Boots of Oppression

by M. J. Konkel

  “You’re not tied down now. The Spits did that to you. Not us.” Marla sat down on a storage bin across from the man.

  “Who the hell are you? You’re wearing a suit like a damn Spit,” he pointed out.

  “Welcome to the resistance,” Marla chuckled. A few behind whooped when she said that.

  “We borrowed a few of their suits,” Marla explained. Everyone outside chuckled at that description. “We found you in a Spit camp we raided. In the back of a truck, strapped down and drugged up higher than the rings of Dosei. Any idea why they would do that to you?”

  “I didn’t do a damn thing to them.”

  “Well, they certainly had an interest in you,” I said. “Before we stopped him, the captain of that unit was trying to call in an air strike to wipe out the whole camp rather than have you fall into our hands, and he didn’t strike me as the suicidal type.”

  “Who are you?” the man demanded. “You’re accent is strange.”

  “My home is Riva Lontana, far from here,” I said.

  “I vouch for Trite,” Marla said. “If not for him, none of us would be alive, and you would still be with the Spits. The question is who are you?”

  “My name is Franciscus Zenada. But everyone knows me as the famous Dr. Z.”

  “You’re a doctor? A surgeon?” Marla asked.

  “Don’t insult me. I’m a physicist. You never heard of the famous Dr. Z?”

  “Of course, the famous Dr. Z.” I slapped my forehead.

  “Sorry, but no,” Marla replied. Others shook their head.

  “How is it only the outsider has heard of me?” Dr. Z questioned.

  “I think he was being sarcastic,” Marla replied. “Do you have a headache, Dr. Z?”

  Dr. Z glared at me as he rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, and my mouth and throat feels like I’ve been eating dust.”

  “Someone, get the first aid kit and find some pain meds and a canteen,” Marla ordered. “And, Estia, bring a bowl of the hero’s stew.”

  “With real lamb?” The doctor’s head popped up.

  “Yeah.”

  “And those spicy little peppers?”

  “Yeah,” Marla replied.

  “So who died?” Dr. asked. That’s when I realized the stew must be a traditional part of the funeral service.

  “Fellow fighters of ours. Names were AnnaJo and Helm. They were good soldiers, and they were even better people,” Marla replied.

  “What exactly do you study, Dr. Z?” I asked.

  “Translational distortions in the space time continuum.” Dr. Z licked his lips, probably thinking about the stew.

  “Wormholes?” I asked. I could see how the Spits might have an interest in that.

  Dr. turned and stared at me. I think I surprised him. “In commoners’ terms, yes,” he confirmed. “My group started studying the process as soon as the first Spitnik ship arrived. We published a paper about six months ago that outlined how you could build an instrument that could make the same type of space-time fractures as the Spitnik ships.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it sounds like you frickin’ published a manual on how to make a wormhole generator,” I said. “No wonder they grabbed you.”

  “I wonder how come it took them so long,” Marla pondered.

  “I guess the Spitniks don’t read the local scientific literature,” Dr. Z said. Somehow I doubted that. I had the feeling there was something else the famous doctor hadn’t yet told us.

  Chapter 13

  “How’s the shoulder doing,” Marla asked.

  “Couldn’t be better,” I replied, immediately realizing my response was just an automatic response from my training among the Spits. A soldier for the Spits quickly learned not to complain about pain, or more would soon follow. But I was no longer among Spits – something I was still trying to get used to. “Actually, it aches a little, but I think it’s getting better,” I added after a moment.

  I stared out beyond the boulders for any movement. It was my turn on guard duty, and I had insisted on being put in the rotation despite my injury. After all, I still had two good eyes and could still raise a rifle.

  Several Spit fighter crafts had flown past over the desert, no doubt searching for us and the famous Dr. Z. One had flown right over us, but it did not turn around, and several hours had now passed without signs of GATs showing up. I guess that was a testament to the camouflage capability of the Bahramians.

  “So, what’s the plan?” I turned toward her. “Are we still going to Lustrous Hole?”

