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Chapter Seventeen

The parade grounds and the blood-covered steps of the parliament building fade into a black mist. I feel my body tingle with the sensation of weightlessness and it seems as if I am falling through time and space.

The journey is short, however, and soon enough the vaporous black cloud reconstitutes itself. Looking around, I see that time has passed. Seated behind a large dark oak desk, I find myself in a lavishly decorated office with white marble floors and deep blue velvet curtains draped elegantly from the two-story high windows. The light of the setting sun is pouring into the round office bathing the wood, steel, and stone in a reddish-yellow hue.

In front of me on the desk is a simple wooden case, propped open. On the corner of the case there is a small ivory note. “Please accept this humble brandy as my way of saying congratulations for your victory over the corrupt republic and the Cornelius loyalists. Long live the Great Society and long live its High Caretaker! G.V. Haeger.” Lying on a bed of red silk inside the case is a bottle of incomparable brandy. My hands reach out, pulling the bottle out and placing it on the desk. Against the sleek glass and deep brown of the spirits my hands reveal their true age. Reaching down, I pull open the upper right desk drawer and pull out two crystal tumblers. They clang against the oak of the table as I set them down. Carefully removing the glass stopper, I pour a generous amount into both glasses. I slowly replace the stopper, set the bottle back in its case, and push it next to the humidor on the left-hand side of the desk.

I lean back in my chair taking mouthfuls of the glorious, deep-brown spirit. Filling my nose with its aroma and bathing my taste buds with spice and sweet, I feel it begin to wash away the tension from my long protracted consolidation of victory. Arduous months have passed since I squeezed the trigger that ended Cornelius’s life and seized the revolution, but only now that power is solidly in my grasp can I revel in my victory. Years of being in the background, years of obeying orders from idealists and incompetent revolutionaries are now all in the past. My lips curl up into a smile.

The intercom buzzes softly, interrupting my thoughts.

“High Caretaker, sir, there is a General Daedalus here to see you. Should I let him in, sir?”

I sit up in my chair and set the tumbler and its few remaining drops of brandy on the desk. Moving my hands along my collar and sash, I ensure the tidiness of my uniform.

“Send him in.”

“At once, sir.”

Across the expanse of marble floor the two large steel doors silently open inwards. General Daedalus, dressed in his new uniform, enters the room in full stride. As he approaches the desk, the cunning and plotting look that never seems to be absent from his face becomes clearly visible. Stopping a meter behind the chair on the other side of the desk, Daedalus snaps a smart salute.

“High Caretaker… This office suits you. Neptus.”

“And those generals’ bars suit you, Daedalus. Sit, I have no need of formalities.”

Daedalus complies without hesitation. Sitting in the high-backed leather chair, he leans over and takes the still-full tumbler in his hand.

“You didn’t just come here to drink my brandy, so what brings you here Daedalus?” I ask.

Taking a deep gulp of brandy, Daedalus sets the half-empty tumbler back on the desk.

“The brandy is secondary, but I think you are underestimating how special that brandy is. I’m here about my uniform.”

“You were always eying mine so now that I have no use for it I thought of you first.”

“I’m honored, truly, but I feel that I’ve misinterpreted our relationship. This morning I opened a package and
knew
it was going to explode and kill me. But much to my surprise this fine uniform and letter of commission were all that were inside. I don’t understand your move. You have the evidence you need to have me executed. And what a great story it would make too: ‘Close confidant and friend of our dear leader aids Cornelius loyalists by murdering two members of his staff.’ I’ve never seen you pass up an opportunity to eliminate a rival, so why now?”

“You have misinterpreted much, my dear Daedalus. You are more valuable to me alive than dead. You have perceived correctly, though, that you are a rival, but your talents and our friendship have stayed the executioner’s hand. But I have not spared you without purpose and without conditions. First, you are to be my puppet within the military, ensuring that the officers remain loyal to me. I will interpret any coup attempt as you going after my position and then the information about Private Graffe and Corporal King will be released. I’ll let the chips fall where they may. Also, you are to provide me with that silver tongue and quick wit of yours to ensure my plans come to fruition by wooing the industrialists and upper-class land owners.”

