Officer Burroughs licked his lips as he brought the raspberry turnover to his salivating mouth. His mind already raced with the satisfying taste of the sugar and flaky pastry. The door to his office burst open. Immediately, Officer Burroughs dropped his turnover and shoved the plate aside, hoping that the intruder did not notice and that the stack of books on his desk hid the forbidden treat.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Officer Burroughs. He cut himself off when he noticed the uniform on the man that entered his domain.
The well-built man before him wore the navy blue uniform and yellow sash of one well above Officer Burroughs’ station. He carried a switch in his leather gloved hands.
“I will ignore your rudeness,” said the man, taking off his hat. Every inch of his uniform reflected the light.
“I’m sorry—I—I—didn’t—”stammered Officer Burroughs.
“My name is Colonel Fernau,” the man said as he paced the room. He picked at an item on a shelf with his stick, frowned, and flicked it to the floor. “I am here on an important matter.”
“Colonel Fernau?” Officer Burroughs vainly tried to grasp what was happening.
“Perhaps you haven’t heard of me,” said Colonel Fernau. “Suffice it to say that I am here on orders of our First Councilman.”
“But why here? We are only Waste Management.”
“You are only Waste Management,” snapped Colonel Fernau, “I am here to keep the peace and to keep order. As you are probably aware, there has been a resistance movement growing in Dystopia. Shocking, I know. But there are those who do not desire our ordered world of peace and equality.”
“Well, yes,” said Officer Burroughs, pushing the plate further into the shadows of the books. “But what does that have to do with me?”
“Because many of the members of the resistance are believed to be here.”
Officer Burroughs gulped. This did not bode well for him. “I know that there is an underground—”
“Oh, I don’t give a damn about the underground market!” Colonel Fernau swatted a chair with his stick. “I want the leaders of the resistance. They always manage to slip through our grasp. They always manage to replace their members or protect their leaders. And their movement is growing. Something the First Councilman and president will not allow.
“They are terrorists whose only goal is to destroy us with their misguided notion of individual liberty. Liberty. What a laughable concept. Freedom is the desire of selfish men who care only for themselves and not their fellow man.
“No, you idiotic dolt. I want the leaders of the resistance. I know many of them are here. I have traced them here. And you will find them for me. Once found, everything else they’ve created will crumble, including their precious underground market.”
“Find? How?” asked Officer Burroughs, not liking at all where this conversation went.
“You spy on your own people, do you not?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then watch. Observe. Anyone who is difficult to control is suspect. Anyone who stands out from the crowd. Find them and bring them to me.”
Colonel Fernau used his stick to drag the plate with the turnover into the light. “Or perhaps you do not want to?”
Officer Burroughs licked his lips. He knew he was in trouble. “I’ll find them. Anyone who is suspicious will be sent to your—”
“They will be sent to the Detention Center. That is where I am located.”
“Yes, sir.” Officer Burroughs rose from his chair and saluted.
“By the way, the president will be here within a day or two. See to it that there are no incidents.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And,” Colonel Fernau picked up the raspberry turnover, “I will dispose of this contraband item for you.”
The colonel marched out the door, letting it slam behind him. He handed the turnover to one of his officers. “Get rid of this thing.”
The officer took the turnover. When no one was looking, he shoved the entire dessert in his mouth.
Dystopia Page 12