Rebellion at Ailon

by T J Mott

  Culper jumped straight into things without preamble. “Yesterday, Mr. Messier, your phi-band sensor tap reported an abnormal number of hyperspace events nearby. Not long afterwards, we received sporadic eyewitness reports of what may have been a low-orbit space battle, during the same time period when we all heard the gun fire.”

  Thad gulped. The gun had been a huge unknown this entire time. Culper’s spies had not been able to get any real information on it, and it was locked down tight by Avennian Navy personnel.

  And now it had fired. Presumably on starships that were somehow enemies of Avennia. Were they his own ships? “Could these starships be responders to your call for help?” Rhena asked, as if reading his thoughts.

  Thad’s eyes flicked around at the council members uncertainly. “Possibly. It could also be a number of other things. Ailon isn’t far from the Empire’s borders,” he reminded them. “I need to try to contact them.”

  Abram’s period of brooding silence finally ended. “How?” he barked. “Smoke signals? Frantic hand waving? Our radios barely have the range to reach Zhale from here!”

  “I have a standard Imperial comm unit,” Thad replied carefully. “Military-grade. If they’re still within a few light-seconds of Ailon, then they’re in range.”

  Abram’s eyes began to smoulder, and he raised his voice. “You’ve had Imperial standard comms all this time? Without telling us? Do you have any idea how much those would have helped us coordinate things? How many lives could have been saved?” Now he was shouting.

  “I only have one!” Thad barked back angrily. “And it’s easily traceable! If the Avennians have any comm-tracking systems, they’ll know exactly where I am the second I turn it on!”

  “How do you intend to contact those ships, then?” asked Culper, his voice sounding tired and clearly irritated as he shot an annoyed look at Abram. “Without immediately bringing down Avennian soldiers upon us?”

  Thaddeus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming himself. His eyes flicked open again after a few seconds. “We need a diversion. A large-scale attack. At the same time, I need to get far enough away from any Rebel units or buildings that they aren’t at risk. During the diversion, I’ll activate the comm and see what I can find out.”

  “How do you know they’re here for us?” asked Sal. “How do you know your call for help even got out? These ships could be pirates or smugglers who just happened to pass through our star system. We could waste a lot of time and lives trying to set up your diversion, with nothing to show for it, and we’re thin on troops.”

  “And we need you, Chad,” said Ria. “If your signal is detected and you’re captured…” She closed her eyes and shuddered. When she opened them again, they burned with an intensity he’d never seen before. “Give me the comm,” she said confidently. “I’m disposable. You aren’t. Let me make contact with those ships.”

  “Whoa, let’s slow down a bit,” intervened Chet. “Whoever has the comm isn’t going alone. Diversion or no, we need to send along troops to cover him. If the call is successful and they’re here to help us, we still need to coordinate with them. Just making contact isn’t good enough.”

  Culper stepped back into the room. Thad hadn’t even seen him leave. He looked somewhat pale, as if he was getting sick. “I was just informed that several phi-band transponders came on-line around half an hour ago, detected by our tap at Zhale. There’s a group of nine starships identifying itself as a mercenary unit called Ghost Squadron.” He looked down at the floor with his mouth open, as if in shock. “And there’s another starship somewhere out there. It isn’t broadcasting any affiliation, but…its transponder signature matches a starship profile that’s in our records.”

  Thad frowned. Who or what is Ghost Squadron? Although the Council thought he’d sent out a general call for merc help, he’d actually sent a secure message along secure courier routes to his own men. Nobody outside the Organization could have decrypted it, at least not quickly enough to have sent this group of starships in response.

  Culper was clearly troubled. “Come on, if you have something important to say, spit it out!” snapped Abram.

  “It’s one of the pirate starships that attacked our weapons convoy in the last war,” Culper said softly. He seemed genuinely afraid. “It identifies itself as the Lynx. It belongs to Thaddeus Marcell’s fleet.”

