Whoever wore it next would fit this life better than she had. A real Omega, one who knew how to smile and what to say. One who would fawn over the Commodore, not shrink from him.
It was better that way, she supposed.
After a brief bath, the plainest clothing she could find was chosen. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, her hair, and walked out of Jacques Bernard’s rooms. The cadre of guards at the door silently followed behind like a shadow. No soul in those busy halls tried to stop her when she found an exterior door, and pushed it open to step into the palace courtyard.
It struck her the second sun hit her face—this was her first time outside beyond the breakfasts on Jacques’ terrace.
It might be the last.
She did not know when he would end her misery. It did not seem his way to waste time, and if that were the case, there was one person she wanted to say goodbye to.
But George was not in Central. And Brenya knew without a doubt that she would not be permitted in Beta Sector. He’d have to come to her.
COMstations dotted clean cobblestone streets. Rushing toward the nearest one, wondering why she had not thought to do this before, she knew a brief lightness of spirit.
“Unit 512XT.” All she had to do was speak his designation and the computers would handle the rest. Palms sweating, she held her breath, exhaling in a whoosh when a familiar face appeared on the screen. “George!”
The Beta was surprised, adjusting his glasses as if they were malfunctioning. “We were told you were grounded and reassigned to Central.”
Nodding, she grew breathless, grinning stupidly. “Yes. I’m in Central. Can you come here? Can you come now?”
The Beta replied immediately, “Affirmative, Unit 17C.”
“I lost my designation when he brought me here, George. I’m nothing but Brenya Perin now.”
It took him twenty minutes to travel the distance to Central’s gate, three minutes to clear through the line. When he stood before her, eyeing her odd clothing with confusion, Brenya threw her arms around him and clung as if he might save her again.
He couldn’t, she knew that.
But it felt good to hold a real friend.Chapter 20It started with a video feed of panicked Thólos Enforcers locked behind contamination control. No detail was missed: blood streaming from eyes, noses, and mouths of all those scratching at the sealed door to get out. Screams. The begging to any Gods who might listen. Jacques watched the whole unedited thing the entire hour it took for thousands of people to die in agony before incineration protocol turned their bodies to dust.
“The Red Consumption spares no one.” Ambassador Jules changed the display to that of war torn streets. “Panic ensued, riots breaking out immediately. In less than a day, Shepherd had control of the city. We allowed his ‘martial law’. We allowed the rabid population to act as it would.” Images were rotating over the wall, horrific things all with the soundtrack of wails and shrieks. “The people of Thólos killed each other while we watched. The crowds cheered when their own Senators were hung. They thanked Shepherd for each new horror. What they did, they did to themselves.”
Like his father, and his father before him, Jacques had studied the effects of the Red Consumption and the Reformation Wars. He had seen ancient images of the virus in action, read medical reports, understood exactly the effect it had on a human body, but he had never seen anything like this. It was sobering, the cold creeping reality of so menacing a threat. “And your Chancellor who would be my ally has brought this to my Dome.”
Jules was quick to counter. “We have no interest in doing your people harm. But, it is imperative that you see this and that you understand why Thólos must be left to rot. Decadence at the cost of those who are weakest will always lead to revolution. You can only torment your people for so long before they rise up against you.”
“There is no tyranny in Bernard Dome. The population is controlled, passive, fulfilled, and thriving”—Jacques’ fury was held behind a stone cold gaze—“…as you have seen for yourself.”
“Chemical constraint is an ingenious way of managing the baser human urges. Shepherd is very interested in this technique. I believe if you were to share your knowledge with him, he would be grateful. Prisons, as your forbearer knew, are ineffective.” Jules operated the massive COMscreen’s controls to offer more data, more images, more gore for the viewing of those poor souls collected in the room. “Your proletariat class is indeed thriving, workers completely unaware that they are laboring for Centrist luxuries. Central in itself is an interesting place… you have created your own snake pit, which does not concern us at all. Petty rivalries, grasps for power… such childishness will happen anywhere. We did not come here to emancipate your slave class or to punish your inept treatment of females.”