Nomad: Freedom Is Never Free

by Todd Brill

  They didn’t.

  Nomad sensed the edge of the city. The area had become quieter, more serene as the wind through the hand trees replaced the dilapidated lamp posts and screaming children. There was an interesting difference about the energy of the city versus the energy of these wilder spaces.

  In the city, everything aside from the people and wandering animals felt lifeless. Nothing around them gave off much energy. The power lines gathering in jumbled nests of hijacked electricity hummed with power, but it still felt artificial and lifeless to him. The people also felt like they weren’t entirely there. They were like background noise. He recalled from his time at the camp people mostly felt like the desperate, bright-burning embers of a fire. Here in the city, they felt like barely warm ashes.

  In the country, things came alive. Nomad could sense the fields, the bush, and forests. The hand trees were majestic and waving with a stoic energy speaking to him of decades of peaceful watchfulness. Life filled the small animals he sensed in those wilder places. They went about their business without thinking about the kinds of things people thought about: work, relationships, love, and the future. They were all concerned with the present and their place in it. The search for food and the awareness of their surroundings. They worried about predators sometimes, but it was brief, and they kept aware but didn’t obsess about the danger that might be lurking around a tree or in the sky above. Death didn’t figure into their energy in the present. They were at peace until they couldn’t be any longer.

  The sun had just gone down when they reached the small, remote clearing where the meeting was to take place. Nomad knew because the energy of the place changed. He was becoming sensitive enough to hear these kinds of things. He could sense the coming nightfall and the proximity of other people.

  The small van came to a sudden stop. Nomad sensed several strangers approaching the van. He didn’t think they were guards, but they were armed and had a somewhat hostile energy about them.

  “Del,” said a voice from the front of the van.

  “Hams,” replied Del. “Tell ’em we’re here.”

  “They already know. Just bring them out and follow us.”

  Del got out of the van, walked around back, and opened the double doors.

  “Okay people, this is it. Keep your blindfolds on and walk single file,” said Del. He lined them up so they had one arm touching the shoulder of the person in front of them. Then he walked to the front of the procession and led them into the forest. Nomad could sense the gentle waving of the hand trees above and felt the gentle, cool wind filtering through the clearing as it blew across his face.

  They walked for a minute until they could hear the muted voices of several people and felt the warmth of a small fire.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” said a gruff voice directly ahead. “You can remove your blindfolds.” They each untied and removed their blindfolds, squinting against the light of the fire that ricocheted off the trunks of trees and thick masses of bush blocking the clearing from the remainder of the forest.

  “Welcome, visitors,” said the alien directly in front of them. He was tall, lanky, and almost skeletal with tufts of gray hair splintering out from his dark gray cap. He had a rifle slung over his bony shoulder, as did the men and women standing to his right and left.

  “My name is Overwinter,” he said in a voice deeper than one might expect from so thin a man. “I represent the Council. We’re here to discuss your plans. It’s my understanding that you’ve all suffered a great deal because of the Leader and you all wish to contribute to our fight against him. This is good. We need as much help as we can get.

  “Let me say firstly that this fight will not be easy. We are vastly outnumbered right now. The Leader has all the power, weapons, and ships and we have… well, we have next to nothing except courage and a goal: to rid this world of the Leader and his followers. So tell me — how is it that you can help us?”

  “Greetings, Overwinter,” said Telarch, stepping forward. “My name is Telarch of the Tellarians. I was a soldier on my home world and was trapped here by the Leader and his men. I only wish to go home but I’m willing and able to fight in order to do so. I pledge you my life if it means we can somehow find a way home by defeating the Leader.”

  “Welcome Telarch of the Tellarians,” said Overwinter. “We welcome your strength and wisdom. I don’t know whether we can get you home, but if anyone has the technology to do so, it would be the Leader and his scientists. Help us defeat him and we will do whatever we can to get you home.”

  Overwinter adjusted the rifle slung on his shoulder and looked at the rest of the group.

  “What say the rest of you?” he said. Nomad stepped forward next.

  “My name is Nomad. Of the humans. And I want to go home, too,” he began. “But this is also about revenge for me. Because of the Leader, some people I cared about deeply are gone. He’s committed a crime against all of us by keeping us in that death camp but he’s also responsible for the death of a peaceful old woman and a child. He must be brought to justice for it. I will help you with whatever I can until I can see him pay for his crimes. People like the Leader don’t deserve life when all they do is take it from others.”

  Danik nodded beside him. “I would only repeat what Nomad has told you,” she said. “My name is Danik and I was sworn to protect Yola Yarrisian, Crown Princess of Dunabe and heir to the throne on my world. I will avenge her and return to King Yerune and Queen Ooti triumphant that I had a part in avenging her senseless death.” Hiyadi then stepped forward in turn.

  “I am Hiyadi,” he said raising his open hand to them. “I am pleased to meet you. I am from a world called Kel that orbits a dwarf star far from this place. I too would like to return to my home world so that I may continue my work there. I hold no animosity toward anyone. However, it seems logical that only the resources controlled by the Leader of this world can return me to my world and that he would not do so willingly. Therefore, violent force will be required to achieve my desired result. I will assist you in any way I can. I am a proficient fighter and also a skilled scientist and engineer. I consider these people beside me to be my friends and would like to assist them in their goal to return to their respective worlds as well. Thank you.”

