“Alpha, Alpha base, respond!” could be heard, the other-end operator begging for a response. There was a click as the other end of the radio was switched off, then nothing.
“That’s it,” the operator said, looking pale and unsettled, “that came in an hour ago. I sent someone up right away and waited in case any more signals came through, but…” he shook his head, “nothing else since.”
Gottfried furrowed his brow, but remained silent. He rubbed his chin, hunched over the table. The operator shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not sure what else to do or say. “Good work,” the inquisitor finally said. “Continue your monitoring here for any further signals.” He held out his hand. “Give me a copy of the recording.” The operator punched a few buttons, set a small round disc into a device. After a moment, he handed the recording to the Inquisitor.
Gottfried whirled around and walked out of the room, already on his personal comm. He keyed in to High Inquisitor Wresh’s quarters and heard a soft ringing.
“What?” the harsh, gravelly voice came through the earpiece.
“There’s a problem. A council meeting needs to be called immediately.” Gottfried said as he walked out of the bunker area.
“It can wait until morning.” Wresh said in irritated tones.
Gottfried clenched his teeth, “It can’t. All of the soldiers in down below are dead.”
Wresh didn’t speak for several moments, but Gottfried could hear his hissing breath on the other end. “Sir?”
“Call the meeting,” was all that he said before hanging up.
Gottfried tucked his comm. back into his pocket and walked across the lawn. Ornate street lamps were intermittent, spreading soft, golden light throughout the small park area. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of movement. His head snapped in the direction, but there was nothing more, a few young trees, the servants’ barracks off in the distance.
Preoccupation took the better of him, and he walked off towards the side entrance of the Institute. Once inside, through the lobby and down the hallway, he headed into the Inquisition building and to the elevator. At the desk, he directed the night-staff receptionist to rouse the advisory council and send them immediately to the council chamber.
The woman nodded and picked up her phone. Gottfried stepped into the elevator.
******
Every time thus far that Jeffrey tried to sleep, his wrenching stomach cramps prevented his slumber. The waves of pain came more frequently now, and he now wondered more often if he was dying. He held down no food or water, and every time he purged there was a little more blood mixed into the acidic content.
He spent the last couple of nights, instead of waking up every half hour and writhing around on his thin mattress, outside of the servants’ quarters walking around. The cool, night air and brilliant sky calmed him somewhat, kept him relaxed through the clenching pain.
It was by chance that he happened to notice the familiar bolt upright posture of Inquisitor Gottfried coming out of the underground section not far removed from his living space. Instinct told him to stay hidden, and so he managed to avoid being spotted by dropping prone behind a small rise in the park.
He had heard snippets of one-side of the phone conversation when Gottfried came outside. The important thing that he caught was ‘council meeting immediately,’ and something about dead soldiers.
Considering that it was past midnight and the Citizenship followed a fairly reasonable schedule of events, Jeffrey guessed that a late night meeting was something very important, and he had a hunch regarding what it was about.
The only problem was figuring out how to spy on them. It seemed that servants seldom entered the chamber, and it was only by observation and assumption that Jeffrey thought that the meeting area was through the elevator in the Inquisition building, near the apex of the spire. From the sounds of things, Gottfried was calling the meeting. That meant people might be coming soon.
Ignoring the wave of nausea and willing it to pass without incident, he sprinted over to his housing unit to grab a few supplies.
******
“I can’t believe this,” Michaels complained noisily, “A council meeting at this hour? Absurd!”
“You’ve been a member of the advisory council for, what? Two days? And you’re already complaining about meetings?” Claudia found herself once again walking with the newest member, continuing the bickering of earlier in the day.
“Don’t try and tell me that this so-called meeting doesn’t bother you.” He said, wagging his finger at her as they walked.
She got the urge to grab his finger and twist. Instead, she retorted, “I understand how important the advisory council’s job is. We control what happens in Haven, and such a task sometimes requires odd hours.”
