Tree of Liberty

by Wayne Basta

  Merski frowned and her shoulders slumped. She glanced over her shoulder at what Maarkean could only assume was one of the cameras monitoring them. Pulling out her comm device, the lieutenant entered a command and then looked back up. “You’re right,” she said. “I was sent in here to gain your trust so we could try getting you to open up to me. But I really do find what’s been done to you reprehensible. You have to believe me about that.”

  Maarkean studied the young woman. He normally considered himself very good at reading people. There were no obvious signs of deception, but he wasn’t sure he could believe her. Intelligence officers were trained to lie, after all.

  “That the entire crew has been involved makes me sick,” she continued. “But I took this assignment because it gave me a lot of latitude. I was supposed to use it to try to gain your trust. Instead, I’m going to use it to get you free.”

  A sharp bark came from Lohcja. “That’s taking the good cop approach to a new extreme.”

  Maarkean considered the woman’s statement. Odds were good that Lohcja was right and this was just part of her attempt to gain their trust. But what if it wasn’t? Many other Alliance officers, himself included, had turned to the Union after seeing the moral decay of the Alliance firsthand. She could be telling the truth.

  “I’ll play along,” Maarkean said. “How do you plan to get us out?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Merski said in a tone that sounded sincere. “But I just wanted you to know that help is on the way. Just hold on for a little while longer.”

  She glanced back at the camera and then hit a control on her comm device. When she spoke again, her tone was more formal. “We’ll resume your interrogations once you’ve sufficiently healed from your injuries. I assure you, this chief will pay for his violation of the Alliance’s uniform code.”

  Turning on her heel, she strode out the door. Maarkean leaned off the cot slightly, peering at the camera. It was clear that she meant for them not to discuss what she had just said. He shared a look with Lohcja before leaning back against the wall. Could he let himself believe they might be able to get out of here?

  Chapter Four

  Pulling his Razors cap tight on his head, Zeric started down the hallway toward the service elevator that led out of the arena’s basement. It felt good to be headed out for some excitement with a rifle in his hands again.

  He barely made it ten meters before the feeling vanished.

  Waiting for him at the last corner before the elevator was Ymp. She was also decked out in BDUs and combat gear. Despite her diminutive size compared to him, her stance made it clear there was no getting past her.

  “Oh, come on, Ymp,” Zeric complained. “I outrank you by several levels. Don’t try this pushing me around nonsense.”

  Her expression was serious, though from the way her eyestalks swayed slightly, it was obvious to him that she derived a lot of pleasure from what she said next. “It’s my duty as the next senior officer to keep you out of danger. That last raid was a close one. Your presence on this mission would be a liability.”

  “We’re just going to blow up some more Alliance supplies,” Zeric countered. “Nothing fancy.”

  “Exactly, which is why you’re not needed,” Ymp said, her stance not wavering.

  “Who cares if I’m needed?” Zeric argued. “I’m the one in charge here. This is what I do best—blow shit up!”

  Getting up close to his face, Ymp said again, her voice comparatively calm, “You’re our leader. You die on a worthless mission after we’ve already lost Generals Numba and Ocaitchi, and morale dies with you. You ceded your actual control of this army to Kantor and Kil’dare, and that’s your prerogative, but that doesn’t make you any less in command. You’re a symbol for the troops, and that means you need to stay alive. And it’s my job to make sure that happens.”

  Zeric hated this talk of him being a symbol. Before, he had been a little jealous that Maarkean had gotten all of that attention, though he had mostly felt sympathy for his friend. Now, any feelings of jealousy were gone. “So, I’m just supposed to sit here for the rest of the war doing nothing?” Zeric asked sarcastically.

  “Plan an attack that has an objective worth risking the life of a general for, and you can be the one to lead it,” Ymp said.

  “All right, fine,” Zeric grumbled. “But I’ll remember this on your birthday.” After a grudging sigh, he leaned his rifle against the wall and unclipped his pack, setting it down. Seemingly from out of nowhere, his aide, Kumus Stryker, materialized and picked them up, then disappeared down the corridor, back toward Zeric’s quarters.

