Chapter Four: In the Back of the Black Rover by Tina Semanas “I can’t move my arm? I can’t move my arm?” Drew’s fevered mind started racing as he woke up trying to remember. Able to open only one eye, he struggled in his effort to survey and assess. He felt a stab of acute pain assaulting every muscle and joint. His head was throbbing, and his eyesight was blurred. Curled up in a cold metal corner, Drew quickly surmised he was in the back of a large rover, his body lying limp and unwilling. Many bones broken. The vehicle was moving fast, each bump in the road felt like a hammer smashing his already shattered ribs. Sharp pains shot up his back jump-starting his lethargic mind to life, “What happened?” All Drew remembered was Dia’s voice insisting he stay hidden downstairs. She was at the top of the stairs signaling down to him trying to warn him of danger, someone or something was fast approaching. He couldn’t understand. She wasn’t making sense. And then the image of her body crumpling under the impact of a direct blow from a stun stick was tattooed onto his mind. Her lifeless eyes remained open queerly staring up to the ceiling as a small pool of blood formed under her head. A few drops of the bright red fluid dripped from the lip of the top step onto the next. The shock of seeing Dia’s soft curls matted with her own blood froze him in place. 3 armed men rushed down and attacked him before he had time to respond. Males were taught never to react, so his reflexes were pathetically slow. Violence for the male was a crime. Like Dia, he too was dropped with one swift blow to his head. All faded to black. He must have been unconscious for quite awhile. There was a window in the back of the rover, but he couldn’t move his body up far enough to see out. It was night, a sliver of pale yellow light filtered through the back window of the vehicle. Maybe he was lying like this for a day, maybe two days? He closed his one good eye, gritting his teeth through another rough patch of bumps. The pain was too much, his body and mind shut down. Drew passed out again. -------------------------------------------------- Lunchtime on the plant floor never varied. The muted buzz in Phen’s bloc told him the line would be shutting down for 15 minutes. The digital clock registered 12:25 on each corner of the wall and an army of young male attendants dressed in bland gray uniforms came down each aisle pushing metal carts containing trays of calorie-cubes and 8 ounce plastic squares of water. Each attendant was no older than 18 years of age and most ranged from 12 to 16. Phen turned to the attendant who served the lunch down his row, a small scrawny boy of 15, and the first thing he noticed were his eyes. His pupils were constricted into a pin-point orb, while each large surrounding iris was coated by a cloudy film of ashen gray. Phen’s heart felt pity for this boy. Pity? Such an alien sensation. He looked around the plant at all the other attendants pushing carts and the zombie like workers receiving the cubes without a thank you, no nod or acknowledgment. They each grabbed one cube, one square, and then the silent attendant moved on to the next drone. “Why didn’t he notice this before?” How could human beings be herded like cows in blocs and not even care? Where did these young men with clouded eyes come from? For the past two days Phen’s mind sparked to life. Ever since he choked down the two white pills he felt different. The man who gave him the pills was very different too, there was fire in his eyes. But the Termagants took him away, never to be heard from again. Phen used his 15 minutes of rest to think. While the other men mindlessly watched the comedy screen in their bloc flash in front of them, Phen found a piece of a graphite shard on the floor and cautiously picked it up. He then pulled out a sheet of waste paper he hid in his pocket and began to use the graphite to scribble. His mind was not used to the strange practice of writing. But the muscle memory in his hands remembered. He formed letters to print a single name, “Stephen.” The muted buzz sounded again calling him back to work and immediately fresh new parts to inspect came methodically down the line. He wondered in a hushed tone to himself, “Stephen?” Lost in thought, Phen knew. Stephen was his name. But it has not been uttered for years. It was a boyhood name, his female caretaker would use this moniker when she was angry at him, it was the name Dia secretly made a vow to in a hidden chapel in the woods. But the man who once identified as Stephen has long been dead. Phen the servant of The Sisters was who he was forced to become. A strange idea came to his mind, “What if resurrection was possible?” At the end of the day Phen fell in lock-step to the nightly drone routine: Through the hallway, another cube, some water, and back to the drip station. Watching the neon green liquid drip, Phen was waiting for the heavy dose of drugs to once again numb his mind and stop his thoughts, but he felt nothing. He watched as the other drones around him fell quickly into a heavy stupor...Phen felt nothing. If anything, he squirmed in the red leather cot afraid the monitor would flash, that his inability to absorb the treatment would be found out. His mind was no longer deadened, but it was alive and active. A thought hit him, “The Letter ‘B’? What did that stamp on the capsules mean?” Once back in his bunk, the Tergamant officers stormed into the room, stun sticks at the ready. This time they were not looking for anyone, but instead the husky guard named Major said in a loud stern voice, “O.k. you stiffs, out of your bunks and form a straight line in the center of the room.” Each drone stood next to their bed waiting for their turn to join the single file row that was quickly forming. A large double-door was opened into the viewing room. The men were used to watching worker training movies here when new parts were to be introduced for inspection. But training happened in the day, during normal work hours. It was nearly 9:00 at night, and everyone knew no drone was to be awake past 9:15. The line of men shuffled slowly into the room where they were told to sit down; row upon row of concrete bleacher seating. A large screen in the front of the sterile white room was counting down from 5 minutes. After all the men were seated the guards exited the room, locking the large double-door behind them. When