I had to use both hands to hold the gun.
It wasn't a very big gun, not as big as some I'd seen in holovids, but it was made for a grown-up with grown-up-sized hands.
I'm eleven years old. My hands are eleven-year-old size, and I had to use both of them to hold the gun, even though they said it was my gun now
It was dark in the forest. Somewhere above the treetops the moon was just shy of half-full, but no light penetrated the thick pines. The man beside me held a hand-torch, and its pale yellow beam made the night around us seem even blacker.
He shone it across the prisoners' faces, one by one.
"She is a collaborator," he said matter-of-factly. "She consorted with the Caldari soldiers. This one told the Caladri where one of our people was hiding. This one helped them rebuild the shuttleport after we bombed it. This one - "
"They were bringing food!" the man who'd been third on the list burst out. "It was for the Sisters to land, with food! What do you - "
The light swept wildly over the tree- trunks and up into the branches as the man beside me brought the torch up, then down. It hit the shuttleport man's temple with a kind of crunch I'd never heard before. He went silent, sprawled.
"And this one helped them draw up the lists for their work projects." It was as if nothing had happened, except now there was a little patch of red in the pale yellow light, and a gap in the row of people in front of us.
There were ten, all up, including shuttleport man. None of the other nine tried to defend themselves against the charges. They knelt silently, hands tied behind their backs, squinting against the light as their crimes were explained. Collaboration ... cooperation ... failure to resist ... treason .... betrayal ...
The eighth was my father.
"He's a traitor to the Federation," the man beside me with the light said. "He was heard by a neighbor listening to State broadcasts."
I could guess who that neighbor had been. Giassa Lorgiana, who'd been glaring at me over the fence for as long as I could remember. My mother said it was because the council had approved Papa's application to build a deck at the back of our house despite Giassa's objections that it would block the light from her favorite flowerbed. Maybe that was true. It was definitely true that she'd been bearing a grudge about something since just about forever.
I opened my mouth to tell the man with the light all about it, to tell him that Papa wasn't a traitor, and in the pale, red-tinted light Papa shook his head, ever so slightly.
The man with the light started telling me about the crimes of the last two people in the row. I should have been listening, but I wasn't. I was staring at my father.
My father, who was now a traitor, because the man with the light said so.
Papa stared at me, and then he cut his gaze to the left. Stared again, and again looked to the left, at something behind me, off in the trees.
I turned a little bit so I could look too. It was hard to see anything the light wasn't pointed right at, but I narrowed my eyes and concentrated and made out tree-trunks and some big gnarled roots in the soil and ...
A foot.
A foot, a leg. Not very big.
About my size.
I recognized the shoe. It was the same as mine, it was the kind of shoe we all had to wear to school, it was the kind of shoe we'd all been wearing when the men and women from the resistance came in to the classroom and told us that the time for learning was over, it was time for doing now.
Told us our world needed us, the Federation needed us.
Vive la Arderonne libre, they said.
I'd been second, tonight, when the man with the lamp asked us to line up and told us we were going to have the chance to prove we could be brave fighters for the resistance.
Niarrette had been first.
Niarette was lying under the tree.
It wasn't a very big gun, not as big as some I'd seen in holovids, but it was made for a grown-up with grown-up-sized hands.
I'm eleven years old. My hands are eleven-year-old size, and I had to use both of them to hold the gun, even though they said it was my gun now
It was dark in the forest. Somewhere above the treetops the moon was just shy of half-full, but no light penetrated the thick pines. The man beside me held a hand-torch, and its pale yellow beam made the night around us seem even blacker.
He shone it across the prisoners' faces, one by one.
"She is a collaborator," he said matter-of-factly. "She consorted with the Caldari soldiers. This one told the Caladri where one of our people was hiding. This one helped them rebuild the shuttleport after we bombed it. This one - "
"They were bringing food!" the man who'd been third on the list burst out. "It was for the Sisters to land, with food! What do you - "
The light swept wildly over the tree- trunks and up into the branches as the man beside me brought the torch up, then down. It hit the shuttleport man's temple with a kind of crunch I'd never heard before. He went silent, sprawled.
"And this one helped them draw up the lists for their work projects." It was as if nothing had happened, except now there was a little patch of red in the pale yellow light, and a gap in the row of people in front of us.
There were ten, all up, including shuttleport man. None of the other nine tried to defend themselves against the charges. They knelt silently, hands tied behind their backs, squinting against the light as their crimes were explained. Collaboration ... cooperation ... failure to resist ... treason .... betrayal ...
The eighth was my father.
"He's a traitor to the Federation," the man beside me with the light said. "He was heard by a neighbor listening to State broadcasts."
I could guess who that neighbor had been. Giassa Lorgiana, who'd been glaring at me over the fence for as long as I could remember. My mother said it was because the council had approved Papa's application to build a deck at the back of our house despite Giassa's objections that it would block the light from her favorite flowerbed. Maybe that was true. It was definitely true that she'd been bearing a grudge about something since just about forever.
