The Price of Freedom

CHAPTER 1

With the exception of the networked touch screen ‘black board’, the classroom looked no different than any other U.S. class circa 2066. This classroom though, was in Liberty City, the capitol and main city on the planet of Liberté.
Alan Green ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair, took a deep breath and brushed some lint from the front of his khakis. “Good morning class, I’m your civics teacher, Mr. Green.”
“Good morning,” some of the students replied. A few even added Mr. Green to their response.
Alan surveyed the new crop of high school freshman. He had done this many times before, for the last thirty years in fact. He was the second longest tenured teacher on the planet. Even though he wasn’t born on Liberté, he had lived here off and on since the age of sixteen.
“Who can tell me anything about the founding or current political status of Liberté?”
Seven of the students raised their hands, four boys and three girls. Alan looked at his first period class, thirty students in all – fourteen boys and sixteen girls. Alan pointed at a boy seated in front, smiling and waiving his hand vigorously.
“Before you answer,” Alan said. “State your name.”
“Brian Polanski,” Brian then went on to answer the question. “Liberté was discovered by Kyle Devico forty years ago. And he basically owns all the land on the planet.”
The classroom went silent.
Most people on Liberté held Kyle Devico in high esteem, such high esteem that not only was this false legend believed by some, but many were even afraid to say anything disparaging about the man in public. This had always disturbed Alan, but something else about the boy disturbed him even more.
Alan could tell from the boy’s style of dress, that he was a Favelado, a resident of the Favela.
Favela was the nick name for the rental apartment complexes on the outskirts of Liberty City. The buildings in the complexes averaged sixty floors. There were sixty two such complexes surrounding Liberty City and a few surrounding some of Liberté’s six other main cities. There were over two million people living in Liberty City’s Favelas alone.
It was not that Alan held anything against the residents of the Favelas – he was just troubled by the relative poverty and ignorance that was being perpetuated in them. Alan looked at the gold chain and the diamond studded crucifix that hung around Brian’s neck.
“That’s not exactly accurate,” Alan said.
More hands went up as Brian’s smile disappeared.
Alan signaled for the other students to put their hands down.
“The planet was actually discovered by a German mining company’s survey ship, the “Explorer Ein”.”
“Exactly,” Brian blurted out. “And don’t Devico own a piece of all anti matter drive ships?”
At first Alan wanted to correct Brian’s grammar, but thought the better of it.
“That’s not true,” Alan said. He looked at Brian. “Wait to be called on before you speak out in class.”
Alan noticed that Brian now had a frown.
“Your answer is partly correct,” Alan added diplomatically.
Brian still wasn’t smiling, but at least the frown was gone.
“The “Explorer Ein” discovered the planet on February 10th 2020 at 1:42 pm, launch site e-time.”
Brian’s hand shot up. Alan begrudgingly acknowledged him.
“What’s e-time?”
Alan breathed a sigh of relief, Brian was showing a willingness to learn.
“Launch site e-time, is the current time at the Earth based launch site of a ship traveling through space.”
Alan was even more pleased when Brian removed the stylus from his tablet computer and started writing on it. Now Alan was the one smiling. This is what made being a teacher worth it.
Alan then began to explain the history behind the founding of Liberté. This explanation got longer every year. In forty years and two generations, the legends of the exploits of Kyle Devico had grown to epic proportions. One of the facts that fueled the exaggeration was Kyle Devico’s founding and controlling ownership of DN Industries.
DN Industries originally patented the HYPERwavetm navigational system that was used on over 97% of the faster than light space vehicles.
High Yield Photon Emitted Radiation (HYPER) was also the back bone technology behind the Spaceport Authority and the French owned Galactic Communications Network. And even though Devico didn’t have controlling interest in the Spaceport Authority nor Galactic Communications Inc, his licensing of HYPER technology gave him de facto ownership.
Alan went on to explain that Liberté was actually an unincorporated territory that belonged to, but was not actually part of the United States of America. By the end of the period, Alan had explained an abbreviated history of the planet to his new students.
Alan looked at his watch. The class was almost over.
“Any questions?” Alan said.
Brian raised his hand. Alan called on him.
“How do you feel about independence?” Brian said.
The question caught Alan off guard. He had no qualms about his feelings on the issue. He always told his students he favored self rule. In fact his blog on the subject was one of the more popular on the internet. His views on independence were well known. What actually surprised Alan so much was not the question, but the questioner. The question of independence was usually the discussion of intellectuals and businessmen, why would a Favelado even care.
Alan caught himself. He realized he was being bigoted and admonished himself.
“Given the opportunity I would support a move towards independence.”
“But what about people who work for a living,” Brian blurted out. “We have rights too.”
“Excuse me?” Alan said.
“Us working people have rights too.”
“Most true,” a girl’s voice said.
Alan looked in her direction and noted that she was a Favelada too.
“What are you talking about,” Alan said. “I work just like your parents do.”
“So how much rent do you pay,” Brian said.
Alan realized where this was going. Favela residents were renters, whereas the majority of residents on Liberté owned at least one parcel of land. Alan owned three. Being an only child of ‘Original Settlers’, Alan had inherited his mother and father’s land and had then purchased a half acre in the city near the school before the land grab of 2041.
“We shouldn’t allow petty issues like land ownership divide us,” Alan said.
“It’s easy to say that when you freeholders own all the land,” Brian said.
Alan had had enough. “I told you to raise your hand before you speak out in class.”
Brian turned and faced a boy seated next to him. In a low voice but still loud enough for Alan to hear he said, “Y’all own all the land and now you want my right to free speech too.”
Alan always figured the first period class set the tone for the rest of the day. And the first day set the tone for the rest of the year. Alan felt that this year, he’d be doing a lot of thinking about retirement.

