by Jay Allan
Wells nodded, and he let out a heavy sigh. Then he turned toward Damian. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Your help is greatly appreciated.” He glanced over at Jamie, his expression changing, betraying some annoyance with the former prisoner’s conduct. Then his eyes shot back to Damian. “Why don’t you take your friend home now.”
Damian nodded. “I will. I think we are all exhausted. Thank you, Governor.” He flashed a glance toward Jamie, one that communicated one thing clearly: not another word. Then he walked across the room, grabbing Jamie gently by the arm and hurrying toward the elevator.
“I really thought the fight at the mine would be enough.” Cal Jacen sat at a small wooden table, looking out at half a dozen of his comrades. Jacen was a member of Danforth’s Guardians of Liberty, but his true views were far more radical than those of the communications magnate. It was here, with his associates of the Society of the Red Flag that he was able to speak freely about his goals, and the actions he took to secure them.
Danforth knew about the existence of the Red Flag, of course, but Jacen had taken measures to ensure his own involvement—and the size and reach of the group—was a closely held secret. Danforth was a rebel; there was no question of that. He was ready to use violence to secure the freedoms he wanted for Haven.
That wasn’t enough for Jacen and his cohorts.
The guilty had to pay for all they had done—the federals, of course, but also the disloyal among the colonial population. Those whose allegiance was to Federal America . . . and even those who refused to embrace all that was necessary to make revolution a success.
The streets would run red with blood to wash away the sins of the masters, of the apathetic, of the greedy. Haven would become what only the revolution would allow: a paradise, a worker’s dream . . . and any who resisted would be destroyed.
His companions were silent now. He knew they had all believed as he did, and they were still trying to understand what had gone wrong, why the people hadn’t flooded into the street immediately in response to how the riot was put down. Why they weren’t, even as the group sat here, attacking the federal soldiers, burning down everything in their paths.
There had been protests, of course, and some violent incidents, but all in all, things were no closer than they had been to a final break. To revolution.
Jacen thought he knew why. “I believe we miscalculated in our choice of targets. We know the prison at the mines is a symbol of injustice, of the tyranny of Federal America. And we know that many of those imprisoned there are guilty of minor offenses . . . or nothing at all. But the people are unaware. When they see a convict, they see danger, a threat to them and to their families. Their first reaction is to assume guilt, not to question what kind of corrupt court condemned another man or woman to servitude.”
“The governor is a problem, too, Cal.” Zig Welch sat across from Jacen, at the far end of the table. “His speech was well-received. And the presence of Damian Ward with him was a surprise. I’ve always heard Ward wasn’t political, that he mostly kept to himself. I was surprised to see him supporting the federals.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say he supports them, Zig,” said Pietro Sandoval from his seat next to Jacen. “He’s just coming out against violence.” Unlike most of those present, who were lawyers, Sandoval was ex-military. He was as angry as any of them, as committed to whatever radical actions it took to redress the injustices that plagued Haven. But he’d seen war and death up close, and sometimes he worried that his comrades were a little too anxious to see fighting and death in the streets.
“But that’s the problem, Pietro—we need violence. You can’t cut out the cancer eating away at our society without a knife.” Jacen stared at his comrade as he spoke. “I know you sympathize with Lieutenant Ward, and I understand. You both served in the same unjust war. But there can be no confusion here. Zig is correct. Ward’s presence hurt us. He is very popular with the people, all the more so because he so rarely seeks any attention.”
“We must move against him.” Welch’s voice was cold, firm.
“Kill him?” Sandoval was shocked. And angry.
“No,” Jacen interjected, speaking before his allies could get deeper into an argument. “Killing him would be too dangerous. If we were blamed, even if people suspected our involvement, the backlash would be disastrous. And the veterans would turn on us dangerously.” He paused, staring across the table at Welch. Idiot. He had no doubt his fiery colleague had indeed been entirely serious that they should kill Ward. But there were too many retired military personnel on Haven, and Damian Ward was enormously popular with them.
