“Then no. You’ll have your weapons, and the biotechnology will match mine. But, they’ll be no more than swords and spears in your hands.” He spoke to the other men now, making an argument. “It took me years of study to wield the Helix. Self-exploration, self-control, discipline, fortitude. When you master these, and not before, you will master your Helix. I can teach you what I know.”

My breath caught. He spoke of combat art, but why share the secrets with Voltaire? Such knowledge, in the Rebel’s hand, would destroy the First Brother regime and the Kongo as we knew it. Is that what he wanted? I gasped inwardly. Is that what the Director wanted?

“Where will you get these weapons?” Voltaire asked. “I’ve looked, they’re not in your sack.”

“I’ll have them brought here. If you let my friend go, I’ll call for them and you will have them tomorrow.”

“How will you call?”

“I have a comm-unit,” Hosea said.

“Impossible,” Voltaire whispered, speaking for us all. The original comm-units were the size of a room. Even the compact-design models were too big to transport easily.

“I assure you, English innovation has made much possible. They hoard technology in the Northridge, more than the average Kongo could ever dream of. I do have a comm-unit. And with it, the weapons are at our fingertips, a call away.”

“This comm-unit, show me,” Voltaire demanded.

“Not until you agree to my terms,” Hosea said.

“You agree to stay here and train my men. You will provide us with weapons. And, in return, you want her,” he said, thoughtfully. “You’d do all that for one girl. Why?”

The same question nagged at me. Hosea despised war, and yet, he would teach these bloodthirsty men to kill in exchange for my life?

“Not for one girl,” Hosea said, slowly. He released his fist and watched the Helix disarm. When it was a harmless-looking tube again, he holstered it. “War is coming. The White-Face soldiers will kill until the First Brothers have no choice but to retaliate—or face the Assembly. The lines are drawn and no dark man will be spared. I’ve been to villages all over the Kongo, and I’ve been to Hasting. More, I’ve been to the Schoolhouse and observed the Record Keepers of the future.”

I cringed. Between my betrayal and East Keep’s materialism, he had seen the worst we had to offer.

“War is coming,” he said, again. “I find all sides objectionable, but yours the least so. If I have to choose, I’ll join with you and the Rebels.”

“I don’t believe you,” Voltaire said.

Hosea shrugged. “Believe what you want. Only take my help. If not for yourself, do it for your men. You’ve led them this far. Now, give them a fighting chance to survive.”

Voltaire didn’t respond.