*****

The exploration and settlement of the galaxy threw classical economics a curve ball. The scholars of the ‘Dismal Science were unprepared for a universe were almost everything was in abundance. There were no longer any rare natural resources. There was at least one planet, but more often hundreds, that contained an abundant amount of any needed resource.
Since antimatter energy was too inexpensive to meter and 3D printers were producing most goods, prices plummeted. As prices dropped, profits and investments continued to rise. It was an unprecedented period of deflationary expansion. The standard of living for mankind has risen to extraordinary heights.
This also brought about a shift in wealth accumulation. Since almost everything was becoming a commodity, monopolies were rare and short lived. Mainstream economists had not foreseen a galaxy were, supply and demand were both rising. Owning a factory or a gold mine for that matter didn’t mean as much if there were hundreds of other enterprises willing to sell the same product. The power shifted to those who controlled the resource distribution channels. These were the independent starship owners and by default the Spaceport Authority.
There was another shift as well. Since most of mankind’s material needs were being met, people started focusing on social and entertainment wants. Old money and the traditional power elite were becoming irrelevant. They started the war to stem the tide.

*****

Mustafa Abdul-Jabbar was ridding in the express elevator. He looked at his reflection in the elevator’s metallic wall. The image he saw appeared darker than he actually was. What he saw, just emphasized what he already knew. Mustafa, an African American was darker than most. He took pride in his appearance. Because of it and his demeanor, most people found him intimidating. The nine millimeter that hung on his waist only added to his tough guy look.
But now he was the one who felt intimidated.
In a few minutes he would be in front of his boss, Kyle Devico. The first time they met, Mustafa thought that Kyle might have been psychotic. Forty eight years later they had become some what friends. And Mustafa was now surer than ever that Kyle was indeed crazy. He just knew that Kyle was about to throw one of his famous temper tantrums. In so many ways he was child like, easily offended and revenge prone. And it was dangerous when Kyle Devico lashed out in anger - his brutality was only matched by his cunning. And Mustafa knew that he would be one of the instruments with which Kyle lashed out. Mustafa was tired - he wanted no part in the bloodshed that was sure to come.
The elevator door opened. Mustafa stepped out onto the sixtieth floor.
When Mustafa stepped into the Board of Directors conference room, the first thing he noticed, were the six uniformed armed security guards. These were in addition to Kyle’s two personal plain clothed bodyguards. Mustafa fought the urge to touch the weapon that hung round his waist. Instead he fingered his belt buckle pretending to adjust it.
He marginally acknowledged Kyle, who was seated at the head of conference table. Of more interest to Mustafa were the looks on the faces of his co members on the Spaceport Authority’s Board of Directors. He wondered which ones would back him on trying to prevent Kyle’s plan.
“Ok now that Mustafa’s here we can get down to business,” Kyle said.
Mustafa took his usual seat next to Kyle. The other directors around the table counter clockwise were, John Wierman, president of the Diamond Merchant Bank; Betty Wu, the representative of the French owned Galactic Communications Network; David Weber, public relations expert; Ryan Fox, a major shipbuilder; and Donald Perez, a ship safety engineer.
“Let the record state, that all seven members of the board of directors are present,” Kyle said. He then turned and faced Mustafa. “Your report.”
Mustafa knew that all the board members had already been briefed and that his report was just a formality for the stock holder’s records. He looked around the table and saw that all eyes were on him. As he glanced at the individual faces, he couldn’t tell how the vote was going to go. He pulled out his smart phone and started punching keys. Once the relevant information came up Mustafa cleared his throat.
“A bill was introduced today in the United States Congress at 10:00 AM Eastern e-time.”
Mustafa paused to judge the facial expressions around the room. This was also to make sure that no one would notice him releasing the holster lock on his side arm. He then continued with his report.
“The bill is in two parts. To paraphrase, part one regulates the diamond trade and establishes an excise tax on all diamonds imported into and out of U.S. territory.”
“Taxation without representation!” Wierman said.
Mustafa continued, “Part two, would establish that all U. S. Federal laws are the law of the land on all space colonies under the U.S. flag. This would also give Washington control of the Liberté Spaceport Authority.”
“This is totally unacceptable,” Kyle said.
“Of course it is,” Wierman said. “So we know what we have to do.”
“And what exactly is that?” Perez said.
No one spoke, but all eyes shifted to Kyle. “A declaration of Independence.”
“We don’t have the legal authority to do that, we’re a private company not a government,” Perez said.
“I second Kyle’s motion,” Wierman said
Perez slammed his hands on the table as he stood up. Everyone in the room jumped except Kyle and Mustafa. The security guards seemed unsure what to do, but Mustafa noticed that one of Kyle’s body guards was discretely moving towards Perez.
Mustafa realized he might still have a chance to prevent this. It was obvious that Perez would vote with him against succession. Wu hadn’t spoken, but she kept looking at the armed guards. Once Mustafa made it clear where he stood he was sure she would vote with him, it all hinged on Fox and Weber.
“No motion was put on the floor,” Perez said.
“Well I make a motion,” Wierman said. “That we vote on independence. All those in favor say I.”
“It has to be seconded,” Perez’ voice was getting louder. “This is not Nazi Germany!”
Even Perez realized he went too far with his last remark. “I’m sorry but…”
“I second the motion.”
All eyes turned to Ryan Fox.
Wierman clasped his hands together and nodded his head.
Kyle spoke. “All those in favor…”
“It has to be debated!” Perez yelled, not even noticing Kyle’s bodyguard was now standing right next to him.
The bodyguard placed his hand on Perez’ shoulder, grabbing it firmly. Everyone in the room froze, everyone except Betty Wu. She was visibly shaking.
“I’m going to have to ask you to calm down,” the bodyguard said. “Or you will be escorted from the room.”
Perez was about to say something, but thought the better of it and sat down. This was madness, Mustafa thought. Here they were starting to debate about legalities and parliamentary procedures when the real issue was being ignored.
All eyes turned back to Kyle. He started to say something but was interrupted.
“He’s right, we have to open the floor up to debate.”
With that statement Mustafa had made his position clear. If anyone had doubted where he stood, the look on Kyle’s face made it obvious.
The two men had often disagreed on a particular course of action. It was ironic, because it always seemed to strengthen their partnership. Even though Kyle usually had the final word, he respected Mustafa’s willingness to stand up to him. Kyle had grown so rich and powerful that most of the people around him would agree to whatever he said. This was not so much fear of Kyle as apposed to fear of losing their well paying jobs. But Mustafa didn’t care. If it was feasible and beneficial, Mustafa was game – otherwise he had no problem expressing his disagreement.
“You may begin the debate,” Kyle said to Mustafa.
“The whole issue is moot,” Mustafa said. “Even if we do vote to succeed, how long do you think it will last? The United States will come down on us with the full force of the U.S. military. We only have ten ships that are armed.”
“The Spaceport has thirty ships that can be converted to combat readiness in twelve e-weeks,” Kyle said. “We have the financing,” Kyle pointed to Wierman. “And we have the technology,” he looked at Fox.
Mustafa knew that the Spaceport’s ship were already combat ready, so when Kyle Devico used the word technology, what he really meant was technological advantage. He realized that Kyle had developed something that he wasn’t privy too. Two things became apparent. One, Kyle had been planning this for a while – he just needed an inciting incident from the U.S. government to justify it. And two, Mustafa the trusted security adviser had been left out of the loop.
Mustafa still had one hole card. “This still brings us back to Perez’ point, we’re a private company. We don’t represent the will of the people.”
“You’re forgetting the UN Space Treaty,” Kyle said. “A planet and its gravity well are the property of the first institution to permanently colonize it. DN Industries sold most of the land and control of the atmosphere to the Spaceport Authority.”
In other words, Kyle still owned the sky.
“And as far as the will of the people…”
Mustafa looked in the direction of the voice, it was David Weber.
“I think the majority will support the move toward independence.”
That was it. There was no need to debate any further. Weber’s comment showed where he stood on the issue. Mustafa realized now that war would come, an unprecedented war. There had been several firefights in space, but this would be the first full fledged intergalactic war. What happen next underscored the magnitude of what was to come.
“All those in favor raise your hands,” Kyle said as four hands went up, Kyle’s, Wierman’s, Fox’ and Weber’s.
“The motion passes four to three.”
Kyle then scratched his ear. Mustafa might not have noticed it except for the fact that the security guards started to move. As a guard took a position behind each of the board members, Kyle spoke.
“It will be noted that the vote was not unanimous. Still, all members of this board are bound by this decision.”
Kyle was talking to everyone, but staring at Betty Wu. It was obvious that she was planning to jump on the first starship outta here.
“Any attempt by a Board member to leave the planet will be treated as treason and will be dealt with accordingly.”

