"Okay, it's ready. We're ready when you are." Despite her outward calm, Jafia tapped her finger against the tabletop in agitation.
Lights on screens flashed around her in the cramped van she was using as a portable headquarters. The outside of it was a wreck, a rusty old laundromat delivery truck, but its innards held impressive technology. A mysterious sponsor known only to Matthias had purchased it, augmenting it with a deceptively powerful computer system, capable of even hacking satellites in deep space. From the cash they'd thrown to help the despised, downtrodden Ottomon, she guessed they held a prominent position.
Rocke's resistance group was taking some major risks with this plan. Still, she admired their grit for attempting something so bold. Despite needing to plan for Mayor Sunbearer's assassination, she'd spent the day coordinating with Rocke instead. He was doing good work, and it'd humiliate the UOP.
"We are ready on our end too," Rocke said over the comm, showing an impressive amount of calm considering the danger. That awkward, easily flustered boy sure had grown after the last week. She watched on a streetlight's security cam as they slipped into position. While the hour was late, people still crowded the streets, milling about for whatever business they were on. Rocke's team were spread out, doing their best to remain inconspicuous.
"Don't worry, Jafia. We got this!" Matthias said, the prophet's comment making her smile. Despite herself, his enthusiasm was infectious.
"Humph." Nitao released a snort, announcing his readiness.
"Let's do this," The Kallane spy had insisted on joining the mission, too. Jafia guessed her fellow spy had some other objective Rojin wasn't sharing, but as long as it didn't interfere with the primary mission, Jafia wouldn't protest.
"The guard bots are going dark in ten minutes." Jafia tapped at her keyboard, text flashing past her screen as she entered the camp's primary security system. If she crippled it, the robot's couldn't coordinate their actions even if they regained function.
"We're there. Smash and grab. We can't risk them calling reinforcements. No stupid risks or heroics, okay?" Rocke said, and his team rattled off their affirmative. They hunched behind trees, the camp just visible over the hill. "And avoid shooting anyone, if possible."
This comment made Jafia tense, wondering if Rocke had the ruthlessness necessary for this mission. While he'd done decently on their makeshift shooting range, their targets discarded beer cans, it differed greatly from the intensities of real combat. Worse, Rocke had shown his reluctance to do the necessary dirty work. Any hesitation on his part would only get him killed.
While she didn't believe in any Sovereign, she prayed for Rocke's safety anyway. They'd mitigated most of the risk, but her ex was still throwing himself into a den of vipers.
"Here goes nothing." She needed to believe Rocke could do this. She took a steadying breath.
"Now." With a click, Jafia stole control of the guard robots. From a nearby storefront camera, she saw a robot on the metal wall guarding the parameter seize up before its visor dimmed.
"Let's go," Rocke said, an edge to his voice as they charged inside.
With a few clicks, Jafia entered the camp's security system, and a view from the scattered security cameras appeared across the various screens in her command center. In their rush to assemble the internment camps, the UOP hadn't created a significantly secure system. It was another example of the rushed nature of Project: Ugly Duckling.
"Don't worry, I got your back," Jafia said, her eyes trailing across the screens as she searched for danger. Whatever it took, she'd keep them safe.
---
"Ah, now this looks promising!" Halkken said, marching up the sharp incline of the hill. Among all the places they had searched, his instinct assured him they'd finally found the right trail. His partner, however, seemed less than convinced.
"We're still doing this, huh?" Phú said, complaining again for the umpteenth time. For an AI, she sure liked to grumble. "After days!"
"You remember what the chief said? He told us to find Rocke Ralss, no matter how long it took."
And their prey had remained elusive, dodging the police and military with impressive skill. Still, with Halkken on his tail, Rocke couldn't evade them forever. Still, his partner had a point, after days of searching every hill in Vladus, it was a tad frustrating that they still hadn't found their target.
"Right. However long it takes," Phú said, not hiding her sarcasm.
Halkken screeched to a halt as a guard robot appeared from nowhere, the barrel of its laser rifle aimed at his head. These weren't typical laser weapons, but military-grade death machines. A single shot from this metal monstrosity at even its lowest power setting would render someone senseless for hours. On high, it'd vaporize someone's torso.
