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Chapter 7: Diogo

I watch them disappear from sight with a vague sense of loss. I want to be near the girl, learn her secrets. See what she looks like without the dirt. This last thought lingers. I don't particularly care if she is beautiful or as plain as the Desert Wren that she was named after. But I feel the need to see clearly the lips, cheeks and chin that go with those strange grey eyes. The more she speaks to me, the more I'm touched by her. It's not a comfortable sensation.

Nor is leaving her behind as I stride from the station. The city police are a brutal group of men. Not as bad as my elite military, but not nice either. They must be harsh in order to protect our Sanctuary from threats both within and without. But the Wren is different, they won't be allowed to touch her soft skin, to speak to her. And my concern is that they may try anyway. They may take offence at her words and do something irreparable.

Ordinarily I wouldn't care. I allow my people to do their job, for the most part uninterrupted. But this isn't an ordinary woman. She's agile, swift, intelligent and she has convictions. She has the one thing our dying world sorely needs if human civilization is to continue into the future. She has values.

She believes I lack them. And perhaps I do. I reign over the New Tucson Sanctuary with brutal efficiency. I have killed, often. Not just Primitives, but criminals. Sometimes without trial. I've had to make stomach turning decisions when they aren't necessarily the decisions I would prefer to choose. I allow only certain people into the city. People who can contribute. When the city is reaching its limits, when resources are spread too thin, I turn away all who show up at the gates. We tell them to seek refuge in the mountains, knowing full well that they won't survive.

In my time as leader, I have grown Sanctuary, have stabilized it in ways that will make it strong well into the future. I've brought my city through every imaginable trial, but in the process I've sold my soul. I am the Warlord. A reviled leader.

Even the elite despise me. They take what I can give them, they smile, they make obsequious gestures, but they don't like me. I'm under no illusion that they suffer my leadership out of love. They fear me. And that fear stays their hands when it comes to overthrowing my regime. They need me, need what I can give them. And they know I can and will crush all resistance.

Except for the resistance of a little bird. The Desert Wren. Because when I look at her, I see my soul again and I know that I must keep her alive at all costs. I will take her, keep her near me. She will belong to me, and in the process, she will become my conscience.

I get back in my jeep and make my way swiftly to the military guard station, located at the base of the wall near the city gates. These men are more than police officers. They deal in more than petty city matters. They're the military elite of Sanctuary. They are where the real power lies. They are my men and my brothers. If I had any friends, it would be among these men.

I nod toward three of them as I enter the building. They're sitting at the table playing cards. When not on duty, they're on call, and I'm usually here with them, waiting for those calls. I detest sitting in my isolated tower, a home that is nothing more than a show of power. I prefer to be on the ground, my hands in the dirt, working alongside these men.

"Where's Jorje?" I ask, stopping at the table.

"In back," says Karl. He tosses his cards in front of him and crosses powerful arms over his chest. "Heard you finally caught that little birdie bringing in all the illegals. ‘bout fucking time."

I grunt and walk past them, toward the office in the back. Jorje is sitting at his desk, writing in the log book. When he sees me, he sets the pencil down and gives me his full attention. I like Jorje. He's one mean motherfucker, but he respects authority. While he makes the day-to-day decisions he never makes an important move unless it's with my full knowledge and approval. He runs the city like clockwork, executing my every command with military precision.

"Your trap work, you got the Wren?" he asks, getting straight to the point.

I nod and settle in the chair opposite him. I don't mind that he holds the power position here. This is his office, his men, his building. But he never forgets who gave him all this, who gives him free rein to do what's needed to keep control inside the city and in the surrounding countryside.

"She fell for the bait, walked right up to me before she realized something was wrong. She had the papers, caught her red-handed." I contemplate Jorje, wonder what he'll think of my plans for her. "I intend to keep her once she's been processed."

"Keep her?" he asks, frowning for a moment, mulling the words. "As in keep her with you? In your custody? You won't have her publicly executed? Make an example of her to the other rebels? We know that she's well loved. They've been hiding her for years. No amount of torture or bribery could get information on her out of the rebels we've managed to detain. A public execution will send shockwaves through the community, show the rebellion that we don't tolerate active resistance."

I consider his questions. He's right. The smart choice would be to make a spectacle of her execution. She is well-loved and she's as innocent looking as they come. Executing her would show what we're willing to do to maintain order. The complete and ruthless power of the Authority trumps any rebellion.

Yet, I can't bring myself to think about what her execution might look like. I've never had this problem before. I'm a military man. Always have been. I'm used to making the brutal choices. But this feels different. "No, I'm not willing to let her go yet. She holds vital information on the rebellion and can be of use. Right now she fully expects to die and won't be persuaded to talk. If I keep her near me I may be able to lull her into a sense of safety, get her to give up what she knows. She may be the key that leads us to Gunther and brings a decisive end to the rebellion." It would be a major victory to capture both the Desert Wren and the leader of the rebellion.

Jorje waves his hand in the air negligently. "Torture," he says.

I smile grimly. Jorje has his preferred methods of dealing with lawbreakers. He and his men are well versed in extracting information. I'm not innocent of using these methods myself.

"I prefer she remain unharmed for now."

"I see," he says, eyeing me speculatively. He doesn't like my proposal. It doesn't matter, I'll keep the girl regardless of his feelings, and he will obey my orders.

"She's wily though. She'll try to fly the nest as soon as she can. I want a full-time guard on her when I'm not with her myself. I'll update you with the details once I get her settled into the Tower."

A flash of disapproval crosses his face. He does nothing to hide it. Resources, including military resources, have always been strained. Providing a guard detail seems frivolous and unnecessary. He believes that she should be kept at the prison, tortured and executed, thus negating the need to have her watched. I remain silent though, awaiting his response.

"As you wish, Commander."

"She is to be detained if she tries to leave my protection, but she is never to be harmed. Understood?" The orders are crisp commands. I leave no room for argument.

He pauses a fraction before agreeing. "Understood. My men will do as you say."

I drop the matter. Jorge will give me what I want. He always does. We discuss the logistics of an upcoming hunt outside the city walls. A rumour has reached us of a particularly large band of Primitives that has made it into our region. Smaller groups are normal and often found in the area, but larger hordes don't tend to make it through the mountains to our Sanctuary. Our best recourse is to eliminate them before they can make it into the city.

I stand and we say our goodbyes before I make my way outside. No one says a word to me as I stride back through the building and leave. They know when it's not a good time to test my patience. And I find I don't have a lot of patience when it comes to the Wren. I don't want my men thinking or talking about her. She's about to become off limits. This idea solidifies the longer I'm away from her. I didn't like leaving her in Gillert's care. He's not a careful man and she doesn't seem to hold back with her words. She can easily get herself into trouble. And a woman that small, it would take one hard punch to the head to kill her.

I don't know why I care what happens to her. Yes, she is intriguing. Yes, I can get information from her about the rebels. But there's something more. Over the years, the Desert Wren has become an obsession for me; elusive, mysterious, daring. Qualities I admire, but that also infuriate me. I imagined this day as one of victory, capturing the Wren, making her an example. But now that I have her, I find the victory hollow, because the little bird is more than I imagined. She's passionate, intelligent, courageous. I want to know her better, understand her. Maybe I want her to understand me. I recognize it isn't logic that's driving my decisions, but an obsession I've cultivated over years. I should ignore it but there's something about this girl that I can't seem to let go of.

Finally, I give up the pretense of being impartial, get back in my vehicle and drive to the police station.

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