《CE-36: The Promise of a Politician》


 Chapter One

    The place was grim and it came with a vague sense of nausea the moment you entered within its high, concrete walls ¨C which were not there to prevent the prisoners from escaping, as he learned prior to his arrival: they were there to keep the poison of the past from leaking out.


    The guards and the staff within the prison worked in shifts and lived in a nearby town built especially for them ¨C but still far enough to keep them from the deadly, invisible rays that still permeated the place, even after centuries.


    The prisoners, of course, were not so lucky.


    As he followed a surly guard down the grey corridor, shivering a little in the draft, he wondered if the man could even answer any questions, let alone do the work Madam had prepared for him. He didn''t know much about the effects this place had on anyone who stayed for too long, but it surely wasn''t healthy.


    A gust of wind blew outside, and he shivered more violently, putting his hands into his pockets. The guard led him down a dark, smaller hallway now, with fewer cells visible than in the main building.


    He wondered how deep they kept him. He was eager to leave.


    "Just over the corner," said the warden, taking a set of card keys out of his pocket. He stopped in front of a heavy door and scanned one of them. The door beeped and then opened.


    "Prisoner 1469, Settlement CE-36 is all yours. Have fun." He grinned at him over the respirator covering his nose and mouth as he was taking his leave. "If you get fed up with his yapping, just yell, I¡äll be over there." He walked back up the corridor and leaned against the wall, lightning a cigarette. Content that the man was out of earshot, he entered the cell.


    It was small, but lit well enough, with two barred windows high up above a small bed. There was a flimsy bookshelf in the corner, with a handful of books that looked like they belonged in a museum, a makeshift desk with a shard of a mirror and a razor, a simple chair.


    "They let you have a razor and a mirror?"


    "I was on my best behaviour, what can I say."


    "Nikolai Evli, it''s nice to see you again."


    "Michael Castor, still lying for the sake of appearances, I see."


    The prisoner was sitting in the corner next to the door. He looked older than the last time he saw him. How long has it been? Two years? Three?


    "If you say that I am looking well," Evli mumbled, leaning against the concrete wall, "I will do my best to kick you."


    "I think you know why I am here."


    "To gloat?"


    "Did you not get Madam''s letter?"


    "Hmmm, not really. Perhaps I was down at the mines when the postman came knocking. And as you can see, I don''t really have a letterbox with my name on it." Evli closed his eyes and turned his cheek to rest on the wall. "Know what I find strange? How humanity''s fate is tied to the mines. Just like any mines. Coal, diamonds, gold, uranium, iron, copper¡­Did you know that for a brief time, before we blew everything up, we wanted to mine on asteroids? Crazy, is it not? I am just surprised that there''s still something left to mine."


    His voice was growing weaker with every word and Michael was losing patience.


    "What is your answer?"


    "You seem to be a bit confused, old friend. I am a prisoner here and I cannot read people''s minds. Not anymore." He laughed a little. He sounded hysterical and he wasn''t looking at anything in particular, definitely not at him, oscillating between staring at a damp spot on the opposite wall and closing his eyes as if he were mere seconds from falling asleep.


    Michael frowned. The Evli he knew, the Evli he dealt with in the past was sharper than a razor''s blade and quick as lightning.


    "She offers you a deal," he finally said after checking if the man was still far enough smoking his cigarette, and lowered his voice a little: "She can pull some strings, get you out of here."


    "In exchange for what?"


    "I am sure you know what."


    Evli laughed again. "Ah, Castor, Castor¡­ but wasn''t it you who told me that I would rot behind these walls?"


    "There are things greater than me."


    "That is the truest thing I''ve ever heard you say. Tell me: does she still play the sweet, dumb, and na?ve card?"


    He clenched his fists, more a reflex than anything else.


    Evli finally stood up on shaky legs, one arm gripping the wall for support. "Calm down, big boy," he scoffed, "I am not disrespecting your lady. I am honestly just impressed with the game she''s playing." He limped over to the chair and fell onto it more than sat down, rolled his neck and let out a sigh of pain. "For all the pain and dust and toll, I actually look forward to working in the mines, would you believe that?" Finally, he looked Michael in the eye. "The radiation didn''t penetrate that deep underground."


    "If I were you, I''d take the offer. It will get you out of here."


    "Hmm. And how would you feel about that, Castor?"


    "I won''t keep my eyes off you."


    "I yet have to say yes."


    "But you will."


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    "What makes you so sure?" he tilted his head a little, a gesture he used so often when he was still The Shadow.


