by Jason Letts
“How dare you speak in such an uncouth manner in front of my little girl? Have you no dignity, no soul?” Keize railed, keeping his voice low.
“Your little girl? This is Jim Bolt’s daughter, Toria!” Lowell said to a nasty scowl.
“Don’t listen to him, pumpkin. This man is a known liar. Don’t let him mix up your thoughts,” he said, turning the child around so she was facing him and directing his gaze at Lowell. “I am her father, and that you would imply otherwise is nothing short of chilling. What sort of man are you?”
“A man of sound mind,” Lowell insisted, not letting up his look of revulsion.
Lowell peered at his foe, who had nothing but surety and sincerity on his face. Keize believed without an ounce of doubt that he was the girl’s father. The more Lowell considered how that belief could possibly exist, the more disturbing it became.
Keize had killed the girl’s father himself, been directly involved in the death of her mother, and now he was claiming her as his own. If it weren’t for the bizarre distortion of reality in his head, it might’ve almost been merciful.
“Though I now have a mind not to, I actually came here to thank you. Between you and your children, your recklessness in all matters has led to the best times our solar company has ever had. Now that you’re out of the way, there’s more demand than we can possibly keep up with, and our growth is through the roof. If you can believe it, we’re poised to become the largest energy company in Cumeria, and our global system is right on the verge of coming online,” Keize explained to Lowell’s all-encompassing apathy.
“The Brackens are not finished in Cumeria,” was all Lowell could say. As long as his children were out there and his plan was still viable, the family had a roadmap to coming back and reclaiming their legacy. But Keize snickered morbidly.
“You will be soon enough. I hate to break it to you, but Velo has every intention of putting you to the sword. I’d do it myself if he’d let me. Cleaner that way, and it’d be fitting. One way or another, your oldest son will find himself snapped in half by the chancellor. If he wins, there’s no way anyone thinks Aggart’s going to voluntarily give up power. And then the other kiddies you’ve got running around, they’ll be squashed whenever they pop up.”
Lowell clenched his jaw and fists. Keize’s pant leg was close enough to the bars to grab, but the odds of inflicting any real damage was slim. Lowell remembered that Keize was a fighter not to be trifled with from their clash in the factory cavern. As long as he was in his cell, there was nothing he could do, as much as he’d like to. But Keize was wrong about Sierra, Randall, and Taylor.
“Let me give you a parenting tip. I had a little girl of my own once, and a pair of boys, as well. It’s not enough to believe in your children; you have to give them room to fail. Support them at all costs, yes, but if you’re always doing it for them, you’re not giving them the chance to surprise you. And that’s the best part of being a parent,” Lowell said.
In his mind, he brought himself back to all of the joys he experienced watching his three kids take on lives of their own. More than the Brackens who came before or an old sword, they were his legacy, and he knew they had it in them to accomplish incredible things.
“Touching,” Keize said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “You should’ve laid low somewhere far away and kept out of sight. It didn’t have to end this way for you.”
The last thing Lowell expected was to find himself having an honest man-to-man conversation with this surly exec that people not-so-affectionately referred to as “the badger,” but after so much time alone looking back on it all, there didn’t seem to be much harm in it. They were enemies, but maybe they were just playing their parts. Even Keize seemed to have a soft side.
“No, I wouldn’t have changed a thing,” he said, though as soon as he said it he recognized one thing. Gambling away his life with Tris was the biggest bet he’d made in his life. Whether it would pay off or not was yet to be seen, but the displeasure it caused her made it a crushing failure in his mind.
“I’ll try to make sure nobody does anything bizarre to you after it’s over,” Keize said, lifting Toria onto his chest and preparing to leave.
It seemed like the kind of statement that should elicit a thank you, but it was so minimally courteous that Lowell didn’t have the stomach to say it.
Keize and Toria retraced their steps down the hall without another word. The girl skipped away, oblivious to the dark games the older folks were playing.
The cycle ended, Lowell slept, he ate bread crust topped with raisins and drank lemon-scented water, the cycle passed, he slept again, and finally he began to wonder how long it would be until he was marched out to perform like a monkey, as Velo had dictated.
The door at the end of the hall creaked as it opened. Lowell wasn’t sure what time it was, but perhaps the cleaning lady was coming to change the bed linens. He bent over to start pulling them off the thin mattress pad when he looked over his shoulder to find he instead had another visitor. The woman stood there in an elegant dress fit for a ball, crossing her arms as if she were waiting for him to take her to one, but Lowell cringed and wondered how much longer he’d be forced to endure this parade of his least favorite people.
“Lowell.”
“Portia.”
The head of the Illiam family, ever calculating and observant, stood in the hall beyond the bars like a woman bailing her deadbeat husband out of prison for the fourth or fifth time.
“I came here to pay my last respects,” she said, sighing.
“You don’t respect me,” Lowell said plainly. After all of the nitpicking she’d put him through over the years, he wasn’t going to let her get away with anything.
“Perhaps not. But you were a prominent figure in this country, and your passing is going to mark another important change. Yes, I’m of the mind that slippery prick Velo is going to do you in one way or another, and though I won’t be sorry about it, I owe it to my conscience to tell you how it ends before you go.”
