Elite Nation: Book One

by H. A. Rockley

  White marble statues of two women, wearing gossamer, flank the doors on either side, erected on white marble pedestals, surrounded by dense green hedges and white and pink orchids. One poses with healing hands outstretched to the guests that enter with a soft face, caring and welcoming. The other stands with an air of authority, tablet in her hands with the words: ‘With the Elite Reign, Only then can The World Survive. So Pledge Your Loyalty to The Elite.’ An Uroburos of the Founding Family sits above the inscription.

  Entering the heavy brass doors, Ari is met immediately by two service girls who seem similar in age to her. One is much shorter than the other, shaved head with almost invisible blonde eyebrows and lashes. Her skin looks almost transparent, like she has never set foot outside the walls of this building. The other, taller with mouse-brown eyebrows and freckles across her small nose and cheeks, greets Ari by name as they usher her inside. Both have cold dejected eyes that stare at Ari, unblinking.

  As far as she can remember, Ari does not think she has ever been here, yet she has a sense of déjà vu. The white walls and floors, though not the same crisp white as inside the Centre, seem somehow familiar.

  Slowly, she is led to a padded chair in a room towards the back of the building, sitting amongst a row of at least ten that are identical. As she is seated, the service girls immediately shackle her hands, feet and head to the padded chair. Ari’s heart starts to pound and she feels the need to break free, recalling what the other girls had said that morning about ‘defective’ service girls being ‘restored’ or ‘destroyed’.

  ‘Is this really necessary?’ Ari chokes out.

  As if in response to her question, cold gel is applied to her temples and without warning both service girls point a metal probe to each side.

  Suddenly, she is on fire.

  Her head is exploding.

  Her muscles and joints cry out in agony as her body tries to contort around the shackles that keep her strapped to the chair.

  Just as quickly as it had begun, it stops.

  ‘Who do you serve?’ asks the transparent girl, her voice hollow.

  ‘What..?’ Ari does not feel her consciousness has been fully restored. She is confused. Wasn’t she coming here to have her healing powers restored?

  The girls place the probes back to her temples, and again her body is on fire, head exploding, body arching and aching.

  It stops.

  ‘Who do you serve?’ they ask again, in unison, an echo.

  ‘I.. I don’t understand. I’m here to get my healing power-.’

  The probes set her on fire again, she feels she might not survive this. Maybe this is how people like her are destroyed in The Republique.

  ‘Who do you serve?’

  An image of a woman with a tablet proclaiming servitude to those above flashes to the front of her mind.

  ‘..The. The Elites,’ Ari manages to spit out between gasps, tears streaming down her face.

  ‘And what of yourself, and others like you?’

  ‘I mean nothing. They mean nothing,’ Ari spits out. ‘It is our destiny to serve The Elites and only The Elites. This is the only way The New World can survive.’ The words roll off her tongue so easily, and though she knows she has said these words many times before, this time she knows she does not mean it.

  The transparent girl straightens her white pressed uniform, turns from Ari and clicks on the Communicator on her wrist. ‘It is done,’ she says to person on the other end, ‘She has been restored to new.’

  After a brief pause, she nods once and clicks the Communicator off. She nods to her taller companion who then unshackles Ari.

  ‘Do not let us see you too soon again, Arielle,’ says the taller girl, as Ari stands upright, limbs shaking, heart pounding. She keeps her face neutral, trying not to reveal the lie she just told.

  As she leaves the Restoration Unit, it takes everything in her power not to run and hide herself in her Quarters. What just happened? Has this been done to her before?

  Feeling violated, Ari glances once more towards the brass doors and white marble statues before taking in a steadying breath and heading back towards the Centre.

  ◆◆◆

  As she sits on her bed in her quarters, Ari recounts the events at The Restoration Unit. Memories of the torture start to flood back. But these are not memories from today - these are memories, occurring countless times over the past years. What did they do to her? Why try erase her memories, her emotions? They were trying to get her to lose herself as an individual, serve only those of higher rank.

