Authors: Gun Brooke
The corridors, still blackened by a past fire, smelled stale and uninviting, and to an untrained eye, nobody had set foot in the old warehouse in decades. Roshan had been utterly unimpressed the first time she’d been here, more than twenty years ago.
The first sign that all might not be as it seemed came about twenty meters into the corridor when it made a ninety-degree turn and revealed a cagelike construction. Roshan stepped inside without hesitation and didn’t even blink when a gate slammed shut just behind her. A scanner flickered its shimmering green light over her, and then the gate in front of her opened, revealing an ordinary wooden door.
Roshan pushed it open and entered a room that buzzed with activity. Elaborate equipment aided the men and women who kept track of all the resistance cells planetwide. Each resistance cell worked independently, and only two or three members of the cell, which usually consisted of 50 to 120 or so rebels, knew how to contact other cells for larger missions.
The previous mission, during which many of the senior officers had been incarcerated or killed, had sent the entire organization into shock. Not once during the occupation had the Onotharians had such a success, and Roshan knew that soon people would start to point fingers and look for traitors within the organization. She shook her head as she put her gloves into her jacket pockets. It wasn’t that easy. The surgical precision of the massive attacks suggested that a traitor or two hadn’t caused this failure, especially since traitors were rare.
“Ma’am,” a young man said, “we’re glad you’re all right.”
He saluted her, and she returned the greeting and looked him over. “You all right too? Base camp took some heavy fire.”
“I’m fine. Two of my friends got singed, but they’re going to make it. They’re still in the mountain hospital.”
“I’m glad they’ll be okay. Am I late or—”
“The meeting of the resistance leaders is postponed fifteen minutes, so you’re on time, ma’am.” The young man, known to Roshan only by his call sign, looked over at a countertop located at the far wall of the room. “I think someone made new
yasyam
tea, if you’d like some?”
“Thanks. No, continue what you were doing. I can get it myself.” Roshan patted him on the shoulder and continued among the busy staff. She saw a couple of new, young faces and realized that several of the ones who used to man these stations were probably among the missing. Anger churned in her stomach, and she had to will her hands not to shake when she poured the tea. She stirred some sweet honey into it, thinking it might help offset her fatigue.
Sipping the hot beverage, Roshan nodded at Jubinor, who was talking emphatically with another man across the room. Roshan was grateful that Jubinor had made it from their mountain camp in time for the meeting. He hadn’t been physically injured during the Onotharian raid; instead he’d suffered a severe emotional trauma when his life-partner, Berentar, was reported missing in action. It was obvious to Roshan, who knew him well, that Jubinor was balancing on a knife’s edge at the moment.
“Paladin!” a dark female voice exclaimed from behind.
Relieved beyond words, Roshan turned around and placed her mug on the counter. “Ma’am,” she sighed. “Thank the stars you’re okay. The last I heard, you were missing.” Roshan had honestly thought she’d never see the senior officer standing before her again. Temmer O’Gavvian was an old friend of her parents, which was the only reason Roshan knew her real name. Temmer led a small cell of medical personnel that Roshan had seen save lives countless times.
“Rumor had it you’d be out of commission for a while yet. What brings you back already?” Temmer regarded Roshan under an inquisitively raised eyebrow. “Ah, don’t tell me. You’ve heard the latest from the SC.”
“They’re coming. They have to.” Roshan didn’t like how much her words sounded like a mantra, rather than words of conviction. “Ever since the Protector of the Realm returned to show the Onotharians that she’s not going to let anything happen to our prince, or to us, we’ve had new hope.”
Temmer’s look grew weary. “As much as I’d like to believe that, I can’t help being skeptical, Paladin. Guess I’ve seen too much of humanoid frailty and to what levels we can stoop…if pressured.”
“But that’s also when we rise to the occasion,” Roshan insisted. She wasn’t about to give in to doubts at this point. “I truly believe this is the beginning of the end. It has to be, because I don’t think our defenses can hold up much longer.”
