Trophy Case

“ … And most importantly, class, we must avoid rage. Rage is a dangerous, powerful emotion that led to many bad things in the old days,” my former teacher instructed. “If you ever find yourself upset with someone, remember what we learned about self-control, maybe even talk it out, if you can. But never, ever let rage take over – otherwise, the facilities await!”

I always thought that was easy. Having power over your feelings in the face of someone you don’t like? Couldn’t be simpler. The problem is, I’ve realized I never knew what “dislike” really was until Ezri, the woman sitting in front of me, came along. The word isn’t even strong enough – resent, detest, hate. Yeah, that last one fits a whole lot better. Just by looking at her, the pain in my head returns.

“Were you not given another dose of medicine?” Ezri asks, still maintaining her repose. Her absence of even minor agitation only serves to make me feel worse. While I’m all riled up, my presence has no effect on her whatsoever – and why would it? Our only interaction has been that video call in Dad’s office, yet she’s stayed in my mind rent-free.

“I’ll take that as a no,” she says in response to my silence. She walks over to a storage cabinet, like the ones used to hold their weapons, except this is filled with bottles. After putting in the passcode, she drops a few pills in her palm, then comes to me. Even her mere closeness is repulsive. “Here.”

“I’m not interested in any tampered ‘drugs’ you have to offer me—”

The pills are audaciously popped into my mouth, forcing me to swallow to avoid gagging.

“Good girl. It’ll kick in soon,” she says smugly, returning to her chair and spinning it back around to face the ship’s controls.

There’s so much I want to say, to just lash out at her – starting from the Convention, to everything she’s done now. But I also don’t want to give her another victory over me by losing all my restraint. “Say it already, I’m sure you didn’t drag me here for chit-chat. What do you want with me?” I demand instead. “And why do you have my friends?”

“Just a little arrangement, that’s all… As for your friends, if you rather interrogate me than be grateful I spared them, I could gladly throw them overboard.”

Annoyed, I press my lips into a line. Wanting to get that thought out of her mind immediately, I switch back to the main subject at hand. “What type of ‘arrangement’ could you possibly want with me?”

“Well – it’s not with you, but it certainly involves you. Should I keep it a surprise, or be upfront?”

Like I’d ever want any more of her terrible “surprises.” The idea alone is maddening.

“The second option.”

“Then I have a question for you, blondie,” she peers around the chair to look at me again. “If your father had the chance to save you, do you think he would?”

“Of course,” I answer with a scowl. “That’s a no-brainer.”

“Really? You’re confident about that?” she overlaps her gloved fingers over each other, assessing my response. “Enough to put your life on the line over?”

The manner she asks it is like a statement about the weather on a Tuesday, although her eyes portray the gravity behind her every word.

Catching on to my hesitancy, Ezri says, “Ah – not so sure of yourself, after all.”

“Don’t act like you know what’s going on through my head,” I snap, even though it was true. “What are you trying to propose?”

“I hate the IPU, and I want them gone.”

Wow, really? You don’t say.

“You’re going to help me with that by being my bargaining chip,” she continues. “If your daddy surrenders the IPU to me, I’ll let you go. If not, I’ll kill you.”

By accepting to join the task force, I already knew I’d be endangering myself – but putting the IPU at risk is a different story. The shadows in the room feel bigger, more imposing. Lux was wrong, she does want to use me to manipulate Dad.

“So, that’s how you plan to take us out? By being a cheat?”

“I’m just trying to make a deal here, hun. It’s all perfectly fair, all he has to do is say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

Right, as if it’s that simple. If she has any clue about the relationship between me and Dad, she knows that her offer would be denied on the spot.

Back at the mansion, Dad has a display case that showcases all his achievements and awards – like his diploma from the Institute of Laws and Sciences as a valedictorian, peace prizes, and a recent medal of recognition for steering back the country after the Saski Incident.

Right in the center is a picture of me graduating high school. When he first put it up there, I couldn’t have been happier. It was the moment I was waiting for. While I was a kid, even more so after his inauguration, I used to stare at that trophy case every day, wanting my turn.

“Daddy, look! I learned fractions!”

“Not now, Calla. I’m on the phone.”

Being a politician, Dad was always busy with work. He had important responsibilities to take care of, and I always understood it, so I never complained. It just meant I had to try a little harder to get his attention.

“Daaaddyy,” I approached him once, whining. “I fell and scraped my knee.”

“Tell your mom or a droid to take care of it, I have to get to a meeting.”

I remember feeling so disappointed I had hurt myself on purpose for nothing, but it taught me a good lesson – don’t expect anything good to come out of stupidity. Of course, Ezri had to make me throw that out the window, though.

“Don’t be upset, sweetie,” Mom said, holding my hand as we left my school one evening. “I’m sure your dad had a good reason for missing your play.”

He probably did. I never expected him to neglect his duties just for my sake. After all, I was a very ordinary kid – average grades, no special talents, nothing resulting from my own merit to boast about amongst the other high-society kids. For someone of Dad’s status, being “normal” simply didn’t cut it.

“Anthony! You wouldn’t believe it, Calla got a 100 on the pre-MME!” Miss Gray said during a visit. I was 10-years-old, and my parents had signed me up for a “beginner” MME that’d help me prepare for the official ones I’d be required to take after turning 13.

It was an afternoon I’ll never forget – when something I did actually caught Dad’s interest. I soon learned that my score was extremely rare for my age, and that it was a great indication for how well I’d function as a member of our society. The “ideal model citizen,” is what I overheard Dad calling me while talking to a colleague. I almost fainted.

I had finally found “it,” the thing that separated me from the rest, that made me worthy of Dad’s praise – naturally impeccable mental and emotional control, highly desired by the IPU. Again, something else Ezri has sabotaged… Anyway, it even lead to Dad being the first to say good morning to me. After that, instead of being with my peers, I spent all my free time studying the laws and systems under the IPU, until what started as a way to impress Dad created the person I am today; a model citizen, who doesn’t let anything slip.

When he added that graduation photo to his assortment, he had to swap it out to make room. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he assured me that they were merely objects, and so were expendable. He’s gotten other awards since, but my picture remains unmoved.

Dad cherishes me as a prize in his heart, so I know that if she tries to make this deal, the IPU is in trouble. Funnily enough, even though I worked so hard, it’d be better for him to love me less.

Well played, Ezri. You actually found a way to get the high ground in all this.

“No, you’re definitely a cheat,” I say. “And you feel no shame about it, do you?”

Ezri laughs lowly, making my blood boil. “Can’t say I do, blondie. Why don’t we call up your old man now, and get this over with?”