Rise of the Defiant: Book Two of the Warpmancer Series

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  James picked up a dining tray, indicating for others to do the same. A group of them then charged, stolen riot gear and make-shift shields, towards the rubber gunners. The guards broke before they could close the gap, retreating in fear.

  After weeks behind electrified bars, James and Marshal, unbeknownst to the other, had reached breaking point. They knew of the tight schedule. Their lives were forfeit if Nova Zarxa was unable to establish a strong enough defence, and that defence would require the end of Dedelux’s rule. So, they did the only thing they knew how. They fought. They beat up guards. They incited riots. They committed arson and vandalism so that the prison guards could never relax. After the first riot, they were knocked out and returned to their cells. This had bemused James.

  Why not kill us?

  After careful experimentation, involving the assault of Dedelux’s Yellows, they determined that political prisoners were not allowed to be killed. While curious about the reason for this bizarre policy, James had not hesitated to use it to his advantage.

  Over the weeks, he and Marshal would sabotage and riot – doing their part for the Zonian rebellion that they viewed on the screens. They battered the prison guards – never killing, but taking up their time as much as possible.

  In this most recent riot, they had held the cafeteria past curfew for around three hours. They had plenty of food to sustain the rebellion and had become practiced in batting away stun grenades and blocking rubber bullets. Eventually, James and his comrades began to tire.

  ‘Okay, chaps. Time to rest. Let’s give them a breather,’ James ordered.

  They laid down their arms and assembled in the middle of the hall, hands on their heads. Yellows poured in, slowly and calmly. They knew that this was not a trick. That was against the rules. They also knew not to harm the prisoners, or restrain them, for that would result in yet another riot – one that could result in death.

  Yet, this did not calm James. Killing was natural. In the Yellow’s shoes, he would have killed all the convicts after the first riot. There had to be a reason for this unreasonable sense of leniency. A reason that was much darker and terrifying than anything within this colossal prison.

  

  The bandana-masked individual with the stolen Trooper helmet counted down with his fingers, silently being watched by three more individuals.

  Three fingers. Two. One.

  As he closed his hand in a fist, he tossed a cooked grenade through the doorway. The individual opposite him followed the explosion, opening fire on the occupants of the room with a home-made shotgun.

  ‘Clear!’ Dixie announced.

  Darren followed Annabelle into the room.

  Three had been killed by the grenade. Two more by Dixie. The Zonian rebels fanned out into the storeroom. Annabelle and Jordan had been Zenites back in Galis. They knew how to clear a room. Their insane boss had wanted to build an army to take Galis, after all. They had been trained to be professional. They now used this military precision to clear the room and check it for danger.

  ‘Darren, we have three minutes to take what we need,’ Jordan explained.

  Darren nodded and got to work. Dixie was put on guard duty, at the doorway. The rest of them filled carry bags with gas tanks, batteries and charge crystals. These resources would keep their people alive for a few more days.

  ‘Time’s up.’

  They didn’t delay their exit. When the Yellows came to investigate the disturbance, they were already long gone.

  

  ‘What brutes!’

  ‘Savages…’

  ‘Yes, complete barbarians.’

  These were the utterances across the main hall of the Peixes do espaço. Erryn Kolheim listened on from her table by the window, glancing occasionally from the menu of Grengen imported fish. The powdered and plastic people of the hall were very different from her. While they wore the gaudy and neon mono-coloured clothes of the Zarxian rich, she wore her work clothes – a greasy black dark grey tank top and cargo pants. She had been stopped at the door, but a credit check allowed her through.

  A ship’s pilot may be unkempt, but they were seldom poor.

  Erryn Kolheim was a Zarxian by birth – technically. She was born in a ship docked in Nexus. This ship had been her home ever since, as it travelled human space – shipping goods wherever they needed shipping. The Kolheim had stood the test of time for a century and would continue to do so if she had anything to say about it.

  ‘Turn it up, concierge!’ one of the patrons ordered. There was no opposition.

  Erryn half-listened, half-ordered, as the screen’s volume was turned up.

