“Trust is hard to restore once it is lost,” Mel said. “But it is worth the effort.”
Kasumi’s crest flattened at Mel’s words. “Yes, Core Sister,” she said in a shaky voice.
Kasumi opened the door of her quarters and headed toward the room the oligarch had been given, only to see the oligarch walking slowly toward her. Spirits, first my core sister and now this, she thought. “Oligarch?” she said in cautious greeting.
The oligarch was silent for a long moment, and then she reached into her blouse and pulled out a necklace. It was a gold crucifix on a gold chain. She removed the necklace and held it in her hand. “There were times, many times, in my life when the only thing that kept me going was my faith,” she said quietly. “My life has turned out so well that I truly believed I was singled out by God.” She shook her head. “When what I was, was arrogant.”
Kasumi’s crest lowered until it was almost flat against her scalp. “I was raised in privilege,” Kasumi said. “I thought that my being named the youngest captain in my father’s fleet was due to my being better than anyone. That I truly earned my position.” Her crest rose slightly as she shook her head. “When what I was, was arrogant.”
“You shame me, Kasumi,” the oligarch replied.
“You shame me, Ophelia,” Kasumi responded. “I was given the opportunity to earn what I was given. I was given a chance to prove myself. A chance I denied you. I am ashamed.”
The oligarch extended the hand holding the crucifix. “No, you were right,” she said. “The shame is mine.” She took one of Kasumi’s hands and dropped the crucifix into it, then closed Kasumi’s hand over it. “If it is at all possible, I would like the opportunity to start over,” she said. “I beg of you—let me prove myself.”
Kasumi nodded silently.
23
BROTHERS IN ARMS
“What have you built this time, Core Brother?” Red Clouds Paint the Sky asked Joseph Franklin. He looked at the triangular craft sitting in a docking cradle in the Seeker’s hold. The craft was slightly more than thirty feet in length and slightly more than half that at the tips of its forward-slung stubby wings. A semitransparent dome that rose just above the plane of the craft’s upper body dominated the central part of the craft. There were two ominous-looking cylinders, one on each side, nestled under the wings.
“It looks fast,” Frozen River commented. “Like a metal Swift Strike. A flying predator on Nest known for its speed.” He ran a hand over one wing. “And just as deadly.” He looked at Franklin. “How fast?”
Franklin shrugged. “Mach 30, Mach 35. Somewhere in there.” He grinned. “Who wants to find out for sure?” He laughed when his three core brothers all raised their hands. He walked over to the low dome and tapped it. It irised open. “Frozen River, you take the pilot’s seat. Black Rocks, you have sensors and communications. Red Clouds, you have diagnostics.” He patted the rearmost seat. “And I have weapons.”
“Weapons, Core Brother?” Black Rocks asked.
“EMP, RGG, and my personal favorite, the quantum disrupter.” Franklin patted the console. “Brothers, I believe Rynn and humans are destined to cross the cosmos together, and the only thing that stands in the way of that destiny is hatred and ignorance. The CSA is the home of hatred and ignorance.” He took a breath. “I intend to fly this ship, the Silver Shrike, into the heart of the CSA and destroy their ability to wage war. Are you with me?”
His three core brothers briefly covered their eyes. “Spirits,” whispered Black Rocks. “When our core brother speaks, I can believe the spirits listen.” His crest rose fully. “Lead on, Core Brother.”
Colonel Thaddeus Hooker gazed contentedly out across the airfield at Langley. Row after row of shining F-22s filled the field. “Greatest fighting wing on the planet,” he thought smugly. Colonel Hooker turned to his situation board. All green and clean. The smile was wiped off his face, however, when the windows of the observation tower exploded. He instinctively covered his face with his arms, and then cautiously lowered them when the expected hailstorm of shattered glass did not come.
“What the …?” the colonel exclaimed. A quick glance showed that the tower room was almost completely devoid of glass but was littered with papers and other lightweight objects.
“Some kind of low-pressure phenomenon, colonel,” shouted one of the air controllers. “I think.”
