by K A Riley
The new image tells a much different story. It’s the same city. The same streets. The same time of day. Krug is still standing on his heli-barge, only this time, he’s in a protective turret, surrounded by a security detail of a dozen enormous and heavily-armed men in their American flag camouflage uniforms. On the streets below, there are no cheering crowds. No saluting civilians. No adoring fans. In fact, the streets are strangely deserted. As Krug’s heli-barge gets closer to the Armory, small groups of Patriot soldiers stand guard in front of red and white striped barricades along certain parts of the street. A few people here and there salute Krug with the raised “K” sign and cry out feeble cheers that sound strangely hollow on the nearly-deserted and blocked-off roads. Behind them, probably a half mile or so away, thousands of people fill the streets and chant in protest even as a line of Patriot soldiers, their weapons primed and raised, advances on them.
Wisp points from the first image to the second one. “This first display, the wonderful glorious parade, is what everyone is seeing on their viz-screens. But this, this second image…this is what’s actually happening as we speak. You can thank Olivia and Manthy for circumventing the security protocols and allowing us to see the truth.”
“Wait,” Cardyn says, “the parade’s not real?”
“You sound surprised,” Rain says quietly.
Brohn clenches his jaw at the stark contrast between the two displays. “We knew he was a liar…”
“He’s worse than a liar,” Wisp interrupts. “He’s a lie. A hoax. The ultimate self-made man. He’s projected the fantasy of himself so many times onto so many people that he’s come to believe in himself as his own god.”
“How has no one figured this out?” Cardyn asks. “I mean, either there’s a parade or there isn’t one. Krug is either loved or he’s hated, right?”
“Not exactly,” Rain says slowly. “Look, we spent our lives knowing only what we saw on the viz-screens. We never thought to ask if it was real. Who would we ask, anyway? How could anyone ever really know for sure? Our entire country is based on faith in the government. Not just in the people running it but in the belief that there is a government at all. Democracy isn’t a tangible thing. It’s an idea, and it can be manipulated like any idea, especially when so many people out there, people like us, don’t have the resources, or sometimes even the desire, to challenge it one way or the other.”
Unlike the rest of us, Wisp has been standing this whole time, bathed in the multi-color glow of the side-by-side images of Krug’s arrival. Now, she plops down in one of the mag-chairs and leans back with her hands behind her head and her heels up on the table. “Very true, Rain. Besides, Card, it’s not like no one’s figured it out. We have. Others have. It’s just that most people who wind up figuring it out are either shouted down, labeled as crazy paranoiacs, jailed, killed, or, like the vast majority, are shuttled into the New Towns where Krug can more easily control his message while keeping the believers and the doubters in a state of constant fear and conflict.”
Cardyn bites his lip and looks frustrated. “It’s not fair. And it’s not right. We need to stop him once and for all.”
Brohn stands up, his face contorted with rage, and starts heading for the door. “That’s the plan.”
22
During this week, I’ve been working with Wisp, Rain, Manthy, and Olivia on surveillance and strategy. After viewing the fake parade and feeling sick to our stomachs about it, we leave Olivia down in the Intel Room and head upstairs to the fifth floor to join the Insubordinates and Granden in their final round of training.
As Wisp accompanies us down the hall toward the stairs, Manthy complains of headaches again and asks me if she can go downstairs to spend some more time with Caldwell and the Modifieds instead of heading upstairs with the rest of us.
I look around in the hallway for a second before realizing she’s talking to me.
“It’s fine with me,” I tell her, and I’m wondering why she thinks she needs to ask my permission to do anything.
She says, “Thanks. Do you want me to take Render?”
I say, “Sure” and hand him off to Manthy who coos over him and tucks him against her body.
Then, we all walk along to the stairway where Manthy heads down, and the rest of us jog up the two flights to the fifth floor where Granden and some of the older Insubordinates are supervising our small but fiercely determined army.
Since we already know the layout of the fifth floor and all of its rooms, it’s easy to pop into one room or the other and join in the various drills, pep-talks, and battle sims.
It feels good to be reunited with Brohn. Although we’ve had a few hours each night together, we’ve spent most of our days apart this week, not including the other day when we were captured and held captive by Ekker, which doesn’t count because we were prisoners, and Ekker’s a psycho.
Once upstairs, I marvel at how the three combat trainers have continued to sculpt this rag-tag band of underground rebels into a squadron of deadly efficiency.
“They’ve really vaulted this thing to a whole new level,” I say, looking around at what has practically become a professional operation.
In the open rooms and even in the hallways, groups of Insubordinates are practicing martial arts moves, guiding each other in the proper use of some of the surveillance equipment, and talking with barely-restrained excitement about the training and tonight’s attack.
Even if we fail, even if this thing today goes horribly slanted, I’m proud of what Brohn and Cardyn have done here. Before my eyes, they have become master mentors and trusted guides in this strange time of uncertainty.
“Card and I are going to catch up with Granden,” Brohn tells the rest of us. “Why don’t you all have a look around? See all the hard work we’ve been putting in up here while you all goofed around downstairs.”
