Book One in The Saga of the Radicals
Matti MClean Illustrations by Davyd Oram
An Imprint Of Brighter Books Publishing House
Text Copyright © 2011 Matti McLean All rights reserved. Catalyst first published in Canada by Brighter Books Publishing House. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Solar Storm, an Imprint of Brighter Books Publishing House Visit our website at: www.brighterbooks.com First Published: July, 2011 The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. ISBN 978-0-9865555-8-9 - Trade Paperback Edition Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication McLean, Matti, 1986Catalyst / Matti McLean ; illustrations by Davyd Oram. (The saga of the radicals ; bk. 1) Issued also in electronic format. ISBN 978-0-9865555-9-6 (bound).--ISBN 978-0-9865555-8-9 (pbk.) I. Oram, Davyd, 1980- II. Title. III. Series: McLean, 1986- . Saga of the radicals ; bk. 1. PS8625.C54C38 2011
jC813’.6
C2011-901129-8
Illustrations © 2011 Davyd Oram Many thanks to the book’s first Editor, Erin Woods Thanks and hugs to our awesome Editor Kelly Berthelot And a big thanks to Dennis Martin for all your help
Printed and bound in the USA on acid-free paper that contains no material from old-growth forests, using ink that is safe for children. One tree has been planted for this book.
To everyone who said I could...
Contents Frozen Night Associates Track Heavens Escalating Realization Danger Electric Anon Rage Empty Safety Troubles Jericho Assistance Caught Obstinate Burn
1 19 41 48 61 82 94 108 117 122 138 147 158 168 183 199 216 224
Epilogue
234
Frozen Night
T 2
M at t i
Mclean
he night was cold, chilling Micah to the bone as he walked through the dark city streets. He gripped his thin, brown jacket in an attempt to keep warm, but the worn fabric did little to protect him from the wind’s biting chill. Micah sighed, causing a long, snake-like vapor to escape from his lips and
disperse into the night sky. In a desperate attempt to retain heat, he buried his red, frozen hands deep in his pockets. Above him, the moon hung like a giant eye, monitoring
his every move. He felt like he could run to the edge of the world and never escape its eerie presence. Behind him, the big, black walls of Jericho loomed high in the sky, casting a long, dark shadow over the smaller concrete buildings. His normally familiar surroundings now seemed dark and forbidding, as though he was an alien walking through a strange, surreal landscape. Turning back for a second, Micah caught a glimpse of the large concrete building where he worked. In his mind he could still see his computer monitor in dormant mode, waiting for him to return the next day. This Tuesday was just like every other Tuesday, and Micah hated them all. On Tuesdays he was required to work past curfew. It wasn’t the extra work that bothered him; it was the walk back home. With every step there was a danger he could be caught, and if he was, the ramifications could be deadly. Even though his excuse was valid, the idea of actually being
C ata ly s t
3
stopped by an officer was terrifying enough to propel each foot forward with increasing momentum. Behind him, his brown scarf fluttered wickedly, pulling ever tighter around his neck as he walked. The speed made his boots clunk on the dilapidated pavement, echoing throughout the empty streets. An unexpected gust ripped through Micah’s clothes and sent a shiver down his spine. He began to shake; he was unsure whether it was due to the weather or his nerves. The cold wind stung his ears, and he ducked his head into his collar to make it easier to walk through the bitter night. He kept his eyes on the ground and squinted, as if it would make him more invisible in the dark. As Micah turned a corner, absorbed in his own worries, he stopped dead in his tracks. Before him stood the stocky frame and vicious face of his worst nightmare. He stared at the man’s large black boots, and eyed his way up his large frame, taking in the black and red uniform with dread. Micah’s heart began to beat furiously and he could feel himself starting to sweat. The man had cold blue eyes, eager to see right through him; his large, flat hat capped off his head and made him look rigid and menacing. Pulling his coat even closer against his body, Micah straightened up to his full height, which brought his head to around the officer’s nose level, and clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. Although Micah was not short, he suddenly felt very small.
4
M at t i
Mclean
“G-good evening, officer.” Micah managed to say through a stutter. He tried his hardest to sound brave, but his voice barely came out as a squeak. He’d never been caught by an officer before; he’d always managed to make it home unseen. Tonight was most definitely not a good night, and he could feel his cold legs shaking. “Why are you out past curfew?” The officer asked with a frown plastered on his unpleasant face. “I’m coming home from work.” Micah stammered as the man peered down at him. His eyes darted back and forth as he tried to find a safe place to look. “My house is not far from here … I work at Jericho,” Micah managed to say. Mentioning where he worked was perhaps his best opportunity to get out of this ordeal intact. One wrong move and he could find himself jailed, or even worse. It wasn’t uncommon for people to just disappear in the middle of the night. Terrified, he watched the man’s expression for any sign of pity or empathy. The cop didn’t move a muscle, which only served to fuel Micah’s paranoia. “You know the rules of curfew.” “Of course I do, officer.” “Then you know the penalty for breaking curfew.” “Sir, my home is right up the street. Can’t we just pretend …?” Micah asked, but the officer was steadfast and gripped him by the shoulder. The gesture made Micah’s stomach tie into a knot.
