Insurgents of Civilization

By Richard L. Sanders

Within the enormous megastructure of Civilization, The Lord Protector watches over the last remnants of human society. It is a paradise of structure, order, and peace. And while it's not entirely perfect--for instance, the nobility retains some of the barbarism of the ancient progenitors that came from Earth--it is a safe harbor for its millions of citizens, most of whom live peaceful and productive lives, cured of unnecessary vices like hunger, lust, and even family.

Eric XXII is a model citizen. He's lived his life just as he should, from incubation all the way into his early twenties. So it comes as a surprise for him when one day he is kidnapped by a secret underground society that reveals to him the truth about his existence and shows him he has potential far beyond what he'd ever imagined. And that he's something more than just human. There his world is turned upside down as he's thrust unwittingly into a secret, ongoing war between the overwhelming forces of Civilization and a tiny superhuman sect of true-believing insurgents.

To make matters worse, he discovers romantic feelings for the first time, falling for a remarkable young woman named Bria... who just so happens to already be dating the most fearsome insurgent of them all.

Insurgents of Civilization was the first novel written by author Richard L. Sanders (of The Phoenix Conspiracy acclaim) and it, along with its sequel, Insurgents of Wasteland, were written with the encouragement of Richard's cousin, Matthew V. Bills, when they were only sixteen and seventeen years old, respectively. Matt's creativity and feedback proved invaluable. Richard finished writing both books in 2004 and they've never been made available to the public. Until now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard L. Sanders
• Release date: May 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005025809

Richard L. Sanders

Richard is 34 years old (and holding) and is a Salt Lake City native where he currently lives with his beautiful fiancé Emily and their dogs: June, Bentley, and Mia. (The last of which is technically a cat.) Richard is an attorney admitted to all Utah state and federal courts, but he primarily works as an investigator for the Utah government. He began publishing in 2011 while a first-year law student, and was very prolific with nine publications including eight novels, within five years. In 2016 he took a hiatus from writing, in response to emergent and challenging life circumstances that lasted until 2019. Richard spent these years focused on family, personal growth, and pro bono legal causes. He is excited by his return to the publishing world with several titles planned for release in 2021, including The Gods Who Bleed and Legacy of the Phoenix. In his spare time, he's an avid swimmer, skier, and chess player. (Up for a game? 1. e4 ...)His official website is www.blackoceanbooks.com

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Insurgents of Civilization

Book One

Richard L. Sanders

(c) 2021 Black Ocean Books, LLC

(original copyright 2004)

2020 Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. It may not be re-sold for profit, however I (the author) don’t really care if you share it with others. In fact I encourage it.

Dear Reader,

This was the first book I ever wrote, and it’s the one that gave me the confidence to go on to write The Phoenix Conspiracy Series (which I’m primarily known for). This book is special to me for that reason, and it was finished (along with its sequel) when I was only seventeen!

Until now, I’ve never made it available for people to read. But this year I changed my mind. For all its rough edges and youthful naivety, it’s still one hell of an adventure. And I think you’ll find a lot to enjoy about it.

This whole story is told over two books. This is the first. The sequel, and finale, is also available from this same retailer.

Look for:

Insurgents of Wasteland.

Available from this same retailer.

As always, thank you for your support and you can learn more at

www.blackoceanbooks.com

To Matthew V. Bills,

Without your helpful feedback, brilliance, creative influence, and constant bugging me to write, write, write, I never would’ve finished this book—or probably any other. So thank you, Matt, for the inspiration you gave me, and the color you added to this beautiful dystopia we dreamed up while doing ranch chores in the dry Wyoming heat.

CHAPTER 1 – (Year Zero)

In what felt more mythical than real, the most anticipated day in human history finally arrived. And it came almost a thousand years to the day—by the old reckoning—since the UES Draconis and UES Odysseus had bade farewell to Old Earth and a solar system that no longer supported life. Those first pioneers, the original progenitors, were a meager whisper of what humanity had once been, and they plunged into the intrepid darkness with the kind of desperate courage that is only known by those whose very existence is in peril. And so they plunged, generation after generation, chasing distant stars and forlorn hopes.

