by Grace Hudson
The warmth dropped away as they reached the plains and before long they were passing through towering caves, weaving through the shadows of ridged walls that arched above their heads. Piles of timber lay scattered along the overgrown path, a jumbled mess of charred beams, frames of dwellings and something that may have once resembled a hall. These were the markers of a former township, thought Reno, once thriving and full of activity. Remains of rusted vehicles lay beside the path. Grasses grew inside their husks, snaking around the wheels, the blackness of the rubber standing out starkly against the relentless invasion of nature.
The fighting creature veered from the path, the lead stretching out from the cart, jolting Officer Tor to his left.
“Whoa!” Reno drew back on the reins, pulling the horses to an abrupt halt. Officer Tor grabbed his double pointed spear, following the creature’s movements as it charged towards a waterfall. The sounds of rushing water hissed above them, a mist cooling the air. The creature circled, darting from one rock to the next, scampering along mosses, growling and barking at the droplets as they fell to the pool below.
“What do you think?” asked Officer Tor, watching the creature’s disordered sprinting, revealing no discernible path in its movements.
“The scent remains here. The creature will find its way out.”
The creature sat on a rock, howling and whining, huddling itself to the cold stone. After a time, its whines ceased and it settled on the flat surface, resting its paws under its jaw.
“I’m not so sure about that,” said Officer Tor, securing the creature’s lead to a nearby tree and returning the spear to the cart.
Reno followed the trail they had taken, the unbroken line of passage before the creature had diverted from the path. He made his way over to the ridge, dropping to a crouch when he caught sight of it. He crawled to the edge, peering over the top.
The twin cliffs framed a path leading through to a broad valley, modest dwellings dotting the paths expanding from a central point. Smoke rose from chimneys over the vast fields laden with crops, the cleared plains surrounded by cliffs and waterfalls. He took note of the largest dwelling nestled by the waterfall, the wooden structure surrounded by wild flowers.
A gasp sounded from Officer Tor behind him.
“Get down!” Reno whispered, pulling Officer Tor to the ground beside him. Officer Tor’s eyes were wide, mouth open on a slow exhale.
“This is it. We’ve found their camp. The adulation of FERTS will be ours,” Officer Tor whispered beside him.
Reno ran a hand over his lip, now damp with sweat. He noticed the set of fields at the back, strange, yet familiar in some way. Reno shook his head. His eyes tracked the layout, pinpointing the location of structures, the open areas, the placement of the fields. This did not have the layout of a small village, nor did it look like any township Reno had ever seen.
“This is no camp, Officer Tor,” Reno muttered, watching the smoke curl to the sky.
He scanned the bare fields, lines of identical sacks dotting the far edges. The lines of sacks were precise, straight lines facing a small cabin too small for habitation but just the right size for storage. Looking at the field, the sacks and the storage cabin, he no longer needed to imagine what might be kept in there.
Reno was the High Training Room Officer at Epsilon. He was the administrator of weapons and skills preparation for the Epsilon Games. And Reno was no fool. He knew a training ground when he saw it.
– 22 –
The fire wavered, sending the smoke away from the cliff’s edge at the rear of the camp.
201 noted that Reno was wise enough to make sure they were downwind from the camp before even considering starting a fire. 201 was not surprised, in fact she had expected nothing less. Reno had not been appointed High Training Room Officer for no reason. She considered that at times they thought alike, their minds moving along the same path, though with different goals in mind. The difference was that Reno was more predictable, at least that was her impression so far. But she was careful not to underestimate the mind of a highly ranked Officer. That would be a mistake, and could be a costly one if she was not careful.
This night was darker than most. Only a sliver of moon was visible, making it more difficult to gather wood. A crunching thud emerged from the grove of trees as Officer Tor tripped for the third time, bending to pick up the sticks he had dropped. A curse rang out through the trees.
“Officer Tor? What is taking so long?” Reno called, prodding the fire with a large stick. The fire was new, producing a fair amount of smoke, but not yet established enough to provide much heat. The nights had grown colder over the last few days and Reno was not accustomed to sleeping on hard ground. The fire was a necessity, but he was prepared to go without if the wind began to blow in the opposite direction. The need for stealth was paramount at this time.
“I can’t see too well out here, Sir. I won’t be a moment, just gathering some more wood for the fire.”
263 prodded 201 from her position at the back of the cage, jolting her from her thoughts. “So, 201, are you excited about tomorrow?”
201 held back the stream of feelings flooding her consciousness. She could barely contain the rush of sensations that passed too quickly for her to experience them one by one. She thought for a moment for the right words but no words came to her.
“I cannot wait to earn the adulation of FERTS,” said 263, her eyes shining with excitement. “The Pinnacle Officer will be so proud of us. And those of us who do not… those who are expired, well, they will be venerated, as is fitting for an Epsilon Fighter, wouldn’t you agree?”
201 said nothing, watching as Officer Tor brought more wood from the tree line to hand over to Reno. Reno piled the wood on the fire, watching the flames brighten. She scratched her outstretched leg. The cart was cramped and she had not had much of a chance to stretch her legs, except to use the cover of the forest with 299 standing guard, for want of a bathroom.
