Nobility (The Dystopian King Book 1)

by Mason Dakota

  Thomas pulled the car through a cheap drive-through and ordered a greasy, sloppy burger with fries. It was a sad thought to think that if Carmichael chose to kill me that fast food would be my final meal. The thought didn’t keep me from devouring the meal as fast as I could.

  I saw a flash of disgust cross Thomas’ face as he watched me eat, especially after a drop of ketchup fell on my lap. I flashed him a smile with a mouth full of burger and asked, “So how did you happen to get this job.”

  Thomas had a quiet contemplation and I assumed he ignored me. I opened my mouth, still full of food, to repeat myself. Daffy would be so proud. But before the words came out of my mouth Thomas spoke up.

  “I grew up wanting to get into politics. As a kid I thought only politics can bring about real lasting change. Honestly…I’ve always wanted to serve people…to improve the world. But my family didn’t have the money to send me to the right schools. I thought if I could get a job at the Mayor’s office, even one as low as driving ungrateful political figures around, I might one day get my chance. It’s been three years now and nothing’s changed.”

  He spoke like a man with no hope for the future.

  I slowly finished my bite and swallowed. Neither of us said anything the rest of the trip. I felt like a jerk and I’m sure Thomas felt uncomfortable and vulnerable. My entire view of Thomas changed. Since meeting Thomas, I’d assumed he was no different than any other Noble. But I was quickly noticing how much alike we really were. We had similar visions to do more, to not be pawns on someone else’s chessboard, but to be players that helped changed the world for the better.

  An urgent sensation burned within me to expose my secret to Thomas. I figured it was my only chance to at least honestly tell someone before Erikson broadcast my secret to the world and before the NPFC arrested and executed me. My heart wanted to tell, but my mind refused to do so. I was so conflicted and distracted with my thoughts that I did not notice our arrival at Chicago’s NPFC police station.

  “Well, here we are, Sir,” said Thomas. I caught his eyes in the rear-view mirror. This time they did not show disgust. I saw his honest soul shining through them, and it looked broken and lost. Life had been hard on Thomas, even if he was a Noble. Once again, the temptation to expose my secret came screaming through my skull. I almost broke.

  Instead, I slipped him a hundred-dollar bill and whispered, “You and I are alike, Thomas. We both want the same thing.” Then I exited the side door and into the cold Chicago air.

  I got three steps away from the car before another panic attack began. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach rose into my throat threatening to spill that greasy burger back up. Fear’s icy cold fingers glided down my spine pulling at the hairs on my arms like a magnet. My knees buckled and I almost collapsed to the ground. I wasn’t at a political meeting with the police commissioner.

  I was at a public execution.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A stage had been erected in front of the NPFC station. Red banners draped the courtyard. The banners boasted the symbol of the Empire to remind everyone of the Empire’s power and might. Camera crews were in the process of finding the best angles and lighting to view what would happen on the stage. People gathered, mingling in the courtyard with comfortable familiarity.

  Corporate representatives and small-time business men and women moved through the crowd, selling their wares, while some firms closed shop early for the day so their workers could attend the “show.” Concession stands and food trucks lined the courtyard exterior to profit from the growing crowd—as if they were at some sporting event, and not an execution! Men shouted out bargain deals from their stalls. What was worse was the black-masked man standing next to a lever, guarding a hanging rope that awaited its victim.

  Ignorant bliss surrounded the horror about to happen.

  Chicago loved its executions. Correction, the Nobles of Chicago loved executions because they were never the ones being hanged. To many, it was the same as a hunting expedition, where the Outcast men and women were the prey and those who watched participated in the hunt. Nobles gathered together like it was a holiday—they even brought their children—as another “criminal” was taken off the street for issues as minor as parking tickets.

  I’m surprised many don’t openly bet on the time it takes before life is choked out.

