The Rebel

by Gerald Brandt

  My ACE training kicked in, and I started mapping the drive. I closed my eyes and stayed quiet, feeling the motion of the van under me, counting my breaths, keeping track on my hand using unseen motions of my fingers. Whenever I stole a peek, the soldiers were sitting by the door, staring into nothing as the time passed.

  By my calculations, we drove for about thirty-five minutes before we hit another up-ramp. Using my best estimation of speed and the number of stops we had made for traffic and lights, I figured we had traveled a little more than twenty kilometers. When we’d been pushed into the trucks, they had been facing south. Based on the turns, we had headed mainly west, toward the ocean.

  As the trucks rolled up the second ramp I thought I heard the distinctive sound of a high-speed ricochet. The soldiers didn’t seem to notice. Ten minutes later, we hit another up-ramp. That meant we were heading through security. The lack of delay meant we were being expedited through.

  We hit another up-ramp. Level 7. If the people in the van could see outside, they would have gone into shock. I doubted a single draftee in any of the trucks had ever been exposed to open sky. We stopped briefly and I heard a gate open, before driving for another couple of minutes. The sound coming from outside changed and we dropped down. Not far enough to go down a level. Underground parking. Keep the draftees in an environment they knew and understood.

  The trucks stopped and the rear doors were thrown open. Even in the parking garage, the air felt different than where we had come from. It had lost the permeating scent of the huddled masses, of recycled air being blown through old and dirty ventilation systems. There was a tang that I immediately associated with the ocean. As we got out, I watched the other draftees, emulating their reactions to the differences. I didn’t want to stand out.

  Soldiers herded us into a cargo elevator that lowered us farther into the depths of our prison. Before the door closed, I heard the distant roar of a shuttle taking off. Everyone else ignored it. Maybe they thought it was a damaged filtration system, not knowing what a shuttle sounded like. But I listened to what it told me.

  The sound meant we had traveled far enough west to be close to the shuttle port. We weren’t in it, though, it wasn’t loud enough. I couldn’t place direction from the noise—it had echoed down the ramp leading back to the surface. Even with that, I knew where we were, without a doubt. There could only be one place. We were at the SoCal Air Force Base south of the shuttle port. I also knew this wouldn’t be our final destination. This was an interim spot before they shipped us somewhere for training and brainwashing.

  I knew all about that. ACE had done their share to me.

  The elevator doors opened onto a fibercrete tunnel and with it the familiar scent of recycled air. This time without the stench of the lower levels. Only thirty meters farther in, a huge door swung on massive hinges, opening into even more tunnel. Armed soldiers stood outside the door on full alert, rifles held at the ready. Inside were three women in white lab coats, waiting for us.

  No one moved until the soldiers started pulling us out. Then, like obedient children, we followed them. The only sound was of our feet on the floor. The door became more impressive the closer we got. It was thick, almost ninety centimeters by the look of it. The frame had three deep holes in it, matched by three huge cylinders embedded into the door itself. Once that thing closed, there was no getting out unless they wanted you to.

  Someone shouted from the front of the group, their voice filled with dread. Panic spread like unventilated smoke on Level 2, and the tide of bodies turned, pushing back on those of us following. I fought against the sudden surge and slipped to the side wall, followed by a couple of other people, watching as the horde tried to get back to the elevators.

  They didn’t know it was already too late.

  A single shot sliced through the air over our heads, and a hole appeared in the back of the elevator. For the first time, I noticed it was home to more than just one. People had panicked here before, and been brought back under control with the threat of violence or death. Everybody froze and the tunnel fell into an eerie silence. A single voice cut through the stillness.

  “Welcome to SoCal Basic Training. Starting today, your mind, your body, and your very soul belong to us. You will maintain control of yourself, and follow these three people to your quarters for the night. Tomorrow, you will be shipped to Snied Parker Base to begin your training.” The voice paused, then rose in volume. “Move. Now!”

  Once again, the only sound was that of shuffling feet. When we were finally all through the massive door, it closed silently behind us. The only signs of its movement were a rush of air before it closed and the sound of three cylinders driving home.

  We followed the people in lab coats to the first regular-sized door I had seen. A small sign above it read “Decontamination.” We were herded inside and ordered to line up in three rows. I stayed in the back, trying to remain small and inconspicuous. The feeling of being trapped threatened to overtake me. I fought it as the line of bodies in front of me pressed me into the wall. The only other exit in the room was a set of double doors opposite the ones we had come in through. The soldiers stayed with us, standing along the opposite wall.

  One of the people in lab coats, the tallest one with the bright red lipstick and a beak for a nose, started talking. “Welcome to Hawthorne Air Force Base. You’ve all come from various walks of life. In order to allow you to mix with the other trainees tomorrow, we have to make sure you are clean and healthy. First row, strip. Leave your clothes in a pile where you are and walk through the double doors. New clothes will be provided once you are done. We’ll get your bloodwork results back tomorrow before you ship out.”

  No one moved.

  The same voice from outside the elevators boomed across the silent room. “First row. Strip and move through the doors to your right. Now.”

