone knew this was a risk, the kru Chiefs had agreed with Heda Lexa that ending the Maunon was worth that risk but what will they think now, when that risk has become reality?

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th  Moon New. Mt Weather Control Room Level 7 – a mark later

Outside the Control Room the sound of battering rams crashing into the Oval Office’s door, is the background rhythm to Lexa’s thoughts.  The missiles she can do nothing about, and neither it seems can Monty. He was as blunt as a kind skat (boy) could be.

“To hit a land-based target Commander, these missiles can be controlled in one of two ways. First, they could be guided by a laser beam. A soldier would travel to the target, the missile would be launched and follow the beam that the soldier would project. That way would be accurate but it’s limited by the need to get a soldier out of the Mountain and near to the target. Anyway, for whatever reason they didn’t use that method. Instead, they used a form of ‘dead reckoning’. I can see from the launch system’s records that each missile was pre-programmed to hit a selected map co-ordinate. Once launched that can’t be reset and they travel so fast, three times faster than sound, that they will have already reached their targets by now. I’m sorry there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”

Lexa’s whole body feels cold, she wants to vomit. Instead, she asks the pale looking youth. “What targets? Can you tell me the settlements that will need aid?”

“Yes, I can compare the maps used by Mt Weather; United States National Grid maps, with your own maps showing where your settlements are. For example, one missile has been sent to USNG ref 18T UF 8678 1600 and I have no idea where that is in relation to where your people live but I can find out. But Commander, I think you will want me and Raven, if she arrives soon, to look at something else.”

Lexa breathes in, holds herself back from lashing out in frustration at a skat telling her bad news as gently as he can. “What is that Monty kom Skaikru?”

“The self-destruct programme for the Mt Weather Complex. There is one, it’s referred to numerous times in the defence protocols, and if it’s used this whole place will be destroyed and everyone in it will be dead.”

Clarke feels the blood drain from her own face and even Lexa pales. “Can you tell if the self-destruct programme has been initiated Monty?”

“Yes, and it hasn’t, not yet. But I’d really like help with trying to take control of that system. I need Raven, Clarke.”

“She’s on her way Monty. Commander, do you know when she will arrive?”

“She will be here very soon; Anya is waiting for her at Level 3.  Anya will also bring Octavia kom Skaikru with her. Octavia knows where Wells hid most of your people Clarke.” Lexa smiles wryly “He did a good job; we are now searching all known levels and haven’t found them yet.”

Clarke’s smile in response is wan, the discovery of over one hundred dead Mt Weather residents, their women and children, in the dining hall on Level 5 shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was. She knows that they could not survive exposure to radiation. That’s why Maya, her father and a few others are hiding in a food processing unit on Level 1. But that so many children and non-combatants would die hadn’t seemed real, until it was.

Just how many died in this battle became sickening reality when Monty powered up the computers in the Control Room and the screens on the wall started to show pictures of; corridors, rooms, stairways and elevators, all littered with dead Mt Weather soldiers and dead or injured Coalition warriors. When the image of the dining hall popped up, she couldn’t at first make out what had happened. Then she saw, each table had residents sitting at it, but they were still, slumped forward onto the table-top or bent down, hunched protectively over a smaller figure, their child.  The only people alive in the flag bedecked room were a few delinquents, they were huddled together by the door, terrified and some in tears. Clarke was grateful when Lexa suggested that Callie and Grace were free to go and rescue them from that tomb and, along with Murphy and a few others who had escaped from the Harvest Chamber, take them to join her mom and the other delinquents in Ton DC. Clarke wished she could go with them, away from a place that smelled sickeningly of blood and burnt skin, but she had to find Wells and the others, thirty by her reckoning, and get them to safety.  

27^th August 2149 Mt Weather. The Oval Office – 0300 hours

Dante sits at the big desk, a Baccarat tumbler of Black Maple Hill bourbon rests on the worn leather in-front of him; carefully he places the half empty bottle beside it. With a shaking forefinger he stops a wayward drop from rolling down onto the leather, then he sips at the exquisite liquor, its smooth, sweet, richness coating his tongue. If this is the last thing he’s going to taste…….hmm; but it won’t be the last thing will it? Cyanide and failure, that’s what will be on his lips when he dies. He takes another taste, a long pull this time and, when it strikes three bell-like chimes, he turns to look with affectionate respect at the long case clock that stands proudly against the wall. It’s a Simon Willard, over 400 years old and keeps good time. Three in the morning is as good a time to die as any, a few more minutes and Cage, Whistler and Emerson will have the two hours start they need. Thump. Thump. The door will hold out a little longer, giving him enough time to savour this magnificent one hundred-year-old whiskey.

