The Free Citizen

by T. J. Sedgwick

  After some time, he realized that Ruby had stayed silent. Self-preservation kicked in as he wondered what Ruby was thinking and whether she would report his behavior. He’d be no good to Cora if they found out his mindchip was still inactive. He sucked in deep breaths, holding them for a few seconds and releasing, trying to get a grip on his emotions. Slowly, he got back to his feet, steadying himself against the wall, his stomach still weak, his heart still thumping. Wiping sweat off his brow, his cleared his throat and forced out some croaky words.

  “Where… Where does she live?”

  “I’m not authorized to give you her new address,” said Ruby cordially, as though his state had zero meaning to her.

  He sighed, shaking his bowed head.

  “What the hell do I do now?” he muttered only to himself, tears welling in his eyes.

  He looked around in the cold morning light and suppressed the urge to sob, blinking away the tears.

  “Ruby… lights on, heating to twenty-one Celsius.”

  “Of course, Cal.”

  He guessed it was still his place. They hadn’t taken away his home. But without Cora it was no longer a home, just an apartment, a place to sleep. In a way it was psychological punishment, with constant reminders of what he’d lost.

  Bastards.

  He started towards the open-plan kitchen, passing photos of happier times on the wall. Had they left them deliberately to twist the knife some more? Regardless, he stopped and looked at the photos. One from their wedding ceremony. Another of them formally dressed for a fashion award ceremony where she’d won Young Designer of the Year in 2080. And a candid photo of the two of them, cheek to cheek, smiling, at their wedding receipt in 2074.

  Bastards are definitely fucking with me, leaving these here.

  Seeing them fortified his resolve—he would do everything in his power to get her back and undo this injustice. He would get her back and escape or die trying.

  The sound of a man clearing his throat interrupted his angry thoughts, startling him.

  “Hello Captain, so nice to see you again. The skin-head suits you.”

  Instantly, he recognized that smug, mocking tone. When Rae turned around, he fought hard not to react. With his jaw clenched, he intentionally controlled his breathing, kept his expression neutral. It was Intel Prick—that diminutive, bespectacled demon who’d played God with the lives of the brave insurgents that’d tried to rescue him. The urge to rip his fucking head off was strong. It took everything he had to keep it inside. He was sat on a dining chair in the corner the room, beside the window overlooking the frozen Lake Michigan. He wore the dark dress uniform of the militarized SIA and had a name tape on his chest. ‘Dudek’. So that was the bastard’s name. On either side of Dudek stood a brawny masked Marine in full combat gear.

  Rae forced a smile, resisting the urge to say, Get the fuck out. He needed to play it smart and not let the prick get under his skin, play the obedient Citizen.

  “Oh, hi there,” he said amiably. “What brings you here?”

  The intel officer smiled tightly.

  “Ah, a much better attitude now they’ve fixed that faulty mindchip of yours. No recital for you today, Captain?”

  Rae stood to attention and recited, “Hail President White! Hail the Renaissance! Freedom Through Struggle!”

  Dudek replied with the same.

  “At ease, Captain,” he said. “You know, you really are a nicer person with it working. And, more to the point, a more useful person. More truthful too, I hope. I must confess, it would’ve been a great shame to have lost a man of your talents. Now you’re batting for the good guys again, I should introduce myself properly—no need for the cloak and dagger stuff anymore.”

  Dudek got to his feet and stood like a miniature between the two watchful marines, offering a handshake.

  “Major William Dudek, State Intelligence Agency.”

  Rae stepped forward and forced himself to shake hands.

  “Nice to finally know your name, sir.”

  I’d like to punch your fucking lights out.

  “Come. Join me,” said Dudek.

  Rae retrieved a dining chair from the table nearby and sat opposite him. The sociopath’s cold eyes tracked him all the way.

  “I do apologize for locking you up last time we met.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “Being incarcerated by your own side is never nice for men like us,” said Dudek, his eyes looking past Rae, recalling something. He chuckled, his icy gaze returning to Rae. “You know I have a lot to thank General Hood for.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes, it was the year before the Renaissance. I was in the stockade awaiting court martial for supposed war crimes. Trumped-up charges. Once General Hood gained control, he saw my potential and had the case dropped.”

  “Yessir,” said Rae, not knowing what else to say. Easy to believe. Except for the trumped-up part.

