by EF Joyce
"Oh, sweetie, oh my, I can't imagine what you went through I just can-NOT!" said Bailey Tangerine, a night show host who interviewed models, Lynthe players and the more famous in Arcadia. Rozlyn had never been on her A-net cast as the vile woman had attacked her reputation online time and time again. Fallon had supported her, also rejecting interviews for Rozlyn's sake, promising she'd never have anything to do with that ratings-hungry, two-faced bitch.
Now she was on set, crying into Bailey's Gervani silk handkerchief (thanks a lot, traitor).
Furious, Rozlyn whipped open her apartment door, ready to camp in front of Fallon's place to confront her. A million flashes of light hit her at once – the paparazzi had been waiting, snapping pics and barking questions.
Where you seriously hurt in the Old World?
Was your family involved in this escapade?
Did you think you could change the Old World?
Were you hoping to blot out your shameful reputation?
A strong hand grabbed her arms, spiky nails digging in. Rozlyn was pulled through the crowd, her agent's voice yelling that the princess would not be answering any questions for the time being so GET out of the way NOW. The princess was hurried into a private tea room, her PR agent, Megera Chandelier slamming the door and whirling on her.
"What were you thinking? And why haven't you returned ANY of my NUMEROUS calls?" Rozlyn shrugged, not exactly able to say that she'd thought it was Faifax calling. "I buzzed your apartment six times," she added, annoyance blazing in her sea-green eyes.
"I turned it off. I didn't want to see anyone."
Meg rolled her eyes, swiped the screen on her comm and vanished around the corner, mumbling furiously. Rozlyn glanced around the room, another Alice Lace party room, which meant it was devoid of all technology – no Smart Walls, no café windows, no automated mood lights – all to allow rich girls like her sister to pretend they were back in the dark ages, their only forms of entertainment conversation and tea.
"You have a slot on Bailey's show tonight," Meg announced, darting back around the corner in her 7-inch stilettos and knee-length Martin Milleguay dress.
"I am not going on her show!" There was no way she'd give in to the woman she swore vengeance against for trashing her at least once a week for the last five years.
"The public needs to hear from you, and Bailey's site gets the most views. Right now, they don't know what to think. Are you a hero? A victim? Did you do this of your own accord or were you coerced by the royal family? The syndicate? You can tell them what to believe, but wait too long and they'll decide on their own."
Rozlyn opened her mouth to protest, but then stopped. So what if she had to go on Bailey's show? This was her one chance to speak with all of Arcadia listening – for the first time seeing her as something more than a worthless party girl. Either the love of her life was lying to her, or her family was. The Old World was falling apart.
Only one obvious choice remained to her; she would start her own rebellion and see who followed.
Chapter 14
He stood with his back pressed to the white wall and watched the rest of the rebellion's inner circle file into the common room, gathering around the Smart Wall. Almost two days had passed since the princess's brave and stupid act with the jewels and he was left wondering what the mysterious plan was. He'd settled quickly and easily back into the rebel's routine after his miserable interlude as a guard. Daily showers, hot meals, fresh water. How had he ever lived before? How did the thousands of Underlings continue to? Well, that's what they were working to change.
"Alright everyone, pay attention," Damien said, turning on the Smart Wall. The King of Arcadia appeared in all his regalia, a red and gold Arcadian banner in the background.
"People of the Old World," the king greeted. "This broadcast is in response to the princess's botched attempt to assist your people. I do not blame you for what happened to her and her friend. She should have known better than to wander down there on her own, and though I am sure you all appreciated her gesture of goodwill, jewels will do you no good in the Old World.
"That is why I would like to offer you a trade. Anyone who possesses jewelry thrown into the underground market by my daughter can report to the Arc Warehouse in the Orange Zone tomorrow night at 18:00. Jewels can be handed over to Arcadian soldiers in exchange for 500 ration points. I apologize on behalf of the princess for acting in ignorance and thank all of you for your cooperation in this trade effort. Thank you and goodnight." The Smart Wall went dark.