But today was different.

Here was a habitable world, at long last. These passengers had never seen one, not for real. And as their ships descended into the murky white clouds and blue-brown soup, it was as if they beheld the very Garden of Eden itself.

Unknown to them, on the far side of that same world, other beings on other vessels were in a mad scramble to escape it. Some even succeeded. But for humanity that did not yet know what they would find there, there would be no option to flee back into space.

The inescapable choice lying ahead would be a simple one.

Adapt or die.

***

Q’atheem, a Seer, stood alone on the pearly white tower of Ziggurat Mountain. Breathing in the pleasant mists surrounding the peaks, he watched the majestic glass cities burn in the distance. Scorched, acrid soil, flashes of light, ambient rumbling, all evidence of war, and all stood out, while flames ran wildly along the terrain, swallowing up trees and homes as they went. From their dancing firelight rose smoke clouds that peered down from gargantuan billows as if mocking the far sight of the Seers by their very existence. Q’atheem’s troubled eyes traced them upward to where, instead of dazzling blue sky, a dark brown envelope blocked the stars.

It was too much; it was disgusting.

Behind him, he knew that Sciva approached. He was a Keeper, sophomoric and vain, possessing the curse and gift of youth’s lack of judgment coupled with the raw intelligence of an especially brilliant neophyte. And though Q’atheem could see the same greenness deep in the eyes of all who had only recently materialized into existence, Sciva was blind to himself and would not readily accept what Q’atheem had to say. Still, he knew he had to say it regardless.

You came; that was a dangerous thing to do, Q’atheem wordlessly told Sciva’s mind. A simple but powerfully focused thought placed carefully, like an echo inside the other’s head. Sciva’s cloaked frame hovered gently in the air, coming to rest at Q’atheem’s side. He wore all the same emblems of his kind, the gaunt, dark face, opal-like ebony eyes, and form-and-figure hidden deep under his ornamentally thick garb, and in his skeletal hand was the darkwood staff, boasting a radiant orange flame gem at its tip. Sciva held himself with

confidence and did not turn as he acknowledged Q’atheem.

The danger is yours, Sciva responded. His thought pattern seemed surprised and, if nothing else, taken aback by Q’atheem’s cool regard not to delay the inevitable. They’re coming for you, you know.

Yes, I know, Q’atheem said. He kept his temper mild and his thinking clear and natural; he was unafraid.

Tonight, Sciva said with emphasis.

Q’atheem gazed deeply into the fire-lit evening, letting his nostrils soak in the rare mountain mist untainted by ash, and he allowed for a long pause before he responded to Sciva. When he did, his mental voice was calm and unstrained.

It has been a very long plague, Q’atheem said, changing the subject.

Yes, Great One, it has been a long plague. But tonight is the final evening of the war. A dance of colors and energies lit up the horizon in the distance, the final extinguishing firefights of a century-stretched conflict. We have expelled the Aucustia from our world.

So it would seem.

More importantly, we yet remain, Sciva seemed to press into Q’atheem’s mind with urgency. This says very little for Seeric vision; your kind’s far sight has led us falsely. The other Keepers will not be forgiving, his mind’s intensity increased as he said the last few words.

Q’atheem was saddened. It was very difficult to know something, an inner and constant truth, and not express it. Words and thoughts both seemed to fail him, it seemed as did his fellows. I know it, Q’atheem said at last.

The lights in the distance flickered and dimmed slightly.

The ambient rumble of war also seemed to be withdrawing. It won’t be long now, Sciva said.

The words were icy and chilling, a dark, miserable foreboding as Q’atheem knew what was coming, what was going to happen, but he held to his resolve.

You can escape, you know, Sciva said. Even though I do not believe your ideas, I do not believe you seek to offset our balance. Please, go, run away; escape this place. Live the rest of eternity without being forced to fall away in death.

Q’atheem allowed his head to fall slowly down from the sky. He looked toward Sciva’s dark gray veneer and saw his own mouthless face reflected back from the other’s glassy black eyes.

