by Todd Brill
“It’s time to go. But remember this, my student: these powers come with responsibilities. Sometimes, terrible responsibility. Don’t lose yourself to a cause or to your emotions. The black sky is useful, but also dangerous. The dark sea is calming, but you can also lose yourself forever in its gentle waves. Neither one of them is bad, just… different. But you need to understand there are limits and that losing control comes with consequences. The main thing is that you’re still learning and it will take time. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Take responsibility for everything you do and think before you act.”
As she spoke, she gradually dissipated into smoky blue nothingness and the hole in the black sky knitted itself back together. Nomad sighed and wiped the tears from his face.
He had messed things up badly. People had been hurt because of his focus on revenge and his anger. He had let his anger control his listening and it had terrible results. That would never happen again. He took a deep breath, feeling the calm rolling waves beneath the raft.
Except he wasn’t in a raft anymore. He was in a small sail boat now. Further removed from the waves, but still riding them. His hand, once resting on the edge of the raft, now rested gently on the wheel. The sails were down and the boat rocked up and over each wave as they swelled. There was a stiff breeze blowing, and he thought he could hear the distant sound of plaintive sea birds.
Nomad remembered that sea birds didn’t venture far from land. These sea birds were telling him it was time to go back home. He was weary, and closing his eyes a moment, he took a deep breath willing himself to go back to that terrible place.
24
“The sergeant and his men are all either dead or have surrendered,” said Overwinter. “The camp is ours. I’ve sent word to Danik to post guards and retreat into the camp with the weapons we brought for the prisoners. I figure we’ve convinced fifty prisoners and guards to fight on our side and they’ve been armed and briefed.”
Nomad’s mind reeled as he awoke from his stupor. It was like awaking from an incredibly realistic dream. The shock of reality was almost too much for him. He stood on shaky sea legs and wiped the sweat and splattered mud from his forehead.
“Wasn’t sure you were coming back for a while there,” said Overwinter, a look of concern etched on his lavender face. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine. It’s been a long, hard day is all,” replied Nomad. His face was still pale and his stomach felt like he’d really just been out to sea. He checked his rifle and gear and stretched out his stiff neck, rubbing the base of his skull with his free hand.
The rain had stopped, but the courtyard was slick with thick, reddish mud. It stained Nomad’s knees and hands where he had been kneeling. The sky was a slate grey now, and the storm had dissipated along with Nomad’s need for vengeance.
This wasn’t about revenge for him anymore. This was about doing what was right and just. These people deserved to be free as much as he did, and he was going to make sure it happened or die trying.
“What you did back there,” said Overwinter, stepping closer to Nomad and lowering his voice. “That was… amazing. I’ve never seen anything like that in my life. How did you do it?”
“It’s a long story,” said Nomad. “Let’s have a beer some time and I’ll tell you about it.”
“I don’t know what a beer is, but I’ll take you up on that,” said Overwinter. “I just need to know that you have control of this… power. That it isn’t going to get out of control or hurt any of us.”
“Don’t worry. It’s under control. I won’t be doing that again anytime soon. I screwed up this time because I didn’t understand things. It won’t happen again. I promise,” said Nomad, lowering his head. Overwinter placed a hand on his broad shoulder.
“Don’t take it so hard, son,” said Overwinter, a grim expression on his gaunt face. “You’re new to this. And in war, mistakes get made and people get hurt who aren’t supposed to get hurt. Everyone knows you didn’t mean to hurt those prisoners.”
“Do they know?” said Nomad gesturing at the remaining prisoners who had taken rifles and pistols to help fight. “Do they understand? What about their friends and families?”
“Easy, easy,” said Overwinter, gripping his shoulder tightly, “You’re going to hurt yourself, Nomad. Did you mean to harm anyone but the sergeant and his guards?”
“No, of course not!” Nomad yelled.
“Well then, there you go,” replied Overwinter removing his hand. “I don’t need to hear any more. It was an accident. You learned your lesson and now it’s time to move on. I need you to complete this mission, Nomad, and I can’t have you holding back or feeling sorry for yourself because of some dumb mistake. Maybe those prisoners or their families won’t like you because of it. Maybe in time they’ll see it was an accident and that you didn’t mean to do it. But right now, there are things that need to be done or more innocent people are going to die. Are you with me?”
Nomad thought about what Overwinter was saying. He was a wise man, and what he said made sense. When this was over, Nomad vowed to find the families of those prisoners he killed and make it right somehow. But Overwinter was right: it was time to finish this and stop the killing.
“I’m with you,” said Nomad. “We must face the Leader and make sure he can never do this to people again.”
“Okay then,” said Overwinter. “Let’s get…”
Overwinter stopped his sentence short when a high-pitched wailing sound screamed in the air above them. Nomad looked up into the dark sky and saw a crescent moon shaped aircraft. It looked like a spaceship to him.
“Take cover! Attack from the air!” yelled Overwinter as he grabbed Nomad by his shirt and hauled him roughly to the mud behind some shipping containers.
