Three Sons

by Saxon Keeley

  “There is no one here,” she said softly.

  At first the grief is too painful to string together a coherent thought, then panic courses through him as he is hit by a sudden realisation. Bolting down the corridor, he almost knocks her over in his haste. The accompanying soldiers struggle to keep up with him as he leaps over the bodies of his colleagues.

  “Oscar?” Mẫu Thoải called.

  Coming back around the corner, Oscar yelled, “No one is here! That means the TFP has not been maintained.”

  Navigating the labyrinth that is Jung Labs, they arrive at his father’s office. The lock is busted and the office was broken into, but curiosity the place has not been ransacked. Oscar has no trouble in gaining access to his father’s computer and begins to frantically tap away at the keyboard, loading up tables and graphs that the Mẫu Thoải finds completely indecipherable.

  “Our TFP has not been maintained in years,” she said confused.

  “Neo-Shanxi’s TFP is not like the ones Father originally constructed. If the plant is not frequently regulated then a whole manner of things could happen. Shanxi could face environmental collapse or the whole structure could blow, taking the colony with it,” he explained. “See that spike? This plant was heading towards a meltdown.”

  She follows Oscar’s finger and pretends to understand the jargon she is being shown. With everything she has been told and the look on his face, Mẫu Thoải cannot help but feel they are in the most dangerous place on the planet right now.

  “Coolant is flushing through the system. After I can shut the TFP down, which may just be for the best at this stage,” he informed.

  Slumping back into the chair, Oscar lets out a sigh of relief as he observes the on-screen temperature readings decrease, fading from red to green. He runs his hand along the desk and opens the top draw. Sitting right where his father always leaves it, Oscar finds the old memory stick labelled ‘Taiyi Shengshui’. He holds the stick tightly in his hand.

  “Something special?”

  “The original research and blueprints for the TFPs,” he replied.

  “The secrets to terraforming and the CERE did not bother to search for it?” she said with suspicion. “Keep it close and share it with no one. What you hold there will win you more allies in the time to come than what either the military or politicians can offer.”

  Placing the memory stick into his coat pocket, he can hardly believe it himself. Oscar begins to wonder what the CERE’s intentions were with the TFP. Or if it was even the CERE at all. Regardless of who it was, it seemed that Wesley knew from the outset that the TFP would be a target.

  After restoring the power to the train line, Oscar sees the Mẫu Thoải and her soldiers down to the station. He quickly inspects the train and is reassured that it has not been tampered with. On the platform, he watches as they board.

  Mẫu Thoải turns to see him not following. “Are you not coming?”

  Oscar shakes his head. “I am going to monitor things here. If anything were to go wrong, there would be no colony for us to save.”

  There is no argument. She gives him a nod and a squad stay behind for his protection. The doors slide shut and the train departs. He waves farewell as they travel across the canyon towards the city.

  Alistair Jung

  The narrow streets of the Trading District are convenient for organising the anarchy of sick, hungry and lost civilians. Each of the Safety Zones have been repurposed to provide medical services, while out where the streets are the widest, volunteers serve a warm meal to people who have not seen food for days. Pots, pans, bowls and spoons have been appropriated from the salons and night clubs around the district. Every single person able to help has been more than accommodating.

  Alistair scoops up another generous serving and pours it into a metal bowl, he passes it over to a middle-aged man, whose face looks like a skeleton, and the man thanks him profusely. The volunteer working alongside Alistair takes the next person’s ticket, giving him a brief moments respite to roll back his sleeves and wipe the sweat from his brow. The steam rising from the pots and the debris in the air makes for incredibly clammy conditions.

  As the next person in line passes Alistair their ticket, one of the generals emerge out from the crowd and joins him on the other side of the counter. The general impatiently coughs until he has his attention. Not willing to leave his station, Alistair insists that they can talk while he works.

  “Very well sir. There is a concern that we cannot guarantee your safety and that we insist you are moved to a secure location until the colony has been liberated,” said the general.

