Questions at the Edge

They shot the American redhead first, the big Latino next, both in the head, and then shot me in the leg. With the panic around us, only Binti noticed my cry of pain. She saw me stumble to the floor, blood seeping through my jeans, and jumped up on the platform to kneel next to me. She slipped off her rucksack, pulled out a clean towel -- probably her last -- and pressed it hard into the wound. It wasn’t the first gunshot injury for either of us.

“Silence!” bellowed the Union soldier who was now standing over us. On the usual dark gray body armor, the sequence of red icons etched on her shoulder indicated a rank of captain. The electric amplification of her helmet added a metallic edge to her timbre.

Ten armed soldiers had burst into the meeting a minute earlier, five at each exit, just as I was about to give my prepared speech. The captain had shot me in the leg while leaping to the platform at the center of the warehouse hall. Everyone scrambled out of their seats in chaos. Some tried to hide behind the crates at one end of the room. A couple of the Ugandans had been prying open a window when two more soldiers came crashing through it, throwing them back.

“I said: silence!” shouted the captain, and fired additional shots into the ceiling.

Everybody froze uneasily. All eyes were on her. The other soldiers kept their weapons drawn, the room reflected grimly in their black helmet visors as they surveyed us.

“All right. Very good.” She paced around the platform, looking around the crowd. Then she glanced up at the makeshift banner I’d hung over the platform: a scrap of dirty cloth onto which I’d crudely painted a split green arrow: the symbol of the Green Future Alliance. She was taller than I was and had no trouble pulling it down and tearing it in half. Damn. That tiny can of green paint had cost me three pounds of rice at the last bazaar.

“Now,” she said. “I have no doubts whatsoever that all of you already know this assembly is disallowed under Union law as treason,” she continued brashly. “And I also cannot imagine that you do not already know the law allows Union enforcement agents to shoot you on sight for simply being in attendance here tonight.” She motioned to the two bodies bleeding across the floor. “They would tell you if they could.”

She paused.

“However,” she continued, “I understand these are trying times, and I am not heartless. If any of you would like to renew your vows to the Union and recant your rebellious acts of this evening, we have loyalty officers waiting outside to take your statements. You may leave now. ” She had returned to stand over me. “Only stay if you truly believe so much in the cause” -- she kicked me -- “to die with it here tonight.”

“Go to hell,” I said, wincing at the pain.

“That’s cute,” snapped the captain, looking down at me. “Didn’t you organize this little soiree? Haven’t you seen the toxic dustbowl outside that we have to survive every day? We’re already in hell.”

She knelt next to us and reached out to trace a finger around the slender chain on Binti’s neck, pulling it above Binti’s collar to reveal a heart-shaped locket. Its silver etchings glimmered in the reflection of her black visor. She snorted. “A relic from the Dead World,” said the captain. “And you haven’t sold it yet? You must not yet know real desperation.”

The rest of the crowd was murmuring to each other in disbelief about the captain’s offer. She suddenly looked up, sighed, and stood.

“Honestly, you are all dumber than I thought.” She shook her head. “The offer is real. I’m going to count down from ten, and you will either leave and live, or stay and die. Ten. Nine."

There was commotion throughout the room as almost everyone left through the exits, flanked by pairs of soldiers. Binti and I shared a glance, and she squeezed my hand. We weren’t going anywhere, not this time. This was meant to be our last chance. And three people stayed. I looked at each one, gratefully, and they nodded.

“Two. One,” said the captain, finishing the countdown. “Close the doors.” The remaining soldiers followed orders and then stood guard.

“So,” said Binti, lightly, “do you shoot us here, or are you going to take us out to dinner first?”

The captain ignored her and turned to me. “Our intel indicated that you and your little protest club were expecting to meet tonight with leaders of that terrorist group, the Green Future Alliance. Possibly even the infamous Commodore Drekane. They were going to recruit new fighters from this group. Where are they?”

I shook my head. “They didn’t show,” I said. “Or, at least they didn’t reveal themselves. You assholes might have just let them walk out the door.”

The captain chuckled. “Oh, outside, they aren’t the usual Union loyalty officers. Ours use encephalon readwrites.” She tapped the side of her head. “We’ll know if any of them were thinking terrorist thoughts, and everyone else will have a nice new memory of tonight planted before we drop them off somewhere.”

“Impressive,” said Binti. “Does the Union ever tell the truth?”

“We know the answer to that already,” I said, dryly.

“Such piety!” said the captain. “Do any of these people know where you two are really from?”

“Does it matter?” I snapped back. “Where we're from doesn’t exist anymore. The Union made sure of that.”

“That’s ancient history by now,” responded the captain a little more thoughtfully. “You can thank our grandparents for that.”

“Not my grandparents,” muttered Binti.

A soldier opened one of the doors and entered the room. The captain turned to him. “Yes?”

“Readwrites completed without errors,” he said. “Vans are departing now to take subjects to their dropoffs.”

“And?” asked the captain.

“Estimated arrival of Union forces in nine minutes.”

The captain nodded. “Good. Bring in the bodies, then prepare to leave.”

“Yes, Commodore,” he replied, then exited.

Binti, me, and the three remaining attendees stared in disbelief. “What the hell?” I stammered. “Commodore?”

The captain -- the Commodore?! -- removed her helmet. She had cropped silver hair, and her face was a crisscross of scars and wrinkles, but her eyes were bright. A tiny split green arrow was tattooed on her neck.

She grinned. “You wanted to meet Commodore Drekane?” she said. “Here I am. We have a serious mission, and I had to make sure we were talking to serious people. So we rendered all this.” She motioned around the room. Other soldiers removed their helmets, revealing matching tattoos.

One of the three attendees spoke. “This is all a… a show?” he asked incredulously. “But you killed these two!”

The Commodore nodded. “They were informants,” she said. “We intercepted their message to the Union about tonight’s meeting. Their actions would have killed everyone here tonight. As you just heard, Union units are on their way now.”

“And you shot me!” I said. “Only in the leg, but still.”

“You’re the organizer,” she said, shrugging. “I couldn’t have you trying to escape. I am sorry about that, at least a little.”

“So… you are… not going to kill us?” asked one of the other attendees.

A team of soldiers wheeled in carts of corpses and cans of gasoline. The Commodore motioned to the bodies. “These unfortunate souls will take your names in history when we burn down this building. Tonight you will die to your old identities. Everyone else already has been given memories of escaping a burning building. But tomorrow, you can be reborn to live and fight with us. And that brings us to the first question at the edge of your next future.”

She looked at the five of us and held out her hand to help me to my feet.

“Are you with us?”