Текст книги "Deny Thy Father"

Автор книги: Jeff Mariotte

Соавторы: Jeff Mariotte
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Her unit was all Cyrians, except for her. That was fine, they’d blend in better with the crowds around the parade. Security was always tight around public events, especially when multiple council members were present, but unless there had been leaks, it wouldn’t be any tighter today than usual. Which meant there would be openings, and more would become available once things started to happen.

“I brought the reels,” one of them said. Her nom de guerrewas Alstatis, the name of an ancient Hazimotian hero whose exploits had entered the realm of myth. She opened a bag and showed off seven reels of extremely fine metal wire.

“That’s excellent,” Michelle said. From several blocks away they could already hear cheers and jubilation, either from the parade itself or one of the “spontaneous” demonstrations of support for the council. She didn’t really care which it was—both would serve their interests, which involved getting the largest audience possible for their action. “Everybody take one.”

The Cyrians, evenly split between males and females, obeyed her instruction without question. None of them knew who she was but they knew she was the leader here, a member of the cadre that had planned the action, and who would be in charge once the revolution began in earnest. They didn’t mind that; they knew they were the ground troops, the ones who would execute the committee’s plans, and that was fine with them. Michelle noted some shaking hands and dry swallowing as they divvied up the wire reels.

“We’re all nervous,” she told them. “It’s not just you guys, but everyone who’s participating today. After this, everything changes. There will be no backing down, no fading back into the shadows. After today, we overthrow the council or we die trying. So if any of you want to change your mind and give up, now’s the time to do it. Your last chance.”

They watched her as she spoke, their faces rapt or frightened or both. A couple of them said, “I’m staying in,” and one, who Michelle knew only as Cividon, said, “It’s about time.” No one chose to withdraw, for which Michelle was glad.

“Let’s get into place, then,” she suggested. The others agreed and they moved out, toward the parade route.

The parade was slated to run for twenty blocks, or about two kilometers, with a couple of right angles along the way and then a last sweep up the wide, gently curving arc of Epindeis Way, named for one of Cyre’s most famous military victories over its longtime foe Taleraa. Michelle’s group went to the last right turn before the final march up Epindeis, arriving just as the parade passed that point. They saw soldiers marching in full uniform, with helmets on and weapons in hand, and among the soldiers various armored ground vehicles. Behind the soldiers were bands playing uniquely Hazimotian instruments—since arriving here and deciding to stay, Michelle had tried and tried but had never quite been able to comprehend what the Hazimotians considered musical, and the racket they made just seemed like an assault on the ears. Various minor officials brought up the very rear. At the end, far up on Epindeis Way, there was a reviewing stand from which the council members and other luminaries watched the proceedings, and where the induction ceremony would take place as soon as the parade ended.

Now the parade, nearly eight blocks long in total, was entirely on Epindeis Way, which meant it was almost time for the fun to start. Police lined the parade route but after the marchers passed, their attention waned and spectators were allowed to cross the street. Nothing to do now but wait. Michelle felt her own knees shaking with anxiety now, as the moment to act grew ever nearer.

The minutes dragged by.

Finally, there was a commotion at the end. She could barely see what was happening, but they’d been over it often enough in the committee that she knew it anyway. One unit of counter-marchers had suddenly confronted the parade’s head with signs bearing slogans like “The Council’s Corrupt” and “Feed Your Children, Not Council Greed,” and chanting. Another unit had activated smoke devices and hurled them under the reviewing stand—even now, Michelle could begin to see gray and yellow plumes swirling up from the crowd. Yet another on that end exploded noise-making devices—not bombs that would do any damage, but that would leave people’s ears ringing for a good long time. Finally, the last group, already shackled together, would chain themselves to the reviewing stand so that the induction ceremony couldn’t begin until the police had, very publicly, arrested them and hauled them away.

Michelle and her unit were responsible for the finishing touch. As soon as she knew that things had started on the far end of Epindeis, she ordered her troops into action. Three of them squatted on the ground at the parade route’s edge, a wire reel in each hand. The other three grabbed the ends of the wires and ran across the street, trailing wire behind them. Once they’d reached the other end of the street, they also squatted, so six threadlike, nearly invisible wires were strung across the parade route at about knee height. As expected, when the commotion began near the reviewing stand, the minor officials and bands and many of the police officers and soldiers on this end tried to turn and run the other way, distancing themselves from the trouble. But the first ones who ran—the politicians, mostly—found themselves tripped up on the wire. Michelle laughed out loud at seeing so many hated politicos going ass over teakettle onto Epindeis Way.

