The Father Unbound

by Frank Kennedy

  The suit, their sole objective on this mission, was the lynchpin to many of Hadeed’s long-range plans. He would have preferred to buy one off the black market – or at least a schematic of its design – but those treasures were too closely guarded. They had no hope of killing peacekeepers with flashpegs from their conventional rifles, and their stock of more powerful weaponry was limited at best. Hadeed agreed to Damon’s request and instituted the backup plan. Four warriors gathered up the hulking man-boy and carried him to the back room, where they dropped him through a hole in the floor to a tunnel below. The tunnel, more than two years in the making, would take them to a waiting Tumbler. As long as they stayed within the distortion bubble, the peacekeepers would not be able to track them.

  Adair turned to Hadeed. “Honor, when they discover he’s missing …”

  Hadeed nodded. “I know. But we have no choice. If we cannot kill them, we cannot defeat them. I …” The thought of what might come next for the nomads cooked his blood – especially if the longstanding rumors were true – and Hadeed did not want to show hesitation or timidity before his people. He turned to Willem. “We’re not ready to fight. We knew some would be caught in the middle.”

  Willem nodded. “You need not explain, Honor. Casualties of war are inevitable.”

  “At least their children will serve a greater cause.”

  They spoke no more of this, gathered their equipment – including the disabled CV uplink station – and dropped into the tunnel. They sealed the floor hatch and attached a booby trap of poison gas beneath it. They were more than a kilometer from the enclave before another peacekeeper checked in on his comrade. They were fifteen kilometers south before the squadron discovered the hatch and barely escaped the booby trap. They were fifty kilometers south when the irate peacekeepers realized these nomads were not going to provide information and that all this must have been a ruse. They were eighty kilometers south when Carrier Command issued a new order; the true Matriarch was taken aboard the Scram for additional interrogation, and the remaining nomads were subject to a one-word directive: Scorch.

  In the hours after their return to the Lucian Wash, Hadeed’s disciples studied the armor with all the analytical equipment at their disposal. They encouraged the peacekeeper, now alert but chained to a cave wall, to give up the encryption code. He said nothing, even refused their offer of water. Damon suggested that once the suit was removed, he and his team might need months to study the impregnable fabric and develop an effective countermeasure. Hadeed did not mind as long as the results were productive. His other efforts across Hiebimini were bearing fruit but still needed time to reach attack-ready status.

  “How do you find such patience?” Damon asked him while on a stroll one day.

  “Them.” Hadeed pointed ahead to his sons, six-year-old Faisel Abraham and three-year-old Fayed Omar. The boys played catch with a haepong ball. “I love them, Damon. I never would have thought I could care so much.”

  “And they deserve to live in true freedom, Honor.”

  “Yes, of course. But it’s more than that. If not for them, I might have ordered us to move too quickly, before everything was in place. Seeing Abraham and Omar reminds me of what we stand to lose. If our war fails, we die, but I will not allow them to suffer the same. I can accept that fate. If I am irresponsible, then I am no better than Azir was toward me.”

  “Azir. Yes. All our fathers, for that matter. At least our children will never have to face the burden of a Matriarch.”

  Hadeed laughed. “Especially one named Baqqari Adair.”

  They reminisced with good humor over the tensions that had flared in the months after Abraham’s birth when Adair pressed her case to become Matriarch of Hadeed’s new clan. She insisted that a thousand years of tradition could not simply be set aside, that as the mother of the clan leader’s son, she was in line to be Matriarch. Hadeed thought the matter would be resolved quietly, but he soon discovered Adair had allies. Some followers, although fiercely loyal to Hadeed and willing to die for his cause, were uneasy about eliminating a clan role that had provided stability for so long. They suggested he give Adair the title, even if it was only ceremonial. Perhaps other Hiebim who were wavering in their support of Hadeed’s cause would be more likely to join. Hadeed bought none of the arguments, reiterated his desire to eliminate the Matriarchy planet-wide, and contemplated killing Adair.