"That video was aired on every teloscreen in The Unders last night, which means this trade takes place tonight, only a few hours from now. What happens next is a direct order from the Monarch, so I don't want to hear any bitching about it later. That's all. Meric and Drexel, you two stay. Everyone else out. Now." Drexel's eyebrows lifted in surprise as the other filed out of the room, none daring to question Damien's orders. What could he possibly want from Drexel? He supposed it would have to have something to do with magic.
"This mission is top secret, which is why I have chosen not to tell you both about it until now," Damien paused to hand them both fancy Arcadian communicators with built in cameras. Drexel turned the slim device over and over in his hands. He could sell it for a thousand ration points, at least. He could pay for a caretaker for Haydi and feed them both for a year. All from that one object, which Damien had tossed at him as if it were nothing. He shoved down the resentment. The rebellion took care of Haydi, and him.
"We are going to infiltrate the Arc Warehouse and record what happens there. That is our only objective. Remaining hidden is of the utmost importance so Drexel, that's where you come in. You will need to cloak us so that no one knows we are there. Like you usually do, but better. Like our lives depend on it."
An hour later, the three of them were dressed in plain gray jumpsuits and gas masks, lined up with at least a hundred other Underlings outside the Arc Warehouse doors. The Orange Zone was twice as disgusting and torn apart as the Yellow, which had been partially rebuilt into living stacks and factories.
Arcadian guards directed the line, clad in their spotless navy zippered uniforms, their gas masks shiny and new, not worn, taped and faultily repaired like the Underlings'. The toxic mist turned deep purple as the day waned – in an hour it would be full dark and those without flashlights would have to feel their way back to the Yellow Zone. Most chose to stay inside at night rather than trade their precious ration points for a light, so it wasn't likely anyone would have one. Would the guards be providing those as well?
They were ushered into the double airlock doors in groups of five, Drexel momentarily panicked as he was briefly separated from Damien and Meric. They met again inside, the crates and warehouse supplies shoved against one wall to make standing room. More guards were inside, lining the people up in neat rows facing a makeshift stage. Drexel looked around as they chatted excitingly, discussing what they were planning to spend their new fortune on. Most dreamed aloud of a full meal, speculating what it would be like to not feel the pangs of hunger, even for a day – the limits of their imagination.
With a nod toward the back of the room, Damien began to weave through the crowd, Drexel and Meric close behind. They huddled in the far left corner and Drexel couldn't see much other than the backs of people's heads. Damien, at least a head taller than the rest, had a clear view. He nodded to Drexel who poured his magic into both of them at once; hidden, unnoticed, invisible, and then turned the magic on himself. They weren't really invisible, but people wouldn't see them; it would be as if their gaze slid right over them without registering the sight.
To his surprise, the warehouse was almost filled to capacity. Had the princess really thrown out that many jewels? A possibility, but it also seemed strange the guards hadn't checked them first. Damien had given them each an Arcadian necklace just for that purpose – another extravagance he'd just tossed out nonchalantly. How could the Monarch afford to throw away such luxuries? If he had so much, w
hy didn't he just use it to feed the people? He could ask Damien, but he'd probably get pissed again that he dared question their infallible leader. Besides, he already knew what Damien would say: the Monach wants a long term solution, not food for a day. Permanent change. Drexel only wished he knew how they'd get it.
The airlock doors whooshed open again, this time admitting five masked men of the Arcadian guard. They walked straight through the middle, the crowd automatically parting on either side. The five men ascended the makeshift stage crafted from pallets and crates, huge automatic rifles strapped to their backs. A loud thud sounded behind them, and Drexel noticed four guards barring the doors shut from the inside. He felt as if he'd been turned to ice, frozen, unable to act, certain something very bad was about to happen. Judging from the panicked whispers moving through the crowd like wildfire, he was not the only one. A muffled beep to his left told him Damien had started filming.