It is a sorrowful day when sight is restricted to the wise, and the power to act given only to the foolish.

Sciva looked offended.

Only by respecting our unique and natural gifts will our race be allowed to endure time. You Keepers commune with and manipulate energies far beyond my understanding; you have power, but you are blind. I am a Seer. I am meant by my very name to see. At times, I can see beyond the physical realm; never is everything clear, but I have insight. The Hunters exist to maintain that balance. Because of our symbiosis, there are things you must accept on my word alone.

Sciva did not respond for a time, and when he did, Q’atheem could feel an evasiveness in his mind; he was choosing to ignore what Q’atheem had said.

You said when the Aucustia first came that our race, should we not share our world, would be plagued by invaders who would snatch it up from us, is that not true?

I had seen such things.

Then why is it that they, the Aucustia, the great plague, fulfillers of prophecy, came here years ago to find us, a race unwilling to share our world, are now fleeing it with what few of them are left living? Leaving behind the masses and hordes who have died to our blades. Why was prophecy not fulfilled?

Q’atheem could feel Sciva’s loss of conviction. His trembling thoughts were fragmented but powerful.

You believe it is not to be fulfilled? Q’atheem said.

You have seen, and so have I, that the plague has come and gone. And as clear as night is from the day, we are still here. Daresia is still ours. The many who did believe you have turned. Can you tell them why their faith failed?

The era of war with the Aucustia has been a plague but not the plague.

Sciva rubbed a smooth, pallid hand across his chin in wonder, and then after a moment, he looked very skeptical. Q’atheem paused to absorb whether Sciva believed him.

He did not.

Remember the dream of the setting sun. Even as the Aucustia leave us in peace, others will replace them. The world will be torn, the Daresians always at war, and in such belligerence, we will live until the last of us falls dead. No longer to roam our moon until the hands of glory take us back in the light. We will each fall in war and then cease to exist. Q’atheem gave Sciva a moment to absorb this. The curse isn’t bound to anything constant except us.

The other’s almost unreadable eyes were both glazed and perplexed, cautious and silent. Just then, there was a pounding against the gates below. They both peered over the wall to where a cluster of black-clad Keepers could be seen prodding their staves against it, their focused minds forcing through the frail lock held in place only by Q’atheem’s already tired intelligence.

Sciva, I cannot run from them. I cannot delay the inevitable. I won’t lie. One small hope remains, but only if their fire burns out here, tonight, against me. Let their wrath bubble over and be finished. They’ll soon see that I was right, and in time, I hope, Q’atheem’s thinking grew scattered. They had burst past the gate, and now their minds were focused against his, confusing him, holding him in place as they ascended the stairs. Q’atheem found himself powerless. He felt unbearable weight internally pressing against his own mind as if pinning it against a wall immobile.

According to what I know, I should not have, but at least you know I tried to warn you, Sciva said. Q’atheem watched as Sciva backed away from him, distancing himself just as the others tore open the wooden door. It flew to the side, crashing noisily into the wall, giving way for a half dozen Keepers to join them on the tower’s battlements.

I’m going to enjoy this, it was a common thought that flickered from eye to eye as Q’atheem made contact with the hate-filled stares of the golden eyes set deep into their faces. Each pair was coldly enraged, plain on the surface, but filled with the lust for murder. And then Q’atheem saw in his mind that others were coming.

You lied to us, the foremost Keeper said, forcing eye contact with Q’atheem as they advanced. You sought power over us, and you jeopardized the lives of thousands of Daresians.

Thousands of now dead Keepers, another said; his eyes had a power luster that put the others to shame. And now your death will pay a small portion of the pain you gave them. He raised his staff, and the others did the same; they were only a few body-lengths distant now, and Q’atheem was entirely under their power. They had vise-pressed his ability to think so tightly that he could do little more than observe from the pose of his ill-functioning body.

Then the advance stopped. A clatter of metal against metal as three Daresians blocked the Keepers’ paths. They were smaller, they were nimbler, and their lightning-fast hands clutched curved sword blades that pushed the staves out of the way as they struck. Hunters. So determined to keep to their honor, they stood against a far overpowering group of Keepers to defend what? Q’atheem?

