Doug Larsen - The Alicia Revolution

“Wow.” I digested this for a moment. “You folks don’t screw around, do you?”

“Neither do you, apparently. Our reports now indicate that half of the Thusbammannan military has defected to the rebels, with more divisions expected to follow suit. The members of Thusbammanna’s government in exile have left Washington, D.C., bound for here. And the country’s dictator is in the final stages of negotiation with Washington, preparing to flee the country to the United States.”

“No!” I gasped in delight.

“Yes. I don’t know how you managed to get involved in this, but—”

I wasn’t listening. I bolted out of my chair, and sprinted for the door. “Chantlo!” I yelled as I yanked it open. I burst into the lobby, almost falling down in my haste. “Half the military has rebelled!” I screamed at them. “Your dictator is leaving the country! Your government in exile is flying here!”

They stared at me in shock. Then, slowly, quietly, Marina started to weep. Anya glowed. And a slow smile spread over Chantlo’s face until I thought it would split his head apart.

“This is the happiest day of my life,” Chantlo said quietly. “We are deeply grateful, Mrs. Anderson, for your help in our endeavor. Had you not discovered the government’s surveillance plot, had you not hacked into their central computer, had you not saved…” he trailed off as I quickly gestured him to silence. I turned to look at the ambassador as she stood in the doorway, listening.

“You discovered a surveillance plot?” she repeated. “Hacked into their central computer?” She shook her head, but her look seemed genuinely admiring. “We are definitely getting you out of this country!”

I wished that Chantlo could have driven me to the airport, but he wasn’t allowed. Instead, I was sandwiched between two extremely large but friendly Marines. The ambassador had given them their orders right in front of me: “Drive this woman to the air-base, and see to it that she boards the next transport plane to the US. Stay there and watch until it’s airborne. Then come back and report to me when she’s left Thusbammannan airspace.”

My good-bye to Chantlo, Anya and Marina had been tearful and affectionate. Chantlo and Marina both hugged me. Anya presented me with the bouquet of daffodils that had already been through so much. Their stems had been squeezed together into a pulp. I briefly imagined the terror that had exerted so much pressure on them, and gave Anya a long hug. “You’re a remarkable girl,” I told her. “You have a lot to offer your new country.”

She was embarrassed. “Just ordinary,” she answered, blushing.

During the drive to the airbase I reflected on her answer, and on my return to the States. Coming to Thusbammanna had changed my outlook on everything that had happened to me. After surviving a bloody massacre in a Thusbammannan square, a court battle to clear my name just didn’t seem very daunting. If I could endure having my head bashed in to save someone else’s child, I could endure even worse, to save my own child. And if a sullen, angry teenager like Anya could flower into such greatness, maybe there was still hope for my son Tommy.

The thing I had learned from Thusbammanna was to never give up hope—to never stop fighting. And when fighting with Tommy, I’d remember that if a division of tanks couldn’t win the battle, then maybe a bouquet of daffodils would.

I boarded the plane, ready for the fight ahead of me.

Author’s Note: This story was inspired by Stan Schmidt’s May, 1993 editorial, “Driving the Future,” and is a sequel to “The Alicia Conspiracy,” which appeared in the March, 1993 Analog.