The Ten Thousand

by Doug Felton

  It was a good speech, and Raisa meant every word, but she had begun to question the ideals that made the monarchy noble. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe human nature would corrupt any form of government, no matter how noble or how well conceived.

  “I wish it were that simple,” she said.

  “I can make it simple,” Zeke said. “In Pittsburgh a group of immortals, like you and me, have . . . found each other. They meet every week, like a support group, I guess. If you go to Pittsburgh and talk with Reeves, I can make sure you meet them.”

  Raisa shook her head in amazement. She had the resources of the New World government at her disposal, and yet Zeke was always two steps ahead. “How many?” she asked.

  “Twenty.”

  “Are they like you, you know, with the powers and all?”

  “Yes,” Zeke said.

  “Make the arrangements.”

  Raisa shifted in her bed to see the clock on the bedside table. Four-thirty. She wasn’t going back to sleep before her wake-up call. She slid out of bed, making sure not to wake Alexander, and put on her workout gear.

  As she approached the downstairs gym, she heard the grunts of a workout in progress. Rounding the corner from the staircase, she saw Lieutenant Elliot pounding the heavy bag.

  “Careful,” she said, “that’s our only one.”

  “I promise to take it easy,” Elliot said. “But I don’t make the same promise to you when we have a rematch. I’m still waiting for a time on that, by the way.”

  “I’ve been a little busy,” Raisa said. She meant it as a straightforward comment, but her fatigue put an unintentional edge on it.

  “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I’m sorry about your brother.”

  Raisa waved off her apology. “Apparently, neither of us could sleep, so let’s at least get a good workout in.” She slid on a pair of gloves, then added, “And I haven’t forgotten about a rematch. How else can I prove my spectacular victory wasn’t a fluke?”

  Elliot held the big bag while Raisa warmed up, kicking and punching until her muscles felt loose and warm. The tension eased from her neck even as her mind became more alert. This was the sweet spot of her workout; physically relaxed, mentally sharp.

  Breathing hard, Raisa stepped away from the bag, dabbing her forehead with a towel. “Sandra, what do you think we should do with the Ten Thousand?” Raisa had a different relationship with each of the other five immortals she’d met at basic. Penly was the closest and had become an unofficial advisor to the queen. Sandra Elliott was her sparring partner, and they rarely talked issues. But she was a friend, so her opinion mattered.

  “We’ve got to tell them,” she said.

  “Yeah, and then what?”

  “I don’t know. I mean I’ve got you, I’ve got a place to belong, all five of us do. We live in a bubble here, protected in the Palace. But the rest of the Ten Thousand, out there, they’re on their own. If they hide their condition and try to blend in, they’ll have to move every couple of years to keep their secret, like fugitives. If they don’t hide it, then they’ll always be different, or worse, they’ll be targets.”

  “You don’t think people who are different can learn to live together in peace? We’ve done it before.”

  “I don’t know,” Elliot said.

  “Well, we’ve got to know. How can I govern a nation that rejects people who happen to be just like me? That’d be like a black man presiding over the Confederacy.” Raisa tried not to use historical references too often, it made her sound snobbish, but she couldn’t think of a better way to express her frustration.

  Raisa headed back to the residence ninety minutes after going downstairs. Passing her office, she saw a light. She pushed through the doorway and realized it was coming from Alora’s office next to hers.

  Raisa leaned against the doorframe, a towel draped around her neck. “You’re here early. That can’t be good.”

  “I’m afraid it isn’t,” Alora said. “Colton Reeves’ speech struck a chord. Protests broke out in several cities overnight. Pittsburgh was the worst. Mostly vandalism and graffiti. A few fights. Police broke it up and made arrests.”

  “Graffiti?”

  Alora nodded and handed Raisa a tablet. A video looped, showing street scenes of broken shop windows and a couple of burned-out cars. On one wall in large spray-painted letters were the words, “Ten Thousand Freaks.”

