The White Warrior

by Marilyn Donnellan

  Delighted, they walked with Carlos over to meet Huevo O’Dami. A short, wiry man with dark, weathered skin, Huevo spoke with a thick accent but they managed to understand him. Probably about Frank’s age, but half his size, his thinning black hair was streaked with gray and fixed into a braid down his back. He wore peasant pajamas, like what the other men wore, but he topped his outfit with an intricately embroidered vest of symbols, reminding Brogan of something she remembered reading about the Inca civilization.

  Herman immediately liked the man, who made a fuss over him. Huevo threw a meaty bone for him into the open bed of the old truck, quickly followed by the dog, who contentedly crouched down and started chewing on it.

  Carlos said he needed to get back to his family near San Antonio. They had become good friends and they hated to see him go.

  “If it had not been for you, we could not have made it so far, Carlos,” Frank said. “Thank you so much.”

  Bryan handed him $50. “I know it isn’t much, but maybe it will help you get back home more quickly. We really appreciate what you’ve done.”

  At first, Carlos did not want to accept it, but after Brogan also pressed him to accept it, he reluctantly agreed. He decided to travel to San Antonio on the train, so their gift would help. After they saw him off, the trio went back to where Huevo finished with preparations for the trip across the Sierra Madre mountains. He sent Brogan and Bryan off to a nearby fruit stand to pick up supplies while he and Frank made one more check of the old truck’s motor, oil, tires and spark plugs.

  Frank was fascinated by the truck, a 2012 Ford E-250 Cargo truck. Huevo converted it to a totally mechanical, eight-cylinder, piston-driven motor, versus the old electronics version. He told Frank he needed 8-cylinders to more easily travel up and down the Sierra Madre mountains when he had a full load. He figured out how to make his own biofuel from native plants if no gas station was available. Frank was impressed with how much Huevo knew about the motor. He pestered him with questions and by the time the young couple returned from the market, he thought he knew enough to disassemble the motor and put it back together again if he had to.

  Huevo had removed the original covered box on the back of the truck and added a wooden fence-style box on the bed with an open top. The open cargo area prevented produce he usually carried from sweating in the heat and rotting. The dry air helped to preserve it, too. He used straw to pack between boxes of produce he transported to Laredo from Mazatlán to keep it from shifting and bruising. There was room in the front cab for two people, besides the driver, so Huevo put together a makeshift sitting area in the bed, using tarps, straw and boxes. He used a short chain, fastened to Herman’s collar, to keep him from falling out of the bed while they traveled. They ate a late breakfast at a diner on the outskirts of the Mexico side of the bridge, packed everyone and everything into the truck, and headed for Mazatlán, a trip of about 600 miles.

  The long, bumpy ride was broken up by stops every couple of hours for people to change positions and let Herman out to do his business. Huevo never asked why their destination was Mazatlán, but upon their insistence, he taught them some Spanish to help pass the time.

  As the truck crested the Sierra Madre Mountains and came done the west side, the view was spectacular. Terrain changed from barren desert to lush vegetation and the valley below became green and fertile. Huevo gave them a history lesson on more than 100 different indigenous Indian tribes calling Mexico their tribal lands for centuries. With the coming of Spaniards in the 1500’s, some tribes disappeared, others assimilated, but most maintained some customs related to their ancestors, simply adopting Spanish as their common language for trade. When Prime Minister Altero conquered Mexico during WWIII, he tried to force people to speak only English.

  “We rebel, and many people melt into mountains until soldiers go away. Then we go back to old ways,” Huevo said with a shrug.

  “We are escaping from Altero’s law enforcement,” Brogan told him, deciding there was common ground. “We are protesters to his policy to ban books and writing. We think it is how he wants to control our thoughts, tell us what to believe and to destroy our freedoms.

  “It is why we are trying to get as far from Austin City as we can until we figure out what to do next. More than 200 protesters were murdered by Prime Minister Altero’s soldiers, but almost 50 of his prisoners, including my father, escaped. My mother died while in his prison.”

  Huevo remained silent for a few minutes while he considered what she told him. “I sorry for loss. We live far from empire’s reach, but we heard about new law. We, too, think it destroy freedoms to worship as we choose, and to practice ancient ways. I am honored to lead you away from empire’s soldiers. I do not know how my people help, but first thing I do is not take money for trip.”

  “Huevo, we insist. We made an agreement,” she said with sincerity. Frank, who sat in the cab of the truck with her while Bryan rode in the back, agreed with Brogan.

  “No. It is way it will be. I accept no payment. It is small thing I do, but it make me believe I help you. I go this way anyway.”

  And, so Huevo took no payment. After much discussion, he recommended instead of taking them to Mazatlán, a large coastal town where soldiers from the empire periodically showed up, they instead go to Cosala, a small village north west of Mazatlán.

  That was why Frank now played with little Emily on the floor of a hut near the tiny village of Cosala with no idea where Brogan, Brandy and Herman might be. They left more than six months ago, on important Book Liberator business, and had not been heard from since. Brogan made him promise to keep a daily journal, charting everything Emily said and did while they were gone.

