The Rebels (F/F) - Chapter 3 (World-Building)

[AlexUSA3]

I am going way out of my usual comfort zone in this story! It's far from my usual fare, and I hope you find it enthralling.

CHAPTER 1

Lieutenant Barbara Nelson joyfully marched in military formation, approaching the courtroom. There were few people present, and the young Lt. Nelson knew she would receive a promotion for this. As a rising officer in the military police unit, capturing an infamous data runner would likely earn her many performance points and, with it, superior housing within the military complex. Yes, she'd move from the barracks to an on-base apartment! Hello, private bedroom! It took every fiber of her being working together to maintain professionalism and not practically skip all the way to the courtroom and up the aisle her seat with the prosecution.

In one corner of the room, a 30-something year old man, wearing a fine suit and a tie, held a microphone. Two cameras were there: one pointing at him and one pointing at the courtroom. He was very professional in his tone. Smooth as silk. Familiar with the environment and the topic. However long he had the job, he was a natural at it and a smooth communicator.

"I'm Michael Knoll, with the West Superior Government Network, bringing you live coverage from the West Superior Military Court. We're here for the sentencing of a dangerous data runner who smuggled an estimated 50 GB of forbidden data systems and 30 banned books into Macklesburg late last week. The defendant, one Miss Michelle Jenkins, was captured by a small troop led by Lieutenant Barbara Nelson. Jenkins is a repeat offender, and we're expecting the worst for her."

Lieutenant Nelson dusted off her dress uniform. The ensemble features a black woolen top and a matching tight-fitting calf-length skirt. Gold buttons decorated the uniform, and the flag of West Superior with its green, white, and green stripes and AK-47s forming an X, was perfectly clipped to her lapel. Black pantyhose and matching combat boots gave her both a formal appearance and a frightful cold bloodedness that could be felt at a mile's distance. This officer served her nation with pride. She had captured data runners before, but this was her first time leading the effort.

The young officer's pale blonde was long, streaking halfway down her back, and held in place by a black scrunchie. Her eyes were a friendly, pale blue that showed no inklings of the horrors she was about to commit. In any other era of history, the actions she committed would be denounced as crimes against humanity. In this society, they were the standard practice, and standards of this dark and lurid flavor were to be found throughout The Consortium.

Sitting beside Barbara was a scruffy old man who served as the military court's prosecutor, and at the other table were a woman wearing a uniform similar to Barbara's and a blonde woman with a scowl on her face. The prisoner had classic blonde hair of a comparable length to Barbara's, but her eyes were a deep, enticing blue. An orange prison jumpsuit designated her as an inmate, and rigid cuffs secured her wrists and elbows together behind her back. A third pair of rigid cuffs at her ankles guaranteed that she could not run away even if she had the opportunity to flee.

It was inescapable, just as deserved to be the for case those who tried undermining the illustrious history of the most peaceful of the 14 states and countries that made up the remains of what were formerly known as the United States, Canada, Mexico, Central America, and the Caribbean, lost in The Wars, and now known as The Great Consortium of North American Nations.



First Lieutenant Nelson stood to respect the stolid judge's entrance, along with all others present in the courtroom. The public defender, a military lawyer appointed to defend the accused, aided her client standing up and to face the correct direction to show respect to the judge, as little as a woman in rigid cuffs could. The captive blonde frowned, but she stood straight and tall to keep as good of odds as could be found when the deck was heavily stacked against her.

The Conflict of 2004 was the first significant setbacks; the Data War of 2006 froze the world at this technological level; the Great Dissolution of 2017 saw North America splinter into five warring factions; the Intracontinental War of 2036-2059 ended the lives of around 250 million in North America alone and led to the fractured structure, each member of the Great Consortium having its own form of government while adjourning within agreed limits. Whereas 50 GB of data and 30 books were fatal in West Superior, across the border in North Superior the same data and books would only result in life imprisonment. Most countries used rapid-fire Rump Parliaments and hasty trials that carried the death penalty to squash the offenders. By the Data Agreement of 2067, all forms of information within and without the Great Consortium were regulated. Special permits were to transport data in a country or a city, and countries had their own definitions of what was and wasn't allowed, leading to frequent squabbling.

"After two days of hearings, we now conclude. On this signed day, Wednesday, the 24th of May, Two Thousand One Hundred and Twenty-Four, we sentence the defendant, a native of East Gulf, Michelle Jenkins, for the crime of data running. Yesterday, this present court found her guilty of all charged crimes. Miss Jenkins, this is now your third arrest on the crime of data running. As a result of your previous convictions and your conviction on this charge, I sentence you to death," the old, cruel judge intoned, "Death is mandatory for first offenses of this severity in our glorious nation, let alone a third offense within the confines of this great Consortium. I order that you be handed over to the arresting officer, First Lt. Barbara Nelson, who will carry out the sentence as she sees fit. Court is adjourned. Goodbye, Miss Jenkins."

"We will pause our broadcast here," the voice of Michael Knoll ominously explained, "Executing a prisoner is unfit for television. After the execution, we will resume our regular daily broadcast on West Superior Government Network, The One True Voice of West Superior. Until then, a brief public service message concerning the recent passing of our former General–Elect, Geoff Hughes. I'll be back with you at the bottom of the hour for a series of petty theft trials."

"This is absolute nonsense!" Eliza James declared from her seat in a far away place, "50 GB gets a death sentence. Oh, hell, I once smuggled 20 TB in hard drives from North Superior to Gulfo Sur!" with a shake of her head, she turned off the TV, "In East Gulf, 50 GB gets you 6 months of hard labor. This is a joke. West Superior's a joke! The Consortium is— guess what?—a joke!"

Eliza the shiny haired girl with light brown hair was a tall girl. Form fitting jeans were a default for this rancher and underground rebel, whose pale blue eyes shined with an unmistakably mischievous gleam. She was a professional rabble rouser who remained under the radar, able to move about the Consortium committing various data crimes while maintaining a squeaky clean public image that made her an irreplaceable asset to the rebel cause. Brown cowboy boots were the second guarantee, and the third was a cowboy bandana around her neck.

"Yeah," Wendy Green laughed, eating popcorn, "We also had an entire military subunit chase us for 1500 miles of that trip. But we had nothing on us except 200,000 dollars in cash by the time they caught us!" she looked around the room, "50 GB is death in West Superior?!"

Wendy, the smaller girl with shimmering hair that could be pale brown or dark blonde depending on the lighting, was blessed with green-hazel eyes. At a glance, you tell something was different about her because she winced when she said "West Superior." What made that a trigger phrase? Not even her fellow rebels knew the full truth surrounding this East Gulf native. She was part of the resistance, but she was on West Superior's Most Wanted List at number three, proudly placed as the highest ranking data runner. Indeed, she was the only data runner on the list whose elimination was so badly desired that killing her in cold blood was allowed. The shoulder-length hair and glasses made her look more like an innocent nerd and less like a rebel.

Eliza looked around the room, adjusted her jeans, and sat down to fix her shoelaces. Something about West Superior bothered her in ways any other Consortium members didn't. She was well aware that in Gran Baja just 10 GB of illegal data transfer could get you killed on the spot if you were caught red-handed, but she hated West Superior more than any other Consortium state. She unbuttoned and rebuttoned her plaid button-down shirt and anxiously played with her bandana before storming out of the premises to go check on the cattle that was her legal source of income.

