by Jessica Snow
“My.... you think Tauren and I?” I ask, genuinely hurt. “Mathias.”
“I've seen the way you look at him, Audra. You want him, and his filth. You want him to rape you and plunder you the way I was raped and hurt. You're disgusting. You're dead to me, Audra. And if you approach me again, you'll be dead to everyone else, too.”
His threat is clear, and I back up, my hand resting on my lance. Mathias watches me, anger and I can see now, madness in his eyes. When I'm far enough away that I don't think any of his followers are going to chase after me I turn, fleeing through the woods. I don't know where I'm going, I just walk, Mathias' claims echoing in my head. I pull out my powerlance, heading uphill, fleeing my emotions and the danger behind me. The trees thin out, I'm climbing above the tree line but I don't care, I keep going until I reach the top, where the air is thin and I shiver in the cold. I sit down, and finally here I can cry, my tears burning down my face as I weep.
I hear boots crunch on the rocks below me and I whip my head around, my lance out of my holster, aimed to see Jensen climbing up behind me, a jacket in his hand. “I thought you might like something to keep you warm.”
“How'd you find me? The lance,” I answer my own question, Jensen nods. “Do all of them have them?”
Jensen shakes his head, and hands the jacket to me. “Only the officer's models. The idea, Mogar told me, was to give commanders a chance to keep track of their larger units. Apparently the newer Lancer models allow commanders to sift the results, so all the newer lances can be tracked. A squad leader can see his people, while the platoon leader can track them or just the squads as a whole, and so on and so forth. Those are the Mark IX models though; we've only got Mark VII lances. Firepower's the same though. That's not important right now though. How're you doing?”
“He's not the same person that I grew up with, Jensen. He's not Mattie anymore.”
Jensen nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “I'm sorry, Audra. I wish. I wish I could have known Mathias when he was the boy you loved.”
I nod, tears coming again. Jensen stays next to me as we watch while the sun goes lower and lower, disappearing behind the distant far mountains, the sky turning a beautiful purple that for some reason reminds me of the iridescent sheen of Tauren's blue-green eyes. Am I really into Tauren? And if I am, is that wrong? He's been honorable, and while he's blunt, he's kind to me too. He respects what I have to say. And last night he said that he was attracted to me, not in a cocky or arrogant way, but just straightforward. Since then, he's not brought it up again, instead letting me think and giving me my space to digest and come to my own decision. The Crown Prince of Tamaria.... attracted to me, and letting me make up my own damn mind.
Of course, I don't think of him as Crown Prince, either. To me, he's Tauren. Maybe that's a problem, I don't know. But as the last rays of the sun's light disappear and I feel the night's chill on my face, I know that regardless of how I might feel about Tauren, he's in danger. Mathias made a veiled threat to me, despite Jensen's warning. What's the danger to Jensen and Tauren?
“Come on, enough of this,” I say, standing up. “We need to get back. Hey, I know it might be a little weird, but do you mind if Tauren shares a tent with you tonight? I'm just not sure about him sleeping next to the fire, not after all this.”
“Actually, we're going to be shifting camp starting tomorrow,” Jensen says. “And I'm going to ask Mathias to pull a raid for us, it'll keep him busy. That should keep Tauren safe as well. But yeah, tonight we'll share a tent.”
Chapter Twelve
Tauren
I find it interesting to be relocated so close to the capital again, this time in the Desondar Mountains that are less than a hundred kilometers from the royal palace. “You have quite the view,” I note as I step off the transport, glancing at Rebbie, who is my 'travel buddy.' “Have you ever been here before?”
“Not in over a year,” Rebbie says, looking south over the Capital Valley. “You ever climb these things?”
“No, until joining the Resistance I tended to be a flatlander,” I say with a chuckle. “Listen to me, joining the Resistance. Guess I have, haven't I?”
