Jeanne G'Fellers - No Sister of Mine

proudly among the Autlach, detesting their presence, savoring thoughts of their deaths even though she looked like one of them. “The time has come for us to take back what is ours.” The scars of her true identity hidden under her tunic collar, Cance looked down on the Autlach congregation. Simple fools—she pulled the stiff collar higher—so easily deceived, so willingly misused. It’s a pity really. The challenge is almost nonexistent. “Some Sarians believe they can take our land and say it is for the benefit of us all. They destroy our fields, ruin the fishing waters, and what do we receive in way of compensation? Nothing!”
Agreeing murmurs wafted through the crowd, Cance’s speech increasing to match the fervor.
“We have the right to demand restitution and demand it now!” The murmurs intensified into cries of “justice” and “freedom for our lands,” ensuring her of the words’ impact. So Cance continued, with a tightly held frown to prevent her true emotions from leaching through.
“It is our right to have enough land and fishing waters to nourish and support our families. Since the military base has expanded its presence on Langus, the average family earnings have decreased nearly thirty percent. Poverty is running amok. They are draining the lifeblood of Langus and denying us the crop room critical for the support of our mother planet. It must stop!” Cance stretched her arms wide. “If we don’t, Langus will become as desolate as the Stonemar Plateau on Firewall.” The bleak image of the moon’s yellow-orange surface produced waves of shocked gasps.
“But what can we do?” wailed a voice.
“You.” Cance pointed to the balding man who asked the question. “There is much you can do. I’ve been informed by others concerned with the disappearance of Langus farms that a charter of demands has been forwarded to the High Council on Saria Three. They have seven days to begin withdrawal of military forces from Langus.”
“What if they ignore the demands?” cried a young man in the rear.
“Then we give them a demonstration of our intent.” Cance leapt from the boulder and drew closer, beckoning the most interested to approach. “In seven days”—her face remained guarded— “in seven days, if they refuse our demands, we strike! Every compound, post, and yes, even the base itself will feel the impact of our blows.” Cance picked up a small boy in the crowd and held the squirming child high, exclaiming: “We do this for our children and our children’s children. We do this for ourselves, and we do this for Langus!” Frenzied cries drowned all attempts at speechmaking so Cance joined the celebration, returning the child to his proud mother before adding to the drone.
When the boisterous display had subsided, she continued the oration, shouting until it was sufficiently calm. “Volunteers are needed to help with our strike at the base, brave men who are willing to risk their lives for their people, fearless souls who will go down in history as the ones who freed Langus from the destructive greed of the Sarian military.” The words rolled off Cance’s tongue far smoother than she had rehearsed. Evil can make a convincing argument when it suits a purpose, and Cance was certainly evil, decades of imprisonment only serving to mold her ambitious mind into one of crazed malefactor. “Do I have volunteers?”
Ten arms waved high in the air, richly delighting the branded Taelach.
“Those of you who’ve volunteered, meet me by the tree line in five minutes. Everyone else, return to your homes. Do not speak of our plans, not even to each other. The eyes of the Sarian military are everywhere, perhaps among us now.” The listeners unconsciously recoiled from one another. “We stand on the shores of freedom, our sails unfurled for a favorable breeze. In seven days it begins.”
The crowd dispersed into small groups and drifted toward their respective homes. The remaining handful gathered at the tree line to wash away the evening chill with an oversized wine flask. Cance snatched the container and took a deep swig. “I see some of us are true to the Cause.” She looked around the group. “Let’s see what we have here. You!” Cance indicated the heavy man now holding the flask. “You ever in the Sarian ranks?”
“Two passes,” he said with a boastful squaring of his shoulders.
“Ever post on the base here?”
“No.”
Cance grabbed the flask from his hand. “Go home. We don’t need anyone who isn’t familiar with the layout of the base. Who has worked or posted there?” Four hands went up, the exact number for Cance’s purposes. “All but these four leave.” She turned to the quartet, casting their wives a scouring glare. She had little use for Autlach women besides occasional physical satisfaction, and none of these appeared adequate for that. “Send your women home. They’ve no place here.”
“We have as much to do with this as anyone!” blared a slack-breasted mother of far too many, ignoring her husband’s embarrassed hushing. “These are our lands, too.”
Our lands too? Cance suppressed her rising anger. Autlach women had no rights of ownership. They’d been taught their place, something some Taelachs, Cance believed, could learn from. She smiled lightly then addressed the women in a gentle tone. “I understand your wanting to participate, but the strength and mental stamina required for this demonstration is ill-fitting a woman. Return to your homes and children. The less you know the better. The Cause has no wish to confuse the delicate emotions of lovely ladies such as you.”
This, accompanied by their husbands’ insistence, seemed to pacify the women’s concerns and they departed, chattering amongst themselves. Again, Cance drank deeply from the wine, refraining from speech until only her chosen remained. “Let’s get down to business. The Langus Cause has asked that the four of you effect a raid on the base.”
“Raid?” The longhaired member of the foursome sneered. “Ta’ what purpose?”
“A simple one. And one I’ll tell you in due time. For now, let’s discuss the layout of the base.” Cance