The Last Revolution (9 page)

Father McKinley smiled. “That’s great news. Just remember that leaders can be followers too. Listen to your group and do not make decisions lightly.”

“I won’t,” Alden said. Why wasn’t he more excited for him?

Father McKinley walked over to a row of shelves and pulled down an antique from the top one. “I have a present for you, to commemorate your success.” He reached out and handed Alden a thickly bound paper binder.

“Thanks,” Alden said. “What is it?”

Father McKinley smiled. “It’s a book.”

Alden ran his hands over the leather cover and the ridges of the title.

“It’s very similar to the stories and manuals that you have on your wrist deck, but they used to be printed on paper made from trees.”

Alden rubbed the pages between his fingers as he flipped through it. At the very back was an inscription in Father McKinley’s handwriting.
Victory attained by violence is tantamount to a defeat, for it is momentary.

“It was written by a great warrior many hundreds of years ago. You are on your way to being a respected soldier, just as he was. But you must also be a good man.”

“Thank you, Father.” Alden smiled. “This means a lot to me.”

McKinley gave him a hug and then turned and left.

Suddenly there was another beep on his wrist deck, new message. Alden was back in the frozen forest, propped up against the base of the tree, completely alone. As if emphasizing a point he already knew the message said,
on your own. must find reactor. do not fail.

Obviously this had to be his next course of action.
where do I start?
Alden responded. Whoever killed Father McKinley had been carrying a large satchel, roughly the size of the fusion core. They would pay for what they’d done, for what they had taken from him.

club harkonnen. munich. arms dealer for lunas.
The message response was near instantaneous.

Alden was on the outside now and unencumbered by the Council’s rules. Images from the lunar terrorist bombings floated through his mind, followed by the explosion that ripped the reactor building in half. These men couldn’t be reasoned with, talked to, or made to understand the error of their ways. They were killers whose only objective was destruction. He’d pull that entire organization apart, brick by brick. When he finally found Darar Khasim, the man he knew was ultimately responsible for organizing the attack on the island and the death of Father McKinley…he’d kill him.

***

Arakiel moved quietly through the jungle. He could feel the weight of the reactor on his back as he stepped over a fallen log. The federation shipyard appeared before him. Containers were stacked everywhere, waiting to be loaded onto the massive cargo ship docked at port. Well-equipped soldiers patrolled the grounds, looking for anything out of the ordinary. They didn’t know it, but they were looking for him. Giant waves slammed against the distant sea wall.

Despite the hurricane force winds, the storm had allowed him to safely escape the Council’s military base and land on this Island unnoticed. He would have preferred to fly the rest of the way to the mainland, but the journey over open water with a raging hurricane was too perilous. He couldn’t risk being caught or shot down. His cargo was too important. The Angele Dei would have returned from their training mission at sea by now. Squadrons of jets would be patrolling the air and sea.

He arrived at a thin metal fence. It was impossible to tell if it was electrified, but given the paranoid state of the Federation, it was a safe assumption. Arakiel dropped his shoulder and unloaded the heavy bag. From a pocket he drew a mini laser and cut a small hole into the fence. Cradling the bag he slipped through, making sure the reactor didn’t bump the fence. The extent of the safety features on the device wasn’t entirely known and the electricity could easily overload its circuits, causing a complete meltdown.

He quickly moved across the open space, careful to avoid the spotlights as they swept across the ground. The downpour had slowed; he needed to move faster. It helped conceal his presence, without it he’d be easier to spot. Just beyond the first set of container vans, one of the guards was walking towards him. Security was tight, their sweeps were sure to cover every centimeter of the compound. Setting the bag down against the container, he pulled the front hatch open and sank back into the darkness.

The guard was getting closer. Arakiel reached down for his knife but only found the empty holster. An image of the priest flashed through his mind, the handle of his knife sticking out of his belly—blood pooling in his hands. The guard gave a startled cry as he nearly tripped over the bag. Before the man could make another sound, he emerged from the darkness, wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed. The figure squirmed for several brief moments before his body went limp.

