The Darvis Game

“Are you listening, Senator?”

The question seemed to come from nowhere, but it was actually the nowhere of my thoughts confusing me again. I hadn’t been paying attention.

“Oh. Yes, of course,” I made a pathetic attempt at feigning composure. “Maybe. What were we talking about?”

Clarence Peterson threw me a stern, reproving look. I couldn’t blame him for it. Spacing out in committee meetings was becoming a pastime of mine.

“We’re discussing the recent updates on the Miles case.”

Of course. No wonder I had lost track of the conversation. Any mention of Samuel Miles put me on an interminable train of thought that was never revealing or satisfying. I frequently asked myself what I could have done differently, but nothing seemed possible. Sam had accused Ferrings of being a traitor, Ferrings had tried to kill us in Andoir, Sam had shot him to a point near death, and Vandeski had publicly denounced Sam in the hearing afterward. It would have been impossible to predict in the moment, even if it made wrenchingly terrible sense in hindsight.

Now, Ferrings was recovering from his injuries. The world gave him a martyr’s status. He was a hero by pure means of his survival. No one did believe that Ferrings shot first. And Sam? He’d been missing for two months. The one person who I was certain could stop Darvis had disappeared without a trace.

“Oh, that’s right. The Miles case,” I said unrevealingly. Peterson sighed wearily, rubbing his temples as he attempted for the millionth time to explain to me just why the subject was so critical.

“We know this is difficult for you, Miss Fieldstrom, but we need you to cooperate. You do understand the importance of our finding and apprehending Mr. Miles, do you not?”

I had to stop myself from throwing a venomous look in his direction. As if Clarence really could think his old friend guilty. Then again, Clarence had been the one to treat Sam after his defection. He knew him before he joined the rebellion, when Sam was a brainwashed assassin. Maybe I was the blind one. The uncertainty was daunting.

“Yes. I do.”

“We know you were close to him….”

“I understand the situation, Mr. Peterson,” I shot back with a little more sharpness. “It became obvious to everyone the moment he disappeared. Clearly, the situation warrants government intervention.”

“I’m glad you understand,” he straightened as if to regain a more dignified composure. But Charles Darrow, to my right, was not satisfied.

“Perhaps you know something about his whereabouts.”

“If I knew something, I would have told you. Anyway, if you want to know my opinion, it’s that Sam wouldn’t turn to his old acquaintances for protection. He’d have a better chance on his own.”

“You once said,” Scott Marshall began, making it feel more like an interrogation than a committee meeting, “that the agents were liable to lose control entirely if broken down. Do you have any theories about what Mr. Miles may have been doing the past two months?”

I shrugged, because honestly I didn’t have a clue.

“Not really. He’s an agent, so I’m sure he’s got a mission in mind. But apparently, it’s going to take some time to implement. I don’t know why we haven’t heard anything from him, or from Darvis for that matter.”

“If you ask me, it’s too quiet,” Bearing added suspiciously. “Up until Sam escaped, it was like all hell broke loose. Now, it looks like we have no enemies at all.”

“That bodes ill for the Senate,” Clarence acknowledged grimly. “The quiet only comes before the storm.”

“Maybe Ferrings can help us collect some evidence when he returns,” Marshall muttered idly, looking through some reports on the table in front of him. “When is the old champion coming back?”

“The doctors still want him to rest, but he told me he’ll be taking over his duties again in a week.” Clarence smiled when he said it. My stomach turned. The whole world loved Nicholas Ferrings. How had that happened?

“Excellent. I’d certainly like to hear his account of the Miles case. No offense, Miss Fieldstrom,” Marshall glanced sideways at me, “but we all know you weren’t really there to see it happen.”

“I understand,” I returned shortly. It was useless to defend Sam. I might as well join the ranks of accusers and try to somehow get in the good graces of Mr. Nicholas Ferrings. Maybe that way I could still keep the target off my back.

The conversation turned momentarily to the Bennett case—our apprehended SMOC agent—where level three interrogation methods were easily approved. Before we closed the meeting, Peterson surprised me with a final request.

“We’d like you to continue your investigation there—with Craig Bennett.”

“Me?” I didn’t attempt to hide the shock in my expression. “But I thought…we just approved intense interrogation…”

“Yes, but Agent Parkinson claimed that both you and Mr. Miles had made significant headway in your last visit. We think that because of your experience with Mr. Miles, and your work investigating the SMOC program as researched by Ryan Sterling, you could still be an important asset in getting information from him.”

“I don’t know…”

“That’s not really a request, Miss Fieldstrom. It’s a government order.”

“Oh.”

“We thank you for your compliance in that regard.”

Then, the meeting closed.

Darin met me on my way out of the meeting. If nothing else, I found him an instant relief from the constant stress of my situation. He was grinning as disarmingly as ever when he saw me. That meant there was something particular he wanted to tell me the moment we were in private.

