The Resistance- The Complete Series

by Nathan Hystad

  “It will be done. We only have to go over the details with Eureka and we’ll be on our way,” Adams said.

  “I’m sorry, Ted.” Serina never used his first name, and it sounded strange coming off her tongue. “This has been a lot, and now I’m going to beg for help from a terrorist group – the same group that attacked the Fleet base thirty years ago when the Rift opened. We could have been more prepared if not for them.”

  “We could have also been defeated at that initial attack. Sometimes we have to count our blessings,” Adams said, and she hated to admit he was right.

  “You know what to do.” Serina rose from her office chair but stopped in the doorway. “You’ve done a good job. Let the crew know they have too.”

  “It would be better coming from you,” he suggested.

  She shook her head. “I don’t have it in me today. Wish me luck.”

  Adams stood and crossed the narrow office to stand in front of her. His hands found her shoulders as he squared her body to his. “Be careful. I wish you’d let us send some Marines with you.”

  “It wouldn’t help. Either they’re there to seriously discuss working together or to attack us. Other than killing the Grand Admiral and getting one Recon ship, I don’t see what the benefit to that would be. We’ll be fine. With some luck, we’ll have a new partner moving forward. Maybe, just maybe, we can end this.” As Serina spoke the words, she only partially believed them.

  “You’re right. Either way, we’re sending Pol with you. He’s a pilot, but he’s also the size of a minor moon.” Adams laughed, but Serina couldn’t bring herself to join him.

  She turned and headed off the bridge toward the hangar. The moment she entered the bay, the lander holding Wren Sando and this Benson character entered the energy containment field, settling down beside the Recon fighter.

  Wren stepped off, her white uniform neatly pressed. Serina hadn’t even considered what she was wearing and suddenly wished she’d gone back to her room for a steam and a change of clothing. It was too late now. She ran a hand over the belly of her shirt in a pathetic attempt at smoothing the wrinkles, and met the gaze of the man with Wren.

  One of his eyes was puffy and red, practically closed, but the other was composed and coolly watching her. He didn’t wear a Fleet uniform, instead opting for a suit jacket and slacks. He looked comfortable in them, sure of himself, even though she’d been told he’d been held captive for months by the Watchers on the other side of the Rift.

  “Grand Admiral, I’m Benson.” He stepped forward, extending his hand to shake hers.

  She didn’t oblige. “I got that much.” Eventually, he lowered his hand, with a disappointed glimmer on his face. He was once handsome, used to finer things, but his recent months had scarred him. Serina noticed trepidation in his voice and a flinch in his working eye. “Wren, good to see you. I hope your guest hasn’t caused you any issues?”

  Wren grimaced. “He’s been fine. A little annoying, to be fair, but fine.”

  “I only wanted to express my gratitude at being allowed to join the negotiation,” Benson said.

  “Don’t think this means you aren’t going back into a cage when this is all over. Our deal stated they had to help us, and when they’re good on that, then you can walk free,” Serina said as the door to the Recon fighter opened, revealing a huge man. He was seven feet tall, wearing an armored suit, weapons of every ilk strapped to him. Serina rolled her eyes. “I assume you’re Pol?”

  “At your service,” the man said.

  “And can you actually fly this thing, or are you just for show?” Serina asked.

  “Best damn pilot on this carrier,” he bragged, and she motioned him inside.

  “Good. Good. Let’s get this over with.” Serina stepped onto the ship, followed by Wren and Benson. They strapped in, and she passed the coordinates for their clandestine meeting with this Shadow to the pilot from her holotablet.

  Serina glanced at the other two with her, but only Wren seemed sure of herself. Benson was playing the part, but he had the look of a man on the verge of breaking down. She wasn’t that far off herself. This was important. If they could lock in the assistance of this Shadow organization, they’d finally have enough Fleet to attack Europa, then Titan. They could hit the Watchers where it hurt and take down most of the enemy fleet in two simultaneous attacks.

