“Am I supposed to be embarrassed about that?”
“This is my case, my investigation, my territory. Piss off.”
“Are you here to serve your country or yourself?”
“Excuse me? I might ask you the same thing.”
“Come on, let’s cooperate. I’m pretty smart. I can help you. You know, you’re not much older than I am and this is a pretty important case. It doesn’t take much to get people talking, and we’re all wondering how you convinced Captain Travis to turn this over to you.”
Stephanie snorted and turned back to her computer to access the disk. “You’re not half as smart as you think you are.”
Ryan stood up and walked around to the side of Stephanie’s desk. “Come on, no one would blame you. You’re doing your best to get ahead, just like me. I think Captain Travis would be more than happy to… oh, I can’t think of a delicate way to phrase it.”
“Think how jealous he’ll be if I make you my partner.”
“I’m willing to share if it will make the deal.”
“No, Ryan. I want you all to myself.” Her tone could not have been flatter and less interested.
Undaunted, he came around behind Stephanie and studied the 3D images being projected. They were landscapes taken from a satellite. The landscape itself was in shades of blue, while little heat signatures appeared in various shades of yellow, red and orange.
“Are you searching for a hidden camp?”
“I’m checking on my real estate investments.”
“You’re going to wish you were kinder to me.”
“Let me count the ways I doubt that.”
The imager now projected some 3D shots of the city, but at a greater magnification. There were shots of the rebels’ work: food being eagerly collected by the hungry citizens, parchments nailed to wooden posts, vandalized government buildings. Stephanie, having found nothing of a possible rebel camp, was less interested in these shots and went through them more rapidly. Ryan’s attention strayed and he picked up the parchment with the rebel manifesto and examined it.
“I don’t know what they think they’re going to accomplish,” he said as he read. He dismissively tossed it back onto Stephanie’s desk. “If they get what they want, that A might as well stand for anarchy.”
Ryan’s words stopped her in mid motion. Cocking her head to the side, she brought a finger to her lips. Slowly, she stood up and faced Ryan, pointing the finger at him and wagging it as if to concede a good point. She seemed to see him for the first time: his wavy and thick dark brown hair, his multiple dark freckles, his wide nose and full lips. She studied him for less time than it takes to tell it, and then abruptly left, leaving him standing at her desk.
***
Gerald got up to answer the heavy knocks on the door and conversation at the dinner table came to a halt. Mary, Nigel and Katherine heard him open the door but nothing more. Finally, Mary went to investigate. She gasped and rushed forward when she saw Alistair standing there with a sack over his shoulder, in a staring contest with his brother.
Mary embraced her son, cupping his battered face in her hands with a pained expression, and Nigel embraced him when Mary finally left him the opportunity. Katherine also gave her brother a hug, an uncertain though not reluctant one. The embracing done, Gerald settled for a nod and, after a bit of hesitation, a pat on the shoulder.
“We were worried about you,” Nigel offered as Alistair was led into the new Ashley residence. Mary made as if to grab Alistair’s sack but he gently rebuffed her.
“I’ll get it myself, Mom.” To his father he said, “I’m sorry to worry you. I wasn’t in any danger.”
“What sort of trouble were you in?” asked Gerald with a distinctly foreboding tone.
“I wasn’t in any trouble.”
Gerald made a low noise and then nodded at Alistair’s stitches. “And what about those injuries?”
“A group of thugs tried to mug me.”
Mary gasped.
“In Avon?” Gerald asked.
Alistair nodded. “Not long after I got there. They didn’t get anything, though. Except a sound beating.”
“Looks like they gave as good as they got,” Gerald remarked.
“You didn’t see them afterwards.”
“Did you report it to the Civil Guard?” Nigel asked.
“No, he didn’t,” Gerald answered, “because it would have shown up in the database I have been using to try and find him.”
“No,” Alistair confirmed, “I haven’t reported it. Too late at this point anyway.”
“Are you back for good?” asked his mother hopefully. She clapped when Alistair nodded and rushed to hug him again.
“Actually, I was going to talk to Gerald to see if he could get me in at the Transportation Bureau.”
The room went silent and all gazes turned to Gerald.
“I’m not going to make a career in the military. My vacation is over. I figured it was time to look for something to keep me busy for the rest of my life.”
Gerald regarded his brother with a blank face. Then he sniffed and said, “Let’s sit down and have some supper.”
An extra place at the table was made for Alistair between his sister and his mother. While he ate, he found himself eyeing the new household. It took his attention from the table, blanketed by an unease no one wanted to acknowledge. They did not ask him about his travels, and he offered nothing. What little talk there was consisted of trivial topics and felt forced, as if spoken words of any sort were required just to help the soft clinking of silverware fill the quiet. It was Gerald who finally brought up the subject of employment again.
“Why exactly do you want to work in the Transportation Bureau?” he asked, staring intently into his bowl of soup.
“To be honest, no particular reason other than that you work there and might be able to put in a good word for me.”
Gerald took the information with a nod and sipped at the soup in his spoon. “And what if I can’t honestly put in a good word for you?”