C ata ly s t
5
“You’ll have to come with me,” the officer said, closing in on Micah. Intimidated by the man’s brick-like build, Micah found himself backing up. Within a matter of seconds Micah was trapped, pinned to the wall by the cop’s crushing grip. “Please, officer! There must be something I can do to …” “Two thousand,” the officer said. “What?” Micah asked, looking up at the man with a confused expression. A sneer spread across the officer’s vicious face. “Give me two thousand credits, and I will let you go.” “Two thousand? You must be kidding! I don’t have two thousand! I have hardly enough to live. Please, there must be something else …” “It’s two thousand or nothing,” the cop said. Desperate, Micah fumbled as he searched his pockets, his hands still shaky and clumsy, and finally got out his small brown wallet. Quickly he reached inside and produced his gold card. Looking fearfully at the measly amount on it, he offered the card to the cop. “This is all I have,” Micah said. There was almost nothing left on it; at that moment he had seventeen credits to his name. The number was displayed prominently on the electroluminescent display located on the card’s metallic surface. The man reached for it, but upon seeing the number, his expression soured and he shook his head.
6
M at t i
Mclean
“Keep your money,” the officer said, his face turning into a disappointed frown as he knocked Micah’s hand down. “Thank you, sir,” Micah said, breathing a sigh of relief. He felt as if a tremendous weight had been taken from his shoulders. “I’ll just be on my way.” Micah tried to sidestep the behemoth, but before he could get by, the officer threw a punch, barely missing Micah’s cheek and solidly connecting with the wall. The man’s blow was so strong it caused the bricks to crater underneath the sheer force of his fist. “I never said I’d let you go,” the man said. Micah’s heart froze as he recognized the bloodlust in the man’s eyes and came to a realization: this policeman was a clone. Micah could tell by the way his eyes seemed to reflect the light unnaturally like a machine, and by the way his mouth started to foam a blue substance at the corners. Clones were notorious for their brutality; knowing he had been caught by one terrified him all the more. Micah could see the cop’s temple twitch as a streetlight briefly passed over them, right before the street plunged into darkness once again. With a hand that now behaved more like a claw than a real human appendage, the clone grabbed Micah’s scarf and began to pull. With the other hand he gripped Micah’s throat and effortlessly lifted him from the ground. Micah clutched at the clone’s forearms, desperately trying to get him to loosen his grip, but to no avail.
C ata ly s t
7
“So, this is how I die,” Micah thought to himself as he stared at the clone through blurred and teary eyes. The clone was draining him with such ease that Micah felt completely helpless. He wanted to fight back, but couldn’t. He kicked madly, his toes dangling inches above the pavement as his back was forcefully pressed into the wall behind him. Feeling his mind slipping away, he grabbed the clone’s hands and gripped them tightly in a desperate attempt to stay conscious. Micah’s struggle seemed hopeless; after a few seconds, his grip weakened, his kicks became feebler, and a sudden weariness overtook him. He was as good as dead, and he knew it. Suddenly a streetlight passed over them again, and Micah could feel the light on his skin. Feeling an abrupt burst of energy, he opened his eyes to see the deranged face of the clone looking straight at him. Acting quickly, Micah pushed against the clone who retaliated by slamming Micah back into the wall. With his left foot planted firmly against the wall, Micah kicked his right foot out and hit the clone in the groin as hard as he could. The clone stumbled, and his grip on Micah loosened instantly. The massive creature fell into a fetal position, and Micah wasted no time in making his getaway. He only had two blocks to go, but the streets were long and heavily monitored. Keeping his eyes peeled, he ran as fast as he could, but found it incredibly difficult. His breathing was shallow and he could hardly see through the tears that were streaming down his face. His whole body was still reeling from
8
M at t i
Mclean
the officer’s attack. Despite stumbling a few times, somehow he managed to remain standing. After running a block, Micah thought he was in the clear, but just then a series of red and blue lights reflected on the walls in front of him. Cursing under his breath, he looked around and saw the opening of an alley. With a leap, he dashed in just as the car rounded the corner. The headlights missed him by mere inches as the police car made its way down the alley. Micah pressed himself against the grey brick wall and tried to catch his breath. Unsure of how far he’d have to go before he’d be safe, Micah began to make his way down the alley. There was less chance of him running into an officer in the back alleys, although it would take longer for him to get home. Thinking about what could happen made his stomach churn, but he couldn’t stop himself. Breaking curfew was bad enough, but now he had this to worry about too. He just wanted to get home, crawl into his bed, and forget that this whole night had ever happened. With a deep breath, Micah made his way down the alley, trying to remain as calm as possible. He moved as quickly and quietly as he could, being careful to keep his breathing shallow and his thoughts under control. He tried to convince himself that soon he would be at his house, safe and sound, away from the nightmare that enveloped him. But despite his best efforts to stay positive, he could feel a deep, primal fear pressing in on him.
