“What do you mean?” asked an old general. “You cannot be referring to the Lycians. While Chancellor Penawah may be honorable, the others cannot be trusted, the Visk especially.”
“Nor can we rely on her leading advisor,” said another. “Is there a more duplicitous creature in the galaxy than Pendu Barka?”
“We will no doubt need the Chancellor’s good will if we are to end this war honorably,” replied Bakaram. “But I do not speak of the Lycians as a potential ally.”
“Then who?”
There was a long pause before one of the generals said, “You speak of the Humani!”
“I do,” replied Bakaram.
“They are descendants of the Alamani!” shouted the black-haired general. “Never!”
The generals all began to speak at once, each one adding his voice to the universal rejection of the proposition that Sahiradin and Humani could possibly work together to overcome Khadiem.
“We must!” shouted Bakaram after allowing the others a few moments to vent their anger. “We must ally with the Humani!”
“Why?” demanded the old general.
“Unlike the Alamani, the Humani are fierce and effective warriors. Some of you fought them on their home world. You witnessed their ingenuity and ferocity, their discipline and training. And they have someone among them who can wrest the Kaiytáva from Khadiem!”
“The Navigator! Never suffer a Navigator to live!”
Bakaram raised his finger and said, “Never suffer an Alamani Navigator to live!”
“Is a Humani Navigator so different?” asked the old general. “And besides, they are too few and they have joined the Lycians. Why would they help us?”
“If they understood our purpose, they would join us,” said Bakaram. “I am certain of it.”
“And how are we to make them understand? Are we to send emissaries to Earth? They would sooner kill us than speak to us.”
“Calm yourselves,” shouted Bakaram. “We will not send emissaries to Earth. Not only might they attack us as you say, Earth is being carefully watched by the Empress’ spies. Indeed, she is cultivating allies among the Humani, just as I propose we do.”
“What then? What will you do?”
Bakaram folded his arms across his chest and took a deep breath. “There is a particularly astute Humani I will approach. He is called Ravenwood. I have watched him from afar and am most impressed. He speaks many of our languages and has a deep understanding of our ways. I have sent a coded message to him to test his openness and ability to help us in our task.”
“How did you do this? How can you speak to him without being discovered?” asked a general to Bakaram’s left. “You speak of Khadiem’s spies, Pendu Barka has many more. There is nothing that occurs among the Lycians that she is not made immediately aware of.”
“I have already set the wheels in motion,” said Bakaram. “Soon I will reach out to him in a manner that will leave no trace. Only Ravenwood will receive my message. What I need from you is your promise to commit yourselves and your followers to immediate action when you receive my signal. Do I have it?”
The generals fell silent and shared glances of uncertainty.
“Remember what brought you here,” said Bakaram. “Remember there is but one path forward that is both honorable and in accordance with the Law. You all bowed your heads. You all swore oaths.”
“Very well,” said the old general. “We will follow your lead. May the spirit of Dennakara guide us.”
Chapter 36
Revolution and reform are incompatible. Revolution seeks to utterly smash the prior regime and establish a new state upon radically different social and economic foundations. The purpose of reform, by contrast, is to train the elite to desire less and to prevent the People from receiving what is just. Reform is a charade designed to placate the masses and dissipate the zeal for revolution.
- Malcom Weller. “On the Desire for Reform,” The Calling: Pre-Revolutionary Writings.
Attika pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets and rubbed hard. She pulled her hands away and blinked several times, trying to focus on the papers on the desk in front of her, but it was no use. She was simply too exhausted. Of course, she didn’t really needed to read the reports to know the information they contained. More attacks on power plants, rail bridges, and government warehouses. More thefts of heavy weapons, ordnance, shields, and Provex body armor. More ambushes on Constitutional Guard patrols and safety stations. And with each attack, there was the infuriating image of the Storm Front symbol, two white lightning bolts, crossed, inside a black circle. Sometimes it was spray-painted on a wall near a destroyed target. Other times it was printed on a flag hanging proudly from some high place. In all cases, it was prominently displayed for all to see, a bold challenge to Attika and her Septemberist Revolution, a sign of their inability to govern or protect the nation.
She pushed the reports away and picked up a single sheet of paper. On it was printed a short paragraph authored by her former Chief of Military Operations, General Rayburn Vessey. Squinting her tired eyes, she read it one more time:
To the Congress of the Federated States of America.
Having failed in my duties as Chief of Military Operations to protect the citizens from the threat of violence and social unrest, I have come to the conclusion that new leadership is required to guide this young nation to victory over the resurgent forces of tyranny and destruction. It is therefore with a heavy heart that I am compelled to offer my resignation, effective immediately.
Sincerely, Rayburn C. Vessey.
