The Elitist Supremacy

by Niranjan K

  “Sorry, I’m late,” Dylan said as he entered the house, closing the door behind him.

  “Get your bags,” Alexander said, turning away from the window and walking to the centre of the room. “Where’s your daughter?”

  “In the next room,” Aria rose. “I’ll get her.”

  “Mr. Selwood!” The urgency of Quinn’s voice warned him as he flung himself on the nearest person who was Dylan, shouting, “Get down!”

  The window glass exploded, raining down shards on them.

  “Quinn!” he hissed. “Initiate emergency lockdown!”

  This was why he had chosen this house for John when he had told Alexander he was coming back to Prith. Not all houses on Prith had the feature, but every single one that he owned did. When John had bought the house from him, Alexander had ensured that he wouldn’t remove the feature.

  Heavy metallic shutters appeared over the doors and windows, and Alexander straightened. John and Aria lay where they fell, spikes buried in their backs, John lying half on top of his wife where he had hurled himself to protect her. Nolan and Dylan were pushing themselves to shaky feet and a girl whom he assumed must be Ashley stood a few feet away, a frozen expression of horror on her face, as she stared at her parents.

  “Mom! Dad!” Dylan was on the floor, kneeling next to their parents. Nolan had gone to his sister, putting his arm around her and blocking her view of their parents’ bodies.

  “Quinn, how long will it hold?” Alexander asked, his voice shaking.

  “Fifteen minutes at the most, Mr. Selwood.” Quinn replied. “But the walls will be down in eight.”

  Alexander knelt down next to John who was already twitching, and shook him. “Get up, John. We’ve to leave now! We don’t have time!”

  John pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and drew deep breaths. Alexander plucked out the spikes sticking out of his back, wishing he had some way of cushioning the shock that was to follow.

  “Nasty things, those spikes,” John gasped as he looked up with a grimace, resignation on his face. His eyes fell on the horrified face of Dylan and he stilled. “Aria.” he said, his voice hoarse, before he started coughing and retching, bringing up blood.

  “Dad!” Dylan was at his side, and Alexander rose, watching John hack up blood. John tried to straighten, but was clearly unable to. He looked at Alexander and said, his voice still hoarse. “Take them and leave!”

  “No, Dad!” burst from two throats, Ashley still standing rigid and frozen in her brother’s arms.

  John was overtaken by a fresh bout of coughing.

  “Please, Alexander!” He begged, his eyes pleading. “You know it’s too late for me!”

  Alexander knew, had known from the moment he’d seen those spikes stick out from John’s back, but he didn’t like it.

  “Quinn,” Alexander said, his voice trembling, strange and husky, even to his ears. “Get Nolan, Dylan and Ashley out of here.”

  Their shouted “No!” was cut off in the middle as they disappeared.

  “You’ve to go too,” John coughed. Blood dribbled down his chin, staining his beard and moustache a deep red. “You have to get them to Ignis safely.”

  Alexander nodded, as he placed a hand on John’s shoulder.

  “Damn you, John!” he said.

  “Leave, before they come!” John sat down, his hands cradling his wife’s head, and he drew deep heaving breaths before doubling up in a fresh bout of hacking coughs.

  Alexander gave John’s shoulder a squeeze and straightened, releasing him.

  “Quinn, get me home.”

  The wall exploded in a shower of rubble just as Quinn teleported him away, and John threw himself onto his wife’s body, as if to protect her.

  All four of them materialised inside Alexander’s living room; Ashley, still with that horror stricken expression, Nolan’s arms around her, Dylan kneeling on the floor, splatters of blood on his shirt, and Alexander noticed that there was furniture in his living room. The normally bare room was furnished with two couches and a few chairs. The packed bags of the three Patricks were at the foot of one of the couches, leaning against it. Dylan rose and moved towards his siblings, all three of them holding on to one another, their expression a mix of fury and horror as they stared at Alexander.

  Alexander looked around, wondering where Raul was. He had said he would be there, to take the Patricks to the spaceport, and he had hinted at something that would make it easier to smuggle them in. But before he could ask Quinn about Raul, Nolan was in front of him, his fists clenched.

