Condition Zero, page 5
part #6 of The Earth Saga Series
The policeman stepped towards the entrance of the market and looked inside, then stepped back in front of Shakil. “No groceries here, boy.”
Shakil raised his head, trying to find the man’s eyes, but they were hidden behind dark glasses. “I was told to come here and collect some supplies for my hotel.” He said it in an almost hushed tone.
The policeman reached forward with his free hand and grabbed Shakil’s name-tag and ripped it free from the shirt.
“Shakil Ouana.” He paused and looked down at the young boy. “Hotel Polana.” There was another pause. “Well, boy, looks like you might be in some trouble.” He smiled.
Shakil looked up at a mouth filled with chipped teeth and several gold fillings. He had seen a grin like that before. On his uncle, before he raised his hand to his aunt, and without a second thought, Shakil yanked back his right arm then sent it flying, fist first, into the policeman’s groin.
The man let out a scream of pain, doubling forward, and just as quickly, Shakil turned away from the building and started running as fast as he could. He knew the shortest route to the hotel, it was just under four kilometres away, and at best speed, he’d get there in just over a quarter of an hour.
Shakil ran as hard as he had ever run before. Every intersection he crossed on the line where he’d waste the least amount of time. Every stride was coupled with a pump of his thin arms. His head rocking from side to side as he dashed along the now empty streets of Maputo.
He passed police and soldiers along the way. He knew he’d be in trouble if the police got a hold of him. He wasn’t that much more confident if the army stopped him. His only safe haven was back at the hotel. He needed to be where people knew him.
When he passed the abandoned embassies of Denmark and Norway, he knew he was just one-hundred metres from the hotel. The last stretch towards safety.
In front of the hotel on Avenue Julius Neyrere was a checkpoint with a pair on Soviet-era T-55 tanks and two dozen soldiers. As he got closer to the checkpoint, he could hear a siren behind him from a police cruiser, and just as he reached the forty-metre mark, the police car raced past him to the checkpoint, screeching to a halt.
When the car stopped, Shakil slowed to a jog, his eyes transfixed on the police car, watching as the driver emerged, screaming at the troops in front of the hotel, and pointing wildly at Shakil. It was the same cop.
“You!” The cop yelled towards Shakil, who was now walking towards the entrance of the hotel along the sidewalk, as far from the street as possible. “You little bastard!”
Shakil was almost parallel with the police car when he decided now was the time, and he started sprinting again towards the checkpoint, waving at the guard closest to the hotels drive-way who recognised him. He quickly ran up to the front of the building, and then up the front steps and through the door before slowing to catch his breath.
“Shakil.”
It was Lieutenant Colonel Nyussi. He had been standing just inside the front doors with his bodyguards.
“What is wrong?”
Shakil was bent half-way over, breathing hard, trying to catch his breath. He righted himself and pointed towards the front doors.
Nyussi walked to the doors and peered outside.
“Antonio, Thomas, go see what’s going on.” He ordered. “Shakil.” The Lieutenant Colonel walked up to the fourteen-year-old and tapped him on the chin so that he could look into his eyes. “Have you been running?” Then he noticed the missing name-tag. “What has happened here?” He touched the front of his shirt.
Antonio and Thomas returned quickly.
“The officer said that he stopped Shakil, and then the boy attacked him.” Thomas said.
Nyussi looked at Antonio, then at Thomas. “That doesn’t sound right to me.” He looked down at Shakil. “Stay here.”
Two minutes later, Shakil heard a single gunshot.
That was life in Maputo under the military junta.
When Nyussi returned, he looked unhappy. Kneeling down, he got himself to eye-level with Shakil. “I won’t let that happen again.” He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The army will protect you.”
11 May
20-Traxis
Joe wasn’t great at relationship talks. He’d known Rhea for less than a year, but they had become closer than any relationship he had had before. He knew that his previous dating track record wasn’t exactly something to be proud of. Always travelling the planet, fighting in the name of freedom or some other crap concocted in DC by some senator from middle America hadn’t helped.
This time things were different. Joe wasn’t on Earth, and his duties now outstripped those that he had ever anticipated gaining during his army career. Here he was, on a space station, orbiting another planet, looking at a woman he was madly in love with, trying to protect her, while she was trying to share the same risks and responsibilities as he was.
It was evident from the expression on his face that he was nervous. Rhea had seen the look before, and it was always while they were together in some kind of danger, but this time, there was no immediate danger. They were safe on the 7th Fleets headquarters, but she knew that while Joe might have been good at being a soldier, he was lousy at being in a relationship. Miraculously, they had made it this far.
Of course, some things concerned her. She was over one-thousand light years from her home planet, which happened to be under siege, and time was running out to free it from its current masters before a peace treaty was signed that would possibly lock everything where it was for the foreseeable future.
Then there was the pregnancy she was worried about.
Mike Tattersall was sat back in the comfortable couch that had been reserved before he and Kol Fine had arrived at one of the several discos on the massive space station. The place was packed. It was military personnel only, civilian crews weren’t even allowed on the same level, but Mike and Kol Fine breezed into the loud venue, and straight to a table just off the dance floor where members of the fleet were blowing off steam.
