2
The dark clothed Dalia walked through the streets of the rebel base. Their base, although rustic, to say the least, was equipped with all the necessities a rebel would need; split into sections with signs showing the way it was almost like a small village within the now devastated city of London. Kitchens, ammunition depots, armory, sleeping quarters, communal places and even a basic theater, they may be considered rebels but no war could be won without a strong moral. They were even able to commandeer a fire truck to use in emergencies. The base its self comprised of around 50 buildings. It was not much compared to the size of London but it was easy enough to defend and most of the structures were more or less intact. It was only through sheer luck that the military ran out of oil and gas and so could not power their planes and tanks, otherwise this rebellion would have long since died. This was headquarters for the rebellion in England, perhaps the best equipped in Europe, if one did not count the uprising in Moscow.
The rebels all watched the dark figure as she strode by the small lanterns lighting the street. Dalia had her reputation within the ranks but outside, to civilians and the military, Dalia was unknown, that is to say her face was unknown. Most of those in the military however knew of her work and her ability to acquirecertain information and goods from strongholds throughout the country.
The civil police was the very last of the government slash corporate strongholds in all the major cities around the world. They comprised of former army generals, politicians from before the fall of the governments and several large corporate giants that still held influence through mercenary armies and production lines, capable only through their wealth, several of these included the federal banks of a country, or food and water monopolies, not to forget technology giants. The ‘governate’ was a term coined by the head advisor of the rebels, used to describe how the government and corporate leaders were one and the same in this day and age. Governates globally used their power over, food, water , ammunition and electricity to strangle the rebels out of as many cities as possible to the point where the rebels turned from re-education of the people and a peaceful overthrow to a more active and consequently violet route, this had been the method of confrontation for many years in England. Whist this specific band of rebels may have had hopes for a peaceful reunification of the country, that had long become history when governate men ambushed and killed the last negotiating party over eight years ago.
The civil police was the very last of the government slash corporate strongholds in all the major cities around the world. They comprised of former army generals, politicians from before the fall of the governments and several large corporate giants that still held influence through mercenary armies and production lines, capable only through their wealth, several of these included the federal banks of a country, or food and water monopolies, not to forget technology giants. The ‘governate’ was a term coined by the head advisor of the rebels, used to describe how the government and corporate leaders were one and the same in this day and age. Governates globally used their power over, food, water , ammunition and electricity to strangle the rebels out of as many cities as possible to the point where the rebels turned from re-education of the people and a peaceful overthrow to a more active and consequently violet route, this had been the method of confrontation for many years in England. Whist this specific band of rebels may have had hopes for a peaceful reunification of the country, that had long become history when governate men ambushed and killed the last negotiating party over eight years ago.
Perhaps what separated Dalia and her fellow peers from other revolutions across the world was their aim in what and how they wanted to change their world. In the beginning they followed the actions set out by groups in France and Germany. Groups of innocent people who banded together in order to survive but this rebellion had long since strayed from its goal of pure survival. What differentiated these revolutionaries from others were their ideals. Ideals not etched in religion, ideology or power but ideals based on a world that could come together through technology and understanding. Not a consumerist world based on economies nor a Marxist world that perpetuated out dated communal ideals. They cared not for race or religion. What Dalia and many others now wanted was a total obliteration of the ideas of contemporary power and structure. It was an idealistic view of the future but why strive for anything else than what was best for everybody but of course those in power desired to stay in power and so fought, violently and without mercy against Dalia and other dissidents.
The idea that they ironically fought for was for a world of peace, a world powered by what was called a resource based economy, based on the resources and technology created and available to people, instead of the imaginary power brought by wealth and stature. The idea was created by a man of unknown origins but it was perpetuated by another man that called himself The Fox. This self named Foxhad become a beacon of hope in France and Germany. Through his leadership, knowledge and pure luck he was able to organize and spearhead the charge against the Governates in both countries. Yet, even though he had been rumored never to have set foot in England, his stories and legend reached far beyond the shores of Dover and penetrated into the highlands of Scotland. It brought hope to many, even though to them, the Fox, was no more than just a story.