  A worried frown crossed his face for a moment. Emily sensed something was wrong because she toddled up to him, laid her small hand on his arm where he sat on the hut floor and looked up into his face. “Pop-pop booboo?” she asked.

  “No, honey, Pop-pop doesn’t have a booboo. I’m okay. Now, how about a banana for a snack?”

  As her short-attention span switched to a favorite topic – food – she laughed and tried to pull him to his feet, landing on her bottom with a giggle. He stood up and pulled her into his arms. Regardless of what might have happened to Brogan and Bryan, this priceless little girl was his future, his responsibility. He heard a loud “Ola” outside the hut. It was Stephen Douglass. Little Em squealed in delighted and squirmed to get down.

  “Pop-pop 2,” she hollered.

  “Ola, my little Em. How are you today?” Stephen asked as he walked into the hut and scooped her up.

  “Good, Pop-pop 2. Pop-pop has boo-boo. He sad.” She pointed with a frown at Frank.

  Frank chuckled at his granddaughter’s insight. Stephen raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m fine, Stephen, just wondering how the kids are doing.”

  “Me, too, Frank. Heard anything yet?”

  “No, but I’m sure we’ll hear something soon.”

  When Bryan sent word to his father they had to go on the run and would try to help Brogan’s parent’s escape from prison, Stephen listed the resort for sale. He sent the word out to the local BL cell to be careful and, if necessary, go into hiding. He waited impatiently to hear from Bryan while the resort was for sale.

  As soon as Frank, Bryan and Brogan reached Laredo, they sent him an encrypted message, telling him they were safe and on their way to Mazatlán and about Brogan’s pregnancy. By the time the resort sold, they told him of their decision to hideout in Cosala and he decided to join them.

  Stephen arrived in Cosala just a few weeks before Emily was born, carrying a stack of children’s books he secreted from the stash of books in Gypsum Cave. He’d been living in a hut not too far from Frank’s since her birth, helping Frank with the garden and learning Spanish so he could better interact with their neighbors. Although he missed Alice every day, his granddaughter helped to fill the void left by his partner’s death.

  The two widowers focused all their love and attent
ion on their granddaughter. They would protect her, care for her, and bring her up in the same way her parents and her grandmothers would have. They would also teach her what she needed to know to fight the evil empire, who every day took more freedoms away from its citizens.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The PM and The Reluctant Aide

  The day after Marco returned from San Antonio, he moved into his new apartment near the prime minister’s office. A typical spring snow storm hit the night he returned. He received a message from the prime minister’s secretary to use the day to move, since many staffers would not be at work. Altero’s secretary sent a specially equipped robo-van capable of making it through heavy snow for Marco to use to move his possessions.

  “The apartment is completely furnished,” the message from Madam said. “Don’t bring any furniture or linens with you.”

  The new apartment was located on the same floor as the prime minister’s office. Marco might never have located it without Madam pointing him in the right direction and handing him a scan card. She did so without saying a word. He walked past her desk, his valet cargo-bot following him and carrying all his possession. Before he entered the security tube, he noticed for the first time a couple of doors behind him, opposite the tube.

  He turned and used the scan card on the first apartment. Nope. But, the card worked on the second one. Although about the same size as his old apartment, the studio appeared to be much richer in quality. A single large window, visible as he walked into the room, looked over the harbor where the sea boiled from the fierce cold wind of the snow storm.

  The room décor featured modern furniture with sleek lines sitting against stark white walls. A black body-molding couch and chair, trimmed in white and scattered with red throw pillows, broke the starkness of the room. A small, well-stocked kitchen with a food unit and Bio Robot Refrigerator gleamed on the right. Lights shaped like silver bells hung from a high ceiling over a solid granite counter top with exquisite swirls of black and gray. An open floor plan made the room look large. Black and white marble floor tiles gleamed in a checkerboard pattern.

  On the left sat a large bed topped with a blood-red cover and scattered with black and white pillows. Round, black marble-topped end tables sat on either side of the bed, complete with electronic gadgets. A modern vid-screen hung on the wall opposite the bed.

  Expensive looking, computer-generated modern art in swirls of red, white and black hung on walls.

  On the left side of the bed was a large walk-in closet. New uniforms hung in the closet, identical to those worn by the prime minister’s personal staff: white tunics, trimmed in black with a gold crest on the pocket, and black slacks with perfect creases down the front. Gleaming black shoes and boots, dressy and casual, stuck out of shoe slots. A bright red winter cape also hung in the closet, probably of temperature adjusting fabric. There was even a dressy, black modern-cut tuxedo. His old wardrobe looked kinda shabby next to the new stuff. Of course, as he discovered later, everything fit perfectly.

  On the right side of the bed, he found the door to a bathroom with an energy-efficient shower and a sleek wash basin and toilet. Everything was black with red accents against stark white walls. A recessed linen closet near the wash basin was stocked with white towels.

  Marco spent the rest of the day unpacking and arranging everything to his liking. It took time getting used to his luxurious surroundings and trying out all the various electronic gadgets, especially the latest and greatest food synthesizer in the kitchen which responded to voice commands.

