The White Warrior

by Marilyn Donnellan

  Protests among citizens continued to escalate. Marco came to dread any occasions where he was forced to be in the same room with the general. There was something about Priest that set Marco’s teeth on edge. The general was a retired marine major from WWIII and the prime minister promoted him to a one-star general the same day he was appointed to the post. His appearance was always impeccable. Taller than the prime minister, and very muscular, he obviously kept in shape. The general’s chiseled jaw included a dimpled chin. He had salt and pepper hair in a Marine buzz-cut: very short on the sides and longer on top.

  With the prime minister’s approval, the general ordered special uniforms for soldiers under his command, solid black armored jumpsuits trimmed in red. The uniforms adapted to various terrains by changing colors. Every soldier the general recruited was required to be in top physical condition. Rumors said each member of the elite group also had B-chips implanted, stifling any emotion.

  The taciturn general frequently revealed a cruel side when dealing with anyone part of Book Liberators. There were rumors among the prime minister’s staff he enjoyed torturing prisoners, although Marco had not yet been able to prove it. After he retired from the military, Priest operated a detective agency and private security firm, specializing in cases local law enforcement seemed unable to solve. He had undoubtedly been on life-extending drugs, since Marco’s research indicated he was older than Altero, maybe 120 years old.

  Marco knew the first time he met him they were not going to get along. Priest told him a couple of times he didn’t like “fancy boys,” apparently referring to any man who had not served in the military. That had been more than two years ago, and since then Marco traveled multiple times across all four provinces, sometimes following in the general’s footsteps, but always trying to arrive before the general. He needed time to warn BL rebels of the general’s pending arrival. Marco walked a tightrope, but he was confident BL communications made it impossible for the general to figure out what he was doing.

  Marco recruited BL members able to infiltrate every facet of the empire’s government, training them in BL code and receiving regular reports via an encrypted format on his vid-phone. One of his contacts, an expert at encryption, showed him how to hide messages in scenery pictures he snapped on his vid-phone during his travels. Only if the recipient knew what to look for could the hidden message be deciphered.

  Instead of diminishing, protests turned into a full-scale revolt against the empire. Unfortunately, thousands of citizens continued to die or were imprisoned. To say the prime minister was frustrated was an understatement. But not everything was going well for the general, either. Marco observed a particularly vivid dressing-down the prime minister gave the general after a protest rally in Chicago City turned violent and more than 400 people died or were or seriously injured. Another thousand were carted off to prison intake centers for B-chip implants.

  “I told you to reduce violence not ratchet it up, General!” the prime minister yelled furiously.

  The general stood at attention in front of Altero’s desk. Mario stood behind the prime minister. The veins standing out on the general’s neck and his clenched jaw indicated he, too, was furious. But the general remained silent and waited until the prime minister waved his hand, giving him permission to speak.

  “Sir, yes, sir! Vids of the event show my men did not start firing into the protesters until one of them got shot by a sniper with an old-style rifle. As you know, it seems to be one of their favorite tactics. My men simply defended themselves, sir.”

  “Killing or wounding more than 400 civilians with only one casualty on your side, hardly seems like a fair fight or that your people were defending themselves. You created more martyrs for their cause. It appears to me the whole situation has moved from protest to revolution. Now we need to change to a military operation, something I wanted to avoid. You leave me no choice.”

  Mario did not know if the prime minister noticed it, but a sudden gleam appeared in the general’s eyes, the corner of his mouth turning up into a slight grin. This did not bode well for BL protesters.

  And he was right. Once the prime minister gave the general free rein to make it a military operation against a citizen revolution, things went from bad to worse. Within two years, the number of protesters killed or imprisoned mounted. Transport of books to hidden locations had, for all practical purposes, stopped. BL rebels simply tried to stay alive.

  Priest greatly expanded the numbers of soldiers under his authority, stationing them in all major metropolitan areas. Citizens who tried to object to soldiers running rough shod over their rights were summarily shot or imprisoned. Marco began to see definite changes in the moods of citizens across the country as he traveled to various cities. Sullenness and an unwillingness to look him in the eye became standard responses to inquiries whenever they saw his uniform. As tensions increased, the prime minister wanted him to take on a bodyguard, but Marco refused. He did not wear his uniform unless he had to and only when on official empire business.

  All council members went into hiding or became extremely cautious where they went and what they did, doing everything possible to protect their identities. Despite the general’s efforts, no council members had yet been caught, maybe because of the help of a new member to the council. Marco recruited her a year after he started working for the prime minister. Her name was Sandra Bernhardt.

  Sandra, a distant relative of a family of actors from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, inherited their acting gene. She was brilliant. She was also an expert in disguises and forgeries. Marco saw her perform in a clandestine play held in the back streets of Boston. Entitled, “Emperor of America,” the satire was a comedic portrayal of Prime Minister Altero as a despot who wanted to be emperor. Marco saw the play twice. After the second time, he went backstage and met her.

