“Dar naa, Sötehaart,” she said, rising. “Verdaa betaar!” Skipper responded to her attention with deep contented purrs, and then he gave Lilith and Ingrit an accusing look that didn’t require a psiever to translate. ‘You see!’ it said, ‘At least she knows how to treat me properly!’
Not five minutes into his stay, Skipper had already managed to identify the real power in the household, and had forged an alliance. Realizing this, Lilith had no further concerns about his welfare. He was home, and so was she.
***
Bel Hanna had chosen the Encyclopedia Sororitas as her hiding place mainly for practical reasons. The Sororitas was a gigantic database, with thousands of storage drives spread over just as many worlds. Once inside, it had been easy to remain concealed from both the Navy’s seeker programs and the ones that the Sororitas used.
But she had also come there out of personal interest as well. She had always admired the great encyclopedia, and in her life both before she had been Translated, and afterwards, she had used it often.
Privately however, she had also come to suspect the veracity of some of its entries. The fact that there was such a dearth of male accomplishments had never seemed to make statistical sense; the sheer span of human history argued for far more, and yet the Sororitas suggested otherwise. According to its writers, greatness and innovation were wholly female qualities. Naturally, she had never shared her doubts with her sisters, but now, alone, and beyond any possible reproach, she wondered anew at this.
Accessing the search functions anonymously, Bel Hanna set her parameters for the earliest editor’s notes and sent the request. Very little survived after a millennia of changes, but what did come back piqued her interest. The first result was a note from the Senior Editor to her staff, written only a few decades after the Sisterhood had been established, and the First Widow’s War had ended.
“We must be aware of our role in this new society,” it said, “and of the importance of our project. If Womankind is to go forwards, it must be from strength, and it is our duty to support that. We must give future women a firm base to refer to which agrees with the tenets of Motherthought. Therefore, weigh all of your entries with this in mind.”
Clearly, the Senior Editor had been asking her underlings to slant the material, Bel Hanna realized.
There was more, in another file. It was labeled innocuously enough, “Misc Parts” and had obviously been created as a place to park articles while they were being worked on. When she opened it, she found another note from one of the Junior Editors. It wasn’t addressed to her superior however, but to someone exactly like herself.
“They want us to change everything,” the writer stated. “They want to wipe away some of the greatest things that our species has ever accomplished. For what? To prop up their silly ideas! I need this job too badly to challenge them, but I won’t let this slip by. I’ve kept the original material in sub files. Hopefully, you, whoever you are, will find this and learn what really happened.”
Just as the writer had promised, there were other files. Each one was labeled according to the area that they concerned. Seeing the file on Early Aviation, Bel Hanna opened it.
She found glaring contradictions immediately. The notes revealed that Amelia Earhart wasn’t the first person to fly solo across the Atlantic. A man named Charles Lindbergh had accomplished this daring feat. Even the famous Wright Sisters, who had supposedly achieved the first powered flight, hadn’t done so. They were actually a pair of brothers. She was stunned.
Paging over to the file on art, she encountered even more surprises. The artist who had painted the “Mona Lisa’, one of her personal favorites, wasn’t Leonora da’Vinci after all, but Leonardo. His work had been considered to be some of the greatest art ever produced--and not the obscure material that it was now. Seeing his other paintings, and his inventions, presented without any censorship, both amazed and appalled her.
Her anger only increased as she examined the accomplishments of the great inventors. The data proved conclusively that Thomas Edison’s mistress, who had traditionally been credited with all of his inventions, had never even existed! And Sir Isaac Newton and Albert Einstein had had their legacies stolen from them with a simple change of name. Every schoolgirl now believed that Lady Isaaca and Alberta Einstein were two of the most gifted scientists Old Gaia had ever produced.
They had no idea that they were being lied to.
According to other entries, much of this alteration had been accomplished with the help of the famous ReVision Studios and their counterparts. History had been distorted on a truly staggering scale. She intended to do something about this.
