The grand hall of Prescott’s council chamber, once a proud symbol of unity, now felt suffocating. Its polished stone walls were adorned with banners that seemed to mock the gathering below, proclaiming the hollow victory of a war that had left the planet in ruins. Governor Pro Tem Eliana Rourke stood at the podium, her presence commanding yet precarious, like a tightrope walker swaying above an abyss.
She was not a descendant of the planet’s founders or elected by its people. She was a stopgap, a compromise between the shattered remains of the civilian government and the military commanders who had filled the void during the war. Her position as governor pro tem was tenuous at best, and the simmering anger of the people threatened to boil over at any moment.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Rourke began, her voice steady but tinged with urgency, “our planet stands at a crossroads. The war has ended, but the wounds it inflicted on Prescott are far from healed.”
The council chamber, filled with advisors, military leaders, and interim officials, murmured with tension. Outside, the muffled roar of the crowd seeped through the walls. Protesters had gathered, their chants echoing with desperation and rage. The military cordon was holding—for now—but the energy in the air was volatile.
Rourke continued, her gaze sweeping across the room. “Our immediate priority is stabilization. Rebuilding our cities, securing resources, and restoring order. These are monumental tasks, but they are necessary if Prescott is to survive.”
General Emil Patton, seated near the front, leaned forward and spoke, his gravelly voice cutting through the room like a blade. “Governor, with respect, stability requires control. The people are angry, and that anger is turning toward us. We need a stronger military presence in the cities, or this fragile peace will shatter.”
Rourke’s jaw tightened. “A stronger military presence might secure the streets, General, but it will also deepen the resentment of a population that already views the military as oppressors. We cannot ignore the cost of perception.”
A woman further back, an economic advisor with a weary expression, interjected, “Perception won’t feed people. Trade routes are still under threat, our supply lines are tenuous, and food riots have already broken out in three districts this week. How do we address that?”
The room descended into a cacophony of voices, each argument overlapping the next. Rourke raised her hand, but the clamor drowned her out. She slammed her palm onto the podium, the sharp crack silencing the chamber.
“The people are starving, grieving, and angry,” she said, her voice sharp as steel. “And they have every right to be. The previous administration—Governor Prescott—failed them. He and his lineage may have claimed a right to rule but abandoned that duty when they fled this planet during the invasion. We are not them. We cannot fail like they did.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication. The tension in the room didn’t abate, but the council fell silent, its members exchanging uneasy glances.
Outside, the crowd surged against the barricades, their chants growing louder.
“Down with the military!”
“Where’s the food you promised us?”
“No more warlords!”
Jackie Stewart stood on the steps of the council building, her sergeant’s insignia catching the pale light of the distant sun. She adjusted the strap of her sidearm, her stance rigid, as her squad maintained a tense watch. Civilians pressed closer, their faces a mixture of anger, fear, and desperation.
A wiry man near the barricades shouted, his voice hoarse but forceful. “We’re done with soldiers telling us what to do! Where were you when they bombed our homes? When our children starved?”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Jackie stepped forward, raising her hands in a placating gesture. “I know you’re angry,” she said, her voice carrying over the din. “I don’t blame you. But we’re here to help now. To rebuild.”
“Help?” a woman shouted, clutching a young child to her chest. Her face was gaunt, her eyes hollow. “You call this help? My husband’s gone—conscripted—and you tell me to wait? For what? Another promise?”
The words cut deep, but Jackie held her ground. “We’re working to reunite families,” she said, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach. “If you come to the relief center tomorrow, we’ll have updates on missing personnel.”
Her answer did little to calm the crowd. A teenage boy near the back hurled a rock, and it clattered against the barricade. The tension snapped like a wire pulled too tight, and the crowd surged forward. Jackie’s squad stepped in, their weapons raised—not to fire but as a warning.
“Stand down!” Jackie barked, her voice sharp. She turned back to the crowd. “Enough! Violence won’t fix this. It’ll only make things worse.”
The crowd hesitated, the moment teetering on the edge. Slowly, the surge abated, though the resentment in their eyes burned brighter than ever. Jackie exhaled, her muscles taut as a drawn bowstring.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
That evening, Jackie found herself at the relief center on the capital's outskirts. The makeshift facility was a patchwork of tents, pallets of supplies, and exhausted volunteers. Civilians queued for rations, their voices hushed and strained.
Jackie handed an elderly man a can of preserved rations. His hands shook as he accepted it. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice frail.
“Stay safe,” Jackie replied, forcing a small smile. The man nodded and shuffled away, his movements slow.
“Sergeant Stewart.”
The familiar voice drew her attention. She turned to see Lieutenant Draven approaching, his expression grave. “Lieutenant,” she said, snapping a salute.
Draven handed her a data slate. “New orders. You’re being reassigned as sector chief for security and logistics.”
Jackie blinked, the weight of the promotion settling heavily on her shoulders. “Logistics, sir?”
“Food, supplies, personnel coordination,” Draven said. “It’s a mess, and the governor wants someone reliable. Someone the people might trust.”
Jackie nodded slowly. “Understood, sir.”
Draven placed a hand on her shoulder, his tone softening. “You’re the right choice, Jackie. But be careful. The people’s anger isn’t just aimed at us but at anyone in authority. That includes you now.”