  Thad felt his heart sink down to somewhere between his ankles. It was highly unexpected—and quite impressive—for them to have prior records of the Lynx’s transponder signal. It was also unexpected that Captain Laraby would openly broadcast his stock transponder signal. All Blue Fleet starships had easily reprogrammable—though illegal in every jurisdiction—phi-band transponders. I bet he activated his transponder on the standard setting to get my attention, since he isn’t able to comm me. And he never could have anticipated Ailon recognizing his signal. Nobody could have. He grimaced. It must have been logged in the convoy’s sensor records.

  He was treading on dangerously thin ice now, and his charade could end rather abruptly if he made even the tiniest error now. It was now vitally important that he talk to the Lynx first. In private. They needed to figure out a new cover story, quickly. One that would make the Rebels think that their original identification was wrong. “I am making the call,” Thad stated sternly, jabbing his thumb at his sternum. “It has to be me. Period.” He shuddered. “I sent out a call for mercenary help, and whoever responded is going to expect me. Not anyone else.”

  “Messier has a point,” Rhena agreed. “But I find it very disturbing that a starship from Marcell’s fleet could be responding to our distress call.”

  “I can’t believe that a Marcellian ship would ever help us,” Abram said coldly. “It must be here for more piracy.” He turned to face Thad and his eyes seemed unusually dark. “I’ll plan a diversion. Messier, assemble a new platoon. You will make comm contact and find out who and what the HELL is going on up there.” Abram stood deathly still for a long moment. Then he turned and angrily stomped out of the room.

  Thad stared blankly at the floor. Reality was reversed from Abram’s expectations. The Lynx was absolutely here to help, and hopefully it had brought some Marines, too. But Ghost Squadron? He picked at his brain, trying to recall any kind of connection—friend or foe—to that name, but nothing seemed familiar. The name was too generic.

  They were a dangerous unknown. For all Thad knew, Ghost Squadron was an enemy of his, one who’d been following and hunting the Lynx in hopes of striking at him. If so, Ailon would suffer.

  ***

  Thad, Ria, and Chet quietly began the return to their latest platoon base by cover of night, changing routes or briefly hiding quite a few times to dodge Avennian patrols. The patrolling soldiers were easy to avoid, making loud, excited chatter as they moved through the streets, even seeming cheerful.

  And Thad could hear why. As he and the others slowly made their way home, he heard sporadic bursts of weapons fire in the distance. The Rebels who hadn’t gone into hiding were on the run, having suffered heavy losses, and morale was low. The enemy was taking full advantage of that now, flushing fighters out and attacking them during panicked retreats. If things didn’t change, the Rebels would lose. Soon.

  The trio reached their latest base without incident, opening a backdoor to the abandoned and boarded up building. It had once been a small shop, unused since before the last war. Eight men and one woman—the blonde medic named Sema—greeted them with the barrels of laser carbines, turning their weapons away as soon as they recognized them. Rin emerged from the shadows and gave his mother a hug.

  Thad solemnly looked around at the weary group. All that’s left of the old First Platoon. Some of the others might still be alive somewhere in the city, just disconnected from their unit with no way of rejoining. He hoped they’d find other Rebel cells to join.

  Just as many, if not more, were dead. He had no way of knowing.

  He turned to Chet as they wearily entered the buil
ding’s main section. “Get on the radio. Find some nearby squads and have them join us. Do whatever you need to equip them.” Chet nodded silently and went to work with the long-wavelength radio in another room.

  Glancing around the main shop floor, Thad saw Ria sitting alone on a stool at what had been a checkout counter years ago, before the first war. Her face was in her hands with her elbows propped on the counter, and she looked troubled, weary, and exhausted. As tough as she was, the war was taking a massive toll on her. She occasionally fought, but had spent most of her time being a medic, and she’d seen far too many comrades die.

  He carefully walked up to her and put his hand on her shoulder, and realized she was trembling. “I can’t believe there’s a Marcellian ship here,” she said, quietly and very sadly.

  He shuddered, and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It’s here to help,” he said reassuringly.

  She swiveled slowly in the stool, turning to face him. “No. We can’t accept help from him.”