Wendy sat on the sofa with a unique flavor of femininity: sneakers, leggings, a miniskirt, a shirt with long-sleeves, and a headband were the choices of a girl who looked normal in society. She couldn't safely go outside, a total outlaw whose presence was only known to those trusted souls who were part of the resistance. Her bookish charm and genius situational analyzes made her a cornerstone of rebellion. As she ate her popcorn, she seemed to daydream of her past escapades and look forward to either one-day upending the Consortium or dying in the effort. She looked at her friends and shrugged her shoulders, being used to the propaganda machines..

"Don't worry, Miss," Lieutenant Nelson beamed with excitement, "I've never done this before. I already had my colleagues dig a grave for you in the fields so we can say goodbye to yet another enemy of the people of West Superior and all of the Great Consortium!"

The doomed woman sat in silence while the officer joyfully removed her orange prison sneakers and socks and personally led her out into the cold in a forced hop. The captive never said a word throughout the ordeal, but she grunted in a show of strength in the face of death. It was late May, and a cold rainy day was quite common at these latitudes in springtime. Barbara may have used
lackeys to dig and fill the hole, but she was truly doing the dirty work herself. She was proud to serve her nation so well and to protect it from rogues. A few curious witnesses followed behind the entourage at a distance with mixed motivations behind their decisions.

At the graveside, a sheer pillowcase was pulled over the doomed woman's head as if there was a sense of mercy in this place. In a show of power, the Lieutenant silently showed all present the key to each pair of rigid cuffs before she stuffed them all inside one of sock, stuffed the one sock inside the other, and jammed the wad—socks, keys, and all—into the doomed girl's mouth, using the pillowcase to prevent the socks and keys from being swallowed. A black muzzle was pulled over the doomed blonde's head, ensuring she would never speak another word in this life. There remained four witnesses from the public, a small group of people who were either desensitized, morbidly curious, quietly saying goodbye, or disturbed.

One of the witnesses watched with as stern of a gaze as anyone else. Sydney Brown was a secret member of the same team to which Eliza and Wendy belonged, one whose role was unknown to all outside the movement. To the military government of West Superior, she was a librarian with a stellar reputation, but she watched knowing that the doom could just as easily be hers. She had no idea that the girl sitting next to her was contemplating a private rebellion. Sydney, like some, followed behind the military entourage while Lieutenant Nelson forced the sentenced girl to hop towards her own grave in miserable conditions. At long last, the group stopped in front of a pair of uniformed figures. Each of the witnesses was kept back at a distance, close enough to watch and wince at the deplorable actions that they were about to watch unfold before their eyes.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant Nelson," said the more decorated of the two officers .
"Colonel Reilly," Lieutenant Nelson saluted in West Superior style, arm straight out in front of her and bent with her hand next to her temple, "permission to execute by strangle hogtie!"
"Permission granted," Col. Reilly responded, "Let this be a warning to everyone present!"
"Thank you, Colonel," the young officer beamed, almost crying with joy at serving her nation.

Rosanna Burbage had been raised as a ward of West Superior Orphanage, her parents lost to her forever, but she wanted to learn the truth even if she had to risk her own life. Who were they? It seemed unbelievable that they were gone, though. She only knew that she was a native of West Superior, and she had seen her own birth certificate when applying for licenses at various stages of life, including when she had fulfilled her own two years of military conscription like all youth in West Superior did. Even ones who moved away had to return if they'd lived in the region for a set period of time and met certain parameters, and the service had to be complete by age 30. She wondered if her parents were murdered. Her only chance to know was to read the West Superior newspapers, but this city, Martinston, was the capital and surrounded by 200 miles of wasteland and farmland in all directions. The newspaper was too thick to do the search alone.

"Guuukkkkk!" the doomed girl struggled while slowly asphyxiating from the strangle hogtie,
"You should have never subverted the glory of the Consortium!" Lt. Nelson said with pride.
"UKKKK," the girl practically choked, dehumanized by having the keys to freedom in her mouth and making horrible sound effects due to the combination of flavors and physical suffering.
"Data runners bring us angst and pain! But we will stand strong!" the young military girl smiled.
"Why?" Rosanna unknowingly, quietly asked Sydney, "Why death for this? I never understood."
"Because truth hurts and can be misinterpreted," Sydney coyly responded, knowing her answer protected herself from eavesdroppers and spoke the truth, "Come, Miss. Let's leave this scene."

Rosanna followed Sydney, realizing she no longer loved West Superior like she did as a child. A sudden memory came to her head as a young soldier when she raided a lair of data runners from North Gulf at the behest of the government there in keeping with the Consortium treaties, and no one survived among the data runners except one who'd jumped out the window. Rosanna always wondered what the one girl did afterwards, but she remembered vividly the guilt that seized her after that day, the true terror she'd seen before unloading a full magazine into the room of girls, bravely clutching each other as they faced the end, After that, Rosanna decided to end her time in the military at the end of her service, as she was free to do at any time. Like many, the site of a data raid was where her military career had come to an end.

Sydney was the one who guarded the government's truth. The librarians curated the exchange of knowledge between cities and nations. For Sydney, this meant denying requests of forbidden books and banned books. Asking for a banned book was a faux pas. Forbidden books were to be immediately reported to the military so they might apprehend the person. She did as she was told… except when they didn't. The blonde, splotchy brown, haired woman with bright blue eyes was awaiting her role as a librarian. She wore a brightly colored miniskirt and a bright t-shirt. She wore 1 inch pumps for a little elevation although she wasn't too big.

"You want to learn secrets, yes? Might be as simple as a book request from North Superior or asking the right person," Sydney spoke casually, "But it might require more information?"
"I don't know what you're saying," the adamant young brunette shook her head.
"You do. You're seeking something, and I can help you."
"All right. Let's go to the library where we can talk more…," Rosanna paused, "Exactly."
"Are you an orphan?" the rebel saw right through the young girl.
"How could you tell?" the protégé asked, but Sydney smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

Young Rosanna knew too little. She knew only that which was said by word of mouth. She was a military hero who was well-respected, but higher ranking officials seemed to anathematize him with seemingly no cause. Rosa wanted to learn the truth about her parents' birth and their death. The young woman was a small one standing at a short stature and with no excess fat. Rose's hair was wavy and long; her eyes were comparably brown and shiny. She looked like a friendly type of resident who had no secrets, clutching the precious few pearls she could find on her journey, a person who retained those few pieces of her former military life that were worth salvaging, like a fitness routine. She was a girl trying to discover her past because she saw no future.

"Rest in pieces," Lt. Nelson smugly said, holding the cuffs and keys that once tormented the late Michelle Jenkins, "Another data runner bites the dust. Scum. Horrid scum," and she turned and proudly walked away from the unmarked grave. As soon as she entered the courthouse, Colonel Reilly personally presented Lt. Nelson with an accomodation card. The Colonel stood with hair that came down past her shoulders; she was another blonde and unique because she had truly green eyes. In West Superior, the military, as in olden days, lived on bases, often in barracks, but the privileged could transfer up to various apartments. These people never settled down, always living with their belongings reduced to one or two duffle bags for easy transfer since lodging had no meaning, especially since friends could not hide within the rigid structure. Lt. Nelson saluted the colonel and marched gleefully, a girl who was all too joyful to serve her country, the country of her birth, like many other youths. Was it zeal or genuine evil that coursed through her veins?

