The Secret Society

by Hannah Hopkins

“I see” Mr. McGowan replied, moving to sit beside him on one of the stalls that had been vacated by Will, Emily and Lois. “Were you in the lobby as well, then?”

  “Yeah,” Finley nodded. “I was.”

  “What made you faint?” Mr. McGowan pressed him gently. “Did someone hurt you?”

  “No,” Finley shook his head. “It was nothing like that.”

  He hesitated, unsure whether to reveal the truth. Mr. McGowan smiled with encouragement, the scars that lined his youthful face stretching with the movement of his facial muscles.

  “I thought I saw Admiral Allance,” Finley confessed suddenly, the words escaping him before he knew what was happening. “I know that he’s dead and it’s impossible, but that’s what happened. He looked so real…”

  Finley tailed off, the sound of his own words causing him to shrink into silence as he waited for Mr. McGowan to question his mental wellbeing. After a moment of contemplation, the teacher exhaled through his nose, leaning forward as he lowered his voice to respond.

  “After the Wars on Earth, I saw a lot of things too,” he said earnestly. “Things that weren’t really there. Sometimes, our minds struggle to process the memories that are too horrific for us to deal with. The illusions are our brain's way of reminding us that we need to confront the horrors we’re trying to forget, no matter how difficult that may be.”

  Finley swallowed hard, nodding as he accepted Mr. McGowan’s words as the truth. He suddenly felt ashamed, realising that his suffering was pitiful in comparison to the things Mr. McGowan must have experienced during his time on Earth.

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” he said with sincerity. “My problems must seem pathetic to you. You’ve faced real hardships in your life.”

  “Not at all,” Mr. McGowan shook his head. “Pain is relative. Besides, at your age, I’d barely experienced anything, let alone the atrocities you’ve dealt with.”

  Before Finley could reply, Mr. McGowan was distracted by a sudden beeping from his Personal Device, sending him to his feet in one, swift motion.

  “I’m sorry but I’m going to have to excuse myself,” he sighed, not moving his eyes from the screen. “I’ll see you back at the school in September. Take care of yourself”

  “Bye, Mr. McGowan,” Finley called, but the teacher had already gone, striding out of the exit and away, narrowly avoiding crashing into Finley’s mother, who had appeared in the Medic Ward’s doorway, her face ashen with worry.

  “Finley,” she gushed when she approached him. “I came as soon as I got the message. Where is your father? I thought he’d be with you.”

  “I haven’t seen him. He must be held up at work again,” Finley shrugged.

  “Well, never mind that,” his mother said dismissively. “Are you alright, love? One of the doctors told me that you fainted.”

  “I’m fine,” Finley said with as much conviction as he could muster. “I was just a little bit… overwhelmed.”

  “I overheard people in the lift on the way down. They were rattling on about someone hijacking the screen in the lobby to send some kind of political message about the Captain. Is that true?”

  “Yeah,” Finley confirmed. “They wore a mask of Jarvis Holt’s face. They kept saying we were ruled by injustice, and that it’s the Captain’s fault the Vacuous went undetected for so long.”

  “Fanatics,” his mother shook her head. “I knew the Allance scandal was going to open up the floodgates. There’ll be conspiracy theories everywhere now. Suspicion and mistrust. The same thing happened on Earth after they announced The Split. Everybody went a bit mad. I’m just sorry you’ve been caught up in it all.”

  “Me too,” Finley agreed. His mother squeezed his hand, stroking his hair the way she used to do when he was a boy who needed soothing to sleep. Her hands smelt of disinfectant and moisturising cream, the scent of which Finley associated with happiness. He allowed himself to be consoled, clinging to the relief of his mother’s presence as his heart rate slowed to a normal pace for the first time that day.

  “Mum,” he said, finding the courage to ask the question he had been too fearful to utter aloud. “Those people that made that announcement, the things they said, they’re not finished yet, are they? They’re going to do something else. Something bad.”

