by Jay Allan
They all deserve this nightmare they created together . . . but I’ll have no more part in it.
He turned toward his daughter. “I’m sorry, Vi. I didn’t mean to yell at you. But there’s nothing I can do. I have no authority, and the rebels have given Asha Stanton all the provocation she needs to crush them. And she’s going to do it.”
“Provocation?” Violetta looked at her father with an expression of shock. “What choice did the Havenites have once that horrible woman got here?”
Wells knew Violetta had despised Stanton from the first time the two had met. He saw things differently. Stanton wasn’t the same as him, but he could also appreciate that she didn’t have any real choice. If she was insufficiently aggressive, he had no doubt the senate would send someone else, with another stack of decrees, reducing her to the same impotence they had him, or even ordering her home to face charges for her failures. Semmes was an evil man, a psychopath; he was sure of that. But he believed Stanton would have made a deal to keep the peace, if the rebels hadn’t been so intransigent.
“Things are more complicated than that, Vi. You act like the colonists are a foreign world. How do you think this planet was colonized? Where do you think the population came from, the technology, even the basic materials before the native mines and factories were in operation? How much do you think it cost to make Alpha-2 as self-sufficient as it is today?” He emphasized the federal designation, an answer to his daughter’s use of the colloquial Haven.
“That doesn’t justify terminating the planetary constitution, taxing these people to death . . .”
“What about the defense of the planet? The last war was extremely costly. Alpha-2 was defended the entire time. No enemy force was able to land, no task force got through to attack the orbital platform or bombard the planet. Do you know what a federal frigate costs to operate, much less build? Should the colonists be exempted from paying their share of that?”
Wells was speaking to his daughter, but even as he did, the words were impacting him as well. He’d been angry with Stanton—and utterly disgusted with Semmes—but now he was reconnecting with what he believed. He sympathized with the rebels, but he didn’t agree with them. And for all that had transpired, for Semmes’s brutality and the virtual repudiation of his own powers, he realized he was still loyal to Federal America. He had served his entire life in government, and while he was ashamed of much that had been done at the behest of the senate, he wasn’t ready to repudiate that allegiance.
He looked over at Violetta. Now, for the first time he suspected his daughter was. He felt a tension in his chest. Violetta had always been a headstrong young woman, but now he was suddenly afraid she would do something foolish. If she declared for the rebels, even if she simply spoke out in favor of them, she would be in great danger . . . especially with Semmes and his anti-insurgency forces rounding up anyone who gave even the slightest indication of rebel sympathies.
Suddenly, he knew what he had to do. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Vi. I’m out of this. I have no authority, no way to do anything to lessen this catastrophe. And I’ll be damned if I will stand around and watch helplessly while it happens.” He paused. “I’m going to resign the governorship.”
He looked into his daughter’s eyes and took a deep breath.
“We’re going home.”
“Dr. Holcomb, I am John Danforth, the . . . provisional commander of the army of Haven.” None of that was official, but Danforth was trying to keep things as simple as possible. He knew Holcomb was a brilliant man, but he wasn’t quite sure yet how much of that brilliance had survived Cargraves. He knew this might take some time.
Cal Jacen, though, had no patience for that. “Dr. Holcomb, we broke you out of the prison so you could help us strike back at the federals—the people who put you in that place.”
Danforth understood Jacen’s impatience. He had risked his people and the last of his financial resources—most of which Danforth himself had provided to the lawyer and rebel leader in the first place—to arrange Holcomb’s escape. He also had to give Jacen credit for breaking the scientist out of prison, for even knowing of his existence and imprisonment. And he had no idea how his ally had managed to get an aircraft to fly the escapee back so quickly. But Jacen’s aggressiveness wasn’t an asset here, not with a man as clearly traumatized as Holcomb.
“Cal, would you give me a few minutes alone with the doctor?”
Jacen looked like he was going to argue, but he just nodded, turned, and walked out of the tent.