  All the while, a usually innocent Outcast hangs from a rope as the crowd cheers for their self-righteous false justice. It was a great motivation for Outcasts to stay away from crime—or all Nobles for that matter—as even lowly pickpockets could be hanged if they were caught. In fact, Outcasts avoided the hangings because we never knew when an excited crowd might accuse another of us just to watch another hanging.

  It was known to happen.

  It wasn’t uncommon for the NPFC to grab any random Outcast off the street, put some false charges on him, and then hang him to boost the city’s morale in difficult times for the Noble population. They even liked to brag that the last food crisis in the city was solved by mass executions of the Outcast population.

  I practically ran from the sidewalk and into the NPFC station. Who would think that I would run into a police station? I burst through the doors, thanking my change of luck that no press had seen me. The police station was filled with…well, cops, everywhere. All turned their heads toward me, and I felt like a pink elephant in a room full of pro game hunters.

  I stared back at them until the pain kicked in again, and I had to catch myself on the counter. I scrambled in my pocket and took out more pain pills. I gobbled them up and sighed at the coming relief. I then took a heart-pounding second to make sure I pronounced my words carefully, like Daffy had instructed.

  “I’m here to see Commissioner Carmichael.”

  They all glanced at each other, then returned to their various jobs. No one answered me, so I just stood there unsure what I should do next. I didn’t want to appear like a spoiled brat and ask again when I was clearly heard, but I also didn’t want to be disrespected.

  I made my decision, and as I opened my mouth to speak again a heavy-set lady with a phone to her ear called out, “Carmichael will see you now. He’s in his office upstairs at the end of the hall.”

  I felt every eye in the room drill into my back as I approached the office. I never turned around. I took the stairs two at a time and faced more cold stares. I was not welcome there.

  Carmichael worked at the end of the hall in a glass-walled office. Sitting in a chair across from Carmichael, having a spirited and private conversation, was Ralph Erikson.

  Halting my advance, I slipped over toward the far wall by the water cooler to hide. I pretended to get a drink as I watched them carefully. I couldn’t hear them through the glass wall, and I couldn’t read lips like Alison. I filled a cup with water and tried to act casual.

  Maybe a minute passed before Erikson looked out and saw me. That weasel of a smile stretched across his face. My cover blown, I lifted my plastic cup to him in a toast and returned my most confident smile right back at him. He said something to Carmichael, and then both men got up and walked out of the office. I downed the water, crumpled the plastic cup, and tossed it into a trash can before stepping into their path.

  “Mr. Nightlock, fancy meeting you here,” said Erikson with that smile. Oh, how I wanted to hit the man across the jaw.

  “Exactly what I was about to say to you, Erikson. This does not really seem like the type of place to find someone like yourself. Usually people like you are found in places with white-cushioned walls and those super comfy jackets that keep you warm and safe from yourself,” I said.

  Erikson snickered and said, “It’s just as much of a shock to see someone of your…status…here as well. Commissioner Carmichael is an old college buddy of mine. I enjoy coming by here…just to catch up on current events.”

  The message was clear. Carmichael knew who I was and aware that I knew he was with Nebula. I’d expected as much, but a guy can always hope to cat
ch a break. Erikson turned toward Carmichael, who held a cold robotic stare on me, and said, “I’m sorry, but I must be off. There’s much work I need to get done before tonight. Victor, it was a pleasure as always.”

  Victor Carmichael said, “Same to you, Ralph.” His voice was deep yet soft, and it made him sound wiser than I figured he really was.

  Then Erikson turned his head back to me and said, “I hope to hear your offer tonight, Nightlock.”

  I raised my chin to him and said, “Let me save you the worry. Bite me.”

  With a tone of disappointment, Erikson sighed, “Your choice of vocabulary remains inspiring. Farewell each of you, then.” Erikson left, leaving me with Carmichael.

  “Griffon Nightlock,” The Police Commissioner said.

  “That’s what it says on my underwear,” I replied. His plain face twitched with anger. He tried to hide it, returning a cool and calculating, emotionless face. The man was a robot who wanted everyone to believe it, but I’d seen the chip in his armor.