  “Get everyone together,” Raisa ordered.

  An hour later, her staff assembled in a Palace conference room along with President Tate, who attended by video link.

  “First,” Raisa began, “I still plan to travel to Pittsburgh later this morning. We’ve been in contact with Mayor Reeves’ office, and they guarantee the trip will be secure.”

  President Tate cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, if I may, it would be wise to postpone your trip until we’ve figured out what’s going on. We don’t know what kind of threat may still remain.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but now is precisely the time to go. The country needs to see Mayor Reeves and me standing together, smiling, and working out whatever differences we have. We need to send the message that unity and peace will trump violence and hatred every time. If I don’t go, we’re saying a few guys throwing rocks can set the agenda for the rest of us.”

  Raisa read the faces before her as she spoke. They were with her, everyone except Alexander and President Tate. Their disinclination to support the trip made what she had to say next more difficult.

  “The night of the state dinner, someone put a note under a soup bowl while I was speaking.” Alexander’s features changed as Raisa spoke. He would be angry that she hadn’t told him about the note. “It said, ‘You and your kind don’t belong here. You are a freak of nature.’”

  Raisa’s gaze landed on Alexander’s as the last word escaped her lips. His was a picture of quiet fury.

  “My word, Raisa,” Commander Song began and then added. “I’m sorry. Your Majesty, why wasn’t I told about this at once?”

  “I should have. The short answer is that I didn’t think it was a real threat. But when I saw the graffiti in Pittsburgh, I wondered if there might be a link between the note and the protests. Doesn’t it seem odd that spontaneous protests would pop up in different cities on the same night? And what about these websites growing like mushrooms? It’s more likely that somebody organized this. I want to find out who.”

  Alora moved her fingers around on her tablet, looking for something. When she found it, she swiped the screen, casting the image onto the larger monitor at the end of the room. “This is from last night in Richmond,” she said. It was another graffiti message. It read, “No freaks here!”

  “Yeah,” Raven said, “I think we’ve got a problem.”

  With that, a cacophony of voices filled the room. As the group melded into a rhythm of give and take, Alexander stood and left. He didn’t speak to Raisa, and she didn’t stop him.

  The flight to Pittsburgh was forty minutes. Three airships made the trip. Raisa invited Zeke to join her for the trip, along with the rest of her staff. The other two ships carried military and medical personnel. Raisa needed to talk with Zeke about his unique abilities, but the crowded airship was hardly the place. Besides, he focused his attention on Lieutenant Sandra Elliot. The ease with which they talked told Raisa they had been in touch with each other since the night of the state dinner.

  The three airships landed at an old U.S. Air Force reserve station at the old Pittsburgh International Airport. From there, it was a twenty-minute trip for Raisa and her team to the meeting with Mayor Reeves. Raisa insisted that Zeke and Commander Song ride in her, no one else.

  “How did Colton Reeves know that most of the Ten Thousand lived in this area? Did you tell him?” she asked once they were underway.

  “I did. Against my wishes, my father told him I was one of them. My father and I don’t exactly get along. Anyway, Colton was asking questions. I answered them. I didn’t know he�
��d go public with it.” Zeke looked remorseful for the indiscretion. “I was honestly trying to help.”

  “Did your father know about the Ten Thousand before the leak?”

  “No. I didn’t tell him before that. I know what you’re thinking, but there’s no way he could have been the source of the leak.”

  Raisa looked out the window as the urban landscape passed. Twenty years of recovery had brought the Pittsburgh back to life, but it still had its scars. Not unlike her own life.

  The route to Raisa’s meeting with Reeves was cleared for the motorcade, so what she could see of the city took on a ghostly appearance.

  She turned her attention to Zeke. “What did you mean the night of the state dinner when you said—”

  Raisa cut her words short at the sound of a deafening explosion. The transport in front of them suddenly flipped onto its side in a cloud of smoke, screeching to a halt, metal on asphalt.

