The Ten Thousand

by Doug Felton

  “Do any of these conspiracy theorists have credibility?” President Tate asked.

  “They do now,” Penly said. “They’ve been saying all along the government is hiding the truth of immortals from the world.”

  “We have been,” Raven said. “And with good reason. Why don’t we just go out there and explain what happened? Most people are smart enough to handle the truth.”

  “It’s not the truth we’re telling them they’ll question,” Raisa said. “It’s the truth they think we’re not telling them. Right?”

  Penly nodded. “I’ve been monitoring their websites for a couple of months, ever since they started popping up. Some of them claim that conditional immortality is a latent form of the Pittsburgh Virus. Imagine the panic if that idea catches on, ten thousand people out there with a dormant strand of the virus that’s just waiting to spring to life. Others have put together elaborate schemes explaining how a group of immortals could band together and one day seize all the power and wealth of the New World. Since the leak, these sites are getting way more hits than they’ve ever had. Judging by the comments, people aren’t happy.”

  “If they think the immortals are a threat, we could have a serious problem on our hands,” President Tate said. “One immortal, or a few, that’s one thing. Ten thousand, that’s something else. What if neighbors suspect one another? What if they’re afraid or jealous? It’s the unknowns that will fuel panic and paranoia.” He paused. “A man was assaulted in Pittsburgh for claiming to be one of the Ten Thousand.”

  “What? When did that happen?” Alexander asked.

  “We’re just getting the details now.”

  “An isolated incident,” Raisa said.

  “Yes, for now. But soon there will be more if we don’t do anything. I know you wanted to break this news to them in a different way, but for everyone’s sake, it might be a good idea to . . . ” Tate paused as if hesitant to say what he was about to say, “to bring the Ten Thousand into protective custody for the time being.”

  “What?” Raisa said, her voice a pitch higher than normal. “We are not arresting them for having a genetic condition; they had nothing to do with it.”

  Tate held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “No, not arresting them. But if we take them out of the general population, we can calm whatever fears might arise and tell them about their condition in a safe environment. There are some council members who feel strongly about this.”

  Raisa opened her mouth to argue, but Alexander spoke. “I agree. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best short-term solution.”

  Raisa stiffened in her chair, and Penly’s eyebrows shot up. Alexander had never contradicted her on a major decision in front of her staff.

  He must have read her expression because he added, “I’m no good to you if I don’t give you my honest opinion. We can’t take a chance on this blowing up.”

  Raisa stood. “Thank you both for your input. We will not be detaining any of the Ten Thousand.” Shifting her gaze to Alora, she said. “I want the staff to come up with a strategy for responding to this information. I expect something this afternoon.” With that, she left the room.

  The staff worked through the morning, deciding that an interview with the media outlet that broke the story was the best response. There was no way to unsay what the leaker had revealed to the world, so their best choice was controlling the information as best they could. For the privilege of getting the interview, the New World Media Group agreed to a strict set of rules, including allowing the Palace to approve the final version of the interview before they aired it. With negotiations complete, they brought a camera into one of the sitting rooms.

  Raisa performed well during the interview, appearing relaxed and well-informed. She debunked rumors that conditional immortality was a dormant form of the Pittsburgh Virus or that it resulted from alien DNA. That was a rumor she hadn’t heard. “I can guarantee you, I’ve had no interaction with alien life forms, that is, if you don’t count a few members of the New World Council.” That brought a laugh from the interviewer and set the tone for the interview.

  When it came time to discuss why the government had not yet told the public about the Ten Thousand, Raisa was both humble and serious, apologizing for the appearance of keeping vital information from the public. “Our first goal was to inform the Ten Thousand of their condition in a way that protected their privacy and respected their individuality. That’s easy to do with ten people, not so easy with ten thousand. After that, our plan was to inform the public. Now that the public knows, our aim is still to contact the Ten Thousand quickly and gracefully.”

