Revolutionary Right

by Wayne Basta

  Maarkean took the time to stop in his quarters to wash his face and change out of his exercise clothes. A fresh set of clothes would have to do in place of a shower. After a quick spray of deodorizer – cramped quarters on a ship were hell when someone stank – he went to the flight deck.

  Seated at the operations station, Saracasi was going through a systems check. Zeric was in the pilot’s chair, helping her, and Lahkaba had taken what he had come to call his customary position, at the weapons console. There was very little room on the flight deck, but Gu’od, Lohcja and Gamaly had crammed themselves in the back.

  Squeezing past them, Maarkean exchanged places with Zeric without a word. That was one nice thing about Zeric. He had tried to steal the ship before, but now he took pains to show that he respected Maarkean’s place onboard as captain. It was an unexpected, but welcome, trait.

  “Coming out of hyperspace in three, two, one,” Saracasi said.

  With her final word, the twisted colors vanished and were replaced by blackness. It took a moment to pick out anything in the void before them. Slowly, details started to emerge. They had come out of hyperspace dangerously close to the night side of the planet Dantyne. With no light from the system’s star, the only things they could see were the lights from a few scattered colonies.

  Dantyne had originally been a Notha colony world. During the prelude to the war with the Dotrans, the Alliance had scooped it up. The distant and militarily weak Notha homeworld had been unable to protest. It was nowhere near as populous as Sulas, and the majority of the citizens were Notha, not Braz or Terran.

  “No indications that we’ve been scanned,” Saracasi said with evident relief.

  There were two main risks when making a covert entry to a world. They had gotten past the first one when they had exited from hyperspace safely, in the right spot. The other, more mundane, effort – not being seen – was directly tied to the first. The closer to the planet you emerged, the better your odds were of not being detected, but the higher your chance was of miscalculating and emerging from hyperspace inside the planet. Tall mountains on poorly-mapped worlds were always a hazard.

  “I’m taking us down,” Maarkean said.

  As Maarkean took the ship into the atmosphere, it still amazed him how much easier it was to sneak into a place at night. Despite all of the electronic sensors and varying sleep schedules due to people operating on all kinds of time zones, darkness still played a role. All military bases kept GST no matter what the rotation of the planet they were on. Yet, even though it was the middle of the GST day, it would invariably be called the night shift down on the planet.

  “Start looking for a place for us to set down,” Maarkean told Saracasi. “We need to be far enough away from the settlement to not attract attention, but close enough that we can get there in a few hours’ walk.”

  Saracasi nodded and began checking the terrain maps they had taken from orbit. The protection of darkness was easily defeated if anyone was actively trying, so they needed to set down quickly. With some computer enhancement, their orbital pictures would give them a lot of detail about the area, which included finding them landing sites and getting a layout for the Alliance depot.

  “Found a spot. A clearing among some trees. Ground looks stable enough.”

  Maarkean nodded and took them to the coordinates Saracasi gave him. Getting the ship into the clearing only required crushing a few small trees. When they touched dirt, he began the shutdown process. They had made it this far; it would not do for their energy signature to be picked up by a random patrol.

  Turning in his seat, he regretted that they did not have any Nothas among them. It would have made what they were going to do next less conspicuous. The planet was hardly Notha only, but a mix of aliens would be noticed. Unfortunately, they had little choice.

  “All right,” Maarkean began, “it should be a couple hours’ walk to the base and to the city. No communication. We can’t have our comm IDs registered on this planet.”

  Lack of communication made everything more difficult, but if they connected their comm devices to the planetary network, they could be tracked, and it would send a red flag to the Alliance base. Even if they used the unlinked comm feature, their signals could be tracked and would be unencrypted. Maarkean promised himself they would get other comm gear if they were going to continue operations like this.

  “We’ll meet back here in twelve hours,” Maarkean said.

  “Yeah, and try not to get caught,” Zeric quipped.

