The Mother Warrior

by Marilyn Donnellan

  He and Sally had a great evening together. Stephen enjoyed her company. She was surprisingly funny; he knew she was intelligent. He found the two traits very appealing. The time flew by and he hated saying good night, but tomorrow was the big council meeting with Brogan and he needed to finish his introduction notes, so he headed back to his apartment at a relatively early hour after giving Sally a friendly kiss goodnight.

  The council meeting was scheduled for 1000 hours the day after his date with Sally. He finished some last-minute notes in the margins of the introduction he dictated into his vid-phone as he sat in the front row of the rebel camp’s largest auditorium. The general had decided to move the meeting there to allow as many people to attend as wanted to. Although most attendees were rebel soldiers and White Warriors, there were a significant number of local citizens attending, too.

  After Stephen had mused for a little more, he noticed the noise level had gone up. He turned around and was pleased to see, even though the meeting wasn’t scheduled to start for at least another 15 minutes, the auditorium was filled almost to capacity.

  He walked up the aisle to the back and saw the general pacing and looking at this watch. “Where is that woman? No Brogan, no program. And the natives won’t like that one bit.”

  Just then a large robo limousine pulled up in front of the auditorium. Big Mac hopped out and with an exaggerated bow held out his hand to a passenger in the back seat. “My Lady,” he said with an English accent.

  First a wooden cane appeared and then Brogan’s long, slender hand, gnarled and twisted from arthritis, took Mac’s big hand and he pulled her out of the car.

  Stephen was disappointed. She wore simple emerald green tunic and slacks instead of her White Warrior uniform. Maybe she doesn’t have access to a uniform yet. Yeah, that’s got to be it. Her broken ankle was still in the gel cast, and she wore a set of exquisitely embroidered moccasins on her feet. Her white hair was pulled back by two simple, wooden combs.

  He walked down the auditorium stairs to greet her, as Emily, Marco, Allison and Marco’s parents, Papa Marco and Maria, also stepped out of the robo limo. He gave her a hug.

  “I don’t understand, Stephen,” Brogan said in bewilderment. “Why are we here instead of at the rebel headquarters?”

  “Don’t worry, my dear. Just follow my lead, okay?” Stephen responded with a big smile as he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

  Brogan shrugged as he helped her carefully up the stairs. Two rebel soldiers, armed and garbed in White Warrior armor, saluted as Brogan approached and they pulled the doors open.

  Without thinking, Brogan saluted the soldiers in return. The lobby was empty, but there was the murmur of voices in the auditorium. Two more White Warriors stood at the entrance. They waited until Stephen and Brogan stood directly in front of the door. There was the sound of some trumpets and then the doors were flung open and they entered.

  As they walked in, the packed auditorium roared their welcome, applauding and stamping their feet. She looked over at Stephen, a questioning-look on her face. His face beamed with pride as he said, “Welcome back, White Warrior.”

  Brogan was almost overcome with emotion at the welcome. Then she saw the huge banner across the front of the auditorium and her heart sank. It said, “Welcome back, White Warrior.” At that moment, just for an instant, she wanted to turn and run, rather than face what she knew was coming. Up on the stage stood General Juan Veracruz, his son, Mateo, Dr. Herbert Schneider and a few other people she did not know.

  She stopped so suddenly when she saw the banner the rest of her family, who knew what she intended to say, was forced to mill around behind her.

  How can I do this? As she looked back at them, she could tell they knew what she was thinking. Only dear, sweet Mac had no clue.

  She straightened her shoulders and moved forward, trying not to limp, nodding greetings at people as they reached out to touch her, their faces alight with joy, welcome and expectation. The walk from the door to the stage was probably one of the longest she ever took. She knew what she was about to say might turn the entire crowd in the auditorium against her.

  As she walked, she seriously considered not saying what she originally intended, but rather a few innocuous words. It would certainly be a lot easier. She could then just slink off into the sunset, so to speak, without risking the oh-to-visible and painful label of traitor. But, as she got closer to the stage, she felt her beloved Bryan beside her. You’ve never taken the easy way, he seemed to say to her. It was enough. She knew what she had to do.

  Stephen helped her up the few steps to the stage, the applause and roars of welcome still filling the cavernous auditorium. She waved to the crowd and managed to not fall off the chair as she shakily sat, laying the cane on the floor beside her. Once she was seated, the crowd began quiet and sat down.

  She watched an attractive woman step up to the podium. She made some brief comments and then Stephen walked up to the dais.

  I should have told him what I’m going to say. The sudden thought shook her to the core. Now it was too late. She was afraid he would see her words as a betrayal of his son, Bryan. She had to try to somehow convince him and this crowd it wasn’t a betrayal of the Book Liberators. She silently prayed for wisdom as Stephen’s words of welcome went right over the top of her head.

  “Welcome, fellow Book Liberators!” Stephen began. At his words, the crowd roared their approval. After a few moments, he raised his arms for quiet. “Before our guest of honor speaks, let me give you a brief – and I do mean brief – background on her.

