"But she hasn't escaped. Like I told you, she's in custody."
"But he consorted with the enemy. He was about to kiss her. I saw it."
Chris sighed loudly. It was time to intervene and add yet another lie to the list. "Sims is telling the truth, sir. But he has things turned around and is exaggerating. Irene Duncan tried to kiss me. That's all. And I admit I may have stretched the truth about leaving Sims and Jerry behind." Chris exhaled. "But I wanted to be the one to bring Irene in for The Firsts. My only crime was that I might have been a bit zealous in doing so." Chris glanced over at Sims. This next lie would be difficult to get out. "I apologize for shooting you, Sims. I went too far."
"You're apologizing?" their lieutenant asked.
"Yes, sir. It's the least I can do."
"I don't want his apology. I want his head." Sims's face reddened to the point it looked as if it was about to burst.
Lieutenant Cunningham observed him for a second or two. Reaching beneath his coat, he pulled out a handgun and handed it to Sims. "I've always been a believer in 'an eye for an eye.'"
Chris began to retreat. He'd miscalculated. He wasn't sure if his lieutenant was ticked off that he'd shot Sims or because he'd apologized for it. Whatever the reason, Chris had misread the situation, and now he was going to pay for it.
"Be sure to shoot him in the leg. Same as he did to you." His lieutenant turned about to give the view out the window his full attention.
Sims's eyes widened as he sat up straighter in his bed. He aimed the gun at Chris's head. His lieutenant twisted about, seeming to notice his disobedience. He rested his hand on Sims's arm, pushing it down slightly. "I said the leg."
Chris took a few more steps back toward the door as Sims's unsteady hand tried to pinpoint its target.
"There'll be none of that today, Lieutenant Wallace Cunningham," said a woman from behind Chris.
The lieutenant quickly snatched the gun from Sims's weak hand. "Yes, ma'am."
Chris turned about to see his daughter standing there in a black suit, looking as if she were some kind of CEO. "Tia?"
"Hello, father," she said with a grin. "I see you've managed to get yourself into another predicament." She glanced over at his lieutenant, who'd put himself at attention. "Chris will be accompanying me, Lieutenant Cunningham."
"Of course, ma'am."
Tia motioned at the door for Chris to go first. "Father."
Still trying to catch up, Chris did as she asked and walked out the door only to find two bodyguards standing on either side of the entryway. "What's going on, Tia? How in the world did you—"
"Obtain a position where I can bark out orders at Lieutenant Cunningham?"
"Well, yeah."
"I have certain . . . skills, father."
Chris's expression changed to one of mortification. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm referring to my technological skills, father. It turns out I'm rather talented in that area. It's something The Firsts value."
Chris pointed back toward the room. "Well, thank you for rescuing me." He held out his arms for her to hug him, and she wrapped her arms around him tightly.
"You'll behave yourself? You'll stop shooting at your team members, right? I may not always be near to protect you."
Chris pulled away and put his hands on his hips. "Let me get a good look at you. I haven't seen you in so long. You're acting all grown up. It's so cute."
Tia huffed. "I mean it, dad," she said. "You need to stop doing things that draw attention to yourself. Can you promise me you'll stop going off on your own? You're part of a team now. And you need to be a good son to The Firsts." She inhaled in an annoyed manner after not getting an immediate response and then shifted away to give some direction to one of her bodyguards.
For Chris, it was wonderful to see his daughter again, but he hadn't lost sight of the mission he'd agreed upon with Irene. Wanting to see Irene free and reunited with her daughters was possibly stronger now that he'd been reunited with his own.
It was true that Irene's plan of him talking to Mac may not have worked out quite the way she'd envisioned; he still was unconvinced that The Firsts had nefarious ends. Instead, he believed the reason he'd been disloyal to them was due to a lack of character within himself. He may have protected The Discord simply because of some personal motive. He didn't know why, but Irene Duncan seemed to be at the center of that purpose. But he was beginning to recognize that to see their plan through, he would need to lie to his daughter. And lying to someone like Lieutenant Cunningham was one thing but lying to Tia would be something else entirely.
