Silent Empire Read online

  Silent Empire:

  A Havenworld Novel

  Bard Constantine

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Help stop piracy. If you believe this novel was made available by illegal means, please report it to the author at http://bardwritesbooks.com

  Cover art by Stefan Prohaczka

  Edited by J. R. Wallington

  Published by BWB Publishing

  Other Books in the Havenworld Universe

  Havenworld

  The Troubleshooter: Four Shots

  The Troubleshooter: New Haven Blues

  The Troubleshooter: The Most Dangerous Dame

  Vigil: Knight in Cyber Armor

  Nimrod Squad

  Once upon a time I picked up a book entitled Fahrenheit 451 and discovered the magic of writing. It is only appropriate I dedicate this story to the memory of the Ray Bradbury, the man who put an indelible stamp upon a young man’s mind, altering his future forever.

  ~ Bard Constantine

  Steel clad giants whisper in their misery, groaning in barely audible murmurs.

  Secrets they have, knowledge of rising hopes and broken dreams.

  Ascend, they whisper; rise to the skyline and see

  See the true face of the city.

  ~Immortal Musings

  Chapter 1

  They live only in my dreams.

  The woman with autumn hair and laughing eyes along with the child who shares her features. I see them night after night, always the same scene. The moment is captured in my mind like a hummingbird in hand, beautiful and ever so fragile.

  It is breakfast time. The table and dinnerware are chipped and as threadbare as their clothing, but somehow that doesn’t matter. There is something precious there, something poverty cannot touch. It’s the light in her eyes as she gently pats her son’s cheek. It’s in his answering smile. Streams of light effuse through the blinds as though the sun shines harder for them, illuminating the room in saffron shades like a photograph dusted in gold.

  Yet the only thing I feel is fear…

  WA

  KE

  UP

  I open my eyes.

  My awakening activates the wall screen as it does every morning. The Smiling Man flickers to life and cheerfully begins the morning monologue.

  “Good morning, Citizen 4891. As you scrub your face and brush those teeth, take a moment and contemplate one of our most valuable principles: Silence is Golden. Just imagine what life would be like if every citizen were to suddenly converse without being directed? Imagine the complete chaos. Why, it would be impossible to—”

  I finish washing and open my closet. For a moment I take in the rows of identical charcoal gray work uniforms. Unbidden thoughts flicker across my mind; questions I know I have no right to ask.

  The same. Why are they always the same? Why does that bother me?

  I dismiss the intrusive thoughts and go to the kitchen. Questions are dangerous. I am reminded of that daily.

  The screen follows me across the walls like a shadow. The Smiling Man continues his jolly delivery down the hall and into the kitchen.

  “Remember, should you be approached by a stranger, report the incident immediately to your SVR or the nearest Dogman. Strangers are dangerous and not tolerated by our proud association of hardworking citizens. Should you not report an incident, you will be considered a traitor and summarily punished under the harshest penalty allowable by law. Should you be caught reading or in possession of any banned propaganda such as—”

  I listen while I eat until the morning report is finished. The work horn sounds exactly when my meal allotment time ends. I put my jacket on and walk out into the smog-choked outdoors and join the others in the labor line.

  The men appear to be the same person; row upon row of identical faces. Citizens aren’t meant to be distinguishable. The Sovereign Empire reminds us that individuality is the highest arrogance, the spark of chaos that infected the world during the time of unrest and violence.

  So although our skin tones and facial features are different, we share the same subservient gaze, posture, and gait that indicate our willingness to serve our Empire. Faces downcast, shoulders slumped, and slow, deliberate steps.

  The line stalls ahead of me. The citizen directly in front raises a hand with his little finger extended to indicate there is a temporary delay ahead. I repeat the gesture so it continues down the lines and eliminates any chance of misinformation or confusion.

  “What do you think is happening?”

  I glance behind me. The citizen who spoke in a hushed voice gazes at me with steely eyes. I have never seen him before. His face is unlined and without the dejected look I’m accustomed to. His blond hair is free of gray, an oddity for a working citizen. I assume he is a new recruit. That being the case, I share Standard Operating Directive #1.

  “When waiting upon a delay to clear, all citizens are to remain silent and wait patiently.”

  “And when oppressed, all citizens are to make their voices heard.” The man’s voice is carefully pitched, his mouth barely moves and his eyes stayed downcast. I am sure I am the only one who can hear him.

  I take another look back. Something seems to be wrong with the man’s mouth. It keeps curving upward. There is something familiar about that aberration…

  “Aren’t you interested in what’s going on?” he asks.

  I face forward. “It is none of our concern. Be silent before you draw attention to yourself.”

  The citizen in front raises his hand again, this time waving it forward once. I repeat the gesture as the line resumes. As we advance, I see what the disturbance is.

  The Dogmen are assaulting someone. They too are identical; men in black suits with the heads of slavering dogs.

  The sound of meat being pounded is clearly audible as the line silently passes. The citizens do not even stir. There is nothing new to see, nothing that doesn’t occur on a daily basis.

