This was nonsense, of course and Joniver knew it simply by considering the physics involved. Recalling the stories he had heard from Nana and the legends from others, he did not doubt the building had a domed roof painted gold. Bits of the gold could still be seen in the roof of the patched structure. The weight of the gold needed for a roof, however, was more than he estimated the building’s walls and foundations could support. The gold story was another company lie designed to reinforce with people how much better they have it now with the company in charge. And from Joniver’s observations, there were indeed some company employees who had it very well. Probably much better off than they would have had it in the days of the gold domed roof.
The van moved smoothly through the pockmarked streets. Electric company cars rode on spherical tires made by a company division called Goodyear. The tires looked like big versions of a child’s ball. Inside, however a computer controlled magnetic system synced with the vehicle, varying the pulse strength and direction of the magnetic field. A vehicle equipped with such a system could travel in any direction, forwards, backwards, sideways, or at any angle. The control was so advanced the car could move from traveling forward to moving sideways at a 90 degree angle almost in an instant, limited only by the laws of magnetics and momentum. Cars and vans moved across the asphalt and concrete streets with little concern for the poor road conditions emphasized by frequent pot-holes and the disjointed surface. The driver’s main concern was not to go so fast as to cause the spherical tires to lose magnetic lock with the car’s controllers. When magnetic lock was lost, the car would drop to the asphalt, and the spherical tires rolled on, as if pushed by a giant child.
The van pulled into its marked space, then moved sideways to align its opening with the holding cell inside the building. The back doors slid open synchronously with the interior doors and Joniver was greeted there by the two Guardsman who had taken him earlier.
“You’ll wait in this area, and we’ll walk you up the hall in a moment,” the short one said, as Joniver walked into the building. “Jon, can I get you anything while you wait?”
“A ride home?” he said. “And my name is Joniver, not Jon.”
“Right,” the Guardsman said. “I’ll remember."
“Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”
The taller one grabbed his arm and threw him against the wall. The shorter one pushed his way between them and glared at his partner. He turned his head and looked at Joniver.
“Would you like a bottle of water or something to eat?”
“Water would be good,” Joniver said, half under his breath, as he pushed the Guardsmen’s hands from off his shoulder.
The Guardsman who had asked - Joniver had taken to referring to him mentally as Shorty - brought him a bottle of water. Joniver noticed this was not the bottled water to which he was accustomed.
The water was in a plastic bottle, but the plastic felt noticeably thicker and heavier, and it did not make the crinkly sound when he flexed its sides in his hand. The water itself tasted better as well. In fact, Joniver was amazed by the taste.
“Wow,” he said, as he brought the bottle’s edge back from his mouth, not intending anyone to hear.
Both Guardsmen chuckled. This was not the first time they had witnessed such a reaction.
“Come on, New Boy,” the tall one said. “Oh, I am sorry, I mean, Joniver.”
Joniver thought of him as Sissy. In truth, he thought of him as another name altogether, but as Nana had taught him to be respectful with his language and not to use crude English, he settled for Sissy.
So he was accompanied by his captors, Shorty and Sissy, and they made quite a pair, Joniver thought.
He sipped his water and surveyed his prison, taking in each detail. This was a prison, after all. He had not agreed to come here and was being held against his will, and that is the classic definition of a prison, Shorty and Sissy’s hospitality notwithstanding.
First he noticed this place was clean. The walls, the furniture and all the fixtures were not simply clean, however, they were spotless. Everything gleamed, Joniver thought.
Nana had always done a good job of keeping their flat tidy, and she had - with some success - taught Joniver to do so as well, but this place was remarkable. The atmosphere was crisp and almost antiseptic. Why would that be?
There were also fewer actual humans than he would have thought. Although this was the graveyard shift, there were few people about, even considering the hour of the night. Other than Shorty and Sissy, he had seen only one other.
Joniver noted the hallways were monitored with security cameras. He suspected there would be security-bots at important building junctions, at least that was the rumor.
Did Joniver know anyone - anyone - who had been taken and returned to tell the tale? He could not think of a single soul. Olinar insisted his uncle or cousin or brother’s friend - or someone - had been arrested one day, taken to a center, questioned and then released. Joniver, however had never spoken with this individual and had always doubted his - or her - existence. He never doubted it more than now.
He felt afraid, and that was odd for him. He had braved a fire, saved Emily - he really loved to keep saying that part in his mind, “I saved Emily!” - and was loose enough to shoot a wise crack at Shorty tonight. He had felt fear tonight, but not like this. Now he was genuinely afraid.
Why now, he wondered.
This place, with its pungent odor, felt creepy and weird - extremely weird. Everywhere he looked was brightly lit, but he could not see the light fixtures or the bulb. The walls just seemed to glow, but it was not like a glow stick they used in the street or a lightning bug. The glow was a directed light as if it came from the three LED bulbs in his and Nana’s flat, but there were no bulbs.
Why would anyone go to the trouble of concealing the source of illumination?
The walls themselves, in addition to having the odd glow, were flat and straight. They were not just flat as in no seams or doors, they were flat as if they had been machined.