  And they succeeded. For she cannot remember anything of her life before she came to be at The Holly-Oaks Centre and The Rebuplique. She knows she wasn’t born here. After all, only the Elites were born in The Rebuplique and other cities like it.

  Does she have a family?

  Do they know she is here, forced into servitude to The Elites?

  Brainwashed and not knowing who she really is?

  Are they still alive?

  Are they also here in The Republique?

  Thoughts continue to swirl and all of a sudden Ari feels she might lose her mind with the thousands of unanswered questions flooding her mind. She stands and straightens out her white uniform, deciding to clear her mind and walk down to The Greenhouse before heading to the mess hall for dinner. The flowers there always seemed to have a calming effect on her.

  ◆◆◆

  Following the white brick path from the Centre, Ari stops abruptly. The Greenhouse is glowing bright in the night sky, under the flower dome.

  Strange - at this time it is usually empty.

  The Greenhouse is where the Fountain of Youth flowers are cultivated - but this only happens during the day, where the service men and women can be watched by the Guards incase any of them have the audacity to try and steal them. Ari finds they help her feel stronger, and must somehow add to her healing gift.

  As she approaches the glowing glass, she slows down. Something tells her she should stay out of sight.

  ‘For five pounds of Fountain of Youth, I can pay you five billion bullion - that’s one billion per pound,’ a male voice croons amongst the golden flowers.

  Most of the sweet-smelling flowers have opened, stamens bright blue and glowing in the iridescent light of the moon. Amongst the Fountain of Youth, sit other blooms, not as sought after but still beautiful to Ari - pink and white orchids, orange lilies, red and yellow roses. Many are used in the making of the various beauty and youth balms used at the Centre and some are even used in medicine concoctions sold at the Pharmacies near by.

  Ari quickly ducks behind a bubbling fountain - tall and broad, copper almost completely oxidised to green-blue, including the figure of a naked woman holding a vessel spilling water into the recesses below.

  ‘They are not for sale, Monsieur Chavez,’ says Matron, as she sweeps past Ari, who crouches closer to the ground. Her robes tonight are gold like the flowers she holds onto so preciously.

  ‘I know you are in financial trouble,’ Monsieur Chavez says with a smirk, and a slight twist of the end of his greying moustache. Seeing his face fills Ari with a rage that she has never felt before. She imagines him hurting and defiling her innocent friend. He is the reason she was almost incinerated into ash and the reason she has been sold to a brothel.

  Looking down at her hands clenched into fists, nails drawing blood from her palms, she closes her eyes and slows her breathing.

  ‘Be calm,’ she tells herself.

  ‘Everyone in The Republique is in financial trouble,’ shrugs Matron, ‘Especially with so many untimely deaths and the drying up of our precious resources.’

  ‘Some are doing better than others,’ smiles Monsieur Chavez, ‘Like me - given I supply the weapons to The Military of the Founding Family that keep us all in power.’

  ‘They are not for sale,’ Matron says again, this time with a more irritated tone. ‘If everyone suddenly had access to the Fountain of Youth, what use would my services be
? Good day to you sir.’ She sweeps past the fountain, robes trailing behind her round frame, and ample bottom. Ari quickly ducks out of view, white uniform now completely covered in dirt.

  Monsieur Chavez chuckles to himself as he smells the golden flowers in front of him, blue stamens tickling the end of his hooked nose.

  Ari waits with bated breath for him to follow after the Matron.

  But he doesn’t. He continues to linger behind, smelling the flowers.

  ‘What is your name?’

  Ari freezes.

  He knows she’s there. She sits still, thinking if she does not respond he may be talking to someone else. Someone she cannot see.

  ‘Service-wench,’ he calls again with a playful tone, ‘Why do you spy on me?’

  Ari desperately looks around for an escape. The Greenhouse doors are only a few meters away. But Monsieur Chavez now stands between her and the doors.