  He slowly opened his mouth to speak, but I purposefully interrupted him before he could utter the first word. “Why am I here?”

  “Wouldn’t you prefer to talk in my office where it’s more private?” he asked.

  I arrogantly tapped my chin as if I were considering my options. “Oh, I think I like it out here just fine. Plenty of witnesses.” I pointed a gun with my fingers to stress my point. Around the room a few officers kept checking us out, some creeping closer to eavesdrop.

  Carmichael clinched his jaw and whispered, “Witnesses who all loyally work for me. Now get in the office…it’s not a request.” His expression was dark and full of hate.

  I dipped my head in obligation and entered the office. I guessed I was about to be murdered and couldn’t hide my nerves. I walked into the middle of the room, surprised to be still in one piece, and spun around to face Carmichael. I was tense and ready for a fight. My mind raced, calculating moves and angles, eliminating bad options. Carmichael came in and calmly pressed a button on a remote. Instantly the glass walls darkened so nobody on the outside could see into the office. I had the feeling the room was probably sound proof, too.

  I grew more nervous when I saw the handle of a rare militarized blaster pistol beneath his suit jacket. A single shot from that could blow a hole in the side of the wall big enough for me to walk through. Only Imperial soldiers carried such weapons. The scary part…The holster was unbuttoned for easy withdrawal.

  How come every cop in town carries a dangerous weapon like a Swiss army knife?

  My eyes swept the room looking for anything I could use to arm myself. I slowly side-stepped toward the desk on my right ready to spring and grab a pen or hopefully a letter opener if the need arose. Carmichael didn’t move from the doorway. He closed it behind him and resumed his robotic stare.

  Finally, Carmichael said, “I’ve been ordered not to kill you as long as you cooperate.”

  “Oh really, and who ordered you?” I asked as I took another step toward the desk, placing it between us.

  “I think we both know who,” he said.

  “Actually, I don’t know. My guess would be Ziavir…or Nebula.”

  Carmichael smirked and said, “Erikson said you knew about us. I thought him mistaken. Now, I’m impressed. How does a pickpocket come to find out about Nebula? Where are you getting your information?”

  I did not miss the fact that he had failed to answer my question.

  “Does it worry you that you’re not as secure as you thought? Maybe Nebula isn’t as good at being invisible to the world as they like to think. I mean, who would think that a terrorist organization believed extinct is still active today? Unless…and this might be a stretch…nobody really cares about your little boy band. Or, maybe the Emperor does care and is heading up here as we speak with an army to squash you like bugs,” I said.

  Carmichael scoffed and moved deeper into the room. He kept to my left; keeping his body turned as a smaller target, he approached his desk chair but didn’t sit down. His hand hovered above his holster. I watched his fingers twitch just slightly like a man about to draw and shoot.

  “If you were as smart as you think you are, you would take Erikson’s offer. You and Nebula have similar goals. All Nebula wants is a world where both Nobles and Outcasts are on equal playing fields. Is that so wrong?” he asked.

  “Not if the price means the death of thousands.”

  “You might come to think differently of our tactics in time.”

  “Doubtful.”

  “We shall see.”

  “Don’t go placing bets on it. A world where Nebula rules as yet another tyrant doesn’t sound like a different story than the one I see now. When you greedy Nobles fight for power, it’s my people who suffer the consequences,” I said angrily.

  “You might be surprised to discover that not all of us are Nobles. Even Outcasts believe in our message and have joined our ranks. Our very own director happens to be an Outcast. We are a legion that penetrates every global organization. To something of that magnitude, you are but a pestering fly. If you seek this war so desperately with us, then you must accept the price. I’m offering you grace Ziavir will not grant you—to partner with us before he kills you.”

