Haven

by Justin Kemppainen

Michaels tapped his foot impatiently. He checked his watch and rolled his eyes. Claudia had dragged him from his office because, somehow, she needed his help. All she had done was bring him down to the large testing laboratory and leave him standing outside of her office.

  Maybe that’s why she left me out here, he thought. She knows how much I hate wasting time. He peered around the door, looking through the glass panels that served to allow her or whoever else to monitor the rest of the testing room.

  Michaels was surprised at the change. Before, when he had been there, many of the other projects had still been scattered about with various techs and people in white coats milling around working on them. These included various prototypes of military hardware and vehicles, a few kinds of explosive devices; all sorts of projects.

  Now, everyone was working on assembly of identical devices. Michaels recognized the curved, smooth metal riveted together to form a cylinder. From there, one of the slitted ends was welded in place, the opposite side awaiting the payload for each one. The device was identical to the prototype save for the size. Each unit was about as large as a refrigerator laid on its side. They all had rungs welded to the outer surface, which Michaels assumed were used to attach cables for lifting and lowering.

  Other stations were producing smaller tubes of what Michaels guessed was a hard plastic substance, the chemical chambers. There were four thinner ones attached to a larger one in the center for each device, probably the mixing chamber. More workers yet hovered around small electronic assemblies, and other groups were working on putting the parts together. Thus far, none of them were finished enough to receive the deadly payload as of yet, but a couple of them were getting close.

  As he peered around the corner, he’d occasionally see Claudia bent over something in sight of the window. Then she’d disappear again into an unseen corner. He sighed, irritation at being left standing around for the last half hour growing rapidly.

  He sat down and leaned his head against the cold metal railing. He was considering trying to close his eyes and take a brief nap when he saw Citizen Dennis Myers, in his dark blue suit, moving up the stairs and across the second story towards the office where Michaels sat. Michaels stood up and smoothed out his own rumpled attire. Due to the late nights, busy schedule, and a great deal of things to think about, Michaels’ personal care had suffered somewhat. His clothes were unkempt and slightly dirty, and a dusting of stubble stood out on his cheeks.

  Myers, conversely, looked clean and immaculate as always. Michaels shook the soft, manicured, dark hand as Myers spoke in his rumbling bass, “Afternoon Citizen Michaels.”

  “Hello Citizen Myers, how are you?”

  “Just fine. A little curious as to why Miss Claudia called me to come down here.” He glanced at his watch. “I have a broadcast going out in forty-five minutes.”

  Michaels shrugged, “She personally dragged me out of my office begging for my help, then decided that she was going to work in there,” he hooked a thumb towards the office, “without me.”

  “Curious.” Myers said, clearly uninterested.

  “Indeed,” Michaels replied.

  The two stood in an awkward silence for a few moments, as neither really knew anything about the other and they had no idea of any common ground or subjects they could comfortably discuss with one another.

  Luckily, they were spared from extensive agony by the exuberant appearance of Dunlevy, who came bounding over with a loud, “Good afternoon, my friends!”

  Both men responded with a, “Hello, Arthur.” Myers said it with a relaxed tone, and Michaels mumbled the greeting.

  “Standing about today are we?” Dunlevy said, eyes twinkling, “With so much work to be done. Absolutely appalling!” he finished, laughing at them.

  “Very funny, Arthur,” Myers said passively. He gestured towards Michaels, “We were just talking; do you happen to know why Claudia called us down here?”

  “Haven’t the foggiest!” Dunlevy said with a wide grin. “Always so exciting to come down here, see what gadgets and trinkets are being put together. Although,” he added, smile fading as he looked down at the milling workers below, “it looks a bit more drab than usual.”

  Myers straightened his tie, “Redirected to work on the latest project, as you’d expect.”

  “Yes, I see that,” Dunlevy said softly, distracted by the milling workers. “frightening device, don’t you think?” He turned and cocked an eyebrow at the other two.

  Michaels looked away, saying nothing. Myers gave a slow nod, “I can’t say I’m fond of it…” leaving a hanging air to the statement.

