Nobility (The Dystopian King Book 1)

by Mason Dakota

  “Wait!” I screamed throwing up my hands before my face.

  “Give me your offer now, Shaman or I kill you and then your friends.”

  I licked my lips and said the first thing that came to my mind, “I can help you become Mayor!”

  Her eyebrows shot straight up and she asked, “And how do you plan to do that?”

  Better come up with something Griffon!

  “You were there last night. You witnessed the truth. Kraine is responsible for everything. He’s finished and leaving Chicago. I even spoke with him today to confirm that. His uncle, Emperor Adam Rythe, reassigned him to be a warden over some prison as punishment for his crimes. There’s soon going to be need for a replacement. Who better than the one who will be known for standing up to Ziavir, for saving Chicago?”

  “Ah, but how do you make that happen?” she asked with a hint of pleasure in her voice. Such a position would give her power not only of Chicago, but also throughout the Empire.

  “I…have friends in the political arena. You help me, then I’ll make sure they do everything they can to make sure you end up as the new acting Mayor of Chicago. Do we have a deal?”

  I stared into her cold eyes, expecting her to shoot. I almost wanted her to. One painful second and it would all be over. No more suicidal mission. No more responsibility and heart ache. No more suffering.

  But someone else would replace me and bear those things.

  Someone like Chamberlain.

  Wishing for it to end only made me a coward. I wasn’t a coward. I robbed the Lady of Chicago! I jumped onto a speeding train to get away! I won a fist-fight with a deadly assassin! I wasn’t about to let Ziavir make me into a coward!

  I took a deep breath and straightened my shoulders. I stood tall and proud, ready to die. Alexandra never fired. Instead she gently pushed the hammer down with her thumb and holstered her pistol. She put her hands on her hips and sighed. “At least tell me you’ve got a plan.”

  I smiled. “Something like that.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  An hour until detonation and the end of my life, and here I sat through the most awkward car ride of my life. Outside, horns blared, people shouted, and chaos reigned. Inside the car, no one spoke a word. It wasn’t some sort of silent internal preparation or deep introspection of why we did what we did. Not even the violence raging outside our car doors had anything to do with the uncomfortable silence.

  No…it was because Lady Alexandra Carline rode in the back seat with Michael.

  Michael fidgeted nervously. He tried to keep his holographic computer screen from her wandering eyes and his own eyes from her entirely. He trembled in the presence of her beauty. I watched in the car’s side mirror as he wiped sweat from his brow and tugged at his shirt collar. He typed furiously at the holographic keyboard, and whenever Alexandra looked at him he typed even faster. He sat far away from her, making every inch count, and huddled against the door frame.

  Only a fool would be calm sitting next to the Lady.

  Meanwhile, Thomas kept his eyes locked forward, breaking his gaze only occasionally to the rear view mirror to see if the Lady tried to stab Michael. He gripped the steering wheel tightly. His eyes glazed over and his wrists shook. Their fears were wise and well-rooted, not just because we shared a car with the second deadliest person in the city.

  I’m too selfish to comfort others. It’s never been in my blood. I prefer a cold exterior and sarcasm to keep my distance from others. Selfishness and pride took me down my path long before Ziavir ever showed up. My selfishness damaged and crippled Chamberlain. It could drive Thomas and Michael to their deaths. And I would remain as cold and distant as ever. I knew their fears, but I lacked the empathy to help them. Instead, I felt anger and rage burning within me as I witnessed the carnage happening outside my window. Every ten feet, I saw my own failures. That should have sobered and humbled me, but instead it infuriated me.

  Maybe Alexandra related more than Thomas and Michael, but she proved impervious to the seduction of fear or anger. She kept her chin held high and her eyes focused outside as she sat with her legs crossed and her pistol tapping against her thigh to some rhythm in her head. Maybe the barrel pointing in Michael’s direction contributed to his growing anxiety. She did it on purpose to toy with him. But she appeared perfectly relaxed and in control. Riding toward possible death did not seem to faze her. Her calm and confident demeanor only made her seem all the more beautiful…and dangerous.