Lowell snorted and shook his head at her.
“Isn’t fortunetelling a little too abstract for you?” he asked, thinking how it was bullshit that she needed to talk to him one last time. He wondered what the real reason she bothered to come was. Portia rolled her eyes.
“You’ve always been a touch too idealistic, willing to shoot for the moon and base your decision on emotions without analyzing the reality of the situation. Among the premier families, you’ve always been the weak link, and I could’ve told you long ago that you’d find a way to stick your neck out and have it all go up in a puff of smoke,” she chided him.
“Of course you could’ve.”
“Shut up and listen, because at this point nothing you say has any worth anymore. You’ve always tried to put one over on me, and although Velo didn’t exactly take it personally, dragging me across the Still Sea to try to bamboozle my family out of half our product crossed the line. I can’t believe I let myself get carried away at the prospect of an international trade deal like that. But as it is you’re to blame, and your futile flailing only slightly delayed the inevitable collapse of your empire.”
What struck Lowell more than anything else was the anger in Portia Illiam’s eyes. It might’ve been justified, but she had always been so restrained and emotionless, like a card player careful not to betray her hand.
“We all had a good laugh when we heard you were coming. Questionable judgment,” he said. Now that she had no reason to hide her true feelings, Lowell felt inclined to see how much further he could provoke them.
“You weren’t laughing when we chained you to the bottom of that ship,” she said. “No one trifles with the Illiams, not you, not your cretin son, not the Wozniaks, not your wretched daughter, not even the chancellor.”
Mention of the chancellor caught Lowell’s interest, and Portia’s eyes widened ever so slightly, as if she’d said too much.
“Has the chancellor trifled with you?” Lowell i
nquired, slathering on as much condescension as he could. Portia was on the verge of steaming. She threw a hand into the air.
“What does it matter? No one will believe anything you say now anyway. The chancellor and the Cumerian Guard have been doing our fighting for us, but he’s isolated and has only a few predictable strings to pull. His time in office is coming to a rapid end, and I’m not talking about the election. Once Cumeria no longer has a chancellor, the entire government will collapse, the Guard will disperse, and only a few real players will remain to vie for control of the country. This conflict doesn’t end until someone has it all, and the Illiams will finally reach the pinnacle of power, reigning over a nation of devoted, pious followers as we have in the FarmFields,” she said.
Lowell didn’t know what was more impressive—her brazen plans to assassinate the chancellor or the ambitious vision of subjugating the entire nation. But he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction.
“I thought you came here to tell me something new. This is what we’ve always been fighting for,” Lowell said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.
Portia scoffed at him and swallowed.
“Enjoy your time in After. That melting pot of souls should be just big enough to mask your idiocy,” she said, turning to leave.
“I finally figured out why you came. You’re going to miss me.”
Lowell’s parting shot gave him a moment’s satisfaction, but there was no response and soon enough he was alone again, left with the discomfort in the pit of his stomach that the Illiams or the Wozniaks would take Cumeria and bend it to their will. They’d be no better than the chancellor, making selfish decisions without any regard to the people below.
As time passed, Lowell worked himself into a fury that raged underneath the surface. Randall had to win the election and consolidate power quickly enough to fend off the other families. There was no doubt he’d have the Guard turn right around and start crippling the OrePlains and FarmFields, but first he needed something dramatic to help him win the sympathy of the people and then the election.
The sound of the turning lock startled Lowell, who looked over to find his cell door swinging open. Velo’s brother, Merritt, stood in the hall, urging him to come out.
“Come on now. We’ve got to get you prepped for your appearance,” he said. Merritt’s demeanor embodied a combination of light-hearted amiability and a general lack of concern about the things he did.
The pair went to a dressing room, where Lowell had more space to wash up and stretch. He glanced into a mirror at a spot in the middle of his forehead. Was Velo right that he’d take the safer option?
“Mr. Bracken, Velo wanted you to have a look at this,” he said, handing over a folder with a few documents and images. “This is a picture of the cabin you’ll occupy after this is all over. Modest, remote, and quiet, but there is some nice scenery here north of the OrePlains. This is yours in exchange for your help swaying public opinion to our side.”
Lowell looked carefully at the pictures for any signs that they’d been digitally manipulated. He couldn’t see anything unusual, but his own ruse with those shots of the miniature model palace was fresh in his mind. The papers described a nearby brook, open country, and a few goats and chickens. There was no way to judge the validity of any of it, but the mere question of it made him anxious.
“Right this way,” Merritt said, and Lowell walked more slowly than usual in the wake of his guide’s puff of wild hair. He needed to buy time to decide what to do. His best decisions were always made with Tris at his side, but this one had to be done alone.
They stepped outside and took a cart around a hill to a stage set up in front of a penned-in stretch of rock and some bleachers. Footprints left in the ground gave Lowell the impression this place had seen a lot of traffic recently. A few dozen people had gathered in front of the stage, journalists from the looks of it. They had the requisite cameras, notepads, and microphones. They were independent, at least, drawn by his name and the promise of a rare sighting and an unexpected announcement.
