Revolutionary Right

by Wayne Basta

  One of the bodyguards stepped away from the table, and Josserand approached. “I hope you enjoyed the soup.”

  Leaning back as casually as he could manage, Maarkean replied, “I’ve had better.”

  “You should try the broccoli cheese next time,” Josserand said as he sat down across from Maarkean.

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “Well, then, now that we have the pleasantries out of the way, how did your delivery go?” Josserand asked with fake curiosity.

  “Not well,” Maarkean replied. He knew Josserand was aware he hadn’t made the delivery. How much more the man knew, he wasn’t sure. He decided it was best to say as little as possible. “Ran into some trouble with the Alliance. Couldn’t make the drop. I’m here to square up with you.”

  “How noble of you,” Josserand said with a sinister smile. “Most people in your position would try to find a rock somewhere and attempt to disappear under it.”

  “We had a deal. I didn’t hold up my end.”

  “I see. Admitting your failure is quite a gesture. Bringing me the people who attempted to steal my cargo was an even better gesture.”

  Maarkean’s heart dropped. Josserand knew more than he had pretended from the start. If he knew that Zeric and the others were onboard, they might already be in danger.

  Josserand went on, “That you have accepted your failure before telling me that you’ve brought me the cause speaks to your character. I may forgive some of your debt for that.”

  The idea of letting Josserand have Zeric, Gu’od and Gamaly briefly flashed through his mind. But he had already decided, when they met face to face on Kol, that he no longer had any desire to see Zeric pay. Too much had happened for vengeance to have any appeal.

  Maarkean said, “I didn’t bring anyone here for you. The issue is between you and me. The others don’t concern you.”

  “They don’t?” Josserand said with a flat, cold stare. “Three miscreants try to steal my cargo, and you’re telling me I can’t teach them a lesson?”

  “That’s right,” Maarkean said. His answer lacked confidence and sounded weak. He pressed on anyway. “What happened with them is between me and them. They attempted to steal my ship. Your cargo was under my care, so your issue should only be with me.”

  “I see,” Josserand said. “You wish to assume their debt on top of your own?”

  Maarkean saw the trap but knew it was too late. If he backed down now, something would surely happen to the others. Josserand had him in a corner, and the man knew it.

  “Yes,” Maarkean replied, trying not to grit his teeth.

  “That is a mighty large debt. It may take several years to work off,” Josserand said with a smile.

  “As long as you pay me enough to keep my ship fueled and stocked, I’ll make any deliveries you want,” Maarkean said.

  “That is a mighty generous offer,” Josserand said coldly. “Unfortunately, you are no longer any good to me as a smuggler.”

  Exasperated, Maarkean argued, “Had I not had any interference, I would have made it past that Alliance patrol without a problem. I can still deliver goods.”

  “Oh, you misunderstand me. I’m not questioning your skills. I have no doubt those are just as good as they have always been. I simply refer to your newfound status as a celebrity.”

  Maarkean cursed his luck. Their failure on Kol had been foreseeable, since the freighter would be well known after its part in the prison break. But since Maarkean was already in the habit of keeping the Cutty Sark away from Alliance patrols, he hadn’t foreseen any fallout for his part as long as he wasn’t caught. He knew the Alliance would execute him as a traitor, but he hadn’t thought the criminal underworld would treat him any differently.

  “What does that have to do with anything? Just don’t send me to Sulas, and I’ll have no problem,” Maarkean countered.

  “You really don’t understand, do you?” Josserand replied. “You defied the Alliance. As a former officer, you should understand what that means. They’re going to be hunting you.”

  The truth of Josserand’s words sank in. He had known getting identified during the operation was a possibility, especially since he was flying his own ship. But he had dismissed the implications. His actions would be viewed as an attack on Alliance authority. As a former officer, his actions made him a subversive and a terrorist. He wasn’t just a minor criminal.

