by Jim Rudnick
Farther down the street, a food market was out on the sidewalk, and they all passed by slowly, eying the various food items. There were tomatoes, but it was spring, so Javor thought of hothouses right away. Hothouses would explain the variety of other vegetables too. He recognized cucumbers, cabbage, and fresh beans of some type too. Alongside the rows of tables with those items were a few display coolers. He went right up to the coolers and saw fish, chickens, and a couple of other animal carcasses he didn’t recognize available for sale too.
Large ice bins held cold drinks and some other vegetables he didn’t recognize. He was no expert on the crops here on Bones, but the fact this store was open and selling products and at least a couple of dozen city citizens were shopping was a good thing.
“Nice to see commerce coming back,” Sue said, and that got an amen from them all.
As they walked ahead, Anderson offered up a note for their attention. “One thing that we do—back where we met—is to steer zombies away. We have none in Arlington at all anymore. That’s a good thing—especially if you’re trying to raise a family here too …”
With a chorus of amen, they continued walking. The city was big. The street they were on seemed to stretch out in the distance for miles ahead, and just when Javor thought that they may have to camp out before they got to this headquarters, Anderson, their guide, turned off on a side street to the right.
On the right of the side street was a simple park with a children's playground that was unused at the moment. There was a fountain too, but no water sprayed out of it, and it did need a new coat of paint, he thought.
On the left was an enormous building—one with the old-fashioned columns and steps that were a hundred yards wide. Only five stories tall, it was imposing to say the least. The huge engraved name of the building was way up top, and while he could see it, it was in a language Javor didn’t know, so he pointed it out to Anderson.
“Where we’re going—Regime headquarters. Hundreds of years old this building is, and that says Armories in a language that’s been, what, dead for a millennia or so. We use it as it has all that we need—including, of course, direct in power as well.”
As he talked, the group went up the long set of stairs, between two of the columns, and then past the pair of guards on picket duty, who challenged Anderson and got the proper response.
Inside the main lobby area, it was a hubbub of office-like action. Everyone appeared to be in the same kind of uniform as Anderson, but all had insignias showing—mostly of corporals and sergeants, Javor noted. A couple of times an officer with two bars went by, but he noted no saluting at all.
As they made their way by most of the people, they got to the escalator in the corner of the large lobby, and while it was turned off, they used it like stairs and went up to the second floor, turned to their right, and went up again and again until they reached the fifth floor.
There, Anderson led the way down a long hallway of what was beautiful woodwork, milled and carpentered to be visually impressive. Shelves every so often held photos of officers, companies, inspections, and the like. Old photos of old days gone by, Javor thought, and he noted the hallway was as impressive as it was supposed to be.
At the large doorway at the end of the hall, a corporal was on picket duty. The corporal and Anderson exchanged challenges and answers, and he grinned and opened the door. Bixby walked in first and that got a smile from him too.
As Anderson stood to one side, he said, “Please enter, take a seat, and the Circle—that’s the bigwigs of the Regime—will be right with you …”
#####
Maeve came into the room first, staring at the ones across the table and wearing what could be described as a sad-looking face. Woman, Javor thought, of about forty-plus years, plain looking with no makeup or hair treatment, in camo that was too baggy, and no insignia showing either. But his study of her was interrupted by the entry of six more members of this Circle—three men and three more women.
One of the women came around the long table to introduce herself to each of them. “Vera—I’m the leader of the Circle—”
“This year, mind you,” Maeve interrupted.
Vera nodded and half-smiled before continuing. “As I said, leader for this year of the Circle. Our topmost body of governance for the Regime. And you are …” she prompted, and that got her the names and affiliations of everyone at the table.
As she was doing that, Finn had made sure that each person in the room got something to drink and a muffin or one of those delightful new cupcakes that had appeared this morning in their catering dollies. Why there were cupcakes was beyond him, but he did note there was a flyer there announcing the opening of another new bakery in Arlington—Cake & Loaf Bakery. Nice, he thought, as he bit down on the edge of one, the chocolate buttercream icing a pleasure he’d not had in years. Fussing about, he got them all straightened out and then took his seat to the right of Vera who was still instructing the newcomers with Regime history.
“And then, five years ago, once power and food had been re-established, we began to think about us—the people of Ceti4 or Bones, as we now all call it. Our planet survived, and some of us citizens survived, but our society did not. Further is the issue of the zombies we have—both dumb and smart. Plus there’s the fracture of what we call normal versus oddballs or religious zealots that we just don’t understand,” she said as she took a moment to take a big bite out of the cupcake that Finn had put on her plate too.
She smiled broadly and said, “Ahh … red velvet—any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had that cream cheese icing …” and all realized it was a question not requiring an answer.
“Can you expand on that religious item a bit?” Jon asked as he worked on making his second big maple pecan cupcake disappear.