There passed a moment of the most acutely uncomfortable silence before Alistair finally responded. “I guess I can look somewhere else, then.”
“Gerald…” his mother began with the tone of a mild rebuke.
“Your brother’s always been a hard worker,” said Nigel.
“Philosophically, why would you choose the Transportation Bureau?” Gerald asked, finally looking his brother in the eye. “You hate government. You’ve made that abundantly clear. Why work for the… how do you call it?… the Leviathan State?”
“A man’s got to make his way somehow. There’s no point opening a restaurant because it will just get snatched away when someone with better connections wants your land. Even assuming I could get the permits.”
“There are all sorts of private opportunities opening up with the Realists. All sorts of manufacturing jobs—”
“Those aren’t private endeavors. They may be called private, but—”
“Fine. But why the Transportation Bureau? Why not reenlist? You made a good career out of it to hear tell.”
“I’m not going to reenlist,” Alistair answered with finality.
“Why not?”
“Because everything…” Alistair’s voice choked off and he could not finish his thought. Finally, he managed, “War is the State in full bloom.”
“National defense is important.”
“Please don’t try to convince me the war on Kaldis is national defense.”
Gerald reflected for a time before he finally drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Well then, welcome aboard.” It was more surrender than enthusiastic welcome, but the tension around the table evaporated. Mary clapped once and Nigel smiled. “You’ll have to go through a background inspection by the Civil Guard first.”
“I figured as much,” Alistair replied, returning his attention to his soup. “I’ll get to that tomorrow.” At first the words wouldn’t leave his mouth, but finally he managed to s
ay, “Thank you.”
Gerald almost imperceptibly nodded into his soup and said nothing more.
***
The next day, before the sun rose for its relatively brief winter outing, Alistair found himself in the Civil Guard station twiddling his thumbs. The large room, full of desks, lamps, cabinets and a hodge-podge of other furniture, was dark as only a couple lamps were turned on. A lone officer sat at his desk in the corner and typed at his computer, paying the visitor no mind.
Alistair rubbed at eyes burning from lack of sleep. He had reacclimated himself to the long Aldran day, but his insomnia was driven by the images he saw when he closed his eyes. Some nights passed by without difficulty, but the previous night passed without sleep. A thousand faces whirled around in his dreams. They were the faces of his fellow marines, of the people he had seen, shot at, killed. One face in particular kept coming back to him, the face of a young woman he had known and abandoned… but he forced himself to think of other things. He would not think of her, and get himself worked up, in public.
A blast of frosty air announced the arrival of a group of Guardsmen dragging a ragged band of four men into the station. The men, dressed in worn clothing ill fit to protect them from an Arcarian winter, were handcuffed and in need of a bath. Two sported scrapes and what would soon become bruises, and one other had recently been bleeding from the nose. After being separated, the men were dumped into chairs and told to sit still. One was seated near Alistair, and as the former marine regarded him he was met with a defiant stare.
“What’s your story, partner?” asked Alistair with a manly camaraderie lacking any note of pity. The man’s glare quickly dissolved and a wry half smile curled one corner of his mouth.
“Got caught with my hands in the cookie jar,” he smirked with a shake of his head. His mouth smiled, but behind his eyes was something less comical. “Buddies and me were figuring to take off. Sick of the climate, sick of the damn winters. I grew up in New Kensington—”
“I figured that already,” Alistair said, referring to his accent, and the man chuckled.
“Anyway, we were figuring to leave. Problem is, we’re miners and they’ve got some project planned and they need workers. We were told to stay.” He sighed deeply and leaned back in his seat, tilting his head back. “I’m just tired of the damn winters!” He lifted himself back up and sat up straight.
“Anyway, they told us not to go and caught us trying to leave.”
“Well, they have to tell you where to go, don’t they?”
“I know. I just didn’t want another winter, and this one in the mines. They’re cold as hell in the summer…”
“I think you misunderstand. I wasn’t saying that to chastise you. They have to tell you where to go because they are controlling the economy. They calculate how much of what they want produced, and then they order it done. So they have to force you to stay, and if they get soft, there will be all sorts of defections.”
The look the man gave Alistair left little doubt the economics of it had not sunk in. “The Voluntary System was better,” he said, searching for some way to respond. “They gave us orders all the time but… nobody cared.”
“And that’s why it fell apart. If you want to control an entire economy, you have to be willing to take steps to keep people in line. You can’t allow them to work where and how they want. You can’t allow them to buy what they want, or earn what they want or pay what they want. You can’t allow them to start up unapproved businesses. Everything has to follow the plan.”
The man’s look did not change, and Alistair knew the last bit flew over his head. “Well, I shouldn’t have tried to leave…”
“I think you’re still misunderstanding me. The State is using you for its plans.”
The man nodded, open-mouthed, concentrating as hard as he could.
“Why should it? You’re working and paying for this government, why shouldn’t you use it for your plans?”
