The Underground (19 page)

A piece of him longed to run out and join their chorus. He believed in these words more than anything.

Keep Your Laws Off My Body. Equal Rights and Justice for all Men!

Keep Your Laws Off My Body. Equal Rights and Justice for all Men!

Keep Your Laws Off My Body. Equal Rights and Justice for all Men!

It sent a chill through Nathaniel, but he stayed put; getting caught protesting certainly meant immediate castration.

Were these Grounders? They had to be. It was the Underground’s mantra, taken from
Reminder of Truth.
He remembered what Drew said just before Nathaniel left the Underground custody. “Don’t believe anything you hear, unless it is from someone you know is a legitimate contact. There are a lot of crazy people out there.”

He watched the arrests unfold alongside other POA attendees. Torches burned as their cries grew louder until the Tasers began, one by one, pulling the protesters into windowless vans. They padlocked them from the outside and drove off. He had heard of a few protests on the Webavision when he first got out, but that was months ago. They seemed to die down.
 

“Let’s go outside together,” said one of the men standing nearby. “We walk out slowly and turn left at the corner,” the unofficial leader said.

Nathaniel nodded and a dozen others followed.

As they stepped outside, the pandemonium began to subside, but the Tasers’ flashing lights remained strong. They systematically Tased the men brave enough to stand their ground. Nathaniel forced himself to look at the road, rather than the painful scene. As he and the group of men were about to turn off the main drag, he glanced once more, as if to remind himself of why his role in the Underground’s mission was vital.

Garrett Jones, his boss, stood tall, looking dazed and angry as blood ran down the side of his face. His rage filled eyes looked shocked as they recognized Nathaniel, but they quickly went dead as a Taser stunned him. He fell on top of two other men, like a pile of dead flies.
 

Chapter 25

“Another one?” the Queen said.
 

“I’m afraid so. It was in Kansas City, outside one of the city’s largest weekly POAs,” said her head of security.

“How many people?” the Queen asked. This had to stop! She had to do something.

“A few hundred. As with the others, we rounded them up. They are in local prisons.”

“That’s good news, at least,” she said. “I’ll call you back,” she said, hearing the knock on the door. She took a moment to compose herself before opening the door. She felt frazzled inside, but smiled as soon as she saw Shayla.

 
“My dear, how are you? Or should I say how are you and Michael?” the Queen said, wearing her best mask of confidence.

“We’re doing fine, I guess,” Shayla said. The Queen could see the hesitation and it worried her. Michael was the ideal choice for a son-in-law. He had the perfect balance of obedience and diligence. His lineage was strong and stable. His mother had been active and supportive of the Queen’s politics for decades.

“Fine? I thought you said he’s terrific?”

“I can’t say anything bad about him,” Shayla said, but she definitely seemed unsure.

“He’s educated, kind, thoughtful, and a great cook and homemaker, right?” the Queen asked.

“I guess so,” Shayla said.

“That sounds ideal to me, yes?”

Shayla nodded and the Queen felt her daughter was listening. Finally.

“And how is work going?” she asked Shayla, knowing it wasn’t good to focus too much on Michael. Shayla could easily snap into her rebellious self.

“I’m still having problems there,” Shayla said, collapsing onto the couch in a defeated manner.

“Really?” the Queen said, truly feeling surprised. She was going to kill Lorraine who had promised she would be more amenable to Shayla’s requests. Why was she being so difficult?

“I’m not sure what to do. I don’t want to make a big public stink, but these are important worker rights that I’m fighting for and I’m not going to give up.”

“Give it a little time,” the Queen said, quickly, feeling like her own daughter was playing her. Fine, so long as Shayla was interested in Michael, the Queen would figure out some way to force Lorraine to make concessions around Steelco policies. The Queen needed to keep Shayla happy and calm.

It was only short-term, she would remind Lorraine. Once the Queen lured Shayla to work in the Palace, everything at Steelco could go back to normal.

“If you think things might get better,” Shayla said, looking curiously for the subtext of assurance.

“I have a hunch things are going to start going your way very soon,” the Queen said, smiling. She never thought she would have to make political deals with her own daughter.

“That would be great. How are things going here?” Shayla asked.

“Another damn protest, in Kansas City this time. I am getting too old for this, but I’m not going to let the bastards get me.”

“Maybe it’s time to think about making some changes here, too. I could help,” Shayla said.

“Don’t start with me again. Not tonight, Shayla. Okay? I really don’t need it.”

——–

“You promised I could run this company my way, and you’re stonewalling me,” Shayla said to Lorraine, realizing bluntness was required. She looked her dead in the eyes, sitting across from her. The glasses of cold water sat untouched in front of each of them, the condensation slowly beginning to run down the outside of each glass.

“You are doing a fantastic job,” Lorraine said, seeming relaxed. She was a little older than her mother, but always looked good. Her eyes were bright and full of energy and her hair was gray, in an elegant bob cut.

“I don’t feel that way,” Shayla said, seeing through Lorraine’s attempt to butter her up.

“I think you’re working a bit too hard. You should concern yourself with the big picture instead of all these details,” Lorraine said.

“I believe that the big picture is ruled by making sure that the little picture looks good. I’ve got to have happy workers,” Shayla said, feeling like she was talking to a brick wall… or her own mother. She should have known better than to think her mother’s friend would keep her promise with regard to even making the tiniest changes to give their employees, mostly men, more benefits. Or anything.

“Our workers are happy,” Lorraine said, waving her hand through the air as if this discussion was unimportant.

