The Third Son

[simison]

Towering above Paul at six and half feet, Commander Naro had always cut an impressive figure. It was rumoured that the only way the Commander knew how to relax was to spend hours at the gym. Yet, for all of his physical aptitude, Naro had never managed to be promoted into the fleet. Although he had never expressed his frustration to his superiors, it had become an open secret that Naro expended his rage in a different direction.

 

"Watters, I have a report that several of your own subordinates are planning to desert!" The man shouted.

 

Paul seethed within. With morale so low, Paul wouldn't be surprised that every unit was looking at a few desertions. After all, the Army was where the military dumped its mistakes, its incompetents, and its embarrassments. The sole reason the Ovlast garrison was a quality higher than the rest of the ground forces was because the directors lived here. 

[simison]

"Sir, I'll verify the reports as soon as I have returned to my post," Paul replied as he stared straight ahead, acutely aware that the other officers were filing out.

 

"I want those reports ASAP! And, if there are any riots in your section, I expect you to personally lead counter efforts to maintain the peace!" 

 

Paul couldn't help but notice the Directors were still here. "Yes, sir!"

 

"And furthermore -!"

 

"Commander Naro," a third voice interrupted.

 

The big man whirled around as he came to the position of attention. Before the commander stood the elderly Captain Dumas. With greying hair, the captain said, "I would suggest that we not waste any more of the Directors' time. This is a conversation better suited elsewhere."

 

Paul could imagine Naro's veins bulging, but the commander merely snapped a crisp salute. "Yes, sir!"

 

Yet, as Naro turned his attention to issue another order, Paul saw Dumas glance at him. "In fact, I would like to begin my review starting with your assignment, commander. If you would accompany me. Dismissed, lieutenant commander." Without allowing Naro to get in another word, Dumas led his subordinate away from Paul to one of the two exits.

 

Pledging eternal gratitude to the captain, Paul darted toward the other exit.

[simison]

As the door closed behind the last officer, Director Chukhay sighed and sunk into his seat. He could already imagine the content of the reports which would soon be streaming in. Riots would be the least of their problems. The Night Service had been keeping an eye on several different rebel and separatist factions that existed, even here on Balov. Most of them were nothing more than a few dozen individuals who powerlessly spit in the eyes of the Alliance behind closed doors. Only one or two had weapons of any kind, mostly small arms. Against his compatriot's desires, Chukhay had instructed the Night Service to observe and only ensure that these groups did not grow too large. Better to know where the enemy was instead of smashing them and driving them deeper into the shadows. 

 

What had seem wisdom in peace was now foolishness in war. Just as this alien commander had broken the back of the Alliance's fleet, he had broken the Director's control over Balov itself. Chukhay would not be surprised if the largest rebel group, a band that obnoxiously called themselves the Path to Prosperity, would be able to seize the city of Mosoch before the end of the day. How fragile our power looks now. 

[simison]

Kravchuk slammed his fist onto the table as he swore. "How does this alien know about Afanisy!?"

 

Chukhay glanced at the empty third seat. "Perhaps they plucked it from our minds," he mused.

 

"This is not the time, Varlam! There's a leak in our intelligence, and it must be purged!" 

 

Throwing a look of annoyance at his comrade, Chukhay countered, "With what proof? The aliens have only been in our system for less than twenty-four hours. If you want a serious conjecture, may I remind you of their advanced technology? Would any of our digital defences be able to keep them out?"

[simison]

"There must be some trace then! Unless our intelligence is secured, we have no hope of holding Balov against this invaders," Kravchuk said. "We did not come this far only for everything to be taken away from us!"

 

Chukhay couldn't help but share his compatriot's frustration on that note. Decades of work to secure his position and legacy, all erased in the span of a day. But he was no fool. The war was already lost. He wasn't sure why this alien was offering a three-day respite, but the outcome was not in doubt. It was a truth that seemed to elude Kravchuk. "Fine, then. Do a sweep with and through the Night Service. I'll be retiring to my home for the day." 

 

A look of disgust flashed through Kravchuk's owlish features. "How can you think of rest at a time like this?"

 

With a shrug, Chukhay lifted his bulk out of the chair. "We have three days, do we not? It is important that we remain well-rested, lest we make a mistake."

