Within the Tunnels by Julie Steimle (read 50 shades of grey TXT) 📖

“You can close your eyes to reality but not to memories.”—Anon

Little children ran around the dugout cavern filled with reinforced machinery and air vents, laughing without fear that their voices would echo into the caverns below. They were far and safe from the P.M.s’ watching eyes. Jafarr grinned at the little boys, rubbing the head of the one that hid behind a set of chairs that were set in front of their empty makeshift computer screens and hairline radio transmitters.

“Hey, Kem,” he said, passing by. “Is your dad here?”

The little boy nodded and pointed down the corridor to a smaller room. He dashed away, laughing as his friend spotted him. Jafarr shook his head and continued on his way. Passing boxes of machinery they were using to build weapons then cots that lay about the floor for the evacuees, Jafarr walked with a little more care, as several were sleeping and some were pretending to sleep while hiding tears. He pretended not to notice, going on his way.

 For them it was too late. Just like with him, it was hide in the cleared spaces between city levels or get thrown into ISIC for unspeakable torture. Jafarr had been living in the tunnels for a half a Parthan a year now. He had not gone back to his undercity neighborhood since his father was killed. He could not afford to see his school friends except for Alzdar who was right in the thick of the rebellion. Alzdar was the lucky one. The People’s Military had not pegged him as a rebellion member yet.

Squeezing past the unloaded weaponry, he walked to a back room they had made for private work. Pushing open the door, Jafarr noticed two figures in the dark room that he knew well—one a middle aged man, the other a young woman near Jafarr’s age. Jafarr pulled the door closed then crept in closer to peer at the screen that both individuals were staring at. The man was holding up a thin synthetic paper like screen that had glowing pinpricks of light forming a diagram while the young woman was massaging his shoulders and neck to comfort him. She smiled when Jafarr entered the room, gesturing for him to come closer with her head. Jafarr smiled back, still analyzing the screen though he scooted just a bit closer.

“There are over five million Arrassians in the undercity,” the man said aloud. “Did you know that, Jafarr?”

“I had an idea, sir,” he said.

The man cut him off. “An idea is not the same as knowing, my boy. Five million. And there are around three million in the middlecity—good honest citizens.”

“Yes, sir,” Jafarr said, waiting for his point.

The man returned to stare at the screen. “Of the uppercity, I bet, not one citizen is honest.”

Jafarr shook his head. “I’ll take that bet, Ka’rren.”

The man laughed, turning around to look at him in the dim light. “So would your father.” He stood up and gave the girl a pat. “But where did that lead him?”

Frowning, Jafarr shook his head again as he took a step back. “The uppercity doesn’t just consist of High Class and P.M.s.”

“Yes, my boy, yes. I’ve heard your preaching before. There are Labor Class men and good Guard and Servant Class citizens. You sound like your father more each day.”  Ka’rren said. The man handed the glowing diagram over to Jafarr. “What do you make of this?”

Jafarr viewed the screen making out the words etched in the light sensitive paper. “Looks like a hit map. Where did you dig it up?”

“But whose hit map, Jafarr?” Ka’rren asked, ignoring the question and poking the screen.

Jafarr gazed at the screen again then held it up to the small desk light. The marks vanished with the light. He held it again, this time turning towards the dark. The words lit up. Jafarr nodded. “This looks like a metro map. It’s on glow paper made for the dark tunnels.”

But as Jafarr analyzed the drawing, he squinted at the writing.

“It’s in Ancient though.” He started to read some of the words. “Ta’ren’z man’ne zarr wacheth’narr…. People’s homes are located—”

“That word is Tarrn, Jafarr, not Ta’ren,” the old man corrected.

Jafarr glared back at him. “It says Ta’ren. The mark is distinctly not a mark for Orr. It is an Er.”

The man looked over his shoulder. “Look again. Scratch it if you have to.”

Jafarr did and found that the word did change to Tarrn. He frowned and looked up at his leader. “So it is Tarrn. Who read this for you?”

Ka’rren laughed. “I studied some Ancient too my boy. Don’t think you’re the only one educated in the language.”

“Yeah, but my mom was Seer Class, and she taught—”

Ka’rren hushed him. “Jafarr, this is a P.M. hit list.”

Jafarr nodded. “It appears so.”

His leader ignored his skepticism. “Bendii found it in the undercity re-comp factory, discarded but still intact.”

Gazing at him, Jafarr waited for the conclusion Ka’rren was drawing, knowing the man liked to feel like he was on top of things.  He knew what the man was getting at.

“They burn these, Jafarr. The re-comp factory was on the map, so was the Astrov Tarrn family’s home that was killed last week.” The man sat down and shook his head. “The seers are helping the P.M.s, Jafarr.”

“That’s nonsense, Ka’rren.” Jafarr shook his head with a glance at the glowing marks. “What is your proof, the use of Ancient? You yourself can read some, you said so.”

The man laughed.

