Haven

by Justin Kemppainen

  When he passed the cursor over it, the file skittered… Yes, Michaels thought, that’s exactly the word to use. The file sprouted tiny insect-like legs and skittered across screen. His sluggish mind was trying to get irritated about it, but he felt unfocused.

  He lazily dragged the cursor around the screen, the video file retreating away each time he moved too close, and he considered the situation now a day and a half past. Something had continued to nag at him regarding the subject Jeffrey. Michaels, checking up, had contacted the Re-education center, and indeed they had approved Jeffrey fit for service and had honored his request to serve in the Institute.

  “Sentimental fools,” he muttered. He rubbed his eyes. Maybe I’m just not used to seeing a subject so quickly, when they’re still…freshly interrogated. He couldn’t think of a more proper way to say ‘beaten to a pulp.’ Still, something about it just seemed… off.

  Then there was the business about the ambush. Inconceivable! How was it possible that the vermin could have planned it so efficiently? He scoffed. It was luck. There had to be just as many enemy casualties, the surviving soldiers were just addled with wounds and fear. He stared off into space, considering the other possibilities. What else could make an ambush like that successful? He wondered what munitions and supplies they had gotten a hold of, but strategic planning and guerilla fighting tactics were out of the realm of his expertise.

  He pondered this and other similar ideas when he realized the icon had stopped moving. His eyes snapped to the screen, the legs, apparently having retracted, popped back out and the file began skittering around on the screen again.

  What the hell? He blinked. This is ridiculous. His eyes set upon a small circular dot at the top of the screen frame. The device served as a camera for live feed messaging or recording of some variety.

  A crazy thought struck him. He focused his sight on the left wall of his office, away from the screen. Through his peripherals, he smiled as the file-creature did indeed seat itself and retract the limbs. He looked directly at the screen again, and the file started running around again. He shook his head. Clever, Marcus, he thought. You programmed the camera with eye-line detection.

  Michaels focused his gaze on the side wall again. He moved the cursor over the file, and double-clicked. He looked back; the video file was open. The still image, at the beginning of the video, sat on the screen; it was the smiling face of Marcus Coleman. Eccentric, clever bastard. Using something so bizarre as the in-screen camera for file protection. Then again, who would have thought of it? Michaels cracked a smile, in spite of himself. As much as he hated the man, there had to be a little grudging respect.

  He clicked the play button, and the on screen Marcus Coleman sprang to life, reaching his hands towards the screen, fiddling with the tilt to align the camera. He sat in a similar chair at the same desk in the same office. A timestamp at the corner of the video placed the day March 17th, 2032. Michaels glanced at the time signature on the computer. September 15th, of the same year. This file was nearly six months old, putting its creation at around the same time as Coleman’s strange behavior started. Michaels perked up as the dead man began speaking, barely containing his excitement; this was three months prior to his death, and it simply had to be important.

  “…extraordinary discovery by a man in one of the Acquisition Squads, who fortunately was willing to part with it for a small,” he grimaced, “fee. It is the remains of some object of foreign origin, buried in a small depression, possibly a crater.” He frowned. “Unfortunately there are no photographs of the site for confirmation, nor will the man divulge anything further about it.”

  Coleman continued. “The object appears to be a small material inside a clear, dense casing. The encasement is a transparent synthetic material which, so far has proven impregnable to any attempts at access. The object inside the containment is a small piece of a blue-grey material. I am only willing to provide light speculation on what it might be at this time.” He shrugged, grinning with excitement. “It could be a strip of cloth, but why encase a patch of fabric in such an impregnable material?” The onscreen Coleman rubbed his bearded chin. “The other possibility exists that it is a tissue sample. If this is the case…” He smiled, eyes twinkling. “Then we might have evidence of an organism not from this world. Very exciting!” The video ceased, freezing the image of Coleman’s grinning face.