*****

“This isn’t going according to the plan,” the red faced, chubby man said. His name was Samuel Bradley. He was standing over the desk of Rudolf Molinaro.
Molinaro looked over the rim of his glasses at Bradley. “Don’t worry. It’s a small thing.”
“A small thing,” Bradley said. “What if they put two and two together and figure out it was always about the money?”
Molinaro shook his head slightly. There was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” Molinaro said.
The door opened and a U.S. Marine Corps Master Sergeant stepped into the room. The marine walked over towards Molinaro’s desk. He stopped a few feet away, stood directly in the middle of Seal of the President of the United States and saluted. Molinaro returned the salute.
“The Joint Chief of Staff is here, Mr. President.” The marine looked at Bradley. “Should I tell him you’re busy?”
“No,” President Molinaro said. “Senator Bradley was just leaving.”
Molinaro watched with a look of disgust as Bradley, the Chairman of the Senate Banking Committee, exited the Oval Office. I always liked him, Molinaro thought, to bad he has to die.


*****

Jason Dunbar was a fourth generation lumber jack.
His great grand father had served two tours in Vietnam before settling in the Pacific Northwest region of the United States. When Great Grand Pa Dunbar returned home from the war, a girl spat on him in the LAX airport and called him a baby killer. Disillusioned he ended up in logging country, where the people were more patriotic, appreciative of his service to his country and hard working. The Dunbar men had been cutting down trees ever since.
With the advent of artificial wood and as a result of conservationist, the logging industry ended legally in the U.S. in 2051. Jason’s father went from a hard working and proud logger to a disgruntled employee of a convenience store. He died an alcoholic by the time Jason was fifteen.
Jason, like his father and all the former lumber jacks blamed a repressive government for all their woes. As far as they were concerned, the government had taken away their right to choose how to earn a living.
At the age of eighteen, Jason ended up working at the same convenience store that killed his father. In his spare time he fought as a semi pro in a mixed martial arts league. He was one of the best in the state.
He was at work one day when a tourist showed up. Jason and the man struck up a conversation. It just so happened that the man was a vacationing logging company exec from Liberté. Two weeks later Jason was on a starship to a new life.

