by Rachel Ford
Brek wasn’t by nature a vengeful man. But in these last cold, despairing days, revenge had consumed much of his thoughts. And so he tried not to think.
He focused instead on making his way through his tomb. He’d chosen a direction at random, and gone in it. He’d followed one of the cavern walls to keep himself from inadvertently circling back or turning himself around.
He’d walked until he couldn’t walk anymore, and then he slept. When he woke, hungrier and colder than before, he’d walked on. For four or five cycles, he’d repeated this. Now, almost numb with cold, he breathed into his palms to warm them. Then, he got to his protesting feet.
His stomach growled with hunger, and his throat was dry with thirst. A kind of lethargy had been settling into Brek’s body lately. His fevered thoughts slowed. The burn of his aching muscles and empty stomach felt more distant than it had.
He had the terrible feeling that this was Death, coming to claim him. He shook himself, trying to keep it at bay, and pushed on.
Time dragged on. Brek Trigan had spent his entire life governed by a clock. His earliest memories revolved around his parents’ shifts, but his own had started early when he’d been sent into the mines as a shaft monkey. He was a man used to regulated schedules, to segmenting his day between hours on the clock and off.
He’d lived by the clock, with the anxiety of deadlines and clock-in times always there in the back of his mind. For the first time in his life, he had no clock to meet. It was less a relief than he would have assumed, although that was probably due to the circumstance.
Since his pager battery had died, he’d lost even the ability to measure time. He couldn’t tell, now, if an hour passed or five; if a day had come and gone, or only hours.
Still, it seemed like hours had passed by time Brek emerged into a larger space. The black here was deeper and richer than in the narrower passages he’d been traversing earlier. But there was another tell. Far above him, glowing like blue stars in a night sky, the ceiling was littered in glow worms.
Glow worms were the larval form of a predatory winged insect that lived in caves and sometimes took up residence in old mining tunnels. In their adult form, these insects would prey on worms and even small mammals. As larva, they relied on luring smaller insects with their cool-blue glow.
Having spent so long in the darkness as he had, Brek could understand why it worked. Even facing death as he was, he could not but marvel at them, at the tiny specks of blue overhead casting the uneven ceiling in an otherworldly illumination. For a brief moment, he forgot his impending end; he forgot his hunger and thirst, and even the cold that chilled him to his core. He had lived a life with no time to spare marveling at the wonders around him or indulging his fancy. There was little enough left to him of either time or wonder, but as the one ran out, he would not surrender the other. Not anymore.
So he watched those little larvae, making their way – as out of reach to him as stars in a night sky. And, wrapping his arms around himself, he shivered. He felt small, very small, in that great cavern – smaller and more alone than he had as a shaft monkey, venturing into his first tunnels.
Chapter Three
“Captain Elgin,” the crowned figure on his screen declared, “I am ordering you to surrender yourself immediately.”
“I cannot do that, Supreme Leader.” He tried to keep his tone calm and confident, and his long months of service aided in the effort. But on the inside, Captain Elgin was quaking like a leaf in a gale. He’d never spoken to the Supreme Leader before. He’d only occasionally glimpsed the man. And here he was, not only defying him, but defying him to his face.
Supreme Leader Velk’s jaw tightened, his golden eyes turning a grim shade of gray. He glanced down, pressing his thumb on a pad he held. “Very well. Then you should know that, effective immediately, you are stripped of your rank, and relieved of your command. You are a fugitive, and I’ve authorized your apprehension by any and all means necessary. Any officer who chooses to follow you from this point on will likewise be considered a traitor to the Tribari empire.”
The former, he’d anticipated readily enough. It was the latter that gave him pause, though. As the ranking officer, his commands were law to his subordinates. Any consequences that arose from a command he issued fell upon him, not them.
Now, Velk had changed that. Now, anyone who sided with him faced the same consequences he did. Refusing the order to fire on Tribari citizens in the City, the most sacred site in the empire, had been his call. Effective immediately, that call put his men and women in harm’s way.
Still, he kept his tone neutral. “Do what you feel you must, Supreme Leader. But I swore an oath to protect the citizens of this empire. I will not mow them down in the streets.”
Velk dismissed him with a snort. “You will repent your treason, Elgin. I promise you that.”
Then, the screen went dark. Elgin loosed the breath he’d been holding. Well, that went well. He chuckled, but it was a forced laugh. Things had gone to shit, and not in half measures, either.
When the decisions were his to make, he commanded the loyalty of the fleet. But now Velk laid the responsibility for his orders on their heads. That was not right. It wasn’t right to tell men and women who had had the chain of command, the importance of following orders blindly whatever they were, drilled into them for years, decades even, that now, suddenly, they were to make the call.
Then again, that’s what he’d done. It’s what he’d have to ask them to do.
He left his ready room and headed to the bridge. “Open a channel to the fleet,” he told the ensign at comms.
“Copy. Channel open, sir,” Vor replied.
“Fleet, this is Captain Elgin of the TS-Supernova. As you know, yesterday Admiral Lenksha ordered us to fire on civilian protesters. Last night, I issued an order countermanding that directive.
