Strands of Fate

by R F Hurteau

  Eli looked around, noting the pleasant chatter of the scattered tourists, the happy smiles on their faces. Surreal.

  “That’s it. They’ll know we’re here. Now we wait.”

  Eli nodded.

  “Anything you want to do? I could...buy you a cup of coffee?”

  This brought a faint smile to Eli’s lips.

  “No, thanks.”

  Just as Shane had predicted, a ring of uniformed Enforcers stood waiting for them at the door when they stepped out of the station a few short minutes later.

  He found himself smiling as he allowed himself to be led to a waiting helicopter. At least they would not have to walk. He was tired of walking. He was tired of a lot of things.

  Now, maybe, he could just rest.

  Shane was riding in front, speaking into the headset they’d given him. Eli couldn’t make out the words over the whirling propeller. The Enforcers sat stock still and did not acknowledge whatever the young man was saying.

  When they arrived at their destination, Shane continued to badger the men, Eli several paces behind and flanked on either side by silent guards of his own. He found himself rather surprised to see Shane treated so disrespectfully. He would have expected an Enforcer to respect a military recruit, or at the very least acknowledge one. They were, after all, on the same team.

  The inside of Next Level HQ was much different from the parts of the campus Eli was familiar with as Farway’s lab assistant. The high ceilings were painted a clean white, the walls a pale yellow that, while not Eli’s particular favorite, was far better than the stealth lab’s grey, porous cement.

  And it smelled better, too. No hint of mildew or stale pastry tainted the air. The lights were bright but spread far apart, so that their intense beams spilled down in cones between which the floor lay in shadow.

  Eli felt as though he were marching from one cage to the next as they made their way across the long foyer through the pools of light.

  He looked up as they stopped, finding himself before an impossibly high desk behind which stood a stern-looking man whose eyes skimmed over them like a hungry predator.

  Clean shaven and bald, the man’s head gleamed beneath the overhead light, glinting like metal as he turned his thin face to look down his nose at the party.

  “Is this the one?” he asked, addressing the Enforcer beside Shane, who nodded.

  The bald man’s eyes slid over the others and came to rest on Eli, who swallowed hard under the intense glare of distaste that seemed to pierce him.

  “Assaulting a military recruit is a felony offense. You are aware of this fact, yes?”

  Eli nodded. “Yes.”

  Shane was shifting from one foot to the other, clearly not wanting to interrupt the bald man, but at the same time desperate to speak.

  Eli wished he would be still. He was going to get himself in more trouble.

  “And you have come here of your own accord?”

  Eli pointed to Shane. “I was escorted by this military recruit.”

  He didn’t want to name him and make it appear that they were friends, nor did he want to elaborate and let the man incriminate Shane in some sneaky way.

  He just wanted to make clear who was responsible for his capture and say no more.

  “He brought me in.”

  “But you came willingly?”

  Shane cast a glance at Eli, who refused to return it under the interrogator’s scrutiny. But out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Shane give a faint nod.

  “I didn’t wish to come,” he decided on.

  It was the truth, after all.

  There was a long pause as the bald man studied him further, crinkling up his nose.

  “Very well. Take him away. I will record the charges and sentencing will be scheduled.”

  This was apparently too much for Shane.

  “Sentencing? But there needs to be a trial. He hasn’t even been proven guilty. What about due process? He’s only been accused—”

  “You are already on thin ice, Mr. Stokes, and I would advise you to hold your tongue,” the bald man snapped, releasing Eli from his icy glare and turning to address Shane. “We have eye witness testimony from a dozen military recruits, as well as video footage from bystanders. There is hardly a need to put this to trial. Not to mention that you yourself have shown a serious lapse in judgement by allowing one of the perpetrators to escape. Rest assured that there will be consequences for your actions.”

  Shane shut his mouth, his tight lips forming a thin line, his brows furrowed over troubled eyes that did not meet Eli’s as he was led away.

  ***

  Eli’s cell had no windows, and the light never went out. There was a small cot with no blanket, and a toilet but no sink. Though he called out, there was no answer from either guard nor fellow prisoner.

  He kept track of the days to follow by the number of plastic trays stacked haphazardly beside the cell door. The slot opened, and a meal would appear, but no one ever bothered taking them away.

  By tray nine, a thin carpet of mold began to peek out from the corners of the first few in the pile.

  By tray twelve, he stopped placing the pile in the slot in hopes that it would be taken. Each time, the new tray simply shoved the old ones back into the cell, toppling the pile to the floor with an angry clatter as bits of mold flew in all directions.

  By tray eighteen, he gave up asking questions. No one ever answered them. His life was silent now, lonely. He did not know when he would face sentencing, and though he had once believed his life was in no danger, now he felt nothing but a nagging uncertainty.

  What did his life matter to Next Level, or Val Int? Nothing. He had no allies, he held no high station. Miles had said it; he was trash, and no one would be troubled when he was tossed away.

  Huddled in the corner, a threadbare pillow clutched against his chest, Eli spent long hours pondering Mabel and Shane’s fates.