Bending his knees he lowered the body to the ground. The uniform was still relatively clean and would make his movement through the yard easier. It was impossible to tell how close the guards were; if they knew everyone on patrol he’d be dead. Shaking his head he pushed the body further into the shadows. The guard had a small knife in his waist belt. Arakiel slipped it out, placing it into his own empty sheath. He slung the soldier’s assault rifle over his shoulder, pulled a sidearm out of his leg strap and dropped it into the black bag. He pressed the steel doors shut, hefted the bag over his shoulder, and continued moving to the second set of containers. The lights were far enough overhead that the stacks distorted the spotlights for several meters on either side of the containers. This allowed him plenty of room to maneuver unseen.

He sprinted across the final section of open space as he made it to the end of the containers. A massive crane lifted an entire stack off the ground, swung it out across the open water and then set it down on the front of the ship. The nearest spotlight swung overhead and he remained motionless until it passed. It was now or never. Arakiel ran to the next set of containers waiting to be moved. Jumping up to the base of the second set, he grabbed hold; it took every ounce of his energy to keep from falling. He clipped himself to the metal side of the container. It swung wide as the entire stack was lifted into the air.

Violent waves splashed around between the ship’s hull and the sea wall beneath him. Arakiel reached up to the clip, he waited until the stack swung over the deck of the ship and then he unhooked himself. It was a jarring drop to the steel surface below, but he tucked and rolled before he hit the ground. Popping back up, he hurried across the ship’s deck, ducking and weaving between the containers. None of the guards on the vessel were visible. They must have either been taking cover from the rain or staying inside altogether.

Making his way to the back of the ship, he searched in vain for any straggling soldier. If he wasn’t able to get the jump on them, their gunfire could send the entire place into chaos. Arakiel reached into one of his leg pockets and pulled out a small metallic robot. He pressed a few buttons on the device and flung it into the air. A set of small wings and a tiny prop emerged and it soared off into the night. The sound of the beating rain against the metal had obscured any sound it made.

The drone provided an aerial view of the ship along with infrared heat signatures for every person onboard. The three-dimensional image sprang to life on his wrist deck. Multiple red dots patrolled every level of the ship and nearly threedozen people were clustered together below. Smugglers, go figure. Who else would attempt an ocean crossing in this weather? He pressed himself against the back wall to keep out of sight.

The top of the ship was as big as several warehouses and it contained the engine rooms, navigation controls, bunks and operations centers. A metal door with curved corners stood firmly shut next to him. A simple encryption pad was on the wall to the right. He could normally hack one of these in his sleep, but it was surely connected to the ship’s security system and every time it was used, it alerted the security center.

Arakiel raised his wrist deck up to the control panel and typed several commands into his computer. It recognized the security system and hacked through the encryption with brute force, deleting any security provision or redundant alarm system it encountered along the way. After a few seconds, he was able to identify the backdoor protocol and used the hole to slip an encrypted password through that the computer viewed as authentic. The pad turned green and the door clicked open.

He stepped inside. It was poorly lit and damp with rain and moisture. It smelled like rust. He would need a quiet place to sit the journey out. It would probably be easy to barter passage with the smugglers, but it was paramount that his trip went untracked. There would be hundreds of soldiers on his path by morning. If he was discovered, he’d have to sink the ship before they reached land. With the storm raging outside, it wouldn’t be considered out of the ordinary.

Arakiel stared at the three-dimensional map on his wrist as he searched for an appropriate place to hide. Suddenly the red dots that represented the heat signatures of everyone on board flickered and disappeared. The drone had been lost, either to the sea or smashed amongst the bevy of containers. On the near wall wasan emergency exit map with a detailed overview of the ship. Something caught his eye: a small isolated room a hundred meters away. Stepping around the corner and making his way to the stairwell, he was caught off guard by the sounds of people approaching. He dropped back around the corner, and pressed himself into the shadows. Had they seen him? His listened for their foot pattern to change.

