Invasion

by L. E. Thomas

  The tension on his chest eased. "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah." He cracked a wry smile. "Don't do anything stupid out there."

  The once mythical streets of Atheron had seen better days. Thin structures with polished surfaces reflecting the purple lights lined the grand boulevards so extensive the city planners must have had significant ambitions. Energy burns still blackened buildings, showing there had been no genuine attempt at removing the effects of the brief resistance to the invasion. All Nat's life, he'd wanted to visit Atheron. But everywhere he looked, he saw the remnants of the once magnificent domed city now occupied by the Zahl.

  Storefronts were boarded up. Restaurants with darkened signs showcased the former areas of extravagance the early colonists had tried to impart on the city. After seeing the images on his digi-glass as a child, he could almost imagine people gathering at night to listen to live music as they socialized and dreamed of a prosperous future. As he strolled toward the location of the Atheron Pit, he only passed two vehicles on the side of the road. One was an old hyperbike that looked like it had been immobile since the invasion. The second was a Zahlian Gladius Light Tank that slowed as it passed him, shining a bright light on his face as if he was a criminal suspect. As it rumbled past, he wondered if he would have been stopped and held for questioning if he hadn't been wearing his reds.

  Yes, he thought, the Zahl had clamped down on Atheron and transitioned it to a military encampment. Unlike Tarrafa, there appeared to be no attempt at re-education or relocation of the local population. The military had come in hard, squashing the Atheron culture with its control.

  He rounded the dead and dry remains of a once vast flower bed, now curled into brown and withered petals twisting like petrified snakes. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he took a breath of the odd metallic air he'd noticed since leaving the port. Must have been the air filters of the domed cities working overtime, since it appeared most of the plant life had been allowed to die.

  Looking up from the sidewalk, he saw the dull, green sign he'd been looking for:

  ATHERON'S PIT

  He paused and stared at the establishment. A buzzing solitary tube light hung over the sign, shimmering and popping as if it would explode. The sign had been stenciled with white paint on the green plywood, so amateur it could have been done yesterday. Two officers stood at the doorway, a drink in one hand and a sim-smoke in the other.

  Nat frowned. After passing the once luxurious—and closed—establishments on the way here, he wondered why in the stars the Zahl had decided to open a watering hole this far from the port?

  And then it hit him: The Empire had plans for the rest of the city.

  In the short time he had been with the military, he realized nothing was carried out in the bureaucracy without a plan on the drawing boards first. On Tarrafa-now-Yesro Vraun, the calculated re-education and eventual removal of nonessential natives from the urban centers seemed to be the plan all along. Here on Atheron, the transition from a colony to a military stronghold was evident. What would they eventually do to the domed cities? Would the blocks he'd just passed through be plowed over to make room for the Imperial juggernaut?

  He fingered the metal card in his pocket and shook away thoughts of the grand machinations of the Empire. He was just a cargo pilot, a native convert and another cog in the vast machine spanning across the stars. But perhaps he could guarantee a small piece of the pie and change his fate if he could help Tox stop this troublesome resistance.

  The officers nodded as he approached, too engaged in their conversation to pay much attention to a lieutenant with half his wings.

  The bass from music inside pounded against the walls, rattling the makeshift sign over the front doorway. Nat entered, the smell of Oshua leaf and alcohol drifting through the air as he stepped inside the dimly-lit bar.

  About twenty patrons filled the room, most hunched over colorful drinks and trays full of ash under the dull neon lights washing them in green and purple hues. The blaring music drowned out conversation with a constant drone. No one looked in his direction as he strolled inside and took a stool at the bar.

  A muscular bartender with sleeves rolled over meaty forearms approached. Nat ordered an imported beer from the Prime Worlds and sipped on it in silence. He scanned the room and studied the patrons. Most were in groups of three or four, laughing between massive gulps of beer. He saw another lieutenant and a captain, but the rest appeared to be enlisted starmen or maintenance crews from the port. Two men in nondescript gray coveralls sat in the corner staring at a screen showing basic news from Yesro Vraun.

