Chapter 5: Radioactive

General Mikvea sat in his office, the soft hum of a light bulb his only company, and a cigar in his mouth. Disgusting things, really, but he needed one tonight. It was rare that the slight man found himself feeling powerless; intelligence and determination usually curbed that.

How had this happened? In one night an entire squad had been involved in a situation the likes of which the DAP had never dealt with, and on top of that, two unregs had disappeared from a cleansed establishment. This was a PR nightmare in the making, and the General was determined to avoid that.

A gentle knock on the door.

“Come in,” replied a raspy voice.

The hinges creaked as a Lieutenant entered the small space. He surveyed his surroundings, noting the lamp in the corner and a poster on the wall: Mikvea for High Minister.

“Sir, I have some info on the recent unreg case.”

The General sighed. “Okay, what is it?”

A folder dropped onto his desk.

“That’s everything we have on the boy who lived in the cleansed home.”

“An ILU? That’s…”

“Yeah, I know they’re rare.”

ILU: three letters seldom assigned to children. These Citizens were considered obsessive and unstable, capable of high intelligence and low reasoning skills. The Senate saw these people as risks because of their perceptive abilities and violent tendencies. It was advised that only the highest professionals deal with them if brought in for any level of interrogation. Mikvea had encountered three ILUs in his time on the force.

The first was a girl of 23 who went on a killing spree due to misguided beliefs that her neighbors were conspiring to kill her. It was seen as preemptive self-defense and she was set free.

The second—another girl of 16—was the only Citizen ever to incapacitate an entire raid team. She was executed as a traitor only days before her 17th birthday.

The third—and most disturbing—was a boy of 21. Over the course of six years, he had systematically kidnapped, killed, and consumed 29 people in the areas surrounding the Capital. It was believed at the time that he was a political assailant aiming to destabilize the government. As it turns out, he simply believed that those he killed were trapped in mortal shells, and that killing and eating them would free their souls to set the world free. There were no words for how deranged that boy was, and he was publicly executed three days after his capture.

Mikvea had interviewed all three before they were released one way or another, noting how cold and removed they seemed. The utter lack of emotion from the children served to exemplify their intelligence and instability. Overall, these experiences had taught the General a healthy respect for ILUs and how dangerous they could be when provoked.

“Does he have a history?”

The Lieutenant looked taken back.

“Uh, no sir. He’s been suspected in a few small thefts from corner shops around the city in which he lived, but nothing was ever conclusively tied to him.”

Mikvea sighed both in relief and frustration. On one hand, there was no indication that this boy was violent, which worked to their advantage. However this fact made him unpredictable.

“Alright, that’s a start. Is there anything else we know about him? Why was he staying in that home of all places?”

The young Lieutenant shifted. The General felt his stomach begin to drop.

“Well? Does he know what happened there?”

Still no answer.

“Spit it out!”

“Um…He is the son of that home’s original occupants. The ILU status was assigned to him after the raid.”

Mikvea’s final nerve snapped in two. Suddenly the blank eyes staring at him from the file came into focus. He knew that face, its fear.

The same terror that had petrified both of them four years ago.

The General’s eyes went wide as the world slowed to a near-halt around him. Was it really possible that this boy was the same one from that disastrous raid four years ago? Sure, the eyes were more ragged and the skin was dirtier than it had been, but it fit. ILUs were, by nature, very attached to certain aspects of their lives. A book, a parent, a home, it could be anything. The three Citizens Mikvea had dealt with were wrecks in the interrogation room because of the separation from that part of their lives.

“Are you telling me that this boy was there that day?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“I thought so. Please leave.”

“Sir, if I might ask: weren’t you there?”

“LEAVE!” the General roared. The Lieutenant yelped, quickly turning to go. He paused for a second to turn back just before closing the door behind him; he could swear a tear was running the General’s cheek.

How could this child still be alive? If he was present the day of that raid, Mikvea would have seen him. Gods, that day. It still haunted the aging General in his dreams. The sight of those two terrified people; their daughter’s screams as she found their bodies; the realization that they were in the wrong building.