Daedalus sighs, then begins to chuckle loudly.

“Well played, sir. But I feel insulted that you believe you need blackmail to keep me in check. I may be a schemer and have a lust for power, but connected to you I retain a level of anonymity and freedom I would never have in your shoes. You need me and I need you.”

“Even a tame dog bites his master when he is hungry. I am convinced of your loyalty. I have had no doubts since your voice of approval on the parliament steps, but I must be pragmatic and keep you on a leash. In my position you would do the same.”

“So be it.”

An awkward silence fills the cavernous office. The final rays of light from the sun disappear behind the horizon. Hidden bulbs crackle to life, illuminating the marble floor and walls. Daedalus breaks the silence with the creaking of his leather chair. Reaching forward he takes the tumbler in hand and with one large gulp, finishes it off. The sound of the glass, set back down on the desk, fills the massive office with a soft echo.

“So what are these plans of yours you need my expert assistance with?”

“What I did to Cornelius cannot happen again. The military, the gentry, industrialists, the plebs, no one can ever have the desire, intention, and opportunity to commit the act I did. Our revolution was won by a hair’s breadth, and keeping hold of that power will consume the twilight years of my life. But when I am gone, and my successor takes power, I want guarantees that what I have fought for, what I’ve bled for, will not crumble!”

“That is a tall order, sir. Your actions stand as the example, and it will be hard to both give the Great Society credit for its birth while also discouraging its imitation.”

“That is why I need to have our ‘birth’ rewritten. From a clean slate, we can formulate a series of events that will paint our revolution, our fallen soldiers, and our goals as the very ideals of lawfulness, justice, and righteousness. Once the past is rewritten, it will then fall on our shoulders to ensure the various groups who have power play along with it. Their collaboration is necessary, no matter the cost. You have my permission to do whatever it takes; Government production contracts, appointments, assassinations, sex, drugs; anything required to purchase the lie is currency well spent for the future of the Great Society.”

Daedalus’ lips curl up in a devilish smile. “It would be my pleasure to be your accomplice in this sir. This is the opportunity I have honed all my skills for. One hundred years from now our truth will be unchallenged and we will have won a victory sweeter and more glorious than any in the revolution dreamed possible. As we create our glorious history, is there someone you wish for me to convince first?”

Taking the ivory note in my hands, I run my fingers across the letters.

“You should pay a visit to a Mister G.V. Haeger at Personal Protection Supplies and sincerely thank him for this bottle of brandy.”

“His collaboration is required?”

“Whatever it takes.”

The world swirls into a dark cloud. In an instant, the office disappears and I am suspended in the timeless void of darkness for the briefest of moments before being exploded back through the veil of reality. Ten thousand colors assault my eyes. A million smells overwhelm my olfactory sense, and innumerable sounds converge into an indiscernible, thunderous cacophony. Every nerve, and every cell, explodes in pain as the Oracle Device pulls its connection from me.

The door to the device opens. Unable to cope with my reemergence back into my own body and mind, I collapse onto the hot metal landing. My eyes, blurry from tears, see only steam.

All at once I feel more tired, hungry, happy, sad, hopeless, and hopeful than ever before in my short life. The drain, both emotional and physical, coupled with the weight of what I have just seen, is too much. The world begins to drift toward unconsciousness. The last thing I see before my vision turns black are feet ascending the stairs toward me in the swirling steam.

Chapter Eighteen

I wake in a groggy haze. My body is heavy, my arms and legs lie helpless like wet sand. I blink my eyes open; it takes the world a moment to stop swirling and solidify into recognizable shapes. And when they do, I wish they hadn’t.