  After ten minutes, he felt completely and utterly stupid.

  Who did he think he was, a super-spy? Tox obviously expected him to infiltrate the resistance based on the fact he had once been captured and allowed to survive. Or perhaps it was because Tox knew more about Nat's family than he realized. Either way, he had no experience in deception or espionage. The longer he sat here, the more he felt like a worthless cargo shuttle pilot going through the motions for the Empire.

  As he neared the end of his beer, he considered heading back to port. He pulled the metal card from his pocket and placed it on the bar.

  The bartender was using a dirty rag to wash an elegant red glass when he paused, transfixed on the shiny steel card. His clean-shaven face tightened, and he slowly placed the glass next to the others.

  "You want another drink?" he asked in a low voice barely audible over the music.

  Nat shook his head and stared at his own reflection in the aged glass behind the bar. "I'd better get back."

  "I think you need to try my specialty," the bartender said, scooping up a fat-bottomed brown jug with a crumbling cork in the top. "Now, I make this myself, so I don't take kindly to people turning me down."

  Nat studied the jug as a thick paste the color of swamp water tumbled into a glass, swirling around with a consistency like glue.

  "Uh, sure," he said, taking the heavy glass in his hands. "Thanks. How much?"

  "On the house, man," he said with a smile.

  Nat nodded and took a sip. It was like drinking rubbing alcohol and pancake syrup. The so-called beverage burned his tongue. Fighting the urge to cough, his eyes watered. Tears soon streamed down his face. Unable to hold back any longer, he burst into a fit of coughs. The other patrons glanced in his direction but quickly turned back to their drinks.

  The bartender laughed and placed a bottle of water in front of him.

  "Thanks," Nat whispered, his voice unwilling to comply. "Guess you do that to all the pilots who come in here?"

  "No," he said, his smile fading. "Just the one I've been waiting for."

  He frowned, the burning pain searing his mouth fading. "What?"

  "Or should I say, the one we've been waiting on," he whispered, cocking his head to the side as he studied Nat. "You really don't remember me, do you?"

  Nat stared at the broad jaw and the smooth face with few wrinkles. He looked into the black eyes and shook his head. "I've never been here before. I think you have me—"

  "Rope bridge."

  "Rope ... what?"

  He squinted. "Over the river?"

  "I don't—" He gasped, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the bartender in a new light. "Jax?"

  Jax Gretson nodded and offered a broad smile. "You've changed, kid. Grew up all of a sudden like, but I guess it's been a couple years, hadn't it? Didn't recognize you when you came in. Then I saw the card, and knew it had to be you."

  Nat's mind was swimming as he tried to catch up. "What ... how ... uh, what are you doing here?"

  "Boggles the mind a bit, doesn't it?"

  Jax turned away, sliding a rag across the bar and cleaning. Three patrons in uniform stumbled to the bar, slapping credits on the slick surface. One lieutenant swayed like a tree about to fall in the woods as he glanced in Nat's direction.

  Nat focused on his disgusting sap-like liquid as Jax took the men's payment. In a moment, only a scatter
ing of patrons in filthy black and red coveralls remained. He suddenly felt acutely aware of his Zahl uniform, as if he had a target painted on his back. Hunching down, he waited for Jax to return from the register.

  With a screeching of wood against the rough concrete floor, one of the dirty men pushed back his chair and stood from the corner. Out of the corner of his eye, Nat watched the figure emerge from the shadows, passing the neon lights beaming through the haze of smoke hovering over the bar. He pulled at the stool next to Nat, scraping the metal legs across the concrete. The man propped his elbows on the bar, as if the gesture would support his weight, and collapsed onto the stool with an exhaling hiss like it had taken the last bit of energy he had.

  Jax peered down the bar, watching as if he anticipated something. Nat took another tiny sip of the horrid drink out of politeness, wincing at the putrid stench and fiery swirl spinning across his mouth.

  "Knew you'd make it," the man said, his voice raspy like gravel and dust bouncing around in his throat. "Took you long enough."