Jason sat at a table in the Many Mug Bar and Grill, nursing his beer. He was waiting for Madison. After a couple of drinks and game or two of pool they’d probably head over to her place for the weekend. He hated his apartment in the Favela. It was ironic Jason thought - who would have ever dreamed of working lumber jacks living in an inner city tenement building.
The only place in Liberty City Jason found homey was the Many Mug. The bar was actually seven bars in one. Each of the bars had its own theme. Jason sat in the country western room.
An old country western song was playing over the ‘juke box’ and a Liberté League Football game was on the television.
As Jason sipped on the beer, he listened to the conversation between a man and a woman at the next table. The woman, obviously a prostitute, was trying to convince the man that her price was fair.
“Twenty carats,” the woman said.
“Ten carats is the standard price,” the man said with a French accent. “Is what everyone tells me.”
“But can everyone…” The woman leaned over and whispered in the man’s ear.
The man’s eyes widened. He picked up his drink and took a hard swallow. When he caught his breath he said. “Agreed.”
“Let me go to the ladies room, I’ll be right back.” With that she got up and headed towards the bathroom.
What is the galaxy coming too, Jason thought? Mankind had reached the stars - and as a result, French astronauts were paying for sex with raw diamonds.
Suddenly the music on the juke box stopped. Someone shouted quiet. Jason looked over towards the bar. The bar tender was turning up the television.
“This is the emergency broadcast system. Please stay tuned for the following announcement…This is the emergency broadcast system. Please stay tuned for the…”
The recorded voice ended.
The bar was so quiet you could hear the proverbial pin drop. A man behind a podium at what appeared to be a press conference was on the screen. The camera zoomed in on his face, someone in the background said, “You’re on.” The man cleared his throat and looked up at the camera. The words, David Weber, spokesman Spaceport Authority, appeared at the bottom of the screen.
“Good day citizens of Liberté,” he said. “For those of you who don’t know me, or are listening in on an audio channel, my name is David Weber. I am the official spokesman for the Spaceport Authority.”
“Space flu,” Someone in the bar said.
“Quiet,” another voice said.
“…A law was introduced in the U.S. Congress, severely restricting free trade, private ownership and the rights of the citizens of Liberté.”
Weber paused as he looked at the camera solemnly. You could hear the members of the press explode with questions. The same thing happened in the bar.
The first thought that went through Jason’s mind was of his father and the convenience store. “Oh hell no,” Jason said.
“Quiet,” the bartender yelled.
The room quieted down.
Weber continued.
“…Because of this unprecedented intrusion on our rights and the rights of our children, the Spaceport Authority, in conjunction with selected civil authorities, have declared Liberté free and independent.”
Weber paused again, this time there was silence.
He continued.
“As of this time, all current laws are still in effect, except for the abolishment of all income taxes. You are now free to keep all that you earn.”
Someone in the bar shouted, “Liberté.” As if on cue the bar erupted in a chant, “Liberté, Liberté, Liberté…”
Jason noticed that the bartender was putting on a holster. Jason checked his own gun, which like most on Liberté he chose to wear concealed.
Weber continued to speak on the television, but it was now impossible to understand what he was saying. All Jason could hear was, Liberté, Liberté…
At the table next to him, the Frenchman was joined by three others. One of the men said to the seated man, “c'est une revolution.”
Jason didn’t need to understand French to know what he meant as the astronauts started to leave. At the same time the woman staggered back up to the table. She grabbed the fleeing Frenchmen by the wrist, “Where you going honey?” The woman said. The astronaut’s only reply was to pull his hand away.
Jason heard what sounded like gunfire. Now he was starting to worry about Madison. He pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial button. He got a busy signal. He hung up and tried again with the same results. He looked around the room and noticed that a few people seemed to be experiencing the same problem with their phones.
Liberté, Liberté, the chant was becoming addictive. Jason was starting to chant it as he moved closer to the television.
Jason was right beside the bar looking up at the television when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, it was Madison. He hugged her.
“Can you believe this?” Madison said.
“It’s about time,” Jason said.
They both turned their attention towards the television.
Weber was still on the screen speaking. “In order to protect our freedom, we are seeking volunteers to help defend Liberté and its interest…”
Jason turned and faced Madison. She was shaking her head no.



CHAPTER 2

In the year 2016 a Scottish physicist, named Boyd Abbot, working at CERN discovered that if a diamond was bombarded with a certain type of microwave radiation, it would throw off all its neutrons. As long as this ‘diamond’ was being bombarded it would remain stable. It was soon discovered, that if a Protium atom of hydrogen was collided with the center atom of this bombarded diamond, the resulting collision would give off a small number of antineutrons. These antineutrons in turn would be captured by the carbon atoms in the diamonds, thus turning the diamonds into hybrid antimatter. All this could be done for a few of hundred dollars (US), excluding the price of the diamond, which was destroyed as it released its energy.
It took less than six months to build the first antimatter powered generator. Exactly one year and two days after Abbot’s discovery, the first antimatter powered rocket was produced. Guided by an onboard computer it broke light speed on June 1st 2017. Einstein’s laws were no longer universally applicable.
There was one problem though. Once a ship neared light speed, it became an electromagnetic ‘black hole’. A FTL moving ship could only be detected if it was moving at a right angle in relation to the observer. In addition, no electromagnetic waves could escape the ship’s gravity well. This meant that ships traveling faster than light could not communicate with the outside universe, nor could it use radar, light or any other type of known electromagnetic force to see where they were going. This severely limited manned flights.
That was until Kyle Devico’s discovery of High Yield Photon Emitted Radiation (HYPER) waves.