And the more who came this way, backtracking or retreating from the fireworks at the far end, the greater the pileup. The musicians, carrying their bizarre instruments, tripped over downed politicians. Soldiers and police officers fell over both, trying not to shoot themselves or anyone else as they did so. By this point, Michelle’s teammates had released the wires, which spun silently back into their reels, their work done. No one would know why so many had fallen, now, but they’d look like a bunch of buffoons to the spectators. Buffoons and cowards, for running in the first place.

The council had been publicly embarrassed, and the world would now know that there was an organized opposition. Things would turn ugly now, and blood would spill, but that would be the council’s doing, not theirs. They had begun with a comedy, and the government’s response to it would launch the tragedy.

From such a small seed, a revolution would grow.

Chapter 24

Kyle had never seen Michelle quite so jubilant. It looked good on her; but then, there wasn’t much that didn’t. Maybe the gloom that descended on her like lowering storm clouds sometimes, when-she came face-to-face with those parts of her past that were too painful to recall, the things she had come to Hazimot to run away from. But those moods were rare. She had not, Kyle decided, let tragedy destroy her. She used it, even now, to spur her on to action, as she had done today. He’d watched the whole thing in a neighborhood tavern just outside The End, where the interruption of the parade had at first drawn horrified gasps but then acceptance and finally raucous laughter as the city’s minor, unloved officials fell all over each other trying to run away.

He had gone home after that, arriving just a few minutes before Michelle burst in wearing a smile that involved her entire body, from the spring of her step to the way she shook her head, whipping her hair out to the sides. “It was fabulous!” she gushed. “Did you see, Joe?” Even in private, she still called him Joe, to make sure she didn’t slip up with others around.

“I saw,” he assured her. He held out his arms and she rushed into them, laughing. “You were great. All of you.”

“We were, weren’t we?” A momentary glimmer of dread passed over her face. “Some got arrested, though.”

“They were supposed to,” Kyle reminded her. That had been discussed, in great depth, at some of the meetings. Arrests were certain at this early stage. It was when the government stopped arresting and started killing that things would get really difficult.

“No, I mean of the ones who weren’t supposed to. At least, one was, from my group. Maybe others I don’t know about.”

“We knew that could happen.”

“Yes, we did, didn’t we?” The smile was back. She was so charged up, holding her was like hanging on to a live wire. “I am sorry they were caught, but even so ... even so, it was a huge success, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?”

“I believe it was,” he told her. “You did what you set out to do. It doesn’t get much better than that.”

“One thing could make it better,” she said, holding his gaze with her clear eyes.

He didn’t know what she meant, and said so.

“This,” she whispered, and kissed his chin, then his cheek, then his lips. At the same time, she began to move her hands all over his body. “I feel so ... so ready. So hungry,” she said.

Now that he thought about it, so did he.

Much later, they went back into the streets. There was a notable difference now that Kyle could feel with all of his senses. It might pass again, he knew, but for the moment people seemed excited, optimistic. They greeted one another as they passed, exchanging grins that seemed fraught with the promise of better things to come. They passed clusters of people standing together, talking about the morning’s events, discussing what they might mean in the short and long term. Michelle and Kyle strolled, hand in hand, not engaging anyone in dialogue but simply soaking up the atmosphere. The mood was celebratory and it fed into Michelle’s already elevated state.

After they had walked for a while Michelle leaned into his arm. “This might be real,” she said. “It really, truly might.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Yeah, but ... it’s always seemed like kind of a pipe dream, you know? Like something we wanted to happen but not necessarily something that would. Or something that I could help bring about. But now, it seems like it’s all those things.”

“You definitely helped bring it about,” he assured her, happily inhaling her scent.

“I know. It feels funny.” She laughed, then released him and did a pirouette in the street. “I’m a star.”

“A star of the revolution,” Kyle agreed. “George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and you.”

“Wrong revolution,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him. “But right idea.” The smile vanished from her face again. “What if it’s a bad idea?”

