Stealing the Sun: Books 4-6, page 37
“Lelo! Lelo! Lelo!” the chant grew. “Separate will spread the hate!”
Lelo raised his voice over the din.
“You could be a quadar of the Esgarat fringelands,” Lelo said. “Or a hardened free-ranger. I don’t care. A Family member. Doesn’t matter. Because we don’t care where you’re from, it’s where you’re going that matters. And all you need to be part of the whole of us is to get your three hearts lined up with the three hearts of your sisters and your brothers.”
Hands rasped together in a wave of noise.
“Are you us?” he said over the growing crescendo.
Voices roared in support. “I am us!”
“Are you us?”
More voices, louder.
“Are you us?”
More voices, louder still. “I am us! I am us! I am us!”
“That’s good.” He paused to let emotions settle. The heat of his breath was damp inside the mask. He sweated as he waited for the crowd to calm. “That’s good, sisters and brothers, because I say it’s time for the revolution to begin.”
The word revolution sent a wave through the crowd.
The Family spies perked up.
“I know some of you fear that word: revolution. You say we need to take small steps. That we need to work with the Families to get our way. But how many cycles have to pass before we admit that kind of collaboration isn’t working? How many cycles before history moves past that point? I say it’s already been too many. That’s the answer. And I say now that any quadar who thinks we can cure this disease we have by joining up with that disease has become part of the disease itself.”
Cheers came.
“They’re afraid!” a voice called out, creating a stir. “We’re all afraid.”
“Yes,” Lelo said. “I understand. We’re all afraid. But when we ask ‘what are we afraid of?’ I think it always comes down to violence.”
The word violence created another stir.
Members of Family security groups were suddenly paying intense attention.
He glanced at the Orange Army guard, his fists clenching into balls.
“None of us want violence, sisters and brothers, but we can’t fear it. When violence is in the toolbox of oppressors, those being oppressed cannot remove it from theirs.” The crowd grew more intense. “But I understand that fear. I understand how we can look at quadars like the Orange Army over there with their guns and their bravado, and become afraid. I’m not stupid, all right?” A bitter form of laughter came. “These quadars who are afraid of conflict, they’re not dumb either. We all know what happens when a council guard gets upset with a hedgie. That’s the problem, though, you know that, right? That’s the disease showing itself. Quadars fear Family guns and clubs because the Families use them. And it’s right to fear that. It’s right to fear Family control because we know it comes from the edge of a blade and the barrel of a gun. But what we fear, sisters and brothers, is exactly why we’re here.”
Throats clicked in agreement.
“This isn’t a question of violence, though. Not really. Once we separate the question of violence from the idea of revolution, we find the real question is whether together we cure ourselves of this disease together, or individually we choose to get swallowed up by it.”
More clicks filled the area.
“I know some others are afraid we can’t win, though. They say the Families are strong and ruthless. They kick us and beat us. If we fight they say we risk everything. To those I say that if you don’t risk, you don’t win. But worse than that, if you don’t take that chance, if you don’t risk losing, you don’t deserve to win.”
The accusation buzzed through the gathering.
“You wouldn’t face a pack of neantha beasts without fighting back, then wonder why you got eaten up, would you?”
“No!”
“That would be insanity, am I right?”
“Yes!”
“Besides, I’m here to tell you that we can win,” he finally said. “Look at us here today!” The words resonated. “Look at our numbers. Look at our passions. Look at who we are, young and old, and of all the independent families and even some of the Upper Families: farmers and builders, cooks and carpenters, masons and weavers. Look at us, I say! Really look at us and see that together we are strong. Yes, we should be ready to defend ourselves with blood if we need to, but we fight with our numbers because wherever we have one quadar, we have power, but wherever we are all together, we have more power than anyone can understand.”
Voices rose, fists raised. Clicks crossed the expanse in flowing waves.
The crowd was sizzling now.
He could see it in faces and expressions, the bonding happening, something firm and obvious, almost a physical thing itself. Eldoro’s light seemed to paint the air colors that didn’t exist, sharpening every feature. Lelo came to the edge of the platform, energy from them lifting him like a warm wind. As voices rose, Lelo ran his hands over the edge of his mask. He could already smell the sweetness of fresh air.
Yes, he thought as the voices settled. It was time.
“There is one more thing I need to discuss,” he said, “one more truth that I need to face before I can ask you to follow the Orange Ring.”
The gathering grew quiet, then a few throats clicked.
“I’ve said before that our problem is not with Families, all right? Our greater Families are quadars, after all, even those who have not yet come to our views. And truth is we have Family members here today, and they are all clearly part of ‘us.’ They love their parents and their siblings just as we all do, right? And I love them all. I need you to know that our fight is not with Families themselves, but instead it’s with the systems they’ve used to forge themselves into the hammers that pound us down. We are here for justice and change, not vengeance and retribution.”
The response was more reserved.
He opened his hands, feeling questions forming in the minds of the audience.