  Because the location of the clandestine play changed frequently to protect the actors, Altero’s soldiers were unable to shut it down. Finally, Altero instructed his men to leave her alone, believing it to be harmless entertainment. He even attended a play himself in disguise, he told Marco.

  “She is a brilliant actor. Besides, what harm can one play do?” he asked Marco one day. Marco figured it prudent to not respond to his question.

  Although flattered when Sandra flirted with him, Marco told her he could only offer her friendship since his heart belonged to another. He first met the actor at a BL cell meeting. As they got to know each other better, she said his dedication to the BL cause was probably as strong as hers to acting. She did not hesitate to make known her dissatisfaction with the prime minister’s policies.

  He loved watching her on stage. Simply by changing costume, voice and makeup she became a beautiful courtesan, an ugly old hag, or a slender young boy. He had never seen anyone with such talent. After a show and at dinner with her one night at a small café on the waterfront, Mario raised an issue he had been thinking about for several months.

  “Sandra, one of the big problems for BL council leadership is trying to figure out a way to disguise them as they travel from province to province encouraging members. Protecting their identities is critical. They are the only ones who know where all the books are hidden. Do you have any suggestions on how we might be able to help disguise them?”

  She thought for a moment, tilting her exquisite head of long black hair curled artfully to the side. Tonight, she wore an old fashioned off-the-shoulder long gown of deep, wine-red setting off her pale skin beautifully; a single strand of white pearls and tiny tear-drop pearl earrings her only adornments. Perfect contours of her small heart-shaped face, her button nose and full lips drew constant admiring looks from other patrons of the restaurant, both men and women. Her eyes were so dark they looked black.

  The couple sat at a table for two in an alcove away from other patrons where they could not be overheard. He wore his black tuxedo tunic and slacks. Sandra always insisted attendees at her plays dress their best. The admission prices reflecte
d the popularity of shows despite, if not because of, the theme of the play.

  “Let me think about it, Mario. I’m sure I can come up with something simple for each of them. Maybe some disguises to keep them safe. I’ll let you know. It will help if you give me some broad information on each. Don’t tell me who they are, but approximate sizes, ages, appearances, sex, etcetera, and I’ll see what I can do. They will need false identities, too, to stand up to empire scrutiny.”

  A few weeks later, after he gave her the information she needed, Sandra asked him to come backstage after a show. He was flabbergasted at what she showed him. In front of him sat six boxes. Each box contained an outfit which would completely disguise the council member, instructions on how to apply make-up to fit the disguise, and forged identities for each. As he looked through the boxes, he knew Sandra’s efforts might save the lives of council members.

  In a rare show of affection, he grabbed her and waltzed her around the tiny, cluttered room.

  “You are incredible, Sandra! These are perfect. Now, to figure out how to get the disguises to them.”

  He got ahold of Brogan, who connected him with Professor O’Malley’s team of hobos. They smuggled the boxes of disguises to council members, marked as produce. With the help of disguises and forged papers, council members could now safely meet at least once a year to discuss BL business and plan next steps. Each of their roles changed somewhat since it was now less about peaceful protests and becoming more about trying to overturn Altero’s government.

  Two years after Emily’s birth, the council scheduled a meeting in Mazatlán, the furthest distance from where the general was scheduled to be at the time. He decided to focus his attention on Austin City. In a meeting with the prime minister, which Marco attended, the general explained it this way:

  “As near as I can figure out, Book Liberators started at University of Texas Austin a few years ago, apparently led by students and meant to protest the implementation of Statute 648.”

  The prime minister impatiently interrupted him.

  “I know all that. Get to the point.”

  General Priest clinched his jaw, but continued, “Although I have no proof, Frank and Emily Finlay’s daughter, Brogan, and her partner, Bryan Douglass, are probably two founders of BL.”

  “Okay, so, where are they?”

  “We cannot find them. After the prison break and death of Emily, they disappeared. We sent pictures to law enforcement in all provinces, but no luck so far.

  “I’ve also been considering who they associated with at the university.”

  The general looked over at Marco, a wicked grin on his face.

  “One of their friends was you, Marco.”

  Marco tried not to move a muscle or show any reaction.

  “Bryan and I played Lacrosse together and I attended a couple of classes with Brogan, but that’s the extent of it. You will find I had a lot of friends at university. It doesn’t make me a member of Book Liberators.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but you might say it is enough to look suspicious,” the general said as he moved closer to Marco and glared down at him.

  “Enough!” the prime minister hollered. “All you have are suspicions? If so, quit wasting my time. Get out and don’t come back until you have something worthwhile to present to me.”

  The general saluted, turned on his heels and marched out of the office. Marco surreptitiously let out a sigh of relief.

  “That man gets more and more paranoid,” Altero said in frustration. “He can’t seem to slow down this revolution, let alone stop it.” He turned to Marco. “Any suggestions?”

  Marco remained silent for a moment. “Sir, I’m really concerned all the killings and violence just make the situation worse. And, I’m afraid to say it…” He hesitated.

  “Speak up, man. It is what I pay you for.”

  Marco took a deep breath.

