“Well, if Opal said it...” I laugh. “How’s school?”
I get a full recital of his academic projects, his friends, the wildlife he has spotted both in the woods and on the shore, and then he has to show me the hot and cold running water that Opal had installed with the money I sent home. Only at school has he ever seen such a marvel. Though Opal’s cabin was once outfitted with electricity, plumbing, and a gas furnace, they haven’t worked in decades.
Ollie comes on the screen next and shows me the tooth she lost as well as her most recent artwork. Then Tillman gushes for fifteen minutes about how Hayden Ransom got permission for him and Jonas to tag along on the fishing trawler yesterday. Finally Opal dons a warm coat and takes the holoband out to the porch to talk alone. I can see a thin layer of white covering the ground.
“Did you get the furnace replaced?” I ask. Even with Tillman’s help, Opal is too old to go another winter heating with cordwood.
But Opal waves away my question. “I ordered enough coal to last us the winter.”
“Opal, you can’t cook over coal.”
“The hearth oven will work just fine with coal. And there’s plenty of wood for the kitchen stove.”
“You were supposed to order a gas range for the kitchen,” I tell her reprovingly.
“I haven’t cooked on one of those in forty years, child. I’ve probably forgotten how.”
“But you already have the propane hooked up. What about a generator? You bought a generator, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did or the well pump wouldn’t work, now would it? Stop worrying about us, dear. We’ve survived winter before.”
I press my lips together. I bet she didn’t let the electricians run the wire for even one electrical socket. Well, I’ve done the best I can for her. She’s got the kids. And Hayden will keep an eye on them. If she wants to cook over wood and use candles, I guess that’s up to her. My siblings don’t know any better anyway.
Opal gives me the neighborhood news and fills me in on all the details of Will she’s gleaned from Elise. I don’t tell her I saw him only days ago. It would require more explanation than I’m supposed to give. I just smile a secret smile, and when she and the kids sign off, I hit the shower and head to lunch feeling refreshed. Almost like I’ve spent an hour in the cabin among them.
I file through the line in the mess hall and fill my tray with pork and beans, a fried chicken cutlet, stewed apples, and two dinner rolls. When I turn around, I see Ethan sitting alone with a holoscreen open before him a piece of chocolate cake sitting uneaten on his table. He waves me over.
“Look at this,” he says when I sit down. He projects the screen between us, and a still shot of a scowling, familiar face fills the air. It animates into video and I forget all about my meal.
“Hi. I’m Jewel Whitney. I live in the Warrens, one of the old districts outside Epson City. I want to show you what happened to my neighborhood. Do you see this?” she asks, gesturing to a pile of charred rubble behind her. I know it immediately for the Chemistrad fertilizer plant that burned last month, taking much of the Warrens—and many of the Lowers who lived there—with it.
“This was the site of a chemical dump. Solvents, byproducts, hazardous materials someone didn’t want to properly dispose of. They were stacked here in barrels all the way to the ceiling.” An image of the interior as it once looked pops up in the corner of the video, illustrating her description. “And we all know who owns the factories. They were turned over to the Capernican Council forty-five years ago. For the greater good. To keep us safe.” She sneers on the last word. “Which means they fell under the control of exactly one individual, who is ultimately responsible for placing them here.”
Jewel doesn’t leave this implication vague. A smiling photograph of Governor Macron replaces the image of the barrels. My mouth hangs open at Jewel’s audacity.
“Come on. Let me give you a tour.”
The camera follows Jewel toward the site and she continues narrating. We’re shown a wide ring of debris—twisted metal and melted machinery still lying where the explosion flung it. In one shot, I can even see the remains of the concrete silos that survived the detonation only to crumble in the heat of the fire. Everything is covered in a thick layer of ash. Then Jewel takes us to the curved remnants of what was clearly once a barrel.