Q’atheem knew they thought him a fraud and a traitor. Why the show of dignity? What did they owe him? But he supposed it was their nature.

This is against everything that unites us! the center Hunter said. The other two matched the motions of the Keepers as they aimed their staves at them.

Why do you do this? the center Keeper said.

This is a Seer; he cannot be sent into ever death without appearing before the Court of Seers.

The Keepers were disgruntled at the mere mention of the tribunal’s name, but they disguised their deep enmity well. Their eyes and thoughts revealed nothing to the ever-blind Hunters. Q’atheem watched them carefully sidestep the subject as best they could in their anger.

Remember, you lost many because of him. Thousands of Keepers died, but hundreds of thousands of Hunters did as well. Your losses give you the right to strike first, and give us the moment second. The simple and clear thoughts of vengeance poured from the minds of the Keepers, a poison that seeped and infected many, Hunters being no exception, but somehow, these were.

The three held their ground. They matched their blades with the staves and resisted all prodding and coaxing. It was a tragedy for Q’atheem powerlessly to see such nobility washed out. The staves turned red, each differently colored gem glowing to life with the same fury as its master’s golden eyes, a chain fire danced from end to end. And then it was over. The Hunters leaped against them, the sparkle of their slicing blades, then the noise of them clattering against the stone floor. A timeless, horrifying pause that ended with the thud of their burning, crisp, charred bodies falling to emptiness. The flames roared to life, burning the energies that coursed through the corpses. Even the aura excited the wildfire. The Keepers did nothing as the Hunters disintegrated into ash, letting the ash settle and disappear as a statement to the burned world around them. When it had fizzled out, they advanced toward Q’atheem.

He was ready. He imagined the relief the warm flame-tongue blanket would bring him as well… darkness… peace… nothingness. But even then, he knew it would not be so. If everything were right, it would all be painful. But if the world was ending and Q’atheem failed, he would not have to suffer for long with it.

In the dark lands of the dead, where nothing can exist, there are no thoughts to cause trouble and no memory to cause torment.

The Keepers formed a circle around him. They directed their thoughts into the night; their hatred and lament twisted the peace of late evening in a scourge of thought and emotion. They were like the forest wolves, howling mightily but in silence, a terrible moan, audible only in Q’atheem’s mind, one so great it even shook his awareness. And then the prickling and pinching of the red-orange tongue licked at his arms and legs, jetting from the Keepers’ staves and illuminating their glossy golden eyes. He felt himself buckle forward, melting and collapsing. He looked up one final time. The thick dark world around him had already forgotten him.

Then he saw Sciva look down, as indiscernible as ever. His time would fast approach.

Q’atheem saw no more, the darkness and scalding had overcome him, and he knew he was ready. He pressed his mind outward. It was the first moment of Truth, the first of several redeeming moments of Truth if he did not fail.

The fires consumed him, but Q’atheem lived.

CHAPTER 2 – (Year 1065)

You won’t believe this, sir, but I’ve…

You’ve what?

I’ve found one. At least I think so…

You don’t mean…

I do.

Could it be so? And alive, still, after all this time… what’s it been since the last one?

More than a year, at least.

Wow. This find, if authentic, would be outstanding! To think, after all this time, still alive…

It’s too early to tell for sure, but I think it’s a strong possibility. Initial signs bear all the hallmarks one might expect.

By hallmarks, I’m assuming you mean you details from a police report you intercepted. Let me guess, unusual disturbance caused by citizen that defies a physical explanation?

"Close. A medical report, actually. Apparently some tests they ran on an outpatient really surprised and alarmed them."

What happened, and who is he?

Some common citizen, a mechanic I think. Anyway, this is more your field of expertise than mine, but something about a subthermal telekinetic influence on an object…

Subthermal? I’ve never… I don’t think that’s a side effect our design could have created. Not even with the Daresian genes, not unless… Cutter, I need to see a sample of the demonstrator’s DNA for myself. Can you get it?

