“Your grace, I’ve already encountered Truck’s people,” she said. “They kidnapped me and tortured me. I don’t think they’ll be inclined to offer us their help — and I’m not so keen on asking for it.”
“It’s true: they are a nomadic band of liars, thieves, and murderers,” King Hum replied. “But they’re also outcasts, just like us. They hate the Council. That hate motivates them more than anything. More than greed, more than survival. I know you’re not fond of them, Miss Alvarez, but I think you’re the only one with the firm temperament to impress them.”
Tera opened her mouth to protest further, but decided against it.
King Hum scanned over all their faces before continuing. “I will meet with the Battalion myself,” he said. “They are a nation of former military personnel who clustered together in the west, near the Rio Grande. I believe I can sway them to our side once I explain our plan of attack.”
“Which is what, exactly?” Gauge asked.
“A work in progress,” King Hum replied. “Once we have our allies, we can worry about that. The next step depends on who we are able to persuade to go to war.”
The room was quiet. King Hum gazed at each of them as they stared down at the map. Gauge jotted something else down in his journal. The air was heavy and somber, like a wake had just begun. The silence went on for a few minutes as they each contemplated the task before them.
“You are dismissed,” King Hum said.
Orange
Orram had never seen buildings like those in Orange. Though he was Opes’ liaison between the two nations, he never visited the corporate republic based in the ruins of an old world city. It composed only a few blocks of what had once been Anaheim, the sundered gate of Disneyland visible from the rooftop Orram landed on.
Despite its small size, or rather, because of its concentrated population, the Opesian had never seen a place so opulent. King Hum’s palace seemed like a decrepit hole compared to the sleek metal and plastic of Orange. Neon lights advertised products in holographic displays throughout the city, even on the landing pad. A number of vendors stood by the exit, hoping to catch any potential customers on their way into the building. They seemed to shy away from Orram as he left his autocar.
They can tell I have no money, Orram thought sourly.
A wave caught his attention. He turned to see a young man with a beak-like nose holding a small placard. It read ADVISER ORRAM, OPESIAN ENVOY.
“I am Orram,” the old man said as he approached the sign-bearer.
The young man double-checked his sign, as if unsure of who he was waiting for. Then his face lit up with a professionally-trained smile.
“Orram, sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “My name is Darius and it’s my job to escort you to your meeting.”
“Very good,” Orram said. With a wave, he instructed Darius to lead the way.
They took a short flight of stairs to a corridor, where they waited for an elevator that took them deeper into the skyscraper’s core. Once they were on the eleventh floor, the elevator opened up and Darius led the way out. A number of strangers in business suits and button-downs shoved their way into the lift, but Darius flowed around them like rain on a duck.
They followed a hallway down the left, then the right, then left again. Every door they passed looked the same; were it not for the brass plaques next to each entrance, anyone could get lost in here. Eventually, they came to the first set of double-doors the Opesian had seen.
“This is the conference room,” Darius said, turning to face the adviser. “Wait until the light above the doorway turns green before going in.” He indicated the little L.E.D. device near the ceiling. “Their meeting should be wrapping up shortly. Feel free to take a seat while you wait.”
Orram turned and noticed the tacky armchairs against the opposite wall. He gave the young man a short nod of thanks before taking his seat and fixing his eyes onto the dim lights above the door.
After an hour, Orram decided he had waited long enough. The light above the door never changed, not even offering a flicker of illumination. He assumed it was malfunctioning, but continued to doubt himself as time dragged on. Finally, with a huff of indignation, he rose and pushed the double doors open.
A voice stopped in the middle of its statement as the Opesian pushed his way into the conference room. The walls were bare and white except for two large glass windows that looked out over the city. A potted plant dominated each corner while the middle of the room was reserved for an enormous table. At least a dozen people sat around the table while a woman stood at the far end of the room in front of a projector screen. Orram couldn’t decipher the charts and graphs on display, but they were his last concern as every eye turned to him.
He froze for a second like he walked in on someone using the bathroom. For a moment, he doubted that Darius led him to the right room.
“Can we help you?” the woman at the front of the room asked. Her hair was auburn, cut to a precise shoulder length with uniform curls at the ends. Her face had some wrinkles, but it was apparent she took measures to reduce them.
“I’m sorry. Yes,” Orram said. His tone quivered with uncertainty. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”
“Your name?” the woman asked so quickly that the old man almost felt like he was interrupted.
“Adviser Orram,” he replied. “Of Opes.”
“Orram, yes,” the woman said. Everyone else in the room remained silent as she put on a smile just as fake as Darius’s. “We are just wrapping up our presentation on autocar fuel supplies. If you don’t
