The Remaking

by J. T. O'Connell

  Without a word, he opened the door, glanced inside, and then stood back so they could enter.

  "Thanks, Jericho," Desmond said.

  As the door closed behind them, Sela blinked to adjust her eyes. It was dimmer in here, the lights kept low and the broad window shrouded from the sun by another building.

  There was a conventional desk, complete with three expensive screens and a rack filled with tablets. Beside that was a pad with a pen in a stand, an honest-to-goodness fountain pen.

  But no one sat at the desk.

  Looking right, Sela saw a depression in the floor with three couches sitting two steps lower than the carpet. The couches circled around a large screen on the wall that was shut off. It was for video-conferencing, she surmised. Beside that was a small drink-nook, with a coffee machine, refrigerator, and glasses.

  On the other side, the single window pane ran the length of the room, and there stood a woman, late forties, slim, and meticulously-styled. She was on the phone and waved at Desmond, and then she held up a finger to wait for a minute.

  She spoke quietly on the phone held to her ear, and turned back to the window. Her suit was expensive, customized to accentuate her thin figure just perfectly. Michelle was attractive, but forgettable. She would fit in on the streets below; she would blend in and be overlooked.

  Wrapping up the call, she took the handset away from her ear and pressed the end button. "Good morning, Desmond," she said moving back to her desk.

  "Hi, Michelle. I just thought you'd like to meet Sela."

  Michelle looked up after cradling the handset and smiled, "Sela? Sela Mason, is it?"

  Sela nodded and took Michelle's proffered hand.

  "Good to meet you, Sela." Her smile was genuine. She fit the part of an executive masterfully. Her hair was kept short, simple, and somehow it exuded feminine grace, confidence.

  "Nice to meet you," Sela almost said 'Mrs.' but she realized she did not know whether Michelle was married or not. Sela had also forgotten the last name on the plaque outside the office.

  Reading her mind, Michelle kept on smiling, "My name is Michelle Duncan, but you can just called me Michelle."

  "Not Shelly, though," Desmond said.

  A bemused disdain angled Michelle's face, "Not Shelly. Never Shelly."

  "Okay," Sela started, a little nervous. Why was she to meet someone so important already? "Okay, Michelle."

  "Sit down! Sit down!" Her waved hand did not indicate the comfortable seats in front of the desk, but the couches to the right. "Do either of you want something to drink?"

  Sela moved toward the couch closest to the window, the one nearly facing the drink station. "Uh, do you have any black tea?"

  "I can steep some, sure." Michelle moved over to the nook, while Desmond sat on the middle couch.

  Not ten seconds later, Michelle brought over a saucer with a steaming cup of tea that was already dark, the string hanging over the side. "There's sugar and cream in the coffee table, right there." She set the cup down, and pointed toward a sliding door on the top of the table, hiding a compartment.

  "Desmond, do you want anything?"

  "Half-decaf, please," Desmond grinned.

  Sela raised an eyebrow at him. He just laughed and said, "I really enjoy black coffee, but I don't need so much caffeine right now."

  Michelle returned with a mug of coffee and a tall glass of what looked like carrot juice, orange and lightly speckled, with a sprig of parsley on top.

  "Now," Michelle said, sitting down across from Sela, "this is more like it."

  Sela spooned a lump of sugar into her tea, dropped the bag onto the saucer, and blew the steam off the liquid. It was still a bit too hot to drink. "Thank you for the tea, Michelle."

  Michelle laughed generously, "You know, when I first moved into this office, I thought 'What a waste, to have all these drinks left here!' but it's actually been quite nice to have."

  Sela sipped the tea, feeling the sting of heat sizzle on her tongue. Still too hot, so she set the cup back down onto the saucer.

  "Most of the time, people who come in here go right over to the nook and get whatever they want." Michelle took a gulp of the juice and then dabbed her mouth with a napkin.

  Sela frowned slightly. That seemed too informal, to let your subordinates make a drink before discussing the business at hand.

