Incomplete: Alliance, #2

By Kadee Carder

Power within her. War without.

Between the lines of flirtation and justice, Saylor must clench the missing pieces of her fate. While harnessing her ability to communicate with deadly weapons of mass destruction, attending the annual gala, and fighting her growing feelings for her Australian soldier, Saylor's instincts become increasingly distressed. Tempted by greed and independence, she must determine what she stands for and on whose side she belongs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Addison Multimedia
• Release date: Feb 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215448755

Kadee Carder

Fierce yet sparkly, I rally seekers to thrive in their stories. The goal is magic, the medium is ink, and the fuel is coffee. And sometimes pizza. I teach English on the university level when I'm not dancing around the living room with my family, lifting heavy at the gym, traveling the planet, or watching superhero shows.

Book preview

For Amy and Kristin,

who showed me in their own ways,

Never Quit.

Chapter One

Chatter

Ducking down behind the mass of fallen trees, I gasped for air. I crouched, listening for the familiar pop and click, but the sounds had drifted away. I congratulated myself with a brief, hushed, Hoo-rah! and rested my back against the crumbly bark of the large, mossy log. Each man scattered to his post, the headset silent. Fresh air inundated my lungs as my chest rose and fell. Drips of sweat rolled down my temples, joining up under my chin. I wiped away the river with my sleeve and rolled onto my side to peek over the log through the brush.

A body spun over the barricade, coming to a stop to my left, stirring up the dust and fallen branches.

Tucker popped up to a sitting position beside me and turned his head to face me with a quick intake of air, looking over his shoulder. That was amazing.

Still trying to catch my breath, I bobbed my head up and down, the thick helmet rocking along with the movement. I realized just how cattywampus it had grown during the attack and unhooked the strap under my chin. Cool dew ruffled through my hair, as relieving as a pack of ice. The helmet came to a rest in my lap, and I pulled the headset out of my ear for a moment.

I’m kind of surprised it worked, but I sure am glad it did, I said. Never slaughtered so many computers in one fell swoop before.

A gleaming grin slid across Tucker’s face, his eyes twinkling. Felt good, didn’t it? Those dimples spread in his cheeks, and my heart whirled a little jig in my chest. The chaos of the past few minutes dimmed in comparison to the way my heart began to rattle and tumble about against my ribs.

In a quick motion, Tucker reached for my cheek, cupping my face in his hands. We leaned closer, for a few seconds eternal and limitless, and our lips met in a feverish frenzy of excitement. Pulses raced. My insides did a little hopscotch game. His lips felt warm and soft and perfect. I slid my hand up to the back of his neck and leaned toward him, feeling the razor-sharp line of hair, the warmth of his nearness paralyzing.

All noises dimmed and my inner ears popped, a whining buzz echoing behind my eyes. My blood bubbled, the microcomputers within scurrying for the signal to connect to the approaching enemy’s network. Bent toward their purpose, the ANTs buried deep in my gut sought their prey. Surging backward away from the heat and the fire, I turned to the real battle.

Scrambling to my feet, I whipped the glowing X-11 up to my shoulder. Tucker grunted, following suit. My helmet toppled to the ground, the headset thumping against the jacket padding my shoulder. Our silver weapons gleamed under the white light of the moon beaming down through the branches of the towering trees, the green and red neon lights on the handles blipping here and there. A tardy Proximity Band Alert buzzed on my wrist while two oxinals zeroed in on our location. They sliced the black, misty night, following a translucent, dotted orange line, glimmering with a range of trajectories, headed first for Tucker’s frame. Apparently he was hotter than me. A tickling chuckle rose in my throat, because the oxinals and I agreed on that one thing.

On your left, I spat out the words, focusing my thoughts. Strategize. If only I could convey what I saw and heard that the others did not. Two bogeys on your nine. I’ll take the right.

Cripes, Tucker mumbled, eyes peering into the forest beyond.

I crept backward until I stood right behind him, seeing the orange trajectory paths shifting once more. Move fast. Hit hard. Zipping into view, those fiery creatures wove through the trees like snakes in a twister.