“What, revolution?” Kyle asked. He had struggled with the concept many times himself. Maybe armed conflict wasn’t the way to change social conditions here.

“What if history is effectively over?” she wondered. “I mean, maybe the time for revolution was hundreds and hundreds of years ago. The universe is a different place now. What impact might an upheaval on Hazimot have on inter-galactic trading partners, on the Federation?”

“Well, Hazimot’s never going to be accepted into the Federation without some serious changes,” Kyle pointed out. “As for the timing—I think each planet has to move forward on its own timetable, regardless of what’s going on elsewhere. Obviously conditions in Cyre are egregious, and the rest of the planet’s not much better, if at all. If it’s time for revolution here, then it’s time. You can’t worry about how people who’ve never set foot on the planet are going to feel about it.”

“Good answer.” Michelle beamed at him. “That’s why I love you, Joe,” she said. “You’re always thinking.”

“It’s what I do best.”

“Second best,” she corrected, leaning in for a kiss.

She broke the kiss when they both felt the ground shudder, and not in the good way. They froze in place and listened. A low rumbling sound infiltrated their consciousness now, growing nearer. “What is it?” Kyle asked.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t like it,” she replied. “It sounds like ... like trouble. At the least.”

The mood of the neighborhood changed as the sound increased. Over the rumble they could hear a voice now, broadcast through some kind of loudspeaker, repeating the same brief message over and over. People came running past them, fear glinting in their eyes. Kyle grabbed one by the shoulders, stopping him from his mad dash. “What is it?” Kyle demanded. “What’s going on?”

“Troops,” the Cyrian said, his eyes wide with fright. “Lots of them.” He broke away from Kyle’s grasp and kept running.

“No ...” Michelle’s lower lip began to tremble. “They can’t ... it’s too soon.”

“They can,” Kyle countered. “It’s not what I would do because it’ll increase public resentment against them. But if they can put an end to the revolution immediately, before it gets off the ground, then they might not care what the populace thinks.”

“But we’re not ready,” Michelle said. “Nobody is.”

“That’s precisely the point of it,” Kyle told her. “To make sure nobody gets ready.”

The closer the troops came, the louder the sound of their machines of war. The ground was literally shaking now, buildings vibrating. A bit of stone fell off one nearby and exploded into dust on the ground.

“What are we going to do?” Michelle asked. “We need to find the others.”

“No,” Kyle said. “Not just now. Not with those soldiers nearby. The last thing you want to do is to congregate in one place. Then they can simply take out the leadership all at once.”

“You’re right,” Michelle said. “Let’s just go home and wait it out.”

With no better plan coming to him, Kyle agreed to that, and they started back toward the building in which they both lived. As they reached their street, though, the first troops were coming into view, around a bend. They wore full battle armor, black and gray with gold trim, and carried rifles. Locals stood on the streets and watched them march. Behind them, the vehicles hove into sight, massive troop carriers and battle tanks. Unlike most Hazimotian vehicles these didn’t float a short distance off the ground but rolled forward on gigantic wheels that tore up the old streets of The End as they came.

And now Kyle could make out the words coming over the loudspeakers. “Remain in your homes,” the voice instructed. “Do not attempt to hinder our advance in any way. Stay inside and out of our way. We are looking for a few troublemakers. If you deliver them to us, then the rest of you will not be harmed. These are the individuals we want.”

Kyle felt his veins go cold at the announcement, but he and Michelle remained on the side of the road, arms around one another.

“Kiana ser Totkis,” the voice went on. “Gisser Struitt. Melifin Pate Brionn.”

“Those are all the fake names,” Michelle said, breathing a sigh of relief. She smiled nervously. “They don’t really know who they’re looking for.”

The soldiers were closer now, the first rank of them almost even with Michelle and Kyle. They let their gazes wander across the buildings, carefully looking at everyone on the sidewalks. They looked young and nervous. From what Kyle had seen, this was the same kind of force that Cyre would have sent into battle against its enemy neighbors.

Suddenly Michelle tensed in Kyle’s arms. “Except ... oh, no.”

“Cass wis Tinerare,” the loudspeaker voice continued. “Kyle Riker. Senager Millish.”

“I guess I should have had a nom de guerretoo,” Kyle observed.

