Uprising

by Justin Kemppainen

  Chapter 13: Power Meeting

  The round black elevator rose through the spire of the Institution complex, located in the lobby of the Inquisition sector. It was the pillar that rose above the city of Haven and housed the most important meeting places and the most important people. The single occupant of the elevator was almost giddy, trembling with excitement as the car continued to ascend. It was attached to the outside of the spire, and the back portion was clear glass. The view of the clean, white city beneath was breathtaking. He did not notice.

  Gregory Michaels put his hands in his pockets and pulled them out, rubbing them together. He paced back and forth in the small space, smoothed his lab coat, and straightened his name tag. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair, and rubbed his chin. He continued all manner of fidgeting as the doors slid open.

  A circular room lay before him, beyond a small ramp. He looked past the short incline and saw the room itself was symmetrical, and he could see another ramp across from where he was leading down to, instead of another elevator, a set of heavy double doors. A table, crescent-shaped, the points angling towards the back wall, was centered in the round room. There were eight chairs placed at even intervals, all facing a podium, which was set between the two points of the crescent.

  No one stood at the podium, and all but one of the seats were filled. He ceased gaping around in awe and stepped out of the elevator, which slid shut behind him. He moved up the ramp, still glancing around the room in spite of himself. He closed his eyes, pulling from his memory the appearance of the spire from the outside.

  No, this room is not at the apex, he thought. Maybe that's where Citizen One stays. He looked again at the double doors, wondering what they concealed. A staircase, perhaps?

  As he approached the table, he saw a few faces looking him over. There was a man in a black uniform that Michaels recognized as the High Inquisitor, Julian Wresh. He sat middle-right. Lined up in the next three seats over, Michaels noticed Herman Gottfried and two other people wearing Inquisitor black, a woman and a man. Adams and Levine are their names? he thought.

  Looking to the left half, Michaels noticed the seat next to Wresh was vacant. To the left of that, Dunlevy sat, smiling broadly at him with twinkling eyes. He stifled a grimace, also seeing Claudia Laverock, a striking, confident woman in her mid-thirties. She had long brown hair knotted neatly in a bun; he had seen her on occasion, but they rarely spoke. She headed up the Experimental Design branch of the Institute, the wing opposite to the one that Dunlevy and Michaels shared. Practical devices for good and harm were created under her watch.

  The man next to her Michaels didn't quite recognize but knew he had seen the face before. He was a large black man, bald, wearing an elegant pinstripe suit, and Michaels could see several heavy rings adorning his fingers.

  "Gregory, my boy! Welcome, welcome! Have a seat!" He motioned at the empty chair, center-left. It was right next to the middle-aged Wresh, who, with his square-jaw, intense gaze, heavily pockmarked facial features, and short-cropped silver hair, gave Michaels a feeling of unease. The High Inquisitor had not turned towards him yet, conversing quietly with his subordinates.

  Trying not to appear intimidated, Michaels seated himself immediately. No sooner did he sit than Dunlevy pounded the table with his fist and clapped Michaels on the back with his other hand, violently lurching him forward. "Wonderful! Absolutely splendid!"

  Michaels dropped into a coughing fit. He grabbed the clear glass of water he now noticed was placed in front of each of them. He gulped it down, still hacking. Red-faced and breathing hard, he glared at Dunlevy.

  The plump man did not appear to take any notice, busily making introductions, "…believe you may know Citizen Laverock, yes? Our inventor extraordinaire?"

  "Claudia," she said with a modest smile. Michaels leaned forward, stretching over Dunlevy awkwardly to shake her hand. She smirked.

  "And that, over there, is the head of H.I.B.N." Dunlevy turned back towards Michaels, looking down his short nose. "You know. The Haven Information Broadcasting Network," he whispered.

  Michaels rolled his eyes at the patronizing as Dunlevy continued, "Dennis Myers, our speaker of… err… truths." He put back on his broad smile as Myers looked over at Michaels with mild curiosity, holding an unlit cigar in one hand and sipping at his water with the other. Michaels gave a curt nod, which was returned in kind.

  Having finished the brief introduction, Dunlevy began speaking to Claudia, telling her the latest sociological findings of both Citizens and survivors of Old Haven. Oddly enough, she appeared genuinely interested.

  Michaels turned, sat upright, and faced the podium. On his right, he noticed that Wresh was now facing him, openly staring with penetrating eyes. Michaels fidgeted under the scrutiny.

  Michaels finally clenched his jaw and turned, offering his hand. "Gregory."

  A smile split the lined face, and Wresh extended his own. "Julian. I do not believe we've had the pleasure."

  Michaels met the piercing gaze. "Indeed not."

  "You know my associates here. Inquisitors Gottfried, Abrams, and Levine." The two men and woman gave quiet greetings. Abrams, that was it. He gave them a nod.