Jumping out from behind him at the last second, his X-11 whipped by my head as I ducked down and tumbled to the right. Hopping to my feet, I slammed my weapon against the fiery creature and knocked it back a good 100 yards. Spiraling out of control at first but then righting itself, the T3 spun in a circle, hovering, taking in the scene. The orange dots broadcast three ideal trajectories to strike at my core, so to throw off its calculations I began to charge toward the blazing orb. Ensuring it wouldn’t lose its prey, all optimal paths reconfigured, so it began to wind up and spin toward me, much slower than normal. This gave me some room to prep for a good knock against the ball. Making contact was simple, but the T3 wouldn’t be taunted. It ascended in order to strike from the high ground.

On your three! A voice called from my right. Logan crashed through the underbrush of the forest as the T3 whirled down. I hit at a slight upward angle, popping the orb up, out of control.

As it soared back, Logan clobbered it with a solid slam. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am, he yelled, cheeky, the creature disappearing into tiny shards of black dust. That’s the name of our newest tactic. I like it!

Classy, I muttered. I veto, if I get a vote.

You do not, he said in his normal smug manner.

I think I should, I argued back, jutting my chin out.

Just because you spent a night in the woods does not qualify you to have input.

I vote we go-r get a snack, Tucker interrupted. He stood between the two of us, casting the X-11 over his shoulders, both wrists tossed over the opposite ends in a casual manner. He swept his glance from Logan to me, and back again. That accent was still so delightful. The way his lips moved around the language sent chills nibbling at the corners of mine.

I vote yes to coffee. I sheathed the X-11 on my back, fatigue from the last few hours tapping on my shoulder and absorbing into the green camouflage.

Logan glared from me to Tucker and back to me, holding his silence in front of him like a boxing glove. I get final vote. We use it. He smiled, and then threw his own X-11 onto his back, striding off into the dark woods. After all, I just saved your hide. Oh, and keep your headset on, battle buddy, this isn’t hide and seek.

I don’t like the squealing! It gives me a headache. You don’t understand. If you had to listen to the constant ringing for hours at a time, you’d destroy your headset. I just take mine out.

Deal with it. Your whining gives me a headache, but you don’t see me throwing you out.

Logan had been particularly pompous since the meeting with the Commander, letting me know I was the rookie and he my superior. I was okay with that, but his antics grew tiresome, especially around 0300.

Did not save me! I argued, fumbling with the cord for a moment before pushing the nimble plastic around my ear.

Give him a few to cool off, Tucker said under his breath, restlessness stirring in his tone.

I just shook my head, watching the silhouette fade into the night. But I think I do need that coffee. Even though it is disgusting.

Caffeine. Makes the world go round, love, Tucker smiled, and then caught himself saying what he said. Strewth. Hold up. He waved one hand around.

What is that word? I muttered, brushing away the red creeping up into my cheeks. Don’t worry. I didn’t need to hear him say he didn’t mean it, and I didn’t need to hear him not say it either. Sometimes the darkness can be a helpful friend.

No, it’s — slow down, Tucker said, toppling tall weeds and brush in order to catch up to my stride. Let me say I know I should have watched my words. There are too many reasons to do so-r, first of them being that I cannot be distracted out here. Tucker grabbed my elbow and held firm, stopping the both of us in our tracks. Neither can you. This isn’t a game, he added, as serious as I’ve ever seen him.

That back there — Tucker jerked his thumb over his shoulder. He blinked a few times, shaking his head.

It won’t happen again, I said, making my words and my head agree with the facts. The distraction, while fun, was not an option.

Saylor. Tucker sighed.

Sometimes the words that need to be said should not be said, and this was one of those times. Squaring up to face him, I rested my gloved palm against his cheek. With a small shake of my head, I blinked back emotion and inquisition.

This is war, I said. Facts are facts.

Dropping my hand and balling it into a fist, I turned to follow after my battle buddy. He needed me to tag along in his sarcastic shadow for a little while longer. Pulling on my gloves a little tighter, I readjusted the earpiece onto my head and listened to the chatter.