Besides, there was a better way.
“So what do we do, then?” Welch demanded. “Allow him to run around with the governor, discouraging the very call to action we have labored to create?”
Jacen shook his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “No, Zig. Damian Ward needs to learn the cost of his collaboration.”
“You mean attack him?”
“Isn’t that dangerous, Cal?” Sandoval asked. “He is a war hero. If we are implicated . . .”
“No, of course we can’t kill Damian. Not yet at least. But there are ways to inflict pain without assassinating the man. He has a farm, buildings, equipment. People who work for him. A reputation. These are all vulnerabilities, weaknesses.”
The room was silent. Moving against a figure like Damian Ward was dangerous, a step beyond anything they had done before.
“We can no longer rely on single operations like the prison uprising,” Jacen continued. “We’ve been trying to sting the government; our actions must now be blows they—and the people—can’t ignore.”
Jacen stood up and slammed his hand down on the table. “The governor’s response has prevented the kinds of clashes we had hoped to provoke. Somehow his weakness proved to be our undoing. Our plans depended on dead protestors, on the rage that would follow federal soldiers firing on the crowds, in Landfall and the other cities. But they have not done so, though I suspect many of the troopers themselves would have if allowed. Would do so even against orders if they are pushed hard enough.”
He took a deep breath and continued. “Indeed, there are already rumors that some of the soldiers exceeded the scope of their orders in the raid, that prisoners trying to surrender were gunned down.” He looked around the table. “The governor’s people deny this, of course, but I suspect there is truth to it. Which means that for all the orders the governor may give, there’s certainly not ironclad discipline among his soldiers.”
“You are proposing actions against the troopers, then? Attacks designed to provoke them to retaliate.”
“Yes, Zig. That is exactly what I am proposing. A few killings will overwhelm the governor’s ability to control the soldiers. If we push them hard enough, they will strike back, and without specific targets, they will do so indiscriminately. We will have the victims we need to light the fires of revolution.”
“We will have to choose our targets carefully,” Zig noted. “The killings will have to be perfectly executed, and they must be brutal. We have to enrage the soldiers, push them to committing the worst possible acts of retribution.”
“Agreed. And I believe I know just how to proceed. I won’t go into the specifics—you’re all better off not knowing everything—but I have the green light, yes?”
He could see his companions nodding their heads, and he heard a soft chorus of yeses. All save one.
“No.” It was Pietro Sandoval.
Jacen felt a flush of anger, but he held it in check, turning toward his comrade with as neutral an expression as he could muster. “No? What, then, do you propose, Pietro?”
“I don’t know, but not this. We cannot slander a man like Damian Ward. He should be our ally, not our enemy. And I cannot condone the murder of soldiers in cold blood. In battle, fighting for what we believe in? Yes. But not like assassins in the dead of night.”
Jacen heard several of his comrades rustling around
the table, and he caught Zig out of the corner of his eye about to say something. But he held up his hand. “Gentlemen, I believe we should adjourn this meeting and convene again tomorrow night. We can consider alternative plans in the interim. Perhaps we can address some of Pietro’s concerns and still develop a plan of action that serves our purposes.”
“Thank you, Cal.” Pietro nodded. “I am sure we can. We don’t have to become monsters to serve the revolution.”
“No, you are right. Perhaps you could stay for a few minutes, discuss some other options with me. You may have saved us from acting in haste, reeling from the events in the mine.”
“Certainly, Cal.”
Jacen turned toward the others. “I will see the rest of you here tomorrow.” He sat quietly as the others nodded and rose, moving toward the door. All except Zig Welch. He stood behind his chair and stared across the table.
Jacen looked over, flashed a glance his way. Finally, realization came to his expression, and he nodded once before walking out of the room.
Jacen waited until the door closed, and then he said, “Do you have any suggestions, Pietro? We must do something, and sooner rather than later. The more we wait, the more the cause suffers.”