“You, too.” Danforth stared at the two guards standing just inside the tent flap.
The two looked at each other, then back at Danforth.
“I’m in no danger here.”
The guards nodded uncomfortably, but they followed Jacen out.
Danforth turned back toward Holcomb. “Doctor, I know you were imprisoned at Cargraves for a long time—” his voice was soft, and he spoke slowly, gently “—and I can’t even imagine what they did to you in there.” He stopped, letting the words sink in, not wanting to push too hard, too fast.
Holcomb had been sitting still, staring down at the ground the entire time since Jacen had brought him back. Now he raised his head slightly, looking up at Danforth. “I am really out? This isn’t a deception?”
“Yes.” Danforth nodded. “You are really out.”
“I am your prisoner now?”
Danforth shifted uncomfortably. “No, not a prisoner.”
“I am free to go, then?” Holcomb’s voice was shaky, but it was firming with every word.
Danforth exhaled. “Well, yes. In theory at least. But you have to understand, there is a revolution taking place. You are only safe because you are here with us. If you leave, it is almost certain the federals will recapture you . . . and send you back to Cargraves. Or worse.”
Holcomb flinched.
“I won’t lie to you, Doctor. We are in a precarious situation. We control these woods, and a swath of villages situated in and around them. The federals control the rest of the planet. I’m afraid if you leave this camp and go more than a few kilometers in any direction you will be in extreme jeopardy.”
Holcomb sat quietly for a few seconds. Then he asked, “Why?”
“Why?” Danforth repeated. “Why did we rescue you?”
Holcomb nodded.
“It was Cal Jacen who got you out. To be honest, I didn’t even know you were there . . . and I have no idea how he did. But I suspect he believes you can help us.”
The man flinched again. “Help? How?”
God, what did they do to him in there?
“Even only just learning of your incarceration, your reputation precedes you—”
“I won’t make you weapons!” Holcomb tried to stand, frantic to leave. “I won’t! I won’t—”
“Doctor, please calm down!” Danforth held his hands in front of him, staying far away from Holcomb, doing whatever he could to appear nonthreatening. And that might have worked if the guards hadn’t come rushing in, alarmed at the outburst.
“I knew it! This is a trap!”
“It’s not a trap. Get out!” Danforth yelled at the guards. He turned back to Holcomb, seeing the fear in the scientist’s eyes.
“Look. Dr. Holcomb, look—the guards are gone. They were worried for me, is all. Please,” he said, coming closer. “Please . . . have a seat.”
“Y-you don’t want me for weapons?”
“No. I promise—we won’t ask you to do anything you don’t feel comfortable doing. But we do need your help.”
“Wh-what can I do?” He was still skittish, but he was looking at Danforth now, calmer than he had been.
“The federals are jamming all our communications planetwide, while somehow maintaining their own. We are unable to reach other supporters. There are rebel groups all over the planet, many even near enough to rally to us here. But we can’t reach them or coordinate our operations. We can’t communicate with anyone beyond sending messengers
.”
“How can I help?”
“People speak very highly of your technical and scientific abilities, Doctor.”
“You think I can defeat their jamming?” Holcomb pulled himself up into his chair. “I am very grateful to be out of the prison, Mr. Danforth, and I would help you if I could. But I am not sure what I can do, especially confined to these woods with, I am assuming, no real power source or communications equipment.”
“I understand the difficulties, Dr. Holcomb, and appreciate your frankness. But what if we could get you the resources? What would you need? Is it possible? Because I can be frank, too: I’m afraid your only escape from Federal America is our victory . . . and Haven’s independence. And unless we can find a way to penetrate this jamming, that is an extremely unlikely prospect. Help us, Doctor. Please. Try. Do anything you can. We will get you what you need if it is at all possible.” He paused. “And if we prevail, you will have a home here, one where you may live free and do as you choose for the rest of your life.”
