Haven

by Justin Kemppainen

A smile split the lined face, and Wresh offered his own. “Julian. I do not believe we have had the pleasure.”

  Michaels met the piercing gaze, “Indeed not.”

  “I believe you know my associates here. Gottfried, Abrams, and Levine.” The two men and woman gave quiet greetings. Abrams, that was it. He gave a quick nod back.

  “I’ve heard some things about you-”

  Before Wresh could highlight exactly what those things were, there was a quiet whirring noise as two small rods extended from the floor, lined with something that looked like clusters of lenses. Lights of various colors began to issue from the devices. They overlapped behind the podium.

  Fascinated, Michaels watched as the patterns of random light spun, whirled and crisscrossed, spiraling together. Eventually, they appeared to solidify, coalescing into the form of a man.

  Eyes widening, Michaels stared at the apparition with unconcealed interest. It was Citizen Franklin Lange himself.

  The image was a man in his mid-thirties. He was average height with handsome features, dark brown hair and striking, hazel eyes. Completely clean shaven and wearing what looked like Inquisitor black with no apparent insignias.

  Something bothered Michaels immediately; Lange should have been over a hundred years old by this time; not near this young. Franklin Lange was the figurehead of this city when I was still a child, how can he still be ruling? It can’t be the same man, can it? He wondered.

  “Greetings, advisory council.” A voice, strong and confident yet smooth, sounded from the apparition. Obviously through speakers of some kind, yet the quality was crystal clear as though the hologram was actually speaking. He doesn’t sound over one hundred, that’s for sure, Michaels thought.

  Michaels briefly wondered if Lange had gotten some manner of access to medical or rejuvenation technology, to look in such a manner. However, being near the forefront of research in chemistry and biology, Michaels felt certain that he would have been aware of it. On the other hand there could have been-

  Michaels’ reverie was broken as Lange, Citizen One, spoke. “Special greetings to our newest member, replacing Citizen Coleman on the council. Welcome, Citizen Gregory Michaels.” The apparition clapped, politely, causing Michaels to marvel at the efficiency of the imaging software to produce the sound. Lange’s applause was echoed by the rest of the room. All members, save the beaming smile of Arthur Dunlevy, kept stoic expressions.

  Michaels stood, gave a slight bow, and said, “Thank you,” and sat again.

  Dunlevy caught his eye and gave a wink. “Excellent speech. Lengthy and moving.” He whispered.

  Michaels cracked a slight smirk in spite of himself. He settled in, smoothed his white coat, and paid attention to the hologram.

  “I apologize for the short notice for the council meeting, but there is urgent business regarding the remaining population underneath our fair city.” Michaels marveled at the image, so real and lifelike. “In spite of invitations of integration into our thriving culture, barring certain limitations, and even various measures to forcefully relieve them of their ignorance, hundreds of these inferior people remain in exile. It would seem as though they are capable of survival beyond what was expected. The issue requires further examination.” He gestured towards Dunlevy. “Could you please provide your summary once more?”

  Dunlevy spoke, with an uncommon seriousness, “Their behavior had appeared to have regressed to an almost tribal situation of governing; the small, nearly self-sustaining bands scavenging what remained behind for food and supplies. In the long term, with no change to the situation, it is very likely that what little resources remaining would dry up. In addition, the fighting amongst the people below, along with our servant acquisition program, eliminates dozens per month.” He cleared his throat. “However, now with what looks like the possibility of larger scale organization, they may be capable of changing that formula. Given further time, they could represent more of a…” he pursed his lips, considering, “a nuisance.”

  “Yes, your assessment is correct, Citizen Dunlevy,” said Lange, “although given the events of the other night, I would express a term stronger than ‘nuisance.’ We have offered our hand once again, and it has been struck away, with surprising force.” He chose this moment to turn towards his left, gazing directly at the High Inquisitor and his subordinates.

