The Collection

by Shannon Stoker

  Grant reached the front of the building. The exterior was a deep crimson. It was the only structure in the capital whose color stood out. As he cruised the parking lot he passed other vehicles and noted that they belonged to the most important people in the world. His fit right in. He slid into a spot and jumped out of the car.

  It didn’t take long for him to make it to the entrance. Again he was waved through by the guard at the door and allowed to bypass the security check. He wasn’t sure where to go, so instead he took in the beauty of the structure. The interior had two large twin staircases that wound up to the second floor. Everything was trimmed in deep gold. Crimson and gold, blood and glory.

  “I see you made it,” the grand commander said from the top of the steps.

  All of Grant’s previous dealings in the Mission had been in the basement; now he was going up. He went to meet the older gentleman. As he rounded the stairs he noticed the man’s outfit; he was wearing khakis and a pastel-orange polo. Grant felt a slight embarrassment, as he was wearing almost the same outfit, except instead of pants he had chosen shorts with penny loafers.

  “Hello, sir,” Grant said. He reached out and shook the man’s hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “I was hoping it would be a casual one. I’ve been informed by your business partners that this is your usual attire, but I didn’t think we’d be exact twins,” the grand commander said. “I’ve never been one for suits myself, though at times they are a necessity.”

  “Well, I’m glad today isn’t one of those times,” Grant said.

  “There is something about you. You’re strong; it radiates when you enter the room. I’ll have one of my wives bring me another shirt; then I was hoping I could give you a tour.”

  “One of your wives, sir?” Grant asked.

  “A perk of the position. I keep that information quiet though. Eventually I’d like multiple marriages legalized for every man. It’s just another way to bring in additional funds, but there is some fear it could destroy the middle class. Rich men would buy all the pretty wives and have all the pretty daughters, leaving only the lowest of the bunch for the rest of the men.”

  Grant felt this was another test. He took a moment before responding. “And if that happened the middle class might revolt. We need a joyful country for things to run smoothly.”

  “You are bright,” the grand commander said. “None of my wives are from the Registry. When a man dies before his daughters come of age, we take them in. Some are sent straight to work if they won’t generate a profit; others enter the Registry, where we take their whole fee—and some slip through the cracks.”

  Grant had always assumed the reason the grand commander had so many daughters was that he was fortunate, but now he realized it was because they had multiple mothers. The public wife, Nancy, did appear to be constantly with child. Of course it must be a fake stomach, designed to increase public awe of the commander.

  “Genius, sir,” Grant said.

  “Stop with the ‘sir’ nonsense. Please, call me Ian,” he said. “Shall we continue?”

  Ian didn’t wait for an answer. He started walking down the magnificent hall. It was lined with portraits, most of them showing the grand commander himself through the years. Each painting showed the man younger. Grant started to wonder how old Ian really was; based on the sheer number of pictures he should have been close to one hundred. Ian stopped and admired the first picture that was not his own.

  “Our first grand commander, Aaron Miller, was a visionary,” Ian said.

  “Did you know him?” Grant asked. He knew the man’s whole story. How General Miller rescued the country when it was at its weakest. He created the Registry and required mandatory enlistment. There could not be enough praise said about the man.

  “No,” Ian said. “I never had the pleasure.”

  They had walked past several more portraits of Grand Commander Miller when Ian stopped again.

  “Our second grand commander,” Ian said. “Gary Cleary. He built on his predecessor’s ideals. It was his decision to put the technology ban into effect. Most people aren’t privy to that information.”

  “I wasn’t aware,” Grant said.

  “Commander Cleary led the country for sixty-three years,” Ian said. “Him I had the pleasure of knowing quite well.”

  They continued their walk past many more portraits of Grand Commander Cleary.

  “He picked me to take over,” Ian said. “I was his protégé. Young, like you are now. We were still growing; some rebels tried to revolt. People remembered the old ways back then. It was harder to break them. He knew his time was up and I would continue on with his vision.”

  “I’m sure he’d be proud,” Grant said.

  “Thank you. I know you mean that, because you’re not one of the yes-men who follow me around, and there are many of those. They are so eager to gain my approval that they lie and tell me everything I do is wonderful and only fill my ears with good news. Find people willing to let you in on the truth. It’s the only way to survive.”

  Ian continued down the hall. There was an open door at the end, which led into a giant office. Grant noted it was almost as large as his bedroom. Ian made his way to the desk and used his phone to call for a shirt. Grant took a seat on a chair across from the desk. It wasn’t long before a beautiful young woman came into the room. She rushed over to Ian with a blue polo. He stood up and she pulled off the orange one and dressed him in the blue.

  “Thank you, Katherine, you picked just the one I wanted.” To Grant he said, “I keep some extra clothes in a spare room here,” Ian said.

  His wife didn’t make eye contact and bowed before turning to leave.

  “Wait.” He placed his hand on her shoulder. He spun her around to face Grant. She dropped her shoulders and the commander placed his hand on her chin; she couldn’t have been thirty years old.