  Maarkean followed the group off the flight deck and then down into the cargo bay. With his arm still not at a hundred percent, Lohcja had volunteered to remain behind to guard the ship. Plus, a Ronid would stand out more than any of the others. The group heading toward the settlement wanted to remain as unmemorable as possible.

  Maarkean pulled his duster on and checked his pistol’s charge one more time. Zeric handed him a canteen of water, and then they both tagged their current position on their computers by reading the GPS signal from the colony’s satellites. Without a word, he nodded to the others and then headed into the dark with Zeric.

  The hike to the settlement went faster than Saracasi had expected. Since their escape from prison and the exhaustion she’d felt running back and forth across the freighter, she had devoted time every day to running. With the cargo bay on the Cutty Sark empty, there had been room for a short circuit. She liked to think it was helping.

  When they reached the outskirts of the settlement, they waited at the forest’s edge until daybreak. They didn’t want to attract attention to themselves by walking around in the wee hours of the morning. As the light grew, she started to make out more details about the settlement.

  The images she had seen from their orbital survey had shown the place to be relatively small. There was a wall running around the entire settlement with a crossroads just prior to the thoroughfare into town. They had decided to approach from the polar south to throw others off, since the ship was to the west.

  As they walked the road toward the settlement, Saracasi began to notice the world around them. During the walk here, everything had been only dimly lit by the planet’s two moons and their flashlights. Now, with the sun up, she could see the plant life in full color. The open field that stretched from the edge of the tree line toward the city was a brilliant shade of purple.

  Gamaly stopped and picked one of the wildflowers that gave the field its color. She smiled and held it up to Saracasi’s screfa, saying, “It matches.”

  Saracasi gave her a polite smile in return. Gamaly would not know what an insult she had committed. For a Braz, comparing the color of their screfa to a flower was the same as declaring their clan as weak as a flower. In Braz history, blood feuds had raged between clans for years for insults like that.

  The group continued their walk into the settlement. As they approached the gates along the roadway, a cart pulled by a team of large animals emerged. The creatures had pale orange skin, large floppy ears and an expression that made them look kind of cute. They were almost as wide as Saracasi was tall. With two of them side by side, the group was forced to step off the roadway to allow the cart to pass.

  The driver of the cart was an unusual sight. Dressed in jean coveralls and guiding the animals, he looked like an image out of the past. Yet on the cart behind him was a large piece of electronic equipment, presumably some sort of farm implement.

  They continued into the city. The place was still quiet, but there were a few signs of the city coming to life. A couple of the shops had signs turned to “Closed” but lights on inside, and they passed a bakery that had a few patrons coming and going. The smells from inside instantly had Saracasi’s mouth watering.

  “I suppose that is as good a place as any to start asking around,” Gamaly said innocently, looking at the bakery.

  “Yes, there are people there to talk to. It’s perfect,” Lahkaba said absently and began walking over there.

  Saracasi saw no reason to f
ight it and followed. Gu’od shook his head but came with the rest of them. Once inside, they were greeted with stronger smells. The shop’s glass counter was filled with pastries and baked goods of all types. The shop appeared to cater to a mixed clientele, as there were foods from a variety of cultures. Her eyes lit up at the sight of a jilberry tart. It had been her favorite as a child.

  They waited in the short line and each ordered something. Saracasi paid for the jilberry tart and took a moment to breathe in the aroma while the others ordered and paid. Gu’od was last in line, but he did not order anything. Instead, he questioned the worker behind the counter.

  “I was wondering if you might be able to help us. We’re new to town,” he began, sticking with their cover story of not identifying themselves as off-worlders unless necessary. “We’re looking for some transportation.”

  “You can try the stables over on the other side of the town,” the Notha girl said politely.

  Gu’od smiled back. “We were looking for something faster and with a bit more carrying capacity than an animal could handle.”

  The girl said incredulously, “You want a truck?”

  “Yes,” Gu’od answered simply.

