The Queen of All that Dies
Page 3
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Her eyes are sad. “Because you are young and attractive. It’s easier to sympathize with someone who looks like you than someone like your father.”
It makes sense. Of course it does. The representatives have to leverage whatever they can. Still I grind my teeth together. Those who watch the peace talks might sympathize more if I dress like this, but they will also see us as weak. No one is afraid of a pretty bauble, and that’s just what I’ll be.
“Time to remove your clothes, sweetie.”
I shuck off my fatigues and stand in my bra and panties. Lisa doesn’t say anything about the sick way my collarbones stick out or my flat, empty stomach, but her brows pull together while she takes down my measurements, as though it pains her to see me this way.
There was a time when obesity was the losing battle our people faced. Not so anymore. As soon as food became scarce, curves became coveted.
Lisa puts away the tape measurer and rifles through the clothing, removing garments that she knows she can’t tailor to fit me.
“Where did you even get all of these?” I ask.
“They’re not mine. These are property of the WUN—and no, I have no idea where and when they came by these.”
I try some of the remaining garments on, and Lisa tugs and adjusts the material, writing down notes in her notepad on adjustments. After the better part of an hour, she packs up her stuff. “I’ll finish these tonight and have them packed for you tomorrow,” she says. “And I’m supposed to tell you that Jessica’s pulled out of kitchen duty to cut your hair and show you a thing or two about makeup.”
I almost groan at the thought. Getting a haircut is one thing, but makeup? I’ve never worn it. I’m going to look like a clown. All for a televised meeting that will be viewed mostly by the enemy.
Few people in the WUN will even be able to watch. The king destroyed a large portion of our electronics years ago, and he has since halted the sale and distribution of all devices manufactured in the Eastern Empire. We have only a limited number of functioning electronics left.
Lisa cups my face, bringing me back to the present. She stares at me for a long time, and I can tell she wants to say something profound. Her eyes are getting watery, and I’m getting distinctly uncomfortable.
All she ends up saying, however, is, “You’ve got this, sweetie.”
I nod my head once, not trusting my own voice. Because the truth is, I don’t. We don’t. This is really, truly the beginning of the end.
My roommates have long since gone to bed when I sneak out of the barracks, my hair several inches shorter from Jessica’s ministrations. At night the florescent lights that line the subterranean hallways are turned off to save energy, so I make my way through the compound based on touch and memory.
When I get to the storage cellar, most of the group is already there, waiting for the meeting to begin.
Someone whistles. “Is that makeup, Serenity? And here we thought you were a dude this entire time.”
I flip off David, the guy responsible for the comments. All he does is laugh.
Will nods to me and pats an empty crate next to him. I make my way through the cramped room to sit down. We wait five more minutes, and when no one else shows up, Will clears his throat. “This is the North American WUN command center. Let’s commence the hundred and forty-third meeting of the Resistance.” His voice is being recorded and streamed to other meetings occurring throughout the globe.
As the general’s son, Will became the de facto correspondent with the Resistance. The group of us sitting here—all former soldiers and children of the various representatives—gather and relay information back to our leaders.
We make these meetings as clandestine as possible. While the WUN needs the information the Resistance feeds us, we don’t want to be openly associated with them. While we share a common enemy, they’re a terrorist organization.
“What are the casualty numbers this week?” Will asks first.
A crackly voice comes on over the Internet. “Ten thousand, three hundred and eleven globally—that’s the official number. As usual, we have reason to believe there are several thousand more unreported casualties that have died from radiation sickness and biological warfare.”
Next to Will, David jots these numbers down.
I rub my forehead. As much as I’m dreading the visit to Geneva, the WUN is at its breaking point. Our hemisphere’s population is only a fraction of what it was before the war. It’s not just fighting that’s felling our numbers. People are sick.
Will’s mouth is a thin line. “Any news on the enemy?”
“They’re still holding the Panama Canal, and reports in the area say that they’ve taken over the hospitals and research clinics in the neighboring cities—just as they have in all other conquered territories.”
“Have our spies figured out what the king’s men are doing in these locations?”
“Same as all the others—a little of this and that. Stem cell research, the regeneration of cells, you know, the usual work up.”
And we still had no idea what real medical developments the king was actually researching. He’s managed to keep that under wraps for as long as we’ve been fighting this war.
“There was, however, one thing unusual about this takeover,” the Resistance member says. “Many of the technicians the king let go were dazed.”
“What do you mean by ‘dazed’?” Will asks.
“They were confused. Couldn’t answer our questions.”
“Any ideas what might’ve happened to them?” I cut in.
The voice on the other end pauses. “None except the most general.”
“And what would that be?” I press.
“They lost their memory.”
The next day a knock on my door signals that it’s time to go. I sit alone in the barracks, fingering my mother’s necklace around my neck. I’m already wearing one of the dresses that Lisa tailored for me.
I despise the thing.
The door opens and Will pokes his head in. The sight of him brings me back to last night’s conversation with the Resistance. The king’s overtaken the Panama Canal; no wonder the WUN’s folding. The war’s ending soon if they’ve wrangled control of it.
And the hospitals … everywhere the king goes, he infiltrates the labs first. Initially we’d thought it was to decimate any chance of medical relief—and yes, he does do that. But when stories of his unusual research trickled in, we began to take note.