His head droops a little, the hand holding the beautiful glass trembles and his thoughts drift. ‘Failure.’ This is failure. The crème de la crème of the twenty-first century’s political elite and some of the most privileged families in America took refuge in Mt Weather. The President, his; extended family, Vice President, private physician, advisors, cabinet, plus a smattering of foreign dignitaries, bureaucrats, servants and soldiers. All survived the nuclear apocalypse in this great bunker. Safe from radiation, all their descendants had to do was wait out the two hundred years needed to make the planet habitable; at which point they would walk out of the mountain, take back the land of their ancestors and start to rebuild.

That’s not going to happen. A tear falls, his mind feels foggy, his body heavy. For a few minutes he’s lost in thought. Where did it go wrong? Where did he go wrong?  He takes another sip……..

He blinks; did he drop off?

He straightens up in his chair, then the former President pulls open the desk’s central drawer and takes out a small grey box. The data drive inside fits snuggly into a slot on his keyboard and the monitor lights up with a picture of the Great Seal of the USA.  

27^th August 2149 Mt Weather Level 8 – 0300 hours

Cage leads the way, Whistler’s next, almost treading on his father’s heels and Emerson brings up the rear, gun at the ready.  This final stairway is narrow and steep, its’ concrete steps gritty, unpolished by use or cleaning. As they trek down their heavy boots scuff up dust and grey cobwebs stick to their hair, packs and clothes.  All three are bent almost double by the weight of their kit. It had been hard to decide what to take, almost an hour of their escape time was used finding and selecting the right stuff to put in these bags; now it’s everything they own; survival kit, maps, pictures of loved ones, clothes, guns, valuables, a small e tablet (thrust into Whistler’s hand by his grandfather) containing a record of the world’s greatest art and literature, knives and ammunition.

Cage looks at his watch, his father should be initiating the self-destruct right about now. They must get out pronto.

Level 8 is as expected, dark and deserted. Ahead Cage sees flickering lights, they stride forward and then - he hears a slight scuffle! He draws his pistol and mouths ‘Hostiles?’ to Emerson. Beckoning Whistler to his side, Cage puts a finger to his son’s lips demanding silence. They pause and listen then weapons at the ready they move into the vast space, there’s plenty of cover, hundreds of squat pillars, and row after row of fuel tanks, most of them empty of anything but vapour.  They walk very slowly, resisting the temptation to hurry; they’re so close to escape but if the savages are here, it could all end in death. Cage leads, pistol held two handed and at the ready. Emerson covers their backs, his sub-machine gun in constant movement, raking the darkness behind them. Whistler, his hands shaking, clutches a pistol of his own.  At every row they stop, watching and listening for any sign of the enemy. Silence. No movement. They go on, past tanks, bits of old machinery, a wheel-less trolley, some sacks pushed against the side wall, a couple of empty bottles. The far wall looms into sight, an old switchboard and finally, thank fuck, the door to the outside.

Cage surges ahead, they’re running out of time, making for the door which he can see is secured by four heavy duty tower bolts. As he reaches it, he grabs at the top bolt but then pulls back, spinning around, pistol raised. “What the fuck?” Says Emerson, who just wants the door open and them out of there.

“Someone’s tried to open this door. Very recently. Look there’s flakes of rust everywhere and two bolts are loosened, ready to open but the others are still rusted up. You two, cover my back.” Cage starts to open the bolts, but the rusted ones won’t budge. “Have we got a hammer? A chisel?”

“I have a hand-axe and maybe a chisel”

Whistler drops his pack and starts to rifle through it. Cage waits, his back chilling with sweat, he looks at his watch 0320. The self-destruct programme will be live now, there’s no time to waste.

Emerson stands, finger on the trigger as his eyes taking in the tanks, pillars and dusty concrete flooring. Someone’s here; he can sense them. Now he’s still and has time to really focus, he spots scuffs in the dust, marking narrow trails through the rows of tanks, and there are faint smells; piss, sweat, petrol and is that oatmeal?

“Where’s that axe?”

“I’m looking dad.”

“Well hurry the fuck up.”

“Achoo!” Emerson startles and instinctively fires off a short burst. Cage jumps back, almost falling over Whistler who’s holding up a small single-bladed axe. They tangle for a moment. There’s the sound of liquid spurting from a holed tank and hitting the floor, the acrid stink of fuel.

“Shit!”

“Whoever you are show yourselves.” Silence. A sliding noise to the right has Emerson swinging around, but he can’t see anyone.

“Hand me the axe! And find the chisel.”

Emerson fires another burst, there’s a yelp. “I said show yourselves! Or there’ll be more of that!”

“We don’t want to hurt you. We’re just hiding.”

