13
Understand your enemy, and it will set you free. For when you see yourself in him, you will break free from your own judgments and self-inquisitions.
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
G-LAB, 6:15 P.M. LOCAL TIME,
5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
The walls were coated with reflective white paint, and the lacquered floors reflected the bright light of the overhead lamps. He had no idea where he was or how long he had been there. He only knew that he was being kept in this strange place against his will. Blood dripped from the tips of his fingers. The crimson handprints on the walls tracked his progress as he had tried frantically to find his way out of the maze.
Each long hallway resembled the previous one he’d run through. Each locked door he came to was identical to the one he’d just passed. Occasionally, he came across a door that was open a few inches. But no matter how hard he pushed or tried to pry open the door, lacerating his hands on the door’s sharp edges, it wouldn’t budge. Wearing the tattered remains of his dark blue business suit, he scurried around barefoot—they’d taken his shoes—like a trapped rat. His frustration mounted every time he entered what he thought was a new hallway, only to be taunted by the sight of his own blood smeared on the white walls. From time to time, the lights would go out, and he would find himself in complete darkness, having only his sense of touch to guide him.
Exhausted now, he fell to the floor, his confused mind racing, trying to rationalize his plight. Who would do this to me? What is this madness about? His thoughts turned to his family, his wife and children. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bloodstained picture of them. I can’t give up. I have to keep going. He mustered his remaining willpower and rose to his feet. He had to continue to search for a way out, even if it meant the death of him.
• • •
“Andrea, I’d like to tell you a little about our subjects before we conduct our final tests,” Dr. Malikei said in his German-accented baritone voice. “Kindly join me, if you will.”
Andrea stopped reading a message on her PCD and walked over to where the doctor was sitting.
“Our nine participants, like their predecessors, have joined us from various walks of life.”
“I am not sure that ‘participants’ and ‘joined’ are the proper terms,” Andrea said, as they gave each other a baleful smile.
“They were selected most methodically,” the doctor continued. “We considered their careers, their lifestyles. We studied them from afar for many months before bringing them here. When they arrived, we told them that they had been selected for a social experiment. We assured them that they had no cause to worry, as the experiment was a joint project of the government and the local university concerning SIS, sudden isolation syndrome.”
“SIS? Is that a real behavioral syndrome?”
“Of course not. But we described it as a type of depression that manifests when an individual is removed from his usual environment and placed in a new one where he has limited social contact. We even let them meet others in the test group so that they could see that other people were participating in the experiment. We assured them that their being brought here so abruptly was part of the exercise and that they would be well compensated for their trouble.”
“The promise of monetary gain can be quite persuasive and reassuring,” Andrea said.
The doctor pointed to a wall of monitors displaying the various experimentation rooms in the secret genetic research laboratory referred to as G-LAB. “We have a teacher, a housewife, a MedicalPod technician,” Dr. Malikei explained, half distracted as he fiddled with the controls.
“Doctor,” Andrea said, bringing his attention to the monitors, “I thought you said there were nine test subjects?”
“You are correct. We seem to have lost subject number six, our businessman.” The doctor pressed a few buttons, and they both watched as the monitor began to switch between video feeds. “It looks like he left some time ago.”
“Shouldn’t you be a bit more concerned about finding him?” Andrea said sharply.
“He cannot go far—they never can.” The doctor continued to manipulate the controls. “Ah, there he is. He is trapped in the Hall of Mazes. Now, why would he leave his room?”
“You seem surprised,” Andrea said. “And do I detect a note of disappointment in your voice?”
“No, no. It is only that I seem to have lost a small wager. I was certain that subject number five would be the one attempting to escape.” He pointed to a monitor that showed a young man writing in a notebook. “Let us make the most of this opportunity,” the doctor said. “Like all of our other subjects, the businessman has been injected with the serum. But before I conduct the test, I would like you to observe a little trial. It will illustrate an intriguing point that is the basis of our efforts.”
Andrea watched in silence as Dr. Malikei turned on the lights in the Hall of Mazes.
“See there! The businessman hastens to one of the partially opened doors, trying to escape. But alas, he cannot. I have not opened it adequately. He wants liberation; he wants desperately to leave his confinement and return to the life he once knew. In each of our prior test groups, there was always one subject who didn’t trust the explanation we provided, who didn’t believe anything we told him. We had one group in which there were two such subjects.” The doctor and Andrea watched as the businessman used every ounce of his strength to try to force the door open. The bloody tips of his fingers were repeatedly cut by the door’s sharp edges. “I will frustrate him further—watch as I close the door now.”
“I would certainly hate to be the subject of one of your experiments, Doctor,” Andrea observed, as Dr. Malikei pressed another button, dimming the lights in the maze. “You seem to take great pleasure from them.”