  ‘Zonian terrorists have murdered five civilians in a brutal attack. Trooper officials state that the civilians were murdered in a desperate effort to attack a Trooper ammunition storeroom. No Troopers were killed, as they managed to scare off the terrorists. This comes as the fifth attack this week. No Zonian official has agreed to comment.’

  Erryn snorted. More likely they weren’t being allowed to comment.

  ‘Scum. Murderous scum. Did you know any of them?’

  ‘No, no. But they must have had families. Poor dears.’

  Erryn dug into her fish, Grengen carp, as she listened to the screen. She didn’t truly care for the details. It was just to pass the time. She seldom spent time on Nova Zarxa. In fact, she was only here to try out the fish that they had recently shipped in. The rebellion of these Zonian refugees was a small affair to her. She had been to Zona Nox once and had not been impressed. Most of its inhabitants had never even gone into space. Bunch of dirt-birthers, as she and her comrades would disparage them. There was very little mutual ground. Neither did their plight mean much to her. There were wars, famines, plagues and refugee crises every day across human space. She witnessed many. This was no different. This rebellion was just growing pains. She was accustomed to Dedelux’s repression. She didn’t like it, but she knew to keep her head down while planet-side. She had space to be free. She felt sorry for the dirt-birthing Zonians, but they’d learn. They’d have to. To be honest, she didn’t much care. She had her ship. The Kolheim was all she needed to be free. This wasn’t a fight she was going to get involved in. She had enough of those dodging Pegg pirates and brigands.

  ‘In light of repeated terrorist attacks, Governor Dedelux has ordered all space vessels to be impounded until further notice. This prohibition on space travel will end once the crisis is over.’

  Erryn spat out her cola.

  She ran to the screen. Her ears hadn’t deceived her. On the screen, a reporter stood in front of the Kolheim, as Yellow Troopers marched its crew outside, clamping it to the docking bay.

  Filled with fury, Erryn paid her bill and marched outside of the restaurant. This was now her fight.

  

  James had lost count of the days. They were no longer allowed to meet in the cafeteria. Everyone was confined to their rooms. The last time he had seen a screen, the news was that an entire skyscraper had been taken by the Zonian terrorists. Dedelux had declared martial law to maintain order.

  Zonian – it was an odd term. James had never thought of himself as a Zonian. He was a Galisian, at most. Mostly, he had been a Marzio made-man. His identity was in his allegiance, not some arbitrary place of birth. But now Zonians did find identity in a form of allegiance. By attacking them all as one, Dedelux had ensured that the Zonians had become one. Ironic that the Zonian nation had been formed by attempts at its destruction.

  But wasn’t that always the way? You push too hard, and something pushes back. Yellows shot at Zonians, so Zonians shot back. That was the way of the world.

  James only hoped that his people wouldn’t go too out of control. His was a violent people. He recognised that. Violence was natural. It was a necessity in a harsh reality – but not the optimum. While James had told the convict that Zonians wouldn’t kill civilians, he knew otherwise. Zonians would kill. There would be reason to the killing, yes, but killing civilians could be jus
tified. But was it worth it? James hoped it never would be.

  James was a killer. One of the best killers. But even he wished that he would not have to kill again. As he lay in his cell, he dreamed of such a place but knew that to get there, there would be plenty of killing along the way.

  The Zonians would continue killing. Dedelux didn’t give them a choice. He was a born tyrant. He was used to subjects, not individuals. Zonians weren’t subjects nor citizens. They were individuals. James, as one of them, knew this. Zonians formed groups not to be ruled over, but to work together for their own and each other’s benefit. It wasn’t by the obedience of the Zonian that things got done, but by the simple fact that things needed doing. This was what made them free. Zonians refused to be dependent. They refused to be slaves.

  James, in chains and behind bars, refused to be a slave. He contemplated what Krag-Zot had once told him, that freedom could only be given by the powerful. That wasn’t freedom. That was permissive slavery. Freedom wasn’t a state of permissiveness – it was independence. In a group or alone, but by choice and not by the whims of a tyrant.