  “Yeah,” Marla replied. “Except we need to drop off Dr. Z somewhere first. Someplace safe.”

  What she was saying was that it was going to be dangerous up at the mining center, and it was possible not all of us would be coming back. Maybe none of us.

  “You don’t agree?” Marla asked.

  “I’m with you,” I said.

  “I’m feeling a ‘but’ in there.”

  “They need the tantalum-180 to expand their fleet. Then they can expand their empire even faster. If we close down that mine, we will slow them down for a while,” I said. “It will hurt them, but they will dig it back out and eventually start mining again. And while this may the richest mine, it’s not their only mine.”

  “We do what we can do. If they dig it out, then we blow it up again.”

  “It just feels like they have the high ground on this mine. They will add more security after this, and it will be all that much harder the next time,” I said.

  “If we get some of that tantalum, perhaps we can build some of those wormhole generators ourselves and take the fight to them out there.” Marla pointed upward with a finger.

  “You can’t hide building a destroyer. It would have to be built in space. And that’ll be what it’s going to take. The two destroyers up there are true monsters.” I also pointed toward the sky.

  “Maybe it doesn’t have to be us that builds the destroyers, but we’ll cross that dune when we come to it. First we have to get over the mountain,” Marla said. “In a little over an hour, Ursa is going to come up. We’ll move out shortly after that. In the meantime, make sure you don’t do anything to aggravate that shoulder.”

  “I don’t understand the dunes and mountains thing, but alright,” I said.

  Marla shrugged. “Clichés sometimes reflect the worlds and cultures they come from.” She turned and marched over to the second guard, Enceladus, and chatted with her. At one point I thought I heard laughter from the two. I sneaked a peek in their direction, and they stared straight back at me. I quickly snapped my attention back out toward the desert.

  We boarded the vehicles and left the nameless crater. At least, if it had a name, I had not heard it. We motored northeast, then turned east toward the rising local star, and then north again.

  We no longer used the trail since we figured that was less safe. That meant the going was slower on most of our journey. Much of the terrain was rocky and bumpy. I was back in one of the trucks but riding shotgun rather than in the rear. During one stretch, however, we raced down the trough of two dunes in a forty-klick long field.

  Twenty-meter high walls of sand on both sides limited our vision but hid us at the same time. The trough had a sandy floor, free of rocks and other debris, so we had the trucks up to their max speed. Then we came to the end of the field, and we had to climb over some minor hills. That slowed us back down due to the sharp rocks. Hitting one of those at high speed could bust a titanasteel mesh tire.

  After we crossed the third valley separating the hills, we stopped. Marla ordered the drivers to stay with the vehicles and Tinner to stay on the rocket launcher.

  The rest of us hiked up to the top of the next crest. All of us, except for Dr. Z, now had the Spit armored suits on, thanks to our last raid. Mixed and matched parts from different dead Spits gave us mostly intact armor. The doctor even tinkered with the com units, and they were now keyed to each other instead of their original platoons. According the doctor, the units ha
d a ingeniously designed way of saving voice messages and compressing them. The com then shot them out in picosecond bursts that are decompressed at the receivers. The method makes it much harder for an enemy to zero in on any particular radio source, but it also meant that our radio messages were delayed by a split second.

  As we crested the hill, a large crystal-clear lake appeared ahead of us which Marla called Lake Jasna. In the morning light, it shone like a jewel. I strained to see the opposite shore in the distance before zooming my view. Far off across the lake to the northwest, I thought I saw the glint of tall buildings caught in the light of the low-lying local star. A shining city by the lake.

  Below us rows and rows of trees stretched out. In the middle of the trees was a small cluster of dwellings and small sheds.

  “Trite, Enceladus, you’re with me. But put up those faceplates. The rest of you stay here and stay low. Keep alert and let us know if you see anything we should know about,” Marla ordered. “Dr. Z, you’re coming with us too.”

  The four of us descended down the hill with Marla leading the way. We marched past rows and rows of trees. I recognized them as olive trees just like the ones I had seen at Split Wall Crater. Dr. Z huffed and put his hand down onto his hips, clearly exhausted, as Marla marched up to what appeared to be the main house and rapped her armor-covered knuckles on the door. After a minute, she rapped again.