  Curse her!

  She gave a big, exaggerated sigh and rolled her eyes. “This…is so…boring. Can’t you turn on the radio or something?” Thomas’ hands shot out fast. He punched the stereo rather forcibly. Instantly, talk shows reported about conflicts all across the city.

  “Oh, no, this is just depressing. Can’t you find any real music?” Alexandra complained again. Thomas smacked his hand against the buttons to change the station. We went through the set maybe three times before he found something finally playing music.

  Polka music.

  Just what we needed.

  We listened for maybe a minute before I subtly reached forward and turned off the radio. Nobody complained. The stress of the short drive intensified with bumper to bumper traffic. We moved slower by the minute as the panic drove the city into madness. Bodies lay dead in the streets and buildings blazed with flames no one bothered to extinguish.

  I guess to take our minds off the horror, Thomas asked, “Michael, what are you working on.”

  “My obituary. I am predicting either death by gunshot or being engulfed by flames. Maybe it is not too late to write my memoir! I could even record it, have it play out the outcome of my eventual death and schedule it somehow to post it immediately on-line. Bound to be a smashing hit. Guy writes his own obituary on his way to the morgue. Sounds like an instant classic to me.”

  I cringed.

  Michael sure knows how to lighten the mood.

  “Oh, come now. There are worse ways to die,” said Alexandra. She practically sang the words out of her mouth.

  “Yeah, you would know, wouldn’t you?” Michael snapped back like a cornered dog.

  Alexandra, pleased by Michael’s strong reaction, said, “Yes I would. A gunshot to the back of the head is quite quick and painless. It’s good for executions, but if you want someone to suffer, my favorite technique is tying ropes to his limbs and attaching the ropes to four different vehicles. Then I have the drivers step on the gas and…pop! It’s like breaking open a coconut.”

  Michael turned green. He wasn’t alone in that. He avoided Alexandra’s smile and said, “You’re right. That is a worse way to die.”

  Alexandra turned her head toward me and winked. A shiver rippled down my spine. Moments like these made me grateful for the mask. I focused my attention back onto the street and felt my stomach drop as I witnessed the weakness of Chicago. The city appeared eager to destroy itself after one single threat.

  I checked my watch and suppressed a moan. An hour and fifteen minutes remained. We sat six blocks away in traffic that had stopped moving the past twenty minutes. It would take us over an hour to make it those last few blocks! I grabbed the big sports bag and guitar case from the back seat. “We’ll never make it in time. Alexandra, let your team know we are going on foot from here.”

  Before the others could say anything I opened the car door and stepped out into the madness. Immediately, the crowd engulfed me. They shouted and screamed and waved different objects into the air. People fought each other and NPFC officers who carried glass riot shields and batons. Gunshots echoed through the air. I slid easily through the crowd. I saw Alexandra get out of the car and follow me. In moments the professional mobster showed her tack for stealth and grace by catching up to me in a heartbeat. In fact, I fought hard to stay ahead of her. I didn’t like the idea of following Alexandra anywhere.

  Thomas came next. He ran hard and tried to keep his rifle concealed beneath his jacket. He held his own, to my surprise keeping up
with Alexandra and me. Finally Michael came out struggling to balance his tablets and backpacks. He bumped into strangers left and right. Twice he fell and caught himself on vehicles. He awkwardly apologized for each collision, only to bump into another citizen in the process.

  And I’m taking him into combat?

  It took a miserable half hour to make it those last few blocks, and an extra five minutes for Michael to finally catch up. The crowd, caught in the torrent of terror of impending doom, grew more and more violent as the clock ticked down.

  Thirty minutes until frying time.

  The fear in the city grew by each passing minute.

