Revolution
Chapter 16

"Liberty is worth paying for."
- Jules Verne

The news of Zalma's death broke out the next morning, just as Nikola's results came in. She had been slowly killed by rat poison, probably slipped into her food. The white powder Damon had found in the water was some kind of medicine, one that Nikola believed Zalma to have been taking as an antidote to the poison, a whole lot of good it did.

There were a few small riots all around Old Quarter, but those were quickly settled before the Kwaden came. Tom had to step in more than once, exercising his authority as folk hero of the poor.

"We need every man we can get for the fight ahead," he had said to one bruised and bloodied group. "Are you going to risk death before your time of glory?" It had worked exceedingly well. The men were sent back to their wives, who would probably give them more hell than the Underground could.

The rest of the day Tom had spent in mourning. The Black Duke wanted to make arrangements for her funeral, since Zalma had had no family, but he was informed someone had already beat him to it. The undertaker only knew the man who had come to take her body as Smith. They had searched the city, but this Smith was not to be found. In their enquiries to Smith, though, they realized that he bore a very strong resemblance to Chauvelin. It was disturbing, to say the least.

Also on the way, one of Tom's contacts had informed him that Dante was planning something for the week after Zalma's death, but didn't know what it was. The level of tension rose after that, and the guard around the cavern was stepped up. The Underground members were more careful in their activities.

Dante's plan was finally revealed a week later.

"This is your King speaking," Dante's voice came over the radio. John St. Leger (#1) sat in the quaint little French café, listening to the sole radio that the owner had perched on the edge of a shelf. "This is being broadcast world-wide."

Dante started to talk about how the tenth anniversary of his rule was coming, and how he felt that the world was a better place. It was really all the standard fare of the week leading up to the celebrations. Then, the king of the world delivered the blow:

"The late member of Congress, Zalma von der Pahlen, shall be honored with a state funeral and procession on the day of the celebration."

St. Leger was enraged. He had known Zalma; she was all for the people's freedom, and Dante dared to say he held her in such high regard? It was an outrage! The reaction from the other patrons of the café suggested they felt the same. There was a roar of rage from everyone in general. Even the owner's dog growled at the radio.

Suddenly, another voice cut in the middle of Dante's sentence.

"I am the Black Duke. I represent the people and the Underground. People of the world, listen to Dante! He says he plans to honor Zalma as a hero!" Tom's voice came over the radio. While not a member of the Underground, St. Leger was a quiet supporter of freedom and he knew the Black Duke's name well. "I ask you: will you accept this? Will you accept his hypocrisy?"

The signal had cut through his own address so quickly that Dante was at a loss what to do for a few moments. Then, with a roar of rage, he ordered the signal technicians to trace and cut off the Underground's signal.

"...his hypocrisy?" Tom asked, a mockery of his own address. The technicians scrambled to stop the interference as Reed yelled threats at them to quicken the work. Dante's main study suddenly became a flurry of activity.

He and Reed had planned this. They both had known the Black Duke would be enraged that Zalma would be hailed as a hero of the Second Reich. They both had known that he probably would use another signal to interfere with Dante's worldwide speech. It would now take them time to trace the signal and find him.

"...won't! The Underground won't!" he was saying. Dante growled at the microphone.

"We can't trace the signal, sir," Chauvelin said quietly, appearing behind Reed. "They are jamming all our tracing efforts." Reed glanced at Dante, could see he was getting angrier and angrier. "But," the Frenchman added quickly, "We will keep trying. We may be able to patch through, sir."

"Do it! Tell anyone who doesn't do their job well that if I found out," Reed said, turning to face his protégée with a glint of malice in his invisible eyes, "That I will hunt down their families and make sure none of them will ever be coming to the door to say 'welcome back' ever again."

With a small bow and nod, Chauvelin disappeared into the whirlwind of activity again.

The signal operator sat at the table, fiddling with the dials and knobs on the large radio-signal machine. Tom was next to the man, speaking into the microphone. Everyone in the Underground cavern crowded around the single signal radio that the London Underground owned. Damon and Skinner were Tom's left, listening as he spoke to the world.

"It's time to stand up," Tom said with all the force and authority years as the Black Duke had earned him, "It's time to fight back! It's time to fight for a better future for the world, for your children, for all those who are to come."

There was sudden movement as the signal operator moved to jam the tracing signal that Dante's men were sending along their own. Tom paused for a bit, watching, and only when the signal operator nodded did he continue.