The Fox did not bother with his background and so people did not know much about him, instead the people and himself focused on his message, and the change he presented to society. He was a man who had came out of the woodwork, one like any other. Except that this man, The Fox, created hope when before there was only despair. His actions rippled throughout Europe and spread into Asia and Africa, until about 6 months ago when he suddenly disappeared. Germany and France had no information and there were no sightings of him in neighboring countries. Many simply feared his death or capture. Some thought he went underground for fear for his life, fewer still believed he turned traitor, seeing the folly in his ideals and running out before he was finally killed but Dalia knew that rumors were rumors. In reality, he did little for them there in England, his story accomplished little more than the legend of Robin Hood had done since its inception. Despite that, she did hope that the man would live to see his actions bear fruit.
Finally she reached her destination; a plain 4 storied building, with only broken windows and chipping paint to show for its age. A wooden sign hung above a pair of nonfunctional electrical sliding doors. The white words that were painted onto the sign started to peel but one could still make out the inscription: “Advisor’s Office”. The idea of having advisors was another distinguishing factor between England and other countries that were rebelling against their Governates. It made little sense to preach about a world without a power structure when a rebellion would use a hierarchy, much like the military’s, such was the reason for the creation of advisors. A team of men and women, young and old, those most experienced in their fields, coming together and constantly trying to forge a path forward. Engineers of all types, ex military and even changed politicians made the bulk of advisors but their duty was not to lead. Only to try and focus on the best way forward, using their combined experience, knowledge and wisdom.
It was as far from a hierarchy as one could get without utter chaos at such a desperate times. Nonetheless this was meant to amplify the ability for any one man to aid in constructing a new future. Advisors were not only meant to discuss amongst themselves but with the people and to listen to any and all who came to them with ideas and thoughts that might benefit the group as a whole. The advisors took on all ideas, they considered all plans from anybody involved, they did not sleep in separate buildings, eat better food or had any luxuries, they were exactly equal to those that they fought with. They were a part of the community and part of the revolution; this made them an essential part to the passion that fueled the revolution.
The downside to this of course was impending chaos within the advisor’s building. People would often swarm with ideas or complaints that they deemed important or essential. Some were, some were not, and it was that simple. Dalia walked through the disabled sliding doors, electricity was often unpredictable, between black outs, blow outs and cut offs. Inside the building was a great bustle. Advisors were discussing and often answering questions of anybody who came to their doors. They may have tired from the repetition of some questions, but they perhaps understood better than most that a uniformed mass was prone to be chaotic and a much easier populace to discourage. Dalia did not stand out so much from the crowd because she was considered a shadow of London but because of the fiery hair that bounced atop her shoulders as she strode by. Some became accustom to seeing her whilst others still stared in-between their conversations with one another. Most people here were hunched over papers and maps that spread across tables, discussing ideas or planning movements but Dalia continued into the back where a stair case lead to the other floors in the building.
She walked up to the top floor where the final decisions were finally agreed upon. For each floor the level of importance increased. The ground floor ranging from supplying food to repairs, the second varied from minor movements of rebels. The third floor conducted larger scale assaults and intelligence operations. The fourth floor is where the advisors gathered to met and discuss. Each floor was completely open, doors had been purposely removed to show that there was no hiding of information, and movement between the floors was completely free apart from a security check which inspected people before they entered the fourth floor but this was merely a check for weapons and did not limit the flow of people.
People understood the meaning of importance and respected the levels of the building, only rarely did a random person walk onto the fourth floor to talk about repairs but instead of being scolded and sent out, the advisors carefully listened to what the person had to say, and came to a decision, but they did make sure the person understood that those ideas remained on the first floor. After the routine pat down, which Dalia knew the guards enjoyed, she walked onto the fourth floor. Here there were a few desks and a few chairs. The desks varied from school desks to large oaks.
In the far back was one advisor leaning back on a small wooden chair. The advisor was deep in thought, but his thought track was broken at the sight of the red haired shadow.
“Ah, you have returned. Did you get it?”
“Yes, but sector 7 should remain quarantined for a few days, they are going to be on high alert there for a while.”
