Phoenix Rising (Book Two of The Icarus Trilogy) (36 page)

It was at this time that noise started to echo throughout the studio.  Except for one pair of eyes, each man and woman turned their head to the doorway.  The EOSF had arrived and were attempting to burst through the eastern entrance.  Cody and Hakim had done their job and barricaded the area, but with every strike it seemed like the doors would burst apart.  Douglas and Jamie only had a chance to look at the two youths holding the door closed before the two men turned to each other and nodded.  They ran as fast as they could to the other entrance, which had started to shake as the EOSF attempted to break down the door.  The two revolutionaries put their shoulders against the wall and prayed that Eric would finish in time.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Eric shouted, determined to ignore the Earth Orbit Security Forces threatening to break through at any moment, “we cannot allow this to go any further!  The Commission, War World Entertainment, The Trade Union and Jasper Montgomery have perpetuated a system of cruelty, suffering and slavery in
our
system!  They have made slavery acceptable and marketable.  It is time to rise up.  It is time to cast off our fears and become the men and women we were always meant to be!  And we will NOT be alone,” Eric Jones said, rising to his feet and watching the camerawoman panning up to keep the view of his face.  The celebrity realized that he had never known the woman’s name and probably would never have a chance to learn it, but she was giving her life just as he was.  It only served to fan the fires currently consuming his heart.

“The Eris Freedom Initiative will free Eris.  This is happening as we speak.  Every one of those doomed soldiers is going to have a chance to take back their lives.  They are going to rise up with us and bring their training and weapons with them to help free
us,
” he said, softening his voice at the inclusion of his audience.  “Because they are not the only slaves.  We have been made complacent and lost our will, Ladies and Gentlemen.  We have been shackled and clasped in invisible chains.  When was the last time you had a say in your own destiny?  When was the last time you were able to live your life the way you chose?” he asked, looking straight into the camera.

Eric Jones had not noticed that the EOSF had broken through into the studio.  He had not realized that Cody and Hakim had been shot and killed.  He had not noticed that Douglas and Jamie had been thrown back from an explosion and apprehended by the soldiers swarming into the studio.  He had not notice the soldiers coming at him, as the overhead lights had blinded him.  Eric Jones did not have the capacity to care; he had surpassed himself and every hope he ever had. 

The speech was not finished and Douglas knew it.  There was a heavy boot placed on his back, giving him absolutely no chance to move.  He knew that to his side Jamie was lying broken and bleeding.  He could only stare ahead at the stage and Eric Jones; the television anchor unable to see the soldiers coming for him.  Douglas could see Franklyn Stone only a meter away from the man and mustered all the breath he had in him.

“Frank!  Help him!  This is your chance,” he shouted, watching in terror.  Eric had to finish.  The statement had to be made.  Douglas watched as Franklyn looked at him lying on the ground; the announcer watched as Franklyn recognized what he had said, recognized the look in Douglas’ eyes.

But Franklyn Stone did nothing.  He closed his eyes and cowered away, burying his face into Samantha Noble’s neck.

Douglas knew it, then.  All was lost.  The soldier was only half a meter away from Eric Jones in his exaltation.  Eric would not be able to finish his statement due to Franklyn’s cowardice.  Douglas gave into despair and thought about the thousand things that could have gone differently; he thought about all the possibilities where they would have been successful.

Eric Jones had looked into the camera, but at the last second he saw the incoming EOSF soldier.  He knew that he would not be able to stop the well-armored man.  He felt a half-second’s worth of terror as he considered the possibility that he had failed.  The soldier had extended his hand and was only a few centimeters away from Eric’s throat when it veered off-course.  The man fell to the side as Patrick McEwen took his place, his arm extended from the haymaker he had delivered into the soldier’s mask.  The Crow’s wrist was broken from the strike, but it had done exactly what he had wanted.

“He ain’t finished,” he barked, a lifetime’s worth of aggression pouring out of him as he passed by the camera.  The old Crow turned back to Eric and nodded.  The celebrity had never felt as much self-worth as in that moment.  Eric turned back to the camera and noticed that the operator had been beaten to the ground, but miraculously the camera was still pointed directly at him.  He gave a knowing, sad smile into the camera and made his last statement for
War World
.

