Stephen decided to wait for the people below to leave before leaving himself, but no one was moving. Puzzled, he scanned through the crowd and saw that all eyes were still on him. He was not sure what the people wanted. Several moments passed before Stephen broke the silence.
“Do you wish to fight them?” he asked.
Again, no one moved.
Perplexed, Stephen remained still, not knowing what to do. After a moment, a man’s hand raised from somewhere in the mass of people and closed to a fist. The hand remained in the air, and in a few seconds, it was joined by another, and then another. Soon, raised fists began to appear all over the streets, and there were no lowered hands to be seen. The crowd murmured to themselves in agreement and growing enthusiasm, but they became gradually quiet again.
Stephen was amazed. The people had made a choice, and he was obliged to join them as their leader.
He thrust his own fist into the air, and shouted, “We will fight!”
The crowd roared with approval and clapped wildly.
Stephen caught a shadow in the corner of his eye and he turned quickly to see Dylan standing in the archway. He could see that the new Commander was weary.
“Will you fight with us?” Stephen asked.
Dylan inhaled through his nostrils and gazed out among the crowd. “Yes, I will,” he said. “I’ll begin training them first thing in the morning.”
“No,” Stephen said quickly, drawing Dylan’s gaze. “Not first thing. Something else needs to be done before that.”
The noise from the city could be heard deep inside the forest and far along the coast, in each direction. It was also heard within the city, through the open window of a lonely girl who sat quietly in the dark with her head bowed.
VI - THE STAND
1
Wind whipped over the countryside, putting waves in the plains that surpassed even those of the mighty ocean below. The wind was harder than any Stephen had ever felt, but it was not bitter. The warmth that the wind brought soothed the emptiness he felt inside for the loss of his kindred. He looked into the bright morning sun without shielding his gaze, for it seemed that light was a source of life during the otherwise grim funeral.
The graves for Simon Carlisse and also those of the Hedrick family had already been seen to. But for this last ceremony, there was no casket, no grave and no body. There was only a memorial to the lost Commander Lee. A simple cross of thick tree limbs bound together with rope lay on the ground with an inscription facing upward that read simply, “Cmdr. Michael J. Lee.”
The cross bore another, deeper inscription for each person present. To some it read, “Michael, the friend.” To others it was, “Commander Lee, the leader.” And to a few, it read, “Michael, the father.”
At the thought of this inscription, Stephen scanned the small crowd of mourners again for Kirin’s face, but he still did not see her anywhere. He then turned his attention back to the cross at his feet and the mallet lying beside it. At this moment, every eye in the crowd was on him, especially the eyes of the seven soldiers standing in semi-circular fashion around the small plot.
This plot was only one of many in the quickly filling cemetery a short bit away from the city gates. Surrounded on all sides by other makeshift gravestones and markers, the party of about a hundred officers, soldiers and colonists bowed their heads respectively as Stephen lifted the cross upright with its pointed end against the ground. He then motioned to Dylan.
With filled eyes and a rent heart, Dylan Hamish picked up the mallet using a single, trembling hand, and then he stood at attention for a moment. After a silent goodbye, Dylan raised the hammer above his head and, with all his might, attacked the head of the cross, driving it several inches into the ground. Without uttering a single noise, he struck the cross again, forcing the stake even deeper into the soft earth. With a portion of the sharpened end still protruding above ground, Dylan stopped and sniffed softly. He knew of and now respected Michael’s amity of Stephen, and so he felt a need to pay homage to that fact. He extended his arm toward Stephen, offering him the mallet.
Feeling all at once honored and unworthy, Stephen reached out, took the mallet and accepted the magnificent invitation. He had never endured the rigorous training courses of the security force, yet he had always put himself through a daily workout in his quarters. He had never sworn an oath of subjection or allegiance to the chain of command, yet he knew to be humble in the presence of experience. He had received no real instruction or guidance in his life, yet he had somehow developed all the traits of a disciplined soldier of honor. And this, all the men knew to be true.
Though some still felt offended that an outsider should be allowed to participate in the memorial of their Commander, no man dared speak out. Dylan was in command now, and without his approval or instruction, no action would be taken from personal judgment. Since Dylan approved of Stephen, every other soldier would have to as well.
Dylan Hamish knelt and held the cross steady, all the time with his eyes fixed on the ground. Stephen rose to his feet and, with a look of humility, silently thanked the men for his acceptance. To his surprise, a few heads nodded with approval. He looked at the cross and, with a fluid stroke as silent as Dylan’s, drove it far down into the earth. After two more silent strikes, the stake was completely imbedded in the earth.
Stephen then leaned over and placed the mallet on the ground where Dylan first picked it up. He stepped aside and allowed the new Commander to rise in his place.
“Present arms!” Hamish commanded. At this, the seven men raised their charged rifles to the sky at the same angle and held back their tears in the name of duty.
“Fire!”
In an instant, seven beautiful streaks of white fanned out across the sky in unison and disappeared into the clouds.
“Fire!” the command resounded, and again, the seven rifles ejected a passionate rapport. This second time, Stephen had to take his eyes off the memorial he was participating in for the pain was growing unbearable. He let his eyes fall on the outcropping of rocks off in the distance, from where he first spotted the city what seemed to be an eternity ago.
