Rebellion at Ailon

by T J Mott

  “War does that to people,” Chet observed. “You see it in a lot of the rebels who survived our war. Chad’s got it together better than a lot of them, though. Although he has constant nightmares.”

  “I wish he’d open up,” she admitted. “He’s good at hiding it, but I know he’s suffering. It shows in his eyes, and his attitude, especially when he doesn’t know I’m watching. I hate not knowing what’s going on inside him.” She paused, considering, and remembering. “He’s been through a lot. I’ve seen some of his battle scars. He’s lucky he’s even alive. And I just keep wondering, thinking that if I knew what he went through, maybe I could help him through it. Help him to move on.”

  “Some soldiers never really recover,” said Chet. “And what I have to wonder is why he’s so willing to help us. You’d think if he was that screwed up from a war, he wouldn’t want to help us prepare for another.”

  “Actually, he was pretty hesitant at first. He didn’t want to become involved in another war.” She shrugged. “But I think he knows how to do what’s right, even if it’s painful to him.” She paused, and felt a pang of pain in her heart as some old memories returned. “Some men are like that. Lim was like that. He didn’t care about the cost to himself, if it helped others.”

  “What if Chad is only doing all this because of you?” Chet asked. “Just to impress you?”

  Ria licked her lips nervously. It had crossed her mind, once or twice. But she shook her head. “I don’t think so. He was locked up tight in that shell of his when he got here. I knew he was interested in me, but it was not easy to get him to admit it. I think he’s actually afraid of getting involved with me.”

  “Hmm. Just be careful, Ria. You’re like a little sister to me. I’d hate to see you get hurt again.”

  “I don’t think he’s an enemy, if that’s what you’re getting at,” she said, feeling a burst of sudden irritation. Sure, she still didn’t know Chad very well, but she knew him well enough to realize he’d never intentionally hurt her. “If he wanted to expose the resistance to Avennia, he could have done that long ago already.”

  “I’m surprised the Council let him in,” Chet said. “Look at how few non-Ailonians are involved. There’s a lot of hatred of outsiders, and especially of mercenaries, ever since the Thaddeus Marcell raid cost us the war. Not only is Chad an outsider, now he’s a mercenary, too, if what you say is true. Getting others to trust him will be an uphill battle.”

  “He didn’t back down in front of Abram,” she replied. “That alone was worth a lot to many on the Council.”

  “Abram.” Chet’s voice dripped with contempt. Ria understood why. Abram was one of the few remaining Ailonian officers from the war, albeit his role had been minor. He had been a minor commander who’d avoided battle. But as the rebel power structure collapsed towards the end, he’d been able to bully and threaten his way up the ranks, convincing just enough people that he was a war hero that the Council had little choice but to appoint him commander of the new resistance’s military strategy. Though he knew very little about military operations, the rest of the Council and rebel leadership knew even less. And the few who tried to oppose him failed. He didn’t know much about war, but he did understand power and politics.

  She wondered how things would have turned out had Lim not died. He’d been a trusted adviser to the Council, almost to the level of being an unofficial member. He certainly would have opposed Abram’s manipulations and blatant power grabs had he lived long enough. He probably would be on the Council, she thought. Maybe in Abram’s exact position. Except he had been competent and trustworthy, while Abram was neither.

  And somehow Chad, a stranger from a different part of the galaxy with no connections to Ailon, had managed to rally the Council to his side—with concessions from Abram, unfortunately—with his initiative and simple demonstrations of long-term military thinking. He was the catalyst, the spark that helped Council act on their own pre-existing apprehensions, loosening Abram’s stranglehold on the leadership. The Council sessions were becoming less and less in Abram’s favor, but more and more heated, if one could believe the gossip.

