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In Old-Melbourne’s Zone-one, barely contained, an ocean of humanity
swamped the stadium. The thirty thousand were but a minute fraction compared to
the millions who had gathered in their Zones across the Earth to witness this
greatest of events. For eleven years they had warred, two powerful nations who
had risen from the remnants of the apocalypse. Two nations who knew there could
only be one. Bitter enemies from the start, there would be no compromise. The
war had been great and terrifying. Historians would never pin point the one
decisive battle that had meant the end of the Free States. Rather, it had been
them all, a continual onslaught that had gradually weakened, and finally, torn
asunder the Zone's nemesis. Shaken and demoralized the Free leaders were forced
to agree to the charter that would see the amalgamation of the Free States into
the Zone's system. Who could be given credit for this? Was it the people of the
Production wing who had made the weapons, designed the jets, and fed the
soldiers? The Organizational wing, they had run the simulations and determined
the agendas. Or was it the Defence wing, those, the
brave Trailblazers and elite teams who had fought in every condition to
overcome every obstacle. They, the members of the Safe Zone, thanked all these
wings for these wings were themselves, but the greatest thanks fell upon one
individual. A man who had kept then strong with his presence, protected them
with his wisdom, and spurred them with his words. He was known as Carl Sage; to
many he was a god. To all he was their leader, in many ways he was the Zone.
Although the sun had set hours before the stadium glittered like a
jewel. Spotlights washed over the people, while thousands of torches, their
incandescent flames sparking from every banner and post, bathed the night in a
magical hue. At the stadium's center, dominating the scene stood the Guardian,
symbol of the Zone. It stood fifteen meters tall, its massive form plated in
gold. The Guardian was known to all present, they wore it upon their upper arms
and they had all sworn to it. Those in the shadow of its widespread arms were
comforted. At the base of the structure over a dozen microphones indicated the
place that in moments Carl Sage himself would speak. Rallies such as these had
been held, but never before could the Zone justly claim to be the most powerful
nation on Earth. The atmosphere was electric. The power could be felt. It
saturated the crowd, as if the hand of destiny was reaching out to touch all
their hearts. Below the daises on which Sage would speak, the heroes and
heroines of the Zone had begun to gather. These wing commanders, and ministers
plus an assortment of Zone superstars were the faces known to every man, woman,
and child. The fighters who had defended the people, authors who had embodied
the Zone's philosophy and scientists who had regained the technology from
before the plague, and pushed it farther. All were winners of the diamond
Guard. The greatest award possible and given by Sage himself. It was the first
time that they had gathered from over one hundred zones to come pay homage to
the people, and to Sage. Above a wealth of stars blazed in fury. It was amongst
this field, low on the horizon, that one could be seen to move.
Thousands of kilometers away, in Old-Atlanta’s Zone-seven, a dozen
people crowded into the Stirling household. Glasses of Champaign in hand, all
heads were craned towards the screen. Although Arran Stirling had seen Sage
countless times, like the rest he couldn't keep his eyes from the screen. The
point of light had grown larger. It was clearly a chopper. Yet with all beams
now aimed at its hull, he couldn't help thinking it was a star craft landing
with a gift from the heavens. The helipad was a short distance from the podium,
meaning that Sage would not have far to walk; still, already his personal High
Guards had lined the walkway. In perfect formation and black uniforms, they
betrayed no emotion. Arran also noticed that they were the only force at the
victory ceremony that openly displayed their firearms. Even the laser
targetters fixed upon the barrels were evident. Arran felt a tug of guilt, he
knew that he should be absorbed by the grandeur and pageantry, but it was his
enforcement background that had taught him to pick up these details. It was
true that as the new head of Zone-seven's investigations such matters were
another’s problem, yet his years on the street still guided his thoughts. It
had been his Kate, his wife’s, idea to invite their comrades, at first Arran
had grumbled claiming it was a waste of credits, then decided that it might not
be half bad. After all Arran secretly thought that it would be as much a
celebration of his promotion as to the Zone's victory over the Free States. As
the chopper descended the whine of the rotor blades could be heard through the
surrounding speakers. Up to now the party had been in full swing. Almost
everyone in Seven had gathered in the central plaza, only the few who had view
screens elected to stay indoors. When the chopper made touchdown the room went
strangely mute. The music ceased blaring due to an unknown hand and the screen
was reflected upon the silent faces of his guests. Arran judged correctly that
this silence was echoed in every suit, and plaza in each zone on the planet.
Millions of followers were in breathless anticipation to see the mastermind,
the father of the Zone, the great Sage. After long moments when Arran could
feel the silence almost break, the black alloy door of Sage's vessel slid open
and a foot touched the boarding step. When the face of Sage finally appeared a
huge cry of adulation came bursting from the crowd to mingle with the sounds of
the dying engine. The cheering erupted in Arran's suit too. Arran was happy to
find himself a contributor to the din. A gloved hand from Sage rose on the
screen, a simple gesture that caused the howls to cease. Rarely now did Sage
wear his uniform. The fact that tonight he had chosen to do so showed that for
Sage himself, it was a day of pride. Resplendent in traditional urban
camouflage and grey beret he walked purposely towards the
podium, flanked by his High Guards and escorted by six more he reached the foot
of the platform. His three Wing Commanders stood before him. As video scanners
recorded every moment from a multitude of angles, Sage's right hand briskly
formed a fist and swung in a neat arc till it met noiselessly against his
chest. The salute caused the golden Guardian badge upon his upper arm to
briefly flare. In seconds this flare was reproduced upon every public Zone
terminal. Responding with practised ease the Commanders
returned his salute as one being. Behind them stood the best of the best, all
wearers of the diamond guard. Sage made his way up the floodlit steps until he
stood higher than any other. Ringed by the microphones only his six personal
guards stood by him. Up to now Sage's flawless face had shown only a solemn
visage. Now facing the cameras his eyes smiled along with his mouth sporting
perfect teeth. This caused another wave of cheers to brake out of the crowd.
Watching Arran couldn't help smiling back. Who could when faced with such a
sincere expression of happiness? Sages grin widened, as he raised his arms to
once more quell the masses, there was movement from one of his six guards.
Until now they had been facing the audience. Made expressionless by visors. One
of the six had now turned to his leader. Sage's brilliant blue eyes fell upon
the Guard, but it was too late. In a bare instant the Guard had cocked his
pistol, and depressed the trigger. A shot range out, amplified by the speakers.
The leader clutched his right hand to his bloody chest, while with his left he
reached out towards the assassin. Sage made as if to speak, but then his legs
gave way and he fell. Within moments the Guard was also thrown to the ground,
the pistol wrestled from his hands. It was not until someone yelled for a medic
team, did the crowd begin to snap out of their daze. Screams began to fill the
night air, the Commanders and others raced to Sage's aid, and then, the screen
went blank.
Arran moved as if drugged, his glass had become a great weight in his
hand. With effort he placed it upon the serving cart. The shot still seemed to
be reverberating within the room. Parker was the first to speak. Parker Jules
was Chief advisor to the Minister of Enforcement, like Arran he had begun his
career as a cop.
"I've, ah, got to go. There might be trouble outside."
He tried to sound strong, but his voice was shaky, his face a pale
husk. Slowly paralyzed limbs began to move, people grabbed their jackets. Kate,
with tears glistening in her, eyes embraced her husband. Arran held her tight
and tried to give comfort, but he could feel his arms tremble.
"Arran?" It was Parker a fellow officer and friend.
"It's early we won't need you at the station until later." Parker
slapped the Velcro joins of his jacket closed.
Arran attempted to answer but couldn't speak. He merely nodded.
Parker's image began to shift. Arran was dismayed to find that his own eyes
held tears. Slowly the suit emptied with half-hearted good-byes, until Arran
and Kate were alone.
For a long time they held onto each other. The sun finally rose. Orange
tendrils of light felt their way towards them but gave little warmth. Suddenly
the speakers barked and the screen sizzled back to life. They saw the head and
shoulders of a Trailblazer soldier. He wore the rank of 1st Lieutenant. Not
even the stage makeup could hide his fatigue.
"Greetings." He spoke directly into the camera reading no
script. "I am 1st Lieutenant Pascal Reeves. At 21:03, Carl Sage our leader
was shot. His condition is critical, but he is alive." He paused to let
this sink in. "He has been airlifted to Highpoint medical facility. A
suspect has been detained, and is currently under secured arrest. I repeat. Our
leader is alive. Further updates will continue in the following hours."
The lieutenant paused for breath.
"I would like to assure you that your distress is felt by us all.
May our grief keep us unified." He spoke one more word before again the
screen went dead. He spoke it as if it were a prayer.
"Sage!"
The riots that Parker had hinted at did not occur. Over the past few
hours only a few cases of vandalism had taken place. There were no murders, but
by sundown the suicide tally had reached seventy-eight. By far the biggest
problem was the clearing of the central plaza. Although, like the walking dead,
many had wandered away, thousands more refused to move. Stubbornly they stood
before the giant seven meter high plaza screen, watching successive reports
from Zone-one. Earlier the sun had risen promising warmth, but the weather had
quickly turned. Biting cold winds came rolling across the plaza bringing with
it lashing rains. The enforcers watched helplessly as the people stood in the
downpour, some fell to be spirited away by medics, but the vigil continued. Not
even Cassandra Roabards, the Commander of Zone-seven dared order their removal.
She reasoned that if this in some way could lessen their pain then it was good.
In the other Zones, specially the newer ones, riots had taken place, and there
had been many deaths. In Zone-eighty-seven, the carnage had been so great that
three Legions were ordered in to stamp out the insurrection. These items of
knowledge were not known to all. With Arran's promotion came an upgrade in
security classification. He now held the Loyal code. This code meant many
things, above all access to privileged information. Fueled with a steady stream
of coffee courtesy of his wife, Arran spent the day at his terminal hooked into
the Rosetta Strip, the Zone’s information highway. Data from Zone-one was
paramount. Whatever took place there would almost immediately filter back to
the other Zones. If the unthinkable happened and Sage died, Arran would need to
know first hand if he was to be prepared. Bit by bit Arran began to piece
together the events. The round that the assassin had fired was thankfully
small, a 5mm standard slug. It had struck Sage's chest, deflected by the
sternum, then it had traveled in an oblique angle, exiting just below the left
shoulder blade. His left lung had been punctured and had collapsed. Sage was
unconscious, but had been re-classed from critical to stable. The assassin had
confessed to attempted murder. Any connection between him and the Free States
at this time seemed unfounded. This information was relayed to the people in a
slightly more sanitized version. The 1st Lieutenant had been replaced by a
professional announcer. She wore a serious motherly expression as she told the
Zone people what they wanted to hear. Relieved and exhausted the People of
Zone-seven finally left the Plaza to sleep and hope that tomorrow would be a
better day.
The hour had grown late. Even through the suite’s insulation the wind
could be heard howling down the deserted streets of Zone-seven. The meagre light of a
crescent moon faintly played upon Kate's nude form. Her undulating body was
made pale, giving her flesh the appearance of marble. Only the slight movement
of her breasts, as they gently rose and fell, broke the illusion. Beside her,
wide-awake Arran lay. He had expected that sleep would be quick to take him,
instead he felt the seconds slowly merge with the minutes. With the passing of
time his insomnia only become exaggerated. On nights like these, when sleep
would be hard to come by, he would walk the streets. Others would have been
hesitant. There would be enforcement patrols, with too many questions. Arran
Sterling had no such problem. He was known by all the force. His face and card
meant that he could walk at night within the city that he had come to know so
well, unhindered. Besides he could look after himself. If Sage forbid, he was
attacked. As a registered enforcer, Arran was one of the few allowed to carry a
firearm. Under his bed was the holster that contained his pistol. It was
standard issue, a 10mm auto-pistol that carried a full magazine of hollow point
rounds. Enough force to penetrate even a flak vest. No it wasn't fear that had
kept him indoors. Neither was it the cold. It was shame. Over and over again he
replayed the attempt on Sages life in his mind. What would I have done? He
asked himself. If I had been there, would things have been different? He liked
to think that it would. In his minds eye he could see himself, a younger,
stronger Arran. As the traitor began to turn around, he could see himself
leaping up from the crowd yelling "Down!" Before the assassin could
react, Arran would send a dozen shots into him, but he knew that it wouldn't
have been so. Like everyone else he would have sat stunned not reacting until
it was too late. He knew it was true, hadn't he done just that? Immobilized he
had sat in front of his screen, too weak to hold a glass of champagne. Until
now he had been sure of himself. At 28 he felt as good as when he had first
become a cop, Now Arran felt as though he was a defeated man. Made soft by the
privileges of his rank, weakened by the passing years. "We wouldn't expect
you to have done better." He knew they would say, but Arran did expect
better. Like others he had sworn the oath and he had believed that he had meant
it. His very words came back this night to haunt him.