I think so. I mean, it’s been a while. But unless there is some kind of major change to the data security protocols that I somehow haven’t noticed—which is unlikely—then I should be able to just hack into the Archives and copy the data, like I did for the others.

Good. Do it.

On it.

So what’s the name of our newest person of interest, anyway?

Eric XXII.

***

Artemis jogged through the dim corridor. The overhanging city lights had darkened so that any normal person would have found it very difficult to move anywhere, but not Artemis.

He lived his very life in such shadows and knew how to adjust to them and how to use them to his advantage. Feeling confident enough to move freely under the guise of the night’s cloak, he crossed the district in much better time than he usually could. At his sides, the dim outlines of apartment stacks seemed to pass by, oblivious to his silent footfalls. They were only visible by the dim yellowy lamps that sparsely dotted the street edges. He thought of the hundreds of sleeping civilians he passed, completely uninformed and apathetic.

He often wondered what it had been like so long ago when he had been one of them. Unimaginably naive, both unaware of society's true workings and completely ignorant of true passion, untouched by the excitement of living life by the blade or the sincerity of love, or pretty much any real feeling. The numbing effect of the almighty ENTITY—engineered brainwash that melted away humanity itself to do away with fear, pain, and above all, protest.

It had seemed like a different life another person had lived at another moment in history, so distant from himself. But the un-blockable presence of those unattached memories reminded him that such a life had been his life, and fewer than five short years ago.

But his pity for the civilians was limited. They had become the gears and tools of The Machine. Mentally unaware and emotionally deadened, they became little more than fingers and eyes for the hive-like workings of Civilization, polished and ground into the molds ENTITY gave them. They had surrendered all their liberty and dignity before ever having either. They were hollow. They were nothing.

He did not share Bria’s sympathy for them and smirked at the memory of her trying to plea to the Patriarch on their behalf, seeking some foolish feminine pity for their lives and welfare. In his mind, he laughed at the thought of such a beautiful, intelligent woman being so unable to think for herself. Her pointless altruism on so many occasions threatened the outcome of their mission and the team's welfare. Sacrifices were difficult for her, and because of it, she was soft, and with every wonderful thing that she was, she was not a leader.

Amazing and strange, the way fortune and other forces had taken hold of his life since then, taking his future and tossing it around like a gambling cube again and again.

He brought his mind back to his whereabouts and rounded a bend onto a much smaller and virtually unlit street. His sharp eyes recognized the few features of the buildings he could see, so the darkness was more welcome than unwanted. He had walked such paths throughout Civilization on so many countless night missions that he had learned their every step and pattern. Everything was second nature.

He followed another corner into an alleyway where he stopped. Perfect silence, except for the almost undetectable humming of nearby machines and the low growling of the air coursing from the ventilation shafts into the street. He recognized the half-attached panel the air poured through as the way home.

A quick glance around that revealed nothing unusual was comforting, despite being perfectly aware that no one had stalked him. Being doubly sure was a life-saving habit. His keen senses indicated only a slight stench and dank nothingness. Everyone was packed away tightly and safely into their sardine-like flats, except for a few roaming Guardian patrols, and Artemis had avoided them easily all night.

With a jerk, he ripped Dusk from its sheath, leaving the other dagger tucked neatly under his sleeve. Dusk recognized his touch and gave off a dim but stunning green glow; it flashed against the lock in one swift stroke, and silently the panel broke free and fell neatly into his hands.

Without giving anyone an extended chance at a glimpse, he flung himself into the vent, restored the panel, and crawled his awkward way upward. The green light was much more brilliant in the darker and closer confines of the squarish vent. Using Dusk’s light and craning his neck, Artemis could see an opening several meters away. He recognized the pattern and knew it would be a pipe-shaped passageway that would allow him the comfort of standing his full height, a luxury he could count on for most of the return journey.

He felt the pressure of the airflow against him as he crawled. The streaming air that ruffled his hair and brushed his body was cool and moist and helped him relax the slight aches in his arms as he continued east. As the air tussled his hair, he imagined it was Bria’s smooth fingers caressing him.