  “Why not?” he asked, narrowing his eyes and withdrawing his hand. “We really need the help.”

  “After what he did? How could we ever accept his help?” Her trembling voice sounded shocked that he would even make such a suggestion.

  “How can we not accept his help?” Thad countered, trying not to sound angry with her. “Look, wars are strange. Enemies can become allies, and allies can become enemies. Especially when mercs and money are involved.”

  She squinted at him, and he saw fury and intense pain buried deep in her eyes. “Of all people…surely you’d understand. Nothing can undo what he did.”

  He opened his mouth in confusion, but couldn’t quite think of what to say. She was being irrational. Were the Ailonians too proud to take badly-needed help from a former enemy, even when their lives depended on it? What will they do if they learn that I’ve been here all along? “Look around, Ria. We’re losing this war. At this point, any help is welcome!”

  “Any other merc, yes, but him! It’s personal! Surely you of all people realize that!” Her voice carried a deadly edge now. Anger, even hatred. Her face started to flush red.

  Personal? He shook his head, feeling bewildered. “Ria, I don’t understand…”

  Her eyes continued to blaze in anger for a long moment, and then they abruptly softened, her pupils widening in sudden understanding as she looked at him. “I never told you, did I?” she said, suddenly dropping her voice to a weak near-whisper. The anger in her face changed to old pain, and she began to pale, overshooting her normal hue. Her complexion turned white and ghost-like.

  “Told me what?”

  She closed her eyes again, and he watched all the anger and fear and exhaustion fade away, replaced by deep sorrow. “I can’t believe it. All this time, all we’ve been through together, and I never told you…?”

  He shook his head, feeling profoundly confused.

  “Do you know about the convoy that was supposed to bring weapons back in the last war?” she asked. Thad nodded carefully. She sighed, looked down to her feet, and then closed her eyes. “It never arrived here because Marcell attacked it,” she continued. “His men killed everyone aboard and took a lot of its cargo, then left our ships drifting in deep space. Some of our expats eventually found them and recovered the sensor logs.”

  He felt his stomach grow cold. He remembered it all too well. The event had weighed heavily on him ever since his arrival, and it often featured in his nightmares. He’d been a different man then, but his guilt refused to go away.

  She covered her mouth with one hand, and she struggled to speak. A stream of tears instantly flowed from her eyes. “Chad…My husband, Lim, was the commander of that convoy.”

  He couldn’t contain his reaction. His jaw dropped open in shock and he shivered as a sudden chill ran down his entire body.

  “I watched the sensor footage of the raid,” she said, choking up. “I watched Lim die.” She looked back up at him again, moving her hand away from her face and balling it into a fist at her side. Her eyes overflowed with tears and her lips and cheeks trembled with overwhelming emotion. “Not only did Marcell cost us the war, he took Lim from me.” She was now shaking with rage as she raised her voice. Her words—a near shout—wavered and broke uncontrollably. “If he comes down here I’ll kill him myself!”

  And then a memory from that raid, just a brief image that had always seemed irrelevant, suddenly came to his mind. One tiny barely-remembered detail, a nearly-forgotten puzzle piece he’d never considered during his time on Ailon, unexpectedly snapped into place, sending yet another chill down his spine.

  Chapter 34

  About 4 Years Ago

  As he stood in the Ailonian freighter’s bridge, Thaddeus caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. He frowned and turned to see an Ailonian crewman’s body climbing to its feet. He seemed to bear only one laser wound, a grazing strike that streaked across his flank, leaving a charred gash in his green uniform that surrounded burned, blackened flesh.

  Clearly, the man had either been unconscious or playing dead. He snarled an expletive at Thaddeus and his eyes glowered with suicidal rage. Then he charged, running hunched over with a shoulder forward, clearly intending to tackle Thad. It all happened so quickly that Thad didn’t quite have time to react. He started to take a step back and tried to raise his carbine. But his Marines were far quicker, and before he could fire, several shots rang out from around the bridge. A pair of laser beams struck the man. He screamed out in pain, but his momentum carried him the rest of the way and he crashed into Thad, toppling both of them to the deck in a heap. Thad’s armor was strong enough to keep the impact from knocking the wind out of him. He struggled to free himself from the other man’s weight, but his Marines quickly stepped in and dragged him away.

