by James Walker
Vic stared blankly out the window, watching the countless rows of support structures streaking by. Eventually, the webs of metal beams gave way to a vast waterscape as the mag car entered the tunnel that ran along the sea floor of the Krizeen Strait. The lights of the tunnel provided brief glimpses of the alien world that existed far beneath the waves, teeming with life forms and geological formations foreign to those who lived on the surface. Then the liquid abyss vanished, replaced once again by the uniform metal and stone of the subterranean tunnel.
Time grew strange on the trip to Hongpan. The journey dragged by for so long that it might have been an eternity. Vic almost felt that he would have been content with that—flying down this dark tunnel forever, danger behind them, fear and uncertainty ahead; and yet, for this brief moment, a kind of tranquil exhaustion. But despite time's slow advance, Vic feared every second the journey's end, so that when at last the hum of the mag car's field generator began to fade away, he felt that the moment of arrival had come far too soon.
A clang reverberated through the mag car as Pierson set it down. One by one, the rebel troops rose and filed out of the car. Vic came last. As he descended the boarding ramp, he glanced around and saw nothing but the same uniform features of the transcontinental tunnel, its darkness illuminated only by the mag car's running lights.
One of the soldiers gave voice to Vic's thoughts. “There's no sign of a station anywhere. Why did we stop here?”
“We need to hide the Cage,” Pierson replied. “The station would be too conspicuous. I've landed us next to some maintenance tunnels. Once we've hidden our prize, we'll continue to the station.”
Guntar broke in, “But first, roll call.” He took out his pocket computer and brought up a list of names, which he began to read. Vic felt his stomach tighten at how many of the calls went unanswered. The silence following “Hound, Eric” and “Yun, Huan” struck him with particular sharpness.
A long silence followed the end of the roll call. Finally, Guntar said, “We will never forget our comrades who perished during this operation. Let us carry out their will to free our people from the Theran yoke, that they may rest in peace, having not given their lives in vain.”
He switched off his pocket computer and tucked it in one of his pockets. “Now, we've got work to do. We'll use the mag car's power loader to carry the Cage and hide it in the maintenance tunnels.”
The troops broke up and went about their tasks. Vic stayed where he was, unsure of how he was expected to help. While he hesitated, Pierson came over and removed his shades. It was Vic's first time seeing the rebel leader's eyes. They were the sharp, predatory eyes of a bird of prey, yet for the moment they had a distant glint to them.
“The colonel says you fought well during the escape,” he said. “I've been impressed with your resilience so far. How are you holding up?”
It took a while for Vic to answer. “So many people have died,” he said finally. “I might easily have been one of them. I could have caught a stray bullet at any time. I might have boarded the other mag car. If so, someone else would be standing here right now, instead of me.” He gazed off into the distance. “Why am I one of those who survived? Is it just luck? I don't understand why I'm still alive, while Huan and Eric and all those other people are dead.”
“Your feelings are common among survivors when there have been heavy casualties,” Pierson said. “We've lost a lot of good men. Some of them were friends of mine, people I've known much longer than you.”
“But you've still got it together, doing your job, giving orders like nothing happened,” Vic observed. “How do you deal with that? Watching your friends dying all around you.”
“How do I deal with it?” Pierson repeated. He paused to consider the question. “Perhaps part of it is that I don't think of them as really gone. Your mind tells you you'll never see them again, but your heart tells you otherwise. What becomes of the dead's wishes after they're gone? I think they're still reaching out into the vastness of space. That's something the Therans can't understand.” Something dark flickered in his narrow gaze. “They're forever contaminated by the filth of Thera's black history, only capable of seeing space as a resource to be exploited. Their souls are trapped on that planet, trying to turn everything inward on themselves.”
He met Vic's eyes, his stare filled with some emotion Vic could not name. “Spacers must transcend the mistakes of their Theran ancestors,” he went on. “Space represents the opportunity to move beyond our bloodstained history on Thera, to reach out and embrace something greater than ourselves. If the colonists can free themselves from the Therans' yoke, out here in the depths of space, they'll grasp a glorious, eternal destiny. I'd like to believe that.”
Vic's expression registered surprise. “I'd never have guessed you're such a philosopher.”
Pierson smiled thinly. “That look on your face tells me you take a different view.”
Vic cast his gaze to the ground. “I thought space would be different, too. But my experiences out here have taught me otherwise. People are the same wherever they go. As mankind moves into space, we'll only replay Thera's bloody history on a wider scale.”
“That's probably the more realistic viewpoint,” Pierson conceded. “But I can't accept that, or else everything I've done would be meaningless.” He placed his shades back over his eyes. “Become strong, Vic. Even if you were born on Thera, you can cut your soul loose from that planet's chains and find freedom out here on the frontier. I believe you've got what it takes.”
20
Using the power loader, the rebels retrieved the Cage from the cargo compartment and entered the maintenance corridors adjoining the transcontinental tunnel. The corridors were unlit, forcing the rebels to rely on the power loader's running lights and their hand-held lanterns to illuminate their path. The corridors showed no signs of recent use or habitation, but even so, Pierson led them deep within the labyrinthine passages to a secluded chamber before he declared that it was safe to leave the Cage.