  He called his father. Using a coded message system, he reported on the changes to his lifestyle. His father was delighted he would be working so close to the prime minister.

  He awakened at 8 am next morning with a vid-phone call from the prime minister’s secretary telling him he was expected at a 9 am meeting to report on the San Antonio trip. Too tired to shower upon his arrival, he now showered, shaved and dressed in one of the new uniforms. He removed the large bandage around his head and replaced it with an antiseptic, self-sealing skin-colored adhesive. He ordered a delicious omelet from the food synthesizer and a cup of steaming cappuccino. I could get used to this, he thought.

  He walked through the security gauntlet, arriving at the prime minister’s office with only a minute to spare. People he did not know sat in body-molding chairs around the large conference table. He stood back, waiting for someone to tell him where he needed to be.

  Prime Minister Altero looked up from where he sat at the head of the table and beckoned him to come forward, directing an aide dressed in a uniform identical to Marco’s to get another chair and sit it beside him for Marco. Marco looked around the table at the silent, somber staring attendees. Uh, oh. What did I do now?

  As soon as Marco sat, Altero waved his hand and the security dome came down. A hologram projected a seating chart. As Marco looked at it, he suddenly realized all the members of House of Lords were present, as well as others whose titles and names he did not recognize.

  “Let’s get right down to business,” Altero said. “Purpose of today’s meeting is to discuss protests across the empire and, specifically, the fiasco in Texas Province. To give us a first-hand perspective of what happened in San Antonio, I asked my public relations aide, Marco Anton, to attend. Marco was there when Major Riley got shot. Plus, he went to the university with the daughter of one of the prisoners captured by the major’s task force.

  Marco was startled for a moment, not realizing the prime minister already figured it out. Of course, he certainly would not have selected Marco as his aide without doing some background work. He just hoped he didn’t know how well he knew Brogan.

  “Marco, tell us exactly what happened, from the time you stepped off the plane until you got back on it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Marco said, as he tried to calm his rapidly beating heart and shaking hands. He sat in the middle of the most powerful people in the empire and was a clandestine member of the BL council leading the protest movement. He hoped he wouldn’t screw it up.

  He gave them a step by step account of what happened, including how he was grazed by a laser shot from a law enforcement officer shooting into the crowd; how he ended up at the home of one of his college friends, a doctor, and his return to Boston. He did not mention names of any members of the BL council at Allison’s apartment.

  “I’m really not sure how I got to her apartment, since I was unconscious at the time. She came to the airport to see the jet arrival, since I told her when I would arrive.

  “And, that’s basically all there is to it. Everyone I talked to seemed to think the major was killed by one of the family members of someone killed in Van Horn. Most everyone killed in San Antonio were citizens come to greet the major, killed by law enforcement and military shooting indiscriminately into the crowd.

  “News media talked about a handful of protesters in the crowd who came armed with laser guns and that’s how law enforcement people died. But that’s purely speculation on their part, since the only ones I saw with guns were military and law enforcement. I think it is more likely citizens were killed by wild shots from them.”

  He heard a snort and then a low, deep, rumbling voice speak, filled with contempt. It was General David Priest.

  “Sounds to me like you don’t know very much. What else don’t you know?”

  “There is nothing else I can tell you, sir.”

  “General, enough,” Prime Minister Altero said firmly. “I asked Marco to give his first-hand account, not to solve the problem of how it happened. That’s your job.

  “For those of you who don’t know, I appointed General David Priest to Major Riley’s post as head of Operation Close the Book. Protests have ratcheted up and I want them stopped; hopefully without any more loss of life. Killings will only make martyrs out of them. General, tell us how you expect to address the growing problem.”

  For the next hour, the general pontificated on strategies he planned to use, including dev
elopment of an elite force of trained soldiers to work with local law enforcement to stop protest movements.

  “At the same time, I will investigate who the leaders are. Protests don’t just happen spontaneously. There is obviously some organized leadership behind it,” the general continued.

  “And, finally, we will continue to look for stashes of subversive books and destroy them to prevent unnecessary unrest among citizens.”

  “Thank you, general. Now, unless there are further questions, this meeting is adjourned.” No one else in the room had anything to say, so the prime minister stood.

  With the meeting ended, the dome lifted, and participants silently left, keeping any objections or questions to themselves. Before Marco started toward the door, Altero motioned him toward his desk. He waited until everyone had gone before he moved behind the desk and told Marco to sit in one of two chairs sitting in front of the desk.

  “Marco, here is what I expect from you. Although your title is public relations aide, I also want you to provide me with insight on General Priest’s strategies to rid us of protesters before it becomes a full-scale revolution. One of the reasons I brought you on board is because you provide a youth perspective. Plus, I appreciate the fact you were honest with me on your last visit. You didn’t just say what you thought I wanted to hear. Not many people are willing to do that, so keep it up.

  “Now, why don’t you take the rest of the day off? My secretary has already transferred your first month’s salary into your bank account, so you can probably use some time to finish setting up your apartment the way you want. Report back here at 8 am tomorrow.” Marco was dismissed.