Rise of the Syndicate

by Drew Avera

  "Great. This is just what I needed," I hissed through my teeth, knowing that resetting it was going to hurt.

  A lot.

  "No time like the present." I let the duffle drop and approached the wall as I tried rolling my shoulders. My arm moved with the motion, but it was far from normal. The police department taught us basic procedures for dislocating and resetting joints in the event of an emergency. I'd used the procedure twice on my thumb to remove handcuffs. But I never dislocated my shoulder, much less have to put it back in its socket.

  I took a deep breath and slammed my shoulder into the wall. A howl escaped my mouth as a sharp pain shot down my arm and back. I just hoped it was worth it. When I moved my shoulders, the right side still was not functioning properly.

  I swore under my breath, a thousand curses for the dark turn my life had taken, and steadily getting worse. A bullet to the head would end it all. It was a thought, but mine was not the head I wanted to fire upon. My speculation as to Tetrim's involvement was true. If he was willing to reveal it to me, then that meant he was scrambling to cover everything up. He was in panic mode, which meant his life must be falling apart as well. No one would make those kinds of mistakes otherwise.

  The thought gave me some hope.

  People made mistakes when panicked. Mistakes created openings for an enemy to strike. When Tetrim provided me an opportunity to get even, I planned on being there to take it. But I wasn't going to do anything in this condition.

  "All right," I said through my teeth. "Quit thinking about it and let's do this." It was the closest thing to a pep talk I could give myself. I just hoped it was enough.

  Years ago, I'd seen a friend relocate their own shoulder. I remembered he used finesse instead of brute strength. I took a few calming breaths and raised my arm, placing my hand behind my head as I reached for the opposing shoulder. I used the wall to help push my upper-arm back, leaning my weight into it through gritted teeth. Once my arm was as far back as it would go, I began moving my hand forward, letting my arm rotation work the joint back into place. One loud pop, and a yelp later, my shoulder was back in its socket.

  "I can't believe that worked," I said as I shook my arm out. I was relieved of the sharp pain, but a dull ache was still there minus the numbness in my fingertips. I made a few slow movements with my arm to ensure it wouldn't pop out again and then lifted the duffle. My shoulder was sensitive, but at least it could hold the weight now. "I need to get to Castor," I muttered, not as an afterthought, but more as a check off of steps needed to get us out of here. If Tetrim was leading the charge to kill us, then I doubted he would be satisfied until he saw our bodies. That meant time was not on our side and more drones or agents would be here soon.

  I inhaled sharply, the smell of fried electronics tickling my nose to the verge of sneezing, but I held it back. I wiped the sweat and grit off of my face and began walking back towards the stairwell and make my way back to Castor. We had to get out of the tunnels and back topside. Not just to exact revenge against Tetrim, but to avoid the Guard, or Agency for that matter, from coming down and finishing the job. I knew I had a better chance of making a break for it by not dragging him along. He was a goner and it was only a matter of time before he drew his last breath, but I felt a duty to do the right thing despite my hatred for what he had done.

  It was difficult to put into words exactly how I felt about him. There was the man he was and the man he used to be. The dichotomy of his existence, which should not be, forced me to look at him differently; almost reverential, as sickening as it seemed. We had a past as friends, but our present was a nightmare. The darkness of my reality presented new facets of the life I thought I lived. I chuckled at the thought I was going to need therapy if I made it out of this alive.

  As I stepped through what remained of the doorway to go into the bathroom, I was met with a scene I had not expected.

  Castor was gone.

  30

  Tetrim

  The corridors of the World Council felt narrower than usual as if my world caved in on me. Despite my best efforts to remain neutral emotionally, I found myself grieving the last hour. At first, I thought it was my anger catching up to me as my plans spun wildly out of control. The longer I sat in silence, however, the more my thoughts drifted to what Cherum's loss meant to me.

