The Free Citizen

by T. J. Sedgwick

  His legs felt momentarily heavy as the elevator decelerated to a stop. The door slid aside. There was a lobby, through which the Secret Service men led Rae directly to an oak paneled office lined with books, fine art and with a huge, centuries-old desk as the focal point. The agents kept watch by the thick double doors behind Rae as he stood in front of the president’s desk holding his peaked cap. The flag of the American Union—twelve red and white stripes and a quadrant of dark blue with a single white star—hung limply behind the desk. To his left was a wood-paneled door. He eyed the spines of the hardcover books on the shelf behind the desk. The faded gold lettering on a stained red buckram spine read, 88 Precepts, David Lane. Beside it, a dark, leather-bound tome read, Mein Kampf, Adolf Hitler. Rae knew of this infamous book. Fixed to the spot, facing front, his eyes explored the private office of the president. He noticed how surgically clean the place was and how there was an overpowering smell of antiseptic. The worn leather top of the president’s desk looked slick as though it had been sealed with some transparent modern coating. Only three objects sat on desk: a black buckram-covered hardback, a crystal decanter filled with a clear liquid and a crystal tumbler sealed in vacuum packing. He found it curious that all three items were lined up precisely at a uniform distance a few centimeters from the nearest edge of the desk. The door swung open and in walked President White himself.

  Rae stood to attention.

  “Freedom Through Struggle! Hail the Renaissance!” recited Rae. No Hail President White, when in his presence, as was custom.

  The octogenarian with the bald head and white, trimmed beard looked three decades younger than Rae knew him to be. Late-twenty-first-century anti-aging kept time at bay for the tall, thin dictator. He was a legend to the brainwashed, an enduring symbol of tyranny to a man of free thought like Rae. Dressed in his usual all-white suit with red collarless grandfather-style shirt, he regarded Rae. His hawk-like blue eyes seemed to penetrate Rae’s soul through those trade-mark gold, wire-rimmed glasses.

  To Rae, the mortal before him seemed less impressive than the ubiquitous, curated images state media pedaled. He stood less tall, looked less distinguished, his jaw of middling strength and his Roman nose familiar, yet somehow diminished.

  “At ease, Captain Rae,” said the president, his mid-Atlantic accent gravelly and deep.

  The president extended his hand, but no smile overcame the tense, brooding visage. Rae allowed his own meatier palm to be overpowered by the dictator, submitting a respect he didn’t feel. That was when he felt the gossamer-thin glove covering White’s hand. Rae wondered if this was OCD or as a precaution against nerve-agent assassination.

  “Take a seat, Captain.”

  Rae sat down at the same time as White, who then shifted his gaze to the wood-paneled wall his left—Rae’s right. A rectangle of what had appeared to be oak paneling dissolved to reveal and large, embedded display. The screen flicked from a black background with the AU flag to a live feed of General Hood sitting in what looked to Rae like a conference room. Hood’s dark eyes were averted as if studying something on the desk, his brow furrowed, brushing his trimmed moustache with thumb and fore-finger. President White cleared his throat to get the general’s attention, who looked up with momentary surprise, but snapped straight to the mantra.

  “Freedom Through Struggle! Hail the Renaissance!” recited Hood in his Southern drawl.

  “Thank you for joining us, general.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  President White turned to Rae and regarded him for a second.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Captain. Your work is impressive. A true inspiration.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I knew you were the man for the job, Rae,” added General Hood.

  The president looked to Hood, nodding, a grin now exposing his perfect, overly-white teeth.

  “And as usual, your leadership has proven decisive in getting the right people for the right job. Full credit to you, General.”

  Hood nodded, beaming, his smile the first genuine one Rae had seen.

  “Your reward will be communicated to you by secure message, General,” said White with a curt nod.

  “You’re most generous, sir,” said Hood deferentially.

  The president now turned his attention back to Rae.

  “I needed to meet you, look you in the eyes,” he said, studying Rae, making him feel like a laboratory specimen. “You are one of my most important operatives. Instructing you personally for this and future missions brings you into my circle of trust.”

  “I’m honored, sir,” said Rae, playing along.

  He’d heard President White was a superstitious man and that one of his rituals was the need to look into people’s eyes. He’d also heard that White had his own network of operatives to do whatever personal bidding he wished outside of the military and intelligence command structure.

  President White opened a desk drawer, took out a case and opened it. A Presidential Citation Medal. A beautifully-crafted item, but not something Rae wanted from a man like White.

  “We appreciate what you did on the Erasmus, taking down the enemy station and, more importantly, retrieving ASTRA.”

  He snapped the case shut and put it back in the drawer.

  “But I believe in efficiency,” continued White. “So, I’ll schedule the award ceremony when you’ve earned your next one. I have a mission for you.”

