There has to be something useful in here, thought Michaels, not for the first time. Normal procedure when transfers such as these occurred was to purge the computer of all personal files. Michaels had tried to, but the system wouldn’t allow it. From there, a cursory perusal revealed some very odd things. Twisted, bizarre directory paths. Quite a bit of personal and extra security measures. With that much protection, Michaels had decided that there had to be something worth finding.
Michaels cursed in frustration again. Months of this! It had taken long enough to crack the extra security to even view half of the material, which he borrowed a tech to assist him with. Now he had to dig through hundreds of dummy files filled with nonsense text and scrambled picture and video files. Directory searches had proven fruitless, as he hadn’t a clue what he was looking for. In addition the program that ran the searches could only be described as fickle with a cursed sense of humor. The thrice-damned thing would randomly come up with different results for the same search, as though taunting him.
He shook his head at the absurdity of it all. Coleman was mocking him three months after his death. Three months! I’ve been digging through this garbage for three whole months, his mind raged. Lord only knows which files mean a damn, which ones are intended to mislead, and which ones provide clues to proper pieces. “What am I going to do if they all have some kind of bloody importance?” He hissed.
Blood boiling with frustration, he slammed the lid on the display inlaid into the desk and leaned back into the extravagant chair, sighing heavily. Maybe the old fool deserved a little bit of credit after all, thought Michaels grimly. It won’t last. There has to be something in here. Determined, he once again set to work, trying to keep his irritation under control.
No one he had spoken with or could give the slightest indication of what Coleman had been working on in the months before his death. Everyone noted that he was very excited and doubly secretive. He rarely engaged in conversation and spent days in his office without leaving. He delegated other important work to lower-ranking assistants, in violation of protocol, citing vitally important research as holding priority. While Michaels wholeheartedly agreed that most anything required by protocol was often a horrid misuse of time, he also grudgingly understood the necessity of it.
Insubordination without adequate explanation was itself grounds for a terrible fate. Often times even good reasons for it still ended unfavorably for the offending party, so Michaels was keenly aware that he needed to adhere to the rules, if not in thought than in practice, lest he find himself on the wrong end of retribution. At least that was the theory.
Sighing heavily again at his fruitless efforts, he sunk back into the chair once more, rubbing his eyes. His eye lighted upon the near-empty cold cup of coffee, delivered… He glanced at his watch and felt the realization of temporal passage wash over him; he’d been working for hours. He picked up the styrofoam cup, swirled the muddy dregs into the remaining cold liquid, and poured the silty contents into his mouth.
His reverie was broken by a knock at the office door. Slightly annoyed at the interruption, yet glad for a diversion, he spoke sharply, “What?”
“Oh come now, don’t be that way. Everyone could use a visitor from time to time!” the lightly-muffled jovial voice spilled in from the hallway. Michaels rolled his eyes and pressed a button on his desk, disengaging the lock on the door.
The door swung open, displaying a large bearded man with deep-set twinkling eyes, striding with purpose into the room. Michaels forced a smile that ended up looking more like a grimace, “Good afternoon Citizen Dunlevy.”
Dunlevy gave a slight frown and wagged his finger, “Now, now, my dear boy Gregory, how many times must I tell you to call me Arthur?” He threw back his head and laughed loudly, his substantial girth shaking along with what felt like the entire room. “I mean, really. We’re colleagues, friends even! I trust and respect you, even revere your insight from time to time. You simply must call me Arthur!” he exclaimed before abruptly launching into recent gossip. Michaels, for the most part, ignored it, because the statement about being on a first-name basis seemed like less of a request than an order. This irritated Michaels, mostly because the cheerful idiot technically had seniority.
Michaels’ assessment of Arthur Dunlevy’s intellect was born more out of irritation than actual fact. Citizen Dunlevy was, in fact, the rather intelligent, if a little short-sighted, head of the Sociological Research in the Institute. He had been around for hundreds of changes ranging from slight to large that had brought about the current state of enlightenment, having been around and involved for close to forty of his sixty-something years. He had occasionally claimed to have assisted in various decision-making in the Acts of Separation.
