The Noble Prince (The Empire of the North)

by Brendan DuBois

  Armand wasn’t sure what an on-duty transmitter did, but Hinderline went on. “Twenty-four hours a day, every day of the week, we transmit a message on approved frequencies. Waiting for a response from the President or the National Command Authority. Every hour, every day.”

  “How long have you been doing this?”

  Corporal Rogers --– who looked only a couple of years older than Armand --– spoke up and said, “For decades after decades. My grandfather had this duty for a while, as did his own father. It’s –-- excuse me, it’s time.”

  “Watch,” Hinderline said. “Just watch and listen.”

  Rogers leaned forward, depressed a switch and his voice changed. Odd, but that’s what happened: earlier Rogers had a pleasant, high-pitched voice, but now it was low and deliberate, like he had aged ten years by just depressing the switch.

  “This is McGee Alpha Bravo Charlie, McGee Alpha Bravo Charlie, contacting National Command Authority, contacting White House Communications Office, on channel one. Over.”

  Rogers flipped another switch, so they could hear the hiss of static coming from an open wireless speaker. Again, the same phrase: “This is McGee Alpha Bravo Charlie, McGee Alpha Bravo Charlie, contacting National Command Authority, contacting White House Communications Office, on channel one. Over.”

  Just the empty hiss of static. Rogers repeated the phrase one more time, waited, and then smiled. “Routine. Just like before.” He wrote something on a smaller book, and Armand said, “Silent, all these years?”

  Hinderline said, “Yes. But we keep on transmitting, and we keep on listening. Standingorders. One of these days…”

  Armand said, “Suppose someone is listening to this particular frequency, and broadcasts an answer to you. How do you know it’s not someone pretending to be the National Command Authority or the Prez… the President?”

  Hinderline pointed to the large open book at Rogers’ side. “There. Codeword and phrase. If we receive a message and it contains that codeword and phrase, then we know we’re speaking to the President. Or his people.”

  Armand quickly looked down at the jumble of letters and numbers, written in large red letters. Then he looked back up at Hinderline. “Suppose you do hear from the President. What would you do then?”

  Hinderline’s eyes moistened. “Our duty. However he determines it to be.”

  Back outside there was a loud thrumming noise, like a mechanical reaper. Armand looked around and then up, and then he had to hold onto a railing to keep himself still. Two airborne vehicles flew overhead, in some sort of formation… but they weren’t airships and they weren’t fixed wing aircraft. They had spinning blades keeping them up, and he couldn’t hear a thing except for that thrumming noise. Armand kept watch on the flying ships until they went behind some trees and Armand said to Hinderline, “What the hell was that?”

  “Helicopters,” he said proudly. “Once a week they get airborne for practice. In fact, one of those flew up to where the Ayan had attacked you and killed most of them, just as they were about to get you and your friend.”

  “They’re armed, then?”

  “Yes,” Hinderline said. “Heavily armed. We have others that are merely transport, but we don’t fly them as much. The ones that are armed get maintained better, just in case they’re needed.”

  He got into his cart and Armand joined him, and Hinderline said, “Well? I’m seeing the general within the hour.”

  Armand shook his head, not in denial, but in awe. “Major, you’ve got my agreement. But I have a requirement as well.”

  “I’m sure you do,” he said. Hinderline’s hand went down to switch on the little electric motor, and Armand saw that the otherwise strong hand was shaking. “What’s that?”

  He told him and Hinderline said, “That will be up to the general.”

  “That’s fine.”

  He dropped Armand off at the infirmary --– “You and your friend should be ready for transport tomorrow, all right?” --– and he walked up the pathway, wondering about dinner with Melinda tonight. Armand was looking forward to it but with also a sense of dread; he didn’t want to have to lie to her again.

  But that decision was taken from him as Armand went through the doors and into the receiving area, where the two military policemen from before were standing.

  The smaller of the two came up and said in a heavily accented voice, “Sir, I’m with the military police on this base. You’re now under arrest. Please accompany us to our duty station.”

  His name badge said COOMBS and his taller and older companion’s said TANNER, and neither were smiling.

  Armand stood there, shocked, and said, “Why am I being arrested?”

  “That will be explained when you get there,” Coombs said. “Now, if you turn around, we need to --–“

  “I want you to call Major Hinderline. Now.”

  Some doctors and nurses were standing, watching, and then Teller came up to him, with something small and black and rectangular in his hand. He pressed that object to Armand’s side, and the air crackled and Armand felt an electric jolt pound right through him. He was on his knees, then his belly, and his hands were cuffed behind him, and in a gray fog, he was half-dragged, half-carried outside and then driven way.

  After Armand recovered, he was placed in an interrogation room, with a fixed wooden desk and four wooden chairs. His hands were cuffed in front of him and a chain led from his handcuffs to a bolt in the center of the table. On the wall was the same old portrait of General Pope.

  The door opened up and Coombs and Tanner strolled in, Tanner holding a folder, Coombs holding a glass of water. Coombs put the water down and Armand drank half of it, not realizing until he was done just how thirsty he was.

