Reign: Populations Crumble, Book 3

by K. A. Gandy

  We pass countless people, each dressed as brightly as Auntie in loosely flowing garb. Extravagant textiles are only where the rich culture starts, though, as the structure they’ve carved out of the mountain is a work of art. The ceilings are scraped in mind-bending patterns, no two the same. The walls are embedded with soft lighting, but at the perfect level of brightness to avoid squinting. There are no visible wires, or any hint of how they work. I run my hand over them, and feel no heat from the source, only the natural warmth radiating from the stone.

  Many people walk barefoot, and everyone we pass exchanges a greeting with Auntie, Mav, and us—even though newcomers must be incredibly rare here. After an indeterminable amount of time, Auntie leads us into a cozy set of rooms carved into the mountain. There are no man-made walls here, just stone, but they’ve decorated the room with beautiful linen hangings. The room is surrounded by lush colors, depicting a far-off jungle scene, a great tiger mid-swipe on one, a cherry-red bloom on another. I walk over to the closest one, and lift a tentative finger, and find the fabric is delicate and paper thin. “How old are these?” I ask, scared to breathe on them too hard, for fear of damaging them.

  “Good eye, girlie. Those have been in this room at least one hundred years, now.” Auntie answers me.

  “They’re stunning, truly.” I back away and realize that we’re in more or less an apartment kitchen. A bedroom and bathroom branch off of the main area, and that’s about it.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Royce. If you like them, this can be your suite for the evening. I’ll take the others for some rest as well; we have more rooms just down the hall. One of my people will be along with dinner shortly. In the morning, we’ll discuss your options and your plans with The People.”

  “Auntie, I don’t know if that’s a good idea . . .” Mav sounds wary.

  “Maeve, you know our ways. What is good for the individual must be good for us all. We live as family, decide as family.” Without further comment, she turns on her heel and starts down the hall. Mav follows her, heatedly whispering to no avail. Nell gives me a quick side-hug, and then she, Atlas, and Glitch follow after Auntie to their own spaces, shutting a metal door behind them.

  I settle onto a carved stone bench, and just stare at Patrick where he leans against the opposite wall, the brightly colored blossom hanging beside him.

  “Did you know any of this was here? I’m just so . . . overwhelmed by the enormity of it all.”

  “I had no idea,” he says, “I was told in all of my training that the only thing up here were a few small cities, clinging to existence in a frozen wasteland. This is absolutely nothing like I expected.” His tone is reverent, awed at the massive undertaking creating the underground city must have been.

  “And their technology is impressive, as well. Their lighting is like nothing I’ve ever seen. And what do they eat? I’m a bit afraid to see what they’ll bring us for dinner,” I admit, imagining freezer-burnt polar bear next to a side of . . . well, I don’t even know what.

  “Forget the food, how are they heating the place? It’s downright steamy under here. My thought is, they must have somehow tapped the volcano in the next mountain. They’d have to, right? But I don’t see any pipes, vents, or anything. And there’s no stench, or fumes.”

  We both ponder all the marvels we’ve seen so far, and in no time at all there’s a timid knock on our metal door.

  I cross to the door and swing it wide to see a tiny young woman with a spray of freckles across her delicate nose on the other side holding a heavy tray. “Good evening. Auntie asked me to bring you both supper. May I come in?”

  “Of course. Thank you so much!” I step to the side, and wave her towards the table, where she places the tray with care. As soon as she passes me, the heavenly scent of fresh-baked bread infiltrates my senses.

  “We weren’t sure what you liked, so we just brought some of everything. But we do hope you enjoy, and perhaps will join us for our family meal tomorrow morning?” She hesitates, as if she isn’t sure if she was supposed to invite us.

  “We’d love to,” I say firmly. We have to know the people to lead the people. Although it seems these people already have a strong leader.

  She smiles and ducks her head before scurrying out the door, without even telling us her name.

  Patrick, unconcerned with her hasty exit, has already removed the lid and is heaping food onto metal plates. There appears to be some kind of barbecued meat, roasted vegetables, and a humongous loaf of crusty bread, next to a crock of pearly yellow butter. It’s so cold and fresh, a drop of moisture has accumulated at the top, and rolls slowly down the side to settle in the bottom of the dish.

  My stomach rumbles loudly, spurring me to join Patrick at the table, instead of gawking at the delicious spread.

  He passes me a plate, and I greedily tuck in. The first bite practically melts on my tongue, and I groan with pleasure. Not a word passes between us until both of our plates are completely cleared, and I’m nibbling on my third hunk of bread slathered in the—slightly tangier than usual, but still delicious—butter.

  Patrick offers me the first shower, which I gratefully accept, before changing into a pair of loose linen pajamas—chartreuse, naturally—and fall into the firm bed. The last thing I see before closing my eyes is the beautifully carved stone ceiling, where it seems a hint of tiger’s eye is winking at me in the dim blue lighting.

  The People Under the Hill

  Climbing out of bed is hard in the morning, but Patrick insists that we be good guests, and so we are up, dressed, and presentable when Sheena, our pleasant guide, shows up to lead us to breakfast. The lights are on a cyclical timer to mimic natural daylight; when we’d woken, the pale blue gradually faded into the pale yellow of a weak morning sun. By the time we reach the family dining area, the lights have strengthened significantly.

