Talented Individuals

One unbroken wall runs in a perfect circle around the encampment. Every twenty feet, movement-sensitive laser points are mounted on smooth, round nodules that protrude one foot away from the wall. It’s impenetrable. I know this because I have tried, on countless occasions, to cross it. I have now accepted that this high grey wall is the boundary of my world, and everything I do to help, must be done within it. The only way in or out is at the top of a tall, narrow tower in the middle of the compound. Deliveries of food, people, and medical supplies are brought in by drones or airships. Only twice have I seen people taken to live their lives on the outside.

~We will die here~ A21 says in my head, and I nod once in response. I’m leaning on the railings that define the exercise grounds, staring across the irrigated vegetable plots at the wall that has formed my horizon for the past five years. ~We can still help~ A21 adds, as she stops hovering and comes to rest on the railings beside me. Her three metalic legs extend to hug the bar delicately and the top half of her circular body swivels smoothly in the direction of the school.

I turn and look at the low, squat building that belongs to a mess of add-ons and unplanned link corridors. The familiar bell begins to toll from the speaker system and a squad of white-clad Guardians exit the building, marching JonasNB8 towards the podium. NB8 has been disabled, Jonas is carrying him in his arms and I can see tears glistening on his cheeks as he approaches the platform. He is already half dead. Despite everything he is walking tall, and I inwardly I salute him as I walk heavily across the exercise grounds to join the others, forming ranks to watch the execution.

Colonel Grays marches to the front of the stage as the Guardians come to a halt, their drones resting on top of their helmets, facing the condemned.

“Jonas, you were caught in an attempt to hack the scheduling systems of this school; this place of learning that has sheltered you for over eight years.” The remorseless negation of his second-self, NB8, sends a shiver of anger down my spine. “You, whose parents were known rebels, you who carry the blood of traitors in your veins, have turned traitor yourself. For this reason, I, on behalf of the Supreme Protector of Arras, sentence you to die.”

There is a soft humming noise as the Guardian drones charge their weapons. Jonas looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widen in horror. He starts forward and cries “Wait!” but the multiple-pulses cut his progress. His body falls to the ground with a metalic thud, his arms defiantly clutching the body of NB8 to his chest.

Colonel Grays had not even turned his head, but continued to study our faces throughout. My hands clench and unclench and I focus my energy on staying calm. ~Did you get what we needed from JonasNB8?~ I ask A21, as I watch the Guardians lift his body from the stage. ~No~ She replies.

“C-Squad, see to the body. The rest will sing the school song.”

My eyes follow C-Squad and JonasNB8 as they turn the corner towards the burial grounds. The speaker system strikes a solemn note and we begin to sing mechanically.

When famine came and sought to take

Our world and all our lives

Who brought the water that would take

Away our desperate cries?

Who built the walls to protect us

From those who would destroy?

The Supreme Protector of Arras

Brings hope and love and joy…

Our voices drone as my nails dig deeper into my palms. ~Is there anything we can do?~ I ask, as my lips move silently to the music. ~Always~ A21 responds.

A little less than an hour later I stand, alongside the others, with my back against the wall of the officer’s dining hall. Colonel Grays is standing in front of a high-backed chair, facing us across a table that’s set for dinner. He pours himself a glass of wine, smells it, tastes it, and puts it down. His white drone hovers silently just behind his head. I don’t know the name of his drone. Once promoted into military ranks, drone-identity becomes private, publicly replaced by a title.

“OsmanN47, KebraV51, and ArhaA21.” He says, “My usual suspects.”

We stare ahead and try not to meet his eyes. He’s a tall man, with short grey hair and a face that looks like it’s been carved from stone.

“Only three of you are left. A ragged bunch.” He begins, pulling a whole roasted chicken towards him. My empty stomach yawns. “A boy died today.” He continues, taking a sharp knife and slicing it smoothly down the centre, separating the rib cage with a stroke that sounds like a whisper. “He was the latest from your misguided pack. Anyone else would execute you all now and save themselves the bother of your relentless escape attempts. Do you know why I don’t?”

His question is met by thick silence.

“I’ll tell you why. It’s because I was appointed to make good, obedient citizens of you. That’s the challenge I was given, and like a good, obedient citizen, I accept my challenges and I do what I can to serve.” He grasps a leg on one side of the carcass and twists it away from the whole with a sickening crack. “I don’t do what I do because I enjoy it. I do what I do because it’s what needs to be done.” He emphasises the last words as he takes thin slices of white meat away from the breast. “You have a duty. You are all talented individuals, and the Supreme Protector sees value in talented individuals.” He drags the skin away from the crown, laying the succulent folds to one side. 