  To Saracasi’s surprise, a look of disgust crossed the girl’s face. What was even more surprising was the sudden silence that filled the small bakery. The rest of the occupants, mostly Notha, collectively turned toward Gu’od. The change in atmosphere was not lost on him, and he surveyed the room cautiously.

  “Did I say something wrong?” he asked as innocently as he could.

  One of the Notha, older than the others and with streaks of grey in his fur, stood up from his table. Saracasi saw Lahkaba put his hand on the pistol at his hip. They were all armed, unlike the other bakery clients. Saracasi had been opposed to that when they had left the ship, but now she was glad they were.

  The Notha moved over to Gu’od, his tail flicking behind him with evident anticipation as he walked. “You say you aren’t from around here. Whereabouts are you from?”

  Gu’od looked around the room cautiously, but his face was calm. Saracasi realized he must have sensed that pretending to be from another town might not work because he answered, “We arrived on the planet recently.”

  “No starport here,” the Notha asked. “How did you get here?”

  Evasively, Gu’od replied, “We walked.”

  A mock look of surprise crossed the Notha’s face. “Closest starport is Scipost City. That’s over two hundred kilometers. After walking that, no wonder you’re looking for transport.”

  Gu’od didn’t respond, and the Notha continued, “Perhaps you don’t know about the boycott?”

  “No,” Gu’od answered truthfully.

  The Notha raised an eyebrow suspiciously at Gu’od and cast a look at Saracasi. “Everyone on this planet, or at least all but the traitors, has boycotted buying any motorized transport. Our benevolent Alliance overlords have seen fit to declare that only vehicles purchased from Alliance companies may be bought and sold here. In protest, we’ve all gone back to simpler transport. The local lomba and uka are excellent beasts of burden.”

  Looking darkly at Saracasi, the Notha concluded, “So you’ll find no vehicles here for rent or purchase. And you’ll find no one here willing to buy, either.”

  Saracasi did not like the way the rest of the patrons were looking at her. She should have realized that on a planet with a non-Alliance majority, Braz and Terrans might be looked at suspiciously. Apparently, the people of this town were not happy Alliance subjects.

  “I was unaware,” Gu’od said diplomatically. “As I said, we just arrived.”

  “Since you obviously didn’t walk all the way here from Scipost, that only leaves one option of where you came from. You wouldn’t have arrived on the ship that landed out in the woods in the middle of the night, would you?” the Notha said coldly. “We don’t much like smugglers here. We won’t buy any vehicles until the embargo is lifted. Not even illegally imported ones. We told the last group of you smuggler scum the same thing.”

  So much for a covert landing, Saracasi thought. They had been much closer to the city than the Alliance base. She fervently hoped Maarkean and Zeric weren’t walking into the waiting arms of Alliance personnel. And that Lohcja wouldn’t find a platoon of troops swarming the ship.

  “I assure you,” Gu’od said calmly, “we are not here to sell you anything. We did arrive on that ship; we were experiencing engine trouble and couldn’t make it to the starport. We were hoping to get transport to a larger city to buy spare parts.”

  “Is that right,” the Notha said. “Then I suppose you won’t mind my coming and taking a look. I was a decent mechanic before moving here. It would be nice to work on something more complicated than farm equipment again.”

  “That is appreciated but won’t be necessary,” Gu’od said. “We have an extremely competent mechanic. We just need a replacement part.”

  “What do you need? We might have something here in town that’s suitable enough to get you airborne again.”

  Looking a little lost, Gu’od gestured toward Saracasi. “I’m not sure exactly. But Casi here is our engineer.”

  Saracasi’s heart sank. She knew she was a terrible liar, but apparently Gu’od didn’t. “Um, our primary reactor pump is shot. No fuel flowing to the reactor.”

  The Notha smiled. “Well, then, you’re in luck. We can make a simple bypass for you with the secondary feeder shunt.”

  Crap, Saracasi thought. She knew she should have thought of that. Pressure and lying did not go well for her. A bypass was a simple fix any novice could have devised. She tried to think of a reason that wouldn’t work, but kept coming up with responses that would make her sound like even more of an idiot.