    He used to be all neat haircuts and neat suits, looking so out of place in the Outskirts that everyone hated him at first sight. But now ¨C now he finally looked like he''d fit right in. Haggard, tattered clothes, hair dirty and uneven.


    "Because if you stay here, you will die," he finally said. "And cockroaches will do anything to survive."


    Evli scoffed. "That''s where you got it wrong, Castor. Cockroaches don''t do anything. They simply exist."


    "Will you give me an answer or not?" Castor crossed his arms. He thought he heard footsteps outside.


    "If your mistress has enough power to have a political prisoner released, then I don''t think she has any need for my services."


    "She does not," Castor admitted. "But your freedom can be arranged... unofficially."


    "Freedom?" Evli laughed. "Our definitions of freedom seem to differ dramatically."


    "Why? It wouldn''t be any different from what you did for Lee." He clenched his fists again, but Evli hadn''t noticed this time; his eyes were closed again. "The only difference would be that fewer innocent people would die," he couldn''t stop himself from adding, memories flashing in his mind. That made Evli tense, straighten like a cobra before a strike, dark eyes burning holes into Castor.


    "Anna Lee had an ideal," he said after a moment of silence, "she gave us all a goal. Something to believe in. A cause greater than ourselves."


    "That woman is a terrorist."


    "For us, she was a freedom fighter. It depends on the point of view." He got up from the chair, heavily, and limped over to Castor until they stood face to face. He was shorter and his appearance was a far cry from what he used to be, but his gaze still managed to convey a sense of pride. The kind of pride one can find only in the Outskirts citizens and despite everything, Castor had to respect that.


    "And if I do say yes," Evli said, "how can I be sure that she will keep her word? How can I be sure that she will not just send me back here the moment she no longer needs me? After all, I believe that it was you who said, not so long ago, that one can never trust the promise of a politician."


    "You are a politician, too." This close, he could see the damage better, the purple shadows around his eyes, the premature wrinkles, the scars he didn''t remember. He could smell blood on his breath. He tried not to dwell on it.


    "I am not a politician, Castor. Merely an advisor. I do not make decisions. I simply observe and suggest what could be done."


    "That''s not the best way to wash your hands."


    There, now he could definitely hear footsteps. The warden was coming back and Evli heard it, too, his gaze flickering somewhere behind him before settling on his face again.


    "Alright. I agree."


    The door opened.


    one week later, The Outskirts


    Amelie was not a superstitious woman ¨C but not even she could help the slight twinge in her stomach when she heard the children outside, just two weeks after opening her apothecary in the Outskirts.


    They weren''t playing. They just stood on the opposite side of the street, facing her display window. They were singing.


    Amelie was not a superstitious woman, and she was not stupid either, even though it seemed that that was the general notion the Outskirters had about the people from the Centre. She knew a threat when she heard one.


    She had heard about Chernobog before, of course ¨C everyone did. Chernobog was an infamous enough character that the news reached even the Centre''s upper circles, a mystery figure moving under the cloak of the night, raiding shipments and warehouses of anything and everything leaving ¨C or entering ¨C the settlement, causing the government and the companies whose goods were stolen more than just a few sleepless nights.


    She was well aware of the ruckus she had created by buying the place and setting up an apothecary ¨C a Centre citizen, down in the Outskirts, how dare she! ¨C but she never imagined that it would progress so far.


    Frowning, she left the window and stood behind the counter, straightening a row of bottles on the shelf, trying very hard not to listen to the words of their song. It turned out to be harder than expected ¨C the children''s voices rose and rose as if they were closing in on her little shop, but when she looked out, they were in the same positions as before, some of them holding hands and dancing in circles as they sang:


    Quiet, little children, don''t leave your homes,


    for Chernobog will break your bones.


    He lives in a town down under the hill


    where sun never shines, and water is still.


    All fear Chernobog and his heavy stick


    pray it¡äs not you whom he will next pick:


    the first time he hits you, there goes your knee,


    second time he hits you he won¡ät hear your plea.


    Such a horrible thing for children to sing! But then again, the Outskirts children were not like the children she was used to from the Centre. She was hell-bent on changing that.


    Sighing, she took a bowl of cough candy she had prepared to give out to the patrons ¨C there was one, so far, a hunched-over old man who came in as soon as she opened in the morning, walked around the whole shop with a frown while mumbling under his breath and then left without buying anything. It would get better, she was sure. It had to.


    She opened the door and waved at the children, smiling as widely as she dared to without looking creepy. As some of the children stopped singing and grabbed candy before running away, she probably managed. At least to some extent.