[simison]

Kravchuk grimaced. "I don't understand this ultimatum, but we should take full advantage of it. We can use the time to fortify Ovlast and our bases, accelerate the draft, and push the factories to full production. In three days, we'll have tripled our strength, which should be enough to make this alien reconsider invasion."

 

Although he debated giving a blunter answer, Chukhay said as he buttoned his coat, "Do what you will. I will be here in the morning." He took a step toward the door.

 

"Varlam."

 

Chukhay paused as he regarded the other thinner Director. 

 

Wearing suspicion as a mask, Kravchuk whispered, "We're in this together, just as it was with Afanisy. Don't forget that."

 

"I won't."

[simison]

The door led to a short, plain hallway that ended at an elevator door. It was an elevator strictly reserved for the Directors and those they deemed trustworthy, being the sole elevator that had access to every secret floor beneath the Directorate. For now, Chukhay hit the only non-basement button as he returned to the ground floor. 

 

Kravchuk's threat lingered in his mind. Although Kravchuk had the appearance of a scholar, it hid the nature of a serpent. To Chukhay's immense frustration, he would have to increase his protection. Perhaps secretly eliminate the Night Service members who had more loyalty to Kravchuk than the state. Worst of all, it would mean he would have to hire a taste-tester again. A small expense considering his pay as a Director, but there was something particularly offensive when Chukhay couldn't simply enjoy the taste of a dinner without fears of assassination. 

 

With a ding, the elevator opened into a secret hallway that connected the three Director offices. Taking a short left, he inputted a code into the wall before it slid open to reveal his office's bathroom. 

[simison]

He opened the bathroom door and almost crashed into a mop bucket. 

 

The cleaning lady behind the bucket paled and immediately scurried away with her tools as she muttered, "I'm so sorry, Director. I-I was just-"

 

"Carry on," Chukhay curtly replied. He moved past the janitor at a brisk pace as his thoughts returned to more important matters.

 

The cleaning lady held her breath, until the Director closed the door behind him. It was only then that she breathed a sigh of relief. Anasya lifted a wrinkled hand to her heart. She was getting too old for surprises. Once her aged heart had calmed down, she pushed a grey strand of hair behind her ear before resuming her path to the Director's bathroom.

[simison]

As soon as she mopped the bathroom, she would be done for the day. The usual relief before the end of a shift was not with her today. Ever since the alien invasion, an undercurrent of panic and desperation had seized the Directorate. Aides were running around trying to do six different tasks, while supervisors snapped at people for the slightest mistakes. Anasya was sorely tempted to quit, but she had worked hard to gain this job for herself and her family. The sooner she was gone, the sooner she could relax. 

 

With all of that weighing on her, she attacked the bathroom with a frenzy. Given how little use it saw, it didn't take long to clean the bathroom. The moment it was finished, she lumbered toward the janitorial center on the first floor. The few other janitors still here nodded to her. She frowned as she felt the air of melancholy that had silenced even her chatty coworkers but nodded back. She emptied out the mop bucket before returning the tools back to their places. It was only when she headed toward the supervising station did she remember that today was payday.

[simison]

The janitorial supervisor, Sam, was at the station.

 

But not alone.

 

Though she wore no badge or insignia, it only made the woman next to Sam stand out all the more. After cleaning the Directorate for over two decades, Anasya knew she saw a member of the Night Service speaking to her boss. Suddenly, Anasya had no desire to check out as she looked for something to distract her. She locked onto the state art pieces lining the wall, giving them more attention now than she had in ten years' of work. She was happy that she couldn't hear the conversation, but she Sam looked pale and his fingers fidgeted with a pen. 

 

An eternity seemed to pass as Anasya awkwardly studied the paintings before the Night Service woman finally left. Eager to not attract the attention of less savory individuals, Anasya hurried over to the station. 

[simison]

Sam nodded to her as she reached the desk but said nothing, instead busying himself with some forms. Anasya keyed in her worker's code that clocked her out before turning her attention back to her supervisor. Whatever the Night Service woman had said had rattled Sam because four long minutes passed before he realized Anasya was still here.

 

"Do you need something?"

 

"...my paycheck?" Anasya timidly replied.

 

"OH!" Colour rapidly filled the supervisor's cheeks as he scampered toward a locker within the supervisor's station. "It is payday, isn't it?" His fingers slipped as he pulled out his keys. "Whoops," he muttered as he recovered. "It doesn't feel real, does it? There's this entire alien invasion, but it's still payday. Still have to pay the bills, right? I mean it's not like any of us had anything to do with the aliens coming, right? Why would any of us have anything to do with aliens we've never heard about until today? It's crazy, right?"

