Uprising (Gateway Series Book 3) Read online

  “Preventing these ships from turning their main batteries on our LZs will save thousands,” added Stone. “But we have to be fast. If they find out what we are doing, they can override their safety systems and prevent us from shutting down their reactors.”

  “And that’s why we are going to keep doing this until we can do it under eight minutes,” said Mori. “Muster your troops and we’ll run it again in 30 minutes.”

  Stone turned toward Mori as the company officers exited the mockup reactor control room. “Do you think it will actually work?”

  “If they go for the first wave of regular troops. If we make it through their ship self-defense systems. If we can actually breach…and if Rickover’s contraption works…I’d say 50/50.”

  “So better than normal,” said Stone with a smile.

  “A lot better,” laughed Mori.

  “Ka-itsenko Ino’ka,” interrupted a lieutenant as he entered the compartment, “please excuse the interruption, but I have been sent for Magakisca.”

  “I’m still training,” replied Stone.

  “Whoever it is will have to wait,” added Mori, slinging her rifle over her shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Ka-itsenko Ino’ka,” insisted the officer. “The Shirt-Wearers have requested a meeting with him.”

  Stone looked toward Mori. What do the Shirt-Wearers want with me? he thought. He could tell from the look on Mori’s face that she had no idea either.

  “Well, I guess we’d better go,” said Mori as she stepped toward the exit. “All company commanders—”

  “Major, uh…Ka-itsenko Ino’ka,” interrupted the officer again, “they asked for Magakisca alone.”

  “What?” asked Mori, her head tilted slightly and her brow furrowed.

  “I don’t know why, ma’am,” replied the officer. “I was just sent by Shirt-Wearer River to bring Magakisca alone.”

  “I see,” replied Mori.

  Stone could tell she was as confused as he was. “I—”

  “You should go,” said Mori. “It must be important.”

  “We’ll talk later,” said Stone.

  Mori nodded. “Yes.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” said Stone to the officer.

  Exiting the mockup, Stone’s eyes quickly adjusted to the brightness of the early afternoon starlight on Luta-tunkan. The fresh smell of evergreen trees and other flora filled his senses, reminding him of Sierra 7, or at least what it had been before the war charred its landscape. As he and the officer made their way to a nearby elevated platform, Stone wondered how many other worlds would suffer the same fate as Sierra 7 before this war was over.

  A military hover car awaited them at the platform. Looking to distract himself from his own thoughts, he spoke. “So what is the protocol?”

  “Protocol?” replied the officer. “I don’t understand.”

  Stone had become very comfortable with the Akota language, but maybe he had said it wrong. “Protocol…the process of interaction with the Shirt-Wearers.” He’d been with the Akota long enough to understand their concepts of military courtesy were completely different compared to the rigid Humani style he had known.

  “There’s no protocol, Magakisca. Just show proper respect toward an elder. Other than that, they’re Akota…like the rest of us.”

  “Thank you, cousin,” replied Stone.

  “My name is Sa-Hanhepi.”

  “Lieutenant Red Moon,” replied Stone, “what is your clan?” Stone was getting used to Akota small talk.

  “I’m from the Big River Clan, here on Luta-tunkan.”

  “This planet is beautiful,” said Stone.

  And it was beautiful. Despite their technological advancements, the Akota seemed to have made a deliberate effort to stay as close to nature as possible. It showed in the way the planet’s natural flora mixed with the architecture, including the elevated hoverways which left the surface to the plants, trees, and animals. Few areas were developed for wheeled vehicles, leaving mostly well-maintained pathways designed for minimal impact on the landscape.

  “We decided long ago that advancement at the cost of the environment wasn’t advancement,” replied Red Moon. “But it does have its downside.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Numbers,” replied Red Moon. “In order to support our natural growth, we have had to expand first to the other planets we now call our home planets, and then further into systems to create colonies. This process is slow and limits our natural growth, which in turn limits our military strength. We have even begun terraforming formerly uninhabitable worlds, at great expense, in order to enhance our carrying capacity while not overpopulating any one planet or colony.”

