Elijah clenched his teeth, “A very good question. It was never mentioned before today, but there was no doubting the truth in Jeffrey’s eyes. He heard it.”
Victor raised an eyebrow, “Your informant?”
Elijah shook his head, “They must not have spoken about it much, or it wasn’t a concern before now, otherwise he’d have told me.” He let out a bitter laugh. “That, and the damnable power is fluctuating at the shop; he probably tried.”
Victor grimaced, “At least we shouldn’t have to deal with that for much longer.”
“Yes, because being dead will be much better.”
Victor glared, “We don’t know what will happen.”
Elijah shook his head, “What else could happen?” He spread out his hands. “Lange dies; someone else steps in, hunts down and executes anyone unable to prove their Citizenship.”
Victor curled a fist, “It doesn’t matter; staying here means certain death. At least this way, Lange finally gets what he deserves.”
Elijah smirked, “And it matters not who suffers,” he said, casting a sorrowful look over at Jeffrey. A shiver spiked through him as he noticed that the man’s shallow breathing had stopped. He grabbed the man’s shoulders and shook him, calling his name. When this elicited no response, he reached over and pressed two fingers on the side of his neck, checking for a pulse. Finding none, Elijah buried his face in his hands.
Chapter 31: Political Dissent
Citizen Gregory Michaels was surprised to remember that he had not yet finished watching the remainder of the video file from the day before. So much had happened; the physical encounter with Dunlevy, the incident in the research lab with Claudia, then the midnight emergency meeting.
Since he had still yet to discover what his new duties were along with his promotion, along with the complete cessation of prisoners to administer chemical interrogation to, he was one of the people temporarily reassigned to assist Claudia in the development of her biochemical agent.
They tried to keep the weapon secret, so most of the extra help worked on casings, delivery mechanisms, and electronic functions of the device rather than with the actual substance. Michaels, being privy to the knowledge, was able to work directly with Claudia on the formula and replication process.
“Why are you here? I don’t need your help,” she had said with an angry glare when he had arrived a couple hours before.
He had merely smiled and started looking over her notes and components. His experience in chemistry and biology allowed him to decipher what the various near-illegible scribblings meant. He chided her on her poor penmanship, to which she responded with a rude gesture.
Michaels found that he enjoyed the exchanges he had with Claudia. This has to be the same satisfaction Arthur gets out of bothering me, he had thought. In any case, Michaels believed that Claudia had nothing but disdain for him, and so he rewarded her by doing everything he could to be irritating.
“If you had altered this and this,” he pointed to several places in her notes, “the substance would have been more easily soluble. How could you not see that?” Later on, he chided, “You do realize that the delivery system is too frail for real practicality.”
In reality, he found the entire device both elegant and near-brilliant. It wasn’t without its flaws, but it was as good as it could get on such a tight timetable. However, as he watched her continue to work, he could see the strain in her entire body. True to her word, she was not happy to be working on such a horrific weapon.
Of course, this didn’t lead him to even consider letting up on her. He didn’t actually do much to help her in the hours he spent assisting, and it was after his comment, “You know, higher pressurization would extend the dispersal range,” that she finally snapped.
She whirled around and grabbed him by his collar, “I don’t give the slightest amount of shit what you think about any of my work, so why don’t you get the hell out of my office and find some other poor soul to torture you meek, whining little son of a-”
Michaels held up his hands and laughed, “All right, fine.” His flippant response caused her eyes to widen with even more rage, “I’ll get out of your hair. Try not to miss me too much.”
With a loud noise of pure disgust she released him, whirled around, and hunched over her desk once more. He heard her muttering angrily as he left the room with a glow of satisfaction surrounding him.
It was then that he realized that he hadn’t finished the video file. Since he had nothing else pressing, he decided to spend the time in his office.
Sometime later, he came through the door, holding a steaming, fresh styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand with instructions to the front desk secretary that, in spite of him being in his office, he wouldn’t be taking any calls. Not that he received many to begin with, or that it ever seemed to do any good; he just didn’t like to be bothered.
He planted the cup on the desk and lifted the lid of the inlaid terminal. Still on the display was the video file with Coleman’s face awkwardly frozen in mid-word and halfway through blinking.
He stared at the grainy still image, amazed that he didn’t quite feel the same level of disdain for him as before. The animosity still existed, but viewing the man didn’t immediately make him scowl. The thought, however, did make him frown slightly, as he wondered if his well-justified attitude of superiority was softening. He still generally felt as though he were more intelligent and capable than the rest of his colleagues, but something was different. Less confidence, his mind informed him, too many things you aren’t used to are happening. Genocide and politics? Michaels realized that people like Claudia, Myers, and Dunlevy at least had more experience than him.
He also found himself agreeing with them on more than just the genocide issue. It seemed that Lange was too old and detached to remain the ruler for much longer. There was no established succession or election process, so it was likely that Wresh, having considerable influence, would take over. Michaels shuddered at the thought. Even though it would fulfill the little man’s desire, it would likely not result in much good for the Citizenship.
