Renaissance

by Caleb Fast

  Richardson gazes past their guide as he takes in the massive city before him. White buildings tower all the way to the roof of the dome which lets in the breathtaking view of the golden volcanic sky. Every level of the buildings are graced with greenery which seemingly pours from them. There are hills covered in grass and other decorative foliage. People walk about the city as if they were on a normal planet, not one covered in hundreds of thousands of volcanoes. He sees several other groups of people, who had also been aboard the Accolade, being led by other guides to other platforms and down various walkways.

  “Yes, she is a beauty,” Gambitt says noting that everyone is taking in the city, “It’s our little bit of paradise. There are several other similar cities around the planet, but Antrix is the capital. We thought it would be best to welcome you with our best.”

  “Wow,” Is all Richardson can muster as he watches a tour shuttle slow to a halt a few meters away.

  “Okay everyone, let's hop in.” Gambitt instructs as he boards the shuttle.

  Richardson grabs his bag and quickly hobbles over, once at the shuttle, his guards help him in.

  “We can get you fixed up right, in our hospitals, would you like us to do that before, or after the tour?” Gambitt asks as he helps Richardson into a seat.

  “After please,” Richardson responds through clenched teeth as he is sloppily lowered into a seat.

  “Very well,” Gambitt says, then to the driver, “Just a quick tour today, please.”

  “As you wish, sir,” The pilot responds with a nod. Moments later they are back in the air.

  Richardson looks out the window as the city shoots by, evidently the pilot liked to start his tour on a separate part of town. Below, the colors of the city flash by as they streak over parks and buildings, moments later they are across town, and the pilot starts his tour.

  “On your left is the governor's penthouse,” He informs them as they slowly fly by a white tower with decorative gold engravings, “The entire building serves as the hub of the planet. Down there on your right, that’s the biggest park in the city. It’s a good four-square kilometers smack dab in the middle of the city.”

  Richardson watches as they slowly fly over the city, only partially listening to the pilot as he takes everything in. They fly over a warehouse district that could have easily passed as hotels elsewhere. Then they fly over the actual hotels, that are even more decorative than the capitol building. They see the business districts, housing districts, the finest restaurants, and eventually stop at the hospital. There Richardson is let off, along with his men. As soon as they land a swarm of attendants and nurses swarm over Richardson.

  “Are you in need of assistance?” One inquires, seeing Richardson’s limp.

  “How can we help?” Asks another as they prod his bandages.

  The entourage herds Richardson into the hospital, eventually pushing him into a lavish gurney. He looks up and admires the decorative ceiling as he is quickly pushed toward the operating room. One doctor hovers over him, and injects yet another sedative into his arm. Darkness flashes along the edges of his vision as his eyelids grow heavy. He quickly succumbs to the drug and falls asleep.

  •••••••••••••••

  Richardson’s eyelids snap open and he quickly takes in his surroundings. Above him is a plain ceiling and–he rolls over onto his side to examine his surroundings—on his right is a massive window overlooking the city. He turns over onto his left and sees his fifteen companions all packed onto the minimal furniture in the room, fast asleep. He looks back outside and realizes it was nighttime, or as close to nighttime as the sleepless city ever got.

  Sitting up Richardson looks at the closet directly ahead of him. Inside he can see several outfits ranging from a formal suit, to a swim suit. Quietly he gets out of bed and examines his wounds. Here we go… he thinks as he reaches down to feel for the bullet hole in his leg, he runs his fingers over where he remembered it was, then a little further down. He feels over the whole area, and then, startled, he decides to turn on the bedside light to examine his leg. Looking to where the wound had been, Richardson is surprised to see that in its place is a shaved patch of skin among his otherwise hairy leg. He runs his finger along the faint scar that the surgery had left. Absolutely amazing, he admires the surgeon’s skills which surpasses that of the man who had initially tended to his leg on the ship. Cautiously he stands, testing the strength in his leg, Good as new, he smiles and looks to the bedside table. On it lies his bag of loot he had taken from Paradise, he jumps over to it and quickly taking an inventory of everything to ensure nothing was missing. Hard drive, check. Books, check... Wait, no one would steal a book. Cash, check. Clothes, check. Valuables, check. He sighs with relief confirming everything is in order.

  “Alright boys, let's go,” Richardson says, waking everyone up after changing into his freshly cleaned and mended uniform. Picking up his bag, he continues, “Let’s find a place to stay near the warehouse district, I don’t want to attract any attention by staying in the hotels.”

  “Sir, aren’t you being a bit paranoid?” Apollo asks as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, “They seem friendly enough around here. Just look at how they patched you up.”

  “I know, but I have to view some files I took from Paradise. The Coalition is probably monitoring all the computer usage in the surrounding area. They are more likely to check a big hotel than a small one.”

  “Very well, sir. You lead the way.”

  •••••••••••••••

  After working their way through several parks and through even more neighborhoods, Richardson and his men finally find themselves at the outskirts of the warehouse district. They work their way around its perimeter eventually finding a poorer part of town. Things still looked pretty well off here, but it is out of the way enough that Richardson feels comfortable. A mix of paranoia and basic training had taught him to stay out of sight, and now it was just second nature whenever he went somewhere new. He walks down the street and looks at all the storefronts, all dark at this time of night. He continues down the street searching for anywhere to stay the night.