Vera nodded, but Nixon, one of the men at the table, took over. “Religious groups—like these Forest Empire ones—are hard to understand, at least to us. The Boathi virus spared them, they found each other, and somehow they believe that it was not the Boathi that did this to Bones, but that it was a god. They all drank the same kook-aid, as they’ve turned themselves into a communal group of men, women, and children who worship this god—and hate and despise and, yes, kill or enslave everyone else who is not of the same faith. Disciples indeed—yet they send out squads to capture non-believers they call us to turn them into slaves. We hear that they’re building some pyramids way up in the northern forests that will let them get closer to their god—no matter what the cost is in these slaves’ lives we hear.” He shook his head and went back to his cupcake.
Vera smiled and said matter-of-factly, “Anyone can do what they want here on Bones—but when it comes to slavery and death to non-believers, we feel that the Regime must intervene. Somehow. In some way. But permanently if possible,” she finished, using a moistened finger to dab up all the cupcake crumbs on her plate.
She looked at Sue first. “Your report I know we’ll get later—but can you re-cap what you found on your trip here, Sue?”
“Mostly the same as on my trip out to Maxwell two years ago—but not quite. We found a huge group of working vehicles hidden in the Motor Pool at the army base in Walkerville. We took one of those trucks and it ran fine—‘til a spike belt took out our tires about forty miles south of here. Met some of those disciples too—they came in the night, captured us all, but were not really looking for slaves.
“They wanted a tablet that we found in Maxwell, and they knew we had it, and they knew where we were. Sounds like some kind of loran or radar at work, in my mind, but yes, they got the tablet. Jon here, from the Shorecroft Patrol, can probably speak to that on his own later,” she added and the last of her cupcake disappeared too.
After more discussion from Jon and the fact that all their tablets were networked, the general consensus was that while the Forest Empire might have been a cult, they had some real technology strengths too. Something, Javor made a note, that he should remember too. He took the last b
ite of his cupcake, looked around, and then whistled quietly as Bixby stood up from the far corner and came over to accept his treat.
“Javor—you’re our spaceman. Tell us, please, about your ship and its current abilities, if you would,” Finn asked, knowing that it was time to get that out on the table too.
Jon turned and said, “Spaceman?”
Javor sighed and slowly took them all through the last few days aboard the Drake, the crash landing over in Maxwell, his sole survivorship, and the AI diagnostics that said the Drake would never go to space again. He was sad about that, but he held back that he had hoped that the pilot who’d switched on the AI remotes to save the ship had also sent out an SOS for the human empire to eventually receive and then come after the Drake. It really wasn’t something to count on, he knew, but still a good thing to hope for.
He held out his hands. “I’m a new citizen of Bones, I’d suspect, and I will help all I can—well, help to get society back on an even keel, that is. Bixby,” he said as he pointed at the dog still licking his chops making sure he got all the chocolate icing, “is my new friend, but he is really from the Shorecroft Patrol. Found him and rescued him—his master had been killed much earlier than I got to him.”
Finn nodded, made a note on his tablet, and saw that Maeve was still typing up almost everything that was being said.
“We are always looking for good men,” Jon said. ”So if you’re thinking about a place to call home here on Bones, Shorecroft and the patrol would love to have you,” he offered.
That took Javor by surprise and Maeve interrupted that line of discussion right away. “Not interested, I think, in bidding for Javor and the Drake, but the Regime has other fish to fry, young man,” she said, and even Javor felt the slight slap in her tone.
Before Javor could say squat, Finn said it for him. “I don’t think that our spaceman needs to do anything at this point. Vera, I’m sure, would like to talk to him—well, to most of you—about something else. We have had a mission on our to do list for almost a year and have not had the manpower or skill to attempt it …” he said, and he looked over at the head of the Circle.
Vera sipped her water. She looked around the table at the eight of them—nine if one counted Bixby—and she had a look of deep thought on her face.
She looked down at her plate, now bare of crumbs, nodded, and then looked up at them all. “I cannot speak for the Shorecroft Patrol nor your own HQ. But I can offer this. We think—we know—that we need to send a team up to the Forest Empire to find a solution to their growing threat to Bones itself. This solution could be purely diplomatic—if you can find a way to talk them into giving up slavery and staying within their northern borders that’d work well for us and the rest of Bones.”
That alone got a snort from Maeve and a couple more at the table.
“Or maybe the solution might have to be that our team, umm … goes to plan B and ends their leadership control on their citizens. If you think that should be done with a shotgun or a drop of poison in a glass of wine—so be it. If you think that you can get their population to rebel and revolt and, in doing so, change their reliance on slavery, then so be it too.
They all sat and digested that for a minute or two, and then Vera continued.
“I know that this is a big decision—but we’d like for Sue to lead our own cadre including Javor, and we’d like for the four of you patrol soldiers to join us. I will let you HAM into Shorecroft Patrol HQ for talks and discussions and would gladly speak to anyone there about this joint venture. Makes sense, it does, I think, combining two of the biggest remaining seats of government together …” she said.
She nodded at Bruce and Wayne and said, “I’d like to have a minute with Sue alone, but you can lead the rest of your party out, fellows. Relax. Enjoy our city and you’ll all get Regime credits to use too. Barracks is same place, Wayne—go over and take what you need, see Sergeant Reynolds at the quartermaster’s building. Jon, you and your mates are also welcome to stay, to talk to your own HQ, and hopefully to join us too. Day after tomorrow, then.”
