Rebels in Arms

by Ben Weaver

  “What’s the matter with you?” Jarrett asked.

  “I…it won’t…I can’t…”

  “Are you a cadet?” Clarion demanded.

  Dina crouched down and took the woman’s hand in her own. “Are you a third year? A fourth year?”

  The woman’s eyes glossed with tears, and as she tried to answer, Jarrett checked her pockets for anything that might reveal her identity.

  Now, as I stood on the catwalk, it was clear to me that that old lady was my destiny—unless I handed myself over to Breckinridge and allowed her and the Wardens to recondition me.

  “What is that down there?” asked Kohrana, staring into the vast pit before us. “I’m scanning it, and I get nothing.”

  With my tactical computer feeding me infrared images in my HUV, I studied the curving metallic surface, which, the first time I had seen it, reminded me of a missile’s nose cone. “I don’t know.”

  “Want to send a rappelling team in there?”

  I studied the pit, and in my mind’s eye I saw that old woman leap into it. I repressed a shudder. “No. We keep moving.”

  We forged on for another fifty or so minutes, through more modest-sized tunnels connected by more caverns of flow-and dripstone. Kohrana took lead, sweeping his rifle across the path and hugging the shadows near the wall. Feeling yet another rush of déjà vu, I tried to forget about my first journey into the caves and just listened to the skipchatter on the squad channels:

  “J.T. switch to tac five, copy?”

  “Going to five.”

  “Anything on thermal, Canada?”

  “We’re cold so far, copy?”

  “Copy. Lowe and Rammel, you’re getting too loose. Tighten those lines.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  A rock dropped just behind me. Nothing large, just a stone the size of a baseball. I whirled and studied the cavern, with its dozens of dark hiding places reaching beyond my night-vision’s scope. Nothing. I probed once more, looked back, saw Kohrana now some ten meters ahead and shifting left, toward a large seam in the rock wall leading to the next tunnel. I threw a final look back at the cavern, glanced up to the stalactites, which seemed to close in on me for a moment.

  And that’s when a cold, wet hand penetrated my skin and wrapped around my mouth, even as an arm slipped around my chest. I was dragged back, toward the cavern wall. With both hands locked on my attacker’s wrist, I struggled to pry free. I could feel the bond, but I still couldn’t budge the hand. That could only mean my assailant was conditioned.

  “Shhh. It’s me.”

  Suddenly, the hand slipped away, and I found myself standing in a tunnel just a meter wide. I spun, saw who had grabbed me, and the words just slipped out: “What the fuck?”

  Rooslin Halitov stood there, his utilities ruffled and dripping wet, as though he’d been swimming in them. He cocked a brow and nodded. “Yeah, that’s just what I said when they contacted me: ‘what the fuck,’ only it wasn’t a question, just an okay. Now give me your wrist.”

  Still stunned, I raised my hand without question. He waved a small pen over my new tac, one issued to me just before we had dropped onto Exeter. The status lights faded, as did my skin. I noticed that his tac had also been deactivated, which was a violation of standing orders and punishable by imprisonment. We were out of contact with the Corps, and it would be very difficult to trace us. “What a minute—”

  “C’mon. They’re waiting.”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think? Come on.”

  “Activate my tac. Right now.”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “I got a whole platoon here.”

  He smirked. “This place is crawling with Marines. They’ll be busy. Trust me. And I’m sure that asshole Kohrana won’t miss you. They’ll report you MIA, just like me.”

  “What’s going on?”

  A round of particle fire ricocheted just outside the tunnel, followed by the low rumble of falling rock.

  Halitov widened his gaze on the tunnel entrance. “No time for a heads up. Just follow me. You’ll be glad you did.” He started off, hunkering down as the ceiling closed in.

  I didn’t move. “So you’re AWOL—is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Yup. And now so are you.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  He stopped, turned back. “Geez, I thought you’d be glad to see me. No, ‘Rooslin, you’re alive!’ or ‘Rooslin, you don’t how much I’ve missed you. You’re like a brother to me.’ Shit.”