“I disagree. The steelworkers need shorter work shifts. If they do work overtime, they need to be compensated financially and they absolutely need more breaks. Current working conditions are inhumane.”

“Do you want the company to go bankrupt?” Lorraine said sternly, leaning forward, her kid gloves off now as her voice deepened.

“Don’t give me that line. This company will not go bankrupt or anything close to that with my proposed changes. The last time I checked, you had more than enough money to keep yourself and your family in diamonds and Rolls Royces forever. You will still be very profitable with these small changes I’m requesting. You and I both know that,” Shayla said, holding her ground.

“It’s my company, remember that,” Lorraine said, her lips pursing together, making her upper lip crinkle.

“That’s true, but you hired me to run it. I want to make a public statement about how well we’re doing, but I’d hate to have to report anything negative about the company,” Shayla said, quietly.

“What’s it going to take to shut you up?” Lorraine said, clearly annoyed.

Shayla smirked inside. She had learned her negotiating tactics from watching her mother for many years. Now she felt as if she were using her mother’s own weapon against her, or at least against her friend.

“Let me pull together some ideas to present so that we’re both comfortable, as far as what we give the employees, okay?” Shayla said, backing off. She had shown Lorraine what she was capable of and now it was time to settle back and implement something small. For now.

“Have it on my desk tomorrow morning,” Lorraine said, getting up to leave.
 

“I just want to say one more thing,” Shayla said, as Lorraine turned back to her.

“I did this successfully at the Cambridge Public Works. In the short time I was there, morale improved. Better morale means more productivity.”

“Time will tell,” Lorraine said, clearly unconvinced.

Shayla saw that she was pushing Lorraine right up to the edge of what she would allow, but what she really wanted was to push the whole company over the edge to a new place; a better place.

——–

“He will make a perfect husband and father,” the Queen told Shayla over a pre-dinner glass of wine. Michael was due to arrive at any moment to join them at the Palace.

“Please, mother, I’m not up to that,” Shayla snapped.

“Okay, I’m only saying,” the Queen said, throwing her hands in the air.

“You’re right, though.” she said, resigned as she looked out the window. “He would make an excellent father.”
 

“How come you never remarried?” Shayla asked, turning back to her mother.

“I just never found the time,” she said with a forced smile.

Shayla was about to ask more, but a knock on the door interrupted them.

“Michael Wilson is here,” Gerald said, announcing their guest in a formal manner, even though he had become more like family over the last few months. Gerald stepped out of the way, allowing Michael to walk past. He went straight to Shayla, kissing her on the lips before presenting the Queen with a perfectly wrapped platter of desserts that looked like it came from a bakery.

“Oh my! They are decorated with my crest,” the Queen said, delightfully surprised. “Absolutely gorgeous. You are too much!”
 

“I baked them especially for you,” Michael said as he kissed the Queen once on each cheek. Her mother clearly loved the attention, and Shayla felt as if he were courting her mother as much as her.

“You shouldn’t have, but thank you. We shall have them for dessert,” she said, setting the gift aside. “Let’s dine, shall we?” the Queen said as she led them to her private dining suite.

Dinner was pleasant. Shayla noticed that she and her mother got along far better when Michael was present. Shayla couldn’t deny his calming influence on her life. He was easy going. He understood when Shayla needed solitude, but was always available when she wanted company. He was attractive, faithful and respectful, thoughtful and sweet. How could she complain? As the evening wound down and they walked to their car hand-in-hand, Shayla made her decision.

“I’m taking you out tomorrow night, so dress up,” she said before they went to sleep that night.

——–

“I can’t believe I can really see you,” Shayla said, looking at Nathaniel who stood in a fog. She tried to touch him, but he was just out of reach.

“Take my hand,” she said, stretching it as far as she could. Each step she took toward his direction made him a step farther away. “Don’t go!” she said, as an anxious feeling grew.

He didn’t answer, but his face was pained. He looked like he wanted to speak, but couldn’t. As he reached toward her, she woke up.

——-

When she went to work the next morning, she was even more certain it was time to move on and marry a man who was physically with her and whom her mother accepted. It was easier and practical. And she was starting to feel, in her heart, that Nathaniel was never coming back. While she would never admit this to her mother, it was true.

“Please make a reservation at Restaurant Nora for two for this evening at 7:30,” she said to her assistant who nodded agreeably.

As she dressed that evening, her confidence from the prior night faded. She had a new dress purchased that afternoon, black and short, cut
 
above the knee, with a neckline plunging just enough to be sexy and tasteful. She wore shorter heals so she wouldn’t tower over Michael. It was as though looking her best would make her feel her best.

 
“You look stunning!” he said, when he picked her up.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling. “You look very handsome, too,” she said, and it was true. Even as his hairline slowly crawled toward his crown, he kept it short, which looked tidy and attractive.

After they checked in at the restaurant, she ordered a bottle of wine, and grew nervous. She told herself that nervousness was normal when proposing. She reminded herself that this was what she came here to do and that he was wonderful and would make a great husband and companion. There was no doubt that he satisfied the qualifications to be an excellent husband.

The wine arrived and they each sipped. “Michael, I think we should marry,” she said shyly but abruptly, with unceremonious simplicity.

“Yes,” he said, smiling broadly, as he tenderly took her hand and kissed it vigorously across the table. “I have been hoping you would ask me since the day we met. I love you so much,” he said, passionately. “I would be honored to be your husband.”
 
He had no idea of the volatile ambivalence that suddenly flooded her veins.