“Mr. Gavitte, tell us your terms,” General Long says, hopeful that since they had merely halted the rockets instead of destroying them, their terms will at least be palatable.
“You will surrender all of your weapons before transferring to our vessel, where you will be held until your true intentions can be verified. If at that point you or any of your command are interested in joining our cause, we would be willing to talk of your assimilation,” Gavitte informs him calmly, his voice betraying no hint of bluff. “In addition, all the property and equipment belonging to your expedition shall be forfeit.” The communication link is quiet for a long moment while General Long contemplates the offer. When the general finally responds, his voice is just as calm as Gavitte’s.
“Your terms are fair. However, I’d like to add another stipulation: Those within my fleet who wish to return to Earth shall be allowed to return,” the general says, his head bowed and his hands clasped in his lap. ”The men and women under my command have been released from their obligations to any command structure. They are free to make what choices they will.”
The general pauses to let that sink in across the remaining rockets. He takes a deep breath, raising his head and staring straight at the projection of the mountain that dominates one side of the command module as if he can bore straight through to Gavitte’s eyes and into his mind.
“We recognize the right of your people to determine their own fate,” Gavitte responds calmly in the general’s silence.
“I accept your terms. Earth no longer holds anything for me.”
The general’s voice breaks and trails off as he finishes, but its impact is still profound across the rockets. The young members of the Junior Space Corps and the only slightly older soldiers tasked with guarding them exchange glances. The hierarchy that has defined their lives has been pulled out from under them. It is as if they were standing on solid ground and glanced down only to find it gone; the sense of vertigo is acute. Yet even as they begin to fall, some of them begin to realize they have wings.
Chapter 24
Space
Rocket Fleet
Static sizzles in the darkness. An almost palpable tension hangs between the assorted pipes. The heavy breathing of one man waiting anxiously for the static to resolve itself into a human voice can be heard clearly over the faint hum of life support systems.
Somewhere in the distance, there is a loud clatter followed by indiscernible shouting. The man’s breathing quickens as his eyes strain to pierce the darkness in search of someone looking for him.
“Gold Finch?” a voice blares out of the darkness. The man fumbles to turn the volume down before responding in a hoarse whisper.
“Tree Branch, I read you loud and clear.”
“Proceed with your report, Gold Finch,” the voice says much more quietly but with no less authority.
“A mutiny has occurred similar in scope to prediction plan 45p8. Request instructions to proceed; in position to terminate the mission.”
Static hisses quietly as the request is transmitted all the way back to Earth and a hasty call is placed to summon the commanding officer. It takes several minutes before the commander in question reaches the microphone.
“I understand you are requesting orders?” It is a testament to the officer’s professionalism that despite what he was just interrupted doing, he only sounds slightly flustered. Had anyone thought to challenge why he was not at his post to begin with, the only excuse he would be able to give is that the night watch is long, boring, and lonely.
“Yes sir,” Gold Finch replies. “There has been a mutiny, and I am currently in a position to terminate the mission. Shall I proceed to enact the termination protocol?”
The commander takes a moment to ponder this development before answering.
“You were about to rendezvous with the target, correct?” Not waiting for an affirmation, the officer continues on, his mind picking up steam as it reengages with his duty. “No, maintain a low profile. Contact the other units and prepare to neutralize the target.”
“Understood. My apologies for interrupting you. I should not have needed clarification.”
“Don’t worry, operative, you did the right thing. I will not mark down your performance review.”
“Thank you sir, Gold Finch out.”
Chapter 25
Foothills of the Western Mountains
A University Town
Jon is dreaming; at least he’s pretty sure he is dreaming. The last thing he remembers before now was a huge winter storm rolling through town, but now the weather is hot. The sun, which had been obliterated by the black clouds, is now glaring through a scrim of haze, its intensity feeling no more subdued for the filter than if it were being focused through a lens.
Dreaming or not, it all feels pretty real, so he is willing to accept the premise. With a mental shrug, he takes another bite of the sandwich in his hand. It crunches as his teeth pass through the layers until, with a final snap, they break off a section of cucumber and lettuce. The vegetables are cool and refreshing, taking the edge out of the sun’s rays. There is something supremely blissful about his situation. It is as if there is nothing that can go wrong and nothing he needs to be doing.
“Tag! You’re it!” a young girl shouts in his ear. He whirls to confront the sudden intrusion, his sandwich forgotten. Using all four limbs, he pushes off of the ground to pursue her across the grass. His first step launches him away from his parents and their picnic hamper.
The grass is lush, and even though it is uneven and crisscrossed with protruding tree roots, Jon has no fear of stumbling. His mind is focused on one thing and one alone: remove himself from “it” status. She is quick, but as she nears the path she glances back and sees he is gaining in the open. His legs are slightly longer than hers, allowing each stride to eat up more ground. Switching tactics, she starts darting between the hedges, trees, and flower beds that border the path. Being forced to follow her zigs and zags lest she dart off in a new direction at one of the turns, he has to slow.