I opened my mouth to tell the man with the light all about it, to tell him that Papa wasn't a traitor, and in the pale, red-tinted light Papa shook his head, ever so slightly.
The man with the light started telling me about the crimes of the last two people in the row. I should have been listening, but I wasn't. I was staring at my father.
My father, who was now a traitor, because the man with the light said so.
Papa stared at me, and then he cut his gaze to the left. Stared again, and again looked to the left, at something behind me, off in the trees.
I turned a little bit so I could look too. It was hard to see anything the light wasn't pointed right at, but I narrowed my eyes and concentrated and made out tree-trunks and some big gnarled roots in the soil and ...
A foot.
A foot, a leg. Not very big.
About my size.
I recognized the shoe. It was the same as mine, it was the kind of shoe we all had to wear to school, it was the kind of shoe we'd all been wearing when the men and women from the resistance came in to the classroom and told us that the time for learning was over, it was time for doing now.
Told us our world needed us, the Federation needed us.
Vive la Arderonne libre, they said.
I'd been second, tonight, when the man with the lamp asked us to line up and told us we were going to have the chance to prove we could be brave fighters for the resistance.
Niarrette had been first.
Niarette was lying under the tree.
My face went cold and my hands got so sweaty I nearly dropped the gun. For a minute the ground went back and forth under my feet and the trees turned round and round.
I realized the man with the light was talking to me.
"How much do you love the Federation?" he asked.
There was only one right answer. "With all my heart!" I said. "Vive la fédération!"
He shone the light over the prisoners, one by one. It stopped on my father's face. "Prove it," he said.
I looked at Papa, and Papa looked at me. Not my Papa! I wanted to say.
But Niarette had been brought up the path first. And Niarette hadn't given the right answer, because Niarette was lying under the trees.
Papa smiled at me then, and it was awful, the way his lips shook and his face twisted as he tried to make a face like he wasn't afraid. Like nothing was wrong. My throat got tight.
I thought about using the gun on the man with the light. But he had a gun, too. And he was in the resistance, and if I shot him I'd be a traitor, a traitor to the Federation, to Arderonne.
I looked at the man with the light and I could see in his face that he knew what I was thinking about. And I could see that he knew that Papa was my father.
Then I wondered which of the people there was Niarette's Mama or Papa.
"It's all right," Papa whispered. "It's all right, darling. Do as he says. I love you. It's all rig-"
The flat crack of the gun was very loud. After it, the sound of my father's body falling made no noise at all.
I expected to start crying.
I didn't.
"Good girl," the man with the light said. "So perish all enemies of the Federation. What do we say?"
"So perish all enemies of the Federation!" I said, and he smiled.
He took the gun from me, and turned me towards the path back down to cave where the resistance was hiding tonight.
On the way, he taught me some more things to say, to be a proper brave resistance fighter like him. I listened, and repeated them, all the time being amazed that my voice was steady and my eyes were dry. I waited to start crying for Papa, and I didn't.
I waited to be sad, and I wasn't.
I wasn't sad. I was just on a path in the forest at night with a man with a light and two guns.
Vive la résistance, I repeated to myself. Vive la arderonne libre!
Vive la fédération.
I realized the man with the light was talking to me.
"How much do you love the Federation?" he asked.
There was only one right answer. "With all my heart!" I said. "Vive la fédération!"
He shone the light over the prisoners, one by one. It stopped on my father's face. "Prove it," he said.
I looked at Papa, and Papa looked at me. Not my Papa! I wanted to say.
But Niarette had been brought up the path first. And Niarette hadn't given the right answer, because Niarette was lying under the trees.
Papa smiled at me then, and it was awful, the way his lips shook and his face twisted as he tried to make a face like he wasn't afraid. Like nothing was wrong. My throat got tight.
I thought about using the gun on the man with the light. But he had a gun, too. And he was in the resistance, and if I shot him I'd be a traitor, a traitor to the Federation, to Arderonne.
I looked at the man with the light and I could see in his face that he knew what I was thinking about. And I could see that he knew that Papa was my father.
Then I wondered which of the people there was Niarette's Mama or Papa.
"It's all right," Papa whispered. "It's all right, darling. Do as he says. I love you. It's all rig-"
The flat crack of the gun was very loud. After it, the sound of my father's body falling made no noise at all.
I expected to start crying.
I didn't.
"Good girl," the man with the light said. "So perish all enemies of the Federation. What do we say?"
"So perish all enemies of the Federation!" I said, and he smiled.
He took the gun from me, and turned me towards the path back down to cave where the resistance was hiding tonight.
On the way, he taught me some more things to say, to be a proper brave resistance fighter like him. I listened, and repeated them, all the time being amazed that my voice was steady and my eyes were dry. I waited to start crying for Papa, and I didn't.
I waited to be sad, and I wasn't.
I wasn't sad. I was just on a path in the forest at night with a man with a light and two guns.
Vive la résistance, I repeated to myself. Vive la arderonne libre!
Vive la fédération.
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