“Sure have, Prince Pre-T,” Rebbie jokes. It's a nickname from Rebbie that I've come to tolerate in the past few days, ever since Jensen spread the word of my new position as advisor, and as Mathias' so called blacksuits have started called me Prince Pinko. Rebbie I think started it as an attempt to counter the ugly, racist nickname, and while I don't like being called pretty, it has at least blunted the spread of the other name among the regular Resistance members, and Rebbie says that in her mind at least she spells it 'Pre-T' with the T standing for Tauren. So be it.
“Do you give every member of the Resistance a nickname?” I ask Rebbie as we take our personal bags and equipment inside the cavern. It's huge, easily big enough to fit the dozen transport shuttles we're using, and the most elaborate of any of the campsites we've used so far. I look around, impressed. “Where the stars are we?”
“Former military base, according to what Jensen told me when I asked him the same thing,” Rebbie says. “The government used this site for missile defense or something a couple of hundred years ago, back when Tamaria wasn't unified. That was before your dynasty's time, right?”
“Right,” I say wonderingly, looking around. I can see etched on the metal wall the crest of the former dynasty, this used to be called the Kingdom of West Tamar. “This site... I didn't even know they still existed.”
“Yeah well, it's big enough to hold a full regiment, and double that for the short term and we start sleeping people in the hallways,” Rebbie says. “Come on, I'll show you around. We've got a while before the next supply transport comes in, and they've got to shuttle people around to various parts of the mountains and have them walk in or use hoverbikes to keep the local military confused.”
We walk deeper into the base, and she gives me a short tour, the command center, the various base facilities, the sleeping quarters with their rows upon rows of bunks built into the walls. “This is what the low level soldiers used,” Rebbie says, “almost nobody chooses these except for if we get a newbie who's afraid of the dark, we've had those. Down this hall are the officer's quarters, there's enough that everyone can either sleep single or doubled up, depending on their choice. With doors and locks, we don't enforce the boys with boys, girls with girls rule as strictly, at least not the last time I was here.”
She opens one of the doors for me, and the lights flicker on automatically. “Where's the power come from?”
“They built this thing to survive a Q-bomb war, or at least a Q-bomb first strike,” Rebbie says. “I'm not an expert on it all, but Jensen says that the reactor is good for another thousand years, and the water is drawn from deep down, the aquifer's buried underneath this mountain range a kilometer deep or something.”
“No way,” I laugh, looking over at Rebbie. “They tapped the aquifer?”
“Sure did, back then. Why's that funny?”
“The Desondar Aquifer is royal property don't you know? I guess I'm going to have to write a letter of royal permission to Jensen for stealing my water.”
Rebbie laughs. “Yeah, we'd hate to be caught stealing water from the royal family, you know. That could get us in big trouble.”
For the rest of the afternoon we help get things set up, hurrying to empty out transports as soon as they come in. Rebbie quickly takes over her primary role in the camp, the camp facilitator. She assigns rooms, makes sure people know where to put things, and in general ensures that the Resistance gets moved in as smoothly as possible.
The only hiccup that bothers me is when some of Mathias' supporters come in. Instead of taking the wing of officer's quarters that Rebbie's set aside for them per Jensen's instructions, they use the lower rank hallway bunks. I shake my head, watching as they file, one by one, into the area, their clothing and hairstyles identical. All black jumpsuits, Gauss pistol in a thigh holster, boots shined with the legs of their jumpsui
ts tucked in and bloused out of the top. They say nothing to me, but I can read the hatred in their eyes, and more than one spits on the floor of the base in my direction as they walk by.
It worries me, and I make sure my powerlance is ready to go just in case. When Jensen arrives after sunset, riding a hoverbike, dust on his jacket, I pull him aside. “Jensen, got a minute?”
Jensen parks his bike in the huge entrance bay to the base and nods. “Sure. How was the move-in? Rebbie says most everyone's settled in?”
“Almost. Mathias' people took the bunk hallways instead of the rooms they've been assigned. And I have no idea where Mathias is,” I comment, looking around. “Or Audra.”
“She's making sure everything's cleared out at the last camp,” Jensen says. “Follow me, we can talk in the gym.”
“This place has a gym?” I ask. “Rebbie never showed me.”
