Nomad: Freedom Is Never Free

by Todd Brill

  “Where can we say good-bye to our friends?” asked Nomad quietly, gesturing at the corner where the bodies lay.

  “I’ve arranged for a van to transport you to the outskirts of town. There, you can build your pyres and say your good-byes. The smoke from the fires will be seen, so we won’t be able to stay long,” said Del. “If you hesitate, they will be on you in minutes, so don’t delay once you start the fires.”

  “I understand. Thanks, Del,” said Nomad, running the gray fabric of his new tunic through his fingers. It was the same color as the blankets: a dull gray. The orange trim was almost brown. The word “ochre” seemed to pop into Nomad’s head. He liked it. The dark metallic orange reminded him of sunsets. It had been so long since he had been able to enjoy a sunset.

  “And after that?” replied Telarch, raising an eyebrow while he worked the tangles out of his long gray beard.

  “After that, I’ve arranged a meeting with the rebel commanders,” said Del. “They want to know what your plans are and how they can help.” It was the first time Nomad had heard their contacts described as ‘rebels.’

  “We don’t have anything to offer them,” Nomad replied, “except ourselves. I can’t speak for the others, but I had friends who’ve died because of this Leader of yours. I’m sick and tired of these self-important assholes using others to kill and hurt people for some warped agenda.”

  “He’s no leader of mine, Nomad, but you won’t find any argument here,” said Del, looking Nomad in the eyes. “Not many of us like the Leader. Not many around here, anyhow. Of course, he’s got his support among the aristocrats and wealthy businesses, and that’s what keeps him in power. That and his ability to kill whoever crosses him. The problem is that he’s made it illegal for anyone to own weapons. He’s afraid of an uprising, so even the hint of weapons can get you thrown in prison or worse.”

  “If we’re going to accomplish anything, we’re going to need staging areas and weapons,” said Telarch.

  “I get the feeling you know a thing or two about war, Telarch,” replied Del.

  “A thing or two,” replied Telarch, grinning slightly.

  “Telarch used to be a soldier on his home world,” said Danik quietly.

  “And you, Danik? Clearly you have some training as well,” said Del.

  “Me?” replied Danik absently. “I’m a… I used to be a body guard,” she said, glancing over at Yola’s little wrapped body, “but I was recruited from the army.”

  “What did you do in the army?” asked Telarch curiously and stopped working on his beard to focus on her.

  “I was a sniper,” she replied. Nomad’s mouth opened, and his eyes went wide.

  “A sniper?” said Nomad. It was hard to believe this small, beautiful woman was a trained killer.

  “A sniper. And a pretty good one too,” Danik continued. “I studied at the Gorrand Academy while General Ul’Thrand was the Commanding Officer. I was recruited to be a sniper because I was the best shot in my platoon and because I was small and able to get into tiny spaces to set up my hide. The King recruited me to protect Yola because he said people wouldn’t suspect that I was a trained fighter and because I was good with children.”

  Telarch chuckled. “Well. Just goes to show. You think you got somebody figured out…”

  “What about you, Hiyadi?” said Del. “What’s your story?”

  “I am familiar with military-style operations,” said Hiyadi. “I have studied strategy, tactics, and operations. It is required learning on my world. I have considerable physical stamina, strength, and speed, and I am able to learn new skills quickly. On my world, freedom is assumed for all. I will help you fight this Leader and free your people. It is only right. I hope that someday I will be able to return home, however.”

  “How about that?” chuckled Del. “The robot wants to go home. I thought I’d heard everything. And what about you, Nomad?”

  “I am not a robot, Del,” Hiyadi replied softly.

  “I don’t know much about combat and fighting,” said Nomad, “but everyone should be free, including us, and I think that’s worth fighting for. I don’t really care if I make it back to Earth. I’ve always thought that home is where you make it.” He looked over at the small body of Jorune.

