by Jason Letts
“Electronics? The Wozniaks aren’t known for their electronics. Did they get them from you?” Tris wondered, trying not to imagine giant Wozniak vehicles belching black clouds as they crawled across the country.
“The Lus gave it to them, but what I’m trying to tell you here is that you need to be on the right side of this fight. If you don’t stand in their way and can manage to let old grudges die, you might find the Wozniaks can actually help you,” Keize said, but Tris’s temper was rising.
“My husband’s death is not just an old grudge!” she said loudly enough that he could’ve heard her three floors away. “Now I want you to take this girl you’ve orphaned and corrupted and get out. I don’t care if you or the Lus are cozying up to the Wozniaks because you think they’ll take over the country, but that doesn’t change what they’ve done or who they are.”
When her words weren’t enough to get him to move, Tris glared at him, unflinching, until he got up from the bed and went to the door. He collected Toria, but took one last look at Tris before making his exit.
“If you think I’m cozying up to the Wozniaks in order to bask in their largess you mistake me. Lowell knew I had much higher ambitions than that.”
Tris waved him off. She was in no position to care what these psychopaths did to each other.
Cycles passed in her solitary bedroom. Between Velo, Merritt, Keize, and Erina, someone personally invited her to every meal or event going on in the Wozniak’s palatial home. When she wouldn’t attend, they delivered entrees themselves or forced her to listen to accounts of what had happened, all with gratingly unflappable kindness. Sometimes there were accompanying photographs or party favors. Tris had a pile in the corner.
The sun was shining when Erina came in asking for opinions on color splotches to be painted in the new baby’s bedroom. The only real responsibility Erina had was to manage their home. It was no little feat, but Tris couldn’t care less what color they painted the room for the expected child. Erina knew it was going to be a boy, and Tris knew he would grow up to be some kind of tactical rapist, though she wouldn’t have put it past them to raise female rapists either.
“Light blue is so overdone though,” Erina droned on in a chipper tone that seemed forced. “I was thinking more of a forest green, which might be nice because there’s not too much green around, but I don’t know for sure. What do you think?”
She always had the look of someone who was trapped in a cage, and Tris wondered if she’d been told to be act that way and what it would take for her to break.
“What color was Raidan’s room?” Tris asked. She paused for a moment before answering.
“It was light blue,” Erina said. She was probably 6 inches shorter than Tris and had much shorter black hair in a style that must’ve been meant to mimic what it would look like if cut with a butcher’s knife.
“And you don’t want to paint your new son’s room the same color because it might bring up painful memories of what happened to Raidan? That makes sense. I’m sorry, does bringing up Raidan make you uncomfortable?”
Before her husband had sent her to Iron City, Tris had never had a catty side, but there was something about being forced to interact with people who were trying to harm her and her family that really brought out the passive aggressiveness.
“We can talk about anything you want,” Erina said, hiding any discomfort. In fact, she seemed to be eager to discuss a topic that Tris herself had broached. If that were the case, Tris was going to see if she really meant it.
“I see. So you don’t have any problem at all talking about how the boy you gave birth to, nursed from your breast, and raised to be a man was killed by my daughter for trying to sexually violate her?” Tris asked, waiting for Erina to flinch, to snap and fly into a rage about some part of the injustice there, even if it were the perverse notion that Raidan should still be alive despite what he did. But there was nothing, and Erina seemed as calm as ever.
“Raidan wasn’t just that. He also liked to draw cartoons,” Erina said. Somehow she was doing a much better job at eating away at Tris than the other way around.
“So let me get this straight,” Tris began, incensed. “You don’t have any problems with Raidan’s raping and attempted raping on account of how he also liked to draw? Those two things balance out in your book? What about your next son, is he going to get a free pass for forcing himself on other women as long as he dabbles in watercolor?”
“That’s just how it’s done,” Erina said. Tris would’ve thought a lot of time would be necessary for Erina to respond, but it only took her a moment to come up with something so inexplicably senseless that it defied the imagination. Tris gawked openly for a moment, until she grasped at the first reasonable explanation. There was little chance Erina had given her consent either, and she had to find a way to live with that loss and many more injustices every day since.
She was a life-long victim, but still she managed to smile warmly at Tris and lean in.
“I know you’re angry about what has happened and where you are, and that’s what is making you want to hurt me, but you have to see that it’s not so bad. You’re not a prisoner here and are free to come and go as you please. Anything you want to make you comfortable, and I mean anything, we can get for you at a moment’s notice. All you have to do is put down your guard and let us be in your life, just a little bit.”
Tris didn’t know what came over her, but she got up and went to the door.
“We’ll test your theory about how free I am to go,” she said, walking out and closing the door behind her.
“But where will you go?” she heard Erina call, but that didn’t matter. All Tris was concerned about was getting away from the captors so desperate to fool her into thinking they were friends. She’d never fall for it, and she trotted down the stairs and searched through the hallways for an exit. She bumped into more than one member of the house staff, but their curious looks didn’t slow her down.