“Effective about five minutes ago, Supreme Leader Velk has relieved me of command. Furthermore, he’s planning to charge any man or woman who follows my orders with treason.”
Out loud, his ask sounded even dumber than it had in his head. No one was going to follow him. He was asking them to risk everything on a revolution that was likely going to fail anyway, on protesters with whom most of his crew disagreed. Son of a bitch.
“You’re used to following my commands without question. I’m asking you to stand with me now, not because I’ve commanded it, but because it’s the right thing to do.
“I know many of us have our doubts about what the protesters are doing, and why. But the fact of the matter is, they had the right to march. We swore to uphold the constitution, to protect the citizens of the Tribari empire – not just when we agreed with them or how they were exercising those constitutional rights.
“Velk swore to uphold it as well. The fact of the matter is, it is Velk who has betrayed his oath in asking us to murder civilians on the streets of our home world.
“I am asking you to remember who we swore to serve and why. It’s not the Supreme Leader, but the people. He swore to serve them too, to protect them from harm. He has betrayed that oath. I will not.”
He stared gravely into the camera. “Those of you who have served with me know that I would not ask this lightly. You’ve seen the files I released. You know that things are not what Velk is making them out to be. But, more importantly, you know that his orders are wrong. They’re a betrayal of everything we stand for, a slap in the face of every Tribari who has died for this empire.
“I’m asking you to remember your oath of service, and stand with me. I’m asking you to defy Velk’s orders, because Velk’s orders are unlawful. This is our world, our home; and those are our people. We have a duty to protect them.”
He paused, then nodded. “Elgin out.” He could have said more, he could have elucidated on the lies that had been told about Grel Idan’s death, about the lies that had been told about the protesters. But he’d released that footage already. Even some of the protectors were defecting after
that release.
But, at the end of the day, it came down to one thing: they had all sworn an oath to protect and serve.
If that wasn’t enough, well, his case was already lost.
Nikia stood before the house of parliament, a crowd of tens of thousands at her back. In front of her was a small band of uniformed men, some of the few protectors still working. The rest had surrendered or defected.
They were arrayed in riot gear, their identities hidden behind armor and face shields. But the submission prods they held and rifles they pointed at the crowd spoke to the tenor of their mood.
“Protectors,” she called, “you stand between the people of Central and our own government.”
“Turn back,” one of the men demanded. There was a tremble to his voice that indicated youth. “Leave while you still can.”
“Drop your weapons,” she counter offered. “Join us. This is your fight as well as ours.”
“I won’t warn you again,” the young man called. “Turn around now, or we will fire.”
Nik sighed, then nodded at Giya. He, in turn, called, “Fire.”
A blast of weapons fire hit the wall of protectors. They had a chance to return a few shots, but not many before they lay in heaps, unconscious. On that score, Nikia had been very clear. They weren’t going to kill unless it was absolutely necessary.
It was done in a matter of seconds. It barely registered in her mind. There was no surge of adrenaline, no rush of pulse. As confrontations went, this was minor compared to the engagements of the last day and a half. They’d stormed the Office of Protection. They’d crashed the funeral of Grel’s murderer, trying to apprehend the chief who had authorized the killing.
They’d faced more gunfire in the last hours than she ever imagined she’d witness in an entire lifetime.
“On,” she called. “On!”
Chapter Four
The house of parliament was a huge building of stonework inlaid with precious metals and jewels. The spires of the four towers, set at the east and west corners of the building, glistened with gems. By day, they caught the light of the daystar, gleaming and sparkling in bright hues of blue and green. At night, the light of the fifteen moons bathed them in silver-blue illumination, and they gleamed like rows of twinkling stars fallen from the sky.
It was an ancient building, its earliest foundations dating back to the first eras of habitation on Central. Since then, it had grown in size and grandeur until it reached the palatial dimensions and stature of its current state.
Neat rows of windows, one upon the next, lined its face. In the center, great arched doors welcomed visitors.
And beyond – the true beauty of the house of parliament lay beyond the gilded exterior. Here, there was an endless array of polished-marble floors, exquisite paintings, crystal chandeliers. Every room was unique, from its choice of wood paneling or painted frescoes or glimmering marble walls, to its choice of ceiling embellishments, to its size and function. Arched ceilings and flat, painted and carved, short and high existed in various combinations.
When Nikia had visited in the past, she’d been a child, in tow with her parents. As Grand Contributors, Luk and Elsa Aldir’s business took them semi-regularly to parliament and even, on occasion, to the palaces of the Supreme Leader. The City’s wealthiest and most successful businesspeople were always welcome guests to the City’s most powerful.
She’d felt a sense of awe, of reverence almost, when she’d stepped foot here for the first time. She’d seen opulent buildings before. She lived in one, as did everyone she knew. The homes of the Grand Contributors were palaces in their own right.
But there was a kind of gravity here, from the lighting that was just dim enough to not be bright to the tone of voices, just high enough that they weren’t whispering. The building’s natural acoustics encouraged quiet conversation, lest it be broadcast and amplified far and wide. Still, it was more than that.
