Rebel Earth

This is something I started last night at around 2am. It was late/early, so please excuse cheesyness. This is more like a guideline for a future story rather than a story in itself. It needs to be improved and expanded. It travels too quickly, and I need to work on some names.

It opens with a letter.

Here it goes:

The following is a letter from Edward Gamdana, Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Earth Republic, to the Imperial Senate.

We, the people of a free and independent Earth do address the Senate of the Jacksonian Empire:
The government of the Empire has a long history of racism and bigotry which has culminated into genocidal policies of hatred and murder during the late plagues. It has forgotten its guiding principles laid out in the Declaration of Principles of 2099. It has, during the late plagues most egregiously forgotten its own origins on this pristine planet. It seems only just that we, the Free Peoples of Earth do declare our intent to establish a free and independent world. One not guided by a lust for power and expansion, but by compassion for our fellows and a true belief in the Guiding Principles.
As you, the elected officials of the Empire, read this message, a negotiating party is en route to Jacksonia. We hope and pray to the Almightys that you will see our intentions to be peaceful and agree to a negotiated understanding.

*
The papers blared the news “Rebels in Eurasia and Africa Declare Independence”. It didn’t mean much, considering the size of the Empire and the fact that most of the Earth was still officially loyal. Rebellion had been brewing in North America for over a hundred years; the first open revolts were on the Eastern Seaboard, in New York and Philadelphia. The rebels had run to Africa when Imperial units came down from their garrison post on the moon. It was there that they found popular support.
It didn’t mean much to Jon and his older brother, Tim. Why should it? Two High School students in the Mid-Northern region of North America didn’t concern themselves with the goings on in the East, especially those that happened when they had been infants.
Jon was a Junior in High School, and his brother was a second-year Senior. When the news of Independence came to the school, the response was a mixed clatter of “Who gives a flying fuck?” and “I give them a week”. Then came the recruiters. With war coming, the in-system garrison needed bolstering, and the 18-24 year olds of North America were the perfect candidates. Big men in tight fitting uniforms descended on campuses and challenged students to chin-up and push-up contests, giving away stickers, shirts with unit logos and writing pens.
Jon was walking down the hall alone. Ahead of him stood a towering hulk in a yellow shirt. “You!” the hulk seemed to quiver as he turned to face the student. “How are you doing son?”
Jon tried to ignore and walked on toward the towering mass of yellow like it didn’t exist. He was unsuccessful as the recruiter placed his massive hand on Jon’s shoulder. “Did ya hear me, son?” He tried to sound concerned, but failed.
Yes, I heard you. I was hoping you were a lot dumber than your shirt, but I figured that would be pushing it.
“I’m sorry, Sir, I must have been daydreaming.” Jon was a better actor than the recruiter.
“No, problem there, son,” the recruiter spoke in with a lilt that could only come from Texas. “I was just asking you how you’re doing.”
I was doing fine until you bothered me.
“I’m OK.”
“I’m glad. How old are you, son?”
“I’m 16, almost 17.”
“Almost 17, huh?” the recruiter thought about it with his hand on his chin. “Have you given any thought to the delayed entry program?”
Before Jon could answer he continued. “Well, what we do is on your seventeenth birthday you sing up. You don’t go to basic or anything yet, but you spend the mandatory reserve time of weekends and summers with a garrison unit; in this case, it would be the Sol System Garrison on the Moon or on Io. You receive full reserve pay and benefits and learn the ropes. Then, when you turn 18, you will be sent to basic training at one of the nearer schools. Obviously, I can’t tell which, since it’s rather random. After basic, you will have the choice between active duty and returning to reserve duty. Do you have any questions?”
Yeah, how many donuts can you fit in your gigantic fucking mouth while you shovel so much bullshit?
“No, sir. It’s fascinating.”
“Well, I’m glad you think that way. Lemme give you this,” he pulled a plastic card from his pocket, “this is me.” It was a business card, it has his name, SSgt Melvin Duplex, his address and communication number. “If you need to reach me for anything- questions, if you need advice, if you just want to talk- anything, don’t hesitate. Ok?”
Sure, but where the hell did you get as retarded a name as “Duplex”?
“Ok.” Jon broke eye contact and continued on his way.
*
“You’re such a jerk off. You wouldn’t do any push-ups?”
“He didn’t ask. He just talked down to me.”
“He probably knew you wouldn’t be able to do any.” Tim laughed at that.
Jon replied in kind, “Fuck you.”
This was a victory for Tim. He and his brother had a custom of trading jabs. Tim 1, Jon 0.
Jon began to formulate his retaliatory jab. “How was football practice?”
Yeah, how was practice, you fat slug?
Tim beat his chest. “I sacked the QB!”
“You sacked him?”
“Yeah.”
“How did it feel? I’m not one for tea bagging. I wonder if Rudy likes it.”
*WAM!* the pain was a sure sign that he had won.
Tim 1, Jon 1 – Tim forfeits.
*
Dinner was usually a trifling affair. Grab what you can, take it out to the living room and watch the news. It was full of reports on atrocities committed by the rebels. Their father shook his head, “Damn propaganda. Less than 10% of the things we see on this channel are real.” Their father had served a full 20 year career in active duty with the Army. “I never saw any atrocities committed by any enemy I fought, although the news always came up with them.”
Their mother had served for 20 in the Womens’ Military Service Corps, so she nodded in sincere agreement.