  James knew this and so did his people. Zonians were free because they chose to be so. James was free, even behind bars, because he refused to give up. Freedom wasn’t given. It was taken from the bloodied hands of tyrants.

  “The arms of the law are long - but most often, not long enough.” – Former Sheriff Glint of Red City

  Chapter 15. Mutagen

  Searchlights, drone patrols, automated turrets…Leri was getting tired of the lack of challenge.

  His Bexong Rebels were not a seasoned or trained fighting force but their attacks on the Xank showed the extent of their frustration. No metallic shell could defend the Xank drones against Leri’s people. With spear, talon and beak, they broke the armour of their oppressors. There had been deaths, but that was to be expected. Only Gura-Teng showed gloom at the loss of his comrades. Everyone else was too busy moving forward, slaying their enemies. Revolution did not stop to mourn.

  Leri, Rii as they called him, crouched low on the brink of a cliff-face overlooking a large metal structure. The building was a shining black cube. It had no windows and no entrances. It seemed impenetrable. Leri knew better. Peron had sent him all information that he needed on how to assault these facilities. The design itself was based purely on keeping enemies out. It was a prison, but its inhabitants were more mentally enslaved than physically. Regardless, the future of his people depended upon its destruction. The gargantuan cube was a breeding facility and Leri knew that the male Zangorians had been too long without family. The same went for the females.

  As night fell, they made their way down the slopes of the surrounding cliff faces. The cube had been shot down from orbit by the Xank all those decades ago and the act had left a massive crater. Xank engineers had found themselves regretting this means of construction as the craters had the habit of being filled with water. Drainage pipes had been installed, but the costs had surpassed the alternative means of construction.

  They had been watching the floating drone patrols for hours and had a decent idea of their patterns. They determined an opening and went for it. In a storm of sand, covered by darkness, a group of ten Zangorians found themselves alongside Leri at the base of the cube. None of them spoke and only the slight thump of their footfalls betrayed their presence.

  If Leri’s memory served him right, this was the right place. He took a device out of his satchel and placed it upon the wall. He stomped his foot twice to signal his comrades. After three seconds, there was a pop and a sizzle. Leri and another Zangorian took their position in the dark and clutched the edges of the now cut-out piece of metal.

  The plasma-cutter had done its job, as Peron had promised. One by one, Leri and his rebels entered the facility.

  The halls were bright. Piercing white walls and tiles hurt Leri’s night-tuned eyes. The passages reminded Leri of the bunkers beneath Fort Nox. White was not a normal colour to be used by the Xank, and now that Leri thought about it, not by the Human Troopers. The reason for its use was that it was exceptionally easy to spot enemies within it. The orange feathers of a Zangorian would stand out like an oasis in the desert.

  Leri was not afraid of the drones within the facility – only the turrets surrounding it. Now that they were bypassed, he had no qualms fighting the drones within. As much as it benefitted him, Leri couldn’t help but find the drones shameful. They were almost useless in a fight and relied on fear and indoctrination for their power. Leri’s fighters slew them easily. Yet, Leri had never ventured into a facility such as this. He did not know what the Xank had in case of breaches. There may or may not be something far greater than puny drones in these metal halls. Regardless, they had to press on. Kuru-spear and tiao-swords at the ready.

  Behind them, two Zangorians lifted the circular metal sheet that had fallen as a result of the plasma-cutter and placed it back in the hole. The sheet melded back into the wall as if it hadn’t fallen at all. Only the trained eye could see the seams. They had used the device many times before. Peron had gifted an armoury of them to get Leri’s forces used to the idea of stealthy sabotage. It was working and the Bexong Rebels had successfully used the Word Lectorate technology to enter many enemy facilities, unbeknownst to the Xank.

  Ten-pa, a young Bexong Zangorian, signed to Leri that their point of entry was now hidden. Leri nodded. Ten-pa was a studious and devoted young-one. His feathers were still a light orange and his beak had yet to accumulate the growths of age. Despite this, his tenacity and loyalty soon saw him rise to Leri’s second-in-command.