  “Welcome again,” said Overwinter nodding. “Thank you for your help. Let’s relax a little now and discuss things. I want to hear everything you know so far.”

  Overwinter and his team sat on the bark-stripped logs arranged around the small fire while rebel guards patrolled the clearing and woods around them. They shared plastic goblets of a sweet wine and spoke at length about how they got to this world, the prison camp, the Leader’s plans, and what had happened during their escape. Nomad left out his training and powers. Taking his lead, none of his friends offered the information either.

  Overwinter listened intently during the discussion, often leaning forward or shaking his head sadly. Nomad could tell he was an intelligent man. Overwinter wasn’t his real name, of course, and Nomad could sense he was holding something back from them, but this was only to be expected. They were, after all, aliens here. For all Overwinter knew, they could be plants from the Leader’s security forces here to infiltrate the rebel group.

  Nomad also sensed mistrust and fear from the rest of the council members. They didn’t speak to them at all, just whispered occasionally to each other, but it was clear to one who listened — they were skeptical and wary of the newcomers.

  When they had all completed their stories, there was a moment of silence. Then Overwinter looked intently into the fire and sighed. He took a large gulp of his wine and licked his thin, pink-purple lips.

  “You’ve all been through a lot,” he said sadly. “And I feel your pain. I’ve also lost several friends and family to this madman. We’d heard of his plans about the shield project and what he intends to do with the prisoners once it’s complete. It’s horrible and unacceptable. And we’ve made a tentative plan to do something abo
ut it.

  “We plan on rescuing the prisoners, but we’ll need your help to give us the layout and other intelligence regarding the defense of the camp. Our thought is that if we can free more aliens, perhaps many of them will come fight with us.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” said Telarch. “Although you must realize there are many women and children in there as well as elders who wouldn’t be much use as fighters.”

  “All is good,” replied Overwinter. “We too have elders and children, and you’d be surprised at how useful they can be. Elders have knowledge and can still help around the camps. Children are capable messengers and can do small tasks as well. Everyone can be used toward our common goal.”

  “And what of supplies, food, water, weapons, and so on?” said Telarch, pulling at his long gray beard resting on the black blindfold still around his neck.

  “I won’t lie to you friends,” Overwinter replied. “Supplies are hard to come by. The extra mouths of the prisoners will be difficult to feed. This is why timing and quick action are critical. We could spend months preparing — gathering and stockpiling enough supplies to feed the potential newcomers — but we don’t have months. We have days. Also, the council feels that if we can oust the Leader and free the markets, supplies and food will be more readily available than they are now.

  “I won’t make any promises, and it won’t be easy, but we’ll certainly do our best to take care of everyone we free from the camp. We don’t want to see anyone starve like they did a few years back. Some of us on the council lost friends and family to starvation on that occasion, and it would pain us dearly to see others suffer the same way.”

  Telarch nodded in agreement. “Then the only remaining question I have is this: when do we begin?”

  “We already have,” said Overwinter, looking up from the fire to look directly at Telarch. “We can have a final plan in place once we have the map and intel on the camp from you.”

  They spent the rest of the evening drawing maps and diagrams and discussing the camp routine, guards, and other strategic information. Just before dawn, they broke camp and loaded back into the van for the trip back into the city.

  “Two nights from now,” said Overwinter before they left. “We’ll attack the camp as we agreed. Many will die. Many will be freed. And may the Leader pay for his crimes. Good luck to you all.”

  The last thing Nomad saw before they replaced his blindfold was Overwinter waving good-bye, a grim look on his gaunt lavender face.

  17

  “While you were in the camp, did anyone ever tell you about the Legend?” said Telarch tugging on his beard.

  Nomad thought for a moment, remembering all the things he had been told, all the stories he had heard.

  “Yeah, I remember that one,” he said, through a mouthful of dry bread soaked in broth. The broth tasted like chicken but Del assured him it definitely wasn’t whatever “chicken” was. By the look on Del’s face, Nomad decided against delving deeper into that mystery for now.

  “Intriguing,” said Hiyadi. “Why was it such a popular thing to talk about in the camp, even though it was quite foolish?”

  “Foolish?” said Telarch, snorting. “What’s so foolish about it my cyborg friend? Did you find it foolish because it didn’t involve logic or circuitry?”

  Nomad winced at Telarch’s scathing reply and looked at Hiyadi. If he was insulted or hurt, he certainly didn’t show it. Hiyadi’s pale white face was as impassive as ever.

  “The story of the Legend is predicated upon the idea that the story is somehow prophetic and that it foretold of the freedom of the prisoners in the camp. It is highly improbable this would ever occur, and, if it did, it would be highly improbable that one person alone would be responsible,” said Hiyadi.

  “Bah,” said Telarch, tearing another hunk of bread to dip in his soup. “You rely too much on your computer algorithms. Nobody can see the future, not even the best scientist in the universe. People need hope, my friend. Even if it wasn’t likely, they needed a story to help them hope for rescue. Without hope, people have nothing.”