  For some reason I cannot emulate their obliviousness. My eyes betray me, fixating on the scene as though photographing it for later evaluation.

  Several Dogmen strike repeatedly, raining blows on a defenseless citizen. Their bestial faces snarl as their all-too-intelligent eyes glimmer with delight in their brutality.

  Blood already streams from the man’s nose and mouth as he rocks back and forth, moaning from the fury of their merciless fists. White placards with bold red lettering flutter around them like startled pigeons. I try to make out the words, but the cards fall too quickly; dying moths that flutter to the ground and are trampled by shuffling boots.

  As the Dogmen continue to batter the man senseless, a SVR in a black uniform stands a few paces away, declaring the crime.

  “This ‘citizen’ has been found guilty of felony charges for possessing and distributing unlawful paraphernalia banned under topic 138 of the Behavior Code. Also, this ‘citizen’ is found guilty of treason for interaction with strangers; terrorists whose aim is to disrupt and spread chaos and seeds of dissent among our united brothers.”

  The accused finally drops, hitting the ground like a sack full of busted potatoes. The Dogmen growl as they unceremoniously drag him toward a waiting prison van.

  One of them looks around and
snarls. His voice is thick and inhuman.

  “Why is this line disrupted? SVRs, get your units back into order now!”

  I look behind. The lines are in chaos. Citizens wander confusedly, uncertain of where to go. SVRs frantically run among them, trying to restore order under the impatient eyes of the Dogmen, who snarl orders as they roughly seize wandering citizens.

  “Quickly, now’s our chance.”

  The new man takes me by the arm and leads me to the crime scene. I open my mouth to protest, but stop as I realize the danger. If the Dogmen turn and see us…

  “So this is what the fuss is about.”

  I look down. The placards are strewn across the ground. Every ounce of reasoning tells me to turn away and rejoin the line as quickly as possible.

  Bizarrely enough, I ignore it.

  My hand reaches down of its own accord. I lift the placard to my face. The message printed in large crimson letters is short and direct.

  WA

  KE

  UP

  “Ok, come on.”

  My senses return with a jolt. The rush of fear and adrenaline nearly cause my knees to buckle. My traitorous hand stuffs the card into the pocket of my coveralls as we quickly return to the line just as the SVRs and Dogmen regain a semblance of order.

  The new man chuckles softly. “I guess I should have repeated the gesture to move.”

  I almost stumble. “You didn’t—?”

  “All it takes is the smallest disruption to create disorder in the machine. Remember that.”

  We fall silent as the Dogmen stalk by, staring savagely at the lines. My mind turns like the gears of the machines I maintain at work every day. If I heard correctly then this man has caused the chaos on purpose. Which makes it my responsibility to report the incident. The Dogmen are right there, almost in my face…

  My mouth will not work along with my mind. I remain silent as the Dogmen pass.

  What is wrong with me?

  “I’m not sure what happened here.” The lead Dogman glares at the lines. “But it had better not happen again. Now move it!”

  The lines advance, orderly and in unison once more. Other lines join us, moving like ants toward our destination.

  The Industrial Center.

  The buildings loom high above us, belching smoke and ash that expel a constant layer of heavy smog over The City. The towers cast heavy shadows over the worker lines, smothering us with almost audible insistence.

  Obey, the buildings seem to whisper. Obey, obey, obey…

  The Manager intones over the loudspeakers, uttering the Workman’s Maxim.

  “It is a privilege to serve for the glory of the Sovereign Empire. Every citizen owes the Sovereign their allegiance, their support, and most importantly, their silence. All hail the glory of the Sovereign Empire.”

  As the Dog of War image displays on towering screens and the national anthem blares, every citizen places fist to heart in silent submission to the glory of the Sovereign.

  Once the anthem ends, we immediately stride to our workstations. As I advance, I hear the voice of the man behind me.

  “We’ll be in touch, Franklin.”

  I stop cold. Something about that word tickles my consciousness. “Excuse me…?”

  “It’s your name.” The man never breaks his stride. “We all have one. My name is Jack. Keep moving, Franklin. You’ll be contacted soon.”

  Jack is quickly swallowed by the shifting crowd. I move as though in a dream. I know what is wrong with his mouth now. I remember.

  It is a smile. Not a forged mockery like the Smiling Man, but a genuine one—full of warmth and actual emotion.

  I cannot recall the last time I have seen that.

  Chapter 2

  Streams of light effuse through the blinds as though the sun shines harder for them, illuminating the room in saffron shades like a photograph dusted in gold.

  Yet the only thing I feel is fear.

  For I know what happens next: the booming sound at the door that rattles the hinges, the look of animal fear in her eyes. Her hair swings as she protectively clutches her son, the child who now wears a mask of fear instead of a face.

  The door splinters inward, and I see their twisted, inhuman faces. The suited figures snarl, delighting in her screams. She pulls her son away from the table, disrupting the tablecloth. A mug of coffee slides across and falls to the floor.

