Hearts of Oak

by Eddie Robson

  “They clean them afterward.”

  “I can’t do this in the middle of a public building.”

  “Who’s going to see? They’re all busy looking for Ward.”

  The king sighed, clambered onto a spare trolley, and lay facedown. Clarence hopped from trolley to trolley, making his way to the king’s side. With claws carefully retracted, Clarence stepped up onto the king’s back and kneaded his shoulders with his paws.

  “Ohh that’s good,” said the king.

  “I knew that was what you needed.”

  “I’m finding this all really stressful.”

  “Understandably.”

  “I just wish I understood why it was all—Wait, go back. There’s a knot just there.”

  Clarence shifted his paw. “There?”

  “No. You had it a second ago. Bottom of the shoulder blade. That’s it. Aaaah. Ow!”

  “Sorry, does that hurt?”

  “Yeah, but in a good way. What do you think they’re up to?”

  “Who?”

  “Whoever’s doing all this.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “I mean what are they trying to achieve?”

  Clarence didn’t answer. He just kept kneading.

  The king was silent for a few moments, then said: “Do you think there are too many people?”

  Clarence stopped kneading. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m just trying to think of what’s changed, what might have made people unhappy so they attack me and burn stuff down. The main thing is there are more people now and the city’s bigger. Maybe the bigger the city gets, the . . . smaller people feel.”

  “What utter nonsense.”

  “No need to bite my head off.”

  Clarence paused. “We can’t let the city stagnate. It has to grow.”

  “But how can you know—”

  The conversation ended because the door opened and Saori walked in, flanked by her operatives. She saw the king lying on a trolley with Clarence perched on his back and she clearly felt she’d interrupted something she shouldn’t have.

  “Don’t you knock?” asked the king, cementing this impression. He rose, forcing Clarence to leap awkwardly to the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” said Saori. “I just wanted to tell you we’ve found Ward.”

  “Yes!” said the king, punching the air.

  “Excellent!” said Clarence, grinning.

  “But there’s something else,” Saori added. “He’s not dead.”

  The king and Clarence looked at each other. The king laughed, because surely this must be a joke. Clarence didn’t laugh.

  “His body wasn’t stolen,” said Saori. “He’s alive and someone helped him escape.”

  * * *

  As afternoon gave way to evening, Iona helped Victor to probe the artificial brains of the citizens. She even felt like she was starting to understand how they worked. She and Victor had isolated the ones with no known job, reactivated them, and asked them questions. The question of what they actually did elicited a blank response, as if they simply didn’t comprehend it. They reacted as though there was no reason to think they would do anything.

  Iona wondered if this was a side effect of them having died, but a test with some of the others revealed they all remembered their lives in the city well enough. The ones who apparently did nothing were either genuinely doing nothing or they were doing something they weren’t talking about.

  Victor had managed to work out some of the citizens’ programming language, which was input via the numbered switches in the cavity; it was he who had come up with the sequence that was written on the instructions Iona had found. He entered commands and each citizen would speak reams of code that Iona wrote down as quickly as she could. Victor analyzed this code and tried to locate the citizens’ security protocols. There were several failures along the way—in resetting one citizen they wiped its entire memory. But eventually they established there was a code-phrase—“starlit sky”—that released the information they were looking for.

  Now the citizens told a different story. They explained how they got together in pairs—different pairs each day, so they heard different points of view. Together they analyzed the composition of the dome walls and discussed available implements to break through it. They talked about the environmental controls for the dome and how they might possibly be accessed from the inside. They pondered the exact location of the door, what the mechanics of it might be, what lock it might use and how it might be picked. They theorized, based on their limited observations, on the nature of their captors, how their language worked, and how they might be induced to open the door. Every citizen was aware of the many attempts that had been made in the past and this ensured they did not replicate work that had previously been done. The best idea they had come up with so far was that the interior of the dome could not continue to expand indefinitely, and if they continued to build a larger and larger humanesque settlement, eventually it would stretch to breaking point and an opportunity to escape might present itself. But this was just a theory so far.

  In short, Iona was right. The citizens had been trying to find a way out of this cage for centuries. The length of time this had been happening, and the volume of processing power dedicated to it, led Iona to wonder if perhaps there was no way out. Surely if there was they’d have worked it out by now.

  But more curiously, they had kept these efforts from the humans all this time. Neither Iona nor Victor could see why the citizens would do this. Victor felt certain someone had interfered with their programming and introduced this code-phrase, “starlit sky,” as a security measure to block the humans’ access to the citizens’ true work.

  So caught up were Iona and Victor with this discovery that it was quite late before they started to worry that Alyssa wasn’t back yet. Victor went out into the city to look for her. Iona stayed here in case Alyssa came back while he was gone.

  Iona now felt confident in her operation of the citizens and continued to question them about their attempts to break out of the cage. A new and promising line of research had opened up, involving the lock on the door.