    One child, however, remained. They looked older than the rest, a teenager, probably, a skinny, green haired thing, looking at her with bright blue eyes.


    They were not moving, however; the child just stood there, observing her.


    She tried to make her smile a bit wider, trying to remember how to coax a child into¡­into what? Obedience? That sounded like her father. She didn''t want the child to obey her, she wanted them to¡­ to feel at ease.


    Her smile didn''t work and now she was the one who''d need to feel at ease. The blue eyes were boring into her, unblinking.


    "What is your name?" she asked, trying to keep the smile on her face. She''d swear that the corners of her mouth were beginning to bleed.


    "Zen," said the child, calmly, while reaching into their jacket. They took out what seemed to be a business card and tossed it into the bowl. "Tonight. You are invited." Turning, the child left and disappeared in the hustle and bustle of the street, leaving Amelie with her smile frozen.


    ***


    The business card had a name on one side and an address on the other. It was entirely black, the letters sharp and thin, as if they were made to be cut into stone. It said The Heatery and there was an eye drawn above the address. It was watching her for the rest of the day, taunting.


    She had two more customers, a young woman looking for something to help with her daughter''s upset stomach and a little boy.


    "I need something for my father. He coughs up blood and we don''t know what to do. Can you help us?"


    She could not. Tuberculosis was a common disease in the Ouskirts, she noticed, but it could also be something else, equally serious ¨C and, more importantly, still an ailment her herbs would not solve.


    Clenching her fists and gnashing her teeth, she mixed ginger, turmeric, and goldenrod, knowing full well that the boy''s father would soon be dead without proper treatment ¨C treatment that was available only to a chosen few and always for a price.


    She could help with a fever, a cough, an upset stomach, and superficial cuts ¨C but she could not sell miracles. Her father''s words echoed in her head. And she never will.


    But she still smiled at the boy kindly, offered him a candy and gave him the bag of herbs with instructions on how they should be brewed.


    Maybe it''s not serious. Maybe it is just a prolonged cold, an irritated throat, and his father will live.


    Stupid, stupid, stupid, what WERE you thinking? Did you come here to LIE to these people? Did you come to taunt them from your high seat?


    When the boy left, she closed her eyes, leaned against the counter, and took a deep breath. Then she took a glass bottle and smashed it against the wall. Sidestepping the shards, she took her jacket, locked the front door, and left.

 Chapter two

    It was, as she was expecting, a bar.


    She stood outside for a minute, hands in her pockets, watching the light seeping through boarded-up windows, the neon sign announcing the name of the place to everyone who might be passing by. And a silver eye, lidless, all-seeing, mounted above the door.


    She sighed. If her father has taught her anything, it was how to get respect. At least the basics. Well, the theory of it, anyway. She never had a chance to put his occasional sayings and ominous adages to use, but she saw a whole room fall into silence the moment he appeared in the doorway.


    It was a bad idea and very obviously an attempt to intimidate her ¨C but what would become of her if she showed fear? If she hid away in her shop, or even worse, let herself be scared off, driven away? No. She is her father''s daughter, after all. For better or for worse.


    Pushing the heavy door, she braced herself for the noise and the lights, the bodies, and the heat, and entered the bar.


    She stood at the threshold for a while, blinded and deafened by the life inside. She let the door close itself, hitting the doorframe with a thud and everyone looked her way, going silent, dozens of pairs of eyes observing her.


    Then the moment passed, and life moved on and she stood there, forgotten and solitary as people pushed everywhere around her, laughing, talking, singing.


    She located the bar and pushed through, waiting for the bartended to notice her. It was a slight ginger man with a side-cut, and it seemed to her like he was ignoring her on purpose. When he finally turned to her, his scarred mouth was turned up into a careful smile.


    "What can I get ya, cutie?"


    Amelie cleared her throat. "A beer, please."


    The man''s eyebrows shot up. "A beer for the lady, did ya hear that, Theo? Hurry up, I am sure she has somewhere else to be soon!"


    "Actually, I do not. Have anywhere else to be. This evening, I mean." She felt her ears burn. She could her father''s voice in her mind, growing louder and louder. "I know that you know who I am," she added, slight desperation to her voice.


    "Do I now?" The man in the background yelled something and handed the bartender a plate full of food and drinks. "People come and go here. You cannot expect old Lokes to know everyone!" He flashed her a smile and disappeared into the crowds as he carried people their orders. While he was gone, the other man, a tall, burly blonde handed her her beer. It looked boring and unassuming among other people''s colorful drinks and weirdly shaped glasses.


