Rise of the Defiant: Book Two of the Warpmancer Series

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  Zonians arriving on this harsh world of glitz and prosperity found none. They were a people of grit. Their struggles were under an open sky – not the geradite ceilings of Nexus City. Even the occupants of Titan City found themselves ill at ease. The skyscrapers were like home, but were somehow wrong. They were not places of ambition. The corporate survivors felt stifled. The corporate and security monopoly prevented entrepreneurship. Only those used to humble lives didn’t feel the repression, until they started looking for work.

  No Zonian waited to look for work. They knew their lot and the fact that their currency was worthless in this neighbour planet. Grag-Tec recruited some Zonians, but there was simply not enough work under the corporation. Other Zonians looked for odd jobs. They were by no means unskilled. A life in the barrens of Red Sand or the streets of Galis did not train a soft people. They filled peasants with grit, and trained a warrior society.

  When the Zonians arrived, they did not understand the noisy nightclubs of Nexus. They did not understand the sense dulling drugs. Drugs were meant to enhance performance, not dull it. They didn’t understand when people told them that they were filthy parasites. They had never heard the term. They didn’t understand why they were rejected from every place of business, even though each possessed a help wanted sign. They were a doing people, being disallowed from activity. When you take away a man’s right to work, you force him to become a criminal.

  When the people of Zona Nox were not allowed the ability to earn their keep, they resorted to what the Galisians knew best. They stole. They hid in the shadows, mugging those who had spat on them. They looted stores and storerooms for food and gas. No place would sell them accommodation, so they lived as nomads, camping in the hallways of the city, dodging patrols.

  Zonians never felt united on their homeworld, but now they fought as a common people. Zenite watched Marzio backs. Titan-dwellers gave food to Red Sanders. Dead Stoners helped the children of Tribals. The diverse people of Zona Nox were no longer that. They were Zonians, united by pain. They lived together, fought together and disappeared one by one. Those Zonians cunning enough to hide their identities watched on, impotently, as their countrymen disappeared off the shining hallways of Nexus, no longer marring the perfect façade of Extos III’s greatest city.

  

  James did not have to avoid any Yellow Trooper patrols on his walk from his apartment to the Grag-Tec office. The newly married Exanoid couple next door had gone off-world for a honeymoon on Eran. The lack of music gave James a blissful morning. He now knew it to be morning, as he had asked a Zarxian Gray to set a notification system for him on his watch. It still told Zona Nox time, but was set to vibrate at certain times, to indicate the correct time of day in Nexus. Krag-Zot had warned him the day before that this would be a free day for him. He wished James to find his bearing in this new place.

  ‘A prince must learn of his domain,’ Krag-Zot had recited, quoting something. James didn’t ask.

  The Grag-Tec headquarters was only one of many Grag-Tec facilities on the planet, but the only one which didn’t receive any patrols from Yellows. Instead, the Grag-Tec HQ was patrolled by Merka, Gray and Trooper-mercenary guards. James felt safe around them, as he had already become acquainted with many.

  James greeted a Merka named Maka’ru before entering the administration offices of Grag-Tec. He had an appointment with a friend and was allowed in immediately.

  Ryan beamed as he looked up from his paperwork.

  ‘James! Didn’t think I’d see you so soon.’

  James accepted the now standing Ryan’s handshake, grasping one another’s wrists. Ryan indicated for him to sit.

  ‘So, they got you working already? It’s only been two days!’

  Ryan blushed. ‘Well, it seems I already got the basics. I wrote an exam. Mathematics, accountancy…all that. Aced it.’

  ‘Congrats! Not like one of us Galisians to pass an exam. You doing us all proud.’

  Ryan waved away the compliment.

  ‘Seems ranchers need all the skills an Overseer does. My bookkeeping for pa sure helped.’

  ‘You never did tell me all about your past…never mind. Not my business.’

  ‘No, no. I owe you that much, Captain. I was born on a ranch by Galis Lake, the green side. My family owned a ranch. We raised Mozar and Peckers…was a good life. My pa trained me to be a rancher. Not just some dumb farmhand, but with numbers. I’d fill in the registry – oversee trades. It was fun. The greatest feeling was when my pa would nod approvingly at my spreadsheets. He’d smile and say, “That’s my boy.”’

