Dedication (The Medicean Stars Saga Book 1) (9 page)

Western Mountains

Government Work Camp

To say that the conditions on the assembly line are bad would be an understatement, but to say that William cares would, in turn, be an overstatement. He might be working every day in the deepest level of Hell itself, and if it would ensure him at least one glance at her each day, it would be the best job he could ask for.

Fortunately he is not doomed to toil in the fiery pits, but rather merely a cheap earthbound imitation of them. And because only fifteen hours of each day are devoted to work, he can devote the remainder to something else, or at the very least the dream of something else. For William, that something else has found its avatar in the dark haired girl whose named he’d learned is Maria. What he doesn’t know yet is that, with the right kind of pressure, his whole world will reshape itself into something completely different. There is always a chance that slowly degrading plant matter, with the right amounts of pressure and heat, and a little bit of luck, can become a diamond.

This very morning, things begin to change, throwing just the right amount of catalyst into the most potent gathering of latent talent and anger that one could hope to find.

On their morning trudge to the factory to begin their day’s work, the workers are ordered to stop while the overseer listens to orders on his radio. Without letting William and his fellow captives know anything more than the occasional “yes-sir” and “no-sir,” he leads them off down the valley away from the factory. The path that they follow gets progressively narrower, until, at one switchback, they are forced to go single file as they wind down through the sharp rocks and mountainous scrub pine. After three more such switchbacks, they arrive at the bottom of the ravine.

At the base of the gorge, a stream fed by snow melt from the surrounding peaks tears between the rough rocks. Each outcrop seems as if it is trying to choke the entire stream off, forcing it to bounce and jostle its way down the canyon. In this setting of forcefully controlled nature, the captives are introduced to another installation of the ever-present government.

The trail dumps them out at an eddy in the stream, on a beach that is barely large enough for all of them, causing them to slow despite the prodding of the guards. In their old lives such forced closeness with their fellows would have left them searching for any opportunity to protect their personal space; now they simply stand like cattle, awaiting their next instruction, staring in whatever direction they happened to have ended up when they stopped moving.

Their uncaring focus allows the next object of their hate to slip out of the small cave opening and ascend a mound of boulders, to a spot where he can address them, without any of them noticing his movements. When he starts speaking, his soft voice, amplified over the sound of the water, startles William, nearly making him lose his footing and slip into the nearby stream.

“Now, young children,” the man simpers, “I know you’ve been exposed to harsh conditions above in the factory. Unfortunately, given the budget constraints imposed by the current administration, we could only provide so much. I would like to applaud you all for your patriotic stoicism in the face of such obstacles. The work above may have seemed impersonal and without a focus, but trust me, it served to help move this honorable mission forward. Down here, you have entered my world of hard work and mutual respect. I want all of you to be my friends, so we can work together to make this adventure a success. We can do it if we all work hard as a team.”

The change in tone from how they’ve become used to being addressed catches the attention of the entire assembly. Murmurs of “Who is this guy?” and “Who does he think he is?” run rampant through the crowd. Even the guards who escorted them down here seem a little affronted by his tone.

“Now you may be wondering why you have been brought down here and separated from your patriotic friends in the main plant, who have so generously donated their time and energy to help this great nation in its time of need,” the man continues over the murmurs. “Let me tell you! We find ourselves in the middle of another space race, and you, the youth, shall be our hope for winning.”

The speech has the quality of a movie; all it needs is a stirring soundtrack. In fact, when some of the captives look around in confusion expecting this to be some sort of joke, they see that a few of the guards have set up a camera and are recording the speech. Unfortunately, they are all too stunned to think to make some sort of plea that might get caught on tape and leak through the filters to the public, for whom this stirring speech is undoubtedly intended.

They stand there, still too shocked to move. How could this man have the audacity to say this? They are not volunteers, they were kidnapped from their uneventful lives and thrust into a waking nightmare. How could this man, with his long flowing golden hair and small steel rim glasses, stand before them and tell them all they will be friends?