“All in the name of science,” he said with a laugh. “What is most noteworthy here is the inaction of the other subjects,” he added, redirecting Andrea’s attention back to the bank of monitors. “The other subjects can leave their rooms at any time. Like the businessman, they can walk out their doors and into their own areas of the maze and search for a way out. But they do not. They are satisfied with what we have told them, and as long as we provide them with food and drink and keep them focused on some type of busy work such as crossword puzzles or routine math problems, they are content. But no matter how hard we tried to reassure our businessman, he could not be convinced. He displays the characteristics that we want to purge from this world. He is a Satrayian through and through.” The doctor received a message on his PCD. “Excuse me for a moment, Andrea. I shall return promptly.”
As the doctor walked away, Andrea’s eyes strayed back to the monitor that showed the man in the labyrinth, the Satrayian who was attempting to break out of the box he’d been confined to. She couldn’t help but relate to him, his determination, his desire to break free.
She thought about her time on the Council of Satraya, which now seemed like a faded memory. It was filled with many unforeseen twists and turns. What plans she had then, for freedom, for power. But destiny, it seemed, had laughed in her face. She had fallen in love with a man, not with what a man’s money could buy for her. She found herself forced to choose between a simpler, altruistic life and the life of glamour, wealth, and recognition that she’d once known and still craved. She had also made a mistake she wanted never to think about again.
She had returned to Switzerland without accomplishing Fendral’s goals, and a few years later, her life had taken another unexpected turn: she’d become pregnant and given birth to Lucius. Her husband, Lord Alfred Benson, was an absentee father, and Andrea had been left to raise Lucius, a sickly child, alone. Her plans to rebuild her political movement had to be put on hold.
At least, until Fendral—and after his death, Simon—put into place another plan.
Andrea couldn’t take her eyes off the businessman as he scurried through the maze, pounding his fists against the walls, searching for a way
out. “I understand him,” she whispered.
“What was that?” The doctor had returned, carrying two long thin boxes. Andrea shook her head, indicating that it was unimportant. “I apologize for that interruption, but I have some good news for you: we have found a way to enhance your neurotrophin-3 levels, specifically by enhancing the NTF-3 gene.”
“Please speak English, Doctor,” Andrea said. “What does that mean for Lucius and me?”
“Of course.” He nodded. “We have found a cure for your nerve disorder. Relief will come shortly. We were able to use our work here to create something that will clear the abnormalities in your cellular biology. And your son’s.”
“A designer drug.” Andrea smiled with relief. This was what she’d long been hoping for.
“Yes, something very much like that.” Dr. Malikei handed Andrea the boxes. “Take these, please. They contain syringes. One is for you, and the other is for Lucius. Inject yourselves, and after seven days, return here, and we will perform the final step.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” Andrea gave him a kiss on the cheek. “May we return sooner for the final treatment?”
“No,” he said emphatically. “We must allow sufficient time; otherwise, the consequences would be dire, to say the least.”
“Then seven days it is.” Andrea put the boxes in her bag. “Now, what were you saying before we were interrupted?”
“Ah, yes, let us continue.” He brought up a display that presented a plethora of readings, from heart rate to blood pressure to tactual sensory measurements. “We have implanted a biofeedback chip in each test subject so we can track brain activity and body chemistry as they perform specific tasks. We are particularly interested in people like the businessman. We need to better understand the nature of his neuroactivities.”
“Yes,” Andrea said. “ ‘Understand your enemy, and it will set you free.’ ”
The doctor turned to her. “I see that you haven’t completely forgotten the Chronicles,” he said with a smile. “We need to isolate the chemical and neurological nature of free will so that our purge performs as engineered.”
“But doesn’t everyone have free will?” Andrea remarked. “People make choices every day. Surely free will alone cannot be our selection criterion for the Purging.”
“You are correct, but there is a subtle distinction that needs to be understood,” the doctor explained, a mischievous smile sliding across his face. “It is true that most people are capable of exercising free will. They are free to choose what they will eat and what they will wear. They are able to choose their profession or where they wish to work. But here is the distinction: most of them make those decisions from a domain of choices. If we say to people, ‘Choose one of these four pairs of shoes,’ most will do so without issue. Most will analyze their options and pick the pair they like best, even if none of the pairs is actually appealing to them. But there are those who will not pick one. They will desire another option and will walk around barefoot if need be. Some will even endeavor to make their own shoes. We call them Freedom Seekers. They are the true enemy of order. And they are our target. We just have a few more tests to run before we conduct one outside the facility.”
“Actually, we were forced to accelerate the schedule a bit,” Andrea said. “Outside tests have already begun.”
“I was not aware of that,” the doctor said, clearly displeased. “Why wasn’t I told?”
“Calm yourself, Doctor,” Andrea said in a reassuring voice. “You’ll be happy to know that the tests have been successful.”
The doctor paused as his displeasure turned to morbid curiosity. “How successful?”
“Smashing,” Andrea said. “Exactly as you predicted.”
“Yes!” The doctor pumped his fist in the air. “Then we have done it. We have isolated the composition of free will. We have found what makes a Satrayian.”
“Freedom Seeker,” Andrea said, looking at the businessman, who was still wandering through the maze. “And what do you call everyone else, Doctor?”
