by Jay Allan
There was considerable distrust of all governmental authority in the colonies, and a heavy emphasis on self-reliance and freedom was infused in the culture. The settlers had faced serious obstacles in building their new worlds, and they’d done it largely on their own, often paying a heavy price in lives and hardship in the early years. Most of them had been square pegs on Earth anyway, the small minority who chafed under a repressive way of life that most meekly accepted.
Anton said nothing, but his face communicated his thoughts clearly. Anger, disgust, determination were all there to see in the scowl he wore. Marek turned to face his friend, his own expression grim. “There’s more too. Registration of all business transactions, new laws and regulations, heavier taxation. All for our own good, of course.” He paused, taking a short breath. “It is worse than we feared, far worse.”
“So it’s finally here.” Anton’s voice was grim, his eyes downcast. “The choice.” He paused, staring out over the sea. “We knew it was coming. They’re going to try to turn the colonies into copies of Earth.” His voice grew louder, more defiant. “And we all need to make our decision. Do we surrender our rights, our freedoms? A lifetime to find them; do we let them slip away, be stolen from us?” There was bitterness in his tone now, old hatreds from a youth spent in misery and deprivation. “Do we live out our lives begging for scraps from our political masters?” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Or do we fight? The time for delay, for prevarication is past. We all know that talk won’t solve this.” His faced hardened as he continued, the pleasant expression of the civilian factory owner giving way, hardening, leaving in its stead the icy cold resolve of the veteran platoon sergeant in battle. “My choice is made, John. If they mean to have a war, let it begin here. Let Columbia lead the way.”
Marek looked into Anton’s frozen eyes and felt his own anger, his own terrible resolution building. He too appreciated the freedoms he now had but had never known before, and he wasn’t going to surrender them…ever. “And mine also, Lucius. I am with you.” He paused then continued, no longer concerned about the volume of his voice. “And the others too. We are all resolved together. We are one in this.” He reached out and put his hand on Anton’s shoulder. “And we must act. Tonight.”
Arlen Cooper sat at his desk, his head cradled in his hands. He took two analgesics to back up the pair he’d taken an hour before. He didn’t expect much; painkillers didn’t seem to have any effect on the headaches these colonials caused. Cooper had been a ward chief, essentially the political supervisor of a housing block in the Manhattan Protected Zone. A Political Academy graduate, he’d followed in his parents’ footsteps as a low-level member of the privileged class, but his prospects hadn’t extended much beyond being a local bully and keeping the engineers and accountants in line. Not until he was offered the chance to become Planetary Advisor to one of the colony worlds.
The upper classes on Earth looked at the colonies with utter disdain, and no highly-placed Politician was likely to accept a posting in space. When the decision was made to station federal watchdogs on the colonies, the only way the authorities could find enough candidates was to make offers to lower level functionaries like Cooper. Accepting a position on a frontier world became a path to advancement, the only one he was likely to see, so Cooper had jumped at the chance when it was offered.
Cooper had been an effective ward chief on Earth, with just enough sadistic arrogance to really enjoy it. His job was mostly about maintaining order, and he had all the tools a bully needed to ply his trade. In New York, he just had to threaten to revoke a work permit or residency license, and he’d instill all the fear he needed to gain the desired compliance. He particularly enjoyed the look of terror in the eyes of those who drew his attention, as they realized he could easily have them cast out of the Protected Zone to live among the Cogs, eking out a meager existence in the crumbling wreckage of the slums. He’d used that fear to punish anyone who got out of line for sure, but he hadn’t been shy about employing the same tools for a little blackmail. He had bullied his share of bribes to supplement his income, as well as more than a few sexual favors.
He smiled wickedly, remembering one woman in particular who’d caught his eye. It wasn’t that she was a great beauty…she wasn’t. But she seemed so scared, so vulnerable. He’d threatened to have her husband and children expelled, going so far as to have the orders drawn up so she could see them. She resisted at first, but in the end she had no choice, and she gave in. She cried through the whole thing, at least the first time or two, though he used her so often that by the end she was totally emotionless. When he finally tired of her and told her she didn’t have to come back, she thanked him again and again. He’d abused her terribly for months, and when he stopped, she was so relieved all she could do was thank him. That was the part he loved the most. He watched her leave, broken inside but thinking she’d saved her family at least. He grinned as he pulled the expulsion order up on his ‘pad and, with a malicious laugh, approved it with a single thumbprint.
But that was on Earth. Here he didn’t have the power he’d enjoyed so much at home, and the colonists weren’t so easily intimidated. He’d been ignored by them mostly, though some of the less restrained residents suggested he go fuck himself. A few even offered some colorful suggestions that featured far greater specificity. He raged against their insolence, but he lacked the power to do anything about it. At least he had until now.
He looked at the screen again, savoring the words he’d read half a dozen times already. He’d received the first list of orders the day before, mostly new restrictions and initiatives designed to bring the colonials under control. Today’s follow up gave him the means to make it happen. He was granted full executive authority over the planet, superseding all local government. He was authorized to issue whatever edicts he felt were necessary and replace any local officials, even to disband the Planetary Assembly if they opposed him. Most importantly, he was getting the force he needed to implement all of this - 10 regiments of Federal Police, entirely under his command. The first two units had already landed, and the rest would arrive within the week.