    "That one''s on the house," he said, "no one ordered a beer for days, almost forgot how to pour it properly." By the time he left, the ginger had come back.


    "So, you were saying?"


    "Nevermind," she shook her head and tasted her beer. It was bitter.


    "Well, I am Lokes," he said, "and to be honest, I heard rumours about you. The rich Center girl that opened that fancy shop on the Main Street?"


    "It is not a fancy shop," she mumbled. "It is an apothecary."


    "For the people here, that equals to a fancy shop. The only medicine we know is semi-clean water and alcohol."


    Before she could put in a word for herself, the Heatery went quiet again, and the atmosphere changed. She saw Lokes gaze above her shoulder and when she turned, there was a woman standing by the door.


    People parted as she walked, slowly and purposefully, scanning the room as if she could read people''s minds just by looking at them. She gave Amelie goosebumps. Once she stood in the middle of the room, all eyes on her, she opened her mouth.


    "Dear friends," she said. "I see a lot of you have gathered here tonight."


    Amelie saw Lokes tense, grabbing something under the counter. The woman saw him and walked over to the bar, settling on a stool right next to Amelie.


    "Lokes," she said, "pour me something strong."


    Being this close to her, Amelie felt smoke and chemicals. The woman was dressed all in black, a three-piece suit, hair pulled into a tight bun, a silver ring on each of her pointer fingers. Her presence was waking up something deep within Amelie, something familiar, but it was not until much later that she realized what it was: the primal urge to run, to make oneself small, to play dead, to hide in order to survive.


    When Lokes placed a crystal glass filled to the top with a brown liquid, she stared at it for a moment, then mixed it with her finger. Her nails were long and painted red, Amelie noticed. She licked her finger and then took up the glass and turned on the stool so that she was facing the rest of the room ¨C which still hadn''t moved since her arrival, no one made a peep.


    "My dear friends," she said, her voice low and yet, everyone heard her loud and clear. "My brothers and sisters. I came here tonight to deliver some sad news." She fell silent, her eyes gliding over everyone present. "My dearest friend, my closest ally was murdered." She sipped on her drink. No one said anything. "Nikolai Evli died in the Artemisia prison this morning." She raised her glass. "I would like it if you all remembered all the things he did for us. For the Outskirts. May he rest in peace knowing that we will not give up! That we will fight to the last man and woman until we take what is rightfully ours!" She was louder now, her voice raising, until she was almost screaming and the people ¨C the majority of them ¨C were watching her, frenzied. Some of them raised their glasses, too.


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    Amelie was trying to calm her breathing.


    She came here tonight expecting a fairy-tale monster and now she was sitting next to the most dangerous woman in Settlement CE-36.


    She knew Evli, everyone did, a scapegoat who got shipped off to Artemisia a couple of years ago after a terrorist operation gone wrong while the real leader walked free. Anna Lee.


    That woman ¨C and Evli, by extension ¨C was responsible for quite a few deaths among the Centre citizens. And Outskirts'' low lives, too.


    She tried hard to focus only on her beer, gripping it tightly to hide how bad her hands were shaking. Anna Lee was still talking, her voice ricocheting from the walls, returning ten times stronger. She was no longer speaking about Evli, she was talking about the Outskirts and class and money, and the people were nodding now, clapping, drinking to her health.


    She looked up and saw Lokes watching Lee.


    He was frowning, the scars around his lips pulled tight, a forgotten rag still in his hands. When Lee finally stopped talking and people went back to their own drinks, albeit in a different mood than before, he wordlessly put another glass in front of her.


    "I am sorry about Evli," he said, "but I wish you''d stop doing this here."


    "But it''s good for the business, I believe," she said, drinking. "I don''t think the place is usually this full."


    "It''s how we like it," Lokes answered. "And if you are quite done now, I''d like it if you could finish your drink and leave. I will make sure to have one for Nikolai in silence, later."


    "Nikolai does not care anymore. He had his skull crushed in by a rock in a lithium mine. Another victim of this system we have built."


    Lokes'' frown deepened. "Do you actually care about it?"


    "I care about everyone, Lokes. Everyone in the Outskirts. No one matters more to me than the other. Speaking of¡­" She suddenly turned to look at Amelie. "I have yet to know your new patron. And I know every face in here."