We have a nice laugh together before splitting up and meandering through the busy crowd of excited warriors-in-training.
Down at the end of the hall, Rain and I join six of the Insubordinates in their target shooting. Although Rain isn’t quite as good as Karmine or Kella, she still manages to show off a bit for the Insubordinates, who cheer her on before begging me to try, too. I take the Inferno stock twenty-two rifle and point it down the length of the shooting range. The Insubordinates and even Rain seem especially impressed with my abilities. To tell the truth, looking over at the accuracy-display on the wall over to my left to see my score, I’m impressed, myself. Based on the read-out, I just took twenty shots and earned a perfect mark.
I shrug at the results, but the Insubordinates look like they want to pick me up and carry me around the room on their shoulders.
I have to tell them, “I don’t know—just a lot of practice, I guess” when they insist on knowing my secret.
Out in the hall, Rain pulls me aside before I have a chance to go find Brohn again. The wide hallway is alive with activity. Insubordinates bounce from room to room. Granden is on the far side of the hall demonstrating a sophisticated flanking and infiltration technique on a rotating holo-display for a group of stern, serious-looking girls. Cardyn is just coming out of the room across from us. He gives me and Rain a happy wave before moving on to the next room where he and Brohn have been conducting martial arts training.
“Seriously,” Rain asks me. “How did you do that? And don’t tell me it was just a lot of practice. I can’t remember the last time you shot a gun.”
“It’s not like I was bad at it in the Processor.”
“You were terrible at it in the Processor,” Rain nearly squeals.
“Okay. Listen. I’ve been feeling more and more connected to Render lately on a mental level even when we’re not officially connected. I don’t know if I’m borrowing his abilities, sharing them, or inheriting them. Either way, those projected holo-targets were a hundred meters away, but they might as well have been three feet away. Rain, I could honestly make out every pixel of the projection.”
Rain looks excited and asks me to go on.
“Okay. I’m remembering something Ekker said to me about our so-called ‘powers’ as Emergents becoming enhanced by our proximity to each other.”
“Proximity?”
“Yeah. You know, how we were all sort of squished together in the Valta after…the attacks. At first, I dismissed it as Ekker being a ranting, power-hungry lunatic. But the fact is, I feel different when I’m around you guys. It’s not just normal confidence, either.”
“Maybe it’s security from being in a group.”
“Maybe. But I think there’s even more to it than that. I think Ekker was telling the truth. More and more, when I’m around you, I actually feel better. More alert. More alive. Not just happy to be with you. It’s like I’m becoming a better version of myself.”
Rain beams at me and gives me an unexpected hug. “Kress, 2.0.”
Brohn pokes his head out of the room across the hall and invites me and Rain in. “If you two aren’t too busy chit-chatting, maybe you would like to join us in here for our last round of hand-to-hand combat training?” He’s wearing black tactical cargo pants with an army-green, short-sleeve compression shirt. His hair is tousled, and his face is shiny with sweat. As usual, he looks like he’s been working twice as hard as the kids he’s training.
“We’ll be right there,” Rain calls over.
Brohn beams and pumps his fist before turning and striding back into the room.
“You go ahead,” Rains says to me. “I’m going to try the shooting range again. I may not be at your level anymore, but maybe I can still teach these kids a thing or two.”
I tell Rain, “Okay” and start to follow Brohn into his training room.
Rain calls out to me before I get to the door. “No matter what happens tonight, Kress, I want you to know that you make me feel like a better version of me, too.”
I answer her with a grateful smile, and she goes skittering back into the shooting gallery, her black ponytail bouncing rhythmically behind her.
Turning and wading through the torrent of burbling Insubordinates, I cross the hall and enter the room where Brohn is going over some pretty sophisticated details about the application of the centerline philosophy while engaging in a Hand Immobilization Attack. I lean against the wall and watch with what I know must be an oddly wide smile on my face as Brohn leads nine Insubordinates through these techniques of the Wing Chun fighting style. They’re just about to break for sparring when Brohn notices me and calls me over.
“Feel like giving them a last-minute demonstration?” he calls out.
I look around, acting like I don’t know who he’s talking to. “Me?”
“Come on,” Brohn says, waving me over. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”
I plod over with pretend reluctance to the center of the room as the Insubordinates form a ring around me and Brohn.
With our guards up, we circle each other, sizing each other up, scoping out weakness and any flaw in the other person’s guard we might exploit. I attack first, stepping into Brohn with a quick hop forward and a snap of my fist, which he deflects while simultaneously delivering an elbow strike, which I dodge, and then we are nearly nose-to-nose, our wrists and forearms sliding against and rotating around each other as we demonstrate the “sticky hands” technique. We push and probe for openings, our muscles firing at high speed until our hands and arms are a blur.
As we engage, our bodies forming a kind of improvised dance, Brohn narrates our techniques and strategies.
“Watch the quick footwork…Keep your hands loose to disguise your attack. A clenched fist, a tense shoulder, shifting hips…these are all telegraphs, giveaways about when and where you plan to strike…Notice that it’s not punch, parry, block, return punch. In close-quarters, hand-to-hand combat, the offense and the defense happen at the same time…we’re aware of touch sensitivity, the micro-adjustments our opponent is making…Our kicks are low and practical, not high and flashy…Oh, and no one ever does a back-flip in the middle of a fight.”