There on the rocks, distantly silhouetted in the sunlight, was a fragile figure that Stephen knew to be none other than that of Kirin Lee. His heart immediately sank, and his mouth dropped open. Why had she not come to the funeral? He knew that she loved her father, and that nothing would ever have kept her from seeing him one more time, if only in essence. But then, Stephen felt another wave of his own pain swell and he realized that the agony she must have been going through would be unimaginable. Things all at once seemed clear, and his heart went out to her even more. He closed his eyes and bowed his head with love and sorrow.
At that instant, a third and final shot sounded from the barrels of the seven rifles, and again, the array of energy bolts streaked across the sky toward eternity - seeming to bear Michael’s spirit with them.
Stephen then realized he had not heard the command to fire. Perhaps it was not audible over the screaming in his heart. Whatever the reason, the final round of shots had been fired and Michael’s memory had been sealed.
With a saddened spirit, Stephen lifted his eyes to the rocks again. Though he could not say for sure, Stephen thought he could see Kirin bowing her head slightly in the distance.
The funeral party quickly dispersed and Stephen looked to his military comrades, who had not moved. There was much work to be done before the attack.
The excavation was enormous. Hundreds of men lined the ditches, digging with makeshift shovels and picks. Women and children walked alongside the trenches with wheelbarrows in a constant loop that ran along the length of the ditch to where it stopped, dropping off to the ocean below. The line paused momentarily as each barrow-load was tossed over the cliff, and then the line would continue. Younger children walked the lines with water buckets across their backs for the workers to drink from.
Stephen watched the digging from the outcropping of rocks
above, where he and two hundred other men were in combat training. Dylan stood in front of the students who circled around him, each of them wielding a makeshift weapon. He was demonstrating dodging and parrying today. The other groups would be taught the same lesson later in the day, after their shift in the ditches was through. Then, Stephen and the rest of his group would take their turn in the trenches. But in the evenings, no one would be put to work. All the people were allowed to rest and to be with their families.
Stephen returned his attention to the instructor.
“Step, duck, step, thrust,” Dylan chanted as he demonstrated the steps with fluid movements, the result of years of practice. “Now try it again, with me. Step, duck, step, thrust,” he repeated.
The men, wielding sticks and broom handles, mimicked his motions almost perfectly. The first few attempts had been shoddy at best, but with over an hour of practice they had begun to catch on.
“That’s it. Step, duck, step, thrust,” Dylan continued. He then moved as if someone were charging him, swinging a weapon at his head. He stepped into the path of the swing, ducked it, and then stepped again. This time, he thrust his sword into the midsection of the phantom attacker.
“Doing good, men,” he continued. “That’ll be enough for now. You can relieve the diggers, and send them on up here.”
Dismissed, the motley crew began talking amongst themselves as they walked down the path to the field below.
“Dylan,” Stephen spoke up. “I thought you should know the steelworks is fired up now. We should have plenty of weapons available to work with tomorrow.”
A shuttle crew had been sent overnight to collect a shipment of scrap metal from the wreckage of the Beta Journey to fashion weapons with.
Dylan nodded. “That’s good. Twigs and pitchforks are fine for beginners but they’re no substitute for steel in your hands.”
Stephen smiled. “I can’t wait,” he said. He wiped the sweat off his brow and headed down the path. He was anticipating a cool drink of water. A friendly hand grabbed his shoulder for attention.
“Hey, Stephen,” said Byron.
“Hi, Byron,” Stephen replied. “They still holding their pace?”
Byron nodded.
Stephen had put Byron in charge of monitoring the advancing army. Twice a day, he would take a shuttle crew to a spot far in front of the enemy and measure their progress. He hadn’t spoken to Byron since the first trip of the day.
“They’re about two-hundred kilometers away now. So we’ve still got three days and nights after today. They should arrive some time on the fourth morning.”
Stephen nodded. A sudden swell of fear amassed in his gut as he pictured the huge army of creatures barreling through the forest towards them in such a short frame of time. His body chilled over briefly and then he was fine again.
“You know,” Byron spoke up. “Some of the astronomy guys were telling me that there’s an eclipse coming.”
Stephen was intrigued. “Really? When?” he asked.
“Supposed to be the day of the attack. Not sure what time.”
“Wow,” Stephen muttered. He could not think of a better response. Somehow it seemed a fitting time for an eclipse to occur on the day of battle. As one species met its demise and had its fate sealed in darkness, so would the land be cloaked in a morning night - bathed in a gigantic shadow.
Stephen’s chills returned, and he tried to shake the thought out of his mind. It all began to seem suddenly morbid.
“Tell me something?” Byron asked.
“Sure,” he replied.
“Do you think we’ll win?”
Without wasting a moment, Stephen nodded assuredly. “Yeah… we have to.”
Byron scratched the back of his neck. “I wish I was that sure.”
Stephen smiled and placed a hand on Byron’s shoulder. “You’ll be alright. No matter what happens, at least this will all be over soon. We won’t have to be afraid anymore.”