  “So this is what the old fool found,” Michaels muttered. Very interesting, he thought. But this must be only the beginning of it. He stared at the timestamp once more. There has to be more.

  The intercom on his desk buzzed loudly, breaking his chain of thought. Irritated, he tapped a button and said, “What?”

  Dunlevy’s exuberant voice passed through the speaker, “Well, my dear Gregory; cheerful as always, I see!”

  Rolling his eyes, Michaels replied, “What do you want, Citizen Dunlevy?”

  “I want you to call me Arthur, dear boy! Always so forgetful!” he chided.

  Michaels sighed, “Fine. What do you want, Arthur?” clenching his teeth and spitting out the name.

  Dunlevy didn’t appear to notice, “That’s much better. I have some news for you, my boy, and an invitation, if you are interested.”

  “Look Citiz-… Arthur. I am very busy today, and I’ve just found something very intriguing, so I simply don’t have time-”

  Cutting him off, Dunlevy spoke. “Never mind that! There is an advisory council meeting in half an hour. You are hereby invited to participate, being just today approved as Citizen Coleman’s replacement as the head of the department. Of course, we could always find someone else, if you are not interested…” Dunlevy took on a teasing tone.

  Michaels exhaled a long breath, his heart suddenly beating as if to burst, “No, no! Of course I’ll be there.”

  “That’s more like it! I knew you’d warm up, my boy. I hear Citizen One is eager to meet you. Half an hour; I think you know where.” With a click the intercom fell silent.

  Michaels sat in his chair, staring off into space, numb. Finally, a smile spread across his face. Finally. It’s my time, now. He caught a glimpse of Coleman’s smiling face, still staring out at him from the still image of the video file.

  Michaels frowned at the image, and closed the lid to the terminal. Are you proud of me, Marcus? No? What a shame. You’re dead, and your job is mine.

  He pulled on his lab coat and walked out the door, ready to officially begin his new tasks. Despite the happiness about his new promotion, for some reason, he couldn’t shake the image of Coleman’s smiling face on the terminal screen.

  ******

  Jeffrey swept the stairs, ignoring impulses to hide or run. He had discovered that, unless a specific summons occurred, servant tasks were independently handled and no one person bothered to coordinate who did what and when. As long as he went where he was requested by whomever when it was necessary, he could spend time pretending to work.

  He “worked” outside the main entrance of the Institute, across from a square that mirrored the one several stories beneath it. In this way, he was able to see many people come and go, noting how important they appeared and catching snatches of rumors.

  Jeffrey had been sweeping the same ceramic stairway for about three hours. He hadn’t heard anything useful save for a lot of gossip about some recently disgraced Citizen named Davids or Davidson; he heard it both ways. Dozens, maybe hundreds of people had walked by, and he was disappointed by a lack of anything concrete.

  He had just about given up, already having moved to the edge of the staircase, when he saw an elegant black car pull up. He froze, keeping his back to the entrance of the Institute as he noticed Inquisitor Gottfried come outside and walk to the vehicle.

  Gottfried opened the car’s back door and a rather short, hunching figure emerged. The other man, older, had an extremely ruddy complexion that appeared imposing and sinister from the scowl he wore. Jeffrey turned his back again, lest he be recognized by Gottfried and arouse sus
picions. They were just close enough for him to hear what they said.

  “High Inquisitor.” Gottfried greeted him. “The council meeting is set to begin-”

  “Spare me,” his superior growled. “The only reason I’m wasting my time here today is because you failed to convince them of the necessity of another incursion in your messages.”

  Jeffrey stole a glance, a measure of smug delight filling him to see Gottfried’s clenched jaw and stiff posture as he was chastised.

  The High Inquisitor walked past his subordinate, who fell in step beside him. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” the man said, “I’ve already organized the reserve military. They’ll be ready to commence this evening whether or not the council approves of it.” He turned towards Gottfried. “Against my better judgment, I’m still placing you in charge of monitoring the battle progress against this ‘Silver Fox’ character when it starts. Do not mess it up. And let me do the speaking in the council meeting.” Gottfried nodded stiffly and both men entered the building.

