The bust had begun so abruptly—a bang, swearing and sudden torrents of gunfire. I hadn’t expected it…I don’t think anyone really did. We’d charged into this blindly, like the cavalry on a battlefield, and only stopped to consider what could happen next when we realized that the enemy had bayonets…but this is a war. It’s a war, and we all knew it.

As the sounds of firefighting and pain rose all around, I looked around and began gathering the poleepkwa near me together. Many of us had hidden behind the crates, wincing and crying out when a child hissed and shrieked in pain. To think that even now, we were hiding behind the next generation to save ourselves…something shriveled up inside me as I looked out at the fighting.

The one next to me had been shot and blood leaked out from cracks in his plating—I tore off my jacket and pressed it to the wound, clumsily tying it with fear-benumbed fingers into a tourniquet. The cracks and scarring were visible on my torso as I turned to face the others around me. They blinked back at me, silent and petrified, waiting…waiting for something. Death perhaps, or freedom. Whichever came first, or was reached first. As terrified as I was, I laughed a bit, thinking morbidly of Braveheart. “They may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom.” We had to fight for both, or lose both. Right now, right here.

Too many had died…too many would still die even after this. There was no way I would let this continue, as long as I could do something.

“Come on! We’re getting the hell out of here!” I rasped and tugged the wounded one—Sirius, I think. I knew him, he’d tried to kill me when I was being rented—to his feet, pushing him towards the door, the night air, freedom. “Down low! Out the door to that truck!”

“Is this the police?” Betelgeuse looked up at me. “Where are we going?”
Too urgent to explain; I picked him up and bolted the distance to the truck. He was handed roughly off to one of the poleepkwa already there as I ran off inside. We all ran out, but I continued to double back—the sound of gunfire was like thunder, the muzzle-flashes like lightening. A storm, if there ever was one. Turbulent, vicious…

After aeons it was over…we were at the base. Jake was standing off on his own, a bandage clumsily wrapped around his leg. He turned away when I spoke to him, face pale. I knew why…I could say nothing. People filed past me—the ones who’d pledged to help ARFA. I couldn’t look at them. They’d stood by as we were killed, and I wanted…I didn’t want them dead. I just couldn’t talk to them. I was too tired to hate.

It was as if Vishnu Himself was with me right then; it was as if He’d put a hand on my shoulder and turned me so that I could see the light ahead. At the very edge of my hearing, I could hear His voice…”You’ve done well. Good job.” I let myself feel a warm glow of pride, just a bit, then quietly let it drift off into the night and began to cry.