Looking down, I see that I’m strapped to a hospital bed. My wrists and ankles are restrained with black straps. I try to struggle against them, but my body remains limp. Twisting my head over to the left, I see a large silver needle haphazardly shoved into my arm. Blood pools under the tape securing it in place. A thick rubber tube runs from the needle to a half-empty glass bottle of clear liquid dangling from a stand. Whatever is in that container can’t be good. It has left me nearly paralyzed. Whoever put me here doesn’t want me getting out which only reinforces my desire to escape.

I lift my head off the bed as high as I can. All my muscles tremble uncontrollably from the effort. The drugs desperately try to keep me down but I fight them with all of my willpower. Even so, I can’t hold myself up for very long. My clothes have been removed and replaced by a grey jumpsuit. Looking around, I frantically search for anything to help me get out of this room. But other than the bed I’m lying in, and the stand holding the vial of drugs, the room is completely empty. The walls are barren concrete. On the wall in front of me is the outline of a door, but there is no handle.

Exhausted, I fall back onto the bed. The combination of the drugs and my aching muscles make me feel sick. Being strapped to the bed sends feelings of anxiety and fear to my heart. I feel panic creep up the base of my neck. That’s what they want me to do, they want me to panic. These people have nothing good planned for me, and will most likely kill me when they are done. I need to regain my composure and come up with a plan. I can’t die here.

Taking deep breaths, I begin to regain control of my mind. As calm returns, I see my first hope for salvation since I awoke in this place. Directly above me on the ceiling is an exhaust vent held in place by four exposed screws. Still strapped to the bed, and immobile from the drugs, so the vent is a long ways from being my avenue out of here, but it has kindled the fires of hope within me. I feel confident that I won’t die here today.

My celebration is short-lived. The door in front of me swings open and two people step through. The first is a woman dressed in the black uniform of the Revolutionary Guard. Expertly tailored and adorned with gleaming silver stars, her uniform shows she is high ranking, and her position in the guard surely gives her access to the Caretakers. What I saw in the device must be highly sensitive information if someone of her status is personally conducting my interrogation. The other man, however, is dressed in civilian clothes, his black trench coat buttoned to the top, partially concealing the bottom half of his jaw. He stands without the composure of Peace Officers or Guardians. His presence sends my thoughts swirling in a thousand different directions. What have I stumbled into?

The woman crosses the short distance from the door, stopping next to my bed. Her boots click harshly on the concrete floor. The man steps back into the hall and pulls the door shut. It’s just her, me, and the growing tension.

She stares down at me. Her face is angular and accentuated by thin age lines. Her eyes are deeply blue, almost black, like the flag.

“I’m going to cut to the chase, Miss Brennen, how did you get the storage sphere? Was it given to you by one Margaret Waters?”

I lock my eyes with hers.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

In an instant, her demeanor changes. Raising her right arm above her head, she is holding a rubber truncheon.

“Answer my questions!” Her voice is harsh and stern.

I gulp hard. I can’t give her anything. The woman, or rather Margaret, is sweet and gentle. I can’t let her know she was involved.

“I don’t know…”

Her arm whips down in a blur. The truncheon slams into my stomach, cutting my words off. I cough hard, struggling against the straps, trying to inch away.

“Answer the questions!”

“I don’t…”

Her face scrunches in anger. The truncheon raises high and slams into me again. I let out a whimper from the pain. Before I can recover, another blow lands.

Again and again, she pounds the truncheon into my stomach. Her arms flailing, her brows wet with sweat, she hits me ten dozen times before she stops.

The pain is overwhelming. A pungent copper taste fills my mouth. Hot tears fall from my eyes. My mouth is held open wanting to scream, but nothing escapes. All the wind has been knocked out of me.

She returns her hands to her sides. Straightening her uniform, she pulls a small white handkerchief from her breast pocket and wipes the sweat off her brow.

“I already know she gave you the sphere, and that she pointed you in the direction of the Oracle Device. I thought it seemed obvious that I already knew, so I wanted to start with something simple. But clearly you are too stubborn or stupid to understand the severity of the situation you are in, little girl. Now, answer my questions and this whole process can be much easier on you. Why were you seeking information on the Caretakers? Who are you working with? I want names and locations.”

