The Project, V

[Click here for Part IV. Click here to start at the beginning.]

Sitting in a chair seemingly pulled from the dark ages, Sam watched Magne. The room was artificially cold. Though given the outside temperature, it might be better to say insufficiently heated. This didn’t bother Sam so much, as he had just come in from outside. The prison was a tiny complex built under the ground. It was hardly up to spec, but they were far enough from civilization that an escape was a good as a death sentence. If some escapee actually did make it Sam would have to congratulate them before dragging them back again.

Magne had recovered from the face draining news on the way here. He seemed to be once again of the opinion that he was in the right, or at the very least that might was on his side. Sam had come here to check on Magne, and partly to check out the prison in the first place. He had never had a reason to come here and indeed Magne was the only one that had ever been housed here. The conversations had been a non-starters. Sam wasn’t particularly interested in what Magne had to say, and Magne wasn’t particularly fond of talking to himself.

Of all the people Sam wondered why Magne? It seemed like Akara got everything he wanted already, so why was Magne here? He wasn’t particularly important. Though most particularly important people were buried by the side of the airstrip. A man appeared descending the blue metal staircase into the cold bunker. He grabbed another ancient chair and sat next to Sam, nodding as he pulled a folder from his jacket. The man began reading from the folder, not bothering to look up.

“Mr. Magne I have some questions for you.”

“Finally, I get a socialite around here.”

“Are you acquainted with the Koli group?”

“Of course, why do you think I’m still alive?”

“Are you aware of their current activities?”

“No, I’m locked in this frozen box.”

“Prior to your incarceration did you know of the Koli group’s activities?”

“Of course.”

“Could you elaborate?”

“No. Why would I?”

“You are aware you are in a cell?” Sam interjected.

“And now you sing.”

Sam had no idea who the Koli group was, but apparently it was important for Akara. The Duma had always been a mystery, much less the aching arms of the bureaucracy. Sam was curious now.

“What makes you think you don’t have to answer this nice man’s questions?”

Sam stood up to emphasize his point.

“I guess, I’m just a bad gambler.”

The conversation didn’t proceed well from there. Sam left and headed to grab a meal at the mess hall. He had seen the trucks come in earlier but had thought nothing of. After all there was a growing town on the outskirts of this island and it had yet to change his routine. Yet here he was looking at a bunch of dressed up civilians dancing in the mess hall. He headed for the barracks hoping to get some answers.

Sam found himself on the road again. He had been spending more and more time away from the compound. Akara had been giving definition to his team. They had officially been designated Forge Squad. As the memos went out, Sam found that fewer and fewer questions were asked. A patch now graced their right shoulders. A dark half ring with a glowing core and tongs emerging from the impression of fire. The world had adapted quickly to the new state of affairs, though Sam had grown more estranged. Akara was a black box, a seemingly erratic and enigmatic leader with attention to detail unheard of since the ancient world. Sam never wanted for anything nor, did he really plan. He showed up and things happened. These last few months had left him numb to his duties, not out of boredom or apathy, but the lack of resistance.

Whatever they thought his meetings and unannounced arrivals alike carried the same weight when the PEF was led by the flesh and blood of the Duma. No one dared question him, though he began to feel like an outsider everywhere he went. Fear far from being empowering was isolating. His frictionless world was a featureless desert. Sucked out of the mountain passes Sam found himself whisking through the low hills of the farm lands of the south.

He hadn’t been down to the bread basket since the Obed revolts, back when Sam was a fresh recruit to the PEF. It had been a pitiful effort but it had scared the Duma to the bone. Sam had spent months chasing down bands of poorly armed farmers. Low rolling hills and endless farms with rotting crops. Sam had practically lived off the land as his days of pursuit turned into weeks. He had acquired a distaste for corn that lasted over a year. Every once and awhile over the crest of a hill they would spot a huddled copse of farmers. The tedious fast would end and in a quiver of quickening valor the farmers would scatter as if fate had not already met them. The PEF if nothing else were great at hitting a fleeing target.

