by T. C. Edge
“Yes, I know, and we all agree you four did brilliantly. But the fact remains, you mustn’t let yourself get frustrated when things don’t go as planned or expected. I’ve learnt over the years to only focus on the things you can control. You cannot control this, Theo, so don’t let yourself get caught up with it.”
His words are typically wise, and have the usual impact of pacifying my frustrations. The idea that the file might contain nothing of worth, however, isn’t even worth considering. Surely we didn’t go through all of that for nothing?
However, I take my father’s advice and calm myself. Instead, I spend the rest of the evening catching Ajax up on things. And together with the girls we try to teach him what Cyra’s been teaching us about searching our visions, putting our minds in the right frame to hunt down where this next attack might occur.
Turns out, Ajax has already seen a few flashes, just like the rest of us.
“Burning buildings,” he says. “Bodies everywhere. People screaming. Yeah, I’ve seen that…”
“How clear?” I ask.
“Fragmented, but pretty clear.”
“It’s getting close now,” whispers Velia. “We have to work harder.”
We all agree that that’s the only course of action, and return to our rooms that night with a renewed desperation to find some clue that will help us. When morning comes, however, and we gather in the kitchen, our body language makes it clear that no one has seen anything new.
That day, Ajax has his first full day of training since our time with Athena. The first thing that Cyra does is send him into the Grid, alone, to show him what will become of us all should we fail.
He comes out with stark but determined eyes, having seen all of us dead at the feet of the Seekers. For my mother’s part, putting him straight into that simulation was a smart ploy. For the rest of the day, he’s as focused as I’ve ever seen him, quickly regaining his strength and taking his powers to the next level. With the help of Eve and the wondrous things she can do, Ajax is going to flourish down here, just like the rest of us.
Over the last few days, our little team has fallen into a pattern of sorts. Now, with Ajax joining us, I see a fresh resolve imbue us all. His strength gives us strength, and over the next couple of days, we begin to make further strides in our training.
Cyra, too, appears to be rediscovering her powers. As we take a break and chat to one side in our little group, I feel Velia tapping me on the arm.
“Hey, check it out,” she whispers. “The legend is back…”
I turn my eyes in the direction of hers and see my mother stepping into her own section of the hall in the distance. Amid the carcass of a rubble strewn city, I see a full force of soldiers approach her from all sides. They come forward, rushing close, attacking her in hand to hand combat.
We all stand in silence as we watch her dispatch her attackers, fighting them off with her fists and dodging bullets simultaneously. It’s a display of power that I’ve only ever seen from the likes of Athena or Link or Knight’s Terror.
“I guess the meds are wearing off,” says Ajax, raising his eyebrows in a rare show of awe.
I smile with pride as I look at my mother, eliminating the final combatants around her. Then, suddenly, the simulation ends and her eyes quickly turn to us.
From across the hall, her voice echoes: “What are you gawping at? Get back to work!”
We all smile at each other, the comparison with Athena undeniable.
“Yes, Commander,” we all call, before continuing with our day.
That night, when we all gather once again for dinner, Jackson takes us through the format for the following day. Tomorrow, much of the city will gather in the main city square for the coronation of their new President, sworn into office to take on the mantle during this terrible time.
“The Senate will vote in the morning, in private,” he says. “Once the vote has been taken, they will gather on the stage in the main square, which is being erected as we speak. The new President will be sworn in and will make a short speech, outlaying his plan of action. We are all required to be there.”
“Great,” whispers Ajax beside me. “No training tomorrow then…”
“It’s important that you dress well,” continues Jackson. “This is an official city event and, afterwards, we’ll be attending a private ceremony with the city leaders.”
He looks over us all as we share looks and roll our eyes.
“I know it’s not what you want to be doing right now, and believe me, I think all of our time can be better spent doing other things. However, certain city traditions must be respected. Any questions?”
I look around and see no one venturing forth with any queries.
“Right then, let’s enjoy the rest of this lovely dinner that Leeta has prepared, shall we?”
We dive back into the meal, a sombre atmosphere once more weighing down on us. And in my head, a question forms, although I don’t bring it to the table. Instead, I wait to catch my father alone once the evening has concluded.
“I have a question, dad.”
“Fire away, son.”
“Well, what if Drake does re-appear? Will he be President again?”
“I’m afraid, once the new President is sworn in, that’s it.”
“But…that makes no sense. Drake is President.”
“He was,” says Jackson softly. “For a brief time, he was. And if he’d been given a proper run at it, he’d have made a wonderful leader of this country. But we have to realistic, Theo…I don’t think your grandfather is coming back.”
He offers a weak smile before turning away. And for the first time, it’s been properly vocalised. He didn’t say it in so many words, but it’s clear what he’s thinking. It’s the same thing that we’re all thinking.
Drake is dead. And we’re in this alone.
14
The Coronation
As has become the custom over the past week or so, we all find ourselves rising in the early morning and gathering in the large, open kitchen of our stately residence. Of course, for most of that time, it was only Cyra, the girls and I, eating a quick breakfast before going to the Grid. Latterly, Ajax has joined that little crew. This morning, however, Jackson and Ellie are also with us, and Leeta too.
