Maze of Mendacity

By Cobra Commander

Authors' Note: All characters are herein fictional and are not meant to depict any real known persons.

Chapter One: Background of Warrant

When I was born, it was in the Warrant VI Hospital. I thought that there had always been more than one, but that's what it was called. Of course, I had never been to the surface, so I couldn't exactly say what was up there. The guards that were on duty, however, told me that it was a very harsh place; that the environment was a wasteland. They said that the severe storms had killed thousands of colonists when they had arrived, and that it was much safer under the ground.

Sure, the whole place was small, but it didn't bother me too much. When I think about it, though, I can never remember anyone having a problem with it. You'd think that when a few thousand people were living in this confined labyrinth it'd drive someone crazy. But no, there was not one claustrophobic in the entire colony.

We were proud of our heritage. The settlers who had dug the caves were from the early 2300's. They came in broken-down vessels from Earth to escape the wrath of the Union. Though it was not a complete escape, the settlers were still happy. They were living under guidance from the Confederacy – and the Confederacy was this great empire who stood for justice and truth – and that's who helped them build the network.

The mining sites weren't dangerous at all; there were no Protoss anywhere on Warrant VI. And even if you felt a little unsafe, the Epsilon Squadron soldiers were there to protect you. They were from the Confederacy, so we treated them with the greatest respect.

My father had told me that some things were a bit skewed; he said that the Confederacy had done some bad things, and that one of their head generals (General Duke, if I remember correctly) was a terrible man. Now, I had always known my father to be a very wise and reasonable person, but when he told me this, I could only laugh. I thought he was just pulling my leg, but he sneered at me and turned his back. He was older then; about seventy or so. But he told me again while he was dying in the hospital. I didn't laugh that time, I didn't laugh at all. I told him that I believed him; that I would confront the Confederacy for their crimes and try to get a few people in jail, or at least expose the truth.

That never happened. He died that night and I just sat there holding his hand, realizing that the last words I had told him were a lie. He smiled at me before his eyes closed, and at first I thought he was proud. But ever since then, I had this vibe that went through me, and it was his voice saying, "It's okay, Thad, you don't have to try to make me happy." He was a good man. I always feel like I let him down.

I remember a few months later when I went to visit my mother for our regular weekly lunch date. She was still upset, but she managed to keep a brave face on things. She was smiling and laughing, telling me all these stories about dad – the ones I had heard a thousand times – and pausing every now and then to take in the fact that he was finally gone. I asked her what dad was talking about when he said that the Confederacy had done bad things. Her laughing stopped, and she shut down, just staring at the food that had been put in front of her. I rarely ever saw her like this.

And I remember saying, "Mom, I just need to know. I've trusted the Confederates ever since I was born. You can at least tell me what dad meant, even if it was a lie." When I had finished that sentence, her head snapped up; her eyes meeting mine. She wasn't sad; no, she had a flaming rage in her eyes.

"You're father never lied," she said slowly. The coldness in her voice shocked me, and she got up right then and there and went home. I tried to call her and apologize, but she never answered. I would go to her house, but she'd lock the doors. Sometimes when I would come over she'd just stand by the window, looking at me and shaking her head.

I even sent Lauren over there a few times, but my mother turned her away, too. It was like she didn't want to see me ever again. But it wasn't good enough for me. I had never lost faith in my father; I just wanted to know the truth. She just kept shutting me out. I wouldn't let her, though. I wasn't about to let her die without talking to me again. I needed to tell her one thing: "I'm sorry."

But I never got that chance. Her neighbor, George, was mowing his lawn when he noticed the front door was open, and that a hand was reaching out from it. He ran over and found her lying on the ground. She had a heart attack.

The graveyard was far off from the small town and the mining sites. They had to, because people never thought of a funeral as a bright thing, so it was secluded from the bright overhead lights that were attached to the underside of the surface. They lowered her into the ground, and that's when I knew what the truth was.

My father was a liar.

Things are hard to swallow. Things that should have stayed the same are prone to change. But it didn't matter, what was done was done. Lauren had always told me that my father was probably right, that they had some criminal activity. But I knew it was a ploy to make me feel better, so I paid no attention. I never told her that, though, because I couldn't imagine refusing all the love she was giving me. I realized how much I had put her through, so I never thought to tell her to stop telling me things I wanted to hear.

Maybe I was brainwashed or just stupid. I heard somewhere that ignorance is bliss. Maybe I read it. Either way, some great Confederate leader had said that, and I was going to follow. I didn't want to imagine that the government body I trusted my life as well as my wife's was capable of hurting innocent people.

Our house was small, but so was everyone else's. For the most part, at least. It really depended on how many people lived in your house. Since it was just Lauren and I, we had the smallest type of home. That was okay, we liked it. It was a cute little house, and she decorated it perfectly. I kept the lawn in great shape, or at least I tried. Those beaming overhead lights sometimes fried the grass.

In back we had a tiny little garden and a view of the city. Sometimes I forget what it was called, because most everybody just called it "the city." But when they dimmed the lights overhead for people to rest, the city glowed magnificently. It was this sedative that made me forget about all the problems I had had recently.

I was a fortunate one, though, because I didn't have to work as a miner. I worked in the armory, creating better plates for protecting the troops. It was a titanium mill, and all I had to do was put the metal in the furnace, take it out, put it in the mold, and ship it to the next guy. A lot of people would have said it was tedious, but I could do it for hours without thinking about it.

Besides, it's not like I worked alone. I had my friends there with me; Lee and Steroc were there with me at the furnace, and Redman came by every hour to pick up what we had finished. And every other day Barkley came to check on the furnace. I worked an eight hour shift, and I'd go straight home every day. I usually beat my wife by an hour or so, for the corporation she worked at didn't close as early as the mill.

I was envious of her; every day she got to go into the city and be among the important business people. Sure, there weren't a whole lot of them, but it still fascinated me. She said that the city wasn't all that great and that I wasn't missing out on anything, but I thought that, too, was something I just "wanted to hear."

For the most part, people were miners. Even old George was a miner, and he had been since he graduated high school. And all those business people? They were brokers and traders of the minerals that were found at the sites. Maybe that's why I wasn't missing out on anything.

Even the other day I remember Steroc stopping his work, resting on the shovel that he was using to feed the furnace. He wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at me.

"There's got to be something up there," he said. At that moment I didn't know what he meant. We all knew that the second level of the mill was assembly. He snapped at us. "No, not that, you idiots. I mean on the surface. What's up there? I'd give just about anything to see."

"Why?" asked Lee. "It's just storms. Nothing but wind and rain."

"Have you ever seen rain, Lee?" he asked. I shut the mold and left it that way. I had never heard the wind, if it really did make a sound.

That drove me wild and fascinated me more than the city ever had. What was on the surface? Why were we being kept down here? Why couldn't we leave? And once I found that the answers would not be in that mill, I knew that my father had told me the truth.