  Michaels frowned. “But?”

  Myers gave a grim smile, “but nothing. I don’t like it at all. It’s barbaric by any standard.”

  Michaels shrugged and looked uncomfortable, “I suppose, but what if it’s necessary, did you think of that?”

  A look of irritation crossed Dunlevy’s face and he opened his mouth. Myers held up a hand and shook his head, and Dunlevy remained silent. Myers leveled a gaze at Michaels and said, “Son, someday you might understand that barbarism isn’t defined by what some old man in a tower afraid of his own death says.”

  Michaels scoffed, “Please. It’s obvious that Lange barely runs things. He’s too detached. It’s all Wresh and his Inquisitors.”

  Myers leaned back and let out a laugh, “Well, you’re half-right. Julian would love to see the city under his full control, but old Citizen One’s not letting go that easy.”

  Michaels gave a confused glance towards Dunlevy, who nodded in affirmation, “Citizen One still has primary control over a lot of the infrastructure and power grid.” He shrugged, “No one really knows what would happen if he decided to do something. At best, we’d have to reroute a lot of control center materials. At worst…” He left the statement hanging.

  Before Michaels could respond with a shaky and less-than-confident rebuttal, the office door swung open. Michaels jumped back, narrowly avoiding being struck by it.

  She looked carefully at each one, “Good, you’re all here. Come inside.” She stood to the side. Michaels gave her a thin smile as he walked by.

  Several minutes later all three men were uneasily shaking their heads when Claudia finished talking. Michaels spoke up first, “I’m not sure how these things are supposed to work, but has anyone ever done anything like what you’re suggesting?”

  Myers folded his arms. “No. Everything Citizen One says has been obeyed as long as I’ve been around. Complaints or concerns are always addressed at council meetings…” he furrowed his brow, “and never brought up again.”

  Dunlevy nodded, “He’s right, Claudia. No one’s stood up to him in oh…” he thought about it, “fifty years?” He let out a humorless laugh. “At least none who have lived to tell about it.”

  Claudia removed her glasses and set them on the table, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I know that, but there’s never been a real reason to before.” All three men frowned and said nothing. “Come on! You know this is wrong!”

  Myers unfolded his arms and turned his palms upward, “Of course we do,” Michaels scowled at being spoken for, “but what good is it going to do?”

  “Nothing!” Michaels cut in, “No good at all. We’d be idiots to try-”

  “Shut up you cowardly piss!” Claudia snapped, surprising the room with her blunt language. “We can’t use that thing!” She pointed at the small prototype canister sitting on her desk.

  “Because it’s not ready?” Michaels asked.

  Claudia shot him a deadly glare, “No, you moron! It’s ready. Of course the goddamn thing is ready! We can’t use it because it’s horrific!”

  Dunlevy spoke up, in a somber tone, “We know that, but Gregory is right.” He gave a sad smile. “Hell, he’s living proof that none of us are irreplaceable.” Michaels swallowed hard and paled slightly, remembering the grinning skull on Coleman’s computer screen as Dunlevy continued, “Marcus was a very close friend of mine. Of all of ours
.” Myers merely raised an eyebrow. Michaels indicated no response.

  “So that’s it?” Claudia asked, exasperated. “We don’t speak up because we’re too afraid of what will happen?” She looked at each one of them. None of them met her eyes. “Screw that.” She started walking out the door.

  Myers stepped forward putting his hand on her shoulder, “Claudia…”

  “No!” she shouted, and he stepped back. “To hell with keeping quiet and to hell with you! All of you!” She slammed the door shut on her way out.

  The three men didn’t meet each other’s eyes. Myers and Dunlevy quietly left one by one without so much as a glance backward. Michaels stood leaning on the desk with his arms crossed. He wondered if Claudia would still be alive in the morning.

  Chapter 32: Final Preparations

  In spite of what Rick assumed was a glorious sunrise on the surface, the same pale gloom stretched over the underside of Haven the next morning. For a while, the lack of activity regulation by daylight had been disconcerting, and many of the people left behind had trouble adjusting.