We’re all well dressed in fine clothing, provided by Leeta the previous day. I can’t help but smile at the appearance of Ajax in a suit. Nor can I help myself from staring when I see Velia appear, a simple but alluring white dress hanging over her slender body. The twins emerge looking as identical as always, but I can always tell which one Velia is. Ajax, too, appears to be able to do the same, his eyes tracing Vesuvia’s step as she wanders down the corridor.
Jackson doesn’t hang around long, his duties as Governor and acting head of security for the city a perpetual drain on his time. Ellie also heads off early to get an update on Link’s progress. Leeta, meanwhile, works on preparing a hearty breakfast, which the rest of us happily take advantage of. I’m quick to realise, however, that this morning my appetite isn’t up to the task.
It’s a sad day. A day where Drake’s fate becomes politically sealed. And while we don’t yet have confirmation of his whereabouts or condition, this is a clear drawing of the line in the sand that says ‘he’s gone, and he isn’t coming back.’
We spend the morning waiting, with little else to do. Above us, right at the top of this very building, the Senate will be convening to cast their votes. And typical of political process, something that should only take a few minutes is likely to take a lot longer than that.
So, we wait, and talk among ourselves, until we’re eventually summoned by Jackson to assemble outside. When we step out of the building, the main square has already grown busy, many of the city residents drawing together to see their new leader take to the stage.
The security is typically tight, and I see the Watchers who accompanied us from Petram stationed here and there under the instructions of my father. Cyra, too, has been liaising with them
regularly since they arrived, giving them some of the same advice and training we’ve been receiving, particularly with regards to searching their visions. It seems that she’s leaving no stone unturned in her attempts to hunt down the site of the next attack.
The square, while busy, isn’t anywhere nearly as packed as it was during President Stein’s funeral. Then, it was positively overflowing with mourners. Today, there’s a similar atmosphere of dread creeping around the place as there was then, the city, while ostensibly safe, still in the grip of fear.
As then, the city leaders take their positions on the front rows ahead of the main stage. Many of those from the regions have gathered, Governors and Mayors and other luminaries awaiting their new President. Up on the stage, however, the seats are as yet unfilled, waiting for the Senators to spill out with the result of their ballot.
We take front row seats, everyone around us just as well dressed as we are. I note the girls shuffling uncomfortably in their attire, alien as it is to them. But as Velia sits down to my left, I can’t help but whisper to her: “That dress suits you. You look…nice…”
I turn away fast, feeling immediately embarrassed for having uttered such words. She appears equally abashed, a rare trait for her to display. With a little bit of pink glowing on her cheeks, she turns from my abbreviated gaze, setting her eyes back to the action ahead with a small smile.
On my other side, Ajax sits. He doesn’t look overly comfortable in his suit either.
“I can’t wait to get out of this thing and back to the Grid,” he whispers. “We’re wasting time here with this nonsense…”
I don’t disagree. We’re on the clock here, and every hour counts. Wasting valuable training time on an event like this, at a time like this, is frankly infuriating.
But, as Jackson has told me over and over again, it’s no good for me to get frustrated by it. I can’t control it, so all I can do is let it happen. That’s the philosophy he’s trying to ingrain in me. Although it’s not one that’s settling fast.
Still, Ajax’s irritation somehow makes me feel better. It’s a perverse thing, really, but I actually find myself relaxing as he stares forward through his scowl. It’s as if I’m letting my anger breed vicariously through him, giving me free scope to remain calm.
Soon enough, a rumble flows though the crowd as the doors to the Senate building open. The swarm of men and women come pouring out, strolling casually to the stage and taking their seats. At the back, the two main candidates, Senator Alber and Senator Doryen, are last to sit, taking their positions right in the centre of it all.
I look at the two men, and it doesn’t take me long to figure out which is Senator Alber. He stands taller than Doryen, an arrogant smile swamping his face. He’s younger, too, perhaps only in his early or mid fifties, a suit tightly fitted to a healthy looking frame. With perfectly coiffed hair and bright white teeth, he carries a smarmy look that makes him instantly dislikeable.
It’s clear, too, that the vote has already been announced to the Senators. Doryen, an older and more kindly looking man, holds a more deflated expression, and while he’s trying to hide it, it’s clear from his eyes that he’s been defeated.
As they sit, another of the Senators takes the front of the stage to announce the winner.
“Ladies and gentlemen. After much deliberation, and a final vote, the Senate have chosen your new President. Please welcome to the stage, President Alber…”
There’s a muted sound of applause as Alber stands and takes the front of the stage. After a brief ceremony where he repeats a few oaths to uphold the office, and ensure the safety, custody, and future prosperity of the city and nation at large, he stands before us, alone.
His eyes pass over the crowd as he prepares to speak, drifting from the masses to the luminaries sat before him. And all the while, that self-satisfied look stays planted to his face.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I stand here before you to take this office at this sad time,” be begins. “In recent months we have lost two great men, President Stein, and Vice President Drayton. It is with regret that I feel the need to take on this challenge, but I will do everything in my power to see it through.”