  It was not a lie that Cherum and I grew up together. We met in school and were brought up to go into politics at early ages. I was fourteen when the World Council recruited me into the fold. They took Cherum three years later, promising him the world while tasking me with mapping out the future plans to shape Archea into the image we were taught to worship.

  Destruction of the dome was only the beginning of the plan laid out before me. What those architects lacked was a means by which to produce the urgency needed to escalate the staggering artificial atmosphere program. Twenty-years-ago, that technology was a dream, but it existed now. The trepidation of being let loose from our prison was nothing more than the human weakness to resist change.

  The time was now, and in every iteration of this future moment, Cherum stood next to me to help lead the way. With him gone, this victory felt empty. Without knowing my enemies' true fate, I felt imprisoned by my loss and the anxiety that I could lose more in a moment's time.

  It wasn't fair.

  "I'm sorry for your loss, Councilman," a colleague said as we brushed past one another in the corridor. The word colleague might suggest we were equals, but the truth was far from it. Benoit Tysor was a child recruited into this organization two years ago. He was to be groomed to take the seat of his mentor Charlo Vant. It would be a day of sadness when that happened. Charlo was a great ally, whereas the only thing great about Benoit was his deft indifference to everything. The kid was a walking meat puppet and only half as smart.

  I nodded politely and didn't waste my breath acknowledging him further as I stalked towards the large conference area. The ceremony was hours away, but as with all business World Council related, it required a great deal of posturing before our dealings were made public. This was simply an uncomfortable run-through of a future event to maximize sympathy from the Archean people.

  A crowd of other councilmembers huddled together outside the large doors leading into the room. Some stood silently, sullen expressions on their faces, while others treated Cherum's death like the social event of the week. The only thing missing were crystal glasses of wine being handed out. Give it time, I thought disgustedly.

  "Tetrim, I'm sorry about your friend. Cherum was a great man," a woman's voice said before I could focus on who spoke. I turned to see Vyla Wan, dressed in black, approaching me with an extended hand.

  "Was he?" I asked, not intending to sound so cold. "He betrayed our organization by plotting against one of our own. I'm unclear as to how great of a man you think he was, Vyla." I bit each word harder. Each word fell in time with my heartbeat as it rang in my ears. I wanted to hold it together, but my bitterness washed over me like a rushing tide. I was powerless against it.

  She pulled back her hand before I had the chance to accept it. "You're right, Tetrim. Anyone who is an enemy of our organization does not deserve recognition for the right things they did for Mars. We should simply paint over their good deeds and stain every one of them with images of the mistakes they made. If only we were all as perfect as you." Her contempt and sarcasm were not lost on me, but I was too clouded of mind to think of a witty response. My silence was consent in many ways, and she wore her victory stoically as she glanced around the atrium as others stared at her in surprise.

  "I think what Vyla means is, it's not polite to speak ill of the dead," Nasum Curr interjected as he swooped between us. I imagined he thought our spat would escalate, but I didn't have the energy to go toe-to-toe with anyone. I was at war with my own mind at the moment. Dividing and conquering was out of the question.

  "I'm aware of what she meant," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets and praying silently for time to pass quickl
y. I just wanted to get through this and move on.

  "I just sensed hostility, and this is not the time or place for that," Nasum replied.

  "No, it's not," Vyla agreed, eyeing me like she wanted to tear my face off.

  Both of them stared awkwardly until it became evident they expected a response. I shrugged and said, "You'll get no argument from me on that matter."

  Both of them turned their backs on me, no longer wishing to give me the time of day as the chirps of mass conversations chimed in once again. How quickly they forget and move on, I thought as I took in the scene. More than forty members of the World Council stood, waiting to be let in after the security detail checked for bugs. It was a turnout larger than I expected for so early in the morning. Of course, more would file in closer to the actual ceremony.

  Today felt like a low-hanging cloud. There was something dark and heavy in the air and each person standing here knew the implications of Cherum's betrayal. We were without a Pontiff, our puppet to the people. Who would the Archeans listen to now?