  Luckily for them, many old power stations were still functioning, and all that was necessary to keep illumination was to reset the timing on the lamps to run all of the time. Eventually, without the needed care and maintenance, they broke down. Panic gripped along with the darkness, and after weeks some individuals were able hook into the Citizenship power grid. It was, until recent days, the only time that various groups in the down below area had come together. They understood that survival without any light would have been impossible.

  That had been years ago, and even though some repairs on the patchwork grid were needed and darkness was all over whether by burned out bulbs or severed lines, there was still light in some places.

  Rick didn’t really care about this. What he did care about as he stuck the dirty fork he always used into the unlabeled can of cold beans was the same thing he wished for every single morning and hadn’t seen in years.

  Coffee. Good strong coffee, maybe with cream and sugar to give it a little extra flavor. Not that he’d ever admit that part to anyone else. Every now and then when reporting to Victor in the morning, he could smell the aroma of fresh coffee wafting through the slit on the door as they spoke. More than once, he had nearly started begging for a just a little.

  He’d also have killed for some bacon and eggs. Or any sort of fresh, non-canned food. He wiped his fork on the sleeve of his jacket and dropped it back into his pack, tossing the empty can over his shoulder. It clattered on the ground, instantly becoming a part of the décor. With all of the random debris scattered around, Rick wasn’t even sure he could have turned around and identified it without concentrated effort.

  After his breakfast, he moved over into the Purgatory building, which was now being guarded round the clock. Elijah and Victor were already sitting at the conference table, looking through various sheets of paper with various scribblings. With a casual glance, Rick realized they were counting personnel.

  “…accurate estimates of about two hundred with at least rudimentary combat training or decent experience and an additional four hundred battle capable.”

  Rick did a double take, “Really? That many? Where did they come from?”

  Victor replied, “Many of them are associated with Miguel. They live in his district. He employed a great number of guards and scavengers with promise of protection. That and,” he gestured to the paper, “the word of the success against the Citizens spread quickly. When they heard we planned to move out, a few hundred unaffiliated individuals came out of hiding in the last few days.” He looked up. “Most everyone

  Elijah frowned and motioned for Rick to take a seat, “But six hundred, more than two-thirds green. That’s not very many. The Citizenship has more of just Inquisitors than that. That’s not even counting the size of their military, which is…” he rubbed his chin, “much larger than that.”

  Rick held up a finger, “Yes, but how ready are they to mobilize their full military strength within their own city?”

  Victor nodded, “They aren’t; most of them are probably still deployed or trying to return, and their reserve forces won’t be replenished yet.” He rubbed his smooth face. “Let us also not forget that most of our forces have likely seen some manner of fighting in their years down here.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a huge difference between ‘can fire a gun’ and ‘can execute tactical maneuvers and take orders when bullets are flying.” Rick responded.

  Victor gave a slight smile, “Fortunately, causing a disruption shouldn’t require a great deal of intricate tactics.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” Rick smirked. “In any case whatever we do will need to be done fast, before they can react. Well, and before they drop lethal poison down here and kill us all.”

  “Ideas?” Elijah said, looking at Rick.

  “A few.” Rick gave a thin smile. “What the hell are you doing out here anyway, ‘Klaus?’”

  Elijah cocked his head slightly and gave a little knowing smile, which faded when Desmond walked into the room. He slouched back into his chair and did his best to look unimportant and bored.

  Rick rolled his eyes, but put a cordial smile on to greet Desmond.

  “I can’t stay long,” Desmond said, wiping his spectacles on his shirt. “I left Olivia alone gathering supplies and coordinating the move.” A smile of reminiscence spread across his face. “She wasn’t too happy about that.”

  The other three, never having been married, exchanged glances and said nothing. Desmond, remembering the company he was in, straightened up and said, “Right, sorry. I came to give you this,” he slid a piece of paper onto the table. “It has civilian estimates from both Quinton and us.”