The captives are frozen in place, surrounded by rock, with nothing but rock in their hearts, for all hope has long since solidified into resignation. But like any rock, when split open by forces greater than itself, there may be a glimmer within—something harder, something dangerous, or something powerful.

“You select few have been chosen out of the thousands of volunteers to travel the distance,” the orator continues. “You will found our first colony on another planet. You’re all going to Callisto! For those of you who don't know, that is the second largest moon of Jupiter and the launching pad for us to explore the stars.

“Now before the press overruns our barriers, come inside the training facility, where you will be shown your quarters.”

On cue, hundreds of flash bulbs that had been set up by the guards go off, illuminating the shadows and the door to a bunker hidden within them. Stepping down off the rocks, the speaker beckons to those closest to him and disappears into the opening.

Something begins to nag at the back of William’s mind, something that begins to take on the semblance of a plan. Some part of him begins to awaken; some glimmer that could just start something meaningful.

The Capital

Behind Closed Doors

Thousands of miles away, in the capital city, the dark room is still lit by a lone bulb that struggles to fight through the cigar induced haze; however this time, there is also a glow caused by the projection of a freshly created news reel. The film ends with a triumphant fanfare of patriotic music, flash bulbs, and a roaring crowd.

“That’s the announcement itself,” the smooth-talking power broker whose project had been hijacked during their last meeting informs his colleagues spread throughout the room. “Of course, after we’ve adjusted it to provide the right ambiance.”

“The cameraman who shot that deserves a raise; you can hardly tell that no one is actually excited at the end.” One of the more junior members of the assembly calls out from the back of the room with a hint of genuine excitement. “If I hadn’t been looking for it I might have been completely sold.”

“Also from looking at it, I’d say those convicts are actually being well taken care of, but I’ve seen the budget for that place, and I lose more money when the change falls out of my pocket.” Another man chuckles hoarsely as he shakes the ash off his cigar.

The whole room breaks out into restrained chuckling at that witticism. As the projector goes idle, and the national seal begins bouncing around the wall, the conversation continues.

“Actually the footage was shot by one of the guards, who seems to think he has an artistic calling. There would be no point in raising his salary though, as once the mission leaves, the whole camp will suffer from a catastrophe per our earlier discussion,” the man controlling the project says with a faint shrug.

“Have we decided on a specific ‘accident’ to arrange?” a voice which, so far, has been quiet asks over a steaming cup of herbal tea. “I’ve been thinking a foreign terrorist strike might just be the thing we need in this situation.”

The room ponders this suggestion for a moment and their gazes wander. Eventually everyone’s gazes settle on the big man with the cigar who’d earlier sparked their mirth. The room remains silent until the apparent leader of the meeting finishes a long pull on his cigar.

“You’re just saying that because you’ve been itching for some sort of justifiable war to help restart all those defense contractors your family owns.”

“What can I say, you caught me,” the voice that initially posed the question responds, not even feigning indignation at the suggestion. “But I will argue that it would allow us to use enough fire power so that people wouldn’t question the fact that there is no evidence left.”

“You make a valid point. I’ll see what sort of projections my staff can draw up regarding the vulnerability of the facility,” the junior member who’d been excited by the clip chimes in. “I should be able to cover it under my duties on the Homeland Defense Committee.”

“As for naming the mission and the eventual base, we had discussed honoring a few particular previous members of our illustrious council,” the leader of the meeting continues, ignoring the interruption. “However, one of my staff came up with the acronym COSIMO. It stands for some junk about cooperative science and industry, but we should be able to make a nice brand out if. Maybe even name a little cartoon character after it.”

“Excellent,” replies the voice originating from behind the cup of tea “It won’t be long before the whole nation is excited about the adventures of COSIMO, which should distract everyone nicely from that business with the fugitive ex-senator.”

Western Mountains

Government Work Camp

Being led through the maze of tunnels in the depths of the bunker, William finds himself next to her, as they pass signs to places like: “Archive,” “Storage Room 1,” and “Data Backup”. William takes a deep breath, just meaning to smile at her and maybe make eye contact but finds himself blurting out:

“Hi, my name is William. I worked near you in the factory.”