He is no longer gaining; now it is a struggle to keep pace. The path bends sharply to the left and widens, but instead of turning the scales in Jon’s favor with open space, the path becomes crowded with small iron tables shaded by brightly colored umbrellas clustered around a small ice cream shop. A crowd is interspersed through the tables with a line stretching from the counter outwards, clogging the only open parts of the path.
She heads straight for the line at full speed, clearly heedless of the adults towering over both of them. Putting her shoulder down, she slips through a gap without touching the parents to either side. Jon, hot on her heels, is not as graceful. He clips one of the parents in the thigh with his shoulder, eliciting a grunt from the startled adult and sending him sprawling.
When he stops rolling, he looks up to see that the girl has not bothered to slow or even look back. She is sprinting full tilt across another grassy patch towards two suited figures walking casually an arm’s length apart.
Jon pushes himself up, knowing he will be able to catch her now that the field stretches off in every direction, only broken by the occasional group of people: the two suited figures walking casually and Jon’s parents with their picnic basket.
Knowing she can’t outpace him, she heads towards the suited figures, clearly planning on using them as another obstacle like the line at the ice cream shop. Jon is gaining; some instinct in a dark corner of his mind tells him she is tiring. The animal part of him that has driven him to the chase so far grins and unleashes a burst of energy as it sees her nearing the two suits. He knows he can catch her and retreat to the safety of his parents’ picnic blanket as long as he catches her before she makes it to the rose garden on the far side of the grassy patch.
As she nears the two figures, she slows as if she is planning on stopping once she passes them, using her separation from Jon to buy her several much-needed seconds of rest. However, instead of parting as she jogs between them, the t
wo men collapse together, trapping her in the middle. One of them reaches down, scoops her up by the legs, and tosses her over his shoulder.
Jon stumbles to a halt as his mind struggles to process what he is seeing. Unceremoniously draped over the man’s shoulder, the girl, out of surprise and indignation, starts screaming as only a child can. Her voice pierces through the humid air, drawing everyone’s eyes.
Recognizing the official nature of the men’s suits, everyone hastily averts their gazes, steering away children who might ask awkward questions. Everyone puts their heads down and continues about their day, ignoring the scene transpiring before them.
Everyone, that is, except a young couple who had been relaxing on the far side of a small copse of trees from Jon’s own parents. The young couple, hearing the scream and recognizing the source as their daughter, come running around the trees with only her safety in mind. Jon stares transfixed as they approach the two suited figures.
The man not holding the kicking and screaming girl over his shoulder unbuttons and flips open his jacket, drawing his firearm in a smooth practiced motion. Without hesitation, he raises and fires a single shot at the approaching parents. The gun’s discharge is muted compared to the girl’s screams but has a profound effect on the scene. Both approaching parents pull up from their run and raise their hands before slowly lowering to their knees in the bright green grass, still well short of their daughter.
As if on cue, the suit holding the girl flips her around and pins her to the ground with one foot while drawing his own firearm and covering his partner as he approaches the two kneeling figures. He walks calmly behind them, removing hand cuffs from a pouch on his belt as several police cars pull up on the nearby street, their lights flashing and their sirens wailing.
Jon is still mesmerized as his own parents scoop him up and walk determinedly away towards the far side of the park. His father, in whose arms Jon finds himself, pats him gently on the back in attempt to comfort or distract him.
The last thing Jon sees as the gentle patting fades into a gentle shaking is the girl’s parents being led towards the waiting police cars while the girl is tossed in the back of a dark green unmarked van with no windows.
“Jon. Jon. Wake up.” Ryan’s voice cuts through his sleeping mind, bringing Jon’s focus away from the dream. “Hey, wake up. You were dreaming something crazy and thrashing about.”
Jon mumbles an attempt at an apology, but it comes out as an incoherent jumble of sounds.
“Just go back to sleep. Once this storm passes we’re going to have to move quickly to get to that transport van,” Ryan reassures him with an awkward pat on the shoulder.
Jon lets the darkness creep around him once again, slowly falling deeper back into the welcoming embrace of sleep, hopefully this time free of dreams. His body, which had been tense from the emotions of the dream and being suddenly awakened by Ryan’s shaking, slowly melts into the couch cushions beneath him.
However, a restful night is not what they are destined for. Before Jon can fall fully asleep, a klaxon goes off in the room and a strobe light starts flashing.
“Storm level increase detected,” a mechanical voice says, emanating from the control panel set next to the door. “House beginning emergency lockdown procedures. All unauthorized persons must vacate the premises immediately.”
Jon is now sitting completely upright, having been jolted by the sudden noise, but his mind is still struggling to awaken. The voice continues. “Two unauthorized persons detected. One authorized person detected. Welcome, Professor Hallowell. Please remain stationary until the intruders are neutralized.”