 

The more Sam rambled, the more uncomfortable Anasya felt. She was under the impression that Sam was reaching out to her.

[simison]

But she wanted no part of this. All she wanted was to go home and rest. When Sam held out her paycheck, she took it. "Thank you," she said before turning away and heading straight for the exit. In the back of her mind, she hoped the colourful leaves would at least provide some relief on her walk.

 

Relief did not greet her as she stepped outside the building. 

 

The Directorate was not only the home to the Directors, but to the Balovian Council. As such, it was home to the entire Balovian government. So, it wasn't unusual to see soldiers here. Yet, in the past there had only been a few dozen. Now, Anasya thought their numbers reached into the hundreds as the outer edges of the Directorate were fully manned, others building emplacements, and dozens patrolling the streets beyond the Directorate's fences. All of them moved with a nervous energy that unsettled Anasya. 

 

She wanted nothing more than to break out into a run to the gate but feared that she would be shot. Doing everything she could not to attract any attention, she forced herself to calmly walk to the checkpoint that she had been walked through a thousand times before. 

[simison]

Just yesterday, she had seen Luka and Kjetil manning the security checkpoint. The two soldiers had been stuck on gate duty for months and approached their jobs with a bored amicability. While important citizens and officers were given the full professional treatment, to everyone else, there had been a casual ease as they let them come and go, often with a joke.

 

The genial pair were nowhere to be found today.

 

Instead of two soldiers in standard uniforms, the main gate was now occupied by ten soldiers, all of them in full combat apparel. No more smiles as the new soldiers exuded an air of quiet hostility. As Anasya neared the gate, she fumbled for a moment before pulling her ID out of a pocket. The nearest soldier turned and stared at her as she walked the last few steps. She forced her hand not to shake, afraid that her fear would be mistaken for something worse. The soldier took her ID and studied it for a long moment. For a terrifying second, she thought the soldier would begin questioning her.

[simison]

Instead, he 'harrumphed' and ordered, "Move along, janitor." 

 

Anasya was so relieved that she couldn't care less about the implied insult. She shuffled through the checkpoint and breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the other side of the Directorate's main bridge. She took a left and began her path home.

 

As her heart calmed down, her knees reminded her of her physical ailments. While she did work at the Directorate, her salary was modest to the point where the only apartment she could afford was six miles away. On some days, she would splurge and get a cab for the journey, but ever since her granddaughter became ill, all of her spare money went to medicine. Still, she soldiered on as she walked down her familiar route.

 

Unfortunately, it was the only thing that was familiar. This late in the evening, the city would normally come to life as lights turned on. Today, everywhere she looked, she saw fear and anxiety. Families were tense as children asked what was wrong with their parents, who made excuses. Chattering teenagers were subdued, constantly glancing at the sky. Above all, police and soldiers seemed to be everywhere, rushing this way and that. More barricades were going up, businesses were forced to close as the Balovian Army claimed the buildings for their own purposes. 

 

Anasya wanted nothing more than to be home. 

[simison]

Half a mile from her apartment, she paused after turning a corner. Across the street was her favorite grocery store. It was being 'defended' by a ring of soldiers. Two lines of people outside the military line extended around city block as one soldier shouted into a megaphone. "Attention citizens! Food rations are now in effect in order to ensure a successful defense against the alien invaders. Every citizen will be allowed to make select purchases according to their need. To ensure a fair distribution, every citizen will be monitored while inside and at the counters. We thank you for your cooperation."

 

Anasya had been planning on a small stop to buy some needed milk. She had little doubt that she would be refused such a simple purchase, but she was uneasy. Even with so many soldiers armed with guns, there was grumbling muttered all throughout the line. When she looked around, Anasya saw resentful faces staring from windows. A noise drew her attention, and she saw some of the homeless teens scowling at the soldiers from one of the alleyways. 

 

There was a foul feeling in the air. It acutely reminded Anasya how old she was and how unprepared for violence she was at that age. She forgot the milk as she hurried down the street before something snapped. As she passed by the alleyway, she couldn't stop herself from looking at the nearest teenager. Although his outfit was filled with holes and rips, the young, tanned man seemed unaffected by the chill winds of Autumn. He returned her gaze with fierce eyes as brown as his skin, and she squeaked before looking away. 