I ARRAN EDWARD STERLING
DO HEREBY DECLARE
THAT UPON THIS DAY
THE 20th DAY OF THE 7th MONTH, 6
AFTER ZONE
THAT I RELEASE MY LIFE
UNTO THE
ZONE
CARL SAGE
AND THE CITIZENS
UNDER HIS NAME
I SWEAR
TO SERVE AND PROTECT
UNTIL THE DAYS UPON THIS WORLD
DO END.
Over the years as his talents became recognized and his climb up the
enforcement ladder had begun. He had taken every chance to obtain luxury.
Hoarding his credits. Forgiving himself each time believing that it was right.
After all wasn't he prepared to die for Sage? Even when his comrades had gone
off to war, some never to return he felt no guilt. ‘I am where I am needed most
he reasoned.’ It had been today, with one moment’s inaction, that he had seen
the sickening truth. It had taken one shot from a masked assailant to make his
world tumble. One man who had decided to play God, Arran could feel the hate
well up inside him. It emanated an ugly black heat. ‘You bastard!’ He thought,
when once more he saw the High Guard squeeze the trigger, in the video inside
his head. ‘You Bastard!’
It had been a marathon operation. The one performed on Sage was minor
in comparison. It took eight doctors and as many hours to reduce the high
guards lethality. Dr. Van Mai, chief cyber-grafting physician, led the team.
Their assignment to remove "sensitive" hardware from the subject was
viewed from behind glass walls, by a number of officials, some in distinctive
military uniform. This made his assistants uneasy, but Dr. Mai wasn't bothered.
It was in the battlefield that his skills had been perfected. The assassin,
(his name was classified) lay naked and anesthetized, a barcode burnt into his
shoulder. Dr. Mai personally handled the subject’s brain. It was a long and
difficult procedure. The frontal lobe had been studded with implants. By the
end several skill chips had been removed, also the odd pain editor and
radiation sensor. The enhancements were mostly from the early years, when
bio-circuit techniques were in their infancy. Their removal although necessary,
had meant unavoidable neuron damage. The rest of the subject’s body had been
easier. Hydraulics were methodically prised from the muscle structure, and
speed strips were disconnected from the nervous system. Before the operation
the subject had been in some ways more than human. Now, he was less. Finally the
subject was pronounced safe. As he was wheeled out of the theatre, the audience
gave the good doctor congratulatory nods. Pleased with his work, Dr. Mai
removed his gloves. ‘Nice job.’ He thought. ‘Within days he should regain most
of his motor control.’ He stepped out of his gown. ‘He will probably be able to
stand for the firing squad.’
As the operation came to a close, three people watched from a remote
terminal in the heart of the war room. The massive structure was built on the
iceberg format, with ninety percent of it underground, extending two hundred
meters. Each of the three wore the black guardian, with the initials CMD,
stamped underneath. Apart from Sage they were the most powerful individuals on
Earth. The only lighting in the command centre was provided by
a huge bank of screens, each displaying data about the zone that would make the
most paranoid zone member gasp. As graphs self adjusted and camera angles
switched the commanders paid little attention. They had come to discuss more
pressing matters.
Commander Ethan
Talbot of Production, placed a stubby hand upon a huge stack of printouts
before him, and spoke to a woman who in her thirties was still radiant.
"Trish, I'm sure it's accurate and as usual top notch. You've read
it I suspect. Could you spare Charles and I, a pair of tired eyes, and give us
a rundown?"
Commander Trish Moriarty nodded. "Basically it's good. The
scanners are showing that his brain activity has moved from the delta to the
alpha range."
Charles in his military uniform nodded thoughtfully, chewing his lower
lip. Finally he looked at her.
"That's good. Ah, what does it mean?"
"It means that Carl is waking up." Ethan broke in.
Charles beamed. "Hey, that's great, what about his wounds?"
"The lung has responded well to the Dermacom, and there is no
avulsion damage" Trish answered.
"Trish as organization commander you'd make an excellent
doctor." Charles complemented.
She searched his face for a hint of sarcasm, but found none.
"Thanks Charles." She turned to the Commander of Production.
"Ethan has production recovered?"
"Things are still behind. Some departments had to shut down
through lack of attendance, but as I predicted the vandalism on the reactors
turned out to be superficial."
"Vandalism, you mean rebellion." Charles said abruptly.
Ethan stared coldly at Charles. "I mean vandalism. It's under
control."
"Now it's under control." Charles fought to keep from
shouting. "A few hours ago we had fanatics with rifles at a plasma
reactor, holding all Zone Forty hostage. If it wasn't for my men..."
Charles finished; he didn't need to go on, he had made his point.
Trish shuffled the stack of papers before her. "OK guys settle
down. Soon Sage will be back with us, he'll get a handle on this mess."
"Great, he's really going to like what he sees." Charles said
stubbornly.
"Sage couldn't have handled it any better. We all know that.
Besides he'll use 8B and things will quickly return to normal."
Charles and Ethan both nodded together, they both knew of clause 8B. It
had been approved years ago, when they were just starting out. It stated that
only Carl Sage could execute or banish a safe zone member without trial. Up to
now he had never made use of it. He had had no real need.
"Your right." Charles said. "And when Sage orders this
guys death. I'll be glad to oblige." He smiled. "Anything for a
friend."
When Kate awoke she found herself alone. After slipping into a robe she
found Arran upon the balcony, his hands buried in the pockets of his blue
jumpsuit. His back was turned. "Arran?" She called quietly.
"I'm asking for my old job back." He said tonelessly not
turning.
"Your old job. For Sage's sake, why?"
He spun around. "Exactly, for Sage's sake."
"What the hell are you talking about, Arran?" Kate
spluttered.
"I made a promise I belong down there." He flung his hands
toward the sprawling metropolis.
"Down there." She muttered. "What has being down there
ever gotten us? Do you want us to lose this apartment?"
She waited for a reply but received none. He just stood facing her his
eyes glazed as if she didn't exist.
"Damn you Arran. If you’re on some fucking guilt trip then I don't
need it."
"You don't understand." He muttered.
"Don't I? Everything has to do with you. Doesn't it? You've got to
make everything your personal quest."
Arran shook his head. "Just when I think we are close Kate you
have to prove how much you don't know about me."
"Maybe I don't, I thought you were smart. If you think you can
change things if you resign…that it would some how help the Zone, then you're a
fool."
"As a cop, I was good. It was a cop you married." He hated
this argument. He hated the things he was saying to Kate.
"And who will take your place? None can do better than you. Why do
you think they chose you?" She had quieted down, already regretting, if
not the things she had said, the way she had said them.
After a long pause he nodded. "Don't you think I know that, it's
just..." He trailed away into silence.
Kate shook her head as if to sweep away the anger and rushed over to
him. She took his hands in hers.
"Arran I understand. Yesterday hurt us all, but making yourself a
martyr isn't going to make things better."
"You're right. Thanks Kate."
"For what, the insults." She grinned. "I've got a book
full of them."
"No, just for being here. I'm late for work. I'll call you if I
can." He squeezed her hands.
"Fine, But don't expect me to sit by the phone all day." She
tried hard to sound stern, but he saw through it and smiled. Kate was relieved;
the smile was Arran's smile, the Arran she knew. They kissed quickly then Kate
said. "Now get out of here."
He grabbed his holster and walked to the door then turned around and
gave an evil grin. "Watch yourself Madam. When I return I'll have a search
warrant."
Fortunately Arran had chanced upon the seat closest to the heating
unit. Hot gusts of wind enveloped him as the compartment doors slid shut. The
train began to accelerate and within moments dipped and plunged below the
surface. The interior lights compensated so efficiently their activation wasn't
noticed. As the sub-rail hurtled onwards Arran reflected on this mornings
argument. He had never wanted to fight and knew that even though he and Kate
had made up there had still been tension in the air. Kate had been only twelve
when the apocalypse begun. First came the plague taking with it both her
parents and her childhood. She was placed into the child-care system, but
government bodies discovered that they weren't immune to the neo-virus either.
As orphanage after another collapsed Kate and the others were shuffled from one
state to the next. Finally there were no more homes to go to and the camps were
created. Camps with high fences and black dogs. "For your own
protection." The grown ups, told them, but even here in the camp the food
began to dwindle. It wasn't long before the escape attempts began. Kate, who
hadn't even been kissed, found herself leading uprisings and smuggling
supplies. Whether it was the children's efforts, or some government’s decision,
one morning they awoke to find the Guards had left taking with them their dogs
and guns. The gates were wide open. As they rejoiced in their newfound freedom
the snows began. At first it had been a toy and something to hide the bodies
and bury the scent of death. Then the nights became colder. Kate and her
friends would find that the firewood they had collected the day before had
frozen. The snow banks began to rise after each blizzard. The windows shattered
and like a heat seeking beast, it took room by room. Eventually it began to
take her friends. The brutality that the apocalypse brought with it had moulded Kate's being.
She had become a fighter. When Kate and Arran had met, and fallen in love, it
had been difficult to once more take a back seat and depend another. Arran's snap
decision to quit his job as an investigator had frightened her. It made Kate
face the vulnerability that their marriage had placed her in. Kate had been
right, his resignation wouldn't help the zone, and it wouldn't help them.
Trish was the only person in Sage's room who didn't have a degree. As
she sat besides the monitors she didn't need a bachelor of science to see that
Carl was dreaming. Behind closed eyes his pupils darted furiously in response
to some dream image. Sage had responded well to the treatment. The IV had been
removed, also the breather tubes. The job of living was placed back into his
hands. Watching Carl Sage, Trish realized how little time they had spent
together. In the twelve years that they had known each other. She was startled
to think that she had never seen him asleep before. In the dozen years of the
Zones existence time had been kind to him. At the age of forty-four, the only
signs of age were a few wisps of grey hair. His face was still smooth and
flawless. A marked difference to the unshaven man with ripped jeans she had met
so long ago. He had changed a lot. Then again, they all had. A pair of eyes, of
a shocking blue, snapped Trish from her thoughts. Sage was awake. He was
staring at her expressionless. Suddenly she felt uneasy.
"You were dreaming." She stated simply.
He nodded vaguely. "The dream was about my speech. I hadn't been
shot. When I had finished and was standing before the applauding audience. I
reached in with bladed hand and pulled out my heart still beating and offered
it to the crowd, and as my legs buckled and I fell, for a reason I didn't dare
ask. The people began to clap in unison. Then, as my spirit rose to merge with
the clouds I could still hear them clapping, slowly. It sounded like the
heartbeat of an awakening giant."
"And you just dreamed that?" Trish asked perplexed.
"No, but it sounds good." Sage replied with a wink.
"Oh, this is your way of telling me your fine." Trish mused.
"I suppose so. Give me a break I was ad-libbing." Sage responded.
Then with effort he leaned forward and squinted at the bios-canner readouts.
"Don't worry your fine." Trish assured him.
"Thanks but Id rather get an experts opinion, such as my own. How
long have I been out?"
"Thirty seven hours, and fifty seven minutes, but who's
counting." She answered dryly.
Sage looked up as if he had noticed the doctors for the first time,
then turned to Trish. "Could you do me a favor and politely get rid of
these guys." He gave a brief but desperate look. Trish obliged and within
moments the room was empty. Only the rhythmic beeps of the machines broke the
silence.
"The High Guard. I suspect he was alone?" Sage enquired his
tone serious.
"Yes, we triple checked, any involvement with others has come out
negative. We've questioned him but still haven't gotten a motive out of
him."
Sage nodded. "He was one of my most trusted. Et Tu Brute."
"Et tu bru what?" Trish asked frowning.
"Nothing. It's Latin from a play by a poet in the 17th
century."
"Well Carl, We're going to have to place linguist on the end of
your list of titles. Before dictator and leader."
"Careful Trish about me being a dictator, if anyone else had said
what you had. I'd have them shot." Sage said in good humor.