  His mother hesitated as she chewed over the decision of whether to lie to her son or to tell him the harsh truth.

  “Yes Finley,” she sighed. “I’m afraid so. Something else is coming. All we can do is be prepared.”

  4.

  The Society Of The Enlightened

  “Justin Campbell!”

  The loud voice pierced the room, causing every student in the class to jump, most particularly Justin, who had been staring absentmindedly out the window at the walls of the steely East Wing, where the Bureau of Armed Services was situated. He had been struggling to concentrate for some time now, the lecture his teacher was giving on the differentiating codes of conduct between human security and robot security failing to hold his attention. His mind had begun to wander, and he had found himself daydreaming enviously about his younger brother Finley and what he would be doing with the freedom of his end-of-year school holidays. There were no holidays at the Bureau, and Justin had never felt more resentful of having to attend, struggling to see a purpose in his studies ever since the heavy introduction of robotic security from I-Tech.

  His teacher’s sudden reprehension of his daydreaming jolted him sharply back to the present. He cleared his throat and apologised, staring at the floor as he avoided the curious stares of his fellow classmates. It was unlike him to get into trouble, or even to draw attention to himself at all, but since word had got out about his family’s new position on Floor Two, he had been the subject of many prolonged looks and hastened whispers in the Bureau’s hallways. Nobody could understand why he was still there, considering that the Campbells were now officially members of the elite. He was no longer required to work in the manual labour field when they reached Novum and would be permitted to follow in his father’s footsteps to take up a position of Governor when they finally arrived. He had point blank refused this offer, professing that his passion lay within training to become a Guard. Truthfully, he begrudged being offered a hand-out on the back of his little brother’s fame. Deciding he would be a master of his own fate, he had re-enrolled for the new year of security training, despite most of his potential future job roles being taken away by the new robot Guards.

  When his class had finished, Justin headed into the East Wing, making his way down the bland, identical corridors until he located the lift which would take him back to the lobby. Once there, he engaged in his daily routine of forcing his feet over to the glass elevators and not towards the rickety, steel lifts that would take him down to Floor Seven, which he still considered to be his home.

  The lift ride was sickeningly fast and sent his stomach into knots, a wave of nausea rising in his throat as he zoomed upwards at a breakneck speed. When he could disembark, he navigated his way through the pretentiously decorated marble atriums and white-tiled hallways, until he located his family’s apartment, the golden numbers reading “102” stuck on the outside of the door his only indication that he had found the correct residence amongst the sea of identical apartments. He placed his finger to the newly-installed touchpad by the doorframe, and waited as a computer system read his print, unlocking the entranceway with a noisy “click”. Grabbing the crystal handle, he pushed with force and entered his apartment, finding it empty except for his sister Jessica, who was curled up on the brown, faux-leather sofa, her latest sewing project held in her hands.

  “You know we have a machine for that now,” Justin said upon his entry, slamming his jacket down on the shiny kitchen counter. “You don’t have to sew by hand anymore.”

  “I like it,” Jessica shrugged. “The same way you like going to the Bureau.”

  “I don’t like going to the Bureau,” Justin corrected her, walking through the open-plan kitchen into the
living area. “I just don’t want a free ride to the top.”

  “Such a martyr,” Jessica mocked him, rolling her eyes.

  “Where’s Mum and Dad?” Justin asked, ignoring her comment.

  “At work,” she replied. “They keep making Dad stay late for meetings.”

  “Where’s Felicity?” Justin pressed. “Should I make her dinner?”

  “No, she’s at her friend’s apartment. Besides, we have a machine for making dinner too now,” Jessica answered.

  “I’m not using that robot butler thing,” Justin shook his head, glancing with apprehension towards the boxed-up machine that had arrived the day before. “It gives me the creeps.”

  “Most of the stuff up here gives you the creeps, Justin,” Jessica pointed out.

  “Yeah, well, who needs a fridge that talks anyway?” he replied, kicking off his shoes and flinging them into the corner.