  Without another word to Ymp, Zeric proceeded around the corner. Careful to conceal his frustration, he greeted the troops assembled there. He took a few minutes to move about them, talking to each of them briefly. It had always boosted his morale when officers had done that to his unit during the Colonial War.

  After speaking to each of them, Zeric stopped before Ymp. Suppressing his annoyance at her, he gives her a smile and a salute. “Good hunting, Major.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Ymp replied, returning the salute.

  She then led the team of soldiers into the elevator, leaving Zeric alone in the hallway. Still grumbling to himself about Ymp’s hardheadedness, and enjoying the irony that her skull was actually softer than his, he went in search of something to do.

  In the area of the arena’s basement being used as the marines’ mess, Zeric found a group of them watching a hockey game. The feed was live from the arena above them. Zeric frowned when he saw that the Razors were down by one.

  “General,” Lieutenant Sigfa Neith asked, “care to join us?”

  Realizing he had nothing else to do, Zeric sat down. One of the marines handed him a beer, and he relaxed. Jairyd and Kantor were taking care of military planning. Ymp was leading the raids. A cold beer and a hockey game weren’t a bad way to spend a war.

  Zeric watched, chatting with the marines and army soldiers, as the game unfolded. When the period ended, the Razors had come back to tie, and Zeric had forgotten about his situation for a short time. Then Sigfa asked him a question that brought it all back.

  “General, any word on how long we’ll be down here?” the young Terran asked.

  Caught off guard and annoyed that it brought him back to reality, Zeric turned to Sergeant Ocif, the marine who was currently using the cooler as a seat. “Sergeant, how about another beer?”

  Obod looked abashed. “Sorry, sir. We’re all out. Lieutenant Neith limited us to two apiece since we’re up for a mission tomorrow.”

  To himself, Zeric cursed. Two beers were hardly enough to have even given him the hints of a buzz. But to Obod, he said, “Very sensible, Lieutenant.” Then, realizing he probably couldn’t dodge Sigfa’s question, he equivocated. “As to your question, I wish I could give you an answer. General Kil’dare’s plan for a guerrilla campaign will take some time to work. We need to get the Alliance off balance before we can take further action.”

  He felt bad lying to the troops. There was no plan beyond hitting the Alliance and hoping they just went away. But he couldn’t tell Sigfa that.

  “We’re ready for it, however long it takes,” Sigfa said, his conviction making Zeric feel some shame. Sigfa had once been a mercenary but was now more sold on the cause than Zeric was.

  “All right, Rogues,” Sigfa said to the mix of marines and army troops, “we need to be up early. Let’s hit the sack.”

  Zeric wanted to order them to sit down. The game had just gone into overtime. But he didn’t have to go to bed—he would just have to watch the rest of the game alone. Or he could go find Gu’od.

  Bidding the others good night and good luck on their mission tomorrow, Zeric went in search of his friend. After stopping by his room for a bottle of more potent liquor and his datapad, he found Gu’od right where he expected: meditating in his small room. Without comment, Zeric activated the datapad and brought up the feed from the game.

  After
a few minutes, Gu’od stood up, stretched, and took a seat. Zeric handed Gu’od the bottle, and Gu’od took a small swig before handing it back. They sat in silence for the rest of the game, going through the bottle without a word.

  ***

  “I don’t like it,” Fracsid argued.

  Beside Saracasi, the Braz ex-smuggler drummed his fingers on the tactical holo-projector. They were standing around the device at the front of Defiant Glory’s pilot ready room, although, aside from Jerik, none of the ships’ pilots were present.

  “This won’t be like the insertion into Ailleroc,” Fracsid continued. “There was still civilian traffic going to and from the planet to blend into. Sulas is completely cut off. The Alliance is not letting any ships planet-side. A few occasionally try, so we might be able to jump into the legal jump zone without getting blown away immediately. But we won’t be able to do anything but scan and jump away.”

  Saracasi shook her head. “No, Lei-mey made it very clear that she has to get to the surface. So that’s what we’re going to do.”