Trish smiled along with him, but she knew he had spoken the truth.
"Regarding the Free State Charter. Things have deteriorated since the
shooting." Trish said slowly.
"Deteriorated? They're still sticking to it?" Sage asked with
concern in his voice.
"The ones who signed are, but others in the Free States are saying
that the leaders who penned their names did not represent the majority of the
States."
"And the opinions of the people?"
"Who? Ours or the States?"
Sage considered this. "Both."
"The Zone hasn't been too interested. They've been more preoccupied
with the shooting. The States people want to believe in the Charter, but you
being shot by one of your own guards have made them uneasy. They're worried
your hold on the Zone isn't as strong as they had thought."
"Isn't as strong. How many legions do we now have occupying the
Free States, still thirty?"
"Yes and Charles has personally gone to handle the
situation."
"That's good. He knows what's important. I want twenty more
legions sent there. Then they'll see the sort of power I control."
"And in the meantime, about the assassin. Are you going to use
clause 8B?"
Sage lapsed into silence for a few moments, before shaking his head.
"No. It will make me seem desperate and cruel. I want him put on trial
instead, a show trial, it will demonstrate my faith in the system I created. A
leader who is seen to have belief in his government will do as much as my
legions when it comes to suppressing those hot heads from the States."
Trish nodded. "Makes sense, but it going to be hard to find
someone to defend this guy. It will destroy anyone’s reputation for life."
"The High Guard is as guilty as can be, we all know it. The case
is cut and dried. Anyone with a smattering of legal knowledge could defend him.
We'll have the Prophecy computer choose a random middle ranking individual, to
act as the defence." Sage concluded."
Because a random person is chosen we all stay clean. Including the
defender." Trish said.
"Correct." Acknowledged Carl.
"It's best to begin the trial as soon as possible but we don't
want it to seem rushed, but first. Are you up to appearing on satellite? A lot
of people would be happy to know you’re truly back with the living."
"Get my uniform down here and have a stage ready. Oh, and I want a
file on all events since I've been in hospital."
Trish reached into a small attaché case besides the
bed and pulled out a sealed portfolio. She handed it to Carl. "Here's the
file. The uniform I didn't expect."
As Trish headed for the chopper to the studio to begin the arrangements
for Sage's address to the nation, she couldn't shake off the feeling of awe she
had felt for Sage inside the hospital room. I don't believe this guy. He wakes
up from having a bullet dance through his body, and his cracking jokes and
sending legions across a couple of continents. After all these years of working
with him Trish still hadn't figured out whether he was a genius or a fool. The
truth she suspected might be somewhere in between.
The speech had gone well. After all it was what Carl Sage excelled in.
It began with a cheerful. "Greetings people of the Zone nation!" And
ended with the traditional, fist to chest salute. In the fifteen minutes
between Sage managed to address the issues in the hearts and minds of the
people. With the precision of a master craftsman and ease he moved from one
topic to the next, while intertwining them into one broad theme. Topics that
seemed at first to bear no relation were neatly brought into similar contexts.
Sage had the ability to summarize the concerns of his viewers from a multitude
of perspectives directly and clearly. This ability was used fully within that
quarter of an hour. First he gave thanks to the people, the doctors and other
personnel, that he lived. He also thanked the people for their grief. He
welcomed for the first time the Free States into the Safe Zone, speaking of the
dawn of a new era of peace. He promised immediate food and shelter to those who
abided by the Charter. Sage also spoke frankly of his injuries, and spoke of
his rapid recovery. He didn't neglect to mention his decision to have the
alleged assassin stand trial. Sporting the purple guard, awarded only to those
wounded in service to the Zone. Sage portrayed a benevolence, and strength of
character that even his enemies had to admire. Yes, at the end of his address,
Carl had ensured that once more the status quo would continue. With the High
Guards fate delegated to a routine trial, the incident regarding the
assassination attempt had gone from a major issue to a deviation to appease the
masses. Once more Carl Sage proved to the people what they had come to know.
Sage was not only their leader; he was a friend.
Everyone had heard Sage's speech. Well, almost everyone. Some people
like the High Guard in isolation heard nothing. Other’s such, as Lucifer did
not care to hear. No one was like Lucifer. He went by many names, but Lucifer
was his usual tag. Only the most computer literate users of the Strip knew him
at all. The best had come to learn that he was better than them. As the
majority of the Zonian's listened attentively to their leaders words, Lucifer
with the aid of an interface plug, hurtled at speeds nearing light. His
highways were the optical cables that connected one Zone to the next. In mere
seconds his thoughts crisscrossed continents. Although his physical body lay in
stasis, his mind rejoiced in an ecstasy of speed. Again and again, Lucifer was
bombarded with sprays of light, and his spirit shook with joy. It was the same
every time he passed a Zone. He shot in and out of Mainframes in a twinkling.
To a casual observer at a terminal, Lucifer would only be noticed as a bit of
static upon their screen. To Lucifer it was like being gripped by the hand of
God. How could Sage compare to this? He knew his thoughts bordered on treason,
his actions surely did, but as his spirit. No, his very soul became saturated
in raw data as it coursed through him, he knew that if caught he would gladly
pay the ultimate price. In here bathed in a light beyond orgasm. What did death
mean? His only wish was that if there were a heaven it would be like this.
Suddenly he stopped. There was no feeling of deceleration, one second he had
been velocity incarnate the next, as he had programmed. He was upon the
Beach. The Beach was Lucifer's private virtual reality. It had taken eight months
to program. As a virtual reality in the truest sense it did not exist. This was
how Lucifer wanted it and if he played his cards right that would be how it
would stay. Anyone with a terminal, especially licensed Rosetta Strip users,
knew that allocating memory space without authorization was an act of sabotage
that brought the death penalty. Within a moment his virtual beach had built a
body to contain his thoughts. As gravity took hold of him, his feet sunk into
the warm sand. Lucifer turned to face the ocean and a gentle breeze embraced
him, tasting of sea salt. He closed his eyes and looked directly into the
tropical sun. Suddenly a harsh squawk broke the serenity. A baboon crashed
through the undergrowth upon a sand dune. With wet fangs bared it bounded
towards him. In response Lucifer brought his hand up, his fingers performed an
obscure dance in the air, and a keypad appeared. Its buttons glowed faintly.
Lucifer quickly ran his hand back and forth and the baboon vanished. The only
signs of its leaving were a brief golden glow and a sound like that of diamonds
being scattered upon marble. He had meant to delete his baboon the last time he
had visited. Exotic? Yes, but a tad dangerous. He was about to erase the keypad
also, when Lucifer noticed a rhythmic pulse upon a lone key. Lucifer sat down
upon the sand and crossed his legs. The keypad obediently followed. The pulse
meant that a high security program was being initiated. Lucifer had meant to
visit the Beach, to complete his experiments with ocean hue variation. At this
moment the waves that lazily lapped the shore were a muted green. Now he had
more important things on his mind. Previously Lucifer had programmed his
Virtual Reality to report Zone items of above most secret. Anything lower was,
to Lucifer, well… dull. His fingers began tapping and a flat screen shot up
from the keypads base. Instantly words scrolled across its display. Lucifer
scanned the program before him, and smiled. It was a simple program, with its
use of basic random subroutines. Its purpose was clear. The powers that be had
decided to hold a trial for the High Guard, and had decided to have the main
artificial intelligence of the Rosetta strip by the name of Prophesy, to
randomly make the choice of defender for them. Lucifer's smile widened showing
teeth programmed to the image of perfection. Now their asking Prophesy to make
decisions for them. Soon even Sage will be towing Prophesies line. He pitied
the poor fool who would be made defender; all that would bring would be hard work
and grief. ‘The secondary role of assistant’ Lucifer mused. ‘Now that would be
interesting.’ The computer had been asked to choose that also. The defence assistant would
be out of the line of fire, but still have a front seat in the show that this
trial promised to be. Lucifer knew that it would pale in compared to the
excitement within the Strip, but even he had to make a living. It was an easy
task to alter the Defender program and then hide the alteration itself. Now
when Prophesy chose the Defender the choice of assistant wouldn't be as random
as before. ‘Who knows?’ Lucifer giggled as he typed his name and pressed
return. ‘It might even be me.’ Lucifer’s laughter continued for a long time
even when it began to sound a little insane.
The waiting room was featureless. There were no pictures to adorn the grey walls. The only
furniture was three chairs, and a coffee table of dark glass. A convection
heater purred faintly. Keeping the room at a steady 22°. Arran knew this from
the temperature display, the glowing yellow digits the only bright thing here.
He still didn't have a clue on why he was waiting. Less than half an hour ago
he had been slumped over his bathtub. Carefully nurturing a foam of bubbles,
for a bath he and Kate were intending to share. Since this mornings argument
with Kate things had improved. When he had arrived at work he found that he had
cases piling up. Sorting them out had been demanding, but it kept him focused.
It was also good to be needed. Then there had been Sage's appearance on the
viewer. Arran had found his words to be honest and uplifting. Things had
finally gone back to normal. Then came a knock at the front door. Kate called
to say she'd get it then came into the bathroom to tell him that two
enforcement officers wanted to speak with him. He threw on a bathrobe and went
to the front door. The first officer he recognized instantly the second he knew
but not by name. They politely informed him that he was required to have them
escort him to Central office to speak with the Commander of Zone-seven,
Cassandra Roabards. Whatever the reason she wanted to speak to him its
importance was obvious. With an escort and at this late hour Arran also deduced
that time was too short to go through the usual channels. There was a third enforcer
downstairs in a vehicle. After a short journey, in which they passed several
checkpoints, Arran Stirling was deposited here in Commander Roabards waiting
room. Although he had met the Commander briefly at a number of official
functions he still felt apprehensive. It was known by all that Roabards was a
hard-liner. She believed in running her Zone tightly, and by the book. Her
waiting room reflected her maxims. Only things that were necessary existed.
Function to her was more important than form. The waiting room door slid open
and Roabards secretary, a gaunt, balding man spoke.
"Chief investigator Stirling. Commander Roabards will see you
now." His voice was high and clipped. He led Arran down a wide low roofed
hall. He counted six surveillance cameras. Lastly Arran and his skinny guide
passed a sentry post, set flush against the wall. Its entire front consisted of
mirrored black glass. It was impossible to tell whether there was a guard
within or not. Finally they came to a massive redwood door. Some invisible beam
must have been tripped, for the doors swung silently open. Dwarfed by a huge
short desk, made apparently from the same redwood, sat the Commander. Fluently
she stood up and extended her palm indicating a comfortable black leather
chair.
"Arran. Glad you could make it, at such a late hour."
Roabards began, she kept her hand extended until Arran sat down, and she then
also sat. Behind him Arran made out a high-pitched hiss. He turned to see that
the secretary had vanished, and the doors were now closed. Roabards sensed his
unease.
"Don't worry about the security. Most of it’s for show.” She
informed him in a soothing tone.
Arran nodded in reply.
She nodded back. "I know you must be on the edge of your seat,
wondering why I have asked for you." Arran checked and found that he was
indeed on the edge of his seat. The commander leaned forward, and briefly
looked around as one does before sharing a great secret.
"It's simply this Arran Stirling. Sage asked Prophesy to randomly
select someone to act as defendant for the High Guard who shot him. It chose
you." The Commander threw him a thin smile.
"Prophecy can choose someone else." Arran said coldly.
"Pardon?" It was now Commander Roabards turn to be left in
the dark. She had expected a number of responses, ranging from gratitude to
hatred. But to think that he would actually refuse.
"I'm sorry. I cannot accept the position." Arran repeated.
"Arran. I'm afraid it is not up to you to neither accept nor
decline. Prophecy has made its decision. A refusal is not in this
equation." Roabards stated. She had lost her smile. Arran saw that he had
probably made an enemy. Crossing swords with his Zone Commander was not one of
his life goals, but how could he defend someone he hated to the very core.
"I'm not refusing to do it Commander. It's just that I feel that I
could not adequately defend him. My prejudice isn't something I could
overcome." Commander Roabards strove to contain her anger. Normally when
anyone below Roabards level began to argue with her she would crush him or her,
but now this cop had become too important.
"For Sage's sake Stirling, were not asking you to like the man.
Only represent him."
"But I'm not a defence lawyer. As an enforcer my background is in
putting people behind bars. Not trying to keep them out."
