Divine Born Page 2

  Show to me the future and I will play upon its tune a ballad of victory and glory…

  That was a future she wanted to be part of. Any other would be a waste, of both her time and effort. If she could not succeed, then she would tear it all down. If she could not have it all, then nobody would. Either her golden future would stand across the kingdoms, or the rubble would.

  The time for inaction was over. They’d get her gifts or her wrath. In the end, it was down to them. The spirit calling competitions might have resumed, but things weren’t going to return to normal if she had anything to do with it…

  A few weeks before…

  “Order! Order!”

  Thomas Jerome, known both formally and informally to those around him as the Falcon banged his fist on the podium in front of him and did his best to restore some calm to the baying masses all around him. Every member representing one of the local governing bodies of the ICCC had turned out for the long overdue vote. One that they needed, for they’d been without a leader for far too long ever since Ritellia had been killed.

  For as long as unification had held across the kingdoms, the ICCC had always had a president at top, an executive committee directly below him, simultaneously a deterrent and a subservient to the big boss, while then came the kingdom councillors, effectively in charge of calling on a national level in their kingdoms. Each councillor had their own committee directly underneath them consisting of those in charge of the regional bouts across their kingdoms. Some were larger than others, some therefore had more on those committees. Each of them was king in their own region, a lord of their own domain, yet everyone answered to someone else. The way it should be. It worked. Or it had worked, rather. For the moment, it had stalled drastically without someone at the top of the pile making it work.

  That someone would have to be him. He’d already decided that. Better him than someone else. In theory, anyone on the executive committee could be sworn in as ICCC president. In reality, some had no chance. Getting onto the committee was a closed shop unless someone died. Those who got on to replace them had always been checked and double checked, every assurance had needed to be made that their views would be compatible with those around them. That their face fit the bill. Change was messy, it led to the issues being clouded. On the executive committee currently… Nobody would challenge him. Those that could, wouldn’t. He’d made sure of it.

  Kwan-Sun had declined without much pushing, citing ill health. He hadn’t wanted to end up like Ritellia had towards the end, a walking credit cheque for any doctor who saw him coming. Klaus Zynski would have put in for it, only for his past to come back and haunt him. The man liked prostitutes. Jerome knew that. He’d hired them for him in the past, he’d even procured drugs for him. He’d also had the foresight to record all of it for posterity, an act he didn’t regret at all. Zynski no doubt thought he would have been in the top job by now, untouchable. He was in the same position now as he had then. Ten years and Jerome had flourished while Zynski had stagnated. One star rose while one faded. It was only natural which of them would win. Zynski would still stand but not in a manner that made him any sort of credible alternative. On the off chance he was voted in, he was to decline it. Again, Jerome had prepared for every eventuality. Of the others… Raul de Blanco had no chance, they knew he was too good at what he did to be replaced. Adam Evans showed no design of wanting the job. Tomihiro was happy where he was. Christopher Armitage probably would like it, but nobody would vote for him, the man lacked a personality or any sort of decisive bone in his body. He’d won his seat by default and was sleepwalking his way towards the grave. Alizaire was a credible choice, yet she hadn’t shown up since Vazara had been annexed from the rest of the kingdom, rumour had it she’d been killed in the attack on the capital. They didn’t know for sure and as such hadn’t replaced her yet, but he’d look into it on the quiet as one of his first jobs. She wasn’t here now though. Ergo, a walk in for him into the job he wanted so badly.

  It was, he’d noted many times to himself, a hopelessly corrupt system. That was why he loved it. The difference between himself and everyone else, he acknowledged that. More than that, he worked it. Everyone knew how to overstep the lines; he knew when not to. Perhaps that made him weak in the eyes of some, overtly cautious… He’d laugh in their faces should they ever say it to him. Caution might not figure much in the ideas of these colossal morons, but he’d abide by it. Ironically given his nickname of the Falcon. It wasn’t one he’d chosen but he liked it. It had stuck. It was a good name. Better the Falcon than the Sloth.

  Slowly the uproar died down from the crowd and he cleared his throat, craning his head closer to the microphone. Always his plan. They always liked the look of those that might defer to them. It wasn’t how he said it, more like what he was going to say, a train of thought that hadn’t failed him before and wasn’t going to start now.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, rulers of the International Competitive Calling Committee,” he said smoothly now that he could be heard above the noise. “Thank you for all seeing your way to gathering here today. It’s been too long since we were last all together, we were more in number then. And before we do, I’d like to ask just a moment to remember our last president. Ronald Ritellia is gone but we will always remember him. He gave a lot to this organisation, including ultimately his life. That we could all do as much as him, our legacies would be secure. But the dead have no need to carry on, it is the living who must pick up the slack. And we have slacked. Because we have no leader to guide us, we have failed the five kingdoms…” They were four now but that was irrelevant. Unlike Alizaire, those Vazaran members who’d been able to make it had. Vazaran senators had been ordered to vacate, no such order had come through to the ICCC which made him smile. They were the enemy and they were deferring to the ICCC law. Fantastic! He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt pride like he did at that knowledge. “… and we must arrest that failure. We have allowed excuses and apathy to creep into the work that we do and that cannot be allowed to continue.”