  Jeffrey was already walking back towards the servant barracks. This sounds like something Elijah ought to hear about, he thought.

  Chapter 12: Events in Motion

  The man, one Kaylee knew as Rick, walked through the ruined remnants of Old Haven, specific location in mind. He traveled to one of the well-known garbage repository sites, near Purgatory, looking in the heap of trash for some sign from a man he knew. He clamored up the veritable mountain of both useless and worthwhile Citizen garbage, digging through a good portion of the latest dump. A few people salvaging had already come through, overturning much of the newest material to pull out the useful things that had been thrown away. These items, however, were not his concern.

  After a while of searching, he extracted a filthy white towel. Upon the dirty cloth was written in marker, “JF19 – Forces likely incoming tonight. RE – Silver Fox.” He smiled and folded the message, tucking it into a small pocket of his pack. Jeffrey’s identification code and a message regarding another possible attack. Seeing no apparent threat in the streets outside the alley, he jogged along the sidewalks, heading out of the downtown area of Old Haven.

  Rick had been happy enough when he found the first message, saying “JF19 – A OK,” dropping at the allotted time and place. Jeffrey had not only provided the proper information that allowed the successful ambush, but he appeared to be still functioning as a spy, ready to pass further intelligence.

  After a time, Rick arrived back at the Highland, bearing the message. He passed it through the slot to the blue-eyed man that he knew was, in fact, not the real Elijah, who passively read it and stated, “Gather your men, have them on standby. Have the Escape building under constant surveillance and have your forces ready to move at a moment’s notice. The target will most likely be the former red-light district.”

  The message from Jeffrey was straightforward enough, but Rick often wondered from where else Elijah received information. Elijah was very thorough always having as many sources of intelligence as he possibly could. Hell, he’s probably hacked into the database that keeps track of personnel deployment, Rick thought. If that’s the case, then was handing Jeff to those bastards really necessary? He disregarded his concerns, taking a deep breath. Elijah knows what he’s doing.

  Victor continued to stare at him, waiting for the response. Rick flashed a smile. “No problem.”

  “Good.” Victor replied. The slot on the door slid shut. Rick started walking down the hallway, already on his radio, in contact with his men to get things moving.

  ******

  Kaylee sat in her room, just before noon, lounging on the soft, cushiony bed, thinking about the potential the next few days would bring. She tried to keep her mind off of it, but every time she did, she always ended up thinking about her impending capture.

  It fortunately did not stop her from enjoying the luxury of her accommodations. She had spent the entire previous day relaxing and reading various magazines published between two and ten years ago.

  She did nothing; it was amazing. No fears, no concerns. Just the joys of not having to do anything at all. She got up, went into the bathroom, and appraised herself in the mirror. The cuts on her head and face had scabbed over, and the angry welt from being pistol-whipped had faded somewhat. The bumps on her head still felt tender, but, otherwise, she felt rested and renewed. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be long-lived.

  There was a knock on the door. Kaylee grimaced. She exited the bathroom and slowly crossed the room. Sighing reluctantly, she opened the door.

  A nondescript man stood in the hallway. He said, “Elijah wants to see you,” before walking away.

  Kaylee sighed again. She took one last look at the room, representing one of the best times she could recall. Without fear, without thought of starvation. Just simple relaxation. Not one for long goodbyes, she scooped up a few random belongings and passed down the stairs without a second glance backwards.

  A few minutes later, she arrived at the heavy door, the outside guard already absent. Before she could even knock, the panel on the door slid open, revealing those familiar bright blue eyes. The man most folks knew as Elijah, but Kaylee had recently discovered was Victor, spoke.

  “It’s time.” He tilted his head towards the empty chair. “Those are your supplies. You are to pose as an unaffiliated wanderer.”