  “Not happening,” said Alistair, serving another meal. “I cannot sit by twiddling my thumbs while both of my brothers are out there fighting to get our home back. I refuse to be utterly useless. Even a man like me can help in some small way.”

  “No gesture is too small,” said a soothing female voice.

  They both turn around to find the Mẫu Thoải, who amongst the destitute and besieged people of Shanxi, stands out as a benevolent transcendental figure. Her soldiers replace the pots with a fresh batch and scrape out the remains, moving the line along quicker. She gets to work right away.

  The help from Thuỷ Phủ is enough encouragement to lift the volunteers’ spirits. Softly she hums, handing over every meal with a comforting smile. Even the inured general puts down his weapon to offer his assistance.

  “Did my brother stay at the labs?”

  “Yes. He wished to monitor the TFP,” she said concisely, not wanting to worry him more than he already is. “How is the battle going against the CERE? I expected to hear a storm of noise as we arrived at the station.”

  “As did I, but it has been incredibly quiet. The general reassures me that the CERE have been pushed back into the Political District, that our forces surround them, ready for when they try to escape. If they do so, that is.”

  Alistair’s scepticism amuses her. “You are right to keep yourself occupied. This will all be over before you know it.”

  At the end of the street a large and loud mob of demonstrators come marching around the corner and down towards the gates to the Political District. Those who are fed join their ranks. Soldiers try to redirect the demonstration, but cannot hold back the tide of civilians demanding the return of their city.

  Intellectuals have crafted banders and signs from the posters and slogans used in the anti-CERE propaganda seen all around the district. Alistair is humbled to see placards with the morning sun and the symbols ‘Three Sons’ held high. As they march they chant, ‘The times test the youth, the youth create the times’.

  Out of all the commotion, Alistair hears his name being called. To his surprise a Western woman wearing the Red Cross approaches him. Alistair recognises the woman from the Assembly, though does not believe he has ever worked with her directly. She comes over very distraught.

  “I’m sorry,” she begun, “I did all that I could for her. They killed the young men, then they took the girls. They took Weishi. I am so sorry.”

  His heart sinks. Everything around him becomes indistinguishable sounds. A kind hand leads him to a seat before he loses the strength in his knees.

  Mẫu Thoải speaks to the woman, finding out that they were taken to the Assembly building under the orders of a soldier wearing a mask. For the general, this is enough information to begin preparations to launch the attack on the district. Over the coms, he relays his orders.

  The general wrangles with the objections he receives from both Mẫu Thoải and through his earpiece. Despite her rationale, Alistair cannot grasp the sense of her arguments. The general looks at him for the authorisation.

  “Send them in,” Alistair confirmed.

  Neo-Shanxi

  Zhang Guozhi

  A muzzled panting comes from the strange soldier pushing Zhang’s wheelchair out of the elevator and into the Whispering Circle. The former Chairman is not restrained as they have ensured there is never a need to
do so. His hands and feet limp because they have severed the tendons. Skin hangs from his bones. Illness has taken him. He can only reason why they have inflicted such cruelty onto an old man is for their own malevolent pleasure.

  Zhang is taken to a lone figure watching over the colony. He is wheeled right up to the glass so he too can see what has become of his city.

  “Thank you, Dogs. Take the rest and withdraw with the CERE who are fleeing. That is my final order,” Worms instructed.

  “Understood sir.”

  Zhang cannot turn his head far enough around to see the other soldier walk off. Instead he listens as the elevator doors close and the two of them are alone.

  “The Whispering Circle,” Worms chuckled. “I can imagine all you politicians huddling around, gossiping and conspiring. I expect that you thrived in this little arena that you made for yourself. But at the barrel of a gun, it didn’t mean shit. Did it? But you know that all too well, seeing as how you consolidated power yourself.”

  “Why am I here?” Zhang mustered the strength to speak.

  Worms slams his palms against the glass, striking fearing into the weak old man. The echo rings in the circle.

  “To take one last look at the view,” he joked.

