A Universe for Aizia

Phase 1.5

PHASE 1.5:

Droids. I could hear their monotone buzz around the corner. I pressed myself stealthily against the cold, metal wall. The engine pulsed deeply somewhere within the wall, the heart of the machine. My ultimate target.

The droids were close now, but I was ready. I pulled my knife from my belt and waited. One. Two. Three. Four.

There they were. I could see their metallic forms reflected in the perfectly polished floor. Tick. Tick. Tick. I allowed the noise of their guns banging against the walls of the narrow corridor to fill my ears.

"Focus, Aizia!" I told myself.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

One. Two. Three.

CRACK.

Just like that, two more droids were down. Seven to go.

As I passed their fallen, robotic bodies, I snagged their guns. All of our weapons were smuggled across enemy lines. We no longer received supplies from the rebellious members of the upper-class. Believe it or not, there were some traitorous upper-class men who secretly sent us supplies. After the first uprising, though, Captain Zymun cut off communications entirely between the upper-class and us.

Infirma, that is. That is what they called us. Infirmans. The nickname started innocently enough (as innocent as a hierarchy can be, anyway). The upper-class snobs started calling us peasants Infirma. They led lavish, arrogant lives, while we were practically living in the Stone Age.

Eventually, the borders became so wide between us that the upper-class began to evolve. Their bodies grew taller, their limbs longer, their minds duller. They already had everything they needed, why would they have any further use for learning? Their only goal in life was maximum pleasure. It was a very narcissistic society. They would cruise around the planet in their glorified Airship (a monstrous craft that accommodated their entire population) without ever thinking about what was beneath them.

And what was beneath them?

Us. As always, the Infirmans lived in the shadow of the upper-class. They left us desolate on this shell of a planet. Earth had long since been stripped of all valuable resources, thanks to them. Food was scarce, and direction even more so. We lived uncertainly in nomadic subdivisions. Some groups lived in a make-believe Twilight Zone of false hope, clinging to the nonexistent possibility that a deity was out there to protect them. Others worshipped the upper-class, constantly trying to help themselves, those backhanded traitors. And finally, we had some practical ones, the ones that felt the only way to survive was to extinguish the upper-class.

I was one of them.

That's how I found myself undercover in the Airship. Phase 1 of our rebellion (well, second rebellion). I had been masquerading in the Kitchen Quarters of the Airship as an enslaved worker, scrubbing pots and peeling potatoes. Other rebels hid in the ship as well, scattered throughout the various Quarters. Markus, our unofficial leader, managed to snag a job in Piloting. He posed as one of Captain Zymun's lackeys. Markus was an inspiring leader and friendly to everyone, though he never noticed me in particular... but I had a HUGE crush on him.

No. The only thing that mattered was the mission. No one had time to think about such trivialties as love.

Click. Click.

Click. Click.

My footfalls resounded off of the walls. Markus had contacted me a month ago via Holowatch. He told me it was time to commence Phase 2, and we were having an official Phase Change meeting tonight. (Between then and now, we kind of just went about in a Limbo Phase.) I hope I responded in some form, but I can't remember. His icy blue eyes always made words melt in my throat. Anyway, I had to continue with the mission. I didn't spend three years slaving away to the benefit of the upper-class to let our only chance at freedom be spoiled by my personal desires.

Phase 1 was relatively straightforward: infiltrate the Airship unseen and lay low. Nothing dangerous, nothing heroic. No harming the upper-class in any way... No one ever said anything about Phase 1.5, though. And everyone of the rebels saw this loophole, I'm sure. I mean,  What harm could knocking out a few guard droids do? They would just replace them. I passed at least 12 mangled ones on my way down the hallway alone! Rumors spread that Quinix had the high-score of eight droids. I think we had all been so bored lately that we had nothing better to do than to beat his score. Besides, free weapons and scrap metal are always welcome donations!

But something told me Phase 2 would be much more strict. Things were about to get serious.

I tentatively approached the feeble door to the washroom, otherwise known as the secret meeting place of the rebels. Everyone was probably already in there. I held my breath as I pushed open the door, anxious to see what Phase 2 had in store.