  President White reached for the tumbler on his desk and tore open the vacuum wrapping before pouring what Rae guessed was water from the decanter. The old dictator took a sip as Rae eyed the decanter.

  “Stem-cell tonic, Captain,” explained White, taking another sip. “This tonic—along with strict cleanliness—keep age at bay.”

  “Mr President, may I ask a question?”

  “Please speak freely, Captain.”

  “Sir, about my wife, Cora…”

  She was never far from his thoughts, but he regretted the words as soon as they’d passed his lips.

  White put down his tumbler and raised his palm.

  “I’m aware of the consequence imposed on you. The decision can’t be reversed,” he said, his delivery cold and emotionless, a far cry from his on-screen persona. “We have expectations of our Citizens—and none so high as for elite members of our armed forces. Never forget that Citizens enjoy rights only by presidential prerogative. There must be consequences when expectations are not met. Remember that losing your wife to my colleague, Mr Young, is scant punishment for your crimes, Captain. Only through the intervention of General Hood were you spared from becoming Servile.”

  White and Hood both looked at him. He knew the script and had to start playing along again.

  “Thank you, general,” he said to Hood who acknowledged him with a sharp nod.

  “I have strong instincts and I feel you’re the right man for the next mission.”

  “Thank you, Mr President,” said Rae.

  “You see, making you Servile would be a great waste. It’s a trade-off: with Serviles you get obedience but give up creativity and complex problem solving. For that, we need Citizens. Anyway, no need to fret, Captain, Mr Young is a friend of mine, a good man. He will take care of Cora, so long as you are a loyal servant to the cause.”

  Rae quelled his anger, stayed passive, playing the role of faithful soldier.

  “Yessir.”

  “Good. We will be keeping a close eye on you, Captain Rae, because what I am about to tell you can only be entrusted to the most loyal of Citizens.”

  Too cynical to trust anyone fully.

  President White paused, then said, “Go ahead and tell him, General.”

  Hood nodded and said, “ASTRA is of strategic importance. It is an AI of unparalleled power, which is why we went to such great lengths to get it. It is pivotal in our fight against our enemies and the alien parasite they harbor. We don’t have the luxury of time now that Screamers are present on our territory. We have set the date for C-Day.
One month from now, on Christmas Day.”

  “C-Day, sir?”

  Can’t be C for Christmas.

  President White spoke.

  “C-Day. The Day of Cleansing,” said White grandly. “It will mark the beginning of a new era. This great union of American cities will take back control of our country and beyond. Our Citizens will inherit the Earth from those derelict in their duty to protect it and from those who would do us harm. We make hard choices in order to do good. History will judge us kindly. Continue, please General.”

  Rae shuddered.

  A war of extermination?

  General Hood continued, “Our enemies in the Democratic Alliance, Russia and China are strong. We cannot yet match their resources and military capability. We cannot sustain a war on multiple fronts. Not unless we do things differently. The only way to win such a conflict is with ASTRA. Only with ASTRA can we disrupt their defense networks. And to take down their defenses, we first need to win the cyberwar.”

  "And how do we do that?” said Rae.

  The old dictator eyed him for a moment, then cleared his throat, his eyes lost somewhere as he began to explain.

  “We all know of the received military doctrine that to prosecute a victorious war, the attacker must first win the cyberwar,” said President White.

  “It’s the only way to degrade an enemy’s military networks enough to stop mutually-assured destruction,” said General Hood.

  White nodded and continued, “The only destruction we want is on enemy territory—and even then, it’s their people we wish to eliminate, not their lands. World War Two ended with the fission bomb, and less than a decade later, both Cold War Superpowers had the hydrogen bomb. Mutually Assured Destruction—the understanding that during a full-scale nuclear exchange both sides would be annihilated. It has kept overt, full-scale global conflict in check ever since. ASTRA is a strategic weapon, an artificial intelligence that will win us the cyberwar.”

  “That’s right, Mr President,” said Hood. “It will prevent enemy weapons operating at the crucial moment, whether cyber, conventional or nuclear. Our prime objective is to thwart the strategic nuclear response that would otherwise surely come once the enemy is on the ropes and has no other option.”

  “So, in this way,” said President White, “for the first time in over a hundred-and-thirty years—the doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction no longer applies. ASTRA changes everything. Control ASTRA, win the cyberwar. Win the cyberwar and the enemy will kneel before us.”

  “And after we’ve taken down their defenses, sir?” said Rae, addressing the general, trying to remain emotionless.

  Hood paused, eyeing him, stroking his moustache, clearly mulling what to say as White looked on suspiciously. White nodded.

  “Go ahead, general,” said White.

  “You want to know, so I’ll tell you,” said Hood. “You’ll find out soon enough anyway. The nanite cure for the alien parasite Mr President announced during his address last week is real. It really does remove the threat, but somewhat differently to how he explained. We can’t prevent our enemies seeing public media broadcasts, so Mr President was forced to lie to the people in the national interest. The nanites will kill anyone without a functioning mindchip. Self-replicating and with a one-hundred percent fatality rate; only Citizens and Serviles will be spared.”