  “But why?” Fracsid pressed. “You already have my support for taking the fight to the Alliance. Those cutters barely qualify as warships. Sure, they have a heavy neutron blaster, but they’re as frail as paper. Let’s just take our chances, with or without Congress’s support.”

  “No,” Saracasi said emphatically, surprising even herself. “When Maarkean raided Olan, he did so as a rebel because there was no one else to turn to. When he fought the Alliance on Enro, though, he did so with the approval of the sector congress. We all swore our loyalty to the people of this sector who are represented by that congress. If we start ignoring them because we don’t like their decisions, then we’re nothing more than anarchist rebels and not the revolutionary patriots we claim.”

  In truth, she’d been entertaining the notion of going on her own, and she’d been trying to convince herself not to. It helped to explain out loud why she shouldn’t.

  Fracsid shrugged, but Jerik and Kaars gave solemn nods of agreement. Jerik then asked, “So how do you plan to get past their blockade?”

  “We exit hyperspace right in the atmosphere,” Saracasi said, keeping her tone mild.

  “That’s crazy!” Fracsid said but then smiled. “I like it.”

  Jerik kept a straight face. “That is, indeed, crazy. There’s a reason ships exit hyperspace tens of thousands of kilometers away from planets. The gravity field allows you to exit, but it’s not a smooth transition. And it will immediately start pulling you down into a death plummet. Then there’s the friction from the sudden collision with the air, not to mention if your calculations are off by a fraction, you emerge inside the planet instead of above it.”

  “I know all that,” Saracasi said, though she was glad neither of them were just agreeing to her suggestion without comment. It was a crazy idea, and it wouldn’t be a good sign. “But I’ve done it before. Well, Maarkean did it before. Cutty Sark can handle it.”

  “Maybe, but is it even worth attempting?” Jerik asked. “What do you expect to gain from this that’s worth the risk?”

  Saracasi shrugged, feeling awkward that she didn’t have a good answer to that particular question. “I’ve decided to trust Lei-mey on this. She’s always had the best interests of the Union in mind. If getting to Sulas is this important to her, then it’s worth doing. That it will resolve our problem, so much the better.”

  Jerik looked like he wanted to argue more but didn’t say anything.

  Fracsid raised the next important question. “You’re going to need one hell of a pilot. I’m good, but I don’t think I’m that good.”

  “That’s OK,” Saracasi said. “I actually need you to stay here. This has a high chance of failure, so we can’t risk two senior officers on it. Jerik, who do you have who can do this?”

  Jerik frowned, considering the question.

  Saracasi noticed the irony of trusting this plan to Jerik’s judgment. Part of her still didn’t trust the former bounty hunter. Despite the slight limp he still had, he didn’t appear to hold any grudge against her, which was why she had decided to accept him as her CAG: Commander Air Group.

  “Well, I could probably do it,” Jerik said with no hint of modesty in his tone. “But I should stay here for the same reason Major Relis is. Sienn’lyn I’fu. She’s the best natural pilot we have. She just lacks experience. Which is fortunate, since that’s the only reason she wasn’t on the last mission to Sulas.”

  Saracasi nodded. They had little hope any of the pilots had survived who been with the two escort carriers sent to invade Sulas. Defiant Glory had escaped after the battle without recovering any of her fighters. Some might have landed on Sulas along with the army troop transports, but as it stood now, they had no idea if any had.

  “Good,” Saracasi said. “She’s flown Cutty Sark before. We’ll keep the rest of the crew to a minimum. I’ll just need a gunner.”

  Fracsid nodded and then said, his tone slightly apologetic, “Specialist Almes has been manning the weapons console since Ailleroc. He knows all the upgrades backward and forward, which is why I kept him over my original gunner.”

  “He’ll do,” Saracasi replied, unsure what Fracsid’s tone was suggesting.

  “The big question is still, assuming you survive reentry, how do you get back out?” Jerik asked. “Exiting hyperspace that close to a planet is rough but possible. Entering hyperspace that deep in the gravity well will destroy your ship.”

  “We’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way,” Saracasi said with a grim smile. She didn’t relish that prospect, but it was a lot easier to escape a blockade from the inside.

  Turning to the former Alliance intelligence officer, Saracasi asked, “Any suggestions that might help us, Master Sergeant?”