  A long silent minute passes.

  “Unlike you, your grandchildren seem to have resolve and wits. It was an impressive move on their part, seeing if the CERE would call their bluff. A terror to prevent terror, our seeds have been sown,” he said, as if talking to himself.

  “What is it that you want? You will not find the research here,” Zhang admitted in the hope to save himself.

  “S.E.L. does not work for the Ministry of Terraforming and Colonisation. Nor does it work for the CERE. Neither one of them are our benefactors. Taiyi Shengshui is of no interest to us now.”

  “Then why are you here? Why have you done this to me, my family and my people?”

  “To cripple those who are loyal to the dream of Dr Charles Jung, which threatens the tenuous peace that exists. Already there is unrest throughout the Charted Systems, colonies rebelling against CERE control. It is not just the Chinese who are questioning their authority and demanding independence. What happened on Theta Nine is happing on other colonies such as Brasil, Ker-Is and Iota Nine. Instability will give rise to those who wish to exploit and profiteer from the conflict, breed racial divisions leading to inevitable persecution. Humanity only just survived the last war, it may struggle to outlive the next.” Worms pauses. “S.E.L. does not want to see an expansion of colonised planets or to empower another despotic leader on a volatile colony. We would rather see the Charted Systems shrink to a manageable handful of colonies, free from the misguided idealisations of yourself and Dr Jung.”

  Zhang looks out of the window, down at the battle that the CERE are surely losing. He coughs and croaks. “You might be on the wrong side.”

  A smile is drawn across the soldier’s face and he begins to laugh.

  “For you, it may seem that way. Soldiers will always be casualties of war. But it is here,” Worms holds his hand over his heart, “that we struck. And struck deep we have.”

  Zhang is lost for words. He stares back at Worms unable to ask about the women and the children. The soldier leans in to his ear and on the other side Zhang feels cold steel pressing up against his temple.

  “I am committed to the contradiction. In time the Charted Systems will see if they are too,” he whispered. The soldier stands straight again and the two enjoy the view one last time. Worms begins to sing. “Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda. You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me.”

  Two shots ring in the Whispering Circle.

  China

  Wolf

  Three golden Buddha sit in meditation. Candles burn down to their stumps. Incense and sweet smelling flowers hang in the air. Modest offerings are left to the deities in hope that they will provide guidance in this trying time.

  In front of the three golden Buddha, the four S.E.L. soldiers strip and change into the apprehended uniforms of the newly formed Beijing Nationalist Force. Quietly and quickly they disguise themselves, only a single unlocked door separates them from the escalating civil unrest happening outside in Hongqi Square.

  Places such as Datong have become victim to the Nationalist Forces. The fit, young and healthy are shepherded into trucks and sent to camps where they are conscripted into the military under duress, a desperate attempt to rebuild the army. Gathered in the square, the people of Datong protest, physically barricading the Nationalist soldiers so they cannot leave with their sons and daughters. The soldiers are pelted with rocks and rubbish. Cameras and phones broadcast the whole thing. A perfect stage, Wolf thinks to himself.

  Someone races up the steps to the shrine and begins banging on the door. The three of them shoot a fleeting glance at Wolf before disappearing into the shadows. Wolf takes his knife and covers the entrance. Through the crack, he watches a young man begs an approaching soldier.

  Orders are barked at the young man. Unable to understand the exchange, Wolf waits patiently. As the young man is pulled away, he grabs a hold of the door. In a snap reaction, Wolf holds it place until he can no longer feel tugging from the other side. Confident they are in the clear, he lets go. All of them sigh with relief.

  Wolf fastens the last piece of armour around his forearm and then pulls the neck gaiter up over his nose. With the helmet and visor, the Beijing Nationalist Force’s uniform completely hides their identity, so long as they don’t speak, no one will know they are Westerners. The only thing that may arouse suspicion is their odour. They have been hiking for days, unable to bathe because of contaminated water sources.

  “Are you sure about this? There are children out there,” asked Lynx.