  He smacked his hand into the podium once again, a nervous twitch more than anything else. He’d have to fight to avoid doing that again. It looked childish and petulant, neither of which he wanted to be tagged with.

  “People across these kingdoms depend upon us to ensure that we see a service is provided and it is a service that in these times of strife that is sorely being missed. That should be our first aim. And our second…” Jerome paused for dramatic effect, let a big grin slip across his face. It might have been a bit sleazy to some but for him, it was an honest representation of how strongly he felt. It was the signal of the hope for the future that lived inside his veins.

  “… We cannot continue as we are. We all know what we do and there needs to be change. As much as it pains me to speak ill of the dead, the worst of our number for courting their excesses has departed us. We cannot follow in his footsteps. Should we do that, our days are soon to be numbered, particularly with all the anti-governance propaganda coming from that deranged individual terrorising our beautiful kingdoms. In short, we need to be whiter than white. We need to set an example and as terrifying as that might sound for some of you, you can either buck up or fuck off!”

  That brought a cheer from some sections of the crowd, he’d misspoken, he considered his words and decided that he liked what he’d come out with. It sounded like he’d intended it rather than it being a slip of the tongue.

  “You all know me as Falcon. My name is Thomas Jerome and I would be your leader. I would be the one who takes us into the next generation. I would be the one who guides our good ship through the troubled waters we find ourselves sailing. I was Ronald Ritellia’s closest friend throughout the years I spent on the executive committee, I learned more about governance from him than I ever thought could fit in my head. Whatever his problems might have been, he was an effective leader. I am not him…” Another pause, he could see them hanging onto his every word and he had to admit that
he was loving the attention. They were adoring him, even if it might not last. That job was in his grasp, all he had to do was close his fingers around it and squeeze. “… I will be better!”

  This time near enough the whole chamber cheered and he grinned again, larger than before, much more confident and relaxed that everything was going to work out for the best.

  “If there is anyone in this room who wishes to stake their own claim for the job, now is the chance to speak up or forever hold your peace.”

  Several long heartbeats. His own rose, all until the moment Adam Evans stood and cleared his throat.

  “I believe any chance of peace we might have has been broken,” he said genially. “I’d like to offer a speech of my own. Perhaps after hearing it, you might consider my own candidacy.”

  All eyes were on him as he strode up to the stage, staring at Jerome with a steely gaze that made him want to flinch. Unlike the other men of the executive committee who looked like they’d gone to seed and been happy to settle that way, Adam Evans was still in as good a shape at fifty as he had been at thirty. He moved with a feline grace, covering the distance in no time at all, each step keeping his eyes locked on Jerome as if daring him to say anything.

  Truth be told, Adam Evans was the only one on the executive committee who Thomas Jerome feared. There was something behind those eyes that he couldn’t explain. He’d been told that Evans was a handsome man with his mane of silver hair and those bright blue eyes but still he didn’t trust him. And in here, that was really saying something.

  “Welcome, Executive Evans,” he eventually said. “If the rest of our delegation truly believes you to be the right man to lead us forward, then they will make their choice. I for one, look forward to hearing what you have to say.”

  To anyone else, it would have been laying down a gauntlet, challenging them not to screw up. Putting the pressure on. Considering the nature of his job, Evans still didn’t look like he’d experienced a day of pressure in his entire life. He let out a chuckle, an easy light sound that made Jerome want to blanch. He really hadn’t counted on this. All indications had told him that Evans didn’t want the job… Evans had told him that himself, hadn’t he… He tried to remember their conversations, felt the sweat dribbling down his neck when he found he couldn’t. Just remembered that smooth voice telling him not to worry about it. Everything would work out. That hadn’t been a denial, had it? So why had he gotten the feeling that this was a foregone conclusion?

  More and more he was feeling privy to the sensation of realisation that maybe he’d been set up to take a fall here. Jerome didn’t like it at all, he tried not to let it show on his face.

  “I thank you, Executive Jerome,” Evans said. “And I applaud you on your tribute to our late leader. I think wherever Ritellia’s soul went, he would have appreciated it. Moving words. And on the subject of moving, I think perhaps everyone has missed the point of all this. I know you certainly have.”

  Not a single face in the room was deviated from him, Jerome noticed with dismay. He’d caught their attention and now he was holding it tight, striding around the stage with all the confident charisma of a born showman. Everyone wanted to hear what he had to say. This didn’t bode well for him, he felt, the first sensations of unease churning in the pit of his stomach. “Pray do tell.”

  Why did he get the feeling he was playing right into Evans’ hands? Even if he’d wanted to decline a reply, he wouldn’t have been able to. Those three words fell out his mouth before he could stop them. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t this sloppy, he wasn’t this slow-witted.