Once they finished storing the Cage, the rebels gathered for an emergency briefing. Pierson stood before the assembled troops—so few, compared to how many they'd had on Port Osgow—and addressed them in a clear voice.
“It's been a withering mission,” he began, this echoing words joining the symphony of water dripping in the darkness. “But we've succeeded in evading Theran pursuit—for now. Currently we are standing far beneath the streets of Hongpan, the colonial capital. Despite being the seat of Theran power on Chalice, Hongpan has been infiltrated by one of our sister cells, the Greenwings. They're a much larger group than ours, with good troops and good equipment.
“Our first task is to find our way through the labyrinth of the capital's Undercity and emerge on the surface. Then we must disappear, for it is certain that the enemy will continue hunting us, and it will not be difficult for them to guess where we'll come out of the tunnels. Our only hope of evading detection is to vanish into the urban depths. Finally, we must establish contact with the Greenwings and ascertain if they have equipment capable of breaking the security on the Cage.
“Though our primary objective is to remain off the grid, searching for our allies will require some level of access to Theran facilities. We'll need fake identities with holographic appearances, falsified database records, and modified tracking chips. Unfortunately, we have only four false identities with sufficient credentials to fool most Theran security checks. I will use one of them. The remaining three members of the contact team will be as follows.
“First, Technical Advisor Esther Klein.”
Esther came forward and stood next to Pierson. “I suppose this would stand out too much,” she said, removing her tattered lab coat stained with dirt and blood and letting it fall to the ground. The crisp business attire underneath remained relatively unscathed.
“Next, Sergeant Eliot Harper.”
Vic watched as a tall, bronze-skinned man came forward. He looked to be in his late twenties,
and he had the massive build of a natural-born athlete. His shaggy hair and unshaven face gave him an uncivilized appearance.
“Not sure why you picked me, Major,” Eliot grinned, “but I'm not arguing if it gives me a chance to hit the town.”
“This isn't a vacation, Harper,” Pierson chided. He turned back to the assembly and announced, “And for the last member of the contact team, Vic Shown.”
A surprised murmur swept through the assembly. All eyes turned to stare at Vic. Feeling their stares piercing him from all sides, he came forward and stood before Pierson.
He asked in a quiet voice, “Why me?”
“As a native-born Theran, you've grown up in cities just like Hongpan,” Pierson replied. “Your familiarity with the environment will be of benefit to all of us. You've also proven that you can keep a cool head under pressure.”
Vic fell silent as he considered this.
“There is a condition, however,” Pierson said.
Vic's brow furrowed. “A condition?”
“Up until now, it has been mutually beneficial for us to cooperate, even though you're a civilian,” Pierson said. “But your ambiguous standing with us can't continue. You've come to a crossroads, Vic Shown. Either you join with us formally, as a soldier of the Sarisan Liberty Coalition, or else we part ways once we reach the surface. Naturally, if you choose the latter option, you must swear never to speak of anything that has happened while you've been with us.”
Vic hesitated. “I—what?”
“I believe I was quite clear,” Pierson said. “Allowing a civilian to fight with us without formal induction is highly irregular, but we made an exception because you were drawn into our conflict against your will. But that time is passed. If we're to continue trusting you with our lives, you must join with the Liberators.”
Vic was still surprised from the suddenness of the demand. “You mean you would just dump me in the middle of Hongpan?”
Pierson's expression remained hidden behind his shades. “I don't think I'd phrase it quite that way. As a Theran citizen, you have an advantage over most of us. You should be able to reintegrate into civilian life if you want to.”
“I don't know about that,” Vic said, his thoughts racing. “The Union always tracks the movements of its citizens. I've dropped off the grid, so right now they probably assume I was killed in Port Osgow. But if I just reappeared in the middle of Hongpan, without any record of having taken transportation to the surface, how would I explain that?”
Pierson crossed his arms. “As long as you didn't try entering the Golden Ward, their security checks wouldn't be that thorough. You've got citizen credentials. That's good enough to get you by in most places.”
“Maybe,” Vic said. “But I'd be taking an awfully big chance by assuming I'd be able to slip through the cracks like that.”
“Well, there's an easy enough solution to your dilemma,” Pierson said. “Join up with us. We could use someone with your skills. Or would you really be comfortable returning to your previous existence as Union chattel, after all the things you've seen?”
“Damn.” Vic felt a headache coming on. “Can I have a minute to think about this?”
“Of course,” Pierson nodded. “We won't try to force you. The choice is entirely yours.”
Vic stepped away from the assembled soldiers and tried to collect his thoughts. He had never held much love for the Union government, but not until he became embroiled in its battle with SLIC had he realized the true depths of its cruelty. Pierson had a good argument that it would be difficult for him to return to his former existence now that he knew just how little value his life held in the eyes of his rulers.
Still, up until now he had fought with the rebels primarily as a matter of survival. Joining as a formal member of SLIC was another matter entirely. Simply because he had lost faith in Union rule did not mean that he trusted the rebels. Then there was the danger. As far as he could tell, the Union still possessed such overwhelming military superiority that a SLIC victory would be nothing short of a miracle. Joining their cause might be equivalent to signing his own death warrant.