He prepared himself to do just that as Tia finished her conversation with her bodyguard.
She swung back to him. "So what do you say, father?"
Chris rested his hand on her shoulder. "I'll behave." The words stung as they floated from his mouth. By telling the lie, he knew he'd set a course. And he understood that if he faltered, it could potentially harm not only Irene and himself but also Tia and her future. He had two women to protect. They were on opposite sides, but he could not fail either of them.
"Good," Tia said. "Now that you've agreed to conduct yourself appropriately, I can offer you the next part of your reward, which is . . . to see one of the new locations." Tia clasped her hands together in apparent excitement.
"Really?"
"Yes, I've been authorized to allow you passage. I have some leave, and I think you could use some rest as well. We could spend some time together."
Chris hadn't expected the rest of his reward to come so quickly, and if he refused it, he knew Tia would grow suspicious. But he also understood how to play her. "I would love to go to one of the new locations and spend some time with you, but I find myself on a kind of personal quest. I want to stay behind and see Irene get processed. I'd like to see it through to the end."
Tia's brow creased, and Chris nearly thought he'd misjudged what her reaction was going to be, but then she shook her head. "Father, you don't want to witness that. The way they process The Discord, well, it's not pleasant."
Chris's heart sank as he thought of his daughter witnessing such a thing, but he didn't let it show. "It's something I need to see."
Tia seemed to study him as if looking for signs of ulterior motives. Chris knew if she looked hard enough, she'd find one. "Very well. I can't deny your request. You are my father, after all. We can delay our trip."
Chris pulled her in close for another hug. He was glad she couldn't see his face.
Chapter 18
Lieutenant Cunningham stood from his theater seat. He cleared his throat while flattening out a piece of paper on his knee. Holding it up close, he began to read, "Irene Duncan, for the crimes of consorting with the enemy, which has carried out violent attacks on this State's leadership and citizenry, you are hereby sentenced to the annihilation of your memories with only the barest essentials remaining.
"Information pertaining to The Discord found within will be utilized to its fullest, including, but not limited to, the seeking, finding, and ultimately destroying," Lieutenant Cunningham raised his eyes from the sheet, "this dreadful plague on our peace-loving society." He paused and glanced at the planning committee's various members seated about a room, within headquarters, that was probably used for seminars before the war. The lieutenant ended with a long, dark stare on the platform where they would soon place Irene.
Chris had seen his commanding officer display such anger when he spoke of The Discord. For that reason, as the other committee members clapped politely, Chris wondered if Lieutenant Cunningham was the only true follower of The Firsts’ among them.
Phillip McAllister, the chairman for the committee, stood from his seat as he ended his applause. He looked about at the other members. "We can always count on Cunningham for a little drama," he said dryly.
"Thank you, sir," Cunningham replied. His gaze fell to the row of chairs in front of him.
"What do you think, Chris?" whispered Charlotte Ackerman,
another member situated nearby.
"I'm not sure what to think," Chris said truthfully. That morning, there'd been a knock at his door, and an envelope pushed under it. The envelope contained an invitation to join the planning committee, which had been quickly formed after The Firsts had fortunately intercepted yet another Discord attack the night before.
The point of the committee was to make public the processing of The Firsts' most recent prize. And it was turning into quite the spectacle. The event's agenda was to film Irene being processed and use the information to descend on The Discord's location. But due to The Firsts' procrastination in getting Irene processed, Chris wondered if some higher-ups were less motivated in finding The Discord.
"We need The Discord," Phillip himself had quipped earlier. "They're quite useful to us, are they not? They create a sense of terror on a populace that needs to be herded to our better locations."
Despite this reasoning, Phillip agreed that The Firsts were obligated to show that they were at least doing something about The Discord. So Irene was set to be processed. And to stop it, Chris was about to commit blackmail—again.
