Uprising

by David Ryker

  “I din’t even know his first name,” said Ulysses.

  “It was John.” Han’s voice was watery, despite the stoic look on her face.

  Quinn stood and steeled himself for what had to come next: they would be forced to leave Eliot’s corpse here, which went against every instinct he had. He scanned the park, catching sight of several people wandering the edges, watching them from a distance. They had likely watched the team land and were wondering how in the hell they’d done it. Rumors would start circulating soon about the people who fell from the sky without parachutes.

  Directly south of them, a small airship was swooping down from inside the smog bank and whirring its way toward them. It was old, one of the stainless steel models from before the Trade Wars, which probably indicated that their contact was smart enough to blend in with the environment.

  The ship touched down under a copse of dead elms, and Han motioned them toward it. They followed, unshouldering the packs that contained their clothing as they did. When they reached the hatch, it opened to reveal a bald woman with a rippling physique. She was easily as tall as Bishop, and looked about as welcoming as a mortician.

  “You are Zero’s people?” she asked in a thick Spanish accent.

  “Do you have other people dropping out of the sky on you?” Quinn sniped as they climbed through the hatch into the drone’s small seating area.

  “I am Alina,” she said, ignoring the comment and hitting the control to close the door. “I am getting reports of alerts going out in the city. Your ship that appeared in the sky and then disappeared has people wondering if Moscow is under attack, or maybe being visited by the aliens from your video.”

  “Then you’d best get flying and get us to Oleg Johnson’s,” said Han. “You’re on the clock, and if you don’t deliver, I’ll tell our mutual friend not to pay you.”

  “He is no friend of mine,” Alina said, wrinkling her nose. “And he pays me nothing. This is compensation for a favor he once did for me.”

  Quinn wasn’t surprised; for someone who knew as many people as Zero did, he seemed to have no friends among them. But there was no time to dwell on that. Instead, he began to strip out of his bloodied jump suit, making sure not to get any on the formalwear in his pack.

  “What can we expect when we get to Oleg’s?” he asked.

  “The unexpected,” said Alina. She turned to head into the cockpit. “He is well known as the cagiest operator in Moscow. You will need to keep all of your wits about you if you want to have even a hope of surviving your encounter, let alone completing your mission.”

  “Whut else is new?” Ulysses asked as he pulled off his own suit. Han and Bishop did the same.

  “What did Eliot say at the end?” asked Han. “I couldn’t make it out over my radio.”

  “I missed it, too,” said Bishop.

  Quinn paused a moment before answering.

  “He said ‘oorah.’ I guess he wanted to die as a Marine. And he did.”

  “Damn right he did,” Bishop said somberly. “He deserves a medal.”

  Han nodded, apparently satisfied. Quinn wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to lie, but he also knew to trust his instincts.

  And if what Alina had said about Oleg Johnson was true, he was going to need every last one of those instincts if they were all going to survive this mission.

  13

  As the elevator opened on the hallway outside the suite in the Government House Tower, Dev Schuster felt oddly at home. He supposed it shouldn’t surprise him, seeing as how he’d spent more time there than anywhere else since he and the others had arrived back on Earth after breaking out of Oberon One. The so-called cell at New Alcatraz where he’d spent the past three weeks was a close second, and almost matched the government suite for sheer luxury.

  Government House almost matched the prison for security, too, as illustrated by the uniformed guards who flanked him down the hall. Unlike the people assigned to the Jarheads before they headed back to Oberon, these two appeared to be actual government employees, not members of Drake’s personal black-clad army.

  “So who did you have to piss off to draw this detail?” he asked the man to his left.

  “You’re the personal guest of the Tribunal,” the guard replied blandly. “It’s an honor to serve as your escort.”

  Schuster snickered. “Escort. So you’re taking me to the high school prom, not making sure I stay in my quarters, is that it?”

  “You and your fellow guests are free to come and go as you please, sir,” said the man on his right as they reached the door to the suite. “We’re simply here to ensure your safety.”