I take a moment to breathe and try and suppress my nausea. My stomach is on fire with pain and it is beginning to leach out farther, enveloping my body in pain. If I don’t answer her questions, she’s going to keep beating me until I lose consciousness or worse. I could die from internal bleeding long before an opportunity to escape arises. I don’t like it, but maybe the truth will get her to stop beating me. Maybe it’ll give me a chance to escape before they murder me.

“I seek the information for myself, I work alone.”

“Liar!” She snaps.

The truncheon slams into the right side of my face. I feel my jaw pop loose with a crunch. A piece of chipped tooth sits on my tongue. My head rings while waves of pain dart over my face in electric pulses. I begin to sob. I’m going to die because nothing I say will satisfy her. She wants something specific, maybe something that confirms some suspicion she has. She wants her truth but I don’t have it to give her. The only thing I can do is try and figure out what it is that she wants and give her the best lie I can.

“I…” I hesitate, wanting to make sure these words are good enough to stop her from hitting me again. “Speer. I work for Speer. He’s been slowly revealing to me and my class the Caretaker’s failures. He sent me to get hard evidence. We discovered that Margaret possessed the sphere, so I broke in and stole it. I took it to the device to make sure it was authentic before I took it back to Speer.”

She looks down at me with suspicious eyes. For an eternal moment, she stares at me. I fight with all the power I have left to keep my eyes open and unblinking. The longer the moment lasts, the more her doubt in my story appears to grow. I hear her hands tighten around the truncheon. I have to really sell it, I have to really commit to this, it’s the only chance I have.

“Just kill me. I can’t go back to Speer now; he’ll kill me if he finds out I was caught. I’m dead anyway, just finish me off, just don’t beat me anymore, what’s the point now?”

She digests my words. Her expression is indiscernible.

“Likely story.”

She steps back from the bed. Hands clasped behind her back, she paces along the wall.

“A little farfetched don’t you think? Well, maybe not.” She smiles. “Speer is under investigation following the Zarrov incident. Your story could check out. But so eager for death? No, I don’t think so.”

“Do it! Kill me!” The words fly from my mouth. I wish I could reach out and grab them, but it’s too late. Her ears perk up, and she storms back to the bed. In a swift motion she pulls a long slender knife from some concealed pocket on her waist.

Pressing my head down with her left hand, she holds the knife in her right, its blade against my neck.

“Tell me you want it now. Do it! Beg for it!”

The blade cuts into my neck a little with every breath. Sharp searing pain mingles with the dull electric throbbing in my jaw. Fresh tears fall from my eyes. My mouth opens to form words but only wheezing air passes through.

“No… please.”

She lets out a dark laugh. Removing the knife from my throat, she stands back up, staring down at me again.

“You people are all the same. All talk and no action. I’ll let you stew with yourself for a while and maybe when I get back you’ll be ready to die.”

She slams the knife into the bed, only millimeters from my leg. I let an involuntary gasp. A wicked smile cracks her weathered face.

“If your story checks out I’ll let you die quietly, painlessly,” she flicks the glass container; its contents slosh silently, “but if your story doesn’t check out. Well, I guess we’ll have to see how many cuts from that knife it’ll take before you bleed out. This is the time to get the story straight, your one last chance to die peacefully.”

I do not doubt her threats. The cruelty in her eyes and the stars on her shoulders tell me that she is not one to make idle threats. I’m dead either way.

“I’ll see you soon then.” My words filled with more defiance then even I thought I had left in me.

Walking to the door, she raps on it, producing three loud knocks. The door’s lock clicks open. In an instant the door opens, she passes through it, and it closes again.

Straining against the ringing in my head, I hear the faint conversation outside.

“This door opens for no one but myself, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The man’s accent sounds like a coastal brogue.

