Simon-G294/Independence

"This is it, Stray!"
Simon looked up from the etchings he'd been idly tracing into the side of the truck. The bayonet he'd unclipped from his rifle was embedded in the cheap metal, halfway finished with the 9 in "G294."
"What's up?" he asked, his mind still elsewhere. His friend and technically his leader was always getting herself worked up over something.
Emily rolled her eyes, as she always did when she thought he was being stupid. Some things never chanced.
"The URF just rolled into North Cambria," she announced, flashing a grimy, crumpled paper in front of his eyes. The coffee-stained picture on the front showed grinning rebel soldiers hoisting the United Rebel Front's red-fisted flag over what looked like an old colonial monument. The caption, printed in huge, blocky letters, exclaimed: "INDEPENDANCE!"
Simon scratched at his head as he eyed the dirty pamphlet. His hair was getting longer and dirtier by the day and it was beginning to itch unbearably. "They spelled independence wrong," he said after a moment.
"They sent those colonial bastards packing," Emily continued, ignoring him. Simon couldn't help but notice that her mahogany hair, as filthy as his own, was beginning to slip free of the bandanna she always wore around her forehead. "Can you believe it? Do you know how long I've been waiting for this? We're finally free!" She waved the pamphlet over her head for emphasis.
"Great." Simon turned back to the truck and finished etching the 9, trying to ignore the lump that was tightening in his growling stomach. "Does that mean the food shuttle will be on time this week?"
Emily sighed, temporarily deflated. She flopped down in the dust of the truck lot, resting her chin in her hands. "You know what your problem is, Stray?"
The metal scraped faintly as Simon filed in the first lines of the 4. "I don't know. What's my problem?"
"You just don't care about anything beyond the next meal." She frowned at him, never missing the chance to play the concerned older sister. It didn't matter that they were the same age, or that Simon was nearly a head taller than her. "You need to broaden your horizons or you'll never get anywhere in life."
Simon tried not to laugh. Small horizons weren't his problem, not in the slightest. "And what about you? Think those broad horizons of yours will get you somewhere? Maybe you can be mayor of this dump someday."
"Maybe I will," she said defiantly, suddenly reminding him all too clearly of Mary. "You can be an asshole about it all you want, city boy, but this place'll do just fine without the Earthers. They're the ones who kept this place down all these years."
Simon finished the 4 and slashed a quick line under the whole thing: G294. He wondered what the guy who drove the truck would think it meant.
Emily was still talking. "Now that the Covenant's gone, they'll be too busy kicking around all the planets that are too wrecked to fight back, and in the meantime we'll get this place back on its feet. Then the other colonies will see how great independence is, and---"
"Emily," Simon interrupted. The knot in his stomach was a full-blown fist now, clamping down on his guts and tying them up into knots of their own. He traced his finger over the numbers he'd carved, already forgetting why he'd done it in the first place. They represented someone else, a person who had died with Terrence and Mary.
"They won't let Mamore leave," he said dully. "They can't afford to. Not if they want to rebuild. The UNSC's not letting us go without a fight."
Us. Yes, he'd said us. Mamore was his home now. Rat Pack, Emily, they were his family now. He couldn't forget that, especially not now.
"Then we'll fight back!" Emily snapped fiercely. She lifted her bandana and rubbed at her forehead. "The guys around here, they're smart. They'll pull those goons in and fuck 'em up!"
Simon clenched his teeth, knuckles tightening around the bayonet. This was what he'd been afraid of since the reports of the rebellion had started trickling in. How could he tell her? Would the others be this blinded by this independence nonsense?
"The UNSC's going to blast this place into the last century," he muttered tightly, unable to look his friend in the eye. "They've got all the latest tech, armor, weapons, ships, whatever. The best we've got is stolen gear half the people around here don't know how to use and rifles that were shit fifty years ago when they were developed!"
Emily leapt up; he'd said the wrong thing, and now she was riled up.
"What's wrong with you, Stray?" she demanded, striding over to him. "This is your home too! Is that all you have to say, that the UNSC's just going to come in and roll over us just like they've always done?"
Simon backed up against the truck, driven back by the sheer brunt of Emily's anger. "Look, all I'm saying is don't get all gung-ho about this!" he protested. "Let's just sit back and let the real rebels do all the fighting!"
"No!" Emily said hotly. "They want our help. They need our help. I won't just sit back and let them blow up my home again!"
"We'll be killed!" Simon snapped back. "Don't you get that? It's going to be a fucking massacre!"
"They killed my parents you asshole!" she screamed. Simon had never seen her this angry. The next thing he knew, her fist was soaring towards his face. His hand snapped up and caught her by the wrist as the other one instinctively shot in for a blow to her ribs. She twisted and caught it with her free hand, and he let up in time to let her think she had stopped him on her own.
How could he be so stupid? A hit from his enhanced arms, skinny though they were, would have broken her ribs or worse.
They stood where they were, locked in mid-grapple, and Simon suddenly felt a hotness that had nothing to do with the dust or the sun overhead. With a gulp, he dropped her arm, pulling away to brush his hands off on his coat.
"Sorry," he muttered, risking a glance in her direction. To his surprise, Emily looked just as embarrassed; a slight tinge of pink was poking out from under the grime on her cheek.
"Yeah," she muttered, looking away. "Just forget about it. I'll see you back at the shed."
She trudged off, the triumphant pamphlet dangling between her fingers. Simon watched her go, still trying to decide what had just happened. He had never felt like that before, except maybe with Cassandra...
And they're still coming, he thought helplessly. The UNSC's still coming, and there's nothing I can do about it."
He leaned against the truck, his hand covering up his etched doodle: G294.
Category:Simon-G294