Dr. Malikei grinned. “The others we call humans.”
14
Whom do you trust with your life—your mother, father, wife, husband, friends?
Do you really trust that which you call God?
Perhaps a more profound question is, can you be trusted with someone else’s life?
—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA
WASHINGTON, D.C., 7:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME,
5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY
Mr. Perrot and Logan sat in a pair of uncomfortable brown plastic chairs, awaiting their fate in a small room just off the entrance hall of the Council of Satraya building. Through a small window in the door, they could see the head of a uniformed policeman standing outside the room.
“You think they’ll keep the box we found?” Logan asked, fidgeting in his chair. “And what do we say when they start asking questions?” He looked at Mr. Perrot, who sat serenely with his arms crossed over his chest. “You seem awfully calm about all of this.”
“All we can do is answer their questions with the truth,” Mr. Perrot said.
“The truth. Really?” Logan was certain they were going to need more than that in order to avoid spending the night in jail. “People don’t usually associate the truth with conspiracy theories.”
“We need to have a bit more faith,” Mr. Perrot said. “Particular events have taken place for a particular reason.”
Logan shook his head, little comforted by the cryptic words. Through the door’s window, he saw people looking in at them. One in particular caught his eye. The woman who seemed to be in charge.
“Mr. Perrot, remember that woman who told the officers to put us in here? I have the feeling I’ve seen her before.”
“Indeed, you have—many times, actually,” Mr. Perrot said, sitting up straighter in his chair. “That is Valerie.”
“Valerie?” It took Logan a moment to make the connection. Then his eyes widened. “Valerie? You mean, that’s your daughter?” He rose to his feet and attempted to look out the window. The officer on the other side gave him a stern look and motioned for him to step away from the door.
“The one and the same,” Mr. Perrot replied.
“What happened to her glasses? Her short hair? Her braces?” Logan rattled off a description of Valerie’s appearance the last time he’d seen her, about fifteen years ago. Now Valerie stood a slender five-foot-eight, just a few inches shorter than Logan. Her long brown hair was tied back, and she looked very professional in her tan pants and matching jacket. “When did she start looking like—like—well, like that?”
“Yes, I suppose it has been many years since the two of you have seen each other,” Mr. Perrot said. “Much has happened in that time, including her becoming a well-respected agent at the WCF.”
Logan still could not believe it. He tried to sneak another peek at her as he spoke. “That’s good news for us, right? She’ll get all this cleared up, and we’ll be on our way.” He could see that Mr. Perrot didn’t share his sense of relief. In fact, he seemed a bit uneasy. “You don’t seem happy to see her.”
“It is not that I am not happy to see her,” Mr. Perrot said. “I am certain that she will clear all of this up for us.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
”Her work has taken her into some very dangerous situations before,” Mr. Perrot explained. “However, I fear that she has never yet encountered the likes of Andrea and Simon. Evil and cunning to this degree are rare. I would have liked to keep her out of any criminal investigation involving them.”
“You just told me we were all brought into this for a reason, didn’t you?” Logan reminded him. “Maybe she should know what it is she’s been brought into.”
Mr. Perrot was about to reply, when the door opened and Valerie herself walked in. “Sit down,” she said, with little patience in her voice. She took off her tan blazer, revealing a holstered Smith & Wesson M&P40 strapped around her chest. Then she tossed a yellow f
ile marked “Confidential” onto the table. She placed both hands on the edge of the table and addressed Mr. Perrot first. “Dad, what are you doing here, and why is Logan with you?”
She remembers me, Logan thought, as his memory of her face now became clearer. “Hey—hi, Valerie,” he said awkwardly.
She turned and stared at him. Her stoic expression did not change. Logan had seen that look in her light brown eyes before. A flood of memories came to him as he remembered the two of them growing up together, their families spending holidays and special occasions at each other’s home. She’s not that awkward girl in glasses anymore.
Mr. Perrot tried to speak, but Valerie wasn’t in a listening mood. “Do you know how much trouble the two of you are in?” she said, taking a seat. “Four people died upstairs last night, and you two just might become the prime suspects.”
“Suspects!” Logan said, shocked. “We didn’t do anything. We were both in New Chicago until we got on that flight this afternoon. If you let me have my PCD, I’ll show you the tickets.”
“We’re looking at your PCD right now,” Valerie said.
“Good, then you’ll see we aren’t lying.”
“What we’re trying to say, dear,” Mr. Perrot said, “is that we have information that we believe will be useful to you during this investigation.”
There was a knock on the door, and a man’s face appeared in the window.
“Dad, I don’t have time right now for one of your stories. That’s my boss out there, and I bet he wants to know if you and Logan represent the quick and easy resolution of this case.”
“I assure you it wasn’t us,” Mr. Perrot calmly said. “You know that I am and always have been a great supporter of the Satraya movement. When I heard the shocking news of Cynthia’s murder, I felt an obligation to provide some vital facts.”
Journey Into the Flame: Book One of the Rising World Trilogy Page 11