“What do you mean, ‘you think’?” demanded the colonel.
“Sir, the only thing I know of that could do something like this would be a cyclone,” the controller replied. He pointed out the window. “And if it were a cyclone or something like one, it should be raining.”
“Sir!” shouted another controller. “We have a bogey! It just appeared.” He swallowed. “Sir, it’s … it’s right overhead.”
Colonel Hooker ran to the window and looked out. There, hovering no more than one hundred feet above the field, was a silver arrowhead-shaped object. It was tilted slightly forward and seemed to be looking balefully at the control tower. “Sound scramble!” the colonel ordered. In moments, Klaxons filled the air, and pilots and crew rushed toward the jets. The hovering arrowhead seemed to ignore the commotion below.
“What is it waiting for?” the colonel growled under his breath. The apparent answer came when the first of the jets moved into position. There was a sudden flash of reddish light, and the tail section of the F-22 simply vanished.
High above the airfield, two other craft waited. In one craft, two figures, one human and one Rynn, stared into a glowing ball that hovered in front of them. The human barked a laugh. “Looks like the Fantastic Four have everything under control.”
“Fantastic Four?” chirped the Rynn. “What is it with humans and nicknames, Fuzzy Butt?” asked Corporal Cool Evening Breeze.
“I wouldn’t talk, Feather Head,” Sergeant Hendriks replied. He stood. “Okay, ladies, Operation Moses is a go,” he barked. “Let me repeat our objectives: one, we will land in and secure every plantation and workhouse we have identified as a potential slave center; two, we will ascertain if people are indeed being illegally detained; and three, if there is cause to believe that the Thirteenth Amendment has been violated, we will detain all personnel involved.”
Cool Evening Breeze stood. “Rules of engagement are as follows: you are not authorized to respond with lethal force except if it appears that civilians’ lives are in jeopardy and action is required to save them,” she chirped. “Is that understood?” Her crest rose as the mixed group of humans and Rynn crisply responded in the affirmative.
Floor lights started flashing. “Ape Squad, stand by,” barked Hendriks.
“Bird Squad, stand by,” barked Cool Evening Breeze. She turned to Hendriks. “And you keep your head down, Fuzz Ball. You got a baby coming.”
“You do the same, Feather Head,” Hendriks replied. “Crystal will kill me if something happens to you.”
“Shields up!” barked Cool Evening Breeze.
Lord Thomas Wincroft sat under the shade of a tall oak. “Another drink, boy,” he ordered his house servant, a young black child barely into his teens. Wincroft’s title was a recent acquisition and reflected both his wealth and the power he wielded as one of the CSA’s leading political figures.
It was Wincroft who had declared that the Thirteenth Amendment did not apply to the CSA. It was Wincroft who had led the domestic forces that had “recovered the escaped slaves,” and it was Wincroft who had executed those who resisted. Some personally.
He frowned when his butler walked over with his cell phone on a silver platter. The gray-haired white butler had a concerned look on his face. “What is it, Jeffries?”
“It’s President Spencer, sir,” the butler replied. “He seems … upset.”
Lord Wincroft rolled his eyes and picked up the cell phone. “Wincroft here,” he said in identification. His brows shot up. “What?” he excla
imed. “Impossible,” he snapped. “Why isn’t the air force …?” He trailed off. “The army?” He sat up. “Gotham is doing what?”
“Okay, darlings.” The oligarch’s image was broadcast to her entire force. “You all know how I feel about excessive violence, and despite my own anger over the evil that has transpired in the CSA, I will not tolerate any of you sinking to the level of the Beast.” She briefly covered her eyes. “May the spirits watch over you.”
“You heard the oligarch,” barked Brigadier General Devon Li, a tall, fit Asian man in his fifties. His steel gray hair was cut close to his scalp. “ROE is as follows: lethal force is allowed for defensive purposes only. If you are fired upon, first response will be suppression fire. If resistance continues, then and only then will lethal response be considered.”
