Still clutching her digital notepad, Rebecca saw that the screen was blank and not responding. She tried turning the device off and on again but nothing happened. A rush of panic consumed her. "No, no, no!" she shouted. "Please come on! You can't be broken now!" But Rebecca knew there was no more use in trying. The digital notepad was damaged. It must have happened during the struggle and fall. The only consoling thought she could cling to was that the Stalker was after the manuscript. Her mother might be safe—for now.
Rebecca looked down at her workbag, once again, and felt perplexed by the book's power. She knew something must be truthful inside considering all that has happened. Maybe it's all true. She didn't know how but just maybe it was. Maybe I did die. But she wasn't dead, at least not yet. What am I going to do? She didn't know who or what sent the Stalker after her but she did know that getting to the Southern Point was going to be a challenge.
Rebecca looked skyward and toward the stars millions of miles above. As insignificant as her life was, Rebecca cherished every breath she took. She was not about to let it end. Think! There has to be something you can do. Finding her biological father was her only hope, her key to freedom, to life. I have to find him—to use him as a negotiation tool. But how was she to get there? Furthermore, she needed access to the translation again. Rebecca still had the chronicle, yes, but she needed a translator machine like the one in her office and there was no way she could show her face around there again. There was no other place she could go.
That's not true, she told herself. There were other places that had a TRNSLTR 559, other offices. Every Department of Historical Events has one, she reminded herself. But that meant leaving her sector. Rebecca slouched back into the sand again and considered the difficulties involved. Leaving Sector 27 wouldn't be easy. It lasted hundreds of miles in every direction, which made walking seemingly impossible. Rebecca briefly considered stealing a shortcar, but realized it was a foolish thought. They only went twenty miles per hour and were constricted by their holding companies. Rebecca shook her head and stood up. She needed to find an area with light so she could survey her wounds. Her ankles were really hurting now that she had a chance to rest. There was a lamppost just before the J6 and K1 junction. It was one of the few lights on the beach even though the beach was off limits after nightfall.
Rebecca hobbled another half mile before reaching the junction and found the light. She practically fell to the ground and onto her side, checking the damage to her body. She wasn't as bad as she thought, just mainly sore. Rebecca rubbed her eyes with her palms and then began to massage her temples. She was getting a headache and time was not on her side. The more she sat and contemplated things, the more she was wasting it. I'm a criminal now, she reminded herself. It was a hard pill to swallow—but swallow she must. I need to start thinking like a criminal if I'm going to survive. The problem was that she didn't know any criminals. She didn't know how they acted, the things they did or the ways they traveled. Rebecca had spent her entire life doing the opposite; trying to uphold the most ideological image one could envision a Ministry member to have. I'm not a criminal! It was lunacy—all of it. Tears began to flow freely again. Maybe if I try to contact Simon, maybe if I explain to him everything that has happened. But she knew it would be a futile attempt. Simon was part of the most powerful Ministry family. He couldn't be associated with such predicaments. He was probably already too embarrassed to admit he was ever paired with her. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had already canceled the engagement and retook the compatibility test. She figured, in his eyes, she might as well be a member of the Heretique, the scum of the earth, because that was all she was worth.
Rebecca pushed herself up and used the railing by the lamppost for support. Once the pain in her ankles seized, she began to walk. The Southern Point, she thought, how am I supposed to get there without getting picked up by the MSF? It took her back to square one. Rebecca could think of no other way to get that far south without taking Ministry provided transportation. She needed a private vehicle and the only people allowed to have those belonged to Fourth Tier members and up. Rebecca wasn't close enough with anyone that high ranked. She heaved a sigh and stopped at the end of the path leading away from the beach. Up in the sky a meteor shower was occurring. If only I could go back to this morning, she thought. If the safebox was never opened, then there wouldn't have been a translation. Rebecca wouldn't have lied to Jonas, she wouldn't have freaked out when Roland pulled up behind her— "ROLAND!" she shouted out.
Rebecca's heart leapt with hope. Roland has a car! She had forgotten that he was a driver; that he offered to give her a ride that morning. I have to get a hold of Roland. He can help me. But even as she thought those words Rebecca knew that asking Roland to commit such an offense would be crossing the line of any kind of relationship; plus she had no way to get a hold of him. She couldn't use her digital notepad. But if I could borrow someone's, she thought. Looking down at her dirty tattered clothes, Rebecca had an idea. Unfortunately, it would have to wait until morning.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The following day, the amount of people walking on J19 in the early hour was a bit more than usual. First Duty had occurred only an hour before and most people were making their way to work.
A young woman named Rooney stopped on the walkway to readjust her shoe when she noticed a Fifth Tier woman watching her. Rooney, who was a Sixth Tier, grew apprehensive as the woman started to approach. Even worse, Rooney noticed that the woman looked askew, like something physically was wrong with her, and she was oddly carrying two large bags. Rooney stood up and turned to walk away, pretending to not notice the woman, but hesitated due to her nervousness.
"Excuse me," the woman called out.
