Read Online Hakusan Angel by Alex Powell - Free Book Online Page B

problem with admitting she was wrong, especially with the evidence right in her face.
    She couldn't quite believe the sources were telling the truth. Surely the military that had treated her and her fellows so well wasn't abusing their comrades-in-arms? For all that she wasn't sure about sources, they did work together. They were on the same side.
    Strange then, how it was almost as if they weren't.
    When Kaede closed her end of the discussion, Mari took her place.
    "Why did you want to be a pilot?" she asked her side of the room.
    Matsura answered immediately, without a single thought. "I wanted to help people."
    "How many of you would do this job for a lower salary?"
    The majority of the pilots raised their glasses in the air, and those that clinked them in midair took a long swig of their drink.
    "Now that you've heard the story," she continued. "How many of you think what is happening to the sources is unfair?"
    The response was more cautious, but after many an appraising glance, the pilots raised their glasses again, more carefully, and without the addition of drinking.
    "Do you want to help them?" Mari asked, looking around. "Because that's what we're all here for, isn't it? To help people. That includes sources."
    Kaede, who had been listening intently, suddenly had the most horror-struck look on her face. "Something has just occurred to me," she said, her voice hoarse. "The military knows that you like to help people. Obviously they could guess your reaction to the revelation, and moved to prevent you from finding out."
    "By creating an atmosphere in which sources and pilots were separated, even though we should be trying to bond with our partners," Mari continued, throat tightening. "It was invented, these fiercely divided cultures was purposefully created to keep us apart and at odds."
    "That's a bit of a conspiracy theory, don't you think?" Matsura ventured hesitantly.
    "They're right though," Sae interrupted. "There is no logical point to us being in such a harsh conflict, not when we can't work without each other. We should be trying to know one another, to trust each other, not whisper things about our comrades behind their backs."
    "That's right," someone piped up from the back. "We really don't know each other at all. The pilot rotation keeps us from working with the same source. I hardly even know anyone's name."
    The more Mari thought about it, the more it made a sickening sort of sense. Everything was set up to keep them separated. They had different living quarters, they ate in separate areas and their work breaks didn't coincide. The only common thing they had was the bar, and they were so divided in the rest of their lives that the habit of keeping apart followed them there.
    "I think that maybe we should start being very afraid," Matsura said.
    No sooner were the words out of his mouth then there was a terrible roaring noise. A moment later, an explosion rocked the building, violently throwing Mari from her perch on the bar. She landed hard, the air punched from her lungs. Her ears rang, blocking out the sounds of everyone in the room. She could see everyone struggling to their feet around her, and the shapes of people's mouths moving.
    "What?" she asked as Matsura gestured at her, but she couldn't hear her own voice.
    She felt someone grab her arm and turned, feeling as if everything was going in slow motion.
    "We're under attack!" was shouted in her ear, and the world abruptly snapped back into place. She heard more explosions, farther off in the distance, as well as shouting and banging from all around her as everyone tried to get their bearings.
    There was another explosion nearby, and the lights flickered and went out. A moment later, the emergency lights came on, drenching everything in a red glow.
    "It's Morwe, it has to be," Sae's voice carried, but Mari couldn't see her.
    "Why is Morwe attacking us? We haven't provoked them recently."
    Mari knew, with a dreaded certainty. She should have known