The Noble Prince (The Empire of the North)

by Brendan DuBois

  “Sure,” Armand said, and after she left, he stripped off his clothes and looked in the mirror again. His ribs and chest was sunken. His face still looked old and lined. At the vanity he picked up a razor, soaped up his face, and scraped off the whiskers. There was a toothbrush and toothpaste, and he spent nearly ten minutes brushing his teeth, spitting out a vile mix of drool and blood.

  Armand pulled the lever for the shower, went in, and stood there, washing and re-washing, for at least an hour. He got so tired that he sat on the floor, just letting the hot fresh water beat down on him, feeling hungry, thinking of his upcoming dinner with Melinda, and recalling, most of all, of the last twenty minutes he had spent with Major Hinderline and General MacPherson. Pondering what they needed, and what he needed as well.

  When he got out and dried off, his hair was long at his neck, longer than it had ever been before. There were no scissors but with the razor, he cut off part of the alarm cord to tie off his hair.

  Another look in the mirror. He smiled. He looked like a freshly-washed barbarian.

  He and Melinda had dinner at a round table in a small cafeteria. They both looked around the room, at the bright lights, the clean floor, the fresh food and the staff, most of who were in military uniforms, but others who were in medical clothing. They sat in a corner with tall windows that had a view of a green lawn, hedgework, and a tall white flagpole, where a faded banner snapped in the breeze. The banner was identical to the shoulder patch Armand had noted earlier, but it was in colors of blue, white and red. The walls in the cafeteria had photographs and paintings of old military equipment, and in a place of honor, a larger portrait of General Pope, the savior of this base and its people.

  As he sat down, Melinda said, “My, you clean up well, Armand,” and he smiled back at her and said, “Too hungry to fuss.”

  She said, “And I like what you did with your hair. You look like you could fit in with some of my tribesman.”

  “Only if you tell me your last name,” he said.

  “Later,” she said. “Or never. Come on, let’s eat.”

  With that, they ate, and oh, did they eat. There was salad and a light beef soup, followed by fried fish and potatoes, and a dessert of apple pie. They ate quickly and well, hardly talking at all, and then they sat there for a while, glasses of cold clear water in their hands. Melinda looked out the window. “I don’t think I ever want to leave here.”

  Armand looked down at the empty dishes, thinking that back in Toronto, this meal would have been considered plain but adequate, but it was the finest he think had ever had. He toyed with his water glass and said carefully, “Me either, but I don’t think we’re going to have a choice, m’lady.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Armand said, “This is a military base. They rescued us because we were being attacked by the Ayan, and because they found that old coin on me.”

  Melinda picked up her napkin, wiped her fingers. “Why would they be so interested in that old coin?”

  Armand lowered his voice. “What have you learned about this base?”

  She lowered her voice as well. “It’s like an artifact. Or a museum piece. It’s a military base from the old empire here that’s stayed intact for centuries, passing on traditions, orders, their sense of mission. The amount of old technology they have here is amazing, Armand, and yet, they wait. They keep some sort of order in the surrounding community, and they fight the Ayan, but it seems like all they do is wait.”

  Armand said, “You’re right, Melinda. They’ve been waiting centuries to hear from the empire’s leader, a man called the President. Year after year, decade after decade. Occasionally they’ve sent patrols to the east, but they’ve never reported back, and such patrols haven’t been sent out for decades. When they found the coin, and when I told them I had been to their old capitol, well, they got quite excited.”

  “How excited? What do you mean?”

  Armand picked up his water glass. “They’re excited that the capitol still exists, and that a man lives there, called the President. It’s given them… oh, I don’t know, a new hope or something. So that’s why we’re being treated well, but that doesn’t mean we can stay here forever. We’re guests. Despite what we’ve seen, their resources are limited. We can’t stay much longer.”

  Her voice seemed shaky. “Then what do they intend to do with us?”

  Armand smiled. “I got word just before dinner. A short distance from here is a port town, on the big river here called the Mississip. The current plan, and only if you agree, m’lady, is that we will be taken to this port town and placed on a trusted and reliable steamship.”

  “And then what?”

  Armand picked up his water glass in a salute. “Then we travel in safety and luxury down the river, to a port city called Orleans, on what’s known as the Gulf. There I’ve been told that there’s a trading post and embassy at this city, for a certain Empire that flies the fleur-de-lis. A place that is often visited by airships from the north.”

  Melinda said, “Please tell me you’re not joking.”

  “I’m not joking,” Armand said. “We arrive there, we present ourselves as distressed citizens of the Empire –-- and you’ll have to give up your real name, I’m sorry to say –-- and then after some investigation and negotiations, we’re put on the next airship heading north. M’lady, by this time next week, we can both be back within the Empire.”

  Her eyes filled up. “That sounds very promising, Armand. But what about you? You’re a labor camp escapee, facing a sentence of um… a capital sentence.”

  He took a sip from his water glass, placed it down on the table. “A death sentence. Don’t mince words. But as you’ve been so prone to tell me, I’m a noble. And with my father’s death, I’m now the Viscount de la Cloutier of Toronto, with my father’s job at the Ministry of Trade. No matter what has passed on before, whatever happens to me must be discussed and debated by a royal commission, chaired by the Lord Chancellor. Not in the basement of the Ministry of Security.”