Arakiel slipped the small blade out of the holster and slowed his breathing, preparing for what would come next. They were speaking one of the regional mandarin dialects.

“…It’s not that, I just wish she understood I do want to be home more often. But it’s impossible to find work these days. I was lucky to get this job.”

“What does she want you to do instead?” the second man asked.

“She wants me to work in her mother’s steel mill. That way I’ll be around more, plus staying involved in the family business.”

“Well, that doesn’t seem too bad.”

“Yeah, except with all the lunar unrest, helium-3 exports have been dropping fast, becoming more erratic each day. If they can’t get their materials transported, how are they going to keep us employed? At least with this job it’s stable and these old diesel generators don’t have to rely on those lunar scoundrels.”

“What does she say to that?”

“She just goes back to the original argument that I’m missing the kid’s birthdays and holidays. But what she doesn’t realize is there won’t be any celebrations if I’m not out here working.”

“She’ll come around, they all will.”

Arakiel sank into the shadow as far as he could go. He raised the knife, and waited for them to walk around the corner. They weren’t trained guards. Two swift strikes to their cerebral cortexes and it would be over. He’d have to move fast to make sure the second one wasn’t able to make a sound.

The two men rounded the edge on cue. Just as he was getting ready to strike, they turned the opposite direction and headed down the other hall. He dared not flinch, and watched as they continued on, walking and talking, oblivious to his presence. The moment they were out of sight, he darted around the corner and sprinted down the hall. Sliding down a flight of stairs, he descended to the lowest level of the ship where he ducked inside the abandoned room and eased the door shut.

Arakiel let the bag and assault rifle slide off his shoulder and come to a rest on the floor. Once they started moving away from port he’d make contact. For the moment he needed to wait, be patient. He sat in the corner and for the first time in a long time, was able to rest. A sense of accomplishment and excitement flowed through him.

He’d done what was asked and gotten the reactor safely off the island, away from the Council. It was his time and he could be proud of what he’d accomplished. They’d made the right decision entrusting him with this task. The Council was losing their way, it was only a matter of time until another nation or group learned of the reactor. It had the power to upset the balance of power on Earth, and he would not let that happen.

The black bag sat motionless, resting on the floor. Neon light shone through the creases in the bag. The power that resided just beneath the surface was incomprehensible. The importance of the mission, reactor and by proximity himself, couldn’t be overstated. He wouldn’t let them down. Yet the lingering feeling that had started with the attack hadn’t subsided. When he’d been assigned this task he’d understood why it had to be done this way. But now that it was behind him, it just seemed like a lot.

Innocent people had been killed—some by his own hand. But if he didn’t succeed, many more would die. Dropping his head back against the wall he felt the dull vibrations of the idling engines. It had been a reflex when the priest had stepped in his way. He’d been told to limit the collateral damage. The man was only trying to reason with him, but the smug look of disappointment quickly turned to fear.

Now he was holding a knife, and it was firmly planted in the man’s abdomen. When did he pull it out of the sheath? He could easily have overpowered him, had that been necessary? He tucked his hands under his arms and quietly shook, attempting to warm his rain-soaked core. It was a plausible excuse to eliminate a witness, but he’d been covered in combat gear, so that wasn’t very realistic. The truth was probably less glorious and more human, instinctual.

As they headed out to sea, he pressed a button on his deck and then waited. A few moments later the room was illuminated by the bright green display of a holographic figure standing before him. The individual was hooded and clad in a blue and black robe.

The figure turned and surveyed the room. “Did you make it off the Island with the reactor?”

“Yes, sir. I was able to make a clean escape through the storm. I’m crossing the ocean hidden aboard a cargo vessel.”

“You know that wasn’t part of the plan. We’re on a very specific timeline.”