  Sheena leads us to a low, round table towards the center of the area, where we find a tray of steaming food already piled. She instructs us to serve ourselves and scurries off to her other morning tasks.

  “I feel bad that we showed up at their doorstep, and they’re waiting on us hand and foot,” I say between bites.

  “I do too, but if we are here more than a day or so, hopefully they won’t continue to do that. It’s really up to how well Glitch can orchestrate things from here so we can move onto the next phase of our plan.”

  And, speak of the devil, Glitch approaches our table, his usual scattered look amplified by the entire left side of his hair sticking straight up, and his glasses slightly askew.

  “Are your ears burning?” Patrick asks as Glitch drops down heavily into the nearest seat.

  “No, are yours? Are you having a reaction to something? My ears are fine, but this light is messing with my eyes. It puts a glare on my glasses, and everything is just off for some reason.” He shakes his head in bewilderment.

  Leaning across the table, I hand him a plate of food, and gently tap the arm of his glasses, so they settle into place. He jolts.

  “Whoa, that’s . . . better actually, thank you. Maybe I didn’t sleep enough last night, after all.” He looks sheepish, and shoves a piece of leftover bread into his mouth to cover it up.

  The room fills quickly as we eat, and I begin to get a better scale of how many people live in this underground sanctuary. There must be several hundred, at least.

  “How many people do you think are in here?” I wonder aloud.

  “Two hundred twenty-seven, not counting us,” Glitch answers, not having to think about it.

  “How do you just know that, man? It’s weird,” Patrick comments, taking a sip of the strong, dark beverage provided. It’s not coffee, but since I don’t know what it is, I’ve opted to skip it.

  Mav strides across the room as if she owns it, Nell and Atlas at her side. Once they join us and we’re all well satisfied, I notice Auntie across the large dining hall, speaking with people at each table as she slowly crosses the room in our direction. The graceful sway of
her skirts matches her unhurried pace, and I have time to study her easy manner from afar.

  Eventually, rather than coming to us, she reaches the middle of the room, and steps up onto a single wide circular step. “Good morning, family!” Her voice booms and bounces in the vast space, just like it did in the airport last night.

  “Good morning, Auntie!” the people reply in unison, and the power of hundreds of voices as one saturates the air.

  She laughs, true joy in the sound. “We have visitors today, for the first time in a long, long while. What say you all, that we hear from them?”

  Feet stomp in an increasing rhythm through the room, and after a minute, the floor reverberates with the pounding. My heart thrums faster, caught in the rush . . . and nerves over speaking of our situation with so many people here. What if they kick us out, once they realize how risky it is for me to be among them? Where would we go, when nowhere has been safe?

  She raises a hand, and the noise instantly stops. “Who speaks for you, travelers?” she calls, eyes boring into us.

  Patrick answers without hesitation, “I do, Auntie.”

  “Come then, and tell us how you came to Zanetti, and The People under the hill.” She gestures to the space next to her on the step, and he crosses confidently to her side. He steps up, and his calm demeanor in the midst of so many searching eyes is reassuring.

  “Hello, thank you all for having us in your spectacular home. Your hospitality is exceptional, and I can truly say that I’ve been all over the world, but there is nothing else out there quite like Zanetti.”

  The people cheer as one, and the noise deafens me. Auntie gives him an appreciative smile, and he continues. “My name is Patrick Royce, and I’m traveling with my lovely bride, Sadie, and our friends Atlas, Nell, and Glitch. You may know that there have been some changes in the wider world of late.”

  He pauses, as if considering how best to explain our circumstances. “There have been changes in the laws in many cases, but the two most critical have been that the formerly optional New Life Marriage Program has been made compulsory for all women aged nineteen and older. That is how I met my bride, Sadie, and how Atlas met his, Nell.” The three of us wave, and waves sprout back at us like daisies in the summer sun.

  “The second is that our governmental structure has been changed, from a democracy to a monarchy. The former prime minister Royce has been made the first ever king of the North American Alliance. He is my father.”

  He pauses for a moment, to let that tidbit sink in, and it’s silent as shock permeates the crowd, and they look at each other with wide eyes.

  “However, despite our newfound positions, and the many privileges you can imagine they afford, Sadie and I have found ourselves lacking a key privilege: safety. We are hunted now, by both the NLC program, and likely, the Resistance. Both institutions pledged our safety, but we found them to be deceitful, and covering up much darker truths. One of our acquaintances at the NLC has been drugged, impregnated against her will, and held captive in a secret research facility. The five of us escaped on discovering this, so that we could try to help release the captive women, because to our horror, we found many, many more than just our friend.” His face is somber.

  “We were taken in temporarily by the Resistance, but their leaders tried to deceive us, as well. And in the end, they wanted to use Sadie for the same purpose as the women we were trying to rescue. If it were not for Maverick, and her boldness in our rescue yesterday, we would, right now, be back in their hands. To Maverick, we say, thank you for your help in our hour of need, and your willingness to put the needs of others above your own. We will never forget your bravery, and your true friendship.” He clasps his hand over his heart and bows deeply at the waist in a gesture of respect.