  “So that’s why the Dark Zone planets’ populations are so low.”

  “That, and years of decay,” replied Red Moon with a hint of resentment. “Populations in all of our systems were low, even your…uh…I mean the Hanmani…I mean Humani—”

  “Hanmani is fine,” interjected Stone. He had grown use to his home planet being called Hanmani, coming to realize it wasn’t the negative term he had once thought it was, but a term relating to the lost nature of his people.

  “The Hanmani population was no different before the Xen captured it.” The lieutenant paused, shaking his head. “Then generations later when they attacked us, their numbers were limitless. That one planet holds so many people.”

  Stone had never really thought about the numbers. His one planet, with its cramped megacities and strained resources, had faced dozens of Akota worlds.

  “They do have some land that is still left to nature,” replied Stone, “but that mostly belongs to the First Families or is utilized for agriculture or resource management,” he added, immediately realizing he had negated the point of his original statement.

  “Either way,” replied Red Moon, “there has always seemed to be so many of them. It’s almost like they were bred to fight us.”

  “They were,” answered Stone, the reality of Alpha Humana’s purpose weighing heavily on him.

  “If the Great Spirit wills it, maybe the rest of the Hanmani will someday be reunited with their long-lost cousins.”

  “Perhaps,” replied Stone, but he was lost in contemplation. The Humani had become so different from their ancestral relatives, the Akota. Maybe Emily Martin was right; they had become too different. Or maybe Mori was right and the reunification and assimilation of the Humani into Akota and greater Terillian culture was the right thing. But the right thing for whom? His head began to hurt.

  “We’re here, Magakisca,” said Red Moon as the craft came to a stop.

  The door slid open and Stone stepped onto the platform. Looking down, his heart skipped a beat as he saw the forest ground over 50 meters below. Catching his breath, he looked back toward a large set of wooden doors on the opposite end of the platform. The doors, dark and bold, had a massive circular engraving around the center of the entrance, creating half circles in each of the two doors. Each half circle was divided into a quarter. In each of the quarters was written one of the four primary Akota traits: wisdom, generosity, bravery, and endurance.

  “They’ll be waiting in the center room,” said Red Moon. “You must go alone from here.”

  “Thank you, cousin,” said Stone, his heart pounding with anticipation.

  Entering the building, he saw a series of cedar platforms running the circumference of the cone-shaped structure. Across from each platform was a series of walkways leading to a central cylindrical structure rising up from the center of the conical superstructure. Looking over the railings, he could see the area between the superstructure and the center building was open so that people could look down toward the myriad of plants and small trees on the ground floor. He looked back toward the center of building. Across from him stood another Terillian officer.

  “If you will follow me, Magakisca,” said the officer, “the Shirt-Wearers are ready for you.”

  “Lead the way,” replied Stone.

  Ston
e and the officer made their way to an elevator platform and began the descent to the ground level.

  When the elevator reached the ground floor, Stone was looking directly toward the center structure, a tanned animal skin acting as the door.

  “This is it,” said the officer.

  He exhaled forcefully and walked to the entrance. Another deep breath, and he slid the cover to one side and stepped inside.

  At the middle of the room was a modest circular table. The center of the table held a small fire, representing the symbolic importance of the council fire. Around the table sat four middle-aged men: the Shirt-Wearer and Senior Fleet Admiral, River, Shirt-Wearer and Marshal, Wolf and the two remaining Shirt-Wearers, Shadow and Falling-sky.

  “Magakisca, please join us,” said Shirt-Wearer River, motioning for Stone to join them at the table. “I’m sure you are wondering why you have been called here.”

  “Yes, sir…uh, uncle,” replied Stone as he sat.

  “I’m assuming you’re aware of the problems on Tecela Waniyetu,” said River, using the Akota name for Kilo 7.

