by Sophie Davis
The room was so quiet in the wake of her words; it was as though a vacuum had sucked all of the sound out of it. Though some of the council members’ feelings about Amberly’s words were evident on their faces, others were impossible for Victoria to get a read on. The fact she couldn’t tell what many were thinking was unnerving.
If only my pesky little manipulator was here, Victoria thought, then nearly laughed at the irony. Because Talia Lyons was one of the prisoners in question. She was on Level Five of Vault.
The councilwoman from South Africa was the first to break the silence.
“By this term, ‘downsizing,’ we are to understand that you are advocating for the execution of all prisoners?” Charlene asked, shaking her head incredulously. “Surely you are not serious about this, Amberly. We cannot even consider such an extreme measure.”
“I am quite serious,” Amberly replied calmly. “Executing convicted criminals—some of whom are exceptionally dangerous—to make room for innocent citizens is not extreme at all. It is the logical resolution to our problem. The only resolution.”
“Victoria,” Barbar implored, an apprehensive glint in his eyes. “I do appreciate UNITED’s desire to have a plan in place. Pledging accommodations for the refugees in our home territories makes sense. This, however,” he gestured dismissively to the proposal on his comm screen, “is not a decision the council needs to make today. If the vote goes against the Talented, then we can revisit Councilwoman Azevedo’s proposition. But certainly not before then. This is far too radical to decide on without definitive cause.”
“The vote is in only four days,” Amberly snapped irritably. “When might we have time to discuss this again?”
“The treaty allows a three-day grace period for those with abilities to relocate,” Barbar countered. “If the need arises, we can vote on whether to execute the prisoners during that window of time.”
Though she’d been reticent to speak up, wanting to instead gauge the council’s attitude towards Amberly’s proposition, Victoria knew she needed to interject before they launched into another pointless debate.
“Should the treaty fail to pass, UNITED needs to announce the names of the lottery winners immediately,” Victoria interceded. “The full list of names. We will then need to organize the relocations and provide travel accommodations without delay. In this scenario—and I pray we don’t live to see such horrific circumstances—UNITED’s resources will be stretched extremely thin. This council will not have the luxury of debating Proposition 2690 at that time; we will all be tremendously occupied with the fallout and keeping the peace. Executing over four thousand people would also require time for preparations—it is not as if they will instantaneously disappear. Therefore, as much as it pains me to even consider such drastic measures, the council does need to reach a decision on this today.”
An eerie silence fell over the room. Every pair of eyes, save one, returned to the proposition document, reading it again with more attention to the details. Amberly’s gaze was focused intently on Victoria, her arrogant smile tugging the corners of her mouth upwards.
She’s enjoying this, Victoria thought, swallowing her disgust before it showed on her face.
“Is there not another solution?” Michael finally asked. “Perhaps we could house more Talents on the residential islands? The suites are quite large; couldn’t we put more people in each of them, beyond the standard capacity?”
Several council members quickly chimed in with their approval.
“I agree with Michael, Madame Chair—there simply must be other options on the Isle,” the Columbian delegate spoke up. “These refugees don’t need every creature comfort, they will be grateful for a place to lay their head and a warm meal. This is simply an interim solution of course, but it is far preferable to the alternative.”
Victoria smiled sadly. “Housing more Talents than the standard capacity of our residential floors has already been accounted for in the numbers. The cryptos used a myriad of factors to calculate the number of available spots on the Isle of Exile, including your proposed solution. Essentially, no one will have his or her own bedroom, let alone an entire apartment. Myself included. The islands will truly be at maximum capacity with another fifteen thousand citizens.”
Michael shook his head grimly. “I see.”
“Then let us vote on Proposition 2690,” Amberly said loudly. Her smoky gaze made a quick trip around the conference table, conviction emanating from her like a particularly pungent perfume. “It will reduce the number of those homeless innocents to just over four thousand.”
“I do not believe we have finished discussion of this matter, Councilwoman Azevedo,” Michael said.
“All this council does is talk. It is time we take action!” Alexi snapped, pounding his meaty fist on the table in front of him. The gesture lacked the punch it otherwise might have packed, since he was present only in holographic form. “I second the motion.”
Charlene shook her head. “We cannot make a decision of this magnitude rashly. You are asking this council to sanction the deaths of over four thousand people—”
“Criminals. They are convicted criminals, Charlene,” Amberly interrupted.
“Be that as it may, they are people. I, for one, am not comfortable authorizing their executions until we have discussed all other possibilities,” Charlene fired back, quickly becoming as annoyed as Amberly. “Surely all five thousand of those people aren’t violent offenders. All five thousand do not deserve to die for their mistakes.”
“Further discussion is pointless, a waste of our valuable time,” Alois Neumann interjected, waving his hand in the air dismissively. “In four days, the Joint Nations will vote in favor of renewing the Coexistence Treaty, just as they have done many times before. Failure might have been a concern a month ago, but our offensive actions have successfully combated the damage inflicted by the Created.”
“What is your point, Alois?” Ian demanded, drumming his fingers irritably on the table.
