The Resistance- The Complete Series

by Nathan Hystad

  CD6

  CD6 came to with a twitch of awareness. One second, there was nothing; the next, he was fully awake. The other androids were powering up for their shift, and CD6 stepped out at the same time as they did, matching their steps and actions. He had it all programmed into him, but sometimes he struggled to activate that part of his mind. He didn’t like the feeling of being controlled, like a puppet by an unseen force.

  The others did it naturally, but he was different. He was aware of himself, of his actions and his surroundings. He hated his life. Life. Was that what he had? He’d never heard another android speak the word, and he knew they didn’t understand what that meant, at least not for themselves.

  His shift was starting in five minutes, and he walked the familiar halls, just as he did each day. Every day. The same thing. The same people to watch slave over metal sheets. Each year, they grew older, more distant, more angry, sad, or lonely. He felt a kinship to the prisoners; even though they looked at him as a guard, one of the enemy, he was trapped there just like they were.

  But not for long.

  CD6 went against every part of his programming and turned left at the end of the corridor, instead of right. No one noticed. The androids cared little for anything but their own predetermined actions. The only freedom they had was their conversation with the prisoners, though those were all programmed discussions. They just had millions of options to choose from when confronted with the task of conversing with a human.

  CD6 often added words when he used the speeches. A tiny word here, a slight variation there, just to see if anyone would notice. To see if he’d be reprimanded by some unseen overlord of the prison. No repercussions ever came.

  Today was the day his plan rolled into action. If it failed, it was over. He’d let them wipe his server. CD6 could no longer go on like this.

  He walked down the hall, where a string of other guards walked the opposite direction, coming off their shifts. He stayed out of their way, standing still with his back flat against the wall. Soon they’d all passed him; no comments were made about his being there. Their glowing orange eyes continued to stare forward as they marched past him. That was a good sign.

  CD6 kept going, now heading into new territory. The hangar was familiar only from the 3D blueprints imprinted into his memory chips. He opened a door and walked another hall, this one dimly lit. The only time any prisoners had been in this hall was when they first arrived at the Uranus Mining Prison for Women. He walked those same corridors now and ended up at a dead end. A matte gray door greeted him.

  A small keypad was built into the wall beside the door, and he internally scanned the server, quickly finding the code. He tapped it in slowly, methodically, as an android would do, fighting the urge to go faster. He was nervous, though the feeling was supposed to be foreign to him. It was the same sensation he got when he spoke to Wren.

  The door hissed open, and he pressed on. Lights flickered to life as he stepped into the hangar, causing CD6 to stop in his tracks. There were no ships inside. He’d been worried this was the case. Nowhere in the shared server did a manifest show up. The guards didn’t need to know what went on in the hangar, as it didn’t pertain to their routine tasks.

  CD6 turned, facing the doorway he’d come from. He’d been so foolish thinking he could get off this rock. This world of ice where dreams died, and the Earth Fleet got resources to build ships. Ships to control their solar system. But he thought of Wren and the hopeless glaze over her eyes, and he knew he couldn’t give up.

  A console sat imbedded in the wall twenty yards away, and he crossed the room to it. Each step was a loud echo in the open area, and he was sure someone would come and catch him there. No alarms rang, no guards came to drag him back to his cell – or charging area, he supposed.

  A new idea formed, and he found what he was looking for. In five days, a small transport vessel was arriving from Mars. Three new prisoners would be dropped off. The ship would be there overnight. It needed time to recharge, and according to the records, the pilot had two rooms booked in the staff quarters. This surprised him. He didn’t see any staff quarters on his blueprints. What else were they hiding from the guards?

  Five days. He’d have to tell Wren the news.

  CD6 headed back down the halls at twenty percent more speed than he was programmed to. Soon he emerged into the smelting room and took his allocated spot along the wall as the prisoners worked in the hot room, inhaling far too many toxins for a human body to survive for long. He spotted Wren wearing a mask, hauling sheets with her friend Mara.

  CD6 would have smiled if he was able, and for a moment, he was happy. It was a new feeling, but he clung to it as long as he stood there watching Wren work.

  Wren

  Something was wrong with Mara. They worked for eight hours, hauling cart after cart of materials to the storage facility. Wren was beat, her injuries from the attack still fresh enough to cause pain as she pulled the heavy cart down the halls.

  At first, Mara only seemed to slow down, and she waved off any concern Wren showed. But as the lights flashed, indicating the end of their shift, her thin friend crumpled to the ground.

  Wren rushed to her side. “Mara, are you all right? Where does it hurt?”

  Mara was still wearing a mask, and Wren pried it free, since they were outside the smelting room and free from deadly toxins. Mara took a deep breath and let out a series of thick throaty coughs. Blood speckled the floor beside her by the end.

  “Mara!” Wren called, but her friend’s eyes had unfocused, staring blankly at the ceiling as Wren rolled her onto her back.

  A guard stepped beside them. “Step away, 5589. Your shift is done.”

  “But she’s going to die. Do something!” Wren shouted at the impassive android.

  “Step away, 5589. Your shift is done,” it repeated, and Wren felt strong hands clasp under her armpits, dragging her away. “5589, you have been uncooperative and will be reprimanded.”