  “Send us back!”

  Thirty Seven

  Nolan had been aware of nothing except a feeling of numbness from the moment he had seen his parents on the floor, and he had gone to Ashley instinctively. Even when his father had got to his knees and had started coughing and throwing up blood, the feeling of numbness hadn’t dissipated. He was hardly aware of what was going on until his parents’ living room disappeared and he found himself in Alexander’s living room. Everything crashed on to him then, and he could not breathe, could not speak. There was something blocking his airways, and his chest hurt and he looked down at his shirt to check where the wound was, because it was impossible, wasn’t it, for there to be so much pain if there was no injury?

  He was hardly aware of shrugging himself loose of his siblings’ arms and moving to confront Alexander until he was standing nose to nose with the man.

  “Send us back!” He forced the words out, his voice sounding foreign, like someone who was being tortured. Behind him, he could hear Ash starting to sob and Dylan saying something, but all his attention was focussed on Alexander. “Send us back!”

  “I’m sorry about your parents.”

  How could the man sound so calm, as if nothing had happened, as if Nolan’s whole world hadn’t just been torn apart, as if Nolan wasn’t one second away from falling apart, writhing in pain?

  “No, you don’t understand!” Nolan said, jabbing a finger on to Alexander’s chest. “You have to send us back!”

  If he were back, perhaps he could go back to being numb again, perhaps he would no longer have to listen to Ash’s loud sobs, perhaps his chest wouldn’t hurt so damn much.

  “Nolan,” Dylan’s hand was on his shoulder, his other arm around his chest, “Nolan,” and Nolan could hear it in his brother’s voice, how close Dylan was to breaking down.

  He drew a breath, pushing it past the huge lump that appeared to have taken residence in his chest, and the effort must have been too much because he collapsed onto the floor, tears streaming down his face and his brother’s arms still around him. He could hear Ash sobbing behind him, and he freed himself from Dylan’s arms to go to her, and Dylan followed him.

  It didn’t help, the crying; he still felt as if there were knives buried in his chest, pushing themselves in deeper with every breath he took, but his head was clearer, and he turned to look at Alexander who was standing by a window that hadn’t been there before, and he was looking outside.

  “You didn’t bring Dad,” he said.

  Alexander turned to them, and the window turned into a smooth wall. “It was too late.”

  “What do you mean it was too late?” Dylan demanded, his voice sounding hoarse and raspy. “He’s alive, I saw him! And if he’s a Rogue, then he can’t be killed!”

  “There was a spike in him,” Alexander said. “More than one, in fact.”

  “So?” Dylan still sounded aggressive, but Nolan could hear the thread of uncertainty underneath.

  Nolan was equally confused. What did it matter if there were spikes in his father? They couldn’t kill him. Nothing could. The Elite and the Rogues were immortal; nothing could destroy them. Everyone knew that.

  Alexander crossed the room to where they were all piled on one of the couches and sat down on one of the chairs, facing them.

  “The spikes were invented with the purpose of hunting down Rogues,” he said. “When they saw how effective they were in debilitati
ng even an Elite, they started using them against the-” A moment’s hesitation, barely there, “normal people whom they killed almost instantaneously. But due to its original purpose, there still are trackers built into the spikes which can be tracked with the gun that fired the spike.”

  “So that if any Rogue were to escape capture after being hit by a spike, they can still track them.” Dylan said, his voice low, horrified, and Nolan tightened his arm that was around Dylan’s shoulder.

  “Is there no way of getting it out?” Nolan couldn’t recognise his own voice, but it didn’t hurt that much to speak.

  “The tracker binds itself to the blood cells,” Alexander said. “The only way to get it out is to drain out all the blood, and to wait for the body to regenerate. But it takes time, and specialised equipment, neither of which we have.” He paused for a moment and said. “Your father gave himself up so you can escape. So, I suggest the three of you pull yourself together, and be ready to leave.”