  More NPFC troops fought in the streets here than anywhere else in the city. Ziavir’s mercenaries fought alongside them. Their method of stopping the rioting crowd proved lethal and shameless. It only spurred further violence. I don’t think the rioting citizens tried to stop Ziavir—or even knew his whereabouts. I think the Outcasts wanted to die with feelings of justification and vengeance for years of cruelty. Who better to target than the dirty cops who had oppressed them? I wondered if they were attacking the Mayor’s office as well for the same reasons.

  We dove into an alley and I pulled up my mask just enough to puke my thoughts away. Blood and bodies covered the streets, both Nobles and Outcasts. The air smelled foul, a sick mixture of that blood and ash. It made me sick. Chicago had become a warzone—killing itself from the inside out.

  Can we ever recover?

  I wiped my mouth across my sleeve and pulled my mask back down before Alexandra could see any hint of my face. If she saw my cleft lip she may recognize me from the ball.

  It’s bad business to have a vengeful killer know your true identity.

  I turned back to my team who waited for my instructions. I hated that for them. I’m no leader. That was usually Gabriel’s job…but where was he when the city needed him? I swallowed and leaned my head out the alley to get a look at the factory.

  The word fortress was more accurate than factory. The soaring height of the walls and the armed mercenaries and NPFC officers stationed around the complex created an impossible shield to break. I recognized the place as Chicago’s largest power plant; it supplied electricity to the entire city. It drew power from Chicago’s lakes and sent it out throughout the northern tip of the Empire and even some of the Northern Territories. Much of the Empire’s security and economy rested in the power that plant supplied. The Empire constructed it to provide cheap and easy electricity for the Nobles (of course) of Chicago and the surrounding regions.

  Built during the savage years between the Abandoned War and the rise of the Empire, it was designed to be a defensible fortress. After all, he who controlled the power controlled the world, so leaders went to great lengths to protect it. Walls fourteen feet high topped with barbed wire surrounded the complex and its buildings with only one gated entrance. Mercenaries with rapid-fire weapons and NPFC officers in riot gear stood shoulder to shoulder and covered the front entrance to prevent access.

  Cameras and guards prevented direct approach without risk of bloodshed. Time and an intimidating army would make anyone think twice about taking that route. One had greater luck smashing beehives and fleeing without getting stung.

  But a thief never goes through the front door.

  “What’s the plan?” Thomas asked.

  I examined the power plant carefully before speaking. “Michael, see if you can tap into their security system to get a view inside. Try to locate Ziavir and the bomb.” Michael kicked over a metal trash can and used it as a seat as he pulled out his holographic data pad.

  “Alexandra, when will your men be here?” I asked.

  “About ten minutes. They’re waiting on my signal.”

  “Good, because we are going to need them, all of them.”

  “If you intend to sacrifice the life of my men, then you best make sure you keep your promise.”

  I swallowed and looked away from her. “I am a man of my word. You will get what’s promised.”

  Both Thomas and Michael shot me questioning looks. They knew nothing concerning any promise made. They would not be in support of the Lady becoming their new Mayor, but I didn’t have much choice. We needed her help, so I kept my promise a secret. I looked back and forth between Michael and the fortress.

  Finally, Michael said, “I’m in.”

  I jumped behind him to look over his shoulder. Michael accessed the cameras and flipped through different camera angles. Years of training kicked in, and with each image he showed I constructed a mental map of the building’s layout.

  “The main courtyard is filled with guards, as well as the rooftops. I count maybe twenty on the outside, with more inside. Okay, I think I found him. It is a bad angle but I think it is him,” Michael said. Looking over Michael’s shoulder, I saw a room filled with pipes, machinery, and people. I recognized Dr. Eugene Clarkson and Dr. Kate Symilions; both worked on some sort of large machine. Armed guards stood careful watch over them.

  Another figure, whom I could see only from the waist down, held a sword cane.

  “That’s got to be Ziavir,” I said, pointing at the image and patting Michael on the back.

  “So, what’s the plan?” asked Thomas. He kept peeking around the alley corner with every scream or gunshot. He turned paler with each peek.