"I've been through your file notes Arran. You've been working
around the courts all your Zone life. You know how the system works. Your file
also states that your code is Loyal. As one of Sage's people, as a loyal Zone
member, I would hope that you would accept the wisdom of your leaders. We all
make sacrifices Arran. It's what makes the Zone." By now Arran had calmed
down. He was realizing that his first response had been impulsive. He had
placed himself before the Zone. A wave of shame washed over him. "Your
right Commander Roabards, I apologize."
"Your apology is accepted Arran." Her smile returned. With
the apology of Arran's she was back in familiar territory. "When I asked
you up here Arran it wasn't just to break the news. I wanted to give you a
piece of advice. Your task as Defender will mean your going to Zone-one."
"Will I be going alone?"
"Yes. An assistant has also been chosen; you'll be meeting him
there. Your spouse may also accompany you if you so desire. Your record states that
you've never been to Zone-one."
"No I haven't been out of Zone-seven since I entered almost ten
years ago."
"What do you know of Zone-one Arran?"
Arran searched his memory. "As the name suggests, it was the first
Zone to exist. Its location is upon Old-Melbourne, upon the southern edge of
the Australian continent. Sage spends most of his time there, and the three
Wing Commanders."
"As you say Arran. Zone-one is home to the most important Zone
personages. All the Zones are meant to be identical in theory, but it's
accepted that Zone-one is in many ways our capital city. This Zone, like all
others that came after the first, follow a set plan. Each city site was
carefully chosen taking many factors into account. The first Zone was
constructed along existing Melbourne urban geography. This was more out of
necessity than choice"
"I appreciate the information Commander Roabards, but what is this
leading to?"
"I'm saying to watch yourself. Play it by ear. Many things will be
new and different. It might throw you. For almost a decade You’ve lived under
controlled conditions. Zone-one is the hub of our nation. Over the years the
smartest and most ruthless have converged there. Here in Zone-seven you’re the
Chief Investigator, there you'll be an outsider. An amateur."
"So I'm going to be their pawn."
"You'll be what you chose to be."
"Can I ask you something?" Arran questioned curiously.
"Why the advice?"
"Because your a Zone-seven boy, and I'm your commander. How you
perform will reflect on me."
"Then for both our sakes I'll try to keep my head above water.
When do I leave?"
"At sunrise, in a few hours time. The government wants to get this
trial over pronto. News of your appointment will break nationally in four hours
time. I thought you would appreciate the early warning. By morning I'll have a
file on the High Guard at the heliport. On arrival at Zone-one your assistant
will bring you up to date. Any questions?"
"I'm sure I'll think of dozens some time tomorrow, when it will be
too late."
The Commander nodded. "Probably."
As soon as Arran left, Cassandra Roabards slid open a panel and fished
out a packet of cigarettes. The packet was old, the tobacco dry. It wasn't even
her brand. Still after it was lit and she drew the smoke into her lungs, she
felt content. Harmful carcinogens had been outlawed years ago, but some habits
were hard to break. Cassandra knew that she risked her position, but who would
know? Her thoughts returned to Arran. From reading the report on him, Cassandra
thought he would be the typical Zone produce. She had been surprised discover
he was different. His outspoken opposition wouldn't do, but it was good to
speak with someone who had the guts to be honest. Unlike her sniveling
secretary she had almost liked him. One day he might even survive the pressure
of Zone-one, but not now, he was too naive. She had seen how at one point he
had been tormented by self-guilt. A man with such morals was not going to come
out of his visit to Zone-one without getting burnt.
It was approaching midnight when he returned. As he opened the door
Kate was there, with a dozen questions. Arran led her to the lounge, and made
her sit down. (He knew she'd have to be sitting for this one) He then told her
what the commander had told him. Kate listened intently only interrupting at
minor points such as the fact that he had actually had the Gaul to argue with
Roabards. After he told her all he knew. Kate dropped her own bombshell.
"I can't go Arran." She calmly informed her husband. "I'm
pregnant."
Arran smiled and nodded and then it hit him. ‘Wha, wha...’ Was his
reply. She tried to make sense out of his gibberish, but failed. Kate decided
to repeat herself. "Honey, I'm going to have a baby. Our baby."
The second time running Arran's reaction was more commendable. "A
baby." He grinned idiotically. "A baby, but how?" He clumsily
hugged her.
"How? If I have to tell you that then were in trouble." His
grin was infectious, in moments the cases of it in the room had doubled.
"That's great Katie!" He blubbered. Then he pulled himself away to
look directly into her eyes; his expression suddenly serious. "I mean it
Kate. This is great, but why can't you come? You're not sick are you?"
"No Arran. Morning sickness doesn't kick in for a few more weeks.
It's just that I don't think I could handle traveling. These first weeks, when
the baby’s small, are the most important, I don't want anything to go
wrong." She stroked his face."
Then I'm not going either." Arran said stubbornly.
Kate shook her head. "You've got to go. What you have to do is
important. I'd be lying if I told you I won't miss you heaps, but Prophesy has
asked you Arran. I saw how the shooting shook you. If you turn your back on the
Zone it will eat at you. That won't do you, me, or the baby any good."
"I suppose your right Kate, but if something goes wrong while I'm
away?"
"I'll be fine. I've got my friends here, and being the wife of the
defender requested by Sage himself, will give me good medical coverage."
Her words were reassuring to Arran. Then Kate looked downwards. Arran followed
her gaze and found that all this time he had been gently making small circles
against her belly with his palm. Kate pressed his hand against her. "It
doesn't show yet. I won't be getting big and fat until long after you get back."
He grinned cheekily. "I'd love to see that." "I'm sure
you would."
The rest of the night (What little there was left) was spent packing.
Arran hoped that his time in Zone-one wouldn't be over-long, but unfortunately
if experience were anything to go by. Even the most "Rushed" trials
could drag into months. When the news broke across the Zones about Arran's
appointment it was luckily the early hours of the morning in Zone-seven. This
saved him from the avalanche of friends, and the not so friendly that would
converge at his suite. Some had come to say good-bye - others to be able to say
that they had met the man who defended the High Guard assassin. Already known
as the most hated man on Earth.
Jilanda looked up from the heavy book to her opponent. Her expression was
one of sadistic glee. "OK. Spell TERGIVERSATE?"
"Look isn't this becoming rather silly?" Lanford informed
her. "You chose a spelling bee. I wanted to draw straws." Jilanda
snapped. The competition had been fierce. Over the last few hours, the
twenty-five would-be prosecutors had been whittled down to only two lawyers.
The test results between Jilanda and Lanford, were so similar. Other means were
needed to determine the winner. To the tight circles of legal minds in Zone-one
the fact that these two had survived the elimination tests wasn't surprising.
Both Jilanda and Lanford were if case wins were a guideline, the current
masterminds of the courtroom. When Sage made the announcement about the trial,
there had been a tidal wave of lawyers. All were vying for the position of
prosecutor of the High Guard. Everyone knew that the lucky lawyer would be shot
into stardom. Having the honor of nailing the man who shot Sage would be a
great boost to any career. Apart from their closest comrades, the court library
was empty. "Come on Lanford. I got operculum wrong. Just try to spell
tergiversate. If you fail then we are a draw." It was times like this that
she hated David Lanford. As a colleague he was invaluable, but as an opponent
he was a bastard. "OK Jill. I'll spell it. If that's what you want."
Jilanda cursed herself. She had thought that he didn't know the word and was
simply stalling. Then she saw that twinkle in his eye. A twinkle he only got
from tormenting another. "Just spell it Lanford." She told him in an
icy tone.
"Um? Well. I think it might be, T E R G I V E R S A T E"
Jilanda looked down at the dictionary she held, then she threw it at
him.
The dim oil lamp gave just enough light to enable the two Warlords to
see one another. The energy rationing was now in its last stages. What power
units they had left were devoted entirely to keeping the air circulating. When the Zone leader was shot, the Free State
dissenters of the Charter had seen it as their chance to dissolve the document.
The defeated leaders had signed. Hans Chiedarko was the only official Free
State senator who had refused to comply with the Zone's demands. It had meant
his exile, but when Sage was shot, many who had previously been afraid to
support him rallied at his side. It seemed that the miracle that he had prayed
for had occurred. Now Hans was a broken man. Sage's rapid recovery had meant
his own loss of support - The Free States were now set to be broken up for
amalgamation into the Zone's dictatorship. Only those most loyal to his cause
were now at his side. The Carpathian bunker in Northern Rumania had been their
last resort. It was here, within its catacombs, that Hans and his second had
sought refuge. The bunker although deep and well fortified, was steadily being
surrounded by Zone Legions. Hans Chiedarko knew that it would only be a matter
of time, before the hated Trailblazers would be in this very room. A week
earlier he had seemed strong, but once more the tables had turned. A week had
turned out to be a long time. Only a few far-flung armies had stubbornly
refused to surrender. Although they were led by good men they would be no match
against the might of the Zone. Hans had been sleeping fitfully, until
Doiseneau, his right hand man, had woken him. Hans was tired. Lately he was always
tired. He wanted to tell Doiseneau that he would speak with him later, but he
had seen the expression in his friends face. It was one of hope. Hans
remembered that not long ago, he had that same look. Now his hope was
extinguished, but Doiseneau had stuck with him. Even in these sorry times.
Doiseneau deserved a chance to be heard.
"Why do you smile my friend? Maybe we haven't run out of whisky
after all?" Hans asked.
Doiseneau felt the whiskers on his unshaven face. He looked towards his
brother in arms. "The loss of our whisky cut me deeply Hans."
"But you have something I haven't. You've got a great plan to save
us all." Hans added with sarcasm.
"You're right Hans. I do have a plan, but its greatness will
depend on you."
"On me? I think you should think again Doiseneau. I am no longer
what I was. I'm not Jesus. Miracles are for others to perform."
"Hans Chiedarko! How long will this self-pity last. Nothing has
changed we live, and we know the Zone for what it is. Until they kill or
convert us they will be limited."
"And how long will that be? Already they are in these mountains,
and more Legions arrive daily. Their only dilemma will be whether to starve the
rats, or send in the weasels."
"You speak as if we have already lost, but you do not realize that
even your words contain the seed of our victory."
"At another time your riddles would be entertaining, but not now.
Tell me what is on your mind."
"How many legions have the Zone sent here?"
"Too many."
"How many Hans?"
"Thirty with twenty more soon to arrive. If our sources are
reliable."
"If they are reliable do you not see what that means?"
"It means that soon they have a quarter of a million soldiers,
against our few thousand. It means we are dead."
"No. It means that half their army has been deployed within the
region. It means that their Zones, even Zone-one, are severely under strength.
The mobilization of the Zone soldiers was made for political reasons, not
strategic ones. Their leader has brought his men here to show us his strength.
To show the Free State leaders his total power, but where are most our forces?
Upon the pacific islands."
Hans shook his head. "What your suggesting is that we attack
Zone-one. It makes good sense until you realize that within a week their forces
here in Carpathia will return to crush or attempt. I fear that the darkness in
these tunnels is weakening your mind Doiseneau."
"I know that now if we attack, then their counter strike will see
us beaten, but soon winter will come to this land. When their legions are snowbound.
It will take almost a fortnight to extract themselves and go running back to
defend their Zone-one."
Hans almost had to laugh. "Winter? Why should they be here in
winter? They could have us beaten in days. The first heavy snows do not begin
for another four weeks."
"They will be here in after those for weeks if Sage doesn't order
their attack." Doiseneau stated with triumph."
Your idea showed some promise. You've now brought Sage into your plan.
Their dictator is a smart man. Why would he not call them to attack?"
"Pride Hans, pride. I have listened to Sage's speech. I know you
forbade it."
"I did but I can trust that you will not be influenced by his sly
words. You speak of Sage and pride. How will that be his downfall?"
"My heart is warmed knowing you trust that I see behind his
words." Doiseneau remarked humbly.
"You are welcome, but do continue." Hans's growing interest
was now clearly evident."
His speech was long and dull, but one thing he spoke of caught my
attention. He said that. He said that he would take no military action against
the Free States that refused to join his Zone until the trial is over. He also
said the trial will show that he is a man of honor and justice…Even when it
concerns those who try to kill him, or fight his Zone. We know this Sage to be
a liar, but even he would not dare break a promise spoken publicly. Therefore
we are safe until the verdict for the High Guard is found."