  Wolf does not respond, displeased with the lack of conviction his squad are showing.

  “What if it doesn’t work? We would have the blood of innocent civilians on our hands,” Portia pressed further.

  “Do you see what is happening out there?” he asked bitterly, peering out through the crack. “Right now, the Chinese are regathering their strength. An army of slaves, but an army none the less. First, they will regain control of their country. Then, how long do you think it will take for them to finish off the West? Let this happen today and the world will be speaking Chinese tomorrow. In one act, we could divide this country, crippling it forever.”

  He looks at them with a steely calculating expression, his gaze leaves Portia and Lynx feeling uncomfortable.

  “Sir!” Viper conformed.

  Wolf waits for the other two to answer.

  “Sir,” they conceded.

  No one notices the four soldiers exiting the shrine. From the back of the crowd they barge their way through towards the centre of the square to join the Nationalist Forces. They are pushed and shunted back, abuse screamed in their ear and banners waved in front of their faces. But they do not rise to the protestors.

  A foul-smelling liquid is poured over Viper. In no more than a reaction, Viper hits back with the butt of his rifle. The woman falls into the crowd, nose bleeding and semi unconscious. The violence causes outrage. Angry protestors rally together, cutting him off from the rest.

  Portia turns to see Viper stranded. Civilians pull the burly man down to the ground and begin beating him with whatever they have to hand. Unable to alert their commander in fear of exposing the squad, she fights her way back to Viper. Her lone presence isn’t enough to deter them.

  A wall of riot shields come charging through the crowd and soldiers fend off the civilians with batons. Forming a protective circle around the two soldiers, Portia silently helps up her comrade and they are escorted through to the Nationalist’s defensive line. The uniformity of the soldiers makes it impossible to locate Wolf and Lynx. They take their positions and wait for the signal.

  Behind the soldier’s line, the selected recruits are bound and instructed to stay on their knees. The transport trucks have been upturned a few neighbourh
oods away and the army is waiting for the replacement vehicles to arrive. Some of the nearby Nationalists joke to ease their nerves. Wolf does not understand a word of it, but laughs along when prompted.

  Demonstrators point at Viper, calling for the soldiers to hand him over. The woman he hit dramatically throws herself at the wall, her blood smearing the shields. Those on the front line lose their footing. Batons are swung and rifles are raised to hold them off.

  Wolf, not much further down the line, knows this is their opportunity. He grabs Lynx and whispered, “Tell them to fire.”

  The situation between the Nationalists and the civilians intensifies. The shield wall is penetrated and civilians begin to fight back. The bound recruits see this as their chance to escape.

  In front of him, an old lady stands bravely chanting. Wolf clears his mind and aims his weapon. Even this does not shake her resolve. Lynx yells the orders in Chinese.

  What follows is carnage. Before anyone can question the command, a shot silences the riot. The old lady is the first to fall. Three more shots are fired. Then another. Superiors fail to rein in their units. Around Hongqi Square, defenceless civilians are killed. Cameras and phones broadcast the whole thing.

  Neo-Shanxi

  Wesley Jung

  To the south of the district, the battle for the colony is but faint grumblings in the far distance. Most of the CERE took the opportunity to flee, those who stayed to fight are now out manoeuvred and out gunned, having stumbled into the ambush that awaited them along the border of the Trading District. Any influence S.E.L. held over the district has dissipated.

  Citizens watch from their windows, weary of the military presence. For an entire year, they have evaded CERE patrols and though they are certain the soldiers in black uniform are here to liberate them, their learnt instincts of preservation are difficult to ignore.

  Still half expecting to be sprung upon, Wesley leads his squad towards the centre of the district. The men and women from Maia gaze wondrously at the towering architectural magnificence of Shanxi, while those from the colony barely recognise the city. Wesley considers to himself that perhaps it is the occupation that has warped his perception, or maybe it is the time he has spent on Maia, or maybe something deep down inside of him has changed, whatever it is, these streets he once walked as a child are not the ones he walks now.