The Rogue Thread: (Book 2 of FERTS)

by Grace Hudson

  He caught the eye of each Vassal, each Officer, acknowledging them each as in turn, just as Pinnacle Officer Wilcox had done before him. He smiled, eyes glistening, a resigned smile of one who has lost much, but must go on for the sake of many.

  “You are the elite, the most gifted, the most determined, and this knowledge should make you proud, dear Vassals, not saddened. You can save your sorrow for your private veneration in your chambers while you keep the ideals clearly in your mind. Tonight, when you bathe in regulation order, pay more attention to your grooming. Study your seduction manuals, avail yourselves of the full spectrum of specially designed creams and lotions, lovingly created by Pinnacle Officer Wilcox himself. The recipes are not lost, your beauty regimen is secure. You must celebrate this knowledge, it is what Pinnacle Officer Wilcox would have wanted for you.”

  The Vassals composed themselves. They smiled, dabbing their eyes, returning their thoughts to venerating the great Pinnacle Officer Wilcox.

  “Pinnacle Officer Wilcox was strong, but his passing was swift, and quiet. Yet nothing can prepare us for the loss of such a great leader, we must venerate him, and his legacy will continue.” A smattering of applause started up in pockets of the assembled Vassals. The Officers were silent, standing to attention on either side of Officer Cerberus. The Officers were silent, standing to attention on either side of Officer Cerberus. Officer Reno stood to attention while Games Operator Farrenlowe remained stoic, dressed entirely in black.

  “We must venerate the order, the precision that Pinnacle Officer Wilcox has worked tirelessly to create. Pinnacle Officer Wilcox created this…” He spread his arms wide, nodding at each of the Vassals. “This facility, such a precise model of order, of protection, for all of you.” The Vassals applauded once more. “Here you are safe from the hordes.” He spat out the word. “These mercenaries. There are things you must know about them, these rogues from the Territories. There is no reason with them. They will take, and they will plunder, and there will be no mercy. No regulations, no order. Simply chaos.” Another gasp rose up. Officer Cerberus’ mouth twitched at the edges as he caught the eye of one of his Officers.

  “The achievements of Pinnacle Officer Wilcox cannot be measured in mere words. Look around you. This is his creation. And we must venerate and continue his legacy!” The assembled crowd began to applaud, slowly at first, then gathering momentum.

  “Today marks a new beginning in the legacy of this great organization. But alas, dear Vassals, we are in need of resources, scarce, as the case may be, yet not unattainable. Our needs are humble here. We do with them what we can, provide as much as we can. However we need more resources in order to keep you, our dear Vassals, safe. Safe from the hordes, the mercenaries, the untold savagery of the chaos that we keep from your delicate sensibilities. We need more resources in order to keep you protected. Safety. Security. Certainty. This is what we need. We need these to keep you provided for, to keep you in the manner that you are accustomed…” He paused for effect. The Vassals were silent, waiting for his next words.

  “As a new initiative, we shall be opening the parameters of Vassal selection.” A gasp rose from the crowd.

  “Do not fear, dear Vassals, for your current positions are secure. Once conferred as Vassal, you are forever elevated to the standing to which you deserve, and you do deserve it, dear Vassals.” A nervous giggle reverberated through the hall.

  “No, this is an initiative of opportunity. The Vassal selection will now be open to those of 15Y and up. It is an inequity, a travesty indeed, that many potential Vassals are, as we speak, languishing in the drudgery of learning and grooming for far too long. Why, an Internee of 15Y is indeed ready, gifted with the attributes that are so venerated in Vassal selection. Do you wish to deprive these potential Vassals of their chance to shine? Of their chance to boost the prestige of this facility, to bring satisfaction to the growing number of potential Vendees?”

  The Vassals were silent, looking to each other in confusion, unsure of what to reply.

  “No!” He slapped the lectern. “No, we will not let this injustice continue! These potential Vassals must be tested immediately! Such an untapped vein of potential, going to waste. As we speak. Will you join me, Vassals? Will you encourage and guide the new Internees on their journey to Vassal selection?” An affirmative cheer rose from the assembled Vassals.

  “Will you join with me in making this under-resourced facility great once more? Will you join with me, Vassals in venerating the great order and protection of FERTS?”