Sheets of rain hurtled insults and chunks of misery upon the beaches. The island hunkered down to endure the night, battered by screaming winds, grieving sands, and the monsters who stir up the deep songs of the seas. We’d been forced underground, taking brief shifts to go on rounds. So far the only benefit from the hurricane was that even the oxinals didn’t want to face her. Tarrying for one night only, both sides of the war breathed a sigh of relief, readying for a new onslaught the minute the waves calmed.

Next!

Oh come on! I breathed out, resting the thick end of my X-11 on the ground and letting it support my weight for a moment. The cavernous ceiling above echoed our voices.

We’d settled in a large, indoor training room located on Level Three. Logan had us haul several of the mock-pitching machines to the room so we could practice. Oh hold on, let me rephrase — so that I could practice. Logan had turned up the machines so they chucked the mocks at ridiculous speeds. I missed at least every other one or popped them right up into the air above my head. They flew fast, high, low, left, and right, wobbling and arcing, ripping through the air toward me. The guys stood in a half-circle about fifteen feet behind me, in bemused interest, watching this crazy version of the X-Games. Occasionally they’d take turns fetching the mocks from the far reaches of the corridor. Some kind of black tile work covered the majority of the walls, the callous cement underneath displaying years of negligence. A small team of workers continued their labor against the wall to the far right.

Logan whooped out a belligerent laugh, his arms crossed at his chest. We have to figure out what you can do.

We’ve spent the last hour seeing how bad I am at this. Haven’t you had enough yet?

I want to know if she’s going to turn on us, Charge muttered. O’Leary turned his head from Charge to Logan and crossed his arms as well.

This isn’t the same as the T3. Or the T2! I wiped away a bead of sweat on my cheek with my shoulder, hearing a machine to my left whiff a ball toward me. My band buzzed and I shot into action, shifting my weight onto my left toes, leaning back toward my left leg, and bringing that same elbow up parallel with the shoulder. Gripping the neck of the X-11, I pulled back, and then let ‘er rip, firing off a hit, arms following through, watching the mock sail away toward a far wall. Those little blinking lights on the mock dimmed one by one. Overhead lights flickered, the bright white glaring down at our little circle.

Nice shot, O’Leary encouraged.

How’s it different? Tucker asked.

How is it NOT different? I cackled, scorning the exercise. I’d need a room and props to show you what I see when they set their sights. It’s not just a sound or a picture or even just a flying ball. It’s — Another machine to my right popped in the distance, releasing a mock. Annoyed with the interruption, but also grateful for the distraction, I settled into a ready stance again.

The last twenty-four hours had been a dizzying whirl of information overload, as well as a new wave of inquisition and curiosity from the squad. How did Saylor have miniature computers swimming through her blood? Why did that make her stronger? Why did her headset squeal her ears off? What could she do with her interactions with the oxinals? Logan and the Commander had decided we should see what I was capable of, and how we could use those skills to improve our defenses, as well as create new offensive measures. The latest mock flew away with another quick hit, a low, fast, rolling spin onto the hard floor.

Martin, will you shut down the machines? Logan called to the soldier who’d walked over to recover stray mocks and block any potential hits by the laboring scientists in the corner. Mack, what’s your energy level?

I’m fine, I lied with defiant energy. Every muscle in my arms ached with a thudding strain of numbed heat. Oxygen rippled through my throat, ribs shuddering in relief and duress. My back, sides, and stomach ached, each area yanking the other and screaming in response. Pride hunkered behind me, her shoulders caving in. The towering soldiers before me watched, critical, analyzing every movement. And I felt so very inept.

One to ten, Logan asked.

I’m fine, I snapped, dragging the X-11 up to my back and placing it in its tether.

For science’s sake, Mack, how tired are you? Logan asked again, growing impatient.

Oh. Well which one is super tired?

One.

Three.

Great.

Where’s your notebook? I called, noting he continued to stand there, arms crossed, observing, and definitely not writing anything down for science’s sake.

What time is it? I asked, stepping over to a basket of green plastic water bottles. Hitting, ducking, hiding, and daydreaming had begun to seep into my uniform, wilting the fabric in the early morning hours. My inner clock read time to be off duty and in a warm bed.

0530, Logan answered.