  “How in the world . . .” Song started as the navigator swerved their transport, narrowly missing the toppled vehicle in front of them. “This route is supposed to be secure.”

  The security vehicles still in front of the toppled transport sped ahead as Song spoke instructions into her comm unit. Raisa’s navigator did the same, following them. Zeke pulled out his personal comm and began talking, although Raisa couldn’t make out what he was saying in the commotion.

  After a moment, he leaned forward and addressed Song. “We need to get off this route. It’s been compromised.”

  Song let out a single scoffing laugh. “Great advice. You got any ideas where we might go?”

  “I do,” he said. “We need to get off of 376. There’s a park not far from here. I have an airship meeting us there.”

  “You have an airship?” Raisa asked. Even with Zeke’s success, an airship would be a massive expense.

  “Technically, it belongs to WellPharm, my father’s company, but I have access to it.”

  “I thought you and your father didn’t get along.”

  “I can be persuasive,” Zeke said.

  Raisa looked at Song with raised eyebrows. “Commander?”

  “I’m not crazy about the idea, but we just lost our drone support.”

  “How’d we lose the drones?” Raisa asked, a growing urgency working its way from her stomach to her chest.

  “Some sort of jamming device. If they lose their signal, they’re programmed to return to base.”

  The phrase “fish in a barrel,” came to Raisa’s mind. “Take the motorcade to the park.”

  “No,” Zeke said. “Not the whole motorcade, just us. Let the rest of the motorcade follow the route. Whoever’s doing this will expect it to continue to its destination as fast as possible. Let’s let them think that.”

  Song looked at Zeke with a questioning eye. “Sounds like you’ve thought through this, Mr. Wellington.”

  “Trust me, when you are famous, you think about security, and I don’t leave it up to others. I’ve learned as much as I can on my own.”

  Lieutenant Simmons, in the navigator’s seat, looked at Song, waiting for her orders.

  “Go to the park,” she said. Song touched the comm in her ear and informed the other vehicles to continue to the planned destination. “Neverland,” she said. Raisa knew it was the code to indicate she had not been compromised. As soon as she gave the word, both she and the navigator flinched and yanked their comms out of their ears.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  Song put hers back and tried to reach the rest of the motorcade. “Comms are down.”

  This is too perfect, Raisa thought. The route’s compromised, drones are gone, and comms are down. Somebody wants me isolated.

  Zeke gave directions as they exited I-376 until they reached a clearing in a well-groomed park populated by trees, waterways, and cabins. The car stopped next to two old wooden structures that had been restored. Raisa imagined they had historical value that, in calmer circumstances, would have piqued her interest. Adjacent to the old building was an open field of green grass, but no airship.

  Commander Song barked, “Where’s our ride, Wellington?”

  Zeke checked his comm. “They’re inbound. It will be a few minutes.”

  Driving into the park, Raisa saw other people enjoying the spring day. No one was around at the moment, but that could change. “Isn’t a large government transport a little conspicuous?”

  “It’s armored,” Song said.

  “But do we really want to draw a crowd?”

  Song looked out the window toward the sky. “Where is that damned airship?”

  A couple, walking a dog, emerged from a path from around a clump of trees. At first, they didn’t notice the black vehicle with the blue and red New World emblem on the side. Everyone in the transport got still as if stillness made them invisible. And then, as if on cue, all four heads swiveled, looking at the hood of the transport where two flags flanked either side, indicating that the queen was on board.

  “Crap!” Song said. “What else can go wrong?

  Just then, the curving path the couple walked brought them on a ninety-degree turn putting the transport in front of them. They stopped, staring at the unusual sight. A brief conversation between the couple led to the woman reaching into her pocket and pulling out her comm. Lifting it, she took a picture or maybe several.

  “We need to get her comm,” Song said. “We can’t have pictures of this out there.”

  She started to open her door when Zeke’s airship crested over the tops of the trees and landed in the clearing. The couple’s expression went from surprised to stunned.

