Chapter 19 #2
After two weeks of solitude, I hear Theia dismiss Private Frank from her post with a few gruff remarks.
This is unusual. Though no one has confirmed it, I have postulated that Private Frank, Sergeant Perez, and Master Sergeant Perez have been tasked with my handling as a punishment.
I do not know what they did, or if it is merely the tangential connection to me that dooms them, but I can’t imagine it was voluntary.
It’s laborious, but I rise from the floor as Theia enters. A soldier follows her in, then stations herself against the door. Theia’s guard? My guard? Either way, she stares me down and I ignore her and defer to Theia. “Ma’am.”
“Eos.” She hasn’t spoken my name since we got here.
Not my code name or my real name. It doesn’t sound the same.
There is no warmth around it, no affection.
“Eos, this is Private Wong, a recent graduate of our training program. They are my guard. The council insisted I bring a guard with me everywhere I go.”
Theia doesn’t need a guard. Anything this young cadet can do, Theia can do it ten times faster and with aplomb. It occurs to me that probably would’ve been my job, and I’d have done it gladly. I’d proudly have given my life for hers. In a way, I did. That person no longer exists.
“I am here to speak to you about your deployment.”
It takes great effort for me to control my breathing. Steady in, steady out. “My deployment, ma’am?”
“Yes. Do you know how long you’ve been held for?”
“Three days shy of six months, ma’am,” I reply.
“Correct. In that time, I have given much thought to your future. As President of the United Regions of North America, you can imagine the gravity of those thoughts, as I should be giving my attention to more important tasks.”
We won. I wish I could feel something about it. Nothing comes to me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The Southeast was won shortly after your arrest. I convened the remaining Order leaders and commanders, from which we elected a new set of leaders for each region, aside from the Southwest. These leaders make up my President’s Council.
The MidCountry and the Southeast took the most damage, so we have begun rebuilding there.
The transition from tyranny to democracy has been mostly peaceful. ”
Theia speaks in words between words. It’s been a while since I’ve had to decode her veiled language, but I find the translations come naturally.
She picked the leaders with the arbitrary approval of smaller generals.
They’re sending supplies to MidCountry and the Southeast, but that’s not where her priorities lie.
Mostly peaceful means there are larger problems than she’d like to admit.
The subtle emphasis catches my attention. “Mostly, ma’am?”
Theia is momentarily distracted. Her eyes move not even an inch from my eyes, to the scar which extends from my forehead down my eye and cheek, across my lips, and tails off on the other side of my jaw.
I detect a hint of compassion. Perhaps regret.
It was an accident, unlike the other scars.
During a session, quite early on when they were more frequent and emotional, the noise of a sniffle caught enough of my attention for me to turn to see her crying, but not before she’d already brought the whip down.
It struck me across the face and split open the skin immediately.
I was lucky to keep my eyesight, though my depth perception is not what it used to be.
She never again made another noise in a session.
“Yes, mostly. The Southeast is seeing a resurgence of violence in skirmishes on the northern border. The rebels are to blame. They’ve become bold as of late, more organized, and informed.”
Alarm and annoyance color her words. It’s interesting to see these local militia, these separatists, now branded as rebels.
The Order represents the law, anything else is dissent.
The difference is dizzying. However, I told her back in Detroit it was only a matter of time before these people were to be considered a threat.
But we were too close to a legitimate victory for her to consider taking on another foe.
I do not know what this has to do with me. “I see, ma’am.”
“Obviously, bringing you out of confinement is not a decision I take lightly.”
They’ve tried other methods, I deduce. Her voice reeks of last resort, and obviously removing your most grievous criminal from her cell requires quite a bit of desperation.
Should I be despondent at how far I’ve fallen?
I am not. My despondency has only one cause and all other reasons for depression are minuscule in comparison.
“My other generals have tried and failed to root out the nexus of this group and dissolve their leadership.”
“Even Hunter?”
Theia schools her features before responding. Briefly, I saw something like regret. “Hunter runs our Northeast Training Center in my stead. There is no one else in our armies who can do what you can do. Find the leader of this so-called militia and kill them. That is your mission.”