The man on the center of the stage lifted up a gloved hand for silence and then removed his mask. Prince Kaelor Lucia-Agresta. He smiled at the crowd and Drexel felt their relief, as palpable as the sweat soaked air, but he still couldn't shake his premonitions. Something here was not right.
"People of the Old World," the prince began. "For the past 600 years, the Royal City of Arcadia has looked after you, has fed you, clothed you and provided you with equipment to survive this toxic environment. Yet after all this time and all these favors, you fight against us – against your benefactors, your caretakers." People glanced around at each other in confusion, unsure where the prince was going with this. Drexel's stomach knotted into a ball.
"Let your lives be an example to all those who dare stand against Arcadia." The prince gave a hand signal and the room erupted with fire. Instinct took over and Drexel ducked, crouching in the crowd with his hands pressed over his ears.
Gunshots echoed through the cavernous space, along with panicked screams of shock and pain. Opening his eyes, he saw feet running and legs pushing forward, toward the door, though even more guards stood there, firing on anyone who tried to get close. Crimson sticky blood pooled at his feet as a woman collapsed in front of him, her hands reaching out blindly for assistance. He watched her eyes turn glassy as she died, a line of blood trickling from the corner of her cracked lips. Drexel retreated until he was pressed against the wall, still crouching.
Damien was standing, tall and unseen, though a stray bullet could clip him at any second. Just because he wasn't directly visible didn't put him out of danger. Drexel inched over to him but remained low to the ground, not willing to risk his life for a video clip, not wanting to see any more than he already had. Damien was capturing it all on camera, every scream, every bullet, every death, and doing nothing to stop it. Why?
In less than a minute, the shots ceased. Moans and cries rang out through the room, the living clutching their wounds and begging for mercy. Damien dropped to the ground next to Drexel and put a finger to his lips for silence. One loud shot, then two, then three. The guards were working their way through the crowd; executing anyone who wasn't already dead. How could they slaughter innocent people, women and young'uns as they lay bleeding on the floor? He still dreamt of the guy he'd shot every night – those burning eyes, the holes Drexel had put in him. And he had been guilty – a spy from Arcadia. But these people were blameless, hungry innocents who'd just been trying to improve their meager lives. They'd done nothing wrong; they hadn't stolen the jewels or joined the rebellion.
"Please, no! My son! My son!" a woman's cry echoed through the room. Another shot silenced her, and another her crying child. The thick coppery scent of blood filled the space, overwhelming the other odors of sweat, dirt and piss. His stomach roiled and he puked on the already filthy cement, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
The shots were closer now, and more rapid. Damien tugged Drexel's sleeve, forcing him to lie down in his own puddle of yellow vomit. The warm liquid stuck to his back, soaking through his thin jumpsuit, the smell mingling with blood. He lay still as boots stepped all around their splayed bodies, searching for more people to kill.
"Alright everyone, that's it!" a man's deep voice yelled into the room. "Let's get these bodies piled up and the pyre going within the half-hour!" Drexel peeked through a half-opened lid and recognized Arcadian Army Commander Hale, the same man who frequently announced ration cuts, random bomb drops and mass executions on teloscreen every time the rebellion gained an edge. The prince and the guards followed him the center where they began stacking bodies, dragging them by the arms and legs, trailing red in grotesque patterns behind them.
Bile rose in Drexel's throat, but he swallowed it down, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He understood now what Damien meant about these soldiers being enemies, worthy of no more than death. Men who would shoot down dying innocents in cold blood were more monster than human; they had to be stopped.
Being strong enough to survive the toxic air, near starvation, rampant disease and violence was only rewarded with a bullet to the head. For the first time, he knew what it meant to hate, beyond measure and redemption, beyond pity and empathy. Even after what had happened to Haydi, he'd been focused on finding those soldiers, those men, because surely not all of them were so horrible. He'd been wrong. They were.