“Like I said, I don’t know, Cal. I am as anxious as you to secure Haven’s independence, but there are some things we simply can’t do. Perhaps we should—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need a drink. Today was a long day. I think I have half a bottle of brandy stashed in here. Can I offer you some?”
Pietro nodded. “Good idea. I think I could use a strong drink now myself.”
Jacen stood up and walked over toward a small chest on the ground next to the far wall. He knelt down and pulled out a bottle and two small metal cups.
“So, you were saying, Pietro?” he said as he brought the brandy back to the table.
“Well . . . as you know, I was never strongly in favor of the mine uprising. Perhaps we can come up with less drastic—”
Jacen set the bottle and the two cups down on the table. One of the cups was too close to the edge, and it tipped over and fell to the floor.
“Ugh,” Jacen said. “I’m tired, and it’s making me clumsy.”
“No worries, Cal.” Pietro leaned forward, reaching down to grab the cup. “As I was saying—”
Pietro’s words halted abruptly, leaving only a gurgling sound. Jacen was standing behind him, his hand still gripping the knife he’d shoved through the back of his victim’s neck. He pulled it out hard, and gave Pietro a shove to the side, watching as he fell hard onto his back.
“I’m sorry, Pietro, I really am.” He stood and watched as the dying man spasmed, clutching at his stricken neck.
He stood there another minute, perhaps two, waiting. Then he heard a sound behind him.
“Is he dead?” It was Welch.
“Yes, Zig. He’s dead.” There was no joy in Jacen’s voice. Neither was there any sadness, though. He did what had to be done, and now it was on to other tasks. “See if you can find a cloth or tarp we can use to move him. We’ll bury him in the woods.”
Welch nodded, and ducked back out the door.
Jacen just stood there, calm, staring down at the body at his feet. He had known Pietro Sandoval for four years. They had worked closely together, been two of the founding members of the Society. But now he felt nothing. No guilt, remorse, pity for his friend. Just a cold resolve. Pietro had been weak, and there was no place for that in the Society. Not now.
The revolution was all that mattered.
CHAPTER 11
MAIN HOUSE
WARD FARM
FEDERAL COLONY ALPHA-2 (HAVEN)
EPSILON ERIDANI II
“Thank you, Damian. You know . . . it’s crazy. I’ve never had a friend like you, one I could depend on. I’m not even sure I’ve ever had a friend. Not really. I’m never going to be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me.” Jamie Grant sat on a chair next to the fireplace, still trying to process what had happened in his life the last few days. He was freshly showered and wearing clean clothes, and his injured leg was wrapped neatly with a clean bandage. It was something most people took for granted, but he reveled in the simple luxury of it all.
No more twelve-hour shifts in the dark caverns, choking on ore dust. No more abusive guards. No more wondering if a fellow prisoner was going to kill him over a perceived slight. He was here, and he would stay. He kept going over it again and again in his mind, and while he knew it was all true, somehow it still didn’t seem quite real.
He looked up at Damian, unsure what else to say. His friend just smiled, though. “You’re welcome. But I didn’t really do all that much—you’re just as responsible for your freedom as I am. I’ll admit—I was worried, Jamie. Worried you would be swept into the chaos. You have had so much anger inside you—and rightfully so. And for so long, you had let that anger and resentment guide you. But you held firm in the darkest hour. I can’t imagine it was easy.”
Jamie looked down at the ground, letting out a harsh laugh. “It wasn’t easy. I wanted to join them, Damian. I wanted it so badly it almost drove me mad to stay out of it.”
“I know. But instead you focused on what is truly important. You should be proud of your strength and discipline.”
“Proud? I feel like a turncoat,” Jamie said. “Gavros was a piece of shit, but he was fighting the security troopers. That mine was full of men who fought against our enemy. Against my enemy. And I switched sides because I wanted to live. You see strength, but I just looked in the mirror after my shower, and all I can remember is a coward staring back at me.”
