As they neared the Brogan homestead, Timothy stirred. “You seem to be old friends with Captain Darkhow.”
“Yes, I am. I wondered when your curiosity would get the better of you. We served together in the Sryctus Wars. He was just a private then, like the rest of us. We went through basic training together and shipped out when the war started. Andy came out of the pauper’s alley on France One. As you know, people lose their citizenship when they’re declared paupers. You people here are fortunate that, after the rebellion, your negotiators held out for citizenship for everyone on the planet.”
Being a citizen of the Empire was not a universal right, even on Earth. You either had to be born a citizen or adopted by a citizen, or you had to earn your citizenship. Noncitizens had no legal rights, and they were at a social and economic disadvantage.
First-class citizenship was reserved for nobility and a few others. Among other advantages, it gave them the right to vote, to hold government or public office, to enjoy special legal privileges, to own property on more than one planet, and to receive free medical care. Second-class citizens enjoyed many of the privileges of the noble class, but they could not hold government offices and did not rate special legal status. Third-class citizens, by far the largest group, were entitled to legal redress, education, and limited voting privileges. Convicted criminals and paupers
—and their progeny—were noncitizens. They lived outside the rules and advantages of civilization.
“Andy and I earned our citizenship in the Sryctus Wars. The point system used in determining citizenship is complex, but Andy had it firmly in hand. His driving determination was to become a citizen. He gained a battlefield commission
and
his second-class citizenship on Sryctus Three. All of a sudden, he was right next to nobility.
“I came out of that war a third-class citizen, like most of you folks here on Cirrus. It was only later that I got my second-class citizenship.” Scratching his head, he continued, “I never have figured out how Andy got that second-class rating. He never would say. But there’s no arguing he’s one tough cookie. Never get between him and his objective.”
Timothy’s teacher paused. His eyes indicated that his thoughts were far away. “Andy figures I saved his life in that war, but like a lot of things that happen in war, I was just in the right place at the right time. And, of course, I knew what to do when the time came. That’s what they’ll teach you at the Academy: what to do when you find yourself in the right place at the right time. Well, here we are,” he exclaimed as they approached the farmyard. “That’s all the storytelling you’ll get for now.”
“So far,” replied Timothy, “all I’ve been able to do is listen to the adventures of others. I can’t wait to be away from this dull place and have some real adventures of my own. All this place has to offer is work, sleep, church, and prayer . . . over and over again.”
As the flyer settled to the farmyard, Simpson looked Timothy in the eye. “Don’t be so hasty to throw away everything you have here, son. There
are
some values worth having. The ‘real’ world, as you call it, can be a very nasty place indeed.”
Timothy’s mouth fell open, and he arched his normally straight eyebrows. “Are you defending our religion, Mr. Simpson? I didn’t know you were a churchman.”
“Religion can take many forms.” He paused and pursed his lips in thought. “But perhaps what I mean is that we cannot reject the things that make us what we are without destroying part of ourselves in the process.” Looking up, the teacher said, “Well, so much for philosophy. Here comes your father. You go get ready for work. I’ll cover for you.”
Timothy was exhausted. The last few weeks, he and Daniel Swatzer had been shoveling wheat in the huge, sprawling storage depot at the spaceport. They had worked from dawn till dusk every day except Sunday. In fact, some evenings, when the humidity was low, they worked halfway into the night.
The wheat storage bins at the spaceport depot were not permanent fixtures. Each was equipped with null-grav units and rudimentary propulsion. Until antigravity was discovered, it had been economically impractical to transport anything of such bulk across the galaxy. The bins were designed to attach to space freighters like a plug in a wall receptacle. They rested in a designated spot in the depot until full. Then they were maneuvered into space by means of their null-grav units to be connected with their interstellar ferry. Upon arrival to Earth, they would disconnect, discharge their load on planet, and make the return trip to Cirrus or some other planet.
To look at a load of wheat, one would think it nice and clean. But in reality the harvest dust clinging to the golden-brown kernels made those working with it as black as soot. Each day, as the two boys stumbled out into the fresh air, they looked like lumps of coal. Fortunately, they had the use of highly efficient filter masks. But whereas these protected their lungs, they made the work inside the hazy bins even hotter.
Now, as he lay on the living room floor, propped by a pillow, he could not identify a single portion of his body that did not ache. All he could think about at the end of each day was that wonderful night he would climb the bin ladder for the last time and emerge from the vast, oppressive interior to wash off the sticky, itchy coating of chaff once and for all. He did not realize at the time that this back-breaking work would soon prove to be a blessing.
He yearned to fall asleep, but he was determined to stay awake a while longer. Uncle Charles had come for dinner, and he was about to tell them the story of the rebellion one more time. Timothy could have recited it almost by heart, but it still thrilled him to hear his uncle tell it.