  When he was awake, he had hope. But when he slept, their cries tormented him. He watched as they were chased by Miles and the bald man, faceless Enforcers blocking every escape.

  He awoke from one such dream in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. His eyes stung. He counted the trays again. Fifty-four.

  How much longer would they make him wait before they sentenced him? Was the punishment alone not enough? Was the waiting necessary?

  Eli wondered if the courts were so busy prosecuting criminals that his own case was just not a priority.

  Still, they had refused him so much as a trial—how difficult would it be to declare his punishment and move on?

  Not for the first time, he considered the chilling idea that perhaps he had been sentenced in secret. Sentenced to live out the remainder of his days in silence beneath the glaring light until the trays overwhelmed him and he died, buried and unable to breathe beneath their moldy depths.

  The hollow sound of footsteps approaching drew Eli cautiously to his feet. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but his stomach did not suggest that it was time for tray fifty-five. His shoulders did not have the characteristic stiffness that they usually exhibited after long hours supporting him in the cold corner of his cell.

  The heavy door creaked as it swung open. The stick-thin man who stood on the threshold did not make a very threatening prison guard. His uniform was ill-fitting, too baggy for his arms but too tight around his pot belly.

  The electric prod he held in his right hand, however, was quite enough to command the required respect from Eli.

  “Come on,” the guard said, his voice nasally and irritated, as if doing his job was somehow an inconvenience that Eli himself had caused. “Time to go.”

  “Where are we going?” Eli asked.

  His voice was somewhat hoarse from lack of use. He’d stopped speaking all together sometime around tray twenty-eight.

  “House of Justice.”

  To have someone acknowledge his existence seemed like more than Eli could ask for. He felt a surge of gratitu
de toward this irritable, oddly-proportioned man. A warmth of kinship.

  “I’m to be sentenced, then?” he asked. “It hasn’t happened already?”

  The guard turned a cold, disbelieving expression to Eli which all but vanquished the warm feeling. “’Course it hasn’t happened yet, moron. Think they’d let you miss your own sentencing?” He shook his head.

  Eli was processed out of the prison and soon after found himself outside. It was dark, though whether it was very early or very late, he could not be certain.

  The guard escorted him to a prison transport that waited by the curb. Eli got in the back, which reeked of sweat and vomit. The driver did not look back as they made their way toward their destination, and the House of Justice was not far. Soon enough, Eli was out of the transport once again.

  He had never been so grateful for the filthy city air than he was as he climbed out of the potent backseat of the transport.

  Inside, Eli was brought to a large audience chamber. There were many people seated on the long benches, but he did not recognize their faces. Then his eyes settled on two that were familiar, and his heart leapt with shame and exhilaration.

  Looking worn and tired, his parents sat near the back of the room, watching him with eyes that radiated with despair.

  He looked away, unable to face them. What were they doing here? Had they spoken to Mabel? Their haggard faces suggested they hadn’t. They looked sick with worry. A tight ball formed in his stomach. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but she should have called by now.

  Why hadn’t she called?

  Had something happened?

  Eli tried to force the intrusive thoughts away, focusing instead on his surroundings. His accuser was nowhere to be found. But then, that was unsurprising. Miles would have been sent to Antarctica shortly after the incident.

  The judge sat alone behind a tall desk much like the one the bald man commanded in the Next Level headquarters. But rather than straight, simple lines of plain wood, the judge’s high seat was opulent. Carven images adorned the front, and tiny men with large muscles knelt at the corners, as if holding up the base.

  The judge peered down at Eli without malice. In fact, his expression lacked any sort of emotion at all. He looked exhausted.

  “Eli Harper,” the judge stated, looking down at something on his desk. “You have been made aware of the charges against you?”

  Eli nodded. “I have, your honor.”

  “And you do not deny them, nor wish to make an appeal?”

  “I do not.”

  The judge nodded, the dark bags beneath his eyes jiggling with the motion.

  “Very well,” he said, picking up a large, ornamental quill and scribbling something on the paper before him. “You have been convicted via standard protocol concerning both abundance of evidence and confession. Your sentence for the crime of assaulting a military officer, disturbing the peace, fleeing a crime scene and destruction of military property, combined with a previous record of general delinquency, shall be death, to be carried out this evening after the conclusion of today’s proceedings.”

  There was a moment of silence broken only by the stifled wail of his mother as Eli took in the judge’s words.

  They were difficult to process. The callous, unfeeling way in which they had been spoken, the abrupt delivery, seemed wrong somehow. It didn’t fit. Surely, he had misunderstood.

  The judge continued to peer down at him, perhaps looking for some sign of emotion on Eli’s part. Waiting for some reaction to the sentence. But Eli had hardly had time to process the sentence, let alone react to it.

  The bailiff stepped up next to the judge, dipping his head respectfully as he approached, and whispered something in the man’s ear.

  Eli watched, his chest heavy, as the judge rolled his eyes and waved the bailiff away.

  “Eli Harper.” The judge spoke as though the name itself was an accusation. “Due to a series of fortuitous circumstances, you are being afforded the rare opportunity to take part in a pilot program. Should you choose to accept the terms of this alternative, and should you comply fully with the program, your sentence shall be commuted.”