“The evidence is still here. You can see it for yourself.” She points to several other partial cylinders in the vicinity and then points high and away. The camera follows her finger to a mostly intact barrel resting in the crotch of a nearby tree. “Against all waste disposal laws, these containers were filled with hazardous substances and stored within the city limits in an unguarded facility. It took only one idiot with a firearm to ignite them. Now let’s take a look at the damage they caused.”
Jewel’s face fades into a sweeping vista of the Warrens, recorded from high atop a nearby building. As the camera pans, her voice continues. “You can see the path the fire took from the fertilizer plant, blazing for nearly a mile and claiming the lives of over 350 men, women, and children before it was stopped by an energy field at the edge of the new city.”
Visuals shift between footage of the actual fire and close-ups of burned rubble, buried bodies, weeping mothers, and shell-shocked children. Then Jewel returns, standing at the site of the Chemistrad plant where she delivers her final blow. “Governor Macron dumped chemicals in my neighborhood. Do you know what she’s doing in yours?”
The video cuts off, and I raise incredulous eyes to Ethan. Jewel’s message was accusatory, insolent, and inflammatory. The governor is going to be livid.
Ethan shuts down the screen. “You missed the uproar sparked by Jewel’s first post when you were ill from the radiation. That one was just a simple netpage with text and still images of the fire and the barrels, but it caused quite a stir in Epson City. Crowds formed outside government and public safety buildings. All Middles and Uppers wondering if there could be more chemicals hidden in the vicinity, afraid another fire could spread to the new city. This second post will only feed those fears.”
“How did you get that?” I ask.
“Someone sent it to Willoughby, who forwarded it to me. Willoughby’s got eyes everywhere.”
“The video’s up on the holo-net right now?”
“Not anymore, but the damage is done. It was hacked onto a high-profile national site. Plenty of people saw it.”
“And the damage?”
“Hard to say. But judging from the fact that Willoughby has only sent me footage of unrest from Epson City tells me the Middles and Uppers from other cities aren’t all that concerned. Their neighborhoods aren’t in jeopardy, and few from the higher castes hold any sympathy for Lowers. I’m more concerned about the response in the old districts.”
“Which is…?”
“Again, difficult to judge. There aren’t many cameras to catch their reaction. Not as much tech available for viewing either, so it will take longer for word to spread. But it will spread. I guarantee it. Jewel is hoping to push this into a full-blown civil rights movement, and the Lower districts are ripe for it.” Ethan’s face grows taut. “But we don’t need this distraction right now when we’re all facing the threat of a very real enemy.”
“The Bruelim,” I say. Only the public doesn’t actually know about that danger. And we can’t tell anyone without alerting the governor to our recent investigation. It’s a dandy little pickle. “We’ve stopped them once. Maybe they’ll leave us alone now.”
He knows I don’t believe that any more than he does. But even if we could make some kind of grand public service announcement, we don’t have anything solid to share. Because we really don’t have any idea what the Bruelim plan to do next. We’re hoping to shed some light on that when we go back through the portal, but both Ethan and Colonel Padrillo believe that ultimately they mean to subjugate us, to make their pickings that much easier next time they need a crop of slaves. And if we’re divided among ourselves, we�
��ll be that much easier to defeat.
“So how do we curb Jewel’s protest?” I ask.
“Warn her of the cost.”
“Tell her about the Bruelim?”
“No, warn her that Governor Macron may not be as benevolent as she portrays herself to be.”
I tap my fork against the table thoughtfully. “What do you suppose she’ll do if Jewel keeps pushing?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But Andromeda Macron has been sitting at the top of this pyramid for a long time. She likes it there, and she’s not going to be pleased if the foundation starts cracking. I think she’ll do whatever it takes to shore it up.”
His words amplify my unease over the governor’s impending visit.
“Your food’s getting cold,” he reminds me.
I’ve forgotten all about it. I cut into my chicken. It’s already cooled, but I take a bite anyway. “Did Willoughby tell you anything about tomorrow’s meeting?” I ask around a mouthful.
“Only that the governor requested it. Not him.”
