by Tyler Leslie
One of the psych wardens, a man named Choi, led them to William Martin’s room. The warden had a peculiar gait, as if he had broken his left leg and it had never been properly set. Perhaps he had seen more than his share of attempted break-outs. He was short, shorter than Davis’ mother, and was almost completely bald, save for a few wisps of blonde hair on the crown of his head. This served to emphasize his sickly appearance, and it put Davis on edge. Because of his father’s mental ailments, any sort of weakness scared Davis. It didn’t matter if it was mental, physical, or imagined. He wanted nothing to do with it. He would be strong, an important man, someone who didn’t tolerate weakness in himself. He would do it for his father, for his best friend.
The door to his father’s cell opened slowly, as if a symbol of what would be found inside. Emily Martin entered first, obviously afraid of what she would encounter in the next few moments. Her hands were shaking—not violently, but not in a subtle way either. Davis grabbed his mother’s hand and gave her a reassuring smile. She returned it, but it seemed forced. She turned her attention back to the inside of the cell and stepped through the doorway. William Martin was lying on his side with his back to the door. Even so, Davis recognized his father immediately. The way his dark hair swirled around the crown of his head, the way his forearms seemed to be capable of bursting through whatever fabric contained them; even his scent was still the same. Perhaps there was hope yet. This place hadn’t changed him so much that he was unrecognizable; he was still the same man. Davis knew he had to be the same still on the inside as well.
His mother gently placed her hand on her husband’s shoulder. There was no reaction. Her husband just continued to lie there, breathing softly yet audibly. She spoke his name, just a whisper at first, her voice quivering. Again, there was no reaction. Davis felt the first pangs of fear begin to crawl through him. Maybe he was asleep? He was probably on some kind of medication, and that probably made him sleepy. He wanted to run to his father, to jump on his back like he used to, but something inside him told him that would be a bad idea. William Martin still looked like the same man, but there was something about him that seemed off. Like the battery was only connected at one end.
A loud cough startled Davis, and he spun around. Choi had been standing in the doorway the entire time, watching with expressionless blue eyes. Davis hated him in that moment. How could he just stand there like that, completely unaffected by what he saw? What kind of person would be capable of feeling nothing at all? He turned his attention to his mother, and she seemed to be sensing his feelings. Instead of saying anything to him about it, she stepped to the side, silently ordering him to enter the room and rouse her husband. Choi’s expression didn’t change, but he seemed to have gotten the hint. He crept into the room, limping slightly, and harshly grabbed William by his shoulder, flipping him over on his other side so he faced the room. Then, with the most emotionless smile Davis had ever witnessed, he exited the room.
William Martin’s eyes were open, but unseeing. He had been awake the entire time after all, yet for some reason couldn’t register the presence of his family. Emily whimpered softly and stepped back against the wall, staring at the man that had once brought her more happiness than she had thought possible.
Davis knew in that instant that his father was dead. Despite the fact that William’s eyes were staring right at his son, they weren’t focused. They didn’t recognize his own flesh and blood, the boy who he had bounced on his knee since he was two, the boy he had sprayed with the water hose after a long day of yard-work, the boy he had tucked into bed every single night for the past nine years. Davis turned away, ashamed to cry, but unable to stop himself. He ran out of the room, barely registering his mother crying his name. The halls became a blur of white and blue, blending together until Davis became lost. He was in the middle of a tragic labyrinth, and there was absolutely nothing he could do to escape.
His mother was a different story; a school teacher before the war, she had immediately become involved in philanthropic and altruistic activity, donating large sums of money—much to her husband’s chagrin, to various charities that helped those devastated, both mentally and physically, by the Scuratt’kan. Davis hadn’t heard anything from her ever since he had enrolled in the pre-training program, but chocked it up to nothing more than a busy schedule. She had more to worry about than her miner son and his problems.
After several more tedious hours that encompassed little more than a cornucopia of near-useless information and history, the classroom session ended and the students were free. Davis stood, reveling in the sensation of the circulation that once more flowed properly through his body, and stretched to relieve his aching muscles; they felt as if they had completely atrophied over the course of the lessons. He looked around the quickly emptying classroom for Amanda and spotted her by Gregg, who seemed pleased to be gifted the extra time with his prized student. Davis decided he’d had enough of the stuffy classroom, and would wait for Amanda outside the building. He exited through the small doorway, actually grateful for the biting cold that greeted him; it was a welcome change from the veritable sweat box that was classroom B7. He leaned against the side of the building and closed his eyes, imagining what it must be like to strap himself into one of the AMBAs and cut a bloody swath through the Scuratt’kan ranks.
He heard the sound of footsteps approaching the doorway, and perked up, going through a long list of zingers that would hopefully grab Amanda’s attention. He finally settled on: “Hey, so I couldn’t help but notice you’re one of those rare individuals who possesses both brains and beauty. I would love to get to know the top student a little more if you’re willing.” He recited the line several times in his head and smiled, hoping it would do the trick. He took a step forward, ready to intercept Amanda as soon as she stepped through the door.
Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded along his left shoulder. Only one person ever grabbed him like that, and he didn’t need to hear the sound of her voice to know it was Lieutenant Regina Tavish. Even so, the officer wasted no time in beginning what she referred to as a ‘useful lecture’.
“Loitering is a cardinal sin in this company, Cadet. I’m sure you have other, more useful things to do with your time. Am I right?” The question was obviously rhetorical, yet not only did Davis intend to answer it, he intended to address the Lieutenant directly.
He spoke without bothering to turn around, quoting the French romantic poet Victor Hugo. “To rove about, musing, that is to say loitering, is a good way of spending time.”
Regina produced a sound that was part baffled sigh and part roar of rage. She increased the pressure on his shoulder until the pain was so sharp Davis was sure his arm would fall off. Even so, he remained standing at his full height, even going so far as to puff out his chest in defiance. That action got him a swift kick to the back of the knee, and he had no choice but to collapse to the ground in pain. In a second she was upon him, straddling him like a pony and boring her eyes deep into his. “You, Cadet, are neither worthy of being called a philosopher nor standing in the presence of one.” She spit in his face to prove her point. Davis made no move to wipe it off. If he did, he would likely receive a slap to the face, or worse.
“More importantly,” she continued, her voice nothing more than a shrill whisper, “philosophers have no place in a military operation, even one geared toward training worthless maggots such as yourself. If I ever catch you loitering, or quoting Hugo or anyone else unimportant again, I’ll have you put to work in an assignment that makes cleaning toilets with your teeth seem pleasurable. Understand?”
Davis was impressed by her knowledge of the quote’s author, and was half tempted to address her again, but thought the better of it given his current situation. Instead, his teeth gritted from pain, humiliation, and hatred, he said, “This cadet will no longer loiter while on this base, and will never again quote a philosopher in an attempt to prove a point or mak
e a joke.”
Regina rose slowly, placated for the time being, and, after giving him a swift kick to the ribs, winked at him again. “I want to see you in my quarters tonight after the drills are complete. 2300 hours on the dot. If you are late, I will find you, and drag you there myself. Understand?”
Davis gave her a swift nod, fighting to keep any quizzical expression from his face. The wink—the third one he had received in only two days—was disturbing enough, but a summons to her personal quarters at night? Davis could only imagine the terrible things that would likely befall him, and it was this, not the bone-chilling wind, that made him shiver. When he stood, he remembered Amanda, and peered inside the classroom in hopes she had not witnessed his interaction with Regina. She was nowhere to be found, and Davis feared she had seen everything.
His spirits even more dampened than before, he trudged back to his barracks, ready to get a few hours rest before the physical drills began. As he crossed the vast expanse of the drill-field, something—or rather someone—caught his eye. Standing a few hundred feet away, in the middle of the field, was Commander Pikes. Despite the distance, and despite the fact that he couldn’t really make out the man’s face, Davis knew he was staring straight at him. Another shiver ran down his spine, and as before, it wasn’t caused by the wind. He stared back at the man for a few beats before continuing his trek to the barracks. Whoever Commander Pikes was, Davis knew he didn’t like him. There was something off about him; he had noticed it the first day. He didn’t seem normal. Davis shook his head, trying to clear the notion from his mind. It was irrelevant. Commander Pikes may have jurisdiction and power over the entire base, but he didn’t interact with the cadets. There was no need to. He had more important matters to attend to, though what matters involved standing in the center of the drill-field eyeing potential warriors Davis didn’t know.
He turned his back to the Commander, both figuratively and physically, and moved his thoughts to Amanda once more. He had no idea where she was stationed as far as barracks were concerned, but was certain he had to find out. If she had indeed witnessed the exchange between Regina and him, it was but a minor setback. He would get to know her eventually, whether it be through charm or perseverance, he was sure of it. There was no way he was going to spend two months on this base with only Ricky as a friend—great though the man was. Ricky had always had a habit of running off to Emily, a pretty girl, leaving Davis and their other friends to fend for themselves. This time, Davis promised himself, things would be different. Ricky would watch him get the woman, and feel what it’s like to be the one to sit alone pondering how a true friend could do such a thing. The thought was immensely cathartic, and by the time Davis had reached the barracks all thoughts of both Regina and Commander Pikes had left his mind as though they were vapor blown in the wind.
CHAPTER 4
Senator John Morgans leaned back in his elegant leather chair, repressing a sigh of contentment. Things were moving along smoothly in his end of the world. When things were well oiled and moving like clockwork, life tended to be rather enjoyable.
The door to his expansive office opened, revealing the head of his aide. “The Senate is about to convene, Mr. Morgans.”
“Thank you Greg,” Senator Morgans replied. “I’m on my way.”