Looking over the fields the landscape had changed. Gone were the large farms of yore. Small tenants eked out on acre plots. The soil was barely keeping up. The wilds had taken many farms back, sometimes only to be burned back. Sam saw the tell tale signs of slash and burn. The ashen ruins of what once were trees or bushes sticking out of a pasture. The tall proud farmers that had once thought they could be left alone never returned. In their place the small and colorful encampments had sprouted up in the ruins of what had once been barns and quaint farms. Sam remembered watching those houses burn through the night those many years ago. The local functionaries had begun to organize farms into larger parcels, but most still seemed to be the tiny acre plots.

Today though he wasn’t visiting small time farmers. The Forge pulled into the driveway of a mansion. Sam looked over his papers again. This was the right address. He walked over the manicured lawn, ignoring the stepping stones leading to the porch. The Forge followed, over armed and over-prepared as always. An uneasy man welcomed them in. Sam was to “Enjoy their hospitality.” Under this vague directive he handed over the letter addressed to the owner of the house. An hour later the Forge, less Sam was driving away. Sam sat in a large chair wearing a suit procured from some guest supply and staring at the bloated face of a local bureaucrat.

He excused himself and cloistered himself in a decadent bathroom at the end of a hallway of green. He pulled out the envelope hoping to divine new clues as to what he was doing here. His sleep-walk of a month had not prepared him well for this. Certainly, he had never been ordered to “Enjoy their hospitality.” Pouring the papers out of the envelope he saw a small tan object slide across the counter. It was an ear piece. He thought if it might be too conspicuous, but then again everyone here knew exactly who he was. He wasn’t a spy, at least he didn’t think so. In when the fleck of an ear piece. At first a rush of static and then a faint voice. The device seemed to adjust itself and then it came through. Sam had his first taste of clarity.

Evan woke up in his favorite chair. A half empty cup of what once was hot cocoa sat on a table beside him. He looked around wondering what had become of Akara’s academic bender. Out of the corner of this eye he spotted a blur of navy blue. Between a pounding head and blurry vision he made out a janitor in coveralls fiddling with his favorite coffee table. What looked like an oversized hood ornament was being incorporated into the table. The mechanic hooked the cables into the floor. Evan looked around and saw two new smooth wooden boxes, the front covered in a fine mesh fabric. Ignoring the janitor Evan stepped over a few bodies as he headed for the kitchen. A new tiny wooden cube again hung from the ceiling. Another graced an unused corner of the counter. Evan saw a harried scientist looking around a bit amiss.

“Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“You know I’ve never been in a kitchen like this.”

Evan didn’t quite understand. But the man clarified.

“What’s going to happen now?”

Evan roughly understood the plan Akara had for the Scientists.

“Did you sign up for one of the Foundation Programs?”

“Of course.”

“Well get ready to see more kitchens like this one. Really what can I get for you?”

“Do you have bagels?”

“Yes, over here.”

Evan left the man to break fast and took an orange with him as he approached his chair again. By now the bodies had rolled away, and were being led away off to their new future. It had been a convenient way to grab the scientists for Akara. Half-awake and half sober men and women in disheveled pageantry followed willingly the PEF. The PEF were wisely out of uniform appearing merely as miraculously stern and coordinated civilians. With them Evan saw Sam the only one in uniform overseeing the stumbling citizens. Evan refreshed himself and went outside. He hitched a ride from the PEF stationed near his complex to follow the string of buses going from the Mess hall into the woods. The Sapling truck was comically small next to the buses crawling down the dirt track.

Whatever Akara was planning it didn’t look like it was planning to repeat this migration.

A few miles in the forest opened up into the town. First came the PEF training grounds, then a mile later the town proper. Out of the woods sprang a testament in brick and mortar to Evan’s creation. This would be the home of the Foundation. Scientists wrapped in the same bland coats unloaded themselves from the buses out into the freshly paved and plowed streets. The PEF here were in uniform directing them by name to their apartments. A few staff had been brought in ahead of time to keep the place running. They were easily distinguished by being the only people not in uniform or matching parkas. The Sapling slowed and parked in front of city hall and the PEF led him into the the heart of the town. Evan only wondered if Akara could bring this dead town to life.

[Click here for Part VI.]

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