Authors: Gun Brooke
“Call me Kellen. I doubt if you’ve heard of me, but I’ve been privy to this type of information. It’s an honor to meet you, Professor O’Pedge.”
“Professor...” The forlorn tone of voice in Mandira’s voice soon changed into angry exasperation. “I won’t have much use for the title once we’re on Kovos. I won’t last long. From what I’ve heard, people turn into animals quickly once they’re left to their own devices up there. They fight to the death for scraps of food.”
Doc shook his head. “Don’t believe the worst. After all, it’s mostly Gantharian rebels, or other dissidents, up there. They’re on our side.”
“They’re on their own side,” Mandira said, now calm. “Who can blame them? If they’re strong enough to make it, they’ve been forgotten up there for years on end. Why would they care about us? We’re just more people to fight over food with.”
“True,” Kellen said, “but a lot can happen when new groups of less-worn-down people arrive.”
“Look around,” Mandira said, her voice still kind. “Do these people seem
less
indoctrinated?”
Kellen did as suggested. Surveying the crowd, she automatically wrapped her arms closer around Sarambol’s slumped form. The people nearest them stayed away from their corner only because Doc stood guard. “Why aren’t they forming leaderships, establishing a chain of command?” she murmured. These rebels hadn’t been imprisoned more than a few weeks, and they already acted on instinct, like chained animals.
“Every time a leader emerges, the Onotharians pinpoint who he or she is and drag the person off for interrogation, or worse. This way, they confuse the crowd and rule by terror. Some of the ones they’ve returned are barely recognizable.”
“Damn. And how have people managed to sleep?” Doc asked. “Oh, Gods. On the floor in here?”
“Yes. There are latrines to the left, but no way to wash up. I’ve been waiting for diseases to strike, but so far we’ve been lucky.” Mandira stroked Sarambol’s head as the young woman pressed her face against her neck. “There, now. Don’t listen too much to an old woman. Focus on staying well for that child’s sake, little one. New life is new hope.”
Kellen watched Sarambol raise her head and look up at Mandira. It was obvious that Mandira O’Pedge had once been a devastatingly beautiful woman, but life and time had plowed furrows into her forehead and whitened her hair.
A loud horn blared through the noisy crowd, creating instant silence. Four double doors opened at the far end of the room, and two long lines of Onotharian soldiers streamed into the hall.
“All stand. All stand!”
The ones who’d been sitting along the walls, exhausted and empty-eyed, now tried to get on their feet. They stumbled as the soldiers pushed them around and shoved them in the back with their plasma-pulse rifles. Eventually, the large group of at least eight hundred rebels, and other undesirable Gantharians, stood pressed tightly together in the center of the room, surrounded by armed men and women.
Kellen and Doc supported Sarambol and Mandira and tried to stay at the outer perimeter of the crowd.
“You will be transported to Kovos within an hour. The transport will take approximately one hour. I cannot answer for the consequences if any of you behave in the same despicable manner as you all did when you committed treason against Gantharat’s new leaders.”
“They’re not
our
bloody leaders!” a hate-filled voice responded from the center of the crowd.
“Who said that?” the Onotharian leader said and raised his rifle. “Surrender yourself!”
There was only silence.
“Surrender, or I will fire randomly, and others will pay the ultimate price for your insolence!”
A new, shorter silence ensued before a young man pushed his way toward the Onotharian leader. “I don’t recognize the new rulers. I don’t recognize the joke you claim as courts of law. I don’t recognize your presumed superiority.”
Only when the person spoke did Kellen realize it was a young woman, barely twenty. “No,” she murmured. “Don’t antagonize them. They’ll start firing.” It would be disastrous if the guard fired aimlessly into the crowd.
“You shut up!” A guard shoved the barrel of his weapon into the girl’s stomach, making her grunt.
Another soldier yanked her forward. “Kneel,” he barked, and tore at the girl’s short blond hair. “I said, kneel!”
