by Carl Johnson
Chapter One
THE REBELS WERE on the run in Madagascar. After getting back his 161 Williamsport Turtle, Indigo Pavun Kiro let it be known throughout the island that the rebels would have nowhere to hide. He hadn’t changed his mind when the rebels scattered before him as he led troops from the United Solar Army through the island, leaving ruined cannons, broken vehicles and dead bodies in his wake.
In the meantime, the mining and shipping of Estonite continued unabated. With no further obstacles in their way, the people from Rayston Mining International sent out a shipment every day.
They had three groups of workers. The first group had traveled with citizens Hester, Proehl and Yardrow to Alexandria and taken a flight back. While they were in the air, the second group headed up to Alexandria.
When the first group landed, the third group left. The first group had enough time to land and get a few hours of rest before they had to leave themselves. The mining schedule ran smoothly. No interruptions had plagued the company's efforts, now that the rebels had to focus on hiding themselves instead of attacking with all their strength.
A hot sky shone overhead as Pavun sat in the back of a hovercraft, surveying the scene before him. The scent of exotic food drifted on the wind. Beads of sweat formed on Pavun's forehead every few seconds. At first, he brushed them off, then after tiring of the effort, he let them fall down his shoulders.
A group of rebels knelt in front of the Turtle while men under Pavun's command fastened their hands behind their backs. They had an assortment of skin colors: dark brown, sunburned white, and tan.
Pavun had never seen diversity among the rebels before. He had been told once, when he accepted his command a year and a half ago, that the further up the command chain the rebels got, the more they resembled a group of international bankers.
Though they wore dirty, torn clothes, the rebels held themselves as though they were one of the world's most powerful citizens. The comparison Pavun had heard proved to be accurate after all.
At the edge of a tree line, a pair of golden eyes stared at him through a patch of undergrowth. Pavun focused on the eyes, and saw a pair of nostrils below it. So well had the animal hidden itself that Pavun had not first seen the golden fur without a brown mane.
A female lion stared at him, and only him, through patches of green leaves. Pavun raised a hand in greeting. The lion flinched and stood up. It turned its back, sauntering away while its tail moved back and forth.
Pavun turned his attention back to the rebels. To him, they did not seem very much like lions. Had the choice been up to Pavun, he would have fled the island to begin anew in some other region.
These rebels had stayed, however. Then, they surrendered. No other rebel unit had surrendered before, not in the seven battles Pavun had fought in the last three days. That, more than anything else, drove his curiosity forward.
He disembarked from the hovercraft. His back ached from sitting in the same hovercraft for hours on end, and a knot of soreness nagged at him from between his shoulder blades. His large boots touched the ground, leaving imprints in the damp ground.
By the time he stood before the rows of kneeling men and women, Pavun had drawn his blue energy weapon and affixed it to the palm of his right hand.
Standing at twelve feet tall, Pavun cast a long shadow over the rebels. A white man with a sunburned face stared up at Pavun with contempt.
Though Pavun saw no wounds on the man's body, a patch of blood ran diagonally across his shirt. He wore a white beanie on his head, as did all the other rebels. Patches of facial hair gathered on the man's cheeks.
The man said to Pavun, “You've done it. You've won.”
Pavun's hand went to his weapon. He heard those exact two sentences before, just before a surprise attack had caught him off guard in the grasslands of North America.
He went down to one knee so that he didn't have to look straight down at the kneeling man. He said, “Have I won?”
The man said, “We are the leaders of the rebel army in Madagascar. You have found us. We have lost. This is why we have surrendered.”
Pavun kept his face as still as stone, not wanting to give anything away, and said, “I think we both know better than that. You could have never stolen a Turtle nor held out for over a year against us if you didn't have help from somewhere. That's plain from the battle results of the past few days.”
The man grimaced. He looked away. “My name is Henley Rass, and I don't know what you are talking about.”
“You might expect that I intend to torture you, or punish you in some other manner. I won't do that, though. Torture doesn't work.
“Who knows if what you said is actually true or if they were the words of a man who just wants to get some rest? I won't send you to work in the mines. No, that would just inspire the other rebels. You would revolt one day, wouldn't you?
“If you don't cooperate, I can promise you death. That much I am authorized to give. I would like to be as merciful as possible, so I will use neural shock. One sting to the back on the back of your head, and that would be it. If you don't cooperate, only death awaits you.”
Henley Rass said nothing.
“But if you do, you'll get to live. I don't know if Antarctica could be called a vacation spot, but you'll be alive.
“Choose now. Death or life?”
Henley Rass bared his teeth. “Always life. We have always chosen life. Your way is death, the way of your society which tells us not to do anything with our lives, just to sit about and rot until the body stops functioning. That's not life. I don't know what to call it, but that's not life.
“Of course I will choose life, even if that means betraying my comrades.”
“Very good.”
Henley gathered his courage and said, “There's a man in Heracleion. I don't know his real name. He goes by the code name Shellfish. He gave us the plan three years ago. Cause a ruckus, get the army called in, then they would help us establish a stalemate.
“That was the plan all along--a stalemate, not a victory. We weren't supposed to win. That would have been impossible. We were only supposed to stop the shipment of minerals until the critical hour came.”
Pavun stood up, feeling the muscles in his leg complain. “We'll take a full statement from everyone at base camp. Then I will process your transfers to the Vostok Penal Colony.” Then, motioning the row of soldiers standing behind the rebels, he said, “Load up the prisoners. We are returning to base.
