Master of Pawns

It wasn’t the sort of decision I could regret, mostly because it wasn’t the sort of thing I could take back. And that made any examination of my choice utterly pointless. So when the fears did start to sink in, when the realization hit me that I just might have willingly endangered my own life, I ignored them. It was too late to be afraid. That’s what made me brave.

It also made me foolish.

“You’ll be late for your swearing in if you don’t hurry Nicole.” It was my mother speaking. Her chiding was soft, almost sweet, and yet I could always tell when she was disappointed in me. Or maybe this time it was different. But she had more than enough reason to be disappointed. I had made a critical, possibly dangerous decision, without even consulting her. And that wasn’t the way we did things in our family.

When my father first decided to help start a new country following his victorious rebellion, he made sure to speak with both me and my mother. He wanted to be sure that we would support his role as a senator and leader of the new nation. I had agreed with my father immediately. That was because I wanted him to be more than a senator. I thought he should be president. I didn’t ever ask about my mother’s opinion. Maybe she was more reluctant.

If so, she would have been right. Being a popular senator made you an easy target. We would never forget the day we lost him to the assassin’s bullet. No one knew who it was. We didn’t know how to find the murderer. And now, I had done the unthinkable and accepted the senate’s offer to take my father’s place. I had my reasons, of course, as well as my suspicions.

My father left me a letter. He knew his work was dangerous. The letter tried to hint at the secrets he’d discovered. I thought it also hinted at how I could find the killer. How I could stop him. I hadn’t told my mother about the letter. I hadn’t told anyone. But when the senate asked me to take my father’s place as a symbolic way to honor him, I couldn’t refuse them. Even though I was instructed in the letter not to trust any of them. They might have been guilty. All of them.

I told myself I didn’t care if I was walking into a trap. I couldn’t think about all the down sides to my decision because then I wouldn’t be able to face it. I would find myself returning in fear with my mother to the outer province of Hythorn, hoping to escape the intrigue and turmoil of the capital city. I had been about to do just that, when the offer came. Now, I had to follow through, to at least try and avenge my father. I didn’t feel like I had another choice.

“I know, mother. I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I called back. I waited for her answer, wondering if she would try to keep up the half-encouraging reprimands. I knew my independence was difficult to manage, but this time, her silence indicated she had momentarily given up. I hurried to finish getting ready, quickly grabbing a little ring off my nightstand and shoving it on my finger. I ran down the stairs to meet her at the door.

“The government’s escort is waiting outside. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I muttered half-heartedly.

My mother gave me a curious look, then said almost plaintively, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely,” I said in a flash, hurrying out the door before she could respond. Oddly enough, no one had yet attempted to dissuade me, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to see what happened if she did.

There was tight security everywhere we went. It was as if the government was attempting to apologize for their poor efforts to protect my father. In their defense, no one expected someone to try and assassinate my father. He was too popular. To their condemnation, they were all experienced war heroes. They should have seen it coming.

Even the eloquent TV host who had interviewed me that morning sounded like she had suspicions, but I had brushed it aside. My father was too good, too famous, and too smart to be killed. He had survived two years of war. And we weren’t at war, we were at peace. That’s what President Jackson kept telling us. But it was a lie—intended or not. We were far from peace. Because I had lost my father to an assassin, an enemy of the government. That’s not supposed to happen after a war. We were victors, everyone had said, there was nothing left to fear.

We arrived at the Capitol Building in good time, likely because all traffic moved aside for an official government vehicle, slick and black and far more technologically advanced than what most people owned, even in the capital. We were still learning how to spread the profuse amounts of knowledge and tech we had discovered following the oppression.

The previous government had kept their advancements to themselves and their own people, mostly in the province of Joplin. Now it was ours for the taking and learning, but we were still adjusting. There was little by way of high-tech cars, computers, phones, or high society out in the far province of Hythorn. That’s where my family had moved to after the war. We liked the quiet, backwoods feel. Although Hythorn still had a number of large cities and not as much farmland as I would have wanted, it was close enough to home.

My mother would be moving back to Hythorn after my swearing in at the day’s senate session. It was necessary for her to stake our claim in Hythorn so that I could legally represent our district there. So, the decision to become a senator was also splitting up what remained of my little family. But that was beside the point. I had a mission to complete. A mission left by my father for me personally. I couldn’t fail him now. It was the only thing that made me get out of bed in the morning.

