by Colby R Rice
"Fucked up psycho babble is what I call it--" Then, Joseph's eyes widened with alarm, and he held up his hands warily. "Oh, sorry man, I didn't mean-- I mean, he's your Vassal and all, so--"
Caleb shook his head. "Don't worry about it. We're bound, but that doesn't mean I cosign on his policies. I won't repeat what you said. Just be careful in the future. In this witch hunt, Persaud'll be the first to slap a Koan label on you."
"Thanks man." Joseph nodded with a smile. "Hey, I'll let you be for a bit. So you can get rested. But don't get too comfortable. You should head to the rec room in an hour."
Caleb cocked his head.
"You don't remember? It's April 28th. They're voting on the repeal of the Articles39 today."
Joseph left, and Caleb leaned his head back. Pain rolled from the front of his skull to the back as he did. He wasn't in the greatest condition to move around, but he'd have to drag his ass out of bed when the time came. There was no way he could miss the decision on the 39. And yet, something heavier kept him weighted to his sheets. Zeika, Manja. They had gotten out safe, but now pieces of who they were, ones that he had noticed but hadn't analyzed, were coming together. Their secret shop. Books on science. Synthetic muscle restoratives. Metal manipulation.
He stared at his stripped credit cards, now understanding... and wondering who else knew that Ezekiel D'jihara Anon was a Civic Alchemist.
Far beneath Xakiah, dozens of bodies filled the lower chambers of the Halls of Pact, turning the downy carpets into a throbbing mass of life. The old opera house had long been converted into the Silver Chamber, the main battleground of the rich and decadent where the fates of the 52 Demesnes were decided. Now the "soldiers", if he could even call them that, were arriving. The first floor teemed with reds, yellows, and blues, each hue denoting the alignment to which each Azure Councilman belonged. The vibrant spots of color nearly swallowed the rare dabs of gray that were the garbs of the Civic Councilmen. Among them all, Xakiah saw many faces he knew.
Councilman Billings circulated in the deep carmine alcove of the chamber, his hands folded over his belly as he mingled. To his right was Lord Salvatore Morgan, the new Councilman of the Fifth and tax-snatcher for the three Protecteds. Also, Hans Muirgin, in another disgusting plastic suit that was tassled and blazing, as though Muirgin had rolled around in melted yellow crayon. Muirgin was a Theosophic Alchemist, and as much as Xakiah sneered at that particular alignment, he actually felt bad for them today. They'd gotten saddled with the sanctimonious bastard, who'd surely drag them down the alchemical totem pole faster than a three-ton anvil.
He leaned back in the shadows of the balustrade, already feeling the pinch of the tension headache. He had engorged on the Messhe and was now paying for his gluttony. The circus below him though was what worked him into a mental foam. The council debates, the negotiations, the treaties, all just parlor tricks giving the mere appearance of power. The arena disgusted him, but being christened with the honor of attending such an event was one that he couldn't have turned down. Most apprentices would slit their wrists on command just to see the inside of the Silver Chamber.
So he closed his eyes and tried to embrace it. He took a deep breath, navigated his senses around the stink of political chum, and found himself rewarded. A spice of old cherry wood caught his notice.
"Good evening, Vassal," he murmured in greeting, not needing to turn around.
Vassal Moss chuckled as he walked up beside him. "You're getting quite good at this, Kaelen. Soon, I'll barely be able to hide my thoughts from you much less my presence."
"One can only hope." Xakiah turned to him, and they shared a smile before Moss turned back to the bustling crowed below, asking him for an update.
"With all due respect, Vassal, I am here under duress."
"Duress?" Moss smiled. "What could be more important than making history at my side?"
"Do not take offense. I merely want to finish my work. I still have some loose ends to tie up around the Sophia Green case."
"Enlighten me."
Xakiah explained how he'd worked his way around the kidnapping ring, and had thought his job coming to an end when he'd stumbled upon his discovery of the Jericho. "The Jericho's notes contained details of multiple chemical compounds assembled inside a bomb casing he called 'Sweet Susie'. I believe that the casing he used was a human body. Sophia Green's body."