CHAPTER 5
Bocadillia Alvaraada, Downtown Business District, Nuvo Bolivar, Magdala Provensa, Esteral Terrana Rapabla, 1048.09|11|03:75:01
Migehl Alvaraada eyed Reesy skeptically. The owner of the sandwich shop was a relative of Gabi’s, and the Loyalista inmate had promised her that he would give her a job when she returned to the real world. But now, and despite all the promises, her situation didn’t seem quite as certain as it had back in Lorenya Gaarza.
“You say that you know my niece?” Alvaraada asked.
“I do,” she answered. “Gabi and I did some time together. She told me to come here when I got out. She said you’d treat me fairly. Please--I really need a job. It’s part of my parole, and I‘ll work hard.”
“I don’t know,” he replied, stroking his chin. “This is a tiny shop and we don’t have a position open right now.” As he said this, he placed his hand up on the counter. To anyone else, it seemed a casual, unconscious gesture, but when Reesy saw the “A14” tattoo on it, she carefully mimicked him.
His eyes widened slightly when he took in the marking and his demeanor changed. “Maybe we can use you part-time,” he said, “when Roza’s out sick, and in the evenings. You willing to wash dishes too?”
“Anything’s fine with me,” she told him. “I just need work. Something that will keep my parole officer happy.”
“Come back tomorrow, at one,” Alvaraada instructed. “We’ll see what we have going on then.” A customer entered as he said this, and he turned from her to serve them. The interview was over, but Reesy knew that she’d gotten the job. Where things would lead after that, was anyone’s guess.
For the first week, she did exactly what Alvaraada had said she would. She washed dishes, cleaned the kitchen, and went out on the occasional delivery.
The next week proved to be much different however. Instead of being assigned menial chores, Alvaraada sent her out to an address in the suburbs, telling her only that she was going to the home of a friend, and that she would be helping them for the day. A key would be waiting for her, hidden in a flower pot.
She took the Publa, and when the bus delivered her to her destination, walked up to a modest home. The key was exactly where Alvaraada had said it would be, and she let herself in.
A man spoke as she entered. “Don’t turn around,” he said. “Sit down on the couch and open the notebook.”
Reesy complied, and as she opened the book, she saw that it was filled with images, some of them taken with a camera, and others that had been hand-drawn, or ripped out of books. Every picture, no matter its source, was of a military vehicle used by the Sisterhood, or by the traitors who cooperated with them in the Garda.
“We checked up on you,” the man advised her. “Now we’ll find out if you’re any good to us. Take a few minutes and memorize what you see in the book.” She heard him leave the room.
After a few minutes, he returned. This time, he allowed her to look in his direction, but his face was covered by a mask. He took the notebook from her and opened up one of the pages at random, holding it up for her to see. “What is this?” he asked, pointing at the picture.
But Reesy had an excellent memory, and the added benefit of having seen that kind of hovertruck before, back at the School. “It’s a Sisterhood hovertruck,” she answered. “The kind they use to transp
ort troops, or to haul things.”
“Does it have any weapons?”
“No, not most times, “she answered. “If it does, the weapons are mounted up over the cab. Also, the crewwoman is exposed.” By now, she had a fair idea of what the man wanted with her.
The masked figure turned to another picture. “What about this one?”
He was indicating an armored personnel vehicle, also used by the invaders, and she told him as much.
“How many troops can it hold?”
She had to think about this for a moment and then she remembered. “Twenty. It doesn’t have any weapons either, just those square holes on the side to let the soldiers shoot out of it.”
The man bobbed his head in satisfaction, and tried several other images. Again and again, Reesy was able to identify what they were, with only a few minor errors.
Finally, her anonymous host closed the book. “You’ll do,” he informed her flatly. “We’ll be in touch.”