  “Jorune was my friend and teacher. She taught me things I could never imagine. She taught me to be mindful. To listen. And how to get things to happen,” he continued. “And I will use what she taught me to avenge the deaths of my new family. I’ve been running away from fights my whole life and it’s time to stop running and start fighting for what’s right.”

  “I remember what you did to Harvith,” said Telarch. “I was going to ask you about that when the time was right.”

  “She didn’t teach me that specifically,” replied Nomad. “I just… I kinda lost it there for a moment.”

  “Understandable,” said Telarch, reaching out to grip Nomad’s arm. “You just lost some people who were close to you. Are you able to control this power or is there any danger to us?” Nomad was taken aback.

  “There’s no danger to any of you, Telarch,” he said defensively. “Using this power requires a great deal of intent and control. It isn’t random or dangerous.”

  “It seemed dangerous enough to Harvith, but if you say it’s safe, I believe you, my friend,” said Telarch.

  “Tel,” said Nomad. “You’re my friend. I would never do anything to harm you.”

  “Nor I, you,” replied Telarch, grinning and gripping his arm warmly.

  “As for me,” continued Telarch sitting back down, “I was a Captain in my home world’s army. I had a company of soldiers under my command. It was peacetime, but I did serve in the Yelter Campaign and saw battle at Andring Valley and at the Battle of ’88. I was awarded the Falling Star twice and the Fulcrum Medal. I eventually volunteered for an R&D position because I was promised a promotion and a desk job. I was getting a little old to be crashing through the bush with the boys. That’s when I got transported here. They were working on some kind of teleportation tech. There was an…accident.”

  Telarch’s story brought back a flood of memories for Nomad. The feelings of cold metal and the glaring white lab. Those memories felt almost like a dream now, but he remembered most of it quite clearly. When he first saw this world, he imagined it was his mind playing tricks on him, that what he was seeing was a hallucination of some kind. But this had become all too real for him now. He had a real woman he loved, real friends – some of whom were dead, and a real enemy to defeat.

  “I say Telarch should lead us,” said Nomad suddenly. “I think he has the best experience, and I trust him. With my life.”

  “I concur,” added Hiyadi. “He seems to have a keen tactical mind and is able to fight well,”

  “Agreed,” said Danik.

  “Thank you all for your trust,” said Telarch. “That means a lot to me. I’ll try not to let you down.” He cleared his throat and then continued.

  “First, we all need to come to terms with our current situation. We are outlaws on the run from an enemy who holds all the advantages. We have no supplies, limited weapons, and few options.”

  “I think that’s where we come in,” said Del. “When you speak with the resistance, perhaps you will have more options. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Agreed,” replied Telarch. “So for now, let’s say good-bye to our dear friends. Once we have more info, we can decide what to do next.”

  They waited until evening, just before dusk. They used gray woolen scarves to obscure their features and loaded the bodies into the waiting van. Del had seen to moving the prison van across town because the guards would be looking for it. This was a new van and was in rough shape by comparison. The vehicle was painted orange and brown and yellow and looked to Nomad like a food truck back home. The van had a side order window and what looked like a menu printed next to the window in the alien language.

  “If anyone asks,” said Del, “we’re a food service cr
ew out getting supplies for tomorrow. One of our members is a small business owner who has a fleet of these trucks in the city, so it won’t arouse much suspicion.”

  Del drove the van since he looked like a local. The rest stayed in the back wrapped in their scarves. They had their rifles, but ammunition was limited. If they got into a fight, it couldn’t last long.

  They drove for almost an hour. Del doubled-back several times to make sure they weren’t followed. The streets were quiet in the early evening. A few locals were sweeping sidewalks or tending small gardens.

  “I never thought to ask until now,” said Nomad, “but what is this city called, Del?”

  “Nevenember,” replied Del sarcastically. “It’s named after the Great Leader, of course. In fact, if you look out the window you can just make out the top of the main tower in his estate.” Del indicated a direction while driving one-handed but quickly grabbed the wheel again.