…
Slipping out the back of the seminar room, Chris made his way to the area of the building where The Firsts made repairs to their processing machines. He gained access quickly with his new credentials and walked into the brightly lit room where seven devices stood in various stages of restoration. Each machine had a team of two or more people fiddling with its mechanics. Chris focused on one team member in particular: Ollie Crowder.
As Chris strolled across the shiny, white floor, Ollie glanced over his reading glasses, which sat precariously at the end of his nose. Seeming uninterested in Chris's presence, Ollie returned to mending what appeared to be a machine part in his hand.
Chris rolled over a nearby office chair. "How are you, Ollie?"
"Christopher." Ollie inserted his hand into the machine's interior.
"It's been awhile. Hasn't it?" Chris asked. "And my goodness, you've gone grey. I mean, look at that beard."
"A war will do that to you."
Chris leaned back in his chair and lifted his left foot onto his right leg. He wiggled it for emphasis. "I know."
Ollie stood with a groan. He moved to the back of the rectangular-shaped machine, which blocked Chris's view of him. But Chris could hear him joggle something loose. When he reappeared, he sat back down in his well-worn, greasy office chair with another part in hand. After examining it for a moment, he peered up at the machine itself. "I heard number six here was chosen to process Irene Duncan."
"Yes, I heard that too," Chris said.
"I was surprised by the committee's decision to pick her, given that she's not the most reliable or the newest model. Made me wonder who made such a decision." He peered over at Chris. "You intending to embarrass me or something?"
Chris chuckled. "That's not my aim at all. I chose number six because I knew you were assigned to work on her, and I needed to ask you a favor." Chris glanced at his left foot, causing Ollie to do the same.
Ollie sniffed a rebuke. "I thought that was all forgiven."
"I never said that. In fact, I specifically recall you saying you owed me one after I covered for you by telling our CO that it was the enemy who shot off my toe, not some half-drunk fellow soldier in a bar fight. I also never shared how you . . . still struggle with the bottle." Chris knew that last part was a low blow, but he needed to go low with Ollie.
"What's this favor?" Ollie grumbled.
Chris scanned the room, making sure the other workers were busy toiling away at their projects. It appeared they were. Nevertheless, he took hold of Ollie's chair and rolled it closer. He whispered sharply, "You will not let this machine process Irene Duncan."
Ollie's face melded into what appeared to be alarm. "What are you, some kind of traitor?"
"I'm not a traitor."
Ollie leaned away and seemed to observe him. "Oh, I get it. You've fallen for this woman." Ollie glanced around the room, seeming to duplicate what Chris had done a moment ago. "Good grief, you've fallen for a leader of The Discord."
Chris frowned. He wasn't prepared to explain why he didn't want Irene processed, but if Ollie believed that the reason was love—then he’d go with that. "I couldn't help myself," he explained. "As you said, I've fallen in love, and I don't want Irene to forget me. So I need you to make the machine look as if it's processing her when it isn't."
"Good grief, man. Are you crazy?"
"Crazy in love—apparently."
Ollie scoffed. "And what happens when The Firsts don't see the machine extracting any data. Then what?"
Chris dug into his pocket and pulled out a couple of flash drives. "You'll use these as data. They're from Mac Donaldson's memory banks."
"What on earth?" Ollie pushed Chris's hand away. "Where did you get those?"
"Remember Private Kip Anderson?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Remember what he did to Private Hooper's bed?"
"How could I forget?"
"Unfortunately for Kip, in this new brave world of ours, Hooper is now Kip's boss. Kip can't afford Hooper to find out that he was the one who put that pile of cow manure on Hooper's bed."
Ollie stared at Chris for a brief moment. "You hold a lot of secrets in your hand, don't you?"
"I witnessed many things as a sergeant, and I let a lot of those things slide. The guys were under a lot of pressure. I knew they needed to let off some steam." Chris glanced up at the machine, which appeared to be nothing more than a harmless black rectangle. However, in use, it split in two, lowering a second panel over the victim who rested on a flat platform. "I'm sure some of them wouldn't mind if I were the one who was going to be processed."
