Withûr We

by Matthew Bruce Alexander

  With a kiss, Oliver let her hand drop and jovially weathered her censorious glare as they reached the entrance to the station.

  Chapter 7

  The first snow storm, driven by the gigantic oceanic humidifiers keeping water vapor abundant in the atmosphere, dumped heavy wet flakes over the city which melted on the warmer surfaces. When the long Aldran night came, the water froze and Arcarius was encased in ice. It stayed this way for a week, and then the weather warmed and the ice melted, leaving the citizens waiting for the next storm, the one to last through the cold season. As the popular saying went, the first snow comes and goes away; the next one all the winter stays.

  That next storm came a week later, on the night of the Debate, the last appearance political candidates were allowed to make before the election. Attendance was mandatory for all citizens, but even absent the legal obligation, Nigel would have been there with his family. The title to his home and business was not, after all, entirely under his own discretion and he knew he would have to put in an appearance. It was while the Ashley’s were getting ready that an unenthusiastic Alistair, waiting until the last moment to throw on some clothes, approached his dad with something he discovered in his books.

  “Looks like you’re exchanging a lot for food right now. Are these rates correct?”

  Nigel, trying to remember how to tie a bowtie, didn’t look away from the mirror. “They’re correct. The official exchange rate is the same, but to get all the food I need, I have to go through the empty shops.”

  The government gave licenses to practice any sort of business. Many of the men and women granted restaurant licenses were only interested in having them for the food allotments that came with them. An empty shop in the restaurant business meant someone who exchanged for food from the Farm Bureau and turned around and exchanged it with another restaurant.

  Nigel continued, “It’s the speculators. Empty shoppers are holding food off the market. The government outlawed extortion level exchange rates, but that just means I have to exchange more with enbatts on the side.

  “Then it must mean there is less food, or anticipation of less.”

  “The harvest was bigger this year than any in the last decade. I just saw the report last night.”

  “Buy preservable food,” said Alistair, “and get a good place to store it.” He left his father with that bit of advice.

  After some imploring, Alistair consented to getting dressed. His family left without him though, since he would be going with his friends and was waiting for them to show up. His father walked without a cane, moving smoothly since his illicit operation. Gerald, noticing his father’s unhampered gait, directed a cynical look Alistair’s way but said nothing. Through the kitchen window, Alistair watched his father leave and a smile touched his lips.

  A light snow fell, a pleasant snow. The city lights lit the air and the gently falling flakes reflected the glow as bit by tiny bit they covered the city and the land around it. The run-down buildings, the roofs in disrepair, the cracked sidewalks, the potholes in the roads… everything was covered with a pristine white powder until the city almost looked attractive. With ruddy cheeks and noses and visible plumes of their breath escaping into the air, Alistair and his friends made their way to the Metro station and there boarded a car for Ewan’s Park, named after Arcarius’ first mayor.

  It was surrounded on all sides by four wide city streets. Forming a perimeter outside the streets were the large buildings of the downtown area, some as high as fifty stories. Most were privately built, but now they were almost all government owned and used by the various bureaucracies.

  The windows of the buildings shone with bright colors, and white lights were hung from the tree branches, connecting all the Plaza’s trees in a spider web of light. To the north, past the downtown buildings, the mayor’s palace rose high above all else. A smooth design with no corners, it also was well lit from its middle reaches to its lofty spires.

  The friends drifted here and there, eyeing the attractions, all political in nature. There was music praising the glory of Aldra and Arcarius. Children performed skits of Aldra’s history. Would-be office holders and campaign volunteers shook hands and handed out pamphlets. Among the planned revelry a dark rumor was spreading, that New Kensington had been attacked by Kaldis. The details varied from one teller to the next, but they all agreed some sort of bomb attack had occurred, and somehow everyone knew the Kaldisians were the masterminds.

