The Rebels (F/F in various forms)

[keith39]

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 pass. 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 is utterly fantastic. So glad you're planning to continue.