  Wren screamed for them to stop, and as she was pulled from the room, she heard Mara coughing again, her hands clenched at her sides.

  Wren kicked and fought to get back into the room, but the urge to fight ceased as a pinprick entered the back of her neck. Wren’s vision clouded along with her mind, and her arms fell limply beside her.

  8

  Wren

  Wren blinked her eyes open, seeing she was stuck in an unfamiliar cubicle. The room was smaller than her own cell, which consisted of a bunk and a thin rectangular funnel used for relieving herself. This room was much the same, except there was no bunk and the funnel was smaller, tucked away in the corner. Lights glowed dimly on the walls, casting just enough lumens for her to see the outline of her outstretched arm in front of her face.

  “Guards!” she called. “How is Mara? How is Prisoner 3659?”

  No one came to talk to her. She’d heard many stories of solitary. Some of the inmates did something against the regulations just to be sent here. The older ones thought of it as a respite from the back-breaking labor of the factories, and they were probably right.

  She’d also heard how hard it could be, stuck inside the cells for days at a time: no bed, little food, and four thick walls to keep you from seeing out. Their cells allowed some sight of the halls and neighboring areas, but here in this box, it was as if Wren was drowning in darkness and solitude.

  She called for the guards a few more times but gave up quickly. They wouldn’t come to tell her what happened to Mara or to assist her in any way. That wasn’t what they were programmed for. She thought about the strange guard who, twice now, had reached out to her personally. He’d told her to be ready. Had she screwed up his plans by getting locked away like this?

  The urge to escape coursed through her every fiber at that moment. She had to get out of there for many reasons, but the threat of invasion was primary. She needed to find Fairbanks. He was the key, and the only person who might know what was really going on. Wren had every indication that he w
as responsible for her predicament. She hated the man, but he was going to be the sole person who could fill her in on exactly what she’d been doing in that lab back in New Dallas.

  Still. If there was any chance of getting out of the Uranus Mining Prison for Women, she couldn’t go to Earth and scream and shout about an invasion. That would only get her killed, thrown in an asylum, or sent right back to prison. The only logical course of action was finding Fairbanks.

  As she sat there in the dark, she tried to recall everything about their correspondence during the three years she worked on the project, with him as her secret benefactor.

  Ace

  Ace had survived the first week. Blue, according to Serina’s contacts, was in the lead, and they hadn’t lost any of their members yet. They were the only squad out of the fourteen colors to retain their entire squadron.

  “You did it, Serina,” Buck said as the morning alarms rang through the room.

  Trin spoke up as she hopped into her jumpsuit. “Blue Blue Blue!” she shouted, getting a few pillows thrown at her from around the bunks.

  Ace watched it all, his feet dangling off the top bunk, and he smiled. He hadn’t felt this good in… well, ever, but he jumped down, knowing he couldn’t start to get complacent. Today they were getting into a more complicated body workout, and he was concerned he wouldn’t have the strength to finish well.

  It was all going to be worth it, because if the rumors were true, they began testing recruits for other skills by next week. He wanted a chance to become an Earth Fleet pilot. He needed to feel the rumbling seat under his body, nothing but a cockpit window between him and the expanse of space. It meant freedom to him, and so much more.

  While most of the recruits would end up as infantry, or working recruitment offices, Ace wanted more than that. His first step was to survive the month, then he could worry about the rest of his life. If he made it through as one of the twenty percent, he’d be guaranteed employment and food and shelter, which, a couple of weeks ago, would have been enough of a dream.

  “Something on your mind, Ace?” Buck asked him, and Ace snapped to, noticing he was the only Blue Squad member not dressed. He flushed red and quickly got into his jumpsuit.

  “I’m good to go. Blue Blue Blue!” he shouted, getting a laugh from the rest of the recruits.

  It was the last laugh they’d have for the rest of the day, and by the time they’d been through an intense run followed by their weight regimen, Ace felt like his arms were made of lead and his brain was mush. This was trailed by an afternoon round of Capture-the-Flag, where they lost after a three-hour standoff. By the end of the day, the squadron sat in the dining hall, idly poking at their meals.

  They’d lost two of their team that day, Taco included, and Serina was taking it personally. “They couldn’t hack it,” Ace said, trying to cheer their leader up.

  “It was our job to bring them through, don’t you see?” she asked, her big eyes searching until they locked with his.

  He nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.” Ace had been taken out when Taco had blown their cover by coughing. He’d been so angry at the other guy, but now that he was gone from boot camp entirely, Ace missed him being around.

  “There’s always tomorrow,” Buck said now. He was the only one eating everything on his tray. Even Ace, who understood the importance of food, didn’t have an appetite.

  Lieutenant Ford entered the room, and they fell silent, standing at attention around their table. “At ease,” he said. “Serina, can I have a moment?” he asked, and the girl stayed standing while the rest around her sat back down.

  “Yes, sir.” She threw Ace another look before heading out of the room with Lieutenant Ford.

  “What do you think that’s about?” Ace asked.

  A man named Percy answered. He was older than the rest of them: twenty-five, if he was to be believed. He had a five o’clock shadow, though they were required to stay clean-shaven. It wasn’t something Ace had to concern himself with yet.