  “And if the extra Alliance attention wasn’t bad enough,” Josserand continued, “none of my clients are going to want to take deliveries from you. If they’re caught, they won’t simply be arrested for buying illegally imported goods. Every good Alliance citizen can sympathize with someone trying to avoid paying taxes. But working with a traitor, that’s just wrong. That makes them a traitor, too.”

  Josserand was oversimplifying things, but Maarkean didn’t doubt the truth of his words. Just a month ago, he would have thought the same thing. Directly attacking the government was an unforgiveable, traitorous act. Many thought that protesting the government in any way outside of an election was akin to being a traitor. Until it had been his sister who was ostracized and threatened with arrest for merely protesting, he had been part of that group.

  “What do you want me to do?” Maarkean asked dejectedly. He knew he wasn’t going to like the answer.

  With a smile that made Maarkean’s skin crawl, Josserand answered, “Since you are no longer in the delivery business, you’ll have to go into the acquisition business.”

  “You want me to be a thief?” Maarkean asked.

  “‘Thief’ has such negative connotations,” Josserand said. “You’ll see to the redistribution of wealth. Your success with that freighter showed how good you are at it.”

  “That was luck,” Maarkean answered. “I’m not any good as a thief. I’m sure you have people much better at it and with more experience.”

  “If we were talking general thievery, you would be correct. But for what I have in mind, you are an expert.”

  Confused, Maarkean asked, “What do you mean?”

  “You are the only revolutionary to have successfully snubbed the Alliance. Who better to steal from them?”

  Disturbed by the suggestion, Maarkean replied, “You want to use my reputation to cover up your crimes?”

  “Not my crimes. Your crimes. You’re a criminal and a traitor, and you’re just going to keep on doing what you do,” Josserand said dismissively.

  “Well, I won’t do it,” Maarkean said defiantly. “You’re just going to have to break my legs, or whatever it is you do.”

  With a cold smile that turned Maarkean’s stomach, Josserand leaned in closer. “Oh, I won’t break your legs. Your sister’s… maybe. And don’t even think about pretending to agree and then running off. I know about your little hiding place on Kol and the ‘secret’ colony of Irod. There is no place in this galaxy you can hide from me.”

  The magnitude of the shit storm he had gotten himself into hit Maarkean all at once.

  “This was a bad idea,” Saracasi said.

  The four of them were seated at a large booth in one of the Black Market’s restaurants. With large windows on all sides of the room, the Infinity restaurant was one of the most open places on the ship. According to Zeric, it also had some of the best food.

  Saracasi couldn’t help but recognize all of the engineering problems with the room. She assumed it was added after the ship was stolen, as she couldn’t see a military ship having such a vulnerable location. Each window was a weak point in the hull, and this room had dozens. She wondered what it had been before.

  “Oh, relax. Do you always do what your brother says to do?” Zeric said dismissively.

  “No. But that is how I ended up with an arrest warrant of my very own,” she replied sarcastically.

  Lahkaba and Lohcja had been eager to see more of the legendary Black Market and Zeric had agreed to show them around. They had started by touring the marketplace; it had once been the ship’s Marine training are
a, but it had been converted into a series of booth markets. Goods from all over the galaxy could be purchased there. Some were considerably cheaper than you could get legally; some were considerably more expensive, but came without the background check.

  After the market, they had taken a quick tour through some of the seedier parts of the ship. They had watched one of the cage matches, and Zeric had made a nice sum on a bet. Then Zeric had almost brought them into a strip club. He had changed his mind right before going in and had taken them up to Infinity instead. Saracasi wondered if he had changed his mind because she was with them. She had almost told him she might enjoy the show as much as them, but decided against it. On a ship like this, you never knew what you might see, and once seen, some things couldn’t be unseen.

  “We haven’t had a nice meal in forever,” Lohcja said.

  “Yeah, you were in prison and then on the run. Don’t you want a nice meal?” Lahkaba added.

  Giving them both a dark look, Saracasi said, “We had a nice meal in Mynhold. And do I have to remind you that I cooked last night? What was wrong with that?”

