From: Tun Kai Poh [t_poh@hotmail.com] Sent: Saturday, March 06, 1999 12:40 AM To: blue_planet@mpgn.com Subject: [BLUE PLANET] - Short story In The Rain Shadow By Tun Kai Poh It was the driest place in Poseidon. On a planet where ninety-seven percent of the surface was covered by vast oceans, this was a place where it hadn't rained in over a year. The only time the sand was wet these days, it was wet with human blood. He lay on his belly in the sand, aiming through the scope. Half a kilometer away, the Hanover Security Service patrol weaved its way down through the rocks in single file. Five of the soldiers carried assault rifles, and one a light machinegun. Their desert camouflage uniforms seemed to fit poorly, and he suspected that they had just been issued recently. The soldiers swept the muzzles left and right, looking out for any possible ambush. But he was well-hidden behind a thicket of dry branches. He let the crosshairs dance upon the lead soldier, a blonde-haired cadet officer who had taken off his helmet in the sweltering heat. The chubby-faced man who was just only a boy had a crew-cut haircut and was obviously fresh from the HSS training academy. The scope's computer-enhanced magnification could even pick out the name on his uniform: "A. BAUM". What bad luck, he thought, for the kid to get assigned to Hell's Basin right after graduation. He aimed carefully, waiting until the entire patrol was out in the open between the rocks, briefly exposed. He shot them. CLICK. * * * "These are excellent photographs, Mr. Ortega." Bernardo Oliveira looked up from the table. "The soldiers are plainly in full combat gear. It's yet more evidence of Hanover Industries' aggression against the native people of Westcape. Although given the quality and quantity of the...other shots you have taken, I think these are hardly necessary." Ramon Ortega nodded. "Yes, last week's pictures. It was a sloppy massacre. It's as if they didn't care who saw it. I know this kind of tactic, I know the way they think." There was no trace of anger in his voice, only a hint of sadness. "But I had to take one last look, to see their new soldiers." Oliveira looked carefully at the other man, picking up a faraway look in that lean dark face. He had known the photographer for nearly a month, taken him all across Westcape to see the secret war Hanover had been waging against the natives, but the man was still a mystery. There were undercurrents that Oliveira could not fathom. Ortega was a small balding Latino man in his mid-thirties. A bushy black mustache hid his expressions some of the time, but Oliveira knew to look at the eyes. And the eyes were deep brown pools of suppressed emotion. They had seen warfare in the New Balkans, back on Earth. They had seen the wonders and horrors of two worlds. Yet there was something else, some powerful loss, Oliveira sensed, which overpowered all of that. He was too polite to ask, but sometimes, like now, he wondered. "So you are leaving now?" Ortega nodded again. "I have to go soon, or I'll miss the rendezvous with the boat that takes me to Dyfedd. I wish I could stay longer, but I'm not the kind to pick up a gun, and I have more than enough pictures to tell your story." He stood up, his camera bags slung over his shoulder. "So this is goodbye." Oliveira got up to shake the photographer's hand. He hesitated, then cleared his throat. "I'm not good with saying goodbye. But I agree, you should go. Our uplink communications are still being jammed most of the time, and they have hackers on CommCore trying to block our every attempt to tell the world about our plight. So many of our young men and women failed to make the trip to the outside world, and even then, most reporters would not listen to them. But you did, and we are grateful. Your pictures...they are better than the strongest words we could say about this tragedy." He gripped Ortega's hand firmly, tears in his eyes. "Thank you. Tell them we will fight until we earn our freedom. One way...or the other." * * * The resistance camp was hidden in the hills, not too far from the Hanover mining operations in Hell's Basin. It was just far enough out of the rain shadow to actually have sparse green vegetation, and so the camp was shrouded with green camouflage netting. A young woman armed with a stolen Hanover rifle escorted Ortega to the edge of the camp. As he passed the tents and makeshift shelters, he saw the brave warriors who were willing to give their lives to protect their homeland. Most were dark-skinned descendants of the original Athena colonists. The elderly worked side-by side with the young. Pregnant women helped to prepare booby traps. A crippled young native man handled explosive seed pods with practiced ease, packing them into a cargo crate. There were also a few outsiders, newcomers like himself. There were a couple of grim mercenaries who had trained HSS soldiers near Bose Strand before they found out the truth and defected to the resistance. There was a tall woman who appeared to be a native until he saw the long gills on her back, marking an aquaform biomod that was quite new; she was an aquaform genie, but not a native. And there were a few colonists who had heard rumors of the Westcape war, who had came to help. They were so few, but they believed in their cause. They used the lay of the land and the native wildlife to their advantage, fighting a guerilla war against the latest military technology and overwhelming odds. So far, they were hanging on. The woman went with him until the camp was out of sight. "You can find your way from here?" she asked, her voice small and uncertain. "I'm meeting a friend, a local guide, a little closer to the coast. I'll be fine." "There's just one thing...could you find my brother for me?" "Your brother?" She looked down nervously. "Di Tranh left with some of the others months ago to get help from the Zion Islands. They were the first group to go. I haven't heard from him since. But one of the newcomers, the mercenary, he told me that there's a new ecoterrorist group calling itself the Westcape Liberation League, operating out of Kingston. He says they have connections with an NRM splinter group called the Sword of Zion. They're sabotaging Incorporate buildings in Kingston and other places, killing people, even innocent bystanders, all in our name." "And you think your brother might be involved?" "He's an angry one. If he's still alive, he might be mixed up with them." Ortega gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll look into it. I'm stopping in Kingston on my way back to the Haven Cluster, so I'll ask around while I'm there." She put a hand on his arm. "Thank you. If you find him, tell him Rose misses him. Tell him to come home." She took a shiny necklace of chain beetle shells from a pouch and gave it to him. "This will let him know that he can believe you." They talked for a while, and she told him what he needed to know. Finally, there was nothing left to say. He turned and walked towards the coast. He only looked back once, but the young guerilla had already vanished. He walked for nearly an hour before he could smell water again. And then he knew that he was out of the rain shadow. ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com *************************************************************************** To unsubscribe from this list send mail to majordomo@mpgn.com with the line 'unsubscribe blue_planet' as the body of the message.