The look on Barnes’ face immediately became that of someone who had just struck gold. His neck was flushed, his posture wobbly. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his face. He stepped forward.
“Where are the rest of-” he began to ask, but just as he got within range, 49 snapped the steel manacles behind him and brought his hands around in a lightning-fast blur of silver. He leaned in just a bit, and was able to grab each of the men’s rifles. Before they could react, the powerful android had crushed both of the weapon’s receivers and tossed them aside.
Kinsey tried to run first and 49 brought him down with a quick backhand. The strike hit him just upside the head and as the man crumpled, Barnes lunged backward, cleared his holster, and tried to bring his sidearm up. He wasn’t fast enough.
In a split-second, 49 rushed forward and grabbed the pistol from the man’s hand. He squeezed again, crushing the weapon. This time however, the sound of snapping bones pierced the air as the man’s fingers broke and came apart in the android’s grip. The soldier opened his mouth to scream, but before he could, 49 landed a blow to the right side of the man’s head and he dropped unconscious to the ground to join his friend.
49 looked around. The tight forest trail stood still and empty around him, the hidden jungle creatures holding their breath in silence. There was no one else in the area.
After dragging the two unconscious bodies out of sight, 49 began to run toward the prisoner processing facility.
While 49 took down his two captors, Ritz was planning his own escape. There wasn’t much he could do from inside the cage, even if he managed to free his hands out from behind him. The crucial point would occur the next time the soldiers opened the gate. He was fairly certain he could melt the plastic zip-tie by pressing it against the fence behind him. It would hurt like hell and he’d probably fry all of the nerves in his hand, but if the small shocks the other prisoners were getting were any indication, the voltage wouldn’t be enough to knock him down.
From there, he’d rush the guard, grab him, and use him as a human shield while he pulled the man’s sidearm from his holster. The guard would probably have his rifle shouldered over his back, and he’d be able to hand that off to King while the rest of the prisoners filtered out behind him.
King would be the problem here. Byzzie and Raquel would hesitate but they’d do the right thing in the end. They’d run into the woods and escape while Ritz stayed behind. It’d be a tough decision but there could be no second-guessing with Byzzie’s family on the line. They’d get one shot at this.
However, with how hard King had taken Hector’s death, there was no telling how he would react. Hector, Ritz, and King had been the core members of the Leopold. Before Byzzie or the Marauders or anyone else, there had been the three of them. Now with Hector gone, King would be loath to abandon his last real friend in the world.
He would have to deal with it though. This was the situation and there was nothing they could do to change it. The group that would be escaping stood the best chance with King alongside them. He was the most seasoned of the crew, even more than Ritz, and his knowledge and experience would be invaluable.
Ritz had just begun to consider what it would mean for King to stay with him—to die with him, most likely—when a trio of soldiers rounded the corner, dragging a young man by the hair.
The prisoner was more of a boy than a man, and judging by the expression on the soldiers’ faces, it was obvious that he had already been a handful. The boy screamed and kicked his legs as he was dragged, his hands clamped tightly around the soldier’s grip on his hair. He was bleeding from his forehead, and it was hard to tell if it was because of how he was being dragged or if he had already been cracked by the butt of a rifle.
There were three soldiers in all: the one dragging him and two others walking behind with their guns trained on the prisoner.
“Marcel!” shouted a woman behind Ritz. The noise was startling and Ritz turned to see the look of anguish on the woman’s face. She tried to dart forward, but only ended up sending a number of other prisoners—including Ritz—bouncing and sparking off of the fences.
As he recovered, the back of his arms tingling where they had been fried, Ritz saw the grizzled grey-haired man wrap his arms around the woman. At first, he thought it might be to keep her from repeating her actions, but then Ritz saw the look of pain on her face mirrored on his, and it became obvious that the young man was their son.
When the trio of soldiers made it to the gate where Ritz and the others were being held, the woman’s son was hurled into the dirt by the man dragging him. He then immediately sprung up and charged the three men, only to be clobbered across the face by one of the men’s rifles. The woman behind Ritz sobbed, but remained still.
“Don’t hurt him,” the grey-haired man begged. “Just throw him in here and he won’t bother you anymore.”
“I’m not going in a fucking cage,” the kid spat through his bleeding mouth. “I said ‘never’ and I mean it.”
“Stop it, Marcel” the grey-haired man snarled. “Grow up. I don’t care what those-” The man stopped himself and changed tactics. “Just please, join your mother and me. This will all be sorted out.”
Never accept a cage, Ritz thought to himself. That was what the boy had been referring to. It was the motto of the militant separatist group named Kingsbane, and he prayed that the other soldiers hadn’t caught the reference, because if they had, then Marcel would be executed right here.
“There is no greater prison than your own mind,” Ritz cut in and saw the kid stop. He turned and looked at him, assessing.
Ritz tried to project his greatest air of authority. It was clear that Marcel had recognized the quote. It was one commonly said by members of Kingsbane, but far lesser known to the public. He had taken a chance by using it, but judging by the looks on the soldier’s faces they didn’t recognize it for what it was. Marcel, on the other hand, did, and that was what was important.