  The table was suddenly silent, and the three men looked anywhere but at her. Saracasi knew her talents didn’t lie with cooking. When it had been her turn to cook, she should have stuck with something that was simple and came from a box that had instructions. But the meal Lohcja had made a few nights before had been wonderful, and she had had delusions she could do something similar.

  Ignoring the three, she continued, “Maark should be done by now. He won’t know where to find us, and he seemed anxious to get away from here.”

  “All the more reason to come now,” Zeric countered. “Give Lah and Lohcja a chance to sample what this ship has to offer.”

  Saracasi gave up when the waiter arrived. She did like the food here, and Zeric had offered to pay with his winnings. They took turns ordering and then slipped back into idle chatter.

  The restaurant was only half full at the moment. With so many ships arriving from many different planets, the Black Market didn’t really have a night or day.

  While they were waiting for their meals, she overheard a voice that sounded like Gu’od’s. “See, I told you we’d find them here.”

  Turning in her seat, she saw Maarkean, Gu’od and Gamaly approaching them. The look on Maarkean’s face made her regret having come here. Her brother was clearly angry, and by the look on his face, he might not wait until they were in private to tell her exactly what he was thinking.

  To her surprise and relief, Maarkean sat down at the booth without a word. Gu’od and Gamaly slid in, and Gamaly spoke first.

  “No luck on finding a buyer for the freighter. It seems there’s a pretty active search by the Alliance for that ship. They’ve declared all of us escaped terrorists. We should feel lucky they haven’t offered a reward for our capture.”

  “Yet,” Gu’od added. “They probably will at some point. We don’t want to be here when they do. Most people aren’t friendly to the Alliance, but no one here will think twice about turning us over to them.”

  “They also don’t want to do anything to draw that kind of attention to themselves. A mining freighter isn’t a small investment, and it isn’t something you generally use for illegal operations. If it wasn’t so high profile, it might be useful for illegal shipping. But word is that the Alliance is stopping all YM brand ships,” Gamaly finished

  The news is dire, but not unexpected, Saracasi thought. The Alliance would stop at nothing to quash any challenge to its authority.

  Political prisoners being freed in a high-profile escape wasn’t something they would back down from. The battle had occurred over a well-populated continent and in a well-trafficked area of space.

  The events were never going to be kept quiet. She wondered why this seemed to surprise everyone.

  “So there goes our income,” Zeric said. “No tropical retirement today.”

  With a wry smile, he turned to Gu’od. “I made some money betting on the cage matches today. You could always enter. Take care of our financial worries.”

  Gu’od gave Zeric a hard stare in reply, but he said nothing. Having seen Gu’od fight, Saracasi was sure the man would win against any opponent he met in the cage, but from the little she knew of him, she doubted the idea held any appeal for him. Or that Gamaly would ever allow it.

  Almost inaudibly, Maarkean said, “I know of another option.”

  Everyone turned toward her brother.

  “We raid Alliance bases and storage facilities.”

  The suggestion he made surprised Saracasi. His action in breaking her out of jail had been unbelievable, but her life had been at stake. This was something she had never expected to hear him even consider, much less suggest.

  “What do we do with whatever we collect?” Lahkaba asked as if the idea of raiding Alliance bases was inconsequential.

  “In exchange for a cut to cover my debt, my contact here has agreed to help us fence them.”

  “If you want to do some raiding, commercial stuff is a lot easier to get than Alliance goods,” Zeric said matter-of-factly.

  “No,” Maarkean snapped. “Just Alliance facilities. We’re not common thieves. The Alliance has labeled us as traitors, so we might as well go with it. But we’re not going to steal from people.”

  Lohcja shrugged in response, but Lahkaba looked eager. “I like it. We can’t go back to Sulas, but we still can hit back at the Alliance.”

