Chapter 13—Rebellion

They were visiting the village today, stealing supplies. It was risky, but to avoid the risk was certain death; drought had struck the plains, and they must have food and water. The villagers were also affected, would be guarding their stores, but…it would work. It must work.

"Come—it isn't much farther. It is day, they will be asleep…they will not notice us."

He nodded; Zhan was right. That was what they called him, Zhan—he hadn't told them his name, of course. No one would be so foolish. He had only been with them for a year—they were almost strangers. It was too early for anything but second names.

The two were hiding in a rocky outcropping at the edge of the village. The bleak sun beat down on them; he was too hot, even if the shade of the rocks. He longed to rest in the cool darkness of his home, as all sane people were doing at this ridiculously early hour, but the mission was necessary.

Zhan ran a hand through his dark hair distractedly. He couldn't imagine where Zhan had picked up such a habit—it was almost human. But Zhan was like that. His eyes were narrowed now, and that meant Zhan was planning something. Zhan's plans were good—he trusted them, trusted Zhan. They all did. Anyone would, they felt. He exuded an aura of competence, of strength.

"Let's go, then. It's time."

They crept forward slowly, keeping to the brightest parts of the street where they would be harder to see for anyone watching. They moved slowly, silent as ghosts, silent as only their kind could be. He raised his head, sniffing the air; good. No one was about, the air was flat and still. All was silent, their ears were straining for any stray sound that might warn them of an attacker.

They were at the doors of the storehouse. Zhan studied them carefully, uncertain; he could not pick the locks on the doors.

"What should we do?"
Zhan was silent, considering. "We must break down the door. It will wake the villagers—you go in and steal what we need, I will cover you."

Zhan drew his magnificent sword, forged from the shining, silvery metal found only in their World. He held it with the ease of practice, with hands calloused by long training. Zhan grasped the hilt firmly, lining up his blow; he would only get one chance. It would have to be a good one.

Zhan lunged, his blade's hilt shattered the rusty lock, the door swung free. Turning, he raised his blade to face the villagers as they awoke and came streaming out to stop them.

He raced inside, confident that Zhan would not be defeated. He had seen Zhan fight—he was the best, no question about it. Grabbing some supplies and shoving them in a sack—precious canteens of water, salvation for the tribe—he dashed out, motioned to Zhan.

They ran as quickly as they could, reaching the rock outcropping. He set down the sack and pulled out his bow. Zhan was a master of his sword, but he was the best at the bow, everyone agreed. He had made this bow himself from a strong branch after traveling for days to find it, had scrounged wood and flights for the arrows, had made the string from the tendon of some wandering beast. He had even sewn a crude quiver. Now he took aim and fired, sending bolts into the center of their attackers' chests—where the heart was beating, squeezing forward and back as it circulated blood through their bodies.

They backed off after several of them had fallen, accepting their losses. They were not like humans; they understood the value of holding a position, of keeping what was still within reach rather than striving hopelessly for what was lost. He and Zhan would be fine.

They waited until the villagers had retreated, vanished from sight. Then they crept forward again, drawing small knives.

Reaching the corpses of their foes, they knelt, bowing their heads a moment in respect for their foes' skill. Then they raised their blades.

There would be plenty to eat tonight.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Yuugi sat up, shuddering at the vivid and gruesome dream. He could not understand why he had been dreaming of such a strange assortment of people in such a bizarre place lately. And they were so real—it was almost like living out another person's life. Who was Yuugi in these dreams? He was certain that, whoever's perspective he was seeing from, it wasn't his own. And where was he? And…who was that other person, the one who looked so familiar to Yuugi but whose face, when he woke, he could not seem to remember? He was sure that he had recognized the person each night, only to have it slip from his grasp when he awoke. Now he had been given a name: Zhan. But Yuugi felt sure that wasn't his real name…there was some other name, a name that reminded him of Zhan, but not that…

"I said, come on! We're with 08, we might get to see Mack and Tam…I've been wondering how they're doing."

Yuugi looked up, shaken from his reverie. Scat was gesturing impatiently to him, Skitter supporting her with nods of her furred head. He rose and followed them through the labyrinthine base to another section: an area of the base that had been declared unnecessary and was now being dismantled so the raw materials could be reused in the new area under construction.