  The group separated by degrees until Alistair found himself alone with Oliver on a path around a small pond in the park. They strolled about, nodding at those they knew, Oliver returning appreciative nods to the rugby fans who recognized him. Presently a young woman, probably a student, who carried a rolled up parchment and a pen, accosted them.

  “Good evening,” she cheerily greeted and continued before they could reply. “I’m collecting pledges.”

  “Pledges?” asked Alistair.

  “Loyalty pledges. You pledge your loyalty to Aldra and then you get to sign your name on the list. We’re trying to get everyone to sign.”

  Oliver and Alistair exchanged glances.

  “Has anyone declined?” asked Alistair.

  The young woman chuckled, half surprised and half amused by the question. When it became apparent he was indeed waiting for an answer she replied, “No,” as if explaining that water was wet and snow was cold.

  “What is this loyalty pledge?”

  “It’s the same one you grew up reciting.” A note of perplexity crept into her voice.

  “I stopped reciting that when I reached the age of reason.”

  Her pleasant demeanor became hurt innocence. “It’s just showing your support for Aldra. Especially after the attacks.”

  “I don’t care to support Aldra. I am taxed by Aldra. I am forced to serve in Aldra’s military. I am regulated by Aldra. I am told what jobs I may perform and for what allotments. I am told what I may do with my land, what I may do with and to my body. All this without so much as a by-your-leave. Frankly, I’m feeling a bit irritated with Aldra at the moment and I don’t care to support her.”

  Had it been able, the woman’s jaw would have dropped straight to the ground. As it was, it reached her sternum. She looked to Oliver as if for a translation.

  “I’ll take a pass as well,” he informed her.

  As she turned to leave, Alistair said, “Now run along and tell the Civil Guard about the two dissidents.”

  She nearly flew away.

  “One of these times,” said Oliver, “we’re going to get into trouble for things like that.”

  “Fine by me.”

  When they had twice circled the pond and passed many gatherings, listening to all sorts of discourse about the state of Arcarius and ideas for the war with Kaldis, all delivered by the sort of speaker who can feign enthusiasm in front of the most indifferent audience, they decided to look for new ground. After wandering into this fresh territory, Alistair stopped short and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

  “Is that Warwick?” he asked, pointing at the familiar political figure who happened to be speaking to Elizabeth not thirty yards from them. There was a group of eminent dignitaries standing off to the side.

  “Flirting with my gal,” said Oliver jokingly, but then Aloysius pulled out a rose and gave it to the striking woman whom Oliver called his girlfriend. He gallantly lifted her hand to his lips, lightly kissed her, and placed the rose in her palm. The mayoral candidate returned to his companions then, and Elizabeth raised the rose to her nostrils. Eyebrows raised high, Alistair looked to his friend.

  “I’d better go do some damage control,” said Oliver with a smile Alistair knew was forced, and as Aloysius walked away, he left to join Elizabeth.

  He waited for a moment to watch his friend go and then turned, ducked a snowball fight erupting among some teenagers, and wandered off to see what the rest of the night had in store.

  ***

  When the call sounded for the
candidates’ speeches, Alistair positioned himself at the outer railing of the amphitheater at the center of the park. He could not deny his interest in what was about to transpire, but neither could he bring himself to enter and fully to join the proceedings. Brushing the snow off the stone railing, he leaned sideways against the barrier.

  A man had taken position several yards from him. A hard looking man with a prominent scar on his left cheek, he had been in Alistair’s vicinity for the last half hour no matter where the former soldier went. Now he stood stock still with his hands in his coat pockets and his collar turned up against the cold. Alistair did not look in his direction, but he never let him out of his peripheral vision.

  As the few truly interested parties filed into the amphitheater, Alistair studied them while snow slowly collected on his shoulders. It would not be accurate to say only the rich took interest, but there was a decided shift towards affluence among the attendees. In an economy like Aldra’s, wealth came to those with connections, and connections came to those with the interest in making them.