“I know this for the same reasons I know we can win, sisters and brothers. I know this because I have survived the heart of the disease myself and come away from it stronger. I know we can win this fight because I have been in Family boardrooms as they parceled out their profit schemes. We all know how this works because we all see the results, but I know it even better because I have seen it firsthand.”
Lelo felt pressure from every direction.
He was vulnerable now. Alone out here on the podium.
He felt Ezi watching from behind, and the Orange Army on his flank, but this was the moment he had been building to and now he was alone. No one could stop anything from happening.
Lelo held the mask firmly against his face, then pulled the straps.
Hushed astonishment rolled over the crowd as they realized what was happening.
“I have been a faceless leader for a long time,” he said as the bottom strap came loose. “That’s been proper in the past, because truth has no dependence on its origin and because I have never asked for sacrifice. But now I’m asking you to be a revolution, and I don’t think a revolution can be driven by a faceless leader.”
The sound of clicks were questioning now. Anxious.
A final fastener loosened, and now only the force of his hand was holding the mask on.
He took one last breath, and pulled it away.
Gasps came from the closest rows.
“Sisters and brothers, my name is Brada Waganat, whelp of Baraq, grandwhelp of Ranya, one of the most powerful of the Families in the Esgarat. And I am us.”
The information crashed from quadar to quadar in a rippling cascade of waves. In the distance of the periphery, Family observers scurried for their skippers. Two quadars in the front seemed upset. The guards seemed okay.
Brada tossed the mask aside and perched at the very edge of the podium.
“I know our numbers, sisters and brothers. I know our histories and I know our communities because I am both us, and born as a member of a greater Family. I say that if we stop working for the Families they will have to join us, and I know this is true because I am Brada Waganat, and I am us.”
The collective seemed to take a combined breath.
“It’s time for the revolution to begin, sisters and brothers. We have time to spend but no time to waste. Together we are going to make that future where we can all be together happen. We’re going to get our quadars fed, going to fix the burning rain. We’re going to get every quadar a fair opportunity to scale that sheer cliff.”
He paused to stare across the gathering. They were coming together again. He could see it in their eyes, feel it in the way their expressions had bent from glowing and enlightened to deep and resolute.
“So here’s what the whole of us are going to do now, all right?” he said. “When Eldoro rises again, we’re going to stand up together, and we’re going stop working. Rather than going to our offices and our factories, we’re going to gather to stand strong against the council and the Families. We’ll show them the medicine is here.”
Voices began to rise up.
“The Families can’t work if we don’t follow them, so we’re going to tell them and the council that we own ourselves. We’re going to say we want our share—but nothing more than our share.”
Clicks became stronger.
“Together we will not fear.” Silence began to settle. Heads began to nod. “Together we aren’t going to slink away quietly anymore. Together we will use our bodies, our minds, and yes, even our guns, to remove the disease that is killing our community.”
A single voice, cracked with age, called out. “I am us!”
“Are you us?” Brada said.
“I am us,” more responded.
“Together we’re going to make this happen,” he replied. “Are you us?”
More joined.
“Are you us?” Brada said.
“I am us!”
“Are you us?”
More voices, louder this time.
“Are you us?
Thousands of quadars joined together then, cheering, chanting “I am us! I am us!” Their energy sent chills through him. The muscles of his back crawled with inspiration. He spoke the phase again, and again, interspersing pauses to give the quadars below opportunities to raise their voices.
“Are you us?” he said one more time.
“I am us!”
“All right,” he said. “I’ll see you again at Eldoro rising.”
Then, his words spent, Brada walked into the crowd.
They gathered around, touching him and chanting. “Lelo, Lelo, Lelo.” The Orange Army led him through the press until he went around the tower and found Ezi and the motor cart she had promised. He ducked into it.
The door closed.
Then he was gone.
In the farthest regions of the crowd, members of the Families dispersed, each riding off to their leaders, each carrying news that the most feared renegade in the whole of the Esgarat was Brada Waganat, son of Baraq, grandson of Rayna.
CHAPTER 17
Simply breathing sent peals of pain crashing over every point of Torrance’s body. It was if his skin had been flayed. He flashed cold, then hot. His stomach twisted like a knife was turning in his gut. His leg burned, and his shoulder felt like a wall of fire. He wanted to throw up, but nothing was there.
And it was still goddamned hot, almost too hot to breathe.
As Torrance came to consciousness, things grew more concrete.
The room. Small.
Electric lights strung up like Christmas wire.
A box that reminded him of an intercom, mounted on the wall.
A long counter. Built into the wall. Covered with instruments made of stone and metal and wood. A window open to the air. It was daytime, though he had no idea what part of the day it was. Maybe afternoon.
A bowl made of red clay sat on a nearby table.
He moved his hand, and recoiled with pain. His skin felt too small for his body. A cough ripped his throat up like razor blades. He winced again as he instinctively brought his shaking hand to his lips. They felt like cardboard and burned at his touch.
A presence draped in yellow appeared before him.