If Ritz could somehow convince the young man that he was a part of Kingsbane—he actually had been at one time, before he could no longer stomach their methods—then he might just be able to show the kid that there was no shame in refusing to die a pointless death.
The look on the young man’s face began to soften, and Ritz almost felt the woman at his back tense with hope—hope that her son might actually listen to reason. Hope that she wouldn’t have to see him die today.
“Get the fuck in there,” yelled the man who had been dragging him, drawing a black automatic pistol from his holster. The soldier used it to backhand Marcel across the face. Blood sprayed as the front sight carved a deep groove in his cheek. The kid staggered and then bounced off of the fence with a loud crack of electricity.
A scream of sheer guttural rage ripped out of Marcel’s throat, and then he threw himself at the soldier who had struck him. The soldier tried to strike him again, but this time Marcel caught the gun in his hands and tried wrenching it out.
“Drop it!” One of the other soldiers yelled as he raised his rifle. The two struggling men fought lurching from side to side, each of them fighting for control of the gun. Marcel leaned back on his right leg and tried to throw his attacker into the electric fence but the man was too big. Instead, the soldier reversed the maneuver and threw Marcel. Marcel, for his part, managed to maintain his grip on the soldier’s hand and dragged him back with him. Electricity crackled and spat as the two men fried on the fence, the gun falling to the ground.
Marcel was the first one back up, but before he could do anything else, one of the soldiers behind him fired a single shot through his right thigh.
A cry of pain pierced the air, combined with twin cries of anguish from his parents. Ritz felt his stomach drop as he looked on helplessly.
The kid had fallen to his knees and remained there as the soldier who had fired the shot came up behind him and grabbed him by the hair again.
“No,” said the leader, wiping his mouth. Anger blazed in his eyes. �
�Step back.”
The other soldier hesitated for only a second and then did as he was told. Ritz saw what was coming and immediately began trying to find a way to stop it.
“What was that about cages you said earlier?” the soldier said. “You know, we have a ‘shoot on-site’ order for any self-proclaimed members of known terrorist organizations.” He bent down and picked up his fallen sidearm, shaking the dust off of it.
He was close, Ritz thought to himself, but was he close enough? There was an electrified post on the left side of the gate door and that would be the key. The holes in the fence itself were too small, but the supporting beams that stood at each corner and on either side of the gate had just enough room between them and the wire to fit his hands. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to take the shock for that long though. Only one way to find out.
He just hoped he was doing the right thing.
The soldier raised the barrel of his weapon to the kid’s face, and Ritz heard the woman behind him wail. Before he could pull the trigger however, Ritz deftly hopped into the air, swinging his bound wrists underneath him and bringing them out in front. It was a maneuver he had had to practice in his short time in Kingsbane, but he had never forgotten it. He was even lucky enough to avoid touching the fence itself, though he did knock into some people behind him and heard a few cries from the back as the motion rippled through the crowd and some of the prisoners were forced into the fence.
By that time however, Ritz had already thrust his hands against the electrified post, melting the zip-ties and immediately thrusting his hands through. The electricity burned his skin and coursed through him. He could already feel the dexterity leaving his fingers, but all he needed to do was clamp down.
His sudden movement had been enough to faze the soldiers and they had already begun to turn their heads toward him by the time he was pressing his wrists against the post. This delay gave the boy just enough time to fall sideways to the ground, effectively saving his life.
With a herculean effort, Ritz clamped his hands down on the soldier’s forearm, sending at least 1,000 volts of electricity into his body. The gun cracked in his hand as he involuntarily fired and, with a final burst of strength, Ritz pulled the man into the electric fence, both of their faces mashing against the wire.
It felt like he was being simultaneously frozen and lit on fire. Electricity surged through him, smoke filling the air along with a number of screams. It wasn’t exactly how Ritz had intended on going out and this definitely didn’t help the Jackson family or his crew. But he couldn’t take it—couldn’t stand watching that boy be executed right here in front of his family.
When Ritz had been a child he had experienced something similar, and it had warped him for the rest of his life. Shaped him and spurred him with anger. In a single act, he had lost his home and his family and his faith. The boy he had been was effectively destroyed. So however calculated his original plans of escape had been, as soon as the man had raised the gun to that boy’s head, Ritz had been damned to this path of action.
The Jackson family was doomed. The Leopold was doomed. Their entire mission was doomed, but at least he could wrap this man in an embrace and use his hatred to literally burn the life from his body. Stars and darkness began to climb up into his vision and, in those fleeting seconds, he just hoped that the boy would be able to escape in the confusion. He hoped that somehow, he would buy him just enough time to escape into the woods.
He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t.
Raquel watched in horror as the entire sequence of events took place. The boy being dragged into view by his hair. The captain electrocuting the man on the fence along with himself. All of it. She wanted to grab Ritz herself and yank him away. Almost did, actually, but something stopped her. This was his decision, and what would happen if she intervened?