C ata ly s t
9
He felt trapped and desperate, like a rat in a giant maze with no cheese at the end and a cat around every corner. As he made his way to the next alley, Micah heard the sound of footsteps on the loose gravel. He stopped, held his breath and pressed himself against the wall. Peering around the edge of the wall, he saw to his dismay that another policeman was also in the alley. The uniformed man was scanning the walls with his flashlight, moving slowly and deliberately, as if he was looking for something. Was this man looking for him? If so, how many people were after him? Perhaps they were out to punish him for what he’d done to the other officer … Could that be the reason there were so many policemen around? He had never even seen a cop after his Tuesday night shift before, and tonight there were two of them. It made no sense. Micah watched the man carefully, ducking his head down low as the flashlight scanned the edge of the building he was hiding behind. The light missed him, but the officer continued to search the alley, inching closer every second. Micah had to find an escape, and quickly. He turned to go back the way he came, but was frozen solid as another flashlight began to scan the walls behind him. He realized that his time was running out, and any moment now he would be caught. Luckily, just as he was about to shine his light directly on Micah, the man checked his watch and let out a yawn. He dropped his flashlight for only a second, but it was all Micah
10
M at t i
Mclean
needed; with a bolt, he ran across the gap. Even though Micah was wearing heavy boots, by the time the man had whipped his flashlight at him, Micah was already out of his reach. “Stop! You! Stop now,” the man yelled awkwardly. It became immediately apparent that he had no idea that Micah had even been there. “Stop! In the name of the law!” “Not a viable option right now,” Micah thought to himself as he ran. He listened to the sound his clunky boots made on the pavement and the way they echoed loudly off the buildings. If there was anyone else around he would surely be caught within a matter of moments. “Just my luck, the one day I don’t wear my sneakers …” As predicted, within seconds, there was someone hot on his trail, presumably the officer. Micah gulped as he heard a click, which he assumed came from the man’s weapon. Micah felt a shiver of fear shoot down his spine. He had to get home and he had to do it now. His life depended on it. Just as Micah passed a dark corner, a hand reached out of the shadow. It gripped him by his shoulder and pulled him into the darkness. Micah tried to yell, but before he could make a sound, another hand covered his mouth. Whoever caught him was much too strong to resist, and within a matter of seconds Micah was in a headlock. “Be quiet or they’ll kill you,” a voice said in a whisper. Micah struggled for a moment, but then went quiet and instantly stopped resisting as the policeman ran past them.
C ata ly s t
11
“Stay here,” the voice said, barely audible. The pressure on Micah’s mouth eased and Micah knew he could talk again, although he didn’t dare try. He didn’t want the cop to see him, and though this stranger hadn’t hurt him, it didn’t mean he wasn’t planning something later on. The man stepped into the light, tracking the policeman like a panther. He was wearing a black trench coat that danced in the night air, and his hands were covered with thin, black, fingerless gloves. A black hat was pulled purposely low, hiding his face in shadows. There was something very strange and powerful about this man. By the time the policeman realized he was being followed, the man in black was practically standing behind him. After a moment, the policeman turned on his light, flooding the man with a bright white light. Micah grimaced; he wanted to help, but was frozen in a mixture of fear and curiosity. Who was this man? What was he doing? Surely he would be killed if he tried to face the policeman alone. Wondering what to do next, Micah watched and scanned the alley for any way he could get out in case he was spotted. For several moments the policeman stared at the man in black, seemingly as shocked as Micah at the stranger’s boldness. “Who do you think you are?” the policeman asked. His voice sounded shocked and disgusted. The cop scanned every inch of the man in black with his flashlight as if searching for something, but the man simply stood there. This stranger was
12
M at t i
Mclean
unlike anyone else Micah had never seen. His clothes were unusual, and his entire attitude seemed defiant and strong. “Who do you say that I am?” the man in black asked. “I don’t answer to street punks,” the officer snarled, a touch of rage breaking into his voice. “It was a rhetorical question,” the man said. “Even if you knew who I was, you wouldn’t recognize me.” The stranger stood with his knees slightly bent and his hands opened to his sides, like a cat just waiting to pounce. “I don’t have time for this. You’re breaking curfew. Come with me,” said the cop as he reached out and tried to grab the man in black by the coat. The man sidestepped and deflected the officer’s reach. “No.” He said this with such authority that Micah’s knees felt weakened. Talking back to the officers was another thing punishable by death, and yet this man did it with such certainty that it almost seemed casual to him. Had he done this before? Who was this man? “You dare talk back to me?” the officer demanded, his face contorting as his voice escalated to an animalistic growl. “You come with me now, or I’ll see to it that you don’t go anywhere ever again,” he said, clutching the weapon at his side. Upon seeing this, Micah’s fear made him creep back against the wall. He longed to yell and warn the man in black of the danger, but the fear kept him paralyzed. Micah could hardly
C ata ly s t
13
move, hardly breathe … He felt like the exact opposite of the man who stood there, biding his time, exuding confidence and displaying a quiet comfort that somehow made Micah think everything was going to be okay. The cop lifted his weapon, which looked like an antenna charged with electricity. Typically used like a baton, one slug from that weapon, known as a stinger, would render a man incapacitated. Without warning and with tremendous force, the cop brought the stinger down, aiming at the stranger’s head. The man in black, however, was too quick. With reflexes unlike anything Micah had ever seen, he evaded the stinger, jumped behind the officer and slammed his hand against the back of his neck. With a loud cracking sound, the officer dropped to his knees. The officer howled and swung his arm back, hoping to connect his stinger with the leg of the man in black. The man jumped, and with a speed Micah could hardly follow, he kicked the officer. The kick connected with his hand, which snapped, causing the man to release his grip on the stinger as he let out a quick sharp yelp. Landing hard on the cop’s hand, the man in black raised his other leg and unleashed another kick which connected with the officer’s shoulder. The officer’s head instantly hung, and he collapsed on the ground. “They never listen,” the man in black said. Casually, almost nonchalantly, he bent over and wiped off his trench coat.