Been quiet tonight, O’Leary offered.

It has, Charge replied, eyeing me.

I’m not a robot. I have no ability to contact or communicate with the oxinals, I defended, eyeing Charge back. You don’t need to worry about that, I added, languishing in a sluggish drawl, just like the older ladies from back home. I’m just a sweet little Southern spitfire from Georgia. I pretended to primp my helmet with my right hand.

Chisholm, Ponreaux, how’s it looking out there? Logan asked into the coms.

It’s like a watery wasteland, one voice answered amidst a staticky background.

We’d been taking turns watching the front gate from inside the elevator and visiting with the Communications Office.

Alright. Thompson, Charge, O’Leary, you head out for the next thirty or so, Logan instructed. Make sure it stays quiet before shift change. The three nodded and turned away, heading toward the hallway.

"So what are we going to do?" I asked Logan, doubtful I wanted to know the answer.

Going to find out how to get you to a ‘one’! he answered, gleeful. On that tired scale.

Well, I change my answer. I’m a one.

Saylor. Logan stepped closer, tilting his chin down so that he stood right above me. The skin above his nose wrinkled, his eyes sparkling with fascination in the effervescent lights illuminating the rec center. You can last longer, move faster, and react quicker. We have to see what you can do, see how the mites help.

I shook my head. I’m not a science experiment. I’m a normal person, just like you.

But you aren’t. They are in your blood. They are a part of you.

I don’t like that you call them mites. Sounds like bugs or something.

They’re kind of like bugs.

Still don’t like it.

What if we call them ANTs? Artificially-intelligent Nano Technology. Logan snapped as if he had just thought of it.

I puckered my lips at the lemony idea. What do you want me to do next? Wanting to stomp my foot and cross my arms, I decided to buck up instead, chugging another gulp of water from the bottle.

Sprints, he said, thinking out loud, choosing from the variety of torturous aerobic activities he knew how to do.

Ugh.

They show your true colors. Can’t hide from sprints, Logan argued.

I prefer not to do sprints in my full gear. It adds like fifty pounds. And my X-11 thumps my helmet. I demonstrated the movement. And also, I think you should have to do them too. You will be the control. Can’t have a science experiment without a control. Weakling human versus awesomeness, I added, a devious glint in my eye, gesturing to my frame.

A huffing sound came from the limitless Logan, who shifted his feet in a semicircle, his lips pouting in deep thought.

Why, thank you for calling me awesome, Logan answered. It’s about time you recognized that. He twisted back to me. I have a better idea. You’re right about the control. Smart. So we will do this, although it is pointless to a certain extent, because I’ve been doing this for years and you haven’t. However. He took a step back and placed his fists on his hips. We do the obstacle course, sprinting to Deck, back to the Tower, and then end at Deck. First one back gets all the points.

Are you serious? I asked, arms dropping to my sides.

As a simile.

I reared my head back, a little confused, and a little stuck in the moment. He wanted to do the obstacle course, right now, in the howling wind and gusting water?

I don’t understand your linguistic answer, I said, shaking my head, And you really want to go race in the rain?

Logan’s face twitched, that smirk traipsing about on his lips, tossing his shoulders in a shrug. Just another night on duty. He sniffed.

You serious? Martin called out from his spot.

We’ll come clean up everything else if you guys get the machines back to the shed, Logan called out to the others. They shuffled around, some chuckling, barely interested in anything other than shift ending soon.

A sigh bigger than his pride slipped from my mouth. All the points, huh? I asked as I absorbed his instructions. What about doughnuts or something?

Loser serves the winner breakfast?

Hold on, Lieutenant, you’re sweetening the pot way too fast there.

Just get ready. Logan rolled his eyes, turning toward the door.

No gear, I bargained, following him.

Logan sighed. You can leave it in the elevator, I guess. I’ll keep mine on. His shoulders carried the equipment well. Years of bonding with the fabric had forged knowing secrets into the brawn.

As if he read my thoughts, he turned back to the door and grabbed the handle. We’re getting new uniforms soon anyway, he added, for a second forgetting to be competitive.

Oh, yeah?

They’re easier to move around in.