It seemed there was a mutual understanding between visitors and the elected alike, that this place was sacrosanct, its ages-old business elevated beyond day-to-day concerns, beyond heightened tempers or raised voices.
That was then. Now, the doors were pushed wide open and light streamed in, the ancient marble and aged wood subjected to the full light of day for the first time in hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years. A crushing throng of feet pushed in, and the noise was at first deafening. Now, as the numbers grew, the ring of heels on marble grew indistinguishable. Anyway, it was lost to the din of voices.
Many of the people to her back had never stepped foot in this building before. It was closed to the common man, except on specific days. Even then, admittance was limited and closely monitored.
This sight stunned them, as it had her so long ago. A few even hesitated, as if the hoary majesty of this place overwhelmed them. But for Nikia, those days were long passed.
This was just a building, and right now, it was the building that housed the men and women who had allowed her husband’s murder, who had fought tooth and nail to criminalize and contain peaceful protests, who had empowered the City’s protectors to squash any hint of discontent. This was the building that shielded lawmakers who had sworn to serve the people, but only served the ruling class, the Contributors, the business interests.
This was a necessary stop along the way to change, real change.
Here and there, they encountered a terrified clerk or a cowering secretary. Some would beg for mercy, others would bluster and threaten. Her response was the same regardless of the presentation. “You have nothing to fear from us, Citizen. We are here to throw out representatives who refuse to represent, not to harm anyone.”
Disbelieving faces and sometimes curses would follow her and the tide of people at her back. “Can I – can I join?” one woman, older than her own parents, wondered timidly. She was dressed in a janitor’s uniform, and her stooped frame bent with age.
“What is your name, matron?”
“Ilsia.”
“We’d be honored to walk with you, Matron Ilsia.”
Giya cheered, and the crowd answered with a deafening roar of approval. The old woman flushed and joined the mass.
They pushed through the antechambers and cleared office after office. Finally, they reached the chamber of the House of Commons. There were two houses of parliament, the first composed of common Tribari – that is, those elected from outside the contributor class. The second, the House of Contributors, was appointed from the empire’s contributor class. They worked in tandem to pass legislation proposed by the Supreme Leader, or to bring legislation to the Supreme Leader for his signature.
With the unrest, they’d been in session to discuss new laws regarding protests and the exercise of speech. Even before they’d took to the streets this last time, there were rumored proposals to classify obstruction of roadways by persons as criminal offenses, outside the constitutional protections of free speech. There were measures to limit the size of lawful assemblies to five or fewer, to label gatherings of greater number “unlawful mobs” and to sanction “dispersal” measures. There was even discussion of new emergency “riot suppression” authorization, to be implemented on an undefined temporary basis. “Just until order has been restored, and we’re certain it will remain,” she’d heard one of the Members of Parliament say on the broadcasts the morning before.
She couldn’t remember who. She’d been so lost to the thoughts of her husband’s funeral that she could barely see straight. But the implication was clear enough: the MP’s and the Supreme Leader felt threatened by the people airing their grievances. It’s why they’d murdered Grel. It’s why they’d done everything they could to turn his nonviolent protests into bloodbaths. It’s why, in the end, they came for him.
And that, in turn, was why, facing the locked doors of the House of Commons, Nikia cried, “Pull them down!”
“Sir,” Lieutenant Dagir said, rising from his seat. “Permission to speak?”
So it begins. Captain Elgi
n glanced at the young man, at his rigid and formal stance. The lieutenant had left him in no doubt of his opinion regarding the protesters – and Elgin’s call to disobey orders. This wasn’t going to be pleasant. “Granted.”
“Sir, I would like the record to reflect that I opposed your position from the first.”
Elgin was keenly aware of the pistol that hung at his side, and the one strapped to his lieutenant’s. He found himself considering how quickly he’d be able to draw it; and how quickly Dagir might draw his own. “So noted,” he said. “But-”
“With all due respect, I’m not finished, sir.”
He frowned, but allowed the younger man to proceed. Whatever Dagir was thinking, certainly he’d not be the only one to think it. Whatever came of the next few seconds, he’d rather address the problems head-on than let them fester.
“I would like the record to reflect that I was wrong. I reviewed the tapes you released, from the protests. I don’t like those guys. I think they’re parasites, and lazy sons-of-bitches. But they didn’t start the riot.” Dagir shook his head. “We were lied to, sir. And those men and women were murdered. Lenksha wanted us to murder more of them, based on lies. So I, for one, stand behind you.”
A few officers applauded, and a chorus of, “Hear, hear,” and “Me too” sounded.
This was not what Elgin had expected, and for half a moment he didn’t know what to say. Not half a minute earlier, he’d been contemplating if he’d have to kill this boy, or if incapacitating him would suffice. He cleared his throat, pushing away a sense – irrational though it was – of guilt. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Dagir nodded briskly, and returned to his seat.
Elgin threw a glance around the room. There were a few thoughtful expressions, a few worried ones, and quite a few conflicted ones. “Well,” he said, “if there’s nothing else, that’ll be all. If you have questions later, you know where to find me. Dismissed.”