“For now, we want those individuals only,” the voice said, almost too loud to make out now as the vehicles came closer. “And if they are not delivered to us within the hour we will start knocking down The End, building to building, until the whole area is flattened.”

A rush of conflicting emotions coursed through Kyle. The End was, literally, the end of the line for most of its residents, the place they lived only because there was no place else that would have them. For him, it had been a hiding place, somewhere he could find the anonymity he sought. But it had become more than that—in so many ways, it had become the first real home he’d had in a long time.

But the soldiers had his name, his real name. And if he kept quiet, those who had taken him in would be displaced, or killed.

The worst that could happen, he figured, was that he’d be arrested. When he was able to prove that he had spent the day watching the parade at a tavern, he would likely be released. Possibly, because his name had come into it, Starfleet would hear and he’d be released into their custody. But he’d spent long enough evading them anyway—it was, he had been starting to think, time he straightened that mess out once and for all.

Michelle stood fast beside him, holding tightly to his arm. The troops continued their slow, inexorable march down the street, their vehicles shredding the pavement as they went. The loudspeaker voice started up again. Kyle glanced at Michelle and freed his arm from her grasp. At the questioning look in her eyes, he turned away and stepped into the street.

Immediately, a dozen rifles were pointed at him, and the march halted.

“I’m Kyle Riker,” he said.

The soldiers held their weapons on him but didn’t speak. One of the troop carriers opened up, though, and an officer emerged, followed by the head of a Cyrian male Kyle had never seen. The Cyrian looked at Kyle, then at the officer, and waggled his hand. No, that meant.

The officer scowled at Kyle. “Stop this foolishness,” he said. “Proceed!”

“But I amKyle Riker,” Kyle insisted.

“No,” Michelle said, pushing past him before he could stop her. “No, he’s lying. Iam Kyle Riker.”

The officer looked back toward the head sticking up from the troop carrier’s bowels like a turtle’s. The Cyrian wobbled his hand back and forth in affirmation.

“Cividon, you bastard,” Kyle heard Michelle mutter under her breath. He knew that Cividon must have been part of Michelle’s unit, the one who had been arrested after the parade. Cividon had turned on his movement’s leaders easily, Kyle realized. He knew only the false names, but Michelle’s false name had been real enough to cause this trouble.

She couldn’t have known that any of this would happen, or that a single other soul on the planet knew Kyle’s name wasn’t Joe Brady. If he had just kept quiet, there would have been no trouble.

If he’d kept quiet, though, The End would have been razed, its residents slaughtered.

He couldn’t have kept quiet then. Michelle wouldn’t have either. There really had been no other choice.

The weapons trained on Kyle shifted, aiming at Michelle. Kyle felt himself trembling. Michelle had been there, and visible, at the parade. Cividon had fingered her. She was in serious trouble, and he couldn’t figure out how to get her out of it. Even if he started something, there were too many soldiers, too many weapons, to fight.

“Michelle ...” he started.

“Don’t, Joe,” she said urgently. “Old Earth expression. I’ve made my bed.”

“But ...”

The officer pushed Cividon back into the troop carrier and climbed in himself. When only his own head remained outside, he barked an instruction to the troops. “Kill her!”

The soldiers didn’t hesitate. A dozen energy beams blasted at Michelle, all at once. One moment she had been standing there, and the next she had dissolved into a fine spray which coated Kyle. Watching open-mouthed, he tasted her on his tongue and knew that she was on his skin and clothes and hair, in his eyes and nose. What was left of Michelle he and the street and the wall behind them had absorbed.

Blinded by fury and the Michelle-mist, Kyle threw himself toward the soldiers. He didn’t have a chance against them, with their armor and weapons, and he knew it, but he didn’t care. He battered them with fists and feet, tears streaming down his face as he took their blows in return. Finally, one brought the stock of a weapon down against his head and he staggered back a few steps, the world spinning crazily away from him, and he fell down in the street, unconscious.

Chapter 25

This is no fun at all!Will thought.

It had started out looking as if it might be. The flying exercises were, as Will had expected, mundane, even boring. He knew his stuff by now, and so did the rest of the cadets selected for this journey. It was almost a punishment rather than a reward, particularly since he knew he was missing the chance to listen to Spock.

