Cypher- Revolution

by Eileen Sharp

  She rolled over until he was on top of her, and he felt someone jerk his arms up and secure them in detainer bands. He was hauled to his feet and spun to face the blue-eyed man.

  “You will be trained first in obedience, then in skill.”

  Joshua clenched his teeth. “I’m a complete waste of your time. You might as well kill me now.”

  The man raised an eyebrow. “I’ve heard that speech before, you know.”

  Someone pushed him from behind and he stumbled forward towards the dark end of the landing bay. For all his bravado, Joshua knew the man might be right, but he could never let them win, no matter what that meant.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Asking Price

  In the deepest part of his mind Joshua built a fortress. It was only made of sticks he’d found in the woods; the bigger ones planted like poles into the ground and the smaller ones piled around the frame.

  It would not keep out the rain, the wind or provide any practical protection. It was made to keep out memories, and it did. The sticks stood between him and the pain as the blue-eyed man tortured him into obedience. The fortress would not last long, but it didn’t need to. He was playing a game where he would scream and then pretend he was broken. He could not give in too soon, or they would not believe him. He couldn’t hold out too long or when he broke, it would not be pretending.

  Cristian pulled away from the tropical med resort, the night fading into space as he rose back into the stars to return to the red nebula. He’d left Joshua’s father there without seeing Caina. He couldn’t see her. He didn’t want to see her anguish when he returned her father and then told her that the price was her brother.

  He put another cherry strip on his tongue and let the anxiety melt away. The small box with the inhaler lay on the console. He shouldn’t have bought it; a drug like Push was far too powerful. It would make him fearless for a time, and then he would crave it so badly he’d sell his soul for another hit. There was a fifty percent chance he could be cured of the addiction right away with treatment, but if it failed he would be a prisoner of his own body for the rest of his life.

  He weighed the cost of a Push addiction for hours until the red nebula came into sight. As he approached the moon a voice came over the cruiser’s communication channel. “You have entered Daedalus airspace. Please identify yourself.”

  “Cristian Trask.”

  The voice didn’t hesitate for long. “Permission granted.”

  A cold tremor flooded through him, and the faint aftertaste of cherry filled his mouth. So they had plans for him after all.

  The closer he drew to the surface, the stronger the temptation to take the drug. The landing lights flew by him as he entered the tunnel into the bay. They flickered behind his eyes. He looked at the box with the inhaler in it.

  The control tower told him where to land, and he lowered the ship. After the engines died, he sat for a moment, listening to the silence, feeling the anxiety creep up on him. He didn’t trust himself. The moment he saw black uniforms he’d freeze, he knew it. Before he could think about it anymore he pressed the inhaler to his mouth. He closed his eyes and sucked in, feeling the mist go into his lungs.

  A few seconds later, his blood rushed hot and fast through his veins, and his heartbeat jumped, pounding so hard he could feel his chest leap. He put his hand over his heart, his eyes wide. His body was tight with a restlessness that made him want to run for miles. He balled his hands into fists, breathing hard. It was the opposite of paralysis, a driving hunger to do something, anything.

  He stepped out of the cruiser, facing three soldiers waiting at the dock. Two of them held out their plasma guns. The third was a little more casual, his gun at his side. Cristian did not hesitate, shooting the man closest to him. He ran past them across the bay, his eyes finding a transport bike. Green plasma hit the wall next to him as he slid into the seat. He grabbed the guidestick, shoving it forward. The transport leaped ahead, away from his pursuers. The rock walls flew past him and opened up to four different tunnels. He picked the one sloping down and dove into it. He didn’t know for certain where he’d been held captive, only that it was probably a deep underground chamber.

  A darker corridor beckoned to him, and he took it, his already adrenaline-spiked blood jumping. He knew this place—he’d guessed right. A shadow of a memory rose in his throat and the phantom taste of bile burned his throat. This was where they’d broken him, made him permanently afraid…of everything. He wasn’t afraid now, though.

