Southern Republic (The Downriver Trilogy Book 1)

by Ramsay, Lex

  Now she didn’t care to engage in the psychological warfare that usually defined the auction environment. She didn’t really care if she scored the horses or not.

  As the afternoon wore on, her mind was cluttered with thoughts of Daniel. Where had it gone wrong, she wondered. What had she done? What phantoms of his past had reared up to confront him? Or was it the specter of a future with Olivia that had caused him to run from her as if his hair were on fire?

  Eventually, Olivia became exhausted by her recriminations. She won one bid and lost the other and honestly didn’t care about either outcome.

  She listlessly hailed a cab to the train station, her bag in hand, and brooded all the way to Union Station.

  Boarding the train, she looked around hopefully on the platform, praying that Daniel would come to her at last. She had dared believe that whatever had come between them at the hotel would have evaporated in the light of day and that Daniel would have met her at the auction.

  Failing that, she’d convinced herself that just as in the tawdry romance novels she’d read as a child, Daniel would miraculously appear on the train platform, professing his undying devotion as the train pulled out of the station.

  It hadn’t happened. Not the dramatic entrance at the auction house, and not the poignant reunion at the train station. Daniel knew she was leaving, and he didn’t care.

  Because of the sleepless night she’d endured at the hotel, the rhythmic motion of the train mercifully lulled Olivia to sleep, and she slumbered the entire trip back to Enrico County.

  • • •

  The trains. It all depended on the trains. Patrick had staved off depression over his failed tryst with Olivia by jumping head first into his work. He had spent the last 24 hours without sleep, going over what he knew about E-Day again and again.

  And every time Patrick considered all the angles, it kept coming down to the same thing. The trains.

  The Assembly was going to use the trains to distribute the S-18 to massacre the slaves. And after pondering the issue for weeks, Patrick had arrived at a plan—Patrick would use the trains to engineer a massive escape.

  Patrick had studied the engineering specs on the four types of train cars run on the S.R.’s high-speed lines. One was a passenger rail system that used less than 15% of the scheduled trains on a daily basis. Another was the traditional boxcar, for transport of bulk goods or heavy machinery; and they used about 25% of capacity. The third type was the livestock carrier, which used less than 10% of capacity.

  But the fourth type of train car was the container, used to ferry everything from tobacco, cotton, sugar and rice to milk, gasoline and chemicals. The containers used 50% of the entire system’s capacity, and were sanitized between loads at the urban center destinations. They were well ventilated, climate controlled and spacious—perfect for Patrick’s purposes.

  Patrick had also learned that once unloaded at the urban centers, the empty cars were sent back to the protectorates where they waited overnight until loaded for the return trip. Based on the schedules Patrick had accessed, the earliest return left at noon, with the latest leaving at 2:20 P.M., in order to allow the protectorates to get their products loaded for the return trip.

  Tapping into the S.R.’s Missouri computer control center, Patrick determined that the basic functions of the trains—climate control, sanitization mechanisms, train routes, departures, docking at destinations—were controlled via satellite transmission originating from the central computer. He started designing a rudimentary program to co-opt the control of the trains, and configured a masked command to be inserted into the Missouri control center to activate the ghost program.

  It would be complicated, but if Patrick could find a way to get the slaves onto the trains at the depots, he thought he could manipulate the automatic routing system and deliver the slaves to border cities, where R.A. operatives could rescue them.

  As improbable as it seemed, Patrick could think of no other way, short of raising an army and invading the S.R., to save the slaves from mass murder.

  He spent the next several hours refining the programs necessary for his plan, going from the schematics and specifications for the trains, to the programs already in place for their control.

  Excited at the prospect of finally developing a workable plan, Patrick composed an email outlining his ideas, installed the latest encryption protocol, and sent it to Relic.

  • • •

  Relic called him within five minutes, his voice unable to disguise his excitement.

  “The plan is brilliant, Watcher, just brilliant.” Relic exclaimed.

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” Patrick said, somewhat taken aback by Relic’s response. “It needs a lot of work.”

  “Those are just details. The basic idea, though, is inspired! I knew you’d come up with something. Have you mapped out the schedules of the targeted trains for each protectorate?” Relic asked.

  “I’ve identified the optimal range of departure times, yes, but … as long as we get the slaves out before E-Day …” Patrick let his sentence trail off.

  “But can you pin it down to the exact trains you want to use for each protectorate, Watcher?” Relic pressed his point.

  “Until I can figure out how to get the slaves to the depots, Relic, I don’t see how I can be more precise.” Patrick replied.

  “Well, can you aim at having the slaves transported out on specific trains, and then work your way backward from there?’ Relic asked.

  “That’s the problem, though, doing it that way’s kind of backward, don’t you think? I mean, as long as we get them out in time, what difference does it make? We’ll have to make arrangements for the slaves to be picked up at their destinations, but that’s on the back end. I’ve got some ideas about that … I was thinking …”

  Relic interrupted him “…Okay, well, do you have any idea of how many of the slaves you’ll be able to get out?”