From the expression on his face, Alistair knew neither that idea nor anything similar had ever crossed his mind before. Whether his expression turned into one of a dawning realization or a confused denial he never got to see. Just then, an officer came and lifted the man from New Kensington to his feet and led him away. For his part, Alistair remembered where he was and chided himself to be more careful with his treasonous talk.
A moment later, the officer who first received Alistair returned. He dropped a few papers on the desk as he pulled up a seat with his foot.
“I got the forms to fill out,” he informed Alistair, his tone serious, almost hostile. “There are a few questions I need to ask you.” Searching around his desk, he found a pencil and readied one of the forms. “Where have you been the past couple weeks?”
Alistair managed to suppress a knowing smirk. “I went to Avon for a few days.”
“Are you aware you were under surveillance?”
“By whom?” asked Alistair in a concerned tone.
“The Civil Guard.”
He feigned a look of realization. “I knew there was a group following me. I thought it was one of the specnine dealers. That was one of the reasons I left.”
The officer regarded him with an incredulous look. “What happened on the night of October the 32nd?”
“That was a while ago—”
“It was the night you disappeared. They were waiting for you when you returned.”
“Oh, yeah. I didn’t disappear; I just went for a walk.”
“You disappeared from the scanners.”
Alistair shrugged. “I don’t know anything about that.”
The officer nodded slowly, scratching his chin with the end of his pencil. “What happened to your face?”
“Got in a scuffle.”
“The night of the 32nd of October – the night you disappeared or went for a walk or whatever – a councilman’s house was burgled.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“The councilman had just been at your father’s restaurant. He had just announced your father was losing his land.” Alistair just looked at the officer, who held out his hands, expecting an answer. “You were out for a walk.”
Still nothing from Alistair.
“It looks suspicious.”
“I’m sorry. I guess it looks bad… you have opportunity.”
“You’re an ex Special Forces marine; we’ve got means and motive. There’s quite a file on you in our archive.”
“There is?”
“You’ve been reported several times for incendiary comments. Anti-government comments.”
“I was hoping to put that behind me,” Alistair said, hanging his head. “I spent four cycles on Kaldis. I served my country, but it was hard. There was a lot of… a lot of bad things. I came back angry…” He blushed slightly, finding it as difficult to force the truths past his lips as the lies. “I just want to get a regular job and do my bit.”
The look the officer gave him was both incredulous and slightly frustrated. “Wait here.”
Once again, as the sound of the officer’s booted feet on the linoleum floor receded, Alistair was left alone with the officer in the corner, whose staccato typing was the only sound. It was some time later when the other returned with an ill-concealed look of triumph on his face.
“You’re a 3nn,” he informed Alistair as he sank into his chair.
Alistair nodded slowly, arms folded across his chest as he prepared himself.
The officer shook his head and made a face as if he were disappointed. “Well, it seems we haven’t received your weekly report in some time.”
Alistair blushed in anger. Every citizen was supposed to file a weekly report of his condition, location and work activities. It was a rule no one followed or enforced.
“I was off fighting on Kaldis for the last four cycles,” he growled.
“You could have kept a log and turned it in when you got back.”
“When was the last time you filed yours?”
“I�
�m Civil Guard. When I clock in every day that serves as my report. I’m afraid I’m going to have to arrest you.”
Alistair gritted his teeth but managed to control his breathing. “I suppose if you pass enough laws, you can get anyone charged with something.”
“Put your hands behind your back,” was the officer’s answer as he stood up and readied the handcuffs.
Chapter 24
The small viewing room erupted with laughter and applause such that the floor shook. The sound from the 3D projector could barely be heard and the light from the images played off the enthusiastic faces of the Guardsmen and women as they watched with delight the clips collected for them.
Stephanie Caldwell leaned back and watched with her arms folded. There was a protest in a city she did not recognize, and the Civil Guard beat it down. A knight stick smashed the teeth of one protester, and the audience groaned as if in sympathy, but then followed it up with a hearty cheer. Another protest, this time in Rendral, with the awesome State Palace filling the background. A protester was running from the Guard, but they caught him and, with a shove, sent him crashing headlong into the famous statue of Sidney Ecksley, founder and first president of Aldra. The statue’s imperial pose mocked the protester whose blood pooled at its base. Another groan and another cheer.
Though Stephanie forced a few smiles, for the most part her expression was blank. She was not disturbed by the violence, but she was bored. Her gaze wandered about the viewing room until she spied Captain Travis’ silhouette in the back doorway. He stood almost at attention with his arms behind his back, as if surveying his troops. Though his face was hidden in shadow, she felt he was looking at her. Standing up, she made her inconspicuous way to the back, passing row after row of Civil Guard too enraptured to notice. She saw Travis’ head turn to follow her and finally his pleased smile.
“Telepathy must work,” he said. “You got my message.” With that, he turned and left. She took three quick steps to catch up with him and the two wound their way through the building, which felt empty with all the Guardsmen in the projector room. Their footsteps echoed through the hallways. “Were you not enjoying the news broadcast?” Travis asked when they had distanced themselves from the other guards.
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