by K. Makansi
“People are coming in from all different directions,” Bear said, going over the final plans. “Those from the factory town will take commuter trains, sayin’ they’re celebrating the Solstice. Some in for vacations. Farm workers have to walk or we'll have to transport them. With Zeke's help--and the Director's--we'll get them in by airship, train, or supply truck.”
“Any sign that the Sector has noticed a spike in ticket sales and is investigating?” I asked, looking at Vale and Bear.
“Demeter hasn’t picked up on anything. She says commuter tickets are only up moderately from last year’s Solstice celebration.”
“The Director kindly loaned us all her airships, an’ over the day or so before the march, every pilot in the Resistance will be flyin’ marchers out of their Farms and towns, and to the city.”
“What happens when the march starts?” Osprey asked.
“At dawn every one of the marchers who’s made it to the city will meet at the Bridge of Remembrance an’ start down Rue Jubilation.”
“What’s phase two?” Saara leaned forward. She’d volunteered to go in with Zeke.
“With the map Shia gave us, we were able to chart the restaurants, smoke dens, and bars with UMIT-enabled bulletin boards with external displays. The Director has given us an ample supply of seedcoins, so we’re going to upload information about the march on each one we pass. With groups coming in from every quadrant of the city, by the time we get downtown, there should be information displayed all over the Sector. Then we gather on Rue Jubilation and simply march to Reunion Park and end up at the steps of Assembly Hall.”
“It’s not going to be ‘simple’ with Watchmen, SDF, OAC Black Ops, and paranoid citizens all around,” Vale muttered.
Bear shrugged. “I know. But this won’t be a repeat of Round Barn. They won’t be able to hide this or claim it’s doctored video and that all the dead are Resistance actors.” His mouth turned down in a sour scowl. “They can’t massacre their own citizens right in the capital, especially not five thousand of their ‘honored’ Farm workers. And we won’t be defenseless this time. Or hungry and confused. Everyone marching knows the stakes.”
“What’s the end goal, Bear?” Osprey twirled a short lock of hair around her finger over and over again though it just kept slipping out. I’d never seen her nervous, but her curled-up, bent-over posture and endless fidgeting betrayed her anxiety. “I understand you’ll send a message to the Sector and the Orleán administration, but what are you actually going to accomplish by the end of the day?”
Bear was quiet for a moment. Finally he looked up and held Osprey’s gaze. “The goal is to show ourselves. To show the privileged citizens in the capital that we exist, that we are real people, not just props in Sector news stories about the wonders of Farm life. We may not be educated and smart like them, but our voices and our lives are important, too.”
The train starts to slow. We must be getting close. When the lights turn on, I lock eyes with Eli.
“And may the flowers bloom tomorrow, too.” He nods at me. A prayer for tomorrows.
We adjust the hoods of our Firex fireproof jackets, and I rub my thumb along the trigger of my Bolt. Against my calves and inside my boots, my knives provide cold comfort, and I’ve equipped my waist pack with as many smoke grenades as I could find. Eli and I are prepared to defend ourselves and others. It is our duty to protect the marchers from whatever comes.
“You ready, Little Bird?” He looks down at me.
“Ready.” I take his hand. “Tai would be so proud of you.”
He holds out his arms and draws me to him. “Today is for her. For Brinn. For my parents.”
“For all of them,” I whisper.
He flashes me a look that reveals the crazy, exuberant—and dangerous—Eli I know and love as much as any blood brother. “So we’d better fucking be ready.”
A surge of energy floods my body, and I know he feels it, too: the air between us, all around us, is electrified, static, almost as if every movement is playing out in slow motion. With our disguise makeup and a few more pairs of Kenzie’s retinal scramblers, the drones won’t recognize us right away. Osprey and Soren are similarly geared, but they’ll be taking up the rear. The makeup won’t last all day, though, so we’ve got kerchiefs to wear if we get sweaty and the makeup starts to fade. We’re counting on the Watchers to respond first and hoping they won’t escalate as long as we stay peaceful.
The train comes to a complete stop and the cargo doors slide open. Eli looks at me and winks. “Go time.”