“Was she angry?”
“He didn’t say.”
“What do you think she’ll do?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know any more than you do.”
I try the pork and beans. Cold. And mealy. I eat quickly, just to force them down. “How are the plans for our portal invasion coming?”
Ethan shuts down his holoscreen and takes a bite of his cake. “We’re a few days out. Colonel Padrillo and I have been studying the video feed from Caedmon’s camera, noting who comes and goes and when. The place runs on a pretty consistent schedule. We shouldn’t have any surprises.”
“Is Padrillo going in with us?”
“He’ll monitor the mission from outside the portal. Captain Chase will bring her medic training. And you and I will go in and get out in a quick nighttime strike, gathering as much info as we can.”
“You realize we won’t be able read anything we collect,” I point out.
“Your grandmother had a rudimentary knowledge of the language. Willoughby’s experts should be able to decipher much of it using decoding holoware and her notes.”
“And we don’t know how to work their tech.”
“Ruby’s memory scans suggest it’s similar to ours. We’ll figure it out.”
He’s so cocksure. I don’t mean to be a downer, but I’m less eager to go back through the portal. And not because of the danger. The portal is a stark reminder of Judson Wilfert and my murder trial, a period of my life I don’t like to revisit. But I’ve faced it once before. Maybe it will be easier a second time. I take a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Ethan grins at me, perhaps mistaking my agreement for enthusiasm. “We’re going to turn the tables on them, Jack. Take initiative for the first time ever. I guarantee they won’t be prepared for it.”
I smile at him and take a bite of his cake. I hope he’s right.
I don’t tell Ethan, but Jewel’s video stays with me, resonating somewhere deep within. After lunch I spend a couple hours outside on the Fire Ring bleachers scanning the holosphere for any news response to Jewel’s posts. I don’t find anything. No reports of the fire. No mention of unrest. It’s as if the press has been ordered to ignore the situation altogether. They probably have.
Growing up in 56, I thought the world was a peaceful, uncomplicated place. It wasn’t until I started at Axis that I realized this view of Capernican society is a carefully constructed illusion. Governor Macron decides what information is made public, and her choices all work to keep people content, asleep, and manageable. But an assignment in Epson City showed me that even the governor can’t hide the tensions simmering just beneath the surface. I saw for myself the poverty and filth at the bottom of society and the indulgence and disdain at the top. I’ve seen the animosity between the castes. Despite the governor’s pretty speeches and censored press, our whole system is a powder keg waiting to blow.
My thoughts are interrupted by a dozen participants in a pugil stick tournament. On impulse, I join the ladies’ division and advance through two rounds. But night insists on falling and morning won’t be put off. I wake with a keen awareness of the upcoming meeting. Worry follows me through the woods on my run with Ethan. And when our glances meet a few hours later outside the conference room where the assembly has been scheduled, I can tell he’s troubled, too.
Willoughby appears to have no such concerns. He looks up from his work spread across the long table and gestures for us to join him. Caedmon, Colonel Padrillo, and Captain Chase are already seated. As Willoughby browses his files, the rest of us wait awkwardly for the governor to join us. I can’t help but think how odd it is that the leader of our nation chose to travel here instead of summoning us to her until I realize she’s done it on purpose. She’s staged her own invasion. An offensive maneuver designed to throw us off balance. And she has succeeded.
The governor arrives fifteen minutes later, escorted by a team of guards. We rise as she enters, and I study her all the way to her seat at the head of the table. She’s taller and more slender than she appears on camera, with long auburn hair and a face nearly free of wrinkles. But there the similarity to her broadcasts ends. Today her mouth is set in a firm line, unsmiling, and steely determination glints in those blue eyes. They settle decidedly on Willoughby, disregarding the rest of us completely. “Well, Mr. Willoughby.”
“Good morning, Governor.”
She cuts to the chase. “I believe you know the reason I called you here this morning.”
“I believe I do.”