  Yet one day, as he had his first true dialogue with Abraham about why they lived in isolation, Hadeed stumbled upon the perfect compromise and a new hope for his people. He met with his closest generals and worked out the details, mapping the planet for potential targets. When the feasibility was clear, he sat down with Adair and offered her a new role.

  “You can never be Matriarch,” he told her, “but you can be mother to our people as I am father. You can train all our future sons and daughters, be the first to shape their minds to our doctrine, the first to prepare them to become warriors of the liberation.”

  “Honor,” she said, confused. “I gave you a son, and I’ll give you another if you desire. But we have no other children here to teach.”

  “Not yet,” he said with a smile. “But we will soon.”

  Indeed, within the first six months, Hadeed’s warriors brought thirty boys and girls, from ages five to thirteen, to the Lucian Wash. They came from many continents, most of them stolen during nighttime raids on nomads or whisked away by sleeper agents in proper clans. Hadeed and his generals took care to distribute the kidnappings across the planet in order not to draw attention too heavily on any particular region. The children were shown the stark geography of the wash and told they would not survive the elements should they try to escape. They were also told of the great purpose they would one day serve; how they would rise above the petty concerns of their pointless former existence and lead all the Hiebim people to glory.

  Adair took charge of the indoctrination. The children spent their days and nights in a single cave together, studying from Hadeed’s manifesto, praising his name and describing how they would spill the blood of every Chancellor infecting their home world. Within three months, the older children – especially the boys – were allowed outside the cave to take part in physical indoctrination. They faced the Passage of Summit long before a clan would ever have permitted it. Within six months, almost all were fully cleansed of their past, their heads were shaved, and the oldest began field training as warriors. For the few who did not pass muster, Adair was given free reign to punish as she saw fit. She lost none of her zeal even as she carried Omar to term. When she learned of the plan to steal a peacekeeper bodysuit, and the potential for adding to her class roster – she insisted on posing as a Matriarch.

  Three days after the raid on the nomads, Damon came to Hadeed with great news: They had unlocked the encryption. The bodysuit of armor was removed. Willem sent along a question: How should they dispose of the peacekeeper?

  The very question spurred Hadeed in an unexpected direction. He massaged his beard, which fell below his neckline, and said this was the perfect opportunity to lend his teaching skills to the indoctrination of the new arrivals. He passed word for all the children under Adair’s tutelage to be moved to the cave where the peacekeeper was being held. In addition, he expected to see his generals present and wanted this session to be recorded on vididrone. On the way out of his lair, he turned to Damon.

  “Find Abraham,” Hadeed said. “He needs to see this. And bring your CV. They all need to know how it ended.”

  The prisoner’s cave was narrow but brightly lit. The five most recent young captives were arranged on the gritty floor but a few feet in front of the peacekeeper. The other children filed in behind. The generals and Damon took their place just inside the entrance. Hadeed entered last, and he held a spelling blade in his right hand.

  The man-boy was shackled to the cave wall with bonding straps that a human twice his size could not hope to break. His arms were stretched perpendicular to his body, as if to form a
cross, and his legs were spread, his feet immobile and neither touching the floor. This genetically-manipulated goliath was naked but for a support device over his genitals. His hair was bleached and disheveled. His emerald-blue eyes showed defiance beneath long lashes. His eyes moved rapidly across the crowd as if he knew he were the star attraction of a freak show.

  Hadeed stepped carefully over and through the youngest recruits, stroked his beard as he scanned the peacekeeper, and turned to his disciples.

  “This is what we fear,” he said matter-of-factly. “This. A monster? An abomination? The seed of our nightmares? No.” He raised his blade and poked at the soldier’s chest, enough to draw a trickle of blood. “A man. And barely one at that. See how he bleeds? He is flesh. No more. No less. The only difference between us and them is muscle mass.”

  Hadeed nodded at the peacekeeper in admiration. “And a remarkable mass it is. You are what? Fifteen? Sixteen?”

  The peacekeeper sneered but would not answer.