She looked up to see 263 watching her, awaiting her reply. She scanned back through the conversation, trying to remember what it was 263 had been saying before she had lost her concentration. She took another quick look at the fire, the position of the Officers and the location of the fighting creature.
“Yes, 263, of course. I agree.” She gathered her thoughts, turning and smiling her presentation smile. “I cannot wait for tomorrow.” 263 smiled back, her smile faltering when she saw the look in 201’s eyes.
Later that night, after Officers Tor and Reno had fallen asleep, 201 glanced around the cage, watching for any signs of movement. 299 snored in her usual fashion, mouth open, her breath fogging in the night air.
She turned to 263, who had curled in on herself due to the cold, her breaths steady and even. 275’s chest rose and fell, almost in time with 263’s. 201 scanned her eyes over the rest of the Epsilon Fighters, confirming that they were all asleep, huddled together inside the cart.
She peered through the bars at the fighting creature. Its face was smoothed out, huffs of contentment escaping every now and then, its wide mouth curved up in something resembling a smile. 201 shuddered. She almost preferred the creature with its usual snarl. The hint of a smile made it look almost harmless, as if she could reach out and stroke its fur, but she knew that was impossible. A single touch to the creature would set it off barking, and she would most likely lose a finger or two. She contented herself with the illusion of peace, watching the creature lie dormant, showing the part of itself that would never be seen once the morning light hit its features.
201 edged herself to the front corner of the cart, perching on the bench seat. She sat with her leg outstretched, resting her elbow against the wooden bars. Every night it was the same, the plan formulating through her mind, taking shape without pushing it in one way or another. 201 was aware of the part of her mind that did not take instruction, the part of her mind that observed, noted, and planned. The difference was that the final night had come to her far sooner than expected.
There were no more nights to plan. This was it, whether she was ready or not.
What do you think you are doing, 201?
Get out of my head Wilcox, she thought. She had the urge to speak, but sound, any sound that was not absolutely necessary was out of the question. Not tonight. Not this time. Tonight she would be silent.
Thought you could escape from us, 201? I am bound to you, like B… like she said. You cannot escape from FERTS. You are an Internee and you will always be an Internee. FERTS lives within you. As long as I have a voice, FERTS will live within you, never forget that.
201 ignored the voice, reaching down, unfastening the clasps on her jumpsuit. She ran her hand down her leg, stopping when she found it.
The cloth was tied around her thigh, securing a sturdy stick with a forked end, hidden beneath the fabric of her jumpsuit. She untied the stick and pulled it out by inches, left hand, right hand, left again, until it sat across her knees. She glanced around. The fighting creature made a grunting sound, shifting its head to rest on its paws. 299 snored louder, the droning sound rattling in her ears. She took a final look around at the sleeping faces before making her move.
She edged the stick out of the bars, reaching for the fire. The stick fell short of its destination. 201 pressed up against the bars, her arm outstretched all the way to the shoulder. The bars pinched her skin but she pushed further until the stick found its mark. A glowing ember dislodged from the darkened coals, rolling towards the cart. 201 stopped it with the fork of the stick before it skittered out of range.
She dragged the ember, edging it towards herself as it rolled left, then right before tumbling into her outstretched hand. She caught it in the middle of the cloth before it could change direction. Gathering the ember in the cloth, she pushed her body against the bars, whirling the cloth in a backwards arc, gathering momentum with each pass. The bars knocked against her arm, but she continued to swing, ignoring the ache spreading through her shoulder.
She kept the cloth swinging, watching the fibers glow from within, the ember beginning to crackle and glimmer in the middle of the bundle. Another pass and the cloth would catch fire. This was it. She would not get another chance this time.
She released her grip, letting the cloth fly open at the lowest point of her swing, watching the ember sail across the stretch of ground between the cart and the cliff. She dropped the bundle, patting it against the ground, smothering the sparks that remained glowing within the cloth.
She could hear Pinnacle Officer Wilcox’s voice screaming in her head. His words merged into one, garbling and twisting as she tuned them out. She sat back against the bars, squeezing the warm cloth in her hands. The scent of burning cloth reached her nostrils. She watched the faces of the sleeping Epsilon Fighters, noting that they had not moved, at least not yet. She watched the edge of the cliff for any signs that her plan had worked, sensing nothing.
What did you expect?
Now all that was left to do was wait. 201 breathed out, watching her breath leave in clouds through the bars. Her nose was cold, the tips of her fingers beginning to numb. She rubbed her hands together, placing them over her face.
There were no sounds from below. How had she thought this could work? There would be no more chances after tonight. It had to work. She strained to see past the edge of the cliff. Nothing. Not that she could see anything of importance from her vantage point.
She shuffled to the edge of the bars once more, reaching out with the stick for another attempt. She had almost reached another glowing ember, shifting the blackened coals out of the way when she heard it.