“Hey, is that you Wells?” Whistler’s voice squeaks a little with excitement.

“The fucking sky-kids,” whispers Emerson. “I wondered where they went.”

Cage moves to stand behind the soldier and whispers. “I saw their leader Clarke with the savages. She probably showed them the way in.”

“Look, we mean you no harm. We just want to get out too. There’s no need to shoot.”

“I want you in my sights now boy or …” Emerson fires another burst, to his right. There’s no yelp this time but a figure steps out from behind a pillar, about forty yards away. Hands raised. It’s Wells.

“We don’t have any weapons.”

Jesus, Mary, Joseph and their sweet fucking donkey! Dax despairs. He’s come to like Wells, but the boy is just too good and too trusting for his own good. The last thing to tell an enemy with a gun is that you’re unarmed. He hears movement behind his back and turns to angrily wave a couple of kids, who look like joining the ‘oh so noble Chancellor’s son’ in this stupidity, back into hiding.

“Walk forward boy.”

“Wells stay put.” Dax whisper shouts.

“Walk forward or..” another burst and Wells takes a few steps bringing him closer to Emerson.

Ten minutes later Wells is standing by Emerson, the gun’s barrel resting against his belly. Behind Emerson, Cage is sweating, the fucking bolts are rusted solid, available tools are the blunt end of an axe and a chisel if his fool of a son can find it. “Whisty find that fucking chisel, we need to get out of here.”

Sniffling Whistler tips his pack up, almost emptying it out, he’s gets to his knees scrabbling through the pile of stuff.

27^th August Mt Weather Level 3 – 0330

They’d found him on the floor of room 302, unconscious and bleeding from a head wound, it looked like he’d caught the blast from a grenade and then some shrapnel. She’d been looking for sky children, any one of them would do. He would do. Her gloved hand gestures to the suited figures standing behind her.   

“It’s the sky boy Bellamy. His bone marrow is our way out of here. Nurse, Corporal pick him up and get him next door. We can drill out his bone marrow and inoculate ourselves. It’s not an instant cure but we can use his blood to tide us over until the marrow takes.” 

He’s heavy but it’s not far to carry him. Strapping him on the table is straight forward and Tsing readies the drill. It’s good that he’s out of it, she’s not got anaesthetic or pain relief. The drill whines as it speeds up, Corporal Banksy cuts through the boy’s pants to expose the well-muscled arse and upper thigh. When the drill makes first contact there’s a spray of blood, but it cuts quick and deep and the nurse syphons the bloody tissue away, giving the doctor a clear view of the target bone.

27^th August Mt Weather Oval Office Level 7 – 0330

Dante’s body was removed with little ceremony, bundled into a carpet, probably some priceless and artistic rug, and pushed out of sight. The Oval Office is now Raven’s domain, as she works to abort the self-destruct program that Dante initiated a few minutes ago. The countdown 25 minutes 40 seconds is ticking away on Dante’s desktop monitor.

Clarke stands in the destroyed doorway; behind her back is the open elevator and through its’ shaft she can hear the Mountain emptying of people. Indra, Gustus and Tristan are evacuating all gonas, through the mines (Level 3) and the dam (Level 6). At her side is Ryder, behind him Penn. Lexa and her surviving handmaids are deep inside the office, looking for the exit  that must be there.

Five minutes ago, Clarke had a shouting match with Octavia that ended with them both in tears and O running back upstairs to find Bellamy. Yes, she knew Clarke had to find Wells and the others on Level 8, but she couldn’t abandon her brother even if Myles said that he had joined the Mt Weather soldiers. “My brother, my responsibility!”

Clarke drags her attention back to Raven.

Raven’s second screen shows nothing but lines of code, the mechanic, Monty at her side, taps at speed on the keyboard.  “We’re getting there but fuck it’s going to be close.”

27^th August 2149 Mt Weather Level 8 – 0345 hours

Emerson’s swinging at the final bolt now, Cage put the chisel through his own palm when it slipped. Now with his left hand bandaged he’s leaning back against the wall, his pistol’s barrel rests on Wells’ shoulder. Whistler is busy repacking his bag.

“Look Mr President.” Wells is trying to be the voice of reason but no-one wants to listen.

“Don’t Mr President me boy! You people, you kids, you have no respect. Don’t pretend that you honour my Office or me. Emerson are we there yet?”

“Nearly.”  A harsh scraping and a bang follow. “That’s the last one.” Cage watches as Emerson draws the top bolt, turns the door handle and pushes against the door. It cracks open.

“Time to go.” It’s Emerson shrugging into his pack and helping Whistler into his. He picks up Cage’s.

