by Michael Rose
Harvey turned. A smile crossed his lips. “Sorry, Sullivan, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Put down the pipe, Harvey.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll shoot you if you don’t.”
Harvey laughed maniacally. As Sullivan’s eyes adjusted to the dim light in the workshop, he could see dried blood down the side of Harvey’s face.
“You’re injured, Harvey. Let’s have a medic look at you.”
Harvey waved the pipe menacingly. “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, Sullivan!”
Sullivan lowered his rifle. “You need medical attention. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“There’s nothing any of you can do to stop me, Sullivan!”
“Stop you? Stop you from doing what?”
“What I need to do. What Ross needs me to do.”
Sullivan put his hand out. The man was delirious. “Ross wants you to stand down, Harvey. He wants you to get help. Let’s let a medic look at you.”
“No!” Harvey took a step forward, brandishing the pipe.
Sullivan raised his rifle again. “C’mon, Harvey, put it down. We’ll get you patched up, all right?”
Harvey threw the pipe. Sullivan easily ducked out of its path and recovered in time to see Harvey rushing him, a wrench in his hands. He fired a single shot into the man and stepped back as he fell, the wrench sliding noisily across the floor. Sullivan knelt down and checked Harvey’s pulse. He was dead. It was only after Sullivan dragged the body out into the sunlight that he saw the finger-sized sliver of shrapnel protruding from the side of Harvey’s head. In spite of who Harvey was—what he was—this was just another unnecessary death. Sullivan took a deep breath. All this misery was beginning to take its toll.
4
SULLIVAN SAT ACROSS from Steve Hall, looking over the details of the attack. “Eight ships equipped with the hyper-hyperspace technology are capable of flight,” said Hall. “The others were destroyed or damaged in the explosions.”
Sullivan nodded. “So that’ll get a hundred and sixty men, plus equipment, on the ground. Is this your list?”
“Yes. The best men we have. Granted, none of them have the same type of training that you do, but we’ve been working hard to turn ourselves into an effective fighting force.”
Sullivan pulled up a map of Agrona, Edaline’s capital. “Geography is on our side. The main spaceport lies at the edge of the city, on the opposite side from Fort Hendricks. Beyond is the jungle. The ships have to come in slow and low over the jungle on their approach to the spaceport. The men will rappel down into the brush during the approach.”
“Any chance of patrols in the jungle near the spaceport?”
Sullivan studied the map. “There’s a kilometer of clear terrain between the spaceport and the jungle. The city’s perimeter defenses rely on this open area to protect the city from attack. Initially, this no-man’s-land was established back when we thought the Squamata could be a threat. Anyway, patrols into the jungle aren’t common. Back when we were eradicating the Squamata, patrols went into the jungle regularly, but they haven’t done that for a few years. The only other possibility is that there might be units training in the jungle.”
“We’ll just have to risk it. Do you think you and the men can camp out in the jungle for a few days without being detected?”
“I think we’ll manage. Then we’ll attack after the second wave arrives. They’ll be dropped off on the south side of the city, where the jungle is still relatively thick. The rest of the land around Agrona has been cleared for farming.”
Hall nodded. “How will you get across a klick of open terrain without being seen?”
“The tunnels. Agrona was built on cleared land and, like much of the rest of the jungle, there’s a cave system below the city. In places, these natural tunnels connect with the city’s underground system. When I was in the special forces, we scoured these tunnels looking for Squamata. I know of a cave entrance about a klick and a half from the spaceport that leads into the system underneath the city.”
“And the second wave south of the city?”
“No such luck. They’ll have to wait for us to infiltrate the city and create enough of a disturbance so they can attack from the surface. Hopefully, the city’s security forces will be in disarray by that point, and the people will have risen up to aid our cause.”
Hall pushed the tablet away from him. “You’re one of the few we have with real military experience, Rick. What are our chances of success?”
Sullivan bit his lip. “It all depends on the people. Not only if they rise up but when they rise up. If they delay and wait until our forces have been defeated, it’ll be too late. We’ll need immediate support.”
Hall nodded. “And I think we’ll get it. The most recent arrivals tell us that the military has been cracking down on dissidents in ever-increasing numbers. The people are restless; the spirit of the rebellion has once again taken hold.”
Sullivan turned back to his map. “We’ll try to emerge from the tunnel system near the center of the city, where the most people will see us. From there, each team will disperse to a different neighborhood, attempt to secure it and rally support.”
“And when do you hope the second wave will be able to attack?”
“By the second night. They’ll move in under cover of darkness. The military’s attention will be turned inward, toward the city. The second wave will disperse into various neighborhoods as the first will have done, and hopefully momentum will carry us to victory. I hope to lead an attack on Fort Hendricks by the end of the fifth day.”
FRANK ALLEN STEADIED himself against the edge of the bed and took a few steps. He’d sprained his ankle when he’d fallen. It was getting better, but it would still be a few days before he’d be able to move around normally.
A knock came at the door. He limped over to it and turned the handle.
“Hey, Frank,” said Sullivan, shaking Allen’s hand and stepping inside. “How are you healing?”