14
M at t i
Mclean
He grabbed the stinger, which had fallen from the policeman’s hand, and threw it at Micah. “Catch.” Micah obliged, catching the cold, steel weapon in his hand. He was surprised by how light it was. This weapon was lethal and weighed less than a pen. How could it be so easy to hold? “You should go home,” the stranger said, turning his back. Micah looked up to see that he was turning around and preparing to go, and immediately leapt in front of the man who had saved him from the officer. “Wait!” Micah said. “Who are you?” “That depends on who you ask,” the man said. “Do you mind moving?” “I’ve never seen anyone …” “I have to go.” The man raised his hand, effectively cutting him off as he brushed past Micah. “Wait, please!” Micah said, gripping his shoulder. “That officer could have killed you … But you stopped him. I’ve never seen anyone fight like that!” A part of Micah was very excited. He had just witnessed someone doing something that he never even thought was possible. The man looked at Micah curiously. He smiled, seeming amused by the way Micah had gripped him. “He wouldn’t have been able to hurt me,” the stranger said calmly. “But he …”
C ata ly s t
15
“Trust me. He wouldn’t have been able to hurt me,” the man repeated. “What’s your name?” “Micah … What’s yours?” The man looked intrigued for a second, but the shift in emotion was quickly suppressed as the man turned to leave. “I really must be going.” Micah watched as the man disappeared in the shadows. “No! Please, just one more minute. I have questions …” “They shall be answered in time,” the man said as he walked into the shadows of one of the alleyways. Micah didn’t notice where he went; his attention had been drawn up to the rooftops. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like there were people on the roof. “You’ll be hearing from us soon, Micah,” the man said, although Micah couldn’t see him anymore. Instead, a small, black card flung out of the shadows and landed at his feet. Almost instinctually he bent down and picked it up, examining the front and back. The card was black with one silver question mark symbol on one side that seemed to glitter in the darkness. Stepping into the shadow of the building in an attempt to follow the man, Micah noticed that the figures on the roof had disappeared and he quickly brushed it off as consequences of his over-excited imagination. The man had also vanished into thin air. Micah looked up, but the building was much too tall to jump over. He scanned the wall for a door or some way the man could have escaped, but he didn’t find any.
16
M at t i
Mclean
It wasn’t until he heard the whirling sound of a floating camera that Micah was slapped back into reality. Its large, aluminum body floated as it carried a streetlight along its pre-set path. He held his breath and backed up until he was against the wall. If this camera caught even the slightest piece of him it would be disastrous, especially after he had narrowly escaped death at least once tonight. As luck would have it, the camera didn’t notice him and proceeded on its predetermined path. Once the buzzing piece of metal was out of range, Micah exhaled and almost collapsed from relief. Gripping his chest, he began to run. He had to get home, and soon. He was much closer now. Using the back alleys he easily negotiated his way to his house, which, thankfully, had a back door. Micah pressed his thumb against the touch pad on the door and entered the large, dark house. He closed the door and rested his back against it, hoping the terror of the night would melt away. He waited a moment before moving, allowing the silence to penetrate his thoughts and help him think about everything that had happened. Micah could finally breathe; if only he could remember how. His head felt as if it was spinning out of control, even while he was standing still. Moving to the kitchen, his hands still trembling, he clung to the sink, trying to steady his breath as the lights flickered on. He tried to calm himself down, but his body felt wired. Why was he still so afraid? His heart felt as if would burst from his chest at any moment.
C ata ly s t
17
Looking at his reflection in the sink, Micah almost couldn’t recognize himself. He looked frazzled. His black hair was disheveled; his grey eyes looked sunken and bloodshot. He had always been average in height and weight, but tonight he felt very small. Biting his lip, he splashed some water onto his pallid, angular face in an attempt to regain some color. Climbing up the stairs to his room took a long time despite the fact that his house was not large. The new housing regulations dictated that houses be two stories, with rooms seldom big enough to fit three people in at a time. This was meant to prevent socializing after curfew. That was when the terrorists and Radicals met. Micah paused as he sat on his bed. Could that man be a Radical? If so, who was he? What did he want? Why had he helped in the alleyway? Feeling his wallet jab him through the fabric of his pants, he quickly removed it and watched a card fall out. It was the mysterious black card, which had practically jumped out of Micah’s pocket. He brought it up to his face and examined it. It seemed blank except for the logo, until he tilted it back in the light and caught a flicker of what looked like writing. He fiddled around with it, tilting it back and forth like a hologram; finally, he found the right position and was able to read it. “Under Our Protection.” “Curious,” Micah thought to himself. He flipped it over and, after examining it from many other angles, put the card down.
18
M at t i
Mclean
“Why me?” he asked himself. He wasn’t anything special. He had no family since his mother had died. He had no real friends to speak of; his job was unremarkable. He certainly had no money … His life was a picture of adequacy. He hated it, but what choice did he have? He had to work to live, and the job he had been assigned to offered hardly enough to survive. What would happen if he was stopped again? He got lucky tonight, there could be no doubt about that, but what could he do now? Micah looked at his hands as if deep inside them he would find the answers he was looking for, but unsurprisingly there were none to be found. He took a deep breath and at long last managed to calm himself down before falling asleep.
Associates
D 20
M at t i
Mclean
espite a long sleep, Micah’s night was restless. His mind just wouldn’t shut down, and the morning hadn’t been any better. The events of last night kept playing through his head in a mix of terror and thrilling adventure. On the one hand, it had been all very confusing and the fear of
what had happened chilled him to the bone; on the other, it had been an incredible rush. The danger had been oddly exciting. Micah had always been on the weak side. Growing up,
he had been one of the smallest boys in his class, and as such he had been assigned a desk job straight out of basic training, despite later growth spurts. When he had been young, he was told that his skin had developed a sensitivity to light, a condition that left him unable to face sunlight for the rest of his childhood. After years of treatments that left him weak and prone to infections, Micah had developed a series of superstitious safeguards for his life. He never stepped outside with his left foot on a stormy day, because the last time he did, he broke his ankle; he would never eat red meat after five because it would upset his stomach; and he avoided sunlight as much as he could. His life had become a series of routines that while not special, had kept him alive. He didn’t like change, or at least this was what he told himself.