  He caught sight of his brother just then. Gerald, at a distance, waved to indicate he had seats for them. Alistair waved him on. Shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head, Gerald turned and entered the amphitheater. Alistair watched his brother go mainly because the view afforded him, from the corner of his eye, a look at the tail. The man was as still as the stone railing upon which Alistair leaned, and he was now half covered by snow on his hat and shoulders.

  It was right then that two more men appeared. The tail greeted them with a nod and inclined his head towards Alistair. The two responded with nods of their own and all three moved in on the youngest Ashley. Seeing them coming, Alistair did not move but watched them with an affectation of disinterest and lack of concern, though inside he was tensed and ready to spring. When they reached him they stood close, too close to be polite.

  “Alistair Ashley 3nn?” asked one of the newcomers, shorter than his two companions and with thick wavy blonde hair. His breath billowed like a cloud into Alistair’s face.

  “Alistair Ashley is the name my parents gave me,” replied the ex soldier. “3nn is what the government uses to group me. I don’t use suffix codes myself.”

  “I think this one’s gonna be disrespectful, Tom,” said the other newcomer, a dark haired man with almost shockingly pale skin and sharp features.

  “You can feel it coming,” the original tail, Tom, affirmed.

  Alistair did not reply but he did not avert his gaze either. He stared back at them with a look neither friendly nor unkind. Their talk was quiet, but there was a strain in the air, strong enough to be felt by passersby, to make people furtively glance over their shoulders at the men. As the citizens of Arcarius continued to file in, a bubble of space developed around the four.

  “We can’t have you harassing people tonight,” said the short man.

  The left corner of Alistair’s lips curled in a faint smirk. His question had just been answered.

  “Are you referring to the pledge I refused to sign?”

  “So you admit you’re harassing people,” said Tom.

  “I admitted nothing. I asked a question.”

  “But you knew what we were talking about. Are you going to try to tell us you weren’t harassing her?” demanded Tom.

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to try to tell you,” replied Alistair in a tone of voice far too pleasant to be anything but cocky. “You guys seem to have a handle on this conversation, my side as well as your own. Tom, why don’t you handle my lines for me? Your two friends can pick up the slack for you and I’ll go back to people watching.”

  “That was disrespectful,” said the dark haired one in a flat tone.

  “You could feel it coming,” Tom reaffirmed.

  “We’re going to clear this up one way or the other,” said the short man.

  “Let me guess. One way is I can beg your pardon, preferably with shaking knees to appease your colossal egos, and sign the loyalty pledge. The other way is you can take me away from here and teach me manners with an electric prod in a sound proof room.”

  “And we didn’t even rehearse the scene with him,” commented the dark haired one.

  “You and Tom aren’t the only ones with premonitions.”

  “But we are going to be the only ones with teeth in our heads in about ten minutes,” said Tom.

  Alistair broke the cool calm of the confrontation by tilting his head back and laughing. “Gentlemen, did you take a good look at me before you came over here? You knew my name so you must know something about me. Do you have a pretty good idea what I’ve been doing for the last four cycles?”

  Their expressions did not change, but they didn’t speak either. Alistair, standing up straight now to lend his impressive height and bulk to his words, continued.

  “If you want to take me in and make a scene right here, go right ahead. Put in a call for back up first. I’d say ten more men would be enough. But let me help you out: I’ll most likely be alone at some point when I go home. Come for me then. If you were secure enough to take me away for any reason you wanted, you’d have done so with no preamble. So come for me later tonight when I’m alone. But right now I’m guessing you’ve got nothing but tough talk.”

  Either a State feels secure enough to openly treat its citizens as property, with no pretense, or it doesn’t. Despite his own tough talk, he was relieved with what he got: a quiet retreat. One minute they were in his face, stoic and menacing, and the next they were casually strolling away.

  “We’ll be looking forward to our next meeting,” said the short blonde agent, casting the words over his shoulder.