Moss was silent for a few moments, and Xakiah stood patiently until he moved to speak again.
"Have you shared this with the police?"
"Just breadcrumbs. I thought it wiser to make it available to the Halls of Deis first. Captain Palmer is a Civilian and therefore untrustworthy. He might sympathize with Koan doctrine. The new detective, however, is diligent. Caleb K Rai. He examined the surveillance tapes from the diner and has shared his own suspicions with the precinct."
Moss' eyes went alight with interest. "Lord Kojira's son? He's stationed in the Fifth?"
Xakiah nodded tightly. "He's been there ever since he was released from prison."
"How fascinating."
"Fascinating? He killed an Azure, Vassal."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Lord Kojira can make many things 'happen' at his will, especially with a Vassal like Alyosius Persaud at his right hand. Either way, I trust Kojira's judgment. Whatever his reasons, he has deemed Rai to be a threat to the Order."
"Threats to the Order should be extinguished, not toured around the world like celebrities."
Moss smiled at him. "Jealous?"
"I feel no envy for Azures who do not earn their keep."
"You may be leery of him, Proficient, but you may not harm him."
Xakiah nodded again, though reluctantly.
"Although," Moss continued. "I am sure Vassal Persaud will oblige in an endeavor in discipline. Perhaps Caleb simply needs a reminder of what it means to be Azure. Perhaps the two of you may divine ways to jog his memory."
Moss gave the slightest nod to the crowd below, and Xakiah looked to see that he'd motioned towards two men in particular. Two men, one in Corporal red, the other in Druidic blue. Vassal Persaud and Sal Morgan, and they spoke in hushed tones, their lips curling into smiles around their wine. Whatever business they had with each other, they seemed extremely pleased by it.
"A new contract," Xakiah murmured.
"Of a sort. Your services have been requested. The task is literally child's play, but one that carries a great importance to Morgan. One that will be handsomely rewarded if successful."
"And what of Vassal Persaud? What's his investment?"
"As I said... an endeavor in discipline."
Xakiah smiled. He wasn't sure how Caleb had pissed both Morgan and Persaud off, but he was more than pleased to bear witness to the spanking.
"Soon, Proficient." Moss turned to him. "Very soon will I allow you your self-expression. But not until you have won the trust of the Order. That will be better for you in the end. The time for trust unfettered is very near."
He placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and Xakiah felt his skin prickle and warm beneath his touch. "I understand completely, Vassal," he said. "I merely await your commands."
"Then your wait ends. Morgan and Persaud's task is not our only concern. I retrieved a bit of distressing news from Billings. I'm afraid that our friend Mikhail Beige has sold us out. He has disappeared... and he has taken the Page with him."
Xakiah flinched, remembering how quiet Beige had been at the negotiation table. "I will handle it, Vassal."
"Him. The others too. Remind them that a failure of loyalty will come with consequences."
"I will."
"Koa is everywhere. Soon, we won't have a single safe place to guard the secrets of the Order."
"No. Not as long as I draw breath. I will begin with Beige."
"Good." Moss smiled at him. "Now come. Let us join the festivities."
With a shaking palm, Burke threw three pills of Xanax to the back of hi
s throat and swallowed as he leaned back into the plush bosom of his chair. He sat, gripping the arms of the chaise, waiting for the medicine to knock the rattle out of his body. His eyes darted around the Silver Chamber, weaved in and out of the crowd below him for what he knew he'd see. Some flaking stinking piece of burnt meat, or an infantile face, slackened beneath the roar of a Beretta; some putrid relic of war sent by her, to remind him that she had his balls in her unholy fangs.
So, where are you, you demonic bitch?
The she-devil hadn't shown her face, but he felt her watching him. She was waiting for him to make a break for it. That fear alone-- that and his new diet of pills and whiskey-- was the only thing keeping him rooted to his chair.