Michaels threw back his head and laughed, “Do you really think what we say matters? Even a little? If Citizen One isn’t controlling everything, it’s Wresh and the rest of the Inquisitors!”
Claudia stopped and glared at him, “That’s not true.”
Michaels raised his eyebrows, “Really, do you think so? Because, you know, I’ve only been in the council for two days,” he said sarcastically, “I can’t possibly have noticed how easily Wresh trampled over anything you, Myers, or Dunlevy said.”
Claudia fumed, “Whatever.” She turned and walked down the hallway towards the elevator.
The feeling of smug satisfaction warmed his temperament, and with a smirk he followed a short distance behind. He knew she’d be in a foul mood, and as much fun as it’d be to exacerbate it-
The thought ran incomplete as Michaels collided with one of the servants coming out of one of the side Inquisition office rooms carrying a small bucket of water and some rags.
The rags fell harmlessly to the ground. Unfortunately, the bucket overturned, spilling a large quantity of dingy, lukewarm water all over him.
His mood soured instantly as he was drenched to the skin. He looked down at his wet clothing, and turned a furious glare up towards his assailant. His anger mingled with surprise and confusion when he saw that he recognized him.
“You! Wh-what the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
Jeffrey gazed at him with dull, lifeless eyes, “I was cleaning. I’m sorry I spilled. I will clean it up.” He awkwardly bent over and grabbed the dirty rags from the ground and dabbed at the damp floor. He stood up and started dabbing at Michaels’ soaked shirt with the wet rags, doing little good.
Michaels’ eyes went wide and he pushed the servant away. “What the hell are you doing? Stop it! Just-”
He stopped as he heard the sound laughter from down the hallway. Claudia had turned around to see Michaels’ plight. She shook her head back and forth, amused at his plight. Michaels grimaced and returned his glare to the servant, who stood staring off into nothing with his mouth hanging open.
Michaels let out a long sigh. Claudia was hiding her smile behind her hand, still shaking with laughter. “The council meeting won’t wait, Citizen Michaels,” she called sweetly down the hall to him.
Even said just to irritate him, he realized she was correct. “Look,” he said to the servant, whose name he was too distracted to remember, “Bring me a towel and a dry shirt.” He pointed down the hallway to the elevator. “Take that elevator up to the highest floor. I’ll be in that room. Go.”
The servant nodded and shuffled off down the way, heading over towards the living area. Michaels, still dripping, moved down towards Claudia, who waited in the elevator, smirking at him. After informing the receptionist to allow the servant to come up, he stepped inside, trying very hard to ignore Claudia, who continued to snickering at his expense.
******
Michaels sat in the chair to the left of the High Inquisitor Julian Wresh, who, if anything, looked more old and careworn than he did before. His deeply lined face seemed fixed in a permanent grimace. He didn’t greet anyone or say anything at all, save for whispering with the other Inquisitors present. They
were so wrapped up that they didn’t even comment on Michaels’ damp status, which Myers and Dunlevy chuckled at after Claudia related the story.
Michaels felt uncomfortable sitting next to Dunlevy, considering the events earlier in the day. If Dunlevy remembered or cared about the physical encounter, he gave no indication; he laughed and chattered with his usual exuberance. Michaels smiled and went along with it, awkward, uncomfortable, and still wet.
All were present and had been for a few minutes at the crescent-shaped table, but Citizen One had yet to “arrive.” Every now and then, the other members would glance over at the podium, where the hologram typically appeared. This suggested to Michaels that it was taking longer than usual. He wondered where the servant was. It was chilly in the room, and he was starting to shiver.
The two cylinders slid out of the floor, and in moments with crisscrossing lights behind the podium, and soon enough the image of the young Franklin Lange appeared with an angry scowl.
A trickle of fear slipped down Michaels’ spine at the look on the hologram’s face. He shifted his glance back and forth, looking at the other council members. Every one of them looked nervous and uncomfortable.
Citizen One leveled his angry gaze on Inquisitor Gottfried. “You called this meeting. It had better be important.”