C ata ly s t
21
But he had never experienced anything like last night before. Something about it made him feel different. Somehow today he felt strong. He felt alive. He felt indestructible. “Good morning, world,” his computer chimed, “and welcome to another glorious day, brought to you by Jericho.” The woman in red greeted all of them every morning, always looking identical to the day before: perfect hair, perfect teeth, and a bright red blazer. Her smile seemed designed to be inviting, but Micah had always been turned off by her artificial cheery nature and thought her to be cold and calculating. Almost like an involuntary reaction, he rolled over, turned off the screen, and got up. Usually he didn’t like having to get up so early for work, and he especially hated having to drag his tired body out of the house and through the streets in order to get there, but not today. Looking in the mirror, he was surprised to see a new twinkle in his eyes, and his hair seemed to have a new luster to it. Even his clothes felt more comfortable for some reason. He stood, examining himself, and for the first time in a long time, Micah smiled as he left his home and headed to work. On the way to the transit stop he walked into Jacobi’s corner store and grabbed himself a flavored shake. Jacobi was a nice man with a large black mustache, who always greeted everyone with a smile. Micah liked him because he always remembered his name, a rarity in the city. Usually people were just called by their citizen number. The shop itself was unremarkable, but it
22
M at t i
Mclean
was clean and quaint. Micah had come here for years; in fact, Jacobi had one of Micah’s pictures framed on the wall behind his counter. Micah didn’t know how he’d gotten it, but the picture was a symbol of both pride and embarrassment. “Good morning, Micah.” Jacobi said jovially as Micah put down his gold card on the counter. “Hey, Jacobi.” Micah said. “Do you mind being quick? I don’t want to be late.” Jacobi took a look at the card and then at Micah. With a smile, he slid the card back to Micah. “Is there something wrong with my card?” Micah snatched it up and Jacobi smiled slightly. “No, nothing wrong. This one is on me.” Jacobi smirked. “You get to work.” “You sure?” Micah said. “Pay me later.” Jacobi said. “Go catch your bus!” “Thank you! Thank you so much.” “Just next time you come in, bring me back my tie,” Jacobi said in a playful manner. Micah hit his forehead as he exited the store. He’d borrowed a tie from Jacobi when his top shirt button had popped off. “Shoot! I’m sorry. I’ll remember next time, I swear.” “Get going before you miss your bus.” Jacobi said with a laugh. As he exited the store, Micah turned around, briefly mouthing the word sorry and shrugging his shoulders. Jacobi crossed his arms and was still chuckling as Micah left.
C ata ly s t
23
Within a matter of minutes he was boarding the transit system, which would take him to the downtown core. The ride itself was short since the system took him straight to Jericho in seconds. He didn’t particularly like his job, but it was what he had been assigned to do. Now he spent the majority of his days assigning jobs to other people. He judged them based upon their history in school, their physique, their intelligence, their troubles with the law … He had many factors to take into account when it came to assigning, and it was not a job he took lightly. Micah knew only too well what it was like being stuck for the rest of your life doing a job you really don’t enjoy. Arriving at work, he couldn’t concentrate. At the front entrance of the large, black building, he missed the doors completely and walked right into a window. Despite this, he was almost happy. Something about last night was making him think of things he had never thought of before. Ignoring the chaos around him, he fantasized about how the stinger had felt in his hand. He even went so far to picture himself battling that antagonistic policeman. The idea made him almost giddy inside, which was incredibly unusual. Micah wondered where all of these ideas of power were coming from; it was so unlike him. Nothing could penetrate the dream-like ether within his head. Even his coworker, Mark, who usually never talked to him during work hours, had noticed. Mark was odd in many ways. He had a quirky demeanor, was constantly shaking, and wore thin, grey glasses around
24
M at t i
Mclean
his brown eyes. His hair was almost always perfectly straight and his freckled face had dimples. Sometimes, Micah would feel absolutely plain next to Mark; in many ways, he was. Micah had no features that anyone would consider extraordinary. The only trait that might stand out was the color of his eyes, which were a piercing gray with a brown ring at the center; but to notice this, someone would have to look Micah squarely in the eyes, which happened very scarcely. People so rarely noticed him that when someone did, it was awkward. He wasn’t used to attention. “You look like death,” Mark said, as soon as Micah settled at his desk. “I’m fine. Why?” Micah was taken aback by the comment. “You seem out of it today.” “Oh, well … I had the late shift last night. I didn’t get much sleep,” Micah said, trying to brush it off. “Well, yeah, I know. But you’re usually fine on Wednesdays. Are you feeling alright?” Mark persisted. “Yes, of course I’m okay,” Micah said quickly trying to change the subject. “How are you?” “I’m fine,” Mark said, seemingly caught off guard by the sudden interest in him. He coughed uncomfortably and returned to his computer screen. “We’ve been busy today. I just want to make sure that I don’t end up having to do all the work—again.” “I’ll get to work then.” Micah said as he took off his jacket and hung it up.
C ata ly s t
25
He wasn’t terribly fond of Mark. It was a relationship of mutual annoyance, he was sure, but he didn’t really care. Part of the problem was jealousy. Micah had always been good with computers and could process people three times faster than Mark could. This had ignited a bit of a rivalry between the two of them. “Don’t hurt yourself.” Mark said in a mocking tone, without turning away from his screen. Micah rolled his eyes as he sat down at his black screen. He placed his hand on the panel and the whole system began to come alive. Within a matter of moments he was in the main menu ready to work, when something caught his eye. On the corner of his screen there was a small, unread communication from an unknown source. Curious, he opened it and read the message. “Tell no one.” Micah was confused. The message had no sender and no signature. But before he had time to process the message, a voice came over the speaker. “Micah, you there?” The voice was anxious. Micah sighed and picked up the headset to accept the call. “Hello, Parker.” “There are three men here to see you. They want to interview you.” “What is this about, Parker?”