He cast the thoughts aside with a shake of his head. Not important right now, he thought. He reached to resume the recording, remembering with blunted enthusiasm the nature of the discovery and its restorative capabilities. He clicked play, and Coleman’s image spoke once more.
“...but it really could work,” Michaels remembered the talk about implanting the sample in the cadaver, wondering vaguely if he indeed managed to do it before he died.
Coleman sighed, “Well, anyway… This technology is far beyond the realm of technology or expertise that this planet has ever seen. I marvel at what it could mean for us as a people, but I shudder to think of how this government, under the short-sighted leadership of Lange would react to it.” Coleman developed an irritated expression, “It’s not as though we’ll see any improvement.” He said, mirroring Michaels’ own recent thoughts on the subject. “Lange is already determined to try and make himself live forever. Considering how decrepit he is, at whatever his age is now...” He shook his head. “I shudder to consider if he was able to utilize something that would grant him immortality.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Of course the High Inquisitor would be no better, if he ever fulfilled his obvious ambition. At least with Lange there is a measure of intelligence and rationality mixed in with his superiority complex and severe paranoia.”
Coleman dropped his head into his hands, and during the silence Michaels wondered where the sample had gone. An icicle slid through his spine as he considered that it could have been incinerated when Coleman died. The discovery lost…he thought.
“Still,” Coleman said, rubbing his beard, “I don’t know if I can keep this to myself any longer, but I don’t know in whom I can confide. Citizen Gregory Michaels has a sharp intellect, but he seems so indoctrinated into the culture of narrow-minded superiority.” Michaels felt a pang of irritation at the insult, feeling slightly offended. “Myers is sharp, b
ut self-serving, and the same goes for Citizen Laverock. Arthur perhaps?” He gave short laugh. “He is the closest thing I have to a friend here, but would he be capable of keeping quiet?”
Coleman shook his head again, “I don’t know, but I’m going to have to do something about it soon. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.” With that, the weary-looking man reached over and the image froze, ending the recording.
Michaels let out a sigh and sank back into the chair, contemplating. There are far too many things occurring to keep track of, he thought. Genocide against the dwellers of down below? Alien technology of immortality? He again wondered where the sample had ended up; whether it was destroyed, or if Coleman had attempted his experiment. This collided with the thoughts of the horrific chemical agent, and Michaels wondered if the restorative technology could deal with such a biologically disruptive force.
Thoughts swirling, he closed out of the video file, and, with a start, he saw that the desktop had changed from a passive sky-blue color to a deep red with a bright white graphical skull imposed in the center. A shiver rolled up Michaels’ spine at the grim image, and he wondered why it had changed. He moved the cursor around the screen, and suddenly the skull’s mouth sprang open and round, bloodshot eyes formed in the dark sockets.
Through the speakers Michael could hear the sound of deep, throaty laughter and the screen went wild with flashing colors of dark red, orange, and yellow. Michaels stared at the display with growing apprehension as the words ‘Destroy it!’ flashed across the screen, superimposed over the image.
Then, all at once, the screen went completely black. He tried to move the cursor around, but only a dark displacement blur, like a finger tracing across the surface of water, appeared where the cursor should have been. Confused, he was reaching for the reset button when his desk let out a sharp blare.
He jumped, wondering why the intercom signal was so obnoxious. He pressed the button, “What?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” he recognized the voice of the receptionist, “but there is someone here to see you.”
He touched the button again, “I don’t want any visitors. Tell them I’m busy.”
“I tried that, sir. Several times.”
In the background, he heard a distinct female voice, Claudia, “I know he’s in there. Tell him to get his ass out here. Now!”
“Just a moment, ma’am,” he heard the receptionist say. Then, directed at him, she said, “She’s very insistent, would it be possible for you to come out here?”
Chuckling to himself at the thought of Claudia coming to find him, he replied with, “Yes, of course, I’ll be right there.”
With a last glance at the screen, he saw that the video program was open with a new file loaded, and the desktop had returned to its normal color. He blinked, surprised by the change. Hesitantly, he reached over and closed the lid. Curious as he was, there would be time enough for it later.
He stepped out into the hallway, and moments later he walked up to an irate-looking Claudia, still arguing with the receptionist.
“Well, call him again! I don’t have time to stand around waiting.”
The woman at the desk’s composure was clearly starting to wear, “He will be along.” She smiled sweetly at Michaels as he came up, “Hello Citizen Michaels.”
Claudia whirled around, “Took you long enough.” she said angrily. “Hurry up and come with me.”
Michaels raised an eyebrow and stood his ground, “Hello Claudia, nice to see you too.” Her scowl deepened. “Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?”
She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “I need your…” she got a disgusted look, “help with something.” She gritted her teeth. “If you’re not too busy.”
A feeling of glee flooded through him. “Of course. I’m never to busy to assist you, my dear.”
Claudia rolled her eyes and started walking briskly down the hall. “Hurry up!” she called without turning around.
Laughing to himself, he set off down the hallway after her.
******
“Bullshit!” Kaylee shouted. “There is no goddamn way!”
Rick sighed. He knew this was going to be difficult. “C’mon, Kaylee, it’ll be a lot better this way.”