Byron shook his head. “What if we’re taken prisoner or something?”
Stephen frowned and removed his hand from Byron’s shoulder. “I have no intention of being anyone’s prisoner.”
After a moment, Byron slowly nodded and the two parted in silence.
The next day, the majority of the trench digging was completed. However, much work remained to be done in the pits before they would be ready for the battle. As one crew continued to outfit the ditches, the rest of the men carried on in their combat training.
The steelworks was unable to equip everyone to their own liking that day, but most of the men were given their weapons of steel: swords, knives, axes, batons and sharpened staffs. Each man chose his own tool and would spend the next few days learning its uses as best he could.
Work continued as planned and progress continued to be obtained. No one complained about the work, and no one spoke ill of the Governor. The people were united in their cause, and little needed to be said of the matters at hand.
Stephen surveyed the battlefield below. Two days had passed and the preparation stages were nearing completion, allowing more time to be available the following day for honing the people’s fighting techniques. All of the men had finally acquired their weapons and were beginning to show much progress in using them. Stephen unconsciously nodded as he began to map out in his mind the course of events for the next couple of days. Once the timeline was completed, he relaxed a little and watched the sun begin to set.
Despite the genuine bleakness of the situation, Stephen was rather pleased with what the people had achieved in such a brief span of time. His own skills with a weapon had shown remarkable growth, and he particularly enjoyed working with the blades of his sword pointed down.
Dylan had initially scolded him for this atrocity, but he later chose to hold his peace when he noticed the natural feel Stephen had for the weapons. He knew it would be far worse to hinder Stephen’s unprecedented approach to swordplay, than to simply encourage his endeavors and learn the new technique along with him.
The two had developed an understood amount of comfortable space from one another, but there was no more contempt from either side.
Stephen noticed the beauty of the field below as the setting sun began to apply a sheet of light across its surface. He smiled and then walked away. As he passed by the training area, Stephen noticed Dylan was still finishing up with a couple of students. They were engaging in a mock swordfight with one another and using Dylan as a coach.
When Stephen surveyed the small group, he noticed that Dylan’s gaze was not on the two students at all. He had grasped Stephen’s eyes with his own, and would not let them go. After a moment, Stephen began to feel the presence of a familiar invitation.
Dylan stood at the edge of the outcropping, facing Stephen as he cautiously approached. Dylan examined his staff, which was scarred and discolored from hours and hours of instruction with the people.
Stephen produced a staff of his own, one he had secretly prepared in case this occasion should arise again. This one was straight and solid, rounded at both ends and encased in a leather grip.
Stephen closed in on the Commander and faked a lunge with his final step. Dylan swiped at Stephen’s body, but hit only air. Stephen wasted no time in thrusting the end of his staff at Dylan, who barely managed to parry the strike. The two traded blows for a few minutes, each one gaining ground for a while, and then losing it again.
Finally, Stephen caught sight of a moment when Dylan swung too hard and missed. In an instant, Stephen placed his staff between Dylan’s feet and twisted it, sending him into a face-plant on the ground. By the time Dylan could roll over, the end of Stephen’s staff was pressed against his throat.
“If we survive the fight, will you serve under my lead?” Stephen asked with a deliberate force in his voice.
Dylan said nothing. He merely stared the Governor in the eye for a moment, sizing him up once more. Finally, Dylan’s lips parted into a partial grin and he extended his hand. Stephen remov
ed his weapon and took Dylan by the arm, helping him to his feet.
“I’ll follow you to the end,” said the Commander. He half-smiled again and began walking back to the city.
Stephen stayed at the outcropping for another moment, looking out across the open field below.
2
Hot sparks and glowing coals were poured out all over the floor of the steelworks in the city. Stephen stepped cautiously over dangerous materials that were scattered about the room. He followed the sound of the steady clanging noise that sounded once every second. He finally rounded one corner that revealed a husky, bearded man pounding away on a glowing hot piece of metal with a sledgehammer. He noticed Stephen immediately.
“Hey, we’re closed for today,” the man shouted, motioning to the door.
Stephen smiled. “Then why are you still here?”
The man laid down his hammer and took a step toward Stephen. “What do you want?” he commanded.
Stephen handed the man a folded piece of paper. “To place a special order,” he said.
The following evening, the work area was unusually quiet. The people’s endeavors had come to completion. All the trenches were ready, all the warriors were prepared, and all the weapons had been forged in the city steelworks. The humans were ready for their battle to commence.
Back in the city, Stephen surveyed the crowd gathered before him. All the people had congregated in the square below the terrace of the city hall to await their further instructions. They chattered busily among themselves to express their nervousness and concern.
At Stephen’s right, Dylan Hamish stood quietly, supporting him as he began to speak. Although no one could ever replace Michael, Dylan had grown to accept the fact that Stephen was the best-suited person to take over leadership of the military force and the people in general. He was young, but wise, and carried about himself an air of distinction that commanded reverence. But most importantly, Hamish could sense without question that Stephen had a heart for his people. He would lead them towards their own best interests and not his own; and for that, they all loved him. Dylan respected the new Governor.
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