  “Excuse me,” He stops a shopkeeper who had just closed up for the night, “Might I ask, where’s a good hotel?”

  The man silently points to the high rises and continues locking up.

  “No, I need one nearby,” Richardson presses.

  The man looks up and asks, “Why? What business do you have here?”

  “I just need it to be quiet, out of the way,” Richardson offers, “Where is the nearest hotel?”

  The man sighs and unlocks his door, “Our last hotel closed when the big ones came in. I have a spare room out back though.”

  “Thank you, how much do I owe you?” Richardson asks, pulling out a few bills.

  “Put that money away!” The man whispers sternly, “Thieves are a big problem around here. They wouldn’t hesitate to steal everything you have.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Richardson apologizes, pocketing the money, “But thieves shouldn’t be a problem. I’ve got manpower.”

  As Richardson spoke, his men emerge from their hiding places. Richardson had told them to stay out of sight to avoid drawing attention to them.

  “Ah, what kind of business you run?” The shopkeeper inquires as he lets them in.

  “I can’t say, but we are just passing through.”

  “A secretive bunch. Lovely. Follow me, I can clear out a few more rooms for the rest of your men.”

  The group makes their way down the aisles of the store and into a storeroom in the back. They are led through a series of hallways until they come to several dark doors at the end of the corridor.

  “I haven’t had much use for these rooms,” the man says as he unlocks the doors, “Other than storage of course.”

  “Thank you. So how much do you need?”

  “How much ya got?”

  “Nice try.”

  “Fifty dollars.”
>
  Richardson peeks into one of the unfurnished rooms, “Really, fifty? Try twenty.”

  “Thirty-five.”

  Richardson peels off the bills and silently hands them over. All he really needed was the old computer he saw inside. He walks in past the man and sits on the ground trying his best to look uninterested with the computer, in fear that the man might just prohibit him from using it.

  “Make yourself at home,” The man says as he greedily fans the bills and walks off down the hall.

  Once Richardson was sure the man had left, he stands and goes about hooking up the hard drive and backups to the old computer. His men scout out the room and its surroundings, watching for uninvited guests.

  •••••••••••••••

  After a few hours, Richardson had the computer wired up just right, marrying the old tech and the new. He taps the power icon and waits for it to turn on. The machine buzzes and a cloud pour out as the fans fire up, expelling years of dust. Richardson coughs as one of the geysers of dust rockets directly into his face. With watering eyes, he watches the monitor display flash a loading symbol. Soon the screen flashes blue and he quickly accesses the files he had taken. He uploads the files he finds most important to his comm unit, throwing out most of the unencrypted files. He then works at breaking the encryptions, he sets a small machine he had taken from the prison on the computer and turns it on, it was designed to hack anything, including volatile Coalition intel. He also tries cracking the encryption himself, two brains are better than one, and he didn’t want to stay for long.

  Just as he takes out a notepad and starts recording details of the encryption in order to break it, he is startled by a loud, but friendly chirp from the hacking machine, Looking down at it, he sees it glowing blue, quickly he opens the files that had just been unencrypted. That little thing did it! He looks at it bemused, surprised it had worked. Richardson leans back and sets about sorting the useful and the useless files. Minutes into his search for information an icon popped up, indicating that he was being monitored, in an instant he drives his knife through the computer and rips out the power cord. Standing, he addresses his soldiers, “We’re moving.”

  Phelix, who is sitting on a box in the corner of the room, dozing opens an eye, “We just got here, boss,” she complains.

  “I was being monitored,” Richardson admits, “I must warn the governor that the Coalition may be coming.”

  “What were you looking up on that thing?” Phelix asks hopping up.

  “Classified documents.” Richardson says, matter of factly. He continues as he went about destroying the hard drive and backups, “I stole them from the prison.”

  “Let’s get going,” Phelix says shouldering her bag with one hand and resting her other on her sidearm.

  Richardson races about the room, waking up everyone else and then leading them down the halls, “I’ll call up Clive right now. Maybe he can patch me through to the governor. We need everything the Coalition would be interested in offworld as soon as possible, just in case they show up with their emissaries. I hear those guys can be pretty trigger hap—"

  The wall next to Richardson’s head explodes in a cloud of splinters and dust and the shockwave knocks him and some of his men off their feet. Several gunshots sound over the ringing in Richardson’s ears. He squirms to some cover behind the cashier’s desk in the back of the store. There he reaches his hand up to the side of his face that had been closest to the explosion, he pulled his hand away and groggily studies the blood. He hears several shouts and lazily swings his head as he looks back to his men. They are emerging from their cover firing toward the front of the store. Helping two others to their feet, they clear a path to the street through their attackers. Richardson gets pulled to his feet by Wyndover and is guided out of the building. Making for the city center to warn the others.