  She stands, fists clenched, ready to meet her fate. Her boot kicks something in the dirt. Looking down she sees a pair of large bladed secateurs half buried in soil. Slowly inching towards it, she keeps her eyes locked on the gangly man in front of her. His grey painted face is twisted into a slimy grin, as he looks her up and down, one hand in his left trouser pocket, the other fiddling with his bright yellow tie.

  He looks out of place in the greenhouse with his manicured nails, painted face like a wax-figure, and purple pinstripe suit, down to his shiny green and brown shoes.

  ‘What is your name,’ he asks again, inching closer.

  ‘Arielle,’ she whispers.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn't quite catch that, poppet.’

  ‘Arielle,’ she says again, this time with indignation.

  ‘Well, Arielle,’ he says, licking his pink painted lips. ‘What should we do with you? Spying.’ He clicks his tongue, ‘It simply cannot go unpunished.’

  Lunging forwards, the horrid man tackles Ari to the leave-covered floor. Her head hits the cold dirt and for a second she is dazed, as he tries to hitch up the hem of her skirt. Without thinking, Ari grabs the nearby secateurs and plunges the blades into the body on top of her, eyes closed.

  She yells as she picks up the blades and strikes and strikes again - blood splattering her face and body.

  Everything is quiet.

  The old man rolls off onto The Greenhouse floor.

  Looking down to see her hands covered in blood, Ari is shocked, dropping the secateurs. She stands, body shaking, gazing on the scene before her.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘What have I done? What have I done?!’ She cries, as she looks upon the grey, sallow face of the man that hurt her friend, eyes staring, unblinking at the night sky above.

  His body, now appearing frail in bony decay, is slowly engulfed in a pool of thick, red blood.

  Shaking, Ari runs.

  She runs as fast as her shaking legs will take – unsure where to but certain she needs to get away from The Greenhouse. It is past curfew so most of the service workers will be in their quarters.

  Running through the white halls, blood specks taint the floors.

  Ari runs towards her quarters, head down, and is momentarily stunned, as she comes up against something in her path. Unable to steady herself, Ari falls backwards, hitting her head on the floor with a loud thud.

  Dazed, she looks up to see a dark-clad figure standing above her, bow drawn. Slowly, she lifts her hands up in surrender. ‘I.. I didn't mean to kill him,’ she rasps, face now feeling stiff with the dried blood of her vanquished foe.

  ‘Kill who?’ asks the masked figure.

  ‘Monsieur Chavez,’ she whispers.

  The dark figure keeps his bow aimed at Ari’s shaved head. ‘Who do you serve?’ he asks.

  ‘I..,’ Ari hesitates, not knowing how to answer but deciding on the truth. ‘No-one, I don’t serve anyone.’

  The dark figure drops the bow. ‘Prove it. Prove he is dead.’

  ‘What?’ she asks, still sprawled on the floor, white uniform caked with dirt and blood.

  ‘Prove Monsieur Chavez is dead.’

  Perplexed at this request, Ari nods, and the masked figure extends a gloved hand. He pulls her up off the floor. Feeling like this may be a trap, Ari looks around for the Sub-Elite Guardsmen.

  All is clear.

  ‘They’re all dead,’ says the masked figure, in response to her unasked question, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the hall up ahead.

  Without a word, Ari moves back towards The Greenhouse, the masked and hooded figure following close behind, bow and arrow trained on her back.

  ‘Do not try to flee,’ he says, ‘Escape is futile.’

  She nods, body feeling cold and numb. This must be a dream.. a nightmare. She will wake up soon and it’ll all be over, she reassures herself.

  ◆◆◆

  Before long, they come across the lifeless body of Monsieur Chavez, stiff and contorted in the now congealed pool of blood.

  The masked figure kneels down towards the body, and with an ungloved hand, places two fingers to the neck of the dead man. He stands, and looks towards Ari.

  ‘Why?’ he asks.

  Ari looks up into the piercing hazel eyes before her. ‘It was an accident,’ she implores.

  ‘It was rage,’ the dark figure suggests, eyebrows lifting.

  ‘He hurt my friend,’ Ari admits, no longer able to look the masked-man in the eyes.