  Michelle was perceptive, and she read that look too. "Oh, I don't mind. It's best to keep most of your employees comfortable around you, as long as they are doing their job properly."

  "Like me?" Desmond asked, sipping from the mug.

  "Well, yes, like you, Desmond," Michelle smiled and rolled her eyes. "Except you're too polite." She turned back to Sela, "Desmond has yet to help himself. He waits until I offer him something."

  "Ah," Sela squeezed her tongue against the roof of her mouth, feeling the parched tingle of the mild burn. That would take most of the day to go away.

  "So, you're thinking about doing some work for us?" Michelle asked, setting down her cup of juice.

  "I'm giving it some thought," Sela answered evasively. She still didn't know enough to commit to anything yet.

  "Well, we do have some things coming up that you would be perfect for, as Desmond tells me."

  Sela glanced at him. He met her eyes for half a second and then looked into his mug, taking another warm sip. She looked back to Michelle, "Well, I'd like to know a little more about your overall goals, first."

  "Of course! What has Desmond told you so far?"

  Desmond spoke up, swallowing fast, "Just that we're making the Council play at their own game. We make it a bit harder than it would be anyway, and so some power is pulled out of their hands."

  "And you would like to know how that's done?" Michelle asked.

  "Partly, yes," Sela answered, turning her cup in the saucer.

  "Well, it depends upon the circumstance." Michelle leaned forward, "For an example though, we recently pushed to get supplies of soft drinks onto the black market. The Council banned the use of sodas, and mandated limits of how much sugar can be in a drink as ordered. Too many people still want soda, though."

  "Wait," Sela said. "You sell cola on the black market?"

  "Goodness, no!" Michelle exclaimed. "We just made a few mid-level bureaucrats aware that the demand for soft drinks was still there. Many people on the Council and in this area still enjoy soda, because the Council exempted VIPs. So, it's only fair that everyone else who wants a Coke should be exempted too."

  "We grease the wheels to make unjust laws irrelevant," Desmond said.

  Sela straightened her back in her seat with indignation, "But soda’s bad for people!"

  "Yes, it might be," Michelle nodded and wrinkled her face, "and I don’t like it, myself."

  "Don't you see a problem with it, then?"

  Michelle smiled sweetly, "It's better for people to decide for themselves. Freedom is more important."

  "And besides," Desmond spoke up, "it's not like Coke was almost eradicated anyway. Plenty of the elite have it all the time. It's wrong that they can decide differently for themselves than what they decide for everyone else."

  He leaned forward and lowered his voice, “You know why there’s still tobacco on the black market? Because plenty of people on the Council smoke, despite having completely banned all tobacco.”

  "Okay, but tobacco is just so awful for you, though," Sela protested weakly.

  Michelle started in agreement, "Yes, undoubtedly! And what’s worse is having no right to choose for yourself!"

  She gestured with a hand toward the huge window. "The Council has set things up so that they can make any decision they want for everyone else, and everyone else has to abide by it. That's what is happening with tobacco, and as rancid as tobacco is, it's still better when we each make our own choices."

  Michelle took a long gulp from her juice, napkinned the corners of her lips again, and then continued quietly, "You know the Council has a commission that sets dietar
y requirements?"

  Sela was aware of that. She had seen some of the deliberations before she had left the Tower of Hope.

  Michelle stood and stepped up to the carpet as she continued, "The commissioners are dissatisfied with Megora’s progress toward the higher fitness standards, so they are in the process of changing what will be sold on the market. Meats will be more expensive, anything bovine and porcine will be much harder to afford, very soon."

  Sela squeezed her lips together until Desmond filled in, "Meats from cows and pigs."

  "Now, there is an argument to be made that bacon is not terribly good for you. It's a harder argument to make than cigarettes, but the point is that we already give up that game." Michelle was animated, as though she were giving a lecture to her whole staff.