  The only person I need to be kept safe from is Morley Drake, and he’s your boss. But Schuster knew that Drake had to give him some concessions, if he wanted his plan to work, and Schuster had to make sure he made it seem like he was going along. It would be a balancing act for sure.

  He stood at the threshold of the suite’s door, activating a chime inside.

  “Piss off,” a familiar voice said over the speaker on the wall panel.

  “I can’t,” Schuster replied. “I live here now.”

  The door slid open two seconds later and his heart skipped a beat as he saw Gloom’s shocked face on the other side. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close enough to spark a hot blush in his cheeks.

  “Finally,” she whispered. Her warm breath tickled his ear, and suddenly he felt blood rising somewhere else. A second later, she seemed to realize that she was compromising her carefully crafted image, because she shoved him away and glared at him.

  “It’s about frigging time you got here,” she snipped.

  He sighed and followed her inside, flashing a sarcastic smile and wave to his escorts as the door slid closed.

  Ben Jakande gave him a wide, sincere smile and pulled him into a hug.

  “Prison must have been hell for you,” he said. “You look terrible. Oh wait, you always looked like that.”

  “Too bad you chose journalism,” said Schuster. “Comedy lost a true genius.”

  Ben’s smile faded, replaced by Foster Kenya’s serious on-air face, as they took a seat in the expansive living room. “Gloom and I knew you’d show up eventually. Drake wants us to help him, but he needs you. You’re the lynchpin to his plan.”

  “He told you his plan?” Schuster was surprised.

  Gloom and Ben spent the next five minutes going over their conversation with Morley Drake and his pitch to bring them on board. When they were done, Schuster brought them up to speed on what had happened when he met with Drake and the other tribunes, but he kept the conversation he’d had in his cell at New Alcatraz to himself.

  “I start working with the White Coats again tomorrow. Drake didn’t give me a timeline, but he made it clear they want weapon designs as soon as possible.”

  Ben nodded. “We’ve got a similar timeline. I’m supposed to start creating a holographic documentary on how I was fooled into joining the Jarheads. The government is going to make sure it reaches every terminal on Earth.”

  “What about you?” Schuster turned to Gloom. “I saw that Zero’s edit of the Oberon One assault took you out of every single shot.”

  “Yeah, and since I was the one holding the camera when we recorded the video of Toomey, no one has ever seen me on the network.” She grinned. “I’m sure a few members of the public saw me when I was out with the rest of you, but they probably assumed I was some sort of Jarhead groupie.”

  “Oh, that’s where I recognized you from!” he said, snapping his fingers. “But seriously, I assume Drake has you working cyber for him?”

  “Yup. First order of business is a back channel of communications between the factions so they can coordinate their battles.” She shook her head. “Still can’t wrap my head around the idea of engineered war.”

  “Neither can I,” said Schuster. “How does a person sleep knowing they’re tasked with building weapons that kill people and yet keep t
he Towers intact?”

  “I suppose I should be grateful,” said Ben. “All I have to do is tell the greatest lie in modern history. All the years I spent digging for the truth so I could reveal it to the people, and this is how it ends, with Foster Kenya telling those same people to trust a government that’s plotting to kill them.”

  Gloom put a hand on Ben’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “They’re going to go to war regardless of whether we’re on board. If we refuse to help, they’ll just go ahead and do things the conventional way, and risk destroying civilization. Then Earth will be ripe for the Gestalt to take over when they finally arrive.”

  Schuster considered telling them about his vision, and what he suspected about the Gestalt and Kergan, but decided now wasn’t the time. There was too much to digest as it was without adding to the mix, especially when he wasn’t even sure it wasn’t all just his own imagination.

  “How did we end up like this?” Ben sighed. “Humanity, I mean? How did a species so hell-bent on killing itself manage to get this far in the first place?”

  “That’s a question for bigger brains than mine,” said Schuster. “Right now, I’d be happy just to know what happened to Chelsea. Have either of you heard from her? Drake only told me that she was with her family.”