  In a sudden flurry of motion, the front row started to remove their jackets and shirts. Everyone hesitated before they stripped off their underwear, trying to cover themselves in modesty. They were led silently to the double doors.

  KADOKAWA SAT CITY 2—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 5:40 P.M.

  SoCal was up to something. The problem was, Andrew couldn’t figure out what. Even the intelligence reports were vague when they mentioned the Sat Cities. His forces, and SoCal’s, had spent the day eyeing each other warily across the thousands of kilometers that made up the front line. None of the ships had moved.

  The battle on Mars had intensified. SoCal had brought in new troops, barely trained and barely controllable. It should have been a bad move, but it had worked. They’d regained control of the mines. Kadokawa troops, or what was left of them, were huddled to the north waiting for air rescue. So far SoCal had left them alone.

  Things were changing within Kadokawa as well. All because Kaijō-bakuryōchō Sone and Kadokawa’s president had gotten control of the once-peaceful corporation and turned it into a warmongering one . . .

  Andrew caught himself before the thought could fully complete. Even thinking it felt like treason to him. He was a soldier. He knew that the day he signed up. When he was told to do something, he did it to the best of his ability.

  And yet . . .

  He’d received a private communiqué just before lunch from Natsumi. He corrected himself, Kaishō-ho Kadokawa. The note had troubled him to his very core. He and Kaishō-ho Kadokawa had been childhood friends. They’d joined at the same time, attended the same training camps, and moved up the ranks in synchronicity, until she had reached Kaishō-ho. He had been held back at Kaisa, simply because he was needed where he was. There had been no one to promote into his position, to fill his space.

  His plan had been to ask for her hand when they both reached Kaisa, but circumstances had placed them on the opposite side of the globe for more than a year. Kaisa was the first step into admiralty, and allowed a bit more freedom, a chance to have a life outside
of the military.

  Her outranking him put a stop to those plans. It wouldn’t have been proper for him to ask anymore. They were both Kaishō-ho now, but the distance between them remained. He was in the field, and she was in Okinawa. Her position had more responsibilities than his did. Soon she would be Kaishō, and even further out of reach.

  The communiqué was encoded with nothing the military normally used, and it had left him stumped for most of the day. Only after an early dinner with the enlisted, which he tried to make a daily habit, did he realize what was going on. The code was actually quite simplistic, but difficult to break at the same time. Natsumi had found it in an old text in the library at Nagasaki when they went to school there, and they had both memorized the encryption and decryption routines, running through them daily to make sure they had everything right. They’d used the code throughout high school, passing notes to each other about whatever topic came up. With her, it had almost always been math or geography. For him, physics and calligraphy. She’d never really understood the beauty of either.

  It took him some time to decode the message—the old routines were only a memory, and he hadn’t used them in decades. When he had finished and read the complete message, he’d immediately deleted its receipt from the logs and destroyed the pad he’d decrypted it on.

  She had spoken of the old Kadokawa, of how they’d worked together to bring the necessities of life to the people of Korea after an earthquake had devastated the east coast. How they’d helped protect Machu Picchu when civil war had threatened to destroy the ancient city. Together, they had helped rebuild cities and bring joy back into people’s lives. The new president and Kaijō-bakuryōchō were destroying all of that. She wrote what she was going to do about it.

  She spoke of treason.

  Andrew had sat in his room, going over the message word for word, searching for a different meaning behind them. Perhaps he had memorized them wrong. Perhaps someone else had written the words, or forced her to do so. He sighed, knowing none of that was true. She’d signed the letter using her given name. He hadn’t spoken it out loud since she’d outranked him, though in his thoughts she would always be Natsumi.

  The note had come from her.

  Trouble was brewing in Kadokawa, and she had picked a side. She had just told him why, and asked him to join her. He yearned to be with her, to help her any way he could.

  But duty . . .

  LOS ANGELES LEVEL 7—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 5:35 P.M.

  It was my row’s turn.

  I had never been comfortable being naked, and was even less so with other people around. Watching the first rows strip down and march through the doors didn’t relieve any of my discomfort. Gender didn’t really matter, I preferred staying clothed around everyone. I was sweating as I took off my clothes, even in the cold room. The last of us stood and waited, keeping our eyes on the ground.

  We didn’t need to be told to start moving. As soon as the double doors opened, we walked single file across the room and through them. I resisted the urge to cover up and kept my eyes on the feet of the man in front of me. The soldiers had watched the previous groups, their gaze lingering when they saw something they liked. I could feel them watching me. My belly protruded a bit, and I tried to suck in my gut. I wasn’t sure why.

  The doors opened to a short hallway. There was another exit at the other end, clearly labeled with a lit green sign, and two doors in the left wall. The one closest to us was open and we were led in. One of the women in the lab coats stood nearby. I peered over her shoulder and saw a wet trail exiting the other door, stray footprints discernible near the edges.

  The floor of the room was soaking wet. Three people in rubber boots and ponchos stood against one wall with hoses in their hands. We were told to stand against the other, our arms raised above our head, facing out.