26
M at t i
Mclean
“I don’t know.” Parker said in his typically flippant way. He never seemed to care about anything, really. “They’re waiting for you, though. They’re on floor one.” “Any instructions?” “Yeah. Don’t keep them waiting.” Parker said as he hung up the line. Micah sighed to himself and took off the headset. He was not pleased at the idea of heading back downstairs after taking the elevator all the way up here. These meetings were always a waste of time and energy and made him incredibly uncomfortable. He didn’t like having to prove himself to strangers, much less having to actually impress them. Getting up, he noticed that there was more to the message on the screen now. “Tell no one. Under Our Protection.” Had that been there before? “I’m going,” Micah said as he turned to Mark. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Mark shrugged and turned back to his screen with a dry laugh. “I won’t miss you.” “Thanks for the support.” Micah got into the elevator, using the shiny, metallic doors to check his hair. He had one stubborn cowlick at the back that wouldn’t go down. Taking advantage of being alone, he licked his hand and tried to tame it, but to no avail. As he tried his technique again, he was caught off guard when a large woman entered the elevator two floors down to see him in
C ata ly s t
27
mid-lick. Slightly embarrassed, he put his hands by his sides, made room for her to enter and tried to hide in the corner. It annoyed him that he didn’t know what this meeting was about; it was unusual for a man in his position to get called down to management randomly. He wasn’t due for a promotion for another year, and he had finished his closing last night without any problems. Had he known he was being called down, he might have worn better clothes; his shirt, while white, was somewhat worn and hung slightly out of his belted trousers. The starchy, white collar scratched at his neck. His brown shoes were scuffed up, and his black hair simply would not obey him. He attempted to make his clothes appear more presentable by smoothing out his shirt and dusting off his pants, but even then it all appeared to be rather cheap and plain. Micah hated being plain. By the time the elevator hit the bottom floor, he was mildly presentable. He headed towards the main desk. A cloud of people swarmed past him, most of whom were far more important than he was, likely going places he would never see. Making his way through the people was a chore and by the time he had reached the main desk, he had been shoved and tussled so much that the tidying up he had done in the elevator had been all but obliterated. He looked at the woman sitting behind the counter who appeared to be doing her nails. Her eyes were blue, and her blonde hair was up in a bun that made her look even more uptight and angry.
28
M at t i
Mclean
“I was called down,” he said awkwardly shuffling towards the desk. “Name?” she asked, already sounding bored. “Micah.” “Number?” “Six.” “Through those doors,” she said, placing a card on the desk in front of him, “follow the hall and go in door five.” The woman turned back to her work. “Thank you,” Micah said under his breath. He took the key and went through the glass doors that lead to the office rooms. Before long, he was at the door. It was a door like all the others: steel, grey, and with a push handle below a number that was painted in black in the centre. He opened the door to find three men huddled in the corner. The entire room was set up in a circular pattern with a large, round table dominating the center. The room was stark, designed solely in black and white. There were no pictures on the walls, but there was a round, black lamp which hung from the center of the ceiling and was so bright that it was almost blinding. “Micah?” One of the men said, standing up to his full height. Micah nodded and the man motioned to a seat. “We’ll only be a minute,” he said with a smile, turning back to the conversation he had been having. Micah pulled one of the black chairs out and sat down, leaning back as the others continued to talk. He was surprised by how quietly they could talk. He
C ata ly s t
29
was not intentionally trying to listen in, but even from a few feet away Micah couldn’t hear a word. Instead, he occupied his time peering out from between the black and white blinds into the hallway outside. For a second he swore he saw someone in a coat just like the one the stranger who had rescued him had been wearing, but he knew he must be mistaken. After a couple of minutes, the man turned around and looked directly at Micah. Though he was smiling, the way the man looked at him made him shift uncomfortably. He was taller than the other two, with brown hair and a fairly light complexion. His eyes were a fierce blue, and he appeared to have a scar on his cheek. He wore a black shirt that was tucked into his jeans under his pink suit jacket. Despite his semi-casual appearance, Micah felt threatened by him, although he couldn’t figure out why. “Would you like something to drink?” the man asked as he leaned against the window. “Coffee? Tea? Soda?” “I’m fine, thanks.” Micah said as he continued to survey the room. The tall man gestured to one of his associates, who wore a light blue suit. He had wild red hair, and a narrow nose that gave him a slightly ridiculous birdlike quality. He wore a large pair of shades that covered his eyes. He reached into the desk, pulled out a notepad, and began to write. The third man, who wore a black turtleneck and had skin to match, just stood in the corner with his arms crossed. His brown eyes were cold
30
M at t i
Mclean
and his face seemed to be set in a permanent sneer, which made Micah feel even more unsettled. “Are you sure?” the man with the scar asked. For a moment, he simply stared into Micah’s eyes, seeming to be prying for an answer before he’d even asked the question. While the man wore a smile, there was something untrustworthy about him. “Very well. My name is Leon and these are my associates.” He gestured to the other two, but didn’t mention their names. “If you don’t mind,” he continued, “we have a few questions for you.” “What is this about?” Micah asked. There was something odd about these men, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. “All in good time,” Leon said. “First, can you tell me where you were last night?” “I really don’t see how that’s relevant …” Micah began to say but was quickly cut off. “You worked late last night. Past curfew.” “Well … yes.” Micah said. “My work load on Tuesdays requires me to stay past curfew.” “Do you ever have any trouble getting home?” Leon asked as he sat on the table. Micah stared at Leon. Did he know what had happened last night? And if he did, how much? “Sometimes. But I really don’t think that is any of your concern.” “Of course not,” Leon said as he lifted himself off the table and began to pace around the room. “So tell us a bit about
