Barbarians

Well, I won't back down, no I won't back down

You can stand me up at the gates of Hell

But I won't back down

No, I'll stand my ground, won't be turned around

And I'll keep this world from draggin' me down

Gonna stand my ground

And I won't back down

Hey baby, there ain't no easy way out

Hey I will stand my ground

And I won't back down

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers - “I Won't Back Down”

The races of the old Triumvirate were about the furthest thing imaginable from the notion of wild-eyed radicals. Until the first Khonhim War their society had gone unchanged for millennia, and even its introduction to Humanity had caused barely a ripple. Stability, order, tradition, caution, and an almost ruthless preservation of the status quo had been their watchwords for as long as anyone could remember.

The war changed all that, as wars do. With Humanity’s star now in ascension, change came at a breakneck pace, as one revered institution after another came crashing down. Even by human standards, the metamorphosis was a radical one, driven by the need to create a military force from scratch and the support structures essential to keep it supplied and operational. For species long used to the static civilization of the Triumvirate, the Tetrarchy came rushing at them like a fever dream.

As predicted, many were unhappy with this turn of events.

It was that same frustration that had fueled the Ministers' coup d’état and the attack on Earth. When Admiral Matevosian destroyed the Triumvirate fleet, the Ministers lost their greatest offensive power. Still, they had the support of the masses, those same individuals who had chafed against their society’s upheaval.

Except...those same individuals had spent ten years growing accustomed to the new changes. They still didn’t care for them, but they were at least used to them. They had learned to grit their teeth and...in the parlance of humanity…“Go with the flow”. It was an adjustment, but one they were coming to terms with.

Then the Minister’s Coup came along and upended the applecart. Again.

The irony of the situation was as thick as molasses. By giving the people what they’d thought they wanted, a return to simpler times, they had attacked what the masses craved…stability. The chaos that followed the coup left them simmering with rage, but it was a rage without direction, or focus.

Leandra Singh’s speech gave them that focus.

“This has to be the most well-behaved riot I’ve ever seen,” Leandra remarked, nonplussed.

She and the other ministers stood in the plaza in front of the Ministry building, flanked by security officers they knew they could trust. Beyond them, thousands of Tetrarchy citizens milled about, drawn to the heart of the government by her words, but unsure what to do next. The Ministry had security forces of their own guarding the entrance, and so far, no one had been willing to attempt a breach. For now, it was a standoff.

“I thought this is what you wanted,” Thrassath said in confusion. “They took to the streets.”

She fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. “This is supposed to be a revolution, not a Volksmarch,” Leandra lamented. “If I’d known they were just going to come out and enjoy the fresh air, we could have had it catered.”

Byzaagaab shrugged. “You must understand, this is all new to us. We have no experience in overthrowing governments.”

Leandra pointed an accusing finger at the Ministry building. “They figured it out,” she shot back, “Why can’t you?”

“Prime Minister...while we understand your frustration, the situation is unlikely to change,” Ω 445 Intersect Γ said, “...unless someone were to go out there and lead them.”

The three ministers looked at her, as she raised her head to the heavens. “Vishnu...grant me strength,” she groaned, before looking back at them. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth, before marching over to one of the security officers. Several were carrying handheld voice amplifiers for crowd control, devices much more compact than the bullhorns of old. Within minutes she had claimed one for herself and had clambered upon an abstract sculpture, surveying the crowd.

“LISTEN TO ME!” she shouted, her voice echoing across the plaza. “What the Hell is wrong with you? Do you think they will just give you back your freedom? Do you?”

The crowd stared back at her, though those nearest to her began shaking their heads.

“DO YOU?” she screamed again, and this time she could hear muttered “No’s” coming from her audience.

“DO YOU?” she howled, as she cranked the volume to maximum.

“NO!” the mob shouted back, finding their voice.

“Damn right they won’t,” she snarled, dialing the volume back down. “Let me tell you something humans learned the hard way, long ago...that freedom isn’t free. It is bought and paid for with the blood of those willing to fight for it. No one will give you your freedom...you have to reach out and take it.”

From somewhere in the back, a chant began. It was muffled at first, but it spread across the courtyard as others joined in, the sound rising and swelling like a tsunami.

FREEDOM!

FREEDOM!

FREEDOM!

Leandra threw out her arms as if to embrace them all, before whirling around and pointing at the Ministry building. “And there, in that building, are those that would deny you your freedom! Are you going to accept that? Are you going to roll over like good little slaves, and let them? Or are you going to fight?”

The roar of the crowd slammed into her like a hurricane.

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

FIGHT!

“THEN FOLLOW ME!” she screamed, hopping off the sculpture and striding towards the Ministry, with the crowd swelling behind her. She could feel their fury as they swept forward, sweeping up everything in their path, and as they reached the steps the Ministry guards shrank back in fear, eyeing the mob. Without pause Leandra mounted the steps, heading straight for the guard commander, stopping mere inches from his position, with the throng pressing in close behind her.

A hush fell over the crowd, as she addressed the guards.

“You have a choice,” she said. “Lay down your arms and join us, or…” She turned to face the mob, a cruel smile on her face, before returning her attention back to the commander.

A cheer rose from the congregation, as the guards disarmed themselves. Her own security snatched up the weapons, keeping them out of the hands of those that might be tempted to use them indiscriminately. Leandra turned and faced the crowd once more.

“Surround the building!” she shouted, “Let no one escape! The rest of you…follow me!”

The crowd surged forward yet again, sweeping her along as they raced for the elevators. They packed the cars to capacity and beyond, before flying up to the top floor, disgorging their passengers with Leandra still leading the pack.

The Ministry Chamber was just as she remembered it...apparently, they hadn’t quite gotten around to redecorating. She flashed back to all those times she had approached these same Ministers as a supplicant years before, begging for scraps, only to be rejected at every turn. Her lip curled, baring her teeth, as she marched forward.

She sure as hell wasn’t begging this time.

Amazingly, they were still in the chamber. Leandra had been certain they would have fled for safety by now. Maybe they thought they were safe here. Untouchable.

Oops.

The trio stared at the crowd in panic, as Qomzoixaa produced a sidearm and tried to point it in her direction. His hand trembled like a leaf, unfamiliar with the deadly weapon, as Leandra rolled her eyes.

“...bitch, please.”

With two long strides, she was on the dais, raising back her arm and slapping the weapon from his hand. It skittered away across the floor as the trio stood frozen in fear.

“Lock them up,” Leandra commanded, pointing at the ministers. The mob reached out for them, as she was forced to interpose her body between the crowd and their new prisoners. “...in one piece, damn it,” she growled. “They’ll stand trial, according to the Law. They’ll be no lynching on my watch.”

Mollified, the crowd dragged them away with minimum jostling, as Leandra sighed in relief. She walked over to her chair and collapsed in a heap, shaking her head.

“Bloody amateurs,” she muttered.