[simison]

Mat snorted and wished he could intimidate the soldiers as well as he intimidated the old woman. As she scurried away, his stomach groaned reminding him yet again of how long he had gone without a real meal. And those damned soldiers stood between and his usual dinner. The grocery owner might be a tyrant, but his daughter could easily be persuaded to give expired stuff for Mat's performances. But the odds of that happening now that the whole army claimed the food?

 

Zero.

 

"This sucks," Liz said next to him. She was the only one in the gang who was as tall as Mat was, ever since he had gone through that early growth spurt despite being twelve. It made the hunger hurt twice as much.  

[simison]

"Can't we just start something?" Sal chimed in. The nine year-old stared at the soldiers with open venom. "Those people look ready to start a fight." 

 

"With what?" Liz countered. "Ordinary folks aren't allowed guns. Only the army is. They'd kill half the folks, and the other half would book it."

 

Sal turned longingly to Mat. "What if we added some fire? We already outnumber the soldiers over a 1,000-to-1."

 

Mat growled back, "Shut. Up." 

 

"But Mat, how else we gonna eat?"

 

Mat didn't know. Truth be told, the pain was already bad enough that Mat was liking the idea of a riot. But how to trigger one where he and his buddies didn't get mowed down? 

[simison]

He looked at the soldiers before scanning the city block. He glanced behind him, wishing he had a tank when he noticed the dumpsters. It was the day before garbage day, so both of them were overfilling with noxious trash. 

 

An idea burst in his mind. "Sal! You know the back door where 'Bay hands us food?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Go check it. I want to know if there any soldiers there. And don't be obvious."

 

Although he hesitated, Sal nodded and nonchalantly began walking away from the alleyway. A couple of soldiers focused on him and then the homeless bunch. Striking an angry pose, Mat yelled at them, "Chod! Come on, let's go!" 

 

Hoping he hadn't confused Sal, Mat turned to the rest and pointed to the back of the alley. They trudged away, until Mat directed them to take a second left. Entering into another alley, Mat saw a couple of more dumptsers, just like he wanted. 

[simison]

They waited for a few minutes before Sal rushed in. "There's just one soldier back there!" 

 

"Good. This is the plan: I set the dumpster on fire, and we're going to run out of the alley screaming the aliens are attacking. Go straight for that back door. If it works, all of the soldiers will head for the alley."

 

A wave of unease passed through the kids. Liz, with one hand nervously playing with her hair, asked the unspoken question. "What if the soldiers don't leave?"

 

"Then, just run past the door to a different alley."

 

"What if all the soldiers except the one in the back goes to check the fire?"

 

"We take him out."

 

Silence at that answer. Sal shuffled his feet. "But, Mat, we're just kids. ...are you going to burn him?"

 

In response, Mat's became hard as rock. "Do you want to eat or not?" Nobody protested. "Good."

[simison]

Mat turned to the dumpster in front of him. He could hear the others behind him take a step away. He hated it when they did that; it made him feel less than human. Ignoring his friends, he focused on the dumpster. The smell alone was nauseating as rotting food and refuse permeated through the cheap, paper trash bags. He grimaced before he cupped his hands in front of him as he began to concentrate. His hunger pain helped as he focused on it, using it to create anger. He pictured the merciless soldiers in front of the grocery store, standing between him and his food, between him and life. The anger grew hotter, until it burned with hatred. 

 

With a grunt, fire erupted between his palms. A collective gasp sounded behind him, even though a couple of them had seen him do this before. The fire was the size of a marble, needing to be much larger for Mat's plan. He poured his hatred into it, growing it larger and larger. Although he didn't show it, he could feel anxiety lurking at the edges of his rage. Only once before had he tried to make a fire this big without a physical source to fuel it. It had ended poorly.

 

He pushed the memory away before he could relive it. Instead, he concentrated on the twin tasks of keeping the fire stable yet growing. Finally, after a long minute, it was as large as an apple. It would have to do. While no one else had noticed, if one person walked into the alley now, it'd be a disaster. He faced the dumpster.

 

He threw the fireball.

[simison]

The dumpster exploded in flame, actually releasing a small 'boom'. Mat took a deep breath, his body fighting against a wave of exhaustion. Never before had he had tried something that intense. Despite his body's protest, Mat spun around and shouted, "RUN!" 