Fantastic, I replied. The bright white hallway glared around us but Logan paid it no attention, charging toward the staircase exit, slamming the door open, and backing into it to let me pass. Before I knew it we were in the darkened upper room of Front Deck, windows assaulted with a barrage of water, the chamber echoing in the drumbeat.

Seriously? I asked him, the armor vest constricting against my chest, X-11 clunking the back of my helmet.

What are you doing? Tucker asked from his spot by the window, turning at our sudden entrance.

He’s lost his mind and is dragging me with him, I hollered above the din. Logan shoved the door aside. It swung out, blowing wide open, and Logan lunged out into the brawl.

Where are you going?! Tucker ran to the door and grabbed my arm before I had a chance to enter the downpour.

Either to win a bet or my grave.

Saylor.

I’m ECB! I defeat! I fear nothing! I yelled, mocking the idea. Threatened by loss, challenged by impossibility, and resolute to the end, I punched my fist into the air. A bawdy smile throttled my nerves. I smacked my helmet twice, throwing both hands up in the air. I live for adventure!

And I flew out the door, crouching in the grass next to my brother. Slippery green blades swung beneath us in the pounding rain, which seemed to fall in slow motion. Soaked.

He wanted the win. I denied restraint. We dwelt immortal.

Ready? Logan asked, beads of water sliding across his face, dripping down his chin.

Now or never, I yelled, the words disappearing against the wind.

I’m not going to tell you who won.

But Logan wanted French toast for breakfast.

I served it with my soaking socks on top.

Chapter Two

Rally

H ow is it going? I asked Micah, setting down my tray and plopping down into the seat next to her.

Oh, man, she groaned, dropping her fork onto the plate. Am I glad to see you!

They’re kind of hard core around here, aren’t they?

Micah sighed. I like it, and it’s not that I can’t do it, but – wow.

Those were more words than I had to say about it that first day too, I offered, sharing in those blurry days of somanypushups. Can you feel your arms?

What, these jelly-string things? She flapped her arms at her side.

I know. Did they do the ‘wrong uniform’ thing to you?

What? she asked, a confused look crossing her face.

For your first morning. Of training. Did anybody give you the wrong uniform?

Micah shook her head, pausing, No. Just the Physical Training shorts and tee shirt. And then these to wear any other time, she added, motioning to the green camouflage enveloping her lanky frame.

Figures, I rolled my eyes, thinking oh-so-endearing thoughts about Logan’s idea of cunning fun. How long do you have for dinner?

Only a few more minutes, she replied, taking a monumental bite of her chicken. Then I have mush moffra fermon.

Oh, well, then, okay. Shaking my head, I sipped my water, glancing around the room. New recruits filled most of the other tables, spread apart between the usual dinner crowd. I should be here at most meals. Dinner is pretty normal for me. So at least you will see one friendly face.

I’m glad to hear it. She gulped down some more chicken. Sergeant Steele is fun and all —

What?

Yeah! Sergeant Steele. He is one tough dude.

I imagine.

Well anyway, he isn’t you or Denise, Micah finished. And I’m kind of worried about Denise. Can you check on her?

I sure will. I nodded, starting in on my leafy dinner.

Any of these seats taken? Twila’s cheery voice rang out behind me and she rounded the table.

Twisting in my seat, shaken at the surprising voice, my heart began to pitter patter around in energetic circles, wondering if the vivacious redhead had spoken to Tucker. These seats are open! I answered, smiling, and waving around at the empty places. Twila, this is Micah. My — she — came with me to the island. She’s a new recruit. I bobbed my head to Micah, who waved, still chomping down on a big mouthful of veggies and chicken.

Lowering my voice, I narrowed my eyes at Micah. You have some broccoli on your nose. She rubbed the spot and offered her hand out to Twila.

Plrs for meerg ew, Micah murmured, lips tight and cheeks bulging.

Twila laughed, a twinkling giggle of joyous revelry. Must be one of the first days, she said, setting a white bowl down on the table, reaching across, and grabbing the tips of Micah’s fingers. Everyone is so hurried to eat in the few moments they have.

Micah nodded.