Attika crumpled the note and threw it across the room. Rayburn C. Vessey! The incompetent old fool had not only allowed numerous military installations to be plundered of their contents by Storm Front assault teams, but he had also refused to order the nation’s only squadron of Phantom 2 fighter planes into action when needed. Attika’s spies had finally discovered where Linsky was hiding, but because of his practice of never sleeping in the same place twice, it was necessary to strike quickly. With no time to send in soldiers or Constitutional Guards, she called upon Vessey to order an airstrike. He refused, complaining that the building was nestled into a densely populated area just outside of Harrisburg. Attacking it from the air, especially with the powerful bunker-penetrating ordnance that Attika had demanded, would result in massive civilian casualties. Attika repeated the order, explaining that Linsky commonly hid among civilians, which is why it took Brandt nearly a year to catch him. They might never have another chance. Vessey still refused. Citing the existential threat Linsky posed to the nation, Attika issued the command once more. Vessey refused a third time, pointing out that Attika lacked any formal authority to issue such orders, and until Congress vested her with that authority, he could not comply with her wishes.
Incensed by Vessey’s pigheadedness and knowing Congress could not possibly act in time, Attika went down the command chain, issuing the order to attack to one officer after another. With each such order came a polite but firm refusal. No doubt Vessey had already gotten to them and convinced them not to comply.
As dawn approached, Attika became desperate. She and ten Constitutional Guards got into a few armored vehicles and stormed into the home of a certain Colonel Mura Davis, the Phantom 2 air wing commander, and demanded at gunpoint that she order the strike. At that same moment, a second cohort of thirty Constitutional Guards arrived at the Annapolis airbase housing the Phantoms in order to ensure the order was received and executed. The planes took off and carried out the mission.
That had been three nights before, and despite the high body count, investigators could find no evidence of the Storm Front leader having ever occupied the building or any of the other nearby structures. Linsky had laid a trap for Attika and she had foolishly rushed in.
A knock at the door interrupted her train of thought.
“Come!”
The door slowly swung open and Tyana entered. She had a few papers in her left hand and a s
teaming cup of hot liquid in her right.
“Here are the latest results of the investigation into the Harrisburg terrorist attack.” She placed the papers on the desk. “And here is a cup of hot tea.”
Attika accepted the tea without looking up. “You don’t have to maintain the fiction with me, Tyana,” she said as she stared into the cup’s swirling contents. “There was no terrorist attack. It was an airstrike. Linsky fooled us into attacking our own people…or better said, he fooled me into attacking my own people. I’ve lost my grip, Tyana. Despite all my efforts to reform and save this nation, I now see that I’m doing more harm than good.”
“Don’t say that! We failed this time, but we’ll win in the end, Attika. You’ll see, I promise you. Don’t give up.”
“No,” said Attika as her eyes welled with tears of exhaustion and remorse. “You’re very kind, Tyana, but it’s falling apart. The people know it was an airstrike. Linsky’s making sure everyone sees the footage of missiles slamming into the heart of that neighborhood. And he’s blaming me by name, plastering the walls with grotesque pictures of me.”
She took in a deep, trembling breath and looked toward the window.
“You don’t know the weight of regret that presses down on my heart, Tyana. I’m suffocating. I don’t know how to go on. The People hardly knew me before the attack. I didn’t want to be on the political stage, not with a face like this. I was content with working behind the scenes to implement the reforms this nation so desperately needs. But now everyone knows of me, but not as a champion of justice and equality. They just know me as the one who ordered the deaths of hundreds of innocents.”
She put down the cup and wiped away a trickle of tears rolling down her cheek. Then she pulled back her hair to reveal the metal plate and surrounding scars.
“Look at me, Tyana,” she demanded. “Look at the scars on my face and this disgusting hunk of metal. I look like a monster! Maybe I am one.”
“No, Attika,” said Tyana firmly. “You’re not a monster.”
The younger woman came around the desk and dropped to one knee. She took both of Attika’s hands in hers.
“You are not a monster!” she repeated. “You have done so much good, Attika. You’ve pushed through political reforms that have empowered the people to live free lives. You’ve worked tirelessly to ensure they have food on their tables. You’ve liberated thousands and thousands of political prisoners. Life is better now, Attika, a lot better. And it’s all because of you. Linsky sees all the good you’re doing and he knows he’s losing. Without fear and mistrust, he has no power. So he uses violence and lies to warp people’s minds and make them pliable. He’s using the tactics of the old regime. Please don’t give up, Attika. Generations have suffered under the tyranny of cruel men like him. We can’t let him win!”
Attika smiled and nodded her head. Fresh tears ran down her face as she listened to Tyana’s impassioned words.
“But we can’t win with guns and bombs alone,” Tyana continued. “We have to give the people hope and show them the choice that stands in front of them. They can either give in to Linsky’s lies and terror, or they can stand up for freedom and the promise of a better tomorrow. But it’s time they heard it from you, Attika. You’re the heart and soul of the Septemberist Revolution, but hardly anyone knows who you are. You think your appearance will frighten them, but believe me, as soon as they hear your words and feel your passion for freedom, they’ll see what I see - a beautiful, intelligent, strong woman determined to fight for her people and lead them into the light of a new day.”
Attika could no longer contain her emotions. She gripped Tyana’s hands then leaned forward and embraced her tightly.
“Thank you, Tyana,” she said through her tears. “Thank you for reminding me of who I am and why I’m here. Life is hard. It’s easy to forget those things.”
“That’s why we need friends to remind us,” replied Tyana as a tear rolled down her own cheek.