    "Oh, she is just not very outgoing, you know," Lokes waved his hand casually, pouring another beer and setting it down in front of Amelie. "I was so happy when she finally turned up tonight, just her luck that she got to witness another one of your amazing speeches, too! Too bad it was because of such grim news, though, poor Nikolai, had a horrible fashion sense. Made everyone around him feel inadequate. I also really hated his impromptu history and philosophy lessons. But he was a joy to be around once you got him drunk or high."


    "Shut your mouth, you stupid little liar." Suddenly, there was a knife in Lee''s hand, and it was pressing directly under Lokes'' Adam''s apple. "I know she is not from here. She is a filthy Centre bitch; I can smell it."


    "Well, yes, you got it, but she is harmless, I swear," Lokes had his hands up in surrender, almost cross-eyed as he was trying to look at the knife pressed to his throat. "She opened an apothecary; can you believe it? She is one of the na?ve ones, believes she can help and shit like that."


    Even as she was pressing the knife to Lokes'' throat, she kept looking at Amelie, burning her with her gaze, studying her, and Amelie felt like a little girl again, trying to lie to her father about not stealing chocolate before lunch and having done all her homework. And she has never been a good liar.


    "An apothecary?" For a brief moment, it seemed like Anna Lee was confused, out of her element, as if there was a fake flower where she was expecting a blade. "Here? In the Outskirts?"


    "People need some sort of medicine," Amelie finally managed to speak for herself. "Something to help with a stomachache, a sore throat, offer at least some semblance of care."


    "A semblance of care," Anna Lee repeated, seemingly deep in thought, as if fascinated, but the knife remained in place. Lokes gave up on keeping his hands in the air and just crossed them over his chest. "Are you openly calling yourself a liar? A fraud, a con woman?"


    "That is not what I said," Amelie said. "I cannot heal anything serious, but I can make sure that the lesser things do not cause unnecessary suffering."


    "And why would you exchange the comfort of the Centre for the damp and dirt and waste of the Outskirts?"


    She considered this for a moment, bewildered. Why did she do it? How should she answer? That she wanted to free herself of her father? Somehow, that did not sound as a good enough answer to give to a seemingly trigger-happy terrorist.


    "Because I feel like the people here are owed," she said, at last. "And no one else seems to be keen on paying their debts. So, it might as well be me."


    Something like a smile, or at least a smirk appeared on Lee¡äs face. She released Lokes from the touch of her blade.


    "Would you really fucking kill me?" he asked, rubbing his neck. "Your favourite bartender?"


    "I don¡ät know, would I?" She kept her eyes on Amelie. "Owed, you say? What might the Centre people possibly owe us for?"


    "Inequality," she answered.


    "You must be the first Centre citizen to admit that something like inequality exists. I am impressed by your self-awareness."


    "A society is comprised of individuals."


    "But when it really matters, they act as a mass." Lee finished her drink and stood up. "I must go now. It was a pleasure¡­ what was your name again?"


    "Amelie."


    "Amelie." She said her name like she was giving an order. She held her hand out and Amelie found it impossible not to grasp it. "See you around, Amelie. Give people the semblance of care they need."


    As she left, Lokes watched her and when she was gone, the door was closed and the atmosphere in the bar as close to normal as it could get after a visit from a terrorist opposition leader, he let out a sigh of relief.


    "Fucking hell. That was too close for comfort. I¡äm gonna need a drink myself." He leaned towards a half-closed door leading to the back and yelled. "Odran! Get your fucking ass here, I need a damn break! ODRAN!"


    "Quit your yelling, you stupid ass, I am coming!"


    Another man emerged from behind the door, elbowing Theo and standing next to Lokes, leaning against the counter to make sure that he could not get past him. He was tall and muscular and his hair, which might have been raven black in the past, was interwoven with grey and white streaks. A lone blue eye looked at Amelie before turning back to Lokes, whose ears were turning nearly the colour of his hair.


    The other was covered with a brown eyepatch.


    "Did Anna Lee bully you again, darling?" he asked Lokes and Amelie felt her cheeks going red.


    "Bitch, you heard her and did nothing, just sat on your ass. She could have killed me!"


    "I''d write her a thank you letter for ridding me of my worst headache. I see you have made a friend."


    Amelie sat up, suddenly self-conscious. "I think I should go. It''s getting late, I normally get ready for bed at this time."


    "It is not even ten yet." Lokes raised his eyebrow.


    "I am sorry, I am a terrible homebody, I should not have even come here in the first place."


    She was already halfway through the floor, making her way past the people, muttering half-meant apologies, and getting a few curses in response. By the time she made it to the door, her head was spinning and when the night air finally hit her, it was like being freed.