  They rounded a corner and approached a door in the hallway. Chet opened it, and they stepped into one of the building’s smallest garages. A single late-model truck was in the bay, this one a smaller two-seat model, and she saw a pair of legs sticking out under the front bumper. “Almost…” It was Chad. “Okay, I think I got it.” A robotic-looking prosthetic arm appeared, grabbing the bumper and pulling to slide himself out from under the truck. He grunted as he climbed to his feet. “Okay, Jason. Give it a crank and let’s see what happens.” He took a few steps away from the vehicle and didn’t seem to notice Ria and Chet standing near the door.

  Jason, her clinic’s youngest member and an orphan from the war, was in the truck cab. “Okay. Here goes!” he shouted, and he started the engine.

  The engine rumbled to life, and then instantly whined up through the octaves. The exhaust pipe began to spew out thick, black, oily smoke and the noise became painful in the confined space. “Oh no!” Ria exclaimed, covering her ears against the sound.

  And they all stood and watched the engine runaway. Several seconds later, it stalled out and the garage fell into silence, and the large fan embedded in the wall worked at pumping the smoke out.

  “I think it worked!” said Chad.

  “What?” Ria said, her forehead wrinkled in surprise. This time, Chad heard her, and he turned to face her. He suddenly smiled broadly. “I thought you were trying to fix it?” she added.

  Chad shook his head. “Nope, not fix it. Just understand it.”

  “Why?”

  “Reasons,” he said. “Hey, I’ll explain later. But we need to get this cleaned up, and I have some thinking to do. Catch ya later?”

  Ria nodded, still feeling very confused about what she’d just witnessed. “Yeah,” she said uncertainly. “We’re about to go deploy the clinic. Please join us when you’re done with…uh, whatever this is.” She smiled coyly. “And please stay away from my trucks. I need them.”

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t break it,” he said. “We drained the fuel tank first. It only had enough fuel to run for twenty seconds or so. Not enough time to destroy itself.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him, and then she and Chet left the garage together as Jason and Chad set about to finishing their work. Work which, for some reason, had apparently involved risking destroying another truck belong to the already resource-sapped Foundation.

  ***

  “We don’t have the resources for this!” the man was complaining as Thad stepped into the Council room. Thad recognized him, he’d been on the Rebel Council at their first meeting. But he hadn’t seen him there since. “What they’re asking, it’ll overwhelm our own logistics!”

  Rhena was the only other Council member in the room. “Ah, good, Mr. Messier. There you are. This is Ron, I don’t think you were properly introduced to him earlier and he’s missed our last few Council sessions due to travel. He’s something of a head quartermaster for the Foundation, responsible for managing all our logistics.”

  Thad smiled. “So I take it the plan worked?”

  Rhena nodded. “The Army has had enough engine failures these past couple weeks that their own logistics system is starting to fall behind. They’ve ordered an investigation, and the factory issued a worldwide recall on the latest model.”

  “Wait,” Ron said, sounding confused. “That was planned?”

  Thaddeus nodded as he stepped further into the room.

  “I take it, Mr. Messier,” said Rhena, her voice suddenly stern, “that there’s no way they can trace these acts of sabotage back to us?”

  “I don’t see how,” he answered. “What we had was a minor factory defect, but one with spectacular results. And we just sort of helped it along.”

  “You sabotaged all those Army trucks?” Ron said incredulously. “You call that minor, and you think they can’t trace it?”


  Thad nodded again, smiling. “On the newest engine model, the fuel control unit casing is made of plastic. Plastic isn’t conductive, so they had to run a ground wire to the frame. And through some kind of oversight or parts shortage, they attached the ground with a normal nut, not a vibration-proof locknut. So, eventually it works lose and the controller loses its ground reference. Then, for whatever reason, that causes it to inject fuel at max flow rate. Without the fuel regulated properly, the engine over-revs, overheats, and eventually seizes up and destroys itself. There’s no easy way to stop it.” He stopped and frowned. “Actually, tightening the ground would probably stop it, but nobody wants to get that close when it happens. Anyway, we’ve been sending some men out at night. It takes about a minute to crawl under the truck, loosen that nut a bit, and get away. It’s so easy to do to the trucks that are nowhere near slaves, Avennia doesn’t even guard them. And just like that, the failure rate suddenly goes way up.” He smirked.

  Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “So how does this help us? The government has asked us to begin shipping some of their supplies around while they wait for the recall fix, and we don’t have enough trucks or personnel! Meanwhile, we’ve lost several of our own trucks to the same failure, but the factory won’t help us until all the government’s trucks have been through the system!” His voice was beginning to sound exhasperated. “The Foundation’s own logistics train is going to fall behind very quickly, and the government is not going to be happy when we can’t keep up!”

  “Perfect. You see, Avennia has placed their logistics in our hands.”

  “But how does that help us?” Ron repeated.

  “Simple. Avennia’s forces outnumber ours by a huge margin. Their training is better, their equipment is better, and their numbers are better, so we can never beat them in a fair fight. So we have to play dirty. The best way to do that is to strike their logistics. If they can’t get supplies to their soldiers, or they can’t even move their soldiers around, then many of them won’t even be able to fight us when the time comes.” He turned to Rhena. “With your approval, then, I’d like to move on to the next stage of the plan.”

  Rhena tightened her face and nodded solemnly. “Go ahead. The Council has already approved it. As for you, Ron, I need you to redouble your efforts. Hire up, pull extra shifts, get old trucks out of storage. Whatever you can do, to make this look good.” She shot a glance at Thad. “Chad and Culper will soon have some special assignments for you. Please do whatever you can to accommodate them.”

  Chapter 17

  After a quick check to make sure the fuel controller’s ground connection was tight, as well as the relay he’d added to it, Thaddeus settled into the truck’s cab and started the engine. A moment later, the passenger door opened and Ria climbed in. She briefly met his eyes and smiled nervously. “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  He nodded, hiding his own reservations. “Of course. And if you’re that worried, you don’t have to come along.”

  “Yes I do,” she countered. “Besides, if it all goes wrong I want to be there with you.”

  He frowned slightly. “Noble, but your sacrifice would be senseless if things get that bad.” He shuddered as he remembered how many times he’d watched Avennian Army soldiers gun down slaves trying to escape rather than spend the minimal effort to run them down and recapture them. So what would their fate be if they were caught trying to steal from the regime?

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said. “I know Ailon, ARF, and the Avennians way better than you. I might be able to talk us out of whatever the situation is. Try to pass it off as an honest mistake.”

  “Oh.” He hadn’t thought of that.

  He slipped the truck into gear, navigated his way through the parking lot full of the Foundation’s logistics vehicles, and turned onto the main road. “Besides,” she said, “you clearly need a navigator. You should have turned left there, not right.”

  “Oh,” he said again as he started looking for a place to turn around.

  Half an hour later, they were pulling into a receiving area in the Orent Spaceport. After a brief chat with an Army logistics officer, he backed the large truck up to a loading dock and waited. He and Ria exchanged nervous glances as the dock workers packed the cargo bed full of boxes.

  Their nervous glances became more worried when four armed soldiers climbed into the cab and sat in the passenger seats behind them. “Let me handle this,” Ria silently mouthed. “Um,” she started, “we were told we were only hauling cargo, not passengers?”

  One of the soldiers laughed slightly. “We’re coming along to make sure it’s delivered properly.” His voice sobered up. “Not that you’d be stupid enough to try anything,” he added, his warning sounding very nonchalant.

  “No, of course not,” Ria said with a forced smile. “Hey, we get paid per load. The Army and the Foundation worked out a pretty good deal, if you ask me.”

  The soldier snorted in contempt. “Stupid waste of money if you ask me. You free Ailonians aren’t worth paying. You ought to be slaves, all of you!” And then all conversation ceased.

  “What do we do?” Ria mouthed.

  Thad frowned in return. “Wait here,” he mouthed back. Then he opened his door. “Sorry to delay,” he said loudly, “but I really have to use the restroom. Way too much caf.”

  One of the soldiers checked the time and grunted. “Fine, but you have two minutes.”