  The enthusiastic reply came, a cheer bursting forth from the assembled Vassals.

  “This is the last day we give thanks to Pinnacle Officer Wilcox. But it is the first day that FERTS becomes stronger, more secure, a paragon of control, of peace, discipline and decorum. Today is the day FERTS becomes greater than its individual components, the day FERTS becomes integrated, complete, whole. Today is the first day of a better, brighter FERTS!” The crowd erupted into a cheer, Officer Reno and Games Operator Farrenlowe joining in with the rest of the Officers in venerating the great Pinnacle Officer.

  Two Officers dressed all in black, wheeled the dark, mahogany casket, adorned with silver and gold trimming, polished to a bright shine. The casket of Pinnacle Officer Wilcox.

  A gasp sounded, followed by a hush of anticipation. The casket was draped in cloths of orange, red, blue and white, a heavy, burnished metal FERTS logo atop the drapery.

  “We give our thanks to Pinnacle Officer Wilcox!’ Chanted the Officers, the Vassals joining in, voices raised in exaltation.

  “We give our thanks to Pinnacle Officer Wilcox!”

  “We give our thanks to Pinnacle Officer Wilcox!”

  The casket made its journey through to the back of the hall, passing Vassals on either side of the path through the assembly. Vassals wept, scrambling for a position near the passing procession, some reaching out to touch the casket, running their fingers along the silken cloths.

  The casket exited through the rear doors, the doors closing, trapping the grief within.

  In the silence that followed, Games Operator Farrenlowe stepped forward, spreading his arms before the crowd.

  “Beloved Vassals. This is a time for celebration! I look at each of you and see the pride of FERTS. The apex of beauty, of physical perfection! And now, beloved Vassals, I ask you to give thanks, give your renewed veneration for our new Pinnacle Officer!”

  “I present to you, Pinnacle Officer Cerberus!” The Vassals cheered excitedly, clapping and waving their hands towards the new Pinnacle Officer in reverence.

  One of the Officers stepped forward to pin the elaborate insignia on Officer Cerberus’ silver uniform as Games Operator Farrenlowe raised his hands once more.

  “Esteemed Officers, dutiful Vassals. We now send our gratitude to Pinnacle Officer Cerberus and FERTS, for our daily provision and protection from those who seek to strike against our Vassals, our Fighters and our Internees.”

  “We send our gratitude to Pinnacle Officer Cerberus and FERTS,” came the piercing cry.

  Pinnacle Officer Cerberus stood, basking in the adulation, face shining with pride and exuberance. The cheers from the assembled Vassals rose through the hall, echoing throughout the deserted hallways.

  – 7 –

  201 rested in a small grove. The night was warmer, a thick blanket of cloud separating her from the night sky. The moon was half-full, a diffuse glow behind the slowly shifting clouds. The breeze was crisp, gusting to dissipate the warmth of the night. 201 ran her hands over her arms, trying to stave off the slight chill in the air. The need to move again would come soon. The nights forced 201 to keep her body moving in order to keep warm. This night provided a brief respite, but she knew the time to move would come again. She rested her elbows on her knees, blowing out a breath. There were no supplies, nothing to assist her in creating shelter or fire. The haste of her escape left no time to find the means necessary to create the one thing she required. Warmth.


  201 scanned the outline of the trees against the clouds. There was no movement, no sounds to indicate that she was anything but alone in this strange landscape. She could feel the camp’s inhabitants, the trail leaving remnants of their essence in the form of a thin stream of green, clear and vibrant in her mind. Her abilities had improved and she had trained herself to fix on individual figures, becoming aware of their location and the outline of their essence. This time, the trail was vivid, the tendrils of green winding from her position to a point far off in the distance, through the rocky plains and larger rocks of the suspension zone. Her feet throbbed from the day’s journey and the attempt to match speed with the camp's horse-drawn cart had proved futile. Still, she was determined to continue, following their essence until she reached her goal. This trail would lead her to safety, she was certain of it, no matter how long the journey might take.

  201 slid down the rock to rest on the ground. She had not eaten for days and the gnaw in her stomach would not relent. The plan was simple. Find water, perhaps something to eat. Walk at night and rest during the day. Follow the trail. The plan focused her mind, kept it from thinking of the strangeness of the unfamiliar landscape, the hollow ache in her stomach and the chill that whipped through her jumpsuit.