*****

Captain José Feliciano stood six foot eight. He rubbed the new swelling just above his left eye. He often bumped his head on the bulkhead of the Spaceport Authority’s Starship (SAS) Freedom. He had grown used to it. The Freedom was one of the ten armed vessel that patrolled space around Liberté. The Space Guard was the space borne equivalent of the U.S. Coast Guard.
After rubbing the knot above his eye, Feliciano brought his right hand to rest on the thirty eight that hung at his waist. It was standard on most starships. It could stop an average man, but wouldn’t pierce the hull of most ships. He scratched at an itch on his thigh. He couldn’t quite get to it because of the EXsuit overalls he wore.
The EXsuits were the space borne equivalent of a life jacket. The Emergency eXternal suit was a fully functional space suit. The bullet resistant suit consisted of a pair of overalls and a helmeted upper body chemise. If the ships hull or oxygen supply was comprised, the chemise would be put on. The high tech nano fibers in the chemise and overalls would merge forming an air tight connection. The EXsuit air system could maintain an average human two and a half hours in space.
Captain Feliciano couldn’t imagine how space travel would have been tolerable before the invention of gravity wave transmitters. Not only did the wave transmitters provide gravity in ships, they revolutionized planet side transportation. If you attached a wave transmitter to platform and reversed the polarity, anything on the platform could become weightless. In fact if the transmitter was powerful enough, the load would have a negative weight and would rise up until equilibrium was established with the ground’s gravity.
Captain Feliciano had been an employee of Liberté’s Spaceport Authority for fifteen years. It didn’t pay as well as a merchant space fleet, but it had its perks. He started out as a communications tech aboard this very ship. He had risen to the rank of Captain of the SAS Freedom, partly because of ability, merit and seniority. Feliciano like to think it was mostly ability and merit. The one hundred twelve crew members of the Freedom felt it was seniority and nepotism, Feliciano’s mother was a DN Industries executive. Today he planned to prove once and for all why he was the captain.
Feliciano stared over the tech’s shoulder at the HYPER navigational array panel. The nav array served two purposes. The first was for navigation, it let the ship’s crew know exactly where they were in space. The second purpose was its ability to function as radar at faster than light speeds.
The radar aspect is what interested Feliciano. They were twenty-four hours out from Liberté. They had left the planet’s gravity well three days before independence had been declared. They had been sitting out here in deep space for forty eight e-hours.
The entire crew knew what they were waiting for, but only Feliciano knew the real reason why. He looked up at the forward interior wall that doubled as a touch screen monitor. It showed empty space.
“Nothing yet?” Feliciano asked from over the Nav Tech’s shoulder.
“Ain’t we both staring at the same blank screen?” The tech replied.
The Communications array Tech, an attractive African American woman, laughed.
Feliciano looked at her and took a deep breath which he let it out with a sigh. “We’re an official military vessel now, you will show the proper respect to your superior officers.”
The com tech responded by rolling her eyes and sucking her teeth.
Feliciano sighed again and then looked back to the nav array screen just in time to see…
“We’ve got incoming,” the Nav Tech said.
This is it, Feliciano thought, his chance to prove he wasn’t a mama’s boy. He looked over to the intel array. “Make sure it’s not a merchant vessel.”
“Their transponder’s giving off a civilian code,” the Intel Tech said. “But the Spaceport’s Traffic Management Data Bank has no corresponding flight plan on file.”
“Probably smugglers,” the Com Tech said.
“Too big,” the Intel Tech said. He glanced at his various displays. “Plus they’re emitting multiple HYPER’s, they’re definitely military.”
The Com, Nav and Intel techs all turned towards Captain Feliciano.
Without missing a beat, Feliciano picked up the handset that was attached to the Com Tech’s station. He hit the intercom button on the console.
“All hands, this is the captain speaking, battle stations, I repeat, all hands battle stations. Also, Commander Wilson report to the bridge.”
Feliciano then looked at the Com Tech. “Open me up a channel.”

Captain Tyler Morgan of the U.S. Spaceship Abraham Lincoln couldn’t believe his ears. Basically he had just been told the space equivalent of stop or I’ll shoot.
Captain Feliciano’s exact words were, “This is Captain José Feliciano of the SAS Freedom. You have now entered a demilitarized zone. You have ninety seconds to stop or turn from your present course. If you fail to do so, we will open fire. This will be you only warning.”
It was obvious that the Freedom had been waiting for the Abraham Lincoln. On one hand that meant very little, the U.S warship was on its regularly scheduled patrol run out toward the Liberté colony. On the other hand it meant a lot. The people of Liberté were really willing to die for their cause.
“What should we do?” the helmsman said.
“Continue on our present course,” Captain Morgan said without turning from the image on the wall view touch screen. “What are the fire specs on the Freedom?”
The Lincoln’s Intel Tech double clicked his mouse on the icon that represented the Freedom. “One third our fire power and half the fire rate.”
“Weapons system status?” Morgan said.
“All systems green,” the fire control officer said.
“Open a line to SPACCOM,” Morgan said.
The com tech hit a button on his console. “Watch Dog, come in to Rover twelve.” He waited a few seconds then repeated, “Watch Dog, come in to Rover twelve.” The tech clicked on a couple of icons with his mouse before turning to face Captain Morgan. “I think the satellite’s jammed.”
“Any U.S. ships in radio range?”
“We’ve got about twelve civilian ships, but they all seemed to be turning around.”
Morgan turned and faced his first officer, Commander Dunn. “Do you really think they’re...?”
Morgan was interrupted by the blare of an alarm as the ship shuddered and the ship’s view screen went from the black of space to all white. Before anyone could say a word Morgan realized the ship’s automated anti missile system had fired in self defense. He also realized from the glare on the monitor, that the SAS Freedom was firing ‘nukes’.
“Helmsman, all stop. Weapons, return fire, nukes and dual purpose at will.”
The war had begun.

Faster than light travel and the explosive power of antimatter presented some interesting issues in regards to combat in space.
United Korea led the way. They were the first to arm their ships with faster than light missiles armed with antimatter warheads. These consisted of two kinds, ‘nukes’ and dual purpose (DP).
The standard nukes packed enough antimatter to produce an explosion equal to ten megatons of TNT. It was discovered that yields higher than this could put the firing ship in danger when the warheads exploded. This was because of the relative proximity one needed to have to fire a missile at a ship that was trying to evade you.
The DP’s also contained an antimatter warhead, but only enough to produce more conventional types of explosions. One of the DP’s purposes was as an anti missile missile, to shoot down nukes. The other purpose was to actually take out enemy ships.
All nations soon followed the Korean model.
Even though the United Koreans pioneered the technique, the Americans were soon out producing them and everyone else. This plus the U.S.’ very sophisticated automated fire system, gave the United States the most powerful space fleet in the known universe.

Captain Feliciano watched as the battle raged. With every exploding nuke, the Freedom shuddered from the resulting shock wave. It felt almost like music.
Both the Freedom and the Abraham Lincoln were firing their nukes at three second intervals. Three seconds was the amount of time it took a standard nuke to get far enough away so that the firing ship would not be in the blast range.
The Dual Purposes (DP’s) were taking out each others nukes. But since the Abraham Lincoln had a faster fire rate for its DP missiles, they were actually starting to take out some of the Freedom’s DP’s as well. As time went on, this resulted in the all the missiles exploding closer and closer to Freedom’s hull.