  Kaylee nodded. There was a pack sitting on the chair. She dug through the it. A little food and water. Some extra clothing which she assumed would fit her. A small black .22 pistol, easily concealable, different than the one she had taken from the Citizenship soldiers that she had run into…

  She shook her head. Her encounter was only a couple of days prior, but it felt like a lifetime ago. She continued to rummage, and came across a new switchblade. She held it in the open palm of her hand, and shuddered, recalling where her previous weapon had ended up. She smiled as her hands ran across a severely banged-up can, containing… peaches. A souvenir?

  When she looked up at Victor, he continued. “You’ll travel west along the street in front of the Citizen’s Escape. Miguel’s main base of operations is an old club known as Heavenly Bodies, within the former red-light district at the far northwest side of the city. Continue moving in that direction, and you’ll be captured before you get very far.”

  Kaylee said, “I kind of know where it is,” she stopped, thinking, “but really only as a place I was supposed to avoid.”

  Victor continued without acknowledging. “His forces will likely take you directly to the club and to him for appraisal. Offer resistance when you meet him, and there’s a good chance it will buy you some time.” He blinked. “From what we know about his behavior, Miguel enjoys the pursuit of his female companions.” Kaylee frowned. “The Citizenship should send their retaliation force to the location before anything unpleasant occurs.”

  “What if they don’t come?”

  Victor paused. “Then do your best to escape.”

  Kaylee grimaced. Not helpful, she thought, but she didn’t press the issue. “All right…” She rummaged through the pack, discovering a very small device, the size of the very tip of her thumb. “What’s this?”

  “Keep that concealed. It’s a transmitter that will broadcast your location to us. Activate it, and we’ll try to find you, but don’t use it until after the Citizen attack begins.”

  “How will I know?”

  She could see a hint of a smile tinge the piercing eyes. “They don’t know much about subtlety. You should be able to figure it out.”

  Kaylee took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.” She turned back, “Anything else I should know?”

  “Be careful. If you must fight him directly, avoid his face or sensitive regions. He holds extreme pride in both and has severely tortured and killed people for such things.”

  Kaylee shuddered and walked down the hallway. As she turned the corner, towards the backstage area of the theatre, she heard, echoing down the hall, “Good luck!” in th
e voice she recognized as belonging to the real Elijah.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, passing through the Highland stage area again, this time too wrapped up in her thoughts to look around or absorb the grand, empty space. She reached the box office, and Rick caught up to her.

  “Keep that device hidden, and we’ll find you.” He promised.

  She smiled at him. “Thanks, Rick.”

  “I’m not going to let you get hurt.” He winced slightly. “If I can help it, that is.”

  She laughed. “Great confidence. I don’t know what I could have ever been worried about.”

  Rick gave a sheepish grin. “I do what I can.” His smile faded, and he regarded her with a serious eye. “Just be careful, okay?”

  She nodded. “I will.” She moved out of the building and walked down the street, passing out of the arts district.

  ******

  Kaylee’s traveling took her into the mostly-empty residential area again. The red-brown stains of old dried blood remained in the locations that once held Citizen soldier bodies. Kaylee briefly wondered where they moved them to, but, upon consideration, decided that she didn’t really want to know.

  Within the residential area where Kaylee now walked, the buildings were separated by a few feet, if they were separated at all, barely enough for a person to walk between. The buildings were very tall, apartment-style structures that housed hundreds of people and families. Houses, due to limited space since the isolationism, were fairly rare. Only a few remained, and only for those who were wealthy or stubborn enough to avoid replacement by more economical living arrangements.

  Kaylee walked on an old broken up sidewalk with weeds running rampant, bursting through the cracks. A few people must have lived in this area, as there were a couple of working streetlamps to keep a little bit of light. Kaylee didn’t know which of the houses or flats were home to refugees, criminals, or anything else, and she preferred to keep it that way. It always seemed safer not to meet anyone.