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Chapter 7
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“For all its harms, the Reclamation Program did us one justice: it prepared us for events to come. With the Central Government cracking down on Radicals left and right, only those who could blend in seamlessly survived to carry on the fight. The contrived gender and sexual orientation stereotypes we learned inside the walls of those facilities are the very survival skills we had to fall back on as adults.” Radical Archive – excerpt from the Reclamation Program commentaries
Madam Crellar welled up with pride as she scanned the young women in front of her. Each wearing elaborately-designed ballroom gowns, the women looked as if they’d be attending a formal dance rather than phase two graduation. Given the auspicious occasion coinciding with the big anniversary date, she’d prepared a more sophisticated ceremony than she’d really ever put together. Rumors seemed to be flooding the facility about the possibility of upper-level Section 7 staff attending this ceremony – and even more importantly, members of the royal family’s staff. The normally disheveled convocation hall seemed almost new after a two week renovation and scrub down – something she’d personally seen to in order to ensure every detail turned out the way she dreamed. The round meal tables’ absence gave way to long rows of banquet-style tables with intermingled white and silver table clothes. The end of the hall – toward the stage – had a set of dignitary tables with a small podium in the middle for the commencement speech. Banners and drapes in the two signature colors hung from every imaginable space in the decadent hall. With few hours to spare before the phase three staff began arriving to meet their new charges, she walked through the convocation hall one last time before beginning her one-on-one’s with each graduating girl in her care to prepare them for their departure from the facility that evening. Each place setting looked perfect – right down to the hand-stenciled name cards at each seat. Above her, the newly-installed chandeliers sparkled as embedded lights from several angles shot light through the dangling crystals on each fixture. The refurbished chairs and art-laden walls all gave the impression that the convocation hall lived separately from the rest of the facility – like stepping into a new world simply by stepping through the arched double door entrance. On her way out of the hall, one of the monitoring station aides approached. “Dualla? Do you have a moment?” she asked. She nodded. “Is there a problem?” The aide anxiously ran her hands back and forth along the pockets of her white outer jacket. “The facility has been too quiet today,” she said. “Something is going to happen tonight, I can feel it.” Dualla shook her head in disdain. “You say this every time we have a quiet evening Marge. I think they’re all simply aware of the consequences of crossing us today.” “Today’s different though. They’re all being…. friendly. They’re never this cooperative.” Dualla sighed. “Fine, if you think something is wrong, investigate it. I don’t have time to cater to your paranoia today. The transition teams arrive in two hours and I haven’t even begun the preparation interviews with my girls yet.” Marge nodded – almost bowing she nodded so ardently – and hobbled away on her varicose-vein covered legs she never bothered to cover. Watching her walk away, Dualla noted the stark differences between herself and the unshapely woman. Whereas Marge didn’t watch her figure and ended up a pear with stout little legs after years of abusing food, Dualla ate right, kept a slim figure, and made sure she remained a role model for the girls in her charge. She couldn’t very well teach girls how to be proper wives if she looked like a cow no man would want. GERA demanded a certain degree of self-restraint, and she lived her life by that credo. Her one-on-one interviews all seemed standard. She gave the preparation speech so many times over the course of her career prior to that evening, she could have done it in her sleep. Each girl reacted as expected – with deference and calculated appreciation. Each girl knew she had a life ahead that didn’t involve the facility, and excitement threatened to overcome learning each and every time. The hormonal battle between brains and body chemistry didn’t alarm Dualla; rather, it gave her hope that the girls still had humanity enough in them after years of rigorous conditioning that they could eventually grow to love their new lives. The only interview Dualla really anticipated joy from was her prize pupil – the girl she worried about in the beginning, and then molded and shaped into her role model graduate. Though Veronica had a rough beginning, Dualla knew introducing her to other girls and boys in the program would facilitate her reintegration into society as a proper lady. Nearly five years later, Veronica set the standard for all other facility members – tutoring, mentoring, and