"Could The Martinston Gazette archives help me?" Rosanna asked the librarian.
"Depends on what you are seeking," the history expert adjusted her glasses, certain that this was a chance to ignite a fire in a potential fellow rebel, "We are a vault of limited knowledge."
"I want to know what every orphan wants to know: my parents. What happened?"
"What were your parent's names?" Sydney quietly asked inside the history room.
"Truman and Georgiana Burbage," Rosanna answered, and Sydney raised an eyebrow.
"Really? Were you born around October of 2094?" the intelligent blonde asked the brunette.
"Why. yes? How did you know? How do you know everything about me?!" Rosanna blurted.
"Shhhh… shhhhh," Sydney motioned, "Newspapers are missing from that October through the next May… This is a subject of either forbidden or lost knowledge," then she said in a firm voice that made it clear that there was much more to this than she made apparent, "Go home. I can't help you yet."

Sydney shuddered once she was alone, and she finished her shift in silence. Going home by night, a look of mixed concern and confidence filled her heart while she stared at the paper with notes all over it. She knew too much, perhaps, and she confidently picked up the house phone when she'd gotten back to her own place. She pushed several numbers and soon smiled, "Hi, Valerie, it's me. I have a job for my favorite police officer. Can you get all of us a 411 on a Miss Rosanna Burbage? Yes, we need her to have a joyful incident on her way to work tomorrow. Oh, it is very important, and I think you will find many benefits to befriending her. Thank you. I will see you around. Yes. Thanks. Good night, Officer Jackson."

TO BE CONTINUED

[LunaDog]

This might be somewhat different to your normal works, but it didn't stop it being good and enjoyable.

[AlexUSA3]

This might be somewhat different to your normal works, but it didn't stop it being good and enjoyable.

It will be very different indeed.

@charliesmith, @silvertejp590, @SquidIncMaster, @Switcher1313, @The G-Man, @Caesar73, @Phantomette, @0Kay, @Yewteed, @Solarbeast, @GreyLord, @Kinky_boi,@harveygasson, @hafnermg, @johopp, @Bilmik, @DommeKirsten, @RopeBunny, @LunaDog, @PenelopeRopes, @StrugglingSue, @JohnnyRockets, @Mineira1986

My DA followers are a chapter ahead on this one!

CHAPTER 2

Sydney sat in silence and watched as the light turned off in the apartment. To conserve some of the limited resources, such as coal, lights were designed with timers to turn themselves off after an hour. They could be freely turned on again, but that timer still existed. With a sigh, Sydney decided to retire. She knew any phone call could be the one that brought her face-to-face with a Lt. Nelson type of figure, and she didn't fear it. She hated that it had to be this way, but this was the only way to get Rosanna Burbage where Sydney needed her to be right now.

Rosanna cursed the home technology frozen one hundred years in the past. The internet was a disaster in West Superior, a network that was limited to a specialized closed-circuit system and contained entirely within Martinston. In effect, it was an intranet with all computers connecting to a mainframe, and all government approved sources of information could be found within the primitive system even if they could not be viewed. The computers could be slow, and stagnation from wars froze the progress of humanity. She hated to see that the Gazette archives from the time of her birth were listed as missing. Not destroyed or banned. But why?

Martinston was an example. It was a rarity in the Consortium with over 250,000 people. Yet the major city was surrounded by a radius, Rosanna once heard, of exactly 222 miles of land that all was either wasteland lost in the wars or was farmland. To the 10 million people who remained in North America, Martinston was an absolute megalopolis. Farmers were among the few who had the required permissions to live full-time outside the walls of a military-controlled city. The city itself was a marvel of such limits in technology and engineering. Many people lived in high-rise apartments in order to minimize the footprint, with large parks and ponds to be found because the universal benefits of nature were still undeniable fundamental wisdom. From outside the walls, a classic pink metropolitan glow could be seen due the businesses that remained open throughout the night, supporting what little nightlife could be found in a war-ravaged world.

Officer Valerie Jackson approached the payphone in the well-lit city park, still wearing her work uniform, a policewoman's uniform. Her straight long brown hair contrasted with her brown eyes and sugary sweet personality. While war may have redistributed the land, some things could not be eradicated, like the endearing twang betrayed her as a native of North Gulf, in the area that in the past was known as "the Southern United States."

"Good evening, Miss James, I have another small job for you," Valerie used classic codespeak.
"Well, hello, my friend, what is needed from you?" Eliza asked in a calm, smooth tone.
"Tomorrow, I am going to walk to work as usual. I will run into a short brunette near Bryson and Louisa's fruitstand. I am going to pick up some produce, and you're going to put the bag on both me and the produce. Understood? She's short and unmistakable. Make sure it's my favorite."
"I understand Val. Say, how about we catch a flick sometime this week?" Eliza asked her friend.
"That'd be good. I hate using up my coins like this, but I can't hear you from my home phone."
"Oh, things will be all right. You make good money," the rebel responded, "Call you tomorrow."

Eliza sat down and recalled that tragic day. The memories caused her eyes to glaze over because of the scars in her mind. She was a young data runner in North Gulf, a junior member on a team of seasoned veterans. Then the mercenaries from West Superior managed to find the lodge at the quiet bayou and determined that outlaw data runners were inside the building. The mercenaries had rushed the building, and Eliza only escaped by jumping out an open window, screen and all. The building had not been properly surrounded, allowing her to run away as quickly as possible. Searing her memory was the small, brown-haired soldier who opened fire on the room, killing all of Eliza's friends. Shortly after that, she met a data runner named Wendy who was a professional in need of a colleague and using Eliza as an intermediary, and they joined forces with the shared goal of undermining West Superior by any and all means necessary.

Searches of the library's archives did nothing for Rosanna. In fact, she found no evidence of any historical records, even on the intranet servers, that explained that period in which she was born, except that there were rebel-incited revolts going on at that time and that the military squashed it after a few months. A dejected sigh came out of Rosanna, who soon turned off the computer and lights and retired for the night, crying herself to sleep because she didn't even have a photo of her parent by which to remember them. Her sleep was ruined by the memory of her crimes in North Gulf, a crime that she now believed deserved death—except she was penitent. It was easier to be a soldier only because she needn't worry about holding a job for income or keeping an apartment unless she received an accommodation card. Instead, she focused on serving West Superior with the aim of fulfilling the conscription requirement and focused on her military friends… including a certain blonde named Lt. Barbara Nelson. The camaraderie was good until you realized that it was cliquey. You genuinely love your friends but grow disturbingly cold towards perceived foes.

Lt. Nelson happily gathered her bags. There were no goodbyes exchanged with the girls because most end up getting sent back to the barracks from the apartments. It was more like a paid trip to living in a nice place for a month. Barbara had a suspicion that she might stay in the apartments this time, and her dreams were sweet. In particular, she had dreams of capturing two of the most infamous perceived enemies of the people: Wendy Green, the most dangerous data runner living in the whole Consortium, and Alexa Ray, the supposed leader of a band of data runners to which Wendy belonged. She wanted to catch one or both herself, and she knew she was becoming one of the most respected data smashers in West Superior, if not in the entire Consortium!