  Pol, the huge pilot, brought them out into space, and Serina saw the red planet nearby in the viewer. Their ship rotated away from it, and headed out a thousand kilometers while the drive charged. Wren gave her a glance that said “everything will be all right,” and Serina tried to give her a smile back, but it was more of a scowl.

  The pilot hit the Shift icon.

  Flint

  It had been a while since the Boss was taken while they were in line eating food, but Flint wasn’t sure how many days exactly. A week? Maybe closing in on two? The slow days were making his brain numb. The people he shared the space with were hardly human any longer. They were ticking time bombs with mushy minds, no more than feral animals at times. He’d spent the last week trying to find common ground, trying to remind them they were people, with pasts and maybe futures. Few of them engaged with him as he made rounds through the training room floor, talking to them.

  Tag had become distant once more, claiming they shouldn’t seem too close. Only Clark didn’t seem to care what the Watchers thought, and Flint found himself spending most of his days with the old man, reminiscing about the old days and what life on Earth used to be like.

  The skylights began to dim, as they did every night when the Watchers wanted their captives to go to sleep, and Flint felt like tonight might be the night. There was something electric in the air, a palpable energy that forced him to visit the washroom before bed. The others were plodding toward their bunks, heads hanging down like zombies with no mission. It depressed Flint to see them all so committed to their terrible fates.

  He wound his way to the washroom entrance, the tiled floor inside chilly on his bare feet. His socks had worn out days ago, and instead of keeping the threadbare pieces of clothing, he’d thrown them away. There was no one else inside the public space, and he directed toward the stall where the makeshift knife was safely tucked away.

  He locked the stall door behind him and removed the tile, exposing the opening inside the wall. The knife was gone.

  “You didn’t think I was going to seriously let you put all our lives in jeopardy, did you?” Tag’s voice carried over the partition. Flint’s hands clenched into tight fists. He looked around for something to use as a weapon as the door kicked open, hitting him in the leg in the process.

  “What are you doing, Tag?” Flint asked, hoping there was some way to make the guy see there was no other choice. “We have to attack them. There’s no other way. It’s hopeless.”

  Tag lunged for Flint, but instead of standing there letting him attack, Flint lowered his head and pushed off the toilet, spearing toward the other man. Tag’s back hit the wall with a crunch, and they fell to the floor. Flint punched Tag in the face, but took a shot to the side for his troubles. He doubled over, and Tag threw him off, moving quickly to gain the upper hand. Flint felt the fist hit his cheek before he saw the meaty paw strike, and white light sparked in his eyes.

  Clark peeked his head in and shouted at them just as Tag was about to hit Flint again. Flint’s hands were stretched out, trying to defend himself. “They’re here. Stop whatever you’re doing and get yourselves together.”

  Tag got off Flint’s chest, leaving him on the floor. The ex-Marine stepped over him, heading for the exit.

  “Where is it, Tag? Where’s the knife?” Flint asked, getting to his feet.

  “I gave it to them. They know what you were planning,” Tag said without an ounce of remorse.

  Flint’s head reeled, his face already swelling up. What could he do? They were coming for him. He scanned the washroom, as he’d done a thousand times. There was no exit; no escaping the training faci
lity, unless it was through the front barrier.

  He stepped into the main room, where the three guards entered. As always, the lead guard was ready for action, and this time, the two backups were holding guns as well. They weren’t messing around today. Flint didn’t know how Tag had managed to feed them the information, but he had.

  He felt no way around it. At least this way, he’d know what was on the other side of the barrier. He’d learn what happened to the people once the Watchers came and took them away.

  Tag walked toward the guard, his hands raised in the air. He said something, but Flint couldn’t make out the words.

  Flint started toward them, trying to keep his resolve firm. He’d been through a lot in his life. A lot of good, but more bad had happened to him, and this one was enough to tip the scales. It was over.

  One of the rear guards approached Tag and pulled the knife Flint had made from a pouch at his waist.

  “I hope this means we can be friends,” Flint heard Tag say as he neared the group.