  “There are rumors the general is hoping the revolution will provide him with an opportunity to get rid of you. One of my contacts on the general’s staff said he is looking for a way to assassinate you.”

  Prime Minister Altero looked at Marco and gave a big sigh. He stood up from behind the desk and walked over to massive windows overlooking Boston harbor, his hands behind his back, his head bowed.

  Marco waited, not sure if he was dismissed or if he said too much. He’d been working for the prime minister now for almost three years. Although he hated most policies Altero implemented, he sympathized with the prime minister sometimes; like now. He did not doubt his intellect. He frequently quoted Shakespeare and had the ability to think quickly when confronted with problems.

  During one of the few times the prime minister shared some of his past, Marco learned he was bonded before the war.

  “My partner and infant son were killed in the nuclear blast which destroyed New York City,” he said unemotionally. “If my son had lived he would have been 50 years old the year you were born.”

  Did those deaths define who the prime minister was today? Cold, emotionless and seemingly unable to think of anything but his own legacy.

  Now the silence lengthened. He thought maybe he ought to leave, but the prime minister turned and looked at him, his expression, as usual, unreadable.

  “What you said really doesn’t surprise me, Marco. And it isn’t the first time someone close to me has had visions of grandeur, thinking they can easily take over my job. In Shakespeare’s play, “Henry IV,” Act III, Scene I, the king said, ‘Uneasy hangs the head that wears the crown’. And even though I don’t wear a crown, it sure seems like it some days.”

  He straightened his shoulders and strode back to the desk.

  “Don’t tell anyone else what you told me. I’ll deal with General Priest. I want you to go to Chicago. I don’t want you anywhere around when I do. Understood? I’ll call you back as soon as it is safe.”

  “Yes, sir.” He left the prime minister, not realizing it would be the last time he saw him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Love and Research

  Black and blue eyes and swollen nose from Bryan’s assault garnered a lot of sympathy from fellow doctors and research assistants Allison’s first day back at work after the prison escape. Fortunately, the nose was not broken, and her face looked much worse than it was.

  Marco would kill Bryan if he saw what he’d done to me. She grinned to herself at the thought of Marco defending her honor. Exhaustively interviewed by law enforcement, they found nothing suspicious about her actions, or that of the cook, so both went back to work.

  She hated sending Marco back into the clutches of the prime minister. She finally admitted to herself her deep affection for Marco. Okay, I love him. But she was certainly not going to tell him yet. She’d known for quite some time what she felt for him was more than friendship, but she also knew now was not the time to build a romance; the mission of Book Liberators came first.

  Her parents died when she was quite young. She always threw herself into her work, never allowing time for family or a serious relationship.

  Now, three years later, she sat at her desk in the research lab, trying to analyze results from blood work done on prisoners before the escape, as well as results from other energy grunts. But her mind kept wandering back to Marco. They periodically chatted by vid-phone, but it had become more and more difficult to keep her feelings for him to herself. She shook her head and tried to move her mind back on track.

  Finally, she stood up and walked out of her office and into the lab where several research assistants analyzed blood samples of energy grunts received by drone from several towns along the solar farm corridor.

  “What do you have, Mike?” she asked one of the lab techs. Mike had been working with her since she came to San Antonio. A tall, skinny doctoral candidate in hematology, extremely methodical in his research, Mike worked at the lab between classes at UT San Antonio. He dissertation would be on the effects of solar energy on energy grunts, so the research was important to him.<
br />
  “There is definitely something going on, Dr. Simpson. I am confident our hypothesis is correct. Working around solar panels for years is probably what is behind the high incidence of leukemia and lymphoma among energy grunts. There appears to be definite correlation between the length of time someone works at solar farms with the panels and contracting some form of blood diseases. I’m just getting ready to enter some more data into correlation charts. What we don’t know yet, is whether it is the solar panels, something used in the construction of the panels, or something else causing the diseases.”

  “Great work, Mike. Let me know if you come across anything unusual.”

  Next month she and Mike planned to go to a medical conference in Austin City where he would present his dissertation on the topic. She hoped because of their work the government would start limiting how long someone worked around solar panels, at least until her research team came up with a cure for the diseases. There appeared to be an additional strong correlation between blood diseases and use of solar panels as housing material. She was convinced it caused the death of Brogan’s mother. Bryan told her about the way Brogan’s home was built from the panels.

  Working on a project like this was sometimes frustrating because so much promising cancer research had been lost or destroyed during the war. This seemed to be one of those times they had to start from scratch on researching important medical issues.

  She used vacation time to attend annual council meetings, but because BL protests had now become a revolution, she did not know how safe it would be to attend the next meeting in Mazatlán. As she walked back into her office in the research building, thinking about what she needed to do to prepare for the conference, she saw a large box sitting on her desk. Inside she read a note from Sandra: “Have fun.”

  She almost blushed as she looked at the disguise Sandra, the newest council member, sent to her. But when she returned to her apartment and began experimenting with the disguise, she started having fun with it. Marco will be delighted.