Sydney slept with a window open so that she could read using the glow of the street light. While the freedom to turn on the light existed, she felt the odd need to read by the glow of an artificial, incandescent sun. Perhaps her book, An Annotated Wartime History of North Superior by Georgiana Burbage, was a forbidden book, one that was so banned that it was on the list of books the government gave every library located in West Superior with these instructions: If anyone requests one of these, immediately call either the military or civilian police units. Reading forbidden books was like a drug to Syd, who soon put her precious possession inside the secret compartment that strangers could only find by burning the entire building to the ground, if that didn't destroy the book itself. The book was an artifact, an original copy, published back in 2092. The "about the author" said "Georgiana Burbage is a history teacher at the West Superior Military Academy. She lives in Martinston with her husband, Truman, who was recently named Marshal Supreme of the West Superior Aeroforce."

"I'd like to file a travel request," Sydney Brown said to an official the next morning.
"OK, may I see your ID?" the person cordially responded, "And where are you going?"
"It's a long trip. You know how it is for us librarians," the blonde sighed, "Always find materials to satisfy those researchers who need more info on a topic, whether chemistry or dog training. I have to go down to North Gulf though, specifically New Orleans."
"My wife is a chemist," the man nodded and smiled, "You, dear, have a spotless record. You are free to go at your convenience," and he handed Sydney her ID card, "Safe travels to North Gulf. Especially beware of bandits. I hear they're more dangerous than in the surrounding nations."
"Thanks. I need it. I once was kidnapped by bandits on my way back from a trip to Pacifica."

That same morning, Rosanna put on an outfit that made her feel comfortable, like herself, like an adversary, like a friend, and like an unique spirit in a world that encouraged individuality yet also crushed creativity. Camouflage cargo pants and a camouflage bandana headband with a jet black crop top tank top would keep her comfortable and keep sweat out of her eyes while she worked a greasy job; Rosanna was a mechanic. Black scrunchies kept her hair back, and her combat boots reminded her of her military conscription days. A pink hoodie jacket would keep the cold at bay while she walked to work and back home. She needed the emotional warmth of hugs more than the warmth provided by the coat, but at the moment she couldn't find that hug. She wanted to be roller skating with her old friends from her unit, but she didn't want a soldier's life again.

"Rosanna Burbage," suddenly the friendly twang of Officer Jackson interrupted her on her walk.
"Yes, I'm Rosanna. May I help you?" Rosanna knew not to resist an officer in Martinston.
"I have here a report concerning your data searches last night," Valerie's voice seemed kind and helpful, "I just need to bring you in for 10 minutes of questioning to be sure everything's OK."
"Of course. I have nothing to hide," the brunette followed the officer into the alleyway.
"I know you're like many who lost their parents in the times of various skirmishes, and—"
"Get them!" and "Move!" and "Take them down!" suddenly thundered through the air.
"GMMMMMMMM!" Rosanna was grabbed by someone much more powerful than herself.
"HMMMMMMMPH!" Officer Valerie found herself also being taken down by these forces.
"Don't worry, ladies," one kidnapper sneered, "Those socks have been stewing on data runner's feet for at least a day, maybe two," and said socks completely filled both captive's mouths.

The disturbed Rosanna made a terrible face when the socks entered her mouth, filling every inch with pungent, salty, rancid cotton while scarves bound her body at the hands of her captors. The scarves were tight and effective at tying her arms together behind her back, lining her arms for an inescapable captivity. Her legs were lined with similar severity, with the scarf binding her ankles being a long one that also wrapped through the heels of her boots. Scarves formed a mock breast harness as well. It wasn't Rosanna's first time bound and gagged; no, she'd once, when a soldier, been punished with a day bound and gagged in a solitary confinement cell for disobeying orders.

Valerie was helplessly enveloped in neon green electrical tape, a mainstay of electricians and one of many things civilians could not get on their own. The tape wrapped her mouth and head for a tight gag, sealing the socks in her mouth. Her wrists were crossed and taped, and the tape sealed her thighs and legs. Her black boots were taped together, securing her feet. Tape enveloped her torso, pinning her arms to her body and pushing her boobs out as a consequence. This was all an essential part of an extremely complicated ruse. With a shout, Valerie was left on the black alley pavement while the data runners stuffed Rosanna into Louisa's fruit truck.

Rosanna struggled while she was put inside a big box along with one of her assailants before the box was taped shut by another, all while bumping along the streets of Martinston. She squirmed a lot, but she knew better than to challenge a data runner; that was basically asking for death. An intense desire to escape was natural, especially since the socks did taste horrible. Thundering on each bump, the truck continued on its way with other boxes getting piled around the one that was Rosanna's prison. She realized the danger she'd encountered when she heard the sounds of metal under the truck wheels: they were going through a military gate. She knew it all too well.

"Drive through the scanner slowly. Where are you headed?" she heard a voice.
"Shhhhhhhhh," the captor hushed Rosanna, "Or we all die together."
"I'm Farmer Matson's wife," said the woman driving the truck, "You'll get to know me."
"Everything clears. Go ahead," the guard said, "You and your passenger's ID are clean."
"Did everything scan all right?" the woman asked to be certain, "Just making sure."
"Yes. It's a perfect scan, almost. Scored a 97 out of 100! Get the hell out of here now!"
"Have a wonderful morning!" the driver said, and the truck proceeded to leave Martinston.
"Don't worry, Rosanna Burbage. Soon, you will be safe and sound," the captor cooed a little.

Rosanna listened to the sound effects. She knew the Gate Scanners too well. Every soldier was trained on them even if they never worked a gate. She spent her last six months after North Gulf at this very same gate. A 97 out of 100 could in reality be a 72 out of 100 if you didn't give full attention to the shapes and how it classified them. Rosanna had more than once had to open the contents of a passing vehicle because the shape was that of a book, but they were always legal. From the sound of the voice, this soldier was too young to know his butt from his elbow and did not know that a van leaving a city full of the same fruit with which it entered the city three hours earlier was a red flag. Soon, though, the scanner would turn off and purge its own record. There was a brief moment of tension while Rosanna wondered what would happen if they were caught.

Officer Valerie Jackson howled into some random rebel's socks, trying to figure things out on her own. It wasn't the worst thing, really. Officer Jackson had obliquely suggested the socks during her planning of this mission. Speaking on the payphone in code was the only way to escape that deplorable fate. Valerie had so much knowledge because she'd once been a prosecutor's witness in a trial against a person in a different criminal rebellion group and seen that trial get dismissed because they had no proof that the wire-tapped conversation actually contained anything illegal. However, Valerie knew she was playing with fire, and she knew that she had to be careful.

With a groan, Valerie sidled up the wall, her beautiful blue eyes full of desperation and terror, her part being played to the fullest. Hopping towards the sidewalk, she made faces at the taste of the socks in her mouth and soon was out in the open, loudly gag talking to get the attention of one of the handful of pedestrians. A few minutes later she was rubbing her wrists and thanking both the person who helped her and the fellow officer who had quickly arrived on the scene to assist. The two officers then walked back to the station to fill out a report concerning yet another kidnapping caused by data runners, although this was only the second time Valerie was the targeted officer, a relatively small number for an officer with her number of years of service. It was not uncommon for rebels to target officers at seemingly random times like this. "This job is a bit much for me. I like my job, Chief," Valerie said to her boss, "I'm not the first to be sick of the rebels. If possible, I'd rather be a dispatcher or desk worker." The chief nodded his head in hearty approval, and that was how Valerie Jackson got away with yet another rebel crime. She smiled with a sigh of relief at her successful subterfuge. Once again, a rebel crime would be filed away as "unsolvable," as they so frequently were. It was Valerie's duty to the resistance, and she did it very well.