The Capitol Building was less crowded than the last two times I had visited. The first was our Independence Day Celebration. It had ended in an assassination. The second was to attend the funeral. The past two months had been hell. Now, I hated the Capitol Building. But I couldn’t avoid it anymore.

The moment I walked into the senate assembly room, I was greeted by various senators. There was no real feeling of amicability, however. It was mostly somberness. Little wonder. My very presence was a reminder to everyone that the most famous man in the country, the hero of the rebellion, was gone.

“Welcome, Miss Fieldstrom,” Heath Jackson, the president of the Republic and close friend of my father, addressed me with all the cordiality he could muster. “We are so pleased that you are here. Senator Miles will escort you to your seat. He will also give you a brief run-down of how the proceedings will play out for the day. Do you have any other immediate questions for me?”

“No, sir.”

“Excellent.” He beckoned for Sam Miles to come to my aid. Yes, Senator Samuel Miles. He was possibly the one person in the senate I could trust. My father’s last words in the letter outlined only two allies. The first I didn’t understand. Apparently, I needed to keep my eyes out for whoever was wearing my father’s old, broken watch. Strange that my father most adamantly trusted someone I had never even met. At least, I had yet to meet anyone wearing it.

The second was easier. I could trust whoever had delivered the letter to me. That was Samuel Miles, just after the assassination. I remembered every detail of that horrible day, down to the fact that Sam had been as broken as I was. Sitting there staring at nothing, saying little, probably finding it hard to move and function. I imagined that was how he felt because it was how I felt—all that and a sense of failure.

We had discussed our mutual fear for my father’s private actions. We had talked about the danger of his work just the night before. And we had done nothing. I had told him it was time to trust my father. So, we had failed together. For that alone I might have trusted Sam, even without my father’s instructions. Because maybe he understood a little of how I felt.

As Sam approached, I noticed that he looked way more put together than the last time we had spoken. He was wearing his favorite pin-striped suit, fedora still in hand. His expression was as impassive as usual, which was a step better. It wasn’t grim or upset or even empty. Just closed. When our eyes met, he attempted something like a smile, but it ended up looking a little more like a thin grimace. Somehow, the fact that he wasn’t pretending nothing happened was satisfying to me.

“Hey, Nicole,” he said softly. I was also glad that he chose to address me casually. He didn’t do it often.

“Mr. Miles,” I nodded in return, somewhat more stiffly than I had intended.

“I’ll show you to your seat.” I followed him through the room, but it took while to actually make it to my seat. Senators everywhere were walking up to me, shaking my hand, expressing their condolences as if they hadn’t already done so a thousand times. When we finally reached our destination, Sam hesitantly drummed his fingers on the little desk in front of me before speaking.

“This was your father’s place. Best seat in the house.” He paused thoughtful, and then continued with more formal instructions. “First off, they’ll call the roll. At the end of it, they’ll do the swearing in for you and Kepler’s replacement.”

“Wait, Kepler’s replacement?” Of course. How did I forget there was another opening in the senate? Frank Kepler had turned out to be a traitor. He had escaped house arrest and disappeared. Some people thought he was responsible for my father’s death. I disagreed, but mostly because Sam didn’t think it was him. “Do you know who they nominated?”

“No idea,” Sam confessed with a slight shrug. “Apparently the opposition party has had a hard time coming to a consensus on who they want to take his place. I heard they’ve only just decided this morning.”

According to law, if a senator was impeached, died in office, or became unable to perform his duties, than the senate had the right to appoint someone to replace him until the next election year. The nominations were made by the party that had suffered the loss.

“Somehow their indecisiveness doesn’t surprise me,” I muttered somewhat coldly. Though I had never cared much for politics, my father had adamantly opposed their policies. If I was to be his replacement, then I should probably share his sentiments. The problem was, I hadn’t always agreed with my father. Half the time I wasn’t even sure I knew what he was talking about.

They really had picked the wrong person.

Sam must have recognized the oddity of my response, because he cocked his head slightly, as if confused, but then continued on as before.

“When your name is called, you’ll walk along the outside of the assembly to the front. You’ve seen a swearing in before. You’ll stand there in front of the President’s stand,” he pointed to the large podium at the head of the room. “Then the officer will have you perform the oath. Just repeat after him. The Senate will vote to approve the nomination, and after that, you can come back to your seat.”

“What if they don’t approve?”

“They’ll approve. The whole senate nominated you in the first place.”