“Sharp.” Shaking his head Ka’rren said, “Ok, I lied. I got one of our Seer Class fellows to read it for me.”

Jafarr peered over the sheet. “High Class have their resources. Seers wouldn’t have a hand in the murdering of Tarrns.”

Taking a grasp of the paper and shaking it in Jafarr’s hands, Ka’rren said, “They would if they were inbred with the High Class, and there was family pressure.”

Right away Jafarr dropped the screen with a loud exhale. “No, they wouldn’t. They don’t mix breed. My mother was disowned for marring my father. I’ve never even met my grandfather or my cousins. I wouldn’t even know who they were if I bumped into them on the street.”

“That’s just because your dad’s undercity, boy. Such breeding would be below them.” Ka’rren insisted. “There are seers in the High Class.”

Groaning louder, Jafarr shook his hear more sharply. “There’re aren’t. I am the only half blood seer in Arras right now. Trust me.”

The girl leaned over to Ka’rren and wrapped her arm around his shoulder to calm him. “Enough of this, Dad. You know this is a sore subject for him.”

Jafarr looked up to the ceiling. “It’s ok, Malay. I’m not hurt.” Turning to Ka’rren, he said, “I don’t believe the seers are helping them because I have seen the P.M.s at work. They can manage to get anything, including a thorough learning of Ancient. They could just go to the University and get a professor to interpret.”

Ka’rren was about to object but Jafarr beat him to it.

“And I think digging up reasons to attack the uppercity really should be abandoned,” Jafarr said. “You’ll hit innocents—and I know you’ll regret that.”

The middle-aged man plucked up the paper, shaking his head back and forth with a sigh. “Just like your father. I never could convince him either, though I really do think it is the only thing we can do. The uppercity contains the core of our enemies.”

Jafarr slumped his shoulders. “Sir, let’s discuss the other options, please.”

Chuckling, Ka’rren said, “You mean Mr. Demmon’s suggestion?”

Jafarr nodded in earnest. “I’m all for evacuating the refugees.”

Ka’rren just started to shake his head.

“It has worked before, from what I hear,” Jafarr said. “Alzdar said that my dad helped nearly a hundred people get to Partha, and I really think we should try that again.”

Ka’rren glanced at Malay dryly then headed toward the door.

Jafarr followed him to the door. “Or we could simply do what I think is the best alternative, find the Tarrns and protect them ourselves.”

Emitting a moan, Ka’rren looked back to his daughter, still shaking his head. “Do you want to explain it to him, Malay? He’s your boyfriend.”

He walked out.

Jafarr’s face fell. He turned his glance onto the girl whose fair skin now shone in the hall light, her red-black hair framing her face to her shoulders in waves. She gave an apologetic shrug.

“You know Dad, Jafarr.” She walked over to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders with a gentle squeeze. “He wants to just run in there and get it over with.”

With a smile, he blushed, turned and wrapped his arms about her waist. “I just think there are better ways to help the rebellion. Your dad is getting desperate, and that leads to mistakes.”

Malay shook her head. She laid it on his shoulder as she said, “I think you’re thinking about your dad and what happened to him.”

Pulling back, he made a face. “Dural Korad shot my father.” Pausing, he added, “But yes, I do think that weapons raids are too risky. There are other ways of fighting back.”

“My guy, the idealist,” Malay said, kissing him on the cheek.

Jafarr returned the kiss, smiling and walking them to the nearest thick pipe where he sat down with her. “I just think we’re going about it all wrong. We have to think of a better way to beat the P.M.s. We can’t play it their way. We have got to get better organized.”

“Organized?” Malay leaned next to him with a gentle smile. “Jafarr, the rebellion has been going on like this for centuries. You have no idea what effect your crazy ‘team’ schemes could do to us. One of the virtues of having the rebellion the way it is, is that they can’t take out large groups of our people. We just scatter then regroup.”

“Like rats?” Jafarr looked wryly at her.

She nodded briskly. “Like rats, if necessary.”

 “Perhaps that is why the rebellion hasn’t succeeded for ten thousand years,” he said with a cringe, his eyes taking in the squalor of their hiding space. “They have been doing it all wrong.”

His girlfriend lifted her eyebrows at him. “And perhaps it is just the opposite. That’s why we’ve survived for ten thousand years.”

He rolled his eyes.

 “Jafarr,” she set a hand to the side of his face, “quit with the dreams and deal with reality. We have to fight to survive. We have to attack when they least expect it, just like Kerzan Zeldar did. My dad has the right idea.”

“I can’t agree,” Jafarr said, pulling from her to look at her more squarely. He held her arms down even as she struggled with a smirk to wrap them flirtatiously around him again. “I think your dad is making a terrible mistake. It is too soon. To attack the uppercity without even the last Tarrn to support us is like asking for failure. The rebellion will suffer if he moves too early.”

Malay rolled her eyes as she stood up. “Well, rebel boy, you just make sure you don’t cross Daddy when he needs you.