socializing with nearly every person she came across in the building. She became an attainable goal for others in the program and represented everything the Reclamation Program stood for. That’s why – after only two years in the program – Veronica had a choice of moving on to phase three early or staying behind as a peer mentor to assist others in their integration. Dualla felt relieved when Veronica chose to stay the full program length since she saw a bit of herself in Veronica’s eyes – devotion, ambition, and dedication. Perhaps the incident nearly five years prior worked out for the best. The fear of being caught instilled some kind of obedience in each of Veronica’s initial circle of friends. They appeared so afraid of retribution, each began meeting new people and stepping up their program progress. She graduated the sisters almost immediately, pushing them into phase three at the very next graduation since she was sure one of them was responsible for the uprising. The older of the two… it had to be her. The younger one seemed too shy… too reluctant to branch out and do it all herself. And the boy they all hung out with just didn’t fit the profile. He refused to do anything that didn’t advance his own agenda. And Veronica… well, that seemed obvious. She simply couldn’t have been involved. They all stayed together like moths drawn to a flame… and that trouble-making flame’s name was Molly, the trigger that set the entire chain of events into motion. One act of disobedience led to another, and by the time the staff terminated the one control subject remaining in the facility when he tried to escape, Dualla knew things had to get better (since they certainly couldn’t get much worse). As if by divine intervention, everyone fell into line, did as they were told, and life went back to normal. Her Inquisitor friend couldn’t find a culprit as she’d predicted and after a year of waiting was recalled to Cheyenne Mountain for another assignment. At the end of the line, after completing each interview with no anomalies, Dualla began the journey to Veronica’s suite for a brief sit-down session. Though Veronica knew what to expect (since she sat in on many previous one-on-one’s at previous graduations), Dualla intended to do it by the book today. She wanted to remember this day in its perfect majesty. Just past her own suite, three doors down in the administrative hallway two hallways over from the residence hallway, Dualla approached Veronica’s single suite and knocked on the door. “Just one moment please,” Veronica said. A few seconds later Veronica opened the door. She wore a red and blue sequined gown that seemed to shimmer each time light hit it. Her hair was pulled back and clipped with a matching butterfly-shaped hair piece. And her smile – the feature Dualla noticed before anything else – shined brighter than any other singular portion of her appearance. “Madam Crellar, it’s a pleasure. Are you here for my exit interview?” Dualla nodded. “I can’t believe you’re leaving us. It seems like yesterday I was sitting with you in that musty old suite consoling you.” She pulled a tissue from her jacket pocket and dabbed her eyes. “Do you have a few minutes?” “For you? Of course. Please come in.” Veronica stood aside to allow Dualla to enter. “Would you like something to drink?” “I’m fine, thank you,” Dualla said. “Are you ready for this evening?” “I’m a little nervous to be honest. It’s a big night for both of us,” she said. “Please, have a seat.” She motioned toward her comfy desk chair. She remained standing to prevent wrinkling her dress. Dualla sat and looked around the immaculately-kept room. “You’ll have to get used to sharing a room again soon I fear,” she said. “Most phase three families have multiple children these days with the large influx of children in and out of the program.” Veronica nodded demurely. “I understand, and I’m appreciative for the time I’ve had to myself here.” She turned and looked in the full length mirror attached to her private bathroom. “How are preparations for tonight going?” “The convocation hall is prepared, and you’re my last interview, so all that’s left is receiving the guests after this,” Dualla said. “Then I suppose we should get on with this so we can both move forward then,” Veronica said. Dualla straightened her posture, sitting forward at the edge of Veronica’s desk chair. “Very well. As you know, tonight will be your last evening in phase two,” she said. “It’s both a time for reflection and celebration. I do hope you won’t take this transition lightly as it serves as a pivotal moment in your life… one of several stepping stones in your journey to adulthood.” Veronica turned from the mirror and nodded. “I understand, Madam Crellar. Please continue.” “Tonight you will meet your new facilitators. They’ll be your new mentors, your parents, and your last step toward adulthood. You will be with them through the age of eighteen, at which point you will either take on a profession or you’ll marry and fulfill your GERA-based