But Paul Rice, maybe looking to add some spice to the trip, had challenged Will to a friendly race. He’d done it in front of their friends, and he’d pressed it even when Will had tried to laugh it off.

“I thought you were a flyer, Riker,” he’d said. “I thought maybe you had some nerve. But I guess your by-the-book attitude has killed that, huh? Stolen your courage along with your skills?”

“I can outfly you anytime,” Will said, though he knew it wasn’t true. Paul was still one of the best natural pilots he’d ever encountered. “I don’t need to break the rules to know that.”

“Funny,” Paul said, gesturing toward the other cadets who had gathered in a circle, watching them. “They don’t know that. I don’t know that. Seems like maybe you’re the only one who thinks so.”

“If you think that matters to me in the least, Paul, you’re sadly mistaken.”

“My only mistake was thinking you had any guts at all,” Paul shot back. “Remind me not to accept a posting on any starship that’s got you on it. I want brave officers on my team, not cowards.”

Will knew that Paul didn’t mean it. Despite appearances, they were still good friends. Paul was just trying to wheedle him, to push him into playing along with his stunt. The problem was, even though Will knew that, it was working anyway. And when some of the other cadets started piling onto Paul’s side, he knew it was hopeless.

“Yeah, Riker,” Donaldson jeered. “What are you afraid of?”

“Okay, okay,” Will relented. “If it means that much to you, I’ll do it.”

This drew a round of approval from the gathered cadets, and Will felt his stomach sink even as he agreed to it. What Paul wanted was a race, one against one– mano a mano,as he put it. But they had completed their flights for the day, and they didn’t have personal ships to race in. Which meant they would have to—Paul had used the term “borrow”—two shuttles from the Academy Flight Range orbiting Saturn. There would be some security, of course, but that was mostly geared toward keeping outsiders from coming in, not wayward cadets from leaving. Liberating the two shuttles could be done. Flying them would raise an alarm, though, and returning unnoticed would be impossible.

The trip would be relatively short, just around Phoebe, one of Saturn’s many moons, and back. Once Will had agreed to it they had suited up, made sure the two Type-6 shuttles were prepped, and with some other cadets distracting the shuttlebay crew, they’d made their getaway. Will recognized the stupidity of his action—he had come here instead of letting Trinidad take his place because he didn’t want to break a comparatively minor rule, and now here he was smashing a huge one. But he’d still thought they would be able to get away with it, and if they flew well, they might even get away with just a minor talking to instead of a real punishment.

But that had been before things started to go wrong. Now he knew that he’d be lucky to avoid expulsion. If he even lived long enough to be expelled.

Will had been first out of the bay, but not by much. He thought he was coaxing every available ounce of speed from the shuttle, but somehow Paul found more and pulled ahead. Will had stayed close behind, though, as they neared Phoebe. Circling the moon and whipping back would require the most careful flying—she was large enough to have a faint gravitational pull, and the trick was to get in close enough to make a narrow turn without getting so close it bogged you down. Paul was, Will thought, going in closer than was necessary or wise. He’d been tempted to follow suit, but then had noticed his instrument panels reacting violently and had pulled back.

This is trouble,Will thought. Unless he misread his instruments, Paul was caught in an ion storm near the moon’s surface. That was when Will decided that he was not, in fact, having any fun at all. He tapped his combadge. “Paul! Are you all right?”

What he heard back was static, and then Paul’s voice, fragmented and breaking up. “... trouble... storm is making... can’t pull... ”

Paul’s ship disappeared from his viewscreen then, though he could still follow its progress on his instrument panel. It seemed to be diving toward Phoebe’s surface. “Paul, get out of there!”

He heard only static in reply.

“Emergency, Starfleet Academy Flight Range,” Will called out, “this is shuttle—hell, I don’t know what shuttle I have. Do you read me?”

“We have you,”a voice answered. “Where’s the other one?”

“You need to make an emergency transport,” Will insisted. “He’s going down on Phoebe.”

“We can’t even see him, Cadet,”the voice reported. “We can’t get a lock. There seems to be some interference.”

“It’s an ion storm,” Will told the voice. “That’s why he’s lost control of his shuttle.”

“He lost control because he tried to fly a shuttle that was in for repairs into an ion storm,”the voice said. “We’ll send an emergency evac team out after him, but we can’t transport him off there with the storm going on.”