  Wresh radiated calm, and his gruff, growly voice filled the chamber. “It is regrettable that such a situation was allowed to come about. We believe in our haste to swiftly deal with the terrorist leader known as Elijah, we underestimated the desperation and aggression of the forces under the command of this ‘Silver Fox’ character.” He spoke the name with disgust. “Our intelligence suggests that despite the ambush, our soldiers inflicted an equal to or greater number of casualties, but the enemy disguised their losses.” Suspicion seeped through Michaels’ thoughts. What Wresh was saying seemed plausible, but Michaels’ contact with the survivors and other information received suggested no such thing. Nor was there any real reason to discuss enemy losses, except to make the battle not seem like less of a catastrophe. Where is this ‘intelligence’ coming from? Michaels wondered.

  Perhaps, saving face and making crippling losses seem like stalemates is a necessary part of remaining on this council, Michaels thought, frowning.

  “Do you have something to say on the subject, Citizen Michaels?” inquired Lange.

  “Nothing too specific,” Michaels cleared his throat, “although I am wondering how useful this council intends to be when members engage in pointless posturing.” Michaels finished. He kept his gaze fixed on Lange.

  The room sat in stunned silence. Even Dunlevy was unsmiling, eyes wide. Wresh scowled, and hunched over the table, not meeting any eyes. The other Inquisitors looked straight ahead, keeping passive features on their faces.

  The image of Lange smiled. “Indeed. High Inquisitor, further assessment? Please do avoid unnecessary coloration.”

  Wresh shot Michaels a quick glare and began speaking again. Michaels felt very satisfied that he had already established himself and called out one of the highest ranking members in the Citizenship of Haven. If speaking your mind and pointing out the mistakes of fools isn’t how things are supposed to work, he thought, then things may have to change.

  He turned his attention to the High Inquisitor, who continued as though he had not just been spurned. “…we have information regarding the whereabouts of this Miguel and his forces. They currently occupy a club known as Heavenly Bodies, and most of his followers live in and around the district.”

  Lange and everyone else around nodded, and Wresh continued.

  “Intelligence suggests,” he growled, glaring again at Michaels, “it is a guarded area but would easily fall. His people are ruthless and aggressive, but cowardly and uncoordinated. They will be crushed by our retaliation strike.”

  Lange nodded and turned to Dunlevy, “You have studied them most out of everyone, what is your assessment?”

  Dunlevy cleared his throat, “The Silver Fox, as he calls himself, Miguel, runs a loose dictatorship. He, as though in an animal pack, designates himself the leader; the, ah, alpha male, if you will. His concerns are with, ah, females and remaining at the top in the power structure. The man himself is said to be brutal and unyielding, which has led him to survive many attempts on his life by his various underlings, including the women he preys upon.” Dunlevy paused, checking some notes. “Ah yes, most of his fairly large body of forces have no military training; they represent a large portion of criminal and unstable population. There are a few more disciplined members, and most are obedient when given proper incentive, be it advantages or threats. Ultimately, however, they are self-loyal, and will do anything they can to make sure that they survive, no matter the cost.” He folded his hands. “It does seem very likely that the High Inquisitor is correct. A retaliation strike will devastate their forces, create panic, and shatter the organization.”

  Dunlevy rubbed his beard. �
��Another possible effect of a successful action could be a loss of morale for remaining population. It could conceivably spur numerous individuals to surrender to us.” He nodded. “The proposed action could effectively eliminate the, ah, problem. Forever.”

  Michaels smirked, marveling at the ability of Dunlevy to sound halfway intelligent. He spoke up, “I understand that my knowledge on the subject is limited, but how can we be certain that using a similar tactic of direct assault will not fail? Maybe the intelligence that we have received is not accurate and there needs to be more data collected.”

  “You are correct about something; your knowledge is limited,” Wresh unfolded his hands on the desk and looked over at Michaels, who met the gaze. “It is interesting you would mention this intelligence, as it was gleaned from one of your subjects, was it not? If you think the information faulty, would it not be a failing of your own methods?” Wresh smiled at him.