  It was on us to find a suitable replacement for a worthless position. After Cherum's successor was named, then Archea could mourn. Once my enemies were proven dead, then I could move on. It seemed today, of all days, would be the first step to a new tomorrow.

  31

  Castor

  At the top of the stairwell, the air cleared enough to not feel like I was slowly choking to death. I wasn't certain, but I suspected I had a collapsed lung to go along with the myriad of other injuries inflicted upon me this evening. "Good thing I'm almost dead," I said through my teeth, wincing with each step. Why I was trying to save myself despite the inevitable was beyond me, but like a good soldier, I pressed on, pushing through the first set of double doors and into the dark section of hallway between the exits.

  I used the moment to rest, allowing myself to slip into a seated position, guiding myself with the wall to keep from toppling over. A helluva lot of good it did me as I felt something pop in my shoulder. At least that was what I thought happened.

  I didn't bother to look.

  A couple of seconds later the doors opened behind me, half sending me into a panic as I rolled onto my back and lifted my near-empty weapon defensively.

  "It's me," Halem said as he lifted one hand and dropped the bag of weapons with his other. He looked like he had seen better days, but he was upright. He had that on me.

  "You might want to load up before they get here," I said, not bothering to sit up.

  He knelt beside me and pulled away my jacket to look me over. "You have a lot of lacerations and punctures. You'll bleed out in an hour if we don't get you to a hospital." The expression on his face was grim, but from what I remembered through the rest of the night, that wasn't unusual.

  "I'm dead either way. No need to waste my dying breath waiting in an emergency room. Besides," I said, shifting my weight to my other side in hopes of making it easier to breathe. "I don't think this is covered on my insurance."

  Halem chuckled, but I expected to get more of a rise out of him. "So, this is going to be your last stand, sitting on a dirty floor at the top of a stairwell and waiting for them to come and get you?"

  "You have to admit, it has a poetic quality to it, like the old western stories we used to watch." My mind drifted to a simpler time. A life unhindered by the cruelty neither of us knew existed.

  He smirked. "Are you Butch or Sundance?" Halem asked.

  I groaned as a rush of pain overtook me, clamping my eyes shut to force myself not succumb to it. After a couple of deep breaths, I glanced up at him. "Hopefully, I go out better than that."

  Halem stared at me for a long moment. He appeared to be lost in thought just before digging in the duffle. I watched as he pulled out three canisters. "If you want to wait for them to come and kill you, that's on you, but I have another objective," he said as he arranged the canisters. "These have remote triggers."

  Halem tossed me a small device with a switch and a small, red button. "I'm guessing this is the remote?"

  "One of them," he said, holding up a second device. "Arm with the switch, blow with the button. Pretty easy right?"

  I nodded, assuming the instructions were fairly evident in the design considering each part of the device was laser-etched. "Perfect, so I sit here like bait, and wait for them to come through either set of doors. Flip the switch, press the button, and boom, I bring this baby crashing down. Excellent plan. I should die quick."

  Halem let out a sigh. "I don't want it to end like this," he said. "I can use my device to blow the canisters from a safe distance. You don't have to be bait."

  I lifted my hand to shut him up before he lost his gall. "I'm dying, and I'd rather go quick. Just finish the game. If you get a chance, shoot him twice for me."

  He nodded before taking to task and setting the canisters up at both sets of doors and in the stairwell out of sight. When he returned, he handed me a fresh weapon. "More bullets than you'll get to fire if this goes right," he said solemnly. Halem grabbed another weapon from the duffle and holstered it as he lifted a rifle from the ground. "Finish the game? That sounds like a familiar line."

  I didn't fight the smirk I felt forming. I hoped he would recall the line. We spent hours together when we were partners, trading stories from our childhood and watching a near-endless cache of media from before the great migration to Mars. We bonded during that time which seemed like another life. "It's from my favorite movie as a kid."