  “Will you tell me what’s going on?”

  Another round boomed outside.

  “Goddamn it, Scott, come on! I found Paul. Actually, he found me, but who cares. Come on!”

  And that set my boots in motion. “You found him? What about Dina?”

  “You want to know about her? Then move your ass!”

  Both of us tapped into the bond and maneuvered swiftly through the narrow tunnel, reached an oval-shaped cavern dimly lit by Halitov’s light stick. He directed me toward a pool of calm water, about twenty meters across.

  “Is she alive?”

  “Just get in the water.”

  I grabbed his damp collar. “Fuck, man, you tell me right now. Is she alive?”

  “Let him explain it to you.”

  “Who? Paul?”

  “Just get in the water.”

  “Why all the secrecy?”

  “Just get in the water!”

  I splashed in and swore. “Jesus, it’s ice!”

  “You want a hot tub? Go to Club Io. Now listen to me. Swim straight out to the middle, then dive. Go down a couple meters. Feel your way to another tunnel. Go in. It turns right, then comes back up. You’ll need the bond, or you won’t make it.”

  After taking several deep breaths and reassuring myself that the bond was, in fact, tingling within me, I dived and followed his instructions, shivering as much from the cold water as from the thought that Dina might still be alive. The tunnel grew so narrow that I barely fit through, began to feel claustrophobic, panicked, kicked even harder, pushed myself up even faster, then, nearly out of breath, bleeding every ounce from my muscles but unable to will myself to the destination because I didn’t know where we were going, my head cleared the surface. I took in a huge breath, blinked hard, saw lights flashing near me, heard voices, felt hands reach under my arms and begin dragging me toward the shore.

  There, I looked up at the person who had set me down, but a light stick blinded me. I shielded my eyes from the glare.

  “Sorry,” came a familiar voice.

  The light stick came down, revealing Lieutenant Paul Beauregard, son of Colonel J.D. Beauregard of the Colonial Wardens, once boyfriend of Dina and colleague of mine at the academy. He leaned over me, his now-bearded face tight with concern. Other than that beard and his long, ragged hair, he looked no worse for wear. Surprisingly, he had not aged like Rooslin and I had, with no crow’s-feet near his eyes or gray at his temples.

  “Paul,” I said, still out of breath. “You made it.”

  His tone grew solemn. “I guess you could say that.” He hunkered down, proffered his hand. “Come on. We’ll get you dried off.”

  Behind him stood six or seven other guardsmen, their utilities ripped and dust-covered, with two sporting black bandanas. One, a pale redheaded guy who glanced suspiciously at me, turned away, splashed into the water, and helped Halitov to the shore.

  “Who are they?” I asked Paul.

  “We’ve set up a little camp. I’ll tell you everything when we get there.”

  “And Dina?”

  “Come on.”

  With a deep sigh over the continued secrecy, I took his hand, and he helped me up. Shivering and seeing my breath, I welcomed the blanket someone threw over me. We started along the shore, heading toward the entrance of a deep tunnel about a dozen meters ahead.

  Rooslin jogged up next to me, clutching his own blanket and trembling. “He made it. You fuckin’ believe
that? He hijacks our ride, slips in past their defenses, and gets all the way here. That’s courage, man. I knew we should’ve went with him. I knew it.” I just shook my head as he added, “And have you seen his face? No accelerated aging. Nothing. Must be these caves.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Paul led us through the tunnel, which forked into three more tunnels. We took the center shaft and walked for another ten minutes until Paul shouted, “Caveman!”

  A voice came from the distance. “Caveman, acknowledged. All clear.”

  I realized he had just checked in with one of his perimeter guards so that we could pass. Very efficient. We moved under that guard, a dirty-faced guy no more than twenty who lay across an outcropping of stone some five meters above. As we turned a corner, sunlight poured into a wide chamber ahead, and the promise of warmth drove me past everyone else and alongside Paul.