Rooney looked back and nodded quickly. "Hello, how may I be of service to you?" Rooney was fresh out of the Academy and was still trying to get used to mature life in the Collective—following the rules of etiquette when it came to addressing superior tier levels.
"I'm sorry to bother you," the woman said in a friendly tone, "and I'm embarrassed to admit, but as you can see," the woman then gestured to her clothes, which Rooney noticed for the first time, were dirty and tattered, "I just recently had an accident and broke my notepad." The woman held up her digital notepad and showed its cracked screen.
Rooney was taken back by the woman's politeness. Her experience since leaving the Academy, was filled with demanding and entitled higher-tiered members of the Ministry. None of them were polite. Rooney wanted to ask the woman how she had such a horrible accident but refrained from being too nosey. "I see. I hope you're okay."
The woman smiled and nodded. "I'm a little banged up. I was hoping I could borrow your notepad for only a few minutes in order to contact a friend to come and give me a ride to the infirmary."
Rooney felt really uncomfortable now. In the Academy, one of the first things taught about digital notepads was not to lend them to anyone for any circumstance—ever. But with that being said, Rooney wasn't sure what the etiquette was when it came to a higher tier asking to use her notepad. Surely if the Minister were to ask to borrow her notepad etiquette would state that she should allow him to do so. And the Academy taught her that higher tiers were to be treated as they would treat the Minister. Rooney twisted her lip and accepted that in this particular situation she should allow the higher-tiered woman to use her notepad. She told herself that if the incident was ever brought up in a common law case she could cite the rules of etiquette when it came to respecting your superiors. Rooney retrieved the digital notepad from her workbag and handed it to the woman.
"Great, thank you," the woman said with a nod and then immediately keyed in a number. She held up a finger to Rooney and stepped away so that the conversation couldn't be heard.
Rooney nodded and did her best to look disinterested, but deep down she was very uncomfortable with the situation. What if this is a test, she asked herself. Did I pass or fail? The Academy warned students of the pote
ntial risk of being randomly tested by the Ministry.
After a moment, the woman returned and handed over the digital notepad. "Thank you."
Rooney took it with shaky hands and nodded: "My pleasure." She then turned and hastily walked away.
*******
Rebecca released the breath she was holding as the young woman walked along the path. Her plan worked. She looked down at her broken digital notepad and realized she would now need to discard it somewhere safe.
Moments earlier, before she approached the young woman, Rebecca realized that she would need access to someone's digital notepad. Knowing the Ministry's policy on lending digital notepads, Rebecca knew she would need a lower tier who was younger in order to gain access to one. Furthermore, she knew that she would need a viable excuse to present. Luckily her appearance lent one. She figured she could tell the person that she fell down a hill or something to that nature and broke her digital notepad in the process. The only thing needed was her digital notepad to look broken, which was accomplished by smashing its face on the corner of a marble ledge running along the beachfront pathway. She spider webbed the display screen with cracks, which caused black blotches to appear, making the digital notepad clearly unusable.
After gaining access of the young woman's digital notepad without having to answer a single question beyond why, Rebecca keyed in Roland's number and stepped away so the young woman couldn't overhear the coming conversation.
"Hello?" said Roland, curiously.
"Roland, it's Rebecca, I need your help."
"Becca? Your number didn't come up right. This says you're—"
"Never mind what the screen says," Rebecca said quickly, "do you still want to give me a ride in your car?"
Roland looked really confused now. "Excuse me?"
"Do you want to give me a ride or not? This is your only chance."
Roland's face froze in thought and then lightened. "Yeah, sure! What's with the change of heart?"
"I'll tell you all about it when you get here."
"You want to go right now?" he said with some concern. "I just dropped off the Director at the Ministry Commons, but I might have to escort him—"
"Do you want to or not?" said Rebecca, cutting him off. She didn't have time for his debate.
Roland thought about it for a few seconds before answering: "Yeah, yeah, where are you? My notepad says you are in the 2nd District. Is that right?"
"Of course it's right," Rebecca said and then thought about where she could wait for him. "Meet me on J21, across from the fountain in the 6th Ward of the 4th District."
Roland nodded his head but he still seemed rather confused. "Okay, shall I call you at this number?"
"No, don't call. I'll see you then."
*******
The fountain on J21 was a decorative tribute to the 14th Minister, Ziusudra, and his second coming, which resulted in the reformation of Ziusudria (modernly known as The Collective). Zius, the first Minister and legendary hero who supposedly never died, returned to the ravaged Ziusudria, which he founded over four-hundred years earlier, and drove out the invading army from Titanus. A large statue of him served as the centerpiece and the platform he resided on was shaped to look exactly like Sector 61, which in reality was the birthplace of civilization and the true home of the Ministry, Zius, and the city of Ziusudria. There were ninety-two streams of water jetting from the platform and into the pool making up the perimeter of the fountain. The ninety-two streams represented the ninety-two sectors that made up The Collective.