  "I've heard some things about you-"

  Before Wresh could highlight exactly what those things were, there was a quiet whirring as two small rods extended from the floor on either side of the podium. They were lined with something that looked like clusters of lenses. Lights of various colors began to issue from the devices, overlapping and weaving.

  Fascinated, Michaels watched as the patterns of random light spun, whirled and crisscrossed, spiraling together. Eventually, they appeared to solidify, coalescing into the form of a man. Eyes widening, Michaels stared at the apparition with unconcealed interest. It was Citizen Franklin Lange himself.

  The image was a man in his mid-thirties. He was average height with handsome features, dark brown hair and intense, scrutinizing eyes. He was completely clean shaven and wearing what looked like Inquisitor black with no apparent insignias.

  Something bothered Michaels immediately; Lange should have been over a hundred years old by this time; not near this young. Franklin Lange was the figurehead of this city when I was still a child.

  "Greetings, advisory council," a voice, strong and confident yet smooth, sounded from the apparition. Obviously through speakers of some kind, yet the quality was crystal clear as though the hologram was actually speaking. He doesn't sound over one hundred, that's for sure, Michaels thought.

  The newest council member briefly wondered if Lange had gotten some manner of access to medical or rejuvenation technology to look in such a manner. However, being near the forefront of research in chemistry and biology, Michaels felt certain that he would have been aware of it. On the other hand there could have been-

  Michaels' reverie was broken as Lange, Citizen One, spoke. "Special greetings to our newest member, replacing Citizen Coleman on the council. Welcome, Gregory Michaels." The apparition clapped, politely, causing Michaels to marvel at the efficiency of the imaging software to produce the sound. Lange's applause was echoed by the rest of the room. All members, save the beaming smile of Arthur Dunlevy, kept stoic expressions.

  Michaels stood, gave a slight bow, said, "Thank you," and sat again.

  Dunlevy caught his eye and gave a wink. "Excellent speech. Lengthy and moving," he whispered.

  Michaels cracked a smirk in spite of himself. He settled in and paid attention to the hologram.

  "I apologize for the short notice for the council meeting, but there is urgent business regarding the remaining population underneath our fair city." Michaels marveled at the image, so real and lifelike. "In spite of invitations of integration into our thriving culture, barring certain limitations, and even various measures to forcefully relieve them of their ignorance, hundreds of these inferior people remain in exile. It would seem as though they are capable of survival beyond what was expected. The issue requires further examinati
on." He gestured towards Dunlevy. "Could you please provide your summary once more?"

  Dunlevy leaned forward, speaking with an uncommon seriousness. "Their behavior had appeared to have regressed to an almost tribal situation of governing; the small, nearly self-sustaining bands scavenging what remained behind for food and supplies. In the long term, with no change to the situation, it was thought very likely that the resources remaining would dry up. In addition, the fighting amongst them, along with our servant acquisition program, eliminated dozens per month." He cleared his throat. "However, now with what looks like the possibility of larger scale organization, they may be capable of changing that formula. Given further time, they could represent more of a…" he pursed his lips, considering, "a nuisance."

  "Yes, your assessment is correct, Citizen Dunlevy," said Lange. "Although, given the events of the other night, I would express a term stronger than 'nuisance.' We have offered our hand once again, and it has been struck away, with surprising force." He chose this moment to turn towards his left, gazing intently at the High Inquisitor and his subordinates.

  Wresh radiated calm, and his gravelly voice filled the chamber. "It is regrettable that such a situation was allowed to come about. We believe in our haste to swiftly deal with the terrorist leader known as Elijah, we underestimated the desperation and aggression of the forces under the command of this Silver Fox person." He spoke the name with disgust. "Our intelligence suggests that despite the ambush, our soldiers inflicted an equal to or greater number of casualties, but the enemy disguised their losses." Suspicion seeped through Michaels' thoughts. What Wresh was saying seemed possible, but Michaels' contact with the survivors suggested no such thing. Nor was there any real reason to discuss enemy losses, except to make the battle appear as less of a catastrophe.

  Where is this 'intelligence' coming from? Michaels wondered. Perhaps saving face and making crippling losses seem like stalemates is a necessary part of these politics. He frowned.

  "Do you have something to add to the subject, Citizen Michaels?" inquired Lange.

  "Nothing too specific," Michaels cleared his throat, "although I am wondering how useful this council intends to be when members engage in worthless posturing." He kept his gaze fixed on Lange, his heart-rate rising.

  The room sat in stunned silence. Even Dunlevy was unsmiling, eyes wide at Michaels' lack of propriety. Wresh scowled, hunching over the table and not meeting any eyes. The other Inquisitors looked straight ahead, keeping passive expressions on their faces.