Bolts drawn, Eli and I are the first on the dock. Behind us, marchers pour off the train and, with Bear at the lead, stream into the warehouse. A worker turns, his eyes widening in disbelief. Eli flashes him a smile: Hey, calm down, brother, we’re just here to have fun.
But the worker doesn’t seem to take Eli’s smile the way it was intended. He lifts his wrist communicator to his mouth and shouts, “Security breach! Red alert!”
I pull up my Bolt and fire. He drops to the ground, stunned, but not for long. Another man appears from behind a roof-high stack of crates, and he’s down before I can react. Over my shoulder, Eli recharges his Bolt.
We charge forward toward the front of the depot and out onto Rue Descartes. And so the symphony begins. Bear, at the head of the line, lifts his bright red flag high into the air, leading us the short distance down Rue Descartes toward the Bridge of Remembrance.
We walk silently, as calm as the protests at Round Barn were chaotic, a few protesters peeling off now and again to drop seedcoins into the external UMIT displays. The sky is purple and pink, and dawn is just breaking behind us. This early in the morning, there aren’t many people out and about, but a few early risers stop and stare, watching us approach with shock evident on their faces. Some open their plasmas, calling family or friends or the local Watchers’ station. Although most marchers carry weapons of some sort, they are hidden in pockets and pant legs, jackets and boots. We want to inspire, not intimidate.
As we turn onto Rue Jubilation, Bear begins to chant, using an old-fashioned handheld speaker Eli rigged up. Behind us, I feel our ranks swelling. Murmured whispers tell us more and more people are arriving. I am amazed by how many children there are, walking hand in hand with their parents or perched on an adult’s shoulders. A thousand voices fill the morning air as we echo our responses.
To the sowing,
When we plant the seeds of freedom
To the reaping,
When we prune the rot of power
To the harvest,
When we gather the fruits of justice
We are the Sector
We are the Resistance
We are the People
Stand up, stand up,
Join the revolution
Rise up, rise up,
For the revolution!
We barely finish the first round of chanting before I hear the telltale buzz of drones, and they appear from every direction like a swarm, fanning out and taking position up and down the line no more than thirty meters above our heads. I’d almost expected them sooner. They hover overhead, moving along at our pace, not firing just yet. Soon we are facing a blockade, a row of Watchers mostly in hovercars blocking the street and sidewalks.
“No violence! Be calm, push through or go around!” Bear’s voice rings out strong and clear, repeating the instructions drilled into us before we set out. “We are here to raise our voices for justice, not our hands in hate.”
Today, the traits the Sector has bred us for come in handy, and many of the Farm workers tower over the Watchers, intimidating them with their immense size and strength. Born into a culture dedicated to hard work, it doesn’t matter that they haven’t been off their MealPaks for weeks. After Bear spread the word about what we’d learned from Moriana about Corine’s plans, anger and resentment among the workers grew to a fever pitch. Those who showed up for the march are determined, dedicated, and willing to risk life and limb in the hope they wo
n’t be permanently programmed as slaves of production for the Sector elite.
But we don’t get far before several SDF airships appear in the sky ahead of us. The big guns are here. A clear voice sounds through one of the Watcher’s speakers.
“Halt! You are in violation of Sector Ordinance 43. You have not been granted a permit for this gathering, and all participants are subject to immediate arrest and detention. Furthermore, you have knowingly participated in the hijacking of Sector cargo lines. Whoever is responsible for these acts of lawlessness, step forward and we’ll show your followers leniency.”
Bear steps forward, his megaphone to his lips. “We are citizens of the Okarian Sector and have the right to walk freely and unhindered on the streets built with our labor.” The Watcher tries to cut him off, but Bear’s voice grows louder, more fierce. “We are Farm workers, the men and women who feed this nation, and will use Sector transportation as needed—including Sector trains!”
Bear turns around to face the crowd. “As full citizens of the Sector, we will march.”
Everyone repeats: “We will march!”
Watchers step out of their hovercars and raise their Bolts. Although they’re blocking our path, there are only ten cars and about twenty or thirty officers. The Watchers position themselves between their cars, standing shoulder to shoulder as the drones descend, green lights blinking rapidly, photographing faces to ID protesters in the Personhood Database—or to arm themselves for firing.