The truth behind it was mildly suspicious but plausible. The timelines worked in Dunlevy’s favor, and he did also retain a place as a member of the advisory council, whatever it actually was, but it seemed very few could claim meeting Franklin Lange, Citizen One, much less exerting any influence upon him. It was rumored that Lange hadn’t been directly seen by anyone for years, decades even, trying to remain unexposed to danger and thereby ensuring that he continued to rule.
Michaels’ mind drifted to the rumor overheard recently regarding Coleman’s death. “The only people to see the real Citizen One,” the man or woman had spoken, “are people about to die. He’s got access to everyone’s terminals. He can pop in for a visit, and then… curtains.” Michaels briefly wondered if it was true. If Coleman, sitting at the desk now belonging to Michaels, had seen the true face of his own death.
While Michaels considered things, Dunlevy had continued speaking without pause, having seated himself in a chair opposite Michaels. He was completely oblivious to the fact that Michaels hadn’t listened to a word of it. “So you see, in spite of everything, they’ve still managed to survive. It’s absolutely incredible! I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t been observing for so long. It actually looks like sheer tenacity can be a deciding factor in survival, even if natural selection demands that such profound inferiority be purged.”
Michaels’ attention became focused, “Really, now?”
Dunlevy’s grin widened at this statement. “Oh ho! I thought that might get your attention,” he said, eliciting a scowl from Michaels. “Now maybe you’ll listen to what I have to say, mhmmm?”
Rolling his eyes, Michaels sighed and gestured for him to continue.
Dunlevy rubbed his hands together and grinned again, wider yet. “Excellent. As you well know, we left them behind a number of years ago, offering them low level positions if they joined us, and then later collecting them as a labor force. We were assuming that whatever remained of the rest would kill each other or die out very soon after, and we wouldn’t need to concern our populace with their existence any further, correct?” Without waiting for Michaels to respond, he continued. “Well, as you also know, they are still alive. Not thriving by any means, but they continue to survive, despite clearly unfavorable conditions. After twelve years, hundreds of them are still left!” He exclaimed.
Michaels rubbed his eyes “Yes, yes, I know all of this. Vermin have a knack for survival. What’s your point?”
Dunlevy roared with laughter, slamming his open hand upon the table, “Oh ho! You are quite right my friend! However, what is most remarkable is how they continue to do all but thrive!”
Michaels thought about this for a moment, brow furrowing. It was true that every indication had suggested that the dregs of the city would die out quickly and cleanly, but maybe they were wrong. Probably worth a little investigation, he thought.
“All right, tell me.” Michaels sat back, attention focusing a little more.
“Interested now?” Dunlevy inquired, eyes twinkling, thrilled to recite his research once again. “They have generated small communities.”
Michaels cast this aside as unimportant, twirling his hand in a ‘yes, fine, go on’ gesture.
Ignoring Michaels, Dunlevy co
ntinued, “These communities could more accurately described as tribes or gangs; a hierarchical society that ends in one prominent figure.” He smiled, almost longingly, and added, “It’s incredible; one of the leaders has created what appears to be an ‘animal pack’ out of a large portion of the former criminal class. He’s put himself in the position of the ‘alpha male,’ taking all of the women for himself. His men are fearfully loyal, but are frequently captured or killed. Oh, and this is the best part: he calls himself the Silver Fox.” He roared with laughter again. Michaels gave a polite smile. The nickname was a little silly, but not quite as funny as Dunlevy seemed to think.
Still shaking with mirth, Dunlevy continued. “All of the head figures appear to retain little love for their underlings. An endearing quality, don’t you think?”
Michaels cracked an appropriate smirk, “This is all very interesting, but it doesn’t explain anything. Yes, they appear to be capable of surviving. Yes, they’ve created fascinating,” the word dripped with sarcasm, “little societies. The bottom line is that they haven’t managed to do anything actually worth mention. All they’re good for is,” he grimaced at this cut-and-paste answer, reminded of the constant disturbance he faced, “a menial-labor force.”
