“I will not stand down, you will!” the senator blazes once again, the fire of his rhetoric cooled as much as a fire subjected to a dousing of refrigerated gasoline. “I will not let these people be led blindly towards their own destruction with your assurances of safety. Your dynasties will end…”
The recording freezes and glitches through a few more frames before jumping forward to a wide angle shot of the chamber with all the senators calmly shuffling papers away into their bags while one lone former member of their ranks is dragged out a set of wide double doors. The screen goes dark as the video ends.
“That did not look like a mental breakdown to me,” says Jon, looking up at Ryan. “I think he’s crazy to say something like that in front of the government, but a mental breakdown?”
“That’s what I think too, and judging by the way everyone else is acting...” Ryan indicates the rest of the patrons who have now precipitated into smaller groups but are talking no less animatedly. “What really pisses me off is that they’re trying to brainwash us into believing their story. Don’t they realize we can get the real footage ourselves? We’re not beholden to some stupid ‘state-sanctioned’ media outlet.”
“They’re not really even officially state-sanctioned. If they were, maybe they’d get more funding so they could afford to edit their video clips a bit better,” Jon laughs indicating the screen where choppy footage of a police manhunt is being shown.
Both sipping from their beers, the two men slide deeper into the booth and dive into the conversation before them. Forgotten are the pretty girls, flashing lights, and wild crowds of the other bars. They have the problems of the world before them, and with a few more pitchers of beer, they should be able to come up with all the solutions.
The conversations throughout the bar, and many like them throughout the country, are varied, each one taking on the character of those participating. Yet one theme runs through them all: The government, which has been slowly edging closer and closer to line, might have finally stepped over it. There is only so much arbitrary action a people can take before they might actually do something about it. If only they had some sort of lightning rod to concentrate on.
Chapter 10
Rolling Plains
On a Train
Gavitte wakes to the sun rising behind the train, casting long shadows in the direction of the train’s travel. Realizing that he never actually checked the destination on his ticket, he pulls it from amongst his other travel documents. It would seem he is headed to a small ski town in the mountains, one of the last places where the terrain is still too rough and the weather too harsh to allow the suburban sprawl to tame it. This is a land of mountains that tower over crashing rivers, trapped in gorges, lined with trees hanging off cliff faces. The trees and animals that take shelter amongst the crags and rocks are, like the mountains themselves, uncaring and wild.
Unable to see to the fore of the train, he is only able to look out upon the rolling plains covered in twisting roads, cul-de-sacs, and low sprawling homes as far as the eye can see. The developments swarm to the very edge of the wilderness and stretch endlessly into the distance and the rising sun. With no clue of how far they had traveled during the night, nor how much farther they have to go, he is forced to ask the conductor when he comes through on his rounds to check tickets.
”Excuse me, how long until we reach the mountains?”
“We won’t be in them until tomorrow morning,” he replies. “If you’re hungry, the dining car is three forward of this one.”
“Thank you, I might head down there a bit later.”
With time to spare, Gavitte reaches for the folio containing his “research”. Skimming through the first few pages, he learns that it is a paper on the evolution of politics, leading him to believe that part of his cover is to teach what he used to do. The paper doesn’t get interesting until part way through a paragraph on the third page when, without any warning, the tone changes from the dry academic voice and becomes the rich murmur of Angelina. Instantly, her musky scent and the feel of her lips come roaring back into his mind, nearly distracting him from continuing past the first sentence as the temptation to day dream is so strong.
“David, when you are reading this, you’ll be on the train heading into the mountains. Undoubtedly you are wondering what is going on. I can’t tell you everything I want to now as this could end up in the wrong hands far too easily. For now, you need to know that you’re important to us, to me, and we’ll do what we can to get you to safety. The most important thing to remember is that you are a professor of political studies on your way to the Annual Convention for Political Educators. This is a big deal, and all of your colleagues will be there. If anyone asks you why you aren’t driving, it’s because your car broke down, and they couldn’t fix it in time, so you were forced to take the train. Try to keep to yourself, we didn’t have as much time as we really needed to build you a solid cover, but as long no one asks too many questions it should see you through.
“The conference is at a fairly small ski resort. The hotel will be sending someone down to pick you up at the station; that will be us. Just remember, you don’t know us, so try not let on that you recognize us. I put a novel in here as well to help you pass the time. I hope you like it.”
Gavitte greedily rushes through the rest of the paper in hopes that she might have written more, but the rest is more on the miracle of democracy and how it rose from tyranny to bring liberty and enlightenment to the world; more of the traditional rhetoric, but none of what he really needs to hear. Digging through the rest of the papers and toiletries, Gavitte finds a tattered paperback. Written almost a hundred years before, the only reason the book is still intact is the fact that nobody goes to the library anymore—books take too much time, especially when you can watch the dramatized version in an hour while doing other things necessary for your busy life. The pages of this book have yellowed with age, and as he runs his thumb along the edge, the soft, velvety texture created by the numerous tiny tears fills him with a sense of calmness and joy. He strokes the book again as automatically as he’d caress a cat’s head, feeling the energy of the alternate reality trapped within.