  “Ben, Luci, it’s your niece, Marla,” she yelled. “Open up!”

  After a minute the door opened a crack, and a face peeked out. Then the door flung wide, and a man stomped out, beaming from ear to ear. His arms spread out wide like a huge bear.

  “Marla!” he exclaimed.

  A woman appeared, and she smiled broadly too as Marla hugged the large man with his gray wiry hair and a huge handlebar mustache.

  “What’s with the Spit suit?” The man asked as he stepped back and let the woman hug Marla. “You know if they catch you in that, you will be shot on the spot for being a spy?”

  “If they catch us, they will shoot us anyway for being a part of the resistance,” Marla said.

  “Who’re your friends?” the woman asked.

  “Forgive my manners,” Marla asked. “This is Enceladus, Trite and Dr. Z. Everyone, this is my uncle, Benjanin de Navrio, and my Aunt Luci.” Luci was much shorter than her husband. Her long silver hair glistened in the light of the day.

  “Your manners are fine,” Luci said. “It’s ours that are wanting. Come in! Come in!”

  The couple turned and strode through two rooms while we followed. “Yes, come. Come,” Benjanin said. “We make to the patio.”

  “He doesn’t talk like you,” I whispered to Marla.

  “I was born not far from here, but didn’t grow up here,” she whispered back.

  The bright colors on the walls stood out and contrasted the brown and white of the couple’s loose-fitting pants and shirts. While Luci turned to the left, Benjanin stepped out through a sliding glass door onto a patio, and we all followed him. Beyond the yellow bricks of the patio, ripples lapped against a pebble beach a mere twenty meters away. Trees stood immediately on each side of the patio.

  Benjanin must have noticed that I stared at one of them. “That is one of my desert date trees.” His eyes beamed. “It is said these go back to the very dawn of human civilization. The Egyptians on Old Earth. It is a beauty of a specimen. Is it not?”

  “If you say so,” I said. “I’ve never seen one before.”

  “I’ve been all over this world,” Benjanin said. “Even in the south. I have heard never an accent quite like yours.”

  I explained where I came from and how I changed sides.

  “I trust him,” Marla said in my defense. “In the two battles we’ve been in since he’s been with us, he’s killed more Spits than all the rest of us combined.”

  Benjanin stared at me with a steel gaze, judging whether he trusted me too. I stared back until Luci joined us.

  “I brought some ice tea,” she said. “Where’re your manners, Ben? Invite them to sit.”

  Benjanin smiled and waved at a patio table. I followed Marla, but we sat on the floor. Their narrow chairs with armrests didn’t look like we would fit into with our armor on.

  We all thanked Luci as she passed us cups of tea.

  “Are these from your trees?” Enceladus pointed at a bowl on the table.

  “Yes, help yourself to the dates and the pistachios. All from here.” Benjanin waved his arms out from himself.

  Enceladus reached up and picked a few dates and nuts and passed a few to me.

  “I ‘spect this is not a just a social visit.” Benjanin glanced at Dr. Z and me.

  “No, I wish it were,” Marla replied. “I’m going to ask a favor. A big favor.”

  “I own this plantation ‘cause of your papa,” Benjanin said. “Anything you need, but to ask.”

  “We need you to hide Dr. Z from the Spits,” Marla said.

  Ben’s eyes darted back to the physicist.

  “His research might help us build ships like those of the Spits. But the damn Spits want him too,” Marla explained.

  Ben’s gaze returned to Marla.

  “He cannot fall into their hands,” Marla begged.

  “Of course.” Benjanin nodded. Luci placed her hands onto Ben’s shoulders.

  “And, Uncle Ben,” Marla said. “There’s a good chance we might not make it back.”

  Benjanin turned his gaze from Dr. Z to Marla. “I hope this not turn true.”

  “We must leave quickly,” Marla said.

  “Then may the desert winds be gentle with you on your journey,” Benjanin said.

