by Gregg Vann
But ten years later, the other ships didn’t arrive.
Nor did they show up the following year…or the next. Eventually, the prisoners refused to continue working and declared that their sentences were over. But the guards pointed out that the years they would have spent in cryo-sleep on the journey home counted as well, and told them that they still had a long way to go before they were set free.
Then the children began to arrive, and the situation grew even more tenuous.
As the VSCS agreement specified, the prisoners were chemically sterilized on arrival at the planet—to keep them from having children while they served out their sentences. But the treatment was designed to wear off over time, returning their bodies to normal a decade later. Now, with a barely adequate food supply, population control was more important than ever. So the guards announced that they were going to start forcing sterilizations again, and further declared that any child born on Torvus wouldn’t be considered free until they returned to Earth for a court determination.
That was when the violence began.
Several guards were killed in the initial skirmishes, but only because they weren’t expecting an attack. Once all-out hostilities erupted, it was a very one-sided affair. At first, Sergeant Barent did as his job demanded, crushing the prisoner uprising with a good amount of zeal. He was an excellent fighter, after all, and probably the most lethal weapon the guards and colonists had. But one day while out on patrol, Barent saw something that began to change his way of thinking.
As his squad was moving down the street, attempting to clear out one of the partially constructed areas of the city, one of the guards noticed a small child watching them from a second floor window. He lifted his rifle and killed her with a single shot to the chest—remarking to his colleagues that there was now one less mouth to feed. Without hesitation, Barent withdrew his blade and slit the man’s throat. Then he warned the other guards against ever doing anything like that—promising the same fate if they did. Sergeant Barent had no love for the prisoners. If anything, he’d always been rather indifferent toward them. But he didn’t condone preying on the weak; to him, it was absolutely unconscionable. This is a recurrent theme in his writings as well.
The captain of the Le’sant—the person with ultimate authority over the guards—summoned Barent soon after the incident, and told him that if he continued to threaten his fellow officers, he could sleep outside the Citadel—and see how well the prisoners welcomed his charity. But that warning was the only punishment Barent received.
The main reason he wasn’t disciplined for killing the other guard was because no one liked the man anyway; he had a penchant for raping female prisoners. But also, because the captain realized Barent was still his best soldier, and very popular with the other guards. He knew that if no other ships ever came, Sergeant Barent would be essential in protecting them against the much larger prisoner population. So he let the matter go, and over the next few days it appeared that everything would return to normal. And it might have, too, had the child’s mother not shown up at the gate to the Citadel seeking justice for her daughter.
And ended up dead for her efforts.
Barent began to realize that Le’sant was no longer a colony, but a concentration camp—and the prisoners little more than slaves. He knew that some of them were murderers—or worse—but the guards were supposed to be a force for safety and justice. When they started doing the same things they persecuted the prisoners for, how were they any different? Forced sterilizations? And declaring innocent children prisoners just because of their parentage? How was any of that fair…or right?
Sergeant Barent wasn’t soft; he was anything but. You didn’t make it as a guard on an interstellar assignment if you were. The training was far more intense than any military ever demanded. And it had to be. If things went wrong, it could be a full ten years before any reinforcements showed up. As a colonial guard, you were the only order left in the universe.
And if you failed, you died.
But that didn’t mean you turned in your conscience when you picked up your weapon. At least, Sergeant Barent hadn’t. He reached out to the prisoners and tried to start a dialogue, making the same effort with the colonists and other guards. Some on Barent’s side of the conflict felt as he did—that they needed to come up with a long-term solution that was fair to everyone.
Unfortunately, the majority did not.
Undaunted, Barent set up a meeting between representatives chosen by the prisoners and some of the guards and colonists—in hopes of working out a permanent solution to the crisis. The prisoners had grown to trust Sergeant Barent after he killed the murderous guard, so they agreed to the proposal, ready to put the violence behind them. But he discovered that the Le’sant’s captain—Jenak—intended to use the opportunity to massacre the convict leaders, believing it would break their resolve and restore order. So Barent led a small group of prisoners into the armory and provided them with weapons, and then ordered them to hide out on the periphery of the meeting place and observe the negotiations. Barent also tasked the few guards he knew he could trust to join them.
When Captain Jenak did as expected, and ordered his troops to kill the prisoners’ representatives, he ended up being the first to fall in the brief but brutal firefight. That was the spark that ignited the Pardon War, and though a nominal victory for the prisoners, the majority of the guards and colonists remained safely secluded inside the Citadel. And after that skirmish, they locked it down tight.
Barent’s small, mixed band of fighters immediately set out to organize and train the other prisoners, and then they began a yearlong battle for freedom. It was during that vicious and bloody struggle that Sergeant Barent became revered—renowned for his bravery and leadership, and for staunchly advocating the equality of everyone on the planet…be they prisoner, guard, or colonist.
The guards that sided with Barent during the conflict became known as the Wardens. They were the fiercest of fighters, and led the vanguard during the final assault on the Citadel—present-day Central Le’sant. It was the last great battle and ended the war, but it was also the one that cost Sergeant Barent his life.