Cage raises his pistol to rest the muzzle against Wells’ skull. He shouts into the seemingly empty Level. “I want you to tell Clarke Griffin that I saw her with those savages. I saw her invade my home. We offered you shelter, food, a life as one of us, one of the elite, and what did she do? She killed innocent men, women and children. This," he can’t hold back the angry tears, "is my message to Clarke. You ‘all make sure she gets it.” He pulls the pistol’s slide back, a little awkwardly due to his bandaged hand but he manages.

“Cage, don’t you want to kill me. I’m the one you want!” Clarke steps out from behind a fuel tank, Cage swings the pistol to his right to take a shot at her, as a knife, thrown with exquisite accuracy, pierces his right wrist. The pistol falls. It goes off.  Whistler makes a strange choking sound as the bullet lodges in his throat. Emerson slips through the door and outside.

27^th August Mt Weather Oval Office Level 7 – 0350

The countdown freezes at 5 minutes 50 seconds. Raven high-fives Monty and Anya smiles at the gada from the skai.

Chapter Text

28^th August 2149 –  Mt Weather.

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10 8^th   Moon Waxing Crescent

Yesterday Octavia ran away from Clarke in tears, both girls were in tears. Clarke desperate to get Octavia and the other delinquents to safety, had pleaded with the younger girl to go with her to collect the kids hiding on Level 8 and then get out before the whole mountain blew up. Octavia, driven to find her brother and save him, even from himself, must go back. He’s in here, somewhere! They embrace; Clarke pushes a pistol into her hand and Octavia runs.

The Commander ordered her people to leave the Mountain, they obeyed and for a few hours Octavia has the huge complex to herself. Myles had parted from Bell on Level 5, when Level 6 had already been taken over by the Grounders, so 5 is where she starts looking, stepping out of the stairwell into a large lobby. With firm purpose in her steps, she turns right, along a corridor that has cement walls decorated with fading stencils of flowers and leaves. It’s not long before she finds the first bodies. Clarke told her that the Grounders had taken all their wounded to the healers and that they’d started to remove their dead. The rubber-suited or scorched bodies of Mt Weather’s soldiers and citizens would be retrieved when that task was complete.

The place is starting to smell, it’s warm and already flies have made their way inside to feast on the spilt blood and offal. A ‘Kitchen Staff Only’ sign doesn’t stop her, inside yesterday’s cooked food is spoiling in dirty pans and dishes. Two cooks, aprons filthy with food and what looks like vomit, sit side by side on the red-tiled floor, both graceless in death. A quick look around the kitchen and adjacent storerooms. No sign of Bell.

She’s systematic, corridor after corridor, room after room. Body after body. She doesn’t look or touch the ones wearing grounder leather or furs, nor the ones in hazmat gear, but of the others, so many are face down, have dark hair and it’s only when she turns them over, that she finds the radiation burns and sees their faces.  ‘MESS HALL’. She knows what’s in there, not Bell, she walks on. More corridors, more rooms, more silence.

Level 4 is all machinery and stairwells full of dead people, the steps slippery with pools of near dried blood. Climbing over the corpses to check on the dark-haired boy curled under an enormous grounder is unnerving; the dead sigh and murmur when her weight, slight though it is, deflates lungs, or disturbs limbs. He’s not Bell.

She’s exhausted, is it late? Nothing has gone boom and there’s a faint background murmur of voices, that wasn’t there before. Raven must have come through and disarmed the self-destruct. Woman is a fucking genius.

Level 3 ‘Reception’. There are blankets in the hospital ward next door and she piles them up on the threadbare couch. Taps still gush water, both hot and cold, and the Receptionist has a stash of energy bars. On waking the clock says 4 o’clock, morning or afternoon Octavia has no idea, but after another drink and energy bar she keeps looking.

Only to discover that Level 3 is a fucking maze. At its’ heart is a vast chamber full of empty cages that is linked to, treatment rooms, airlocks, wards, nightmarish equipment in what looks like torture chambers.  There are decontamination suites with showers, lockers and hazmat suits that hang like slender ghosts.    Walk-in fridges with shelves full of, bags of blood or plasma, bottles of bright red liquid and vials of medicines. Cupboards carefully stocked with medical equipment, bandages, strangely tattered clothing made of flimsy white cotton. An autoclave that blinks green, a message cycling across its’ LCD screen states that “Sterilisation is Complete”.  Racks of bottles filled with pills of all shapes and sizes (who could swallow that? Oh, they’re not to be taken by mouth. Ouch!) Everything is carefully labelled.