“I haven’t been to a nightclub in years.” Mike said, sipping his drink.
Fine looked at him. “Nightclub?”
“Yeah.” Mike smiled. “A place like this.” He waved his arm toward the mass of figures.
“On Terra?”
Mike nodded. “Fabric.”
“Fabric? Like cloth?” Fine asked.
Mike shrugged and took another sip of his drink. “I guess so.”
Mike had gone out on the lash with new team members in the past, trying to bond with them. Never to a disco, mainly pubs and the occasional dinner. The rest of the Terran Strike Group were no more than one-hundred metres away, in another club, albeit one for junior ranks which was considered a little rowdier, according to Fine.
Finishing his drink, he set it down on the table and used the auto-order to summon another beverage. Mike looked at Fine. The old operator had a bit of a smile on his face. The last time he had seen the same expression was when he had informed the humans that Earth had been captured by the enemy. Perhaps he was just itching for a fight.
When his fresh drink arrived, Mike took it from the droid server and took a quick sip. Fine said it was a concoction from the planet below the station. Mike thought it tasted a bit like a single malt whisky, but he wasn’t sure. There was a serious bite when the liquid went down his throat, but after that, it was pure heaven.
“So.” Fine leaned in towards Mike. “I’ve read your file. You’ve seen action. Lost men.”
Mike locked eyes with the alien.
“In four days, we’re going to run an operation the likes your people have never dreamt of before.”
Mike swallowed.
“With the Five and the Seven, we’ll be able to extinguish any threat in the system, but it all boils down to the troopers on the ground taking down the barrier generator, then your teams making sure the target sites are taken offline, permanently. All we need is one of the four targets destroyed.” Fine took a sip out of his glass. “Dropping onto objectives from orbit isn’t easy. Men will die.”
“I know.” Mike replied.
“Good. Then we have nothing to fear.”
Mike let out a deep breath and took another sip of his drink. Four days was all that separated him and the fate of Earth. He needed to relax. Blow off some steam. Looking at the dance floor, he could see a myriad of species, all dressed in fleet uniforms dancing away. Back home, he might have been a short, balding, pasty Brit, but here he was exotic. He had got looks from many aliens since he had sat down with Fine. It didn’t hurt that he was sat next to a member of Dynamic Operations, but the fact that he was one of only a handful of humans in the Etelainen helped his stock.
The one problem he kept going over in his head when looking at the creatures that passed by, was determining which ones were actually female and if he could actually physically do anything. It had been a long time since he had spent time in the company of a female, alien or human.
After his fourth drink, he was ready to hit the dance floor. His Dutch courage was at peak levels, and he was ready to try out the current dance craze, which made no sense to him. It looked like some horrible variation of disco and the waltz, and Mike knew he was a lousy dancer back on Earth.
Fine, sensing the carnal nature of his colleague’s desires, handed him a data-pad from his trouser pocket.
“Here.”
Mike took the data-pad.
“Direct it towards someone. It will automatically show you if you are biologically compatible.”
Mike took the pad and smiled. “I’m not looking to have kids.”
Fine smiled. “My friend, you’d get killed trying to sleep with some of these girls.” He shook his head. “So, check the data that’s available, then proceed, with caution.”
Mike acknowledged the advice and turned on the pad.
“Let’s see how this goes.”
21-Ft Riley
“Abrams. M1A2 SEP V3.” Captain Shawn Williams ran his hand along the hull of the seventy-five-ton war-machine.
Star Guard Hulo was standing next to him, along with the eleven other tank commanders that were going to participate in the attack on the barrier generator. The tanks had just been painted in a camouflage scheme to match the local terrain and modified to carry infantry.
“Star Guard, we’ve added the modified hand-holds to all the tanks for your troops to hang on to, and.”
Hulo cut him off. “And spots for the Canadians?”
The young Captain opened his mouth to reply, but the commander of the 3rd Battalion, 66th Armoured Regiment answered for him.
“No chance, Star Guard.” Lieutenant Colonel Spencer interjected. “1st ID and Alliance forces only. No foreign troops.”
Hulo looked at the out of shape battalion commander, then looked to the company commander who was going to be leading the charge, then to the officer in command of the motor pool. “Hand holds for the Canadian infantry will be added.” He looked towards Spencer. “I will have words with General Wilkinson.” Hulo backed a few paces away from the tank, to look it over. His team, along with some of the Tohil scientists, had spent a considerable amount of time taking the deadliest tanks in the country and making them more dangerous. He just hoped it was enough when they went up against the Coalition forces.
Their plan was simple enough. Get as many rounds on the barrier generator shield as possible to weaken it, then push through and then destroy the forces securing the site and take out the generator. Once that was done, it was sit back and wait for the fleet to secure the system.
22-Fris
Steven woke up in the same clothes he had been wearing since he had been grabbed from Perth on the 18th of April. He stunk. The group of ten humans had been taken to a simple two-story building the day they had arrived and shown their new living quarters. They weren’t as bad as Steven expected, but what was going through his mind at the time was a jumbled mass of shock, surprise, awe and fear.