  “Brogan was born in 2097 in Van Horn, Texas Province, to Frank and Emily Finlay. Frank, where are you?” As Frank stood from where he sat on the platform, the crowd applauded. “Frank is a graduate of the University of Texas Dallas with a degree in engineering and worked for many years as a supervisor of energy grunts in West Texas. His wife, Emily, was a school teacher in the area, and a graduate of UT Austin. She was one of the first martyrs for the Book Liberator’s cause, dying in a San Antonio prison.

  “Brogan was one of the original six founders of the Book Liberators protest movement, which began at UT Austin in 2117, where she and my son, Bryan Douglass were students. The other five original founders included: my son, who was murdered by Emperor Priest’s consort in 2125, just four years after Brogan and Bryan bonded and three years after their daughter Emily was born. Emily, where are you?”

  More cheers when the beautiful young woman stood in the front row of the auditorium, turned and waved shyly at the crowd.

  “Another martyr for the cause and one of the original founders was Janice Wu. Janice was a professor at UT Austin and responsible for finding the hundreds of locations around the country which hide millions of books from the dictator Priest. She died during the same terrible incident when my son was murdered.

  “Other BL founders here with us today are Marco Anton and Dr. Allison Simpson-Anton. Most of you know them. Stand up, you two! And of course, I would be remiss if I did not mention the other member of the original six BL founders, our own General Juan Veracruz!”

  The general stood as the crowd roared their approval. When they calmed down, Stephen continued.

  “Many of us thought our leader and first White Warrior, Brogan, was dead. We had not heard from her in over a decade when she suddenly appeared at our doorstop in Cosala a few weeks ago. What she has endured for the BL cause during her short lifetime would take several books to write. And since we don’t have time to list all her accomplishments, let me just summarize the highlights for you.

  “Brogan Finlay-Douglass spent more than six months as a prisoner in Priest’s notorious Boston Prison, where she suffered unimaginable torture. After her escape, she led the rebel troops as the lethal and original White Warrior for almost two years. With the help of Big Mac and Dr. Herbert Schneider – stand up guys – she destroyed the Pilgrim Nuclear Generating Station to prevent Priest from building nuclear weapons.”

  As the appla
use died down, Stephen continued.

  “She spent more than ten years in a slave labor camp in the Mississippi bayou, and the list goes on So, without further chattering on my part, I present to you, the first and greatest White Warrior: Brogan Finlay-Douglass!”

  The crowd stood to their feet, yelling and applauding as Stephen helped Brogan to her feet and guided her to the speaker’s dais. She turned on the small throat mike, placed her shaking hands on the sides of the podium and waited for the noise to settle. After several minutes, she smiled and said quietly, “My fellow Book Liberators.”

  And that was all it took to start another round of cheering. At this rate, that be there all night. She cleared her throat and continued without waiting for silence.

  “There is so much I want to say to you my fellow rebel soldiers and citizens, you who have fought so hard, and will continue to fight for our freedoms of speech, the freedom to read, to write and for freedom of religion.”

  The cheering started again. This time she raised her arms for quiet.

  “But what I have to say to you today just might make you boo rather than cheer.” Although her words were said quietly and at the end of a lot of noise, they heard what she said. Now it was possible to hear a pin drop.

  “I am now 44 years old. More than half my life has been spent trying to force the corrupt government to change. And we are no better off now than we were when BL started. In fact, in many ways we are worse off. Thousands of rebels have died. Millions of innocent citizens have died and are dying because of the cruel and despotic emperor, now replaced by a cruel king and an evil queen. But we are no closer to getting our freedoms back than when we started.

  “The despotic prime minister and now the evil emperor may have died, but I have no doubt our new king and queen are no better than they were and will still attempt to destroy us.

  “For the past two years. No, for the past 13 years, I have been asking myself, have all the deaths been worth it? When Book Liberators started it was a peaceful protest movement. We had no intention of using violence. My partner, Bryan, and I both hated violence. But it soon became clear we had no choice. We could either go like sheep to the slaughter, like more than six million Jews and other undesirables did in World War II, or we could fight back. We chose to fight back.”

  Another loud roar from the crowd. And again, Brogan held up her arms for silence.

  “But it hasn’t worked. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not naive. I know sometimes the only way you can destroy evil is with violence. I understand that.”

  Brogan took a deep breath, grabbed the podium tighter and said her piece.

  “I have made a choice. I will no longer be the White Warrior. I will no longer use violence.”

  Before she could say anything else, angry mutters began to move from one end of the room to the other.

  “Please, let me finish. I have had enough of violence. I have killed too many people. I cannot do it anymore. I must find a better way to change our country from within. I am not asking the Book Liberators soldiers to stop fighting. I am only saying, personally I cannot fight with guns and knives anymore. I want to start a new protest movement; a clan, if you will, who will look for an alternative, peaceful way to defeat the evil empire and which doesn’t involve violence.”

  Before she could continue there were a couple of shouts: “Traitor!” But, the general marched up to the podium, stood beside Brogan and hollered angrily, “That’s enough! Book Liberators is about freedom of speech. Whether you agree with Brogan or not, she has the right to have her say. She has given her life to our cause. Now you give her the respect she deserves. The next person who interrupts her will land in the brig. Do I make myself clear?”