  Victor scanned the information and nodded. “Good. Thank you.”

  Desmond didn’t leave, he stood with a slight hunch and his hands in his pockets and a faraway stare, as though he were waiting for something or distracted. “Is there anything else?” Victor asked him.

  Desmond snapped back into reality, “Oh! Ah, yes there is. We need a timetable, instructions, and the location.”

  Rick piped in, “Don’t worry about instructions or timetable; we’ll have a few of our people to coordinate that for you. And the location,” he tore off a scrap of paper and scribbled on it, “is at this street. If you can,” he handed the scrap to Desmond, “try and get moving as soon as possible. Are you familiar with where that is?”

  Desmond rubbed the tip of his nose, “Yes, I believe so. South side?”

  Rick nodded, “That’s right.”

  Desmond clutched the paper in his fist; he gave a little salute with it, “Well, thank you. I suppose I probably won’t be seeing you again.”

  Victor and Rick exchanged glances, “No, probably not for a while at least,” Rick said.

  “Well, then the best of luck to you,” Desmond gave a little bow then walked out.

  Once he was gone, Elijah sat up, “Well?”

  Victor looked at the numbers again, “Manageable without too many of our people needed.” He turned his eyes towards Elijah. “About one hundred and fifty elderly and children, most of them capable of movement or assisting each other, from how it sounds. An additional seventy-five unable or unwilling to fight. The rest have already been distributed among Sergei and Isaac’s ranks.”

  Elijah nodded, “What about Matthias?”

  Rick shook his head, “His people won’t fight. He was pretty clear on that point.”

  Elijah scowled, “Lovely.” He sifted through some of the sheets. “Which exit will we be taking?”

  Rick and Victor exchanged a quick glance. “I will be taking care of the infiltration part.” Rick said firmly. “You will be with Kaylee in the south with the civilians.”

  Elijah raised his chin and his eyes narrowed, “Is that so?” he said, sounding more like a statement than a question.

  Rick met his intense gaze and nodded. “With respect, sir, you are not going to be able
to keep up when we attempt to take the Institute. It will be highly dangerous and probably require intense fighting inside.”

  Elijah shot a glare at Victor, who didn’t react, “You agreed to this?”

  Victor gave a short nod and stared at a spot past Elijah, not meeting his eyes.

  Elijah’s hand shot out and he grabbed Rick’s arm. “You listen to me,” he said, gritting his teeth, “this whole thing would be nothing without me. I made this happen. You won’t cut me out of it.”

  Elijah’s eyes suddenly went wide and the hand gripping Rick’s arm began to tremble violently, veins popping out on his neck. Rick did a double take at the sudden change, “Elijah? What’s wrong?” he asked with growing concern.

  Elijah released his grip and fell back into his chair, breathing in short gasps with sweat beading on his forehead. He clenched his eyes shut and his mouth hung open with an expression of pain and distress.

  Rick was shoved roughly out of the way as Victor jumped over in front of Elijah. He produced a small syringe that, with a quick couple of taps, he inserted into Elijah’s thigh and depressed the plunger.

  Victor remained crouched in front of Elijah, watching him intently. After a moment, Elijah’s ragged breath normalized and a measure of serenity settled into Elijah’s face. He opened his eyes and put a hand on Victor’s shoulder, “Thank you, old friend.”

  Victor tilted his head slightly downward, “Of course, but…” he let the phrase linger in the air.

  Elijah chuckled, squeezing Victor’s shoulder as both men rose to their feet, “I understand, you can’t have some frail old man getting in the way.”

  Rick exclaimed, “What the hell was that all about?”

  Elijah moved past Victor and placed his index finger on Rick’s chest. “Don’t worry about me. Secure the target site, and I will be along shortly after.”

  Rick opened his mouth to object, but Elijah cut him off, “Ah, ah! No. There’s no discussion here. I have to be there. You’ll have to tie me up or shoot me,” he smiled that soft, kindly smile, “to stop me from going. I must to say hello to an old friend.”