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Enjoy!
When I wake up I momentarily don't recognize the room where I fell asleep, and so I startle myself wide awake as soon as I open my eyes. It does not become better when I see my hand laying next to my head on the pillow, now small and unblemished from my time on the battlefield, and realize that the happenings of yesterday was not a dream. And still isn't.
I do not waste any time to dwell over this, however. I have an objective.
In minutes I am dressed. Slacks. A button down. Shoes that are a size too big, but I put them on. There's no reason for me to catch tetanus from stepping on debris the soldiers bring in under their boots.
I head straight for the door leading out of my father's private quarters. I don't know what time it is yet, but I can deduce that it is still early morning judging by the light coming in through the windows.
I find it strange that I slept for this long, and once more I question whether my father did put something in my food last night.
I make it to the door leading to the rest of the base without passing anyone, which I should find strange, but I don't think about it until I reach for the door knob
and it opens.
Father almost walks into me, and I reverse my steps to retreat back into the hall.
"Oh!", he exclaims. He's surprised. And is wearing a wife beater tank top, as well as gym shorts. He smells of sweat. He had a towel slung over his shoulders.
It does not take a genius to understand that he has been working out.
He quickly shakes off the small element of surprise and smiles at me. That smile; like he's looking at the cute puppy he's brought home. The constant scowl I wore all of yesterday replants itself between my eyebrows.
"You're up already?", he asks as he steps inside.
Two of his guards follow. One stepping around him to enter the quarters while the other remains by father's flank.
"I went to sleep at half past seven yesterday evening. How many hours did you expect me to sleep?", I deadpan.
He considers it, then shrugs. Wipes at his forehead with the towel around his neck.
"Were you going somewhere?", he asks.
I try not to hesitate, but it still takes a beat for me to answer.
"Yes", I say.
He doesn't remain in the door, though. Instead he steps around me and heads towards his rooms. This confuses me.
"Have you eaten yet?", he asks.
I blink.
"No."
He looks over his shoulder.
"So you won't have breakfast before you go?", he asks.
"No...", I say.
He's amused at my confusion. My uncertainty at answering his innocent questions.
He holds me with his gaze for a moment too long to be completely innocent, however, but when he finally looks away all he says is:
"Just don't run around bothering anyone", and he walks off, presumably to shower before he himself has breakfast.
I take it as my queue to leave.
I try to make my way to my quarters as swift as possible, but refrain from sprinting. There is no reason to attract more attention than I already am.
To the soldiers charging, it wasn't every day you saw a well dressed, well fed child walk through the halls of headquarters. It wasn't every day you saw one of those anywhere.
Quite a few head turned as I marched past groups of soldiers lingering in the hallways, but no one bothered to address me.
Which I have to admit felt strange.
No salutes. Not as much as a straightened posture.
They were focused on other things.
Whispering.
My soldiers had, by extension, commited treason alongside with me. But they were still soldiers. And as many soldiers my father had at his own disposal you didn't switch out an entire base all willy nilly. There were still tasks to perform. This base was still the main organ of sector 45, and its base functions were still required; even if the sector was in the smoldering remnants of a failed uprising.
My father was undoubtedly to rehabilitate my soldiers. And remove anyone who remained rebellious.
The fact that they do not pay attention to me doesn't bother me, however. I do not know what I would answer to their questions.
That I am some unknown younger brother of their commander? A cousin might be more plausible, however. At the very least they wouldn't question the uncanny resemblance.
I reach my quarters and realize my first problem:
I don't have my keycard.
A surmountable obstacle. I lift my hand to punch in the backup code. The tip of my index finger hovers slightly above it. And at first I don't understand. Then I realize it.
I don't remember the code to my own quarters.
Think, you idiot! I tell myself. But it's like staring at a blank page.
In a moment of imagined intellect I lean down and try to distinguish any fingerprints. Because maybe seeing which numbers that were used would jog my memory.
I stand there bent over, trying to catch the light at a better angle, for too many seconds before admitting to myself that there is nothing to be seen. The buttons are clean. As if wiped.
Of course there were no markings! I have been wearing gloves for the last two months.
Realizing my own idiocy I curse under my breath. But I have enough self composure to not kick my door.
I take a moment to think. The cleaners are due in a few hours. There must be a way for me to get inside during their rounds.