“Kellen O’Dal is a remarkable woman, and I remember her, not to mention Bondar O’Dal, her father, very well.” Temmer leaned her hip against the counter and reached for a mug. “She took our prince to safety and managed to get the ear of the Supreme Constellations Council and, more importantly, their leading orator. I actually met Councilman Thorosac during my travels before the war. He was a young man, but even then a man of vision and convincing political ambitions. I’m not surprised that he’s advanced so far within the SC, or that he managed to unite the Council after Prince Armeo’s speech. Did you see the recording?”
A majority of the resistance fighters had seen the images of and heard the prince’s speech to the Council. Roshan had stared at Kellen, her former cell member, and Commodore Rae Jacelon, of the SC, her new wife. Roshan, overwhelmed, had felt tears stream down her face, something she rarely allowed. So certain that the entire family of the O’Saral Royale had been hunted down and killed, she’d been amazed to watch this child, a handsome, dark-haired boy with his Onotharian father’s colors and his Gantharian mother’s dark blue eyes and royal poise.
For the first time, she hadn’t felt as if her mother had died in vain while carrying out her duties as a colonel of the palace guards. Two lunar months into the occupation, the Onotharians had overpowered Jin-Jin O’Landha and the guards under her command inside the palace gates. Jin-Jin had held them off until the situation became unbearable. In the cellars of the palace, Jin-Jin and a handful of rebels had tried to defend the royal family despite overwhelming odds and certain death.
After three lunar months, Roshan and her father, together with the rest of the Gantharian population, had finally learned what had happened. Roshan couldn’t remember if she cried, but she would never forget her father’s look of grief.
“Yes, I heard the speech,” Roshan answered, and pulled herself together.
“I think you’re right when it comes to the impact of Prince Armeo’s speech,” Temmer said after sipping her tea. “Judging from the number of propaganda radio broadcasts we’ve had the last few weeks, I’d say the Onotharians are very concerned.”
Roshan had started to agree when a double door behind two columns opened. Resistance leaders, fewer than there should’ve been, began to enter and sit down. The many empty chairs spoke for themselves, and Roshan exchanged grim looks with the other rebels.
Where are they? Dead, all of them? Prisoners?
Vespes, the joint cell leader of Ganath and the most senior-ranking officer in the building, remained standing by the large view screen in front of them. Not quite powered up yet, it glimmered in nuances of blue behind the tall, white-haired man, creating a ghost-like appearance. “Fellow rebels, members of the resistance,” he began in a traditional way, “it’s with mixed feelings we gather today. So many of our comrades have fallen or are missing in action, yet we’re on a threshold of new times, with new hope on the horizon.”
Horizon?
Roshan wanted to elbow the superior officer, make him sound more positive, more optimistic. They didn’t need to hear that it was as far away as the horizon.
We need to hear that it’s just around the corner, damn it!
“We have to plan. We need to proceed meticulously and carefully. This window of opportunity, the promise of help from the Supreme Constellations, brings hope, but we must be realistic,” Vespes continued.
Roshan was sure every man or woman present had had realism shoved down their throats every bloody day since the occupation began. She found it increasingly difficult to keep quiet, but bit down hard on the tip of her tongue. A glance in Temmer’s direction also helped her remain quiet. Temmer shook her head almost imperceptibly and pulled her eyebrows together. Roshan couldn’t tell if Temmer was as impatient with Vespes’s choice of words as she was or was suggesting Roshan keep her cool.
“This is a rare moment. Some of you have been present during these special occasions, but most of you haven’t. Our leader, Boyoda, will join us via vision broadcast, thanks to some of our resistance technicians who risked their lives in space to repair the malfunctioning satellite.”
Roshan knew he was talking about her special space team, of whom she was very proud. Without them, none of this could take place.
I hope Boyoda appreciates this fact—and that he has more guts
and initiative than Vespes.