“OsmanN47, you might have noted the exact staggered times at which your Guardians change shifts, and exploited those times to attempt a break-out.” Here he inserts the tip of his knife into the cavity beneath the wing, and pops it out of it’s socket with a sucking crunch. “But if you put your strategic brain to better use you would find yourself making this planet a more efficient, productive place. You might even succeed in saving lives, instead of causing more executions.” He pauses to take a sip of wine. “KebraV51, I have never known a pupil to possess such powers of persuasive reasoning. No doubt the same persuasive reasoning that has convinced many less able-minded children to sacrifice themselves for your cause. Whatever that cause may be.” He says darkly, grasping the other leg and twisting it off in the same way as the first, with a cracking sound that echoes off the grey stone behind our heads. “ArhaA21,” He finally addresses me and I prepare myself. “I know you’re responsible for the stashes of very inventive weaponry we’ve found at various strategic points around the school. I don’t need to see your initials carved into the evidence to know your handiwork.”

Here he pauses, puts the knife down, wipes his hands on a cloth napkin and places both hands on the table, looking squarely at us all. “Your parents were not heroes. They were not rebels fighting a noble cause against an evil entity, they were criminals. There are many who would condemn the children of known terrorists, but the Supreme Protector believes, and I agree, that you deserve the chance to live lawful, useful lives of your own.” I focus on a spot above his silently hovering drone and clench my teeth. “I do not want to execute you, but by the power of the Supreme Protector himself, I will make you learn. Go now, and apply yourselves with better care from now on.”

We leave the room and direct our feet towards the irrigated vegetable plots, where we join our squad in uprooting potatoes. 

“I thought he was going to kill us.” OsmanN47 says, as N47 pulls at the head of a potato plant and he works on the muddy tubers underneath. “I’ve heard his drone has been upgraded to maximum, and can fire a death charge without making a sound.”

~We’re dead anyway~ Says A21 in my ear. ~Not yet~ I respond. “I don’t care how powerful his drone is, anyone who talks like that about my parents deserves to die.”

“ArhaA21, you can’t.” KebraV51 murmurs, “JonasNB8 didn’t get the information back to us. We don’t know when to strike.”

“Then we’ll have to guess.” I say savagely as A21 spins, sending mud flying in all directions. “Last time we planted bombs they were found before we had a chance to do anything with them. This time I’m taking a chance, and we’ll see who learns.”

“You’ll die.” Says OsmanN47 quietly, he’s looking at me now with his steady, brown eyes.

“Like JonasNB8?” I say, and he looks away. A Guardian walks past and we fall silent until they’re out of earshot. “At least if I do it, no one else will take the blame. He knows the weapons are mine, right?”

The other two glance at me, but say nothing.

Building a bomb or a gun here is difficult. Luckily my mother taught me how, but resources are in scarce supply. The first weapon I made was a potato gun, then I made seven more and our band made for the wall. One of us, HappyB10, got caught by a laser and died instantly. B10 hit the ground next to him, lights still on but responsive to no one. They disabled it quickly. We focused our guns on the Guardian drones, but they were so fast they pulsed our potatoes out of the air before they hit. Our own drones put up a good fight, but their G-grade power sequences barely stopped the Guardians’ attack. We were punished for two months. It wasn’t until after the fourth escape attempt, that the executions began.

I thought of them all that night as I crept to the detonation point, in the middle of the burial grounds next to Colonel Grays’ quarters. ~Is he in there?~ I ask A21. I have blacked over her lights so she’s invisible in the darkness. ~You know I can’t tell~ She responds ~But you can make it back~ She adds with a note of hope. The lights are on in the Colonel’s windows. I take a deep breath. A21 has the detonation sequence script saved in her memory, all she has to do is run it. ~Do it.~ I say. 

Barely a second later the first bomb goes off, then the second. Five in total and I’m thrown back into the hard, dry ground, my ears ringing. Then I hear A21 in my head. ~Run.~ 

It was a good plan and it could have worked, but it was always a long shot. 

On the exercise grounds the next morning, Colonel Grays addresses us from the podium. 

“Last night a bomb was set off just outside my room. This means that failed escape plans have evolved into assassination attempts.” I know he knows it was me, but he doesn’t look at me as he speaks. “Round up my usual suspects. No, actually I think I will try a new approach. Get five at random, and we’ll see if that doesn’t make you learn.”

My blood runs cold as I see the Guardians move into the ranks and drag a child from each of the squads. They scream and cry and struggle, and their drones send their desperate, weak pulses, fighting against injustice with the only weapons they have. My nails dig so deep this time that I feel blood trickling down to my knuckles. Colonel Grays leaves the platform and the Guardians charge their weapons.