  “Yes,” replied Stone. “The Followers of the Word are attempting to take control of the planet. A few weeks ago, a suicide attack killed several members of the planet’s ruling council and an Akota ambassador.”

  “And as a result,” added Shirt-Wearer Wolf, “General Nero and one of his brigades were dispatched to provide temporary assistance to the local defense forces.”

  “I’d heard an Akota brigade had been deployed but didn’t know it was Nero,” replied Stone.

  “These damn Followers are making a mess of everything,” interjected Shirt-Wearer Falling-sky. “Ever since that lunatic killed himself, they’ve spread like a virus across the Dark Zone…taking up so many resources.”

  “At least the Humani have to deal with them, too,” said Stone.

  “Perhaps,” replied River. “What do you think of the situation, Magakisca?”

  “The Saint preyed on the desperation of those in the Echo System, and his martyrdom has allowed his promise of a better afterlife to spread across Dark Zone. But there’s no easy solution,” answered Stone. “Although their religion, if you can call it that, doesn’t promise them anything tangible, so many are willing to follow the ideology because of the desperate living conditions on most Dark Zone worlds. Its fundamental tenants resonate with the hungry, powerless, and oppressed in the Zone. They think their reality is hopeless, so they are willing to die for a chance at a better afterlife.”

  “Interesting,” replied Shirt-Wearer Shadow.

  “But what would you do?” asked Shirt-Wearer River.

  “Saying it can be solved sets us up for failure,” answered Stone. “But there is a chance to mitigate the damage and hopefully, in time, manage it.” He looked at each Shirt-Wearer before he continued. “The cats are out of the bag,” he added. “And there is no way to catch them all without getting scratched.”

  “So we do nothing?” inquired River.

  “No. We do what we can, but we must understand there is no 100% answer. If that’s what you’re looking for, you should be prepared for disappointment.”

  “So, Magakisca,” asked Shirt-Wearer River, “what is the 90% solution?”

  “As soon as you put a percentage on it, we’re in trouble. We need to balance a strong physical presence, and force when necessary, with an attempt to show the people of these worlds the life they are currently living can be improved. Show them that death isn’t the only path to a better life.”

  “But their numbers grow so quickly,” interjected Shirt-Wearer Wolf.

  “We can’t just lock down these planets like a prison. First, we don’t have the resources, and second, it will only drive more into their fold. I’m sure the Humani are doing this….that’s how High Command thinks. So by coming at it differently, we not only drive fewer away with a less oppressive response when possible, but we also represent ourselves as a more tolerant alternative to the Humani.”

  The room grew silent as the four Shirt-Wearers looked at one another. After a few seconds, Shirt-Wearer River nodded and turned toward Stone. “Magakisca,” he said, breaking the silence, “General Nero is dead.”

  “Dead,” replied Stone. “How?”

  “Suicide bomber,” answered Shirt-Wearer Wolf.

  “He was inspecting the site of a recent attack on the inhabitants who supported us and one of the followers was disguised as medic. He detonated a bomb hidden in his gear when Nero and his staff were close enough.”

  “How many of his staff survived?”

  “Just his cousin, Major Vaqa Nero. But he was severely injured.”

  “That’s why we want you to take command,” added Shirt-Wearer River. “You are the highest ranking and most experienced Humani soldier.”

  “And as the majority of Nero’s division consists of defectors from Alpha Humana and those he drew support from in the Juliet system…”

  “You want a Humani to lead,” interjected Stone.

  “We want you to lead,” replied Shirt-Wearer Shadow.

  A jumbled rush of emotions washed over him. He felt honored to be offered a command by the leaders of the Akota people, but at the same time, their choice only highlighted that, despite his efforts to assimilate, he was still Humani in their minds.

  And then there was the assignment. He’d always looked forward to a challenge, but counter-insurgency was a losing game; push too hard and you make enemies out of potential allies, but look soft, and you become easy targets and don’t protect those counting on you, which then turns them against you.