  Nat set the glass down, unsure at first if the man was talking to him or just crazy. He looked at him out of the corner of his eye, saw a deep scar splitting the right side of his face.

  "Are you talking to me, old man?"

  The stranger hesitated, then snorted. "Yeah, Natty-nat, I'm talking to you."

  The sound of his nickname shot through him like an electric current. Snapping his body around on the stool, he turned to face the man.

  "What did you call me?" he asked, his pulse pounding and drowning out the bar's music.

  Slowly, the man swiveled on the stool and stared at him.

  Backing away, Nat looked into the twisted and gnarled face from his childhood. A deep scar scored one side of his face while the other appeared as rough as sandpaper. Silvery hair cropped short topped his skull. The eyes, weary and sad, looked at him with an inkling of hope.

  After a long moment passed where he struggled to find the words, Nat finally whispered, "Da?"

  Chapter Twenty

  Kad said nothing as he stared at Nat, a mix of pride and despair battling on his weathered face, and weakly nodded. Jax approached with a refill, but Kad waved him off.

  Nat shook his head, unable to turn away from his father. "How?"

  Kad blinked, gesturing to Nat's silver card on the bar. "You mean the little calling card we managed to get to you?" He smiled. "We have our ways. You didn't think the Zahl had managed to wipe us out completely, did you? Not that they haven't tried."

  “How are you alive?” he spat, his chin quivering as he pulled away and stared at the bar. “I thought you had to be dead.”

  Kad sighed, turning toward the streaked mirror behind Jax's bar. "You have to believe me when—"

  "I saw you running with Jet," he said, looking at his father's reflection in the mirror. “I was so ... so scared. I heard from Viper you were alive. Up until then, I thought you had died during the early days.”

  Suppressed memories he thought he'd long ago banished to the recesses of his mind came rushing back. The meeting with Greeva's underworld. The realization his father had been involved in illegal activity long before the Zahl had arrived. The flashbang blasting through the basement as the Marines stormed the meeting. The ensuing firefight and chaos.

  And the stairs.

  "The fire was so intense—I didn't think anyone could survive, son." Kad reached out to place his hand on Nat's forearm. “Believe me when I say we did everything we could to get to you when we found out you survived.”

  "I did more than that. The Zahl educated me, trained me ... raised me."

  Kad winced and sighed. "I can't change what's been done. But there's a lot you don't know, Natty—"

  "Don't call me that. I'm a Lieutenant, and I should report your location back to my superiors. It’d save your life, Da. This resistance is doomed to fail.” He took a drink—Jax's burning beverage getting a little better with each taste. "Probably get a medal, too.”

  "That’d be a disappointment after all we've sacrificed to get you here," he said, interlocking his fingers before him as he rested on the bar. "Lost two of my people grounding your shuttle."

  He tensed. "You shot me down? Are you completely smashed? They'll execute you for this!"

  Nat’s anger surprised him, the fury catching the attention of the other patrons. Jax eased the volume on the music a bit higher.

  "They've already caught Walt and Loose for firing that missile," Kad said as his face crumpled. "I told them you'd be worth it. It was hard enough getting that card to you back home. Hear me out. I beg you. We've been trying for so long to make contact with you. You don't know what it was like when Tressa and I discovered you were not only alive but in that uniform.”

  Nat took a deep breath, taking another sip of the odd brew. His fingers tingled, and his face warmed as the alcohol did its work. After several seconds, he nodded.

  Kad cleared his throat. "The resistance is not done, son. At first, we made strikes where we could, but the Zahl are so strong it seemed defeat was inevitable. Then, we found out we were not alone."

  He shrugged. "You contacted another country for help?"

  "Uh, yes and no. The whole of Tarrafa had been conquered and secured within three moons. What the Zahl didn't have, they didn't want. The assimilation began across the planet." He shook his head. "No, we were contacted by other worlds fleeing the wrath of the Empire."

  Nat rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

  Kad shot him a glance. "Is it that hard to believe? You work for an Empire of hundreds of star systems."