“Screw that!” she yelled. “I’m not doing it.”
Rick rubbed his eyes, “Why not? It’ll be safe, easy, and you’ll get to hang out in that nice flat. What’s the problem with that?”
“I’m not getting stuck babysitting kids and old folks. That’s bullshit!”
Rick started getting irritated at her belligerence, “They aren’t just kids and old people; there are plenty of non-combatant civilians there too.”
“So you classify me as non-combatant and put me on a useless detail? After all I’ve done?”
“You’re going to help save dozens of lives this way, how is that at all useless?” Rick asked, exasperated.
“Come on! They don’t need me over there. Cut the masculine crap and let me go with the main force.” Kaylee insisted.
Rick rolled his eyes. Her interpretation of his chauvinistic desire to protect women wasn’t entirely correct. She’d just barely survived something terrible not days earlier, and he admitted to himself that he didn’t want to put her in a situation like that again.
On the other hand, she was also too stubborn and inexperienced in actual combat to be very useful to his squad. She’d most likely be a detriment to their success. “Look, I still don’t get why you’re being so insistent.”
Kaylee glared up at him, “I don’t need you to try and protect me. I can take care of myself.”
“Well then, why don’t you use some of that considerable ability to try and take care of a few others,” Rick snapped.
“Because I’d be more useful-”
“Enough!” He shouted. “Do you know how to use one of these?” He unslung his submachine gun and shoved it into her hands. She looked down at it for a second before holding it up to her shoulder, awkwardly. “Look at that! You can barely hold the damn thing! How do you think you’d fare in a real firefight?”
Rick winced as she threw the weapon on the ground with a loud clatter. “Screw you.” She spat, whirling around and storming off, down the street. They had been standing next to the memorial fountain in front of Purgatory during the discussion.
“Kaylee! Just…” he sighed as she ignored him, “whatever.” He muttered. She’ll be back, he thought.
Fighting logistics was still a primary concern of his. The more he thought about it, the less terrible of an idea Kaylee coming with seemed, as there would be dozens more soldiers that he wouldn’t be able to properly evaluate. She’d probably be more useful than a bunch of them. Fortunately, most of the fighting force would be managed by their own leaders, Sergei and Isaac, but there still had to be some coordination on a large scale.
Rick wasn’t surprised when Victor told him that he’d been selected to handle the planning. At the same time, dealing with it was going to be a nightmare of trying to assess abilities, strengths, and weaknesses, as well as how obedient the various leaders and soldiers would be. That and I’ve got about half a day to do it.
He sighed again and rubbed his eyes. He looked up, jumping slightly when he noticed that Malcolm hadn’t followed Kaylee. The big guy really creeped him out. He creeps everyone out, Rick thought. Even Victor, who could stand eye to eye with the brute and never really expressed much emotion, appeared at least slightly uncomfortable around the shrouded figure. Elijah, on the other hand, couldn’t hide an obvious fascination, but Malcolm’s narrow-eyed glare kept him from examining too closely.
“Wwhat iss pllace?” Rick’s eyes popped open when Malcolm spoke to him.
Rick’s ear tried to interpret the statement, but it was too sharp and hissing to really tell. Rick hadn’t heard him say much of anything before this, but Kaylee swore that he spoke English.
“What?” Rick said, in reflex.
“Pplaacee
.”
‘Place’, a little voice in Rick’s head piped up. He said ‘place’. I guess Kaylee was right.
“Place?” he finally replied. “What place?
Malcolm nodded, “Wwhhat iissss pplaaace?”
Rick squeezed his eyes shut, trying to figure out what the bizarre creature was talking about, “I don’t know what you mean. What place are you talking about?”
“Pllaace yyouu go.”
“Place…” a thought sparked in Rick. “Do you mean the Institute?”
Recognition flared in Malcolm’s eyes, “Yess. Whkhat iss pplaace?”
The tiny voice in his head giggled at the peculiarity of the whole conversation. “The Institute,” Rick said slowly, not really knowing why he was still talking to Malcolm, “is their headquarters for everything. Their policing body resides there, all of their research,” Malcolm cocked his head at the word ‘research,’ “is done there. Lange,” Malcolm’s eyes turned into an angry glare, “apparently lives there too.” The tiny voice, done laughing, urged him to ask a question that he didn’t want to. “Why do you want to know?” Rick asked, wincing at his own weakness.
Malcolm stared at him for several seconds, and Rick grew increasingly uneasy under the silent gaze. Finally, Malcolm hissed, “Rrememmber,” then turned and walked off, in the direction that Kaylee went.
Rick was left standing by himself, wondering exactly what it was that he should be remembering. He rubbed his forehead, and the tiny voice in his head spoke to him once more. It’s him, it said. He remembers. The thought confused Rick even more as he wondered why Malcolm would recall anything from the surface. Although he did seem to recognize ‘the Institute’ and Lange’s name, he thought.
Someone in Purgatory shouted over to him, derailing his train of thought. He jogged over, his mind shifting gears back towards trying to plan out how this whole mess was going to work.
******
Haven Page 31