“Good,” said Allen. “I’ll be in top shape for the second wave, without a doubt.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.” Allen hobbled over to the bed and sat on the edge. “I’m just glad to be out of the infirmary.”
“You’re lucky your injuries weren’t too bad. How’s the head?”
“Still have a dull throbbing pain, but at least it’s not incapacitating me anymore.”
Sullivan took out a data chip. “I brought you the plans. I want you to lead the second wave. If you’re able to, of course.”
“I will be.” Allen took the data chip and inserted it into his tablet. He spent a few minutes going over the details. “A kilometer of open ground? Pickett’s Charge.”
Sullivan furrowed his brow. “What’s that?”
“Nothing. Just an old Earth battle.”
“Well, you’ll attack at night, with me creating a distraction in the city.”
“Even so.”
“I know it’s risky, Frank, but without me there, you and your men won’t be able to find your way through the tunnels.”
“All right. I’ll trust your judgment on this. You’re off in the morning?”
“That’s right.”
Allen stood. “Good luck, my friend,” he said, shaking Sullivan’s hand.
Sullivan smiled. “I’ll see you in Agrona.”
5
SULLIVAN’S SHIP TOOK off first. Each of the eight ships would depart Faris piecemeal throughout the day, so as to not arouse suspicion by all arriving in Edaline’s system at the same time. Faris had agreed to falsify the ships’ manifests in order to aid the rebellion. The attack on the complex had only strengthened Faris’s commitment to helping the rebels free Edaline of her oppressive regime.
The nineteen other soldiers in the ship, the men who would be part of Sullivan’s own team, had been hand-picked by Sullivan. They were the ones who would be able to survive if Edaline’s security forces detected
them before the others arrived.
As the ship slipped silently into hyper-hyperspace, Sullivan left the gathered men in the cargo hold and went up to the cockpit. Dale Hammond was at the helm. He assured Sullivan that all was well, so Sullivan went back and tried to relax. His mind was full of plans and contingencies. He went over each one in turn, wanting to be certain that he’d make the right decisions no matter what they encountered.
Sullivan hadn’t been entirely forthcoming about his ability to navigate the tunnels leading into the city. It was true that he had explored them while his team was ferreting out the Squamata, but it had been a few years. He knew that there were several side tunnels that dead-ended and looped back on themselves. He hoped that once he was underground, it would come back to him. If it didn’t, they would be in trouble.
He studied the faces around him. In hyper-hyperspace it would only take two days to reach Edaline. It wasn’t long, but it was long enough for the men to grow restless. He could see it already, just a few hours out.
Sullivan stood and loudly cleared his throat. The chatter in the cargo bay died down. “As you know, we’re the point team. I’ve hand-picked each of you because you’ve proven that you have what it takes to secure the landing site and keep it secure until the other teams arrive. We’ll be the first of the freedom fighters to land on our home planet, and we’ll be the first to go through those tunnels, enter Agrona and show the people that their deliverance is at hand!”
A cheer erupted from the gathered men.
“And, if fate so decrees it, we’ll be the first to breach Fort Hendricks and bring the might of Edaline’s military under our control, under the people’s control.”
Sullivan looked around the bay, fixing each man in the eyes. “The rebellion of twelve years ago failed. It failed to remove Edaline’s corrupt regime, but the spirit that drove it lives in the hearts of the people. Every report we’ve received from Edaline says the same thing: the people are growing increasingly discontent. As a result, the government is growing increasingly brutal. But I want you to understand something very important. We are not brutal. We are not the butchers. And I will not see any men under my command commit the atrocities that the government and military of Edaline have committed. The only valid targets are military targets. The politicians and partisans of the current government, if they can be taken peacefully, will be taken peacefully.”
Sullivan looked again at the faces of the men. “I see that this displeases some of you. Perhaps you think I’m a hypocrite. After all, aren’t I the man who went after political targets? Aren’t I the one who killed members of the government in cold blood?” Sullivan lowered his eyes and his voice. “I am. I recently told a close friend of mine—my best friend, actually—that justification is a dangerous thing. For too long, I’ve justified my actions. First as a member of Edaline’s military, then as an assassin. A year and a half ago, I was not the man you see standing before you now. I was an angry man; I was a violent man. I believed that I was doing what was required to bring freedom to Edaline. And maybe I was. But love and friendship have changed me. I now know that mercy and compassion are greater weapons than anything Edaline’s military will be able to throw at us. And it will be mercy and compassion that will win over the hearts and minds of those Edalinians who may not yet be in support of our cause.
“Do not give them—do not give the government—any reason to malign us. Let them all know that we are on the side of right. We are on the side of Edaline.”
Sullivan looked around the room once more. One of the men started clapping, then another. Within seconds, the cargo bay of the ship was echoing with enthusiastic applause. Sullivan put up his hand, and the applause died down.
“Please. I don’t deserve that. If you want to honor anyone, honor those who have come before us, those who have already given their lives for the cause. Before long, some of you will be joining them. But your deaths, should they come, will not be in vain. So honor yourselves, too. You are about to change the course of Edaline’s history.”