The bodies all around them had been pulled away toward the pile in the center, Drexel, Damien and Meric were all left behind as the result of Drexel's magic. A strong chemical scent mingled with the other odors as the guards doused the bodies with fuel. Quickly the guards retreated, until only the prince and commander remained. They donned their masks and lit the flame before hurrying out the airlock doors. Damien was up immediately; shoving them toward the exit as the fire grew, leaping from body to body like kindling, oily black smoke filling the room.
Drexel yanked on his gas mask before they went, panic rising in him as they stood in the entry way, waiting for the outer set of doors to open. Finally the green light flashed and they were outside, totally blind in the pitch darkness. Pinpricks of light floated ahead of them – Arcadian guards. The hatred flared up inside him again, as bright and hot as the warehouse pyre, overriding his lingering terror and disgust.
If he'd had a gun he would have shot them, right then and there, his hand would not shake and he would not be afraid. He would have killed them all and felt no pity – they didn't deserve pity or mercy or leniency. He had never been brave before, not even when Haydi had needed him most, but now maybe he could be. Maybe he could change things.
Damien produced a hand light and they slowly picked their way back to the base. They walked in the darkness, the haze enveloping in its overbearing silence. Air wheezed noisily through his mask as Drexel blindly followed Damien through the rubble, his eyes downcast as they stumbled over loose debris. He did want to change things. He would. That was the rebellion's purpose, wasn't it? But why had they just stood by, filming a slaughter rather than attempting to stop it? Why let all those people die? Surely there was a reason, though none he could think of were justifiable.
The night was halfway through once they reached the base, its white and gleaming underground halls empty and silent. Meric mumbled an unenthusiastic goodnight before shuffling off to his dorm room, leaving Drexel and Damien alone in the hall. The young leader's eyes were bloodshot, his dark, shoulder-length breaking free of its usually tight knot. He looked like he'd just experienced exactly what Drexel had, and felt every bit of it. His anger evaporated. This wasn't Damien's fault, it was the Monarch's – whoever he was, wherever he was.
"Why would the Monarch make us film that and not help?" Drexel demanded. "We are supposed to be saving people, not just watching them die."
"The rebellion is about taking down Arcadia and saving everyone. Sacrifices have to made," he responded, quiet and defeated. "I know it's hard to understand, but this was part of the Monarch's plan. A lot of people are gonna be pissed, but that's why I warned them earlier."
"This ain't gonna help anything!" Drexel argued. "Peop
le already know Arcadia is evil. Now they'll blame us for not helping."
"This video isn't for The Unders," Damien said. "You saw the comments on the A-net, how the Arcadians rallied against the royals for hiding the conditions down here. Now imagine the affect this video will have: the prince himself slaughtering mothers and young'uns, shooting them down like vermin."
Drexel let the picture Damien had painted form in his mind. The Arcadian citizens weren't responsible for these atrocities; they didn't even know what was happening. They would riot against the royals; they would rally, and they would take them down, if not with violence than with politics. Even leaders as influential as the royal family would not be able to stand against all their people and hold onto their power.
"Civil war, that's what you're doing," Drexel said, still thinking. "But won't they just replace the royals with someone just as bad? And doesn't the syndicate still hold most the power?" He didn't know the details of Arcadian politics, but he did know all major decisions had to be approved by the syndicate – a group of old men just as rich and corrupt as the royals.
"Don't worry, Drex, that's all part of the plan too. Once the royals are out of the way, Arcadia will be ours for the taking. I know it was difficult seeing what we just did, but I hope it will ease your mind knowing those people did not die in vain. Everything is in place – this is a new beginning. They died so that their children and their children's children and all that come after will lead a better life. One with hope, a life with more meaning than just survival.
"For the time being, you will just have to trust me and leave it at that. We wanted you for your magic, but we need you truly committed. You had to see what evil we faced before you'd be ready to fight it, and now you have. We have a busy day tomorrow, so get some rest," he added, clapping him on the shoulder before retreating to his own rooms.