  “You seem very sure of that, Armand.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But Melinda, we belong home. We don’t belong here.”

  Her eyes welled up again and she took a napkin, held it to her face. “For so long, I haven’t even allowed myself to think about going back home. To face my family and the shame.”

  Armand grasped her free hand. “Hush, now. You’re alive. Your family will welcome you back, I’m sure of it. More sure than I am about my own family.”

  She dabbed at her eyes. “Maybe so.”

  “I’m certain of it,” he said, and then she got up and excused herself, to visit the lady’s WC. Melinda surprised Armand with a kiss before she left. “All right, Armand, I think you’ve got it all figured out. But there will be things to discuss, you and me, as we go down that river, understood?”

  “Surely,” Armand said, smiling for her benefit, but actually cringing inside, for that fancy tale he had just spun for her, was just that, a tale.

  Or a lie, depending on your point of view. For Armand had a new mission to fulfill, one he had to keep secret.

  With Melinda gone, Armand stretched out his legs and really looked around, and saw that while the place was clean and tidy, there were signs of wear and tear. Faded tile on the floor, a plaster patch on the far wall, and then, something else caught his eye. Two soldiers were staring in his direction. They had on the now-familiar uniform of this forgotten outpost of the old empire, but even at a distance, Armand saw the uniforms were more clean, pressed, and sharply-maintained. Their boots were highly polished, and each of them had a blue and white brassard looped around their right arms. They also had holstered sidearms, and both of them stared at him, arms crossed.

  Armand stared right back at them. They were muscular, their heads were nearly clean-shaven, and they didn’t look particularly friendly. The shorter one whispered something to the taller one, and the taller one nodded abruptly, turned on his heel, and stalked off.

 
Melinda came back, touched his shoulder. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

  Something, he thought, but Armand didn’t want to bring it up, so he didn’t.

  The next morning, after breakfast (eggs, ham, toast!) and a check-up from Lieutenant Johnson --- who told Armand that he would probably be able to sleep that night without his bandage --- Major Hinderline came in to see him. “Well?”

  “You and the general have given me a lot to think about,” Armand said. “But could I ask one thing?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’d like a tour of your base, to see what’s here. Oh, I know you don’t want to show me areas that are classified, but I really think I need to see more of Fort McGee before we proceed.”

  Hinderline thought about that for a second. “Fair enough. I can see how that’d be useful. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. Will that be all right?”

  “That’ll be fine. In the meantime, Melinda, my companion. She’ll be treated well in my absence, right?”

  A smile and slight nod. “You have my promise as an officer… and sometimes gentleman.”

  Later that morning Hinderline came to get him. Armand was dressed again as yesterday, except this time he had soft shoes that slipped on and fit perfectly. His shoulder was hardly aching at all, and Hinderline walked him down the corridor, to the left, and through a set of double-doors, to the outside.

  “It’s beautiful,” Armand whispered, stopping in his tracks.

  Before Armand was a well-groomed lawn, bordered by waist-high shrubbery. It had been ages since he had ever seen anything so civilized. A white flagpole was nearby, flying that same banner he had spotted from inside the cafeteria. The air was fresh and clean, and the sky was a light blue, like a storm had come through during the night, scrubbing everything clean. Hinderline looked over and said, “Well?”

  “Thanks,” Armand said. “I’m just admiring your base, major. Admiring everything about it. The medical facility, the food, the landscaping. A few weeks ago, my friend and I, were being held by illiterate men who eat dog when times are good, and eat… something else when times are bad.”

  The army officer started walking and Armand joined him. “The Ayan are a curse, really. But there are so many curses out there. We do what we can. Standingorders.”

  They arrived at a parking lot and in one spot was a small open vehicle, with round tires about the size of a large dinner plate. The seat was wide but could only hold two, and there was a small open storage area in the rear. That was it. Hinderline sat down and Armand joined him. He turned a key and depressed a pedal, and they were off.

  “Electric?”

  “Yes,” he said, maneuvering them out onto a paved, narrow road. “Most of our vehicles are electric, except for our heavy armor and self-propelled artillery. Those operate by diesel fuel, but we try to conserve as much as we can. It’s been hard for years to process oil and refine it for our needs.”

  Out on the road there were other small vehicles, and some horse-drawn wagons moving along as well. The horses’ hooves were covered with rubber footings. Hinderline drove by a line of men and women in short-sleeved shirts and long pants, trotting in formation, chanting some sort of song, a man up front holding a short flagpole and banner. Armand stared at the line of men and women, swinging his head as they drove by.

  “You have female soldiers?” he asked in amazement. “Really?”

  Hinderline said, “Why not? Some of them are tougher than our men.”

  He shook his head at that. Female soldiers! Unbelievable!

  Armand looked again at the vehicle they were in. “Where do you get your electrical power from?”

  “Nuclear.”

  “What did you say?”