The Professor does not stir from where he is sleeping in the bed. His chest rises and falls rhythmically, but his breathing is still labored from the injuries he has suffered. Jon and Ryan glance at each other, The Professor, and the panel on the wall in confusion, neither comprehending the security system’s ultimatum.
“Intruder Neutralization System active in ten. Nine,” the system begins counting.
Without taking the time to think further, both Ryan and Jon throw off their blankets and sprint up the stairs. Whatever the Intruder Neutralization System is, neither of them wants to stick around and experience it.
At the top of the stairs, Ryan pulls the emergency release on the door and tugs at the handle as hard as he can, but the storm outside is generating enough suction that it doesn’t budge.
“Five,” the emergency system continues. “Door override in progress. Four.”
Jon grabs onto the handle, adding his weight to Ryan’s, and the door slowly begins to budge. It creeps open. They can barely feel it move at first, but once the seal is broken the swirling wind outside pounces on the opening and rushes inside the house.
A whirlwind erupts through the kitchen, scattering anything light enough to be lifted and sending Jon and Ryan sprawling back onto the tile floor.
“Home containment breach detected. Two seconds,” the alarm system continues, unperturbed by the chaos reigning in the kitchen.
Jon and Ryan throw themselves for the door as the wind shifts again, pulling the door closed behind them with a bang that they feel more than hear over the howl of the wind in their ears.
The sky is the color of murder. Black clouds chase each other frantically to and fro while a red glow from the rising sun seems to seep through the cracks like blood oozing under a door. In the distance, a sickly yellow glow covers the horizon where the lights of the distant city fight the gloom brought on by the intermittent rain squalls as they blow through.
In what is predominantly the lee of the house, at least as long as the wind doesn’t swirl viciously from a new direction, Jon and Ryan hunker down using their hands to protect their ears and eyes from the onslaught while hoping the debris pelting them remains small enough to only cause minor damage.
Chapter 26
Foothills of the Western Mountains
A University Town
She had spent the previous day helping the old man around the farm. He had a list of things that required a younger and more nimble set of fingers to accomplish, and since his only remaining grandchild is living out of the country, he was nearing the point where he would need to hire one of the local kids. He jokingly claimed it was the price of room and board. Sara, however, did not mind the menial tasks, throwing herself into the tedium.
Last night she had fallen into the soft guest bed exhausted and sore. She was tired enough that the storm that was raging through the town had hardly slowed her descent into slumber. Still, the howling winds and barrages of hail had seemed to be testing every nuance of the farmhouse’s construction, so when she regains enough consciousness to roll over, she is surprised to find the sun streaming through the old-fashioned lace curtains and her body feeling completely refreshed. The smell of bacon wafts up the stairs, infiltrating the room through the crack beneath the door. Now that she is almost fully aware, she can just discern the sizzle the fatty pieces of meat make in the pan.
Following the delicious smell, she heads downstairs towards the kitchen. The room is slightly hazy, a thin pall of blue smoke hanging in the air, giving the otherwise simple room a mysterious cast. The old man, as seems to be his morning ritual, is carefully slicing thick pieces of home-cured bacon off of the slab by the stove. His large hands, calloused by years of work, deftly handle the knife as each piece flakes free from the whole. He is so focused on the task before him that he does not notice Sara’s entrance into the room.
Putting down the knife, he checks the pieces currently in the pan. Satisfied that they are sufficiently crispy, he retrieves them and turns towards Sara and the table. They make eye contact, but he doesn’t acknowledge her until the bacon has joined its brethren on the table.
“You sleep well?” he asks, maintaining his tendency to speak sparsely.
She nods, her mouth beginning to water at the spread laid out on the checked tablecloth: homemade jams, honey from his friend’s farm down the road, fresh berries he
probably had just picked before starting the bacon. She wonders if this is his usual breakfast or if her presence has triggered a change but decides not to question her fortune instead embracing it with a growling stomach.
As she sits down, he turns back to the stove and the bacon. She snags a piece from the top of the pile. Still warm, the fat melts in her mouth, releasing its deliciously smoky and salty flavor as she crunches down.
“You’re going to have to move on today, even though I’m sure I could use your help after that storm last night,” he says, his back still turned. “My friend down aways called this morning to warn me that the government is out here searching everyone’s outbuildings for fugitives.”
She sits stunned, feeling a wave of panic wash away the contented feeling she had had since waking up. Sensing her panic in the sudden cessation of crunching, he continues without turning.
“Don’t worry. My friend has close to a hundred outbuildings. They’re going to be searching his place for at least a couple more hours. After breakfast though we’ll get you packed up and on your way.”
She manages a faint “thank you” around the grease in her mouth and the sudden lump in her throat. He doesn’t respond, either not hearing it over the sizzle or not wanting to say anything. The rest of the meal passes in silence, Sara focused on the hearty food and the old man content to maintain the quiet. It isn’t until she is cutting down her final piece of sausage that he speaks again.
Seeds to the Wind (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 2) Page 18