The slaves of division 08 were hard at work demolishing the shell of the old structure: a wing of the base, now detached from the main building and reduced to metal girders and concrete blocks. Yuugi saw that both children and adults were at work here. At once, he felt foolish for not realizing before that some of the Chaos slaves must be adults—it would be ridiculous to think the Overlord would capture only children.

But to his surprise, the adult slaves seemed oddly detached and blank. Yuugi could not know that the Overlord was sure to put together only slaves that had no past in common, slaves from areas so disparate they had no chance of a common language or even appearance. The adult slaves, less adaptable than the still-growing children, rarely gave themselves new names; they simply drifted on like warm-blooded zombies.

Chaos Overseers were directing the entire operation, ensuring speed and efficiency, as well as keep an eye on the slaves. It was ironic that only through supreme organization could the Overlord achieve his goal of total Chaos, but he didn't care. For him, the end result was all that mattered.

"Fall in, 24—bring this blasting powder to sector five, by the east wall!"

Yuugi and the others dutifully began hauling crates of grayish-black powder, which Yuugi thought smelled like gunpowder, over to a large fitted masonry wall where a cluster of adult slaves was working. It was the adults who were doing the actual demolishing; the children were doing jobs that required nimble fingers and small, flexible bodies—fitting into narrow ceiling spaces to disassemble wiring, for example. And if someone lost an eye, or a finger, or even a whole hand…the Chaos Army wasn't counting.

Yuugi and Scat carried one of the large crates together; Skitter scampered along in front of them and cleared the path so they wouldn't trip over any debris. They set it down, panting for breath, in front of a tall, tanned man—his tattoos identified him as 113, division 03. He stood vaguely for a moment, seeming totally unconcerned with anything at all, then thanked them and took the powder over to the wall. He began placidly laying it out, preparing to demolish the heavy stone structure.

One of the Overseers, seeing his slow movements, strode over with a whip in hand. "Faster, number 113—we have a schedule to keep!"

He lashed the slave several times. The man fell forward, bleeding, but his expression did not change. He rose to his feet and began setting the powder out once more. The Overseer shook his head in disgust and moved on.

"I hate these Nameless…give me the shivers."

Yuugi couldn't help but agree. These people's hearts were beating, their blood was flowing, but they had all the will of a fresh corpse. They had less 'self' than the Lost. None of them cared about anything at all. Yuugi correctly thought that even if they had been threatened with imminent death, not one would have made an effort to save their own life or the life of anyone else. They simply…existed.

Yuugi hurriedly followed Scat to get another crate, keeping his eyes on the ground. He did not look at the Nameless, as the Chaos Army called them, again. Their fate was too terrible to contemplate.

"Scat," Yuugi whispered furtively as they bent to lift another crate. "I'm getting out of here. I don't care what it takes—I'll get out of here or die trying!"

She stared at him in surprise for a moment, then nodded grimly. "Got a plan yet?"

Yuugi smiled. Now that he had spoken it aloud, escape suddenly seemed much more possible. Against all odds, he felt…hopeful.

"Here's what I was thinking…"

-o-o-o-o-o-

"You're crazy!"

Everyone in division 24 agreed with Brell—Yuugi's plan was crazy. The idea of resisting the Chaos Army was crazy. Even Scat thought it was a stretch—her plans had never gone farther than sneaking away, stealing a Gater.

But rebellion?

"Haven't you seen all the troops here? We wouldn't stand a chance in a fight!" Brell shouted. At his side, Frac nodded agreement, gnawing his lip. The very word 'rebellion' was making him nervous.

But Yuugi's face was set. "I don't care if it's crazy. I don't care if it kills me—it's better than living like this, dying a little more every day, waiting to be killed for my enemy's cause! I'm going to get out of here…and if that's not possible, then at least I'll die fighting the Overlord."

Skitter sat next to Scat, quaking. "Bu…bu…how cou' you do tha'? They ge' you…kill you!"