Eventually she pushed through a door and found herself outside in the morning light. Her next target was the front gate, which had bars wide enough to squeeze through, but after that the next destination was unclear. All around her for as far as she could see in every direction, the ground was littered with massive pits, many with loud machinery inside further carving them deeper. The roads were a latticework of narrow, elevated passes.
Everything was black and gray, except the sun above. It was enough to give her a sense of direction, and she took the road out in a southerly direction on the off chance she’d find her way to Toine. She had on the clothes she’d been abducted in, which didn’t do nearly enough to fend off the northerly chill or the grit in the air of the OrePlains. The only solution was to pick up the pace and walk as fast as she could away from the area, but she soon found herself getting tired.
A few coal-burning vehicles dashed along nearby roads, making Tris think that she’d be able to hitch a ride farther south, but they were all moving far too quickly and didn’t give her a moment’s notice. More than once she had to risk dropping into one of the pits rather than be rundown by a maniac behind the wheel.
Time dragged on for a few more hours. The mansion was a speck in the distance, but nothing ahead signaled she was getting anywhere. The grime from drifting clouds of smoke made her feel increasingly scuzzy, and desire for a glass of water preoccupied her thoughts for most of the time. She also wondered at Sierra’s ability to travel through the Plagrass WasteLands for so long. No doubt Taylor could’ve walked from one end of Cumeria to the other if he wanted, but Tris had been through so much and still felt like her stamina was at its end.
Her pace slowed to a crawl and eventually she sat down by the side of the road, her legs dangling over the edge. It was a steep drop into the pit, and at the bottom a whirring machine chipped away at the edges of the rock. Its noise almost prevented her from noticing a vehicle coming up behind her. Tris got up and watched it approach, becoming surprised when its velocity decreased and it
came to a stop in front of her.
The vehicle looked like a train engine on wheels. It had a long windowless door on the side that slid open to reveal Velo Wozniak in his usual silver suit climbing out to meet her.
“Just leave me alone!” she shouted, getting up and marching on, but Velo caught her arm and twisted her around. His lean, boyish face appeared concerned.
“You’ll never make it!” he said.
“I can go if I want,” she shot back, attempting to brush him off of her. Eventually he let go, and that’s when she realized her heart was beating unreasonably fast. She felt weak and wasn’t sure how long she’d been out here.
“Don’t give up on your family, but don’t give up on yourself either,” he said.
Tris’s momentum stopped and she turned to look at him and the vehicle, ready to take her back to the Wozniak mansion. Like it or not, this was where she was now. She couldn’t get away, and they didn’t want her to.
“Why did you bring me here? You said I’d save you wasted time, but I’ve been cooped up in that bedroom for cycle after cycle.”
Velo tilted his head and eyed her, finally cracking into a subtle grin.
“Believe me, we’re going as fast as we can. Come back with us. I promise no harm will befall you.”
It might’ve been something as simple as a sudden ache in her foot, but Tris realized she had no choice but to go along with him.
CHAPTER 5
“What are we doing here, Randall? I don’t want to become a target.”
Over the course of a few weeks, Cori and Ralph had kept themselves busy by delivering sealed envelopes to the former members of Cumeria’s Grand Council that they could dig up. Randall had come to the conclusion that the only way to break the impasse with Qi Ptock was to get more of the old government involved. No doubt Ptock agreed because he thought as a former committee chair he’d have more sway over them. A mere ten had showed up, and the only way for Randall to convince them that the chancellorship belonged to him was to act like he already had it.
Standing up and putting his hand on the table, Randall looked over the ten men and women at the dark table in a conference room underneath the Spiral. They came from all over the country, and some of them were well-connected political veterans.
“We have an opportunity right now to establish a new government with enough legitimacy that it’ll head off any challenges from the Guard or from the premier families. All of us need to buckle down right now and work out a new charter for the country, stand together behind it, and establish it as the law of the land,” he said, but even that basic starting point was not taken as a given.
“What was wrong with the old government? It’d be much easier to just resurrect the old charter,” said a woman with big hair to Randall’s left. Her name was Pyrina Scorcero, and she was a major land developer in the southwest who had no doubt benefited hugely from near complete autonomy from the government.
“It’s a good question,” Qi Ptock added from directly across Randall. The more the new government resembled the old, the more likely he was to wield substantial power and spark the kind of war games that Aggart used to play.
“If where we are now is any indication, the old government charter was a roadmap for the complete implosion of the country. Having the government and the Guard stoking rivalries and then picking favorites is no way to run a country. The lax judiciary led to hyper-competitive practices that burgeoned into blood sport. Even you, Pyrina, have to admit that you’d be better off with enhanced property rights and legal recourse. We need to establish basic rights that form a framework for the nation,” he said.
Although Pyrina was really part of the old regime, some of the others were newcomers like himself. Some were idealists, and some saw a chance to get their names into the history books. But their doubts were written all over their faces.