  The pottery shatters. Warm liquid pools across the tiles…

  WA

  KE

  UP

  When I open my eyes I immediately know something is wrong. The Smiling Man is activated as normal, but his cheerful delivery is completely mute. His mouth moves, but the words are not audible. I panic, thinking my hearing has somehow been damaged.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  My heart climbs to my throat at the sound of the voice. Jack sits in the corner on my stool with the same hint of a smile on his lips.

  “What…what are you doing here? What did you do to the screen?”

  His smile broadens. “I shut it up. Isn’t it amazing? Listen. You can actually hear your thoughts.”

  I don’t want to listen. I risk a peek outside my narrow window. No one is in sight. No black vans or dog-faced suits striding out to kick my door in.

  “I don’t know how you got in here, but you’re putting me at risk. If the Dogmen find out…”

  “The Dogmen.” Jack’s voice is scornful. “Intimidators, nothing more. If they have an original thought between the lot of them I’d be surprised. I’ll let you in on a little secret about the Dogmen.” He leans in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “They don’t exist.”

  “What…?”

  “Not the way you think. It’s an illusion.” Jack gestures with a magician’s flourish. “Like this city. Tell me, Franklin, do you know the day and year right now?”

  I frown at the question. Something flickers across my mind like phantom lightning, but the thought quickly fizzles out.

  He tilts his head curiously. “When was the last time anyone mentioned the date, Franklin?”

  “Don’t call me that.” I take another look at the empty streets. The Smiling Man continues his silent delivery, oblivious to the traitorous discussion.

  Jack seems to read my thoughts. “Don’t worry about the screen. It can’t see us. Costs too much to manage that kind of surveillance. Illusion, I tell you. You’ve been tangled in a web of lies, Franklin. But now it’s time to wake up.”

  Wake Up. The words pop up in my mind in bold letters, just like on the placard. It can’t be coincidence. I shrink away from Jack. “You’re…you’re one of them.” I remove the placard from my jacket on the bed and hurl it at him. “One of those…terrorists.”

  He watches amusedly as the card flutters to the floor. “If that’s so, then you had better turn me in. You know what to do.”

  I glance at the red button on the wall. All it will take is a simple depression, and I’ll be linked directly to the authorities. It can all be over, my life can return to normalcy.

  Moments tick by. Each second is an eternity.

  Jack’s smile illuminates his face. “Can’t do it, can you? Do you know why?”

  “I don’t…want to get caught up. I don’t want any trouble.”

  He leans forward as his tone becomes serious. “You want a way out, Franklin. You’ve been fighting it. The control they exert. With their propaganda, the hypnotic suggestion in the morning delivery, even the sedatives in the food they force into you. They can do all of that, Franklin. But they can’t have your mind. Not if you refuse to allow it.”

  He tilts his head again, as if listening to something. “Get dressed, Franklin. They’re coming for you.”

  I dress automatically, even as my heart tries to escape my chest. “Who? Who’s coming for me?”

  “Listen. They will tickle your ears with feathers and feed you honeyed lies, but when you look into their eyes you’ll know the truth. Fight them, Franklin. Not with your fist
s but with your mind. You can’t let them have you.” He stands up and approaches the hallway. “You’re too important.”

  He dashes forward. I hear his feet on the steps and the sound of the door open and shut. I follow as quickly as I can.

  No one is visible by the time I open the door. Identical buildings sit side by side as far as the eye can see. No one walks the streets, no vehicles roll by.

  Of course not. It isn’t time yet.

  I close the door.

  Mad, I’m going mad…

  The sound of tires abusing asphalt streets becomes distinctly audible. I know the sound like I know the sound of my voice.

  They’re coming for you.

  I want to run, to escape. The need pulls at me, fuels my veins with fire, with the singular desire to flee. But I’ve seen what happens to runners. There is no haven, no place to go for escape. There is only the dread of anticipation, the cold sweat that trickles down my face.

  I do nothing but wait as the wheels squeal to a halt outside my building. The heavy tread of large bodies draws nearer.

  I can’t take it. Not the ominous thump that rattles the hinges. Not the door crashing inward from the weight of their kicks. Not her screams ringing in my ears…

  My hand moves of its own accord once again. It turns the handle and opens the door before they reach it. The Dogmen hesitate for just a second. Up close they are so large…

  The moment passes. Something in my midsection explodes when the lead Dogman punches me in the stomach. His rumbling growl vibrates in my ear; his rank breath radiates and paints my face with its stench.

  His other gloved hand seizes me by my throat and easily lifts me from the floor. My feet dangle as I gurgle helplessly. His fingers are steel pinchers, cutting off my oxygen with humiliating ease.

  “Easy, Butcher. We don’t want any permanent damage.”

  The voice is feminine, so human that I crane my neck to look despite my precarious situation. My view is disturbed when Butcher releases his grip and hurls me across the floor. The drywall finally stops my flight with a crunch like breaking bones.