duties. All things considered, we in the program hope you’ll choose the latter since we emphasize family over profession for our young ladies – but then again, it will be your choice. Just remember that if you choose to pursue a profession first, you’ll have only a limited number of years before you’ll be required to fulfill your GERA obligations. If you’re not married by the age of 21, the Central Government will assign a husband to you.” Dualla smiled. “Though I’m sure that won’t be the case with you. Boys always seem to be drawn to you Veronica.” Veronica blushed. “Please Madam, that’s not a part of your regular one-on-one,” she said shyly. “Well you’re not a typical one-on-one dear. I feel like I’m losing a daughter.” Veronica nodded. “I feel the same. It won’t be the same once I’m in the outside world.” Dualla continued, “As I was saying, you’ll need to fulfill your GERA duties by the age of 21, otherwise a mate will be assigned to you. If that scenario occurs, you will be obligated to have no less than two children. After they attain school age, you’ll be allowed to return to your profession of choice so long as it doesn’t conflict with your parenting duties. Do you know yet what you want to be once you attain working age?” Dualla asked. Veronica shook her head as she bowed down slightly. “Not yet. I’ve been too focused on helping the others here to think about the long term future Madam,” Veronica said. “There’s no shame in that,” she said. “Perhaps that’s your calling. Once you have a husband and children, perhaps you should look into obtaining education to become one of the Reclamation Program’s counselors. We’re always looking for shining personalities like you.” Dualla’s entire being glowed she felt so inspired. “Maybe I’ll do just that,” Veronica said. “And before you ask, I do have a few questions… but not about phase three.” “Oh?” Dualla asked. “I’ve never actually been to one of the ceremonies, so I just wanted to know what to expect tonight.” Dualla sat back in the chair once more, having finished the formal portion of the interview. “It should be pretty standard actually,” she said. “We’ll have the dignitaries from the Central Government and the royal family seated first, followed by the phase three families who will be taking over after tonight. After they’re all seated in the back of the room, we’ll have you and the other graduates enter the double doors in two lines – boy and girl couples - snaking in on either side of the room to take your assigned seats between the phase three facilitators and the dignitaries in the front. Once you’re all seated, we’ll all have dinner while different speeches are made commemorating the occasion. At the end of dinner, we’ll announce each of your names, the family you’ll be graduating to, and have that family stand. At the end of the ceremony, each of you will return to your rooms to gather your personal possessions you’ve packed beforehand. Your new families will meet you there and escort you to your new homes.” Veronica nodded in understanding. “I see. It does sound pretty standard.” “I’m hoping it will be actually,” she said. “Between you and me, there may be some higher ups there tonight evaluating our progress. I want to impress our success on them, and you’ll be my shining example of the work we’re doing.” Veronica smiled. “I’d be glad to serve as an example of the work you do,” she said. “Honored, in fact.” “Good, because I may ask you to speak if that’s okay,” Dualla said. “I will do as you ask Madam,” Veronica said. “Excellent,” Dualla said. “I should go and begin preparations for receiving everyone. I’ll see you later this evening Veronica.” Dualla stood and hugged Veronica lightly before making her way toward the facility’s reception area. Tonight would indeed be a big night for her – a night she’d never forget. * * * “It’s a pleasure to see you again sir,” Dualla said. “The pleasure is all mine Madam,” he said. He shook her hand and flashed a car-salesman smile. “Please Administrator, call me Dualla.” He smiled. “Well if that’s the case Dualla, please call me Adam.” “I’m glad you could make it out this evening. How was the trip from Cheyenne Mountain?” Dualla asked. “We flew, so it was choppy given the storms coming in from the Pacific. I’ll be glad when the high speed rails are finally completed.” “I agree. They’re using magnetics on the new trains, right?” Dualla asked. “I believe so. Mag-trains is the term I believe they’re using. They’ll connect all of the major cities in the country to expedite intercity travel.” “So that rumor about allotted national travel time is just that then… a rumor?” she asked. “Being at the hub of the Central Government, perhaps you’d know something like that.” She smiled. “You’re a clever interviewer Dualla,” he said jokingly. “And unfortunately, my clearance isn’t high enough to know anything more than you at this point. I’d have to guess they’ll eventually institute restrictions though to control Radical movement.” “Radical?” she asked. “That’s the term they’ve coined upstairs