Holcomb sat for a moment, quietly, taking a deep breath and exhaling hard. “Very well, Mr. Danforth. However, I must warn you, it is unlikely I will be able to achieve what you require.
“But I will try.”
CHAPTER 22
MAIN HOUSE
WARD FARM
FEDERAL COLONY ALPHA-2 (HAVEN)
EPSILON ERIDANI II
“What are we going to do, sir?” Withers stood outside the library, holding a small tablet in his hand.
Damian had been through a rough few days. For the first time in his life he’d sought to run from a problem, to push back the difficult thoughts and wallow in oblivion. But the new transmissions left no more room for self-absorbed reflection. Or for drinking. Damn, how do people do that all the time? Shaking his head, he returned the greater problems on Haven. They were clear, and they demanded an immediate response.
The problem was, he still wasn’t sure what that response was.
“I don’t know, Ben, I just don’t know. What are you going to do?”
Withers almost looked confused standing in the doorway. “I will do whatever you do, Lieutenant. Of course.”
“We’re not on the field anymore, Ben. I don’t have my bars on my shoulders, and your stripes are packed away. You are not bound by what I choose to do. This is a decision you have to make for yourself.”
And what a decision we’re being forced to make.
Damian let his eyes drop to the screen on his desk, reading the message again, for the fifth or sixth time, driven by some irrational hope that he’d misunderstood it before. But it still said the same thing:
Ward, Damian, Lieutenant, FA Army, reserve, is hereby reassigned to Ward, Damian, Major, Federal Security Forces, active duty, Colony Alpha-2. The above named is to report to Colonel Semmes at the Landfall Federal Complex within twenty-four hours of receipt.
By the order of Richard Semmes, Colonel, Federal Security Forces
He’d been shocked when he first read it, assuming his association with Wells had given someone the idea he was truly a federal sympathizer. But Withers had received his notice, too . . . and then Luci Morgan had called. The two had only spoken for a moment—they were using the landlines, and Damian was absolutely sure the federals would be listening—but she’d told him she and Devlin Kerr had gotten the same orders. And half a dozen noncoms who lived in the area.
“They’re actually doing it. They’re calling us all up. And we’re going to have to decide what to do.” Damian’s hopes of neutrality were gone, replaced by a hard choice. If he answered the call, he’d be fighting against his friends and neighbors. He’d be firing at John Danforth and his people. At Jamie . . .
Killing them . . .
“Yes, sir. They are. The question is what do we do. It’s easy to say it’s my decision, but we all know it’s not as simple as that. I’ve never disobeyed an order in my life, sir. You know that as well as anyone else alive. But I can’t think of fighting for the federals. Or, for that matter, the rebels. I thought I was done fighting.”
“So did I.”
“Then why can’t that be my decision?”
“What?”
“I’m thinking I might just stay right here. Besides, I’m not even sure these orders are legal. We’re army, sir. Can they just reassign us to internal security forces?”
Damian sighed. “Yes, Ben . . . they can. Read your discharge docs one of these days. And they’re not reassigning us, not exactly; they’re transferring us to support the security units. Technically, we’re still army. And that makes the orders legal.”
“I signed up to fight enemies, Lieutenant, not my own countrymen. What about Millie? I know her people support the rebels. Her brother’s with John Danforth right now. What do I do, shoot him?”
Damian had known his aide had a girlfriend on a nearby farm. Millie Billings was a nice girl, but Withers wasn’t kidding about her family’s rebel leanings. Damian had heard her brother and Billings Senior deliver some rousing speeches . . . and he knew they both handled local recruitment for the Guardians.
“Or Jamie,” Damian mused. “Or John Danforth. You’re right, Ben . . . if we follow these orders, they will all be our enemies. But we can’t just stay here either. You don’t know this Semmes. He’s crazy, bloodthirsty. If we don’t obey these orders, he will send troops to arrest us . . . or worse. That’s probably half the reason he sent these orders anyway—to give himself an excuse to lock up any veterans who won’t join his forces.”