“Hey, I’m Maria.”

They shake hands in a truly awkward fashion, and before the conversation can get any more strained, the voice of the speaker who had been trying to inspire them, echoes down the hallway to them.

“Now children, there is no need to talk,” it admonishes. “Just stay together and keep up the pace. You’ll all have several hours tomorrow to get to know each other during our networking block.”

They glance at each other sheepishly before both break into smirks and glance down. It is the first time since their arrival that they have had reason to smile, even if it’s only at the absurdity of the situation: being scolded like they were whispering in class while the teacher’s back was turned. Throughout the rest of the twists and turns, they manage to stay close to each other, despite the press of those around them.

After a while, the steady pace they had been keeping slows, and they are filed into a well-lit side passage. The doors they pass now have windows near the top with bars across them. A glance through one of them reveals two beds and a matching pair of their fellow captives looking quizzically back at them. As they inch along the hallway, they finally reach the head of the line. William is shown into the room on the left, while Maria is placed across the hall. As ordered, William enters and sits on the bed. Upon looking up, he sees another prisoner opposite him laying on another cot. The room’s only door casts a shadow across the corner he is in, making his form an indistinct area of shadow until he scoots to the edge of his bed and props himself up on one arm.

He is fairly large, though through his baggy shirt, it is hard to tell if it is fat or muscle that makes up the mass that covers the tiny cot. The door slams, and with a grace that belies his mass, the man swings his legs over the edge of the cot where he had been sprawled.

“Welcome to the ‘happy fun time Hell.’ Above you had work. Down here, it’s all play and friendship in the cells,” the sarcasm drips off of his words. “My name is David.”

“I’m William. I guess we’ll be cell mates then?”

“For as long as we live, anyway, which might not be too much longer. The guards seem to be on edge about something, which can only be bad news for us.”

“You sound like you’ve been here a while…?”

“As near as I can tell, I’ve been down here a year in the gentle care of Overseer Lewis. I’ve survived until now, but it can only last so long.” His cavalier attitude and calm acceptance startle William.

“What can only last so long?”

“My luck. It’s bound to run out sooner or later. The last fellow to sleep on that cot only made it a few months before he didn’t come back from his scheduled training.” David nods towards where William is seated. “I guess you’d better get settled, they’ll be calling us for dinner soon.”

On William’s confused look, he points to the rucksack in the corner of the cell. It is constructed of gray canvas with thick, crude stitches. Directly beneath the rawhide drawstring, a number is stenciled.

“You’d better learn that number quick; it’s how the guards refer to you. After your ‘orientation’ Mr. Lewis will give you a new name, though, that he’ll call you by.”

William begins to unpack the contents of the bag. There are sheets for the bed, a pair of sturdy boots, and, at the bottom, there is a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, both with a logo stamped on them. Wondering what the meaning of the logo is, he glances up at David and realizes that he is wearing the same outfit, though his is slightly more worn.

“What is the Junior Space Corps?”

“It’s what we are. They really don’t say much about it, but I heard some guards saying that rockets they’ve been building on the surface are going to be used to colonize the moons of Jupiter or something. They were complaining that they’d been informed that their contracts were being extended, and they were going to be deployed to the colony. So the only logical conclusion to be made is, since they need guards who are practiced at guarding us in space, then we must be going too. We are the colonists.”

William just sits still, looking right through David and the wall; in fact, he looks right through the mountain, all the way to the quiet suburban home that used to be his. His parents are sitting, laughing on the front porch, while his little brother plays basketball in the driveway with the kid from down the block. William realizes that he is never going to see his family again. Strangely, he does not feel sad; it is more like a weight has been lifted from his shoulders, as he realizes that he is free to determine his own fate. The speech they had been given before they entered this underground warren suddenly makes more sense to William’s overloaded brain. Then, as if whale has just breached onto him, he is brought back to his surroundings by the sound of a buzzer echoing down the hall.

