Sanderson’s face softened a little. “No. You’re staying.” He paused for just a moment too long. “For now.”
“What do you mean for now?” Taz’s voice was shaking.
“Quiet.” The officer leaned forward and touched the driver’s shoulder. “Floor it.”
A crowd had gathered in the middle of the road. Something burned behind them, something big—a Zelo space-transporter, John decided, a proper one with deep-space capacity, not the planet hoppers they used for patrols.
“Hold tight!” The driver floored the accelerator. John was pushed back against his seat. The crowd didn’t move. John’s mouth went dry and he put his hand on the seat in front, braced for impact. Twenty feet at most. The driver sped up.
“Just like old times!” yelled Sanderson. “Keep going—they’ll break up.”
The crowd stayed where it was. Sanderson swore. John half closed his eyes. The crowd scattered just as the car shot past, still speeding up.
Sanderson laughed and nudged John. “Didn’t I tell you? They always scatter.” His eyes were high with excitement. “So, you want to know what will happen to you?”
“Yeah,” croaked John. “Wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose so.” Sanderson was gripping his gun tightly, making John’s shoulder itch. The officer didn’t look quite balanced. “The Earth authorities will call in the Galactics after tonight. We lost most of our armed forces in the Zelo invasion. Earth needs to be safeguarded.”
“Safeguarded from what?” asked John. “Surely once people find out the Zelo are gone, the resistance will end.”
“People do know they’re gone, and this is how they’re reacting. Besides…” The officer pointed at the sky. “The Zelo attacked from space last time. There’s no reason they won’t again. We need the Galactic Council to hold them off. But if we turn to the Galactics, they’ll want justice for the shit-eaters. It might be a choice between giving them that justice, or being destroyed by another attack.”
John’s stomach twisted, remembering the first day of the invasion, how the smart bombs had fallen through the clouds with no warning. One had taken out a whole street not a mile from his house. He remembered the panic of not knowing where the screaming bombs were going to hit, the scramble to get out the school grounds and home to check his family were safe. He and Taz had taken off from the classroom and split to go to their separate estates, just a quick hand-clasp and good luck to each other, cut off when a bomb hit nearby, denting the air.
Earth would do what it must to avoid another attack like that. He glanced at Taz and knew that if it was a choice between that or handing them over, there’d be no contest. Their fear must have shown because Sanderson gave a grim smile, and a nod.
“Not your best night’s work, was it?” he said.
“No.” John gulped. “So they’ll send us to the Zelo, you reckon? To Deklon?”
The soldier shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe.” His mouth twisted. “Either way, I wouldn’t fancy being in your shoes.”
No one would. He saw his reflection in the window, framed against the darkness. He was pale and thin and looked nothing like himself. It was a new face, not the same one as before the war. He’d never get back to that person.
The thought shocked him. All this year, he’d told himself that things would go back to normal sometime. He’d tried to keep up some training, doing push-ups in the bedroom and running instead of walking when he could. He’d told himself that everyone would be thinner and he’d still get a place in the first team. Now, there wasn’t going to be any team for him. He’d be on Deklon, waiting to discover how the Zelo would kill him, and how often.
He fought back tears, damned if he’d give anyone the satisfaction of seeing them. He should have left Taz on the hill. It would have been better to die once than face what was ahead. If he had, he’d have got home when he should and McDowell’s men would have shot him. He remembered Gary telling him he wouldn’t miss him—and he wouldn’t have. A single bullet and it’d have been over with.
He wished he could go back to that night and do things over again. He’d have bargained more out of McDowell, he’d have made sure Josey and the kids were safe before he’d taken the job. But he’d still have carried it out. He had no option; McDowell had trapped him months ago, with his errands and food and clothes.
John opened his eyes and forced himself to face the boy in the window. It might not be the person he wanted to be or one he recognised, but it was the one the war had moulded him into. The Zelo had killed his parents because they believed they were worthless; they wouldn’t do the same to him. When he died, however many times he did, he’d make sure they knew they were killing a man, not a boy, who’d survived as best he could, and did the best he could. He’d be brave and make himself count; he owed it to the boy who’d been lost in the war.
Jon F. Zeigler
Galen and the Golden-Coat Hare
Originally appeared in TALES OF ZO, published by Uncanny Books (2014)
Once upon a time, in the faraway land of Azul, there lived a poor huntsman named Galen.
Galen dwelt with his wife Katherine on the margin of the mysterious Fogwood. There he hunted for game large and small, while his wife did fine needlework and kept geese and chickens. They sold what they did not need in the nearest village, and bought what they did need. Life was not easy for them, but Galen rarely complained.
One day, Galen was in the bluewood, bow at the ready, checking his snare traps. As he approached the shadowy place where he had laid out his third snare, he heard a thrashing noise in the brush, as of a small creature desperately struggling for freedom.
Galen slung his bow and moved closer. He moved a little brush aside and looked to see what he had caught.
For a long moment, surprise held him still.
A hare. Lanky body, powerful hind legs, long ears, wide eyes, it all said hare. The only thing to say otherwise was the creature’s color: shimmering, shining gold. Not dull brown, not off-white, not buttery yellow, not any of the usual hare-colors, but gold like a coin Galen had once seen from afar off in a nobleman’s hand. It looked like wealth and ease and a hundred acres of land in that one creature’s pelt.
It can’t really be gold, he asked himself. Can it?
Galen pushed the brush aside further and stepped toward the snare.
At once, the hare stopped thrashing about and stared at him. Then it spoke.
“Oh, kind sir, please wait!”
Galen stopped. Well. This changes things.
“Please stay your hand!” said the hare. “Set me free and I will reward you greatly!”
The hare did not look like a Talking Animal. It had a frame ill-suited for walking on two feet. It wore no clothing and carried no tools. In all ways other than that tempting pelt, it appeared a perfectly ordinary beast. Quite suitable for the pot.
“Oh mighty huntsman, I have a doe and kits to think of. They will starve without my watchful care. Please spare me!”
On the other hand, the hare certainly sounded like a Talking Animal. Indeed, it sounded remarkably like a dishonest tinker who had wandered through the village a few months before. Galen grunted and made up his mind. He stepped forward once more, drawing his knife and bending over the snare.