  "No one could battle the Zahl," Nat said, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve read my history. Every faction that has stood up against the Empire has been destroyed. The resistance will be defeated. We cannot stand against them. All who have failed.”

  Growing rigid on the stool, Kad said, "Not all of them. Many people have refused to accept the dominance of the Zahl. Agents representing a Galactic Legion far from here have managed to smuggle materials and supplies through the lines to help those who wish to mount a defense."

  "Oh, come on." Nat shook his head. "The Galactic Legion is nothing but a collection of upstarts thinking they can defy the Imperial light. They cannot hope to resist the Zahl."

  "You're wrong. We've been in contact with some of their agents following the invasion and other refugees massing in an area the Empire calls the 'Frontier.'"

  "So?"

  Kad leaned closer as if the words he was about to speak were dangerous. "So, we've been able to get our hands on Curvature Drives, and we have ships hidden on the planet. We plan on taking our resistance off-world to link up with the others defying the Zahl. We're leaving Tarrafa, Nat. Fleeing. Together, we might be able to battle back the Empire and someday retake our home."

  Silence passed between them for a moment. Two more patrons paid and left. Nat thought the story was going to continue. He had heard the rumors of an "exodus" and "deliverance," but never figured they might be true.

  "Are you serious?" Nat asked.

  "As death."

  Nat laughed, the reaction obviously startling Kad as he recoiled.

  "You ever look into the sky?" Nat snorted. "There's an ARC up there ready to swat down any fleeing ships. You'd never even get clear of the planet's gravity to fire off the drive safely. Look, Da, I’ve missed you but we need to look forward. The Zahl are the future. What you’re talking about is suicide.”

  Nat moved to stand, but Kad gripped his wrist, hard.

  "Tressa wanted to find you," Kad said through his teeth. "If you don't want to listen to me, listen for her."

  The thought of Tressa in prison flashed in his mind. He remembered Viper telling him she had been captured trying to verify whether her brother had indeed been indoctrinated into the Academy program.

  Nat slowly took his seat. "Fine." He raised his eyebrows. "For Tress. Go ahead."

  Kad sighed but released his tight grip. "Tressa said she had a plan to help with the e
xodus but needed you. She wasn't only gathering information on you when she hacked into the database. That's what we told everyone—including that idiot Viper. She was also searching for a rumored weapon that could deliver the people from this occupation, so we eased back on the strikes to lull the Zahl into a false sense of security regarding Tarrafa."

  "Yesro Vraun," Nat cut in.

  Kad's lips curled back over his teeth. "I'll never use that cursed name," he said, sliding his fingers over his chin and glaring at the bar. "Anyway, the lull in our strikes against the Zahl worked. Slowly but surely, the Empire has pulled more and more material away from Tarrafa. Seems they've got other problems brewing across the galaxy."

  He sighed and took a drink.

  "Anyway, Tress said you were the key to all this. For her plan to work, they needed a Zahlian pilot. We need to break her out. Please. She's going to die in there if we don't."

  Nat shook his head. "This doesn't make any sense, Da. If she has this grand plan in store on how to knock out the Justice, why didn't she tell you about it?"

  Kad sighed and grumbled, shifting on the stool. "She was captured trying to find out this information. And she didn't want it recorded from prison for fear it would fall into the wrong hands, so she wanted to tell you about it in person. I can't get to her. She's waiting to tell you."

  He blinked, thinking of his sister's thin face between the bars. And then he remembered Tox, the orders to root out the resistance he believed still lurked in the shadows. Somehow, his paranoia had been correct.

  "You realize what you're asking me, don't you? Betraying the oath I took to become an officer? That’s treason, which means death. You don’t understand what I’d be risking here.”

  Kad lowered his gaze. "Don't presume to understand what I've been through, boy." He leaned closer, so close to Nat he could smell the alcohol on his father's breath. "I know death. I've seen it. I've dealt my share. And I won't stop until Tarrafa is free. You don't want to help? Fine." He suddenly stood, his hands balling into fists. "But if you walk out of here and you're willing to betray your sister's honor and let her die in prison like an animal, you aren’t my son."