  He glanced over at Armand. “Old technology. Nuclear. Splitting of the atom. Pre-war process of generating power. We still keep it running thanks to a dedicated group of engineers who study very, very hard, and who have some devoted students.”

  Armand considered that for a moment. “Your engineers, the ones that keep the lights on and the power running. Do they run your base?”

  Hinderline looked shocked. “No, of course not. The general and his staff run the base. Chainofcommand, you see.”

  Sure, Armand thought. And when the war came, you kept your structure, kept the old ways, while up north, those who had the power, those who had the electricity, they shattered the old way and re-introduced slavery, oppression, and so much more.

  As Hinderline drove he pointed out various buildings and structures –-- the schools, the administration buildings, the living quarters for the military men and women and their families -– and Armand said, “So… everyone here is in the Army? No civilians?”

  “Just a few,” he said. “those with the right skills can come and work here.”

  “So you’ve lived here all your life.”

  “That I have,” he said.

  “When you’re born, are you in the military then?”

  That brought a laugh. “No, of course not. What do you think we are, barbarians? No, we’re military dependents until we turn eighteen years of age. Then you have a choice: either enlist, or leave the base. If you do leave the base and start a life out there, you can always visit but you’re not allowed to live here unless you enlist. Most of us do enlist. It just makes sense.”

  Something else came to Armand. “You’re in Intelligence. Was your father in Intelligence?”

  “He was. But my grandfather, he was in Logistics. And his father was in Armor. Ah, speaking of armor…”

  They had gone down a narrow road and had turned to the left, through a gate that was flanked by two lengths of wire fencing. A sentry at the gate waved them through, and then Hinderline stopped. Armand stared. There were long lines of armored vehicles with cannon barrels, stretching down nearly as far as the eye could see. There were other armored vehicles there as well, ones that looked like they were transports. Men and women were working about a handful of vehicles nearby, with wrenches and other tools.

  “One of our depots,” he said, pride in his voice. “The heart of Fort McGee.”

  Armand stared and said, in almost a whisper, “Your vehicles… they must be hundreds of years old.”

  “They are,” he said.

  “And they still work?”

  “Yes, of course,” Hinderline said. “It’s taken years and years of dedicated work to keep them operational, but we could use them today if we had to. Fuel is always precious, and our maintenance personnel have learned over the decades to construct their own spare parts. But the vehicles are ready to operate…” and now his voice became wistful, “whenever we get proper orders from either the President or the National Command Authority.”

  Armand kept staring at the vehicles, especially the ones with the cannon. This one base could easily take on the very best and most elite forces of the Imperial Army and defeat them in a manner of minutes. Armand was suddenly reminded of a trip he took as a child, to the Royal Museum of Science in Toronto, and seeing a chunk of amber, millions of years old. In that chunk of amber was an ancient insect, lifelike but frozen. This base, too, was stuck in time. They were all stuck in time. Waiting for orders from a dead government, not knowing what was really out there, just going through the motions and discipline and work…

  Standing orders.

  Armand suddenly thought of the possibility of new orders…

  Then he saw a soldier, standing by himself, looking over, and Armand recognized him. One of the two back at the cafeteria that had stared at he and Melinda. Armand said, “Major… that soldier over there, by that vehicle with the large tires. He has a blue brassard over his arm. What does he do?”

  Hinderline glanced over. “Military police. Our security force.”

  “Oh, I see,” Armand said, wanting to know more, but knowing this was a time to keep his mouth shut.

  “Well, was that enough?” Hinderline asked, his muscular forearms draped over the steering wheel.

  “One more place,
if you don’t mind,” Armand said. “If you’ll allow it.”

  “What’s that?”

  Armand told him and he grunted, and said, “I don’t see why not.” He turned the little wheeled vehicle around, and Armand couldn’t help himself, looking back at the rows of deadly weapons, still waiting, still operational.

  The building was in a remote part of the base, with tall antennas and round-shaped dishes that looked like large mixing bowls, set on their sides. They walked in and descended a set of stairs, until they came into a darkened room, lit by indirect light and by the shapes and letters on large screens, similar to the large screened bits of equipment Armand had seen in Churchill Grace’s workshop. There were about a half-dozen soldiers sitting in front of the screens, with keyboards that looked like they belonged to typewriters, but were smooth and somehow connected to the screens. Some of the soldiers had tiny plugs in their ears that streamed long wires.

  “Our communications shop,” Hinderline explained. “We monitor the airwaves for radio messages, what you call wireless. We pick up stations from your country, and others as well.”

  “How far away can you pick up?”

  “All the way to the other side of the globe,” Hinderline explained. “China. Nippon. Each year, more and more stations come on the air. Which is a good sign. According to the old logbooks, years would go by without hearing a damn thing. Silence. All over the globe. Soon after the time of General Pope. Nothing but empty silence.”

  Armand followed Hinderline as he came to one station, where a soldier sat by himself, an open flat book before him. There was a screen and some dials and switches, and he wore the same type of earplugs, though there was something wrapped around his face, like a tiny microphone. Hinderline said, “This is Corporal Rogers. He’s the on-duty transmitter today.”