"We need to see your boss." Halkken flashed his badge. The robot's eyestalk studied the ID, its fellows ready to shock him into unconsciousness if it located any discrepancy. After a long silence, the robot nodded and gestured for him to follow.
"And how may I help you today, officer?" Famus asked from his palatial desk. It was a sharp contrast to the rather slapdash design of the hastily assembled shack they stood inside.
Outside, moans came from unfortunate Demons who'd earned the UOP's displeasure. The state of them was shocking—their eyes fearful and hungry. Many looked like they hadn't eaten since the Prime Minister's announcement. Others seemed half-dead, their bodies ravaged by disease. It was distasteful, but dealing with them wasn't his job.
Famus was a proud man, with sharp features and a prominent beaklike nose. He wore a crisp UOP military suit—gray with a purple sash across the waist. The insignia pinned to his shoulder ranked him as a sergeant. Famus's most distinguishing features were his predatory eyes that watched everyone else with a hungry gleam. To him, everyone else was prey.
"In a hill, you will find him!" Babaka had said. "But only when the wolf howls! Present an offering of tulips as you spin around six times to a tall man wearing a fancy suit. Then, the path will become clear."
Was he the man with a nice suit? Famus certainly overtook Halkken by at least a meter and a half. It's a good thing he brought the tulips with him. Still, he wouldn't give them until he was absolutely certain.
"Just routine," Halkken said, getting to business. "We can't help but notice that your little camp sits on a hill."
"So?" Famus said, raising an eyebrow.
"So, we're wondering if you've heard anything about a Rocke Ralss?"
"Ah, that cur," Famus' lips sneered in contempt. "The rabble out there whisper his name like he's some sort of savior. The warrior of the Sovereign, they call him. Apparently, killing an innocent man makes you a hero in their eyes. You can see why the Prime Minister wants to eject this filth from our glorious city."
Halkken had heard others whisper such claims about Rocke, too. Somehow, he'd inadvertently become a symbol for the Demons. No wonder Chief Rolf wanted him caught. Symbols were dangerous. Matthias Daliven had already proven that.
"But have you seen him around the area?" Halkken asked. "I see you've set up cameras around the block."
"No," Famus said dismissively. "It's been quiet."
"Ah, well. That's unfortunate." Halkken sighed inwardly. So much for his hunch.
"See? Waste of time," Phú said smugly. "Now, can we return to actual police work? If you haven't noticed, the city is on the precipice of a crisis!"
Before Halkken could reply, he heard a commotion from outside. Moments later, guard robots dragged a disheveled man in a once-pristine suit into the warden's office. Much to Halkken's surprise, the man wore no Demon tattoos.
"We caught this man stealing an extra ration," the mechanical voice of the guard robot said.
"I'm so hungry. I haven't eaten in days," the man said, pleading. "Please! I'll pay you. I have money!"
"Money?" The non-tattooed man howled as a hand struck him in the face. The blow had been hard enough to knock him down. Only the guard robot's grip had kept him aloft. "You're trying to bribe me?"
"Please!" The man sobbed pathetically. He was a sorry excuse for a human being.
"You're given food. That should be enough."
"What? But…" The man stammered, lost for words.
"Do you know why you're fed so little? Why we don't give you medical care?" Famus paced around the captured man. "Simple—to humble you. To show you live by our grace alone. No prophet, no hero, and no Sovereign can give you this. Only us. This is the cost of your disobedience. You brought this on yourselves."
"But don't fear. I won't kill you." But Famus's eyes weren't merciful. "I'll put you in the chamber to stew a bit. Then you will be given mercy."
"The chamber?" Halkken asked.
"Just a little solitary confinement. It's of my design. It blocks out all sensation. All light, sound, and feeling is gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts to rethink your crimes."
"A sensory deprivation tank? Won't that drive him insane?" Humans needed noise and sensation. Deprivation of those senses caused terrible hallucinations, even madness.
"Only if he's weak," Famus replied with a snort.
"No, please!" A dog howled as the wretch was being taken away, its voice carrying far in the clear night air. Halkken took in a sharp intake of breath. Was this it? He blinked as the prisoner collapsed out of the guard robot's grip, the machine marvel slumping as its eyes darkened.
"Huh, is it dead?" Halkken poked at the robot with a toe, but got no respond.