  “Commuted...” he whispered, then, “pilot program...” He looked back up at the judge. “So you’re saying that I... get to choose?”

  The judge rolled his eyes again, more forceful this time. “Yes, yes,” he said, exasperated. “You can choose execution, or inclusion in the program.”

  He looked down at his paper again, and Eli felt certain that he was poised to strike something out.

  “What kind of pilot program are we talking about?” Eli was feeling somewhat bolder now that his imminent death was no longer a certainty. The judge raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Does it matter?” the robed man asked.

  Eli thought for a moment.

  “Yes,” he decided.

  The judge, though incredulous, looked toward the bailiff, who stepped forward and whispered in his ear once again.

  “The details cannot be disclosed,” the judge said in a loud, clear voice. “But I am able to tell you that it is a medical program which falls under the umbrella of Cedar Grove Innovative Technologies.”

  Eli’s mood darkened.

  Mabel had always said it would be his stubbornness that would get him killed one day. As it turned out, she’d been right.

  Eli could not be a hypocrite, not this time. He could not allow himself to be so weak as to sell himself, body and soul, in exchange for his life. It wasn’t worth that much.

  Not worth giving up his principles.

  Not worth crawling to Val Int for salvation.

  “I respectfully decline,” he said, his voice as clear and steady as the judge’s had been.

  The judge and bailiff exchanged glances, and there were whispers from the benches of onlookers behind Eli. He heard his mother whisper, “Eli,” and then heard his father shushing her.

  His father was right; there was nothing they could do. They shouldn’t draw attention to themselves.

  Now it was the judge’s turn to be confounded.

  “You...respectfully...”

  He placed his quill down and leaned forward, as if trying to get a bit closer to Eli, like he wanted to have a real heart-to-heart with the obviously unstable youth before him.

  “You would rather die than volunteer for a simple medical program?” he asked in disbelief.

  “That is correct, your Honor,” Eli confirmed, feeling his resolve wavering as a second wave of whispers erupted from the room behind him.

  Perhaps, just maybe, it would be a program that could improve, even save lives. Perhaps Eli would be a part of something bigger than himself. Perhaps refusing was just throwing his life away.

  No.

  The voice in his head was firm, strong. Nothing good could come from submitting himself to Values International or any of its branches.

  He would rather die than help them. He would gladly give his life if it meant that their ravenous desire to destroy the world would take even one day longer to accomplish.

  “This is...highly unusual,” muttered the judge, scribbling furiously. “No one has ever refused before.”

  This confirmed Eli’s growing suspicion that this was some new Val Int tactic. They weren’t getting enough volunteers, so harsher sentences were being handed down to procure more victims for their endless experiments.

  He bit his lip, feeling intoxicated by the strength of his defiance. His final action would be to deny Val Int what they wanted.

  It was small, perhaps insignificant, but it was something.

  The judge finished writing and raised a hand. The room quieted, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what would happen next.

  “Very well,” said the judge. “You are within your rights to make that choice. Though I would strongly suggest you—”

  “Thank you for your concern,” Eli said, cutting him off. “But I’ve made my decision.”

  Looking flabbergasted,
the judge shrugged to the bailiff, who came down the short set of steps from the high seat and took Eli by the elbow, guiding him to the back of the courtroom.

  There was an empty row reserved there, a neat line of sturdy metal rings bolted along the bench. Eli sat, heart thumping as he came to terms with what had just taken place. He looked toward his parents, his mother’s shoulders heaving with silent sobs.

  He wanted to talk to them, to tell them how sorry he was for breaking their hearts. How sorry he was that he’d been a disappointment. To make them understand why he had to do this.

  Neither turned. His desires went unspoken.

  The bailiff locked his cuffs to the ring and Eli sat, hunched, while wary eyes cast furtive glances back at this reckless, foolish wretch.

  Eli wondered if his had been the first hearing of the day. It seemed it might have been, given the darkness outside and the empty seats beside him. That meant that he would be forced to sit here through the long hours ahead, contemplating his choices.

  He just hoped his convictions could hold out that long.

  “The court will now cause to be heard the sentencing of case two thousand, four hundred eighty-two. Convictions include: accessory after the fact, aiding and abetting, evading justice, destruction of military property. The convicted, one Mabel Harper.”

  Eight

  Imradia Rising

  GAVIN could not get Ollie’s words out of his head as he worked the next night. He pondered them, arguing with himself as he worked his way further into the tunnel’s entrance.

  For years after the Weaver left for Sanctuary, Gavin’s life in Solara had been one of forced submission.

  He’d grown used to the simple life of hard labor and just reward. He’d allowed himself to forget what it was like; the constant subterfuge, the tangled web of lies they wove to protect themselves from the Council. He was no longer the same man who had gone from war orphan, to vengeful recruit, to zealous freedom fighter. He had become little more than a subsistance farmer now. There weren’t many expectations on him anymore.

  Then Onyx had shown up.

  His buckets were full. He lifted them out of the tunnel one at a time, sprinkling the dirt around the grove before returning to his digging.