Chapter 2: Ambition
Jack sunk into his chair, keeping his focus on a scratch mark on his desk. To anyone else looking, he would have simply appeared to be spacing out. But deep down, his mind was filled to the brim in debate.
In doubt.
Jack understood the possible implications of his movement. He understood how difficult it would be to turn the entire world into anarchy, and to remove the average person from the mindset that they could rely on others for their own safety. He worried that his fellow comrades were delusional, and that only he had a realistic understanding of what would come in future years if the People's Dawn were ever to crush the Illuminati.
By Jack's estimation, after consulting the best political scientists and statistical analysts, he guessed that around half a century later, the world could change into his dream. It would have been near impossible in previous generations, when technology was insufficient and the world was split into different nations. But even amidst the doubt and weariness, Jack felt in the core of his being that humanity was ready to make its first tentative steps into what could possibly be the first true global utopia.
He released his own tension and allowed his arms to hang out from the chair while his head rested on the back of his chair. He watched a fan above him as he contemplated the true meaning of the word revolution.
The door to his quarters slid open, and a young man walked into his room grinning brightly. His clothes were pressed and clean while his grin suggested something eccentric in his mindset. His hair was combed, almost gingerly, and his shoes captured the movements of the ceiling fan in its pitch black shine.
An immediate scowl of disapproval arrived from Jack, as he thought one word to himself.
Up-town.
"Who let you in here?"
As if by reply, Sam walked into the room with a rifle pointed downward in a casual position.
She smiled.
"You must be Ratiner. I don't think there is a single person on the net that doesn't know about you Mr. Ratiner," the boy said enthusiastically while initiating the usual pleasantries one normally gives to strangers.
Jack looked at the boy a second time, and then slowly brought his gaze to Sam.
"State your business," Jack sighed at the boy while tucking a pen away into his bottom drawer.
"I have come to serve you Jack. I have read your work from top to bottom…you have changed me Jack. For the better."
Jack's disapproval turned into curiosity. Normally anyone trying to join the People's Dawn would be contacted by an operative, then quietly smuggled into Lower Seattle. Why was this kid brought to Jack?
Jack brought Sam to the other side of the room.
"I've seen too many youths die from their ambition. You know how I feel about them…what is this? Revenge from the previous day?"
"Jack…he comes from a wealthy family. He wants to donate too."
Instantly Jack felt a rush of embarrassment. He could tell he hurt Sam's feelings out of his defensive nature.
"Right. Give him gear, keep him close enough to the battles that he has a good time, but make sure he doesn't see anything disturbing," Jack said while looking back to see if the new layman overheard anything, "remember, this is a war of words."
"And money."
Jack nodded, but his eyes looked apologetic. Sam sighed inaudibly out of both frustration and performance.
"May I join your fight for freedom sir?"
Jack felt ten years older.
Silence filled the room.
Positioned around a circular table, four figures sat in dark chairs. Their features were hidden behind poor lighting. The cherry oak table reflected the weak illumination back out into the room a few feet before darkness consumed it all.
The figures shifted uneasily, suspended in their darkness.
"Why have we been gathered here?"
"Shouldn't that be obvious by now, Mr. Masson?"
"Project CeTa should not be authorized by anyone at this point."
"My understanding of the situation is that the longer we keep this project off the market, the more money we wasting," spoke one of the members previously silent.
The room filled with the familiar silence of unanimous approval.
"How much longer before mass production?"
Now someone over an intercom.
"We're guessing, twenty-nine to thirty-two hours, based on previous experimentation."
One of the figures nodded slowly, while another began tapping a pen in anticipation of the next question -one that would inevitably follow.
"Who do you want to contact?"