  He stepped towards the exterior set of doors and paused. "I know the one."

  I felt a tremble begin in my body and it could have been a convulsion as my injuries threatened to send me into shock, but I hoped it was restored humanity and a sense of peace between us. I didn't deserve it and I didn't think he would say so, but I felt this was the moment he decided to forgive me for the role I played in his wife's murder.

  The sound of shouting below us filled our ears. The voices of the enemy carried up to us as if by the wind. Our window of opportunity was lapsing. "It's time for you to go, Halem. I'll handle it." I forced myself onto my knees, not wanting to die lying on my back like a coward.

  He took a step towards me and I lifted my weapon in his direction.

  "What is this?" Halem asked, confusion on his face as stark as his white complexion.

  "It's goodbye," I replied. I flipped the switch on the device, arming the canisters. "I hope you kill him slowly."

  Halem nodded as the pounding of bootheels on steel rang closer. "Thank you," he said, darting out of the double-doors and into the darkness.

  "You're welcome," I whispered even though he was out of earshot. The grip on my weapon grew tighter as the enemy drew near. With only seconds remaining of my life, I felt at peace. Not a bad way to go, I thought, at peace and then in pieces.

  32

  Halem

  I ran as the door slammed shut behind me. Even with the morning sun piercing through the dome, casting its light in striking beams across the cityscape of Archea, the alley was dark and forbidding. Only a few steps in and I whacked my shin on an obstruction, nearly propelling me forward had I not leaped on one foot to maintain my balance. All the while, my heart pounded in my ears as I knew what was to come.

  I searched for a hiding spot to ensure the enemy didn't make it out of the tunnels if Castor failed. It was odd how much my thoughts moved to him as if I was dependent on him to move on. As a cop, I spent my life looking at facts and determining the likelihood of guilt. I knew his involvement in Marada's murder. I should hate him for what he did. But somewhere under that mask of another person's face, was my old partner, manipulated into serving an organization that was an abomination to the law we swore to uphold.

  To say it was complicated put it lightly.

  Ahead, I saw rafters leading upward along the side of the old library. The metal piping would give me enough vantage to see if anyone left the tunnels before the canisters were actuated. I just hoped I would be far enough away to not be struck
with debris. My body already hurt from the drone explosion even though Castor took the brunt of it.

  I climbed the first two levels of stairs, taking them two at a time. By the time I reached the second level, I could hardly breathe. I pushed forward, slower than I wanted, but soon found a place to nestle down and wait. I knew it would be a matter of minutes before anything happened, but I already lost track of time.

  As I knelt to keep out of sight behind a strand of plastic wrap surrounding the rafters I heard the sound of the city intercom announcing the public feed for Pontiff Cherum's memorial saying it was an hour away. The muffled voice was made harder to understand by the echoed refrain of the speakers in the vicinity not being in sync, but I caught the gist of it. The most important part was Tetrim would be in the World Council Building and I knew a way in to get to him.

  Marada showed me an emergency escape passage under the center stage where the most prominent councilmembers sat. There was no way in unless you had the access code, but Marada worked with Councilman Etan Nayep who used the passage like his own entrance, often solely for the reason of feeling important. They may have been on different ends of political spectrum, but he took a liking to her passion and often included her on his decision making for a different point of view. Their friendship lent her a few benefits, one of which she shared with me.

  The code to get in.

  Why I waited until now to think about it, I didn't know. Perhaps it was because I leaned on Castor to lead me through my revenge seeking ploy. Maybe I wanted him to pull the trigger when the time came, but there was no hope for that now. My hatred raged like an inferno in my soul. Today was the day for reckoning and I didn't care if it soiled my reputation as a lawman. Legacies died within a generation and the only thing passed down would be embellishments and lies either way. Not that there was anyone left in my life who would want to hear them.