in the CJ Guild for all the anti-government activists.” “It’s fitting,” she said. “So tell me Adam, what do you have access to with your clearance? Surely the head of the Reclamation Program can trickle down a little bit of information to its most successful facility…” “Arrests have declined over the past couple of years. Apparently, the Radicals are catching on to our methods and adapting. The CJ Guild has begun using alternative methods to catch them, waiting on them to slip up and reveal themselves,” he said. “They’re hiding from us now?” Dualla asked. She couldn’t hide the amusement in her voice. “I know, given the contrast between now and ten years ago, it does seem ludicrous. But after the incident ten years ago, they decided to take a different approach in fighting us. They’ve gone underground, begun using guerilla tactics,” he said. “So you have to wait for them to come out into the open then,” Dualla said. “A little bird in the CJ Guild told me they’ve also begun upgrading their surveillance technology so they can remotely monitor the population. After the retinal scan technology became standard, it was the next logical step in the process.” “Process?” Dualla asked. “The Central Government doesn’t just want to capture rebels; they want to harness the power of technology to move the country in a new direction… to a more utopian vision.” “Control,” she said. “The more they know, the better they can adjust for abnormalities in the process.” Adam smiled again. “I see you’re not a stranger to the concept.” “We deal with much of the same here,” she said. A bell in the background chimed, interrupting her next sentence. “I believe that’s my cue to move to the dinner hall,” Adam said. “If you’ll excuse me.” “It’s been a pleasure sir,” Dualla said. “Likewise.” Dualla turned her attention to the inflow of phase three members making their way toward the entrance. The other dignitaries (sans Adam) had already taken their seats a while prior, and she nearly missed her own cue to greet the second wave of participants. While he said very little in their actual conversation, Administrator Adam revealed an abundance of information in what he didn’t say. Most importantly in their conversation, she noted the name Radicals as it applied to the minority movement. Giving them a name – especially that one – could mean only one thing: the Central Government made up their mind once and for all in how they classified that group of people. Mainly, they considered them a threat to national security. That would only lead to increased arrests, increased need for Reclamation Program resources, and most relevant – an indefinite need for Section 7 and its services. She had a feeling Adam knew Seattle’s Reclamation Program facility served a dual purpose. Their success stuck out like a sore thumb among mediocre results nationwide. He had to know Section 7’s experiments would lead the country – and his program – into the new century. By the time 2800 dawned, the entire Radical movement could be crushed if they played their cards right. She and her staff, and Administrator Adam by proxy, would be at the forefront of that victory. She’d receive commendations and recognition. She’d go down in the history archives as a hero. “Madam?” Marge said. She tapped Dualla on the shoulder from behind impatiently. “Yes?” she asked. “This had better be important.” Marge nodded nervously. “I just wanted to report back to you about my investigation. I believe I was right earlier. Something terribly wrong seems to be going on tonight,” she said. “And what exactly did you find?” Dualla asked. “I found this in one of their rooms,” Marge said. She handed Dualla a page torn from a personal diary book – the kind they typically issued to the girls to document their lives. On the page, a diagram of the convocation hall with tables and seating arrangements for the evening’s festivities appeared to be crudely drawn out. “And what is this supposed to signify?” Dualla asked. “And whose room did you find it in?” “They’re plotting something for tonight at the ceremony Madam. I found it in Veronica’s room!” Marge said in a whispered tone. “Who gave you permission to enter her room?” Dualla asked incredulously. “Madam, I know you favor her, but she’s a program participant just like the others,” Marge said. “And she’s somehow managed to obtain information about the ceremony tonight!” “For your information, Marge,” Dualla said condescendingly, “I told her about the layout for this evening myself. She inquired since she was anxious, and I told her briefly about the ceremony. I’m sure she drew this to plot out her walking path. She likes to visualize things in advance… you should know this by now.” Marge shook her head. “Madam, you’re not seeing what I see.” Sweat beaded along her thinning hairline and red, blotchy cheeks. “I know I’m not Marge, because you’re seeing conspiracies where none exist. Now get into the convocation hall and ensure our guests are all seated comfortably. Our girls will be entering soon.” Dualla watched