The Rebels of Colony 252

[Cmdr JFarrington 0]

The Web

 

A blinding flash, explosions, flying debris, and a searing inferno billowed down the narrow tunnel towards the fleeing Gerrar. “Jinn!” he screamed a split second before realizing it was too late for his companion and ally, just a few feet behind him. With a quickness that came from years of evading the Empire’s implacable storm troopers he careened down the tunnel, turned a corner, and dived down a shaft, sliding fifty meters before plunging into their water source, the mountain’s subterranean stream. Its frigid water, just a few degrees above freezing, momentarily paralyzed him and he had to force a gasp for air as his head bobbed just above the surface. The caverns’ ancient dwellers had carved ample space between the stream’s surface and the ceiling, but spring rains and glacial runoff had narrowed the space to a few inches, just enough to catch a breath then dive to look for one of the many exit holes, also carved by the ancients to assist the occasional blundering fool.

 

But Gerrar was no blundering fool. He and his band of resistance fighters had found these caves by chance several years ago. They were the stuff of local legend, and all legends have some basis in fact. Locals called the complex the web because in legend it provided an ironic twist to reality: refuge for the prey and a trap for the predator. According to the stories, those who knew the labyrinth enough to navigate it – those who were given the divine empowerment to decipher the illusive messages carved into its walls – survived. Those who did not – usually the evil un-empowered pursuers – became the victims, trapped in the maze to die a slow, painful death.

 

It was an ideal hiding place, the perfect planet to establish a base, to unite the small bands of resistance that had sprung up around the galaxy since the ascension of Emperor Ja’affe. Until now, until the arrival of the Empire’s ship, it afforded not only a safe place to hide and plan, but to raise a family and continue life as they believed it should be – in freedom and in peace – free to worship as they believed, to pursue a chosen profession, to determine their own destinies.

 

But their base had been found, the seeds of their destruction sown.

 

Gerrar bobbed along the surface, gasping for air, his body numb, his legs cramped and his lungs screaming. The exit hole! Where is the exit hole?? Fighting panic, he glided along the wall, running his hands along its rocky surface, desperately groping for the ledge, the handhold, that indicated an exit beneath. Again he dived, believing the ledge might be lower than his first estimate, only to emerge again and run his now-unfeeling hands along the rocky wall. A few more minutes, perhaps less than a minute and his body would be so anesthetized by hypothermia that he would no longer be able to function. He had to find that hole!

 

Suddenly a stabbing pain hit his chest and he reached down, trembling, fumbling for what might be….Yes! The ledge! One more dive and he was into the exit hole, hauling his frozen body, shivering uncontrollably, up the first step, then the next, and the next. He sat there for a minute to get his bearings, slapping his hands together, forcing his legs to move, his lungs to breathe, willing his body back to life.

 

Somewhere along the wall would be a carving in the rock that would tell him where he was. Finding it, he traced the image with one finger, but its insensitivity failed him so he used his tongue – the only part of his body that could still feel. Zeta. Sixth letter of the alphabet. I’m in access hole six. Water level – level eight. He began to lift himself step by agonizing step, and as feeling returned to his limbs, he crawled, then forced himself to a stand, working his way up the long, narrow, dark passageway towards the first room where, hopefully, he would find at least a light.

 

His body had begun to thaw, and with the thawing came pain previously numbed by icy waters. Injuries he had not noticed in his scramble to survive the savage blast had begun to bleed. Blistered flesh began to peel, torn clothes stuck to gashes in his chest, on his arms, his legs. And still he pressed on.

 

 

Several levels above Gerrar, a small group huddled, wondering what exactly had happened on the surface. They had not only heard, but felt the powerful explosion. Immediately all lights were doused, all activity ceased, and they waited in silence, the first step in their emergency protocol.

 

Terin, Gerrar’s wife and second-in-command, pressed herself against the wall as a whiff of sulfur and burnt almonds reached her nose. She gasped.

 

“Move!” she whispered into the dark. “Level five.” Now Terin was certain that whoever had attacked them had reached their weapons cache, or at least discharged the plastique they had amassed at level one. It was a primitive explosive, but effective, affordable, and easily made from planetary resources.

 

But her concern was not so much for the weapons as it was for the team. Her husband, Gerrar, along with Jinn, Ma’el, Barem, and their son Micah had gone to reinforce the local resistance in the town above. If they had followed protocol they would have split and taken groups of locals to various areas of the town and countryside, forming defenses against whatever troops the Empire sent down.

 

If they had followed protocol. They may not have had time.

 

The group crept towards the rear exit accompanied by the sound of two or three small chemical lights flicking on, just enough to illuminate their way, not enough to be detected by powerful sensors above. As soon as the Empire ship was detected in orbit, the families had been evacuated far into the mountains where a less accessible part of the underground complex had been found. That, and the silicon-rich sedimentary layers that confused long-range sensor systems, protected a good deal of the underground city from detection.