  Michaels swallowed hard, but did not falter. “Anything remains a possibility. However, the technique has never failed. The subject in question was no different, and I believe Inquisitor Gottfried himself has observed the man.” He looked over at Gottfried for confirmation.

  Gottfried sat up in his chair, sparing a quick glance over at the High Inquisitor, who gave a slight nod. “There was nothing unusual about him; he behaved in one of the many often observed fashions of subjects post interrogation, conditioning, and re-education. His procedure took less time than most, and his request to work for the Institute near myself and,” he motioned at Michaels, “our newest member was unusual, but he expressed an infantile fondness for this place and the people he believed ‘saved’ him. Any strangeness regarding his case was not extreme enough to set off any warning indicators.”

  Claudia Laverock spoke up, “Yet it was this information that specifically led to the failed mission in question, is this correct?”

  Dennis Myers, the H.I.B.N. executive, spoke. He had a deep, rumbling voice, “What if he was fed information?”

  “Fed information? Are you out of your mind?” Claudia finally spoke up. “You’re assuming that they can somehow manage to break a conditioning process that they know absolutely nothing about; technically they shouldn’t know it exists at all. Assuming that everything else failed, the conditioned subjects would simply divulge that they were told to be deceptive. They’re just not smart enough to cultivate any sort of deception. Unless they have a single subject isolated who thinks that they know everything, but then they’d reveal all the details of their captivity and their information would be suspect…”

  Michaels was impressed. She seems to know quite a bit about my work, very interesting. I wonder what she thinks of the process…

  Michaels’ mind returned to the discussion to find Dunlevy arguing loudly, “…they have killed a force of our soldiers with what appears to be ease! It is impossible to know how extensive their abilities are!”

  Claudia shot back, “Just because they can surprise arrogant, complacent men once does not mean they could do it again when they’re more prepared!”

  Myers spoke again, very calmly, “We’ve already underestimated their abilities once. We may have to face that our intelligence just can’t cover all of the bases. Isn’t that correct, Julian?”

  Wresh frowned slightly, “I don’t deny it, Citizen Myers.”

  Myers turned back to Claudia, “Then we’ve got to handle it with proper caution.”

  Michaels spoke up, settling into having a presence, “Caution won’t do any good here. A show of strength and superiority will,” he took a breath, “Once Miguel and his forces are dealt with, no one else down below will dare do anything against us.”

  Wresh jumped in, nodding, “And if we do nothing, it will suggest that we are incapable.”

  Claudia said, “Who cares? It’s not as though they can actually do anything to us. Just leave them where they are to rot.”

  Dunlevy shook his head and said adamantly, “We’re already doing that and it’s not working. If one small ragtag band of people can surprise and slaughter our soldiers, think of what hundreds of them could do!”

  “We can contain news of trouble down below. If their mischief manages to reach surface, we could a lot of angry Citizens on our hands,” said Myers.

  Claudia opened her mouth to speak, but Lange cut her off with a short gesture.

  “Your concerns are valid, but further argumentation is unnecessary. Here is what will be done.” He looked at Wresh and the other Inquisitors. “You will take your sufficient retaliation force to destroy this Silver Fox and any who follow him. Use caution; they may be expecting a strike. Take as many prisoners as possible for interrogation and re-education. Our opportunity to obtain more servant stock is becoming limited.” He looked at Myers. “Broadcast information regarding an attempted ambush on our forces that was met with crushing defeat and the capture of numerous enemy soldiers who are now prepared to make amends by serving our people. This will keep public opinion pleased for the time being, as long as we intend to deliver.” He spoke to everyone, “Understand this: in spite of what some of you may think, these are threats that require immediate attention and action, lest they spiral out of our ability to easily contain them.”

  One of the other Inquisitors, the woman Abrams, finally spoke, “What about the contingency?”

  Lange answered, “There is still reluctance to resort to such an extreme measure of,” he paused, looking for a proper word, “containment. Even as a failsafe.”

  Michaels perked up. He’d not heard of anything like this before.

  “Citizen Laverock, what is your progress in this area?” Lange asked.

