His respect for them had decreased significantly since learning of their refusal to take into account what the people themselves wanted. Although he agreed with a lot of what they had to say, he couldn’t believe they would trample on the rights of the citizens so easily.
They aren’t interested in oligarchy or anything else, just maintaining their own position, no matter the cost to Attica or the Alliance, he thought angrily.
He lowered his head and continued forwards and to the perimeter wall. It was beautifully carved in the same style as the Ecclesia. Relics of the old struggles against the dictatorship prior to the introduction of democracy were a common theme. He gazed at two, but his eyes were drawn to a larger, more recent construction. It was yet another monument dedicated to the victory against the Empire.
So much time and money spent commemorating something we could never do again. The irony was not wasted on him at all.
The depiction of some of the ground battles against the Empire were somewhat fanciful, and he had serious doubts that Alliance troops could have ever stood up to the Empire in open battle. His reading had suggested the Laconian heavy infantry had done that part of the fighting. He thought back to Kratez and his classes over the last few years. This was one of he topics they had discussed in some detail. His old teacher had never mentioned his role as a warrior in the past, but he clearly knew his history well. It was his opinion that the combination of the Alliance Navy and the Laconian infantry had won the day. It had proven a dangerous topic, and one that had resulted in Kratez’s classes being banned for nearly six months. Xenophon smiled to himself and moved on towards the exit. His thoughts returned to the present, and a sick feeling instantly pushed into his stomach. Things in the old Alliance were looking far worse than he had expected. Then he spotted the guards from earlier; they were busy kicking a man on the ground.
“Hey!” he shouted, but they were far more interested in their target.
He rushed forward and barged his shoulder into the two men. Surprised at his arrival, they both staggered back and left the man free, if only for a moment. Xenophon bent down to check the man. It was Glaucon.
“Xenophon? You need to pick a side and fast!” he laughed, spitting out blood to the floor.
“Tell me about it,” he replied.
The two guards were back, and they looked less than impressed at the attack. Xenophon had no doubt they would take it as both a slur on their job and also as an insult to their manliness. The first pulled out his stun baton, and the second drew a sidearm. The stun rod was bad enough, and a weapon easily capable of knocking him unconscious with a single light tap. The sidearm was another thing entirely. Pulse pistols could smash through the thickest of armour, and Xenophon was wearing nothing other than his normal clothing.
“Put your hands up, citizen!” said the man with the rod.
“Yeah, do it, now!” barked the second.
Xenophon stayed with Glaucon and tried to help him to his feet. The guard with the baton moved closer until he was just a metre away and with the rod held high.
“I’m not telling you again, buddy. Back off or be arrested. Your move.”
He stood up and positioned himself between him and his fallen friend.
“Do you know who this is?” he demanded.
It was clear from their expression of confusion that the two men had no idea at all who he was. Not that it came as much of a surprise to him. He tried to speak again, but the dust cloud and noise from the landing transport became louder and messier until he could barely see or hear the two men. He ducked down to avoid the swirling storm of dust and dirt.
“Get down!” somebody shouted, and then a bright yellow flash lit up the skyline. There was no immediate noise, but the shockwave struck Xenophon in the torso like a freight train. He flew back almost five metres before crashing to the ground on his back. He shook his head, but the noise and the heat of the blast had completely disorientated him. He pushed down and forced himself up into a seated position.
What the hell is going on?
He looked about to try and ascertain what was happening at the place. A huge column of smoke gushed upwards from the Ecclesia, and there was no sign of the transport.
It must have crashed.
In answer to his question, another two blasts ripped part of the security barrier apart. Through the breaches surged untold hundreds of citizens, each pushing and striking out with pieces of wood and metal at the defending officers. Xenophon lifted himself up, but he was weak on his feet from the concussion. He looked to his left to find Glaucon still on the ground. Injured security guards ran in all directions. He moved over to his fallen friend and was gladdened to see he was still conscious.
“Xenophon, you’re still here? Come on, we have to get you and your father out of here!” he said weakly.
Xenophon reached down and helped lift Glaucon to his feet. With his arm draped over his shoulder, the two moved slowly from the scene of devastation and back into the heart of the civic centre.
“What is happening?” he asked.
Glaucon groaned in pain. Something was hurting his stomach, but they didn’t have time to stop.
“I tried to warn the Thirty. There are factions out there that want nothing less than revenge against you all. One, the Democratic Alliance, had plans to strike the capital buildings next month.”
“What, you knew this would happen?”
“Of course not!” snapped back Glaucon. “But I have a good idea who is behind this. Until things calm down, you and your family are in great danger.”
The two staggered past the smoking remains of a military transporter and to the entrance of the Ecclesia. Part of the outer wall was in rubble, and several bodies lay near the blast area. From the dust came a small party of men and women, most were security forces, but Xenophon recognised a few members of the Thirty. He blocked Montoya’s route as she tried to rush past.
“Where is my father?” he demanded.
“What the hell are you still doing here? Your father is dead!”
With that revelation, she and her armed group pushed past and vanished behind him. Xenophon stood there, dumbfounded at the news of his father.
“That’s not true, no way. Come on, get inside!” shouted Glaucon. He tried to move off on his own, but the pain in his lower stomach forced him to reach out for Xenophon. The two moved through the debris and inside the Ecclesia itself. A number of bodies lay on the floor, and he recognised at least three as being members of the Thirty.
“Father!” he shouted.
From outside, a gentle crackle of gunfire indicated there was trouble along the perimeter. It sounded like pulse weapons, but at this distance there was no way to be certain. Xenophon slid Glaucon to part of a broken pillar and pulled open his jacket. There were no obvious external wounds, but the skin around the ribs was swollen and bruised.
“Is it bad?” he asked through clenched teeth.
Xenophon was already looking for his father. He turned back and double-checked the injuries to his friend.
“Might just be heavy bruising, could be internal. We need to get you to the medical centre.”
“Your father?”
“I can’t see him here, so he must have escaped.”
A loud noise from twenty metres or so caught Xenophon’s attention. Part of one of the many damaged columns fell along the floor to reveal a group of four people. All of them were on the floor around the rubble. Xenophon ran over, only to find he was moving through blood. The realisation caught him by surprise, and in a confused panic, he slipped and crashed down amongst the bodies. Incredibly, he managed not to damage anything and was able to lift himself up. Around him were the remnants of a bag of some kind. His interest was caught by what looked like a burnt detonator cap.