He walked over to a map. “Our objective is simple. The CSA is to be broken. Operations will continue until all CSA military is neutralized and all military, political, and religious leaders that are on the target list are in custody.” He turned to his audience, both present and virtual. “Questions?” He waited. “If there are no questions, you are dismissed to your assignments.”
Colonel Thaddeus Hooker stared disbelievingly at the wreckage that littered the airfield. The silver arrowhead continued to hover above and seemed to only react if an F-22 attempted to take off, and then it acted immediately. A dozen jets had attempted to launch. “Where are my damned SAMs?” he growled. “We’re sitting ducks down here.”
“Working on it, sir,” responded one tech.
“Well, work faster,” growled the colonel.
24
ARMAGEDDON
“Ape Squad, forward,” barked Sergeant Hendriks.
“Bird Squad, forward,” echoed Corporal Cool Evening Breeze a second later.
The two squads jogged out of the landing bay of High Flyer 1. Bird Squad went toward the row of shacks that lined the fields, while Ape Squad headed for the main house. A dog barked, but otherwise the night was silent.
Bird Squad reached the first shack. “Spirits, the offal eaters bolted the doors from the outside,” Cool Evening Breeze chirped angrily. “Williams, open that door.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the soldier replied and bent over the lock. He pulled what appeared to be a knife from his belt. The knife began to hum, and the blade cut through the lock like it was butter. He opened the door. “My god,” he exclaimed in horror when he looked into the darkened shack.
There were bunk beds from floor to almost ceiling, five cots high. A quick count showed that there were eight bunks. Each narrow cot held a single occupant. Not one had a sheet or pillow or any comfort whatsoever. It became quickly apparent that each occupant, male and female, had two things in common. The first was that they were all chained to their cots. The second …
“They’re fucking children,” a trooper in Bird Squad exclaimed.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” another trooper cursed. “Where are the adults?”
“Dead,” a depressed voice said from the darkness. “All dead,” the voice continued. “You’ll be dead too if’n they catch you here.” The voice paused. “I hear a bird singing.”
“That’s me,” chirped a voice. Cool Evening Breeze walked toward the child. “Hi,” she chirped. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Are you gonna eat us?” the voice asked. “That’s what they told us, that the Bird Devils will eat us.” The figure sat up. “That’s why they lock us up, so the Bird Devils won’t eat us.” The figure leaned forward and, in the dimness, was revealed to be a young girl of maybe twelve years of age. She was skinny, her curly hair was matted, and she seemed covered in dirt.
“Spirits weep,” Cool Evening Breeze replied. “No, I’m not going to eat you.” She forced herself to keep her voice steady. “We’re here to help you.”
The girl reached out and touched Cool Evening Breeze’s face. “You don’t look like a devil,” she said. “You’re pretty.”
“So are you,” Cool Evening Breeze replied. “Now, we’re going to cut off the chains, and I want you to go with the soldiers.” She kept her voice light, even though she wanted to weep. “And they’ll take you someplace safe.” She stood. “That goes for all of you.”
“Corporal.” One of the soldiers walked over. “Some of them were whipped. They might not be able to walk.”
“Then we carry them,” Cool Evening Breeze chirped angrily. “Bird Squad, get these children out of here. Hup.”
“You heard the corporal,” barked another voice. “Move it.”
There were ten shacks in all. Each shack had been bolted from the outside, and each shack, like the first, contained forty children. By the time they had cleared the tenth shack, Cool Evening Breeze didn’t know whether to cry or take down the main house with her bare hands.
“Hendriks,” she chirped into her Torque. “We’re done here.”
“You okay, Breeze?” Hendriks replied over his own Torque.
“No,” Cool Evening Breeze replied. “Children, Hendriks, they are all children.” Her voice quavered. “If what they’re telling us is true, they killed their parents.” She looked back toward the shacks. “Tell me you got the bastards.”
“We got’em, Breeze,” Hendriks replied. “And another dozen girls and boys.” He growled. “I don’t think he killed the parents just because they resisted,” he said. “It seems he likes them young.” His voice seemed to smile. “I was wondering if you’d like to meet the … massa?”