  “Thanks, Uncle Ben. Bye,” Marla replied.

  We turned toward the front entrance, but a teenage boy burst out from a side room and blocked our way to the exit. He seemed barely older than the boy who once stood in front of me in a firing line.

  “Please take me with you,” he begged. “I want to fight the Spits too.”

  “That is up to your momma and papa, Morgan,” Marla said.

  “We spoke about this before, Morgan,” Luci said. “You’re too young and not a fighter.” Benjanin remained silent but put an arm over his wife’s shoulder.

  “I hate the damn Spits. Hate them! Hate them!” Morgan turned sideways and spat on the floor. “And you have no say in this.”

  “I’m your momma,” Luci yelled.

  “I’m seventeen standards now.” Morgan stared straight at his mother. “I make my own decisions now.”

  “Don’t take him,” Luci begged us. “Refuse to take him.”

  “If they don’t take me, I’ll find another group that will,” Morgan shouted.

  Lucia shook her head. “No! No!”

  Benjanin turned toward Luci. “Dear, maybe it’s time to let go. Morgan has to make his own decisions. We can’t stop him forever.”

  “But he’s still just a boy,” Luci begged. “My boy.”

  “At least this way still we have Marla watching over him.” Benjanin glanced at Marla. “If he leaves with another group, well … looking out for him will be no one.”

  Luci tore free from her husband, rushed forward, and threw her arms around Morgan. A tear ran down her cheek.

  “We’ll wait outside,” Marla said. She motioned us to move, so we stepped around Morgan and Luci and exited out the front.

  After fifteen minutes, Morgan came out alone, carrying a small bag over his shoulders while his mother and father watched through a window.

  Chapter 14

  Drummer drove while I rode in the scout with Marla and Morgan. We had fitted the boy up in an armored Spit suit and handed him a rifle. While we rode, I explained to Morgan about the suit and rifle. But that was no substitute for getting out and actually using the gear.

  Personally, I would have preferred being in the back of one of the trucks with a certain other soldier. But the scout vehicle was less jarring on my shoulder. So maybe that was for the better.

  We
skirted to the south and to the east until we came to the other side of the lake. Then we turned north. For a stretch, we followed a dry riverbed a few klicks to the east of the lake. A bit of wild vegetation grew in the valley without the need of irrigation or hugging a streambank. Tufts of grass and cacti. Marla said we were far enough north now that rains fell on rare occasions. The farther north we went, the more often the region saw precipitation.

  We found a small ravine along the hills and made camp. With the camo tech on the vehicles, there was little chance of the Spits finding us.

  Marla asked me to join with her, Drummer, and Enceladus on a mission into a city a dozen klicks off to the northwest of our camp. I wasn’t sure why she invited me, but I was glad to be included.

  We had to remove our armor and wear civilian clothes since we needed to blend in once we reached the city. Our clothing included keffiyehs, locally worn to protect faces from the sun and sand. They also hid our identities.

  Ursa Phinia went over the horizon and darkness set on the landscape. We hiked toward the ringed giant for hours. Even Dosei was dark; only the rings were bright on the western horizon. Without armored suits, movement across the desert seemed painfully slow. I guess we had gotten used to the advantages of the suits and walking around without one seemed almost primitive.

  As we topped a crest, Lake Jasna appeared before us with Dosei’s rings faintly reflecting off its surface. I glanced off at the black horizon. Somewhere over on the other side was Benjanin and Luci’s estate. Between us and the lake, it appeared that trees rose upward. A little hard to tell for sure, though, in the darkness and without the night vision function of the suit.

  We turned and followed the crest for about an hour, occasionally passing homes with windows that glowed from lights within. Marla finally turned and followed a path down toward one of the homes. She rapped her knuckles hard on the door, and a face appeared a few moments later in the doorway.

  When Marla pulled back the scarf covering her face, the tall thin man beamed brightly. He stepped out onto his front patio and gave Marla a big hug as his long black hair bobbed behind him in a ponytail. Behind him a second man, shorter and with rounder features, stood and watched.