  Claudia’s air of irritation at losing the argument faded, as though the subject was uncomfortable for her. She swallowed and said, “My best estimations still indicate a minimum 19 percent backlash on our population with the current prototype agent,” she sighed, “assuming ninety-five percent containment.”

  Inquisitor Levine, a smallish, soft-spoken man, said, “That figure could be a low-end estimation, as well. We still experience an occasional wanderer that finds their way into our city from below through various means. Most of our structures remain joined with those below. We have spent a great deal of time and effort to block these sections, but there remains a lot of ground to cover, and it cannot all be watched. With a mass panic and escape attempt from a removal situation, we cannot be certain of how many would find a way out.”

  Claudia piped in, “This makes any mass-purging dangerous. We can’t-”

  Cutting her off, Wresh said, “Regardless of the danger, the contingency has to be ready for use.”

  “But we need more time to work on something that won’t kill so many of our own people!” Claudia objected.

  The High Inquisitor replied, sternly, “Then continue working and be sure that it will be available upon request.” Claudia paled.

  Lange spoke again, “It’s use will be permitted only in the most dire of circumstances,” his eyes narrowed, “but understand that nothing can be allowed to threaten our way of life.” He raised his chin. “In spite of their flaws, these people have been given countless opportunity to join our society. If they are so deranged that they cannot understand this and insist upon causing trouble to those who are clearly happy, then perhaps they forfeit their right to exist.”

  No one responded or met anyone else’s eyes. It was a very serious statement to make. Michaels wondered why they were so somber. It’s not like they’re real people anyway, he thought.

  “Is there anything else?” Lange scanned the room. When no one spoke up, he nodded. “Very well, then. You are dismissed until further notice. Be vigilant.” The apparition disappeared and the hologram apparatus descended back into the floor. Everyone seated at the table stood, gathered up belongings and notes, and moved towards the elevators. Michaels remained in his seat as everyone packed up and left through the elevators. Dunlevy gave him a wide grin and a pat on the shoulder before he left. Claudia and Myers s
miled at him and, and they exchanged farewells. The Inquisitors gave curt nods, and the High Inquisitor didn’t look at or acknowledge him. Michaels almost laughed when Wresh stood. It was hard to tell when he was seated, but the High Inquisitor was surprisingly short for a man of his rank. Michaels stifled his mirth, hiding a grin behind his hand.

  After everyone had gone, Michaels still sat alone, absorbing everything. He sat back in his chair, lounging with smile on his face. He craned his neck, looking at the door in back of the chamber. It seemed so innocuous, but Michaels figured that the all areas past there were well-beyond off-limits, with some manner of brutal preventative measures in place to discourage visitors. If Lange did indeed live in the area above the council room, he probably didn’t want to be disturbed. After all, he went to great lengths to make himself appear young and vibrant. Assuming he’s still alive and it’s not some other person using his image, he thought.

  Michaels was still curious, but not stupid. He assumed that, in spite of appearances, he wouldn’t get within three feet of the door before being reduced to ash, vapor, or some other kind of mess. He didn’t really want that, especially not after his new promotion.

  He gave one last look around the room before standing and shuffling down the ramp to the elevator, which awaited him. He hit the control for ground floor, and looked outside at the field of white rooftops, rising above him as he descended.

  Finally found something of value in Coleman’s files, and finally got my job on top of that. Michaels smiled. Not a bad day.

  Chapter 14: Captivity

  Kaylee had seen no other signs of life since meeting the Russian pair in the residential area near the arts district. She now found herself in relatively unfamiliar territory, having passed Purgatory on the road in front long before. Moving cautiously, she saw no people and no sets of glowing eyes. Not that she was disappointed.

  She knew the area ahead of her was likely to be riddled with guards and members of Miguel’s enclave, but she felt hesitant to move forward. She sat in the corner of what used to be a diner, now scarcely intact. The front had caved in, likely the result of a vehicle accident. Any of the ceiling and remaining wall portions had fallen since, but one corner diligently held up.