"Ugh, not again! I told the chief our guard robots need better security! But does anyone listen to me? No!" Phú groaned.
"An attack!" Famus said, alarmed. "They dare?! Sound the alarm. We will crush these interlopers under our boots."
"Makes sense. How can we help?" This must be destiny. Babaka must have foreseen their necessity here.
"Somehow, I doubt that," Phú said, always the cynic. She groaned as her partner spun around six time before presenting the gaggle of tulips to the baffled warden.
"Thanks?" Famus said after a moment's hesitation. He hadn't a clue what was going on. But he regained his composure, touching a panel on the wall. It flipped open to reveal an array of impressively powerful weapons.
"Aren't some of these illegal?" Halkken said, taking a disruptor rifle. The weapon was infamous for how it destroyed its target's atoms, causing an agonizing death. He checked the weapon—everything seemed good.
"You're going to quibble about that now?" Famus said, taking an automatic laser gun. Less fancy than a disruptor rifle, but just as destructive. "Besides, one needs to be prepared."
"I'll work on restoring the guard robots. Though with the main system down, that won't be easy." Phú said enthusiastically. "I can't believe they're trying the same trick again—how foolish."
"Sounds like a plan!" Halkken said, beaming. This was why he'd joined the force: to fight evildoers. This made more sense than some complex political drama he couldn't understand. Besides, destiny had brought him here.
"You" Famus gestured at the Demon man looking up tearfully from the floor. "Stay put. If you leave this room, you're dead." Her tone left no illusion about the validity of the comment. "Now let's crush some rebel scum, shall we?"
---
Droplets pelted him from above, and Rocke suppressed a shudder as they slipped through the garage's shutter. The weather had turned worse, and he was relieved to leave the freezing drizzle. Besides the slumped guard robot, the garage was empty of life. It seemed their intel was right about there being few human guards.
"Are you sure they're deactivated?" Rocke asked, testing the robot with a boot. He vividly recalled Matthias's previous ordeal with those vile machine monsters. He kept his weapon ready, its heft felt comforting in his hands.
They each carried an assortment of weapons, either donated from Matthias's sponsor or purchased from the black market. Rocke carried a K-900 laser assault rifle—lightweight, but capable of shooting a hundred rounds of laser bolts per second. It wasn't the strongest weapon, but a combined effort of a dozen well-aimed shots would demolish the heavily armored guard robots. Matthias carried a light laser pistol, but he gripped it like it burned his skin. Despite his obvious distaste, he carried it anyway, understanding the importance of defending themselves. They'd been too reckless when they'd rescued Rocke from prison. The others also used assault rifles, though of random builds and calibers. While they weren't a well-oiled and armed team, they'd do.
"They should be," Jafia replied over their comm. "Still worried about last time?"
"I don't think Matthias can take another shock like that." Rocke suppressed a shudder at the memory of Phú torturing his friend with electric prods. Where would their little resistance group be without the Sovereign's Holy Man? They were only here because of him.
"Don't worry, lad." Matthias put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere—not when there's business to be done."
After giving his friend a grateful nod, Rocke turned to Nitao. "Can you get them started?" He gestured to the two convoys filling the garage. They were bulky behemoths, built like tanks. Designed to transport troopers through battlefields, capable of absorbing enemy fire. They should suit their needs perfectly.
"No problem," the Konquellian said from one of the transport's driver seats, giving a thumbs-up.
A moment later, Nitao gave the OK for the other transport. Their engines roared to life as he started them up. He'd hacked their simple security with impressive ease. From how comfortable he seemed in the driver's seat, Rocke wondered if his Konquellian friend had a past in the military. Questions to ask later.
"We'll keep these beasts warm while you rescue our new friends," Matthias said from the other transport. Given his still-weak condition, this seemed the best use of him.
"Let's hurry, then." Kallane seemed eager to free her kin from whatever suffering the OUP had subjected them to. While Rocke wished she'd stayed with the transport, he knew he could never stop her. Regardless of his worries for her, he trusted she'd have his back, always.
Rocke's stomach knotted as he saw the Ottomans' condition—worse than he'd ever imagined. His grip tightened on his weapon, the cold steel almost bending from his fury.