"So we die in two weeks, not today. Thank you for the good news. I
am glad that I was woken up for this." Hans grumbled.
"I know that having our fate depend on a trial makes us look like
his pawn, but pawns can take a king Hans. If we prolong the trial before the
snows begin to fall, and if we can stay unified during this time, then our
chance for our generals in the Pacific to sweep south and take the Australian
Zones, including Zone-one will arrive."
"Zone-one is far south. Our men will need to have a higher moral
than they now possess."
"They will when the understand the prize. If we capture Zone-one, we
will also capture Carl Sage, and his Wing Commanders. Prophecy their great
computer will also be hours. It will be our key to disengage, or control their
satellites. Once we have Sage, we can finish what his High Guard started. We
will kill Sage and destroy his city. His army will return too late, and find
their people slaughtered. The Tricratic system of the Zone will become only a
memory to forget."
"Doiseneau. This plan is daring. It will need extreme secrecy, and
expert timing, but it feels true. Maybe we are just entertaining just another
dream, but what can be the harm in following one's dream. There is only one
detail that you have yet to tell me. How do we stall the trial, and how do we
prevent suspicion falling our way?"
"Ah that will be easy. Listen."
Hans listened, and he like what he heard.
Trooper Fox, a Zone soldier, waited. He was in the no man's land, deep
within Old-Rumania, between the Zone encampment and the Free States Resistors.
With his urban cams dusted in snow he stood upon the plateau. Above him a bank
of stars shone a pale light upon the stony ground, giving it a ghostly hue. The
clearing he stood within was ringed by stunted pines. So high up with the wind
howling down from the snow-peaks he could be forgiven for not hearing the
footsteps of the figure that stepped from the forest’s edge into the starlight.
The stranger spoke first, his voice corrupted by a heavy European accent, his
mouth hidden by a wild moustache.
"You are alone?"
Trooper Fox couldn't determine
whether it was a question or a statement. "I am Trooper Clifford Fox. Are
you Doiseneau?"
"A Trooper. I expected someone of higher rank. Maybe a
Centurion."
"We don't always get what we want. Now cut the pretension. I'm
sure we have a more important reason for being here besides small talk."
"You are right Zone man. As my message indicated I have come on
the behalf of Hans Chiedarko."
"And what does the great Chiedarko have to say?"
"He asks me to make the Zone an offer."
"What, your surrender?"
"No, a treaty." Doiseneau almost sneered. "Despite what
you have been brought to believe our wish for a peaceful solution is as great
as your own. The cease-fire your leader has proclaimed causes us to look more
closely at the circumstances of this conflict. The trial of the assassin
heartens us. It is almost..." Doiseneau seemed to search for an English
translation. "Almost, civilized of your nation."
"Thanks for the compliment, Doiseneau, but what's the catch."
Trooper Fox knew he had orders to be diplomatic, but his first urge was to
strike this short arrogant foe.
"We have no catch, as you say. We merely want to express our wish
that the trial continue in good faith. As said by your leader, even us
resistors are by the law of the charter, compelled to join the Zone.
"The Trooper broke in. "You're not compelled to do anything,
only to cease your attacks." Doiseneau folded his arms and shifted his
feet. "It is cold. If we are to quarrel Trailblazer, let it be at a better
time."
"Then cut the crap and get to the point."
"We want to have a say in this trial, since we are meant to be
your citizens. From our understanding no-one, not the defendant, prosecutor, or
jury contains Free State brothers or sisters. I have come in peace to volunteer
my services to the Zone in a gesture of friendship and mutual trust."
"What services do you offer us Doiseneau?"
"I cannot well be the judge. People might begin to think the Zone
did not win this war as totally as believed if a Free State oversees the
proceedings. If I defend the assassin it will seem as if we are trying to
undermine the Zone government. As a jury member I will be in just a token
position, which would offend my people, as well as your charter. The only
position open to me would be as Prosecutor."
"Your wanted for war crimes, and you want to be a
prosecutor." Fox said in disbelief.
"All is fair in love and war, Trooper. To have a Free States
resistor defend Sage, will show both our loyalty and acceptance into the
Zone."
"This is a tall order. You know I am not authorized to agree to
those terms."
Doiseneau's smile could be seen in the darkness. "I understand.
That is why I will submit to a search, so that I may return to your Zone camp
with you. Once your command sees that my intentions are honorable, your leader
will soon realize how beneficial this may be to both sides. An unnecessary war
is halted, and we the Free States Resistors surrender with our greatest
treasure intact. Our pride."
"So you will surrender?"
"After the trial. After we know we can trust one another. We may
have lost the war that is true. This does not mean we cannot both win the
peace."
Arran found the comfort of the passenger jet as a welcome contrast to
his previous mode of travel. The jaunt from Zone-seven had been by an obsolete
gunship. The pilot, a Negro showing the signs of age, had a thousand war
stories. They were fairly dubious, but they kept Arran from feeling the biting
cold that whizzed through the numerous rusted bullet holes the helicopter
sported. Here, in first class, Arran's chronic insomnia seemed to be driven
away by the cushioned seats. Arran's placement in first class, apart from it's
luxuries, meant that he had the privacy to go through files that Commander
Roabards had, as promised, given to him before lift off. The files were broken
down into three parts. The shooting, the trial agenda, and notes on the High
Guard. They were all sealed with blue tape. It was the file on the High Guard
that he first snapped open. Arran flipped to the front page.
READER
SECURITY CODE: Loyal
DATE
OF ISSUE: 28.3.12 AZ
AUTHORITY: Commander
Cassandra Roabards
TYPE: Character
Assessment
The next page contained the High Guards data. His name was Robert Ryder
and he had joined the Zone in the first year. Which meant he had been guarding
Sage from the very beginning. His last psychiatric evaluation was just four
months prior to the shooting. It gave no suggestion the he was mentally
unbalanced. It did mention next year that he would turn thirty-five which is
the compulsory retirement age for members in active service. The file also
mentioned that his specialist skills were in martial arts and one-handed
weapons. All in all, the data on Ryder the High Guard was spotless. There was
nothing out of the ordinary that would even suggest his attempt on his leaders
life. Whatever had made Ryder shoot Sage, whether it was insanity or some deep
hatred, it must have developed within the last few months, and to change a
loyal guard into a killer it must have been devastating.
The coldness to Doiseneau continued until he reached the hub of
military command. Within the compound these officers were not as acquainted to
the atrocities that his men had been forced to commit during the war. Sealed
within their air-conditioned vaults, these Zone soldiers saw things only as
objectives and map icons. As Doiseneau repeated his offer to the higher Zone
ranks he hoped he would be seen as the peace-bringer, not the warlord. But it
was here in Brasov Carpathia, that Commander Charles Brooks resided. Doiseneau
knew that if his mission were to succeed it would be the Wing Commander he
would have to fool. Of course it wasn't an easy task for Doiseneau to get an
audience with Brooks and that was how the Commander wanted it. Know your enemy.
Then victory will be ensured. It was one of Sage's maxims, one of many that he
had either invented or adopted for the Safe Zone. Before Doiseneau had reached
the Commanders private chambers, Charles Brooks had compiled a character
assessment, an inch thick. As the right
hand man of Hans Chiedarko, Doiseneau had proven to be a clever and ruthless
opponent. He had risen from the ranks of the freedom fighters within the army
of the Free States. His true abilities only becoming apparent when he was
placed in charge of a platoon. He then led a series of incisive raids into Zone
territory and with brutal efficiency adopted the slash and burn technique. If
one man was responsible for damaging the moral of the Zone forces here in
Europe, it was Doiseneau. As time went by he gained command of larger forces,
his blitzkrieg methods moved to a larger scale. What had begun, as a clearing
exercise for the Zone became a drawn out campaign. Brooks could understand his
resentment when the Free Leaders had chosen to sign the charter. They did not
comprehend how good a general they had. Anyone who had even the slightest
understanding of tactics could see that Doiseneau was a military genius. Only
the ageing warlord Hans had seen his potential. If there was one weakness in
Doiseneau, it was his hatred for the Zone. It had been this hatred that had
clouded his vision; it had caused him to over commit his troops, spreading them
too thinly. It didn't make sense for Doiseneau to negotiate peace. The thought
of him entering the Zone without a thousand cannons behind him should have been
out of the question. Yet here he was. Charles had listened by remote device to
Doiseneau's interviews with Intelligence. He gave the reason he was here being
that he was following the orders of Hans Chiedarko. Charles didn't doubt his loyalty
to his superior, but even Doiseneau would draw the line when it came to making
peace with his long time enemies. Charles was certain that Doiseneau wasn't
here for peace, despite what he claimed. ‘Maybe Doiseneau is simply power
hungry?’ Considered Charles. ‘Maybe he
knows that I would give my right arm to have a mind like his back in the war
room.’ For Charles there were too many maybes. If Doiseneau had turned over a
new leaf, he would have to prove it.
Doiseneau's uniform itched. He wanted to scratch himself as the six
guards escorted him to the Commanders chamber, but instead he concentrated on
other things, like how his first task would be to shoot the bastard who had
cleaned and starched his suit while he was being scanned by the medics for weapons.
Unfortunately his revenge would have to wait for a later date. Now he had to
play the angel. They had given him the liberty of wearing his own uniform. His
brown clothes contrasted with the grey dressed soldiers within the compound.
Behind their smiles he read many expressions, curiosity, hate and the fear.
They all knew of him, but before he had just been a name to place on agenda
forms. It was his `realness' that they feared. It brought home to, too many of
them, the truth that their enemy wasn't faceless. ‘Their ignorance stinks of
disease.’ He thought bitterly. ‘Here in this fortress, what have they seen of
war? Have they seen what I have? The bodies in the snow…the burnt children…If
they have then it would be in this place, with it's clean walls and shiny steel
where they could forget. Hidden here, their acts against my people remain just
orders to be issued. Oh, how good it will be to bring some truth to these
infants. Let it be the smell of their flesh burning that reminds them of their
villainy.’ He had thought that the Zone Battle Lord would be resplendently
attired and have had some of his faceless elite guards flanking him. Doiseneau
was surprised when he found himself alone with the Commander who was dressed
plainly. The room they were in was almost barren; consisting of only a couple
of hard-backed chairs and a square-folding table. There were no trappings to
intimidate him. Doiseneau pondered this. ‘Obviously the Commander believes his
presence alone will be enough.’ Seated opposite him in the Spartan room was
Charles Brooks. He wore the standard uniform. The urban grey jumpsuit with a
gold guard upon the upper arms, with the initials CMD, also in gold, emblazoned
underneath.
"So, after a decade of war we finally meet." Charles began,
making a good show at sounding casual.
Doiseneau nodded behind his mass of reddish brown hair and heavy
moustache. "Is it not always the way Commander Brooks?" He
questioned.
"What do you mean General?"
"When two people take on the roles of gods. It is not surprising
that God deems that they should one day meet face to face, to see just how
human they each are."
"You have thought yourself as a God?" Charles asked,
interested in Doiseneau's line of thinking.
"Maybe I have." Doiseneau conceded. "Maybe I am the kind
of person who needs to think of himself as more than human, to do what needs to
be done." Doiseneau gave a grim smile. "In our line of business our
humanity can be a detriment."
"You are quite a philosopher Doiseneau."
"It is my philosophy that has enabled me to understand the
justness of my aims."
"And what are your aims Doiseneau? Surely it is a step down from
Warlord to legal eagle."
"There was a time, long before this war, that I wasn't a man of
arms. I am simply returning to my original profession."
Charles nodded, opened the book on Doiseneau and flipped through the
pages.
"Yes, before the apocalypse as it's generally known, you were
fairly heavily into the dramas of the courts." Charles squinted at the
page and ran a finger along the lines before him as he read from the book.
"Born in 2013 in Riga, Latvia. Private schools until you were
seventeen. Four years in Oxford, studying International law, with a minor in
military history. Graduated in 2024 in the top third of your class. Received
honors for a final exam paper termed, `The biological and emotional constraints
in regard to the modern infantry'." Charles looked up from the book,
towards Doiseneau. "I've read your paper, slightly long winded, no words
shorter than eleven letters, but on the whole an insightful piece."
"Do I take that as a compliment Commander?"
Charles chuckled. "Why of course General."
"Do go on Commander. I'm finding myself very intriguing."