  The person in the lab coat stood in the doorway. “If you have any sores or open cuts, this will hurt a bit. The water contains antibiotics and various chemicals for killing lice or anything else that may be on you. As the water sprays, you will duck your head into the stream and wash your hair. You will do the same with your armpits and groin. If we think anyone is not doing an adequate job, we will do it for you. We won’t enjoy doing that, therefore neither will you. When the water stops, turn to face the wall and repeat the process. You will be told when to exit through the far door.”

  The water turned on. It seemed like the assholes got pleasure from humiliating us like this. Treating us like animals with no respect as people. The first spray was right in my face, held there until I couldn’t breathe before moving on to the next person. I washed my hair, trying to look like I was doing a thorough job while still being careful to keep my bobby pins in place. By the time we were told to turn, my skin was bright red from the rubbing and the water pressure.

  “Bend over.”

  I was too slow. All three hoses aimed at the back of my head, forcing my face into the wet, slimy wall. When the pressure stopped, I was bent over like everyone else. I hated the men with the hoses, hated the soldiers and the lab coats. Hated SoCal, with every part of who I was.

  I shivered as they corralled us through the doors into the hallway and through the next set of double doors. We were separated into two groups, men and women, and forced to stand against another wall, still wet and cold, as they stuck fingers into our mouths and other places. At least this time they had the decency to have a woman search our group.

  We were finally given towels. They had been used and washed so often they barely worked anymore. I did the best I could and wrapped the towel around me. It was so small I had to hold it together with my hands. Some of the larger men and women held their towels clutched in front of them.

  The man with the loud voice stood in front of us again. “You will be given clothes and a place to sleep tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll go over your blood test results and send you to training. You’ll have six weeks to become the soldiers we want you to be. Those that don’t make it will not be returned home. There will be water available after you’re dressed.” He smiled. “Drink as much as you want. It’s all you’re getting until tomorrow. Do you understand?”

  Most of the people just mumbled. I stood silent, dreaming of the different ways I would kill him.

  “When I ask a question, you will respond with a ‘Yes, sir.’ Do you understand?”

  Several of the group replied with soft answers.

  “I can’t hear you.” The soldier took a step closer to the nearest person and yelled only centimeters from his face. “Do you understand?” Spit flew from his lips.

  This time, everyone responded, including me. I would bide my time, but when it was right, I would kill him.

  The clothes came in two sizes, medium and large, with no differentiation between men’s and women’s. Except for the underwear. The military gray material was stiff and coarse. I ended up rolling up the bottom of the pants and the sleeves of a shirt that I tucked in down to my knees.

  Everyone drank water. As many glasses as they could, thrilled by how much was available. I watched from the sidelines until I noticed the soldiers paying more attention to me. Then I stood in line and pretended to drink.

  ACE had taught us to never accept food or drink from the enemy. I knew I couldn’t hold out forever, but I could last a while. Long enough to tell if SoCal put something in it.

  They marched us single file down a long hall with doors on either side. None of them had windows, and under the doorknob was a ten-digit keypad. The light on each pad glowed red. We went into the sixth door at the end of the hall.

  The room was spartan at best. The walls, ceiling, and floor were bare fibercrete and the beds simple plastic frames with thin mattresses. On the end of each bed were a pillow and a couple of thin blankets. The far end of the room was an open washroom. Toilets and showerheads lined the walls, and a single large sink separated them from the be
ds. There was zero chance of privacy. I managed to get a bed by the door, laying the first blanket down as a sheet and using the second for its intended purpose. I’d slept in enough disgusting places to want something between me and the mattress.

  “Lights out in two minutes.”

  It couldn’t have been much past 6 P.M., but exhaustion swept through me. I lay on my bed and watched the others. Several of the men sat in a small group, talking quietly and waving their hands. I didn’t know what they were going on about. I didn’t want to know. The others simply commandeered the beds near the front of the room. Most of them were already under the blankets before the lights went out.

  I could hear the men cursing as they tried to find a place to sleep in the dark. Eventually the room quieted down. I lay there until all I could hear were the sounds of sleep from the humiliated and exhausted people around me. I shivered and pulled the single blanket tighter before finally closing my eyes.

  Despite my exhaustion, I was wide awake.

  six

  LOS ANGELES LEVEL 2—TUESDAY, JULY 4, 2141 7:00 P.M.

  THINGS HAD GONE all wrong. Pat and Kai sat in the dining hall, alone in the large space. Neither of them spoke. Rows and rows of empty tables spread across the room, waiting for the morning crowd to turn the silence into noise. The place used to be an auditorium for the residents of the block, but had been converted into the hall.

  They had tossed around ideas, come up with plans, figured out ways to get Kris back. None of it mattered. Levels 6 and 7 were sewn up so tight it would take weeks just to find a way through. If they could find a way. None of Kai’s contacts had responded to his pleas. If Doc Searls still had access, they could have used him. But he’d lost that. Getting up to Level 5 would be possible using the inter-level corridors . . . as long as they could avoid the military patrols.