“That our decision will not matter,” Alois replied simply, as though the answer was obvious. “That more talking will do nothing but cause arguments between us. The minutes for these meetings are classified, so no one outside of this room will ever even know we considered executing prisoners. Let us vote now, and then we can all go about our daily business. Amberly has made a motion, Alexi has seconded it; the formalities are complete. Madame Councilwoman, will you kindly call for the vote?”
Victoria rubbed her temples wearily. Tempers were running hot, and patience was running short. The meeting had already taken up more time in Victoria’s day than she had to spare. Still, she did not think a vote was a good idea quite yet. Because Alois was wrong. The council’s decision on whether or not to execute the prisoners did matter. There was a fourteen percent chance that it would matter a great deal.
“What other alternatives, Michael?” Amberly demanded. “Where, besides Vault, can we place that many refugees? We are not magicians. We cannot conjure a new island overnight.” Amberly threw her arms up dramatically. “To me, it is simple: Innocents versus criminals. There is not room for both.”
“Not all of their crimes are severe,” Michael pointed out.
“And the refugees haven’t committed any crimes at all,” Amberly countered, smoky gray eyes flashing dangerously.
“What about only executing the dangerous prisoners, those with talents capable of causing grave harm?” Charlene asked, directing her question towards Victoria. “How many additional refugees would we be able to take if we limit the proposed action to those on Levels Four and Five?”
“Twenty-eight hundred,” Victoria rattled off the number from memory.
“That number is paltry compared to the five thousand spaces for innocents that would be freed up by executing all of the prisoners,” Amberly snapped, her accent thickening with every increment of anger. “Innocents. In the eyes of the law, and of each of your government’s justice workers, they have committed no crimes
and broken no laws. The nearly five thousand refugees we’re discussing are decent, hardworking individuals. They do not deserve to be left to intolerant jackals like the Poachers, not to mention the hate groups who will be out in droves for Talented blood. Honestly Charlene, can you sit there and say that convicted criminals have more of a right to clothing, food, shelter, and safety? Because, to me, your hesitancy on this issue says you do place more value on our prisoners’ lives than those of the refugees.”
Amberly leaned forward and stared unflinchingly around the long, oval table, meeting each set of eyes in turn.
Crane trained his midnight eyes on Victoria’s gold ones, his lips pursed in a grim expression. Victoria knew they were thinking the same thing: Amberly’s passionate arguments and careful word choice were helping many of the council members overcome their moral dilemmas.
The problem was, for the very first time in her life, Victoria Walburton did not know what the “right” decision was. She herself was uncertain. Though she’d made countless tough calls throughout her tenure as head of the UNITED council, Victoria had never once looked back and regretted those decisions. This time, Victoria knew she would regret whatever action UNITED took. Protecting some Talented came at the expense of destroying others. It was a no-win scenario.
“These are dark days for this organization, for the Talented, for the norms, and for the world as a whole,” Crane was saying. “The Joint Nations are about to vote on whether to banish an entire race of people. Now, you, Councilwoman Azevedo, are asking us, the very people tasked with protecting that race, to vote on k—”
Amberly leapt to her feet. “I am asking this council to vote to save innocent lives!” she roared. The claws literally came out, sprouting from Amberly’s nail beds with violent force. She raked them down the table, leaving deep groves in the wood. The Portuguese councilwoman turned the full force of her wrath on Ian Crane. Almond-shaped eyes narrowed to slits, glowing yellow irises peeking out from between heavily shadowed lids.
“You are too sentimental, my dear Ian.” Amberly’s voice was low and throaty. “It all comes down to one person for you, one criminal. You have no care for any of the other prisoners on Vault. You care only about the fate of one extremely dangerous little girl.”
The room fell silent on the heels of Amberly’s accusation. Several of the council members looked at Crane inquiringly, genuinely curious if he planned to vote against Proposition 2690 solely to protect a single person.
“Do you deny it?” Amberly charged. “Can you honestly say that you care what happens to anyone else on Vault?”
“Yes,” Crane replied evenly, refusing to rise to Amberly’s rage. “I agree with Councilman Tanaka. There is a wide range of laws in our society—from insubordination to assault, from simple theft to murder. Most of the prisoners committed relatively minor infractions, with very few convicted of violent offenses. All have been tried and sentenced justly. Now you want to just vacate the terms of those sentences? In favor of death sentences for all?”
“Natalia Lyons is a highly skilled assassin, capable of manipulating others to suit her own desires and killing with no remorse. When you combine those abilities with the crime of insubordination, it adds up to one of the most dangerous prisoners on Vault. That girl does not deserve your compassion or this council’s leniency,” Amberly bellowed. She slammed her palms on the table and leaned forward, whiskers erupting near the corners of her mouth like a bad case of teenage acne.
“Natalia Lyons has no bearing on this discussion,” Michael interjected. “This is not to be—”
“Natalia Lyons has every bearing on this decision if that is the only reason Ian is refusing to see logic,” Amberly fired back.
“Perhaps we are considering this too starkly in shades of black and white,” Charlene pointed out, striving for diplomacy despite the tigress sitting beside her. “Perhaps we should review each prisoner’s file, and make our decisions on a case-by-case basis.”