Feet aching, eyes gritty with unshed tears, the girl who lived under the floor is not going to give up. She’ll find him, wherever he is. At the end of yet another corridor is a suite of labs and offices. Same old, she must have searched a dozen by now. Octavia barrels into the small office and comes to an abrupt halt. Unlike the others she’s passed through this desk is neat. Pens and a pad are aligned, the computer monitor displays a graph and some colourful pie charts. There’s a half empty cup of a drink that smells strongly of mint, very slightly warm to the touch. Oh.

The door into the next room, labelled ‘Hub Four’, has a small circular window and she can see that it’s some kind of operating theatre. Big lights, wheeled table and everything washable. The dark-haired figure on the table is face down, has torn pants and wounds that have bloodied dressings loosely taped over both buttocks and thighs. A tube secured to his forearm, runs down to a bag on the floor that’s full of blood.  

“Bell!”

Octavia slams through the door and wrenches out the cannula, the wound bleeds only sluggishly. His face is deathly pale, breathing shallow! Bracing herself she pushes hard to roll him over, then big hands are there helping her. “Lincoln!”

“The Commander sent me to look for you. Is this your brother?”

“Yeah. Help me roll him over so he can breathe easier.”  With Lincoln’s help Bellamy is turned over, Octavia puts a pillow beneath his head. “I’ll go and get some water…”

Thump!  Then the sound of someone or something dragging? A voice? She can’t tell.  Both look at the closed door into what Octavia had assumed was another operating theatre. Lincoln stands back and draws his sword.

28^th August 2149 –  Mt Weather meadows.

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10 8^th   Moon Waxing Crescent

The battle is over, fear of immediate death or injury fades and Clarke’s had that difficult conversation with Wells about his dad being dead, shot by Sydney. Wells hadn’t cried, he’d just looked lost and held his hand to his chest like it hurt. The joy of their reunion was sincere but this news made it a muted affair. Now together with Wells, the rescued delinquents and the ever-present Ryder and Penn, Clarke makes her way out of the Mountain to join her mom. Abby has heard about the desperate plight of Ripas withdrawing from Red and of healers overwhelmed by the number of injured, so she left Ton DC in Fisa (Healer) Rhea and Charlie’s capable hands and joined Luna and Nyko at the healers’ camp below Mt Weather’s meadows.

As Wells, Clarke and a trail of delinquents cross the meadows Callie rides up, looking remarkably comfortable on a horse, to take Wells and his group to join the others getting ready to go to Ton DC. It feels good that so many of the kids got out of that hellish place in one piece, though Clarke still worries about Octavia and Bellamy. Lexa’s promised her that when the siblings are found she’ll send a messenger to Clarke with the news.

When Clarke finds Abby, she’s not with the Ripas, but at the bedside of an annoyed looking Ontari. A dark-haired woman standing by the pallet is firing anxious questions at Abby and Harper is hovering close by. Harper gives Clarke a quick grin.

“Will Captain Ontari recover? How long will it take?”

“I must examine her first, before I can tell anyone anything.” Abby’s examination is thorough and takes some time. Echo looks on, chewing her lip. When Clarke walks up to them, Abby briefly clasps her hands in hers.

“Ontari your hip bone is broken. You must rest for the bone to heal. No running, fighting or riding. More important though is the head injury it could be serious, even very serious. The nose bleeds, dizziness and pain could mean that your brain is still bleeding. Without modern technology I can’t tell how bad that injury is. I’m sorry but all I can say is that you need to rest and we must watch over you, for at least a couple of days.”

Echo’s expression is a tortured mix of anger and fear and Ontari slumps back on the bed with an angry huff.  “Have you no tek that can help?”

“No, I have no technology.”

Clarke steps a little closer to Abby. “There’s technology in Mt Weather mom, scanners, operating theatres. Things like that.”

“There is? Can we use it?”

“We can ask the Commander. I’ll go back and talk to her.”

Echo interrupts. “I will go; I will be faster. What should I say?” After a brief discussion with Abby about what she needs Echo commandeers a horse and rides away.  

For a few seconds mother and daughter watch the horse and rider, both entranced by the grace and speed. Reuniting with her mom and Harper, Finn continues to steer clear of Ontari, and hearing about how well Charlie and the Ton DC delinquents are doing makes Clarke happy but at the same time everything feels so precarious. Emerson escaped, Jaha is dead, where are Pike and Sydney? How long will things remain peaceful? Thoughts and worries tumble through her head and when Abby gently holds her hands Clarke realises her fists are clenched. But being with Abby, moving between patients as she dispenses advice, examines injuries and discusses symptoms is a familiar routine and slowly Clarke’s spirits, agitated by the shocks and violence of the last few days, start to calm. And although she would like to forget it all fast, Clarke is able to give the patients, healers, warriors and pretty much everyone in camp, what they are so anxious to find out, the latest news.