“You’d best get changed,” David says. “That buzzer means we have fifteen minutes before they round us up for dinner.”

David is looking directly at him. His blue eyes seem to cut right through William’s blank face and read what is written in his soul. Before William can recover completely, David rolls over and looks like he is beginning to go to sleep, leaving William with nothing to do but unpack “his” meager belongings.

With the contents of the bag deployed to their proper locations, and his coveralls, grease-and dirt-stained from working above, changed for the jeans and t-shirt of this newest prison, William sits on the corner of his bed.

Had there been a window to the outside world, the sun would have been reflected off the floor, casting spots of glare into the cobwebs and shadows of the bare rock forming the ceiling, filling the room with its warm light as it slowly settled over the horizon. Had there been an outside source of light, William may have been able to gauge time somewhat. Instead, there is naught but a faint drip of water somewhere outside in the hall and the regular pacing of the guard at the intersection of the passageways to signal that time is passing.

The darkness swells up around him, seemingly detaching itself from the walls and embracing him. He slouches further into the corner of the mattress, hugging himself, as if to draw the darkness around his body like a cloak.

“They can’t just ship us off,” William says to himself. “We are citizens, we have rights. They can’t hold us here.”

Another voice joins his, in his head. “Oh yes, they can. You’re not even a full citizen yet, and even if you were, they’d just have to call you a terrorist... might make their job a little harder but they could still do it.”

“How can people not notice though? I’ve seen hundreds here. Someone must have said something,” the logical voice in his head tries to convince the voice of fear.

“Kids used to run away all the time. Now they just come here. And the families still think their kids just went away and will be back in a few years. But they don’t come back. Ever.”

Moisture begins to show at the corners of his eyes. No one is going to come and save him. However faint the hope had seemed before, it is now completely gone. He may be totally free, but he is also totally alone. Though, he suddenly thinks, maybe not. Perhaps it is time to step up and do something; maybe it is time to take his life back now that it is clear it is his life to take.

“They won’t see us coming!” William suddenly exclaims, briefly forgetting David’s presence.

“What’d you say?”

David has now rolled back over and is looking at him strangely.

“You’ve been muttering to yourself for a while now. I could almost make that last bit out. If you’re going to plan a revolt, you’d better keep it down. They have the rooms bugged.”

The last comment is said with a laugh, but the look from David’s blue eyes is one of serious intensity, with a veiled question to the legitimacy of William’s statement.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I plan to overthrow the government. I would hate to end up in some government work camp charged with treason.”

The look that William gives David is one of response, yet the tone is one of sarcasm. Their eyes remain locked for several seconds before the corners of their mouths begin to twitch. For the second time that afternoon, William’s spirits lift, as they both break into real, heartfelt, mirth-filled laughter. This is going to be an interesting time together, and they both know it. They are still laughing when the door is opened from the outside.

“Time to move out. The overseer wants to give a speech to you all before your dinner.”

Back in the brightly lit hall, William finds himself next to Maria again. She is looking at him strangely.

“What?” he asks.

“You guys were laughing just before the guard opened the door. What can be funny down here? At least in the factory we could see the sky sometimes.”

“Yeah, David here thought I was acting a bit odd, and it came up that I was planning revolt or something. Then we just broke out laughing at the absurdity of it.”

At this comment, William sees that her deep brown pools of swirling mystery, otherwise known as eyes, change. Somewhere down in the depths, he can see a fire begin to burn. Somewhere inside of her, there is now hope, a small glimmer of hope, yet a glimmer that will soon become a blaze if he has anything to do about it. He vows then and there, as they shuffle down a narrow underground corridor, that he will find a way to stoke that fire. That look is all it takes. William’s entire life is changed with nothing more than glimmer in her eye and a twitch of her brow. This place is going to go down. He will make the overseers and guards step down and have a taste of their own justice, and then, yes, and then, he is going to take on the government itself just see that look in her eye again.

Now with the hard part, realizing what it is he must do, out of the way, he just needs to find a way to do it from the confines of his cell.