“Then you don’t deny that you have reopened the Bruelim file after I made myself very clear that you were to drop that investigation?”
“I assure you, Madam, I had no intention of disregarding orders. My team and I simply followed the evidence of our last case where it led.”
She freezes him with a stare so icy it could extinguish a flame. “I could have your job for this, Willoughby.”
“I understand, Madam Governor. But let me remind you that once, a long time ago, you told me to show you a Bruel before you would believe. We found hundreds. You wanted to see Brunay. We’ve been there. The story Ruby Parnell told all those years ago was the truth, and I would encourage you to take another look at it.”
Her eyes tighten. She leans forward, closing the distance between herself and my boss. “Let me lay this out for you clearly, Willoughby. I promised my constituents that I would protect them, and I have done so. I promised that we would never endure a repeat of the Provocation, and I have built the finest military in the world that ensures we will not. They, and you, did a fine job of ending the kidnappings and containing the disturbance in the mountains last week. It was barely a blip on anyone’s radar. Now that peace has been restored, you would have me publicize your theory that our people are being abducted by giants? I would be the laughingstock of Capernica.”
“They might stop laughing when the abductions resume. This time among adults.” Willoughby returns her gaze coolly. “We have good reason to believe a second wave of kidnappings is currently being planned, just like the Provocation.”
Her nostrils flare, the only visible sign of agitation. “And exactly what evidence do you possess?”
“Madam Governor, are you aware that we have twenty-four hibernating Bruelim in our possession?”
The governor’s skin pales.
“We’ve also located some of the portals they use to travel between worlds. You remember Ruby, don’t you?” Willoughby gestures toward me.
The governor glances in my direction and can’t mask a sharp intake of breath. She remembers.
“This is her granddaughter, Jack Holloway. She’s the one who discovered the portals.”
I have never seen Andromeda Macron rattled. In her broadcasts she always exudes cool confidence. Now her breathing elevates and her fingernails gouge the arm of her chair. I can see the considerable effort she puts into recomposing herself. Her expression hardens into cold scrutin
y. “So, you’re Ruby’s grandchild.”
She says it like I’m the devil’s spawn.
“Yes, ma’am.”
After a long measured look, she returns her attention to Willoughby. “While you’ve been chasing down fairy tales, perhaps you haven’t noticed that I have a very real threat developing here at home.”
“You mean Epson City.”
“I mean the rabble-rousers in the Warrens who are spreading rumors, undermining my authority, and destroying the trust people have placed in me. I cannot allow it to continue. A revolution would undo all the good we have accomplished in the last half century. Do you agree?”
“It’s hardly a revolution. But I agree that we should open lines of communication and address the underlying problem. I’m sure we could find common ground.”
Her expression grows crafty. “Ah, but that is exactly why I’ve come to you, Willoughby.” She shifts her weight and crosses her legs under the table, in control once again. “I’ve had a team do some checking on this Jewel Whitney. Family history, health records, grades. You may find it very interesting that in the days following the fire, a number of holocalls were made from her school tablet to an Axis-issued holoband. Further investigation indicated that two students, Jack and Ethan Potts, attended Jewel’s high school for five days. The days leading up to the fire. Funny enough, their descriptions match two individuals sitting here in this room.” Her eyes play over me and Ethan.
Willoughby actually smiles. “Very good, Andromeda. You’ve discovered our undercover operation to investigate the kidnappings that were taking place in that city.”
“I find it uncanny that your operatives had direct communication with Jewel Whitney.”
“Why would that be odd? Our investigation led us into the Warrens, and Jack knew Jewel from school.”
“So you admit your people were at the scene of the fire?”
“Of course we were at the Chemistrad factory. That’s where we discovered the missing girls. But we didn’t set the fire. It was an accident caused by the gunfire of one of the criminals. Nor have we had any association with the accusations placed on the net. In fact, shortly after the fire Jack strongly discouraged Jewel from stirring up trouble.”
Recompense (Recompense, book 1) Page 33