  "If we let the Council dictate that average people may not smoke cigarettes, what is to stop them from dictating what diet average people can enjoy? For that matter, what about dangerous sports, or even dangerous thoughts?"

  "Car racing wasn't just banned because of the environmental concerns," Desmond pointed out. "The Council also used the argument that it was too dangerous, and too free-spirited."

  "So we have people who are trying to run everyone else's lives. All the while, they exempt themselves from any decision they want to ignore, and they try to hide it from us, because they know they are hypocrites."

  Sela meekly nodded. She was not surprised by the duplicity of the Council. Michelle watched her, peering for a reaction. "I'm sorry. I just… don't like cigarettes."

  Michelle smiled again. "So don't smoke them. Easy enough?"

  The older woman moved around to take her seat again. Desmond finished off his cup and set the mug down, "We're not saying that we want people smoking, Sela."

  "Certainly not," Michelle said.

  "We're saying we want people to be free." Desmond gazed into her eyes. "And being free means it's up to them to make their choices and live with whatever consequences they get."

  "Our business, is taking control out of the hands of the bureaucrats, the Guides, and the Council; and giving it back to the people. And we must be very careful that the people know to their core that they have the right to run their lives, and the duty to be courteous and respectful of everyone else.

  "Because if they ever get back in control of their government, they have to be ready to keep it small." Michelle's eyes burned with the same passion Sela had seen in Desmond's earlier.

  She glanced at him and saw flickers of that again. His gaze was distant, staring at the wall, not seeing it. There was something behind those pupils that she had no hope of guessing.

  Sela remembered the concern she had thought about on the way here. "Well, if you manage to do this… give power back to the people, doesn't that make the government smaller?"

  Michelle's eyes narrowed and Desmond's eyebrows raised. Michelle smiled, "Very perceptive, Sela. In a sense, yes, and also no."

  Sela sipped her tea and found it tolerable now, excellent actually, now that it did not burn. "How's that?"

  "A smaller government means one that is humble, a government that knows what it should and should not be doing," Michelle said.

  "And the Council will never accept that there are things it should not be doing, things it has no business involving itself in," Desmond added with a scowl, elbows on his knees, fingertips touched together.

  "But they will become more efficient," Sela asked.

  "Somewhat, yes," Michelle picked up her glass of juice and held it as she said, "They'll still never be anywhere near as efficient as a government that doesn't even consider doing most of what the Council attempts to do."

  Sela watched as Michelle took another gulp of the juice. "So you'll just push the government to give up power until it crumbles?"

  "No," Desmond said firmly. "No, there will come a time when action will have to be taken to finish off the erosion."

  "And we have many plans in the works for when that time comes," Michelle said.

  Sela squirmed, "How soon will that be?" Her parents floated in her mind, surrounded by the bitter fighting of a coup.

  "Soonish," Michelle answered. "It's hard to say exactly at this point."

  Realizing she had been holding her breath, Sela sighed. "What do you want from me, then?"

  The woman smiled genuinely, "Just a few small tasks, for now. Desmond and Max Gaines will coordinate all of that with you."

  Michelle glanced around the office, "Nice as it is to meet you, Sela; we don't just let our operatives stroll in here every day. It's best to keep as low a profile as possible."

  Sela glanced at Desmond, but his eyes were fixed on eternity again. How often does he visit the office? she wondered.

  "Well, I'll take a look at whatever you offer and…" she bit her lips nervously.

  "You may turn down anything you dislike," Michelle assured her. "But please know that we are all putting a great deal on the line for this effort.

  "It's very rare," Michelle turned a glance toward Desmond, "to find someone who is in a position to help us as much as you."

  Desmond nodded as he turned his warm, compassionate eyes on her. She didn't know what to say, so she drank the rest of her tea. Clinking the cup to the saucer, she said, "Well I—I'll help where I can."