  “There’ve been a couple of unsubstantiated rumors on the network about her,” said Gloom. “It’s basically the same story they want Ben to tell, about how you people brainwashed her into joining you in your breakout from Oberon One, and how the family hired a psychologist to deprogram her.”

  Schuster rolled his eyes. “And because she’s of no strategic value to Drake, he doesn’t care what happens to her.”

  The sound of the doorbell chime startled him.

  “Who the hell is that?” asked Gloom, her eyes narrowing. “The first time that thing went off since we’ve been here was fifteen minutes ago, when you showed up.”

  Schuster opened the door to see their two “escorts” trying to keep a woman away from the door without actually grabbing her. They were standing side-by-side with their arms outstretched like a pair of soccer goalkeepers guarding the net.

  “Let me in!” the woman demanded in an unsteady voice. “I have to see them!”

  “Mrs. Bloom, please,” one of the guards said in a soothing tone. “I think you’ve got the wrong address—”

  “Let her in,” Schuster said quickly, without thinking. “We’re expecting her.”

  The other guard arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  Schuster smiled easily and extended a hand to the woman, but inside his mind was racing—he had literally been thinking about Chelsea less than a minute earlier, and suddenly her mother is at their door? She had shoulder-length silver-blond hair and arresting blue eyes, and was unsteady on her feet. Her red-rimmed gaze fixed on him instantly when she caught sight of him, and she clutched his hand as if it were a lifeline.

  “Yes!” she breathed. “Yes, you’re the one I’m here to see.”

  “Let her in,” said the first guard. “I’ll call the tribune’s office and find out what we’re supposed to do with her.”

  Schuster sidled up next to Mrs. Bloom to steady her and led her into the suite. The door slid shut behind them as Ben and Gloom helped her into an overstuffed chair across from the sofa. She seemed grateful to be able to sit down.

  He knelt beside the chair, keeping her hand in his. Chelsea had never said much about her mother, other than the fact she was an alcoholic, and he could see the signs in her face. But she seemed more confused than anything right now, and there was no smell of alcohol on her breath.

  “Mrs. Bloom,” he said. “I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

  “How are you here?” Gloom asked with naked suspicion. “No one knows we’re here outside of the government.”

  “It’s Melinda,” she croaked. Her eyes seemed unable to focus. “I don’t—I’m not sure how I got here. I ran away from the Tower…I took the servants’ exit…”

  “Bloom Tower?” asked Schuster. It was only a few kilometers from Government House. “Why did you run away?”

  “Answer the how first.” Gloom’s expression was stone.

  “I’m having… some trouble,” Melinda breathed.

  “Delirium tremens,” Schuster said with a nod. “You’re going through the confusion of alcohol withdrawal. Chelsea told us about your… about your illness.”

  Melinda gave him a wan smile. “You’re the one I’m supposed to see. The blue light showed you to me.”

  Schuster felt a thrill run through his chest at the words blue light.

  “What the hell is this?” Gloom demanded. “What blue light?”

  Schuster turned and glared at her. “Let her talk, for crying out loud! This isn’t an interrogation!”

  Gloom looked surprised by his sudden fury, but she stayed quiet, which was all he wanted.

  “I was in the Tower foyer,” said Melinda. “Then I saw this blue light.” She smiled again. “It showed me your face. Then the streets lit up and it was like a blue path, so I followed it. It brought me here. I don’t know… I don’t know how long it took to get here.”

  “Where is Chelsea?” asked Ben. “Is she why you’re here?”

  “Chelsea!” The word seemed to bring Melinda’s eyes to life. “Yes! I told her I’d help her! You have to do something!”

  “Where is she?” asked Schuster. “Is she at Bloom Tower? Is something wrong with her?”

  “Oscar,” she sobbed. “Oscar and that woman… they’re hurting her. Hurting her mind. It’s my fault…”

  Gloom dropped to a knee next to Schuster and put her lips to his ear. “Look, I get she’s got a problem, but how can we trust what she’s saying?”