Discreetly, I set my bolt to DISPERSE and see Eli do the same from the corner of my eye. I nod at him and on the count of three, we raise our left fists, gloved in crimson cloth. Others, positioned throughout the crowd to echo our movements and amplify our message, follow suit and everyone armed with a Bolt readies their weapon.
“To the sowing!”
Bear begins the chant again, and the voices of the people rise into the air, the righteous roar of thousands. There are too many of us for a small contingent of Watchers to stop. We start to move around and push through their line when a Watcher raises her bolt at me. Eli drops her with a flash, she crumples behind her vehicle, and her Bolt clatters to the ground as I raise mine and send a cloud of electricity toward the nearest cluster of drones. In a heartbeat, up and down the line of marchers, the air crackles with static and Watchers and onlookers turn their heads to the sky as drones stop moving, immobilized, listing to the side. Bolts set to DISPERSE not only sting when they bite flesh, but will scramble a drone’s guidance system, sending it either wandering aimlessly or, with enough repeated fire, dropping to the ground like a fly.
We move ahead quickly, and I try to blend in with the crowd. Another Watcher sees me with my Bolt and aims, but I fire before he has a chance to pull the trigger. I step over him and pick up his weapon, handing it to a marcher behind me.
The Watchers are in disarray. For the most part, they have no idea how to react, clearly unwilling to shoot into a crowd flush with children where very few people are armed. One Watchman shouts orders, another calls for help from the SDF, and others are scuffling as they try to grab a marcher here or there. I turn and see a Watcher throw a young girl to the ground, drop and dig her knee into the girl’s back. I run toward them, plowing into the Watcher from behind, sending her sprawling. I grab her Bolt and pull the marcher to her feet as others bend over the Watcher, picking her up, holding her arms behind her back, and carrying her in front of them as they keep marching forward. One winks at me and says, “We found a new recruit!”
“You okay?” I ask the girl.
“Fine, just bruises.” And a nasty scratch on her face, but that will heal.
“Thanks,” she calls and runs to catch up to her friends as more drones appear, following us, awaiting orders. We try to disable as many as we can, but they just keep coming. They move like hummingbirds, thrumming overhead, flitting between buildings, darting out again. By this time, Corine, Philip, Aulion, and Evander will have received the Red Alert and been notified of the protest. But even they know attacking peaceful protestors in the heart of the capital would be unwise. At least I hope they know that.
I run along the left side of our group to make sure no one’s fallen or hurt when I find Reika leading her contingent of marchers. “Any trouble getting in?”
“Nothing we couldn’t deal with,” she says with a tight smile.
“Injuries?”
“A few. We had to leave a couple of folks behind before boarding. I think one woman broke her arm in a fall. But she’ll be okay. Her son stayed with her.”
I look around and see an old man with a limp struggling to keep up. One either side, he’s supported by two young women. The sight fills me with an odd combination of hope and sadness. We’re in this fight together. When all is said and done, who will be there to pick up Corine? Who will support Philip? Or Aulion and Evander? Who will stand by them when power, position, money, and greed are not at stake?
I nod. “I’m going back to the front. Don’t forget the safe spots.” Before the march, everyone was briefed on where to stop and rest or hide if they needed to regroup or escape. Safety matters, Bear told everyone. We are worth more to the cause when we are alive and strong. So stay alive, stay strong.
Reika gives me a mock salute. “Yes, sir! Tell Bear we’re right behind him.”
With one last look down the line at Reika’s group, I cut away from the march and into an alley, running ahead to get back to the front. As I run, I feel the adrenaline course through me, focusing my mind. I think of the chemicals flooding through my body and imagine them as swirling colors: crimson, like the cloth wrapped around my hand, azure like the arcs of electricity from my Bolt, and pure white, like the rage that blinds me when I think of everything that has led us here.
When I reach the front of the march, my heart drops. Eli’s arms are pinned behind him by two Watchers, and Bear is on the ground with another Watcher standing over him and pointing a Bolt at his head.