  It happened so fast, Flint barely had time to process what he’d seen before arriving in front of the lead guard. Tag fell to the ground, the shiv stuck out from his chest, blood pumping out and down onto his dirty shirt.

  Flint watched the morbid scene unfold as the lead guard rammed the point of his gun into Flint’s chest, urging him to take the lead. Flint glanced back to see the rest of the people hiding by their bunks, Clark the only one close enough to make eye contact with. The old man gave him a tight-lipped smile and a nod before Flint walked toward the exit, the Watcher’s gun pressed into his spine.

  13

  Wren

  The corvette was there when they emerged from the Shift. Wren couldn’t help but notice the Earth Fleet insignia on the side of the vessel, and obviously Serina did as well.

  “Those bastards. Showing up in one of our stolen ships. The nerve of them.” Serina spat the words out.

  “It’ll be part of their show of force,” Benson said. “They’re cowards to some degree, hiding behind ideals in the shadows, but when push comes to shove or the money’s right, they’ll do what needs to be done.”

  Wren considered their choice of ship. “Maybe they want to show you that they already consider themselves part of the Fleet now.” She didn’t believe that, but wanted to calm the Grand Admiral down. Serina could be a little impulsive, and now wasn’t the time for playing on old grudges. Wren knew as well as any of them that they needed the Shadow’s help.

  “I very much doubt that. They’re trying to show how clever and resourceful they are. I’ve met enough of these blowhards in my day to know that much. No offense,” Serina said to Benson.

  Pol spoke from the pilot’s seat. “They’re telling us to board.”

  “Commence boarding,” Serina said, and Wren watched through the viewer as they approached the corvette, latching to the side of it.

  Shortly after, Wren found herself aboard the stolen Earth Fleet vessel, being greeted by a thin man with a large handlebar moustache. His clothing was tight-fitting, all black and gray. His slicked-back hair smelled of pomade as he approached their group.

  “This way, if you will,” the man said, eyeing them one at a time. “The big one stays here.”

  “This is my… second in command. He should be there for the discussions,” Serina said, pointing at Pol.

  “I’m afraid that’s not the truth, and Shadow has only authorized the three of you. Do you really want to start this relationship with lies, Grand Admiral?” the man asked before turning on a heel and leading them out of the bay.

  “What’s your name?” Wren asked, hoping to make a friend on the inside.

  “That’s of no consequence to you, Doctor Sando,” he said firmly. He certainly seemed to know who they were.

  Wren glanced to Benson, who shrugged as if answering a silent question. They moved through the ship, which was in rough shape, at least compared to her experience on the Eureka. She’d been spoiled on the luxury vessel, judging from the carrier Serina called home, as well as this ship. Years of limited budget and war made sure the entire Fleet was rundown, in need of a facelift.

  It was apparent things weren’t that different for the Shadow organization. Wren’s thoughts were cut short as their host stopped and opened a door leading into the center of the corvette.

  “Wait here. Have a seat, if you choose. There are some refreshments on the table.” The moustached man left the three of them alone inside the boardroom.

  Wren gauged her surroundings. It was freshly cleaned; she could still smell lemon detergent in the air. The table wasn’t large – just enough room for eight to sit around comfortably – and the lights were dim. Whether that was by choice or all the energy they could spare, Wren couldn’t know.

  Benson whispered, “Don’t say anything important. They’re probably listening right now.” He walked to the edge of the room, running a palm over the wall as if checking for a two-way mirror.

  “Let’s get on with it,” Serina said, loud enough for anyone in the hall to hear as she sat down at the far end of the table. Wren took a seat to her right and poured herself a cup of hot water. There was a lemon beside it, and she wondered how they’d managed to get a piece of fresh fruit onto this ship. Wren touched the yellow object, squeezing it lightly between her fingers. She was about to smell it when the doors slid open.