  Tanner said something to Coombs –-- Armand could only make out a few words, since he was speaking so fast --– and Coombs said, “This interrogation is just the start, boy, so if we have your cooperation, it will go easy for all of us.”

  Armand jiggled the chain. “You need to contact Major Hinderline, or General MacPherson. Why am I under arrest?”

  Coombs said, “Suspicion of espionage.”

  “Espionage? Spying? You’re joking!”

  Tanner snapped something and Coombs said, “No. We’re not joking.”

  “Who am I supposed to be spying for?”

  “The lands north of us,” Coombs said. “Your home territory. Canada… or the Empire of the Nunavut. The empire of the north.”

  Armand rattled his chain again. “That’s ridiculous. Look, I demand you get a hold of Major Hinderline and –--“

  Tanner talked quickly for a few moments, and Coombs said, “Major Hinderline will be notified of your arrest in due course. But we need to have some questions answered, and answered now. Do you understand?”

  Armand looked around the small room, remembered an interrogation a long, long time ago, in the basement of the Imperial Security building, back in Toronto. Here Armand was warm, was dry, and except for the handcuffs, was reasonably comfortable.

  “Sure,” Armand said. “I understand. Go right ahead.”

  What followed was a long, dreary process in which Armand gave them --– in sometimes excruciating detail --– the tales of his arrest and deportation to the oil sands prison camp, his subsequent escape and travel to the south (leaving out the part where he was helped by Henri Godin) and then his capture by the Ayans, and then the escape with Melinda. That gave pause to his two interrogators.

  Coombs said, “We have fought the Ayans for a very long time. Sometimes they are the devils themselves, in how and where they fight, and how they treat prisoners. And you mean to tell me that you managed to kill or wound several of them, destroy their encampment, and then escape?”

  “I do.”

  Tanner said something and Coombs said, “We both find that hard to believe.”

  Armand said, “Then send someone to the village or use some of your technology to get there. You’ll see what happened there. And you’ll
see I’m not lying.”

  Coombs had a thin smile. “Good. Lying will not work to your advantage.”

  Again, Armand rattled the chain, hoping it would disturb them. “Yeah, and speaking of advantage, you have the advantage over me, sitting there nice and fine. I have to use a WC, I’m hungry, and I demand to see Major Hinderline. This is intolerable.”

  “Too bad,” Coombs said. “Now, with regards to your… empire. Why are your army units operating south beyond the border?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Armand said. “Any Imperial army units on the border are only there for defense.”

  Tanner said something sharp and Coombs said, “That’s not the information we have. We have received reports from travelers further to the north that your army and cavalry units have traveled many klicks south beyond the border, raiding villages, and bringing prisoners back to your country. Do you deny this?”

  Armand kept his face still. He remembered how Henri refused to say anything about his unit’s travels to the south. Armand recalled as well, Melinda’s story of the Imperial cavalryman who had apparently paid off the Ayan raiding party that had captured her and the others. Something strange was going on, then. But what?

  “I do deny it,” Armand said.

  “Then tell us this,” Coombs said. “As someone who is supposedly a member of the ruling class, we need to know -- “

  Armand rattled the chain again, louder. “Nope.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we’re done here. I’ve answered your questions for most of the day. Like I said, I’m hungry, I need to use a WC, and I’m through answering your questions.”

  Coombs said, “You’re through when we say you’re through, boy.”

  Armand shook his head, smiled. “Nope, Monsieur Coombs. We’re done.”

  Coombs spoke quickly to Tanner and there was a reply. Coombs said, “So far, Mister la Couture, we’ve been gracious with our questioning. If need be, we can move to another level. It’s up to you.”

  “No,” Armand said calmly, looking at the two angry-looking adults before him, feeling stronger than he probably should have. “It’s up to you. And remember this. I’ve spoken to your General MacPherson. He knows I’m here. If something were to happen to me… mistreatment, or some sort of accident, then I don’t think he’ll be pleased. And quite a few of your fellow soldiers saw my arrest at the infirmary. I don’t think my presence here is much of a secret. So. We’re through for the day.”

  There was a lot more wrangling and going back and forth, but the upshot was, in a little while after Armand’s interrogation strike, he was brought to a cell, deep within the basement of this building, where a cold dinner of sliced meat, cheese, bread and water awaited him. Armand ate and drank it all, used the WC --– a steel bowl set in one corner --– and took in his surroundings. The walls were painted green cement blocks, the bed was a hard mattress with a thin pillow and two green wool blankets, and there was a drain in the center of the floor. Outside he saw other cells, similar to his, and they were empty. The corridor outside was painted cement, and lights glowed from the ceiling.

  That was it.

  Armand stretched out on the bed, pulled the wool blankets over him, and tried to relax. This wasn’t his hospital bed, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than being out in the plains, or in the Ayan village. Here he was fed, watered, and warm, and even his shoulder didn’t ache anymore.

  So Armand fell asleep.

  Chapter Six

  Armand woke up with a rattling noise on the bars to his cell, and a harsh whisper. He sat up, wiped at his eyes. His main interrogator, Coombs was looking in. “There’s always been a debate, you know, whether someone who’s guilty or not can sleep well at night. So the fact you’ve been deep asleep means something, then, doesn’t it.”

