Bard Constantine
Silent Empire
Other Books in the Havenworld Universe
Havenworld
The Troubleshooter: Four Shots
The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues
The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame
Vigiclass="underline" Knight in Cyber Armor
Nimrod Squad
Once upon a time I picked up a book entitled Fahrenheit 451 and discovered the magic of writing. It is only appropriate I dedicate this story to the memory of the Ray Bradbury, the man who put an indelible stamp upon a young man’s mind, altering his future forever.
— Bard Constantine
Steel clad giants whisper in their misery, groaning in barely audible murmurs.
Secrets they have, knowledge of rising hopes and broken dreams.
Ascend, they whisper; rise to the skyline and see
See the true face of the city.
Chapter 1
They live only in my dreams.
The woman with autumn hair and laughing eyes along with the child who shares her features. I see them night after night, always the same scene. The moment is captured in my mind like a hummingbird in hand, beautiful and ever so fragile.
It is breakfast time. The table and dinnerware are chipped and as threadbare as their clothing, but somehow that doesn’t matter. There is something precious there, something poverty cannot touch. It’s the light in her eyes as she gently pats her son’s cheek. It’s in his answering smile. Streams of light effuse through the blinds as though the sun shines harder for them, illuminating the room in saffron shades like a photograph dusted in gold.
Yet the only thing I feel is fear…
WA
KE
UP
I open my eyes.
My awakening activates the wall screen as it does every morning. The Smiling Man flickers to life and cheerfully begins the morning monologue.
“Good morning, Citizen 4891. As you scrub your face and brush those teeth, take a moment and contemplate one of our most valuable principles: Silence is Golden. Just imagine what life would be like if every citizen were to suddenly converse without being directed? Imagine the complete chaos. Why, it would be impossible to—”
I finish washing and open my closet. For a moment I take in the rows of identical charcoal gray work uniforms. Unbidden thoughts flicker across my mind; questions I know I have no right to ask.
The same. Why are they always the same? Why does that bother me?
I dismiss the intrusive thoughts and go to the kitchen. Questions are dangerous. I am reminded of that daily.
The screen follows me across the walls like a shadow. The Smiling Man continues his jolly delivery down the hall and into the kitchen.
“Remember, should you be approached by a stranger, report the incident immediately to your SVR or the nearest Dogman. Strangers are dangerous and not tolerated by our proud association of hardworking citizens. Should you not report an incident, you will be considered a traitor and summarily punished under the harshest penalty allowable by law. Should you be caught reading or in possession of any banned propaganda such as—”
I listen while I eat until the morning report is finished. The work horn sounds exactly when my meal allotment time ends. I put my jacket on and walk out into the smog-choked outdoors and join the others in the labor line.
The men appear to be the same person; row upon row of identical faces. Citizens aren’t meant to be distinguishable. The Sovereign Empire reminds us that individuality is the highest arrogance, the spark of chaos that infected the world during the time of unrest and violence.
So although our skin tones and facial features are different, we share the same subservient gaze, posture, and gait that indicate our willingness to serve our Empire. Faces downcast, shoulders slumped, and slow, deliberate steps.
The line stalls ahead of me. The citizen directly in front raises a hand with his little finger extended to indicate there is a temporary delay ahead. I repeat the gesture so it continues down the lines and eliminates any chance of misinformation or confusion.
“What do you think is happening?”
I glance behind me. The citizen who spoke in a hushed voice gazes at me with steely eyes. I have never seen him before. His face is unlined and without the dejected look I’m accustomed to. His blond hair is free of gray, an oddity for a working citizen. I assume he is a new recruit. That being the case, I share Standard Operating Directive #1.
“When waiting upon a delay to clear, all citizens are to remain silent and wait patiently.”
“And when oppressed, all citizens are to make their voices heard.” The man’s voice is carefully pitched, his mouth barely moves and his eyes stayed downcast. I am sure I am the only one who can hear him.
I take another look back. Something seems to be wrong with the man’s mouth. It keeps curving upward. There is something familiar about that aberration…
“Aren’t you interested in what’s going on?” he asks.
I face forward. “It is none of our concern. Be silent before you draw attention to yourself.”
The citizen in front raises his hand again, this time waving it forward once. I repeat the gesture as the line resumes. As we advance, I see what the disturbance is.
The Dogmen are assaulting someone. They too are identical; men in black suits with the heads of slavering dogs.
The sound of meat being pounded is clearly audible as the line silently passes. The citizens do not even stir. There is nothing new to see, nothing that doesn’t occur on a daily basis.
For some reason I cannot emulate their obliviousness. My eyes betray me, fixating on the scene as though photographing it for later evaluation.
Several Dogmen strike repeatedly, raining blows on a defenseless citizen. Their bestial faces snarl as their all-too-intelligent eyes glimmer with delight in their brutality.
Blood already streams from the man’s nose and mouth as he rocks back and forth, moaning from the fury of their merciless fists. White placards with bold red lettering flutter around them like startled pigeons. I try to make out the words, but the cards fall too quickly; dying moths that flutter to the ground and are trampled by shuffling boots.
As the Dogmen continue to batter the man senseless, a SVR in a black uniform stands a few paces away, declaring the crime.
“This ‘citizen’ has been found guilty of felony charges for possessing and distributing unlawful paraphernalia banned under topic 138 of the Behavior Code. Also, this ‘citizen’ is found guilty of treason for interaction with strangers; terrorists whose aim is to disrupt and spread chaos and seeds of dissent among our united brothers.”
The accused finally drops, hitting the ground like a sack full of busted potatoes. The Dogmen growl as they unceremoniously drag him toward a waiting prison van.
One of them looks around and snarls. His voice is thick and inhuman.
“Why is this line disrupted? SVRs, get your units back into order now!”
I look behind. The lines are in chaos. Citizens wander confusedly, uncertain of where to go. SVRs frantically run among them, trying to restore order under the impatient eyes of the Dogmen, who snarl orders as they roughly seize wandering citizens.
“Quickly, now’s our chance.”
The new man takes me by the arm and leads me to the crime scene. I open my mouth to protest, but stop as I realize the danger. If the Dogmen turn and see us…