"Why you lousy motherf-ckers!" Eliza exclaimed when she saw Rosanna enter the lair, "If I get the—Give me my knife!" she shrieked, "I'm gonna slice this f-cking animal's throat!"
"Eliza, no!" Tracy Winters, the one formerly boxed with Rosanna, stood in the way, "This is that girl that Sydney said to kidnap, you dunce!" she protected Rosanna while Wendy Green, another key part of the kidnapping effort, put a hand on her own gun to stop Eliza by force if necessary.
"You don't understand!" the raging rebel snapped, "That's the girl who killed my old team!"
"GMMMM?!?!!??!" Rosanna looked deeper into Eliza's eyes and remembered the survivor.
"This is Rosanna Burbage!" Wendy steadied herself, "Yes, you heard that last name right. If you ever read anything when you lived in North Gulf, you'd know that surname all too well."
"Huh?!" the captive looked around the room in confusion, wondering why she'd been captured.
"What is going on here?" the rebel leader herself, Alexa Ray, entered the room, "Talk. Now!"
"Colonel Ray, we kidnapped the girl that Sydney requested!" Louisa explained succinctly.
"That girl happens to be the one who murdered my old team when I lived in North Gulf!" Eliza explained her position, "She's a West Superior sh-thead through and through and needs to go!"

Alexa Ray was the crown jewel of the rebels. She was one of just 8 people known in the history of West Superior both to ace the test to go to college and to attain a command rank in the military system, rising to Major before she disappeared at just 26 years old. Within six months, the most pestilant and persistent rebel faction formed in the wastelands surrounding Martinston. No one had ever seen them in a skirmish or captured any of their number despite many of the girls being considered some of the most wanted and dangerous women in the Consortium. Brightly shining black leather pants, red combat boots, a black crop top tank top, a black bomber jacket, and a red triangular bandana holding the wildly curly brown hair out of Commander Ray's face contrasted the mixture of kindness and determination seen in her brown eyes. Rosanna felt safe with her.

"Let Rosanna speak. Seriously, Louisa, you stuffed your socks in her mouth?" Alexa sighed, "It would behoove us to show some human decency at the moment. Miss James," the commander looked into Eliza's eyes, "You know very well that Rosanna acted on orders, not hatred."
"Yes, ma'am!" Louisa proudly saluted in the familiar West Superior style, clearly ingrained in her from her own days of conscription, "She's suffered enough to let her know she's not in control."

Louisa unknotted the gag and gently removed the socks from Rosanna's mouth. Rosanna had so much to process, and she graciously accepted the drink that Tracy offered her. She'd never been in the presence of rebels before, and she understood from Alexa's words that they had principles, unlike the robots produced by the Army, Aeroforce, and Navy. The military had zealots, but they were zealots who did not even truly understand the cause for which they were fighting.

"Thank you," Rosanna said without fear, "Honestly, death, if painless, might be a release after all I witnessed yesterday in the courtroom. Today, I see rebels are no less savage than the military."
"Now that's not true," Wendy put a hand on the captive's shoulder, "We're here to undermine them with minimal violence. Violence is only to save ourselves… at least for us."
"Tell that to Tracy and Eliza," Louisa snorted and rolled her eyes, "Last year they tortured some poor soldier for 3 hours as if that would bring back their dead friends and loved ones before they buried that poor girl alive, bound and gagged," she then looked at Rosanna, "You have guilt."
"I certainly do. I was so disturbed by what I did that I ended my military service afterwards," the captive said with a deep tone of regret in her voice, "Haunted by what I'd done Miss James when I ripped a magazine into her data runner faction. I'm sorry for ruining your life."
"I say she should be locked up," Eliza snarled, "And that soldier deserved to be buried alive with an unmarked grave, just like I had to bury my friends in secret in an unmarked grave!"
"Eliza, if you don't calm down right now, I'll have you locked up," Alexa calmly replied.
"I wasn't torturing a soldier," Tracy entered the room to defend herself against Louisa's words, "I can be ruthless, but I was interrogating that punk to see if she'd talk. We couldn't release her, but burying her alive," the blonde then grimaced, "was definitely our anger getting the best of us."

Nothing is scarier than a caged animal. Tracy's words were those of someone who had suffered a multitude of terrors and had been permanently scarred in the worst possible ways despite having an upbringing that gave her some semblance of principle. Tracy didn't kill out of bloodlust. She was even more dangerous than Eliza because she might kill out of fear. The tone in the blonde's voice conveyed a message to Rosanna—that they were the trained robots of opposite causes.

Tracy's black leggings and skin tight black t-shirt made her feel more trustworthy to Rosanna in spite of the blonde's atrocity. That Tracy seemed to detest her actions said she was redeemable at the moment, and the ache in her blue eyes said that there was a deep, heartbreaking story that had brought Tracy to be standing where she was. She was scared and wanted to be as good as Alexa, and that's why she deferred to the rebel Commander despite being seemingly more experienced.

"You don't understand!" Eliza choked on her welling tears, gripping her knife but refusing to take the knife out of its holster, "She killed my friends in North Gulf, and she'll kill you too! We can't trust her. I can't lose you too. You're my family! No! Please! No!" and then she broke down.
"Would you calm down?!" the Commander reiterated her words, "I need to think to do justice by Rosanna! You," the wild haired girl looked at the captive, "What do you believe about this?"
"Wendy," Tracy motioned towards the sobbing girl, "Help Eliza. For Rosanna's sake. Please?"
"Of course," Wendy took a seat beside Eliza and comforted the broken young woman.

"I believe my father was erased. All I know is that he was Marshal Supreme of the Aeroforce, a man with lots of power. I only know what high ranking officers told me during my conscription, out of respect for who my father was, " the short Rosanna pulled herself up to her full height, as little as she was, "That something grand happened in the 2090s, leading to erasure of the history, whether it was data runners, rebels, criminals, politicians, or anything else that apparently would serve to influence others in a threatening manner. If they worried the truth would only influence me, the truth would still exist, but apparently Burbage is a curse. I want to know why."

Meanwhile, in another place, Lt. Nelson stared out a window, enjoying the hubbub of a military base. Behind her, at a desk, a young woman, a perfect duplicate of Col. Reilly but with a name tag that also said "Reilly" and the stripes of a Captain sat sipping on a cup of hot chocolate. In the background were doors that said "Colonel Wilson" and "Colonel Reilly" in black teletype font against frosted white glass. Barbara clearly was thinking about something, underneath that gleeful smile that characterized the soulless existence of the West Superior military. Her gaze was happy, but her eyes were devoid of any meaning except zeal and lust for power. What she brought to the military was a thorough and perfect application of rules she couldn't justify.

"Lt. Nelson, please report to Col. Wilson's office," came from a secretarial voice.

The blonde turned, put down her drink, approached the door, and knocked upon it. The voice of Colonel Wilson told her to enter the room, and the young officer entered the room and sat down at the desk of a very official looking woman. Colonel Jessica Wilson clearly had a poise about her that a select few in the nation possessed, but it was the same poise that Alexa and Rosanna had. With a grin, Col. Wilson handed a small box, and Lt. Nelson stared in wonder at a major's stripes. In other words, a double promotion as a reward for her astounding leadership skills.