Doiseneau smiled.
Charles looked back down at the page and shook his head. "There's not
much more before the apocalypse, I'm afraid. You decided to take on one of
those grand tours of the world. You travelled extensively
through the Americas, and Asia, but dropped out of sight in Paris. It seems you
became a sort of Bohemian." Charles raised his eyebrows. "Your
records suggest, you might have been a communist."
Doiseneau nodded matter of factly. "I was for a short time, but no
longer. It was the romantic in me. I suppose you could say I was an
idealist."
"No need to explain yourself." Charles assured. "It's
been said that any man with a heart is a communist once in his life. I alas,
never was." Charles looked at Doiseneau with sorrowful eyes. Doiseneau
replied by giving his shoulders a small shrug. Charles shut the book and let it
fall to the aluminum tabletop. He then rested his arms upon it and gave a
strong stare at Doiseneau."
What is the matter Commander, do I have a rash?" Doiseneau asked
without humor. Charles stared for a few moments before answering. "I can’t figure you out Doiseneau. I
know more about you than you do. I know your genetic code, the weight of your
last shit. I even have the results from your brain scan...""And how
is my brain?" Doiseneau asked with vague interest.
"Oh the doctors suspect a malignant growth of some sorts, but I
don't want to bore you with your own mortality." If Charles was looking
for a reaction he got none. Doiseneau simply pursed his lips and nodded. The
intense hatred Doiseneau felt towards the Commander was oblivious to Charles.
When Doiseneau didn't speak Charles went on. "I'm not going to ask you if
you’re on the level with your intentions Doiseneau. Whatever your reply is I
wont believe it, but I'm going to recommend to Sage that you are assigned the
position of Prosecutor." Charles sat back causing his chair to squeak. He
gripped the side arms. "There will be two conditions you must comply with
before we begin.. Before we can go any further."
"And what are they?"
"That you wear our uniform, and that you take an oath, a temporary
one at least." Charles spoke these words with a formal tone, indicating
that these conditions were definite.
Doiseneau seemed to briefly think it over before nodding. "For the
present, I accept."
"Then for the present, welcome to the Zone." Charles stood up
and extended his hand. The Free State General, after a moment’s consideration,
shook it.
TYPE: Record
of telephone conversation
TO: Commander
Trish Moriarty, of Organization
FROM: Commander
Ethan Talbot, of Production
DATE: 12-327
AZ. 21:12 S.Z.T
CLASS: Above
secret
E: Trish,
how's it hanging?
T: It
isn't. What's up Ethan?
E: Nothing,
Productions fine. I just wanted to ask you something.
T: Ask
E: How
many High Guards are within your vicinity?
T: Two outside, three near the elevator, and
another two above patrolling the roof. Why?
E: It's
just...
T: Go
on Ethan.
E: Well.
If I had asked you that before Sage was shot, would you have been as aware, in
regard to the position of your guards?
3 second pause....
T: I
don't know; probably not.
E: That's what I figured. It's just that I'd
never really noticed the High Guards. I
know they've been with us almost from the start, but up till now I've thought
of them as simply a part of the furniture.
T: And
now.
E: Now
I notice them. I feel them watching me. Am I making sense.
T: Relax,
it's their job to watch you. Don't get paranoid on
me.
E: I'm not. I know this Ryder guy was by
himself. Trust me, I've more pressing matters to feed my paranoia than guards
1.5 second pause....
E: Maybe
I'm just getting self conscious in my old age.
T: ....laughter....
Wait
a second there. You're not that much older than me.
E: That proves it. I'm ancient.
T: Good-bye Commander.
E: Bye Trish
END
TRANS....
In Zone-one new buildings had begin to rise from the ruins. Between
then a hawk hugged a skyscraper, climbing skywards on a wave of warm air. This
one hawk was made two as it was mirrored by the tower of glass. The short
winged bird of prey spiraled ever onwards in lazy arcs until it reached the
gardened roof and soared higher still and far beyond the limits of Mankind. It
rode upon the wind as if in a state of grace. It was then that it noticed with
keen sight that the master in his wheelchair offered a morsel of red meat. The
hawk dived downwards its wing tips and long tail grazing the flowered lawn then
it swooped briefly upwards to perch upon the arm of Sage. Its claws dug into
the leather strip. To the right of Sage the doors to the lift opened. Inside
stood David Lanford.
"David. It's good you could be here. Please step forwards."
With a gentle savagery the bird snatched at the meat and swallowed it whole.
The lawyer left the elevator and shielded his eyes from the sunlight. At first
David thought that Sage was alone then he noticed that blending in the shadows
of the trees stood an unknown number of Guards. David slowly made his way to
Sage stepping around a crowded fishpond and crossing a small bridge that
spanned a Japanese garden of carefully raked stones. The wheelchair that Sage
inhabited was old, the type you pushed by hand. As David approached Sage didn't
speak, both him and the dark hawk simply waited silently. David, who hadn't
even seen Sage close up and never alone was, unsure of how to address him. He
felt an unreasonable urge to attempt a salute.
Finally Sage spoke. "Politics is a strange game David. It's a game
in which we make sacrifices in the hope that in the end we win." Sage fell
silent once more. David after a moment of confused thought nodded. Sage
continued "Your appointment as Prosecutor in the High Guard trial shows
that you’re a man of both keen intellect and of strong moral fibre."
"Thank you sir." David stammered.
Sage nodded. The hawk ruffled its wings. "There's been a change of
Plan David." Sage said in a serious tone. "Recently another person
has applied for and received your position."
David stood stunned, not knowing how to react. Being told this by the
great Sage left him feeling both betrayed and humble. Sage gently placed the
Hawk upon a nearby post. "This person, this new prosecutor calls himself
Doiseneau. Have you heard of him?"
David shook his head. "No sir."
"He's a soldier; an old general who fights for the Free States.
You may have heard of his immediate superior. Chiedarko."
"Yes sir. A senator I believe. A representor of the Baltic
delegation."
Sage smiled. "That's right David. He’s a hard-liner with out of
date attitudes. Recently he backed out of the charter negotiations. Caused
quite a bit of dissention in otherwise a smooth process."
"And now this Doiseneau is involved in the trial. Over your. Um…
shooting?"
"Doiseneau is a flunky with limited skills in a court of law. He's
a General by rank, but by the end of the war such titles were being given away
to anyone foolish enough to fight against us. Your undoubtedly the better man
David. You’re Zone after all. The appointment of Doiseneau is simply to speed
up the European peace process. It's important that we show a good face."
"A type of first step in our Amalgamation Sir."
"Exactly. The thing is neither Commander Charles Brooks or I
completely trust this man, and that is why I need your help David."
"My help Sir?"
"Way back when the Zone first started we had what was known as the
Buddy system. When someone was new to the Zone we had an experienced Zone
member help the new guy out. Keep an eye on him."
"I recall that Sir, but with all respect why me?
""I want two things David they are a speedy end to this trial
and lasting peace. I feel that Doiseneau will use the trial as a platform in
which to vent his ideology to try subvert the peace process. I need someone
close by who I can trust to keep him in line. A lawyer, a good lawyer like you,
can keep Doiseneau on track. In short I want you as his assistant
prosecutor."
"I appreciate your trust in me Sir, but won't I be following his orders.
This won't leave me in a good position to control him."
"Here in the Zone and in a courtroom Doiseneau will be like a fish
out of water. You know the legal arena intimately. Whether he wants to or not
it will be your advice he will seek. Use his ignorance against him. Make him
the puppet whose strings you pull."
"Sir that may be difficult, I don't even know the man."
"You will David. When you arrive back at your town house you'll
find in your terminal a full assessment on the general. Study it. Before you
meet him. He will be known to you as if he were your brother. Become his friend
David."
"Very well Sir. I will do my best."
"Your best is all I ask. In two years time the current Minister of
Justice is set to retire. His nomination for the new Minister must be approved
by me. Lately I've been thinking of entrusting this prestigious position to a
younger person, one with more drive. Perhaps someone like you David. Your help
here will do a lot to keep your name fresh in my mind for years to come."
Sage suddenly extended his hand. Lanford almost jumped back in surprise. It
then occurred to him that Sage meant him to shake it. He stepped forwards and
took hold of it. Lanford was shocked to discover that Sage's handshake was so
strong.
"I'm glad you've agreed to help me Lanford. I was worried you
would disappoint me." Sage said quietly. Without letting go of David's
hand. "I've had too many disappointments from those I trust. I don't know
what I would do if you proved likewise." Up to now Lanford had felt nervous,
but now his overriding emotion was fear. He could feel himself breaking out in
a sweat and was almost compelled to pull away from his leader. Finally Sage let
go. "Good-bye David. I wish you luck." Sage said with a good-natured
smile. He then motioned somewhere within the trees and two High Guards,
brandishing assault rifles, immediately stepped forwards. "My two men here
will escort you down below."
Sage then turned his attention back to the hawk. Lanford, who was left
speechless, found himself being led back towards the elevator whose doors
opened as he approached. With Lanford gone Carl slowly stood up and took the
hawk back up to the leather perch on his arm. Making his way through the glade
of willows he leaned over the parapet of the skyscraper. Down below his people
could be heard working for truth and freedom. Carl fished out a cube of meat
from his trouser pocket and flung it away from the building. As it tumbled
downwards the hawk's eyes followed it. Sage gave a slight twist of his arm and
his pet shot into the air and circled in descent to catch its food hundreds of
feet below.
The jet that carried Arran broke through a cloudbank as it approached
the Air terminal of Zone-one. For Arran Stirling looking at the Zone capital
was like looking into the past. Not since he was a child had he seen a place
like this. Back at Zone-seven strict building laws forbade any structure over
five stories in height, yet here were skyscrapers and huge complexes, which
echoed the past cities of old. Although this was a Zone city its ties with
Old-Melbourne were clearly evident. The center was roughly within the old
central business district with its roads and walkways following the square grid
pattern common with pre-apocalyptic designs. This was a stark contrast to the
symmetric style of succeeding Zone cities with their broad avenues radiating
from a central hub. Arran also noticed that from this altitude the farmland
that surrounded Zone-one could be seen to still follow the lay of the old
suburban sprawl.
Immediately after landing Arran was greeted by a Zone official. She
informed him that his Assistant Defender was a man by the name of Sebastian
Defoe, a quality control officer from Production. Sebastian, like him had also
been randomly appointed. The official escorted Arran to a terminal conference
chamber where Sebastian was waiting.
The chamber was comfortable with wide windows giving a view of the
capital city a few kilometers to the south. Within the room were a broad table
and a refreshment bar. Upon the walls hung pictures showing enlarged
photographs of the Old-Tullamarine airport where the new terminal now stood.
Seated at the bar with a handful of cashew nuts was a young man with short
blond hair. The man, on seeing Arran tossed the cashews in his mouth and stood
up wiping his hands on the front of his slacks.
"Mr. Stirling, this is Mr. Defoe." The official remarked as
both men approached each other and shook hands. "If either of you two
gentlemen need anything simply lift the receiver on the extension. A driver
will be up shortly to help you with your luggage Mr. Stirling." With that
the official left sliding the door closed softly behind her.
"I appreciate your meeting me here at the airport Mr. Defoe."
Arran began.
The assistant defender shook his head. "Ah, be rest assured the
pleasure is all mine. Arran, if I may call you that?" His voice was tinged
with a French accent, and was also muffled by the remains of the cashews.
"Arran is fine. And your name is Sebastian. I would have thought
that my assistant would have been a native of the country."
"Oh, the strangeness of chance can never be under-estimated
Arran" Sebastian said as he turned his back on Arran and made his way back
to the bar. "A drink Arran? They keep a fine selection of wines, in this
here bar."
Arran shook his head. "No wine thank you, I'd kill for a coffee
though." Arran remarked also approaching the bar."
"And have you ever killed anyone Arran?" Sebastian asked in a
casual tone of voice.
Arran paused in mid step and looked closely at the assistant defender.
"Pardon Sebastian?"
"Perhaps I was not clear Arran. Have you ever shot someone? Did
you ever extinguish a life, and if so was it all regret or were there other
emotions?" Sebastian pressed on in the same informal tone.
"I don't think you need to know that. Mr. Defoe, in fact I think
you should refrain from such questions in future."
Sebastian tilted his head as he stirred the bowl of nuts with his
finger.
