Anne Winchell - The Last War

Still, as Nalia marched with her friends and followers, it was nice to think that she was the true cause. After all, Nalia reasoned, never before had the resistance movement been armed with someone as deadly as she was. Nalia had first discovered her ability to transform into a díamont two years ago, but at her father’s request had never revealed this ability until a week ago, when she began planning the march. This was her grand entrance as a díamont, as someone powerful enough to seriously challenge the United Eastern World.

Impoverished districts had been denied the vote in an effort to discourage people from living there, but nearly twenty thousand people called the slum districts home and the time had come to demand their rights. Eleven years ago, a group of militant protestors almost won the right to vote for citizens of the slum districts of NeoLondon. They had been killed in the Graveyard Massacre, but perhaps a díamont could succeed where humans had failed. The problem was larger than NeoLondon; districts could be categorized as ‘slums’ and have their voting rights revoked throughout the entire Eastern World. She was glad that the hour of their greatest need coincided with her first appearance as the leader of the movement, and she hoped the government finally paid attention.

The air on the 30 thfloor walkway sizzled as the sun pierced the sparse cloud covering to bounce against black concrete. Extended exposure to the sun’s radiation was strongly discouraged by both world governments, but not yet illegal except along the equator. NeoLondon wasn’t as dangerous as the southern cities, but Nalia had advised everyone to come prepared with layers of clothing to prevent radiation sickness or sunstroke. Summer had come early this year, and NeoLondon was known for its blistering summers and foggy winters alike. The marchers were covered yet cool even in the haze. Any discarded clothing was slowly kicked to the outsides of the walkway like shattered shards of a rainbow.

The police sweated in their dark uniforms and probably hoped that the protest would end soon. Both sides waited for something to happen to break the impasse. The protestors had the right to remain as long as they were peaceful, and the police were required to stand guard until they dispersed. Nalia knew that secretly many of the police sympathized with the protestors. Most of the police volunteers came from the lower class and the new laws affected them as much as the protestors. But even the most sympathetic officer must have begun to hate the crowd as the sun rose higher and fell onto the walkway directly.

Nalia took a deep breath and prepared to transform. She didn’t think she would ever get used to the shock that ran through her body, or the momentary fear of paralysis before the rigid diamond shell over her skin loosened and allowed her to move. It was terrifying, but for once Nalia didn’t mind. This was her moment. She rehearsed what would happen as she began moving to the front of the crowd. The police would be stunned, of course. They would have no idea that another díamont existed in the Eastern World. Hopefully they would call Medane for backup. He was the Eastern World’s greatest weapon: their díamont. Nalia would face him proudly with her people behind her and give her demands. She would introduce herself as the new leader of the movement and announce the name she had carefully chosen as her public name.

Nalia knew that she needed a false name in case her enemies tried to locate her, and she had chosen the last name of her namesake from sixty years ago: Galley. The name came from an obscure freedom fighter before the Last War. Nalia Galley had successfully ousted a corrupt government and had just begun reforms when the Last War broke out. The chances of any government employees knowing about her namesake and connecting her to the díamont named Galley were slim. Nalia took a deep breath and stepped forward as Galley, trying to adopt the cool, collected exterior she had carefully prepared.

A murmur ran through the protestors and they began shifting to let Galley through. The police gripped their stunguns tightly. She could barely breathe in the thick anticipation surrounding her. This was the first time many of them had seen her as Galley and she knew it was a shock. Galley was like them, born to human parents, but she had the same genetic enhancements that gave the government such powerful weapons. A díamont who served the people, not the establishment.

She could feel everyone’s eyes on her as she stepped into the empty space between protestors and police. They were watching her, judging her, comparing her to the díamonts of legend. She was not as tall as Medane or Atheus, the two surviving díamonts. Her skin was covered in opaque sapphire material, hard as diamond and impossible to damage. Galley had never considered that she might frighten her own people, but they were watching her with strong fear mixed with pride. Did they worry that she would turn against them and become like the other díamonts, a stooge for an immoral government? They had nothing to worry about, Galley knew. She would fight for her people and she would die for them, and she would use the strange genetic gifts she had been born with to finally force the world to see what injustices were being done.

She said nothing, simply stood and waited at the front of the crowd while the police made frantic calls requesting backup. Hopefully her appearance would force Medane to show up. He was her main target—not to kill, since díamonts couldn’t be killed, but if she could disable him or weaken him, perhaps the government would listen.

In minutes, a single airship circled into view around the buildings and descended rapidly. The protestors edged back but Galley didn’t flinch as the ship landed less than ten feet away. She couldn’t afford any weakness at this most important moment. One figure emerged, and the protestors let out a gasp of astonishment when they saw the black diamond covering the man’s form. Medane, one of the díamonts who survived the Last War. Although he never fought against humans directly, everyone knew that Medane was the real power in the United Eastern World.

He was nearly a head taller than she, Galley realized in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting that big a difference and she hoped she didn’t seem diminutive in any way. His body was hidden by rich black diamond, the color preferred by elite military figures. His face and any details about his body were masked behind the diamond and she knew her identity was protected as well. As a díamont she couldn’t be harmed, but she spent most of her time in human form, vulnerable to attack. She knew Medane was observing her as well and found herself standing up straighter.

“Who are you?”

Medane spoke first, words clear but voice muffled. It was impossible to tell if he was surprised by the new díamont, or threatened, or if he was preparing to annihilate everyone. He was inhumane, robotic, deadly.

“My name is Galley,” she announced. Her voice was strong and defiant, unlike the flat tone of the other. “We demand that the Kaonite laws be revoked.”

The protestors half-heartedly cheered because this was what they believed, but perhaps hearing it said in the strange voice of a díamont weakened the message because the cheering was not as enthusiastic as Galley would have liked.

“Our political system is designed to accommodate reasonable objections.”

“The political system is designed to prevent our voices from being heard. We are tired of being told the same pacifying lies while you sell our justice system to the highest bidder. We demand a voice in government!”

The protestors were more sincere this time and Galley nearly smiled. They were accepting her as their leader even in her díamont form. Medane would have to listen. One protestor raised his gun into the air to emphasize his passion. One police officer snapped his stungun into position and fired. The protest exploded.