“Right you are my friend. Absolutely correct! A keener mind we have not around here, not since poor Citizen Coleman passed on. You know he actually recommended you to replace him. I, of course, agreed and have been trying to convince Citizen One of your merits…” irritation at the attempt at flattery and especially at the talk of Coleman flared through Michaels’ body, heating his blood once more.
After babbling for a while, Dunlevy reached an important point. “But what you fail to comprehend, my dear Gregory, is that there may be a threat.”
Michaels scoffed at this, “Please. What could there possibly be? They are nothing. They’ve survived longer than we expected, but soon their resources will run dry and they will all quietly die.”
“No, my friend,” a grim seriousness, uncharacteristic, seeped into the dialogue, “It is unlikely that they will. We’ve caught wind that someone has been living down there, helping the vermin to survive. Someone that doesn’t belong with them. This person has been assisting them, and recent information has come to light that he may be trying to organize a serious military presence.”
Michaels hadn’t heard this before, “Really…” he felt skeptical about the very notion, but it was still not something that could be so easily ignored. “Is that all?”
Dunlevy sighed, “Not quite. There has been increased pressure in recent months to come to a more final solution. Acquiring subjects,” Michaels thought he almost caught a hint of disgust in Dunlevy’s tone at the word ‘subjects’, “uses valuable resources. The labor force is useful, yes, but some are concerned about leaving the rest unchecked.”
Michaels was curious; usually Dunlevy didn’t discuss things of higher importance, “Why the sudden change?”
Dunlevy gave a sad smile, “Without Marcus’ support any longer, the opinion against those living down below has shifted rapidly towards the negative, and the notion of intelligent and cunning leaders among them makes the case even stronger.”
Michaels gave a slight sneer. Good riddance to that old fool, I say, he thought. He recalled the image of the stiff, unrecognizable, blackened and charred remains of Coleman. He recalled with a slight measure of satisfaction as he had the body dumped into the trash receptacle, intended for deposit down below. If you love them so much, he had thought, then you may certainly be with them, feeling satisfaction as the receptacles opened, dumping the trash and human refuse to the vacant streets below.
“Ah, so you think you know where this is going?” Dunlevy remarked, misinterpreting the slight smile that had crossed Michaels’ face, “Well, you’re likely correct. Some of us wish to eliminate the current faction leaders entirely, to keep them from organizing properly. This could throw their plans into chaos as others fight for control of the regime.”
Michaels thought this made sense, so he nodded, motioning for Dunlevy to continue.
“Well, my dear friend, you would normally be correct, but others don’t think the solution to be as,” he gave a little cough, “permanent as they’d like it to be. They believe it is time to be finished with Old Haven. Others yet wish to keep the flow of servants as the Citizenship stays more content when they don’t have to do menial tasks. Unfortunately now, without Marcus’ voice, the balance has tilted in favor of a permanent solution.” Dunlevy sighed, “and those who support it are gaining ground.”
“Why is that such a problem, shouldn’t we simply be rid of this vermin, once and for all?” This seemed quite logical to Michaels.
Dunlevy glared, a very uncharacteristic expression on his large face. “Such a policy change should not be taken lightly, dear Gregory. We pride ourselves on our civility and enlightenment. Does that mean when we get rid of anyone who is of mild inconvenience?”
Intriguing, Michaels thought, I’ve never thought Dunlevy to be sympathetic with those from down below. Maybe he spent too much time with Coleman. Yet Michaels wondered what it was that spurred Dunlevy to be spilling this information, and why it seemed to be of such great concern to him.
“What’s the point of all this?” Michaels demanded.
Dunlevy sighed again. “It would seem that some very useful information has, just today, come into light from that fellow who was captured; I believe you administered his conditioning?” Michaels' memory flashed to his earlier task of the day, and he nodded. “It would seem, from what that man revealed, that there is more concern, and it has moved what was simple talk into action.”