  “Where is the door?” Iona asked one of the citizens.

  Next to the window, the citizen told her. The citizens who kept watch on the window had seen it open when the new human had been deposited inside. Then the door had vanished again, invisible and impossible to locate.

  Iona realized this “new human” was Alyssa. Her entry into the dome had given the citizens a vital insight into how the door, and its lock, functioned. With this knowledge they believed it was possible to fashion a device that would trigger the lock from the inside. A citizen was explaining to Iona what form they believed this might take when Victor returned, clutching a hastily printed late edition of the newspaper. “She got caught,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Did you hear about the king getting attacked?”

  “By Alyssa?”

  “No, just by some random bloke on the street. There was a crowd there to see the king and they beat the guy to death.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Alyssa was breaking in to steal his body in case there was a lead—”

  “In case the Poramutantur is the king?”

  “Exactly. But they caught her, so she’s being charged with helping a criminal escape, and she’d reactivated him so there’s questions being asked because everyone thought he was dead . . .” He threw the newspaper to the floor. “Shit.”

  “What do we do?”

  Victor looked around, shaking his head. “We can’t do any of this without Alyssa. She’s the only one who knows how to trap this creature. We’ve got to break her out.”

  9

  THE KING TOOK A seat opposite Ward. He’d been waiting for this for several hours.

  The king couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent so much time outside the tower. The bureau staff had told him they needed to question Ward first, try to find
out how he’d fooled everyone into thinking he was dead, ask him who the woman was who’d helped him escape. This was all important procedure and the king was willing to be patient.

  The king had filled the time by personally thanking the citizens who had caught Ward and his accomplice and telling their superiors they should be given an official commendation. On discovering the bureau had no system of commendations he had invented one and ordered some special badges to be designed. He’d then had some dinner sent over, which he had eaten alone in an unoccupied office, and after that held discussions with bureau staff about how they could crack down on this sort of extremism and improve security for law-abiding citizens.

  Eventually, at long last, he’d been told he could speak to Ward.

  Ward was in restraints because he’d tried to escape. It occurred to the king that he could just go over there and give Ward a kicking. He doubted anyone would stop him or protest. But the king hadn’t come here for revenge, he’d come for a confrontation. In this sense it was lucky that Ward had come back from seemingly being dead, although the king was puzzled and disturbed that this had come to pass.

  Ward stared back at the king. He hadn’t reacted to the king’s entrance at all. You’d think coming face-to-face with the man you clubbed down in the street would provoke some reaction—fear, hate, contrition, satisfaction maybe? He’d shown nothing.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” said the king.

  Ward didn’t speak.

  “I just want to know why you did it,” the king went on. “Was it personal? Do you hate me? Did you want to hurt me? Kill me? Or were you just trying to make a point?”

  Still no reaction.

  “I don’t care if you tell me or not. I just wanted to ask, you know. If you had a point, I thought . . .” The king was finding it hard to keep on track while getting no reaction. “Because you know, if there was no point, why do it?”

  The citizen stared straight ahead. Possibly at the king, possibly past him.

  The king tapped his foot, then leaned forward. “Did I do something to you? How can I have? I never do anything.” A new thought occurred. “Is it something I didn’t do? That’s it, isn’t it?”

  The king stood up, paced around a bit, and then kicked the leg of the table, causing the table to jump.

  Ward didn’t flinch.

  “Tell me!” said the king, gripping the back of his chair. Ward might as well have stayed dead for all the good this was doing. The king felt like flinging the chair across the room—

  But then he stopped. This guy was nothing. Literally nothing. The king resolved not to let him affect his decisions or actions or mood in any way.

  “Fine,” the king said, striding back toward the door. “If you’ve nothing to say, I’ll tell them they can burn you.”

  As he left the room he glanced back, looking in vain for any sign he’d reached Ward at all.

  * * *

  Victor had drawn up a set of plans for Iona to use, pointing out it was no different from what she’d done to Carter, it just involved putting the switches into different positions. This may have been true but it didn’t mean she felt any more at ease with reprogramming beings who, until this morning, she had regarded as people just like herself. She had no time to indulge such qualms, however.

  “What exactly will this make them do?” Iona asked while they each worked their way along a line of citizens, reaching into the cavities in their backs and entering Victor’s new program, which he had kept as simple as possible. Iona would have liked it to be simpler—she could follow it okay but inputting it was tedious and moving the tiny switches hurt her fingers.

  “It should make them storm the bureau,” said Victor.

  “I hope it’s rather more . . . precise than your effort at getting Weston out.”

  “I did get him out, didn’t I?” muttered Victor. “Anyway we need to move quickly—the guy who attacked the king is lined up to be burned alive and Alyssa might be next.”

  “But he was a citizen, wasn’t he?”

  “So?”

  “So Alyssa’s not . . . I mean they wouldn’t burn a real person alive, would they?”