  Behind him, he heard the whine of transporters in pursuit. He continued on, the corridor now familiar. It opened to a high-ceilinged chamber that echoed with the sound of his transporter. He slid it up against the wall of the chamber and jumped off, letting it hit the wall in a burst of sparks. He ran to the wide, open doorway that led to the rooms where they closed the doors and strapped their prisoners down. The first door he found refused to open. He hit it with the red plasma and the door slid open jerkily, short-circuiting.

  The room was empty. He ran to another door, the sound of footsteps and shouting drawing nearer.

  This door slammed open the moment he shot it. It must have been a good hit. He stepped in the room, and the rush that had carried him so far suddenly crashed, like water hitting a dam. Joshua sat against a blood smeared wall, his head down, one leg a twitching mess of flesh and skin. The metal grid on the wall had blood on it as well. The blue-eyed man had been thorough.

  Cristian didn’t remember running across the room, only kneeling next to Joshua. He put a careful hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Hey…can you hear me?”

  Joshua lifted his head, his eyes a dull red. His dried lips parted. “No…no…”

  Cristian ignored the anguished pleas. He’d heard them before, from his own mouth. He lifted Joshua from the ground and swung him carefully over his shoulder. Joshua groaned at the movement.

  Cristian walked towards the door, holding on to Joshua, his plasma gun ready. He made it to the doorway, and then a phalanx of soldiers stopped him.

  “Put the prisoner down!” one of them barked.

  Cristian slid Joshua off his shoulder, holding him up off his torn leg. Joshua’s hand clutched at Cristian’s back, his head falling forward. He whispered something but Cristian could hardly hear. He repeated it. “Tell them you’ll shoot me.”

  Confused, Cristian did nothing at first. Joshua whispered again, this time a little louder. “Do it.”

  Cristian turned the gun away from the soldiers and put the barrel against his friend’s head. “Back off or I’ll shoot him.”

  The leader spoke aloud, as if talking to someone who wasn’t there. “He’s going to shoot the trainee.”

  No one moved, and Joshua whispered, “Just start walking.”

  Cristian did as he was told, holding his breath, going light-headed. Whether it was from the Push or the sheer disbelief that he wasn’t dead yet, he didn’t know. The soldiers backed away letting him step forward.

  He pushed them back, making it to the entrance of the massive chamber where his transport lay. Brisk footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned. Joshua’s red gaze slid over to the approaching figure, and a small smile twisted his cracked lips.

  The blue-eyed man did not hurry, his pace measured as he pinned Cristian with a stare. A sickening mixture of chemical adrenaline and raw terror pulsed through Cristian’s veins. The gun in his hand trembled. Joshua whispered, “Cris, keep the gun to my head and tell him to halt.”

  Cristian opened his mouth and heard himself say, “Stop w-where you are if y-you want him to live.” The stutter was back, his terror of the blue-eyed man cutting through the drug induced euphoria.

  The blue-eyed man obeyed. “Cristian, put him down and we will let you go. It’s a simple exchange.”

  “D-don’t come any c-closer,” Cristian answered, and moved towards the transport bike lying on its side.

  “You can leave, but he can’t. It’s that easy,” the blue-eyed man said.
>
  “Convince him,” Joshua rasped.

  Staring down his torturer, a small stab of anger rose up from the deep well of Cristian's terror, like an infinitesimal spark of light in a black hole. “I’ll kill him before I let you do to him what you did to me. I’ll kill both of us.”

  His words carried the weight of truth. He meant them. No one moved as he dragged Joshua towards the fallen transport, leaving a trail of blood. The gun wavered at Joshua’s temple; his hand was shaking uncontrollably now. The wall of soldiers backed up, but they remained in front of him. “Tell them to put their weapons down,” Joshua said.

  Cristian barked out the command, and they all turned to the blue-eyed man first instead of complying. He gave permission, and they lowered their guns.