  “I trust her,” he hissed. “I’m not going to waste time telling you why. We need to get to Chelsea. If you don’t want to come along, I’ll do it myself.” He turned to face Ben, who’d been listening in. “Is that clear?”

  Ben nodded immediately. “Whatever you say, Dev. I’m in.”

  Schuster turned back to Gloom and couldn’t read the look in her eyes. “What about you?”

  “Fine,” she said after a long pause, though her tone indicated it was anything but fine. “I’ll go along.”

  The door chimed again, startling Melinda into another fit of confusion.

  “Where am I?” she pleaded, her eyes wandering around the suite. “What’s happening?”

  Schuster opened to door to find the guards looking at him sternly. “Tribune Drake has ordered us to escort Mrs. Bloom back home personally,” said the first one. “She’s obviously had a little too much to drink. Will you folks be all right while we’re gone?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ben, feigning panic. “How did we ever manage to survive this long without you?”

  The guards ignored him and headed for the chair where Melinda was sitting, but Gloom quickly swooped in and pulled her up to her feet. Schuster was shocked to see Gloom wrap her arms around the woman in a tender embrace.

  “You’ll be all right,” she said softly. “We’ll take care of things.”

  “I don’t understand…” Melinda swayed on her feet as the guards took her by the arms and led her to the door.

  “Everything’s fine, Mrs. Bloom,” said the second guard. “We’ll get you home right away.” He leaned toward Schuster. “Any idea what she was doing here?”

  “She didn’t say anything coherent.” Schuster shrugged.

  The guard nodded knowingly. “She has a reputation here in San Francisco. Best just to disregard anything she may have said.”

  I’ll bet that line came straight from Drake, Schuster thought.

  “Don’t bother checking in with us when you get back,” said Gloom. “We’re going to bed.”

  They watched as the trio slowly shuffled out of the suite and back into the hall. When the door had slid closed behind them, Gloom immediately stalked over to the wet bar in the corner of the room.

&nbs
p; “You’re going to make yourself a drink after that?” Ben asked, incredulous.

  “That was sweet of you to hug her,” said Schuster. “Now, we need to take advantage of losing our guards and figure out how we’re going to get to Bloom Tower without them seeing us.”

  “You two are idiots,” Gloom muttered, emerging from behind the solid wood of the bar with a small black disc. She fiddled with a small panel on it and it suddenly thrummed to life with a band of green light that emanated from a circle around the disc’s middle.

  Schuster’s eyes widened. “A hackbox? Where the hell did you get that?”

  “I made it out of the components of the suite’s surveillance system after they shut it off.” Her tone said the answer should have been obvious. “And I dropped a tracer into Melinda’s pocket when I hugged her.”

  Schuster blinked at her stupidly. He should have known. Maybe Quinn should have recruited her instead of me. She doesn’t even need an alien riding shotgun in her brain.

  “Of course you did,” Ben said, shaking his head. “You are seriously amazing, you know that?”

  “Duh.” She fiddled with her thumbs, eyes focused on the disc’s tiny display. “Once I catch the signal, we can take a different route to Bloom Tower. They probably won’t bother with an airship since it’s so close, so that means a hovercar. If we take parallel streets on foot, we should be able to avoid them.”

  “So what’s the plan?” asked Ben. “How do we even get into the Tower itself, let alone the Bloom residence?”

  “We’ll figure that out when we get there,” said Schuster. “For now, we need to get out of here and onto the street. Any sign of their direction yet?”

  Gloom shook her head. “Still in the elevator.”

  “I hate to harp on a subject,” said Ben, “but let’s assume we get all the way to Chelsea’s apartment. What do we do then?”

  “We’ll figure it out.” Schuster could hear the impatience in his own voice, but there was something about Melinda’s story—about following the blue light—that had given him a sense of urgency. He could feel the Sloane part of him agreeing.