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Short Fiction: Insurrection
The guerrilla war sputtered when they tracked down our leaders and shot them up with happy juice.
Reconditioned by, recycled in, returned to the scattered factory-cities around a shadowed globe, all of our secrets divulged - who we were, what we planned, where we lived, when we would act, and how we would execute.
So we built a new base and thought up new strategies, but they found us anyway and cut off all escape.
They promised us amnesty, if we surrendered and laid down our weapons, but we only laughed.
How could we return to mindless work, resume empty lives and accept mandated existence? When we refused them, they brought in the heavy artillery.
In the distance, we heard the thunder of plasma cannons and knew the insurrection was doomed.
Our cave fortress collapsed in a pile of melted stone and earth while I sat in an alloy-ceramic vault, finger on the trigger of our final surprise.
I set the reaction in motion, and antimatter danced its annihilating way through the lines of their soldiers — a hundred thousand of them converted to raw energy in a moment.
But with millions more to fill their ranks, the blast had no real impact on the occupation of earth by the colonial armed forces of not-so-distant Alpha Centauri.
As I used up the last of the air in my vault-turned tomb, I smiled.
No happy juice for me.