  The image of Lange smiled. "Indeed. High Inquisitor, further assessment? Please do avoid unnecessary coloration."

  Wresh shot Michaels a glare and began speaking again. Michaels felt very satisfied that he had already established himself and called out one of the highest ranking members in the Citizenship of Haven. If speaking your mind and pointing out the mistakes of fools isn't how things are supposed to work, he thought, then things may have to change.

  He turned his attention to the High Inquisitor, who continued as though he had not been spurned. "…we have information regarding the whereabouts of this Miguel and his forces. They currently occupy a club known as Heavenly Bodies, and most of his followers live in and around the district."

  "Intelligence suggests," he growled, glaring again at Michaels, "it is a guarded area but would easily fall. His people are ruthless and aggressive but cowardly and uncoordinated. They will be crushed by our retaliation strike."

  Lange nodded and turned to Dunlevy. "You have studied them most out of everyone; what is your assessment?"

  Dunlevy cleared his throat. "Miguel: the Silver Fox, as he calls himself runs a loose dictatorship. He, as though in an animal pack, designates himself the leader. The, ah, alpha male, if you will. His concerns are with, ah, females and remaining at the top of the power structure. The man himself is said to be brutal and unyielding, which has led him to survive many attempts on his life." Dunlevy paused, checking some notes. "Ah yes, most of his fairly large body of forces have no military training; they represent a significant portion of criminal and unstable population. There are a few more disciplined members, and most are obedient when given proper incentive, be it advantages or threats. Ultimately, however, the individuals and their leader are self-loyal and survival-oriented." He folded his hands. "It does seem very likely that the High Inquisitor is correct. A retaliation strike will devastate their forces, create panic, and shatter the organization."

  "In addition," Dunlevy rubbed his beard, "another likely effect of successful action could be a loss of morale for remaining population. It could conceivably spur numerous others to surrender." He nodded. "The action's long reaching effects could eliminate the, ah… problem. Forever."

  Michaels smirked, marveling at Dunlevy's ability to sound halfway intelligent. He spoke up. "I understand my knowledge on the subject is limited, but how can we be certain using a similar tactic of direct assault will not fail? Maybe the intelligence we have received is not accurate."

  "You are correct about something; your knowledge is quite limited," Wresh rebuked with a steady tone. "It is interesting you would mention this intelligence, as a primary amount of it was gleaned from one of your subjects, was it not? If you think the information faulty, would it not be a failing of your own methods?" Wresh smiled.

  Michaels swallowed hard but did not hesitate. "Anything remains a possibility. However, the technique has never failed. The subject in question was no different, and I believe Inquisitor Gottfried himself questioned him." He looked over at Gottfried for confirmation.

  Gottfried sat up in his chair, sparing a quick glance over at the High Inquisitor, who gave a slight nod. "There was nothing unusual about him; he behaved in one of the many often observed fashions of subjects post interrogation, conditioning, and re-education. His procedure took less time than most, and his request to work for the Institute near myself and," he motioned at Michaels, "our newest member was unusual, but he expressed an infantile fondness for this place and the people he believed saved him. Any strangeness regarding his case was not extreme enough to set off any warning indicators."

  Dunlevy wore a frown. "Yet, it was this information that specifically led to the failed mission."

  Dennis Myers, the H.I.B.N. executive, spoke. He had a deep, rumbling voice. "What if he was fed?"

  "Fed information? Are you out of your mind?" Claudia finally spoke up. "You're assuming that they can somehow manage to break a conditioning process that they know absolutely nothing about. If they even tried to feed information, the conditioned subjects would simply divulge that they were told to be deceptive. They're not smart enough to conceal anything; they know nothing but the truth. The process is quite thorough, and none of them could engineer anything to circumvent it, surely."

  Michaels was impressed. She seems to know quite a bit about my work, very interesting.

  His mind returned to the discussion to find Dunlevy arguing loudly, "…they have killed a force of our soldiers with what appears to be ease! It is impossible to know how extensive their abilities are!"

  Claudia shot back, "Just because they can surprise arrogant, complacent men once does not mean they could do it again."

  Myers spoke again, very calmly. "We've already underestimated them once. We may have to face that our intelligence just can't cover all of the bases. Isn't that correct, Julian?"

  Wresh frowned slightly. "I don't deny it, Citizen Myers."

  Myers turned back to Claudia. "Then, we've got to handle it with proper caution."

  Michaels spoke up, settling into the notion of having a presence. "Being too tentative would be a mistake in itself. A show of strength and superiority is needed." He took a breath. "Once Miguel and his forces are dealt with, no one else down below will dare any action."

  Wresh jumped in, nodding. "And if we do nothing, it will suggest that we are incapable."