  “Time to get down to business, Captain. We extracted most of what we needed from Cora and other sources—”

  “Where is she?” said Rae, panic edging into his voice.

  A puzzled look crossed Dudek’s face. He paused, eyeing Rae intently.

  “Hmm… She had to leave you and will be filing for divorce. Come on, Captain, I thought we went through this.”

  “Yes of course, sir,” he said apologetically. “The doctor said there may be some sub-optimal memory recall in the short-term.”

  It pained him to call Dudek sir, but it was a means to an end.

  “That’s fine, Captain—you’ve been through a lot. You know, I once had a wife too…”

  “What happened, sir?”

  Dudek’s eyes wandered from Rae and settled at a point, somewhere at infinity.

  “I really did love her… She—she fled the country five years ago… on one of the final Traitor Flights, after the Sanctuaries Act of 2077. She…”

  His voice trailed off, his eyes narrowed, hardening as they focused back on Rae. The change was frightening to observe. The neural chip had probably slammed the door on his emotions.

  “Bottom line: she was a damned traitor and deserves what all traitors deserve. Now, back to business…”

  Rae nodded, playing along, eager to please.

  “We know about the enemy’s attempt to recruit you, your escape from the Police and the stowaways’ journey you took with your wife to FOB White Sands.”

  “Is there anything I can tell you, sir?” said Rae.

  “As it happens, yes there is. Clearly you were trying to reach El Paso-Juarez—the enemy stronghold just across the border from FOB White Sands. How did they pass the message to you, Captain?”

  He had to give him something plausible but didn’t want to give up the DASIS MO of using wasp drones. That would lead to counter measures. He knew there was a good chance they’d know about the cryptic email leading to the Wiki page about Kristallnacht, and maybe even up to and including the mouse-over tooltip telling him to water the houseplants. It was a signal for the wasp drone to come. It was this last step—the wasp drone—that he knew he should conceal.

  “There was a message… Written on a piece of paper hidden in one of the potted plants.”

  He pointed to the snake plant by the window.

  “I don’t know how the piece of paper got there, but it said to come to El Paso-Juarez and find someone called The Governor.”

  Keep the lie close to the truth.

  Dudek nodded in recognition at the name.

  “What was the purpose of going there?”

  “It wasn’t stated.”

  “Why did you go then?”

  “As you probably know, the EMP device the enemy Screamer used on Erasmus fried my neural implant somehow. It made me believe that the Democratic Alliance were fighting the good fight, sir. Trying to release us from tyranny.”

  “And now you know that’s the opposite of the truth, right Captain?”

  “Of course, sir. They are under the control of
a tyranny in the form of the alien parasite, sir.”

  “Good. So, can you remember the actual words on this piece of paper?”

  “No, sir. Not the exact words. As I said, my neural—”

  “Yes, yes. So, what happened to the piece of paper?”

  “I destroyed it as it said to do on the paper.”

  “How?”

  The first answer that came to mind was to tell him he’d flushed it down the toilet. But Ruby, the friendly domestic spy would know.

  “I tore it up and disposed of it in the sewer system. Threw it into the flow.”

  “Did the message mention the ASTRA AI or the mission to extract it?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And how’d you think it got there, the paper message?”

  “Guess someone must’ve put it there, got inside this place. These guys are spies after all.”

  “Hmm…” Dudek stroked his chin, brow furrowed. “Maybe your Ruby knows.”

  Rae said nothing.

  “Ruby, did you see Captain Rae retrieve a piece of paper from that plant over there—the snake plant? Oh, would’ve been on Monday… That’s right isn’t it, Captain?”

  Rae nodded.

  “No, sir,” said Ruby. “I only saw him water the plants, not retrieve a piece of paper, nor did I see a piece of paper residing there or placed there by anyone.”

  “Curious, don’t you think, Captain?”

  “The first part isn’t—I slipped the message into my pocket while blocking it from Ruby’s view. On how it got there, like I said: these guys are spies. Maybe they—”

  Dudek held up his palm.

  “Stop. You can leave the investigation to us. For starters, we’ll have your domestic Serviles interrogated.”

  Rae said nothing.

  Poor Serviles.

  “You were acting under the influence of foreign agents who’d altered your neural implant for their purposes. Now it’s working again, the truth will reign.”