  “The world is changing,” Evans said. “The five kingdoms are not five kingdoms anymore. Vazara has split, there are people who would actively cease to end us out there. Claudia Coppinger has vigorously cited this organisation as everything that is wrong with the kingdoms. The decadence, the gross corruption, the ineffectiveness. We all know it is to be true, I know it, my opponent knows it, you all know it even if you won’t admit it beyond the realms of your own conscience.” He paused to clear his throat, gave the crowd a big grin. In the press area, picture boxes snapped images of him and Jerome knew that come win or lose, Evans was going to be the biggest story around the next few days.

  “But it’s not too late. We can change. Everyone can change if the need is great and our need is the greatest. For six months, we have been without a leader. Our last one was slaughtered like a pig and quite frankly, I don’t miss him. In the last few years, what had happened to this organisation under Ritellia’s leadership was nothing short of farcical. That he actually chose to enter alliance with someone who would destroy us causes me to worry about whether we should have moved to remove him from the post. Perhaps if we had done so, he would still be alive. We should have acted. If Executive Jerome was a true friend to President Ritellia, he would have pulled him back from the edge before he overstepped his authority.”

  Another pause, just to let that sink in. He clasped his hands underneath his chin, an apparent gesture of prayer. For a moment, he looked genuinely sad and full of regret. Where there should have been outrage and disgust at his words, the other members of the ICCC were all still listening in rapt attention, like he was saying the things that they’d all secretly believed and were too frightened to say before out of fear of reprisals.

  “That, my fellow members, is the greatest tragedy out of all this. We cannot go on as we have done, I agree with Executive Jerome on that. We must change. We must do more than change, we must evolve, become the premier organisation that we are capable of once again. Where there is stagnation, we must breed success. But if you want to entrust that to someone who was the chief crony of Ronald Ritellia, then by all means go for Executive Jerome. Their politics aren’t a million miles away from each other. He’s spoken of their friendship. He will preach change but in reality, it will take very little time for things to go back the way they should be. Because it is the easy way out.

  “Privately, you all might want that. You won’t admit it in the light of day, but you do. I do not. Right now, we are at war. There are more important things on the minds of the people out there than spirit calling. By ignoring this and thinking things can resume as normal, Executive Jerome is deluding both himself and at the same time trying to throw the cover over your eyes as well. If we wish to survive the end of this war, no matter who wins, then we must change. And I don’t care how hard it is to deny our own natures or the risks involved, we must evolve in order to be part of the future. I for one don’t want to spend my last days thinking about what might have been. We survive as one or we die alone. Those are your options. Survive with me or die with Jerome.” His voice took on a silky forceful tone as he stared across at the room for one last time. “Vote with your hearts. Do what deep down you know is right. I will do what is best for the future of our organisation. It’s a promise you’ve heard before, but don’t doubt my words. I will make the ICCC great once again.”

  That bad feeling had intensified as he’d stepped back away from the crowd to rapturous applause, even to cheers! Jerome felt sick to the stomach, like he’d just been played like a fool. He wished he had the right to reply. But no. This was how it went. One pitch. One chance to appeal to the crowd. As a process, it had been slated and mocked in the past. Mainly by those who it went against. Now he was on the wrong end of it, he truly felt in accord with those views.

  Still he’d done his best, and it might still be enough. Maybe. He didn’t feel the confidence he’d felt ten minutes earlier though.

  He didn’t remember the vote. Every seat had a control pad built into it, the entire function of which had been to give an answer in the event of a vote, any vote, not just this one. They were there with a choice, him or Evans. One or the other. He didn’t remember the vote, didn’t remember the numbers flooding into the big screen at the top of the stage, couldn’t recall the numbers themselves. Just the result. The horrible truth of the result and the sounds of cheers mixed in with very scant
jeers, applause and sounds of acclaim filtering all the way up to the stage.

  As Adam Evans had been elected president of the International Competitive Calling Committee by landslide margins, Jerome was the first to stride over and shake his hand, even if deep down he wanted to be as far away from here as possible. This hadn’t been how he’d intended today to go. To look into that face and smile politely when he wanted to do nothing more than punch him out hurt. Evans’ smirk hurt.

  “Take this as a hint, Thomas,” he said in his ear as the two embraced. “You can fool some of them some of the time. Not all of them and never all the time. They don’t want your brand of lies any more. All I want is your resignation on my desk first thing in the morning.”

  His heart fell further. Inside, Jerome felt like weeping, something he’d not done since he was a small child. He doubted anyone out there would feel pity for him. Worse, he was touched by Evans’ words, felt the desire to follow through on them, to please him. That sickened him and yet he knew he was going to do it anyway. His time in politics was over. His power had eroded. How much of his life would he have left after this?

  Chapter Two. The Prisoner.

  “Your meeting with Supreme Commander Criffen has been approved on the following date at the allocated time, in regards of Prisoner RU-Ten-Forty-Two-X. Please be assured to follow all appropriate security procedures in place (listed below) for failure to do so could be met with fatal consequences should you ignore the warnings given. Please find coordinates enclosed within.

  P.S, I look forward to seeing you again.”

  Message from Command Liaison Natalia Larsen to Unisco Agent Nicholas Roper ahead of a scheduled meeting.