  “Again, that will depend on our success at getting them to the depots. The containers can hold up to 200 people apiece … they’re huge. Most of the trains hauling the containers are a couple hundred cars long … we could move up to 40,000 per train.” Patrick explained.

  “Our intelligence over the last few years has shown that aside from a few massive protectorates, most have somewhere between 200,000 and 300,000 slaves, with the vast majority being field workers.” Patrick said.

  “If we can get 50 to 60% out through the trains, I’d consider it a success. I have a few other thoughts about how to protect the rest of them.” Patrick finished

  “When can you get me the exact schedule of the trains you want to use, Watcher?” Relic asked.

  Patrick listened to Relic, and detected a strange, almost frantic note in his colleague’s voice. At first he thought the edge he heard was excitement as the plan, however undeveloped, was coming together. Now, hearing the desperation in Relic’s tone, and reflecting on the strangeness of the entire conversation, Patrick knew something was wrong.

  “I’ll get back to you.” Patrick said abruptly and ended the call.

  Patrick sat pondering the conversation for several minutes. He was torn between his previously unquestioned loyalty to Relic, and his feeling that Relic was not telling him something that was vital to his mission.

  Relic was too fixated on pinning him down to a precise timetable and the identity of particular trains for mere curiosity. And a note of near panic had crept into his voice as it became clear that Patrick’s plan was still too unformed to give Relic the information he needed. That was the bottom line, Patrick realized, Relic had needed the information about the trains. Needed it for what purpose, Patrick wondered, or more precisely, for whom.

  Some instinct—probably just his natural tendency to introduce a concept in broad strokes rather than in minute detail—had told him not to reveal the plan to take over control of the trains in his email to Relic, and an even stronger instinct had warned him not to divulge his full plan during their surreal c
onversation. Now Patrick was glad he had been so cautious.

  Although he had long vowed never to use his arsenal of “spyware” on his R.A. contacts, Patrick had to know if his suspicions were right. He found himself breaking his “cardinal rule” for the second time in as many weeks, without remorse.

  Patrick swiveled his chair around to his bank of computers, started calling up his favorite stealth programs, and went to work.

  CHAPTER 26

  ‌Olivia arrived back at the Protectorate House, stepped out of the car her father had sent for her at the train depot, and walked straight into her mother –- just about the last soul on Earth she would have chosen to encounter.

  Eugenia was all-aflutter about something having to do with Winston, exactly what, Olivia couldn’t tell.

  “Olivia, I need to talk to you. Askew has been completely barbaric to little Winston and has said some absolutely unforgivable things about him. And I want to know why!”

  Olivia looked at her mother. She was too weary and heart sore to engage Eugenia just now. She turned, and without uttering a syllable, walked into the Protectorate House.

  She walked past her father sprawled in a chair in the parlor, looking as if he’d passed out. She didn’t care.

  Straight up to her room she went, ignoring everyone she encountered along the way. She sat in her room, thinking about Daniel for too long, until she finally decided that whatever had led him to act as he had, she couldn’t puzzle out why, and she just couldn’t stand moping around here trying to figure it out.

  She remembered that she had bigger fish to fry—her commitment to the R.A., for one. Heading down the hall to the control room, having no reason to fear discovery by her father, Olivia picked the lock and synced up to the system’s email, vid-phone and link with her e-tablet. Quickly downloading the transmissions from the last three days, Olivia retraced her steps, re-locked the control room door and slipped back down the hall to her room.

  There she reviewed what she’d missed while she was gone. A couple of messages from the secretary of the Angels of Mercy reminding the members of an upcoming meeting, a message from Allenby’s confirming her successful bid from the auction. Olivia scrolled through the mundane messages quickly, then came upon one that sparked her interest—an encrypted email message from the Confederacy Department of Agribusiness to her father. Olivia had to search through a series of encryption protocols before being able to read the message informing her father that the timetable for Project Exodus had been accelerated to the end of October—October 29 to be exact.

  Reading on, she saw a message from Em on her private mailbox. It looked like it had been sent just after she left Atlanta for D.C.

  Olivia used the encryption software again to decode the message. According to the email, Em had found out how the Assembly was going to explain the deaths of the slave population to the rest of the world—as a failed R.A. plot to free the slaves en masse.

  Olivia dialed the cell phone number Watcher had given her on their last call, and waited for the connection to be made.

  • • •

  Sulla watched from the parlor as Olivia stormed up the stairs, nearly colliding with her maid Lily as she hurried down to collect Olivia’s bag from the car. Something about Olivia’s distracted air made Sulla curious.

  Giving Olivia a few seconds lead-time, she slipped up the stairs after her and watched her close the door to her bedroom. Silently stepping past Olivia’s bedroom door, Sulla crept into her own room and closed the door with a soft click. Standing on the other side of her door, Sulla waited patiently for what she suspected would be Olivia’s next move.

  In less than five minutes, Sulla heard Olivia’s door open. Cracking open her door mere inches, Sulla watched as Olivia strode down the hall and went directly to the control room. After a few seconds of jiggling the lock the way she’d done before, she opened the door and stepped inside.