I nod. “Thank you, ma’am. Am I going alone?”
“No, I do not think that would be wise. Mason has volunteered to accompany you.”
Not a day goes by where I haven’t thought of Mason. His warmth, his care, his loyalty, his humor. I miss him terribly. “I will do my best, ma’am.”
Theia pauses. Back when I was still her best soldier, this would be when she’d pour a glass of scotch and we’d share it before I left for a mission.
We would sit in companionable silence and enjoy the luxury of good liquor—usually an Upperclass brand I’d pilfered from an Order pub.
Other times, Theia would talk about early days of the rebellion.
Rare stories of small triumphs, of mapping out HQ, planning the networks that would become the veins which pumped the heart of our operation.
Most of her companions were killed or went missing in action.
Only she remained. We drank to our loneliness, and our triumphs.
“You will be temporarily restored to your original rank,” she says.
“Oh. Thank you, ma’am.”
Private Wong audibly scoffs. “All due respect, ma’am, this soldier is a traitor. She doesn’t deserve the honor of serving you in our new country.”
Theia ruminates for a long time, longer than necessary. She is the foremost architect of purposeful silence. Private Wong starts to fidget. Weakness. Both Theia and I stand in complete stillness. “Eos, disarm Private Wong.”
Easy, they’re holding their weapon like an amateur. I wrench their rifle from their hands, and give them a whack in the jaw for the hell of it. Using their poor defense against them, I manage to get them on their knees, rifle to their neck.
Theia watches on, appearing somewhere between proud and despondent.
“Very good. You see, Private Wong, people make mistakes. That does not change who they are, or what they are worth. Eos is still the finest soldier in the country. And the question of loyalty, well, that is answered. There is nothing left to be loyal to but this country and our cause. Isn’t that right, Eos? ”
“Yes, ma’am.”
What I believe is irrelevant. I know what must be outputted in these circumstances. I’ve been the dog in this dog and pony show before. Or am I the pony? Probably the dog.
“Good. Please return Private Wong’s weapon,” Theia says, and I hand the rifle back to the now bashful soldier. “Give us the room, Private.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I—”
“Did I ask for an apology? I asked you to leave. Do not waste my time.”
Private Wong scurries out and closes the door gently behind them as Theia looks on with crossed arms and an expression of disgust. The regality I so admired has become foreign to me.
It is not intimidating, not as it should be.
Instead, an approximation of sadness flows through me.
Homesick for a place that was never home.
“New soldiers are always so smug,” she says. “That one needed to be taken down a peg.”
“They all are before they see real service. Enthusiasm and na?veté are sisters, you always said.”
After an awfully pregnant pause, Theia’s posture relaxes. “I do not feel it is necessary to discuss what happened over the past few months, nor the events that preceded it.”
“I agree, ma’am.”
“Excellent. The story we developed was that the surrender of Leader Piccolo went awry and you were quite seriously injured. Only a select few know the truth.”
“May I ask who?”
“Aside from the soldiers who participated in your arrest—Hunter and Mason, Sergeant McDougal, Sergeant Perez, Master Sergeant Perez, Councilor Wolfshield, Councilor York, Councilor Boone, Councilor Lieb, and Councilor De La Rosa. They have promised their discretion.”
Councilor De La Rosa. Delilah is the MidCountry leader.
I suppress a smile. The other councilors I remember from my tenure doing reconnaissance, as women I trained with or trained myself.
Helen York is an old guard Order member from the Northwest, Ainsley Boone led troops in the Southeast. Noa Lieb masqueraded as a subregion leader here in the Northeast.
But Delilah. She is still alive, and for that I am grateful.
“Why so many?”
Theia sighs. “When we returned, Hunter, Mason, and Private Frank cornered me in my office and demanded your release. When I refused, word got to the sergeants and I was…let’s say convinced…to hold a vote on your fate. The members of my council unanimously voted against execution.”
“But they were okay with torture.”
“I did not explicitly tell them what I would do instead. I believe some of them may have guessed.” She stares at me and nearly smiles. “You’re disappointed.”
“What I did was treason and the punishment for that is execution. As soldiers of the Order, they should have understood. They wanted mercy not for me, but for them, to spare themselves the grief.”