To attempt to reintegrate with Theran society, hope that they never discovered his role in fighting with SLIC, and continue living under their oppressive yoke—or join a band of ragtag rebels who possessed no legitimate authority and might well be wiped out by the military might of their superior foe? Not much of a choice.
But there was one other factor that Vic wasn't considering. The Cage. For reasons he did not fully understand, he desperately wanted to find out what was inside that container. It gnawed at the back of his mind like a burgeoning obsession. What was calling out to him? Why was it calling out to him? He would not know peace until he came face to face with the source of that call.
As trivial as it seemed, that was the tipping point in an otherwise impossible decision. Vic steeled his resolve and walked back to Pierson, moving with newfound purpose.
“I'll do it.”
Pierson smiled. “I had faith you'd make that decision.” He turned to Guntar. “Shall we swear him in?”
Guntar nodded. From one of his pockets, he dug out a SLIC emblem and handed it to Vic. “Hold that tight in your right hand and place it over your heart,” he commanded.
Vic complied.
“Answer yes or no. Do you swear, as a man of the colonies, to fight for the freedom and independence of all the people of Saris, against all enemies who would seek to deny our basic human rights, to silence our voices, to rob us of our prosperity?”
“Yes.”
“Do you swear to obey the rightful orders of your superior officers, to give your faith and allegiance to the cause of freedom and independence, even unto death if necessary?”
“Yes.”
“I hereby witness that Vic Shown, as a man of the colonies, has given testimony that he will fight for the freedom and independence of Saris even unto death.”
“I also bear witness,” Pierson said.
“Let it be so recorded.” Guntar took out his pocket computer and entered some information. “I have entered Vic Shown into the rolls of our ranks. Given his baptism by fire, if you will, I've entered him as a private first class.”
“Make him a corporal,” Pierson said.
“Hm?” Guntar raised an eyebrow.
“We're pretty loose with our rules compared to the Union, but even we require at least N.C.O. rank to operate exosuits,” Pierson pointed out. “His talent is extraordinary. It would be a waste to deny him from using his greatest skill in aiding us.”
Guntar grunted. “All right, corporal it is, then. As you pointed out, we're not the Union. No need to be sticklers for the rules if they get in the way.”
Pierson handed Vic a set of clothes. “Welcome to the contact team. You've got your own civvies, but going around in those bloodstained tatters might raise a few eyebrows. Better change into some fresh clothes.”
Vic accepted the clothes. “Yeah.”
Pierson turned to address the other soldiers. “That concludes this emergency briefing. Are there any questions?”
There were none.
“Good,” Pierson said. “We can't exactly prance around the colonial capital in full battle armor, so leave all equipment except concealable weapons behind. Distribute all the civvies we've got between us and get changed. We'll be moving out shortly.”
The members of the contact team gathered to the side. Eliot put a hand to his chin and scrutinized Vic. “So you're Vic Shown,” he said. “It true that you went toe-to-toe with one of those Spacy suits on Port Osgow?”
“Yeah,” Vic replied. “But I got torn apart, so it's not much of an accomplishment.”
“Really?” Eliot arched his eyebrows. “That's not how I heard it.”
“Vic is just being modest,” Pierson said. “Considering the circumstances, he fought extraordinarily well.” He glanced at Esther. “One more thing to take care of. Dr. Klein, if you would?”
Esther nodded.
“Give me your arm, Vic.”
Vic complied. “What now?”
Esther took out a jet injector. “As you pointed out yourself, the Union tags all its citizens with implanted transmitters. We can't have you broadcasting your true identity while we're undercover in Hongpan. This is a nanomachine injection to override the chip's firmware. After they do their work, we'll be able to reprogram your transmitter to broadcast any identity code we want.”
Esther applied the injection. Vic held up his arm and looked at it, though of course there was no external indication of the nanomachines doing their work.
“How long will it take?” he asked.
“A few hours.” Esther put the injector away. “It will be done by the time we reach the surface.”
“And with that, you're officially one of us.” Pierson extended his hand to Vic. “Welcome to the Sarisan Liberty Coalition, Corporal.”
21
“Commodore,” Ensign Taggart reported, “I've detected a message capsule launched from Chalice's surface. Identity code of the pursuit team verified.”
“Play it,” Falsrain ordered.
A terse message appeared on the main screen. “Encountered enemy. Enemy sustained heavy losses. Own losses minimal. Survivors escaped to underground tunnel with Charlie. Cave-in has blocked further pursuit. Full report attached. Requesting orders.”
Falsrain's right hand tightened into a fist. He glanced at his executive officer. “I'm beginning to think you were right, Commander,” he said. “SAL's latest augments are not measuring up to expectations.”
“Actually, sir,” Koga replied, “I had a chance to review the battle recordings from Port Osgow. The augments are performing to spec.”
Falsrain narrowed his eyes. “Then what is the meaning of these repeated failures?”
“It's this rebel unit, sir,” Koga said. “Even with inferior equipment, they're fighting on par with our regular forces, well outside the expectations for a SLIC cell's capabilities. And...” He trailed off.