“The Republic just radioed,” the Com Tech said. “They’ve spotted an unregistered ship heading towards Liberté, they’re going to intercept.”
“What!” Captain Feliciano said. “Don’t they know we need their help to match the American’s fire power?”
“Yeah they know,” Commander Wilson, the Freedom’s first officer said. “But they can’t let a ship of unknown origin approach the Home World.” Wilson put his hand on Feliciano’s shoulder. “Besides, the Unity is still on schedule, they’ll be here in three minutes.”
“But it takes three of us to out gun them,” Feliciano said.
Commander Wilson turned to the Intel Tech. “How far away is the Republic?”
The tech clicked a few icons. “When the radioed us, they were eight minutes out. When they intercept the bogey they should be twelve minutes out.”
“This is not the way we planned it,” Feliciano said.
“They say war seldom is,” Wilson said.
Captain Feliciano walked over to the Nav Tech and while struggling to hide the trembling in his voice said, “How long before their nukes get close enough to start affecting us?”
The tech clicked his mouse button a couple of times before saying, “We’ve got four minutes. And if the Unity shows up in time, we’re good until we run out of missiles.”
What a way to fight a war, Feliciano thought. It basically boiled down to whoever could launch the most missiles would win the battle. The rhythmic thud of the exploding nukes that was gently vibrating throughout the SAS Freedom would have been relaxing, if it weren’t for the fact that eventually the ship would be blown to smithereens. What a way to fight a war.
It would be three minutes before the first of two back up ships would arrive.
The original plan was for all three ships to engage the USS Abraham Lincoln. The Americans would have seen they were out gunned and would have turned tail and headed back to Earth. But at the rate things were going, the first ship that would run out of missiles would be the Freedom. At that point they would be totally helpless. One DP could then take them out.
Less than three minutes before the SAS Unity would arrive. It was the longest three minutes of Captain José Feliciano’s life.
The Unity showed up on time.
Together with the Freedom they were fighting the Americans to a draw. A draw that would last until the Freedom ran out of ammo. Then the tide would turn.
Captain Feliciano felt an itch at his nose. As he scratched it he noticed his hand was trembling. He hoped no one else had seen it.
“Open up a line to Liberté,” Captain Feliciano said.
“We’re jamming the satellite system,” Commander Wilson said.
“Well stop jamming it and contact the Spaceport Authority,”
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Wilson said.
“And neither was the Republic going off chasing smugglers, stop jamming the satellite system and patch me through.”
“Calm down,” Wilson said.
“Who said I’m not calm!” Feliciano shouted.
The whole bridge crew was staring at him. He wasn’t sure what to say as he glanced around the room at all the eyes that were on him. His breath became shallow and the room seemed to darken. Captain Feliciano felt as if he was about to pass out. He was starting to panic.
“If we stop scrambling the satellite,” the Com Tech said. “The Americans will be able call out for reinforcements.”
Feliciano realized that was the last thing he wanted.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Feliciano said. He got up from the captain’s chair and walked across the bridge to the small bathroom. He hoped no one noticed his legs were trembling as he walked.
As soon as he closed the door to the bathroom Captain Feliciano vomited violently into the toilet. As he wiped his face, Feliciano took slow deep breaths to calm himself. He soon found himself breathing to the rhythm of the exploding nukes. He laughed because it seemed to work.
Feliciano stepped out of the bathroom and walked over to the helmsman. He tapped the man on the shoulder. “Pull us back about ten kilometers an hour.”
The helmsman looked at Feliciano and then to Commander Wilson.
“Why are you looking at him,” Feliciano said. “I gave you an order. Pull back at a speed of ten kilometers per hour. Once we get further away from the Americans than the Unity, I want you to maneuver so that the Unity is almost between us and the enemy ship.”
“You’re going to use one of our own as a shield?” Wilson said.
“We’re going to run out of ammo before they do, when that happens, we’re getting out of here.”
The helmsman looked unsure of what to do.
“You have your orders,” Feliciano said.
“I need a course from the navigator.”
Feliciano looked at the Nav Tech. “Plot the move.”
“No!” Commander Wilson said as all eyes turned towards him.
“This is mutiny,” Feliciano said as he drew his side arm.
“No,” Commander Wilson repeated. “It’s cowardice.”
Captain José Feliciano felt as if he couldn’t breathe. In his shaking hand he held a gun, a gun that was pointed at his first officer. Feliciano was confused. He couldn’t understand why his first officer wasn’t scared. There were nukes exploding close enough to shake the ship and here was a gun pointed at him and the man looked as calm as ever.
No, Captain José Feliciano wasn’t confused, he knew exactly what it was he was feeling. It was jealousy. He wished he was as brave as Commander Wilson.
Everyone on the bridge was silent. The only sounds were the rhythmic rattling caused by the exploding nukes.
Feliciano felt he had to pull the trigger. It was the only way to redeem himself after being called a coward. He took a deep breath and looked Wilson in the eyes.
“The republic is on the way,” the com tech shouted.
“The Americans are pulling back,” the Nav Tech said. “They’re dropping nukes to cover their retreat.”
A cheer went up in the bridge. The captain lowered his weapon as Commander Wilson turned and faced the Com Tech.
The weapons officer walked over and patted Feliciano on the back. “Congratulations, you’ve won the first battle of the war.”
Captain José Feliciano realized his congratulations would be short lived. Word of his behavior on the bridge would spread through the ship like wild fire. And once the satellites were back on line, the cell phones would be working and…the thought of the humiliation made him wish he had died in battle.



*****

It was midnight local time. Kyle’s townhouse was quiet. The townhouse was actually a small mansion that sat in the middle of Liberty City. It was situated four blocks from the Spaceport’s Traffic Management Control Center.
Kyle and his wife Miranda were lying in bed snuggled up together. They hadn’t slept like this in a while, but Kyle needed some emotional reassurance. Kyle’s cell phone started to ring, while at the same time there was a knock at the door.
Kyle woke up immediately. He felt a throbbing in his head as he sat up and grabbed his pistol from off the nightstand. Miranda also awoke now, positioned her upper body behind that of her husband’s.
Once he was sure the gun’s safety was off, Kyle called out, “Come in.”
One of his personal bodyguards opened the door and stepped into the room. “We have a situation.”