 

His friends ran. Together, they all sprinted back to the grocery store. As they reach the mouth of it, Mat could see two soldiers cautiously crossing the street with the entire line of people watching them 

 

"ALIENS!" Liz shrieked as the homeless bunch sped past the first two soldiers. 

 

"THEY'RE ATTACKING!" Sal yelled, his fear sounding all too real. 

 

As the group rounded the grocery store's corner, Mat's plan took an unexpected turn. He had hoped the soldiers would overreact. He hadn't expected the crowd to panic. 

 

Screaming erupted from the crowd and order collapsed. People ran everywhere, away, to cars, to the soldiers, and to the grocery store. Mat wasn't sure, but he thought he heard the soldiers trying to yell over the din, trying to calm people. Their efforts were wasted. 

[simison]

Ahead of them was the lone soldier Sal had mentioned. He was running straight at them, his black machine gun held low yet ready to fire. For one terrifying second, Mat thought the soldier was about to shoot him and his friends. But then the soldier ran past them, toward the growing chaos. 

 

This meant the back door was not only open but completely unguarded. It was a dirty, rusting white door sticking out in a wall of graffitied brick. It had never looked so beautiful in Mat's entire life. Given the confusion going on, Mat and his friends were able to storm right in without being noticed. 

 

They were now in storage. All around them were boxes of food on metallic shelves extending throughout the back half of the store. At the other end from their entrance were the freezer and fridge units. Mat panicked as he completely forgotten about the staff, but no one was in sight. He couldn't remember, but he thought the owner had about six employees for the modest grocery. 

 

None of his friends cared as they salivated over the boxes. "So much food," Sal whispered. 

 

"Focus!" Mat barked. "Grab chips, bread, and anything else that's light and doesn't need a fridge. We've got maybe two minutes until we're caught and we still need to haul this stuff far away from here!"

[simison]

The kids scrambled as they searched through the shelves. Mat himself turned to the nearest shelf and scanned the names. Most of them were labeled, but the labels were small and hidden in the corners. Even then, it was written in packaging code, which took too long to understand. Of greater help were the brand names emblazoned in the center. The only problem with that was when one brand sold more than one kind of food, as Liz found out when she grabbed a box that she thought were chips only to find it loaded down with canned food. 

 

Mat was having trouble keeping track of the time as he ripped open boxes. He hated the noise they were making but hoped it was being drowned out by what was going on outside. To his frustration, he caught Sal eyeing the freezer as he half-heartedly checked a box. "Sal! We don't have time!" He whispered.

 

"But, Mat, there'll be ice cream in there," Sal whined. 

 

Although he nearly swore at Sal, Mat froze when a new sound broke through the cacophony: gunfire.

[simison]

"Grab what you can and run!" Mat screamed. His friends needed no second warning as they scrambled towards the door. In the back of his mind, Mat couldn't help but wonder where were the grocery workers. Unbidden, he imagined them ridden with bullet holes. He shivered before shoving the thought away. He grabbed the nearest box, which was thankfully just loaves of bread, before sprinting to the door after his friends. "Go right!"

 

Outside, the gunfire was twice as loud. A second wave of people were running away from around the grocery's corner, where the main entrance was. Mat made the mistake of taking a second look. 

 

He saw blood. 

 

An old man was shuffling away, his brown shirt turning a dark red while his arms cradled his stomach. In front of Mat's eyes, the old man teetered over and lay still. 

 

Doing everything he could not to think about what he just saw, Mat ran the other way. 

[simison]

Although they carried several boxes, the kids moved quickly as they scampered into the nearest alleyway. Some of them started to slow down, but Mat wouldn't let them as he shouted, "Keep going! We need to get far away from here!"

 

So they did. 

 

After a half dozen alleyways, Mat gave up count as he tried to listen for sounds of soldiers running after them or guns going off. People shouted and screamed. He saw other soldiers in different streets. But everybody seemed too scared or distracted to notice him and his friends.

 

It was Sal who dropped as they reached an alleyway intersection. "Mat," he breathed. "I can't run anymore."

 

Mat grimaced but checked behind them. They waited for a minute, but no one came charging in after them. Mat finally released the tension out in a deep breath. "It's okay, Sal, I think we can stop.