It makes sense. Of course it does. The representatives have to leverage whatever they can. Still I grind my teeth together. Those who watch the peace talks might sympathize more if I dress like this, but they will also see us as weak. No one is afraid of a pretty bauble, and that’s just what I’ll be.
“Time to remove your clothes, sweetie.”
I shuck off my fatigues and stand in my bra and panties. Lisa doesn’t say anything about the sick way my collarbones stick out or my flat, empty stomach, but her brows pull together while she takes down my measurements, as though it pains her to see me this way.
There was a time when obesity was the losing battle our people faced. Not so anymore. As soon as food became scarce, curves became coveted.
Lisa puts away the tape measurer and rifles through the clothing, removing garments that she knows she can’t tailor to fit me.
“Where did you even get all of these?” I ask.
“They’re not mine. These are property of the WUN—and no, I have no idea where and when they came by these.”
I try some of the remaining garments on, and Lisa tugs and adjusts the material, writing down notes in her notepad on adjustments. After the better part of an hour, she packs up her stuff. “I’ll finish these tonight and have them packed for you tomorrow,” she says. “And I’m supposed to tell you that Jessica’s pulled out of kitchen duty to cut your hair and show you a thing or two about makeup.”
I almost groan at the thought. Getting a haircut is one thing, but makeup? I’ve never worn it. I’m going to look like a clown. All for a televised meeting that will be viewed mostly by the enemy.
Few people in the WUN will even be able to watch. The king destroyed a large portion of our electronics years ago, and he has since halted the sale and distribution of all devices manufactured in the Eastern Empire. We have only a limited number of functioning electronics left.
Lisa cups my face, bringing me back to the present. She stares at me for a long time, and I can tell she wants to say something profound. Her eyes are getting watery, and I’m getting distinctly uncomfortable.
All she ends up saying, however, is, “You’ve got this, sweetie.”
I nod my head once, not trusting my own voice. Because the truth is, I don’t. We don’t. This is really, truly the beginning of the end.
My roommates have long since gone to bed when I sneak out of the barracks, my hair several inches shorter from Jessica’s ministrations. At night the florescent lights that line the subterranean hallways are turned off to save energy, so I make my way through the compound based on touch and memory.
When I get to the storage cellar, most of the group is already there, waiting for the meeting to begin.
Someone whistles. “Is that makeup, Serenity? And here we thought you were a dude this entire time.”
I flip off David, the guy responsible for the comments. All he does is laugh.
Will nods to me and pats an empty crate next to him. I make my way through the cramped room to sit down. We wait five more minutes, and when no one else shows up, Will clears his throat. “This is the North American WUN command center. Let’s commence the hundred and forty-third meeting of the Resistance.” His voice is being recorded and streamed to other meetings occurring throughout the globe.
As the general’s son, Will became the de facto correspondent with the Resistance. The group of us sitting here—all former soldiers and children of the various representatives—gather and relay information back to our leaders.
We make these meetings as clandestine as possible. While the WUN needs the information the Resistance feeds us, we don’t want to be openly associated with them. While we share a common enemy, they’re a terrorist organization.
“What are the casualty numbers this week?” Will asks first.
A crackly voice comes on over the Internet. “Ten thousand, three hundred and eleven globally—that’s the official number. As usual, we have reason to believe there are several thousand more unreported casualties that have died from radiation sickness and biological warfare.”
Next to Will, David jots these numbers down.
I rub my forehead. As much as I’m dreading the visit to Geneva, the WUN is at its breaking point. Our hemisphere’s population is only a fraction of what it was before the war. It’s not just fighting that’s felling our numbers. People are sick.
Will’s mouth is a thin line. “Any news on the enemy?”
“They’re still holding the Panama Canal, and reports in the area say that they’ve taken over the hospitals and research clinics in the neighboring cities—just as they have in all other conquered territories.”
“Have our spies figured out what the king’s men are doing in these locations?”
“Same as all the others—a little of this and that. Stem cell research, the regeneration of cells, you know, the usual work up.”
And we still had no idea what real medical developments the king was actually researching. He’s managed to keep that under wraps for as long as we’ve been fighting this war.
“There was, however, one thing unusual about this takeover,” the Resistance member says. “Many of the technicians the king let go were dazed.”
“What do you mean by ‘dazed’?” Will asks.
“They were confused. Couldn’t answer our questions.”
“Any ideas what might’ve happened to them?” I cut in.
The voice on the other end pauses. “None except the most general.”
“And what would that be?” I press.
“They lost their memory.”
The next day a knock on my door signals that it’s time to go. I sit alone in the barracks, fingering my mother’s necklace around my neck. I’m already wearing one of the dresses that Lisa tailored for me.
I despise the thing.
The door opens and Will pokes his head in. The sight of him brings me back to last night’s conversation with the Resistance. The king’s overtaken the Panama Canal; no wonder the WUN’s folding. The war’s ending soon if they’ve wrangled control of it.
And the hospitals … everywhere the king goes, he infiltrates the labs first. Initially we’d thought it was to decimate any chance of medical relief—and yes, he does do that. But when stories of his unusual research trickled in, we began to take note.