"Arran. I did not mean to offend you. I was only interested in how
you value human life. Soon we must by law try help a man who will be surely
executed if we fail in our task. The importance of such a mission has not
escaped me." "Neither has it escaped me." Arran tried to keep
his temper.
"This man Sebastian, that you feel so much compassion for is a
murderer, if not by deed he is by heart. If I fail a killer dies. I see no
loss.
"Sebastian raised his hands in mock surrender. "Then neither
do I Mr. Arran Stirling. I am assigned to do as you wish. I am simply your
assistant." Arran didn't respond, Sebastian slowly lowered his hands.
"It seems we make strange bed-fellows Mr. Stirling."
Arran glared at his assistant "Indeed."
Arran was glad when the driver came with his luggage to take him to his
new apartment. He was becoming increasingly irritated with the whole scenario.
First fate plays a double trick on him by choosing him as defender on the night
that he finds out his wife is pregnant, and then he finds that his assistant is
the type of man he would like to do actual physical damage to. As he sat in the
sedan he once more opened the file on the High Guard, to get his mind off
Sebastian and refresh his memory. The irony in the High Guard's service history
wasn't lost on Arran. This soldier's record was spotless. Since he joined only
a mere four months after the Zones creation Robert Ryder's commitment had been
exemplary. His enthusiasm and loyalty had made him a prime candidate as a High
Guard when they had been first conceived nine months after the Zone's
beginning. The purpose of the High Guards was explicit; to protect the then
still young leader of the fledgling Zone, Carl Sage. Back then the Zone had
only eleven thousand souls. Now it boasted over three million, almost a tenth
of estimated post plague Earth population. Competition to join the ranks of the
High Guards had become intense. Yearly thousands applied but only handfuls were
accepted. Robert Ryder had held his position for over a decade. Such an
achievement was almost miraculous. It was no wonder that his file showed that
he had been twice nominated for the diamond guard award. The fact that Robert
Ryder, now his client, would throw that all away in an act of such cowardice
and betrayal, was almost incomprehensible to Arran.
Upon the foothills of the northern side of the Carpathian Mountains
night had fallen. A dense blanket of fog had filled the darkened valleys. In
the center of a lonely dirt road a light aircraft had been prepared. Within its
shadows two figures stood. The first figure, a man, spoke. "God has graced
us with good weather comrade." The second figure replied. ‘It is the
season for such weather, but I also thank God." It was the voice of a
young woman.
"I trust that the package is safe Sonia"
"I have it within the craft Sir. Tell Chiedarko that it will be
delivered."
"You have a long way to go Sonia. To pass the Zone checkpoints
will be only the beginning."
"I will fly low to the ground, like a sparrow. This land is known
well to me. You worry too much. Bitov Vlednya"
"Yes I worry. I always worry when ones so beautiful take such
risks for us old soldiers."
"You are a romantic Vlednya. Time will soon escape me. I must
go."
"Yes, you must go, but promise me I will see you upon these hills
again."
"That I promise you. Now give a young maiden a hug, the Pacific is
not close." Sonia's voice trailed with emotion.
She could not hide the fact that the journey that she would start
tonight would be the most dangerous she had ever attempted, and that the fate
of the Free States hung on her success. They both embraced and then parted. The
woman the climbed into the small plane and soon its wheels began to roll. Once
enough speed had been gained the plane took to the air and vanished into the
darkness. Only the faint sound of its propeller could now be heard. The man now
alone stood for some time and waited until the sound of the plane vanished
completely until he too walked into and disappeared within the gathering fog.
Like the High Guards the Zone had developed many specialized task
forces to deal with the hazards that the Earth now presented. The Pathfinders
were one such force. Since their formation twelve years ago their mission had
remained the same. To conduct long-range reconnaissance patrols into unknown
territory. In other words, it was the Pathfinders that spearheaded any Zone
exploration. Pathfinder soldiers were the first to set foot on territory which
previously had only been surveyed by satellites and stealth aircraft. As was
standard procedure with specialized units Pathfinders usually conducted their
missions in small groups known as Teams. Pathfinder Teams were by their very
nature adept at travelling far distances for months at a time to discover and
report on the secrets a post-apocalyptic world held. Yet the region one of
these teams were now transversing was remote by anyone’s standards. The head of
the team in question was Nathaniel Summers. He held the rank of Striker and had
for the past three weeks led his small group of four privates due north from
their drop-zone on the outskirts of the city of Old-Dacca India. The
sub-continent of India was one of the countries worst hit by the apocalypse it
had been ironic that a nation burdened with overpopulation would suffer the
greatest loss of lives. With the plague slicing away at the hulking
infrastructure of India's political, religious and commercial bodies the
country toppled into a cataclysm of turmoil and disease. As the grip of society
with its laws gave way many simmering tensions between Muslim and Hindus
erupted into untold bloodshed. The survivors encountered by the team claimed
that the great Ganges River actually ran red with the blood of the slain.
Destruction and ruin marked the countryside as the Pathfinders moved north
keeping a low profile and secretly recorded the devastation through optical
implants. This information was then relayed back to the Zone through a portable
satellite receiver every twenty-four hours. Although ten years lay between the
plague and the present time it seemed that here the apocalypse was continuing unabated.
Like elsewhere the neo-virus had vanished as quickly and as mysteriously as it
had arrived, and other more traditional but no less frightening diseases had
re-emerged to claim those that had survived. Malaria, typhoid, syphilis and
Aids were amongst the more prevalent. Even the hardened elite team who had
grown accustomed to the harsh world beyond the Zone enclosures was dismayed by
so much carnage. Many days passed as the Pathfinders slowly moved northwards
away from the lowlands. On the way they methodically noted down the condition
of installations left standing such as abandoned chemical plants, and
electronic factories. These structures were considered important as potential
salvage sights for future Zone operations. Keeping a low profile the pathfinder
team slowly made their way across the Indian plains into the hinterland. More
from luck than skill they rarely encountered the locals and only needed to fire
their weapons once to frighten away some youths who attempted ambush the team
at the edge one of the small shantytowns that had sprung up along the Jamuna
river. Finally Nathaniel's team had reached the northern edge of India Ahead of
them the Himalayas stood as a mighty barrier, its highest peaks bleached with
impenetrable frost and its valleys swathed in mist and cloud. It was hidden
here amongst the footsteps of the Himalayas that the tiny kingdom of Bhutan
stood. Its jungle landscape acting as stairway into the high altitudes of
Tibet. From where the team camped the vast India lowlands could be seen
stretching to the Vindhya mountains that lurked on the horizon, the terror that
they had witnessed was many kilometers and days away but still hung heavy in
their minds. This location so near to the Bhutan border with the great plains
of India behind them marked the half waypoint of their mission. As previously
relayed by Nathaniel the team was to now almost backtrack back into India and
down to the Jamuna river, following it down to where it emptied out into the
Ganges it was there that they were to call in a light gunship to ferry them
back to the city of Zone Five near Old-Nanjing. The prospect that they would
have to once more enter India was daunting but they all knew that despite this
they were heading home
It was early barely half an hour after sunrise and the team woke hidden
within a fine mist that hinted of the coming winter. Nathaniel had already
ordered his team to prepare for the descent southwards. Whilst he made his away
alone to a nearby clearing with a Com-pack tucked under to make his daily
report to the Zone. Private Janet Hurstan acted as an honoury Striker and
supervised the team's packing. Several minutes later Nathaniel came back to the
group his face shadowed in thought. Janet, who had accompanied Nathaniel on 4
previous missions new instantly that something was wrong.
"What is it Nathan?"
Nathaniel leaned back against the mossy trunk of an ancient apple tree
and peered upwards. "There's been some trouble back at the Zone, and
consequently our orders have changed."
"What's happened?" Janet asked stepping closer.
"Someone tried to shoot Sage at the victory ceremony. It was a
High Guard, but the wound wasn't fatal and Sage will be fine."
Janet's eyes widened. "But why? Who would want to kill him?"
"No one has a monopoly on sanity Janet. Even the best can
crack."
"This isn't good news Nathan, but if Sage is fine why have they
changed our mission orders? Are we being picked up early?"
Nathaniel shook his head. "No we've been told to continue
northwards into Bhutan."
Janet stared at her Striker with disbelief. "But the law Nathan we
can't go there even Sage said..."
"I know the law on Bhutan Janet. As Pathfinders we have been the
most obliged to follow it. Since our task force was created we have been
forbidden to enter that land. We both know the nature of our missions, we tread
upon areas in which the affects of the plague are still fresh, daily we come
across bodies piled up upon deserted streets like driftwood. In affect the
Earth is one vast graveyard and with every step we take we desecrate the dead.
Our only solace has been the Bhutan law, that one country is too be left
untouched by our society and remain silent to honour those that did not survive
the horrors of the past.
"And now we are to enter this kingdom?"
Nathaniel's frown deepened "Yes. It seems that somehow the Free
States are connected with this assassination attempt. A radical faction
committed to everlasting war against our people has begun to coordinate actions
such as the one against Sage. Our Intelligence force has determined that this
faction has made their base within Bhutan exploiting the knowledge that Zone
citizens are forbidden to enter. We have been given special clearance to enter
its borders and determine if such a faction exists."
"Do we go alone?"
"Yes. The Zone, knowing the sensitivity of the issue wants any
reconnaissance into Bhutanese territory to be minimal. Our destination is the
township of Paro 100 kilometers north west of here. The team is allowed to be
informed, but its security classification is designated as Secret therefore no
one beyond us five can know of either the nature of our mission or our
destination."
Janet nodded "All right Nathan, I'll tell them. They wont be happy
with the extension, but if it means preventing any further acts against Sage or
our citizens they will commit themselves."
As was routine Nathaniel's team began to disperse any evidence of their
previous night's camp. Nathaniel went back to the clearing and began to
disassemble the Com-pack device. With a flick of a switch the satellite dish
folded closed like a fan. Nathaniel gave a quick glance to see that his team
was out of view then reached into the tracking compartment and with a swift tug
he unclipped the tracking battery. The tracking component of the Com-pack was used
to keep a constant fix on Pathfinder teams. With the battery removed
Nathaniel's team vanished from Zone radar. Although his face was calm his
thoughts were turbulent. Nathaniel liked Janet as well as his team members,
even Martin Cambridge their new scout. Nathaniel was surprised that his lies to
Janet had been given so effortlessly. He was hopeful that Janet had bought his
story. From here on there was no turning back. If his team suspected him them
they would surely shoot him, and if his plan failed then not only he, but also
his entire team would all face immediate execution.
Out of the 30,000 inhabitants Bai Singh was secretly pleased that her
console station held the best views. In Old-Nanjing, like almost all other Zone
cities Zone-five had been built upon a flat plain, but the communication center
of the city, by necessity, needed to be built upon high ground. The days of the
eternal cloud from the nuclear winter had faded long ago, and now, from her
moulded window Bai could see the morning rays bathe Zone-five in a golden
sheen. Now that the planet was inhabited by less than one percent of its former
population atmospheric pollution was almost nonexistent the brilliant blue sky
was wreathed in fine trails of white clouds. Sometimes the sunrises that she
witnessed were so beautiful with that it looked as if the distant mountains
were on fire and she would find herself weeping from its glory. This morning
Bai had little time to appreciate the scenery. A Pathfinder team between the
Indian-Bhutan border had ceased transmitting its tracing signal, and what's
more it was the same Pathfinder team that half an hour earlier had failed to
make its routine call in. As head communications officer within Zone-five's
Organizational wing Bai knew that the area that Pathfinder team number 1030 had
been trekking through was unexplored and hence full of danger. She keyed into
the Organizational Log-file and noted down the data. Bai knew from the standard
operating procedure that it was too soon to designate the team as missing in
action. Yet Bai felt uneasy about a team, of even experienced pathfinders,
vanishing so near to the prohibited Bhutanese border. Working on instinct Bai
Singh decided to relay her information directly to Zone-five's defence head
quarters. Satisfied that she had made the right decision Bai gave a muffled
yawn and sipped her herbal tea.
Doiseneau had predicted that the minions of Sage would do their utmost
to ensure that his impression of Zone life would be favorable. From the moment
he arrived in Zone-one his VIP treatment was evident. He grinned for the
cameras and gave polite but brief answers to the Zone's Propaganda media unit.