There was a large explosion in the courtyard and then the screams of dying people as the fighter sped past after dropping its ordinance. Overwinter scrambled to his feet in the mud and raced to the anti-air gun.
Another screeching sound overhead and another fighter sped by dropping a bomb on another section of the camp. Nomad could see the plume of smoke and debris over the grey walls of the courtyard.
Overwinter was frantically working the controls of the gun, but it was no use. The blast Nomad had struck it with had not only killed the sergeant and guards and prisoners, but the exploding shells which had been stacked nearby had disabled the gun permanently.
Overwinter pounded the breach of the gun with a fist and shouted. Then he ran back to cover with Nomad.
“It’s no use. We don’t have any weapons that can take out those fighter craft,” said Overwinter, his brow furrowed. Nomad knew what he needed to do. He stood up and motioned to the sky. This time would be different. He called on the black sea to calm his warbled nerves and listened to the wind high up in the sky.
He called to the wind. Told it how the fighters needed to be stopped. The air on the ground was still, but Nomad could feel the wind above the camp whipping into a frenzy of slashing crosswinds.
He could hear another fighter approaching from the direction the others had come. As the first fighter flew over the courtyard, the hurricane winds tossed it into a nearby hill like a toy. There was a great red and black fireball and the ground shook.
The second fighter was right behind the first, and Nomad saw the pilot trying to veer off, probably afraid they might have the anti-air gun operational, but it was too late. The unnaturally fierce crosswinds spun the fighter out of control, driving it to the ground outside the camp gates. Another massive explosion split the early evening air and a plume of fuel ignited a miniature mushroom cloud above the walls of the camp.
“Yahoo!” yelled Overwinter pumping his fist into the air. “Now that’s what I’m excited about!” he screamed at Nomad, a grin splitting his face. “See? You just saved our lives, Nomad!”
Nomad let himself relax and feel calm again. The winds dissipated, and he thanked them silently. He allowed himself a small grin. It was more for Overwi
nter’s sake, but he did feel satisfied nobody had died who didn’t need to.
A cheer rose from the courtyard as rebel soldiers slowly emerged from behind the cover they had hastily dove behind during the air raid. They were all looking at Nomad and saying things like, “Way to go, Nomad!” and “I’m glad he’s on our side!”
Nomad felt the warm rush of blood to his face. He had never faced a crowd of people like this before. Certainly not one that was actually chanting his name and cheering him on. It felt good. They believed in him and liked him. He smiled and waved tentatively.
“They’ve seen what you can do,” said Overwinter standing beside him. “They look up to you, Nomad.”
“I’m still not really sure why,” said Nomad.
“Because you’re a leader and they know it,” said Overwinter in reply. “You have power. A power they don’t understand. But instead of using that power for your own personal gain, you’re using it to help them, and they’re thankful for that.”
“I guess that makes sense,” said Nomad warily.
“Look, just keep doing what you’re doing and maybe you can be the new Leader,” said Overwinter. Nomad was shocked.
“What? Me? No way, Overwinter,” he said. “I don’t want to be the Leader. We’re fighting against the Leader to get rid of that system.”
“We’re getting rid of a bad Leader,” agreed Overwinter, “but these people need someone to lead them, Nomad. If it isn’t you, it will be someone else. I guarantee you that. Look, just think about it, okay?” Nomad nodded but was still certain in his mind he had no desire to be a leader to an entire world. What did he know about politics and leadership? He was just a schmuck from Missouri, not a world leader.
“It’s time,” said Overwinter with a tone of finality that worried Nomad. The next step of the plan was what he was referring to. After they secured the camp and armed as many additional fighters as they could, they were going to march into the city and attack the Leader’s compound.
This was perhaps the most dangerous part of the mission. During their briefings, Overwinter couldn’t stress this point enough. The Leader was a coward, he had said. Most likely, the Leader would hole up in his compound surrounded by his most loyal guards.
The compound was a highly secure building in the center of the city. Tall, thick walls surrounded an opulent courtyard filled with trees, flower thickets, and ornate stone fountains encrusted with jewels and inlaid with precious metals. There were two anti-air guns on the roof of the main building, razor wire along the perimeter, and heavy guns in strategic spots inside the courtyard. It was built for repelling an assault like the one they were about to attempt.
Overwinter had estimated their heaviest fighting and casualties would occur during the fight for the compound. The plan was to surround and overwhelm the guards. Overwinter would radio back to the rebels in the city when they were ready, and they would begin blaring recruitment slogans through the city streets.
“Come join the fight against your evil Leader! Join us in the final fight against oppression and evil!” They would blast through amplified speakers attached to small grey vans filled with rifles and ammunition. The hope was they could convince enough civilians the final fight was almost won, and they could be part of the push to free themselves from the Leader and his cronies. Then, with enough recruits and fighters, they could overwhelm the compound and take it with a minimum of deaths.
That was the plan and as Nomad thought about it, he remembered something his high school English teacher had once told them about plans. She had quoted Robert Burns, an old Earth poet from Scotland:
“The best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry and leave us nothing but grief and pain.”