“That's because Rebbie doesn't know about it,” Jensen says with a chuckle. “Actually, nobody does. I found it last time we were here, and I decided that for one moment, that I was going to keep a private space for myself. So come on.”
Jensen checks in with Rebbie, making sure everyone is getting arranged before he leads me up to the command center of the former missile base, to a door that Rebbie ignored last time.
“The former commander's office,” Jensen says, opening the door and leading me inside. The desk is ornate, and perfectly preserved, in rich dark woods that have to be imitation, the rest of the base is so old. “I hate sitting down to do desk work, so I never used this space until I found this last time as I was just poking around and exploring.”
There's a hidden door, and inside I find a fully equipped little one-person fitness center. While the technology is old, raw weight instead of anti-grav pods that I used back home at the palace, it's got everything. “Wow. I haven't seen real weight in years.”
“It's what I've always enjoyed,” Jensen says, running a hand over one of the bars on the rack. “Mogar indulged me when I said I wanted to go primal with my training, and while I've used grav pods for the pure convenience at times, I can't help but enjoy having a real chunk of metal on my back. Another time, perhaps. Talk with me, my friend.”
“Friend?” I ask, surprised. Jensen nods, and I smile for a moment. “I've never had someone call me friend before. Thank you. But, I'm worried about Mathias' people, and their influence they're gaining.”
Jensen nods, sitting down on a bench. “Me too. Did you see the results of their latest raid?”
“I saw the media reports on the transport,” I reply, sitting down on the floor. “I've gone a long time since watching the news. But I had to when Rebbie told me before we left the last camp. Two hundred people dead.”
Jensen sighs, running his hands through his hair. “Two hundred. And fifty of them were humans. I tolerated Mathias' tactics when he was raiding government offices, supply depots.... I think I've made a major error.”
“His tactics are doing the exact opposite of what he wants,” I remind him. “I talked with Mogar over a secure communication line, the royal court is crystallizing against the Resistance. Neyton's point of view is winning, and from what Mogar is telling me, the Resistance is starting to lose supporters among the local people, and even some of the humans, too.”
“Mogar told me the same thing,” Jensen says. “I'm worried, Tauren. If we lose the clandestine support we have, the Resistance is going to be slowly choked off. Our transports, our weapons, our food, all of it comes from people who believe in what we're trying to do. We lose that support, we're nothing more than bandits and runaway slaves.”
“And the nobles are counting on that,” I add. “They have time on their side. As long as Mathias is out there running wild, he's going to be inflicting short term gains at the sacrifice of long term success. Yes, he's going to terrorize a few people into giving him and his men what they want. But terror is no way to run a Resistance, a nation, or a planet.”
“But I cannot just eliminate Mathias, either. If I have him ostracized, imprisoned, or stars forbid, killed.... I'd make a martyr out of him. And even worse, we'd be no better than the nobles. No offense.”
I shake my head, waving it off. “None taken. I can make a list right now, starting with my own father, who would have done exactly that. It is one of the reasons why I am working with you, Jensen. I want to lead differently. To be a better King than that.”
“So what do you think we should do? I'm a straightforward person, Tauren. I go, and I don't demand people follow. I got to the position I am because I seem to have the right idea at the right times, and I've been willing to hang my ass out in the wind enough times that people respect that. But for the first time, I'm dealing with someone who doesn't respect me, or even barely listen to me. I know he's got it out for me, and I can't turn my back on him. The only thing I've been able to do with him the past few days is be glad that he's been so busy pulling his stunts with his little bunch of fanatics and getting them organized that he can't get up to too much trouble, but there I'm running out of ideas.”
I nod, then hang my head back, looking up at the ceiling. “Have you ever read The Art of War? It's on the TAMARIA data drives, if you've ever had the chance to scan them.”
“Sorry, no,” Jensen says, sitting forward and leaning his elbows against his knees. “Sounds like something I should read, though. Most of my tactical education has been reading the Lancer field manuals, and a few other books that Mogar put together, but I could tell were mostly excerpts. Oh, and a lot of strategy games. Chess, Go, Hunter's Quarry, things like that.”