One can only imagine what might have come to pass had he lived.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Secrets
“Who are you?” Sergeant Barent demanded. “Where am I?”
He shoved Tana back and she fell to the floor. Then Barent leapt out of the coffin, landing on top of her and pinning Tana to the ground. In one motion, he withdrew two pistols from the cross-holster on his chest, placing their barrels firmly against both sides of Tana’s head. Her eyes shot open wide in shock and surprise.
“Who the hell are you?” Barent growled. “Where are my troops?”
Tana was so utterly amazed by what she was witnessing that she dismissed the weapons shoved against her temples completely. If anything, they were the least shocking thing happening right now. And as her mind took in every shred of information it could—racing to understand it all—Tana noted that her assailant was clad in black, thinly padded combat armor, covered by a long hooded cloak—not at all unlike what modern Wardens wore.
But his skin…
“Sergeant Barent?” Tana gasped, her voice filled with disbelief. “But that’s… That’s not possible. It can’t be.”
“Answer me,” Barent said menacingly. “Who are you?”
His eyes darted around the room as Barent struggled to recognize his surroundings—glancing in every direction like a frantic animal…like a dangerous animal. “Where am I?” he snapped. “Answer me, now!”
And then Sergeant Barent cocked both pistols to signal that his patience was at an end.
“My name is Tana Neng,” she blurted out. “And you are inside your mausoleum.”
“Mausoleum? What the hell are you talking about, prisoner?”
Prisoner?
“Sergeant… You have been dead for centuries.”
Barent stared at Tana’s face wit
h a piercing gaze, and she saw something in his eyes that transformed her curiosity into fear. But then, unexpectedly, Barent laughed.
“You’re funny, convict. Who are you with? Where is Dani Lok?”
“Dani Lo—”
Tana remembered the name from somewhere. Yes, the recorded histories. She was one of the prisoners’ leaders during the Pardon War. “Sergeant, Lok has been dead for hundreds of years.”
“Bah,” Barent exclaimed, and then he hopped up, keeping one of his pistols trained on her. Tana got her first good look at the man as her vision returned to normal, finally recovering from the intense blast of light that had flashed out from the coffin.
Barent’s blonde hair was closely cropped, and like all of the First Ones that had undergone the climate treatment, his skin was the purest white. And he was large, much bigger than people were now…by far. Tana knew that successive generations had suffered from Le’sant’s non-varied diet and lower caloric intake, and that people were appreciably smaller in modern times than they’d been in the past. But she’d never dreamt that their ancestors were so big.
But beyond those telltale differences Tana watched how the man moved, sweeping the room with his other pistol, and quickly evaluating the environment for threats. His mannerisms were precise in their military style and efficiency—calculated, and lethal. And they removed any last vestiges of doubt from Tana’s mind.
It really was Sergeant Barent.
He kept the gun pointed at Tana’s head as he finished his survey of the room.
“Why are my things in glass cases?” Barent asked her. “What the—”
He spotted his plasma rifle and strode over to it, using the butt of his pistol to smash through the glass. Then Barent holstered the weapon to free up one of his hands, and reached inside to grab the rifle. He checked it over expertly.
“Strange,” he remarked. “The power unit is dead…but I just charged it.”
Barent shrugged and slung the weapon across his back, and then he walked over to the coffin to look inside it—maintaining a pistol and a wary eye on Tana. When he saw the interior his gun hand slowly fell, and Tana took that as a sign that she could get up. She cautiously walked over to stand next to Sergeant Barent, following his gaze down inside the hollow sarcophagus.
“A cryo-chamber,” Tana said, surprised. And then she bent down to look underneath the sarcophagus. “I can see the power connectors hidden at the base of it now. Someone must have hooked it up to one of the subterranean thermal energy sources.”
“Yes,” Barent acknowledged, his voice almost as empty as the coffin.
He noticed a folded up piece of paper in one corner of the otherwise barren chamber and bent over to pick it up, recognizing the handwriting on it instantly. It was a note from Corporal Ennis.
Barent read it aloud.
Sergeant Barent,
The night before we stormed the Citadel, I was approached by a group of prisoners calling themselves the Collective. Because I had criticized some of your actions during the war, they felt I might be supportive of their goals. I was not. They feared you meant to establish a dictatorship when the war was won, and didn’t believe your assurances that everyone would be treated as equals. Many of them still remembered your actions as a guard before the war, Sergeant Barent. And despite all that you’ve done since those dark times, they continued to distrust you.
Please forgive my actions on the final night you saw me. The Collective were planning to send someone to kill you—someone close. But I couldn’t find out who it was, so I promised to do it myself. I convinced them that, as a Warden, I had easier access to you, and that your trust in me would make the treachery possible. But instead of poisoning you as I’d agreed, I slipped a sedative in your drink. And then I faked your death, placing you in cryo-sleep until we, your loyal Wardens, can root out all those involved in this plot against you. I alone know the truth—that you are still alive. Everyone else, other than the traitors that commissioned your assassination, of course, believes you succumbed to injuries received in battle.