  “Is this a request or an order?” asked Stone. The Akota military was very different from the Humani.

  “Of course it is a request,” replied Shirt-Wearer River. “But we must know your choice soon.”

  “How long—”

  “Tomorrow,” interrupted Shirt-Wearer Wolf.

  “And if I decline?”

  “You will stay with Ka-itsenko Ino’ka and her battalion as they plan the attack.”

  “But you know where you will be of greatest value when the assault on Alpha Humana takes place. You can be an aid in an attack on Humani ships in orbit…or lead the main force in an attempt to gain control of the Humani government,” added Shirt-Wearer River. “We just need you to deal with this problem on Kilo 7 first.”

  Of course he knew the right answer, but he didn’t know if it was his answer to give. Mori had tied his future into hers. What would this mean to her…to them? Then he flashed back to Emily Martin’s words to him on Hydra.

  Don’t let these people change you. Even if they think it’s for the best, they—she—wants you to become something you’re not in order to meet their own agenda. That is not what our people need…I believe in you and will die for you because of the man you are, not because of something I want you to become.

  And our people, the Humani, will do the same. For you.

  “We will eagerly await your decision,” said Shirt-Wearer Falling-sky to break the silence.

  “I’ll do it,” replied Stone, almost blurting it as a response to Martin, even though she was systems away.

  Chapter 3

  “Why have you come to my ship?” asked Admiral Carsis Plaxis.

  The silver-haired but still clearly fit Admiral sat confidently at his desk onboard the battlecruiser Seria Vatri. Plaxis had a reputation as an excellent officer, and although he never cared for politics, he was as well-known for his loyalty to the Senate and ProConsuls as he was for his tactical skill.

  “I am assembling a team to pursue the Traitor once I’m recovered and would like to interview some of your men,” replied Martin.

  “Well,” said Plaxis with a sigh, “I am assuming since you are here in person, your request carries the weight of the ProConsul.”

  “Not that that matters, but yes.”

  “I see.” Plaxis looked down at his desk and exhaled. “Very well then, Paladin Martin,” he continued. “Who do you want to see?”<
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  “I would rather discuss the list in private, Admiral,” said Martin with a glance to Plaxis’s Chief of Staff, Commodore Chera.

  “That is an unusual request,” mused Chera.

  “Perhaps,” retorted Martin. “But it isn’t a request,” she added with a confident smile.

  “But—”

  “Please excuse us,” said Plaxis to Chera.

  Martin could see Chera fume. But he wouldn’t challenge Admiral Plaxis, or her. “Aye, Admiral,” conceded Chera as he cast a cold gaze toward Martin. “I’ll be available if you need me.”

  “He won’t,” replied Martin.

  As Commodore Chera exited Plaxis’s in-port cabin, Martin stepped closer to the admiral’s desk.

  “Here is a list of potentials.”

  Plaxis leaned forward from his chair and picked up the note.

  Martin subconsciously placed her good hand on the grip of her pistol. If Plaxis wasn’t the man Nero said he was, it would all be over. She felt her heart pounding in her chest as Plaxis read the note:

  I KNOW THE TRUTH ABOUT THE XEN AND THE FIRST FAMILIES. NERO

  SAYS YOU CAN BE TRUSTED. NEED A SECURE PLACE TO TALK.

  Plaxis’s glance shot up toward Martin. His eyes were wide but he made no quick movements. Martin gripped her pistol in its holster as the two stared at each other. Slowly, Plaxis rose from his desk, gripping the slip of paper.

  “This,” said Plaxis as he held the note toward Martin, “is quite the list. What do you plan to accomplish with this?”

  Martin leaned forward, placing her hands on the admiral’s desk. “Put an end to those that have proven themselves enemies of the Humani people,” she said slowly.

  Plaxis stood silent. Martin knew Plaxis was also taking a chance by trusting her. From his perspective, it could be a trap to test his loyalty.

  “You can speak freely here. This room is out of earshot of the ProConsul.”