“Oh, spirits weep, yes, I would,” Cool Evening Breeze replied. “I can’t promise I won’t rip his eyes out, though.”
“Did you hear me ask you to promise anything?” Hendriks replied. “You know, I think the shuttle is going to be too full, and we’re going to have to reduce the number of people we can carry.” Now Cool Evening Breeze was sure Hendriks was smiling. “By one.”
“And when are we going to discover the ship is overloaded?” Cool Evening Breeze asked.
“I was thinking about ten miles up,” Hendriks replied.
“Let’s not tell Crystal,” Cool Evening Breeze said. “Okay, Fuzzy Butt?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Feather Head,” Hendriks replied.
Mark Spencer, president of the CSA, former president of the USA, listened glumly as the reports came in. “Mississippi has fallen. Alabama has fallen. Tennessee has fallen.” The reports kept coming. “Kentucky’s military has been routed.”
“Where is Virginia?” demanded the president. “Where is Hooker?”
“Last reports state that they are being prevented from launching their F-22s,” his chief of staff replied. “SAM units are moving in to assist.”
“That makes no sense,” one of his advisors complained. “It would take the entire WSA or Gotham air forces to stop Langley, and they’re out hitting other targets. Where did they get the additional squadron?”
“According to the reports, it isn’t a squadron, it’s one fucking airship,” the chief of staff replied. “Supposedly, it’s just sitting over the base and taking out any ship that attempts to take off.”
“Mr. President, enemy forces are approaching Atlanta,” another aide said. “Our forces are moving to engage.”
“SAM units have reached Langley,” another aide exclaimed. He pressed his finger against his headset. “They are firing.”
“Well I was getting bored anyway,” Joseph Franklin said conversationally. He smiled as his core brothers chittered in amusement. “Let’s see if the RGG lives up to its advertising.” He smiled. “Torque: RGG targeting activate,” he said. Immediately, his vision was overlaid with pin lights indicating launched missiles, along with their speed and trajectory. His hands closed over a joystick.
“You do know that the computer can do the fighting, don’t you, Core Brother?” asked Black Rocks.
“Why should the computer have all the fun?” Franklin
replied. His finger tightened on the firing trigger.
“Spirits, I think our core brother is a better marksman than the computer,” Red Clouds Paint the Sky said in admiration. “Spirits, but I love humans.”
Corporal Cool Evening Breeze and Sergeant Hendriks slumped in their seats as the shuttle, loaded with another fifty rescued slaves, headed back to the Seeker. All the rescued were taken first to the Seeker for medical treatment before being taken to one of a dozen safe zones in either the Empire or the WSA.
“Spirits, I’ve never been so tired in my life,” chirped Cool Evening Breeze. She sat up tiredly as one of the rescues made his way toward them. He was, as most of the rescues were, young—at most fifteen—yet he seemed far, far older.
In some ways, the young man reminded her of the girl who was among the first rescued. It was the eyes, Cool Evening Breeze decided. Eyes that had seen a lifetime of horror in just a few years. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “Do you need anything? Food? Water?”
“What happens now?” the young man croaked in a voice that was raspy from lack of use.
“We’re taking you to the ship,” began Cool Evening Breeze.
“I think he means now that he’s free,” Hendriks interrupted. “That’s up to you, kid,” he said. “What do you want to do?”
The young man swallowed. “I want to go home,” he whispered. “I want to play on the swings. I want to eat a burger with fries. I want … I want my mom. My dad.” Tears began to fall. “I want what they took from me.”
“You want revenge,” Hendriks said.
“Yes,” the young man rasped.
“The Teacher said, before seeking revenge, first dig two graves,” Cool Evening Breeze replied. She briefly covered her eyes. “We cannot help you with revenge.” She raised her hand to stop the young man. She had heard the sentiment from dozens of those she had helped rescue. “But we won’t stop you, either,” she said. “I cannot in truth say I understand what you’ve been through. I cannot.” She briefly covered her eyes.
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