The Loyalista kept his word. Back at the sandwich shop, Alvaraada had a message for her. “Go to this address tomorrow morning,” he said, handing her a small piece of plastipaper. “Be there at nine o’clock. Do what they tell you.”
When she arrived at the address the next day, the man wasn’t there to meet her. Instead, a woman was waiting in his place. Without preamble, she handed Reesy a small travel bag. It held a pair of binoculars, and a radio. Next, she gave her a key, and another piece of plastipaper. Reesy recognized the location written on it immediately; it was in sight of the west gate of Claire d’Layne.
“Go to this building,” the woman instructed. “It’s vacant right now, and this key will let you in. When you get inside, find yourself a spot where you can watch things at the gate. When anyone comes out, use your radio and tell us how many, what kind of vehicles they are in, and which way they’re going. We’ll need you to stay there until 4:30.’
“Make sure not to let anyone see you. If the Police come, press the red button. It will destroy the radio. And if you are caught, tell them nothing. Do you understand all of this?”
Yes”, Reesy said.
She left, her pulse pounding. This is it, she thought. I’m finally part of the revolution!
***
The vacant house commanded a perfect, unobstructed view of the west gate. It was dark inside, and Reesy hoped that the shadows would help to conceal her from the Sisterhood Marines that were stationed at the guard post.
Some of them were working at ground level, inspecting vehicles as they arrived, but a pair of troopers were up in a tower. Sweeping her field glasses over their perch, she saw that one of them was doing the very same thing with her own pair of binoculars.
As the Marine turned in Reesy’s direction, the young woman was absolutely certain that she had been spotted, and her heart leapt in fear. But then the soldier panned away to look at something else.
Her gambit with the shadows seemed like it had paid off. She crossed herself and said a special prayer of thanks up to Saint Jozua.
During her life at the School, she hadn’t known anything about religion at all. As part of his experimental work, Dr. Martana had taken great pains to create a purely secular community. Since coming to the capitol however, Reesy had discovered the comfort that faith offered, and had become quite devout, especially since many of the Republican Orthodox priests sympathized with her revolutionary cause.
She had found Saint Jozua’s name in the Church’s “Official Book of Saints”. Originally, she had hoped to find someone who watched over revolutionaries, but only Saint Jozua had even come close.
One of the 12 spies sent by Moses to Canaan, ‘Joshua’, as he had been known on Old Gaia, had been canonized in the 22nd century and was considered to be the patron saint of spies. Reesy fervently hoped that his blessings would extend to her. Every little bit of luck counted, even if it wasn’t precisely the kind of luck that she had been looking for.
The hours passed, and people came and went with nothing for her to report. Since her ‘interview’ had only centered on military vehicles, she was certain that the Loyalistas didn’t care about civilian contractors making deliveries, or routine visitors. It was only when a pair of hovertrucks left the facility, accompanied by a heavier version with a turret-mounted gun, that she took up her radio and made a call.
“Two hovertrucks and a tank”, she whispered. The book she had been shown had made it clear that the Loyalistas labeled anything that sported a weapon as a ‘tank’, with specific designations assigned for their particular level of armoring and weapons. Recalling this important distinction, she carefully added, “It’s a light tank. Headed west.”
No congratulations, or even a confirmation came back. Instead, dead silence met her ears. Although this disappointed her, she had expected as much. Thanks to the shop owner’s briefing, she knew that the Loyalista forces kept their radio traffic to a minimum in order to avoid detection. Still, someone answering on the other end would have been reassuring and, she had to admit, a little more satisfying.
The only acknowledgement that she did receive came from the worst possible source. Panning over the tower once more, she saw that the Marine with the field glasses was looking in her direction again. This time, she didn’t look away. In addition, a police car, and another vehicle that had to be its military equivalent, were headed towards her from two different directions. She had been discovered.
Panicking, she frantically pushed the red button on her radio. For a second, nothing seemed to happen, and then the thing became too hot to hold, and she hastily dropped it. As it hit the floor, an oily white tendril of smoke issued from inside it, and then the device started to melt down into an unrecognizable puddle of plastic slag.