  Two black-clad forms entered first, followed by a figure with an enormous presence. The two broke apart, each standing on one side of the doorway, and the cloaked figure stepped forward. The silence in the room was unnerving. Wren set her cup down and cringed at the attention the sound brought to her.

  “Greetings. I am Shadow.” It was a man’s voice.

  “What games are you playing?” Serina stood now. Her chair fell backwards, hitting the floor. She shot daggers at Benson. “Shadow’s a woman.”

  “She was when I dealt with her,” Benson said without taking his eyes off the newcomer.

  Wren looked to Shadow’s face, trying to see beyond the overhanging hood and black wrap that covered his mouth. She caught a glimpse of blue eyes before they disappeared into the darkness.

  “Do you think Shadow is only one person? Shadow has been around for two hundred years, and I am the fifth to take on the role. The one you knew has been dead for twenty years, Benson. I’ve been Shadow since. Take a seat.” His voice was friendly, not what Wren had expected. He motioned to the overturned chair, and Serina leaned back to pick it up, placing it at the opposite end of the table from where Shadow sat.

  “I’m saddened to hear Shadow is dead,” Benson said. Wren could tell he was acting, and so could the new Shadow.

  “I very much doubt that. She talked about you a few times. She really hated dealing with you, but you always paid on time, though the condescending got old. I’m surprised to see you return from the Rift, and with only a few short years and a swollen eye to go with it. Tell me about the other side.” Shadow leaned back; his face remained concealed.

  “What’s to tell? There are Watchers there as well as here. There’s no escaping them.” Benson swallowed hard, and Wren saw his hands clench into fists on the table.

  “If you’re as good as they say, you should know all the details already,” Serina said cockily.

  Wren wished they’d stick to the plan. The two of them were really going off-script. It was time to take over.

  “While my network is vast, I haven’t had time to get the details back yet. In order to do that, I’d need someone on your ship, Grand Admiral.” Wren could hear the smile behind the words, and she didn’t doubt that he knew more than he was letting on.

  “Shadow, we’ll tell you what we know. What do you call them?” Wren asked him the question, wanting to get him talking.

  “We call them Raiders. They’re definitely not Watchers, like you call them. They’re Raiders. They take land, ships, and lives.” His voice was full of passion. This was a good sign. He was against the enemy; that much was obvious.
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  “Raiders. I like that. Well, the Raiders are from a distant system. We still aren’t sure where, but it’s far enough away that it took a lifetime to arrive here. We’ve been told they’ve overtaken seven races, and each time they set camp to expand their colonies and reach. Earth is their latest conquest. There might be far more of them out there. We managed to fend off the ones on the other side of the Rift,” Wren said.

  Shadow stiffened at this, his gloved hands finding the table’s top. “How?”

  “With a virus. The Watchers that remained behind after Benson ratted us out should be crippled. They didn’t have much of a fleet to talk about back there, and when we ended their outposts, we destroyed the ships we found. Some of them escaped, but we fought most of them off at the Rift, both on this side and on the other,” Wren said, knowing she was giving the man a lot to consider. His head must have been reeling.

  “There won’t be an end to this strife, will there?” he asked.

  Wren had him. Shadow was buying in; she just needed to close the sale. “There will be. If we work together, we can take Europa and Titan. We can destroy them where it hurts, and chase down the remaining fleet one at a time. We can do this together, then spend the next thirty years preparing for their arrival. We can defend our solar system like never before, but we all need to work cohesively,” she said, her own passion pouring into the words. She felt her eyes well with tears as she spoke, and left them there for effect. It wasn’t weakness; it was life she was displaying.

  He remained silent for a moment, and Serina was about to speak, but Wren lifted a finger off the table, trying to warn the bossy Grand Admiral to stay quiet. It worked.

  “Will they be back when the Rift opens again?” he asked.

  “We don’t know that yet. I assume yes, but they might cut their losses. If they don’t have a foothold on the other side any longer, then they might give up and move to lower-hanging fruit, which we’ll have proved isn’t humans.” Wren was proud of her speech. Was it enough?