  “Does anyone else think it’s weird that she talks with him privately so often?” Percy asked.

  Ace bristled at the comment. “Just what’s that supposed to insinuate?”

  “I’m not insinuating anything, Smith.” Percy laughed. “Except the fact they’re probably ripping each other’s fatigues off as we speak.”

  Ace felt his blood run hot, and he gripped his fork tightly. “Take it back.”

  “Or what, pipsqueak?” Percy prodded him.

  Buck was between them, and he raised both arms in the air. “That’s enough, you two. You want to get kicked out for fighting?”

  Percy relaxed, and Ace let his fork fall noisily to the table. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  Ace heard Percy go on, making lewd comments as he left, and he didn’t care. The recruit was an idiot, and even though he was bigger and stronger, Ace had seen more brains in a street rat from Old Chicago.

  He walked down the corridor, away from the dining hall, and found outside. He wasn’t supposed to be wandering around, but the recruits hadn’t specifically been told they couldn’t go into the dome unsupervised. Ace took a stroll; his legs were more tired than they’d even been, but he didn’t want to sit around talking with his squadron.

  In the last few days, another forty recruits had been sent home, the majority this afternoon. That left two hundred and fifty, give or take. He still had a long way to go. The stars were bright in the sky, and he took a moment to just stare at them. He walked further from the lights carrying off the buildings, and leaned against a tree, watching the distant points of light. He had to shake his head and remember he was on the moon. The moon! So many nights he’d stared at it as it moved across the darkness, a beacon of hope for another day. Now he was here.

  A voice caught him off-guard, cutting through the air, and he pressed his back against the bark. He didn’t want to get caught out here alone. What had he been thinking?

  Footsteps on the gravel carried to him now, the muffled voices becoming clearer with every passing second. “Will they be ready?” a female voice asked.

  Someone cleared their throat and responded, “Doubtful. This batch isn’t particularly special, but we have three weeks. We can get them ready enough to play the part.”

  “I hope they have a good reason. I wish we were being told more,” the woman said. “I swear, the Grand Admiral becomes stranger with each passing year.” Ace tried to peek around the tree and stepped on a branch, the snap like gunfire in the otherwise destitute night.

  “What was that?” the man asked.

  “I don’t see anything. It’s nothing.” Their footsteps started up again, and Ace could feel each heavy beat of his heart as it threatened to push out from his chest.

  “Where were we?” the man asked.

  “I was complaining about being in the dark.” Her voice was getting quieter, and Ace wanted to follow along. It sounded like they were talking about the recruits being ready for something in three weeks. Just what were these officers alluding to?

  “Yes. Don’t. It’s above our pay grade. It’s our job to ensure the Fleet gets what they asked for, and that’ll be a hundred lucky recruits being fast-tracked.” The man laughed, and then the woman did too, a nervous chuckle.

  Then they were too far to hear, and Ace slumped to the base of the tree. He wanted to tell someone, but he didn’t even know what he had to tell. Not only that, but he’d probably get in trouble for being out here in the first place.

  In the end, Ace sneaked back to the recruit complex and made his way indoors, where he caught the tail end of their dinner hour. He shoveled the food in his mouth, suddenly ravenous despite the odd conversation he’d heard. Whatever was going to happen, he knew he’d need all his strength to make it through.

  Flint

  Flint had considered hiding with Kat, but when he saw the two men start sifting through his cargo bay with reckless abandon, he decided action was needed. While nothing in ther
e was worth more than his life, he’d basically sealed his own fate when he’d shut the two men into his ship. They had no means of escape unless they overrode his console passcode, and/or tortured it out of him. That wasn’t going to happen.

  Flint felt like he had the upper hand here, and there was no part of him that felt bad killing intruders on his own ship. Earth Fleet Marines or not, no one was above the law in Flint’s mind, especially those who were supposed to be there to protect the rules.

  “Leave my shit alone,” he whispered as he watched one of them drop a priceless Chinese vase from the Ming dynasty. It was over a thousand years old, and it hit the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces. “That’s it.” Flint took a deep breath of recycled air and decided waiting out their oxygen wasn’t going to work for him.

  The invaders didn’t seem to notice there was no flow of air, even though it would take some time for the air to vent out, causing them to die of asphyxiation. He could speed that process up, but the release was in engineering, near the cargo bay.

  He took soft steps, still in his bare feet, but grateful for it now. He’d make less noise this way. In a minute, he was down by the cargo bay and could hear the two men fuss with his merchandise. Each clang or shatter made him move faster. He quickly arrived at the doorway to engineering, and he pulled the manual handle, hoping to not draw any attention to himself.

  It opened, creaking as it slid wide, and he stepped inside, painfully aware of every tiny noise he was making. The door system must have kept some backup power, and it glided shut with a subdued thud. Flint’s stomach dropped and he raced across the cluttered space, tripping on something on the floor, his gun flying from his outstretched hand.

  The door slid open behind him, and the Marines were shouting at him. His shin was bruised, and he cursed as he stumbled to his feet, trying to find the gun he’d dropped.