  Song hesitated. “Get her to the airship. I’ll get the pictures.”

  Raisa, Zeke, and Simmons exited the transport at the same time and ran toward the airship. The rear entry opened, creating a ramp into the back of the ship. When Raisa reached it, she turned around, looking for Commander Song. The couple was still taking pictures when a runner rounded the corner and stopped in his path, gawking at the scene unfolding before him. He too had his comm out, holding it up. Song halted, apparently realizing she couldn’t get to both of them in time. Abandoning her effort, she doubled back and sprinted to the airship. Simmons grabbed Raisa by the arm and pulled her onto the airship.

  Once onboard, Song said, “Let’s go.” And then under her breath, “Dammit.”

  The ship lifted into the air, and Raisa realized that she didn’t know where they were going. She had put her fate in the hands of a man she’d met only two days ago. Alexander’s assessment of Zeke Wellington came flooding into her mind, “I don’t trust him.” Raisa hoped that for once, he was wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  September 2078 – Sixteen Months Earlier

  Sweat dampened Zeke’s shirt as he walked through the choreographed steps arranged for his hit song one more time. On the stage behind him, singers and dancers went through the motions too. Zeke had lost count of how many times they’d rehearsed the song, but they’d keep doing it until it was perfect. People came to his concert to see a show, and that’s what he intended to give them, but it was a lot of work. The life of a superstar wasn’t as glamorous as everyone imagined. Between photo ops and adoring concert-goers was a grueling schedule. Writing songs was the easy part. Performing them was the hard part, and that meant long hours rehearsing.

  Ever since his accident, Zeke had a new level of energy and endurance. Thanks to his dad’s drug, he could rehearse all day without a break, and he could do things he’d never done. The rest of the crew struggled with the new pace. Zeke had always expected everyone to work as hard as he did, but lately, they couldn’t keep up. A few of them were injured, and others quit before he realized he needed to pull back.

  “Let’s do it again,” he said.

  Around him, a few people groaned their displeasure, as his stage manager approached him.

  “It might be time for a break,” he said.

  Zeke shook his head, frustrated at the limitations of his team, e
ven it wasn’t their fault. “One more time, and then we’ll take a break. Let’s take it from the top with music this time.”

  The music started, and Zeke began his routine. He’d revised the choreography after the accident to take advantage of his new strength and agility. Nothing too crazy. He didn’t want to give away his secret, but he added elements that were sure to impress the crowds. As the music continued to pulse, a short horizontal bar hung by ropes, like a trapeze, swung across the stage several feet above the performers’ heads. Zeke jumped and grabbed the bar with his right hand, holding his mic with his left hand. The rig would swing him out over the seats to a smaller round stage set in the middle of the auditorium. As he flew across the room, Zeke let out the first riveting note of his song, a long high note that took him into the opening lyrics.

  Zeke never got to the lyrics, though. Halfway to the smaller stage, his note turned into something sharp and piercing. He let go of the bar and fell to the floor below. A gasp from the rest of the crew punctuated his impact on the concrete floor. Zeke lay still for a moment and then stood to his feet, unsteady.

  His stage manager ran to him. “Are you alright?”

  Zeke could feel the sensation of rapid healing throughout his body, where he had injured himself. He put a hand to his head and said, “Yeah, I’m good. Just one of those headaches.”

  “You really need to see someone about that.”

  “I know,” Zeke said. “Let’s take a break.”

  Zeke asked for some time alone and left the auditorium, stepping into the afternoon sun. Sunlight didn’t make Zeke’s headaches worse, so he suspected they weren’t migraines, although that’s what he told most people. The pain was localized to the front of his head, and it made him feel strange. He figured that it had something to do with his accident two months earlier because he’d never had a headache until then. But if his headaches were because of an injury, why hadn’t his head healed with the rest of his body? Maybe he should see a doctor.