Don’t mind me. Twila glanced around the room, her eyes shifting across the faces. I wanted a quick snack before class.

Please, have a seat, I interrupted to assure her. Glad to have you.

Recruits! A booming voice yelled over the loudspeaker. The three of us flinched at the noise, and most of the heads around the room ducked. Shuffling, lots of shuffling of food into mouths, followed.

Two minute warning! Get ready to take a shower! The voice ended with a cackling laugh. Round dots of water streamed down the glass of the front windows, making the fading yellow light spread apart like crystal beams.

Oh great, Micah mumbled.

I can’t believe how much rain we see during rainy season, Twila murmured, dumping a large scoop of granola into the thick, white yogurt in her bowl. Her pink tank top reflected in the yogurt, and my stomach tapped the underside of my ribs, inclined for some strawberries.

There’s supposedly another hurricane headed our way, I added, thinking logistics for the next few nights. Who wouldn’t want to be on duty to defend against fiery creatures in the middle of a windy, cold, wet rainstorm of death? You’d think the rain would help. Unfortunately I’d already seen that it did not, which was quite frustrating and ridiculous.

ECB: We go the distance.

Oh great, Micah added, drawing me back to the present. I gotta go. She shuffled the last few snippets of food onto her fork and into her mouth. I will see you tomorrow, Say. She patted me on the shoulder. You know, I kinda love this. I don’t know why we fought Vee about it all this time. She chuckled a bit, and I shook my head at the idea of why we had left the home in the first place.

The food. It’s all about the lovely food, I joked.

See you, girl, Micah said, watching the twenty-five guys lining up outside the door.

Go rock it, Micah! I cheered, throwing a fist up in the air.

Crushing it! she added with a lopsided smile and two finger guns, twirling to face her own raging battle of wills.

I turned back to my plate, targeting my fork on my own full dish of greens and meat.

Lovely. You like that word, Twila remarked.

I hesitated, my fork pausing in mid-air. What?

It’s such a rarely used word anymore.

Um? My forehead wrinkled as I tried to remember when I had last said the word. Tucker’s lyrical accent. His bright grin and tossed back shoulders.

A chill hopped down my spine, tickling each pore and prickle from the roots of my hair down to my belt. Lovely. Stuffing the fork into my mouth and shrugging my shoulders, I forced my own placid smile across my chewing lips.

I hope you were planning on coming to class today, she added, changing the subject and indulging in her own little afternoon treat.

I spoke through the roughage, I wasn’t sure if you were having class today.

What? she looked confused for a second herself.

Well, with the – storms. And rainy season and all.

Oh. The answer registered with her and she shook away the doubt. No, we are here. Always here. And if I’m here, I’m teaching class! she said with a laugh.

Good to hear! Then I am there.

Great, she bobbed her head, excited. Great.

We ate for a few moments in silence, buffered by bites of food. Well, I used them as a buffer. My skin slithered around my bones, clammy all over. Guilt and worry crept in like a cat pawing its way up onto my back.

Did you like the clothes? Twila questioned.

Hm?

The — for the — for the beach. Last weekend.

Oh! Present reality reminded me of the rushing wind that had been the last few days. Yes! I loved them. Love them. That polka dot swimming suit is adorable.

Twila’s eyes crinkled, sparkling, her fiesty hair bobbing with a hopeful wave. Good. A bright smile bubbled over her face. I had such fun shopping for those. Let me know if you ever need any civvies. I’m your girl for that.

Definitely! I replied, a huge smile popping on my face at memories of the wind whipping through my hair, the sunsets, the laughter with the girls, the bonfire, the chocolate. Tucker with chocolate melted all over his cheek.

Again a red fire breathed down my neck like a daunting dragon behind me, staring down with beady, green eyes. Sweat began to trickle down my skin along the path of fire. Steadying my hands, I pushed away the thought of the sweet, simple moments that sandy beach had offered.

Thank you for packing that bag for me. That must have been a hard deal. I approached the subject as sweltering as an egg on a Texas griddle in August.

Twila dropped her spoon on the table. She looked down at her lap. Auburn streaks of hair blocked her face. I couldn’t tell if I had struck