I nod, figuring that Mogar probably has introduced some of it to Jensen, but in updated form. After all, he had gladiatorial combat to worry about. “It's an ancient book, from Earth itself, maybe eight thousand years or more old once you factor in time dilation. Anyway, Mogar had me study it and then quizzed the hell out of me on it. For a book that old, it had a lot of really applicable ideas to life in the royal court. Here's how I would handle it, if we were in the royal court.”
“Off with their heads?” Jensen jokes, and I shake my head. “Sorry. Go on.”
“You can't just eliminate Mathias, just like I can't just wipe out a noble house. It creates a power vacuum, and the people who follow those people would make too much chaos for you. But, what you can do is use spies.”
“Spies?” Jensen asks. “Uh.... now you've lost me. Most of the spies the Resistance has are slaves in strategic points around Tamaria.”
“I figured. But now, use that same idea against Mathias. Pick out three people, and have them 'cross over' to Mathias' side. They're not disciplined, they're cultish fanatics. So a good infiltrator can quickly gather information, and feed it back to you through joint work details or something like that. You then use that information to steer Mathias in ways that will minimize the damage until you can finish discrediting him, and cut his power base away from him.”
Jensen thinks about it, then nods. “I can feed him information as well, send him after what he thinks are juicy targets to vent his rage, but they end up being just.... safer.”
“Exactly. Send him to take out an army supply train, and do it when no troops will be around. They'll get you supplies, but they won't be killing people. Send him after a slaver camp, but don't tell him that it's not the camp but just the slavers themselves, and then you send another group to get the slaves. Empty estates, leaving just property damage. Mix that, a few spies, and some strategic lies and backstabbing, and you can keep Mathias on a decent sized leash at least long enough until he ends up cutting his own throat.”
Jensen considers my words for a minute, then nods. “I'll need to work fast. I don't even know what sort of hell he's stirred up today.”
I get up, and brush off my pants. “Well, no time like the present to find out. After that, I want to get changed. I haven't been able to exercise properly in a long time, and these things look like a good challenge.”
“Tonight's dessert on who's stron
ger?” Jensen asks, and I grin, nodding. “Deal. Let's get to work first though.”
Chapter Thirteen
Audra
The night air is cold, the wind stinging my face as Rebbie, Taven and I creep through the narrow streets. We're out in the boonies, far beyond what normal people consider towns, but that's the exact reason we're out here.
“You'd think the Tamarians would realize how terrible these camps are if they have to be stuck way the fuck out here,” Taven whispers, pausing to flex his hands inside his gloves as we crouch behind trees. “Man, I wish we were hitting my slaver.”
“You know who you were picked up by?” I ask, and Taven nods. “How?”
“I wasn't picked up until I was ten, then sent to the hydroponics farms. Nine years later, I escaped. I was chased down by the very same man, and it took me eight years after that to get out of the teronium mines I was sent to. Ambaris is his name, they say he's the best at slaving and at chasing down runaways. You ever run into the man or any of his men, my advice is to shoot first, shoot again, and then if he's dead you can ask your questions.”
Taven flexes his hands once more, looking down at them. “They get stiff in the cold, you know. And in the mines.... it's cold and damp a lot. Come on, let's see what we can do.”
We stand up, and run towards the outer fence of the tiny slaver camp. This is supposed to be a surgical strike, this group just raided a free human community on the southern edge of the minor continent, an area that is already pretty inhospitable as it is. Jensen sent four of us. I'm officially in charge, while Rebbie and Taven are to help with the extraction of the slaves. Polsun, one of the more experienced transport shuttle pilots, is waiting for our signal.
The plan's simple. While Taven and I neutralize the slavers, Rebbie's going to get the slaves out. They've only been in captivity for a few days at most, there shouldn't be any risk of Bonding Syndrome between the slaves and their Tamarian kidnappers. It's a new term that I've learned just today, Jensen and Tauren taught it to me, although Tauren said it used to have an older name, something that comes from old Earth. Not that I need a word, I know what they're talking about, I saw it too much in Neyton and Neyilla's house.