Marge stomp away angrily and took only a momentary pause to consider her warning. Could Veronica actually be up to something? She shook her head and laughed it off. After five years of hard work, she wouldn’t throw it all away on this of all nights. Behind her, Dualla heard the clicking of multiple heels on the new tile hallways. Her girls would be at the entrance in mere moments. As they turned the corner and walked into the outer reception area outside the convocation hall, the well-dressed ladies waited for their male counterparts to arrive to escort them into the room one by one. The boys would break off to the left, and the girls to the right. She lined them up one by one according to the seating chart she’d memorized long ago – something she’d worked on tirelessly for weeks to ensure it looked just right. At the end of the line, she placed her star pupil Veronica. She intended to have her come to the stage that evening to accept an award for excellence, and having a seat at the very end of the banquet table would ensure her quick travel time to the stage. “Are we all ready ladies?” Dualla asked. “It’s time. Please wait for me to announce you, and then you may enter.” Dualla turned to her counterpart – the lead in the boys’ side of the facility. “Are your boys going to be here soon? We can’t wait all evening.” “They’re turning the corner now,” he said, pointing to the procession of boys in tuxes. “Brilliant. Get them lined up. I’ll be announcing them in ten minutes at the end of my speech.” Dualla turned, nodded to her own set of graduates, and winked at Veronica. “It’s show time ladies.” Dualla entered the convocation hall and walked to the front of the room as regally as she could muster. Tonight she felt like a celebrity. Tonight she’d present the best class of ladies the Reclamation Program had ever seen. And though she felt that exact sentiment each time she went through a graduation, tonight felt different. Tonight would be the beginning of her career’s boost. As she reached the podium at the center of the dignitaries table, Dualla peered out into the audience inside the dimly lit hall. Candles lit each of the tables going back to the rear. The front two tables – reserved for the graduates – awaited the end of her speech anxiously. She began her speech while servers entered and began distributing food and drinks. She planned her speech perfectly so they’d be able to complete their work just in time for her to bring in the graduates. They’d be seated as everyone else began eating. No wasted time and no presentational gaps – something she’d worked hard at managing for this evening’s festivities. One thing she hadn’t counted on – nor rehearsed – was the room lighting prior to the ceremony. With the conversational dim lighting, Dualla had trouble making out faces of the staff and phase three visitors in the rear rows. She even had trouble making out the faces of the servers walking among the rows placing food and wine at each place setting. She couldn’t worry about that now though; her speech flowed forth at full force including the program history, praise of important personnel, and a general introduction of the graduates. The visitors around the room observed custom and sat patiently waiting the entrance of the graduates before touching anything placed before them – a graduation ceremony tradition. Sensing the growing anticipation of dinner with the smells of baked meats and braised vegetables, Dualla began wrapping up her speech. The servers seemed to be lagging a bit, but she couldn’t stall any longer. Something in the kitchen must have delayed them somewhere in the process. “And without further delay,” she said, ending her speech. “I give you the graduating class of 2756.” She held out a hand, pointing to the rear of the room. The double doors opened, revealing two lines of graduates – pairs of boys and girls with interlocked arms. They began entering the room two by two, walking slowly to the junction at the rear of the very last table. There they split, walking on each side of the room to their designated table. Three minutes passed while the entire group entered. While she waited and those around the room clapped, Dualla took a moment to relax and catch her breath. She could feel sweat forming at her temples from all the stress. The remaining two servers finished placing food and drinks on the tables about three quarters of the way through the procession of graduates into the convocation hall. Whether from anxiety and stress or Marge’s dire warnings about the evening, Dualla found herself scanning the faces of the graduates for signs of defiance… anything to justify the increasingly painful feeling deep in her gut. She couldn’t place a finger on it, but something did seem wrong. Perhaps Marge’s paranoia rubbed off on her, she thought. The two servers moved toward the rear staff exit at the back of the room and exited. Dualla continued scanning the procession, feeling better about the night and angry that she let Marge get to her. A minute later she saw