C ata ly s t
31
yourself,” he said in a tone of voice that suggested that he really didn’t care. “How long have you been working here?” “A while,” Micah said. Leon appeared to be losing his patience with Micah’s evasive answers. “You are making things very difficult. If I were you, I would not try my patience.” “I’m sorry; I’m not exactly sure what you gentlemen are looking for. All my information is on my file. I don’t know what other information I can provide for you …” Micah said. “Yes. Your file,” Leon said. He snapped his fingers and the black man came over, handing him a thin manila file which he opened and examined. “Your name is Micah. You were born here 22 years ago, went to school at Stephens and majored in mechanical systems. Two parents?” “One. A mother.” “And she died how long ago?” “Ten years ago now,” Micah said. Leon had brought that point up deliberately, he could tell. “I was twelve and she was killed in the riots.” “Were you a member of the riots?” Leon asked. “No. I was twelve,” Micah said poignantly. “I didn’t even know what they were about.” “I still don’t …” Micah thought to himself. “Good to hear,” Leon said. “And your mother?” “I hardly remember her.” Micah said, and it was true. His mother had rarely been there while he was growing up, and he
32
M at t i
Mclean
had never even known his father. His home had been the group work home where the unwanted and the orphaned children were gathered up and forced to live in. He’d been raised by his teachers and by the agents who were in charge of the nurseries. “I lived at the sector six group work home for four years before I gained my independence and moved out.” “So, you’ve been here at Jericho for six years?” Leon said. He looked to the man with the wild hair, who nodded and seemed to record something else. “What’s he writing?” Micah asked, pointing toward the man in the blue suit. The man with the notepad looked up for a second. “He’s just recording the answers,” Leon said. “Is this for a study or something?” “It’s like a study,” the man said nodding. “So, has anything exciting happened to you in the last twenty-four hours?” “Nothing,” Micah said after a slight pause. For a moment he looked at Leon in the eyes. His stomach knotted and suddenly his throat felt like sandpaper. He quickly grasped his hands together under the table but they were sweaty and shaky. “Was there an error in my paper work?” He asked, trying to sound cheerful. Instead his voice cracked and he immediately felt paranoid and embarrassed. “There is an error in your discretion.” Leon said coldly. “We know you’re lying to us; what I want to know is why.”
C ata ly s t
33
“Great,” Micah thought to himself as his spirits sunk. This was all he needed: an interrogation after being caught in a lie. “Last night you left here and were confronted by officer #453. Why did you run?” “He threatened me,” Micah said. “He wanted cash.” “That’s because police don’t take credit,” Leon said pausing afterwards. Micah shifted uneasily. “That was a joke.” “Sorry,” Micah said, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that was settling in his stomach. “No one laughs anymore,” Leon said sadly. “Anyway, after your disagreement, you encountered a second officer, officer #344. This officer claims to have been severely beaten and was hit by a stinger on the back of the neck,” Leon continued in a casual tone. Micah couldn’t tell how he was getting all this information; he certainly knew a lot—but how? There had been no cameras around, and the whole encounter had happened so fast Micah wasn’t even sure how much he remembered. “Can you tell me if this report is true or false?” “That is true.” Micah said, and cleared his throat. “So you attacked the officer with his own weapon?” “I never said that!” Micah said, raising his hands in front of him and rising slightly out of his chair. If they were trying to frame him, he would not have it. He didn’t care if he had no power or status; he was innocent. “So you just pummeled him into submission.”
34
M at t i
Mclean
“Of course not. I pummeled no one into submission! I’m completely uninvolved.” Micah said as he finally jumped out of his chair. He could feel a sting of fear clutching at his stomach. “You should really stop lying, Micah” Leon said, aggressively slamming his fist onto the table. “I’m not!” Micah said as he began to quickly pace around the room. “I couldn’t have! I wasn’t even looking when he …” Micah stopped himself before finishing the sentence. What was he saying? “Yes?” Leon said, a knowing smile on his face. “Nothing,” Micah said, and sat himself back down. He didn’t want to mention anything about the man who had rescued him. The way he had so casually defeated the policeman led Micah to believe that he had done this type of thing before. It was easy to see there was something strange going on in the city, something he was unaware of until now. “You weren’t alone, were you?” “No.” Micah said after a long and awkward pause. His tongue felt heavy as he confessed. “Who were you with?” Micah debated how to answer this question. He wasn’t positive why he was protecting the man who had saved him. Perhaps because no one had ever done anything like that for him before, and he felt he needed to return the favor. “Micah, we have you on tape, standing over the beaten body of the officer.
C ata ly s t
35
If it wasn’t you who hit the man, it would be best to let us know who you were with.” “I wasn’t with anyone.” “It was you who did this, then?” Leon said with a laugh as he showed Micah the photograph. Micah resented this. “I’m stronger than I look.” “So you admit to brutally attacking an officer with his own weapon then?” Leon said nodding to the man who was writing everything down. The man acknowledged this and started approaching Micah’s chair. Before the man could reach Micah, he had already jumped out of his chair as if it had been on fire. “No, I never said that …” He went to Leon who looked amused by his reaction. “Still, it would be easy to clear your name if we knew who was behind this. Was there someone else there? Someone with experience in taking down officers?” Micah made a face. He could feel himself becoming cornered and he did not like the feeling. Any second now he could leap into action and escape … “We have a confirmation from two officers. We have picture images of you with the body. You were out past curfew. It won’t take much to put you away, or maybe even more than that.” The gnawing fear that Micah was trying so hard to suppress was beginning to burst forth. His mouth was dry.