Unless my father has already dismissed that service.
Still, there are bound to be key cards that are still active to my quarters.
So I turn on my heel and go back the way I came from.
I head towards the staff quarters. Or, what I think is towards the staff quarters.
It's when I reach a crossroad of four corridors that I come to a halt. I look left. I look right. I look forward.
After a too long beat I even look back the way I came from.
I notice how I am chewing my lip.
This can't be happening… I insist.
"Excuse me?"
I whip around so fast I am surprised I don't get whiplash.
Delalieu has just come around the corner of one corridor. And I don't think I've been happier to see the old man.
"Delalieu!", I say.
He blinks. Confused that I, this random lost looking child, know his name. Then all the color is drained from his face.
His hand flies up to feebly support his balance against the wall and for a second I'm worried I have given him a stroke.
"S-sir?", he stammers.
"Yes, it is me", I confirm despite the recognition that grows as his eyes dart up and down my frame.
"Now, I need you to open my office door."
"Pardon?", he says.
"Your keycard still unlocks my quarters, or am I mistaken?", I say and make a hither motion towards my office.
I'm pretty sure Delalieu stumbles a little as he follows me.
"Sir? Sir…!"
"Lieutenant?", I reply, pretending to not understand the concern in his voice.
"The Supreme…", he starts but falters.
"If you are worried about my father I can inform you that he showed no interest in where I went. He probably already know that I am here considering that it would incredibly naïve to think I wouldn't come here. Now unlock this door!"
I turn and he is still just staring at me. And I suddenly feel bad for snapping.
"Please", I add.
He blows air through his moustache, but fumbles around his pockets before pulling out the white card.
I am tearing the door open the moment Delalieu taps it against the device and I hear the click of the mechanism.
First thing I notice is that they have stripped my bed. It just the white mattress left.
Now, I do not hold much sentimentality for my bed linen. However, it makes me ponder the state of my closet. Nothing in there would fit me in my current state; except for the scarfs.
Out of curiosity I walk up to the wall, push the button as many times before and look inside. I am relieved to see that it is untouched, but I withdraw as quickly as I entered. I have an objective.
I haven't stepped four steps before Delalieu calls out for me again.
Is he still here?, I ask myself.
"Sir."
"I'm do not require further of your assistance, lieutenant, you may return to your duties", I say as I head towards my office.
He follows me.
"Sir, you don't actually have pe-permission to enter these quarters anymore… much less remain h-here unattended..."
I turn and look at him.
He gathers his courage.
"You're not commander of th-this sector anymore. Therefore I-I cannot leave you alone i-in this room."
"Yet you still call me Sir", I point out.
It wasn't meant to appraise him, but I am met with a wave of discomfort and shame from the older man.
"Any news of my successor?", I ask, referring to the title of colonel.
He shakes his head.
"N-not that I know off. Your father is the one currently o-overseeing your assignments."
"Well, you are free to stay at your leisure, lieutenant. I won't stop you", I say and turn back to what I came to do: find my computer.
They have left my office intact for some reason. The bookcase is as ready to explode as a week ago. And surely enough, my laptop is laying in the cupboard where I left it.
I bring the laptop to sit on top of the desk, activate the built in induction plate and open the lid.
As expected the facial recognition blares red in the corner of the display as soon as the terminal initiates.
It's when the password window show up that the worried feelings from before stir in my stomach.
My fingers do not fly to unlock my computer.
There is a fleeting memory of a routine using primary number encryption, but which number I had picked or what word I had started of with…
Like a blank page
"Sir?", Delalieu says. Again with the Sir.
I realize I've been staring at the screen without typing anything for too long.
"I need you to log into the database from my computer", I say.
"P-pardon?"
"What for?", he asks.
"Because I need to access classified information. Just put in your password."
He blanches for the second time that morning.
Uncertainty. Guilt. But mostly fear shifts in him as he contemplates the request. His eyes meet the floor.
"I'm afraid I c-cannot do that...", he finally tells me.
"Delalieu", I start, but he interrupts me.
"No, t-that is where I d-draw the line…!"
We are both shocked at the outburst. Him more so than me.
I realize I am scowling at him. My hands are gripping the edge of my desk too tightly.
