A shot is never fired.
Good, she’s thinking the same as me.
We’ll just have to be patient. Harvey will move eventually. He knows we’re here waiting, and he’ll drop his act at the right moment.
A series of speeches are made, some given by Frank’s officials on the stage, others broadcasted onto the wall behind the platform as the Order speaks from various domed cities. The war is recounted, the freedom won from the raging West, the need to keep the figurative walls between the two countries strong and high. Claims that AmEast has never been stronger, that the Order has secured a new future for its people. Out of ash and destruction, Frank made it possible to once again feel safe.
There are no executions. Frank would never admit it, but I bet he opted for motivational speeches over executions because of the growing tensions beneath his dome. He doesn’t need more martyrs.
When he finally stands and approaches the microphone, the crowd falls eerily silent. Harvey still shadows him on one side, a second advisor on the other. I wish I were on the roof, wish I could just get up and relocate to a position where I’d have a clear shot. This damn window and its limited width.
Frank thanks the people for their patience as he hunts down more water for the masses, announces his gratitude that they have let him lead for so long.
“It has not been an easy job, but we grow stronger each day,” he says. “As does the Franconian Order. Our numbers have increased exponentially, and these new soldiers will serve you, the people of AmEast, tirelessly.”
At his words, an influx of Order members appear at the edges of the square. Some look identical. Forgeries.
On the wall behind Frank, additional forces can be seen filing into the streets that surround the square. The video feed flutters between Taem’s streets and those of other domed cities. In each, the number of F-GenX models is overwhelming, the civilians encircled like livestock in a corral.
“Many of you are aware of the growing threats we face—AmWest’s inability to realize the war is over, our own people led astray by terrorist propaganda and untenable lies. I assure you now that I will not let these people jeopardize our future—your future. I will continue to fight for AmEast. I accepted this role hesitantly years ago, and today I happily embrace it.”
“And what of all the people you have struck down to maintain your perch?” a voice says. “Those who dared to question if you were the right man to embrace your role?”
The crowd parts around the instigator like he breathes death. He’s speaking into a cone-shaped device that amplifies his words, and when he momentarily lowers it, recognition flickers over Frank’s face.
“Ryder, old friend. What gutter did you crawl out of to attend these festivities?”
“Why, I crawled from the woods, Dimitri, from my ruined home. Although you already know this, seeing as you dropped the bombs on us. On me and anyone bold enough to admit we didn’t think your rule was the best Taem—or AmEast, for that matter—could do.”
“Careful what you say here, Ryder.”
On the adjacent rooftop, I can make out a few Order members taking a knee along the building’s edge.
“Do I sound too much like the traitorous West?” Ryder turns to address the crowd, raising his voice. “If a few hundred of us here think like the West, maybe the West isn’t that horrible. And if thousands of us think like the West, perhaps we are the majority. Perhaps it is Frank and his Order who are outnumbered.”
Frank raises a hand. The gunmen on the roofs ready their weapons.
“What are you going to do, Frank? Shoot me? Shoot all of us?” At Ryder’s comment, the undercover Rebels move forward, threading through the crowd like a herd moving among trees. They surround Ryder, forming a barrier of bodies and pushing everyone else to the outskirts of the square. These outlying civilians look between Ryder’s army and the Order, uncertain who to stand with.
“That’s what you do to those who oppose you, is it not?” Ryder continues. “Execute them? Hunt them down? Eliminate them before they can find anyone else sharing their views?”
At this, the wall behind Frank roars to life with new footage: Rebels picking their way out of the rubble of a collapsed Crevice Valley. Bone Harbor homes being torn apart during search-and-seizure efforts. The hotel we stayed at in Pine Ridge billowing with smoke and Order members combing the streets. And then I see Burg, too, as it was when Frank first tried to terminate the Laicos Project there, and then Burg again, under snow and explosions. The latter is captured from the view of an aircraft, Adam’s men swooping in to give us a chance for escape.
Photos flash between the clips. My father. Clipper’s mother. Xavier tossing a dart and Bo mid customary tapping. I even catch a glimpse of Blaine and me sitting in Crevice Valley’s hospital when he was still recovering from his coma. There are other faces I don’t recognize, but I’m positive their lives all ended too soon.
I knew Clipper was compiling this footage, but nothing could have prepared me for seeing it back-to-back, one image after another. It’s like a blow to the chest.
The video compilation flies by faster: arrests, fires, water-rationing lines, one-off executions in dark side streets. Boat inspections and boat sinkings.