I wasn’t surprised by his waiting for me. He’d made it a sort of habit over the past few months. As soon as his own committee was out, he’d wander over and wait to escort me home. I enjoyed our conversations, even if they never seemed to lead to anything other than simple talk.

“Well, Miss Nicole. You’ll never guess what I just heard from Senator Jenkins in the Welfare Committee.”

“I’m assuming it has something to do with welfare.”

“Actually, no.”

I glanced up in guarded interest. “Do you mean to tell me that Mr. Jenkins did not make an angry outburst about our current economic policy?”

He laughed lightly, holding the door open for me as we left the Capital Building and headed towards the senators’ reserved parking lot. “Oh, of course he did. But that wouldn’t be news worth telling.”

“Okay. So, what is the ‘news worth telling’?”

“Before the meeting started, Jenkins read us a tidbit from the paper this morning. Have you read it?”

“The paper? No. I just watch the news every evening.”

“I thought as much,” he gave me a curt nod, but said nothing else until we made it to his car and he was opening the door for me. “I’ll just show you.”

He got in on the other side, grabbed the newspaper likely left there from the morning, turned to a specific page, and pointed to a small article.

“There. Read that aloud.”

“Okay…” I started hesitantly, surprised by his eagerness. “For months people have been wondering about the two Furlow natives who remained largely unknown during the war period but then graced headlines for uncovering much of the intrigue behind the scenes of the National Senate. The full stories of the lives of Gregory Wilson and Nicole Fieldstrom before the war sheds light on their pivotal roles in the here and now.....Darin, what is this?”

He laughed at my expression, “Just keep reading.”

“While the secrets behind the Kepler case are being revealed in detail, so the work has also commenced in understanding the characters behind it. Just what was the war-time role of the daughter of the historic Donald Fieldstrom? How did her relationship with Greg Wilson develop and what effects did it have on her determination to oust Frank Kepler from the Senate? What was life like for the double agent, Gregory Wilson? For the first time, these questions will be answered in their entirety. Join us weekly for updates as our sources reveal the behind-the-news stories of everyone’s favorite (and dare we say romantic!?) heroic icons of the past rebellion and current political drama.”

I stared at the article for some time in confusion. It was as if my life had just become a storybook. It was about me, but they didn’t know me at all. I had never talked to the author of the article before. I had never even met him.

“I don’t…what’s this even mean?”

“It means you’ve got a public image!” Finally, I understood. He was less interested in the content of the article than in its implications. I finally let out a light laugh.

“So, that’s how it happens.”

“I just want to know how it started. You haven’t been talking to some media guru have you?”

“No, of course not,” I shook my head. “You know me. I can’t stand their half-rhetorical manner.”

“Well, they’re publishing weekly reports about your life. You really had no idea about it?”

“No, I don’t think so...” I paused momentarily and then let out a quick sigh. “Greg. I should have known. I bet the author contacted him. There’s no way he’d turn down an interview, and he’s practically the only person that knew me growing up.”

There was a hint of a facetious smile on Darin’s expression as he looked at me. “How do you feel about his taking such a liberty with your history?”

“He can do what he likes,” I shrugged nonchalantly. “As long as he’s happy, I don’t care. He’s honest enough.”

“I’d say he likes his image about as much as I do.”

Momentarily forgetting myself, I shoved my companion lightly. “He’s not half as arrogant as you.”

“Really?” Darin was clearly amused. “You don’t see me publishing accounts of my efforts during the rebellion.”

The fact startled me slightly. It was true. Darin was perhaps the most secretive person I’d ever met when it came to the rebellion. I’d always thought it was because he hadn’t really played that large of a role. But thinking back to the Senate Profiles my father had collected…maybe there was a depth to him I had missed in our acquaintance thus far.

He seemed genuinely pleased with my surprise. “You see? I’m not half as bad as I come off. I find that a good political image is sufficient for my purpose in the senate. I don’t need to be a hero.” It was a sort of amicable, sideways attack at my childhood friend, and somehow it didn’t make me angry.

“Greg likes attention,” I conceded good-naturedly, “but his heart’s in the right place. And regardless of all that, he is a hero.”

“I don’t doubt it. A lot of people were.”

I glanced over at him archly. “Were you a hero, then? Is that what this is all about? Maybe you’re just jealous the news reporter didn’t contact you for an interview.”

“Or maybe he did, and I just refused.”

“Oh, how noble of you,” I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t stop myself from laughing. Darin didn’t respond directly. Instead he smiled knowingly and started the car, momentarily retreating from the argument.

“I just thought it was interesting,” he said at last. “We all did. It seems the media might end up on your side after all.” There was a meaningful hesitation and then he added more softly, “Let’s just hope they ignore your initial defense of Mr. Miles. That would not make for a very heroic story.”

It was more than a light joke. It was a warning. Without even knowing all the secrets I possessed, Darin was still aware of the danger. An image in our day was not always a thing of simple politics. It could very well be life or death. A target on your back. Walking into the line of fire. Shoot on sight. I had to tread carefully.