That was enough for her. Grabbing up everything else, she ran from the room and went out the rear of the house into the tiny back yard. It was enclosed by a fence that was just short enough for her to scale, and she vaulted over it, landing in the yard next door. An old woman, who was hanging her laundry out on a line, gasped in alarm at her sudden appearance.
“Please señyorra,” Reesy pleaded, “don’t tell them I came this way!” Then she identified the clothing hanging on the line. In addition to the usual items, there was also a set a fatigues pinned up to dry. ETR Garda-issue fatigues.
Reesy’s eyes went wide, and she was absolutely certain that she was about to be betrayed. Seeing where she was looking, the woman gave her a half smile, and then waved her towards the door of an open cellar. The smell of detergent and clean clothes wafted up from the dark space.
“My daughter,” the woman explained, her mouth going tight with anger. “She lost an arm and a leg fighting the Sisterhood whores. Now go hide yourself! I’ll send the ratas scurrying off in another direction.”
Having no other choice but to place her faith in her, Reesy scrambled into the cellar and hid herself in the darkest corner that she could find. Daylight vanished a moment later when the cellar door slammed shut. With visions of Lorenya Gaarza, or someplace even worse, rising up to torment her, she strained her ears and listened. The police and the Marines had arrived, and she could hear the old woman as she spoke to them.
“She’s a crazy person!” the woman cried. “Quickly! She went next door!” The sound of running feet followed this, and then silence. After a few minutes, the cellar door opened again, and the woman was beckoning to her.
“You’d better leave before they come back,” she warned. Thanking Saint Jozua, and offering up a little apology to him for ever doubting his efficacy, Reesy took her advice, and ran.
Claire d’Layne Naval Base, Nuvo Bolivar, Magdala Provensa, Esteral Terrana Rapabla 1048.09|19|00:41:63
“Intel says they have a solid lead on a safe house the General might be staying in,” Major ebed Karri announced.
A collective groan went up. “Vat koopkek”, Margasdaater complained, sotto voce. She emphasized her displeasure by reaching down and grabbing at her crotch. Kaly heartily shared Margasdaater’s
sentiment, even if she didn’t feel like being quite as graphic about it. Instead, she just indicated her agreement with a small nod.
Their good luck had finally deserted them. Since their first few Ops, they had been out on back-to-back missions to find the General, and each time they had come up empty-handed. The man was proving to be a phantom, and Intel’s credibility was slipping badly.
Given how things had been going, the chances were excellent that this Op would prove to be exactly what the Zommerlaandar had just suggested; nothing more than another exercise spent playing with themselves, and just about as productive.
“I know, I know,” Ebed Karri commiserated. “But we still have to follow up on all our leads.” In Standard, this meant that they were stuck with the mission, whether they liked it or not.
Once the details had been discussed, and everyone was ready, they made their way out to the hoverpad. A platoon sized “Thrima” assault shuttle, which was a cut down version of the larger “Hildr” models, was waiting for them. Its engines were already throttled up to just a hair under take off.
The instant that they had climbed aboard, the shuttle lifted into the air and flew out over the perimeter of Claire d’Layne. A second Thrima followed right behind them. Its job was to provide fire support and an additional set of eyes over the Op area. And although they were too high to see, a group of Valkyrie aerospace fighters were also overhead, ready to bring their ordnance to bear at a moment’s notice.
It didn’t take much imagination on Kaly’s part to visualize the mood of the aerospace pilots. They had been on standby for every one of the Team’s missions, and were probably just as frustrated as they were. But like her team, they were stuck with the mission.
Ten minutes later, when the Thrimas reached their final waypoint, they lost altitude until they were nearly touching the rooftops. The final signal came to get ready, and Margasdaater caught her eye, grabbing at her crotch again.
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