  ***

  Jason’s heart began to race as he donned his orange ARF jacket and sped away from the headquarters in one of their compact electric cars. His mind ran over the call he’d just received from Chad, over and over again and wondering if this was really the best way to handle their situation. Part of him thought they should just call off the mission. It seemed too risky. Chad’s voice had seemed mostly calm and collected, but there’d been a hint of panic in his words, some franticness in the orders he’d given Jason.

  Several minutes later, he arrived at a local fueling station. He parked at a pump, connected the hydrogen hose that ran to the vehicle’s fuel cell, and waited nervously.

  The truck arrived shortly afterwards, parking next to a pump not far from Jason’s car. It was one of the larger models in the ARF logistics fleet, with a three-row, six-seat cab and a cargo box that could carry several tonnes. And in that cargo box, Jaron thought nervously, were hundreds of brand-new laser carbines which had just arrived on-world, on their way to secure storage at an Avennian Army storage depot near their main garrison. It was somewhat strange that they’d trust the Foundation to ship their cargo, but with all the engine failures the regime didn’t have much choice.

  In the front seat sat Chad Messier and Ria Parri, who fully intended to steal the weapons.

  But in the truck’s back seats sat four Army soldiers.

  Chad and Ria weren’t supposed to know that they were hauling weapons for the Army. But the new intelligence network that Chad had helped set up was finding out all kinds of interesting things, and leadership had decided it was time to begin covertly sapping the regime’s logistics to build up some more supplies for the Rebels, to expand upon everything they’d secretly stockpiled over the past few years.

  He watched nervously as Chad left the cab and began refueling the truck from the heavy fuel oil pumps. Two of the soldiers stepped out to guard the vehicle. They looked distinctly annoyed at the delay, but forgetting to top off the truck’s fuel supply before parking it the night before had been an intentional mistake on the ARF’s part.

  Jason slipped out of his orange jacket, leaving it in the driver’s seat as he left the vehicle. His heart pounded within him and he began to sweat, wondering if he could actually do this. As he approached the fueling station’s convenience shop, he watched another ARF truck arrive. It was a bit smaller than the one Chad was driving. Its driver backed it into position behind the first truck so their back ends faced each other. Then the driver stepped out and awkwardly snaked a fuel hose around to the other s
ide of the truck.

  Jason gulped as he walked across the lot. Everything was in position, and now it was all up to him. He’d always thought he would be mentally prepared to act when the war started again. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

  He nervously walked into the shop, followed shortly by Chad. And one of the soldiers.

  He and Chad avoided eye contact. His heart was thumping so hard he thought it would explode. One of the soldiers was in the building with him! Armed! Their new plan wasn’t going to work after all. Somehow, he had to distract all four soldiers long enough for the crew in the other truck to move the weapons.

  And he had to do that without getting shot himself.

  Originally, Chad had suggested Jason mug the shop clerk in a very noisy manner, in hopes of distracting the truck’s escort. But he couldn’t mug the clerk with an Avennian Army soldier standing right there. That would be suicide.

  He looked around at the shop, looking for alternatives, something that would preoccupy the soldiers yet give him time to escape.

  And then he saw it.

  A second soldier walked into the building. And that was his moment to act. All eyes were nervously watching the Avennian Army soldiers, leaving him completely forgotten for the moment. He quickly walked down an aisle of products and grabbed several bottles of some kind of fuel additive or cleaner from a shelf, making sure to grab the ones with the most flammable warnings on them, and ducked into the men’s restroom in the back of the shop.

  His mouth became dry as he started to work. He opened the bottles and poured them out, splashing every surface he could: the unpainted paper-lined sheetrock walls, the floor, the toilet itself. He squirted some up onto the ceiling tiles, which readily soaked it up. He stopped up the sink and poured an entire bottle in. Then he poured another entire bottle into the trash can. After that, he grabbed several wads of paper towels, soaked them in the sink, and stuffed them into the blower port on the hot air hand dryer. And finally, just to make sure, he poured his last remaining bottle of additive into all the vents of the hand dryer.