II:
REBELLION
6
GENERAL THOMAS GEARY slammed his fists down on the table, causing the three-dimensional image of Agrona in front of him to flicker and vibrate. “This is unacceptable!”
Colonel James Miller cleared his throat. “Our men ended the protest as quickly as they could, sir. But we can’t simply go in and kill these people, not so publicly. We have to handle these matters… delicately.”
Geary shook his head. “I suppose you’ll tell me that we have their identities, that we’ll deal with the leaders of this protest quietly, take them out covertly.”
“Exactly, sir. It’s what’s worked so far.”
“Colonel, it obviously hasn’t worked if these protests keep getting larger!”
“By handling the main dissenters quietly, we keep from creating a public spectacle, from creating martyrs.”
“I’ve read the propaganda,” said Geary, lowering his voice. “We aren’t fooling anyone. They know that we’re behind the disappearances of the rebellion’s leaders.”
Colonel Miller lowered his voice to match Geary’s pitch. “You said yourself, not a week ago, that it was better to handle the Faris rebellion remotely, away from Edaline, for the very same reason. When these people see what we’re doing with their own eyes, it’s an entirely different thing than hearing rumors and suppositions.”
Geary studied the map in front of him. “I did say that, didn’t I? Well, I’m not so stubborn to admit when I’m wrong, Colonel. What these people need is blood and carnage. What these people need is to see that their rightful leaders are not afraid of them, that we are not going to bow down to pressure from an unsatisfied few!”
“They are unsatisfied, sir, but they are not few. Our estimates indicate that a full thirty percent of the population sympathizes with the goals of the rebellion.”
“But that leaves seventy percent on our side.”
Miller raised an eyebrow. “For now, sir. How many will abandon us if we begin openly murdering civilians in the streets? During the first rebellion, nearly half of Edaline’s citizenry rose up against their government, against their military. If these protests turn violent, I think we can expect that again. At the very least.”
Geary took a deep breath. “Colonel, we’ll continue doing it your way for now. But the second a protester throws a rock or a bottle at one of our men, I’ll order that this rebellion be put down before it begins.”
Colonel Miller nodded his head. “I understand, sir.”
Geary stood up from the table. “Excuse me, Colonel. I have other business to attend to.”
Colonel Miller stood and saluted as Geary departed the command center at the heart of Fort Hendricks.
Geary stepped out into the hot, humid air and made his way across the base, past the barracks and to the base’s prison near the northern wall of the complex. He was ushered through the facility’s main gate and, after a whispered order to the guard, into one of the cell blocks. He was taken into an elevator that traveled down three stories and let out into a corridor that smelled of cleaning fluid. He was met here by another guard who led him to one of the steel doors that lined the hallway. The guard took out a set of keys, unlocked the door and pushed it open. He scanned the interior of the cell before letting Geary in.
“Thank you, soldier,” said Geary, stepping inside.
The cell resembled a hospital room more than a prison. Blindingly white walls surrounded a white tile floor. A white porcelain toilet sat next to a white sink in one corner, while a bed with white sheets occupied another. Above, brilliant fluorescent lighting cast a sickly pallor to the only thing in the room that wasn’t white: the hands and face of a man. He was shackled to the far wall, his chains long enough to reach the toilet, sink and bed, but not the doorway of the cell where Geary stood. His white prison uniform, a black number emblazed across its chest, showed hints that it hadn’t been washed in some time.
Gea
ry smiled. “Mr. Townsend. Are you comfortable?”
Townsend said nothing.
“I understand you’ve refused to talk to our interrogators.”
Townsend still said nothing.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Geary, glancing around the room. “It’s your right to remain silent, of course.” He smiled. “Wait… that assumes you are officially here. That assumes you are formally being brought up on charges. But you aren’t. You’re here for one reason and one reason only: you have information that we want. So far, you haven’t given us that information. But that is about to change.”
Geary turned to the guard. “You received my order?”
“Yes, sir.” The soldier walked briskly down the hall. From the cell, Geary heard another door open. It closed a moment later, and the footsteps resumed. The guard returned with a metal box.
“Good,” Geary said, taking the box. “Tighten the slack.”
The guard tapped on a control panel on the outside of the door, and Townsend’s shackles began retracting into the wall. Geary watched until Townsend’s arms were pulled up and flat against the wall, with only a few centimeters of slack left. “That’ll do.”
“Yes, sir,” said the guard, removing his hand from the panel.
Geary stepped into the cell and set the box on the sink basin. “Let me see,” he said, unlatching the lid and lifting it open. “Needle-nose pliers. Pins. A scalpel. A small bottle marked ‘corrosive.’ Wonder what that could be. What else? Ah, electrodes.” Finally, he removed a segmented, tube-shaped object. He turned a small crank on one end and the segments began to splay outward as an interior mechanism pushed against them. “Interesting,” said Geary, toying with the device. “Ah,” he said, as though making a realization. “I believe this is called a ‘pear.’”
Geary took up the items and placed them on the bed, one at a time. “Soldier, strip him.”
The guard came in and removed Townsend’s clothes, tearing the shirt to get it off around his shackled wrists.