Scat shook her head. "It just…seems like a big risk. And there's almost no chance you'll succeed, so…why not at least try something that might work? Stealing a Gater didn't completely work for me, yeah, but…"

"No—I think this can work. It's risky, but…have you noticed that the army doesn't really care what we do, as long as we stay out of their way? As long as we get whatever we're assigned to done, they don't think about us much. Because they think we're nobody. They think when they took your names, you would have nothing left, no…no volition. No drive. No ability to do anything about all this. So they don't watch us as carefully as they should. But you took names again…so you can act against them!"

Datch was skeptical. "Yeah, but that still doesn' mean we can beat a whole army!"

"But at least we would die with honor," Krin said, scarred face grim. Yuugi smiled slightly; she reminded him very much of Chieftenn Shi-kai-dek, Aria, of the Highwind Clann, in that moment. Then he sighed. In the end, she had died honorably…but she had still died. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

But Yuugi thought of the Nameless, the wandering beings who barely counted as alive, without any sense of self or any drive of their own, and he knew there was no other way.

"We don't have to beat them in a battle—we just have to keep fighting long enough to get some Gaters and get out of here. A lot of us will die…you know that as well as I do. But…even if it costs me my life…I think…I think it's worth it."

There was a long moment of silence. The slaves looked at each other uncomfortably; they didn't want to stay here, living like this, any more than Yuugi did, but the prospect of rebellion…if they tried this, there was no going back. Even if they weren't killed in the battle itself, if they were caught at any point…that would be the end for all of them. Then, Scat spoke up.

"I'm doing it. He's right—even if it costs me my life, I don't care. This…would be worth dying for."

Skitter managed a weak smile. "If Thca' do it…me, too."

Krin smiled grimly, her fist clenched. "Something worth dying for…yes. I, as well."

Datch shrugged, the spines on his back rippling with the movement. "Eh…why not. Be interestin', at least."

Brell stayed silent for a while after they had spoken. "I…I don't think this is a good idea. I think it's doomed, right from the start. There's no way it will work. But…we're going to die anyway. So I guess it doesn't matter if this is the way we do it."

Frac managed only a shaky nod. If Brell was doing it, he was too.

Yuugi smiled, despite the hopelessness of the situation. It was good not to be alone.

"All right. Now…we should try to contact the other divisions tomorrow—see if anyone will help us. Most won't, probably, but…it's worth a shot. The more people we can get, the better this will be."

Scat settled back more comfortably, leaning against the wall of the prison. "So what do we actually do, Yuugi? I mean…we can't just—I dunno—steal a bunch of Gaters tomorrow!"

"Yeah…we're in no condition to fight yet. We'll need more time…and we'll need to be stronger. That means we need to eat more, not just whatever that stuff is they give us, I don't even want to know what it is…and we'll weapons, and time to practice with them…and we'll need to communicate with the other divisions so we can get into position when we're ready to go."

The others stared at Yuugi in stunned silence. This plan was seeming more and more impossible all the time.

"Yuugi…to get into a lot of the rooms in this base, store rooms and supply rooms and stuff, you need access cards or they have those hand-pad things…" Scat said.

"Somehow," Yuugi said, still smiling, "I think we'll find a way…"

Slowly, as if their faces needed time to get used to the expression, the others began to smile too. They still couldn't see much chance for Yuugi's plan, they couldn't see how they were even going to start the plan, but somehow…they were starting to feel a ray of hope.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The Lieutenant stood before his desk, gazing down at the myriad of papers that covered it. Maps, charts, histories, lists of important public figures, complex mechanical diagrams…everything he would need for his next mission.

"I will depart soon," he murmured. "But not yet. Not yet. Not until I know…"

Not until I know how this will play out.

It was a disgusting World, he thought to himself. Utterly disorganized. The people clinging to each other in despair, wallowing in their disastrous ruin, rather than standing up and fighting, rather than forging a new way of life. His own people had conquered far worse. They lived in a dying World, and yet they did not accept defeat. They fought.

"Can I still call them my people…? Have I accepted this too readily?" he said softly, pensively. His mind was drifting again…still standing, his office faded as he was absorbed his memories.