  “You cold bastard!” Dylan got up from the couch, his fists clenched. “We just lost our parents!”

  Alexander looked at Dylan, and the cold fury in his glance was frightening.

  “Yes, you lost your parents, but you have no time to grieve. Thaxter and his Elite will still be looking for you. Your priority is to get out of Prith.”

  “Let them capture us!” Nolan was surprised at how calm he sounded. “What does it matter now anyway?”

  Alexander turned that cold gaze on him. “Your father let himself be captured to give you this chance. Yes, I could've brought him here, and perhaps Quinn might have been able to rig up the equipment needed to drain out his blood, and perhaps we could've saved him, but you know what? He chose not to take the chance to save himself, because he didn’t want to put you at risk, because there is always a possibility that the Elite can get to you before the tracker can be removed, so don’t you dare sit there and say it doesn’t matter, because it sure as hell mattered to him!”

  Nolan felt hot and cold all over. He stared at Alexander, his brain refusing to accept what he was saying.

  “It’s not...” he said, his voice trailing into silence.

  “So, because Dad chose to give himself up, we have no right to our own choices?” Dylan asked suddenly. “He’s immortal anyway, so it’s not like he risked his life! They may put him in Cryo, but-”

  “Shut up.” Alexander spoke softly, but Dylan did shut up. Alexander rose and started pacing the room. “I’m prepared to make allowances for your grief, but don’t you dare sit there and demean what Mason did! Yes, he can’t be killed, but do you know what else can be done to him? Torture. They’ll torture him for days, weeks, even years! Why not, they both have time, and Mason can’t die, his body will regenerate! He-” He stopped, his eyes on Ash and he flushed, as if he was ashamed that he had let her listen to him talk about torturing their father. “Just don’t talk as if you know what’s going to happen to him.”

  “Does he know?” Dylan asked, his voice a whisper, but Nolan could tell he knew the answer, as he too did. They really didn’t need Alexander to respond to that question.

  “He was part of them once.” Alexander said, sitting down again. “He knows. I’m sorry.”

  “So, when are we leaving?” Nolan asked, feeling defeated, the feeling of numbness creeping up on him again. He welcomed it. It was preferable to feeling as if every breath he drew was an effort.

  “Someone from the Resistance will be here to take you to Ignis. He should've been here already-”

  “You’re not coming with us?” It was the first words Ash had spoken, and Nolan stared at her in surprise.

  She looked pale, her lips trembling, and her eyes still bright with tears as she looked at Alexander. The forlorn voice dispelled the numbness and he hugged her, feeling the pain again. It was probably Ash’s way of clinging to the familiar threads of their old lives.

  “I would if I could,” Alexander’s tone was far gentler than it had been all day. “But my friend will take good care of you.”

  “Mr. Savin is at the door, Mr. Selwood,” Quinn said.

  Alexander rose, “Let him in, Quinn.”

  Nolan wondered what the reporter wanted. Savin paused at the threshold, looking at them, then looked at Alexander.

  “I take it things didn’t go according to plan.”

  “I was expecting Raul,” Alexander said.

  “Raul couldn’t come. There was a clause in the vetting approval that prevents him from going off planet for a week. I know, it doesn’t make any sense, but-” he shrugged. “Who are we to argue?”

  “So, you came here to tell me that Raul couldn’t come,”

  There was a strange tone to Alexander’s voice, one that was almost angry. Nolan wondered how Alexander knew that Savin and Mr. Beltram were both part of the Resistance. He hadn’t known, not until Savin and Alexander started talking. What else was he missing?

  “Not exactly,” Savin said, sitting down on the couch which was at right angles to the one they were sitting on. He crossed his legs, and leaned back, one hand on the armrest and the other in his pocket. “I’m taking Raul’s place in the mission.”

  Mission. Nolan felt hysterical laughter welling up inside him. To the Resistance, they were a mission, a way to undermine Thaxter’s authority. They meant nothing except as a means to an end.

  Alexander sat down again on a chair that was closer to Savin.

  “You’re going to Ignis?”