  Nomad looked out the window carefully. Through the flickering orange streetlight, he could see the grand tower close to the center of town looming high over the rest of the low-built buildings. The tower reminded him of a minaret spire. There were numerous landings with windows visible, and a mushroom-cap roof painted bright, blood red topping the tower. Dull-white flickering floodlights illuminated the outside of the tower.

  “It’s big,” said Nomad, sitting back down.

  “Yup,” replied Del, “and well-guarded too. The Leader has lots of enemies. Granted, you don’t hold on to that kind of power without making lots of enemies. He surrounds himself with gates, locks, and guards at all times. Some say he’s getting more paranoid. He’s even killed some of his former friends and trusted advisors because he thought they were plotting against him.”

  “Sounds like Stalin,” said Nomad, remembering some of his Earth history.

  “Who?” said Telarch.

  “On Earth, we had this dictator a long time ago. His name was Josef Stalin. He controlled one of the largest, most powerful countries in the world for some time. He eventually went kinda nuts, but not before he killed tons of people including some of his close friends and family.”

  “Seems like that’s common,” said Telarch in response. “We had one of those, too. Her name was Telarina Bolyan. Murdered tens of thousands of us in her Great Purges. It took our current leader to force her out of power and close the death camps. When I first enlisted, it was to fight against her.”

  “Power tends to change people for the worse,” replied Nomad, nodding.

  After a while, they reached their destination outside the city. They had to stop for a checkpoint, but Del had everything under control and talked his way through it easily. Their story held: they were just a food truck out for supplies.

  After just under an hour, they arrived at their destination — a small wooded area with tall, feathery-looking trees. There wasn’t any vegetation in the prison camp, so Nomad hadn’t seen much of the plant life on this world before now.

  The trees had dark-brown bark, which was smooth but leathery feeling. The leaves were like green feathery five-fingered points and they waved gently in the chill evening breeze.

  “They’re called hand trees for obvious reasons,” said Del. Nomad understood why. The leaves looked like little green fluffy hands waving good-bye in the wind. Just like their group was there to do — say good-bye to Yola and Jorune.

  They worked quickly and quietly to gather up as much wood as they could find and build two small pyres for the bodies. They were only a few inches from the ground. Del brought some paper and emergency flares to set them alight. Once the pyres were burning, they all stood together in silence, watching the thick gray smoke transcend the canopy of waving hands.

  Nomad hugged a weeping Danik close and kissed her head. Telarch stood silently with his head bowed saying a silent prayer. It was impossible to say what Hiyadi was thinking — he stared expressionlessly at the flames as they enveloped the shrouded bodies. Del stood, leaning against the van, staying out of their way.

  Good-bye, little one, thought Nomad. He would miss Yola’s bright smile and impish ways. She didn’t deserve to die this way. No child deserved to die. They were innocent. They hadn’t made mistakes in their lives like he had.

  Nomad’s thoughts drifted to his sister. How she had taken him in and given him a place to stay when he needed it. How he was too young and stupid to realize she was trying to help him. Even then, he was more interested in being free and alone. When he finished taking everything she could give, he left his sister’s apartment and hit the road again. He still felt guilty about how he left and how his sister had never tried contacting him again. He wondered how she was. Maybe, if he got back to Earth, he would find her and apologize to her. Maybe. His thoughts moved on to Jorune.

  Good-bye my friend and teacher, he thought. Thank you for opening my mind. I will make sure to learn more and always listen, just like you taught me. He gripped the amulet around his neck and squeezed it.

  Just then, he thought he saw a faint blue cloud rise from Jorune’s body and ascend into the sky. He looked up and saw the hand trees waving farewell to a small, misty-blue puff of smoke. A tear trickled down his face as he raised his hand to wave good-bye to the woman who changed his life.