  “We found this place a few weeks ago. Moved our camp here,” he explained, as we reached a gallery whose curving walls raced up perhaps one hundred meters to a natural skylight at least fifty meters in diameter. We were ants rummaging about the bottom of some enormous, dried-up well with a massive fissure wandering through its center. “Watch your step,” he said, as we walked parallel to the fissure. “We’ve thrown rocks down there. They just drop away. No bottom. Or so it seems.”

  He led me across the chamber to their camp, a rather standard-looking military bivouac. Sleeping gear lay strewn about, along with several cargo containers bearing Western Alliance insignia. Several battery-powered portable heaters stood nearby, their tubes extending a full meter and glowing brilliantly.

  I took a seat on the floor next to one of those heaters. “I was going to ask how you’ve been managing down here,” I said, still examining the camp as he found a duffel, removed several towels, and tossed them to me. “Looks like you’ve been doing a little hit, grab, and run.”

  He crossed to one of the containers, removed a loaf of real bread, tore it in half, and handed me a piece. “They keep sending Marines in here. We take out as many as we can, then we take their supplies. It’s not genius work. Just survival.” He handed the rest of the loaf to Halitov, who sat near me, took a barbaric bite, then stole one of my towels.

  Paul’s crew garnered around us, though I suspected he had left the sentries in place. Those with us didn’t seem too pleased by my visit. One of them, the redhead who had pulled Halitov from the water, actually glowered at me.

  Noticing this, Paul said, “Scott, this is Tommy McFarland. He and most of the others here were second years when the academy got attacked. They didn’t get out like we did. They’ve been hiding here ever since, living off what they could steal and waiting for the counterattack.”

  I nodded to McFarland, whose glower did not soften, then I turned to Paul. “I do something to piss him off?”

  “We know what you’re going to do,” said McFarland. “And we ain’t going to let you do it. Without Paul, most of would be dead. We owe him our lives.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “I went AWOL,” said Paul. “Of course, now we’re all hoping to get out of here, but they know that when we do, you’re going to turn me in. I’ll be court-martialed, imprisoned, maybe even brainwiped. I don’t think my father can help.”

  “Maybe he can.”

  He shrugged. “Point is, I know you, Scott. Always the code. You’ll do the right thing. Turn me in.”

  “Excuse me, but last time I looked, there were Marines everywhere,” began Halitov, still chomping on his bread. “We’re debating what’s going to happen after we escape. Let’s worry about getting out of here first.”

  “Why don’t we start from the beginning,” I said, eyeing Halitov. “What happened to you?”

  “Not his fault,” Paul said. “We scored some short-range communications and monitored your drop here. When I found out you and Halitov were actually leading a company, I thought either the universe or Ms. Brooks was responsible, probably the latter. So I contacted Halitov, let him know where we were, told him I could deactivate his tac. We set up a meeting.”

  “Why didn’t you contact me?” I asked. “I would’ve come.”

  “Like I said, Scott, I know you. I asked you to go AWOL when I wanted to take Dina here. You wouldn’t come. I seem to remember your knife at my throat. So why would I expect you to go AWOL now? If anything, I figured you’d tell your CO that I was here in the caves so you could get permission to come and arrest me.” Paul turned a mild grin on Halitov. “But he wanted to come the first time.”

  Thankfully, Halitov just nodded and didn’t try talking with a huge chunk of bread in his mouth.

  “So you thought he’d help you escape, only you didn’t expect me to lead a special op in here,” I concluded.

  “That would be Ms. Brooks trying to help again. And you’re right. I didn’t expect you here, in the caves.”

  “So if I’m a threat to you, which explains all the looks your people are giving me”—I glanced to McFarland—“then why’d you bring me here?”

  Halitov backhanded bread crumbs from his lips, then wriggled his brows at me. “That’s where I come in. I told him I wouldn’t help unless it was you and I, together. I remember what you told Breckinridge. Figured I owed you.”

  “Thanks,” I said with mock enthusiasm. “We can break the code together, become just like Breckinridge. Lie, cheat, steal, screw over our families…”

  “Shut up with the fucking code,” Halitov snapped. “There’s so much dissension now, maybe there ain’t no code anymore.”