  Raisa’s smile hid the anger she felt for the reporter sitting in front of her and the news service that posted sensitive information without caring about the consequences that might follow. As she sat, her back ramrod straight and her hands folded in her lap, her mind was screaming, What the hell were you thinking? Is this the thanks I get for empowering the media?

  “Your Majesty, thank you for your time. This has been a most fascinating interview.”

  “Thank you, Marsha, it has been my pleasure.”

  That night Raisa stayed up late reading, hoping Alexander would fall asleep before she got to their bed. They’d always faced their issues head-on, staying up sometimes to the early hours of the morning working out whatever it was between them. They figured out early on that they were both strong personalities, and waiting to talk about it only made things worse. But Raisa couldn’t face another emotionally charged moment. She hadn’t been able to grieve Ben’s death the way she needed, and sitting in the residence alone, looking out at the glowing obelisk on the other side of the mall, she felt numb. That day had drained her soul of the energy it took to grieve. Raisa fell asleep on a sofa with an unread book in her lap.

  The next morning she was up early and in the gym where she was working over a punching bag as if it were public enemy number one. She wouldn’t fight any real human beings that day. Her injuries from the day before had nearly healed, and she needed to be presentable for the state dinner that evening.

  Sweat glistened on Raisa’s face as her hands and feet alike hit the bag. The only sound in the room was the impact of her blows and the grunt that each one forced from her lungs. The longer she worked, the more vicious her attack grew.

  “I don’t know what the bag did to deserve that, but whatever it was, remind me never to do it.”

  She turned to see Alexander standing on the far side of the gym wearing his PT gear. “You’re up early.”

  “Thought we could work out together.” Alexander crossed the gym, closing the gap between them.

  Raisa returned to the bag. “I’m not planning on a full routine today. I've got to look presentable for the dinner tonight.”

  “I'll go easy on you.”

  Raisa bristled at the comment. She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but Raisa wasn't ready for it. “I don't need you to go easy on me.”

  “Okay, then let’s have a real workout — one on one. Low impact,” Alexander said.

  “You want to wrestle?”

  “That’s a whole different set of skills. You’ve been punching a lot, let’s see what else you’ve got.”

  Raisa stripped off her gloves and faced Alexander. “Okay.”

  They moved to the mat, and Raisa had just got set when Alexander charged her low, looping his arm under her leg and driving her to the floor. He was now on top of her, but his arm was still under her leg, which gave her leverage. She put both hands on his shoulders and her foot in his stomach and shoved him into the air over her head. Raisa heard a whack as he hit the mat.

  Adrenaline shot through her veins as she flipped to her hands and knees and then launched herself at Alexander. He did the reverse, flipping onto his stomach, preventing Raisa from pinning him. He had the weight advantage, and they both knew it, so forcing his shoulders down with strength alone wouldn’t be possible. She needed another strategy.

  Raisa landed on h
is back and pulled one of Alexander’s arms up behind him, taking away his leverage to push off the mat. She slipped her other arm under his neck, giving her a chokehold, and squeezed. He had promised not to go easy on her, and she knew he expected the same. The only way to get him down and keep him down was to knock him out. Alexander struggled, but he couldn’t throw her off because of the awkward angle in which he lay.

  Even though she could smell his familiar scent, for a moment, he wasn’t Alexander, her husband and lover. He was the depression that had taken Ben; the media that had leaked sensitive information; the online kooks that fueled suspicion and fear; the virus that had changed her and thousands of others without asking; and her own smallness that feared being crushed by it all. She held onto Alexander with a fierceness as if beating him would vanquish everything that kept her from being the queen she needed to be.