  Brushing by one of the soldiers as he bent down to lower his weapon, Joshua reached out and grabbed the man’s hand. “Except for you. Give me your gun.”

  The man looked at the blue-eyed man, who again gave permission. Joshua hit the gun against his thigh and flipped it from harmless green to red. It hummed in his hand, and several soldiers backed away.

  Cristian approached the transport and leaned Joshua against the wall, still keeping the gun on his head. Joshua’s left leg drooped at a grotesque angle. Cristian let go of Joshua and put his palm on the transport. It righted itself, and he grabbed Joshua and lifted him on the transport first. Joshua cried out, his face going white.

  Ignoring him, Cristian climbed behind him, straddling the transport. He had one arm around Joshua and the other hand kept the gun to his head. “Y-you’re going t-to have to drive,” he said to Joshua in a low voice.

  “Yeah, I know.” With shaking fingers, Joshua started the transport and gripped the control stick.

  The blue-eyed man watched as they drove away.

  Once out of sight, Cristian took the gun off Joshua’s head and holstered it. He took control of the bike, which was wobbling dangerously under Joshua’s weak guidance. They sped out of the corridor and back to the bay.

  Cristian once again played the farce of holding Joshua hostage, holding the gun to his head as they drove up beside the Suki. The transport bike bumped clumsily into the cruiser and then Joshua killed the engine. Cristian dragged Joshua off with one arm and kept the gun at his temple with the other. Out of the corner of his eye he saw five black figures.

  Joshua drew in a sharp breath.

  The five soldiers blurred across the bay and came to a stop, forming a circle around the two of them.

  Cristian found himself staring at their eyes—the crimson color burning back at him. A hollow-faced man stepped forward. “This is very convenient. We weren’t making much progress with Joshua. It’s nice that some collateral showed up. This is going to make things much easier.”

  Joshua sagged in Cristian’s hold. His face contorted in agony, he said in a low voice, almost a moan, “You shouldn’t have come.”

  “I know what they are d-doing to you,” Cristian said, the gun shaking on Joshua’s head. “I’ve b-been here before.”

  Joshua’s chest heaved as he sucked in a breath. “You said you’d take care of Caina.”

  He gripped Joshua tighter. “I’m not l-letting them have you.”

  Before Cristian could grasp what was happening, a bolt of plasma shot through him. He convulsed, his arms flailing out, Joshua falling on top of him. He blacked out.

  Chapter Eighteen

  At War

  LIGHT RIPPLED from the water outside the great globe of glass that served as the Council chambers. Submerged in the Meridian Sea, the globe was a place of beauty, calm and isolation. Or at least it used to be. Above the ocean surface, warships prowled the seas, and beneath the surface the Council was fighting for its political survival.

  Caina’s high-collared gown swept behind her as she followed her father, also dressed in formal attire. He had aged the year since her mother’s death and Joshua’s disappearance, his mouth more sunken and his eyes shadowed by grief.

  Their footsteps echoed against the curved glass walls. Fish flickered into view and disappeared into the dark blue water.

  She stepped up to the dais to face the Council, and closed her cold hands. She and her father might be the only ones to appear before the Council in this empty chamber today, but they were being watched by millions across the two galaxies. In a way, standing together in the ethereal loneliness of this place felt very much like what they had been doing for a year, taking one step at a time, alone, together.

  Always, there was a sense that she and her father moved around the empty space where the two other people in their family should be. Caina didn’t dare to reminisce about what life had been like before the Nostekoi came. The bitter hole that ate away at her would grow and consume her if she wallowed in the magical fantasyland that her past had become.

  At first, when her father had petitioned the Council on Joshua’s behalf, it had taken months for anyone to respond. Eventually, a beleaguered council staff member had informed her father that there were so many appeals for assistance across the galaxy that the Council had been overwhelmed. Then came the string of Council assassinations that rocked planetary alliances and crippled the Council’s ability to function. Even more insidious, some of the colonists were joining the Nostekoi. From a shroud of secrecy, rumors of a desire for a military began to surface, along with stories of the alien attacks on galaxies outside Castor and Pollux. Split second vids of survivors barricading themselves against an unseen enemy circulated, though no one knew if the vids were real.

