The Queen of Traitors
Page 66
THEY STILL MOURN her, my people. They hated her while she was alive, but her supposed death has made her a martyr. It helps that the rebellions in the West are responsible for some of the most heinous atrocities to date. The devil the people know is better than the one they’re learning about, the one the Resistance is regretting aligning with.
It also helps that I’ve encouraged Serenity’s martyrdom. I’ve leaked a series of clips, much the same way the Resistance once did. But rather than degrading her character, these video segments show the world the Serenity I knew—a woman who wore violence alongside benevolence. I have clips from her interrogation, security feeds from the palace, even rare footage from her time as a soldier and an emissary of the WUN.
They’re scrubbed down and shortened so that they cast her in a positive light, and they do the trick. Too late my people want to know about this woman that fought for them, who not only claimed to be one of them, but was one of them. And they love me for loving her.
I watch the clips over and over, until I’ve memorized every word, every expression, every movement of hers.
I’d hoped it would bring me peace.
It only brings more heartache.
2 years later
“CHRIS KLINE, YOU are a hard man to track down.”
The man in question currently wears shackles and sits sullenly on one of my couches. He’s much rougher around the edges than when I first met him. Hiding does that to a man. Makes him lean and shifty-eyed. But the former general’s sanity is still intact, and I can see he’s just as hardened as ever.
My guards flank him on either side. If he so much as moves a finger wrong, they’ll load his body with bullets.
I settle myself on the couch opposite him and prop one of my ankles over my knee. A butler comes in with two glasses of aged Scotch. He dips down, and I take one from the tray. My butler then turns to Kline, who’s watching this all unfold with wary eyes.
I gesture to the drink. “Go on. I’m not trying to poison you. I have far more efficient ways of getting rid of people than that.”
Reluctantly he takes the tumbler off the tray, his cuffs clinking together as he does so. It’s an awkward maneuver, drinking while shackled, but the former general manages it with ease. He takes a swallow and exhales, his eyes closing for the briefest of seconds.
“That’s good stuff,” he says.
“It’s near the best,” I say.
“Why are you sharing your best Scotch with one of your prisoners?” he asks.
Blunt and to the point, just like my wife. I wonder if this is where Serenity picked up some of her personality traits, or if this is just a feature of all North American citizens.
“I’m hoping by the end of this conversation you won’t be my prisoner.”
The man squints his eyes and leans back. “I reckon that’s not going to happen,” he says. “I don’t like you very much. See, you killed my son, destroyed my country, and married the closest thing I had to a daughter, and now she’s dead too.”
I swirl my Scotch. “I’m not here to apologize or discuss the past. It’s your resume that interests me. How long had you been the general of the WUN?”
“Six years.”
“And before that?”
“I was the Secretary of Defense for two years.”
I nod. “And you remain loyal to your homeland even now?”
Kline leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his drink still clutched in one of his hands. “From where I sit, you’ve got me by the balls. Do you really think I’m going to answer that honestly? Add treason to the growing list of charges against me?”
I set my glass of Scotch down carefully on a side table, then I, too, lean forward. “This isn’t your old world. I can kill you now just because I feel like it—if I were so inclined. I’m not. I know you’re now heading up the Resistance, I know you love my wife, and I know you still want to help your people.”
South America has fallen into my enemies’ hands, and North America is set to follow. Serenity’s beloved homeland is far worse off now than it was two years ago when they surrendered to me.
For the first time ever, someone’s taken land from me. I intend to get it back.
“‘Love’?” Kline’s still stuck on my comment about Serenity.
“Come,” I say, standing. “I want to show you something.”
He doesn’t get a choice. His drink’s taken from him; my guards yank him up to his feet and force him to follow me.
I head down to some of the lowest levels of the palace. Here, the drone of many different machines fills the air. It doesn’t take long to find Serenity’s. I open the outer shell. Inside it is another glass case—a sort of incubator. And inside of that, the woman that holds my heart.
I haven’t laid eyes on her in nearly a year, and I have to lock my knees to keep myself upright. But for my purposes, Serenity’s old general needs to see this.
“Holy fuck!” Kline reels back soon as he catches a glimpse of her. “She’s alive?” There’s a strange note in his voice.
“She never died to begin with. But she will if I take her out of this machine.”
Kline regains his composure and creeps closer. I can still read the horror on his features, however.
“Why keep her like this?” he asks. “Why not just let her die?”
My eyes are transfixed on that scarred, beautiful face. “Because I love her.”
He’s shaking his head like he thinks I’m crazy, that what I feel for my wife is something less pure than love. But what does he know? He gave away this very woman to a man he considered his worst enemy.
I’d level the earth before I’d let that same fate befall Serenity.
“I’m working on curing cancer—and repairing radiation-damaged tissue,” I say instead. “I’m going to save her life. Once I do, I will have the ability to heal the sick. And I will heal them.
“You are a good man, Kline. I believe you have an honest heart. I need men like that. Will you help me repair what I’ve broken?”