“I see, hand me the drive.” The advisor said opening his hand, he was an older man; a white beard decorated his face and wrinkles peculated across his face. Dalia took a hand sized computer drive and gave it to the advisor. The rate of change in technology had been stunted, to stay the least since the revolts started fifteen years ago. “Beautiful, great job, now let’s see what they are up to.” The advisor walked over to a nearby computer and monitor, the computer was in no ways modern and had been greatly modified to last as long as it has. It was plated with several metals to enforce the case, a great majority of colored wires sprouted from nooks and crannies that littered through the back and sides of the technological dinosaur. The advisor started inserting wires into the drive and the computer. Soon he was browsing through the various documents in the driver, Dalia peered at the screen from behind his shoulder watching as he opened and closed various documents.
“Ah, here it is,” he exclaimed and the paused to read. “It says here that there is a rebel official who is being moved from London to Dover within a week, that’s got to be The Fox.”
Confusion, surprise and disbelief became apparent across Dalia’s face.
“Yes,” the advisor said turning to look at her. “The Fox was captured by the governate six months ago. We managed to retrieve bits of information here and there since his capture but we are now certain it’s got to be him. Nobody else of high profile has gone missing in the last 6 months.”
After all this time, Dalia thought, the Fox was captured and most likely tortured. “We need to be sure” she said, her voice calm but urgent. It did seem unlikely that the Fox would disappear in France and then reappear only to be captured in England. Was he trying to relocate into England? The thought briefly danced through Dalia’s mind.
“Yes I know, that’s where you come in again. There is a governate party being held in a mansion outside of the city tomorrow, we’ve already prepared the necessary documentation to get you in there, all you need to do is find a way to get into Church’s office and get definitive proof.”
If she was surprised before, Dalia was shocked now. Neil Church, often thought of as the evil twin to Winston Churchill was the leader of the governate, his ruthless tactics had lead to almost constant confrontation. He rose to power through connections, wealth and a strong loyalty from the army and it was now Dalia’s job to infiltrate his highly secure office and find the necessary information.
“I know it sounds impossible, but we have learned that Church has no escort for the evening, if you’re clever enough you might be able to get that position. As a womanizer he often takes trips to his office with various women during the parties. I’m sure you would have no problem attracting his attention.”
The idea of Dalia having to seduce the murdering mad man sickened her, but it was not the nastiest thing she would have to do in this war. “Fine,” she sighed “I’ll do it but why is it that if we have been able to get so close to him, why did we not kill him already?”
“Killing him will not do anything, only promote their propaganda. There will always be somebody to take his place; he may be a killer and a leader to the military, but it is the corporate bigwigs that hide behind the scenes that are the heads of the hydra.” And with that Dalia walked away from the advisor, down the stairs, through the room of bantering rebels and out the broken electric sliding doors. Once outside she started walking left and after passing several buildings, she entered a small 2 floor building nudged in-between two larger buildings. There were no signs leading to this building, nor were there many people around. Dalia entered the building and was greeted by two other dark figures leaving. Unable to tell who was who, they all nodded in acknowledgement and continued in their own directions.
Once inside, the corridor stretched for a long length, the building was not large, but it was long, she walked towards the steps and looked into a nearby room whilst passing, she saw about seven people sitting on chairs and a couch, all of them talking and laughing. This house was for the shadows of London
She walked to the last bed on the right, closest to the bathroom and fished out clothes from her storage space which was no more than just a cardboard box. Taking the clothes into the bathroom and locking the door Dalia walked over to the nearby sink and mirror and placed her clothes on the floor beside her. Twisting the faucet open caused the aged pipes in the house the squeak until the sink coughed out cold water. With her hands at opposite sides of the sink she looked at her own deep green eyes as if they would answer her question, “What have you gotten yourself into Dalia?”
She walked to the last bed on the right, closest to the bathroom and fished out clothes from her storage space which was no more than just a cardboard box. Taking the clothes into the bathroom and locking the door Dalia walked over to the nearby sink and mirror and placed her clothes on the floor beside her. Twisting the faucet open caused the aged pipes in the house the squeak until the sink coughed out cold water. With her hands at opposite sides of the sink she looked at her own deep green eyes as if they would answer her question, “What have you gotten yourself into Dalia?”
By : Oscar Krol