  Castellan headed the Council, an older man with a soft jowl and a balding head. He’d survived two attempts on his life, and though he should rightfully be able to retire, his familiar face gave the Council much needed stability. He stood at the head of the circle of twenty-five holopads, where the images of most of the representatives flickered. There were only four physically present.

  When she and her father were in the center of the dais, Castellan addressed them.

  “Stewart West, you have come here on behalf of the Remington Colony and your family to contest your resignation. Your claim that it was offered under duress has been accepted by the Steppen Bio-Analysis Accord.”

  Her father’s petition had been submitted to a biotech attorney, and the attorney’s analysis had been forwarded to the Council. Lies and truth were a matter of science, not artful debate. Biotechnology had revolutionized legal proceedings a century ago. The analysis was less about what her father had said, and more about the physical readings that either testified that her father spoke the truth or he did not.

  The current premier of Remington, probably appointed by the shadowy Nostekoi, ignored the Council’s court summons and refused to attend the hearing.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” her father replied.

  Castellan’s rheumy eyes fixed on him. “As you are aware, before you lost your wife and son to the Nostekoi, other premiers were being coerced into relinquishing their properties through similar extortion and murder. There are no colonies that have escaped this crude tactic.” Castellan continued, and Caina knew he wasn’t just speaking to them, but to the billions of colonists waiting to hear the Council’s verdict.

  “Our political system has been stolen from us. If we do not act now to deny the validity of these machinations, there will be no governing body, no Council, no planetary unity to rely on in the face of the tyranny that has claimed our laws and our rights. For ages we’ve had the freedom to choose how we wish to be governed, but that will end if we don’t fight. For the first time, the Council is advocating military action.”

  Her heart beat faster as she looked over at her father. She didn’t know why the Council had chosen the West petition as the call for war, or if she even wanted that kind of notoriety.

  Castellan turned his gaze to the view of the Council on the large screen. From the articulate grace of Simon Cast, president of Licentia to the hot invective of young Skeel, grandson of the communist Czar on Tesla, all of them had d
ebated the war for months. The hush was more than just audible; she could feel it prickle the back of her neck.

  Castellan nodded his head. “Signify.”

  It did not take long. Twenty-five lights lit up the dais. A mechanical voice confirmed, “The decision is unanimous.”

  They had no other choice, Caina knew. As it was, the Council barely existed. The extortion cancer had spread deep into the heart of the twenty-five colonial planets. They either fought the Nostekoi or surrendered their authority.

  She turned to her father, and he took her hand. The warm gesture did not reach his distant gaze, however. She recognized the familiar attempt to comfort her when he had no comfort to give. She’d done the same for him many times. Though the Council had finally found the backbone necessary to save itself, she and her father were already casualties of a war before it had begun.

  When the session concluded, some of the Council representatives made a request to speak with Caina’s father. Standing next to Simon Cast, who was present through a holograph, her father first spoke to Castellan.

  “Whatever I can do, I will.”

  Castellan put a wrinkled hand on her father’s arm. “Stewart, we wouldn’t dare ask anything from you if we weren’t in these circumstances. But I do have a request—we need your leadership on a new commission of colony holders, those that are left.”

  Her father opened his hands. “I am at your service. My resources vary from day to day, as you know, but I would like to help.”

  The battle over the West fortune had split the financial community. There was a vast amount of monetary resources, but no one was sure who it belonged to. Some of the banks were denying the Council’s claim to authority, choosing to side with the Nostekoi, some of them possibly already owned by the organization. Only a portion of the West fortune was available to her family. They’d been living with her cousins while their bank accounts fluctuated between nearly nothing and its staggering former sum.