  ‘What happened? How you become a gangster?’

  ‘First time I killed was as a rancher,’ Ryan continued. ‘A Red City bandit was rustling our biggest bull. My dad was in Galis. I was the only one who could save Big Harry. I took my dad’s rifle from the shed and shot the bandit in the head. I vomited after that. My dad was angry when he got home. He wasn’t angry at me. Just angry. He didn’t want me shooting things. Said he wanted more for me. A year after that, Dead Stone fell. Refugees flooded into Galis. It went from a spaceport to a sprawling city. But the refugees brought chaos. The local Trooper garrison had to send reinforcements to the city. They weren’t able to save my ranch when we were hit by aliens.’

  ‘Xank?’

  Ryan shook his head. ‘Squogg. They had never been to Zona Nox before. Mercenaries later said it was deserters from the Black Fleet. The fat grakos burnt my ranch to the ground. They killed my sis, my ma and my pa. I was the only one left. I was told to run. I didn’t look back. I returned with a posse from the other ranches. It was too late.’

  There was a pause. James broke it. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ Ryan smiled sadly. ‘It’s good to get it off my chest. You don’t have the full story yet, though.

  ‘Ranches were falling all around Galis Lake. Troopers couldn’t handle the Xank attacks. They started helping ranchers move into Galis and set up urban farming programmes. I followed one of the convoys. I was angry though. I hated the people who had done this to my family and me. When I got to Galis, I didn’t join a farm. Farmers didn’t change the world, I thought. They didn’t get revenge. Farming didn’t save my dad or the ranch. Only time we were ever saved was when I put a bullet in that grako bandit’s head. Lead and steel changed things. So, I started fighting. I joined a fight ring. Killed some more people. Didn’t vomit anymore. Eventually, Don Marzio noticed me and gave me a little more meaning. You generally know the rest.

  ‘But that’s all changed now. I’m sick of the shooting and the breaking. I want to farm again. Not literally. But I want to grow something. After I raise funds with Grag-Tec, I want to start a company. It’s time that I do some good.’

  ‘I am sure you will, and that company is going to be a force to be reckoned with.’

  ‘I don’t care about the power. I just want to it sustain itself – to employ some people. If I can prevent some more farmhands becoming like I did, then I will be happy.’

  James nodded. ‘You’re a good man, Ines Ryan Rebeck.’

  Ryan smiled. ‘You too, Captain.’

  

  ‘Zonians are disappearing, James,’ Quok announced, pouring a glass of spirits.

  ‘I heard,’ James’ voice didn’t betray any worry.

  ‘I want to prevent any harm coming to you. I owe you that much.’

  ‘Any help would be appreciated.’

  Quok nodded and passed James the glass of vodka. He then turned to stare out the window.

  ‘It is so odd…’ he took a tip… ‘to be back in such a place. The grit, the bloody sand and dirt of Zona Nox was discomforting, but it was honest. Here, we hide our emotions with mind numbing excuses for entertainment. We use metal so that the blood from squatters can be cleaned easily. Yet, it is not even metal. It is a chemical substitute. Nothing in Nexus is what it seems. We are a shining city. We have the most money. We don’t starve. Well, that might change with the Xank blockades. But,
there’s no plagues like on Grengen. There are no bloody memories of genocides like on Glotos III. We aren’t a crime ridden cesspool. Yet, why does this all unease me? Perhaps, it is because of the deceit. Zarxians lie to themselves. They deafen themselves on bad alien music. They take drugs that make them pass out. They hate their lives so much that they don’t even want to be conscious. Yet, they claim to be superior. Jewel of Extos III my rump.’

  Quok turned to James, slightly wobbly from the booze. ‘The only happy Zarxian is a rebel, James. You can’t be happy in a place like this. These shining walls clamp down on us. They press in, harsher and harsher. Tighter and tighter. The repression is palpable. How can I rule over a place like this? How can I tell my employees that they have to leave the only homes they’ve ever known? I promised them safety. I promised them an honest living. Dedelux has made me a liar. An Exanoid is as good as his word… I am nothing.’