Before she left the Mountain Clarke had a few moments with Lexa, the Commander like everyone else was battered and tired but desperately wanted to spend some time with the woman she loves. But she can never forget that she is the Commander and it is important that Clarke is briefed on what she can and cannot tell people and so their tender moment is just that, a moment. Then the briefing. First, her people must not know that their Commander suffered an injury. The through and through bullet wound to Lexa’s thigh was inflicted during the heavy fighting for Level 6. Seeing that Lexa bled black blood was a shock, but it didn’t stop Clarke, with help from Jules, applying pressure, then stitching and dressing the wounds.  No doubt the Commander will be in pain for some time but she’s able to walk, albeit a little slowly and it didn’t affect Lexa’s ability to throw a knife accurately, much to Cage Wallace’s fury.

The news about the missiles though is different, this her people need to know. An audience gathers when Clarke and Abby take a break from rounds, all are asking for news of the Commander and the missiles. Clarke makes vague statements about how busy the Commander is, then explains about the missiles and how the Mountain Men had programmed them to hit specific targets.

“As you know Mountain Men could not walk freely outside their home, so apart from some villages a few miles, er leagues, from the base of Mt Weather, they knew very little about the land and your people.” Heads nod in agreement. The Maunon were seen occasionally in the woods of Trikru or on the borders of Azgeda, Ouskejon or Boudalan but no further. “But they did have maps.  Maps that were made before the bombs fell. So, they used these maps when they decided where to send the missiles. They chose places marked on their maps as big and important. New York, Indianapolis and New Orleans.”  These once great cities mean nothing to her audience who look blankly back at her.

“Commander Lexa had to explain this to me, because I am new to the ground. She said that New York is now called the Dead Zone, that Indianapolis is part of the Great Plains and New Orleans was drowned by the sea many seasons ago.” The audience starts to catch on, sly smirks and grins appear. “The Commander told me that the missiles, the Mountain Men intended to strike places that would be full of people, landed in; a place that is almost deserted; a wide-open space where buffalo roam freely but there are few people and the sea. Commander Lexa, together with Chiefs Windsong and Fenrir, will send scouts to check where they fell but it seems unlikely that there will be many casualties.”

Laughter and nervous guffaws break out, everyone feared that Polis or one of the big settlements like Chica would be hit.  Who would have thought that the Maunon could be such branwadas.

Murphy lies back in the long grass and sneezes, sneezes and sneezes again. Fuck, this outdoors life is messy, with itches, sneezes and blindingly bright sunshine. He needs some shades, tough guys in the old cop shows he used to watch on Ark TV always wore shades and looked cool. At least he’s wearing pants now, not just some, used to be white, underpants made of old bandages.  He sits up and wipes the snot off his hand with a hank of grass.

Major Byrne and Pascal arrive with baskets full of warm bread rolls and hot greasy meat. Pascal helps her slice the meat and hand out the food. “We’ll make our way to Ton DC when Callie gets the ‘all clear’ from Indra to use a cart for Luc.”  Murphy chews, content to sit in the warm sun and eat his hot pork batch. He hands the last of the antibiotics to Luc whose wounds are healing well, though the younger boy still finds walking painful. 

“Hey! Murphy!” There’s the thunder of running feet and he’s suddenly at the bottom of a pile of bodies. “Mmph, ugh, fuck! Hey!”

Grace smiles as they all crowd around Murphy in a free for all of hugs, tackles, shouts and tumbles. “Wells! Finn! Guys.” For a few moments war is forgotten and they’re kids again.

“Food?” That’s Wells, disentangling himself from the pile of bodies and ambling over to the Major looking hopeful.

“We got warning you were on the way, there’s plenty for everyone.”  

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th  Moon First Quarter. Mt Weather’ Meadows. Midday

2nd September 2149

For five days huge pyres have burned, roaring flames release to Keryon (the Spirits) those who died in battle and after discussions with the fleimkepas (flame keepers) present as part of the army, Gaia, Gwen and Hywl, Lexa decides that Dante along with the women and children of the Maunon who committed suicide, would be included. There’s no shortage of wood. Some of the trees felled by Indra, Tomas and their gonakrus, have been repurposed for the task and the great door into the Maunde is now clear.   

When the pyres have burnt to glowing embers and formal mourning is over, then is the time for justice, for punishment and any executions. Jus drein, Jus daun. (Blood must have blood.) President Cage Wallace, Dr Lorelei Tsing, Corporal Banksy Pelham and Nurse Chagall Lomas, will die by 1000 cuts. They owe their ability to survive outside to the bone-marrow of skai goufas (sky children), Bellamy’s blood was also stolen. Securely gagged, the criminals are secured to four posts that are fixed firmly into the ground.  Thousands, both gonas and villagers, wait for their chance to cut.