  Jorune was as close to a mother as he ever had. Nomad had run away from home when he was thirteen. He was escaping what he saw as a prison at home. His parents weren’t wealthy, but they had means. They were driven to make sure their children could provide for themselves and get an education and good jobs. But that wasn’t what Nomad wanted. He’d wanted adventure and freedom -- not a desk and a family. He skipped classes, got suspended twice, and then finally expelled for smoking in school with some other boys. His parents moved him to another school, but, in the end, things just didn’t work out. Nomad couldn’t bear to be tied down to one place for long. He never felt connected to any particular place. He never felt connected to people for very long, either.

  Later in life, he began to feel like it was time to settle down, but he never seemed to get around to it. His lifestyle was fluid, changing like the tides — never staying still for long. In that constant flow was a sense of security. Change and upheaval became a familiar flow, like the calming sound of a constantly flowing river.

  When he met Lou-Lou, he thought about asking her to settle down with him in a cabin somewhere. Maybe they would raise some animals, grow a garden. But she wasn’t into it. She was still a free spirit herself, unable to stay put in one situation for very long. Until he met Danik, he had all but given up the idea of settling down. People came and went but he was never attached to any of them in any emotional sense.

  That had all changed with Danik and Jorune and little Yola. He loved Danik more than he had loved any other woman, including Lou-Lou. Jorune had shown him courage, patience, and love. Yola had shown him the unconditional love of children.

  Nomad drew Danik closer, and they wept together for a moment. Once the blue-tinged flames had grown shorter and they were sure the bodies were burning they returned to the van for the trip back to the safe house. The darkening quiet reminded Nomad of the dark sea.

  16

  That night Nomad’s dreams were stygian — serpentine and filled with panic. He dreamed he tried desperately to save Jorune but he always failed. He tried saving Yola but could never reach her in time. The details of the dreams were slightly different each time but the theme was always the same.

  Since their deaths, he’d awakened many times in a cold sweat, calling for Jorune or Yola only to be consoled by Danik lying beside him. It was one of only a few times in Nomad’s life he wished he had something to drink. He dreaded his dreams but needed sleep. During the day, he ruminated on the contents of his dreams searching for meaning, seeking resolution but finding little of either.

  There was little time for drinking or mourning. They had a mission, a goal. Nomad was determined to see justice done. If he could do nothing else, he would do this. The Leader had done many ter
rible things to others, but this thing he had done to Nomad and Nomad would make him pay a heavy price for this. The Leaders’ bill was overdue.

  “They deserve no less,” he would tell Danik and the others who would usually nod or say, “Agreed.”

  While they waited in the shabby basement of the derelict store for the rebel commanders to make their plans, their spies to gather information, and the pre-mission training to begin, Nomad was practicing his skill at listening.

  Jorune was right. Listening was like a muscle — you had to keep working at it to get better at using the power. Nomad learned to move small objects, read the surface thoughts of people he could see, detect hot and cold air patterns in the dark, and make his nervous system and muscles faster and stronger while he concentrated. He was also practicing the martial art Jorune had started teaching him.

  He spent hours each day in the small basement swinging Jorune’s small bone walking stick. He danced with it, moving with the suddenness and finality of death itself. He used his power to enhance his speed and accuracy with the weapon and soon he was able to smash concrete blocks and bricks easily.

  The others watched Nomad practicing in awe. At times, he seemed to move faster than was possible for a man his size. His outline seemed to blur. It was as if time stood still for him briefly, his limbs and weapon humming like electrical lines.

  Then it was time. The rebel leaders sent word that they wanted to meet. It had been weeks since the escape and the local police had relaxed their patrols somewhat. They were to be taken, blindfolded, to a remote area on the outskirts of the city to meet the rebel leaders and discuss a strategy.

  Del drove the van again and the rest of the team hunkered down in the back with black cloth blindfolds covering their eyes. Danik held Nomad’s strong, calloused hand in her small, but no less hardened hand, and gave it a squeeze now and again.

  While they drove, Nomad listened. He could almost see the rough road and the squat, metal-concrete buildings surrounding them. The streets were crawling with people and guards this time of day. They could only hope they wouldn’t get caught in a random checkpoint.