A pair of blue eyes in the floor, staring up at the scene in horror. While the thought had puzzled Mikvea at first, he had chalked the phenomenon up to simple stress. They were cleaning up the house at the time, prepping it for condemnation, and as such, all electric devices were to be disabled and all furniture returned to its original place.

There was no life there when they departed, or so they thought. The final sweep had revealed no human life in the house, and it was sealed according to protocol. Apparently the boy had escaped and returned, his status later reassigned.

Before the raid that wiped out his family he had been an STM child, with a bright future ahead of him. These Citizens were generally considered to be the closest to ILUs in personality and intelligence with one exception: STMs were capable of empathy on a level most could only dream of. Their heightened awareness made them ideal soldiers, but that compassion kept most of them from enlisting for active service. Only a few had opted to do so, the considerable majority choosing instead reserve enlistment; those would only be called in for a shortage of active personnel.

It was a shame for this boy. As an ILU he would have a hard time fitting into society. Most employers refuse to hire them, fearing an emotional breakdown. The few ILUs who function well in society cannot feel empathy and gain joy from advancement in some way or another. National psychologists from 100 years ago would have labeled those individuals psychopaths.

Mikvea’s head shot up as he came upon a realization. That was why the ILU boy never showed up in any adverse reports. He was an ILU Prime! His psyche was completely intact, held together by his past. Now that his physical link to the old life he led was gone, he might snap. This was a way to find the two fugitives! The General bolted out of his office, turning toward the main chamber, where the High Officers would be currently.

The Council of the High Officers was a respected authority on military matters and accepted little input from any except the Senate themselves. Every day at 13, they met in the main chamber of the Capital Military Complex, one of the Nation’s most expansive and feared districts. No Citizen who entered this place ever returned. Most were interrogated and assimilated into the Complex itself; those who were uncooperative were simply executed. Ultimately, these decisions rested with the Council.

It was this process they were running through when Mikvea had his own epiphany. At the time, they were sitting in the box that formed their chamber, resting after a meal and debating the proper punishment for a vagrant accused of treason against the Senate. While relocation was the standard punishment label for most crimes now, the actual action ranged from incarceration—labeled “relocation from community”—to execution: relocation from life. There was much public rumor around this word that was not necessary.

That mystery suited the Council just fine.

Councilman Frager had finished his reasoning on the issue of this punishment when his head turned toward the door to the chamber. It wasn’t anything in particular that drew his attention there; something just felt wrong. It was at that moment, when most of the Councilmen had turned their attention similarly, that General Mikvea shoved the doors open, his eyes wide and his brow glistening with sweat. As he surveyed the square arrangement of the Council, his pupils shrank. Approaching these men was always difficult.

“Mikvea,” Frager said quietly. “What are you doing here?”

The General bowed low before speaking.

“Please forgive me for this most unceremonious of interruptions, but I have a development on a case I am working at the moment. It’s th¬—”

“The case of the ILU and the girl accompanying him?” spoke another Councilman, Darent. “We are aware of the details, including the boy’s family situation with regards to the home in which he was staying.”

“Yes, I figured you would be, sirs. Again, forgive me, but I have information that may help us find them, if it pleases you.”

The nine Councilmen looked at each other, uncertainty in their eyes. Eventually, eight nodded at the High Councilman, Surin, who turned to face Mikvea.

“Speak your peace, and we shall decide the validity of these claims.”

“Thank you, sir. My hypothesis, based on the ILU’s reaction to these events and his determination to remain in that house, is that he is a Prime.”

The entire Council gasped softly as they heard this. Primes were rare on good days. Staying away from the eye of the Military was something they were so good at, the only time the Council had ever encountered one was when they found out one of their own was among that population.

And that was over 100 years ago.

Surin collected himself quickly enough to keep the room under control, returning his attention to Mikvea.

“Tell us: how is this going to help us find him?”

The General smiled.

“If his ties to reality were connected by that house, the sudden upheaval in his life might be enough to snap him. If that happens, he will act out of instinct instead of calculated logic, making him more predictable.