"So now you're using those secrets to blackmail all your men?"
Chris glared at him. He didn't appreciate the statement coming from Ollie, even if it was true. He decided to move past the comment. "You'll need to edit Mac's memories to make it appear as if the recollections are coming from Irene, not Mac. Delete images of Mac standing in front of a mirror—that kind of thing." Chris paused and tried to gauge Ollie's receptiveness. "I've set Vince up as the outtake operator. You remember Vince Taltson and the incident he had with the Colonel's wife?"
Ollie's eyes widened.
"Well, he's agreed to put a virus to whatever video feed you create. The presence of the virus will explain the giant holes in Irene's so-called memories." Chris held out his hand, clutching the drives once more. "You will do this for me, right Ollie?"
Ollie sat still for a moment. "Remind me never to get on your bad side," he said, snatching the drives from Chris's hand.
"Sergeant Christopher Parks."
Chris looked up to see Cunningham strolling his way. As usual, his dark blue coat hung open, giving him an unkempt appearance.
Chris stood. "Sir."
Cunningham wedged himself between Chris and the machine. He began to circle it. "What brings you to the repair shop?"
Chris looked him in the eye when he came back around. "I was making sure the machine was in good working condition, sir."
Lieutenant Cunningham paused, seeming to consider the validity of Chris's answer. "And is it in good working condition?" He gave Ollie a side-glance.
"Yes, sir. It will be," Ollie answered, noticeably tightening his grip on the drives in his hand.
"Glad to hear it," Lieutenant Cunningham said and turned his focus on Chris. "A word."
"Of course, sir."
Trailing his lieutenant to the entrance, Chris glanced over his shoulder and gave Ollie a nod.
Ollie raised his fist with the drives inside. Chris hoped that was a sign of agreement.
"You've been very clever," Lieutenant Cunningham said at the entryway.
Chris stopped in front of him. "What do you mean, sir?"
"The way you've used Irene Duncan as a stepping stone to a better situation."
"I was only doing—"
"Yes, yes, I know. You were only doing your job. But we both know what you were after."
Chris didn't think Cunningham had seen him hand Ollie the drives, but perhaps he was beginning to see through Chris's lies. "What was that, sir?"
"That you wanted to be above me." Cunningham grinned and continued. "But you're not. You're still my underling."
Technically speaking, Chris knew Cunningham was right. But in most of The Firsts' eyes, Chris was now Lieutenant Cunningham's equal. But Chris recognized that his lieutenant's ego needed reassuring, given it was probably bruised earlier by Tia. "Yes, sir," Chris said with as much conviction as he could muster.
"Good." Cunningham took a couple of steps as if to leave but then stopped. "Do you know why I haven't come down on you hard for not being a team player?"
Chris didn't respond.
"It's because I see the same zealousness in you that I find in myself. And do you know why I'm that way? Why I work so hard to advance this society?" His lieutenant gestured about the room at the various operators laboring at their workstations. "It's because, unlike these fakers, I actually believe in what we're doing." He tapped twice on Chris's chest. "I see that same belief in you."
A boyish grin developed on his lieutenant's face. "I've enjoyed watching you do the things that I would have done myself. But unlike you, I have done things that most people would probably consider immoral." Cunningham's expression darkened as he spoke. "I don't blame myself for taking those actions. Instead, I place the fault on The Discord. Did you know I was the first person to see the birth of The Discord?" Cunningham hesitated as if to give Chris a chance to answer.
"No, sir, I was not aware of that," Chris answered with genuine interest.
"It began with Roger Stein. Before the war, he was someone who had the ear of the president. Stein fed him a lot of nonsense, mostly about his belief in an all-knowing God. When the war ended, many flocked to Stein, needing to find the meaning for it. For that reason, we knew Roger and his people would be an excellent addition to our already expanding influence.
The Gift of Remembering Page 15