"They're treated worse than animals," Rojan said, his voice tight. Empty, hopeless eyes stared at them as they entered the camp proper.
In Camp R, unlike most other camps, they kept the Ottomans in cages—small, squat boxes offering barely any room to move. The odor was hideous, smelling of disease and filth. Some bodies lay on the ground unmoving, left dead where they fell. Flies swarmed the cages, feasting eagerly on the corpses.
"This is monstrous." And so few remained. Rocke had hoped to rescue almost a thousand, but from his headcount, he guessed fewer than two hundred remained. Rage bubbled in his chest. By the Sovereign, these monsters would answer for this inhumanity.
"Who are you?" a weak voice asked, limping to the cage's steel bars. The woman wore less than rags, filthy from days of being unwashed.
"Help," Rocke said, his voice full of determination. This caught everyone's attention.
"The warrior," the Ottomon muttered to themselves, real hope entering their voices. "The Sovereign has sent his chosen to save us."
While he felt uneasy about being given such a grand title, Rocke nodded. He examined the cages, frowning when he realized the locks weren't electronic. They used old-fashioned metal locks instead.
"Where's the key?" Rocke asked. He had an inkling of the answer, but it wouldn't hurt to ask.
"In... warden's office," another voice gasped. Rocke frowned. Something about it sounded familiar somehow. He turned to address the speaker, gasping when he realized their identity.
"You're the Ottomon that tried helping me! Dallas, right?" Rocke said, astonished.
"You're okay!" Kallane rushed over and gave the big man a hug through the bars.
"It's good to see you safe, lad. I've been worried about you." While their encounter had been brief, it shocked Rocke how different the man looked. While still a bulky man, Dallas had clearly shrunk. His body showed signs of constant abuse, denied almost any food. His skin was stretchy and rubbery over his flesh. Despite his deprivations, his eyes shone with the same intense intelligence.
"How are you here?" Rocke asked.
"They're booting out even the Ottomon prisoners." Dallas made a throaty cough, phlegm spitting from his mouth. "They made sure I couldn't cause any trouble before they released me. And of Jamar, I'm not sure. I haven't seen him since my arrest."
"Stay put, Dallas," Kallane replied. "We'll get you out of here soon."
"Brave. Good luck. The warden's a ruthless man," Dallas warned.
"Have you seen my uncle?" Kallane said, giving a brief description of the man.
"Yes, actually," Dallas replied. "He caused a bit of a fuss and got sent to the warden's office for his trouble."
"Oh." Kallane tensed. Given Famus's reputation, that couldn't be a good thing. Was he even alive anymore?
But when Dallas caught their furtive looks, he chuckled. "He should be fine. He took him a few minutes before the blackout."
"That's something, at least." Still, it seemed they were being guided to the warden's office—and likely facing the warden himself. They still hadn't seen any guards.
Instead of calming Rocke, it put him ill at ease. They spread out, keeping low to make themselves a small target. They kept a sharp eye out for trouble, Rocke glancing at the various guard robots that stood across the camp's perimeter. While their lights remained off, they weren't taking any chances.
Rocke kept his weapon ready as he headed to a window of the shack the warden was using as a base. He grinned as he saw a familiar face standing inside. Though he wore tattered clothes, and he hadn't bathed in days, Rocke recognized Kallane's uncle. But he frowned, noticing the terrified expression on his face. He turned, their eyes meeting. The older man's mouth moved, but no words came out. On instinct, Rocke realized what was bothering him—and he leapt back.
Dust exploded from the wall he'd been standing behind, Rocke coughing as it entered his lungs. He rolled to the side, just avoiding an electric pod that sizzled as it swung past. The guard robot's other hand struck his chest, Rocke dropped prone as the blow knocked the wind from his sails.
"What a pain you are." A familiar high-pitched voice said. The guard robot did a little dance, pleased with herself. "But you got nowhere to run! Nowhere to run!"
"Not you again!" Phú? What was she doing here? He froze as half a dozen men charged out from behind the warden's shack, guns raised.
"Yes, nowhere to run." A prim, snobby voice said. Famus walked from the hole Phú had created, lifting his nose at the prone Rocke. He carried no weapons, but held a riding crop, which he tapped against his open hand. "Now, how about we talk about your surrender, boy?"