 

Air in the underground tunnels was surprisingly clear and fresh. The ancients, expert stone masons and architects, knew how and where to place air vents and how to hide them from man and beast. The walls, though, had a slick feel from spring seepage. As Terin and her group descended from level to level they passed deep hollows, cisterns filled with groundwater, and other holding areas for preserved foods, emergency supplies, and the like. Occasionally they passed through rooms, some large enough for tribal meetings, some smaller for individual families with various sized beds chiseled into the walls. Most of these rooms had been deserted for over a thousand years. The resistance was small and needed only a portion of the vast underground complex.

 

At level four Terin came to an abrupt stop, holding her fist high. The group froze, slowed their breathing, and doused the lights to watch, listen, and wait. A dull scraping came from below, a dragging, then a cough and a scent….

 

Terin signaled Ezer, the youngest and most agile of their group, to take point with his stunner. Quickly, quietly, he slipped past Terin, down a few steps, and rounded a corner. A few words drifted up the tunnel and Terin gave the rest of the group a puzzled look. Finally, “Gerrar! Terin, it’s Gerrar!” Ezer called. Lights were lit and the rest scrambled down towards their battered leader.

 

Gerrar lay shivering on the steps. What was left of his clothes hung from a burned, lacerated body. His normal ruddy complexion had turned pasty white and his eyes sunk into deep hollows.

 

Off came jackets, vests, and scarves; warm bodies pressed against the wounded man, wrapped him, then lifted him gently and securely, carrying him to the closest safe room. An alcove-bed was covered with anything that would cushion Gerrar from the bedrock, then strewn with thin emergency blankets. Izim and b’Tai lifted Gerrar into it while t’Ama, their medic, pulled out what supplies she had and began to tend his wounds, blotting here and pressing there, then wrapping. Lieb removed a rock from one section of the wall, exposing a vent that brought warm air from a thermal fissure deep within the planet. Lights appeared on ledges. Within minutes Gerrar was comfortable and what had been a dark deserted hole in the ground became a warm, glowing habitat.

 

Their tasks finished, all sat in silence staring at Gerrar, at the ceiling, at the floor. No one moved; everyone listened, sniffed the air, pressed their hands against sensor stones for the slightest vibrations that would signal a perimeter breach. Ezer emerged from scouting adjacent branching tunnels to be sure they were secure. He nodded to Terin, who stood by her husband waiting for his first words, possibly the only information they would get from the surface until they could rendezvous with the others – if there still were others.

 

Finally, “Psi ship,” Gerrar whispered, his voice raspy, his lungs and larynx having been seared by the intense heat of the explosion’s back-draft.

 

Terin glanced in horror at the others, whose faces mirrored her own.

 

“They . . . sent a team. Small. Heavily armed. They . . . knew where we were.”

 

“But how?”

 

Gerrar shook his head. “Intercepted transmission? Code break?” He paused, barely able to utter the word, “Traitor?” He coughed and stopped talking for a long while to catch his breath, then looked around. “Where are we?”

 

Ezer came close. “Level six, area 49.”

 

Area 49. Beneath the sensor-block layer. “Good.” There was a long pause while he thought. His eyes seemed to scan the light patterns on the ceiling. When he finally spoke it came out choked, almost a sob. “Jinn . . . is dead.”

 

Feeling Terin’s hand close on his he added quickly. “Micah . . . I sent . . . with the north team. They climbed the hills to the promontory and entered the caves there. Barem . . . took the west . . . to Crater Point. Ma’el, I . . . I don’t know. He was in the building . . . with Jinn.”

 

Silence. Then a few stifled sobs.

 

“The transmitter,” said Terin suddenly. “Where is the transmitter?”

 

Gerrar finally turned his eyes to meet Terin’s. He blinked in confusion, then frowned. It was the one piece of equipment they could not afford to lose, the one piece that contained the codes, the encryptions, the locations of every rebel base they contacted. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember where he had last seen it, except, “I gave it to Ma’el.”

 

Terin glanced at Ezer, then back to Gerrar, who had closed his eyes. T’Ama checked his pulse, then his breathing, and nodded. He would live to see another day, to fight the Empire one more time. Terin gathered the group to plan their next move. They would let him sleep, they would all rest, and when t’Ama thought Gerrar was ready they would move deeper into the mountain, perhaps to the area they had found only a moon-cycle ago. Nearly three kilometers beneath the crust, surrounded by heavy silica and lead intrusions, a large room of worship had been excavated, the oldest of the ancient city. There they would gather their groups, reorganize, combine recon information, and plan their next move. Hopefully the Psi ship would find little and leave. And if it didn’t?

 

Surrender was not an option.

[Cmdr JFarrington 0]

Background Information:

 

Two weeks ago, Cmdr Precip’s security team was dispatched to Colony 252 from ISS Manticore. They came upon a rebel force hiding in a building, SubCommander McFly threw in a flash grenade and a massive explosion ensued, one that continued deep underground. This log begins just after the grenade set off those explosions.

 

The log is based upon information from the excavations in Cappadocia, Turkey, where one of many underground cities that could accommodate up to 50,000 people was carved into the mountains approximately 1500 years ago. They were so well hidden the first of these cities was not discovered until 1965 and many more are believed to exist throughout the mountains of Turkey and adjacent countries.

For images of the caves and more information see: www.lalesaray.com/kapadokya.html