Wordlessly, Col. Wilson opened the box and approached Barbara, who stood to salute her and to accept the award at the hands of the Colonel. Never had there been such rapid ascension through the ranks of the West Superior Army, and Barbara understood that this was no small act. It was a bit humbling for Barbara. She only aspired to do her best to serve the state like any proud soldier at any other time of history, but this went above and beyond anything she ever expected. Indeed, she began weeping tears of joy at this incredible development in her career. Tall and strong with her brown-blonde hair in a bun, Col. Wilson was an imposing but deeply human figure. She had the aura of authority, especially given her strong frame and piercing blue eyes.

"The General–Elect is so pleased with you that she asked to have lunch with you. I heard you'll get a quick bump to Lt. Colonel and become my personal assistant if you continue to impress."
"Me?!" Major Nelson's eyes glowed at her fulfilled dreams, "My parents would be proud!"
"You remember General Bates's father, well, I am sure, since he was a friend of your late, great father," Col. Wilson coyly smiled, and pointed to the wall where a portrait was to be found of the late Brig. Gen. Nelson and General–Elect Bates, the first female leader of West Superior in over 50 years, "I remember smiling the day I crushed the rebels who killed your parents in their bed."
"That day transformed a young college student indeed," the newly promoted Major nodded.
"Your father would certainly be proud. I know I am proud. To celebrate, I asked the commissary chef to prepare a special dessert for your luncheon," the Colonel wryly smiled, "Do your best."
"Oh, I will, Colonel Wilson!" Major Nelson stood and gave the familiar salute.

The General–Elect was ruler of West Superior, chosen every two years by an election with voters choosing from the Army Generals, Navy Admirals, and Aeroforce Marshals. A free adult who was in good standing could vote. It was a free election, but why bother when the next General–Elect will promote his fellow ideologues to be the generals, marshals, and admirals who will then become the choices in the next election? Just in Martinston, election turnouts of under 20000 were normal despite there being over 100,000 post-conscription adults in the city. Current General–Elect Stephanie Bates was the daughter of the retired General–Elect Arnold Bates, and Barbara had many memories of being a pre-teen playing with the teenage Stephanie. She could not believe where life had brought her, and she wondered where life would go next!

TO BE CONTINUED

[mega23101982]

Brilliant story thanks for sharing

[LunaDog]

It will be very different indeed.

It was indeed very different. And very good.

[AlexUSA3]

Brilliant story thanks for sharing

Always a pleasure to find out when someone enjoys a story.

It was indeed very different. And very good.

Hopefully it continues to be both of these things!

[hafnermg]

Intense and incredible story!!

[harveygasson]

Definitely one of your very interesting ones.

[AlexUSA3]

@Caesar73, @harveygasson, @hafnermg, @LunaDog, @mega23101982

Lots of world-building happening here

CHAPTER 3

Meanwhile, in another place, a certain librarian was making plans for a trip on which she would be taking a major risk, but it was necessary. She again needed to contact her longtime friend, the sweet Valerie. The blonde-haired blue-eyed nerd met with the brown-haired blue-eyed sneak. It was the brunette, the cop, who chose the small diner as their meeting point, a long-time meeting place for them over many years of friendship that looked ordinary to all around them.

"Syd, I'm out on this. I'm off patrol. Sorry, but patrol has become too stressful. Rebels jumped me today," the officer explained in code speak, "Farmer Matson has a new friend."
"I see. Tomorrow, I am making a trip to North Gulf. Going by train through both West and East Appalachia," the librarian explained that she was taking a long route through the nation with the loosest data laws, "I will be doing some important private research for a person I met yesterday."
"You love the traveling, Syd," Valerie said with a giggle, "Bring me back something good."
"I will send wires. You know my style, Val," Sydney said ominously, "Might go bowling."
"Ah," Valerie understood that Sydney was saying, "This might be the trip that kills me," and looked at her friend with a smile, "I'll keep posted. Wires can be slow. They have an alley in North Gulf? I never knew that. I only once went to the one in Hudson. That was a lot of fun."

Sydney shuddered a little and dried a tear from her eye. Valerie similarly succeeded at holding back her tears as she realized the reality. It was time for her to become quiet because the rebels needed to have that subterfuge within the police force to sabotage communications in a conflict. Valerie was still a rebel, but she was no longer sabotaging West Superior as a beat cop. Sydney knew this was going to be her last run, whether because she was killed or had to go into hiding.

"All right, I'll give her a chance," Eliza said with a sigh, "I can see the sorrow in her eyes."
"Thank you. Now, is it too much to ask to be untied?" Rosanna showed no signs of fear.
"Not until I explain to you who we are," Alexa said firmly, approaching Rosanna, "We are your former sworn enemies. They call us… data runners. And now you're either in or ouuutttt."
"Well, I don't believe in West Superior's causes any more, so I think I'm in," the captive smiled.
"Are you," Wendy looked around as if fearing eavesdroppers, "one of those Burbage's?"
"All I know… I was orphaned as a baby and raised in orphanages." Rosanna candidly admitted.
"Were your parents," nevertheless, Wendy kept questioning, "Truman and Georgiana?"
"Ummmmmm," Rosanna paused to see how her audience was reacting, "Yes, they were."
"All right. Untie her," Tracy re-entered the room, "Rosie, you and I must talk… alone."

Tracy then took Rosanna and led the girl, still bound with Tracy's scarves, down the stairwell to the basement. There, a secret door in the paneling opened into a bedroom where a pair of bunk beds could be found. That's when Rosanna understood that not only were these rebels, but some of them were formal enemies of the state. They had to have a secret bedroom to hide in the event of a raid. With a gentle touch, Tracy helped Rosanna to sit on a bed and began untying all the scarves. It was time for an explanation that apparently only Tracy could give.

"These are mine; I only use them on girls like you," Tracy held up a scarf, "I'm the team's torture expert, but this isn't about torture. It's about you. Look at me. Don't you remember me at all?"
"Ummmmmm… not at all," Rosanna shook her head, "Sorry. Do you remember me somehow?"
"We were in the orphanage together. We weren't friends, I know, but I thought I'd try."

Rosanna rubbed her wrists to soothe the ache of bondage. When she looked at Tracy, she saw an inversion of herself. Tracy chose rebellion; rebellion chose Rosanna. Each movement she made was just as harshly criticized by some of the rebels as they were by the army officers. Rosanna's old life as a military officer now brought her more heartache than she ever imagined, and those nightmares of her crimes in North Gulf now seemed to be a preparation for this day.

"Were your parents…," Rosanna dropped to a whisper, "Erased like mine were?"
"Not exactly. My dad was a banker. I still remember that day, skipping home from school while holding my mother's hand, and opening the door to find a strangled, hogtied corpse on the floor. Screaming. Running up to him. Crying. He was gone though. Killed for requesting a book on West Superior's list of banned books. It was legal knowledge in my native West Appalachia..."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I don't know what happened to my parents. I only remem—"
"I do know what happened to your father, though, because I desperately wanted to acquire that book. I became a data runner, an independent one, but then Alexa recruited me."

Then Tracy explained things slowly because she could see the change in Rosanna's breathing.