  Chapter 7

  Sela woke up early, before the horizon began to yellow with approaching sunrise. The sky was a murky bruise of blue and a smudge of purple, clear except for a few wispy feathers of clouds far above Megora. Some stars glittered, even though the light pollution from the supercity was substantial.

  Tugging on her running shoes, Sela took a deep breath and tried to blink away the fatigue and dizziness of too little sleep. Questions still plagued her, and hadn't left her alone since she had come home.

  The restlessness in her mind had robbed her of sleep. Now it left a lethargy in her joints that dreaded the strain and effort of any run, much less one of several miles.

  You should sit back down and see if SovereignCast is up. The thought presented itself to her without any consideration. It was enticing, which is why her subconscious had made the offer.

  No, she shook her head again. If she sat down now with the distraction of a video she'd already seen, either she would fall asleep and waste a third of the day, or she would get tangled up in her self-doubts again.

  Sela had agreed to work with Desmond until she had good reason to back away from the organization. That was the choice she had made, and she couldn't very well reconsider her participation before she'd even looked at the first job.

  No, she would go for the run. If her protesting limbs hated her for it, all the better. She needed to be able to push past any discomfort and even pain that stood in the way.

  Somewhere in her core, she knew that these recent months of isolation could be broken overnight with a sudden blush of attention. Comfort could not be a factor in survival, if she was to survive such a trial.

  The elevated paths were all but empty. She saw only two other people while she was jogging, both of them just then leaving their buildings for morning exercise. The air was crisp and dry, with a cool breeze that would vanish as soon as the sun peeked over the distant horizon.

  Sela ran hard, harder than she usually did, as though she were trying to sprint for miles. Her mind was now set on watching any SovereignCast videos that were available, and she still wanted to be at Gaines' very early.

  Her feet pounded the tough, synthetic cushioning of the walkways. Over the stretching bridges, she could feel the metal trembling to absorb and disperse the pressure.

  The framing was designed to flex. The tighter the metal was put together, the more brittle when heavy winds arose, or during the annual marathon course that twisted about the sky above Megora.

  Sela felt like her legs were not faring as well as the carefully-engineered path. Of course, that was because she was pushing herself harder than ever, burning through her reserves much faster than usual. Outrunning her worry.
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  Breath heaving, sweat streaming down her back, she pushed even harder and harder, keeping the same pace while adding more effort to overcome her rising exhaustion. Her toes were stiff from launching forward, and she imagined she could almost hear a creak when her knees bent.

  And then she hit the wall. Sela felt her heart racing in her temples. She gasped for air, and tried to pull herself forward, pumping her arms, but her legs had found their limit.

  She slowed despite her efforts and then gave up, stopping completely. She put her arms on her knees and hung her head, eyes closed, drinking in the cool morning air.

  Looking around, she recognized an observation deck just a few paces ahead. Quickly calculating, she estimated the run had been a little more than two miles, maybe a tenth more. Not bad for a full-blown sprint.

  Sela straightened up and placed her hands in the small of her back, stretching her spine. Then she raised her fists above her head and stretched to each side. Followed with stretching her legs, bending forward again, toward each thigh.

  Starting back at a decently-fast walk, she began to wonder what it would be like if she'd had to make that pace in the city, through traffic, running from Guides.

  Two miles seemed like a good distance, for a full-on sprint. Two miles threaded in the city was enough to move between districts. More importantly, it was far enough to provide options for losing pursuers in the tangles of the city.

  On the other hand, Sela wouldn't have pristine running conditions. She'd have at least her purse with her, and almost certainly she wouldn't have running shoes. The shoes she regularly wore were sport-friendly, although they had limitations.

  Adding in staircases, hard concrete, crowds of people to shoulder out of the way, puddles of muck, and a thousand other potential obstacles… Sela might be lucky to evade the Guides for an eighth of a mile.

  That was why her father had paid so much up front for top-quality ghost time. It was the same reason he had written the note that accompanied the gun he had sent her. Where the Council and its apparatchiks were concerned, the best idea was to stay off the radar forever.