“Okay.” My heart started beating faster as I realized how much responsibility I had agreed to take on. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. But they all wanted me to accept the position, right? How could I refuse them?

“Here’s the basic agenda for today’s meetings, complete with the proposed bills,” Sam was still instructing me. I tried to take it all in, but everything was starting to appear surreal. I usually watched this sort of thing from the balcony, with only passive interest.

“Nicole?” His deep voice rose slightly in question, and I realized I hadn’t been paying him any real attention.

“Oh, sorry. Yes, the bills and the Senate rules. I think I’ll figure that out as I go.”

“I’m sure you will.” He hesitated for a moment, and then his voice lowered and he said the unexpected. “You know, I don’t know why you’re here or why you chose to stay. But, I think it’s a good thing.”

That caught my interest. While no one had outright challenged my decision, no one had supported it either. He continued before I had a chance to respond.

“And I meant what I said. You’ve got the best seat in the house. Your father’s seat. If you do speak up, people will listen. Remember that.”

Then he continued more loudly and formally. “I’m in the seat just behind you. So if you do have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask.”

I nodded to indicate that I understood, but as he walked to his seat, my mind wandered thoughtfully over his words. People will listen. That was power, but not the sort of power that I wanted. If I was educated and intelligent like my father, a willing audience would be useful. But to me, it was a curse. I didn’t want them to listen. I wanted to observe. I was searching for the truth. It there was an expectation for me, I knew I would never live up to it. I didn’t even have plans to try.

The roll call was as long as usual, but my fear of being officially sworn in as a senator made it fly by too quickly. Then, the moment arrived. President Jackson stood to address the stands.

“Members of the Assembly. We are all humbled by the recent circumstances that have rendered this body somewhat broken and now make necessary the appointment of new senators before the planned election year. However, I look with confidence to the future and am honored to announce the names of those who have answered the call of their country and are willing to help us build a stronger nation. “

He stopped, put on some glasses, and looked down at a piece of paper on the stand in front of him. “First, in replacement for the notorious criminal Frank Kepler, we have nominated the well-known and prestigious Mr. Peter Vandeski.”

I gasped, shocked murmurs buzzed through the balconies, the news reporters went berserk, and senators nearly jumped from their seats. All for very different reasons.

Peter Vandeski. One of the original leaders of the rebellion. He had disappeared into obscurity following our victory. Most said it was because of some fall-out with President Jackson, but no one knew the details. For the past two years, no one had heard or talked of him either. Now, out of nowhere, he was back. He was joining the opposition party. He would be working with President Jackson’s party.

But I gasped for two very different reasons. I recognized him. Twice I had seen him. Tall, somewhat thin, and with dark hair combed perfectly around his head. But this time he was not fidgeting with his hat in hand. It was worse than that.

Peter. The man in charge of the security cells that had failed to hold my greatest enemy. Peter. Who I had always dismissed with suspicion, who I partially blamed for my father’s death. He was not playing with his hat. He was fidgeting with an old watch he wore around his wrist. A broken watch. One that I knew well.

He was the man I was supposed to trust. The one undeniable, true ally. My father wrote that I could trust him with my life. And he had just joined the opposition party.

Time nearly slowed to a halt as I watched Peter Vandeski make the short walk to the front of the Assembly Room. I kept trying to put two and two together, but there were too many questions to keep track of. How was it that I had met the famous Vandeski twice without knowing? Why had my father not told me that his friend, the engineer behind our security systems, was also the third-most leader of the rebellion? If he didn’t like Jackson, why was he joining the opposition party? Why was he coming into the limelight again? Was he attempting to replace my father?

The most mind-numbing part, of course, wasn’t even a question. He was wearing my father’s watch. I had never seen its likeness, a firm leather band around the small clock-work. It was Furlow-made. It couldn’t be true, but it was. My father had always said he trusted Peter, but I hadn’t believed it ran so deep. Because I didn’t trust him. And I didn’t think I could, no matter what the letter said.

They called my name. I slowly walked up to the front, head still spinning, trying to get a better look at my ally. Trying to see if it really was my father’s watch. The officer at the front was talking to me, telling me something.

“Place your left hand here, Miss Fieldstrom, on the book.”

I did so, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. So many eyes were staring straight at me, watching me intensely, maybe even suspiciously. Or was I imagining it? I didn’t know how to be a senator. This was a bad idea.

“Excellent. Now put your right hand in the air…that’s right. Now repeat after me.”