The laughs and cheers from the Insubordinates are interrupted by Wisp who appears in the doorway causing everyone to snap to attention.
“It’s time,” she says.
23
With the Insubordinates, Wisp, and all the others geared up, Brohn, Cardyn, and Granden draw me aside to a table full of weapons and clothes, and they outfit me with the equipment I’ll need.
“Sig Sauer 2040s,” Granden says. “Like the ones we trained you on in the Processor.”
“I remember.”
I lean forward so Granden can strap a gas-powered 12-gauge over my head and onto my back.
“And this is a Dissimulator,” Brohn explains. “It will mask your heat signature and take on the color spectrum and contour of whatever’s around you. It’s a one-shot deal, though, and we don’t have very many of them, so use it wisely.”
“Dissimulator. Use it wisely. Got it.”
I clip the small device to the shoulder of my black and gray tactical recon vest.
“And your comm-link. To stay connected with Wisp.”
I press the charcoal-colored button onto my neck just behind my ear.
“Will this thing even work?”
“Olivia and Manthy added a booster program to the communications code. Let’s just hope it’s enough.”
Wisp sidles over and tells us she has to go over some last-minute planning with Granden. “I’ll be five minutes,” she says with a sweet smile. “Just down the hall. Then we’ll get this little army of ours ready, riled up, and on the move.”
I have a nice moment of being pretty close to overwhelmed with pride in who we are, what we’re fighting for, and frankly, with how bad-ass we all look.
The Insubordinates are all dressed in black military style cargo pants and black compression shirts with impact pads on the elbows and shoulders. On top of that, everyone’s wearing black and gray tactical vests with an array of pockets, pouches, and holsters of assorted sizes on the pants and on their service belts. There’s even a crisp gold outline of some kind of symbol embossed on the breast pocket of each of the Insubordinates’ invasion-force combat vests. At first, I can’t make out what it is. Then I look closer at the insignia.
It’s a raven.
“We got one for you, too,” Cardyn beams, holding a vest up in front of me and making it dance in the air.
“How did you arrange all this?”
“Wasn’t us,” Triella says. “We owe it all to the Major.”
Saying he’ll see us in a minute and bouncing from group to group in the expanse of the fifth-floor corridor, Cardyn is a machine of efficiency. As I meander through the crowd and take in all the rowdy excitement, he organizes a group of a few dozen Insubordinates into their smaller squads. Meanwhile, Brohn’s voice fills the large, crowded hallway as he calls out orders and directs everyone where to go and what to do.
“The three of you, you sort out these weapons,” he says, broad-shouldered and standing a head taller than most of the people in the room. “Count them up, match them with their ammo, make sure all the magazines are loaded up and ready to go. You four are responsible for coordinating communication. You answer to Rain.”
A few newcomers—kids not more than about thirteen or fourteen years old—admit to being nervous. “I don’t remember how to eject the clip from the guns,” one of them moans.
Cardyn comes to their rescue and gives them a quick, last-minute lesson. “First of all, it’s a magazine, not a clip,” he laughs. “Here, I’ll show you.”
The younger Insubordinates are wide-eyed and yippy, naïve to the bone but excited about being a part of something so much bigger than themselves. The older ones look edgy but more nervous, maybe even reluctant about what we’re setting out to do. They don their military gear at the supply table in near silence while the younger Insubordinates leap and bounce around them.
Stopping to chat with Rain, I spot Jerald, Ethan, Sabine, and Orion, the four Insubord
inates Brohn and I had coffee with the day Ekker captured us. This is the first time I’ve seen them since that day, and Jerald comes bounding up to me and Rain, gushing about how excited he is “to be involved in this great cause with such great warriors.”
“We’re hardly warriors,” Rain corrects him. “And it’s the cause that’s great, not the handful of us who were lucky enough to survive the apocalypse out there.”
“We heard about you and Brohn,” Jerald says to me.
I blush at first, thinking he means about me and Brohn up here in the shooting range the other night, but he looks distressed as he puts his hand on my shoulder. “I’m just glad you were able to get out of there alive,” he says.
“Well, we wouldn’t have gotten out without a lot of help,” I say, nodding toward Rain and breathing a sigh of relief.
Ethan and Orion join us at one of the equipment and weapons tables where I’m still loading my gun and strategically placing a 2040 Colt M45R4 in my hip holster with an eleven-inch tactical knife, a ballistic propulsion blade, and extra ammo into the various pockets of my belt and recon vest.
“Remember what you’ve been taught,” Brohn tells a large group of Insubordinates who have pressed forward around him. He slips one of his handguns from his hip holster and raises it up at an imaginary enemy. “For most of the guns, you’ll line up the two sights with your target. Keep one hand on the handle with your other hand underneath for support. When you shoot, don’t pull the trigger. Squeeze it. Keep your eye focused downrange. Remember, there’ll be some kickback, some smoke, and some hot shells but nothing to worry about.”