  Claudia said, "Who cares? It's not as though they can actually do anything to us. Leave them where they are; it
's no concern of ours."

  Dunlevy shook his head and said, "We're already doing that, and it's not working. If one small ragtag band can surprise and slaughter our soldiers, think of what hundreds of them could do!"

  "We can contain news of trouble down below. If their mischief manages to reach the surface, we could have a lot of angry Citizens on our hands," said Myers.

  Claudia opened her mouth to speak, but Lange cut her off with a short gesture. "Your concerns are valid, but further argumentation is unnecessary. Here is what will be done." He looked at Wresh and the other Inquisitors. "You will take a sufficient retaliation force to destroy this Silver Fox and any who follow him. Use caution; they may be expecting a strike. Take as many prisoners as possible for interrogation and re-education. The opportunity to obtain more servant stock is becoming limited."

  He looked at Myers. "Broadcast information regarding an attempted ambush on our forces that was met with crushing defeat and the capture of numerous enemy soldiers who are now prepared to make amends by serving our people. This will keep the public happy for the time being, as long as we intend to deliver."

  Lange spoke to everyone, "Understand this: in spite of what some of you may think, these are threats that require immediate attention and action."

  One of the other Inquisitors, the woman Abrams, finally spoke, "What about the contingency?"

  Lange answered, "There is still reluctance to resort to such an extreme measure of," he paused, looking for a proper word, "containment. Even as a failsafe."

  Michaels perked up. He'd not heard of this before.

  "Citizen Laverock, what is your progress in this area?" Lange asked.

  Claudia's air of irritation at losing the argument faded, and she took on an uneasy expression. She swallowed and said, "My best estimations still indicate a minimum 19 percent backlash on our population with the current prototype agent. This is assuming ninety-five percent of the individuals don't find their way up here."

  Inquisitor Levine, a smallish, soft-spoken man, said, "That figure could be a low-end estimation, as well. We still experience an occasional wanderer that finds their way into our city through various means. Most of our structures remain joined with those below. We have spent a great deal of time and effort to block these, but there remains a lot of ground to cover, and it cannot all be watched. With a mass panic and escape attempt, we cannot be certain of how many would find their way out."

  Claudia piped in, "This makes any mass-purging dangerous. We can't-"

  Cutting her off, Wresh said, "Regardless of the danger, the contingency has to be ready for use."

  "We need more time to work on something that won't kill so many of our own people!" she objected.

  The High Inquisitor replied, sternly, "Then continue working and be certain it will be available upon request." Claudia glowered but said nothing.

  Lange spoke again, "It's use will be permitted only in the most dire of circumstances," his eyes narrowed, "but understand that nothing can be allowed to threaten our way of life." He raised his chin. "In spite of their obvious flaws, these people have been given countless opportunities to join our society. If they are so deranged that they cannot understand this and insist upon causing trouble to those who are clearly happy, then perhaps they forfeit their right to exist."

  No one responded or met anyone else's eyes as they considered the possibility. Michaels wondered why they were so somber. It's not like they're real people anyway, he thought.

  "Is there anything else?" Lange scanned the room. When no one spoke up, he nodded. "Very well, then. You are dismissed until further notice. Be vigilant." The apparition disappeared and the hologram apparatus descended back into the floor.

  With a clatter of activity, most everyone at the table stood, gathered up belongings and notes, and moved towards the elevator. Michaels remained, watching them leave. Dunlevy gave him a wide grin and a pat on the shoulder. Claudia and Myers smiled at him, and they exchanged farewells. The Inquisitors gave curt nods, and the High Inquisitor didn't look at or acknowledge him.

  Michaels almost laughed when Wresh stood. It was hard to tell when he was seated, but the High Inquisitor was surprisingly short for a man of his rank. Michaels stifled his mirth, hiding a grin behind his hand.

  After everyone had gone, Michaels sat alone, absorbing everything with a smile on his face. He craned his neck, looking at the door in back of the chamber. It seemed so innocuous, but Michaels figured all areas beyond it were well-beyond off-limits, with some manner of brutal preventative measures in place to discourage visitors. If Lange did indeed live in the area above the council room, he probably didn't want to be disturbed. After all, he went to great lengths to make himself appear young and vibrant. Assuming he's still alive and it's not some other person using his image, he thought.

  Michaels was curious but not stupid. He assumed that, in spite of appearances, he wouldn't get within three feet of the door before being reduced to ash, vapor, or some other kind of lifeless mess. He didn't really want that, especially not after his new promotion.

  He gave one last look around the room before standing and shuffling down the ramp to the elevator, which awaited him. He hit the control for ground-floor and watched the field of white rooftops, rising above him as he descended.

  Finally found something of value in Coleman's files, and finally received due commendation. Michaels smiled. Not a bad day.