He continued to recite the oath, which I repeated dutifully, though my mind was far removed from the words I was saying. I looked out at the faces of the senators, wondering who I could trust. I saw the faces of the many observers in the balcony, more anxious than eager, likely doubting my abilities as much as I did. There was no turning back. I finished the oath.

“Thank-you, Miss Fieldstrom. Now stand here for just a moment longer while the senate approves the appointment.”

President Jackson stood, mentioning that they had now sworn in the two newest Senators. Were there any objections? I waited. Waited for someone to actually stand up and be rational, to knock some sense into the heads of these idiots for appointing a young girl to be a senator. I was just a girl. My friend Greg would know that. Was he watching? I started to look around for him, but the President was speaking to me.

“Welcome to the Assembly, Senator Fieldstrom...”

Wasn’t that my father? No, it was me. I was the Senator. Because I was an idiot. I had chosen this title. And now, I was the new target. Take your father’s place, Nicole. Bring those posters back to life. The posters from the war with my face on them. Shoot on sight. It was what they did to my father. Right there in front of me.

My nightmarish daydream was broken by a sudden light laughter that filled the Senate room. I looked around in confusion, only to realize that President Jackson had been waiting for a response from me. Except I hadn’t been listening.

“It seems our newest member is a little dazed.” He was chuckling. “I said you could take your seat now.”

“Oh. Yes sir,” I ducked my head slightly as I walked back to my seat, feeling my cheeks warm. I could also feel the cameras following me. Leave it to me to look stupid in the first five seconds of being a senator. As I sat down I felt a gentle weight on my shoulder, not the familiar touch of my father, but something like it. Sam Miles patted my shoulder and then leaned closer, whispering softly.

“That was just fine. Perfect, really.”

I turned around just enough for him to see my wry smile and hear my whispered thanks. Then I swung back, hiding my embarrassment by fixing my attention on the desk and stack of papers in front of me. Maybe I was also trying to focus away my fears.

The rest of the session was uneventful. Mr. Jenkins and Mr. Ferrings were adamant that we should bring forward the vote on the Stimulus Act and stop endangering the well-being of the people. They still disagreed on what that actually meant, however. In the end, the vote was pushed off for two more days so that Vandeski and I had time to read and understand the proposed plan.

The moment the session was adjourned, I made a beeline for the ladies room. Being the only female senator did have some advantages. Mostly I wanted to avoid having a run-in with Peter Vandeski. I had a hunch he would attempt to talk to me, and I wasn’t ready to for that. Not until I had sorted through my thoughts.

I stayed in the ladies room for nearly an hour. I stood and stared at myself in the mirror, questioning whether the professional looking young woman staring back at me was the same girl who had been planting vegetables in the fields of Furlow only a few years ago. Or the girl who was running for her life to escape the government’s security guards and take refuge in the caves of the northern mountains. That part was barely a year ago. And now, I was a senator.

Maybe there was only one real change over the past three years. When I was a farmer and a refugee, I still had a father. Now, I didn’t. Didn’t that explain everything? My father had started the farm. He had started the rebellion. He had started the new government. He was the real senator. Now, I didn’t know what to do. I had always followed his lead, even in facing the haunting memories of the past.

Maybe it was time to follow the clues of the letter. I had mostly avoided it. I was too afraid to follow through. Choosing to become a senator had felt like a step without the danger. It gave me time to think. But there was more. My father had written one paragraph with less obscurity than the others. I remembered the words well.

Your mother gave you a gift last year on your birthday. I took the liberty of wrapping up some vital information amidst the rolled up posters. I hope you don’t mind that I touched them. It will help you understand.

The memory box my mother gave me on my first birthday after the war. I hadn’t touched it since retrieving Greg’s ring after discovering that he had somehow survived the attacks that obliterated our home province of Furlow. After he practically rose from the dead, it seemed pointless to remind myself of anything else about our old home. Pointless pain. I wasn’t sure I had touched the posters since the time I first rolled them up and placed them in the box. Shoot on sight posters complete with my picture on them. My father had decided it was a good place to hide the first clue. But the irony wasn’t amenable to me.

I wasn’t sure I was ready to touch the posters and entangle myself in the mystery that got my father killed. I wanted to, but not yet. So, I decided on an easier course of action. My friend Greg had always been my sole confidante and closest friend. In an instant, my mind was made up. I would tell him a about the letter. He could help me understand it. And together, maybe we could find the killer. Greg was someone I could trust.