Costain's eyes flickered rapidly, not from blinking, but from the frantic neural commands scrolling data across his B-Wax. As the Rover sped toward Barracks Thirty-One, he was broadcasting a priority recall to every militant in his command.
Emergency meeting. Now.
In the back, his squad whispered. He'd noticed their side glances since yesterday but had dismissed them as fatigue.
"Why didn't you tell me about my father?" The question cut through the vehicle's hum.
A hesitant silence. Then, "We were afraid of your reaction, sir. We didn't want to darken your mood."
"What will you do now?" asked Sergeant Tom.
"Peter has offered help. His group aims to impeach the Caliphates. They will help me bring Bryce to justice." Costain's gaze remained fixed on his mental interface. "But I need more than them. I need you guys." He sent a tight-beam message to Peter. ETA two hours. Bringing reinforcements.
An hour later, Barracks Thirty-One was packed. Every militant, from active duty to those on leave, had answered the summons. The only space large enough to contain was the roof.
A high podium stood at the edge of the roof, facing all the Militants that gathered on the roof of all the buildings in the Barracks. Costain sat upon the podium, clad not in his Major's uniform, but in the stark grey of a Cadet. His special squad stood at the front of the crowd behind him, similarly attired.
He rose. The crowd fell silent.
"We are warriors," his voice carried, hard and clear. "But after the war, our value faded. The Caliphates gave us authority out of gratitude, but it is hollow. The UBI handles the real threats. The R.C.C. handles the rest. We are relegated to errands that are too small for the UBI, too dangerous for the Cadets. Our Value in the society is fading away."
A low murmur of agreement rippled through the ranks.
"And yesterday, Bryce Onyx proved how little we are valued. He executed one hundred and seventy-four of our brothers at Barracks Fifty-Nine. No trial. No chance to prove if they were innocent or not. He murdered them all."
The murmur became a growl. Anger, long simmering, found a focus.
"I will bring him down. I will not do it alone. I have allies, and I need you. Join me. Show them we are not a force to be discarded. If you will not stand with me, you may stay. But know this: Barracks Fifty-Nine was just the beginning. One day it will affect every one of you ."
His seven squad members stepped forward immediately.
Silence filled the room. The soldiers' expressions remained neutral, but their anger was still evident. Their jaws tightened, and their hands clenched, yet their feet stayed firmly planted on the ground.
They had families to support, providing homes and daily sustenance for them. Their love for their families outweighed their anger.
Only nineteen individuals stepped forward.
The quiet lingered for several minutes as the militants avoided Costain's gaze. Finally, he broke the silence with a loud laugh.
"Now I see why he killed them without fear." His voice increased to a venomous scream. "BECAUSE YOU ARE ALL COWARDS."
He turned to descend the stairs, his small band following.
"We are not cowards!" a militant near the staircase shouted. "We will not abandon our lives because Bryce killed your corrupt father!"
Costain froze. His eyes burned blood-red. In a fluid motion, he drew his Kinetic Side Arm and leveled it at the man's face.
************
Stella had avoided her mother for weeks. The betrayal was a fresh wound. Elara had dragged her into a mass murder, using her skills to scrub the word "virus" from the net. She'd only obeyed out of the relationship between them, not knowing the horrific context.
Then, five days ago, Charlene called.
Bryce will never let me test the prototype, Charlene had pleaded. He'll reduce its qualities to make it safe and render it useless. We need to force his hand. Steal it. Let the militants work with scientists and test it in the field. When the public sees it works, he won't be able to suppress it.
It was a reckless, brilliant plan. Stella saw a chance to simultaneously help her friend and force her mother to atone. She went to Elara with an ultimatum: Help us, or you lose me forever.
Elara agreed. But Stella's forgiveness was not so easily won. She had not spoken to her since.
Now, the plan was unraveling.
The scientists stationed in the Green Zone had called. The prototype had arrived, abandoned in a locked case. The militants were gone.
She tried Costain. His B-Wax was offline. She tried his squad. No response.
A cold dread settled in her stomach. Using the militants was a risk, but the Space Cadets were too by-the-book. They would have reported a stolen prototype immediately so she got the militants to disguise themselves as space cadets.
Then, she remembered. The new model Space Cadet uniforms. The ones the militants had worn.
They were equipped with location transmitters and embedded cameras.
The access terminal for that system was deep within WASA headquarters.
She was glad her mother had not stripped her of her duty as the Supervisor of WASA's if not she wouldn't easily access the transmitters and embedded cameras.
Stella slammed her hand on the Rover's console, redirecting its course. The vehicle accelerated, tearing through the traffic toward the one place she had vowed not to return.