After everyone except for Sue left, Vera stared straight at Sue and only half-smiled. “You need to understand first that the Forest Empire has enslaved or killed more than two hundred of our Regime citizens. They constantly raid us using surrogate tribes like the Red Tribe you ran into. We need them to disappear if we want to rebuild Bones—Ceti4, I mean. So while this part of your mission with the group is confidential—we trust only you to handle this, Sue, we wanted you to know upfront that it’s a choice that only you can make.
“We will be arming you with one of our—one of our last remaining nukes, you can simply bomb their city out of existence. It is disguised, using our best technology, to look like a simple twelve-volt battery to power the radio that we’ve included. It will create a crater about a half mile across, so we want the loss of life to be kept to a minimum, please.
“This mission ending goal we don’t like. This one, we know, will put a crater miles long in our northern forest, and yet that would be a symbol that could not be ignored for generations to come. We do not like this one—yet we know that you and the mission must have the ability to decide what is best.
“We hope diplomacy works and works quickly. Reports across our governed area are that more than forty more Regime citizens have just been taken into slavery in the past month. We need to end this Forest Empire’s ability to hurt us and our own citizens,” she said, and she looked directly into Sue’s eyes.
There was no doubt that she meant what she said, and there was no doubt that Sue understood either.
Sue nodded. “I’m to make the decision myownself—I understand that—and I’m to keep the nuke on the down-low too. Still, quite a responsibility, Vera, and one that I will not waver from, you can trust me in that.”
Vera nodded and then looked around the room at the rest of the Regime Circle—and there were only nods from them all.
“So be it,” she said, rose, and then went over to the tray to take just one more red velvet cupcake. She left the room, followed by most of the members of the Circle.
CHAPTER TWO
The pyramid sat, as it was planned to, on a full three acres of cleared forestland on the northern side of the city center block of land in the Forest Empire capital city. It was big, being more than one hundred feet per side, and the blocks that made up the structure were carved from pure granite from the shield.
The quarry in which the blocks were cut was only three miles away, yet the process of getting the stones each, weighing more than six tons and eight feet by four feet in size was the real work of the slaves.
Quarried from white shaded granite, those blocks were put up on sledges under which the rollers were placed and then pulled by the teams of slaves the full distance from the quarry to the pyramid building site. There, for the past year, the area to hold the pyramid had been ground down to the bedrock below to ensure that the new structure would be built level and balanced and maintain its preeminence in the Empire for generations to come.
The pyramid was an ongoing project for the Empire, and as such, it was the be-all and end-all for each of the ten thousand Empire citizens on a daily basis. Architects were in charge of the survey and alignment of the structure. Empire guards looked after the slaves, moved them from various locations, and set up the work details on a weekly basis. One week a slave might be toiling in the quarry splitting stone with wedges and sledgehammers, while the next week might find them pulling on ropes to slowly move a block of that white granite from the quarry to the city. Others looked after the final polishing and beveling of the stones once they were placed up the ramps and in their final positions.
The work of building the pyramid had been going on now for all of three years, and while that was more than a thousand days, the structure itself was now only forty feet tall. Each stone had to be cut to order, delivered on schedule, controlled and if necessary changed, transported up the pyramid flank on schedule, and
laid down on schedule with its mates. Rope rolls were constructed using the finest steel that one could get on Bones, and with their mechanical advantage, the pyramid was slowly taking shape.
At the master builder station, located on the front of the pyramid facing, the head architect checked his plans yet again for the umpteenth time in the past hour. The stone that was slowly getting moved up the nearby ramp was perfectly cut and trimmed, and on its sledge, the stone was polished and burnished to take its place near the top. The team of slaves doing the heavy pulling and lifting to get the stone up that ramp was sweating in the morning sunshine. He could see their glistening backs from here.
By lunchtime, that stone would be in the proper location, and he would have his flagman wave the stone to stop. The sledge slaves would then unhook the stone from the sledge and lever it onto the side-beams. It would be moved into its final position for the stonemasons to finish it off. Small cracks and fissures often were the case after the stone had come all these miles, and the stonemasons were experts at getting every single stone to look perfect.
From where he stood, he looked to the west, down the long road that was now fairly level toward the quarry miles away. On the road, he could see the slaves who were slowly moving the next stone and the one after that one toward the city center and the pyramid where they’d lay. The average was now about five stones per day, and while he recognized that this was a real achievement to get that many stones placed in a workday, he knew the pyramid project was behind.
When he looked to his right, toward the floater yards, he could see there were only two at rest. Large black blimps floated in the air with their command, passenger, and cargo areas all contained within the shell itself. Each could carry more than thirty people with gear and even cargo to a small degree.
The floaters had been a find for them in the north, and they had once belonged to an exploration company that searched the north for ore deposits, oil, and gas. When the Boathi bombs had fallen, the bombs had not disabled the floaters as the floaters were powered by gasoline engines with propellers that drove the helium-filled blimps.