  Raisa wasn’t aware of when they started, but tears rolled over her face as anger released itself within, distracting her. Alexander had told her a thousand times that controlled anger could be an ally, but blind anger would make her vulnerable. He must have sensed her distraction, because he used one leg to shift the weight of his body to the left, causing Raisa to pull her weight to the right to compensate. As she was leaning to the right, trying to keep him down, Alexander reversed and, using her weight, rolled to the right. The move threw Raisa on her back and allowed Alexander to roll off of his stomach. From there, he lunged, throwing his full weight on top of her. Raisa fought against him, but his weight was too much for her.

  “Get off me.” It was the closest thing to conceding she’d offer.

  Alexander rolled off and lay on the mat next to her. “I’m not the enemy,” he said. “I’m just the guy who will tell you you can’t have everything you want. The Ten Thousand are important to you, I get that. They’re important to me. But we need to keep the bigger picture in mind. You’re not the queen of the Ten Thousand. You’re the queen of the New World.”

  “And as the queen of the New World, I won’t have them treated like second class citizens.”

  “You’re too close to see the situation for what it is,” Alexander said.

  “No. I am the only one close enough to see it. I know the challenges of being immortal, and I know the burdens of protecting the nation. And I’m telling you, locking these people up is not good for anyone.” Raisa got to her feet and started for the door. “Learn to trust me.”

  Chapter Three

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Her Royal Highness, Queen Raisa of the New World and Prince Alexander, joined by His Excellency, the Emperor of all Russia, Viktor Vasiliev, and Tsaritsa Sutulina Vasiliev,” the Palace herald announced in the Great Hall. True to form, Raisa’s injuries from the day before had healed. She looked flawless in her chiffon gown that showed off her beautifully toned shoulders and arms. “Like a million dollars,” Alexander had said earlier as they prepared for the night. It was his go-to compliment when she wore a dress he liked. Raisa normally liked the compliment, but she hadn’t been able to put aside the unease she felt being at odds with him over the Ten Thousand.

  Some guests had never seen the queen in person. Craned necks and whispered chatter accompanied rousing applause. But Raisa was certain she was not generating this response on her own. The man standing next to her would garner attention with his six-foot-four frame, thick jet black hair, and supermodel wife, even if he were not a head of state. Almost no one had ever seen the Russian czar in person. Raisa had, although she was fifteen at the time they’d met.

  Tonight’s event was a reception and state dinner in the czar’s honor. It was his first trip to the New World since the United States had dissolved, and they had spared no expense in making him feel welcomed. Raisa had fretted over his visit for weeks as it approached. Council President Tate made it clear how important it was that Raisa establish friendly relations with the czar. With Russia as a strong ally, the New World could strengthen its defensive arsenal. Making that connection wouldn’t have been such a daunting task had Vasiliev’s closest friend in the New World not died amidst a political scandal involving her. But Russia was the only nation the New World could court for the weapons they needed, so Raisa would do her best to forge a friendship. The private meeting they’d had before the reception had gone well. If Raisa learned anything in the Constitutional Republic of America, it was how to connect with world leaders at the highest level while making it seem as if they were old friends.

  Commander Elaine Song was on the periphery of the activity that night, directing the staff, making sure they tended every detail with precision. With so much on the line, Raisa wouldn’t trust the evening to anyone else. So far, everything was perfect.

  “The Palace is lovely,” the czar said in stilted English after Raisa introduced the first wave of VIPs. “Our gift has been used in a prominent way, I see.” A smile filled his face.

  Stretching out before them was a large round room, almost a hundred feet in diameter. By far, the most striking feature of the room was the thousands of tiny lights shining through the semi-translucent marble floor. It was like walking on the warm glow of a starry night sky. This had been a gift from the czar when Ashwill had transformed the U.S. Capitol building into a royal palace two years earlier.

  Standing opposite the czar and his wife was the Russian ambassador to the New World, Sergei Petrov. “Did I not tell you it would please you, Your Excellency?” he said.

  “You did, Sergei, and, as usual, you were right.”

  Raisa had a good working relationship with the ambassador, having invited him to the Palace often in the last year. Sergei had worked hard to forge a stronger relationship between the two nations. Like Raisa, he wanted an alliance.