"The book that killed my father was An Annotated Wartime History of North Superior by Georgiana Burbage. I read that book so many times that I memorized the author's bio. It says: 'Georgiana Burbage is a history teacher at the West Superior Military Academy. She lives in Martinston with her beloved husband, Truman, who was recently named Marshal Supreme of the West Superior Aeroforce.' Your father was a candidate in the 2094 elections, but he was the victim of a brutal murder by General Bates, father of the current General–Elect Stephanie Bates. In the resulting fights between Aeroforce and Army goons, the newspaper office was destroyed by a bomb that was intended to kill General Bates. It took months to get the supplies to fix the building. Your father never got to see you. General Bates was so ruthless that he put everything associated with both of your parents on the banned knowledge list, and your mother passed away a few months later. How do I know all of this? Because my parents," Tracy clutched a notebook and started crying, "wrote all of it in notebooks so that the truth would live. The day the soldiers came for my mother, someone warned us that they were coming. Mom handed me all the books and all the notebooks and told me to run across the hall to Valerie Jackson's since her folks were allies. I came back from a 'playdate' to see my mother's bullet-ridden corpse being taken away. I am so sorry that you never got to know your parents; they were good people. I vowed to hold all of these—clutch them like precious pearls—and not publish them until I found you."

Rosanna took the notebook that Tracy offered her and opened it with a shaking hand. Not only did the notebooks contain hand-written information, but there were, occasionally, pictures glued into the pages. And then, there it was—not just any photo—a photo of her parents from the day they got married; the caption said so. Then, shortly after, a picture of baby Rosanna and Mom.

What does a person do? Weep. Rosanna clutched the notes and wept bitterly, finally seeing the only face that ever loved her. She cried and cried until it hurt, the tears that she never got to cry because she was too scared to cry in front of anyone else. The tears she cried soaked the pillow in which she buried her face. She knew then that she had a calling: to destroy West Superior. It was a notebook; it was all handwritten by Tracy's parents; but it was about Rosanna. There was no comparing this to anything else; it was the written record of the robbery of Rosanna's life at the hands of those whom she'd previously served as a military soldier. The memories of being an orphan flooded back to her, and she closed her eyes and tried to forget.

The six-month old daughter was quietly taken to an orphanage. It would be unprecedented of West Superior to do her harm. General Bates followed no precedents though, the notebook's text continued, and he proceeded to reform the military so that only his lackey's would be the choices for the next General–Elect of West Superior. This efficiently broke the system.

The result of West Superior's brutality was that there were many orphans, most of whom watched as their parents died for the sin of rebellion. Few died like Tracy's parents, and fewer died like Rosanna's father. Most of the bereaved children were lost to constant warfare. The orphanage's environment provided a boarding school like atmosphere, and Rosanna remembered the coerced memorization of West Superior's Glory. The routine pretty much prepared the children for their conscription, but it hardly prepared them for life outside the military, leading to the military being almost like a refuge for orphans because there they had others who understood them. The memories haunted Tracy in particular, and she recalled the time she was punished—for trying to run away from the orphanage. That day stole what little innocence she had left.

West Superior's Glory by Edward James Reilly:
When enemies came yonder to take,
When enemies came hither to break,
The glory of our virtuous state
With gloomy hearts and with bitter hate.

With the rising of black clouds of war,
Our glorious land then said "no more."
Despite death 'n' fear 'n' fire 'n' strife,
West Superior fought to bring us life.

The bright glory of West Superior,
Illumining America's interior,
Bringing us peace and all relief,
So to your creeds we give our belief.

"What happened to my mother?" Rosanna asked with pain in her voice.
"I don't know. I only know that she got sick and died when you were little," Tracy sighed.
"You're certain that she wasn't eliminated like my father?" the new rebel asked her new friend.
"I'm certain of that much. All the notes here say that the stress killed her."
"I have to know what happened if only for closure's sake," the former soldier reiterated.
"Sydney has my copy of your mother's book," Tracy said sadly, "I'm sorry, Rosanna."
"How can I help you?" Rosanna said between tears, a fire in her eyes, "I must avenge them!"
"I have to warn you. This is it. You have two choices. First choice is you let me take you out there and torture you until you're screaming, put a bag over your head, and dump out outside the gate to Martinston, or two, you join us. I'm sorry, Rose; really, I am. But you know too well that you will be arrested and get 3 to 6 months in prison for leaving the walls without permission. If you want to go back inside as one of our spies, I would have to leave you in a convincing state so that you're believed when you tell them that rebels kidnapped you and tortured you, but… um…"
"I'm Rosanna Burbage, and they will probably exterminate me on the spot if they find out that I had contact with rebels. Valerie filed a police report saying I was kidnapped by rebels, so that's it for me," Rosanna sighed while drying her eyes, "I must surreptitiously join you or die."

A soldier's life in Martinston is generally mundane. There are the annual parties, but otherwise a pair of black pumps remains in duffle, awaiting that one occasion. Major Nelson today had that rare special occasion to dress up purely for form without function, again donning her black wool skirt, matching coat, her new stripes, black hose, and her black pumps. She was on her way to a special lunch with none other than General–Elect Stephanie Bates, and how she beamed with pride as she recalled telling her father that she'd passed all the tests and been admitted to the officer training school. That was before the rebels murdered her parents, devastating the then 23 year old soldier. Now, she enjoyed little else like eradicating data runners like Michelle Jenkins. If anything, she was a patriot, but she was a zealous patriot who got too much power too quickly.

It didn't matter what was said. For Major Nelson, what mattered was getting to meet the head of their great nation. She was in awe like anyone meeting someone they've always admired. There was such rigidity in the military, but there was camaraderie when they stopped being stiff. Here, it was the connection with General–Elect Bates' father and Major Nelson's father being friends and the patriotism with which Colonel Jessica Wilson beamed while describing the operation that blasting the murderous rebels— the ones who killed General and Mrs. Nelson—to Hades. There was a calm authority in General–Elect Bates, unusual for a leader of West Superior. She was the youngest leader ever as well, and her blonde hair was in a perfect bob. Her brown eyes showed a personal pride in her country and a desire to be an effective leader, and her stocky frame gave her the look of strength and authority. She was dressed like Maj. Nelson but with more decorations. An entourage surrounded her as she gratefully shook hands with the nation's young heroine.

Outside, Eliza herded the chickens back to their coops after a morning of free wandering around the fenced portion reserved for them to do their chicken tasks. She didn't know how to feel about Rosanna Burbage. Part of her wanted to kill Rosanna, but that would make her worse than even the superior officers who just as blindly ordered Rosanna to kill Eliza's friends. She knew that it was over Rosanna's head where her anger had to be directed, and part of her wondered how long she would be able to maintain the appearance of a common rancher. As it was, the ID card she'd been using since arriving in West Superior was a forgery. The card's photo showed her, but there would eventually be someone who got overly cautious, and then she'd become a liability. Which day it happened didn't matter; what mattered was who was beside her at that moment.

"Rosanna, we're not here to destroy," Alexa Ray's voice interrupted Rosanna's thoughts, "We're here to fight against the system and reopen that pathway to allow free exchange of knowledge. It is one thing to tell someone that a book contains dangerous information and to be careful, but it's an atrocity to tell people that a book is forbidden and to kill them for it. I can pick up some book I know that was written in 2076 by Camerina McAllister, but I know it's smut and worthless at a glance. All her books are smut. But when you have no morality you create your own morality to keep yourself in power. In this case, the morality is that knowledge leads to destruction, and that is only true when the ability to destroy is put in the hands of bad people. Everything ends up in the hands of bad people, whether books, guns, or celery sticks, which I do not like by the way!"