“Rather than darting around the map and staying away from key points for the DAP, he may cut straight through the landscape, and make a mistake by wandering through a center for the public eye. If that happens and we miss him, we will have an idea of where he’s going. This could end the search within a week.”

The Councilmen—Surin excepted—were smiling softly by the end of this pitch. The General before them had demonstrated the commitment and tenacity they needed at the moment. It was a collection of qualities they saw valuable in a candidate for High Minister.

Surin, on the other hand, was completely surprised. The forethought Mikvea had given to this operation was beyond his pay grade by a long shot. As it happened, that kind of anticipation was more qualified for a member of the Council itself. Unfortunately, as a candidate for Minister, the General was ineligible for promotion within the Military. Secretly, the High Councilman was hoping that Mikvea was defeated by a wide-enough margin that he never wanted to run again. Surin looked around, seeing the Council staring at him expectantly, and spoke softly.

“If you wish, you may play out this scenario in real life. We will fund a 6-month search, or until you find them: whichever occurs first. Is that agreeable?”

The question was followed by a round of nodding from the Councilmen and a stoic look on Mikvea’s face.

“Thank you sirs. I will not disappoint you.” As he turned to leave, a wave of relief washed over the General. To make it through a meeting with the Council without any severe setbacks was nothing short of a miracle. Mikvea passed the guards at the door, giving them a nod to call them down from the salute assumed upon his appearance in their field of vision.

The walk to his office didn’t seem so long this time.

Two hours later and 400 miles away, a DAP Colonel received authorization for a full-scale search to be launched with the goal of retrieving the ILU boy and his companion.

Three Months Later

Colonel Decar was sleeping at his desk after a full 34 hours awake. The search for the two teenagers that had disappeared three months previously was proving harder than anticipated. Every new day brought a fresh wave of disappointment to the team specialized for this task.

Decar was jolted awake by a loud thud, opening his eyes to find a new stack of files. The Colonel glanced up at the man above him, catching the attention of a Private in his squad.

“What is this, Private?”

The young man sighed in frustration.

“This week’s ‘sightings.’”

Groaning, Decar opened the first folder. Over the past three months—since the advertisements for the two fugitives had gone public—thousands of reported sightings had come in, many from the same areas of the country. The only problem was when 16 sightings came from one end of the country and less than an hour later, 23 came from the opposite border, a 4,000-mile distance. After that the force began taking all claims with a grain of salt, preferring to focus their resources on the more probable tales. Something had seemed off from the beginning about this case either way.

ILU Primes were exceedingly rare. Or at least they were very good at disguising themselves. It was seldom that one ended up on the DAP’s radar, and the last time that happened was 50 years ago. For one to pop up under such strange circumstances now appeared almost engineered. After the assignment had come from the Capital, many assumed this was planned to advance Mikvea’s career. The formula was simple enough: make a simple missing-persons case a National manhunt, and the man in charge wins political power for his campaign.

Unfortunately, General Mikvea was a current favorite of the High Council, and no one within the DAP was willing to challenge their opinion; it took a special kind of stupid to say that Councilman Surin was wrong about anything. So the task force plugged along, forcing themselves to report every morning to sit at desks all day trying to find two ghosts: one who was currently the center of a massive IA inquiry and one who hadn’t even existed in the public record for four and a half years.

The Colonel finished leafing through the files on his desk, muttering random details from the last report.

“Edge of the woods…near mountains outside city…reported to be seen at approximately…well shit. We’re getting nowhere.” He handed the last three reports to the Private standing before him. “Follow these up. They’re from roughly the same area, and it’ll get some boots out of the office for a few hours.”

The young man snapped a salute before retreating from the office, leaving Decar to his thoughts. He nearly slipped back into sleep before a loud ring pierced the silence of his office. Groggily he slammed his fist on the coms panel in front of him, allowing the intruder to speak.

“Colonel Decar?”

He snapped up in his seat, alarmed by the voice on the other end.

“General Mikvea! Nothing to report right now. I have a few units investigating three sightings in the same area yesterday, and they will report in when they have evaluated the situation.”

“Good. I trust your men are still under control.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

A heavy sigh came from the speaker.