  When only silence greeted him, he asked again, louder, “Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?”

  “Sir, yes sir!” the rebel soldiers shouted back.

  He turned back to Brogan who was trembling beside him. He said quietly, “Go ahead, Brogan. Finish what you have to say.” He touched her arm to reassure her.

  She cleared her throat and continued.

  “My partner, Bryan, was not a violent man, but he died because of violence. I have killed many enemy soldiers. I won’t do it anymore. I refuse to kill except in self-defense. I will always support the Book Liberators, but now it will be through non-violent means. And anyone who agrees with me is welcome to join me. If you are interested, you can reach me at Marco Anton, Sr.’s hacienda in Tegucigalpa. I intend to be there for at least another month while my broken ankle heals.

  “After that, I will make plans to go somewhere else to develop a new way of fighting; a peaceful, non-violent way. Where that will be, and how we will do it, I don’t know yet. But, I will continue to fight, just not with violence. May God bless the Book Liberators and all who fight for freedom.”

  The room was totally silent as Brogan limped back to her seat. She looked at Stephen. His face was white with anger. He turned his face away. She looked at General Veracruz. His face showed confusion and hurt. He looked down. One by one she looked at the faces of the people on the platform. Only Herbert, Mateo and Frank smiled and nodded at her. Everyone else either looked away or looked at their feet.

  Alone, she started down the steps away from the platform, the silence in the auditorium deafening. Mac met her at the foot of the stairs and reached up to help her down. He smiled and tucked her hand inside his arm. He leaned down and whispered, “Way to set them back on their heels, boss lady!”

  It was exactly what she needed. She held her head up proudly as the rest of her family surrounded her and they exited the auditorium. No one greeted her or wanted to shake her hand. Everyone else stayed in their seats.

  Suddenly, Brogan felt such a sense of release, like a burden had rolled off her shoulders, like she was a hundred pounds lighter.

  “I have no idea what the future holds, but I’m ready for the next chapter,” she whispered to Mac.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Diabolical Plans Implemented

  Queen Jacqueline’s plan to set up food stations in all four provinces slowly took shape while thousands of citizens continued to die from starvation. Once she knew exactly how much food was in the hidden storage depots, she had her lead spy, Mannford Spencer, set up feeding stations in all the major metropolitan areas in each province.

  The king provided armed marines for security at each site. When word was disbursed by the empire-run media and the sites were open, the sites were mobbed, as expected. After dozens of people at each site were killed and their executions were broadcast across the country, citizens got the message. They better abide by the rules to get their food, or death would be the punishment.

  Using the T-chips implanted in their hands, citizens registered ahead of time for a food site and received a ration, based on the number of people in their household. Since the one-child per couple law was still in effect, any families who violated the rule, or families where multiple generations lived together were given shorter rations per person.

  Spencer, who had been a professor of mathematics at the University of Texas Austin, before taking on his spy duties, calculated exactly how much food ration per person the empire could disburse over a year before the stored food ran low.

  “When the food runs out, you’ll have to come up with some other means of food production,” Spencer told the queen where they sat in her office on the second floor of the pyramid. “This is not a long-term solution.”

  Although the queen didn’t say it, she really didn’t care. So-what if thousands or even millions of people died from starvation. It would just mean fewer people to feed.

  She stood. The expensive caftan style tunic and slacks swirled around her lithe body, the vibrant reds and black a kaleidoscope of hypnotic color. Since becoming queen, she let her hair grow and it was now long, seductively wavy, and coal black. Her lips were permanently tattooed a bright, blood-red to match her long fingernails.

  The mathematician couldn’t help but be mesmerize
d by her appearance and the cold, calculating look in her eyes.

  Meanwhile, the king waited impatiently on the top floor for Dr. Delis to update him on the progress toward development of sarin gas bombs.

  “Where is he? He was supposed to be here an hour ago,” he muttered as he paced the plush carpet in the regents’ suite of the pyramid.

  The room was huge, with the regents’ personal quarters situated to the south. The large room where he now paced served as an office and conference room, which took up about half of the top floor. The deep alpaca carpet was white. Priceless works of art hung on three walls. Exquisite sculptures were placed strategically on white marble columns of various heights around the room. The fourth wall was one-piece, reinforced floor to ceiling security glass, overlooking Boston Harbor. A kitchen, bathroom and other facilities took up the north end of the suite. Near the glass wall sat a large conference table covered by a security dome and imbedded with the latest in AI and electronic technology.

  Just as he was ready to send one of his trusted lieutenants to hunt for Delis, he heard the chime indicating a visitor.

  The chemist bowed as he entered and waited for the king to acknowledge his presence, slightly trembling because he knew he was late. He was the brunt of king’s temper before.

  “Well?” the king asked. “Where have you been? Oh, never mind. Just tell me you have figured out how to deliver the bombs and when.”

  “My, my apologies,” Delis stammered. “I needed to finish one more calculation to be sure. But I am confident the team has had a break through and we are ready to begin production of the sarin gas bombs.”

  He looked up and then let out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he saw the king’s smile.

  “Good news, Delis! Now, how soon are we going to be able to bomb Mexico City?”

  Chapter Fifteen