  201 rolled up her sleeve to check the gash on her arm. The outer edges were ragged, the redness faded to a dull pink. 201 ran her finger around the edge, feeling the uneven ridges. The flaps of skin has begun to fuse together, the exposed flesh less garish than before. 201 rolled down her sleeve, rubbing her arm for warmth. The wound was closing, that was the main concern. Her bruises had faded a little, the black and purple finger marks at her hip had paled to a greenish-yellow. 201 hissed as she pressed against the marks, her small fingertips matched against the larger grip marks left by Officer Ryan’s hand. She could not check the bruises on her neck, but she supposed that they too would fade in time. The wind picked up, rushing past her ears and weaving its way through the gaps in her jumpsuit. She shivered. The Omega jumpsuits were not designed to withstand the elements.

  201 pushed herself to her feet and forced herself into a steady rhythm, crossing through forest and thick undergrowth. Something told her she should keep to the edge of the tree line, following the trail at a distance. As soon as she made her way to the edge, a bubbling, gushing noise reached her ears. The temperature had dropped slightly, cooling her cheeks. 201 rushed towards the sound, feeling the moisture in the air. She sank to her knees as the river spread out before her, the moon reflecting off the water as the surface rippled in the night air. 201 laughed, splashing her face and removing her jumpsuit to clean the wound. She immersed her shoulder in the frigid waters, gritting her teeth as the sting jolted through her body. She pulled back, dressing quickly and shaking her arm to warm herself. She looked down at her chest, the dark stain of blood dried to a crust, a vivid contrast to the blue of her Omega jumpsuit. The choice was clear, soak the jumpsuit to remove the blood or leave the stain. 201 ran her fingertips through the water, wincing as the temperature chilled her hand. The stain would have to stay.

  201 made her way along the edge of the river, trailing her hand through the strange plants growing alongside the waters. She tugged experimentally at the long stalks, gripping at the furry tip. A mass of reeds came out of the soft earth, almost toppling her. 201’s eyes followed the length to the ends of the stalks, revealing a mass of thick, curved swellings, notched by ridges. 201 broke off the ends, rinsing away the mud until the water ran clear. She examined the notches, the thick orange skin and the strange hair-like coverings. She broke it into two sections, examining the white inner parts. Using her ragged fingernails, she scratched at the edge, peeling the skin away to reveal the white. Giving it a sniff, 201 took a bite, chewing carefully. The taste was strange, but not unpleasant. It was marginally better than the regulation protein she had endured in the ration room night after night. She ate another couple of pieces and drank some more water, hoping that the strange plant would not make her ill. Warmed by the unexpected discovery of food, a tiredness began to overtake her body. She trudged back to the tree line, nestling herself under a tree. She piled the ground coverings over her body and rested her head against the crook of her good arm. 201 let her mind wander, trying to pinpoint the exact location of the camp. She wondered about the inhabitants and what she might find there once she arrived. She knew it was far from FERTS, far from any of the townships in the Forkstream Territories. A sanctuary, a place without the Circuits of Beta, Omega, Epsilon, Kappa and Zeta. A place without the need for Vassals bred for pleasure or Internees bred for fighting and hard labor. It was something she had only seen in dreams but never experienced. She listened to the beat of her heart and the sound of her breath, gently lulling her into a fitful sleep. She willed herself not to dream, however she knew she was unlikely to get her wish tonight. As she drifted to sleep, voices weaved their way through her mind, the same unfamiliar voice, the same scroll clenched in his hand.

  “Destroy it. Destroy it all.”

  – 8 –

  201 dreamed of dark hallways, the stale air a stark reminder of where she was.

  “Line check!” came the voice of the Officer.

  201 looked up to find the Officer smiling down at her.

  “201.” He leaned his elbows on the railing.

  201 ignored him, continuing on down the hallway. The lights were flickering, the backup generator providing a limited source of diffuse blue light.

  “Report, 201!”

  201 broke into a run, making her way down the hallway. The rooms were strange, some seemed to come from Omega, some from Epsilon. All were closed. The hallways were quiet. Too quiet.