I share a look with Ajax. “He seems pretty convinced that Drake’s dead,” he whispers. “You think he knows something we don’t?”
I don’t like the complete assumption, that’s for sure. And I don’t like how he called him ‘Vice President’ either. Sure, that’s how he spent most of his political career, but for a brief time he was acting President, and should be honoured as such.
His speech continues, passing quickly from the past to his vision of the future. When he begins to speak about the security of the city and nation, I feel my fists balling up at his words.
“As you all know, this city has been strangled by fear recently. Certain important figures have been killed. But that is in the past, and now we have to look to the future. We cannot continue in this vice of grief and dread. We have had many months without incident. It is time we began to move on with our lives.”
I look down the line at my friends, and see them shaking their heads. Cyra stares at the new President angrily. Jackson scratches his chin, looking on pensively. And the more he speaks, the more my suspicions about him begin to grow.
The only thing I can be grateful for is the fact that he doesn’t go on too long. Once he steps away from the front of the stage, we’re all forced to our feet to applaud. Once more, the clapping is hardly rapturous, a subdued energy among the crowd that was always likely to accompany this affair.
With the crowd beginning to disperse, I gather with my friends and we immediately begin talking about what he said.
“He’s going to slacken security,” says Velia. “He pretty much said it himself.”
“Is he mad or something?” grunts Ajax. “What, so because there hasn’t been another attack he’s just going to assume everything’s OK again? What about my dad and Drake?”
“Exactly. That was only a couple of weeks ago. And we’ve had these visions too. Does he know about that?” says Vesuvia.
We all shrug, and bring the question to Jackson.
“I have been keeping the Senate filled in on all our goings on, yes,” he says. “It seems there’s some doubt among many of the Senators as to the importance and validity of these visions. Some of them find it hard to understand these things.”
“Right…and I’m guessing our esteemed new President is among them?” I ask sarcastically.
“I’d caution against such words, Theo,” says my dad. “As acting head of security, I’ll make sure the city remains well guarded. Yes, President Alber has his doubts, but that isn’t unusual. Until we have definitive proof that this attack is coming, we have little to go on.”
I let out a deep sigh and say a few calming words in my head. Jackson moves off to greet our new leader, while the rest of us begin filing back towards the Senate to be shipped to its summit for a banquet. Frankly, it’s the last thing I want to do right now.
We spend the next few hours in the room where President Stein’s wake was held. This appears to be a more formal affair, however, with tables set out for a grand dinner, the place decorated for the more joyous occasion. For me, though, this is even more of a wake than Stein’s. Because right now, we’re here to celebrate the death of reason and logic.
I’m not surprised to find that Ajax, the girls and I are positioned right at the far end of the room, hidden away from the main action. Jackson, given his position, is afforded a place closer to the top table, while Cyra and Ellie’s status also gives them a decent spot. I suspect that both of them would rather be back with us, though, rather than rubbing shoulders with the politicians who have taken over the running of the country.
Still, It gives us all a chance to continue our secret discussions, the four of us now growing ever more convinced that Alber isn’t someone we can trust. Any time someone comes over to speak with us, however, we’re quick to prise ou
rselves from our debate and engage with them. Many of them are keen to meet the twins, very few of them aware that Troy had two daughters. The girls, however, don’t appear too comfortable with all the attention they’re getting, so alien as it is to them.
As the evening progresses, and the formalities break down, I spot the new President coming our way. He glides from group to group, working the room, his eyes linking with mine on occasion as he draws near. Then, with no one left between us, he comes right towards me, leading with his hand.
“Theo Kane, we’re yet to meet, young man,” he says.
I take his hand and he grips it firmly, does a quick double shake, and then lets go. He performs the same with Ajax and the girls, offering his condolences where necessary regarding Troy, Drake, and Link.
“I hear your father will be OK, though, Ajax?” he asks.
“That’s what the doctors say,” says Ajax in his own blunt fashion.
“Well, that’s good. Let’s hope the road to full recovery isn’t too long.”
He says all the right things, but all in the wrong way. His delivery is off, the tone of his voice sending shivers down my spine. I immediately know what Leeta has been talking about. There’s just something very unpalatable about him, an obnoxious and superior air that exudes from his every pore.
“So, how do you like the city?” he asks. It’s an open question, designed for all of us.
“It’s wonderful, sir,” says Vesuvia politely.
“It is, isn’t it. I hear you’ve been exploring quite a lot?”
His eyes narrow a little. The girls exchange a look. This time, Velia answers.
“Um, a bit, yes sir. Leeta was kind enough to show us around when we arrived.”
“Hmmm, yes, I know about that. But you’ve all gone further than that, haven’t you?”
His eyes turn from one of us to the next. We fall silent as the rumble of conversation drifts from the other side of the room.
“Let me ask you this, children,” he says condescendingly “Do you know what happened when we voted on the fate of the Watcher program many years ago?”