  “You’re assuming this decision’s being made by someone who knows the difference.”

  With this sobering thought in mind Iona moved onto her third citizen. Victor was working much faster and was already finishing his fifth.

  “How did you learn how to do this?” Iona asked him.

  “Lots of trial and error. And also . . . I think this used to be my job, back on the ship. It feels familiar. Do you remember what you were?”

  “Oh, I think I was always an architect. I think I was meant to build the colony when we got here.” She knew she was good at what she did. She felt like a person who had trained and honed her skills. She felt like someone they would send to build a city on a new world. She’d been so modest about her ability all these years and now she felt like that modesty had been taken advantage of.

  Iona kept on entering the program. Whatever job she’d done back on the ship, she was sure it wasn’t this.

  * * *

  The king barged into Saori Kagawa’s office and interrupted her while she was talking to a colleague (nobody he knew and therefore nobody important). “Where’s Clarence?” he said.

  “He’s talking to the woman who helped Ward escape,” Saori replied after the colleague had made her excuses and left.

  “Why’s he doing that?”

  “We need to know more about her. She may have other associates.”

  “Okay, that makes sense but why’s Clarence the one talking to her?”

  “He wanted to.”

  The king leaned over the desk. “You don’t take orders from Clarence.”

  Saori stared back at him, calm. He could never quite assert himself with her and he wasn’t sure why. He was never sure if she liked him or not and for some reason it mattered to him. He didn’t get that vibe from anyone else in the city.

  “I know I don’t,” she replied.

  “Good.”

  “He didn’t order me. It was a request and I decided to grant it. Should I have run it by you first?”

  “No,” said the king, straightening up. “I’m just making sure you know what’s what.” He walked out.

  * * *

  Clarence was sitting on the table in the interview room, which brought him up to eye level with Alyssa. She slumped in the chair opposite, glowering back at him from behind curtains of long curly hair. As the king walked into the room he caught the end of her sentence—she was saying, “There’s just me. Nobody else”—then she broke off. Both Clarence and Alyssa turned to look at the king.

  Briefly the king saw an eager light in the young woman’s eyes. He was worried she might try to kill him. But then he realized her hands were tied behind her back.

  Clarence hopped off the table, trotted toward the king, and said, “What are you doing in here?”

  “Are you—?” Alyssa began, but Clarence cut her off.

  “Shut up,” Clarence said without looking back at her. “I must speak to you outside, Your Highness.” He ushered the king back through the door and told him to close it.

  “What’s up with you?” said the king.

  “She’s a very dangerous woman who wants you dead,” said Clarence.

  “What?”

  “She planned the attack on you—Ward was just a stooge. You shouldn’t go anywhere near her.”

  “But . . . she’s got no weapons and her hands are tied behind her back—”

  “It’s not worth the risk—stay away.”

  “Okay.” The king felt shaken: he’d just convinced himself the attack was nothing to worry about. “But why?”

  “She’s set up a network of agents to plot the overthrow of your rule. She’s confessed to everything. She burned down the newspaper offices.”

  “Bloody hell,” said the king. He felt even angrier about that than the assault.

  “She’s
given us other names but it’s clear there are people she’s still protecting—I told you this wasn’t a coincidence.”

  The king consciously steadied his breathing. “What are we going to do?”

  “Strong action now can stop this in its tracks. The statute books do specify the sentence for treason—it hasn’t been used in a very long time, but this seems a clear-cut case . . .”

  “Alright, what is it?”

  Clarence turned and nodded to a member of the bureau staff who stood unobtrusively nearby holding a book of law. Most of the city’s laws related to planning and safety and evidently this volume, which dealt with acts of violence and sedition, had rarely been consulted—the edges of its pages were clean. The staffer opened the book, walked over to the king, and indicated a regulation.

  The king peered over and read it. His eyebrows shot up. “That’s brutal.”

  “It is what the law says—in fact you made this law.”

  “Really? I don’t remember that at all.”

  “It was quite some time ago.”

  This sort of thing wasn’t unknown—the king made a lot of offhand comments in the heat of anger or annoyance, and his attendants did sometimes take them as policy and have them enshrined in law. “Okay then,” he said. “I guess we need to make an example of her.”

  “Exactly—and we should make it an open event so anyone can come.”

  The king nodded. “And I should be there too.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary—”

  “No, it is necessary because I want to show people I’m not afraid and also, if I’m there more people will come.”

  “I still think—”

  “Yeah, great, you keep thinking, but tell everyone I’ll be there. When’s this happening?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “As soon as that?”

  “Yes, so you should get some sleep. You must be tired. Go back to the tower.”

  The king nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Clarence nodded at the cell door. “Could you open that for me, please?”

  The king did so and as Clarence trotted back inside the room the king caught another glimpse of the villain seated at the table. She grimaced at Clarence, then turned a look on the king, which puzzled him. She didn’t look at him with hatred or contempt, but . . . concern?