  “What’s that?” Armand asked, making a point of yawning.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Coombs said, his voice low and deliberate. “But I do know that tomorrow morning, at oh-seven hundred hours, we’re going to start again. You’re going to tell us what we want to know, about your empire and what they’re up to.”

  Armand yawned again. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.”

  Coombs stepped closer. “Talk about all the maybes you want, boy, but here’s something else to think of. Your lady friend. Maybe while you’re being interrogated, not being helpful, the post adjutant decides she’s to be expelled. And not just dumped outside the main gate. Nossir. Maybe she’s driven off the post, far away, beyond our area of responsibility, and tossed out in the borderlands. Where the Indians do their thing. Or the Ayans. Think the Ayans won’t love a chance to get reacquainted with her again?”

  Armand moved quickly but Coombs was quicker, laughing and stepping back away from Armand’s outstretched fist, thrust between the bars. “Nicely done, boy. So think about that, why don’t you.”

  He stalked off, and Armand sat back on the bed, knees up about his chin.

  Armand had dozed off for there was another noise at his barred door, and Major Hinderline was there. He don’t know how much time had passed –-- there were no windows about to let him know what was going on outside --– but Hinderline didn’t look happy.

  He said, “You ready to leave?”

  Armand got off the hard bed. “Been ready since I’ve got here.”

  Hinderline turned his head, shouted out a command. There was a loud clank, and then the barred door slid open. Armand walked out and Hinderline said, “Follow me. And be quick about it.”

  Armand followed him through a set of metal doors, and then up two sets of stairs. At the top landing, Coombs and Tanner stood there, glowering, not happy. Hinderline said something and Tanner said something sharp back in reply. Armand heard another older, tired voice, speaking slowly, slow enough so he could understand it.

  General MacPherson stepped out from the shadows. “Enough is enough. That is all.”

  The general looked like he hadn’t slept since he and Melinda had arrived. Armand walked over to him, held out his hand. “Thank you, general,” he said. “Thank you for rescuing us.”

  The general managed a smile, shook Armand’s hand. His skin was very dry. “Godspeed, young man, and thank you, too. Remember this… we do our duty still. All right? Duty, honor, country. We still live it.” He passed a slip of paper to Armand with a single word on it.

  Custer.

  He said, “You and I, we have an agreement. This is the word. Memorize it.”

  Armand passed the paper back to him. “Done.”

  “Duty. We are always prepared to do our duty.” Then he shook Armand’s hand again, looked down at the old, polished floor, and his voice was almost a whisper. “Though we are so very tired.”

  Hinderline grabbed his upper arm. “Let’s go.”

  Outside it was dawn, and there was a woman waiting. Not Melinda, but Lieutenant Johnson. Hinderline said, “We don’t have enough time.”

  “Time enough, sir, time enough,” she replied, coming up and saying, “Take off your shirt, please. This will only take a moment.”

  Armand unbuttoned his shirt and she went up to the bandage, and ran her fingers along the edge. It was magical, the pressure of her fingers releasing the bandage. It folded off and she examined the wound. “Looks good. The stitches will absorb away over the next few days. You can put your shirt back on.”

  He buttoned his shirt back up and then she surprised Armand, by standing on her toes and kissing his cheek. “Go with God, and be safe.”

  The sound of a door opening up. Coombs and Tanner followed them out, looking even more angry. Armand didn’t wait for Hinderline’s instructions. He just started walking fast, as the sun rose up in the east.

  They went out to a paved area where a boxy-looking vehicle was parked, its engine rumbling. Hinderline opened the rear door and gently pushed him in. The upholstery was of a hard rubber-type material, and while from the outside it didn’t look like there were windows,
inside, one could look out and see almost everything. Hinderline came in and said something quick to the driver, and they started off.

  “Where are we going?” Armand asked.

  “To pick up your friend,” he quickly said. “Then to get you off the base.”

  Armand turned back and looked at the building they had just left. “Mind telling me what the hell that was all about? Why was I arrested?”

  “It doesn’t make any difference.”

  “It certainly does,” Armand snapped back. “You, me and general, we’ve reached an agreement. I need to know what’s going on. I deserve that, damn it.”

  Hinderline surprised Armand by rubbing his face with both hands and sighing loudly. “So much to do… so much to worry about… look, Mister la Couture --–“

  “Armand. You can call me Armand.”

  “All right. Armand. We’re more than just a military base here, a detachment waiting for orders. We’re a society. A safe and prosperous society, that does its duty, does what it can for the civilians in our area of responsibility. A stable, safe society. Then you show up. With a connection to DeeCee. With the possibility that official orders might finally come our way. That means things change, the order we’ve lived under… it means an upending of that order. Do you understand?”

  It was still dark out, but many buildings and light poles were illuminated. Change, Armand thought. Like the changes he planned to bring back to his own society up north. “Yeah, I understand. For some of your people here, I’m good news. For others… change can be upsetting. And if there’s a threat, maybe the threat can be arrested. Disappeared. Or eliminated.”