The world began to melt before him as the Xanax took effect, and he could feel his body loosening, sinking into the warm velvet beneath him. His arguments, stuffed messily inside of the briefcase at his ankle, seemed to lift themselves out of the leather and take shape before his eyes. He could see them meshing together in a string of logical talking points.
The impacts of the repeals on the economic stability of the Civic Demesnes would be catastrophic, he would argue. Human rights laws would be tread upon in a manner unprecedented in the new age. And so on. Perhaps the words would fall on deaf ears, but he would speak them, make them sound as good as he could.
If he couldn't convince the councilmen, he at least had to convince her that he'd done the best he could. Then she would leave him in peace. He squared his shoulders and stood up, tall and relaxed, the simple and clear understanding of the stakes finally filling him up. This was a fight for his own freedom as much as it was for the Civilians'. He was ready.
"Are you enjoying your box seats to the war games, Councilman Burke? You've paid well for them, after all." Vassal Gunther Moss strode up beside him, and Burke could feel his sardonic smile on his cheek, hear the swish of the Chardonnay in his glass. His pet, KX Cotch, was at his heels, silent and watching.
Burke acknowledged them with a solemn nod. "Both our stations were both bought and paid for, Vassal," he said smoothly. "My vendor was the Halls of Deis. Yours, Death."
"Ah, touché." Moss smiled and lifted his glass.
"Do you also support the repeals?"
"I do indeed." Moss responded. "But where do you stand, I wonder?" He was surveying him with dark and penetrating eyes.
Burke never responded, but kept his gaze focused on the teeming masses below.
"Ah," Moss cooed, "I fancy you a modern day Hamlet."
"Stay out of my head, Moss."
Moss smiled. "Calm yourself, Councilman. I would never dare. Your outward vacillations, however, speak for themselves. You aren't sure what you support. And that is all right."
"Thanks for your approval," Burke snorted.
"My pleasure."
Burke lifted an eyebrow. "So where do you stand in all of this?"
"I stand where all Azures belong. On the side of the Order."
"You don't think the Civilians have a right to their own governance?"
"I think the Civilians have a right to whatever they please... so long as they can keep their flock in line. They can't. So we must intervene to preserve civility."
"Like this?" Burke motioned to the swelling aisles of laughing Councilmen. "You call this civility?"
"And what would you call it?"
"The whispers of genocide."
"Ah. Well. So long as it merely whispers and does not scream, Councilman--"
"That's grotesque."
"What a strange way to categorize the very tribe to which you belong. You are clothed, fed, coddled by the Order, and yet you complain about the ways in which your comfort is provided. One might question the merits of your own Azurehood."
"The merits of my humanity are more important, Azure or not."
"Humanity?" Moss chuckled, the sound deep, hearty. "Humanity is a dream, conjured only by those sound enough in mind and body to imagine it. Dreams change with the people who dream them. As our world and its people change, as the Civilians change... so will the dream of humanity."
"Civilians don't agree with our version of the 'dream', Moss. They've got their own ways of doing things. How do you expect to control and change millions of people?"
Moss cast him a ghostly smile, and as Burke stared back, a chill began to weigh heavy on his skin.
"I wish you the very best of luck, Councilman. I sincerely hope that when this storm clears, the Order will still consider you its kin."
Moss and his Proficient walked off to take their places amongst the now-settling Councilmen, and Burke chose not to look after them. Instead, he took the west stairwell down to the chamber floor.
To hell with Moss. Focus.
If he didn't win this case, the hurt feelings of the Alchemic Order would be the least of his worries.
"Order! Councilmen of the Silver Chamber are now called to order," a drawling voice resounded through the room. "Opening statements will be from Councilman Micah Burke, Azure Indigen Alchemist of the Fourth Degree, and Ombudsman and Representative of the Seventh Civic Demesne."
The critical unanimous gaze of the assembly pierced all Burke's sides as he walked stiffly to the podium. He took one final breath, turned to the Council floor, and as silence overcame the crowd, Micah Pencham Burke delivered his eulogy to the Civic Order.
Caleb fidgeted, his eyes glued to the television. A fire had crawled back into his wounds. He needed painkillers but couldn't bring himself to look away from the news until he had an answer.