Damn it!Will thought. He’d known better than to let Paul egg him into this stupid game, and now it had all gone sour, as he’d somehow known it would. He made a quick decision and hoped it was the right one. “He’ll never live long enough on the surface for your team to get there,” Will said. “I’m going in to pick him up.”

“Negative, Cadet,”the voice instructed. “Don’t try that. Just wait for us.”

“Riker out,” Will said, and broke off communication. “Computer,” he said out loud, as much for his own benefit as for the computer’s, “we’re going in.”

“Inadvisable,”the computer argued. “Atmospheric conditions are too severe.”

“Nevertheless,” Will explained. “We’re doing it. Shields at full power.”

The computer is obviously smarter than I am,Will thought. It knew this was a fool’s errand. But it complied with his commands, and he started the pitched descent toward Phoebe’s icy surface. As the shuttle entered the ion storm, Will felt it buffeted about in spite of the presence of the shields, and he knew that without the shields he’d be a dead man for sure. Of course, it’s early yet,he thought.

But something happened as he piloted the small craft down, through the battering of the storm and the entry into Phoebe’s thin atmosphere. Where flying had been mechanical for Will, something at which he was skilled but which he had to think through, now, suddenly, he was doing it all almost unconsciously. His hands made the right moves across the control pad, manipulating the pitch and yaw of the ship as it dropped closer and closer to the surface, controlling the direction and speed, following the locator beacon that Paul had, at least, managed to deploy. He did it all smoothly and without hesitation, as if he’d been flying all his life, and even when he realized what he was doing he was able to keep doing it. Concern for Paul had taken the self-consciousness out of piloting the ship and the abilities that had become ingrained through hours and hours of practice and training had taken over.

Phoebe grew enormous in the viewscreen, its surface rugged and terrifying. Vast chasms of ice whipped past beneath him, and tall jagged cliffs. If he had to land on this moon, he realized, they’d both be waiting for the emergency team from the flight base, and the chances were that neither of them would survive. He would try to avoid landing, even though that left only one option, and it wasn’t much better. But as he neared the locator beacon he prepared himself to take it.

He tapped his combadge again. “Paul, can you hear me?”

There was no response. Maybe this was all moot, he knew. Still, he had to take the chance. “Paul, do you read me?” No answer.

That didn’t matter. He was closing fast and his best shot, maybe his only shot, was coming up. Leaving the ship’s control on autopilot for the moment, he turned to the transporter controls. Scanning for Paul, he was almost surprised when the transporter got a lock almost immediately. He was very near, then—otherwise the ion storm would have interfered. But he couldn’t transport Paul on board with the shields up, and lowering them during an ion storm, this close to the moon’s surface, was virtually suicidal.

It was also the only thing he could do. With Paul’s coordinates locked, he braced himself as best he could. “Shields down,” he said, following it with “Energize.”

As soon as the shields went down the shuttle was pounded by the storm, driving it into a downward spiral. Will fought for control, but the moon’s harsh surface spun sickeningly toward him. “Shields up,” he muttered, struggling to find voice with the g-force pulling at him. The deflector shields returned to full power, or as much as they had left to give after being bombarded by the storm, offering Will a modicum more control of the shuttle. But he was still dropping fast, spinning like a top.

So instead of trying to fight the spin, he decided to go with it. He turned into the spin, and pointed the nose down instead of attempting to pull up. For a moment, the surface was right there in front of him and he was certain he’d miscalculated. But in the next moment his maneuver paid off—he had turned completely away from the surface and was skimming above it upside down. His stomach lurched but he knew that he would live for at least a few more seconds. Now he pointed his nose down farther, except down was up. Once he was a safe distance off the surface he righted the shuttle. Getting out of Phoebe’s atmosphere and away from the storm was a relatively simple matter now. He blew out a sigh of relief, and then remembered why he had gone down there in the first place.

“That’s some nice flying,” Paul Rice said from behind him.

“Paul!”

“Now I suppose you’re going to expect me to slavishly devote my life to you or some such nonsense,” Paul said. He sat down in the chair next to Will’s, hardly looking the worse for his experience. “Well, you can forget about that.”

“I could beam you back down there,” Will warned with a smile.