“One day,” Uncle Charles began, “we received word that that crafty old devil, the Emperor, wanted to rob us of our citizenship. He made a declaration that no native born children of Cirrus would be considered citizens, even if their parents had been. We also learned that the treacherous Trading Company was reneging on their agreement. They wanted six days of work instead of five, and they wanted to increase our bondage to three generations instead of the two agreed upon.
“Well, that was pretty typical of those power hungry tyrants, but we were still taken pretty much by surprise. But the Company, crafty as it was, hadn’t counted on how well organized the church was. Since the church was overseeing all the claims and agreements, it suddenly occurred to the Company that virtually everyone was going to be free at the end of the original bondage agreement. Well, the Company wasn’t used to that. They always counted on being able to extend the bondage to three or four generations ’cause of all the loopholes, penalties, and clauses in the contracts. Why they even had bad weather workin’ for ’em. But now things weren’t goin’ their way, and they were lookin’ for the upper hand.
“Well, let me tell you, we weren’t going to sit still for that. We weren’t professional soldiers, mind you, but there were still a few among us who had served in the Fusiliers. These fellas formed a militia and took charge of strategic operations, and the first thing we did was attack. We surprised ’em and overran their planetary arsenal. We sent the small force they kept there packin’. What was left of ’em made for their shuttles and the orbiting space station.
“Well, we figured it would take ’em three months to get a relief force here. That didn’t give us much time to get ready for ’em. But we put that time to good use. Our leaders trained us for war, sharpened our senses, and strengthened our bodies. We knew we were in for a big fight and that we might very well come up the losers. But we had one advantage. We had our backs to the wall, and we were fightin’ for our freedom.”
Timothy kept catching himself as he fell asleep, but the best part was coming up, and he was determined to hear it one more time before he shipped out for Earth. “Not everybody took our side. Some, like your pa, didn’t cotton to fightin’ and killin’. We didn’t hold it against ’em none, but it did hurt the cause. We were only able to muster just over 4,000 men by the time they came. And it took ’em a whole lot longer to come than we expected.
“Turns out our timin’ couldn’t ’ve been better. Earth was havin’ a famine. The Emperor’s tight-fisted ways had gotten him into trouble, and food wasn’t comin’ in fast enough for the demand. Civil war broke out, and it was almost seven months before they could get reinforcements to Cirrus. And when the army did get here, it was only 10,000 strong and not heavily supported. That was a big break for us.
“Well, we were ready. When they landed, we retreated, burning everything as we went. Scorched-earth tactics they called it. We had set our defenses on that big hill over there. Battle Hill they call it now. You can see it in the distance, about forty kilometers this side of the mountains. The Emperor’s men thought we were just hayseeds, a ragtag outfit that was goin’ to be easy. We were countin’ on that.
“When they came to the hill, there was nothin’ but burnt, open ground for kilometers all ’round. Overconfident as they were, they just charged right in, with no cover, and, as they say in them army tactics manuals, we had a clear field of fire. We’d mow down one wave and the next would just climb right over ’em and keep on comin’. Before they got within two hundred yards of the outer perimeter, over a third of ’em were down. That’s when they hightailed it.”
Uncle Charles paused to catch his breath, and Mathias, Timothy’s eight-year-old brother cut in. “What happened then, Uncle Charles?” They all knew what happened next, but Uncle Charles enjoyed being urged on in his storytelling.
“Well, them soldiers were either inexperienced or were still underestimatin’ us, ’cause after they had retreated out of range and dug in, they set up only a half-circle defense. You bet our leaders took quick notice of that. We moved our wounded to the perimeter positions where their job was to make noise. Then after dark, we muffled all our equipment for silent marching and started down the back of the hill. The plan was to march ten kilometers in a wide circle and come up behind the enemy encampment. All but four or five hundred of us made the march, and it was real tough to do, especially in the pitch dark like that.
“It took us a good six hours, and dawn was approaching when we finally arrived in position for the assault. When it was just light enough so you could see your hand in front of your face, we charged. Mind you, most of us had never fought in real hand-to-hand combat before. That first engagement had been long-distance fightin’. Now we had to fight face to face.
“Some of us from old Scotland carried a sword called the claymore. We had read of our ancestors stridin’ over the moors with their claymores slappin’ on their legs. So we made some for ourselves. Mine’s still hangin’ over the mantle at home.”
“Would you bring it with you next time?” pleaded Luke.
Tousling his head, Uncle Charles feigned shock. “Your Aunt Martha wouldn’t like that. She’s not so sure the rebellion was a good thing, and,” he added with a wink, “she cares little enough already for my fillin’ your heads with sinful stories. But on with the storytellin’.
“I’ll tell you true, there’s no more disgustin’ work than killin’ your fellow man face to face. When we reached the camp at a dead run, we all started whoopin’ and shoutin’ and scared the livin’ daylights out of them Imperial soldiers. We killed a lot of ’em, but in their confusion and panic and because of the bad light, they were as likely to shoot down their own men as us. When it was all over, I just laid there on my back, exhausted and battered, splattered with the blood and gore of friend and foe alike. I was too numb even to get sick, though I never felt more like it in my life.