  Thinking that Olivia’s boldness was catching, Sulla surprised herself by walking straight up to the control room and pressing her ear against the door. First, she heard tapping noises. Sulla had never been in the control room, and wouldn’t have been able to identify any of the tech inside even if she had, but the tapping, coming as it was from the one room in the entire house that was off-limits to everyone except the Protector himself, had a sinister sound to it.

  Sulla heard the sounds of movement from inside the control room, and frantically checked the hallway around her instinctively fearing for a moment that the sound signaled her discovery.

  Just as Olivia started to open the door, Sulla grabbed the doorknob of Protector Askew’s bedroom next door and opened it slightly. She managed to calm herself and think up a lie just as Olivia came out of the control room, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Olivia jumped at the sight of Sulla, then quickly regained her composure.

  “What are you doing skulking around up here?” Olivia said accusingly.

  Sulla turned her head toward Olivia, having changed the angle of her body to make it look like she had just come out of Protector Askew’s room, and hadn’t seen Olivia leave the control room.

  Adopting her most innocent expression, Sulla looked at Olivia and wrinkled her brow as if in confusion.

  “Why, I turned down Protector Askew’s bed for him, Miss Olivia, the same as I always do. He looked uncomfortable napping downstairs in that chair, so I thought I’d prepare his bed so his valet could bring him upstairs.”

  “Well, see that it’s done and stop dallying around here, Sulla.” Olivia snapped as she walked back down the hall to her bedroom.

  Sulla had to bite her tongue to stop herself from saying “yes ma’am,” since that would be altogether out of character and sure to raise Olivia’s suspicions further.

  Sulla knew whatever Olivia was up to, it was something she had no business messing in, and clearly she hadn’t wanted her father to know. She was torn between snooping further and the fear of getting caught. She knew Olivia was up to no good, but she had hardly recovered from the icy fear that had settled on her when she thought she’d been detected just a moment ago.

  Taking a deep breath, and weighing the chance to get rid of Olivia once and for all against her still fresh terror, Sulla softly walked down the hall to Olivia’s bedroom, stopping just outside the door.

  As she approached her door, Sulla heard Olivia gasp. Now she heard Olivia’s voice, sounding more urgent than she’d ever heard it. Sulla strained to hear through the door but could only make out a few words. It sounded like Olivia said she “heard” something-something “contact” something-something-something “aray.” Olivia started whispering furiously then, but Sulla couldn’t make out anymore. Certain that Olivia was going to catch her once again, and knowing that another lie would do her no good this time, Sulla walked back down to Protector Askew’s bedroom to fold down the bed as she was supposed to have been doing all along.

  Sulla hummed to herself as she pulled back the coverlet of the bed she had shared with her lover too many times to count. Her reverie was abruptly interrupted by the realization of what she’d heard Olivia saying in the control room. It wasn’t “aray,” it was “R.A.”

  Now it was Sulla’s turn to gasp. As cut off from the outside world as they were, every slave knew what the R.A. was … but what was Olivia doing talking about the R.A., and who could she have been talking to?

  Sulla folded back the sheet at one corner and plumped up the pillows, her mind turning to how she could use this latest information to secure her position, ten-year rule or not.

  With a small smile of satisfaction tugging at the corners of her well-formed mouth, Sulla thought she had figured out a way to ensure just that. She had a solution to the “Problem with Olivia.”

  CHAPTER 27

  ‌The cell phone rang on the nightstand next to Patrick’s bed, where he had taken refuge in depression and despair after crashing from his marathon work session. First, he had crushed the life out of the only love he would ever know
, even as it toddled in its infancy. While he was dismally ashamed of his behavior with Olivia—both in allowing himself the freedom to feel, and in not allowing himself the freedom to overcome his demons—he was even more distraught over the discovery of the treachery that had engulfed the R.A.

  Rolling toward the nightstand to turn the annoying device off, Patrick saw that it was Olivia, and cringed with remorse. “Get over it, man,” he thought, recognizing that it wasn’t “Olivia” trying to call Patrick, but “Rebel” trying to make contact with “Watcher.” And Watcher had to answer.

  Picking up the voice modifier and pulling its elastic band over his head while placing the disc on his throat, Patrick took one, deep, rejuvenating breath in order to slip, chameleon-like, into character.

  “Talk to me.” Patrick answered.

  “Watcher, this is Rebel, I just got back from my trip … you were right, no one tried to stop me from doing anything … and I got a message from my contact … they’re going to blame it all on the R.A. … the Assembly … it’s all a set-up …” Olivia forced the words out at a hitching pace, as if overwhelmed by the very thought of the scheme, much less the scheme itself.

  “Hold on, Rebel, say again. Start from the beginning and speak slowly.” Patrick said, trying hard to keep from leaping on the half-heard revelation and spiraling out into the stratosphere himself.

  “Okay. My contact at the Domestic Products Committee put out some feelers on Project Exodus. And I just got an email from … my contact … saying that the Assembly was duping the R.A. into trying to rescue the slaves, and then somehow they’ll blame the mass murders on the R.A.”

  Patrick felt dizzy as his mind relentlessly made connection after connection, slapping one piece after another in place like the dominoes game he’d seen escaped slaves play called “bones.” It was several moments before Patrick could even speak.