  “Hope is a wonderful thing,” replied Hiyadi nodding. “However, it is my experience that hope relies on faith and faith relies on illogical fallacies and the ignorance of facts. Had the prisoners worked together instead of waiting for an improbable rescue, they might have effected their own escape. Instead, they sat cowed and compliant, waiting for a magical hero to save them that most likely would never have come.”

  “But not everyone is a warrior, Hiyadi,” added Nomad. “Not everyone in the camp was capable of fighting. They also didn’t have a leader; someone they could look to for inspiration or hope.”

  “You use the word ‘hope’ again, my dear friend,” said Hiyadi. “Hope is only warranted if there are facts to support it. In the case of the prison camp, hope was not warranted since there was no leader and only the remotest of probabilities for their escape.”

  “Without hope, nobody would lift a finger to fight,” said Telarch, angrily dunking his bread. “I’ve seen it before on my world. We tried recruiting people to our side, but they were hopeless. They didn’t believe what we were doing would make any difference. Maybe they were right, I dunno. But I had hope. Yes, you can call it blind faith or whatever you want, and I understand what you’re saying, but you don’t understand what that means to biological creatures like us.”

  “Perhaps not,” said Hiyadi tentatively. “I will give the matter more thought. Thank you all for your input.”

  Telarch snorted a laugh and blew crumbs from his mouth. Nomad chuckled too. Telarch put his bowl down and began picking crumbs out of his silver beard, grumbling.

  “Did I say something humorous?” said Hiyadi.

  “I just find it funny that you would think about something that defies logic and analysis by using logic and analysis,” replied Telarch. Nomad nodded in agreement.

  “There are more things on Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” added Nomad whimsically, staring down at his bowl. He remembered the Shakespeare quote from high school. High school seemed so long ago and so far away and those memories kindled a warm feeling of sadness in him -- a longing to go home.

  Hiyadi looked somewhat confused which amused Telarch.

  “Go on and think about it,” said Telarch with a smile. “Until you understand how psychology works, the answer will elude you, my friend.”

  “Intriguing,” said Hiyadi, “I always enjoy a good puzzle, and this is no exception. I accept your challenge.” Telarch just chuckled again and tossed another hunk of broth-soaked bread into his mouth.

  Later that evening, after training, they sat and talked about the upcoming mission and worked on their strategy.

  “Even if we manage to storm the camp, overwhelm the guards, and free the prisoners, will there be enough weapons to arm them?” asked Nomad.

  Del nodded. “Yes. The camp should have a fully stocked armory. They have combat armor, ammunition, grenades, and plenty of rifles and pistols. I think the trick is going to be to convince the poor bastards to fight.”

  “And what about the women and children?” asked Danik, a look of concern etched across her beautiful face. “What do we do with all the prisoners who can’t – or won’t – fight?”

  “We will have transports ready for them,” said Del while he continued cleaning a rifle. “They will be taken to the various rebel camps and cared for until they decide what to do. What choice do they have? They can either help us in whatever way they can or they can try to make their way on their own. They’d be foolish to try anything alone. The Leader’s forces won’t allow them to just wander around wherever they want. They’d be rounded up and slaughtered.”

  “Another question is: will we have enough fighters to do anything with?” said Telarch. “If I was designing this mission, I would want to know if there are any targets of opportunity within striking distance of the camp. Once you’ve assessed the situation on the ground and figured out how many
fighters and weapons you have, it would be a good idea to continue the attack further.”

  “You mean attack the Leader right after taking the camp, Tel?” said Nomad.

  “Yeah. Exactly,” said Telarch tapping the stick he was using to make marks on their crude map on the floor. “If we’re successful at taking the camp, it’ll be mainly because of surprise. If the enemy’s surprised and your initial mission is successful, you should push that advantage as far as you can as fast as you can.”

  “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” said Del, grinning. “You have a devious and dangerous mind, Tel.”

  “Thanks,” said Telarch, grinning back. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “Okay, well… There is a guard barracks a few kilometers from the camp that might make a good target. This all assumes, of course, that we succeed at taking the camp first,” said Del, indicating a dirt rectangle on the map some distance from the camp with his stick.

  “It needs to be something bigger,” said Telarch. “Something more important. If we really wanna do some damage, we need to think boldly. Does the Leader have a residence that we can reach quickly? Or a very strategic resource of some kind? A bunker?”

  Del tapped his stick on the ground while rubbing his dark-purple chin.

  “Well…” he said tentatively. “There’s the Leader’s Council building. But it would be heavily guarded and there’s no telling who might be there.”

  “Is there a chance the Leader might be there?” asked Nomad, his pulse quickening.

  “Sure,” said Del. “He spends most of his time between the Council, his Throne, and his residence. But there’s no guarantee of course. For all we know, he might be there. But then again, he might not be. If he is, he will be surrounded by his Imperial Guard — his personal bodyguards and they’re highly trained killers. Not an easy thing to deal with, especially for half-starved prisoners.”