  Dudek seemed to relax. He trawled through a list of questions—but nothing sensitive relating to Dr Muller and the Alliance’s intelligence service. The reality was he didn’t have much. DASIS and Dr Muller had kept it that way.

  Dudek stood, then so did Rae, towering over him. They shook hands, Rae cringing inside at having to make nice with the psychopath.

  “You’ve been most helpful. And now your neural implant has been verified by the hospital, we can have confidence in you once more. So, I’m happy to tell you that your good work will be rewarded…”

  He paused. A smile grew in Rae’s eyes, hope that Cora would be the reward. Then he could plot a way out of this nightmare.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Tonight, President White grants you an audience. You’ll leave on the 1700 hours flight to Washington DC. Secret Service agents will meet you in DC.”

  Rae was speechless. Disappointed. Stunned.

  The president?

  “What’s it about, sir?”

  “Our great leader wishes to meet the famous Captain Rae, the man who brought us ASTRA and destroyed the Space Station Erasmus. I’m not privy to more than that, Captain. It is a great honor, I’m sure you’d agree.”

  Rae forced a smile and nodded.

  “That is all,” said Dudek. “Good day.”

  Dudek marched to the elevator door with the marines and left without another word.

  17

  One death is a tragedy; one million is a statistic.

  Josef Stalin

  I t was 1620 hours at Gate A5 at Chicago Central Air Terminal. He sat waiting for his flight to Washington DC, watching the snow fall outside. A dark spot flittering around near the top of the plate glass window caught his eye. The insect flew towards him but stayed high as he tracked it coming to a hover several meters above him. The time of year and its unnatural flight pattern told him what it was. He got up and thought to turn towards the restroom, assuming the drone bore another message, when something startling happened. A distinct and familiar voice. Dr Muller. He turned around, then checked out the sparsely trafficked gate area.

  Where the hell are you, Dr Muller? he wondered.

  Sit down, Cal, or you’ll draw attention to yourself. SIA has surveillance everywhere, said the voice of Dr Muller.

  “Where are you?” he whispered, eyes still scanning. “I can’t see you.”

  Cal, this is a direct link to your mindchip—you don’t need to speak, just think it and I will hear. The signal is going via the wasp drone… and quite a few others. It may not last—it’s a long relay chain, but it’s the only way. I can see you too, via the drone’s camera. I’m here in El Paso-Juarez. We got word Cora betrayed you and we tried to get you out of the White Sands base…

  Brave people—I owe them my life, Rae mind-spoke. They’ve chipped some of your operatives, Dr Muller.

  Yes, we know about Stone and the others. He at least fulfilled the most important part of his mission and re-configured your neural implant to avoid diagnostic detection of the compromise. We’ve been reverse-engineering and manipulating mindchips for some time. It’s a vital battleground if we are to free your people.

  Do you know where Cora is? Is she safe?

  Safe is a relative word, Cal. But as far as we know she is in Chicago. But that’s all we know.

  I’ve been sent to see President White—my flight leaves in half an hour.

  Right on cue, came the boarding announcement. He rolled his eyes at the timing.

  Yes, we know. Sounds like you don’t have long, and it will be hard to speak with you after the Secret Service picks you up in DC. So, I’ll get to the point. The president has invited you there, officially to receive a medal for the downing of Erasmus and bringing back the ASTRA AI. However, they want you for a mission. We don’t know what exactly, but we do know it has to do with making ASTRA functional as a stepping stone to something referred to as C-Day. We also have reports of human experimentation at the same site as ASTRA is being kept—at a bunker facility in the former state of Colorado.

  “This is the last call for boarding…”

  Rae stood, forcing a smile at the Servile attending the gate. He needed to buy some time, so walked over to the Servile.

  “I left something in the restroom, can you wait while I go it?”

  “You have four minutes and thirty seconds,” said the Servile with a toothy grin.

  Rae nodded and walked briskly towards the restroom sign.

  Look, I need to move, but I have questions, he mind-spoke to Dr Muller.

  Go ahead, Cal.

  What’s the deal?

  What do you mean?

  I mean, I’m expected to follow your instructions just on trust?

  He walked into the restroom and found a stall, which he entered, locking the door.

  We’re all you have right now, Cal. Even you won’t stand a chance alone without outside help. The Regime has everything buttoned down… That’s what totalitarian is. And haven’t we proven ourselves? Stone and the operatives that went to White Sands were proof enough, surely?