  “No matter.” He paused. “I have told many of you the story of the day my gene-father was murdered. For the new ones,” he looked to the terrified children, “I will summarize. Perversions like this … thing … murdered Trayem Azir but tried to create the illusion of a reprisal killing by another clan. Four of them stood over Azir’s body that morning, and they mocked me. There was one in particular, one with a beard uncommonly thick for a man of his age, who suggested that Azir deserved his fate. I stood up to him that morning. Looked each of them in the eyes and vowed I would kill them all one day. Naturally, they laughed. I had not yet come of age, and here I was threatening to kill peacekeepers. Can you imagine? What incredible audacity. What stupidity.”

  Hadeed turned his eyes toward the prisoner for a glance and, as expected, saw the man-boy’s sneer change to a smirk.

  “Even now they laugh. See him? He knows he cannot escape, that we have defeated him, fooled the rest of his squadron, and still he mocks us. To his credit, he does no differently than any peacekeeper who might be in his place. As with all vermin, they think with one mind. Isn’t that correct, Peacekeeper? Do you have a name?”

  The man-boy shifted uneasily in the straps and grunted.

  “Cud!” The peacekeeper spat as he uttered the profanity, but his saliva missed its target.

  “There now,” Hadeed said. “Your voice hasn’t betrayed you. Tell our young ones what you think of them, Peacekeeper.”

  “Cudfrucking indigos,” he snarled. “You think all this makes any difference?”

  Hadeed chuckled. “ ‘Indigos’? Interesting. Haven’t heard that one before. I’m used to words such as ‘clay-digger,’ ‘slag,’ or ‘Hiebangers.’ What other fond nicknames do the Chancellors have for us?”

  “You’re a cudfrucking lunatic. All of you are. Hiding out in caves, pretending you can stand up to the Carriers. Our commanders told us you people had strange ways of proving your deficiencies, but they never said you would go this far.” Again, he spat at Hadeed.

  “You see, my friends? Remarkable defiance. I’m sure he would also tell us how he’s not afraid to die and how his entire battalion is no doubt scouring the continent for him.”

  The man-boy gritted his teeth. “Even if you kill me,” he grunted, “they’ll find this camp and burn all you filth alive.”

  “They’ll do neither.” Hadeed knelt before the children. “I realize these past few days have been difficult for you. We took you from your enclave in the middle of the night. But I want you to consider how fortunate you are.” He pointed over his shoulder toward the prisoner. “You are beginning a special path. One day, you will kill his kind and evict them from this planet. Look at him closely, children. Look at the tone of his skin. His hair. He is not Hiebim. He is barely human. If given the order, he would kill all of you without hesitation or reason. This is who the Chancellors are. They send their own children to our sovereign world to oppress us, to condemn us to lifetimes of misery, and to kill us whenever the whim strikes their fancy.”

  “You’re more than a lunatic,” the soldier grunted. “You’re a liar. You have no right to brainwash these children. We came to their enclave to help. We brought food and medicine. What did you bring? Those dead men in the street. At your hand?”

  Hadeed turned to Damon and motioned his aide forward.

  “Play it,” he ordered.

  The holocube revealed a long-lens view of what used to be a small enclave on the Plains of Imadi. Structures lay crumpled amid a few flames and much smoke. Hadeed faced his people.

  “We recorded this one day after we left the enclave. Zoom in, Damon. As you will now see, those small black lumps in the center are the remains of Hiebim. They were executed by things like this,” he pointed to the peacekeeper. “Thirty Hiebim men and women slaughtered because they refused to collaborate. We embarrassed the Chancellors, so these things were given orders by their commanders to wipe out the enclave. Burn everything.” As the children in the front row began to whimper, Hadeed looked to his disciples. “Whatever crimes we may commit in pursuit of freedom will never match the scope of their savagery.”

  The peacekeeper insisted these images were faked, but Hadeed would have none of it.