“Very well. Report to me when you learn what comes of the recon.”

“Yes, sir.”

The microphone clicked, and Decar was alone once again. A light flickered above him. As the Colonel fell asleep, he noticed the bulb crack and die, leaving him in darkness.

When will this end?

Two Months Later

General Mikvea rifled through the latest reports, biding his time until the Council summoned him. Five months had passed since the ILU and a female accompanying him had disappeared. All he knew was that they had been sighted once, three months after they vanished in a sealed district.

West Fortrik was a small city well outside the original boundaries of the Country itself, but a military operation had assimilated it. The people there were mostly laborers and largely supportive of the regime. No dissenters ad ever been reported in the area, but there was the occasional complaint. Those were dealt with easily enough, most of those relocations being ordered by Mikvea himself.

Unfortunately, West Fortrik had been hit by a nuclear reactor meltdown about 50 years ago, and now was completely sealed off and considered a radioactive wasteland. The problem was the remaining inhabitants.

The people there were fewer, but strong. The city was self-sustaining and could theoretically present a threat to the Capital in the near future. With that in mind, West Fortrik was a vital part of the Country. It still exported steel products and much of that part of the Nation relied on the metals.

So Mikvea was torn. While it was not known that the ILU had left West Fortrik, the chances that he was still there after two months were astronomical. Beyond that, the Prime Minister election was approaching, and the General needed to apprehend the two fugitives to make him look like an effective leader and fit to run the policies of the Country. If that arrest wasn’t made, Mikvea was unable to imagine the harm this would do if it ever went public.

The General reached the final report: a short dissertation on the specifics of the case with the ILU. Skimming through the first few pages, which covered the first week of the search, he mumbled spurts of detail.

“Mannequins in the parents’ bedroom…” That made sense, considering part of his attachment to the house was his family. “Working electricity throughout the structure…” Interesting. He was obviously skilled with electric wiring. “Crawlspace under the living room containing—”

Crawlspace? Why does that seem familiar?

Mikvea rubbed his temples until it finally hit him. The eyes from the raid. That’s why they missed him then and again this time! He was hiding under the floor! The General’s eyes went wide as the realization sank in. This whole time, they had never considered the possibility that the ILU was that cunning. Since the crawlspace was not in the original blueprints for the house, that meant he had dug it out himself, meaning he was expecting someone to come.

Mikvea immediately dictated a note to be sent to the task force at DAP East, where the search was currently centered, telling Colonel Decar to begin at possible hiding spots they might not have considered. The mountain range near Fortrik was a good place to start. With that sent, he settled in to wait for a call from the Council that never came.

A piercing ring jolted General Mikvea from his slumber. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. With a quick glance at the clock—2109—he tapped the receiving screen on the comspeak in front of him.

“This is General Mikvea.”

“General, this is Colonel Decar. First off, thank you for the tip on the mountains. We never thought to look there.”

“That’s right, Colonel. You didn’t think. Why should I be impressed that you can take a hint?”

“Because we found them, sir.”

Mikvea froze. Was it really possible? Had one day outdone five months of work based on a whim?

“Where precisely are they?”

The Colonel paused to whisper to someone who had just come into the room he was occupying before continuing.

“Fontaine Valley, sir. Not exactly a friendly place to visit this time of year.”

The General chuckled. That valley was known for the harsh extremes in weather and seasons. Right now, during the autumn, it was a relatively welcoming climate. However, it was likely the two fugitives would be rained out soon.

“Are they on the cusp, or actually in the Everfree?”

“They’re well inside the forest, sir. We have reason to believe the hermit who lives on the edge of the tree line may have seen them a few days ago.”

“Alright. Establish a perimeter and wait until I get there.”

“Yes, sir.”

With the connection terminated, Mikvea put in an order for a private jet to the Fontaine Valley and lit up a cigar on his way out of the office.

Today was a good day.

Author's Note

Well, it's been a while hasn't it? I'm excited to finally get this chapter up, and hope you all enjoy it :D

Oh, and if you can figure out the Easter Egg in the chapter, you get undying respect from me (it's really subtle).