Gottfried stood up and walked over to the center of the table. Michaels and Wresh leaned to the sides to let him through, and he inserted a small disc into a slot. Through speakers that Michaels couldn’t see, they all listened with growing apprehension at the recording. Gottfried stood upright with his arms folded behind his back.
The strained, nervous voice of the radio operator came through. “This is Technical Sergeant Alan Kilvin from the remains of Alpha base, calling to Citizen Command. Alpha base was attacked, and we were taken prisoner yesterday, forced to relay false information. Captain Redgick is dead. They knew we were coming, and they killed everyone. They’re well-trained, and there’s nothing we could have done. I’m… oh God.”
Everyone, including the hologram of Lange, jumped as the recording punctuated with the loud bang and the crash and tumble, followed by the frantic yell of the operator on the other end. The speakers fell silent, and no one spoke as it sunk in.
Lange broke the silence, “What guarantees do we have of the authenticity of the message?”
Everyone was slightly confused by the question’s intent. Gottfried spoke up first, “There is no logical reason for our enemies to endeavor to deceive us in this fashion.”
The hologram raised an eyebrow, “Really? Perhaps it’s a feeble attempt to make us concerned, to fear their might, to attempt to gain negotiation leverage over us.”
“That is a possibility,” Gottfried replied, narrowing his eyes, “but our updates for last twenty-four hours have shown a lack of progress consistent with the spread of evasive and false information.”
Lange looked unconvinced, “Perhaps. Your assumptions are that they pulled together a military strength capable of defeating our forces.”
Citizen Myers spoke slowly, in his rumbling bass, “They already did it before, a few nights ago, didn’t they?”
A deadly glare from Lange settled on the broadcasting head, who merely raised an eyebrow in return. “Am I wrong? This seems, to me, like the exact same situation, only this time we don’t have any survivors left to tell the tale.” Myers continued, gesturing at the recording disk still in the slot. “Only the last, desperate message of a dead man. Hell, we were probably lucky to get that much.”
Claudia and Dunlevy both nodded their heads in agreement. Michaels frowned, and the Inquisitors all wore grim expressions.
Venom laced Lange’s response, “You’re telling me that four hundred of our soldiers, trained and experienced, couldn’t defeat a loose rabble of that pathetic, half-starved human refuse?”
Myers shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Wresh cut in, “I, myself, despise admitting the possibility, but their high level of threat can no longer be discounted.”
Claudia, with a sharp edge, responded, “Maybe if we tried something besides killing and enslaving them…”
Lange’s face lit up, glaring at Claudia, “How dare you?!” He snarled. “We give them opportunity! The opportunity to be a part of this grand working. It is because they are so deviant and barbaric that we need to resort to such measures!” He slowly shook his head, fuming. “They casually cast aside our offerings; they deserve nothing better than death!”
“Citizen One is correct.” Wresh spoke, calmly. “It doesn’t matter if this message was deception; enough time has been wasted on them.” Michaels heard his own words repeated through the High Inquisitor, but they somehow felt… less right.
Dunlevy frowned. “What is it you’re suggesting?”
“It’s time to cease consideration and employ the contingency plan. Immediately.” Wresh replied. The four members from research and information paled at this, even Michaels, who keenly remembered the biochemical agent.
“It’s not ready.” Claudia said, shaking her head, “I can’t guarantee that the substance will behave as intended. Our Citizens could be exposed.”
A wicked grin split the High Inquisitor’s face, “You could consider such a situation a necessary evil.”
Dunlevy jumped from his seat, “Monstrous dog!” he roared. “This isn’t some deviant rabble you’re talking about. These are Citizens!”
Wresh did not react to the outburst; he merely smiled again, “Who could use a healthy dose of fear every now and then, do you not agree? All we need do is inform them,” he motioned to Myers, “that it was a horrific attack by those from down below.” He snapped his fingers. “Our tolerance of vermin has softened us too far, allowed us to become complacent and our Citizens with us.” He passed his gaze across the room.
