Clay's Conflictions

“Sir, are you okay?”

President John Clay blinked open his eyes, trying to make sense of the figures standing over him. He looked up at the face of a woman hovering above him—his head was resting on her lap. Who was she?

“How are you?” the woman asked, rubbing his head softly.

He looked around, taking in the long table and pushed back chairs. He noted the papers splattered around him. The room had one exit and a series of windows along the opposite end of the table. What’s happening? He thought.

“President Clay?” one of the men asked.

Is that me? What am I doing here?

The woman waved him away. “He’ll be okay,” she said. “His doctors are on their way.”

Suddenly, something clicked, and everything rushed back to him. He was in a meeting. A dull thudding in his temples he hadn’t realized was there, vanished and he slowly started to sit up. As he did, the woman, his wife, Martha, tried to stop him, but he waved her hand away. “I’m fine,” he said, “Just another episode.”

“Are you sure,” Martha asked, “This one seemed… worse…”

John nodded and took a deep breath, taking in the fall air streaming in from the open windows. Ever since a bad fall as a child, he’d had what he liked to refer to as “episodes.” These periods came randomly, with unpredictable frequency, and prevented him from controlling his body when they came on. Sometimes they lasted a few moments, sometimes several minutes.

“How long?” he asked Martha, taking his seat—most men in the room followed suit, excluding those who had stopped to collect the papers dropped during his episode.

“Maybe thirty seconds,” she said, brushing a bit of lint from her dress as she stood. “But this one was different, no movement at all, you just… collapsed.”

The men handed him his reports then resumed their appropriate seats. John leafed through them for a moment then waved his hand to Martha. “Thank you for your help, Martha, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. Please leave us.”

Martha entwined her hands hesitantly, as if wanting to speak, but John narrowed his eyes. “Right,” she said, pursing her lips and heading out the door to John’s right.

As she exited, a small team of doctors rushed into the room. They came to him immediately and began the standard procedures, checking his pulse, eyes, ears, etc.

As they did, John turned to the guards in the room and gestured for them to close the windows. After they did so, he turned to the small, plump man standing at the head of the table and nodded. “Jefferson?”

The man hopped to attention. “Yes, sir?”

“Continue.”

“R-right, sir,” the man said, pushing up his glasses and turning to the display behind him where a blurry video was paused, ready to play.

Jefferson pressed a button on a remote in his hand and the video clicked into focus and began to play.

The video was from a security camera installed ten floors below John’s feet, from a secret research facility whose purpose was to push humanity back to its peak and even further into the future. It had been established just after the Great Cataclysm and, in just under two hundred years, had made considerable progress.

What John watched now, however, was something he did not understand. “Incredible,” he whispered.

The video showed a man, normal at first glance, going through trial after trial. In the first, he was shot multiple times— after a few moments, the bullets forced their ways back out of his body, and the wounds closed on themselves. In the second, he was drowned—but the lack of air didn’t affect him, even after an hour. In the third, he was dismembered, but the limbs rejoined themselves to his body.

“What’s causing this?” John asked.

Jefferson scratched his head. “We have no idea, sir. We’ve taken blood samples and examined them but haven’t found anything unusual.”

“An immortal man,” one of the men at the table said. “Can we weaponize him?”

“I’m sure we could if we knew how he worked, that is,” Jefferson stammered.

“And there’s more of these, what do they call them, Revived, walking the streets?” another man asked.

Jefferson nodded. “We’ve confirmed reports on about eighty, but the military police theorize there are probably several hundred, if not thousands.”

John narrowed his eyes and leaned forward on the table. “Thousands?”

“Well…” Jefferson began, “That’s what they think, but it hasn’t been confirmed, only-”

“Jefferson,” John interrupted. “Do you know the threat thousands of immortals pose against society?”

“Well, yes, but-”

“But what? Round them up. This city, this world, has no place for creatures like this, they defy the laws of nature!” John shouted, standing, sending the room into complete silence.

“Sir…” one of the men at the table started after a moment—his Unification Secretary, Alphonse Tyler. “While I agree with you,” Tyler continued, “Don’t you think rounding these Revived up might undermine our current efforts? Looking at these reports, it’s apparent that most of these Revived have appeared in the Lower District. If we were to march down there and begin kidnapping people, what would happen to the relationship we’ve worked so hard to establish with the general populace?”

John bit his lip. It was wrong— people died and stayed dead; they didn’t come back to life. But he had seen the report. The Revived actually seemed to be helping the unification effort between the Lower and Upper Districts, a goal that had weighed heavily on him since the beginning of his presidency two years ago. They’d gone through too much effort building trust to lose it now.

“Fine,” John said, stepping back from the table. “I’ll think about it. You’re dismissed.”