Kyle and his wife entered the fortified command center that sat beneath his mansion. Kyle’s wife was still wearing a house coat and bedroom slippers.
There were twenty people in the room. Five were uniformed Spaceport security. The other fifteen people were seated around a large conference table. Each of the seated technicians had at least one laptop computer in front of them.
“Status,” Kyle said to no one in particular.
“The first wave of National Guardsman will hit Liberty city in fifteen minutes,” a slightly overweight but pretty woman said. She was seated near the head of the table in front of two laptops.
Kyle walked to the head of the table. There were three laptops situated there. One of the laptops had a radar type display on its monitor. The monitor showed hundreds of blips representing in atmosphere aircraft descending on Liberty City.
The other two monitors had faces on them. One was Mustafa. The other had an African American woman in military fatigues. She wore the rank of Major General. Kyle sat down in front of the three laptops.
“General Johnson,” Kyle said. “Explain this.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” General Johnson said. “Once they hit the city limits they’ll be cut to pieces.”
“I thought you isolated and shut down their communications.”
“We did,” General Johnson said. “None of this is making sense.”
“Word of mouth.” It was Mustafa.
“What,” Kyle said.
“I checked air traffic logs going back twelve hours,” Mustafa said. “It seems that in atmospheres have been shuttling back and forth between these so called isolated National Guards units all day. It’s safe to assume they coordinated this through old fashioned talking.”
“What about the air force, I thought we had operational control,” Kyle said.
General Johnson looked down.
“Fighting broke out on the three Air Guard bases the same time they launched their assault,” Mustafa said. “And most of the anti air batteries are offline.”
“They’re flying nape of the earth at subsonic speeds,” General Johnson said. “Once they clear the Favelas that ring the city it’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
“Why so slow,” Mustafa said.
“When they clear the Favelas…” Kyle paused. “They’re going to touch down on the outside of the Favelas.”
“Oh my god,” General Johnson said. “They have us out numbered eight to one, we’ll have to abandon Liberty City while we still have time.”
“Unacceptable,” Kyle said.
Liberty City wasn’t just the capital of Liberté. It was the home of the Spaceport’s Traffic Management Control Center. The nerve center of intergalactic travel, whoever controlled it controlled most of the galaxy’s space traffic.
“Prepare your people for siege General,” Kyle said.
“But...”
“But nothing, just do it,” Kyle said. “Mustafa you have any ideas?”
“Yes,” Mustafa said. “General Johnson, I’m going to need an organizational chart of the Liberté National Guard and the names of all officers not on our side.”
“Now’s not the time to conduct an internal security review,” General Johnson said. “I would strongly suggest we abandon our position.”
“And I would strongly suggest you do what you’re told. Give Mustafa what he asked for and ready your people.” Kyle hit a switch and muted General Johnson’s audio. He then turned to his wife and in a low tone said, “Prepare to leave just in case.”



*****

Mustafa Abdul-Jabbar was keen on payback. Kyle had left him out of the loop and now it was obvious that whatever plan Kyle had would fail if Mustafa didn’t come through. This was Mustafa’s chance to get revenge, in a passive aggressive way. The best revenge was to be a success, and Mustafa was one of the best at what he did. Besides, as long as he kept Kyle alive, Mustafa would be the highest paid employee in the Galaxy.
Mustafa, along with sixty other men in civilian clothes, sat in the cramped anti gravity aircraft. In contrast to the civilian clothes, each man wore a black military style helmet. The helmets came with the standard digital equipment, plus a few extras that Mustafa had had custom fitted.
Designed for in and outer atmosphere transport, the antigrav craft were nick named hoppers because their vertical take off and landing abilities. This hopper was different though. All the seats except for Mustafa’s faced the walls.
Each of the special operatives was equipped with a side arm and most had standard army issue assault rifles. A few had submachine guns and other types of equipment.
Mustafa sat at the front of the ‘passenger’ compartment, directly behind the pilot. He could feel the rush of adrenaline as he mentally readied himself for what was about to happen.
“Are you sure this is a good idea,” Kyle’s voice said in Mustafa’s earpiece.
“Yes,” Mustafa said before turning to face the man seated next to him whose name was Watson. “Do it.”
Earlier Mustafa had explained the plan to Kyle. “We can’t break their code,” Mustafa said. “But once we triangulate the focal point of their communications, we’ll know their HQ position.”
Watson was about to turn on the communications grid of the troops still loyal to the United States. The Loyalists were probably under the command of a Colonel by the name of Maddox. It was a given that they were trying to get their com network back up and running. Mustafa would help them. It was set up so that the Loyalists would think they had done it themselves.
Watson hit the enter key on the mini laptop that rested on his knees and said, “Their communications are back online.”
Mustafa looked at his watch. He then looked to the opposite wrist and hit the control panel for his own com unit. “Crews, One, Two and Three acquire targets.”
The three Crew leaders replied but Mustafa’s mind was on the next stage of the mission.
“They’re talking,” Watson said. “A few transmissions and we should have a lock.”
Mustafa nodded his head. Once again he was going into battle. He was seventy years old and had been doing this longer than most of the people on the hopper had been alive. But thanks to gene and hormone therapy he looked as good and was in better shape than the average twenty year old.
“Three possible locations,” Watson said.
Mustafa, still angry with Kyle for keeping him in the dark, toyed with the idea of not completing the mission. Whose ear would Kyle whisper secrets in then, he thought. But then that thought was quickly replaced with, I wonder how much money I’ll get for a successfully completed mission. Saving a planet had to be worth at least two billion dollars.
“Two possible,” Watson said.
Mustafa looked at him.
“We have the location.”
“Patch it through to the pilot,” Mustafa said.
Watson tapped on his mouse a couple of times.
“I’m on it,” the pilot said. “We’ll be there in three minutes.”