  Kaars Aerinstar shook his head. “Unfortunately, no, Major. You’ve already read my brief on Alliance blockade tactics, which is hardly complete since we don’t even know how many ships are still there. If you take me with you, I might be able to use the opportunity to gather some new information.”

  “As valuable as that might be, you’re our best source of intelligence and information on Alliance tactics and personnel, even if it’s outdated,” Saracasi said.

  In truth, she wasn’t sure if she could let Kaars go off alone. It had been him and Davidus who had spent more than a month intelligence-gathering on Ailleroc. It had been after that trip that he had convinced General Numba to begin the invasion of Sulas. Everyone assumed that it was Davidus who had made contact with Admiral Sartori, but until they knew what evidence Zeric had, she couldn’t rule out Kaars being in on the conspiracy.

  “I appreciate the flattery, Major, but I would be more valuable gathering updated information,” Kaars insisted.

  When it became obvious that Saracasi would not budge on this request, he changed the subject. “If you have the opportunity, depart the surface along a vector that takes you toward a corvette.”

  “A corvette?” Jerik said, shocked. “They’ll tear the Cutty Sark up. Better to head toward a big ship with fewer point defense guns.”

  “You would think,” Kaars said. “But the corvettes actually have pretty poor ground sensors. They fight star fighters in the openness of empty space. It will take them longer to identify you as a threat coming up from the ground, and that might give you the time you need to escape.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Saracasi said, filing away the information. It seemed to match what she could remember about the Gallant’s systems, so she hoped it proved to be true. “All right, gentlemen. Keep the fleet warm until I get back.”

  Chapter Five

  As he set the shuttle down on the deck of the Gallant, Solyss let himself relax. The meeting on the Hollis moon hadn’t gone at all like he had expected, and that had made him nervous. During the journey back to the ship, he had anticipated countless scenarios that involved Kueth Kahl-Amar coming with them in order to set a trap, but now that they were safely back onboard his sh
ip, Solyss relaxed. Even if Kueth were carrying a tracking device leading a fleet of pirate ships to them, Solyss felt confident his ship and crew could handle anything the crime lord threw at them.

  Waiting on the cramped hangar deck stood lieutenants Aly Tess, his blue-hued Camari XO, and Isaxo Mahon, his Notha fighter squadron leader. Isaxo had been with him since before the war started, joining his crew after Maarkean Ocaitchi had busted the young pilot out of an Alliance prison for aliens. In many ways, Isaxo was responsible for Solyss deciding to join the cause.

  “How did the meeting go, Captain?” Tess asked. Unlike Isaxo or Asheerah, Solyss hadn’t met Tess until after he had taken command of the Gallant. In this military setting, he tended to think of her by her last name, as was custom.

  In response, Solyss continued his climb out of the cargo shuttle, revealing the figure of Kueth Kahl-Amar behind him. Isaxo cocked his head to the side at the sight of the unexpected passenger, while Tess’s eyestalks lowered slightly. Kueth’s brief pause to study his new surroundings was cut short by Asheerah pushing him out of the shuttle from behind.

  “Lieutenant Aru,” Solyss said, resuming the use of his formal command tone, “take our guest to the ward room. I’ll join you shortly.”

  Asheerah gestured for Kueth to precede her toward the hangar’s exit. From her demeanor, she saw little difference between guest and prisoner. At least she hadn’t drawn her weapon, Solyss decided. Gamaly exited the shuttle without a word and followed them.

  “Lieutenant,” Solyss said, turning to Tess, “break orbit and get us to a safe hyperspace distance from Hollis. Depending on how this meeting goes, I want to be able to jump quickly.”

  Tess’s eyestalks gave a momentary flicker toward Isaxo before she spoke. “Sir, we have two fighter craft on an unauthorized patrol. It will take at least twenty minutes to recover them.”

  Isaxo said, annoyance evident in his voice, “Unauthorized? I’m in command of the fighter squadron, and I authorized their flight.”

  “Without clearance from the ship’s commander,” Tess replied, keeping her tone even compared to Isaxo’s emotional outburst.