  Watching her brother, Saracasi got the sense there was something he was not saying. She exchanged a look with Gu’od, who seemed to be the only other person at the table who noticed it. While the others discussed how to make this idea work, she tried to figure out why her brother had suggested it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Your technique is regressing,” Gu’od said.

  Looking up at the muscled Liw’kel from lying on his back on the floor of the cargo deck, Maarkean thought the view was becoming too familiar. The pair had been sparring, an activity they had gotten into the habit of doing every day. He was learning a lot from the Ni’jar master, but more painfully than he liked.

  Taking Gu’od’s hand, Maarkean got back to his feet. They were the only ones left in the cargo bay. Lahkaba and Lohcja usually joined them, but they had already left. Maarkean stumbled over to a water bottle and splashed some of it over his face.

  “What do you mean?” he asked through deep breaths.

  “I mean, in the weeks we have been training together, you have shown marked improvement in your hand-to-hand skills,” Gu’od said. “But in the last few sessions, your technique has degraded back closer to where you were when we first met.”

  Maarkean considered the Liw’kel’s words. It wasn’t clear if there was a compliment or an insult among them. He was sure he had been getting better. His physical fitness had certainly improved.

  “I thought I did pretty well. I was able to stay on my feet longer today than before. I certainly gave Lohcja a challenge,” Maarkean said, trying to sound confident.

  Gu’od shook his head. “Your skills have definitely improved. But your technique has not. Have you been practicing the meditation techniques I showed you?”

  “Sort of,” Maarkean lied. He had tried them. As they got closer to their destination, it got harder and harder to focus on anything else besides the guilt and nervousness he felt. Sitting quietly in his quarters trying to focus on nothing resulted in him thinking of anything but nothing.

  “A Ni’jar is not a master of martial arts because of superior skill,” Gu’od said. “The martial arts are an extension, more a byproduct, of our superior focus. The Ni’jar observe and study: life, the world around them and, most importantly, themselves. They act only when necessary.”

  “That I still don’t really understand,” Maarkean said, trying to turn the conversation away from his failures. “You say they observe life and act when necessary. But all Ni’jar I’ve ever heard of live in secluded monasteries cut off from the rest
of the galaxy. I thought they were pacifists or isolationists.”

  “We are not pacifists,” Gu’od said, allowing himself to be redirected. “We are patient activists. There is no central tenant of the Ni’jar, no black-and-white right and wrong. Our only quest is balance within life. Most focus on balance within themselves. That breeds a certain amount of isolationism.

  “Some, not many, but some, go out into the world like myself,” Gu’od continued. “I am more unusual than most Ni’jar, but I am not completely unheard of. My focus is Gamaly, and as such, here I am.

  “You do not know what your focus is. You move through life with no direction, no focus, no balance,” Gu’od said, bringing the conversation back around to Maarkean.

  “No, I don’t,” Maarkean answered stubbornly. “My focus is survival and the protection of my sister.”

  Shaking his head, Gu’od looked disappointed. “Survival is not enough for you. It works for some, but not you. Saracasi is a grown woman now, ready to find her focus. She would be better served by you finding yourself so that she can do the same. Until you start to study yourself, you will not be able to understand the world around you.”

  Maarkean thought about what the Liw’kel was trying to tell him. He considered the words, but he didn’t agree. Gu’od had Gamaly. Maarkean had lost his focus when he had also lost his parents and his wife. Ever since then, Saracasi had been his only focus. After fleeing Braz, survival had been the top of their list. With recent events, survival had become an even more important and more elusive target.

  He was about to argue his point with Gu’od when a chime rang through the ship. It was the five-minute warning before they reached their destination and dropped out of hyper-space. His frustration at his failure in fighting and his counterpoints to Gu’od went out of his head. They were almost there.

  Giving the Liw’kel one last look, Maarkean headed for the stairs. Gu’od followed him silently. That was one thing Maarkean liked about him. The man had some crazy notions, but he wasn’t argumentative. He supposed it stemmed from Ni’jar teachings that Gu’od only spoke when it was necessary.