Michaels cocked an eyebrow. “Really, now? What’s going to happen?”
Dunlevy appeared to come to a sudden realization about where he was and with whom he was speaking, “Oh. I’m… sorry, Gregory, but,” his demeanor changed abruptly, and he radiated cheerfulness again, “that would be telling, wouldn’t it? You’ll find out, soon enough, I’m sure.” He said with a wink.
“Wait, hold on-” Michaels objected.
Dunlevy suddenly sprang from his seat, ignoring Michaels. “Well! That’s enough gossip for one day. I’m sure I will see you very soon, Gregory. This promises to be an exciting week.” He swiftly strolled out the door, saying nothing else, leaving Michaels with his swirling thoughts. Are they planning an incursion? He wondered. He definitely got the sense that Dunlevy wasn’t supposed be saying as much as he did, and the false cheer at the end of the visit did little to cover it up. He’s probably right, though, Michaels thought. I’ll find out all of this soon enough.
He glanced at his watch and frowned. Still a few hours left in the day; time to get something done. He raised the lid of the terminal, and set back to his search.
Chapter 5: With Friends Like These
Kaylee ran with carefree passion through the small park in the middle of the Escape, relishing the feel of vibrant grass beneath her bare feet. She ran and ran, enjoying the light, cool breeze. She leapt up, caught a low branch of a large oak tree, pulling herself up with a relaxed effort. She crawled along the branch towards the trunk, unslinging her pack as she did. She eased up next to the trunk, crossed her feet upon the branch, and reclined, taking a moment to find her center of balance. She rummaged through her pack, smiling broadly as she located the two items she sought.
She pulled an enormous apple, so red and shiny it seemed to produce its own light, and her favorite book. She settled in, easily keeping her balance, perched ten feet off the ground, and took a bite of the juicy fruit. She savored the sweetness for a moment before chewing slowly. It had been years since she or anyone she knew had eaten a fresh apple. She turned her attention to her book, thumbing through the pages.
She read quietly for a while, occasionally pausing to take another bite. The feeling of the sun on her skin, filtering between the branches and leaves of the tree, was beyond marvelous.
She swallowed hard, her breath hitchin
g as a small bit of fruit jumped into her windpipe. She fell into a fit of coughing, her book slipping out of her hands, dropping safely down into the soft grass beneath.
After a moment, she recovered and resumed her normal breathing pattern. She spotted her book, and dropped nimbly from the tree, crouching to scoop it up. As she bent over, a cold shadow passed over her, and she shivered. The light, so bright and vibrant was fading. She looked up; something passed over the sun, slowly blocking it out. Wide plates of steel rushed across the sky, expanding in all directions, sealing portions of it away.
“No…” she whispered, frozen. “No, no, no…”
It became cold, and as soon as the shadow fully enveloped the oak, it began to wither. The leaves disintegrated on the branches, not even pausing in their demise to fall from the tree. The trunk shriveled into a desiccated husk, branches spindling awkwardly out. The grass took on an ashy gray as the shadow passed over it, dying without a whisper, brittle and lifeless.
She ran, chasing the disappearing sunlight on the ground, willing herself past the racing shadow. She came up against a high wall, which began to crack and crumble near the top, casting dust down upon her. She coughed, eyes stinging with tears, and she collapsed against the wall. It became so cold, as though all of the warmth of the earth had evaporated. She slowly opened her eyes, seeing the dull gray darkness, dimly lit by pale yellow street lamps. The sky was gone. Replaced. She huddled against the wall, watching as the beauty she adored decayed away. The air took on a metallic, dusky taste, and the breeze simply stopped. Everything was dead, dark, and silent.
She slowly rose, terror seeping into her every limb as she peered into the darkness, eyes unaccustomed, jerking back and forth.
Sudden movement in the darkness, directly in front of her! Something stretched out, a single shadowy hand, reaching for her. It light brushed against her cheek, and numb shock jolted her mind. She opened her mouth and tried to cry out, but no sound came.
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