  James winced as Quok, who was now just in front of him, permeated the air with the smell of strong spirits. Evidently, the Exanoid had been drinking long before James had arrived.

  ‘Grag-Tec rules over Nova Zarxa by name alone. Dedelux, by force of arms, reigns as prince,’ Quok slurred. ‘Yet, I owe my people. Grag-Tec is a family, and we don’t abandon our own.’

  ‘Neither do Zonians,’ James interrupted. ‘I have hidden in the shadows as my people have been wasting away. I fear, however, that I need to hide for a bit longer. I need help. Give me a job at Grag-Tec. I will repay the favour. I will help you keep your word.

  Quok nodded and then waved James off.

  James stood up and left, the final scene of the room being Quok pouring yet another cup of vodka, muttering to himself.

  ‘I hate this planet.’

  “Freedom isn’t about restraints. It’s about will. You aren’t free for lack of shackles, but because you refuse to be a slave.” – Gert the Agitator

  Chapter 11. Anticipation

  There was one thing Nathan hated more than a contact. That was waiting for it. Waiting for an ambush, for a Trooper, epitomised the whole human condition. In minutes, an hour or even days, a Trooper examined their whole life, all while waiting for death. An ambush, even if you survived, was death. You lost friends. You lost associates. You lost your innocence. Waiting for a contact was waiting to die.

  The mood in the mess hall these past days was that of awaiting death. Food was eaten, games were played and people chatted, but a dark cloud hovered over all of them.

  Lt Frank McGraff didn’t return to his squad. Nobody dared ask for an explanation. No trial had taken place. Frank, the blustering officer, was now merely a whisper.

  Every entrance of the mess hall was flanked by armed Zarxian military police. No one left without permission. Like children or prisoners, they were not allowed out of the military district.

  Every afternoon, another platoon was shipped off – sent back to Mars for re-assignment. No one could question this. Of course, this didn’t stop the whispers.

  ‘Why send us away?’

  ‘Xank at our doorstep.’

  ‘No, Imperials at our doorstep. Zarxa will be defenceless.’

  ‘Dedelux is moronic.’

  ‘Is he? I think this is what he wants.’

  ‘For Zarxa to fall…’

  Every so often, one of these whisperers disappeared. As such, Nathan chose not to speak unnecessarily. He ate, he occasionally played poker and he drank. Many a familiar face was now disappearing but the face most absent was one that didn’t appear in the mess hall or barracks at all.

  James.

  Nathan had searched for him all over. No Trooper who knew him had seen him. He simply did not appear. There was no record of him on any directory viewable by Nathan. It was as if he wasn’t even a Trooper.

  This ghostly nature of James, coupled with the complete mystery of the outside world terrified Nathan. The Zona Nox troopers were blind to all around them. Despite their tenacity and professionalism, this lack of intel visibly shook them.

  Frustration had reached breaking point many times over the past week and fights had become common. Cabin fever and fear was the order of the day.

  Nathan looked out over the crowd of red and black. Faces wore expressions of bleak greyness.

  ‘Oh, James – wherever you are, at least it’s not here.’

  

  James had never thought that he’d be getting a pay check for handling paperwork. He wasn’t going to lie, he’d rather be storming an enemy position, or flinging furniture around than his current job but as he settled in, it became quite therapeutic.

  Quok had been more than willing to forge the proper data entry for James. It wasn’t precisely lying. According to Quok, James was pretty much an honouree member of Grag-Tec already.

  James’ new title gave him a unique authority in Nexus. He was still a Trooper but was not bound by the Dedelux administration but rather the rule of Grag-Tec.