I realize I am on the edge of throwing a fit. Because my lieutenant won't sign me into a database.
I almost want to stomp my foot, just to relieve some tension.
I do not do that.
Instead I close my eyes and inhale. Exhale. What is happening to me?
"Forgive me...", Delalieu says quietly. He's ashamed, probably thinking he is the source of my frustration.
"No", I say as I sit down in my old office chair. It has never felt so big before.
"I am the one who should apologize. You are only following protocol..."
I thought he would be comforted, but the lieutenant becomes more uncertain.
We are not used to this. To me admitting any wrongdoings. Much less apologizing to him.
"D-don't get me wrong, sir, I w-would love to assist you. However, I believe you do not realize that you risk making ma-matters worse for yourself…"
I actually scoff.
"In what way can it become worse than it already is?", I ask him.
He doesn't offer me a reply. Instead he just looks sad.
"I am wondering though, were you aware of... this...", I say.
He looks, if possible, sadder.
"When your father informed me of his p-plan of action it had already been set into motion. Not that it would have made much d-difference if I had tried to object…", he tells me.
And as insane as this scenario is I can still understand where the old man is coming from. To defy my father, even as subtle as to give a suggestion, does rarely result in anything else than death.
And as little help as the lieutenant may offer it's better than him being dead. And to be honest, I'm glad I'm not facing this completely on my own.
I tuck my computer under my arm despite Delalieu's meek attempts at making me leave it.
And despite the lack of agreement from me he picks out a handful of books from my bookcase.
Once again no one addresses me as we make our way back to the Supreme wing, but the soldiers salute Delalieu as he walks past. I feel their eyes linger on me this time around, though. A fleeting feeling of recognition. But not knowing from where.
I have never noticed it, but the soldiers are not as tense with Delalieu as with me. Their posture is not as straight. Their siryessir not as clipped.
My father would say it's a lack of discipline. He would have had them whipped.
Or maybe not whipped. That's something he reserves for his special little darlings. He would have them waterboarded or something of the like.
I think it's a lack of fear.
Most likely they think he's just a nice old man who's in a position that forces him to do unpleasant things.
Which isn't not true.
When we reach the Supreme wing there is a guard posted outside, as per protocol.
I don't actually want to return here so soon, but there isn't much else I can do without arousing unnecessary attention. And Delalieu wouldn't leave me in my gym on my own.
"G-good day", Delalieu greets him.
"Lieutenant", the guard says and opens the door for me.
Meanwhile Delalieu turns to me to hand over the pile of books.
"Now, i-if you run out you c-can just c-come find me", he tells me. A promise of letting me into my old quarters if I want to.
Then suddenly, without warning, both Delalieu and I and ushered in through the door.
And before either of us can protest the door closes behind us and in front of us my father appears from around the corner.
"Ah, Delalieu!", father declares, as if he had been waiting for the Lieutenant. Or like they were actually old friends who hadn't seen each other in a while.
Like they weren't two men at completely different ends of my late mother.
Delalieu almost drops my books as he brings his hand up in salute.
"S-sir, Supreme Commander, sir!"
"At ease, lieutenant", my father muses; making Delalieu drop his hand.
"How are things?", he asks.
"They-they-they are m-manageable, sir."
What these they things are, I don't know. And it annoys me that they are discussing something right in front of me. Like I am an actual child who will not catch onto the words that they are sending over my head.
"Now, if that changes you make sure to inform me so that reinforcements may be put in place."
"Yes, of course, sir Supreme Commander, s-sir..."
We both think that is the end of the conversation. That father will unhook his claws from the poor lieutenant and let him be on his way.
Instead:
"Stay for a cup of coffee?", father asks as Delalieu hands me the books.
His hand slips and almost drops them again. I can feel the rush of fear and panic spiking through him.
"I really sh-shouldn't. I-I still have tasks to-to perform, s-sir Supreme..."
"Now, I insist", father says sweetly and gestures for the sitting room.
"You still like those fig biscuits, don't you? Shavin, sent some."
He turns to me.
"Go leave those in your room then come back", he instructs me, referencing to the books. "There's some bagels in the kitchen for you. Because you haven't eaten yet have you?", he asks and nicks me under the chin as he walks past.
And I watch, helplessly, as Delalieu is guided into the belly of the beast.