Withers’s anger was painted on his face. “So then what do we do, sir?”
Withers . . . that’s a good fucking question.
“Do you understand, Major Thornton? You are the highest in rank by seniority, but on this mission you are to act as executive officer to Major Toland. This is not a sign of distrust in your abilities, but Major Toland has more experience in anti-insurgency operations of this nature.”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
And by that, I mean I understand this is bullshit.
Thornton was a regular army veteran, and she had three years of service on Alpha-2 amid the growing rebellion. She knew Semmes just wanted one of his own people in charge, that he considered her too soft to lead the attack. She might have even understood . . . if the miserable bastard had even bothered to craft a believable lie.
“Major Toland, I am committing a large percentage of our available strength to this operation. It will leave us shorthanded everywhere else, but I want to ensure that you have sufficient numbers, not only to defeat the rebels, but to envelop and destroy them.” He stared at Toland, his eyes on fire. “Do not let me down, Major. The rebellion ends with this battle. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir. Understood.”
Thornton looked at the other major. Anne Toland was the commander of one of the two battalions that had accompanied Semmes to Alpha-2. Thorton had taken a look at Toland’s records, and there wasn’t a lot that stood out. She had spent her entire career in internal security units, and appeared to be an accomplished officer—or as accomplished as one could be without the army service Thornton considered “real.” She seemed competent, if a bit of a martinet. Still, she wasn’t the psychopath Semmes was, and that was at least something. But Thornton didn’t doubt she’d obey her orders to the letter.
“Then you may proceed.”
Toland saluted, and then she turned to walk out the door. Thornton followed, but Semmes stopped them just before they left.
“And, Major . . . remember, General Order Nine is in full effect.”
“Yes, sir,” Toland replied, sounding as if she was trying to hide some level of discomfort.
Thornton didn’t even try to hide her own. General Order Nine had been implemented by Semmes right after the battle at Vincennes. It was short and clear, just a few lines of text detailing one primary provision:
Federal forces are henceforth prohibited from taking prisoners. All rebels or suspected rebels are to be shot on sight.
It sickened Thornton. War was awful and dirty and not at all romantic like entertainment vids might try to depict. Ideas of honor and “the rules of war” often had no place in the actual battlefield. But if an enemy was trying to surrender . . .
She still didn’t know what she’d do when she came face-to-face with a rebel waving a white flag.
“The federals are coming! The federals are coming!” The boy ran into the camp, racing past the pickets who yelled for him to stop. “Mr. Danforth, the federals are coming!”
The guards chased him, catching up just as John Danforth came out of his tent. He waved them off and walked up to the boy. “What is it, son? Federals where?”
“They’re almost to Vincennes. Captain Killian sent me to warn you.”
Danforth stared at the kid. He couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen. Danforth knew how essential Killian was to the rebel cause, and he’d forced himself to ignore some of the ranger’s more . . . extreme . . . activities. But he had to draw the line somewhere, and recruiting boys five years from their first shave was a good place to start. He made a note to speak to Killian about it.
“Any strength estimates?”
“The captain was still sending out scouts, sir, but he said to tell you he was sure it was a larger force than the one we fought at Vincennes.”
Danforth caught the “we,” and his eye dropped down to the kid’s arm. He had three red marks lined up just above his hand. He had heard that Killian’s people were cutting lines in their arms to mark their kills. Danforth fought back a wave of nausea. The thought of this boy fighting was bad enough; the image of him killing three soldiers was more than he wanted to think about.
“Very well,” Danforth said. “Why don’t you go inside my tent and get some rest. You could probably use a meal.”
“Sir, Captain Killian told me to return immediately with any orders you may have. He wants to know if you want us to hit the enemy along their line of march like we did at Vincennes, or if you want us back here.”