As he glanced around, the whole hallway and entry way felt like a square pipe - no, not a pipe, a funnel. Joniver felt as though he was on the inside of one of the funnels used to pour cooking oil from a dealer’s barrel into a smaller, more manageable container. In this funnel, he, Shorty and Sissy were making their way toward a door at the end of the hallway.
The urge to run burned in Joniver, and he found the timing very inconvenient. He had learned the importance of controlling his emotions, controlling his voice and calming his nerves just before executing a theft.
He was baffled by his inability to control them now. His hands trembled. His mouth was dry like a July afternoon despite the gulps of water he threw down every few steps. Perspiration came unbidden to his forehead, like small drips from hundreds of leaking faucets. He heard his heart in his ears and imagined Shorty and Sissy were not ignorant of its beat, so loud were the rhythms.
The door drew closer, and with each step, his dread seemed to grow exponentially. He had never felt so afraid, and then it hit him.
He had received no threat. What he had experienced had been unexpected.
He had expected beatings and questionings and inquisitors commanding him to give up some piece of information or he would lose a toe or a finger or an ear, but he had heard nor seen any of this. The fear was in his mind and in his mind only. He had made it up. He had not been beaten or threatened at all.
This gave Joniver pause. There was a creepiness about this place, and it was not somewhere he wanted to spend time, but so far it had not been a bad place. He had pictured himself being tortured, and this image was what his mind and body were reacting to.
He was not naive enough to believe there was no danger here. He did not, however yet know what it was.
He asked himself what he would do if he were standing before a vendor table in market ready to steal some fruit. He imagined feeling the unfinished lumber that formed the table’s edge and the sm
ell of the fruit, good and rotten in his nostrils. He imagined the calmness he felt just before making the move with his right hand while creating a distraction with his left. He saw in his mind, his hand cleanly pick two apples from a table and slide them behind his back just as Olinar walked by to take them in the front pocket of his sweatshirt.
As he thought of himself at market doing what he had fun doing, with Olinar watching him in admiration, he relaxed. Tension dropped from his head, neck and shoulders. His heart stopped racing in favor of the more familiar trot, and he stopped perspiring.
He had created a false reality that caused his body to panic, and now he had just recreated a true reality, and it calmed him.
Show yourself what’s real, he thought. Don’t let these clowns tell you what’s real.
They reached the end of the corridor, and Shorty swung the door open. Joniver peered around the door’s edge as it opened, trying not to panic or anticipate what would be there.
When he looked he saw - nothing.
In anticlimactic fashion the room looked much like the hallway except for a small table and two chairs in the center. There were no doors or windows, but there was a video viewer mounted in the opposite corner.
Shorty and Sissy nudged him inside. They both stepped in behind and shut the door. They whispered something to one another and Shorty left, leaving Sissy alone with Joniver.
“Nice place you have here,” Joniver said, raising one corner of his lips in a mocking smile. Sissy just shook his head and motioned to the chairs.
“Do I have to?”
“No,” Sissy replied. “Only if you wish.”
What was it with these guys since they had stepped in here? Why all the manners and courteous talk?
In just a few minutes, Shorty returned with a third Guardsman in tow. This one was about the size of, but older than, Shorty and lacking command presence. His blonde hair was cropped close to his scalp, causing his rather large ears, which protruded from the sides of his head to look larger still. As he stood in the room, he had a slight forward lean with his head and his mouth hung open somewhat, making his lower jaw appear elongated. His posture combined with the bagginess under his red eyes reminded Joniver of one of the Seven Dwarfs, so he silently dubbed him Dopey.
Just one more, and I could have a quartet, he thought. Entertainment however, was not what came to Joniver’s mind when Dopey spoke.
“You’re free to go, son,” he said.
Joniver’s jaw dropped. You could have pushed him over with the proverbial feather.
***
Regent Blue leaned forward in his high back leather chair. The tips of his fingers and heel of his palm rested on the marble table, as if hovering above a keyboard. His dark skin contrasted against the blonde coloring of the marble table and the white cuffs of his shirt. He had removed his suit jacket and sat now in his white starched shirt and blue stripped tie, which matched and complimented his dark blue suit pants.
Several days had passed since the last Regent Meeting, not the typical month-long interval. Blue reconvened the group, intending to refocus their attention on the serious matters at hand.
His eyes narrowed as he looked at Regent Green.
“Ask your question again, Green,” Blue said. His words exited slow and cold.
Green looked down and then glanced at Regent Red - the new Regent Red. According to Regent Blue, the old Red had been reassigned. They - Red and Blue - had mutually agreed on this, he explained. Green had inquired as to where she had been reassigned, and if she might be available for consultation should the need arise.
“Regent Blue,” Green said, the acid churning in his stomach and the blood pounding in his veins. He was sure Blue could see the arteries in his neck throbbing with the rapid pulses of his accelerated heartbeat. “I meant no disrespect. As we are all aware, Regent appointments are not discussed for our own security and the security of our territories. We also know these appointments are lifelong for the same reasons. The reassignment of a regent is unprecedented, and my concern is for our common good.”