The sound of clapping hands caused both women to suddenly look toward the door where they saw three men standing. They were dressed in gray paramilitary clothing, the image of a pair of crossed lightning bolts on their shirt collars. The two on the sides were pointing M-35 assault guns at Attika and Tyana. In the middle was Linsky. He held had no weapon in his gloved hands, but hanging from the right side of his belt was a pistol. On the left was a rapier. Behind him, the door was open wide enough to reveal the shapes of two Constitutional Guards lying motionless on the floor.
“Linsky,” whispered Attika in fear and disbelief.
Tyana immediately got to her feet, but the threat of an M-35 pointed at her chest caused her to freeze where she stood.
“How very touching,” said Linsky. “I’m so glad I was present to hear that beautiful exchange. It was good for my men to hear it, too. I’m afraid they’re rarely exposed to such elevated thinking.”
“How the hell did you get in here?”
Linsky gave Attika a mock-puzzled look then pointed with his thumb behind him.
“Through the door. But I’m not here to talk about methods of ingress and egress. I’m here to talk about the future, namely who among us has one and who does not.”
Attika slid her hand under her desk and pressed a button.
Linsky noticed the motion and smiled.
“Now, now, Attika. Let’s not invite others to our little party. Besides, we deactivated your security systems a few minutes ago. They’re very good at preventing someone who is outside from getting in, but they’re not very good at keeping someone already inside from causing mischief.”
“What do you want?” asked Attika as she glanced warily at the two armed men.
“As I said. I want to discuss the future, ours and the nation’s.”
“Okay,” said Attika, “but it’d be easier for me to talk about it without those guns pointed at me.”
“First move away from the desk. I know there’s a pistol in the right hand drawer, and I don’t want you to attempt anything foolish. In fact, perhaps it would be best if you two would move over to the far corner.”
“You know a lot about our security,” said Attika suspiciously. “We had it completely overhauled after Harken went scurrying away to the Sahiradin.”
Linsky grinned. “I make it a point to be well informed. And you, Attika, are far too trusting.”
After Attika and Tyana had complied with his instruction, Linsky indicated for his two Storm Front officers to lower their weapons. Then he walked toward the two women with a broad smile on his face. He opened a drawer in Attika’s desk and retrieved a 9mm pistol and handed it to one of his men.
“It feels good to be back together again,” he said warmly. “We have so much catching up to do.”
“Personally, it hasn’t been long enough,” replied Attika, a look of disgust on her face.
“That gets me right here,” said Linsky, tapping the left side of his chest. “How can you say such a thing after all you and I have been through?”
Looking at Tyana, he said, “And what about you? Have you missed me since our little encounter in the Capitol Building, and let’s see, where else…” He searched his memory for a few moments then snapped the fingers of his right hand, but could only manage a muffled sliding sound with his glove on. He tried again with the same disappointing result. He removed the glove to reveal a pale hand covered in small scales. He examined his hand before looking at Tyana, then Attika. Both of them were eyeing the strange appendage.
“You’ve noticed my remarkable hand,” he said as he slowly flexed his fingers. “It was a gift from the Sahiradin for services rendered. You see, a certain daughter of a certain former Defense Guardian removed the original during a dispute regarding ownership of an object of great value.”
Looking at Attika, he said, “You remember, don’t you dear Attika? You saw my sad little stump when I came to see you in the hospital.”
Attika didn’t respond.
“Like you, I was initia
lly repulsed by this pale, scale-covered hand. Of course the Sahiradin did not have a Humani version in stock, so this is what I got. That being said, I soon overcame my revulsion and now I have to admit I’ve grown quite fond of it.”
He looked again at Tyana and snapped his fingers loudly. “I remember now! I know you from a raid we conducted against a cell of Septemberists. Who was the leader of that group? Let me think…”
“Scipio,” said Tyana quietly, her eyes promising vengeance for the atrocities she had witnessed that day.
“Ah yes, Scipio. But that was just his assumed name. His true name was Fletcher, yes? John Fletcher. Father of two, husband of one. Good man, no doubt. If memory serves, after we had extracted everything useful from him, you and your undedicated co-conspirators were all lined up and shot. Tell me, how did you survive?”
Tyana shrugged. “You’re guys missed.”
“My guys missed,” repeated Linsky slowly. Then he grinned and said, “Well, we do our best, but there’s always room for improvement.”
Linsky turned his attention back to Attika and studied her features for a few moments. He walked to her then reached for her with his pale, alien hand. He tried to push back several strands of wavy hair that had fallen over the metal plate on her skull, but she pulled away, a look of revulsion on her face.
“Don’t touch me!” she snarled.
Linsky frowned.
“It pains me to see what you’ve become, Attika, dear. You were once so beautiful and full of life, but now look at you. You’re damaged. Damaged beyond repair.”
Looking at Tyana, Linsky said, “Did you know that Attika and I were friends before her…how shall I put it…transformation? I say transformation because what you see before you was not the result of an accident or some terrible thing we in the SPD did to her. No, it is the result of something else, something far less heroic.”
The Renegade Page 33