36
M at t i
Mclean
Was it possible that they could throw him away so easily? “Just tell us who was with you and you’ll be free to go.” “I can’t,” Micah said. Leon smiled. “Why not? Were you sworn to secrecy?” “No.” “Did you take an oath?” Leon asked, clearly getting angry. “No!” Micah said emphatically. “Then why not?” “Because I don’t know!” “Then tell us what you do know!” Leon yelled. The black associate gripped Micah by his shoulder and forced him back into his seat. “I don’t know anything!” “You know something, and before you leave this room, I’ll find out what it is. The question is whether or not you’ll give up the information willingly.” Leon motioned over to the black man, who cracked his knuckles in a very intimidating way. “Are you threatening me?” Micah asked, his shaking hands gripping the chair like a vice. His breathing went heavy as he stuttered uncontrollably. “We don’t need to,” Leon said. “We have everything we need to put you away for a very long time. We were just going to give you a chance to clear everything up before we brought this before the high council.” “The high council?” Micah repeated, terrified. Up until this point he had been afraid of these people, but he had never
C ata ly s t
37
thought his life would be in jeopardy. Not that he enjoyed his job, but exile was far worse. The high council held the power of the society and if they disapproved of someone, that person disappeared. Rumors circulated of a place called Reprogramming, where they sent people who fought the way things were run … and those were the lucky ones. The rumors were terrifying enough to make Micah reconsider what he was doing. “Yes. The high council,” Leon said, an evil smirk crossing his smug face. Micah could tell he was enjoying himself. “You don’t look well.” Micah shifted in his seat. It felt as if he was sitting on hot coals, and his stomach would drop out of his body at any second. “I must be coming down with something,” he said between gasps. “That’s a shame,” Leon said with a sigh. He stood up and looked out the window. With an air of superiority, Leon walked over to the man with the wild, red hair and whispered in his ear. The two whispered a few words back and forth, but once again Micah found himself unable to hear a word they were saying. Perhaps they were discussing ways they could execute him, or facts they could use to imprison him … Micah’s mind wandered when suddenly he remembered something. The stinger the man had given him was still in his house somewhere! If they found it before he got home, there would be serious consequences … Micah watched Leon continue to whisper to the man and watched as his expression changed from disapproval to one
38
M at t i
Mclean
of annoyance and reluctance. After the two had come to some sort of agreement, Leon straightened up, fixed his tie and looked at Micah with a smile. Micah, believing he was about to be executed on the spot, gripped the arms of his chair and prepared for the worst. “Look,” Leon said, pulling a chair out from the table and sitting across from Micah with a card in his hands. “We’ll give you one day. Take this card. If you remember anything about yesterday, you call me. Otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Why are you letting me go?” Micah asked, shocked by Leon’s sudden change of heart. “Are you saying we shouldn’t?” Leon said, a smirk returning to his face. “No! Thank you … I didn’t … It’s just … Thanks.” Micah got up from his chair and almost passed out from relief. “Go back to your work.” Leon said. Micah was confused. Was it a trick? Not wanting to find out, he turned to the door and began to leave. “Oh, and Micah, if this Jacob character makes any attempt to communicate with you again, do not listen. He is not to be trusted.” “Who’s Jacob?” Micah asked. Leon simply smiled at him and waved him off. Micah nodded and without asking anymore questions, left the room. As he was shutting the door behind him, he could hear the man with the red hair call out to Leon. “He’s not very smart, is he?”
C ata ly s t
39
Micah did not like the comment, but he couldn’t help but feel relief in leaving the room. He tried to walk, but ended up only marching three steps before he collapsed against the wall. His entire body felt as if he had just been connected to a massive jolt of electricity. His breath was short and pained; his hands were clammy. He looked as if he had recently risen from the dead. ‘What am I doing?’ he asked himself. On his way back to his work station the name kept running through his head. Jacob. The stranger’s name was Jacob. Had this been an unconscious slip of the tongue on Leon’s part, or had this been a deliberate sharing of information? Who were those men? What was really going on? “Welcome back.” Mark said dryly as Micah returned. “I was hoping they’d killed you or something. Maybe hired someone useful.” “It’s fine,” Micah said, his voice barely more than a whisper. He drifted to his workspace as if he was in a dream. “Did you hear me?” “Hmm?” “Whatever. Get to work.” Mark said in an annoyed tone. Turning to the screen, Micah rebooted the sleeping system, only to find another window waiting for him. Looking over his shoulder to ensure Mark was not watching, he opened the note.
40
M at t i
Mclean
Just in case, he hugged the screen in order to prevent anyone from seeing what he was doing. “Be alert. Your life is in danger. I will meet you tonight in your house.” There was no sender, but Micah knew who had sent it. It had to be that man who saved his life. It had to be Jacob. He closed the message and returned to work, but kept his eye on the corner of the screen, just in case another one showed up. On the downside, he wasn’t very productive as his mind kept filling up with questions about this stranger. Who was this man? What had Micah gotten himself into? He now had two cards from two strangers: one who had saved his life, and one who had threatened to take it from him.
Where is the rest of the story?? Catalyst by Matti McLean is for sale on Amazon and other online stores. For more information, please visit our site at: www.brighterbooks.com