“Ask your question again,” Blue leaned forward a little more, his eyes fixed on Green and his tone more commanding the second time.
“Sir, I…”
“Ask the question, Green!” Blue said. His voice insistent like his loud slap on the cold table surface. The denseness of the room was broken by the sharp sound.
“Regent Blue,” Green said. He was less confident-sounding and there was a noticeable shake in his voice. “I note the new appointment of Regent Red.” Green’s head hung down, his eyes searching the marble table top. His shoulders slumped and perspiration formed at his hairline and next to his ears. Had he been forced to remove his suit jacket, the once-rigid starch of his perfectly pressed white shirt would hang limp with noticeable sweat stains. ”I wonder, if needed, would her predecessor be available for discussion and/or consultation should the need arise?” He finished and breathed an ever so slight, sigh of relief.
“No,” Blue said. His answer was quick and curt, as he shifted in his seat.
“No, she is not available?” Green again.
“No, as in the need will never arise.”
Blue finished the last sentence by breaking his Superman-like gaze on Green and turning his eyes to the table in front of him. He opened a plain manila folder containing four letter-sized papers.
“Red presented a proposed plan to us last month which called for the harvesting of 2.3 million from each territory. Her plan was flawed, as was her appointment to Regent. The plan was flawed because she had already begun the harvest and once again, its effects have been less than desirable. Her failure is insufferable, and I will not stand for it!” His voice rose with the last sentence, comparable to the rise from his chair, as he added the final phrase.
Regent Red, the new Red, gave a slight backwards jerk with her head and Green raised an eyebrow.
“Is it alone yours to stand for, or stand against, as the case may be?” Green queried.
Blue’s blood ran hot and anger welled up within him. The tips of his ears reddened and his hands, though now unseen beneath the cold marble table, shook with small tremors. Control, Blue...control, he told himself. He calmed his hands, willing them to cease their shaking by focusing on something higher and nobler than the small minds occupying the other seats in this room. “No, of course,” he said in a controlled tone. “Regent Green you make a splendid point, so allow me to please be just as clear with regard to our current circumstance. I will outline proposed takeaways for each of us and we can discuss our next steps.”
“Very well,” said Green.
“Fine,” said Red, speaking for the first time.
Blue gave a satisfied - Red and Green both thought it was condescending - smile to the others, and he glanced down at his notes in front of him. He raised his head, and spoke with a controlled, measured tone.
“As I mentioned earlier, the latest Red plan was a disaster waiting to happen - no, it was not waiting to happen, it was happening and it was a disaster. You will remember Regent Green in our previous meeting, we were told the plan was to start soon. However, I discovered on the same evening the former Regent Red had already initiated her plan prior to our discussion. The virus was already being dispensed, and it was being used without proper testing. All of this is a clear violation of our security protocol, and I am sure you both will agree security is our highest priority and objective.”
“Of course,” said Red, her gaze steady on Blue, who looked away this time. Like her predecessor, her accent was not readily distinguishable. Her pronunciation had some Slavic overtones, but her face lacked any of the features associated with the territory.
She had plum-line straight, jet black hair, which flowed like the undulations of a waterfall when she moved her head. Her piercing green eyes were angular, shaped like a tear drop, and were narrow set on a face of high cheek bones. She had a slender nose, and a square jaw.
If she ever smiled, she would h
ave displayed perfectly shaped beautiful white teeth, which seemed to glow as if powered by their own light source, especially when contrasted with her blood red lipstick. Although small of stature and slight of build, she possessed a high-powered intellect, and above all else she was formidable - to anyone.
She was also beautiful.
“Agreed,” said Green, “the elimination of the Terrorist threat can take second place to nothing. Security of the citizenry is the most important appointment we have.”
“However, I still fail to understand your logic. How was Red’s plan a problem? Even with the premature start of the plan earlier than we knew, it might well be successful.”
“What is the problem?”
He then added, looking at Red, “I say this with no animosity toward our new colleague. I welcome her warmly.”
Red smiled, a thin red line formed below her nose. She gave a slight nod of the head, “I thank you.”
“Of course!” Blue said, his enthusiasm rigid. “We do welcome you! You are most welcome!”
His words were accompanied by smiles and effusion of tone but seemed forced and stiff. They were almost mechanical. As he smiled he looked from one to the other, nodding, like a squirrel watching for a hawk. In this case however, he was the hawk.
As at the previous meeting, the room was lit so the twinkle of the cityscape lights below could be seen through the glass. Seeing into this room from the outside was impossible however, and this was by design.
In this sound proof room with the dim lights, the air hung thick and heavy. Blue’s purpose in having Red and Green here was not clear to them. Blue’s erratic behavior and forced tone now seemed to them threatening, although there was nothing overt.
Nothing felt right tonight. Then again, when did it ever? A sense of panic welled up inside both Red and Green, though neither knew the other’s reaction.
“The point is,” Blue said. “Red broke procedure and violated protocol. We cannot tolerate this.”
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