  Rae fought hard to maintain composure as the president observed him then began to laugh. Psychopathy seemed to run amok in the old dictator.

  “Smallpox has nothing on our nanites,” White said, his grin not waning. “And when we’ve cleansed mankind of the unworthy, our people will be all that’s left. As I said: it’s the enemy population we wish to eliminate, not their lands. Their lands will become our lands.”

  Rae swallowed in horror but said nothing. The long-feared World War III, a war of extermination. And he wanted Rae to help start it.

  Now more animated, White picked up his glass of stem-cell tonic and chugged it down before slamming it down on the desk.

  “My mother was killed when I was eight years old,” said White, gritting his teeth, his face flushing. “A pair of immigrants, filthy Illegals, invading our home as my father worked far away, laboring for a pittance, his wages depressed by the foreign workers flooding into the country.”

  He paused, awaiting Rae’s reaction but none came.

  White continued, “As I grew older, everywhere I found people like us, I saw good; yet everywhere I saw those we now dominate, I saw strife. It has been my life’s missions to dissolve the Fifth Column of Illegals that infiltrated the United States and to make permanent the measures to protect us. To protect us from them, those who would pollute our blood, those who seek to replace us! It is my duty as leader, Captain!”

  Rae swallowed hard, his heart thumping, his mind seething. Every part of him wanted to scream back the passionate rebuke he’d constructed in his mind. But he couldn’t.

  Stay calm, he told himself. Don’t give them a reason to suspect. Keep pushing for actionable intel.

  “And only a benevolent leader with full information can do his people justice.”

  President White caught his breath and observed Rae, waiting for a reaction.

  Rae nodded, hoping it enough to placate White and end his toxic diatribe.

  “Can I ask a question, sir?” he said, turning to General Hood on the display.

  “Go ahead,” said Hood.

  “What are the delivery vectors for the nanites, sir?”

  “There are several delivery methods,” said Hood. “Primarily, ballistic and cruise missiles in the first wave, followed up by Servile delivery—infiltrators and cross-border invasions. The build-up will soon be complete.”

  “If it’s self-replicating, why not just release it in the MOZ and let it multiply around the world like a virus?” said Rae.

  “You’d think so wouldn’t you,” said Hood, smirking. “But these are nanoscale machines and we’ve not yet perfected fully self-sustained transmission. Some of them die with their hosts, some don’t replicate with perfect fidelity. So, the upshot is we need to replenish the little critters in circulation. And beyond that, our engineers have designed them with limited persistence.”

  President White said, “This allows us to spare some enemy populations for Servile conversion. After all, our Servile breeding program cannot supply the global labor force we’ll need.”

  The Dictator’s perfect weapon in the hands of a monster.

  “Is there a cure or a way the enemy can stop the nanites?” said Rae, looking to White then Hood.

  “We believe not,” said Hood. “We lead the world in mass-produced neural implant technology—our enemies are playing catch-up but are nowhere near rolling out counter-measures across whole populations.”

  “What about biohazard suits?”

  White held up his hand, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Rae’s heart thudded hard in his chest.

  “You have a lot of questions, Captain. Best we get to your mission, eh?”

  “Of course, sir. What is my mission?” he said flatly, turning to the general.

  “ASTRA is currently located here, at the Central Bunker Complex under a granite mountain in the former Colorado,” said Hood, implying that was his current location. “The team has hooked ASTRA up, brought it online but its performance is lacking. Truth is, it’s no better than our own AI systems. On Erasmus, you unhooked it, you brought it back, and we know you spoke to Dr Muller. Come directly to the bunker complex and tell us everything you know.”

  President White said, “Don’t fail me, Captain. If you don’t get this working, then I’m afraid you may be re-tasked in an appropriate Servile capacity. Freedom Through Struggle. That is all, gentlemen.”

  “Freedom Through Struggle!” chanted Rae.

  “Freedom Through Struggle!” said Hood. “See you here soon, Captain Rae.”

  The display faded back to a perfect, seamless facsimile of the surrounding oak paneled wall.

 
Horror and anger at their inhumanity threatened to boil over. He turned his head slight left, then right, clocking the Secret Service agents in his peripheral vision. He could reach across the desk and break the dictator’s neck before they could react. White was the father of the revolution, the keystone that kept the Regime together. But was he really a keystone or was he the head of the hydra? Cut off the snake’s head and another will grow back. General Hood would become president, White would be martyred and the whole genocidal plot would happen anyway. Rae would get out of the White House alive but only so they could spend a lifetime torturing him in punishment. The Regime’s spite knew no bounds. No, if he was going to sacrifice himself, he had to stop the global genocide. Or die trying.