  Maverick, still seated, inclines her head in acknowledgement, but a flush stains her cheeks at being called out so publicly. Patrick turns to Auntie, signaling that he has no more to say.

  Rather than make a pronouncement of her own, she turns to the crowd, arms open wide. “What say The People?” she booms once again.

  For a moment, painful silence is the only response. But after a moment, an elderly man at the middle of the clustered tables stands painstakingly to his feet with the help of a cane. “They possess the heart of The People, even from afar. Their mission is worthy, and we should support them.”

  A younger woman across the other end of the great hall stands, and adds her lyrical voice. “We must aid them in their time of need, for none should be refugees for doing what is right.”

  One after the other, people all over the hall rise, and soundlessly clasp their hands over their hearts. In time, everyone in the room is on their feet. Their approval and acceptance hit me like a brick wall.

  “The People have spoken!” Auntie says, and the foot-stamping resumes, shaking the hall, and what feels like the whole mountain. When it subsides many minutes later, she turns to Patrick. “We will support you in your endeavors. Whatever you need, if it is in our power, we will provide it.”

  Patrick is choked up when he next speaks. “We are in your debt, People of Zanetti. You have our eternal gratitude for taking us in, at this critical moment. We are still working to save the captive women and will likely not be with you for long. But your hospitality will never be forgotten, and we will hold the kindness of your people fondly in our hearts for the rest of our days.”

  ✽✽✽

  True to their word, we are provided with everything we need to complete our planning and get back on our way as soon as possible. Immediately after the people’s approval, Auntie escorts us to a secure room, filled with wall-to-wall tech gadgetry. Glitch’s eyes about bug out of his head at the sight, and he quickly befriends the woman in charge of the technological operations that allow Zanetti to function. While he does the important work of re-connecting to civilization and planting the bait for the person behind it all, the rest of us are taken on a tour of the mountain. For a little while, I let myself be immersed in the discoveries and accomplishments, and shelve the trouble waiting for us behind every corner.

  The amount of genius tucked into this mountain is awe-inspiring. From their underground herd of musk oxen and their expansive produce farms—which grow with a combination specialty lighting and re-directed sunlight from above—to the sheer skill involved in tapping the volcanic flow of the neighboring mountain for the balmy heat, everything about the place is a wonder. But the people are humble, taking pride in their home with humility in their hearts.

  The only person who gave me an answer as to how all of their advancement came to be was an elderly man with a cane who said, “From superior need, develops superior science.”

  We are trying our hand at spinning musk ox fiber into thread when Glitch arrives, panic plain in his wide eyes and heaving sides. “Guys, something’s going down at the Resistance.” He gives Atlas a handheld video device, and then bends over to put his hands on his knees and breathe hard.

  I set down my tools, the fun of the moment lost as the tinny sound carries across the small space from the device in Atlas’s hand. It’s the end of the video of Helena talking about running tests on me, and bile rises in my throat. It cuts off, and Atlas questions Glitch in confusion, “What’s different, we had this yesterday, did we not? It’s why we didn’t go home . . .”

  “Apologies, yes.” He straightens, red as the radishes we just helped pick at the produce farm. “It is the same footage, but not the same source. Once I was successfully reconnected to the web, all of my devices went berserk with Resistance alerts. I may have inserted myself into their databases as a permanent resident, so I could monitor their communication channels. Anyways! That footage came through three hours after we first watched it . . . and went to every single resident of the Resistance.”

  “How did they get it? I thought your camera was untraceable?”

  Glitch frowns. “I’m still working on that, to be honest. Either they tapped the camera itself, or intercepted my ou
tbound transmission. I will find out. That’s not all, though. Four hours later, another transmission came through.” He taps the screen rapidly and passes it back to Atlas. This time, we all gather around him to watch the new footage.

  Brock’s somber face fills the screen, seated at the head of the table in the conference room, in Helena’s usual spot. “Brothers and sisters, I have a grave announcement for you today. As you saw this morning, Helena has chosen to cross a line that is unconscionable. Her decision to pursue involuntary genetic testing on someone under our protection is not something that we as the Resistance stand for. As you well know, we founded our city for protection from the kind of oversight and persecution—as enforced by the NLC, and NAA government—that threatened to cripple our freedoms. I cannot personally stand for that, as I know that you cannot stand for it.” He pauses, locking his steely gaze on the camera. “That is why I must tell you that Helena has been removed as leader of the Resistance, effective immediately. Your voices were heard today as you made your stand, and we, the remaining leadership team, stand with you in what is right.”

  “Some of you have asked about the location of Sadie, and the rest of her party, and their safety. I promise you, they have been taken to a safe house, early this morning. Rather than risk Helena’s plans, we agreed together that it would be best if they remained elsewhere until the leadership here is fully settled, and we can once again assure their safety as friends and guests of the Resistance.”

  “What a crock of bullsh—”

  “Nell!” I snap. “Shh!”