Just as quickly as it had come, the fantasy faded. None ever lasted. He felt a kind of self-embarrassment for stooping to the imaginations of an adolescent, an action he understood in others but regarded as much lower than himself. The air was now merely the air, a cool force that moved against his forward walking and dried his lips and mouth. He kept his mind clear and sharp and lost himself to the path at hand.

After wandering the circuitous course for some time, his mindless day-thinking and pathfinding were interrupted by a vibration on his wrist. It wasn’t a shocking encounter but enough to catch him off guard in the solitude of the vents.

Promptly, he tapped the watch and heard Cutter over the receiver. Artemis, where are you? Truthfully, he wasn’t quite sure; the vents were an impressive maze. Even though he knew he was going the right way, it was difficult to judge his exact position in the city. Loss of orientation was so significant that it kept many people from taking missions even as far as topside from the Complex.

Well, I’m in the vents. Just got finished with the latest assignment, and I’ve got the disc in my pocket, he patted it reassuringly, but as for position. I’m somewhere between eastern districts seven and ten.

Well, you’re close enough, I guess, Cutter said.

Artemis was somewhat taken aback; it was at least two hours travel through the vents back to the Complex. What do you mean I’m close? Is there a problem near my position I need to be aware of?

Uh, no. No, everything’s fine. But there is an opportunity, actually. I’m transmitting information to you now. It’s about—I know this is going to be hard for you to believe…

About what?

Even I can’t believe it, but Archimedes says there is no mistake! He saw the…

"Cutter. Cutter. Stop. Okay, slowly tell me what it is."

You’re not going to believe this!

Yes, I know I’m not going to believe this; now, tell me what I’m not going to believe, Artemis said coolly, easily keeping his aggravation from affecting his tone, a habit Mazarin would do well to develop.

I found another one of us. A new catch. Archimedes wants you to nab this one personally, as usual, and bring him to the Complex.

A new catch? One of us? Are you sure? We haven’t found any since, well, about a year. I thought for sure ENTITY had found a way to locate and dispose of them.

So did I until I received the reports. Archimedes had me look up the DNA records from the Archives, and he analyzed them, said he was looking for some almost unnoticeable alteration.

Right, right, right. The gift from the father to us all.

Exactly. Anyway, everything checks out; he’s one of us.

So, you stole the DNA record directly from the Archives? Aren’t those safeguarded?

As if that was a problem for me. It’s not like I haven’t done it before.

True, but it still seems like a very forward move. How do you know someone didn’t notice the access?

I don’t. But if they did, they only had about three seconds to do it; all my access records erase themselves. But anyway, this is all beside the point. Archimedes wants you to nab him before the Redwing engineer finds out his report to Talcomm’s Medical-Science Institute got canceled. The last thing we need is for doctors and police to get involved in this.

Right.

You know what would happen to him if Talcomm got to him first and somehow linked him to us, don’t you?

You mean after they establish the fact that he isn’t purely human? They’d kill him like they do to all retardations and erase all his records. Make him not exist.

Yes, if they’ve drunk a lot of tea and are in good moods. There, now you’ll see that all the information you need is downloaded to your watch, so good luck.

You want me to do it now? His district is in night-cycle; do you expect me to burst in and grab him while he’s in bed?

You didn’t read it all, did you? He’s a night-shifter, and you’ll find him making his way for the screamer docks about a half-hour from now. His district’s only just barely entered night-cycle anyway.

Okay.

He’ll probably be making his way along the Eighth Eastern Main Street Corridor. You’ll have to nick him in some adjoining alleyway, but of course, you know all that much better than I do. I’ll keep an eye on the Network for policemen that might interfere.

Who do I get for support?

Arkkon. He’s supposed to meet you at the furthest north vent that releases out into that street.

The watch made a tiny click and resumed its display of the time. He turned off the glow, which he had used to read the data, and began heading back the way he had come. He frowned at the prospect of having to carry a full-grown man through the vents and back down to the Complex. Assignments like this made him sometimes wish Mazarin was still captain.

***

Hey, Travis, look at this! It’s incredible!