the clock struck zero a quick cloud of white gas was forced into the room. It contained a mild stimulant used to help take the edge off of the numbing Xenon drip the drones just received. The men were more attentive than usual. Each eye fixed upon the moving screen. As the picture focused on screen, Regina Rodgers, the chief operations manager and Gauleiter of the plant, was seated behind a large mahogany desk wearing a navy blue pant-suit, with hands folded in calm confidence. The camera panned directly to her large swollen face as she began reading a scripted message with a forced acidic smile, “Workers of unit 54, it has come to my attention we had a major disturbance in your dormitory a few days ago. Liam O’Malley, a man who has been on The Sister’s watchlist for repeated violations of our domestic and criminal codes, was apprehended in your bunkhouse for trying to transfer an unknown chemical substance through underground channels within the plant. Liam and two of the his contacts were all taken into custody in record time by our excellent Termagant squad, and immediately handed over to our facility's legal tribunal. 2 of our plant’s most accomplished Vitups have scheduled a formal trial that we will be streaming to you live within mere moments. Our objective is to show you how fair our justice system is, but also how swift and exact our punishment can be as well. Let Liam’s case serve as both an example of our benevolence and firmness of our nurturing hand.” The camera switched inside a small courtroom paneled in gaudy green marble. A judge was seated upon a large platform wearing a black robe and white powdered wig. Two metal tables were set up facing each other in the center of the room. A pudgy short bailiff wearing a Turgamant uniform of tan carried an ivory staff, banging it on the white tiled floor three times. She called for recognition of the sitting judge, “Her excellency the Judge Gloria Gentry presiding, enter her presence with the fear that is due her!” A door to the left opened and two stern faced women, dressed also in black robes, came slowly out. First they acknowledged the camera with a brief nod, and then they proceeded to the foot of the judge kneeling in submission. Heads bowed. A door to the right opened and three men were led out wearing white linen jump suits. Around their necks were chains each attached to the next man, arms cuffed behind their backs. They were led in front of the judge by two Termagant attendants insisting that they were not allowed to look directly into the judge's face. Another Termagant officer with a large stun stick swung the rod against the backside of each man's knee joint, dropping them immediately as they let out a stifled cry. The first man looked familiar to Phen. He had a shock of neatly trimmed red hair, the other men were rather indescript. Judge Gentry stood and started to berate the men with a stream of vitriolic curse words, "Liam O'Malley, Ona Thom, and Ory Stone, you all are garbage, nothing but garbage. Who do you think you are rebelling against the benevolant wisdom of the The Sisters? Your crime has come before me and it is apalling. You are accused of manufacturing a chemical blocker to counter the effects of our cleaning agents. You clearly meant to wreck the order of our society and this crime has the potential to foment rebellion in the mind of the docile drones. What say you in response to this?" As the Judge waited for a response, Phen wondered about the term 'blocker'? "That may be it? The answer?" Liam stood up and stared straight at the Judge. One officer hit him behind the knee again, screaming, "You must kneel and never look straight at her Excellency again. You will be punished for that insolence!" Liam didn't budge. His massive frame was like knocking over a pillar of stone. His eyes stayed upon the Judge, and spitting anger Liam blasted, "My name is William O'Malley. You are damn straight I was transferring blocking agents. You are turning men into mush, I cannot stomach it for another moment!" He rushed at the Judge in a fit of rage dragging the thin bodies of the two men by the neck. The camera feed blinked out. There was nothing but silence and static on the screen. Phen's eyes widened and mouth gaped open, "What just happened?" The other men remained stock still not reacting to anything they just saw. Phen looked around the room, they were all zombies, over-dosed on Xenon. Minds a blank slate. But not Phen, he saw everything, and too much. Quickly the screen blinked back on. A camera panned on three disembowled men, lying in the putrid fluid and bile of their open stomachs. The camera flipped back to Regina Rodgers, once again zoomed on her fat, and now flushed face. She was trying to gain composure. She made her speech to carry a controlled tempo. This was her final statement, "Workers of unit 54, justice has been served." The camera's didn't immediately switch off, and in the background Phen noticed fear and outrage building in her eyes. The camera finally shut off and the screen went black. Instantly a neon green cloud of gas seeped through the ventalation system which made the men drowsy to the point of barely being able to stand. 5 minutes later a platoon of Tergamant gaurds streamed in assisting the men to thier bunks, a few thinner framed men needed to be dragged. Phen walked vigorously back to his bunk on the strength of his own two strong legs. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Ara could hardly contain herself, wearing a white ribbon pinned to her lapel! She wanted to skip all the way home. She was unanimously selected by the review board for the Vitup class. Her pathway to success was being paved, she knew she was made of the right stuff. A half a block from her house, she noticed three black rovers parked in the street. A string of orange caution tape was draped along Dia's row of neatly trimmed hedges. What did this mean? A sick feeling in her stomach was growing, "I wonder if this has anything to do with Drew? It was only a ball?" Ten NWP agents coldly assessed Ara as she ducked under the orange tape. The front door was broken off the hinges, and then she saw her, Dia's twisted body and caved in skull lying in her own dried blood. Ara musn't scream, she also knew she could not ask any questions. Ara knew it was her fault. It was the price of becoming a Vitup.
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