  ‘You have friends?’ asks the dark figure, eyebrows rising higher into his hood.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ari asks confused and slightly offended. Of course she has friends. Well - a friend.

  ‘Your kind,’ he tries to explain, ‘you serve The Elite. You are not allowed friends. You are not allowed emotions, feelings, memories. Am I wrong?’

  ‘I have emotions and feelings..’ Ari trails off, even if she’s only really noticed them since yesterday.

  ‘Clearly,’ says the masked figure, gesturing to the dead body in front of them.

  ‘Are you going to kill me?’ asks Ari, no hint of fear in her eyes. Arms and fists by her side. The masked figure chuckles but says no more. He re-sheathes his arrow and slings the bow over his shoulder. ‘Well, are you?’ Ari asks again.

  ‘Do you want me to?’ offers the masked figure.

  ‘I’d rather you get it over with.’ says Ari, stoically. The masked figure chuckles again, and turns on his heel to leave, leaving Ari staring at the body of the hundred year old on the ground of The Greenhouse. ‘Wait!’ Ari yells, following after the masked figure. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘To continue the rest of my mission,’ he says, moving towards the edge of the flower dome, concealed amongst the foliage of the fir trees.

  Ari continues to follow him. ‘Mission?’

  ‘Correct,’ says a voice amongst the trees.

  ‘That’s why you’re here?’ Ari asks, between breaths, as she struggles to keep up with the long strides of the hooded figure ahead of her.

  ‘I was sent here to assassinate Monsieur Chavez,’ he states. ‘As well as his wife and advisors at his Weaponry factories.’

  Ari continues to follow him for a while in silence; the only sound the crunching of their boots on the ground below.

  ‘Why are you following me?’ he asks, without stopping.

  ‘I can’t stay here,’ explains Ari, ‘they’ll send me to The Incinerator for what I did.’

  ‘Not my problem,’ shrugs the dark figure, moving amongst the trees like smoke in a bushfire.

  ‘But I helped you!’ Ari shouts from behind.

  The shadowy figure whips around, taking Ari by the arm, ‘keep your voice down,’ he seethes. ‘This place is patrolled by Elite Guards.’

  ‘But I helped you - with your..mission,’ she says again, whispering. ‘So, now I need you to help me escape.’

  ‘Escape to where?’ a disembodied voice says. Ari can hardly make out the figure in front of her this deep into the thick trees.

  ‘I don’t know - out of he
re.’

  There is a long pause. ‘Fine,’ a voice whispers in the distance. ‘This way.’

  ◆◆◆

  As they make their way to the edge of the trees, the shadowy figure suddenly stops and Ari almost slams into his back. He grazes his boot on the ground in front, clearing the bracken and leaves, exposing a small man-hole cover, glistening slightly in the moonlight above and reflection of the nearby edge of the glass dome. He bends down to lift the heavy cover and without warning, slips inside.

  Staring at the tunnel now snaking underground, Ari hesitates, unsure if she can trust this person leading her away from the only life she's known. She looks back to the trees towards The Holly-Oaks Centre. Shaking her head, she follows after him, climbing down into the darkness below.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The underground sewage system of The Republique is dark and dank with smells of rotting flesh.

  Ari races after the hooded figure who is now meters in front, wading through the pool of water surrounding her ankles. She tries not to inhale, the smell making her nauseous and light-headed.

  ‘So, what’s your deal?’ asks her masked companion.

  Confused, Ari replies, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘People like you - you don't think for yourselves, you're forced into servitude to those Elite bastards.’ The masked figure stops at an intersection. Ari sure hopes he knows where he’s going.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she admits. ‘I just changed. I no longer felt the subservience they expected. And I started thinking for myself.’ They take the dark path to the right and continue on in silence for a while.

  ‘Maybe it has to do with you losing your friend,’ offers the hooded assassin.

  Ari thinks on this for a while. It could be possible that the harm and loss of her friend changed the way her brain was being re-wired by those at the Holly-Oaks Centre. ‘What do you know about people like me?’