Travis, a young agent, crossed the room and stopped behind the officer’s back. His eyes scanned the computer screen and locked onto something at the bottom. His bemusement must have been evident because the officer was grinning with pride and started to talk so quickly that Travis almost couldn’t distinguish words. It’s almost like a virtual crevice, the officer said, or a hole, something was tampered with and then deleted. You see, the numbers don’t match up.

Yes, I see, Travis said in an I’m-not-stupid tone; it was obvious that the numbers didn’t add together. A tiny piece of data was missing, like an unmendable tear in the Archives. Did you find anything else?" Travis asked.

The officer was more than eager to continue, I was able to save fragments of the file before it was totally erased.

How did you pull that off? Travis said with the raised eyebrow of skepticism.

As luck would have it, I was doing a scan on those file types when I saw an illegal access light go up. I hit Record just as the dodger was dropping the connection, the officer then began punching keys, The scan captured a portion of the data before it was entirely erased.

A new message appeared in binary code, entirely unreadable for Travis. Ones and zeros were the alphabet of the computer-obsessed, a collection of under-loved men who Travis didn’t associate with. The officer pushed a button, and instantly, the code translated to:

[-repeat//line| Eric XXII ((sorted-profession)) aeronautics mechanic - ((specialization)) Screamer Maintena----}

[[Error on line 90098 source cannot be found]]

Travis adjusted his hat and bent lower, gazing at the flat display.

Fascinating, Travis said.

Sir, if I may?

By all means, tell me what in the name of the Protectorate this even means, Travis said.

Whoever did this clearly has the power to get around our security measures, so it’s obviously someone of incredible capability.

Travis nodded and gestured for the officer to continue; this wasn’t new information. When the man didn’t, Travis felt irritated. To the point!

Aye, the officer’s voice dropped to a whisper, Why was this person accessing this data? The man pointed back at the name, Eric XXII, and left his index finger on the numeral. It’s part of a personal file of one the civilians, a petty, common civilian—useless; what interest would this Eric XXII be to anyone?

Travis didn’t have an explanation. He saw the other man’s eyes search him for answers, which Travis could not give him. He looked back at the screen unresponsively for several moments.

Sir? the officer said after a time.

Then, he had an idea—an unsupported explanation that forced the situation into making some limited sense. The more he considered it, the more he knew it had to be true. He smiled and took off his hat, Well, I’ll be… he’s getting sloppy, Travis muttered to himself, then turned and shouted excitedly, Commander, you’d better get over here! We’ve got our best lead ever on the Wraith—just five minutes behind him, Sir!

Aye? A heavy-set face turned from across the room, You sure? The commander made his way quickly over to Travis and the ensign, elated by all the attention circling his computer display.

The commander’s large eyes mechanically absorbed the message from left to right and blinked incredulously, I’ve never seen it make a mistake like this before; it couldn’t be him.

And yet it couldn’t not be him either! Who other than the Wraith could hack into Talcomm’s Secure Archives? Travis asked.

The commander breathed this in a second time and shook his head, I’ve never seen the Wraith cover its tracks so poorly before; it was either in a hurry or…

Or what, Sir?

Or it wanted us to find it.

Travis laughed, Excuse my outburst, Sir, but why would he want us to find this? How could he possibly benefit by giving us anything? No, Sir, I think this one was a mistake, and we nailed it.

The commander frowned, Perhaps you’re right, Travis, but frankly, it’s pretty dubious. The man searched the air mindlessly, and Travis watched his eyes freeze rigidly, But still, this is definitely interesting, the commander turned toward the ensign, Pull up what you can. I’d like to catch him and end the twenty years of computer plague.

Maybe it isn’t him; maybe it’s an organization—perhaps the insurgency, the ensign suggested.

Whatever he-she-they-it is, I want to get rid of them. Travis, get Blackmask HQ on the radio. Ensign, pull up everything you can about this Eric XXII fellow.

Aye, what business?

I need to know everything that may be of any value to the Wraith about this fellow, and I intend to use them to keep an eye on him. Track him, his whereabouts, everything that you can do without showing any sign that we have caught on. You know, a detached contact.