He even managed to exhibit awe when he was given a guided tour of the Zone's
chief site. He stood respectfully before the marble tomb of the unknown
trailblazer situated inside the memorial gardens. The area about the tomb was
surrounded a bulletproof geodome that also contained a brick single story
terrace house. The house had once served as the first refuge of the then newly
born Zone a dozen years earlier. In a sense it was the historical center of the
Zone. At Doiseneau’s reception function he was briefly introduced to the Zone
leader Carl Sage, who apart from a slight stiffness in his left arm seemed, had
fully recovered. It was only when he shook Carl's hand that he was almost
overcome with a nausea of hate and Doiseneau was forced to bite back a rising
cauldron of bile which scalded the back of his throat. It was only Doiseneau's
active imagination that gave him respite. Whilst he stood in Zone-one's central
plaza, his guide pointing out the supposed systemized yet aesthetically
pleasing architecture and the extensive use of native trees Doiseneau
envisioned these same Australian red gums and eucalypts aflame crumbling in hot
cinders upon panicked Zone citizens whilst Free State gunships and jets strafed
the buildings with artillery and explosive rounds. His tour extended to the
Zone's subsurface which held leisure centers. It was here that the pre-plague
underground railway stations of Old-Melbourne had been transformed into vast
swimming complexes. Intricate water slides ringed multilevel spa centers and
pools fed by heated waterfalls shrouded caverns in steam. Doiseneau was both
aroused and shocked to see that both sexes intermingled in full nudity. In dark
cushioned alcoves people coupled; some seemingly oblivious to the gender of
their partner. His mind recalled the orgies of ancient Rome, and its destined
fiery fall. When his guide asked him if there was anything else he needed
Doiseneau could not suppress a wicked grin when he answered. "Yes. A
fiddle."
Doiseneau's tour had been extensive, but limited to sites with little
strategic importance. Whilst Doiseneau endured a tourists portrayal of
Zone-one, Arran Stirling and his newly appointed assistant Sebastian Defoe were
venturing into compounds that Doiseneau would have given his right lung for.
Forty meters below street level lay the Organizational labyrinth. Within its
reinforced, lead lined walls contained the maximum-security prison that held
the Zone's most dangerous criminals and captured subversives. Both Arran and
Sebastian calmly allowed themselves to be subject to an arsenal of security
checks including sensor scans, strip searches, DNA matching and psychological
analysis before finally entering the interview room in which Robert Ryder sat
manacled to a metal stool which had been welded to the steel flooring. One wall
was entirely lined with a one-way window and the ceiling boosted a film crew's
array of recording equipment. Fixed onto the ceiling was a 10mm machine gun
upon a swivel mount. Arran had replayed this meeting often in the past days. He
knew that he would need all of his self-discipline to speak to the Assassin
without venting his rage. In contrast to Arran's grim demeanor, Sebastian
walked the secured corridors as if he had come home. With a bemused expression
he surveyed his surroundings humming some honky-tonk tune. The light inside the
interview room was so harsh that Arran was forced to shield his face before his
eyes adjusted to the glare. When he removed his hands from his face the Robert
Ryder was seated before him. His clients face hung low absorbed in patterns
made by the scratched metal flooring. Even someone without Arran’s enforcement
experience could easily see that this man had undergone severe interrogation.
His yellow jump suit was unwashed and stained with sweat. His roughly shaven
skull was crisscrossed with fresh surgical scars and his right eye was ringed
with a layer of swollen purple flesh. Arran heard a scraping sound and turned
to see that Sebastian had already drawn two chairs back from a heavy table. He
sat down and with and looked to Arran. Arran was about to comply and sit also,
but he felt as if it was strangely wrong to sit across from the suspected
traitor. A few moments past in which all three sat silently Arran saw that both
Sebastian and Ryder were watching him. He realized that they were waiting for
him to speak. He looked about the small brightly lit room once more and truly
saw it for the first time. From the moment he had entered he had been aware of
the cameras and the gun. He looked behind him and saw his reflection in the
mirror. Before Arran stood a man nearing thirty with short blond hair sporting
a regulation crew cut. The prisoner wore his light blue uniform, recently
ironed, obviously a tailored fit. Hazel eyes stared blankly at him. The shabby
prisoner seemed to be in stark contrast to his self. The prisoner shifted
slowly upon the stool and winced in discomfort, the manacles upon his bruised
hands jangled mutely. The cameras mounted in corners such as these had been a
part of the Zone scenery since Arran had first joined, but it was only now that
he saw them as not an end unto themselves but as viaducts of information. He
new that his image, his every move, being stored and viewed by unknown eyes.
Perhaps hundreds of officials with security clearances sat and watched him even
now. Arran Stirling felt on show. As if he was some second rate actor who had
since now played only bit parts and through a trick of fate had been thrust
into the spotlight. The cameras were rolling and he had no script. He new that
he must speak, but Arran, finding himself unable to improvise, slipped into
formality. He turned back towards his client.
"I am Detective Arran Stirling. This is Sebastian Defoe. I am to
act as your defendant concerning the alleged attempt upon the Zone Guardian
Carl Sage. Mr. Defoe is acting as my assistant. You have the right to refuse
our services. If you chose to do so then you will be required to defend
yourself."
Arran paused and waited for the High Guard to speak, but he was met by
silence. His client instead sat still and looked through Arran as if he didn't
exist. Arran waited for a few more uncomfortable seconds before continuing.
"Mr. Ryder I cannot help you if you refuse to cooperate if you
wish me not to represent you say so now."
The High Guard slowly lifted his eyes and seemed to focus upon Arran.
He them spoke with a slurred voice.
"I have done what I can Detective hope is now for others."
Arran's eyes widened, the High Guards words made little sense, but then
again he was obviously mad, as his attack against Sage had previously shown.
Arran spoke sternly. "Do you or do you not want our help?"
The High Guard pursed his mouth and frowned as if to speak then his
features loosened before he said. "Soon I will vanish, I have no evidence
to give that will be believed. Everything that you need to free me exists but
soon will vanish also. Once I was tasked to defend our leader, now I cannot
even move without effort. I ask only that you stop seeing with your eyes and
see things with the eyes of history. If you can do that then this game may be
played out for a little longer." The last words of Arran's client were
given with difficulty and left the prisoner wheezing. Arran was perplexed by
this man's words. "I need a straight answer Mr. Ryder. If you do not
object I will defend you. You can be rest assured that any bias I have against
you will not interfere with my duty."
"Make your case Detective I concede your appointment. You may
speak for me, I have nothing left to say."
Arran's meeting with the High Guard had been futile. Apart from
speaking riddles his client refused to talk. Sebastian spoke less and was no
help whatsoever. With a client who refused to cooperate Arran guessed his work
here would be short. As he and Sebastian were cleared by security before being
transported to the surface of Zone-one. Neither of them spoke. Arran guessed
that Sebastian shared his thoughts then as they were escorted to the monorail
that led them to their apartments Sebastian turned to Arran.
"Mr. Stirling our client is stubborn yes?" Arran looked at
him not sure how to answer such an obvious question."
"He is a fool Sebastian. All this effort to give a man a chance, a
man who deserves non and he thinks it’s a game."
"Perhaps it is a game. One in which we are all pawns."
"Look Sebastian all I want from you is to do as I say. Call
yourself as you wish, but do not include me in your category. We are very
different people."
"But not so different that we can not work together Mr. Stirling
we are both Zone citizens after all. If we were not of use we wouldn't be here.
Our leaders trust our ability why not make use of our skills."
"What are you getting at? We spoke to the man he said nothing. And
why? Because he knows that he has no chance of winning."
"He lives Mr. Stirling that shows at least a little faith."
"It proves nothing. If he is, as I suspect, insane, then what he
does or doesn't do is irrelevant to the trial."
"But we are relevant Mr. Stirling if we were not then we would
indeed be as I said pawns."
Arran thought this over as the Mono-train eased to a stop before them.
"I owe this killer nothing Sebastian, but I do owe the Safe Zone my duty.
For their sake if not Ryder's we will proceed as protocol dictates. Crimes are
always rooted in a motive it's up to us to find one. We cannot disprove his
attempt to murder Sage his only hope is extenuating circumstances. His attempt
was ill fated and fool hardy. He served as a loyal High Guard, something made
him turn, we need to find out what it was if we can show that his actions were
based on, what I suspect was, a mental brake down then we may be able to spare
his life by pleading insanity."
"I agree Mr. Stirling if we can not show that his attempt to kill
our beloved leader was an act of insanity then it proves us all mad."
"Perhaps we are mad or at least I am to have accepted this Sage
forsaken case."
During the whole interview between Arran and Ryder, Carl Sage had,
behind the bulletproof one way mirrored wall stared fixedly at the accused. As
he stood inside the darkened room with his hands clasped behind his back he
searched his ex-High Guard's face for some sign of guilt. Instead he was met by
blankness. Everyday Carl was met by acts that highlighted the imperfection of
his citizens. But Carl, like any good leader, had learnt to capitalize on the
weaknesses of his people. There were those who despite his best rehabilitation
programs and psychological education facilities harbored remnants of the
pre-plague world. Some of these people were inflicted with emotional scars that
manifested themselves in strange liking. Some liked to be hurt and others liked
to hurt. Yes, there were sadists in the Zone, but in Carl's vision of utopia
even sadists had their place. In the Zone they were tasked to utilize their
abilities to extract the truth from malcontents and traitors. Robert Ryder was
treated to the most skilled in the arts of pain. To Carl's interrogator team
this prisoner’s body was a blank canvas in which agony could be sketched with
pincers instead of sable brushes. But despite their art, Ryder had not talked
even the new breeds of truth serum had little affect. Ryder, who had been
trained to resist interrogation if he were caught in the line of duty, had
proved a unique case. It was this training that he apparently clung to. In the
hours of darkness when Zone-one was enveloped by the blanket of stars Carl
walked upon his gardened roof alone pondering the High Guard's fate. At one
point he had considered mercy and was tempted to order his immediate execution.
A quick death would save him from the sufferance of a trial and successive
rituals of agony, but then Carl thought back upon the immortal words of his
favorite bard.
But mercy is above this
sceptred sway
It is enthroned in the
hearts of kings
It is an attribute to God
himself
Sage pondered these words from the past. Although from before the
plague that had touched all his citizens, Shakespeare had lived in the days
when plagues such as the Black Death were also a part of life. ‘My people, they
think me a god.’ He reflected. ‘If I showed divinity it would be arrogance and
acceptance of their belief. No let mercy remain fixed within the heavens. As I
am flesh and blood so to is my High Guard. Though he will come to realise that
his flesh is mine to do with as I please.’
Doiseneau's quarter was small but well furnished. Inside its compact
surroundings was a small sunken bathtub situated in a corner and ringed by
tinted glass windows. A narrow but long bed presented itself at the room's far
end. A small flight of wooden steps took you to the entertainment room and
kitchen. Doiseneau's ramblings near the stovetop were evident. Half a stick of
compressed meat lay besides a spray of breadcrumbs and discarded lettuce
leaves. Doiseneau sat cross-legged on a low couch now devoid of cushions that
Doiseneau had pitched into the center of the room. Before Doiseneau glared a
large view-screen, an image would appear momentarily before flickering off to
be replaced by a new channel. At one moment a pleasant woman with a plastic
feel to her features spoke sincerely of new ration flavoring satchels now
available at your local food dispatch. Then another image brought up a caribou
tumbling headlong into a muddy river bloated with floodwaters. Another channel
scrolled price lists for private credit expenditure. As Doiseneau munched into
his sandwich he rolled his eyes when presented with the graphic image of two
women in a sexual union under a starlit night. "So many channels and all
are shit." He whispered under his breath. Then as the women on the screen
increased in their provocative activity, Doiseneau's eyes latched upon the
image a little while longer. He looked up and pressed a smaller button on his
remote causing the blinds in his room to rotate closed.
With a grunt of
distaste Sonia brushed off the frogs that had gathered upon her windshield. Her
Biplane had wheezed and coughed within hours of her flight causing Sonia to
make an unplanned landing here, on the edge of a foggy marsh. All about her a
chorus of frogs and night owls shrieked at her. She rubbed her greasy hands
upon her trousers before climbing back into the cockpit. ‘So this is how my
around the world quest begins. Up to my waist in mud.’ Sonia thought
disheartened before trying…
Approx. 20,500 words.