  “Line check!” The voice followed her down the hallway as she headed for the ration supply unit, looking for the way out.

  The ration supply unit was locked. The ration supply unit was never locked.

  201 heard a barking sound, growing louder with each moment.

  The fighting creatures are out.

  201 watched a line of Vassals file through a doorway marked with an “A”. They sobbed, saying goodbye to their fellow Internees. 201 thought she caught a glimpse of Officer Reno’s face as he said farewell to one of the Vassals, a little one clasped in her arms. She continued on down the hallway, searching for another exit.

  “Line check, 201.”

  That voice. It can’t be.

  201 stiffened, her boots slipping on the stone floor.

  Don’t turn around.

  “I see you, 201 and I will follow you. You can be sure of it,” came the voice, that voice she would never forget, the voice of…

  Pinnacle Officer Wilcox.

  201 tucked her head down and ran, charging through the hallways, each one of them leading to a closed-off section from which there was no escape, every hallway closing in as she ran, trapping her inside.

  “Forever.”

  201 awoke with a gasp, the faint sounds of running water trickling on the other side of the tree line. She felt tears drying on her cheeks, chilling her face.

  The wind had dislodged much of the undergrowth and she shivered, clutching her midsection. She pulled her knees to her chest, the cramps squeezing at her stomach. The strange plants she had eaten had not agreed with her, yet she refused to allow her body to reject them. She gritted her teeth, waiting and breathing as the cramps tugged and pinched at her insides.

  She breathed slowly, focusing her mind on thoughts of the camp, her chosen destination. This was her escape, she reminded herself, a plan of her own making. It was something she had chosen for herself, the first time she had made a conscious decision to act in her own interests, rather than deferring once more to the endless regulations and duties required of her at FERTS. She did not wish to be a Vassal, nor did she wish to be a Fighter in the Epsilon Games ring. Now her only choice lay ahead in the form of a trail, a bright green remnant, the essence of those who had presented her with her only opportunity for escape. She rested her h
ead once more as the cramps subsided, tucking her elbow under her head. For the first time in longer than she could remember, 201 fell asleep and did not dream.

  – 9 –

  Reno stood in the door, feet spread apart, arms behind his back. Pinnacle Officer Cerberus’ study was dim, the light casting shadows over the Pinnacle Officer’s face. Notes, plans and calculations were spread out before him, weighted down with quartz. The Pinnacle Officer’s brow furrowed as he scanned the details.

  “You sent for me, Sir?”

  “Reno.” Pinnacle Officer Cerberus grinned, a wan, resigned expression.

  Reno seated himself at the opposite end of the desk, hands clasped underneath the dark woodgrain.

  “I am pleased with your progress, Reno. You have shown initiative where others have merely followed regulations. This is why I have chosen you for such an important task. Do you think you are ready for a greater responsibility? Do you believe you have shown your gratitude and loyalty in the best possible manner?”

  “I do,” said Reno. There was no need for him to list his achievements, his record spoke for itself.

  “This is what I like about you, Reno. You are an Officer of few words.” He handed over a scroll of papers, fastened with twine. “And you are an Officer of few questions. I do not need to explain the importance of this task, Reno. You will know what to do when the time comes.”

  Reno took the scroll and left without a word.

  The next morning Reno loaded up the cart and ushered the Internees inside, flanked by two stern-faced Supervising Officers. He watched as the foremost Fighters of Epsilon clambered through the cart’s cage door, notably Beth 259263, trident specialist, Beth 259278, bastard sword, Beth 259275, spatha, Beth 259277, zulfiqar, and Beth 259299, scimitar. the line of Internees, nine in all, arranged themselves in the cart, weapons secured in a holder at the front of the carriage, out of reach. The fighting creature came scrambling through the door, startling one of the four horses bridled for the journey. Reno took hold of the lead, longer than the standard lengths, and allowed the creature to sniff at the ground. Officer Tor brought one of the soiled towels from Zeta Circuit, holding it up to the creature’s nose. The creature sniffed, then growled. Officer Tor stepped back, his short brown hair gleaming in the morning sun. He aimed the double pointed spear in the general direction of the creature’s head to keep it at a comfortable distance.