The rec room t.v. wasn't the greatest, but it was easy to make out the slick-haired news reporter and the roaring Civilian crowd behind him. From the lopsided gray suit and the equally misaligned eyebrows, Caleb knew it was James Montgomery, the Azure pundit most critical of the Order. Four hours had passed since the hearing had begun. Montgomery and his camera crew were still waiting for the decision, looking just as fidgety as Caleb felt.
Protestors were packed into the open forum right outside of the Silver Chamber, the screaming crowd contained by a line of Azure riot police and their shields. The Civilians' faces blurred behind the translucent riot shields, but their anger burned through, hung heavy in the air. They shouted mantras and slogans and beat their signs against the wind. "War on Koa, not on kids", read a few.
James stiffened and placed a finger to his earpiece, furrowing his brow as he listened in. He motioned to his associates, who immediately started calling the crowd to attention. He straightened his suit and then turned towards the Civilians as he continued to listen in.
Here we go...
Caleb blew out a long tense breath, feeling his jaw tighten as the final decision came through.
"Ladies and gentlemen," James began. "The Civilians' appeal has been voted down. Lines 37, 38, and 39 of the Articles39 have been repealed. The amendment was signed into law by the Alchemic and Civic Orders just a few minutes ago. It'll be published in both constitutions within 48 hours."
The sudden declaration whisked through the air, seeming to suck the sound out of the crowd like a vacuum. For minutes on end, many protestors looked at one another with looks of horror and shock. Not one shout of anger. Not one question dripping with bitterness. Nothing. Just like that, the spirit of the Civilian protestors died, like a flame beneath cold breath. Signs fell over like tumbling cards, and banners drooped as dissenters released them from their once-determined grips. And Caleb, feeling more powerless than ever before, watched the long-faced protestors drift away, with a silent and fading glow, like so many fireflies.
Loud hoots and applause rang out down the hall. The lounge near Caleb's infirmary room was packed with APs of all ranks, who'd also been waiting patiently for the Council's decision. Sal Morgan had won, and now he had pre-packaged soldiers of fortune ready to plow down any Civilian they could to get further along. The APs of the Fifth thought their lives were about to get worlds easier, their wallets fatter, but deep down, Caleb
knew that the worst was yet to come.
Koa would not take this lying down. They didn't have alchemic powers or even much money, but ingenuity and ruthlessness were right up their alley, nearly on par with Azures. This war was about to explode, and Sal Morgan-- along with the rest of the Alchemic Order-- had just lit the fuse.
Zeika was sitting at the Lobon Inn with Manja when the news was announced over the radio. The Inn had gone deathly quiet, and patrons turned their now bloodless faces to each other, the horror slowly creeping in.
"The Civilians' appeals were slammed down in a 301 to 11 vote," the radio host announced. "This was a surprising turn of events for the fifteen Civic Demesnes, whose 80 of 90 Representatives actually voted in favor of the repeals. Quentin Guevonovich, the Prime Minister and Chief Executive Officiator of the Civic Order, will be making a statement to Civilians later this evening..."
"Manja," Zeika whispered. "We've gotta go now, okay?"
Manja had a mouth full of pancake, but she nodded and began to gather up her things. Zeika ordered another full breakfast to go, plus non-perishables: crackers, peanut butter, granola, dry cereal.
"As a stipulation of the repeals, the Civic and Alchemic Orders will be enforcing a mandatory curfew for ghosts of war starting tomorrow evening. Between six p.m. and ten a.m., ghosts must remain in their registered domiciles, or they will be detained for questioning at a local precinct..."
Zeika tried to listen to the news, but the disbelief had drained away all of her focus. Eight hours of daylight. That's all the time they had to mine, trade, and do in-take for inventory. There was no way that she'd be able to trade enough in that window to sustain them every week, much less get them smuggled out of the Fifth. No one could work under those conditions, especially not Civilians. And even if they could, the streets wouldn't be safe, not with the Ninkashi, Koa, and glory-hungry APs prowling around.