Suddenly the young girl looked so much like a young Roshan, even like herself—the proud stance, the vibrant personality, everything. Kellen gasped for air, and with nothing else to hold on to, she hugged Sarambol, tucking her in under her chin. “Don’t say anything more,” Kellen whispered, and tried to will the young woman to not speak. “Just keep your mouth shut. Don’t tempt fate.”
The girl knelt, and Kellen guessed it was because of the heavy hands on her shoulders, pressing her down into the cold concrete. The leader grabbed a fistful of blond strands and dragged the girl’s head up and back. “Good. Good,” he chanted. “I could be persuaded to forget about your temporary misjudgment, but I need you to promise me something in return.”
The girl looked as if she wanted to spit into his face. “What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice balancing submissive spitefulness as she spoke.
“Courtesy of my commanding officer, I have a standing order to make the call if I deem a rebel too far gone to ever be rehabilitated.”
Kellen watched in terror as the girl struggled to get on her feet. “Well, then, my master, I’d better put on my best submissive face. Like this.” She produced an ugly grimace. “You know what, enemy of mine, I just can’t do it. I can’t kneel voluntarily to the people who killed my parents, my siblings, my relatives, and just about everyone I cared about.”
She’s got nothing to lose! Damn, it, kid. Don’t.
Kellen gazed in horror as the girl leaped at her attacker, hands raised with broken nails ready. She dug the fingers of her left hand into the Onotharian captain’s cheek and flexed them before she let go.
One of the other soldiers tried to grab her, but the girl was too quick. She pulled free again and sprang to her feet in one fluid movement. Twirling, the girl kicked out one leg in an easily recognizable combat movement.
She’s a Gan’thet trainee! She has to be!
The girl’s leg hit the captain on his chin and sent him flying backward, his eyes rolled up in his head.
“Damn, we have to stop her. She’ll delay the transport,” Kellen hissed at Doc. “And she’ll get herself killed.”
The soldiers seemed suddenly confused and panicky since the Onotharian captain was out cold from a kick delivered by a girl half his size and less than half his weight.
“Get her,” the soldier next in command huffed.
Kellen let Mandira take care of Sarambol and forced her way through the crowd. The Onotharians shoved in from all sides, which would soon create a stampede if they kept it up.
Elbows hit Kellen’s ribs, pummeling her as she slowly advanced through the detainees. She gasped in pain when someone jerked her hair to keep her upright, which was the only reason she didn’t retaliate with a kick of her own. She ducked under an Onotharian’s weapon, closed her hands around the girl’s arm, and dragged her down and backward. When the girl didn’t seem to want to move of her own volition, Kellen pinned her arms down and hissed in her ear, “Come with me and help us win this fight on a broader scale. You can still do a lot, but not this way.”
“Stay away from me, you—”
“Fine. I would if I had the time. You’re interfering with our plans,” Kellen yelled over the deafening noise in the hall. “Come on, now. We can use you.”
The girl stayed rigid for a few moments, and just as Kellen thought she’d lost her window of opportunity with her, the young woman let herself go limp in Kellen’s hands and pretended to faint. Kellen hoped it was pretence.
As Kellen dragged the girl through the crowd, she wondered if it was her imagination, or whether the rebels actually closed the path after them, making it virtually impossible for the Onotharians to pursue.
As she reached Doc and Mandira just inside the outer perimeter of people, Kellen gasped, “She played hard to get,” and let the limp body carefully slump to the floor. She watched in amused dismay as the girl immediately sat up and blinked. “Thought it was too much to hope for,” Kellen murmured. “It would be easier if you slept through our mission, in fact.”
“What mission?” the girl asked, her voice steady.
Kellen shared a quick glance with Doc. They’d avoided something that could’ve ended in a cold-blooded execution in front of an audience. Kellen couldn’t let anything so ghastly happen. It would’ve had a devastating effect on the captured Gantharians, and something told her that she just might find this slightly annoying rebel useful once they arrived at Kovos.
“All stand! All stand! Start moving out in three lines. Get on with it. Move!” an Onotharian voice boomed.