Jefferson started to say something, but John exited the room quickly, leaving the man behind. Only one person caught up with him on his way out the door, still shuffling papers into a small binder they were carrying. It was the head of the military police, Edwin Folls.

“What do you want, Edwin?” John snapped, increasing his pace down the long hallway toward the elevator at its end. He saw his wife talking to someone in an off-shooting room but rushed past. He wanted time to think right now, something that Edwin’s presence certainly wasn’t helping with.

“Sir,” Edwin said, struggling to catch up. Edwin was a robust man, standing slightly taller than John, but was also an aging man. He had participated in the Nameless Uprising ten years ago as a younger man, and while he was instrumental in putting the rebellion down, he had also been wounded and scarred.

Therefore, John easily outpaced him to the elevator, where he began to frantically smash the down button. Edwin called out again behind him, John ignored him, tapping his boots against the floor as he watched the elevator rise from the lower levels.

It wasn’t quick enough, however, and Edwin caught up, just as the elevator signaled its imminent arrival with a sharp ding. “Sir, there’s something I need to speak to you about, it’s urgent.”

John sighed and turned to face the Commander. The man was covered with sweat and pale in the face. John bit the inside of his cheek, flustered at how much effort he’d caused the man, he was obviously in pain. “Fine,” John said as the elevator doors clicked open, “Just tell me you have a cigarette for me.”

Edwin smiled, patting his suit pocket. “Of course, sir.”

“Then get in,” John said, gesturing to the lift behind him.

They took the ride down in silence, waiting until the first floor to continue their conversation. As they exited the lift, Edwin passed John a cigarette and offered to light it, which John accepted. “Where to?” the President asked Edwin after a long puff.

“Perhaps the gardens?” Edwin replied, gesturing to the patio on their right.

John shrugged and followed the man, emerging into the cool night. Edwin led them to a set of chairs under a heat lamp and sat down.

“What’s this urgent matter, Edwin?” John asked, tossing the rest of his cigarette underfoot and stomping it out.

Edwin raised his eyebrow at this but didn’t say a word. John felt the need to reply anyway. “I was done,” he stated.

Edwin waved his hand. “Yes, yes, that’s fine. I’m just curious— what do you really want to do about these people?”

“The Revived?” John clarified.

“Of course.”

“I’d like to get rid of them,” John grunted. “Mark my words, they’re going to ruin all our plans.”

He looked Edwin in the eye then leaned forward after glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “We are this close, Edwin,” he started. “This close,” he said, gesturing with his fingers. “Mire thinks we can bring the charter to the Named this weekend, he thinks they’re ready to accept, but if this Revived do something stupid, then what?”

Edwin looked at John cynically. “John,” he said. “I’ve known you for a while now and this-” he gestured at him- “Is not you. Are you okay? Really?”

John scratched at his arm, satisfying an itch there. “I don’t know,” he blurted out. “Martha’s right, my fits are getting worse, I don’t know why, and now we’re at a critical point with the Charter. It’s just, these Revived. I don’t think it’s right, Edwin. They already had their chance, didn’t they? And what if one of them ends up a radical? What will we do then? They’re immortal for Rijma’s sake, and-”

“I’m going to stop you there,” Edwin said, laying his hand on John’s shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it. As you saw, Jefferson and his team are figuring these guys out, why don’t we just let them sit in peace for now. If you want, we can always monitor them.”

John stared out into the darkness, processing his advisor’s words. “What if I’m right though? What if they turn violent? What will we do then?”

Edwin shrugged. “We’ll worry about that if it happens. If it makes you feel better, I’ll have some of my men put a plan together, just in case.”

John nodded. “That would be good. I’ll also talk to Mire, see what he says, how the nobles are going to treat this, this thing. I just don’t want it to get in the way of the Charter- the Nameless are at the tipping point again, Edwin. They want things to be better, and I agree with them- why should the Named get to live up on the Upper District without care while those in the Lower struggle for food and shelter every day?”

Edwin sighed and patted John’s shoulder, getting to his feet. “It’s all going to work out, John. We’re doing God’s work after all, aren’t we?”

“I just wish God would help me get it done already,” John murmured as Edwin reentered the building behind him.

***

Tez Rylie always considered himself an optimist. He was confident in his actions and believes. He was a man who found pride in his ideals and work ethic. He was a man that was looked up to, a man who had changed the world, or at least, started that change.

That, of course, is what he had once thought.

Two years later, he found himself observing the same mess and same situation he had found society in then. This is why I brought you back, God said in his mind. My judgment at this point is left in your hands. Show me what qualities humans really possess. We can proceed from there.

Tez smiled and stuffed his hands into his pockets. That’s the plan he thought, resting his right hand on the steel barrel of his weapon. I promised you I would.