The sound was faint, almost too soft for her to hear. If she had not been listening, ears trained for the most insignificant of sounds, she might not have heard it.
It was a slight crackle, similar to the distant sound of feet walking over branches, but 201 knew that this was not what she had heard. This was a fire. A little fire perhaps, but a fire.
201 exhaled in a rush, tucking the stick underneath the cart and leaning back against the bars. She refastened her jumpsuit, thankful for the meagre warmth provided by the barrier against the cold.
The fighting creature snorted, a thin stream of drool escaping from the corner of its mouth. 299 snored, her mouth hanging open. Officers Tor and Reno lay motionless on the other side of the fire. She squinted her eyes and detected the slight rise and fall of Reno’s chest as he slept.
201 watched the moon. It looked different tonight, the slim crescent streaked with clouds.
She tried to focus her energies on the camp, trying to lock in on their collective essence. She had to know if her plan had been effective.
Nothing. She tried again, a dark energy, solid, like a wall, rose up, blocking her attempts.
Wilcox.
She tried once more, attempting to push the barrier from her mind. It was no use. The presence of Wilcox was an unwelcome development. It mattered not. What was done was done. If Wilcox was angry, then she supposed it could be a good sign. She tried to imagine the camp, the faces she would see, the brightness of spirit that she had hoped to emulate one day.
An image formed in her mind. It was a group settled around a fire, animated with laughter. They drank a strange concoction, filling their mugs and chattering, their voices blending into one. 201 observed the easy way they interacted with one another, the unspoken gestures, the comfortable way they talked and laughed. Their mannerisms suggested a sense of unity and trust that she had not experienced before.
See?
Wilcox’s voice was harsh with disdain.
You could never have what they have. You can never be like these rogue defectives. You may think you are different, 201, but you are still an Internee. I should have liked to study you. If only I had known what went on in that little head of yours.
You would have taken me apart, she thought. You would have taken me apart piece by piece, just as you did to Beth.
Well, yes. I suppose you are right. Of course, we cannot have the likes of you polluting the Internee pool, defective.
You forget yourself, Wilcox, she thought, careful not to speak her words out loud. You are no longer in control.
That is where you are wrong, 201. A man such as myself does not lose control. It is merely transferred.
You mean that when I expired you, another rose in your place. 201 huffed, rubbing her hands together, warming them with her breath.
Now you are beginning to understand. You thought you fought against one. But you cannot fight an idea. You cannot fight my design. It is too powerful. FERTS now lives and breathes under my watchful eye. You have achieved nothing, 201.
I expired you, she thought.
It matters not. FERTS lives on. You know, for one who thinks they are so smart, you are really quite dense, hardly approaching my level of understanding. But that is to be expected. A Vassal is not prized for having thoughts. Look at yourself, 201. Your face… bruised and swollen like the faces of the Fighters at the Epsilon Games. You have not bathed in days. Your hair is matted and your skin is dry from the sun. You were not made for this. This wild environment is no place for a Vassal. You require direction. You require the provision and protection of FERTS in order for you to reach your potential as a Vassal.
I am not a Vassal, she thought. No matter how you might appraise me, it matters not. You underestimate my determination to finish this.
You cannot escape FERTS. It lives within you, as I do. You will find this to be true soon enough, Internee.
She curled in on herself, blocking out the sound of Wilcox’s voice.
Another sound rang out. It sounded like a night bird, though 201 had never heard this particular call. These sounds were still unusual to her ears.
She willed her mind to relax, attempting to rest for the few short hours until first light. She focused her attention on trying to calm her breathing and to quiet the throb of her heart as it beat faster and faster.
– 23 –
Pinnacle Officer Cerberus sto
od before an Epsilon Internee with his papers spread out before him, secured with heavy quartz. The testing room was cold, sterile. The Internee sat, strapped to a chair, her eyes wide, the hair at her temples plastered with sweat. The Epsilon Internee was a trainee Fighter, one month’s training in total. She was dressed only in an undershirt and undergarments, her skin pebbled from the cold.
“Hold still,” said Pinnacle Officer Cerberus. The Internee struggled, shaking her head from side to side. A fighting creature lay at the end of a chain, curled in the corner of the room with a thin trail of drool escaping from its fangs.
He referred to his notes. If his calculations were correct, he had isolated the correct frequency for his purposes. He could feel a sense of his impending success. This would be a triumph for FERTS, a continuation of the former Pinnacle Officer’s great work in keeping peace while maintaining a level of protection. The Officers had no need to arm themselves, this would only lead to what Pinnacle Officer Wilcox termed 'The baser instincts', preventing the Officers from becoming actualized. No, with this new system, the protection of FERTS would come from the Epsilon Internees themselves. Bred for fighting, it made perfect sense, the idea encapsulating the kind of beauty and simplicity that he had come to associate with FERTS. Pinnacle Officer Wilcox would be proud, he thought. At least, he believed it to be true. He shuffled his notes, readying himself for the ultimate test of the frequency’s effect on the Epsilon Internee’s implant marker.