Kellen pulled Sarambol along and saw how Doc helped Mandira remain on her feet. “Help him, kid,” she told the girl, and nodded in Doc’s direction.
“Sure. Why not?” The girl walked easily to Mandira’s other side and wrapped an arm around her waist. “By the way, I don’t like being called kid. My call sign is Ayahliss.”
“Move, you vermin, move!” The Onotharian voices echoed continuously.
Phase two of their operation had begun. They were on their way to Kovos.
Roshan strode across the dusty plain, heading toward the low, camouflaged building that sat almost tucked into the mountain behind it. It had been her home away from home for twenty-five years, and she’d always been amazed how the Onotharians had almost compromised it only once.
Now, all she could think of was how Andreia had pressed against her yesterday evening. The heat emanating from Andreia’s body had taken Roshan’s breath away, as well as almost all of her common sense. She tried to tell herself she’d been right to break away, but every fiber in her body insisted she was wrong.
I shouldn’t have spoken to her the way I did. Now she’s in that place and I may never see her again.
The torment rode her, and Roshan yanked open the door to the mission building with such force that the woman on the inside nearly stumbled.
“Everything all right?” Rae Jacelon asked. “Any news of their whereabouts yet?”
“Not that I know of. I was on my way to the communication room.”
“I’ll go with you.”
As the two women walked along the narrow corridor, Roshan struggled to break the sudden silence. “Did you manage to catch some sleep?” Jacelon had slept in Berentar’s room, while Jubinor had taken the first night’s watch.
“It took me a while. I slept maybe two hours.” The throaty voice didn’t encourage any follow-up questions.
“Me too.” She wanted to convey her fears, but knew this was neither the time nor the place for personal concerns. Besides, Roshan was sure Jacelon already knew everything about worrying about a loved one.
Loved? Oh, Gods.
Not even remotely ready to pursue the route her thoughts were taking her, Roshan motioned for Rae to enter the communication room ahead of her.
Jubinor sat with three other rebels, slumped back in their chairs. He had dark blue circles under his eyes and rubbed his temples as he leaned forward to punch in a command.
“You look like hell,” Roshan stated with a wry smile, and walked up to him. “Any news?”
“We made brief contact with Commander Grey, but there was a lot of static, which is normal when in transit. The bulkhead of a spaceship, especially an Onotharian vessel, is designed to disturb unauthorized communications. They’re right to be paranoid since we’re on their ass constantly.”
“And the other team?” Jacelon asked.
Jubinor shook his head. “Nothing. Their ship was probably due to take off later.”
“Fine. Now go get some sleep,” Roshan said. “We’ll take over.” Two more young rebels showed up just as she finished speaking and relieved their counterparts. Jubinor seemed grateful to get out of the room and left after a brief nod to the ones who’d worked with him during the night.
Roshan and Jacelon took over the controls at the main communication console, and Jacelon pulled a small black device from an inner pocket in her coveralls. “Jacelon to the bridge. Report.”
“Good to hear from you, Admiral,” the commander in charge replied calmly. “How are things progressing planet-side?”
“According to plan A, so far. I trust you’re keeping a low profile?”
“Very low. We’ve set down on a copper-steel asteroid, to conserve energy. The metals embedded in the asteroid also help our cloaking system. Our engineer found that he can tap into the energy buried in the center, which will keep us going until we engage.”
“Excellent. Remain on yellow alert until we’re ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Jacelon out.” She turned to Roshan, who was reviewing the few notes that Jubinor had made throughout the night. “You heard. Everything’s fine on board my vessel.”
“Yes. Now it’s high time for me to ready my ships. I’ve devised a method that I’ll test now.” Roshan pulled a small metal box from behind the computer console and flipped open the lid. After she punched in a few commands, it lit up, a red light flickering over its small screen. “It’s searching to connect to the mainframe. There.” The red light became a steady blue. “We’re hooked up.” When Roshan placed four fingertips on a small sensor, the device used another red flickering beam to scan her, and then a blue diode lit up next to the sensor. “Excellent.”