As the night deepened, Prescott’s cities smoldered with unrest. Tension crackled in the air, thick as smoke. The line between order and chaos had never felt thinner, and the fragile peace seemed ready to shatter at any moment.
Jackie stayed at the relief center long after her squad had rotated out, her thoughts tangled with the weight of her new responsibilities. The hum of generators punctuated the quiet murmurs of volunteers and civilians as they worked through the long lines of people waiting for aid. She kept a watchful eye on the scene, scanning for any signs of trouble. The anger simmering in the streets earlier that day still hung in the air like a storm cloud.
"Sergeant Stewart!" a volunteer called, hurrying toward her. The young man, barely more than a teenager, looked nervous. "We’ve got a situation at the south gate. Some folks from the city outskirts demand more supplies, but we’re already stretched thin."
Jackie’s stomach tightened. Supplies were already rationed to the brink, and any disruption could spark another riot. “I’ll handle it,” she said, grabbing her commlink and signaling her squad. “Meet me at the south gate.”
***
The south gate was a patchwork of security fencing and hastily placed barricades. A small crowd had gathered—maybe thirty people, mostly farmers and laborers from the rural zones. Their faces were weathered, their expressions a mixture of desperation and defiance. Jackie’s squad stood behind the barricades, tense but disciplined.
“You promised us food,” a middle-aged man at the front of the group shouted, his voice cracking. “Said we’d get what we needed. My family’s been living off scraps for days, and now you tell us there’s nothing left?”
Jackie approached slowly, keeping her hands visible. “We’re not saying nothing left,” she said evenly. “We’re saying we’re stretched thin. Supplies are coming, but we need time to distribute them fairly.”
“Fairly?” A woman near the back scoffed. “What’s fair about soldiers eating while we starve?”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. Jackie felt the familiar tension building, the thin veneer of control starting to fray.
“We don’t want anyone to go hungry,” she said firmly. “I can’t change what’s already happened, but I can promise you this: a shipment is arriving tomorrow morning. I’ll personally make sure this zone gets its share.”
“And what are we supposed to do tonight?” the man demanded. “Hope the kids don’t pass out from hunger?”
The crowd pressed closer, their frustration boiling over. Jackie’s squad shifted uneasily, their hands inching toward their weapons.
Jackie raised her voice, cutting through the noise. “Listen to me! I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But if this turns into a fight, no one wins. Do you want food for your kids? So do I. Let me help you—but I can’t do that if we’re at each other’s throats.”
The man hesitated, his jaw working as he weighed her words. Finally, he stepped back, his shoulders slumping. “We’ll hold you to that promise, Sergeant.”
“You should,” Jackie replied, her voice steady. “I won’t let you down.”
The crowd dispersed reluctantly, their anger tempered but not extinguished. Jackie exhaled, glancing at her squad. “Good work holding the line,” she said quietly. “Let’s ensure we’re ready for that shipment in the morning.”
***
At the council building, Governor Pro Tem Rourke sat in her temporary office, the weight of the day pressing down on her. The room was stark, stripped of the trappings of power that had adorned it under the Prescott dynasty. A single holographic display floated above her desk, its screen filled with casualty reports, supply inventories, and updates from relief centers.
The door chimed, and General Patton entered, his boots clicking against the polished floor. “Governor,” he said, his voice as gruff as ever. “We need to talk.”
Rourke gestured for him to sit, but the general stood, his arms crossed. “The situation in the city is spiraling. Civilians are growing bolder, testing the limits of our patience. It’s only a matter of time before one of these protests turns into a riot—and if that happens, we’ll have blood in the streets.”
“I’m aware, General,” Rourke replied, her tone weary but firm. “But heavy-handed measures will only escalate things. We’re not invaders. These are our people.”
Patton’s eyes narrowed. “With all due respect, Governor, we can’t coddle them either. They need to understand that order isn’t negotiable.”
“And if we enforce that with violence, what then? We lose what little trust we have left?” Rourke met his gaze, her expression steely. “You’ve seen what happens when a military forgets the people it’s supposed to protect. I won’t let that happen here.”
Patton’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. “Then you’d better have a plan. Because if this ‘fragile peace’ of yours shatters, it won’t just be the civilians paying the price.”
Rourke nodded, her expression grim. “I do have a plan. It starts with trust—earned, not demanded. And it hinges on people like Sergeant Stewart, who understand the balance we’re trying to strike.”
Patton grunted, his respect for Jackie grudging but genuine. “Stewart’s got guts. Let’s hope that’s enough.”
***
As the city settled into an uneasy quiet that night, Jackie returned to her quarters, her body aching from exhaustion. She sat on the edge of her cot, her mind replaying the day’s events. The faces of the protesters lingered in her thoughts—the anger, the fear, the desperation. She didn’t blame them. They were fighting to survive, just like she was.
Her commlink buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a message from Lieutenant Draven. “Shipment ETA confirmed: 0700 hours. Be ready.”
Jackie set the comm link aside and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The weight of her new role pressed down on her, but she knew she couldn’t falter. Prescott’s peace might have been fragile, but it was worth fighting for.