the end of the procession – Veronica in her beautiful gown walking in with her escort. She squinted to see him, trying to recognize the boy paired up with her by her counterpart. She knew the name but couldn’t place a face with the name at all – something she wasn’t accustomed to. As the two reached the front of the room and took their seats, Dualla leaned forward into the microphone. “Let’s enjoy our meal everyone. Before we all dig in though, I propose a toast.” She raised her wine glass, held it in the air, and looked down at Veronica. “I want to dedicate this night to the brave individuals who worked so hard to overcome their innate inadequacies to become more… to become better individuals. To become members of our great society.” The room clinked their glasses and took deep sips of their drinks. For the occasion, Dualla purchased an exquisite and expensive vintage she knew everyone would enjoy. She raised her own glass, looked down into the audience at her graduates, and finally focused her eyes on Veronica and smiled. She really would miss that kid. As she began sipping her own wine, she finally noticed it. She saw the sign her gut warned her about from the beginning of her speech. She knew it was too late now – she’d already gone and fallen for the trap. As she stared down at the graduates, they all placed their wine glasses on their table simultaneously without drinking. Had only one or two of them done this, she wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But each and every graduate placed his and her glass down in unison – including Veronica. That could only mean one thing: Marge was right all along. She stared into Veronica’s innocent eyes trying to find a reason – anything to explain this deception. Veronica simply smiled back at her and mouthed a short phrase in response to her pleading stare. “You killed my friend,” she said silently, staring Dualla straight in the eyes. The toxin took effect quickly as a deep-seated thirst choked Dualla’s body. She knew this poison… the Radicals used it. How’d these mere children get their hands on it though? How did they pull this off? The itch at the back of her throat intensified. Dualla needed water. She began tugging at the collar of her gown as everyone around her mirrored her actions. They poisoned everyone. They planned this. The enormous night of victory suddenly fell from her mind, replaced by the knowledge that she’d die before making it to the medical ward for an antidote. They chose this toxin wisely, knowing it would work quickly. They knew they’d kill everyone in the room. But why? She fell backward from the podium, landing on her hip as she hit the floor. The room broke down into utter chaos as she began crawling toward Veronica. She wanted to stare her in the eyes and see if she was a passive participant in this coup. Surely Veronica tried to stop this; they’d become so close over the past few years. Veronica shared everything with her, and she in turn shared her own hopes with Veronica. And that thought crystallized it. She knew before she arrived at Veronica’s table what she’d done. She’d played right into the devious little girl’s plan – a plan she probably hatched the night of that boy’s death. Veronica was the one who tried to help him escape! And she defended Veronica all those years! Dualla collapsed on the floor, unable to continue, paces before reaching Veronica’s table. Dualla looked up and saw Veronica’s silhouette above her. Veronica leaned down and stared into Dualla’s eyes. “I did this. All of this,” she said. “I want you to know this as you die in front of me.” “Why?” Dualla coughed out. She knew her time was limited now as sound could no longer escape her throat easily. “I told you… you killed my friend. And countless others too. And your experiments…” Veronica shook her head. “I knew something had to be done, so I bided my time. Alex and I made sure everyone was in on the plan, served your drinks to you, and waited for the result.” “But you were doing so well,” Dualla said. She began coughing uncontrollably. “I knew that if you believed and trusted me, I could do anything. I knew going into tonight that simply helping prisoners escape wouldn’t do, so we have more in store for this building once you’re all taken care of. We’re getting everyone out, and then we’re blowing the building up.” “You… can’t.” Dualla said. Her vision began blurring, something she knew immediately preceded brain damage and death with this toxin. “I can. I know you’ll rebuild in time, but your Section 7 experiments will be severely delayed. Possibly by decades now. It’ll give the resistance movement time to coordinate.” “Radicals!” Dualla grunted incoherently. “Radicals!” “I guess we are Dualla. All of us.” Veronica knelt down on her knees and lifted Dualla’s limp head to look her in the eyes. “And one more thing… something I learned the night you killed Corey… never underestimate your enemy.” |
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The Radical Chronicles is Copyright © 2009 by Tim Peacock.