  “Is Finley here?” he asked after a moment, acknowledging the absence of his brother.

  “In his room,” Jessica answered.

  “He’s spent half his holiday in there,” Justin frowned. “I thought ‘Hero-Boy’ would be out milking it for all it’s worth.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like being a hero,” Jessica mused. “He doesn’t really seem the type.”

  “We didn’t think he was ‘the type’ to go to the Academy and end up mixing with a bunch of elite kids either,” Justin reminded her, “but he did that.”

  “We are the ‘elite kids’ now,” Jessica smiled. “You might as well embrace it.”

  “No thank you,” he said curtly. “I’m going to my room. Call me if you need me.”

  He walked away, leaving Jessica to sew as he headed to his bedroom and opened the door. The only perk he had truly managed to enjoy since his family’s status had been elevated was the fact he now had a room to call his own. He revelled in the space and privacy that he had never had before, having shared with Finley since they were toddlers. The moment he was granted his own bedroom, he had proceeded to decorate the walls, covering them in posters of all his favourite War heroes who had served back on Earth and that now enjoyed celebrity status on the Mayfly. Among them were the men from the McGowan family. He had always admired the youngest brother, Jeremy, who was now a teacher at The Space Academy. Despite not understanding his change of career, Justin continued to see him as a role-model, often re-reading the multitude of biographies written about Jeremy’s services on his I-Reader.

  Lying down on his comfortable double-bed, he pulled his tablet from under his pillow, switching in on and tapping on the screen to bring up what he was looking for. With a quick glance over his shoulder to check, he turned up the volume and began listening to the secret broadcast he had been following for several weeks.

  “Hello, and welcome to our weekly bulletin,” said the voice disguised by a vocoder, the mask of Jarvis Holt concealing the identity of his face. “Today, we at the Society of the Enlightened, wish to address the incident in which we commandeered the screen in the lobby and sent our message out to the passengers of the Mayfly. Some of you, as our loyal followers, may be wondering why we chose such a course of action. Drawing attention to ourselves certainly puts us all in danger, especially since we have made our core belief that the Captain of this ship is unfit for duty abundantly clear. Naturally, there will be a huge investigation to find us. However, rest assured that we are experts at concealing ourselves and will not be discovered. As long as you continue to support our cause in secret, you also will remain safe.

  “The purpose of exposing our existence was to begin the process of enlightenment, which our followers have undergone already. The process was designed to open our eyes and allow for us to see our lives aboard the Mayfly for what they truly are. The citizens of this ship are blind, believing that their oppression is necessary for our society here to function. This is a lie. We must encourage each other to think, so that we may begin to question. Hopefully, our broadcast will have generated enough interest that a conversation will start to grow, leading people to become more agreeable to our cause when our ultimate goal is fulfilled. If we introduce ourselves slowly, then it is much less likely there will be a backlash when we finally come into power.

  “The best way you, as our supporters, can aid us in our mission is to challenge those around you. Ask them to contemplate the corrupt system that we came to accept on Earth, and that has followed us here to the Mayfly. If we wish to create a better world when we reach Novum, then changes must be made now to ensure the model of hierarchy is discontinued, thus saving our species from living in perpetual inequality for the rest of time. Begin the discussions, ask the questions, get your friends and family to consider why they allow themselves to be controlled, when there is so much we could do to stop it.

  “Now, I know that some of you may wish to join our ranks. I must warn you not to attempt to seek us out. Doing so risks exposing both yourself and us, which would mean the end of our initiative entirely. Our leader is a pacifist, and our loyalty to him dictates that we must not harm others in our fight for what is fair. Therefore, if we are discovered by the authorities, the oath we have sworn as members dictates that we cannot fight back, meaning we would all be arrested and possibly thrown from the Mayfly. If we want one of you to become a Society member, we will contact you. Continue living normally, with our motives in mind, and you will fulfil your part in our mission. We will send further instructions on our next programme, which, as of now, remains undetected. Thank you for watching and remember, - our day is coming.”