  Climbing back to his feet, Thad felt his face burn with embarrassment at being tackled in front of his men, glad that his helmet kept his Marines from seeing his flushed face. And as he scowled down at his fallen attacker, he nearly kicked him out of anger. The man was still alive, though his face was twisted with pain and rage, and wisps of smoke escaped from a series of new laser burns on his side. He looked to be about thirty years old, give or take a couple. Roughly Thaddeus’s age for sure. He rolled over to his side, grunting in pain with each breath, and then forced his eyes open. “You Avennian bastards!” he said as he lay on the floor. His voice was bitter, hoarse, and wracked with pain.

  Thad’s anger faded a bit, now replaced by mild curiousity. He raised an eyebrow, holding a hand up to stop the Marine who was about to finish the man off. “I’m not from Avennia,” he replied gruffly.

  The man scowled, and then grimaced as a fresh wave of pain struck him. “No?” the man said. “But they hired you, didn’t they!”

  “No. I have no interest in your war.” Thad shook his head. “This was futile,” he said angrily, raising his voice greatly and gesturing at the bodies scattered throughout the bridge. “I only wanted your cargo, not your lives! Had you cooperated, you all would have lived! I’d have let you go on your way and you’d be fine!”

  “Fine?” The man tried to spit at him, but he seemed to have trouble producing any saliva. “But my people would still be dying!”

  Thad looked the man over and realized he was wearing a uniform, dark green utilities complete with some kind of unit logo on his shoulders and his name across his breast. His jacket was charred by a series of cauterized laser burns on one side. Survivable, but surely incredibly painful.

  “You just destroyed Ailon!” the man continued. “This convoy is our last chance!”

  “I want those weapons,” Thad replied calmly, having finally pushed away the last of his anger at being tackled. Earth doesn’t stand a chance against the rest of the galaxy unless I can get them the best weapons I can find. The technology out here is so far above what we had at home…I just hope I get there before any of the big empires do.

  The man’s face paled in shock as he realized the munda
ne truth. “You’re just a pirate?”

  Thad made a pained face, hidden behind the tinted faceplate of his light security helmet. He considered himself a mercenary, not a pirate. But, if he was honest with himself, he realized he sometimes crossed the line into outright piracy, and this mission clearly crossed that line even if it was for the noble purpose of arming and protecting his homeworld from the galaxy’s empires.

  Besides, as far as pirates went, he was a pretty nice one. At least when his prey cooperated with him.

  He finally shrugged. “Pirate’s as good a label as any, I suppose.”

  The man grunted and squeezed his eyes shut as he struggled against his pain. “I’m not going to lose my wife and son to Avennia because of some bastard pirate!” He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up to his knees. His whole body trembled and his face was wracked with pain, but he somehow found the strength to climb to his feet and that was when Thaddeus noticed he was wielding a small knife.

  The man staggered, hunched over and leaning forward as he fought against the pain of his deep laser burns. He took one determined step forward, nearly collapsing from the exertion. But before he could take another step, Thad shouldered his laser carbine, quickly aimed it, and shot the man right on the top of his head. He instantly went limp and fell, landing on his stomach and face on the deck plates with a dull thump. Smoke and steam poured out from his scalp, and Thaddeus could hear the sizzling sound of boiling brain matter as the smell of burnt hair joined the already-sickening mixture of scents that filled the bridge.

  He shook his head, frowning. “Damn fools,” he muttered sadly. “They didn’t have to die here.”

  He peered down at the logo sewn on the man’s shoulder. It declared him to be a member of the Ailon Federal Police Force. Thad stepped forward towards the corpse, pushing the body with the tip of his boot to roll it over. The corpse landed on its back, exposing the surname embroidered into the man’s dark green jacket.