Part of her refused to be impressed that she’d see the elusive Boyoda, as mythical as the majestic bird that had given its name,
boyoda,
to their resistance leader and its image to the O’Saral Royales’ crest. Many times, Roshan, Jubinor, and Doc had half joked that perhaps Boyoda wasn’t a real person at all. And now he was going to appear. Roshan squinted against the flickering blue light on the screen.
Come on, boss. We can sure use some of your magical sense of what’s going to happen.
The screen crackled with static and the image went black. Roshan held her breath until a lean figure appeared. Simultaneously, the inner mission room darkened and the audience was lit up from behind, to ensure everyone’s confidentiality by obscuring their faces.
After five seconds of more static noise, the still form on the screen spoke. A voice, slightly distorted by a two-way scrambler, which made it sound faintly metallic, addressed them. “Fellow Gantharians, members of the resistance. I am Boyoda.”
*
Andreia counted the blurred outlines of twenty-eight senior members of the Ganath local resistance present at HQ. Visual and audio signals were deliberately distorted to conceal identities. All data was encrypted, and two of the young officers had developed a program that allowed for constant frequency hopping. So far, much to the Onotharians’ frustration, the rebels’ communications had never been compromised. This was a point of pride among the resistance since communications of any type not regulated by the occupiers were strictly prohibited.
As Boyoda, she knew no individual names or faces, other than those of the five men and women operating the small, underground facility she broadcast from. Her engineering officer, whom she only knew as Ily, was her best-kept secret. Andreia relied on Ily’s ability to create technical solutions designed to keep her true identity hidden. It had taken her more than five years to find, and trust, the people she now worked with, and she knew they would give their lives to protect her. In fact, one of their predecessors already had.
She swallowed quickly, eager to sound certain and in charge, even if her jaw muscles tightened at the thought of what had happened to the other twenty-four, not to mention the more than six thousand rebels rounded up planetwide.
She knew that her actions as a double agent had helped so many missions be successful over the years, but she also took every failed mission personally.
“Vespes here, Boyoda. What are the total numbers? Do you know yet?”
Andreia didn’t have to ask what he meant. “The last I heard, we’re missing more than six thousand members. Entire cells have been destroyed. We haven’t found out how many have been killed or incarcerated, but I’m sure I’ll have more intel in the next few days.”
“Where do we go from here?” Vespes continued.
“We can’t sit around and wait for numbers. They’re expecting us to go into hiding. I say we attack.” A low hum distorted the voice of the person who sat next to Vespes, but it was clearly female.
“And your call sign?” Andreia asked, leaning forward toward the screen. She knew her own voice was scrambled to a higher degree. It was imperative nobody even knew her gender.
“Paladin.”
Andreia nodded slowly. She had heard this call sign before, countless times, in fact. Paladin was one of the senior officers who had been part of the resistance as long as Andreia herself. The woman was a legend, whose fearless raids had generated her quite a fan club within the resistance, and Andreia had to concede that Paladin deserved it. “I heard you were injured and treated in one of the Merealian camps.”
“I was. I’ve recovered. What’s our next operation?”
Andreia pulled out a small computer console and attached it to a secure station beside her chair. After docking it and logging on, she pulled up a bulleted list. “You know the Supreme Constellations is arming for a confrontation with the Onotharians. In fact, my intel shows it’s already begun at the SC border. Onotharians took a squadron of ships, allegedly to try and free Ambassador M’Ekar, but to no avail. When SC rattles their weapons, even our occupiers notice.”
“They’ll get here, but we may lose a lot of good people while we wait. Time’s running out if we want to intercept any prison transports.” Paladin spoke urgently.
“I’m aware of this.” Andreia knew the woman bordered on insolence, but recent events made her reaction excusable. “However, to execute an operation without adequate planning and preparation is risky, with a high probability for failure. At this point in the war, failure is not an option. I’ve developed two courses of action. Whichever one we choose will require surgical precision. Collateral damage must be kept to a minimum. I want as little bloodshed as possible.”