Most likely: the soldier would live and Ritz would be shot on the spot. It would be worthless. The entire thing—the crew, the invasion, her life—it would all be worthless. The crushing feeling of helplessness overwhelmed her, and then it doubled when she watched the boy die.
In the confusion, he had tried scrabbling away on his hands and knees. It may have even worked if the soldiers had been different people—if they had focused more on freeing their leader than taking care of the boy. But they weren’t.
The one who had shot the boy in the leg quickly stepped forward as he was crawling away, booted him in the side, and then fired a quick burst from his energy rifle into his back. The boy’s mother was just to Raquel’s left, and she let out a heart-wrenching scream. She flew into motion, trying to push her way forward. Frightened people around her hopped and jostled, trying to stay still but it was in vain. Soon enough, the entire cell of prisoners was rocking back and forth to the sound of people sparking off of the fences.
As this was happening, the other soldier carefully kicked his leader away from the fence and once he was clear, the man raised his rifle and fired.
At first, Raquel wasn’t sure what had happened.
The first thing she saw was the flash of gunfire, followed by Ritz collapsing sideways onto the ground. Raquel’s heart froze in her chest, and that was when she noticed two other things. It had become quiet and there was something wet and warm running down her face.
Slowly, almost as if in a trance, Raquel reached up to touch the left side of her cheek.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she acknowledged King and Byzzie pushing their way through the crowd to get to their captain. She acknowledged them rolling him over and the look on Byzzie’s face as she searched for a pulse, King already stripping off his shirt to use as a bandage to staunch the bleeding. She saw all of this, and somewhere deep inside of her, she felt a small spark of hope.
All of that was pushed to the background however. All Raquel could focus on at the moment was the bits of blood and bone and brain matter on the side of her face. And the fact that the screaming beside her had abruptly ceased.
8
Counting Down
The building where they were processing prisoners was little more than a small three-room outbuilding used to house workers for a nearby power plant. There were two guards posted out front and it was obvious from the noise coming from within that there were far more people inside than the building was designed to hold.
49 watched from behind a tree for a few minutes, hoping that the black robe he was wearing was doing enough to obscure whatever glow the transformed Light Core inside of him might be giving off. It was still broad daylight, so he certainly fared better than if he had tried walking around in the pitch black, but he didn’t want to take too many chances. What he needed right now was information and the sooner he could get it, the better.
His chance came relatively soon when the front door swung open to reveal what looked to be a rear admiral, judging by her uniform. The woman was tall with a large frame and a rigid face that looked as if it could have been carved from stone. What was most concerning, however, was how she flexed her right hand and removed a pair of brass knuckles to wipe away a small spatter of blood from her bruised hand.
In a single moment, 49 reassessed the information he had. This prisoner processing center wasn’t a center to sort out anomalies and diplomats. This was an interrogation room and the kind of “processing” they were likely doing inside involved a lot fewer questions and a lot more broken bones.
The PUC had come into power long after 49 had disappeared into the Void onboard the Mary, but from what he had gathered from Ritz and the others, places like this existed everywhere in PUC controlled space. And while they may not have been a secret, they also weren’t exactly brought up in campaign speeches either. This was just one more thing to add into 49’s assessment of the PUC’s attack on Desia and the conclusion he came to wasn’t a pretty one.
They were obviously here for a singular purpose and whatever it was, they weren’t planning on leaving any time soon. This was no scouting mission on the Desian capital or slash and
burn hunt for militia groups. This was an invasion and unless they were thrown out, the PUC would own this entire planet.
The admiral chatted with the guards for a few seconds, lighting a cigarette as she spoke. The two men next to her looked stiff, as if they were engaging with her as minimally as possible. She was either used to it or didn’t care, however, because she continued on as if they weren’t terrified to misstep and she eventually finished her cigarette, ground it out in the dirt beneath her heel, and then turned to walk back inside.
49 sprang into motion and didn’t slow down until three people were unconscious and he was a mile away.
Vanessa rode to the Light Wire between two heavily armed soldiers in the back seat of a large all-terrain vehicle. She couldn’t tell how long the convoy was, but it looked like there was a CSDV, or Combat Synthetic Deployment Vehicle, traveling down the thin paved road directly in front of them.
She was outnumbered and outgunned to the point where something like escape was about as likely as a giant ice cream cone falling out of the sky to crush whatever vehicle Minister Clark was traveling in. She worked through it in her head and then worked through it again. She was traveling to the Light Wire where they’d probably be setting up television crews at that very moment. They’d either make her watch and smile while Clark threw the switch or make her do it herself. Then she’d have to look into the cameras and compromise every value she’d ever held.
Was it worth it? She would be saving her daughter’s future, but the question wasn’t simple for her. She’d lived and breathed Desia her entire life—the air, the mishmash of cultures, the people, all of it—and while her gut reaction was to save her daughter at all costs, some part of her resisted it. She couldn’t just betray all of these people—couldn’t get up there and effectively obliterate their faith in her and everything she stood for in a single broadcast.
Shattered Light Page 9