He opens the book, and something catches his eye—a note scrawled in pencil: “This is strangely close to my story; maybe it’ll help you understand some things.” It is signed with an old-fashioned capital A. This can only mean one thing, and he dives into the book as if it is a cool oasis in the middle of a desert. The book takes him into its embrace, and the rolling suburbia passes from his mind.
The story goes something like this: A girl is born in the mountains. The daughter of two loving parents, she grows up with wide open meadows and horses that the family raises for circuses and zoos. All is well until the summer of her tenth year when, one day, her parents go into town never to return again. The girl is out in the meadow with the horses when the soldiers show up and put torches to her home, burning it the ground. On seeing this, she runs to the hills with the horses.
She rides day and night until near exhaustion, and when the horses stop to drink in a pool, she falls off and, unable to continue, lies in the grass by an alpine stream. It isn’t until dusk that a party of armed ruffians discovers her. They turn out to be outlaws, yet honorable thieves. She grows to womanhood in their series of mountain caves, learning the secrets of the outlaw and thief. When she is fully educated in their ways, she is sent on a mission to the castle. She is to kill a prominent member of the king’s council. As she integrates herself into the royal court in order to get close enough to kill the council member, she ends up falling in love with him, despite her original hatred for everything he stood for. Before she came to the court it was clear that the king’s council was entirely corrupt, each lord lining his own pockets at the expense of the people, but as she spent time within the castle the truth became clear. Certainly some of the lords were vicious and greedy, but the one for whom she’d been sent was neither, he was honest and kind if only lost in
the dance of court politics.
In the end, she confesses her feelings and her intentions for coming to court to the councilman. Fortunately, he has fallen for her as well, and they are able to arrange an escape back to the mountain hideaway. The book ends before the lovers’ fates are decided in clear ploy by the author to encourage sales of the second book in the series. The king, scorned by their desertion, declares them outlaws and places a bounty on their heads. The reader is left with the impression that the two lovers, drawing strength from each other, will embark on a campaign to right the wrongs that afflict the kingdom and bring justice to the people.
The decidedly old-fashioned prose and fine print hardly slow Gavitte down. While the details of the story can’t possibly be true, as dragons, bandits, tyrannical monarchs, and true love are all certainly things belonging to the world of fantasy, the tale has a remarkable ring of truth and seems to resonate a little too strongly with Gavitte’s inner self. He understands the conflict the councilman must have felt working for a king he despised yet knowing he had no other option if he wanted to help the people of the realm. He is only beginning to understand the confusion, joy, and hope the character must have felt when his would-be assassin confessed to him; for a brief moment, Gavitte wonders if Angelina was sent to the capital to kill him, before quickly banishing the thought. Such poetic themes belong only in fiction, there must be a more ordinary explanation.
When he finishes the book, the sun is rising again, but Gavitte is not tired. There are more questions bouncing in his head now. How can this book describe her life? It was written a hundred years before and is clearly a work of fiction. Is it really reflective of her life, and does that mean he could possibly be the councilman? Most importantly though: Who is this woman, and why does she make him feel this way?
These questions still occupy his mind as he steps out onto the platform and into the crisp mountain air. He is so preoccupied, in fact, that he has no problem acting as if he has no clue who the people picking him up in the open-topped off-road vehicle are. As he climbs up and over the side to sit in the back, she vaults gracefully into the seat next to him. Her sudden proximity shocks him out of his reprieve. He turns to her as if to ask her any of the questions that had previously been on his mind, however, due to the cramped space in the back of the vehicle, as he turns his head his lips almost brush hers, sending a shiver down his spine. Her face softens for an instant before the stone snaps back into place and she turns forward once more saying softly:
“Not here, not now. We must get back to the base.” And much louder to the driver, who Gavitte recognizes as one of the men who rescued him, “George get us out of here.”
*
The vehicle ascends out of the small ski town. The road is gravel with many switchbacks and blind corners, but George pushes the car to its limit, seemingly ignorant to the possibility of a collision. The tail drifts out on corners, forcing Gavitte and Angelina to hold on with all their energy, lest they be thrown back down the mountain. After more turns than Gavitte can count, they come to another, like any of the ones before it. But this time, instead of turning, George drives straight off the edge and onto a dirt track mostly hidden by brush and the dense branches of the tightly packed pines.