  “I suppose we can also call over to the nearby Alliance outpost,” the Notha said with a bit of a threat in his voice. “I’m sure they would be happy to help you.”

  Apparently the locals’ distaste for the Alliance was less than their distaste for strangers they suspected were smugglers. Saracasi looked to Gu’od, hoping he had a response. If the Alliance was alerted now, they would be on the ship before they could get back there, and long before Maarkean and Zeric could get back. The best scenario would be if Lohcja could fly offworld by himself and come back for them. But she didn’t even know if Lohcja could fly.

  “All right!” Lahkaba exclaimed. They were the Kowwok’s first words since ordering a pastry. Every head in the place turned toward him.

  “We’re not smugglers, and we didn’t have engine trouble,” Lahkaba said. His next words made Saracasi’s jaw drop. “We’re working with Maarkean Ocaitchi’s Resistance. Surely you’ve heard about the events on Sulas?”

  The shocked looks on Gamaly’s and Gu’od’s faces must have mirrored her own. Saracasi’s tongue tied as she struggled to find the right curse to throw at Lahkaba. She had no idea what the man was thinking, revealing her brother’s name like that, much less calling them part of his ‘resistance.’ When the Alliance was inevitably contacted, they wouldn’t swarm the ship, they’d fire on it first.

  Shock was not limited to her group. The rest of the bakery patrons were staring at Lahkaba as well. Undeterred by any of their stares, he continued, “We’ve come here to strike back at the Alliance. We’re going to deny them vehicles just like they’re denying you vehicles. We failed to understand the extent of your boycott. We were only hoping to find ourselves transport to and from the nearby base to aid in our escape.”

  Surveying the room, Saracasi tried to gauge the best way for them to escape. She was no tactical expert, but she thought their odds were good.

  None of the other patrons appeared armed. Gu’od was probably capable of taking out half of them unarmed. A quick dash would get them to the door. From there, she had no idea. She was sure that Gu’od and Gamaly were making the same calculations.

  “We have heard of the events on Sulas. And that name sounds familiar,” the Notha said slowly, though
his tail stiffened, suggesting he was anticipating a confrontation.

  “Maarkean Ocaitchi was the leader of the group that broke those people out,” another patron said.

  “There were lots of Nothas imprisoned there, I heard,” yet another patron said.

  Unexpectedly, the atmosphere in the room made a complete change. The suspicion and animosity were replaced by a sense of welcoming. The change took Saracasi by almost as much surprise as Lahkaba’s statement had.

  “While, as a Notha, I may appreciate what you did there,” the gruff Notha said, “you have admitted to being criminals. You are on the Alliance’s most wanted listed. As sheriff, I have no choice but to arrest you.”

  Saracasi looked back at Gu’od, watching for a signal. Her hand moved toward her sidearm. The thought of being taken back to prison wasn’t one she relished.

  It wasn’t especially crowded in the bakery, but any firefight, even on stun, might result in injuries; she was willing to take that chance.

  To her surprise, Gu’od held up his hands and nodded to the Notha. “Very well. If you feel you must, we have no argument with you and have no desire to harm anyone here. We will come with you peacefully.”

  The Notha looked about as shocked as Saracasi felt, but he recovered faster. “I appreciate that. All right, come with me. You can finish your pastries on the way since you’re coming peacefully. I will have to ask for your weapons, though.”

  “Of course,” Gu’od said. He drew his pistol and placed it on the counter.

  Maybe this was part of his plan, Saracasi thought. Gu’od was more dangerous without a weapon than with. Avoiding a firefight would fit his style.

  Deciding to play along, she placed her pistol on the counter as well, after Lahkaba and Gamaly did the same. She just hoped her trust in Gu’od wasn’t misplaced.

  Several hours later, Saracasi was sure that her trust in Gu’od was completely misplaced. She paced back and forth across the small cell, fuming.