Half of the Australians on the landing pad had made a run for it when he had returned to update them on their fate. None of them made it more than twenty metres before they were brought down by stun shots. An example was made of the five that had tried to run. They were tied to a cross and repeatedly whipped until the flesh on their backs looked like chewed meat.
The other five, including Steven, would have also run, but shock had prevented their legs from moving. After the brutal demonstration, which was carried out by faceless droids, the ten were taken to their new accommodation and shown their sleeping quarters.
The building was clearly a barracks to house the slaves that worked the fields surrounding the central house, but since their arrival, the group hadn’t seen any of the other slaves. Anamei showed everyone the small dining area and the different critical sections of the barracks. It seemed like their living space, which comprised a large open bay with beds at one end and showers at the other was, specifically designed for the new occupants.
When the blinds at the two ends of the room went up in the morning, the sun that was rising in the distance flooded the room with light and warmth. Steven rolled over and looked at Nikki, who was on the bed next to him. She was naked, the clothes she had been wearing were in a pile on the floor. Looking at her back, he could barely see the large scars that had been left by the slave-droids whip the previous day. After the punishment, everyone had received medical care.
As more of the group started to stir, Steven looked over their faces, trying to remember who they were. They had had enough time on the slave ship to get to know each other. Closest bed to his was his girlfriend, Nikki Hopkins, MD. After that was Alice Ito, a Japanese financier that had been stuck in Perth since the Coalition attacks. Then there was Matt Purchase, a bank manager from Westpac Bank. Next was Sam Copperbottom, an exotic dancer who was getting her PhD in astronomy. Henry Humphries was a fireman, and Bindi Champion Bay, an Aboriginal, was a high school math teacher. Lola Smith was a hair stylist, and Charlotte Green was in PR. That just left Oliver Peters, a bin-man, to round out the group of ten.
Steven was the only ex-military member of the group, and other than Henry the fireman, the only person in excellent shape. That ruled out an uprising or escape. Getting up, Steven moved over to Nikki’s bed and put his hand on her shoulder. She was crying. He didn’t blame her. He had had a brief course on being captured by the enemy when he was in the army. Her medical training certainly hadn’t prepared her in the slightest for captivity.
The blinds had been open for ten minutes before a droid walked in with a blue coloured alien that was wearing the same style collar that Steven had been wearing the previous day. He could even see the needle stuck into the back of the alien's skull. After the shock from the group had died down, the droid finally spoke.
“This is 6175-12.”
The droid was speaking in English in an icy tone.
“He will show you.” The machine indicated to the alien then spun around and walked out of the room.
The alien was quick to move about the room, looking at each Aussie that he passed, then walking up to the windows and checking out the view for himself. While he went about his observations, no one moved. Everyone remained seated on their beds, while Steven kept one hand on Nikki’s shoulder while his eyes tracked the creature.
The alien was thin but didn’t look malnourished to Steven. He was wearing a simple white jumpsuit with some kind of lettering on the front and back. Steven suspected it was his designation. When he was finally done with his walk around, he went back to the door that he had entered, and finally spoke.
“Follow me.” His voice had an automated sound to it and was obviously coming from the device around his neck.
No one moved.
Steven looked around the room. Everyone was looking at the alien with a look of fear in their eyes.
“Follow me. You want to eat?” The alien asked.
That got Steven moving. He locked eyes on the alien, then looked over the room. Everyone had turned their eyes to him. Knowing he had nominated himself as leader of the group by what had transpired once they had arrived, he puffed up his chest and walked over to the alien.
“Steven Edwards.” He said in a loud, clear voice.
“Vara Vara.” The alien replied. “Now, we go to eat.”
The translation system was working faster than it had the other day.
Food sounded like a good thing at the present time, but he had questions.
“What is this place?”
Vara Vara looked at him with a confused expression. “Didn’t Anamei tell you?”
Steven nodded.
“Then why you ask?”
“Could you take a second and talk to us?”
Vara Vara looked past Steven at the nine other humans that were motionless and staring at him. After he looked over their faces, he looked back to Steven. “Two minutes.”
Steven nodded. “Thank you.” He turned and looked at his fellow humans, then back to Vara Vara. “Can you tell us what goes on here?”
The alien stepped forward. “This is a fruit plantation owned by the Basurvya family. We pick the fruit, they sell the fruit.”
“Can we leave?” Matt Purchase asked.
Vara Vara rocked his head from side to side. “Leave Fris? Never.” He took a step away from the door. “But there is the opportunity to improve your life.”
“How?” The stripper Sam Copperbottom asked.
“Do your job. Do it well. Impress Anamei, and you will see your position rise.”
“Who?” Blurted out Oliver Peters.
“The slave in charge of all slaves on the Basurvya estate.”
“So, he is the slave master?” Purchase asked.
Vara Vara shook his head. “He is a slave. Just like you, and just like me.” He scratched his neck where the device was rubbing. “He did his job, now he lives in comfort with his wife.”
“Fucking Quisling!” Alice Ito roared. “He’s a traitor!”