  “You think you are saving my life? Your men are outside right now preparing a scene to execute another innocent Outcast struggling to survive, and you dare say that you are trying to save my life! You—Ziavir—Erikson—Nebula you are all monsters. I won’t stand aside as you take innocent lives. And if that means war then so be it!” I turned toward the door to leave.

  “If that’s what you really want, then you should check the messages on your phone,” said Carmichael. The threat in his calm tone rang clear. Suddenly the weight of fear began to press down on me.

  I pulled out the cell phone I’d gotten from Kraine and turned it on. I had one new message, but there was no number to identify the caller. I clicked open the message and felt my stomach drop like a lead balloon. Fear and panic pounded through my skull. My heart raced. My forehead began to sweat, and my eyes stared for so long without blinking that they burned.

  The message was a single picture.

  The picture was Alison and Chamberlain working in Michael’s apartment with a sniper’s crosshairs lined over them. I couldn’t see Michael in the photo, but the message was clear that there was more at stake than just my life.

  “You’re willing to sacrifice yourself to pursue this, but are you willing to sacrifice the lives of your friends?” asked Carmichael. “That picture was taken moments ago. A single word from me or anyone in our organization and your loved ones die.”

  My hands trembled in white hot fury. I wanted to kill him, to smash his face in with my bare fists. I wanted to strangle the last breath from his lungs and watch the life leave his eyes. My hands were already covered in blood, what was a little more upon them? I didn’t care if I swam in the dark pit of my soul. I didn’t care if I lost myself. My love bore wrath so hot it branded and scorched what I saw around me.

  But I never struck him.

  Fear did not hold me back. While Carmichael could kill me before I got to him, fear of death wasn’t what grounded me. Love did. If I made one misstep, those I loved would pay the price. I couldn’t allow my emotions to cause that. I’ve always been a man led by emotion, but right then I needed my intellect to overrule before my emotions destroyed everything.

  “What do you want?” I whispered. My voice sounded dry and raspy. My shirt collar felt too tight and my palms were sweaty.

  Carmichael straightened and said, “You already know that answer. You have until tonight’s ball to submit. If your answer is less than satisfactory…Ziavir will kill you himself.”

  Carmichael checked his watch and sighed, “It seems we’ve run out of time. I had other intentions for asking you here, but in a few minutes both you and I must be outside on stage for the presentation. Here’s your speech.” He tossed me a stack of index cards held together
by a rubber band.

  Me, give a speech? What has this world come to?

  My palms and forehead dripped sweat and my heart pounded loudly in my ears. I had to fully focus to hear what Carmichael said next. “Say anything other than what is on those cards and your friends are dead. Is that clear?”

  I slowly nodded and swallowed hard to relieve my dry throat. It didn’t help.

  “Tell me something first. How do you suddenly know so much about me when I just found out about you guys a few hours ago?”

  For the first time Carmichael smiled and said, “We’ve been watching you for a very long time. Nebula identified you as an interesting individual years ago. Why else do you think you’ve been unopposed in your crimes? More importantly, why do you think your Illegal friend has gone undiscovered by the Empire? If I were you, I’d consider that level of protection as a great honor.”

  They were watching us for years? And they were protecting Chamberlain’s secret?

  I managed to gather myself again to show Carmichael my clenched teeth. A pitiful smile. “Well, you’re not me,” I said through my teeth. Carmichael lifted his chin at me and the smile faded away.

  “It’s time,” he said. Then he moved toward the door and walked out. I stood there for a few precious seconds questioning my own intentions at this time. Chamberlain was right, I had gotten into something too big for me or any of us to handle. But there was no leaving it all behind now.

  I pocketed the phone and the index cards and followed Carmichael.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I hate crowds.

  Always have. They feel like a suffocating force—as if they suck out all the oxygen around me. I struggle to breathe in them. Crowds have a way of making me feel small and insecure and insignificant—and I hate that. Fear pumped through my veins. Anxiety ran wild in my mind, thinking whatever secret I owned would be discovered and land me in the hangman’s noose.