Rebecca paused and remembered the fountain's history before moving toward one of the many carved out ridges in the commercial building, which stood directly across J21. The ridges were exactly three feet wide and three feet deep, providing plenty of room to hide her entire body from any cameras along J21 or the people passing by. Rebecca leaned up against the wall and slid down to the ground, her knees tucked to her chest. She was pretty sure it would be at least a half an hour before Roland made his way over. At least I have some kind of plan, she thought. It wasn't much of a plan but it was something for her to grab hope from. Everyone needs hope.
Rebecca sighed and listened to the ambient noise of people passing, the railway in the distance, the birds, the wind, and the melodic trickling sound from the fountain. Life, as she once knew it, was continuing on without her. It was sad and yet inspiring. I'm not dead yet, she said, so I still have a chance.
*******
It wasn't long before the sound of a hovercar could be heard whining overhead. Rebecca cranked her head outside the ridge and saw Roland's vehicle about ten feet up—between her and the fountain. Rebecca rushed out while waving an arm: "Roland!"
Roland was looking about and turned toward her direction. With a smile, he eased the engines and the vehicle lowered itself to the path below.
"Don't turn them off!" Rebecca shouted as she reached the side door.
"What?" Roland said over the whining noise level.
Rebecca opened the door and slid in. "I said don't turn the vehicle off. Let's get going."
Roland hesitated for a second. "Is everything alright?"
"It will be once we get moving."
"Where are we going?"
"Sector 28."
Roland froze. "Sector 28?"
"Yeah."
His face contorted. "You want me to fly you to Sector 28—two hundred miles from here?"
Rebecca didn't waiver.
Roland looked astonished. "Are you nuts?"
"Possibly."
"You can't be serious. Nobody would ask someone to fly them to another sector while using the Director of Technology's car. This is some kind of joke, isn't it?"
"Can we at least get moving?"
Roland shook his head. "No. You have to explain yourself."
"I will once we get moving. At least start flying us south. I'll explain on the way and if you don't like what you hear then you can stop and drop me off." She paused for a second and then continued. "I have a feeling, though, that once you hear what I have to say, you won't want to go back."
Roland looked extremely puzzled by the statement and said: "You want me to fly two hundred miles south and then drop you off? Rebecca, what's going on? This isn't like you." He shook his head again. "This isn't like anyone!"
Rebecca looked deep into his eyes and took in a deep breath of desperation before releasing it slowly. "Please Roland. Once you hear what I have to say you'll understand."
His better judgment was telling him no but Roland's will was nothing next to the power Rebecca had over him. He couldn't explain it, but Rebecca had some kind of control. Roland gave a sigh of his own and then nodded. "Fine. Start talking."
It took Rebecca almost thirty minutes to explain everything while they flew south. She was at Roland's mercy and came completely clean, telling him not only about the book and what was written inside of it, but about Jillian, Jonas, Simon, and the attack she survived.
"You were attacked by a Stalker?" he said in utter shock. "Jerry—your downstairs neighbor—was killed?"
Rebecca nodded, sorrowfully.
"But why do you have to go south?" Roland asked as if it just occurred to him. "You haven't explained that."
"My digital notepad was damaged during the struggle. The translation was on it. Without my notepad, the translation is lost. So I need to go to another Sector's Department of Historical Events in order to obtain a new translation."
Roland didn't appear to understand. It was obvious that he was having a hard time accepting everything. "Rebecca . . . I don't know what to say. Your story is possibly the most insane thing anyone has ever told."
"It's real, Roland." Rebecca presented one of the pages from the manuscript. "Look at it."
Roland quickly looked down at the page and then back to where they were flying. He still didn't look convinced. "And you can just walk into another department's office and make a translation?"
"Not exactly," she said hesitantly. "I can prob
ably get inside just on appearance alone," she gestured toward her tattered uniform, "if no one notices that I fell twenty feet into a bush, twice. But the real trick will be getting to the machine. TRNSLTR will take about an hour to process the text and then I will need to find a d-reader to transport the translation."
"An hour?" Roland said in disbelief. "It will be time for Second Duty by then. And what if the Director calls for me? What am I supposed to tell him? ‘Sure Director, I'll be there in an hour's time.' He'll have my head."
"I know, I know," Rebecca said, defeated. "I don't have another choice. I need a new translation. I have to know what else this manuscript says."
"If it's even authentic," Roland quickly pointed out.
Rebecca sighed and nodded her head. "I know what you mean. I haven't been much of a believer myself, and I know how this may sound but I truly think that this thing is real—somehow. I can't explain it but deep down I can feel that it's real."
"But then what are you going to do after you get the translation?" Roland asked.
Rebecca felt it unwise to let him in on her plan to fly down to the Southern Point afterward. She just wanted him focused on the first task. "I don't know yet. I'll figure that out after we get the translation."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Two hours later, they arrived in Sector 28's Capitol City. Roland took the high sky on the way in so they wouldn't get caught in the mid-morning traffic. Rebecca looked out her side window and saw the city skyline through the clouds far below. It was modest in comparison to Sector 27 and a lot older. Even though Sector 28 was technically formed after Sector 27, the land in terms of world history was considerably older.
The Sinner King: Book of Fire Page 16