  She was right that they’d shown their commitment. But were they the good guys? A lingering doubt remained. He paused for a moment, weighing things. In the end, the Alliance was at least potentially good, whereas the American Union was demonstrably bad. He was wary of oversimplification, but that’s what it boiled down to.

  Ok, ok, but if I start working for you are you gonna extract me and Cora?

  If we can, yes. No guarantees though.

  And relocate us where?

  Alliance territory.

  He didn’t have time to agree where—anywhere in the Democratic Alliance had to be better than this. Maybe back in New Zealand…

  And how do I know you won’t burn me after I’ve served your purpose here?

  Cal, you’re way too valuable to burn. And you’ll be granted full amnesty for past crimes. The Supreme Court in The Hague is sympathetic to defectors from your country. They understand the kind of population-c
ontrol tech the Regime uses. Plus, they want to encourage defection, not score a propaganda own-goal.

  He knew full-well there were no guarantees. Nothing worth doing was risk-free.

  Alright, I buy it. What do you want me to do?

  Intel-gathering at this stage. Try to find out as much as you can from President White. This thing is big, Cal—big enough for our military to call full mobilization any day now. In any other circumstance this would be a golden opportunity to terminate the president but there’s something more important.

  Which is what?

  Although it pains me to say it—because ASTRA has taken our best people a decade to create—we need you to destroy ASTRA. We have unconfirmed intel he may send you to the facility where it’s located.

  Look, I need to go.

  He left the restroom and hurried towards the gate with twenty seconds remaining.

  We’ll be in touch. Remember: if White and his criminals ever get the ASTRA AI working, nothing will stop them. Whoever leads in AI will win the coming war and rule the world. And White will shape the world in his own despicable image. We’re counting on you, Cal.

  ***

  Rae descended the elevator to the White House bunker wearing full dress uniform. The two black-suited Secret Service agents stood behind him in silence. No sign of human likeability breached their icy countenance. Silver goggles—permanently attached to their faces—obscured their eyes and provided heads-up displays as well as x-ray and infrared scanning and facial recognition. Rae also knew they had subdermal armor plates protecting their major organs. These guys were high-end Serviles who lived and breathed duty. It seemed to Rae that Citizens weren’t that different from Serviles—just higher on the totem pole and granted superficial rights and freedoms. It was a high-tech dictatorship—something all of history’s dictators would’ve aspired to. A fault in the human condition, an evolutionary outcome: the desire for power over others. After all, that was what money had always been about—a store of other people’s future labor; because nothing material ever came without human labor in some way. Even loose rock needed transporting and shaping, trees felling and sawing. What sickened him as much as the slavery and the rights abuses, and the oppression of women, was the white supremacism running through the Regime like a cancerous growth. The racist ideology hadn’t been overt before the so-called Renaissance. The waters had been muddy, and accusations of racism had been overused for a long time—sometimes correctly, sometimes falsely—to the point their potency had been relegated to political mudslinging. Just like Hitler before him, the aptly-named White was elected in free and fair elections. The opposition candidate at the time was right though: the only way to tyrant-proof the presidency was to not elect a tyrant in the first place. The plea fell on deaf ears and White won. After that came the steady erosion of institutions and norms already under stress from civil strife and Global Depression. The emergence of the monster from the fog of war. Tyrants thrive at times of hardship and strife. In hard times people will go along with terrible things, unthinkable during the good times. Rae hadn’t voted in the 2072 election that had swept White to power. It had been the same year he’d join the US Army Rangers. A time of conflict and uprising and almost no home leave. Politics had been the last thing on his mind. Survival—for himself, his people and the United States—had been what he was fighting for. At first. Before everything changed. He wished he paid more attention and not dismissed the risk of tyranny of which the now-liquidated opposition had warned. Hitler had been defeated by the forces of democracy and their enemy’s enemy, the Soviet Union. Now the world had three major dictatorships—America, Russia and China—all vying for dominance, and working against the only major democratic force left: The Democratic Alliance. The Alliance’s prosperity and resource base was enough to check the other powers’ advances. Just. The balance of power was fragile. And the dictatorships were willing to play dirty—White and his cronies, the dirtiest of all. They were capable of anything.