  A faint blush crept up Savin’s cheek.

  “I may have talked my editor into letting me do a report on your proposed Ignis project. Believe me, he was upset that someone got that info before us.”

  Alexander leaned forward, placing a hand on Savin’s knee.

  “Thank you,” he said and his voice was warm and Savin smiled at him in a way that could only be described as intimate.

  How strange.

  There was a time when that sight would have hurt him, but after everything he’d been through that day, he felt nothing as he watched their interaction. He didn’t think anything could hurt him ever again.

  “There’s something here that Raul asked me to give you,” Savin said. “Quinn? The package please.”

  A small box appeared on the teapoe. Savin picked it up, and opened it to reveal five small vials.

  “It’s just something Lucas Hendriks has developed. I don’t exactly know how it works, but it fools the DNA scanners into thinking you’re someone else.”

  “Is that even possible?” Dylan asked as he took one of the vials. The liquid inside was a light orange. “So, what should we do? Drink it?”

  Savin shook his head as he took out something else from the box. “It’s to be administered subcutaneously The effects last for eighteen hours. It’s better if we administer it just before you leave.”

  Nolan had just realised something else.

  “Lucas Hendriks?” He asked. “That’s Niek’s father, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Alexander said, turning to him. “I met him while I was on Ignis.”

  “Whose DNA is it?” Dylan asked.

  Ash picked up one of the vials gingerly, and was looking at it. Nolan felt no desire to examine them.

  “We’ve lost a few members over the years,” Savin said. “They’re not in the system as part of the Resistance, so you should be able to get by, without any alerts being thrown.”

  “It’s remarkable,” Alexander said, “but then, Lucas has always been brilliant.”

  “Look, why don’t you get a move on before someone realises you’re not in the office?” Savin said to Alexander. “I’ll get them to Ignis safely.”

  Alexander nodded. “Be careful, and thank you,” he said, rising. Savin rose and put a hand on Alexander’s shoulder.

  “You’re the one who should be careful.”

  “I always am,” Alexander said, stepping back. “Quinn, take me back to the office.”

  Nolan wanted to protest; he didn’t want Alexander to leave. Ash wh
impered next to him and Dylan put his arms around her, offering what comfort he could.

  The next few hours were a blur to Nolan. Savin gave them simulators that looked like wrist-bands, but completely changed their appearance. He told them they would simulate the appearance of the people whose DNA was in the vial. Dylan looked like a sixty something man, Ash looked like a twenty something man, and Nolan cracked a smile when he saw himself in the mirror as a forty something woman.

  “It comes with new fingerprints too,” Savin told them.

  He took them to the spaceport, where they all passed the scanners without incident. The flight was uneventful. No one said anything. At some point, Savin said, “I’m sorry about your parents.”

  But you didn’t even know them, Nolan thought, but Savin sounded sincere, so they all nodded. The rest of the flight was passed in silence.

  On Ignis, Nolan thought his skin would peel off from the heat. But perhaps that would be less painful than how he felt. They were taken to one of the new habitat buildings that Selwood Corp had constructed, and given rooms. The rooms were all similar in appearance; large, with a bed, a side table, wardrobe, dressing table and tinted windows. There was a bathroom with a shower stall. The temperature inside the rooms were so comfortable that it was impossible to believe they were on Ignis. There was a time when Nolan would have felt pride in the building, but already his time with Selwood Corp was beginning to feel like it happened to someone else.

  Their luggage had been transferred directly from Prith and they put aside the simulators.

  “Rest,” Savin told them. “You’ve had a long day.”

  None of them wanted to be alone, so they decided to meet in Ash’s room after freshening up. The heat of Ignis had caused their clothes to stick to their bodies, and it was with relief that Nolan peeled off his shirt. As he took off his jeans, his hand encountered a hard object. He pulled it out, recognising Ash’s phone. How did it get in his pocket? He remembered that she had it in her hands when she had stood in their parents’ living room, and when he had gone to her, he had taken it out of her hands and had put it in his pocket, almost like a reflex action.