  “Notice her small frame, thick brown hair, and brown eyes?” Ian asked. “Does she remind you of anyone?”

  “Your wife. Nancy,” Grant said.

  “Very good,” Ian said. “That will be all, Katherine. This way nobody questions the genetic outcome of our children. Even though Nancy hasn’t borne me any in at least ten years, and the last three from her were boys.”

  Grant noted Katherine couldn’t leave the room fast enough.

  “Don’t fool yourself though. I still count on Nancy for many things. She is the one who keeps all the other girls in line.”

  “And you’re telling me this why?” Grant asked.

  Ian took a seat at his desk. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together.

  “I love this country. I love my job—don’t get me wrong, it has many benefits, but it is a difficult one. Only a certain type of man can maintain the workload. I see that in you. Even though your wife may have escaped, it wasn’t due to your lack of perception. It was because you enjoyed chasing her too much.”

  Grant swallowed at the last comment. He wanted to defend himself against the accusation and point out whose fault it really was, but he needed to keep his confidence in check.

  “I followed her disappearance closely. I would have stepped in if she’d married another man, but I was so sure you would succeed and then we could turn it into a real hero story. But after she crossed the border I realized it was for the best. This way we can give you a proper wife who will play the public role.”

  “Role as?” Grant asked.

  “I am not a young man. I have some health issues and need to train a replacement. I think if you were in this position there would be enough to keep your mind busy; you wouldn’t allow a chase to continue. So far I have been correct. The people love you. They see you as a strong widower. A hero. All I need is for you to prove yourself a good leader.”

  “Sir—”

  “Ian.”

  “I relish the opportunity to prove myself to you,” Grant said.

  “Then let’s get started.”

  Gr
ant curled his lips into a smile and shook the man’s hand. He knew this moment should have been perfect. It was more than Grant had ever dreamed of accomplishing, but he couldn’t enjoy it thoroughly. In the back of his mind all he could focus on was the comment involving Amelia’s escape being his fault. It added to the fury he was feeling toward her.

  “Ian,” Grant said, “I would be honored to prove myself to you, but don’t you think it’s important that we ensure my wife is departed?”

  Grant hated bringing a potential problem to the grand commander, but he hoped it would open Ian’s eyes and allow him to hunt Amelia down. Instead the older man just laughed.

  “I can tell it’s important for you to close this, but forget about her. It is unlikely she’ll reappear, and if it happens the only result will be an international public relations hiccup. All of her photos were removed from the Internet and nothing was handed out in print. No photo exists anymore. She’ll look like an imposter if she steps forward.”

  Grant’s stomach dropped. Saint Louis. It was there he’d ordered her photo plastered all over the city. Grant had never bothered to get approval. He’d had his private team distribute them.

  “You seem uneasy,” Ian said. “I know your pride is wounded, but don’t let that stop you from moving forward.”

  Taking a breath, Grant forced his nerves down. He nodded to Ian, but now his head swam with the more pressing issue. If a single person had saved one of those photos and Amelia did reappear, it could cause an uprising. That was not how Grant planned to spend his tenure as grand commander.

  Chapter 20

  Citizens from other countries are not permitted in America. If you know of a person here illegally, notify your nearest government offices. They are a waste of our precious resources and want to undermine our greatness.

  —American Gazette

  A voice filled Andrew’s head. The loud noise played in a quick spurt. A light flashed. Andrew popped his eyes open. He was sitting straight up at a table. A man in full military uniform sat across from him. Andrew looked around the room; it was made of red clay and a fluorescent light filled it.

  “How are you feeling?” the man asked.

  “Fine,” Andrew said.

  His throat was dry. The sound of his own voice echoed in his head. It was foreign to him. The man reached over and grabbed a pitcher of water. He poured a glass and set it in front of himself. Andrew wanted that water so badly. He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

  “What’s your name?” the man asked.

  Andrew didn’t respond.

  “Mine is General Bolivar,” he said. He slid the glass of water closer to Andrew.

  “Andrew,” he said, still eyeing the water.

  “Where are you from?”

  “America,” he said.

  “Where are you now?”

  Andrew opened his mouth, but no words came out. He wasn’t sure how to answer. The loud music filled his head when he tried to remember. He winced.

  “You’re home,” the man said. “Repeat that.”

  “I’m home,” Andrew said. The noise went away.

  “Did you travel here with anyone?”

  “Yes,” Andrew said.

  “Who?”

  “Carter,” Andrew said.

  “Who else?”

  Andrew tried to think backward. The noise filled his mind. He tried to think through it, but the sounds were too much. The noise increased and the pain did too.

  “I can’t,” Andrew said. “I don’t want to remember.”

  “What can you tell me about Mia?”

  Her face appeared before Andrew’s eyes. He remembered traveling across the country with her, staying in Rod’s basement; then the night they were leaving, he had been intertwined with her in the bed of a truck. Kissing her, smelling her hair, feeling his hand run up and down her back. Then a car accident. He tried to think of what happened next but the memory hurt too much. The noise came back.

  “What happened to her?” Andrew asked.

  “You don’t remember?”