  The tablet went blank, leaving Justin disappointed that the bulletin hadn’t gone on for longer. He slid off his bed, pacing the length of his cream coloured carpet as he mulled the words the Society’s spokesperson had shared over in his head. It was the fifth transmission he had watched since he had caught wind of the broadcasts existence from his old friends from Floor Seven. Each time he had listened as they warned their viewers not to seek them out, and each time Justin had struggled to obey. In spite of their assurances that they were highly capable of keeping their location a secret, Justin had known since the very first time he had watched a bulletin exactly where the Society was hiding out.

  In the background of the video, he had seen a pipe. It had only been a glimpse; however, Justin had spent enough time in the Mayfly’s service tunnels to recognise them when he saw them, having been forced to attend work with his father on several occasions as a boy. Since realising where the Society held their meetings, he had toyed with the idea of showing up, running the pros and cons through his head at the end of every single broadcast.

  If he were to attend, he knew there would be a great risk to his safety. There was a strong chance that he could be caught or followed by the robot Guards, especially now everyone was on high alert to find whoever was behind the hijack of the lobby’s screen. Even with the De Havilland Initiative still in full swing, the Society of the Enlightened had quickly taken up status as public enemy number one, and Justin knew he would face imprisonment- or worse- if he were found to be a participating member.

  On the other hand, he had never felt such a strong compulsion as the one he had to join the cause the Society was fighting for. All his life he had been angry at the way he and his family were treated, loathing the way they were stared at with revulsion whenever they dared cross paths with the inhabitants of the higher floors. He had detested being forced to shop at the back end of the lobby, his parents scrimping and saving up their credits, just to buy food that had been rejected by the more upmarket stores for its lack of quality. As a young boy, he had watched with envy as the privileged children swanned around the Mayfly, kitted head to toe in brand-new clothing and clutching chocolate lollipops in their sticky hands. Occasionally, he would see one of them discard a packet of sweets into one of the dustbins, and would go and fish it out when his parents weren’t looking. He had found it strange to imagine a world where sweets and chocolate were commonplace enough to throw away, especially when Jus
tin and his siblings were lucky if they got a slice of cake each on Hallowed Eve. Over the years, his jealousy had turned to hatred, and he had found himself desperately wishing for the end of the rigged system that kept his family in such an unsavoury position.

  The sound of the front door opening in the apartment startled Justin, bringing him back from the depths of his mind with a snap. He left his bedroom, heading into the living room to investigate who had been responsible for the disturbance. Upon entering the room, he was greeted by the sight of his father, Thomas, leaning haggard against the kitchen counter, his knuckles turning white as he pressed them into the shiny, metal surface.

  “Dad, are you okay?” Justin asked. Jessica leapt up from the sofa, moving to stand beside her brother with concern.

  “I’m fine,” Thomas sighed, removing his brown fisherman’s cap from his head and wringing it between his hands.

  “You don’t look fine,” Justin replied.

  Thomas ignored him, opening up the I-Fridge, which proceeded to begin chattering in its strange, mechanical voice.

  “Oh, shut up would you!” he father exclaimed, taking a beer from the fridge’s door before slamming it shut.

  “Did you have another bad day at work?” Jessica prompted him gently.

  “Every day is a bad day at work,” their father grimaced. “None of them accept me. They all look at me like I’m some sort of peasant or slave. It’s like they think I’ve won a special prize, as if being in their company is a great honour to have bestowed upon me. They don’t listen to me, either. Every suggestion I make is completely ignored- even when the issue they’re discussing is about maintenance. I mean, what’s the point of being a Governor if you don’t get a say in anything!”

  “I’m sorry, Dad,” Jessica frowned. “That must be hard.”

  “I did maintenance on the Mayfly for thirteen years. No one knows better than me. I honestly think they’d rather let this ship explode than take my advice. All because I used to be from Floor Seven.” Thomas shook his head, taking a long sip from the beer in his hand.