At midday Heda Lexa and her advisors (including Clarke) walk onto the small stage that Indra’s gonakru erected at the lower end of the meadow. It overlooks the army which stands to attention when Lexa moves forward ready to speak. The meadows’ slope is sufficient to allow each gona to see Heda Lexa as she stands, victorious, strong and vibrant. Her warpaint, pauldron, red sash and helm, mark her as their leader. Already they call her Bigas Heda (Great Heda), the one who united the krus through words and battle and then defeated the Maunon, using strength and cunning.

She speaks in gonasleng, so all gonas and those about to be executed, can understand her. Translators relay her message to the villagers.

First, she orders that today her gonas are to sit while she speaks. They have done their part in defeating the Maunon, deserve to rest and she has much to say. The army sits, noticing that Heda allows herself a small smile.  She praises all who took part in the battle, the survivors, the injured and the hundreds who died honourably facing fayogun bullets and exploding grenades. She thanks the fisas and those who support her gonas.

Then as briefly as she can she reveals the ten years of planning and work that brought them victory. Honourable mention is made of Kenton kom Boudalan, the disgraced former Chief of his kru has redeemed himself. He will be allowed to return to his home though will never lead his kru again. Gustus kom Trikru, Ontari kom Azgeda, Luna kom Floukru, Indra kom Trikru, Windsong kom Ingranronakru and many others are mentioned by name as contributing to victory. Raven and Clarke kom Skaikru are also mentioned. After the praise of those who helped win the battle, Lexa addresses directly the four Maunon tied to the posts.  

“It is our way to allow anyone who has suffered at the hands of a wrongdoer to seek justice. You, of Mt Weather, stole our loved ones, caged them, bled them, turned them into Ripas and slaughtered them like cattle. In battle your guns and grenades killed and injured many. We are entitled to justice. Blood must have blood. Jus drein, jus daun!”

The meadows echo with the people’s roar of approval and “Jus drein, jus daun.”

Turning back to her people she invites those who are to take part in the execution. “If you or your loved ones have suffered at the hands of the Maunon you are entitled to a cut as part of this execution.” In silence four lines form snaking across the meadows and down into the woods.

Clarke swallows, almost gulps, she knows what’s going to happen. Lexa explained it all very carefully before inviting her to stand with the inner circle on the stage. And Clarke can understand the importance of being strong, of being seen to be a strong leader and on the ground that means being someone who can stand and watch as four people are carved into a mess of meat and blood. That sort of strength is important in this culture of swords, battle and vengeance.

Octavia stands in line, her dagger (a gift from Lincoln) in her hand, ready to cause as much pain as she can with one cut to Dr Lorelie Tsing. Bellamy may never walk again. Tsing’s butchery of his hip and thigh bones was so brutal that his right leg has been rendered useless through nerve damage and the left is still in danger of amputation. He had fought briefly for the Maunon and many would think a death sentence inevitable, but Clarke argued that Octavia’s contribution to defeating the Maunon and capturing three of those to be executed, was substantial and Bellamy’s treachery has been punished by his injuries. Lexa’s final word on the matter was that even though he had taken up arms to defend the Maunon, he would be allowed to live in Polis if he gave a blood oath not to bear arms. He gave his oath and it was Anya, never a plana (woman) to mince her words, who told him that if he is ever discovered to have picked up a gun or any other weapon he will be killed on sight.

Lexa and her advisors agreed that the death of all but one of the guilty Maunon, through battle, execution, suicide or exposure to radiation was sufficient for jus drein jus daun.  Emerson will be hunted down, Quint is already on his trail and those protected by Jasper and Monty (the Resistance), will be spared to live under Clarke’s leadership if the voluntary bone marrow donations from the Skaikru allow them to walk freely on the ground.

The executions begin; gonas untie the gags and call forward four villagers who have been chosen to make the first cuts. Immediately his gag is removed Cage Wallace starts to shout abuse at the ‘fucking primitives’ who dare approach him, but soon his words turn to screams as blade after blade, some Lexa suspects purposely blunted for the occasion, carve into his flesh. An hour later the smell of shit and offal is vile, though thankfully the screams have stopped and blood trickles rather than spurts. Clarke feels sick but she stands with the Commander and her inner circle, as they watch. She sees Octavia, pale but determined, take her turn to cut Tsing. There’s no hesitation, no tremor in the hand holding the knife, no regret visible in her eyes. Indra, who’s standing near Clarke as she watches Octavia take her cut, asks about the skaigada who has chosen to take part in the execution.