“Keep your radio on, and if the call comes in, don’t hesitate to act.”

“Of course, ma’am, your will, my action.”

I don’t have much time. If she doesn’t like what she finds, that man is going to come in here and finish me off. I can’t be here, but with the drugs in my arms I can hardly move. I have to get them out.

Leaning forward, my stomach explodes in new pain as I crunch my bruised abdomen. I suppress any noise; I can’t alert the guard. Determination to live burns in the base of my skull beyond the reach of pain or doubt. The stream of adrenaline fights against the drugs, and my body begins to listen. Pulling closer to the needle in my arm, I contort and strain to reach it with my mouth. My muscles and bones fight the contortion but I push through their cries. Biting down on the base of the needle, I jerk my head back. Coming out sideways, the needle rips from my arm painfully. Biting my lip, I struggle to suppress a cry of pain. Hot blood streams from my arm.

With the needle out, and the drugs no longer pouring into my veins, I feel control slowly returning. What feels like hours pass while the room comes back into focus. As the grogginess dissipates, new layers of pain in my stomach, arm, and face reveal themselves. This new pain is intense, but with control returning to my limbs, I welcome it.

Still strapped to the bed, I begin straining at the strap around my left arm. It is tight, but I don’t think it was meant to hold me on its own. I pull hard, and my hand bursts from its restraints.

Without hesitation, I pull the knife from the bed. Carefully, I slide it into the space between my right hand and the black strap. The razor-sharp blade cuts it open effortlessly. As I sit upright, my head spins and my stomach cries out in pain. I pause a moment and wait for the world to stop spinning, then I free my ankles. Looking to the ventilation cover in the ceiling, I carefully attempt to stand on the bed. The world continues to spin and it takes a few desperate attempts before I get upright. Stretched to the limit, I reach it with outstretched arms.

Sticking the knife long ways into the small indentation on the head of the screw I get sufficient leverage to loosen the bolt enough for my finger to twist it the rest of the way off. The screw is still difficult to turn, but after a minute of hard twisting, it falls free into my aching hand. I set the screw down onto the bed so it doesn’t make a sound and then continue on to the other three. The work is tedious, but all the screws eventually give up their hold on the ventilation cover. Lowering the cover onto the bed, I see the path out clearly.

On my tiptoes, I can reach the inside edge of the opening into the duct. I give it a test pull and it feels more than solid enough to support my weight. Taking a deep breath, I give it a try. The edge is sharp and digs into my fingers with the full force of my body weight. Small trickles of hot blood start to run down my hands. I bite my now swelling lip to keep any sound from escaping.

I crouch back down on the bed and use the knife to cut a strip of fabric from the white sheets. I hold the fabric against the cuts until the throbbing subsides and the blood coagulates. I slide the knife into one of the jumpsuit’s leg pockets. I look at my red hands; the injury doesn’t look too bad, but I know I won’t have more than a few more tries before my fingers won’t be able to hold me up. I need to make this next attempt count and try and avoid further injury to my already devastated body. Looking up at the opening, I think it appears big enough that if I leapt up I should be able to hook my elbow on the edge and then pull myself up. I inhale deeply and let the oxygen coat my muscles. Letting the air out slowly, I focus on the attempt.

I leap. My judgment is correct. Hooking my elbows over the sharp edge, I have the leverage I need. Confident that I have succeeded, I lose concentration for a moment. My right foot swings wide and knocks down the silver medical stand.

“What the hell’s going on in there?” The guard shouts from beyond the door.

The lock on the door clicks open loudly.

With a rush of adrenaline I force myself up into the air duct.

“Stop!”

I crawl as quickly as I can along the air duct, and the guard’s calls for me to stop are drowned out by the loud clanking of my arms and legs against the steel duct.

Progress feels slow, every inch is gained from the painful bashing and banging of my limbs. The panic and urgency of the situation is exhausting. I wish I had a moment to rest, but I know he won’t rest until I’m dead so I press through the exhaustion and pain.