Their father spoke again, “Not that I support the rebels, but the Empire did very little for this system during the plagues. I suppose Sol has become a backwater system and is so unimportant that 20% of the Empire’s military manpower comes from here. Use up the Earthers, they are a drain on the economy. Goddamn Army.”
Tim coughed and quietly said, “There was a recruiter at school today.”
“Don’t listen to his lies. He’ll tell you that your feces will turn into precious metal in order to get you to join.” Their father chuckled at his own joke.
“I’m thinking of joining. What with the rebellion, I might get to see some action in my four years service.”
“Four years is all? Jeez, when I joined it was a minimum of eight.”
“Of course, that was how many years ago?” their mother chimed in.
“Let me think. Well, it was 2168. Um, 32 years ago?”
“Exactly.”
*
The next day, at lunch, Jon did not see Tim at the diner they both started going to with their friends. After, he walked the long way to his class and peeked in the recruiter’s makeshift office and saw his brother in an arm wrestling contest with another student. He wore the same yellow shirt that the recruiter wears.
*
After school, Tim boasted about his new shirt and his choice. “This is the unit I’ll be with- the 12th Infantry Division. Their history goes all the way back to the 20th Century. They won great victories in the Second World War and the Korean Wars. Kick ass, huh?” All his friends nodded and whooped in celebration, but Jon only nodded quietly.
“When are you joining?” Their mom asked.
“I already have. I signed today.”
She sighed, “You shouldn’t have signed anything until I looked at it. They are going to screw you and you should have seen it coming.”
“Mom, I read it.”
“How well?”
“Well enough. It’s my decision.”
“Yeah, it is, but you made a stupid blunder and I hope you won’t have to pay for it.”
“Why the fuck do you care?”
“Don’t you use that language in front of me!” She made to slap him, but he backed away. “I care because I am your mother. You should have at least waited until you finish school.”
“I’ll finish during training. It’s in the program.”
“What program?”
“I tested into officer candidate school for infantry.”
“Your brother tested into intelligence and counter intelligence, but you don’t see him running off to join.”
“He’s too young.”
“You know what I mean. He’s got too much sense.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“When are you leaving?”
“This evening.”
“Keep your head down. And leave a holo for your father. He’ll be back from his advising job on Monday.”
Tim rolled his eyes.
Jon listened from the next room.
Good, this means I get his bedroom.
*
Edward Gamdana sat on the side of a large rectangle desk. He was surrounded by career politicians. He was the only one with a military background. And they made him Minister of Foreign Affairs. What made him so qualified for foreign relations? It must be because he had killed so many. Why not make him Supreme Commander of the Republic Military, or what was supposed to be a military. That must be it. The old guy was so used to a modern and efficient fighting force that the adhoc fleet and military would be foreign to him. But, if that was the case, foreign affairs would cover the military.
He sat staring at a yellow legal pad, contemplating his life. Born in Africa, educated in America, served in 37 different star systems, commanded over a million soldiers at a time and now he was a rebel without a clue how to do his job. The psychos now ran the nuthouse and they wanted the former guard to negotiate with the outside world. Eventually, the world would come for them and the man who believes his finger is a pencil will try to command a space fleet and defeat the most highly trained and technologically advanced armada the universe had ever known.
“Minister Gamdana? Minister Gamdana?”
Edward perked his head up.
“Your report please.”
Edward stood and walked to one side of the table where a podium was set up.
“Madam Premier, my fellow Ministers and Generals, let me be succinct. The diplomatic mission sent out has been out of contact since they landed on Jacksonia. This can only mean that they have been arrested or killed. I would expect us to receive a response any day now. It will be followed shortly by an invasion by the system garrison and will be reinforced by elements of the main fleet within a day.”
He stepped away from the podium and began walking to his seat when the Premier asked, “What strength will the invasion come in and where are they likely to land?”
Minister Gamdana paused but continued to walk to his seat. He slowly pulled out his chair and sat. He organized his notebook and said, “That is a job for General Phelps to assess.”
“Gamdana, you know full well that the General is just settling in with his new position and could use some guidance derived from your vast experience.” The Premier chided.
“You mean they don’t teach military theory in Law School?” Gamdana said innocently.
General Phelps shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
*
“Traitors!” shouted General Jackson Thomas. “Kellen, allow me to crush them. For old times sake.”
Chancellor Kellen Rodriguez faced out his massive office window. “Jack, you know your record. There is no why you’ll be accepted into such a high command position. You are lucky I could keep you a General.”
“Please. Make it an executive order or a Senate resolution; I have enough friends in the Senate.”
“Look, I’ll see what I can do. I’m only the Chancellor, I’m not a god.”
“Please do. I need to redeem my career some way. I should be Chief of the Army by now.”
“Jack, you ordered your ships to open fire on an unarmed alien craft. You killed the ruler of another Empire. Your mistaken judgment cost this empire over a million lives in the war.”
“But, because of me, the Empire is larger. My mistake was beneficial.”
“Ok, Jack. I told you I’ll see what I can do. For the time being, the 12th Infantry needs a commanding General.”
“Isn’t the 12th the local unit in the Sol System?”
“Yes, it is. They will be the first into combat.”
“Ok, Kellen, until you get me overall command, I’ll take the Division.”
*