Hmm, Blackmask doesn’t take too well to ‘orders’ from Talcomm, Travis interrupted, knowing full well it wasn’t his place but figuring it probably should be.

Yes, I know, and I don’t give a flying f… he paused to regain his composure, Now, please, get to it. Whoever was reading that file will act quickly.

Aye, Sir, it’s done, and Second-Lieutenant Brinton is on his way. May I speak plainly?

Of course.

Why not send a team, or a squad, hey battalion’s make quick work… anything more effective than just one man?

Interesting word, ‘effective.’ How would a team or even a whole garrison be more ‘effective?’

Sir, overwhelming firepower during the confrontation, Sir! Capture the Wraith’s operative and question him, Sir! With each Sir, he vented a little obvious sarcasm. Obviously, to nip this in the bud and find out everything and rid the problem from existence, Travis said flatly.

Obviously, you don’t understand what ‘effective’ means. The commander ripped his face from the screen and met Travis’s gaze challengingly—in such a way that Travis read it as disgusting pseudo-authority. We want to watch this Eric XXII without being seen by the Wraith or whoever it is that has taken a sudden interest in our civilian. What we don’t want to do is march a flag-waving escort around him. Come, now that you have mastered the word ‘efficient,’ I challenge you to go home and look up the word ‘subtlety’ and memorize the definition!

Aye, Sir, Travis said dispassionately.

Despite what you may think, Travis, there is a very real chance the reason the Wraith didn’t cover its tracks is to draw us to act, divert our attention, makes us into fools, taunt us, some ulterior motivation we must not serve. I don’t intend to fulfill that ulterior purpose. It is to our advantage if they expect us to respond that we respond in a way they cannot detect. The element of surprise is a wonderful card to have in our hands.

Forgive my forwardness, Sir, but I don’t see how choosing the less reasonable course of action makes better sense…

Which is why I am a commander, and you are a petty lieutenant inspector.

CHAPTER 3

Artemis moved silently through the various intertwining tunnels that made up the ductwork of Civilization’s ventilation for just over twenty minutes before deciding to pop loose a panel and venture back into the streets. He slipped into what, at a glance, looked like a small empty alleyway that was just as dark as the last one he’d been in. With quick motions, he flipped the panel back into place and stalked into the adjoining street.

It was a very wide corridor, at least a stone’s throw across, and ran longways uninterrupted in either direction as far as his eyes could see. On one side, he saw the recognizable magnetic trolley tracks, which he knew ran the length of Civilization, although wasn’t often used in travel from one side to the other. Without much need for deduction, he knew he had arrived in the 8th Eastern Main Street Corridor. A glance at his watch told him that he had made it a solid seven minutes before Eric XXII’s alarm clock was set to wake him. Artemis set about finding Arkkon.

Noticing the few patches of policemen wandering about and a few civilians scurrying to and fro, he thought it to be a relatively quiet night. Without too much care, he darted to the north side of the street and looked for the vent opening that Cutter had described. The wall was relatively plain with scattered outlets for power and air, but none of them seemed to offer a large enough panel for a man feasibly to fit through. He briskly paced along the side until he eyed what had to be the vent he was looking for. A large squarish panel textured with downward tilted vents looked to be a meter in length in either direction and was held in place by a few bolts.

He quickly checked around him for onlookers. With it being night, even this main passageway was almost completely deserted. He rapped the back of his fist against the panel and waited. A few moments later, he heard three tiny metallic clanks answer him; it was Arkkon.

So, I take it Cutter messaged you? Artemis said quietly through the vent.

Yeah, yeah, look, I know what this is all about. Eric and all that, I’m with it… the grumbling voice of Arkkon answered. As much disdain as Artemis had for the man, he was glad he didn’t have to waste time explaining the situation to him as he’d expected.

Good, Artemis said, then we’ll do what we used to.

I’ll watch from the street while you lure him into the alley, knock him, and I’ve got your back for tails, eh? Arkkon said.

Yeah, Artemis replied, "that’s the basic plan. He’ll be heading for the trolley on the corridor running east and west. Next to the station, there