"The Second Reich has ruled for almost ten years. I don't know about you, but I still remember the time before the rule of the Second Reich. I remember a time when I could actually use my money to buy stuff for the people I know. I remember a time when life wasn't as hard for the farmers as it is now. I remember a time when the law was the law, and no one could buy their way around a murder charge. I ask you, every one of you, this:

"What do you want? To live on your knees or to die on your feet?"(#1)

AJ had his arms folded across his chest as he listened to his leader speak to the people of the world. All activities had stopped as Dante's voice came up on the radio, but now all was perfectly still. People forgot the fact that they were supposed to pay their taxes before noon, but listened to Tom's speech.

"What do you want? To live on your knees or to die on your feet?" he finished.

Standing the middle of Paris' equivalent of Old Quarter, AJ listened to the broadcast that boomed from the speakers that lined various places around France. A loud roar came up from around him, then somebody started a chant. "Liberté! Liberté! Liberté!"

It began to spread. Soon, the whole city rang with the call for freedom. AJ beamed. The French spirit of freedom and enthusiasm had been reawakened. Liberté! He thought, putting his bag down on the ground and joining the people in the cheer.

Sue listened to the radio, the smoke from her cigarette floating above her head as she sat in the divan of her small home. Around Beijing, the words were being translated into Chinese. Further in Asia, various Underground language experts would be translating the words for the people to understand.

"I ask you, every one of you, this: Would you rather live no your knees or to die on your feet?" Tom asked. There was a slight pause, and then the Chinese translation came on. It was followed very quickly by a roar of approval from the citizens of China's capital, which was quickly followed by yells of freedom. Sue nodded approvingly as the shouts became a chant.

It was time the fight began.

"...or to die on your feet?"

Moscow became deadly still as the last of Tom's translated speech faded into the cold morning light. Robur listened to the original speech on a frequency that was wholly English; the last tendrils of the Russian translation floated high above the city. Almost immediately, a roar emanated from the factories; then it spread to the shops; to the houses; and to the street.

Soon the large city was cheering, a roar of freedom in the stillness of a Russian spring day. The master of the air settled into his seat, a rare smile on his stone-craved features.

"What do you want? To live on your knees or to die on your feet?"

A sort of rumble started through the crowd that had gathered near the White House. It was low at first, and then rose in pitch and volume. Soon it was a nation-wide cry engulfed North America and Washington.

Joe grinned. About time, Tom, he thought, joining in the resounding yell. About time.

From the bow of his whaler, Ahab held his telescope to one eye and watched as people flooded the streets and dock area of Melbourne to hear Tom's broadcast. On the deck of the Pequod his sailors were also listening.

"I remember a time when the law was the law, and no one could buy their way around a murder charge. I ask you, every one of you, this: What do you want? To live on your knees or to die on your feet??"

The response was overwhelming. Faint cheers of 'die on my feet!' were heard, and soon a chant had formed and grew louder and louder. From their place about half a mile away from shore, the Pequod's crew heard the chant clearly as it reached its crescendo.

"Freedom!" the words came. "Freedom! Freedom!"

Ahab kept the telescope. He didn't need it to see that Australia was ready to take up arms in the name of freedom and equality.

Huge speakers, mandatory to very Brazilian plantation, played Tom's interjected address.

"What do you want? To live on your knees or to die on your feet?"

There was a short pause, and then a cheer rang out.

"Libreria! Libreria!"

The cries resounded over the coffee fields, loud and clear from the house. Percy looked out the window and nodded, approving. The workers of the coffee plantation knew that their employer was an Underground sympathizer; they had loved Marguerite, and he was safe in the aspect that they would not gang up on him. Percy couldn't help but grin his habitual foppish grin. You waited for this, sweetheart, he thought, looking at the photograph of him and his beloved on the table. Now it's here.

The freezing winds of the South Pole blew across the water, chilling Black's lieutenant to the bone as he stood next to his captain. Black didn't seem at all bothered by the cold, except that his match kept going out before he could light his cigar. Finally, he got it as the last of the Danish version of Tom's speech came over the speakers that surrounded Greenland.

It did not take long for the call for freedom to rise in the frozen air. Soon the lieutenant and the rest of the crew were yelling "Frihed!".

Black couldn't help but smile as he puffed away on his cigar. Soon the revolution would begin.

Mistoffelees sat near the radio, silent as his master listened to Tom.

"What do you want? To live on your knees or to die on your feet?"

Nikola nodded his approval, while the cat purred and slinked over to him. He reclined in the comfortable chair that he had behind his desk, in the cocoa plantation that was also a guise for his poisons. When the chanting of "Vryheid!"finally reached the study of the house, he nodded and stroked Mistoffelees.

"Time for the revolution to begin," he said absently. "Time for us to call upon the people to defend their right to be free."

Mistoffelees purred.

(#1) This line is an almost direct quote of Dolores Ibarruri's, a Spanish revolutionary of the twentieth century.

Just in case you're wondering; "libert", "libreria", "frihed" and "vryheid" mean "freedom" in their respective languages.