She looks almost proud of me. “That is what I said.”
Of course she did. All my impulses—well, most—come from her training. The grooming that began in the bassinet. I did not spring from her womb, but rather from her brain, like Athena, the war child.
“I never considered your execution, of course. I simply wanted to give you time to return to yourself. Punishment was necessary, but execution would have been a waste of a valuable resource.”
“I am honored you still see me as valuable.”
Theia steps forward. “I never ceased believing in you. Even as your betrayal was revealed to me. Frankly, I was impressed and disappointed in equal measure. What an elaborate, beautifully executed plan it was.”
Beautifully executed, like Lucy. I do not reply.
“I have to ask, and I truly want you to be honest. Do you regret it?”
“No.”
My answer is instant. I have asked myself that question almost every day since I woke up in this room. To regret those months in her presence would be to deny the very beat of my heart.
“I didn’t think you would. No matter how much influence I had on you, it seems you are almost a perfect reflection of your parents.” To be compared to them sounds like a slur, especially the way she says it. “You are most like your mother. Sensible. Practical. A soldier, through and through.”
My parents have barely crossed my mind since finding out their true identities. It should be a relief to know I wasn’t discarded. I was conceived in love and presumably wanted. Ultimately, their image remains blank in my mind, and my feelings about them reflect this.
“Your father was the impulsive one. Emotional, passionate. The two of them complemented one another quite well.”
“I don’t consider myself any of those things,” I reply. “Emotional or passionate.”
Theia smiles at me, a degree or two away from affectionate.
“I cannot think of anything more foolishly emotional than committing treason for love. That is your father in you. I hoped if you inherited his depthless devotion, I could steer it toward our cause. But love is…a most unpredictable variable.”
“My devotion to the cause never wavered.” My whole life consisted of the Order, the war, the rebellion.
I huffed it like aerosol in a paper bag, addicted to the recycled high.
But then…Lucy came to me like a gasp of fresh air.
“The ideals we believe—the ideals you instilled in me—required I keep her alive. She was our ideals. It was you who felt friction. You didn’t give me a choice. ”
“I gave you a choice,” Theia says, taking on a sharp tone.
“Your affection for her I did not mind. Your love for her, if that is truly what it was, I could have accepted. However, you were going to let a tyrannical, ruthless leader live because you had gone soft for his daughter. That is what I found unacceptable. If you found her so beguiling as to commit this level of treason, what else would you have done for her?”
Anything and everything is the answer, but I do not respond as such. “May I ask one more question?”
“You may.”
“When did you know?”
It’s the one thing I haven’t been able to figure out.
I was so careful. I told no one, not even Mason.
The plan was tight right up until Theia insisted I take Lucy with me on the missions.
Surely, I thought, she would want to keep an eye on the most valuable prisoner the Order ever had.
Lucy would’ve lived in the cells beneath HQ—not comfortable, but alive and safe.
I hoped, over time, Theia might see what I saw and want to keep Lucy around.
“I had my suspicions when you returned from the ball.” She smirks, but it lacks venom. It’s rather sad. “You’d never failed a mission before.”
I can’t help the inner wince at the mention of a failure. “Then why did you send us off together?”
“Evidence to support intuition.” Theia shrugs. “I did not think it would come to this. As I said, love is a most unpredictable variable.”
She sighs, almost like she gets it, but I know she does not. Theia’s love, if it can be called that, is conditional and thorny. It must prove itself, it must boast. But I’ve seen a love that has no bounds, no conditions, no limit.
Theia gestures to the door. “I must take my leave. Mason will debrief you. Good luck.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
The door is closed and locked behind her. I will be deployed soon. My heart thumps faster. Flashes of Detroit, of the whole MidCountry, flick through my brain faster than I can see them. The smoke, the noise, the stench of death. The screams of the hurt and the lifeless stares of the fallen.
No, I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.
I’m scared anyway. So, I curl in my corner, pull one of her books into my lap, and breathe. Her memory brings me comfort and carries me into slumber. I wish she was here. I wish she was anywhere.
But she’s not. Because I killed her.