  “I am glad you like it,” Raisa said, “but I have to give credit where credit is due. The design of this building was the brainchild of Commander Song.”

  “Brainchild?” Vasiliev wrinkled his brow. “I do not understand.” He looked to his translator, who shrugged.

  Raisa laughed, forcing herself to stay in the moment. She had learned as queen to put personal feelings aside for her duties. Ben’s death and her spat with Alexander would have to wait, at least for the evening. “I’m sorry, it’s an English idiom. It was Commander Song’s idea. She chose this room for your gift. It is the centerpiece of the Palace.”

  Vasiliev looked from the floor to the dome rising 180 feet above them. “It is . . .” he turned to his translator in Russian, “zakhvatyvayushchiy.”

  “Spectacular,” Alexander said before the translator answered.

  “You speak Russian?” Vasiliev looked genuinely surprised.

  “Nemnogo. A little. I’ve been studying off and on for a few years. My step-father thought it might be a good idea.”

  Everyone in the group became a degree more sullen at the mention of Alexander’s step-father, Creighton Ashwill. The czar had an unusually expressive face, and at the moment, it displayed his sorrow. Word of Ashwill’s plot to start a war with the CRA and then his suicide atop the Palace dome had shocked world leaders. None more than Viktor Vasiliev, Raisa thought, since Creighton Ashwill had been a staunch ally of the czar when he first assumed power in Russia. In fact, it was Creighton who had introduced Raisa to the czar five years earlier. It was the night she danced the lead in The Nutcracker. The night her mother died.

  “I was sorry to hear about . . . everything.” the czar said graciously.

  “Me too,” Alexander said. “He hurt many people to fulfill his fantasy.”

  A trace of surprise crossed the czar’s face at the bluntness of the comment.

  Raisa held a steady expression despite wondering if Alexander meant the comment as a veiled message to her.

  “It’s alright. Really,” Alexander said, “Raisa is my family now.”

  “Ah. There is an old Russian proverb: ‘Even in the coldest, darkest heart of Siberia, love heals many wounds.’”

  “That’s true,” Alexander said.

  “Yes,” Su
tulina said through a translator, “but it is not a Russian proverb. Viktor likes to create sayings and claim they are old Russian proverbs. He thinks it sounds more impressive.”

  Smiles all around eased the mood. Raisa was amazed at how smoothly the Russian couple had eased out of a potentially awkward conversation. She wondered if it was a natural skill or something practiced. Either way, she could learn from them.

  “I think we should mingle,” she said. “After all, you are the star tonight.”

  Raisa guided the czar and his wife around the room, where people were enjoying cocktails and hors d'oeuvres before dinner. Eyes followed their every step, something Raisa had grown used to in her short reign as queen. If Raisa wanted privacy, she had to schedule it. Anonymity was a thing of the past.

  The usual dignitaries were in attendance, and Raisa made the appropriate introductions. As they talked with a member of the New World Council, a shock of pointy blond hair weaved in and out of her view. Not the typical hairstyle at one of these events. The man looked familiar, even though Raisa couldn’t see his face. As the people in front of her shifted, she caught a direct view of him. Zeke Wellington. Raisa had been deeply in love with Zeke Wellington when she was sixteen. But then, just about every sixteen-year-old girl fell in love with him when he appeared on the music scene with his first album. What is Zeke Wellington doing here?

  He was talking to a council member, Nigel Barrymore, when he caught her gaze and flashed his winning smile. Zeke said something, and Barrymore caught her eye too. Raisa looked away, embarrassed that she had been staring. She returned her attention to the czar, but out of the corner of her eye she could see Zeke approaching. Get a grip, Raisa, you’re not a schoolgirl.

  As he made his way to Raisa, everyone in her circle of conversation turned toward him. She might be the queen, but he was a superstar.