“We lost nigh on a thousand men, but the Imperials lost more than half. By the time they surrendered, less than four thousand remained. Our victory was complete.” Uncle Charles paused for effect.
“And greater than we ever dared hope for. To our amazement, one of the captured was none other than the crown prince himself, Henry the Strong. Well, sir, I’ll tell you, that was quite a prize! Now we had some real bargainin’ power. Henry himself turned out to be highly uncooperative. He didn’t want to make any deals and give back what he had hoped to take from us by force.
“How well I remember when the big break came weeks later. I was standin’ guard over the Imperial communications equipment when a powerful transmission came in. I sent for the CO, and he brought the prince with him. The transmission was from a newly arrived emissary with a vital message for Henry from Daniel Mizpala, First Minister. He said simply, ‘The Emperor is dead! Long live the Emperor!’ Henry’s father had been killed by rebel forces in the civil war on earth. It was done by suicide squad sent right into the royal residence with a small fission bomb.
“Well, let me tell you, it didn’t take long for Henry to come to terms with us. All of a sudden, we we
re small stakes. He had to hightail it home on a more important matter: consolidatin’ his new position as Emperor. The political situation on earth was far too fragile and unstable for him to sit around hagglin’ with a bunch of nobody offworld farmers. And we were just as eager to help him on his way. If he couldn’t make good his claim, our treaty would be invalid.
“So, kids, that’s the story of how we won freeborn citizenship for everyone on Cirrus and forced the Trading Company to honor its commitments.”
“But,” queried Matthias, “why didn’t you get the bondage agreements canceled altogether? You could’ve gotten anything you demanded.”
Uncle Charles drew himself up to his full six feet and stuck out his chin as he always did when about to proclaim some basic tenant of honorable conduct. “Our bondage was a just debt. We Mennonites always discharge our just debts.”
“Time for dessert,” chimed Aunt Martha as she poked her head through the kitchen door. The children made a dash for the kitchen, and Timothy, who had virtually succumbed to his weariness, rolled over and shook out the cobwebs.
Cocking a scornful eye at Charles, Aunt Martha hissed, “Old fool! Filling the heads of these children with your awful stories of war and killin’! You ought to be ashamed!”
“Well, I’m not! It’s
our
history and
their
heritage, one they can be proud of.”
“Heritage!” she sniffed. “Some heritage! You’d do better telling them Scripture stories.”
“What a splendid idea!” beamed Charles. “Next time we’ll talk about Sampson and how he slew a thousand Philistines with the jawbone of a donkey.”
Aunt Martha rocked back on her heels, her face turning different shades of purple. Timothy sat on the floor amazed, but also a bit amused. He had never seen Aunt Martha so flustered. He watched as she turned and fled into the kitchen, gasping and wheezing and shaking her head. Uncle Charles just chuckled and followed her in.
*
Some nights later Timothy lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling. For an hour now the house had been quiet. But still he waited. Finally he rose silently, crept to his closet, and retrieved the small roll of possessions he had cached there earlier. Slipping quietly through the house, he reached the back door and stepped outside. At once he began striding purposefully away from the house when he heard his name quietly spoken. He froze. His heart caught in his throat.
“Timothy . . . I wanted to see you off.” It was his mother. Coming up to him out of a black patch of night, she looked up at his startled expression.
“How did . . . What are you . . . uh, what do you mean?”
“How did I know you were leaving? You’d be surprised what a mother knows. But don’t worry. I’m not going to stop you. Come, let’s move farther from the house.” Taking his arm she started walking with him.
“I knew you would leave sometime. You’re too restless to be happy on the farm . . . too much of a dreamer. If I made you stay, you’d resent me, and you’d be miserable. I want my children to be happy.” She paused to look at him, her normally confident eyes rimmed with misgiving. “I hope the course you’ve set for yourself does make you happy.”
“I’m sure it will, Ma. I’ll send you scan letters all the time. And anyway, I’ll be back. You know I wouldn’t walk away forever.”
“Things change, son. You can never really return to things that were.” Pausing she added, “But it’s hard knowing you were going to leave without a good-bye or anything.”
“Oh, Ma!” Timothy hugged her hard. “I’m sorry if my leaving hurts you, but I’ve got to go. I’ve got to!”
“I know.” She patted him on the chest. “I only wanted a last look at my firstborn son before he left. Here, take this with you.” She thrust something into his hand.
“What is it?”
“It’s the O’Leary family Bible.”
“But, Ma!”
“I’m the last of the O’Learys, so I’m giving it to you, my eldest.”
“Ma!”
“No arguments. Take it.” Timothy took it and shoved it into his pack.
“Listen, Ma, I can’t stay any longer. I’ve joined the Fusiliers, and I’ve got to catch the shuttle to go to the Military Academy on earth.”
“I suspected as much. Yes, go on. Hurry. And God go with you.” Giving him a quick kiss, she turned and hurried to the door.