None survive to die on the Commander’s sword.

After mourning and justice comes the celebrations. Four days of the biggest, baddest, partying that the delinquents, Arkers and the people of the ground have ever seen!

The Maunon are defeated, Ripas are being cured, no-one will be stolen for their blood. The Kongeda celebrates this greatest of victories with; music, dancing, food, drink, entertainers, more food, more drink. Fireworks! Competitions including archery, knife throwing, darts, limbo, running (long and short distances) and at last the delayed ‘futbal tournament’ is held. The winners Delphikru are awarded an immense silver bowl engraved with their sigil, a circle with four inward facing arrows.

Delphikru are jubilant, the runners up Trikru are almost gracious in defeat and the semi-finalists Azgeda and Ingranronakru utter threats of vengeance, but only in relation to winning the next tournament. Overall, the futbal is a great success and Lexa keen to push youthful energy and fitness into more peaceful channels promises to hold another competition next year.

Raven’s decided that ‘heaven is on earth’.  Anya now shows considerable interest in the mechanic, who is enjoying making the aloof grounder ‘work’ to get her attention. This ‘hard to get’ tactic has resulted in the beautiful wormana presenting Raven with a lovely red leather jacket. “Just something I found in a bunker.” Said Anya as she handed it over. “I thought you might like it.” And there’s the food. Anya or Tris are always dropping by with a tasty snack. “We must keep your strength up Skaigada.” Anya hands an exhausted Raven, who’d just pulled an all-nighter making radios for the Commander, a meat filled bread pocket and yes even though she was scarcely conscious Raven remembers vividly that the meat’s juices tasted divine on the lips of that beautiful woman. She is so fucked!

In the Rule of Heda Lexa. Year 10. 8^th    Full Moon. Mt Weather’ Meadows. Midday

8^th September 2149

The Maunde hums with life, people of all krus, under orders from their Heda take part in the emptying of the Maunde. Treasures, art, tek and weaponry will be removed. The weapons, tek and medical equipment will go to Polis, the art and treasures are to be divided between all krus.  There is much to be done but not by gonas, it is time for the gonas to go home.

Ingranronakru, Trishanakru and Delphikru, the last still celebrating their futbal victory, departed yesterday. Today Azgeda, Podakru and Sangedakru will leave.  Ontari and Echo kom Azgeda, Circe kom Sangedakru and Leto kom Podakru, stand with Heda and others from her inner circle of advisors, on the stage as their gonas prepare to march past their leaders and salute.

Ontari still has headaches and the scans showed that although her skull is fractured there is no ongoing bleeding. She must just be patient while her hip and head heal. Azgeda will be the first to march past. Ontari turns to Lexa. “They will notice, it will make them proud.”  Lexa’s not so sure, although it is true that Azgedan gonas acquitted themselves well and with honour in this battle, she’s not sure that Nia’s influence has truly ended. The Haiplana (Queen) dominated Azgeda for so long and then her henchman Odd had tried to undermine Roan’s leadership, when Nia was dead. Well, she will soon see. If Echo’s reaction is anything to go by, the Azgeden gonas will stumble in surprise as they marchpast. That is what the Azgedan had done when she saw Heda’s newly painted war-paint.

Clarke had helped her paint her face that morning, a lovely morning-after a wonderful night-before. Lexa just manages to stop herself from smiling, as she remembers the past few nights with Clarke.

That morning, they had sat together in Lexa’s tent, dressed and breakfasted together. A new relationship, very new to Clarke anyway, and Lexa had explained that to wear war paint was expected when she took the salute of her gonas.   Clarke has asked if her warpaint had meaning and Lexa has explained that Anya, as her fos, had first made this pattern, of three points running down from each eye, to represent the qualities of a Commander. Wisdom, Strength and Compassion. “Warpaint can have many meanings, it's colour, texture and pattern; all are important. Many gonas adopt the paint of their noman (mother) or nontu (father). Right side for noman, left for nontu. Others include elements of their trade or craft. A scythe, anvil, plough or hammer can be part of the pattern.”

Clarke carefully paints the three points from each eye and steals a kiss when she has finished. Lexa smirks, can life continue to be this good?

Here she is waiting for the Azgedan gonas to pass. Echo and Ontari stand on her left, Indra and Anya on her right. Heda stands tall and stoic as the gonas of Azgeda start to march past. And yes, some of them do stumble but, as the message flies back through their ranks, the usually stone-faced gonas start to smile and chant "Bigas Heda"; and when they place their right hands over their hearts Lexa can see they do so with pride. Pride in the fact that Heda Lexa’s warpaint now acknowledges her nontu, for the three painted points on her left cheek are painted in the white of Azgeda.