  Andrew shook his head. The general smiled.

  “She died,” he said.

  Andrew felt the world fall out from under his feet. He was floating, not sure how to respond. She couldn’t have; he would remember that. His eyes went wide and he struggled for an answer.

  “How?”

  “A car accident,” he said. “She never made it across with you two. Both she and Roderick Rowe died in the accident.”

  “You’re lying,” Andrew said.

  The general looked disappointed.

  “You and Carter crashed a helicopter into the ocean,” he said. “There were no other footprints on that beach and nobody washed ashore. It was only the two of you flying over. If she were alive, would you have left her there?”

  Andrew knew he would never abandon Mia, never.

  “How did I get here?” Andrew asked.

  “We found the two of you,” the general said. “Walking aimlessly in the desert. Dehydrated and starving. We don’t know how long you were out there.”

  Andrew squinted his eyes. He raised his chin and leaned back in his chair.

  “Then how would you know about the footprints on the beach?” Andrew asked.

  The general stood up and went to the door. He knocked twice and two armed guards walked in. Andrew rose from the table and backed up.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll try again tomorrow,” the general said. “Maybe day ten will be your lucky day.”

  The two men gripped Andrew’s arms. He tried to push them off but they were too strong. As if he didn’t have a choice, the memories came rushing back in. The memory of being trapped in the bathroom, the loud noises, the doctor stabbing him with needles, Carter being taken away.

  “What are you doing to me?” Andrew asked.

  He struggled harder when a doctor came in with another tray. His guards’ grips intensified and he watched in horror as the doctor stabbed him with two quick injections.

  “Don’t fight it,” the doctor said. “You’ve already set a record.”

  “The harder they are to break the better soldiers they will be,” the general said.

  Andrew felt his body go limp. His neck couldn’t support his head any longer. Before he lost consciousness he promised himself not to forget, not to break. But he was already having a difficult time holding on.

  Chapter 21

  GRANT MARSDEN’S FORMER SUPERIOR IN THE SERVICE SAYS MARSDEN WAS BORN LEADER

  —American Gazette

  Another day and another visit to the capital. Grant was becoming accustomed to driving in but was starting to find his visits on the boring side. It was a lot of common sense that Ian insisted on explaining in great detail. Grant had started to think the man was out of touch with the average American male.

  Grant parked his car and walked up the steps to the Mission. He was shocked to see Ian standing outside with a group of men. It looked like they were waiting on Grant.

  “Good morning, sir,” Grant said. “Am I late?”

  “I thought today I would show you a special treat, something that will appeal to your interests,” Ian said.

  “Oh?”

  One of the men opened up the door to an SUV parked in front of the entrance and Ian climbed in the back. Grant thought the elderly man looked like he could use some assistance but dared not offer any in case it gave offense. Grant waited till Ian was seated and slid in next to him.

  There was a divider between the two and the driver. The car started up and they drove off through the capital.

  “Tell me something,” Ian said. “You are one of the very few private inventors. How did you fall into this trade?”

  “A natural gift,” Grant said.

  “I suppose it’s good we all keep some secrets,” Ian said.

  Grant gave the grand commander a smirk. His past was something Ian was not privy to.

  “America is on the forefront of modern technology,” Ian said. “Did you know that?
”

  “Of course,” Grant said.

  “Did you ever wonder how?” Ian asked. “You didn’t create all the modern technological advances, did you?”

  Grant laughed and shook his head. “I assume a branch of the military did,” he said.

  “Filled with poorly educated minds?”

  “Some people are gifted, regardless of their education,” Grant said.

  “Wrong,” Ian said.

  Grant tried his best to give the man a smile without looking too condescending. He had the urge to reach over and wrap his hands around the grand commander’s neck.

  “One of the ways to keep a country successful is to have money,” Ian said. “America is far and away the wealthiest country on the planet. We own almost all the major inventions outright, with the exception of yours and those of a few other private citizens over the years.”

  “I am aware of that fact,” Grant said.

  Ian raised his eyebrows and Grant regretted his choice of words.

  “I mean, please, continue,” Grant said.

  “When sons are turned over to the government, some are sent into the general orphanages and others into more specialized fields,” Ian said. “I’m showing you one of those fields today.”

  The car stopped. They were in front of an average-looking building. Ian waited for the driver to open the door and then exited the car. Grant followed him. It looked like any old office space.

  “Every year about a hundred boys are selected for this life,” Ian said. “People start to show certain talents as young as five years old. I’m sure you remember some of the general tests from your days as a boy?”

  Grant nodded his head. He remembered thinking they were boring and unimportant, so he had just filled in bubbles at random. He was glad for his childhood laziness.

  “The ones that score highest are brought here and trained. Their brains are honed and skills developed. These men are one of the backbones of our society.”

  The driver opened the door to the building and Grant followed Ian inside. There was an open gray room with an empty front desk. Ian walked toward the back elevator. The doors opened and the two walked in. Ian didn’t hit a floor; instead he punched in a sequence with the keys. Grant tried to follow, but Ian blocked his hands. The elevator started moving down.