Michaels’ imagination ran wild with the thoughts of gaseous fog spreading through the streets of Haven. Male, female, and children Citizens fleeing in terror, writhing in agony on the ground as their bodies disintegrated from within.
“Besides,” Wresh continued, “it will present an excellent opportunity to implicate the more irritating individuals in our midst.” Dunlevy’s eyes widened.
Unbidden the image of the burned corpse of Marcus Coleman, jaw wrenched open for dental identification rose in Michaels’ mind. In spite of wanting to argue against the High Inquisitor, Michaels believed that Wresh would not hesitate to eliminate anyone, especially not if he could find an easy way to justify it.
Myers, on the other hand, was having none of it. He joined Dunlevy in a standing position, and his deep voice contained hard edges of anger. “You want to use the death of Citizens as a way of eliminating your opposition.”
Wresh shrugged, “Our opposition, my friend.”
Claudia spat, “Don’t try to pretend like this doesn’t fuel your own ambition, you spineless worm!”
A flash of irritation came across the High Inquisitor’s face, but melted away and, once more, the smile split his heavily lined face, “I assure you, my friends,” the way he said the word ‘friends’ made Michaels cringe, “that my intentions are pure and motivated only by the duty I feel towards our great society.”
Even the other Inquisitors were frowning at this, and Michaels understood just why Claudia was so upset by his earlier statement. It was true; Wresh practically was in charge of everything. Made most evident by the image of Citizen One, who nodded slowly.
“The High Inquisitor is correct. Although I do not wish to see my Citizens perish, allowing the vermin further time to exist is out of the question. It represents an unacceptable risk to our way of life.” Lange said firmly.
Claudia burst out, “But the weapon isn’t ready for use-”
Lange shot her a glare, making her fall silent, “Then you will work to make it ready. Use whatever staff you need to properly prepare it. It will be ready to deploy within three days. Do you understand me?”
She stammered, “But… we can’t-”
&n
bsp; He cut her off again, “Yes, you can. It will be ready by then.” Claudia cringed. Even though they had done little but bicker, Michaels felt sorry for her.
“Y-yes. Of course.” She sat down, folded her hands, and looked intently at the table, not meeting anyone else’s eyes.
With a soft ding, the elevator doors slid open. Everyone except for Claudia, who stared pitifully at nothing, turned in their chairs to look.
The lone servant came plodding up the ramp, holding a clean, pressed shirt on a hanger and a white towel over his shoulder. Everyone looked surprised by his presence, and Lange narrowed his eyes, and veins stood out on his forehead and neck. “What is that doing in this chamber?!” He yelled.
Michaels jumped up and moved towards the newcomer. “Oh, don’t worry, Citizen One, my apologies. This fellow spilled a quantity of water on me,” he gestured at his still-damp shirt for emphasis. “Not wanting to be late for such an important meeting, I told him to bring me clean implements.”
The hologram’s face became a mask of livid rage. Michaels would have marveled at the technology to emulate the emotions if they hadn’t been so strongly directed at him, “How dare you bring someone uninvited into this chamber? Especially this filth, this worthless piece of inferior garbage!” he screamed.
Michaels trembled at the outburst. He stammered, “W-, Well, I uh, that is to say, I’m, uh… I wasn’t aware of any-”
Wresh waved his hand, “Leave him be, he didn’t know.”
In a flash, Lange was glaring at the High Inquisitor with the same intensity, “You do not tell me how to run my council or my city you presumptuous oaf!” He roared. “Keep your tongue silent lest I find reason to take it from you!”
Wresh was momentarily taken aback, but soon he resumed scowling, his own anger barely contained at the rebuke. Lange turned back towards Michaels, “As for you…” the hologram glared into space, clenching his teeth, “you are a new member of this council, granted. However, from this moment you will be expected to be entirely familiar with all of its specific rules, or you will find that more than just your position will be removed. Do you understand?”
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