  Alistair could not decide if the looks he received from those who dared come close enough to listen were looks of admiration for a brave man or alarm for a fool. He wished they would find something else to look at. Not feeling as calm and confident as he pretended, he felt his limbs tremble as adrenaline ebbed. Leaning once more on the stone railing to steady limbs he was sure must be giving him away, he turned his gaze to the amphitheater as the candidates came onstage to applause from the crowd.

  The applause was as close to thunderous as the size of the crowd and the gloved hands of the audience could achieve. All five candidates for mayor entered from stage right, smiling and waving to the throng as if to old friends. Save for the regal Aloysius, they wore smiles too bright to be genuine.

  Four of the five candidates were entirely interchangeable. Only Aloysius Warwick stood out. The others, whose names Alistair either hadn’t learned or didn’t care to remember, were plain in appearance. SoFeds and Libertarians, they were dressed well but not too well. They moved on stage as if relaxed but not gracefully. They spoke simply. They were common men, or at least that was the image they portrayed, like every other successful Aldran politician.

  Standing erect and tall with broad shoulders and nose held high, walking with powerful and confident strides, speaking clearly and commandingly, Aloysius Warwick exuded nobility in the officer’s uniform he dared wear to the Debate. His handsome face looked with benevolent superiority at the masses, and Alistair was alarmed by him. Former officers and servicemen had of course run for office, but the Libertarians and SoFeds always affected a more relaxed image. Aloysius, however, was a so-called Realist.

  Despite his father’s assurances, Alistair disliked Aloysius Warwick intensely and immediately, but what he could not decide was whether he feared him. He was not what a typical Aldran would expect to see in an election, and yet there he was, onstage with the others, the most widely known candidate of the bunch. What exactly do you mean by coming here looking like a patrician?

  The tone of the debate was kept affable and there were scripted jokes aplenty, with the occasional oblique jab at another candidate. When the time came for speeches, the other four again failed to distinguish themselves. They might have randomly exchanged speeches and no one would have noticed. When Aloysius stepped forward to deliver his speech, the t
enor of the evening changed.

  It was a call to arms, but the call was not limited to the recent attack by Kaldis. It was a general call to arms, to fight for Aldran greatness. The Kaldisian attack was the clearest rallying point, but was one of many. Military metaphors abounded, and every problem was given a warlike solution, with terms used in the military. Invective after invective was hurled not just at Kaldis, but at any problem, be it poverty, be it shortages, be it influenza. The speech called for a new discipline, a stricter government, and an alert citizenry.

  Once the goal was plainly defined, the path leading there was made clear. For too long, according to Mr. Warwick, Aldra had gripped its own economy too tightly. “One does not use an eyedropper to water a garden,” he reasoned. “One points a hose and lets physics take over from there.” Government would, in Warwick’s plan, guide the economy, but the economy must be freed to work. “A bureaucracy is not for making guns and butter,” he proclaimed. “It is there to help coordinate the process.” Entrepreneurs would bring the economy back to health, they were assured, with the government’s guidance and regulation. The excesses of the rich and their constant abuses would be prevented by ubiquitous government scrutiny. Aldra would become strong and proud once again. That was the path; that was the means.

  The destination was war.

  It was difficult to gauge the crowd’s true reaction. There was an excitement in the amphitheater, but how much was due to the men and women Warwick paid to cheer him was difficult to say. His family was rich; he could have filled the entire amphitheater with hired fans. Scanning the crowd, Alistair saw many were not impressed, no matter how good a public speaker Warwick was. Not enough support, he said to himself. No one can win an election in Arcarius with his attitude and rhetoric no matter how much money he has. Not to a post as high as mayor at any rate.

  When the final applause died down, several members of the audience, chosen beforehand, stepped up to a microphone in one of the aisles in order to ask pre-approved questions of the candidates. Alistair saw this and held his breath, struck with an idea, but one that made him weak in the knees. He felt his limbs tremble again, but then he set his jaw and tilted his head forward. He entered the amphitheater and moved towards the microphone, brushing past a handful of people who were exiting. He took the steps two at a time.