Once the aide had left John repressed yet another sigh. This time, however, it was a sigh of frustration. As a United States Senator, the perks far outweighed the aggravating minutia of tending to the country. The position of Senator, for all its foibles, was a more lucrative position than his previous charade as the CEO of a successful corporation had been. At least for his purposes. There were times, though, when the job felt a little too strained, like something wasn’t quite right with the world. Morgans smiled. He, of course, knew exactly where the problem lay. The corruption of the Senate, no, the legislative branches in their entirety, was placing a carefully calculated chokehold on the American government, squeezing every last penny from a war-torn, destitution—laden country. Money, it seemed, was indeed the lubricant that spun the world. The corruption of the Senate was a godsend according to the needs of Senator Morgans. It provided the perfect veil for his plans, machinations that would land him in prison if ever discovered. John stood and adjusted the lapels of his Brioni jacket. Nice suits these; if the common man paid this much attention to detail the world would be a far more… cohesive… place.
As Senator Morgans began walking toward the Chamber of the Senate, he began musing on his position within the government. As Senior Senator of the state of Tennessee, there were never doubts as to the power he held, whether from himself or any one of life’s many passersby. He chuckled as he mulled over the Fourteenth Amendment and its clause regarding rebellion against the United States government. A long, slow smile spread across his cleanly shaven face as he considered what the Senate would do to him if they figured out what he was planning, the things he would be putting into motion in just a few minutes’ time.
A few months ago, Senator Morgans had seen that a radical new bill was passed in the House of Representatives. The bill, while very inventive and, as Morgans saw it, ingenious, was nevertheless also very ambitious. It allowed American businessmen, in other words Prince Davenport, to use extra government funding for weapons research in lieu of the invasion. This extra government funding would mean increased taxes on the civilian population of the country, yet they would be told several forms of tall tales to keep them sated. The bill had been received whole-heartedly, with only a few members of the House in opposition, much to Senator Morgans’ delight. With a little… persuasion, most of the bill’s opposing members had been forced to see things in a more beneficial light. This entire affair had lasted a little over three months, not a bad period of time to wait for something that would inevitably provoke considerable change in the American economy.
Once the bill had been considered acceptable to the House of Representatives, it had found its way into the chambers of the Senate. This part of the bill’s life had unfortunately been far more difficult, a birth that would inevitably leave stress marks on the career of Senator John Morgans. He had done everything in his power to reroute the irksome and potentially debilitating filibusters that had arisen at the mere mention of the bill. After an entire month of strenuous debate, the Senate had invoked cloture. Finally the prolonged period of waiting was over; Morgans had stepped in with a highly convincing argument, effectively slaking the Senate’s insatiable thirst for debate. Today would serve as the final session before the bill was passed. Finally, after months of deliberation, the Senate would set into motion the second stage of a plan that had taken nearly a decade to dream up and put into motion. They had accepted the proposal of one of the most cunning and ruthless Senators to ever take the seat, Senator John Morgans.
Senator Morgans forced himself to project an air of dignified superiority as he stepped through the large double doors leading into the Chamber of the Senate. He nodded at his good friend Cliff Yancey, the junior senator from Tennessee, as he walked past him to take his seat on the front row of the central aisle. After several minutes of hushed whispering, the double doors to the enormous room opened, revealing the aged yet wizened visage of the Vice President of the United States. His presence here was a great honor; normally the Vice President would only preside over the hearing during an extra special occasion, such as the swearing in of a new senator. The fact that he had deemed this a worthy investment of his time spoke volumes as to the importance of this bill. The Vice President, a tall, imposing man with a shock of graying hair and an aristocratic air, took his seat at the head of the ornate dais that dominated the front of the room. It took only a single sweep of his keen blue eyes to force the entire room of one hundred senators into subservient silence. Senator Morgans took this as his cue, standing to his full height, and addressing the Vice President with as much sincerity and conviction as he had ever mustered in his life.
“Mr
. Vice President, I believe it is time to usher in a new era of health and safety for the citizens of America…”
CHAPTER 5
Joseph Burns stepped out of the elevator. It had been a hard, grueling day. A day full of incessant political give and take. He watched his feet as he quickly traversed the highly polished red-oak floor, silently wending his way toward his office. As both the CEO and president of DelTek, he was tasked with managing everything his company dealt with. The last thing he needed was an extra helping of the incessant crushing pressure the figure-head of a company was routinely handed.
He brushed his hand through his dark brown mop of hair, deep in thought. His business had been going well, very well even. Although he was easily making five million a year, his paychecks seemed less of an event now. Things were changing, and not for the better. Incompetence seemed to be running rampant throughout his office—corporate twists and ploys in every corner. Just the other day his secretary had accidentally shredded an important invoice, or so she claimed. Joseph had had his doubts about her since day one, but had denied his intuition its usually predominant position. Now he was seriously regretting that decision.
With a sigh he strolled down the main corridor of his elegantly appointed office. Tapestries and paintings hung almost disdainfully on the dark crimson walls, turning the room into more of a museum than a workspace. At one time he had thought of his office as the nicest in Chicago; now it was merely a place where headaches inexorably turned to migraines. He strode through the large wooden double doors, shutting them behind him in a vain attempt to keep things quiet. Chicago was one of the busiest cities in the world; all the insulated privacy glass in the country was useless in the wake of the incredible racket the citizens made.