It’s been a long time since I’ve done something that’s felt right. Like power, this feeling is addicting. Maybe I’ll rewrite my own history along with Serenity’s. Maybe one day people won’t see me as a man who ruined the world, but the one who saved it.
It also helps that I’ve encouraged Serenity’s martyrdom. I’ve leaked a series of clips, much the same way the Resistance once did. But rather than degrading her character, these video segments show the world the Serenity I knew—a woman who wore violence alongside benevolence. I have clips from her interrogation, security feeds from the palace, even rare footage from her time as a soldier and an emissary of the WUN.
They’re scrubbed down and shortened so that they cast her in a positive light, and they do the trick. Too late my people want to know about this woman that fought for them, who not only claimed to be one of them, but was one of them. And they love me for loving her.
I watch the clips over and over, until I’ve memorized every word, every expression, every movement of hers.
I’d hoped it would bring me peace.
It only brings more heartache.
2 years later
“CHRIS KLINE, YOU are a hard man to track down.”
The man in question currently wears shackles and sits sullenly on one of my couches. He’s much rougher around the edges than when I first met him. Hiding does that to a man. Makes him lean and shifty-eyed. But the former general’s sanity is still intact, and I can see he’s just as hardened as ever.
My guards flank him on either side. If he so much as moves a finger wrong, they’ll load his body with bullets.
I settle myself on the couch opposite him and prop one of my ankles over my knee. A butler comes in with two glasses of aged Scotch. He dips down, and I take one from the tray. My butler then turns to Kline, who’s watching this all unfold with wary eyes.
I gesture to the drink. “Go on. I’m not trying to poison you. I have far more efficient ways of getting rid of people than that.”
Reluctantly he takes the tumbler off the tray, his cuffs clinking together as he does so. It’s an awkward maneuver, drinking while shackled, but the former general manages it with ease. He takes a swallow and exhales, his eyes closing for the briefest of seconds.
“That’s good stuff,” he says.
“It’s near the best,” I say.
“Why are you sharing your best Scotch with one of your prisoners?” he asks.
Blunt and to the point, just like my wife. I wonder if this is where Serenity picked up some of her personality traits, or if this is just a feature of all North American citizens.
“I’m hoping by the end of this conversation you won’t be my prisoner.”
The man squints his eyes and leans back. “I reckon that’s not going to happen,” he says. “I don’t like you very much. See, you killed my son, destroyed my country, and married the closest thing I had to a daughter, and now she’s dead too.”
I swirl my Scotch. “I’m not here to apologize or discuss the past. It’s your resume that interests me. How long had you been the general of the WUN?”
“Six years.”
“And before that?”
“I was the Secretary of Defense for two years.”
I nod. “And you remain loyal to your homeland even now?”
Kline leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his drink still clutched in one of his hands. “From where I sit, you’ve got me by the balls. Do you really think I’m going to answer that honestly? Add treason to the growing list of charges against me?”
I set my glass of Scotch down carefully on a side table, then I, too, lean forward. “This isn’t your old world. I can kill you now just because I feel like it—if I were so inclined. I’m not. I know you’re now heading up the Resistance, I know you love my wife, and I know you still want to help your people.”
South America has fallen into my enemies’ hands, and North America is set to follow. Serenity’s beloved homeland is far worse off now than it was two years ago when they surrendered to me.
For the first time ever, someone’s taken land from me. I intend to get it back.
“‘Love’?” Kline’s still stuck on my comment about Serenity.
“Come,” I say, standing. “I want to show you something.”
He doesn’t get a choice. His drink’s taken from him; my guards yank him up to his feet and force him to follow me.
I head down to some of the lowest levels of the palace. Here, the drone of many different machines fills the air. It doesn’t take long to find Serenity’s. I open the outer shell. Inside it is another glass case—a sort of incubator. And inside of that, the woman that holds my heart.
I haven’t laid eyes on her in nearly a year, and I have to lock my knees to keep myself upright. But for my purposes, Serenity’s old general needs to see this.
“Holy fuck!” Kline reels back soon as he catches a glimpse of her. “She’s alive?” There’s a strange note in his voice.
“She never died to begin with. But she will if I take her out of this machine.”
Kline regains his composure and creeps closer. I can still read the horror on his features, however.
“Why keep her like this?” he asks. “Why not just let her die?”
My eyes are transfixed on that scarred, beautiful face. “Because I love her.”
He’s shaking his head like he thinks I’m crazy, that what I feel for my wife is something less pure than love. But what does he know? He gave away this very woman to a man he considered his worst enemy.
I’d level the earth before I’d let that same fate befall Serenity.
“I’m working on curing cancer—and repairing radiation-damaged tissue,” I say instead. “I’m going to save her life. Once I do, I will have the ability to heal the sick. And I will heal them.
“You are a good man, Kline. I believe you have an honest heart. I need men like that. Will you help me repair what I’ve broken?”
It’s been a long time since I’ve done something that’s felt right. Like power, this feeling is addicting. Maybe I’ll rewrite my own history along with Serenity’s. Maybe one day people won’t see me as a man who ruined the world, but the one who saved it.