“The Eris Freedom Initiative is giving you your first chance to live free.  We are giving you the chance to take back your lives.”

“My name is Eric Jones.  I am one of many.  Welcome to the Revolution.”

Laurence looked down at O’Brian and tried not to laugh.  The official had had a fit when he heard about War World and their little declaration for independence.  He had ordered Laurence and Albert to guard the armory and restrain the Crows coming off of the transport.  Laurence had just grinned underneath his helmet, unclasped the thing and then dropped it to the ground.  He had walked right up to the official and towered over him.

“No,” he had said, understanding that it was the first time he had ever said the word to the bureaucrat.  Laurence had smiled as he saw the spreading through the official’s face.  O’Brian had backed away from the EOSF guard, but had immediately bumped into Albert.

“Arrest him, Albert,” O’Brian had shouted, unable to consider the truth surrounding him.  Albert had merely shrugged and looked down at the overweight man.

“Why should I?” he asked, pleased with his mock indifference.

The two soldiers had subdued the official easily.  He had tried to run, of course, but Albert had merely grabbed a hold of the pudgy man’s collar and yanked him to the ground.  He had followed it up with a low hook and had accidentally knocked the man out.  The young revolutionary had only been trying to knock some sense into the man, but that could happen later.  The two EOSF guards had much more important things to do.

The Crows had just finished a game with the Hawks.  This time around there were no handicaps, so the Crows were able to destroy the lower-ranking soldiers handily.  It seemed that only the drones and Cortes had fallen.  As the newly-emancipated soldiers started to walk off the transport, Laurence tried to count them off.  He recognized Feldman easily, but the others might as well have been interchangeable.  He shrugged and left it to chance that the nine missing men were unimportant.

The soldiers were wary as they climbed off the transport and gathered around the pair of EOSF guards.  It didn’t take long before some of them noticed O’Brian’s unconscious body and stood in confusion.  One soldier stepped ahead of the rest and stood between Albert and Laurence, took off his helmet and then looked at his comrades.

“Rosencrantz,” the thin, black man said, looking at Albert, and then turned to Laurence.  “Guildenstern.”  Laurence merely shook his head and rolled his eyes.  He had never had this little obsession with the dramatic like so many others.  He indulged the revolutionary, anyway.

“Othello,” he said before turning to the crowd of soldiers looking at the three of them warily.  He shrugged at them.

“What, you thought Templeton was alone?  One black man does not a revolution make,” the old resistance agent said before turning back to Templeton.  “So what’s the plan, here?”

“I was thinking you’d take most of them inside along with O’Brian.  I might take a few with me to grab our messiah and then we’ll regroup,” Templeton said with a content face.  Laurence nodded and looked past the revolutionary, trying to size up the Crows in front of him.  Templeton turned around and nodded at Carver.

“I think it would be best for you to come, old man.  We’ll take Albert with us, too, and that should be enough to get our Jenkins back to us.”

“I’m coming, too,” a small voice came from the group of Crows gathered before the air transport.  Templeton furrowed his brow as he looked at the new revolutionaries, but as the boy soldier walked up to him he realized where the voice had come from.  Apparently Feldman had let the poor Crow in on the situation.

“Look, Roberts, you can say your greetings to Jenkins back at…”

“He’ll be fine.  I just need to go to the clinic,” Roberts said assertively.  Templeton wondered what the boy soldier meant, but Carver shook his head and spoke before the revolutionary could ask his questions.

“Hawkins?”  The young Crow looked at the veteran and shrugged.

“I need to face him, that’s all.  And when that happens… well, I can’t promise anything,” Roberts said before looking back at Templeton.  Darius had to scoff at the boy’s audacity.  He wondered if he would have that boldness in the same situation.

“Well, I guess we won’t make you.”

-

Laurence took the rest of the soldiers into the barracks.  They needed to reinforce all the entrances and set up barricades for any incoming enemies.  The undercover agent felt nervous about the situation, knowing full well that there was too much time between now and when they would get picked up.  It wouldn’t be long before these hallways were littered with bodies and covered in blood.  Laurence’s job was to take care of that; his job was to make sure there was as little as possible.