"Do you call yourself a Darkling—an Akaranian?" Gash said impassively, glaring at the man beside him.

There was no reply; they strode on together across the harsh Plains, heading for Losarnarch. There would be a great battle—Gash looked forward to it.

"Answer me, ka-san."

"Still not sa-chan, I see. You still don't know me?" He was smiling; it irritated Gash, who privately felt that if it was up to him, he would not know this man even well enough for 'ka-san.'

"How can you call yourself a Darkling?" Gash repeated. "What is that you think you are?"

"Didn't we talk about this already, ka-san?"

"You did not give me a satisfactory answer. Why do act like…like a human?"

He turned to Gash, still smiling, although somewhat quizzically now. "Do I? If I do…then why don't you know that answer?"

Gash had to give him credit—like any Darkling, the man was difficult to pin down in questions about his identity. Gash knew little about him, but he did not wish to know. He simply could not understand him, and knowledge was essential to control of a situation.

"What about you, then?" he asked Gash. "How can you call yourself a Darkling?"

"What is this?" Gash said sharply.

"You don't think you're a bit…direct? You ask me the question you actually want answered. How normal is that? Not very subtle."

"Hmph."

"And, really…don't you think you're being somewhat prejudiced? It's such a stereotype, the secretive, evasive Darkling, never gives a straight answer, no one knows who he is or where he comes from, an enigma wrapped around a mystery. Why should I aspire to an artificial measurement of behavior—especially one that is largely perpetuated by humans?"

Gash had no answer to this. It was one of those bizarre statements the man sometimes came out with, and it made Gash uncomfortable, mostly because no self-respecting Darkling would have said such a thing to an almost-stranger. They would have said something more along the lines of, 'Should I care what a human thinks of me?" Much more ambiguous. Requires interpretation. Reveals little of the speaker's own feelings. Why could this man not behave in some semblance of a normal manner?

But it did reveal one thing about the man. Gash had suspected for some time that he might have either been raised among humans or lived among them for some time. The way he spoke, his gestures, his mannerisms…none of them spoke of a Darkling upbringing. His…culture was jarringly out of place.

It was clear from the way he spoke that he was educated, very well educated—more than most Darklings, living in their dying World. It implied that he had been raised in another World, but Gash could not imagine why, or where. He strongly disapproved of his own curiosity, which lessened his chances of finding anything out.

"You know, ka-san," the man said thoughtfully. "You're just as strange as I am. It makes me wonder…if we might be strange in the same way."

Gash could not understand this pronouncement at all, but he didn't mind. That was how it should be for two Darklings—secretive, subtle, complex.

Then he utterly ruined the effect by laughing. Gash sighed wearily. It was going to be a long trip…

The Lieutenant shook himself, coming back to the present. He gazed ruefully at the papers on his desk, then began stacking them in one corner. He knew himself well enough to see that he would accomplish nothing more tonight.

"Why am I thinking of you now, after all these years…? I had thought those memories gone long ago…"

He unconsciously rubbed the side of his neck. "And why….why didn't you…?"

He stopped himself abruptly. There was no place in his life for nostalgia or regret. He must purge himself of this foolish recollecting.

I chose this, he reminded himself. I chose this, and it must be so. There is no other way. I will achieve my goals…my any means necessary. There is no turning back.

"There is no turning back," he whispered. Then, sighing, he turned and left the room. Wandering through the base, ignoring the salutes of the soldiers, he came to the entrance and stepped out, into the night of his homeland.

The guards watched in wary confusion as the Lieutenant vanished into the darkness of the night, head bowed.

"What's up with him?" one muttered.

His partner shrugged. "I don't ask questions about that one—what I don't know can't hurt me, eh? Maybe he's just taking a walk."

The first guard shook his head. "Sure he is. Well, we'd best stay on alert—I don't plan to be napping when he comes back. Not in front of that one—no mercy at all, him."

His partner nodded, and they sat up straighter, grumbling. No one had ever challenged the fortress; they were losing sleep for no reason at all.

Down the coast, walking at a respectful distance from the waterline, Gash paused, looking up at night sky.

"Would that I could weep," he said softly.