Her name was Mrs. Padwick. An older woman Nomad guessed to be in her mid-fifties. She was short and pale with fading reddish-grey hair. She was always smiling and happy for some reason Nomad could never figure out. He always wondered if she was miserable only at home.
Overwinter ordered the troops to pack up and prepare to move. Through the bustle of activity, Nomad heard someone calling his name. He turned just in time to be hugged tightly by Danik. Hiyadi stood behind her, grinning. Nomad hugged her back and fought the sudden desire to cry.
He nuzzled her hair and neck and told her he loved her.
“I love you, too,” she said, sniffing. “I’m glad everything turned out okay.”
“Are you ready for this?” Nomad asked as they parted.
“For the city? Yes,” she said. “We have to finish what we started.”
Nomad knew his worry showed on his face.
“Don’t tell me to stay behind,” said Danik, frowning. “I’m coming to the city to fight, not guard the baggage train.”
“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” said Nomad.
“Don’t you worry about me. If anyone’s going to get hurt, it’s you. I’ve been trained. I was in the military, remember? You weren’t. You barely know how to fire your rifle. Just because I’m physically smaller than you, doesn’t mean I can’t fight.” Nomad felt foolish.
“I know, Danik. Sorry. I just worry that’s all,” said Nomad.
“Well don’t. I’m a well-trained soldier and an adult. I know what I’m getting into and what to do.” She straightened her tunic that had shifted out of place by their embrace and smiled at him again.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“I think so,” he said.
“You know the stories about you are already starting?” said Danik. “The people in my troop are already telling tales about how the Nomad is using magic to call the sky down on the Leader and his soldiers.”
“Magic? It’s not magic!” said Nomad, frowning. Danik laughed.
“Magic is sometimes how small minds perceive mysteries they do not understand,” said Hiyadi. “On my world, when we first started implanting devices in our bodies, some of the oldest religious people called the results black magic because they feared and did not understand the science behind how the implants functioned. Maybe someday you can teach these people how it works so they will understand and they will cease considering it magic.”
“Maybe,” said Nomad, “but I’d appreciate it if you could tell them it isn’t magic. I don’t want people getting the wrong idea about me. I’m not Gandalf.”
“Who is Gandalf?” asked Hiyadi, raising an eyebrow. “Was he a famous wizard from your Earth world?”
“Wizards are only in books and fairy tales on my world,” said Nomad. “Gandalf was famous, but he was just a character from a story.”
“Intriguing,” replied Hiyadi. Danik sniggered. Nomad’s frown melted into a smile.
“We better get going,” said Danik. “It looks like they’re almost ready to move.”
They assembled in front of the camp gates and split off into their teams again, bolstered by their recruits from the camp. The women and children and others who couldn’t or wouldn’t fight were left behind to fend for themselves with a promise they would be back to help if they took the city.
Nomad took one last long look at the smoking, muddy ruins of the prison camp. It was the first building he saw when he came to this world, and he had come to hate it. Now, he felt pity for the devastated structure. Its grey stone walls were crumbling and fires were gutting the interior, producing plumes of acrid grey smoke which floated into the black sky.
25
They quit the camp like a swarm of army ants threading their way back toward the city they intended to assault. The sky had cleared letting dark-yellow light from the distant star filter down to the buildings and streets devoid of signs of life.
The population of the city could feel what was coming. The word had spread and as the army approached the outskirts, they began to absorb recruits. A few trickled in looking for revenge or the chance to do the right thing. As they advanced, more people joined the throng, grim and resolute. The march felt like a growing avalanche of bodies.
Inexorably, they marched toward t
he center of the city and the Leader’s compound, growing in size as they went. They encountered loyalists who put up short fights but the rebels squashed them like insects against a speeding windshield.
Overwinter estimated they had over ten thousand troops in front of them and another ten thousand behind them. All armed, angry, and ready to fight. They surged through the streets with an unnatural quiet and grim determination.
The rebels met their first serious resistance a few blocks away from the Leader’s compound. The Leader’s loyalist troops had erected barricades surrounding the compound for several blocks. They had used construction machines to tear up the pavement and dirt and pile it into rounded heaps with jagged concrete pits in front.
Scouts told Overwinter that the Leader had large guns behind the barricades that would rip anyone apart foolish enough to crest the artificial hills. The tops of the hill barricades were manned by scouts and snipers loyal to the Leader, ready to call down death from the sky or from the end of a rifle. Overwinter figured this is why they hadn’t seen any more attacks from aircraft: the Leader was saving them for the final battle.
The lead scouts reported the details of the defenses. They were worried.
“Any time someone is expecting a fight against an enemy that’s well defended, they get nervous,” Overwinter said after the scouts left.
“Do you have a plan to get around these barricades?” said Nomad, wiping some sweat from his forehead. Overwinter rubbed his chin and looked around.
“Not yet,” he said, “but we don’t have much time. We’re losing light and these people can’t be allowed to sit idle for too long or they might change their minds.”
“What about the drones?” said Hiyadi, standing behind Nomad with Danik.
“Not sure I can call those back in now,” said Overwinter. “The Leader has probably either destroyed them by now or taken control back from our agents.”