He leaned back in his chair, looking through the window into the gloomy dusk. He smiled, thinking about how he was finally going to teach these arrogant Columbians the new order of things. They would learn to respect their political masters. How hard a lesson that would be was up to them.
The streets of Weston were quiet, very quiet, except for the wind whipping around the buildings. A large city by colonial standards, it was still barely two kilometers from end to end, with a number of satellite villages surrounding it. The District, the only section that looked anything like a true city, was less than half a square kilometer, the rest just a belt of mostly two and three story buildings ringing the central area.
Marek walked slowly toward the outskirts of town, his footsteps scraping softly on the wet gravelly surface to the side of the road. The storm was close now, and the clouds obscured Columbia’s two moons. As he walked farther, beyond the lighted streets of the city center, the darkness was nearly total.
But Marek knew the way by heart. He’d traveled this route a hundred times, though never on business as fateful tonight’s. They will all be assembled by now, he thought, ready to do what they must. He hurried his step, though he still moved cautiously, peering around for any signs he’d been followed. They were about to take a bold step, one likely to offer a hard road from which there could be no retreat. He felt no tension for himself. Having decided his own course he was content to follow it through. Once a Marine, always a Marine…he’d faced battle before and could do it again if he had to. The decision was the hard part for him; once that was made it became duty…and he knew how to do his duty.
But he worried for the multitudes that would get drawn into the maelstrom…the colonists, the children, all of them. He’d seen the cost war extracted from innocents before, colonists whose homes had become battlefields, those who’d lived under harsh occup
ations for years, the 30,000 people who’d called Calumet home before they were vaporized in an instant. The choices he and the others made here would affect everyone on Columbia…and possibly on many different worlds as well. Nothing would ever be the same again.
He turned the corner and he could see the outside lights of the armory in the distance. Columbia had a well-trained and equipped militia. After the CAC invasion, the planetary defenses, including the militia, were massively upgraded to face any future attack. There had even been a full-time planetary army during the rest of the war, though this had been folded into the citizen militia with the coming of peace. Columbia was a prosperous colony, but a permanent peacetime military was still a luxury it couldn’t afford…and one Alliance Gov was not willing to allow. The Columbians knew they had to disband their army for economic reasons, but they still resented being ordered to do it by the authorities on Earth. One more point of contention, just another dry log on the pile waiting for the right spark.
He knew the armory well. The Planetary Assembly had quickly offered the newly-arrived Marek a commission in the militia, as a major commanding one of the Weston-area battalions. He had been reluctant to accept, having just recovered from his nearly terminal wounds and retired from the service. His plans had included a heavy dose of civilian life, at least for a while, but as things worked out, he wasn’t on Columbia for a month before he was trying on a new uniform. He was a little unsettled at the abrupt jump from platoon to battalion command, but that was normal when transferring from a Marine assault unit to the militia. Besides, he figured it was peacetime and he’d have lots of chances to get used to it. Now it looked like he might have less time than he’d hoped.
Marek pulled the signal laser from his bag and fired several short bursts. Pre-programmed with the location of the receiver, the laser was an almost untraceable method of communication. The pulses themselves were invisible in the clean Columbian air, so no one but the recipient would see the transmission. The signal was a precaution; it would insure that Marek didn’t get shot by his own people. Nerves were definitely on edge, and there was no point in taking chances. They didn’t have AI-assisted powered armor with sophisticated friend or foe systems like he was used to; one nervous fisherman turned revolutionary could take him out with an instant of panicked fire.
It was only a few seconds before the response came. Everything was ready to go. Marek swallowed hard, his mind focused on the plan, rekindling senses that had lain dormant since he last saw action. After tonight there would be no turning back.
Chapter 6
Sub-Sector B
Western Alliance Intelligence Directorate HQ
Wash-Balt Metroplex, Earth
Garret looked up through a swirling red haze. His head ached, feeling as though someone had cut a trench through his skull with a dull blade. He was lost, not sure where he was, and his arms reached out, exploring, feeling slowly around where he lay. Slowly his eyes started to focus, the opaque cloud giving way to a few twinkling spots, and in the distance a pulsating bright light, like a sun suspended above his head.
No, not a sun, he thought. Just a light in the ceiling. His memories were starting to come back, though he still didn’t know where he was. He’d been in Kelly’s room at the Willard. He was beginning to remember…she had left for a minute…he was groggy, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. He couldn’t understand; he’d only had one glass of wine with dinner. Yes, it was coming back to him now. He’d leaned back, lying on the bed. Or had he fallen, passed out? That was the last thing he could recall. Now he was here.
“Welcome, Admiral Garret.” The voice came from behind him, and it took his still-disoriented brain an extra instant to process it. “I regret we could not arrange a more dignified arrival for you.”
