My mind is moving at a rate that it’s preventing me from sleeping. Normally I don’t have insomnia issues, but the last several nights have been awful. I push the covers off, slip on a pair of socks since the wood floor is cold, and head downstairs to the common room. No one else is around, but the display is on. I find myself walking to the worn floral couch at the front and sitting down. The older man on the screen is standing in the center of a ring. He’s talking into a shiny old-fashioned style microphone that’s dangling from the ceiling about an upcoming event composed of some of the more experienced players. His pencil thin mustache twitches when he smiles. His greased-back hair shines from the lights above his head, but it accentuates his receding hairline. His suit is form-fitting. Black jacket neatly closed with a sparkling pink necktie and matching pocket square.
“Yes, children, this event is touted to be the most daring of its kind. An experiment the government has decided to conduct on our little community, and I welcome the chance to see its outcome. The opportunity for one lucky winner to govern the new collective being constructed next to Tarsus.”
I can hear the audience clap with excitement, but I can’t see them, which makes me question their existence.
“This new utopian communal is named Pentras, but before we can allocate the correct players for this event, each of our current contestants much reach a point level of fifty thousand, or higher, in order to compete.” Sounds of disbelief pour over my head from the speakers hidden in the ceiling. “Now children, this is not an unheard of number for our contestants to reach. Only once has it ever been accomplished, and that winner is living a life of leisure, relaxation, and happiness in Icarian.”
The cameras pan out showing the speaker being not in the center of a ring, but in the middle of a large room full of high-backed seats in neat circular rows around him. Four tiers of them, all filled with young men and women dressed in the most outlandish clothes I’ve ever seen. In front of each are small screens, jutting out from the back of the seat in front of them. I’m disgusted with the display and shut the monitor off.
“Hey,” says an angry voice behind me, “we were watching that.”
I turn and see a couple of the others lounging in the chairs behind me. I flip the monitor back on and go to my room, where sleep continues to elude me.
I’m up before the sun. As the days grow shorter, there is very little light outside in the morning and evenings, which makes working all that more difficult. I skip breakfast and head right for the grove. Now that I know what the words on the plate mean, I wonder why they would be printing such propaganda in the Outer Limits. That sort of task is usually done in Tarsus. Such marketing is not permitted here since it would lead us to have desires and aspirations.
The only thing left to do on the press machines is to work on the ink injectors for the second unit. They’re not as clogged as the first one, so it doesn’t take me as long to clean them. Brink doesn’t come out to assist, but he did most of the work yesterday, so I’m not mad that he’s not here. I’m looking for a wrench in my shop when the back gate opens. Six Aedox with heavy rifles march through the grove, heading towards the back of the house. I tuck myself deeper, trying to stay out of their line of sight. The kitchen woman opens the door, almost like she is expecting them. Shouts from inside seep out into the cold still air. Brink is thrown out the door, landing hard below the steps.
“Where is she?” one of the Aedox screams at him, kicking Brink in the ribs as he speaks.
“I told you, I don’t know,” Brink says, curling up slightly, trying to protect himself.
The Aedox points to two others and they begin to tear apart the grove. Brink is being pulled to his feet, shackles placed around his wrists. The gate squeaks as Vernon walks in. His face is one of shock. The Aedox that was questioning Brink marches over to the elderly man, grabs him by the shoulder, and shoves Vernon to his knees.
“Caretaker,” the Aedox calls Vernon, “Where is the orphan known as Max?”
“I haven’t seen her, sir,” Vernon replies, pain creasing his face. “This is my first visit of the day. Have you checked inside?”
The Aedox takes his rifle and hits Vernon across the face with the grip, breaking his nose. “Don’t get smart, Caretaker, or you will share the same fate as her.”
What the hell did I do? I’ve been obedient, serving, and quiet. Why are they looking for me?
I catch Vernon looking in my general direction. The Aedox follows his gaze, spotting me amongst the scraps. I bolt up, but my shoe catches on a loose nail in the floor preventing me from escaping. I fight with the Aedox when they try to touch me, but it’s not a smart move. I’m hit in the back, knocking the wind out of my lungs, then shackled and marched towards the back door of the house. I’m shoved through it, Brink behind me, and we’re escorted to the foyer. Everyone has gathered in the common room to see what the commotion is about. None of the staff ask questions about our arrest, they simply open the front door, allowing the Aedox to take us.
Three
Two carriages await us in the middle of