“There is not time to dissect five thousand prisoner files, it’s all or nothing.” Amberly hissed at Charlene before turning her ire back on Crane. “That girl has caused us too many problems already. You started a war for her, Ian. You dragged UNITED into that war. I will not let her influence another decision we make.”
“Now, Amberly,” Michael began pleadingly. “That is not fair. TOXIC needed to be dealt with, we all knew that. Ian and Agent Lyons merely provided us with cause to take action. And the means to do so, if you recall.”
“Enough!” Victoria declared, as she stood, unable to remain complacent for another moment. The situation was deteriorating before her eyes. If allowed to continue, Amberly was going to morph into a very corporeal lioness and attack Crane’s virtual image. “I had hoped we could all remain professionals as we face the most real threat to our existence we have ever known, but I will not sit idly by while you turn on each other. As Ian said, these are dark times for our kind. The decision we make here, today,” she punctuated the words with a finger jab to the table, cracking her last unbroken nail, “will follow this council for the rest of time. There is no ‘right’ choice. There is no ‘wrong’ choice. But we do have to make a choice.”
Starting with Amberly, Victoria met and held each council member’s eyes for several beats. She could not force them to vote one way or another, but she could make damned sure that they took pause before casting that vote.
“Councilwoman Azevedo has made a motion that we vote on Proposition 2690. Councilman Astakhov has seconded that motion. Are there any objections? Any need for further discussion of the proposition laid before this council?”
No one spoke, but several people shook their heads.
“Very well. In accordance with UNITED protocols, I, Victoria Walburton, head of the UNITED council, formally commence voting on Proposition 2690, put forth by Councilwoman Amberly Azevedo of Portugal. This proposition falls under our Imminent Threat protocols, therefore no council member may abstain from voting. Councilwoman Charlene Prinsloo of South Africa has proposed amending 2690 to provide for the executions of only Level Four and Level Five prisoners incarcerated on Vault, as opposed to the totality of the prison population. As head of the council, I hereby rule to include the amended version of 2690 as an alternative to a yay or nay vote on the proposition.”
Victoria paused to gauge the council members’ reactions to her last statement. Including the alternative option was a spur of the moment decision, but she thought the addition important, and possibly the best compromise.
“This will be an open vote,” Victoria continued calmly. “When I call your name, you will have three options: ‘yay’, indicating a vote for 2690 in its original incarnation; ‘nay’, indicating a vote against the entire proposition; or ‘amended’, indicating a vote in favor of Councilwoman Prinsloo’s addendums. Once again, abstention is not an option. Neither is elaboration. The time for discussion has concluded. Am I clear?” The UNITED council members nodded in unison. “Good. Councilwoman Amberly Azevedo, your vote, if you please?”
Unsurprisingly, Amberly voted in the affirmative.
From there, Victoria posed the same question to each of the remaining nineteen members of the council.
“Four votes in favor of passing the original proposal, eight votes in favor of passing 2690 with the amendments, and eight against the proposition altogether,” Victoria declared when she finished tabulating the votes.
“I suppose that means the decision is yours, Madame Councilwoman,” Michael Tanaka said quietly, his tone reverent.
As head of the UNITED council, Victoria only cast a vote when there was a tie.
In a way, it seemed as though her years in politics and her upbringing in an old, aristocratic family had all been practice for this very moment, for this very critical decision. Nothing she had done up until this point in her life or career, and nothing she would do afterwards, would be as heavily scrutinized and debated. She did not care whether people thought her weak or cruel. All that matte
red in her mind was that she could live with her choice.
Victoria took a deep breath, filling the hollow space inside of her with tense air.
“Amended,” she said quietly. “We will execute those on Levels Four and Five.”
The Privileged
Besançon, France
Four Days Before the Vote
“You are not focusing! Concentration is key! Again!” the woman’s disembodied voice snapped, her cold tone echoing in the small, sterile room.
Cressa Karmine’s hands trembled and she swayed on her feet. She was so tired. So painfully tired. If they would only let her rest, just lie down for a few minutes, she knew she could do better. She didn’t know how long she’d been inside the exam room—hours, if her level of fatigue was any indication. Using her abilities was exhausting, more strenuous on her muscles than any rigorous physical activity like running, rock climbing, or mountain biking.
“A-gain,” the voice repeated, carefully enunciating the single word as if Cressa was hard of hearing, or maybe just too dense to understand the command.
Cressa fought to keep her expression neutral, a simple act that was becoming increasingly harder the more time that passed. But she had to keep it together, had to make sure that the Dame knew she could handle this.
Though Cressa had yet to see the woman behind the Privileged, she knew for a fact that Dame de Glace was all-seeing. The wall panels, the ceiling tiles, even the floorboards were her eyes and ears; the Dame was always watching, always spying, always aware of everything that happened inside the Institut pour les Privilegies.
Sometimes Cressa believed the Dame’s powers went a step further; the woman knew things that went beyond the realm of possibility. It was as if she saw into the minds of her students and knew their innermost thoughts, their deepest desires, and their greatest fears.