It was large and hairless, with pebbled, leathery skin and a pronounced forehead. A glittering green eye was embedded in the center of that forehead, two more of gold sat to each side of the face. The being had arms, hands, and fingers.
Like his dream, he thought.
It was like the thing in one of the dreams he had out in the desert before everything started getting weird.
Or afterward, maybe.
The thing said something that Torrance couldn’t understand, and two more of them came into view.
Aliens.
The truth came to focus with the impact of a baseball bat. These were the message senders. Edenites or whatever the hell they would call themselves.
He suddenly realized he was naked and tried to cover himself, but the pain of movement made him suck breath. He realized then that his leg and shoulder were both draped in soft padding, his shoulder deeply bruised and his leg open and once again healing. Were they were tending to him, then? Nursing him back to health? He didn’t know what to think, but he didn’t really have any energy to consider things further.
The aliens chattered excitedly.
One reached to the table and brought the bowl forward.
It had six fingers, all six of which were wrapped around the bowl that appeared to contain water.
Water.
Suddenly he was as thirsty as he had ever been in his life.
Christ. He was alive.
His lips stung with needle-like pain, still Torrance managed to open his mouth to let the alien drain a slow trickle. The first swallow hurt, the second, also. But as his throat dampened, the pain grew less. Water ran down his face but he didn’t care, it was water, sweet, glorious water.
The bowl was empty too soon.
The aliens spoke to each other, then one took the bowl away.
“No,” Torrance said, nearly crying.
Lying back on the bedding sent shivers through his back. It occurred to him that he should be worried about what the aliens might do to him, but just the idea of trying to get away made his brain scream.
One of the remaining aliens scratched notes onto a slate and spoke.
The other responded by mimicking the sound of Torrance’s original cough.
“That’s right,” Torrance said. “I coughed.”
The aliens—though he realized now that he was really the alien here—exchanged another round of discussions.
The third returned through an arched doorway, and poured more water down Torrance’s throat.
He drank gratefully.
CHAPTER 18
It was late when Baraq slipped out of their bed. Both Eldoro and cold Katon had long ago passed under the horizon. He donned a pair of comfortable kami-skin pants, and a green wraparound.
“Where are you going?” Crissandr said through her grogginess.
“Go back to sleep,” he replied. She needed her rest.
“Where are you going?”
He made the motion for I can’t tell you.
Her expression turned sour. It was the response he gave any time he was doing something for Brada or Louratna, though Baraq was certain she was wondering if he didn’t take advantage of the practice whenever he just didn’t want to talk.
His shrug said the late-night excursion couldn’t be helped.
If he could have spoken, he would have explained that Louratna had replied to his note by saying she needed to know for certain that the creature was attached to the Taranth Stone. Wanted to be sure it was “Heatborn,” as she called it, because she had convinced herself that any creature who understood the Taranth Stone would have to be from Eldoro or Katon or any of the other pin-dot heats that now filled the night sky. Baraq was the only agent both close enough and with experience enough to make that determination. He was glad he couldn’t speak now, though. Since his father had already assigned the task to someone else, it meant he would have to disobey a Family order, something that would cause Crissandr unnecessary distress. Baraq understood that Louratna was aware of this danger, too. He could imagine the expression on her face as she developed the plan. The skin around her eyes would go slack, and her lips would grow warm. Her gaze would become deeper than the dark skies at night.
The mere fact that she asked him to do this meant it was important.
The medical center was across the city. He had to go now or risk being seen.
Crissandr nodded with the resigned patience that Baraq had come to count on. They had grown old having half-conversations like this. The Family didn’t monitor everything they said, but neither Baraq nor Crissandr was willing to take a chance when it came to their child or anything else they thought was important.
“Take care.”
“I will.”
He pressed his hand to her cheek, then left.
He pulled his skipper from its cubby, noting the battery light glowed in the darkness to show it was ready. He grabbed the handle, hit the starter, and pushed off, stepping onto the platform as the machine began to roll. The smell of the battery was faint, but the sound of rolling wheels was sharp in the nighttime quiet.
The pathways were dark and empty.
His primaries were nearly useless in the dim starlight, but his central showed heat shadows fading across the city. Its monocular vision caused him to take the pathways slowly, which was probably better given his need for stealth, but which let stress build. Traffic was sparse. Only the few quadars who collected waste were out at this time, and, of course, the council guards who were posted at various corners of the city’s overview grid. He took a longer path to avoid contact there.
A few windows burned with electrical light.
The smell of fires filled the alleys, cutting the chill.
There had always been a few cooking fires in the alley, but fires for warmth was different. Not unexpected, but new. Louratna’s equations showed that as cloud cover left, the planet’s heat would eventually drain away, too. He understood the basics because she explained them in terms of the resistors and capacitors he had once used to build little bits of equipment in his shop. The details were beyond him, but the truth was that the equations seemed to be working, if you wanted to call it that. It was colder in the dark than he remembered it. In the past it had been rare to burn root for heat.