  The Troopers, for the most part, were a charity organisation devoted to protecting humans around the galaxy. To fund their endeavours and campaigns, they often sold mercenary contracts to many corporations. James had been assigned as one such mercenary to Grag-Tec. He now wore a black urban law enforcement uniform with green stripes on the shoulders and a Grag-Tec logo on the chest. He carried a Grag-Tec stun gun and an automatic pistol. Compared to his usual kit, he felt drastically under dressed. Little could be done about that though. He was technically still a Trooper and thus a soldier but Nexus was not like Galis. It was a civilised place. Unlike Galis, there was a government here, and from what James had seen of said government, he was unimpressed.

  Propaganda and tasteless effigies declaring the virtue of the governor were everywhere. His personal Trooper army patrolled the streets merely to punish detractors. The atmosphere of trade and prosperity was an illusion for far-reaching oppression. James was not going to be caught dead unable to do anything about it. Despite this not being his town or even his planet, this was now James’ home. He felt for its people, but more so for his own.

  The refugees of Zona Nox still flooded into Nexus and the bordering mining outposts. Even the prohibition against refugees had not stemmed the tide. The first wave was only that from Fort Nox – more and more arrived by the day in slower vessels. All came bearing the same news: black clouds of death, no air, corruption, and no life – Blight.

  Dedelux’s personal body-baggers made sure that those with the biggest mouths kept quiet as soon as they got off the ship – by any means necessary. As a result, the people of James’ world kept silent. They couldn’t come to terms with what had happened to them. They were lost and destitute. Now the refugees of Zona Nox lay huddled in the warehouses of dead companies, keeping warm by trash fires or dying on cold metal. Many turned to crime but Nexus wasn’t like Galis. It was hard escaping down one long hallway.

  Grag-Tec was helping keep James’ people alive through food parcels and fuel, but it simply wasn’t enough. The refugees needed real homes. They needed their planet back.

  ‘Oh, how we have fallen,’ a voice came from beside him.

  ‘Without a home, our people are just beggars. Worse off than any homeless junkie back in Galis,’ James agreed, nodding to greet Marshal beside him.

  ‘Zona Nox was no paradise but it was our planet. It was a symbol of freedom. Reason I moved back. Zonians are not weak people. We’re strong. Our civilisation was built around a mountain range called the Teeth of Storms, for Terra sake. We persevered through the hard times. All of us – the Tribals in the cold and the gunslingers in the desert. We could handle anything. But this…they’ve clipped our wings.’

  That was it really. It wasn’t the food running out or the cold during the day and night. It wasn’t even the confined living spaces. The refugees had lost their reason for being. They had lost their freedom. No amount of security or health or credits could replace that.

  The people of Zona Nox needed their freedom back. They needed someone to give it to them – no, to lead t
hem to it.

  ‘Our people need a leader, Marshal. We never had many in Galis but that doesn’t mean we don’t need one now. They need a symbol or someone to remind them that they’re still alive.’

  ‘Exactly, and you’re going to be that leader.’

  James snorted until he realised that Marshal was serious.

  ‘I was thinking…you know…more that you should be the leader. You’re a damn legend! After all, you’re the Red Sand Ranger – the pinnacle of soldiering on the frontier. Why me when they could have you?’

  Marshal sighed. ‘You overestimate me, my boy. I was a soldier, not a leader. All those missions I was on – just a soldier. I was either alone or taking the orders. I was a good soldier but a good gunman does not a good leader make. Now you, you are someone that I’d follow.’

  James was not convinced. Marshal pressed on. Both ignored James’ duty of checking cargo for contraband.

  ‘Think about it - all those people who followed you. They were a cross section of Galis. Gangsters, thugs, mechanics, tradesmen, ranchers – if you could lead all those people…together, what makes leading these people any different?’

  ‘There’s Terra-knows how many Zonians on this damn frozen rock, Marshal. I’m still a damn teenager. I’ve led a squad of fighters – not an entire planet.’

  ‘All you need to do is give them hope,’ Marshal was whispering now. ‘Someone needs to remind them that life is worth living.’

  ‘Why don’t you do it?’

  ‘I’m old, worn out. I have a wife and kid now. I’m tired of this skite. It’s time for the next generation to take over the fight. I’ll see you around sometime. Think on what I said.’

  Marshal walked off with no more to say. James did think on it; long and hard.