In fear and surprise, Gavitte grasps onto whatever he can. Once the ride settles down to be merely breakneck, he realizes that what he had grabbed onto is warm, covered in cloth, and has the density of flexed muscle. He looks down and realizes that his hand is holding firmly to the lower portion of Angelina’s perfectly formed thigh. As he begins to jerk his hand away in embarrassment, hers snaps down from where it had rested on the seat in front and lands on top of his.
He can feel her leg relax but finds his hand pinned. Still unsure what her intentions are, Gavitte turns towards her, but she is facing forward, and her hair, having escaped from her hat, shields her face from his view. She grasps his hand solidly, yet not crushingly, and turns to him and smiles, making some things clearer and others that much more difficult to understand.
Promptly they arrive at an abandoned mine. The only sign of life is a gun barrel poking out between the boards on the windows of the office. The vehicle pulls around to a large tunnel opening and, without slowing, plunges down into the cool dampness of the mine.
After about ten seconds of driving blindly, George switches on the headlights, illuminating the rough rock walls, complete with a myriad of dark side passages that are briefly lit as they rush past. Deep in the mine, they turn left, and for the first time, George lifts his foot off the gas, allowing the engine to idle as the car coasts into a huge cavern full other vehicles. Some are civilian cars, but most are army surplus vehicles renovated and upgraded to better than new.
It is in this chamber that they dismount, and the contact between Angelina and Gavitte is broken for the first time since its inception. George busies himself with some maintenance checks, while the other passenger who rode in the front next him grabs Gavitte’s bag and heads to the far side of the cavern. Angelina touches Gavitte on the shoulder and indicates that they should follow before heading for an opening in the far wall from which a cold, artificial light spills into the cavern.
Chapter 11
The Capital
Behind Closed Doors
In the capital city, there is a discussion ongoing amongst patriarchs of the ruling families. The room is dark, with what little light cast by the large display screen reflecting eerily off spectacles through the pall of cigar smoke and a single light bulb faintly illuminating the emergency exit.
“That young hothead Gavitte has gone and stirred things up, and the people are demanding something again. The unmodified version of that speech of his has been making the rounds of all the usual spots.” With each breath, the speaker’s cigar glows red, its tip seeming like a slowly blinking eye of a demon.
“What we need is something to give them hope, as a distraction,” says a different voice in the room as if musing aloud. While the first voice had a rough texture, like a worn gravel road, this voice has the timber of brushed velvet seeming to slide across the ears of everyone present, which would cause shivers to run down the spine of anyone less hardened than the current assembly.
Each of the five families has at least one representative in the room. All the important branches of the government are accounted for, with only their official figureheads absent. It is in meetings like this that the real decisions are made regarding the governance of the state. Long ago there had been open conflict between them, each struggling to destroy the other and vying for the undivided support of the people, but several generations ago, several of the families banded together in a visionary pact. Instead of unmitigated hostility, they realized that a level of cooperation would allow them to all prosper. Of course, they still maneuvered and stabbed the occasional back, with alliances forming and dissolving at will, but for the most part, the victims of those plots were far removed from the men and women sitting in this room. Here the discourse is generally civil and respect is grudgingly shared.
The room is quiet for several minutes. Only the gentle hum of a fan and the occasional shuffle of paper disturb the silence as the group contemplates their options. Each weighs the options that would benefit his or her families the most.
“Instead of trying to do all that hope stuff, let’s just drive it straight at their hearts with a little fear,” the man with gravelly voice suggests. “If we talk it up as some sort of disease that causes people to lose rationality, we can probably even clear up a few other nuisances, since there is no point in having a plague with only one victim.”
“You always go right for the bluntest approach don’t you?” the velvety voice responds when the other man pauses to shake the ash off his cigar. “The problem I see is that we’d have to fabricate a significant back story to balance this Senator Gavitte’s outburst. People have heard what he said, and even if we tell them he was delusional, it’s not going to change the fact that some of it resonated with them
. What we need is to gently steer them away from it. Let the people protest a little, let them vent their anger how and when we choose, then once they’re sated, we can quietly shame them back into line.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” the gravelly voice asks as the face it belongs to leans forward and catches the light, revealing distinguished features complete with a thick mustache. Others in the room lean forward as well, intrigued by the proposal, their faces seeming to materialize out of the gloom as they move closer to their reading lights.
“First we let them organize a little, a few speeches here and there. Maybe even shift some of the rhetoric to discuss change, hire a few ‘young and pure’ types to ‘shake up’ the status quo. Then, with a little gentle encouragement from our police forces, we can edge the speeches and rallies into protests. Once we get them all riled up with indignant virtuism, we can turn it all sour. A few well-placed radicals, maybe even a terrorist attack or two, and all that indignant anger directed at us will snap back and destroy the movement. The backlash should be enough to drive most of them back into our stable, welcoming arms, and, of course, those who are too stubborn or smart will be ostracized or fall victim to quiet accidents.”
Dedication (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 1) Page 5