“You know just as well as I do that none of us are going to have the final say on what the new government looks like,” a young man named Heath Dolger said. “Captain Keran and the Guard are going to come in here and shape everything just how they want it. We’ll be lucky to keep our heads!”
Heath was almost ten years younger than Randall and had been the youngest member ever elected to the Grand Council. He was from the northern Cetaline Mountains, a particularly hard-hit region during the fighting.
“Leave Captain Keran to me, but in the meantime we have to establish the charter and put forward a legitimate government capable of demonstrating popular support.”
“And how are we going to do that?” Ptock asked. He had his hands folded over his stomach as he leaned back, a sly smile on his face. Ptock always knew to chime in and expose it right when Randall was angling for an advantage. But there was no point hiding from it now.
“By respecting the results of the last election,” Randall said plainly.
“Dead men can’t hold the chancellorship,” Heath said.
“No, I understand,” Pyrina said, puffing herself up. “Mr. Bracken’s idea of a government that isn’t so self-serving is one in which he can put himself at the very top.”
Randall had hoped for better position to get them to accept the point, but in the end they wouldn’t be able to deny him. Ptock tapped a pen on his chin appearing very pleased with himself.
“Scant time has passed since we had a national election in which I received over thirty percent of the vote, which is more than anyone else alive has ever received since the last chancellor took office,” Randall said. “That’s a demonstration that our new government is respecting the will of the people until we can have more elections. One of the first things we can do is start assembling candidates for judicial positions.”
Randall had one candidate in mind already. Ralph Fiori had the legal expertise, a sore sense of injustice over how the country fell apart, and enough loyalty to the Bracken family that he could be counted on. The time was coming when Randall would need to fight to get Fiori into those robes.
“Thirty percent of the vote,” Pyrina said. “But only one out of every five Cumerians voted. There are huge portions of the country left unaccounted for. Any of us would have done at least as well.”
Randall stifled a grimace. He didn’t have much of a clue how any of the others thought. Some of them may have figured they’d walk out of the charter convention with the chancellorship themselves, no matter how unlikely the odds.
“Many didn’t vote because of Aggart’s election tactics and the fighting. In both cases, it’s likely I would’ve received the vast majority of those votes. Now I called you all here because I need you to support me and help work out a new blueprint for Cumeria. Time is running out before we miss our opportunity to restore peace and security.”
“But the problem with you is you have no heft,” Pyrina said, her voice becoming shrill. “Your family business is gone and you’ve got no real supporters outside of that girlie, certainly nobody capable of putting up a fight for you. The chancellorship in Cumeria has always been as much about the seat holder’s family and reputation as it is about experience and votes.”
Randall could tell Pyrina’s words were hitting home to the others. The old ways of Cumeria were still fresh in their minds, the vote buying, the nepotism, throwing around whatever source of influence was at hand. For the first time he got the sense that his plan to bring them here had backfired. They weren’t yet ready for the kind of country he wanted, and if he didn’t play to where they were now he’d lose his chance at the chancellorship.
“If I’m able to get Captain Keran and the Guard on my side there’ll be no question that our new government has the backing necessary to command respect.”
Randall could scarcely believe what he said, and Qi Ptock immediately leaned forward to bite.
“That’s something only a chancellor could deliver. And here I thought you were just a shoe-in councilor relying on your family name. We’ll see if I’m right.”
Stewing for a moment, Randall nodded and took his chanc
e to win the chancellorship outright. Once he was there he could make sure Ptock was marginalized. Sometimes it seemed to Randall that Qi Ptock was the only one standing in the way of a civil Cumeria. Well, now Captain Keran was too.
On his way out of the spiral to meet with Cori and Ralph, Randall spotted a familiar face lurking around the grounds. He tried to scurry away but wasn’t nearly fast enough to escape attention.
“Randall!” the voice called, and Randall broke stride and sighed as his former friend Dodson of the Megga Media Corporation jogged over to him. The camera was off at the moment, but it wasn’t a good sign if journalists were snooping around the Spiral eager to spill sensitive proceedings.
Randall’s response was nothing more than a stern look.
“Can you tell me anything about what’s going on?” Dodson asked. The man still had his cheerful optimism displayed on his sleeve, but now that they weren’t on the same side it left a much different impression.
“You know I can’t do that. You’ll have to wait to find out like everybody else,” Randall said, pushing on and turning his back on the journalist. Even this interaction might find its way onto the news.
“It doesn’t work like that,” Dodson called from behind. “The people have a right to know what’s going on every step of the way. You campaigned on transparency! But really, we’ll find out sooner or later.”
Randall set his jaw and continued marching toward his old offices, which they’d reinhabited after the threat of Aggart’s persecution faded. Having Dodson around was a serious problem. He’d recognize the other former councilors and get one of them to give away just a little too much. But at the moment Randall had other things to worry about. All through the walk Randall strained to think of something he had that could get Captain Keran to give his support.