“That’s bullshit, Jamie, and you know it. Gavros wasn’t a symbol of the oppressed prisoners. He wasn’t fighting for justice. He wasn’t like you, shipped here for a minor crime. Wells showed me his file. He was a murderer, a cold-blooded killer. If he’d gotten out of there he would have victimized innocent people. And I know you are feeling guilt over what happened to him—that’s because you’re a decent human being, and you should never get used to seeing death. But you didn’t kill him, and—” he held up his hand as Jamie was about to protest “—your actions didn’t get him killed. His did. He was threatening a guard. He was threatening you. You told me yourself that if you didn’t move against him, he was going to kill you. Gavros isn’t a hero. And he didn’t die a martyr.
“He died because he was a man who needed killing.”
“I know, but—”
“There are no buts. You did the right thing, my friend. You had to survive, and that’s what you did. Trust me, Jamie, I know what it’s like to carry a burden like this, the weight of guilt on your back. Let it go . . . or it will crush you.”
Jamie looked up at Damian, forcing a half-smile to his lips. “I guess you’re right.” He wasn’t convinced, at least not completely. But he trusted Damian, and was aware if there was a man on Haven who might understand what he was going through, it was his friend. “I still can’t believe I’m out.”
“You’re out. You rest for a while, take some time to adjust, and when you feel you’re ready, you can start helping me make this the most productive farm on Haven.”
“You have no idea how good that sounds.” Jamie weak grin erupted into a full-blown smile.
“Jamie? Jamie? Is he here?” The words came from around the corner, out in the house’s main entry. Jamie immediately recognized the sweet voice and leapt to his feet just as Katia Rand ran into the room, tears streaming down her cheeks. Ben Withers followed along behind her. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but she wouldn’t wait while I announced her.”
“That’s quite all right, Ben,” Damian said. “Katia has waited for this moment for a long time.” But the words meant nothing to Jamie at this point. He barely noticed Withers slipping out of the room. The only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms.
“Katia,” Jamie said softly as he tightened his arms around her. “I am so glad you are here.”
“I c
ouldn’t believe it when I saw you on the vid. I had to rewind and watch again three times when the governor said he was commuting your sentence. Is it true? Are you really free? And your leg, my God, what happened to you?”
“It’s true. And my leg is better. Still a little sore, but definitely on the mend.”
Sort of true, he thought. Technically he had been paroled and was still subject to weekly meetings and monthly evaluations.
Technically the governor could revoke his freedom with a signature.
But if that man thinks I’d risk this, he’s crazy, he thought, squeezing her tighter.
She let out an involuntarily squeak at his hug, and her smile seemed to get even brighter. “Wonderful! It has been so long, and another couple of months seemed like an eternity.”
“It’s been too long. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be working with Damian on the farm. I’ll have an income, a home. And as soon as I get settled, I’m going to marry you, Katia Rand.”
Jamie smiled as he looked at her, the shadow of his previous doubts gone, at least for the moment. Theirs hadn’t been a traditional relationship, certainly, but he’d fallen in love almost the moment he’d set eyes on Katia, and their mutual devotion had survived for three years while he completed his sentence in the mines.
“Yes, you will, James Grant. We have waited long enough.”
“Too long.” Damian echoed Jamie, walked up toward the two of them. “And there is no need to wait any longer. Jamie, I’m going to work you hard, but I think I can come up with a few rewards to inspire you. There’s a section along the perimeter. It’s a little rocky, and it needs some work to get it into production. But I’d wager with enough effort we could get it done.” He paused and smiled. “We might even find the time and resources to get a little house built out there, one that might work for two people . . . maybe even a third eventually.”
“Damian,” Katia shrieked, turning and throwing her arms around him. “Thank you so much!”
Jamie stood silently for a moment. Then he said, “Damian, I don’t know what to say. You are the best friend I could have hoped for. I’d have died in that mine if I hadn’t met you three years ago. And now you are giving me the chance at a life, a real life. I was right. There is no way I can thank you enough.”