  Ten

  Antrix, Allur

  “Things used to be better off for us,” Shrapnel, a large, gruff man, begins from the side opposite of Clive and the governor. Several others line the table between Clive and Shrapnel, some were generals of old, some fallen members of the wealthy class, and others the heads of various organizations that we're proud to call Antrix home. All were devout members of the Antrix Resistance, one of the mightiest resistance movements in Coalition space. Shrapnel continues, and the other guests carry on their conversations amongst each other, ignoring the man, “Before the Coalition established themselves as our rulers, Antrix was wealthy. We were the hub of all ore trade and had a booming tourist industry.”

  On Clive’s left the governor sighs, undoubtedly this was the thousandth time he listened to this story. Shrapnel is the kind of man who enjoys telling the same story a million times.

  “It wasn’t until they turned their ravenous attention to us that we truly suffered. They taxed the multitudes into poverty. They took over the mining industry. And then they closed everything down with executive orders. If it wasn’t for me, and my business the entire city would have been reduced to a beggar's colony.”

  “Shrapnel, you can stop,” Clive cuts in as the man pauses to take a drink, “I’ve heard this story a dozen times. I’ve also heard countless ones just like it.”

  Grumbling, Shrapnel stops his story and devours the king's portion of the meal he had prepared in Clive's honor.

  “So, Governor,” Clive says, turning to the man on his right, “How do you fool the Coalition into thinking you steer clear of the underworld they fear so much?”

  “I just hide the evidence,” The small man responds, “They don’t think to look too hard because they think I’m weak.”

  “If only it were that easy for all the other Resistance groups around the galaxy,” Clive mutters disheartened, “Then we would have had some headway in this fight.”

  “What do you aim to do by going to Strehim?”

  “I need a hideout, and a place to recruit some new blood. Which reminds me,” Clive turns back to Shrapnel, “Shrapnel, can I buy some of your fighters and hire some of your pilots?”

  “No,” Comes the stubborn reply.

  “Come on Shrapnel,” The governor chides, “You aren’t doing much with them. And we’ve got our weapons systems, those can repel most any attack.”

  “No. They’re mine.”

  “Shrapnel, you really must—"

  A hologram message pops up on a comm unit at the center of the table. The image of a bloodied Richardson being held up by two of his guards as they stumble along amidst towering flames, glow in the darkened room. Clive can hardly recognize Richardson whose face is in tatters on one side. A rag covers most of the damaged flesh, but the wound is large enough that it peeks through. Richardson's bloodstained and burned uniform confirms his identity.

  “Clive, we’re blown,” Richardson’s voice calls over the roar of fire, “We gotta get off planet fast. Tell the governor to hide any contraband too.”

  “What happened?” Clive demands.

  “I was accessing some Coalition files—my research was monitored. I disposed of the computer, but some undercover operatives attacked us.”

  At that news Clive rests his hand on the sidearm one of Richardson's men had given him. He eyes the those around him, determining if any of them were the traitor. He then demands, “How many operatives do you think are on planet?”

  “That's hard to say, sir. I fear— …all the way— ...top.”

  The feed dies suddenly. Clive quickly stands and races over to the curtained windows, he peeks through and sees a distance part of the city burning brightly, “Governor. You heard the Major, we gotta go. What’s the fastest way out of sight?”

  “We have smuggler tunnels crisscrossing the city. But you want off the planet, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Clive replies as he turns for the door.

  “Hold on Mr. Ranger,” The governor instructs as he dismissed the others,

  showing them out the main entrance. With the room empty, the governor guides Clive to a seclu
ded corner and taps on a hidden keypad. Several floorboards slide away revealing a hidden staircase. He gingerly makes his way down and says, “I built this tower from the ground up, there’s more secret passages in here than there are fleas on a kintic!”

  Clive follows the man closely as they work their way through a maze of passageways, eventually stopping at a bank of elevators.

  “Just hop in this one and it will take you to your hotel,” The governor says as he hops into his own elevator, “Alert your friends and get out of the city. I have my own business to attend to.”

  In a moment the man is gone. I never even learned the man’s name, Clive thinks discouraged. Quickly, he and Jenessa step into their own elevator and are whisked away to the hotel to get their people out.

  •••••••••••••••

  “We have protocols for situations like this,” A Resistance leader know as Maximus parrots the line which has been repeated at least a dozen times by this point.

  “I know you do,” Clive says above the chatter in the briefing room. Thick concrete walls make the room safe from any manner of attack, or disaster, but they also cause quite the echo. Clive scans the room, looking at all those gathered, so many different beings, all united in the name of freedom. The room grows still as everyone notices Clive's silence, he may not be the leader of the Resistance, but he did hold everyone's respect.

  “Why would you have us break protocol, Clive?” The acting president of Allur's Resistance, Irid Hudson, demands as she turns her comm link off.

  “I am not saying break protocol, I just want to alter it,” Clive begins, “If we just disappear, the Coalition will not rest until someone is held accountable for accessing the documents Richardson has here. We just—"

  “Let's leave this Richardson here then!” A voice calls from along one of the walls. Several others voice their agreement.

  “No,” Irid shoots the idea down, “We leave no one behind to take the fall. We won't stoop to that level.”

  “Then what do you propose, Ranger?” A massive Frazian who simply goes by “Demo” asks gruffly.