  I grew deadly serious: “There is.”

  Halitov threw up his hands. “I don’t get you. Why’s the code so important?”

  “It just is.”

  “No, that’s not good enough. I’ve listened to that for too long. And don’t give me that shit about being loyal.” He marched up close and leaned into my face. “Well?”

  I spun away. “My mother left when I was three. Know why? ’Cause of this.” I whirled back and pointed to the birthmark on my cheek. “She couldn’t hack a commitment to a kid like me. When the going got tough, she bailed. And you know, every time someone asks me why I’m so loyal to the code, I think about her, about what she did, and I know now I’ll never turn my back on my family—and that family is the Corps.”

  “Look, we don’t have time for this,” interjected Paul, then he raised an index finger at me. “Your platoon is pushing back the Marines. We’ve been getting pretty good at tracking them, predicting their movements, but now they’re on the run, and it’s not safe anymore. We have to move out within the hour. What I’ll need from you is a tawt-capable transport, preferably something small, like an ATC.”

  I couldn’t stifle my chuckle. “You’re crazy if you think I can get you one. And you’re even more crazy if you think I’m going to let you leave without telling me what happened to Dina.”

  He nodded. “It’s easier if I show you.”

  5

  As Paul, his crew, Halitov, and I were about to depart the camp to see what had happened to Dina, Paul handed me a bandana. “Blindfold. Put it on.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You trust me, I show you. You don’t, you get nothing.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t care.”

  I looked to Halitov, who had already donned his own blindfold. “Scott, just put the damned thing on, will you?”

  I hardened my gaze on Paul. “Too many secrets.”

  “And too little time.”

  Swearing under my breath, I tied the bandana around my eyes. Paul checked to make sure the fabric fit snugly around my eyes, then he grabbed my wrist and we began a trek that lasted nearly an hour, with me stumbling all the way.

  I thought it painful how in all that darkness I found it hard to summon up a clear picture of Dina’s face. I wondered if that inability said something about my feelings for her. Did my heart ache from love, or guilt? I wasn’t sure.

&nbs
p; “Okay,” said Paul. “Take off your blindfold. Let your eyes adjust.”

  I complied, and brownish gray walls undulated around me until I realized that I was inside a tall, cylindrical chamber whose ceiling tapered up into a cone. The walls were not brown or gray or made of stone but comprised of some burnished alloy. I chanced another glance to that ceiling, saw just how vast the place was, and with a tingling sense of familiarity that finally warmed into full-on recognition, I realized where we were. “The pit with the catwalk around it and the big missilelike structure down below. We’re inside that missile, aren’t we?” I asked Paul.

  “That’s right. But it’s no missile. And you’ll never find your way back in here without me.” He tipped his head to the opposite end of the cylinder, where, from behind a long bank of electronic equipment with octagonal displays, I caught sight of Dina. And gasped.

  “Oh my God,” was all Halitov could say.

  “What is this?” I asked, barely able to look at her.

  She hung above us, a frail, unconscious, naked woman attached to a gelatinous disk by thousands of hair-thin gossamers that reminded me of the tiny tubes inside the conditioning machines. If she was alive, there was no clear indication. She looked like an anorexic puppet crucified against a throbbing, pulsating drape of green and orange and black. Remarkably, the slash across her throat was fully healed, with no evidence of a scar. I suspected that the stab wound to her back was also gone, along with any signs of her decompression.

  “Is she alive?” I asked.

  “Barely,” Paul replied, his eyes glassing up as he stared at her. “For the past few days her pulse has been growing weaker.”

  “But her wounds are gone,” I said, gazing upon the miracle as though it were a dream. “How did you know to get her here, to this place? What is it? A Racinian hospital or something?”

  “I didn’t bring her here. When I landed outside, Marines were right on my tail. I took a couple of rounds, got Dina near the catwalk. And that’s the last thing I remember. I must’ve passed out. I woke up in here. My wounds were healed, and I found Dina up there.”