When the agent watched Carver, Roberts, Templeton and Albert walking off towards the clinic, he hadn’t realized that he didn’t have a clue how to properly set up defenses for the barracks.  It wasn’t built to withstand an assault; the Commission did that intentionally in case of a situation just like this.  After the old soldier dropped off O’Brian’s unconscious body in the mess hall, he left towards the main entrance.  Laurence was still contemplating how to best utilize the furniture in the complex when he felt a presence beside him.  He turned to see Goldstein eyeing him with a slight smile in his eyes.

“Shylock, I presume?” Laurence asked, wanting to do away with the revelation as soon as possible.  Goldstein merely scoffed at the remark.

“Who else, Laurence?” he asked while looking at the front entrance of the barracks.  The receptionist had long since run away to McClellan, but Goldstein only smiled at that twist of fate.  The city was fully under the merchant’s control; Riley was taking charge of the dissidents in the area.  Goldstein knew that there would only be pockets of EOSF resistance before the dust would settle and everyone could be evacuated.  Laurence shook his head at the merchant’s remark and sighed.

“There were not very many candidates.  Not too many men have the kinds of contacts and the kind of grease that you wield with such skill,” he said, only offering a slight note of distaste, but the agent could not argue with results.  Goldstein merely laughed at the left-handed compliment.

“It’s my heritage, Laurence.  Sometimes I just can’t help it,” the merchant said, wondering if he was going to die within the next ten hours.  Laurence turned to look towards the mess hall, trying to figure out how they were going to drag all of the tables and benches in front of the doorways.  He would need at least five or six of the men for that task by itself.

“Atlas has a very high opinion of you.  He said that it’s difficult for a man to change his behavior,” Laurence said, making up every word.  Atlas had never spoken very much about Shylock in order to preserve the merchant’s cover, but Laurence wanted to test Goldstein’s ego.  He wanted to see if Goldstein was the kind of man he could depend on in a war.  The merchant frowned and shook his head.

“You and I both know Atlas would never say anything like that,” he said, piquing Laurence’s interest.  “Changing one’s behavior is easy.  We all change day after day; doing everything we can to live in a world that might not want us.  The difficult thing would be to stand up and let our insecurities fall away, leaving behind our true selves.  Our true behavior.  If anything, Atlas might have suggested that it’s difficult for a man to let himself behave as he wishes,” he finished, turning to face the revolutionary.  Laurence looked back at him a slight hint of approval in his cold, grey eyes.

“That sounds exactly like something he would say,” Laurence agreed.  He knew that this was a man worthy of his support.  Goldstein smiled and rolled his eyes, doing what he could to bring some levity to the situation.

“That’s because he’s a self-righteous asshole.  But that doesn’t stop him from being right,” he said before sighing and then nodding towards the mess hall.  “We need to get those tables out of there and set up some cover, maybe some barricades, but I’m sure you know that.  Let’s get the grunts out here.  We don’t have much time,” the merchant said before heading to the dormitories.

“Why did you do it?  Why did you spend all of your fortune on these guys?” Laurence asked after the man.  The merchant turned slightly and shrugged.

“What use is money if I’m dead?  Besides,” Zachary Goldstein said before turning completely to face the older revolutionary.

“This will be way more interesting than retiring on a resort planet.  Not many people get to say they were part of history.”

-

Cortes awoke for the last time in a state of confusion.  The drugs had not been administered properly and unlike his usual awakening, dreamily and hazily slipping into consciousness in his resurrection cell, Cortes woke up with a burning pain in his eyes.  The light was too bright, too glaring for his condition.  On instinct he tried to raise his arms to his face, but the muscles were weak and unused.  The room slowly came into focus as his pupils constricted and caused the Spaniard a headache and what Cortes saw did not ease his mind.

The doctor was hurriedly checking the computer screen and rushing through the resurrection process.  Her hair was matted across the front of her face and she had not yet noticed Cortes’ awakening.  The Crow groaned as he tried to sit up, dragging the electrodes with him as he slowly rose.  He fell back to the surface of the cell as he realized he didn’t have the strength and the sound of the impact was enough to shock Charlotte into recognition.