  They advanced further into the facility.

  There were no signs or any means of finding direction, so Leri chose paths randomly.

  ‘There is only one target in the breeding cube – the Main Console. Everything can be shut down from that machine,’ Leri recalled his orders from Peron.

  They turned through a doorway, where Leri stopped. Lines and lines of pods filled a titanic hall. The room was black with every pod emanating a sullen blue.

  Leri approached a pod and gazed at its contents.

  ‘Rii…’ one of the rebels, Xupa squeaked. Leri did not chastise him for speaking. He was also shocked enough to break protocol.

  In the pod was a child.

  Its beak was small and its feathers yet to grow fully. It looked like something out of a horror – a malformed mutant. Leri knew better. This was how the Xank altered their Zangorians to fulfil their purpose. To the Xank, every Zangorian was a tool. They were used as cannon fodder, lab experiments, breeders and slaves. Xank generals referred to them as the Body Budget.

  Leri smashed his metal fist into the pod, smashing the glass. Released of its genetically modifying ooze, the child Zangorian withered and died. The Bexong rebels stared, aghast.

  ‘You killed it,’ Xupa whispered.

  ‘There was nothing left to kill.’

  Leri stared down the long stretch of coffins. There was nothing in here to save.

  It was hours later when they reached their first closed door. The steel door was round and seemed to roll open and closed, with clamps to keep it in place.

  There were no buttons or keypads, so Leri presumed that the gate was opened remotely, most probably by an organic official. There was no way that they were waiting for an Immortal to appear on one of his annual rounds. They had to get in now.

  ‘Do we have any more plasma cutters?’ Leri signed.

  ‘No,’ was the reply from Yuy.

  Leri made his way to the door and tapped. They weren’t getting in without plasma.

  At that moment, triggered by the sound of metal on metal, an automated turret descended from a tile on the roof and fired a gush of blue energy at Yuy. The plasma disintegrated the Zangorian’s chest in one hit.

  Everyone dove for cover but Leri. As the turret swivelled, firing at the panicking Zangorians, Leri threw his kuru. The spear glanced off the turret, but Leri wasn’t hoping for any damage. What he was
counting on was threat classification. The turret swivelled 360 degrees and aimed at him. He was the threat.

  Leri stood completely still.

  ‘Rii!’ Xupa shouted, as a blast of energy was released from the turret.

  At the last moment, Leri dodged out of the way, allowing the blast to penetrate the steel door, revealing a hole the size of a fist. Leri waited for another blast and dodged again. A bigger hole. He kept doing this until the hole was big enough to climb through, then he sprinted towards the turret and jumped. His metal talon dug into the weak artificial alloy. Leri found it pitifully easy to crush the machine.

  Threat averted, the group approached Yuy.

  ‘We’ll give him a proper funeral,’ Ten-pa avowed, closing Yuy’s terrified eyes with his knuckles.

  ‘Gura-teng will be saddened. Another death,’ Tepri added.

  ‘Some must die for all to be free,’ Leri announced, with a tone of finality.

  Everyone nodded. Leri led the way through the hole. This room was dark and dusty. It was seldom used and with good reason. From here, the facility was shut down. It was a small room, gloomy. A single screen in a large boxy machine was the only source of light.

  ‘When you come to the Main Console,’ Peron had said, ‘you’ll know the password.’

  Leri was dubious but didn’t question the Gleran.

  With his Bexong Rebels watching him, Leri advanced towards the terminal.

  Upon its white screen was a single black symbol. It was a scratchy symbol of a forgotten language. Gone…not forgotten, Leri corrected himself. He remembered, even though he was not there. It was his past self who remembered.

  The Xank used to let Zangorians man and guard the facilities. It was only five decades ago that they introduced drone guards. Leri – no - Leri’s ancestor was one of the last Zangorian guards here. He had been put to death, as he too knew the truth of Zeruit. He had shut down the facility with the console he had made, ensuring that it was so entrenched into the facility that removing it would destroy everything.