  “This is what you do to us for sport. You find the most helpless and defenseless, and you eliminate the burden with your blast rifles and incendiaries. There have always been rumors, questions about disappearances. Most of our people – so blind – believed those who went away chose to become nomads. Off the register, as the Chancellors call it. But the truth is something you people will never admit. I dare say they have already eliminated any record of your mission. Any record of you.”

  The peacekeeper fought his bonding straps as the cave grew more raucous, the children calling out in hysterics for their parents. The peacekeeper stared down Hadeed.

  “How dare you accuse us of any crimes, when you steal children and make them join your band of lunatics?”

  “Had we not taken these children,” Hadeed said, “they would lie in ashes today, and the next dust storm would blow away their remains. We protect them, Peacekeeper. We give them a future.” He turned to the captive children. “When you dry your tears, I want you to remember what you have seen here today. Your parents are dead. Your clan is gone. Turn your heart to stone and make the rest of your life about revenge. His kind will be slaughtered someday.”

  Damon ended the CV recording. Hadeed stared into the angry, vengeful eyes of his generals and nodded. Without turning around to face the prisoner, he spoke.

  “Every man, woman and child in this cave wants your flesh, Peacekeeper. I could turn them loose, but I won’t.” He swooped around and smiled at the prisoner. “That would be a gift. A moment of pain and then your freedom. No, Peacekeeper. You won’t die today. You won’t die this year. Instead, you will remain in those straps, where you will be fed once a day. But for every waking moment, you will hear my voice. Oh, yes. You can’t escape me. I recently recorded my manifesto. We will play it for you. Over and over and over.” He tapped the spelling blade against the man-boy’s pectorals. “And one day, you will tell us your name and rank, the names of your squadron and battalion leaders, the Carrier from which you were dispatched. You will provide us with intelligence about peacekeeper operations. And you, Peacekeeper, will do all this willingly.”

  “Never,” spat the prisoner.

  “You will do it because one day we will set this planet afire. On that day, you will be our brother.” Hadeed saw something new in the prisoner’s eyes, confusion and genuine fear. The warrior who believed in his ultimate superiority never expected this turn of events. “Goodbye, Brother.”

  Hadeed’s disciples followed him from the cave, ignoring the prisoner’s shouts and curses. Hadeed could see it in their eyes: They understood his sudden turn of magnanimity. They saw the genius in his actions, and they were more committed than ever. The next piece was in place. Once they understood the secrets of the body armor, all else would open up to them.

/>   Hadeed was in an especially playful mood. He called Abraham to his side.

  “Find Omar,” he told his first-born. “We should play catch. And then, Abraham, I will teach you how to use a haepong stick.”

  NINETEEN

  FRUITION

  SY 5309

  WHEN WE CONSIDER THE IDEA OF REVOLUTION, we are confronted with obstacles. The first of them is the entrenchment of the Chancellor bureaucracy. Our oppressors have created a brilliant, even labyrinthine noose inside which we are all held captive. We are unable to diagnose or lay blame to any specific individuals or legislative body because, in truth, there is no central authority. The colonial Sanctums are semi-autonomous playgrounds for corrupt Chancellors who amass great personal wealth. They are in direct collaboration with supremacist Carrier Commanders who order their battalions of genetic abominations to suppress any sovereign human whose actions may interfere with the acquisition of that wealth. They are further buttressed by the Earth Sanctums and the oversight corporations, all of which claim to have distinct missions but, not surprisingly, are never in discord on matters of colonial suppression. All these entities in turn maintain relationships with sovereign ethnics through the principle of equivocation. Therefore, a revolutionist is faced with an immediate dilemma: Whom should he remove from power? What tyrant must be shot? Whom should he call to account?

  Hadeed loved hearing his own voice, especially when he read from the book that would assure his immortality and, he hoped, would light a fire throughout the Collectorate. He especially loved reading to Abraham. Even though the boy with curly black hair and brown eyes was now eight and had twice read his father’s manifesto Testament to Truth, Hadeed took time to reflect upon certain passages, to offer additional analysis reserved only for his son. They sat together along a ridge above where Hadeed’s disciples were conducting combat training, and a loaded blast rifle lay between them.