“No!” The word is out of my mouth before I realize it. The Watcher looks up, and I see a flash of electricity travel its short distance. Bear spasms and lies still.
And that’s all it takes. The marchers swarm the scene. A giant of a man with ragged scars on his hand slams a fist into the side of one of the Watcher’s heads, then quickly frees Eli from the other one, bending the Watcher’s arms up at impossible angles, all the while smiling down at the officer.
“Sir, we don’t aim to hurt no one,” the giant says, “but if you’re figurin’ on causin’ pain to my friends, I will break your arms first and then twist your head plum off its stem.”
A red-headed woman, with arms nearly as thick as the giant’s, plucks the Bolt from the Watcher standing over Bear as two others bend over him. “You should be ashamed of yourself shooting a Farm worker! This nation was built on our backs, and this is how you repay us? We walk peaceably, and you shoot us in the street?”
I push through and press my fingers to Bear’s neck. I look up to see Eli standing over me. “He’s got a pulse,” I say with relief. “Can someone carry him?” Another worker steps forward and scoops Bear into his arms as if he’s no heavier than a child.
Eli turns to the crowd and motions at the two Watchers. “Let’s take our new friends with us.”
I pick up Bear’s speaker and put it to my lips. “March on.” We have less than two kilometers until we reach our ultimate destination: the Sector Sunflower monument at the steps of Assembly Hall.
When the shadows of more SDF airships cast darkness on the streets, the energy of the march shifts. As the airships approach, several open their bay doors, and soldiers attached to magnetic lines drop from the hulls. They land on all sides. They group into squadrons and form blockades, preventing us from dispersing onto side streets. The fear builds. Instead of marching of our own volition down Rue Jubilation, now I feel hemmed in, herded, claustrophobic. But still we walk. One of the other workers has taken the megaphone and is leading the chants. Beside me, still cradled in the big man�
�s arms, I see Bear stir, his eyes fluttering open.
He shakes his head and the worker stops and sets him down, steadying him.
“You okay?” I look into Bear’s eyes. “You got a nasty shock.”
He shakes his head as if trying to clear it of cobwebs and turns to focus on me. “Oui. I’m fine.” He looks up at the man holding him. “Merci, Leif.”
“If you’re okay, I’m going to keep marching,” Leif says. “I want to be at the very front when we stop.”
“I’m fine now.”
“My honor, Miss Remy and Mister Bear,” Leif says, nodding in respect, then striding off to rejoin his friends.
I look up as Bear stretches and shakes life back into his limbs. The airships are nearly one hundred meters away now, and in less than a minute they’ll be right above us. I hear shouting in the distance and a flash of blue. Not good. Are they attacking?
“Bear, we have to get back to the front. The SDF is here. Evander’s airships could be deployed at any minute.”
He winces as if bracing himself against an invisible attack. Then he shakes it off and nods. “Let’s go.”
We jog along the edge of the march until we catch up with Eli. “Let me show you something.” He motions us forward. At the very front of the line, marchers have unfurled a banner, seemingly stitched together from canvas grain bags. As it flaps in the wind, I read the words painted across it:
We Are Citizens, Not Slaves
Rise Up For The Revolution
Eli’s face glows with crazy energy. And then I notice what’s different, and my eyes grow wide. He’s wiped his makeup off in smudges.
“I was getting sweaty,” he says with a shrug. “Guess they gotta deal with the real me now.”
“It’s not going to be long before the drones recognize you.”
“Let’s not delay the inevitable.” He slings two extra Bolts he’s found, presumably from some of the Watchmen, behind his back and holsters two more. Looking up into the sky at the drones and the looming airships, he looks like someone about to jump off a cliff. I know Eli doesn’t want to die today any more than I do. But we both know that today is our chance, our moment. And Eli is ready to give everything he’s got. “These drones are annoying as hell,” he says. In a move that looks as natural as his crooked, easygoing smile, he sets his Bolts to DISPERSE and, using one after the other, sends waves of electricity humming through the air. Drones spin out of control, list sideways, or drop to the ground. Bear and I join him, shooting as many as we can.