Merritt gestured for Lowell to climb a set of stairs up the stage. A few pages on the podium rustled in the cool breeze. Lowell glanced out as far as he could to the top of the hill beyond, where some metallic object caught the light and shined. The sharpshooter was out in the open, close enough for anyone to see if they had a mind to look. Perhaps he had a radio to hear what Lowell said and listen for the cue to fire.
It seemed a startling display of hubris for the Wozniaks to threaten to kill a man in front of a group of journalists, who had quieted down as soon as they saw Lowell. But that was the power the Wozniaks wielded in this new and merciless age of Cumeria. The Vendetta Clause freed them from guilt, their dominance in the region freed them from retribution, and there was virtually no one left who could call for revenge over one lost fool.
But Lowell still had some power or Velo wouldn’t have bothered with this charade. If only he could instill the people with some measure of sympathy for the Brackens on the eve of a momentous election.
“Thank you for coming,” Lowell read, trying to scan as much of the page as he could. He smiled faintly at the journalists. The OrePlains around him were a dreary landscape, not nearly as majestic as the ClawLands.
“As you can see, reports of my death are slightly premature,” he said to mild laughter. The joke was a nice touch. Lowell wondered who’d written these remarks. Surely Velo hadn’t bothered with it himself.
“After some time away from the spotlight, and in light of all that has happened,” he went on, wondering if he could really say the words that came next. The Wozniaks had destroyed his homeland by blaming the victim of an attempted rape for fighting back.
Tris was right, he thought. Lowell was all too willing to sacrifice himself for his family. He coughed slightly and begged her forgiveness.
“I weep for a broken Cumeria in search of healing after horrific crimes perpetrated by the Illiams and Wozniaks against—”
The sharpshooter hardly missed a beat. A crack, a flash, and Lowell’s legacy was left entirely in the hands of his children.
CHAPTER 19
The cycle of the election came after Taylor once again failed to catch a wink of sleep. Reports of his father’s death, including images of him on stage in a scene that appeared to be only a hair away from a straightforward execution, were everywhere from the newspapers to the lips of children in the street.
A picture of Lowell Bracken, gray hair, navy suit, and wry smile, graced the front of Chancellor Aggart’s Early Edition when Taylor handed it over along with breakfast. He could barely conceal the rampaging discontent within as he handed the tray over.
“You look like hell,” the chancellor said. “What’s got your goat?”
“Just nervous about the election is all,” Taylor said, backing away and trying to keep a tighter grip on his emotions.
Taylor’s failures were countless. He hadn’t been able to finish off the chancellor before the election arrived—in fact, his attempts had caught the attention of everyone and resulted in daunting security increases—and he had failed in the task his father had set out for him. Taylor fully knew his father had taken the plunge in the hopes that sympathy for him would boost Randall to victory. Only time would tell how well that would work.
“Not me,” the chancellor said from behind his desk. “No one short of Lowell Bracken’s kids will give two shits about what happened to him when it comes time to vote. Now, I’m going to get to the polls in time for when they open.”
The streets of Toine were more active than Taylor had ever seen them. With a new head car, the fleet carried the chancellor, Taylor, and a couple other senior staffers to the polls past throngs headed there on foot. When an election official held the door open and they entered, Aggart held his arms out and basked in the sight.
“Would you look at this? Now that’s a fair, unbiased voting booth right there,” he said, heading to a desk manned by a couple of armed Guard
members.
Taylor was tempted to agree. There were no obvious signs urging support for Chancellor Aggart, and the booths did offer privacy, but it turned out to be little more than an illusion. The chancellor needed to state his name and address for verification and write them on the ballot before heading in to make his choice, and all of that information was folded and dropped into a box. Taylor glanced outside at the masses that had braved the chilly weather to vote, and he knew every one of them would be aware that voting against the chancellor might put them at personal risk for retribution when he inevitably confiscated the ballots.
Prior elections hadn’t been like this, and if this were the norm all over Cumeria, then there’d be no way Randall could win. Taylor stood in shock, bracing for the failure of the lynchpin in his father’s plan unless he found a way to do something.
“You’re up, Roark!” the chancellor called after he was finished. The guards running the election were ready to verify his name and address, which were entirely fictitious. That would lead to questions—uncomfortable questions.
“I’ll pass. Voting is for suckers,” he said.
“Ha!” The chancellor laughed as they started to leave. It turned out he was wrong; not even Lowell Bracken’s kids cared enough to let his death influence their vote.
The cycle wore on as millions of Cumerians around the country cast their votes. At any given time, either Qi Ptock was in the chancellor’s office giving him updates on the election, or Shelman Toggler was in discussing the investigation of the car crash and the person who had infiltrated Toine’s Guard. Neither situation looked good. Though many were willing to cast votes for Randall, it wouldn’t be enough to make a majority except for in a couple of areas. Toggler had already interrogated everyone who had accompanied them on the trip to the OrePlains, and he now had a list of suspects, which he discussed in hushed tones with the chancellor.
Hours later, Taylor was just about to announce the end of his shift when Toggler returned to the office and stopped beside him at the doorway.