*****

Panic was starting to set in. Kyle sat in the command center as the reports came in. One by one his supporters were being wiped out. General Johnson had brought over one thousand National Guardsman with her to the revolution. At least two hundred had been killed before Kyle had reluctantly allowed the restoration of the Loyalist’ communications. Once their com system was up the Loyalist went for the electronic jugular. They reestablished control of the Air Guards satellite system. They were now able to locate and take out any targets that were out into the open. This also limited Kyle’s means of escape.
Kyle’s entire future depended on Mustafa. This underscored how important Mustafa was. In fact it showed Kyle that Mustafa was a little too important.

*****

ONE HOUR EARLIER

Jason and Madison were relaxing in Jason’s apartment in the Favela when the shooting started. Homicide Detective Madison Santana’s first reaction was to turn on her police radio. At first when she couldn’t get through to anyone she thought it was an equipment malfunction. But as the shooting intensified, she and Jason realized the war had begun.
Jason watched and listened as the battle for Liberty City raged on. Actually he listened more than watched. But ever so often streaks of light would show Jason where to point Madison’s binoculars as he kneeled at the window.
Madison on the other hand was on the floor at the opposite side of the room. In front of her on the floor were her cell phone and a laptop. The police band, phone lines and the internet were down, but Madison kept trying.
Jason’s apartment was on the sixtieth floor and had an excellent view, since his apartment faced into the heart of the city and most of the inner city was composed of one and two story private homes.
Liberty City’s streets were mostly empty. Once in a while Jason would see a gravcar go racing down some street. Gravcar used anti gravity to fight inertia, but by law they were designed to lift no higher than four feet from the surface.
Jason was using the night vision setting to follow a squad of Loyalist National Guardsmen. They were easy to identify, they had their helmets painted red. The Redtops were using parked gravcars for cover as they made their way towards the supermarket where Jason shopped. It looked like the Loyalists were shooting into the market. This pissed Jason off, this market was the only one in Liberty City that specialized in Earth crops that wouldn’t grow in Liberté’s alkaline soil.
One of the Loyalist leveled an RPG towards the market.
They’re going to try and starve us out, Jason thought.
But then he noticed that what he thought was a gravbus start to move. Jason realized it was actually an artillery piece of some kind.
The self propelled rocket launcher lifted off the ground and headed toward the corner of the market. It wasn’t fast enough though, the RPG took it out. The self propelled rocket launcher hit the ground and skidded to a stop. A man or woman engulfed in flames jumped out of the vehicle. Mercifully the Redtops shot them down instantly.
Jason pulled the binoculars from his face.
As he shook his head, Jason noticed the sparks of gunfire to the south. He pointed the binoculars in that direction.
Again it was a similar scenario. Twenty or so Loyalists were chasing five of the green helmeted forces of the revolution down a street. Suddenly two of the Greentops turned and open fire on their pursuers. This caught the Loyalists off guard. Four of them fell before the rest returned fire cutting down the two brave revolutionaries. The other three Greentops were shot in their backs as they continued to run.
Still looking through the window Jason said, “This isn’t looking to good.”
“You need to pull your head away from that window,” Madison said.
Jason slumped down to the floor just below the window and placed his back up against the wall. He did this not because of what Madison had said, but out of frustration.
“I wish I could help,” he said.
“Help do what - die?” Madison shook her head. “I think the revolution is over.”
“Kyle Devico’s no dummy. I don’t think he’s going out just like that.”
All of a sudden they heard the unmistakable sound of a large hopper descending. Jason got back on his knees and looked out the window. This time he didn’t need binoculars.
The large vehicle passed right by his window. It was camouflaged and had U.S. military markings. Jason watched as it glided overhead. It passed over the roof of the building out of sight, but Jason could still hear it. It was obvious that it was landing in the courtyard on the other side of the building.
Jason sat back down and looked at Madison. “Still nothing on the radio?”
Madison tapped her ear piece, held her head as if she was trying to hear something and then shook her head.
Jason closed his eyes.
After a couple of minutes there was the sound of another hopper. This one was definitely smaller. Jason turned and looked out the window just as the rapidly descending hopper passed by. He opened the window, stuck his head out and saw that the antigrav aircraft landed in the middle of the little league baseball field that was across the street from his building.
“What the hell?”
“Pull your head in,” Madison said. “Before they take you for a sniper.”
“There’s something going on down there,” Jason said.
Down in the street, sixty stories below Jason’s apartment, a group of five Redtops were standing in front of the hopper talking. He noticed that the baseball field was surrounded by about a hundred Redtops. And about a dozen of them were armed with RPG’s.
Jason turned his attention back to the five soldiers that were talking in front of the hopper. Salutes were exchanged and two of the Redtops jogged back into the hopper, which immediately took off. A few seconds later another hopper landed.
“What are they doing,” Jason said. “Playing hopscotch?”
“Huh,” Madison said.
“They’re taking turns landing and talking.”
While crouching Madison made her way over to the window. She took the binoculars from Jason. She watched as the soldiers saluted and one of them jogged back onto the hopper. As it took off she turned to Jason. “How many times have they done this?”
“That’s the second one.”
As if on cue a third hopper descended. Madison watched as the scenario played itself out again.
“This is their headquarters,” Madison said. “They’re coordinating their attack from here.”
Without warning, the staccato of somewhat isolated gunshots was replaced with a barrage of explosions. The night sky outside Jason’s window lit up like a Fourth of July night. Suddenly Madison jumped. This in turn made Jason jump, thinking she had been shot.
“What happened,” he said.
“The police band is back online,” Madison said. She hit a button on her wrist console putting the transmission through the wrist piece’s tiny but loud speakers.
“…Stand clear of all combatants,” the female voice said. “I repeat, all law enforcement personnel, stand clear of all combatants. The situation is being handled by the appropriate authorities. We will contact you as further updates become available.”
The radio then went silent. Jason had a big smile on his face. Madison on the other hand looked confused.
“Why are you smiling?” She said.
“It’s safe to assume that Devico’s still running the police department.”
“How do you figure all that,” Madison said.
“It not important,” Jason said. “Right now we have to get out of here.”
“Why?”
“If you figured out this is the army’s headquarters, how long you think before Devico figures it out.”