The war is won, Sergeant Barent. And the Collective have emerged as a very strong faction. They enjoy a great deal of support among the people, so I’m playing along with them until we’re ready to spring the trap. But they grow more powerful every day, and if they aren’t stopped soon, there is every reason to believe the Collective will gain complete control of the new government.
These traitors are well placed and secretive, Sergeant Barent, and it will some take time to ferret them all out. But until then, you are in grave danger. When this is all finally over, and I’m confident that you’ll be safe, I will return to free you. But if I fail and am killed, I’ve set the timer to awaken you after five years. By that time, this will all be over…one way or another.
The Collective voted to authorize this tomb as a celebration of your life—even though they are the hypocrites that sought your death. But I made certain to supervise the construction myself, and there is a secret passageway beneath this pedestal that leads out beyond the walls. A failsafe, in case everything goes wrong.
It’s hard to know who to trust anymore, Sergeant Barent. And the wrong word to someone may cost me my life. So I ask that you forgive me for what I’ve done, and please know that—come what may—I only meant to protect you.
Corporal Ennis
Barent’s face fell as he read the last few words, and then he folded up the piece of paper neatly and placed it in his pocket. He turned to look at Tana.
“How long?” he asked her.
“Five hundred years.”
Barent’s eyes widened in disbelief, but then he looked around the room again and discovered a few pieces of unfamiliar technology. And he examined Tana as well, noting her unique physical characteristics. Her eyes were brilliant blue in color, and so radiant that they had an unnatural glow around the outer edges. Barent had never seen anyone with eyes like that, certainly not on Earth.
And though her skin was extremely pale, it wasn’t the pure white of the original colonists and guards—nor was it one the host of other skin colors present in the prisoner population. And strangely, it had absolutely no sheen at all. Tana’s skin was perfectly matte, and seemed to absorb the ambient light. But perhaps most telling were her words. She had a peculiar accent when she spoke, and while Barent could understand Tana perfectly, her pronunciation was…well, odd. Barent’s intuition, and the evidence, led him to conclude that what Tana was telling him had to be true.
He’d been in cryo-sleep for more than half a millennium.
“The timer must have been faulty,” Barent said. “These chambers were only designed for a single use—for the trip out to this planet.” His face softened and Tana heard a somber tone invade Barent’s voice. “What is Le’sant like now?” he asked. “What has become of everything as I slept?”
“The city has grown much larger since your time, Sergeant Barent. But not much else has changed. The strong still prey on the weak, they all just go by different titles now. I’m afraid things didn’t turn out quite the way you’d hoped.”
“And the Wardens?”
“They’re still around. And they remain true to your memory. In fact, they’re the ones who sent me here tonight to…”
“To what?”
“They sent me here to free you, Sergeant Barent. But that’s not what they told me. They must have known that you were still alive when they snuck me in past the guards. But they didn’t care to share that information.” Tana shook her head and smiled. “The Wardens are much sneakier than I thought.”
Barent felt the outline of Corporal Ennis’ note in his pocket. “Then that much hasn’t changed, either.”
“It sounds to me like Ennis saved your life,” Tana said.
“I realize that. But if everything you say is true—and my instincts tell me it is—what the hell am I to do now?”
“I honestly don’t know, Sergeant. But I’m sure the Wardens have a few ideas, and I’m supposed to meet
them not too far from here. What I do know is that the Collective sure as hell won’t be happy to have you back.”
Barent’s eyes went cold and his voice turned angry. “This Collective Ennis talked about, they still exist?”
“They do. And they control everything.”
“And exactly who are you?” Barent asked.
“A thief. Your Wardens blackmailed me into breaking in here. They’re holding my girlfriend and my freedom hostage to guarantee my cooperation.”
“Girlfriend?” Barent remarked.
“Certainly homosexuals were not unheard of five hundred years ago.”
“Of course not, thief. In fact, it was the preferred orientation of the prisoners sent out to construct the colonies. And here on Torvus, after the second ship was lost, it was even encouraged as a passive form of birth control—because the sterility agent wasn’t 100% effective.”
Barent’s eyes went vacant for a moment, as if reliving a distant and unpleasant memory, and then he focused in on Tana again. “When the other colony ships didn’t show up ten years on, there was even talk about making it compulsory for the prisoners…along with some other less savory solutions to keep the population down. Regardless, my remark didn’t concern your sexuality, thief. It was a reaction to the Wardens taking hostages—and having criminals do their work for them.”
“First off, my name is Tana, not thief. And I’m not a crimin— Well I am, but—”
“You can explain yourself later,” Barent told her. “If the Wardens had to sneak you in here, then that means the guards outside are no friends of mine.”
“And how do you know that I am?” Tana asked.
“I don’t. But if you’d wanted me dead, you could have easily just placed a bomb on the sarcophagus and left.”
“Good point. And by the way, Sergeant, I’m bisexual—not a lesbian. Although the government still encourages homosexuality as a means of population control.”
“Let’s go,” Barent replied.
Why did I feel so compelled to point that out to him, Tana asked herself. Get it together, ‘thief’. This is neither the time nor the place to lose focus.