Garret moved, trying to turn toward the sound. The room shifted as he moved his head, and he slipped back onto the cot.
“I am afraid, Admiral, that you are likely to be lightheaded for a few minutes.” Garret heard footsteps, his companion moving around into his field of view. “Unfortunately, the drug you ingested has a few temporary side effects. They will clear up shortly, and I can promise you that you will be as good as new.”
“Where…am…I?” Garret’s throat was dry, so parched he could barely speak audibly. The man standing in front of him was tall, with dark hair speckled heavily with gray…his age, probably mid-sixties. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, obviously very expensive, though otherwise he was fairly non-descript. “What…happened…to…Kelly?”
“Where are my manners, admiral? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Gavin Stark, and you are my guest.” Stark reached over and slid a bare metal chair closer to the cot. His tone was calm and relaxed. “To answer your first question, we are at Alliance Intelligence headquarters, or more accurately, below it. Sub-Sector B, to be specific.” Stark noticed the startled look on Garret’s face. “I’m afraid Sub-Sector C is a bit more well-known.” Sub-Sector C was Alliance Intelligence’s primary prison and interrogation area, infamous for the brutal methods employed there. “This section is for our more…ah…distinguished guests.” He sat in the chair and smiled. “I can assure you that I have no desire to mistreat you, admiral. It is simply - how shall I put it? - necessary that you be safeguarded for a while.”
Garret was still weak, but his strength was slowly returning, and with it his anger. “Safeguarded?” He was trying to yell, but his dry throat only allowed him to croak out the words. “I am the Director of the Navy and you are holding me against my will. You are guilty of kidnapping, treason, and God knows what else. I demand you release me at…” His voice cut out entirely, leaving him coughing and trying to clear his throat.
“Forgive me, admiral.” Stark got up reached over to a small table, pouring water into a cup from a large metal pitcher. “Here, drink this. I’m afraid the anesthetic we utilized leaves your throat quite parched.” He extended the cup. Garret looked up suspiciously. “Admiral, I am quite certain you are aware that if I wanted to do you harm there is little to stop me. I would hardly have to poison your water.” Stark smiled as Garret continued to stare at him, a doubtful expression on his face. “Truly, admiral. Please. Drink.”
Garret reached out and grabbed the cup, putting it to his lips and taking a deep gulp. He could feel the cool liquid pouring down, soothing his sore throat, driving away the burning thirst.
“Slowly, admiral, please. You may find yourself a bit nauseous if you drink too quickly.”
Garret looked up defiantly and downed the rest in one big gulp, tossing the cup aside. “And Kelly?” He was louder now, and more forceful. “Where is she?”
Stark couldn’t help but admire the admiral. If there was one thing Gavin Stark detested it was weakness. Augustus Garret was many things, but weak was definitely not one of them. Barely awake, held captive in a cell in one of the most feared buildings on Earth, he was a model of command and composure. “Always the gentleman, concerned for the lady’s well-being.” Stark smiled, enjoying the fact that he’d put one over on the great Admiral Garret. “Don’t worry, admiral, I can assure you she is quite well. Even now she is…”
“She’s one of your people.” Garret interrupted as realization dawned on him. “It was a setup from the beginning.” His rage was building, fueled by his frustration with himself for falling into the trap.
“Yes, admiral.” Stark’s voice was unchanged, matter-of-fact, with no gloating or disrespect. “It was necessary to, shall we say, persuade you to join us here. I’m sure you will agree that our little plan was more elegant than, say, throwing a bag over your head and pushing you into a transport.” He looked at Garret and grinned. “And substantially more enjoyable from your perspective, I am sure.” He paused then added, “Indeed, I am sure, having been subjected to the lady’s charms myself.” He smiled again. “Her name is Alex, by the way, not Kelly. An alias seemed appropriate considering the circumstances.”
“What do you want?” Garret was shaking off t
he grogginess. He was on the verge of losing his temper, but now he was in total control, his command face on. He scanned the room as he spoke, taking stock, looking for possible avenues of escape.
“Actually, very little, admiral.” Stark leaned back, his hands resting on the arms of the chair as he spoke. “It was necessary to remove you from direct contact with the naval data net or any of your subordinates, but other than that, the only thing I will require is an occasional DNA sample to override some of the security systems.” Access to certain data banks required DNA from an authorized user, and the systems would detect counterfeit material. “We will extract it most painlessly, I assure you.” He smiled as Garret looked around the room. “Please take my word, Admiral…there is no way out of here. Things will be much easier for everyone if you do not attempt anything foolish.”
Garret leaned up and shifted his feet so he was sitting on the edge of the cot. “So you just plan to keep me hostage?” He looked at Stark, his face impassive. He was enraged, but his iron control had clamped down.
“I would use the word detainee, and I assure you that this action is for the good of the state and is in no way punitive. We will make you as comfortable as possible.” He waved his hand around the room. It looked more like a hotel suite than a prison cell, and the furnishings and appointments were plush. “Not all of our accommodations are up to this standard, I am afraid.”