On Thursday, the fourth of November 3671, the sun was just beginning to rise over the capital city when the armored tanks rolled in.
At first no one noticed. With the looting and other chaos going on in parts of the city, sparked by the imminent return of the space probe and all the deep-seated hopes and fears that event triggered, a few tanks rolling through the industrial outskirts hardly raised an eyebrow. In fact, on this particular Thursday, few people were at work in those industrial areas.
But when the tanks reached the residential neighborhoods, people noticed.
No one saw more than one tank, as each was approaching from a different direction, along a different set of carefully-chosen roads and streets. But since tanks travel slowly, news of their approach traveled faster — by telephone, citizen-band radio, or youth on fast legs. By seven o’clock, everyone knew, and most of them didn’t much like it.
If the city had been populated only by well-to-do adults and submissive kids with plenty of spending money to keep them occupied, the tanks might have reached their destination without challenge.
Alas, most of the people were not very well-to-do, and most of the young people had little spending money and dim prospects for good jobs in the future.
The tanks, slowly rolling toward Capital Park, immediately took on symbolic meaning. They brought guns, very big guns, to the only open space
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in the city where people could go to relax and be in nature for an hour or two.
They clearly intended to point those guns at the space probe, the same space probe that most people had cheered on as it began its journey just the year before. It was their space probe, and the fact that it was imperfect, a little broken, almost crippled, made many people identify with it even more. It had done it’s job as best it could, and now it was coming home, landing in their park, and it might even have pictures of the universe to show.
Still, adults are cautious and conservative by their nature, most of them having families to support, rent to pay, and jobs to keep. The generals and colonels who sent the tanks, and chose the streets down which they would roll, were counting on this.
Teenagers, however, didn’t feel quite so inhibited. They had recently discovered, with the help of a certain book, that forces were moving their planet toward big problems. In secret rooms in boarded-up buildings, hollowed-out places behind bushes, and old tents disguised with trash and junk, they met, shared news, and made plans.
The tank, the one that would have arrived at Capital Park first, was making its way through a middle-class neighborhood when it turned a corner to discover a group of seven teenagers having a picnic in the middle of the narrow street.
Adults and other youth were watching from the sidewalks. Others leaned out of second and third-story windows. Some felt fear for the brave teenagers.
Others cheered them on.
The tank rolled to a stop, but had no other response for a minute.
People started coming out of the buildings. More teenagers joined those sitting in the street, bringing more food and drink to share.
Finally a hatch opened on top of the tank. A soldier emerged holding a machine gun.
The people started grumbling.
The soldier yelled at the youth in the street to move out of the way.
They
didn’t.
He yelled again and pointed his machine gun at them, but suddenly heard, all around him, the unmistakable sound of many other guns being loaded and
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cocked. He carefully looked around, and saw rifles, shot guns, and hand guns of all sizes, pointed at him.
After taking a few slow breaths, he carefully handed his machine gun down through the hatch and said something to the men below.
A few seconds later, the tank’s motor fell silent.
Then he carefully seated himself on top of the tank, pulled cigarettes from a pocket, and lit one.
The other two soldiers climbed out and did the same.
The men of the neighborhood lowered their guns, and the women and children started clapping.
One of the teenagers handed three cans of soda pop up to the soldiers on the tank.
Three more tanks encountered a similar situation. At two of them, the soldiers came out and talked to the people. At the third, fear or duty kept them inside. The people didn’t care, and soon had so much junk piled around the big machine that the teenagers who had stopped it could run off to do other things.
But one tank didn’t stop.
The screams reverberated through the working-class neighborhood of tenement houses and small businesses.
Guns were already handy, and many bullets pinged off the thick steel armor, each one expressing the anger and rage of the local people, whether or not they knew the teenagers who had just died.
Other people, with slightly cooler heads, dashed away, quickly returning with more potent weapons. Lengths of iron pipe caused the tank tracks to jerk and screech, while bricks and broken concrete blocks quickly brought it to a halt.
Gasoline cans came out of every building, with jars of kerosene and small propane canisters not far behind. Soon the entire tank was a blazing inferno, and no one who watched could decide who had the kinder death — the soldier who burst through the hatch, or the ones who stayed inside.
The last tank came upon five youth sitting in its path, two of them not yet
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teenagers.
With Colonel Bo-hefra himself commanding the vehicle, the driver didn’t dare stop.
Alex realized it wasn’t going to stop with mere seconds to spare, shoved Stephy with all his might and saw her grab Benny as she rolled, kicked Mouse until she scrambled away, then grabbed Corky and tumbled to the side just as the tracks of the huge vehicle rumbled by.
After catching their breath, the five friends gathered in the street as the tank slowly moved away from them.
“I’ve never been so scared!” Stephy gasped out.
“Thanks,” Corky said, looking up at Alex with admiring eyes.
“We need a different weapon . . .” As he spoke, he looked around, and soon spotted a man he knew standing beside the open door of a small carpet and drapery shop. “Mister Ta-daren! We could stop that thing if we had paint, glue, and stuff. We’ll pay you back, I swear . . .”
The shop owner was already in motion, quickly grabbing cans of bright colors that didn’t sell well, a cheap brand of floor cement, and stacks of carpet and drapery samples he’d gotten for free. “My contribution to the cause!”
The shopkeeper and five youth quickly had armloads, several neighbors dashed in to help, more young people joined the excitement, and Missus Ta-daren came downstairs to watch the shop.
More than twenty people dashed up the street with weapons that no tank crew had ever been trained to defend against.
So it was that only one armored tank arrived at Capital Park, just moments before its last view port was covered. The crew was then unable to steer or aim the big gun, and they soon discovered they could not even open the hatch.
What they didn’t know was that they looked, for all the world to see, like something out of a back-street carnival.