"All right," Rosanna sighed, "I'm here to do the right thing, but I need guidance."

That day Rosanna became an underground rebel—an enemy of the Consortium—just like Eliza, Louisa, Valerie, and Sydney, a secretive public face who was part of the movement but had not been identified by the government as part of it, unlike Tracy, Alexa, and Wendy—the outcasts of society. Rosanna took out her wallet and mournfully stared at the birth certificate she kept since the government record stating that her parents were Truman and Georgiana Burbage was the only proof she possessed of who she truly was. Soon, she'd know the truth, thanks to the rebellion.

"I want to take the chance. Rosanna, your best chance is to get back into the city and become a right-hand to Valerie Jackson. If we rough you up enough, you will become a hero who survived a rebel attack. Thankfully, you have no clue where you are, and that works for us. You were in a box, right? That's it. You look like a convincing liar," Alexa chuckled to herself, "Valerie needs your help right now because you're dead without each other in there," the rebel leader knelt down to untie Rosanna's shoelaces, "And you need to eat your socks for this part of the program."

"QUICK! Come here!" Louisa's voice called out, "Sydney is here, and it's urgent!"
"Let's go up there and see what Syd needs," Tracy said the obvious, and they all went upstairs.
"Tracy, I want you to have this," Sydney handed Tracy the borrowed book, "I need the books; I just made a contact in West Appalachia who will copy them all for me so we can bring them to a publisher in East Appalachia. I can't do it, though, because I am approved to go to North Gulf via West Appalachia. Data runners, this is your territory. I need someone to stay behind to keep an eye on Valerie, though. Eliza will go with me," and Sydney looked right at Rosanna, "In fact, I've got an idea that will help you regain your status," and Sydney began talking in a whisper that would be Rosanna's return to good standing in a heartbeat… she had to play her role properly.

It was all set: the rebels had long transcribed the hand-written notes into two manuscripts, one to be a real piece glorifying the lost Burbage's and the other to be a propaganda piece published as a firestarter that would almost certainly become a banned book in West Superior. Rosanne was to be the author on the heroic treatise so as to bring both glory to her late parents and to her so that she'd be the unsuspected, unknown public figure who was actually the face of the rebellion, and the second piece would be published with the authorship of Tracy and her late parents since she was a logged enemy of the state anyway. It had been 30 years; no one would know whence the manuscripts had resurfaced or how they'd been preserved, just the way they wanted it to be.

Two hours later, Rosanna was hopping barefoot around the city wall of Martinston. She was in brutal rope bondage much more stringent than that which she experienced for her punishment in the military. It was worse than rope; it was paracord. Her shirt had been taken, leaving her in a black sports bra. The red paracord tied her arms behind her back in four places from her wrists to above her elbows. Her legs were bound in six places, three on each segment, with her pants as protection against the cords. She had a harness and a waist/crotch rope to further humiliate her. In her mouth were her socks, and the same neon tape that had been used on Valerie Jackson was used to wrap her head 7 times to seal her mouth. This was done with her input from experience as a former data smasher, and she knew what was necessary to provide a convincing story.

She hopped and hopped along the wall from where she'd been left. She was dirty, and her hair was mussed up. Rosanna was spanked and had her feet, thighs, and hamstrings whacked with rulers and paddles just enough to leave her red. The goal wasn't to harm her but to give her a credible amount of redness and sting. Otherwise, the police wouldn't likely believe her story. This was ridiculous but necessary for her own safety. It all worked to make her look like she'd been a real victim, targeted for being a former data smasher. With each hop, she felt the ropes dig into her body, but she knew they'd do this. She'd bound victims during arrests during that traumatic trip to North Gulf, and she'd brought enough into courts. But Michelle Jenkins had been her first experience with seeing someone executed by a court for data running. With each hop, she took a deep breath and winced at the taste of her socks, and she hoped that the plan to make her look like a targeted hero of a past war worked and convinced those who found her and questioned her. It had to work, or she'd quickly be exterminated… just like her father.

Rosanna wasn't sure which was the worst: the pain that stung her from the beating, the flavor of her socks, or the pinch of the paracord. Each made her wince as she hopped, and she recalled a quote she saw in the late Mr. Jackson's hand writing: "I only wish my daughter could remember my love." That wasn't any quote. That was her mother's last quote, spoken in a personal heart-to-heart conversation before she passed away from whatever disease had killed her. It was sobering to know her mother died of a broken heart, unable to live happily without her father.

"What on earth?!" a guard spoke at the north gate to the city upon seeing Rosanna.
"GMMMMM!" she groaned into the gag before collapsing on the ground after a 90 minute hop.
"Look at the handwriting!" another spoke, "That's the war cry of the North Gulf Data Rebels and their supporters! They must have been the ones that attacked Officer Jackson earlier!"
"Hell eeeee!" Rosanna wailed, and soon she was sitting in a hospital next to an officer.
"Lt. Burbage, I see," the officer noted, "Discharged with Great Honor. Impressive. Well, that's a good summary. One last question I have. Could you tell me their war cry again?"
"Yes, it was 'Down with the Consortium; power to knowledge!' I remember it from the academy let alone hearing it again. Apparently, my successes in North Gulf still reverberate to this day."
"Indeed," the male officer clearly fell for both her story and for her, "Thank you again."
"Good night, Officer," she winced again at some sensation, whether real or remembered.
"Good night, and I suspect that you will get a civilian award for your suffering."
"Ooooooh, that'd be wonderful!" Rosanna feigned excitement perfectly, the subterfuge complete.

"I hope Eliza and Sydney make it all right… they're brave," Wendy said, "Let's turn on the TV."
"OK, OK, don't make me do to you what I did to Rosie," Tracy said with a coy wink at Wendy.
"I'm Thomas Masters," came over the television.
"And I'm Paulina James."
"We're here on West Superior Tonight, live on CBS 12. Today's headlines: 'A Kidnapping in Martinston: How an Officer and a War Hero Survived a Rebel Attack,' 'A Lieutenant's Dreams Come True: A Legend's Daughter Becomes One Herself,' and previews of tonight's Martinston Crush game versus the Gulf Sur Huracan. All this and more on West Superior Tonight."
"There's our success story," Tracy gently punched Louisa in the arm.
"I guess we tortured her enough," Alexa said to her colleagues, much to their hearty agreement.

"Valerie Jackson," Rosanna sat with her new friend in the former's apartment while they watched the broadcast so as to appear as normal as possible, even loudly shouting "Woo!" to annoy their neighbors, but then the gut punch came through the airwaves when they both heard "And Miss Burbage will likely be awarded the General's Star of Truth, West Superior's greatest and most illustrious civilian honor, for suffering for her nation," and Valerie and Rosanna looked at each other with grimaces, knowing what General–Elect Bates' father did to Rosanna's parents. Now they had to worry if the General–Elect would be blissfully unaware or even care. Over at the Matson's farm, similar looks of shock were exchanged by all with different fears overcoming them: they were worried that such an honor might lead to Rosanna betraying them. Valerie knew in her heart that Rosanna's transformation was genuine, but did her allies believe so strongly?

TO BE CONTINUED

[LunaDog]

Hopefully it continues to be both of these things!

It does!