  With our options limited, a direct approach meant suicide. The NPFC would shoot me on sight. Those concrete walls, thick and reinforced, prevented the option of blowing a doorway elsewhere. With a direct approach being suicide and a back entrance the same, that left only one option.

  Good thing I packed my parachutes.

  “You sure you can use that rifle?” I asked him for what had to be the hundredth time.

  “You mean to tell me you brought along a boy who you don’t even know can shoot? Did you find this Noble off the street and convince him to help you?” asked Alexandra.

  Well… you’re half right.

  “I won the Chicago’s Youth Marksman Challenge three years in a row growing up.”

  I heard a degree of spiteful venom in his voice.

  “Yes, but did any target ever shoot back? Did you ever kill a man? Do you want to know what it feels like?” asked Alexandra. She looked like a cat playing with a new toy.

  Thomas swallowed, choking on his next words. The fire he’d held in his eyes was snuffed out.

  “If he says he can shoot then he can shoot. I trust him. And he won’t be killing anyone. I’ve made sure of that,” I said to Thomas’ quick defense.

  Never show a predator even a moment of weakness.

  Before she could say something else to tear down the strength of my team, I tossed Alexandra a belt holding a couple of smoke and pineapple grenades. She snatched it out of the air and immediately hooked it around her waist.

  “Alexandra, I want you and your men to attack the front gates on my signal. Use the smoke grenades first for some cover. Feel free to be as creative and loud as you like. Just focus on punching through their lines and drawing out as many as you can.”

  “My men do all the hard work while you sneak in safely in through the back?” she asked, guessing my role in the plan.

  “Well you are the Lady with the army.”

  “Army…made of men. Not a battering ram. They might not mean much to you, but they are family to me.”

  “I’m trying to save them as well. I know their sacrifice is not in vain. But it’s needed.”

  “You’re such a gentleman,” she said.

  “I try very hard to be,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes and asked, “And what about the NPFC officers in the way?”

  My mind flashed back to Agent Lorre, a NPFC officer who went against the orders of his superiors to do what he believed to be right. Many NPFC officers were cruel and ruthless dirty cops who enjoyed using the power of their genes and the authority of their positions to act as tyrants against Outcasts.

  But not all were like that. Lorre showed me
that. Some officers believed in justice and fairness and joined the force because they believed everyone deserved such. Both types were out there, simply following orders from the wicked who directed them. Whatever their motives for enlisting, they stood out there because they followed those orders.

  Did that mean they deserved my judgment that they should be killed? What gave me that right? Weren’t my motives similar?

  Did my motives and desires trump theirs?

  “They’re just following orders. Spare as many of them as you can.”

  Alexandra raised her eyebrows with a smirk and said, “Coming from the man who sparked a war between my men and the NPFC?”

  “People change, Alexandra.”

  Alexandra gave me a smiling look that either said she approved or that she saw me weak. I didn’t care. I pointed at Michael and said, “You’re coming with me.”

  “Wh-where?” asked Michael.

  “Weren’t you listening? While Alexandra plays with the boys out front, we are going in from another route.”

  “I was not made aware of that!” said Michael. His pupils grew wide and white, and his hands trembled.

  “I need someone in there to watch my back and to deactivate the bomb.”

  “That is not me!”

  “Well it certainly isn’t me.”

  “That does not mean I am good at deactivating a bomb! You are the one who has done it before!”

  “On luck! Relax, you’ll figure something out when the time comes. I’m sure of it.”

  “You rely on luck? What good are you, then?” asked Alexandra trying once more to cut me down.

  “Beating people over the head with a stick and intimidating pretty girls while doing it.”

  Once again, I got one of her thought-hiding smiles.

  “How are we even going to get in there?” asked Michael.

  “I’ll tell you that later,” I said.

  “Why not now?”

  “Because you won’t like the answer.” I almost chuckled at the look Michael gave me.

  “And my part?” asked Thomas. He stood there quietly, his presence easily forgotten thanks to Alexandra’s and Michael’s outbursts.